Pamela Foster's Blog, page 15

Dad and The Duke

Dad and I went to the movies every Friday night. Mom worked nights, my sister was mostly busy with friends. It wasn’t that I didn’t have friends. But, Friday was movie night. With Dad.

We’d grab a burger at the Taxi Cab Café or Harbor lanes, or a steak at T-Bones. Dad knew everyone. He’d gossip about his sales route for Challenge Dairy. Tell a slightly off-color joke. At 6’4”, with a voice that boomed and bounced off walls, Dad was larger than life.

He was my hero.

We’d stop at Partricks and he’...

The ‘C’ Word

When people ask me where I’m from, I say:

Oh, I was born and raised in Eureka, in Humboldt County. Right on Pacific Ocean. Misty lagoons. Six Rivers. Very isolated. Bigfoot Country. Just south of the Oregon border.

Never, ever, do I say the ‘C’ word.

The ‘C’ word means Palm trees. I’m from a place with Redwood forests older than the birth of Jesus.

The ‘C’ word conjures visions of surfer chicks who run in slow motion. Our surfers wear heavy wetsuits, risk hypothermia and ride waves that sink fish...

Belief and Bigfoot

Many of you know the story of how my grandfather’s road building equipment was scattered all over the backside of Blue Mountain by a critter with very large feet. This was back in the 1950’s when I spent summers in the heart and soul of Bigfoot country.

Over fifty years later, I wrote a book about a young woman, Samantha, raised by her Bigfoot hunter father. Those of you who are regular followers of this blog know I do not use these posts to promote my book. Do I hope you’ll love my writing vo...

Acceptance or Aargh!

Mark boards a crowded airplane, finds his aisle seat, wedges himself in and fastens his seatbelt. Beside him, staring out the window is a thin, sickly man. Mark extends his hand to the man.

“Hello, I’m Mark Smith.”

The man meets his gaze, declines his hand and introduces himself.

“Joe Smith.” He reaches under the seat in front of him, extracts a huge pill organizer. The thing must contain three dozen or more pills. The man answers the question in Mark’s eyes. “I have Aids, I’m HIV positive.”

Inst...

In today’s blog post my friend Staci Troili asked the qu...

In today’s blog post my friend Staci Troili asked the question, “Do you write about issues in your own life?”

My answer to that question is, “That’s ALL I write about.”

Except for years I’ve copped out, thrown a camouflage blanket over a large trumpeting elephant dead-center in my real life. But that big gray beast refused to stay quiet. On full moon nights he rampaged through my psyche demanding to be exposed. It has become more work to keep him hidden than to reveal him to you.

So, here it goe...

The Magic Word

I’m going to share with you a magic word. Not the one we all learned as children.

Most of my regular readers know about The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pen. Five women authors traveling together on the long and winding road to overnight success. Each of us five women bring something unique to the group. I sometimes think my contribution is the ability to say no.

The first time someone (I’m pretty sure it was Linda Apple, often known in the group as Mama Linda) suggested we do something and my...

Flapping Hands and Ordinary Times.

Facebook depresses me. It’s like one of those endless, lie-filled missives from family and acquaintances that comes each year thinly disguised as a Christmas letter. Except I get to look forward to Facebook every single day.

I mean seriously, NOBODY does that well all the time. It’s like the damn posts are designed to make me feel inadequate.

“Gosh. No sense in my feeling down over my petty little problem when perky cousin pain-in-the-ass buried her dog and husband on the same day and still fel...

You Can’t Teach an Old Dog New Tricks.

After sixty-two years of eating pretty much whatever I want, I’ve been trying to take better care of myself lately.

This is the same philosophy that lets me rev the gas and skid around corners in a new car, but when the engine throws black smoke, the tires are bald and I begin to pack four gallons of water in the trunk at all times, well, then I begin easing onto the accelerator and feathering brake.

So, any who. . .

I read where, if a person does something twenty times, it becomes an ingrained...

Weight loss, Bigfoot and Creativity Coaches

Tell me:

I saw Bigfoot.

My heartfelt reaction is going to be:

Wow. That’s awesome. How did the encounter change your life?

Make me a special offer, a claim that involves me handing over money, time, or energy:

Tame your own Bigfoot to take out the garbage and babysit your child. Only 572 payments of $12.84.

Now I’m a skeptic. My ears close shut like Chesty’s when he doesn’t want to stop chasing rabbits. Sorry, I cannot hear a word you say. If you want me to listen, prove your claim to me. As they...

Geriatric Ballet and Proof of Leavening

Reblogged from Pamela Foster, Author and Speaker:

I’m making pizza.

My yeast refused to proof, so I drove around the corner to the market for a jar of leavening. The stuff promises it’ll last forever as long as you take proper care of it. But, in my experience, yeast has a definite refrigerator shelf-life, no matter how carefully I maintain the temperature.

So, I’m standing in line to pay for my purchase and I look up to see an old couple in front of me.

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