Caddy Rowland's Blog: Writer of Fiction, Painter of Life and Energy, page 21

Living the Tropical Life in Minnesota

I have blogged previously about our unusual winter this year.  Well, the weirdness continues! Can anyone say "Pass the margaritas?"  Grab your flip flops, don the shorts...welcome to Minnesota in March!

I can't remember every having a March like this so far.  All weekend it was in the 60's.  Yesterday we had rain so it stayed in the 50's.  But get this: Today and for the next five days at least it will be in the 60's, 70's and even the 80's in some areas of our state!  It is not even mid-March yet!

I am so lovin' this.  If we lived my way, we would live somewhere that it never dipped below 80.  Swimming pools and sun umbrellas would be a daily feature; dining out on decks mandatory.  Anyone who did not comply would be fined.


It is so nice to be able to just go outside.  That simple.  Just go outside.  No scramble for jackets, scarves, mittens.  No putting on heavy shoes or boots. Just step into my birkies and jump out the door.  Oh, wait!  I do have to remember one item.  Sunglasses!

I sure hope that old saying about March does not hold true this year.  Otherwise we are in for trouble at the end...if it goes out like a lion.  Of course, lions live in very warm climates.  Perhaps going out like a lion means something completely different than that saying after all.  Yup.  No coat, no agenda, just stepping out into the sun to stretch out for a long nap.  I like it. Bring on the lions.

Walking through my pain

I am so tired of living with pain!  I have been dealing with muscle pain for twenty years.  It comes and goes, and no doctor can decide what exactly is causing it.  Fibromyalgia? Who knows. All I do know is that every test has been done and still I hurt.

Now for the last couple of years it has also included my lower back/hips.  My hips have always hurt on the sides, now it is also including the upper part of my butt.  Talk about having a pain in the ass!

We used to do a lot of walking and hiking from April through at least October.  Two years ago when I got breast cancer we were cheated out of that.  Surgery was in early April and then most of May and all of June I had radiation.  I was so tired for months afterward that the most excitement I could take was sitting on our deck watching birds. 

So, last year I thought we would finally get back into the long walks of at least five miles.  Not so.  My back had different plans.  We would sometimes walk a mile and I would be in pain the whole time.  Nothing ruins a walk in the woods like pain.  You can't notice any of the beauty because your body is just hoping to sit down.  It sucks.  Another spring, summer and fall without the woods, except in short visits.  Visits where I wanted to cry the whole time I was there.

I am praying that this year will be different.  We did a two mile walk yesterday and brought baby Gideon along.  It helps some to have something to push and lean into.  Four ibuprofen did not seem to help, though. I had to stop several times and bend over to relieve the pain a bit.

Really, I am convinced it is because those lower back muscles have become weak.  There is nothing else wrong with me.  Because of that the only solution I can think of is to just walk through it and hope that after a month or so the pain won't be there, or will be so much less that we can enjoy long walks and hikes in the woods again.  That is where I find God.  In the woods.  I miss that communion.  Yes, I can get it if I just enter and don't walk far, but there is something quite wonderful about truly getting into the woods.  I am going to commit to trying to get back there regularly again this year.

I am running out of "middle age".  As I get older, who knows how long I will be able to hike on dirt paths where sometimes it is steep and many times it is easy to trip? I can't wait forever to try again...or time will pass me by.  So, I will try to walk through the pain.  Wish me luck that it really is only weak back muscles and as I use them they will get strong again and the lower back pain will go away.  The muscle pain everywhere else is bad enough.  I don't want the woods taken away from me besides!

I can't wait to get in there and hear the spring bird songs, see the trees and shrubs sprout and flower, enjoy the woodland animals.  These are things that I really hope won't be taken from me.  They are my peace and my rebirth.
They are my salvation.

New "'Do" Do Do Wonders

There is something magic about getting your hair worked on.  I don't think anything quite brings the strut back in the walk like a new trim, new highlights, or a new style.  This isn't just a female thing, either.  I know how much better my husband feels after a trim; how he bitches when it is time for one and his hair makes him unhappy!

They say hair is your crowning glory.  I believe that must be true.  I know that when my hair turns out awful I feel glum.  There is a little cloud hanging over me all day. I imagine that people looking at me think I look even worse than I feel.

Then I go in and get a trim.  Or even better, it is time for highlights.  I walk out with new shining hair and a new attitude, baby!  I feel much younger, much sexier, and-yes-even a little smarter.  Oh, the power of blonde! (Or red or purple or whatever gets you groovin' to that babe or hunk you always knew was inside you.)

