A Magical Day We'll Never Forget

I went to great lengths to make yesterday special.  It was our last day on vacation.
    So, here's the map "someone" delivered to our hotel room.


 

    When we found the two trees that grow as one, three deer stepped from the woods!  The Hippie seemed shocked as she whispered, "We went on a treasure hunt.  Well, this is the real treasure." We watched those deer for a long time. Surprisingly, Doctor Jones and the Zombie Elf hushed--that alone was magical. Those kids are NEVER quiet.

 Sorry my cell camera is such a dream. At least you can kind of see them? 

    After that, the kids found some prizes Cade and I hid the night before.  I know the 'prizes' might sound dumb, but our kids were thrilled.  We hid seven different items including a frisbee, silly teeth from the dollar store, water bottles for each of the kids, water and special flavors of Kool Aid packets. The treasures were each shown on the map with an X--how cliche, right?

    We walked up the winding road to a Y intersection.  A field rested ahead.  It looked like nothing special from that angle . . .

  But once on the other side, I knew we'd suddenly see this trail leading to a church at the base of a cemetery on a hill:
  

    I timed everything just right.  We wouldn't see the path, not until the church bells rang twelve times.  At that point, the kids would look back at the church.  Then they'd see the "magical" path.

 

    When all of that happened, they were so excited, they ran.

 Here's the Zombie Elf and the Scribe behind him. 

    Vibrant butterflies flew around us.  Flowers grew everywhere and I couldn't help laughing since some people say those gorgeous flowers are weeds.  That reminded me of life.  Sometimes we take the most beautiful things for granted.

    Then the path, which only appeared at the perfect time, wrapped around a quaint Catholic church.  

    The second half is what I'll never forget.  

    We crossed two tiny bridges.  The kids were the bravest heroes ever known, about to visit a haunted cemetery AND LIVE. 

 The Zombie Elf and Doctor Jones with their silly teeth in. This moment . . . this one makes me smile. Here's the first bridge, where they laughed so hard.
And the second. The Scribe and the Hippie.  

    After a long time playing on the trail, we made it to the cemetery.  The map instructed us to look for the most striking tree.  The Hippie--that genius--found it right away.  Cade and I had already hidden a box of Whoppers and a little excerpt from the Bible by the tree.  It was about Adam and Eve--because they're awesome--they're our ancestors and a tree is in the story.  When I finished reading about fruit, snakes and poor choices, the kids gazed at me and then the 'striking tree.'

    It was so surreal.  Playing with my kids.  It might sound silly, but sitting among those graves of dead strangers, it reminded me of everything I've lost--of everything I've gained.  Yeah, life isn't easy, but it's worth it, if you can push through the hard times, just to find the good ones around the corner.

    "Why was something from the Bible here?" the Scribe asked, breaking my thoughts.  "Aren't we on a hunt for treasure . . . like pirates? Aren't pirates kinda against readin' the Bible?"

    To be honest, I hid the scripture because I felt like a sucky mother when my mom asked the kids who Mary was in the Bible.  My kids had NO CLUE last week.  The Hippie said Mary was a blind beggar Jesus healed.  Really?  REALLY?  Yep, that's my fault.  

    Anyway, I was about to become an idiot and lie to the Scribe--right after reading the Bible.  Then I noticed the Hippie's sparkling eyes.

    "Isn't it obvious?" the Hippie said.  "It was here, by the tree--in a hidden cemetery--because we just found the Tree of Life!  We're the luckiest kids in the universe."

    As the Zombie climbed onto a headstone, I was about to scream for him to get down, when a man on a mower drove into view and gave my zombie a mean look.

   "Oh my gosh!" the Hippie squealed, oblivious.  "I bet that man is the keeper of the cemetery.  He promised to spend his whole life guarding this tree.  Maybe he's even the one who gave us this map!"  She grinned so big.  "He might even be an angel." 

    That mowing man, he got so many compliments and all he did was give us a mean look.  To think, we went looking for ghosts and instead we found a lawn-mowing angel . .  with a mean face.

You can see the tree on the right.  Yes, the Tree of Life is an aspen.

  

    As we walked down the trail, the Scribe pulled me aside.  "I love you, Mom.  Thanks for all you do.  That was so fun."
    "What do you mean?  I didn't do anything."

