I have been readinging several novellas and am behind on writing reviews, but will get them done this week. I highly recommend "Rabbits in the Garden" by Jessica McHugh, "Farsighted" by Emlyn Chand, and "If Tombstones Could Talk" by Stacey Joy Netzel. I have several others I am reading and will recommend later. If you want to read a really different humor novel, I recommend "Echo Station One" by Edwin Stark. I did not think I would like it because it is not the type of humor I normally read, but it held my interest and, to my surprise, was really a good read.
Of course since I am reading, I am not writing so my teen novel is just sitting on my computer, patiently waiting for me to do something with it. Promising myself I will get back to it after the holidays and then will write like a crazy woman!
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Sunday, October 23, 2011
New News
I finally figured out how to add an RSS feed; however, I don't usually blog so I am not sure of the point of all of this.
I have published several books on Smashwords now and they should go out for sale on Nook and other places within two or three weeks. I have the same books for sale on Amazon Kindle, and now have an author page there.
I have almost enough stories to publish a 7th Twenty Funny Stories book and really wish I would spend more time on my teen novel, but that I will work on that after Christmas if not before!
I have published several books on Smashwords now and they should go out for sale on Nook and other places within two or three weeks. I have the same books for sale on Amazon Kindle, and now have an author page there.
I have almost enough stories to publish a 7th Twenty Funny Stories book and really wish I would spend more time on my teen novel, but that I will work on that after Christmas if not before!
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Baking Cookies
Not all Moms and Grandmas bake, I decided to try; how hard can it be?
I had a package of cookie dough in the bottom of my fridge for awhile; you know the kind you break off the little squares and bake in the oven. I kept them there to bake some quick cookies when the children complained that there was nothing to eat. The children grew up and moved out; they had kids and the cookie package was still there. I found them while cleaning the fridge and am pretty sure it had been there for some ten to fifteen years; so I thought, “Maybe I should do the mommy/housewife thing and bake cookies.”
Take my advice, if you find yourself in the same boat - put the package in the garbage - but I came from the “waste not, want not” generation. I sprayed Pam on the cookie sheet, placed the little squares all around and put them in the oven for 10 minutes. Nothing was happening, so I checked to see if my oven was on - it was; another four minutes and I was beginning to smell the Pam baking, but there was no cookie smell. OK, I took them out of the oven and smashed each square down with the back of a teaspoon then put them back in the oven for another 4 minutes. They have got to be done after 18 minutes, so I decided to take them out of the oven to cool.
You know how good a warm chocolate chip cookie tastes when it comes out of the oven - these did not. There was no smell or flavor, just a little flavorless crunch. I let them sit and cool (maybe they will get better). They became flavorless rocks; but at least now there was no weird aftertaste. Hubby told me to give them to the pig, but I thought it might make him sick (chocolate is not good for animals). I told Hubby that he needed to try one and let me know what he thought. He declined, but I am going to let them sit on the counter for the evening to see if he is tempted; after all, I ate two and did not die.
There are two more cookie-dough rolls in the fridge but I am pretty sure they have been in there longer than the package that was baked, and am thinking they will find their way to the garbage can. I really wanted to make a roll of Pillsbury cinnamon rolls, but that can exploded last month and I had to discard them as well. I guess I will just snack on some Cheerios (right after I check the expiration date on the box).
I had a package of cookie dough in the bottom of my fridge for awhile; you know the kind you break off the little squares and bake in the oven. I kept them there to bake some quick cookies when the children complained that there was nothing to eat. The children grew up and moved out; they had kids and the cookie package was still there. I found them while cleaning the fridge and am pretty sure it had been there for some ten to fifteen years; so I thought, “Maybe I should do the mommy/housewife thing and bake cookies.”
Take my advice, if you find yourself in the same boat - put the package in the garbage - but I came from the “waste not, want not” generation. I sprayed Pam on the cookie sheet, placed the little squares all around and put them in the oven for 10 minutes. Nothing was happening, so I checked to see if my oven was on - it was; another four minutes and I was beginning to smell the Pam baking, but there was no cookie smell. OK, I took them out of the oven and smashed each square down with the back of a teaspoon then put them back in the oven for another 4 minutes. They have got to be done after 18 minutes, so I decided to take them out of the oven to cool.
