Evan Katy's Blog, page 2

Teaser - Chapter One

**Update: I added the official text to the first chapter.

I can't promise that bits of this won't change when the final book is released, but I feel like you should have something to read, something to indicate what the heck May is all about (even though this chapter might tell you nothing...), and something to show that the book will indeed be released this year. So here is chapter one. Enjoy!!!

An Old Murder in MayEvan KatyChapter One-Beyond the sliding glass door, in the exact center of our backyard, was an excavated pit, a blunt reminder that we’d stumbled upon a woman’s long dead remains last month. The setting sun, instead of being rosy, cast mustard-colored rays on piles of dirt and reflected off the dust-encrusted living room window, rendering the scene outside akin to the aftermath of a nuclear explosion and making it nearly impossible to see through the glass.“We have to move,” Maxie Peters, my best friend, said. She angrily pulled her blonde hair into a ponytail, almost hitting me with her elbow. “Dust is on everything. In everything.”“I thought you were enjoying the mystery of the dead woman in our yard,” said Olivia Parker, my other close friend and my boyfriend’s sister.“I learned all I needed to know,” Maxie said. “Her husband was deranged. Educated, sure, but completely off his rocker. If I ever go off the deep end like that, tie me to a tree in the desert.”I laughed. “A middle school music teacher.” I pointed to myself. “And a florist.” I pointed to Olivia. “Will try and tie you, a specially trained military sharpshooter, to a tree when you’re insane. That sounds not even remotely doable.”“I wasn’t a sharpshooter,” Maxie said.“It took us forever to find this place,” Olivia said. “Not to mention the fact we like our neighbors. We might not get so lucky next time. And why are you complaining, Maxie? You don’t have to live here. You have another house. Now that your kitchen is fixed you can go home, right?”Maxie looked at me.I shrugged. “She’s right. You can leave anytime. Olivia and I can deal with the pit of doom. I know I haven’t shown off my skills recently, but when I was a kid my mom called me the dust master.”“You were an only child,” Maxie said. “You were probably the vacuum master and the sponge master, too.”“That explains so much about my childhood.” I made a mental note to mention it to my mom when she called on Thursday. “But, seriously, if this craziness bothers you, why are you still here?”Someone cleared her throat behind us. “I would like to know that, too.”We turned around to see Maxie’s grandmother slapping her umbrella rhythmically into her palm. She was a small, fierce woman who looked ten years younger than she actually was, although none of us knew her exact age.“Gram,” Maxie said, warily.“Your friends are right, Max,” she said. “You should come home.”Maxie sighed. “Being in the same house as my mother is not a good idea.”“What makes you think I enjoy living with her? Your mother is cuckoo.”“This morning she told the mailman I was single and had a good figure,” Maxie said. “Since Bernard, our mailman, is married and plays Santa at the mall, it’s not even relevant.”“That’s nothing,” Grandma said. “She threatened to drop me off at senior day care so I could meet people. Who am I going to meet? Regis Philbin? No thank you.”Maxie shook her head. “Yesterday she bought me laxatives, because she thought I looked bloated.”“She bought me adult diapers, because she had a coupon.”Maxie paused. “That is…actually worse. You win.”“You bet your ass I do.”“I can hear both of you.” Marianne Peters, Maxie’s mother, entered the living room. She smiled indulgently while wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “But we’re having a good day. No reason to spoil it. I cleaned your kitchen and took out the trash. It took hours, but it’s done. I found grime on top of grime. Doesn’t help that the construction workers are sending mountains of dust up into the air all day.” She bent down, searching around the furniture, a frown on her face. “Where is that dog?”Goliath, the beagle we’d been babysitting for my mother’s best friend, spent his time hiding under the furniture whenever Maxie’s mom was over. He worked very hard to keep from being swept up in the hurricane of housekeeping. Today we took pity on him and sent him to our neighbor’s house.“Robin has him,” Olivia said. “She’s probably feeding him fish and coconut milk…which sounds delicious. I’m starving.”Maxie’s mother pursed her lips. “Milk will give him the runs. Watch him tonight. And wipe his paws before he jumps on the furniture. He really needs a bath. And maybe spray him with perfume. I bought some deodorizer for the furniture. Can you use that on dogs?”“Mother,” Maxie said, then took a deep breath before she continued. “Why are you still here?”“To finish the job.” Marianne looked outside. “Good Lord, did the sun set already? Spring sunsets are brief. In the fall, the sun seems to linger. Apparently there’s a study that shows how watching the sunset can make you produce more eggs. It’s like an ovary intensifier.”“Please stop talking,” Maxie said.“In case any of you wanted to start having babies.” “Stop your yapping!” Maxie’s grandma yelled and snapped the umbrella to her side. “I’ve been standing still too long. Got to keep moving or my muscles seize.” She threw open the front door. “Maxie. Walk me out.”Maxie growled, but joined her grandmother. Marianne gave us each a warm hug and then followed them out the door.