Picture That!

Thought for the day: If you don't pay your exorcist, you may get repossessed.

By George, I think I've got it! 

So far, so good. Looks like I may have exorcised the problem I was having with Blogger refusing to save or publish images. On the other hand, if you don't see a picture here of me scratching my chinny chinny chin, maybe I DIDN'T, in which case, I believe I'll go do something lots more fun like clean out the commodes.

For now, though, I'll assume that the picture is gonna hang around, and just in case you encounter a similar problem, (and I sincerely hope you don't) I thought I'd share what (I hope) proves to be the solution for me.

Experimenting with other templates didn't make a difference, so I began reconsidering my use of Internet Explorer. When the Google techs suggested that IE was a possible source of the problem, I initially dismissed that as unlikely. After all, I'd been using IE since day one, so why should a new problem emerge on something that hadn't changed? Right?


But upon further investigation, it appeared that most of the bloggers complaining about the problem were, indeed,  IE users, and many of them reported the problem's onset about the same time it started kicking me in the keister.

HMMMM.

Then it hit me. My PC is configured to allow Windows to automatically install updates. Ah HA! So it became more conceivable that one of those automatic updates could've changed IE such that it no longer plays well with Blogger.

So I installed Google Chrome, and so far, so good. Let's hope that's the end of that problem.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Dunno about that, but I sure will be grateful if I can regularly add a picture or two to this blog again.

I smell something special.

Know what this week is? Something special, if you're a dog ... or a cat ... or some other well-loved pampered critter. Go get the balloons and ice cream: it's National Pet Week!

Now, I could darned near fill up Noah's Ark with the number of pets I've had in my lifetime, but I reckon I'm a bit of a slacker when it comes to celebrating them. Love 'em? Yeah, no doubt. But throw them parties? Invite dozens of their "friends" to the house for a play date?  For the love of God, put clothes on them? Ah, NO! 'Fraid not.

April 17 was National Pet Parents Day, and there were even American Greeting e-cards available to mark the occasion. Miss that one? Yeah, me too. But statistics show that approximately 10,000 cards WERE sent to mark the occasion.

Yesterday was "Bark in the Park" day at Atlanta's Turner Field, and for the paltry sum of twenty-five bucks, you could take your favorite canine pal into the park with you to watch the Braves play. Now, I've had a lot of dogs before, but I don't recollect any of them having much of an interest in baseball. Only interest they ever had in a ball of any kind was if you were throwing it to them and taking the slobbery thing away from them when they brought it back. Sweltering in the hot sun at the stadium never would've appealed to my dogs. Doesn't even appeal much to ME anymore. Not when I have a perfectly good air conditioner at home. 'Course, although it's still early in the season, one could argue that the Braves games have been pretty much "for the dogs" so far this year, so maybe it's only fitting that the stadium hosted a bunch of panting slobbering fans yesterday.

But this, THIS takes the cake (and ice cream):  would you believe a "puppy prom"? That's right, in March,  a PROM was held for canines in the Atlanta area. With an "Almost Paradise" theme, a king and queen, ball gowns, bow ties, beach-style decorations, a sheet cake, and ice cream treats! Oh, no, no, no! My dogs would NEVER have passed muster at a prom. They were much too rude. Fancy clothes or not, if they had the urge to scratch or lick their private places, they would never have been dissuaded by a silly bow tie.

I don't know. Maybe it's just me. OK, I will admit that when our pooches weren't feeling well, I may have prepared them ground beef and rice. And when I was a kid, my mother may have made a tiny raincoat and boots for our adorable little toy manchester / chihuahua cutie. And yeah, my husband swears that I can turn any attack dog into an egg-sucking wussy that'll follow me around like Mary's little lamb. (Why have 'em if you don't love 'em, right?) But I have NEVER gone to a dog bakery. Or thrown a pooch party. Or dressed my poor dogs in Halloween costumes.

