Another Expensive Hobby - Reptiles

     Try to keep up because the numbers do change from time to time. Today, we have four dogs, two cats, three lizards, and two rats, but the numbers will change very soon. I just ordered my second lizard, which will give us four in the family. I have two, and Laura has two. We both have a bearded dragon. She has a leopard gecko, and I have my new younger blue-tongued skink! Woot! (in two days)

    We gave up horses a while back, and let me just say, I have enjoyed having money to pay for food, gas, car payments, and other things that a person needs to pay for. Horses can be, and are, so very expensive. It cost us more than $600 a month in board, not to mention feed, time, effort, and energy, and then there were vet bills. Sure, we enjoyed riding on weekends, but you have to deal with the weather being hot, cold, wet, or windy. It was a nightmare! (Funny, no one ever says it was a nightgelding.)

    Well, today, I ordered my very own blue-tongued skink. I didn't mark down a preference for it, so whatever sex they send me is whatever sex they send me. I am not getting two, so it doesn't really matter.  You can't house two together anyway, so the sex of a blue-tongued skink isn't all that important when you decide to buy one.  Many lizards (and other reptiles) don't particularly like to share living space with another reptile, even if they resemble one another. They're simply not social.

    My beardie stares at me. She watches me and thinks about making eye contact with me, but she's happy being on her own and doing her own basking thing without needing to be held or comforted. The blue-tongued skink will be about the same, but they are more "friendly" or, in other words, more tolerant than the beardies. The skink family, in general, is a good family of species to handle, and the blue-tongued skink is rather known for being gentle, easy-going, and slothful. They don't bolt out of your hands trying to escape. They basically accept their fate if you're bent on holding them.

    I had one about 30 years ago when the kids were really young. She was older when I adopted her, so I only had her a few years, but I loved her. She was rather large, too.  I have no idea how big the new one will be; the website says they are juvenile, not babies. That means it should be at least 6 inches long. They grow to just over two feet, including their tails. Most hang around the 18-20" mark, and weigh about 1.5 pounds, so they're good-sized, but nothing too big.

    I'm excited to see the color pattern on my new baby, who, by the way, I have named Cion. I was going to call him/her Kenny, but that was the name I was going to name my Schneider skink, but that didn't happen. Laura and I were going to get two, and house them together, but they are nearly sold out all over the country! Blue-tongued skinks are a little more expensive ($150 vs. $60), but they are good, durable, long-lasting, affectionate lizards, and I've owned both, loved both, and prefer the BTS.

    Cion is also the name of one of the characters in my new book; it's Celtic, more Irish than Scottish, and means "Love and Affection." So there you go—sweet baby lizard of mine. Of course, I will post photos when he/she arrives in two days. We're all a flutter here at the house with all the things you have to buy when you decide to buy a lizard. Still, when the chips fall, it's a lot cheaper than owning a horse, and it stays in the house with you -- you don't have to chase it down during a storm to force it to be safe. I like that fact.

    I may make a list of reasons why owning a skink is preferred to owning a horse. I am quite sure I could come up with at least 50 reasons! Here is a list of things you must buy before bringing the baby home.

• Enclosure - at least a 40-gallon to start, $150 - 200
• Substrate sand and coconut  $20
• Light fixture for heat and bulb $25
• Light fixture for basking and light $35
• Hide  $20
• Rocks and climbs $40
• Bowl to drink from $15
• Decorative accessories $30

There you go—then you buy the lizard for $150, but they can range all the way up to $6000.00—if you're silly like that, which I am not and never have been. I like my lizards and my horses to be grade if they can be—they're not competing or being shown off.  Cion will, of course, be the best-looking Blue-Tongued Skink to ever live - we know this to be true, so we don't need to prove it to anyone. He or she will be told this fact over and over again -- one of the perks of being my pet.

Photo Credit: FactAnimal.com (Blue Tongued Skink)

Dion - Chapter 20

Before we get started, there will be errors. Get over it. It's not published yet. I'll go through it and clean it up before it's released.  

Chapter Twenty

             As Elle ventured off to Edinburgh, a trip she knew would be an all-day adventure, Jack remained behind, hoping to stretch some of the kinks out of his body from having shared the cold stone floor the night before with the only overly determined woman in his life who wasn’t trying to change him. He chuckled under his breath when he rolled over on the mattress topper and found that Elle had carelessly placed the long-handled squeegee stick against the tomb. A tool meant for washing away dirt and grime from windows, maybe to cleanse the dust on a windshield was now expected to rid the world of ancient layers of airy sand particles that had taken decades to form the pristine sloping piles they had forged around the base of the tomb and against the corners of the eastern section of the room. The irony of everything about it crashed through the cobwebs of his mind; he hadn’t had his coffee yet, so Jack decided to go with whatever his mind was coming up with.

            Something, someone in fact, was outside the window. Due to the placement of the eleven iron bars, it was difficult to see exactly who it might be, but from the appearance, the person seemed to be a man. The man could be seen at a distance rather than when Jack approached the bars; their height made it impossible for him to peek through. When he stood against the eastern wall of the tomb, he could make out just enough to put a few facts about the interloper together. The overcoat gave him away to some degree; whoever it was, he had a little money, he wasn’t poor or impoverished. He didn’t carry an umbrella even in the type of weather the skies were threatening, which could mean he was a confident man, or an idiot; either worked well enough in that scenario. If he realized before he set out that day that it could rain, why wouldn’t he protect himself, and if he was one to know the forecast, and chose not to carry one, he was either probably not going to stay long, but make his inquiries quickly before moving on to wherever it was that he had come from.

