Category Archives: on my mind

*Beeeeep*

Hi. Sorry I can’t come to the blog right now. The black-footed ferret series has reached a short interlude while other aspects of life take hold. In the meantime, please choose one of the following menu items.

*For Sharron McClellan’s news and contest for her latest release, Breathless (which has a hot cover), click here.

*For the Angry Romance Grrl snarky responses to those who dis romance blog/contest, click here.

*For the fab cover and book trailer for Jody Wallace’s new Samhain release, A Spell for Susannah, click here or here.

*To read about Cathy’s ferret-related adventures thus far, please scroll down to the post titled “Six Degrees of Separation–Ferrets, Part One” or whatever it’s titled.

Thank you, and come back soon!

*Beeeep*

As if getting ready for the holidays isn’t stressful enough, yesterday we went through a bit of pre-holiday excitement. Not of the fun and good kind, unfortunately.

First, DH and I made arrangements for a trip to The Big City late next month. We have to schedule carefully because in the winter the ferry only runs every other week. And it leaves late Friday night and returns Monday. And takes 12 hours each way. I know. Don’t get me started. Yes, there is air service, but we have some big items to purchase and need to use our truck to get them, hence the need to ferry. We also had to make an appointment for Dear Daughter # 2 in The City. I called that office. Not a problem. Can get you in when you need to. Yay! All works out. For about five minutes.

DH calls me back to say he’d misread the ferry schedule. It returns much earlier in the day so the appointment for DD#2 needs to be moved. Oh, and the shipping folks who have the kitchen cupboards we ordered in October have been trying to call us forever to make sure we can pay the freight charges. Have they called? Don’t you think I’d TELL you they’d called if they’d called? OK, he’ll take care of that, and does.

So I call the office to rearrange the appointment for DD#2. No problem moving the appointment later in the week, but to get her there we have to send her on a flight from here to The Big City as an unaccompanied minor where DH will meet her (he’ll be staying in The Big City for a week of meetings while the kids and I return on the ferry with our laden truck) and take her to her appointment. Now, I know you’re all freaking out about sending a little kid on a plane alone but (a) it’s only a 45 minute flight, no stops, so it’s not like she can get lost, (b) if I were to accompany her it would cost another $400 because I’d also have to take DD#1 and sorry, but that’s expensive, and (c) DD#2 is sooooooooo excited about going on an airplane alone, something her big sister has NEVER done. You have to throw a kid a bone sometimes, right? She and DH will return together that evening.

Whew!

But wait! There’s more! While I’m on the phone with DH for like the eightieth time that morning (yes, all of this went down before noon), I discover the hamster has escaped. GAH!!!!! And it was MY fault. I’d neglected to secure his cage door the night before. How he managed to drop three feet and get past two cats and two dogs, I’ll never know. He was in the laundry room, under the dryer. How did I discover this? One of the cats was constantly in there all morning and I kept tripping over her. Duh! So now I have to move appliances. When I scoot the dryer, the thin metal vent tube tears. Dang! Now the hamster has access to the vent that leads to the outside. Where it’s about 20 degrees and snowing. @$%&@!!!! I call DH. He suggests checking under the house to be sure the hamster hasn’t gotten into the tube and out the flappy vent thing. &%%*$#^&$%#!!!!!!! Did I want him to come home to do it? No, I can unscrew the panel to access under the house, crawl around under there to the tube and see if I’m going to have some horrible conversation with the kids when they get home. I hate going under the house, but I can’t afford to wait for him to get home, as the hamster may be gone for good. And crawling around under a filthy, dark house is a good way to remind me to secure the cage in the future. If we have a hamster to secure in the future. Oy vey.

When I go under the house, flashlight in hand, there’s no break in the tube (yay!), but no telltale weight of a hamster either. Where is he? I hadn’t seen him under the dryer or washing machine or any place else. !#%$#!!!!

Back to the laundry room, where I have to climb over the washer and check inside the open back of the dryer. Did you know hamsters don’t come when you call them? But luckily, this one is very friendly, and had no problem coming out from the back of the dryer to me. Yay! I scooped him up and quickly determined I cannot vault a washing machine while holding a hamster. Hmmm. But, smart girl that I am, I’d brought an old pillowcase under the house with me in case I had to net him and had brought it into the laundry room. It was actually within reach. Yay! Did you know hamsters don’t like being in pillowcases? Well, he had no choice.

So the hamster is back in his cage. The travel/appointment schedule for next month is set. We jet out on Sunday for the holidays (also with an ungodly schedule, but that’s another story).

All is well and right in the world once again. For the moment.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, all! See you in ’08!!!

I love spam.

The canned kind is a guilty pleasure I rarely allow myself to have. Fried up with a couple of eggs on toast and topped with ketchup, it reminds me of my dad, who loved the stuff. What beats the artery-clogging goodness of fried eggs and pork product? Nothing, I tell you.

But it’s the other kind of spam, the stuff I find in my email inbox, that I’m talking about today.

I love that kind of spam too, but for a different reason. It makes me chuckle. Most of my email is received at a Yahoo! address. Yahoo! is pretty good about filtering, so most spam is sent to my bulk folder and easily deleted. In fact, I receive very little spam at my Yahoo! address, and am grateful. And just because I say I love it doesn’t mean I want more of it. Really. I get enough as it is, thank you very much.

The gobs of spam that land in my website inbox cracks me up. How, in the name of all that’s good and right in the world, would ANYONE think responding to these solicitations was a good idea? And what lists have I ended up on? Let me assure you, I never open the emails that are sent, but merely reading the subject lines is enough to see my life is woefully lacking.

