Bri Clark's Blog, page 8

$1.50 Worth of Commitment by the Caveat Queen

 
$1.50 Worth of Commitment by the Caveat Queen

 When I first met my "Dearest" (I am too old to have a "boyfriend," but when I refer to him as my "Man Friend" he thinks he sounds gay...and he is right, but if I say "Partner," people think I'm gay, so I just stick with Dearest) most of our relationship seemed pretty easy. He lived out of state, and so would just appear in town on business, and we would spend a few very happy days hanging out together. At first, he stayed with his mom, and would only come over to visit me, which was just fine. I wasn't looking for a relationship, and neither was he. What were we doing together, then? Well, for one thing, lying to ourselves and each other about the whole "not looking for a relationship," thing...After several thousand frequent flyer miles, there came that weird and wonderful tipping point, where my Dearest started spending longer and longer hours with me, and fewer and fewer with mom, until...oops...he spent the night. Then, he spent a few in a row. This isn't going to be a tell-all about how his mom dealt with finding out that her sonny dearest wasn't a virgin at 38(or that I wasn't either). Actually, it's about something much harder for couples to talk about than sex: it's about...toothbrushes.See, the first time that D. spent the night, he just toodled out in the morning, and took care of his dental hygiene needs back at mom's. But, trying to continue this routine day after day not only became inconvenient, but time consuming, since he was driving about 10 miles just to go brush, floss, rinse and then come hurrying back to spend the day with me. And no, I didn't offer him mine. There are some things that even after sharing certain intimacies are still too icky to consider. And one of those is having a man stick my toothbrush in his mouth after it has already been in mine. (Hey, we all have our hang-ups!) This dilemma left me with only one horrifying alternative. I was going to have to get a toothbrush for D. It only seemed fair and practical, until I was actually at the Wal Mart, all alone (he was actually off working at the job that was supposedly bringing him to Idaho in the first place after all...huh!) and there I stood in the dental aisle. All of a sudden it felt like I was at Tiffany's, buying him a Man-gagement ring! After considering and discarding several options, and even leaving and coming back a few times, I finally made the commitment: for $1.50, I could get him a red Pepsodent toothbrush. It was decent, without being too fancy, and therefore indicating that I had more expectations than simple teeth cleaning. But, it wasn't the crappy 4-pack kind that would seem like I didn't care about tartar build-up and gum disease. Yep, this was it.Now, I am not saying this for dramatic effect, although I wish I were so creative: I actually got an anxiety attack on the way to the cash register. I. Was. Making. A. Commitment. Oh. My. Gosh. I was sure that I had gone too far, and my Dearest would be offended and never come back, after seeing that he had his own toothbrush at my house. Eek! Somehow, I managed to get my sweaty palms around the brush, credit card, and swipey thing at the register, and walked, weak-kneed to the car with my hard-won prize.That night, as we cuddled up together in bed, I took a breath to tell him what I had done. Then, I just sighed. Another breath, another sigh. After a few of these, he asked, "Ok, what's up, Sparky?" (His much better nickname for me...but hey, this is why he earned a toothbrush!) "Um," I stalled. "Geesh, I hope you're not mad. I, uh, I thought maybe you'd like to have...this." And from out of the nightstand I whipped the red toothbrush. "Wow!" he said...yep, an actual wow over a toothbrush. Extra points. "That's for me? Cool! I'm so glad I won't have to leave your nice warm body in the morning, just to get rid of my death breath!" He sounded...sincere. Not mad, weirded out, or upset, just...grateful. Then he got out of bed and walked away. Damn. Spoke too soon! Until I heard the water running in the bathroom, and from around the toothbrush in his mouth, I could just make out, "Hey, vith is awephum! Fanks!" He had given it a test run, and then came back to give me a thank-you kiss, with very fresh breath.I know this is a totally corny story, but it was a big deal to me at the time. It was when I learned that My Dearest was even dearer than I thought. He was not only someone I was beginning to love, but could also...trust. And here's the gushiest part of all. I have, of course, purchased many more toothbrushes over the past 7 1/2 years that we have been together. And he's even gotten some for me. But you know what? He has kept that silly old red one, for "sentimental purposes." Apparently it's the first gift I ever gave him. Now I wish I'd gone for the Man-gagement ring, instead of dental hygiene, but oh well...this is a whole lot more practical. I mean, you can't keep pearly whites at their best with a Man-gagement ring.
 