“Do you think the part about the sunset is true?” Olivia asked.Marianne popped her head back in. “Sunday dinner at our house to celebrate. I’m expecting everyone. I called your mother, Sam. Your dad is going to grill on Maxie’s new barbecue. Olivia, if I knew your mother’s number I would call her, too.”“My mother? Oh, please don’t,” Olivia said. “She’s super busy. Probably out of town. Maybe out of the country.”“MOTHER!” Maxie yelled from outside. “TIME TO GO!”Marianne smiled. “Okay, well, we’ll miss meeting her, but I understand. See you Sunday then. Bye.” She waved and then shut the door behind her.“What are we celebrating on Sunday?” Olivia asked.“I have no idea,” I said. The past few weeks had been a blur. I tried to pull up a mental calendar. Being a teacher meant that I had an inner datebook with specific days highlighted, the most important being the last day of school and the start of Christmas break. I knew there was something on Sunday, but couldn’t remember what it was. “I’ll call my mom.”Olivia shuddered. “I’m really glad she doesn’t have my mother’s number.”Maxie stormed back into the house and slammed the door. “Ninja night run. Five minutes.” She blew past us, down the hall.Olivia grabbed her purse off of the couch. “I can’t run tonight—”“You never run,” I said.“I used to.” Olivia pulled out her keys. “In high school I ran a sixteen-minute mile and failed PE. The shame scarred me for life. But I have a flower design class at the Oak Valley Adult School tonight. It starts at six.”“They have classes on flower arranging?”“Cut flowers, specifically. It’s essential for my business. Apparently there’s an entire science behind it. And since I now own a shop on Main Street I probably need a class in building rehab as well. I thought it was going to be simple. Buy property, put pretty flowers in the window, boom, I’m a florist. They didn’t say anything about the peeling walls, pipes that haven’t been updated since the forties, or the mold. Have I mentioned the mold?”“Yes. I thought Frito was going to help you fix it up.”“He was, but he’s been busy. New job and all.” She sighed. “Okay, I’m off.”“You’re leaving me alone…at night…with an angry Maxie?”“If anyone can handle her when she’s this pissed, it’s you.” Olivia gave me a quick hug and left.“Is a sixteen-minute mile bad?” I asked the empty room.“It’s ridiculous!” Maxie yelled. “Get ready!”I grabbed my phone and called Robin.“Hello, lady,” Robin said cheerfully.“Maxie and I are going for a run and Olivia went to a class. Can you keep Goliath for another hour?”“Of course. He’s no trouble. I fed him rice an hour ago and he’s sitting on the couch watching Bonanza. It’s his favorite show. I think he likes the horses. Is Frito with you?”Frito was Robin’s twenty-four year old son. His real name was Luis, but none of us called him that. He’d been hired as a bartender last month. “Maybe he’s at the Wicked Piñata.”“Aye, don’t say the name of that vile place. I can’t stand it. Why couldn’t he have been hired at a respectable company, or been an accountant?” “Sorry, Robin,” I said, thinking that all parents dream their children will become accountants. It’s unnatural, and probably the reason there are so few of them. “We’ll check in on him. Make sure he’s all right.”“That would be wonderful, Samantha. Thank you.”I hung up. Maxie emerged from her room dressed completely in black. Even her blonde hair was hidden under a black cap. “You have two minutes,” she said.“Are we exercising or robbing a bank?” I asked.“One minute, forty-five seconds.”I changed quickly, choosing to counter Maxie’s dark disguise with a bright red shirt emblazoned with, “Why Not Wonder Woman?!” printed in gold glitter. Maxie sighed when I came back into the living room. “Those are pajamas.”“Not when you wear them to jog. Then they are workout clothes.”“You’re lucky I like you.” She threw open the front door.“Where are we going?” I asked. “What’s our route?”“To Sister’s and back.”“Sister’s Café is five miles away,” I said. “I’m going to die.”“Three miles, round trip, and stop being pathetic.” Maxie stalked out.“I’m not pathetic,” I muttered as I followed her. “In ten minutes I’ll be pathetic. Right now I’m suffering gallantly because you’re bothered by your mom’s interest in ovary intensifying sunsets.” A sudden gust of wind slammed the door shut behind me.--The air was heavy with the threat of a typical Southern California spring rain that would never arrive. I ran through several sprinklers before I gave up the safety of the sidewalk and joined Maxie in the middle of the street.Fifteen minutes later we’d transitioned from our neighborhood to the community park. Blood was pumping in my ears, I was breathing in wheezing gasps, and every time my feet hit the concrete my ankles sent surrender messages to my brain. I veered off the path, swayed to a stop, and collapsed onto a bench.“Sweet……fresh……..air………” I tried to suck in oxygen, but it was painful. The full moon stared balefully back at me, completely unhelpful.“I’m running alone,” Maxie said from somewhere ahead. A dim white glow emanated from reflectors on the bottom edge of her sneakers. It was the only acknowledgement to the fact that it might be dangerous to run at night dressed in the color of tar. She turned around and made her way back to me. “Are you sitting down?”“This was not a good idea.” I took another deep breath and then found myself yawning.“Ninja night runs are an excellent way to manage stress,” Maxie said, jogging in a circle around me. “And we’ll be doing more of them. I’m losing my edge.”“I’m not cut out to be a ninja,” I said.“I can see that.” She stopped jogging. “Are you seriously going to sit on your ass?”“I’m afraid to stand. I might pass out. How many miles have we run? Twelve?”