Tangled Yarns

Acquisitions vs. Experiences

2011-08-21T16:31:00.000-07:00

Today is my birthday. Amid a very touching number of birthday wishes, I was asked, so what did you get for your birthday. I think the answer was a bit surprising.

I got breakfast in bed, my children played nicely together, and best of all I got to go for a walk. You see, I’d rather be given the opportunity to do something new than receive an actual item. Books are always welcome, and I would hardly scoff at a new outfit. But I’d be more excited about the chance to learn how to make jewelry than get a pair of diamond earrings. So my gift today was being kicked out of the house, all alone, for a few hours.

I live in the suburbs. (Oh the horror!) You could drive through my town and feel that dreary sameness. There are about 12 to 15 different styles of houses in the town, and in any given area you’ll see 4 or 5. Walk a few blocks down, and the styles start to change only to rotate back eventually. We’re an older town, built fast and cheap to provide homes for soldiers returning from World War II. There is a sense of decline, as time and weakened economy takes its toll on the area. On this walk, however, I got to see that despite their cookie cutter beginnings, people have made these homes theirs, given them a unique stamp. Some of it is through additions, my favorite being the oriental themed house a veteran remodeled for his wife, rumor says to help her feel more at home. The details and work are phenomenal. Other endeavors are more modest, but just as effective. Sculptures, landscaping, decks and fencing…I love turning a corner and seeing what an imaginative person can accomplish. (Sadly, on this walk, I foolishly left my camera at home.) The variations are astounding. Some have gorgeously manicured and immaculate lawns, while others are a riot of jumbled wildflowers hiding quirky creatures that peek out at you.

Also, my humble town was not built in a grid, there are twists and turns throughout the streets, and even more fun, the odd sidewalk that leads between houses to the street behind them. Half the time I think they are a path to a house until I’ve almost passed it. Today I took one, just to be adventurous, and ended up in a park I never knew existed. I have lived in this town for all but 8 of my 36 years. Surely, there should be no surprises here anymore, right? Nope. It’s not that the park held anything special; it’s just that the delight of finding something I hadn’t seen was so unexpected. Along the walk there were other treats – a grasshopper as big as my hand (so mad I didn’t have the camera) sitting proudly on a branch not far from my head enjoying the perfect weather, a deciduous tree with needles far softer than the usual evergreens and bountiful crop of fruit (nuts? I’m not sure) instead of a pinecones. A falcon sitting on the edge of someone's roof. I took another impulsive turn later on and found myself out of the residential section and across the street from the center of town.

It’s a quieter place than when I was a child, many of the shops empty. However, we boast of an active theatre, the headquarters for a symphonic orchestra and a fine arts association, with its gallery, gift shop and school. I peeked in the windows to see what was posted for the coming season, and was happy to find that there were people working in the fine arts gift shop. Despite being closed, they were kind enough to let me wander through the gallery and enjoy the beautiful work they collect and sell. Most of it is from local artists, which makes it all the more amazing to me. Oils, acrylics, watercolors, digital work, photography, textile art, sculpture – wood, glass, metals, paper…with the smell of paint from the work they were doing in the next room and the upbeat rhythm of the music playing echoing through the building. Suddenly I didn’t feel like I was living in the soul killing drudgery one associates with the suburbs. For the moment, I could have been living back in Boston, visiting one of my art major friends in the SFA building.

When I left, I had a lot to ponder.

Meandering back again, taking random turns, generally in the direction of home, I thought about all the things I’d experienced on my quiet walk through my ‘boring’ town. There was a dizzying array of music, one house blaring metal as a boy worked on his car, another R&B while a woman tended her garden. Calypso, jazz, top 40, classical…I couldn’t tell you all of them. And the people I saw were just as diverse. A rainbow of colors, and it fed my soul to see that all of them were neighborly. Not a single person passed by without at least a nod and smile of acknowledgement. A young girl shouted a greeting at me from across the street, and a grandfatherly sort flirted shamelessly with me from his front porch.

My town is not that homogenous, soulless place of nightmares and bad horror movies. Suburbia is does not mean the death of creativity, intellectual pursuits and independent thought. Today I walked through a bastion of individuality, filled with the beauty of nature and human ingenuity.

Thank you, love, for sending me out to walk today. Next time, make me take the camera.

Who me?!

2011-07-07T13:16:00.000-07:00

My friend Julie-Anne has passed on the ~~pain~~ er…fun! I am now the official recipient of the Versatile Blogger award. J Now if I could just figure out how to put the damn thing on the home page. This post is my kick in the butt to start posting again. I need to come up with 7 interesting things about myself.

Jeesh. I'm pretty familiar with my life, so none of this seems new and interesting anymore. But here goes:

Practice, Practice, Practice

1. I was in choir in high school, with a fantastic director. Not that interesting. But because our director was so awesome, my choir was invited to sing in Carnegie Hall in New York City. We sang Vesperae Solennes de Confessore by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. That link? Not us. I’m pretty sure no one recorded a bunch of amateurs singing, much less uploaded it to Youtube a decade or so after it happened. But it’s still one of my most cherished memories. Thank you, Mr Ulrich.

2. Also choir related – we went to New Orleans, sang in the Cathedral (holy acoustics, Batman) and got to sing with a jazz band while on a dinner cruise. Completely different world from New York, but just as awesome an adventure. We rode the train (the City of New Orleans) there and back. Everyone should travel by train once in their lives. And I don't mean the commute to work!

Warren Towers,
Tell me that doesn't look like it could be a prison!

3. More travel! I went to my college sight-unseen. Never visited the campus, or had even ever been to the East Coast. Took the brave leap to leave Chicago and go to Boston. Difficult, but I never regretted it. I’d move back there in a heartbeat if I could. My first dorm was Warren Towers, which I was told was designed by people who build prisons. I could see that. My last dorm, and favorite housing assignment, was Myles Standish. It used to be a hotel. Babe Ruth stayed there, since it was so close to Fenway. (*sigh* I miss people watching there.) I actually had a room in the main dorm and the Annex over the years.

Myles Standish Hall
See that balcony over the awning?
My window was just to the right..

4. I was my mom’s Lamaze coach when my youngest brother was born. I was 16. Best birth control ever. It didn’t exactly make me wait for marriage, but it made me far more careful! All joking aside, it was a very wonderful experience. Hard to believe the little guy is now taller than me and in college. Thankfully my kids are already repaying the favor and making HIM feel old.

5. I collect hobbies. As you can tell, I knit and crochet. Dabble in writing and blogging. I also cross-stitch, garden (sort of), bake, sing, go dancing, do yoga, swim, read, recently tried making candles (very fun), have plans to try making bar soap, have made homemade laundry soap (it smells so good!), like making fun t-shirts(which reminds me I need to get RIT dye and some more transfers) and have fun making decorative, but often useless, knot work. I’m sure there are other things I’ve tried over the years, but they’re not really hobbies if you only do them once, right?

6. I’m only on six? Dammit. What exactly do you people think is interesting? I like Asian cultures. I think they are incredibly interesting. Japanese more so than others, but I will pick up books and stories about people and history from the orient whenever I can. Origami is fun, but I have a hard time finding paper that I like. It all seems so thick. (Hey look, another hobby. Told you I forgot some.) Oh, and I feel silly expecting people to be at all interested in what I have to say. Which makes this blog an odd endeavor for me. (Does that count as two?)

7. I love accents! And I pick them up unconsciously. That trip to New York? I came home with a southern accent. (It helps that the only other high school choir there was from somewhere in Oklahoma. And one of the guys was hot. We spent a lot of time with them.) But I cannot under any circumstances successfully pull off an accent on purpose. Except occasionally a South Boston one. Rarely. And only if I'm giving someone shit about pahking yah cah in Hahvahd yahd. You can't do that, you'll get a parking ticket. Just so you know.

Ok. Hope that was interesting enough for all of you. Now to decide who to pass the torch onto.

Susan K Mann truly has a versatile blog! As she says, she is a woman wearing many hats. It's always fun to stop by and see which one she has on for the moment.

Kelly Metz also likes to mix things up. Photography, writing, work, family - busy, busy, busy! Hopefully she'll have the time to come play and share with us.

and someone I'm new to reading, but find very interesting:

Estrella Azul - even though she's gotten it before. Because she's really got a lot of different and fun things on her site.

Review: Pretty Souls by Julie Particka

2011-05-03T13:10:00.000-07:00

Book Blurb: My life followed a simple pattern.

Run to keep my inner wolf asleep. Make sure my blood-sucking foster sister, Cass, feeds. Hunt for supernatural trouble when we should be sleeping. Keep my grades up and my head down.

It was mostly a game.

Until people started wandering around like living zombies. Until people I care about started getting hurt. Until the menace came knocking on my front door.

Game’s over.

Time for the soul-stealer to realize just because he’s hunting something doesn’t make it prey.

Cass and I bite back.

My Thoughts: One of my favorite things about Julie's writing can best be shown by this line in the book:
"The realization that my life could be something other than the colossal mess it felt like on a daily basis elated me."

She writes about life. Granted, she adds some paranormal elements that we mundanes don't get, but that's part of the fun. Her characters live and breathe. They are, despite their otherworldly leanings, human. Elle, for example, is so me at 16. Right down to being in the Color Guard and the "Wait, you like ME?" moment. She my favorite kind of heroine. One I can identify with. She is not the prettiest, or the smartest, but she's certainly not hurting in either category either. She just needs a bit more self-confidence. Even bettter, she doesn't let her self-consciousness keep her from getting things done.

She's also not alone. Her sister Cass is more like the girl I always wanted to be, not without her own insecurities, but still popular and ever cheerful. An unlikely pairing, sisters by fate rather than by blood, the two of them work together to solve the mysteries in their town and keep their new family safe. By the end of the book, they've gotten put together some of the big pieces, and I'm anxiously awaiting the next installment to see how the rest of the puzzle falls in place.

Publisher: Decadent Publishing http://www.decadentpublishing.com/

Released: February 14, 2011

This book is owned by the reviewer

Struggles

2011-04-21T09:43:00.000-07:00

I struggle with anxiety issues. Random terror that makes me breathless, and not in the fun Marilyn Monroe kind of way. It stops me in my tracks and puts my life on hold. The external me cannot function, every option, every action has unseen consequences, and they are too terrible to contemplate much less risk. But even as my body refuses to move, my mind is never still.

The images are from The Sandman, written by Neil Gaiman,
illustrated by Charles Vess, Copyright 1990 DC Comics, Inc.

Words, phrases, dialogue, song refrains, whole chapters of books…they keep me company and drive me mad. Wheedling, cajoling, pleading, begging, asking, pushing, demanding, bullying, screaming, threatening – they want me to release them, share them, use them.

But that fear, that agonizing indecision locks my lips, and freezes my fingers on the keyboard. Words are dangerous, sneaky things. They mean one thing while dancing sweetly in your head, but once let loose? All your best intentions may be lost. Mercurial little things, words. Impertinent, fickle and utterly unpredictable. To one person, your words may whisper sweet encouragement, while to another bitter, stinging condemnation. And you can’t stop them. Once spoken or written, they take on a life and mind of their own, much like mischievous children. Oh, you think you can make them mind. I mean, really, you brought them into this world, and by God, you can take them out of it. Isn’t that a morbid delusion?

So I resist. Why imperil myself and others with the devastation these merciless little terrors can wreak? Instead I try to calm them. Music, movies, pointless games and, all too often, food. They may quiet for a time, granting me moments, sometimes whole days of serenity. Fool me into thinking I have control once more. So I reward us all with new friends, unread books!

Used with all respect offered to Neil Gaiman and Charles Vess,
copyright 1990 DC Comics, Inc

Because with all the pain words can engender, they can also bring unmitigated joy. Soaring, blissful, take-you-beyond-the-horizon happiness. And the most inspiring thing to me? Is that I find this joy because someone else was willing to brave putting their unruly words out there for others to see. For all that I love music, or that movies can make me laugh or cry, it’s only other people’s written words that prod me to share my own. News articles, books, blogs, posts, tweets – there is something about the image of letters marching across a page or screen that makes me contemplate their meaning more deeply. Ponder their nuances, mull over their tone, consider what made their author decide on those words in that order. Occasionally, all that reflection is overwhelming, and I end up frozen again. But more often than not, it triggers a release. Sometimes it’s a violent torrent, ideas bleeding from my consciousness, leaving me woozy. Weapons that they are, words can wound their owners as well as those they are wielded against. Damned double edged swords. Other times, it’s just soothing. Firm, gentle pressure, a mental massage letting go of all the tension. I never know which it’ll be, or what will spark a reaction.

