Be Thankful

This has been a rough couple of months for my family. Two siblings have had severe back problems, one has eye problems, and I'm recovering from a detached retina. It gets to the point where you almost don't want to answer the phone. Might be more bad news. But...even though I've been a little down the last few weeks, trying to deal with limited vision in one eye, I keep reminding myself it could always be worse.

Always.

Yes, what I'm dealing with is serious and scary, but there are so many positives. The surgeon who did my procedure is one of the best in my state. He was on the faculty at IU. This guy knows his stuff. If I have to have a problem like this, at least I'm being treated by the best. And he said the surgery went well. Thank goodness.

Yes, I'm off work from my dental hygiene job for a while. But my husband has a great job that he loves, and we're doing okay. And, once I was able to get up from lying on the couch for ten days on my right side, I've had more time for my writing. Take right now, for instance. Instead of working on one of my manuscripts, I'd be wrist deep in someone's mouth, cleaning off goo and well, more goo. So, it ain't all bad! I do miss work, and am planning on going back soon, but until then, I'm trying to use the time the best that I can. Not to mention it's absolutely gorgeous outside. If I were at work, I'd vaguely notice the sun shining outside, sigh that I wasn't out in it, and plunge right back in to someone else's mouth.

It can always be worse. Always.

Stay thankful.

Left-Handers Unite!

Today is International Lefthanders Day. I'm a proud member of this unique club. Out of my family (four siblings and our parents) my mom, one brother and I are lefties. From what I've read, this is unusual. Statistics show anywhere from ten to fifteen percent of the entire population are left-handed. We've got that covered and then some!

Along with being a southpaw, I'm also left-footed and left-eyed. I know, sounds weird, huh? I discovered the foot thing when we'd play kickball as little kids. I'd try to kick the red rubber ball with my right foot but it just felt wrong. Something didn't click. And as for my eye, when I went to have laser correction surgery done, I decided to go with mono-vision (one eye sees far, one sees near). The tests they did on me showed my left eye to be dominant. I wasn't surprised, I knew I was a lefty through and through.

Sometimes, I even end up typing with just my left hand. It's a slow process, but what's a girl to do when the cat on her lap has claimed her right hand for a pillow?

So for all the southpaws out there, enjoy your special day!

(I'd Like) to Kill a Mockingbird

Deep South Magazine, an online publication of all things southern. Click below for my story about my family reunion.


http://www.deepsouthmag.com/?page_id=127.

Searching for Hummy

Our resident hummingbird, or "Hummy" as we've named him, hasn't made an appearance yet. I've had two feeders out for over a month. I've changed the water mixture at least four times. Where is he? We keep watch. Staring out our windows. At times, we thought we'd had a Hummy sighting.

"Was that him? Something just zipped by the window," said my husband.

 I watched for a minute and saw the impostor. "Nope, just an angry dragon fly."

Two days ago, I went out and bought a red geranium to replace to purple one, hoping to further entice our no-show friend. I also invested in a brand new hummingbird feeder. What does this bird want, food served on a tiny silver platter the size of a nickel?

That's what happens with my writing sometimes. I do everything right. I work on my story when I have a couple of hours. I work on it when I only have a few minutes. I change my scenery, like maybe taking a walk, hoping that will stir up something in my imagination. But sometimes, that's not enough. Oh, I can still write, but it may not be the heart-stirring, funny-bone tickling, sigh-provoking words I'm looking for.

Maybe it's just like looking for Hummy. We can do all the work, all the right things, and yet, nothing happens when we want it to. As far as hummingbirds and writing inspiration go, sometimes, all we can do is...wait.

Author Interview at Whispers of the Muse

http://www.whispersofthemuse.org/AuthorSpotlight/SpotlightFrame.html

What If I Forget How?

That's the question I asked my husband today. That actual full question was "What if I forget how to write?" My computer has been comatose for a couple of weeks now. I'm typing this on the aforementioned husband's laptop. We're trying to figure out what ails it, but so far my PC has us stumped. In the meantime, I'm going crazy not being able to write. Sure, I could do it longhand, but I've found that for me, I'm better when I'm typing. My brain often works faster than I can write with a pen, and I don't want to lose momentum or the story idea in my head. And I can only use his laptop when he gets home from work, as he needs to use it there. At work. His company is kind of funny about an employee only pretending to type on their table top, instead of using an actual computer. Weird huh?

