Time for a New Book

 

Oh my God, it's been so long since I've written in this blog, that I forgot the password for the email address I use here. Sorry everybody....

After the book event, nothing new happened. There was nothing worth writing about. Well, until now. 

Her True Name: Volume Three is crawling toward completion! David Fingerman has it and will begin as soon as he gets the check! Emma Hibbs will be doing the cover art, starting the end of May. 

I can't wait until she's onboard, because finding the cover is going to be tough. Yes, yes, I know how to use stock photo and digital photo sites, that's not the problem. 

The problem is I'm not finding images I can use, and not in colors I want. I might have to abandon my original plans for it, and I need Emma's input. I worry about things like Cultural Appropriation, because as you know, these books take place in other parts of the world with regional gods and appropriate atmosphere, foods, rituals, etcetera.

While I'm here, I have news about the series. Her True Name Volume Three will be the last book. It will be a trilogy after all. No more after this. 

I have several reasons for ending it; hear me out.

The cost, for one. I simply don't have the funds to continue churning out endless books. As you know, I am self-published, so all costs are my own. While my colleagues deserve every cent they get, I'm still not working enough hours to fund what has become a very expensive hobby. 

Which brings me to time. I need to work more hours, and my writing time is taking the hit. I'm still writing-don't worry-but if you thought it took me a long time to finish THIS book....

I haven't even started an outline for another one. Sure I had an idea or two, but nothing that jumped out at me. I'd thought of doing one in China, but my knowledge of Chinese history and mythology sucks. I don't know how I'd make it work in the timeline. It might have a 'white' perspective, and I don't want that. 

Then there's the worry of Cultural Appropriation. I just want to tell stories, and in this case, about reincarnation. I have no wish to disrespect other cultures for my own amusement. Unless I write these books based on white civilizations alone, that will always be a danger. And white civilizations are not the only cool or important ones. Honestly, who would want to read books on reincarnation with such a boring limitation? I've never found white history to be that interesting, so why would I write it? I'd bore myself, never mind the reader, and you must NEVER bore the reader! 

Then there's the ending to this book. It was unexpected, but it feels right. What I'm trying to articulate, is that I hope the reader leaves feeling they are not wistful for another novel. I want them to close the book, understanding why there won't be more. It just happened, but I think it works, and so does David. 

I'm pushing for Her True Name: Three to be out by the end of the year. Honestly, there is no reason why not. Barring unfortunate circumstances, and my terrible computer skills of course. I've got faith in my team. 

I DO have good news. There's another book coming out right behind this one, and it's mostly written already. It's a collection of short stories, blog posts and drabbles. It's a little different from my usual in the fact that it isn't about angels, demons, mythology or reincarnation. It's all about the strange and scary dreams I have. My readers know I get many of my ideas from my dreams, and these are the stories that don't fit into my brand, so they will be completely different. 

My favorite is Bad Clown. It's a short story that could be a dystopian novel, but I wrote it as it played out in my brain. It is one of few dreams I've had that rolled out like an entire movie, and very little of it has changed. There are drabbles like Lightning and Demon that left me with a pounding heart when I awoke, and I can't wait to share them with you. There one story that still has no title about meeting up with a fairy in a bar after my character has a bad date.  

This book has a title, but I'm not ready to share it yet. I love it so much, I'm worried someone will steal it! 

Oh crap....I've just realized that Her True Name: Volume Three is going to need a new back blurb. So while I'm doing that, know that there is more coming from me. I'm still here, and I'm still writing. 

 

The Book Event was a Blast!

 

I can't wait to do another book event! Of course, I need to publish something else, for sure. I'm on it. Her True Name: Volume Three is grinding along nicely. I'm on my last edit before David and Heather get it. 

I'm so grateful to Lisa and her father at Bailey's Books for the opportunity. It was an absolute delight. 

I'll admit, I was nervous. I had no idea what to expect, but here's a secret about me. I am the Queen of 'Wing it.' I like to plan things out like anyone else, but I always have a Plan B. 

My bestie made it there before I did, and she brought bottled water and cupcakes. I did bring my pear loaf, as I said I would. That went over pretty well, I think. 

I was so worried that no one would come. I had two people RSVP, but neither made it. That was okay. Karen A. brought two of her kids and a co-worker that had no idea I was a writer. Karen M. brought her husband, who hasn't read any of my stuff but is still an awesome hang. Lisa and her dad were there, plus my sister and my bestie, plus a few people who I didn't know. 

I explained that I had wanted to read from deeper inside 'Elaina's Fate', but I couldn't because too many spoilers. I couldn't tell them about Gorrine, or Althea, the Rubbermen, and I couldn't even give them too many details about the Ekel. 

It was that moment I realized I had some pretty cool and interesting things in that novel. So much so, that I couldn't just give it away. So I read them Chapter Two. 

Elaina was summoned to meet with her master because there is a new threat in The Carnivorous Forest. I didn't look up much because I didn't want to lose my place, but I heard the reaction when Master Smith told Elaina she looked like a whore. 

There were only a couple of questions. The one I remember was, "Where do you get your inspirations?" The answer is: My totally messed up imagination. So much in that novel came from strange dreams. The Ekel, the Rubbermen, Althea...Gorgon Falls itself is from a dream. 

