Ryshia Kennie's Blog, page 10

Goat Yoga With a Twist

Feeding Furbabes  was the event going on in a local hotel. And while I still have my dog food cookbook on the back burner of things I mean to do, what had my interest was a demo of Goat Yoga. Who could dodge an invite like that? Apparently a few people I discover after sending out some texts. No one but me seemed interested in checking this event out.

So, who cares about the naysayers, there are eleven strangers who were on the same wavelength - goats rock.

This is a pet event so you can bring your pet! Great. I don't have a pet right now but I love animals so I was looking forward to some pet interaction. When the first one I see is a crazy happy puppy jumping up as far as his leash lets him, I reach down to pet him at which point he decided to wrestle my hand with his needle sharp puppy teeth. One bleeding thumb wrapped in a tissue- later, I'm signing in.

"I'm sorry there are no goats today."

Now that news just bites - harder than the puppy. And, as if anticipating this, there is a trio lined up to deliver the news. One of the goats is sick and from what I understand it is only precautionary, nothing life threatening. So, that's a relief. And the yoga is going on as planned...

But no goats. I mean, goat yoga isn't exactly anything but yoga without a goat. Not exactly true.

"It's still on but now it's puppy yoga," says the tall man at the end with a hopeful tone as if puppies fix everything.

Puppy yoga, hmmm.

"We can refund your money."

Nope. I'm in.

So puppy yoga it is. And with eight adorable puppies, a group of puppy wranglers and twelve yoga participants, it was an interesting event. Try to do downward dog with a real dog licking your toes. So after an hour of puppy cuddles and kisses, and some attempts at yoga - puppy yoga ends. Apparently animals in yoga is a bit of a thing. The instructor has a studio where she has cat yoga.

It's been fun and entertaining and I actually got some exercise. Plus, I reconnected with someone who I'd gone to obedience training with my puppy ages ago and yet it seems like yesterday. Now both dogs are gone. Time moves on and sometimes we say goodbye what seems like too many times. But now isn't time for sad thoughts. Instead we laugh at the memories of those puppies of long ago, as a real-time puppy has crashed in my lap.

So, yes - no goats but puppy yoga was a hit.

Goat yoga - next year, count me in! And I might be hoping that it again morphs to puppy yoga. Either way, it should be fun.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!



Ryshia
www.ryshiakennie.com

Coming this fall from Harlequin Intrigue:  American Armour Miniseries Wanted by the Marshal Marshal on a Mission


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Writing Between the Lines!

So this week there's been a few breaks in my writing. I've been working on a new proposal, a series and I've just received edits back on the first book in a Harlequin Intrigue mini-series that will be out this fall. I'm pretty excited about it and there'll be more in future blogs. But, right now, all of it, including American Armor, took a bit of a back seat to my MIL or Ma D (If you're new to my blog - Ma D is my mother-in-law or MIL, sometimes affectionately known as Ma D.)


Ma D has had a big week. There's been appointments, a birthday (which involved piano playing, of course! And,  at which she's a whiz) - all sorts of events packed into one week. The piano playing was fun but before we got to that, we had the appointment. Appointments are always a bit of a challenge. Especially because Ma D is used to being in charge. It frustrates her not to remember when and why she is going somewhere and that makes most appointments, especially medical, a bit of a challenge. To keep the frustration level down on both sides, after this recurring appointment is over, it's tradition to get her settled in the truck before returning to make the next appointment and settle the account. When I get back, she's not paying much attention to me but fixated on the street ahead of us. I shut the door and she looks over with a serious expression:

"Seventy-Five vehicles drove down this road and they're predominantly white." 

Nowadays, Ma D focuses on the little details; the child tagging behind his mother, the pink leash on the dog and vehicles - one of her faves. She's big on the colour of vehicles. I think she's always on the lookout for her fave type and colour - a yellow jeep. She doesn't mention it very much anymore but I can still hear her voice from years ago, excitedly pointing one out. Now, I can picture her in it with the wind lifting the sprouts of short white-tinged, grey hair in the wind. I can see the smile on her face. I imagine she might even speed, just a bit. Unfortunately, the driving days are long behind her.

