On-the-fly and Off-the-cuff

It's Monday morning, and I'm at my son and daughter-in-law's house babysitting the plumber. The man probably wouldn't like my analogy, but your children are yours, forever. Life has its cycles. One day you're rocking the next you're putting out fires, sometimes literally. The good news is my imagination is portable and so is technology. The lap-top is humming and after the new sink is delivered I'll go to the post office with a contest entry. If I would win (or heaven for bid when I get published) I doubt anyone will think twice about the accomplishment, but the dividends for being a mother are beyond number. Sometimes I get to babysit our grandson and sometimes it's the plumber. Life is good.

Sanity, an Evanovich Moment

I keep saying maybe tomorrow will be the day, but so far, NO. This blog is the sum total of my writing. School started today, and I loved having my grandson for four days while his mother, a teacher, reported back to school; but somehow, I'm now WEEKS behind. Dozens of things all seem to be due - yesterday. Ahh, the life of a volunteer. The only thing worse than failing at a job, is failing at a job where you can't get canned. It is like the proverbial Hell stone that you can never roll up the hill.

Although too tired and strung out to concentrate and write, I have been able to read Janet Evanovich's latest Plum novel, Sizzling Sixteen. A fast and fun read, Stephanie Plum's I Love Lucy antics are always entertaining. Evanovich is the master of slap stick.

Amy Dickinson, A Mighty Queen Herself

All the "how-to-write" books say to be a good writer one must read. Well, I'm not getting much writing done these days, but I am reading.

Amy Dickinson, the advice columnist, has a book entitled The Mighty Queens of Freeville. Not to be confused with the Pulpwood Queens of Jefferson, TX that I wrote about a week ago, this is a sweet, comical, and honest look at Amy's life. Writing reminiscent of Erma Bombeck, but calmer with less shtick, Amy shares her life as a single mom. In a society that is sorely lacking in moral values, Amy gives us a glimpse of living through adversity, clinging to the best of small town America, and to the women who instilled in her faith and reason.

Going Home

Recently my husband and I made a pilgrimage north to our birthplace. I used to say, we went home, but with the passing of my parents in recent years, there really is not much there for me that feels homey. I enjoy visiting in-laws and cousins, but it's not home.
My mother was a wise woman. When we moved twelve hundred miles away to start our young married lives and took their only grandchild, Mom insisted they maintain a second residence on a sleepy clear water lake. Her philosophy was if they had toys, we would come home to play. And for over thirty years, we made the trek twice a year, winter and summer.
Two hard days driving, four kids in a van, we drove all night, taking turns sleeping, to visit with family and play at the lake. The cottage was a simple two bedroom box that smelled musty, but we reveled in our days spent there. Wet bathing suits and flies, or snow sledding and hot chocolate, it was a home away from home. Hospitality is what my parents spread on their gift of love. We went to be close to the familiar and bask in their love, but if it had not been so inviting and comfortable, we would not have gone near as frequently.
Now our chicks have flown the nest. What castles and candy can we offer to draw them home?