Archive for the ‘Ava’s blogs’ Category

Hallelujah!

Here in our smallish town we have to wait years for most national stores to come down our way. More than a year ago, we received the joyous news that the Cheesecake Factory was going to open a restaurant here. The construction stated quickly and the building was completed in a short time. The anticipation of the grand opening could be felt in the air - I swear.

Then the oddest thing happened, the restaurant didn’t open. It was fully complete and furnished inside. I know because ever few weeks when I was over at the mall, I attempted to peek inside. Literally, months have gone by and no grand opening. The town was awash in rumors . . . not opening because of the economy, not opening because the construction people were owed money, not opening because no one wanted cheesecake (that last one was a joke, only the insane don’t like cheesecake).

Well, our patience has finally paid off - the opening celebration is set for this Thursday.

Amylynn and I came up with a plan. We want to go there for 57 consecutive days and have each of their cheesecake flavors and then we want to blog about each heavenly slice. We see this as a public service - how else will you know exactly what each one tastes like and which ones to try and in what order???

I told Ed of our plans, and get this, he said no! NO. Seriously, he thinks it’s a bad idea. Sadly, the divorce papers are in the mail and I rubbed cheesecake on them. Pbbbbbbbbbbbbt!

Today was a good day in the Quill Sister’s world, we got to spend the morning and part of the afternoon together. That’s really how we like to spend our free time, when we can, and it doesn’t happen nearly enough to suit us.

Today, at our writing meeting, we were listening to a fabulous speaker and she brought up “Noble Silence”.

Amylynn’s head whipped around to me and she said “Noble Silence?”

I had to laugh - Noble Silence - these are not two words that would ever be strung together in that order to describe me or Amylynn, maybe Isabella - but just slightly.

That got me thinking, while I was driving my safari jeep through the savannah and passed a lioness (I saw a girl by the college with a massive head of blond Jersey hair), about silence. I wondered if I was ever silent or how long I could be silent for . . .

In the car, I sing - the first three episodes of the newest season of American Idol awful but anyway, no silence there. At home I talk constantly to my family - they talk back so I don’t think they mind. On the rare occasion that I am home alone, I’m really not - the dog is there. I never leave him alone because he’s like one of my kids. I talk to him non stop. I’m not silent at work because people are always in my office wanting something or wanting to talk about their many issues. Apparently, I’m never silent.

That makes me wonder if I can ever be silent and for how long. I asked the person who’s known me all of my life (she needs a shorter name already) if she could ever recall me being silent and she said she’d really have to think about it and get back to me. She called back several hours later and said “No.” and hung up.

Tomorrow morning I’m going to see for how long I can be silent. I’m going to start before I get out of bed and before the alarm goes off. I’ll report back how well it goes!

Silence, please!

Since the New Year, my ride into work has become super long and boring. My one and only resolution is no more texting while I’m driving. The texting was mainly between me and Amylynn and so you can imagine how entertaining it was and a great time passer. I’ve only slipped up twice so far, even though red lights are not long enough to put a good text together. The slip up involved “Yes” and “K” and I think I should be forgiven.

Anyway, that’s not the reason for my blogging. I’m driving to work this morning, minding my own business, pretending that I’m flying a fighter jet instead of driving a simple car and what to do I see but a “sight”.

A young man was riding a bike. It was a bit small for him and had those high ape hanger handle bars. It looked like the bike of a twelve year old and was too small for the young man on it. But that wasn’t what made him a sight.

He had long, long black hair. Not natural black - but pitch black, clearly dyed that way hair. He was wearing a black leather coat. It was really long – like a trench coat. His pants were black as was his t-shirt – all black, except his skin that was pale white.

So he’s riding this too small bicycle with his arms hanging down and his long, long black, black hair and black leather coat flowing out behind him in the wind while he’s furiously pedaling to – who knows where? I don’t think the other gawking fighter jet pilots/drivers figured it out either.

Normally I would have texted Amylynn immediately . . .

“Hey, just saw your boyfriend; tell him so much black should be saved for nighttime and to cut that damn stringy hair.”

