More Bliss

Update to THE LIAR'S DIARY/American Cancer Society challenge: If you are new to this thread, read the post below, A Double Shot of Patry and A Hit of Bliss.

As of this moment, THE LIAR'S DIARY is the #350 in overall sales at Amazon.com--that's all books: non-fiction, children's books, genre fiction, the whole rainforest of books. In the Mystery & Thriller/Psychological & Suspence category, it is NUMBER ONE.

Six of my blog readers bought the book, or are intending to buy the book, which brings my donation to the American Cancer Society to $60.

The challenge runs through Valentine's Day.

A Double Shot of Patry and a Hit of Bliss

Patry Francis woke me up last November with her blog post called Two Ounces of Bliss. In her quiet and gracious way, Patry revealed that she has an aggressive form of cancer and is undergoing treatment. I admit, the last thing I thought of was bliss.

Cancer stole my sister at the age of 29 and defeated a team of doctors treating my mother four years ago. I've lost several other family members and friends to this ancient enemy and the news that Patry was suffering put another shadow on the horizon. Cancer is a biological terrorist that plays no favorites, makes no promises, and can't be trusted.

I met Patry through Backspace, an online writer's community and followed her journey from waitress to published novelist. I met Patry in person at last year’s Backspace convention in New York, then later in the summer I wrote a short review of her novel THE LIAR’S DIARY in my post, “Books I Read On Vacation.” It was a small review, but the book and its author left a deep impression. Let me tell you why Patry is so special to me.

We are both former waitresses. I moved away from my parent’s home and to the beach one month before my 19th birthday and supported myself waitressing at a coffee shop called Jojo’s. I dropped in and out of college during my waitressing years, always searching for some way to party and study, work and play, live and exist. I met the most wonderful people working at restaurants, including Candy, my former roommate and lifelong friend. Candy met her husband, Howie in a restaurant, and like Patry and her husband Ted, has been married for more than 25 years.

There were times, though, when I thought I’d never get free of waitressing. I struggled to stay in college while supporting myself. I knew I wanted to be a writer and always felt I had stories inside me. People confided in me while I waited on them. A man and a woman who were married to other people always asked for my station because they knew I was discreet. I was the messenger of a marriage proposal on the patio of Orange Hill Restaurant, the most romantic overlook in all of Orange County. A Hindu Indian family always asked for me because I gave them cheerful service although they always ordered cheese enchiladas, the cheapest thing on the menu and the only vegetarian entrée.

I took a job as an intern for a magazine called CCM and left waitressing behind forever. But like they say about the Marines, I found it to be “Once a waitress, always a waitress.” I connected with Patry about waitressing and found amusement and inspiration in her blog Simply Wait.

The paperback release of THE LIAR’S DIARY, comes out today. Books don't sell themselves. Most authors do a tremendous amount of travel, book readings and signings, and just about any kind of promotion to help readers find their books. While Patry is recouperating and healing, a group of more than 300 writers and bloggers are joining together to promote on her behalf.

We want Patry’s book to fly off the brick and mortar shelves, we want Amazon, Powells, and the online sites to run through their stock. We want a second and third print run. We want today to be Patry Francis day. But most of all, we want Patry to be well.

If you'd like to see a complete list of blogs posting for Patry today, visit LitPark. You can hear an audio clip of THE LIAR'S DIARY courtesy of Brilliance audio, and a smart video trailer of the book.

I began this post with a diatribe against cancer. Now I’ll end it with a challenge: I will donate $10 to the American Cancer Society in Patry’s honor for every one of my regular readers who buys THE LIAR’S DIARY. To participate, leave a comment here with your intention, then email me a copy of your sales receipt. The challenge will continue through Valentine’s Day, when I will post the amount we’ve collected in the Ovations fight against cancer.

Update: Penguin Group, publisher of THE LIAR'S DIARY is offering a 15% discount if you order direct from them. To receive the discount, type PATRY in the code field. Here's the link.

Now for those two ounces of bliss.

