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  |  One Thing After Another
Ever notice how random events come together and create order from chaos? |
 Honorable Mention! 2012 Quill Awards What's a blog for, anyway? It's about discovery through words, something jotted down that reveals a pattern only by looking back. |
| WdC Power Reviewer Group |
Yesterday was raid day for "WDC Power Reviewers Group"  . That group is phenomenal and I'm proud to be a leader. Yeah, and I have nothing else to say today. |
| Time to stop worrying |
| Worrying wastes time. Nothing changes because we worry. The dreaded negativity has no effect on the outcome. The best I can hope for is that something else comes along to obsess over and my brain will have something new to fret over. Current concern. I bought my granddaughter the wrong shoes for her birthday, purchased them at Amazon. I sent the link to print out the label that needed to be placed in the package. She didn't do it and the mail person picked up the package today. I'm probably out over $30 and that's about how much I paid for the pair I sent to GA today. It's just money, right? There's never enough, anyhow. So why worry? And yet I do. Sometimes I write the worry on a piece of paper and every time the upset comes to mind I make a hash mark next to my words. Usually one hash mark is enough to correct my thinking. Otherwise, I wait out the worry, letting it chase around in my mind until I get tired of it, or the next comes along. With so many things wrong in the world why should my worry matter? Why do we take ourselves so seriously when there's a sky full of stars that died billions of years ago, yet still twinkle? |
| Fifty-six |
| Fifty-six years old today and I'm not saying another word about it. |
| Taking care of mommy |
| My 3 year old grandson is always asking to spend the night at my house, but the answer has always been no, the assumption being he will be scared when it's actually time to sleep. Yesterday, he asked again, and when my daughter called me last night, she said he was still asking and maybe he really does want to stay with me. When she asked him if he would be okay, he responded with "I will be okay. Will you, Mommy?" Not good. Three years old and already trying to take care of his mom? At least she agreed with me. |
| Living my life all over again |
| I thought the times of concussions, stitches, and desperate calls from home while I was working had ended. "Mom, Jason dropped the cage on Blackie (a gerbil) and now he can't walk." "Mrs. D. Your son was roller skating and rammed into the barrier and broke his nose." "Mom, Jennifer tugged on Tasha's (another gerbil) tail and it broke." "Mrs. D? Could you pick up your daughter? Her skirt violates dress code rules; it's too short." You get the idea . . . Keeping track of my grandsons has brought that life back. I'm older now, and more easily traumatized. When my daughter called and asked me to pick up Grayson from day care because he fell and hit his head, I thought, "Here we go again." I've never seen such a huge bump on a child's forehead. Grayson was running on the concrete and without anything to break his fall, hit his head. Okay, I know from raising three children that my grandson's injury will not cause further harm. He wasn't disoriented or vomiting. His words were clear and his actions normal and coordinated. Still, a lump that size? My daughter called the pediatrician, who recommended a check over. I was lucky, that Friday. My brother is visiting from New York and kept 13 month old Weston outside while I brought his brother into the doctors and waited to be seen. I swallowed against the tears threatening to flow and tried to ignore the burning in my eyes. Grayson checked out fine, and Jenn came right after to take the boys home early. The rest of Friday was a bust. I was too traumatized to do anything. Saturday, I was no better, and took an anti-anxiety pill to slow down my brain. Dealing with Porsche's injury had already drained me, especially because she escaped twice when she had to remain inside. I'm too old for this. |
| Porsche is wounded |
| This is why I didn't want a cat. The moment I saw Porsche this morning, I knew something was wrong. I picked her up and examined her body, finding a gash, at least one inch long and deep, on her neck. Off to the vet. My daughter has my cat carrier, but my brother is visiting and came up with the idea to put Porsche in a discarded guinea pig's cage. I'm not much in the mood to discuss it, but apparently, she was bitten and the wound got infected and ruptured, causing a gash all the way down to the muscle. It hurts me to look at it. So, antibiotics until Monday for a recheck. If her fever is down, they can stitch the wound. I hate to say it, but pets cost money and this will cost big bucks. Why, oh why, did Porsche choose me as her owner? She's not even a great cat. Okay, now I'm whining. |