“One and a half.” Maxie checked her pulse. “We’re almost to Sister’s. I thought you’d at least make it there before you gave up.”“I’m not giving up. I’m resting. I read you’re supposed to take breaks.”Maxie shook her head. “This from the woman who took on the Doblevs.”I shuddered, involuntarily at the mention of the Russian mobsters who had tried to kill me. Thinking about that night was something I stridently avoided. “I survived the Doblevs.”“You’re making my point. Face it, Sam, you’re capable of dealing with a lot of shit. A few miles are nothing.”She wasn’t wrong. In January Maxie and I had been kidnapped. In February my house was destroyed and an insane, jealous person gunned down Maxie’s boyfriend. In March, a good friend and fellow teacher was shot and killed. And in April, the Doblev patriarch strung me up in a creepy abandoned lab and tortured me. Late at night, when I’m alone in the dark, I worried that May could be worse.I stood up and tested my balance. My knees felt like jelly and I nearly fell over. “I’m not going to make it. Can we walk the rest of the way to Sister’s?”“Sam, you can do this. The only thing telling you that you can’t is your brain. Stop listening.” She paused for a moment. “Think about something fun. Think about Ben Parker; that hot, sexy federal agent who loves you. He should be coming back to Oak Valley soon, right?”I felt my pulse race.My boyfriend, Ben, and I had planned on a weekend of camping, but right after my struggle with the Doblevs he’d been called back to Quantico for more training. At least that’s how he’d explained his absence. Nate, his partner, had left, too. Olivia was sure they were working the Doblev case. Possibly from Russia. I tried asking Ben where he was whenever he called, which was too infrequent, but so far he’d only answered with, “I’m on Earth,” which was not at all helpful. “Come on, Sam,” Maxie said.I plodded after her. The brief rest helped. As did the rush of emotions I’d felt thinking about Ben. What was he doing right now? What time was it in Russia? If that’s even where he was. Maybe he was taking a shower, raking his hands through his thick, dark hair as rivulets of soap made their way over his muscled shoulders.I tripped and flailed wildly for a moment to keep my balance.We were almost near the end of the park when my phone buzzed. I thought it might be Ben, considering that I was currently imagining him naked.But it wasn’t. Instead, Skipper Turnbuckle’s name glowed on the readout. “You better not be in trouble,” I said when I answered.Skipper was a private investigator and an old friend. He was also partially responsible for every bad thing that had happened to me.“There she is!” Skipper yelled, and then his voice became muffled. “She answered the phone. I told you she would.”“Where are you? What’s happening? Who are you talking to?”“Everything is fine. It is a beautiful morning here. A bright sliver of sun just peaked over the briny horizon. And my beautiful bride is handing me a Bloody Mary.”“Briny horizon? Morning?” I took a breath. “Bride?”“I’m floating in temperate seas over a tectonic plate of ill repute.”“You’re boating over a volcano?”“I got married! That’s part of the reason I’m calling you. My love and I met last week. Our bodies and souls have aligned and we are now—.”I pulled the phone away from my ear. Skipper was obviously sick with some kind of island fever.“Sam? SAM!” His voice sounded faint.I raised the phone to my ear and said, “No more talk about bodies aligning. It’s making me nauseous. How are you calling me if you’re in the middle of the ocean?”“Not the middle of the ocean, my dear, and I’m using a satellite phone, which is costing me a pretty penny so I’d better get down to business.”Maxie jogged back toward me. “Is it Ben?”I shook my head and felt a little dizzy. “It’s Skipper. He got married.”“Was it blackmail? Did she owe him money?”“Is that Maxie Peters I hear?” Skipper asked. “Give her a hug for me.”“Not a chance. She’d deck me.” I spotted a bench a few feet away, partially hidden behind a tree and headed toward it. “All right, Skipper. Spill. How did you meet your wife?”“I don’t have time to get into that,” Skipper said. “Due to the happy event of my nuptials, and a few other things, I’m going to stay here a bit longer. I need you to check in on the Closet.”“You want me to look in your closet?”“The Closet,” Skipper said.I sat down on the bench. It was cool and felt wonderful. “Can’t Harry help you? It seems like he would be closer to whatever is in your closet that needs checking.” My ex-husband, Harry, was Skipper’s current roommate.“Rialto is barely walking. He’s not yet not recovered from his torture session with the Doblevs last month. And this is something I need you to take care of. The Closet is important to me. There’s no one I trust more.”“You aren’t making any sense. What the hell is the closet?”“It’s my office,” Skipper said. “I call it the Closet, because it’s the size of one. My crooked landlord left me a message, saying that people had been leaving things near the door and he wanted it cleaned up or me cleaned out. I’m calling to see if you can go over there and tidy up.”“You’ve never mentioned your office before,” I said.“Never had a reason to.”“Uh, Sam…” Maxie said.I waved my hand, indicating I needed a few more minutes. I was getting a headache and had a feeling it was going to get worse before it got better. “Where is your office?” I asked Skipper.“Third floor of the old pickle building downtown. Room 332.”“We have a pickle building in Oak Valley?”“SAM!” Maxie shouted.
I heard a moan, felt a hand on my arm, and then the sound of leaves rustling as a body flopped into my lap.