It went prematurely quiet, but I had Plan B. I brought an excerpt from 'Bad Clown', told them it was exclusive and unpublished as of yet. A treat just for the people here. My audience agreed to hear it. I think they may have liked it better. I didn't get any questions, but the mood in the room felt excited, and we all got up for water and snacks. Melaida brought bottled water and cupcakes, and I brought some of my pear loaf. 

As I suspected, people had more questions. I'm often too shy myself to single myself out to ask anything, so I understood when people came up to ask things and just talk. 

I realized something in that moment that I haven't told my readers. I've been suffering from serious doubts about my work. I've been wondering WHY am I still doing this? Am I a good writer? Do I suck? Does anyone really care, one way or another what I write? All this effort...Does anyone CARE? 

That day it really felt like my work mattered, that if I keep writing, there will be people out there that can appreciate it. It's a good thing too, because I don't really want to stop. Ever. But I was wondering if maybe I was just wasting my time. 

And for some reason it gave me great pleasure to read my work to others, using different voices and inflections...I haven't done it in such a long time. Not since I read an excerpt of 'Late Bloomers' ( Dare to Shine.) to Ashley and Jaime while they were tucked into bed. (Those two were grown women and I they told me it was like getting a bedtime story. I should have read them the whole thing.) 

I found out that every copy of Chasing Monsters was sold out, including the two I brought with me. I've ordered more, and you should see them at Bailey's Books in the beginning of November. 

I need to hurry my ass up and finish editing Her True Name: Volume Three.  After that, I will finish my short story collection and publish that. Bad Clown will take up much of that book, so it might be a bit thick. 

I feel renewed. I promise you will see Her True Name: Volume Three and my collection of short stories. I'm on it. Wish me luck. 

Excited for the Book Event, and Pears.

 

     My book event is ten days away, and I'm beyond excited. Just to remind you, it's at Bailey's Books in St. Albert. That's 29-B Rowland Crescent in St. Albert. It's in an odd placement, but worth the trip. That is easily the coolest bookstore I've ever experienced, and I'm thrilled they asked me to be there. 

     I've rolled over so many ideas in my mind, but I can tell you what I'm planning. 

     As I mentioned, there will be a Door Prize, but I'm not telling you what's in it. That's an 'after ' blog. As I mentioned before, I'm bringing a copy of  "Elaina's Fate" for guests to sign. Not my idea, but I think it's a good one. I've also decided that for mementos sake, I'm going to highlight the part I'm going to read, so I can also remember what I read to guests. Why not? I think it would be a cool thing to remember, especially if I do this again. 

     Here's a little treat...I'm bringing my pear loaf to share. Why not? I have tons of the stuff! I'm not even finished yet, and my freezer is full. 

     For those of you who don't know me well, I live next door to a pear tree. It actually belongs to my friend Ashley, but neither she or her renters have the time or energy to deal with it. She basically let me have it. 

     Over the years, I have experimented with all kinds of recipes and a few canning methods and just anything and everything to do with pears. Here's a funny fact: I hate pears. 

     But I don't hate these pears. Ashley believes them to be a hybrid of apples and pears, so maybe that's why they taste better. I sometimes think I like them because pretty much anything you grow yourself tastes better than anything you buy. 

     I have two go-to favorites: The Pear Loaf and a Pear Custard Pie. This year, I experimented with Pear Cookies, Pear Cobbler, and two different kinds of Pear Muffins. All of these recipes are available on Pinterest, on my 'Successful Board'. That's where I keep all my recipes that worked out well. 

     My favorite is still the pear loaf. I have that one down to almost a one-woman assembly line and can pump out at least six loaves a day, plus my experiments. 

     I have tried to share them on my Facebook page, but it didn't work for some reason. I suspect that I can't because they're not mine. So if you're interested, please check them out on my Successful Board on Pinterest.

     Oh, and I'm playing with the idea of bringing a couple of excepts from unpublished work, like Bad Clown, for example. Is that a thing? 

My Book Event

 

I haven't blogged in such a long time! I find that if I have nothing new to say, there is no point. It's been SO long since I've blogged, I can't find my photos! 

But I have an author event coming up, and I'm so excited! I can give you more information. 

It's at Bailey's Books in St. Albert, Alberta. It's on October 19th, between 1:00 PM and 3:00 PM Mountain time.  The address is: 29-B Rowland Crescent, St. Albert in Alberta, Canada. 

I'm sure what to do...Sort of.  I know I will have a door prize and will be reading an excerpt or two for something I've written. Something I've never published before, on social media or anywhere else. I'm borrowing an idea I saw on another author's page ( Sorry...that author borrowed the idea from someone else so I don't know who to credit it to.) and will request guests to sign my own copy so I can have a keepsake. I'm open to suggestions, actually. What else could I do? 

Thankfully, my bestie will be there, and Lisa herself. Did I mention her Dad is cool? If we're lucky, Parsley the chihuahua will be there as well. I believe it will be held in that lovely, cozy loft they have with the sweet antique desk. 

Anyway, you should all come just to check the place out. It's everything you want in a bookstore, beautiful to behold and packed with literary gems. 

I keep saying this is my first author event, but I think I mentally blocked out the first one. Technically, it was a Book Club. 

I know a lovely woman named Lynda, who has always been hugely supportive of me as a person and as a writer. She arranged for her Book Club to read my book and I was supposed to visit them and talk about it. She also arranged for me to go to my old school and talk to kids about writing. 