            Though Jack was certain he had seen the man before, he wasn’t convinced that the man in the graveyard was Cion Fedder, the Stirling councilman he knew was working on Elle’s case. If it was Fedder, and he all but felt it was, Jack wondered if his being in the crypt would benefit or hinder if the man made his way over to the vaults. The iron gates of the multi-roomed crypt had been closed at either end. Elle had managed to find a locksmith willing to change the locks for her, even without the proper deeds in hand, which proved she was the owner; the man never asked, and she never verified. It was a simple request and monetary exchange as far as everyone concerned knew. If Fedder hadn’t been made aware before, he would certainly be so, as the new locks were modern, shiny, and were activated with a standard key; not something made of iron with a few “bones” attached.

            Jack watched anxiously as the man attempted to enter the western side of the crypt. To get to the door, he needed to first climb a dozen or more stairs, cross a stone landing, and make his way across a cobblestoned ornate veranda, an original design that no doubt took months to complete. The crypt had been listed for quite some time with the Stirling Council, and a generous amount of time and funds were given for its upkeep of all of its exterior façade, its iron gates, and to some degree, the passage between the two gates. The council or caregivers did not attempt to sweep the western room or the far eastern room, both of which were situated south of the crypt and had their own iron gates to protect the tombs from vandalism.

The other rooms were essentially empty, with a number of inlaid interred bodies sealed within them. Each of the six rooms was full, having a couple of dozen or more Finley or Finlay relatives stacked one upon the other on both sides of the room, before the sides were sealed off permanently when the last of the room’s residents was laid to rest.  At last count, more than thirty bodies were encapsulated in each room, allowing over one hundred and twenty bodies to be of record; with the two end rooms being the more recent of the family’s final resting place. Geoffrey Finlay’s body was the only one still inside a stone coffin, being somewhat oversized to fit neatly in with the others. Had Fedder, or whoever it was, known this, then the only reason for him to be at the crypt that day would be to discuss matters privately with Elle. When he found that the doors were locked, he began calling for her, hoping she would come to the gate for a conversation.

Jack, like anyone would, had explored the crypt entirely before resigning himself to stay in the western room with his friend.  Being the only room with a window, the western room told Jack all he needed to know about the other rooms. They were meant to be sealed off, and with no one choosing to care for the crypt, the open doorways to each room could have been sealed at some point as well.  The rooms were housed, embedded within the large construction, with each end accessible through a wide opening; both were gated, and now both were locked.  To make his way to the other side would be fruitless, Jack knew, but he also knew that whoever the man was, he might not realize that Elle was absolutely serious when she told Councilwoman Robertson that her land was, in fact, hers to modify, with or without permission from the council. She would see to it that she protect the crypt and the surrounding land, to the best of her abilities. Jack half-expected Elle to commission a wrought iron fence to be installed, and perhaps a few Baskerville-type hounds to walk and guard the perimeter for good measure.

Jack, because he could, opened the iron gate on the eastern side with the spare key Elle had given him. Hiding in the eastern room north of the gate gave him a perfect vantage point to see out the open archway without being seen, as the sun hadn’t peeked through the clouds yet, and therefore, no light came through the long corridor to make its way to the eastern walls. With a singular twinkle in his eye, knowing what to expect, but having no idea just how much fun or trouble he could cause, Jack purposely called out to and invited the unknown visitor to make his way around the crypt’s enormous structure to the other side using an impersonated woman’s voice.

Perhaps driven by hope and curiosity, the lone man reached out to grasp the top of the iron bars on the eastern gate. To his surprise, the unlocked entrance gave way, creaking open to reveal the dimly lit world it had protected. Cautiously, he stepped inside, and the scent of old stone and damp earth filled his nostrils. He noticed another smell, a musky, almost manly aroma swirling just in front of him, as if to let him know he wasn’t alone. The guest called out to Elle twice, shaking his head, as he recognized a woman’s voice before. He knew the western side of the crypts was locked, but surely someone must be inside. If she did intend to escape through before he arrived, there would be no reason to invite him in. She could have waited for him to leave the cemetery entirely before making her exit.

As he ventured deeper into the vaults, the sound of his own footsteps echoed off the ancient walls, punctuating an eerie silence, but still, there was that smell. It seemed to be both in front of him and now behind him. Using his cell phone as a light source, he aimed the front of his device upward and toward the ceiling of the place, scanning for what he could, having never been inside the building before. Unaware of Jack’s presence, the man moved with a sense of urgency toward the only other light in the place, which was in fact the window of the western room and the gate he knew was locked on the further side of the hall that separated the various rooms from each other.

The flickering light from his cell began to cast long shadows, creating an atmosphere of suspense and intrigue. He placed his hand on the wall to his left, thinking perhaps it was wet or damp, but it wasn’t. The cold stone felt smooth in some spots, rougher in others, but overall, it was something pleasant, almost surreal, as if he had stepped headfirst onto a movie set; the silence was hard to deal with, and he called out to Elle a second time. The man stopped, failing to notice Jack silently following him, like a guardian spirit of the forgotten hallowed space. Turning to his left and right, he decided that going further would be pointless. If Elle had left, he would need to retreat from the same way he had entered, knowing the other gate was locked.

Before leaving, the man made one last attempt to find the person he had hoped to see. Taking a few steps toward the open room, he noticed an electric cord plugged securely into what appeared to be a solar-paneled generator; the plug led directly to a small heat source, allowing at least a small area of the room to be as comfortable as possible. More curious now, he stepped another few steps forward, giving Jack the freedom he needed to make noise; at this point, his captive had placed himself exactly where he needed him to be. Standing before the intruder, Jack’s smile broke from the corners of his mouth, covering his face entirely. Lifting his eyebrows and shaking his head, Jack reached inwardly far enough to grasp the edge of the old wooden door’s latch, instantly closing it before placing his spare key into the lock and turning it.

