Gone too soon....

No, it can't be.It can't be true! That was the first thought that crossed my mind when I saw the news. Not him, not Robin Williams. But it was true, it is true. A man so many admired and appreciated, dead, apparently at his own hand. How can this be? Why did this happen?

     I think suicide is an incredibly selfish act. It provides relief to the person killing himself, but delivers so much pain to the loved ones left behind.  And yet..... 

     One of the quotes I've been seeing attributed to Mr. Williams comes from a movie he was in, and it reads like this:  "I used to think that the worst thing in life was to end up all alone. It’s not. The worst thing in life is ending up with people who make you feel all alone."

     I don't know if that's how Mr. Williams felt, if that's part of what caused him to take that final act, but I know how hard it is to rise above depression, how it takes hold of you and makes you think no one loves you, no one cares, there's really nothing left to keep you on the earth. 

     I'll admit to having thought about suicide occasionally in the past. I know people say it's a permanent solution to a temporary situation, but sometimes, just ending the pain is all you can think about. There's no room for considering that maybe tomorrow will be better. Depression convinces you that not only will tomorrow not be better, it will probably be a whole lot worse. Get out while the getting is good.

     I don't know how Mr. Williams died, only that it seems to be suicide. But I know that I'm only still here because I couldn't find a convenient way to do it. Pills, car accident, plastic bag over my head. All too unreliable. What if I didn't die? What if I just wound up being incapacitated, a vegetable left at the mercy of hospitals, a drain on my family? And there was always a worry about who would find me, and how long it would take. I didn't want my children being the ones to discover what I'd done. 

     Although I no longer actively think about suicide, I don't shy from the idea of dying. I sometimes wish I could go to sleep and never wake up. If I found out I had a potentially fatal illness, I might refuse treatment. The truth is, I'm not afraid to die. I guess Mr. Williams and I had that in common.

No, but thanks for asking

got a message from someone I know today. It was one of those chain letter types that told me that God was testing me, and that if I forwarded it to 14 people, God would fix two big things tonight in my favor.

Most of the time, I just delete crap like that and move on. But today, for some reason, it struck a nerve. For just a heartbeat, I considered it. I can think of at least one big thing I'd like fixed. I'd like my relationship with my siblings to be healed. But even "God" can't fix that. So, after a minute, I just closed the message and walked away to fix dinner.

The people who know me really well know that I don't believe in a "God" with a capital G. I do sort of believe in a force greater than man, a superior intelligence but not a single omnipotent Being. And if I DID believe in such a Being, I certainly would not believe in one that "tests" people.

What really bothers me is that there are still people out there like that. People who are like sheep who believe whatever they're told, who don't think for themselves, who don't test and question and challenge. How can anyone believe that "God" will reward me for spamming my friends?

When I DID believe in a god, I prayed often and hard. I begged for help with sick parents and sick pets,  I prayed for my family's anger and hurt to be healed, I prayed for help with my own life.  I prayed over and over for the lives of children I didn't even know. And how many of those prayers were answered? Well, it all depends on how you look at it. I'm sure there are those who would say God answered my prayers, but the answer was no. Ha.

I have seen so much pain inflicted on the world in the name of one "God" or another. I have seen the most sanctimonious people in the world say the cruelest things, and I've got to tell you, if I could be God for a day, there'd be a whole lot of reckoning going on.

Is there a point to this? No, not really. Just venting. Thanks for listening.

Deep Thoughts

I belong to several on-line forums. Most of these forums are populated by what I refer to as Deep Thinkers. You know what I mean: the type who constantly question, challenge, ask and wonder about life's mysteries. I aspire to be like them, I really do. I imagine that they spend their days with a dialogue of Deep Thoughts running through their heads, flowing out their fingertips and into the ethers.

I also have a dialogue running through my head, but it sounds more like this: "Man, it's hot out here. Can't wait for winter  so I don't have to wear a bra when I walk the dogs. I'll be able to hide under a coat, instead. Ginger, seriously, how many times can one small dog pee? When I get home, I need to make a shopping list. I know there was something I needed, what was it? If I didn't have to hold this leash, I could get my phone out and make a list on it. Annie! What are you eating? Geez, I hate people who use the street as a garbage can. There's that truck with the expired tags again. I'd report it, but I don't want the bad karma. I hope that load of laundry is dry, I need to fold it, then sweep the floor, and wash the breakfast dishes. Wonder if I have enough brown sugar to bake a batch of oatmeal cookies?"

Well, you get my drift. I used to think that when my kids were grown, I'd have all this free time to "Discover Myself". The only thing I've discovered is that I'm a great time waster and ditherer. I'll be standing at the sink, washing out the coffee pot, and I'll realize the hummingbird feeder needs refilling. I'll get out a pan, the sugar, and a measuring cup, and make nectar. While it's cooling, I'll go outside to get the feeder, notice that the roses need deadheading, or that the cobwebs are overtaking the garage window again.

