Earth to Thoeba: Bailey's Books and Cool news

Earth to Thoeba: Bailey's Books and Cool news:  I recently wrote a blog about what's new in my my life. I managed to forget an extremely important element. I don't know why. Maybe...

Bailey's Books and Cool news

 I recently wrote a blog about what's new in my my life. I managed to forget an extremely important element. I don't know why. Maybe I got so wound up my memory burst. 

I met Lisa Bailey at Sherlock Holmes, a pub in West Edmonton Mall. I was a prep cook/ dishwasher and she was a server. We got along well, and bonded over our love for our cats and books. She's a smart, beautiful, and genuine person with many talents.

Years passed, and Sherlock Holmes is no longer. Lisa now owns a bookstore in St. Albert, Alberta, (29b Rowland crescent) and she approached me on Facebook. She remembered that I was a writer and she would love to support me and my work. She wants to support local authors such as myself. 

Of course I'm grateful and delighted. But life was crazy and it didn't happen right away. My fault. I required a navigator, even just to get to the store. Lucky me, my bestie used to live in St. Albert. 

If you've never been to Bailey's Books, it's a delight. It's a book lover's dream. It is exactly the kind of bookstore you imagine in other books! 

It's wall to wall titles as you can well imagine. Tomes of age and importance, antiques, rarities and books you just want to own...comfy chairs and an impressive variety of bookends to purchase, everything. There's also a precious chihuahua named Parsley to visit there. She's a sweetheart! 

 If you LOVE books, you owe it to yourself to visit. You'll be back. 

Currently, 'Chasing Monsters' and 'Elaina's Fate' are available, with more titles soon to come. I've signed each copy as well with my uniquely atrocious handwriting and signature. 

Here's the best part--There's a loft with plenty of space and chairs for an event in the Fall! I'm going to get my first Author event! 

There are few details at this time, but Lisa and her father (He's awesome.) are willing to host and I think my bestie Melaida is even more excited about it than I am. I'm happy and scared. What do I do? Auughhh! I have to order more books! 

I don't know exactly when it's going to happen, but it will. I'm looking forward to meeting people and talking shop. Don't worry, I WILL post the details when I get them. 

In the meantime, I'll keep working and writing. I should mention that 'Bad Clown', my supposed 'short story' is about 35,000 words. I love it so much and I truly feel it will be the jewel of my short story collection. Wish me luck! 

In the meantime, check out Bailey's Books. I promise you'll love it. 

Update and Excerpt

     

     Hi! Long time no see! Don't worry no one died.  This won't be another death blog. 

     Now that things are leveling out, I thought I'd let my readers know I'm still here and I'm still working on my writing. 

     A lot changed after Mom passed. We moved my sister Jody here to the house, and it went well. She's getting her entire damage deposit back. How often does that happen? I'm also pretty pleased with UHaul for making the rental process easy and affordable. 

How's it working out? Quite well, actually. Jody is an excellent roommate. She's quiet and considerate. She's vegan and she doesn't drink or smoke. Therefore, she doesn't eat our food, drink our booze or bum smokes. Grendel has taken a shine to her and sleeps on her bed a lot. 

     Shout out to my husband Dan for driving the truck and all his help. Shout out to my bestie Melaida for helping us move. Since we managed to give away so much of Jody's furniture beforehand, almost everything fit and the rest of the boxes were deliverable in the Mazda in a few short trips. I'm so glad it's over. 

     We got Amir fixed finally. That went reasonably well also. Shout out to Mayfield Animal Hospital and Dr. Rebecca Alexander. Now Amir is a homebody that actually prefers to stay indoors, much to my immense relief. He's an absolute sweetie who stays close to Mommy and I love it. 

     NOW, I can concentrate on work and writing. More accurately, editing. I'm working on my final edit for 'Her True Name: Volume Three' and a short story named  'Bad Clown'. 

     The problem with HTN3 is that I got to Chapter Twelve when I realized that Druhi is younger than I made her out to be, and her backstory is more severe than it should be. I need to go back to the beginning and change a few things. No worries. While I'm there, I will make sure Eshma's story flows and see if her character needs more filling out. Eshma is a goat by the way. Her character arc filled out better than I hoped and the previous chapters need to reflect that.

     Bad Clown is half way done. The first half is great, but the second half needs more. I introduced two characters in the first half, but lost them in the second. Fixing that problem actually made it worse and I can see how I simply added superfluous lines that didn't work out. Bad Clown himself needs fine tuning. I think he's scary now, but is he scary enough? Details, details. 

But like I said, I'm pleased with how Bad Clown starts off, so I thought I'd give you a little taste. I hope you are intrigued.