The sharp clang of the latch echoed through the chamber, sending a chill down Fedder’s spine. Spinning around only to find himself alone and confined within the room made his skin crawl; had this been their plan all along, he wondered. Catching his breath, Cion tried desperately to see whatever he could out of the western window, but like Jack, it could only be done when standing further away. Jack’s appearance through the barred opening sealed any thought Fedder may have had that he had, in fact, smelled his captor, even if he hadn’t seen him.

Seating himself a few feet from the window, which from his vantage point allowed Jack to sit on the landing’s edge and view into the tomb, he listened as his prisoner began to ask him if he realized kidnapping a councilman was in fact a felony, and that he could be charged with a class A crime. “Criminal? Me?” asked Jack. “It seems to me, and probably to anyone who wanted to see my livestream on YouTube, that you made your way through the gates of a privately owned crypt on privately owned land, and found yourself.” Jack laughed, “Wait, I think I will stream this.” He reiterated to himself that he had been correct; it was Cion Fedder whom he had seen through the same window, and only their positions had been entirely reversed.

“Elle isn’t here. The woman you heard was me, at least you thought it was a woman, so I suppose that would be kudos to me; such a confidence booster if I do say so myself.”  Jack delighted in his antics, sending the images of the captive man through the lofty airwaves to be seen by more than several thousands of Jack’s followers on both sides of the Atlantic. Though the hour was just past seven in the morning on the East Coast, it wouldn’t be too far-fetched to believe that the live stream could reach viral status within minutes, considering the subject matter; a man trapped inside a crypt isn’t something everyone is accustomed to seeing on a daily basis.

 “Most of my followers are in America and Canada, some in Australia, so it’s not likely that anyone will recognize you, so I’ll have to dox you a little, and tell everyone that I have successfully entrapped Stirling Councilman Cion Fedder this morning, as he was making his way through a very privately owned property while attempting to discuss how he and his cronies at the council are trying to rip the land out from under its rightful owner, who, no, I won’t dox, and in not doxing her, I’ll let her know, since she was pinged the second the video started, that she is expected to return as quickly as she can, because I now…oh, now, I fear for my life…” Jack reeled back in false pretense, throwing his hand over his forehead and gasping loudly. “I fear for my life if I should release the man to be freed from having purposely walked into the legal domain of someone without being invited, without being expected, and without being wanted, as far as I know.”

In Falkirk, just outside the Kelpie’s and the Water Wheel, Elle was doing her best to say goodbye to two of her favorite internet vloggers, known to the world as Annie and Zach from their personal YouTube channel, Simple Scottish Living. The two had married a few years after meeting at an American youth camp, where both were counselors. Annie, a petite and charming American-born Georgian woman, had fallen instantly for the tall, handsome Scotsman she had been assigned to work with; both were taken aback by just how quickly their relationship developed.

 Soon, they began dating, spending more time together, taking a chance on the odds that such a relationship would take hold, and hoping it would grow. They became engaged and eventually got married. To keep his bride and her family happy, Zach moved to the States, where the two began a family. They moved completely across the country to Southern California after a few years. After a few more years of living the American Dream, the Scottish allure had them happily packing; they moved their young family back to the land and people where Zach was raised. Because their lives seemed interesting to others, it made sense to video their progress and send short clips to their friends and family, who suggested they share their adventures with the world.

When Elle’s phone simultaneously pinged with Zach’s the two looked at one another, with Annie cocking her head to one side. “That’s the ping Zach gets when our favorite Scottish vlogger is live streaming; do you follow Jack Abercrombie, too?” She asked Elle, who by this time had glanced at her phone to see what she could only hope was a joke or at least something that could be explained. When Jack stated again that he wouldn’t dox the woman who lived in the crypt, but that Cion Fedder of Stirling Council had been caught red-handed entering her “home” without cause, Zach laughed to add his two pence to the matter. “Jack…oh, he’s too much. He’s captured a man in an old crypt!” Zach’s words seemed to scrape the skin off Elle’s neck, as she wondered what would be the fastest route back to Finlay, and if she could even make it happen before the councilman had chalked up enough criminal charges against Jack and possibly herself since the man was trapped inside her crypt.

“You’ll excuse me, guys, I need to make my way back to Finley as quickly as I can.” She stated, turning to her new friends to answer Annie’s question. “Yes, Annie, I am a fan of Jack’s, but right now I’m not so sure if he’s going to be alive much longer, so his next live stream may be him showing not only how I killed him, but where I chose to bury him. Because I own that crypt and so much of the land around it, I do have options.” She laughed without laughing. Annie’s face was stunned, flushed with a tinge of shock, but when her eyes met those of her husband’s, she quickly reached for Elle’s arm.

“Before you leave, take my number. Call me when it’s over and tell me everything. I want to know literally everything about it. You don’t get it; I’ve loved Jack Abercrombie for a while now. He’s just too funny. You have to be the woman he’s in love with, don’t you? He calls you Tigress! You’re her, aren’t you?” Annie asked. “Call me; I want to do a vlog with you two, if that’s okay,” Annie asked. “Down the road, you don’t have to answer now, but I want to know how this ends. I’ll send Jack a comment telling him you’re on your way.”

Less than a second had passed when Zack glanced back at his wife again and said, “We’ll drive you. There’s no way you’ll make it to Stirling and then to Finlay within a few hours. We can make it in twenty or twenty-five minutes. We don’t mind. I’ll call my parents and let them know so they can keep the kids a little longer. This couldn’t have worked out better for any of us,” he laughed, his eyes shining at his wife. “We love Jack! Now we love you.” The thought of all that was happening seemed to take control over Elle’s mind; she couldn’t turn them down, and she didn’t know exactly where to start trying to explain what all she believed had caused this particular fiasco.

Photo Credit: Annie and Zach from YouTube (Simple Scottish Living) 

Dion -- About Half Way Finished.

