Nina Blakeman's Blog, page 6

Book Signing!!

Saturday, May 7th

5 pm to7 pm

Nina Blakeman, author of The Blow-up Man will be in Amarillo for a book signing event at Hastings: 4301 SW 45th (806) 359-3329, Amarillo, Texas. Books will be available for purchase.

Home Sweet Home No. 15

This is from Snopes: There is a superstition that exists that a wild bird flying into one’s house is a warning sign of ill luck…even death. A bird that flew in through an open window, circled the room or landed on the back of someone’s chair, then flew back out was saying as clearly as an omen can say that someone who lived in that dwelling was about to clutch the lily. Birds that hit glass windows were likewise trying to provide the same message, as did those who sat upon sills peering into rooms or tapping on the glass. Some placed no time limit on when the death was to take place; others said it would happen within the year,http://www.snopes.com/oldwives/bird.asp. In The Blow-up Man, I often used birds to foreshadow an ominous scene.

But what happens if they get in the house via the dryer vent? In Home Sweet Home No. 12, I mentioned that I heard something scratching in the dryer vent. I had the Orkin man out and he found no evidence of droppings, suggesting to me that I must be hearing the wind. He left traps (to humor me, I’m sure) as he heard no such sounds when he visited our home. The scratching sound eventually stopped…until this morning. My husband was home, and I immediately said, “Did you hear that? Did you hear that?” It led him to the utility room and the dryer. Here’s what he found when he detached the vent tubing:

Before we knew it, looked what flew out into the utility room:

I’ll leave you today with a video of a tree right outside the house. My husband and I don’t stand a chance.

Order your paperback copy of The Blow-up Man today, available at Amazon.com, Barnesandnoble.com, or http://www.outskirtspress.com/theblowupman. Looking for an eBook? The Blow-up Man is also available in Kindle, Nook, and iBooks editions.

Home Sweet Home No. 14

 

If you look on the back cover of The Blow-up Man, under my bio, it says I live in West Texas with my husband and our three dogs, Lambeau, Goobie, and Dingo. In this picture, Goobie is enjoying a dog treat, while Lambeau is looking really down. I had to break the news to him that he wasn’t featured in The Blow-up Man. In fact, the central animal figure belonged to a cat.

For those that haven’t had the chance to read The Blow-up Man, here’s an excerpt:

She tried to remain calm. Certainly, Todd would be looking for her, she thought. But she was unsure how much time had passed. She wasn’t sure of the day, so she reasoned that people may not even realize that she was missing. She convinced herself that it was a positive sign that she wasn’t dead, at least . . . not yet.

Order your paperback copy of The Blow-up Man today, available at Amazon.com, Barnesandnoble.com, or http://www.outskirtspress.com/theblowupman. Looking for an eBook? The Blow-up Man is also available in Kindle, Nook, and iBooks editions. In Amarillo, get your copy at Hastings Bookstore.

Home Sweet Home No. 13

Well, yesterday I took a look out a north facing window and saw a hawk sitting on top of a utility pole right outside the barn. In The Blow-up Man, Father Sweeney sees that same predator swoop down and grab a helpless rabbit, foreshadowing the dark meeting between the priest and Annette Dolce.

There was a Red Flag Warning, and the wind was really blowing. But I decided to take my i-phone to see if I could get a picture. Check it out.

I approached it slow, trying to get close. I had to watch my footing—I didn’t want to accidentally step on a snake. The dry grass crunched beneath my feet. Before I knew it, he took off. Check out that wingspan.

He was spooked and wasn’t returning to our place anytime soon. The area to the right with the trees is the empty Moore place. It’s about one mile up the road to the north. It’s where I pictured the fictitious Mrs. Margaret Carson living, but in a different style home. It’s where Ella would go, pedaling her dilapidated bike uphill. Note the utility poles in the distance. You see, I went inside and looked out the same window I had earlier. I thought I could see something atop one of those poles, but I wasn’t for sure. I got out my binoculars, and sure enough, there was that hawk…just waiting to snatch his dinner. Bye for now, Nina B.

