A Survey of...Daughter of Anasca

1. What’s your word count? Aiming for 100K. Haven't quite cut it that much yet. 

2. How long until you finish? Depends on when it gets published.  

3. If you have finished, how long did it take you?  Feels like 400 hours, but less than that, probably. 

4. Do you have an outline? I thought I did. That was most of my problem. 

5. Do you have a plot? See answer above. 

6. How many words do you typically write a day? skip, 

7. What was your greatest word count in one day? skip, 

8. What was your least impressive word count in one day? skip to my lady...

9. What inspired you to write? This one? Dare I say it? ElfQuest. And some movie involving Maureen O'Hara and Errol Flynn involving shepherds and ranchers.

10. Does your novel have a theme song?
Little John & the Band from the Robin Hood Prince of Thieves soundtrack This is the song running through my head during Dyana's fight with the boarase.

11. Assign each of your major characters a theme song.
Dyana: Annie's Song by Roger Whittaker. I can't believe I found this version! I love it!
Glorya: Love Has a Hold on Me by Amy Grant
Cahnar: I Will Be Here by Steven Curtis Chapman. I don't like this version. It's too slow, but, again, it was all I could find on YouTube. 
Spidraax She's Like the Wind by Patrick Swayze Yes, this could be Dyana's theme song, but it isn't.

12. Which character is most like you? Glorya.

13. Which character would you most likely be friends with? Glorya. 

14. Do you have a Gary-Stu or Mary Sue character? No. 

15. Who is your favorite character in your novel? Harimer. 

16. Have your characters ever done something completely unexpected? Yes. 

17. Have you based any of your novel directly on personal experiences? Not this one. Can't think of a single thing in this one. 

18. Do you believe in plot bunnies? Don't know what they are. Sound delicious. 

19. Is there magic in your novel? Two kinds. 

20. Are any holidays celebrated in your novel? Is marriage a holiday? 

21. Does anyone die? Yes.

22. How many cups of coffee/tea have you consumed during your writing experience? 4 per day on average. 

23. What is the latest you have stayed up writing? 11 PM. 

24. What is the best line? Oh, so many...
"What do you suffer in this arrangement?"
Before Cahnar could speak the word poised on his tongue, Harimer interrupted.

"Hamstring her. Height means nothing if she cannot walk."
"Thank you.That is the kind of help I want." 

25. What is the worst line? I suppose all the lines I don't giggle about.

26. Have you dreamed about your novel or its characters? Not these. 

27. Does your novel rely heavily on allegory? No. 

28. Summarize your novel in under fifteen words. There are worse things than marriage. 

29. Do you love all your characters? Yes. 

30. Have you done something sadistic or cruel to your characters specifically to increase your word count? No. I like hurting them for no reason.

31. What was the last thing your main character ate? Dyana? Poisoned fruit. 

32. Describe your main character in three words.
Dyana: reckless, headstrong, spitfire.
Glorya: cautious, determined, righteous. 

33. What would your antagonist dress up as for Halloween? Herself. 

34. Does anyone in your story go to a place of worship? Yes. 

35. How many romantic relationships take place in your novel? Two. 

36. Are there any explosions in your novel? Not this one. 

 37. Is there an apocalypse in your novel? Not this one. 

38. Does your novel take place in a post-apocalyptic world? No. 

39. Are there zombies, vampires or werewolves in your novel? No. 

40. Are there witches, wizards or mythological creatures/figures in your novel? Witches, yes. 

41. Is anyone reincarnated? No. 

42. Is anyone physically ailed? Not sure what this means. Disabled...actually, yes. 

43. Is anyone mentally ill? So very many. 

44. Does anyone have swine flu? No. 

45. Who has pets in your novel and what are they? No pets. 

46. Are there angels, demons, or any religious references/figures in your novel? Demons, yes. And plenty of religious references. 

47. How about political figures? These are princes and princesses, so, yes, I suppose. 

48. Is there incessant drinking? A liberal application of potions, yes. 

49. Are there board games? If so, which ones? No. Do have some hakisak, though.


50. Are there any dream sequences? No.


51. Is there humor? Boy, I hope so. 

52. Is there tragedy? Absolutely. 

53. Does anyone have a temper tantrum? So many. 

54. How many characters end up single at the end of your novel? Most of them. 

55. Is anyone in your novel adopted? Depends. Can in-laws count? 

56. Does anyone in your novel wear glasses? Nope. Not invented. 

57. Has your novel provided insight about your life? It was no walk in the park, I'll tell ya that.  

58. Your personality? Bits of me all over the place.

59. Has your novel inspired anyone? Quick, somebody comment! 

60. How many people have asked to read this novel? Nine? I gave it to eight of them. *evil grin*

61. Have you drawn any of your characters? Yep. Check out my website Elementals page for the little sketches. The big drawings won't fit on my scanner. 

62. Has anyone drawn your characters for you? Not to my knowledge. 

63. Does anyone vomit in your novel? Not in this one. I had enough of that with my first. 

64. Does anyone bleed in your novel? Everybody. 

65. Do any of your characters watch TV? Doesn't exist. 

66. What size shoe does your main character wear? Dyana: 5s. Glorya: 8s.

67. Do any of the characters in your novel use a computer? Don't exist. 

68. How would you react if your novel was erased entirely? I'd kill myself. After I killed whoever erased it. With a spoon. It would not be pretty. 

69. Did you cry at killing off any of your characters? No. 

70. Did you cheer when killing off one of your characters? No. 

71. What advice would you give to a fellow writer? Don't pour new wine into old wineskins. You'll end up with a mess. 

72. Describe your ending in three words. Happily until sequel. 

73. Are there any love triangles, squares, hexagons, etc.? Yes. 

74. On a scale of 1-10 (1 being the least stressful, 10 being the most) how does your stress rank? I don't understand the question. Where's my spoon?


75. Was it worth it? Totally.
Don't know if this survey was...

Bone Broth Recipe

Normal people call it "broth." That's really all it is - homemade broth.

This is my third Winter using bone broth, and I am willing to swear it's why I haven't gotten the creeping crud in that amount of time. While the rest of the office sounds like a Nyquil commercial, I'm doing fine.

I originally tried it for my teeth, but that was a bust. Turns out, it increases tartar, which is why it's important to buy antibiotic-free animals. I use chicken, but this could be done with anything that has bones. According to the blood type diet, chicken is poisonous to blood types B and AB, so those folks should definitely use something else to make their broth.

You're looking at 16 hours for this. I usually start the chicken between 10 and noon on a Saturday, debone it for dinner, and cook the bones overnight.

Chicken Bone Broth recipe

1. Cook a whole, antibiotic-free fryer chicken in a crockpot for 6 hours. Keep in mind, you'll be dissolving this sucker to ingest. Don't skimp on the wholesome goodness. Then again, you'll be making this once or twice a month, so don't be crazy, either. Don't add anything to the pot except the bird. It will cook just fine by itself.

2. Debone the chicken. This takes about 20 minutes if you haven't over-cooked the bird and you're being measured by seven animals trying to decide which would taste better - the bird, or you if you don't hand it over. Use the meat any way you'd normally use chicken.

3. Put all the bones back in the crockpot. I also add whatever skin and fat I haven't offered to the furbabies.

4. Add water. How much depends on how concentrated you want your broth, and how much space you have in your crockpot. I generally add about 6 cups. Enough to easily cover the bones.

5. Add lemon juice for blood types A, or vinegar for blood types O. The acid breaks down the bones, and that's why you're doing this.

5. Cook bones for another 10 hours. You can smash them up a bit after 5 hours, if you're awake.

6. Strain into another container to cool. A colander works fine to catch the bones and big chunks. I put that stuff into the trash because even though the bones are soft enough to crush with my tongue (I've tried it), I don't take risks with giving bones to my furbabies. The broth will form tallow on top, and aspic (jelly) on the bottom. These things all melt back into broth when heated, so don't be a sissy.

7. I separate the broth into 2 cup containers, and freeze all but one. I add broth to anything I'm cooking, and I've been known to just heat a cup and drink it if I feel I need an immune boost. You'll need to add salt if you do this.

You can add garlic and ginger to the broth for additional immune boosting, but I don't because the cats lick my bowls and garlic is poisonous to them.

That's it. If you can get over the ick factor of ripping apart a carcass, you, too, can enjoy amazing health benefits.

Applaud the jellyfish.

Not Fair

Sarah: "It's not fair!"
Goblin King: "You say that so often. I wonder what your basis of comparison is."
Labrynth

He's right, of course. Life is seldom fair, yet we all innately expect it to be. Why is that? If we evolved by chance, why do humans expect the universe to balance the scales, the "good" to be rewarded and the "bad" to be punished? How do we even define "good" and "bad"?

I generally mock those who live according to their feelings. I've asserted consistently that mind must rule over emotions. Emotions aren't bad. They are the sauce over the rice and beans of real life. But you can't live on sauce.

TT: I do understand some people process the world differently than I do, and their emotions lead them to conclusions just as accurate as my observation-based conclusions. I am not speaking of those people.

