Anny Cook's Blog, page 84

March 17th

Growing up in a Baptist home meant we didn't celebrate St. Pat's Day. We didn't acknowledge any of the saints in particular so it wasn't until high school that I really paid much attention. And that was only because I made the colossal mistake of wearing orange to school one March 17th.

I was pinched. A lot. And the interesting thing was none of my class mates were Irish. They were a mix of German Jews and Polish Catholics. Ahhhh, high school.

When I had children of my own, I made sure they wore something green to school on St. Pat's Day and dutifully taped their school projects on the refrigerator door (mostly lop-sided shamrocks).

And then 1978 arrived. Now back in 1973 the hunk and I decided we had enough children (three) so he had a vasectomy. Life went on, more or less smoothly until 1978 when I started having some "female" problems--or rather the absence of female problems. I never understood why we call them that, but there you go. I sensibly went off to see the Gynecologist. And he sent me for a brand new test--an ultrasound--to see what was up.

The test was scheduled for March 17th. St. Pat's day did not figure largely in my plans. I was in school and what was bothering me was the fact that I was going to miss my mid-term essay exam in English just so I could have this stupid medical test.

Back then, you had to drink about a 1/2 gallon of water before the test. I was not comfortable at all when the tech had me stretch out on this hard table. He covered my belly with a lubricant and then said, "What are we finding out today?"

I said, "I don't know about you, but I'm finding out whether or not I'm pregnant."

He stared down at my rounded belly and asked, "You don't know?"

Well, he stroked across my belly with his wand and pictures popped up on the screen. "There's your baby."

I was twenty weeks pregnant. With our fourth child. She'll be thirty-three this summer. And it's certainly been an interesting ride all these years. Every year on March 17th I recall that day so long ago when I found out we had another baby on the way.

And that's how I celebrate St. Patrick's Day.

anny

WIP Teaser

She leaned back, looking at the plane over the tops of her sunglasses. "You know, that is one scary looking plane. I didn't pay too much attention to it yesterday. But if I saw something like this, I might be hesitant to approach it, too."Max chuckled. "That's Uncle Diarmid for you. Only he would have his plane painted like a giant Celtic dragon, complete with all that gorgeous intricate knotwork. The artist who designed and directed the painting owed him a favor of some type. One thing I'll say—she's a fabulous artist." He pointed out the row of teeth that stretched from side to side under the cockpit windows. "Those look frightening enough from the air. Close up, they're terrifying.""I just find the way she incorporated the dragon wings with the plane wings incredible. I'm not sure I would want to stumble on this plane in the middle of the night. I suspect that would be a nightmare in progress." She settled her sun glasses on her nose and attempted an encouraging smile. "Well?""Well." He leaned closer and kissed her nose. "Are you ready to go meet the neighbors, honey?""As I ever will be. Why do I have the feeling that they're not going to help rescue us?" she asked as she slowly wiped her hands on her sweatpants."Probably for the same reason I feel that way. Something isn't right." He offered her his hand and led the way around the tail of the plane. He had his eyes on the ground, trying to avoid the muddiest spots so he wasn't prepared when Russet stopped dead and frantically yanked on his arm.He turned to see what her problem was.She was making little whimpering squeaky noises and the terrified expression on her face raised the hair on the back of his neck. Whipping around, he peered over his shoulder as he instinctively nudged Russet back towards the plane door.A line of young naked warriors brandishing spears was advancing across the field toward them. That was bad. Very bad, but not terrifying.But the enormous tawny griffin leading them was enough to send Max tearing off across the field toward the trees lining the far edge. He had a firm grip on Russet's arm and dragged her willy-nilly behind him, ignoring her protests and frequent stumbles as she struggled to keep up with him."What was that?" she yelled."Griffin!""What?""Keep running." Max peered over his shoulder and immediately zig-zagged off to the right. The griffin was gaining on them. "Run!"Max tripped over a hidden tree root as a mighty roar echoed across the meadow. Then a blinding white light pummeled his mind and he fell unconscious to the ground. 

Moving

Some of us are movers. Some of us are not. I'm a mover. I've moved more than forty times in my life. Six states. Nine schools in nine years. While in the process of moving, I will curse and swear that I will never move again.

