Time is Running Out...

Thanksgiving has come and gone, but as I look in the mirror today, I realize it hasn’t gone away completely. The turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, gravy, sweet potatoes, olives, green beans, croissants, pecan and peach pie with whipped cream are still lingering—or rather—looking as though they have permanently attached themselves to my hips and thighs.

This is not the most wonderful time of the year! It is the quickest weight gain in the shortest number of days time of year!

I thought it was bad when I was a freshman in college and gained a few pounds. Oh, to be that overweight freshman now…I dream of being that thin, that taunt, that unwrinkled.

But of course now my only hope is that my underwire support equipment will manage to keep things from hitting the floor.

Today was Black Friday—supposedly the biggest shopping day of the year—not counting, Christmas Eve, the day after Christmas, and a dozen other days designated as biggest shopping days. Everyone with a credit card or a roll of quarters was out shopping for bargains today. Me—I just sat home at my computer and shopped online. That doesn’t mean I sat here stress-free. Certainly not! Online shopping can be stressful too. Sometimes a page won't load fast enough and there's no one to ram my cart into.

The weather outside is frightful—icy fingers of January already reaching out to grasp us by the throat and pull us into a new year. November’s nearly over and December is just a 25k race to Christmas. Can’t we all slow down, turn off our electronic devices (unless it’s an ereader of course and you’re reading Entangled), and smell the freshly ground coffee beans? Cause this year is just flying by way too fast, and that means I have even less time to fulfill all those “last year’s resolutions” before the new ones come up.      

Turkey and Books

While you're digesting your turkey and dressing tomorrow afternoon, waiting for space to clear up in your gullet so you can shove a piece of pie down your throat before you pass out on the couch, crank up the old computer and check out these deals!

As you’ve probably heard over and over and over again, this Friday is THE Friday to shop until you drop, find the best deals ever (even if you have to rip them from some little old lady’s fingers), and pretty much save the country’s economy from spiraling into an abyss (according to government leaders), simply by buying things you don’t need, shoving money at cashiers for things that will break in less time than it takes your kids to wear the batteries out, and stocking up on lingerie you don’t feel in the mood to wear cause it’s FREEZING outside!

So instead of packing into an ice-encrusted vehicle at four in the morning, playing bumper cars in the parking lot for the closest parking space, and running bleary-eyed through the mall with your credit card super-glued to the tips of your fingers so you don’t have to keep searching for it at every checkout, you could relax in your easy chair with your laptop computer or Kindle and download any of these ebooks for the Black Friday special price of just 99¢.

This is a list of random authors who have added their book to the sale at Amazon. I am in no way promoting their work, but just passing the sale along. Feel free to check them out for yourself and see if any of these books are up your alley. 

http://www.amazon.com/Black-Friday-Kindle-eBook-Deals/lm/R3HVYOPMQCGUOO/ref=cm_lmt_srch_f_2_rsrssi2

My novel Entangled ebook 99¢ through Friday.

Now available in paperback $12.99

Happy Thanksgiving! Ready, set, go...shopping!!!!

The Tears of a Clown

I’ve seen a glimpse of the future if my husband should retire early, and it isn’t pretty. I think France was definitely on the right track when they recently raised their retirement age. Two grumpy old people living in the same house at the same time is not healthy. Men live longer if they continue to work and feel useful—which in turn keeps women out of prison for murder. It’s a win/win situation.

Recently my husband had his wrist broken in a motorcycle accident. He had to have a few adjustments, such as surgically implanting some nuts and bolts or something, like Frankenstein, only in the wrist and not the neck. But even though he had one perfectly good arm, he still thought I should help him dry off after he took a shower. (Really? As if! I’m not a nurse and I don’t do sponge baths.) He had to take a few days off work anyway, so he shouldn’t have been in such a hurry. Apparently he’s never heard of “drip dry.” Besides, when I had Lasik eye surgery, did I ask him to watch television for me? I don’t think so.

I walk the dogs in the woods everyday and sometimes, though I seriously try to avoid them if I can, I pass this elderly couple taking their daily stroll. The man usually carries a stick to fend off dogs or hapless children, and the woman carries a permanent frown on her face. It must be very heavy. They both seem rather angry at the world in general, and never greet me or respond to my hello. They hate dogs and made that known to me the first time I saw them. Now they just stare at my two little neutered pets as though they’re children of Cujo and hold their stick at the ready. I imagine their unhappiness stems from the man’s early retirement.

Have you ever noticed how men so readily fall into that helpless role, when they retire and are home all the time? Honey, where are my glasses? Honey, could you get me a drink? Honey, I can’t find my shoes. Honey, the batteries in the remote are dead. Honey, did you hide the keys to the car? (Of course I did. You’re legally blind.)

Another strange phenomenon I’ve noticed is that older men tend to get a bit weepy. Not my man of course. I definitely won’t allow it when that time comes. But “other” men. Sometimes it works out for them. Women think they’re suddenly being sensitive to their feelings or something, when really they just can’t stop. The testosterone is running dry and their tear ducts are swamped.

