Lynn Kellan's Blog, page 5

The reason we’re getting clobbered by snow

On the second day of Spring, we’re expecting 8 to 13 inches of fresh snow. Honestly, this is my husband’s fault. Whenever he attends a conference, a major snowstorm arrives. Where is he right now? In California. At a conference. Where am I? A few miles south of Philadelphia, firing up the snowblower to clear off the driveway. Where is my dog? Right here, and not too happy about the weather.

The last time my husband was at a conference, we got 32 inches of snow, we almost ran out of propane gas to heat the house, and my kid came down with bronchitis. Boy oh boy, that was fun. I promise that as soon as my husband returns, warm weather will arrive. Just hang tight for a few more days.

My plan: burrow under a blanket with a great book and emerge periodically to consume warm tomato soup, buttery grilled cheese sandwiches, and chewy brownies. What will you be doing?

My kingdom for a cough drop

A few days ago, I became the most despised person in a seminar. I couldn’t keep quiet. Every few seconds, I’d bark out a cough that sounded like a seal with bronchitis. These coughs rattled my soul and squeezed my bladder.

After a while, the woman next to me reached into her roomy purse. I assumed she was looking for a dead fish to stuff into my mouth. Frankly, I was willing to swallow a slimy carp if that would stop the coughing.

She lifted her hand. I winced and closed my eyes. Nothing happened. When I finally peered through one watering eye, I found a miracle in front of me: a cough drop. That little cough drop taught me a big lesson: I need a roomy purse that can hold just-in-case stuff that’ll rescue me from tough situations.

Up until now, I’ve always been a small purse kind of gal. In middle school and high school, a purse was too much to carry along with my books, my gym bag, my flute. In college, my backpack became my purse, but all I really needed was my room key and cafeteria meal ticket. As an adult, I always thought big purses were too much trouble, too heavy, too bulky. But jeez, a roomy purse can hold tissues and snacks and hairbands and Band-Aids and pain reliever and cough drops and all the stuff you – or a friend – might need.

So, I’m changing my tune. I’m gonna buy a big purse as soon as this stupid cough goes away.

 

Strange bedfellows.

My neighbor rushed across the yard, her hair askew and her eyes wide with fear. She’d heard a window break. After that, a gunshot. Had someone broken into my home while I was gone?

I walked around the exterior but saw no sign of forced entry. Every window was intact. Doors tightly closed and locked. Nothing seemed wrong, so I stepped inside. A cat scurried past, which didn’t make sense. I don’t own a cat, but I suppose one of my kids might’ve brought one home. I called out, but no one answered. Seemed like everyone was at school or at work, like any normal day.

Just to be sure, I walked through the house and didn’t find anything odd except for the cat, who kept scooting under the bed. Finally, I got down on the floor to see what captured her attention – and found a man under the bed. Menace clung to him like bad aftershave. I tried to get rid of him, but I didn’t try very hard. Somehow, I knew he wouldn’t leave.

He followed me all the time. The cat disappeared. So did everyone else. It was just me and him. He never spoke, but he snickered. When I said something, he snickered. When I had an original thought, he snickered. When I contemplated trying something new, he snickered.

When I woke from the dream, I finally knew his name: DOUBT.

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This post brought to you by Weird Dreams.

Can anyone tell my why Mr. Doubt owns a cat?

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My biggest parenting mistake

My biggest parenting mistake? Teaching my kids how to play Pinochle. Why, you ask? Seems like such a good idea, you say? Well, yes, but don’t all bad ideas sound good at the beginning? Hey, let’s take a romantic walk near the cemetery. Hey, let’s use this old jar of mayonnaise because it’s only a month past the sell-by date. Hey, let’s buy this cheap car because saving money is important. All great suggestions if you don’t mind ghostly moans, food poisoning, and losing an engine on I-95.

At first, teaching our kids how to play Pinochle seemed like a win-win decision. The kids would learn a valuable life skill (how to lose) and we parents would enjoy some valuable family time together (while we won). At first, all went according to plan. The kids lost while my husband and I won. All. The. Time. It was a thing of beauty. I seized this opportunity to teach my kids another valuable skill: how to trash-talk your opponent. Ah, good times. After every victory, the sun shone brighter. Food tasted better. Doing laundry felt like a pleasure, not a chore.

Then my offspring started to win. Not once or twice. Oh, no. They embarked on an epic winning streak we couldn’t break. Every single time we played cards, they won. We backed off on all the trash talk. They still won. We played aggressively. They won. We played conservatively. They won. We distracted them with freshly baked cookies. We offered to take them to Europe if they gave us a fifty-point lead. We used a secret language during the bidding portion of the game. Didn’t matter. They won every time. Unbeaten over the past six months.

The moral of the story is this: YES, teach your kids how to play Pinochle, but do not teach them math. That way, you can calmly explain to them that zero plus seventeen equals one hundred and ninety-nine. You’ll win every time.

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This post brought to you by Pinochle Parents.

We used to win. Now we cry.