But this isn't time for regrets - we're heading for coffee. It's an event that Ma D loves. So we head out, I don't check the seatbelt situation as, even now, Ma D is always good about buckling in but apparently the counting of cars took precedence. For the seatbelt reminder is dinging like crazy.

I look over and say, "Mum, you don't have your seatbelt on."

She gives me a puzzled look as she grabs the strap over her shoulder. 

"Yes, I do," she replies.

"I don't know. The seatbelt dinger is still going off." I can't really give my best attention to the situation without pulling over, something I'm now considering. I can see out of the corner of my eye that she's fumbling around trying to figure the seatbelt situation out. 

More fumbling.

"Oh my. I guess I don't have it on. I put the purse around my neck instead."

Every hour we spend together, every outing, Ma D teaches me that there's more than one way to live a life. And dementia sucks but it's not big enough to suck the fun out of a day. She plows through with her usual steely determination. With that in mind, there's no way I can ever complain about having a bad day. For she reminded me once again that dementia doesn't rule. While, she might be relegated to the passenger seat, she's not taking a backseat - not yet.






Ryshia
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The Top 5 Bookworm Hacks You Need To Know

This post is courtesy of Chelsea Parker from  Pillow Talk Books . While I've never "drowned" a book in the tub, there is so much I can relate to especially with Number 2 - Finding Books Cheap. As a writer I'd like to say I've bought all my books full price. But as a reader I must say that I've bought books full price, half price, borrowed from friend or library and even bought them worn and well-loved at garage sales.  So here goes - enjoy...

Ryshia
www.ryshiakennie.com

The Top 5 Bookworm Hacks You need To Know:

1. Keeping Books Dry

We've all been at the end of a long, stressful day, when all you want to do is kick back with your favorite book and a hot bath. Only, you don't really feel like fiddling with your one-size-fits-none book tray, and you're not in the mood for blow drying your paperback after the inevitable surprise dipping in the tub. If you attach your book to something retractable, like a leash, you'll never have to worry about wet books again.

2. Finding Books Cheap

Balancing your book addiction and your budget gets a lot easier with bookworm hacks headed towards trimming costs down. Start off by changing your shopping habits! Wait for sales at stores, or hit up the sale events that libraries use to weed their collections. you can also find amazing books on daily deal sites like mine.

3. Moving Your Personal Library

Big moves require big planning, and trying to transfer a large number of books from point A to point B can be hard on your collection and your back. Instead of giving in to the temptation to load up as many boxes as you can, ration your books out. If you pack a box half full, then add softer things, like linens and towels on top, you'll cut down on the weight and provide built in cushioning for your book stash.

4. Bookworms and Book Bags

No bookworm hacks list is complete without book bags. They're one of the best ways to keep your books in order, cut down on buying habits, or make transportation that much easier. Bringing a book bag wherever you go is both environmentally friendly and safer than risking a plastic bag rip. Dedicated book bags can also be turned into handy reminders, if you have an overdue book problem. Hang the bag, or bags, on an easily visible hook, slap on a chalk or whiteboard patch and write down the due date.

5. Keeping your "To Read" List Trim

Having trouble keeping track of "what's next" on your reading list? Do you end up skipping over long-awaited titles to new books you maybe shouldn't have bought? Try leaving your planned next book out on a table, in the bathroom, or somewhere else you're likely to stumble over it. This also works for a book you've been having trouble keeping up with!

Being a bookworm isn't a job for the faint of heart, but anyone can use these tips to enjoy a good book, or two--or even two hundred.

Chelsea Parker is the scheduling editor at Pillow Talk Books.  Pillow Talk Books sends out daily emails filled with romance books from all genres. Stop by and sign up to start receiving great romance reads daily.  

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And the World Spins Into Another Year!

2018 was a tough year, there's no other way to put it.  I've seen enough emergency rooms, hospitals and doctors' offices to last me through 2019. Each time it wasn't for me but for other family members. Fortunately, everyone made it through and fingers crossed - it's all behind us.

