Windy Moment

It's hurricane season and for Southwest Louisiana it officially started with Issac. It's been seven years since Rita, our Nemesis, and her better known sister Katrina swung into town on Poseidon's shoulders. Those of us who cleaned up after the whores' party in 2005 remember, so it's no wonder poor little Issac is making the news. Unlike the spontaneity of a tornado or the manic energy of an earthquake, the media has days with an approaching hurricane to whip the fear factor. Like a good book everyone loves a good disaster it seems. The slow dis-ease of uncertainty creates a suspense novel while the fear of the known, what could be, creates a thriller.
The appliance repairman came by yesterday and asked what was happening with the hurricane. He was surprised I didn't have the television tuned to the weather. Still officially a tropical storm, I figured Issac would mature without my mothering. A teaspoon of fear for leavening, mixed with a cup of truth, add gallons of media attention and a frenzy has baked, albeit lopsided and raw in the middle.
It's a good thing for writers that people love drama. I wonder if it's our spoiled fat culture that doesn't have enough to do, so we create exercise equipment because we sit too much, and we create excitement because we lack joy and worthwhile human interaction in our lives. I don't know, but It's a beautiful day in Southwest Louisiana. A strong wind is blowing the humidity to Mexico, and I think I'll take the dog for a walk before the excitement rains. Who knows maybe I'll meet some dark mysterious evacuee from the east who loves dogs and wants to know my take on the weather situation. Maybe I'll come home with a plot for a new story. Maybe.

Salmon Fishing in the Yemen

I love a good movie. It's maddening for me to spend two perfectly good hours of escapism and walk away feeling I could have been mopping the floor. You know that pile of burning brown bag on the Blue-ray player with the stupid dialogue or predictable plot. My husband and I make sport of each other, depending who chose the last stinker.
Recently, I was reading pitches and watching trailers to find the perfect evening entertainment and decided to rent a DVD called Salmon Fishing in the Yemen. Since it didn't boast bloody neck biting or mutant muscled super heroes, I thought we'd give it a try. Billed an inspirational comedy, it definitely passed the popcorn test. Not a sappy romance, but superb acting, this film's subtle message that faith in God is not unique to any one religion, nor is violence and fear, was a significant lesson in the wake of the recent shooting deaths at the Sikh Temple in Wisconsin.

Ultimately, when the popcorn's gone, we are all alike, struggling with our humanness. Keep the faith and try Salmon Fishing in the Yemen. www.fishingintheyemen.com

Squirrelly

I've given up coffee, or more accurately, my body has given up on me. I had the flu about a month ago and ever since coffee hasn't held much appeal.

To many people that might not seem like a big deal, but I haven't missed my morning java since 1972. That is forty years of black ecstasy. I live in the land of Community Dark Roast where your spoon wilts if  not removed after stirring. Multiply that fact by several large mugs per day and you have a caffeine addict -- but not any more. If I make the mistake to override my taste buds to share coffee and camaraderie, my stomach rolls and flips tanking with gas. It’s just not worth the discomfort.

For years, magazines, special reports, my dentist all told me to give it a rest, but I wouldn’t listen. Now, I wonder if it was the flu or just a directive from the Big Guy to “give it up." What's next - sugar?

Since the forth grade, I’ve struggled with diets and eating correctly, but several years ago I realized my desires hedge (or slither) into the idolatrous realm. I want what I want, and damn those consequences.

The great 1^st century writer, Paul of Damascus fame, once penned, “I want to do what is right, but I can’t. I want to do what is good, but I don’t. I don’t want to do what is wrong, but I do it anyway.” I'm not sure what Paul was struggling with (chances are not a chocolate brownie topped with Blue Bell ice cream), but if a man, said to be a saint, admits he can’t shuck all his bad habits, maybe there’s hope for me, nuts and all. Ooh, pass the pistachios.

The Orchid House

My book club, the Pulpwood Queens of Southwest Louisiana, just finished reading The Orchid House by the British author, Lucinda Riley. A few too many "darlings" in the dialogue for me, but everyone else who came to our monthly meeting raved. So, it wasn't my style, but that's the great thing about book clubs, you read stuff you might not pick up normally. A plot set around the British class system and the changes brought by WWII, it's steeped in romance and history. Well written, the story moves from war-torn England to exotic post-war Thiland and back.

The "Queens" Skyped the author on our meeting day. where we caught up with Lucinda at her home in Southern France. A querky, well traveled, outspoken woman with four school-age children and a passion for writing, I can't wait to read her newest release in the States, The Girl on the Cliff. Coming out in the U.S. in October, this book is set on the Irish coast where the author was born, and promises to reveal much of herself in its character.