E.G. Manetti's Blog, page 43
May 11, 2015
Some Like it Hot! Teaser Tuesday.
If you like romance and aren't a member of 'Some Like it Hot' (https://www.goodreads.com/group/show/...)
check it out. Among it's many wonderful topics is the 'Teaser Tuesday' thread. https://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/...
This week it features *ahem*
.
The mods are beautiful, brilliant and insightful. Just saying...
check it out. Among it's many wonderful topics is the 'Teaser Tuesday' thread. https://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/...
This week it features *ahem*
.The mods are beautiful, brilliant and insightful. Just saying...
May 5, 2015
A smile that breaks hearts
The sun has come out at last. After a deep, dark winter, the sky is a deep blue highlighted with bright white clouds. The birds have returned and dodge about searching for food and nesting material. The bay is a deep cerulean sparkling in the sunlight.
The hospice aide wheels Dad into the sun. His eyes close. Pleasure at the warmth or harsh sunlight against fragile lids? Where are his sunglasses? I know I saw them recently. They are somewhere in the house I have yet to unpack. Later. Another task for a 'later' that holds so many undone acts.
Today is about the sun. Another aide hands us sunblock. Rats. I didn't think of that either. I brought a beer. Dad smiles. Sips a little beer through the a straw. He loves his beer but he's having trouble today. The straw keeps slipping away.
Mum fusses over Dad's lack of a hat. The bright sun on his pale, delicate skin. The dribbling beer.
Dad closes his eyes and turns his face to the sun. He smiles. He'll stay there all afternoon and be burned to a crisp. He doesn't care. It's warm and bright and we're there and we love him.
It's time to go in. I don't want to go. Dad doesn't want to go. He smiles anyway.
It breaks my heart.
The hospice aide wheels Dad into the sun. His eyes close. Pleasure at the warmth or harsh sunlight against fragile lids? Where are his sunglasses? I know I saw them recently. They are somewhere in the house I have yet to unpack. Later. Another task for a 'later' that holds so many undone acts.
Today is about the sun. Another aide hands us sunblock. Rats. I didn't think of that either. I brought a beer. Dad smiles. Sips a little beer through the a straw. He loves his beer but he's having trouble today. The straw keeps slipping away.
Mum fusses over Dad's lack of a hat. The bright sun on his pale, delicate skin. The dribbling beer.
Dad closes his eyes and turns his face to the sun. He smiles. He'll stay there all afternoon and be burned to a crisp. He doesn't care. It's warm and bright and we're there and we love him.
It's time to go in. I don't want to go. Dad doesn't want to go. He smiles anyway.
It breaks my heart.
March 27, 2015
Defiance
DEFIANCE
Merriam Webster Dictionary
1: Act or instance of defying. Challenge.
2: Disposition to resist. Willingness to contend or fight.
- in defiance of
:contrary to: despite {seemingly in defiance of the laws of physics}
In the wake of another heart incident, Mum's back in skilled care, one hall over from Dad. The staff is sympathetic and supportive. He's having a good day
'Is Dad getting better?'
'No Mum, he's not getting worse. Bad days are 2 of seven.'
It's all a crock. What else are they going to say? There is no recovery. There is no getting better. Dad's meds are all about comfort. Last week, for the first time, he needed morphine. Not a lot. Yet.
'How's your Dad?' The business office asks, expecting a funeral notice.
'Hanging in there.' He really is. No one knows how. The experts had him buried by now.
He can't move except to twitch and blink. Except when he sees me. Then his eyes widen and brighten and that grimace is a smile. He can't really talk. Humming is communication. Pitch and rhythm indicate agreement or refusal.
A month ago, when it hurt he'd shift and jerk seeking comfort. Now, when he hurts the humming is replaced by a steady grunt and he barely moves. The spasming muscles are rock hard.
