How about a little taste of "Deal with a Devil?"

 

Hello all!

If you're following my author page on Facebook or if you've friended me on my personal page, you know I've been working the past year on a NEW novel that is a continuation of my Rock Harbor Chronicles series.  I'm so excited to tell you that "Deal with a Devil" is only a tiny bit behind schedule at this point and WILL be released EARLY Summer 2021! 

Since we're in the throes of final edits (a back cover development, which is the WORST!) I thought I'd share a tiny little snippet of the book.  I'm doing this in part to give my readers something to be excited about, but also to prove to my family that I'm not just ignoring them when I go into my office and put on the headphones!)  So...dear blog readers...you are the FIRST (other than my critique partner and proofer/beta reader) to see this bit of the book. Enjoy!

Leo looked up from heaving a forty-pound bag of ice into the cooler. Jenna and C.C. walk in. He gave them a quick wave, and in doing so, managed to dump several ice cubes on the floor behind the bar.

“Dude, would you stop gawking at that lumberjack chick and pay attention to what you’re doing?” Mack barked. “I don’t feel like falling on my ass just because you have a thing for manly girls.”

Leo flushed, and glanced quickly at Jenna and C.C. He hoped they couldn’t hear Mack’s rant. “Listen, Mack,” he growled in a low voice. “Lay off the rude comments about women, especially that one.”

“Look who’s suddenly sensitive about how we talk about women!” Mack frowned. “Since when are you so in touch with your inner feminist? I’ve heard you say things about women that makes me look like a freakin’ still life of chivalry.”

Leo arched an eyebrow. “What does that even mean? ‘Still life of chivalry,’ that makes no sense.”

“You make no sense.”

“You’re an idiot.” Leo knelt to clean up the ice.

“I’m not the one makin’ eyes at Sasquatch.”

Leo’s hands tightened into fists. “Watch it.”

“Come on man. Open your eyes. She’s got the shoulders of a professional wrestler, but not a hot one, more like Hulk Hogan.”

Leo stood, squared his shoulders and raised his chin looking Mack in the eye. “Close your mouth or lose teeth.”

“Whoa, calm down. I’m kidding.” Mack glanced at Jenna. “I wasn’t trying to turn this into a throwdown. I would like to point out the smoke show that walked in behind the wall that is the woman you love.”

Leo blinked and stepped away from Mack to get a better view of where Jenna and C.C. sat. There, next to Jenna, was a woman he’d didn’t recognize. And that must be the long-awaited Mikayla.

Mack stared at the woman. “Do I have to treat her with respect, too, or can I keep thinking about everything I want to do with her?”

Leo was going to slap Mack down with a sharp retort, but instead he paused and studied Mikayla. She sat at an angle, her mile-long legs crossed and pointed in his direction. Every angle on her was geometric, sharp, and sleek; with not a hint of softness or weakness. With her shoulders squared and her chin up, she looked like she owned the room. This was a woman who owned men more than loved them.

He knew the type too well.

Leo grinned. “Sorry, Mack, I’m calling dibs.” He stretched his arms in front of him, and cracked his knuckles. “Watch and learn.”

“Yeah, I knew that whole nice guy thing was an act.”

“Oh, I’ll be nice, buddy. You can have her when I’m done.” Leo patted Mack’s chest, closed the ice cooler, and walked to the table. “Hello ladies.” He gave Jenna a warm smile and didn’t miss her blush.

“Hi, Leo,” C.C. responded in a more low-key tone than usual.

“Hey kid, you okay?”

 “My dad doesn’t want me. Plus, I have to go to school here and not at home with my real friends.”

Leo didn’t miss the weary expression on Jenna’s face.

“Oh…kay. We can talk about that later. How about if you introduce me to your friend?”

“Oh, right,” Jenna said with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. “Mikayla, this is Leo. He’s my…he’s working with Shara. Leo, this is my cousin, Mikayla.”

Hm. “He’s my…” That’s a sentence I’d like Jenna to finish.

Leo turned his attention to Mikayla. “Good to meet you.” He put his hand out to shake hers. Mikayla jumped up and kissed both his cheeks and his lips, and laughed as she stepped back. Leo watched as Jenna’s expression sagged. “You’re not from around here, so I gotta tell you something.” He kept his eyes on Jenna. “Probably a good idea not to kiss guys you’ve just met. That’s how nasty rumors get started.”

“Who says I don’t want to start some rumors?” Mikayla’s voice was breathy. “But aren’t you adorable to care? N’est-il pas délicieux?”

Leo shot a quizzical look at C.C., who shrugged.

“I’m so happy to meet you. It’s a cold, cold night, and I’m a lonely girl.” Mikayla bit her lip and batted her eyes.

Her antics were so over the top, Leo wanted to laugh, but he sensed any attempt on his part to make nice with the cousin would further Jenna’s downward spiral. She already looked ready to cry. “I work here, so, I can’t join you,” he said to Mikayla, who rewarded him with a fake pout. Fake. Fake airs, fake face, and the French is a big old layer of fake. “I’m a bar back.”

“Is that an important job?”

Leo wanted to plug his ears. Mikayla’s high-pitched, infantile tone set his teeth on edge. “I lift stuff.” He glanced at C.C. who seemed to be mirroring Jenna’s dour demeanor, but with more conviction. “Hey, kid, why don’t you and I see if the cook is making the burgers right?”

Obediently, but will little joy, C.C. followed him to the kitchen. As they passed Mack, Leo nodded. “All yours, buddy.”

“Too hot for you, huh?” Mack grinned; his perfectly bleached teeth gleamed in the bar’s low light.

They’re perfect for each other.

Once in the kitchen, he hoisted C.C. on a prep table and looked her in the eye. “Okay, what gives?”

“What gives what?”

“Let’s start with your bad attitude. I saw the new room Jenna did for you. It’s cool.”

“Is it?”

“Well, I mean, it’s a little girlie for me, but I think for a young lady like yourself, with an interest in the color of pink, it’s great.”

“Yeah, fine, it’s cool. But it means I live here. And I have to go to school here, which means I won’t ever see Thor and Thorina again.”

“Well, I’m sure…wait, Thor and Thorina?”

“Yeah, only my best friends in the world.”

“Are they twins?”

“No.”

“Weird parents?”