| Plots that go nowhere |
| What should I do if several times a day the beginnings to a story pop into my head, but I can only see the first few paragraphs? Sometimes this happens as a reflex to something I read, other times, it just a plot that comes from my 'subconscious'? I could write all these little excerpts and see if the story takes off, or maybe I will find another place to incorporate it in another plot. Overall, it's a frustrating experience. No matter how I arrange "my documents" in Word, I'm overwhelmed by the amount of unfinished work. And, that's with a folder for stories that go nowhere. |
| Now where am I? |
| Where have I been? Still looking through Bill's Windows, trying to figure out how I'm making the font size change dramatically. And I mean, phenomenally dramatic. From finger-height to pin-size. The keyboard is a dream, a light touch suffices. In other areas, the computer is too sensitive to touch and changes occur without my awareness. I'm getting better at it, but it's all so freakin' frustrating. That's where I've been. Oh, and working on "Lightning Strikes the Soul" again. All I need is one solid week with no interruptions, including no hunger, bathroom visits, or sleep requirements. |
| Bill's Windows |
| Who has Windows 8? I resent Bill because the computing world runs on his windows, unless you own a Mac, and who doesn't want a Mac? I am one of the few who never had a problem with Vista and was shocked to learn it was old tech. Huh. Windows 8 has tiles all over the main screen and what a mess. It takes some poking around to get used to the system and this is only my second day. It's weird, but it's the view from Bill's windows. |
| PC crashed and thank you Office Max |
| What a mess. And money gone. Ever ignore your computer for a few days and then when you reappear to ignite it, the thing refuses to acknowledge you? Minimum power only, just enough to flash the black page and nothing more. I really owe a great deal of thanks to the staff at Office Max because they locked the doors and let me stay until 10 p.m. while I picked out this amazing new PC. I was crushed when my external back-up failed and thought I lost all my data. Even though all my work, including the published stories, was lost, I was more upset about all the pictures being gone. I can always write, but gone pictures are just that. Gone. The good news? The internal hard drive was fine and I was able to transfer everything over to this new super-duper 17# monster with keys the size of my entire fingertips. Amazing. I'm so proud of myself because I figured it out all on my only. Okay, the people at Office Max helped a wee bit. One more bit for them. No one pressured me to buy anything. Someone was always there to help, but they offered information and no sales pitches. I nearly had to drag a recommendation out of them. |
| Broke my toe? |
| What happens when you don't put your five pound lifting weights completely away and get up in the middle of the night to, well, you know . . . You slam your toe into one of them. Nothing to be done for a toe, unless the break was in the joint. I heard a snap, so kinda thinking I might see a doctor if the swelling won't go down. This is the the only time I have injured the right side of my body. The left side has all the broken bones and stitches. Oh, one set of stitches in the right knee, which reminds me of the multiple injuries to the right side when I took a dashing dive off my bike into road cinders. Yeah, that was bad. Probably why since then, only the left side has been injured. I wonder if that means they're equal and either side if up for grabs. I really have some strange thoughts. |
| My head is reeling! |
| Okay, so it's my blog and I can say this. I had nine different nominations for different pieces in my port. My heads spinning with the generous outpouring of reviews, Cnotes, gift certificates and merit badges. Everyone is so incredibly nice. Yes, nice is a nothing word and the adverb's weak. Sometimes only the overused comes to mind when I'm so excited. Soon, it will all die down again, but I won't forget how special everyone involved made me feel. |
| Notifications drive me nuts, today, anyhow. |
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| Okay, this entry is simply to satisfy the blog log because I already made an entry today, and added some photos. Oh, almost forgot. My daughter managed to capture me with all three in a way we all sort of look okay. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get three kids to sit for a photo? From the left, Weston Scott, one-year-old, Grayson Lee, three years old, Lilly, will be four this May 2013. I'm the big kid in the back.