I find the nurse and discuss the change in how Dad indicates distress. We agree on the new signals. Dad gets more meds. We watch the news as he sips the latest 'Beer of the Month' through the straw. I talk about the April 'Beer of the Month' selection. I think the 'peach beer' is dubious. No question Dad agrees. That's definitely a chuckle. I promise to cook with it and find him something else. Another 'chuckle.'
The aides come with the hoist. Time to get Dad in his chair for dinner. I hate to leave. I have to go.
'I love you, Dad.'
'Luv uuu ….. 2'
It's garbled, but it's there.
Dad's dying on his terms and his time table.
DEFIANCE: :contrary to: despite {seemingly in defiance of the laws of physics}
Merriam Webster Dictionary
1: Act or instance of defying. Challenge.
2: Disposition to resist. Willingness to contend or fight.
- in defiance of
:contrary to: despite {seemingly in defiance of the laws of physics}
In the wake of another heart incident, Mum's back in skilled care, one hall over from Dad. The staff is sympathetic and supportive. He's having a good day
'Is Dad getting better?'
'No Mum, he's not getting worse. Bad days are 2 of seven.'
It's all a crock. What else are they going to say? There is no recovery. There is no getting better. Dad's meds are all about comfort. Last week, for the first time, he needed morphine. Not a lot. Yet.
'How's your Dad?' The business office asks, expecting a funeral notice.
'Hanging in there.' He really is. No one knows how. The experts had him buried by now.
He can't move except to twitch and blink. Except when he sees me. Then his eyes widen and brighten and that grimace is a smile. He can't really talk. Humming is communication. Pitch and rhythm indicate agreement or refusal.
A month ago, when it hurt he'd shift and jerk seeking comfort. Now, when he hurts the humming is replaced by a steady grunt and he barely moves. The spasming muscles are rock hard.
I find the nurse and discuss the change in how Dad indicates distress. We agree on the new signals. Dad gets more meds. We watch the news as he sips the latest 'Beer of the Month' through the straw. I talk about the April 'Beer of the Month' selection. I think the 'peach beer' is dubious. No question Dad agrees. That's definitely a chuckle. I promise to cook with it and find him something else. Another 'chuckle.'
The aides come with the hoist. Time to get Dad in his chair for dinner. I hate to leave. I have to go.
'I love you, Dad.'
'Luv uuu ….. 2'
It's garbled, but it's there.
Dad's dying on his terms and his time table.
DEFIANCE: :contrary to: despite {seemingly in defiance of the laws of physics}
Spring Celebration! 99Cent sale through April 1!
It's been a long cold lonely winter
The ice is slowly melting...
Spring is finally arriving in nasty cold New England. The sidewalks are clear (mostly) and the threat of frostbite is a memory.
To celebrate - The Cartel:The Apprentice Volume 1 is on sale for 99 Cents through April 1!
GoodReads Rating: 4.1
Amazon Rating: 4.4 Stars
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00AGNFHJA
I-books: http://itunes.apple.com/us/book/the-c...
Nook: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-c...
Kobo: http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/eboo...
Raised to wealth and privilege, Lilian’s future was shattered when her father was convicted of terrible crimes. By law and custom she should have followed him into death to redeem her corrupt genetics. Desperate to avoid execution for crimes not her own, Lilian accepts an indenture contract with a powerful warrior. For three years he will have total control of her body, will and intellect.
Lucius Mercio’s wealth, influence, and power place him among the elite of the warrior caste. Clever, ruthless, and unforgiving of his enemies, Lucius is rumored to have sold his soul for supernatural aid. To achieve his ambitions, Lucius needs Lilian’s exceptional brilliance. To acquire it, he saves her from a death sentence. To make use of it, he must keep her alive.
The ice is slowly melting...
Spring is finally arriving in nasty cold New England. The sidewalks are clear (mostly) and the threat of frostbite is a memory.
To celebrate - The Cartel:The Apprentice Volume 1 is on sale for 99 Cents through April 1!