Six months later, I'm ready to pack up and move on.

For a number of reasons (money, leases, time), that isn't practical. So I fall back on the old substitute. We rearrange the furniture. Maybe, we even rearrange the entire apartment. We've lived here eight years so you know it's way past rearranging time.

We are currently in the process of not only rearranging, but weeding out furniture, possessions, etc. It's not an overnight process, just as actual moving is not an overnight process. We have one rule. Nothing may be moved until it has a permanent home elsewhere. In other words, don't move all the stuff into the living room and hope we'll find someplace to put it later.

The spousal unit has a hard time with this rule. His idea of rearranging is to move everything out of his room and let me deal with it. Uh, no. I did that once. Never again. AND for one reason or another, he has one room and the rest of the apartment is my responsibility. I'm not quite sure how that happened.

He also believes that discarded furniture will magically move from the living room across the parking lot to the trash bin. No. It doesn't. Since we are getting up there in years and have no children at hand to move stuff like that, my idea is to ask one of the husky neighbor fellows to help us out--for a fee.

Heck. They might even want the furniture for their apartment since it's in good condition. We just don't need it. Or it's taking up room we would rather use in other ways.

But. When we're finally finished, it will make us feel like we live someplace new. And that will do until the next time we feel the urge to move.

anny

Duct Tape--Strongest Force in the Universe

There was a time when I never, ever left the house without my MacGyver kit...duct tape, waxed twine, and my Swiss Army knife. There isn't much in life that can't be fixed with one of them. I would rather leave behind my underwear.

Now I also carry a extra heavy-duty contractor's trash bag and my mini-survival kit that fits in an empty Altoids tin (fishing hook, needle, thread, mirror, compass, matches, lint...) and a bottle of water. And heck, the spare underwear and socks, too. Why not?

I'm a strong believer in preparedness. Someone once asked me if I ever needed my emergency provisions. And the answer is no--not all of them at one time. But yes, I've used various items over time. And that's the point. There's no reason I have to have a major emergency to use my kit. If it helps me get through life easier, then that's the purpose of carrying the stuff.

Now that I have medical issues, I added a couple more things to cover those possibilities. Better to have what I need when I need it even if I carry it for months untouched. That's my philosophy.

Long before MacGyver came along, I had an emergency bag because I had four kids. When you cart a bunch of children around with you, you're naturally prepared. I had bandaids, first aid cream, wipes, water, spare clothing, and all sorts of other things including snacks and games. That's what makes life survivable when you have kids.

One thing I've always carried is duct tape. There's very little you can't fix with duct tape. It used to only come in that silvery alien ship color. Now you can buy it in every color in the rainbow and some that God in his wisdom didn't create--like fluorescent orange.

It tears easily so you don't have to have scissors, but once plastered on an item, it'll stick through drought, flood, blizzard and four kids. I've repaired everything from bicycles to fake leather to two pairs of glasses. I once slapped a strip on a cracked plastic drinking cup and used it for the rest of my vacation. Attaching bright orange tape to your luggage makes it surprisingly easy to locate in a jumbled pile of suitcases.

My co-workers used to laugh at me until they needed to borrow my duct tape. Then I was the smartest woman in the world. And you know, I noticed that they started carrying their own rolls of tape in a variety of colors. If we needed to, we could have repaired almost anything required in whatever color needed to match.

The last time we moved, we taped the lids on all my storage totes with duct tape. And I'm happy to report none of them popped open, though we did lose a couple of cardboard boxes. Just goes to show you, plastic and tape go farther than cardboard.

Next time you look in your bag or emergency kit, check it out. If you don't have duct tape get some. Remember, it's the strongest force in the universe.

anny

Grief and Loss

 No man is an Iland, intire of itselfe; every man
is a peece of the Continent, a part of the maine;
if a Clod bee washed away by the Sea, Europe
is the lesse, as well as if a Promontorie were, as
well as if a Manor of thy friends or of thine
owne were; any mans death diminishes me,
because I am involved in Mankinde;
And therefore never send to know for whom
the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.~~John Donne
In the last few weeks we've watched the news with horror and disbelief as hundreds of people have died in earthquakes, tsunamis and other assorted disasters. Bus and train and plane accidents. House fires. Flash floods. Tornadoes. Blizzards and ice storms. Avalanches. Hurricanes, typhoons and cyclones. And the ever-present losses in war.