“Uncle Benny can fit four giant cinnamon rolls in his mouth at one time and Aunt Cat dies her hair bright colors depending on what the special coffee flavor of the day is, but I don’t think that’s weird.”

“You’re right. They sound perfectly normal.” Like I would ever know what perfectly normal looks like. “Anyway, I don’t think that means your dad doesn’t want you anymore. Maybe he thinks living with Jenna in a different place would be good for your education, you know? I mean, Rock Harbor is really different from Nashville. Think of the new stuff you might learn about, like farming. Then, when you go back, you’ll be smarter than the rest of your class.”

C.C. cocked her head to one side, reminding Leo a bit too much of a puppy he’d had when he was eight. She blinked and smiled weakly. “You’re trying to make me feel better.”

“Is it working?”

“Maybe. Can you and I still hang out?”

“Only if you answer this: what is the deal with Mikayla?”

C.C.’s eyes lit up. “I know! She’s all ‘blah, blah blah’ with French. Do you know what she’s saying?”

“No idea.”

C.C. giggled. “Oh man! You should have seen Jenna before.”

“Why, what happened?”

“She cursed big time!”

Leo grinned. “Jenna doesn’t swear.”

            C.C. shook her head, her raven dark pony tail swinging. “Today she did!”

            Leo leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Okay, little sister, spill. What made your big sis blow her top?”

            “Frou-Frou. Frou-Frou pooped on the floor in the kitchen. Jenna didn’t see it and when she came out of her room all prettied up for tonight-”

            “Why, what’s tonight?”

            C.C. punched her tiny fist into his shoulder. “She was coming out to see you, goofy. Also, I think she’s trying to be like Mikayla which is…ew.” C.C. shuddered.

            “Yes. Very-ew.” Leo agreed. “Who is Frou-Frou?”

            “Oh, that’s Mikayla’s rat.”

            “She has a rat?”

            C.C. nodded. “I mean, she says it’s a dog, and he definitely poops like a dog, I watched him do it. But he’s too tiny to be a dog.”

            “What does he look like?”

            “He looks like a rat. Like a cute fluffy rat. I like him. But not Jenna. She stepped in that poop and then she used all the words Dad tells the hockey players not to use when I’m at the rink.”

            “So, Mikayla brought a dog.”

            “Leo, it’s not a dog. It’s a tiny toy baby puppy thing that’s too cute-but I’m pretty sure it’s some kind of rat. Jenna wanted to put him outside, but Mikayla said the vultures and the bears would eat him.”

            Leo grinned. “I can’t wait to meet this dog.” He hoisted C.C. off the prep table. “Time for you to go back to your table and for me to go back to work.”

            “Hey, Leo?”

            “Yeah?”

“What’s the deal with the kissing?”

“Kissing?”

“Mikayla kisses everyone on both cheeks. But she kissed you on the mouth.” C.C. paused and frowned. “Was it disgusting?”

“Did it look disgusting?”

C.C. giggled. “It looked dumb. Was it gross?”

Leo smiled. “Well, for a guy like me, kissing is rarely ever gross.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “But it wasn’t great.”

“Not like kissing Jenna would be, I bet.”

Not like kissing Jenna. Leo blinked. “What makes you think-”

“I keep telling you, I’m not some dumb kid. I see how Jenna blushes when you talk to her. I see your dumb smile when she walks in. Why don’t you two date, fall in love, get married, and maybe I can live with you guys in a real family.”

“You’ve got it all planned out, don’t you?”

“Well, I mean, if I have to live here, it would be nice to live with a family. A kid needs structure.”

“Yeah, and a kid needs to go order her dinner. If you don’t hustle out there, I bet Mikayla will try and order you a salad instead of a cheeseburger.”

“No way!”

“Oh, she’s definitely the salad type. Look at her.” Leo and C.C. peeked around the corner at the table. “Yep, she is one hundred percent a salad person. And you just know she’s telling your sister that Brussel sprouts are better for you than French Fries.”

“Dave doesn’t have Brussel sprouts, does he?”

“He got a shipment in yesterday. We’ve got a ton of the leafy, green little balls all set to be boiled and sent to your table!” Leo laughed.

“Gross!” C.C. walked back to the table, but in much higher spirits than she had been.

Jenna looked up from the menu and caught Leo’s eye. She smiled gratefully, which made him feel like he’d done something good. See, I am a nice guy. Leo Morrison is a nice guy.

Then Leo watched Mack check his breath before walking to the table. He felt like he’d also done something terrible, although he couldn’t decide if it was to Mack or Mikayla.

My WHAT is sputtering?

 

Happy Friday all!

Today's blog deals with women's issues, especially menopause, iron and anemia, and doctor's appointments. I write blogs like this to comfort, educate, and amuse my fellow women.  If we talk about this stuff, it won't be as foreign.  If we laugh at it, it won't be as scary.

For those of you who are NOT adult women, be warned:  there is some icky female medical stuff ahead.  I don't want any of you stopping me at church or the library or someplace you might see me and say, "Well now I can't get that image out of my head!

This week has been all about the doctor's office.  Three trips to the same building in three days.  I definitely live a special kind of life.  #donthatemebecauseimawesome.

The first appointment was for my bi-annual "pop your feet in the stirrups and scooch" good time with my GYN.  Now that I'm done having babies and I'm past the half century mark in age, they really do not care about what's going on down there all that much. It's all about the upstairs girls now.  But, every so often they need to take a peak and make sure, especially now that I'm in that super fun perimenopause portion of my life, that nothing weird or alien is happening.  

As it turns out, I was well past the whole "bi-annual" peppy pap schedule.  Sure, they've been mining for all sorts of other nonsense in my womb without a view over the last five years, much of which was because my iron levels are so ridiculously low, they thought I might have a bloodsucking creature of some kind hiding in my baby space.  So my GYN, who is precisely half my age and one third my weight, sat down and, while conversing about other things as if my lady bits weren't hanging right there in front of her face, she poked and scraped and got her testing material. Then she said something that made me laugh too hard for a woman in that delicate position.

She said, "Now, when you see the test results before I do, and you will, if there's anything that seems abnormal, don't freak out."

Don't freak out.  She said that. To me. About medical test results.

Did I mention I'm currently rewatching "House?" 