It is time now.  Today I can see that my hair is ho-hum.  Time to spank a little spunk into it! A little naughtiness, a little mystery.  Could that color be real?  (Once was, sweetie, I was a blonde for sure.  Now it is mouse.  I must be the only woman on the planet whose hair has decided to go darker instead of grey.)

Here are two hard and fast rules about hair that I bet you agree with:

1. On the days that you have absolutely nowhere to go you're hair will turn out perfectly. You could run it through a food processor that morning and it would look perfect. Should anyone call you last minute to do something, all bets are off.  Hair has ears. It hears your plans.

2. The week leading up to your hair appointment your hair will turn out the cutest that it has since the week leading up to the prior appointment.  It is taunting you; daring you to cancel.  Don't.  If you do, it will laugh like a maniac and make you look like Phyllis Diller until you go to your new appointment...two or three weeks later because they are all filled until then. Trust me.  I know. So does Donald.

Long, short, thick, thin, fine, coarse, blonde, brunette, red...it is all the same.  Hair is our best accessory and our worst enemy. Hair is part of a covert operation trying to drive humanity to destruction. But, damn, when my hair looks good it is worth the mental anguish it usually puts me through.

This indie author needs to go write some more of her third book in The Gastien Series First, pass that hairspray.  Someone might just stop over unexpectedly.

Think Before You Speak to a Cancer Survivor

I never used to be afraid to go to the doctor.  I would hear some people talking in panicked voices that they had to go for a physical and wonder what in the world their doctors did to them that was so scary! Then, two years ago, I got breast cancer.

I have blogged about the details before so I won't repeat, except to say I was lucky.  It was only Stage 0 and is completely gone.  But until you know that, fear enters your life in a way that you can't begin to imagine.  Your death is always something kind of unreal until you think you may be facing it.  The possible suffering is even scarier than dying. I had told my doctor that I thought I would never be the same person again and she told me I was right. Cancer changes you forever.  Some ways are bad and many are good but for sure you are changed.

Every time I go for a mammogram now (and they are more often the first couple years, along with other tests) I am scared. The annual physical? Scared. Now even visits for unrelated things harbor fear. I went last week for pelvic pain.

Because there was no infection (but some blood cells), the doctor set me up to see a urologist to rule out bladder cancer.  Can you say scared sh**less?
Thankfully I don't have bladder cancer.

The stress of worry makes me sick, I know.  I appreciate the people who talk me through my worry and show that they care. I don't appreciate those that try to make my having had cancer something small.  It wasn't.  It was hugely life changing.  All of those cliches like "You were way luckier than a lot of people, be glad" or "You almost didn't have cancer it was so early" only irritate someone who has faced it.

I know I am lucky.  Damn lucky.  Every one of us alive is.  And saying I almost didn't actually have cancer?  You won't say it a second time if you know what's good for you.  Do you think I went through six weeks of radiation for the fun of it? No, I don't dwell on it.  I can go for weeks without thinking of it.  But I will always think of it at some point.  Always. If that bothers you, get over it.  I wish I could. Unfortunately, it was part of my life journey. The things I faced and decisions I made; the horror I felt will always be part of me. It is a very, very small part.  But it is there.

For those of you who have had it you get it. I don't have to tell you what it is like to be looking at possible finality. You have done it. For the those who haven't, please think before you speak. Making little of something so painfully frightening is belittling to both parties. Simply holding me for a minute would have helped a hell of a lot more. Your arms work every bit as well as your mouth.  Sometimes better.

Numbers Are Not My Friends (Yes, I Suck At Math)

It is tax time.  The days that I sit down to get things ready for the tax accountant are the crabbiest days of the year.  I HATE working with numbers. There is such a thing as number dyslexia and I am fairly certain I have it. I sit down to figure out simple columns of numbers, and within seconds I feel like I have a tumor or something blocking my brain.  It is like looking at a foreign language.

Yes, I eventually muddle through it, but not without attaching dozens of notes to the accountant.  That poor woman probably shudders when she gets my stuff.  In the past, we would meet in her office, so it would be me seeing the notes and reading them to her.  Now she just has people drop off their taxes to be processed so she will personally see my ramblings.

Could I do our taxes myself?  Ummm...I suppose.  I could also pull my own tooth if it needed to come out, but that doesn't mean I am about to.  Between the two, I would rather pull out the tooth.

Same with bank balances.  I have had a checking account (in fact several) for decades.  I have NEVER balanced with what the bank says.  Never. Not once. It I ever did it would quite possibly herald the beginning of armageddon.  I know I would be stunned speechless...and that takes quite a lot. For me, if the bank says I have more than I say we do that works.

