Happy New Year!

So as usual I've been MIA. Life and computer troubles got in my way, but I'm back full force, ready to rock and roll.
And of course, what else would I talk about on New Year's Eve but resolutions?

First off, no resolutions about my career. Careers are out of our control. We can't resolve to make the New York Times list, sell like hotcakes, get a million dollar contract. All that is up to fate, and all the resolution in the world won't make it happen. But I can choose not to let it break my heart and make me crazy.
So I guess my first resolution really is about my career.
1. I resolve to weather the storms of publishing calmly, and not let it break me.

Then there's the weight issue. I'm adorably chubby ... actually I think I've gone over the line on that one and it's no longer so adorable. I think it's beginning to have an impact on my health. But just choosing to lose weight is a yoyo game, and I've played it too often. Therefore:
2. I choose to get healthy. To make choices, small or large, that will help me feel better and stronger. Maybe I'll start with one small choice a day, and then expand it. But even one small step, one small choice, is a beginning.

And then there's life. I feel responsible for everyone's well-being, I feel anxious and upset if one of my kids is having issues, and they're 20 and 23 by now. I need to not ride the rollercoaster of emotion that is youth. I can't fix everything for them, and if I can't be happy if they're not happy then I'm deliberately choosing unhappiness. I'll do anything I can for them. But then I've got to let go. Therefore:
3. I resolve to let go and let God.

Writing, which has absolutely nothing to do with career. I love writing, love stories. I despise the business, which has tried to break me so many times over the years. Fuck the business. I need to remember to keep them separate. And I never feel good unless I write. Therefore:
4. I will write at least five days a week, at least 200 words a day. When I commit to that I always write a great deal more, and it keeps me in the story, whether I end up doing a page and a half or a 16 page chapter.

And the chaos I live in. It's overwhelming, and even Flylady seems too much to handle sometimes. But it's making me crazy, and there's no island of serenity in the place.
5. I will make one small step a day on decluttering the house.

Sewing and quilting. I have too many UFOs (unfinished objects) and sewing keeps me centered and my blood pressure down.
6. I will do half an hour in my workshop every day, whether it's organizing or actual sewing, because it will make me feel better.

And most important of all:

7. I will take joy in life. In my wonderful husband and children, in my three cats and a dog, in my wonderful writing friends like Jenny Crusie and Lani Diane Rich and the joy of collaboration, I will celebrate gorgeous men and movies and snow that covers the mountains with a blanket of white. I'll celebrate working toward the things I want in life, health and serenity.

And I wish you all a fabulous new year!

So tell me what your resolutions are? Have you got any plans to make 2008 a good year? Besides the obviously political solution .

In with the New

Hope springs eternal in the human breast;
Man never Is, but always To be blest....
Alexander Pope

In other words, we’re never satisfied. Or, we deserve better than we’re getting. Good things lie ahead, around the next corner, over the next hill, in the Next Life. Whenever.

And never is Hope more alive than on the brink of a New Year. Humans are drawn to landmarks and turning points. There is magic in them, even if we are the ones putting it there.

Especially if we are the ones. Writers know the importance of proactive characters. However beaten up by fate, enemies, and the ills that flesh is heir to, they seize their destinies between their teeth and charge forward. So should we all.

And why not mark our intent by observing a tradition? If you don’t have one, make one. Or join with the people of another culture, if their ritual appeals to you.


To rid yourself of an unsatisfactory 2007, how about a bonenkai? That’s the Japanese “forget the year” celebration, where houses are cleaned, grudges let go, and misunderstandings cleared up.

Feeling lazy? Join the Spaniards and eat twelve grapes at midnight to secure twelve happy months in the year to come. Or have some black-eyed peas for good luck, as folks do in the American south. The Poles go for pickled herring. In Greece, a coin hidden in a St. Basil’s cake brings good fortune to the lucky one who receives it.

If you like your neighbors and wish them well, you might consider throwing dishes at their door. In Denmark, where people save old crockery for New Year’s flinging, a pile of broken dishes on your doorstep means you are popular.

Or, just relax in front of the teevee with a plate of nachos, watch the celebration in Times Square, and sing along with the traditional song. Whatever the tipple of your choice, let us each raise a glass to one another, we writers and readers, and in the words provided by Scottish poet Robert Burns:



tak a right guid-willie waugh (good-will drink) for auld lang syne (times gone by).

Happy New Year!!! (Patricia Potter)

Saturday arrives with increasing frequency. Oh, oh, it's my turn to blog. Vacation or not. Ready or not. Deadline or not. Topic or not. I groan a bit on Friday night. But then I start writing, and I always surprise myself at how much I enjoy it.

And even how much I learn about myself. Writing about life and writing and friendships often brings emotions/memories/feelings lurking deep inside to the light of day.

Unlike many writers, I’ve never kept a journal. I advise aspiring writers to do so, but I’ve never been very good at following my own advice. It’s a curse. I do, however, jot down impressions on spare pieces of paper: an unusual face, a particular shade of blue eyes, a striking sunset. A mountain decked in snow. I promptly lose those pieces of paper, but the words remain in my mind, ready to surface at exactly the right time.

That brings me, in a roundabout way, to – roll the drums – New Year’s resolutions.

I love New Year's Day, especially since it’s also my birthday. I’ve always thought it rather neat that I was born on such an auspicious day. It made me special, never mind that I just missed being a tax deduction and was the second baby born that morning in the hospital (missed all the gifts).

Despite those failures, my parents seemed pleased enough to keep me and I’m particularly grateful for that fact now that I’m writing a suspense novel about babies switched at birth.

Because of that birth date, I’ve always felt a particular responsibility to make those infamous resolutions. Like my advice, I seldom make good on them, but I try. For a few days, anyway.

So these are mine – in no particular order -- this year:

1. Not to be so impatient. With people. With events. With myself. Slow down, take a deep breath and enjoy life.

2. Spend more time on and at the ocean, even if I have to beg, steal or
crawl to get there. It renews and freshens me in a way nothing else does.

3. Enjoy writing again. I’m well on the way. My new book is going gloriously well after a siege of writer’s block in 2007.

4. Be kind. I’m resolved to do one good deed a day. It might be just a smile for a harried clerk, or being gracious on the road, but hopefully something a bit better.

5. Never ever volunteer for president – or anything else – again. I’m the world’s biggest turkey at taking jobs no one else wants.

6. Adopt a few more dogs. You can never have too many. Their love is unconditional and their welcoming joyous.

7. Somehow – someway – find more time to read. Because of deadlines and an ill mother, I just don't seem to have the time to really indulge. But now I’m reading a marvelous book (Deborah Smith’s “A Gentle Rain”) and realize how very much I miss and need it.

8. Expand my garden. Beauty makes my heart sing.

9. Become more frugal with exceptions for the above.

10. Continue to be grateful for this community and all who visit here.

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!!!

New Year's Revolutions (LynnK)

No, that’s not a typo. I really do mean Revolutions.

Let me speak frankly. I believe in change, in setting goals, in putting away bad habits and developing good ones. I aspire to all those things. Pretty much the way I aspire to win the Lottery. I want change, yes indeedy. But not the work that goes into achieving it.

As 2007 draws to an end, I accept that the goals I set for the year did not materialize. Making up my mind accomplishes nothing. And yes, I did try. But you are what you do. As Yoda told us, “Do...or do not. There is no try.”

So I’ve given up on New Year’s Resolutions. For one thing, I have all the resolve of a goldfish. And no advice from stronger beings seems to help.
“Make a list of resolutions and go for all of them. Soon enough, you’ll zero in on the ones that really matter to you.”
or
“Don’t set yourself up for failure after failure. Choose only one resolution and stick to it.”

Yeah. Got it. Thanks, guru-guys.

But in a too-rigid, back-handed way, they’ve helped me see I really can have it all. In bits and pieces, though. In struggles and scrambles and small sighs of accomplishment.

