Red

My favorite color is red.

For a long time I was quite convinced that it was blue, or maybe green and after years of throwing one or the other after that question I stopped looked around, and actually thought about it.

My sunglasses- are red,

my favorite jacket – is red,

my favorite shirt – is red,

my favorite color of pickup truck – is red,

my favorite sweatshirt- is red,

my camera – is red and

when I dyed my hair for the first time in my life – I dyed it red.

Sorry blue and green, you are nice and pretty and calm, but you just don’t have that bright joy that red does.

When I took that time to stop and think about it, I also flashed to a long ago memory. I was walking up a steep hill at my parents’ house (all the hills there are steep) and someone asked me my favorite color. I can’t remember who I was with but I do remember thinking that my favorite color had always been red but that was sort of, well, a “boy” color and that I should choose blue or green (because even trying to fit in I’d never choose pink or purple). So, in my continual efforts to not ever have anyone look at me twice so I didn’t die of a serious case of shyness (before you feel outraged on behalf of my favorite color choices please know that I probably would have actually died of shyness at this point in life if people… you know… talked to me too much) I answered blue, or maybe it was green, and continued to do so for the next… oh I don’t know… 30 years. 

But I’m done with that. Blue and green are nice but I’m not as shy as I once was.

My favorite color is red.

And if you really think about it..

What’s your favorite color?

Satisfaction

The sight of a freshly alphabetized bookshelf brings with it a deep satisfaction.

I may have a pigeon living in the house, a sink full of dirty dishes, a desk piled high with things to do and the specter of the first Monday after a time change looming over me.

But my bookshelf is organized.

So I can’t have lost my grip completely yet.

Right?

(Pssst. The only correct answer here is “Right!”)

How about you, what random act brings immense satisfaction to your life? 

The Dark Side of the Bright Side

I went to a book festival this weekend.

As an author. (Insert wide eyed, panicked emoji of choice here.)

I know, I know, I’ve had a book published for a few months now but I still had a hard time stopping myself from saying I was headed out to “pretend to be a real author.” (Don’t worry, all my friends and family have firmly scolded me for that phrase – you don’t need to too.)

Anyways, I went to a book festival as an author for the first time this weekend. I met some really interesting people. I met some really kind people. I listened to some excellent authors talk about bookish things.

It was in general pretty fabulous.

It was also exhausting.

I am not known for my small talk/meeting new people skills. I can do it but it takes a lot of courage. And book marketing… let’s not even dive in to the uncomfortableness that is hawking your book, your baby, that you worked for years on, to complete strangers who ask you questions like “Oh? Did you write this?” Its hard in a weird emotional way. But for every odd comment, “oh… how… whimsical…” there was a wonderful one. “So this is really an art book!!!” And those that passed by without interest were balanced out by those who took them time to talk.

At the last presentation I attended a man used the phrase “The dark side of the bright side.” It wasn’t used in relation to book marketing. But I’m adopting it for that purpose. There is so much wonderfulness surrounding “What if Butterflies Loved Snow?” right now. It’s in stores- like real life, actual, walk down your street and open the door stores- that’s amazing! People are asking me to do library programs and school visits- that’s terrifying and also super duper awesome. My story is getting into the hands of children just like I one day hoped and that still gives me chills. But the work to get it there- the cold calling on stores, the preparing for library programs, the follow up calls and pushing my product at people who haven’t even asked about it. That’s the dark side of the bright side.

Oh but that bright side is shiny, and the dark isn’t so dark the more I do it.  So if you need a guest post on your blog, want to interview me about my book, have a store I should contact, an idea I should track down, let me know.

I’m working through the dark side and when it gets to be too much, I remember, that even at it’s darkest, I’m still on the bright side.

One Day You Are Riding High…

Ever have those moments that are just so – so adult, that it’s depressing?

Not long after we were married John and I bought a tractor. It was a nice little tractor and it did all sorts of things for us until one day when I was driving it and it said “CA- CHUNK” loudly and forcefully.

A time of tractor parts and grand plans followed the “ca-chunk” but, unfortunately, the end result was me in the driveway watching the pieces of my tractor getting smaller as they rode away on a flatbed truck.

Sadder than any woman really should be about a broken pile of metal I looked down at the small collection of crisp hundred dollar bills in my hand for consolation. I was momentarily cheered, until I remembered the broken dishwasher.

One day you are riding high on a tractor.

The next you are researching water efficient dishwashers.

Adulting is the worst.

 

It’s November! Time for a month of blog posting and team tiny peppers!

It’s also the month where daily posting means John does much less of my proofreading and you find out just how poor my spelling and grammar really are… …forgive me.  