You know how good a warm chocolate chip cookie tastes when it comes out of the oven - these did not. There was no smell or flavor, just a little flavorless crunch. I let them sit and cool (maybe they will get better). They became flavorless rocks; but at least now there was no weird aftertaste. Hubby told me to give them to the pig, but I thought it might make him sick (chocolate is not good for animals). I told Hubby that he needed to try one and let me know what he thought. He declined, but I am going to let them sit on the counter for the evening to see if he is tempted; after all, I ate two and did not die.
There are two more cookie-dough rolls in the fridge but I am pretty sure they have been in there longer than the package that was baked, and am thinking they will find their way to the garbage can. I really wanted to make a roll of Pillsbury cinnamon rolls, but that can exploded last month and I had to discard them as well. I guess I will just snack on some Cheerios (right after I check the expiration date on the box).
Men & Grocery Shopping
In all our 41 years of marriage my husband has gone grocery shopping with me twice until he retired. This is because I banned him from the stores. He picked up expensive cheeses and other items and then freaked out because the bill was so high; somehow he could not fathom that the rest of the family needed to eat too.
He has been retired for almost a year now and one of his “fun” things is to drive to the next town where the only Safeway store in the county is located. He cannot buy one of something, but buys at least six so he goes alone because I am not a shop-together kind of a person. Being a man’s man, he loves steaks, but only rib bone-in and (he says) Safeway has the best, so whenever they are on sale off he goes to buy a half dozen family packs for me to freeze in single-steak packages (he is the only one that eats them).
The only other store he is allowed to go to is the Dollar Store where he buys reading glasses. He comes home with a half dozen pair in all colors and sizes. He used to buy other things in the dollar store like pickled cauliflower, but being that he did not have his glasses on he would get six jars of unknown pickle types thinking he made a big score in the pickled cauliflower isle. I have shelves of pickles that no one will touch. The new rule is “Do not buy anything without your glasses.”
Another week, another sale and back to Safeway he goes. He is always so pleased when he comes home and goes on and on how friendly everyone is to him. Finally, Mr. Hermit is coming out of his shell, maybe we will actually go out to dinner sometime soon (it has been four years). Since we both forgot our anniversary this year, we have another 364 days to wait for date-night.
After Safeway and the Dollar Store, can you imagine what would happen if he went into a hardware store? Six hammers, I don’t think so. This is why I am the one that does all the rest of the shopping, even at the hardware store.
Of course it is not just the stores, it is garage sales and “side of the road bargains” that are a pox to his wallet. For awhile he was coming home with broken riding lawnmowers. At one point we had six, but my son took one home, two are for parts and the other three we mow lawn with or just use them for transportation around the yard (easier than walking). His latest acquisition, 6 top-hats with monopoly pieces glued to them. Maybe I should give up and let him buy the fancy cheese.
He has been retired for almost a year now and one of his “fun” things is to drive to the next town where the only Safeway store in the county is located. He cannot buy one of something, but buys at least six so he goes alone because I am not a shop-together kind of a person. Being a man’s man, he loves steaks, but only rib bone-in and (he says) Safeway has the best, so whenever they are on sale off he goes to buy a half dozen family packs for me to freeze in single-steak packages (he is the only one that eats them).
The only other store he is allowed to go to is the Dollar Store where he buys reading glasses. He comes home with a half dozen pair in all colors and sizes. He used to buy other things in the dollar store like pickled cauliflower, but being that he did not have his glasses on he would get six jars of unknown pickle types thinking he made a big score in the pickled cauliflower isle. I have shelves of pickles that no one will touch. The new rule is “Do not buy anything without your glasses.”
Another week, another sale and back to Safeway he goes. He is always so pleased when he comes home and goes on and on how friendly everyone is to him. Finally, Mr. Hermit is coming out of his shell, maybe we will actually go out to dinner sometime soon (it has been four years). Since we both forgot our anniversary this year, we have another 364 days to wait for date-night.
After Safeway and the Dollar Store, can you imagine what would happen if he went into a hardware store? Six hammers, I don’t think so. This is why I am the one that does all the rest of the shopping, even at the hardware store.