But on to the rest of my year - getting my MIL settled in a care home. Turned out to be a lot more involved than any of us planned, and a lot more challenging. But now, she's there, and I think, for the most part, she's happy. Sometimes you can only do what you can do.

DexterIf you've kept up with my blog, I'm a dog lover without a dog - or is that pet lover without a pet, as I have had other types of pets? Anyway, these days I'm satisfying my love of creatures by enjoying the dogs of others, even those that unexpectedly arrive on my doorstep.

So, other news of the year included finding one lost dog on icy streets. A performance to get a frightened dog into the truck in freezing cold weather while keeping your balance on an icy street. It all turned out well. With fliers everywhere and the help of facebook - she did find home. But not before spending a comfortable afternoon in my living room mooching whatever treats she could and keeping out of the cold. In other news, the year has seen a small string of doggy houseguests - no not lost and found, there was only one of those - well, okay there was one other - also home safely.

Unfortunately there were a few furry friends in my circle that I said goodbye to in 2018. Jas and Gemma - you will be missed.

And on a happier note - a shoutout to two of my favourite Sunday morning coffee guys (yes they are both dogs): Dexter and Toby.

And on to book news:
My new two-book mini series, American Armor, will be published by Harlequin Intrigue, September 2019 and October 2019.  I'm excited to see Wanted by the Marshal and Marshal on a Mission in print. More online www.ryshiakennie.com and, of course, you can sign up for my newsletter to be at the front-end of the news. Linkups for that are also on my website. There'll be lots coming soon - so check it out!

From the Dust and Ring of Desire, will be released in audio book sometime in 2019. They are my first two books - and prove that yes I can write something besides love and death or, oops, I mean romantic suspense.

This year I actually made a New Year's resolution - truthfully a few resolutions. One that I know I'll keep is the books I'll be writing this year. So there's more romantic suspense coming at you - more on that  later in the year.

Cheers to 2019 may it be better than 2018 or at least equal to that and all the years that came before!



Ryshiawww.ryshiakennie.com
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And Thus a Romantic Suspense Book Is Born – a Ten Part Series

The idea for a story hits me somewhere - anywhere, usually some place where my cell phone is missing and even an archaic pencil is nowhere to be found. Thrilled with the idea, I charge forward anyway. And from there the days roll out and  it could go like this...
Part One - The start of the story. What a brilliant idea. Love it.Part Two – How the heck is that going to happen? That doesn’t make sense. What idiot came up with this? This is doomed. More coffee – much more!!Part Three – Still no light – just one dark tunnel of going no-where. Obviously, it was a ridiculous idea and I need to think of something else.Part Four – Can’t do this. It's going nowhere and my heroine, well – I love my hero and heroine, they love each other. It’s just this darn swampy plot that they can’t get out of.  A reader with one of my books, in The Dead Sea.Part Five – Maybe the characters need another complication to get things moving.Part Six – Too much complication. They’re sinking. Everyone is doomed or already dead. There are few characters left and I’m guessing no happily ever after.Part Seven – More coffeePart Eight – Eureka – bells and whistles sound and I rise shrieking from my chair. The neighbors call for a curb on noise.Part Nine – Coffee-fueled writingPart Ten – The beauty of love rises over evil once again – I write - The end.
Now, everyone including me, can enjoy the story!

FYI - it was stories like this, where plot and writer randomly lost their way, that have dragged me reluctantly toward the fine idea of an outline!






Ryshia Kennie..a world you never imagined!www.ryshiakennie.com

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The Price of Love

I was reminded the other day  of why I write romance. There is nothing better than that warm and fuzzy ending. You can kill as many people (bad guys, of course) as you like but in the end, everything is going to work out for your couple. They'll find each other and they'll find love. And - they'll be happy from then to eternity. It's the one guarantee, happy ever after.
My MIL and I
I was telling my MIL that as we walked in the remnants of good fall weather, and the last of the leaves hung tenaciously on. She's one of my best listeners and sounding boards when it comes to my books. While she struggles with her memory, when it comes to the dilemmas of fiction writing, she's on it. I can always count on at least one piece of sage advice.

