To Spanish or Not to Spanish

Husband is tucked away upstairs for the night so Fio has parked herself on the couch to watch La Doble Vida de Estela Carrillo--but there's some dumb awards show on instead. GRRRR!
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Fiorella can translate written Spanish better now, but she hasn't made much progress with the spoken language. It's a matter of not having anyone to practice with.
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Strangely enough, trying to learn Spanish has triggered Fio's long-forgotten Russian again. She keeps saying things like myedlenuh, puhzhaulsta (slower, please) or deliberately combining the languages, like gdyeh estan mis pildoras (where are my pills?), which makes her laugh. But then as Husband has always said, Fio is easily amused.
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Fio is looking at the awards show screen now. Good grief. The "dress" that Mexican cantante is almost wearing looks like a single layer of some ultra-shear semi-fabric. Fio knows that's show biz, but she'd like to see more taste and less skin, more elegance and less "I've gone about as far as I can go." Has it ever dawned on anyone that the end of extreme has been breached and the only outfit that would be different enough now to draw everyone's attention is a something simple and in good taste?
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Fiorella has learned a lot about the Mexican-American music industry from La Doble Vida. And about being undocumented. And about drug lords and crooked politicians. Yep, it's cup runneth over.

Here and There

The older Fio gets, the more she likes clouds. Hope that means she's headed to heaven someday.
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 Ah, a new month, a new chance. And this month has Fio's birthday in it, which gives her a double chance.
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Fio's book is jolting along, and what drives it is some advice Fio's literary agent, Liza Dawson, gave her four years ago: every scene must move the story forward. (To which Fiorella adds what Tracy Wolff once said at an RWA meeting: let the POV be from the viewpoint of the person who has the most to lose.)
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Fio's getting closer and closer to signing up for an on-line Spanish class. She just can't stand not knowing what the characters on the telenovelas are talking  about.
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Speaking of telenovelas, Minnesota Son said most of the guns the characters on La Piloto were toting were berrettas. Apparently there is not much diversity in the television gun wardrobe closet.

Snippets Of Real Life

All hail to nurses because Fiorella isn't cut out for it. First of all, she doesn't have the build, so thank goodness that Minnesota son came down to Texas to help. Six-three and and solid, he could provide a lot more ballast than Fio could when walking Husband down the stairs. Second, Fio will admit that she doesn't has the temperament for nursing. She's sympathetic, but impatient.
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Fio, who was clocking at 82 mph in the fast lane, was passed in a New York second by a line of cars in the next lane over who quickly disappeared in the distance. It was a Flash pass.
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When you need refueling, there's nothing like having lunch with a good friend, one who's stuck with you through thick and thin, who knows everything there is to know about you. Thank you, Paula Marks. You're my lifeline.

Downers

Nothing like opening up the morning with four loads of laundry that Fio brought home from Husband's rehab hospital, son still in bed with a migraine, and a computer that refuses to perform,
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The cast iron plants that Fiorella spent hours planting--and replanting--are looking sallow, and an armadillo has been tearing up the planting bed and the lawn. We'll have to get out the trap again.
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Fio cleaned out under the couch and found six pens and seven rawhide dog bones, but not the credit card she was looking for.
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Estella was killed off in La Piloto. Everyone but the bad guys are getting killed off. Mena is probably next.
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Fio's hair refuses to behave. She looks awful.

Potpourrie

Fio is a slave to her wristwatch. First thing in the morning, it slips itself around her wrist like a manacle and the rat race begins.
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As Melania has said, if Trump is hit, he hits back three time as hard. So, because Macron over-powered his power grip, Trump decided to screw the world.
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Fiorella isn't as enraged as others seem to be about the bodies buried beneath churches, hospitals, and other edifices. Actually, she thinks we all live on top of decay, human and otherwise. Life has been around for a long time now, and death has to end up somewhere.
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Fio can write what she cannot say.
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I can't do it all
I'm not a one-man band
Come on, people,
Please--lend me a hand

Leftovers

People always think Fio is an extrovert, but actually, she's an introvert who talks a lot.
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Fio just realized that the first letters of Trump's kids' names spell out D-E-B-I-T. Think about it.
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Vision, what they see, is the dominant force driving some people. For other people, noise, what they hear, is their dominant force. The former, like Fiorella, are artists. The latter, like Husband, are musicians. Fio requires silence and Husband needs sound, sound, sound.
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Pray for Fio. It looks like she'll have most of the day free to write--after she's picked up some timbers at Home Depot to finish off her raised iron plant bed, of course.
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La Piloto seems to be resolving its major plot points. Dave and Yolanda are together at last, and John Lucio is in federal prison. Now for Zulima, who killed Amanda, to gets her just deserts. Also, Oscar Lucio should join his brother in the hoosegow, Colonel Santamaria should meet a bloody end, and the corrupt politicians should be exposed. Fio hopes that Monica will be exonerated and receive her own happy ending, but has a feeling that she's going to sacrifice herself to save Dave or Yolanda.
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Husband will be getting his knee replaced soon. A couple of months ago, his left shoulder was replaced. Fio has quite a few replacements herself. The airport metal detectors are going to have a field day.

