Tuesday, August 26, 2008

No Pity Party for me

Okay, this is the last of my quickie posts. Promise.

My missionary son has no sympathy for the fact that my a/c is broken. He says he doesn't even remember what a/c feels like, and at least it's not 110 here.

He's right, I know. I have no right to complain. The thought of him in that sweltering heat for two solid years really does make me physically hurt for him. I think about it every time I even start to grumble and it brings me up short.

So let me say in a little teeny voice that it may not be 110 degrees, but it's hot enough for a blasted wildfire to get out of control in the backyard. And I may not have to walk 25 miles a day, uphill both ways, (okay, I'm kidding with the uphill, but he does sometimes do the 25 mile thing, makes me want to cry...I can't even imagine) BUT (Oops, that mother sensitivity thing almost made me lose my train of thought, and this is me not complaining, not me sympathizing...anyway...) my knee is in a brace and sore and the kitchen and laundry room are upstairs but the only cool room is downstairs so I either have to stay in the heat or keep going back and forth on the stairs with a stiff achy leg and the repairman couldn't do anything today so I have to either spend the night on a concrete floor in the basement or in my hot bedroom and I can't sleep anyway because of the knee situation and we just got back from a week at Bear Lake and I haven't even unpacked and the kids started school yesterday, the day after we got home, so they've been too busy to be much help but I can't stand to be upstairs because of the heat even if I could move around on my knee so everything's just a disaster up there. Whew.

But I know it could be worse. Way worse. So I'm not complaining.


That was so lame!

The coolest thing happened while at Bear Lake, and it requires me tooting my horn, which I'm not good at but I guess I'm supposed to now that I'm some kind of author-type person. (as is obvious from the perfect grammarness of that sentence - and do NOT tell me grammarness is not a word, because I'm totally loving it.)


I've been working on my next manuscript - which is a TOTALLY different genre (young adult science fiction) I know, how on earth did I get there from inspirational fiction? I don't know, insanity maybe. But I'm loving it and loving my story. I should say TOTALLY loving it (as you can see, I'm getting into the young adult thing here.)

So, anyway, while at Bear Lake this past week my 16-y-o decided to read what I have so far - which is 12 of about 20 chapters. Now let me point out that she is mind-numbingly voracious with books. I mean, we're talking a stack of books every week from the library. And she's hard to please. She loves Twilight. And Inkheart. And Harry Potter. And Jane Austen. She has good taste, as you can see. The rest are mostly "okay" or "fine" or something similar.

So she gets through all 250 pages while I'm out on a hike. And when I get back I'm greeted with: THAT WAS SO LAME!!!

Let me tell you, that does not do my heart good. I like my story, it is sooo not lame.
What was wrong with it? I ask gently, trying to be the good, patient mom; not the sensitive ego-maniac author.

"I'm reading along", says she, "and it is SOOO GOOD. I mean it is really good. And I just want to know what happens, and then all of a sudden...IT STOPS!! It's like, not even written any more. Like there isn't even a story. IT JUST STOPS! IT WAS SO LAME!!!"

The next day, she saw me editing and groaned. "Why are you changing things? Just keep writing the story!"

That's my girl. Does my heart good.

Good News and Bad News on the STILL HERE Publishing Front

Well, my editor had a baby and decided to be a stay-at-home mom. (and I really am happy for her.) My publicist left and a new one was hired. The end result being a delay in my release date - which is now December 1. So think Christmas presents!

The good news is that I'll be launching a HUGE contest (think three figure prize) when the book launches, so please pm me at sr.reese @ comcast.net if you'd like to be notified when the time is right!

Big Huge Giant News!!!

Remember I'm just posting a bunch of shorts to get caught up. This one is huge!!!! But I'm not at liberty to share with the world yet, so I'm just chewing on my tongue.

More later, obviously.

Me and the Water Weenie

Okay, so this one needs a picture too, but it ain't gonna happen.

Sometimes I forget I'm old. Like this week, which we spent at Bear Lake with the hubbies family. On day six I made it out on a water weenie, which I had to do because my hubbies twin was trying to convince 80-y-o grandma to try (don't worry, I didn't allow, and we're working on having his head examined.) But if she was even thinking about going, I of course couldn't say no.