I’ve already started by making the same old list and adding a few new items: Diet; Exercise; Work harder; Write more; Declutter; Volunteer; Sing; Relearn to play the guitar; Manage my own website; Spend more time with friends; Become much earlier to bed and not so late to rise; Brush the cat’s teeth . . . Well, whatever occurs to me. You get the idea.

But it’s the management of the list that matters. In 2008, I am resolved to become a revolutionary!

Not in the usual sense, although I’ve always been a little rebellious, if not radical. Since leaving the convent, anyway, and trotting off to grad school. Before that, I was a pious, somewhat resentful, over-achieving prude. Also, simultaneously, a rebel wannabe. A Wild One on a Tricycle.

In this case, Revolution means a Turning. Not an utter change, which seems beyond me, but a move in another direction. And because I get bored plugging away at one new direction, I’m aiming for whichever point on the compass appeals to me on a given day. To every revolution there is a season, or a week, or an hour. Some days, I’ll settle for a few minutes.

And if my theory holds water, accomplishing one thing a day will inspire me accomplish two, or three, or more. Success builds upon itself.

This is a guilt free-plan. In my experience, guilt is paralyzing. I can’t do it! I give up! This way, I have only to make one revolution to succeed. And to ensure I don’t slip-slide backward, I’ll buy a calendar tomorrow and mark every list item as I accomplish it.

If I remember to do that.

What resolutions (or revolutions) have you targeted for yourself? Let’s share ideas and mutual support!

Winter Magick! (Maggie)

We had the most beautiful ice storm the day after Christmas. It was interesting, because we'd had a similar one a week or so earlier, and I'd set forth the intent to capture some gorgeous photos of the ice glistening on the trees. But the sun never came out that day, and so that magical effect was never there to photograph. Then, like an extra bonus gift, the ice returned right after the holiday. Every tree was coated in ice. And then the sun came up brightly, and lit the trees up just the way I'd been hoping for. So I took my camera out into the freezing temps, and snapped a pile of pics. Some of them are just stunning, if you ask me. =) I'm posting the two best shots of the bunch.


Our family holiday was lovely. Last year was full of tension, hurt feelings, and way too much alone time. Last year showed me what I didn't want, which showed me what I did want, which launched a whole pile of desires that became this year's reality. I had the family here for Christmas Eve dinner, then I went to one daughter's for Christmas day breakfast, and to another's for Christmas night dinner. Everyone was happy and loving and there was almost zero tension, aside from the usual holiday bustle. The kids had a blast and gifts abounded. I received some lovely ones. Dinnerware from one daughter, a fabulous camcorder from two others, movies & cds from the others, and it was all great.

I also received some incredibly special, thoughtful, insightful gifts from someone special to me, including an Iphone of all things, and an incredible wide angle lens for my camera, and a ton of other tender, touching gifts that left me deeply moved and almost weepy. It means so much when someone not only knows you well enough to know exactly what you would love, but takes the time to find those things and wrap them with tender care. Some things were just something I had mentioned in a passing conversation. That's just so cool when someone cares enough to remember those things.

A dear friend gave me a Pilates kit, complete with the big ball, small weighted balls, stretchy bands, dvd, and more. I can hardly wait to give it a try. Another got me one of the Esther Hicks books I'd been wanting, just out of the blue, and another sent me some incredible homemade bath salts.

I love giving and receiving gifts. I'm going to make it a resolution to give gifts to people throughout the year, little thoughtful things to let them know I was listening and thinking of them. Why wait for the holidays?

I did have my usual holiday mishaps, which I think make for fun stories, so they're not so bad. We put off getting a tree until the last minute and wound up choosing one in the pouring rain. Which meant not looking closely enough to realize it was actually two trees that had grown together, which made it almost impossible to get into a tree stand, and to stay upright. I made it work, eventually, through much trial and error. Then I decided the top part needed trimming, so the star would fit up there. At that point it was fully decorated and the lights were on and twinkling merrily. I got my big garden shears, climbed up on a chair, and gave a few chops at the twigs that were in the way. And naturally, chop number three went right through one of the strings of lights. I saw it coming, but couldn't stop in time! So for the remainder of the holiday I had lights on the bottom two thirds of the tree, but none on the top. Oh, well. It was still pretty.

The other mishap still hasn't been remedied. Somehow my mailbox was beheaded on Christmas Eve. I'm pretty sure Santa winged it with his sleigh as he flew past.

Ah, but it's all good.

I have one remaining mission for this year, and only one, really. Finish the book! I can't think about anything else until that's done and now that the big gift giving days are past, I can really buckle down. It's due on 1/2. And it will be done and done perfectly (she vows, fist in the air.)

That is what I'm off to do right now. Wish me luck. Enjoy the beauty around you. Oh, and if you had any fun holiday mishaps to share, please post them here. Turkey on the floor. Burnt rolls. (Been there, done that.) It's all much funnier in hindsight, and if you can laugh about it, it feels better immediately!

Happy final week of 2007!

Maggie

Have a Cool Yule! (Suzanne Forster)

Before I give you the secret to a Cool Yuletide, let me wish you all the blessings of the holiday season wherever you happen to be at this moment and however you’re celebrating. May 2008 be your best year ever, may it be a new beginning, and may it bring some much-needed peace, prosperity, hope, and especially joy to the world.

For those of you who celebrate Christmas, the big day is finally here. By the time you read this, it will be December 25th in most time zones, so by now you must be done with the decorating, shopping, baking, and all the other frantic preparations. I hope you still have enough energy to enjoy the day! I’m dragging a bit and ready for a long winter’s nap, even as I write this on Christmas Eve, but that old familiar excitement is there, and I’ll probably be up at midnight, waiting for the weatherman to announce an unidentified flying object up there in the skies, coming from the direction of the North Pole.

I finished a book recently, so I’ve been on a break and having a few holiday adventures and misadventures. I’m usually writing my way through Christmas and doing most of my shopping online, but not this year. I actually braved the malls and the swap meets and the half-off door-buster sales, and I have to tell you, I’d honestly forgotten what a crazy, bipolar time of year it is. I mean, it’s just wild out there. People are either upbeat and full of holiday cheer or they’re aiming their cars at you and cussing you out. Probably too much cheer in those cases—or just the frustration of so much pressure to live up to the staggering expectations of this season. Why do we always take on so much this time of year?

I intentionally scaled down, knowing I might be tempted to try and make up for all the years of being on deadline. Shopping was fun because I haven’t been out amongst them in years, and I was able to start reasonably early and get everything mailed off. I also had two most excellent adventures. I went to a performance of Don Giovanni at the L.A. Opera, courtesy of a dear friend, who was given tickets as a Christmas present. Plus, I also got to see Cirque de Soleil, after at least five years of breathless anticipation.

Don Giovanni was strange and fascinating. I hadn’t been to the opera since my college days, so I really didn’t know what to expect. I was familiar with the story of Don Juan, the legendary lothario, who loves ‘em and leaves ‘em, and much worse. In this version, inspired by Moliere’s play, he actually rapes a woman, kills her father, and is dragged down to hell before the final curtain falls.

It’s ranked among the great operas of all time and considered one of Mozart’s best works. The singers were glorious, especially Don Juan who got rave reviews and sounded as sensual and dangerous as he looked. Talk about an unrepentant rake. It wasn’t hard to see why he ended up in the bowels of hell. What surprised me was the opera’s nontraditional staging. The set looked like something out of a sci fi movie, very dark, spare, and sinister. Most of the effects were created by lighting, some clever props, and a mysterious, seemingly omnipresent fog from which zombies materialized at the end. I still get the shivers thinking about it. Good stuff.

