Here’s what my photographer says:
“Stick your chin forward a little because otherwise it looks like you have no chin, which makes you look fat. Unless you want to look fat. Do you want to look fat?”

My awesome photographer, who ironically hates to have his picture taken. I'm not yet sure how he likes being written about.

I’m sure this question was rhetorical, and also he started laughing, but I said “NO!” just in case. And I admit, he was not paid nearly as highly as Tina’s photographers likely are. In fact, all Joe got from this particular gig was a paid ticket into the Franklin Park Conservatory, which was where he chose to take the pictures of me. (I know that sounds cheap, but it’s $8.50 more than I paid him for the cover photos on Nobody’s Hero.)

This afternoon was an attempt to produce one photo of me that I’m willing to put on the back of paperback copy of previously mentioned novel. Joe took pictures for an hour and a half, in practically every different greenhouse, Himalayan Mountains, Tropical Rainforest, the Desert. The desert was the most fun, due to all of the cacti you can poke with your fingers to see how sharp the needles are, even though I’m sure this is against the rules, but we did not read the pamphlet very closely, so maybe it’s okay. (I did make sure there were no little kids watching when I tested how cold the waterfalls were in the Rainforest. I really don’t want to be a bad influence.) We’re not even totally sure we were allowed to be taking pictures here without a permit– not for commercial reasons at least. So we tried to be inconspicuous, which I don’t think is something I do well.

The whole thing would have been a great way to spend an afternoon– the conservatory is wonderful, especially in the winter because it feels like summer, and off the top of my head, I can think of no one I’d rather break rules with than Joe Biederman. Except for the horrible horrible experience of having my picture taken. This is torture. I can think of nothing more capable of creating severe anxiety than having a camera pointed at my face. From a very close distance. (I kept my chin out.)

The truth is, I’m not very photogenic. My middle son will often say to me, wow you look really good today– I’ll take your picture. Click. Then: “Oh. Ew. Sorry, Mom.”

So that’s the knowledge I’m starting with here. And the first fifty or so shots did not help. I will say that after a couple hundred and figuring out how to get my eyes to to stay open while I’m smiling–it’s tricky– we may have two that are good enough. At one point, I asked how many gigs were on his SD card, and he said, don’t worry, a lot. And I brought an extra. And an extra battery.

It would make a good cereal bowl.

It seems I wasn’t the only one concerned.

The most fascinating thing I learned this afternoon was not about plants or biospheres, but that the photographer does not like having his picture taken. At all. So of course I made him switch with me and took his picture with his camera–though those shots are probably deleted by now. Good thing I had my cell phone.

On the way out of the conservatory, we did find the appropriate payment, should I ever write a best selling novel. Only $5,100, so right now I can’t even pay the sales tax.

But one day, Joe. One day.

My 16 year old son is not home yet, and I’m thinking of calling him to say please be careful–except for a few things. I’ll list them in the nonsensical way my sister would:
A) He drives more carefully than me most of the time,
and 2) Doesn’t that just sound stupid–do I want to be a ‘duh” mom?
And Finally) I’d probably call while he was driving and him being on the phone with me would completely defeat the point of saying be careful on the ice… while you’re talking to me on the cell phone.

It’s a lose lose situation. (Note: I just now heard his car door and the dogs went running for the front door. Appears that he didn’t need me on this one.)

Speaking of running, I’ve mostly decided to shoot for running a half marathon on May 5 this year– the Cap-City Half it’s called, here in beautiful, scenic, and, best of all, super-flat Columbus, Ohio. Barring injuries or potential flu, I have just enough time to work up to it. My kids think this is totally bad-ass, so it’ll be well worth it. (If you have to run 13.1 miles so your teenagers think you’re cool, you do it, that’s my policy.)

When I say mostly, I mean that I have not yet ponied up the money for the registration. Cash= commitment. So I’ll let you know when I’m committed.

Back to my daughter’s complaining. I kept trying to come up with things to write about, and was drawing a blank. And Christmas was coming and my oldest came home on leave from the Navy to hang out for two whole weeks which was really just awesome… And frankly Madonna was not helping with material.

But it’s the end of my birthday weekend, where I’m currently celebrating all my years of experience at being 20 years old (I saw that on a T-shirt) and to kick off the year and the anniversary of my 29th birthday, I decided to do a free weekend for Nobody’s Hero. (If you’re unfamiliar with this book, click that tab up top of this page.) At any rate, the unbelievable part is that I broke the top 100 in the free Kindle store. In fact, I just broke the top 50.

