Monday, February 17, 2020

Remembering Wendy, the Wonder Dog

Fiorella doesn't see any rainbows in the sky right now so rather than burden you with her miseries, she'll post a selection of her poems about Sonia's predecessor, Wendy the Weimar:

Wendy Saves the World Again
     Her nape is high, her lip is curled
     Her bark is loud and clear
     As Wendy the Weimar saves the world
     From flying bird and chittering squirrel
     And utterly unconcern-ed deer

Canine Gourmet
     Wendy, Wendy, in the woods
     Eating acorns by the score--
     Wendy, Wendy, in the house
     Vomiting upon the floor
     Wendy, Wendy, I implore
      Don't eat acorns anymore

Narc Bark
    Wrapped and treated yet again,
   Totally unconed,
   Wendy Dog's content at last
   To sit and gnaw her bone
   The vet prescribed some happy pills--
   Yes, Wendy Dig is stoned

Weimars Rule!
     Our Wendy is a sweetie dog
     Who understands her place--
     On pillow soft, on couch or bed,
     Being patted on the head,
     Lazing on the bathroom rug
     Or licking at my face

Sunday, February 16, 2020

Fiorella Is Afraid

Trump is coming after Fiorella's Social Security (which already has had a tax put on it by heartless Ronald Reagan), which will totally skew her finances. Sure, she got some money from Husband's insurance, but it won't last forever, and the cost of living keeps going up, up, up.
It's hard to move from one kind of computer to another. Elder son has been kind enough to help long-distance on the phone, and the Wednesday afternoon Georgetown Library computer people have helped too, but no one knows how to enlarge the type font. There's also half of a book missing that no one seems able to find. (Thank goodness that Fio, being the old-fashioned type, made a paper copy --but it's going to take a lot of time transferring everything word-by-word to the Mac.)
The world has turned upside down--right is called wrong, and wrong is called right; lies are called truth, and truth is called lies. Fiorella is afraid, and you should be too!

Saturday, February 15, 2020

Second Page, Finally

    The alcohol was beginning to hit his system now so he took a long swallow to accelerate the effect.  Aah--that felt good--just enough agave to relax him before he hit the hay.
     He looked up at the mirror again as the brunette with tattoos up her arm half-arose from the table, her voice cutting through a sudden lull in the crowd noise.
     "--exactly like Michael McConaughey when he was hot!"
     Cotton gritted his teeth. Not that again. Do all guys from Texas look alike?
     The bright blonde shook her head in disagreement, but the rest of the pack turned on his champion. They seemed to be mocking her about something, but she was hitting back. Then, suddenly dropping out of the fight, she leaned back in her chair, and said something that made them gape, then squawk like angry chickens.
     Cotton lifted his glass to the mirror. Whatever is going on, I'm on your side, Babe!
     Rising from the table, she looked back at her friends and struck a defiant pose with her chin up and her hand on her hip.
     Heads turned in her direction as her voice fluted above the crowd. "I'll show you what I mean! Watch and learn!"
     Cotton took another sip of his drink and let the alcohol slide around his tongue a couple of seconds before swallowing. Whatever Dollface was up to, it was a lot more interesting then watching the post-game analysis on the big-screen TV up against the ceiling.
     Tossing her head and swelling an already-spectacular bosom, she strolled toward the bar, winding her way between the tables and evading the outstretched hands of glassy-eyed celebrators inviting her to join their parties.

     Cotton froze in place.
    Shit! Dollface was on a voyage of conquest, and she was heading his way!
    This was all he didn't need--being targeted by a rich man's headstrong daughter. He knew her type--young, spoiled, and too sexy for her own good. That lime green beaded number she had on had must have cost a fortune, and her hair looked expensive too--some kind of fancy up-do with curls bouncing in front of her ears.
     Yep, Dollface probably had a butterfly on her butt, a rose on her breast, and weed in her purse, none of which Daddy knew about and Cotton sure as hell wasn't going to try to find out about.
     She was going to get herself in real trouble one of these days, but not with him.    

      This page is a little rough, but you get the idea. Fio has now introduced you to the two antagonists/lovers.

