Category: Smashed Potatoes

Sighs… My work here is done.  I just instigated a snowfight with three complete strangers walking down my street.

We raked a massive pile of leaves this past fall into the front yard for my spring mulching project.  With the snowstorms, it’s a huge mound of soft, wet leaves under about two feet of snow.  Three guys, about 20-25, walking in the road, were busting on each other.

I called out to them, explaining the mounds in my front yard.  My suggestion was rewarded with a scooby-doo chase, all up and down the road, into sidewalks, and a couple of body slams into the banks built up around the driveways.  Snow got down into the victim’s boot, so I kindly suggested that he empty it down the perpetrator’s pants.

What fun!  Lots of laughter, from all sides, and yet another chase with the trailing guy plop-clomping at breakneck speeds, holding his boot and chasing his buddy down.  Not sure where they went after, but I could hear even more laughter echoing from a block away.

I seem to remember a similar experience I had, personally, years ago, that was mid-summer and involved mud.  Lots of it.

LOL.

Have an awesome!

Since I was going through photos this week, I decided to look for some others that I know brought happiness to my eyes.  I have a couple of pictures of me, four to be exact, where I am carefree and happy.  One, my favorite of them, is me wrestling with Mom over a roll of toilet paper.  It’s fuzzy, slightly out of focus, but every time I look at it, I can remember her laugh and the snickers I felt beaming out of me.

She had a love of the outdoors.  Of gardening.

The first picture is of a clematis I grew at my old house.  It was stunning and grew over five feet high.  The second is the giant purple iris I planted for her at our current home.  After she passed, even though I don’t really like the color yellow, I brought that mug to work because it was her favorite.  I kept that photo as my graphic for a very long time, so that every time I saw it, I would think of her and her love of being outside in the sunshine, sitting on her chaise lounge in her big floppy hat and reading a book.

   

Flowers became painful for me a long time ago.  But before they did, I used to work in a flower shop.  I gardened or had plants every place I’ve ever lived.  I did, however, have to give them up at one point.  Mostly, and I have to laugh about this, because my cat Tomtom didn’t know they weren’t a litter box.  My poor spider plants didn’t know what hit them.  LOL!

This week while grocery shopping, I saw these beautiful mini-carns, peaking out and decided, for the first time in years, to bring them back into my home.  They sit, simply arranged, in three vases on my tv stand, between my candles and Mom’s favorite Buda statue.  (Which I keep for both Mom and Tomtom.  We used to call him Buda-belly.)

While this may seem soft and gentle, it isn’t.  This is me bringing the crazy and happy back in, overriding what flowers became as a control device.

Memories of grass whistles, climbing up trees, jumping over or scaling large rocks to identify herbs and flora in the treelines, hiking naked through thick pine trails, waking up in the sunshine on a hillside, walking barefoot through creekbeds, chopping firewood for what seemed like hours, tossing chestnut hulls into flames and watching them light up like a city skyline, getting stuck in blackberry bushes, running outside to play tag in a thunderstorm, going outside the cabin in the middle of a snowstorm so I could take a shower as there was no plumbing indoors.  I remember bonfires, and partying in the blueberry fields in A-P-W, and bouncing at house parties of friends.  I remember the field and bird ID books Mom always brought on road trips and singing oh so off key with my mother and sister.  We’d just get up on a Saturday and pick a direction and go, telling outrageous jokes and exploring the world around us, being in it, with no purpose other than to enjoy.

I see these sturdy, delicate flowers and know they are dichotomous.  That as they bloom, the heads will flourish and fill with color.  The petals are so soft, the stems strong, and they are one of the longest lasting cut flowers.

I think, this weekend, I will pack a picnic lunch and go to my favorite local beach, sit on the benches, and watch snow fly over the ice.  I haven’t done that in so long…

Just had a moment.

It’s been a whirlwind week for me.  A birth (yay, Jana!  So glad Pheonix is in the world) and a death (Sorry, Bill and Shannon, for your loss).  Lots of personal stress.

I do think people come in and out of a person’s life for a “reason.”  Sometimes, to help us grow and build.  Sometimes, to teach us a lesson.  I am reminded of a saying- “Education is what you get when you don’t get what you want.”

