Who Am I?

I've been asking myself this question more than I care to admit, but then I balance it with two excuses, so I don't feel so pitiful. My hip surgery has slowed me down to the point I sleep more than I should, can't move like I want to, and still need the other hip replaced sooner or later. My other excuse, I am getting older, not that I mind that at all, but I hate I am slowing down from excuse number l. That makes me feel old. Get the point? I've got to dig myself out of my bed and back into my life. Those that know me, know how social I am in spite of feeling sluggish and walking with a cane. You will find me at book events, out to dinner, visiting with friends, and shopping.

Being social has never been an issue. It's my nature. Being creative, pushing myself to be more, do more, make more, is the root of my problem.  Writing was my salvation when my husband died. I wrote my first book. A week after my book launch I slipped (on dog pee in my kitchen from my naughty dogs- but what a perfect way to have an accident for me) and had to have rotator cuff surgery. Did that slow me down? Not on your life. Six months later I opened my shop in Old Town Lilburn, Georgia. An antique shop with a twist - we were a writing center, too. In 2014 I had surgery, but the week before I went into the hospital, I uploaded my naughty novel to Amazon. I had a book blog tour to come home to after I left the hospital. Still pushing along, I had hip replacement surgery May 2015. The week before that surgery, my picture book dedicated to animal rescue A Dog Dreams of Paris was for sale on Amazon. Later that month, a book blog tour to promote it from my desk chair. Then came the crash. While I was healing and feeling better, I realized my other hip needs surgery and that fogged my brain to a slow down. So not like me.

This morning I hit Facebook first thing with my coffee in hand (morning ritual since I live alone) and saw this post from Sixty and Me  (I've also signed up for their newsletter) about Jamie Lee Curtis and knew it is time to ask that question Who Am I and find out to head towards my next milestone - 70. I've got a few years to get in shape to be better than ever!

It's good to have goals!

 

Somehow, my health, while mostly great, but not perfect with another major surgery looming ahead, has depressed me. I worked myself back to a great life after gaining my widow crown - the hardest loss for me. So why can't I get my act together after surgery? My theory is simple - and don't think me jaded. I had perfect health after my husband's death. I was terrified I'd live with sadness forever. My salvation was pushing ahead to find the new me - and I did, as a writer. But now my health is tripping me up, and I can't run from that. Can't hide filling my hours like I did almost eight years ago. Yes, I can write, but my body hurts and I still take a few pain meds, which make me sleep. But no meds, no moving. It's a vicious cycle. And the other thing about resting - and this is a positive - all the dogs pile in bed with me, so it is a love fest. They can't believe how lucky they are I am the sixth in their six-pack and just want to sleep all day like they do.  If I ask Who Was I in a prior life - well, it was a K-9 for sure! But it is this life I am questioning.

 

I have gotten lazy, no matter what my excuse. I need to push more, but still be kind to my body. I am questioning the title I gave myself seven plus years ago - Writer/Author. Who Am I? I am not sure. I am not a mother. Not a grandmother. Those two titles help define you as you age, too. I am just me, a sixty-seven year old woman with a bad hip, walking on a cane, trying to figure out my next move. I still write. Still paint. Still love the creative arts. Still organize small events. Love all my friends and my family. Am blessed. But to feel in my bones I am worth it all, I need to figure out who I am and get busy with it. The one thing I know for sure, I have to be creative to be me. That's a great starting place.

 

 

What Have You Learned This Year?

And just in time for Mother's Day . . .

Visit my Mother's Web AudreyFrankAuthor

My mother posted the following on her blog today. She is an author and a role model and taught us we could do anything at any age. Health issues have slowed her down this year - but not so much with her writing, as she has a new novella on Amazon. But it has slowed her down to getting out of the house and being active to do the things she likes.

As I approach my eighty-seventh birthday, I find myself asking have I learned anything this past year? Yes, I have – patience. Patience to endure pain and not feel sorry for myself. Humility and gratitude for the friends who have had the guts to stick by me even when I knew they didn't want to listen to another gripe. My best friend, Claire, (my adopted sister) should get a medal for bravery in the face of turmoil. I have also reached that point in my life when I realize: who matters, who never did. I have stopped worrying about people from my past. There's a reason they aren't in my future. I can never be the person I was, but I can make the effort to be the best I am at this point in my life. Thanks to my daughters Barbara and Pam. They are the joy of my life. Thank you. Lord, for carrying me through the worst of times. If I'm lucky, I'll still be around to celebrate next year.

