What would you have in your kit?

I have a friend that went into the hospital last night, via the emergency room.  He came through surgery okay, but will be down for the count for a couple of weeks.  But, it was serious enough that when his wife called, I packed one of my canvas bags with some stuff to take with me.

First thing I grabbed was the book I'm currently reading.  I usually have a book in my purse, but just started Jo Beverley's An Unlikely Countess and didn't know how long I'd be sitting and waiting.  Next, I grabbed a bunch of magazines.  You never know what they'll have in the waiting lounge and friends and family might want to be distracted.  Then, I packed a needlework project, making sure I had a pair of scissors and extra needle in the kit.  I started to grab some snacks and sodas, but didn't have what my friends really like and don't have any bottled water, so I headed out the door. 

I did make a run to my friends' house to get their phone charger cord and got the snacks and beverages there, along with some quarters from their overflowing change bin.  Also, gave the cats some treats and told them their humans were "at the vet's." 

We're at the age where we're sometimes called to sit with friends or family at the hospital or funeral home.  It's best to be prepared.  You never know how long you may be there or what might be a comfort.

I worked this into my novel, where the sisters are in Vegas for a bachelorette party and one ends up in the hospital.  Instead of drunken revelry, they end up taking turns, sitting and waiting.  The hero and heroine take a turn too, because seeing how your character reacts under a stressful situation or even ordinary situation, should tell the reader a lot about them. 

So, while I hope we don't have any more situations requiring hospital runs for the foreseeable future, it's reassuring to know I was able to contribute to the situation and ease the burden a bit.  What would you grab, if you were called upon to do hospital watch? 

Smaller portions

My mom learned how to cook from her mother-in-law, my grandmother.  Grandmother didn't think anything of whipping up a church dinner for 300 and thought recipes were merely suggestions.  I regret that by the time I got old enough to know her, she was in a nursing home, having suffered a stroke.  But, she left a legacy of a well-loved cookbook and a red plastic measuring scoop. 

I was helping (okay, watching) Mom in the kitchen one day and she explained that she used a couple scoops of flour for what she was fixing.  Now, I was too busy taking math and science classes to take Home Ec in high school, but I knew that sometimes measuring was important and I asked how much that scoop held.  She shrugged, that's just the way Mom J did it, so that was the way she would do it.  Then, she told me how Mom J organized and cooked a chicken dinner for a couple hundred people to pay the insurance premium for the church.  Good thing, because they had a fire the next month and were able to rebuild.

So, I always grew up cooking large quantities of food and learned to eyeball things.  A few years after we were married, I bought a big stockpot.  Many thought I was nuts (and I am), but I've always been one to fix batches of spaghetti sauce, chili, chicken noodle soup, beef vegetable soup, etc., then we'd eat on them during the week.  Kind of the way Mom would do it.  Dad worked for the railroad and kept odd hours.  I remember eating steak at 2am on a TV tray.  That's the way we did it, we ate when we were hungry and there was always something on the stove or that could be warmed up.  The cooking shows where they fix only enough for one meal and sit down at a table are fascinatingly foreign to me. 

It's still the way I work.  But last night, I asked my husband if he wanted me to fix chili or spaghetti sauce with the ground beef and he threw me for a loop.  He said, "Why don't you fix both?"  Fix just a small batch?  Of two things?  In explanation, I have food allergies which include beef and tomato (and chicken and dozens of other things--it sucks!  But that's another story.), so I can only eat a serving of either say every other day.  I immediately thought about sharing some, making a casserole and taking it over to someone.  That's what Mom or Grandmother would do.  Or I could freeze some, so it wouldn't be sitting in the 'fridge forever.  And that meant I could fix the chicken later in the week and not worry the stuff I already had would go bad....

So, while I was grateful Chris actually gave me a suggestion, rather than saying "I dunno.  Fix what you want," I was also grateful that he made me think.  True, I still had to dirty up the pans, but that's okay.  I ate the spaghetti for lunch and he had the chili and life was good.

