Oh, Deer

Here's the thing. I've been sick with the Piglet Flu, not a full hog-on swine but certainly close to it. So, that's my excuse for not blogging this week. I am so sorry my faithful fans. But I am happy to say that I'm feeling better, my brain is back to it's usual abnormal, twisted self and I am here to post. So yesterday, I had to drive out to West Chester University (it's not far) to bring my daughter some supplies when I changed lanes and found myself following the truck in the picture above. That's right--a pick-up truck filled with dead Bambie or is it BambI. Whatever. Now this is either one of the funniest or most disgusting things I have seen in a very long time. This guy gives new meaning to a John Deer truck, let me tell you. I mean what is going on here. Are these carcusses he found on the roadside? Is this his job? And what's with the little basket thing on the back. Is that a special dead dear add-on that he requested at the dealership or should I say Deership? Is this the remains of some weird quadruple plus deer family murder/suicide thing? Was it a Santa Claus training mission gone terribly wrong? Is that Rudolph in that basket? Oh, deer, me. I had to swerve considerabley and I probably should have been arrested as I chased him down the road to get a picture. Perhaps he was taking them to be, what? Stuffed? Processed into bambi burgers? I tried to get close enough to ask him but lost him at a light. Too bad, he looked like a real sweet fella. But you know, it got me thinking that if next year the flu of the month club is Deer Flu, we know who to blame.

Why I Love Baseball

Here's the thing, I like baseball and for a Philadelphia fan the last couple of years have been pretty awesome. The Phillies won the World Series last year and are on their way to a repeat this year. It doesn't get any better. But being a Phillies fan or Phan is not so easy. They drive me nuts and at times I have to leave the room when they're playing because I just can't watch anymore, especially when Brad Lidge is on the mound. All he needs to do is strike out two batters and what does he do, he gives up four hits and two runs and suddenly the Phillies' one-run lead is gone, forcing the Phills to battle back once again. I tell you, I can't take it! The other night was a case in point. They were down, losing, and short of a baseball miracle there was no way they would win. Well, don't you know in the ninth inning they rally back to win with a couple of well-placed home runs! Thank you Jason Werth! Yikes. I thought my heart stopped three times it was so stressful to watch. The Phillies are a lot like children. They drive you nuts, make you angry, make you crazy, give you a stroke and then what? They turn around and do something wonderful to remind you why you love them so much. Last night's game, the first in the NLCS playoffs was no exception. What is wrong with Cole Hamels? He is not the pitcher we saw last year. Has becoming a new daddy taken its toll? When I became a new mommy I didn't all of a sudden start burning the toast or dropping the vacuum cleaner down the steps. Sheesh. But, they won, they slugged it out and won. Last night in the eighth Ibanez blasted a three-run homer and the Phills took the lead. It's a thing of beauty. This kind of baseball sometimes makes me question why I continue to watch, I mean really, why do I put myself through it. Life is certainly stressful enough. So why do I add more? Uhm. Well, because it's so exciting, because I love victory and because, there is always a chance that they can pull out a W when trialing even by a dozen runs. It takes one swing of the bat to start a rally. It takes one run to win the game. And until the final batter is out, the possibility of victory remains. With baseball, there is always possibilitites. And as Emily Dickinson said, "I dwell in possibility."
Go Phillies!

How do you say it? How do you play it?

Here't the thing, the other night I instructed my young son to turn out the light in his bedroom and found myself correcting what I said to "turn off" the light in his bedroom. I mean he really is only fliping a switch. It's not like he needs to blow out a lantern. And that got me thinking. How do you say it?
Do you say:
Turn out or turn off the lights?
Do you call
in or out sick?
Do you stand
in or on line?
And then the other day Adam told me he was going out to play and said he would "knock up" for his friend Hobbie. "What? Knock up?" Um, that has a whole other meaning in my brain. But apparently this is how the kids and adults in my neighborhood refer to the simple task of knocking on a friend's door to see if they can play. When I was a girl we stood on the curb and yelled, "Yo, Adrian." But now we "knock up" for someone. Uhm.
Do have a stoop outside your front door or steps or a porch. We have a stoop, which is of course, steps. I don't know. So on warm spring evenings everyone in the neighborhood would come out and sit on the stoop and yak and smoke cigarettes. That was when cigs cost 39 cents and my neighbor would give me a buck and tell me to run down the deli and buy her a pack of Winstons. And I could. Imagine that? But then again, we played Lawn Darts. Yep, Lawn Darts. Not the woosey pants nerf version our ultra protected children play with. For those of you who don't know, this is a game similar to horsehoes involving large metal, sharp darts tossed into a ring on the ground. Gave new meaning to the phrase, "You'll put your eye out." Uhm.
Well, I'd love to continue this stroll down memory lane but I ahve a meeting to get to so I'll continue later. In the eman time, How do you say it? And How did you Play it?