I kid her we are living in parallel universes. My health has slowed me down this year, I am getting ready to launch a picture book this weekend, and I have hip replacement surgery scheduled for next week. I am out of sync with my normal life, too. It is so hard to walk. Everyone tells me surgery will make me a new person again. I hope so.

We are both learning patience, although, me not so much!

Last week I chatted with a realtor to let her know I want to sell my house as soon as I have had time to get on my feet after surgery and physical therapy. It is not a listing -just a heads up my house could be for sale. For some reason knowing I have put those vibes out to the universe makes it easier for me to relax and do what I have to do the next weeks. If it is meant to be, well, so be it. Someone knows I can be had - well, my house can be had! I am working on what needs to be done the week before surgery; letting the universe know I am ready to sell my house and finding the right flattering attire for physical therapy. I don't own sweat pants or T-shirts for working out. I found the cutest leggings (large size so I can slip in and out without trouble) and tops at Marshalls this weekend so I can be the PT fashionista. As I laughed with a friend. I am not vain. I don't think I look that great - but I know how bad I can look, and prefer not to share that with the world. In pain in pink sounds easier to deal with, too.

My Chinese fortune cookie the first of the year told me all I needed to know. My dreams will come true by the end of this year!

But what is that dream, exactly. I am fickle and it changes with regularity. Right now, as I sit and visualize the days ahead, I see a charming farmhouse, an hour outside of Atlanta, on an acre or two of land (just like the farmhouse in my novel, Danger In Her Words).  A house that will work for me and with me. A writing center with classes, book club meetings, rooms and a cottage to rent to writers who want a picturesque retreat at a nominal fee for their writing getaway. Rooms for friends to visit. A place my mom can move too when she is ready to leave St. Augustine.  A safe haven for my six dogs. It is something I can do, not outside the realm of possibilities, even though my few pain meds let me see this dream in Technicolor!

We all have dreams. Miss April in Paris, one of my dogs from a local shelter, dreams of visiting Paris, the city that shares her name. Her diary, A Dog Dreams of Paris, will be available on Amazon later this month. It is a charming picture book designed by PD King Design. Not a children's picture book, but a book for those who dream at any age.

I hope you will check out my mother's website and books. She writes romantic novellas about people that could be your neighbors! Unlike me, the writer with dogs!

The years pass so quickly. Some we have control of, some control us. I think my mother hit it in her post. I can make the effort to be the best I can at this point in my life. As always, she is an inspiration to me to be my best, no matter what, to be thankful for what I have, and, because of her encouragement over all these years, to dream big.

Everyday is an opportunity to learn something new. What have you learned this year? I love to share stories on how we grow!

Rambling as I like to do, I come back to how I started this most - in time for Mother's Day . . . Happy Mother's Day, Mom! Love you.

 

Remembering Christmas Past

Old white cupboards, hand-crafted primitive signs, and Christmas socks. Fa la la la la....(Photo from Pinterest)

I am feeling very nostalgic this week thinking about Christmas. Slow to put up my decorations, I have spent too much time on Pinterest looking at holiday photos. I pin my favorites to my Christmas board and am amazed to discover that while my life has had many changes, my idea of what a Christmas house should look like, has remained the same. Pinterest has reminded me of this, where in years past, collecting photos I loved out of decorating magazines showed me what I loved.

The magazine photos (from Country Living, Country Home, Victoria, my choices years ago of favorite magazines, before so many new ones hit the market) and my Pinterest board tell me I still dream of a story-book Christmas, filled with children's toys, antique books, garden items, and Charlie Brown trees.

As a former antique dealer (I've removed that title 'antique dealer' from my list of accomplishments, labeling it 'former', but still put in bold letters - COLLECTOR RUN AMUCK.) I loved setting up for the Christmas extravaganza at the old Lakewood Antique Show at the fairgrounds south of downtown Atlanta. That show was the best and I was at my best during the few years I was a dealer there. My husband was still alive, my friends set up with me, I sold like crazy on Ebay so I could buy like crazy at the show. Selling was never the point of doing the show (this is why I wonder how I ever called myself an antique dealer in the first place) - the friendships and opportunity to spend Wednesday (my set-up day) to Sunday (when I skipped out early to avoid the rush at closing) in an environment I loved surrounded by every delight imaginable from old painted furniture, art, quilts, old toys, vintage garden items, antique books - and a food court, with its individual food trucks, preparing junk food at its finest, highlighted the reason for doing the show. In summer you could melt from the heat, in winter you could freeze your butt off. It didn't matter, it was the best of times. I wrote about Lakewood in The Unfaithful Widow. The transition from federal employee to antique dealer, sitting in the stinking hot summer air, listening to The Pina Colada Song on my cheap radio, was heaven to me.

