Happy Halloween

It's Halloween. We don't celebrate. But I do have a little treat for y'all. Hope you enjoy!

Personalize funny videos and birthday eCards at JibJab!

Until I write again ...

Flea

Friday

Friday.

My Hunny will be home from Arizona in two hours. He's been gone all week.

I leave for Baton Rouge tomorrow morning. Have to meet my new nephew, Calum. And retrieve my clown.

Halloween is Sunday. It's never been an important day for me. I'll be glad to be gone.

I'll be gone for a week. But am taking the laptop. Leaving the husband and kids.

Two weeks missing my Hunny. I don't know if I can stand it.

Until I write again ...

Flea

*sigh*

Just missed a phone call this morning. My seventh grader calling from the principal's office to ask if today or tomorrow was better for after school detention. Goober.

So I called back. Spoke with the principal in my most cheerful mom voice. Told him today was certainly the best day for detention. Of course.

Why detention? My boy, when he doesn't wear his patch for ADD, talks in class.

The stick here is that he's discovered he likes detention. It's quiet and he can get homework done.

*sigh*

Until I write again ...

Flea

Tuesday Review, Toofer

Today's review is a toofer. Two-for-one. I read Heart Sick over the weekend, a debut thriller by Chelsea Cain, and all the way through thought of another debut novel I recently read and enjoyed. So. You get them both. The other recently read book is A Field of Darkness, by Cornelia Read.

First, I truly enjoyed both books. I did. One is better than the other. My opinion, subject to my preferences, but there you have it.

Heart Sick revolves around a young reporter chick, a damaged detective whose life no longer belongs to him, and a couple of serial killers. Yes. TWO serial killers. Setting is Portland, Oregon. The first serial killer is in prison and has killed 200 people, including the detective. Yes, she killed him. Yes, she.

I enjoy the revelations which happen throughout the book for all of the characters. Ms. Cain does a fine job of opening her characters up a bit at a time, keeping my interest. The flashbacks to the detective's horrific experience, including his death, are well done. Visualizing the cracking of his ribs with a nail and hammer is brutal. I hurt for Archie's present situation, his inability to live, really live.

As much as I like the reporter, Susan, I dislike her loose ethics. The way she treats other people and their things (especially her living space) really gets under my skin. Maybe it's because I'm a mom of teenagers and am doing my darnedest to teach them respect for others. But I get the why of her behavior and I want to take her in. As long as she stays away from the males in my house.

As for the first serial killer, Gretchen - there should be an entire book written about her. As much as I hate her and don't want to know anything about her (she is truly pure evil), there's a book waiting to be written. Just not by me. Getting into her psyche to write it would have to damage a person's soul, I'd think. Ms. Cain says about her, "The less we know about killers' motives, the scarier they are." She also promises more Gretchen in future novels, so I might be hitting my local bookstore this weekend.

A Field of Darkness - Ms. Read surprised me, what with this being a debut novel and all. Heart Sick reads more or less like a well done first novel. A Field of Darkness does not. Cornelia Read's wit and intelligence saturate the pages. She's earthy, pissy, erudite. I squishy heart her. In fact, I finished her second novel, The Crazy School, just prior to picking up Heart Sick. Ms. Read is amazing.

A Field of Darkness introduces us to a woman, Madeline Dare, whose life is complex and confusing and has generally screwed her over royally. The family background is one of old money from New England, but she was the poor relation, growing up the Bohemian, white trash life in California. The time period for the novel is what surprised me most, I think, set in the late eighties in Syracuse, New York. It's not really a historical piece, but not set in the here and now either. Huh.

Yes, there are murders, which I suppose is why I thought of this book when reading Ms. Cain's. But far from being hard-boiled, or a detective of any sort, Madeline is something of a wuss, snarky as all get out, but just a wounded soul trying to make her way along in a town she despises with a man she loves.

I also had this book in mind all the way through Heart Sick because I was comparing writing styles. A Field of Darkness is SO well done, not reading like a first novel at all, winning me over immediately. There is nothing about the style which screams "thriller" or "murder mystery". It reads like a book which will hold its own for generations. I like that.

Well. I hope some of you are inspired to run out to the bookstore, or at least your local library, and pick up a book this week. Of course I recommend the second if you can get only one, but the first is very good and I recommend it as well. It ends well. Unlike the book I'll be reviewing next week. :)

Until I write again ...

Flea

Overheard

So Saturday afternoon I'm in the dining room, ironing clothes (one of my favorite past times), when both my boys meander in. The 13 year old, Good Ball, first, wanting to sketch a picture of Hello Kitty for a friend at school:

Then the 16 year old, Oatmeal Head, just kickin' back:

Oatmeal Head volunteered to draw the picture for Goof Ball's friend. The two of them got into the work. It went something like this:

Goof Ball (GB): Where's her neck? Why doesn't she have a neck?

Oatmeal Head (OH): Hello Kitty doesn't have a neck.

GB: What's that? What are you doing to her arm?

OH: That's a wound. You wanted a war torn Hello Kitty - she has a wound. That's a bandage.

GB: Oh. Wait - what are those?

OH: Sleeves. Her sleeves are torn.

GB: But I want it to look like Rambo. Rambo doesn't wear a shirt.

OH: Hello Kitty is a girl. She has to have a shirt.

