Lucy Adams's Blog, page 25
November 22, 2011
Vegan Thanksgiving?
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and those turkeys are up to tricks again. They've gone and disguised themselves as pumpkins.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Count your blessings that you're not a turkey.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Count your blessings that you're not a turkey.
Bad Mama
I dug my dinging cell phone out of my pocket and glanced at the number on the screen. Though I didn't recognize it, fate compelled me to answer, "Hello, this is Lucy."
"Mama," came a gasp rising over the wireless horizon, "Where are you?"My legs stiffened. My lungs labored to draw in a fresh breath. A haze descended as I wrestled with how to answer my 12 year-old son's question. At long last I casually whispered, "At the liquor store. We took your brother to meet up with his friends before the football game and then we came to the…" My voice grew weak again as I accidentally circled back around to having to say, "liquor store." Whispering it, of course, didn't change the matter or make me unseen by the Baptists and Methodists shopping the aisles on a Friday night along with me.
Earlier in the day, I huddled by my space heater flipping through one of my favorite cookbooks, Peterson's Holiday Helper. When I stopped the flapping pages, I had landed right on a drool evoking recipe. Tonight, I decided. I'll make dinner tonight. But I didn't have a single one of the three ingredients on hand: Cherry brandy, cherry liqueur, chocolate liqueur."Where are you," I exclaimed, both to change the subject and because it at last occurred to me that my child was probably not at home where I thought I had left him.
He told me the sad, sad tale of a boy who looked out of the front window of his house to see his mother and father and another child getting into the car. Immediately he suspected that we were headed to the football game without him, so he ran out the front door and down the walkway desperately pleading for us to stop.When we did not, the lad sprinted down the street, chasing our tail lights into the dark. He ran as fast as he could make his short legs go, like beating a dying race horse. After arriving at our usual parking spot and seeing that neither we nor our car were there, the despondent child borrowed a phone to called me, his mother, the woman he has depended on and put his faith in since birth.
He thought we had mistaken, Mick, the neighbor kid from down the street for him and thus taken Mick to the game instead of our own son."Honey," I scolded, once he completed his story, "How could you think that? I haven't even made dinner yet!"
"Mama," came a gasp rising over the wireless horizon, "Where are you?"My legs stiffened. My lungs labored to draw in a fresh breath. A haze descended as I wrestled with how to answer my 12 year-old son's question. At long last I casually whispered, "At the liquor store. We took your brother to meet up with his friends before the football game and then we came to the…" My voice grew weak again as I accidentally circled back around to having to say, "liquor store." Whispering it, of course, didn't change the matter or make me unseen by the Baptists and Methodists shopping the aisles on a Friday night along with me.
Earlier in the day, I huddled by my space heater flipping through one of my favorite cookbooks, Peterson's Holiday Helper. When I stopped the flapping pages, I had landed right on a drool evoking recipe. Tonight, I decided. I'll make dinner tonight. But I didn't have a single one of the three ingredients on hand: Cherry brandy, cherry liqueur, chocolate liqueur."Where are you," I exclaimed, both to change the subject and because it at last occurred to me that my child was probably not at home where I thought I had left him.
He told me the sad, sad tale of a boy who looked out of the front window of his house to see his mother and father and another child getting into the car. Immediately he suspected that we were headed to the football game without him, so he ran out the front door and down the walkway desperately pleading for us to stop.When we did not, the lad sprinted down the street, chasing our tail lights into the dark. He ran as fast as he could make his short legs go, like beating a dying race horse. After arriving at our usual parking spot and seeing that neither we nor our car were there, the despondent child borrowed a phone to called me, his mother, the woman he has depended on and put his faith in since birth.
He thought we had mistaken, Mick, the neighbor kid from down the street for him and thus taken Mick to the game instead of our own son."Honey," I scolded, once he completed his story, "How could you think that? I haven't even made dinner yet!"