I really can't put into words how much my feelings have altered because of Heaven. Instead of looking at a budding plant and seeing its inevitable, meaningless death, I now look and see a future perfection. Don't worry, my feelings whisper. Every effort here will one day translate into beauty there. All life comes from God. No life is wasted. No life is lost.*

That reads as sort of new agey, but I assure you, I mean that one day, humans and the universe will be restored to what we should have been: physically, emotionally and spiritually. A flower that grows now has a purpose that translates into eternity. I may not understand it, but I believe it. I've always believed it, but I couldn't justify it biblically. Randy justifies it.

Now, Randy readily admits where his imagination takes over from scripture. He's not my new guru, and I don't take everything he writes as gospel. A lot of it is extrapolation, and some of it is a bit far-fetched. However, he extrapolates from the goodness of God angle instead of the meanness of God angle.

The first lie ever told was "Has God told you not to eat of any tree in the Garden?" Gen 3:1. Meaning, is God so cruel he made all of this and then won't let you enjoy it?

No. He isn't that cruel. His creation was good, and one day, it will be totally good, for all eternity.

Push button. Receive bacon.

*This has implications for those who reject Christ's gift of redemption. They, too, will exist physically for all eternity, but their existence will not be glorious. Jesus said more about hell in his earthly ministry than he did about heaven. It is also real, and terrible, and unending. Choose life, dear readers. Choose Jesus.

I Love Earth

While editing year 2012 of this blog, I accidentally republished a post from that time. If you're wondering what fixing pets has to do with playtime - nothing. Total accident. Probably. Not sure I want to dwell on it for hidden meanings.

Best to move on.

I love this earth. I feel like I'm not supposed to say that, being a Christian, but the fact is, I like being alive. Most of the time. When I'm alone. 

I like breathing. I like working hard in The Swamp. I like bugs and squirrels and the crane that visits every Spring. I don't care for a lot of stuff in the world, including tornadoes, but overall, I love the world itself. I think God did a good job making something that has survived everything we've done to it. 

For years, I've felt guilty about how much I love my furbabies. About how much I love the Kansas sky, and composting, and watching living things live. I'm told that my home isn't here, and I felt I was being unfaithful to God for wishing things could be different. I didn't want to go to a gold-paved heaven city when there was so much here that would be good if not for the Curse. 

So I lived sad, and angry, and guilty - even though I don't believe in the feeling of guilt - and I tried to confess it away or rationalize it or just pretend it wasn't true. In short, I've been miserable, and God wouldn't help me understand why He would make all this for us and then let us destroy it, and I was supposed to be OK with that. 

TT: You know, it's kind of like Lavender Squeak, now that I think about it. 

God spoke to me through Randy Alcorn. Sorry to sound corny, but that's what happened. Randy put into words what my heart has been trying to tell me for years that my mind couldn't grasp, even though I scoured the Bible looking for proof. 

Jesus redeemed the world, too. The universe also gets to resurrect, with all its skies and gardens and squirrels and whatnot. The city is one part of heaven, but heaven will be everywhere. All the universe will be heaven. A perfected universe that we can't ruin anymore. A place to work and enjoy and love for all eternity, just as I will love the One who gave it to me. Yes, creation fell when we did, but it also gets to rise when we do. God didn't abandon it. He saved it. We all get to live forever. 

I'm crying as I write this. I can't help it. My soul is coming back to life. The dry bones are turning to flesh. God is good. I just couldn't feel it. Until now. 

Applaud the jellyfish. 

Playtime

When I was young, mom occasionally sent me to my room to clean. The room cleaning was more  relocating the "nesting materials" that ended up piled around my seat in the living room or basement than removing actual dirt. I come from a family of "nesters."

Of course, I'd trudge off to my room to "put things away." When mom came in four hours later to check on my progress, I'd be smack in the middle of playing with all the stuff I'd moved.

Let's forget for a moment that "playing" is the "work" of the child, and "cleaning up" is like "stop thinking." The truth is I'd forget why I was there. One minute, I'm putting away dolls, the next Barbie-as-Ramana-the-Time-Lady would be hopping into her shoebox TARDIS with K-9 and robot Chester (my own invented character) to battle aliens on another planet.

Had the same problem last night, Day One of Final Edits on Star of Justice. After going through my usual reluctant-to-sit-down routine (I should put that coat away. And move the laundry piles closer to the machine. And at least run water for the dishes so they can soak. And I may as well make some tea and change into comfy clothes if I'm going to be sitting at the computer all night. You know the drill), I got my bum in the chair and started.

Then I panicked.

I'm not proud of it, but I had that "what am I doing?" moment I knew would show up eventually.

I don't have enough time. The book is too big. I'm going to miss something huge and be a laughing-stock. Not that it matters since no one is going to read it anyway, and I'll go down in history as "the woman whose enormous book never got read except by that guy from The New York Times who gave it an awful review."

OK, so even when I panic, I panic big.

But who should show up at just the right time? Jesus. Oh, He didn't look quite like Himself. He had big, crazy hair and front teeth like Chiclets and a tendency to leap before looking, but it was Jesus all right. I'd know Him anywhere.

So I calmed down and set to work and what do you know? Work turned into play. I remembered how much I love these characters and that's it not as bad as I feared and one bite at a time is the only way to eat a dragon, if your tastes happen to run to cannibalism.

Don't Ask

While I'm composing my next thoughts on heaven, I'll write about something that contributes to my longing for heaven.

A while ago, a friend inadvertently answered a question I've had for a long time. Why do people buy pets, and then not spay/neuter them?

I've never bought a pet. Mine all show up at my door as strays. The products of humans behaving irresponsibly. Fool that I am, I adopt them and care for them as family, but I can only do so much, and at the moment, I am past my limit. The idea of breeding more animals to end as strays that no one might care for angers me in a simmering kind of way that explodes on occasion. I don't talk about it, but it's there. It's part of the wrongness I walk through daily.

I've heard the argument about children learning the circle of life by watching a cat give birth. Unless the instruction includes the gruesome end of those kittens as coyote or raptor food, or roadkill, after a year of life on average, don't talk to me. In fact, I don't care what you're trying to teach them. What you're teaching them is its OK to be irresponsible with a life entrusted to you.

Well, this friend mentioned she advised her friend who bought a puppy to breed her to make her money back. This was a perfectly reasonable thought to her. Spend money on a dog, make money back on a dog.

What I heard was "I adopted this child. It was a very expensive adoption, so I'm going to pimp her out until she has a baby, and then I'm going to sell the baby to offset the cost of the adoption. It doesn't matter who I sell the baby to as long as they can pay. I may even keep one of the babies and pimp her out, too. And when my adopted child has finally earned her keep, I'll let her give up prostitution and be a real part of my family."

I can't tell my friend this. She would be shocked and appalled that I would think such a thing. I was shocked and appalled that she didn't.

My question was answered, but I wish it hadn't been. This is one answer I don't want to live with, but it is a perfect example of what I absorb every day. Until recently, that taint has had nowhere to go. It settled into my bones and sloshed around until being around people makes me long for death - theirs or mine, I don't care.

And that is an excellent setup for tomorrow's post about heaven.

Push button. Receive bacon.

A Lost Detour

I just finished bingewatching Lost for the first time, mostly because I tend to like Bad Robot productions. I have a few observations.

The show is aptly named. Nobody knew what was going on most of the time. Especially the writers.

Sad eyes and wistful smile aside, Kate is the most selfish and fickle person on the show. Whoever she ended up with would lose.

I've never seen a show improve so much with the deaths of three characters: Boone, Shannon and Michael. It became positively likable once they were out of the picture.

The most consistently poor decision-maker and Expert Victim status is a coin toss between Michael and John Locke.

Almost all of the drama of seasons one and two were people failing to ask Sawyer nicely for something. It was a physical relief when an actual villain showed up in season three.

TWD's The Governor remains my most hated TV villain, but he walks arm-around-shoulder with Ben Linus.

This is the only show I can think of where the show itself is a character.

I'm guessing Claire disappeared because Emilie de Ravin got pregnant and took time off from her fictional baby. Ironic.

If this were a video game, the only character with a chance of winning is Sayid.

Hurley is proof that humorous sincerity is the hippie-ride of life, taking you where you need to go and occasionally smashing through human roadblocks.

In the dead of Kansas winter, I would rather watch Hawaii-based Lost than New York-based Person of Interest, even though I like POI more overall.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Spirit vs Flesh

Spirit is good and matter is evil. This old idea finds new ways to express itself. During the writing of the New Testament, it was "gnosticism," and those writers, especially Paul, argued against it constantly. The main premise is whatever the body does has no effect on the spirit. The spirit can be completely pure, whether it resides in a serial killer or a newborn infant.

Seems someone is always trying to dilute or pollute God's truth (Can you say "Satan?" she writes in her Church Lady voice). The Bible never says the body doesn't matter. Jesus goes so far as to say if your hand causes you to sin, it's better to cut it off than go to hell because of it. That's one example. Randy Alcorn gives many, many more because one of his main arguments in Heaven is that Heaven is a physical place because humans are physical beings. We were created with bodies, and those bodies are part of what we are.

Early Christians went against culture by burying their dead instead of cremating them because they believed the body would resurrect with the person. Like Jesus. His body went with him back to heaven, even though he'd been only spirit prior to the incarnation (that's a big word for "turning into flesh). I have no issues with cremation in general because I don't think the God who created everything from nothing is going to have trouble recreating any body at his second coming. I prefer the idea of rotting in the ground until that happens because I'm a gardener and recycler, but that's likely another post.