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Trees and the Rapture by the Caveat Queen

 Trees and the Rapture by the Caveat Queen

"In a real dark night of the soul it is always three o'clock in the morning."--F. Scott Fitzgerald.  When I first read these words, it was as though I had been waiting for Fitzgerald to explain myself to me.  Any worrier is an insomniac, and vice versa.  I have been both since childhood.  My earliest memories are of listening to wind whipping through the branches of the 300-year old oak tree outside my bedroom window.  I would terrify myself with thoughts first of whether I had let the cat in, or left any toys out, and if not whether any or all would blow away.  Then, as the hour grew later, my fears would turn to the tree itself.  Not so much about any harm it could cause, strangely enough, as that would be the sensible thing to be afraid of, the heavy branches that could break off and smash windows, or if the whole thing came up, the damage it could do to the roof or the house itself.  No, being the special variety of worrier that I was sprouting to be, my fears were centered on the terrible nature of the idea that this tree was so very old. Three hundred years…now how anyone knew its age while it was still standing, I do not know.  This was just what I had been told, and at 5 years old, I wasn’t in any position to argue the point.  When I considered this concept during the day, it didn’t really matter to me at all.  I didn’t even really consider it anyway, as I swung on the plank that hung from two pieces of rope that my daddy had tied to one of its enormous branches, or ran around its base, chasing Timid Timothy, my kitten (so named after his look-a-like in my favorite book, and ironically he and the kitten in the story…and I…all shared kindred spirits which are probably obvious from the title.)At night though, I considered that tree quite a lot.  Three. Hundred. Years. My house wouldn’t have been built.  Not the neighborhood even, not in 1672. I imagined just grass and trees, this tree just a sapling.  I imagined a Native American child playing around it, although not in a swing, since the tree would have been too small.  Then, I would begin to scare myself.  Where is that child now?  Dead.  Long dead and gone.  And three hundred years from now, where will I be?  I will be dead.  Not the tree, it will be here.  Mom and dad had said how oak trees could live for hundreds and even over a thousand years.  Oh, where would I be in a thousand years?  Still dead.  That’s a looong time to be dead, while this tree lives on, I would think.  Finally I would sleep, but morning would come too soon, and my parents irritated that I had dark circles under my eyes again.Having parents that didn’t believe in God, though I did as a child, made those nights so much longer.  As I grew up and older, the fears about the tree, and what came with it, deepened. Questions about God and death were answered with a shrug and that there is “No God,” and “When it’s over, it’s over. Don’t worry about what you can’t change.”  But I continued to search, and worry, and consider that tree.I am still a worrier. I am a worrier on a grander scale than most people will ever achieve.  Last night, I was up in the middle of the night (some things will never change) and when I went downstairs I found that although there were no kids in the room, the TV was on and all of the lights were on, as if someone had been there just moments before.  I waited for a few minutes, to see if someone had just left to go to the bathroom and was coming back, but no one returned.  My first concern was not that my irresponsible teenagers had gone to bed and left everything on, or even that a crime had been committed.  I stood there looking around for piles of clothing, thinking that perhaps the Rapture had taken place and my kids had been taken up and I had been left behind.  I came close to checking their rooms. Then I decided that if indeed they had been Raptured without me, I had better go to bed and get a good night’s sleep first.  I could find out about it in the morning when I would be well rested enough to begin dealing with it.  And that is what I did.Obviously, I was not left behind, for which I am grateful and relieved, and my kids were amused that I would assume their Rapture before their irresponsibility.  Although I still live life at 3 o’clock in the morning, and I still do a mental checklist when I hear a storm blowing in (cat-check, toys-check, etc), I do not fear the infinite nature of a very old tree anymore.  Well, hold that thought.  I can appreciate God’s creation now that I have permission to worship and study our Father and His plan for us. It has taken only perhaps 30 or so years of prayer, worship, study, and only about a lifetime or so left to figure out the rest of His will; but having the freedom, ability, and desire to explore what this all means is what makes all the difference.  The difference between being able to see the beauty in the timeless nature of the oak tree, and being only terrified by it-whatever your oak tree is. Admittedly, the eternity thing is still a pretty freaky thing at 3 a.m., but that is what gets me out of bed to make sure I haven’t missed out on the Rapture.







