Animal Details
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Tuesday, May 10, 2016
Animal Details
Mini Dachshund at Phenix City, Alabama, animal control. She's red and white. Needs out
Animal Details
Animal Details
Saturday, June 14, 2014
ET and We
I was thinking about old movies today, and "ET" came to mind. The memory never fails to make me smile, and not just because this delightful movie was memorable all by itself.
My son was young when "ET, the Extra Terrestrial" came out in 1989, only 10 or 11. (I can never remember exactly what year my only child was born -- how weird is that?) We went to see the film at the Bradley Theatre in Columbus, GA. At the time, the Bradley was fairly new and its rocking theatre seating was unique and cool.
I'd already seen the movie, so I thought I was prepared for the sad parts. But...no. My son and I wept copious tears when ET was dying. We wept again when ET recovered -- yay! And then we wept when ET took his leave. "Beeeeee goooooood," he said, plunging us both (and most of the audience) into fresh paroxysms of grief.
After the movie, my son and I climbed into the truck for the trip home. He was silent on the way out of the theatre. He was silent as he fastened his seatbelt.
Then he turned to me, tears still glistening on his face, and said, "Don't you ever do that to me again!" He was furious, which I found utterly endearing.
After all these years, that moment in the truck brings back the smile. My kid. What a caring heart he has.
Yes, I know the title is grammatically incorrect, but "Us" didn't rhyme. So sue me.
My son was young when "ET, the Extra Terrestrial" came out in 1989, only 10 or 11. (I can never remember exactly what year my only child was born -- how weird is that?) We went to see the film at the Bradley Theatre in Columbus, GA. At the time, the Bradley was fairly new and its rocking theatre seating was unique and cool.
I'd already seen the movie, so I thought I was prepared for the sad parts. But...no. My son and I wept copious tears when ET was dying. We wept again when ET recovered -- yay! And then we wept when ET took his leave. "Beeeeee goooooood," he said, plunging us both (and most of the audience) into fresh paroxysms of grief.
After the movie, my son and I climbed into the truck for the trip home. He was silent on the way out of the theatre. He was silent as he fastened his seatbelt.
Then he turned to me, tears still glistening on his face, and said, "Don't you ever do that to me again!" He was furious, which I found utterly endearing.
After all these years, that moment in the truck brings back the smile. My kid. What a caring heart he has.
Yes, I know the title is grammatically incorrect, but "Us" didn't rhyme. So sue me.
Tuesday, January 01, 2013
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Saturday, April 28, 2012
A place at the table
I have a theory. I think it is possible that souls are born into the physical forms they are meant to inhabit, i.e., babies.
Normally, my theory goes, the right soul is attached to the right baby, and that life is meant to be. It might not be the best life, due to choices made by and around the person as he or she goes about the business of growing up, living and dying.
I think that, if the unplanned baby is welcomed and loved, the soul is in its proper place. There is, in fact, no accident -- the soul is meant for that baby and the baby is meant to be, even if the parents don't realize it at first. "We're pregnant? Well, we didn't expect or plan for this, but wow, we're having a baby!"
However, I wonder about babies who are "accidents," who were never planned for and are not only an unpleasant surprise, but unwanted and even resented or hated. These are the ones for whom no place is set at the table. These people were never meant to be, and the soul they have was meant for a wanted baby and thus, is never quite comfortable.
Taking it a bit farther, because these people were never meant to be and were unwanted/resented/hated by their mother or both parents, they are the kind of people no one seems to remember. It's as if their life is more than slightly "off," it is tenuous, like a wraith that never quite makes it to solid form. You forget them because they aren't supposed to be here in the first place.
Can someone with the wrong soul, born at the wrong time to the wrong parents, be successful in life? Or are these the black sheep, the troubled and restless among us, the ones who simply never seem to "get it right"?
Now, I don't believe every loser and wallflower in the world is one of these. Everyone makes choices that impact their lives, and not everyone makes good choices. Some people are plain evil. Some are just losers. They have the opportunity to be something else, but tend to scuttle themselves, or be sabotaged by forces beyond their control, like abusive parents, criminals, natural disasters and so forth.
My theory is that people who not only weren't meant to be but are also unwelcome will never overcome this inadvertent theft of life. They know, on some level, that they should not be here, and that knowledge, no matter how deeply buried in the subconscious, negatively impacts their entire lives.