Earlier this week, amidst these things that we can not control that shape who we are, I’ve been dealing with past events.  The ones I don’t want to think about anymore and say that I don’t.  Ones that I am partially responsible for.  The ones I am trying to make not matter.  I struggle because these events helped shape me and what I believe in.  They matter a great deal.

Someone who is sort of like me but doesn’t know me personally all that well said- “doesn’t ___ know that they are exhausting you?”

She could see it in my face.  My tone.  My outlook.

I wrote my letters.  Did the “work” to get that crap out so I could either decide what to do or to let go.

In one, I said, “See these pictures?  See the same dead look in my eyes from 25 years ago?  I can’t fake being tired anymore.  I can’t fake putting on a smile when I don’t feel it.  Not anymore.”

By the time I was done, I came back to the same thoughts and feelings I had years ago.  And years ago.  And years ago.  At the end, I wrote:  “While that isn’t your responsibility, I can never go back to living that way for anyone.  Not even someone I consider to be _____.  The only way I get me back is to live it. …  LIVE it.  Because the person I “used” to be would ____.”

The other:  “You cut me down, repeatedly.  I give to you.  Be some part of stable and normal for you.  And you give to others and come back at me for not giving enough, not caring enough, while you continue to take from me and expect that I will keep giving.  Does it ever fully connect in your brain that I don’t give to others as much so that you have what you need, while I still try to take care of myself?”

I wound up not sending either, to either person they belong to, because it’s time for me to walk out of the classroom, even though I know this will bring back more cutting remarks about how apathetic someone else views me to be.  I can’t control the world.  I can control my part in it.

After I wrote those letters, I realized that, even though the action of writing them helps me figure out my messes, it IS banging my head against a wall.  The very thing I keep bitching about.  I looked at the pictures I had put in.  I looked at me.  And I saw the same exhaustion that someone else does and recognizes for what it is.

That was the gift someone gave me this week.

After those letters, I felt better.  Came back to me.  I’m still drained but instead of focusing on the crap, I got back to working on Velod’s Caravan and doing the editing I need in order to get the game out.  I felt wonderful.  Like I had shed years of bluck.

And this morning, as I’ve been sitting down to work, those thoughts of bitterness started creeping back in.  I stepped out of the house and ran an errand.  On the way back, one of my neighbors approached to speak with me.

Her message was clear.  While her belief system is not my own, I do believe there are people and moments and places that help keep us on the right track if we would only listen.  This morning was one of them:  Keep my chin up.  Not every day will be like this.  You may have been here before, but this is the opportunity to change.  It’s time to walk out of the classroom.  Time to stop beating my head against the wall.  If I am going to seek fun and laughter, then seek it.  Don’t bother stopping or traveling those twisted pretzel rabbit holes.  LIVE.

I am uplifted.  By two people I barely know who can see and stopped me to say- “hey, go in that direction instead.”  Same message someone else who does know me has been saying:  “Stop.  Take two steps back on your own and go elsewhere.  Don’t be ashamed of what you feel.”  The same message I’ve given to others.  That gentle nudge.

I feel blessed by this.  By remaining open to this.

Serious.  Gentle.  But by the end of the day today, I will get back to me.  I will get back to fun and letting my passion fly.  It’s already started.  I’ve been dive-bombed twice by my Maine Coone, the music is on, and I have plans to watch Keeping Mum this evening.  Why bother banging my head against the wall if I have all that to look forward to?  All I have to do is leave the door open for amusement and I will find it.  And to do that, I am going to put on a favorite pair of funky socks that will let me slide across the wood floors to play a day-long game of chase and oops.

Have an awesome…

SWEET REVENGE!!!

Anyone who’s ever lived with a Maine Coon knows that they are… different.  I know not everyone out there’s a cat lover or an animal lover.  For me, living with animals is like breathing, and I don’t have a preference between cats and dogs.  I just happen to have cats.

I’ve had sweet ones, loving, aloof, lazy, and crazy.  Literally crazy, because of a slight chemical imbalance.  Most of them have stories like my own.  I’m used to being the emotional shelter for a neurotic, anxiety filled feline.

Maine Coons… they are… different.  How, I can’t exactly put my finger on.