Not my GYN. MY Gyn is scary by accident.

Well I mentioned it to her.  And she said, "Yeah, they see a lot of zebras on that show, don't they?"

Referring, of course, to the thing my husband says to me all the time, "When you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras."

Except, we live in a very zebra filled world over here at the Bradley place. So...

Anyway apparently some new law has decided that we the people need to see our test results BEFORE the doctors who tested us.  Like seeing our grade on a math quiz before the math teacher gives us the grade. It  makes no sense. Why would anyone want that?  I want a nice, neat letter, like I used to get:  Dear Sarah...everything's normal.  Thanks. See you in two years."

But no, now I sit here and check my online health profile and wait. And wait.  I haven't seen those test results.  And since I now know I'm getting them first, I have to wonder what's going on.  So, guess what?  I'm FREAKING OUT!

The second appointment was no biggie. Labs over at the cancer center. And before my readers freak out, let me explain. My anemia/iron problems are a blood issue. Apparently ALL blood doctors are cancer doctors.  Hence and ergo, when I go get my blood drawn to check my iron, it's all at the cancer center side of the clinic.  (Which, BTW, is WAY better run than the normal people's clinic downstairs in the same building. That's the circus show there all they do all day is decorate for holidays and yell people's private medical info across the room.)  I don't mind going for blood draws at the cancer center. The folks are nice, efficient, I rarely have to wait and the needle stick doesn't hurt at all.

Finally, the third appointment.  Seeing my blood doctor to go over my test results of the blood draw.  

Not my blood doctor, but I wish he could be!

My blood doctor sort of seems like what would happen if Howard from "Big Bang Theory" and Skippy's BFF's brother melded DNA.  He's like this super chirpy nerdy guy with really, really thick hair. I adore him because he takes the time to talk to me like a person. I suppose cancer doctors have to do that.  Sure, his scales weigh me heavier than any other on the planet and his blood pressure machine measures mine roughly ten points higher than any other place, but other than that, I really don't mind going to his office. Dr. "Blood" and I have spent the last two years searching for the source of my low iron/ low energy issues.  Those discussions have led us down some serious rabbit holes, but none so fun as the one yesterday.

I told him I'd been to my GYN and we again discussed my monthly punctuation.  I was actually managing the iron I got from an infusion back in June pretty well, and Dr. Blood was confused because he expected that me being me, my iron levels would be in the basement.  Then we talked about my recent punctuations (and the previous lack thereof). We discussed flow and cramps and frequency and everything and we laughed because we both have a pretty irreverent sense of humor and my guess is he doesn't get a lot of laughs in his line of work.

We talked about my diet and how I'm trying to eat iron rich foods since we already know I don't absorb iron supplements at all.  As it turns out, I don't absorb iron from my food either.  So, hey, why am I even bothering with veggies?

Anyway, so Dr. Blood and I were chatting about my punctuation and then he says this:

"I think you're managing your iron better because your ovaries are sputtering."

Howard just told me my ovaries are sputtering.

 And, after three trips in three days to the same building and having my temperature taken 3 days in a row and being asked if I'd traveled out of the country 3x, this is my takeaway:

1)  Don't read my GYN test results no matter what because clearly they're trying to freak me out.

2) My iron levels aren't normal, but they're not on the floor either, which is remarkable for me.

3) I don't have to eat veggies because there's no point.

4)  I'm old enough to have sputtering ovaries.

So there you have it! Enjoy your weekend and try not to picture sputtering ovaries. Especially don't picture mine!  LOL

Dad's chin and Mom's exhaustion: Sarah's thesis on genetics

 

This post deals with female issues, specifically punctuation of all kinds.  Small children, men, and various woodland creatures may find what follows disturbing, horrifying, or hilarious, but for all the wrong reasons.  (Which is just as bad.)  

So a little background on me, for those of you who don't know: I am the child of one of the original home nutritionists.  Oh, I know.  Look at me. My whole aura just screams, "RAISED BY A HEALTH FOOD ADVOCATE."

Seriously, though. My mom, a 1970's housewife living in a small suburb of Flint, Michigan, with no internet, no cable TV, and no money, was howling about food additives  my entire childhood.  See, my brother was really sick as a baby, so spent a lot of time in doctor's offices. A LOT of TIME.  And, during these many visits, she'd pick up a little magazine called "Prevention." (Heard of it?  Of course you have.  They sell it at the supermarkets now. It's housed right above the racks of candy bars.)  She'd read this article and that and by the time I was in first grade she was an expert on things like BHA, BHT, Sodium Nitrate, Mono sodium glutamine,  Blue Lake 7, Red dye 40. I could go on, but you get my drift. (BTW, no seven year old should know how to pronounce Mono sodium glutamine, much less what it is and where to find it.  Why?  Because that seven year old is going to get brutally teased when she shares this information with her classmates.  Or she might be...you know...maybe. Not that I know from ACTUAL experience.)

All this means that while my classmates were happily eating Oscar Meyer bologna on Wonder Bread, I was eating home made meatloaf on whole wheat bread.  And not the soft, lovely whole wheat they have now, no. This was the crumbly, thick, sawdusty and gravel concoction.  While my friends were trading Ding Dongs for Twinkies, I was eating...well nothing. My mom wasn't what you'd call a baker, and also she hated sugar.  (There was one famous rant one night where she tore open all the cabinets in our house yelling, "THERE'S SUGAR IN EVERYTHING!  EVEN OUR SALT HAS SUGAR IN IT!")

Mom didn't stop with food additives, oh no.  She kept reading.  She got to be an expert on everything from electrical wiring to politics to World War II to female health.  She is one of those people who educates herself about whatever it is she wants to know. She doesn't just answer her question...no no. She all but earns a degree in what she's researching.

Also, my mother is, and has been most of her life, exhausted and a little cranky.

I mean, who wouldn't be?  All that label reading!  All that preaching! All that studying and worrying and working and watching and measuring and GACK!

Now, for those who know me, you know I am so very, very NOT like that.   

