Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Content

The contest's over
I'm in the lead
What I have
Is all I need

Tuesday, November 29, 2016

Christmas Present

I've written my Christmas sonnet! The premise came to me last week when I got stuck in my second traffic jam of the year. Once burned, twice shy, I was armed with pen and paper--no sense wasting time--and I jotted down ideas every time we came to a dead halt. I'd been afraid that I'd have a hard time coming up with a topic this year because, after all, this would be my what--twentieth?--Christmas poem, but the recent "election" made me think about what horrible pestilences God could loose upon a nation, and I realized I had not only a unique Christmas topic, but could also write a sonnet that fulfilled my vow to keep on fighting for what is right. I'll post the poem at the appropriate time. Meanwhile, stay strong..


Monday, November 28, 2016

Frrom Credit Card to Car to Christmas to Consciences

Fiorella went out to the garage to go through the cars one more time before she called her credit card carrier to beg for her second duplicate this year, and while she was at it, she decided to wash the remains of several foul birds' lunches off her baby car from when she had visited with friend Paula at Dan's Hamburgers earlier in the week. The hose was kinked and the fire ants swarmed her like she was Goliath attacking the Israelites, but she prevailed except for a spot or two on the roof that she hopes will wear off in the next rain. While she was in the garage area, she decide she might as well pull those bags of tinsel rope off the Christmas storage shelves so she could drape the the silvery stuff along the driveway. Of course, this required her to move several panels of wood and fiberboard, but, heck--Fio lifts weights.

Back to the credit card. It never turned up, although Fiorella found a utility bill  and a Christmas catalog in the trash pile on the passenger seat of her car. She wrote out a check for the bill, but damned the catalog to deepest hell. It was a Hammecher Schlammeker--you know the one aimed at people with too much money and too little social conscience.

But, back to the credit card again, Fio swallowed her pride and called her carrier for another new card. It's on its way now, during which time Fiorella is sure the old card will turn up. That's the way the old ball bounces.


Sunday, November 27, 2016

Memo to Google News

Dear Google News: Fio wants to make it clear that she has no interest in Jennifer Aniston's uterus or whatever is going on with Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie or anything having to do with the Kardashians or the latest scheme the Duggars have cooked up to sustain their faltering brand. Nor is Fiorella interested in political speculation--once burned, twice shy. What she wants to read is news, real news, not fake news, what is actually happening in this country and around the world, with a few uplifting side stories thrown in.

Saturday, November 26, 2016

What's Happenin'

Fio found Husband's wallet and hearing aids, which have been missing since he came home from the hospital. Now to find her credit card and wedding ring, which disappeared within the last few days. She had to use cash in Target and her checkbook in H-E-B. Talk about back to the Dark Ages.
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Time to haul out the Christmas decorations. Not only Austin son and his wife, but nephew Barrett and his wife have volunteered to help Fio decorate this year. And Minnesota son and his wife will be coming down from winter wonderland to join us for the big holiday dinner.
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Stand in line--Fiorella is giving away her treasures piece by piece. She wants to simplify her life.    

Friday, November 25, 2016

Co-mingling

Bon jour, mia bella! Como esta usted sevodna? Neenu teluguloo maaTlaaDagalaru. Koennen Sie diese Sprache sprechen? Zdai chen!

Ave atque vale,
Fio, who's messing with you


Thursday, November 24, 2016

Happy Thanksgiving, 2016

FIORELLA IS THANKFUL that she pulled through her sorrow about the election and has become a stronger, more determined person because of it. She even survived a second traffic jam on I-35 yesterday, partially because she'd thought about her over-the-top fury on Wednesday and realized it wasn't just a reaction to boredom, time being wasted, and anxiety about missing her appointment. It was because she is claustrophobic and felt trapped, and when Fio feels trapped, she fights back.

On Wednesday, she fought back by making noise--screaming, honking her horn, beating on the steering wheel, none of which worked, obviously. But now Fio feels trapped by the political situation, and she is determined to fight back with a stronger, louder weapon--her pen--and she hopes you will do the same with your own talents and skills.  We must all work together to make our world a better place for our children.

Blessings to you and yours on this Thanksgiving Day, and may your hearts be brave and your turkey tasty.


Wednesday, November 23, 2016

A Woman's Work Is Never Done

Fiorella's Spanish studies have taken a back seat to the election, her book, and yard work these past two weeks, but now she's ready to swing back into linguistic action. She has several pages of new words to post all around the house, verbs and conjugations to learn, and maybe a class to take, if she can work it to her busy schedule. After all, she still has the election, her book, and the yard work to deal with.