Back to: love and the guaranteed happily ever after. In life, that's unfortunately, not quite how it works. I don't often think about that as the majority of my stories never face that reality. But a chance meeting this fall reminded me of all that and then some. It was as haunting as the story highlighted by the theme music of this long ago movie - Love Story...

And so, the story goes:

It was a beautiful fall day so I took my mother in law for a walk and to a nearby craft sale.  At one of the tables, a small man stood in a dull shirt that I imagined was as elderly as he was. He carved pictures in wood. Not just any picture, but stories intricately crafted and moments he explained of life that he'd seen or experienced. After what looking over his work and listening to what I thought was his story, I was ready to move on but my MIL likes to chat. And she'll keep asking questions as long as someone is willing to answer them. Soon I knew a little too much about the artist's life. And it was then that the story took a turn that none of us could escape from. He began telling us about his dog that had been his wife's. The dog hadn't liked him until his wife died. On that day, the dog moved from the foot of the bed to his wife's side of the bed. And he looked so lost when he said now it was just him and the dog. But, the saddest bit was that today was their sixtieth wedding anniversary. He said he just had to get out and so here he was at the craft sale, selling his goods.
My happily ever after took the pic.
I wished I could rewrite his story and give him the happily ever after I'm sure he deserved. And then I realized that he'd had his happy ever after. He'd had his love. Now, he was standing alone on the pier with all his memories behind him and a stretch of life ahead that he needed to navigate alone. That harsh fact is the price of love. I see it every day, my MIL is a widow and my mother is a widow too. But that day it really hit home.

And on the way home, my MIL only reminded me of that pier as she told me how much she missed her own husband.  I'd known that, but today just brought everything home.

I'd never thought so clearly of the price of love before.

We all have our stories. Some of us have love, some had, and some may still be waiting.  In my stories they lose and they love and they lose only to win in the end. That's not always how life works but in those stories, for a few hours we twist it to make it all that we dream of.

A disclaimer - while this happened a few weeks ago - life and a book got in the way. But that book is now off and another is stirring. In the meantime, snow arrived, yes in November and even before that. But I'm posting this anyway. This was what mid-October looked like in Saskatchewan.


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One Hundred Years - So Much to Remember

At the 11th hour on the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918, the First World War officially came to an end. 
Since then, the poppy became the symbol of remembrance in many countries. That was the result of a poem written by a Canadian Artillery, field-surgeon. If you can even begin to imagine, he wrote the poem in the midst of battle in 1915. Now one hundred years since that war ended, the poem lives on.

So today I'll leave you with your own thoughts and the poem that couldn't say any of it any better.



In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, saw dawn, felt sunset glow
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders Fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you with failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders Fields.

by: John McCrae











Ryshia Kennie

www.ryshiakennie.com






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Life Happens - Keep Writing!

Waiting for surgery to finish.So Ma D, my MIL, has been in a care home for most of the year. Things were chugging along fine until the beginning of July when her stomach became bloated and she felt sick. A trip to the doctor led to a trip to the emergency room. We arrived at three o'clock in the afternoon on a Saturday, to find out emergency meant a four hour wait, unless you're bleeding out. And, that's just to be assigned a bed. By the time the exam and tests were done and it was clear that this was at least an overnight stay, it was almost morning. Hospitals are not great for small children - there's one crying down the hall because of the threat of a needle. I feel bad for his fear but it's not so great at this end of the hall either. Emergency rooms are not good for confused elderly either. She's upset and I don't blame her. We can't leave until she's settled. Three thirty in the morning and she's finally sleeping. We sneak home for a few hours sleep and are back by 8:00 a.m. By noon we have the grim news - surgery. Nothing major but when you're elderly, every surgery can be major. Gall bladder needs to come out.

Four hours before surgery - I step out of her room for less than a minute and on my return there are crumbs on her gown. "What did you eat," I ask waiting for the worst.
"A cookie," she says with a smile.
I'm thinking, trying to figure out where she might have gotten a cookie and then I see the offending purse that goes everywhere with her. There's nothing much in it but apparently there was a cookie. Fortunately, after I fessed up to the surgeon, the surgery was still a go.