    She winked at me.  "I knew it was you the whole time, but that made it even better.  We have parents who love us.  We're lucky.  Thank you."

    I have to admit that as she ran ahead to help her siblings, I cried because it meant so much.  My kids may not know everything about the Bible.  They may have thought Mary was a blind beggar.  They may think the Tree of Life is an aspen, but I'll tell you one thing, at least they know they're loved.

    Moments like this make life worth it.  I'll hold this memory dear.  Forever and always.  Because life is short.

P. S. If you'd like more information about Zeke, my son who passed away, please click here: 

 "The Golden Sky"

Going on a treasure hunt!

Melynda's interview went so well! If you'd like to listen to that, here it is:

Listen to internet radio with Journal Jabber on Blog Talk Radio

We're still in Wyoming and today we're going on a treasure hunt.  I've rigged everything pretty well.  This morning, after Cade left for work, someone knocked on the hotel door so loud they woke up all of the kids.  By the time the Hippie and Scribe finally opened the door, the person had fled and left an old book with this note in it:

And this map:

    Something amazing happened yesterday.  After Cade got back from work, he took me around to hide little treasures near the trail we made.  Along the way, we went behind a catholic church and found a hiking path that leads to the cemetery!  It's the most beautiful little trail.  I can't wait to show you pictures of this.  The kids are going to love it.

    Well, I better get going.  The kids are so excited to follow the map to a haunted graveyard.  It says that a secret path will reveal itself every day at noon when the clock strikes twelve.  All right--I'll admit it--I'm having way too much fun. I'll post pictures tomorrow.

Lander, Wyoming: A Haunted Town

We're still on vacation in Wyoming.  There are many beautiful places around here.




 Photo credit  Photo credit  

    But one place in particular caught my kids' interest.  As they played in the park yesterday, they noticed a cemetery on a nearby hill.  "We should go there," the Scribe said.  "Butch Cassidy and his gang came here.  Maybe someone famous is buried up there.  I bet it's haunted!"

    I laughed.  "You crack me up.  You really want to visit a cemetery?"  

    "Only because it's haunted."  

    So the kids continued playing.  At eleven o'clock a church bell rang--loud and clear eleven times--my kids were so busy playing tag and having the time of their lives, they didn't even notice the bell and how close it was to lunch.

    We finally left the playground about a half hour later and started walking uphill.  "This is gonna be epic!  A real, live haunted cemetery.  Just imagine which outlaws are buried there!" the Scribe practically squealed.

    It wasn't until we hit a dead end that I started having some fun with the idea.

     "Why is this sign here?" the Scribe asked.
     "I think it's private property," the Hippie said.  "But who in their right mind would buy a cemetery?"
     "Well, let's think about that.  If the cemetery is just up this hill, and someone else does own it, why would they buy a cemetery?" I asked.
    "Maybe the REAL Justin Bieber is buried there," the Hippie said.
    "Or Michael Jackson," I said.
    "Wait," the Scribe said, "Michael Jackson is dead?"
    Where in the heck has she been?
    "I bet the worst outlaws are there."  A smirk lit the Scribe's face and she turned to her siblings.  "Or a vampire bought this land.  He buries all of his victims in those graves so when they come back to life, no one will be there to stake them!"  As I looked at her I realized the whole thing was an elaborate scheme she'd concocted to scare her siblings.  I had to get the one-up on her.  Sometimes people need a taste of their own medicine--sometimes it sucks having a writer for a mother.
    "Scribe," I whispered.  "It might sound crazy, but this town, this place . . .  There's something weird going on here--it's all too familiar.  Why would a cemetery be blocked off?  What are they hiding?"  She shook her head and continued listening.  "Once, I heard a story about a ghost town.  Evil ghosts would come from the graves and haunt the older buildings in town.  But we can't be there.  In that town, when the sun was at its peak in the sky, the church bells would ring exactly twelve times.  That's how people knew the ghosts would be coming."
    "Really?" the kids asked.
    "Yeah."  I looked upward--like a flippin' ninja--because I'd timed it just right.  As we turned to walk back down the hill and the kids shuddered about ghost towns, that's when the church bells started ringing.
    Once . . .
    Twice . . .
    I swear, even I got chills!
    The kids started counting after that and with each sound their fear and excitement grew.  "Nine . . . Ten . . .  Eleven . . . Twelve."  
    The last bell rang out long and hard, then silence fell.
    "Oh. My. Gosh!" the Hippie squealed.  "This place IS haunted."
    The kids talked about old Butch and everything they've learned about the west.  They went on and on about when we went to Deadwood, SD and saw places Buffalo Bill and Annie Oakley visited.  They turned the conversation back to Butch, said he was only in prison once, near the place we're staying right now.  
    When we had finally walked back to the hotel, the Scribe looked at me.  "I don't believe any of this, not really.  That's why I'm going to google it--because you tease, but google ALWAYS tells the truth."
    She gasped at each page she found.  Stories upon stories like this, The Lander Bar Ghost, filled the pages.  Apparently Lander, Wyoming has been listed in the top three most haunted places in the West!
    So, we're having fun with this.  We might go visit some of the "haunted" buildings in town--including the Cowfish which has been written about multiple times.
    And for tomorrow, I found the real entrance to the cemetery; it's on the other side where it isn't blocked off by private property.  Anyway, Cade and I bought some old-looking paper and other things.  We're taking the kids on a treasure hunt that will lead to the cemetery.  I hope the kids will have a ball reading a treasure map and going on a real adventure.