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My Valentine. Not yours.

This man doesn’t look like he wants to get married. Neither does his bride. In fact, she’s fainted dead away at the alter. WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON???? And why oh why is this a Valentine’s Day blog post? Doesn’t seem very romantic, if you ask me.

Take a closer look. The bride is wearing a beautiful gown. Her hair is all done-up. She’s gone to the trouble to wear white gloves and a gorgeous long veil. She wants to look pretty for her man. So why did she pass out? And why does her groom look so grim?

Because he’s not her groom. He’s the best man. He’s been waiting for the ceremony to begin, his tongue as dry as an old dishtowel and his heart splatting against his ribs like a too-ripe tomato, until the church secretary rushes into the sanctuary to deliver shocking news: the groom has peeled out of the parking lot and isn’t coming back.

When the bride wilts, the best man lunges to catch her. He’s not letting go, either, because he’s fallen in love with her. Now that he finally has her in his arms, he’ll do whatever it takes to keep her. From now on, she’ll be his Valentine. No one else’s.

How’s that for romance?

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This painting is on display at the Delaware Museum of Art.

My new release is available now!

I cringe whenever I have to self-promote, so please forgive me for taking a moment to say that my new release, TURN TO HER, is available now.

Ivan Antonov is a bona fide genius, with more patents than any graduate student on campus. Everyone thinks he’s just a brain with no heart, and maybe they’re right. Whenever he opens up, anger spews out. He’s tired of being used for his intellect, tired of fixing everyone else’s problems, and tired of the women’s groups that spew man-hate all over campus. Before he graduates, he’s going to dismantle The Women’s Grid and anything else like it.

His quest inadvertently targets Tia Garcia, the gorgeous psychology intern who lives next door to Ivan. She’s all about helping women become self-sufficient, and she’s agreed to participate in her colleague’s ground-breaking experiment. The experiment pairs her with Ivan, the brawny neighbor who is difficult to read. He’s sexy as heck, but he insists that her women-only seminars need to include men. If she can’t preserve her program’s integrity, she might lose the post-doctoral job she wants.

There’s a reason Ivan is determined to defund programs like hers, but he can’t tell her why. If he does, he’ll have to admit that one night, he wasn’t so smart after all. So he buries the truth and works like hell to redeem himself. While he’s at it, he’ll stop the ruthless group of people who want to tear him down, but what could be more heartless than targeting the only woman who wants to read him right? And what could be more stupid than falling in love with a woman who’s smart enough to figure out his darkest secret?

Available for $3.99 at Amazon, Nook, Smashwords, and iBooks. Priced at $8.50 in print.

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What’s next? Well, I’m finishing up a novella called WORTH THE RISK. I plan to give away this novella to the people on my newsletter, and I’d like you to have a free copy, too! Click here to sign up for my quarterly newsletter on my official author website. Your email won’t to shared with anyone, and you’ll receive up-to-date news about upcoming releases and giveaways.

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Phew, the self-promotion is over. Thanks for hanging in there with me!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The picture of lust

Think of two people who are crazy in love with each other. They might look something like this:

Wait, this couple doesn’t lovey-dovey at all. There’s no flirting between them, no nervous giggles, and no longing looks. Ugh, not romantic at all!

Look a little closer. The line of the woman’s shoulder points to the gentleman. His hand is positioned a lot like hers. They are sitting in similar chairs, perhaps ones from the same dining room set. Back in the year 1824, portraits like these were the closest folks could get to a “selfie.” The poses may look stiff, but this couple’s backstory is compelling: Priscilla Cobb (left) was the daughter of a wealthy family in Mississippi. She fell in love with Calvin Smith (right), who was clearing land that would eventually become his farm. Priscilla’s rich parents weren’t happy about her affection for an aspiring farmer, so Priscilla and Calvin ran away and got married.

Now THAT’S romantic. Being together was so important to Priscilla and Calvin, nothing would stop them. They defied the wishes of her powerful family. They eloped in the hope that their love was worth the gamble.

I’m happy to report that eventually, Priscilla’s parents accepted the marriage. In other good news, Priscilla and Calvin’s humble farm became a prosperous plantation. The two portraits pictured above were done thirty-three years after they eloped, when the happy couple visited their daughter in Philadelphia. By that time, Priscilla and Calvin could afford to hire a distinguished artist to paint their portraits. This artist was a man named Bass Otis, who painted a portrait of someone else you might know: U.S. President William Henry Harrison.

You might say that for Priscilla and Calvin, love was definitely worth the risk. Their portraits are currently on display at the Delaware Museum of Art.

 

Liberty doesn’t wear a thong.

There’s something odd about Liberty. She rarely smiles and she’s always carrying something – a heavy book, a lighted torch, an unwieldy bunch of branches. Can’t she lighten up? She’s free, after all. Why not change out of those heavy robes, throw away that gosh-awful hat, and have a picnic?