    If we're going by chapter count, I am more than halfway through the book. I just finished Chapter 17, which is usually a significant milestone for me. I love Chapter 17 in all of my books. That's when it all comes together and all the characters should be explained, or at least most of them. The important ones will be explained enough so that they can begin making noises and sounding somewhat normal. If you read my books, you'll understand they have a specific pattern. I didn't mean for it to become that way, but it is my style, I suppose. 

     "Dion" is not the name for the book that I started out with, and it's not even the second name I milled about in my head. It is, in fact, the third name I came up with, and there is a reason. There is usually a reason. I typically keep reasons with me so I can utilize them when necessary.  I was going to call the book "The Grange" and it was going to be about the specific cemetery, or take place in the specific cemetery by the same name in the south part of Edinburgh. I decided against it because I didn't want anyone whose loved ones are buried there to become upset with me if I named them, and I didn't want to make up names that aren't there for the same reason.

    I decided to move the cemetery west of the capital city to a little hamlet that doesn't exist, in a county that does exist. That way, there would be enough realism floating around with an equal amount of fantasy, giving the book its well-deserved fiction genre, but it would be believable at the same time. That, too, is my style. I see that sort of thing cropping up in all of my books. I can't say they are genuinely historical, and I can't say they are not giving it their best to be so.

    According to what I found on the internet, the word "Dion" has a few good meanings. From the Greek connection, there is an association with Zeus, as Zeus' son is called Dion or something close to it. Zeus may have nicknamed the kid "Dion" because it was short for something a little longer. It means strength, or a divine one.  From the Celtic people, the word means a fierce defender. That's what Elle is in the book. She defends her position as the rightful owner of a plot of land that has been encroached upon by the area council, who have been using part of it for overflow of their cemetery.

    The word "Dion" is also associated with qualities of leadership and determination, two more words that Elle Finlay can identify with. She is quite strong and more than just determined to claim what is hers, but she will do so in the face of threat and scorn. She doesn't back down; she doesn't know how to retreat. For her, it is kill or be killed, and she's not afraid to live in a centuries-old crypt without electricity or any other form of modern amenities to make her point.

    Right now, I'm at the point where she's just begun to squat in the crypt, making herself as comfortable as she can. She's purchased a small solar-powered generator for a hot plate, and some light she will need at night when she finishes her work. She takes showers at the local gym and has an actual ice chest with actual ice to keep her luncheon meats cold. She has made up her mind to face whatever is necessary to bring to light all that has to be brought to that light - she's not going to give an inch, fearing someone will try to take the proverbial mile from her.

    That's where I am. She'll soon encounter some of the more earthy, less glamorous things that can happen to a woman while living in a crypt. She'll even end up making love in the shadow of several of her ancestors while fantasizing about what they would have to say about it if walls could speak. (Several of the people she was related to who died are now buried in the walls of the crypt's rooms.) She's not going to let their pious judgment stop her from taking over and making their place, her future resting place as well.

    This is a fun book, but it's taking me longer than most of my books. I don't have an excuse either, it's just not a book I'm pressured to write. I'm writing a few chapters a week, and I'm OK with that - I'm not on a deadline - no publishers are crying for it to be completed -- and even if they were, I'd not feel pressured to please them. That's the really good thing about being self-published. I write because I like to write. I made $1.84 last month off my books -- woot!! If I wrote because my living depended on it, I would hurry. I know that's not the case, so I move at my own pace.

Photo Credit: Pinterest.com 

Just Sayin' I Kill People (in books)

 It probably wouldn't go over very well if, when I'm asked what I do for a living, I say I'm a murderer - and then, you know, add rather quickly, that I'm an author of thriller novels and find the need to whack a few people every three or four months. Honestly, I don't even do that, because I don't write for a living, I write for pleasure. I guess then, it could be said that I murder people for the thrill of it; for fun...and then add rather quickly, that's all in my head and through my keyboard. I'm really a pretty good person when all things are considered.

    For a living, I recover damages from people who break things so that our clients can be indemnified. I consider both sides of an equation and determine who the liable party is. It could be the person who put the shovel or excavator's bucket into the ground. It could be the local company that didn't do their job correctly, but we all know that our clients are always innocent in these matters and will be indemnified by someone. It's my job sometimes to figure out who that someone is.

    Murdering people is wrong. I need to state that fact flatly, and have you understand that I really do mean it. I can honestly say, with all my fingers uncrossed, that I would never murder anyone; not in reality. Murder isn't killing - there is a difference. I could end a life if I needed to, but it wouldn't be what I wanted to do, and it wouldn't be taken lightly either. There have been a few critics of my books stating that a Christian can't be a murder novelist, but hey, here I am...killin' it...Ha! Did you see what I did there? Sometimes I make myself laugh...don't be too offended; I'm not.

    Fiction books sell more than non-fiction books. Fantasy and science fiction sell more than any genre, but murder, mystery, mayhem, and recipe books are right up there, along with books that rest minutes on shelves before being picked up and carried home. My books are on print demand - they won't see a shelf unless I order them, wait for them to come in, and then not pick them up, so they have to be shelved! I may say my books are on the local Barnes and Noble shelves, but they aren't...not really. Actually, there was a day that I took six books into Barnes and Noble and put them on the shelf so I could take their picture. That was fun. Talk about being a dork! I win!

    I tease my bestie and say that if either of us is ever picked up by the police and they go through our phones to see what the two of us are texting to one another, we're both going to have to admit that I'm the one who started it. I won't let her take the blame. I'll say something so off the wall and random that anyone with a normal mind would have had me committed a long time ago; they would at least stop hanging out with me out of sheer fear that I could snap at any moment. 