 
    A Reminder . . .
    Melynda Fleury will be on Journal Jabber tonight. I'm so excited to hear her interview!

Because it's magical like a *&%$!

    We're on vacation in Wyoming.  I love it here, seriously.  We drove all day yesterday and once when we stopped at a gas station, I got out and breathed the beautiful air.  Almost everyone there wore boots--which was epic.  Pure, rich dirt covered the mountains.  Cattle ate the yellowed grass in a nearby field.  People waved at me like we were friends!
    Anyway, it felt so good being out of the city, as I paid for my coffee, I smiled at the cashier and said, "Wyoming . . . it's like a good orgasm because some things are just magical."
    YOU should have seen her face.  She was the only person who didn't fit the Wyoming I'm used to.  She had piercings and short hair.  She stared at me and then burst with laughter.  "You know, you're right.  I've never heard it put quite like that, by someone who looks . . . so proper.  You're right though, even if you did just shock the hell outta me."
    I nodded, then smirked skipping from the gas station.  Okay, maybe I didn't really skip--on the outside.  But I did on the inside because that's what I live for: Wyoming AND the shock factor.  You know what, they're both like good orgasms!

    Well, I'll still be blogging this week, since I'm addicted so bad I'm not even scared to admit it.

    In closing, I have a question for you . . .
 

Should I release my story "Homeless in Hawaii" on my blog?
	Yes, two chapters a week (which will include cliffhangers).
	Yes, one chapter a week.
	Yes, four chapters a week (no cliffhanger chapters).
	No, I want to read it all at once in December.
pollcode.com free polls

Dangers of Story Plotting in Restaurants

Adrienne deWolfe has agreed to guest post here today!  I'm so excited.  Enjoy.

Brainstorming:  