Water For Elephants, Hay For Horses

If you've been reading Ovations for any length of time, you know I am an animal lover. I live in an area of Southern California known as Horsetown USA. My next door neighbor has horses who I visit every day. I would have a horse, except for the maintence it takes to care for them well. Some people have this gift. My gorgeous neighbor across the street looks like she could live on Wisteria Lane, but she'd rather be scraping her horse's hooves than cohorting with desperate housewives.

Recently two horse rescue organizations have come to my attention that have gripped my heart. My friend Carol sent me an email from a horse rescue organization in Maryland called HorseNet Horse Rescue that is in dire need of ongoing funding. On the same day a writer friend of mine, Sara Gruen, author of the bestselling WATER FOR ELEPHANTS and two other novels with equestrian themes, posted a note in our writer's group about the plight of horses in the drought-stricken South.

This is what Sara posted at our writer's group:

The Southern states suffered a drought this year that devastated pasture and created a severe hay shortage. Horses are starving--even people who can afford the vastly increased cost of hay ($2.50/bale, now up to $12/bale) are having trouble finding it.

Emaciated horses are being set loose on backroads, in National parks, and even left abandoned in trailers in parking lots. The horse rescues that are taking them in are suffering from the same lack of hay and are desperate to feed these animals. I and two other horsey/writerly types (another novelist and a screenwriter), and a really wonderful vet have created a hay fund. We personally financed the first load, and a big rig with 945 bales of compressed hay is on its way to Tennessee at this very moment and will arrive on Saturday. A high school class has volunteered to unload for us at the other end.

We're trying desperately to put together another couple of loads to send to other states as soon as possible. Come spring, if we get rain, some of the
pasture will come back, but right now, in wintertime, there is absolutely
nothing for these horses to eat. If you can help, please do! We are four people
working with laptops and telephones, so every cent you donate will go to hay and transport. We have no overhead (other than the fee that PayPal and the credit card companies charge). We are a 501c3, so all donations are tax deductible.

I believe we have a human obligation to care for animals--particularly those that depend on humans to live. If you agree, will you consider donating to these two wonderful organizations.

For emergency feed to starving horses in the South: The Hay Fund operated by Fairfield Equine, and spearheaded by Sara Gruen; Beth Helms, author of the soon-to-be released novel DERVISHES, and screenwriter, Dana Katselas.

To setup an automated monthly pledge or give a one-time-donation: HorseNet Horse Rescue of Maryland.

Your heart will thank you.

What do you notice?

LitPark has an interview with Dan Passamaneck about observation. I found his remarks so true to the core that you'll just have to read them at LitPark.

After you've read Dan's Five five reasons why it's important to notice what's going on around you, leave a list of five things you noticed today (or yesterday) and then come back here and copy your list.

Faces of Beauty: Women in Art

This is one of the most brilliant digital compositions I've yet to behold. It was created by a digital artist who calls himself eggman913. After checking deeper into his YouTube profile, I discovered he has quite an impressive digital portfolio there. If you don't see the video box below, just wait for a moment; it should load momentarily.



Thanks to my friend Shari, who first posted this in Facebook, I've crawled out of my blogging cave to share it with you. Enjoy!

I have been buried with work the last few weeks and haven't had a moment to spare. Here's wishing all of you a happy, healthy, holiday and a great two-thousand and eight.

RIP: Princess Jasmine 1995-2007

Had our neighbors been peeking into our yard tonight they may have thought BassMan and I were up to no good.

Earlier in the day BassMan dug a hole. A large one.

This morning, Princess Jasmine Amedea Leroyce Bass, our 12-year-old collie, who's been ailing for several days, let us know today would be her last. We made her comfortable on her sleeping pad, massaged and petted her, nestled and nurtured her. She drifted to sleep and by nightfall she was gone.

So there we were, patio torch blazing over the hole dug and ready, laying deep our Princess in the waning moon. Should the sheriff come a'knocking we'll have a story to tell. It begins here.