Tuesday, November 22, 2016

How Does Your Garden Grow

At Voltaire's urging, Fio is tending her own garden again, but this time she's planting it with thistles and dragonsteeth, nettles and bloodwort.  For what is right, she will fight.

Monday, November 21, 2016

Pioneer Woman

The temps are down to the forties, and the roar of chainsaws echoes in the land as our rural neighborhood prepares for winter. Fio took an hour break from working on her novel yesterday to help Husband cut some firewood, then filled a trash can with rotting wood from out in what the yardman calls "el  parke" to use as punk. As usual, she is determined to be as self-sufficient fire-wise as possible--no store-bought wood, no H-E-B starters.

Sunday, November 20, 2016

Favorite Time of Year

Autumn is here. It was below sixty degrees yesterday evening, and Fio didn't get a single mosquito bite when she hiked up to the mailbox.. She does have a cold though, but she can deal with that.
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Fio is, at last, back to work on her book. Strangely enough, the heartbreak of last week has strengthened her resolve and sharpened her pen. She will write deep, she will write strong. She will send her messages out to the world.
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Sonia Dog has had a couple of re-occurrences of her leg problem, but she is now bouncing up the stairs with ease again. Of course, while she was down, Mommy and Daddy had to switch on and off sleeping on the couch with her so she wouldn't yelp all night.
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Fio and Husband got some important gardening work done just before the temperatures dropped, and twenty-six boxwoods now guard the edge of their front yard.  Next spring, Fio plans to plant nandenas and a third ligustrum. Anything to cover the AC units.
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Husband is talking about chopping up some dead tree limbs for firewood. The time is at hand.


Saturday, November 19, 2016

Human Decency and Civil Discourse

I have a very dear friend who voted for Trump. I was appalled, but never questioned her choice just as she never questioned my support of Hillary--we coexisted in our friendship because we both respect the freedom of the ballot. But I do not respect the ugly posters, the gloating, the jeering, and the personal attacks that have been posted since the election by some of Trump's supporters. Their behavior has not made me question my choice or retreat into a cave to lick my wounds. If anything, it has strengthened my resolve to use every talent and skill I have to promote human decency and civil discourse. For what is right, I will fight.

Friday, November 18, 2016

WARNING!

In one way or another, our planet recycles everything from people to glaciers to forests to magnificent edifices. All is transformed, nothing is wasted, nothing is lost--except for all the metal we have been sending into space for the last fifty years. Think about it. The weight of our planet has already shrunk by hundreds of tons.

Thursday, November 17, 2016

Yesterday's News

Fiorella had it all planned out. She woke up at 7:00 and packed all her stuff in a tote, then set off at 8:00 for her ophthamologist appointment in Austin at 9:20. The drive usually takes forty-five minutes, but Fio allowed for traffic slowdowns on the interstate. What she did not bargain for was almost three hours of claustrophobic inch-by-inch driving. She staggered into the doctor's office late, but the women at the desk understood and assured her they would be able to  fit her in within an hour, but Fio asked them to set the new appointment for 1:30 because she had another appointment at 11:30.

But the 11:30 appointment didn't work out. At loose ends, Fio picked up a Colonel Sanders lunch and drove around a little, then attended her 1:30 ophthamology appointment. As part of the exam, her eyes were dilated, so afterwards, so she waited about an hour until she thought the dilation had abated enough for her to drive. She  took off at about 3:00. Horror upon horror, she had trouble seeing the lane divides. Nothing to do but take the access roads, drive slowly, and pray. Needless to say, several drivers indicated their displeasure.

When Fio finally made it home and told Husband about her day, he wasn't at all sympathetic. In fact, he was horrified when she told him that after two hours of stand-still traffic, she had started screaming, banging her wheel, and honking her horn. For her part, Fio was not happy to see the house was in disarray and that, again, the front door had been left hanging open.

Husband went upstairs, and Fio heard a sound like someone falling hard. She ran up to the bedroom and found Husband face down, half on the bed, half on the floor, He told her that not only had he been dizzy for a couple of days, but he'd fallen earlier in the day when she was gone. With visions of a pneumonia relapse dancing in her head and getting angrier with every mile, Fiorella, still fighting left-over dilation, drove him to the emergency room. She already had enough on her plate, and now she was facing a repeat of the in-and-out horror of a couple of months ago. It was too much.

She threw a fit in the hospital, something she would have never believed herself capable of. She sees herself as the nice person, the one who keeps her head when all about were losing theirs. But the worm had turned. Enough was enough. She yelled. She cried, She cursed. She got escorted out by a security guard and a counselor.

The counselor talked with her as she sobbed her heart out. He was a nice guy who told her to be good to herself and relax, yada, yada, which is all well and good, but Fio, whose prime directive is action, doesn't want to relax. She wants to accomplish--to write books and paint pictures and learn languages. She wants, to save the world.