If I were to answer the spam I get, I’d have the latest software and pharmaceutical products at incredibly low prices, a personal loan at the best possible rate available on the planet, the ability to purchase medication to enlarge my pen!s (yes, the ! to replace the “i” is common, to fool the filters, I assume) (I have yet to receive spam telling me how I, a female, can get my own pen!s, but I’m sure that’s just a matter of time) so my women will be happy with the hours upon hours (huh?!?!?!? ever hear of chaffing, people?) of sex we could have. And if I don’t have my own woman, there are apparently scores of girls waiting on certain sites for me to choose from.

Lucky, lucky me.

Like the canned spam, computer-generated spam can clog things up. Annoying? Yes. Heart-burn inducing? Sometimes. But if you’re careful, it’s not going to kill you.

Hey, is it lunchtime yet?

No, not a writing gig, unfortunately. I assure you, were I to get anything resembling a contract of any kind you wouldn’t have to read it here first. You’d HEAR my hoots of delight from whatever corner of the world you reside.

The job I have is with the local school district as a substitute aide or teacher (hahahaha–Cathy flicks tear from corner of eye). Andrea, one of the lovely ladies who runs the office at my kids’ school, called me earlier today to see if I’d be interested in applying, as there is a shortage of subs. This being a small town, I wasn’t surprised about the difficulty of getting subs. The calling me at home to ask was another matter. I’d never been solicited for a job I hadn’t first applied for or mentioned any interest in pursuing. Another aspect of small town living: they know who is working a regular job and who isn’t. I’m an “isn’t.”

So, I agreed. Andrea told me to go to the troopers’ office to get a background check then to the superintendent’s office to fill out the application. Oh, and please do it soon, as they need me. Tomorrow. Um…okay.

Off I go to the troopers’ office. I showed them two forms of ID, signed a paper, and two minutes later I received an official “Nope, she’s never committed any crimes” report. I’ve led a relatively boring life, criminally speaking. Then it’s to the superintendent’s office. I told the woman at the desk I was there to fill out an application for substitute aide. She said, in effect, “Oh, yes. Andrea said you’d be coming in.” Good thing I didn’t put it off or maybe they’d have called me at home again to ask where I was. More paperwork, more showing of ID and now I have a job. Well, not a regular job, but that’s fine too.

Tomorrow is my first day. Gulp! I haven’t worked outside the home (or inside much, if you ask my husband) since before my 7 year-old was born. Should be interesting. But as a substitute aide for elementary kids, I’ll be okay. I may not be able to run faster than them, but I can scream louder.

Wish me luck.

It was my birthday a couple of weeks ago while my in-laws were in town. They offered to watch the kids while hubby and I went out for dinner, but instead, because it was a gorgeous early autumn day (and you have to take advantage of those, especially here in the Frozen North), we decided to all go Childs Glacier for a picnic (pics forthcoming–I’m having sizing issues!).

The glacier wasn’t calving as actively as it did when we were last there, but there were still plenty of cracklings and splashes to catch our attention. It was great. You can’t beat grilled hamburgers (from my father-in-law’s ranch) and hot dogs, super sweet fresh pineapple, and a loving family to make the best birthday bash.

After we ate and the bugs started coming out in force, we decided to head home. It’s a 45 minute or so trip on a gravel road and the kids had school the next day. In the parking lot, the tire on our minivan was low, so hubby filled it and we stopped along the way to refill it with some of that Fix-a-Flat stuff in a can. That worked for about 12 miles. When we stopped again, it was decided that the tire was too badly damaged to be Fix-a-Flat-ted. Time to break out the spare. This was the first time since buying the vehicle over 10 years ago that we’ve had a flat. No, seriously. So the spare has never been needed. Our first task: finding the spare.

I thought it was on the inside, behind the back seat and under the carpet. Nope, just a little plastic nut. The actual spare was under the car, attached to the vehicle by some bizarre mechanism that required lowering it down on a thin cable by turning the nut above it, pulling the tire out from under the car, tilting it to get the brace thingy through the center of the tire’s rim, then rewinding the cable so it wouldn’t drag on the road. Luckily it was a gorgeous day because had we been trying to do this if it were rainy or snowy I think my hubby would have preferred to walk the 20 miles back to town. What a stupid mechanism!

But hubby and F-I-L valiantly changed the tire while our girls played on a nearby pile of sand. M-I-L and I chatted, and I took a picture of the moon over the mountains and river flats. (Again–pic forthcoming. Sorry!) (I have a picture of hubby and F-I-L changing the tire, but it is neither flattering nor in focus.) We went on our merry way, traveling along on the donut-esque spare.

The next day, hubby and I did go out for dinner, and to meet with a group of folks from his job who were celebrating a coworker’s birthday. At that gathering, I met up with a guy I’d worked with 17 years before–and hadn’t seen since–during a post-Exxon Valdez oil spill research season (I was a biology grunt in my former life). How weird is that? When hubby and I came home, the kids and the in-laws had a belated surprise party for my birthday, complete with balloons, streamers and cake. What fun!

All in all, a great birthday. I can’t wait for next year. What will happen then? Perhaps a blown hose, or running out of gas. No matter what, I know it’ll be fun.

Today is the first day of school. I believe I was more excited about it than my girls were, and they were pretty pumped.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my kids more than anything else. But after the insanity of the past five months with family losses, house buying and selling, moving, and getting settled into a new town, it’s great to be back in a routine. Going to bed at a decent hour, getting up in time to eat rather than wolf down breakfast, making lunches.

After enjoying a quiet morning of kidlessness, I’ll get myself back on track with revising, writing, contest judging, and critting. No really. I will.

Right after I finish laughing with giddy abandon.