I've tried to put a little of this in my fiction.  Important scenes happen during meals.  My heroine considers what it would be like if she didn't marry the hero and ten years down the road would be fixing dinner for one and eating it by herself.  In another book, her niece gets a coffeemaker from her lover with the promise that he'll fix coffee for her every morning. 

Important things happen in life while cooking and eating or one could say cooking and eating are life and love. 

Spring Fever and other distractions to life in general

Just in time for a cold front to come through.  That's okay, though.  I still have a bunch of long-sleeved shirts in my drawer and my weather-obsessed husband promised it won't get to freezing tomorrow.  Occasionally, I am somewhat practical enough to dress appropriately and make sure we have clean clothes and things to eat.

Ah, well.  I was sitting with hubby at lunch today and something told me to check my notebook.  There was a time when the little spiral-bound pages were my life line.  When Dad fell ill in 2001, I had to take care of all their finances, arrange care for Mom and travel a third of my life for my work.  Did I mention I was 45 minutes away from my folks?  I HAD to write everything down, doctor's appointments, grocery lists, phone numbers (I'm soooo low tech, I rarely have my cell phone on) and the huge list of Things to Do.  I don't get everything in the notebook now, though I do have lists of books read, needlework projects in various stages of completion and movies seen recently.  I really hate it when I can't dredge up a title or remember so and so's cell phone number, so this is a God-send.  And during the early Aughts, I was averaging four hours of sleep a night, meaning most days if you'd asked me for my phone number, I'd draw a blank. 

But, when I checked the list of doctor appointments today, I almost started crying.  I'd missed a doctor's appointment yesterday afternoon!  Totally flaked it--wasn't even home if they'd called, which they didn't.  The funny thing was, my husband got two calls reminding him of his dental appointment yesterday, one Friday and one Monday.  When I got home, I called and apologized profusely.  I told the woman I'd make a big sign and put the rescheduled appointment on our door, which I did. 

So, should I blame Spring Fever?  Early-onset Alzheimer's?  Lack of sleep?  Does it even matter?  In my novel, my hero (who's not always a very nice man) takes advantage of the heroine's sleep-deprived mind.  Two of the sisters comment about having to be "the responsible one."  Like they would, I felt bad that I wasted an appointment that someone really sick might have needed. 

There were many times over the past five years I've been "distracted" by my fictional characters and their world.  I'd take something that happened and obsess about how I would use it in one of my story lines.  How dare real life interfere with my imagination!  I have to admit, even as a child, people would comment about how I seemed to be "in my own little world."  I just have to be in the moment enough, responsible enough, to function and do the practical things a self-employed writer would do, while continuing to write and edit.  Like not forgetting doctor's appointments.............

Princesses redux

I have to laugh at all the TV shows based around weddings and finding someone (though I do watch "Say Yes to the Dress"--train wrecks, you know).  We're coming up on wedding season, waiting for the current crop of bridezillas to make their appearances.  Looking at some of the $$$s spent makes my stomach churn.  I could never feel comfortable paying $40K for a wedding--that's what we paid for our house for heaven's sake!  But, with this culture of The Perfect Wedding, I have to ask:  Are women in danger of thinking our wedding day will be the only day we're special? 

I have several weddings in my fiction.  One thing about the first book in my series is that it's titled "Seven Days," starting on a Monday night and the main characters get married that Wednesday.  Not a traditional romance, in that I found the real story was how they dealt with the next few days.  But, Will and Elizabeth get married in jeans at the hospital's Meditation Chapel in Las Vegas.  He did offer to take her to the chapel where you could get married by the guy in the green alien suit, but they decided to do this instead.  They go back to Indianapolis, her hometown, for the oldest sister's wedding that Saturday.  I'm making that one a major production number, but only touching on some details, because the story happens at the reception after. 

Mary Margaret, the middle sister (yes, they're named after Jane Austen's Pride & Prejudice sisters), is horrified when her dad jokes, "How much for you to elope to Vegas, Princess?" 