BAD CLOWN

We were asleep when they banged on our door. Must have been two in the morning. Sleep had been hard to come by with the unseasonable heat, and I was pissed.
“Open up!” What the Hell? Why are they bothering us? We didn’t do anything.
Duncan throws his housecoat on, snarling about the intrusion, while I check the windows. Orange lights illuminate the neighborhood from seven black vans. Aren’t police vans black and white? Aren’t they marked with the word POLICE? Who are these assholes? Why are their lights orange? These aren’t cops.
My husband fights at the door, but three men in gray uniforms wrestle him into submission.
“Wait! Where are you taking him? What has he done? Dammit, Grendel! Freya, come back!!” Both cats run out the door in a black and white blur. “What’s going on? Where the Hell are you taking him?” I reach for Duncan, but more officers yank my arms and pin them behind me.
“What is this? What’s going on?” No one answers me.
I need a lawyer. I need my cell phone. I’m wearing nothing but a nightshirt. My phone is charging on my desk. They left my door wide open.
Abigail! My next door neighbor must be seeing this. She’ll take care of the house and the cats. Maybe she can help.
New screams hit my ears. They’re dumping Abigail into another van.
“What have you done with Duncan and Abigail? Where are you taking us?” I stomp on toes and struggle hard.
“Put the bitch out.” There’s a pinch in my neck before I lose consciousness.

Christmas Blog about Mom

 

This blog is about my favorite Christmas memory about my Mom. (and Jody too) Actually, this is my ABSOLUTE  FAVORITE Christmas memory, period.

This story starts with the Sears catalog. That massive tome showed up every winter to almost every household in the late season in the eighties.  As many children did, my sister and I marked off what we wanted...whether we thought we might get them or not. 

I was ten years old, and I can't tell you what I wanted the most, because that would give it away. I CAN tell you my little sister was in on it.

My Mother shops much as I do, finding giftable treasures during the year and only presenting them at Christmas. Mom also had a habit of wrapping gifts for Christmas early. She always started after my sister's birthday, on the 21st. of November. After that, no holds barred. 

My mother put the wrapped gifts in the spare room. Jody was clearly getting Lego that year. Not that I checked or anything...I was glad my gifts weren't that obvious because I enjoy surprises. 

One showed up for me. Mom had obviously used the box from Christmas cards to house it, but that was not a real clue. Mom gave me permission to shake it. 

Actually, she said, "You can shake that box all you want--You'll never figure it out." Moo-Hoo-Ha-Ha. 

I shook the Hell out of that thing every single day. Several times a day.  There was no discernable rattle or shimmy I recognized. Something was definitely in there. It sounded like a singular thunking that only moved with me and however  vigorously I shook it. It was one piece. I have no other way to describe it, even to this day. She was right....I never would have figured it out. 

Bear in mind, this is late November when she put that brain teaser out. So I endured an entire month of torture, trying to figure out what was in the box. I shook it endlessly, hoping for some clue, yet taking  delight when none came. It was delicious. It Drove. Me. BATSHIT.

So delicious, in fact, that I wanted to open it last. Mom said no. "If you don't open it first, your sister's gift won't make any sense." So I opened that box first, with the family watching. 

It was a piece of cardboard, and I was confused until I turned it over and discovered poinsettias painted in the corners. In my mother's printing were these words: (I am paraphrasing.) 

"This entitles the bearer, Donna (redacted) permission to have her ears pierced, to be paid for, by her parents, as soon as she is ready."

BEST GIFT EVER!!  

Jody's gift was six pairs of stud earrings I coveted from the first few pages of the Sears catalog. Also the best gift ever.  I can't remember every pair, but there were red roses, gold globes, gold seagulls, and my favorites, white porcelain ovals with yellow roses on them. I think there were a set of pearl-like earrings too. What am I missing? 

Oh, what a great Christmas for a ten year old! There was NOTHING I wanted more that year than to get my ears pierced and to own those earrings. The original plan was that I wait until I was eighteen to pierce my ears, but not anymore! I adored those earrings and I kept that homemade certificate for years. I'll never forget it. That one-two punch is my favorite Christmas memory to this day. Thanks Mom and thank YOU Jody for talking her into it. 

I still get a tingle of joy when I think of it.  

Christmas Stories About my Father.

 I want to share a Christmas story about my Father that makes me happy. It's going to be a bit backwards. If I told it forwards, I would give away the ending. 

I think it was 2004. Dan and I had bought a house and what better way to spend Christmas than to host family at our home?  

I can go on and on about the fun we had enjoying Christmas in a new house, but this is a blog, not a novella. 

There was a gift for me from my parents, big ugly, wobbly looking thing sitting under the tree. It was only unusual because my mother prided herself on beautifully wrapped gifts. This one looked particularly difficult to wrap, like Mom had to wrestle it into submission first. I certainly didn't judge...but it made me super curious. What was this thing that Mom had such difficulty wrapping? 

