Barbara Venkataraman's Blog: A Trip on the Mobius Strip, page 11
April 6, 2018
An Ode to Howard Parks :-)
Can a brief encounter with a stranger change your life forever? Of course it can. You're rolling your eyes, I can see you. Well, let me tell you about Howard Parks…
This isn't the tale of an unsung hero--although, for all I know, Howard Parks has rescued people from burning buildings, performed the Heimlich maneuver on dozens of choking victims, and saved countless texters from oncoming traffic. Anything is possible. I'm not saying Howard Parks isn't heroic and inspiring, he is. If he weren't, my husband and I wouldn't speak of him so reverently; we wouldn't use his name in times of crisis; we wouldn't ask each other in hushed voices, "What would Howard Parks do?"
Twenty-four years ago, long before Equifax spewed your personal data into the world, including the name of your first pet, Hammy the Hamster, and long before Facebook gave away all of your secrets, right before they gave away all of your friends' secrets, Howard Parks was vigilant. I imagine he slept with one eye open as his brain conjured the many ways that things could go terribly, terribly wrong. He was British, which gave him an air of credibility. He was calm, which made him seem reasonable. And he was insistent, a quality many people found annoying, but which we found endearing in the extreme. It's why we love him.
It started when Howard Parks sold us a car over two decades ago, amicably agreeing to a price and shaking hands on it. We arranged to meet at the bank to seal the deal. As we completed the paperwork, Howard Parks asked the bank manager many pointed questions and requested copies of everything. The manager refused, stating that it was against policy to provide the seller with a copy of the check and that he would have to wait for it to arrive in the mail. Howard Parks explained politely but firmly that he wasn't leaving without it. Our eyes widened to see this challenge of authority, this rejection of societal norms, this refusal to budge. And it worked! Howard Parks won the face-off and entered our mythology, the first in our pantheon.
Now, when we encounter difficult people or situations where we might become lazy and careless, we utter the two words that always save the day--Howard Parks. His name also serves as an admonishment. When my husband didn't document a conversation he had with an airline and almost lost our ticket vouchers, I shook my head. "That's not how Howard would have done it." His shoulders sagged with embarrassment, "I know." And when my husband drove two hours to go canoeing on his day off and surrendered his driver's license to the rental facility, he came home with the wrong license.
"I should have checked," he said. "I didn't know I had to be Howard Parks even on my day off."
I didn't say what we both already knew. You always have to be Howard Parks.
This isn't the tale of an unsung hero--although, for all I know, Howard Parks has rescued people from burning buildings, performed the Heimlich maneuver on dozens of choking victims, and saved countless texters from oncoming traffic. Anything is possible. I'm not saying Howard Parks isn't heroic and inspiring, he is. If he weren't, my husband and I wouldn't speak of him so reverently; we wouldn't use his name in times of crisis; we wouldn't ask each other in hushed voices, "What would Howard Parks do?"
Twenty-four years ago, long before Equifax spewed your personal data into the world, including the name of your first pet, Hammy the Hamster, and long before Facebook gave away all of your secrets, right before they gave away all of your friends' secrets, Howard Parks was vigilant. I imagine he slept with one eye open as his brain conjured the many ways that things could go terribly, terribly wrong. He was British, which gave him an air of credibility. He was calm, which made him seem reasonable. And he was insistent, a quality many people found annoying, but which we found endearing in the extreme. It's why we love him.
It started when Howard Parks sold us a car over two decades ago, amicably agreeing to a price and shaking hands on it. We arranged to meet at the bank to seal the deal. As we completed the paperwork, Howard Parks asked the bank manager many pointed questions and requested copies of everything. The manager refused, stating that it was against policy to provide the seller with a copy of the check and that he would have to wait for it to arrive in the mail. Howard Parks explained politely but firmly that he wasn't leaving without it. Our eyes widened to see this challenge of authority, this rejection of societal norms, this refusal to budge. And it worked! Howard Parks won the face-off and entered our mythology, the first in our pantheon.
Now, when we encounter difficult people or situations where we might become lazy and careless, we utter the two words that always save the day--Howard Parks. His name also serves as an admonishment. When my husband didn't document a conversation he had with an airline and almost lost our ticket vouchers, I shook my head. "That's not how Howard would have done it." His shoulders sagged with embarrassment, "I know." And when my husband drove two hours to go canoeing on his day off and surrendered his driver's license to the rental facility, he came home with the wrong license.