Is that too much to ask?

PS: The dilation left-over persisted and she had to drive all the way home  in the dark of night at a snail's pace, with every headlight, traffic light, and neon sign shattering into vibrant colors in front of her. Always have a designated driver with you when you go to the ophthamologist.

Yesterday's News

Fiorella had it all planned out. She woke up at 7:00 and packed all her stuff in a tote, then set off at 8:00 for her ophthamalogist appointment in Austin at 9:20. The drive usually takes forty-five minutes, but Fio allowed for traffic slowdowns on the interstate. What she did not bargain for was almost three hours of claustrophobic inch-by-inch driving. She staggered into the doctor's office late, but the women at the desk understood and assured her they would be able to  fit her in within an hour, but Fio asked them to set the new appointment for 1:30 because she had another appointment at 11:30.

But the 11:30 appointment didn't work out. At loose ends, Fio picked up a Colonel Sanders lunch and drove around a little, then attended her 1:30 appointment. As part of the exam, her eyes were dilated, and afterwards, she waited about an hour till she thought the dilation had abated enough for her to drive. She  took off at about 3:00, horror upon horror, had trouble seeing the lane divides. Nothing to do but take the access roads, drive slowly, and pray. Needless to say, several drivers indicated their displeasure.

When Fio finally made it home and told Husband about her day, he wasn't at all sympathetic. In fact, he was horrified that, an hour of stand-still traffic, she had started screaming, banging her wheel, and honking her horn. For her part, Fio was not happy to see the house was in disarray and discover that the front door was hanging open.

Husband went upstairs, and Fio heard a sound like someone falling hard. She ran up to the bedroom and found Husband face down, half on the bed, half on the floor and he told her that not only had he been dizzy for a couple of days, but he'd fallen earlier in the day when she was gone. With visions of a pneumonia relapse dancing in her head, Fiorella,  fighting left-over dilation the whole way, drove him lickity-split to the emergency room, getting angrier with every mile. She already had enough on her plate, and now she was facing a repeat of the in-and-out horror of a couple of months ago. It was too much.

She threw a fit in the hospital, something she would have never believed herself capable of--she'd always striven so hard to be a nice person, the one who kept her head when all about were losing theirs. But the worm had turned. Enough was enough. She yelled, cried, and cursed. She got escorted out by a security guard and a counselor.

The counselor stayed and talked with her as she sobbed her heart out. He told her to be good to herself and relax, yada, yada, which is all well and good, but Fio, whose inborn prime directive is action, doesn't want to relax. She wants to accomplish--to write books and paint pictures and learn languages, to walk into a neat, clean, organized house, and to save the world.

Is that too much to ask?

(PS: The dilation left-over persisted and she had to drive all the way home slowly, complete with honking cars, in the dark of night with every headlight, traffic light, and neon sign shattering into colors in front of her. And you wonder why she's tense.)

Wednesday, November 16, 2016

Revelation

I thought that I would never stop crying
That I would never heal
But fire has burned away the dross
And now, I am steel

Tuesday, November 15, 2016

Fictional Role Models

Fiorella spent most of her youth with her nose buried in a book. She learned tenacity from The Little Engine That Could, feminism from the story of a girl bunny who crashed the glass ceiling and became an Easter rabbit, the power of a positive attitude from Pollyanna, rolling with the punches from Heidi, a belief in the future from Girl of the Limberlost, and human decency from Anne of Green Gables. Husband's heroes were the Lone Ranger and Captain Corbett of the the Space Patrol. No wonder we turned out so well.

Monday, November 14, 2016

Call to Action.

Think about the effect on the country of books like Uncle Tom's Cabin, Silent Spring, The Jungle, Anne Frank: Diary of a Young Girl. Think about role models like Harry Potter, Dorothy of Oz, Anne of Green Gables, the Little Engine that Could. Writers have the power within them to change the world. Now is the time to write strong, write deep.

Sunday, November 13, 2016

Lament

Back to the weeping all the time--while driving, in the doctor's office, at home, at Target, wherever, because Fiorella is afraid. Having lived a life littered with unexpected hurdles and many black pits, Fiorella is the queen of what-if, and everything she pictures as the aftermath of the election is scary. Fiorella's angry too. Those who took the high road are being vilified while those who took the low road have been uplifted and glorified.

Where is God?