Pulpwood Queens

Here's the thing, The Pulpwood Queens Book club, the largest tiara-wearing, book-loving, book reading book club in the world has chosen The Prayers of Agnes Sparrow as thier Bonus book selection for November. I am thrilled and honored and hoping that some of them will choose Agnes and/or that some of you other book club people will choose to read Agnes. If you do please let me know and I will will provide copies of the gorgeous map of Bright's Pond to everyone in your group. The map, suitable for framing, will show you just where the quirky folks of Bright's Pond live, where the Full Moon Diner is, Hector's Hill, the Town Hall, the Sparrow Funeral Home--all the good places. So, if you are reading or will read The Prayers of Agnes Sparrow, please let me know so I can send you a map or six. Thank you so much.

This little piggy went to school and got us all sick!

Here's the thing. Swine Flu. It's everywhere and my secret identity is elementary school classroom assistant, which means I get to hang out with fifty-two snotty-nosed, coughing, hacking, touchy, feeling kindergarten through fifth graders. That's right. Primary school--The mecca of germs, the nexus of the fluniverse, absolute zero for every cold, virus, and antibiotic resistent strain of anything. Yikes. We try, we try to keep things as germ-free as possible, but we have them, the nose-pickers, the sneezers who just love to sneeze right into their hands and then wipe their hands on the carpet, his friend, the chairs, the teacher. Yep, it's germ warfare. I carry Lysol in a holster and hand sanitizer, Clorox wipes and tissues in my batgirl utility belt. We hang cuetsey signs reminding the little germ factories to wash their hands and blow their noses and wipe down their surfaces every thirty seconds. But do they do it? Well most of them. We drill regularly on proper hand-washing techniques and there isn't a teacher alive who is to shy to say, "That's disgusting. Blow your nose and wash your hands." But, even with all our most creative innovations and strongest bleech we will get sick. As I write this I have a scratchy throat. And as those of you who know me know, Joyce does not like to be sick! So please, help keep me from the germs and buy many many of my books so I can stay home and blissfully write without the added atraction of germs. I probably caught it from the little darling who came up to me, gave me a big hug, and said, "I wasn't here yesterday because I had a fever of a hundred and two point six, but it's only a hundred this morning." That's right. So I hope no one is offended when I come to school with latex gloves and a michael jackson facemask. Does anyone know where I can get a HazMat suit. I'll just say it's my Halloween costume.

On A Roll (of duct tape)

Here's the thing, people are crazy. They have to be. It's the only explanation I can come up with to explain this: A person of obviously questionable scruples duct taped a kitty because she was howling too much. Funny thing was, the perp didn't tape her mouth. The SPCA had to sedate the cat to remove all the tape. I'm still not sure how the SPCA found the cat but I'm glad they did. Kitty is doing fine now. She's been nicknamed "Sticky". But seeing this report on our local news got me thinking about Duct tape sometimes called Duck Tape, perhaps because someone once duct taped a duck to keep it from quacking. It's amazing stuff and has countless uses. And I defy anyone to find me a kidnapper who has not used it to duct tape their victim's mouth. Did you know that enough Duct tape is produced each year to wrap around the equator 12.3 times? That's a lot of adhesive. We use it for everything apparently, from wrapping noisy cats to disguising our faces to commit crimes. Imagine wrapping your head and face in duck tape. Ouch! It is used in handy dandy ways also. Some folks make wallets, ipod cases, hats, shoes and dresses out of the stuff. I've seen pictures of pants, shirts, and ties made from it. (You people have way too much time on your hands). It goes into space and is probably right this second holding the International Space Station together. But alas, I do confess that I too have fallen under it's Siren spell. Back in college I drove a VW Beetle in serious and various stages of decay. But it mostly got me around. One day the passenger side floorboard began to rust through and crack off. Yep, I duct taped that sucker together and drove it for days before it finslly fell off when I went over some railroad tracks. Duck tape is paricularly wonderful because, I don't know about you, but I can never find my scissors when I need to tape my face up. So here's to Duck Tape. Amazing stuff. Just please, don' tape your cat.