How about you? Are you into "pet-ebrations"?

Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other. If the pictures in this post publish, you can color me happy. Tra-la-la-la!

Royal Weather

Thought for the day:  Shotgun weddings could be considered a matter of wife or death.

Just like most days, we turned on CNN this morning so we could feed our brains with the latest news whilst feeding our stomachs with Cheerios. (We're multi-taskers.) But unlike most days, CNN was nattering on and on about the Royal Wedding. To tell the truth, we hadn't planned on watching the blessed event, since our noses were still a wee bit out of joint about not receiving our royal invitation in a timely manner. Not that we would've gone, mind you. Being groped at the airport by a sweaty 300-pound TSA agent with bad breath isn't our idea of a romantic encounter, so we prefer to opt out of that particular experience, thank you very much. Still, an invitation would've been nice.

But, there it was on our TV, and we were too blooming lazy to change the channel. The solemn walk down the aisle. The crowds partying in the streets. The sure-to-be-rebroadcast-a-zillion-times double kiss. Jolly good, eh?

One thing newscasters and partiers in the street talked about was the weather. Never having been to London myself, I can't attest to it first-hand, but from what I've heard, London doesn't generally rate terribly high on the scale for great weather. Lots of fog and drizzly rain, yeah, but a perfect Chamber of Commerce day with wall-to-wall sunshine and gentle breezes? Not so much. But the Royal couple was blessed with off-the-scale beautiful weather today.

A good omen, some said.

On the other hand, my wedding day started out with showers. Not the oh-boy-another-blender kind of shower, but the wet falling from the sky kind. Know what people told me? That it was a good omen. That Heaven was shedding tears of joy for me. It didn't cry for long, though. Ended up sunny and nearly 100 degrees by early afternoon. Not sure what kind of omen that was supposed to be, but nearly 42 years later, we're still going strong, so I guess some of that good juju must've worked.

Anyway, I got to thinking about the role weather can play in our writing. For example, it can serve as a direct reflection of the story's tone or a character's emotions. It's no accident that dispositions are commonly described as stormy or sunny, or that unpleasant occurences invoke images of a "dark day." Think of the various possibilities for making weather a supportive element that emphasizes some aspect of your story. Blizzards can serve as a backdrop to feelings of isolation; thunderstorms can dramatize terror or fury; glorious sunshine like the Royal couple were blessed with today can backlight happiness and optimism.

Or the weather can serve as a stark contrast.

Yesterday, when I was preparing a garden for planting, I couldn't help but think about stark contrast. The sky was pale blue, polka dotted with bright white clouds. Lots of sunshine, and enough breeze to keep it comfortable. Yet, just north of me, under that same pale blue sky, and carressed by that same gentle breeze, hundreds of people were dealing with the staggering aftermath of tornadoes.

Remember that old song, sung by Dusty Springfield, with the lines

Why does the sun go on shining?
Why does the sea rush to shore?
Don't they know it's the end of the world ...

Those people dealing with the loss of their homes, everything they owned, and even their entire towns, must have felt a little like that. There's a certain disconnect when you are suffering and grieving, and the world goes on as usual, sunshine, gentle breeze, and all. But it is this kind of contrast that I believe adds an extra level of oomph to our stories.

Do you consciously make weather a meaningful element in your writing? If not, can you think of any books you've read where weather does play an important part? Oh, do tell.

Since I'm asking you to show me yours, I'll show you mine first. In Hot Flashes and Cold Lemonade, the story takes place in Baltimore during an unseasonably hot dry spell, marked by daily bouts of thunder and lightning, and empty promises of rain that never comes. Until the end of the story ...

OK, I know you've all been waiting for it, so here it comes. It's time for the ...