This time, it was an unexpected treasure. A sci-fi novel, an urban fantasy whose author treated me to some rarely used words, like atavistic, and mitotic. (I mean, really, mitotic? Outside of a science text? Gotta’ love that.) Impressed and amused, my constant companions could not sit still. They’ve been wiggling and giggling all morning, tickling me. They’ve been conjuring funny fairy dances and all manner of silliness until I just had to sit down and let my fingers join in. Hopefully, this time I will not lose the courage to risk letting them dance with the rest of you. If so, please remember that I’ve tried to teach them manners, and I hope they don’t offend you.

The work of these two artists helped shape my love of a good story,
and the belief that books with pictures are not just for kids.
copyright 1990 DC Comics

Just a thought

2011-04-12T14:07:00.001-07:00

Review: Must Love Dragons by Monica Marier

2011-03-26T08:04:00.000-07:00

Book Blurb:

Everyone knows that Heroes slay Dragons. Not everyone knows that Heroes also change diapers.

It's the oldest story in the world; boy meets girl, boy marries girl, they have a family. But what happens when the girl makes more money than the boy, and he stays at home to raise the kids? What happens when pregnancy is rough on her, and he has to go back to work? And what happens when she's a dragon, he's a ranger, and a day at the office involves trolls, elves, magic, and lower back pain?

Linus Weedwhacker (shut it, he's heard 'em all) knows first hand.

My Thoughts:

This book makes me all kinds of happy. First of all, it's a fantasy adventure, with Elves and Dragons and Inns that serve questionable food. But even better, it's a fantasy adventure chocked full of snark, sarcasm and silliness. Epic win here.

There's a bonus for those of you who, like me, were card carrying members of the Basement Dwelling Gamer Geek Society (and proud of it!) with the little tribute references to some of our dearly beloved games. But not so much that non-gamers should feel like they are missing anything. It's a wonderfully witty book, that pokes fun at growing older, dealing with impudent newbies and wondering just how good were the 'good ol' days.'

Monica is exquisitely talented, not only did she gives us this gem, with a sequel "Runs in Good Condition" coming out soon, but she also contributes to a web comic site Tangent Artists and delights readers regularly with flash fiction at her blog Attack of the Muses.

Publisher: Hunt Press

Released: September, 2010

The reviewer owns this in ebook form

Weathering the Storm

2011-03-24T14:59:00.000-07:00

Standing outside the modest brick building, a distant rumble gives warning of an approaching storm. Gathering the courage to face what she’ll find within, Grace’s mind flashes to her favorite childhood memory.

Windows barely cracked open to keep out the whipping rain despite the summer heat, she huddles on the stairs, peaking down through the space between steps at the laughing group circling the faded Formica table. Mismatched chairs hold her parents, aunts and uncles as they ante up for the next hand. The radio crackles and lights flicker as the storm rages around this tiny wooden sanctuary.

Auntie Penny lights a few kerosene lamps, in advance of the inevitable power outage, and her dad folds, mockingly accusing his brother of being a card shark. He winks at her as he grabs his battered guitar from beside the staircase. Quietly strummed folksongs replace the static laced rock’n’roll, Uncle Chaz leaning back in his chair to flick off the ancient radio. The slowly dying light of the radio face made it look like it was going to sleep, a thought that had her yawning. Her mother absently murmurs song lyrics, the sweating beer bottle pressed against her forehead, and contemplates the cards in her hand.

In spite of the bitter storm, and her precarious perch on the stairs, 8 year old Grace feels completely safe and content. Down below are the titans of her world. The day had been spent reroofing the cozy wooden shack, racing the storm clouds that had brought dusk early. Worry had made the grownups tense, barking orders at each other and snapping at Grace when she got underfoot. Feeling the tension ease as their work stood against the tempest outside, everyone was merry in spite of their fatigue.

Sighing, Grace squared her shoulders and opened the door. Somber and serious, her Aunt Caren greeted her in the foyer, and pointed the way to the viewing room. It was agonizing to see how much her aunt had changed over the years. Time made the thin woman frail and quiet, so different from the vibrant woman who fought to work on the roof rather than in the kitchen. Slowly making the rounds to visit her siblings and cousins, Grace noted that the once tight group of adults she admired now sat in different corners of the room. There was no more huddling over a table together, commiserating with family also considered the best of friends. Time had changed more than physical appearances.

Harsh words spoken without thought had pulled them apart. To the point that now even the loss of one couldn’t pull them together. Grace mourned that as much as she mourned her father. She wished she could pinpoint the single instance that had caused such a catastrophic breakdown, even though it was too late to fix it. Her family had been destroyed by a pervasive cancer, just as her father had. One small, unnoticed hurt unaddressed spread to bigger hurts. Maybe if it had been found earlier, if they’d have found the right words, the right medicines, to combat it...

Numbly finding her way to the casket, Grace hears the pounding deluge begin, and thinks of better days.

Change

2011-02-16T09:30:00.000-08:00

My mom says I'm solar powered. And on days like today, I'd say she's right.

I struggle in the darker months, when the shadows loom earlier and earlier, playing on old fears and foolish anxieties. I can manage pretty well all the way through mid-January. The holidays bring a distraction, with Halloween's silliness, Thanksgiving's bounty, and the glitter and gaiety of Christmas and New Year's. Then the is a whirl of birthdays in my life that keep the good feelings going for a few more weeks. But the end of January and beginning of February....that's when I've had it. Even though the days are slowly gathering more light, it happens too slowly in those few weeks. I've had enough of the stagnant darkness. The monochrome look of the world is no longer being offset by joyous colors and music, and Valentine's Day is only a special day because the kids need to take treats to school. I don't hate it, I just don't see the need to feed Hallmark any extra money.

But February 15th...that's a special day. It means we are officially half way through the month. March is coming! And March equals spring. I can endure any snow storm, or cloudy day, because I know the grey grungy snow will slowly sneak away. I went for a walk yesterday, and saw the sneak preview of that.

The sky was no longer the icy blue of winter, but something sweeter. Sunbeams were no longer bleakly blinding, but had the power to bath me in warmth. Patches of meek yellow-green grass peeked through the dwindling mountains of snow. Even the trees seemed to dare show some color. The bark is no longer the wet mat black that so thirstily drinks up the meager offerings of a tired sun. I see hints of green lichen, and some greyish brown peering from the branches. The world is gaining courage and letting it's spirit show again!

I stopped in a few places, just to take in this long awaited change. Closed my eyes, and enjoyed a deep breath that didn't sear my lungs with cold. Heard birds! Chirping, whiring, chittering, calling, gossiping birds. Hear the river of melted water flowing down the streets gutters and into the almost flooding the street drains. That trickle of dirty water rushing around minature glaciers might not seem so special, but to me it's a sign of hope. Change is coming.

When that thought hit me, I had to pause. I do love the longer days, and the gentle warmth of spring. But what inspires me even more is the sense of adventure when I walk in the spring and autumn. Watching for those changes. From here on, I will prowl through my neighborhood, content with walking the same path over and over, if only to see what has been revealed since the last time I passed by. I will revel in the retreat of white, grey and black, losing precious ground to the watery pastels and deep browns of newborn spring.

At some point, though, the oppressive heat of summer will set in, and my unceasing battle with my lawn will be as hated as the struggle to keep the driveway cleared of snow and ice. Summer and winter are fixed entities. They offer no novelties. There are parties, fun, and stunning storms to pass the time, but very little change during those months. I find myself feeling just as sluggish in July's heat as I do in January's frigid weather. By August, I'm begging for fall. I'm ready to see the garishness of hotter months fly south for the winter, leaving me with cooler days, and the steady slide from bold splashes of flowers against vivid greens to flame toned leaves against a greying sky. To again prowl through my neighborhood, to see what changes nature has painted into the landscape.

So it maybe that I need that burst of sunlight, to recharge my batteries after all these months of darkness. I certainly felt rejuvenated after that walk. But I can't help thinking about how invigorating autumn is as well. How much I love the surprises one finds in these seasons of change.

Review: Pale Demon

2011-02-15T11:34:00.000-08:00

Pale Demon by Kim Harrison

Book Blurb:

Condemned to death for black magic and shunned, Rachel Morgan has three days to somehow get to the annual witches convention in San Francisco and clear her name. If she fails, the only way she can escape death is to live in the demonic ever after . . . for ever after.

Banned from the flight lists, Rachel teams up with elven tycoon Trent Kalamack, headed for the West Coast for her own mysterious business. But Rachel isn't the only passanger along for the ride. Can a witch, an elf, a living vampire, and a pixy in one car survive for over 2,300 miles? And that's not counting the assassin on their tail.

A fearsome demon walks the sunlight, freed after centuries of torment to slay the innocent and devour souls. But his ultimate prey is Rachel Morgan. While the powerful witch with nerves of steel will do whatever it takes to stay alive, even embracing her own demonic nature may not be enough to save her.

New York Times bestselling author Kim Harrison was born and raised in the upper Midwest, but has since fled south. When not at work in the Hollows series, she spends her time tending orchids, cooking with some guy in leather, and training her new dog. Her current vices include good chocolate, and exquisite sushi. Her bestselling novels include Dead Witch Walking; The Good, The Bad, and The Undead; Every Which Way But Dead; A Fistful of Charms; For a Few Demons More; The Outlaw Demon Wails; White Witch, Black Curse; and Black Magic Sanction.

My Thoughts:

I will not put up the video of me doing a happy dance, but I had to stop often to slip into my dancin' shoes! Jenks will forever be my favorite, but that cookie sniffing shoe maker is making a play for my heart! Trent plays a HUGE role in this book, and I say it's about time. He and Rachel have a marvelous chemistry, and their interactions are always my favorites, regardless of the book. To have an entire book of the two of the squaring off against each other, even while working together. Heaven.

For those of you who have not read this series yet, and are wondering what my fan-girl silliness is all about, I have a challenge for you. Go read the books. What makes them enjoyable is not only the misadventures, the mishaps, misunderstandings and myriad of good-looking men that make Rachel's life crazy, it's Rachel herself. She is the 'everywoman' - who cannot see why her friends see her as special and love her. She looks in the mirror and sees what we all see when we look at ourselves, her own flaws and mistakes. And then she tries like mad to overcome them. Comes to grips with her limits, pushes at them, does her damnedest to what's best and beats herself up when her best doesn't quite do what she hopes, or when she fails to foresee something and things go wrong. Rachel is, in a word, human. And in her rollercoaster of self-doubt and self-discovery, these books full of wonderous fantasy take on an element of reality that balances it all.

Publisher: Eos

Release Date: February 22, 2011

This book was read as an e-book ARC from Netgalley.com

Do your characters misbehave?

2011-02-14T10:56:00.000-08:00

I keep going back to my serial story, trying to get the story moving again. I have a few ideas of where it's going, ready to attempt getting them onto the page. And what happens.

The characters decide they want to do something else. Usually nothing productive. All my little ideas that have been floating around get shunted to the side in exchange for scenes like this:

(Rory's POV)

I love lazy Saturdays. The scent of baked apple pancakes still lingered as I immersed myself into my guilty pleasure reading. Totally stuffed, cocooned in the best blanket ever, on my favorite couch, lemon ginger tea steaming on the table next to me, James playing jazz on the piano a few rooms over. Heaven could not be so sweet.

And for that blasphemous thought? Hell gets dropped upon me, in the form of Alex.

"Hey, Ro, know what sounds like fun?"Alex fidgeted to get comfortable, grinding me into the cushions.

"Beating you senseless and leaving you for dead?"

Alex licked the side of my face in retaliation. In the attempt to push him off me, my book got ripped, the tea is all over the room, the table is trashed, I'm not sure where the blanket went, and James is in the doorway making that Spock face - you know the one. Eyebrow up, and completely nonplussed.

Pointing at each other, "I didn't start it."

*end scene*

It's a lot of that. They want to play. They make me laugh. And in the meantime, back in my story, there's this guy in the foyer - been there for weeks at this point. Anytime I point him out, try to get them to deal with him...I get the story about this time, y'know the one, where Toby set the house on fire, or Tara ballgagged Alex and made him army crawl across the living room. It's like hanging out at a family party, rehashing all the old family stories. Lots of fun and kind of pointless.

*sigh*

I will get them to be serious, I will. But right now Rory and Alex are redecorating James' room. They came in with a few bags of magazines and are debating if porn is worse than Justin Bieber. This is going to get ugly. I wish I could just take pictures of what they do.

Turn, Turn, Turn

2011-02-10T14:50:00.000-08:00

Dear Mother Earth,

I love the change of seasons.

I need them.

The mud and mess of early spring morphing into the lush multi hued splendor of summer transitioning to the contrast of autumn: warm colors meets cool weather. I even need that crisp splendor of a true winter. Blinding white snow, breathtaking cold. The kind that sends me burrowing into my cave of covers, hands shivering around a steaming mug of tea.

