Romantic Currency

Romance is not dead in America. I know this because my husband received a dollar bill in change at McDonalds the other day that someone had written on in bright pink marker, “I’ll love you until the end of time.” (At least I hope it was given to him randomly and not purposely from some crazed, stalker woman who works at the drive-up window and has an eye for middle-aged, married, accountants.) He has been eating there a lot since the economy tanked—the dollar menu is a lifesaver for a man who refuses to carry a sack lunch.

Anyway, if you don’t live by the seashore, and have no opportunity to write a love note, stuff it in a bottle, and litter the ocean—defacing currency is another option to getting those romantic thoughts out on paper. In fact, it has a much better chance of being read than many newspapers. No one will line the bottom of a birdcage with dollar bills, soak up grease on a garage floor, or use them for washing windows. Newspapers don’t fare so well.

Just thought you might need some ideas for next month—being that it is the designated month for romance and love. Besides notes in bottles and writing on currency, here are a few more suggestions to liven up your love life and perhaps brighten the day of the one you love:

1. Rent a billboard that says, “Susie loves Johnny” in big, bold, letters. (but only if your names are Susie and Johnny.)
2. Carve a love poem in the bark of a tree. (preferably one in your own yard)
3. Write X’s and O’s on your body with washable marker. (Hopefully he won’t think you want to play a game of tic tac toe)
4. If all else fails—cook a big old pot of pasta and turn on the TV to an action movie—food with explosions is the easiest way to a man’s heart.

Doppleganger

As a child I never played with Barbi dolls, so I didn’t have unrealistic dreams or body image. I did play with GI Joe though. That may explain some things. Like why I enjoy shooting guns and think guys in army fatigues are pretty hot (I’ve seen the buff, plastic bodies beneath that camouflage). But as a teen I didn’t starve myself or exercise like a fiend, or pore over fashion magazines, wishing I could be something I wasn’t. I was basically “comfortable in my own skin,” as innumerable writers parrot in their novels and really makes no sense whatsoever. Whose skin would they be comfortable in, if not their own? Is it possible to trade skins with someone? Well, we won’t go there. Silence of the Lambs was probably one of the creepiest movies I’ve ever seen. Watching that man sew women’s skin into a lovely new pelt for himself completely squelched my desire to be a seamstress. But was it comfortable, you may ask. I think not.

Anyway, when I was young(er) I would’ve been fine with someone walking up to me and saying, “You look just like___ so and so. (Blondie or Olivia Newton John, or someone I thought was hip and cool. And on occasion they did. Of course, it was usually, “you look just like your brother,” which is never a compliment to a girl.) But it’s been a long time since I’ve had one of those moments. Until now.

I’m pretty sure that even if I had dark hair random people on the street would not come up to me and say, “You look just like Sarah Palin.” I was just as sure that I would never be told I looked like another political celebrity. But when you are informed, not once, not twice, not three times, but more, that you look like so and so, you begin to wonder if you’re living in denial, or you definitely need glasses.

Now to be honest, the strange glances I get on the street could just be my imagination. I’ve always been slightly paranoid that someone is looking at me funny. No one has ever run up and asked me if they could take a picture with me or if I would kiss their baby, but that may have to do with the person I resemble. I don’t think she gets a lot of babies thrust her way because she’s kind of scary.

But when my husband has a photograph of me on his desk and his clients either ask why he has a picture of Hillary Clinton, or informs him that his wife looks like Hillary Clinton, I have to look in my magnifying mirror a little closer. What are these people seeing?

Next—I went to buy a motorcycle last summer and gave the salesman my drivers license. He informed me that the guys in the backroom all thought I looked like…you got it! Hillary Clinton.

After that demoralizing episode—I thought I looked like Meg Ryan in that picture (before she pumped her lips)—it took me a very long time to get past my Hillary Doppleganger phobia. But I finally did. I quit thinking about it. I put it behind me. I was once again “comfortable in my own skin.”

Then this past Wednesday I went to get my hair cut. I wanted to make sure the lady knew what I was asking for, so I brought along a photo of myself with the style I preferred. She glanced at it and nodded, then took me back to the sink. While she’s lathering my hair with shampoo, she says, “That was a nice picture of Hillary. She looked real pretty in it.”