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Connections are your Cornerstone

 In the last week I have been working thirteen hour days preparing for two amazing events…The Global Women’s Summit in Vegas and Romcon in Denver. I’ll be presenting more than once in Vegas and let me just say PowerPoint is a Pain in my _______. Turns out my program is messed up. Go figure could have save hours….I digress. The point is that the weekend before I go away for two conferences in a week with only a 10 hour layover at home midweek I also had some very important family things going on as well.
·         First…3 of my 4 kids are out of school for the summer and they get antsy staying at home all day. Therefore, one day I took my girls to the pool and worked poolside for a few hours. I didn’t get a lot of work done but it was good for me to be in the sun…reenergizing I think. And it tired them out. [image error]

·         Second…Friday night is date night. My husband and I love movies and we usually go for a movie on Fridays—especially in the summer….so of course I had movie night with my man. ·         Third… Now we are at the weekend. This is where it got big. Friday is my husband’s and my oldest son’s birthday. The son turned 18. Yes I know I’m only 30…(For the newbies…my sons are not biologically mine but I’ve been their full time moma for 12 years. My family taught me words like “half” “step” and “removed” don’t exist before any familial title. So in other words the only steps in this household are carpeted.) I woke up early as usual, went to Walmart, got some groceries for the week, party supplies, and stuff for my trip I needed. Came home made bfast in bed for both my guys and then went back to work. [image error]
·         Party…So we aren’t huge partyers and my son was a little disappointed I think. If I remember correctly, I thought my 18th would be some event. And it was. But not to my teen eyesight. My grandparents actually I think paid the rest of my probation fines so I could leave the state and move back to Tennessee from North Carolina. Which looking back was pivotal in the rest of the direction my life takes. Anyways I cooked a steak and potato dinner followed by two cakes (the son got his own) then gifts aka cards with money in them. (Sidenote: The hubby bought his own combo Father’s day/Birthday gift the weekend before)·         Fourth & Final-Father’s Day…Father’s Day to me is always a little bittersweet. I often wonder where my father is and then I remember he’s with granny probably watching Fox News. My PawPaw is the only constant male influence in my life and while he never tried to replace what was missing he substituted quite nicely. My husband is a better father to my children than I could have ever written. As an author we often take the inspiration for characters from those around us but my husband never makes it into my novels. And it’s an involuntary choice…the reason I think is out of reverence. So for Father’s Day we created this amazing candy card along with some other funny cards, we will go to church, Dad will relax, and then I’ve cooked Pioneer Beef Roast with baby carrots, red potatoes, onions with Mac & Cheese and chocolate chip cooks for dessert.  Then I’ll bust my hiney trying to finish this last presentation, finish planning and packing for these two amazing events and then bright and early Monday morning I’ll leave. But I’ll leave knowing I’ve done my best to let my family know they are important. That even though in this season of my life I am away more, that a lot of my time is spent on my writing and business goals that they are my anchor. For there really is no point for me to branch out and live a dream if I don’t have the connections to bring me back home to my cornerstone…my family. 