The show I remember most, where I wanted to take my small booth home with me, was the last Christmas extravaganza before Lakewood closed its doors. I had searched for months, storing away my treasures, falling in love with my merchandize, until that Wednesday I loaded my van and my husband's van, and our tiny caravan to the Fairgrounds began.

The antique chipped red paint twin size iron bed was the main attraction. God, I loved that bed and wanted to keep it, but there was no room at the inn. Piled high with quilts it looked ready for a cold winters night. Three tall Christmas trees (purchased at Kroger, of all places) with metal bases, tall trunks leading up to funky green branches filled with white twinkling lights, sat on top of a green painted book shelf. Pitiful trees that defined a Charlie Brown tree to perfection. An 1800's Cottage Dresser, brown, with gold leaf scrolls and tiny roses on all the drawers, sat next to my red iron bed. The booth was filled with all my favorites - old painted chests, a rocking horse some Dad had made for his children, folk art angels, and shiny brite ornaments, some still in their vintage boxes.

My house took on the same feel at Christmas as it did when I was in the thick of being an antique dealer who didn't sell but played a good game of it.  You would think over the years my style would change, evolve, but it hasn't. I still love all the things I've always loved. Sometimes, something new catches my attention and I work it in, like old tinsel trees and vintage-style white trees. But the basis of my Christmas decorating still revolves around the magic of childhood.

I've dilly-dallied enough.  Today I will pull out my treasures and start to decorate. Check back for photo updates this week. In the meantime, enjoy the photos from Pinterest!

 

I have a collection of angels just like these! (Photo Pinterest)

 

 

 

 

Old shiny brites displayed on my favorite shade of blue primitive chair. I'll take that one please. (Photo Pinterest)

 

 

 

A simple table-top tree in an antique German base. (Photo Pinterest)

 

 

 

Antique toys make the very best decorations. (Photo Pinterest)

 

 

 

My love of all things garden related is evident every season! (Photo Pinterest)

A Happy Thanksgiving

Macy's Parade, 1967

Ok - I am the first to admit it. It is hard for me to get away from dogs. So for this Thanksgiving post it seemed so appropriate to share a photo found on the web of the Macy's parade, 1967. The six-pack of hounds here support my use of this vintage image. And who doesn't love Snoopy!

It is early yet, and I am at my computer as always. Sun is peeking through the overcast sky. It is a dice roll, the weather today. It will be sunny in my heart, no matter what.

The dogs have become simply impossible in the morning. I have no clue what has caused them to be so active at 7am. They are like children who have eaten too much sugar. Miss April in Paris jumps off the bed, all sixty pounds of her, racing up and down the hallway, barking, non-stop. Her call to action rallies the other five, who hit the floor, running to the kitchen, waiting for kibble. I drag myself out and putter down the hallway, let them out via the kitchen door, into the yard. I make a cup of instant coffee (yes, sometimes I am the laziest gal in town) and get their bowls ready. As soon as they eat, they crash. They are back to sleep and I am wide-eyed awake. It is a good time to write.

What am I thankful for this year? Everything. I started out the year thinking I needed a huge change in my surroundings. The change I needed was inside me. A reflective year, as I've written about before today on this blog. Health issues, some cash-flow issues, and the desire to be in a different house, in a different state, so far from all that is familiar here. Part of that draw to move, was to be closer to my family. The other part, I had no clue what to do now, six years a widow, in my quiet world. I pushed so hard to find a new life, I didn't know how to relax.

I'd forgotten how lucky I was with my friends here and my family's love only a phone call away. In six years on my own I had found myself. How did I not remember that? Maybe I needed a bit of a shake-up, and this hip of mine, which has slowed me down, allowed me to just be.

Yes, my hip grinding as I walk (and the doctor telling me there is a hip replacement in my future - which I am ignoring for now) has kept me from participating in things that require me to be on my feet for hours at a time. When I hurt, I lay down and relax. Relaxing has given me the time to think. And thinking has made me grateful for all the goodness around me It has cleared my mind to forge a new path, one right where I am for the time being. That does not mean I might not shake-it up later, but for now, I am where I need to be.

I may be slow with my walking, but it hasn't slowed me down for other things I love - like writing, sleeping with dogs, dinner with friends, too much time on the computer, which is like an extension of my body. I have a new project that will launch on Tuesday.