And I'll admit it, I'm a dunce. No...don't try to argue with me. I'm an actual dunce. You see, I haven't been backing up my stuff on a memory stick like I'm supposed to, so if we're not able to save what I've already written, I'm toast. My first three books are safe, I have a hard copy of them, but all of my short stories, as well as the 11,000 words I was into my newest romance novel, are well, really burnt toast.

Back to my original question. What if I really do forget how to write?

My husband assured me my imagination is too vivid, and my strange sense of humor so warped, he has no doubt I'll remember how.

Retro 1967

Below is my Christmas memory story. Enjoy!


http://asthepagesturn.wordpress.com/2009/12/24/holiday-memories-cats-and-underwear-by-ruth-hartman/

Love, Honor and Lend a Hand

Throughout today, I've witnessed several wonderful gestures of love people have shown to others. While visiting a family member in a rehab facility, a little girl came into the room and handed him a package. Inside were pieces of candy, some cookies, and some homemade ornaments. We all wondered what organization she was with. When he read the card, it was only signed by the little girl's name. She had done it all on her own!

My husband, upon entering the rehab building, was approached by a couple who asked if he could help them move two recliners into their parents' room. He told me he was so glad he happened to be walking in at that moment. It made him feel good to be able to do that for them. In a rehab center, there normally wouldn't be that many people around who would be healthy/strong enough to lend a hand.

Some online friends have paid for meals for servicemen and have given generous tips to waiters and waitresses. And one friend even did a video explaining why he decorates extensively for Christmas every year and why he would like a special tattoo on his arm. It's all to honor his father with whom he had a very special relationship.

It made me realize just how much our gestures can mean to someone else. Whether we physically help another out, or honor them with a gesture. God has given us all gifts and abilities to use and share as we choose. What can you do to honor someone today?

Change Your Perspective to Improve Your Writing

I've just returned from visiting family in Arizona. My Indiana trees and grass were replaced with cactus and sand. My temperatures in the teens were upped to the forties. And my surrounding farmland morphed into small distant mountain ranges.

Sometimes if I'm stuck in a writing rut, it helps to change my perspective by changing my location for a while. Talking to different people, admiring various landscapes, and experiencing new things all force my mind to entertain new thoughts.  Thoughts that, although initially not geared toward story ideas, end up that way none the less. And I found that being away from my computer and in essence, my work in progress romance novel, has given me fresh story ideas and a renewed energy to kick myself out of my writing rut.

Guess a vacation turned out to be more than just a vacation after all.

Thank You, God, for Special Gifts

On this very special day to be thankful for our families, friends, online friends, country and freedom of religion and life, I'm also thankful for the gift of writing. Because that's what it is: a gift. If God didn't give me the quirky ideas, active imagination and spare time to put them down on paper (or laptop), my writing would never get farther than fleeting thoughts and wishful thinking.

What's a gift God has given you that you can be thankful for?

Family at its Best

The following is from a true story told to me several years ago by my uncle. I've changed the names to protect the guilty.


What's That Smell?

