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Oh my ew.

We recently acquired a dog. Kids just let the dog in. Neighbor calls.

Dog was chewing on something in the backyard. I assume it was a rawhide bone. Neighbor (whose own dog has brought her bloody rabbits and whatnot in the past) said no, it was something brown.

Something brown.

Not the words i wanted to hear about anything unless it is chocolate.

I went out to see what it could be. Didn't have to look for long. At the foot of the stairs I found it.

Still not sure what it is.

It had bones and a tail, and skin that looked leathery- whatever it was had been dead so long that it no longer had a stink.

Ew.

That is all.

A doggie joined our family last week. His name is Rags. He's only five months old, but he's big, and hasn't quite mastered things like stairs, or stopping on the linoleum...



Today we introduced him to Frosty Paws, which is ice cream for dogs made by Purina. Kinda funny, the local grocery store stocks it with the people ice cream...



My son fed him a cup of the stuff outside in the shade this morning-- it was already over 90 degrees.



This afternoon I let Rags out to do his business and instead of doing that, he ran to the spot where my son had fed him, sat, and then looked at me as if to say "HEY LADY! I'm waiting for my Frosty Paws!!"


He looked quite miffed that I didn't rush over to serve him. He must think he's a cat.

My seven-year old asked me tonight if he could come into the computer room and work on the story he’s writing if he wakes up earlier than I do. He’d rather do that than watch TV or play video games.

He loves cooked carrots too.

Why- if you are an adult male who feels the need to speak with horribly profane language- would you choose a Friendly's Restaurant in which to dine for lunch?


Today my children did some chores for someone and got paid for it, so they wanted to spend their earnings having lunch at Friendly's. No problem.


The staff greeted us cheerfully, sat is right away, and served us in an efficient manner.


But just as we got our beverages, two men in dress pants and button-up shirts were seated nearby. I knew we were in trouble when the louder loudmouth said, "Whoa! Seating us way down in the honey spot!"


I know. Makes no real sense if you read it too often. But it was what he said and the TONE he used. He may as well have been slobbering as he said it.


Lunch went on and I really wasn't paying any attention to them, but every little while, profane words would drift over from their table. Don’t get me wrong- I have no problem with freedom of speech and all that, but I didn’t come to a KID restaurant to hear some boor yakking at the top of his lungs about this sh*t, and f*ck this person, and he's an a**.


I don't think, if you are in a restaurant that is family-oriented, that you should roll in there using those words. At the very least, they could have been more discreet.


To add to the annoyance, the waiter, who could not have been nicer or faster, got treated like crap by them. Well- let me be clear- there were two men, but only ONE of them was loud enough to broadcast his poor home training to the whole room. The other, while present and obviously had no problem with it, was not audible. Loudy told the waiter his food was sh*t, and sent it back. When the waiter brought him a replacement, instead of being polite, Loudy growled out more rudeness at the working man.


I am not the sort to walk over and tell Loudy to shut up, and my Mom Looks (if you knew my mom, you'd know the face- it involves an eyebrow, lots of guilt, and small lips) only caused Loudy to leer. So I dealt with the situation the way I could: I thanked the waiter for his wonderful treatment of us, congratulated him on tolerating the creeps, and tipped him way too much.


I believe in Karma, so I have to hope Loudy gets his somehow. In fact, I take comfort in it.

Wow. I am having a good week. I learned last night that another novel of mine has been picked up by a publisher for a 2008 publication date.



SO all week i have been waiting... just WAITING for someone to ask me that same question they ALWAYS ask... "So how's the writing going?" or "Sold anything else?"



Normally those questions make me cringe, because as any writer knows, it's all about waiting. And waiting. And waiting some more. And normal people don't understand that. They think bing-bam-boom, you write something, it gets bought, you go to Disneyworld.



It doesn't happen like that.


But this week it sure feels like it!

Now that I have the contract in my hands, I don't feel like I will jinx anything if I announce... I've sold a second book!



My paranormal romantic suspense, RETURN TO ME (formerly titled THE KELPIE'S CURSE) is now under contract!



As soon as I have a publication date, i will post it.



Yay!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My daughter came in this evening and said she was all stuffy and sneezing, and could she have something for the nose.

I explained that her allergies were acting up, because of the pollen, and probably mold outside blowing around.

Her: Mold blows around?

Me: ...I think so. I've seen mold get puffy when it's been around a while (outside) and if you blow it, the spores make a cloud in the air.

Her: Mold has spores?

(I felt confident in saying that until she asked. After all, she's the one studying plants right now)
Me: As far as I know. I mean... it's been a while since I've had botany...

Her: You can BUY mold?

...(me thinking)


...(still me thinking)


Me: ............... BOTANY. BOTANY. Study of plants.



Sheesh.

I ran in the Whistlestart 5K today. I was expecting “flat”, but there were a few hills. Not too bad, but not my best run. In fact the first half mile or so I thought I was going to throw up. No idea why. Never had that sensation at the START of a race before.

Then, I found my mind drifting on the return leg of the race. I recalled running track in high school. I wish I knew where my track coach was today. I’d have to thank her. When my mind wandered I suddenly heard Ms. T’s voice in my head yelling: “Come on, Berlin! Show me some kick!” It snapped my focus back.

Ms. T was the best gym teacher we had at CHS. She was the only one who ever did the exercises with us. The others would order us around and watch, but Ms. T never asked anyone to do anything she couldn’t do twice as well, twice as fast.

During track season, she’d load us all up on a school bus, drive us to Bear Creek Lake State Park, and give us one hour to run through the woods back to school. I don’t know how far that was, but I loved it. Maybe that’s why I like trail runs so much better than streets.

If you made it back to school in under an hour you were done. If you took longer, you had to run laps. I hated laps. Still do. I loathe running in circles.

Sometimes she’d have us run a route that took us in, out, and around the school campus. Part of it took us into the main building and up the stairs, back down the stairs. Ugh! I hated those stairs. Even today, when I find myself on a particularly strenuous set of stairs, I think, “If Ms. T were here she’d make us run these.”

That was twenty years ago. And a year or so ago when I was told by the man who loves me that my rear was getting too wide, I knew I didn’t have time or inclination to join a gym. But I had to do something. Now, when I see pictures of myself from back then, I shudder. I am so mortified that I let myself get that heavy.

I had to solve the problem, and the one thing I thought I could do was run. No equipment to buy, no joining fee, no transportation needed. So after the kids would go to bed, I’d get out there and run. I ran after dark, partly so that the kids would be sleeping, but mostly because I was ashamed to let anyone see me run. Too much jiggling and shaking in all the wrong places.

I’d run blind in the dark, looking up at Orion in the sky, and praying to just get myself back. The me who was there a long time ago. The me who didn’t wear a size 14/16.

I knew I could run. Ms. T made me believe that a long time ago.

I might not be the best runner. I might not be the thinnest runner. But I will finish. Every time. Because if I don’t, I know Ms. T will find me and make me run laps.

Thanks, Kempy T.Wherever you are.

While standing for two hours in the cold on a Friday night outside of a grocery store as the adult supervising a group of kids selling cookies, I found that there is a phenomenon before now unrealized:



Every man who entered the grocery store alone came out with beer.


If two men entered: no beer. A man and a woman: no beer. Women of any group or size: no beer.


I'm not sure yet what it all means, but rest assured, it definitely means I was bored enough to notice.