A Cup Of Christmas, an e-book with thirty other writers, is a dream come true. In six weeks it pulled together. Once again, my heart was thankful for the trust these authors have I can actually do this and the spirit in which they participated - they were paid nothing for their time and all proceeds go to First Book, a children's literacy charity. Writers giving back.  I've met these folks - some in person, some on Facebook, all linked together in the world of books, in the last six years as I started to write and find myself. I almost missed that I have a writing community of friends that are part of my new world, as I worried I was more alone this year than ever. Silly me.

And something new in the last month, I am going to church. There is a Methodist church on the corner that I've wanted to visit for thirty years. I finally told myself it was time. The sermons are short ( as is my attention span) and relevant to today's world. The pastor is charming and young, breathing life into the church this last year, and into me this last month.  I found a writing group that meets there. On my first Sunday visit, the bulletin announced  they meet there once a week. All of this two minutes from my house. Perfect for the gal who can't get anywhere on time. I can scoot out of my house at the very last minute and find my seat before the service begins.

I look back on this year and wonder what is it that made me so restless. I have wonderful friends, some that go back with me thirty plus years, some new that seem like old souls that connected years ago. I've dwelled on the fact I live by myself, no children, no family in town, dissecting that issue in my writing.  I have my six dogs that are my family here. They ground me on days I feel I may explode into the universe with stress and loneliness.  On days when the world is right, I sit on my couch and look at the six-pack surrounding me, and know I have created this life, different from what I had when married, but one that matches my needs. How did I almost forget that?

Family, friends, community, a passion to connect to others, my writing, a house that holds all my memories of a life well-lived, and a life that continues to grow. That is what I am thankful for today.

Yes, the dogs are glaring at me. I forgot to include them in the statement above. I am so happy to have my six-pack.  They are a group of hooligans, but they bring life to a house that could be too quiet. They remind me a broken spirit can be healed with love. They teach me that the simple things are what count. They teach me to enjoy the moment. They make me laugh out loud and be silly. They remind me, that eating lots of food is a good thing! And I will chow down with friends later today!

Wishing all a wonderful Thanksgiving! May you be as happy as a pup with its head out the car window, inhaling all that life has to offer.



 

Garden Daze With Dogs

I have a bunch of lazy dogs. They take after me.  On a lovely spring day you most likely will find us lounging in the house rather than out in the beautiful weather. It's not the pollen, not the heat, we are just a pack of sluggish hounds.

Snuggling on the couch under the ceiling fan is very relaxing. Looking out the large picture window in the living room, at the sloping yard that ends with a natural picket fence by the street, the grass speckled with sun as its rays push through the branches of tall pines, and the huge expanse of ground that rounds to the right of way, makes it a bucolic setting. Restful.

Who wants to get up and move? I wasn't always so lazy myself, but hanging out with six dogs is a great stress reducer, and I find it hard to get up and do stuff . . . garden stuff.  I get up to write, eat, chat on my cell, drive off to meet friends for shopping and dinner, but work in the garden has been something I've avoided for a few years. The work was done, but by semi-professionals, and I would look at it later, after I'd written my check, and sigh . . . so beautiful.

This month things are changing. I am doing work myself. I still need a professional to mow the yard, but the clean-up, plantings, and other little jobs are now mine. It is a task I've told myself it's time to take on. Get some exercise, get the dogs out in the fresh air, save some money . . . the new me, sparkling at sixty-five.

Ready to drop in the yard at sixty-five. A few days of vigorous word, raking old leaves from the fall, bagging them, taking them in my little Red Ryder wagon to the street, all joyous activities, all finding muscles and joints I haven't used lately.

Yet I find I am smiling like an idiot. And so are the dogs. We love being outside in these glorious days. I've missed the simple pleasures of my yard. Digging in the dirt is so cathartic. Watching the dogs lounge on the deck, silly smiles on their faces as their heads point up towards the sky, drinking in the sunshine.

Glorious.

Thrilling.

Fun.

The couch will be empty while we all prance in the yard. There is plenty of time to snuggle at night and watch TV.

Perhaps a gardening show on HGTV.

You never know what tricks an old dog can learn.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lesson Learned!

 

 

I did and so did the dogs. I bathed. They didn't. Now the house smells like dirt. That's so much

better than some of the smells from the dogs!

 

 

Post-Op Delirium

 

Photo from Pinterest - Love the colors

 

 

 

Photo from Pinterest - An art studio for my painting.

