Sherry Morris's Blog, page 14

Ready to Write Again

I've been a published author since 2003. Small presses first and then I ventured onto the Indie bandwagon. I stopped writing in 2009, because the story I was so passionate about was vehemently shot down by my long-time critique group. My friends. Not that they had ever liked anything I'd written. Not that they were successful authors.

I'd never worked all the way through any book with them, because they hated them and I couldn't use most of their advice. They didn't understand I wasn't writing a linear in the box story. They insisted I must.

I came in  and out of the group many times over a decade. They ridiculed my heroines because they wanted them to be kick ass from page one. My heroines were quirky every-women tossed in unique situations that forced them to grow. In other words, they had character arcs. Wounded by their flippant negativity, I'd have to leave so I could finish the book, then I'd sell it, despite their nay-saying.

Why did I return again and again? I was lonesome. I thought of them as friends. How messed up is that?

Last summer, I asked to return to the group, fully planning to take all of their advice for one book, just to see what would happen. I was blindsided when they refused to let me in. Because I never took their advice. Because I never finished a book with them. Because they voted me out after I left the last time.

I was absolutely crushed. I left all of my professional writing organizations.

It's been a year now, and I'm ready to go it on my own. I sent two first drafts and one work-in-progress to my Kindle to see what I was still interested in. The work-in-progress is fun, that is definitely a go. The last book they hated is brilliant and I will revise and publish it. The old romance I've struggled with for 12 years is still a downer and I am going to pull the plug on it.

This is going to be a great summer! I'm looking forward to writing on a long train trip next month. For now, I'm going to work as slow or fast as makes my muse happy.

Onward and upward.

Author Makes Rare Signed Paperbacks Available!

Sherry Silver has made six rare print books available for purchase through Mrs. Morris via the Barnes & Noble Marketplace. These are brand new paperbacks, autographed by the author! To purchase, go to the corresponding book page at Barnes & Noble. Find the listings under other sellers New paperbacks. Choose Mrs. Morris.

This New Signed RARE LARGE PRINT Cerridwen Press Paperback of HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL By Sherry Morris is now out of print. Sherry is no longer publishing in her own name, she is now known as Sherry Silver.
Read the first chapter
Purchase this rare large print paperback

This New Signed RARE PROOF Trade Paperback of INAPPROPRIATE is a hilarious chick lit throwing evangelists and mystery writers together aboard a cross country train. Now available from Mrs. Morris with this alternate sexy cover.
Read the first chapter
Purchase this trade paperback from Mrs. Morris

This New Signed RARE PROOF Trade Paperback of FULLY INVOLVED FIRE is the poignant romantic suspense of a New York City firefighter and his best friend's widow after the horror of 9/11.
Read the first chapter
Purchase this Rare PROOF trade paperback from Mrs. Morris

This New Signed RARE alternate cover Trade Paperback of THE IMMACULATE DECEPTION is a twisted paranormal romance set deep inside the psyches of America's most dysfunctional family.
Read the first chapter
Purchase this RARE signed alternate cover trade paperback from Mrs. Morris

Get your New Autographed Trade Paperback of THE IMMACULATE DECEPTION with this surreal blue romance cover from Mrs. Morris.
Read the first chapter
Purchase your New Autographed Trade Paperback from Mrs. Morris

This New Signed RARE PROOF Trade Paperback edition of THE MASTER MANIPULATOR is a paranormal time travel that will suck you into the dark comedy of the Payne Family.
Read the first chapter
Purchase this New PROOF Trade Paperback from Mrs. Morris

Introducing a Family Menu

Coming out of my winter depression/grieving for my beautiful sister, I've decided to throw myself into having a clean enough for company house, learning to run faster and planning dinner.

I've dabbled in the FlyLady method for years. This time I'm taking the baby steps so I don't crash and burn. But I'm also influenced by the slob sisters, Pam Young and Peggy Jones, working as long as it takes. This time I actually did make a control journal, and I've included my half-marathon training program in it. I've written it by hand, no printed word documents this time. It's actually fun to write again!

All of the above been there done that ladies agree that allotting time every week to plan a menu, make a shopping list and a day to shop prevent you from blankly staring into the refrigerator when someone asks what's for dinner. I hated telling everyone to fend for themselves, driving to a restaurant or running to the store every day for ingredients. They say planning ahead puts more money in your pockets and shrinks your waistline since you aren't buying impulse snacks more often than your once weekly grocery trip.