I left Edmonton that morning for Fox Creek, and it had just begun to snow. I had a BAD feeling about it, and told my husband I didn't really want to go. I should have cancelled, but Lynda had done so much for me, I didn't want to let her, or anyone else, down. 

As you may have guessed, I had an accident right outside of Mayerthorpe. I pulled off a bit to the shoulder to let a Sierra pick up truck pass, ( He looked pretty damned big and I was afraid there wasn't enough room for him to pass.) and I hit icy slush. Wrecked my car, but no injuries. I actually had a voice in my head that told me to stay present because the situation might be useful for writing later. I did actually use parts of it in 'Chasing Monsters'. Mostly the impacting crunchy parts. 

Lynda's husband came to get me, so obviously I was late for the Book Club. About an hour late. 

The Book Club had waited for an hour and they were NOT happy to see me. The book they'd read was 'Thoeba' my first novel, and I don't think they liked it much. They all looked irritated as Hell and didn't engage much. 

I met a Mennonite woman there named Rachel. I had to tell her the concept of Thoeba was a dream I had and I was not L. Ron Hubbard. I had no intention of starting a religious movement of any kind. 

The next day, I went to my old school. Lynda had done her best, but the principal hadn't told anyone I was coming. No kids to speak to. A couple of old friends showed up and bought books. The librarian offered to pay for a copy, but I told her it was a donation. I loved that library muchly, and had spent hours there for extra credit and just hanging out. 

It wasn't a terrible experience, but now I have a fear of highway driving I haven't been able to shake off. 

I just bought a Santa Fe and it's funny how having confidence in your vehicle changes how you drive. Maybe soon I'll try highways again. I'll be driving it to Bailey's Books and I can't wait. I hope to see some of you there. 

 

Gratitude

Just thoughts about what I am doing right now. I'm taking free online computer courses named Alison. I hate them. They are interesting and useful, but I can't seem to hang on to the knowledge, even the cool new stuff I'm learning. 

My uncle Arnie warned me about this. He just turned eighty in May. He told me the older you get, the harder it is to learn new things. I'm in my early fifties, and I'm already having difficulty retaining whatever I learn. I can't remember anything!

I learned how to insert tables and planned to use them to update my resume, but I can't figue out how to do them again. Fffffuuuuu....

When I was in high school, computer classes were still relatively new. We worked on Macintosh computers like the Lisa II. I remember being impressed that a small town like ours had enough computers for everyone. Whoooooo! We learned basics like DOS. I had an A+ average., like 95% on my report card. 

My family had a Texas Instrument ( Yeah, I'm old.) computer at home and I remember fixing a program of my father's when I noticed it was missing a single bracket. The program was a bouncing ball that you could change the colors of the ball and the background. ( I feel ancient telling you this.) 

I spent much of the early nineties without a computer, and when my boyfriend (Now husband) finally got one, all I had learned was obsolete. When I tell my younger friends, they shrug it off, but for me the loss was profound. 

Shortly after that, I met my critique partners. Dawn comes very much into the picture here. This blog exists solely because of her. She literally talked me through the set up, step by step,  and taught me whatever I needed to know. I had Microsoft Word, and she taught me how to use that too. 

Thanks Dawn. It must have been like teaching a belligerent five year old. I am incredibly grateful. No joke. 

Years later, my computer died, and I bought a new one that did NOT  come with  Microsoft Word. What do I DO?

Hello, Brad! Bradley Trautman is my computer guy. He's the one who introduced me to LibreOffice. I had told him I JUST wanted a word processor. All I wanted to do, was write books. I don't need the bells and whistles and whatever else. Just gimme something to write with that doesn't cost me hundreds of dollars! 

LibreOffice asks for donations, and it does most of the things that Microsoft does, but I've learned that Microsoft is superior in several ways. BUT I asked for a simple word processor, didn't I? Thanks Brad. Because of you, I could complete 'Elaina's Fate', and there is more to come. Seriously, thanks man.

So I decided it was time to get me some education and actually learn more about the computers that dominate our lives so that perhaps I can get better employment. I am of two opinions. Half of me screams, "Change is inevitable! Get with the times!" The other half grumbles, "It isn't broken. Why fix it?" Guess who is being left behind? 

I guess what I'm saying is LEARN everything you can while you're still young. Absorb everything. I think the 'Karen' and 'Kyle' mentality comes from the fear you feel when the world keeps changing and you can't keep up. It's not a good excuse to be rude, but rude people are fearful people. 

Ever see Grand Budapest Hotel? Ralph Fiennes character lectures that rudeness stems from the idea that the person fears they won't get what they want. Fantastic movie, by the way, and that idea stuck with me. It's just fear. Use your words and tell them what is bugging you and why. No need to get nasty. 

I am living my life in gratitude. My current problems are small and First World Issues. I just wanted to say thank you to Dawn and Brad for teaching me the basics I really needed to just write books. I'm working to advance my knowledge, because change is inevitable. 

Seriously, thank you. 

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? 

Saying Goodbye to Mom

 Do you know what today is? Today would have been my father's birthday. It's also my late friend Kevin's birthday. This is also the day we cremated my mother. 