Of course it is not just the stores, it is garage sales and “side of the road bargains” that are a pox to his wallet. For awhile he was coming home with broken riding lawnmowers. At one point we had six, but my son took one home, two are for parts and the other three we mow lawn with or just use them for transportation around the yard (easier than walking). His latest acquisition, 6 top-hats with monopoly pieces glued to them. Maybe I should give up and let him buy the fancy cheese.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Missing Sox
Laundry day and another half-dozen socks go missing. Generally not sports socks, but the dress socks or children's socks take off for parts unknown. I have drawers full of single sox waiting for mates and am running out of drawer space for other things like underwear, jeans or sweaters - my junk drawer has more single socks than junk. Once I purchased some of those sock-mate thingys where you clip pairs of socks together before you wash them - they magically changed places with each other during the wash and though two socks were connected, they no longer matched.
Even though I buy my husband the same style and color of dress socks so that when one goes missing, I can pair the missing one up with another who has lost its mate; they become chameleons and change during the wash so they still don't match any other sock. This leaves me wondering if it is some sort of plot by sock manufacturers to get us to purchase more socks and they aren't really matching in the first place. Do we really compare the socks when we open a new package to see if they actually match or are merely close? I never thought about it, but I am going to start; more than likely the sock stores will not let me in after I prove to them that the socks in a package do not match, heck some are not even close - look, one is black and the other is blackish.
I often thought that my wash machine was sucking them out and down the drain during the spin cycles, but after some twenty-five years with the same washer, you would think the hose would plug up eventually and it would no longer drain. I decided to run my hand along the top of the bucket thing that holds the clothes, maybe there would be the tip of an escaping sock that I could save. You really don't want to do that, I got a handful of what looks like mud and I am not sure I want to put my clothes in that wash machine any more.
I filled the machine with soap and disinfectant and ran it through a cycle, but that didn't help. There are still layers of mud along the top and outside wall of the wash bucket. I am left to wonder if there are sock-eating monsters living in the mud, but I am afraid of taking the wash machine apart to look, I could lose a hand and I need my hands to type.
My husband is not a plumber, but that may be the only option at this point - what wife wouldn't want their husband's groping hands eaten by the sock monster? On the other hand, after twenty-five years, maybe a new wash machine is in the cards. Now I know what the Maytag man does all day, he takes the old wash machines apart and sells sock puppets on EBay.
Even though I buy my husband the same style and color of dress socks so that when one goes missing, I can pair the missing one up with another who has lost its mate; they become chameleons and change during the wash so they still don't match any other sock. This leaves me wondering if it is some sort of plot by sock manufacturers to get us to purchase more socks and they aren't really matching in the first place. Do we really compare the socks when we open a new package to see if they actually match or are merely close? I never thought about it, but I am going to start; more than likely the sock stores will not let me in after I prove to them that the socks in a package do not match, heck some are not even close - look, one is black and the other is blackish.
I often thought that my wash machine was sucking them out and down the drain during the spin cycles, but after some twenty-five years with the same washer, you would think the hose would plug up eventually and it would no longer drain. I decided to run my hand along the top of the bucket thing that holds the clothes, maybe there would be the tip of an escaping sock that I could save. You really don't want to do that, I got a handful of what looks like mud and I am not sure I want to put my clothes in that wash machine any more.
I filled the machine with soap and disinfectant and ran it through a cycle, but that didn't help. There are still layers of mud along the top and outside wall of the wash bucket. I am left to wonder if there are sock-eating monsters living in the mud, but I am afraid of taking the wash machine apart to look, I could lose a hand and I need my hands to type.
My husband is not a plumber, but that may be the only option at this point - what wife wouldn't want their husband's groping hands eaten by the sock monster? On the other hand, after twenty-five years, maybe a new wash machine is in the cards. Now I know what the Maytag man does all day, he takes the old wash machines apart and sells sock puppets on EBay.
Packaging that drives people crazy
Just about everything you buy is double or triple wrapped with safety foil, have un-squeezable plastic caps and hard plastic impenetrable covers. Some of them, I could not open when I was younger; but now opening anything without help is impossible. Of course you know packaging is a plot of manufacturers to have less returns. If you damage the product trying to get it out of the package, they will not take it back because it did not come damaged - you damaged it. All warranties are void and you cannot get your money back.