I launched it this past week and for once, I'm on the right track. In the past I always tried asking family members to select meals and they never did. So I made a rough theme for every day of the week (roast or involved casserole night, Mexican night, chicken night etc. I'm careful to only plan on foods everyone who will be home for dinner that night will eat. After one week, I've tweaked it to include a leftover night because I'm having portion control issues.

I pinned the menu to the kitchen wall and it's been a big hit with the family. I'm surprised at how receptive they are.

This is our menu for the coming week:

Sunday
Chicken Cordon Bleu
Rice
Green Beans
Jello Salad

Monday
Tacos
Cucumber, Tomato, Onion, Avocado & Mozzarella Salad

Tuesday
Steak
Spinach
Potatoes
Tossed Salad

Wednesday
Leftovers

Thursday
Hamburger Helper
Green Beans
Cucumber Salad

Friday
Pizza
Cobb Salad

Saturday
Meatloaf
Mashed Potatoes
Peas & Pearl Onions
Corn Bread

I have most of the ingredients in my refrigerator, freezer or pantry. These are the only items I need to purchase to complete the meals. I'll continue to buy staples as they go on sale.

Grocery List:
Cucumbers, Onions, Avocados
Mozzarella Cheese, Milk
Hamburger Helper
Last Thursday's Spaghetti & Meatballs, Antipasto Salad and Garlic Bread

Sandra's Egg Cassarole

This is the signature dish of my pal, Sandra Cox.

6 eggs
8 oz shredded cheddar cheese
3/4 cup riccota cheese
1 tbsp butter
1/4 cup flour
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 tsp baking powder

Melt butter in a medium skillet over moderate heat and cook scallions, stirring, until softened, 1 to 2 minutes. Remove from heat and cool.Whisk together flour, salt, and baking powder in a small bowl.Beat eggs in a large bowl with an electric mixer at high speed until pale and doubled in volume, about 3 minutes with a stand mixer and longer with a hand-held. Reduce speed to low and mix in flour mixture, scallions, and cheeses.Pour into baking dish and bake at 325 for 30 minutes.

Sandra's Easter Egg Cassarole

This is the signature dish of my pal, Sandra Cox.

6 eggs
8 oz shredded cheddar cheese
3/4 cup riccota cheese
1 tbsp butter
1/4 cup flour
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 tsp baking powder

Melt butter in a medium skillet over moderate heat and cook scallions, stirring, until softened, 1 to 2 minutes. Remove from heat and cool.Whisk together flour, salt, and baking powder in a small bowl.Beat eggs in a large bowl with an electric mixer at high speed until pale and doubled in volume, about 3 minutes with a stand mixer and longer with a hand-held. Reduce speed to low and mix in flour mixture, scallions, and cheeses.Pour into baking dish and bake at 325 for 30 minutes.