I lived as a gnostic for many, many years. I believed I was a Christian even though I did none of the things Christians are supposed to do - give regularly to God's work, assemble together for fellowship and worship, make disciples, pray regularly, study the Bible. As long as I was saved, I didn't have to do anything more than ask forgiveness if I messed up to much.

The day my hypocrisy - that's what it is, really, to speak one way and live another: hypocrisy - came home to me, I made some changes. I resumed Bible study and prayer. I began to put my checkbook to work for God, even though the sums were small at first. I added "Jesus" to my daily vocabulary, determined that if I was ever to be beheaded for my faith, there would be plenty of evidence to convict me. I wanted to "store up my treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy."

My goal is for both my spirit and my body to serve Jesus faithfully as one unit. I want my body to join me in eternity, perfected, like I will be. I'm going to need it. I hear there's a garden, and I want in on that action.

Push button. Receive bacon.

More Thinking About Heaven

I rarely thought about heaven. I've read the Bible, maybe four times all the way through, and way more for certain sections. Pathetic, yes, but I think of it as an area for growth. I've read the obvious heaven parts, in Revelation, mostly, about New Jerusalem: big cube founded on twelve precious stones, gates of giant pearl, streets of gold, river in the middle, yada, yada.

I believe John is being literal. I don't read this as poetry. I expect New Jerusalem at first glance will match his description.

I'll be honest. Never cared for the idea. I don't like cities, or crowds of people. Don't care about golden streets or jeweled foundations. The Tree of Life has possibilities, and I always figured the sea creatures would live in the big river, since there's no more sea. On the whole, I accept that God made this city I'm supposed to be happy about, and it's probably more interesting than it sounds, but I figured He'd let me visit, and I could make my home somewhere else on the New Earth that New Jerusalem comes out of heaven to land on.

I'm not alone in this attitude. Most people have an idea of heaven that is either based on that brief description by John, or by completely ridiculous church traditions that have more to do with Renaissance paintings than Biblical accuracy.

No wonder it's easier to focus on day-to-day life. Who wants to live forever walking around a golden city in between church services?

Enter Heaven by Randy Alcorn. He scoured the entire Bible looking for glimpses of Heaven, and he found them. In the law, the psalms, major and minor prophets (so nicknamed for the size of their books, not their relevance), the gospels, and the epistles*. Almost every book in the Bible has something to say about heaven and what it will be like. We've just failed to look for it.

And those glimpses... well, it's got the Turtle thinking about heaven. Happy thoughts.

Push button. Receive bacon.

*If you're not familiar with the jargon, flip open a Bible or google "Bible table of contents." "The law" refers to the first 5 books of the Old Testament, "the major and minor prophets" start with Isaiah and end with Malachi, "the gospels" are Matthew through Luke, and the "epistles" (or "letters" start with Romans all the way to Revelation, which is prophecy.

Thinking About Heaven

I feel almost back to normal this morning. Thank You, Lord. The vertigo dance gets old before it starts. I'll keep up the symptom treatment for a while, just in case.

I promised to write about Heaven by Randy Alcorn. It's unlikely I'll use just one post, but I have to start somewhere.

The book is a long exhortation about how heaven is a physical place, and a physical, resurrected Earth will be part of it. If Randy is to be believed, this is not normal thinking among Christians of his vast acquaintance. Hence, the book.

I'm a Biblical literalist. I assume the meaning is literal unless context indicates otherwise. Jesus goes out of his way in the gospels to prove he has a body when he comes back from the dead. Randy lists those passages, so I don't need to.

If I have not always believed in a physical heaven, I no longer remember when I didn't. It makes perfect sense to me that a physical, resurrected Jesus should exist in a physical place. He didn't shed his body after resurrection. He told us he is the firstborn from the dead, and we'll have bodies like his after we are resurrected.

This is one of those moments when the Turtle publicly displays how insane she is. Except I find it more insane to claim a written set of beliefs (I am a Christian) and then not live according to them (I don't do any of the things Christians are supposed to do based on their holy book). I believe the Bible. I don't always understand it, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't try. So, yes, I believe Jesus is both God and man, that he really died as a man, and that he really came back to life by his own supernatural power as God, and because he did, I can, too.  That is the foundation of my beliefs. Someday, we'll all find out if I'm right.

I've run out of space, but that's the gist of Randy's book. I'll cover why I'm reading it later.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Stupid 7 Habits of Highly Effective People

As I was reviewing this blog, I found my problem.

April 1, 2011. Apparently, I was reading The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People (curse you, Dave Ramsey, for the recommendation! or was that the year we started a book club at work?) and somewhere in there, it recommends being passionate about your work.

TT: Maybe it was Rabbi Lapin's book. They covered some of the same areas.

Anyway, that seems to be the moment I decided to start mastering my job instead of just being a pleasant, dependable employee. I did quite well, too, up until the moment I quit.

ARGH!

How was I to know how seriously I would take this new life tack?

When I started my new job at the state, I quickly mastered my assigned duties, and moved on to mastering other things in the office. I asked questions. I looked for problems and ways to avert them before they became my problem. My new boss wasn't big into telling me what to do. She wanted us to discuss options and synergize (my word). Well, the turtle is nothing if not willing to play by the rules, so I ran with the new rules of "figure it out" and mastered it. Perhaps too well.

My work motto for the last year is "be the solution, not the problem." As in, don't tell me all the ways you think you're thwarted. Tell me what you can do. Then do it with cheerful efficiency. Why are you talking to me about it?

In short, I now think like management. It's a real bummer. But it has led to my other motto.

No employee is paid what they're worth. They're either overpaid, or underpaid.

Good thing I'm not motivated by money.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Vertigo

Every once in a blue moon, I suffer from vertigo. I think of it as "motion sickness I can't stop." I'd have to check Quicken to remember the last time I had it because I went to the doctor. He couldn't help me. It went away eventually, but it was a long, miserable month of wishing for death.

This is my fourth day of vertigo. It is improving because the attacks are mostly limited to the few seconds after I sit up. If I can remain vertical, the nausea subsides and I can slowly, carefully, uprightly move on with my day. By evening, I'm mostly normal. Until I lie down.

If I remember correctly, last time I changed my diet to mostly rice and ground turkey to help with the nausea. I've already started that.

My back is killing me. If I can't bend, I can't stretch, and the turtle shell is screaming. This entire situation is somewhat intolerable.

TT: Within the last couple of years, I have finally realized "you can't survive everything." It was a sobering thought, and it surfaces more often than not nowadays.

Once upon a time, my allergist told me that sinus runoff causes nausea, but the best way to deal with it is to get up and get moving. The nausea will subside. He was right, and I've spent most of my adult life out of bed because of that advice.

But I can't just feel urpy and not try to fix it, so in these hours since Sunday when I'm trying not to move and staring at the ceiling, I consider my options. I'm taking Claritin during the day and Benedryl at night to dry up the brain pan. I'm avoiding wheat like ebola.

And I'm going to clean the basement with hydrogen peroxide, vinegar and baking soda (not all in the same bottle). I have fifteen year old wooden pallets down there that have been flooded every Spring, so it's a good bet the Black Death is growing under them despite the dehumidifier and fans. Mold is my only real allergy (although it's plenty, let me tell ya), and it may be seeping up through the vents at night to kill me.

Besides, the floor is concrete. If I start puking, it'll be easy to clean.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Goodbye, 2015. You Were Wrong

I don't mean wrong as in right vs. wrong. I mean wrong as in "unsuitable or undesirable." I tried very hard to get along with 2015, but my feelings say I hated it.

The weather was wrong. Too much rain, too many clouds, too mild. No wind, except for the severe weather threat (meaning strong tornado chance) every 7 days starting in March, taking a brief break at the end of September into October, and ramping back up with tornado outbreaks from Thanskgiving through Christmas. That's insane. Normally, I catch a break in winter and summer to recover from from my tornado issues. No break this year.

The social climate was wrong. Everybody's upset about something and bitching about it at the top of their preferred social media. Can't get on the computer without reading about who hates what, or who's being intolerant or how suicide and gender-swapping surgery are admirable, and if you disagree, you're a bigot and deserve to be beaten with a rubber hose.

My attitude was wrong. I spent the first five months of the year furious, and the next three grieving. Thankfully, God reminded me about forgiveness, so I've been working through all that, but strong emotions take a toll.

My body was wrong. My back has twinged before, but this year it decided to become a full-blown weather barometer, and I've had to adjust my definition of pain. My mouthpiece stopped working for reducing jaw and neck pain, which is fine because the crown made it impossible to wear anyway.

A few good things happened, mostly in the last three months.

Forgiveness, for one. That's a daily exercise, but totally worth it.

Daily exercise is another. I found Miranda's Classical Stretch in late September, and I'm growing longer and more flexible all the time. Days started with stretching are good days.

As a result of the increasing hostility on Facebook, I quit Farmville and limited FB and computer game time. That has made such an improvement in my overall mood and cognitive capacity, I strongly recommend all my Friends start reducing their online and/or gaming time and see what happens. I'm almost convinced that my general depression was being fed by too much mindless computer time.