Friday, February 14, 2020

More Mac Drama and Some Life-saving Information

Friday the Thirteenth hit Fiorella hard yesterday when she was trying to give you the second page of Lolly's story--the program insisted on messing with the layout, making the text hard to read and utterly unworkable. (And this was just when Fio thought she finally had all her problems with the Mac taken care of.)
The day wasn't too good for another woman either.
     Fiorella wended her way toward the back of Target to find someone--anyone--who could tell her where children's games were, and ran into a desperate situation. An fifty-ish woman, gray in the face, was seated in a hastily-provided chair and telling two employees that she didn't feel well.
     The employees were trying to hurry her purchase (Target's phones were having their own Friday the Thirteenth) without success and the woman was getting weaker by the moment so Fio took up station by her side, ready to catch or comfort her--whichever was needed
     "Get me a soft drink," the woman muttered to one of the employees. "I'm diabetic." Confusion reigned as the employees ignored her and tried even harder to get the phones to work, but Fio made her own voice heard. "Forget the phones! Get her a drink, NOW!"
     It took more time than Fiorella thought it should have, but the male employee did come back with a soda of some kind that the woman guzzled down. When she had her color and her voice back, she thanked all of us and told us that when diabetics are in trouble, they need sugar.
    Fiorella replayed the situation in her mind all the way home and, to be sure she would never forget, muttered DIABETICS IN TROUBLE NEED SUGAR to herself again and again.
     She hopes you will remember it too.


Thursday, February 13, 2020

Thursday Blues

Fiorella is doing her best to be cheerful and forward-looking, but actually, she's somewhat frightened by the dirty tricks coming out of the White House.
     She's also reeling from another couple of rounds with technology yesterday, first at Click, then at the library, which helps dummies like her on Wednesday afternoons. Hopefully, the problem about the iCloud and privacy protection are now solved, but just in case, she's visiting Click again today.
     Life was so much easier when paper, pen, and typewriters ruled the roost.
Speaking of paper, pen, and typewriters, Fiorella is meeting up with writer friend Ann Bell at--where else?--Starbucks this morning, and hoping to get tips on self-publishing. Everyone else has been doing it for five years, but It will be a new adventure for Yours Truly.
And yes, yes, yes, Fiorella will tease you with one more page of Lolly's story tomorrow.

Wednesday, February 12, 2020

Author at Work

Whether you want to or not, you are going to get a peek at the first page of the romance Fiorella is now working on. She wrote half of it a couple of years ago, but her publisher said it was too hot to handle so Fio put it on the--uh--back burner 😉

     The bartender was johnny-on-the-spot when the tall, tired-looking man stepped into the hotel bar for a quick drink before going up to his room.
     "What can I get you, bud?"
     Cotton's eyebrows went up. Damn. The kid didn't look old enough to belly up to the bar himself, and here he was selling the stuff. Apparently the usual middle-aged staff had been augmented by the younger generation to handle the crowd tonight.
     "Tequila sour. Put it on my room tab. Bogart, 516."
     "Comin' right up."
      Cotton gazed absently at the long mirror behind the bar. Like probably every other venue in Austin, the Peplum was full to overflowing with Capitol City Community College students who were  enjoying their last night of freedom in the record-busting summer heat before second semester summer classes began--and with CCCC's enrollment up over 40,000, that made for some very happy barkeeps.
     Suddenly, his eyes caught a group of giggling girls sitting a couple of tables behind his back to the side--a bright blonde, two brunettes, and two in-betweens, who were staring at him, putting their heads together, squabbling, then staring at him again.
     What was their problem? Didn't like his sweat?
     Sorry, sweet things, but that's what happens when a guy works eight hours straight in hundred-degree heat clearing acetylene torches out of a supply closet to make room for boxes of petrified bones and plaster casts.  
    He gave himself a cursory glance. Yeah, his T-shirt was streaked with grease, his cargo shorts looked like he'd been on a month-long dig, and his Birkenstocks had absorbed enough strata to take him back to the Mesozoic.
     Rubbing his hand across his stubbly jaw, he realized he hadn't shaved today either.
     He took a taste of the drink the bartender had plopped in front of him, then hunched his shoulders and studied the intricately-carved wood railing above the mirror.
     The Peplum was a classy place. Maybe the ladies were planning to get him kicked out.

WARNING: Fio will be adjusting this page as she writes further.


Tuesday, February 11, 2020

Eight Truths can tell you where the group that contributed to your DNA has lived in the past, but not your ethnicity. Thus Fiorella's strong Carpatho-Rusyn heritage, dappled across central and eastern Europe, was never recognized until her cousin's wife traced it down.
Fio can't even make a grocery list without her mother's ghost whispering in her ear about the importance of good hand-writing.
Your girl's lady friends, most of whom do not know each other, are what keep her going. Bless them, one and all.
Fiorella was so startled that she floundered for words when a friend she was meeting up with asked her if she knew where she would go when she died, but, on the way home, she came up with just the right answer: "I will be in God's grace, as I am now."
I write to bite
I write to kiss
With either one
I never miss
If you cut me, I'll bleed words.
Just as Fio bewailed her mother not knowing how to drive, her own kids bewail her lack of computer skills
Fio isn't interested in the pundits' interpretations of what's going on in the world. She wants to know what has actually happened, and she'll take it from there.