GoodReads Rating: 4.1
Amazon Rating: 4.4 Stars
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00AGNFHJA
I-books: http://itunes.apple.com/us/book/the-c...
Nook: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-c...
Kobo: http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/eboo...
Raised to wealth and privilege, Lilian’s future was shattered when her father was convicted of terrible crimes. By law and custom she should have followed him into death to redeem her corrupt genetics. Desperate to avoid execution for crimes not her own, Lilian accepts an indenture contract with a powerful warrior. For three years he will have total control of her body, will and intellect.
Lucius Mercio’s wealth, influence, and power place him among the elite of the warrior caste. Clever, ruthless, and unforgiving of his enemies, Lucius is rumored to have sold his soul for supernatural aid. To achieve his ambitions, Lucius needs Lilian’s exceptional brilliance. To acquire it, he saves her from a death sentence. To make use of it, he must keep her alive.
March 26, 2015
Read it & Reap
Friends, fans and/or followers (yes, the new Goodreads policies on these roles have me completely confused) if you have been waiting to score a lendable or free copy of The Cartel:The Apprentice Volume 1, now is your chance.
The Cartel is being featured in Shut Up & Read's read-to-review program, Read it & Reap. There are ten review copies available (epub, mobi or pdf). All you need to do is sign up!.
https://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/...
Thank you Shut Up & Read moderators, Leigh, Tana, Tanecia, Alyssia, and Sheri.
The Cartel is being featured in Shut Up & Read's read-to-review program, Read it & Reap. There are ten review copies available (epub, mobi or pdf). All you need to do is sign up!.
https://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/...
Thank you Shut Up & Read moderators, Leigh, Tana, Tanecia, Alyssia, and Sheri.
March 9, 2015
In his dreams
Dad sleeps most of the day now.
At the recap of the Yankees game, he jerks around a bit and makes grunting sounds. In his dreams is he there on a warm spring training day? Sitting in the stands with a beer and hot dog, shouting out encouragement to the players and insulting the umpires?
I take his hand and he hums a bit. Is it a tune? In his dreams is it a long ago father-daughter dance where he's light on his feet and guiding me around the floor?
My mother calls him sweetheart and his lips twitch. Is it a smile? In his dreams is he young and strong and brilliant, building the life he wants?
In his dreams. In his dreams I hope and pray he has everything that time and illness have stolen away. In his dreams he still has it all.
In his dreams.
At the recap of the Yankees game, he jerks around a bit and makes grunting sounds. In his dreams is he there on a warm spring training day? Sitting in the stands with a beer and hot dog, shouting out encouragement to the players and insulting the umpires?
I take his hand and he hums a bit. Is it a tune? In his dreams is it a long ago father-daughter dance where he's light on his feet and guiding me around the floor?
My mother calls him sweetheart and his lips twitch. Is it a smile? In his dreams is he young and strong and brilliant, building the life he wants?
In his dreams. In his dreams I hope and pray he has everything that time and illness have stolen away. In his dreams he still has it all.
In his dreams.
March 1, 2015
… a long cold lonely winter ...
Record snow. Record cold. Snow in five and ten foot piles along the road sides. Piled in front of Dad's only window where it was pushed from the roof.
Trapped in body that won't work. Often lost in a mind that has become a broken maze. For two weeks shut behind a heavy pile of snow.
It might be days, it might be weeks. On optimistic days, I think Dad will make it to his beloved Yankees' Opening Day. Count it how you will, the remaining sunrises and sunsets can be numbered. Fourteen lost behind snowpack.
The snow removal crew is a a no show. Again. The nurses and aides are apologetic.
Enough. My husband packs a shovel and rake into the car. Enough.
'That snow pack is practically cement.'
'You'll never move it without heavy machinery.'
'He doesn't know the difference, anyway.'
'It can't be done…'
Never say can't, to a US Marine.