I now have a line-of-sight end date for the mortgage payments, which gives me a short-term financial goal and a wary hope for the future. It also gives me something to work toward for the next 3 - 6 years, and I like that idea a lot.

I started reading Heaven by Randy Alcorn. That book has made such a dramatic impact on my mental state, I'll likely devote several posts to it. Next year.

In short, a few good things crammed at the end, but mostly drawn-out, emotionally exhausting wrongness. Not my favorite year.

Goodbye, 2015. Let's not call each other.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Blog Review

I've noticed a few things as I've been reviewing this blog.

I usually post when I'm cold and unhappy in the dark of Winter, occasionally upset by current events. If I'm too upset, I don't post at all because I don't want Mom thinking I'm suicidal.

The fact is I was suicidal once, and I never will be again. I'm not chemically unbalanced, and my life is lived on the melancholy side of things. It doesn't bother me anymore. Not in a kill-myself way.

I do have an obsessive bent. Blogs topics focus on one thing for two weeks to a month and move on. Thankfully, I have the self-control to not obsess with money on a new thing. If I can hold off buying for one month, I usually snap out of it and move on. Things that stick with me longer than that are life habits. The Blood Type Diet (11 years this January), cats, excelling at my day job. Essential oils and "natural" living (like bone broth) are the newest at slightly over two years, but they've stuck.

I want to add "writing" to that list, but I've almost decided to give it up. It doesn't make me happy, and I've chronicled my growing aversion to the task over the last four years, using every excuse in the book for why I have trouble producing. On the other hand, I've written stories for most of my life, and perhaps one "season" where my writing happens more at work than at my home computer isn't a failure. And it has definitely been happening at work.

I'm not nearly as detailed as I thought I was in this blog-journal. In my quest to avoid unprofessional TMI, I've left even myself wondering what I'm referencing on some of these posts. Something was going on, but I can't for the life of me remember what the fuss was about. That's probably good. Do I really need to dwell on past unhappiness when I have a whole world of future unhappiness to anticipate?

Finally, I worry. A lot. That and pride are my big Jesus-working-on-it issues. They're kind of the same thing. Pride says I can control everything in my life. Worry says I control nothing. A kind of inner tornado that never lets me rest.

Ah, well. If I were perfect, I wouldn't still be single.

Push button. Receive bacon.

I Hate Waiting

I spent yesterday waiting for the winter storm to arrive. Woke up at 2:47 AM and waited to hear if the storm would affect when I had to go in to work (it did), and now I'm waiting to go in to work.

Normal people slept through the night, woke up just enough to hear "work delay" on the TV or radio, and went back to sleep for two more hours.

I'm not normal. I can't go back to sleep once I wake up, especially if I'm waiting for something to happen. Not only did I not sleep after 2:47 AM, I can't take a nap until I have to leave. So I blog.

Reading through this blog, I realize I've been waiting for a while. Years. At least 20. Not sure exactly what I'm waiting for, but I suspect it's the end of the world. I've pretty much expected the world to end in my lifetime, and I keep being surprised it hasn't happened yet. It's why I never wanted to marry. Why I never wanted human kids. What's the point? The world's going to end.

I go through the motions of living. I bought the house. I published two books. I keep a job so I can feed the furkids. I mean, if I'm wrong and the world doesn't end, I have to live. I'm not willing to kill myself.

But it's just motions. None of it means anything to me. I have no sense of accomplishment. Just the waiting.

Paying off the mortgage has become my "next step" goal. Something to keep me occupied while I wait for the end. Not the best goal, maybe, but it has possibilities.

Anyway, happy Monday. If you're lucky enough to be normal, enjoy your life. Never know how long you'll have it.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Vomiting Cats

I said on Facebook I was tired of vomiting cats. What I meant as an adjective reads as a verb. I was (jokingly) advised to stop eating cats.

Little Brother and I have been fighting over his weight. For nine years, he's been my Chunky Monkey, and the struggle was to keep his weight down to something between 19 lbs and 15 for what is a 13 lb body frame. This year he seems to have developed chronic pancreatitis, and the struggle is to keep food down and his weight from dropping like a dead sparrow. His last weigh-in was 12.3 lbs, and I'm doing everything I can to keep it there, including giving him Pepcid daily, moistening his food, and feeding him six to seven times a day in smaller portions so he doesn't throw up. When he feels good, he beats up Caleb. When he feels bad, he's better behaved. Not the best punishment-reward cycle for keeping him healthy.

Miss Kitty has joined the vomiting crowd, mostly because she wants to eat her entire daily intake at breakfast, and her tummy isn't big enough.

Skuttle has projectile vomited weekly all her life, but because she's very overweight, it's hard to get a vet to pay attention. She should be a 10 lb cat, but she's probably 13 lbs with a pouter-pigeon figure. Even when I do get some weight off, only her waist gets smaller. Adding a splash of water to her food right before I serve it has helped slow down her eating and slow down the vomiting, but it hasn't stopped entirely. I suspect there's something wrong with her intestines, like a kink that would require elective surgery to find and unknot. That isn't going to happen.

Add Skamper and Caleb, who also eat too fast and too much, and some days I am cleaning up everything I've just fed them fifteen minutes before. Those aren't good days for any of us. Especially at $70 a month for prescription food.

But this is my hell. I chose it. I have no business being upset about it. I have eight years left with Simon at best. Less, if I can't get him stabilized. That thought brings no comfort, either.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Why I'm Too Old to Go to Theaters to Watch Movies

I said I'm too old to go to the theater to three different people, and all three asked "What does that mean?"

Theaters are too loud. I don't live my life with earbuds implanted in my aural canal at volumes intended to melt my brain. I don't need Dolby surround sound for anything that happens on screen. I resent surround sound in real life. It keeps me awake. Even if I take ibuprofen before going in, I always leave with a splitting headache that lasts the next 24 hours.

Theaters are too cold. The kind of cold that requires a coat, and a face mask if I thought I could get away with it and not be shot for a terrorist. I don't like being cold, and I don't like shivering in the cold for two and a half hours in summer. I have this problem at work, too, but I get paid to be there.

Theaters are too crowded. I don't like to be jostled. I don't like stepping over or around people. I don't like people bumping into me as they step over and around me. I am not a rat on a sinking ship. I will not tolerate feeling like one. Addendum: sitting absolutely still to avoid touching my neighbors exacerbates the back pain I will automatically generate by sitting for more than an hour. Ibuprofen doesn't prevent this, either.

Theaters are too sickly. When was the last time you went to a movie someone didn't cough through? Usually the someone right behind you. Not that I can hear them. I just feel the spray.

Movies are too high-flying, twisty-turny, upside-downy camera work. Seriously. Think of a recent movie that didn't have at least one scene where someone dangles from "fill in the blank" while the camera flies all around them, presumably on the back of a deranged fairy. Add the "shaking" of a hand-held camera (a pox on The Blair Witch Project for that little indie affectation) to up the excitement level, and my fellow patrons will get more half-digested popcorn excitement sprayed on them than they bargained for. I've spent good portions of movies with my eyes closed to avoid motion sickness.

Movies are too dependent on the special effects or soundtrack to be enjoyable with my eyes closed. Guardians of the Galaxy, the last movie I saw, is a perfect example of a so-so movie made ridiculously popular because some people can't get over the 70's. I was over it the minute I was born in it.

Finally, it is too expensive. I am not willing to pay $11.50 for a matinee show where I will be yelled at, frozen solid, alternately pummeled and stretched on a rack, exposed to Typhoid, nauseated and bored for three solid hours.

When I want all that, I can ride the bus to work.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Colossal Failure

The Guest Room didn't work. Twice I awoke to Caleb pawing at the door with enough force to rattle it in the jam. It was just as irritating as him sleeping on me, and he seemed to take his new quarters as undeserved banishment.

To be fair, I don't know if the second awakening at 2 AM was because of Caleb, the furnace kicking on, or the pain.

The furnace now regularly comes on at night because the furnace guy said keeping it much lower at night than during the day was hard on the machine. Well, not lowering it at night is hard on me because I wake up from both the sound and the sudden flush of heat. Maybe I can close the vent before bed.

The pain wasn't just my back but everything connected to my spine. My feet, my hips, my back, my shoulder blades. Even my crowns. Which doesn't make me happy because the next step for those are more expensive root canals. I'll be putting that off for the mortgage's sake as long as possible. I finally got up around quarter to 3 to slather pain lotion on myself. I think I slept a bit after that before the alarm - and Caleb - woke me up.

Shouldn't the stretching be helping with the pain? Isn't that the point of exercise, to make me healthier? Are the exercises causing the pain, or would the pain be even worse without them?

This is the fourth time this year my pain levels have been there. The first three came before weather fronts that did not lead to severe weather for my area, btw. I haven't been watching TV so I don't know if there's a system moving through or not.

Miranda says being fit doesn't stop back pain because she's flexible and strong, and she still suffers. I guess this is just the way it's going to be for the Turtle.

I'm annoyed about the guest room. I wanted to move the other cats upstairs in the winter, but if Caleb without claws can keep me awake, what would six cats with claws do? Sorry, Jackson Galaxy, I don't have 12 days to go without sleep while they get trained.

Push button. *yawn* Receive bacon.