Abingdon, Tadpoles, and Boats, O, My!

Here's the thing, I went to Nashville last week to visit my publishing house, sign books, hang with my dear friend Nancy Rue and my editor Barb Scott but no one expected the tadpoles. I'll explain in a minute. The plane ride to Nashville was pretty bumpy--seatbelts and turbulence all the way. So I when I got off the plane I pretty much kissed the ground and thank the Good Lord for not dropping us! Then I met Nancy Rue. She is such an awesome author and friend. We had lunch at Panera (love their broccoli soup) and then went to her home. What a great place. It's one of the houses in the woods near the river or was it a lake? with lots and lots of windows. No need for curtains or drapes. That evening we were hanging out yakking and I casually checked my email. Nothing too out of the ordinary but as I scrolled further down I saw an unexpected email from E-Bay telling me that my twenty-five live bullfrog tadpoles was ready to be shipped! Nancy's husband Jim about split a gut he was laughing so hard as I sat there trying to remember if and when I ordered tadpoles from Ebay. It was my son,Adam. He ordered the pubescent frogs for $19.99 and $29.99 for shipping!!! That's right, 25 tadpoles were on their way to my house! Let's just say I put an end to that. I wrote to the seller, Heather Boger, and cancelled the tadpoles immediately.
Friday my editor took us to lunch and then back to Abingdon where I was met with a surprise reception and had the honor of meeting all the people who have had a hand in producing Agnes Sparrow. What a joyful time. They are lovely folks who went all out and baked Full Moon pie and lemon squares and had M&Ms on hand. I signed books for them and talked about Agnes and my next book. And they gave me an Abingdon shirt and an Abingdon scarf! What a treat. I love you all.
Then Nancy and I drove to a place called the Puffy Muffin to meet Marge and Carolyn, two darling wonderful, smart, women and talked about war and peace, not the book--actual war and peace. We decided peace was the way to go. Then it was back to Nashville to meet Barb and her husband Mike for dinner at Panera again. I ordered more soup but it came in a yellow bowl and I didn't like the way it looked. So Mike asked them to put it in a green bowl for me, the famous, tempermental author. They did and my soup was much more appetizing in a green bowl. After that we walked over to Books A million where we had more lemon squares and folks from Abingdon came and I signed more books. We had a blast.
Saturday, we finally had some down time and sat around laughing and yakking until Barbara and Mike came over. They brought Riley, a three-pound chihauhua dressed in a shirt and Harley Davidson hat. We celebrated Barb's birthday with a cruise on the river/lake on the Rue's Boat, The Banana Split. Riley wore his little life jacket. I got to drive the boat. What a hoot! And what a lovely ride. I saw so many herons and egrets, and hawks and dogs. Well the dogs weren't on the river. We stopped at a friend of the Rue's who has dogs and we got a dog fix. It was crazy and lovely and wonderful to play with pups and Titus and Gary, oh, they're dogs also. Of course the Scotts brought Riley. It was such fun and Riley was a good boy. Then it was back to the Rue's for steak and birthday cake and laughter. I now understand what Emily Dickinson meant when she said, My Friends are my Estate.
Sunday came and it was time to go home. The flight back to Philly was much better. Leave it to me to share a flight with seven senior ciizen Beauty Queens wearing sashes and Tiaras. It's true. They were lovely and did the beauty queen walk up and down the aisle. It made me smile and laugh and was the perfect curlicue on the end of a great trip.