I knew Cirque de Soleil was going to be fabulous. Unfortunately, I was so excited I showed up on Saturday when I actually had tickets for Sunday. At least I was a day early rather than a day late! It was held at the local fairgrounds, but because we showed up on the wrong day and there was no signage, we couldn’t find the parking area and tramped for what felt like miles through parking lots and an entire swap meet, only to be told by the sweet, apologetic lot attendant that we had the wrong day. Okay, so at least the next day we knew exactly where to go—and the performance was easily worth two trips.

I think I was most impressed by the man who danced, cavorted, and did hand stands on a filmsy, free-standing ladder. He was steady as a rock and that kind of balance amazes me. The aerialists were awesome too, and I also loved the tiny powerhouse woman who dangled high in the air from a rope, held by one slender ankle, and swinging a good-sized man around by her luxuriant pony tail. They were a team, but she was the real muscle in almost every spectacular stunt they performed.

Memorable experiences, both! But probably the most fun I’ve had so far was shopping for my kids and grandkids. I put together a huge basket of books, each one chosen with the recipient in mind and because I'd had some personal experience with the book or the author, which in some cases was simply seeing the author interviewed. In the case of Eat Pray Love, I picked out the book for my daughter-in-law because I’d been longing to read it myself. Now, of course, I need to bop back to the store for my own copy.

So, how was your Christmas? What were you hoping for and what did Santa bring?

And finally, in keeping with the title of this blog and just to prove that Santa’s a happening guy and that Christmas was meant to be fun as well as festive, you will find below the link to a cool yuletide song that should coax a smile and maybe a sing along.

A little info about the video clip:

Turn up the volume, sit back and ENJOY this lovely rendition of White Christmas!

Here's the Drifters 1955 White Christmas cartoon once again. It's great and will never lose its appeal....

Watch the video and listen to the golden voices of the stars of days gone by. The lead singer of course is Bill Pinkney (Santa) and the falsetto voice belongs to the late Clyde McPhatter....

The song was originally recorded by the Drifters in 1954, so turn up the volume – these reindeer can sing!

Go to: http://www.thecompassgroup.biz/merryxmas.swf

Wishing you lots of holiday love and laughter!

Suz

Winter Solstice

I have news for you:
The stag bells, winter snows, summer has gone
Wind high and cold, the sun low, short its course
The sea running high.
Deep red the bracken; its shape is lost;
The wild goose has raised its accustomed cry,
cold has seized the birds' wings;
season of ice, this is my news.
9th century Irish

But that was then. We’ve turned the corner. Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year and the darkest, has come and passed.
Most of us didn’t notice. We were at the mall. Wrapping presents. Baking cookies. Cleaning house. Welcoming family. December 21st was a busy day.

So let’s take a few moments now to join a celebration that has existed, in one form or another, for thousands of years. At its heart is a farewell to darkness, the rebirth of the sun, and a whisper of the spring to come. At this time, we cast off regrets and set new goals for ourselves. All things are possible.



Winter Solstice Celebration
Glastonbury Tor
England






So the shortest day came, and the year died,
And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world
Came people singing, dancing,
To drive the dark away.
They lighted candles in the winter trees;
They hung their homes with evergreen;
They burned beseeching fires all night long
To keep the year alive,
And when the new year's sunshine blazed awake
They shouted, reveling.
Through all the frosty ages you can hear them
Echoing behind us - Listen!!
All the long echoes sing the same delight,
This shortest day,
As promise wakens in the sleeping land:
They carol, fest, give thanks,
And dearly love their friends,
And hope for peace.
And so do we, here, now,
This year and every year.
Welcome Yule!!
Susan Cooper

Over the centuries, rituals of various ages and cultures have melted into one another. Druids gathered holly, ivy, and mistletoe for their rites. Yule celebrants brought trees into their homes so the wood sprites would have a place to keep warm. The Yule log did its part. Here is a version of a traditional Yule Fire Spell.

Grind three dried leaves of holly into powder. Write on a four-inch square of paper, in red ink or blood, one word that represents the quality you want to be born in you when the Goddess gives birth to the new sun. Sprinkle the holly powder in the center of the paper, twist it closed, and with fire from a red candle, burn the paper and powder. As it is consumed, visualize your wish fulfilled. And turn your heart to hope.

When despair grows in me
and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
The Peace of Wild Things Wendell Berry

Some treasures from the past year are gone forever from us. We mourn them and remember.


As the summer faded, we lost Irish singer and poet Tommy Makem, but his music and words live on . . .

Winter, a sharp bitter day
the robin turns plump against the cold
the sun is weak
silver faded from gold
he is late in his coming and short in his stay
Man, beast, bird and air all purging, all cleansing, earth already purified awaits the rite of spring
Her bridal gown a virgin snow and frosts in her hair
A snowdrop by the road today bowed gracefully and high upon the wing up in the sparkling nothingness, a lone bird
began to sing
Can gentle spring be far away?

A Merry Christmas to All!!!!! (Patricia Potter)

I love this opportunity to wish you all a very happy Christmas.

And say a huge thank you to all of you who have joined us in this community. We’ve enjoyed your input and comments and company and hope you will stick with us next year. You have enriched our lives and we hope we’ve given a little back.

I loved Maggie’s post earlier in the week. The one about gifting yourself and feeling good about it. I think we all need to do that. We need to take care of ourselves in order to take care of others. January 1st is my birthday, and I’ve always taken great glee in treating myself during that week between the old and new.

This year, though, I’ve already received the greatest gift. The groove is back. The love of writing has returned.

Last year was not one of my best. I’d never had writers’ block until then. In fact, I didn’t even believe in it. You can just write through it, I mumbled when people talked about the affliction. Forty books. Fifty. They just kept coming on strong.

And then . . . nothing.

I discovered last year that writer’s block is really quite real. I had to force myself to go up to my office, sit down at the computer and try to type out something that made sense. I kept writing myself into corners. I’ve done that before, but I was always able to leap over the problem. This time I couldn’t. Nothing worked. The characters didn’t talk to me like they usually do. Every word was agony.

It had never happened before and it terrified me. The more I tried to write, the harder it came. Any excuse would send me fleeing from the computer.

Part of the reason, I think, is my mother who is in a nursing home. She had some bad weeks, even months, last year when I thought we would lose her. I went over every day, urging her to eat, trying not to hear her cries to let her die. I became an emotional zombie, and I discovered that you can’t write when you’ve been drained of all the emotions that usually enrich a book.

Instead of the two books I usually write each year, I could only write one, and that, I felt, was certainly not one of my best. I might be surprised. I hope I am, and oddly enough the books I’m most dissatisfied with are usually the ones that people like the best.

But it finally got done. It wasn’t a pretty process. Fits and starts. Long, long nights toward the end. Wishing for more time to fix but realizing it was already way beyond deadline time.

The gift, I felt certain, had left me. Gone to some more appreciative soul.

And then I started the new book. Because it’s the second of a two book contract, and the other was late, I had a dreadful feeling in the pit of my stomach. But something miraculous happened.

The groove returned.

For the first time in a year, I love writing. I can’t wait to get to the computer. The story is flowing, and the characters are talking so fast it’s hard to keep up with them. Writing is not only fun, it’s glorious!

Perhaps it’s because my mother is better. She will be 98 in February and is feeling better, and even reading again. I’m always in search of a good big print book because only then is she content.

So I’ve already received the most priceless gifts I could ever want, and this holiday I hope YOU will indulge yourself. I hope your dearest wishes come true.

So enjoy the holiday. Don't sweat the small stuff. Revel in the season and being alive.

Next year WILL be good. Believe and it will happen.

How the Grinch Almost Ruined My Christmas (LynnK)

Make that Grinches. When troublemakers come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.
Meet the ones that invaded my blameless life this week.

Grinch #1: Strep. Not mine. My sister’s. So she won’t be coming for Christmas after all. I’ll be Home Alone! Sob.