Princess was the most gentle of dogs, as smart as Lassie, and loyal to the end. We got Princess from a man whose aging breeding pair of collies produced a surprise litter of two pups. The first pup died, but Princess survived. Her mother wasn't able to produce milk, so the owner bottle-fed Princess. The owner was getting on in years himself and didn't have the energy to keep a collie puppy around, but he didn't want to see Princess on the dog market. When Princess was four-months-old, he advertized for a special family to adopt her, listing criteria that would have made the Ellen DeGeneres rescue center proud. We passed the test and this generous man gave Princess to us. His only charge: that we love and care for her.

Several things come to mind when I remember Princess. It was tradition for our kids to name the pets. On the way to our interview with Princess's breeding owner, we discussed what we would name her. Elisabeth (then eight) and Jonathan (then six) were unanimous that she should be called Princess. In tribute to one of their favorite Disney princesses, they insisted she be Princess Jasmine. On top of that, they insisted on each of their middle names tagged on. She would be Princess Jasmine Amedea Leroyce Bass. Divine synchronicity would have it that ever since the day she was born her owner had been calling her Princess.

We live in a region I call "wind alley." When Santa Ana winds blow in from the high desert we are usually hit with a double blast. Several times through the years the wind would pick up while we were gone and I'd drive up to find the gate blown wide open. The first time this happened, I panicked at the thought of Princess running away in the wind. I jumped from the van and ran through the backyard calling for her. She was nowhere. I rushed back to the front and began looking up and down the street. Elisabeth and Jonathan called me from the front porch. My heart broke wide open to see Princess laying unruffled on our front doorstep awaiting our return.

This year we sent our youngest child to college 1,500 miles away. Our oldest is planning for grad school in NY and London. We did this only a few months ago and here we are at the pet cemetary again. Life changes, we change, but love grows.

BassMan and I are going to plant an avocado tree over Princess.

In the Tent of Revision

It's November. National Novel Writing Month. If you've been reading Ovations for more than a year, then you'll remember that I wrote the first 50k of THE SWORD SWALLOWER'S DAUGHTER last year during NaNoWriMo. Several well-wishing friends have emailed recently asking me about the status of last year's NaNoWriMo novel.

I finished the SFD (Shi**y First Draft) last May, set it aside for a month, then went back in to close holes, flesh-out characters, and clean up sentences. A couple of very trusted readers have given me some fabulous insights that I'm now working into the manuscript.

I'm not playing NaNoWriMo this year. Instead, I've dedicated the month of November to finishing the revision and getting this baby ready for the big top.

Oh yeah, the graphic at right is a mock-up I created last year using a photo of my dad (who really was a sword swallower) and a photo of me with my mom and sisters. Of course, I must finish and get the book published first, but should the book be made into film (most every novelist's dream) I'd love Johnny Depp to play the father. What do you think?

Meet Buck

It's official. We have a new dog. We weren't looking for a new dog, nor an old one. It turns out our new dog isn't exactly new. He's been used. Used badly. Someone abused him.

I met Buck at my neighborhood Bark Park, where I take Tank to play almost every day. I arrived to see what looked like a yellow labrador puppy cowering outside the park gates. No collar. He scooted off when we approached. Once inside the park, I asked several of the people inside if they knew anything about the dog. Everyone was concerned about him.

Once Tank was happily chasing someone else's tennis ball, I approached the dog. He skittered away, his tail between his legs. Upon closer view, I could tell he wasn't a puppy, but an adult male, probably a beagle and lab mix. He wouldn't come to me, which is rare, because I can usually get the most timid of dogs (and cats) to trust me. Back inside the park, all of us dog companions discussed what to do. No one wanted to leave him at the park, as temperatures were expected to drop overnight. I decided to take him home and see if we could find his owners.

BassMan came out to the park with his truck and with much wooing with food and a steady hand, was able to load him into the cab. We put Buck in our backyard and brought our 12-year-old collie, Princess, inside along with Tank. Once we had him at home, it became clear to me by his behavior that he'd been abused. A sudden move would send him cowering away, hiding under the patio table or the BBQ grill. I gave him a jerky treat that he looked at like it was poison. As soon as I stepped back into the house, he devoured the jerky treat. We fed him. He ate. By the end of the night he was letting me pet him, looking up at me with sad brown eyes that broke my heart. He slept in the doghouse that Tank never uses and the next morning met me at the door with his tail wagging.