November 21, 2011
Rewiring the Soul
The Tuck Your Skirt 2011 Blog Tour is electric today at
Rewiring the Soul
. Gabriella Kortsch, author of the book Rewiring the Soul, is my gracious hostess. Gabriella says, "While the subjects Lucy and I typically write about appear to be very distant one from the other, I felt that her particular brand of humour, so important in these times of worries, stress, and negativity, was especially germane to keeping ourselves on track in the positive sense of the word." Stop by to see what else she has to say ant to listen to a podcast from
Tuck Your Skirt in Your Panties and Run
titled Strategic Errors, the inspirational story of Anyjoe in the Kingdom of Anythinkinhappen.
Through the end of November, I'm visiting blogs around the country, participating in Q&A, sharing excerpts from Tuck Your Skirt in Your Panties and Run , and giving folks a chance to listen to podcasts and watch videos about me and Tuck Your Skirt . Some bloggers will be hosting giveaways so you'll definitely want to stop by.
I hope to see you along the virtual book tour trail. Meet the blog tour hosts .
I'd love to visit your blog, too. Email me if you're interested or check here for more details.
Through the end of November, I'm visiting blogs around the country, participating in Q&A, sharing excerpts from Tuck Your Skirt in Your Panties and Run , and giving folks a chance to listen to podcasts and watch videos about me and Tuck Your Skirt . Some bloggers will be hosting giveaways so you'll definitely want to stop by.
I hope to see you along the virtual book tour trail. Meet the blog tour hosts .
I'd love to visit your blog, too. Email me if you're interested or check here for more details.
November 17, 2011
The Social Report
Four weeks of etiquette lessons drew to a close on Sunday evening, culminating in a five course, seated dinner for the large group of previously unmannered 6th-graders. The esteemed Augusta Country Club on Milledge Road hosted the affair. Students eagerly entered the dining room and checked their seating assignments.
Young men wore sport coats, khaki pants, polished black shoes, and crisp white oxfords. Many added personality with colorful ties and dippity-do in their coifs. The girls looked gorgeous in dresses in a variety of styles and closed toe shoes with modest heels. Appropriately, all hems fell below the knee.
Over the course of the class, students received instruction in proper greetings, introductions, table settings, writing thank you notes, responding to invitations and other common niceties that modern society often discounts as unimportant. The evening provided practice of many new skills in an elegant atmosphere.
The meal began with a first course of salad followed shortly thereafter by a serving of seasonal pumpkin soup - probably put on the menu by an adult who would also expect 12 year-olds to eat aspic - and ended with an ice cream sundae. An adult stationed at each table guided his or her charges in napkin placement, silverware selection, and bread plate possession.
Pleasant banter between table mates, who reluctantly sat boy-girl-boy-girl at circular tables draped in white cloths, was encouraged. At the end of the evening, the children were complimented on their fine manners.
One gap in their mentoring became painfully apparent, however, as the boys and girls exited the building. My son did stop and hold the door for a young lady retreating with him, and I must admit I swelled with pride when her parents asked, "Who is that nice boy?" But as quickly as that happened, I prayed that the little girl would shrug her shoulders and dismiss her parents' intrusive, prying questions.
A loud voice yelled, "Hey preppy kid with the ears!" in my son's direction.
My son turned and loudly replied, "Say it one more time and I'm gonna come over there and bust your face!"
Four weeks of etiquette classes and no one taught these kids how to say polite good-byes.
Young men wore sport coats, khaki pants, polished black shoes, and crisp white oxfords. Many added personality with colorful ties and dippity-do in their coifs. The girls looked gorgeous in dresses in a variety of styles and closed toe shoes with modest heels. Appropriately, all hems fell below the knee.
Over the course of the class, students received instruction in proper greetings, introductions, table settings, writing thank you notes, responding to invitations and other common niceties that modern society often discounts as unimportant. The evening provided practice of many new skills in an elegant atmosphere.
The meal began with a first course of salad followed shortly thereafter by a serving of seasonal pumpkin soup - probably put on the menu by an adult who would also expect 12 year-olds to eat aspic - and ended with an ice cream sundae. An adult stationed at each table guided his or her charges in napkin placement, silverware selection, and bread plate possession.