Weirdest news stories of the week:

** Brewdog, the same illustrious beer-maker already credited with creating the world's strongest beer, not to mention serving beer in dead animal carcasses, has now released another extra special brew in the UK to commemorate the royal wedding. Called "Royal Virility Performance", this India Pale Ale is laced with ... Viagra. Yep, that's right. Downing three of these babies allegedly delivers the same upping power as taking a single Viagra. Think of all the twenty-somethings in the UK who are partying hearty in the streets while getting schnockered on these brews. (You KNOW they won't just stop at three!) Think of them passing out. Littering the streets. Lying on their backs with flagpoles raised on high. (a patriotic lot, to be sure) The unusual ale's bottle has some amusing lines on it, like "Arise Prince Willy." And the brewers claim that they've sent some of their new ale to the Prince, so he can enjoy a (wink, wink) stiff drink on his wedding night.

** Also in commemoration of the royal nuptials, a British firm has plans to sell bottles of "Royal Wedding Day Air." As I write this, a team of "trained professionals" is collecting samples of the air so they can capture the essence of this magical day. Hoping to sell these bottles as a collector's item, the company compares it to a fine bottle of champagne, and says the whole family can gather around it to take a healthy sniff. No idea what the price will be for this "collector's item", but I suppose it beats canned cow farts, eh?

Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Age is Just a Number

Thought for the day:  How can I possibly be "over the hill" when I never made it to the top?

Sometimes, I actually forget that I'm getting old. I mean, no matter how old you are on the outside, don't YOU still feel young on the inside? So what if the outside doesn't look as good as it did twenty, thirty, forty years ago? I say, avoid those lying mirrors! Got some sagging parts? Parts that "swing"? Eat until the wrinkles fill out! OK, so it may be a little more difficult to deny the creep of age after Uncle Sam starts sending you those  thank-you-God-life-is-good social security checks every month, but for that, I have two little words of advise: direct deposit. (Why be reminded?)

Alas, there are times when the "tra-la-la-la I'm still young" inner child gets a solid kick in the teeth. The best thing to do then is spit out the blood and have a good laugh about it.

Like last summer, when some of our grandchildren were visiting. I convinced my son and granddaughter to spin the jump rope for me. Wanted to demonstrate jumping in. I executed it perfectly, too, and it felt great! Just like being a kid again. But, zippadee-doo-da, my feet went out from under me, and the next thing I knew, my arse hit the driveway like a one-ton sack of potatoes. I thought it was hysterical, but the rest of the family was mortified ... and wouldn't "let" me play jump rope anymore. (spoil sports!)

And a few months ago, while shopping with one of my daughters-in-law, I said something about how all the clothes looked like "old lady" clothes. Then, I laughed and said, "D'OH!" She failed to see a lick of humor in it.

And two years ago, I had an epiphany in a cemetery. The funeral director had set up rows of red-cushioned chairs beside the gravesite for the benefit of the older women in attendance. While the minister talked on and on, (and on) I stood with my husband, shifting my weight from one aching foot to the other, leaning on him, rubbing my back. Then it hit me, and it was all I could do not to laugh out loud. By golly, those chairs were set up for ME! As soon as we got home, I called my friend, and after we finished laughing, we agreed that if she and I go somewhere together when we're in our nineties, we'll still be saving seats for the "older" people in attendance.

So, don't let aging get you down. For one thing, it's too damned hard to get back up again, but mostly, it's because this really can be a terrific time of life. So enjoy it! Let me remind you that ANY woman can have the body of a 21-year-old, if that's really what she wants. But (Bada-BOOM!) she may have to buy him a few drinks first. And ladies, as much as we've grumbled over the years about men not looking at our faces when they're talking to us, it's a little reassuring to know that, even at my age, men are still looking at my boobs. (So what if they have to squat first?)

How about you? Is there sometimes a disconnect between the "real you" and what the calendar tries to tell you? Can you laugh about it? After all, we don't stop laughing because we get old; we get old because we stop laughing.

How about your writing? Do you tend to write about... and for ... people your own age? Younger? Older? Any particular reason?

Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.