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Food Porn by the Caveat Queen

        Food Porn
by the Caveat Queen 
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Sitting slack-jawed, drooling, and motionless on the couch last weekend, I sat staring at the television as the hours passed.  I was jealously watching the host of each show enjoy luscious dishes that I could only dream of encountering.  At one point, I actually groaned as the host described a dish that he was preparing to enjoy.  That’s when it hit me.  These shows had crossed the line, or I had.  Someone certainly had, as these oversized sandwiches, their contents temptingly spilling onto the plate and practically into my living room, desserts whose chocolate nearly melted right into my mouth, and sauces whose ingredients only needed to be mentioned to make me want to climb right through the TV into the kitchens that I was voyeuristically watching: I wasn’t watching cooking shows!  These were food porn!As the “Ace of Cakes” had shown me, even cakes can be pumped up with silicone (ok, maybe it’s Styrofoam).  But thing is, even a simple cake needs a little help now and then to look her best!  I couldn’t believe it the first time I saw what they call a “cake form”.  If cakes need this kind of help, it’s no surprise I can’t keep my own layers from sagging.  It’s any wonder we are so obsessed with food, when we are bombarded with images of it, and not only that, but it is made up to look so darn pretty.  I actually watched a show about how food artists do their jobs.  Basically, it’s make-up for food.  Most of the food we see in ads, magazine photo spreads, and TV ads is phony, just like those cakes that are decorated up so nicely.  Orange juice has soap bubbles to make it look fresh, meat is seared on the outside and left raw in the middle so it will run with the right amount of juices, ice cream is actually mashed potatoes, so it won’t melt under the lights.  The list goes on and on, of faked-up, maked-up food stuffs.  And you thought it took a lot to make Angelina Jolie’s lips look good in the movies!  (Or did you really think she rolled out of bed looking like that?  I prefer to think that she needs a few soap bubbles and is made out of mashed potatoes, myself.)Even with all of the knowledge that we possess about diet, exercise, heart health, and blah, blah, blah, the food we consume has little to do with our intellect, and a lot to do with our senses.  This is why a channel like the Food Network can just show a burger being grilled, with cheese melting down the sides; the chef sliding that burger onto a bun with fries on the side, shaking some salt onto those crispy, slightly brown potatoes, serve up the whole thing right into the big screen of your living room, and you’ll watch. You might not be able to have that burger right then, but I can tell you this: the advertiser that buys time on that show would be smart to sell burgers! They might get someone to run to McDonalds’ or Burger King after the show.  And the viewers might buy the products that were placed: whether it might be the ketchup, seasonings, or they might even have “Beef, it’s what’s for dinner.”  This “food porn” is in magazines (what publication doesn’t have a recipe section anymore?  Popular Mechanics, maybe?), the morning news programs (since when was food news, but just ask “Good Morning America” and they’ll tell you it is), and certainly it’s all over the Internet, right next to sex in popularity.  Recipes, diets, allergies, if you have an interest or a need, there is a website, a blog, and an e-community for you.  There is a difference, obviously, between the selling of food, and the pornography of food.  Just as there is between a romantic comedy and a porno.  Groceries must be sold; a recipe exchanged, and there has to be advertising, as well.  But, I guess it goes from the sublime to the ridiculous when I am watching a show where someone is slicing a 16-inch thick sandwich, which is practically pornographic in and of itself, and the host of the show is moaning and groaning over it and begging to try a bite, does so, and then tells us all how great it is, before he moves on to the next item on the menu.  No recipe, no information, just us, the audience, watching him eat.  It has no socially redeeming value, really, which is the definition of pornography.  And when, my friends, did we become people who felt this way about food?  Ok, well apparently I did last weekend.  Scary.
 