This is just my theory and of course, I have no way to prove it. But I can't disprove it, either.
I'd like to explore my theory in a novel at some point and see where the idea takes me.
Normally, my theory goes, the right soul is attached to the right baby, and that life is meant to be. It might not be the best life, due to choices made by and around the person as he or she goes about the business of growing up, living and dying.
I think that, if the unplanned baby is welcomed and loved, the soul is in its proper place. There is, in fact, no accident -- the soul is meant for that baby and the baby is meant to be, even if the parents don't realize it at first. "We're pregnant? Well, we didn't expect or plan for this, but wow, we're having a baby!"
However, I wonder about babies who are "accidents," who were never planned for and are not only an unpleasant surprise, but unwanted and even resented or hated. These are the ones for whom no place is set at the table. These people were never meant to be, and the soul they have was meant for a wanted baby and thus, is never quite comfortable.
Taking it a bit farther, because these people were never meant to be and were unwanted/resented/hated by their mother or both parents, they are the kind of people no one seems to remember. It's as if their life is more than slightly "off," it is tenuous, like a wraith that never quite makes it to solid form. You forget them because they aren't supposed to be here in the first place.
Can someone with the wrong soul, born at the wrong time to the wrong parents, be successful in life? Or are these the black sheep, the troubled and restless among us, the ones who simply never seem to "get it right"?
Now, I don't believe every loser and wallflower in the world is one of these. Everyone makes choices that impact their lives, and not everyone makes good choices. Some people are plain evil. Some are just losers. They have the opportunity to be something else, but tend to scuttle themselves, or be sabotaged by forces beyond their control, like abusive parents, criminals, natural disasters and so forth.
My theory is that people who not only weren't meant to be but are also unwelcome will never overcome this inadvertent theft of life. They know, on some level, that they should not be here, and that knowledge, no matter how deeply buried in the subconscious, negatively impacts their entire lives.
This is just my theory and of course, I have no way to prove it. But I can't disprove it, either.
I'd like to explore my theory in a novel at some point and see where the idea takes me.
Wednesday, March 07, 2012
Sales of MEMORY'S CHILD are slowly moving along. Most of the people buy the e-book at Amazon. On Barnes and Noble, I'm still in the single digits, and still in the single digits at Smashwords.
This is not surprising. I'm a new author, unknown to anyone besides family and friends, and it takes time to build readership. I'm fine with that. I'd be fine-r if someone, anyone, would post a review on any of these sites, but that, too, should come in time.
What used to be called self-publishing or vanity publishing is now known as indie publishing. Due to the proliferation of both electronic book readers and people eager to share their writing gems with the world without spending a decade of their lives collecting rejections the conventional way, even writers with an established track record with publishers offer their books in electronic format. Many get the rights to publish their backlist and publish their books themselves.
I'm told that having more than one title available enhances sales across the board, so I'd better get cracking on the prequel and sequel to MEMORY'S CHILD.
Stay tuned.
This is not surprising. I'm a new author, unknown to anyone besides family and friends, and it takes time to build readership. I'm fine with that. I'd be fine-r if someone, anyone, would post a review on any of these sites, but that, too, should come in time.
What used to be called self-publishing or vanity publishing is now known as indie publishing. Due to the proliferation of both electronic book readers and people eager to share their writing gems with the world without spending a decade of their lives collecting rejections the conventional way, even writers with an established track record with publishers offer their books in electronic format. Many get the rights to publish their backlist and publish their books themselves.
I'm told that having more than one title available enhances sales across the board, so I'd better get cracking on the prequel and sequel to MEMORY'S CHILD.
Stay tuned.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Published at last!
After waffling around for two decades, I finally polished up my novel and published it as an e-book this weekend. MEMORY'S CHILD, which is either a post-apocalyptic sci-fi adventure or a cautionary tale (or both), is now available for Kindle, NOOK, and other e-readers and devices.
You can get it in a wide variety of formats, including .pdf, on Smashwords by clicking here.
Get it on Kindle here.
If you have a NOOK e-book reader, you can get MEMORY'S CHILD here.
The synopsis is on those sites, but if you want to get an idea of what the book's about before clicking, here you go:
Shelana is descended from genetically enhanced humans chosen to help carry the world's knowledge beyond man's self-destruction. To carry out her duty as historian, she must battle to survive prejudice directed not at race, religion or means, but at intelligence.