No, it’s perfectly fine. Newly a member of my parish choir, I’ll be tied up with Sunday Mass, Monday evening Vigil Mass, and Midnight Mass, all with carol sings beforehand. I’m shamelessly cutting the Christmas morning Mass, though. Three sermons in one day? I don’t think so.

Grinch #2: Time-Warner Cable. While they did nothing evil to me this week, T-W (aka Grinch Emeritus) has earned a spot on every Naughty list.

Grinch #3: Medical Insurance billing. I won’t name my provider, which is generally fine. But I spent five hours on the phone, much of that time on hold, listening to several offices provide conflicting information or referring me back to people who referred me to them. Just maybe, things are straightened out. More likely, I’ll be back on the phone January 2.

Grinch #4: Citibank. You’d think they would know how to process a money order. But after misrouting it in their system, they returned the now-tattered document to me as unpayable and debited my account a handling charge. So I paid a little visit to the branch manager, who admitted it was Citi’s fault and promised to expedite the second deposit of the money order. Uh-huh. After five weeks, the money finally showed up in my account. Less $100 for bank charges!

More hours on the phone. Today, sounding weary, the beseiged manager agreed to refund all the undisclosed and unauthorized bank charges. Let’s just say he convinced his superiors that I wasn’t going away or giving up. Which is quite true. It would have cost me a whole lot more to fight Citibank than I’d ever get back from them, but I have a hard spot in my heart for Big Corporations who run roughshod over individuals.

Ah, well. Peace has now descended. To make sure it stays, I’m not answering the phone tomorrow. No Grinches allowed. Tonight I’ve got candles lit, hot chocolate with a splash of Bailey’s Irish Cream, and the tree is looking good. Well, to the point a six-foot artificial tree purchased at Walgreen’s for $15 can look good.

It’s buried under scores of ornaments, which helps, and all are special to me. The ones brought home from Peru and Ecuador, Mexico and China, Germany and England and a dozen other countries, bring back wonderful memories. There are ornaments from friends as well, gifts that call up good times together. It’s the first tree since my mother died in 1989, and I think I won’t pass another Christmas without one.



With me under the tree, the Can-Opener doesn't need any other presents.



So all is well here, although the cat might beg to differ. There's been little time for petting or playing, and he doesn't yet know about the premium food stocked up for his Christmas-week meals.

Not to mention the little matter of his Gay Apparel.



The Grinch must have been here. I feel the weight of the world on my head.









Now this is just demeaning.

Santa, Baby (Maggie)

Well, this week I was nagging everyone because some blogs didn't appear here when they should.
And as always happens, what you focus on is what you get, because I only just now realized it was Thursday and my turn to blog! And it's 6:45 PM.

Um. Yeah. My hiney's showing. Sorry broads.

Today I'm going to share an exercise with you. This exercise combines principals of the Law of Attraction with two holiday traditions; New Year's Resolutions, and letters to the guy in red.

You, my friend, are going to write your own Dear Santa Letter.

Now there are some rules. You have to tell Santa everything you can think of that you want for yourself. Not what you want for other people. Not what you want for the world or the planet or the universe. Just what you want for YOU. And not just for Christmas or Solstice or whatever you celebrate, but for the entire calendar year 2008.

And another rule. Don't be unselfish. Don't get that phony baloney holier-than-thou attitude that says anyone who has abundance is robbing someone else of it. It's untrue. There's plenty for all, and since wanting something is what begins the process of creating it, you cannot cause lack by wanting, you can only cause more abundance. Desire is the beginning of creation. You see it, you want it, you think it, and it becomes. Everything in existence began as a desire, and as a thought, before it "became."

So pretend, just for the sake of this game, that you have the power to write this letter to Santa, and that everything you write will come to you. Just pretend, just for a little while, as you write your letter. Can you do that? What if you could have anything you wanted? (Don't freaking tell me world peace! I told you, it has to be for you.)

Take a shot. Write a Dear Santa Letter, and tell him things like---Oh, like, "I want a classic Corvette. Convertible. Red. And a heated in-ground pool, with solar panels to do the heating, and the most luxurious hot tub I can imagine, and all my debts paid in full, and a three car garage, and new living room furniture, and for my books to be written almost effortlessly, and fast and easily, and for the process to be fun and exciting, and for the books to be the best ever written, and for them to sell like hotcakes, and hit every list, and be the most beloved books in history and---"

Uh. Okay, maybe you figured out that stuff all came from my own personal Dear Santa letter.

So try it. It might be fun to post some of it here, but if that's going to make you less likely to say what you really want, then don't share it. Or just share the cute parts.

Come on. Talk to Santa. Tell him what you want from his magick bag of tricks.

Reminds me of my favorite Xmas song. Santa, Baby!

Right When You Need It

I've started today's blog several times. It's been about my new car. (But I love trucks.) And about traditions. (But when they get broken they're so incredibly painful.) About snow again. (How can anyone dream about this crap? We have six inches on the ground and it stops life.) And about those Christmas presents that you don't buy in stores. (They aren't done yet.) I get about one sentence in and see that the topic isn't going anywhere anyone would want to go. (Including me!) And so I stopped. Not for long. I can't. I've got a week's worth of 'to dos' to finish in two and a half days. These aren't those little extra 'to dos', but rather, things that really have to get done. Like the revisions that came in on Monday and are due over the holidays while I'll be out of town. I have to finish them before I get on the plane on Friday.

And presents have to be wrapped. Some pretty soon as we have Christmas with my brother-in-law and sister-in-law and niece tonight. Actually those gifts are wrapped, but dinner isn't made and the house is a mess. And as I sat and pondered and tried to force a jolly Christmas post I thought about my niece that's coming for dinner tonight. And I realized that no matter how hard things are, how different or challenging, if we're open to outside help, it will be there. A lot of times when we aren't open it's there.

Yesterday, my niece was it. Out of the blue she called for a ride home from school. She wanted to stay with me for an hour (I live only a couple of blocks from the high school) and then she needed me to take her to practice. I was working on the above mentioned revisions but was happy to go get her. She needed me and it's incredibly great to be needed. That would have been enough for me, that little push of strength right when I needed it, but there was more. That fourteen year old child is wiser than many adults. She knows what matters. And what doesn't. And yesterday, I was on her list. We don't talk about the circumstances that brought me into her life; we don't talk about the struggles that are going on in the family. We talk about schools. And boys. And drinking - or rather, about not drinking. About the far too adult temptations that face high school kids these days. We talk about Taylor (they've bonded) and about the puppy she's going to get who will play with Taylor. (We're hoping for Christmas.) And then, out of the blue, she made one statement - maybe seven words - that spoke straight to my heart. She saw me - a good woman with a heart that is breaking because of a hole that will never be filled while my daughter is absent from my life. We didn't talk about it. She just let me know that she knows, and that I'm worth the love of a kid.

This morning, with this long list of things to do, first to blog, I sat down at my computer and it wasn't working right. I had to shut down and re-boot and go through hoops and...all of which took time. Most of it just sitting here thinking of all the things I had to do, while my computer was...thinking. Don't you wonder what on earth the blooming things think about???? And then, there was Taylor, at my chair, asking to be picked up. And on the other side, Jerry's sweet face appeared, his big shaggy paws hanging over the arm of the chair. I got to spend five minutes loving and being loved. You know, if not for the computer glitch I'd have missed some of the best moments of my day. Now these pals are with me all day every day - usually sleeping on the floor somewhere (or doing other things on the floor somewhere) but in that moment, right when I needed it, they were suddenly at my side. For the matter, the computer glitched right when I needed it so I'd notice my pals there ready to love and be loved.

And I got to thinking about how life does work that way. I remembered an old poem called Footprints. It's the one about the guy who's walking on the beach and at his lowest point and thinking he's all alone. He sees only one set of footprints and asks God where he is. It turns out that God was carrying him. We do all we can do and then that greater power, that love energy that is larger than human life and bonds us all together, will do the rest.