 

Home Sweet Home No. 12

Taos, New Mexico sits at an elevation of 6696 feet above sea level in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. In The Blow-up Man, it’s where Todd and Faye Davis honeymoon, sharing together some of their first experiences as man and wife. It’s also where my husband and I spent the weekend. With little time off, a six hour drive is all that separates us from a quick mountain get-away, far removed from our stresses and the flat, dry plains of West Texas. Some might say it wasn’t the optimal time to visit. It was the end of a disappointing ski season— and too early and cold to really experience how the Plaza comes to life. But I say, “There’s never a bad time to visit Taos!”

We were able to get in a little shopping, go to the Harwood Museum of Art, and eat some wonderful food. It was at the Ammann Gallery on Bent Street that my husband was able to get a print for his office. It was from an artist named Reina and called Into Infinity. She’s originally from Austin, but now Taos. She works with colored pencils, and the landscape scenes display a unique type of psychedelic intensity the likes I’ve never seen. I got a clock made of slate and shell. It was done by Sandra Miller. For those that know me and my affinity for clocks, you sarcastically say… surprise, surprise. It’s a wonderful piece, and I’m proud to have it as part of my collection. Sandra was working the shop that day, and she carefully packaged up our little pieces of Taos that we planned to take home.

Then, it was off to the Harwood Museum. They had an exhibit of John De Puy. I’d watched a YouTube video in which he was interviewed. He’d described himself as an artist of abstract expressionism with a west motif. What I saw in his painting were a bunch of vaginas and breasts. I don’t know what that says about me, but I try not to dwell on it. PhD or not, I still consider myself a simple gal from the Panhandle.

Saturday night, we were extremely fortunate to dine at Byzantium. The owner, Skot Kirshbaum, is pretty much a one man show and what a show it was! He’s the cook, the waiter, the host. A meek, mild-mannered man, he lets his food do all the talking—exquisite.

Sunday, it was time to go home. As described in The Blow-up Man, it’s disheartening to see the mountains…Taos disappear in the rear view mirror. When we finally reached home, I asked my husband if he’d mind getting the push mower out of the garden shed, so that I could use it in the backyard later this week. You see, we both knew two skunks had taken up shelter in there, and I was too afraid of what I might find when I lifted the shed’s heavy door up and over my head. Scot had placed a peanut butter/rat poison mix in there before we left on our trip. As it turned out, one skunk was dead by the mower, the other outside the garden shed. When he delivered the news, I went to go look. I approached one of the corpses slowly, as if the skunk’s spirit might somehow be able to spray me. My nerves already on edge, I jumped as Patches the cat emerged from the tall prairie grass with a wiggling rat clenched between her teeth. If that wasn’t enough, I just got off the phone with the Orkin man. I told him, I’m not sure, but I think I hear something scratching in the dryer vent. Goodbye Taos… hello rural West Texas.

Home Sweet Home No. 11

Spring is here! In The Blow-up Man, it’s the time of year when a twisted tale begins to unfold for a diverse group of individuals in West Texas. Among those is a widow named Margaret Carson. As the story begins, she plans to plant a vegetable garden with the help of her young friend, Ella Davis.

As far as myself, I can’t help but wonder why I plant a garden, year after year. It’s a tremendous amount of work. So, is it worth it? Let’s start with the pests. From the tomato worms to the squash bugs—sometimes it can be a real fight to the finish. Then, there are the weeds. It doesn’t take them long to find a home in the freshly tilled soil. Their roots can run deep—their stems thick and prickly. If I’m not diligent, they soon take over, choking out the plants…and my hope for fresh vegetables. Then, there is the risk of snakes shading beneath the large, broad leaves of the pumpkins. And last, but not least, are the rabbits. Cute, you say. They are the gardener’s nemesis, and there is nothing cute about it when they eat the tops off your root vegetables or the tender leaves off your newly sprouted green beans. I know, I know, rabbits have to eat too.

So, will I plant this year? The answer is YES! But why, you ask? My husband ponders that very question, year after year. He reasons with me, “Nina, you can buy 4 yellow squash for a dollar at the supermarket, but with all your time and effort, each squash you grow can land up costing ten dollars each!” I tell him that each squash I grow has love in it. It’s the very squash he eats and the ones I obnoxiously pawn off on any unsuspecting friend or neighbor that I meet up with. I do it for the same reason a person who doesn’t have a place for a garden keeps a tomato plant on their patio. I do it for the same reason people get up at some ungodly hour on Saturday morning, rushing to the Farmer’s Market to get the pick of the crop. There’s something special about being close to the earth and the goodness that comes from it. And, there’s something special about my husband’s face when he enjoys my homemade hot sauce. It’s a salsa made from garden vegetables—the vegetables grown with love…and the salsa made from the same. Pace Picante has nothing on me. Bye for now, Nina B.