What I don't need is this grey sludge. The slap of freezing wind when I open the door. The icicles no longer glitter merrily, they sparkle menacingly as I trudge beneath them to the mailbox, each one threatening to pin me to the frozen landscape.

'Tis well past the time for you to turn over a new leaf. I had my time to love the beauty of stark naked branches against an icy sky. I am well into my hatred of dreary darkness, wet socks and numb fingers.

It's time to gain a few more minutes of sunlight, to lose the ridiculous amount of layers I'm wearing to keep from getting frostbite.

Turn a little faster, please, Mother dear, it is time for another season. I need it.

To Victory

2011-02-04T07:16:00.000-08:00

A trickle of sweat runs down my spine as I snap the last wet shirt and pin it to the loaded clothesline. My sunglasses help dull the blinding blue brilliance of the cloudless sky. Stretching my aching arms, I savor the summer scented breeze. Sun warmed grass between my toes, fresh laundry on the line…this is the perfect day. This is a picnic day. I see a pitcher of sweet tea, a basket of food and a good book in my future.

Then I see my nemesis. A black stare leaves me cold. The one that reminds me of our impending showdown. The one that requires me to wear socks and shoes. On my perfect picnic day. I glare back, defiant. I will win this battle.

And then I will enjoy the sweet scent of freshly mowed grass with my perfect picnic. It smells like victory.

The pic is mine. This is dedicated to the Decepticon that lives in my carport and makes me battle it to get the lawn mowed every week. And because I'd rather mow the lawn then shovel the driveway again.

Twinkle Toes

2011-02-03T12:30:00.000-08:00

I want to dance through the cosmos

Swirling and leaping through the ballet of galaxies

I want to revel in the beauty of the universe

Painting with infinite hues and unending canvas

But I live in a finite existence

My feet firm on the ground

Photo by Birgitta Lindsey
I found the picture at Stories without Words and you can find more of Birgitta's work at Birgitta's Fine Art America site

Review: Foreigner by C J Cherryh

2011-02-02T13:55:00.000-08:00

Book Blurb: It had been nearly five centuries since the starship Phoenix, lost in space and desperately searching for the nearest G5 star, has encountered the planet of the atevi. On this alien world, law was kept by the use of registered assassination, alliances were defined by individual loyalties not geographical borders, and war became inevitable once humans and one faction of atevi established a working relationship. It was a war that humans had no chance of winning on the planet so many light years from home.

Now, nearly two hundred years after that confict, humanity has traded its advanced technology for peace and an island refuge that no atevi will ever visit. The the sole human the treaty allows into atevi society is marked for an assassin's bullet. The work of an isolated lunatic? ...The interests of a particular faction? ...Or the consequences of one human's fondness for a species which has fourteen words for betrayal and not a single word for love?

My Thoughts: This is not the typical Space Drama kind of sci-fi book. It touches on sociology, politics, family dynamics, superstitions, lingual anthropology, culture clashes and psychology. Not only does it feed my inner sci-fi geek, it feeds my school geek as well!

Foreigner is the first of a series, which seem to be set up groups of three - a very fortunate number, by atevi reckoning. Atevi society is feudal, full of high intrigue, formal manners and strong traditions. The human colony, abandoned by its ship, has built up its island in the image of old Earth - right down to its love of technology for technology's sake. To keep the peace, there is one human allowed on the mainland, to interpret, to regulate the flow of tech to keep it from ravaging the balance of the atevi world. Bren Cameron is the current paidhi, or interpreter. And the planets align in just such a way that his quiet role is elevated to major player in mainland politics. He gets greater insights into the atevi than his training ever hinted at. Often at gun point, or at the least while under fire. For as cerebral as I find this book, it certainly does not lack action.

Publisher: DAW

Released: November 1994

This book is owned by the reviewer

Rules

2011-02-01T07:57:00.000-08:00

“What are the rules?”

Her shoulders droop. She ticks the points off on her fingers with the barrel of the gun. “6 weeks between concussions, I can only shoot him once a month, I can’t stab him with anything bigger than a dinner fork.”

He holds his hand out for the Glock. “And?”

Her carefully blank look fools no one.

“And?”

“And no kicks to the head while wearing skates.” She slaps the gun into his palm.

“He almost lost an eye last time.”

“Not my fault he didn’t pay attention during a fight.”

The fabric of a story.

2011-01-31T15:49:00.000-08:00

People talk about weaving words together to make a story. And I can see that metaphor. There’s the weft and warp creating the underlying structure to any woven piece, just as in story telling. And you can make some gloriously creative images within that frame work. But I don’t weave.

I knit.

Weaving is essentially a grid. Boring straight lines going up and down. My few ventures into weaving left me with plain squares of cloth. How…basic. But knitting…well there are loops within loops. Sudden crossovers, subtle merging of rows, bursts of new colors in unexpected places. It can make something much more three dimensional.

To me, this illustrates writing more clearly. The final work is shaped as you go along, increases and decreases adjusting the parameters of the world, each line is tied in with the last as the thread twists and turns. Occasionally the yarn spits out a giant nasty knot and you will spend hours getting it unraveled so that you can move forward. You can use the same pattern again and again, but each time the finished work is something unique. Each time you attempt it, what you end up with is better formed, more polished.

So I’m not going to weave words. I will knit you a yarn. I hope you enjoy the stories.

Run With It #4

2011-01-21T09:35:00.000-08:00

We spent the drive out to the ranch in painful silence. There really wasn’t anything to talk about. We had no idea what was the problem.

It started six years ago, when I was finishing my undergrad degree. Deciding where to go for my Masters. Dreaming grandiose and ridiculous dreams of my future. With my husband, Parker.

We had floored everyone we knew by eloping on Spring Break the year before. Not because anyone doubted we’d get hitched. Just because we’d always wanted the rockin’ reception with family and friends around us. But Las Vegas gets to you, and we were ok with the idea of celebrating once we graduated. Two reasons to party, only once expense. It worked for us.

We found a sweet little shithole of an apartment, were insanely busy, but blissfully, blindly happy. We were busting our butts for finals. The fridge was empty, so Parker went to get some basics: beer, ramen noodles, pop tarts and milk. I only remember that because they found the list on him. He always brought a list, even though he never actually followed it.

He got hit by a car. Not sure the culprit ever even knew they hit someone. They certainly didn’t stick around.

At the wake some asshat, claiming he knew Parker, made a pass at me. Something about the best way to grieve was to get laid, and he was the man for the job. Never meek or mild, I humiliated him before he was dragged out and dealt with by our friends. I walked into the apartment a few days later to find I had an unwanted, angry guest in the mood for revenge.

Five days in a coma, four emergency surgeries, three months of relearning to walk led to two words that sum up my one goal in life. Never. Again. I will never again be unprepared to defend myself.

I don’t remember any of the attack. I cannot recall a single moment of the funeral, nor being told Parker was dead. The last thing I can remember clearly is being kissed breathless by the man I love. Whispers of encouragement for my exam and how we’ll celebrate that night at home.

Then it’s just pain. And shame and anger.

My first clear memory is a newspaper article taped to the wall, with the words ‘Parker is dead’ scrawled across the top. Toby told me I insisted that be done when I kept forgetting. I hated losing it in front of everyone, and realizing it happened over and over pissed me off. I suppose that’s better than the numbness I feel now.

Cam and Toby lived in our building at the time. Just starting their computer consulting business, they had irregular hours and didn’t travel as far. I was lucky they came home when they did. They saved me. The Asshat didn’t make it. The well deserved consequences of taking on two men who collect forms of martial arts as a hobby. They’ve never told me what happened, and I don’t ask.

********

Alex’s POV

Dammit. Cazzo. Porca puttana.*

I keep checking in the rearview mirror to make sure Rory is still there. I know it’s stupid, but, fuck, it’s been four years since the last time someone came after her. And the Pack still hasn’t figured out why she’s a damned target to begin with or who is after her.

She’s pale. Silent. Huddled in the middle of the back seat between Toby and Cam, eyes unfocused. Suppressing a sigh, I turn back to the road.

Six years ago, Cam called in the Pack to help with a neighbor who’d been attacked. No. Mauled. Beaten. Bitten. Some Born bastard came for her. It happens, they get bored and want a new plaything. But he didn’t have a pack mark. Neither did any of the others that came after. It didn’t make sense.

Even knowing how strong she had to be to survive, I can’t get past how fragile she seems. I bet against her living all those years ago, not that I’d ever tell her that. Helluva a fighter, our Rory. She’ll be an Alpha some day.

I look one more time in the mirror. It’s not like she going to vanish from the car. She’s intact, not a scratch on her. There’s plenty of us to keep her safe on the ride home. Hell, we even grabbed James. If the four of us can’t keep her safe…not gonna’ finish that sentence.

A low growl from the back grabs my attention. Toby murmured an apology. I’m not the only one frustrated by the lack of answers. He and Cam have given up more than anyone else in the Pack to solve this. Being away from everyone for months…it’s self-imposed exile.

Rory looks up at me, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. Normally a laughing greenish-gray, now they hold fear, and trust. She trusts us to get her through this. Like Cam and Toby, I know that the sacrifices are worth it. We won’t betray her trust.

*************

Rory’s POV

Everyone’s tense, even imperturbable Toby is losing his cool. I hate how much everyone has given up to help me. I wish I could tell them why, think of some clue from my past to assist in my own defense. I cower here, amongst my dearest friends, my chosen family, helpless. I see Alex watching me. Meeting his worried gaze, I know despite it all I am safe.

*Italian for 'Fuck. Son of a bitch.' Thanks to the Great and Wonderful Maz for help with swearing like a sailor in Italian. :)

Review : Badlands by Seleste DeLaney

2011-01-20T08:46:00.000-08:00

Review by Jax

Book Blurb: After a brutal Civil War, America is a land divided. As commander of her nation's border guards, Ever is a warrior sworn to protect her country and her queen. When an airship attacks and kills the monarch, Ever must infiltrate enemy territory to bring home the heir to the throne, and the dirigible Dark Hawk is her fastest way to the Union.

Captain Spencer Pierce just wants to pay off the debt he owes on the Dark Hawk and make a life for himself trading across the border. When the queen's assassination puts the shipping routes at risk, he finds himself Ever's reluctant ally.

As they fly into danger, Ever and Spencer must battle not only the enemy but also their growing attraction. She refuses to place her heart before duty, and he has always put the needs of his ship and crew above his own desires. Once the princess is rescued, perhaps they can find love in the Badlands - if death doesn't find them first...

My Thoughts: ALL HAIL THE MATRIARCHY!

Ok, girl power over for the moment. Sort of.

Steampunk is fun, but it's very Victorian, which means this underlying tone of male superiority that pokes at me. Which is why I love that Badlands produces women like Ever. Stubborn, smart, fierce and wild. Even their princess.

There was a fantastic contrast between Ever's forthright, independent nature and the conniving manipulations of Henrietta. Seleste has a way of really defining her characters, making them stand out. Even the ones who play small roles. It makes the world she built rich and fun to visit. In a short time, you get to visit the wilderness of an untamed mountain, the wild west of barely settled Texas, and the civilization of the Northeast Union. And can really feel the difference of those places from the people that you meet there.

Publisher: Carina Press

Release: February 28, 2011

More info:

The reviewer got this book as a advanced reader e-book from Netgalley.

Might as Well Challenge

2011-01-19T09:38:00.000-08:00

Might as well

The Illustrious Wiswell has an audio challenge up on his site Bathroom Monologues

I've been considering doing audio, and he pointed me in the direction of using Audacity to record. See if you can make heads or tails of it.

Welcome to Hell

2011-01-13T13:38:00.001-08:00

I know there was something I needed in the kitchen. What the fuck was it? My gaze sweeping across the empty counters and table, I yank open the drawers. Nothing lights up that light bulb in my brain. The cabinet doors bounce as I slam them shut. Hands to hips, I struggle to remember what led to this hellish scavenger hunt.

Maybe it wasn’t in the kitchen. The office! Of course. Whatever it is must be in the office. I wander through the house, desperately retracing my steps. Every doorway seems to have the power to wipe my memory clean. The chaos of the desk brings me to my senses. Eureka! How silly of me to forget something so simple. It’s in the middle drawer in the kitchen. I’ll just run and get it.