But, that's what my dad offered.  I'm glad we went ahead and had our small wedding for under a hundred people, because it was the first time in decades two of my uncles were together.  We were married by a judge in an apartment complex's party room.  I found a try-on dress for under $100 that was waltz-length and perfect.  I told my high school buddy to pick out a dress she'd like to wear and that was that.  By the way, Mary Margaret marries in a red dress, since she'd spent the previous four months in Japan, one of the cultures that considers white the color of mourning. 

So, while it's important to hold a ceremony (traditional or same-sex, as I have several gay couples in my fiction) as a celebration and I'm always up for a party, don't you think it's dangerous to focus so much on the wedding?  Shouldn't we worry more about the life and relationship after?  Just sayin'.  Stepping down off my soapbox now.  Thanks for listening and I'd love to hear your thoughts. 

Princess rules

There are billboards all around town for "Disney's Princesses on Ice!"  They make me smile.  One of my characters is called Princess by her father and she passes the legacy on to her daughter.  You see, the problem with being a princess is that some day, you might have to be queen. 

With all the hype of the royal wedding, I remembered reading that the current Queen Elizabeth realized at about nine or ten that she would have to rule her country one day.  How about that for a mind-blowing experience?  In times past, those of royal lineage were essentially taken away from their parents, set on a path of "training" as it were for their duties.  So, with this resent obsession with the giggly, pink tulle, tiara princess culture for little girls (I can't imagine the sound level at the stadium!), my concern is that we're raising a crop of females who will expect a handsome prince to come along and rescue, then take care of them.

I didn't have that luxury.  My brothers were 12 and 14 years older than me and my parents were in their 40s when I was born.  Joe and Ed told me I could do anything I wanted.  I took the science and math classes, knowing I might have to make my own way in the world, make my own fortune.  I read through my brothers' science fiction books and all of the ones at the library, too.  Some of the authors at the time were outright misogynistic, others just didn't know how to write strong female characters, but there were a few role models.  Mom read tons (literally!) of the Harlequin Presents, which at the time involved a little hand-holding and heavy breathing and always resulted in a happily every after that involved a ring from an alpha male.  The subtext was the woman's relief that she wouldn't have to work anymore.  The funny thing was, Mom worked, even in the 60s and 70s and got subscriptions to "MS. Magazine" and "Playgirl."  She was fierce before it was in fashion, but she sent mixed messages. 

So, when my handsome prince arrived, I was almost thirty and making more money than he was.  Luckily, I recognized him and held on tight.  We'll celebrate our twenty-third wedding anniversary the day after Kate and Wills say their vows.  We've been through some tough and humbling times, but found we can get through anything depending upon each other. 

That's the kind of story I want to tell with my fiction.  Tales with real characters, who are a little messed up, but are navigating the road with each other.  So, yes, my heroes are handsome and wealthy, but far from perfect.  The only way they're going to survive is with my heroines' help. 

Those fairy tales have been so overdone.  Pink means to "Fight Like a Girl" (the Breast Cancer Awareness slogan) and young women know it's better to be alone than in a hell-hole of a marriage.  While the "popcorn for the mind" of an occasional fairy tale or Harlequin is a worthy diversion from the trials of real life, we must remember the world needs all of us, male and female, to contribute in order to get by.

Confessions of a not-so-great housewife

I knew I loved the man who would become my husband when he stayed at my apartment and cleaned my kitchen while I was at work.  He said he had to, because there was a green slimy thing making off with one of the forks.  In fact, he took it personally when I didn't invite him over.  He thought it was because I didn't like him.  I had to confess, it was because my apartment was so messy.

So, he knew exactly what he was getting into, when we moved in together, then married.  I made the effort, not wanting to be a total embarrassment, but I never was taught how to clean.  Mom always had something better to do.  The only time I remember helping her clean as a kid was when we used the putty stuff in a can to clean the wallpaper for the family reunion, in the '60s.  I do remember her frantically cleaning when it was her turn to host pinochle club.  My room was terribly messy as a kid, though a lot of that was just too much stuff. 