Last year I was in a mess. I couldn't see anyway out - anyway to be all that I needed to be, all that everyone was relying on me to be - simply because I wasn't capable. I couldn't make everyone happy. I couldn't make anyone happy. Including me. I tried and tried. I talked and I ranted. I got upset. And I stayed calm. I shared. And I kept to myself. I did things I didn't want to do. I pushed. I prayed. I avoided. And nothing worked. I was down for the count. And when you're hanging out down there, it's not as hard to cut to a bottom line mantra. It was all I had, these couple of sentences that I held on to. I wanted to love and be loved. And I wanted to sleep where my clothes were. Pretty simple, really. And they said everything to me. Every single night I repeated them. Over and over. They became life to me. I had no way to make them come to be. I had no power. I couldn't make people love me. I couldn't make them want to share their lives with me. I couldn't even seem to figure out a way to get my clothes where I slept. And suddenly, out of the blue, on the very morning after I'd stated my intention out loud to change my life, I'd stated out loud that I couldn't go on, I went to my office and there was the e-mail that changed my life. Right when I needed it. Amazingly, in less than a year I am loving and being loved every single day. I not only sleep where my clothes are, but I can lay in bed and see them if I want to!

I belong to a church where, once a month, members are encouraged to stand and share good things that have happened in an effort to strengthen everyone. Today I hope to do that here. I thought maybe we could give each other our Christmas gifts to each other. Maybe we could share some things that happened right when we needed them to to remind us all that life is full of the wonder of miracles, of a power that is stronger than all of the things that bring us down. I've shared a couple of my experiences and would love to have any of you write about anything good that happened to you, anything that happened right when you needed it. Together maybe we can all see the good. Maybe we can all give each other the good.
Right when we all need it.

I'm NOT Dreaming--It's a White Christmas

I see no one has put up a Sunday post yet, and we like to have one here, so I thought I'd jump in with a Winter Weather Update. There's a major Nor'easter moving through the--er--Northeast this weekend. It's dumping more than a foot of snow in several areas. I know all of NY is getting hit, and I've heard it's stretching across VT, MA, ME, NJ and probably lots of other places as well. I took a few pics today in between writing, so here's your winter weather report from upstate NY.
It's the perfect day to curl up with a mug of hot cocoa, a holiday special on TV, a blanket around your shoulders, and your feet in a bubbling hot foot bath. =) That's what I did, only instead of cocoa I had green tea, and instead of TV I had a computer on my lap, and a deadline staring me in the face the day after New Year's. In between the writing, I'm pampering myself on this snowy day. And in between the writing and the pampering, I trudged outside to fill the bird feeders with seed, try to give aid to my tumbled over lawn ornament, (Santa and his band,) and snapped a few pics. If the sun comes out I should be able to catch one of the icy limbs all glittering like diamonds, but for now it's too dreary to show the true beauty. Maybe tomorrow!

How are you spending the snowy winter days?

Christmas In The Desert (Patricia Potter)

I love all the posts about Christmas and thought I would revisit a long past Christmas.

Yard decorations saturate my neighborhood now. Elaborate ones. We have a contest for the very best, and the competition is steep. We have moving carousels, toy trains, herds of reindeer, Santas by the dozens, and lights galore. I’m a Grinch with one angel. If I have time, I’ll add some lights to my crepe myrtle outside. That’s always the plan, but other matters usually get in the way. I’m the neighborhood disgrace.

All of which bring me back to the book I’ve never discussed on this blog but which holds a very dear part of my heart. It was written by my uncle – a man of many talents who made his living from sales – about his life as the son of a homesteader in the Arizona desert in 1911.

He came, as I did, from a long line of writers. My grandmother and great grandmother wrote poetry and verses for greeting cards. My other uncle, as I mentioned earlier, was a foreign correspondent. But whether members of the family chose to make their living writing, or in some other field, it seems they all have a talent for it.

But as usual, I digress. I was reading the book again, as I often do, amazed at how far we’ve progressed in the past one hundred years, and my, oh my, how the celebration of Christmas has changed!

My uncle was thirteen at the time, my father a baby. My grandfather had taken his wife and children from Minnesota to Arizona’s southern desert to homestead. He and my uncle built a house by hand –just the two of them – in an area with very little water. But hope sprung eternal.

So in the days before their first desert Christmas, my grandfather and uncle decided the family needed a Christmas tree. Unlike Minnesota, evergreens were not abundant in the desert.

The plan, according to my uncle, was to take the horse-drawn wagon – along with four of the six children – “up toward Parker’s ranch, out Duncan-way, and see if we can find an honest-to-goodness Christmas tree.” Parker’s ranch was “ten or so miles toward the western horizon away.”

They started out in the morning. “It was two or three hours before we saw even a sign of a spruce, but we journeyed on after enjoying our lunch. The higher climbed, the more grand the view behind us.”

After another hour of climbing, they came to a stand of spruce of various shapes and sizes. “We ran around in circles trying to find the one tree that we could all agree on. Dad set about cutting it down. He gave each of us a chance to take a stroke with the axe so we could all lay claim to cutting our first Christmas tree.”

They returned as the day ‘was about spent.” My grandmother had a hot dinner waiting, “but not before we had propped up the stringy looking spruce. She said it was better than nothing and would look okay when it was properly trimmed.”

“That was the next project, and we spent the next two weeks stringing popcorn, making daisy chains, paper windmills and stars . . . ”

On Christmas evening, “Our stockings, holes and all, were always hung from over a kitchen chair, but this year we had a real fireplace to hang them from and a real mantle, and our three pairs of stockings were securely tacked to the mantle , ready for Santa Claus.

Presents could not be opened until after breakfast Christmas morning, “so we hastily gulped down our fried corn meal mush, a slice of salt pork and a glass of milk, and tore into our stockings filled with ten cent toys, an orange, some nuts and gaily decorated candies.”

By then, the Christmas tree had been gaily decorated with the popcorn strings, green and red paper daisy chains and cranberry strings. “A few
candles in old clip-on candle holders had been carefully placed on the limbs of the dry, explosive tree and with a big bucket of water nearby, Dad made a big event of the lighting of the candles. With a watchful eye on the candles, we sat and enjoyed the lighted tree.

“With Mother at the piano, we sat around the tree and sang all of the old favorites – ‘Joy to the World,’ ‘Oh, Little Town of Bethlehem,’ and, of course, ‘She I wait’ which had nothing to say about Christmas, but was an expression of our outpouring of love for the dearest Mother kids ever had.”

“After presents and songs out of the way, we sat down to a scrumptious dinner of roast quail with plenty of mashed potato, gravy, squash, cranberries, not bread and Mother’s delicious steamed plum pudding, a feast for kings.”

It was the first and last Christmas in the house in the desert. Without water, the farm was destined for disaster, and the family moved into a nearby town where my grandfather got a “real job” and the children could attend school.

But that Christmas in the desert remained in all their hearts. The stories about that year are endless and legendary, including the time grandfather found my dad playing with a rattlesnake.

It sounds like a smashing Christmas, and I find myself longing for that appreciation of times gone past. When Christmas evolved around family being together. No huge pile of presents with a limited shelf life. No one dashing to the mall on Christmas Eve to grab a last minute gift. No contests to see who can outdo the neighbor in the number of lights in the yard.

I must admit I like today's lights and Christmas madness, but then I think about that lone cabin on the desert with the spindly Christmas tree and stockings with holes in them, and a family gathered around a piano and hearth fire and wonder if we aren’t really missing something fine.

Confessions of a Frenzied Shopper (LynnK)

‘Tis the Season of Giving, which I love. And that means shopping, which I also love. But shopping for gifts . . . not so much.

Nothing is ever right. Nothing I can afford, anyway. What would it be like to spot something perfect for a special person and buy it without glancing at the price tag? A miracle, that’s what. I could work wonders with a ginormous bank account and plenty of time to browse.