 

     Yesterday I had my post-op visit with my doctor and I am good to go. Still need to pace myself, but I think two weeks indoors has played with my psyche. I’m thinking funny thoughts today. Wildly crazy visions of a new life. I was on Pinterest looking at mid-century modern flats in New York and European rooms in Paris, enjoying the views of tall ceilings, huge windows looking over the cities, colorful furniture, and walls of art and mirrors. Even a lovely French style sofa with tattered velvet covering made me sigh, such perfection in its faded elegance.

     It’s not that I don’t have my own house filled with color, art, and tattered furniture, which I love. It is just that two weeks recovering from surgery has left me daft. So much to do around here, and so little desire to do anything, except think of extravagance and change.

     My internet service crashing as I was looking at photos didn’t help either. I called to be sure they received my payment (I was late, but hey, I had surgery!) and it was not my issue, but a neighborhood issue. Give it an hour I was told by a tech. I am. But waiting is boring, for a gal who is bored recuperating at home for two weeks already. So I let my mind play games. I’m moving to new city, in a high rise, and going thoroughly modern Barbara.

      These are the thoughts that crossed my mind as my internet crashed:

       Move to Paris, if that is not possible, try NYC.

       Sell my old cupboards and cottage furniture, upgrade to modern with a hint of antique.

       Change out all my vintage oil paintings for prints and watercolors behind glass to reflect more light.

     Sell my car and buy a bike for city life.

     Dig out my paints and canvases, I feel a still-life coming on.

     Get a cat. Hahaha. That is just a joke. My six dogs are looking at me suspiciously as I giggle and write this.

     Wait, is that the internet connection coming back? My goodness, it is.

      Never mind what I just wrote! I think I’ll go back and look at more photos on Pinterest, you know the ones I post to my boards on painted cottage furniture, garden style art, farmhouses, and walls full of oil paintings.  The cottage in my mind is still a dream, the flat in Paris, well, that is a wild fantasy brought on by too much time alone!

      Six dogs won’t make it to Paris or NYC. And I don’t go anywhere without them. I can drive again, my doctor told me so. I think my big adventure will be tonight, dinner out. Anyone care to join me?  

       

   

Pizza Anyone?

 

Chloe look-a-like from the web.

 

 

I am restless. That is a great sign I am doing well. I can't rest much longer, although technically I have to take it easy. Next week I find out if I can drive. I've occupied myself with promoting my new book, Danger In Her Words, online and am working on my dog memoir. Later today I will post on my book blog, Book Talk With Barbara Barth, where I love to promote other authors. Perhaps I'll list on Ebay. When you are confined to your home with six canine companions it is a great time to think about the past and look towards the future. Surgery has a way of putting things in perspective. It also is a bit tedious if you are used to going full speed ahead! My wheels are spinning...but I am in park.

 

Friends have visited, their bright smiles making me happy. I spent the entire day before surgery cleaning a house that has needed to be cleaned for two years. Not of dirt, I do sweep and dust, but of all the merchandise that needed to leave my house so people could fit in. My antique dealer friends understand what that is all about. I find it amazing that it took a bit of surgery to open up more than I realized. I've wanted to entertain in my home, but between the dogs and my stuff, it has been talk, just talk. Now it is a reality.

 

How funny to me that last Saturday night, in my jammies, surrounded by dogs, a good friend came over for dinner and a movie. A first in, hmmm...four years. The dogs behaved well, the movie was hysterical. I laughed until I thought my sides would split, a pillow tucked close to my stomach. Then, later, alone, I looked at my sparkling hardwood floors, the gentle light from a few lamps highlighting their sheen, my antique cottage pieces no longer stacked high with 'stuff', and the art on my walls nodding back to me as if to say...about damn time.

 

The dogs are slowly bossing me around again. First Chloe had her breakdown and had to sleep with me. Two nights later I heard Bertha barking in her crate in the living room. It was three in the morning. I think she'd had it sleeping away from the others. She is crated at night, but in the bedroom. She felt exiled in the living room. I pulled myself out of bed and stumbled into the living room. "Good girl, Bertha." I reached down, bending as little as possible, and unhooked her crate. Bertha, all seventy-five pounds of her, trotted down towards the bedroom and into her open crate. She did a few circles, plopped down, and went to sleep. I pulled myself back into my bed.