"I should have checked," he said. "I didn't know I had to be Howard Parks even on my day off."
I didn't say what we both already knew. You always have to be Howard Parks.
April 5, 2018
Crazy Hobbies :-)
My dad inspired several of my stories. He loved this essay so much that he asked me to read it at his funeral, which I did, last Saturday. Art was one-of-a-kind and if you were lucky enough to know him, or own one of his masterpieces, then you were lucky indeed.
****************************************
CRAZY HOBBIES
You think your childhood was normal, even now, when you should know better. The truth is that each family enjoys its own special brand of kookiness, including yours. Of course, I’m not talking about the people who end up on reality TV buried under all the stuff they couldn’t bear to part with. I’m talking about people who keep the “fun” in dysfunctional, the ones whose little idiosyncrasies provide great stories at Thanksgiving.
In our family, we had a fondness for hobbies. Actually, we didn’t but my dad did. And it was much more than a fondness, it was more like an all-consuming mind-boggling eye-popping breathtaking overwhelming single-minded focus. But even with all that, he didn’t forget about his children, no sir. We were all pulled into the vortex with him…
The first thing I remember is crouching down on our living room floor, immersed in a sea of coins, looking for rare pennies. In the beginning, my sisters and I had a great time rolling around in those thousands of pennies, throwing them at each other and cascading them from high in the air. But when our dad asked us to sift through them and separate them into groups according to their imprint dates, the fun was over. Now, before you start wondering if child services or the Labor Department had to get involved, let me just say-it wasn’t like that. Far from running his own sweat shop, my dad wanted us to love coin-collecting. He gave each of us a penny collection book with empty slots for every year, including the rare pennies, and then tried to make a game out of it. And it might have worked too, if only we could have paced ourselves, but our dad only has one speed and that’s full-speed ahead.
From pennies, he went on to nickels, dimes, quarters and JFK half-dollars. He started storing bags of coins in our closets for when we “had time to look through them” (they may still be there). He dragged us to coin shows and coin stores all over town. He bought necklaces made from rare coins and gave them to my mother for special occasions. She would smile and thank him and then put them away. She may have even worn them to humor him because, even though we were all tired of coin-collecting, nobody wanted to squelch my dad’s enthusiasm. His quest for rare coins made him so happy. That is, until he discovered stamp-collecting.
Rather than bore you with the details, let’s just say it was very much like coin-collecting only a lot easier to lug around. This time, he gave each of us a beginner’s book for collecting stamps and we soon graduated to having our own individual country. For some reason, I chose the Vatican, although I can’t imagine why. Their stamps weren’t pretty, just a bunch of popes. And it’s not even my religion…go figure.
While I don’t remember the rest of the hobbies in chronological order, I do know that they went from small to large, from being contained in our basement to taking over our house and yard. There was jewelry-making, which was kind of fun for us because we didn’t have to participate, and because we could always create a last-minute, unique birthday gift for a friend from the tons of beads, stones and materials my dad kept on hand. Then there was the “miniature” phase during which my dad furnished an entire miniature Victorian mansion from top to bottom (it was much nicer than our house), as well as assembled a miniature greenhouse with real plants in tiny pots. Ironically, it was the miniature greenhouse that led to my dad’s most expansive, most labor-intensive and most annoying hobby of all: cactus.
I can almost hear them groaning as they read this, our friends and family who were dragged into the dangerous and dirty world of cactus. I don’t mean to make it sound exciting, as if it involved espionage or working for the mob; it was literally dangerous and dirty.
After purchasing one small cactus garden at K-Mart, my dad went on to fill the entire back yard with every kind of cactus and succulent known to man, building two greenhouses to house them all. To this day, I cannot explain it. They were the ugliest plants I ever saw, even when they bloomed. And they were everywhere: every windowsill, every table and every empty spot in the yard. We could have lived with all of that (and, in fact, we did), if it hadn’t been for the dreaded… plant shows
Several times a year, plant enthusiasts gather at weekend plant shows, ostensibly to sell their wares but, in reality, to schmooze & steal each other’s ideas. Not only was it unbearably hot (the shows were outside, in Florida), but each show necessitated renting a truck and recruiting many helpers to gingerly pack up dozens of blood-thirsty cacti, knowing full well they would be packing them up again at the end of the show. This torture went on for years and only ended because my mother insisted they sell the house and move to a condo. I only hope the new owners never walked barefoot in the backyard…
Which brings me to the present and the wacky world of metal chickens. Although he was sad about razing his greenhouses, my dad quickly recovered and started taking art lessons twice a week. After painting dozens of oil and acrylic landscapes, still life pictures, portraits and abstracts, he switched from painting canvas to painting metal art. Often using whimsical colors, he has painted hundreds of pieces including animals, insects, statutes of people, and some pieces that are so weird they defy description. My dad is quite prolific and generously donates many pieces to my favorite non-profit for their raffles. As a result, everyone I know owns a piece of Art (also my dad’s name).