Saturday, November 12, 2016

Defiance

I'm not big
I'm not strong
But at least I know
Right from wrong

Friday, November 11, 2016

Empowerment

Fiorella is moving into another stage of grief--anger. She's angry at what happened, angry at people who derided her sorrow, and angry at her own helplessness. But, as friend Shiloh Walker pointed out, Fio is NOT helpless--she can write. So this afternoon Fio finished the third revision of her work-in-progress, decided to self-publish a book that's been sitting in her documents pages for way too long because it was considered too "daring," and plotted out a book about a woman who is flaming angry--like she is.

Thursday, November 10, 2016

Aftermath

I joined Facebook a couple of years ago because my agent told me to, but I soon learned to enjoy it for itself, reconnecting with old friends, and making new friends. And now it is my major comfort. Not only have FB friends wept along with me, but they've used directed lasers at a couple of mean-minded attackers. Patricia, Shiloh, Tommie, Clara Sue--THANK YOU!

Wednesday, November 9, 2016

Father, Forgive Them

I cried all night long. She was crucified on a  cross of hate by a man whose only god is the almighty dollar. Have I stepped into an alternate universe?  Is this all a bad dream?

Tuesday, November 8, 2016

Second Tuesday in November

It's here at last, election day
May all go as it should, I pray
May ignorance and hatred fail
May harmony and hope prevail
Bless our nation, God, today
Show us the path, thy rightful way


Monday, November 7, 2016

Rural Witchery

Fiorella has a witch's garden out front. Every shrub, plant, and flower in it is poisonous, although she did chop out her oleanders today to make room for ligustrums. No evil plans afoot, no murderous beverages brewing--it's just that Fio lives in deer territory, and pansies, caladiums, oleanders, ligustrums, boxwoods, and the like are the only greeneries that Bambi thinks twice about before sucking them down like a vacuum cleaner.

Sunday, November 6, 2016

New Skill Set

Wow--Fio unleashed a firestorm on Facebook when she said that Hillary had self control and Trump didn't. The debate went vicious, then nasty when a Trump enthusiast sabotaged her timeline by posting fifteen copies of an anti-Hillary propaganda sheet. Luckily Fio woke up in the middle of the night (probably on a nudge from God) and figured out how to take them all down, thus adding a new tool to her electronic skill set.
Fio, who supports free speech even if it disagrees with her, has never had to censor anyone before.

New Skill Set

Wow--Fio unleashed a firestorm on Facebook when she said that Hillary had self control and Trump didn't. The debate went vicious, then nasty when a Trump enthusiast sabotaged her timeline by posting fifteen copies of an anti-Hillary propaganda sheet. Luckily Fio woke up in the middle of the night (probably on a nudge from God) and figured out how to take them all down, thus adding a new tool to her electronic skill set.
Fio, who supports free speech even if it disagrees with her, has never had to do that before.

Saturday, November 5, 2016

Taking on All Comers

Fiorella doesn't understand.  After she and her brother left the family nest, her mother had a hard time finding ways to occupy herself and actually went through a period of depression. Fio herself has wrestled with depression from time to time, but never from lack of things to do. There are always pictures to paint, languages to learn at, stories to write, a house to whip into shape, and now, five and one-third acres to tame. Fio's often feels overwhelmed, but she's never at loose ends.

Friday, November 4, 2016

Literary Notes

Hooray for Fio--she's back in the saddle again.  Yes, she picked up her notebook and went over the first three chapters of Phillipa's story yesterday, and today she'll review three more chapters. It's been a long time coming and  feels so good!
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Fiorella attended a little get-together of about six neighborhood ladies last week where the hostess mentioned that Fio is a writer, igniting interest which Fio hopes will leads to sales. Word of mouth is still the best advertiser there is. Thank you, Kathy.
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Fio's going to get on her bandwagon now and complain about men's fiction--thrillers--being considered respectable and women's fiction--romances--being snickered at. It's sexism, plain and simple.

Thursday, November 3, 2016

Ideal Day

What would Fiorella's ideal day be like, you ask?  Well, it would be cool but sunny, and she would spend time with Husband and dog, visit with friends, write, paint, and work on her languages. In the meantime, the house and the yard would magically organize themselves just as she had planned.

Sigh...

Wednesday, November 2, 2016

Determination

It's settled. Fiorella will be spending a a fair amount of time tomorrow visiting with friend Paula and attending a physical therapy session one of her doctors signed her up for, but after she gets home, she's going to devote at least two hours to her third book, the one that stopped dead three months ago when "the troubles" began. Maybe even a couple of hours more.

Tuesday, November 1, 2016

Blood in the Streets

Aha!  Fiorella predicted it--one more Trump reveal, as if anyone cares at this point. Apparently Donald and his family handle the many lawsuits leveled against their fraudulent enterprises by destroying the paper trail as soon as documentation is requested by the court--and THEY GET AWAY WITH IT.

SHAME! LOCK THEM ALL UP!