We made happy pleasantries and ate dinner, settling in for gift opening and drinks. I'm a bit of a masochist when it comes to unwrapping my presents. If I get a sense that I know what my gifts are, even if I know I'll love it, I open those first. If there is something that I simply can't figure out, I save it for last. I'll even wait until everyone else is done. I like to savor the mystery and torture myself with anticipation. All I knew about the unbalanced behemoth was that it was heavy. (Squeals of unknowing joy.) 

I tore the Christmas paper off and discovered that Mom had butchered two Tide detergent boxes and slapped them together with duct tape. A LOT of duct tape. I noticed my father from the corner of my eye. He looked antsy, hopping a bit from his spot on the couch, grinning like a purple cat. 

It was so bound up, I had to get up and grab a knife. I stabbed and sawed my way through to find....A black plastic cocoon. "So weird!" Dad was stifling his giggles. 

The big black cocoon had a handle and fasteners on the side. Ooh, a carrying case of some kind. So I opened it and found....

A Navigator Saw. 

I looked up at my father, who could no longer contain himself. "I liked mine so much, I thought you might want one of your own. You know, with you being a homeowner and all." He beamed with pride, and I jumped up to strangle him lovingly. 

I was delighted. "Thank you, Daddy!" What a great, grown up gift he chose for me! And he gave the sharp tool to ME and not the man of the house. For some reason, that just made it that much cooler. 

Two Christmases earlier, I had given him a Navigator Saw, and I remember his reaction well. I was sitting next to him when he opened it. He didn't say anything for what felt like a whole minute. I thought he was confused or maybe disappointed. 

"See Dad?" I said, "It has multiple, replaceable blades, and can be used in two different positions..." 

He slowly turned towards me and said, "Did you know these things can cut through pipe?"

"Um, yeah, I did." I said. "It was kind of the selling point." He put me in an affectionate headlock, and gushed about how he'd thought about buying one but had forgotten about it. 

It was one of his favorite Christmas gifts. Looking back, I think it was one of the most thoughtful gifts I'd given him--something he could really use in his work and in his own home, and that was definitely the point. 

Being a homeowner allowed me to see what my father needed. He didn't need a new shirt or statues of eagles and wolves. I considered buying one for myself, but my father was able to see that too. 

I still have mine. Yes, we used it on PC pipes. It's not as fabulous as I thought it was, because we burned through two blades doing it. I tried to find one for my friend to give to her husband, but no one knew of it. When my father died, I wanted to give it to my Uncle Duane. We found the saw, only to discover that the mechanism that locks the blades into position was broken. 

Maybe it wasn't the awesome tool I believed that it was. But it created good memories that will stick with me for the rest of my life. When it comes to Christmas memories, this is one of my favorites.  

And here is another...It's about this photo, and the odd look on my father's face. 

I think I was twelve when Dad got a new camera for Christmas. Dad liked to take photos of cool looking airplanes and he enjoyed taking pictures from the air, but he didn't have a decent camera. So Mom bought him one, with film. 

I was sitting on the floor, playing with it, and it understandably made him nervous. 

"What are you doing, Donna?"

"Nothing, "I said.  "Just checking out your new camera."

"Do you...Know how to use it?"

"No. How do you take a picture?" I asked innocently. 

"It's easy. See that button right there?" He pointed over my shoulder to the big button on the top right. "You point the camera, and press that button." 

"Oh...You mean...like THIS?" I spun to my left and click. 

I guess I wasn't very subtle, because that's the photo I got of him. I think he told me he knew I was going to do that. When we got the film back, it was obvious. I think it turned out pretty good, and I'm glad we still have it. 

Thanks for the great memories, Dad. This picture always makes me smile. 

Earth to Thoeba: One Last Death Blog. ( I Hope)

Earth to Thoeba: One Last Death Blog. ( I Hope): I sure do write about death a lot lately. I'm sorry. Apparently, I have a lot to say.  I'm writing this one for two reasons.  Number...

One Last Death Blog. ( I Hope)

I sure do write about death a lot lately. I'm sorry. Apparently, I have a lot to say. 

I'm writing this one for two reasons. 

Number One: I really botched that obituary. I asked Nicole Strickland about one--Westlawn publishs them on their site without cost--but I still needed to write it before she could do that for us. Well, of course. She didn't know Mom's history, why would she? I felt the press of time, and I wrote it in about ten minutes before sending it by email. It wasn't until I saw one for a friend's father that I realized how badly I'd done it. Mine was sterile. 

Jody sent the last uninjured picture of Mom, and she searched until she found the sixties hottie picture of Mom in her single years. At least the photos looked good. For the record, the hand on her shoulder in the color photo is my father's. It was taken on an anniversary dinner outside of an Albert's Restaurant. It's the last good photo we got of her.  