I’ve got neither. Turns our my easiest and most favorite gifties are goats given to strangers. Well, usually one goat, and only if I can manage it. Otherwise, some chicks and some geese and some ducks. I’m hoping for a day to come when I can buy a water buffalo. This is all through Heifer International, and the animals help families in third-world countries to become self-sufficient. I love that project!

Meantime, I’ve got family and friends and, sometimes, people I hardly know to provide for. Not that they expect it. Or, given the quality of my gifts, even want it. What matters, I suspect, is the ritual sealing of a bond or the preservation of a tradition. Winter and all its associated festivals remind us how important it is to hold on to one another, to make a gesture of affection and respect, to say with a small gift or a great one, “I remember you. I want to keep you in my life. You are of value to me.”

It’s the thought that counts, they say. They meaning people like me who never come up with the right gift. I do try, though. Really hard. Even for gifts that will go into one of those “choose a package” games, where the one least likely to want my imaginative selection inevitably winds up with it. Lately, my spirit eroded by failure, I’ve been defaulting to chocolates or gift cards. Harmless. Impersonal. Not at all in the spirit of the season.

Then there are the parties with gift exchanges that have become traditional for the devil only knows what reason. For years and years, I belonged to a pair of groups like that. And in both groups, each of us brought to the Christmas Party a gift for every other member. About a dozen people per group. Do you know how hard that is? Then imagine how hard it becomes after a dozen years.

The best giftees are the collectors. One couple—in our monthly Gourmet Club, don’t ask, I can’t cook, it was a fluke—collected mortar/pestle sets (he was a pharmacist) and giraffes (she liked giraffes). By the time we all went our separate ways, there was hardly room in their house for another pestle, let alone a giraffe.

Then there was the neatnik guy nobody could buy for. He liked statistics and golf. One triumphant Christmas, I scored him something golfie from St. Andrew’s Auld Course. But mostly, we were all scrounging to please him. Then he announced that he’d decided to collect alligators.

Huh? “Why alligators?” asked we. He shrugged. “No reason. I just think I ought to collect something, so why not alligators?” Whereupon, he was deluged with alligators. I traveled a lot back then, so he got alligators from China, the Amazon, England, Ecuador, Argentina, anywhere I happened to go. Pretty soon, the alligators took over every space in his condo. And we were all happy to shower him with the beasties because year after year, we had an entire year to find a $#*&^*alligator!

When it’s family, though, or a friend I dearly love, I always try to find something both personal and appealing. What would this person want? Like that helps. Virtually all of my friends are able to buy (within reason) what they want. Whatever I think of, they already have.

So the question becomes, “What would this person want if he/she ever gave it a thought?” Or—for a friend I know very well—“What does this person think he/she wouldn’t like, but I’m betting otherwise.” I learned this technique from friends who’ve given me things I’d never considered or already turned up my nose at. An Ipod Shuffle. Videos of all the Buffy Episodes that feature Spike. A pedicure. They knew me better than I did. They are also better at diagnosing my secret (even to me) wishes. I wish I could do the same for them.

Today I’ll be out again, tracking the perfect gift for each special person. It will elude me. I’ll return home with sackfuls of hopeless, useless, well-intentioned presents. Because of my ineptitude, they will soon become contenders for Worst-Wrapped Gift of the Year.

Maybe it really is the thought that counts. I hope so. But I’d rather have an unlimited budget and lots of inspiration. Also a package-wrapper. My family and friends deserve better than they’re getting!

Goin' to the Dogs (Maggie)

Are you sick of animal posts yet? I think for those of us storybroads who have pets, they're such a huge part of our lives it seems natural to want to keep you all updated on theirs. So it's a doggy update, whether you like it or not. Besides, right now I'm a bit more happy with dogs than certain people, so that's where we'll go. To the dogs! Always go with the topic that makes you feel better!

Sally (Great Dane, Age 11) has been limping since it started to snow. I thought it was the cold on her paws, so I ordered her a set of doggy boots. (And made her a vet appt. too, but so far we're unsure of the problem.) And since I was getting her a set, I also ordered a set for Wrinkles (English Bulldog, Age 14). And since I was already on the website and the boots were red, I went ahead and ordered them a pair of red hooded sweatshirts too. And I told you all of that already last week. Well, this week, the goodies arrived, and I dutifully tried them on the dogs. Both of whom bit me for my efforts. Sally bit me twice! Once while I was putting on the booties, and once when I was trying to get the hoodie on. Frankly, I can't blame her. The hoodie, though sized "XXLG" was a bit too small, and she'll probably never wear it again. Thank goodness I took her picture. Here in the photo, Sally looks absolutely miserable, doesn't she? She seems to be saying, "If you show anyone this picture, lady, I'm going to show you what a REAL bite feels like!" I wish I could have videotaped her walking in the boots. She picks her feet up as high as she possibly can. Like she's trying out for the royal Lipizzaner troupe of dancing Stallions.


Wrinkles bit me while I was putting the booties on her feet, because any time I touch her feet she thinks she's about to get her nails trimmed, and goodness knows that in such a case, biting is not only favored, but required!

Neither of my dogs bit me very hard. A little pinch, no breaks to the skin, nothing like that. They do love me, after all. Deep down. Way deep down. =) When they snap like that, (and in only happens in the most extreme of circumstances, such as when I'm cutting their nails or forcing them to play dress up) it only hurts for a second, and then it's forgotten.

It's funny how different it is when people snap at you. Even if it's a perfect stranger, being rude in a mall, it bugs you for awhile after it happens. And when it's someone you care about deeply who seems to snap for no reason, saying something hurtful and cruel and cutting, it sticks with you for a long while. Be careful with each other out there, folks. Treat each other as if you care, because you do, right? And it's not like any strangers in the mall are waiting in ambush to hold you down and clip your toenails, after all. And it's certainly not like your loved ones are going to force you into red-hooded sweatshirts that fit too snugly, are they? So why bite them?

Last weekend, though, I had a stranger do a really nice thing for me. I was shopping in The Christmas Tree Shoppe, in Binghamton NY, and when I came out of the store, there was a note on my windshield. The note informed me that a car had scraped mine when pulling out, and then left the scene. The note writer had taken down the car's description, license plate number, and noted the time of the incident. She'd inspected the damage to my car, and described it so I could find it easily--a scrape along the driver's side of the bumper. She'd left her name and her phone number and promised to back me up with the police if I wanted to pursue this.

Naturally, being all into positive energy feeding more positive energy feeding more positive energy, I've decided to think about what a wonderful person this note-writer is, and how kind and caring, and how she was probably busy with her own holiday preparations, but took the time to write this lengthy note and put it on my car. I'd rather think about that, than the person who hit the car, did some damage, and skulked away too cowardly to own up. It was a kid, maybe, sure to be in trouble with his parents. Or someone without insurance or with insurance but who couldn't afford the inevitable rate increase, or someone with some other very very good reason to leave the scene. I can excuse that. I can ignore it and forget it. But I can't ignore the goodness of the woman who left me that note.

Now the damage to the car was minimal, and though I'm probably supposed to report it, it's no more than a bit of darker color scraped into a plastic bumper, and honestly, if the note hadn't been left, I probably never would have noticed the scrape at all. I'd rather let it go than take on all the hassle of reporting it, phone calls with the police, the insurance company, photos, repairs....honestly, it's an inconvenience when I have to go in for an oil change. This would just be unpleasant all around, and I'd much rather forget it and move on and not have all that hassle. Why put myself through so much unpleasantness for a scrape I can barely notice?

I do intend to call the note-writer, though, and thank her profusely for her kindness.