Completely baffled and confused, I quench my eyes up, (probably exactly like Hillary would) and say, “What?”

“The picture you showed me,” she says nonchalantly.

I laugh. You know that hysterical laugh that Hillary does sometimes when she hates the person she’s talking to and wishes she could punch them in the eye instead? It sounded like that. I say, “That was a picture of me.”

“No it wasn’t!” she argues, as though lying about bringing the picture is weirder than the thought that I would really bring a picture of Hillary to a salon and ask to look like her on purpose.

She demands to see it again and I show it to her. “Wow, you two could be sisters!” she says with complete and utter awe. She’s a big fan of Hillary, you see. She’s from New Jersey and a dyed-in-the-wool democrat.

I should have taken this latest episode as a compliment. She informed me that it was. But I’m having a hard time dealing with living in Hillary’s skin. It’s scary in here. I’m angry a lot and have these ambiguous feelings that someone did me wrong. But don’t worry. I’ll get back at them, if it’s the last thing I do.

My Doppleganger

(Book Review) "Thicker than Blood" by C.J. Darlington

TitleTrakk.com Blog Tours Presents:

Thicker than Blood
by C.J. Darlington
Published by Tyndale House

Winner of the
2008 Christian Writers Guild Operation First Novel Contest!

Christy Williams finally has her life on track. She’s putting her past behind her and working hard to build a career as an antiquarian book buyer. But things begin to unravel when a stolen Hemingway first edition is found in her possession, framing her for a crime she didn’t commit. With no one to turn to, she yearns for her estranged younger sister, May, whom she abandoned after their parents’ untimely deaths. Soon, Christy’s fleeing from her shattered dreams, her ex-boyfriend, and God. Could May’s Triple Cross Ranch be the safe haven she’s searching for? Will the sisters realize that each possesses what the other desperately needs before it’s too late?

About the Author:
C. J. began writing the story that would become Thicker than Blood (her first novel) when she was a fifteen-year-old homeschool student. She has been in the antiquarian bookselling business for over a decade, scouting for stores similar to the one described in the novel before cofounding her own online bookstore. Thicker than Blood was the winner of the 2008 Christian Writers Guild Operation First Novel.

C. J. co-founded the Christian entertainment Web site TitleTrakk.com with her sister, Tracy, and has been actively promoting Christian fiction through book reviews and author interviews. She makes her home in Pennsylvania with her family and their menagerie of dogs and cats. Visit her website www.cjdarlington.com for more info.

Barbara's Review:
C.J. Darlington has a cool name. It just shouts writer, don’t you think?” She also has a love of books that is obvious in her story telling.

In her first novel, Thicker than Blood, two sisters live in totally different worlds. Separated by years of remorse and confusion after the death of their parents, both are doing what they love most. May owns and runs a ranch, while Christy works for an antiquarian bookseller. The difference is—Christy’s life is a mess. Just when she thinks things are starting to look up, her world comes crashing down. In the resulting mayhem she realizes that she has nowhere else to go but to the sister she ran out on fifteen years before.

C.J. Darlington strives to show how Christians should reflect the love of God and reach out to those wounded and hurting in a sinful world. Thicker than Blood is a sweet and tender story that reminds us that God does deal in second chances. It’s a story about forgiveness and redemption. If you like quiet, thoughtful stories, filled with interesting details, this is the novel for you.

Watch the Trailer:

Stating The Obvious

My husband thought I should probably download this new sarcasm symbol so that I will never be misunderstood again. I felt it was a bit extravagant to pay for something I ought to be able to get across with words I use for free every day.

I didn't realize I was being misunderstood. Now that I know, I'm sure I will try to tone the sarcasm down to a minimum. Of course, sarcasm is all in the eyes of the reader. If any of you out there think I'm too sarcastic, let me know. I have a comment box for just that reason. Come on, I dare you! Say something sarcastic–with or without the symbol to clarify your tone.

January Ramblings

This month has been one of the coldest I can remember. Probably because this type of memory is instantly erased from my brain’s hard drive in order to make room for more important things—like the names of my favorite authors, remembering to take my one-a-day vitamin, or how to use the toaster oven.