No can do. Liberty doesn’t have time for a day off. She’s got tons of responsibilities. Her to-do list is miles long. She must protect what’s important to her, kind of like a mom who has millions of kids. Unfortunately, many of those kids don’t think about her unless it’s July fourth. Jeez, no wonder Liberty isn’t smiling. The poor woman needs more love…and a spa day.

If you happen to spot Lady Liberty on the American half dollar coin, take a second look. She was designed by A. A. Weinman, a sculptor who etched Liberty as she walks toward the dawn of a new day. Liberty is draped in our nation’s flag and carries branches that symbolize civil and military glory. Why? Maybe Weinman understood the precious cost of liberty. When he was ten years old, he fled Germany to become an American. Years later, when he designed this coin, the land he chose to call home was about to declare war on the nation of his birth.

Did Weinman feel conflicted about America’s fight against Germany in World War I? I don’t know, but I do know he etched the majestic eagle that appears on the other side of this coin. Right below the eagle, Mr. Weinman put his initials (AW) for all to see. I think it would be fair to say that he put his stamp of approval on the good ol’ USA.

I have a feeling that whenever someone stands up for freedom like Mr. Weinman did, stern Lady Liberty bursts into a wide smile.

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To read more about the “Walking Liberty” coin, click here to visit the Wikipedia page.

Be you. No one else can.

The lens we use to view the world makes all the difference. I tend to be a “big picture” kind of gal. The overall composition of an idea or a photo matters to me more than tiny details…until I tried a “macro” lens on my camera. I pointed that new lens at a glop of snow perched on our weather-worn fence and saw something I’d never seen before: individual snowflakes. AMAZING! Can you see those tiny beauties? They’re stunning, all of them. Even the ones with crystals bent at odd angles.

For me, there’s a profound lesson within this picture: if you look close enough, you’ll see beauty in imperfection.

I’m rarely so accepting of my own flaws. Too often, I allow my weaknesses stop me. I avoid risk because I’m afraid I’ll fail. I’ll avoid people, too. Do you do the same thing? Do you listen to that scared voice in your head, the one that says your bent angles aren’t good enough?

Let’s stop doing that to ourselves. In 2018, let’s look through a different lens, one that allows us to see the beauty in our bent angles. Truth is, those unusual angles catch the light and make us shine.

 

 

Good pranks build good friendships

It started small. I slapped an Eagles magnet on my neighbor’s mailbox when I learned he was a Steelers fan. A few weeks later, he slapped a Steelers magnet on our mailbox, complete with black and yellow streamers. Oh yes, people. I’d finally found someone who understood the pranking game.

Here are the rules of engagement: keep things funny and easily removable. ALSO, allow enough time to elapse so your neighbor doesn’t expect the prank. That’s key. So, I let months pass. At the start of the next football season, I waited until the dead of night and placed a small snowman on my neighbor’s front porch. This snowman happened to be two feet high and wore an Eagles sweatshirt. Perfect for the task. Much to my delight, my neighbor didn’t notice the snowman for days. My Eagles snowman became a proud sentry in front of the house of a die-hard Steelers fan. I laughed every time I drove by. I still snicker whenever I think about that prank.

I waited for his response. Months passed. A year passed. The 2017 football season started. This time around, my Eagles were on fire – undefeated for much of the autumn! My glee knew no bounds! Finally, we were bound for the playoffs! Fly Eagles, fly!!! The world finally made sense, except for one thing. A landscaping company kept tossing advertisements onto my driveway. Day after day. For weeks. As soon as I picked one up, another one would appear. I was the only one who got bombarded by these pamphlets. I was beginning to think my yard really needed landscaping…until my neighbor confessed that he’d collected ALL of the items so he could toss them into my driveway whenever he walked his dog.

Well played, my friend.

I let some time pass, but I was anxious to pay him back. The Christmas season arrived and temperatures dipped into the single digits. No one in their right mind would pull a prank in this horrific weather. I scurried into my basement, dusted off a HUGE inflatable snowman, and snuck to my neighbor’s house in the dark. I tried to be quiet, which wasn’t easy. Dead leaves make a huge crunch every time you step on them. Dogs pick up on those noises. Those noises get quite loud when you trip on the extension cord you’re carrying. Those noises sound like cannon-fire when you’re wrestling a gigantic inflatable snowman who refuses to stand up straight. Those noises threaten to reveal every prankster when she stubs her toe on a heavy piece of firewood. Those noises are totally worth it when you get this photograph of your efforts:

Behold, the gigantic snowman inflatable standing at the end of my neighbor’s driveway. We live in very dark woods, so Frosty lights up the place like a bright lighthouse in the middle of a dark storm. SOOOOOOOOO fantastic! Fortunately, my neighbor thought the sudden appearance of an enormous snowman on his property was a riot. We’ve been laughing about my masterful prank for the past week.

Like any good prankster, I reclaimed the snowman and plunked him in my yard on New Year’s Eve. Here he is in daylight:

If I begin 2018 by pranking myself, do you think that’ll stop my neighbor from pranking me? To be continued…

Happy new year, friends!