I wish you could see our tomato plants. You would not believe your eyes. They are enormous. They are gigantic. They are Jack and the Beanstalk colossal!
Oh, all right. I exaggerate, but not much. I took a photo of them to back up my claim.
Last summer, I wrote about a recent Camp Grandma with our younger son’s children. In that post, I touched briefly on an incident with their cousins from the original Camp Grandma. This time around, I’m telling all about it—the complete and unvarnished origins of Camp Grandma on the lake. Continue reading »
I whined to writer friend Dana Corbit that even with a home office that has a door I can shut, it is still difficult for someone who has AD/HD like me to avoid interruptions and distractions that slow the writing process, sometimes to a screeching halt. Dana, who also has a home office, told me that she doesn’t use it when she writes.
I tried to hide my astonishment. She has a completely equipped home office, every writer’s dream, and she doesn’t use it? What manner of madness is this? Should I summon the paramedics?
Dana assured me that she wasn’t crazy, just practical. There are too many distractions and too many items on the dreaded To Do List to discourage a writer from writing when she’s at home. She’s spot on about that. There are floors to mop, meals to plan, dishes and laundry to wash, plants to water, a recipe collection to alphabetize, and so on.
Spoiler Alert: I’m The Spoiler Queen.
Before you go ballistic, let me assure you that I’m not the kind of spoiler you want to throttle. You know, the kind who sees a show and then tells you how it ends, destroying the element of surprise, before you have a chance to see it yourself. Nope. No way. Not me. I’m the kind of spoiler who watches the show with you, guesses whodunit and/or exactly how it’s going to end, and tells you before it does. Come to think of it, I guess you might want to throttle me too. Continue reading »
I have a button collection. My buttons are not the kind sewn on clothing. Mine are the kind with odd sayings or pictures on them. I pin them on my clothing where they will be most visible to the unsuspecting people I encounter. I photographed a select few to give you an idea of what the unsuspecting get to see.
The kind of buttons that speak to me can be fun conversation pieces or attention getters—positive or negative. Some people see the buttons and are drawn to converse with me; others point at them, laugh, and shake their heads; still others go glassy-eyed and look for the nearest exit.
I have a few souvenir buttons that I acquired in my travels as proof that I was courageous enough—or fool enough—to brave potentially dangerous pursuits. I still shudder whenever I see the button that proudly proclaims: “I went 1,000 feet underground at the Mollie Kathleen Gold Mine.” I got more than I bargained for there.