Fiorella Ponders

If all goes well, Fiorella is getting a workable GPS today. Minnesota Son gave her one for Christmas last year, but there was no  way to install it in her Miata, so when Son visited recently, he arranged for a friend of his to look the situation over. Scott Williams is making a whole new fitting to be able to to affix the mechanism to Fio's dashboard, which would mean means she could zoom down to the southern boondocks to visit her grandbaby any time she wants.
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The Georgetown post office didn't have any postcards in stock when the barrage of Paul Ryan's home address was scheduled so Fio had to drive down to Austin to pick some up--two weeks late. Hmmm... Why is that Georgetown is always out of postcards? Maybe because they've become the Resistance's weapons of choice, and Gtown bleeds red?
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To my children; Ever since the three of you were born, you have been the most important people in my life, but as you grew up, I became less and less important to you, which is how it should be. And when the time comes that I no longer recognize you, please love yourselves enough to  abandon me. I do not want to be a burden.
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The final thing Fio ponders is why she tries to write late at night. She's embarrassed at how much morning-after editing she's had to do on this post to make it readable. Apologies.

The Yard

 Facebook is, as advertised, really great for connecting with old friends and acquaintances. Of course, Fio always tries to put her best foot forward.  The photos she posts are framed and cropped so no one will know Fio has a pile of mulch in a corner of the yard and the bayberries still aren't hiding the AC units the way she wants them to.
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Fio's latest outside endeavor, aside from the driveway edging, is lining the west side of the house with cast iron plants. The flowering sages, which had reigned there for about ten years, caught some kind of fungus infection and Fio had to whack them down to the roots, then ask Fernando, her wonderful yard man, to finish the job. But, alas, Fernando comes just once a month so Fiorella has to do the replanting replacement all on her own. Dig, Fio, dig!

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The only drawback to having a driveway lined with rocks is that a riding mower can't get over them gracefully, which is the reason Fio and Husband replaced the rocks with easily-movable four-foot-long landscape timbers at strategic places along the way.  Then Fio realized that although Husband can get his own riding mower through four-foot gaps, Fernando's professional mower needs a five-foot gap. So, yes, that was Fio you saw at Home Depot having eight landscape timbers cut to five-feet plus (just to be sure), lowering the passenger seat of Husband's car as far as possible so the timbers could be loaded, then driving slowly and carefully home and unloading them.  And one of these days,  she promises, she'll get them distributed.

Pruners, GPS, Girl Scouts

Fiorella is thinking of grabbing her pruners to take care of a couple of unwanted bushes in el parke and of a couple of springtime cedar branches that are grabbing for her hairevery time she passes by. She's also looking over areas to plant cast iron plants, which Brother and his wife have offered her. Maybe in place of the sages along the west side of the house, which appear to have developed rust.
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Did Fio tell you that Scott Williams, a friend of older son, is going to be fixing her Christmastime GPS so Fio can finally use it? Then she'll be able to head down the road to see Baby anytime she wants to.
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Hey, hey, hey--Fio finally figure out how to get the las botellas de pildoras de plastico (plastic pill bottles) to the Girl Scouts without having to drive to Round Rock. MAIL THEM!

All Hail Rocks!

Rocks are the basis of mankind's existence. Think about it--the caves our acestors lived in, the houses they built, the wells, the walls, the churches, the fortresses, the castles. Think of Plymouth Rock, of Petra, the city carved out of standing stone. Think of the old hymn "Rock of Ages," a religious analogy. We could not live without rocks.
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Your Fiorella is such a rock lover that she cannot pass by a decorative pile of them in front of a store or restaurant without giving it a critical look-over for interesting specimens she could grab, much to Husband's embarrasment.
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When Fio can figure out how to post a picture again, she'll show you the interesting rock she found in the load that vecina Kathy gave her for Easter. It has a glittering clam shell petrified into it.

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.    

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.

Tidbits a la Mode

Happy birthday to Sonia dog!  She is five wonderful years old today, and Fio loves her more than ever.
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Fiorella's prediction of two more Trump biggies before the election has come half-true, but Fio's timing was off.  Instead of it coming before the third debate, it came at the end of it, and el hombre malo provided it by calling Clinton a "nasty woman" like a second-grader saying all girls have cooties. Now let's see if there's another reveal between now and November 7.
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When Fio opened her front door and picked up the newspaper this morning, she noticed there were a few dead leaves on it and the porch.  Aaah--fall is here at last.