Dangers of Story Plotting in Restaurants

By Adrienne deWolfe

So there we sat, two innocent but extremely vocal writers, brainstorming the story plot of my Paranormal Romance in a restaurant.  We’ll call this eatery “Benny’s.” 
    On this particular day, Patty had graciously agreed to reschedule her afternoon's itinerary of laundry-folding and sock-matching to act as my brainstorming buddy.   
    When I get stuck and can’t make sense of the convoluted story plot for my Paranormal Romance (Wolfspell, Autumn 2012), I bribe Patty with lunch. Patty is a Romance novelist who aspires to be published in Fantasy fiction and is well read in every genre.   For this reason, Patty has served as a guest speaker in the story plotting lessons that I teach in my online course, How to Write a Romance Novel that Sells.
    As a published novelist (and brainstorming professional), Patty understands how the rusty wheels turn in the minds of New York editors.  This is an important trait in a story plot consultant.  But Patty’s most important credential is her sense of humor.   To put it mildly, Patty is a hoot!
    Picture the scene as my story plotting accomplice and I prepared for our brainstorming mission: 
    Patty and I drove to the restaurant in separate cars.   We arrived incognito (no pens, no notebooks).  We were seated at a central table, in the busiest section of the eatery.  We decided to pig out on hot fudge brownie sundaes to improve our facility for story plotting.
    It was approximately 1:00 p.m. on a weekday, during the latter half of Lunch Rush.  Fellow diners were crammed into booths and tables that were roughly 12 inches from my elbow.  Servers were squeezing by with humongous trays loaded with BLT's, chicken salad, and the daily soup special.  
    During the following story plotting incident, I’d like to note (in my defense) that I was guzzling my third cola. The sugar-loaded, caffeinated kind.
My conversation with Patty went something like this:
A:  I need to get rid of (G).
P:  Who’s this guy again?
A:  You know.  The one who slept with (L).
P:  Oh yeah.  Now I remember.
A:  I hate him!  I need him to die!
P:  As long as there's plenty of motivation . . .
A:  Oh, there's motivation, all right.  I'm sick of him.
P:  You thinking about bullets?  
A:  Naw.  Something slow and torturous.
P:  How ‘bout putting a box of scorpions under the sheets? 
A:  Eew!
P:  Suffocation by pillow?
A:  Risky.   He'd be a flailer.  
P:  Worried about phlegm on the Egyptian cotton?
A:  Get serious!
P:  Uh . . . right.   How 'bout death cap?  
A:  I don't have time to research fatal mushrooms.  'Sides.  Poison's much too tidy. 
P:  No guts, no gory, right?
A:  (Laughs)  
P:  Well, if you want to kill him in a grisly way, make it big and splashy.  Like a grenade down his pants.
A:  That’s it!  Exploding body parts.  No traceable corpse . . .  I like the way you think!   He’ll go out with a bang!  Thanks, Patty!  An explosion would be a great way to kill him.  I can’t wait to get home!
    At this precise moment, the restaurant hushed.   At least forty pairs of eyes drilled into me.  Mouths were gaping.   Forks were hovering.  Chocolate syrup was dripping from the dirty dishes that our server was balancing above my shoulder.
    Patty never missed a beat.  As cool as the proverbial cuke, Patty looked up at our distraught server and drawled, “Check please.  My friend has a busy day ahead.”
    Now you can appreciate why I call Patty when I need to brainstorm the story plot of my Paranormal Romance novel.  Patty's the perfect partner for making a scene – and writing one.

---

About Adrienne deWolfe


Originally published by Bantam and Avon Books, Adrienne deWolfe’s 5 Romance novels have earned 9 fiction-writing awards, including the Best Historical Romance of the Year.  Currently, she is in the middle of a virtual book tour for her new ebook, How to Write Wildly Popular Romances, which has been released in conjunction with her online writing course, How to Write a Romance Novel That Sells (which starts May 21.)  Adrienne invites you to enter her raffles for great prizes (including autographed collector's items) by visiting her website, WritingNovelsThatSell.com.  Follow Adrienne on Twitter, Facebook, and Google Plus.

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Wayman Publishing Signs a New Author: Pat Hatt

Pat Hatt has joined the Wayman Publishing team!  I am so thrilled.  He has some amazing books already out.  Plus, I love his blog.

Pat Hatt can be found in the East Coast of Canada. He hates writing these things but doesn't mind talking in the third person. He dabbles in a little of this and a little of that, not afraid to attempt something new.
    He is owned by two cats, one of whom has his own blog, It's Rhyme Time. Yeah a rhyming cat, who knew? He would be considered a both person when it comes to cats and dogs.
    He is also quite the movie and TV buff. As you can probably tell does not take himself seriously and has more stuff in his head than is needed. As you can tell he is quite childish too which is why he will have many children's books come due.

Blog: It's Rhyme Time

Twitter: Rhymetime24

Boo and the Backyard Zoo--Coming Soon from author Pat Hatt and Wayman Publishing!

Check out this amazing artwork.

Now, take it away, Pat.

So Pat got offered to guest post here. But that is not going to come due I fear. For Pat is too boring and would have you all snoring. He wanted to talk about taxes which would probably make you want to murder him with pitchforks and axes. So the cat will save the human once more and take over the guest post at Elisa’s shore.
But what does the cat have to say? Same thing he does every day. A whole lot of this and a whole lot of that pretending it is not nonsense galore like at my mat. Nonsense Galore hmmmm that would make for quite the encore. Let’s pick those two words and see if I can crap out a few turds. Oh that was a bad visual there. I will keep that talk down since I am at another’s lair. So on with the show as I pick two words and give them a go.
Nonsense Galore
In a rinky dink store.
Near Blippity shore.
Items were stacked from end to end,
Whether it was an old or new trend.