I always hated math classes in school.  The worst were those "if this train leaves Boston at 8am on Tuesday going 55 miles per hour and another train leaves Miami at 6:15pm Wednesday going 115 miles per hour, who will arrive in Los Angeles first?" problems.  My mind totally shut down due to three things: The numbers blocked me, boredom and the frustration that I really didn't give a damn because I could be doing something that actually mattered...like painting something or writing.  Doing something with friends.

Don't even get me started on the math problems that were supposed to take an hour or more to work through.  How long did they take me?  About 25 seconds.  Then I would go do something fun with my life.  You don't get that hour back. So I barely passed math.  Yawn. I still managed to be an honor student, heavy in art and language classes.

Yes, I know math is important to a lot of things in life.  But you can't force what you don't have.  I used to be kept after school because I could not draw the correct times on the circles we made with the water dishes for painting class (sacrilege to use them for math).  Was it 6:00 or 12:30?  I knew the difference between the longer and shorter hand.  But the numbers on the clock bothered me. 

Most people hate those clocks with no numbers, just hands.  They are my friend.  Now it is all digital and a "pm" lights up.  I can tell time just fine. Still, I don't wear a watch.  I can usually guess within 10 minutes what time it is. I can also ask if it matters that much.  I do have clocks in the house, but a watch?  No thanks. Any number that close to my veins may poison me further.

One thing I can figure out mathwise is this:  One me plus any group of numbers equals zero.  Zero interest, zero tolerance.  I get that red plus yellow equals orange.  But 20148 plus 50281? That is what calculators are for.  Just to be sure, I do the addition on the calculator three or four times to make sure. Why?  Because I do know this: numbers can't be trusted.  They just can't be.

So You Want to be a Writer (But Are Afraid to Start)

Here is a simple plan from this indie author for getting your first novel done. You can take it or leave it, but if all you have done so far is dream or procrastinate it is worth considering. Let's set the stage.

You have dreamt for months (or years) about being a published author.  You have great ideas in your head for a story but don't know how to go about getting the thoughts into story form...and know even less about how to get published.  Don't worry.  You are not alone.

First, forget about how you are going to get published.  There is nothing to publish until you have a completed book.  Right?  That worry can come later.  Let's get the story written first. Before you get all worked up about how you are going to do that, ask yourself one simple question. 

Do you really want to write a book? There are no difficult, long answers to this question.  You have two possible answers.  Yes.  Or no.  If the answer is yes, don't dwell on all of the reasons you can't do it.  You may need writing classes or grammar classes and quite probably a good editor and proofreader.  That is for the future.  Right now, give me a simple "yes" or "no".

If the honest answer is "no" stop here.  You have figured out that writing is not for you and should wait for tomorrow's blog to read something that may interest you more.  If the answer is yes, let's begin.


I know you have heard about all of the authors that use storyboards.  A storyboard can be simple or very complicated.  It lays out all of the characters, their traits and history, and the different things that will happen in the story.  Now I am going to tell you something else about them.  Forget them.  If you want to write a story and can't begin, throw the storyboard idea out.  Not every author uses them.  Some write from their gut.  In fact, many do. That is quite possibly what you need to do to see your dream come true.

Commit to one hour a day, 5 days a week no matter what.  I don't care if you get up an hour earlier, stay up an hour later, or write before dinner...that hour is set in stone. That is a rule that cannot be broken.  No excuses. 
Sit down at the beginning of that first hour and start to type (or write if you are one of those authors who does not want to use a keyboard). Just start.  Don't worry about how good it is.  Don't stop when you hear "this sucks" in your head, or "that is stupid, I need to change that".  Don't stop.  Just keep writing for an hour. At the end of the hour don't read it. Simply get up and walk away.

Do the same the next day, starting where you left off.  Don't go back and read the whole previous thing.  Maybe the last two sentences to get you back to where you where, but that is it.  If you read the previous work you will get stalled in an endless circle or rewriting and rethinking...and won't get past the first chapter.  You are green.  You are nervous.  You are unwilling to trust yourself yet.  Don't do it.  Just keep going without reading the previous writing.

That is it.  Just keep going without rewrites.  Yep.  All the way to the end; one hour a day for five days a week.  Why? Because there is nothing to rewrite until you have a story.  Finish the story and then you can worry about rewrites.  Trust me, there will be plenty of rewriting.  That is fine.  You will be much more likely to do the necessary rewriting once you have a complete manuscript staring back at you.  You have put in a lot or work and are less likely to procrastinate now.  Do you really want to shelve all of that time put in?