Charlie Rangel is a perfect example of this. He knew the ol’ tear ducts were his best bet to get off with a slap on the hand for his crimes, so he let’em have it full force. He never said he was sorry for cheating and lying, but he did look really sad that they maliciously accused him. He apologized to the committee for any embarrassment he may have caused them by having to go through this charade of a trial against a completely innocent man who never did anything intentionally wrong, but may have “accidentally” forgotten to pay taxes for seventeen years on his house in the Dominican Republic. The Democrat term for this is “Good faith mistakes.” The way he acted, I’d call him a pathological liar or a perfect candidate for an Alzheimer study. Either way, they should have kicked his butt out of the House! After all, he actually is way past retirement age. Let his wife deal with him.

Book Review: Nightingale by Susan May Warren

About Nightingale: Esther Lange doesn’t love her fiancé—she’s trapped in an engagement after a mistaken night of passion.

Still, she grieves him when he’s lost in battle, the letters sent to her by the medic at his side giving her a strange comfort, so much that she strikes up a correspondence with Peter Hess, an Iowa farmboy. Or is he?  Peter Hess is not who he seems. Indeed, he’s hiding a secret, something that could cost them both their lives, especially when the past comes back to life. A bittersweet love song of the home front war between duty and the heart...a battle where only one will survive.

My Review:

Nightingale is set in a small town in Wisconsin, at the tail end of WWII. Esther is a young woman alive, but not really living. She’s in a holding pattern, waiting for the father of her toddler daughter to return from war, but secretly wishing he doesn’t. Living with his parents in a small town where gossip brews around her, she works as a nurse in the military hospital and tends to other survivors of the war, men who have returned with missing limbs, or worse, minds shattered by the carnage they have endured.

Esther has a gift for healing, even while her own wounds, the sins of her past, continue to eat away at her heart and soul. Unable to forgive herself, she has no reason to believe the God of the universe would freely shower his grace upon her in love and forgiveness. As an unwed mother, she deals with the harsh judgmental attitudes of those around her.

Peter is a medic, dealing with his own secret past. When Peter sends Esther a letter from Linus, and includes a personal note from himself as well, they start up a correspondence that begins to heal something inside them both.  

Nightingale is a real treat to read. The letters between Esther and Peter are lyrical. They made me wish for days of old, long before email and text messaging, when words were carefully constructed and thought out, and letters were preserved and read over and over until the paper was thin and lined with creases.

This is my first book by Susan May Warren, but it will not be my last. She has a wonderful way with words that brings you deep into the story, emotionally immersed in the lives, thoughts, and feelings of her characters. I wholeheartedly suggest you pick up a copy and read it for yourself—with a box of Kleenex at hand. 

You can buy Nightingale here. Be sure and check out the flip camera giveaway in the sidebar -->
Follow the blog tour:  http://www.litfusegroup.com/Blog-Tours/nightingale-by-susan-may-warren.html)
  I received a free copy of Nightingale so I could write a review.

Ambien Dreams: porpoises, flying cars, and chimney soot

Perhaps you missed it, but there was a story yesterday that involved Dick Van Dyke, the ocean, and a school of happy porpoises. He recounted how he fell asleep on his surfboard, was swept out to sea, and was pushed back to the safety of the shore by—you guessed it—Porpoises.

Okay, first off I thought, “You’ve got to be kidding me! What the heck is he doing on a surfboard? He’s eighty-four years old, for heaven sake!!”

Once I got past the age thing, my thoughts turned to drugs. I’m thinking he took Ambien. Even the commercials for that crazy sleeping pill admit to people going places, doing things, and not remembering any of it. Some people have been known to eat the entire contents of their refrigerator during the night, wake up with a bad case of heartburn, have chocolate syrup and catsup stains on their pj’s, and call the police cause they think someone broke in and stole their food.

Dick obviously didn’t want people to think he couldn’t remember how he got back to shore, so he made up this elaborate story about a choreographed porpoise rescue. He knows how hard-lined animal lovers are. They will fight to the death to save a squirrel with tuberculosis, and absolutely drool over terrific stories about animals saving people’s lives. Like the one about the porpoise who called 911 and saved a mermaid from choking to death on a string of seaweed. Okay, I made that one up, but you know what I mean. It’s usually a dog that warns his master of a catastrophic earthquake or a cat that calls for an ambulance when her mistress has a heart attack. Sweet stories that make tingles go down your leg, just the way Chris Matthews feels whenever he hears Obama speak or sees him shirtless on the beach.

Of course if a school of porpoises were going to rescue someone, the star of magical Disney movies where anything is possible, would definitely be at the top of their list. So, I’m stifling my natural tendency to doubt far-fetched stories, shutting my eyes tight, and chanting, “I believe. I believe. I believe in porpoise rescues at sea!” 

