Humor, Real Life

A Thumb Tale

Once upon a time, a right thumb decided to balk at opposition. When forced to do so, it screamed in protest. Because management kept forgetting that, said thumb caused the loss of a steaming mug of tea as well as a mishap with a cool glass of Riesling. And I would be remiss if I failed to mention several distressing encounters with various doorknobs, kitchen tools, and weighty books. Actually, the daily frequency of incidences of opposition have only now become apparent to management.

Notification to management: Until this errant right thumb mends its ways, please utilize its sinistral twin for all opposition duties.

Family, Humor, Real Life, Writing

Boy, do I feel dumb!

Just after dawn this morning, I woke to a buzzing sound. I listened for a few seconds before deciding it must be my husband grinding coffee. Then I turned to look at his side of the bed and saw him lying there with a puzzled look. “What is that sound?” he asked.

I got out of bed, and soon realized the sound was coming from the bathroom. I stepped in and listened. “It’s coming from the light fixture, I think.” We have a four-bulb fixture above the medicine cabinet. I turned the light off and back on. The sound persisted.

My husband investigated and came to the same conclusion. He set up the step stool and tapped on the light. He loosened, then tightened the bulbs. He switched the light off and on. “Go turn the breaker off. Is the one for this bathroom marked?”

The breaker box is outside, so while I was putting on my robe and shoes, he climbed down and put on his shoes. “I’d better go with you,” he said. To which I logically replied, “Then why should I go?” A few seconds later, the bathroom light went out—along with the clock radio and cable box. The buzzing continued. I relayed the bad news.

“Get me a screwdriver,” said my husband. He proceeded to remove the light fixture. The fixture, added to this home before we moved here, was attached to the ceiling instead of the wall above the cabinet, so it’s awkward to work with. Dear husband is not a handyman, and if I hadn’t been standing there, I’m sure he would have addressed the situation with a few choice words.

Alas! The fixture’s removal provided no further clue to the source of the buzzing. We debated the possible causes. Was there something in the attic space directly wired to the main electrical line? Ah-ha, turn off the main breaker!

You know what I’m going to say, right?

So … was it possible the men who put the insulation in two years ago, dropped something that just now set off an alarm … or turned on? Not likely, but “We’ll have to climb up and take a look,” DH said. Understand that our access to the attic is in my craft closet. It takes effort, and time, to remove all the cabinets, shelves, and hanging bags of things to be able to get a ladder in there.

When I opened the door to begin the unloading, my husband cried, “The alarm system!” The wiring box for the old alarm system in this house is also in that closet. He pulled up a chair and leaned in far enough to open it and snip all the wires he could see. “Go see if the buzzing stopped,” he said.

No such luck!

In desperation, he called our Utah son, who was an electrician in the Air Force, and I decided to turn to Google. I entered “buzzing sound in wall” and after reading through a dozen or so hits, I found one where a woman talked about a similar situation—also in their bathroom. Their cause? An electric razor in the shower.

“Could it be your trimmer in the medicine cabinet?” I asked hopefully. Now off the phone, DH headed toward the bathroom with me close behind. He opened the cabinet and pulled out his obviously silent trimmer. “Shoot,” I said. He started moving things around in the cabinet, then on top of it. When he touched the ceramic cup, the sound changed. Eureka!

Did you know a cheap electric toothbrush can turn itself on?

Humor, Marketing, Promotion, Real Life, Social Media, Writing

So, what’s the deal with Facebook Pages?

I have a Facebook Page as an Author. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it. Not everyone who’s clicked to LIKE it follows me on Twitter or reads this blog, but a good many of them do. I expect some days when I actively participate in social media, they get tired of seeing my avatar pop up on their screens.

Like my Facebook page!I’m not naturally a pushy person. In gatherings, I prefer to sit quietly and listen. Though, I confess, if you start an interesting conversation with me, you might have trouble shutting me up. But I’m an Author now. Part of my job is to interact. So, I have a Facebook Page. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it.

This is different from my personal Facebook account, where I feel free to post silliness. As an Author, I think should be more dignified. I channel links to my blog posts there and comment about my writing progress. Those are fine, but here are some examples of what my Likers also saw as “status” updates this month:

Lays Limón chips should be classified as an addictive substance.

It’s hard to type with a 2nd degree hot glue burn on my index finger.

We are having an honest to God gully-washing thunderstorm! In June! If you lived where I do, you’d know how freaky that is! LOVE IT!

So, you see, I have a Facebook Page, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it. Do you have one? Can you give me some tips on how to use it effectively as an author … please?

Fiction, Humor, My Books, Novel, Real Life, Social Media, Writing

I’m not undisciplined, I’m just a writer!

Yesterday my husband took dragged me out to lunch. It should have been an easy bribe—an offer of food I don’t have to shop for, prepare, or clean up from—but I’ve been entrenched in formatting my novel for CreateSpace.

I confess, I tend to get hyper-focused. Actually, I suspect I have Attention Deficit Disorder. I’ve often described myself as undisciplined, but that’s not true. I’m only undisciplined with things I don’t want to do anyway. Controlled chaos. Selective laziness.

I want to write; therefore my fingers can become glued to the keyboard. Literally. Well, almost. I often snack while working, so sometimes my fingers are sticky. If you’re a neat freak, you don’t want to look at my computer … or my workspace in general. You might feel the urge to send pictures to one of those Hoarders shows.

All kidding aside (ahem) I’ve gathered from Twitter that I’m not the only obsessed writer. I see you tweet about forgetting to walk the dog or start dinner or change out of your pajamas—for days. I remember seeing an old movie about a man obsessed with writing … or painting … or inventing … whatever. Someone who cared about him brought food trays to him, but they stacked up outside his door, untouched.

It’s a good thing I have a husband who insists on being fed daily or I might waste away. Ha! Who am I kidding? I’d find one of those food tray delivery services. Oh wait! I already have one. It’s called Me ‘n’ Ed’s Pizza. Don’t worry about me. I’m good. But if any of you want to bring me a tray, my door’s not locked. Just push the empty teacups, coke cans, and chip bags aside.


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Books, Family, Fiction, Humor, Life, Memory, Read, Reading, Real Life

Classically Ignorant

Do you need a laugh today? Have one on me. The other day, for no reason I could discern, I thought of a book I read long ago. I couldn’t remember the title or names of any characters. I couldn’t even remember many details of the story. I could picture the entry hall and main staircase, and a room or two on the upper floors. I saw a young woman in 19th-century dress. The book was not illustrated; these images were only what I imagined.

I had no exact recall how I felt reading the book, but I thought maybe I enjoyed it. Not remembering anything more, I pushed it out of mind. A few days later, during a conversation with my son Daniel, who will soon defend his dissertation for a PhD in literature (Victorian emphasis), it occurred to me he might recognize the book. I told him what I remembered: a young woman is hired as governess by a man who keeps his insane wife secretly locked in his home … and I think a fire figures into it.

Are you laughing now?

My son’s initial reaction was silence. I’m sure he hoped I was joking. After a moment, he said, “Uh … Mom … that’s Jane Eyre.”

Oh, my yes. I am ignorant of the classics. Or possibly, just ignorant of having read them. Maybe I’ve read all the classics, but don’t remember.

Be kind, please. Look away. I’m going to go slink back into my cave, but I’ll understand if you want to pretend you don’t know such a lowbrow.

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