Amy Freeman's Blog, page 3
December 20, 2013
THE BOOK OF SHADE BY K.C. FINN
THE BOOK OF SHADE
I loved this book. If you are a fan of paranormal romance, this book is so unique, so creative, so fresh, new and exciting. You'll fall madly in love with the characters and the story line is wickedly beautiful. Below you will find a summary, links to buy the book, hear the music that inspired the author, win prizes, it goes on and on. This book is special. Don't miss your chance to read it. Enjoy!
The Book of ShadeAuthor: K.C. FinnRelease Date: 12/13/13
Synopsis:The Book of Shade - Synopsis
Lily Coltrane’s to-do list for starting university life is pretty simple:
1. Make friends
2. Meet a cute guy
3. Survive her first year in Modern History
In the little English town of Piketon this seems more than achievable, so much so that Lily even joins The Illustrious Minds Literary Society, an extra-curricular club that promises a truly unique social experience. What Lily doesn’t bank on are the Society’s monthly visits to the mysterious Theatre Imaginique at the edge of town, a dark venue that houses the most obscure cavalcade of carnival performers she has ever laid eyes on.
Stranger still is the emergence of the theatre’s enigmatic proprietor Lemarick Novel, a stupendous showman with a frosty wit who never seems to smile, and who raises a plethora of questions in Lily’s fearful mind. How does he levitate with no sign of wires or mirrors? How do the lightning bolts that shoot from his hands look so real? And why, of all the people in the theatre, do his pale eyes keep locking on hers?
The answers to this and more lie buried in heritage and blood. The Book of Shade is opening, and Lily Coltrane will read it, whether she wants to or not.
___
AUTHOR BIO
Born in South Wales to Raymond and Jennifer Finn, Kimberley Charlotte Elisabeth Finn (known to readers as K.C., otherwise it'd be too much of a mouthful) was one of those corny little kids who always wanted to be a writer. She was also incredibly stubborn, and so has finally achieved that dream in 2013 with the release of her first two novellas in the four-part Caecilius Rex saga.
As a sufferer with the medical condition M.E./C.F.S., Kim works part time as a private tutor and a teacher of creative writing, devoting the remainder of her time to writing novels and studying for an MA in Education and Linguistics.----
LINKS: Smashwords, Author Page: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/kcfinnSmashwords, Book Page:https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/380153Goodreads, Author Page:https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7145212.K_C_FinnGoodreads, Book page:https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18460183-the-book-of-shade Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/K-C-Finn/e/B00DT76UEQ/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1Facebook:https://www.facebook.com/TheBookofShade
Discover Your Shadepower
Now this is cool! If you've read the book you'll love this! You can discover what kind of magic you'd have if you were in her book! Click the link and find out! If you haven't read it yet, FOR SHAME!! You're missing out! Go! Go now!
http://theproverbialraven.blogspot.co.uk/p/the-book-of-shade.html
TBoS Play List
Writers are often inspired by music. This mix fueled character and plot creation for K.C Finn during the writing process. Hear the songs that inspired her. They will only enhance your own reading experience! http://8tracks.com/kim-finn-986/the-book-of-shadehttp://8tracks.com/kim-finn-986/the-book-of-shade-romance-mix
RELEASE PARTY!!!
Don't miss out on this!! Ask questions! Win prizes! Games Trivia and just plain crazy fun!!
Face Book Page: https://www.facebook.com/TheBookofShadeRelease Party!! https://www.facebook.com/events/241451109347140/?source=1 Attend the party and receive 50% off the price of the retail book!!
I loved this book. If you are a fan of paranormal romance, this book is so unique, so creative, so fresh, new and exciting. You'll fall madly in love with the characters and the story line is wickedly beautiful. Below you will find a summary, links to buy the book, hear the music that inspired the author, win prizes, it goes on and on. This book is special. Don't miss your chance to read it. Enjoy!
The Book of ShadeAuthor: K.C. FinnRelease Date: 12/13/13
Synopsis:The Book of Shade - Synopsis
Lily Coltrane’s to-do list for starting university life is pretty simple:
1. Make friends
2. Meet a cute guy
3. Survive her first year in Modern History
In the little English town of Piketon this seems more than achievable, so much so that Lily even joins The Illustrious Minds Literary Society, an extra-curricular club that promises a truly unique social experience. What Lily doesn’t bank on are the Society’s monthly visits to the mysterious Theatre Imaginique at the edge of town, a dark venue that houses the most obscure cavalcade of carnival performers she has ever laid eyes on.
Stranger still is the emergence of the theatre’s enigmatic proprietor Lemarick Novel, a stupendous showman with a frosty wit who never seems to smile, and who raises a plethora of questions in Lily’s fearful mind. How does he levitate with no sign of wires or mirrors? How do the lightning bolts that shoot from his hands look so real? And why, of all the people in the theatre, do his pale eyes keep locking on hers?
The answers to this and more lie buried in heritage and blood. The Book of Shade is opening, and Lily Coltrane will read it, whether she wants to or not.
___
AUTHOR BIO
Born in South Wales to Raymond and Jennifer Finn, Kimberley Charlotte Elisabeth Finn (known to readers as K.C., otherwise it'd be too much of a mouthful) was one of those corny little kids who always wanted to be a writer. She was also incredibly stubborn, and so has finally achieved that dream in 2013 with the release of her first two novellas in the four-part Caecilius Rex saga.