Number Two: In my awkward defense, I wrote her a Eulogy where I felt that I would say what I needed to say to tell her story and honor her. We have stated that since we planned her Memorial for a Saturday, people may not be able to make it. Poor planning on my part, I'm sorry. It was a work related faux pas. I planned it for that day after making arrangements with my boss that I would not take on any weekend work. 

One cousin had a wedding, one had a night shift on Friday, combined with an intense project on the Sunday. More friends and family had work and predetermined plans that I would not ask them to cancel. Mom had little opportunity to make friends in Edmonton, and most of her friends lived out of the city and had health issues of their own. 

My Uncle Duane and Aunt Sandra made it, as did cousin Shawna. My cousin from Dad's side, Karen came too. Bestie Melaida was able to show up. Mom's friend Liz made a surprise visit. All were such a comfort. Thank you. 

We are so grateful for your love and condolences, EVERYONE.

There is a deer on her urn because mom loved deer. She used to drink her coffee on the deck at the acreage and just watch them graze from afar. Sometimes she could watch them right on her front lawn. I know she missed them when they moved to Barrhead. 

But I still wrote her the Eulogy she deserved, and I still want to share it with anyone who couldn't be there.  So here goes...

SIDE NOTE: In the interest of security, I deleted the picture of her urn, her full name and her dates. 

"Welcome everyone. This day finds us gathered together to say goodbye to Phyllis. She was a wife, mother, gardener and homemaker. She loved Gordon Lightfoot, The Rankin Family, and Keith Urban. She was also well known for her embroidery pieces.

She took her role as a housewife, and Dad’s partner very seriously, and later when our father started Lean Instrument Services, she took care of the all the paperwork and was involved other aspects such as the hiring of employees.

My mother also took a great deal of pride in making sure our home was clean and beautiful and that there was always a hot breakfast, hearty lunches and an appropriately timed supper. She once told me that since Dad worked hard to provide a roof over our heads and food on the table than it was her job to maintain the house and to feed us all. She always said that a man’s home is his castle and it should be a stress free place where he can be himself. She was Ukrainian, and therefore liked feeding those she loved.

Jody (Before she was vegan) and I really loved a breakfast of sausage strips and a grilled cheese sandwich, and anyone who ever worked with my father knew he only ever took toasted bacon and tomato sandwiches in his lunch. I always appreciated that she didn’t send wimpy sandwiches in our lunches either. I don’t like bread, and she tried to ensure that whatever the filling in the sandwich, it rivaled the bread ratio. I can still taste her ‘kabobs’. She would put cubes of spam and cheese, cherry tomatos and pickles on plastic stir sticks. Better than a sandwich any day.

She loved doing things for her family, the little details. In the winter, she timed our hot chocolate to when she knew Jody and I would arrive home. Speaking of little details... (Bring out the Barbie Blanket and talk about  it.) 

Does anyone know what this is? It's a homemade Barbie blanket. It's more than forty years old and she made one for Jody as well. I don't know why I kept it all these years, I just really loved and appreciated it.  (I passed it around and we discussed it a little. It had cross-stitched red roses and blue birds. The letter 'D' was embroidered in the center.) 

If you’ve ever been inside our house, you will remember embroidered pictures on the wall, perhaps even the famous peacock. How many versions of it are there in existence? No one knows for sure. She was a perfectionist and each edition was a little bit MORE perfect than the last—-But still not quite perfect enough for her liking.

Her hands are still now. No more arthritis. No more back pain, no more falls. No more illnesses. She’d been such a survivor, beating cancer, battling back from a stroke, a broken hip, and surviving Covid last Christmas, but it got to be too much to bounce back from. It was time to go.

As hard as it is to say goodbye, we can be glad her suffering is done. Mom was a spiritual person, and I know wherever she is, she’s no longer in pain. That’s the important thing. Today we say goodbye to Phyllis.  And now she is free."

 

Now that I have this off my chest, I intend to go back to editing Her True Name: Volume Three, and writing cat blogs. I don't know if I mentioned this but Her True name: Volume One was her absolute favorite book I'd written. To be honest, it hurts a bit to know she won't read Volume Three. She had a copy of Elaina's Fate, but never did get around to reading it. 

She didn't taste the tomato relish Jody made just for her. She didn't get to wear the brand new shirt I brought her the last day she fell. I'll never get to give her the wolf family on a bed of amethyst  that I bought her for Christmas. 

But that's what happens when you don't see death coming. We really did believe that she would come home from the hospital, and we'd discuss nursing homes. Maybe that's why she passed when she did. Her mother died in a nursing home. Maybe it was time for her to go before that happened to her. 

Sorry again for the death blog, but if you read my blog often enough, you know why I write them. And doesn't my mother deserve tributes too?