Pleasant banter between table mates, who reluctantly sat boy-girl-boy-girl at circular tables draped in white cloths, was encouraged. At the end of the evening, the children were complimented on their fine manners.
One gap in their mentoring became painfully apparent, however, as the boys and girls exited the building. My son did stop and hold the door for a young lady retreating with him, and I must admit I swelled with pride when her parents asked, "Who is that nice boy?" But as quickly as that happened, I prayed that the little girl would shrug her shoulders and dismiss her parents' intrusive, prying questions.
A loud voice yelled, "Hey preppy kid with the ears!" in my son's direction.
My son turned and loudly replied, "Say it one more time and I'm gonna come over there and bust your face!"
Four weeks of etiquette classes and no one taught these kids how to say polite good-byes.
November 16, 2011
Marvelous Mommy
Marvelous Mommy
, who really is marvelous dahling, hosts the Tuck Your Skirt 2011 Blog Tour today. It's a blog tour stop like none other. Okay, sure, it's a Q&A. You've seen that done a thousand times. BUT, this Q&A is different! Instead of straining your eyes to read text responses, you can click on the play buttons, kick back and relax, and watch video responses. You're going to love this one.
While you're hanging out with Marvelous Mommy, make sure to enter to win the Tuck Your Skirt tote:
There are lots of ways for you to enter and improve your chances of winning!
Through the end of November, I'm visiting blogs around the country, participating in Q&A, sharing excerpts from Tuck Your Skirt in Your Panties and Run , and giving folks a chance to listen to podcasts and watch videos about me and Tuck Your Skirt . Some bloggers will be hosting giveaways so you'll definitely want to stop by.
I hope to see you along the virtual book tour trail. Meet the blog tour hosts .
I'd love to visit your blog, too. Email me if you're interested or check here for more details.
While you're hanging out with Marvelous Mommy, make sure to enter to win the Tuck Your Skirt tote:
There are lots of ways for you to enter and improve your chances of winning!
Through the end of November, I'm visiting blogs around the country, participating in Q&A, sharing excerpts from Tuck Your Skirt in Your Panties and Run , and giving folks a chance to listen to podcasts and watch videos about me and Tuck Your Skirt . Some bloggers will be hosting giveaways so you'll definitely want to stop by.
I hope to see you along the virtual book tour trail. Meet the blog tour hosts .
I'd love to visit your blog, too. Email me if you're interested or check here for more details.
November 15, 2011
As Stunning as Rick Perry's Memory Gaps
Rick Perry is running for the republican party presidential nomination, but he can't remember which three government agencies he wants to delete: Commerce, Education, and . . . and . . . uh. The entire audience pensively waits, with fingers crossed, hoping he'll say IRS. But, instead, he says, "Oops." Jaws and hearts dropped. It's what we at my house call a shift-f-8.
My husband has a soft spot for Mr. Perry. He says things like that can happen to any guy. That's because he is the daddy of the shift-f-8. I, of course, have set about popularizing it.
How it began: A dotcom company employs my beloved. The company sent him to conduct a training for one their Atlanta clients. When he arrived, security refused to let him in until he produced the name of his "contact." His "contact," however, the person who requested and arranged the details of the session, was not actually employed by the client, which left my husband scrolling through emails searching for a name of a person who might vouch for him.
When at last he was granted entry, he raced upstairs to the meeting room with only 3 minutes until presentation time. Hastily he began setting up, turning on his laptop and loading the PowerPoint presentation. At one minute to go-time, he discovered that his computer was not communicating with the room's projector.
His "contact" offered her assistance. "Press shift f 8, that usually works for me," she prompted. While she watched, he used three fingers to press the shift key, the f key and the 8 key, simultaneously. He looked up at the screen, disappointed at the results.
His "contact" didn't say a word, probably because she was struck speechless.
Then my husband shook his head in frustration and did it again: He pressed the shift key, the f key and the 8 key. When nothing happened, he grew distraught.
The "contact" thought she might be the victim one of those TV shows that pulls crazy tricks on people and films their responses. She bit her lip to keep from bonking.
Suddenly, like coming out of a coma, my husband said, "Ooooh, you mean Shift-F8. Oops."