As a sufferer with the medical condition M.E./C.F.S., Kim works part time as a private tutor and a teacher of creative writing, devoting the remainder of her time to writing novels and studying for an MA in Education and Linguistics.----
LINKS: Smashwords, Author Page: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/kcfinnSmashwords, Book Page:https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/380153Goodreads, Author Page:https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7145212.K_C_FinnGoodreads, Book page:https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18460183-the-book-of-shade Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/K-C-Finn/e/B00DT76UEQ/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1Facebook:https://www.facebook.com/TheBookofShade
Discover Your Shadepower
Now this is cool! If you've read the book you'll love this! You can discover what kind of magic you'd have if you were in her book! Click the link and find out! If you haven't read it yet, FOR SHAME!! You're missing out! Go! Go now!
http://theproverbialraven.blogspot.co.uk/p/the-book-of-shade.html
TBoS Play List
Writers are often inspired by music. This mix fueled character and plot creation for K.C Finn during the writing process. Hear the songs that inspired her. They will only enhance your own reading experience! http://8tracks.com/kim-finn-986/the-book-of-shadehttp://8tracks.com/kim-finn-986/the-book-of-shade-romance-mix
RELEASE PARTY!!!
Don't miss out on this!! Ask questions! Win prizes! Games Trivia and just plain crazy fun!!
Face Book Page: https://www.facebook.com/TheBookofShadeRelease Party!! https://www.facebook.com/events/241451109347140/?source=1 Attend the party and receive 50% off the price of the retail book!!
December 13, 2013
SHINE TOUR UNDERWAY
Check out these awesome blogs with fantastic SHINE reviews and book giveaways!
Come on! Be a groupie and hit the road with me!!
http://www.enchantressofbooksblogtours.com/2013/12/amy-freemans-shine-knowing-ones-blog.html
Come on! Be a groupie and hit the road with me!!
http://www.enchantressofbooksblogtours.com/2013/12/amy-freemans-shine-knowing-ones-blog.html
December 2, 2013
Highlight's of Special Needs Parenting
What does this have to do with writing? Nothing. But it rarely does..come on...
At times I do wonder what God was thinking when he put a disabled child in my care...actually it is no mystery at all. He did it to bless me immensely. Now don't misunderstand. Raising a disabled child is no cake walk. But our son Colton makes us laugh continually and it is frequently spawned from my well-intended stupidity. Here's a bit of background for those of you who don't know us.
Colton suffers from Lennox-Gastaut syndrome, a debilitating seizure disorder that affects his speech, his mobility and has kept him from developing mentally past the age of five. We saw a significant decline in his condition when he hit age sixteen. He wouldn't eat or speak and violent behavior toward himself and others became a regular occurrence. It was at this point he became fascinated with cigarettes. It delighted him that smoke could come out of a person's mouth. He wanted to smoke more than anything in life.
For those of you who feel the need to judge, go ahead. Been judged before.
When your child is starving himself to death you'll get super creative to prevent it. I filled a cigarette carton with crayons which I had clipped off at the ends and wrapped in white paper. I could see the glee spinning out of his eyeballs at the sight of them. He snatched them from my hands and promptly hid them so no one could ever take them away. Fortunately I knew all the usual hiding spots and was able to use them to get him to eat. Note: One is automatically branded "Mother of the Year" when one's argument with a five year old mental equivalent begins with "If you don't eat your lunch, I'll take your cigarettes away." May I add it works every time. If you find yourself in my shoes feel free to borrow.
This worked with coffee too. I simply filled a Starbucks cup with Postum. Ack! Remember Postum? What IS Postum? They still make it! Who buys this stuff? I'll tell you who. ME! Fake coffee for a kid who apparently has no taste buds! I did finally give him decaf, but whatever.
So to make this long story longer Colton is now twenty one. Just turned. A landmark birthday we had hoped he would forget about. Not the age itself, but its significance. For the past whatever years he's been asking for beer.
"No, Colton. You can't have beer."
"Why?"
"You have to be twenty one."
Brilliant. This worked. But my husband and I (of all people) should have known this info would be filed in the Colton Freeman steel trap. Though working from a diminished mental capacity, the boy remembers EVERYTHING. So when he turned twenty one last week he reminded us that he could now have what he called "the mountain drink". (Hey, if you're gonna start drinking why not start with a Coors...).
So it began- the non stop barrage... "Mom, I want to have the mountain drink."
"Honey, you can't have the mountain drink."
"But I am Quwenty one." (T's do not exist in his vocabulary).
I'm cursing away in my head: Damn twenty one drinking age! Can't we do thirty five of eighty three?
Totally busted and put in my place I say, "Well, yes honey...see..." (I can't continue with- "Knowing how to handle a drunk 21 year old FIVE year old with several disabilities goes outside my scope of practice) so I say, "The mountain drink has alcohol in it and that's dangerous for you."
"Why?"
"Well because of your seizures."
"My seizures?"
"Yes. Your brain works differently."
"Why?"
"Well, because when your brain formed it formed with lesions." At this point I have no idea what I'm talking about and neither does Colton.
"Lesions?"
"Yes, and it could be dangerous?"
"When will they go away?"
"I don't know if they ever will, honey?"
"I want to drink the mountain drink."
"I know but it's just not safe."
"When can I fix my brain?"
I have now ventured past "clever/resourceful" and am wallowing in the familiar puddles of wwhhhyyyyy??? So I say something brilliant. "Only Jesus can fix your brain."