Now I know that my childhood wasn’t typical, but, really, whose is? Although I often felt like the Karate Kid did when Mr. Miyagi gave him seemingly pointless chores, maybe I too learned something valuable. And while I don’t have any crazy hobbies, I am enthusiastic about each task I undertake and give it all I’ve got. And for that, I guess I should say: “Thanks Dad!”
***This an excerpt from my book, "Quirky Essays for Quirky People"
****************************************
CRAZY HOBBIES
You think your childhood was normal, even now, when you should know better. The truth is that each family enjoys its own special brand of kookiness, including yours. Of course, I’m not talking about the people who end up on reality TV buried under all the stuff they couldn’t bear to part with. I’m talking about people who keep the “fun” in dysfunctional, the ones whose little idiosyncrasies provide great stories at Thanksgiving.
In our family, we had a fondness for hobbies. Actually, we didn’t but my dad did. And it was much more than a fondness, it was more like an all-consuming mind-boggling eye-popping breathtaking overwhelming single-minded focus. But even with all that, he didn’t forget about his children, no sir. We were all pulled into the vortex with him…
The first thing I remember is crouching down on our living room floor, immersed in a sea of coins, looking for rare pennies. In the beginning, my sisters and I had a great time rolling around in those thousands of pennies, throwing them at each other and cascading them from high in the air. But when our dad asked us to sift through them and separate them into groups according to their imprint dates, the fun was over. Now, before you start wondering if child services or the Labor Department had to get involved, let me just say-it wasn’t like that. Far from running his own sweat shop, my dad wanted us to love coin-collecting. He gave each of us a penny collection book with empty slots for every year, including the rare pennies, and then tried to make a game out of it. And it might have worked too, if only we could have paced ourselves, but our dad only has one speed and that’s full-speed ahead.
From pennies, he went on to nickels, dimes, quarters and JFK half-dollars. He started storing bags of coins in our closets for when we “had time to look through them” (they may still be there). He dragged us to coin shows and coin stores all over town. He bought necklaces made from rare coins and gave them to my mother for special occasions. She would smile and thank him and then put them away. She may have even worn them to humor him because, even though we were all tired of coin-collecting, nobody wanted to squelch my dad’s enthusiasm. His quest for rare coins made him so happy. That is, until he discovered stamp-collecting.
Rather than bore you with the details, let’s just say it was very much like coin-collecting only a lot easier to lug around. This time, he gave each of us a beginner’s book for collecting stamps and we soon graduated to having our own individual country. For some reason, I chose the Vatican, although I can’t imagine why. Their stamps weren’t pretty, just a bunch of popes. And it’s not even my religion…go figure.
While I don’t remember the rest of the hobbies in chronological order, I do know that they went from small to large, from being contained in our basement to taking over our house and yard. There was jewelry-making, which was kind of fun for us because we didn’t have to participate, and because we could always create a last-minute, unique birthday gift for a friend from the tons of beads, stones and materials my dad kept on hand. Then there was the “miniature” phase during which my dad furnished an entire miniature Victorian mansion from top to bottom (it was much nicer than our house), as well as assembled a miniature greenhouse with real plants in tiny pots. Ironically, it was the miniature greenhouse that led to my dad’s most expansive, most labor-intensive and most annoying hobby of all: cactus.
I can almost hear them groaning as they read this, our friends and family who were dragged into the dangerous and dirty world of cactus. I don’t mean to make it sound exciting, as if it involved espionage or working for the mob; it was literally dangerous and dirty.
