Friday, August 22, 2014

Oh Foolish Human! So you think you own a cat...by Jude Pittman


Honestly, after raising four kids and the assortment of strays, foundling, adoptees and whatever they managed to fill our various households with, I firmly resolved that I’d admire other people’s pets and let them do the caretaking.  


My daughter Tami had a dog named Peppers.  All of us adored Peppy. Such a sweetheart.  Of course they got her when the grandkids were little and it wasn’t until John and I moved to Calgary eight years ago that we became well-acquainted with Peppy.  But boy did she have us wrapped around her little paws in a short time.  Sadly, she died two years ago.  We still miss her.


Last year, my mom who was 94 and slowing down a lot was going to spend her first winter here in Calgary where winters are long and cold.  For the past 8 years she had spent winters at my brother’s place in Phoenix and summers with John and I here in Calgary.  Last year, however, the travel was becoming too much for her and her health was failing so we decided to get her a cat for companionship.  My daughter had recently purchased a Rag Doll named Annie.  Gorgeous, docile, sweet tempered Annie.  So we thought, why don’t we get a Rag Doll, they seem so sweet.  


There was an advertisement for a neutered male, just one and a half, not pure bred, but they assured us he was mostly all Rag Doll.  They loved the cat but the husband had developed an allergy and his doctor told them they’d have to get rid of the cat.  I was working so sent John to check him out and pick him up if he was suitable.


John fell in love.  He must have because “Bailey” howled all the way from the other side of the city until they got home.  He was indeed a handsome kitty, but he was definitely not to turn out to be the “quiet, docile little rag doll” that we had envisioned.


My mom looked at him, and said, you know Judy, I’m pretty sure he’s a Siamese.  Look at his blue eyes and listen to him.  He sure sounds more Siamese than rag doll.  Well, as usual mom turned out to be right, but Bailey didn’t let that bother him.  He had her doing his bidding within a couple of hour.  As a matter of fact that very day he established what our purposes were.  Filling his bowls, seeing that he had the prime seat in the house, making sure our laps were ready for leaps (mom didn’t weigh more than 100 pounds, but he’d jump right up there, settle his head against her chin and she’d have to stay where she knew better than to get up and leave – the scolding she’d get was enough to discourage that behavior. 


Sadly mom passed away in February and looking back now I understand why Bailey spent almost all of his time either curled up on her bed or beside her in her chair (she’d become weak and he seemed to understand when she’d slide him down beside her so that he didn’t hurt her bones).


There isn’t a day goes by that I don’t remember things we talked about or things we did, just having her there.  She’s the one person in my life who always listened to me.  Bailey, I think feels the same.  He’s now taken over her room.  He sleeps on her bed (when he’s not taking up the biggest part of the middle of our bed), and it’s clear he considers her room to be his own private domain.  Mom was always a complete neatnik, and I now keep my clothes in her closet, but you should hear the scolding I get if I’m careless enough to toss anything down on the bed. 


Actually he also considers himself in charge of the other bedroom which is what I use for my office.  I’m a book publisher so you can imagine how much time I spend on the computer.  If he thinks I’ve been on there too long he’ll march into the room, leap into my lap and flatten himself out on my keyboard.  Message received.  Time to take a break.


What a cat.  How in the world did we ever manage our household without him?


We call him King Bailey, the Siamese in disguise.


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Find Jude's BWL titles here: http://bookswelove.net/judepittman.php

and watch for her next release, Sisters of Prophecy, co-authored with Gail Roughton, coming soon from BWL!






Thursday, August 21, 2014

You want to be happy? By Sandy Semerad


“You want to be happy. We all do. You just need to figure out how to get there. I don’t think any one person can make you happy. Only you can make yourself happy,” said Freemont Jackson, one of my characters in A Message in the Roses… “As to being content long-term, that has to come from within.”
Easy to say or write about, but how do we actually achieve that long-term contentment?  
A Benedictine monk claims the answer is simple. We need to slow down, look where we’re going and be grateful.
If we stop and look before we go, we can better take advantage of the opportunities life has to offer, Monk David Steindl-Rast said on a recent NPR program. And if we miss one opportunity, another one will come along soon, according to Monk David.
“Grateful people are joyful people,” he said. “If we’re grateful, we’re not fearful. If we’re not fearful, we’re not violent.”
A long time ago, I discovered I’m happier when I count my blessing, though for many years, I searched for bliss, and I’ve listened to my share of happiness experts. One such expert, Author Shawn Achor, said we would all be happier if we do the following activities every day:
1. Think of three new things for which you’re thankful. Repeat this exercise for 21 days so the practice will become habitual. Also share your gratitude with your significant other and friends. Then ask them to reveal their three new blessings. Sharing doubles your happiness, he said.
2. To double your optimism, take two minutes to write down your gratitude and your most meaningful experiences. Again do this every day for 21 days.
3. Add 15 minutes of a fun activity to your day, Achor said. This must be a physical activity like walking the dog or gardening. (I love walking my dog P-Nut. She definitely knows how to live in the moment. I think she’s trying to teach me. Of course, I’m always in the moment when I’m writing.) Achor didn’t include hugging and making love as fun activities. They certainly qualify. (I know Carrie Sue Justice, my protagonist in A Message in the Roses, would think so).
4. Smile at least three times every day. Smiling increases the serotonin in the brain apparently.
5. Get social, if you want to charge your happiness battery. People can motivate you more than anything, Achor said. So take time to encourage and motivate others. In other words, spread the happiness.
I like the idea of spreading happiness. If only we could somehow, magically, make everyone in the world more grateful, unafraid, nonviolent, and ultimately content. Swoosh, just make it happen. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? #happiness