I suppose if I were a child growing up today, I might be diagnosed with ADD. I like to think that I'm just so creative I can't settle down. I have a half-dozen different projects going on at once, from finishing a quilt I started five years ago, to working on my next novel.In fact, that's what I should be doing right now. But as usual, I couldn't resist checking email, reading the latest on Facebook, and pricing new sheets on three different webpages.

It's not that I don't have Deep Thoughts. I do. I wonder if my mother knows how sorry I am for being short tempered with her that last time we went to the grocery store. I wonder how it is that I can imagine so clearly the subliminal hum of a starship's engine as I walk the corridors late at night. I ask my spirit guide to help me overcome my frustration at the state of my life. And I stare at the computer screen and think, that tiny piece of slightly salty chocolate I just ate is probably already messin' with my mind. Oh yeah. Deep Thoughts.

I'm going to be sixty-five on Tuesday. And the lilacs are blooming.

I always thought I was born in the perfect season for celebrating birthdays. The lilacs in the back yard would be blooming, the big forsythia bush on the corner would be all decked out in yellow blossoms, and the borders of our huge lawn would be full of tulips and daffodils, gladiola and iris.

 

 Often, my birthday dinner table would be graced with a bowl overflowing with their combined colors and scents

I was born in Monterey California, on Good Friday. My mother spent Easter in the hospital, and would tell me how my father brought my big brother Joe to visit me. Because children were not allowed in the maternity ward, Dad held Joe up to the window of my mother's room so that he could see his new baby sister; father and son both wearing the yellow sweaters my mother had purchased for them for Easter.

My mother was an amazing gardener. She turned our corner lot into a showstopper, with geraniums and roses and irises and tulips and lilacs and cosmos and dahlias. People would stop and take pictures of the glory. She gardened well into her 80's, and it wasn't until her last months that she reluctantly gave up  Her last summer, even when grass fires forced her to wear a mask when she was outside, she would be out as soon as it was light, watering and weeding. She would come in the house with muddy fingers, using her shirt as a bowl to hold tomatoes or zucchini from the garden.

Maybe it was because my mother grew up during the Depression, where money was scarce. Or maybe it was because she grew up in a large family where hand-me-downs were common and birthdays and holidays weren't a big deal. Whatever the reason, my mother went to great lengths to make every birthday, every Easter, every Christmas, special. She spent hours at her sewing machine, making dresses and shirts and pajamas and robes and doll clothes. She wore the same dresses for twenty years, but we always had new clothes. And it wasn't just a case of clothing a growing family. She could have done that at Sears. No, she sewed, I think, as a creative outlet, in much the same way she gardened.

 

 I was incredibly lucky to have the mother I had. I tried as best I could to emulate her when I became a mother. And it fills my heart with joy to seem that my daughter is following in her G'ma's footsteps, developing a love of gardening and crafting and caring for her family.

 

I had fifty-nine birthdays with my Mom. She might not have physically been with me for every birthday but her spirit was. Her spirit still is.

It was one of those days. You know, one of those days where you look at the bananas on the counter and the zucchini in the refrigerator and just know you have to bake. Waste not, want not, right? So, I made two loaves of chocolate zucchini bread and a dozen banana nut muffins.

"They", the elusive "they", say that you should write what you know. I may not write what I know, but I write who I am. If Sage likes to bake, well, it's probably because I like to bake. And I like to bake.

The recipe for the zucchini bread can be found at the end of the third book in the Blue Moon Mystery series, "Desert Gold",  but I'm including it here for those who haven't yet purchased the book. (and why haven't you?) The banana muffins were made from a recipe found here:http://www.bettycrocker.com/recipes/chocolate-chip-banana-muffins/0ce7024a-b13a-4b18-852c-22f2d89ffb1a. Enjoy!

Zucchini Bread

3 eggs

1 cup vegetable oil

2 cups sugar

2 cups freshly grated zucchini (use the freshest squash you can find. The fresher the zucchini, the moister your bread will be.)

2 tsp. vanilla

½ cup chopped walnuts (optional)

1 tsp. salt

¼ tsp baking powder-

1 tsp baking soda

1 Tbs. cinnamon

3 cups flour

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Grease and flour two 8x4” loaf pans

In a large bowl of mixer, beat eggs until well blended. Slowly mix in oil and sugar. Add zucchini and vanilla and mix to combine. In a separate bowl, stir together dry ingredients. Add dry ingredients to zucchini mixture, mix well. Divide batter into prepared pans. Bake on middle rack of oven for 60-70 minutes, or until toothpick inserted close to center comes out clean. Cool on rack for 10 minutes, then remove from pans and continue to cool. Bread will firm as it cools. Best cut with a serrated (bread) knife.