Home Sweet Home No. 10

In The Blow-up Man, Angel Maya crouches in the tall grass, awaiting an opportunity to right a wrong he’d been involved in. Lying in wait, a tick crawls on Angel’s arm, but he’s able to brush it off before it bites and burrows into his skin.

Ticks are nasty business…there’s a reason –ick is in the work tick. They are parasites and are known to carry disease. I’ve discussed in a previous post about the stray dogs and old pens that were on our property when we bought it—with that came ticks. In an attempt to control the situation naturally (without insecticides), a humorous story unfolded—though it wasn’t funny at the time.

Guinea fowl are native to Africa, but you can easily order the chicks from most hatcheries. Grown-up, they are an odd-looking lot and loud. They are known for their ability to contain snakes, control rodents, and eat ticks. Sounds like the perfect solution, right? Uh, no, as slowly our population of guineas started to decline, one-by-one. Whether it was dogs from other land owners, coyotes, or owls, we thought we needed to do something to protect the guinea. So, we heard from a friend that Australian Shepherds were a good herding dog to keep predators away and they wouldn’t bother the guineas…uh, no.

It was an all day affair as I drove down to the Abilene area to fetch us two Australian Shepherd pups. But I thought, finally, we would have the situation under control…uh, no. One day, we found one of the dogs shaking a guinea in his mouth to its death. Another friend had told us that if you use the dead guinea to punish the dog by hanging it around its neck for an extended period of time, that that would cause the dog to negatively be affected by the guinea and stop the behavior…uh, no. Next was trying to keep the dogs in the backyard away from the guinea, but that only resulted in a torn-up backyard, so alas, the dogs had to be given away. The guinea continued to disappear one-by-one until they were all gone. I tried to order more chicks to raise but that idea was side-lined when a bull snake crawled up and through the wire mesh of their pen to eat a  few (see Home-Sweet-Home No. 6). Snakes can climb. Many people don’t know that, but that’s another story.

To sum up this tale, let me say, skip the guineas, skip the Australian Shepherds, and use caution when taking advice from friends. Instead, knock down any old pens not in use, try and control wondering animals, keep the grass mowed short, and SPRAY for ticks when necessary. Bye for now, Nina B.

Home Sweet Home No. 9

In The Blow-up Man, Faye Davis wakes up in the disoriented state, being held captive in an outbuilding of an old homestead. Her eyes are dry and swollen, her nose fractured, and her mouth taped shut. I attempted to “get inside her head.” It is a fogged mind, trying to make sense of where she is at and what happened to her. It is a struggle for her to think…to move…to breath.

As Faye assesses her environment, what she sees, in one form or another, is the contents of our barn. It is not a barn in the conventional sense of the word, but a red and white metal building with a concrete floor. To have a typical wooden barn wouldn’t be advisable in an area where Red Flag Warnings can be commonplace.

The barn is not a weather-proof structure. It’s where a flash flood can wash water and soil across the floor, or a blizzard blow snow through the smallest of crevices, especially on the north side. You might wonder if our barn has a hole pierced in the side of it, like in the book. The answer to that is no. That part of the story was actually derived from a mishap with the tractor’s pallet forks to the side of the garden shed…same concept, different structure.

So, as you can imagine, given that the barn isn’t airtight or weatherproof, various small creatures find shelter within it. I can handle the mice and rats with poison, but the spiders are another story. Whether it’s been a day or a month since a piece of equipment has been used, sweeping the spider webs off is often a necessity. Their soft, cotton egg sacs can sometimes be found in the web, but they can also be found in areas where you might not check—like under the arm rests or under the seat. If you live out in the country, a thing like that is just part of the experience.

