I Am Woman, Hear Me Write!: 2012

Monday, July 2, 2012

I Don't Own a Cat

I'm not a cat person. That's what I'd been saying up until two years ago. I was dating Jason (who is now my husband) and I remember the day his daughter Krysta brought a kitten home from the shelter. She named him Poe (as in Edgar Allen). I kept my distance because, like I said, I was not a cat person. Several months later, Jason and Krysta moved in with me. I admit I wasn't crazy about the idea of having a cat in my house, but since Krysta was changing houses and high schools just so her father and I could be together, I decided to give it a chance. Again, even though the cat was in my house, I kept my emotional distance. I didn't pet him or pay him much attention. We simply existed together in the same space.

A couple of weeks later, Krysta left to visit her mother in California and left Poe home for us to take care of. I was just going to let my husband do it, but Poe had other plans. He missed Krysta, and longed for someone to pay him some attention. I think he considered it a challenge to try to win me over. He slept in the bed with us one night, right beside my head. I only know this because my husband told me. I'm a sound sleeper and never knew it. If I had woke up to see Poe next to my head, I'm sure I would have pushed him off the bed. I'm not a mean person, but I can experience temporary moments of meanness when I first wake up.

A few days after, I was taking a nap on the couch and woke up to hear the purring of a cat. I looked to see a cat curled up on my belly. Yes, indeed. I just had to smile and pet Poe on the head. He was becoming quite taken with me, but I wasn't quite ready to admit that the feeling was mutual.

Finally, one day as I was sitting on the couch watching TV, Poe brought me one of his toy mice, which was his way of asking me to throw it so he can fetch it, although up until that moment, he only played fetch with Krysta and no one else. I guess he thought I was special. I threw the mouse, and he brought it back to me. I threw it again and he brought it back to me. My husband laughed and said he thought I would never own a cat. I DON'T own a cat. He owns me. :)

So, Krysta is gone again for a few weeks this summer so Poe has been lonely and looking for extra attention. We've been playing fetch tonight, and I finally remembered to record it with the video camera. I uploaded it to YouTube tonight, link below, so watch it and see this fetching feline for yourself.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_YqX1Zkahds&feature=g-upl

Thursday, April 12, 2012

12 Dead Bunnies

In response to the "dead bunnies" prompt per this month's Absolute Write blog chain, here are a series of limericks about Playboy bunnies. I admit my rhythm and rhyme are not the best, but I was going for the fun factor. Enjoy!

Twelve Dead Bunnies

Jan began a Twitter war,

gave Internet geeks what for.

So all of the nerds

unleashed Angry Birds

‘til that chick could tweet no more.

Spring bikini model noobs

sparred over who had real boobs.

Strings came untied,

they fought ‘til they died—

ten thousand views on YouTube.

April, May and June

left the spa at half past noon.

The three were last seen

reenacting scenes

with Charlie Sheen from Platoon.

Two bunnies July and Au

on the playground with Jigsaw.

They teeter-tottered

and were then slaughtered.

Don’t let your kids go see Saw.

Three blondes formed an alliance

to share their first appliance,

plugged in their rocket

to a bad socket—

official death by science.

The last one started to cry

when she learned tomorrow nigh

she’d be on a show,

the name, don’t you know

is 1,000 Ways to Die!

Please enjoy these other blog posts about dead bunnies!

Monday, April 9, 2012

Impressions of a Marriage

My first impression of Jason was a strong one, with his heart-melting hazel eyes and contagious smile. The first time he washed my hair, massaging my scalp while doing a Bugs Bunny impersonation from “Rabbit of Seville,” I knew our life together would be fun. And it has been. Our marriage has character, a couple of characters actually. He with his knack for impressions, and me with my quick wit. Together we fight the stress of daily living with spontaneity and a sense of humor. We’re silly, we’re sarcastic, and sometimes we’re just plain stupid. Whatever helps us conquer the chaos or deflect domestic monotony.

On mornings when the bursitis in my shoulder renders me unable to lift my arms above my head without pain, my husband comes to the rescue. With a pink, plastic razor and Australian accent, he cuts through “the jungle” starting to grow under my arms. “Crikey! Look out! There might be snakes, crocs, and other predators in the land down under.” I don’t have to dwell on my pain or slight loss of independence, and can instead smile, laugh, and focus on how fortunate I am to have such a caring “mate.”

During the week, I often pack our lunches, usually leftovers from the night before. Then we meet for lunch every day around noon at the shop where he works. Just because we’re not at a fast food restaurant with a playground doesn’t mean we can’t play. We never know who we’re going to be. We might be British blokes with bad accents, cartoon characters, or comic superheroes. No matter what parts we play, it’s an animated hour-long diversion from our workday; plus, we save money and eat healthier. All of which make for a happier, less-stressed couple.

We know each other’s strengths and weaknesses, and complement each other accordingly. One night a month when my jedi mind powers fail and saying these are not the billpayers you’re looking for, you can go about your business, move along does not work, my husband the math lord steps in. He uses the force to manage our finances, figure out who gets what and how much, and I write the checks (hey, I’m the writer after all). Then we hop into my landspeeder (which just looks like a Pontiac GrandAm to you), drive to each utility office and place our payment in the drop box. We do this after hours because the math lord’s mind powers tell him I will not remember to do this on my way to work the next day, and he’s right.