4 steps to the stairs, 7 stairs and 5 more steps to kitchen. All of 60 seconds to get there. I cross that threshold…

Damn it! I know there was something I needed in the kitchen…

Stop Hating Your Body Challenge

2011-01-01T16:31:00.000-08:00

On Tumblr, someone posted a Stop Hating Your Body Challenge:

New Years is coming up, I have a challenge for you.
On your own blog make a text or photo post, about what you’ve learned this year. I want you to make a body positive post.
I want you to make a promise to yourself, to move forward and think positive, to remove toxic people and things from your…

So here's my response:

Last year at this time, I was recovering from a horrible month. I had panic attacks daily, no appetite and couldn’t keep food down when I did manage to eat. I lost 20 lbs in less than a month. Pretty much in the last two weeks of December. It was a horrid way to lose the weight, even if I needed to do so for health reasons.

I’ve recovered slowly from that hell. But kept the weight off, in good ways. Eating good foods, in appropriate portions. Walking, playing with the kids, working out. I’m happy with the way my body looks now.

It’s not a model’s body. I’ve had two kids, which brought about some stretch marks and other changes. No matter how toned I get, you will not see the muscle definition in my abs. But I have curves! Didn’t have those before the kids. And that hell I went through…lost more from my waist than anywhere else, which just shows off the 38D’s that I got from having my kids. Fair trade for the stretch marks, I think. And I love my legs. They look great even when I’m not in heels. I may have thick farm girl arms, but from muscle not flab.

Even still, it was tough to look in the mirror and start to like what I saw. As a teen, my family called me Twiggy. 5’6” and barely 100 lbs all the way through college. Before you think that is an ideal to work toward, let me tell you that I barely had hips, much less breasts. I got stopped more than once to be lectured about eating disorders I never had. I was everyone’s little sister, or just one of the guys. If not for the long hair, I probably could have been taken for a boy. Being Twiggy was not great for my health either. But hitting the 178 lbs mark was not any better. Just different issues, physically and mentally.

I’m mostly healthy now. My weight fluctuates from 135 to 140. Oddly, it’s higher when I’m working out regularly rather than when I stop. Or maybe not…that whole muscle mass thing. Either way, I’ve been skeletal skinny and I’ve been uncomfortably heavy. There were hard parts to both situations. And benefits. I do miss the days when I could eat 2 foot long subs and not worry about the weight. But I’ve gotten many more compliments on my figure, even at my heaviest, then I ever did when skinny.

Now, I love my body. Not because of the size it wears, or in spite of its flaws. But because it’s me. And I deserve it. I deserve to be loved, to be taken care of. To enjoy life and food, friends and fun times. I treat myself with respect and give my body the attention it needs. (Yeah, take that in every way you want. Because, dammit, the body needs that kind of attention. Perverts. *wink* I love you.)

I hope that the lessons I learned this last year are not lost in the chaos of this one. And I hope that someone out there can learn from them too.

Unearthly by Cynthia Hand

2011-01-01T11:38:00.000-08:00

Review by Jax
Book Blurb:

In the beginning, there's a boy standing in the trees . . . .

Clara Gardner has recently learned that she's part angel. Having angel blood run through her veins not only makes her smarter, stronger, and faster than humans (a word, she realizes, that no longer applies to her), but it means she has a purpose, something she was put on this earth to do. Figuring out what that is, though, isn't easy.
Her visions of a raging forest fire and an alluring stranger lead her to a new school in a new town. When she meets Christian, who turns out to be the boy of her dreams (literally), everything seems to fall into place—and out of place at the same time. Because there's another guy, Tucker, who appeals to Clara's less angelic side.
As Clara tries to find her way in a world she no longer understands, she encounters unseen dangers and choices she never thought she'd have to make—between honesty and deceit, love and duty, good and evil. When the fire from her vision finally ignites, will Clara be ready to face her destiny?
Unearthly is a moving tale of love and fate, and the struggle between following the rules and following your heart.

My Review:
Do you believe in Divine Intervention? Clara Gardner does. But then she's part angel looking to fulfill her purpose. Just as soon as she figures out what it is. Visions from God should come with a manual.

At 16, how many people know what they are supposed to do with their life? Clara handles the notion of having her fate decided incredibly well.Until her heart takes her in another direction. Will she become one of the sorrow filled Black Wings? Or is it possible that destiny is not as immutable as one might believe?

I love books that leave you with deep questions, ones that make you think about the nature of life, as well entertain. This book did that. It also leaves plenty of room for sequel, which I do hope is fated to come out quickly.

Publisher: Harperteen

Release Date: January 4th, 2011

The reviewer received this book as an eARC from NetGalley.

This review was originally posted on Bea's Book Nook

Echoes

2010-12-10T10:25:00.000-08:00

2:18. The clock’s crimson glow is a warning. Something is wrong. I lie petrified in the bed, expecting the strident tones of a predawn call. A morbid slide show flashes through my mind: dark and gleaming wood of the casket, the family clinging to each other in grief, a grey gloved hand of a pallbearer gripping the smooth handle. Cloying incense and the scent of freshly turned earth surround me. I hear my own sobs, as heavy pain radiates out from my heart.

There will be no phone call. This is not some hellish premonition. It is the echo of your death. Years later, my mind blessedly let me forget the anniversary of your loss. But the body remembers. It replays the agony of it. Lets it reverberate once more.

Run With It should return next week! :)

Run With It 3

2010-12-03T12:36:00.000-08:00

Alex’s apartment was at odds with the dilapidated building that contained it. Tastefully painted and attractively furnished, the Den of Seduction was an oasis of sophistication in a desert of frat boy chic. It reflected the perfectly groomed image of its owner. Usually. At the moment, he was a disheveled drunken mess sprawled facedown across his couch. At least he was dressed.

I dropped my bag by the door, shouldered past Cam and took a running leap onto the prostrate fool. “Damn, Alex, you reek! What were you drinking?”

Cursing quietly in Italian, Alex rolled us both off the couch, his 6’4” brawny frame trapping me underneath him. “Moonshine. Won it in a poker game.”

I shoved at him, laughing. “Well, you smell like you slept in the still. How much did you have?”

Toby strolled out from the kitchen, chuckling at my futile efforts to move the uncooperative brute. “Two quarts.”

“Two…” Horrified, I smacked Alex in the head, satisfied with the resulting groan. “Idiot.”

Cam slid onto the vacated couch as Toby pulled Alex off me. I scrambled up, unfazed by the aggravated grimace Alex sent my way. Cam tapped the back of the couch to get Toby’s attention. “Quick. Get some popcorn, the show’s starting.”

“And miss the opening act? Not happening.” Toby dropped next to his love, draping a long arm behind Cam. I spared them a smile; they were such a striking couple. Toby’s lean form and dark good looks were a stunning contrast to the burly tattooed canvas of Cameron’s body. I must have paused too long, because Toby waved for me to get on with it. “C’mon now, I’ve missed watching you take him down a few pegs.”

Alex staggered toward the half wall that separated his kitchen and the living room. I beat him there, cutting off access to the coffee. “Sandie came to see me this morning.”

Alex growled, grabbed a mug from behind me. “You can yell at me for drinking or sex. Not both.”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to gripe about you being a lush. After two quarts of moonshine, no part of you was upright last night.”

That earned me a smack on the ass which morphed into a none-too-gentle shove. “Bitch.”

“In every sense of the word.” Covering the mug with my hand got me elbowed. I almost gave him a quick jab in the kidneys, stopping short when he snatched the coffee pot up. It wasn’t worth getting burned. Instead, I nicked the sugar bowl.

“Like I can’t figure out where that went.” Alex rolled his eyes as he added cream to his coffee.

I stuck my tongue out at him. “You’re too hung over to figure out how to get it without spilling.”

Alex scoffed “I’m not an idiot. Unlike some people, I already have my PhD.”

I snorted. “In porn.”

That earned me a glare. “Sociology.”

Cam and Toby chimed in from the couch. “In sexual subcultures.”

Yes, we have had this conversation before. Often.

It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Which means you have a truly frightening collection of porn.”

“Erotica.”

“It only counts as erotica if it actually has a plot. The rest is just porn. Seven servers full of porn, plus all those bookshelves in your spare room. Face it, Alex, no one thinks you’re smart because you have a PhD. They think you’re a genius because you found a way to make your smut addiction not only tax deductible but somewhat socially acceptable.”

Alex practically preened. “I’m just that good.”

“Last night you weren’t, I can guarantee it. You’ve been a man-whore long enough to know that drunk men don’t perform up to standard.”

“Oh, yeah? What does Stacy have to say about that?”

“That she’s pregnant.” God, I love when Alex is not awake and still sort of drunk. His face is so much more expressive that way. The horror, stark fear and absolute confusion parading across his fine features had our audience leaning on each other to smother their laughter. I knew he’d realize the baby wasn’t his soon enough, but for now his alcohol induced stupidity was so enjoyable.

“Fuck.” He swayed a little and just barely sat on the stool next to him. “I don’t want kids. What do I do now?”

“Get a vasectomy.” A warning hiss came from the peanut gallery to go along with the bemused stare from Alex.

“That doesn’t help me now.”

He looked so pathetic, I just had to have a little mercy. “Oh, sweetheart, it’s not yours.”

He looks up at me hopefully. “How do you know?”

“Because you were too drunk to sleep with her. “ His growl made me laugh. “I’m just surprised there hasn’t been a whole pack of women showing up with your pups.”

“They’d have to know his name for that.” Toby added dryly.

I raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. “That makes much more sense than my explanation.”

Alex ground out, “Which is?”

“Sterility.” I smiled sweetly. Cameron roared with laughter. Toby’s shoulders shook as he leaned his head against the couch. Alex went white, then red, and I held my ground. “What? Think of it this way, you wouldn’t need a vasectomy.”

I slid the sugar bowl toward him with a small smirk. He snatched it up, sending me a mock glare. Whatever retort he was about to make was lost as everyone’s cell phones went off in quick succession. The guys all had texts. I got the joy of a call from Mark.

“You find the boys and all of you get your asses back to the ranch. Right now.”

I felt the fear numb my body and knew my earlier unease was not paranoia. One look at my now deadly serious friends told me I was going to be in trouble for not pointing out Stalker Boy and Blue Eyes.

Damn. Play time’s over.

Run With It #2

2010-11-26T10:23:00.000-08:00

A quick volley of texts told me that Alex was at his campus apartment. He found it more convenient for late nights and research than heading back to the ranch in outer suburbs. After packing up my computer, I grabbed my jacket and bag, and then jogged down the two flights of stairs. Classes just let out, so the stairs were crowded. I kept my eyes down and concentrated on getting outside as fast as I could. I don’t usually mind small spaces, or large groups, but too many strangers brushing against me raised my hackles. When one of those strangers stepped in my way, deliberately waiting until I met his gaze before moving, I was unnerved. It was brief, but there was something challenging in his cold blue eyes. Refusing to look back, I swore I could feel his gaze follow me out the door. I tried to brush it off as I hit the fresh autumn air, letting the anticipation of tormenting Alex cheer me.

Halfway there, my unease returned. I hesitated, trying to decide if I should figure out what was wrong, or just hurry to the safety of Alex’s. The quad was full of its normal denizens: those on their way to class navigating around the ones lounging on the grass, or playing ultimate Frisbee. As I tossed my hair over my shoulder, I noticed a broad shouldered fellow heading in the same direction as I was. Nothing strange about that, but the way he slowed when I glanced at him put me on full alert. I decided to pause a moment; pretended to look for something in my backpack while checking out the area. My suspicious friend also stopped a few feet ahead of me, answering a call. I would peg him as an upperclassman, his jeans and jacket too worn and beaten for a freshman, except the school cap had that glossy new look to it. His backpack was not only new, it was practically empty. Now that was odd. It was far enough into the semester that no student left home without provisions. Snacks, notebooks, textbooks, DS, MP3 player – every square inch of space in that bag should have a purpose. Whatever was in it, I didn’t recognize the shape. I grabbed a granola bar from the bottom of my bag, repacked and set off again. I heard the mystery man finish up his conversation as I walked past him, saw him fall into step just behind me.

Just perfect. It could all be innocent enough. Alex had snagged a two bedroom apartment just off the quad where a lot of grad students and upperclassmen lived. I tore into the granola bar packaging. The last thing I wanted to do was eat it, but it gave my hands something to do besides shake. I managed to swallow the last of it as Stalker Boy and I reached the beginning of student housing. I slid my phone out of my jacket, and texted a quick 911 to Alex, hoping he’d at least meet me at the door of his building. Part of me wanted to turn and get a good look at this guy. Furtive glances had gotten me nowhere. The hat was too low to see his face, and he was just a bit too far behind me to see more than the shape of his brown leather jacket. I didn’t think he was much taller than me. I felt ridiculous. Just one more block away, and I could relax, laugh off my paranoia, and spend an afternoon teasing Alex about the latest editions to his research material, and the notion of him as a father. Picking up the pace, I half-jogged to corner, looking for cars as I crossed the street. Two buildings left, and relief washed over me as the door to Alex’s building opened. A familiar half-dressed form leaned out, but not the one I was expecting. Fueled by adrenaline and sheer joy, I sprinted the rest of the way.