My husband blames the hassles in the security area, which stole his precious minutes of preparation time, for his deficient mental moment. If my husband ran for president he'd be hefty competition for Rick Perry, at least in terms of public shift-f-8 incidents.
What's your latest shift-f-8 incident?
My husband has a soft spot for Mr. Perry. He says things like that can happen to any guy. That's because he is the daddy of the shift-f-8. I, of course, have set about popularizing it.
How it began: A dotcom company employs my beloved. The company sent him to conduct a training for one their Atlanta clients. When he arrived, security refused to let him in until he produced the name of his "contact." His "contact," however, the person who requested and arranged the details of the session, was not actually employed by the client, which left my husband scrolling through emails searching for a name of a person who might vouch for him.
When at last he was granted entry, he raced upstairs to the meeting room with only 3 minutes until presentation time. Hastily he began setting up, turning on his laptop and loading the PowerPoint presentation. At one minute to go-time, he discovered that his computer was not communicating with the room's projector.
His "contact" offered her assistance. "Press shift f 8, that usually works for me," she prompted. While she watched, he used three fingers to press the shift key, the f key and the 8 key, simultaneously. He looked up at the screen, disappointed at the results.
His "contact" didn't say a word, probably because she was struck speechless.
Then my husband shook his head in frustration and did it again: He pressed the shift key, the f key and the 8 key. When nothing happened, he grew distraught.
The "contact" thought she might be the victim one of those TV shows that pulls crazy tricks on people and films their responses. She bit her lip to keep from bonking.
Suddenly, like coming out of a coma, my husband said, "Ooooh, you mean Shift-F8. Oops."
My husband blames the hassles in the security area, which stole his precious minutes of preparation time, for his deficient mental moment. If my husband ran for president he'd be hefty competition for Rick Perry, at least in terms of public shift-f-8 incidents.
What's your latest shift-f-8 incident?
November 14, 2011
Pocketful of Playdough
What's the connection between running and writing. Find out today at
Pocketful of Playdough
where the Tuck Your Skirt 2011 Blog Tour is stopping to catch its breath today. Brianna asks Lucy very insightful questions about the disciplines of writing and running and how the two relate for her. You'll also find out what female southern writers Lucy admires most and who she wishes she could write like, if only for a day.
Through the end of November, I'm visiting blogs around the country, participating in Q&A, sharing excerpts from Tuck Your Skirt in Your Panties and Run , and giving folks a chance to listen to podcasts and watch videos about me and Tuck Your Skirt . Some bloggers will be hosting giveaways so you'll definitely want to stop by.
I hope to see you along the virtual book tour trail. Meet the blog tour hosts .
I'd love to visit your blog, too. Email me if you're interested or check here for more details.
Through the end of November, I'm visiting blogs around the country, participating in Q&A, sharing excerpts from Tuck Your Skirt in Your Panties and Run , and giving folks a chance to listen to podcasts and watch videos about me and Tuck Your Skirt . Some bloggers will be hosting giveaways so you'll definitely want to stop by.
I hope to see you along the virtual book tour trail. Meet the blog tour hosts .
I'd love to visit your blog, too. Email me if you're interested or check here for more details.
November 11, 2011
11-11-11
On the 11th day of the 11th month at the 11th hour . . .
Happy Veterans Day!
May the world find peace through your efforts.
Source: www.Photohome.com
Happy Veterans Day!
May the world find peace through your efforts.
Source: www.Photohome.com
November 10, 2011
My NaNoWriMo - First Installment
My NaNoWriMo project is tentatively titled
Love Letters from a Stoic
. It's the story of a World War II romance between a couple who have never smiled in a single photograph. When they laugh, it sounds literally like ha, ha, ha. They itemize every expenditure they ever made line-by-line in black ledgers and they never own a washer and dryer. Children are excluded from their marriage because they "cost too much."