But instead – to entertain myself – I have to pretend that he is the nephew of the Wicked Witch of the West and he is on his way home after staying out all night with the flying monkeys.

Oh well, he certainly shortened the trip.

Happy New Year!

I promised to blog about my New Year’s Resolutions, which aren’t mine at all, but the one’s I come up with for other people. I reviewed them with a person who’s known me all of my life and she said I couldn’t put them here because our blog is about writing and romance and my resolutions are mostly political. After I reviewed them, I know she’s right. But I can’t resist posting the main one. It actually covers most of the others anyway. If you are easily offended you should stop reading now . . .

This year, my New Year’s resolution is for all of the “Nosey People” in the world.

Dear Nosey People,

Your New Year’s resolution is to MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS. It’s really simple - stop minding everyone else’s business when it doesn’t pertain to you in anyway, shape or form.

This is easy to figure out, especially here in America. We are free to do whatever we want as long as it doesn’t infringe on the rights of others. Easy examples: you can’t murder someone because then they can’t enjoy their life, you can’t take other peoples stuff because then they cant enjoy their stuff, no drunk driving because, at worst, you could kill someone (see #1) or you could damage someone else’s property. Don’t make this harder than it has to be, you know what is truly your business, stick to it.

I hate nosey people. Hate is a strong word - but it fits how I feel. Here’s some of the nonsense this past year that caused me to make this resolution for the Nosey People:

In another country, the majority of the people are muslim and the minority are christian but they could be any religion because you read stories about different religions arguing with each all the time. The country’s high court has approved the christians using the word ”allah” for the word “god”. I’ve been following this story for months. The muslims are protesting and firebombing churches. I don’t get it. Granted, I’m not religious but I am pretty intelligent and what difference does this make? If “allah” were actually upset about the christians using the word “allah’ wouldn’t “allah’ take care of this on “allah’s” own? Wouldn’t an omniscient, omnipotent being be able to defend its own name? Allah shouldn’t need anyones help with this so MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS and stop trying to harm other people and buildings.

Here, in our own country, is the battle over same sex marriage. I cannot figure out why, how, where this is anyones business but the two people involved. I read in the newspaper that some idiot called same sex relationships ”unnatural”. Unnatural? WTF! What you like, who you love, etc., arises out of chemical reactions in the brain. It’s the way our brains work according to neuroscience. Isn’t that natural??? These nosey people don’t care if your favorite color is red if theirs is blue, but they sure care about other people’s relationships. I refuse to discuss this with these stupid people because they never have a valid reason for their nosiness in this area. It’s like talking to a monkey, sorry monkey . . . If you meet some happy people, who are not exactly like you, and they are not bothering anyone else - MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS.

I know a woman who wants one of the local food banks shut down. She thinks that the people who go there for food are either too lazy to work, drug addicts, Vietnam veterans, or mentally damaged. She is actively working on getting it closed. I can’t figure out what business this is of hers. Its not supported by tax dollars, other than being a non profit. But really, why put effort into this? I know she has a family and a life to take care of. She should be too busy minding her own affairs to attempt to deprive people she doesn’t know of a meal. And I bet she thinks she has an awesome reason for her actions. I don’t know what they are because I can’t discuss this with her, I’m afraid I might do her some ugly pyhsical harm. She needs to MIND HER OWN BUSINESS.

Just so you can test how needed this resolution is, spend the next few days really listening to other people and make a mental note of how many conversations are totally unnecessary because they are about someone minding someone else’s business. Or read the newspaper and take note of how many of the articles are about people not being able to mind their own business. This morning, our local paper contained four of them.

None of this would actually be a problem if Nosey People didn’t feel the need to impose their nosey nonsense on the rest of. Firebombing buildings, throwing millions of dollars behind defeating same sex marriage, personally depriving people of a needed meal, etc - its all just people not minding their own business.

The world would be a much better place if we all minded our own business a little bit more.