Things were getting grim,
As it was stuffed to the brim.
So the staff had a sale,
Bringing about this tale.

Frolo Frog,
Bought himself a bog.
It was a replica of course,
Unlike that rocking horse.

Which Preta Pig,
Snapped up along with a wig.
Cost a cool loonie,
That is not moony.

It’s simply a dollar,
For a non-Canadian caller.
Trilip Tramp
Got himself a stamp.

With a name like that,
He must be a rat.
While six toed crocodile,
Updated his shoe style.

I hope it wasn’t a friend,
He chose to wear in the end.
The rinky dink store,
Finally closed its door.
The staff found it bare,
Which was truly rare.
As nonsense galore
Had always cluttered the store.

They danced a mile,
Glad to have nothing to file.
One stepped on a stone,
Causing the rinky dink store to groan.

It came alive,
At ten after five.
On that faithful night,
Yapping to everyone in sight.

Saying its tummy was bare.
And were they not aware,
That it needs to be full,
To keep back Frumpy Bull?

Seems the rinky dink store,
Did so much more.
As it housed the bull of lore,
That years ago plagued Blippity shore.

Before they could answer back,
They heard Frumpy Bull sound the attack.
He burst through the wall,
Continuing his call.

He bounced them around like ball,
Not noticing Pete Too Tall.
He did look like a statue though,
So unless you are a peeping crow,

He might blend in,
With the walls of tin.
Pete Too Tall went through town,
Telling everyone what was going down.

His stride was so large,
In seconds he made it to Blippity barge,
The end of the shore,
Truly isn’t much there to explore.

Out they all came,
Feeling to blame,
For this whole mess,
Making their trinkets worthless.

Frumpy Bull bounced the staff,
Continuing to laugh.
Until he was whacked with a bog.
Then some fire log.

Before too long,
He was singing a new song.
Stuck in nonsense galore,
As it once more filled the store.

Frumpy Bull cried out,
Giving one final shout.
The same old “I’ll get you” encore.
When he was bounced through the store.

Once more in the wall,
No longer able to give a call.
For he was bricked up once more,
Thanks to the rinky dink store.

For now that it was full,
Of things from bogs to wool.
To a flower shower.
It once more had the power.

To keep Frumpy Bull in check,
Preventing another ship wreck.
And any other harm he’d cause.
The crowd finally gave applause.

Finding the trinkets were nonsense after all,
Never needed at their hall.
And they had helped protect their shore,
By filling the rinky dink store with nonsense galore.

There we go. How was that for a nonsense flow? Took a whole twenty minute to do and now the cat must use the loo. What that too much info for you? At least I didn’t use poo. Oh crap! We’ll blame that on that Pat chap and just say this guest post has come to pass before certain things start coming out my little rhyming umm, you know the word it’s something crass.

Experience spring, have a fling.

FOOD, GLORIOUS FOOD! Fishducky Friday

    Well, I have another signing in SLC today.  I'm super excited.  You can find info about that HERE.
     Now, Fishducky, take it away. 

FOOD, GLORIOUS FOOD!   

Finally—a subject I can really sink my teeth into!  With lots of pictures--I love putting in pictures!!  (The first paragraph is sort of on the subject.)

Years ago, when we were in Paris we passed a dress shop that had a 3’ cloth strawberry pillow as a window decoration.  Our friends who lived there were very fond of strawberries & we knew they’d love this pillow, which we wanted to give them as a gift.  The shopkeeper said it was a window decoration & not for sale.  We told her we knew that, but we were willing to pay her very well for it.  She repeated that it was not for sale.  Bud asked her what if Pompidou (France’s president at the time) wanted it—wouldn’t she sell it to him?  He intended to continue telling her Pompidou wasn’t coming so she should sell it to us, instead.  He never got that far.  At the first mention of Pompidou, she exploded!  We left the shop in fear for our lives.  We should obviously choose our political references with more care.

Did you know the singular of spaghetti is spaghetto?  No particular reason for this picture—I just like it!

