Better Late than Never

Fio never discovers good sit-coms until they're in reruns. Her latest is The Big Bang Theory. Yes, she know everyone and their chihuahua has been watching the show since forever, but a couple of days ago she got desperate enough while cruising the wasteland called television programming to pause for a few minutes as the Indian astrophysicist and the Jewish engineer were heading out for an evening of Goth. Last night she watched the whole episode in which Sheldon takes on the other three in a physics superbowl.

It was fun, harmless, and all ended well.

Life should be so good.

Autumn Chainsaws

Summer is over, at last. Temperatures are dropping, shadows are reaching across the road, and the voice of the chainsaw is heard in the land. Time to harvest summer's dead hardwoods to provide next winter's firewood. Time to cut cedar to protect against next summer's wildfires.

When Fiorella and Husband first moved onto their five and one-third wooded acres seven years ago, Fio wanted every tree to remain in place, but the drought has changed her mind.

Husband is sharpening the chainsaws.

Devotional Song

Here is my voice--
Use it as you will,
To laud, lament, rejoice;
My voice is yours until--
I can sing no more.

Here are my hands--
Use them as you will,
To comfort, help, and heal;
My hands are yours until--
I can do no more.

Here is my life--
Use it as you will,
To love, inspire, and teach;
My life is yours until--
I can live no more.

Here is my heart--
Use it as you will,
For faith, devotion, prayer,
My heart is yours to fill--
Forever more.

Unlucky Thirteen

A writing friend made a reference the other day to how well Fio is doing on Contest Diva, an internet site on which writers are ranked according to the number of contests in which they have made the final cut. Fiorella was aware of the listings, but had stopped checking them months ago when several of her triumphs failed to show up.

Surprise--the site had caught up with her. In spades. Fio has her own little niche--thirteen finals, second behind a woman with seventeen finals.

But she'd trade every one of those finals for one feisty little agent.

Fire'em Up!

Fio forgot to tell you about the fire scare at last weekend's conference. It was the best floor show ever.

On Friday night, after the awards, we all went down to dinner, picking up our food from the buffet in one large room and moving into a second big room to sit around tables and enjoy each other's company. Both rooms were full of jabbering women.

Some red dealies on the wall labeled "fire alarm" began to flash, but no one paid any attention. When a loud ta-woot started sounding, we just talked louder. Finally the hotel personnel began herding us out to the plaza in front of the hotel. We waited awhile, the tumult growing, until six good-looking firefighters and a policeman, in single file, parted us like the Red Sea and strode into the hotel.

Genuine heroes for our books! After about ten minutes, the guys paraded out again and we all applauded.

If only they'd been Chippendales.

Flavor of the Week

Every day a new life-style study seems to come out. Eating chocolate extends women's lives by three months. Drinking coffee also adds some extra time. And quaffing red wine staves off dementia, as do fatty fish.

Fiorella's eyes are glazing over. It's like the late 1800s. when everyone and their dog was setting up eating regimens, one of which--Kellog--gave Fio her favorite breakfast cereal, shredded wheat.

But maybe we've got the cart before the horse. Maybe it's that the people who snack on chocolate, drink coffee, and eat fatty fish have more access to health care or were born with hardier genes.

Fio suspects most of these studies are question-answer surveys. She's withholding her endorsement until she sees medical reports explaining why these things work.

Whoopee!

Fiorella admits it--she is a contest slut. And this weekend she traveled to New Jersey, where she attended a writing conference in coordination with the Put Your Heart in a Book contest for unpublished romance writers, where she won first in single title contemporary for the second year in a row.

Agents, editors--where are you? Fio's cute, she's charming and--wink, shoulder roll--she's available.