"Jesus can fix my brain? When can Jesus come fix my brain?"
Reeeeeeaalllyyy???
As lucky patrons of the local Shell gas station walk past us with a "brisker than necessary" gait, a bright bulb of light from God (or the devil) lit above me. O'DOULS!
"Look, Colton!" I say, shuffling toward the beer cooler with far too much enthusiasm . "There is one you can have!" As I pull out a six pack of O'douls I pause...This is non-alcoholic, right? What else is in this...wheat, barley, grains...I dub myself a genius and buy the six pack.
I spent the rest of the afternoon being shadowed by Colton, draaaaiining O'Douls long neck bottles while repeatedly asking- "Mom? When is Jesus going to come and fix my brain?"
My husband just shook his head and snapped photos.
At the end of the weekend the Hubby said "No more O'douls." He told Colton it was a "one time" thing and he wouldn't be drinking any more.
Colton turned a stoney eye toward Clint and said, "Dan," ("D"s do not exist in Colton's vocabulary either if they come at the end of a word.) "Dan, you are not God. You are not Jesus. You are not the word of God so you can't tell me that I can't drink anymore beer."
Sigh. As I said, if you feel the need to judge, whatever. I'm totally cool with it. It is clearly because of me that we have a drinkin' smokin' disabled kid. Sometimes my resourcefulness and creativity push at the boundaries between what is acceptable and "OMG YOU DID WHAT??" But whilst you all cluck your tongues and shake your heads I'll have you know that the staff at the facility that cares for Colton saw my hand crafted cigs and the like and told me that I was a genius.
At times I do wonder what God was thinking when he put a disabled child in my care...actually it is no mystery at all. He did it to bless me immensely. Now don't misunderstand. Raising a disabled child is no cake walk. But our son Colton makes us laugh continually and it is frequently spawned from my well-intended stupidity. Here's a bit of background for those of you who don't know us.
Colton suffers from Lennox-Gastaut syndrome, a debilitating seizure disorder that affects his speech, his mobility and has kept him from developing mentally past the age of five. We saw a significant decline in his condition when he hit age sixteen. He wouldn't eat or speak and violent behavior toward himself and others became a regular occurrence. It was at this point he became fascinated with cigarettes. It delighted him that smoke could come out of a person's mouth. He wanted to smoke more than anything in life.
For those of you who feel the need to judge, go ahead. Been judged before.
When your child is starving himself to death you'll get super creative to prevent it. I filled a cigarette carton with crayons which I had clipped off at the ends and wrapped in white paper. I could see the glee spinning out of his eyeballs at the sight of them. He snatched them from my hands and promptly hid them so no one could ever take them away. Fortunately I knew all the usual hiding spots and was able to use them to get him to eat. Note: One is automatically branded "Mother of the Year" when one's argument with a five year old mental equivalent begins with "If you don't eat your lunch, I'll take your cigarettes away." May I add it works every time. If you find yourself in my shoes feel free to borrow.
This worked with coffee too. I simply filled a Starbucks cup with Postum. Ack! Remember Postum? What IS Postum? They still make it! Who buys this stuff? I'll tell you who. ME! Fake coffee for a kid who apparently has no taste buds! I did finally give him decaf, but whatever.
So to make this long story longer Colton is now twenty one. Just turned. A landmark birthday we had hoped he would forget about. Not the age itself, but its significance. For the past whatever years he's been asking for beer.
"No, Colton. You can't have beer."
"Why?"
"You have to be twenty one."
Brilliant. This worked. But my husband and I (of all people) should have known this info would be filed in the Colton Freeman steel trap. Though working from a diminished mental capacity, the boy remembers EVERYTHING. So when he turned twenty one last week he reminded us that he could now have what he called "the mountain drink". (Hey, if you're gonna start drinking why not start with a Coors...).
So it began- the non stop barrage... "Mom, I want to have the mountain drink."
"Honey, you can't have the mountain drink."
"But I am Quwenty one." (T's do not exist in his vocabulary).
I'm cursing away in my head: Damn twenty one drinking age! Can't we do thirty five of eighty three?
Totally busted and put in my place I say, "Well, yes honey...see..." (I can't continue with- "Knowing how to handle a drunk 21 year old FIVE year old with several disabilities goes outside my scope of practice) so I say, "The mountain drink has alcohol in it and that's dangerous for you."
"Why?"
"Well because of your seizures."
"My seizures?"
"Yes. Your brain works differently."
"Why?"
"Well, because when your brain formed it formed with lesions." At this point I have no idea what I'm talking about and neither does Colton.
"Lesions?"
"Yes, and it could be dangerous?"
"When will they go away?"
"I don't know if they ever will, honey?"
"I want to drink the mountain drink."
"I know but it's just not safe."
"When can I fix my brain?"
I have now ventured past "clever/resourceful" and am wallowing in the familiar puddles of wwhhhyyyyy??? So I say something brilliant. "Only Jesus can fix your brain."
"Jesus can fix my brain? When can Jesus come fix my brain?"
Reeeeeeaalllyyy???
As lucky patrons of the local Shell gas station walk past us with a "brisker than necessary" gait, a bright bulb of light from God (or the devil) lit above me. O'DOULS!
"Look, Colton!" I say, shuffling toward the beer cooler with far too much enthusiasm . "There is one you can have!" As I pull out a six pack of O'douls I pause...This is non-alcoholic, right? What else is in this...wheat, barley, grains...I dub myself a genius and buy the six pack.
