Rita Arens's Blog, page 49

Cat Moment

I slept like hell last night. We spent the weekend outside and yesterday working in the yard, and between the muscle exhaustion and the allergy infusion, I just couldn't stay comfortable. At about 5:45 this morning, I woke up and flopped around again (my poor husband). Petunia stirred from the foot of the bed and walked over my body until she got to my arm. Then she curled up in the circle of my arm, put her paws over my elbow and laid her head on my shoulder. And purred.

And then I fell...

The Hearts of the Writers at the Pitchapalooza

On Monday, I went to hear The Book Doctors (Arielle Eckstut and David Henry Sterry) do their Pitchapalooza for the second year. Last year, I just went and watched, not really sure what was going on. This year, I took along my reframed novel pitch to see what they would say.

It was monsoon pouring that night, and the temperature inside Unity Temple ranged somewhere between moist and sauna. I am terrible at estimating crowds, but I'd say the auditorium was about half full -- and it appeared...

The Concept of "Best Friend"

This morning I saw a post on BlogHer called "I've Never Had a Best Friend" by all.things.fadra. She wrote:

I used to get offended when I would meet people, especially people I really liked, and they would tell me about their "best friend back in Michigan" or the woman they've been friends with since the second grade.

I took it to mean: Hi. Nice to meet you. We can be friends but not that good of friends because that position has already been filled. And perhaps I stayed guarded in the...

Does Anyone Need a Window Dresser?

I've always been fascinated by the little angel's skill in balancing and arranging her toys in all manner of Norman-Rockwell-meets-The-Shining scenes: super cute when she's there and super creepy when she's not.

When I got out of bed this morning, I heard the steady cadence of her voice in the next room. I looked at Beloved. "You're missing Story Hour," he said.

But I was late getting up and went down to get coffee and then we scrambled for the bus, and I forgot all about the whole thing...

It's Spring, And I Have an Uncontrollable Urge to Paint Stuff

Ever have a writing project that's not moving as quickly as you want?

PAINT STUFF.

Wish you could take a three-week vacation to Europe?

PAINT STUFF.

Scared about how hot this summer's going to be if it's already 80 before St. Patrick's Day?

PAINT STUFF.

Tired after a conference followed by an intense workweek?

DON'T SLEEP. PAINT STUFF.

Painting stuff is awesome. It's the cheapest way I know to start over. In the 2011-2012 edition of The Transformation of Chateau Travolta, Beloved put in a...

My Neighbors' Palm Trees in Missouri

A few miles from my house, there are palm trees. Palm trees are not native to Missouri. When I first saw them, I thought they were fake. Then I realized they were taller than the other, native-to-Missouri trees. That would have to be a pretty good fake. And they moved in the breeze the way real palm trees would.

And when winter came, they were wrapped. 

I drove past that house recently and saw they'd installed carved and painted wooden palm trees with their house number at the base of their...

The Confusing Question of the Homeless Hotspot

Today I wrote this post over on BlogHer:

Let's say you're walking around SXSW cursing the lack of wifi on 6th Street. And then, suddenly, salvation: You see a woman wearing a t-shirt that says, "I'm Susie, a 4G hotspot. SMS HH Susie to 25827 for access wwww.homelesshotspots.org."

Susie herself is a hotspot, complete with all the necessary equipment. A walking, talking hotspot. A homeless hotspot. Hot damn, aren't you in luck!

Want to read the rest? 

 

Live From Dad 2.0

I've been here in Austin at the first Dad 2.0 for two days now, and so far my take-away is how good my husband and I have it. Both our fathers are alive and active in our lives and our daughter's life. My husband is a world-class father and an amazing example of how to bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan. He has friends who are dads and indeed capable of talking about parenting with him, if he really wants to (I suspect they talk more about work and sports, but these guys are...

Back to the Scene of the Crime

As the Corolla sits stinking up my garage, Beloved is back in the Ozarks. And it's occuring to me I don't actually even know where. Have I learned nothing? I mean, I talked to him last night and this morning, and I forgot to ask both times. He was somewhere last night and he'll probably be somewhere different tonight, and after ten or twelve different times of him road warrioring his way across Missouri every week, I've grown more accustomed to this new life of ours. The only problem is my...

The Ballad of the Gray Sweater

I had this sweater. I loved it. It was v-necked and it clung in the right places and had three-quarter sleeves and a little sweater belt. Soft gray. HAD. I HAD this sweater. Until last Saturday, when it died a very ugly death at The Vine in Iowa City, Iowa ... while I was wearing it.

The Vine is known for its wings. There were fourteen of us, my three college roommates, some of our husbands, all of our progeny. We waited an hour for our food. The children got squirmy. Things were spilled. I...