L.Z. Marie's Blog, page 21
April 17, 2013
Junk Mail
“Bring in the wheelbarrow, honey!” “Why?” Hubby manages to turn his head away from whatever critical sports game is on ESPN. “It’s time to sort through the junk mail!” “Oh, that!” He waves his hand at the mountain of mail atop the table in the foyer.A one week’s accumulation.
One week!
Save the trees! I think flipping through the paper pyramid.
This week’s cache:
Catalogs from stores I’ve never heard of
Catalogs from the big department stores (OK, I’ll peak at the glossy Nordstrom Summer Spectacular)
Flyers for Buy 1/Get1 or ½ Off or Tuesday Kids Eat Free
Just Sold! Real estate flyers with smiling agents
Faux handwritten letters from someone who claims they want to buy my house
Sheets of paper advertising a variety of services
Reminders that a Good Will pick-up is scheduled in our neighborhood next week
Announcements for the Biggest Sale of the Year
Invitations for credit cards
How am I suppose to find the REAL mail? You know…the paper invoices for all those bills I pay on-line?
Wait? What’s this? Another parking ticket? My older children seem to acquire these with alarming frequency. “But I didn’t know it was a no-parking space! I’m broke until payday! I’ll pay you back. Promise!”
Too many years ago–when I was in high school– our teachers told us that sophisticated technology advances would mean an end to our reliance on paper.
No more books! They said. The trees will be safe! The Rain forest will thrive.
They were partly right! Except it didn’t quite work out that way did it?
I still receive printed materials! I continue to print important documents from the computer. I still purchase physical copies of books. I still get receipts!
In fact, as an author, I find nothing helps with rewrites, edits, and proof reading more than a PAPER copy!
I’m beginning to suspect the computer generates more paper waste.
But back to junk mail!
As if the junk mail stuffed in my mailbox–and let’s not even talk about all the business cards, flyers, and pamphlets left on my doorstep–wasn’t enough to go through, now I have email junk mail to contend with!
How much junk mail do you get in your inbox? Don’t get me started!
“All done!” I smack my hands together after the chore.
“You didn’t throw away the pizza coupon, did you? I was saving that one.” Hubby says while aiming the remote at the TV. “Hon?”
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April 14, 2013
Senioritis
This general malaise is a pandemic condition that begins in November of a student’s senior year in high school. Symptoms rapidly progress as the school year progresses.
Symptoms include: Occasional bursts of euphoria, lackadaisical attitudes, and frequent absences.
The following is a list of additional maladies associated with senioritis:
Acceptancepanic: Anxiety about university acceptance. Frequent email checks are common.
DitchDayitis: Entire senior student body decides by consensus to be truant for no reason whatsoever. In California, these days coincide with warm and sunny beach weather.
Lastopathy: As in “this is the last pep rally/play/concert/test.” Photo taking and instagram and Facebook posting is rampant.
Promectasia: Enormous dilation of significance regarding any and all individuals/clothes/events/actions related to prom.
It is closely related to—
Promrrhoea: All speech is limited to upcoming prom activities.
Commonsensectomy: A student’s voluntary self-removal of an iota of the common sense needed to finish their senior year without detentions/suspensions/referrals and other disciplinary actions
Gradelepsy: An attack/seizure of realization that their grade is lower than anticipated. These attacks always occur exactly one week prior to the end of the semester. Tears, pleading, begging, whining and parent phone calls are byproducts.
Real-lifephobia: Fear of leaving overly-accommodating and compassionate school environment to enter cruel realities of real world.
Polymajorism: Belief that student can explore many majors in college until they find one they like and still graduate in 4 years.
Pseudoassignmentism: Asking teachers to create assignments for the sheer purpose of raising your grade. ( see gradelepsy)
Cashoma: Belief that every single relative will send cash when upon receiving your graduation announcement.
Also related to the opposite condition of—
Nomoneygnosis: Cruel realization that parents do not possess funds needed to send you to college across state lines, to study abroad, or to pay for dorm housing.
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April 13, 2013
April 12, 2013
Dracula’s Wife
Ilona Szilagyi was one unlucky woman!
How would you like Dracula, aka Vlad the Impaler, for a hubby? Damn (a most accurate word) those arranged marriages! But that’s what happens when your 1st cousin is the Hungarian King.
Seems Vlad– a nobody Prince with only 3 crappy provinces to his name–was hot after the pedigreed missy.
Although we women tend to go for those bad-boy types, Ilona was unimpressed by this wanna-be socialite with no credibility and a proclivity for sadism.
Five years of marriage proposals later, politics reared its demon head and Uncle-King of Hungarian told Ilona she had to wed the pesky upstart.