And so a week in the hospital, a week of days by her bedside and she's finally sent home - looking fine with a drain.

The drain. I know it's going to be a problem and less than a week later it is. She pulls it out. Although, that's not quite the story. We figure out later that she's clipped it neatly off, leaving a hunk of plastic still inside. Back at the emergency there's no indication that anything is still inside. Maybe infection and a round of antibiotics and another overnighter, will fix the problem we're told. It does for a few days. But the pain comes back - two more visits to the emergency, one by ambulance, and a second admission uncovers the culprit causing the  severe abdominal pain that comes and goes and for some reason, can't be easily detected. But the hunk of plastic roaming around her abdomen is finally caught. Now another surgery to remove it. Yes, sigh - this has been the month of July. I know every corner of the hospital, where to go to read quietly, where to find the best coffee, where to get a bit of fresh air - and... where to pull out a pen and paper and get writing the old fashioned way.

As the surgeon gives the green light and authorizes discharge, I smile and look forward to putting our hospital days behind us. But the surgeon isn't done, he asks Ma D what she thinks about being discharged. And, her response surprises me as she answers with a big smile:

"I'm quite comfortable. Maybe tomorrow."

Some stuff, you just can't make up.
Ryshia
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A Day In The Sun

I love golfing although this summer I didn't get to do much of it but that's another story. This week made up for all that missed golfing when the CP Women's Open came to town. Added bonus, Canadian, Brooke Henderson, is among the favourites to win.

The event might be close to home, but getting there wasn't straight forward. No, spectators can't park at the golf course. Instead there are parking lots set up where you drive to and then hop on a school bus to take you to the rest of the way.
Our Canadian-hope-to-win, Brooke Henderson, was holding one of the leading positions - not first but close enough.  On Friday, it was still early days with two more days left in the tournament. She had some great shots and seemed not to notice the crowd that watch every shot as intently as if it were her last. It's amazing the discipline these golfers have. They're not distracted by the crowd of spectators, nor by the cameraman following them. It's them and that little white ball and nothing else matters. A lesson in discipline, for sure.
Note to writer - keyboard and paper is all that matters. Yet there are no crowds and still I can be so easily distracted. 
Beer samples from a pseudo golf bag out of this redone truck.So, great day - glad we went.  It was an experience to be on the course, actually touching the rope that kept us off the fairway, being the one doing the clapping instead of some fan on television. My fingers are crossed that Brooke will pull off a win. There's a lot of Canadians cheering her on.

Hours later and we're back on the school bus. This time our volunteer driver is looking not at all like one might expect of a bus driver. She's wearing a cheery sundress, a brilliant smile and a pony tail - and greets us all as we enter the bus that is rocking with music that I'm not unfamiliar with - I've heard it in another era. DH looks at me as the school bus lurches into motion, smiles and says "Rather appropriate. The last time we heard this we were riding one one of these to school."
Past meets present yet again. 
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One Week In A Care Home

I've blogged little this year. Time got away from me. Mainly because I was stuck in the mire of what else was happening in my life. I wasn't sure how to write about it or if I wanted to say anything at all. But what I've experienced this year and even last year, what's been creeping up slowly - was the return of dementia, Alzheimers, whatever you want to call it, into my life. Recently I decided that it's as much a part of my life as my writing is. It's time to fess up. After having lost my dad to this horrid disease I now face it with my mother in law.  Whether there was something that could have been done, less sugar, less stress or whether it was just a shitload of bad luck, it's crappy and there's nothing to be done to fix it, only manage it. Besides, Mum's not gone. We're figuring this thing out as we go along. And, there's still a whole lot of fun and laughter to be found. Crap happens and then we laugh. So let me share and tell you how the year began.