Chapter Two of THE MASTER MANIPULATOR by Sherry Silver

 The Master ManipulatorBy Sherry Silver
U.S. eBook: iTunes  ARe  Kindle  Nook  Smashwords U.S. Paperback: Amazon  Barnes and Noble  CreateSpace  Books A Million
U.K. eBook:  Nook  Kindle  iTunes
U.K. Paperback: Amazon 
Canadian eBook: Kindle  iTunes
Canadian Paperback:  Amazon 
Australian eBook: Kindle
Chapter Two
Come Fly With Me
I went through the motions of crying, but I guess I must have been too dehydrated to create many tears. Oh Momma. I miss you so much. Just when we finally understood one another. Oh I hope, God please let Momma understand that I love her and she was a good Momma. To me and to Daddy’s son Perry and to Tammy, the chosen one. The little girl they adopted. Even if they are arrogant, greedy, ungrateful, manipulative conniving so and so’s. It’s not Momma’s fault. They learned that from Daddy.It occurred to me that my siblings weren’t crying. Didn’t they believe me? Were they in denial? No, then they would’ve asked who had called and for all the details. “Why aren’t you guys crying? Our mother just died. Aren’t you even curious what happened to her? I mean she could’ve been beheaded in yoga class all you know.” I eyed them suspiciously. My grief was morphing into seething anger.Tammy screamed, “Ohmagod! What was she doing? I’m gonna be sick.” She clutched her taught stomach.At least Tammy has some sort of feelings, even if it’s just she’s grossed out. Perry asked, “Oh-Donna, who was that on the phone?”“That was Momma’s friend, Mike.”He questioned, “Mike who?”“Mike Taurus. They used to work in the Secret Service together. That’s where she went the first week of August every year. To spend time with him.”“While she was married to my Dad? That ‘hoe. Right there, grounds she shouldn’t inherit his estate.”I smiled. Good for you, Momma. Having a real boyfriend. Someone who treasured you. Not like that sociopath you married in his hideous plot of convenience. Perry’s father. “So where is the body?” Perry questioned.“As if you care. And as if I’d tell you.”“Oh-Donna. Where is Chloe’s corpse?”“Florida.”Tammy blurted out, “Ohmagod!”Perry said, “So you sent us to California on a wild goose chase. Thanks a lot little sister.”I said, “Oh no! Norma Jean!”Tammy asked, “Who’s Norma Jean?”“My dog. That’s her name. I can’t go to Florida and leave her alone. Will you take care of her?” I sized up my brother, begging with my expression.Perry said, “No. We’re all going. Toss her in a kennel or something.”“No! I’m not locking her in a cage. Her first incarnation was just horrible.”Tammy said, “Honey, no, you shouldn’t give her Carnation evaporated milk. Too many sugars in it. She needs Purina—” “No, I meant her first life. Oh never mind.” These two would never believe that this beautiful Great Dane is the reincarnation of Marilyn Monroe. And I’d better not slip, or they’ll have some good ammo toward getting me committed to the loony house.Perry dialed his cell phone. “Judge Payne here. Is Roddy available? Right.” He unzipped his black judge’s robe. “Listen, I just got word that Chloe died...in Florida...thanks...I appreciate it...hold on.” He tugged his robe over his head, revealing a huge pair of black sweat pants and a white undershirt covering his portly highness. “Oh-Donna, are you going to have a service for your mother?”“Of course.” I noticed how the cold ungrateful step-son addressed the woman who lovingly raised him. “She’s being buried in the Florida Keys.”“What?”“That’s what she wanted.”“Where? Key Largo? Can they even bury people there? Isn’t it below sea level?”“It’s on a little uncharted island.”“What? How in the hell can we find it? What am I supposed to tell Meddlestein?”“Give me the phone.” He huffed and then handed it to me.I told my mother’s neighbor what had happened and he insisted on attending the service with his wife, Gloria. She and Momma were close friends. I instructed him about the Fontainebleau Hotel and we agreed to meet there.~*~While I was bickering with Perry about taking Norma Jean with me to Florida, Tammy yanked out the Yellow Pages and systematically worked down the list, calling all the 1-800 numbers for the airlines. She finally found one that not only would accept a Great Dane for transport, but they also provided a carrier for her— to the tune of five hundred plus bucks, but that included the ticket, carrier and a veterinary technician fight attendant who would feed and water her while on board. The only snag was we couldn’t fly out until tomorrow morning. Perry made a couple of his-honorly phone calls, arranging to have his cases postponed or reassigned for the next week and then went home to pack.~*~I was drinking another glass of ice water when Norma Jean galloped to the front door prior to “Aura Lee” resounding. I staggered through the foyer. Great. Just great. I could see the silhouette of Daddy’s old sport’s club crony, Dr. “Farts” Goldfarb. He’s the medical consultant at Heavenly H.M.O., where I work in the file room. And the one who transported me to the emergency room two weeks ago after I enjoyed one of my heavenly dreams at work. Norma Jean’s tail was whipping my behind. I gripped her pink collar and opened the door. “Hello Donna. I just got off the phone with the judge.” The Jack Nicholson look alike marched in and shut the door behind him. He was carrying his little black doctor’s bag. Just like in the old movies. He grabbed my elbow and escorted me to the living room.