The Journal of My Life

Caleb has a better than 50% chance of sleeping in the guest room tonight. At least 3 times I awoke from a sound sleep to a 19 lb cat squeezing me off my twin bed. Even when I shooed him to the foot, he was creeping back up to my shoulder before I fell asleep again. With my new back issues, I have to be able to roll over when the pain starts, and I can't do that when he's occupying my space.

Our agreement is he can stay upstairs at night as long as he acts like the dog he's named for and let's me sleep. If he can't uphold his end, I see no reason to uphold mine.

I started rereading my blog from the beginning, adding spaces between paragraphs for easier reading, and, yes, correcting spelling, even though six years ago I said I wouldn't correct stuff. I'm sure I didn't mean spelling.

I didn't know what I would do with the space six years ago. I have come to appreciate it for the journal it is. I don't share a lot here, because some things are too private or too unprofessional to puke onto the internet, but, for the most part, this is me working stuff out by writing it down. I don't really care anymore if anyone else reads it. I'm not giving advice to anyone but me. I'm not trying to spark discussion, because I've found most written conversations on the internet to be extremely uncomfortable and prone to misunderstanding.

I'm just trying to cage a few thoughts before they're gone forever.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Hump Day

This year is rapidly spinning to a close, and I'm glad. I've tried very hard to get along with 2015, and all it's done is give me colossal wedgies. Fine. You'll be dead soon, and I will dance on your grave.

I'm training two people at work on two different jobs. Neither of these jobs is my job. I just know how to do them, and I know how to teach people. I am fully capable of training with grace and accuracy, and occasionally humor. However, the last two nights I've awakened from dreams where I'm doing some endlessly repetitive work task. Meaning, my conscious mind isn't feeling it yet, but my subconscious is telling me to take it easy or I will blow an artery.

Happily, I've felt no desire to return to Farmville. I've not immersed myself in solitaire, bubble spinner, TV or chocolate. Instead, I've classically stretched, I've resumed writing, and I've added an official prayer time to my day, in addition to my regular conversations with God when I'm alone but doing physical tasks that don't require deep thought (like driving, dressing, and walking). I'm petting and snuggling cats rather than yelling at them.

So far, my jaw, neck and back pain have not increased, and I'm not using any pharmaceutical pain management.

Consciously, I'm doing what I can to manage stress. God will have to manage the subconscious.

Applaud the jellyfish.

A Turtle Tale

After everyone ate dinner, I opened Scrivener and found a place to start writing. I added maybe five sentences. They're garbage, they took an hour of procrastinating to write, but they're something. The story moved forward. Then I went to bed.

Once upon a time, I wrote. All the time. I kept a paper notebook and a laptop handy and I used both constantly. I never finished anything, but I started lots of things. I wrote my million words. That was twenty years ago.

I got a job, I bought a house, I adopted a couple cats. I stopped writing because I was busy and exhausted and I never finished anything. What was the point?

One summer I had some time, and I was curious if I had matured enough to finish something. I wrote Star of Justice. A monster book that poured out of me in a few months (and then got polished for years). I finished it. I felt like a genius, and a real writer, and I was satisfied.

I wrote Daughter of Anasca. It was much harder, but I did it. I felt like a genius, and a real writer, and I loved my second book as much as my first, although in different ways.

I tried to write the next book, but I couldn't gain traction. I couldn't pick a plot. My new job took far more energy than my earlier job. My couple of cats turned into a demanding clowder, and they didn't like it when I wrote. I remembered how obsessive I was writing my books, and I didn't want to fall into that pit again, even though I have no reason not to because everyone else I know is moving on with their lives without the Turtle.

I stopped writing. For years. I let my brain atrophy with computer games and weekend TV commercials.

Last night, I started writing. It was hard. It felt horrible. I didn't like it. I did it anyway. I'm going to keep doing it until I have a crappy first draft that I'll shove in a drawer for a year while I write the next crappy first draft.

Somewhere in there, I hope I start enjoying it again. Or maybe the world will end and save us all. Might as well write while I'm waiting.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Cutting the Cable

I have proved to myself that too many hours of computer games is bad for the Turtle. Went overboard yesterday morning, and by 5 o'clock, I was irritable, depressed and apathetic.

I play games when the TV is on, or I turn the TV on when I want to play games. Probably chicken and egg. Except for The Walking Dead and The Librarians, during which I never do anything except watch, I'm not actually watching TV. I'm listening, and I have a radio for that. I also don't watch new shows because CBS canceled three shows in a row after three episodes each years ago. I learned not to trust networks or their audiences. 

I don't DVR. If I don't have time to watch it when it airs, why would I have time later? With Cox's switch to all digital, I'm paying full price to watch one TV when I'm home. It makes no sense. 

I'm steeling myself to give up cable TV. I got it when the government forced all TV off antenna channels because The Swamp gets no reception for the new kind of antenna, and my weather issues require access to TV during bad weather. On the other hand, the more paranoid station in this area has moved most of its weather coverage online, so I may be able to do it. 

I've heard Cox had a basic, basic package of just local channels in 2012. I don't know if they still offer it because their website blocks any service less than I have now. Whatever. I know where their store is, and I'm not afraid to use it. 

Friday is the day I will either downgrade to local channels or remove TV altogether from the Turtle household. I can use that money to pay off the mortgage faster, and avoid the temptation to fry my brain cells on the weekends. That's a win-win. 

Applaud the jellyfish. 

Dangerous Hope

Now that the initial terror of an emotionally measurable end of the mortgage has ebbed ('cause we all know it will be back), I'm getting a little excited about the possibilities.

Excitement makes me nervous, and not in the synonymous way. Keeping my expectations low is what keeps the Turtle happy with life. I'm a born cynic, after all, and I can make the return of Christ a gloomfest if you give me half a chance. The moment I make actual plans, life will smack me with a 4x4 (such as Lavender Squeak the Van), and I will not pass "go" and collect my $200.

However, since life will progress until I die, I may as well have a sketch for the future. I'm already considering how to shave down that six years without eating beans and rice, or cats.

There are only 3 things to do with money: save, spend and give. A balanced life does all three.

Save: Without the mortgage, I could get my retirement up to 15%. I could get my emergency fund to what I consider fully funded. Dave Ramsey says everyone has a "security gland" that begins secreting anxiety when certain things happen, like the emergency fund being too low. I haven't yet experienced what I consider the "right amount" of emergency fund. I suspect six months of expenses in cash would do the trick, but I don't want to be greedy.

Spend: I could vinyl-side the house. I could build that screened-in porch I crave, and maybe add a foot or two to the kitchen while I'm at it. I could take friends to lunch and pay for both of us, or bribe the nieces to visit me. I could be a Realm Makers sponsor and force them to come to Topeka for a conference.

Give: I could give equally to my current charities, and maybe add one or two to my monthly giving instead of just what I can manage here and there. I could give spontaneously to those opportunities I hear about on AFR, or be that anonymous matching donor for pledges. Who doesn't want to be that anonymous donor?

Well, we'll see how life goes. No point getting too excited. Something horrible is bound to happen and screw it all up.

Happy Friday! Push button. Receive bacon.

Glimmers

I stopped Farmville a couple weeks ago. I have no concept of time, so I'm a little fuzzy on the when. I also drastically reduced my bubble spinner and solitaire time, aiming for no more than an hour during the week and an hour or two on the weekends. No point giving up one thing to replace it with something equally bad.

I did this because I was worried about my brain on constant computer games. I noticed the day after a solid day of playing games was an irritable, weepy, pain-filled day. Took two years to notice, but I blame the self-induced decline of my mental facilities for my lack of perception.

The increasingly depressing and volatile Facebook atmosphere finalized my decision. Have you noticed how angry Facebook is lately? Everybody's upset about something. Where are all the funny cat videos? And I mean funny videos, not people scaring cats with cucumbers.

I backed away. Time to remember my computer is for writing, not "push button, receive bacon" stimulus-response. I want my brain back

TT: Y'all do understand the "push button, receive bacon" thing, right? It was one of those amusing sign manipulations about the hand dryers in restrooms? I'll have to find the thread and post it.

I resumed blogging, unless the morning just gets away from me as mornings sometimes do. I've been reading books instead of turning on the TV. I'm currently reading Randy Alcorn's Heaven, which would explain my numerous references to the Cursed world. It's rather soothing and hopeful overall. Helping me rebalance my bleak perspective.

Anyway, last night... I picked up my WIP (laughable designation since I haven't progressed in a year) and typed the outline into Scrivener. I didn't get any farther because the Spawn of Satan I call furbabies all decided to come see what Mom was doing and stop it immediately. However, I did something. More to the point, I wanted to do something. My brain is waking up.

Push button. Receive bacon.

The Wonder of Vitamin D

I'm a sunshine girl. That's why God put me in Kansas. I don't care if the sun is "up there somewhere" behind a mile of clouds. If I don't see it, it may as well not exist.

Three years ago I learned about vitamin D - the sunshine vitamin -, but the lesson didn't stick because 2 years ago I forgot about it and turned into one of the non-Reavers by January. You know, the ones who stopped. I scared a few co-workers and one boss before Mom reminded me about vitamin D again.