Finding Beauty

Some times, when days are spent in the hospital ( Granny is recovering well from an unexpected surgery.) and nights are spent fixing plumbing (We have hot water again, even if new things are leaking and lets not even talk about the washing machine…) it’s hard to stop and find the beauty in the day.

But it’s always there, you just have to remember to breathe and look for it.

The Executioner’s Face by Jerry Johnson

If you’ve been a long time reader of my blog you might not be too surprised to see another review of a Jerry Johnson book here. I found him blogging about bird hunting and I have gathered his books as they were released. They are predominantly essays full of dogs and birds, old guns and wild country and I have enjoyed sharing them all with family and friends. His newest work of fiction is out and it is another hunting story… of sorts…

The hunters in this book are professional executioners that prowl the streets looking for felons in a post plague world where there isn’t the energy, manpower, or time to run the Chicago court system as we know it.

Would I recommend it? This is one of those books where it’s hard to shake the characters. When I finished this book I set it down, breathed for the first time in what felt like hours and have spent the last few days feeling as though the characters were riding on my shoulders. They are just hanging with me, waiting to see if and when I would judge them for their actions. They have stuck with me waiting to see, not if I cast their character in black or white, but rather what shade of grey they might be.  I’m finding it hard to shake them. The only cure I can think is that someone else needs to read this book so that we can talk about it together. So, go on! Order it and then tell me when you’ve read it, we will need to talk!

 

What’s That Noise?

John: What’s that noise?

Me: You mean the thing that sounds like a snare drum being followed by a civil war regiment? I think it’s the dryer.

John (walking toward sound): Ahhhh! What adventures does entropy have in store for us today?

(Answer: It was the dryer following hot on the heels of the dishwasher, two flat tires and right before the vacuum cleaner blew a belt. Ain’t entropy great?)

 

Pigeon Party

Lets see…

…placating smile, too long bangs, events from the swim meet on her arm, dressed inappropriate to the weather and she’s got a pigeon on the table…Clara and pigeon cake

..Yup! That’s our Clara!

Happy birthday to our favorite pigeon lover!

 

I Hate You.

My children have reached the age that I’ve become hated on a regular basis. It doesn’t really bother me. My infractions range from not allowing them to watch videos until their brains drool out their ears to requesting that they carry their own backpacks in from the car and eat the dinner prepared rather than make their own meal of pop-tarts and chocolate chips.

Clearly I am a monster.

On a recent trip to the dentist all the girls “failed” their exams and by the time we walked out the door they were all worked into a tizzy over fears of what terrible appointment might come next (also apparently you shouldn’t guzzle lime juice ’cause it’s bad for your enamel- who knew. Sorry Clara!). We dashed across the street anyway and made a quick run through Walgreen’s where I stocked up on essentials for myself (notebooks and chocolates, you know, some days I feel more like a writer than others) and where I refused to buy the girls giant pillow/stuffed animals. Clearly we were there for my wants, not theirs. But it was going to be okay because next we headed for ice cream. Because that’s what we do after the dentist. Is it logical. No. Were we all starving. Yes. Do we all need a reward after the dentist. Yes. And apparently it’s better than drinking lime juice (seriously, who thinks of that? No kid, no more lime juice for you- it’ll wreck your enamel. Actually, who’s kid drinks lime juice straight out of the bottle? This whole problem is totally perplexing me.).

In the drive thru we had a major melt down from two of the three girls that involved yelling at me because the flavor of the day was bad (and also there was no lemon ice for the lime juice lover so that was probably a blessing in disguise) and crying because the other one “just can’t decide!”

So, meanest mother in the world that I am I canceled our ice cream order. Because, really girls, never yell at the person buying you ice cream. This is an important life lesson that needed to be learned. However I did order a family size fries, because there is a fine line between setting limits and torturing you, yourself, the mother and this was a meltdown that needed french fries thrown at it if I ever saw one (Also, I was hungry).

Jane, affronted that we were getting HOT french fries (she hates hot food, I’ve yet to get the concept that cooking requires heat across to her but if you have ideas please let me know), demanded her ice cream and fell to pieces when it was explained that there would be no ice cream.

“I hate you! And I hate you! And you! I hate EVERYONE! And I hate EVERYTHING! … except that stuffed animal…”

My giggles at her outburst didn’t help.

But the french fries did.

We were all forgiven by the time we made it home.

This is a picture from this summer that has nothing to do with the blog post. This is largely because I can’t get my new computer to show me thumbnails of my photos and instead I have hundreds of identical icons to choose from.  All help appreciated!

Moral of the story:

Never underestimate the power of fresh french fries and the evils of lime juice.