I mean, yes, I try to eat healthy, who doesn't, but I've been known to look less at labels and more at taste.  I gave up diet soda, not because I read that artificial sweeteners will give me brain lesions, but  because I had to admit...I don't like the taste. When I want to know something I look it up, get the answer, and move on. Or I watch a documentary about whatever, and absorb what I can before I fall asleep. I rarely read magazines, certainly not health centered ones.  I'm not an expert on anything, except possibly Rick Springfield's musical catalog, the film work of Russell Crowe, and speaking "movie quotes" fluently. Other than that, I don't get too terribly riled up about much.

So Mom and I came into menopause with very different attitudes. She knew exactly what she was and was not going to let her doctor prescribe for her. She had read everything about everything a month before her first hot flash.  She got through it without most of us even realizing it was happening.

I, on the other hand, am winging it.  My GYN doc's nurse called me last month to move my bi-annual "let's pop those feet in the stirrups and see what's going on in there" appointment because the doc had been exposed to COVID and was in quarantine. Fine with me. I'm not worried about it. I'm the one who doesn't sweat stuff like regular appointments.  (Just ask my dentist.  Apparently,  my last cleaning was in 2018.  I tried to plead "COVID" but we've been going to the same dentist for about 15 years now and his receptionist knows me too well.)

Anyway, back to the phone call with the nurse. While she and I were rescheduling the appointment, she asked if I had any questions.  I said, "Yeah. I've had this headache for about a month. Is that part of menopause?"

(BTW, the short answer, minus the laughter, is no.  Also, the nurse told me to go see my doctor.  But, in true Sarah form, I didn't. The headache went away on its own.)

Which is why a couple of the symptoms of menopause have caught me off guard. My mother would absolutely have expected the following:

1) Rage during and after hot flashes.

I expect this from my PMS, which is actually PMDD: premenstrual dysphoric disorder.( After Peaches was born I sailed into a post partum depression that went untreated and morphed into PMDD.)  Prior to getting on the Prozac train, my PMDD would make me cheer for the women on "Snapped" as if murder was a sport and the women were my team.  

Now, my post hot flash rage is Prozac resistant.  Someone probably should write a book warning women about this.  Or maybe you all could just pray for Hubby.

2) "Sporadic punctuation" doesn't always mean fewer punctuations or lighter ones. 

Nope. Sometimes it means three punctuations in a month, all super fun, all with extra exciting cramp action. Found that out ON VACATION, thank you very much.  (Try finding proper female punctuation protection in a resort town that's actually 90% closed because 1) it's still COVIDf and 2) it's the off season.)

3)  I smell like...feet.

Like feet.  Gross, cheesy feet.  All the time, no matter how often I shower or wash my hair or power, spray and perfume myself.  I smell like feet.

Had I bothered to ask her, Mom probably would have explained the symptoms to me, and exactly what I could take to alleviate them.  But that would involve turning off the TV and calling her and then listening to all the aches and pains of all the old people she's looking after (Because that's what she's doing to stay young, she's taking care of elderly ailing relatives.)

It's not that I want to be uninformed.  Of course not.  But I've watched my mother study and worry and stress herself into her 70's.  I just don't have that kind of energy.  I can't even say my mom is a crackpot...anymore.  Turns out, everything she was hollering about in the 70's is real:  high fructose corn syrup is the devil.  Red Dye 40 is going to kill our children.  Every time another food study comes out that proves my mother right, I swear she does a happy little dance.  Which is nice because given how informed she is about literally everything, she's not happy all that often.

So my point is this:  My mom, super driven to study, read, and know.  Me, laid back and not driven to gather information as a general rule.

End result:  We're both exhausted and crabby and stressed out.  

My theory:  Stress and exhaustion is inherited, like brown eyes, or my dad's double chin.  So I got his chin, and my mom's exhaustion.  AND THAT IS WHY I TAKE NAPS IN THE AFTERNOON.

Too Late for Resolutions...time to just give (something) up!

Hello and welcome, belatedly, to 2021.  

I realize I didn't do my annual resolutions blog.  Well, oh well.  I was going to resolve to lose weight, drink more water, exercise more, blog more, be nicer, be more patient, cook better... blah, blah, blah.

I think anyone who's read this blog more than a couple times knows ain't none of that is going to happen this  year.  Old dog, new tricks...not the way 2021 is starting. Nope.

Where I'm very bad at making New Year's Resolutions, I am VERY GOOD at giving stuff up for Lent.  Seriously.  I rock at giving up one thing for the six weeks of Lent.  (I can hear you all saying, "What a weird thing to be good at!")

Full disclosure, I started giving up stuff for Lent years ago, mostly as a challenge. I had a Catholic friend who made a big deal about giving up meat during Lent...until we went out for dinner one Friday night. Then, she said, "If anyone asks, I'm Jewish." (I'm not sure who she thought would ask us that question at the Outback Steakhouse...)

So that's how it started off, I just wanted to try something my friend was doing.  I sort of did it better than she did, which annoyed her. 

Twenty years later, I've lost touch with that friend, (in big part because I annoyed her) but I still see Lent as a time to give up something, both as a reminder of sacrifice and as a challenge to myself.

In the past I've given up chocolate (brutal. I have a great story about not quite making it to Easter and eating some chocolate I'd been using as part of a candle display when I sold Partylite candles. That did not end well. But that's a story for another day.) I've given up chips, dip, candy, bread, and last year I believe I gave up everything (except tomatoes) that ended in TOS or TOES.  (Giving up potatoes was rough.)  So this year, what to do, what to do? 

I'd like to give up something that's a real sacrifice, to get me into the true meaning of Lent (click here if you're unsure what that is).  

Generally I give up a food thing because it's tangible.  I tried giving up intangibles (impatience, procrastination, which, weirdly are both things I can't control in myself) but how do you know if you're really doing the work?  So I'm back to giving up a food thing.  And I have to go back to the thing that really, really, really is my weakness:  breads.  Bread, English muffins, buns, toast, bagels.  I love them all far too much, or maybe I love what I spread on them too much. So it's kind of a two for one: Giving up breads and really cutting down on butter, jams, peanut butter, cream cheese...all that good stuff.

So there we go. Starting Wednesday of this week...no bread.

For the next 48 hours, if you want me, I'll be lying on my couch, working my way through a loaf of sourdough toast caked in butter topped off with a bag of Einstein bagels covered in veggie schmear.

The 2020 Resolution Report Card (So you can feel good about yourself!)

Good morning all!