That's what life with no sun does to the Turtle. It qualifies as "depression" if you use the dictionary meaning of being squashed or flattened, in this case by never-ending cloud cover. It doesn't qualify for the mental health definition because, while I quickly pass through irritable and weepy, I always land at an emotional dead zone of zero energy. I'm not actively suicidal, but I'm also not actively alive. Life without sun is pointless.

TT: There is a DSM-IV diagnosis for such a state, but the DSM books are coding manuals for how to bill insurance while treating a client, so I don't take them seriously most of the time. I don't take much seriously anymore.

Vitamin D doesn't cause euphoria. It doesn't replace the sun, or make me want to see it less. It does allow me to continue living. I get up and move around when I take it. That's a miracle.

The recommended dose is 5000 IUs a day. It is possible to overdose and cause liver damage, but you really have to try. I started in October, and I haven't lost the will to live yet, even through that seven day ice/rain storm at Thanksgiving.

Kansas winters have been gloomy and snowy in the past years. I believe this is a cyclical occurrence, not global climate change, because I remember winters of my childhood being gloomy and snowy, but not winters of my twenties and thirties. What goes around comes around. Of course, I'm also willing to believe it is the birth pains of a world nearing the end, and that works, too. I'm tired of living in a Cursed world, as tired as Rand when drawing on a tainted Source (Wheel of Time reference there).

Good thing I have that vitamin D.

Push button. Receive bacon.

The Number of Man

Every year or so, I evaluate my financial goals. I've learned not to do it more often because either 1) I get depressed, or 2) I seem to trigger a universal "you're not allowed to get ahead" reaction that causes my plumbing to go south within a month. When it happens enough, I can be taught.

If my math is correct, and we all know my hate-hate relationship with math, there is a reasonable chance I could pay off my mortgage in the next six years. As in, own my own home free and clear.

This terrifies me. Seriously. Weight in the pit of the stomach, trouble breathing, hard to concentrate on anything else fear.

I should be thrilled. From the day I signed those papers, I've paid ahead on principal deliberately to shorten the life of the mortgage. I got rid of PMI early by refinancing so I could pay that amount on principal instead. I know that if you only make the "scheduled" payments, you end up spending way more for your house in interest than most people ever think about. Like up to a third or half of the loan over 30 years.

TT: I wasn't listening to Dave Ramsey when I bought this house, but I followed the advice of his mentor, Larry Burkett of Crown Ministries, to buy a 30-year, fixed rate mortgage with a payment I could easily afford (not the loan the mortgage company is willing to give but far lower) because houses create their own expenses. Had I known Dave at the time, I would have lived in a low-rent apartment without animals and saved every penny until I could either buy a house with cash or pay half in cash, finance the rest for 15 years and pay it off in 7. Sounds impossible, but people do it every day. Just not the people on those home shows we all love to watch.

Six years is a third the life of a cat. It's a first grader. It's the shelf life of a Twinkie. It's just not that long. But a lot can happen in six years. I could lose my job. I could suffer a serious disability. The house could get hit by a meteorite.

Worse, I could actually pay it off, and have what I've wanted since I started listening to Dave Ramsey - that mortgage payment available for other things, like retirement, charitable contributions and new sneakers every year.

Going back to the first paragraph, I can be taught, and what life has taught me so far is anytime I come into money, I run headlong into an expense that takes that money away. I should be grateful that God provides a way to meet my needs without debt, but I worry. I worry about what I will need that mortgage payment for in six years.

Randy Alcorn says we don't get to know security in this life because it would prevent us from relying on God. If that's true, I should expect my life to be one continuous struggle after another.

Maybe the jaw isn't nausea after all.

Push button. Receive bacon.

PS. Randy Alcorn was quoting C.S. Lewis from A Problem of Pain. Gonna have to reread that.

I'm Not Rigid; I'm Nauseated

Yesterday morning was so chaotic, I didn't get a workout, and I felt it all day.

This morning, I decided to join Miranda's "zero-impact cardio" workout to make up for it. I believe this is the same workout I tried two months ago and nearly puked five minutes in. I decided at that time it wasn't my lack of fitness that caused the nausea, but motion sickness. Cardio without jumping means a lot of rotation of the body in the same place, and that is bad news for the Turtle.

So, this morning, while trying to keep my head absolutely still while spinning the rest of me, it hit me. I'm not rigid; I'm motion sick.

I live my physical life by two rules: 1) Eyes forward. 2) Don't change the angle of my head.

If you suffer from actual motion sickness - and aren't just using that excuse to sit in the front seat - you know that the fastest way to empty your stomach is to turn around and look behind you while moving. Or glance to the side. Or, change the angle of your head while moving so your ear fluid is no longer level with the horizon. The severity of your condition chooses under what circumstances these rules come into effect. For me, it's any time I move. I've actually caused an attack by tipping my head back too far while lying down.

I puked my way through life for 13 years while my friends' parents threw me in the backs of their 70's station wagons on the way to somewhere. When the inevitable happened, sooner rather than later, and spoiled everyone's trip, I wasn't invited back. Which is fine, because I don't want to hang with people who don't believe me when I tell them something so crucial to my own well-being, such as "If I don't sit in the front seat, I'll throw up."

It's no wonder I've developed neck muscles that lock my head into an "eyes forward, head level" position. It's self-defense. The wonder is that it's taken me this long to realize it.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Stress Release

Yes, I promised an AT&T rant, but I'm not in the mood.

This morning, Miranda and I did a "stress release" workout that left me impatient and annoyed. I didn't want to breath deeply for two minutes, or align my spine for five minutes, or any of the stuff she wanted me to do. I wanted my stress released now without all the silliness. I did not feel calmer at the end. I felt like I'd wasted my time.

One of the reasons I'm staying away from computer games is this growing impatience issue of mine. I have wondered too many times in the last couple of years if the ease of "click" to reshuffle, or "click" to harvest, plow and plant is creating some kind of instant gratification expectation that real life can't meet. When expectations aren't met, frustration results. And yelling. And neck pain.

My turtleness includes patience - unless it's food-related, then get out of my way because I will hurt you to reach the buffet table. This loss of patience has me flummoxed and, naturally, impatient with myself.

This year I have had trouble breathing. More than once I haven't been able to "fill my lungs" enough, for days at a time, unless I open my mouth. While it might be a deviated septum, it's not asthma, or heart issues. I'm perfectly healthy, and have no trouble working in The Swamp, even though the mold out there should have killed me a long time ago. I believe this shortness of breath is a pre-pre panic attack kind of thing, an early warning system that I have to get my stuff together before I lose it in a real way.

Please forgive me as I dabble a bit in nonsensical eastern philosophy stuff for a moment.

I did a (very) little research into chakras when I started with essential oils, mostly because while I was familiar with the concept, I wanted a bit more general knowledge. I took a test that told me my yellow chakra was blocked. That's the energy one that relates to breathing and living life. A block here can result in rigidity and failure to enjoy life. Sounds familiar.

I learned this after I was noticing my breathing issues, so it isn't a self-fulfilling prophecy kind of thing. While I don't intend to find a guru and spend my life under a baobab tree examining my navel, when I start hearing the same thing from multiple sources, I try to listen. Two physical therapists have told me I'm too rigid. This test told me I'm too rigid. My own body is telling me I'm too rigid to allow breath into my lungs. It's a problem.

Adding daily exercise is step one. Reducing computer game time is step two. Practicing breathing may have to be step three. 'Cause life only gets worse, and I'm not one to take Valium.

Applaud the jellyfish.

Rain, Freezing Rain, and Ice

That's been the weather since Thursday night. No sun, temps at the freezing mark, and every form of miserable precipitation no one would want on a four-day weekend of travel.

I have nothing to complain about. I was home from Thanksgiving dinner (with leftovers for the weekend) before the rain started, and haven't had to leave the house until this morning. I've watched the ice build up, and I've chipped it away under a gloomy sky. I'm fully stocked on vitamin D - the Sunshine Vitamin - and I'm taking it like my sanity depends on it. Which it does.

Everyone else I know and love weren't so lucky. Big Brother works holidays. Elder Brother and WGR were out and about for church. Mom and Second Dad needed a doctor visit and antibiotics during the worst of it.

I hate inclement weather. Tornadoes are my particular demon, but icy roads are a close second. I sing the same song everyone does. "I know how to drive; it's the other idiots who are the problem." Yeah, well, we're all idiots when it comes to ice on the roads. I'm grateful my commute is only 14 blocks.

I'm less grateful Solar Roadways don't exist yet.

I heard a rumor the rain ends today, and the sun comes out tomorrow. I'll believe it when I see it. At least it's above freezing.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Thanksgiving

I'm in one of those "every silver lining has a cloud" moods, but a true princess is a princess of herself regardless of her mood, and gratitude shouldn't be mood-dependent anyway.

I'm thankful that these moods pass.

I'm thankful I have a job I generally like, working with people I generally like, doing what I'm generally good at. I'm thankful I can come home at lunch to let Sweetie out and feed the cats, and that I've never had to learn that utility bills come in different colors. I'm thankful my van runs, and that Second Dad fixed the lift gate.

I'm thankful for nature. Trees, birds, insects, worms, clouds - the whole package. I'm thankful for The Swamp, even if it hates me. I'm thankful I finally figured out I like working in a garden.