I spent the rest of the afternoon being shadowed by Colton, draaaaiining O'Douls long neck bottles while repeatedly asking- "Mom? When is Jesus going to come and fix my brain?"
My husband just shook his head and snapped photos.
At the end of the weekend the Hubby said "No more O'douls." He told Colton it was a "one time" thing and he wouldn't be drinking any more.
Colton turned a stoney eye toward Clint and said, "Dan," ("D"s do not exist in Colton's vocabulary either if they come at the end of a word.) "Dan, you are not God. You are not Jesus. You are not the word of God so you can't tell me that I can't drink anymore beer."
Sigh. As I said, if you feel the need to judge, whatever. I'm totally cool with it. It is clearly because of me that we have a drinkin' smokin' disabled kid. Sometimes my resourcefulness and creativity push at the boundaries between what is acceptable and "OMG YOU DID WHAT??" But whilst you all cluck your tongues and shake your heads I'll have you know that the staff at the facility that cares for Colton saw my hand crafted cigs and the like and told me that I was a genius.
November 21, 2013
WHY??
We've had this discussion before...you know, why God decided to make me so dumb.
We theorized, (well, I have theorized) on earlier posts that I'm brainless so my mind can wander and make good books for you people to read. But sometimes I don't think that's a good enough excuse, especially when my stupidity costs lots of money or kills someone. The twin sibling has theorized it is because we shared an egg. Therefore we share a brain. We each only get half, and this theory does hold water in that she is as dumb as I am. And when you put us both in the same room together, any lingering intelligence cancels out entirely and everyone within a twenty mile radius should run for their lives.
Now the reason I am rambling on about this is because I just committed another "I am too dumb to live moment" and telling you about it is quicker and cheaper than going to a therapist. Let's establish the topic... "CARS".
The twin and I should never be allowed to drive. Whoever licensed us down at Motor Vehicles either wasn't paying
attention or was too traumatized by the thought of issuing a retest.
Once behind the wheel of a car we are sure to cause damage. Although the twin has some stellar auto related disasters that truly rival my own, I will only alarm you with mine today. This is, after all, MY self appointed therapy session.
Let's lay a foundation. My past accomplishments include backing out of the garage while the garage door is still closed, pulling out of the driveway too close to the side of the garage and ripping off the side mirror of my husband's car, and a few months after my patient husband (he's only patient with me. I throw that in because those of you who know him are arguing aloud- "Pshah! Clint? Patient? Hahaha!!" and I want the focus on ME right now. This is MY self appointed therapy session!)
A few months after my "patient with only me" husband got the side mirror fixed, I pulled out of the driveway too close to the garage and ripped off the new side mirror. While my daughter collapsed to the car floor in a fit of laughter, the hubby came running out into the garage. His jaw hit the garage floor and his hands dropped to his knees. Just like this picture! :0)
After several minutes of cursing and pacing he composed himself, walked over to me and put on his nicest, "I still love you only God knows why" face and said:
"Honey, I don't mean to be a dick, but I don't know where else to park." followed by "I pull over as far as I can on the driveway so you have plenty of room." Followed by "I guess I could park across the street at the pool." Followed by. "I think I'll just get a bus pass."
This man is still married to me. He still tells me he loves me and he still lets me drive. I must be fantastically delightful in other ways because I just drove my son home from school and backed into our driveway like I always do. My son got out of the car to go inside.
I pressed the garage door opener and the door didn't go up.
I pushed it again. "Stupid thing, ugh!"
I pushed it again, hard. "Is it out of batteries??" Push, push grrrr!!
My son walked over to my window. I rolled it down. "Mom, you're in the wrong driveway." He turned and headed for the house next door where the garage door lifted and lowered with grace and ease. Up and down with me sitting in the neighbor's driveway cursing my door opener.
I try and comfort myself with thoughts like "I have way too much on my mind at all times." But then I read over posts like this and think "You're really going to share this with the public?"
I don't know why God short changed me. I don't believe it is fair. I don't believe my husband believes it is fair. But I'm pretty sure the reason my husband has no patience for anyone else is because he uses more than God could possibly provide him to manage living with me.
Honey, You're a magnificent creature. One day I promise to buy you a shiny new truck. One with all the bells and whistles. One that I will never drive and one that will have it's own designated parking spot in Nepal.
We theorized, (well, I have theorized) on earlier posts that I'm brainless so my mind can wander and make good books for you people to read. But sometimes I don't think that's a good enough excuse, especially when my stupidity costs lots of money or kills someone. The twin sibling has theorized it is because we shared an egg. Therefore we share a brain. We each only get half, and this theory does hold water in that she is as dumb as I am. And when you put us both in the same room together, any lingering intelligence cancels out entirely and everyone within a twenty mile radius should run for their lives.
Now the reason I am rambling on about this is because I just committed another "I am too dumb to live moment" and telling you about it is quicker and cheaper than going to a therapist. Let's establish the topic... "CARS".
The twin and I should never be allowed to drive. Whoever licensed us down at Motor Vehicles either wasn't paying
attention or was too traumatized by the thought of issuing a retest.
Once behind the wheel of a car we are sure to cause damage. Although the twin has some stellar auto related disasters that truly rival my own, I will only alarm you with mine today. This is, after all, MY self appointed therapy session.
