Saxon Bennett's Blog, page 12

Humor, Where Art Thou?

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Humor seems to jump out at me in the strangest places and if it’s odd—I can definitely use it. For example, we’re at lunch and Judy is telling us about her new washer. She says, “You can’t talk around it.”

“Why?” I ask, my humor tuner is already up and running with possibilities.

“Because it uses the phone when something goes wrong. You dial the service number. The computer who answers the phone tells you to hold the phone up to the washer. After you do that, the computer beeps at the washer. The washer beeps back. Then the computer fixes the washer. Just by beeping at it. So I never talk in front of the washer. It might beep what I say back to its headquarters.”

I say, “You’re kidding me.”

Judy shakes her head. “I don’t want those Men In Black showing up on my front porch.”

I look over at Layce, “That one is mine.”

“She’s my mother,” Layce says.

“I heard it first.”

“That’s just because you’re sitting closer.”

That is one of the downsides of living with another funny writer—we have to do a lot of negotiating. The I-will-give-you-this-if-I-can-have-that kind of negotiating.

We were swapping stories one day. I told her about one of my in-laws who used to follow ambulances with a car full of kids just to gawk at the tragedies—but wouldn’t let them watch The Wizard of Oz because the flying monkeys were too scary. Layce told me about a teacher she had in school that due to a tragic accident had lost her hand—which is sad, I grant you, but the woman would use it to thump down on your head if you weren’t paying attention. It would scare the piss right out of you and often did.

So humor where art thou?

Everywhere you look.

And the Winner is…

Georgie!

Her blog topic was “Where does humor Come from – and is it hard?”

Stay tuned for my next blog which will delve into this topic…

Free Book Giveaway!

If you want a free copy of my novel “Back Talk” all you have to do is put your thinking hat on and give me a blog topic. Write the topic in the comments below – make sure it’s something you want to read about because I will be using it for my next blog.

Free Book Giveaway!

So, leave a comment with your blog topic, I will choose one for a future blog and you will get credit and a copy of “Back Talk.”

Have fun!

Newest release!

Role Reversal

Lately I’ve noticed something odd has been happening in the evolutionary nature of our household. It started slowly but has manifested itself quickly sort of like alien spawn multiplying exponentially or the breeding of rabbits. Emma and I have been experiencing role reversals of the Freaky Friday type. Here are the particulars.

Our living room:

“You guys realize it’s 9:37,” said Emma.

“We know,” I said. “I just want to finish this wing on my gargoyle.” I held up my coloring book. “Do you like it?”

“It’s very nice, but it’s also past your bedtime,” Emma said, peering down at Layce who is ignoring the bedtime lecture. She’s playing Fruit Ninja on her Kindle Fire.

“Okay, when I’m finished brushing my teeth you guys have to be done,” Emma said. This brushing the teeth all on our own ploy is new. I viewed it with suspicion.

I finished my drawing. Layce closed down her game. We sighed.

Jump to Barnes and Noble in Tulsa:

“I need to go to the restroom,” I said. “I don’t know where it is.”

“I’ll show you,” Emma said.

“No, I don’t want to carry all this to the car by myself,” Layce said. She was holding two bags of books. “I need one of you to help me carry.”

Emma sighed and told me, “The restroom is in the corner. We’ll meet you at the car.”

I wandered the store in search of it. I was unsuccessful. I went back to the front of the store where Emma and Layce were waiting for me.

“Are you ready?” Layce said.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Did you go?” Emma asked.

“I couldn’t find it,” I mumbled.

“OMG,” Emma said. She pointed. “It’s right over there.”

“I thought you meant the other corner. ”

“Come on,” she said, and led us off in the correct direction.

I got waylaid by a book display. “I didn’t know Tracey Chevalier had a new book out.”

Emma grabbed my hand and hauled me the direction of the restroom. “Okay, Mother,” I said.

Jump to the movie theater:

Layce and I went to one movie and Emma went to another in the four-plex. Afterwards, we met up with Emma in the lobby.

“How was your movie?” Layce asked.

“You wouldn’t have liked it,” Emma replied.

“Why?”I asked.

“It was bloody and scary,” Emma said.

“Meaning I would’ve had to pull my hoodie over my eyes and plug my ears,” I said.

“Yep. How was Jack Frost the Rise of the Guardians?” she asked.

“I cried a little at the end,” I said.

Emma rolled her eyes.

“Do you want to drive home?” I asked.

“I’m twelve, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.”

And the Winner is…

Heidi Gonzalez!

Happy New Year!

To kick off the new year, I am giving away a copy of my book In the Unlikely Event.

All you have to do to enter your name in the drawing is leave a comment on this blog. The winner will be announced this Saturday!

Happy New Year!

Cat Tales

It started with the cat.  Layce and I took Bear and Darla Sue to the vet to get their yearly shots.  On the way Layce rolled the windows down and Bear stuck her head out happily.

