Off On Their Own

I was spoiled, and I didn't know it.

When my daughter went off to college, she called every day. She still calls almost every day. It's nice. We don't always have a ton to talk about. It's more like we hang out. For a while there she'd call during lunchtime and crunch in my ear. Every once in a while, we have a deep converstation, just to mix things up.

It's not like she doesn't have a life, either. She's rocking in school, president of some honor society, an awesome swing dancer, avid rock climber, assistant fellowship coordinator. She's off enjoying her own life, but she also enjoys my company.

Then there's my son...

Sometimes he'll message me on facebook. A couple of times a month he'll call. And, when the moon is aligned perfectly and I stand on one foot and hold my tongue just right--he's into talking! Those times are scarce, however. It's always been that way with him, though.

When he was sixteen he and I had Ohio to NYC adventures when he went through his modeling phase (can you believe that--he was a male model with a top agency in New York City--no kidding). Anyhow, it wasn't the food, the time spent in the city or a peek behind the high fashion scene that motivated me to jump into the project with both feet. It was those times, usually driving, sometimes in the middle of the night, when we had amazing conversations. That made it all worthwhile.

So, now that he's off on his own, occasionally mommy gets her conversation.

Be Careful What You Wish For

I recently joined a critique group. That's where a bunch of writers get together and critique one another's work. Ahead of time will each sacrifice ten or so pages to the collective wit and wisdom of the group, then we get together for a few hours and talk about the good and the bad.

This is an invaluable tool for a writer!

In the past, I've belonged to several critique groups. Unfortunately, they were mainly the blind leading the blind. We were all quite willing, but not sure what consitituted good work.

This time is different. The first meeting I learned more about dialogue tags than I'd heard since starting on my writing adventure. It was like having a curtain pulled back. The angels sang. Yep, it was really that good.

I fixed the pages that were critiqued and scoured the pages I was going to turn in for dialogue boo boos. Of course, I thought everyone would cry eurika, jump up and down and say, "Send this in immediately to publish!"

As my daugher would say, le sigh.

A whole other layer of ways to kick up my work to a professional level was laid out. Honestly, afterwards I was pretty discouraged. It took me a week to get up the nerve to attack the problems...but this weekend is critique time, no more putting things off.

Yesterday I dug in. Wow. I got so into what I was doing I missed a dentist appointment. And you know what? I'm thinking it looks pretty good. I'm all set to go back to the critique group and learn how to do it better. Either that, or everyone will jump up and down...

Love It/Hate It

I'm talking about exercising!

I have a goal to get back into shape. Yeah, me and about a zillion other women my age! I am getting better, however, at actually working out. I do so more days than not. Part of why I've been more successful is I've learned how I tick.

For example, the earlier in the day I work out, the more likely I am to not talk myself out of it. I become more persuasive as the day goes on. Plus, I have the remainder of the day, after I've worked out, to pat myself on the back.

For awhile, I was waking up to work out as soon as my husband got out of bed. By the time he was done with his shower and morning routine, I was wrapping up a solid workout. Unfortunatelly, that doesn't work in a third floor apartment. Apparently, I sound like a hippo when I work out. Now, to keep the neighbors happy, I wait till after 9.

For some people, working out is a welcome part of the day. Me? not so much. It is more of a necessary evil. And I do appreciate being able to dash up my stairs without worrying about my lungs falling out or heart exploding.

Now, for the weight loss. Unfortunatelly, I haven't paired the "watch what I eat" with "exercise my butt off." I've been doing one or the other. Hopefully, the two will converge here soon. At least that's the plan.

Well, no more putting things off--it's 9:25, and I gotta workout!

I. Am. Not. Twisted.

Apparently that's unusual. At least, if you believe all that you read. I hope it's not true.

See, I'm going to a writers conference in a few months, so I thought I'd read some of the works of people who will be there. I mean, I should be reading middle grade fiction anyhow, since that's what I write. Why not read stuff from people I may be working with?

Turns out that's a good idea! One of the books I read was wonderful writing--but way, way different than what I'm doing. The other book I read was off the charts writing, but holy cow! Twisted. Yeah, I don't think I'll be working with that person.

Why do people write things that are so awful? I mean, I felt like I need to wash out my brain. I couldn't look at the author without wondering how much is based on personal experience. Yeck.

I want to write something where when someone realizes I wrote it, they smile and are glad to meet me. Not just because the writing is good, but because my story gave them a bit of faith in people, or in themselves. Maybe it just made them laugh or reminded them of something they did years ago. I want to write books that someone isn't ashamed to admit they read, but rather pass on to their friends.

