Heroes

Yesterday as Daughter Darling, grandsons and I cavorted at “Splash” a wave park where we were buffeted around like rocks  shaken in a tin can (fun though) Daughter number one was lying on the floor of her studio praying to save their house from a forest fire.

I didn’t know that until the end of the day.

And her prayers worked—the fire came within 300 feet of the house. Scary.

She felt glad she had taken her dog, Natasha, that day—ordinarily she doesn’t take her to work, for the dog gets car sick, but that day the dog had an eye problem, and so needed treatment. As it turned out she was safe from harm and comforted Daughter by crawling into her lap when she knew Daughter was upset. Daughter’s son was with me, so everyone was stationed out.

Loggers started the fire; firefighters put it out.

 I really praise those firefighters; they surrounded the house, brought in water, contained the fire, and camped there all night to make sure no embers ignited again. They had so many vehicles parked around the house and surrounding forest that it looked like a fairground. The firemen will go to the house daily for the first week, and continue to monitor the area until the fall rains begin. What can we say, except Thank you and Hallelujah!

Life at the home desk:

The day before yesterday I spent a week that morning—well it felt like a week—trying to get a Book proof onto my new Nook. Without the help the most patient, wonderful support person from BookBaby, I would probably still be dinking with it or have killed the Nook or my computer. The two machines  finally talked to each other after being properly introduced by the support lady. All’s well.

 I rejected the proof though, it needs a little tweaking. We’ll see what can be done at this stage. Monday I guess.

 

Mowers and Books

I am honored by your presence.

Thanks for being there.

Earlier I was in the yard earlier pulling cords, unraveling hoses—what is it with those long instruments? I am grateful for them, however, for I have taken over lawn care.

I bought an electric mower that needs a cord attached. I bought it for I have a terrible time pulling the cord to start a gas mower, and I didn’t want gas anyway, and I was too cheap to get an entirely battery powered one. “The yard is small, this will work,” I said.  So far I have not driven over the cord, thus shredding it, or electrocuting me, but with a tree in the middle of the yard and me circling it, and the cord getting tangled—well, you get the idea.

When we built our house in Marcola I said, “No lawns.” We lived in the forest, had decking surrounding the house, I had a flower garden, and container plants, but no lawn.  Now I’m back to one.

I am beginning to be something like Anna Quindlen (in my dreams) only in this regard: Her husband gave her the best line that has often appeared with her byline: “Could you get up and get me a beer without writing about it?”

Some bloggers think everyone is interested in the minutia of their lives—I hope I’m not getting to that stage.  Just painting a picture of what is happening around our abode. To read or not to read, that is your choice.

Yesterday I sent my manuscript and cover for Don’t Tell Mommy to BookBaby for publication.  That was after much hand-wringing, soul search, and nervous jitters. It is telling my secret. The book will be sold on e-readers only unless I have advanced sales to have a soft-cover printed. And I don’t have the price yet and don’t know when I can promise delivery.

The cover will be unveiled in a couple of days.

Who will see the book? Who will buy it? Time will tell.

In the meantime I am sitting in the seat labeled FAITH.

To follow the countdown see http://the90daymillionairechallenge.blogspot.com

I'm Repeating Myself

 

 

I posted this picture earlier on this blog, and I just placed it on my other blog, (http://the90daymillionairechallenge.blogspot.com) where I have a countdown as to the progress of producing my book Don't Tell Mommy. I'm repeating it because it feels right to do so. I found this clipping on microfilm at the U of O library, for the clipping from The Dalles Chronicle I thought I had, I didn’t. This is a picture of my mother and Jan the month Jan arrived from Korea and flew into my mother’s arms.

Okay, I’m ready to submit Don’t Tell Mommy to BookBaby. After many hours of searching and contemplation I think BookBaby is my choice. Now I’m scared. Why?
 

• I’m not sure I have it (the book) together sufficiently. (Well, I’m not sure I have my life together sufficiently either, but that’s another story.)

• I'm afraid it will be like throwing a party and nobody shows up.

• Nobody will buy the book and I will be dashed.

But then, that’s stupid. Of course they will be interested. My mother wrote those letters, and those letters survived for 50 years.

The time is right. Jan just passed away this last April, I must get the word out. She was courageous in exposing the secret. I was not.

My letters to Mom are good letters, honest, they fill in the blanks.

The sexual abuse issue must be told.  Perhaps besides being squeamish about it, I still feel that mother did not know, and even posthumously, I’m embarrassed to tell her.

 I’m swallowing my fears and doing it anyway…

Totally Weird

“Would you like your newspaper with a twist?”

“One twist or two?”

“You want one rubber band, not twisted?”

“No problem.”

"Oh, yes, you want your paper flat and on the table. You want yours rolled and in the box with no rubber band. You want in a plastic bag? On the porch or off the porch. Oh, not on the roof. Yes, I understand, on the porch, not on the roof. And why in the world would you put a cylinder newspaper box on your porch or in a tree?  Isn’t the idea that your newspaper will be delivered from a vehicle?"

IT’S A NEWSPAPER FOLKS. GET A GRIP!

One would think these customers were at Starbucks ordering Café’ Borgia or Latte, or Café’ Mocha with soy not dairy, or with non-fat, not half and half.

Daughter Dear thought a paper route sounded like a good idea. “I’m up late at night anyway,” she said. So she trained for three nights. (One A.M until Six A.M.) Last night she took on the route alone. It took five hours, following the directives of diva newspaper customers, a newspaper gobbling bush, a magnetic roof that pulled in newspapers, and after much backing up and getting out of the car to place papers in their proper receptacles, the man standing outside at 6:20 AM in wait for his paper was the final straw.“ I already called wondering where it was,” he said.  

 “I didn’t even care,” said Daughter Dear.

And since she had not yet signed a contract with the paper company, she essentially said, “Take this job and…..” Well, she’s nicer than I am.

 

I’m relieved. That all night event, seven days a week, would have driven her postal. And, hey, I’m not a stranger to Oregon. I know how the winters can be. I remember living in Eugene one winter where Husband Dear and I climbed up good ole Hendricks Hill on our knees because maintaining a vertical position on that icy road was impossible.

I had a driving paper route when I was a kid, and never got that sort of flack. what in the heck is happening?

Something better is ahead! Can’t wait to see what it is.