I have no idea who made it snow on the Quill Sisters blog, because I’m a computer idiot, but I LOVE IT. Little things make me happy and the cute snow will have me in a good mood all night - that and the fact that I’m going to see my favorite comedian with Amylynn this evening! I’ll post my new years resolutions tomorrow. They are really for other people - but that should be no surprise to those of you who know me well.

(Apologies to Carl Sagan)

Over the past few weeks, many of my friends and relatives keep talking to me about their crazy belief in ghosts. Apparently, almost everyone I know has a ghost, or knows a ghost, or knows someone who knows one, or knows someone who has one, or wants one, or, well . . . you get it. This topic has come up four times in less than three weeks. Was there a TV show on that I missed? Have they been watching A Christmas Carol? - ’tis the season I guess . . .

I don’t care if you believe in ghosts, go right ahead. BUT, I beg you, resist the urge to discuss it with me. I don’t believe in ghosts. I require scientific empirical proof for everything (read - EVERYTHING), it’s just my way. And, you really don’t want to talk to me about it anyway, I always end up laughing at you and you end up upset because who wants to be laughed at by a friend or relative?

Before anyone jumps into the fray, know this - a person who has known me all of my life has spent years trying to dig up proof that would make me believe in ghosts, to no avail - there’s a reason James Randi still has that million dollars.

The last time she had proof, earlier this year, it involved my going to a “haunted” house. The story was that a ghost lived at this house and it would fling a loaf of bread off of the top of the refrigerator at least once a day. (No, Amylynn, I did not make that up.) So, I got dragged over there to witness this for myself. It seems many “skeptics” saw it happen and were now believers.

Here’s what happened: nothing - NOTHING. What did happen was that I spent more than four hours there eating delicious homemade baked goods because they didn’t want me to go until I saw the flying bread for myself. No bread flew but I can swear that cake disappeared.

In closing, since so many of you think ghosts truly exist, for goodness sake - call each other, don’t call me!

While Amylynn drives around our fine city playing the “Gas Game”, I play a game of another sort entirely. It takes place in my mind and consists of coming up with an award that, of all the people in the world, I am the only clear winner. One of my favorites is the “Anti-Mom Award”. I know there are quite a few of you out there that believe you are a contender - but you are NOT. Tonight, I have sunk to an all time super star low or high - since I’m vying for a prize.

It’s the holidays and most of you who have children know that it’s “Holiday Concert” season at school. You know the drill, you go sit in the auditorium at your kid’s school, along with all of the other parents and listen to a bunch of children sing, play instruments, cry or whatever. You all show up with cameras, video recorders, grandparents, non-performing siblings, flowers, tissues and whatever else you can shoe horn into the car.

I never bring a camera, video recorder, grandparents, or whatever. I always show up late and try to leave the second the last note leaves my child’s mouth or instrument. The only part I listen to is my child, I refuse to listen to anyone else’s child because, really, I hardly want to hear my own let alone yours.

Tonight, during the vast majority of the concert, I texted Amylynn. I let her know that I was going to jam a pen in my ear. Then I had to text back because I decided to jam a pen into BOTH ears. I said a little prayer to god (the one who invented chocolate), the gods (the ones who invented chocolate with sea salt), ghosts (don’t ask) and Santa Claus, I really felt covered. I asked to be stricken deaf - right then and there. I must have been bad this year because it didn’t happen.

At the beginning of the event, the music teacher annouced really loudly that any child in the auditorium, who was not performing, was to sit quietly and not disturb the performance and was to be controlled by the parents. Yea, right. There were so many kids running around the gym that I thought it was lunchtime. I yelled at several of them and their over dressed, over electroniced parents. The only thing I hate worse then 4th and 5th graders singing holiday carols off-key is loud shrieking children.

Before anyone gets ready to comment, I’m not interested in any advice. I’m not going to change, ever. I’m never going to look back on these ordeals and miss them. When Ed says “Honey, let’s pull out the old video recordings I took at the kid’s holiday concerts while you were texting Amylynn” - I’m going to stab him in the ear with a pen.