Having just come from political lock-up, Vlad tried to impress the snobby primadonna by promising to slaughter all those heathen Turks and become a Catholic.
Vlad–as if you needed reminding–got his name from his habit of impaling the heads of everyone—everyone–he and his men killed. Gruesome times 10.
A few historical facts about Vlad III:
he lived from 1431–1476
he was Prince of Wallachia, a region of Romania that’s north of the Danube river and just south of the Carpathians mountains
his dad belonged to the House of Dragons, which was established to safeguard Christianity in eastern Europe ( a good thing)
Vlad III known for his draconian cruelty ( a bad thing)
reportedly (accurate statistics were sketchy back then) responsible for over 10,000 deaths
he had a brother named Radu
Vlad III spent most of his time fighting the encroachment of the Ottoman Empire
Now back to Ilona: The Hungarian King gave the newlyweds a lovely wedding gift–a mansion in Budapest.
Only Ilona knows the horror she endured during those 9 years of marriage with that man… although she did have 2 children with him.
I wonder if she ever said, “You’re just like your dad!”
The first son had a hell of a time trying to regain the Wallachian throne. The other lived with a Bishop in Transylvania until he became sick and died.
In 1476, Vlad–only 45-yrs old– was killed in battle. (Or was he????) That was OK by Ilona! She was happy to renew her socialite lifestyle again. After all, during her years with the infamously cruel Vlad, party invites had dwindled to a trickle. (If she lived now, she would have a slew of Hollywood A-list invites.)
Perhaps Ilona deserves the award for putting up with the Worst Husband in History.
And you thought your husband was difficult!
FYI: My debut novel is free for 2 days! Click HERE for link to Amazon.
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April 10, 2013
Tax Relief Promo
The Merkabah Recruit. Available on Amazon.
Click HERE to buy!
Need a visual? Click HERE for Pinterest pics.
A fresh kill. An ancient evil. And the only person capable of preventing the next murder is an unwitting and anxiety-prone recruit.
Divorced, depressed, and dissertation-less, Daphne Sites is stunned to learn that a unique empathic ability allows her to identify otherworldly life. So when a mystical organization asks for her help, it’s difficult to refuse.
Serik Jalani is the man who must convince the reluctant recruit to assume an awesome mantle of responsibility. There’s only one way to do this. Reel her in slowly.
Except Daphne suspects Serik is not being entirely truthful. About the organization. About the mission. About his identity.
As Daphne attempts to keep her new life secret from two sassy sisters, one jealous ex-husband, and her Bimbo-Barbie neighbor, she struggles to embrace the mysteries of a cosmic technology and realize her own self-worth.
If Daphne hopes to stop the murderer she must first confront her biggest problem. Herself.
At a time when recent theories like Quantum physics confirms the existence of the fantastical, The Merkabah Recruit flirts with the links between treasured legend and scientific possibility. A story that blurs the shadowy line between myth and fact.
The 1st in a 5-part in series.
Click HERE for the first 8 chapters!
Hubby Plants a Garden
I knew trouble is brewing when Hubby walks outside and stares at the back yard.“This summer I will grow crops and we shall eat well,” he states.
FYI: The backyard is 1/2 the size of a tennis court.
Crops? Did he mean a garden?
“Yes, yes,” I agree, wondering if he just watched a movie about medieval times. “And I shall quit my toil as scribe to peasant apprentices to weave the cloth.”
“I’m serious!” He wanders about the yard.
“Have you ever planted a garden before?”
“It’s in the blood of my people.” Manly chest thump.
“You told me ‘your people’ descended from Spanish royalty.”
“We were great landowners.”
Whatever.
So what does a helpful and supportive wife do? I purchase a few gardening books–big ones–with lots of pretty color photos. Very comprehensive. The happy farmer on the book cover holds a beautiful basket brimming with organic vegetables.
The books sit on the coffee table and collect dust.
“It’s May,” I inform hubby one fine sunny day. ”When were you going to till the soil? Or for that matter, buy some top soil?”
“There’s plenty of dirt in the back yard.”
Yeah, hard-packed dirt—not soil suitable for growing vegetables.
Therein ensues an argument about the benefits of building a raised bed or digging up the rocky dirt.
Flash forward a few weeks later–raised bed garden is built and chicken wire is installed around to protect ‘crops’ from jaws of hungry 10 lb pooch.
The next step? Planting–except Hubby comes back from the store with SEEDS!
“Are you crazy?” I ask. (Actually, I believe I use a more colorful choice of words.)
Flash forward again after only a few seeds have sprouted…Hubby returns to store for plants.