Yes, the story may suck. After it is done and you have rewritten it several times it may still blow.  That is what beta readers are for.  They should not be friends or family that will tell you what they think you want to hear.  They should be people who don't care if they trample on your dreams or hurt your ego. That prepares you for knowing if your book is ready to go to an editor, go to a publisher for consideration, or to the publishing site if you are going to be an indie author like most of us new authors.

I could give you warnings about proofing, editing, hiring out proofing or editing, how you need to know punctuation, grammar...on and on.  I won't.  Not now.  Right now you have no story to fret over.  The time for that will come later.  Right now? You know what Larry the Cable Guy always says, right? Git 'er done!

Barnum & Bailey Were Right

Yes, indeed, Ladies and Gentleman! There is truly a sucker born every minute, just like they insist P. T. Barnum said.  Need evidence?  Check out the plethora of crap sold on television evenings, nights, and weekends. 

From magic pain relief to weight loss while scarfing donuts to twenty year old skin at age 90, they have it all!  Best of all, if you order today you get not 10, not 20, but 50 percent off!  They will even double your order at no charge!  But you MUST act now!

I am embarrassed to admit that I fell for it a few weeks ago.  I ordered a Light Relief system guaranteed to take muscle pain away.  Octogenarians were skipping around jogging, golfing...doing everything they probably never thought of doing when they were 20.

After a 20 minute phone call where you are stuck in a recorded loop of trying to add on more systems, more extras, more everything the product was all mine.  Fabulous.  Except when it came.

It is about six inches long and the same wide.  You need to hold it on the sore area for 15 minutes twice in a row.  For each sore area.  But, you can't run it longer than two fifteen minute sessions without waiting awhile.  Honey, if I was going to hold this thing on every sore muscle I own for 30 minutes a day I would have to get up at dawn and stay up til midnight only doing this.  Even then I might miss a few.

When am I going to learn?  These tv things NEVER work like they promise.  Now I had the hassle of calling them and preparing to ship the item back.  Next I worry about if they will actually credit me the $139.00.  I have tracking on it and am ready to fight if necessary.  Usually, these companies do credit a person back.  I know.  I have been a sucker more than once.

This time I HAVE learned.  No more ordering stuff from tv.  And a word to the wise: Those diamondique earrings?  They "ain't" foolin' nobody, baby.

What Fun! Winter Driving In Minnesota

This indie author is one happy ol' girl today. Why? Because the Twin Cities got it's first "snow event" for the winter (Yes, it took until February 28th and we are very spoiled this year!) and she is sitting inside, not having to drive. I spent years as a road warrior on the freeways of the metro area selling print advertising. Seventeen years to be exact and not one accident. Thankfully.

Because of that I am very familiar with what happens during the first major snow of the season. First, you have the drivers that go five miles an hour on the freeway because a few random flakes are coming down. No, it is not slippery; and no there is not a problem with visibility. These could be people new to the area from warmer states. Yes, I would like to think that.  Unfortunately, too many of them have Minnesota license plates. Every year a certain percentage of people are totally taken off guard when a snowflake drops in the Land of the Frozen Tundra. Imagine! Snow in Minnesota!

Then we have the "let's hit the brake every 5 to 10 seconds to make sure I can stop, regardless of how many cars are behind me" and the "I can change lanes without looking or using a blinker AND I don't have to have more than two feet between cars to get in there...because I have SUPER POWERS! Of course, these people are on the freeway day in and day out, until they finally total enough cars that they get the message.  Hopefully they don't kill too many other people in the meantime.


Next is the macho man (or woman) with the pick up truck or SUV with 4 wheel drive. It does not matter if there is solid ice on the road! No! Their 4 wheel drive is special. It can go 70 miles an hour on ice!!! No other vehicle has been known to be able to do this, but they are the exception. Yup. They sure are. They fall into the exceptional ahole category. Thank you for risking other peoples lives while you try to make up for having a short...ah, never mind. Trying to be a bit less earthy.  For maybe two minutes.

Lastly we have the old reliable tailgator. They show up rain, sleet, snow and sun. It does not matter the weather, these folks need love so badly that they want to attach themselves to your bumper. It makes them feel like they belong. Oh, they belong. I am just not saying where.

Yes, it is a carnival on the freeways every time it snows! Stuntmen, barkers, magicians...spine tingling thrills every minute! I am so glad I did not have to buy a ticket to the carnival today. Can't say I miss Mr. Macho or Ms. Ineedafriend one bit.