Is that so much to ask?

By the way, I ordered more books. Turns out this research stuff is a good idea!

I Am Thankful

Boy, looking over my last post, all I have to say is,can I be cranky or what?

But you know, I have soooo much to be thankful for.

Several years back I experienced quite a streak of cranky. I mean really cranky...REALLY cranky. I did not like much about my life. Heck, I didn't even like God all that much. That is bad.

At the time my husband and I were teaching young ministers how to be great ministers, so you can see where my bad attitude might be a problem. Still, my problem was between my ears...and God.

Finally, I went to management (God) and admitted I wasn't doing to great--not a big surprise to Him, I'm sure. I also, asked for help. One of those, please make things clear so I can get the answers I need through my thick skull. This conversation happened on my way to a teaching...which turned out to be about thankfulness.

Man, it was like the clouds parted and the sun finally came out! Thankfulness was something I'd lost sight of--not really a good idea, especially since God wants thankfulness to be a part of our lives. Not so we are always, "Oh, thank you, thank you, God. You're just the best..." and on and on. I mean, I'm sure God loves to be thanked and all. But thankfulness benefits our lives. An attitude of thankfulness screws our heads on straight. It helps us focus on the positive, see the good in life...expect the good in life.

When I was a river raft guide, one of the first things I learned was to focus on where I wanted the raft to go. If I focused on the rocks I wanted to miss, guess what? Yeah, I'd hit the stupid rock every time. The trick was to keep my eyes off the rocks and on the route between the rocks. That's what thankfulness does. It moves us from the problems to the solutions.

Dang, I got on a roll! Anyhow, yes. I am thankful. There are so many truly awesome things going on in my life, it's pretty exciting.

Did I mention my husband and I are going to Las Vegas this weekend? Yep, we're going to visit the fellowships. It will be a rich time and I'm looking forward to it. I plan on working hard, and you know what? I'm thankful to have something to give!

Muh

Do you ever have one of those days?

That's today for me...at least so far. I'm still hoping it'll turn around.

It started when I got out of bed. Sometimes getting out of bed is not a problem--wahoo, new day and all. Today it was downright hard. I woke up groggy, stumbled around groggy, brushed my tee...oh wait, did I...be right back.

Let's just say I started out sluggish and haven't turned around much since. Probably part of the problem was today was tax day. Don't get me wrong, we have a wonderful tax lady. However, in the back of my mind I thought taxes, oh boy. We'll get lots of money back.

Not so much. At least we didn't have to pay, so that's something.

Then the car is clunking. That can't be good. So right now I look like I'm being good by writing on my blog, but don't be deceived. I'm really putting off going to the car doctor. See, that was one of the things that kinda tweaked me this morning; going through all our expenses and seeing how much we spent on the cars--believe me, it was much more then we spent on real doctors.

Plus I have the sniffles.

Maybe I should just go to bed...

Date Night

Tonight is my turn for date night--and the pressure is on!!

Last week my husband really pulled out all the stops. For days he planned. I’d walk up to him on the computer and he’d shield the screen and say, “Go away, go away!” Hummm… “Do you know where your Sorrels are? Where our big coats are? Where the crampons are?”

Ok, so now bells were going off in my head and I was getting nervous. Let me explain my husband. He’s kinda nuts—in a great sort of way. He is they type of guy who will “go for a run” and come back an hour, two hours later—having just polished off eleven thousand miles. He and a friend climbed the Grand Tetons—I went fishing. He and our son spent two weeks “bagging fourteeners” in Colorado—my daughter and I stayed at home, ate junk food and had a Gilmore Girl marathon.

And now he was talking about crampons??? But he was soooo excited. Well, thankfully he decided crampons weren’t necessary. Neither were the snowshoes. And I was “going to love it.”

So off we headed, dressed like snowmen, with multiple layers, a blanket, flashlight, and thermos full of hot chocolate plus. Oh, did I mention it was night? We went to the summit of Mt. Rose Highway—just shy of 9,000 feet, parked in the very empty parking lot, and headed off into the sunset—no wait, there was no sun. We headed off in the dark.

Now, I was trying to be a good wife. He had put so much into our date night. He was soooo excited. So I tromped behind him as we started over the giant snowdrift onto the snow path…that went in the general direction of the regular path (which we had been on in the summer). Then it went off in a random direction. Still, I followed—up over the ridge; along the ridge past random lumps of topography and onward! There was a crescent moon, so we could see in a weird kind of wintery-shadowy way.