“I’m fine. I don’t know why everyone is always making such a fuss.” A wave of dizziness caught me in the lie. I plopped down in the old gold recliner. The ear thermometer beeped as he inserted it. The living room began a slow spin as he shined a light in my eyes. His face was so close to mine that I could smell chocolate chip cookies on his breath. Gross.Here I am being examined by a proctologist. In my own home. I need to write this scene and insert it into one of my novels. One of those truths can be stranger than fiction moments. The room returned to normal as he took my blood pressure and pulse. Doc Goldfarb pinched the skin on my arm and said, “Look Donna, it doesn’t go back down. You’re dehydrated. I need to admit you for I.V. fluids and some more tests. I’ll get in touch with Dr. Claytor, the lady neurologist who interpreted your CAT scan—” “No. I’m not going to the hospital. I have to go to Florida tomorrow...my momma died.” I began blubbering, trying to cry, but no tears came. Farts held my hand and said, “Very well. Come on. I’ll take you down to the E.R. We’ll get some fluids in you and see what your neurologist recommends. I’ll make sure you are at least hydrated, on an outpatient basis. But promise me you’ll make an appointment with her as soon as you get back.”Tammy brought me another glass of water. “Go with him Oh-Donna. I’ll take care of the house and dog for you. I still have some clothes up in your guest room. I’ll stay the night. We’ll have sweet orange tea and those special cookies from the Giant bakery. I’ll pick some up. I brought your mail in. It’s on the kitchen table. You got a package.”Cookies, yum. It’s been a couple years since I devoured my last cookie. Package? I wasn’t expecting anything. And how rude and presumptuous of her to dig my keys out of my purse to open my cubby on the community mailbox. She was snooping for something, no doubt. But what? Sipping my water, I plodded into the kitchen. There it was. A big brown padded envelope from Charlatan Press. Something wasn’t right. Not normal. I hadn’t sent a self addressed stamped envelope for them to shove my manuscript back into with the form rejection letter. I authorized them in my cover letter to destroy my manuscript if they didn’t want it. Wait a minute. I felt giddy. They must want to buy it and have marked the pages up with revisions! I withdrew my kitchen scissors from the wooden knife block and slit the envelope open. I extracted the cover letter.
Dear Orpha Donna Payne,
Thank you for thinking of Charlatan Press. Unfortunately this manuscript does not suit our current editorial needs. We are sorry to disappoint you. We offer the following comments: 
Stupid heroine. Bully hero. Too much plot, everything but the kitchen sink. Not as much emotion as I’d hoped.
Sincerely, Betty McNeelyAssociate Editor, Charlatan Press
I tugged the four pound manuscript out. It was only bound by one horizontal rubber band...and it was plain brown. I’d mailed my manuscript bound with one pink rubber band horizontally and one blue rubber band vertically. They must’ve liked them and kept them. Too bad they didn’t like the story and keep it. I flipped through. It looked like the first hundred pages out of four hundred had been read. The rest appeared untouched.I shoved it back inside the ugly envelope.Tammy asked, “What’s that?”“Nothing. Nothing at all.”“It must be something,” she pried.“I thought it was but nobody else does.”“Oh-Donna you’re not making sense.”~*~After saying goodbye to Norma Jean at the animal drop off area of Dulles International Airport, we headed into the terminal to the security line. I hate going through security, always afraid I’ll be singled out and embarrassed. Perry and Tammy snaked through a different queue than I, no doubt so they could scheme in private.When my turn came, I removed my black kitten-heeled shoes, watch, pearls and matching earrings and placed them in one of the tan plastic boxes on the conveyer belt along with my black purse. I positioned it right behind my pink carry-on suitcase. When the exhausted looking Transportation Security Administration guy manning the x-ray equipment gave the go ahead, I thrust my items through. I stared at the no nonsense on my watch T.S.A. guy standing on the other side of the metal detector. Reminded me of Kent McCord from Adam-12. He instructed, “Remove your suit coat before you step through.” I was wearing a black pin striped skirt and matching top. It sported an attached contrasting blue collar, which gave the appearance of a separate blouse. I said, “This isn’t a suit coat.” I focused on his brown hair, recently cut and deliberately disheveled. Chiseled classic features, compelling blue eyes and a touch of sexy stubble.He said, “Remove your suit coat.”“It isn’t a suit coat. This is one piece.” Why does he have to look so stern? “Remove your suit coat,” he barked.I took in the rustles and groans of the weary businessmen in line behind me.“This is just one piece. I’m not wearing a blouse under it.”“You’re not wearing anything under it?”“No. This is one piece,” I whimpered. You’re an idiot Donna. Why did you pick this to wear today?“Remove your suit coat.”Standing tall, with shaking hands, I unbuttoned the three buttons and flashed him my pink lace demi bra.