On our first trip to Boston, a friend told us we HAD to have the clams at Legal Sea Foods.  I’d never had clams before & I had some trepidation, but I thought I’d try them.  I’d eaten about half my order when I was full.  They were SO good--& I couldn’t bring the rest to our hotel—that I took about a half hour for a cigarette break & then I finished them.  YUMMY!!

    My husband & I were out driving & he asked me out to dinner.  He said we could go anywhere I wanted.  Being a smartass, I said, “The Sands!”  He asked me if I was serious & I told him I was.  We went to the airport & caught the next flight to Vegas.  He’s lucky he wasn’t Hagar!!

     

    We were at the Lahaina Broiler (in Hawaii) & I was looking at a menu while we were waiting to be seated.  They offered turtle soup, which I had never had.  I wondered aloud how it would be.  A gentleman sitting right next to where we were standing said, “It’s delicious—I always have it when I’m here.  Would you like to try mine?  I haven’t touched it yet.”  I did--& he was right!  When we got to a table, I ordered my own bowl.  It was every bit as good as his.

     Some quick stories about our daughter, who wishes to be be NAMELESS:  When Nameless was a little girl, one of her favorite foods was, as she pronounced it, hickey noo noo hoop.  Following is a translation:

A few years later, she was helping me clear the dinner table.  She had watched me sweep the crumbs off the table with one hand & catch them in my other hand, which was beneath the edge of the table.  She did it exactly the same as her mommy, with one teeny tiny exception.  She didn’t use her other hand.  I just talked to her about it.  She says she did it on purpose—the thought of brushing crumbs into her hand grossed her out.  Oh, well, the carpet needed vacuuming, anyway.

Matt was our least picky--& sloppiest--eater.  He would eat anything except lima beans.  It’s a good thing our dog, who (for some reason) always sat next to him at meals, loved them!

Our kids are about 2 years apart, with Blake being the youngest.  When he was about 2 we hired a Japanese woman as an au pair.  (Thank you, Bud, for making enough money to spoil me!)  Her first night, she cleared the dinner dishes & brought in small cereal bowls filled with water & a couple of slices of lemon—finger bowls.   This was FAR from our usual lifestyle.  Blake took one look at the finger bowls & became very upset.  I asked him what the matter was & he cried loudly, “I DON’T WANT SOUP!!”   

Ours was the house where all of our kid’s friends hung out & felt comfortable.  I once found “Cocoa Puffs” written on my grocery list, which was on the refrigerator.  This was one friend’s favorite cereal.  That was fine, but what surprised me is that it was written in the friend’s handwriting!

The manager of our local supermarket saw us coming in about half an hour before closing time.  He had a date that night & knew it always took some time to shop for our family of 5—plus Cub Scouts & friends--& he didn’t want to be late, so he offered to help.  He took my list & tore it in half.  Off he went & did his half of our shopping.  We met at the checkstand, paid & everyone got out on time.

When people first come to the US, English—a difficult language-- is new to them.  They must be a little confused when their wait person (how’s that for being politically correct?) asks them if they want soup or salad.  It’s my native language, & when someone speaks quickly it sounds like “super salad” to me.

The not fat, but definitely too fluffy----fishducky
 

Doctor Jones Goes Fishing

I'd like to thank Debra Kristi for featuring me on her blog today.  You can find that post HERE.

Now . . . onto today's post.

    Once upon a time there was a princess named Doctor Jones.  She seriously loved fish.  If her mother didn't watch her ALL the time, that child would sneak away to the fish tank and go fishing!
    Well, one day the darling mother--who I know personally--begged to take a five minute power nap.  Was this too much to ask?  Was it crazy to ask favors of two children who have everything?  Doctor Jones slept in her bed!  The Zombie (her brother) watched a movie.  Yet, when the sweet, kind, generous, TIRED mother fell asleep, fate had something terrible in mind.

    Fine . . . you guessed it.  This story is about me and it's about to get worse!

