by jphilo | Feb 25, 2013 | Daily Life
Who knew remodeling could be sexy? Certainly not me, until I went upstairs to investigate the progress on the hall floor project. Remember that project? The one we foolishly thought would take only a month or two. The one that enters its eleventh month of progress (or lack thereof) in March.
With no end in sight.
The finish work came to a screeching halt when a respiratory virus nailed both of us in January. But the man of steel is hard at work again, attacking the baseboards with plaster of Paris and a putty knife. I’m not sure what the purpose is, but he assures me it’ll look great…eventually.
Whenever eventually comes.
In the meantime, and perhaps in an effort to snazz things up in the midst of the mess, he decided to tape off the baseboards with not only customary painter’s tape, but also with the leopard skin duct tape that somehow landed in his Christmas stocking a few years back, along with hot pink and Hello Kitty varieties.
He was not amused at the time.
But now he’s come to grips with Santa’s thoughtless de-mannifying of the most manly of man tools: duct tape. In fact, the man of steel is expressing his inner interior decorator more the longer the project drags on. Revealing his feminine side in a most manly and surprising way. With leopard skin duct tape.
Remodeling doesn’t get any sexier than this.
by jphilo | Feb 18, 2013 | Daily Life
Mysteries have been my drug of choice ever since Mrs. Eggleston read one of the Bobsey Twins books aloud to our second grade class. Thereafter, I ditched swinging at recess for playing detective with whoever I could convince to be Freddie to my Flossie.
Mrs. Eggleston had no idea the Bobsey Twins could be an entrance drug.
During my middle school years, Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden ensnared me. By high school and into college, I was hooked on Agatha Christie. During our South Dakota years, I mainlined P. D. James and Arthur Conan Doyle. Once we moved to Boone, and books were freely available on the street corner than housed the city library, my habit grew: Elizabeth Peters, Diane Mott Davidson, Lilian Jackson, MC Beaton, Catherine Hart, Sue Grafton.
Those are only a few of the authors who turned me into a life long mystery junkie.
These days, I’m reading Craig Johnson, Jane Haddam, Jacqueline Winspear, Anne George, Elizabeth George, David Rosenfelt, and whoever else I can get my hands on. Reading when time allows. Listening to audiobooks when it doesn’t. Watching PBS Mysteries when I’m desperate.
But those fixes no longer satisfy my cravings.
I want more. Much more. Now I dream about making my own stuff, of setting up a little fiction lab in the living room. I’ve read two cookbooks–Elizabeth George’s Write Away and James Scott Bell’s Plot and Structure. I’ve gathered the ingredients: the strange disappearance of a rancher in northwest South Dakota, a greenhorn elementary teacher who comes to town and lands in the middle of the mystery. I’ve scrounged together a theme, a plot. I even have time to work on it. All that remains is to mix everything together and cook the book, so to speak.
But I’m scared. Really scared.
What if mystery writing consumes all my time? What if the book never gets published? What if it leads to unforeseen consequences? What if I’m a coward and turn my back on this opportunity? What if I fail? What if I succeed?
Why did Mrs. Eggleston have to introduce our class to those Bobsey twins?
But even if she hadn’t, even if she’d stuck with less edgy second grade fare like Dick and Jane, I probably wouldn’t have heard, “Run, Jane, run!” I would have heard, “Write, Jolene, write.” Because I hated to run. But I was hooked on stories. Even before the Bobsey Twins. So here goes nothing…
…write, Jolene, write!
by jphilo | Feb 15, 2013 | Daily Life
Valentine’s Day at our house was about as healthy as they come:
- No lunch date because Hiram spoke about heart health at a noon meeting for a church group.
- No home-baked sweets for Hiram because he’s watching his blood sugar.
- No heart-shaped box of milk chocolates because they contain dairy.
- No flowers because they make me sneeze.
- No dinner out because a) we’re just getting over viruses and have no desire to catch new ones, and b) Hiram helped the high school worship team at evening practice.
Our romantic Valentine’s dinner consisted of:
- Whole wheat spaghetti with marinara sauce,
- Crispy garlic bread,
- Greek salad,
- And fresh pineapple for dessert,
- With a tissue box centerpiece because we’re almost but not quite over the aforementioned virus.