Let's lay a foundation. My past accomplishments include backing out of the garage while the garage door is still closed, pulling out of the driveway too close to the side of the garage and ripping off the side mirror of my husband's car, and a few months after my patient husband (he's only patient with me. I throw that in because those of you who know him are arguing aloud- "Pshah! Clint? Patient? Hahaha!!" and I want the focus on ME right now. This is MY self appointed therapy session!)
A few months after my "patient with only me" husband got the side mirror fixed, I pulled out of the driveway too close to the garage and ripped off the new side mirror. While my daughter collapsed to the car floor in a fit of laughter, the hubby came running out into the garage. His jaw hit the garage floor and his hands dropped to his knees. Just like this picture! :0)
After several minutes of cursing and pacing he composed himself, walked over to me and put on his nicest, "I still love you only God knows why" face and said:
"Honey, I don't mean to be a dick, but I don't know where else to park." followed by "I pull over as far as I can on the driveway so you have plenty of room." Followed by "I guess I could park across the street at the pool." Followed by. "I think I'll just get a bus pass."
This man is still married to me. He still tells me he loves me and he still lets me drive. I must be fantastically delightful in other ways because I just drove my son home from school and backed into our driveway like I always do. My son got out of the car to go inside.
I pressed the garage door opener and the door didn't go up.
I pushed it again. "Stupid thing, ugh!"
I pushed it again, hard. "Is it out of batteries??" Push, push grrrr!!
My son walked over to my window. I rolled it down. "Mom, you're in the wrong driveway." He turned and headed for the house next door where the garage door lifted and lowered with grace and ease. Up and down with me sitting in the neighbor's driveway cursing my door opener.
I try and comfort myself with thoughts like "I have way too much on my mind at all times." But then I read over posts like this and think "You're really going to share this with the public?"
I don't know why God short changed me. I don't believe it is fair. I don't believe my husband believes it is fair. But I'm pretty sure the reason my husband has no patience for anyone else is because he uses more than God could possibly provide him to manage living with me.
Honey, You're a magnificent creature. One day I promise to buy you a shiny new truck. One with all the bells and whistles. One that I will never drive and one that will have it's own designated parking spot in Nepal.
November 13, 2013
DECEMBER BLOG TOUR
SHINE is going on tour again next month! Gather round, groupies! Get your lighters ready!
If you are a blogger and want to join, the sign up link is below.
https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1LGhFW_kzPpmJHve8Y44OU9C1DPsf8Qj-ahFW_QVLS2o/viewform
If you are a blogger and want to join, the sign up link is below.
https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1LGhFW_kzPpmJHve8Y44OU9C1DPsf8Qj-ahFW_QVLS2o/viewform
November 1, 2013
Halloween Fails, NaNoWriMo and Meghan's costume.
First of all I would like to say that I find it very convenient that NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) happens the day after bowls of chocolate have moved in to my house. My NaNo survival kit usually consists of Chocolate and other stimulating sources of caffeine and consolation. I will however continue to gripe that NaNo being in November is a horrible idea...holidays begin, and I am the one cooking Thanksgiving dinner...(Who didn't think of this before setting a start date?? Helloooo...January!!)
There. Enough said. Hope your Halloween was awesome. I love Halloween and begin decorating for it in August. If you think I'm lying ask anyone who knows me. If you think I'm insane, you're brilliant. I am. But this year I failed to do Halloween the way I usually do. Am I just getting old? Am I losing my "kick"? Let us examine my 2013 Halloween fails...
Halloween Fail Numero Uno:
My usual partner in crime is the twin sibling with whom I cause bewildering amounts of damage. We construct our brilliant plans and the hubby agrees to sit home and wait for the "one phone call" criminals are allowed to make from jail. Every Halloween we attempt to find a way to break in to the condemned haunted old paper mill at the mouth of the canyon. Wouldn't you?? Look at it!
To date we have not been successful. We have overcome obstacles such as acquiring witnesses, high chain-link fences covered with no trespassing signs and a variety of wildlife and insects that probably inhabit the structure. We have made it onto the grounds. But we have failed to make it inside. The windows aren't boarded shut, they are metal-sheeted shut. Who does that? (the smart owner preventing highly determined middle aged twin mothers from breaking in. Damn.) This year, having relocated back to Florida, I told her to break in for us in my absence with instruction to drag our younger brother along in my place who is happy to leave his office and help.
Halloween Fail Zwei:
Having secured the Halloween traditions on the other side of the country, Selena, my Florida Halloween sidekick, and partner in crime) did our annual round of the neighborhood on her golf cart.
In the words of H.I. Mcdunnough: "What? are you kiddin' me?? We got ourselves a family here!" ...wait...rewind..."What? are you kiddin' me??"
...that's the only part I needed...moving on.
What? Are you kiddin' me? You can cover ten neighborhoods if your coverin' 'em on a golf cart! One bag of candy? Ha! Try three or four! Our little costumed slaves do all the running and collecting and we follow along on our cart of horrors blasting scary tunes or Michael Jackson or even "Super Freak" by Rick James. Don't ask...Selena' fault.
ANYHOO we planned to decorate her golf cart for trick or treating, a regular traveling Halloween show akin to a parade float of horrors, had we succeeded. But we ended up not having time to decorate which turned out to be a good thing because it was later decorated with costumed children...several...enough to eventually burn the engine out and kill our fabulous transport. Her husband was not amused.