We’ve had more than our share of snow in Minnesota, but apparently even Florida is having bad weather days. Once again, freezing temps may have ruined their Orange crop. Which of course causes a chain of events that will roll on and on until we’re all doomed. The trees freeze and there are no oranges. No oranges means no juice. No juice means everyone in America will have colds and flu. More sickness means more trips to the doctor. Trips to the doctor means our health insurance goes up. Higher rates means more people drop their coverage because they can’t afford it. More uninsured families means government has a bigger base of hopelessness to worm their way into our lives. Obamacare means less chance of living through an illness. Dying early means the Democrats could end up being right. Maybe this health-care plan really will run in the black someday. (Which makes me wonder if global freezing is a government conspiracy.)

On the other hand, government wants to take all the tastiness out of our prepackaged foods. They’ve already forced companies to cut way back on sugar content. Can you even imagine what Sugar-frosted Flakes tastes like without sugar? And will they have to change the name to Just Plain Flakes? I doubt Tony the Tiger will be able to say, “They’re grrrreat!” with a straight face.

Now they are “urging” companies to cut back on salt in their foods. I’m sure it’s for our own good. Government is only trying to protect us from ourselves. When we buy a bag of greasy, salty, potato chips, we don’t realize how unhealthy they are. Someone has to control what we eat or we’ll kill ourselves. Although, I believe dying from too much salt might be preferable to choking to death on a rice cake.

The government also has studies to determine whether characters in children’s movies act “safe” enough. Are they wearing seatbelts in every car scene? Are they sporting bright, pointy helmets when riding bikes? Are they properly using crosswalks, or walking against the light? These are ways the government protects us. Heaven forbid if a cartoon character rides a skateboard without kneepads! What kind of an example would that be to our children?

Those pesky, little, government, hall monitors want to control everything we do. They think it’s up to them whether we live or die. I always thought God was in charge of that. Twenty-five years ago we weren’t watched over by the government nearly as well. No one told us to buckle up or wear a helmet, or cut down on fatty McDonald’s Happy Meals. I think we actually had to make those kinds of decisions for ourselves.

Well, since I began writing this, I believe Global Warming has picked up again. The temps are way up in the 20’s this afternoon. We may not have to worry about an Orange Juice shortage after all. But just to be on the safe side, I think I’ll buy a few more cans.

My life on pause in Nebraska

Once the ice and snowstorms passed, I went to Nebraska to visit my folks last week. But as you may have noticed, was unable to update my blog while there. Strangely enough, the neighbors around my parent’s home either have a very slow Internet connection (watch the page load until you fall asleep), or they have a secure wireless connection, (very untrusting for mid-westerners, don’t you think?). What—do they think someone is going to steal their identity or something?

My parents do not have Internet themselves because they feel it is an unnecessary expense. We bought them a computer a few years back but mom just went in once a week and deleted all the “forward” emails she received. (Junk mail that comes in the form of angel stories and flag waving political jargon from well-meaning types who request you send them on to ten other unsuspecting souls within an hour or your life will turn into an episode of “Murphy’s Law.”) She never quite mastered the use of the mouse and had better things to do than sit and wait for something to load on the screen. She could have an entire quilt blocked before the page came up. So now the computer sits disconnected in the basement and gathers dust.

Small town Nebraska hasn’t changed much since I was a teen. Except now the “old” people go to Walmart to do their power walking. The tiny mall has become almost obsolete. If it weren’t for JC Penney holding up one end, it probably would have closed years ago.

Driving through the small town is much more dangerous than taking 494 during rush hour traffic in Minneapolis. The average age driver seems to be 102. They turn corners in increments, little pauses every few feet, as though the car may spin out of control going 3mph. When traffic lights turn green, nothing happens. Finally, individuals wake from naps and try to remember where they’re going. If you honk at them they just get flustered and run into the car in front of them. Wait and see is a much safer strategy. Maybe you’ll get to the store before it closes and maybe not. Does it really matter? There’s always tomorrow—and if there’s not, then you didn’t need anything anyway.

Life is just slower and more laid back in Nebraska. Except when it comes to Big Red fans. Football can turn quiet corn farmers into frenzied, wide-eyed, loud-mouthed crazies. On game days the entire population wears blood red. They look like some cult that worships tomatoes. Nebraska—this is your brain on college football. Cracked.

Once out of Nebraska, traffic picked up and moved right along. I was home in time for dinner. And finally I could check my email. I immediately deleted all the “forwards” with a sigh of relief.