“Cameron! What the hell are you doing here?” my momentum knocked him back a step as he wrapped me in a bear hug. From the safety of Cam’s broad shouldered embrace, I watched Stalker Boy continue on. I felt foolish for worrying about him.

Cam squeezed me tight. “Toby and I finished our project in Tokyo and flew in late last night.”

I returned the hug, thrilled to have him home after 3 months away. Firmly pushing him away, I circled him to see what changes he’d made on his journey. Cam never came back from a trip without a tattoo, especially from Japan. This time he’d had the color on his eastern dragon finished. It traveled up his spine and ended with its head peering off his left shoulder. We met just after he’d had the outline done. The last six years was told as a story using the art on his body. I moved his elbow length auburn hair out of the way so I could ooh and ah over how well the finished piece turned out. He pulled it over his shoulder and told me which parts hurt the most. This ritual greeting of ours dulled the sliver of fear still needling me.

Sliding my hands down his well muscled back, I leaned into him, pushing him toward the door. “If you spent the evening partying with Alex, why didn’t you keep him from Sandie’s sister? Since we all know he has no impulse control, I’m holding you responsible for this morning’s assault. And where the hell are your shoes? It’s cold out here!”

He chuckled as he unlocked the door and let me lead him inside. Looking down the block one last time, I saw Stalker boy and the blue eyed stranger talking outside the corner store.

Run With it #1

2010-11-18T12:43:00.000-08:00

I'm going to try my hand at a serial story. These character have been poking at me for a long time now, it's time they come meet the world. I hope you all enjoy it! Here's episode 1 of Run with It:

Let me tell you about myself. I’m 26, an only child with long, dark blonde hair and hazel eyes. I work as an ASL interpreter while finishing my PhD in linguistics…

“There you are! Do you know what that sexual deviant did this time?”

My chin dropped to my chest, as the strident tones interrupedt the painful process of filling out an online dating form. I couldn’t decide if I’m relieved or aggravated.

I sighed, turning wearily toward the invader: my zealous Christian colleague from across the hall.

“Seriously, Sandie, you have no business calling anyone a sexual deviant,” I said, hoping to derail whatever rant was on the way.

“Excuse me?!”

I now had a rabid, insulted 5’3” Jesus freak standing in the doorway of my office. Might as well keep going, maybe she’ll get pissed off enough to leave.

“You’ve been dating Brian for 6 years, but you won’t have sex with him, and you don’t masturbate. We’re talkin’ some serious deviations from sexual norms.”

Her scowl was fleetingly replaced in quick succession by shock, embarrassment, and indignation before returning with a vengeance. Well, that plan didn’t work.

“Lorelei, I’m not going to get into the reasons why one should stay chaste.”

Thank God for small miracles.

“There are more important issues at hand. That, that, hedonistic heathen slept with my sister!”

I sighed. A large number of heathens have slept with her sister, but it’s probably not safe to point that out. Back to the heathen in question. If she was coming to me, it was a specific one.

“Okay, now that you’ve tattled on Alex, what do you expect me to do about it?”

That actually stumped her. She looked perplexed for a moment before asking, “Is beating him an option?”

“Not a good one,” That was a stupid question, and we both knew it.

“Why not?” The plaintive wail grated on my nerves.

“Sweetheart, he brought a dominatrix to Christmas. Beating him will not get you the response you want.”

She dropped into the chair by the door with a disgusted snort, rested her chin on her hand, and glared at me. I returned a level stare.

“She’s pregnant.”

I refuse to ask what happened. I try very hard to not know what Alex is up to. It saves me from feeling the need to bleach my brain.

“And the Anti-Christ is conceived. Prepare for Armageddon.”

Sandie slapped my arm. Hard. “Be serious! He seduced her last night and..”

“Hold on. He slept with her last night? And just last night?” I rubbed at my arm.

“She’s only been here two days. And we spent the night before at a play.”

I tsked in irritation. “It’s not Alex’s.”

“But they were…”

I cut her off again. “It takes up to a week after ovulation to implant, and another week after that for the test to be able to detect the hormones. Did you forget your basic biology?”

Sandie bristled. “I was excused from class on those days. I’m …”

“Chaste. I know. But that means abstaining from sex, not health class! Jesus!” Annoyance thy name is Holy Roller.

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain!”

“Believe me, Sandie, that was a prayer for patience. Y’know what, I don’t have time for this. Alex isn’t the father. Go catch up on 7^th grade sex ed and we’ll talk later.” I dragged her out of the chair and shoved her out the door. Leaning against it, I glared at my laptop. Suddenly finding a date didn’t seem so interesting. I grabbed my phone. Time to find the other sexual deviant and give him the news. I smirked. Alex as a dad. I was going to enjoy making him squirm.

Book Review: Intercourses

2010-11-17T17:40:00.000-08:00

Book Blurb:

First introduced in 1997 to rave reviews and now an international bestseller from the US to Australia, The New InterCourses: an aphrodisiac cookbook includes more than 145 aphrodisiac recipes for love and romance. Couples everywhere love this book for its romantic results, not to mention its sensual images of food set on the backdrop of the human body, tasty recipes home-tested by couples across the country, and thorough appendix with recommended aphrodisiac vendors, recipes for edible massage oils and bath salts, and charts for choosing the right aphrodisiac for the season of year, time of day, or even stage of the relationship.

InterCourses is organized by foods that have been considered aphrodisiac ingredients throughout history—chocolate, asparagus, chiles, coffee, basil, grapes, strawberries, honey, artichokes, black beans, oysters, rosemary, edible flowers, pine nuts, avocados, libations/alcohol, and figs. Each chapter begins with a photograph of food on the body—an asparagus skirt, a maillot of pine nuts, a tribal necklace of figs. The images bring the food to life in a fresh light, transforming ordinary foods into extraordinary aphrodisiacs.

That’s what InterCourses is for us: an introduction to the experience of aphrodisiacs. It’s an experience for anyone who can believe in the magic of food combined with a little bit of ambiance or love. With sensuality or eroticism. With simplicity or grandiosity. From the anticipated anniversary dinner to the unexpected glass of fresh-squeezed juice, the act of preparing food for another (or with another) speaks louder and clearer than most words. It says, with no exceptions, I love you. I want you. I care for you. You are worth the effort.

May InterCourses help you say what needs to be said.
Bon Appétit

Blurb from the book's website

My Thoughts: Ok, one last book in the foodie category for a bit. But this one is just too good.

I'm a visual person. I hate cookbooks that don't show me a picture of what I'm going to be eating. In this case, I may not get pics of the finished product, but the gorgeous imagery more than makes up for it. Besides, the pictures include the main ingredient, all in very lovely, very artistic, very erotic photos. Some of the ingredients may be hard to locate - like the edible flowers - but it's worth the ~~foreplay~~ forethought. The recipes are all relatively simple, which is good, because it's easy to get distracted when you think about the finished product. I can personally recommend the Champagne laced with Raspberry, French Toast baked in Honey-Pecan sauce, Easy Strawberry Empanadas, and the Chocolate-stuffed Crescent Rolls. On my list to try are the Honey-drenched Figs, and the Rosemary-scented Lamb over pasta. You'd have to ask hubby what his faves are. This book is often pulled out when we discuss having a romantic evening.

You're pretty much guaranteed to be moaning in ecstasy, even if it's only over the food.

Publisher: Terrace

Release Date: January 1, 1997

This book is owned by the reviewer

Contemplation

2010-11-11T10:36:00.000-08:00

Sitting alone in my kitchen, listening to the rhythms of the house. The whir of the refrigerator. The hum of the laptop. Dryer rumbling in the room next door, its bass notes out of time with the high pitched squeak of the washer. There is a whoosh as the heater kicks in. It makes me realize that I’m cold.

I should be writing.

I should be reading.

I should be cleaning.

I am just sitting. Taking it all in. Or ignoring it all. Depends on how you look at it. It doesn’t really matter.

The shadows are lengthening outside. The glare of early afternoon is giving way to the dull glow of early evening. There is no revelation during this trance, this melancholy meditation. No sense of peace or enlightenment. Only a hollow resignation.

Book Review: Good Eats, The Early and the Middle Years

2010-11-09T13:55:00.000-08:00

I never used to like to watch food shows. Ever. My husband can live with the cable permadialed to The Food Network. A few years back, I turned the tv on, and (surprise, surprise) he had left it on The Food Network. Not interested in the station itself, I began to flip through the online guide, futilely, when I realized that I was actually chuckling at the show currently on.

This was my introduction to Good Eats and Alton Brown. I have had lots of fun over the years watching his antics, skits and silliness. With episode titles like "School of Hard Nogs (homemade eggnog, yum!), Fry Hard and Wonton Ways - how can you not have fun?! I have had even more fun trying out the recipes on the show. The great thing about Good Eats? He explains how to use certain techniques and why, in a fun and easy to understand way. In his own words, Alton said the idea behind the show came down to three names. Julia Child, Mr. Wizard and Monty Python. This show isn't just about Good Eats. It's about good times and good fun. And gadgets. (But never a unitasker. The only unitasker in the Good Eats kitchen is the fire extinguisher.) Alton Brown has the best freaking toys.

So last year, the first book came out. And it's a doozy of a cookbook. (Most of mine are hand-me-downs or bought at garage sales, so I may have a skewed view.) 3 lbs 8 oz of entertainment. Seriously, you can sit and read this book, or at least enjoy the pictures. Not just of food, but of a brilliant maniac in crazy costumes.

But I held off at the time. And now book two came out. There is just as much zany nonsense in this one, and just as many great recipes. Each chapter, in both books, is based off an episode. Many of the great tips, tricks and bits o'trivia are in there, like how to "octo-sect" a chicken.

I totally caved. I don't regret it at all. I now have some of my favorite recipes in a book, rather than searching through the Food Network every time I want to make Hot Cocoa Mix. (It has cayenne pepper in it! I love the kick.) Some of my favorites are not out yet. One more book to go. Next year can not come quick enough! I still want to get all the seasons on DVD, because the books cannot portray the hilarity of the skits. And some of the instructional material is easier to mimic when you can watch what he's doing.

'Is This Real?'

2010-11-04T16:40:00.000-07:00

Song: Lisa Hall - "Is This Real?" Video by lanlailaala

I arrive at the appointed hour, using the code left on my desk to unlock the heavy door. The foyer holds only a small table with a flickering black candle the only light. It’s as if nothing exists outside the wavering circle of light. I turned and locked the outer door, heart pounding as I commit to the evening. No stopping now. My body shivers. Not quite fear, but a delicious hint of it.

I slowly unbutton my black trench coat, marveling at my hands' steadiness. My sure movements belie the turmoil in my head. Anticipation. Apprehension. Longing. Shame. Skin flushing, I am pulled toward the items on the table. Thick white parchment with red writing demands my attention. Gliding my fingertips over the bold script, I can hear his dark voice commanding me.

Shoes off.

Legs trembling, I slide my silk clad feet out of the red heels and leave them neatly under the table.

Coat on the table.

Take up the mask.

I shrug the coat off, shivering again. Focus on making the movement graceful. Pleasing to his eyes, even in his absence. Folding the coat, exchanging it for the satin mask on table. The motions set the candle flame dancing. Tendrils of smoke writhe, like a shadowy promise of what is to come. The warmth flickers against my skin through the lace lingerie, a caress from an invisible hand. My body tightens, longing driven by nervous anticipation. I lift the delicately embroidered mask to my eyes. My pulse races.

His phantom voice whispers instructions once more.

In your place.

Unthinking, my feet bring me in front of the next door. My body remembers well where it belongs. Sinking gracefully, gratefully to my knees, sitting back on my heels, I follow the last of his commands.

Wait.

Always the most difficult to obey. The anticipation was delicious, but patience is a virtue I will never claim. My hands twitch as they rest on my knees. I want to touch and be touched. I still the mutinous thumb stroking the inside of my leg. The dark, the silence, they don’t bother me – I can hear him in my thoughts. Picture his presence. The lack of physical stimulus torments me. In time, my legs numb to the hardwood beneath me. I am floating in the stillness of the room.

I focus on the aching desire, letting it fill my mind and skin. An internal flame licking through my body. Let it distract me, consume me. The intensity swelling until I whisper, “Unreal.”

Strong fingers bury themselves in my upswept hair, pulling my face and breasts against a powerful, leather clad thigh.

From above, a deep growl, “Oh yes, pet, this is real.”

Till Death Do Us Part?