    It will be a regular Tuesday afternoon, and I'll text Jeannie and say something like "You need to be naked when you stab someone or club them with a golf club a few times. It's gonna get really messy fast, and you can't have minute tiny drops of blood hiding in the fabric of your clothes. You can explain it if it's in your hair but not your clothes."  Things like that. Then she'll write back and remind me that there are cleaning additives you can add to your wash that remove blood completely, even leaving it smelling pretty fresh; as long as you don't wash them with other things it should be OK, but it's always best to incinerate the clothes if you can - "best options."

    Jeannie isn't a writer, but she's a detective. I mean, she could be. She could take the test and pass with all the hours, years even, of the shows that we've watched. She could pass. I'd lay money on it. She knows her modern murders for sure. I tend to creep around the old days, reading up on murders and victimology from yesteryear; it fascinates me how many of these people got away with it - a lot got away with it. Not today! Not with all the forensic medicine, research, testing, and whatnot. Nope, if the scientists don't find out what you did, the CCTV cameras sure will!

    Just for fun (and you know what I do for fun), I decided to go online and use a name generator to find a few good names for some upcoming characters. There's even a random method of murder generator designed to help writers think outside the box, or give them brighter, fresher, new ideas that maybe they hadn't thought about. (Who doesn't do this in their spare time?)

    You put in a few facts that you want to be sure and keep in the book, then hit the button to see what will happen to the next bloke that walks in the park after dark without a care in the world - BAM! Alligator! No one thinks of murder by alligator, but that's what the coroner finds in his body! Tiny microscopic bits of oiled and treated alligator leather; probably a woman's purse or a man's boot!

    Well, he could be on the swamp side of the park, near the 16th hole on a fancy golf course somewhere in the Sunshine State. The man reaches down to pick up a loose ball he thought no one needed, and Brutus nabs him before he can holler back for help! If you hit it in the rough out on the 16th, you take a loss -- everyone knew that but Carl...poor Carl. He just wanted to save a few bucks on balls; he already had a few extra tees in his pocket. One of them got stuck in Brutus's jaw - painful. 

    That's it. That's me. That's how I think, and what I think. I can't ever remember being bored - that's for sure. I don't need a lot of fancy gizmos and gadgets to keep my mind occupied. Just a pen and a little notebook will do. 

Photo Credit: Etsy.com

Espressing Myself.

 I did it. I wasn't going to do it because I told myself I really didn't need it, but I often lie to myself, and when I do, I usually ask myself to stop doing so.  I lied to myself so often, so many times, about not needing an espresso machine. I made excuses that didn't hold water. I made up stories about things that I thought could happen (again) if I got one -- you know, all the bad things like it'll be cheap and you'll hate it. It'll leak, and you'll hate it. It'll be in the way, and you'll hate it. Then I sat myself down and shook some sense into my head.

    I don't have to buy a cheap espresso machine, one that will leak or be too big for the already restricted cabinet space in the kitchen. I can buy a good machine that is smaller (they make them now) and one that won't break the bank. It's 2025 - I know I can check all the boxes and have the coffee I really want!

    When I get up in the morning, I'm not immediately thinking about coffee. I have chores; many furry faces staring at me, licking me in my eye socket, reminding me that they have been crossing their legs most of the night. I put the dogs out, turn on the shower, let it heat up, turn on the lizard lights, take my shower, let the dogs in, dress myself for the day, give the dogs and cats their treats, feed the dogs, water the dogs and cats, and then...only then, can I think about making myself a good cup of coffee.

    I know what you're thinking...you want to know why I don't feed the cats before I make my coffee, and if I did that, they wouldn't need Laura, would they? That's me, always thinking of someone else!  After I'm allowed to stop and breathe long enough to make myself a coffee, I sit and go through my social media, love on the dogs and one of the cats, as the other has gone back to Laura by this time because she's still in bed all nice and warm while I'm moving about and my lap is full with four dogs and the other cat.

    Well, none of that will change with the purchase of my new espresso machine; nope, not one thing will change. You see, I'll still use the Keurig drip machine to make that first cup, because I am still on auto-pilot until after I drink that first cup, then, and only then, can I think clearly enough to brew a good cappuccino with all its frothy goodness, added flavors, etc...etc...so, the 2nd cup will be the fun one.

    Around 7:15 a.m., just before going to work (and by going to work, I mean walking down the hall to my home office), I will make the 2nd cup for myself, using the new Casbrews 3700 Essential Espresso Machine.  One of the really cool things about it is the reviews online saying it doesn't leak, it isn't large, doesn't take up space, but still provides a good cup, and the frother gets higher ratings than most of the others. This one was recommended by a friend; she's had hers for over a year and says it works wonderfully -- that made me smile.

    The fact that it is semi-automatic and not 100% manual was, again, something that interested me. It shouldn't be a chore to play a barista in the early hours of the day - I am forever grateful for those who get to the shops before I arrived to be there to take and create my order back when I went to an actual shop to drink a cup -- that was so very long ago now; I remember it though -- but not like it was yesterday; more like it was a few years back. 

    Laura was a barista herself, and that was...geez...2008-2010. I never bought myself a single cup of coffee that entire time; that's a memory to hold onto! Now, she's going to get to hone up on her old skills because I fully expect to pull up to my sofa this weekend and order whatever the heck I want just to see if she can make it for me. I'm not above going out and buying all the flavors, creams, mixes, etc..etc.. just to make her look good! Again, always thinking of someone else; it's what I do!

    Well, that's it. I'm a happy camper, and you know I'll share with you the results, good or bad...or great and fantabulous because it's coffee! It's not only coffee; it's going to be GREAT coffee! 

PHOTO CREDIT:  Amazon.com  (Casabrews 3700 Essential Espresso Machine) 

Just a Bunch of Randomness.