Meanwhile I am quietly freaking out. We’re going to get lost. We’re going to die. There are wild animals watching. What was he thinking???? Does he even know me??? We’ve been married thirty years, how could he possibly think this could bless me. Quietly, silently, freaking out.

Finally, we stopped. We reached our destination—a view of Lake Tahoe, the stars, Carson City in the distance. Okay, it was really pretty, and the night really wasn’t that cold. I was toasty in my multiple layers. He laid the blanket on the snow and we sat down to enjoy the view and the yummy hot chocolate. (Although I didn’t have much because I didn’t want my senses impaired and stumble blindly into the wilderness, never to be found.)

We eventually made it back to the car—no wrong turns, no mishaps. But I kind of…well…okay, true confessions. I lost it. I started with “What the hell were you thinking?” and went from there. My tirade lasted a minute or so, then we got in the car and both started laughing. On the way down the hill he said, “I love it when you get feisty!”

Can you see why I love him so much?

Well, the rest of the night we laughed about our adventure, went out to a great restaurant, and, you know, had a great night.

Now, I ask you? How am I going to top that?

Maybe we’ll go bowling…

You're Gonna Want To Read This!

I was just talking to my niece, and was reminded of something I made last year for Superbowl Sunday...

Bacon/Caramel Pretzels!

(Oh Yeah—and they are really that good!)

Wanna know how to make them?

First you need some pretzels. I use the hog-molly sized Snyder pretzels (they’re called “Olde Tyme”)

Then you add caramel. I make my own, which makes dipping really easy. Plus you don’t have to remove all the stupid wrappers. Here’s the recipe:

1 cup butter (yeah, butter—give me a break, this is junk food!)

1 16-oz package packed brown sugar

2 cups heavy cream

1 cup light corn syrup

2 teaspoons salt

1 teaspoon vanilla

(you can add ¼ cup whiskey if you want—yumm)

Put everything in a heavy saucepan except the vanilla (and the whisky) and cook the heck out of it. It will bubble up (so make sure there’s room in the pan), and then bubble down. Once it looks like it belongs in a volcano, it is ready. For those of you who want to be more exact, that’s the firm-ball candy stage, or 248 degrees on a candy thermometer. Once it hits that temperature take it off the heat and stir in the vanilla and whisky. If you use whisky take care not to stand over the pan while you’re stirring—all the booze boils off at once—whoo hoo!

Put the pan back on the stove at its lowest setting and start dipping pretzels! Use a fork to turn the pretzel and get it out. Set the dipped pretzel right on the counter or pan, but make sure you butter them first.

Once they’ve cooled it’s time to dip them again—this time in chocolate. I used dark chocolate for these. It just seems more manly, and bacon pretzels are definitely manly! Melt dark chocolate in a double boiler and add a spoonful of Crisco. Trust me, the Crisco helps the chocolate behave. Again, use a fork, but this time put the finished product on wax paper.

Before they have a chance to set (how long that is depends on how warm your kitchen is), sprinkle bacon on top—cooked bacon, broken up into little pieces.

Then, if you really want to look cool drizzle some of the leftover dark chocolate over the top.

I’ve seen grown men fight over these bad boys!! Let me know if you try them and how you liked them.

I think I’ll whip up a batch myself!

The Digger

I never told the story of Dennis!

Remember back when I was filling trenches--by hand (oh, by the way, can you say tennis elbow? I feel so athletic!). Anyhoo, there was this one stretch where there had been a trench, then I had to fill it because the truck with the giant septic tank need to drive right where the trench was. Oh, and did I mention that the pipe wasn't in the trench before I filled it?

So, we got the tank in, got the gravel in the leech field, got the pipe in from the septic tank down through the leech field, got all that covered, and then laid the pipe above the septic tank--screetch! That was everything coming to a halt by the--you guessed it--a filled in trench!

I tell you what, I am willing to dump dirt into a big trench. I've proved that. But there was no wayyy I was going to take the dirt out!

So we hired Dennis! Dennis lives just down the road, and on the scheduled day he showed up--driving his white excavator. He had a Santa hat on and sported a big mustache and a Packers jacket.

He was from Wisconsin: had the accent and the attitude. He even had the beer! He kept producing cans of beer as he worked. It was hysterical. Great guy, he managed to get the trench dug out and then hung around while I put the pipe in (didn’t take long). Then, bless his heart, he filled it back up!

You know, I wasn’t real happy that we couldn’t use the excavator, But then our friends came up and pitched in, and then I got “the Dennis experience”—well I wouldn’t trade those time for anything!

Now, looking at the smooth ground that now hides our septic system, I can’t help but be very, very thankful. To steal a movie title—It’s a wonderful life.