I called the shelter to report him, then put signs up at the two local pet stores, the vet offices in the area, and around the bark park. Two people called me, but their descriptions didn't match Buck. By the third day BassMan and I were in love with the little guy. We knew we couldn't take him to the shelter if no one called for him, and began hoping no one would.

By the second week, he'd come out of his timidness, but still lurches if someone moves too suddenly around him. I kicked the tennis ball one day when he was nearby and he ran with his tail cowed so fast, you would have thought I'd kicked him. These are sure signs he'd been abused.

When no one claimed him by the second week, we took him to our vet and had him scanned for a microchip. Nothing. That's when we decided to make a claim on him. We had him immunized, given a physical, chipped, and... neutered. He's all ours now. Buck is already house-trained, sleeps on a pillow on my side of the bed, and snores. Have you ever heard a dog snore?

Report from the California Firelines

Like much of the nation my eyes and heart have been following the story of the California wildfires. My home is not in a high-risk fire zone, but as a lifelong Californian, I know many whose homes were. I know several firefighters as well and have tried to keep in touch with them and their families during this time.

While flames threatened his own neighborhood, my friend Monte Umsted spent nearly a week on the firelines in San Diego. After he returned, Monte, an engineer for Poway Fire Department, sent me the following letter and pictures. I asked him for permission to post it here for my friends around the world to see. Click on any of the photos to enlarge the shot.

~*~

I arrived home today after spending a week assigned to the "Harris" fire, which was the first one to start. That fire was about a forty-five minute drive just to get to the area, so suffice to say it got a good head start.

To all of you who either called or e-mailed us, a big thanks for thinking of us during this rather interesting week. For those who inquired about [my wife] and the kids, while they were a bit concerned about the possible need to evacuate, fortunately they were able to stay put. Their experience wasn't all that different than the Cedar Fire that went through the southeast part of town four years ago. This time, they were better prepared to "pull the hook" in case things went sour.

The "Witch" fire (labeled after the Witch Creek area east of here where it started) made its way through north Poway, which is considered the "high rent" district, but still resulted in the loss of nearly one hundred homes. After it tore through Poway, it proceeded towards the north San Diego sub-community of Rancho Bernardo, where at least three hundred homes were lost, including the home of [my daughter's] soccer coach (and a La Mesa firefighter).

It was a bit troublesome for me, being that I was well involved on my fire, not knowing what was happening back at home, or even if I was going to have one left. In all, there were eight fires burning at one time or another in San Diego County alone.

There were a few scary moments during the first day [at the "Harris" fire], including hearing the cries for help from the fire crew that was overrun by fire, sending all four to the burn unit. My moments came when we were overrun by fire trying to keep it from jumping the road (suuuure... stop 50 mile per hour flames from jumping across a one-lane road. During the Cedar fire, a ten lane freeway wasn't even enough!); the other moment came while we were defending a house and the wind shifted 90-degrees, hammering me and my engine with fire... melted a few things, but we survived it okay.

The thing that started to really concern us had to do with the size and scope of the number of fires in the area. Every time requests for resources were made, they were siphoned off for other incidents. This not only involved the re-direction of fire engines, air tankers, helicopters, etc. but vital essentials such as food and water, too.

The morning of the third day was kind of a "okay, time out here" mentality, for we had gotten to the point where we were dividing up our remaining bottles of water, and whatever food we could scrounge between everyone's "out of county" bags. Fortunately, our strike team leader went to a small country store to get us food and water, not an easy tasks with all that was going on. That, and having only a couple of hours sleep here and there didn't help much, either.

After the first few days, things started to simmer down some, but still had flare-ups here and there. Friday night was interesting, seeing where additional help was coming from: Seattle, Washington.... New Mexico... Sedona, Arizona.... Reno, Nevada... Idaho... even a contingent of Bomberos from Tijuana! Loooong drive for some. Come to find out, my neighbor across the street was involved in coordinating helicopter operations on one part of the fire (heard ya on the radio the other day, Matt!).