When we come home and face the daily chaos that comes with having two teenagers and that evil and inevitable “What’s for dinner?” question, we work together like superheroes. One of us whips up the meal in a flash, and the other washes dishes. He takes out the garbage, I clean the litterbox. He changes light bulbs and unclogs sinks. I sign school papers and help with homework. When last minute girl comes out of nowhere in need of posterboard for a project due tomorrow, threatening to make the throbbing vein in her father’s forehead explode with anger, I exclaim, “Quick, to the Batmobile!” and off we go to the dollar store to accomplish our mission.

We express our love in new and interesting ways. We’re not afraid to play, act silly and laugh out loud. Not only when we’re alone, but also in front of our kids and in public. Yes, that adult couple you see playing hide and seek in the clothing department is probably us. We’re not ashamed or embarrassed to admit it. Our marriage is not a typical one, but it’s a wonderful one that leaves lasting impressions everywhere we go. Th-th-th-th-th…that’s all, folks!

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Family Recipe

When Jason and I got married, my family instantly doubled as he and his teenage daughter moved in with my teenage daughter and me. There was definitely an adjustment phase for all four of us, but my stepdaughter Krysta had to make the biggest adjustment of all. She had to leave her home, her school, and move farther away from her grandmother and her boyfriend. I let her paint and decorate her room the way she wanted, and also welcomed her pets, anything to make her feel more at home.

At mealtime, it became no secret that Krysta preferred her father’s cooking over mine (not that I blame her, I prefer his cooking over mine, too). But when both parents work, chores such as cooking must be shared. Whether it was something simple like hamburgers, or something a little more complex like beef stroganoff or chicken casserole, she would eat what I cooked without complaint, but I could tell it just wasn’t the same for her. It’s not like I was trying to outdo her dad, I merely wanted to find at least one dish I could cook for her that she would enjoy and find comfort in. Food can be an expression of love, and I just had not found that special dish for Krysta yet, and was not sure if I ever would.

One cold winter day Jason decided it was a good night for chili. I do not like chili so I opted to make vegetable beef soup for myself as it’s one of my favorite comfort foods that my mom made for me when I was growing up. She didn’t use a recipe. It was simply a matter of using whatever vegetables we had (whether leftover from the past few days or fresh from our garden), combined with ground beef and seasonings. I eventually learned how to make my own version of this soup, but it still tastes best when my mom makes it. While making the soup, I was under the impression that Krysta did not like vegetable beef soup because her dad doesn’t so I was not trying to impress her when I made it. To my surprise, she ladled up a bowl at supper that night and ate it. She complimented me on it, but I thought she was just being polite.

A few weeks later I took Krysta to the doctor for a cold and sore throat. Afterwards, we stopped by the grocery store to pick up a few things. I decided to make it frozen pizza night so Jason or I would not have to cook. Krysta asked if she could have soup instead since her throat was sore and it hurt to swallow. As she looked at all the different soup cans, she would pick one up, ask a question like “What kind is this?” or “Do you think this is any good?”, then put it back on the shelf. It wasn’t until several questions later that I realized what she was really asking.

“Is this soup like yours?” she inquired. With those words, a bell went off in my head.

“Do you want me to make you some of my soup?” I asked.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” she said with puppy dog eyes.

Since then, she has requested my soup several times. I told her I would teach her how to make it herself, but so far, she refuses, stating “It tastes better when you make it.”

Score one for the stepmom. :)

***I submitted this story to Chicken Soup for the Soul's Food and Love book, but it didn't make it. Maybe it's not the most well-written story, but it is nonetheless a memorable story for me. ;)

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Time Well Spent

There just aren't enough hours in the day. I'm sure we've all both heard and said that before. Right now, my heart and mind are so focused on writing, but my body has to go to work, taking those things with it. I try to squeeze in 15 minutes of writing here, 30 minutes of writing there, but seems like just when I get on a roll, it's time to stop. Like now, I only have a few more minutes, then I *have* to get ready for work. Tonight, I'll be typing and have to stop because it will be time for supper, or bed, or something. There's always something. Instead of beating myself up over it though, I'm going to be proud of myself for at least making more time to write. Even in a few minutes a day, I've made progress. I was hoping to be finished compiling the poems for my e-book by now, but no, not yet; however, I've made baby steps in that general direction.

I decided this past weekend to devote several hours to my writing. My husband took his two daughters fishing for most of the day, and instead of subjecting my sensitive skin and allergies to the elements, I stayed home to write. And I write I did...for a little while...until my daughter asked if she could watch some episodes of "Lost" in the living room via our Roku (a device that allows you to access Netflix, Amazon Video, etc. through your TV). I'm not ashamed to say that I sat right there in the living room with her and watched a few episodes of "Lost". We talked and laughed. I cooked her favorite lunch and we pigged out. It wasn't writing, but it was time well spent.