Fifteen minutes hammering breaks through the ice layer that connects the snow pack to the gutter. The snow isn't quite cement, but it's hard.
Another five minutes and and the top six inches of window are clear. I peer over my husband's shoulder and wave at Dad. He doesn't turn.
Twenty minutes and another foot. An aide is with Dad. She points and we wave. Dad looks but doesn't react, he's lost in that inner maze.
Another forty minutes and we're at the sill. I'm on eye level with Dad. He sees me and here comes the sun - Dad's dazzling grin of recognition. It feels like years since it's been here…
We go inside to say goodbye. Dad smiles and makes his happy noise. As we leave he is looking out his window between the nearly three feet cliffs of snow on either side. He is still smiling.
Today, in defiance of the prediction of gray skies and more snow, a bright afternoon sun broke through for a few hours.
…here comes the sun…
Trapped in body that won't work. Often lost in a mind that has become a broken maze. For two weeks shut behind a heavy pile of snow.
It might be days, it might be weeks. On optimistic days, I think Dad will make it to his beloved Yankees' Opening Day. Count it how you will, the remaining sunrises and sunsets can be numbered. Fourteen lost behind snowpack.
The snow removal crew is a a no show. Again. The nurses and aides are apologetic.
Enough. My husband packs a shovel and rake into the car. Enough.
'That snow pack is practically cement.'
'You'll never move it without heavy machinery.'
'He doesn't know the difference, anyway.'
'It can't be done…'
Never say can't, to a US Marine.
Fifteen minutes hammering breaks through the ice layer that connects the snow pack to the gutter. The snow isn't quite cement, but it's hard.
Another five minutes and and the top six inches of window are clear. I peer over my husband's shoulder and wave at Dad. He doesn't turn.
Twenty minutes and another foot. An aide is with Dad. She points and we wave. Dad looks but doesn't react, he's lost in that inner maze.
Another forty minutes and we're at the sill. I'm on eye level with Dad. He sees me and here comes the sun - Dad's dazzling grin of recognition. It feels like years since it's been here…
We go inside to say goodbye. Dad smiles and makes his happy noise. As we leave he is looking out his window between the nearly three feet cliffs of snow on either side. He is still smiling.
Today, in defiance of the prediction of gray skies and more snow, a bright afternoon sun broke through for a few hours.
…here comes the sun…
February 10, 2015
Excerpt from Transgressions
It is taking me longer than anticipated to finish the 3rd volume in The Apprentice Series. In the meantime, here is a short (non-spoiler) excerpt for Eva. She knows who she is.
At Helena’s gesture, Lilian obediently follows her mother out to the kitchen walkway. Casting a critical eye over the herb garden, Lilian is pleased to note the plants are full and flourishing in the dry-season heat due to the carefully constructed irrigation ditches.
As Lilian pauses to survey the precious herbs, a flash of sparkling green flits through the overgrown ornamental trees beyond the kitchen hedge. “Maman, how is it that thing lives? Is Katleen feeding it?”
“Gloribelle eats leaves, berries, and bark,” Helena says, opening the kitchen door. “As a gardener, she is unreliable, but at least a few of the shrubs are getting a form of pruning.”
The ornamental gardens that wrap around the south and eastern sides of the ancient house have long run wild. Even before their ruin, Lilian's sire refused the funds necessary to maintain them, even while he lived in a splendid penthouse in one of the great spires of Pinnacle City on Socraide Prime.
“Gloribelle? She named that thing?” Lilian’s eyes widen in shock.
A month gone, Lilian found Katleen precariously perched on a tree limb as she attempted to rescue a baby tree-wombat mewling in distress. Fairly certain the pup had been abandoned and would not survive a month, Lilian agreed to let the sparkly rodent stay in the garden. Unlike their burrowing kin, tree-wombats do not like herbs.
“Katleen needs a pet,” Helena remarks absently as Lilian follows her into the kitchen.