In the book, Faye was kept under dirty conditions, but thank goodness things don’t have to be kept so clean out there. I remember when we had someone come out to change the oil in a mower we kept in the barn. First, the gentleman had to drain the existing oil out. He did so in an old hospital basin that was evidently out there. He didn’t dispose of it, but neither did my husband or I, oops. The weather changed, going from extreme hot to extreme cold and back again. The plastic basin eventually cracked and the oil leaked out onto the concrete floor. The cat’s litter was used to soak it up…just like in the book. Bye for now, Nina B.

Home Sweet Home No. 8

Today I wanted to do a post about the barn. Although the shape of it doesn’t really match up to where Faye Davis was held captive in The Blow-up  Man, the contents inside closely resemble what Faye saw when she woke up to find herself being held prisoner. So, I was walking out there to really get a feel for it, and I was stopped in my tracks. I stood there on the hard, dry, flat ground surrounded by flowing yellow grasses. The tops of them were bent over by winds blowing sustained at 20 mph. I found myself thinking of a book I was reading about the area I live in, West Texas. It’s called the Empire of the Summer Moon by S.C. Gwynne. It’s a nonfiction piece where the author speaks of the Native American tribe that dominated this land back in the day, describing the Comanche as the “most powerful Indian tribe in American history.” He tells of a letter the explorer Coronado wrote to the king of Spain in 1541 of this land, ‘there were no more landmarks than if we had been swallowed by the sea…there was not a stone, nor a bit of rising ground, nor a tree, nor a shrub, nor anything to go by.’ The author portrays the tale of how the fierce Comanche dominated the land, pushing the Spanish back down toward Mexico and the Apache westward toward Taos, New Mexico. He explains how the Transcontinental Railroad was completed three centuries later, in 1869, connecting our nation, east to west. But despite this, our area was one of the last to be developed because of the harshness of the land and the threat to settlers. Gwynne writes how Coronado described the land as a desolate, trackless place where white men got lost and disoriented, dying of thirst—now, some of us just call it home. It was where I stood.

Join me next time when I’ll tell you about the barn. Bye for now, Nina B.

Home Sweet Home No. 7

As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, in The Blow-up Man, are fictional situations that were inspired by many of those that’d occurred on my own rural property. In the book, Buttons the cat was Ella Davis’s best friend. But in real life, around our place, my husband and I are really dog people. In fact, we have three, and they’re what you’d call house dogs…spoiled house dogs. Often, the dogs can be found at the window obnoxiously barking at their nemesis, Patches the cat. She’s a semi-feral Calico that’s made our place home, so we’ve decided to accept her. I’m talking about Scot and me, not the dogs. I hate to admit it, but Patches is much smarter than the dogs. She stretches and rolls around outside the windows just to antagonize them. And when the dogs are out for a walk, she often outwits them, keeping them at bay. Maybe, one day, I’ll even understand how she manages to unscrew the top off the plastic container I keep her cat food in.

Patches is tough, too. When we go outside, Patches is quick on our heels. At times, we’ve been unaware that she’s actually followed us out to the barn or up in the attic (stairs are in the garage). We’ve come to learn that if we haven’t seen her in a couple of days, we need to go retrace our steps to make sure we haven’t inadvertently locked her up somewhere. If that happened to have been the case, we just let her out, and she goes on as if nothing happened. We’ve been more traumatized by those instances than her.

A few times a year, Patches will go into heat. She makes these awful cries out to any Tom within earshot. For whatever reason, Patches has never been able to carry her kittens to term. We know this because we’ve found her spontaneously aborted fetuses on the garage floor. But Patches survives and goes on.

Patches spends too much of her time in the garage for our taste, but we understand the predicament she faces when it comes to a place to stay. She used to reside in the garden shed. It’s a long, rectangular, metal structure where we store mowers, herbicides, rakes, hoes, etc. Along the bottom of the building are two small openings with metal slots/doors that slide open and close. I can only imagine that the previous owners might have kept chickens in there, and the hens could go in and out through these openings—there’re about that size. It was a perfect place for Patches as she could come and go as she pleased. But then, one day, she refused to go in there. I thought it odd since that’s where I kept her cat food. When I went in there to refill her bowl, I found out why. Patches had been evicted…by a skunk. No worries, I didn’t get sprayed. I just got the hell out of there as fast as I could. Bye for now, Nina B.