The good news is, if you have to tear a ligament in your knee, the MCL is the way to go - I should be as good as new in about a month or so.

Stupid weenie.

The fire

Oh my gosh. What a couple of days. Yesterday I was terrified half the day, and in mourning the other half. During the day I stood out on the porch, my phone clutched in my nervous little fingers, talking to one neighbor then another, about the odds of our having to grab our most precious possessions (pictures of course) and run. The flames were leaping and dancing everywhere, right along the trail that was protecting us. We knew if they jumped to the other side we'd have to make a run for it. I told my kids about it at dinner, and my Nat says, "So that's what you do in an emergency, talk on the phone to the neighbors?"

Yeah. Duh.

Then last night after dark we all stood at the windows and watched the bright flames dancing along the hillside just above us. There aren't words for how ominious that was. The kids (and their texting friends) were afraid to go to sleep, for fear the flames would make their way down to us.

This morning Brandon looked out at the charred mountain, our mountain, and said, "I'm sad for all the animals. And I'm sad for the trees. And I'm sad for our mountain."

I know exactly how he felt. Later in the day I pulled into the neighborhood after doing errands and looked up at my beautiful mountain, such a familiar sight, all black and scarred, and blubblered like an idiot.

Catching Up

It has occurred to me that I have a TON of things to blog about, (so many goodies, how do I decide?) but I have been putting it off because I can't find my camera and I have some way great pictures of the amazing and dreadful goings on in my backyard that I want to post, but since I don't seem to be able to find the camera in the mountain of garbage on my countertop (I'll explain why in a sec), I'm just going to post a bunch of short shorts, and I'll add pics later.

Monday, August 25, 2008

Still Not Panicking

Ok, let me make it clear that I am not one of those hysterical women that panics over every little thing - like, say, when a hurricane is heading towards your son while he's in Mexico...or like, oh, I don't know. Maybe when a massive wildfire is raging out of control IN YOUR BACKYARD!!! Nope, not panicking. Not even worried. (That white fence in the bottom of the fence...yep, that's mine.)

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

The end is finally near!

After two long years, I finally got THE letter. The one confirming that my missionary son has a ticket home! Yeah! It's really going to happen! That quiet teenage boy...turned man in the blink of an eye...is coming home October 8 - two months from now! I asked him how he thinks he's changed the most, and says that he's not as materialistic.

Which is such a relief, because...here's the thing:

Your bed? Well, I guess if you're picky, that would include your bedroom -- Nat would like to know if you'd mind hanging your hammock in the hall? Little sisters, I know they can be pains. Speaking of which, your other little sister, Whitney, she's loving your car. It runs on natural gas you know? About .75 cents a gallon. Pretty sweet. But she did save your phone for you (like, duh). She just took the number it goes with. Then there's your I-pod. The girls tell me you wouldn't want it even if it did still work, because it's so old and outdated. Which leaves your laptop. The one I'm currently writing this blog on. The one I've written almost two full novels on. Yeah. That one. We're going to have to discuss that .

But please don't freak out. Think of the lady who lives in the stick hut. The one who can't even think of what else she'd want. Remember how happy she is.

Besides, you still have your clothes. Assuming they fit with all the weight you've lost.

And I promise, no matter what, I won't let your sisters hang a hammock in the hall.
Don't worry, I've got your back. That's what moms are for.

The corn was as high as a puppy dog's eye...

By popular demand - okay by request of my daughter who lives in Logan, but she's pretty darn popular - I took a picture of the mutant corn. It's kind of hard to see (seeing as how small it is), but it's right behind my little doggie (isn't he adorable?) and you can tell how small HE is by the size of his gigantic tags (don't those vets realize that all dogs aren't German Shepherds? I mean seriously, imagine having to lug those things around just to prove you'd had your shots, but I digress...)
Behind the corn, towering over it, is our pumpkin patch, behind that a swing, and in the top left, also towering, are some gladiolas. Yep, sad little plant. I did call extension, and other than the same ol party line (did you fertilize? is the soil well-drained? plenty of sun?) they had no idea. But we're not dead yet, so I guess it's not toxic.