Happy Driving. I think I will have another hot buttered rum and light the fire.
Then I will continue writing, while Mr. Super Powers once again performs his magic tricks on I-94.

Wanderlust Movie Should Wander Off, Along With The Grey

Dave and I decided to go to the movie last night.  We had seen previews for Wanderlust and thought it might be funny.  So, off we went.  Tickets were bought, popcorn was bought, and we settled in.

This time the reviews were right. Wanderlust was a disappointment.  Very cliche, very predicable.  On a scale of 1 to 10 we both agreed that it was a 4 at best.  What was Jennifer Anniston thinking when she took this part?  If this is the best Hollywood can do for a comedy then please stop making them!  Sure, we laughed a couple of times.  But, all in all, it was mundane.

This is the second time in about a month we have been disappointed.  Last time we thought we were going to see The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo.  I went to get the popcorn while Dave stood in line for tickets.  Soon Dave came running up to me, telling me that the movie we wanted to see was no longer playing there.  I had the popcorn, so we decided to see The Grey.  The write-up had sounded quite good.


B-o-r-i-n-g! Liam Neeson, really? This is the best part you could find?  Talk about tedious.  Yeah, yeah, a handful of you survived a plane crash.  Yeah, yeah, wolves are after you.  We know.  Believe me, we know.  And after about 45 minutes we simply do not care.  I wanted to scream "Eat the damn humans already so we can go home!"  I wanted to ask Dave to leave, but figured maybe he wanted to stay so I said nothing.  When we were leaving, Dave said he almost asked me to leave about 45 minutes into it, too.

There was nothing suspenseful or anxiety ridden about The Grey.  It was torture, but only because it was so unexciting.  I could not care about any of the characters for some reason and because of that I really did not care what happened to them.

At least we saw The Descendants in between these two.  That was excellent.  We also saw The Vow which was an okay date movie. Not anything you have to see, but fair.

Thankfully the theatre we go to is only $4.00 per ticket, and they use real butter on their popcorn.  When we see a movie that disappoints us it is nice to know we had not taken out a bank loan to buy the tickets. 

Next time I am bored at a movie I am going to nudge Dave and ask if he wants to go home.  For $4.00 each it just isn't worth the tedium of sitting through yet another Wanderlust or The Grey. I can sleep in my recliner at home!

Eating Half of What You Order

For the past couple of months I have been trying to eat less food.  Some weeks are more successful than others.  It has been a gradual undertaking.  I try, for instance, to only eat half of what I order in a restaurant.  I have gotten much better at that this last month. I just seem to remember easier. 

I seem to remember easier because my body tells me more clearly that I have had enough.  It really has helped to do that, even though at first I would only remember to do it every so often.  Now it has become almost a routine.  I think the next time I go out I will just ask for the to go box when I order.  That way I can put half of everything in there right away and won't have to hope I think about it.

I don't know if I will lose weight from this but I would think so. I mean, I am eating half of what I used to eat, right? The other half serves as lunch or dinner another day or night. I do know I fell a lot better when I eat less at sitting. I have more energy and don't feel that infamous "crash and burn" most people feel after they have stuffed themselves

Speaking of having the other half for lunch or dinner another time, I don't think there is anything more boring than thinking up a lunch for one.  Since I write, I am home pounding on the keyboard and suddenly I am hungry.  I have to tell you, I am sick to death of yogurt, soup, deli salads, cheese sandwiches.  Yawn.  Maybe a couple raw veggies on the side.  Yawn again.  Throw some Cheetos or Fritos on there.  Yawn once more.  Even the fattening "same old" is "same old". Therefore, I am pretty darn excited when I have a half of a restaurant meal waiting for me!

We ate out with relatives Saturday, and I happily packaged up half of my bourbon burger and fries.  (Yes, I know they are fattening.  I am trying to eat less, not bore myself into a coma.)  My brother-in-law even gave me his portion of homemade bbq kettle chips.  Great!  Those would be used for yet another time.  Then we got into the SUV.  Dave and I were in the back.  I checked my to go box and it was firmly on the seat in between us.  I reached for my seatbelt...you guessed it.  The box went sailed to the floor of the car.  Opened right up and deposited the food directly into dust and ice melt. 

Goodbye exciting lunch today. How I longed for my half of bourbon burger!  But, alas, it was only a tease of a memory as I choked down another cheese sandwhich.  Yawn.  Almost made me wish I had kept it, ice melt and all.