PETS

 

Once in my very long lifetime I took part in choosing a specific pet for our family.  He was a lab and lived a very long and comfortable life, except for the time that little Maltese bit him on the testicles.  That was touch and go for a while.  Literally.  Anyway, I knew when we walked in to see the puppies my husband would choose the black one moaning piteously at the back of the enclosure over the other seven that were jumping and barking trying to get our attention.  And, seriously, that is the one I was drawn to.  He was a very good dog.  Not a good watch dog unless you were hoping a burglar would trip over him and break his leg.  And hardly ever acted spiteful as dogs can do with such aplomb.

But there was that time. . .   My husband was overseas and I went to a wedding.  I dropped my daughter at my mom's on the way.  Amos was angry about being left alone and left a large loose movement of his digestive system perched on the floor just inside the front door in such a way that one would not hit it when opening the door, but could not avoid stepping into it.  I know it was carefully planned.  I am surprised I did not find sketches of the floor plan and notations.  But, he was just a good dog, other than that event, (which may have been justified,) in every other way. Usually. 

In those days, it was not so common to get dogs fixed.  We lived in a semi-rural town outside Chicago.  A neighbor we were on friendly chatting terms with had a female lab, not fixed.  Amos was not fixed.  The neighbor was walking by with her dog one day just as I was walking out the door with Amos on lead.  She hollered from the end of my very long and sharply slanted driveway, "Is he fixed?"  I hollered back that he wasn't and she said her dog had just finished her season, but sometimes the males still hit on it.  He dragged me down thirty feet of concrete on my elbows.  Other than that, he was just a good dog.

Now,  to get back to my point, as I so frequently have to say in these blogs:  In all the many years I have been married, we have seldom been without a pet of some sort at some time.  My cocker spaniel got his knee surgery before I did.  I loved that canary.  She would talk to me.  She killed her husband. We had a gold fish I wept over.  Still feel really bad about that.  But each time a pet moves on or passes on, I say never again.  At this moment I am sitting here with a dog at my feet and a cat on the windowsill.  How does this keep happening to me?


Photo attribution:   happyathomepet.net

Boys

Can't live with 'em.  Can't kill 'em.  Oh, wait.  That's husbands.  Which used to  be boys.

A fellow blogger is having a complex pregnancy and amidst all the other unknowns she wondered if she would regret not having a boy.  (Maybe regret isn't the right word.  Maybe it is just whether she would notice none of those kids was a boy.) Sometimes I regret not having a hysterectomy when I was thirteen.

I am "along in years".  I have two grandsons and three grandaughters.  I had three girls and two boys.  I am an RH mother and I didn't miscarry.  I carried two boys and a girl to term with lots of medical intervention, but they couldn't hold on.  This is something you never get over.  I wrote about it in one of my fiction books.  The thing is, as medical philosophy regarding grief evolved, I was able to hold only the last little boy.  And all I could think was "I wish he was alive.  I wish I could make him breathe."  Truthfully, I am the kind of person so caught up in the inside of my head I never ever thought how unfair it was to my husband that two girls made it and the boys didn't.

But lately, when I see how he adores his grandson, it does cross my mind. And when he is up on a ladder, I always think, "If only. . . "  And when I have to hire a lawyer I also think, "If only. . "  And girls can be lawyers.  So you see, no matter what the outcome, there are always, would haves, should haves, and could haves.  And I know I would be saying that if I had three girls and two boys totally alive today about at least one of them for some reason.

It has sharpened my survival skills.  It has changed the course of my personality, my thought processes, my attitudes about "Faith", the entire tenor of my marriage.  There are bound to be unspoken resentments on both sides after all these years, but in this case, I had some spoken words to listen to  that put the whole situation in a much more glaring light.  But whatever.  It's what happened.  Lots of ways it could have been different, but it wasn't.  And I am okay with where I sit right now.  (Literally and figuratively.)  Maybe it is acceptance or rationalization or having the kind of brain that constantly puts a different spin on almost everything, everyday. But when it comes to motherhood, the joy it brings you is not based on any selective factors, and the pain it brings you is too horrible to notice the why.  You only know the hurt.  You don't think it is cuz of his blood type or the day the doctor scheduled the procedure or if it was you that made the baby fall out of the cart or a manufacturing defect.  You just hurt. And you think you are sorting  it all out over the years, but the truth is joy is joy and pain is pain, and usually most of us are floating between those two poles every day.