     I was going to write on my book "Dion" today, but I was distracted from doing so. I hate it when I'm all set to write, but I must put it off to run errands or deal with something that can't wait. It usually means I won't fall back into the mood to write. Instead, today anyway, I decided to think about a dream I had a long time ago and then had a very similar one last night. These thoughts will eventually become a book, but I must hash out the details.

    Most of you know I've been married for around 36 years to a fantasy man named Craig Allan MacKenzie.  Craig was born sometime in the Middle Ages. I've written that it was the 17th Century even, but my Scots Gaelic isn't as good as it should or could be, so he could be much older. He may even predate the Bruce and William Wallace; after I learn more and fully understand the man, I'll figure it out.

    The new book won't call the man Craig because he's already in my first romantic novel "Of Kilted Pleasure." I'll have to call him something else - I'll think of something. I'll likely use his image in my head, though, and I'll also use many of the things he's told me about Scotland during his time; he talks a lot. I just can't make heads or tails out of what he's saying - I tend to just smile and look at him. He's really easy to look it.

    Another distraction we had today was going to the exotic pet store and seeing the uromastyx they have. I like them, but Laura loves them. She's really wanting to get one, but we'll have to wait and see. I'm thinking more along the lines of a Blue Tongued Skink, but I could be persuaded to buy a Kenyan Zebra Skink as well. They don't have blue tongues, but they are easy to care for, like being held, and are sweet - as sweet as a skink can be.  Google them! (They range in price but are about $100 ) 

    Due to the fact that I order my groceries online these days and tend to have them delivered on Sundays, I had that to distract me as well. In the future, I'll only have my food delivered during the week and probably after work. They were late, which also pushed me out of the writing mood.  I mean, I'm writing now, but it's not doing the book any favors. It won't write itself. AI is good, but I won't use it if that's the future of things.

    On top of all that, I didn't lose the 2 pounds I wanted to lose this week. It was close; it was 1.8 pounds, but the minimum that my mind accepts is 2.0 pounds, so yeah, I was a little bummed. I know what happened. I forgot to drink the tea as often this week, but as of yesterday, I'm putting MCT powder (1/2 dose) into my coffee, so that may help the quest a bit. One can hope, and of course, I'll keep you posted.

    That's me. That's my day. One distraction after the other, but nothing so bad that I can't find myself sitting on the sofa soon with a good book on my Kindle. That will happen. I know if everything else crumbles, I have books to read -- and yeah, if I don't, I have books to write. One way or the other, there will be books!  Oh, and I bought another tee shirt. I'll post it on Facebook; it's another English teacher thing. It reads, "You literally mean figuratively"

    I'm off! I have to cook something for dinner now that my kitchen cabinets are full of food. I fell for their flash-sale items and ended up with two-day-old donut holes that are now dog treats; don't judge me. The dogs aren't complaining, so you shouldn't either.

Photo Credit: ReptileAdvisor.com  (The Uromastyx) 

Because I Can.

     I went on Amazon today and bought a new keyboard. I did it not only because I needed one but because I could.  I am often surprised by the fact that I never have to ask anyone's permission to buy anything I want to buy. The keyboard I had was a good one still, but there were a few keys that seemed to stick, and though there were a limited amount of keys on the board itself, I didn't want to take the time to try and figure out which ones were sticking. All I knew was that I was forever making typing errors that caused me to use the backspace key repeatedly. It's annoying! I know; First-World problems!

    So, the new keyboard arrived two hours after I ordered it, which is faster than I would have expected. I'm not sure I really like it yet, but I'm almost sure I'll get used to it. I've taken a good hard look at it, and I think the keyboard is the same size as the old one, but the new one is smaller overall, without a bunch of extra keys and buttons on the sides that I never once used anyway. If I were hard-pressed to guess what all those buttons did, I think I could come up with one answer -- there was a "media" button that, though I never used it, I think I remember someone seeing it on my desk and telling me it was useful. I can't think of why I would use it, but apparently, enough people do, and the makers of the keyboards added them. 

    So, after I made the purchase, I decided to use it, and what better way than to look up something online that I love and write about it? That's right, that's what this is; it's an exercise for me to use my new keyboard, but before I could do that, I needed something to look at and write about - enter the chocolate donut! That's right, again...I love a good chocolate donut. It's not something new or innovative. The fact itself should not send shockwaves through you - if you know me, I am a huge fan of most chocolate things. Donuts were simply some of the first things I remember being smothered in it - and because I can, I went onto Pinterest and caused myself to smile.

    I like the way they look. I like the color, in fact, again, if you know me, you know my very favorite color in the whole big wide world is in fact, Hershey's chocolate brown - the candy, not the wrapper; but that color is rather nice as well.  Brown is earthy; it's rich, wholesome, and honest. Brown never decieves you, it is itself perfect. Dogs are often brown, you know, as well as coffee, trees, dirt, and therefore mud when you add the rain to the dirt -- except now those of you who do know me know I come from Oklahoma where the dirt and mud can be rather a dull brackish red....ignore that for now, and remember that brown is always a good color for donuts.

    Because I can, I think about making donuts. I think about mixing the dry ingredients together before mixing them with the wet ingredients I'll end up mixing after I do the dry. I think about preheating the oven and how I have to lower the temps in the one that I have now because if I don't, the indoor fire alarms will sound off.  Because I can, I think about spray coating the silicone donut baking pan and how the silicone pan I use makes a deeper donut than the old metal pan I bought over thirty years ago and just recently retired.

    Because I can, I think about pulling out the bitter-sweet chocolate (again brown) morsels and mixing them with a little heavy cream and butter to make a top glaze for the virtual donuts I'm thinking about -- I use a double boiler to do it, but I don't actually boil anything; I use a medium heat. Once the donuts are ready, I let them cool. They're not really there you know, they're in my mind, not the oven. I'm only thinking about baking them.