 

Ten minutes later the racket from the sunroom was more than I could ignore. I pulled myself back up (and that is the hardest part of my surgery, getting up and down). Annabelle, my dear old hound, was barking, she could not find a spot on the couch, the others were there. I let Annabelle follow me back up the hall. She got her chunky butt up on the low bench at the foot of my bed, crawled under my quilt, and fell asleep. Chloe, of course, had to screech a few minutes that Annabelle crawled into the very spot Chloe had been sleeping. I pulled myself back to bed. We all slept well.

 

Three dogs back in the bedroom, three more to come. I'm getting there slowly.

 

The day looms ahead. I'll be here by myself with the dogs, figuring what to do to feel in touch with civilization. I have been so fortunate that my best friend for years, is a chef. She prepared twenty-six individual cooked and frozen gourmet meals, and I have eaten the healthiest and tastiest food one could imagine. I'd have been lost without her kindness, for I never cook and my cupboards are bare. (except for vintage treasures tucked in where food should be!).

I've been very good. Eating the right foods, not drinking soda, glass after glass of water. I feel good. My system loves how healthy I've been eating. My mind is tempting me today. Be bad, have fun. Should I, could I, would I? I think the answer is yes.

 

Tonight I'm thinking Pizza. Anyone care to join me?

 

 

 

My Hysterical Hysterectomy – Or Surviving Surgery With Six Dogs

Trust me. I promise not to hurt you.

 

   So, my big idea to start off 2014 by kicking it in the ass has a set-back. Surgery is in the cards for me. I’ve actually postponed it, knowing it was lurking out there, figuring if I ignored it, it would go away. I had bigger things to do late 2013, the biggest was completing my novel. I was assured waiting was not a worry as it is preventative surgery and not labeled as anything more than it is. Which is enough in my book. I am sure that down the road I will be happy that this is off my bucket list of things I really never planned, nor wanted to do. In the scheme of things it is a mere bump in the road. It does take a bite out of my favorite chant, no pain, no pain.

    My book will be available on Amazon and Kindle by Valentine’s Day. I’ve given birth to my first work of fiction and am excited. Then three days later I head to the hospital for my surgery. I was given the opportunity of going home at night or staying in the hospital overnight. What made my decision for me? Time. To come home that night I had to be at the hospital at 5:30 am. Seriously? That was harder to get my head around than the fact by the next day a part of me would be gone. So I opted to come in at 10 am and spend the night being catered to in my hospital bed. Which actually made everyone I know happy. No one wants me to go home to my house alone. I live with six dogs and my friends, who have never met my pack, are horrified I will be dealing with dogs as I deal with recovery. To tell you the truth, it worries me too.

    My dogs are my kids and my family. Try to explain to the medical community that you have six dogs, six dogs who are pretty finicky in their routines, six dogs that sleep in bed with me, the smallest, my seven pound Chi insists on curling up on my stomach. And that there are no other humans in the house to help. They don’t get it. I finally looked at the physician’s assistant and put it in words she might get. “It is like I have six babies at home that need to be fed, cleaned up after, and played with.

     “I thought you never had children.” She looked up from her chart.

      Really. She still wasn’t listening. Perhaps in Pre-Op on Monday they’ll get it. I need to know what to expect so I can keep my house in order.

     I have made some preliminary arrangements. My pet sitter will be with my dogs while I am alone in the hospital. They have a slumber party scheduled, I have a quiet night in room number (tbd) whatever. I guess I’ll finally discover what everyone who has spent a night in the hospital knows, it is not quiet or restful. On the bright side, perhaps there will be drugs.

     My medical issues over my life have been minimal. I have had one other surgery. Looking back, a book was paramount at that time too. In 2010 after my big launch party for The Unfaithful Widow, which was a grand fete at a bed and breakfast in Atlanta in honor of Animal Rescue, I ran into my kitchen in my bare feet and slipped on dog pee. After landing hard on my padded butt I realized I’d dislocated my shoulder. It was hard to miss, my left shoulder protruded out so far I got very scared. The hospital is within a sneeze of my house and my neighbor drove me over to the ER. I sat there alone, a small morphine drip, chattering that it was dog pee on my butt, I had not actually peed myself. The drugs took hold while I waited for three hours to see a doctor. In that short time I sold a few books by telling the staff that kept checking on me I had just published my book. If I had only realized there would be an interest, I could have packed a few copies to take with me. But wait, I was in terrible pain! Not only had I dislocated my shoulder, I tore my rotator cuff. I had surgery within the month. My dogs tiptoed on all four paws when I came home from the ER. “Who peed?” My tone was sharp. Their sweet faces told me all I needed to know, I would never know. I better learn to tread lightly or wear shoes.