OMB!! This woman never gets old! I love you Caveat Queen. I laugh so hard every time!! Thanks so much

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Life Lesson 782: Early Risers Know Why They Rise

I recently had a friend/colleague who is a bit of a Night Owl or more like a don't sleep until dawn kind of person ask me, "Why do you get up so early?" I get up at around 5AM most days and walk or work out. Usually it's walking. I have been walking since I was very young when I went with my Paw Paw. But it was when I started writing that I really learned the value of early mornings and the ability to ponder. Yes ponder. 


I find that I'm more centered. I find beauty in the majesty around me. Scents are stronger and a feeling of being at peace stirs within. After all that my mind will start wondering. 


For example, after this morning's walk I sat down with my laptop in the rocking chair and wrote 3 blog posts. The morning before I wrote 1200 words in my newest novel Season of a Witch.
So to answer not just my friend by you also my reader dears why I get up at the hour the sun rises...it's for all those wonderful reasons there but these as well. 






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I got a Country Crush

If there is one thing that I am just addicted to it's Country Music. When i walk I have a whole playlist of songs that are fitting for whatever mood I'm in. But something that I am also addicted to is themes. I love to have a theme for a season. 


So far it's Spring and Summer is coming ya'll. I've just fell in love with this song by Luke Bryan. I'm actually getting a little bit of a Country Crush on the crooner. 


Check out "I Don't Want This Night To End" and see what I mean. 





Yeah Told ya so!



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Seeking Hosts for the Sweet Witch & Erotic Enchantress Book Tour

Seeking Hosts for the Sweet Witch & Erotic Enchantress Book Tour with Bri Clark & Kiki HowellKiKi Howell and I have known each other (online at least) for a few years. And we are both very much into witches, magic and romance. However, we are on two different ends of that romance spectrum. I am what is known as a "Sweet" author while she is an "Erotic" author.  While we are both on very different ends of the romance scene we are both authors and friends. Over the past year I've seen authors, reviewers, and companies bash erotica and the publishers and writers of the genre. And while I myself do not write it I will not tolerate bullying. Initially when these attacks occurred several people went to their blogs to express their frustration at the unfairness. And then eventually it all fizzled out. But not I. I still wanted to do something. Something more than just a vent rant on my blog. I already support authors of different heat levels over at "Ravencraft's Romance Realm" where I contribute as a blogger.  And I just love those gals. But I again wanted to do something more. Which is how this very different tour was created. Not only are we sharing two series, but we are giving readers a choice. You can read both series (the books that are out now and the later ones as they release) or one of the other. You can interview KiKi, me or both of us. Same thing with guest posts.

While we are different we are authors first. And to quote Kristen Lamb and her fabulous WANA movement. We All Need Authors!
So we invite you to check out the information below and see if you'd like to host us for this wonderful tour, just leave a comment with your email addy and we will contact you ASAP!


Read on to find out how you can be a part of this very unique tour. We are currently looking for blogs to host us :)
Dates: August 15th – Oct 1st 2012
Blog Guest Options: ·         Guest Post: How a Good Witch & Bad Witch Can Get Along ·         Guest Post: Author Chat on Tolerance and Compassion ·         Literary Guest Posts: Light verses Dark Magic, Sensual verses Steamy ·         Guest Post: Author Chat on Letting Authors Write What They Write ·         Dual Interviews ·         Promo Spots with Excerpts ·         Reviews of The Familial Witch novella (eBook) The Eternal Witch ARC (eBook), The Vampire’s Witch (ebook) and The Vampire’s Wolf (ebook) ·         Guest Post: Author Poll Results of Questions Bri and Kiki Ask of Other Authors ·         Guest Post: The Sweet Witch and Erotic Enchantress Tell All ·         Guest Post: How the Sweet Witch and Erotic Enchantress met. Both POV’s *Guest Post topics are on a first come, first serve basis. Authors are also open to suggestions. Contact at howell.kiki@gmail.com
·         Ebook Copies of The Eternal Witch ·         "Alpha all the Way" t-shirts.