After purchasing one small cactus garden at K-Mart, my dad went on to fill the entire back yard with every kind of cactus and succulent known to man, building two greenhouses to house them all. To this day, I cannot explain it. They were the ugliest plants I ever saw, even when they bloomed. And they were everywhere: every windowsill, every table and every empty spot in the yard. We could have lived with all of that (and, in fact, we did), if it hadn’t been for the dreaded… plant shows
Several times a year, plant enthusiasts gather at weekend plant shows, ostensibly to sell their wares but, in reality, to schmooze & steal each other’s ideas. Not only was it unbearably hot (the shows were outside, in Florida), but each show necessitated renting a truck and recruiting many helpers to gingerly pack up dozens of blood-thirsty cacti, knowing full well they would be packing them up again at the end of the show. This torture went on for years and only ended because my mother insisted they sell the house and move to a condo. I only hope the new owners never walked barefoot in the backyard…
Which brings me to the present and the wacky world of metal chickens. Although he was sad about razing his greenhouses, my dad quickly recovered and started taking art lessons twice a week. After painting dozens of oil and acrylic landscapes, still life pictures, portraits and abstracts, he switched from painting canvas to painting metal art. Often using whimsical colors, he has painted hundreds of pieces including animals, insects, statutes of people, and some pieces that are so weird they defy description. My dad is quite prolific and generously donates many pieces to my favorite non-profit for their raffles. As a result, everyone I know owns a piece of Art (also my dad’s name).
Now I know that my childhood wasn’t typical, but, really, whose is? Although I often felt like the Karate Kid did when Mr. Miyagi gave him seemingly pointless chores, maybe I too learned something valuable. And while I don’t have any crazy hobbies, I am enthusiastic about each task I undertake and give it all I’ve got. And for that, I guess I should say: “Thanks Dad!”
***This an excerpt from my book, "Quirky Essays for Quirky People"
March 15, 2018
Audiofile Magazine Hearts Jamie Quinn! :-)
Jamie Quinn has an admirer, and it's not Kip this time--it's Audiofile Magazine, hooray! My new narrator Fay Annette did such a lovely job reading my 4th Jamie Quinn mystery, "Engaged in Danger", that it's no wonder they loved it. If you would like a chance to love it too, I still have some free download codes to give away. Just message me and it's yours. In the meantime, check out this great review and, while you're at it, read all the reviews in this excellent online magazine.
https://www.audiofilemagazine.com/rev...
https://www.audiofilemagazine.com/rev...
March 14, 2018
THE WORLD TURNED UPSIDE DOWN
Being a major Hamilton fan has its advantages. Hearing the music again in all its creative brilliance and high energy inspires me to do great things and to tackle tough problems--and not throw away my shot, of course. But it also has its downside--my mind becomes so over-stimulated that it sings Hamilton lyrics at three a.m. Rise up, rise up! I'm sure Lin-Manuel's intention wasn't that kind of rising up.
The song The World Turned Upside Down tells of the Battle of Yorktown, the most important battle of the Revolutionary War, the one that ended the fighting in the American colonies and ultimately led to The Treaty of Paris, which recognized the United States as a free and independent nation. Why was the world turned upside down? Simple, the colonies were the underdog, as Lin-Manuel elegantly explains it, they were outgunned outmanned outnumbered and outplanned, but they won anyway. They changed the world as they knew it.
Is it a coincidence that a generation of middle school, high school, and college kids, brought up on Hamilton, are turning our world upside down, staging their own revolution and threatening to overthrow the government that ignores them? It is not. And by overthrow, I mean vote the bastards out, exactly as our Founding Fathers intended. These wise forefathers tried to imagine every possible scenario and although they couldn't have foreseen the NRA's hold on our elected officials, nor the firepower of weapons of war in the hands of civilians, they understood power and corruption. They had faith that their system of checks and balances could withstand the onslaught and that good people would rise up. I think we can agree that our system of governing has never been tested like this before, but if our future rests in the hands of these brave children, the Founding Fathers were wise men indeed.
The song The World Turned Upside Down tells of the Battle of Yorktown, the most important battle of the Revolutionary War, the one that ended the fighting in the American colonies and ultimately led to The Treaty of Paris, which recognized the United States as a free and independent nation. Why was the world turned upside down? Simple, the colonies were the underdog, as Lin-Manuel elegantly explains it, they were outgunned outmanned outnumbered and outplanned, but they won anyway. They changed the world as they knew it.
Is it a coincidence that a generation of middle school, high school, and college kids, brought up on Hamilton, are turning our world upside down, staging their own revolution and threatening to overthrow the government that ignores them? It is not. And by overthrow, I mean vote the bastards out, exactly as our Founding Fathers intended. These wise forefathers tried to imagine every possible scenario and although they couldn't have foreseen the NRA's hold on our elected officials, nor the firepower of weapons of war in the hands of civilians, they understood power and corruption. They had faith that their system of checks and balances could withstand the onslaught and that good people would rise up. I think we can agree that our system of governing has never been tested like this before, but if our future rests in the hands of these brave children, the Founding Fathers were wise men indeed.