I have no idea what will be the end result of this, but I’m interested to find out. What it has proved to me is that being near the top feeds on itself. Once you crack that, you then get more exposure and keep climbing up. I don’t know what that means either, but I am generally just rambling.

This free deal will be on till midnight, and no, I don’t know if that’s midnight Eastern or midnight Pacific. On the other hand, the book doesn’t actually cost much more than nothing when it’s not free. Seriously, not as much as a small fries at McDonalds. And probably better for you.

(Last note: Just saw Morgan Freeman on the Red Carpet. He did not need to be reassured that he looked truly handsome.)

The Romance Reviews website is one stop shopping for all info about romance novels of all kinds– And this November is the Year End Party– with lots of prizes to win. So head on over there and read some reviews, play some games, win some books– and read read read! (And yes, yours truly is a featured author. )

I jumped through hoops for this

icken soup– I really don’t like chicken soup– and a half a box of Sudafed, which necessitated a trip to the pharmacy, handing over my driver’s license and signing and dating an official looking form. I asked if I could have two boxes, because of the hassle of this procedure, anticipating that I or one of the kids might get sick again in the future. Answer from pharmacy tech: No.

Sigh. I don’t know if that’s a national thing or just a state law restricting my access to Sudafed, but those meth dealers really piss me off when I’m sick.

Having some good news though– A) new book cover: check it out on the Nobody’s Hero page up there, top left. I love it.

And 2) really good sales lately. Got a blog post on bargain ebooks which made for lots more sales, woohoo. Next month I get to be a part of The Romance Reviews big November event. I’m looking forward to that. Lots of prizes– winning books, especially, so check it out.

Between getting the kids settled back into school and into the new routines–and did i mention I’ve had a really horrible cold for freaking 7 days now? OK, I did mention that, but did I also mention that it was sort of starting for an entire week before that? It’s so beautiful outside, and I’ve run about a mile in the last two weeks. So by the time I work back up to three miles, I’ll have missed the entire fall.

Okay, enough whining. Hoping that life settles down enough to get Iced Out published by Thanksgiving. I’m still saying that out loud in public so I can’t pretend it’s not a real deadline.

He’s funny. I think. You can judge for yourself. Since he’s in the Navy but working on airplanes, his blog is called:  Life on the sea or well almost…

I can’t even begin to describe how much hair these two monsters are trying to shed, and I can’t say that I blame them after umpteen days of 95 degrees plus. And I guess it’s all the fans blowing all that shedded hair around that’s flying it up to the top of my stove, where it seems magnetically attracted to the surface.

And no, I’m not going to complain about summer, because that means by default I wish for winter, and it cannot be hot enough (or hairy enough) for me to ever wish for that.

I just need some sort of dog-hair repellent stove top for the duration. If Amazon has one, I’d really appreciate the link.

Sam on Left, Me, then Danny, and Michelle

This happy photo arrived only after a miserable 2 months with nothing but letters–although somehow when cut off from all communications devices, even 19 year old boys decide to write their moms a stack of letters. Better yet, the Navy made him learn to write legibly. And keep his room clean, and do homework. But I digress…

We’re at the graduation, which was quite impressive, and viewed from bleachers which were only impressive in the hardness of the material they were constructed from. At the end, all the sailors are released over a loudspeaker liberty call, so every parent, grandparent, sister, brother, kid, of 710 new Sailors start crowding down the aisles of the bleachers. I had a seat in the middle of the row, so I’m realizing I will be one of the last ones down there, and I’m mid-despair at the realization that the floor is going to be swarming with people… and if I even find my son, I won’t get a moment alone with him, and all I want to do is get to him now–

When my beloved sister-in-law hollers (she has 3 kids too, she can holler)– “What the heck are you doing, waiting for us? Run those bleachers, girl!”

I looked down and the bleachers in front of me were empty, a clear path to the floor. So I ran those bleachers,  like in High school, except 20 some years later. Got down to the floor almost first, and spotted my son in a sea of white uniforms just as he disappeared behind another group of sailors.

Choices limited, I yelled: “Danny!”
And I heard back the sweetest sound of my whole life: “MOM!!!”

Then, beyond all my wildest expectations–from a son who asked why I was crying when I dropped him at the recruiter’s office on April 5, because It’s only two months, Mom.

This boy, that kid, grabbed me in the biggest hug he’d given me since I picked him up from his first day of Kindergarten.

And I decided in that moment, as I tried not to get mascara on his white uniform, that the next four years would be worth that excited yelp of my name and that one amazing hug.

Salvaged Cabinet, Discount store lights.