I'm running a bit late on this, but here we go:  The 2020 New Year's Resolution Report Card!

This won't be pretty.

1)  Less focus on steps, more focus on active minutes.

So last year I wanted to up my daily steps to 12,000.  And I wound up tearing a tendon in my foot.  So this year, it's going to be less about getting steps every day and more about being active. And no, I don't mean I'm just going to spend an hour shaking my left wrist so I get active minutes while I'm sitting in a chair.  (I've done that.  You really feel dirty the first couple times you do it.  Also, your left arms starts to ache a lot.)  This year, yes, I will still have a step goal of 10,000 a day, but I'm also going to look at alternative exercises.  It won't just be about the treadmill. I've got Wii Fit. I've got a punching bag and free weights. Let's get some upper body work done!  Less stress on the feet.

2020 Reality:  I did some of this, but ultimately I'm still about the steps and that hasn't helped me much.  So...yeah.  Gotta figure something else out.  Grade:  C-

2) Less bread all around!

One of the things I did last year was give up bread and any bread products (anything I would spread butter on) up for Lent.  That actually had a really good effect on a number of blood tests I had done this year.  But, in the last few months, I find myself eating more bread and crackers and the like.  Now, I'm not positive it's the bread, it might be the butter as well, but either way, for 2020 my goal is the really make eating bread a rare thing as opposed to something I do every day.

2020 Reality:  BWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHHAHAHAHAHA  Grade: F

3) Accept the gift 

One of the things I put on my birthday/Christmas wish list to my family was that they get me a cleaning service so that I had time and energy to write more.  Well, hubby didn't hire anyone, he took on many of the household chores himself.  (He already did all the vacuuming and made sure we have clean sheets.)  I, however, have a difficult time accepting this gift and taking time to write. Instead, I still allow household chores to suck up my energy.  I need, in 2020, to make writing a real priority and accept that I've married a prince who is being super helpful!

2020 Reality:  It actually took me until my birthday in November this year, when I took a week off of work to write and just let Hubby take over many of the household duties, but I did it.  The end result is that I managed to get the first draft of a new novel done and I'm going to be releasing my 16th book at some point in the summer.    Grade: B

4)  Stop using the credit cards!

This is a big one. My entire adult life I've struggled with credit card debt.  It's shocking, really, how normal I seem until you see my balances. But this year, while I'm not going to get them all paid off, my goal is to stop using them until I get them under control!  If I'm successful, this will have a profound effect on my weight as well, since I probably won't be eating nearly as much.  This is probably going to be the hardest one to keep, especially at first, since I'm in that nasty cycle of using credit to pay for stuff because I don't have cash because I'm paying credit card bills. 

2020 Reality:  I was actually doing really well...until I started Christmas shopping...in July.  Not going to stores (you know, because COVID) I spent entirely too much time online shopping.  So yeah...not an entire success.  Grade: C

5) Let go. Let God.

The past year or two I've had a real spiritual crisis.  Those of you who know me well know where I struggle, especially when it comes to family.  I inherited my mother's ability to worry myself into sickness.  (Not her great metabolism, no. Her ability to worry, that I get.) Now, as we close out 2019, I feel like some of the issues contributing to my lack of or dormant faith are lifting. I see some major changes in that direction in 2020.  It's my hope that I learn to stop stressing and let God work in His time.  (Last year I resolved to be more patient.  That didn't quite work. So we're going with "let's worry less."  Maybe if I'm less worried I'll be less cranky.) This will be a struggle because I've been a "fixer" in addition to being a worrier.  I've found there are some things I simply cannot fix, and I'm pretty sure it's because God, in His infinite sense of humor, decided it was time for me to learn that lesson.  So, more prayer.  

2020 Reality:  Believe it or not, this actually happened to some extent.  Thanks in very large part to a change in churches and a massive breakthrough in therapy, I was able to rediscover the peacefulness of prayer.  Thanks in large part to COVID, I was also able to rediscover the pure joy of helping others in super practical ways.  I still worry. I'm still impatient.  But in 2020 my faith in God's power in all things 

woke up.  Grade: A-

So there you go. 2020 was not a complete failure, but it was hardly my best year.  What will 2021 bring?  No one really knows for certain.  What will my resolutions be?

Stay tuned!

It's Christmas Eve: Here's my Gift to you!

Hello and Merry Christmas to all! The following is a true story that happened the week of Christmas, 1999. Many of you remember that Y2K year, when we stockpiled TP, water, and people built shelters and bought guns because they thought the world would end. (Not completely unlike this year, but I digress.) I love this story, in part because 21 years later it's funny, but also because it reminds me that there are good people in this world and angels show up when you need them most. In this case, I needed an angel named Roman on a frigid, icy day in 1999. So, without further ado, here's my Christmas gift to you:

It was December 20 of 1999. The whole planet was in a fevered pitch over the Y2K virus that was going to take down civilization at the stroke of midnight on the 1st of January. I was a mom of a newly turned 6 year old and a not quite 3 year old and I was running late. See, Skippy had forgotten his snow pants (For those of you who don't know what snow pants are, they are big puffy pants we make our children wear in the winter because it's really, really, really cold here but the children like to play in the snow. Snow pants are not stylish, but they do keep the little guys warm and dry.) in his father's car, which was parked at his father's work. So, I drove to Hubby's work, got the snow pants, and then drove across town to school. Yes, I was running late. And yes, I was probably going a touch too fast for conditions, especially since conditions were COLD (about the coldest day on record for the last few years) and icy (black ice...ice you can't really see until you're on it, is a special on the roads here in Wisconsin.) About halfway to school, I hit a patch of ice, and spun the Pontiac 6000 twice. It was a smooth spin because I, like most adults who live in the Upper Midwest, know how to handle ice without big panic. The kids loved it. "DO IT AGAIN MOM!" They both shouted. "Well," says I, "We were very fortunate we didn't hit anyone or anything, and Skippy is going to be late for school, so let's just drive, okay?" Three blocks later, I hit another patch of ice and spun. In the middle of the spin, because even though it happens very quickly, it's like slow motion, I realized I was either going to hit a car stopped at the stop light, or a parked car. I opted for the parked car.