Halloween Failure (and my personal favorite) Number Tres:
Once we contained said golf cart debacle, the hubby, son and I returned home where Meghan (daughter) was at our house getting ready for Imaginary Joe's birthday party. (Imaginary Joe? Refer to earlier posts). She called from my bathroom, running late and anxiety ridden:
"Mom, I need your help."
I sprang from the couch to find her wrapping and unwrapping herself in fragments of striped material. It started out as a full sheet of striped material, but numerous unsuccessful alterations reduced it to said strips in an attempt to create the image she had in her mind. Pirate costume.
"Here," she said. "I need this to go here like this."
I gawked at the complex project before me and became scared. Meghan is much smarter than I am. I know that up in that head of hers SHE knew what she wanted. But no way is she ever going to convey this to me. I grab some scissors and a smile. "Okay..." cut, clip, shave..."Do you want this here like that? We can tack it to your bra..."
"What's tack?"
"Just a little stitch to hold it in place while you figure out how you want it to be. You can remove it."
"Yeah, okay."
As she continued giving instruction I continued to panic. Tacks became double stitches, which became full lines of triple stitching.
"Mom, what's goin' on back there?"
"Nothing. I'm tacking." At this point Meghan is sewn into her costume. (I fight inappropriate laughter as I realize- being the disturbed mother that I am- that if birthday boyfriend wants some birthday lovin' he's never going to get past this costume to get it.)
"What?" she asks. "Why are you laughing? Does it look that bad??"
"Now I'm really laughing. Like tears streaming down the face laughing. Meghan turns around glancing over her shoulder at her newly fashioned chastity costume.
"What is- mom! Why is this stuck? Why am I stuck everywhere? I need to move it- how am I going to- am I ever going to be able to get out of this costume?"
As she reached, grabbed and tore at various parts of her prison suit I laughed so hard I couldn't speak. I tried to help free her, and I did but it's hard to cut minuscule "super stitching" and miss bra straps and locks of hair in the process when your vision is blurred from laughter tears. Only the good Lord above knows why she asked me to help her.
She looked stunning when she finally left, wearing an entirely different costume that I had nothing to do with.
Three Halloween fails. I don't fail at Halloween. I succeed. Superbly. Always. Perhaps the moon is off. Maybe our current house was constructed over an ancient tribal burial ground and Halloween has forever been hexed. Well...it's a good thing this isn't our permanent address. I can't have that. These fails can never happen again. From this year forward paper mills will be conquered, golf carts will be decorated without Rick James, and Meghan...well...sewing you into your costume is the most entertaining thing I've ever done and I'm thrilled to repeat it every year for the rest of my life.
There. Enough said. Hope your Halloween was awesome. I love Halloween and begin decorating for it in August. If you think I'm lying ask anyone who knows me. If you think I'm insane, you're brilliant. I am. But this year I failed to do Halloween the way I usually do. Am I just getting old? Am I losing my "kick"? Let us examine my 2013 Halloween fails...
Halloween Fail Numero Uno:
My usual partner in crime is the twin sibling with whom I cause bewildering amounts of damage. We construct our brilliant plans and the hubby agrees to sit home and wait for the "one phone call" criminals are allowed to make from jail. Every Halloween we attempt to find a way to break in to the condemned haunted old paper mill at the mouth of the canyon. Wouldn't you?? Look at it!
To date we have not been successful. We have overcome obstacles such as acquiring witnesses, high chain-link fences covered with no trespassing signs and a variety of wildlife and insects that probably inhabit the structure. We have made it onto the grounds. But we have failed to make it inside. The windows aren't boarded shut, they are metal-sheeted shut. Who does that? (the smart owner preventing highly determined middle aged twin mothers from breaking in. Damn.) This year, having relocated back to Florida, I told her to break in for us in my absence with instruction to drag our younger brother along in my place who is happy to leave his office and help.
Halloween Fail Zwei:
Having secured the Halloween traditions on the other side of the country, Selena, my Florida Halloween sidekick, and partner in crime) did our annual round of the neighborhood on her golf cart.
In the words of H.I. Mcdunnough: "What? are you kiddin' me?? We got ourselves a family here!" ...wait...rewind..."What? are you kiddin' me??"
...that's the only part I needed...moving on.
What? Are you kiddin' me? You can cover ten neighborhoods if your coverin' 'em on a golf cart! One bag of candy? Ha! Try three or four! Our little costumed slaves do all the running and collecting and we follow along on our cart of horrors blasting scary tunes or Michael Jackson or even "Super Freak" by Rick James. Don't ask...Selena' fault.
ANYHOO we planned to decorate her golf cart for trick or treating, a regular traveling Halloween show akin to a parade float of horrors, had we succeeded. But we ended up not having time to decorate which turned out to be a good thing because it was later decorated with costumed children...several...enough to eventually burn the engine out and kill our fabulous transport. Her husband was not amused.
Halloween Failure (and my personal favorite) Number Tres:
Once we contained said golf cart debacle, the hubby, son and I returned home where Meghan (daughter) was at our house getting ready for Imaginary Joe's birthday party. (Imaginary Joe? Refer to earlier posts). She called from my bathroom, running late and anxiety ridden:
"Mom, I need your help."
I sprang from the couch to find her wrapping and unwrapping herself in fragments of striped material. It started out as a full sheet of striped material, but numerous unsuccessful alterations reduced it to said strips in an attempt to create the image she had in her mind. Pirate costume.
"Here," she said. "I need this to go here like this."