Kiki ·         Knitted Witch Hat & Broom Book Thongs
·         Signed Cover Cards ·         Ebook and Print copies of Erotic, Paranormal Romance Novel, Irreconcilable Differences Book Information: The Eternal Witch Series by Bri Clark Slavatia is a primitive land dominated mainly by the Triad Mountains, three snowcapped summits that are skirted by the feared Trinity Woods. Mists that hover above the ground like a translucent snow pack appear without cause. Rumors of beasts magical and evil the like are said to prey on those that are foolish enough to come beneath its canopy. Once a place of beauty and tranquility since the Fae left during the Vampire/Eternal war Trinity is now a place to beware.
However, something more dangerous than even the Trinity Woods threatens every being in this realm. Not even their beloved Mother Goddess will be enough to save them. But before this realm's heroes can rise to their destiny they must first overcome their own personal foes and realize the power within.
Lucien Lemione the clan leader of the feared and revered Eternals is faced with the ultimate betrayal. His second in command for two centuries has not only created the most grievous of offenses but also commissioned the creation of liquid silver. When poisoned by this toxin, an immortal suffers a fate much worse than death, frozen in an internal prison. After being wounded when found spying, he hides deep within the eerie woods that encircle the Triad Mountains. Desperate and in pain, he prays to an offended mother goddess for help. Her answer: a woman, but not just any woman. A witch.

After losing her entire coven at the hands of the Eternals, Aisleen is the last of her kind. She retreats from the world to Trinity Forest where she is giving the opportunity of a lifetime, or perhaps a test of principles. It’s there she discovers the man she heals is the Eternal that wiped out her people. Although she is bound as a healer, she could be creative in her revenge. Aisleen knows who and what Lucien his…but does not speak of it. There can be no future with Lucien for she can only be with a mortal man. Even if she wanted to be with him, can she forgive the man that caused the genocide of her people?

Lucien must act quickly for the survival of his clan is at stake. However, Aisleen’s ethereal beauty and emerald eyes keep pushing those thoughts far from his mind. Determined to find out what secret she hides, he prolongs his time with her. When his people need him most what will he choose…duty, desire, or will he make his own fate?

You can choose love but you can’t choose destiny.
Book I: The Familial Witch  Amazon, Barnes & Noble , Astrea Press Book II: The Eternal Witch Coming June 2012 Book III: The Witch's Aristocrat: Coming 2013
For more information Visit: http://briclarkthebelleofboise.blogspot.com/p/familial-witch-series.html#.T7mtCsV0Uuc    At War in the Willows Series by Kiki Howell The Willows is a resort town run by vampires, werewolves and witches. Here, their true identities are kept secret from humans, and intimate relations between the individual clans are strictly forbidden.
When it becomes known that the vampire Amberlyn has fallen in love with the werewolf Kane, the tedious line of their co-existence has been crossed. Caught in the crossfire of this revelation, Drake, the vampire clan leader and Amberlyn’s maker, is killed along with an innocent witch. These deaths spark a series of horrific events leading to an all out War In The Willows.
In Book 1, Amberlyn’s vampire brother, Isaac, always one to kick ass first and deal with the consequences later, kidnaps a witch, Winter. He intends to find out what type of retaliation the witch clan is planning against the vampires and werewolves. In doing so, he finds so much more then he bargained for.  

By Book 2, Isaac and Winter devise a plan to try to get the Elders of the clans talking peacefully. But, things don't go as they'd hoped, and the fighting between the clans becomes more devious - deadly. Now, Devin, another Vampire of Drake's making, steps in to help pick up some of the pieces. 