My pillow nemesis, who, by the way, is not my princess cat, is one.  I don’t sleep very well with anything touching my face.  For my Maine Coon… this is his preferred place to be- on my face.  Which means anytime I wake up, which he is normally the cause of, his face is RIGHT THERE.

He does not deal well with his world being out of whack.  Which means- his toys, the food bowl, the water dish, the litter boxes.  Which means he wakes me up or basically throws a fit until there is a “correction.”  And I don’t mean the normal- hey, mom, the food is empty kind of unhappy.  It gets into fits of jealousy, especially when I’m on the phone, and he throws a temper tantrum.  But on the plus side, when mom died, he was right there.  All the time, warm and cuddly.  My constant companion.

Maine Coons are also incredibly talkative and my 18.5 pound beast is no exception.

Tonight, we are watching tv.  He is rolled on his back and I love it when he’s like this.  Loose, lax, sleepy.  Relaxed.

So my revenge, for waking me up starting at 5 AM, when I don’t have to be up until 6:15, is tapping him with my toe.

Think of a furry, cuddly version of the Pillsbury Dough Boy.  You know, poke him in the belly and he giggles.  Well, tap my Maine Coon and he mrrps.  Each and every time.

Tap.

Mrrp.

Tap.

Mrrp.

Well over a half hour of this.  Well over.  I have been cracking up, watching him, because his eyes stay relaxedly closed, but his belly squeezes to sound off.

Tap.

Mrrp.

Finally, after this half hour, he opens his eyes and gives me the look of death.  The same one I give him after he’s woken me up for the 17th time in a row.

As I said.  Sweet revenge.

It’s been “cheesy” movie night here.  I didn’t sleep well last night.  I’ve had a lot on my mind the past couple of months, and even though I’ve tried to stay positive, seek the positive, the part of me that’s been unhappy has been, well… unhappy.  I’ve been focusing on good things in my life and they’ve opened up.  Invitations from friends and a brand new tattoo that I’m really happy about.

I made a decision about seven weeks ago that I’m unsure is the right one for me.  We’ll see how it pans out.  I’m thinking it won’t.  That’s on my mind, too, but I’m trying to be patient with it.  With myself.

Back to my movie night.  Because I just had a movie moment, watching a movie.  A teenage rom.  Not something I would normally watch.  They tend to make me squirm.  Like fingernails on a chalk board.

I was in the mood for silly this evening, since I’m exhausted from not sleeping last night and the night before and what I’ve had on my mind.  The first one I picked had Miley Cirus in it as a detective at a sorority house.  This is the kind of movie I watch when I don’t want to take anything serious.

The second one I picked, well, I was expecting the same and got a surprise.  Instead of making me squirm, I felt good at the end of it.  Things didn’t go according to “plan” in it.  No awkward teenager whose always missed the baseball who nails the ball for a triple home run at the bottom of the ninth.  (Yes, I am aware I’ve used that analogy a bit lately.)

On some of the dating sites I’ve been on and conversations with my other ex years ago (which is a very long story) I always want to say that- “hey, at this point in our lives, most of us are retreads.  We have relationship damage.  All of us.”  One of the reasons I love stories so much.  They have common elements and we know we’re not alone.

What I loved about this second movie, even though it was about a first love sort of deal, it was “realistic” in the timing, what was going on, and endlessly classic.  That seamless aspect of movies and books that I love.  It didn’t matter, not really, that it was a couple of young people.  If it had involved a couple in their forties, it probably would have worked out almost the same.  Not once in the entire time did I think- how cheesy is that?  Not one squirm.  Not one… hmm… I enjoyed watching Notting Hill, too, but there were parts of it that were painful.  This one from tonight didn’t exactly have that sort of jolting, denial, walkaway, crushing disappointment.

I could feel the frustration over the disconnect.  Why.  Why each person felt it the way they did.  There wasn’t any attempt at funny miscommunication or slapstick.  It was a movie you could actually SEE happening and why and it made sense without being overly painfully embarrassing or forcing humor or guilt.

This is something I love being surprised by.  A lot of paranormal romance novels, and others, even though I know, personally, how hard it is to fit two characters together in an intimate scene, or into a bubble, there’s some sort of B movie element to them.  Every once in a while, I’m surprised by them.  A concept.  Or a specific line that is so… well, obvious or so well stated, that it changes what I think about my own life.