But today was the best day, for it was determined that our strike team wasn't needed anymore, so we were processed out. After taking a quick lap with my crew through north Poway and spending a couple of hours cleaning the fire engine, I showered up and came home to a family that was happy to see me, some homemade cards from two little girls for their Daddy, a boy who was eager to see some of the pictures I was able to take and a wife who was glad that she could pawn off the kids to someone else! :-)

Attached are some pictures I managed to take during my "trip". One of them shows that you just never know you you might meet out on the fireline!

How about sending Monte and the firefighters of California a note of encouragement or thanks. Simply click the COMMENTS link below.

Breath & Shadow Update

Remember this post from last May? Thanks to many of you who sponsored me in the Breath & Shadow write-a-thon, you can take an advance peek at my novel in progress in this month's edition of Breath & Shadow.

The write-a-thon was a great success for Breath & Shadow, bringing in much-needed funds to operate this monthly literary website. Breath & Shadow is the only literary magazine written, edited, and published by people with disabilities.

Descent into Mordor?

Yesterday as my daughter and I drove westbound on I-10 through the Banning Pass, I snapped this camera phone picture of the smoke from the many fires burning through California. My daughter's comment: "It looks like we're descending into Mordor."

What do you think?



















Oh yeah, those are windmills. But not the Don Quixote kind.

Maid of the Year

Irony is this. I attended the Motivation Show in Chicago and stayed at the the City Centre Hotel. I didn't want to carry around a large wad of cash and the hotel didn't have a room safe. I decided the cash was safer on my person than left in my room. I pulled the cash from my purse and rushed out to catch the shuttle bus to the convention center.

At the end of a tiring day, I took a taxi back to the hotel and went to pay the driver, only to discover my wad was missing. I had just enough cash to pay and tip the driver, then fled to my room, my mind running every scenario I could think of for where I may have lost--or had stolen--the cash. By the time I reached the 19th floor, I realized I couldn't remember where I'd placed the cash to begin with. Dread hit me as I rushed to my room, fearing the cash I'd taken out of my purse--which I clearly remember--would be gone with the Chicago wind.

I looked on the ironing board, not there. I checked the desk, nope. I sat on the bed to look around the room, wondering where I might have laid the bills when I looked down and saw lying right below the pillow, blending into the green coverlet, the stack of twenties. I counted them out: $260 just as I remembered.

I don't think you need me to spell out the irony. I called housekeeping to find out who'd taken care of my room that day and connected with Sylvia the housekeeping manager. She was eager to help and before I could complete the thank you letter I was writing to the maid, Sylvia knocked on my door with sweet Herminia. Herminia blushed when she read the note and saw the tip I'd stuck in the envelope. She blushed again when I asked if I could take her picture for my blog. If there were a Hotel Maid of the Year contest, I would nominate Herminia.

Fluffing Up the Empty Nest

Two weeks ago we drove our youngest child, Jonathan, to college in Kansas. Our oldest, Elisabeth, returned to her campus last week. We are now, officially, empty nesters.

The week Elisabeth returned to school, my friend Amy had a baby. In a congratulatory email I wrote her this:

I want one. Well... maybe not. I had one once, no, I had two. They never last. You get all used to them snuggly and cuddly and everything about them is wonderful. They have a terrible habit of growing, though. When they grow they change, and every stage is as fun and fabulous as the one before. They never stop the growing part. The body stops growing so fast, but their insides get bigger and bigger until their eyes can’t contain it all. Before long your house isn’t big enough for them and their gigantic world view. They leave the nest and take all the love you gave them in their memory. They return, but they’re not yours anymore. That’s when you realize they were never yours to begin with.

Amy's journey as a mother is just beginning, while mine is taking a new path. Mothers and fathers never stop being parents, but the new path marks changes in the parent/child relationship. I noticed the first time my daughter came home from college for the summer that she was so much more independent, confident, self-motivated. Our relationship changed. She is still my daughter, but she's also my friend.

Jonathan went to college much further away than his sister did. I keep up with him through phone calls and emails. I can already sense the maturity coming upon him. He won't be home until Christmas and I'm already counting the days. But until then, I'm enjoying the peace and quiet of my empty nest.