“Step through the metal detector.”I did. As I handed him my boarding pass and Virginia driver’s license, he leaned down and whispered in an official tone, “I was not being difficult, Ms. Payne. I have procedures to follow.” He didn’t take his eyes off of my cleavage as I buttoned up. Mr. Procedures was about a foot taller than my five foot-two inch frame. When he leaned down, all I could think about was tiptoeing up to kiss those dominating lips of his...I said, “I was not being difficult either. What did you think I was hiding?” “Exactly what you revealed. Thank you.” Those lips curled into a brief grin. He handed me my boarding pass and I.D.My pulse reeled when I touched his large hand. Flushed, I pivoted and retrieved my belongings. Slipping my shoes on fast, I stumbled out of the way. Had that guy actually flirted with me? A guy like that? I momentarily envisioned him ordering me to remove my bra and almost experienced the sensational stubble of his whiskers on my breast as his hot breath tickled my nipple. I glanced back at him. He kind of reminded me of another actor too. That guy Mike on Desperate Housewives. What a yummy blend. When he pivoted and sized me up, I almost opened my mouth to say something foolish. But the metal detector beeped and his attention instantly averted from dumpy old me.As I trekked toward gate thirty-two, I wondered how long it had been since any man had shown interest in me. Not since the Woodrow Wilson Bridge became stuck in the open position and I missed my entire wedding. What idiot erected a draw bridge on the capitol beltway? My groom concluded I had stood him up at the alter. Tammy and the best man kissed him and made him all better at the resort in the Poconos that I’d reserved and paid for. My God, that was ten years ago.~*~My ticket was for a window seat, in front of Tammy and Perry. I smiled at the respite, not to be sitting with my arrogant siblings. I retightened my seatbelt and kicked my ugly black purse under the seat in front of me. As we taxied up the runway, I closed my eyes. Dear God and Jesus in heaven, please rest my mother’s and father’s souls in eternal comfort. Forgive them their sins and please give some wisdom and warmth to the ones they’ve left behind, including Momma’s friend Mike. Please let us take off and land safely. Amen.I opened my eyes and chewed cow-like on cinnamon Mentos candies. I kept popping them in until we’d leveled off. Momma was a big gum chewer. Cinnamon Dentyne. I couldn’t bring myself to buy any at the gift shop. She really could pop and crack her gum. An inherited trait I didn’t possess. But it doesn’t really bother me anymore, wondering why I look and act and react so differently than my family. Because now I know all the terrible secrets they kept from me. Damn them. I leaned my head on the window and stared at the trees and roads down below until we ascended high into the clouds.The twenty-two-ish male flight attendant brought the drink cart. Blond and handsome, but way too young. “I’d like a Diet Pepsi, please.” He popped the top on the can, poured some in a clear plastic cup with ice, serving it on a white paper napkin. I turned thirty-nine a few weeks ago. How that happened, I can’t explain. I don’t feel thirty-nine. I feel well, twenty-seven-ish. The T.S.A. guy was more in my age group. Perfect actually. Perverted actually. Or was he actually just following procedures? Jeeze Donna. Get a hold of yourself. Here you are daydreaming that a man who couldn’t possibly be attracted to you actually was. Making a big romance out of it. Just like the make-believe romance you have with your make-believe roommate, your dream weaver, debonair secret agent Ashley Jones. The flight attendant served hot coffee to the perky lady next to me. The old man on the aisle declined a beverage. The attendant handed us all a tiny bag of pretzels. I can’t eat pretzels. I’m on the Atkins diet. I can never eat pretzels again. Pure carbohydrates. I love pretzels. I carefully pulled the plastic bag open and ate them, one-by-one. Sucking on the white salt. Enjoying the first crisp bite. Washing each down with soda.The ventilation system whooshed as I tuned in Perry and Tammy’s conversation. Tammy asked, “So do you think Mom’s really dead?”Perry said, “Hope so. Dunno though. Consider the source of the information. Her brain damaged daughter. We do need to find Chloe, one way or the other. If she’s dead, then that’s great, we not only will be heirs to Dad’s estate, but to Chloe’s as well.”“What about Oh-Donna? She could cause some trouble.”“Don’t worry about Oh-Donna. Whatever is damaged in her brain is getting progressively worse. And she’s refusing medical treatment. Only a matter of time until she has a fatal stroke.”“Perry, don’t talk like that. You’re giving me the willies.”Tears trickled down my face. They really didn’t like me at all. I just pretended, for thirty-nine years, that my family really did love me, deep down. I suppose it was a survival tactic. I took the napkin, wet with condensation from the icy cup and wiped my face. Maybe I should try to get treatment for my head injury. That last big sleep was scary. But then I’ll never get to see my dream weaver again. Ashley. Oh Ashley. If only you were real. In the here and now. That week we spent tucked away in the little bungalow on Make Believe Island was bliss. You wrote me a song. And I started typing a new novel. And you said Momma and Mike lived on the other side of the island. If only that were real...