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| It's about Weston |
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| Rough day with Weston today, which is weird because yesterday he was awesome! He slept almost four hours so I expected him to wake up in a better mood. Negative. It's possible he was reacting to me because I was trying to figure out how to upload photos from my camera to my computer. It's not good if someone (who shan't be named) keeps interrupting, refusing to play by himself. It's also about expectations, something I try to live without. It only leads to the negative side. So, I expected him to wake up happy and give me all the time I wanted to play around with my computer, which was unfair, because I am here to help him grow. And, there's that four hour nap. That was more than enough time to pursue outside interests. Anyhow, he's not even close to walking, but he sure likes to hang on me. The other picture was taken in PetsMart, the day before his first birthday.
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| 2012 Quills |
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| Wow, Andrew is amazing at running the Quill awards! I guess it's okay to just come right out and say, yea! I won both best New Portfolio and "God's Telephone" won in the category for Best Children's! I'm feeling humbled and wickedly ecstatic. 
|
| Always answer your cell phone or you might end up like me! |
| When my brother arrived at 7:30 P.M. and said "You gave us all a scare." I had no idea what he meant. Apparently, I was so absorbed working on the website I never heard the cell phone ring seven separate times, never heard the message alert for the 10 texts my daughter sent me, nor did I hear the relative they sent to my house to knock on the door and make sure I was okay. Oops. My daughter was ready to call the police but was able to reach my brother, who debated on the way back to me if he should call the cops. That's what happens when I'm either working on my pieces or running around WdC catching up on emails and reviews. I had a few stray thoughts. "That's weird, my daughter hasn't checked in today." We text quite a bit. The thought came in and went right back into the cosmos. "I should call my daughter because it's my grandson's first birthday. We celebrated yesterday, but she's probably expecting a call." Another thought vanished while I continued working. I started around 11 A.M. and would still have been working except for my brother's arrival. Today, I was expecting my daughter to call on the way home from work but I desperately needed to vacuum. I was preparing to text her: "I'm vacuuming, please don't call the police" when the cell rang. Lucky for me I heard it. Imagine the police busting down my door. I made a new commitment to my cell today. It will always be with me. |
| Take it to the blog |
| My older brother and I were discussing our parents, who are in their eighties and the topic is so upsetting I ran to my blog to work it out. They're nuts. They really are nuts and they just keep doing the same thing over and over again. Supposedly, I'm a Daddy's Girl, and as a kid, my Dad greeted me first when he came home from work, and it angered my mom. In May I will be 56 years old and my mom still holds this over my head. It's freaking' ridiculous. When I first began seeing a psychologist to help me through the tirades my past, she told me something that helped. She said when I went to the well (meaning looking to my mother for love) it was empty. I blamed myself, but what I didn't realize was that the well was empty before I ever went there. She also told me my parents gave as much love as they could, but it wasn't enough. Not just for me, but my my four siblings as well. She phrased it this way. I can't get 100 watts from a 50 watt light bulb. My parents (the 50 watt light bulbs) were giving as much light as possible. My dad is having minor surgery, and my mom has requested my brother's presence. I'm already a nervous wreck. My parents don't think too much of me, but they claim it's my perception. My point? Who cares? It is what it is. I tried not to screw up my kid's lives like my parents did ours, and although I made mistakes, I did a good job raising them. We're all very close emotionally. It's a treasure to have that in my life. |
| Life without Lilly |