I purchased a robot dog for my granddaughter one year. Not only was it taped and tied in the package with little ties, it had big plastic screws (that would not unscrew) that you had to remove first before you could move the dog. This took my neighbor's 17-year-old three hours to figure out the code of which plastic handle to move first so that the other screws would undo. I am thankful for her patience and knowledge as I would have used a hammer and told my granddaughter that the dog died in shipping. But of course I would have to go back to the store and spend another $85 to get a replacement, so I am happy there was help available.
The packaging I hate the most is the squeezable caps on detergents and other poisonous house-cleaning items. My arthritic hands cannot squeeze a tomato, so my new bottle of Clorox toilet bowl cleaner (with bleach) looked like it was going to remain unopened for at least a decade. After reading the directions several times and trying to squeeze and open, I decided it was not going to happen. I grabbed a table knife and tried to pry the lid off holding the plastic bottle steady with my knee - stretch, stretch, pry, and pry - phoosh. The lid came off and the contents managed to squirt all over the toilet, the wall, the floor, the toilet carpet, my clothes, and even the ceiling.
Quick, towels to wipe up the messy gel; not quick enough, I have bleached streaks on the toilet, the wall, the floor, the toilet carpet, my clothes, and even the ceiling. The bottle was nearly empty and not one drop got inside the toilet. I poured the remaining gel into the toilet and still had to scrub to get the hard-water stains out. Great, here is a product that bleaches everything in sight except for what it is suppose to bleach.
I painted the ceiling, bought a new toilet carpet, got new wall paper and wall tile, new linoleum, burned my clothes and even replaced the toilet. The next time I have rust build-up, I will buy a new toilet, it is way cheaper than a bottle of Clorox toilet-bowl cleaner in the long run.
I purchased a robot dog for my granddaughter one year. Not only was it taped and tied in the package with little ties, it had big plastic screws (that would not unscrew) that you had to remove first before you could move the dog. This took my neighbor's 17-year-old three hours to figure out the code of which plastic handle to move first so that the other screws would undo. I am thankful for her patience and knowledge as I would have used a hammer and told my granddaughter that the dog died in shipping. But of course I would have to go back to the store and spend another $85 to get a replacement, so I am happy there was help available.
The packaging I hate the most is the squeezable caps on detergents and other poisonous house-cleaning items. My arthritic hands cannot squeeze a tomato, so my new bottle of Clorox toilet bowl cleaner (with bleach) looked like it was going to remain unopened for at least a decade. After reading the directions several times and trying to squeeze and open, I decided it was not going to happen. I grabbed a table knife and tried to pry the lid off holding the plastic bottle steady with my knee - stretch, stretch, pry, and pry - phoosh. The lid came off and the contents managed to squirt all over the toilet, the wall, the floor, the toilet carpet, my clothes, and even the ceiling.
Quick, towels to wipe up the messy gel; not quick enough, I have bleached streaks on the toilet, the wall, the floor, the toilet carpet, my clothes, and even the ceiling. The bottle was nearly empty and not one drop got inside the toilet. I poured the remaining gel into the toilet and still had to scrub to get the hard-water stains out. Great, here is a product that bleaches everything in sight except for what it is suppose to bleach.
I painted the ceiling, bought a new toilet carpet, got new wall paper and wall tile, new linoleum, burned my clothes and even replaced the toilet. The next time I have rust build-up, I will buy a new toilet, it is way cheaper than a bottle of Clorox toilet-bowl cleaner in the long run.
Humor: Funerals
I was raised Catholic and of Croatian descent, this alone means you go to every funeral of every Croatian in town. By the time I was 27, I left the church, opting for a more fundamentalist approach to my beliefs. I still was required to attend relative's funerals or be blackballed from the family. The Catholic funerals have many traditions; for example, waving the incense and later at the burial, the individual incense blessing. Not believing this will help the deceased, I never informed my children about any of the funeral traditions, so they were pretty clueless.