“Should the window be down all the way?  What if she jumps out?” I said.  I graduated from the “Best of All Possible Catastrophes” school of thought when it comes to pets.

“She won’t.  Darla Sue might,” Layce said.

I glanced down at her.  She looked so passive. “Really?”

“She used to jump out the window and chase after cats.  I’d be driving along and she’d see a cat and jump right out the window.”

“With the car moving?” I asked.

“Yep, just like this.”  We’re going about five miles an hour.

“You made it sound plural.  She did it more than once?” I said.

“Just a couple of times until I started rolling up the windows,” Layce said.

“It’s amazing she’s made it to this advanced age,” I said.  Darla Sue is seventeen.

“She was younger then.”

“I see.”

We pulled in the parking lot and there was Sandy the meet-and-greet dog waiting for us.

“Is Bear going to be all right with this?” I said, feeling heart palpitations.

“Oh, yeah.  This isn’t her territory,” Layce said.

I wasn’t convinced that a territorial dispute would not ensue.  Layce let Bear out and I scrambled after her in case she needed my help only I’m holding Darla Sue and still had my seatbelt on.  I almost killed us both trying to get untangled and out of the car.  Darla Sue looked at me, obviously perturbed.

Bear and Sandy said their hellos and all was well.  We went inside.  Bear licked the face of a terrified puppy whose entire body was as big as Bear’s head and Darla Sue took an unscheduled perhaps malicious potty break on the waiting room floor.  Bear went in for her shots, registering her protests on the way by having to be pulled into the examination room.  I put Darla Sue down and took a big step by letting her wander.  It’s not like me not to helicopter her movements in such a situation.  She wasn’t leashed because you just scoop her up if necessary.  I sat watching the fish tank and trying to think tranquil thoughts.  I looked up just in time to see one of the office cats about to slink down and do God-knows-what to Darla Sue.  I snatched her up and turned to see the office iguana sitting up on a shelf.  I thought the thing was stuffed until it blinked.  I almost dropped Darla Sue and the parrot in the corner, named Boomer, said, ”Oopsy daisy!”

“What the hell?” I said, sitting back down.

To which Boomer said, “Oh, no, not today motherfucker.”

The vet tech looked up from her paperwork and admonished, “Boomer, language.”

“English, French, Italian or Swahili?” Boomer asked.

Darla Sue went in for her shots while I kept scanning for other animals creeping about.  Is there a python in here I needed to know about?

Layce paid while the desk cat, a handsome silver tabby, got in her purse and fished out a tampon.  She played with it like it was a white mouse.  A small cat fight ensued, but Layce finally won.  We said our goodbyes while Bear and Darla Sue gave the vet the “thanks for sticking me in the butt again” look.  Everyone hopped in the car and we drove off.

“You didn’t tell me about the menagerie,” I said.

“Today was pretty calm.  One time he had two goats who got stuck together during copulation.  Now that was wild,” Layce said.

I tried really hard not to conjure up the image.  I’m not eating feta for a while.

I turned around to see how Bear was doing after her ordeal.

“Oh, my God,” I said, my voice all high and squeaky with the edge of absolute panic in it.

“What?” Layce asked.

“There’s an enormous orange cat in the back seat.”

Bear and the cat stared at each other.  Bear is a big dog.  The cat was no slacker himself and we were driving in a small car with a lap dog in the front seat and a neurotic passenger who was about to wet her pants.  I imagined lots of bad things.  Bear and the cat wrestling in the back seat, Darla Sue jumping out the window, Layce crashing the car, me losing an arm trying to separate two domesticated animals that have gone back to their preternatural state.  I hoped Bear didn’t think we got her take out lunch or on the other hand that we adopted a cat without informing her.

Instead, Layce calmly rolled up the windows so the cat wouldn’t jump out and made a U-turn.  The cat was now sitting right next to Bear looking out the window–perhaps trying to get his bearings.  We pulled back into the vet parking lot and tried to avoid hitting Sandy who was still on meet-and-greet duty.  I wondered how Sandy felt about cats.

Layce got the cat out of the back seat and carried him into the vet office.

Dr. B. said, “Garfield, did you jump in another car?”

Garfield shrugged and walked off, perhaps upset he’d only gotten as far as the Out West cafe.

“He’s done this before?” Layce asked.

“Any car with the windows down.  One time he got in a semi-truck and made it all the way to Pryor before the guy saw him.  Had to turn around and bring him back.  That may have been a personal best.”

The four of us drove home, leaving Garfield to wait for his next ride.  I thought of the “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” and wondered if he had read it.  I took two aspirin and went upstairs for a nap.

I can hardly wait for next year’s visit.

Obsession

It started with cleavage.  There are various definitions of cleavage.  It can refer to rocks, cells, molecules and lastly according to the Oxford Dictionary–women’s breasts.  My first awareness of cleavage occurred when I was seven.  I was standing at the vending machine in the Moose Lodge trying to figure out whether I wanted Skittles or M and M’s. At that point in my life this was a difficult decision and I was taking my time. 