Older

Fiorella is officially an old lady, but that's better than being a dead old lady. To prove her maturity, she wears the universal pendant of old age, a personal alarm button.  (Truth to tell, the major reason is that she might take a fall or encounter a rattler or  copperhead the hard way while she is exploring the wildwoods.)
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There should probably be an upper age limit for drivers, but then how could older people get around to buy clothes and groceries, visit with friends, and attend doctor appointments?
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This topic is depressing. Fio needs her hair done, some botox, a photofacial, and a pedicure to cheer her up.

Updating Sonia Dog

Sonia dog is wise to the odors of humankind. She huddles on the couch, dejected but accepting, when  she smells Chanel #5 because that means Mommy is about to drive off somewhere without her.  And she rushes to the door, her tail wagging, when she smells mosquito repellent because that means Mommy is about to go out into the yard and she is welcome to accompany her.
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Sonia likes her morning ceremonies.  She demands a new-day rub down, then expects to receive a  rawhide bone, the leftover milk from Mommy's breakfast cereal bowl, and a Milkbone..  And if Mommy forgets anything, Sonia clues her in by whining piteously or delivering a sharp, reprimanding bark.
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Sonia is a homebody. She is the on;y dog Fiorella has ever had that doesn't make a run for freedom the second the door is opened. Instead, when Mommy invites her out, she explores the area for new (and suspicious) developments, then waits patiently on the porch for Mommy to let her back inside so she can nap on the couch again..

Five Fio Factoids

Fiorella planned to grow up tall, slender, graceful, dignified, and serene.  Guess who didn't hit her mark, mark, mark, mark, mark.
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Fiorella's operates by priorities, lists, and systems. And yeah, she's a three-things-at-once kind of gal.
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Fiorella likes people.  She's interested in them, especially the ones she doesn't understand.
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Fiorella knows all those words but usually doesn't use them. Usually.
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Fio has a deep need to communicate, to express herself. So far she's written books, short stories, poetry, essays, and reported for newspapers and magazines. She also maintains this blog and is active on Facebook. The girl just can't keep her mouth shut or her pen still.

From Microsoft to Motherhood

Fio woke up to a phone call from "Arthur," who told her that he was from Microsoft. "Sure you are," she replied, then started laughing.  Damn. "Arthur" hung up without giving her a chance to exercise her espanol on him.
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Fiorella has been screaming a lot and crying a lot this past week. The screaming is when she is trying to burst through roadblocks.  The crying is when someone is kind to her.
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Fio is blessed to have good friends and a loving family, but when it comes right down to it, she is the wife and mother, the one who has to make the decisions and deal with the consequences.

Trump--The Man Who Would Be God

Fiorella has noticed that the Republican Presidential candidate is not on a first name basis with himself,  instead preferring to refer to himself as "Mr. Trump" or "President Trump," Even more preferable of course, is "God Trump."
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Have you picked up the pattern?  Whenever The Donald is in an uncomfortable situation--like visiting a black church, or being a guest on a talk show, or shuffling off to Mexico like a trained bear--he is totally non-reactive. There is no identification with his audience, no crossing of wits with Jimmy Kimmel, no meaningful discussion. The man has has no empathy, no wit, and no brain.
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Trump's FB ads have been a weird cross of hucksterism and begging.  They've also been amateurish--grammar errors and bizarre photos.  Fio suspects Trump and the Trumpets are making the videos themselves in the old Apprentice studio in Trump Tower, then billing the Republican National Committee big bucks for their "labor."

Spanish. Dream. Ditty

Fiorella lost a dia.  She didn't sleep well en el noche de martes, but more than made up for it on miercoles, which means most of her to-do list remains not-done. She didn't learn any mas palabras en espanol, work on her libro, check on a missing amiga, write some important letters, or any other pressing items. So on jueves she'd better dig in. Wish her bien.
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UPDATE: Fio had a wonderful dream last noche, that her hija had married prince and had a bebe and the royal familia had come to visit.  The other abuela handed Fio the bebe and a bueno time was had by todo, especially Fio.
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Fio must be
Very sweet
Because
Mosquitoes find her
Quite a treat

Mosquitos, Writing, Languages, Art

Fio and Husband have had an in-house mosquito problem for about a week now and emptying out standing water isn't doing the trick.  Fio has got to find some kind of safe in-house spray. Wish her luck.
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Hey, hey, hey--Fiorella has finished revision #3 and will start #4 today. On the other hand, her email is on the outs again. Time to switch to gmail.
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Fio is satisfying her language hunger with el espanol, but the art hunger is growing again.  Is that woman never satisfied?