Obviously, we're not talking about high speeds here. I think I was moving at all of about 12 miles per hour, which is fast enough to do some damage on the icy roads. Again, the kids were cheering, but this time around I wasn't so calm. I hate getting into accidents. It completely slows down the whole day. My first call was to Hubby. He had to come and get Skippy to school because, though I was almost within site of the school, I knew I was going to have to wait for the police. The next call was to the police. (The non emergency number, of course, because no one was hurt. The other driver didn't even know he'd been in an accident yet.) The police told me it was going to be a wait because, after all, there were a lot of accidents up and down that stretch of road. By this time, the owner of the parked car was outside his house and looking at me with not too fond an expression. I walked him over to his car, and explained, very apologetically, what had happened, and we examined the damage to his car. (There wasn't much.) I learned later that he didn't speak a word of English and had no idea what I was saying. (Waukesha has a very high population of Hispanic immigrants.) Now, just so we have the logistics laid out...My car is parked at the curb, and the car I hit is parked at the curb. The damage to the car I hit is on the driver's side...so when the owner and I were looking at the car, we were, yes, STANDING IN THE STREET. This is not uncommon, but it's not terribly smart, given the fact that a massive patch of black ice lay there, waiting for another victim. The ice didn't have to wait long. We were still looking at the car when another vehicle came over the small rise in the road, hit that patch of ice, spun around and smacked, like I did, into the same spot on the car. Only, she didn't hit the car. Because I was standing between her and the car. So she hit me. I don't actually remember much of that part of it. I remember trying to explain to the owner what I had done, then I remember lying face down on the pavement between the cars, with the hood of my Green Bay Packer Winter coat (A must have for everyone in Wisconsin) flopped over my head.

All I could hear at that point was a woman shrieking and crying. And apparently a crowd gathered quickly because I could hear an angry man shouting that someone should sue the city for not salting the roads earlier in the day. The only thing I could think of was, "If I don't get up, they're going to take me to the hospital and my kids will go into protective custody because Hubby isn't here yet and I'll never see my kids again." So I tried to get up. And I fell back to the pavement immediately. It wasn't like I was in pain, my legs simply weren't there. This renewed the woman's shrieking. I guess the site of me, flat down on the pavement, is good theater because no one in the crowd reached down to help me up. Again, I pictured my children 1) Seeing this, because I knew by this time Skippy had unbuckled himself and was watching everything and 2) sitting in some Dickensian Orphanage. It was almost Christmas! I tried getting up again, and this time someone put a hand out to steady me. "Are the kids okay?" "THERE ARE KIDS?????????" The woman who apparently hit me was now on some level of panic I don't recognize as human. "Yes. Are they okay?" I pointed to my car, and I saw Skippy looking at me, his dark eyes huge. No one seemed to be able to tell me, so I opened up the car door. Skippy handed me my cell phone. "It's time to call 911 Mama." I knew he would have called 911, too, if I hadn't gotten up. Good kid! "Mama bleeding!" Peaches announced. Only then did I realize that I had blood on my face. I felt okay, nothing too bad, except for my left knee and my mouth. I guess I landed on those two points. Did I mention it was cold? It was at least a -10 Fahrenheit, and that was without the wind chill. I didn't want to scare anyone, because I had no idea what my face looked like, so I popped my hood back up while I again called the police, and said that we now had multiple cars and an injury at my location. (Johnny Gage would have been proud.) A man walked up to me and said, "Sarah, the children can sit in my house while you wait." I looked up and didn't immediately recognize the younger Hispanic gent in front of me. "Sarah, It's Roman."

ROMAN! I'd worked with Roman a year earlier at the cleaning company. He was part of a very large family. I'd worked with almost everyone in his family and I liked them all. It was like an angel sent from Heaven. "Okay kids," I unbuckled Peaches. "You're going to go to Roman's house and wait for Dad." "Do you have Cartoon Network?" Skippy wanted to know. "I do." Roman took Peaches and Skippy two doors up to his duplex. The police arrived..just in time to watch car #3 come up over the rise, hit that patch of ice, spin, and hit the parked car. And this time he hit the back of the parked car. Complete count: Four damaged cars, fifteen or so people milling around, one hysterical banshee of a woman, and me. I got into my car, because it was cold and looked at myself in the rear view mirror. Ewww.....my mouth was bloody, I'd cut my lip inside someplace. I was going to have a bruise on my face. Other that, I seemed okay. Multiple cop cars closed off the area. One officer talked to car #3, one came over and talked to me. "How did you cut yourself?" "A car hit me." Another rolled Hysterical woman around the corner because, as it turned out, the one vehicle that hit me was the only UNINSURED VEHICLE in this little scene. Of course. So the damage to me and the damage to my car was not going to get paid for. Lovely. Hubby got there and said, "How did you hurt yourself?" "A car hit me." "What you hit your head on the dash or the steering wheel?" "No man," Angry guy stepped in. "That car hit her man! She popped up and bam, landed on her face! Somebody needs to sue the city! Where are the salt trucks?" The cop suddenly looks really worried. "The car hit you?" "Yes. I said, a car hit me." "I thought you just meant you hit the steering wheel." At this point my knee is really starting to hurt. (Get used to that phrase from me...for like the next forever years.) And Hubby is giving me that look, you know the one, like you've lost your mind. "Where are the kids?" "I told you, at Roman's." "WHO IS ROMAN?"

I look around and realize that my cop is now very interested in what shrieking, uninsured woman has to say,so he's no longer standing next to me. I walk Hubby up two doors to Roman's duplex. there, in the blessed warmth, are my two kiddies, sitting in front of the TV, which is situation under THE LARGEST PICTURE OF JESUS I've ever seen. Seriously, I've seen a lot of pictures of Jesus, this one was MASSIVE. Hubby got them both into their winter gear again, amid protests, of course, and hauled Skippy to school. Skippy's Kindergarten teacher later told me that he told a very long story for about ten minutes and yes, he saw everything. That's a chapter in his book I guess. A few minutes later, Hubby returned to collect me and take me to the doctor to get my face looked at. We dropped Peaches at a friend's house and headed for the clinic. At the doctor's I finally got to see the extent of the mess that was my face. I had blood all over my Johnny Gage/Roy De Soto "Happy Holidays" sweatshirt. All I kept saying was, "I got blood on my guys."