Fomenting and spreading this prejudice is the powerful, mysterious and bloodthirsty group known as Myths. Vernon, leader of the Myths, is determined to wipe out the Preservationists and to control the redevelopment of civilization. Vernon has made one mistake that may ruin his plans and cost him his life, a mistake the Myth leader doesn't even remember he made. But Shelana does.
Happy reading!
Saturday, February 12, 2011
The Empty Water Bowl
Everyone who lives with a pet eventually comes face-to-face with the unpleasant task of living without their furry companion. While pets occasionally outlive their owners, normally, it is the other way around. And brother, losing a pet is one of life's harder experiences.
While I am generally a dog person, I do have cats. All rescues, all with different personalities and levels of interaction with me. Little Bitty Kitty was my oldest, and I lost her a few days ago. Sometimes, it feels like she died five seconds ago. Sometimes, it feels as if I've been grieving forever.
The depth of my grief surprised me. I love my cats, don't get me wrong. But cats don't have the emotional tie-in with me that my dogs have, and I always thought I was less attached to them because of this. I was definitely mistaken.
Little Bitty Kitty was a quiet cat. I don't recall ever hearing her meow. When she was hungry, which wasn't often because I keep the food bowl filled, she simply began weaving around my legs for attention.
I'm pretty good about keeping the water bowl filled, too, but sometimes, if I'm busy elsewhere, the water is consumed without my instantaneous knowledge. Little Bitty Kitty, apparently fearing I would not notice the empty bowl, had a solution: she sat in it. Sure enough, it was impossible to walk past without noticing the cat sitting patiently and silently in the middle of the empty bowl. Her method was foolproof while she was alive. Now that she is buried not far from me, the sight of that empty bowl with no cat sitting in it is horribly painful. I miss her. I miss her more than I thought I would.
Grief is grief, just as love is love. You can grieve for or love one being more than another, but it really does not matter what form that being takes, whether human, feline, canine or reptilian. Loss is loss. Anyone who says you cannot love an animal as you love a person has never truly loved an animal. Of course you can love a pet as strongly as you love a human. Many people don't, but I have to wonder if they can't, or simply refuse to allow it. Loving a pet deeply does not in any way diminish whatever love you may have for a human being.
I loved Little Bitty Kitty. I don't have to worry about forgetting her, because every time I look at that water bowl, I think of her. Right now, it makes me cry. Eventually, I will look at the empty bowl and in my memory see her sitting there so quietly, waiting for me to notice and fulfill my duty. And I will smile.
I hope the smile comes soon.
While I am generally a dog person, I do have cats. All rescues, all with different personalities and levels of interaction with me. Little Bitty Kitty was my oldest, and I lost her a few days ago. Sometimes, it feels like she died five seconds ago. Sometimes, it feels as if I've been grieving forever.
The depth of my grief surprised me. I love my cats, don't get me wrong. But cats don't have the emotional tie-in with me that my dogs have, and I always thought I was less attached to them because of this. I was definitely mistaken.
Little Bitty Kitty was a quiet cat. I don't recall ever hearing her meow. When she was hungry, which wasn't often because I keep the food bowl filled, she simply began weaving around my legs for attention.
I'm pretty good about keeping the water bowl filled, too, but sometimes, if I'm busy elsewhere, the water is consumed without my instantaneous knowledge. Little Bitty Kitty, apparently fearing I would not notice the empty bowl, had a solution: she sat in it. Sure enough, it was impossible to walk past without noticing the cat sitting patiently and silently in the middle of the empty bowl. Her method was foolproof while she was alive. Now that she is buried not far from me, the sight of that empty bowl with no cat sitting in it is horribly painful. I miss her. I miss her more than I thought I would.
Grief is grief, just as love is love. You can grieve for or love one being more than another, but it really does not matter what form that being takes, whether human, feline, canine or reptilian. Loss is loss. Anyone who says you cannot love an animal as you love a person has never truly loved an animal. Of course you can love a pet as strongly as you love a human. Many people don't, but I have to wonder if they can't, or simply refuse to allow it. Loving a pet deeply does not in any way diminish whatever love you may have for a human being.
I loved Little Bitty Kitty. I don't have to worry about forgetting her, because every time I look at that water bowl, I think of her. Right now, it makes me cry. Eventually, I will look at the empty bowl and in my memory see her sitting there so quietly, waiting for me to notice and fulfill my duty. And I will smile.
I hope the smile comes soon.
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