“Get plants with vegetables already on them!” I shout as he drives away.
The Harvest:
tomatoes ( a lot)
zucchini ( a zillion)
4 tiny strawberries (we believe the dog enjoyed most of them)
a few wee eggplants
lettuce for about 3 salads
The rosemary is out of control!
I veritable feast!
Hubby’s a carnivore. I really hope he doesn’t decide to raise cattle.
Note: Top photo is NOT our garden, but the backyard of my son’s grandfather-in-law. Now, he’s got CROPS!
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April 9, 2013
Lost Years
Nope.
“Hey Mom, how old was I when I took my first steps?”
Um…don’t recall.
“Yo Ma, do you remember when we buried my pet lizard?”
You had a pet lizard?
My children call it senility ( which I am far too young for). I have a different name for the harrowing years when there were 4 young children running around the house.
The Lost Years!
The children were not lost–and that was no small feat, mind you–but there is a period of about 5 years ( maybe more) when I simply have very little memory of…anything.
Four children will do that to you!
Although…I do recall the following:
1. changing diaper after diaper after diaper after diaper after.. ad infinitum
2. endless loads of laundry
3. screaming and crying from the back seat ( kiddos)
4. screaming and crying from the front seat ( me)
5. puke and mucus ( good times)
6. running frantically through Target looking for the “one that got away”
7. hearing “clean-up in isle 7″ and knowing which child was responsible
8. grocery shopping with 2 in the cart, one in a front pack, and “oh,crap, where’s the oldest?” ( see #6)
9. watching every Disney movie so many times the songs and characters continue to haunt my dreams.
10. my bare feet stepping on plastic army men/Barbie shoes/ Legos/ action figures ( difficult to see when one is carrying a mountain of laundry)
11. helping with homework while simultaneously nursing and making dinner
12. brightly colored plastic things in every room of the house
13. not dining out because someone couldn’t sit down for more than 5 minutes at a time
14. driving to activity after activity after activity after activity after…”to infinity and beyond”
15. taking 10-15 minutes to harness, buckle, snap everyone into a car seat ( there was always a troublemaker who employed the evasive back-arching move)
“But Mom, don’t you remember the good times?” They ask after I rattle off the list of my fondest ( cough, cough ) memories.
Oh, sure! I lie. Lots of good times! But I have much better times now that you’re older.
The oldest is lucky! My brain wasn’t so mushy with him. I even kept a baby book, wrote in it diligently,chronicled every tooth, cute word, adorable behavior– for the first year.
Then sis came along. I bought a baby book for her, too. It has: 1) an ultra sound photo; 2) a shower invitation; 2) hospital newborn footprint; and 4) a 3rd grade photo.
Child 3 and 4 have no baby book. So sad.
Sometimes when all the kiddos are together they like to drag out the photo album. Taking photos wasn’t so simple then. One needed a camera..and film..and the film had to be developed. I’m surprised we have so many photos ( they enhance memory).
The time went by so fast! One day they’re in diapers and the next…
“Hey mom, who’s gonna change your diapers when you get old?”
You are!
The looks they give me? Priceless!
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April 7, 2013
Sushi Devotee
The whole family loves sushi! Raw fish. Seaweed. Rice. Crisp veggies! Udon soup. What’s not to love? The local sushi place is nearby and quite good. I tell Hubby it’s our job as Americans to promote small businesses, so we eat there once a week.
When the kiddos deign to join us, we request a table, but when it’s just me and Hubby, nothing beats a seat at the sushi bar.
A few sushi bar musings:
The sushi chef becomes your new best friend! And he really likes you if you order him a quail egg shooter.
I wonder what the sushi chef’s real name is–cuz it ain’t Bruce!
We’re more likely to try a new roll if the person next to us is eating it.
Any item with the word volcano in it has to be good.
Two types of people hang out at the sushi bar. 1. Those who talk and laugh with the strangers sitting next to them. 2. Those who give dirty looks. ( get a table, grouchy people )
Case in point: I asked the woman with a plate of green slimy stuff, “Which seaweed salad is that? It looks delicious!” She looked up, did one of those side- way eye rolls, and resumed eating. A total blow-off or “dis” as my students say.
The slice of the sushi roll is always too big for one (normal) sized mouth.
What are the sushi chefs really yelling about?
Just how big of a rice bin is under the counter? I have yet to see it refilled.
We’ll eat anything if it’s rolled in rice and resembles a work of art!
Hubby orders an embarrassing amount of food.
I eat less because it’s difficult to shovel food in your mouth with chopsticks. (Hubby asks for a fork–the horror!)
There’s something very dainty and refined about picking up a single grain of rice with chopsticks.