And the winner is . . . drum roll please . . . Ava Louis - Anti-Mom of All Time!

I sat the nine year old and the twelve year old down the other day to have a talk about Santa Claus with them - no, not that talk - the one that involves the economy. I explained how the economy is bad and how Santa will not be bringing a lot this year. They know about the economy because Ed and I are always talking about it and how bad it is.

The twelve you old, bless his little heart, said he got it and not to worry. He hasn’t told me he knows about Santa yet but I’m pretty sure he’s figure it out. . .

The nine year old said nothing. Now, those of you who are familiar with the nine year old girl - know that silence is always trouble and cause for worry. If either of my children devise an evil plan to take over the universe, it’s not going to be the boy . . . it will be the girl for sure and it won’t be pretty for the rest of us. I don’t know who she takes after.

Yesterday, she lowered the boom.

Girl - “Since the economy is bad shouldn’t Santa help parents out by bringing more gifts instead of less? After all, he’s magical . . . unless you’re really Santa Claus.”

She peered unblinkingly into my eyes, looking for a tell tale twitch, a dilation of my pupils, anything really, trying to make me crack. Sweat started to bead on my upper lip.

Me - “I know it seems like it should work that way, but Santa has a lot more kids this year then he ever has before to deliver toys to.”

Girl - (deeply suspicious) “Why.”

Me - “Because a lot of parents need his help this year, who have never needed it before, because of the bad economy.”

Silence.

Not good. That answer was total crap but I couldn’t think of anything else. I’m afraid to go home . . .

The nine year old girl who lives in my house (I wish her parents or guardian would come pick her up, she’s been here for a while . . . like . . . nine years . . .) offered me a compromise yesterday. We’ve been arguing over the “tent” she has constructed in her room out of blankets, sheets, twigs and human hair. It is now so large, it covers almost 25% of her floor space. She sleeps in it. It looks like a ghetto or District 9 and I have requested that it be taken down.

She refused, which prompted her “compromise”.

Girl - I have a compromise for you. I can make the tent a little smaller or leave it the way it is now.

Me - That’s not a compromise. A compromise is when both parties bring their wants and needs to the negotiating table, a discussion ensues during which each party gives a little and takes a little until an acceptable balance is reached. Your compromise is really more of an anti-compromise. I had no input and no accord has been found.

Girl - I have no idea what you’re talking about. You use too many words and too many big words. You really need to stop that. I can help you practice.

Me - Practice?

Girl - You need to limit yourself to a few short sentences. Try to stick to one or two syllable words, maybe one three syllable word. If you need to use a four syllable word, just don’t, or one per conversation.

Me - I don’t think I can follow those rules.

Girl - Everyone else does.

Me - Amylynn doesn’t.

Girl - Perfect! When you and Miss Amy are together use all the big words you want, use all the ones you both know so that you don’t use them on us.

The tent issue remains unresolved. Heavy sigh . . .

As I’ve already admitted, I parent my children by making everything up as I go along.

A few weeks ago, I was so frustrated with the girl and her poor showing in social studies, (A 62 on a test for jiminy cricket’s sake, who’s child is this? She CANNOT be mine.), that I stupidly tried to get her to study harder by offering her an IPod Touch (She’s been asking for one.) if and when she got a 100 on a social studies test.

Just how dumb am I? I didn’t even know what an IPod Touch was when I offered it. And really, it was more of a joke - but that girl has no sense of humor! She took the whole thing literally. I’ve never seen anyone study social studies so long and so well and for so many hours . . .

Some back ground: I don’t really let my children get less than an A in any subject. If they get an A, I know they learned what they were supposed to learn and then I don’t need to worry. This really works for me. Before you call the authorities, my children are perfectly capable of getting straight As - no matter what the girl tells you.

Anyway, she came home today with a 100 on the social studies test she took on Monday. I’d be super proud if it wasn’t going to cost me $200.00 for an IPod.

I’ve decided to stop writing historical romances and move on to my true vocation - writing parenting books. ”How Not To Parent Your Children” by Mrs. Snitkin.