"Can we come?" The boys were bouncing like over-inflated basketballs.
My Uncle Casey looked at his son, Arlen, "Do we have a choice?"
Arlen glanced at his two hyperactive sons. "At this point probably not. We didn’t get away fast enough. Remember, I told you, if you want to go somewhere without them, you have to sneak out the back door."
Casey nodded. "I forgot."
"Well, let’s get it over with, then."
The four males hopped in the car. The youngest ones in the back seat.
The twenty-five minute drive to town was noisy and obnoxious, thanks to the back seat add-ons.
"Pipe down back there," said their grandpa. They did. There was complete silence. For 23 whole seconds.
Parked on the street in downtown Kernalville, the boys were threatened within an inch of their lives.
"Don’t you dare leave this car. Don’t throw anything out of the windows. Don’t throw each other out the window. Don’t talk to anyone. No bloodshed, yours or anyone who happens to be passing by."
Both boys nodded. "We’ll be good," said Harvey, the older brother.
The younger, Howey, simply nodded.
My uncle and cousin eyed each other and shrugged. They knew the boys would get into some kind of trouble.Time would tell how horrific it would turn out to be.
Forty minutes later, the two adults returned. Supplies from the hardware store and grocery were loaded into the trunk. Arlen looked around. "No blood on the sidewalk. No broken glass or body parts. Huh. Do you suppose...?"
"What?"
“Is it possible nothing bad happened?"
Casey raised his eyebrows.
"Stranger things, right?"
Casey shrugged.
Car doors were opened, the men got in the front seat and fastened their seat-belts. Casey started the engine. As they pulled away from the curb, Arlen wrinkled his nose. "What's that smell?"
Both men immediately swiveled their heads toward the back seat.
"What did you do?" asked Casey.
Silence.
"I know you did something. You might as well spill it. Why does the inside of this car stink so bad?" He covered his nose with his right hand as he steered the car with his left. He opened his window.
Howey sighed and said, "Well, we were bored. You were gone so long, and we weren’t allowed to throw each other out the car windows, so we had to find something to do."
Harvey nodded in agreement.
"So…what did you do?" Arlen was now fully turned in his seat to better interrogate his offspring. His eyes were watering from the stench.
Casey kept driving, but kept glancing in the rear-view mirror as the boys told their tale.
Harvey continued the story. "We got out of the car, because, you know, the boredom and all. We started walking down the sidewalk. We didn’t talk to anyone, Just like you told us. So we just kept walking. We didn’t cause any bloodshed."
"Just like you told us," added Howey
"We came to an alley."
"And…" prompted their dad. He now had trouble even keeping his eyes open due to the noxious fumes. He opened the window next to him.
The boys looked at each other for reassurance to finish the tale.
"The alley was dirty and smelly, so we wanted to check it out."
Arlen sighed. "Of course you did."
"The farther we went in to it, the worse it smelled."
"So we wanted to see what smelled."
"Of course you did." Arlen shook his head.
"Don’t your boys make you proud?" asked Casey. He received a scowl from his son.
"Go on," Arlen prompted.
"Way down to the end of the alley…"
"The very end…"
"Was this possum."
“Dead possum."
"It wasn’t moving."
“Imagine that." Casey raised his eyebrows.
"So we went closer."
"I touched it first."
"No I did!"
"Boys!" Their dad coughed as it became harder to breathe.
"We touched it and it didn’t move."
"Then we kicked it a little."
"Still didn’t move."
"It was really fat."
"Fat? Like maybe it was going to have babies?" asked Casey.
"No. Just fat."
"Like a balloon."
The men could see where this was going. Being mid-July in Indiana, it was hot, sticky and humid. Road-kill often bloated in the heat and resembled, well, a balloon.
Their dad sighed. "So what did you do then?"
"Kicked it like a soccer ball."
"Threw it like a foot ball."
"Okay. Um, but why is the stench so awful?"
"I’m afraid to ask," said Casey through the fingers covering his nose and mouth.
"It might have something to do with the contest."
"What kind of contest?" asked Arlen.
"Squirting."
"Yeah. We took turns jumping on the dead balloon-possum and squirting its smelly guts on each other." He beamed at his brother.
Ah. The picture was now complete, as they pulled into their driveway
"Dad," said Arlen, "I told you to sneak out the back door."
Casey opened his car door and took a gasp of fresh air. "You get the boys into the back yard. I’ll get the hose."

********
Today I'm participating in a mass blogging! WOW! Women on Writing has gathered a group of blogging buddies to write about family relationships. Why family relationships? We're celebrating the release of Therese Walsh's debut novel today. The Last Will of Moira Leahy (Random House, October 13, 2009) is about a mysterious journey that helps a woman learn more about herself and her twin, whom she lost
when they were teenagers. Visit the Muffin www.wow-womenonwriting.com/blog.html to read what Therese has to say about family relationships and view the list of all my blogging buddies. And make sure you visit
http://www.theresewalsh.com/   to find out more about the author.