I remember my ex (the one I normally mention) and I having a conversation several times in the earlier and middle parts of our relationship, that we were both glad we weren’t out there, on the dating scene.  And I have to say, I think that’s probably one of the reasons we stayed together.  Not exactly healthy, but I remember the relief we both felt about it.

I remember, when we split, about… oh, four months after the fact, realizing that I’d probably be alone for the rest of my life.  It was one of the reasons I gave myself so much time.  Time to react and time to basically mourn the relationship.  I started coming out of it about a year ago.

Tonight, as I was watching this movie, I didn’t turn bitter.  Instead, it was like… “huh”.  I know there’s still parts of me that are that innocent.  I’ve said that, recently, too.  And it was part of one of those books that I don’t want to publish.

Right at the moment, this isn’t a realization that I still have the rest of my life available.  It isn’t a letting go of more bad memories.  It’s not a thunk to the head.  It’s not a ploy for living on hope again.  It’s not a point of getting off the mat again.

It’s a huh.  Never thought of it like that, and…

Without much after that “and.”

Last summer, I was so happy to be in my 40’s.  And, in a way, I still am.  I’ve been fluxuating between feeling like my life is over and feeling like I have all the freedom in the world.  I’ve been so exhausted by the drain of a bad, long term relationship and the death of my mom, and all the other “my past” stuff.

There’s been a handful of times in the past two months, I’ve woken up and realized, I’m not as tired as I used to be.  That I’ve actually woken up happy- really, fully happy.  Tonight, even though I’ve been exhausted again with some of the unhappy of the past handful of months, I don’t feel that at all.

I feel… “huh.”

And, I’m looking over my shoulders and down my arms, and seeing these tattoos and it’s all connected, somehow.  I’m seeing the tat I got for my fiance, Adrian, and the love I felt for him then.  I’m seeing the new tat I got, for a morning where I woke up after what could have been a very bad moment and wasn’t, and the love I feel for that set of 24 hours and the person involved with it.  I’m seeing the love of a motto I have and I feel this… wonder… at the world.  Not a glittery wonder.  A wonder that’s reminding me of walks in the woods when I was young, camping trips where I showered outside in the snow in the middle of the night, reading in the sun, or picking apples.  And I know, without doubt, that there are still places like that in my environment.  I just have to uncover them again, the same way I go after mischief and room ball and building snowmen on my neighbor’s car…

 

Awesome evening.  I’m sitting here, drooling over the shepard’s pie I’ll be making tomorrow.  So yum.  This is a dish I make about once a week.  Most of Christmas is packed up.  I hit my limit with tripping over the furniture that gets moved to make room for decorations.  But it means fully converting my house over to winter, which I absolutely adore doing.

Over my TV is what I call my “fireplace.”  A shelf where several candle sit, burning cheerfully, and I can turn off the electric.  I’ve moved stuff around this year during clean up and the hammock chair is going in the corner, right under the icicle lights I strung up on the wall, on a timer.  A soft brown throw and it’ll be an amazing curl up spot to read or edit.  One that my pretty princess can’t steal.

Aside from this, as I’ve said many times, my bed is the coziest spot in my house.  The overcomforter is one that’s been around for nearly twenty years and still is as soft as ever.  This space is what I have to fight with the cats about.  It’s usually amusing.

Part of my heart is always given over to knowing they are safe and happy.  Seeing the fear of an abused or neglected animal melt just about makes my day.  Any day.  Sometimes, when I approach the mattress, and I see one of those faces resting in complete peace… sigh.  That’s my moment of peace.  And those little buggers know it.

There’ll be a subtle digging in with the back feet.  Nestling down into the comforter and a deliberately relaxed, closed-eye “look,” where I’m basically being told- “hey, mom, sleepy here.  you wouldn’t wake a resting kitten, would you?”

Or, if you have a cat in your house, you know the pounce that happens when the sheets are “disturbed.”  I’ll get two of them that will deliberately sit on the same corner so I can’t lift anything.  Sometimes, they even do that when I’ve been asleep so I can’t get out of bed.  Little shits.