I wrote a poem...accidentally...

Spent another wonderful Saturday with a writer's group writing with prompts. I call it essential exercise. What was interesting about this time is that the first two prompts I wrote easily, but the third stumped me. In truth, it scared me. I panicked.

The prompt was this - think of a picture then start writing with the words "In this photograph you are..." Our wonderful host and leader of our group announced the prompt and we all went to work.

Sort of.

I sat and stared at the page thinking, "What photograph?"

In my other two writings that day I had time travelers battling robots with swords and a woman having a nightmare about an eighteenth century Medusa. Fun, active, entertaining. I enjoyed hearing the laughter as I read the short pieces.

But I was there to exercise so I started writing...and kept at it...and then after about fifteen minutes I stopped. Even though I had five more minutes I was done. I thought it was horrible, pretentious, way too serious, the exact thing I hated to write, let alone read.

I read it aloud, to the group, and even though I was nervous and worried that they would hate it, as I read I realized that he piece was the most personal thing I'd written in weeks, maybe months.

So what if it was serious. It was honest. And sometimes for me to be honest I have to just write.

So I thought I'd share here.

In this photo you are free. You are without strings, unhampered by duty or the judgment of others.You are a tempest. Angry, furious, and deceptively calm; confusing those who dare come near.You are strong. Stronger than the pull of gravity. Able to latch onto a breeze and have it take you where you will.You are uncomplicated. Honest. True. Saying only what you mean and only when you mean to say it.You are deep. Thoughts like a drenching spring rain, full of promise. The world visualizes you when it sleeps.You are brave. Standing tall when you should be buckling. Fierce, striding forward, standing still. You are tantalizing. Your eyes hold the key to a mystery. A hidden meaning buried so deep that it may never be revealed.You are ignorant. You understand that you know only what you’re meant to know. Your curiosity never leads you so far astray that you forget the tether.You are haunted. Shadows of those you’ve lost hover in your hair; reflect in the glint of your eyes. Their names on the tip of your tongue.You are alone. Never remaining close to anyone. Content to let your thoughts be your company. Even in a crowded bus station. Even in a crowded city.
You are a woman, sitting on a bench, hugging a worn leather duffle, wearing a skirt and sandals, and letting me take your picture.

Constantly trying to return to the same place I was previously...

I belong to a children's writers group. They are a wonderful group of supportive people and they give me great feedback. Even with their monthly support I've had a hard time getting back to the place I was when I was writing several hundred words a day, able to work on more than one story, and happy with what my imagination was conjuring. It's been a while. A couple of years...maybe more.

At one of our monthly meetings I confessed to the group that I'd been struggling. They were very supportive. It felt good to say it out loud, like a weight was lifted off my chest.

The next weekend I attended a different writer's group meeting. This one more for the pure joy of writing rather than critique. We had prompts and were given twenty minute to write. I wasn't sure how it would go and was very nervous. But what ended up happening was better than I expected. I found something that had been hidden from me for a while.

So I thought I'd share. Maybe you can finish these stories.

The first prompt was "I hope you're happy, because...."