I debated whether or not to write this blog. It feels a bit tacky somehow. Like I'm looking for sympathy. Then again, this is how I process my grief. I've written blogs for my cats, my father and for Kevin, why would I not write one for Mom? 

Speaking of sympathy, I'd like to take this time to say THANK YOU to everyone who offered condolences on Facebook and through texts. Thanks for checking in on us, sending flowers,  and asking how we are. It means a lot, and I'm overwhelmed but in love with you all. I think that's why I feel like I'm looking for sympathy. We've already received so much, but I'm not looking for more. I just have information to share and thank you's to send out. 

Mom was a trooper, a survivor. She'd battled and lived through cancer and recovered from a stroke. She had diabetes and arthritis. She survived Covid last Christmas. This was her fifth, and last fall. She had a massive sinus infection, which we believe affected her balance and caused her to tumble, but it was a perforated bowel that got her. Surgery was suggested, but it was not a viable solution, and she couldn't breathe. 

We would like to thank the staff at Stony Plain Hospital for taking good care of her, and thank you to the University of Alberta Hospital for trying to save her. We would like to thank Nicole Strickland and Westlawn for all their thoughtful care. 

Mom died on the long weekend, so we didn't know if anyone could help us until maybe Tuesday. I went into Westlawn on Monday anyway, and was able to speak to someone and get started. I gave basic information. The pressing question on my mind was, "How do we pay for this? Do we use a check? Visa? Cash? How does this work?"

The answer is, all of the above in any way that works for you. Here is a piece of information that I feel is extremely important. The first thing he told me is DON'T tell the bank of her passing just yet. No matter which bank you use, they will instantly freeze all accounts with the deceased one's name on it. I remember going through this when Dad passed. I was pissed off back then, but I understand why it's done now. 

It's so that someone can't just clear all the money out with no regard to estate planning, taxes or rightful heirs. I actually do know of a man who died and his ex girlfriend cleaned out his account and left nothing but bills for his kids. 

We were able to get started quickly after that. Nicole Strickland was sympathetic, kind and a wealth of information. I could go on and on, but I'll point out that everything was no pressure. She didn't try to convince us to buy extras, not even the casket. (We bought the least expensive one.) We were not pressured into a ceremony or luncheon. She went down a list of things we might want or need, and we purchased a kit to help Jody along with executor duties. Westlawn offers a complimentary obituary to post on their site, but I still have to write it. I'll probably do it after this blog. 

Important note: She asked if we wanted to print an obituary in the Edmonton Journal. We said yes until she told us it would be a minimum of $700. Thanks for the heads up, Nicole. We decided against it. 

Sanja was helpful too. She helped us pick out the urn. It was difficult at first. Nothing suited Mom. We asked for owls. No owls. She listed off options for photos/ornamentation we could have until she listed the magic word. We both looked at each other at the same time and yelled, "DEER!" Mom didn't collect them, (much) but she LOVED watching the deer that visited at the acreage before they moved to Barrhead. It always made her so happy. So the urn with her name, dates and a clay facsimile of a a deer is on order for Mom, in the specific Times New Roman font I requested. 

But I want to tell you of the amazing thing they did that apparently not many funeral homes offer. Nicole told us she had never before known of a funeral home that did this, but wow...did we ever appreciate it. We were not offered the same opportunity for our father. I think they call it 'The Identification'. It allowed me and my sister to go and view the body and say our goodbyes before they cremated her. They had stationary, pens, and markers so that if we wished, we could leave notes with Mom and we were permitted to write on the casket itself if that's what worked for us. 

Jody and I wrote notes. Jody wrote of a favorite memory, when Mom used to make Kool-aid popsicles, and she made fudgesicles out of chocolate pudding.  I wrote what has been weighing on my mind since her death. I told her I was sorry I couldn't help her that day that she fell for the last time. 

I couldn't lift her, I couldn't understand what she was trying to say. All I could do was stroke her hair and tell her the ambulance was on its way. Help was coming. 

Days ago, my sister expressed guilt that she felt she hadn't done enough. She felt she somehow failed in some way.. I told her, "You did all that you could, everyday. This is not on you. It was just time, and she isn't suffering anymore." Today she gave those words back to me. 

So we wrote our notes and tucked them into her cold, bruised hands. I bought her carnations, her favorites, and placed them in the casket beside her. She looked beautiful, her makeup done in such a way, I kept expecting her to open her eyes and sit up. Even her hair was arranged in soft curls without looking odd for her. No fake fussiness, no hairspray, no phony-looking makeup. 

We are holding a memorial for Mom on our own. Tea and coffee, snacks. We're having it at Jody's apartment building. The reason for this is so that we can offer some of my mother's MANY collectables to her friends and family, because we can't keep it all and maybe someone would like mementos. 

Jody has claimed all the Nutcrackers. Whoo! She can have them all! But Mom collected Coca-Cola and M&M stuff, eagles, owls, wolves, chefs, salt and pepper shakers of all kinds, and her kitchen was red and white gingham specifically. We haven't even touched the Christmas decorations yet. 

Jody is in a state of shock, I think. She deals by cleaning and organizing, trying to process my mother's life as she is the executor. Me, I am sad and angry, feeling guilty, feeling like I should have done more to save her, and other things. 

Do you know what makes me the angriest? The thing that makes me cry even as I write it? I knew. I had a bad feeling death was coming for her.  Last Christmas I felt that we should have a really good Christmas, just the three of us....Just in case it was her last. 