But is it a bargain? I’m not sure.

Here’s what I was trying to do– keep 2 pots of grocery store basil and Italian parsley alive through the winter.

Here’s the problem: Ohio. The sky throughout most of the winter looks like, well, an old sweatsock that’s been through the washer a thousand times or more. No bleach, either. In other words, gray. And it started this week. I walked the dogs in the sunshine on Tuesday and I think that’ll be the last time until May.

Meanwhile about the herbs. In my never ending quest to at least eat well if not in moderation, I’m dying for a lack of basil and oregano and what have you… and while you can buy a bunch of flat leaf parsley or cilantro for 75 cents in the produce section, your only option for basil is those plastic packages of about .25 ounces worth for $1.99. You’re better off buying a potted plant for $2.50–you get more and it’ll keep longer. Even if it dies in a couple weeks for lack of sunshine.

I didn’t want it to die. So I start looking at the fluorescent light over my sink and wondering if that’s really gonna do it, especially since one of the starters isn’t operating, so it’s only one bulb worth, and it’s about five feet above the leaves. Which according to my interweb research is about 4.5 feet too far away.

Interestingly, they also say on the web that you can use LED lights to grow plants now. Which I liked the sound of, mostly because I cannot for the life of me spell fluorescent correctly on the first try ever. LED, just like it sounds. Nice. And oddly, I’d just visited this new discount store which had strips of 9 led lights for $7.99. They’re light–held up by two tiny screws, and they interconnect, too, end to end, just like Christmas lights. So I bought 4 of them.  I also popped the diffuser plastic thingy off of them, which was dimming my light a little. I hit up the ReStore–Habitat for Humanity’s resale shop which is like a treasure hunt. This cabinet (see picture above) came from there, turned on it’s side it was the perfect size. I took the door off, which was a shame because it had really nice self-closing hinges, something I wish my own cabinets had. Anyway, installed the lights, repotted the basil, which was severely rootbound, split the parsley, we’ll see how that holds up, and planted some rosemary seeds, another herb you can’t buy fresh. You see my fancy tuperware lid saucers for the plastic pots–those are lids that had the tupperware chewed up by Storm…

Tupperware Lover

Yep, she loves her some plastic. This picture was taken at about 11:00 pm after she’s worn out from a day of chasing squirrels, chasing Hershey, and chasing the cats. Normally she won’t stop moving long enough to get a picture. But at least she left me the lids to use as plant saucers. And I’m sure my cousin will realize I’m also using one of her hand-thrown pottery dishes as a parsley saucer. I’m not sure how she’ll feel about it. Maybe she’ll notice I put it up front for high visibility.

Was this economical? I suppose compared to buying an aerogarden . And even after buying, those things are dirtless systems, which means lots of liquid nutrients to purchase as well. But I suspect plants like dirt better. Not that they’ve said so, but it’s the growing medium they seem to choose in the wild. But I did spend $25 on the cabinet, $32 on the lights (never need replacing, do you hear me convincing myself?) and a buck and a half on potting soil. Your minimal aerogarden costs $60, and is the size of a coffee maker. I feel like I have room to expand, so that’s worth something. I would bet I can squeeze more pots in here as the mood hits.

Will they live? That’s a tough one. I’m only known for successfully keeping children alive, not so much plants. I will say that the basil doesn’t look too happy after having been repotted. Maybe by tomorrow.

I’ll keep you posted.

1) I have a dozen short Audio Tours of Chicago but when I loaded them up, I forgot to check “skip when shuffling.” I often still listen to them anyway, which is strange when you’re not looking at the architecture being described. So I just try to imagine it.

2) There are many artists who I like a lot but have only ever bought one or two songs or albums from. For example, I have a handful of Barenaked Ladies songs and I’m quite fond of them. I assume they’re still making music, but I apparently I’m not interested enough to find out. Same with Bone Thugs N Harmony, and yes, the music on my iPod is that variable and not just in the “B”s. In fact, it occurred to me that the only artist I ever immediately buy all new music from is Eminem. I have no idea if that’s normal or not. (Just the principle of the thing; my kids and their friends inform me that the Eminem part is definitely not normal.)

3) Sometimes the aforementioned son will request the next song choice…and then play a song I was completely unaware resided on my iPod. This causes me to ask silly questions like: “Is that Chamillionaire?” not because the voice is mistakable, but because I’m unable to connect it to my iPod because I didn’t put it there. (I’m not unhappy about this, except that I would have been listening to him before today had I known.)

4) My iPod, though two generations old now, is still my favorite thing in the whole world.