The phone rang. It echoed throughout the house, bouncing off of white walls and teasing its way into the corners where the musty books lay waiting. An old man pushed himself up from an armchair and made his way slowly toward the kitchen.“I hope you’re happy…”He passed by the portrait of his late wife and winked at her. “I am,” he said.The phone lay on the counter where he’d left it. The plastic casing was greasy, because the last time he’d used it he was making bacon and talking to his son, Peter.Bacon sounded good. Was there any left? Absently he picked up the phone and then opened the refrigerator.“Hello?” a woman said in his ear. “Are you there? Carl?”“Yup,” said Carl as he moved a carton of orange juice to the back and searched the shelves.“Good Lord,” the woman said. “I’ve been calling you all morning. Where have you been?”Carl looked at the phone. Was there a speaker button? He wanted to use two hands to look for the bacon. Peter had installed these new phones last month. He said they were the latest technology. Carl pressed what he thought was the right button.“CARL!” the woman was shouting.“Yup,” said Carl. He set the phone down on the counter and went back to the fridge hunt.There was a pause. “Carl. I know you said you wanted your privacy, that you needed time, but I don’t think that was a good idea. I’m coming over. I’m brining Maggie and Jennifer. They miss you.”“Ah-Hah!” Carl lifted the bacon out of the meat drawer.“Did you hear me, Carl?”“Yup.”“I can be there in two hours.”Carl looked for his fry pan. It wasn’t where he left it. “I hope you’re happy…”“I am, sweetie,” Carl said. “I am.”“Okay, then. We’ll see you soon. Don’t do anything crazy.”“Yup,” said Carl. He heard a click and then a dial tone. He picked up the phone and pressed the button he hoped would turn it off. It did. A sack of chips lay on the counter next to the phone. It would be easier to eat the chips than make the bacon.“Marion?” Carl yelled to the living room. “Do you want chips?”The only sound was the television. The news was on.Chips sounded good. He picked up the bag and shuffled back to his armchair passing the portrait of his late wife.“I hope you’re happy,” she said. “Because now I have to fry all the bacon.” 
The second prompt was a woman's picture, just the side of her face. She had the sleek, trim look of a 1920's flapper, dressed in a black with a string of pearls around her neck. 
She held the ad in her hand as she rang the doorbell. It was a crisp sounding bell, ending on a sharp trill. In seconds the door opened and a man in suit and tails peered at her from behind the bars.“Yes?” he said.“I’m Crystal,” she said. “I’m here about the job.”The man stepped closer to the gated entry.Crystal stood straight, thankful that she’d borrowed her mother’s dress. Her own had gotten too short at the knees. She smoothed her hair and tugged her pearl necklace so that it hung straight down.“Do you have an appointment?” the man asked.Crystal’s finger caught on her necklace. “I didn’t know I needed to make one. The advertisement didn’t say.” She looked at it. The small type was brief and to the point. House Manager needed promptly. Experience running household. Neatly dressed. 477 Brown Street. Inquire. The man stared at her.Crystal looked at her shoes. The white scuffs she’d tried so hard to wipe off were showing. The salt on the sidewalk hadn’t helped.The gate creaked and Crystal stepped back as it opened outward. The man held it with one hand and stepped back so she could enter.The vestibule was immense with a ceiling that extended several stories and was crowned like a cake with an enormous chandelier. Crystal felt her mouth open and firmly shut it. The couches and chairs that lined the round room were covered in a warm green silk. None of them looked like they’d been sat on.“Please, wait here,” the man said. He left through a white door that was half hidden in the wall to her right.Alone, Crystal stood in the center of the room, hearing her own heartbeat in her ears. She tugged at her necklace and heard a tiny snapping sound and then felt the pearls drip off of her neck and land on the marble floor, scattering to all corners of the room.For a second she stood, horrified, her finger still poised where the necklace had been. But then she heard the sound of footsteps and muffled conversation and set to work trying to gather the tiny baubles.The floor was white and the pearls were hard to find. She had to drop her face until it was inches from the floor. She cupped each pearl she found and deposited them into her purse.The voices were louder. The footsteps just outside the door.Crystal stood and kicked the last few pearls, hoping they would roll under the chairs and couches and not be seen.The white door opened and the man who’d let her in said, “Please, ma’am, may I introduce you to the owner of the house, Mr. Blumenthal.”
A tall man entered, his hair raven black and his eyes thoughtful. 