Books I Read on Vacation

I’ve been composing this post in my head since returning from vacation to a billion business emails, a SITE-SoCal meeting, and getting my son ready for his send-off to college on Monday. This year’s vacation awarded me ample time for reading and here’s a peek at what I enjoyed most:

EVERY CROOKED POT, by Renee Rosen. Most people have scars from childhood and adolescence, but hide them inside the people they grow up to be. Renee Rosen’s character, Nina, takes us on a wacky, witty, and wonderful ride through the 1960s and 1970s in search of a fix for a disfiguring birthmark over her eye. Nina is sympathetic without being maudlin and humorous without being absurd. A colorful cast of characters, led by her clarinet-playing, carpet-baron Daddy, make EVERY CROOKED POT one of my favorite books of the year.

HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS, by J.K. Rowling. I spent a full day immersed in the magical world of J.K. Rowling, devouring this final tome in the Harry Potter series. The series ended without any big surprises, revealing the true natures of several key characters. Most rewarding was seeing the awkward orphan of book one become what Professor Dumbledore calls, “...you wonderful boy. You brave, brave man.”

THE LIAR’S DIARY, by Patry Francis. Patry weaves a stunning tale of loyalty and betrayal, confidence and deceit, love and murder. The story grabbed me early on, but the vivid, haunting characters jumped from the pages into the community around me. THE LIAR’S DIARY kept me guessing with sadness through every chapter, then concluded with a twist I never saw coming.

POSSIBLE SIDE EFFECTS, by Augusten Burroughs. Anyone who enjoyed Augusten’s memoir, RUNNING WITH SCISSORS, will get a kick out of this new collection of essays. Augusten writes about his quirks, oddities, and sensibilities with swashes of brilliant color and blinding insight. I am compelled to call his writing “Van Gogh with words.” Augusten’s brother, John Elder Robison (LOOK ME IN THE EYE), gave me this book at BEA and signed it, “the big brother.”

ALEX AND THE IRONIC GENTLEMAN, by Adrienne Kress. I confess, I probably wouldn’t have read this middle-grade adventure tale if not written by my Backspace friend, Adrienne. What I found between the charming cover and the final page is an adorable heroine, Alex , tomboy with a love for adventure. Throw in a nutty crew of adversaries and compatriots, a quest for pirate’s treasure, and you have a terrific children’s story. Adrienne’s writing style is particularly keen for reading aloud.

PROMISE NOT TO TELL, by Jennifer McMahon. Imagine growing up in a commune in Vermont during the 1970s. That is a story in itself, no? Jennifer deftly reflects between her character’s unconventional upbringing and the person she became after she moved away. The night Kate Cypher returns to the commune to make arrangements for the care of her mother diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, a young girl is ritualistically murdered in the same manner as the unsolved murder of Kate’s best friend thirty years earlier. PROMISE NOT TO TELL is a spooky tale of avenging spirits and redemptive love.

What good books have you read this summer? Click the blue comments link below.

Chesapeake Bay: July 2007

I didn’t think it was possible to be so blissed-out that I couldn’t write. Chesapeake Bay did that to me.

Three years ago we stayed at the Chesapeake Beach Resort & Spa and fell in love with Chesapeake Bay. When BassMan’s parents requested only a low-key family gathering for their 50th anniversary, both BassMan and I thought of taking them to Chesapeake Bay. I searched the internet for the perfect location and found a gorgeous weekly rental house on a private beach in Port Republic, Maryland. This glorious bayfront house owned by Greg and Alicia Yowell was like a private Ritz-Carlton villa in a secluded section of paradise. I rose every morning to watch the sunrise over the bay.

My first morning, however, was framed by the release of the final book in the Harry Potter series. Having been a fan of the Boy-Who-Lived since his first adventure in HARRY POTTER AND THE SORCERER’S STONE, I had already done my internet research to find the nearest store where I could buy HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS. I spent my first full day in Chesapeake lying on the sofa in the sunroom, a bayside breeze catching the pages as I turned them with record speed.