When Book 3 begins, it is Devin who hides the biggest secret; he’s in love with a local human. In a moment of desperation – of love – Devin sweeps this human, Sara, away to his home in order to keep her out of harm’s way.
Unexpected close encounters, bodies ripe with need, and situations beyond their control lead to forbidden relationships. Now three vampires, a witch, a werewolf and a human must ride along the edges of the rules. They will attempt once unthinkable romantic entanglements despite all those who oppose their relationships while fighting for their lives as well.
With the Willows full of violence and bloodshed, meetings and magic amiss, will the clans ever be able to find peace among them again? Or, will this war destroy the Willows?
Genres:  Erotic, Paranormal (Vampire, Witch, Werewolf) Romance

Book I, The Vampire's Witch - Available Now at  Amazon ,  All Romance eBooks  and Smashwords
Book II, The Vampire's Wolf - Coming July 2012
Book III, The Vampire's Human - Coming November 2012For More Information Visit http://www.kikihowell.com/2012/01/at-war-in-willows-series.html

Sea Monkeys and The Goodness of Aging

Last week I really dropped the ball on the blog post didn't I? I'm so sorry reader dears. But Monday is a day to recover and recommit. So to start this week off just right I bring the Caveat Queen (my mysterious guest blogging friend) and her thoughts on youth, aging, and a club she never realized the joined.   


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Sea Monkeys and The Goodness of Aging
That old saying, “Age has its privileges,” always sounded really snooty and annoying, when I was a kid.  I understood it to mean that my elders got to do things like go ahead of me in line at the store, have some cool stuff that I didn’t, and maybe they all secretly belonged to some club, and I was on the outside looking in and just didn’t know what I was looking at since I was still a dumb kid.
Well, some of that turned out to be true and some didn’t.  Rarely did adults get ahead of me in any lines throughout my youth, unless they only had a few items, and I had a lot. And sometimes my mom still had to tell me to let them go ahead.  It’s not that I was greedy; I just didn’t usually notice that stuff.  I was a kid.  I was busy reading the Archie comics at the register that my mom wouldn’t allow me to have, and performing my rudimentary math skills to see if I could afford a candy bar or not.  Some adult standing behind me with a baby in one arm and a thing of laundry soap in the other might as well have been invisible in my world, which ended right about at the belly button of the adult cosmos.  Seems to me I got more aware of the needs of others as I got…taller.  The ability to make eye contact is a rarely considered factor in the development of compassion. 
Anyway, the second point of age having its privileges, adults might have cool stuff that I didn’t, was also mostly true.  Kids had cool stuff in my day, but mostly my covetousness surrounded the ownership of comic books and Barbie dolls: the two “shalt nots” in my home.  Surely, if those had been allowed and something else banned, it would have been those other banned items I craved.  I guess for me, probably for most kids, banning an item creates the greatest desire for it.  Or, I am just an early example of how the Fall occurred. I ate from the Tree of the Knowledge of Archie and Jughead whenever I could find a kid who collected the comic books and would practically ignore my playmates until I had caught up on the antics of all my favorite characters, peered curiously at the ads for the Sea Monkeys and tried to decide how I could get my friend to defile their comic book and tear out an ad for me to take home, and then figure out what a money order was and where to get one, since there was no way my mother would give me a check for them.  This dilemma I never resolved, and so remained Sea Monkeyless throughout my developing years and was sure it would mark me for life, without taking into consideration that I never did see any of my comic book collector friends with a grotto of happy Sea Monkey people grinning and waving to them in their rooms, like the ad showed.  That seems strange now, taking into account how many kids’ rooms I lay on the floor of, dodging smelly socks and fetid tennies while talking about Sea Monkeys.  The general consensus had been their coolness, and most kids let on that they had an order on the way shortly.  Makes one wonder where they are all now: the kids, and the Sea Monkeys.  The kids are all on Facebook, I guess.  I fear the Sea Monkeys fate is about the same in productivity, but with less IM’ing.
As far as that club, the one the adults belonged to, but I was on the outside of and felt I must be stuck looking in, but without really seeing…that, I think I accomplished a rare childhood feat: I figured that one out way ahead of myself.  There is totally a club.  It is a grown-up thing, and until you get there, you don’t even know that you’re headed in the front door of the place.  I don’t know that much about it myself.  There is no Grand Poo-bah to greet and orient you, or perform any rites of membership.  Those occur over time.  For me, this club, the club of “Adulthood and its Privileges” came after I turned 40.  I do mean after.  I needed not to say, I Am 40, but I Am Over 40. It is the secret phrase that has let me in to all adult permission and understanding, I am telling you.  Let’s say I am struggling to read something on my computer screen, and the person on the phone at work is waiting for me to give a response.  If I sigh, and apologize for my over-40 eyes, and that the font might be readable to the 20-something programmer who set up this information, but it’s going to take me a moment to figure out how to get it to a size the rest of us can read, the caller laughs in not just sympathy but empathy, and I have a few more minutes to get the information than I might have otherwise.  Same story for memory issues; no caller on a Monday morning isn’t going to relate to a poor-over 40-brain that just doesn’t warm up like it used to-the engine on the car and the one in my head are both needing a little longer to get going these days. 
I hated turning 30.  I felt frightened of Father Time, as he Death Marched right over me, and what his intentions were for what was suddenly the second half of my life.  I had always thought of myself as a glass half full kind of person, if there is such a thing, and suddenly, my glass was much more than half empty and draining quickly.  If it had sprung a leak, I couldn’t find it, but was feeling desperate to fill the hole if I could be shown where it was.  But the rest of the decade got very busy with children to raise, and then suddenly raise without a partner.  Illness blossomed in various places and forms throughout my body, and my focus shifted from career to regaining, literally, my stride.  Up and out of a wheelchair, and truly back on my feet, I am looking at my glass again.  And whether it is the Over-40 in me, or just standing the tests of time, I find that there is no half-full/half empty to it any longer.  There is just a glass, and I am grateful to have it.  Age does have its privileges.  Fill your own glass, and help others fill theirs too. And you can buy your own Sea Monkeys. 