My aunt had always taken photos of the relatives in their open caskets so that she had a memory of them on their last day. Mind you, the cameras at that time were not digital and the color was bad; add this to the bad coloring of the deceased and you got pictures that looked like various versions of "Grandpa" on the Munsters. She was pleased though and made copies for everyone in the family, I would bring them home and my children would make comments on what a creepy family they were born into.
Finally, my aunt met her maker and we, as a family, went to her funeral. This was the first Catholic funeral my children had to attend. Most of the older women were donned in their "mourning" attire - black long dresses, black shawls, and black scarves. They were moaning and crying which made my three younger children look constantly over their shoulders wondering if this was some kind of witch cult and wondered if they were going have a spell cast on them. The Mass was very long and children, being children could not sit still. I am still known in that congregation as a very bad mother who couldn't keep her children respectful and still.
So, once the Mass was over, we jumped into the cars for the procession to the cemetery. I am glad we had our own car and did not ride in the limo as my two older boys and I were joking about the various funeral "criers" that were present. Once at the cemetery, the family gathered around the casket and the priest said a few words (of which I have no idea), then he passed around something that looked like a microphone that was dipped in the incense bowl. Each person shook it over the casket as a blessing to the dead person. My 8-year-old looked at me as it was being passed to him and I said, "No, your hand will fall off if you touch it." He withdrew his hand in horror and it was passed, instead to the next person. Of course my older boys and a couple of nephews had a very hard time keeping a straight face, also the comment brought many glares from the mourning relatives.
My mother, who I am sure I was responsible for sending to an early grave, scolded me and said, "I suppose you will do the same at my funeral." I told her that I probably would, but she would be dead and wouldn't care. With that, she started to laugh and we all enjoyed the rest of the day at the potluck. Of course, no one would talk to me but my mother and my children - hey, the food was great and I was too busy eating to visit anyway.
A few years later my mother died and to our surprise, she did not want a Catholic funeral or Mass. She opted for a simple ceremony at the funeral home and graveside with no incense throwing. Some of the grandchildren stood up with wonderful eulogies and mom's friends from church commented that they have never before been to a funeral like that and it was, surprisingly, beautiful. Way to go Mom!
My aunt had always taken photos of the relatives in their open caskets so that she had a memory of them on their last day. Mind you, the cameras at that time were not digital and the color was bad; add this to the bad coloring of the deceased and you got pictures that looked like various versions of "Grandpa" on the Munsters. She was pleased though and made copies for everyone in the family, I would bring them home and my children would make comments on what a creepy family they were born into.
Finally, my aunt met her maker and we, as a family, went to her funeral. This was the first Catholic funeral my children had to attend. Most of the older women were donned in their "mourning" attire - black long dresses, black shawls, and black scarves. They were moaning and crying which made my three younger children look constantly over their shoulders wondering if this was some kind of witch cult and wondered if they were going have a spell cast on them. The Mass was very long and children, being children could not sit still. I am still known in that congregation as a very bad mother who couldn't keep her children respectful and still.
So, once the Mass was over, we jumped into the cars for the procession to the cemetery. I am glad we had our own car and did not ride in the limo as my two older boys and I were joking about the various funeral "criers" that were present. Once at the cemetery, the family gathered around the casket and the priest said a few words (of which I have no idea), then he passed around something that looked like a microphone that was dipped in the incense bowl. Each person shook it over the casket as a blessing to the dead person. My 8-year-old looked at me as it was being passed to him and I said, "No, your hand will fall off if you touch it." He withdrew his hand in horror and it was passed, instead to the next person. Of course my older boys and a couple of nephews had a very hard time keeping a straight face, also the comment brought many glares from the mourning relatives.
My mother, who I am sure I was responsible for sending to an early grave, scolded me and said, "I suppose you will do the same at my funeral." I told her that I probably would, but she would be dead and wouldn't care. With that, she started to laugh and we all enjoyed the rest of the day at the potluck. Of course, no one would talk to me but my mother and my children - hey, the food was great and I was too busy eating to visit anyway.
A few years later my mother died and to our surprise, she did not want a Catholic funeral or Mass. She opted for a simple ceremony at the funeral home and graveside with no incense throwing. Some of the grandchildren stood up with wonderful eulogies and mom's friends from church commented that they have never before been to a funeral like that and it was, surprisingly, beautiful. Way to go Mom!
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