Where could you be? A poem for something lost.

Where could you be?

I set you down.
You did not stay.
I'm getting pissed off.
Someone will pay.

Your importance is mild.
Yet frustratingly key.
I've looked in all the corners.
You are not where you'd be.

I"ve discovered odd things.
The search has been fruitful.
I found my ninja socks.
And a dusty old loofa.

A taco pin.
A robot keychain.
Zombie tattoos.
A bunch of magazines I meant to read and never did and now in addition to feeling like a loser because I lost something I shouldn't have I also feel like a slacker, because apparently I can't even finish a simple magazine.

I gave up and started writing.
But I vow to keep searching.
When I find it I will rejoice.
But until then I am sweating.

Saturday's with Tyler - November

First chance to meet the Ninja Tyler. He is only a few weeks old, but he looks you in the eye and demands your everlasting devotion. I changed diapers, bounced and cuddled, and had the first of many conversations about how wonderful he is.

I ran a 5k...

Late on Friday night we drove to Disneyland. Our intention was to check in to the hotel, relax, eat, and get a good night's sleep. I needed at least eight hours of uninterrupted zzzz's if I was going to have a chance at running the entire 5k.

For two years I've been trying to get my body back into shape, gradually training my mind and muscles to think "Yes I can" instead of "WTF?!" It was unbelievably hard.

All those people who say they got into shape in a few weeks? I hate them. It took me years and I'm not there yet. But I was going to run this 5k. The fact that it was Avengers was awesome, and the fact that we were going to run through Disneyland, even better.

But when we arrived at the hotel we found out we were selected as the "Magic Family of the Day" and, SURPRISE! we were escorted to the Pirates of the Caribbean Suite.
The dining table. The hall bathroom. 4am faces.It was glorious. Bigger than our house. It had three full bathrooms. My children ran around like nuts, turning on all the lights and taking pictures. It was pretty awesome. Even the doorbell was awesome - singing Yo Ho Ho Ho. All this awesomeness meant that when we finally went down for dinner everything was closed. My daughter suggested Pizza Port in Tomorrowland. We rode the monorail, arriving just as Pizza Port closed. My son suggested corn dogs on main street. Everyone else in the park wanted corn dogs too, and a half hour later we finally sat down to eat.

It was delicious.

But I was starting to get nervous. The stress played with my head. I tried to relax. I tried to sleep. But couldn't. The last time I looked at the clock it was 3am. At 4am my alarm went off. I had slept for an hour. I had botched it. My first 5k was going to be a bomb. Resigned, we woke the kids up, got dressed and headed out with 5,000 other people to line up for the start.