“Pet! It is a rodent,” Lilian exclaims, pulling juice and cold green tea from the foodkeeper. Even with the exertion of training and the distraction of the sparkling wombat, Lilian’s stomach remains knotted with tension.
“It is difficult to catch, let alone kill.” Helena places hard-cooked eggs and fruit on the table.
Sipping her juice, Lilian thinks about Helena’s words. Lilian knows Katleen is lonely. A pet would do much to ease the young girl’s isolation. Even if they had the funds to feed and care for a cat or dog, which they do not, it would be at risk from those who torment them. Lilian inwardly shudders at the notion of what those who despise them might do to a helpless pet.
Filling her now-empty glass with green tea and selecting a cluster of grapes, Lilian agrees, “Very well, Maman. Katleen does enjoy that which sparkles, and there is no question that when it is in heat, that thing will be a walking pyrotechnic.”
“Lilian, fortify yourself for the day.” Helena frowns at Lilian’s small handful of fruit.
This day. There is only this day. “Not this day, Maman, It will not settle well.”
February 8, 2015
Pain is weakness leaving the body
Pain is weakness leaving the body.
I didn't make that up. It's part of USMC training. https://www.goodreads.com/author/show...
When I first read it in a romance novel, my DH (served the USMC) smiled and confirmed the author had done her research. Her heroine was a bad ass.
Dad was regular army and a bad ass. It took him awhile to warm to my DH.
As for pain. As for bad ass. Dad is intimately familiar with both. He's mostly sleeping now. But even asleep he fights. Half sitting. Struggling to wake.
I worry that he is desperate to voice that he left unsaid. I take his hand. I hear you, Dad.
He's a hero. He's surprised us, before.
Just in case, we are gathering.
We'll take his hand.
Grief is pain leaving the heart.
It hurts.
I didn't make that up. It's part of USMC training. https://www.goodreads.com/author/show...
When I first read it in a romance novel, my DH (served the USMC) smiled and confirmed the author had done her research. Her heroine was a bad ass.
Dad was regular army and a bad ass. It took him awhile to warm to my DH.
As for pain. As for bad ass. Dad is intimately familiar with both. He's mostly sleeping now. But even asleep he fights. Half sitting. Struggling to wake.
I worry that he is desperate to voice that he left unsaid. I take his hand. I hear you, Dad.
He's a hero. He's surprised us, before.
Just in case, we are gathering.
We'll take his hand.
Grief is pain leaving the heart.
It hurts.
February 6, 2015
Twilight comes violently
Grand Mal. French to English: Great Evil.
For my father, bad ass seizure. An event horizon that we were approaching at an inevitable but unavoidable pace just took wing.
Not because of the Grand Mal. They don't kill, just hurt like hell. But when the cerebellum is already severely comprised - bad becomes, well 'Great Evil.'
Why now? No explanation. 1/2 Grand Mal seizures cannot be explained. For Dad, it was a sharp step down.
Seasons have truncated to months. Few enough months that they might be counted in weeks. Occasional meal assistance is now the norm. Sleep is a refuge. Joy is a familiar face, a little dog worrying her toy in the hope that 'grandfather' will play, and a decent craft beer sucked through a straw.
As long as there is joy, there is life. Rage against the dying of the light.
For my father, bad ass seizure. An event horizon that we were approaching at an inevitable but unavoidable pace just took wing.
Not because of the Grand Mal. They don't kill, just hurt like hell. But when the cerebellum is already severely comprised - bad becomes, well 'Great Evil.'
Why now? No explanation. 1/2 Grand Mal seizures cannot be explained. For Dad, it was a sharp step down.
Seasons have truncated to months. Few enough months that they might be counted in weeks. Occasional meal assistance is now the norm. Sleep is a refuge. Joy is a familiar face, a little dog worrying her toy in the hope that 'grandfather' will play, and a decent craft beer sucked through a straw.
As long as there is joy, there is life. Rage against the dying of the light.