*To make Chocolate Zucchini Bread (a great way to sneak vegetables into a kid’s diet):

Add ½ cup unsweetened cocoa (NOT Dutch processed) with the other dry ingredients.

I've got a huge stash of yarn in my so-called 'craft room'. Much of it is leftover from previous projects, some of it was purchased with the intent to make something grand, some of it was impulse buying.

I have a big zip-lock bag full of fine, delicate sock yarn, most of it  what they call "self-striping"...the yarns are dyed so that as you knit, patterns or stripes appear. I used to use it to knit tiny capes and things for my little six inch wooden dolls, until I tired of that hobby.

I found a sweet pattern on-line here: http://littlecottonrabbits.typepad.co.uk/free_knitting_patterns/2008/01/knitted-easter.html
 and decided to try it in my sock yarns.

I had two problems initially. Using the size needles indicated made an egg too small for my bigger plastic eggs and too large for the smaller ones. I adjusted for that by added a couple of rows to the middle of the design, which made them fit the large eggs better. I also went up a size in the needles, which made them fit perfectly. I'd have to play with the pattern some more to make it fit the smaller eggs, because I don't think my eyes or fingers can handle anything smaller than a size 2 (2.75mm) needle.

I think these would be great as place cards on an Easter table, with small tags attached with ribbons. Or attached to a wreath, or strung into a garland. I contemplated poking holes in each end of the plastic eggs with a hot nail, so they could be strung on wire for a wreath or garland, but haven't gotten that far yet.

What would you do with them?

Black Lightning

Here's a brief excerpt from my next book, 'Black Lightning'. Look for it next month!

I was sitting with my eyes closed, focusing on the soothing susurrus of the rain when I sensed a presence behind me. Oddly, I wasn’t frightened; it was a familiar presence. I opened my eyes, able now to see more clearly in the gloom, and turned to smile at the tall figure standing there.

“Hey, Robbie,” I said quietly. “This is beginning to be a habit.” I smiled. I patted the seat of the second chair in invitation. “Come, sit down and keep me company.”

Without a word, he pulled the chair out and sat down, pulling one booted foot up to rest on the opposite knee. Maybe it was the dim light, but he looked younger than he had the other night: the lines at the corner of his eyes less deep, the hair at his temples dark and full. He wore a T-shirt from some 80’s rock band which emphasized his biceps and taut stomach.  I had to blink several times as I looked at him; for some reason he seemed out-of-focus, his edges blurred.

“How’ve you been?” he asked, his voice quiet and mild.

“Pretty much the same.” I chuckled. “Not much new has happened in the last thirty-six hours.”

Robbie nodded and stared out at the rain.

“This is good.” he said, gesturing at the dripping eaves. “We need rain. The pastures were looking real sad. Dad was worried he’d be buying feed for the stock before Thanksgiving.”

“How is your dad? Is he really still running the ranch? I thought for sure he’d retire and let the boys take charge.”

“Dad won’t ever retire. He’ll be calling the shots ‘til the day he dies.” A slight smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, a smile that reminded me poignantly of Ryan. I drew in a sharp breath and looked away.

“Is something wrong?” he asked gently.

“No. No,” I whispered. “It’s just that…” I let my voice trail off.

“I know; believe me, I know.”

Robbie reached out as if to touch my hand, but before he made contact, he gave a slight shake of his head, pulled his hand back, and tucked it between his thigh and the seat of the chair.

“I wonder whatever happened to ole’ Black Lightning.” Robbie mused.

I shot him a look of surprise.

“Black Lightning? Isn’t that the bull…?”

Robbie nodded.

I just stared at him.

“Why on earth would you care?”

There was that smile again.

“I just thought it would be poetic justice if he wound up as shish kebob, or something.”

I snorted out a gasping laugh.

“Oh, my god, that’s an awful thing to say!”

“I know; isn’t it?” he said, unapologetically.

We both fell silent again, an oddly comfortable silence, as if we were old friends, instead of almost strangers.

I don’t know how much time had passed; maybe ten minutes; when Robbie spoke again.

“Sage, I’m so sorry, I can’t stay.” he sighed, regret coloring his words.

I looked at him with surprise.

“I wasn’t expecting you to stay; I wasn’t even expecting to see you. No apology necessary!”

He pushed back his chair and stood up, staring down at me for a long minute before pushing the chair back under the table and tucking both hands into the front pocket of his jeans. Even in the dim light, I couldn’t help but notice he was wearing Ryan’s favorite style: button front, no zipper. A thick leather belt was threaded through the belt loops, fastened with an elaborately tooled silver buckle fully four inches wide.

 I pulled my eyes away from his crotch, heat racing up my neck and into my face. I mentally thanked heaven for the darkness.

“Take care, sweet Sage.” Robbie whispered. His boots made no sound on the concrete as he walked away. I closed my eyes against a sudden, unexpected shaft of pain. When I opened them again, he was gone.