Why would I ever say, "Don't bother analyzing your feelings too much"?  I over analyze the living breathing shit out of every single thing in my life constantly.  It keeps me running. Grist for the mill.  Fodder for the soul.  What the hell else would I think about?  What to fix for dinner?

Photo attribution:  rialeephotography.com

Announcement.

Guys,

I don't get very many comments, but, lately, I have been getting six or eight spams a day about health insurance, etc.  Maybe you know what I mean.  They talk about how great your site is in broken English and then direct you to their site "Erectile Dysfunction(dot) com", or something of that ilk.  

I hate those captcha things, but I am thinking of doing that. 

It is too bad that a suburban housewife can finally build up a little following only to have some back room SEO company in Thailand try to hitch a ride on my coat tails (so to speak). 

How do y'all handle this?

Chalking Up Another Good Day

The highlight of the day and perhaps my life, was when Ben's little pop up drove in two runs and we all yelled "Yay" dramatically and clapped and Delaney joined in not knowing why. So then we high-fived. She is not yet two so she got it right on the third try. Then we all settled down from our comedy routine, -- comic, but inspired nonetheless by joy, and in the echoing silence that followed Delaney gave a little nod of her head and stated, very matter-of-factly, "Awesome."

What You See

 

Y'all see  that I am tapped out.  There is nothing coming out of my brain.  I feel slightly zombie-ish.  Maybe that will be the real zombie apocalypse.  Big Pharma will finally have everyone medicated to this level except the few selected to control the zombies or manufacture  the meds.  Although I am sure they will be able to train zombies to manufacture mediction.  I am currently still trainable.

I was reading about the huge uproar over the newest edition of the DSM, that new hand book listing  mental health  disorders.  The brain farts we used to call senior moments are now a disease.  I am currently reading a really interesting book called Blood, Justice, LLP: Vampires at Law by Juno Ross.  (Consider this a plug.) It sounds so plausible.  The few problems historically exhibited by vampires, such as sunlight, have  all been controlled by different kinds of pills.  The fun part is that if you were dumb when you became a vampire, 2,000 years later you are still dumb. It is a very interesting read and very well written, but it is a little scary if you actually think about whether or not it could be true.  There is that old saw I love to drag out that every societal myth is somewhere grounded in reality, a belief I subscribe to. So maybe there will be a future for me if I can find an agent that is an over-medicated zombie.  She will love my books.

Speaking of which, I thought April was the first month in which I had not sold a single book, but I sold a few on Smashwords, so thus far I am still afloat although struggling to stay afloat and not really very interested in whether or not I do.  I figured out why my Sacred Sin holds its place in the ratings.  When I had the KDPSelect  giveaways, I was downloaded in the  thousands and they count that.  So, here I go back to KDPSelect.  I was all afire then to do the promo so everyone knew about the freebie and I am just going to have to psych myself up to do that.  Now, at least, I know how.  I just hate it more.

I would also like to tie that in to the release of my next story which is about 75% done in writing and 100% done in my head.  But I started the book because I had a good idea for a title, and I am having a struggle fitting a book of any length to the paradigm proscribed by that title.  Which shall remain a safely guarded secret cuz it is GREAT.

Then the other night when I was waiting to fall asleep, the time I usually use to further the narration of my current book in my head, I was thinking, what will I do next?  And I had a brilliant idea that I could run with, but I did not quickly jot it in the notebook next to my bed which must always be there for that reason.  Instead of writing down a few words, I actually fell asleep and the next morning the idea was gone.  Here though I do have hope.  Despite my having a brand new diagnosed mental disorder  which they do not call brain fart-itis, they call it something like Minimal Loss of Cognition or something close to that because I am too lazy to go find the article, I know the idea will come back.  They always do.  So now I probably qualify to be diagnosed with Delayed Factual Memory Recollection disorder. 


Photo Attribution:  www.examiner.com

Raven's Quest

As a special promotion for a fellow author I am announcing the release of her newest book, the first in the exciting new QUEST series,

RAVEN'S QUEST. 

 

             The Quest Series revolves around three women who are worlds apart but connected in more ways than one.  

            The first book is Raven’s Quest

We embark on Raven working as a Marketing Director at Stage Records who gets caught in a love triangle with the new CEO of Stage Records. She starts to fall in love with him as his old flame returns to the picture. With a broken heart Raven runs to Napa Valley to heal her wounds, and see her family.