There were so many people in costume. So many people smiling. Kids. Adults. One man in an inappropriate Captain America bodysuit. We were in the 3rd corral, and by the time we hit the start line it was fifteen minutes into the race. We walked for a bit and then my daughter and I started running. We turned a corner and entered Car's Land.

And magic happened.
I was no longer even a little bit tired. Dawn was painting happiness in the park. I ran behind my daughter with a giant smile on my face, giving people with giant Mickey hands high-fives, and yelling out compliments to people on their costumes. We ran past the Grizzly Rapid Ride, out of California Adventure and into Disneyland, down main street, past the castle, around Big Thunder...

We finished in 36 minutes. It took a little over a half hour to affirm that if I stuck with something, didn't give up, didn't sabotage myself, I could make it...and enjoy it.

We tried going to the park afterward, but I couldn't walk properly. Apparently, sprinting in happiness for a little over three miles early in the morning with no sleep and only adrenaline for food, causes muscle fatigue. Who knew. :)

It's a long story

My cousin gave me this on Sunday. She said it was from my Aunt's house, my aunt who recently passed away. At first I focused on the frame. It's a pretty frame.
But then I recognized the card inside. Just as my cousin was telling me it was a card I sent to my aunt, I was saying the same thing.
After my uncle died I sent this card to her. Inside I told her how messed up my head was with all the competing memories of my wonderful uncle, her wonderful husband. I told her she was amazing. I told her how humbled I was at how she was handling everything. I told her I loved her...so much.
I did love her so much.
So unbeknownst to me, she framed my card, and my cousin found it after she passed and made sure it made its way back to me. I couldn't possibly tell my amazing cousin what that means to me. She probably knows. 
I spent last night with my grandma and two of my other uncles (I'm a very lucky girl with many awesome aunts and uncles and a grandma who is amazing ). At one point, sitting, chatting, I found myself remembering sitting and chatting with my dad.
I really miss that.
So I'm a little sad, but thankful, but sad. I've been so busy lately I don't have time to think, which is maybe a good thing. 

Passion

I'm fairly sure someone in China is spamming my blog. The blog I never write anymore. The blog I need to get back to. The blog which will one day rule the world. MUHAHAHAHAH....cough.


I have two sisters. One is passionate about music and music education. The other is passionate about all things nutrition. I am passionate about....something, perhaps even a lot of things, but nothing that singularly defines me. So, other than my family, which if you see the faces above you can see why we are passionate about them, what else is something that would end the sentence, "She loved..."?

Science - Yes. This is true. And not just any science. Primarily astrophysics. Why am I not a scientist? Because the social aspects of school paralyzed me.

Creating things - Yes. This is also true. I love taking a piece of fake leather and making a halloween costume. A costume so fun that strangers stop my son and ask to take his picture (It was King Mickey). I like making whole books out of slivers of ideas. I like thinking about funny vlogs I can do with my friends.

Traveling - Yes. This is partially true. I love visiting new places...as long as the plane ride isn't too much, there is a Starbucks somewhere long the way, and evenings are spent at a nice place with plumbing.

Iced Tea - Basically my one true passion other than my family. That's how you would end the sentence. "She loved iced tea." Maybe I could create an iced tea that would taste delicious in space and travel on Virgin Galactic to test it out. PASSIONS COMBINED!

Spam away, China. My work is done. I'm a passionate brewer of tea designed for space travel.

Is Pluto a planet?

Short answer, no. But for good reason. Reasons I won't get into because I can't contribute to the discussion from an educated standpoint. I'll let the experts do that. Spent last weekend in Seattle. It was warm and the sky was clear. Not a cloud in it.  The lecture was so much fun. I'm still regaling my kids with facts. Neil DeGrasse Tyson is a witty, engaging, and intelligent human.  We kayaked Lake Union. It was crowded and the sea kayak was a bit narrow. I like a river kayak better. That said, the water felt wonderful and getting out was a fun adventure. We also went to Olympic National Park. Saw deer. Hiked. Wondered at the mountains. They looked like they were covered in carpets of trees. 

New In Between

Freedom. Spoiler - It isn't patriotic. Not in the least. There's occasional swearing, but not as bad as the books. And I reveal more of this particular mystery.

Happy 4th of July!!! I hope yours is happy!

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