 




OMB I freaking love this woman. How can you not have a great day after reading wit like that! 





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Micheal Releases!!

I'm thrilled to be able to take part in this special one of a kind blog hop. It's for one day only. 24 hours! And even better my two good friends and colleagues Chris White and Aaron Patterson are hosting it in celebration of their newest YA release Micheal.


Description of Michael


Michael did the unthinkable to save Airel from death, but now he must live with the choices he has made--both good and evil. Tortured by his past and haunted by what he believes might be his future, Michael seeks redemption--but will the past prove to be too strong? How can he break free of it and be the man he longs to be for Airel? If only he had never...




Airel. Michael's one true love. He had forced her to drink in new life only to find that old wounds and deep scars do not heal overnight. Can she truly forgive Michael, can she truly love him? And can he accept that forgiveness? Or is it all for nothing, and has he gone too far already? As the darkness of past choices closes in on them, chases them, intercepts them, coming at them from everywhere at once, how can their love possibly survive?




To get back to the blog hop and continue on this super fun event click here. 

Lesson From Boot Camp: Spots Bra Don'ts

 In harmony with the Monday post by the Caveat Queen about granny panies. I thought I'd share my recent experience at boot camp concerning sports bras.

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Now if you are a busty belle like I am the use of two sports bras is a must. Not only are you fighting a battle with gravity but they are like their own set of permanent dumbbells on your shoulders. And frankly you can only do so many shoulder presses. 

Nonetheless, when wearing your two sports bras make sure the tighter one is on the outside. And be especially aware of this if you are dressing at 4:00 AM. Maybe set your clothes out in the order of putting them on. I don't know. All I know is what happens if you don't.

You will spend your hour at boot camp constantly pulling the looser outer bra down. Because ever jiggle slowly moves it up until it's bunch up around your neck like a noose. Then your instructor (who happens to be a guy) looks at you like you're insane because from that angle you look like you are rubbing your chest. 

It's all highly irritating and slightly embarrassing. I advise against it. 

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