I took breaks to visit with BassMan’s parents, his sister, her husband, and their two young children. BassMan grilled delicious beer-can chicken, Elisabeth and Jonathan played with their little cousins in the bay, the senior Basses sat on the deck watching the kids play, and I read until midnight. Rising with the sun again the next day, I finished the final tome by eight, just about the time the rest of the house began to stir.

Port Republic, Maryland is only about an hour east of Washington, DC, but it might as well be on the other side of the world when considering its seclusion. I could fill several blog pages about our stay in Chesapeake Bay, but I don't want to be one of those boring neighbors telling vacation stories. Here are just a few of the highest highlights:

• Viewing bald eagles soaring over Chesapeake Bay, swooping down to catch a fish and carry it wiggling in its claws all the way back to its nest in the cliffside trees.

• Finding three giant Chesapecten jeffersonius scallop fossils during my daily shore walks.

• Watching two elegant cownose rays gliding through the clear morning water as gracefully as the eagles soaring above.

• Enjoying crabcakes and other seafood delights at local eateries.

• Discovering what it is about the ocean that I love so much. That will require a blog post of its own. Maybe later.

Click here to view my Chesapeake Bay photo gallery.

Experienced Only Need Apply

My first published short story is up at The Rose & Thorn e-zine. Check it out here: Experienced Only Need Apply and let me know what you think.

Five Days in Orlando

There’s heat and then there’s Florida heat. Hailing from the West Coast, where I’ve sweated out triple digits at Anaheim’s Disneyland, I thought I could handle Orlando’s theme parks in the summer. After all, I’d lived in Japan and toured Tokyo’s Magic Kingdom in horribly humid July. Boy was I wrong. California’s heat is like a dry rock sauna, but Florida’s heat is like a steam sauna.

We arrived at the Doubletree Castle in Orlando, where we enjoyed a roomy junior suite. The hotel’s location on International Drive made it easy for BassMan to hop on the shuttle to the Convention Center where he was attending the Airborne Law Enforcement Association Conference and Expo. That location also allowed easy transport via the hotel shuttle to the Disney parks and Universal.

Before I yak about our theme park adventures, I have to shout out congratulations to my son, Jonathan. The ALEA gives out a handful of scholarships annually and Jonathan won a $1500 award sponsored by MD Helicopters. ALEA presented Jonathan the scholarship at the organization’s annual membership meeting. Pictured here is Dale Christman, Law Enforcement Sales Manager at MD Helicopters, presenting the scholarship to Jonathan. Special thanks for the photo to Jack Sykes, Art Director/Chief Photographer for Professional Pilot Magazine.

Disney’s Magic Kingdom was our first stop. This is where I learned how much I’d forgotten about heated humidity. Halfway through the day I was ready to score some magic to disappear from the Magic Kingdom. Highlight of our visit was the spectacular thunder and lightning storm that passed directly overhead while we were about to ride Splash Mountain. Thunder exploded overhead, echoing through the labyrinthine ride queues and shaking the fiberglass mountain like an earthquake. The light and sound show was more exciting than the ride. Can you tell it’s been way too long since we Californians had seen a storm like this?

Epcot was interesting, but now that I’ve been there, I can’t say it was worth the exhorbitant entry fees. One thing Disney got right at Epcot was putting the attraction lines inside huge biospheric buildings with air conditioning.

Jonathan was sick the day Elisabeth and I went to Universal’s Islands of Adventure. This meant I had to go the next day with him. The last time I’d ridden a roller coaster with Jonathan was when he was eight, barely tall enough to have snuck past the height line at the Desperado coaster at Buffalo Bill’s Casino near the stateline at Primm, Nevada. BassMan held on so tightly to Jonathan on Desperado, we had to pry his fingers off Jonathan’s arm when the ride was done.

Eighteen-year-old Jonathan is old enough to have gone to Universal and conquered any ride by himself, but how fun is that? When you’re a tourist in a town 3,000 miles from home, trekking around a theme park with your mom is better than going by yourself. I guess. I rode all the big coasters and other amusements all over again with Jonathan. Surprisingly, this Mama’s still got the curve when it comes to coasters.