I gawked at the complex project before me and became scared. Meghan is much smarter than I am. I know that up in that head of hers SHE knew what she wanted. But no way is she ever going to convey this to me. I grab some scissors and a smile. "Okay..." cut, clip, shave..."Do you want this here like that? We can tack it to your bra..."
"What's tack?"
"Just a little stitch to hold it in place while you figure out how you want it to be. You can remove it."
"Yeah, okay."
As she continued giving instruction I continued to panic. Tacks became double stitches, which became full lines of triple stitching.
"Mom, what's goin' on back there?"
"Nothing. I'm tacking." At this point Meghan is sewn into her costume. (I fight inappropriate laughter as I realize- being the disturbed mother that I am- that if birthday boyfriend wants some birthday lovin' he's never going to get past this costume to get it.)
"What?" she asks. "Why are you laughing? Does it look that bad??"
"Now I'm really laughing. Like tears streaming down the face laughing. Meghan turns around glancing over her shoulder at her newly fashioned chastity costume.
"What is- mom! Why is this stuck? Why am I stuck everywhere? I need to move it- how am I going to- am I ever going to be able to get out of this costume?"
As she reached, grabbed and tore at various parts of her prison suit I laughed so hard I couldn't speak. I tried to help free her, and I did but it's hard to cut minuscule "super stitching" and miss bra straps and locks of hair in the process when your vision is blurred from laughter tears. Only the good Lord above knows why she asked me to help her.
She looked stunning when she finally left, wearing an entirely different costume that I had nothing to do with.
Three Halloween fails. I don't fail at Halloween. I succeed. Superbly. Always. Perhaps the moon is off. Maybe our current house was constructed over an ancient tribal burial ground and Halloween has forever been hexed. Well...it's a good thing this isn't our permanent address. I can't have that. These fails can never happen again. From this year forward paper mills will be conquered, golf carts will be decorated without Rick James, and Meghan...well...sewing you into your costume is the most entertaining thing I've ever done and I'm thrilled to repeat it every year for the rest of my life.
October 22, 2013
I Am Going to Hell. Or at the Very Least My Husband Will Be Fired.
I don't even know where to start with this post. There are just so many good choices. Hmm...here's one: Never invite a writer to a small town southern wedding. How about that?
As I relay this story I will use fake names and made up locations to lessen the chances of my husband coming home jobless. My husband, Placido Domingo and I went down to Sugar Beet Florida this past weekend to attend a wedding. A colleague of his invited us, a truly nice man with a darling new bride. They are not the material for this post.
As we arrived I looked out the window and realized we had entered Natchitoches, Louisianna, more commonly known as the "Steel Magnolias" set. A quaint setting lay before us. A little white church sat a midst green pastures sheltered under Magnolia trees. A trailer and a pony sat off to one side, triggering the hubby's smart-alec ways..."I'm not sure why there's a pony. I mean, I don't really know the theme of the wedding but..."
I just gazed at the charming old chapel. It was right out of a postcard...made of wood, had a bell tower, it was probably a few hundred years old and I gripped the hubby's hand for dear life as I ascended the treacherous wavy wooden steps to the door in pink stiletto heels. I was not successful.
Smashing the hubby's hand like modeling clay, I smoothly reclaimed my balance and waltzed inside. I felt like we had gone back in time to...well, Sherwood Forest. It looked like the church from the Disney version of Robin Hood. I began a search for Sir Hiss when Friar Tuck came out onto the stage. I looked up and said (probably out loud, knowing me), "Oh look! Its Friar Tuck!". The Hubby isn't a Disney fan so he didn't comment, or more likely, he just didn't care.
When the preacher began to speak, an English accent fell out. At that point I nearly leaped from my seat to shout, "It really IS Friar Tuck!" To the hubby's great relief, one thing kept me in my seat...I listened more closely and realized he was Australian.
I apologize to both countries. BUT I digress.
Before any of that started we sat waiting for the ceremony to begin and I began taking in the guests. One woman sat down in front of us wearing a brightly colored, sparkly laminated peacock and another young woman wore a Pink, taffeta birthday cake with a Jacket that looked like a purple scrunchy. Some of the men simply wore jeans and a polo shirt- a large variety of small town southern charm. As I gazed about at the fabulous styles I realized the little old guy at the piano was playing Jeffery Osborne's "On the Wings of Love".
I turned to the hubby. "On the Wings of Love."
He cocked his head, lips pursed. "Yep."
In the 1200's English chapel with Friar tuck at the pulpit I just couldn't make it work. I wondered if we might have some Barry Manilow next...and I did listen. No Barry.
It was at this point the wedding party filtered in and little piano guy started to play "Here Comes the Bride". But there was no bride.
I turned to the hubby. "These women aren't the bride."
He shook his head and shrugged. As the non-brides strolled down the Isle to "Here Comes The Bride" a young father in the pews attempted to stop his one year old baby from squawking by covering his whole face with his hand...which didn't anger the baby and he didn't cry harder.
I was about to really feel bothered by the whole "Here Comes the Bride" faux pas when the real bride showed up and the Chapel nearly shook to the ground because piano guy kicked in the Dracula organ pipes to play it.
Despite the macabre background music, Nosferatu did not appear. A cute southern bride floated in, arm in arm with dad- a tall southern gentleman with an equally tall curly grey mullet. As hubby turned to me biting his face off, I wondered if that could ever be topped until Friar Tuck began the ceremony by preaching about the atrocity of gay people.