Springing in Spring

Alpha Dog Maurice (in the wheelchair) and Alpha Puppy Franklin are enjoying a sunny Spring day.
I was looking forward to a great calf, upper body and cadrio workout in Power Step class today. When I arrived, I found out they were certifying a new instructor so the class would be video taped, but we wouldn't be in the video, so okay. Umm...the candidate was beautiful and had perfect choreography. However, this is a new Les Mills class so the participants are new to the groove. She gave verbal instructions for arm movements but not foot movements. This is a step class. We step with our feet. The music and moves were too fast for monkey see monkey do. The woman in front of me left after 25 minutes. Five minutes later, I decided I wouldn't get hurt if I did something awkward with my arms but if I fell off my step, I'd likely crack my head open. So I left. Not wanting to miss the rest of my workout, especially after sitting in 40 minutes of Saturday traffic to get to the gym, I finished my hour in the ladies' gym on the StairMaster. It's all good.

I'm trying to find a fun cardio activity I enjoy doing. For the heart/lung benefit. And I really need to burn fat. I tried running. I really wanted to succeed. But I'm slow. I did finish a 5K, but I don't think I'll ever be good enough to join a running club, which was what I really wanted. Since I'm not writing anymore, my social circle has dried up. No more writer loops and meetings.

Good News for Old Dog with Special Needs

This is Maurice "Moe". He is our Labrador retriever born on Halloween 2001. The last couple years have been eventful for him. He developed "horse tail syndrome" which caused numbness in his rear legs, particularly the left. He hasn't been navigate stairs ever since. He really started going downhill last fall, and now he can no longer stand or walk unless he is in his wheelchair. So poor Moe's life basically consists of lying on a fluffy blanket in the family room where his food and water are brought to him and he can be with the family. We take him out in his wheelchair for potty trips, then back he goes on the blanket. He frequently has potty accidents indoors now and when the puppy starts barking at an intruder on the cul-de-sac, Moe gets so worked up barking that he sometimes won't stop for hours.
My husband and daughter took him to the vet this week to see if there were any happy pills that might help. The visit was very helpful and productive. First of all, Moe is very healthy from the waist forward. He is not in danger of leaving us any day. He suffers from anxiety, jealousy, boredom and depression. The vet suggested taking him outside on pretty days (come on Spring!) and either letting him stay in his wheelchair an hour or so or taking him out of it and laying him in the grass. When he gets upset, we can give him food as he has never been overweight and his current weight loss is actually due to the muscle loss in his hind parts. When he does have barking and whining fits, we can give him an anti-anxiety medication as needed. So far, he hasn't needed it. 
I'm reminded of Ralph the chauffeur in Saving Mr. Banks. He is always preoccupied with the weather because on clear days he can take his handicapped daughter outside into the garden, rainy days she is stuck in the house.
We love our old dog.

CGI Ride Video of Seven Dwarfs Mine Ride at the Magic Kingdom

I've been peeking at the construction of the 7 Dwarfs ride for two years! It seems like this is the longest construction project in history. I'm so excited, I can't wait to hop aboard. Dopey has always been my favorite dwarf. How about you?

Recurring Dreams

I've had two recurring dreams for years. In one, I'm back in high school and I can't find my classrooms. It's time to leave and I miss my bus. I have to walk home, confused, through the dark woods. I never arrive.

In the other, I am in peril. I call 9-1-1 but I can't get through. I can't see the buttons on the dial. They can't hear me. They don't answer. I can't hear them. I always wake up very scared.

Last night, I dreamed I witnessed a large male lion with a billowy mane carrying a formally dressed woman in his teeth into the neighbor's house. I called 9-1-1 and got through! They might have thought I was a kook, but they did send a lady cop to investigate. And she did find the lion, but not the woman I saw him carrying.

Happy morning! I conquered one of my fears. What does it mean? I don't know. For what it's worth, I've had that recurring dream for decades. My daughter has grown up to become a 9-1-1 dispatcher. I've been to the police station many times with her. Maybe I'm finally getting through to her. I don't know. Or perhaps all the frustrations I had growing up with my family. Now that three of them have sadly passed, perhaps I'm unburdened. They've forgiven me of whatever I felt insecure about. I don't know.

I kicked butt in my dream last night. Time to move on, stronger and well able. To Spring. And new beginnings.

What is your recurring dream?