So while I also enjoyed going outside and playing with my snowblower tonight and watching shoots of glitter snow fly into the air, I have this peaceful, fun, joyous, gently bloop to look forward to, with the twinkle lights on the wall, and my candle fireplace going, and oh, yeah, more murder, death, and mayhem to plot out in my story lines.

Have fun, y’all!

Awesome new idea for a game came to me today.  I’ve been keeping Survival: Worms in the back of my head for a bit.  Needs work.  This one?  Survival: Chili.  A faster game than Survival: Heaps.  Still some sort of resource management, but it’s both cooperative and competitive at the same time.  Can’t wait to get started on it.

Survival:Heaps expansion packs will be out by March.  Still looking at packaging for them.

I’ve also gotten back to Plots and Drops, my role playing game.  Editing can be awful, especially since I keep coming up with new ideas.  I have to put them down on a side note for a new adventure.  That should be coming out by June.

Jana’s got some cool ideas for the cover of Ash.  Sorry it’s a bit late coming out.  After Ash, I’ll be putting together the final edits for LampLight and Sheep in Wolf’s Clothing.  Super excited to get both my other series and the book that started it all out.

One of the best things Jana’s done for me so far is drawing a picture of Moe.  (Haven Point series.)  I swear, it could be a photograph.  It’s hanging on my wall, with the two book covers she’s done so far for Novo: Ridge Lake, behind my desk.  All I have to do is turn around and see this rottweiler that I dreamed up years ago, almost come to life.  I’ve decided to incorporate it into LampLight as a photo that Jaimie keeps in her wallet.

Why am I putting all this down?

After the past couple of months, I need something to look forward to.  With all the hard work I’ve put into these, watching my series come to life is life to me.  Outside of my pets.

I will probably mention this, oh, about a thousand times in these posts…  The memory of when I hit “publish” on my first novel.  I was shaking.  Angry about being alone when I did it.  I was frustrated with the people in my life not being around for it, having to fit what was so important to me into someone else’s schedule when I’ve been made to wait for most of my life.  While that’s a negative, I want you to understand where I was, in my head.  The moment I finally had everything down the right way…  yes, I was shaking.  Nervous.  While my anxiety/anticipation is sometimes high, it’s rarely THAT high.  This crowning spot in time where I had DONE IT.  All the nay-saying was futile.  All the work was done.  All the doubt crashed on my head and went away.  And then…  someone did something absolutely wonderful for me.

I don’t cry very often.  I celebrate even less.  But that night… it’s as clear as a bell in my head.  I was exhausted but I didn’t stop grinning for a week.

I can tell you exactly when Beth started to become real.  (It wasn’t the first book I had planned on publishing.)  It was when Jana handed over the finished cover art.  Before I digitized the graphic and added in the title and all that other stuff.  It was about two weeks before I published.  I remember standing at her counter and I couldn’t contain the joy.  For the first time in my life, I felt like I was holding on to a live wire.  In a good way.  Not fried out, like I get from dealing with the crap life shoots out.  Good.  Happy.  I drove home, in the winter, much like it is now, 13 months ago, and I can tell you I sang at the top of my lungs all the way, for an hour and a half.

Those two moments, seeing the finished cover and hitting the publish button, opened me up inside.  My past, all of it, was completely dimmed by this excited, jittering happiness and led me to open up other parts of myself.  So much that I was able to let someone in and find parts of me that I thought were gone forever.

I got the same thing when I showed my sister the completed prototype for Survival:Heaps.

I hope I never lose those feelings.

Seeing the cover for Ash will be huge for me.  It was the easiest book, so far, for me to write.  Jana’s been very patient with me and my ideas and very tolerant of the changes.  But she came up with such a cool concept when mine didn’t work out so well.  I can’t wait to see it.  Especially since I wrote the original dedication for this one three years ago to someone I can’t thank enough for the kindness they showed me.  I added to it, this year, for another, because I honestly don’t know where I would be without those two people entering my life.  I honestly don’t.

So while I’m saying this so close to the new year, it isn’t a resolution.  It’s my joy coming out, knowing that, very shortly, I will have another one of those moments.  A slew of them, for the past five years of hard work and not giving up.

Bless you all.  Have an awesome day.