2010-10-28T17:53:00.000-07:00

Dear John,

I know I said I couldn’t live without you. I know I was the one to find the voudoun priestess. But really, I think it was the shock and grief talking. Honestly, I couldn’t stand picking up your dirty underwear and wet towels. How did I possibly think I could handle the bits of body parts that you leave all over the place? I’d happily deal with the smell of those nasty cigars over the rotten, reeking stench that permeates the house now. I actually miss slaving over the deplorably greasy food you insisted on eating. I can’t cook for you anymore. It’s not even cooking! I’m sure the neighbors have begun to realize their juvenile delinquents didn’t all just run away. We haven't had a decent conversation since you lost your tongue. And our sex life...

You’re not the man I married.

It’s over.

I'm sorry.

Sincerely,

Mary

Eat your dinner

2010-10-21T12:10:00.000-07:00

“But Mooommm, I hate eating the skin. Can’t you peel it off for me?”

I ignore the puppy dog eyes my daughter sends my way. “No. All the best nutrients are in the skin. Just eat it along with the rest.”

Petulant stomping toward the table tells me how well my declaration is received. I smile indulgently at her muttering, and finish filling our plates. Swallowing my smile, I shuffle to the table with our dinner.

“Just eat the skin with the flesh, love. If you eat it all, there’s fresh brains for dessert.”

Adventures in Science

2010-10-19T14:24:00.000-07:00

I've been waiting to go to the Museum of Science and Industry for months. It's a fun place to go at any time, but over the summer I got wind of a Jim Henson exhibit coming to town. (Excuse the child-like skip in my step. I love all things Muppets.) I have spent the last few months talking this exhibit up to friends and family, regardless of where they live. (Seriously, come to Chicago. We have the Muppets,for pete's sake!) My husband has been mocking me for weeks. Because we were not going to the Museum to have a fun day, we were going to see the Muppets. It's the only important thing, really. Unfortunately, the above photo is the only one I was allowed to take. No photography inside the actual exhibit. *sigh* But it is a fantastic exhibit, and I will be going back before it leaves in January. Probably without my Philistine husband, who shook his head as I sang the theme song to Fraggle Rock, and my unappreciative children, who looked at me like I was crazy as I oohed and aahed over the props from Dark Crystal. The Philistine was kind enough to take the children as I marveled over sketches and read through the handwritten notes. And then it was off to new sights.

The lobby of the main floor

Our next adventure was in the Science of Storms exhibit.Two stories of high tech wonder that lets children of all ages explore how some of the more intimidating natural events work. Avalanches, tornados, tsunamis, lightening, fires...this place lets you play with them all and more. It was a struggle sometimes to reign in my own inner voice that was screaming, "But it's my turn to try!" Which was, of course, the theme of my children's conversations for the day. It's hard to find that annoying when they are arguing over which hypothesis to test first, and actually using that term correctly. *Proud Mama Moment*

Tornado Alley

We really spent a lot of time in that exhibit. Prisms, rainbows, wavelengths, and water experiments are endlessly entertaining. Yes, I am that big of a dork. I love this stuff. Science discerns the Laws of Nature, but takes none of the wonder away. It is as amazing to see a tornado in miniature through experiments as it is to experience it in real life. Less fearful, but still amazing.

Finally, a pic where they weren't trying to 'shoot' one another with the balls.

We also got to visit the Smart Home, another exhibit that you can't take pics in. Not as exciting as the interactive exhibits, but very interesting all the same. There are some great strides being made in ecofriendly living, if only they could find a way to merge them with existing homes. There's just no easy way for our 1950's cookie cutter house to take advantage of some of the technology used in that house. Some of the other fun things to see, but a pain in the ass to photograph are the Fairy Castle - a gorgeous miniature with painstaking detail and a lovely story. Yesterday's Main Street gives you a short walk to a simpler time. And it has the added benefit of an old fashioned ice cream parlor. There is so much to see it's impossible to enjoy it all in one day. If we hadn't all been so exhausted, ok, if I hadn't been so exhausted, we would have hopped on the train again the next day to finish exploring it all. As it stands, we've promised the kids to go next weekend to see the Baby Chicks in the genetics exhibit. And to learn how to make a whisper travel through a room, and how to make toys, and...yeah, you get the picture.

I had fun going to see the Muppets. Next time, I'm going to see the Museum. The thought of it puts a child-like skip in my step.

Temper

2010-10-14T12:22:00.000-07:00

White hot heat pulses through my veins.

Blinding light obscures all thoughts.

I move on instinct alone.

Threats growling through clenched teeth, words I won’t recall after the fury subsides.

Head pounding, hands shaking, muscles aching, stomach clenching, the supernova recedes.

All that remains is a black hole of regret.

Book Review: Firelight

2010-10-13T07:20:00.000-07:00

Marked as special, Jacinda knows her every move is watched. When she breaks the most sacred tenet of her kind, she nearly pays with her life, only to be spared by a beautiful stranger sent to hunt those like her. For Jacinda is a draki - a descendant of dragons whose ability to shift into human form is her best defense.

Forced to flee into the mortal world, Jacinda struggles to adapt. The one bright light is Will; Jacinda knows she should avoid him at all costs - Will and his family are hunters - but the passion he stirs within her can't be ignored, even if it means risking her life... With this provocative tale of supernatural desire and danger, Sophie Jordan introduces readers to an exciting world that will appeal to fans of Twilight, Fallen and Evernight.

Ok, I'll admit that when I saw the Twilight comment, I almost handed the book back to my friend. I'm not a huge fan of the series. But this friend has never given me a book that disappoints, and her unblemished record still stands.

Faced with starting over in a new town, against her will, it would be easy for Jacinda to fall into the whiny aspect of teen angst. Instead, we have a character who can see her own place in her family's difficult situation and makes the attempt to be a team player. The eternal struggle of a teen trying to find themselves and what's best for themselves without stomping all over the ones they love. Pursued by two bad boys that pose different threats to her, she's got tough choices to make, family to consider, as well as her own safety and happiness. And she does it without being a washed out, self-centered wuss. This girl has, forgive my choice of words, fire.

I'm looking forward to the next book, which should be coming out next fall.

An Apple a day

2010-10-12T10:11:00.000-07:00

Sugar & Corn syrup...it starts out looking so rough.

Ok, so I've been a bad, bad blogger. But it's been a bit crazy. Exams, Halloween prep, family drama, and a lovely day with a friend I haven't seen in too long. Once upon a time, we lived in the same town. And had Fabulous cooking sprees. Between her moving away, job and school schedules, we haven't gotten to indulge in a while. But yesterday we managed to sneak in a day of fun. On the menu: upside down caramel apple cake. Ok, that's not all we made, but that was the main dish for the day. I give much thanks to Food Network for publishing this gooey slice of heaven.

After some heat, butter and cream, it just looks so damn lovely

I love trying out new recipes, especially when there's a step like "Make Caramel." Because, really, I will use this information often, I'd be out of my mind not too. It was incredibly simple, and the whole time I kept thinking about all the other things I could make. Caramel corn, Candy apples, Caramel & Cream candies (those are actually in the works)

Silly me forgot to get pics of setting up the pan, but if we hadn't gotten it in the oven quick I would have eaten the batter and the caramel before we got it baked. They were both so good. So to take my mind off the deliciousness baking away, we decided to have some cheese dip with chips. Except we had forgotten to get chips, and no one really wanted to go back to the store. What's a girl to do? Grab some stale tortillas, some olive oil and make some! Best snack ever.

So much better than store bought!

And while they were frying up - we cleaned the caramel pan. The fun way. Just as good as getting the beaters after making cookie dough. We still had time to kill until the cake was done, so I whipped another batch of the caramel for other purposes. It's still hardening so I can cut it, or there's be pics. Messy ones. This stuff is sticky. Imagine that.

Apples slices are a great way to clean up extra caramel. :)

I had to make more. There will be candies ready soon.

The springform pan was the right size, but caramel leaked everywhere.

And the finished masterpiece.

Today

2010-10-05T13:22:00.000-07:00

The cats contemplate my frustrated visage, heads cocked to one side.

Muttered curses escape my mouth, captivating the lurking felines.

One wends its way around the shiny onyx divide to see the source of my frustration.

Confused and concerned, the beastie lounges upon the offending item, to shield me from its presence.

Purring, its cold nose nudges my hands, seeking to distract me from my misery.

“Dammit, Kitten! This does not help me write!”

Freedom

2010-09-30T11:09:00.000-07:00

Freedom n. The quality or state of being exempt or released usually from something onerous.

- From the Merriam Webster Dictionary

“You must have a preference.”

Boxers or briefs. Silk or cotton. Baggy or tailored. My skin itches.

“You have plenty of options.”

Cadmium. Chartreuse. Crimson. The colors in my closet blur. My head aches as I helplessly stare at them.

“There’s quite a selection”

Hazelnut. Chocolate. Cinnamon. Vanilla. Coffee. The scents surround me. Besiege me. I am powerless.

“You need to choose.”

Rye or whole wheat. Turkey or ham. Mayonnaise or mustard. The selection is nauseating.

“Just pick already.”

Jazz. Rock. Classical. Rap. Spirituals. Show tunes. The cacophony coming from the speakers is relentless.

I panic from the overwhelming input. Sweating and shaking, I wake.

The nylon straps’ embrace snaps me back to reality. The reassuring scent of the leather hood banishes the remnants of the nightmare. The darkness is a relief after the vivid horror show in my mind. Master’s hushed footsteps soothe me. Warm water and oatmeal is fed to me. No demands, no choices.

I am free.

Finding Yourself

2010-09-29T18:27:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, I only used the Internet to find information. Movie times, phone numbers, book releases...nothing of importance. It slowly became an excellent way to keep in touch with loved ones, people who already knew me, and for the most part understood me. In all my goofy glory. Over time, I joined discussion groups, met people and made friends. I am always curious as to what sort of impression I have made on these people, who never hear me laugh, or see me actually smile. It's amusing to say something or show an interest in something, and have an online buddy raise a virtual eyebrow (and possibly a real one too) in surprise.

Some of my hobbies scream 'domestic diva' - I knit and crochet. Cross-stitch, bake and I want to learn to quilt. I am a mom, one who is lucky enough to be at home most of the time. (Not knocking working moms! Been there, and it has it's perks too.) I love Anne of Green Gables, and Little House on the Prairie. I was appalled by the modernization of my beloved Holly Hobbie. I love children, and miss working with them. Baby clothes make me coo, every time. Even looking at the colors and images on this site show a much softer side of me than I recognize.

Don't get me wrong - I love all of those things without reservation or shame. I am comfortable with my feminine side. I've even learned to use curlers and put on make-up! I finally own more shoes with heels than with laces. And I don't stumble when I walk in them!

My "Hell, yeah, I lost 40 lbs" Celebration night

Then there's this other side. The one that played D&D and met her husband at a Live Action Role-Playing (LARP) game. Think improv theater meets Rock-Paper-Scissors. Neil Gaiman's Sandman was a fundamental part of my high school years. I've read Lovecraft, watched Army of Darkness (often) and am an avid fan of Science Fiction is all its forms. I enjoy dressing in everything from my Morticia Addams dress to Renaissance Faire garb. I have a fabulous set of leather and buckle cuffs. And matching collar. They are great for a night at a club. Or LARPing.

I'm not ashamed of that side of me either. It's not one that I advertise, because it has made other people uncomfortable. Or confused. I project the pink and fluffy side far more than I think I do. Especially online. Having hit my mid-30's, there is this pressure to always be grown up and sophisticated. I've never considered myself to be either. But I can fake it for a time. I even enjoy it. It's just another form of playing pretend, like LARP and Renn Faire.

But what voice to use here? The question is balance. An old friend, my oldest friend, was amused that my blog is all pink and sweet, but my first post references the web comic Devil's Panties. She said it fits me perfectly. Another friend, a newer one, laughed that my flash fics went from baking apple pie to...well, that's for this Friday. No spoilers today, sorry. I suppose, for now, I will just go back and forth, the way I do in "real" life. I am not just a Pollyanna nor am I a gothic pin-up girl or strictly a gamer grrl. I am all that and more. I hope those of you that are just getting to know me will enjoy the twists and turns tossed on as I meander through life. I do.

Jack Frost

2010-09-24T07:21:00.000-07:00

The frigid air sears my lungs, making it harder to run. My gasps for air and pounding heartbeat do nothing to drown out the scratching sound of my pursuer. Skeletal branches, so hauntingly poetic in the day, petrify me in the dark. The pregnant moon spotlights my every move. The barren branches offer no shadows to hide me. Ice coated brambles grab my sodden jacket. Panic explodes through me. I rip free, and finally reach the clearing that holds my home.