With every loss of life, we suffer grief--whether or not we know the victim personally. All deaths diminish our souls. We may not consciously know this, but instinctively, our hearts grieve each loss.

After such an enormous disaster as the one unfolding in Japan or the earlier one in Christchurch, our first thought is to call a friend or relative. Though we may not actually admit why we do so, the comfort of our loved one's voice, the contact we make with our friend is necessary if we are to survive the crushing blow of yet another loss.

Some cope by finding other diversions. Some plunge in the disaster by volunteering their time or services. Some mourn publicly. Others curl up on the couch and weep.

Whatever route we take, underneath we are bracing for the next loss. For such is life. Fortunately, death is offset by birth. And love. In our despair, we smile. In our heartache, we embrace. And life goes on.

anny

Steam and Sorcery--Welcome Cindy Spencer Pape!

Helpful Sorts
A novel isn't written in a vacuum. Anny did a post about critique partners a while back, and everything she said about her critique partner is also true of mine. I wouldn't get through without having someone to bounce things off of. I have one on-line, day-to-day critique partner and she's invaluable. I also have another, local group, who keep me on my toes. Both are equally important.
One person I always thank is my husband. He puts up with my, "Don't poke the writer in her cage," days and picks up a lot of slack so I can write. In the case of this story and subsequent series, though, he played an active role.
I had the first few chapters written, but the organization the hero, Merrick worked for, was eluding me. I knew he worked for a secret organization, reporting to the crown, hunting down vampyres and other threats, both human and paranormal. I knew he was a baronet, so "Sir Merrick."
It was my dh who said, "The Round Table, of course. What if they never disbanded, just went underground?" Suddenly the whole book came together. I even noticed little things—Merrick's mentor was named MacKay—or son of Kay. His boss's surname was Lake—du Lac, of course. The parts came together like a well-oiled automaton.
The excerpt below tells a little bit about the Order as it stands in my steampunk/fantasy Victorian era, and hasn't appeared anywhere else. I hope you enjoy Steam & Sorcery, out now from Carina Press.
Thanks so much to Anny for having me here today! To celebrate the new release, I'm running a contest. Comment on any (or all) of the blogs I visit on my blog tour this week. One entry per person, per blog stop. You can visit my blog to find the other stops. After the final stops on Sunday, March 13, I'll draw one winner for a free download of Steam & Sorcery, or their choice of my other available titles. Happy Reading!

Steam & SorceryGaslight Chronicles #1By Cindy Spencer PapeAvailable from Carina Presshttp://ebooks.carinapress.com/679C79D5-7079-4967-AAED-913CC2F6216A/10/134/en/ContentDetails.htm?ID=6324BB13-8E23-45E0-A12F-AF43940FB808
Sir Merrick Hadrian hunts monsters, both human and supernatural. A Knight of the Order of the Round Table, his use of magick and the technologies of steam power have made him both respected and feared. But his considerable skills are useless in the face of his greatest challenge, guardianship of five unusual children. At a loss, Merrick enlists the aid of a governess.

You have to plan for ambushes in advance...

That's the way insurance works. The house hunk will turn sixty-five in August and officially, he will be an old guy. That means he'll be on Medicare. On the other hand, I am not old so I won't be on Medicare for a few more years. So he's been on the phone for the last week trying to find out if I'll still have insurance once his retirement benefits change over.

The answer is yes. However, it appears that I will have a new plan. And that means I have to check if all my current doctors are in the new plan. If they aren't, then I have to find new doctors. All because he's gonna be an old guy.

I shouldn't complain. I have insurance. Many citizens in our country don't have that privilege. And that's the correct word because it isn't a right, it's a privilege...decided by how much money you have, who your employer is, and sometimes even where you live.

However, just because I will have insurance doesn't mean I have a choice about whether or not to accept it. Here's the gritty truth. If I don't take the insurance provided by my husband's retirement plan, then I won't have insurance because of something called "pre-existing conditions". Yep. That's right.