    The Zombie Elf clutched my arm.  "She done it!  Our baby hurt the fish!"
    "What?!"  I scrambled upstairs, still waking up.  I glanced back at the clock and groaned.  I'd been asleep for six minutes--one minute too many!
    It wasn't until I went into the Scribe's room that I screamed like Lucifer came for a visit.  Doctor Jones had knocked over one of the fish tanks.  I'd been so tired I hadn't heard it.
    "Oh my gosh!!!"  I wailed.
    Doctor Jones waved in reply--simply waved.  "Mama, fish!  Mama, Fish!"  She giggled.  Her clothes stuck together--they dripped, sopping wet. The floor was completely saturated and so were the socks in the bottom drawer of a dresser and on the carpet.
    "The Scribe will kill me!"  The point is, the Scribe has two fish in two different tanks.  One is a beta fish.  His name is Chewy and the Scribe loves him so much she's drawn pictures of them walking together.   
     In her dreams they have tea.  He teaches her all sorts of crazy Mr. Limpet things!  You get the point, she LOVES that fish, and now I couldn't even find his body.
    "Get another beta," my mom said after I called her.
    I picked up another gross pair of socks, unfolded them and put them in the dirty clothes basket on the ground next to me.  "She'll know.  All the Scribe does at night is stare at that fish!  Plus, she's half genius, half beta expert."
    "Well you can't tell her.  Can you?"
    "No."  I was about to cry, when I picked up another yucky sock.  I grabbed both ends and with total anger, pulled it taut.  I had no idea a fish lived in that sock--no clue beta can live for HOURS as long as their bodies are kept moist.  When I pulled the sock, a fish--WHICH HAD BEEN WRAPPED UP LIKE A BABY--flew toward my face!  "What in the Hell.  I'm gonna die.  It's on the ground.  It's flopping on the ground," I yelled toward the phone which had fell from my hand.
    "Get it," my mom said calmly as I picked up the phone.  Then that fish-lover laughed.  "You wrote a book about humans living deep in the ocean.  Don't tell me you're scared of fish."
    "I'm fine when THEY'RE IN WATER!  It's going to flip on me right now though."  I felt like the biggest idiot.  Here I am--the girl who tried out for "Fear Factor."  I can touch bugs and reptiles.  Hell, I'd ride a toothless crocodile if I had a chance.  BUT . . . get me near a tiny fish out of water and it's all over.
    Chewy finally flipped onto a piece of paper and I put him in the tank that wasn't ruined--the one with the Scribe's black fish.
    Chewy shook himself, started swimming and then instantly  decided to eat the other fish's fins!  That murderer just got a second chance at life and it was already back to its evil ways.
    As I finished cleaning the yucky carpet, Doctor Jones came in and smiled.  She pointed to the socks and the beta.  "Rock a baby.  Rock a baby.  Oh, my baby fish!"  She motioned toward Chewy.  "Good, baby.  Good!"  
    So, she'd wrapped it up in a sock and tried rocking it TO DEATH!  Little had she known, that moist sock had saved his life.
    Note to self, don't EVER nap again.  Taking naps is much more exhausting, than getting no sleep at all.

    Signing off,
             Elisa      

A Zombie and a Bully

    My three-year-old Zombie Elf hurtled down the tallest slide at the park.  Some kids are just made to be daring.
    A terrible moment awaited him though.  A bully--the size of Milwaukee--glared at my son.  The Zombie stepped forward, timidly, but that bully didn't care.  He pushed my son to the ground, then he grinned like an ogre.
    The Zombie, that gem of a child, got back up and went to the top of the slide again.  Ogre-boy waited at the bottom.  I wondered what my son was thinking.  Why in the world would he want to face the bully again?
    The Zombie slid, going faster and faster until he landed on his feet at the bottom of the slide.  A smile split the ogre's face like he'd met easy prey TWICE in one day.  He neared my boy and pushed him down yet again.  That's when the Zombie stood, moving closer and closer to the bully's face.  
    I worried.  Would he punch the kid?  Would he hit him so hard he'd turn into ogre soup? 
    Time slowed for everyone--EXCEPT THE BULLY'S MOTHER who seemed too busy painting her nails blood-red!  

    The two boys still faced each other.  Then, with a sound so fierce it would've scared the Kraken, the Zombie growled at the bully.

   

    The kid stepped back, actually terrified.  He didn't bother my boy again.  He did try to pick on Doctor Jones (my two-year-old girl), but the Zombie Elf was there in a flash and ogre-boy left her alone.

    I was so proud of my zombie.  I talked to him later.  "You didn't push him back.  I'm so proud of you," I said.

    "I didn't want to hurt him," he replied, and I smiled the rest of the way home.  That was a great way to handle the situation; I'll never forget my boy's spunk.