It’s great fun to take a sushi virgin and watch them eat the “avocodo” (aka: wasabi).
All chopsticks can NOT be broken apart.
They never give you enough edamame
Edamame doubles as pea shooters.
I’m a ginger junkie.
Do you have any sushi musings or stories to share?
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April 5, 2013
Pancho Barnes
It’s Fab Female Friday! This week: Florence Lowe Barnes, aka Pancho. Maybe you’ve heard about this fearless gal!
Aviatrix. Record breaker. Rancher. Stunt Flyer. Mom. Hollywood elbow-rubber. High-flyer.
Pancho was born in Pasadena, California in 1901 and was the granddaughter to the man who pioneered American Aviation with the Union Army Balloon corps.
Flash forward several decades>>>
One day as Pancho took her cousin to his flying lessons, she realized she too wanted to soar in the big blue. A persuasive woman, she convinced her cousin’s instructor to begin that very day.
A quick learner and gutsy gal, she continued flying even after a crash, and in 1930– flying 196.10 mph–she broke Amelia Earhart’s speed record!
(How come I never read about her in history books?)
Not one to sit around resting on her laurels, she became a stunt pilot in Hollywood and made plenty of Tinseltown connections.
The Depression, however, resulted in a loss of most of her money. She scraped enough together to buy 180 acres of desert property out in in the boonies of the Mojave desert ( tumbleweeds, cactus, dirt, lizards–think Wiley Coyote) Her closest neighbor? March Air Force Base.
There she rubbed elbows and threw parties for people like Chuck Yeager, General Jimmy Doolittle, Buzz Aldrin, and the Hollywood A-list crowd.
After a protracted legal battle with the government (never fun) over the price of her land and a suspicious fire, she moved to Cantril ( also desert).
Unable to stay away from the life she loved, Pancho became a regular visitor at Edwards AFB, soon enjoying the company of her ol’ fly buddies.
Pancho died in 1975, never having made it to her keynote speech at the local Aero Museum reunion event.
This amazing woman is the subject of several book, movies, and documentaries. Courageous. Bodacious. Married 4 times! A force to be reckoned with.
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April 4, 2013
Spring Cleaning #2
The closet! That small space where more stuff is jammed inside than any other room in the house. Occasionally, InStyle magazine will feature celebrity closets–a crystal chandelier-ed, fabulously lite, color-coordinated space the size of my garage–but I just turn the page (OK, maybe I take the briefest peek). The ceiling-high rows of Manalos, Louboutins, and Pradas just bring tears to my modest income eyes!
And yet I have learned ONE thing from those glossy pages: The essentials of closet organization. Unfortunately, I don’t have too much room to work with (Hubby’s insists on hanging up his trousers and shirts), which leaves me with one option: A Spring Closet Purge.
Spring Cleaning #1 lists the closet cleaning essentials so I won’t repeat.
The most difficult part of the task? Defining the vision of yourself! I see a gorgeous, refined, elegant Donna Karan draped woman with effortless style–holding a glass of wine. My hair is shiny and smooth; make-up, flawless.
That’s the dream, anyway.
The reality is a woman who scrambles out of bed at 5 am to get to work by 7. Returns nine hours later–grocery bags in hand–to write novels while burning dinner.
Reality: More coffee than wine. Harried expression. Worn off makeup. Yoga pants & t-shirt.
The impossible closet task: Clothes to purge:
require intensive coordination time (These pants only look good with this top and these shoes)
show signs of shrinkage (Clothes do that when they sit in the closet for any length of time)
don’t match anything. At. All.
have holes (except jeans–you pay extra for denim with holes)
any garment that doesn’t make you feel fabulous. OK, I admit, this is the most challenging part–so pick a day when you’re feeling mildly fabulous.
Several piles lay on the floor.
give away
throw away
one day I’ll fit back into these–hey, it’s happened!
repair (hems, buttons etc)
still deciding (need daughters’ opinions)
a plastic-wire-felt mountain of hangers
State of the closet? The wooden rod no longer sags with the weight of the unwearable! Was that a breeze I felt? I see the corner! Ah! That’s where the scarf disappeared! Light shines over the clothes! Birds sing! All is right with the world!
I vow to make better/smarter clothing purchases and feel better knowing that anything I grab will be wearable.
And although I still don’t look like the woman of my dreams (because I can’t afford Donna Karan) at least I made my life a little less stressful in the morning.
My heroes!
Related Posts: Spring Cleaning:Closet Craziness; Surviving My Purse; Ode to Stilettos; Denim Distress; Perfect School Bag; Drawer of Misfit Cosmetics; Wardrobe Malfunctions