My sanctuary. I see the warm glow of the fire in the windows; smell the smoke from the chimney. It’s so close, a mere twelve feet away.

There’s no way to run silently in snow. The glittering crust cracks with every footstep, the sound magnified by my terror. I hit a deep drift and it swallows my leg up to my knee. Exhausted, I struggle to keep moving.

Chattering little creatures pour from the tree line, an otherworldly dance troupe flitting across the top of the snow. Their icy skin glows in the moonlight. A part of my soul yearns to dance with them. It makes me hesitate, just a moment too long. The creeping ice touches the back of my leg, jolting me back to reality with a burning intensity.

Survival instinct spurs me forward, struggling to reach porch. I hear the radio murmuring “…composed in 1946…” Behind me, the corps de ballet relentlessly spin and leap, erasing the ugly scars my trail left on their stage. With soaked clothes now made of ice, I pull myself up the steps and stretch desperately for the door. Thick frost creeps down my arm.

“…roasting on an open…”

My fingers stiffen like my frozen clothes; I fumble at the door knob. It is impossible to grip. I cannot even cry as the crystalline beast dances up my shoulder and peers into my eyes.

“…Jack Frost nipping at your nose…”

Smart Chicks have more fun

2010-09-23T10:29:00.000-07:00

It is always a joy to go to a signing. There is nothing as fun as being a total fangirl in a crowd of people just a obsessed as you are. Last night I had the immense pleasure of attending the Smart Chicks Kick It tour with a few friends. If a signing with fangirls for one author is fun, multiply that by 6.

Alyson Noel, Carri Ryan, Melissa Marr, Kelley Armstrong, Jackson Pearce, and Jennifer Barnes

I've seen Kelley and Melissa before - they came to the wonderful Anderson Bookstore last year, and I got hooked. I'd been reading Kelley's books for sometime, but had never had the fun of going to a book signing. I'm very happy to tell you that the wit and humor that you read in their books is just as apparent in person.

Getting ready for the raffle

One of the things I love about signings are the little things that you learn in passing. The lightening round of questions was particularly informative: This whirlwind tour was planned on a lunchtime phone call between Alyson, Kelley and Melissa....and yet Melissa is clearly considered the ringleader. Who will eventually get them all arrested. They aren't entirely sure what she will talk them into, but every last panelist was quite certain she would be the reason they would be calling home for bail money. (Melissa wants everyone to know she has never been in jail. Thank you.)

In more concrete news- as in there will be books for me to buy - Kelley has been contracted for up to book 9 in her YA Darkest Powers series. And there will be an anthology of stories written by the various authors that have been on the tour. (There are 16, I believe.) In the stories, there will be some lucky individual from each stop that gets to be killed horribly. (Because, as Melissa pointed, to do it at the signing would leave too many witnesses. I don't know why they think she'd get them arrested. She's clearly one smart cookie. If you listen to her, you won't get caught.)

Brilliant, beautiful, and too sweet to be jealous of: Jennifer Barnes

Jennifer Barnes is on her way to publishing the sequel to the fabulous Raised by Wolves, for which I could not be more excited. I grabbed this book in large part because I HATE going to a signing with more than one author and not having read something from each. I do, however, love finding new gems in preparation for an event. And this book is definitely a treasure. I love the new twist on werewolves, and the way I was completely drawn into her world. For the benefit of the spoiler-phobic, I'll stop there.

Jackson Pearce - Full of smiles and laughter.

I didn't manage to read something from everyone, which was disappointing to me. I love being able to talk to the authors about what I liked, and have a chance to ask questions about the characters. But Jackson, Carrie and Alyson were so kind about me not being able to read their work yet. Alyson's book, Evermore, is sitting next to me, impatiently waiting for my attention. Jackson is quite the character. Her storytelling abilities on the the stage were fantastic, and had me laughing every time. I can't wait to check out her books. And I've check the bank account several times to remind myself that I can't run out to the bookstore and pick up The Dead-Tossed Waves (Carrie Ryan) or Sisters Red (Jackson Pearce) until pay day.

It's killin' me.

Can you guess which blond, blue eyed wolf this is? Yes. I'm that big of a geek.

I have to laugh at myself a bit. This all started because I'm a big giant geeky fan of Kelley, and couldn't resist a chance to meet her. One year later, I have 5 more authors that I am desperately hoping swing back this way so I can meet them again. There is so much more that is tumbling in my brain to share, some of which, I think would only be funny to those who were there. One more reason to get off your duffs and get to any signing that you can. It's so worth it.

It isn't just the possibility of swag that calls me to these events. Or knowing that my entire collection of Kelley books are now signed. (That's certainly a perk.) It's the laughter and silliness. It's sharing a moment with like minded people, talking to fellow fans about what touched us, or made us laugh. Why we like a particular character, or what we don't like about a particular scene. I walked away from last night with reasons to re-read and re-examine books that I love, to see them from a new perspective. I got encouragement to keep adventuring through my own writing. I got, for a brief moment, to see my some of my literary heroines kicking ~~ass~~ it and tell them how well they are doing it. I hope everyone takes the opportunity to go to a signing. What you get from them is so much more than a signature.

Favorite Fangirl Moment. Smart Chicks Rock.

I am going to add one game here from last night. Pick an author from the tour and tell me which of their characters you'd shag, which one you'd marry and which one you'd toss off a cliff. For me, I have to go with Kelley's Otherworld series. How you could possibly pick anyone but Nick for the first, I don't know. I can only imagine what tricks he can do. *flushes* Antonio for the second, and Thomas Nast can get tossed.

What about you?

How soon is too soon for Halloween?

2010-09-21T13:33:00.000-07:00

Does anyone else remember the days when we didn't start shopping for a holiday until the month it was in? School supplies were pulled the first week of September, and the Halloween candy has been taunting me ever since. (Damn you, candy corn!) We still have more than a month until the day actually arrives! Do you really think I could keep a bag of candy in the house until then? Pfft. Even if I didn't have kids, that would take an act of God. And who needs to buy those flimsy pre-made pieces of crap costumes this early?

I think that is the part of modern day Halloween that depresses me the most. It feels like we plan and plot so much earlier for Halloween, and yet we use a fraction of the imagination and ingenuity that I remember from childhood. It's all store bought. It's not so much that people didn't plan for Halloween this early when I was younger, it's that they worked hard for the reactions they got. Peeling grapes for fake eyeballs is a labor of love, no doubt about it.

My mom was never a big Halloween fan, and yet she came up with some great ideas - usually on the fly and costing very little money. My younger sister went as a gangster one year - Al Capone style - in our brother's suit, an old felt hat, and some artfully applied make up for a mustache and five o'clock shadow. The baby in the family (there are 19 cousins on mom's side, and most of us wore this at least once) wore the green sleeper pajamas with pom poms sewn on the front and a goofy clown wig to keep their head warm. The plastic bowler hat got passed around too, to be worn with a white sheet and painted white face. What's wrong with being a ghost?

Freakin' loved these costumes

My family is not the only people that I remember being inventive with costumes. One mom made herself into a Hersey's Kiss with some wire and aluminum foil. A high school buddy wore a dark ankle length robe with a hood. He'd be at the front of the line as a monk, then pull the hood up as he went to the back of the pack, grab his scythe from a friend and take up the rear guard as Death. (Ah, Darbro, you will forever be my Halloween Hero.) What happened to that kind of adventure?

When did Halloween become about pimping your kid's favorite tv show? Or dressing like you have a pimp? I like to dress up, I like to look sexy, but seriously, can we please have some women's costumes that don't look they belong at Hef's house? October in Chicago is not the time to be wandering around half naked.

My sister is the Halloween fanatic of the family, and she plans the outfits every year. They are always fabulous, even if most of them are store bought. She finds ways to make them unique. I acknowledge that the days of strictly homemade costumes are gone. However, this is the first year we have done anything affiliated with anything famous. In honor of my oldest finally discovering that books are better than movies, we are doing a Harry Potter theme.

Can't you just see her poppin' Draco in the face?

Abby girl will make a perfect Hermione - she's got the wavy hair and know-it-all attitude down to a T. John is excited to don the glasses and scar of Harry. We may even darken his hair for the day. We are buying robes, but sewing on the patches. I'm knitting the scarves, thanks to Charmed Knits. I'm also making some really awesome wand cozies for them to carry their wands around. If I can find the time.what was I saying about it being too early to plan for Halloween...

Just started yesterday. Any bets on if I'll finish in time?

Thank you for SPEAKing out

2010-09-19T20:45:00.000-07:00

I've watched the posts fly through the 'net about the idiot who wants to ban the book SPEAK. And I've retweeted, and shared on facebook some of the blogs that are shouting him down.

I've tried about a dozen times now to add my voice to this chorus, and words are failing me.

I am a rape survivor.

It's a fact that some of my family members are not even aware of. They don't read this, that I am aware of, and if they do...I'm sorry that this is the way you are finding out. It's been a long time since it happened, and there's no easy way to bring up the topic.

There's never a good way or time to bring up the topic, to tell someone what happened. You feel so alone, so ashamed, so afraid. Books like SPEAK are a lifeline, especially to the teens that go through this. So thank you, to all of you who are speaking out, who are finding the words that I can't.

Bea's Book Nook
Jackie Kessler
Sarah Ockler
Raven Ashley
Alison's Bookmarks
Mad Woman in the Forest

I know there are so many others out there that are helping and talking. You have my gratitude and my admiration. Thank you so much.

Why is the rum gone?

2010-09-16T17:37:00.000-07:00

I love Talk Like a Pirate Day. From silly sea shanties to funny outfits, it's just pure fun. If you've never partook of the the festivities, you should check out the website: International Talk like a Pirate Day

And just to add to it all, don't forget that that it's also Hermione Granger's birthday. The wonderful Tom Smith even wrote a perfect song to combine the two events. Hey, it's Can(non) is a stitch to listen to.
Tom Smith Online - Free songs I wish I could provide a better link. It's on the list.

In the meantime, I hope you like the flash fic in honor of the day:

Raising Pirates

Sitting at the desk in her cubby hole of a home office, desperate to finish her piece before the deadline, Annie attempted to tune out the raucous group of hooligans terrorizing the house. The repeated and irregular thump of 14 year old Jack’s basketball against the shared wall reminded her of cannon volleys. It warred with the drum beat from William’s Caribbean music as the 18 year old tried to hide the prohibited presence of his giggling girlfriend. Sam and his friend Paul were again tearing apart the living room to build forts, stashing their treasures in odd places, and swearing vengeance on invisible foes who would steal their riches, as only 10 year olds can.

Annie sighed, checked the time, and weighed her options. Was it worth it to round up the ruffians and make them mind? After a moment, she opened the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out a bottle.

“This, my friends, is why the rum is gone.”

New routines

2010-09-16T12:03:00.000-07:00

I have always loved the start of school. The new supplies, the change in weather, the return to familiar routines, with the promise of new discoveries. Getting the kids back on a routine has been fairly easy. But this year, I'm struggling with my own. None of my classes are at the same time, so everyday runs very differently. Hubby's schedule changes from day to day as well, which also throws me for a loop. I'm always forgetting which days he goes in late, and he often decides last minute to stay late on the days he goes in early. So I'm three weeks into the school year, and it all still feels brand new.

In addition to a full load of classes, several sewing projects, two kids, and two cats, I've added writing and blogging to the mix. And am loving it! But I'm now looking for a way to keep on task. I have a shiny new schedule/calendar, courtesy of my university, a white board that the we never use anymore (gotta get some more markers) and zero good habits about checking things once I write them down.

I don't have a cell phone, but a rarely go anywhere without my laptop, so I really ought to set up something on here. Any calendar/schedule programs that people can recommend?

Reminiscing

2010-09-11T09:33:00.000-07:00

My grandmother passed away 3 years ago this month. It's not the only reason I associate this time of year with her, and certainly not the best. She was a reserved person, not afraid to speak her mind, but who believed her actions said it all. She fostered my love of good books and homebaked goodies.

In honor of Marian Jean.

Reminiscing

My daughter’s chin rests on the table as she watches me slice the peeled apples. I smile down at her and remember watching you.

The crisp of the knife sliding through the apple’ flesh releases its tart scent. The chopping rhythm reminiscent of a metronome. Setting the pace for the masterpiece being created. I snack on crunchy peels as you scoop up the slices and deposit them in the big bowl. Quick, deft movements as you measure out the sugar, flour, grate the fresh nutmeg and the spicy cinnamon. The confident dash of ginger added to the mix. Kneeling on the chair, I listen to your soft instructions as you ‘help’ me coat the apples.

Her hands seem so small, and I wonder if you thought the same thing, all those years ago. Together we flip the slices over and over in the goopy mess, laughing when a pocket of still dry mixture flies up at us. Her exuberance delights me. I can’t remember why I hadn’t taught her this before.