Enough pet posting. It's just started to snow here. We're supposed to get 6 to 10 inches today, then a brief break Friday and Saturday, followed by a whopper of a Nor'easter late Saturday night into Sunday. My favorite weatherguy, Chris Brandolino, (WSTM, Syracuse) is being a real tease about this one. He keeps saying it's too soon to predict the snowfall totals and we'll talk about that later. Even thought I KNOW he knows. I can tell by the slightly mischievous twinkle in his eye. (Meteorologists LOVE snowstorms, the bigger the better, and he's clearly excited about this one!) But I heard through the grapevine that we might be looking at two feet this weekend. And I'm kind of excited about it too.

Anyway, today it's 6 to 10, and it's just begun to fall. I'll report in!

I know I promised photos of the decorations on the house and of the Christmas tree. As for the house, well, okay, I had the lawn balloon of the dancing Santa and his rock band, up and running for a day or two, didn't get a picture yet, and then the wind picked up and now they're all laying lazily lopsided every which way again. Hardly photo worthy. But this is the way they're supposed to look. (Not my house). Other than those, I just have single candle bulbs in the windows, so to show up it'll have to be shot at night and I just haven't done it yet. Soon, I'll try! Maybe even today!

The tree is on delay. I could have it by now, if I wanted to go get it alone, but I'd rather have the fun of going on the tree-finding expedition with people I love. There will be laughing, teasing, funny tree-comparisons, the fun of being together, and an all around good time. And that means waiting a tiny bit longer, but it'll be so much fun it'll be way worth it!

This is one of the keys to life for me. When making choices, (as in both examples above, tree-finding, and the car-scraping) I try to always make the ones that are the most fun, or minimally, the choices that are the least UN-FUN. I try to do the things that are the most enjoyable, with the people who just make me feel great when I'm around them. It's a great way to live.

Enjoy your day and your ongoing holiday preparations!

Maggie

I Found the Cure

Last week's lack of energy has turned into an over abundance of drive that is pushing me to get more done than the hours in the day will allow. Of course, the fact that my days until Christmas are shortened due to the fact that we leave town on December 21st might have something to do with that!

I have three chapters due before I go - a new book. I want to call it The Pen Pal, but I don't know if they'll go for that. It's a bed & breakfast story and I'm looking forward to writing it. Of course, it's TTQ so it won't be just all homey an bed and breakfast. There's darkness. And light at the end of the tunnel. Or the breakfast table as the case may be.

And I have tons to do to make Christmas happen as well. I'm a Christmas freak. I believe in Christmas. In the spirit. In Santa Clause. I believe that magic happens and that Christmas time is a time out of time set aside for us all to be able to reach beyond ourselves, to ask more of ourselves, to give more joy than sorrow, to think of others more than we think of ourselves, to create moments of pure happiness for someone else. That's what Santa Clause is all about right? And what the deeper meaning of Christmas is about?

Anyway, I have three daughters to buy and wrap for this year. Or, rather, we do. My new husband shares every step of the way with me. We shop together, decide together, we're going to wrap together and it's been pure joy. We also have his brother and family and my brother and family and...you get the picture. I've never been able to buy just one gift, and this year is no exception. Christmas had to come full on, whether I'd just moved across the country or not! And that means...there are stacks of presents to wrap. And to distribute.

A lack of energy, lying on the couch wasn't going to get this all done.

So...in the Christmas tradition, my man and I spent a day making cookies. (He's an excellent cook.) Over a hundred dozen of them. We did this over a week ago and it's those cookies that I am crediting (blaming) on my new burst of energy. (Of course it could be those other things, like knowing that I am loved, loving, or the fact that I was able to pay a huge tax bill when it unexpectedly came due!) Once a year I eat cookies. Lots of them. Tons of them. There is no limit. No boundary. Sometimes I get sick and I just keep on eating them. They are that good. They replace breakfast, lunch and sometimes dinner. And that is why I only make them once a year!

Today I wanted to share with you some of the recipes. They come with a warning, though. These are not healthy for long term consumption. They are not good for longevity of life. But they are fine for a once a year gluttony. And they are better for you than cigarettes! And boy do they bring pleasure and energy!

So, from my house to yours, or my kitchen to yours, or however those recipe cards go:

Chocolate Pixies:
Oven: 300
Bake 15-20 minutes
Melt: 1/4 C butter or margarine; 4 1 oz. squares unsweetened chocolate. Remove from heat - cool slightly.
Blend in: 2 C sugar; 4 eggs - one at a time. Beat one minute.
Add: 2 C flour; 2 t baking powder;1/2 t salt. Mix well.
Chill at least 15 minutes. Shape into balls/ 1 T dough each. Roll in confectioners sugar. Place on cookie sheet and bake.

Candy Cookies:
2 C sugar; 1/2 C cocoa; 1/2 C milk; 14/ lb. butter; 1/4 t salt; 1 t vanilla; 3 C oatmeal; coconut; nuts; 1/2 C peanut butter.
Mix sugar, cocoa, milk, butter, salt. Bring to boil. Stir in peanut butter until melted. Add oatmeal, vanilla, coconut (I omit this) & nuts. Drop by teaspoon on cookie sheet to harden and cool.

Sugar Cookies:
Oven: 375
Bake: 7-8 minutes
1 1/2 C powdered sugar; 1 C softened butter; 1 egg; 1 t vanilla; 2 1/2 C flour; 1 t soda. Mix first four, add dry. Form into two large balls, wrap in waxed paper and refrigerate at least two hours. Roll onto floured surface, cut with favorite cookie cutters and bake. When completely cool, frost with confectioners decorators icing and decorate.

Accordion Treats:
Oven: 325
Bake: 25-30 minutes
3/4 C butter; 3/4 C sugar; 2 eggs; 1 t vanilla; 1/4 T salt; 1 1/4 C flour; walnuts; sprinkles/sugars
Cream butter, sugar, eggs, vanilla. Mix in dry ingredients & nuts. Drop by tablespoon into accordion pleated heavy duty foil. Sprinkle with decorations and bake. Cool ten minutes before removing from the foil.

And...one last caveat - when one gloms on a diet of cookies, one must exercise. It's the law.

Anyone else have any recipes they're willing to share???

McDreamy Vs McSteamy (Suzanne Forster)

The L.A. Times Sunday edition had an article on the hot new male movie stars who are coming from television. It featured Patrick Dempsey from “Grey’s Anatomy,” who’s already gone on to movie star fame and is currently starring in Enchanted. It also mentioned as possible breakout stars Kyle Chandler of “Friday Night Lights,” John Hamm of “Mad Men,” and Jeffrey Donovan of “Burn Notice.”

Of that bunch, I can only personally comment on Dempsey and Donovan. I haven’t seen the other shows. I first noticed Dempsey in Sweet Home Alabama and realized he’d stolen the movie when I wanted Reese Witherspoon’s character to go back to him rather than reunite with her ex-husband. Actually, after the scene in Tiffany’s, I couldn’t figure out how she could ever leave Dempsey. That wonderful husky voice and those eyes, which are a lethal combo of bedroom and sad puppy dog, just did me in. He’s also part of the reason I continue to tune into “Grey’s Anatomy” every week, even though I need Dramamine from the switchback turns in his relationship with Meredith.

Donavan is a brand new discovery. I’d been hearing the buzz on “Burn Notice,” which is on hiatus from the USA network until January (I believe, although I’m not sure how the writers’ strike might affect that). Anyway, I finally figured out how to find “Burn Notice” among the 500+ shows offered on my cable package—they don’t make it easy!—and the attraction was immediate and intense. To Donovan and to the show. They’re both great, and I’m not at all surprised that he’s been tapped for a movie role opposite Angelina Jolie in The Changeling, an upcoming film by Clint Eastwood.