I'm thankful for my family. Brothers I respect and love, sisters-in-law I like, nieces and a nephew who don't suck. Cousins who turned out really well, and all the rest. A Second Dad who does a great job with a Fourth Daughter. I'm glad we know each other. I'm thankful for Mom, but that should be obvious.

I'm thankful for God. Even when I'm so mad at Him I could spit, I can't imagine what my life would be like without Him, and I don't want to.

I'm thankful for my friends. We may not spend as much time together as we used to, or would like to, but you are all in my thoughts and prayers more often than you might think.

I'm thankful for Kerby Anderson, and Joe Christiano, and Gary Young, and Miranda Esmonde-White. They've all brought good into my life.

I'm thankful I have no human children.

I'm thankful for the books I have written. They're good, and I'm proud of them.

I'm thankful I gave up Farmville on my own.

I'm thankful I've never had to face a problem alone.

This isn't helping the mood as much as I would like, but I'm glad I did it. By tomorrow, this mood will have passed, but my thankfulness goes on.

Happy Thanksgiving, dear readers. May all your dinners be exactly what you wanted, not what you expected.

Almost forgot. I'm thankful for The Librarians, which has become the TV equivalent of a bowl of fruit-shaped Trix for me. It just makes me happy.

Holy Spirit

We don't talk about Him much. He sort of gets slapped on at the end of a blessing, or honorable mention at the deity awards. Most Christian fantasy authors leave Him out altogether (kudos to Lioness for remembering Him in her Trinity). 

Who is this guy? Is He the third wheel of the Godhead? There's God the Father, Jesus the Son, and Holy Spirit the Uncle No One Talks About.

As far as I can tell, He's actually kind of important. From www.biblegateway.com:

John 16:6-14New American Standard Bible (NASB)6 But because I have said these things to you, sorrow has filled your heart.7 But I tell you the truth, it is to your advantage that I go away; for if I do not go away, the [a]Helper will not come to you; but if I go, I will send Him to you.8 And He, when He comes, will convict the world concerning sin and righteousness and judgment; 9 concerning sin, because they do not believe in Me; 10 and concerning righteousness, because I go to the Father and you no longer see Me; 11 and concerning judgment, because the ruler of this world has been judged.12 “I have many more things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now.13 But when He, the Spirit of truth, comes, He will guide you into all the truth; for He will not speak on His own initiative, but whatever He hears, He will speak; and He will disclose to you what is to come. 14 He will glorify Me, for He will take of Mine and will disclose it to you. 

I understand that to mean the Holy Spirit is who allows a Christian to know truth as God sees it.

When I accepted Christ as my Lord and Savior, something supernatural happened. The Holy Spirit literally possessed me.

This is where non-believers and even a lot of Christians will roll their eyes, shuffle their feet, and either decry me as a kook and a holy-roller or try to change the topic. Sorry, guys, some things have to be said.

I'm not saying I had convulsions or spoke in Tongues or let poisonous snakes bite me. I am saying something more happened than me just making a decision and choosing to act on it the rest of my life, although that happened, too.

When I accepted Christ, I accepted the whole package. That includes God as my Father, Jesus as my Master, Savior, Redeemer, brother (this list goes on a while, so I'll stop there), and the Holy Spirit as my personal God-interpreter. The Holy Spirit sits inside me and whispers stuff, 'cause He's not a shouter. When a nasty thought comes into my mind, the Spirit nudges me. When I behave badly, the Spirit points it out (and I've found "badly" changes meaning the longer I'm in this marriage).

This interpretation works the other way, too.

Romans 8:26-27New American Standard Bible (NASB)26 In the same way the Spirit also helps our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we should, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words; 27 and He who searches the hearts knows what the mind of the Spirit is, because He intercedes for the [a]saints according to the will of God. 

The Spirit talks to God for us, filtering our childish ramblings into something God can understand.

I have more to say, but there's stuffing to be made this morning.

Keep the faith.

Red Pumpkin Chili

Most of the ingredients are orange, but the beets turn everything red, so I went with easy nomenclature. All amounts are approximate, 'cause I never measure anything.

2-3 cups beets, chopped
2-3 cups carrots, chopped
1 cup chicken broth (I used homemade bone broth but this could be left out)
1 can pure pumpkin
1 can pinto beans, drained and rinsed
enough water to cover the vegetables
salt to taste - I start with 1/4 teaspoon and add as it cooks because I over-salted once. Never again.
2 cloves of garlic, minced - jar or fresh. Could go more on this if you like garlic.
2 tablespoons chili seasoning
1 tablespoon wing sauce (that's what the label says. I'm thinking "buffalo wing sauce"?)
Optional:
1 drop oregano oil
1 drop thyme oil
Shredded or diced chicken

The beets and carrots take a while to cook, so next time I'll use a crockpot for 4 hours instead of my NuWave at 180 for 3 hours. It will be thick and a little blurpy when it's done, and the carrots and beets should be tender with no crunch.

The beets and carrots are also very sweet, so the chili powder and wing sauce are for balance. Thinking it still needs a bit more on the savory side, so maybe up the ratio on those ingredients. Or find something else to add and let me know.

The diced chicken is a nice touch if you have it, which I did since I just made bone broth, but it would eat fine as a vegetarian dish. Use as a main dish, or as a side dish to something of a more savory nature. Yes, you could add cheese. Something sour, like Parmesan.

Makes 4-6 servings, depending on how much you like it.

The bone broth doesn't add anything tastewise to the chili, but 'tis the season I step up my bone broth intake (for immune boosting), so I tend to put it in everything short of my Lucky Charms.

Enjoy.

Breaking Legs and Burning Cars

Focus on the Family aired a chapel service given by Jay Carty last Friday, and again this morning. It was the same program, so I don't know if it was a mistake or a God-reminder, 'cause I wanted to blog about it at the time.

Carty's talk was about how nice people will go to Hell, and how we who call ourselves Christians are more concerned with people's lives than their souls. I can't find a link for it, but if you want to listen, I'm sure it's on the Focus website somewhere.

He illustrated his "life vs. soul" thesis with the idea that we will inflict multiple cuts and a broken leg to get a trapped person out of a burning car because those injuries are nothing compared to being burned alive, but we won't go out of our way to save a soul on its way to Hell.

I hear you, Jay, but I have to point out that it's far easier to pull a body out of a car than to stop a sinner intent on continuing in sin. In fact, it's not possible for me to stop another human from going to Hell, no matter how many legs I break.

I should pause and say that "sin" has been defined in a lot of ways. When I use it, I mean any action or thought that falls short of the absolute holiness of God and results in me being separated from Him for eternity. That pretty much covers being alive and conscious. I'm not holy, and I can't attain holiness on my own, and that's why the Jesus part of God came as a human, managed not to sin (still don't know how He pulled that off), and died in my place. The whole New Testament is about how and why that worked, so I won't go into it right now.

Even though Jesus did all this, I have to accept it for it to work. I have to accept that 1) I'm not acceptable to God on my own, 2) Jesus wants to be in relationship with me, 3) Jesus' sacrifice was enough to heal our relationship, and 4) I will spend the rest of my life becoming better friends with Him and God.

I can't make those choices for another person, which is why we have the phrase "God has no grandchildren." He's either your dad or your judge.

I have the responsibility to tell people about Jesus, to live the best life I can in His name, and to pray for people's hearts to change, but ultimately, it's up to them. The hardest part of being a Christian for me is knowing that people are trapped in Hell-bound cars and won't let me help them get out, because they can't see the danger.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Angry Moods

Do you ever wake up angry? I can't be the only person that suffers from this.

Sometimes, I wake up yelling. The smallest things set me off. The "FEED ME!" yowls I hear every morning are intolerable on these mornings. The scrabble "to eat everyone else's food and ignore my own" is too much, even though it happens every day. The "I want to sit in your lap and I will fight with anyone who is already there" cannot be born.

And I run around screaming like a banshee, and cursing them and everything else as Spawn of Satan determined to destroy me. Of course, they ignore me, because they're spawn of Satan and determined to destroy me.

On these days, my tea turns out wrong, my clothes don't fit, and more often than not, some part of me hurts like a big dog in a wheelbarrow. But I have days where all of that is true and I manage with grace and patience and silence.

Is this static buildup of tiny evils that explodes into big evil? Is it too much TV, or computer time rotting my brain and destroying my self-control? Maybe. Maybe this is why I need to stop playing computer games, even solitaire. Or, maybe, like Bad Hair Days, this is the inevitable cost of living in a fallen world. Some days are just bad days.

I pray. I eat chocolate. I close my mouth so hard it hurts, but for the most part, the mood has to dissipate on its own, like hiccups, usually hours later. The only thing I can control is the screaming, so I try to control that, with varying degrees of success. I suppose I should be grateful I'm only screaming at cats and the dog (who really never deserves to be yelled at, she's such a good girl) instead of humans who will hold it against me, but I actually feel more guilty. It's not like they can help who they are, and I'm the pinhead who chose to live this way. It's not their fault I can't take it some days.

I don't have a trick to help, or advice to give. I'm not even looking for advice. It's just one of those mornings, so I decided to write about it.

Hope your day starts well and keeps going.

Push button; receive bacon.