These are the first paragraphs of the piece I'm working on. They are rough, so please pardon any errors or repetitions, but they introduce the importance of recording this stoic love affair wrapped within the bigger history of the world:
I have a fascination with writing about ordinary people. Not ordinary people who do extraordinary things, but the ones simply living life without recognition. They go through the monotony of the every day, day after day, with little notice, yet in someone's heart they are special. The crux of it, I guess, is that if they matter in the whole scheme of the universe, then I do as well.
By the time we hit our 30s, we fall into our idiosyncratic habits. By the simple virtue, however, that we each and all of us have a routine, we do not stand out from the others. It is this not standing out that appeals to me. It speaks to me in that primal place where I ruminate about being remembered after my death. And not just for a few years, but into the far distant future. I've shored up those odds by reproducing and creating a generational effect. At least my own children and theirs will recall something about me for some time after I'm gone.
But what then? I'll pass into history, my mark on the world no longer attributed to me. Just a mark gradually eroded by time. That's the leveling factor. Sooner or later it happens that way to the great majority. It keeps us all ordinary, despite our puffed up opinions of ourselves.
As I'm experiencing the wild ups and downs of living, the dramas of friendship and family, every second seems to matter. Not in an astonishing or surprising way, mind you, but in a significant way that, by golly, affects the outcome of the next fifteen minutes or the week, or this manuscript. Two years from now, however, the conflicts of today will be all but forgotten, except perhaps for a residue of emotion attached to a season of the year or a sweater or a particular phrase.
These are the first paragraphs of the piece I'm working on. They are rough, so please pardon any errors or repetitions, but they introduce the importance of recording this stoic love affair wrapped within the bigger history of the world:
I have a fascination with writing about ordinary people. Not ordinary people who do extraordinary things, but the ones simply living life without recognition. They go through the monotony of the every day, day after day, with little notice, yet in someone's heart they are special. The crux of it, I guess, is that if they matter in the whole scheme of the universe, then I do as well.
By the time we hit our 30s, we fall into our idiosyncratic habits. By the simple virtue, however, that we each and all of us have a routine, we do not stand out from the others. It is this not standing out that appeals to me. It speaks to me in that primal place where I ruminate about being remembered after my death. And not just for a few years, but into the far distant future. I've shored up those odds by reproducing and creating a generational effect. At least my own children and theirs will recall something about me for some time after I'm gone.
But what then? I'll pass into history, my mark on the world no longer attributed to me. Just a mark gradually eroded by time. That's the leveling factor. Sooner or later it happens that way to the great majority. It keeps us all ordinary, despite our puffed up opinions of ourselves.
As I'm experiencing the wild ups and downs of living, the dramas of friendship and family, every second seems to matter. Not in an astonishing or surprising way, mind you, but in a significant way that, by golly, affects the outcome of the next fifteen minutes or the week, or this manuscript. Two years from now, however, the conflicts of today will be all but forgotten, except perhaps for a residue of emotion attached to a season of the year or a sweater or a particular phrase.
November 9, 2011
Diminishing Gene Pool
The Tuck Your Skirt 2011 Blog Tour makes a stop at
Diminishing Gene Pool
. Do you like audio books? Today, listen to an excerpt from
Tuck Your Skirt in Your Panties and Run
, titled Mrs. Smith Goes to Washington, read by Lucy. You can even download it to enjoy later.
Through the end of November, I'm visiting blogs around the country, participating in Q&A, sharing excerpts from Tuck Your Skirt in Your Panties and Run , and giving folks a chance to listen to podcasts and watch videos about me and Tuck Your Skirt . Some bloggers will be hosting giveaways so you'll definitely want to stop by.
I hope to see you along the virtual book tour trail. Meet the blog tour hosts .
I'd love to visit your blog, too. Email me if you're interested or check here for more details.
Through the end of November, I'm visiting blogs around the country, participating in Q&A, sharing excerpts from Tuck Your Skirt in Your Panties and Run , and giving folks a chance to listen to podcasts and watch videos about me and Tuck Your Skirt . Some bloggers will be hosting giveaways so you'll definitely want to stop by.
I hope to see you along the virtual book tour trail. Meet the blog tour hosts .
I'd love to visit your blog, too. Email me if you're interested or check here for more details.