Actual quotes: "As you know it was Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve. Some people today need to be reminded of this."
Hubby turned to me. "Did he really just say that?" I'm pretty sure I was too shocked to answer, until he pulled out a magazine and held it up- a car commercial with a lovely blonde woman sitting in the passenger seat, hair blowing in the wind. He read the top of the page. "You'll notice it says 'Made for Mankind'."
It all just went downhill from there. Not that it started from the top of the hill. I don't really know where it started.
He said "The wedding party will be standing throughout, so I'll make it brief." I'm sure what he meant to say was "The wedding party will be standing throughout, so I'll jabber on about gays, hell-fire and the submissiveness of women in cars for five hours until the ladies in heels can no longer use their feet."
We were all relieved when we were allowed to leave. But he stayed through the reception to make sure we were all sufficiently judged.
I love small towns. I really do. I love wrap around porches, and even the people in all their misguided clothing were so charming and friendly. But you know...many a Stephen King novel will find setting in a small town (Silver Bullet anyone?) and we did leave wondering...was the preacher with the bride, the groom, or Stephen?
As I relay this story I will use fake names and made up locations to lessen the chances of my husband coming home jobless. My husband, Placido Domingo and I went down to Sugar Beet Florida this past weekend to attend a wedding. A colleague of his invited us, a truly nice man with a darling new bride. They are not the material for this post.
As we arrived I looked out the window and realized we had entered Natchitoches, Louisianna, more commonly known as the "Steel Magnolias" set. A quaint setting lay before us. A little white church sat a midst green pastures sheltered under Magnolia trees. A trailer and a pony sat off to one side, triggering the hubby's smart-alec ways..."I'm not sure why there's a pony. I mean, I don't really know the theme of the wedding but..."
I just gazed at the charming old chapel. It was right out of a postcard...made of wood, had a bell tower, it was probably a few hundred years old and I gripped the hubby's hand for dear life as I ascended the treacherous wavy wooden steps to the door in pink stiletto heels. I was not successful.
Smashing the hubby's hand like modeling clay, I smoothly reclaimed my balance and waltzed inside. I felt like we had gone back in time to...well, Sherwood Forest. It looked like the church from the Disney version of Robin Hood. I began a search for Sir Hiss when Friar Tuck came out onto the stage. I looked up and said (probably out loud, knowing me), "Oh look! Its Friar Tuck!". The Hubby isn't a Disney fan so he didn't comment, or more likely, he just didn't care.
When the preacher began to speak, an English accent fell out. At that point I nearly leaped from my seat to shout, "It really IS Friar Tuck!" To the hubby's great relief, one thing kept me in my seat...I listened more closely and realized he was Australian.
I apologize to both countries. BUT I digress.
Before any of that started we sat waiting for the ceremony to begin and I began taking in the guests. One woman sat down in front of us wearing a brightly colored, sparkly laminated peacock and another young woman wore a Pink, taffeta birthday cake with a Jacket that looked like a purple scrunchy. Some of the men simply wore jeans and a polo shirt- a large variety of small town southern charm. As I gazed about at the fabulous styles I realized the little old guy at the piano was playing Jeffery Osborne's "On the Wings of Love".
I turned to the hubby. "On the Wings of Love."
He cocked his head, lips pursed. "Yep."
In the 1200's English chapel with Friar tuck at the pulpit I just couldn't make it work. I wondered if we might have some Barry Manilow next...and I did listen. No Barry.
It was at this point the wedding party filtered in and little piano guy started to play "Here Comes the Bride". But there was no bride.
I turned to the hubby. "These women aren't the bride."
He shook his head and shrugged. As the non-brides strolled down the Isle to "Here Comes The Bride" a young father in the pews attempted to stop his one year old baby from squawking by covering his whole face with his hand...which didn't anger the baby and he didn't cry harder.
I was about to really feel bothered by the whole "Here Comes the Bride" faux pas when the real bride showed up and the Chapel nearly shook to the ground because piano guy kicked in the Dracula organ pipes to play it.
Despite the macabre background music, Nosferatu did not appear. A cute southern bride floated in, arm in arm with dad- a tall southern gentleman with an equally tall curly grey mullet. As hubby turned to me biting his face off, I wondered if that could ever be topped until Friar Tuck began the ceremony by preaching about the atrocity of gay people.
Actual quotes: "As you know it was Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve. Some people today need to be reminded of this."
Hubby turned to me. "Did he really just say that?" I'm pretty sure I was too shocked to answer, until he pulled out a magazine and held it up- a car commercial with a lovely blonde woman sitting in the passenger seat, hair blowing in the wind. He read the top of the page. "You'll notice it says 'Made for Mankind'."
It all just went downhill from there. Not that it started from the top of the hill. I don't really know where it started.
He said "The wedding party will be standing throughout, so I'll make it brief." I'm sure what he meant to say was "The wedding party will be standing throughout, so I'll jabber on about gays, hell-fire and the submissiveness of women in cars for five hours until the ladies in heels can no longer use their feet."
We were all relieved when we were allowed to leave. But he stayed through the reception to make sure we were all sufficiently judged.
I love small towns. I really do. I love wrap around porches, and even the people in all their misguided clothing were so charming and friendly. But you know...many a Stephen King novel will find setting in a small town (Silver Bullet anyone?) and we did leave wondering...was the preacher with the bride, the groom, or Stephen?