Five stitches in my mouth and a series of x-rays that showed no damage to my knee (Yeah, right) later, I was on the couch nursing a lot of aches and pains with lots of Advil and a bag of frozen peas. (Those of you with kids in sports know that frozen peas make the best ice packs.) I don't need a fancy ice pack when I have frozen peas! I can never thank Roman enough for keeping my kids warm that day. I sent him a flower arrangement and a pie (It was the Bob and Brian special at Locker's Florist.) But I will never forget his kindness. I hope some day I'll be able to pay that one forward. As for the damage to the car, it wasn't much. That happens when you stand in front of the car that's about to hit your car. So there's a money saving tip for ya! (Hey, if we're going to have government run healthcare, why not make use of it?) We sold the car a few months later. We never did fix it mostly because uninsured woman was supposed to pay us $250 (which was our deductible) in $50 installments. She made one payment, then declared bankruptcy. I wonder where she is now. I got the stitches taken out on Christmas Eve. And on New Year's eve, I was ready for the y2K virus to destroy the world. I had 6 months supply of baby wipes, water, meat, matches, and toilet paper. Yeah, and just like the X-rays on my knee, y2K sort of wasn't what was predicted. The kids still talk about the accident. Skippy I think has actual memories of it, but Peaches has heard the story often enough. They both still wish I'd spin the car again. I haven't since that accident, and I don't intend to. Oh, and the owner of the parked car? Well, I know what our insurance paid him and I'm sure car #3's insurance paid him plenty. I'm guessing we both got billed for a complete repair on the car, and he got enough money to actually go out and get a new car. That's what I would have done! I suppose we're all lucky no one was moving quickly that day. I mean, how much damage can you possibly do when you're only going 12?

Today I have a bum knee, and I can point to that day as the day I started putting on weight because it simply hurt so much to exercise. I'm sure there's a surgery in my future, but I sort of don't mind it too much. My knee reminds me just how dramatic and funny life can be. Seriously, if you can't laugh at those moments of drama to seem like too much, you're going to just drop dead from being too serious! Which is what I hope you got from this story. Merry Christmas to you all!

2020: A year of opportunity, Sarah Style!

 

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone!

Okay, so this is going to feel like a New Year's wrap up, and maybe it is, who knows.  I mean, I haven't had a lot to blog about this year, not that people are behaving themselves around me more than normal, but because I just haven't gone anyplace this year.  Who has?

But, I was thinking the other day about the Christmas letter I'm not going to get out on time...again.  Typically we have a theme.  This year, for all it's bumps and bruises, I had to think of as a year of opportunity.  But, you know, in my brain, 'opportunity' isn't necessarily the same thing as it is in a normal brain.

So, to end 2020, and to sort of combine a Christmas/New Year's Five for Friday all on a Tuesday...or Wednesday (By the time I get this finished), let's just go at this:  2020, a Year of Opportunity!

An opportunity to return to the basics:

So Christmas 2019 was the year Hubby and I decided not to get each other STUFF, but instead to get each other "experiences."  You know, concert tickets, tickets to plays, that sort of thing.  We stuffed our 2019 Christmas stockings with all kinds of fun little mini trips to one theater or another.  

Well, we did get to see PIFF the Magic Dragon in Skokie, IL and TOBY MAC in Milwaukee just before the world shut down.  The rest of the great concerts and plays, however, were put on hold, some until 2022 (Which made Skippy wonder aloud: Will that guy even be alive in 2022?)

And thus, Christmas 2020 will be a return to basics, at least for me.  I'm getting hubby a whole bunch of stuff.  Just, you know, stuff.  Stuff cannot be cancelled. It was be eaten, it can be watched, it can be worn, but it most assuredly cannot be cancelled. Therefore, this is a chance to return to our basics!

Not one single ticket for one single event in the bunch.

An opportunity for discovery:

 I've discovered something more interesting than documentaries about World War II:  Injury and death on mountains!  Do you have any idea how many shows and documentaries there are about dying on Mount Everest?  I DO! 

Thanks to the many streaming services we have, I've also discovered that sitcoms from the 80's are now pretty much unwatchable, and many from the 90's are just...not funny.  (WOW...the whining that goes on in some of those. I know the 90's were the grunge era, but seriously, "Mad about You" is literally two people whining.)

Also, "Animal Crossing," who new chopping down trees and digging up fossils to build an island community for a bunch of weight lifting/fashion obsessed animals could be so relaxing? It's like being a mom in real life...you get a mortgage, you have to clean up the island every day, the other island inhabitants do nothing for the benefit of the island, but they passive aggressively tell you about birthdays and Christmas and what they might "need" at the store.  And yet...thanks to Skippy, who thought this game would be a nice relaxer for me...I'm now addicted.

I've discovered that not even my great love for Russell Crowe is gonna get me back in a theater.  ("Unhinged" was a GREAT movie, BTW.  I'm never EVER honking my car horn again!_

Oh, and hey, "Legends of the Fall" and "Royal Tennenbaums" are still horrible movies. I didn't discover that, I just figured I haven't mentioned it in a while.

An opportunity to get creative:

My Nanowrimo brain center!

Those of you who familiar with my author page on Facebook:  Sarah the Author, know I participated in "Nanowrimo" again this year.  It's been a long time since I sat down and attempted to write a full length (over 70000 words) novel in a year but I managed it!  AND, I "Won" Nano, by completing 50000 words in November alone!  The first draft of "Deal with a Devil," which will be the fifth book in the Rock Harbor Chronicles series, is done and the second draft is under construction.  Release date?  Summer 2021-ish.

But writing wasn't the only place where I got funky with it:  I started opening some of the cook books people keep giving me and I started cooking!  I had a chance to discover cooking with meats that weren't beef, chicken, or pork, and I have had fun doing it!  Bison is my new favorite protein, but I've also had fun with lamb, goat (so yummy!) and yak.  Yes, I have a yak guy.  I can hook you up if you want to give yak a try.  Meanwhile, in an effort to cut carbs, I've also gotten brave and experimented with alternative "Pastas."  Helpful hint:  Most are just not worth it.  They cost a fortune, and taste like paste.  However, there is one that actually works.  shirataki mushroom "pasta."  (There are a number of brands. Look for them in either the international/oriental foods section OR the gluten free section of your mega mart.)  Warning: These "noodles" stink like rotting shrimp when they come out of the package (Peaches and I discovered that unpleasant fact the first time we tried it).  However, under a pasta sauce...they are a really good substitute.  Next up, I'll be trying the "orzo" shape of this product as a replacement for rice since the riced cauliflower pretty much evaporated when I put it in my gumbo.