Fate has other plans; she falls into the arms of an old crush that broke her heart as a teen. The GQ Race Car Driver that she met so many years ago. Raven has always had eyes for Tony Fox. How could she forget how he broke her heart with her best friend.  

Now that he has matured, he sees her in a different light. She is a gorgeous, successful woman that he can’t be without. He will stop at nothing to have her.

About  W.L. Sexton

Wendy grew up in Norwalk, California adopted at the age of two days

 At the age of 44 Wendy found her Birth Mother. They are making up for time lost.

When Wendy is not Drag Racing, with her husband of twenty two years; she is running the Racing team, working as a Trade Show Coordinator, or shopping at the Coach Store.

You can find her running the highways between; Phoenix, Arizona.  Las Vegas, Nevada.  California  You will always find her with some-kind of coffee product in her hand.

She loves Fast Cars, Music and Tattoos.

Wendy loves to hear from you. Twitter @wendy_sexton.

Raven's Quest  is available at Amazon, Nook, and Barnes & Noble

Her blogspot: http://wlsextonauthor.blogspot.com/

Email: wlsextonauthor@gmail.com

Facebook : W.L.Sexton Author of Raven's Quest;

Goodreads

 

Hey, guys.  Have a look!

We Fucking Redheads

I am quite old.  Almost as old as I would ever want to be.  I like finite goals.  Sometimes.

I went on a trip.  It was a long weekend.  It was an out of  this world experience.  It was a place I imagined, but the reality trumped my imaginings.  I didn't worry about how I would look in all these new places.  I didn't look to see how old that guy was riding that Harley.  I didn't even bother to notice if he was fat.  I worried about my shoes and which socks were the most comfortable with which shoes and I worried about whether I would be hot or cold.  I do not remember at this point if I was ever hot or cold during the vacation. I must admit to all of you who are so quick to hold me accountable for my every word that  I do remember gently harping at my semi-saintly daughter about the settings on the car heater thing.

But one day I looked in the mirror and instead of peering closely to see if the new deep wrinkle minimizer or the new skin tightening cream were working, I said to myself, "Yup.  Still red.  Looks good."

Lately there are a lot of blogs and websites and Pinterest sites, not just postings, about redheads.  I was asked to participate in a documentary about redheads, but I haven't sent in the tape yet.  I may or may not do that. The word 'ginger' is thrown around a lot.  I do not know if it is an insult.  Look at Prince Harry for God's sake.  I wanted it to be my nickname when I was six cuz I was named Virginia and a redhead, but that didn't take.  Thank God.  I think it started when someone said redheads would be extinct in 150 years.  From the look of my subdivision that is not likely.  Someone commented that people were deciding it should be an insult and not let others get away with calling them that, pushing the Politically Correct agenda and commenting on the combination of letters in the word, emphasizing that the attention being drawn to redheads was deliberate and hinting that certain ethnicities were deliberately promoting the agenda which is ridiculous because I think just about every ethnicity, except maybe Asian, has redheads.  Anyway, it is fun to participate, especially when they go after the dye jobs.  Not that I could blame someone for that. But I did have a point to this ramble when I started out.

One of the questions on the interview for the documentary was about whether you felt that redheads were distinctive in any way, or felt distinctive.  I don't know how old I was when I realized I was a redhead.  I don't think I ever realized it.  I think I just was.  I think I am a redhead before I am a caucasian or even a human.  I don't know if I am a redhead before I am a female.  I think maybe that distinction is equal.  I also think it is synergistic. I am sure it has defined me and I am glad that I am now old enough to not even want to check out the guy on the Harley, now that the white part of my hair is growing to a larger percentage. I am pretty sure that if I was in the mood to check out any guy or had any interest of that sort, I would probably resort to dye, or as my wholly-sainted grandmother said, "tinting".  When she got sick her hair grew out white as snow.  She stayed a redhead til her last conscious moment.

I searched for an illustration for this post with the term "scribe".  There were hundreds.  One was a female.  She has red hair.  Honestly, I feel that it is something someone who is not a redhead can never understand.