I have diabetes. High blood pressure. Thyroid deficiencies. GERD. Diverticulitis. High cholesterol. Heck, there's probably something else no one knows about yet. But because all of those are pre-existing conditions, insurance companies have the right to deny you coverage.

Just thought I would give all you young chickens a heads-up. Take good care of yourselves. Insurance companies don't want to offer coverage to sick people--they're only interested in well people. So pay up. Plan well. Otherwise, you'll find out it isn't covered.

anny

Worrywart

Rule #1. Don't worry about what's gonna happen tomorrow...there are enough troubles for today. Experience has taught me the truth of this.

Rule #2. Don't borrow anyone else's troubles...otherwise they'll have to go looking for some to even things up.

Rule #3. If you don't have any troubles today...be quiet. It's probably because they can't find you. If you're quiet enough, they might dump your trouble off at someone else's house.

Rule #4. If you think you have too much trouble, stop the next three people you see on the street and ask them about their troubles. There's a 99% chance you'll find you have exactly the right amount of trouble.

Rule #5. If you believe you don't have enough trouble, e-mail me and I'll send you some of mine.

Have a nice weekend.

anny

Laundry Math

It was laundry day today. Again. It seems to roll around with appalling regularity though we actually go to the Laundromat every 2.5 weeks. We average spending $40.00 a month to do laundry for two of us.

One of my readers asked why laundry was such a big deal for me. Today I added up all the pieces I washed, dried and folded in about two hours. This was laundry for a little over two weeks. Bras--17, panties--19, T-shirts/tops--18, jeans/pants--17, socks--19 pairs, gowns--6. That was my clothes. Not counting the house hunk plus sheets, towels, and two sweat jackets. If you multiply that by two, that's a lot of laundry. And by the time it's all folded, my shoulders hurt.

I never used to mind it so much when I could toss in a load whenever I wanted. I have to admit this is tougher. I really admire those men and women who are doing laundry for themselves plus a passel of children.

Anyway. Laundry done for another couple of weeks. Shopping done until the weekend. And then I spent the rest of the day hunting up receipts for income taxes. That's what we'll be doing on Thursday morning. It will be interesting to see how it all comes out.

If any of you out there are of the praying persuasion, I ask that you remember a little two year old boy named Kiashon. He had brain surgery to remove a tumor on his brain stem today and it didn't go well. As you might imagine his family (part of my extended family) is having a tough time tonight. The doctors aren't very encouraging about his prognosis.

All my blessings on y'all today.

anny

Drive-in Market

Of all the things in life I detest there are two I detest most--grocery shopping and laundry at the laundromat. You would think my now, in this modern era, we would have grocery shopping down to a fine science.

Nope. We're still doing like our Mamas, only now we're paying more for less and we have about a bazillion more choices on the shelves. Half the time we spend in the store is just locating the few things we can afford on our pitifully short lists.

Since we retired, the hunk and I have drastically changed our shopping strategies. For one thing, we only buy enough for two. That's more difficult than you might think. Groceries aren't packaged for two. If they are, you pay twice as much for the smaller package than you would for a bigger one.

There there are the strange ways things are packaged. Hot dogs. Most of the packages have FIVE hotdogs per package. What do you do when there's two of you? Eat two and a half? Same thing for Italian sausage. Five in a package.

English muffins? Six. The last time we bought them, there were NINE in the package.

And toilet paper. We have those containers in our bathroom where you can store spare rolls so one of us doesn't have the wake the other one in the middle of the night to go find the tp. The containers hold three rolls. But! The package of toilet paper comes with four rolls. That fourth roll just hangs out on the back of the toilet for two days waiting for us to finish off the last roll from the previous package.

Toothbrushes come three to a pack. Three. One of us better brush twice as much...

Anyway, I really like this concept in the picture up there. Wouldn't that be cool? Pull up. Order the list. And hang out waiting for those neato guys in white outfits to load up the trunk.

What would be better? If they just delivered it to the house and you never had to go in another grocery store. Think of all the money you would say by not impulse buying. No more extra bags of chips or chocolate because they happened to be there tempting you.

Yeah. I could get behind this idea.

anny