My mother-in-law, on the other hand, raised seven kids and cleaned every day.  I had a friend who dusted all the woodwork in her massive house every Tuesday.  These were alien concepts to me.  I usually waited until the dust bunnies were the size of tumbleweeds before I got out the cleaning pad.  My husband and I agreed that if we did have kids, I'd have to get the job that paid well enough for him to stay home.  The house would be a lot cleaner, but the kids would be more psychotic. 

I used to love to do laundry and cook. I started doing the wash after he shrunk a designer sweater down to doll size.  Chris took over doing dishes, until he remodeled the kitchen.  He then declared his work there ended and it would be my job to cook and clean.  He took over the laundry, because it was something he could do on his breaks from on-line poker games.  I miss laundry, but have to admit he's improved.  There's something soothing in folding and sorting socks.  I've gotten that from doing dishes, that once hated task.  I can think about my fiction and often come up with ideas and solutions, while doing a job that doesn't require but a portion of my brain. 

As I get to be a "parent" to my characters, I'm not going to impose all of my shortcomings upon them.  Lizzy/Elizabeth loves to do laundry and Mary Margaret always did the dishes.  I've worked scenes into my fiction that illuminate the characters and their reactions to everyday things, while extraordinary events swirl around them.  Rob learns to garden, aversion therapy for his OCD.  Will learns to cook some special dinners to surprise his wife. 

And I'd better get into the kitchen and do some more dishes. 

Things we can control

I went through my massive collection of beads and findings recently, sending out gifts to several people.  Today, I updated and printed out my book list and I'll do the same for my music list here in a bit.  I have a couple of needlework patterns I need to put away in my ring binders. 

Does it sound like I'm anal-retentive?  Which BTW, I've been told is hyphenated when used as an adverb.  Not really.  It's just that there are things I can control in my life and I find comfort from that.  When my husband and I were excavating (correct choice of word) the boxes of @#%& in the office to organize things, I had to force myself to NOT micro-organize every little bag of embroidery floss.  It was important at that time to get the larger problems solved (clean out that corner, pack bag of things to donate, recycle paper and cardboard, throw pictures in box to organize later) and get it done, while I had help. 

You see, I'm the daughter of two pack rats, married to a pack rat.  These past few years, I've forced myself to get rid of things, even when it kills me.  I had to do it at work, when I moved offices and by golly, threw away three huge trash bins of old workbooks, meeting notes and assorted junk.  I had to do it, when I sold Mom and Dad's house.  I promised myself I would not channel Dad and keep every single twist tie, plastic utensil and margarine tub ever.  Also, I promised myself I would go through my canned goods regularly and not keep anything that hissed when moved (the umpty-ump cans of pork & beans on the shelves on his back porch) or clanked when it shouldn't (the can of pumpkin Dad used as a rhythm instrument). 

Digital photography, scanners and flash drives have simplified my life also.  I'm truly blessed that my parents had a ton of pictures, but I can get rid of the ones that are out of focus or don't have anyone recognizable in them.  If a tragic fire happened, I have the family pictures in a fire safe and copies with several relatives. 

So, in my writing, editing and character design, I am desperately trying to do the same.  Yeah, I did a good job crafting that paragraph, but my novel is over 550 pages, so it gets cut.  I did save it in a file where it may be used elsewhere, in another form.  When I changed from 3rd person to 1st person, I hugely simplified my writing and cut over 100 pages (yes, my original draft was over 700 pages!).  It was a relief to get rid of some awkward sentence construction and let my characters tell their stories in their own words. 

But, there comes a time when I find things I can't cut or get rid of.  I put that in a scene in my second novel in the series, where the middle daughter, Mary Margaret, digs a ring box out of the trash to keep.  The hero, Rob, starts to make fun of her, then realizes it wasn't just a ring box, it was a memory.  On one of the organizational shows, the host was talking about not being able to honor your possessions and memories, if they can't be displayed or enjoyed. 

I can control what I keep.  I will have these memories and representative things that I can find fairly quickly, if I need to.  I will not end up on "Hoarders" or its ilk.  Any brothers or sisters out there who will give an "Amen"?