In search of a diamond

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I spent hours on my hands and knees, carefully dusting every square inch of my floor for my missing diamond. I then used my finger to feel the interior and lid of the jewelry box in case the diamond was somehow just stuck in some corner of the box or the lid.

Nothing.

Fearful that the diamond had become caught in something I had already moved, I sifted through the recycle I had collected that day, shook out all my clothing, and up-ended my dresser drawers so that I could be sure the diamond hadn’t fallen into them.

Nothing.

I was upset. The diamond had a lot of sentimental value for me because it represented my marriage. It also had provided hours of entertainment to cranky and bored children (and sometimes to me, I love the way it sparkles).

But now, I had to admit that it was gone. I gathered my courage and called my husband to break the news.

He was a darling. He consoled me saying, “Don’t worry, when I get home I’ll help you find it.”

And he was right. My superhero husband walked in the door, went into our room, and almost immediately found the diamond. I was very impressed!

It seems that the naughty little diamond was hiding in the one place I had neglected to search. The hinge of the box.

Go figure!

The missing diamond

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Today, I decided to take on the monumental task of cleaning off my dresser. I have a horrible habit of putting clothes on top of the dresser instead of in it, so that over time the mountain of clothes grows until there is a real danger of an avalanche.

All was going well, until I discovered my heart-shaped jewelry box open, and turned over.

A few weeks ago, I hit my engagement ring on the kitchen table, and out popped the diamond. I scrambled to find the diamond before the dog did, and very carefully placed the rescued ring and diamond in a conveniently empty heart-shaped jewelry box.

Why, oh why did I ever do anything so dumb? The box I chose for my precious diamond has a lid that opens entirely too easily. And then, to compound my stupidity, I chose to leave the box on my dresser, the least organized spot in the entire house, and the last place I should ever place any item I want to be able to find later.

So now, my only hope is to conduct an archaeological type search of my bedroom floor. I will section the room into grids and collect every dust bunny, every random scrap of paper, every paper clip and safety pin, and especially every hard little stone that might have its shine disguised by a layer of dirt.

Wish me luck. I’ll tell my husband about my mistake any way around, but I would rather do it AFTER I find the diamond, instead of before.

What a nightmare! My husband is always nagging me about that dresser, and now I have to tell him he is right. There is no hope for it. I will have to confess all, unless…

Could the diamond just be playing hide-and-seek with me?

Diamond, oh, diamond. Can you hear me? Remember all the good times we’ve had, mesmerizing babies and shining rainbows on the walls. If you keep hiding from me, I may not find you and we won’t be able to do those things any more. You don’t want to hide any more, do you? I promise, I’ll take you right away and get you reset in the ring. I’ll even get you cleaned.

I’ll do my part by looking, and you do your part by showing your sparkle.

Come out, come out wherever you are!

Pre-Easter Easter get-together

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Eeeeek!

Scheduling a get-together with my family has become excrutiatingly difficult lately, mainly because 3 of my 4 daughters have jobs that require them to work Saturdays and Sundays.

Not that that makes planning impossible, we just have to be sure to give the girls plenty of time to request the appropriate time off.

Well, Easter is in a week and a half, the first Sunday of April. Every year, our extended family gets together at my mother-in-law’s house. It is one of those times we see family members we haven’t seen for a while.

The girls know–and look forward to–this traditional get-together, so each of them pulled strings, called in favors, and got Easter off.

Sounds good, right?

Well, we got a phone call last night, letting us know that the Easter get-together is off this year, and we are instead getting together THIS Sunday.

Which means that 3 of my 4 daughters will not be able to be there. They are working, and the 4 days notice we were given is not long enough for them to scramble around, pull in favors, beg and plead for the day off.

I have to wonder why no one mentioned to us earlier that a get-together at an earlier date was being considered. I mean, if only someone…

What was that? Was that giggling I just heard?

Jupiterians, is that you?

Why are you giggling so much? What have you done now?