Yes, Peaches gave me this book last year for Christmas. And if I cook like Padma...I'll look like Padma...that's my hope anyway!

An opportunity to do...whatever this was:

In a moment that was truly "It can only happen to Sarah" I managed to get a yeast infection.  Now, okay, that might seem gross to those of you who know what that typically entails (And those of you who don't...look it up I'm not explaining that here.)  BUT in 2020, this was not an ordinary yeast infection. Nope...I got it...in my ARMPITS!

You read that correctly.  A yeast infection. In my armpits. During a pandemic.  So while other people are losing their sense of taste and their ability to breathe, I'm sitting there scratching my pits which smell like a bakery.  (Which would be a good thing, you'd think...but no.)  

The treatment for a yeast infection is a series of cream applications, which you can get at your local health and beauty department. Not mine. Not a pit infection. Nope.  After trying to self treat for a couple weeks (and again, this was a super itchy thing, so thank goodness we were in lock down) I called a dermatologist.  I haven't been to a dermatologist in years, so I was a NEW patient. 

See, doc, my armpits itch...so...whatdya think?

How does a new patient go about seeing a dermatologist during a pandemic?  VIA Internet video call.   Yep.  I had to show this complete stranger (She said she was a doctor, but she was in her home and I was in mine...) My naked armpits (did I mention the infection also spread to the underboobal area?  I didn't, well, yeah, that also happened.) on a video call.  She prescribed a couple creams that worked like magic, but still...there I was in front of my computer's webcam, baring parts of my body for a stranger. My mother is actually worried there's some kind of "sexy tape" on the internet featuring my armpits now.  (I don't even want to meet the fetish group that would find that sexy.)

An opportunity to be supportive at all costs:

We've been told to support our local eateries through this pandemic, (not that the Bradley family really needed any encouragement that way), but there are so many places, and honestly, I was trying to cook healthier, more interesting meals!  WHAT TO DO?

If you've read this blog more than twice, you know that ordering take out is on my top five list of stuff to do in a day.  (The other four things are: taking naps, watching cooking shows, watching movies, and watching American Football.)

We basically picked our places, the four of us, and we've done our level best to keep them in business.  Here's a list of the places in the Waukesha/Pewaukee area we order from...a lot...

The Steaming Cup  (Coffee, oatmeal, fun breakfast sammies, and a great bakery)

 Dave's Restaurant (Best double cheeseburgers in town.  Really great breakfast options.)

Taqueria Guadelajara #2 (Legit Mexican food that's a little adventurous.)

Spring Garden (Excellent Chinese food)

Skippy's List:

Sobelman's Pub and Grill  (Great burgers and chicken sandwiches.)

Mod Pizza (really funky pizza)

Peaches' list

Fengs kitchen  (Long time Waukesha Family owned Chinese place)

The Twisted Vine Wine Shop  (Local Wine shop offering charcuterie and desserts.)

If you live in the Waukesha/Pewaukee area, check out these places. If not, look around to your independent, local eateries. They are suffering right now and need your help! It's a struggle, ordering out food,,.Not cooking dinner for yourself every single night of your life. I know, I know...but we must support them at all costs!

An opportunity to look outside ourselves:

This has been a rough year for a lot of people.  While we've had our share of bumps this year (and yes, Skippy had COVID back in early March) the four of us have been blessed to be able to keep working through it all.  Skippy and Peaches, working in different areas of the food industry, are considered essential workers and Hubby and I are able to work at home.  (Well, I've been working AT HOME for almost 6 years now, hubby has been working FROM HOME for 6 years, but this year he worked AT HOME.  That might seem like I'm saying the same thing...but it's not.  Nope.) We've been blessed to stay in our jobs, and to stay healthy (Skippy's case of COVID was relatively mild. He was hard down for three weeks, and his lungs are not the same, but he's recovered).

We're not jerks...we donate clothes and household goods to St. Vinny's.  We volunteer to help out at our church.  We donate food to the local food pantry. You know, we do the stuff everyone does.  But this year we looked around and realized that was not enough when so many people have lost so much. This was the first year in a very long time where we've been in a position to help anyone in a financial way.  Now, some would say, "You should save that money...take care of yourself...pay off some debts."  2020 has been the year we realized that we are always going to have debt.  But others around us weren't worried about paying a credit card bill, they were worried about paying the heat bill.  So...in large part thanks to our church, whose leaders look for ways to reach out to the community and help anyone in need, whether they are members or not, we've been able to help others in a tangible, practical way.  

What is it they say about candles?  Candles lose nothing when sharing their light.  Something like that.  

Yes, this!

Well, we've lost nothing in looking outside our own needs. In fact, we've gained a tremendous amount of joy from looking outside ourselves and donating to causes we've only thought about before.  (You know those catalogs you get at Christmas where you can send a cow or some chickens to a poor family in a third world country?  Yeah...we sent a goat and a couple chickens and some Bibles to a couple villages. a GOAT! I'm having a blast just thinking about the family that "gets my goat." LOL)  We've net so many great people we would NEVER meet otherwise and we've seen miracles and angels every day now that we've opened our eyes.

So friends, what I'm trying to say is this:  yes, 2020 was the pits.  And who knows what 2021 is going to bring us?  But forget the noise of politics. Ignore the fact that the ultra wealthy are never going to do their part like they should.  We regular people...if we pull together and keep our sense of humor...and if we keep praying...we can not only get through this, we can thrive.  We don't have to just sit in our houses and wait:  the opportunities are there for all of us to laugh, and grow, and help others.  

Of course, yes, I am hoping we get back to normal so I can once again watch humanity in action in line at the pharmacy...but here's to 2020...a weird year full of opportunities!

So Merry Christmas, happy holidays, enjoy the last few days of this year...and let's look to the lessons we've learned in 2020 and take the opportunities in 2021 to really make this world better!  

And hey, if you do see a picture on the internet of my armpits...please don't tell my mother.