    Once I've fake-mixed, fake-cooked, fake-cooled, and fake-iced my fake donuts, I am ready to smile as I pretend it was real enough, and because I can -- I decide to really do it. If you want the truth, and I know you do, it takes longer to actually make real donuts than it does to make them in my mind -- and I have to clean up my mess when I'm done, something I don't have to do when I think about it. 

    OK, I think the keyboard will work out. That was good - It's a good purchase, I like it, and I'm hungry -- I know just what to do.

    

Photo Credit: Pinterest.com

Legacy - Book 18.

     If you know me, and you should by now, you know I'm an author. I auth. It's what I do. I am a writer and will write if I have nothing else to do, and I will write when I'm working, talking, thinking, walking, or just about any time really. I don't need a pen or keyboard to write. I create images and stories in my head. I am literally never alone. If I ever feel like I am becoming lonely, I simply start a conversation either with one of my characters or between a few of them so I can listen to them talk, and I take notes to put into future books.

    I am currently writing my 17th book. It is a dramatic novel, not a romance. It can't be considered a murder book or a romance because it's a dramatic fiction novel. There will be murder and romance, but the main focus isn't on either of those events but on the characters' suffering and survival. They win and fight, lose and wrestle with one another, and discover what friendship and kinship mean.

    My mind won't stall and think about one book at a time; it never has. While writing Book 17, I think of books 18, 19, and 20.  I am purposely writing notes into their respective notebooks or in their files on my computer. I'm fluffing them before I even start them. This way, I have an idea of what I want to say, where I want the book to start, and where I want it to end up eventually. Like a lot of writers,  I know the ending before I start the book itself. 

    Book 18, another dramatic fiction novel titled "Legacy," is being given special consideration because I'm about to hit the mid-point of Book 17 and will need Book 18 to be basically written in my head before I start outlining it and adding to its "bones." I have little tartan notebooks, one for each book; sometimes, they have to share a notebook, which is already being filled. It has killing and romance in it as well - I mean yeah, it's Scotland in the 13th Century. There will be bloodshed.

    To be honest, Books 19 and 20 have more notes than "Legacy," but that's because they are sequels to the other Nick Posh books, and I can easily add notes about them as they play off one another. "Legacy" is a period book, a historical fiction book that will take place in 13th-century Scotland's west coast and Ireland as the main character, Euan Tavish, makes his way across the Atlantic to find his father after many years of being separated.

    The storyline is not completely set, but basically, Euan's mother died in childbirth with him, and the baby was stolen by the midwife. She sold the child to a family that moved from Ayrshire, Scotland, to Ireland. At a young age, the boy was kidnapped by a man claiming to be his father, but he was not. He abused the lad for years, making him a slave aboard his merchant ship. The boy is told by the merchant that his father had given him up at birth. Though Tavish knows there is more to the story, he can't be certain about who he is until he returns to Scotland to find anyone who may know what happened.

    Along the way, he falls in love, but because he is not of any type of noble blood, her family refuses to allow him to marry the woman. He's convinced that he could have been of a good family and that his cruel beginnings should not stop him from becoming a good and honorable man. He faces incredible odds, both physical and mental, trying to understand his own limits, not knowing what he will say to his father if he is still living.  The journey is the story itself, the right of passage, the fight within the man, the internal struggle that he must either fight or put to rest and the reasons for the choice he must make.

    "Legacy" should be written during April and May and probably be available the first or second week of June. I'm hoping it will be fun to write and that I will not only learn a great deal but also have an entirely new set of friends to talk to when or if I find myself stranded without a book to read or the internet to keep me busy—I am never, and I do mean never, alone.

PHOTO CREDIT: Me

Gummie /Gummy Life!

     I am not even gonna lie about it; I am the biggest Gummie (or is it gummy)  fan. I know it, and I don't mind if everyone in the world knows it. I will tell anyone who wants to listen that I love gummies.  I have gummy vitamins, probiotics, cinnamon, and other supplements, and yes, I have gummy fiber. I started buying the gummy fiber only because I like fiber, and if I can get it in the form of a gummy, I will do that. You got me.

    Well, here's how this works. The doctors out there will tell you that they don't recommend gummy supplements to most of their patients, and that could be because very few major pharmaceutical companies make gummy antibiotics or pain relievers, but if they did -- you know, I would be a fan.  The only gummies I think I haven't tried are the cannabis gummies, and that's only because I don't do cannabis. I really don't. I used to say I would if it was legal, but it's legal, and I just don't do it. I should.

    My favorite gummies, of course, are the old-fashioned and very welcoming Haribos bears that you remember from when you were last at the grocery store and saw them. I, too, have a very hard time not buying them. Because I have such a hard time not buying them, I supplement my need (my fix) with gummy supplements instead. I tell myself they're good for me. That's really how it works, whether it's the best practice or not. It is the actual practice; by practice, I mean it is what happens in real life.

    I have what I call "poopy pills," but they are in regular capsule form; one a day is all you need. It's psyllium husk, and they work very well. I don't know if the extra fiber that  I take is helping or not, but I do feel better because I've at least lied to myself to the point that I believe I am healthier than I would have been had I not supplemented my supplement. 

    The fiber gummies are relatively inexpensive (more expensive than a couple of bags of Haribos) and I do have the satisfaction of telling myself that I'm not one of those people who puts fiber into their morning coffee - nope, I don't do that. (I do put collagen into my morning coffee and MCT oil powder, but never extra fiber. I don't want my coffee to get thick.)

    This morning, during a Teams meeting at work, a claims adjuster who I had just met thought I was her mother's age. Her mother is 44 , and her grandmother is literally 3 weeks younger than I am. I told her it was the gummies, I don't know if she believes me, but she said, "Well, I didn't want to say you looked older than my mom, but I thought you were about 44-46 or something like that." I wanted to hug her, but she was on the screen, and my boss was watching; it would have been awkward.