The location of the vending machine, I realized now, was a serious safety hazard and now a days it could get you sued.  The machine was situated so that the large wooden doors that opened into the hallway from the lobby were located approximately two feet from the vending machine so that a person opening the door would most likely hit the person making a purchase at the vending machine.  So I’m seven.  I’m 48 inches tall and I’ve decided on Skittles. I bent over and snatched up my Skittles. I’m not aware that a pivotal moment in my life is about to occur, that my life pursuit, my career, my passion is about to be decided, rather I’m completely absorbed in opening my bag of Skittles. 

I have a handful of them when the heavy wooden doors open.  I turned and the largest pair of breasts I have ever seen smacked me right in the face.  Remember I’m 48 inches tall.  I’m prime height for breasts and cleavage.  The woman was not overly concerned that a seven year-old girl was stuck in her cleavage.  Rather she gently plucked me out and apologized.

“Oh, honey, you okay?  My gals can be dangerous.”

“I’m okay, really.”  Actually, I’m mesmerized.  I”ve never seen boobs that big and when she leaned over to help me pick up my spilled Skittles her cleavage was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

She patted me on the head, bought me a new package of Skittles and told me to grow up and be a good girl. 

Now what does this have to do with obsession you ask?  Well, on that day my obsession with breasts began.  Breasts led to loving women, loving women gave me a reason to start writing.  I always knew from the moment I read Harriet the Spy that I wanted to be writer and my lifelong habit of keeping a notebook was born.  I read Rita Mae Brown and knew I wanted to write about lesbians.

So there you have it.  Cleavage+obsession=purpose. I still have a fondness for… Skittles.  

The dilettantism of being

i grew up wanting to be so many things. this started my imagination going in a myriad of directions and posed the difficult question of how was i going to be all these things in one lifetime. being an avid reader did not help in my narrowing down of who i would be and how many kinds of being i could be. it seemed every book i read i wanted to be the main character, have their life and adventures. i turned nineteen and began writing my own stories. i discovered that i could experience a bunch of different ways of being by making up my desired lives.

i could be a potter and live in a lesbian art community (the wish list) or a pickle heiress and a talk show host (back talk) or a dog that loved to play fly ball and a midget who embraced her height (date night club) or a womanizer who finally finds love (higher ground) or a sculptor who gives love a second go around (sweet fire) or a doctor that falls in love with a woman who only wears pajamas (talk of the town) or a trilogy that follows a neurotic writer and her family through a lot of amusing changes( family affair, marching to a different accordion, in the unlikely event) i would dream up ways of being and then tell the story.

wow, that was fun and after thirteen books it’s still fun. now, let me see…who shall i be next?

zany but disciplined

Another conversation between the left and the right–not politics — sides of my brain.

They are sitting in a cafe having a cafe au lait watching the boats go by on the Seine and in the shadow of the Notre Dame.

"Stop it already, that is so banal and you've used cafe twice in one sentence and you can't see the boats on the Seine and be in the shadow of Notre Dame.  It's logistically impossible," Letty, my left brain protests.

Actually, the three of us are sitting on the couch, laptop in lap and drinking coffee forty- five minutes before bed which is like playing roulette with insomnia–six slots one is loaded.

"You know what's wrong with you?" Rubina, my right brain says.

Letty appears to ponder this.

"It's rhetorical," I tell her.

Rubina makes a fist and sticks out her pinky finger at Letty.  "You have no imagination.  You are NOT an idea person."

She's right of course.  Rubina takes flights of fancy and can work up a story, the entire structure of a novel weave it around all day, making elaborate sand castles with people and character arcs and a solid plot.  I am brought along for the ride and of course because I'm in a hurry to follow Rubina on this trek I neglect to bring any writing materials.  I think she plans it that way.  I run after her the whole time and we fall down in a forest with dappled light and giant toad stools.  She is happy.  I am breathless. It's fabulous.  I entertain visions of a best seller. 

"Okay, I say getting up.  "Let's go write this down."

"What?"

"It's a great story."

"So."  Rubina sits up.

"Well, let's make a book."

"Oh, I'm over it."

"What do you mean?"

"We created it and had fun.  So it's done," Rubina says studying her cuticles as if they are an oracle.

Letty interjects, "See, she's zany but I'm disciplined.  Without me, you two would be nothing."

"Meglomaniac," we say in unison.  Rubina smirks.

"But she's right.  You are zany and you are an idea person, but without her sense of discipline we'd have nothing to show for ourselves."

Rubina glares at me, mutinous.  She stalks out.

"Get a pencil," Letty says. 

"I'm on it."

The flights are more fun but the getting it down is the necessity that novelists face.  I go to my desk and Letty sits down like a school marm ready to help the errant child focus on her homework.  Ugh.  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Rubina chasing butterflies in the back yard.  Letty smacks the desk with a ruler.  I start writing words that become sentences, sentences become paragraphs and paragraphs turn into pages…