Lynn Kellan's Blog, page 22

College application angst

For the past 17 years, I’ve planned every next step of my kid’s life.

A few weeks ago, her future fell out of my hands.

She’s applying to college.

I can’t MAKE any college accept her.

I have no idea which college is right for her.

I do not know where she will be a year from now.

I’m excited about this next step.

I’m also cloaked in a nervous fog.

Will her roommate be kind?

Will the curriculum excite her mind?

Have I taught her everything she needs to know?

I’m beginning to realize there’s no way I can teach her everything.

The world is a much different place than it was when I went to college.

I have no idea what she will face, or who she will know, or what she will study.

But I do know who she is now…and I have  faith we’ll be proud of who she will become.

This post is brought to you by The Future.

Today used to be tomorrow…perhaps the future isn’t so scary after all.

Does your dog have a social anxiety disorder? Mine does.

Dog your dog look like this when you ask her to go for a walk?

Does she have trouble maintaining good eye contact?

Does her tail stop wagging at the sight of people?

Does she look like this when the neighbor’s new puppy wants to play?

Your dog may have a social anxiety disorder.

Or, your dog might be a Sheltie.

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This post brought to you by frazzled dog owners.

We’re tired of carrying our dogs around the neighborhood.

A Christmas/New Year’s romance to enjoy by the fireplace

I’m happy to say my Christmas/New Year’s contemporary romance is available now.

Published by The Wild Rose Press for all ebook formats.

The Strong, Silent Type.

His scars left him dead inside… until she moved next door.

Will she run from him when she learns why his first marriage fell apart?

Tina Hudson’s busy sales job is a welcome distraction from memories of the husband she lost to cancer, but she’s tired of running from her loneliness. Tina suspects her brawny neighbor has been leaving single red roses in her mailbox, but he’s the strong, silent type…the kind that should come with a warning label.

Wade Scott felt dead inside over the loss of his son and the disintegration of his marriage. When Tina moves next door, Wade comes alive again. Problem is, she’s a beautiful sales whiz and he’s an ordinary plumber with a wicked scar along his temple. The truth of his past might drive her away. With little hope of attracting her attention, he showers her with anonymous acts of kindness.

When Tina realizes Wade is the guardian angel who’s been watching over her for the past six months, she invites him to dinner. New Year’s Eve is approaching, a perfect time to start over, but Wade’s stoic silence drives a wedge in their burgeoning relationship. Should she take a new job that will put her on the run again, or take a chance the strong, silent type might fill her heart-and her home-with love?

Available for all ebooks here.

Available for Amazon Kindle here.

Why I dyed my dog pink…

This is a stressful time of year for me.

I keep losing my dog.

She blends in.

Like a lizard.

Her huge eyeball gives her away…

But when she runs far away, I can’t find her.

Can you?

How do I find her?

Dye her pink?

Your suggestions are welcome…

Proof my dog is a werewolf

When a werewolf broke into our house,

I knew my dog would come to the rescue.

This would be her chance to earn her keep.

Finally, she’d pay me back for the bags of dog food, vet trips, and daily walks.

Hey, wait a minute…

This doesn’t look like a ferocious attack.

This looks like a love fest!

Oh, boy.

Now what should I do?

Werewolves have feelings, too

There’s a werewolf in my kitchen.

I said, “How are you?”

He had to think about that one.

I offered him a cup of coffee,

with a slice of apple cake.

I promised to give him the snack after he unloaded the dishwasher.

Moral of the story:

Werewolves don’t like unloading the dishwasher.

Then again, who does?

Apple cake saved my marriage

My husband and I are quarreling about my numerous runs to the apple orchard.

Our house is bursting with apples. The fridge is crammed with Fiji apples.

Gala apples roll off the kitchen counter, landing on stocking feet.

I had to do something fast, before my family staged a mutiny.

Solution: apple cake.

The recipe is at least 50 years old, from my husband’s grandmother.

3 cups flour

2 cups sugar

1/2 teaspoon salt

2 teaspoons baking powder

4 eggs

1 cup oil

1/2 cup orange juice

2 and 1/2 teaspoons vanilla

6 medium apples, cubed or sliced

sprinkle of cinnamon sugar all over the top

Combine all ingredients.

Pour into greased pan and bake at 350 for about 75 minutes.

The cake has a sweet, apple-orange flavor that goes well with coffee or vanilla ice cream.

PLUS, the cake soothes any hurt feelings after an apple falls on a stocking foot.

Happy Fall, y’all!

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Brought to you by my novella The Strong, Silent Type

Available now on Kindle

If he breaks his silence about the scars marring his face,

will the truth drive her away?

Apparently, I look like a weirdo.

I snuck into my kids’ high school.

I put my hair in a ponytail and carried lots of books…

but they kicked me out of home room before I made it to Biology class.

The next day, I tried to pass myself off as a teacher.

I wore a skirt, blouse and glasses, but the real teacher kicked me out of Biology class.

Then I tried to dress like the principal,

but I couldn’t pass myself off as a bald, sixty year-old man.

Which is probably a complement, now that I think about it.

Anyhow, I’ve been watching my kids become more independent.

It occurred to me they will probably leave in a few years.

My efforts to spend time with them at school failed.

So, I’m getting ready to apply to college.

My kids will room with me, right?

RIGHT?????

A really boring post

I have very little to say today.

This doesn’t bode well.

I’m supposed to write today.

I’m supposed to write 2,000 words today.

I’m supposed to write 2,000 interesting words today.

It’s not gonna happen.

My brain is as green and fertile as this:

I blame wet pretzels…

because wet pretzels are icky…

and I just ate one for breakfast.

THE END.

I tripped on an apple and hurt my pride

Our local orchard is full of REALLY good-looking guys…

Er, I mean really good-looking produce.

If you’re my husband, stop reading.

I tried to take a picture of the REALLY good-looking “produce” for you,

but he was camera shy.

Picture a guy who is 6’3″ tall, blond, and shoulders wide as a barn door.

Let’s call him Steve.

Steve offered his hand as I disembarked from the wagon.

I accepted his help, because I’m no dummy.

Afterwards, I couldn’t stop giggling.

My husband wasn’t amused.

I attempted to prove I was unaffected by burly, hot farmers.

I picked apples like a woman possessed.

I brought home 3,519 apples.

Now I have to think of ways to cook them all.

Your advice is needed!