What! You have been blocking all the emails and phone calls from my family for the last few weeks! Why would you do such a thing? Now everything is messed up, and my daughters…

Well I don’t think it is funny. My daughters…

Okay, fine. Maybe you are right. It is a little funny that our communication could be so easily blocked. And yes, now we can have a more intimate get-together at my house.

Yes. We’ll have lots of candy.

Yes, there will be…

Wait a minute! Did you do all this because…

You have got to be kidding. Really, Jupiterians? You could have just asked, you know. I would have saved you a few Cadbury Eggs. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.

Jupiterians. They love Cadbury Eggs like…like…well, like a monkeys like bananas!

As slow as molasses

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Sigh.

The Jupiterians are hard at work again. And by hard at work, I mean that they are having a blast playing tricks on me.

I don’t know why the Jupiterians have such a fascination with my computer. They slow it down to the point that I feel that every program has to swim through an ocean of molasses in order to just open. They make that silly message from Vista–the one asking if I want to allow this to happen, or that to happen–to pop up over and over. They make it so that updates and scans happen only when I most need to use every ounce of my computer’s memory.

We all know how slow computers get during updates and scans!

Many of you probably think it is my fault, but it isn’t. I have configured my computer to run scans and process updates in the middle of the night, while I am dreaming dreams of adventure.

Besides, I know without a shadow of a doubt that all my computer troubles are caused by the Jupiterians. Every time they play a prank, they giggle.

Giggle, giggle, giggle. See, there they go again! I wonder what they have done this time?

Cerulean tears

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“Cerulea, why are you crying?”

“What? You want to know what I am going to wear tonight when we go to Third Place Books. Well, I don’t yet know.”

“No…I am not going to wear the same outfit I wore yesterday, or the one I wore the day before. You’ve known me long enough to know that I usually change my clothes every day.”

“Cerulea! Shame on you for blubbering in this way. What has come over you? If you keep this up for much longer I don’t know what will happen. You might smear your ink, or–even worse–make your pages all wet and crinkly. I detest crinkly pages. So come on, tell me what is wrong.”

“You have got to be kidding. You want to change the way you look for tonight? But why? You look beautiful just as you are.”

“I see. You feel that if I get to change my clothes, you should be able to change your cover. But Cerulea, I have to tell you, it is not going to happen.”

“You want to know why, okay, I’ll tell you why. I have a closet full of clothes, so it is easy for me to change my clothes. You only have one cover.”

“What do you mean, it isn’t fair. Don’t you understand that your cover is a part of what makes you, you? Where would you be, without your big, mysterious blue eye–or that door, the one that makes every person who sees it wonder what might be on the other side?”

“Of course I’m right! You are wonderful just as you are. I would not want you to change a thing.”

“Of course I mean it!”

“I love you too Cerulea, I love you too. Now go get cleaned up. The event starts at 6:30. We don’t want to be late.”

Unexpected guests

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I had unexpected guests last week. Not only did they arrive uninvited, but they were rude, obnoxious, and overstayed their welcome.

The funny thing was that at first, I didn’t even know they were here. They were very quiet and good at remaining unobtrusive, at first. But then, they must have tired of hiding, and of staying on their best behavior, because they made their presence felt. And it was ugly, very ugly.

I was forced to put up with them for a most of the week, it seems they are the type of guest that cannot be kicked out, they have to leave on their own.

So watch out, they are very sneaky and might try to creep into your house, like they did mine. You don’t want them, so don’t be fooled.

They call themselves Salmonella. Watch out for them. They are bad, bad news.

March events – two of them!

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Wow! I am lucky enough to be included in two author events for the month of March.

March 13
Third Place Books
Lake Forest Park, WA
6:30 pm to 8:30 pm

March 27
Edmonds Bookshop
Edmonds, WA
11:00 am to 2:00 pm

Wouldn’t it be great…well…if…ummmmm…well…

Oh, what the heck! I’ll just say it. I would love to see you there!

Just desserts

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I heard a commercial yesterday. It was for one of those debt relief companies, and spokesperson claimed that his company would work with creditors and make it so “you can live the life you deserve not bogged down with heavy debt.”