Mom and Jody got Covid. I spent Christmas here, on my computer. Jody spent it at the apartment, alone, trying to recover. I brought her her gifts, but I couldn't come in of course. Mom spent it in a windowless room in the hospital struggling to breath, eating tasteless beef stew, surrounded by strangers.

I regret two things. I regret that we could not give her one last good Christmas, and that when she fell, I couldn't do anything to help her. 

But the funeral home let us say goodbye. 

Goodbye to Kevin

 

Today I learned that a good friend, one I made through the internet, passed away yesterday. It  was posted on his Facebook page. I expressed my condolences, chastised myself badly for not writing since last November, and burst into tears. As I often do, I will write about my grief, and tell you why Kevin was so important to me. Kevin was a real friend, and not just someone I met from the internet. 

Two things I've noticed today. First is that time is SHORT. Our last message together, he sent me a photo of his rescue kitten. I expressed my adoration, and asked for details that never came. I should have followed up. I just crept his page before blogging. The last post was in May, when he posted a picture of gifts and balloons someone brought him. It looks like it was taken in a hospital room. Why didn't I check in on him? 

The second thing I've learned that it's true what they say...Friends you make on the internet ARE real friends, even if you've never met them in person. It doesn't matter. You still love them, and you'll still grieve them when they're gone. I can't stop crying, and I will always love him. 

I met Kevin through Farmville on Facebook. I noticed we shared a mutual friend, and as Farmville players commonly do, we 'added' each other. I think he sent the friend request first. 

He learned that I was a Meatcutter by trade, and sent me a private message. He was making Beef Stroganoff for company, and wanted my opinion on the best cut of meat to use. I recommended top sirloin or maybe inside round. He asked about tenderloin, which is absolutely the best cut of meat money can buy. It's also tremendously expensive, and I wasn't just worried about cost, but how the texture might hold up in a dish like stroganoff. It was a great conversation. Kevin was interesting and so friendly. I asked him to tell me how it went, whichever cut he chose. 

He wrote back, telling me it was excellent and everyone liked it, and he was glad he asked me. It went from there. We'd write back and forth a little, talking about Farmville and our love of cats. He had three Tuxedos if I recall correctly, and I was new to loving cats and we sent pictures back and forth. No, I don't have pictures of his cats, but Amir reminds me very much of of his cat, Bellarinko. 

When I started writing and publishing books, he became a HUGE supporter of my work. He was my First Fan. He didn't just buy a copy of my novels for himself. He bought them for friends and gave them as gifts. He bought copies and donated them to his local libraries. He asked bookstores to order Thoeba and Aphrodite's War. He encouraged me every step of the way, even when I doubted my talent.

We began to write regularly, like pen pals. We told each other almost everything, we shared secrets. Kevin was a private person, thus I have no photos of him, nor would I share them without his permission. It's a bit difficult to write a tribute to him without invading the privacy he cherished. But I loved him, and our conversations will remain private. 

I can tell you Kevin was a social sweetie. He had many lifelong friends, and obviously made new friends easily. He spent time in the military, and was a hero. He liked to travel and saw countries from all over the world. I never did get the story about Morocco.. He was also a well liked teacher, and still kept in contact with many of his students. They shared their successes with him. You know that means he was an excellent teacher when former students do that kind of thing.  He rescued cats, and not just taking in strays. In Florida he and his partner of thirty or so years set up shelters for feral cats and fed them, kept them safe. 

He was a sweet and loving person that I'm going to miss for the rest of my life. I already regret that I didn't send him at least a little note telling him I was always thinking of him. I actually was....I kept saying "I should send Kevin a little note, telling him I'm still here, and I still think of him.'" I thought we had more time. Last I talked to him, he'd moved to a great retirement community that had all the amenities and he was enjoying it. I'm angry at my own stupidity and lack of action because I KNEW his health wasn't always the best. He'd done some suffering. Honestly? I thought he was busy. I thought he was living his best life in a gated senior's community and he was having a great time, and that sometime he would get back to me and tell me about it. Now all I can do is write a blog expressing my love and regrets. 

Want to know something silly and strange? 

Kevin told me that when he died he wanted to come back as one of my spoiled rescue cats. Yesterday evening, before I learned of Kevin's passing, a young man found a kitten underneath our car. I ran to get it some food while the kid coaxed it out. We fed the poor starving baby, and my hubsand and I brought it inside the house. We determined that no matter what, we would figure out what to do with such a small baby. I remember thinking that the little one would match with out other cats, who were black, white or both. 

Minutes later, the kid knocked on our door and told us his friend had a car, and they would take the kitten to the Humane Society. We handed the cat over with a little reluctance. But we all agreed to do what was best for the cat. I didn't even get a picture, but it was white with black markings and perhaps four months old. 

Now that I've learned of Kevin's passing, I want the kitten back. Silly, huh? But that's a different blog that I'll also write tonight. 

I actually don't know Kevin's friends or family, or even his partner well. Do I send this on his page? To his partner? I don't know what to do with this blog, but I do know I wanted to tell you how much I loved and appreciated him. 

Let this be a lesson. If you love them, TELL THEM. Often, and whenever possible. Don't wait. 