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| When my son asked me to take care of his 3 year old daughter for 7 days while he cruised with his wife, what could I say? I am the only one capable of granting such a request, had I not, there would be no vacation. I spent the week explaining to the 3 year old that her cousin (1 year old who I take care of everyday) was allowed to play with any toys on the floor in any room. I sat on the floor separating the two with my legs. My three year-old only child did not get her one-year-old cousin, and I don't blame her. Weston is brutal in is exploration of the world. He climbs, mouths,scratches and puts his teeth on whatever comes his way, be it the cat scratch pad that Lilly claims is not a toy and feels compelled to remove it from Weston's grip, right to the very skin on her body. What a week! When Weston's parents picked him up, usually by 5:30, it was Lilly and Nana time. She lives in Georgia and although I have visited, random weekends do not create bonds. I knew she was an exceptional child, well-behaved and clever, smart and funny. What I wasn't prepared for was the emotional attachment created. On the seventh day when her parents came to collect her, and her 35 dinosaurs, who had to be bathed every night, I cried. My brother took me out to dinner because he experienced the same love with Lilly, and understood my anguish. I cherished our time when I wasn't the referee between the cousins, the dinner, the bath, the movie and the tucking in under Nana's blankets. She managed to sleep diagonally and keep me up most nights, rendering me exhausted every day, but I didn't care. Once I figure out how to add a picture to my blog, I'll post one. She never once asked for her parents, and considering the situation maintained a pleasant demeanor. Obviously, we had a few melt downs and I had to learn her coping style, which ended up being leave her alone while she worked it out on her own. One particularly rough evening I kept repeating in a near whisper, You're just hungry and tired. In a few minutes you'll feel better. I'm known as a super-Nana and I deserve the name. I used every skill I have learned over the years. The basis for the knowledge is accepting the child for who she or he is. Never asking a question when I know the answer will be no. Not treating her like a child, or interfere with her rhythm. Kids like listening to me. I explain if they work with me the fun will be multiplied and it only takes a few examples for them to see the wisdom. Life without Lilly is hollow. She is very much like my first daughter, maybe that's the reason for the abandoned feeling. I can hear everyone saying: You should be grateful for your two grandsons who you see all the time. Of course I am. But neither boy can ever be Lilly.
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| Taking care of baby. |
| Another killer day with Weston. He has a viral infection in his throat, poor guy; we just have to wait it out. In the meantime, it's all about high fevers, and today was bad. He went down for his nap late, because I took him to my doctor appointment this morning, and he fell asleep on the way home. Of course, his car seat faces backward, and having no idea if he was awake or not, I spent the entire drive home sounding like a lunatic making odd noises and calling out his name in the wild hope of keeping him up. When we got home, he was asleep.  Eventually he crashed around 12:40—it's kind of a blur—and woke up with a sizzling fever. He couldn't even stay awake. Babies run high fevers, it's not like adults, so 103.2 wasn't a danger to him, but it scared me to death. Once the Motrin kicked in, he perked up a bit, and we were off to pick up his brother from preschool. After retrieving said brother, I loaded both in the Jeep and we went back to Nana's house. Weston refused to be put down, Grayson wanted teddi-grahams and yogurt. All the while, the guinea pig is whistling for food. Pizza is here, so suffice it to say I survived, and my daughter is one lucky woman to have me as a mother. |
| On writing |
| I read somewhere, at least 30% of a manuscript can be deleted. It strengthens the write. My problem is the complex plots I keep construing. It begins as a quick thought for flash, and then the work begins. The further into the plot I venture, the more trouble I make for myself. I have this feeling the story is plot-heavy, but no matter where I look, I can't find that 30%. Most of the contests ask for works around 2000 words. Most of my stories end up around 3000+. In the story I'm working now, I have a large mid-section necessary to bring the reader to the conclusion. But it sounds like I'm bringing the reader to the conclusion, or at least it sounds like that to me. Once you present a larger work, the chances for reviews diminish. I'm not one to plug for reviews, and I'll only say this in my blog, because there's a trend to play it safe and rate everything a 4.0 No matter the reviewer's opinion, in my case usually good with no corrections necessary, the rating is always the 4.0. Let me take it one step further. The reviews don't help. Two steps further. Am I the only one who thinks newbie reviews are often the most brutal? I'm shutting up now. |
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