I wonder how the company in question knows just what kind of life each person deserves. Do they have, within their company org chart, a person with the title of Director of Just Desserts?

What power that person must have, to be able to read the soul of each person, to know his or her inner beauty (or ugliness), to be able to discern the worthiness of each individual who becomes a customer.

I would have to search my heart long and hard before I placed my life in the hands of such a company. I know I am not a perfect person, so what if my flaws are bad enough that the Director of Just Desserts decides my life should be miserable in every way, except I would not be bogged down by debt?

The thought makes me shudder. It is not worth the risk.

Besides, there is a touch of sulfur in the air every time the commercial plays. I fear it would be a bit too much like making a deal with the devil.

Passages

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I love to write. I adore watching the changes that happen with each rewrite, the way the story shifts and changes and grows.

Here is an example from Fair Game, my current work-in-progress. Each passage below shows the same moment in time, with the exception of the outline. Outlines are, necessarily, lacking in detail, so I could not extract any particular moment.

Can’t you just see the text growing and blossoming like a flower?

Outline: First day of school

1st write:
I heard the beep, the one that meant that I had an incoming text, just as I was about to place my foot on the first step in preparation of the long climb up the wide staircase that led to the front doors of my new school. I halted, indecision muddling my thoughts. Should I take the time to dig through my backpack and find my phone? Would any text I might receive this morning be worth the effort?

2nd:
Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

“Not now!” I muttered. “I don’t have time to dig through my backpack to find my phone. I don’t want to be late the first day.”

My foot was poised two inches above the bottom step of the wide staircase that led to the entrance of the school. I stood there, balancing on one foot as I weighed the pros and cons of checking my text messages.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

3rd (testing 1st person vs 3rd person):
Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

“Not now!” Autumn muttered as she placed her foot on the first step of the staircase. “I don’t have time to dig through my backpack to find my phone. I don’t want to be late the first day.”

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

4th (1st person won):
Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.
“Not now!” I muttered. “I don’t have time to for this.”

The chirp caught me just as I paused to prepare for the big climb. At the peak of that mountain of steps, surrounded by clouds of milling students, was the gateway to my new life, my new beginning.

With one foot poised a mere two inches above the bottom step of that all important staircase, I chickened out. I was not ready for the big climb. My foot seemed to have a mind of its own, and it refused to touch that first step. No matter how hard I tried, and I tried, I really tried. So I slowly lowered my raised foot back onto solid ground—I needed to think through my options. But there was very little time for thought, for just at that moment a flood of students washed by me, and it was only the feel of the solid ground beneath both of my feet that saved me from being sucked along toward the vortex at the top of the stairs.

As the wave passed I breathed a sigh of relief. It had been close. I had almost been swept away, unable to resist the pull of the vortex that awaited at the peak of the climb.

“Good grief,” I muttered, rolling my eyes in self-disgust. Here I was again, making a mountain out of a molehill, or at least, a staircase. I needed to stop thinking so much and just go with the flow. There was absolutely nothing wrong with jumping into the stream of students headed in my direction and allowing the wave to wash me into the school. It was, after all, my destination.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

The little engine….

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Sometimes I feel just like the little engine that could, chug, chug, chugging away. Will I be able to make it up that gigantic mountain?

I try to do it all on my own, just like that famous little engine. “I think I can, I think I can.” But I every time I make a little progress and creep forward 2 inches, a snowstorm comes along that blows me back 4.

It is a sad fact that the wheels of my little train don’t work very well on the slippery snow. And the screech they make as they spin out of control is like the sound of fingernails on a chalkboard–irritating in the extreme.

But I must keep trying. Surely that mountain isn’t quite as high as it appears.

It is not that I want to do it all on my own. I have repeatedly asked other trains for help, for a gentle nudge in the right direction. But alas, all have zipped past me, too busy to stop to help. They have their own destinations, their own cargo they must deliver.

So I am left to struggle, alone on the tracks. I think I can do it. I think I can.