Birthday Contest

 No...It's not my birthday. That was weeks ago, but I'm behind in a lot of things. Like my contest. I'm even late here. I wrote this post two weeks ago. It occurred to me I NEVER had a contest or giveaway of any kind for 'Elaina's Fate'. I'm sorry. As often happens, my life ran away with me. It wasn't just work, writing or editing, though they played a factor. 

I've become very jealous of my time. I treat it like a kind of currency, and I'm picky about how I spend it. I hate wasted time. 

That doesn't mean I don't like spending time with my friends and family--quite the opposite. Time spent with people I love has become MORE important. It's to be savored. 

I speak often about becoming a hermit. I love my alone time, and honestly the pandemic didn't hit me very hard. Maybe because I'm getting older, I realize that time is short. My friends have been calling, and hey....if they're making time for me, maybe I should make time for them. 

And what if my mother falls again?  She spent Christmas in the hospital with a broken nose where they discovered she had Covid. My sister then tested positive for Covid as well and spent Christmas in their apartment, sick and alone. I find myself making more plans with them. Life is too damned short. What if they didn't make it?  

This has nothing to do with the contest. More like me reflecting on things that have become bigger priorities to me as I age. 

For this birthday, I spent it with my best friend, Melaida. Since we're only a day apart in ages, we like to spend at least one whole day together to celebrate. We couldn't do anything last year, because she got COVID for her birthday LAST year. Again...What IF? 

This year, we got a hotel room, just to have lots of girl time and hang out. We planned to go for Japanese food, maybe hit the pool. We stopped to get booze and snacks. We ended up not leaving the room. We had a few drinks before dinner, and decided we didn't feel like walking and we had plenty of noms, so... 

It was perfect. It was exactly what I needed. It's the best birthday I've had in a very long time. 

So that's what my contest--which is in NO WAY involved with Facebook or Meta or any other social media outfit-- is about. 

I'm giving away THREE copies of Elaina's Fate away. Here's how to enter: 

I need to read stories of your BEST birthday. I don't care if it was a party or just quiet time with those you love. I want to read about the birthday that made you truly happy.I'm going to make the deadline two weeks from today. You have until midnight, Mountain Time on April 6th, 2023 to submit your stories in the comment section of this post on my author page. (Sorry about that..I just want to be sure I can see them all and they can be properly voted on.) The one that gets the most votes by readers will be the winners. My author page is at: https://www.facebook.com/DonnaMilwardAuthor/

By the way....That is an old photo of another birthday I had, but it's my second favorite. I had several friends over, and Melaida bought me that cake, and it was personalized just for me with book stuff and Greek mythology aspects. It says, "Best Writer in the World" She's awesome. 

Struggles with Publishing

 I actually hate self publishing. I'm not very computer savvy, and everything I do here is a result of frustrated determination and help from friends. Believe it or not, I used to excel at computers. I had a 95% average in my computer class, but after I left high school, I didn't have access to personal computers for years. By the time I got myself a computer, everything I'd learned was obsolete and I had to start from scratch without any help. 

But eventually I learned, and muddled through. Dealing with Windows did make things easier, but there was the Internet to get through. Still not bad. Learning to blog? Got personal, step by step help from former critique partner Dawn Dalton. 

Then came self-publishing. Hoo-boy. There were a lot of tears and some screaming. Some of you may remember when Her True Name: Volume Two arrived in the format of a big coloring book, except with BIG letters. I'd ordered 18 of them, and decided to market them as collectors items because there was no way in Hell the rest of them were coming out that way. What a mess...but believe it or not, they all went. 

My editor and friend Heather Savage Fransen recommended Draft2Digital and what a blessing! Thanks, Heather! I couldn't believe how easy it was to use! But here comes the glitch. 

I had to figure out how to get PAID. This is not a computer struggle, but a banking one. I sent out an SOS about it on my author page, and no one touched it. So this is why I'm sharing it with you. 

I went to my Credit Union first. They were lovely, and gave me a print out of all the numbers I needed since I didn't have a checking account with them. It included my account number, transit and route numbers, SWIFT number...It wasn't until I got home, I realized there was no IBAN number. What is it? I don't know. Neither did the woman I spoke to on the phone. 

So I called D2D. They didn't know what an IBAN number was either. I'm almost in tears at the frustration and the wonderful woman I spoke to says, "Let me ask my supervisor." and she put me on hold. I still don't know what an IBAN number is, but as a Canadian--I don't need one. I can ignore that part of the application. That was a load off my mind. I thanked her, and told her I'd try again. 

Still didn't work. Certain numbers were just plain rejected, including the SWIFT number. I lay awake for two days, frustrated to the point of angry rage tears. Then it occurred to me...

They said BANK numbers. I was using a Credit Union. Are they different? YES, they are. 

I went to my bank this time. I got a teller in training, and the amazing Indian woman training her--I wish I'd gotten her name--because she saved my sanity. The trainee had no idea what I needed, but her trainer did. She immediately went to the printer and printed out a sheet that looked much like the one I got from the Credit Union, BUT...

She walked me through it. This is your account number, this is your transit number, etcetera. I was surprised to learn that the SWIFT number isn't a number but letters. For Scotiabank, it's NOSCATT. That was a surprise, but it went through just fine. 