Money Musings III

This year has seen a noticeable uptick in my pain levels. I think it was two Augusts ago that my neck pain reached proportions that made me willing to try physical therapy. Expensive physical therapy. That did nothing to alleviate the pain. I was told I am too rigid and should learn to relax (my paraphrase of more tactful, technical jargon).

Thanks. I'll get right on that after I pay you out of pocket.

I learned at my last splint check I have worn that mouthpiece for six years - the first four relatively pain free, the last two, not so much. I was warned I might get another one to two years more years of wear until I need to shell out $650 for another one, coincidentally about the same amount I paid for the non-helpful therapy.

Well, that crown I am one week away from getting and paying for? Is on an upper tooth, and my mouthpiece conforms to my upper teeth. Meaning, my mouthpiece doesn't fit anymore, and I haven't worn it in 13 days. My "one to two more years of wear" just vanished. I'm going to call and ask if there's a chance this mouthpiece can be salvaged, but I'm guessing the answer will be "no." I could be wrong.

I am surprised I haven't yet awakened in the night from the pain of biting too hard on my temporary crown. Maybe my back pain is preventing me from sleeping that deeply. However, as the days creep by, my left jaw and neck pain are increasing. Is this because I'm wearing a temporary crown, because I'm not wearing my mouthpiece, or because I'm stressed out with all the money my body is costing me? I don't know. The jaw pain has always been on the left. Maybe it's from carrying my purse.

I do know my mouthpiece seemed to decrease in efficacy the longer I wore it, and the cost to tweak it increases every two years. I know I have more fillings in my upper teeth that may need crowns in the next six years, or even more expensive root canals. and it will only take one to make my equally expensive mouthpiece utterly useless.

So, do I buy a new mouthpiece for $650, and hope for the best, even though I'm not sure it will work anymore? Or do I go without and let my teeth just grind against each other until none of them are left?

Because "relaxing" isn't going to happen. Turtles are rigid, from base of neck to base of tail, and that ain't never going to change. Coincidentally, that's exactly where the pain originates. Lot of coincidences in this story.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Money Musings II, or Why I Should Get Rid of Cable TV

To paraphrase those famous words from Airplane!, looks like I picked the wrong week to quit Farmville.

Not really, but last night was the first night this week I didn't have something to do as soon as I came home. This will be the case for most of Winter. I have no Swamp to play in physically, and my brain is tired after eight hours at work. The TV goes on, and the desire to start mindlessly clicking emerges. I played solitaire for an hour before I made myself stop, turn off the TV, and read.

I have watched too much TV my entire adult life. I picked up the habit of having it on in the background from mom, who has tinnitus and uses the noise to distract herself. I don't have tinnitus, and I'm opposed to noise in general, so it makes no real sense for me to do it. I'm increasingly annoyed by the change in volume from show to commercial.

I finally bought cable when the government forced everyone into digital TV. I can't get digital reception on an antenna in a storm, and as a lilapsophobic (yes, I finally looked up the official term for fear of tornadoes), I have to have access to weather information. This incredibly stressful weather year has seen most weather information move online, so I am seriously considering doing away with cable TV altogether. That would save me a bit of money every month that I could use to replenish my emergency fund, remove one of the Farmville triggers, and remove one of the impediments to writing. Should cable prices go up again this year, and I can't imagine they won't, I will say goodbye to TV.

I hope the more I say that to myself, the more likely I am to follow through.

Since I have found a morning routine that, for the most part, fills my time with non-Farmville activities, I am sure I can find some evening routines for Winter. At the very least, I can add a second Classical Stretch program.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Money Musings

Two weeks ago, my dentist said that magic word "crown." This will be crown #2. I have slightly better dental insurance than I did for crown #1, but the bottom line is a large sum of money will be leaving me in a bit more than a week, and it was money I didn't plan to spend.

That's what emergency funds are for, Dave Ramsey would say, and I agree with him. That's why I have one. I even use it for actual emergencies - things I couldn't have known about and planned for - like a filling giving out and requiring a crown to replace it.

OK, I suppose I could have anticipated that someday I would need another crown, but, come on. Do I really need one more thing to over-control in my OCD life?

Anyway, money keeps coming out of my emergency fund, and it is very hard to put back. I have made a concerted effort this year to put money in, and I've done fairly well, but Murphy keeps showing up - in alien van invasions and crowns and sewer stack replacements. It's tiresome.

Does anyone else have trouble reconciling the Proverbial ant vs. grasshopper with Jesus' "do not worry about what you will eat or what you will wear?" I mean, Old Testament teaching is "plan for the future." New Testament teaching is "God will take care of you." No offense, Jesus, but you were a bum. You had no job, no house, no dependents, and you lived off the generosity of various women, like Joanna and Martha and Mary. Yes, all Your needs were met, but I don't want to be a bum.

I guess that would make me one of the various women.

Just a few thoughts as I balance my checkbook.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Homeostasis

Of course, once I decide to avoid Facebook for a while, I start thinking up catchy one-liners to post. Homeostasis is a powerful force. One to five hours a day mindlessly clicking on things is a lot of training to undo. That's just weekdays. Yes, I have a problem. I'm working on it. And, no, I haven't posted anything. I don't think...

I'll apply the 80/20 rule: do beneficial things 80% of the time, and save the 20% for messing up. As far as I can tell, I'm not jonesing for Farmville. It's more "what can I do with all this free time that doesn't involve thinking?"

And that's the point. I've been training myself not to think in my "off" hours. It is far easier after eight hours of applying energy to other people's agendas to play a game. But I am convinced life isn't supposed to be easy. Not under the Curse.

Walking with Jesus is hard. It demands that I go against every natural instinct in my selfish self and follow the Holy Spirit's guidance into love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, gentleness, goodness, and self-control. -I'm missing one... Faithfulness. That's embarrassing.- Those fruits don't come naturally to the Turtle, although I'm pretty good at kindness, and I used to rock patience to sleep at night. For a disciple, ALL the fruits are required, and all of them should be practiced daily.

Baby chicks have to break out of their shells, or they're not strong enough to survive once they're out. Butterflies have to struggle out of cocoons to pump juice into their wings or the wings never work. Bones and muscles have to be used and pushed to remain strong, as Miranda Esmonde-White, 64!, reminded me this morning. Life is struggle.

There were times when my catchy one-liners could have been blog posts, but it was too hard to come up with a title, and extra words. Resuming blogging is one way I'm pushing back against Facebook/ Farmville-playing homeostasis. While I do love my one-liners, that's not the kind of books I used to write. And if I'm ever going to write another one, I have to wake up my brain.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Facebook Hiatus

I'm on Facebook for two reasons: Farmville, and funny posts. I prefer playing Farmville with Friends, and many of my Friends are funny, so I consider this social.

However, in the past few months, I've noticed some changes in Facebook.

One, my Friends don't really play Farmville anymore, and I can't find the feeds of the ones that do. That means I can't play with my Friends. It must be a problem for other people, because Farmville started this "make Neighbors who aren't Friends" thing earlier this year, but that has all kinds of bugs with it and basically doesn't work.

Two, I'm not finding funny posts anymore. I'm finding rants, and articles about social issues, and inappropriate video shares, and outrage over everything from animal abuse to red cups, but nothing funny. I don't watch communist TV (some people call it Mainstream News) because I don't agree with the communist worldview, and I don't want it spouted in my living room until Big Brother truly does own everything. I also don't want it plastered on my Wall. But that's what I'm getting, no matter how many Cats Sleeping in Awkward Positions pics I "like." I used to scroll past them, but I can't seem to get "past" anymore. They just keep going, like a red Energizer bunny, without a single Farmville post to break the monotony.

Every day. No Farmville. No funny. Just communism. Or socialism, which is communist-lite. Or social justice, which is a lie of Satan - that's it's possible to undo the Curse through government intervention. Only Jesus can do that, and He doesn't do it with Other People's Money. He does it through you, His slave, doing His will, one person at a time.

I'm entering my Dark Time, aka Winter. I don't need to be angered or grieved every time I get on my computer. I don't need it, and it's what I'm getting.

You might see me occasionally, testing the waters, but I don't plan to be on that much. I'm going to spend a little time reprogramming my brain manually. My love to you all.

Applaud the jellyfish.

Classical Stretch Continues

If my math is right - and let's face it, that's a 50/20 chance - this is my seventh week of working out with Miranda every workday and most weekends. I've even had a couple days when I wasn't going to get up but I did anyway because I didn't want to risk breaking the habit.

With the change in weather, morning workouts are getting a bit chilly. Also, I prefer "lengthening" workouts to "strengthening" first thing, so I bought season 10 on DVD. Now I control the vertical and the horizontal, and am not confined to whatever PBS is airing.

After 7 weeks, I am noticing a change. My limbs - including my toes, of all things - are skinnier. My potbelly is shrinking. Charlie horse and foot spasm incidents are way down. My shoulder-rounding is reversing, which has been the best benefit so far. I still have back pain attacks, two of them more severe than I've ever had, and I haven't yet found the magic formula for complete neck pain relief, but overall, I'm more fit and flexible than I have been in years. Every week, I keep up with Miranda a little better than the week before. She remains upbeat and non-judgmental.

In short, I'm glad I found her, and I'm glad I'm sticking with her.

Applaud the jellyfish.