     So, within a few days of my new book, Danger In Her Words, being released, history will repeat itself. I will have surgery. Easy-peasy I’ve been told. It’s a non-invasive procedure. I am waiting for my list of do’s and don’ts. I am sure top on that list will be, don’t let the dogs sleep with you! And so it will begin. My Hysterical Hysterectomy Recovery. Stayed tuned for the continuing posts if you have the stomach for it!

    On a note, I have a wonderful group of friends that have offered to help. I find it interesting that I am shy about having them in my home to see what life with six dogs entails. I am sure I will get over that as soon as my wimp factor hits.

My Brain Is Popping - My Book Is Written! In Praise of Animated Gifs

I am a sucker for animated gifs! I love the movement and never stop to be amazed that things sparkle before my eyes that I put down flat on my blog!

This image is my brain today! It is on overdrive! I finished my romantic thriller "Danger In Her Words" this morning and it is being formatted for Amazon and Kindle by Gilbert Street Press.

Writing about my own life seems a simple task, writing fiction is daunting! This has been a joyful experience, however, as I've bonded with my characters and we've had a heck of a wild ride!

Look for my book launch in January. We didn't make it in time for Santa, but it will be a great way to welcome the new year!

 

Addicted to Jewelry

My latest fix - necklaces with old religious medals.

There. I've said it. I am addicted to jewelry.

Now I need to clarify that statement. Not expensive diamonds and gold, but artist made pieces that are full of imagination and spirit. Vintage jewelry with a history and patina. Junk jewelry I find at thrift stores. Mingle it all together and you have what I call 'my style'. You also have my drug of choice. Buying jewelry calms me down when I am stressed. It is also my main distraction when I am writing late at night and need a break. At 2AM you'll find me sneaking up to Etsy to find my latest fix.

It is a relief to me that I have narrowed it down to jewelry. I became an antique dealer because I was addicted to huge old painted cupboards. You can't just toss those on a tray on your vanity and walk away. Then it was art...then it was vintage clothes...I have downsized my craziness to fit in my pocket. You know, that pocket that has no money in it, but is filled with beautiful things I love.

When I wrote my memoir "The Unfaithful Widow" my jewelry choice then was vintage turquoise Native American pieces. I found it didn't matter what I wore, everyone noticed my jewelry. I layered it around my neck and up my arms. There were two rings on each hand. I felt 'interesting' during a time I felt so alone. Wearing turquoise jewelry eased the word 'widow' that had become a part of my vocabulary.

My very first - and actually only - book club signing - the gals all wore turquoise jewelry in my honor. I stepped into their warm surroundings, soup simmering on the stove, wine punch in a bowl, and felt at home. Several of the members came up to me waving their arms to show turquoise bracelets. "We loved your chapter on Turquoise jewelry." Then I took off my coat and realized I was wearing only silver. My turquoise was piled up on the dresser at home. My mood that day called for vintage Mexican silver.

It seems my mood dictates many choices for me.

My latest passion  - crosses, and lots of them, dangling on silver chains and surrounded by vintage rhinestone necklaces. I wear 'dead people' around my neck as I was reminded by a group I had dinner with a few weeks ago. My latest purchase from Etsy arrived. An assemblage necklace with an 1800s tintype photo of an old woman, hair pulled back in a stern bun, and dressed in black. It was in a small antique gold frame circled with tiny rhinestones. I was ecstatic it arrived in time for my dinner adventure.

"Is that a relative you have around your neck?" I looked up from my shrimp salad confused. She pointed to my necklace. "That old woman in the frame."

I smiled and looked at the group. "No, it's a dead person I don't know." I suppose I got a bit of joy out of the moment. The young gal that ushered me to my table had complimented my necklace only minutes before. "It's so cool." My dinner companions looked at me with peculiar expressions. End of conversation.

I plan to wear another 'instant relative' - the more politically correct phrase, dead person is a bit gauche, to dinner tonight.

Sometimes I leave the house and am naked of jewelry. That is always a buying situation ready to happen. I will walk into my favorite thrift store, check out the jewelry counter, find an odd little piece for under $3, reach up and feel the empty spot right below my throat, and point to the case.
"Can I look at that piece please?"

Most likely I will leave wearing it.

A bit of a game, but easy-peasy, and inexpensive at best.

My choices are simply what I love at any given time. Not to impress, not to shock, but to feel good when I pull myself together. I love art in any form, and the pieces I buy now are one-of-a-kind visions of artists who love old things as much as I do. Or used bits and parts I may fashion into something.