Our Pet Cemetery Grows By One

In the wayback of our half-acre yard we have a substantial pet cemetery. The ground was consecrated only a few weeks after we moved in when our fluffy white rabbit, Snowball, didn’t make the transition from his comfy cage inside the air conditioned house to his custom-built hutch on the side of our yard. In the years since, we’ve buried Lady, a four-month-old German shepherd mix who drowned in a freak accident in our spa (and I mean freak accident); an amazing alligator lizard with a tail 12-inches long who couldn’t adapt to life in a reptile habitat inside the house (the only thing my kids learned from this was that outside critters live best outside); my gorgeous rooster who strutted and crowed like a prizefighter; two sister cats we’d had since they were kittens (Funny Face and Mariah); and my beloved Bichon Frise, Handsome, a rescue dog who became my shadow and dearest companion.

Yesterday we had to put down our beloved, 18-year-old cat, Neesa, mother of Funny Face and Mariah. Anyone who has loved a pet can understand the waves of grief and sadness we felt yesterday and will continue to feel in the days ahead.

Neesa has been a part of our family since we lived in Orange County immediately after returning from our years in Japan. Like the best cats, Neesa, adopted us. She came to us in a family way and gave birth to six kittens in the attic of our house. Only days after her litter was born, good mother Neesa, found an opportunity to move her litter to upscale digs inside the house. Here’s what happened.

My daughter, Elisabeth, only three years old at the time, had a cradle full of stuffed animals on the floor of her room. The two kids and I had just returned from a large grocery shopping trip and I’d parked my van inside the garage and left the door into the kitchen wide open while I shuffled bags of groceries from the van inside the house. The phone rang, so I paused my unloading, leaving the door open. A moment later I saw Neesa run through the kitchen and disappear into the back of the house. Back in 1991 I didn’t have a cordless phone, so I stayed yakking into my wired handset in the kitchen. A moment later Neesa ran back into the garage and I didn’t give it another thought until I saw her run back in. This time I noticed a tiny black kitten hanging by the nape of the neck from Neesa’s mouth. I put the phone down and followed her.

Neesa, in her motherly way, had taken the open door opportunity to move her kittens, one at a time, from the attic space to a comfy spot inside the house. She dropped the little black darling right into Elisabeth’s stuffed animal sanctuary where the little mewers blended right in.

Smitten with this little example of animal instinct, the kids and I watched as Neesa moved all of her kittens into Elisabeth’s room and nestled in among the stuffed animals to nurse. I moved some of Elisabeth’s special stuffies from the new kitty nursery and we let Neesa and her litter stay there until it was time to find homes for the kitties.

Elisabeth gave Funny Face her name because she had a black dot next to her nose that made her look, well, funny. The three all-black male kittens we gave away to friends. My sister, Robin, took Mariah for her daughter Darah. After Robin found she was deathly allergic to cats, we took Mariah back and kept her until her death about a year ago at age 16. Funny Face preceded Mariah, passing peacefully at the age of 13.

We weren’t exactly sure how old Neesa was, as she was fully grown when she adopted us. When we had her spayed right after she weaned her litter, the vet said she was young, probably about a year old. This makes her about the same age as my son, Jonathan.

Neesa has been a part of our family for so long that Elisabeth and Jonathan don’t remember life without her. She’s buried now in the pet cemetery where her two daughters lay.

The photo above shows (l-r) Neesa and Mariah posing on their thones in front of our house in early 2005. RIP: Neesa, Funny Face, and Mariah.

If you've ever lost a beloved pet, feel free to share a memory here. Simply click the blue COMMENTS link below.

Celebrate Freedom

The USA is mired in some sticky gunk right now, but it's my home. What a better way to say Happy Birthday America than with fireworks over Disneyland. Disneyland fireworks shoot in the distance in my novel, THE SWORD SWALLOWER'S DAUGHTER, also.

I took this shot at Disneyland's 50th Anniversary Happiest Homecoming on Earth celebration on May 5, 2005. If you're a Disney fan, you can read my post about the occasion in the May 2005 Archives.