I play with patterns, laying the apple wedges one way and then another, changing with each new ring. In the center, you show me how to lay one over the other making a heart. Every pie is made with love.

The top crust is rolled out, and she stops me for a moment. Having shown her the same trick with the slices, my impulsive little one wants to expand the theme. Bolting for the cabinet, leaving flour finger prints along the way, she triumphantly pulls out the cookie cutters. The little heart, too small for cookies, has never been used. It makes perfect vents in the dough. She is so proud. I can just imagine your amusement at her.

The kitchen is warm and filled with the mouthwatering smell of fresh baked pie. You crack the window to let in the cool air, bringing in the smell of fallen leaves and sending out the aroma of apples and cinnamon to those clearing the yard. The two swirl together, the perfect fall memory.

The boys clamor in, taking a break from yard work to beg for a snack. My daughter’s braids flail as she jumps, pleased as punch to see her father and brother’s reaction to what we’ve made. I grab the plates and forks as she chatters at them about all she accomplished this afternoon. I listen as the banter slowly turns to praise as everyone digs in. I look at my piece, and smile at the perfect heart in the crust. I have no memory of you ever telling me “I love you.” But I know that you did.

A very big thank you to Danielle who got me hooked on writing these, and helps me edit them!

Who told them they could grow up?

2010-09-06T09:43:00.000-07:00

So, Abby's ready for earrings, and John...well John has discovered girls. Not that he didn't know they were there before. He came home with his first set of digits (phone numbers, people, not fingers!) when he was five. From a girl 2 years older than him. But I'm fairly certain he didn't ask for them. Something about big blue eyes with the kind of lashes that most women pay good money for seem to garner him attention. Not that he notices. Noticed. Now things have changed.

I'm jealous of those lashes!

So this week, I had a moment of panic, when he was 30 minutes late getting home from school. This is the first year he's gone to a school close enough for him to walk home. And he's old enough to want to walk without his mother. *gently dabs the tears away* I get in the car, drive as far as the corner of our street, and there he is. Skipping. Grinning. Blushing bright red. I am relieved. Happy to see him. Mad that he is so frakkin' happy when he is in so much trouble.

After thoroughly startling the grin off his face, and telling him he needs to come straight home, I asked him just what kept him so long. And the grin sneaks back. He walked a girl home. One he's known since kindergarten, and who's had a crush on him for about as long. She lives closer to the school than we do, and in the opposite direction. But her mother didn't come to walk her home. Somehow that was brought to John's attention, and he just couldn't let her go by herself. Walking her home was the gentlemanly thing to do. And they aren't in the same class, or have the same recess...they miss each other. *facepalm* I am not ready for this.

Now it's not like I haven't had clues. He pretends to not watch anything that has to do with kissing. In a protest too much kind of way. And at fireworks this summer, he was pretending the explosions were alien missiles, along with a few kids near us. When I told them to settle down and watch the show, he inched next to one of the girls. A moment later came the most startling thing I could have heard. "Y'know, if the aliens are coming, we should be prepared for the worst. Or at least hold hands."
O_o
Excuse me?
I don't know what's worse. Hearing that from my 9 year old, or the fact that it WORKED! Someone needs to talk to that girl. I have to deal with Cassanova. I prefer the days of unasked for phone numbers.

Hope

2010-09-02T11:31:00.000-07:00

Eyes closed, I feel the world blurring around me. The wind cools and caresses my skin. Gravity has no meaning. I soar; I fly, I escape the world below. I open my eyes and savor the sight of the sky rushing to meet me, and the transitory sorrow when it recedes.

The smell of fresh cut grass, leaves wet from last night’s rain, even the tang of weather roughened metal chains take me into a timeless moment. One that never changes, regardless of my age. I lean back, legs and arms stretched to help my body slice through the air, striving to get higher, go faster.

I believe I can launch myself into the clouds if only I gather enough speed. I pull my limbs in, protecting myself from the disappointment of sliding back toward the earth, only to fling them out again. Hope springs eternal. Maybe this time I can reach the heavens, dance with angels and lost loved ones among the gloriously lit swirls floating across the skies.

I retreat from my goal one last time, determined to reach my destination. The swing hits its pinnacle and I let go. My body soars upward and stops. For a split second I hang there. My arms windmill, hands reaching for something to pull myself closer to the clouds.

The fall is heartbreaking. Frightening. Exhilarating. I land in a crouch, softening the impact. My hands dig into the damp dirt, releasing its earthy scent, the spongy feel of it brings me back to the present. The chain creaks as the empty swing twists. I close my eyes and I can feel the world slowing around me.

Icelandic knitting

2010-08-31T14:37:00.000-07:00

Ok...so I follow all sorts of things. Knitting is clearly a much loved hobby, and I joined Ravelry to meet other yarn addicts like myself. That's where I ran into Olof's blog. She makes beautiful toys, among other things, but the toys are what I love to see come to life.

She's posted a contest for cowl kits, her own design, to be made with Malabrigo merino worsted yarn in Garden Gate. (excuse my twitching hands, I'm trying to not reach out and stroke the yarn.)

Go take a peek at the pretties and throw your hat in the ring for the goodies. :)

http://icelandicgardener.blogspot.com/

My first ever flash fic gulp

2010-08-29T16:48:00.000-07:00

Dream

I lay in the comfort of your arms, slowing my breathing to match yours, willing my heart to beat in time with the rhythm of yours. The worries and fears of the day, of my life, disappear as my senses are filled by your presence. There is only us, isolated from the world by nothing but the weight of the quilt and it is enough. It is everything.

The buzzing alarm jerks me awake, and I feel tears prick my eyes. Who would have thought good dreams could make you weep.

A day at the doctor with my daughter

2010-08-28T20:19:00.000-07:00

Well, actually, it was the Nurse Practitioners, but that wrecks the alliteration.

I usually have no problems with this place. Everyone is very friendly and helpful. So I go there for the easy things, like school physicals. I think there was one year with John that they got a bit backed up and it took almost an hour, but today...today I was horribly disappointed and irritated by the way things were being done.

They decided to try an assembly line tactic, with a nurse manning each station, and two nurse practitioners for the examinations, which take a bit longer. And it all went really well. Except at one station, where the nurse seemed to think that 3 - 5 minute task at hand should take a minimum of 10 minutes, and that it would be a good idea to chatter at her co-workers, who were WITH PATIENTS, in between dealing with her own patients. So a process that has never before taken more than 50 minutes, from check-in to walking out, took 3 hours.

Thank the powers that be that it was an appointment for Abby and not John. He would have been climbing the walls after the first hour, and pulling them down out of boredom by the second. Abby-girl, however, decided to turn on the charm. (Which explains how she got crayons, a coloring book and a couple of lollipops BEFORE she got to the shots.) As the nurses waited for (and subtlely prodded) their errant coworker to pick up the pace, Abby coyly answered questions, playing shy at first and then showing off as time went by. She made up great descriptions for the pictures on the eye tests. There's a heart, a leedle heart and teeny baby heart, a couple of moon looking shapes, and the thing that you use to make vampires go away. (That's my girl.) And that's not a diamond. Those sparkle. It's a square on its corner. (Lord help whoever dates her.) She bravely handled the finger stick and blood draw for the lead test, and shed no tears over getting her shots. In fact, afterward she told me she knows she's ready to get her ears pierced because the needles don't bother her. The nurses found that hysterical. I did too, if only because I knew what her father's reaction is to her getting her ears pierced...

She's already plotting how to get his permission. *grin* Any bets on whether she gets them for her birthday in January?

How many projects can I have going?

2010-08-27T11:36:00.000-07:00

Surplice cami being done in sunset colors

I used to hate starting a new project when I was in the middle of another - perhaps the large amount of unfinished sewing in my little craft corner weighs heavily on my mind. But lately, I've discovered that having a few projects 'on the side' let me keep working while taking a break from a large piece or a frustrating one.

I have nominally 'finished' a baby blanket - gotta' wait for gender indentification to add the appropriate border. I have another baby blanket, two sets of slippers, a camisole/boyshort set for myself, and a second cami for me all in WIP status. And just found out I'll be an auntie again come March, so add another blanket to the list.*blink* How'd that happen? (Not the baby thing. I'm good on that issue. Not thinking about it. That's my little brother. Ew.) I've never taken on so many projects at once. And oddly, rather than finding it overwelming, I finding it motivating.

slip your toes in

piece work for baby blanket #2

I love being able to work with the different patterns: changing colors, needle sizes and styles of work based on my mood, available time and where I'm at. I can carry the slippers with me and work on them while at my mom's or in the waiting room of the doctor's office. (Love those school physicals.) The blanket or camisoles can occupy my hands while catching up on a show. (The scarlett cami goes great with True Blood, the bright pink and green of the baby blanket matches the silliness of Psych and Leverage.)

lace for boyshorts

There is the occasion moment of frustration that I've done all this work, and have nothing completed. But one of the benefits of digital cameras and trying to share my work with people means I have reference pics of my progress. With digitally date stamped photos. :D It's fun to look at the progression of something. But I love being able to show off a finished item

One down, it's match and one more set to go.

So what do you do to keep motivated when you feel like you've been working on something forever, and not getting anywhere? This can be for crafts, home improvements, writing...what keeps you going? Do you like to have several things in the pipeline all at once, or do you focus on on thing at a time?

New Yarn

2010-08-26T16:34:00.000-07:00

A fellow knitter has a really great blog. She makes gorgeous toys and is lucky enough to try out some great new yarns. She's offering up a chance to get a cotton/wool blend that looks amazing. Take a look:

http://icelandicgardener.blogspot.com/

And tomorrow we will be back to our regularly schedule notes from me... :)

Smart Chicks Kick It Interview

2010-08-26T12:05:00.000-07:00

Jennifer Barnes is going to be on a book tour with one my all time favorite authors (Kelley Armstrong) and Bitten by Books has an interview with her up on their site.
She shares some interesting thoughts on why she writes YA vs. adult fiction. You should check it out. :)

http://bittenbybooks.com/?p=29757

Another year....

2010-08-18T10:56:00.000-07:00

I turn 35 in a few days...and I think it's going to be one of those things that doesn't hit me until it's actually here. I didn't have a problem when I turned 30. I don't think I really thought about it until I was 31, and someone said, "Well now you are IN your 30s."

That was a somewhat sobering thought.

I have never been the kind of person to make a list of things to achieve by a certain age. But there are things that I'd like to accomplish, and the realization that I have only so much time to do it in was a big one. So what have I done since the gobsmacking realization that I'm not 'a kid' anymore?

I went back to school. Got through the first year with flying colors and rediscovered my love of learning. I will get a second bachelor's degree with in the next year and a half, will apply, and get accepted into a Master's program. I will earn that Master's degree and continue on to a PhD.

I lost 40 lbs. I am at my ideal weight for the first time since I had my now 9 year old son. I need to tone, to gain endurance, but I am healthier than I have ever been.

I picked up knitting and crocheting again, with an eye on learning new techniques and skills. I was thrilled to find people who thought I do good work. Flattered that others with far more experience were impressed with what I can do, which is making me work on harder and harder pieces.

In the last year, I lost...not a friend, because sadly, I was not able to get to know her better...but an acquaintence who I admired and will always think of fondly. She was young, but had this energy and attitude that just couldn't help but make you smile. She was interested in EVERYTHING. Her death made me stop a moment and remember again that having goals meant nothing if you didn't try to reach them. She had a love of belly dancing - something I have always wanted to learn. So in her honor/memory, and to feed my own natural curiosity, I took her advice and have been learning through videos on youtube. I hope someday to take classes.

I am anticipating 35 to be just another year. Another step on a journey that really has no end. I hope that it is one filled with new ideas, new adventures, new and old friends. We'll see if I have that "Oh crap, I'm old" moment this weekend.

To new beginnings

2010-08-14T18:12:00.000-07:00

I have long admired the people who put themselves out there on this big wide web and talk about their lives. Who share their thoughts, ambitions, and work with all and sundry, leaving themselves open to the criticism and ridicule of thoughtless (or malicious) strangers. But as I have read the blogs and musing of my friends and acquaintences, and seen the comments that they have recieved, I realize that there's just as much support to be found. So here goes my attempt to blog. :)

I have been knitting for 5 and 1/2 years now. Crocheting for 4. I enjoy it a great deal, and only just recently came to realize that I'm actually kinda good at. The process is fun, though occasionally frustrating, as any good hobby is. I hope can share it with you in an entertaining way.

Here's a quick comic, from one of my favorites: Devil's Panties - no it's not satanic porn

Yes, things like that happen a lot.