Here's the super important part that I never would have known if she hadn't told me. I can't remember what the name of the number they wanted was, but it's nine digits. (Sorry...I'm NOT going back in there to look.) She wrote over the first five digits of my account number and marked them 'transit' then she told me I would need those digits, not just for transit, but for the nine digit number....THEN she underlined three digits in the Canadian Clearing Code. Those three numbers were the ones needed in front of the transit numbers, which were the first five digits of my account number. 

I left, feeling a lot better, even though I can count, and that was eight numbers, not nine. It had better work!

Nope. Rejected. How could this not work again? So f#%ing frustrating, but....What if I put a space? Or a hyphen...?

IT WORKED!! As far as I know.  I filled out the tax interview with the promise that if anything isn't right, I will fix it within 30 days. So far, so good. I can't believe the release I felt. Like I had purged my lungs and run a marathon. I slept well that night. It's been over a week, and I've heard nothing from D2D. Feels like a win. I hope. 

I want to hug that woman. Next time I go to that bank, I'm going to tell her how STELLAR she is. I'm going to put her name in the acknowledgements for Her True Name: Volume Three. In my books, She was doing her job, but for me, it was a life saver. 

About Amir

 

Somewhere in July, a black and white Persian cat started hanging out in our yard. Very skittish. Would not address us, ran when he saw us. Poor sweetie. Collar-less cats are not unusual in our neighborhood. Charlie, for example, is a grey cat that is also skittish, but he belongs to my neighbor Joyce. She can't keep a collar on him. We lost five collars on Grendel before Dan found him a puppy collar.

So when we saw this cat, we tried to approach him. No dice. We left kibble out, just in case. And yes, Charlie eats from it too. Grendel also eats from Charlie's stash that Joyce leaves out in her garage. Joyce would ask me if the Persian was my cat. No,  I thought it was hers. Apparently, there's another man down the block who wondered the same thing. 

So we left food out for the Persian. Timid cat. Didn't want much to do with us at all, very wary, and we couldn't touch him. He'd run and jump if we tried. 

I'm going to condense this. Too many boring details, so let's talk about November the second. 

It had snowed the day before, and I was concerned, of course. I went to put food out, and found him waiting as he sometimes did. But THIS TIME...

I invited kitty in. I stood guard as he ate, but this time I held the door open and asked if he wanted to come inside. He followed me up the porch stairs. It might have taken five or seven minutes, but it felt like twenty before he crept his way into the kitchen and I quietly shut the door. 

He looked alarmed when the exit closed, but still ventured inside. I used my most soothing voice, as he slinked into the living room. He sniffed Grendel's face. Grendel has always been nice to him, and sniffed back.His sniffed Freya's face, She gave him The Swat. 

Once he figured out there was a basement, he hid in the spare bedroom, under the futon. I left him a dish of food and let him diffuse. A day and a half, I left food, and left him alone. 

That evening, a different cat came up the stairs. He was shouty and purring. He demanded pets, and rolled around being adorable so we would indulge him. We won him over! Yay! He's been here ever since.

Here's the thing....He's not a stray cat. Someone must be missing him. I'm doing the right thing and looking for his owners, But...

I had other names for him. I thought about naming him Balder, Norse god of all things pure and innocent.(Bald-er. People wouldn't get it, and would think that was a dumb name for a fluffy kitty)  I thought about calling him Helios, for the Greek god who drives the sun chariot, based on his beautiful yellow eyes that look like an eclipse when his pupils are large. I started calling him 'Amir' because he was a little prince and he was a Persian longhair. Many people know this...Yes, 'Amir' is the Persian word for 'Prince'. 

I'm not sure I like it. I catch myself saying, "C'mere Amir." and it sounds dumb. And Amir Milward sounds like 'A mere Milward.'

Not particularly imaginative of me, but he suits it. He's a little prince. He yells for affection and food. He likes to be held. I tried brushing him, and he knows the routine. I wouldn't say he likes it like Freya does, but he accepts the brush and rolls over accordingly. He's taken over the couch and has taken other surfaces accordingly. What do I mean by that? I mean my desk, the couch, my makeup table, the kitchen counter. Everything, everywhere. But he's rather polite about it, if that makes sense.  He knows how to play with toys and he SHOUTS for attention. 

We're in love with him, but he clearly belongs to someone. I've put him on all my social media, including 'Next Door', the neighborhood app. No answers, no replies in ten days. Currently looking for posters about him. 

The truth is, we don't need another mouth to feed, but what could I do? Leave him to scrounge kibble from our yard? What if it gets REALLY cold. Today was -20 Celsius, and it's early yet. There's still December and January to get through. . I can't imagine. Here's another thing. He's been here for ten days and NOT ONCE has he asked to go outside. He isn't fixed either. He also hasn't sprayed. He's an impressively good cat. Like he's been trained. He even knows not to scratch the furniture with a simple "Noooo."

There is no microchip. That doesn't mean this won't end in heartbreak. I do believe someone else owns Amir. In the meantime, I will look for his owners and hope that they will let me be a part of his life once we find them. In the meantime, Amir is a part of this family. He will be safe, warm and loved. 

Earth to Thoeba: Hurray for Fall!

Earth to Thoeba: Hurray for Fall!:   I love September. I love summer and fall, but September is the best of both worlds. It's still warm, but not too much so. There's ...

Hurray for Fall!

 

I love September. I love summer and fall, but September is the best of both worlds.