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

A Personal Side to Me - by Ginger Simpson


A question pops into my mind from time-to-time, like when friends on Facebook share their upset about someone who is doing something he/she should realize must be painful to others. Rather than sit back and accept what he/she finds so upsetting,  why doesn't he/she speak out and let the person know how he/she feels about the situation?  It's so much easier to expect others to react in ways in which we lack the courage, isn't it?

 Posts like the one I described always bring to mind a past experience of mine... one I wish I'd dealt with very differently because the outcome affects my life, even today. For cathartic reasons, I choose to share. Sometimes people deserve to know something about them is broken so they can fix it It you don't discuss it, then you have to accept the consequences.  Age has made me stronger, and I believe a little wiser.  Besides, I want readers to know that being an author doesn't make a person exempt from living life and learning from it.

I won't go into great detail , but let's just say that I was once wrongfully accused of being something I'm totally against--a racist. I never had an opportunity to confront my accuser because of legalities, so the question still burns in my mind--what did I ever do to you that warranted such a hurtful and harmful statement? I raised my children with a stern hand when it came to racists jokes and remarks. I've gone through my life treating people like I want to be treated, and I've always had a lot of friends. So to think that one person who I worked with for many years suddenly saw monetary gain over friendship, amazes me.

The suit didn't just affect my friendship with her, it changed how I viewed my other co-workers--the other two who were sued along with me. I wasn't as strong as they were. I couldn't turn the other cheek and work shoulder-to-shoulder with someone who had besmirched my good name, especially since I was the Diversity Officer for our unit.

 I even had the backing of a doctor who said working with the individual was affecting my health, but my employer was more intimidated by the lawsuit then they were concerned in finding an alternative workspace for me. The friends I thought should have stood beside me, didn't, and I walked away feeling and looking the fool and wondering why over twenty years of dedication and hard work didn't count for anything. For years, I'd planned other people's retirement parties, and the one I hoped for never came, at least from the office I'd given so much of myself to.

Although I changed to another job, the unhappiness continued to plague me. Constant questions about why I'd left my previous job after so long went unanswered because I was warned not to discuss the suit. Eventually, my health failed and I had to retire. Needless to say, my pension is not what I'd planned on, and on payday each month, I wish I had possessed a stronger backbone. Today I would have told my friends of my disappointment in their lack of support for me. It might not have changed anything, but I'd feel satisfied that they knew how I felt. I wouldn't have let one person steal my future from me, or fill the final days of my dying best friend and teammate with unwarranted stress. I feel like things were left unsettled between us . I still miss my co-worker and BFF. She was my best audience and laughed at even my crummiest attempts at humor. I hope she knows how much I loved her, and still do.

I'm happy to say this experience didn't dim my believe in human nature. I still detest people who judge others for the color of their skin...actually for anything, and I will speak up against unfairness. As I said, aging makes you stronger and frees your tongue. If you're lucky, age also gives you grandchildren.

 I'm constantly reminded of how things should be when I recall dropping my sweet grandson off at his kindergarten class. His best friend was black, and they hugged each other hello and goodbye every day. They didn't see colors...they saw friendship, and that's the way it should be. Everyone should look at the world through Kindergarten eyes.

Sunday, August 17, 2014

Vampire as A Hero - #MFRWauthor


There will be no pictures with this blog today. There are two reasons. First, I have not yet figured how tp decorate blogs with images. Put it down to lack of skill. Second, the subject of this post is also one I've heard has no ability to be captured by the camera. If you know differently, please let me know.

I like to read and an enamoured of heros and sometimes heroines. The strong, the stubborn, those willing to take risks are often on my hit list. Heroines will have other times here. Today I want to speak of one hero I am not able to love.

Dear readers -- if you find my least likely hero one of yours make a comment telling me why you find him fascinating.

Dear writers -- if one of your heroes can claim this status, tell me about him. Either leave a comment here or email me and I'll let you have your say and even post a small except (PG please) that shows why he is entitled to be a hero.

I cannot give my heart to a vampire hero but I'm sure I could be convinced. To me a vampire makes the perfect villain. After all, he'd dead. In my former career as a nurse I came in contact with the dead. Their skin is cold and kind of clammy. Is this the stuff of heroes. Another thing about the dead is the flaccidity of their limbs both before and after rigor has occurred. I ask you, does a woman need a limp hero?

Then there's the blood-sucking aspect. I do not like rare meat. The taste of blood is unpleasant. As a nurse I've dealt with blood including giving transfusions for blood loss. That seems to be the reason a vampire drinks a victim's blood. Except the dead don't need transfusions. What always pops into my mind when I read of a vampire hero feeding is a leech. A creature of the swamp that fastens to an animal or a human and sucks their blood. A leech is not a pretty creature.

I am sure there are more reasons but these are the most important. So tell me why a vampire should be thought of as a hero.


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