Wednesday, April 12, 2017

Spring in Atlantic Canada

Yesterday, it was sixty degrees and sunny. It was the first day of Spring. I have to remember this for next year, so I won't be disappointed the first week of April when it is 30 degrees, foggy and raining with not one bud in sight. I am not kidding. I went out to examine the trees. Nothing. No plants bursting through the soil. Zip. Nada. Zero.

Yesterday, the hostas leaves appeared. You might have heard me yelling: "The hosta is up! The hosta is up!" And there are tight buds on some trees. I had a simile in mind--tight as a--but unfortunately I cannot use it on this blog. Fill it in yourself.

Hosta grows like bushes here.

 What to do on the first day of spring in Nova Scotia? You go for a walk on the beach, of course. We chose the beach in Blandford (about a ten minute drive) and walked near the water. I took on a hefty stride while Tom dawdled looking for shells in the sand.

Look at me, I'm walking so well, I thought to myself. Good girl, I thought. Watch me go. I am woman; hear me howl.
I am alive and well!

Then a little stream came up from the ocean and cut through the sand. I'll just hop this. I stomped my foot into a large pile of seaweed, which collapsed and sent me diving forward landing in water and sand. I was not hurt, only humiliated. To add to the humiliation, I could hardly get up. 

I was like a rolling walrus on a seesaw.

These are not good images to have of oneself, but I have a feeling they are more accurate than not. 

In a half mile, the beach ran out altogether, so I would have to recross the stream. Tom yelled at me not to do that and told me to he'd pick me up in the car. I had to to climb a small wall of rocks to get to the road. I couldn't do it. My knees don't support climbing over a few rocks. He had to get out of the car and pull that ox out of the mire.

I know another beach!

I have been patiently waiting for my print copy of YOU ARE BORING, but I think that Amazon has sent it with an old man riding a rusted out Schwinn bike from 1955. It doesn't come and it doesn't come and it doesn't come.

Wide-brimmed Hosta. They grow like bushes in Nova Scotia.

Friday, March 31, 2017

The book has posted!

This is publishing day. It's up and running on The print release will be out in another

If it had been up to Ann and me, it would still be sitting in a desk drawer. (How many times have I told students you can't sell a book that's lying in a drawer)!

It is Tom, who deserves hours of French kissing, for getting the book up and running, for inviting friends to write reviews and for negotiating with the Amazon gods.

And it is Charles, my son, who designed the cover and the type set. Hours and hours of work while I hid under the blankets.

I have good men in my life. I have good friends in my life. Thank you all!

Thursday, March 23, 2017

Watching ducks and so much more

Last evening I caught these two ducks swimming on a puddle out in front of our house, the result of snow melt. Surely, a sign of spring. A few days ago, the first robins of the year pecked at the sodden lawn. Spring.

This morning, the puddle was frozen solid and Tom was out knocking snow off the car again. So we went shopping for a blender and a bathroom scale. My slacks are getting tight and it was time to face the reality. I shrieked when I weighed myself. 

So it's back to drinking my meals and counting calories. 

Wouldn't it be great if we could go on a diet and lose age?

--Louise, you're looking great!

--Thank you, I've lost ten years. I'm 64 again. I feel wonderful. And I remember all my old phone numbers again.

--How did you do it?

--Erasayear. It was easy. I had to sleep a month for every year I wanted to lose. Tom fed me through a tube inserted in my stomach. Now he's home sleeping until Christmas.
It's good for the marriage too!

ERASAYEAR. I'm on board.

Tuesday, March 21, 2017

25 Models for writing memoir now available!

Ann and I wrote this book together on Tuesday mornings while eating hot cross buns and drinking Dr. Peppers. You can read it the same way. It's available on Amazon.Com for $2.99. You can
preorder today for a March 31 publishing date.

Buy it and start a summer writing group with your friends. Write about your life and appreciate who you are. You won't be boring!

Saturday, March 11, 2017

Are you married yet, Maxwell?

Maxwell with his mom, Erica

Last week, was Maxwell's  17th birthday. We called him. 

I said, "Are you married yet?"

Without skipping a beat, he said, "Her name is Cinnamon and I met her in Las Vegas. I was just sending you
an invitation when you called."

Sometimes he says, "Aren't you dead yet?"

"You better hope I'm not dead yet, because if I'm dead before you marry, I'm spending your wedding night watching from the ceiling."

Fight fire with fire.

Years ago, we sat around Erica's table at another of Maxwell's birthday gigs and we asked him what his favorite year was, and he said, "The pre-existence, I ran a coffee shop there."

I reminded him that my sister, Joyce, who died at four months, shared his March 1 birthday.

"She's running the coffee shop while I'm here," he said.

Erica is Maxwell's high school English teacher. Neither one is the worse for wear.

I don't miss them at all.

Friday, March 3, 2017

Living like the Gaisfords

It occurred to me in the middle of the night, when most things occur to me, that anyone could pretend to be anywhere in the world on Facebook, especially if they're handy with Photoshop.

How do you know we're really in Nova Scotia, for example? How do you know we didn't take those ocean pictures on the banks of the great Salt Lake? How do you know we didn't hire some guy to play Father Christmas and take Tom's picture with him? How do you know we're not hiding out it in
an apartment in Ogden cutting and pasting our pictures in front of scenes we found on the internet?

Think about the Gaisfords who have been posting these pics of themselves in India. Any of us can paste ourselves in front of the Hindu Ajgabinath Temple in Sultanganj onto Facebook and say we're having a wonderful time. Especially if we don't have to pronounce Ajgabinath.

For that matter you can make a sign and hang it on yourself showing that you've won a marathon.
Or take a video of yourself on a Steinway Concert Grand on stage playing the Rach III and sweating (spray yourself) while Vladimir Ashkenazi plays the sound tract.

People, we can live extraordinary, creative lives and never get out of our pajamas.

Think about it.

Wednesday, March 1, 2017

Oscars and Escalas

The Cadillac Escala from it's best side: the side

I've actually written two blogs since my last post, but I haven't published them, because the tone was off, which usually means a little self-pity is fighting to be exposed.

Nothing is more boring than self-pity. Nothing. Writers beware.

So here is what I came away with from Oscar night besides the mortifying ending of it all: the Cadillac ads. Cadillac has a new sedan named after its highly successful SUV, the Escalade. The sedan is called Escala. It may be the ugliest car I've ever seen. I was breathless with its ugliness.
Those lights, front and back, look like dragon eyes. The back of the car looks like somebody's fat butt. I couldn't stop yammering about it, which was okay, because Tom can't hear me anyway.

And there's so much to yammer about on Oscar night: should the men wear Armani or Tom Ford? (I vote Tom Ford). Who was the best dressed? (I vote Nicole Kidman, but Emma Stone and others looked fabulous as well) Who looked disappointing? (Scarlett Johansson and Charlize Theron, who both know better, wore similar sacks that added twenty pounds to their figures, although Theron wore the most spectacular earrings. Why did she put her hair in a pony tail? What is this, 1955?) Did we like Jimmy Kimmel as a host? (Yes). Did we think Justin Timberlake was just a little manic on the runway? (Yes, he was popping in and out everywhere, but the opening number was sensational). Was Denzel Washington disappointed? (Yes). Do we ever get tired of seeing Meryl Streep on the front row? (No). Did I know anything about Ryan Gosling before I googled him on Oscar night? (No. He's from Canada, you know).

It's a good thing Nasty Louise doesn't tweet.

(But she blogs!)