Ma D or Mum (my mother-in-law) moved into a care home shortly after the start of the year. This wasn't something she wanted to do or even believed she needed. In her mind she cooked for herself, cleaned her house and toodled around town in her little car. In reality, I had cooked the majority of her meals for over a year, chauffeured her to the majority of her appointments and with the rest of the family basically managed her life.  The car, well it sat in the garage with the keys tucked safely away. I'm not proud of the fact that we had to trick her into moving but it was the only way to keep her safe. When coffee was left on the burner for hours, when doors were left open in the midst of January on the prairie and with doors unlocked, and a friendly smile, she'd let anyone in - stranger or neighbour - it was time. So we began the arduous journey; wading through the options, readying her and her things for where she needed to go.

Mum fought through the early days of that first move in. It was tough for all of us but we'd found her the best place we could. Her own little suite where she could shut the door and call it her own, where staff checked on her and the meals are great. Except, problems came one after the other like a tsunami. Confusion at being moved doubled - a temporary occurrence thank goodness but one that had to be dealt with. So, week one I moved in for a few days to lend her the support it was clear she so desperately needed.

Day 1 in a Care Home
After a day of convincing her that this is her new home, after facing more failure than success - watching the 2018 Olympics seem to make everything right. But, night brings other troubles. Staff check on their latest resident throughout the night and each time she pops up on cue. On my end, the couch I sleep on is too short, even for me. It is too slippery too. The pillows shoot out from under my head and launch across the room. I just get them back in place when a sound has Mum sitting up in confusion. Settled once again and then it's the sheets that the staff so kindly lend me - they slip every time I move. So when Mum sits bolt upright in bed with a question as to where she is, the sheet slips off the couch as I sit up to answer every time, all half dozen times that she awakes through the night. I hunt down those pillows and remake that makeshift bed again - and again and... Morning takes a long time coming and finds me pre-breakfast sitting in a chair in the hallway wondering at six a.m. if the day that has only begun would ever end or if Mum will ever accept this place as home. It's the latter that has me worried. But Mum cheers up right after breakfast is served. Now, it is only the night that I dread. On the upside, the meals are great here and later in the day, for the first time ever, I actually enjoy pineapple on my pizza.

Day 2 in a Care Home
Mum's been the financial head of the household that once included the family farm, and she won't be fooled. So, when light is flooding under her door at midnight, she's concerned about what this might cost her. The issue comes up every hour on the hour through the night. I finally convince her that it is the hall light and the fact that the woman across the corridor has her light on and the door open. But, she's yet to believe that she's not going to be charged for the excessive use of power. And the next day, my short escape home for supper is interrupted as the care home calls - Mum is insisting on leaving and they fear they don't have the manpower to stop her.

I would laugh if it weren't so tragic. Mum used to be tall and strong. Now she is slightly shorter than me and when I take her hands in mine, she can't pull free. But she still gives the illusion of strength and her determination is legendary. So the night begins early as I head back to the home only to find Mum settled in her room with one of those fabulous staff members having taken charge and convincing her, for now, that this is home.

We go to bed early for I know the worst will come in the early hours of the morning starting from midnight on and there'll be no sleep after that. I'm sad as I tuck in those slippery sheets on that slick sofa thinking what has happened, how Mum's life has changed. But there's no choice, we need her safe.

Day 3 and 4 in a Care Home
The staff can make or break a place. Here, with welcoming smiles they've made Mum feel precariously comfortable. And, they make sure we're all watered, fed and happy, yes, even me who is planning an exit strategy soon. Meantime, I've stuffed a notepad and a pen in my overnight bag, just in case I have an idea or two for a story. Instead Mum believes it's time to go home and won't be convinced otherwise. I strike gold with the piano in the lounge and we both give it a go. It's the best therapy ever. Mum is a fabulous piano player - she can wing pretty near any piece with a combination of reading the music and playing by ear.

Fast forward a few months and we're celebrating Mother's Day. Except mum doesn't feel much like celebrating. We're playing bingo and she wants nothing to do with it. She shoves the bingo card at me
repeatedly and gets crankier each time she does it. I'm guessing she fears she may have forgotten how to play and doesn't want to embarrass herself. So I take charge of the card and gamely play. However, I miss one key fact - it's blackout bingo. So when I call bingo and they bring over the prize, the laughs on me when we realize that there is no win. On the upside, my embarrassment was worth Mum's smile.

And the journey goes on...


Ryshia
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