What the article started me thinking about was the appeal of these two men, and particularly Dempsey. I remembered all the fanfare when Eric Dane came aboard “Grey’s Anatomy” as Dr. Mark Sloan, aka McSteamy. I found myself wondering how Shepherd’s more low-key appeal would ever hold up against a charisma powerhouse like the new Dr. Sloan. I really thought McSteamy would take the show by storm, but that never happened, and it didn’t take very many episodes for me to realize that it was no contest. McDreamy by miles.

That’s just me, of course. There are probably lots of McSteamy fans out there, and yes, he is gorgeous and sexy, but I found myself wondering why he didn’t work for me. Both Shepherd and Sloan are supremely confident and highly skilled surgeons. They command the space they’re in, whether it be operating room or bedroom. But Dempsey’s Dr. Shepherd promises sensitivity and depth of feeling, whereas Dane’s Dr. Sloan comes across as all surface. Beautiful surface, to be sure, but essentially vacuous if you look long enough, which may be exactly what Dane and the show’s creators intend.

There have been a few glimpses here and there of something more in McSteamy, and I’m very curious to see what might come of it, but so far it’s not been enough to put him in competition with Dempsey or any of the other male actors in the show, for me anyway. I find Dr. Webber, the former chief of staff, much more appealing. And besides, Mark Sloan doesn’t have those incredible wounded eyes, or the emotion that burns through them. Maybe I’m just a sucker for the whole puppy dog thing.

So, is it vulnerability that makes actors like Dempsey and Donovan so appealing? In “Burn Notice,” Donovan is a wonderful combo of tough and tender (despite his great desire not to be the latter). He has the weirdest—and funniest—relationship ever with his mother. He doesn’t seem to be able to turn down her crazy requests or to resist almost any opportunity for heroism that comes his way, no matter how badly he may want to. And it’s not just beautiful women he rescues. It’s kids too. What saves him from being too noble to live is the narration that gives us his darker, cynical side. That, coupled with his inability to ignore anyone in need, is pretty irresistible.

Both Dempsey and Donovan are eminently capable of portraying men who could fall in love and be hurt by a woman. In fact, Dr. Shepherd has suffered plenty at the hands of Dr. Gray, and vice versa. And Donovan has an interesting relationship brewing with the ex-girlfriend on his show. But to me, McSteamy seems vulnerable to nothing and no one. He comes across as narcissistic, but he doesn’t even project the typical narcissistic sensitivity to rejection.

The axiom about beauty being skin deep is so familiar that I rarely give it much thought, but this exercise in comparing beautiful men bought it home to me. The merely beautiful may have to power to catch our eye, but not the power to hold our attention. And if you look too long, beauty alone can begin to seem repellent. There’s nothing there to make it real and human, or to make us care.

Recently I saw the movie Beowulf, based on the Old English heroic epic poem. The animated Beowulf is a massive figure of a man, rough-hewn, frightening and forbidding. Some might call him a ruthless killer. But he also so clearly yearns for Queen Wealthow, a woman he can never have, that I just melted watching him. Like Mark Sloan, he seems vulnerable to no one and nothing, including dragons—except Queen Wealthow. And that’s the key to it all, in my opinion. Because when Beowulf is tempted by a sorceress and succumbs, the darkness descends. The epic poem’s story is well known, so I hope I’m not giving anything away by saying that he ultimately brings ruination upon himself and the kingdom he comes to rule. A movie review I read claims his fall is brought about by pride, but I like to think it’s because he betrayed his pure love and desire for the queen.

Beowulf has even more physical beauty, pride, and charisma than McSteamy, but he doesn’t leave me cold the way Mark Sloan does. Beowulf is essentially a cartoon character in the movie, but he comes across as more human than Sloan, and it’s his vulnerability that makes the difference. It reveals his depth and complexity, but for the vulnerability to work it has to be coupled with strength, bravery, and all the other attributes we think of as heroic. Plus, for me, some shadings of darkness. Sorry, I just like that extra bit of intrigue in my heroes.

I’d love to know what you guys think, especially if McSteamy is a favorite of yours. I didn’t catch every episode of "Grey’s Anatomy," and I may have missed something in Dr. Sloan that others have seen. And if it isn’t either Sloan or Shepherd who work for you, then who does? And finally, to bring all of this back to romance novels, which of these emerging movie stars would you most like to see star in a romance novel? Right now I think I’m leaning toward Jeffrey Donovan. He may not have the eyes, but he has potential in all other ways, and he is such a sexy bugger.

Smiles,
Suz

'Tis the Season

So I've been blogging about my Christmas excesses over on my website (www.anne-stuart.com). I've been writing like a fiend, finishing up the Christmas novella and working on Dogs and Goddesses, getting my son ready for his trip to NZ, making quilts, trying to decorate the house, blasting Christmas music and generally having a good time. I don't think it's stopped snowing for a week. The Gods have decided that Vermont needed an old-fashioned winter for a change, and it's been cold and snowy and blowy. Fortunately we have tons of firewood and a warm house, so all is calm and bright inside. Well, as calm as things get with me.
My bah-humbug has vanished, and my ho ho ho has arrived, which is always nice. The best thing about Christmas, apart from having your kids around, is the preparation. The weeks ahead, of baking (none this year, alas! Richie is prediabetic), the music (tons and tons of Christmas cds and J-rock Christmas downloads) and decorating (which requires cleaning to make space but it's worth it) and wrapping and sewing and shopping and oh, my! Just freaking love it.
Tell me your favorite things about Christmas. And what you'd happily get rid of?
Fa la la la la, la la la la!

More Questions and Answers/Patricia Potter

I’m continuing with some of the questions you posed in comments to this blog several weeks ago, the one asking what YOU would like to hear an author talk about.

The most common question I and other authors get is where do you get your ideas? I tried to address that.

But that leads to another: where do we get our characters?

One person said they were interested in when characters come alive for writers. “Do you know things about the characters that aren’t in the story.” Great question.

And the answer is yes. Most definitely. Once I develop a character, I live him/her/they twenty-four hours a day until the book is finished. I know what they look like when they wake, I know what they like for breakfast, and I know every part of the childhood, though only a bit of that might creep into the story.

Like a basic plot, a character might come from anywhere. One respondent on the blog asked whether characters/plot came from real life experience. Some do. Some don’t.

My favorite recent character was Robin Stuart, a reporter with a major Atlanta newspaper. She came directly from real life experience, and the story had been in my head for twenty years. I was a reporter with the Atlanta Journal and the plot in “Tempting The Devil” was a story I covered for the paper. It involved the murder of three police officers and, like Robin, I was recuperating from an accident, wore a brace on my leg and had a lot to prove.

My latest heroine (Catch A Shadow – March ‘08) is also modeled after a real person. I met Pat (yes, she’s also a Pat) when I was a poll watcher during the last election. The precinct was located in a fire station and, during a lull I wandered into the interior and started talking to the firemen. They were all men and inordinately proud of their lieutenant who was also a paramedic. One fetched her, and a woman with a long, blond ponytail strode out. We met for lunch several days later and I reveled in the stories she told. She was one of the first women in the department and the first woman lieutenant. She was also an incredible human being. She and her husband, also a fireman, rescued abandoned and mistreated mules, and her eyes lit when she talked about any kind of rescue animals. She talked with great empathy about the mentally disturbed patients she encountered. It was obvious she had a special affection for them and she was always the one called when there was a particularly difficult patient. A natural heroine in every way. There was so much I wanted to put in the book, but too much information doesn’t work in a suspense.

I’m thinking now about another person I met on a tour. I started talking to the tour guide, a woman in her forties, who traveled all over the world ushering around all kinds of people. The internal bells started ringing again. What if a murder suspect tried to hide among her charges? And what if they went to an island and were suddenly marooned by a fog, then a storm? Yep, you got it. The setting is Catalina Island, which was part of the tour.

Truman Capote once said that “everyone who survives puberty has a story to tell.”
How true.

But back to the question. When do they come alive? Usually one character – either hero or heroine – is very much alive from page one. The other c