    The smile she put on my face stayed there all day, and when she called me later in the day to talk about my practices at work, I had another opportunity to thank her for her kind words earlier. She said she would have thought I would want to retire at my age, but I told her I did. I did retire, and it was really not fun being poor and not busy. I'd rather be earning, talking to people, filling up my day with challenges and new adventures. I hope she thinks differently about old people now...that's my goal, you know. 

    Well, here we are at the bottom of my blog. I could choose to read a book, watch another YouTube video, or play with the dogs. I could also take a bath if I wanted to. That's another thing about being single; you can do whatever you want when you want, and you don't need to ask permission or wonder if you're taking someone else's hot water -- I'd say I can run around naked if I want, but I do have a daughter as a roomie and she wouldn't really cotton to that sort of nonsense. 

    Have a good one—enjoy your life, and pop a gummy! (It's your choice; I don't care either way.) 

Photo Credit: Pinterest.com 

Power Down!

     Most of you know that I'm an author, but I have a "real" job, too. I don't know if you ever knew or if you thought that I had to in order to pay my bills; it's true. I am a working person! I have a real job. My job is that of a Claims Adjuster. I've been licensed for years, and I'm licensed in several states, my home state being Oklahoma. Why am I telling you all this? You'll see.

    My best friend Jeannie came over today, and we went places. I don't usually go anywhere, but when Jeannie came over I had errands to do, so we went together. While driving down one of the busier roads in my neighborhood, she pointed out all the downed tree limbs, leaning fences, and even a power pole literally cut in two! All this, we both knew, was caused by the damage caused by hurricane force winds from the day before. Oklahoma is quite known for its tornadoes, but this event was a "straight line squall" with sporadic wind speeds of up to 100 mph in some parts of the state. Oklahoma City had 50-90 mph winds for a large part of the day.

    My job as a Claims Adjuster deals primarily with underground property loss, not aerial and/or physical damage to the poles themselves, but with copper and fiber cables and strands beneath the ground. When someone (or a crew) digs and damages these lines (facilities), I step in and ask them to pay or indemnify the company who lost the line, loss of use to customers, and of course, we get the money back from these damages to cover all costs of labor and materials. We also try to get as much in the way of administrative costs as possible.

    When Jeannie pointed out the downed pole, I had to stop and take a few pictures of it. In a very strange and even odd way, it was considered a beautiful disaster. The potential for harm was extreme, and I hoped the authorities had been told. I decided to call to be sure, and I was happy to be told that it was reported. I knew it must have been, but you don't want to assume anything.

     I immediately took photos and sent them to my boss and another manager of my company as well as to two or three co-workers and other adjusters, who almost instantly all texted back wanting to know where it was! They wanted to go see it for themselves. This will be a keen loss; but it will also be considered an Act of God, therefore, no one will have to pay anyone back. The power company will simply file their own insurance claim.

    Before becoming a Claims Adjuster for an underground utility subrogation firm, I knew about powerlines, crossboxes, pedestals, and the like. Still, I had no true understanding of the "depth" (sorry) of just how deeply lines are to be buried, or how they are installed in the first place. It's all very fascinating actually - and there are in fact, many laws and regulations surrounding these installations as well as the methods used to maintain, repair, or replace power lines, gas lines, water lines, anything that will involve any sort of excavation including the installing of a private fence post or mailbox.

    You may or may not know all the rules, but know this; before you put a spade more than six inches into the ground, PLEASE call 811 to get a FREE locate telling you where the lines are, and what lines will be under the ground. You don't want to be the person banging around with your shovels and slicing into a working gas line! Communication lines are one thing, and power lines are too, but if you hit a gas line, it could mean much more than just loss of gas. Lives and property are at stake, and it is not a thing to gamble with. CALL 811....EVERY TIME.

    Now, when you call 811, and they have their 2 or 3 days to come out, locate (mark and flag) the area, it doesn't mean you can just plow your way through. You have to obey the standards of the industry as well as the safety laws; both state and federal. The good excavators know that. The same type of care is mandated for people trimming trees too; you can't just take your saws up into the trees and start hacking away! The winds (in this case) split the pole! Had it been an end pole it could have smashed into a roof!  CRAZY!

    Anyway, that's what I do. I call people, ask for their email address if I don't already have it, and I send them an invoice for the damage they caused for not being responsible; for not being law-abiding. Most of the time, thankfully, lives are not lost, and the only damage caused can be fixed by sending money into to pay for labor and materials, but sometimes it is my duty to inform them that they have broken the law(s) and could be charged. It's a great job - and I love it. Not many people do what I do, and I like that too. We talk to homeowners, professional people who own businesses, and to a lot of insurance adjusters. We find the people who did the damage and recover our clients' losses. Tis  a fair employment!

    I've been at this company for just a year now, and I wanted to announce where it is that I work after a year, but I've decided not to. I don't need to dox myself. I love it there....here...I work from home. I wake up, put on my pajamas, drink a hot cup of coffee after showering and playing with the dogs, and I work steadily from the moment I put my headset on at 7:30 til the moment I take them off at 4:00, but anytime I want a 10-15 minute break I can take it.  I can take two, three, four -- it's my time, as long as I get my job done.

    I never ask permission; if I don't work that day, I'm the only one hurting. My pay depends on how much I put into it. It's not self-paced, but it is. No one micromanages me - that's the part I really like. My co-workers are fun and outgoing, and I love their job as much as I do. I talk to some really crazy, messed up people who simply have no clue; that's the part of my day that I cherish. Those people make good fodder for the books I write. I will change their names; I promise.

Photo Credit: Me