February 12, 2018
The New Me :-)
I was complacent, I'll admit it. Sure, I sent checks to causes I believed in and expressed my outrage on Facebook with angry emojis, but I was a 'Slacktivist' and I knew it. It didn't bother me much and I didn't have any sleepless nights. I figured the country could run itself and I didn't have any particular expertise to offer anyway. Oh, I had twinges of guilt occasionally and an annoying case of noblesse oblige, but I shook it off. Even when a cause got under my skin, I did nothing. I mean, what could I do? I wasn't the kind of person to attend a protest or slap a bumper sticker on my car. I never made waves because, honestly, I was kind of a chicken. What if someone confronted me about my bumper sticker? Did I really want to argue with strangers? What if I got arrested? My comfort zone had strict borders and after fifty-five years of living there, I wasn't moving an inch.
My, how times have changed! I can even pinpoint the date--November 8, 2016, my first sleepless night. As a Jewish woman who lost relatives in the Holocaust, a woman married to an immigrant, a woman with brown children, a disabled nephew, and a gay nephew, I was terrified about the election results. I even broke up with a friend who had chosen to be on the wrong side of history. When I angrily told her that Nazis would soon be marching in the street, she scoffed. Although I was exaggerating to make my point, my prediction came true, to my horror. This constant barrage of attacks on the democracy I love (Yes, I love it!), as well as everything I cherish, and the people I care deeply about (including all the ones I've never met), have woken me the hell up.
The metamorphosis of me is ongoing and my outrage fuels my activism. Attending the Women's March in Miami (I hate crowds, taking buses filled with strangers, sitting through speeches) changed my life. I found my heart filled with love for these total strangers and inspired by the words of the marginalized and persecuted. I was as fiercely protective of them as if they were my own children. When one of the speakers that day proclaimed: "If you come for one of us, you come for all of us," I cried. And that became my mantra.
Now I drive a car covered with bumper stickers; I wear a bright red Moms Demand Action for Gun Sense in America t-shirt and engage in conversations with strangers every chance I get. We talk about what’s happening in our country, what it means to us, what we can do about it. I always walk away inspired and hopeful. I am gathering petitions to restore the vote to 1.7 million disenfranchised Floridians and I know I will never miss another opportunity to vote again even if I'm 100 years old and on oxygen. I write postcards to people in other states encouraging them to vote, I attend meetings (LOTS of meetings), I send donations to candidates, I stay informed on the issues and pending legislation, I call my legislators constantly, I register people to vote, and I write op-eds like my life depends on it. Which it does. I not only attend protests, I also organize them.
When I look in the mirror, I ask in amazement Who am I? My reflection smiles back and says You are the person you were always meant to be.
My, how times have changed! I can even pinpoint the date--November 8, 2016, my first sleepless night. As a Jewish woman who lost relatives in the Holocaust, a woman married to an immigrant, a woman with brown children, a disabled nephew, and a gay nephew, I was terrified about the election results. I even broke up with a friend who had chosen to be on the wrong side of history. When I angrily told her that Nazis would soon be marching in the street, she scoffed. Although I was exaggerating to make my point, my prediction came true, to my horror. This constant barrage of attacks on the democracy I love (Yes, I love it!), as well as everything I cherish, and the people I care deeply about (including all the ones I've never met), have woken me the hell up.
The metamorphosis of me is ongoing and my outrage fuels my activism. Attending the Women's March in Miami (I hate crowds, taking buses filled with strangers, sitting through speeches) changed my life. I found my heart filled with love for these total strangers and inspired by the words of the marginalized and persecuted. I was as fiercely protective of them as if they were my own children. When one of the speakers that day proclaimed: "If you come for one of us, you come for all of us," I cried. And that became my mantra.
Now I drive a car covered with bumper stickers; I wear a bright red Moms Demand Action for Gun Sense in America t-shirt and engage in conversations with strangers every chance I get. We talk about what’s happening in our country, what it means to us, what we can do about it. I always walk away inspired and hopeful. I am gathering petitions to restore the vote to 1.7 million disenfranchised Floridians and I know I will never miss another opportunity to vote again even if I'm 100 years old and on oxygen. I write postcards to people in other states encouraging them to vote, I attend meetings (LOTS of meetings), I send donations to candidates, I stay informed on the issues and pending legislation, I call my legislators constantly, I register people to vote, and I write op-eds like my life depends on it. Which it does. I not only attend protests, I also organize them.