Death of Happy

The City by the Bay—also known as San Francisco—is once again on the cutting edge of reality. Always being first to do things--such as having ¾ of their city destroyed in an earthquake/fire in 1906, using their famous streetcars to advertise Rice a Roni as a treat, opening Alcatraz to house the cream of society, naming their football team with a number instead of an animal, and of course being the hometown of a coven of witches on the hit show, Charmed--San Francisco is now snatching joy from children.

Regardless of their famous bridge being called, “The Golden Gate,” the powers that be have now banned “happiness." Tiny tots and obese tots alike, passing through the golden arches of McDonalds, will no longer find that coveted plastic toy in their boxed lunch. I'm not sure if McDonalds will have to change the name of their meal to something like, Sad & Empty Meal, or Don't Eat Me Meal, before they satisfy the naysayers of fast food, but it's probably on the agenda for a later date.

The man who sponsored the measure to kill happiness said, “Our children are sick. Rates of obesity in San Francisco are disturbingly high...”

So, I assume from this statement that the children of San Francisco no longer eat Rice a Roni, but rely heavily on McDonalds for their every meal. A city by a bay must have fresh seafood available at the grocery store to go along with the San Francisco treat. Maybe instead of banning toys from Happy Meals, they could just require parents to serve seafood at least three times a week to their chubby children.

Personally, I don’t see how banning toys will change where the parents take the children for lunch. If mom wants a mushroom swiss burger with a side of fries, nobody is going to deter her. Besides, what kid goes to McDonalds to eat? They go to climb through the tube slides in the indoor playground and jump in the bouncy balls. I had to force my kids to sit at the table and take a few bites of their hamburger before getting lost in the maze of plastic. The toy was something they opened, looked at for a second, and lost under the seat of the car before we managed to get home.

This country does have a problem with obesity, but government restrictions on advertising toys for children is not the answer. Where does it stop? Banning rabbits from cereal boxes, elves from cookie packages, or arms and legs from little M&M characters? Stop the insanity! Red and Green have feelings too.

If the banning of toys and cartoons doesn’t work, what will be next? Take those kids into government custody and put them on a vegetable and fruit only diet? It’s the only guarantee for true “change.” Perhaps they could slip that somewhere into the health care bill. No one knows for sure what’s in it anyway.

I’m still scratching my head over how San Francisco’s children became so obese. You would think if those kids just walked a couple blocks to school every day, they would work off a happy meal. With streets as steep as a Harry Potter cliffhanger, their little legs should be thin and muscular.

I’m surprised by San Francisco’s response to obesity though. After all, they are the city known for expressing personal freedoms. The “summer of love,” same-sex marriage, gay rights activists, and “don’t ask, don’t tell” sanctuary for illegal aliens, are just a few of the causes they have fought hard for. Why then are they so prejudice against chubby children? Can’t we all just get along? 

The Inability to Change Disorder

Someone once said, “you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” According to the Dog Whisperer, you actually can, but teaching old people new tricks…that’s a whole other program.

After about fifteen years with a cordless phone, I still find myself standing directly in front of the wall where the old phone once hung, as though tethered by the ghost of phone calls past. When I suddenly realize I have no reason to stand there to talk, I walk nonchalantly around the house for the rest of the conversation, but then return to the wall as I’m getting ready to hang up. Why? I have no idea, but the invisibility rule applies to my cell phone as well. 

I bought a cordless mouse for my computer because my shoulder was suffering from the awkward position I apparently held it in as I clicked away, surfing the web. But my brain still doesn’t believe. An invisible cord controls the position of my mouse and how far it can move. No matter that my shoulder muscles have become tied in knots even a sailor couldn’t figure out, I still can’t seem to move the darn thing to the other side of my desk for longer than a few seconds before unconsciously moving it back. I guess that’s why it’s called a “magic mouse.”

So I’ve decided to use this Inability to Change Disorder, for my own good.

Now when I need more exercise I just rearrange my cupboards. Put the plates where the bowls once were, glassware where baking dishes once sat, pots and pans in the cupboard where Tupperware should be. Before you know it, I’m opening and slamming cupboard doors, my blood pressure is rising, my heartbeat quickens, and I feel those endorphins screaming to get out just like when I exercise on the Nordic track.

I moved the garbage can under the kitchen sink from the left side to the right side about four years ago. For at least two of those years, every time I wanted to throw away a Kleenex, I had to open both doors before I found the darn thing. That is twice as much arm movement in a day than necessary, but it all counts. Just like those 5000 steps a day we’re supposed to take to be “healthy.” I probably get around 2500 cupboard door slams a day. That definitely adds to my healthy status.

I don’t think anyone has written a How-to housekeeping/exercise book quite like this. My idea could blow the “tighter arms in ten days for Dummies” publishing market right out of the water. I’m going to get right on that as soon as I finish my other novel. Maybe. Although—writing a how-to book might be a little too much change even for me.