In fact, our healthy Valentine’s Day was making me sick until I thought about:
Thank you God, for romance alive and well at our house!
by jphilo | Feb 8, 2013 | Daily Life
This past Wednesday was not a good day.
First, I was supposed to meet a friend for coffee in the morning and because I’d written the time down wrong, got there a half hour late. Being an impatient person, I hate to keep others waiting.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
After working on a blog post for over almost two hours, it refused to come together the way I wanted. Impatient people like me don’t have time to waste spend almost two hours on a single blog post.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
The google chat audio feature was malfunctioning on my computer, so I missed an online meeting in the afternoon. Impatient people have no patience with technical glitches.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
A publisher rejected a piece I wrote for a devo Bible being compiled by a friend. Not only that, the publisher wanted extensive citations (including book page numbers) for a half-dozen quotes for other pieces I’d written. Impatient people don’t enjoy skimming long books to find page numbers.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
Hiram spent all afternoon trying to file our income tax with Turbo Tax. He’s usually pretty patient, but after several hours of online chats with Turbo Tax experts and two phone calls, he was a little cranky. Impatient people like me think we’re the only ones with a right to be cranky.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
The cold Hiram’s been fighting for two weeks came back with a vengeance that night. He ran a temperature again and coughed all night. Which didn’t sit well with a woman who needs plenty of sleep in order to be patient.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
The worst of it was this. I woke up Thursday morning and realized impatient people like me spend all their time looking at gray skies. We are so focused on the gloom, we don’t even see the gap in the clouds and the sun streaming through.
Impatient people like me forget they have
friends to visit,
blogs to write,
a computer that functions flawlessly 99.9% of the time,
writing projects to complete,
income tax refunds to file,
and a husband whose job provides sick leave and excellent health insurance.
Yes, that’s the worst of it.
Dear Father, forgive me for not slowing down to look for the gap in the clouds. Forgive me for focusing on the gloomy clouds and missing the joy of the Son. Please teach me to be patient…as quickly as possible. Amen.
by jphilo | Feb 4, 2013 | Daily Life, Reviews
Regularly scheduled programming will resume as soon the writer quits coughing, finds a new box of tissues, and recovers from taking a dizzy tumble in the kitchen.
photo credit: www.freedigitalphotos.net
by jphilo | Jan 11, 2013 | Daily Life
My, I was surprised yesterday morning to glance out the living room window and see a fox trotting across the yard. Who knows what drew the critter–the first of it’s kind seen on our property in the 21 years we’ve lived here–to grace our snow covered lawn with it’s dainty feet. Perhaps the fox is as enamored with Hiram’s cross country ski trail as the squirrels are. Those bushy-tailed rodents zip down the man of steel’s carefully groomed trails like they’re on the interstate.
But I digress.
Back to yesterday morning’s bushy-tailed non-rodent. The fox. It was trotting toward the edge of the yard at an impressive pace, but just as I grabbed the camera, our visitor struck a majestic pose. I managed a few shots through the window–hence the blur created by the screen–and then followed my model’s gaze to see what it was staring at.
It was another fox.
Just as big as the first, but quicker on its feet. Much quicker. Frisky. Really frisky. Like I-just-got-wheels-and-you-can’t-stop-me teenager frisky. So frisky that when I swung my camera to digitally capture the visitor’s image, this is what I got.
Like I said. Frisky.
The more sedate older fox, who gave the distinct impression of the tired parent of an impulsive teen, joined its frisky counterpart, and they rounded the side of the house. By the time I made it to the dining room and looked outside, the foxes were on the far side of the hedge. They crossed our driveway without looking both ways, slipped through the fence, and disappeared into the neighbors trees.
Easy come. Easy go.
I put the camera away, thankful for the pictures I’d taken. Thankful to be inside on a winter day instead of outside trotting across the snow. Thankful I’m no longer the tired parent of teenagers. Thankful for the unexpected beauty of one fox, two fox, old fox, new fox on a winter day.
Thankful.