When I look in the mirror, I ask in amazement Who am I? My reflection smiles back and says You are the person you were always meant to be.
February 1, 2018
A New Year's Tale :-)
Ah, a new year, a fresh start, a resurrection of old resolutions with a few new ones thrown in, yes, that was my plan. But as we know, man plans and God laughs and chaos is my middle name. I wish I could say no when someone offers me a new project, an exciting opportunity, or a crazy idea, but I live for that kind of stuff...which is how I find myself in my current situation.
My tragic flaw is ergophobia, a fear of work. Frankly, it terrifies me--which explains my pathological procrastination. In my heart, I believe that all things will magically erase themselves from my to-do list if I just ignore them--and half the time they do. When that doesn't happen, I wait until the last possible moment before allotting exactly the right amount of time to knock it out. This only works in theory since I fail to account for life getting in my way...
It started in December when I was typing at my computer and a tiny black hummingbird started zipping back and forth in front of my eye, literally IN my eye. How did a hummingbird get in my eye? He was cute but incredibly annoying, so I called my ophthalmologist who explained that this was normal for a person over 55 and that I should expect light flashes as well. He insisted that that I make appointments two weeks apart to make sure my retina wasn't torn. Sigh.
In the meantime I had volunteered to take on three new projects, organize a monthly protest, write several letters to the editor, as well as a lengthy article; I had a huge New Year's Day brunch to cook for, a potluck dinner and a potluck lunch; I had to finish an old project, start a new project and schedule my oral surgery.
Yes, after canceling the appointment three times, I finally scheduled my oral surgery to fix two problems. It wouldn't drop off my to-do list no matter how hard I tried, so I had to do it. To prepare, I picked up 6 (!) prescriptions from the pharmacy and made a chart as to when to take each one. It was complicated and was giving me a knot in my stomach. On top of that, my elderly father had fallen and broken a hip and was recovering at a nearby rehab center. We had hired an aide to stay with him, to make our lives easier, but I was constantly getting calls and texts about him. I'd just sorted out my meds when the aide called crying about the awful rehab people and then the other phone rang and it was the angry rehab people complaining about the troublesome aide.
It made me laugh to picture their screaming match in the middle of the rehab, but I kept that to myself and calmed them all down.
Today, I'm out of commission, oral surgery making me woozy and puffing up my cheeks. I'm eating squishy foods around the stitches in my mouth and icing my face with ice packs. There is good news though. I'm making no plans, taking on no new projects. Instead, I'm binge-watching shows on Netflix, but, luckily, I'm not alone. I have my hummingbird to keep me company.
My tragic flaw is ergophobia, a fear of work. Frankly, it terrifies me--which explains my pathological procrastination. In my heart, I believe that all things will magically erase themselves from my to-do list if I just ignore them--and half the time they do. When that doesn't happen, I wait until the last possible moment before allotting exactly the right amount of time to knock it out. This only works in theory since I fail to account for life getting in my way...
It started in December when I was typing at my computer and a tiny black hummingbird started zipping back and forth in front of my eye, literally IN my eye. How did a hummingbird get in my eye? He was cute but incredibly annoying, so I called my ophthalmologist who explained that this was normal for a person over 55 and that I should expect light flashes as well. He insisted that that I make appointments two weeks apart to make sure my retina wasn't torn. Sigh.
In the meantime I had volunteered to take on three new projects, organize a monthly protest, write several letters to the editor, as well as a lengthy article; I had a huge New Year's Day brunch to cook for, a potluck dinner and a potluck lunch; I had to finish an old project, start a new project and schedule my oral surgery.
Yes, after canceling the appointment three times, I finally scheduled my oral surgery to fix two problems. It wouldn't drop off my to-do list no matter how hard I tried, so I had to do it. To prepare, I picked up 6 (!) prescriptions from the pharmacy and made a chart as to when to take each one. It was complicated and was giving me a knot in my stomach. On top of that, my elderly father had fallen and broken a hip and was recovering at a nearby rehab center. We had hired an aide to stay with him, to make our lives easier, but I was constantly getting calls and texts about him. I'd just sorted out my meds when the aide called crying about the awful rehab people and then the other phone rang and it was the angry rehab people complaining about the troublesome aide.
It made me laugh to picture their screaming match in the middle of the rehab, but I kept that to myself and calmed them all down.