I've made jewelry before and sold it in our Botanical Gardens gift shop. My back room is full of oddities ready for me to pick up and design again. Perhaps after the first of the year I will. It may be time to lighten my jewelry load! Right now I am too busy writing. I only have time to shop online at night.

In celebration of my upcoming release, "Danger In Her Words" I will offer a raffle of a naughty or nice piece of jewelry. Details are coming.

Some of my recent purchases below. Are you addicted to jewelry? If so, share your comments below and be entered in my give-a-way.

 

Jewelry Give-A-Way - Read On

 Purchased from Etsy to be included in jewelry give-a-way!

Did I get your attention? I hope so, because I have fun news to share.  I'll be giving away jewelry on this blog in a few weeks. Read to the bottom and see how you can enter in a pre-publication drawing by commenting here now.

My romantic girly thriller will launch the end of the month. I'll be posting more information here and on Facebook about some fun give-a-ways to celebrate my first fiction book. So follow me if you'd like to join in.

The queen  (I've crowned myself queen since no one else has) of memoir writing is writing fiction. This has been such an interesting and fun time for me. I've read that many fiction characters hold traits of the author, and that may appear to be so in my romantic thriller. But baring my soul is nothing new to me.

If you read my memoir The Unfaithful Widow, or any of my blog posts on other sites, you know I don't hold back. I share everything. My favorite remark from a much older friend of mine after she finished my widow book..."I was just shocked at one thing."   I held my breath, ready to turn a bright red if she picked up on a few of my dates. "I can't believe you only own one bra!"

Yes, I confess, in 2009 I only had one. I've corrected that. It is terrible when you only have one bra, and one of your six dogs has made it his. I found my bra tucked in Bray's teeth and paws as I was trying to get dressed for work. That excuse for being late to work was quite embarrassing!

But writing fiction, it's a dream! I can twist and turn and have fantasies galore that hopefully will be fun for everyone.  I love my characters, they have become my friends as I sit late at night, my pack of dogs by my side, and plan their fates.

I don't always get the final say with them, however. Susan and Jamie have thoughts of their own, and are not shy in pulling me in a different direction. I let them. It is, after all, their story.
 
It is an amazing experience. So much different than non-fiction memoir, where I stick to the truth, the whole truth, so help me...well, almost always.

I am in the editing stages now. Soon... my book (title to be announced) will be available on Amazon and Kindle. And you might win a fabulous necklace for the holidays.

Have you been naughty or nice? I hope you'll share your story with me too! Leave a comment below and enter in a pre-publication drawing!

 Purchased from Etsy to be included in my jewelry give-a-way.

The Scene : A Farmhouse Kitchen The Crime? Girl Talk To Make You Blush

Glass front cabinets and cut flowers from the garden. Part of Susan's dreamy farmhouse kitchen.  Photo Pinterest.

 

 

  “This is just like old times!” Susan opened the bottle of wine and started to fill their glasses. The four of them huddled in the kitchen in their PJ’s drinking and laughing. . . .  And oh the stories they shared, but wait, you'll have to read the book ... coming Christmas 2013.
 

 

What inspired the kitchen in my upcoming naughty thriller? A cottage kitchen that would hold a killer farm table and let me act out my own farmhouse fantasy. That's the only fantasy I'll fess up too.  Or else I'd go from cottage white to blushing red!

 

A little bit of this and a lot of that pulled together to make the perfect kitchen space. Photos from Pinterest helped me design Susan's kitchen, the heart of her two story 1800's grey shingled cottage farmhouse in a small town close to Atlanta.  As an antique dealer, details are important to me.  Susan and I have the same taste, painted furniture, large cupboards and more paintings than wall space. Perhaps you'd like to join us for a glass of wine!

 

 

Susan's kitchen is large enough for a farm table to die for, surrounded by eight French style chairs. That little dog, why that could be Daisy, Susan's loveable, spirited, mixed ball of fluff! Pinterest

 

 

 

Who wouldn't love this wonderful farm table and chairs?   Pinterest   I dream of white at night and soft pastel colors during the day. Susan's cottage is a lovely mixture of both.


My cottage style farmhouse fantasy went from a blog where I tried to exorcize the notion I had to move out of my house, to the scene in my first stab at  fiction - a romantic, somewhat naughty, thriller!

As a non-fiction author, The Unfaithful Widow, a personal memoir, available on Amazon and Kindle , writing fiction is awesome! I am having fun with it - perhaps you will too.

I've a deadline to meet so I'd better whip myself in shape and get back to the job at hand!