When I was three and my brother was teaching me the letters he learned at school, I knew I was smart and clever and me.  Once, exactly once, and this I recall distinctly, I hollered at my mom for giving someone more attention than I got.  It was when her fifteen year old god daughter got pregnant, and she couldn't stop talking about darling Peggy and what trouble she was in and how could that happen, etc.  I said that it was really weird that someone had to do the thing she thought was the most horrible of all, getting knocked up outside of marriage, in order to get her attention.  She never said another word about Peggy.  Every time I had a friend  that was red-headed, there was this distinctive camaraderie but also this unstated but painfully obvious sense of competition.  I had a fight with Judy Schilf who was a redhead when I was about eight and she drew blood.  It was historical.  I hung around with another redhead, Marie Daugherty, and that sense of competition was very obviously not there.  Probably cuz my ten year old brother was in love with her so there was nothing to compete over.

I never wanted to be anyone but me.  I had a friend who wished she was a boy. (I think I covered this subject elsewhere.)  I never even wanted to be or wished I was a movie star, Shirley Temple or Lucille Ball, for example, that is how fucking old I am, unless the movie star could be me, Ditty, The Movie Star. Yeah. I could've handled that.

"You fucking redheads.  You blink on and off like a fucking Christmas tree."

I don't believe you only go around once.  I think you get lots of chances to get it right.  God is a good Christian and He firmly believes in recycling.  But I think I must have earned good karma in my past life in order to live with this distinction I so cherish.  This time around, I don't know.  Maybe I lived up to the Plan, or maybe I will come back as a house sparrow.  Or something else rather drab and colorless, but really kind of cute in its own way.

****

I was so concerned that I haven't blogged in so long.  But thanks to the very loyal plumbers in New Zealand, my wonderful numbers have held up very well in my absence.  Big, big, sincere Thank You, guys.  Even if you are not a plumber in New Zealand.  Or a redhead.


Photo Attribution:  www.camlann.org

Inside My Head

We are going on a little vacation for mother's day and I am trying to not get too anxious about that.  I am greatly looking forward to it.  Perhaps inordinately so.

I was just browsing through Linked In, some group I belong to, and one person's remarks about Rape Culture, just blew me away.  I feel totally on edge.  My mind so needs to be deeply exploring something and I will not let it.  He talked about how your attitudes are predetermined by your peer prejudice and your culture's attitudes.  And I got to thinking, how can your attitude toward something be based on pure reason?  And I don't think it can.  I can't find anybody around here to talk to about that, so I write sarcastic little books about it and throw them before the public.  It helps a little.

I happened on a feminazi blog once that was arguing about rape culture with a male novelist whose forte is speculative fiction.  He had made some remarks that the blog admins took umbrage at and he rose to his defense as did many others.  Of course, I went in with my etymological resources and my glaring generality remarks and the conversation came to an abrupt halt.  It had been going on for days and I would have loved a little feedback, or at least to have felt included.  But no.  Once again I slammed the door shut in my own face. Yet, I do not abandon my search for intellectual stimulation.

I hardly ever watch television.  We have Starz, and I tried to watch Spartacus, but I can't pay attention, and if you turn it on and they are gazing at Spartacus's dead body, you kind of don't feel like there is any point in trying to catch up.  Besides, I, yes, even I, consider some of the sexual footage gratuitous.  So I have been catching up with Walking Dead by utilizing Netflix on my cell phone and my ear pieces, one side of which is dead.  But one or two episodes of Walking Dead per day is quite enough.   I have also  been watching that Netflix Production of that Kevin Spacey political thing.  It is interesting how he successfully employs that aside to the camera thing and Robin Wright is fascinating to watch.  She is amazing.  What the heck did she ever have to talk to that douchebag Sean Penn about?  But that was also on the cell phone.  And sometimes I would fall asleep in the middle of it, which is, for me, a good thing, except for when the cell phone falls on my face.  And I feel like I am not making good use of the enormous amount of money I give to Comcast.  (It really is ridiculous.)

So I was looking at On Demand and noticed Starz On Demand had some good recent offerings.  I kind of want to watch Brave again.  It was amazing and wonderful, especially the little triplet mimicking the dad at the supper table, and I also want to watch the new Bourne thing with Jeremy Renner.   But, finally, I selected Men in Black Three, and I was absolutely riveted for the length of the entire movie.  I did pause it once to go and get a popsicle, but I was so thrilled to be able to concentrate on it and be interested and follow the plot. I enjoyed it, all the little father-son subtleties and inside jokes.

I think it says something about the state of my mind and I don't think I want to know what that is.

Photo Attribution:  tiffanysally.blogspot.com -

Review for The Maze

At Barnes and Noble.

 

 

  Well, this was thought provoking, but nice.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0061SB3TC

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/158247