Today, I'm out of commission, oral surgery making me woozy and puffing up my cheeks. I'm eating squishy foods around the stitches in my mouth and icing my face with ice packs. There is good news though. I'm making no plans, taking on no new projects. Instead, I'm binge-watching shows on Netflix, but, luckily, I'm not alone. I have my hummingbird to keep me company.
December 18, 2017
New Jamie Quinn audio-book and a fun cat blog! :-)
The holidays are upon us and my to-do list keeps growing--just like my waistline! Gulp! Is it a coincidence that holiday and hectic both start with "H"? Just like harried and hey, what's the deal with all this traffic? But happy also starts with H and I'm happy to spend time with family and friends, and happy to have all of you.
I'm also happy to tell you that my 4th Jamie Quinn Cozy Mystery, "Engaged in Danger" is finally available as an audio-book, hooray! The wonderful voice of the talented Fay Annette gives life to each and every character. If anyone would like a download code, I have some to give away. Just message me. :-)
Finally, I'm happy to share with you a fun blog called "Cuddlywumps Cat Chronicles--Cats in History, Mystery & Culture". Our own Mr. Paws, a/k/a Mr. Pain in the Ass earned us a review of the Jamie Quinn box set in this fun blog. A must-read for cat lovers! Check it out here: https://cuddlywumps.blogspot.com/2017....
And next year will see the release of Jamie Quinn Cozy Mystery #6, "Villainy at Vizcaya". I'll be sure to keep you posted on that. Happy Holidays to all!
I'm also happy to tell you that my 4th Jamie Quinn Cozy Mystery, "Engaged in Danger" is finally available as an audio-book, hooray! The wonderful voice of the talented Fay Annette gives life to each and every character. If anyone would like a download code, I have some to give away. Just message me. :-)
Finally, I'm happy to share with you a fun blog called "Cuddlywumps Cat Chronicles--Cats in History, Mystery & Culture". Our own Mr. Paws, a/k/a Mr. Pain in the Ass earned us a review of the Jamie Quinn box set in this fun blog. A must-read for cat lovers! Check it out here: https://cuddlywumps.blogspot.com/2017....
And next year will see the release of Jamie Quinn Cozy Mystery #6, "Villainy at Vizcaya". I'll be sure to keep you posted on that. Happy Holidays to all!
December 7, 2017
What would you do for a Klondike Bar? :-)
I think we could all use a laugh at least once a day, so here's your Thursday laugh:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pBfmE...
Then ask yourself, what would YOU do for a Klondike Bar? :-D
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pBfmE...
Then ask yourself, what would YOU do for a Klondike Bar? :-D
December 1, 2017
Holidays for Everyone! :-)
Great news! You don't have to wait until December 23rd for "Festivus for the rest of us", you have plenty to celebrate right now. According to the website www.timeanddate.com, there are tons of holidays in December. There are some fun ones and I think we all could use some fun right about now. Here are some of my faves.
December 5 is The Day of the Ninja, a day to honor and celebrate the masked warriors in black garb from ancient Japan. This unofficial holiday was created in 2003 to commemorate the release of Tom Cruise’s movie, The Last Samurai.
How to Celebrate?
--Watch ninja movies or have a Teenage Mutant Ninja marathon.
--Have a ninja themed party.
--Go to work dressed as a ninja
Did You Know…
…that contrary to popular belief, ninjas were not all men? Women ninjas were known as Kunoichi.
December 8 is Pretend To Be A Time Traveler Day
How to Celebrate?
--Watch your favorite time traveling movies and shows (Dr. Who, anyone?)
--Host a blast from the past party. Choose an era and base the party around the clothing, food and language of that period.
--Walk around dressed like someone from the past or the future. People will think you're cool, I swear!
December 12 is Gingerbread House Day. This unofficial holiday celebrates the tradition of making houses and architectural models out of gingerbread cookies. The tradition can be traced back to the 1600s.
How to Celebrate?
--Make your own gingerbread house. Maybe try and recreate a architectural landmark with gingerbread.
--Hold a gingerbread house competition
Did You Know…
….that according the Guinness Book of World Records, the World’s largest gingerbread house was made in 2013 by the Traditions Club in Bryan, Texas. The house was 60 ft long and 10.1 ft tall. My kind of house!
December 17 is Wright Brothers Day and recognizes the first time Orville and Wilbur Wright successfully flew their heavier-than-air, mechanically propelled aircraft in 1903.The day has been observed nationally since 1959 when President Dwight D. Eisenhower signed a proclamation declaring December 17 as Wright Brothers' Day.