It's still warm, but not too much so. There's more yardwork to do, but because it's cooler, it's easier to do. Don't get me wrong, I love yardwork, but those plus 30 Celsius temperatures can really sap a person's energy. It's time to harvest and reap the rewards of all that spring and summer work. 

I've stopped raking my yard in the fall. Or at least I don't rake too much of them. Someone pointed out how a yard full of leaves is bad for your grass and attracts pests and snow mold. It's true, but I'm not talking about that kind of thing. Mine never gets that bad. 

My neighbor across the street gets the carpet of leaves. They're the people who clear my sidewalks and driveway in the winter. So I rake their tiny lawn clean and put the leaves in my compost. Win/win, and it's the least we can do for them.  

I do my fall cleaning. Like I said, it's a lot cooler outside, but I can still keep my windows open to air things out. Perfect.

Then there's the harvesting and canning. I've already done a batch of canned tomatos and a batch of freezer pickles. The pears are plump this year, and that means I'll spend my evenings making pear bread. It's also a lot of work, but the results are so rewarding. When last I visited my friend Tracey, his mom gave me QUALITY vanilla--the kind you get from Mexico--and I'm excited to try it out. 

Melaida's new business is off to a good start. She'd given me a stack of flyers to put out when she started the business, and today I got them all out. She's got new ones coming soon, and I've already figured out new neighborhoods to hand them out. There's entire blocks in my own region I haven't even been to, not even in my garage sale days. I'm finding that those long walks around the neighborhoods are a lot more pleasant this month.

I'm excited and proud of her, but I just realized I haven't done anything to promote my own work lately. I was thinking I should publish an excerpt of Chasing Monsters for Halloween. Then later, one for Elaina's Fate. maybe a contest. With all the aggravation that went into publishing Elaina's Fate, and the length of time it took to finish it, I stepped back from it, and never really came back. I didn't even hold a contest for it. 

I intend to fix that...soon. There's still a lot going on. I finished the first draft for HER TRUE NAME: VOLUME THREE, but I'm taking a short break on that before I edit. I'll start in October. There's also the anthology that has new stories to add, and truthfully, I need to get all of it organized. At least get all the stories on a single USB key. ( Yeep!) I finished a short story named 'Bad Clown'but it needs work. 

I've got a new short called 'Darkness Encroaches' but I don't like the title. Yet another piece that needs a lot of work.  

I've started work on a eulogy for a friend that has signed up for the MAID program, but that's the only new thing right now, and as you can imagine, it's not fun. 

So, yeah...I'm still hard at work. You can probably expect something new from me next year. Hopefully. We'll see. At least two new books are on their way. 

Happy Birthday Grandma

 

My last living grandparent turns one hundred years old tomorrow. I love her so much, and I'd love to celebrate it with her, or at least phone her. So you're asking, why don't I? She's a Jehovah's Witness. 

That sucks a bit. I have to pretend it isn't a big deal. I told her I'd phone her after she turned one hundred years old, because I can't celebrate it. At least not in any obvious ways. 

I think she's amazing. She raised four boys in a time of need. When her husband broke his back, she took on THREE jobs and still kept her house and her children. Egg grader, janitor, newspaper columnist.. She did whatever.

She was the sixth born child, the first born in Canada, when her parents, Walter and Lydia P:ajunen, arrived in Canada. The first two children didn't survive.  They died in Finland, and I think two died on the journey to the new country. Lydia Pajunen became a midwife who delivered over 2000 babies, though older locals said the number was closer to 5000. I'm not sure I believe that for the simple reason that I can't picture Grandma Lydia having the time to raise my grandma, also conceiving  and giving birth to Aunt Toini and being the bread winner in the whole process Two thousand? There's records. FIVE thousand? Can you even picture that kind of number? Though I'm certain that she probably got paid in things like food. Or maybe nothing. All while taking care of a husband with a drinking problem. Maybe she did, maybe she didn't. Maybe she left him on his own while she did whatever she had to. 

Grandma told me a story... She slept between her parents almost always. One morning, she woke up in a different  place, and she had  a new sister.  They told her an angel brought her down from the chimney. My grandmother's first thought was...Why didn't the angel use the door? 

My grandma had four boys. Jerrold, Arnold, Richard (Sandy) and David. Lydia delivered all but Uncle David, who arrived  14 years after my father and at 14 pounds. 

When my father, Sandy, as he was commonly known, died, I was struck by how hard it must be for my grandmother to out live one of her children. She told me, "I used to consider it such a blessing to live this long..." My heart broke her her that day. 

She dreamed of my father. He was wearing a white shirt, so bright, it glowed. He asked her to come outside, She asked him to come in for a cup of coffee. He would not. And she wasn't coming out. It remained that way until she finally woke up,

Don't worry...I didn't out her. My relatives, even the ones who aren't Jehovah's Witnesses never read this blog or anything else I write. I'm a bit of a black sheep and they are religious in one way or another.  

This photo I have of her is the last time she came to Alberta to see everyone, so to speak. She saw my cat, Freya and she said, "Kitty is washing her face. You'll get company."

My uncle, who brought her there, and is a Jehovah's Witness Elder gave her a poisonous glare.  So I said, "Well you're here, aren't you? She's a bit late."

I love my Grandma. She's the last grandparent I have left. She can't call me, so I will call her. On Thursday.