How to Celebrate?
--Read more about the history of aviation.
--Visit your local aviation museum.
--If you have always wanted to learn how to fly, why not start lessons on this day?
--Catch a plane home for the holidays and marvel at the fact that you don't have to travel by steam locomotive or covered wagon.
December 30 is Bicarbonate of Soda Day. Used in baking, cleaning, polishing silver and treating heartburn, bicarbonate of soda was used by ancient Egyptians for painting. Its scientific name is sodium hydrogen carbonate but it is known by many other names around the world. Some of the common ones are baking soda, cooking soda and bread soda.
How to Celebrate?
--Learn about the history of the manufacturing and use of baking soda.
--Learn what other things you can use baking soda for.
AND DON'T FORGET THE BEST ONE OF ALL TIME:
Build a baking soda and vinegar volcano at home!
Happy December to all!
December 5 is The Day of the Ninja, a day to honor and celebrate the masked warriors in black garb from ancient Japan. This unofficial holiday was created in 2003 to commemorate the release of Tom Cruise’s movie, The Last Samurai.
How to Celebrate?
--Watch ninja movies or have a Teenage Mutant Ninja marathon.
--Have a ninja themed party.
--Go to work dressed as a ninja
Did You Know…
…that contrary to popular belief, ninjas were not all men? Women ninjas were known as Kunoichi.
December 8 is Pretend To Be A Time Traveler Day
How to Celebrate?
--Watch your favorite time traveling movies and shows (Dr. Who, anyone?)
--Host a blast from the past party. Choose an era and base the party around the clothing, food and language of that period.
--Walk around dressed like someone from the past or the future. People will think you're cool, I swear!
December 12 is Gingerbread House Day. This unofficial holiday celebrates the tradition of making houses and architectural models out of gingerbread cookies. The tradition can be traced back to the 1600s.
How to Celebrate?
--Make your own gingerbread house. Maybe try and recreate a architectural landmark with gingerbread.
--Hold a gingerbread house competition
Did You Know…
….that according the Guinness Book of World Records, the World’s largest gingerbread house was made in 2013 by the Traditions Club in Bryan, Texas. The house was 60 ft long and 10.1 ft tall. My kind of house!
December 17 is Wright Brothers Day and recognizes the first time Orville and Wilbur Wright successfully flew their heavier-than-air, mechanically propelled aircraft in 1903.The day has been observed nationally since 1959 when President Dwight D. Eisenhower signed a proclamation declaring December 17 as Wright Brothers' Day.
How to Celebrate?
--Read more about the history of aviation.
--Visit your local aviation museum.
--If you have always wanted to learn how to fly, why not start lessons on this day?
--Catch a plane home for the holidays and marvel at the fact that you don't have to travel by steam locomotive or covered wagon.
December 30 is Bicarbonate of Soda Day. Used in baking, cleaning, polishing silver and treating heartburn, bicarbonate of soda was used by ancient Egyptians for painting. Its scientific name is sodium hydrogen carbonate but it is known by many other names around the world. Some of the common ones are baking soda, cooking soda and bread soda.
How to Celebrate?
--Learn about the history of the manufacturing and use of baking soda.
--Learn what other things you can use baking soda for.
AND DON'T FORGET THE BEST ONE OF ALL TIME:
Build a baking soda and vinegar volcano at home!
Happy December to all!
November 13, 2017
Too late for Halloween, but still creepy...
I was out of the country for Halloween. No cute trick-or-treaters, scary movies, or leftover candy for me--I missed it all. For someone who used to throw the most awesome Halloween parties in the neighborhood, it was tough. Even worse, by the time I came home, everyone was in full Thanksgiving mode. I felt cheated. My annual trip down spooky lane, a pillowcase filled with sticky candy, was just a fleeting memory. You may not know this, but every Halloween, three witches gather around their cauldron and mix a strange brew: Adrenalin to make our hearts race and endorphins to put a smile on our face. It gets us through the year.
So here it is, a little late, a creepy video for Halloween: The Joker Journal.
Don't watch it if you're all alone.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3saW2...
So here it is, a little late, a creepy video for Halloween: The Joker Journal.
Don't watch it if you're all alone.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3saW2...
A Trip on the Mobius Strip
Whenever I see something funny or weird that you can relate to, I will share it. Anything that will make you smile, or shake your head, or wiggle your ears. I'd like to see that, by the way...
...more
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