GB: Oh. Wait. If she's a girl ...

Moms steps in: Do NOT give Hello Kitty boobs.

OH: Not big boobs, Mom. Just the suggestion of them.

Mom: No Angelina Jolie boobs is all I'm sayin'.

OH: FINE.

And here's the Kitty that came about:

Then they played with the background. And Goof Ball started smudging pencil. And giving himself a mustache. It might be as much mustache as he ever gets, poor kid. Here are the final results:

Boys.

Until I write again ...

Flea

Tis the Season

The first and only horror story I've ever written. Just for you, lovely bloggy friends.

************************************

Across the patterned brick pavement, the kiosk in the middle of town square stood battered, a bat twenty yards off. The clock, once mounted above the small structure, lay shattered nearby, the time, 5:41.

Across the square lay the remains of a sorrel terrier, swollen, covered in welts. Beside it, a swim suit-clad boy of about six, head-to-toe boils. In heaps lay millions of tiny bodies, spent once they’d found their targets. Littered around the square, more children, melted ice cream cones, strewn cotton candy, sticky soda.

Screams in the distance. A faint humming, angry and wild.

Here in the silent square, however, movement. Two men, clad in hazmat suits emerged from an alley carrying medical bags. From one still form to another they moved. Never opening their bags. Checking pulses, closing glazed eyes.

Finally a medical bag opened, a biohazard pouch removed, along with an envelope and a pair of large tweezers. Carefully tweezers pinched a tiny body and dropped it in the envelope, sealing the envelope before dropping it into the pouch.

Circling the square a final time, the men moved back toward the alley. They paused. Turned. From a mound of tiny bodies, a deep buzzing. The mound shimmered, moved, rose toward the men. As one the killer bees swarmed on the hazmat suits, seeking a way in to the soft flesh. Latching on, crawling to wrists, neck, waist and ankles.

Screaming, running, beating themselves. The men disappeared into the alley. All would soon be quiet again.

*********************************

I hope you enjoyed it.

Until I write again ...

Flea

No Review Tuesday

Dang. I didn't write a review today. Sorry. I've been sick the last week. The last two days I've slept a lot.

Wait! Don't go! I have more excuses!

That book, Influencer? My Hunny took it and I couldn't find it to finish it. Really.

So. I'll review it next week. No excuses. Honest. No, really!

Until I write again ...

Flea

Of Dogs and Foxes

My Hunny borrowed some gardening tools from friend Heather's hunny. Notice how my Hunny is always capitalized, but no one else's hunny ever is? Yeah. Don't ask.

While we're there, returning the wheelbarrow and post hole digger (that gate that's been lying on the ground for two years is finally fixed - yay hunnies!), friend's hunny gave me a fox tail. A real fox tail. Said he got it at a yard sale, but it scared their cats. He thought my dogs might like it.

Oh. They did. Or one of them did.

But! Before we get to the fox and the hound - er, Aussie - I took the tail to work last week. One of my foxier children tried it on for size.

Back to the Babies - I got the tail home and Flash didn't look twice at it, but Patches sniffed it for five solid minutes. Then deserted it. Well good. It's a pretty thing. And soft. The little kids at work took to petting it. See it?

Yeah. That's the fox tail AFTER this:

I handed it to Patches one evening this week to see what she'd do. She took it in her mouth and tossed it around gingerly, cute as could be. I loves her. Then she settled down, just out of sight, and had her way with the fox tail.

*sigh*

I'll never learn. You just can't trust dogs and children when they're out of sight and quiet.

Until I write again ...

Flea

Night Creature

A perfectly normal, calm evening in Casa de Pulga. I crawl into bed, read a bit, turn off the light. Am nearly asleep when the Hunny comes to bed (he's a rockstar, you know - Guitar Hero has that effect on middle aged men). So I'm barely awake when he turns on his light and screams like a little girl. Because of this:

It was on his pillow. I have no idea how it got there. Creepy little thing.

He started to crush its little plastic ping pong ball type head when I yelled at him, "No! Don't kill it! We need to save this one!"

Hunny: "Why? Give me one good reason to save this worthless clown's life!"

The Good Flea: "Why, for Liza Bean Bitey (of the Minneapolis Biteys), of course."

Y'all, if you're not familiar with Pearl, head over for a visit. Tell her I said hello. And that Liza Bean will get a creepy package in the mail before Halloween. Mwahahahaha!

Until I write again ...

Flea

Tuesday Review, Steven King

It was so tough to choose a book for today's review! Seriously? I was tempted to review There's a Monster at the End of This Book. You know, the one starring Grover from Sesame Street? Especially since Grover's recently been rocking the internets with his new video. If you haven't already seen it, check it out:

Alas, I told you all I'd review something more adult, so adult review I must do. Here goes -

Bag of Bones. By Steven King.

What?!? Really, I read this! I did. First, see, I tried reading Cell a couple of years ago. It sucked. I got halfway through and thought that my first attempt at King would be my last. Vulgar and violent and totally pointless. Tacky. Next, while I was working nights at the psychiatric hospital, I gave Pet Semetary a go. Got all the way to page 87 at about three a.m. Couldn't do it. Dim light, wee hours of the morning, psych hospital, things coming back to life which shouldn't ... uh uh. Nope. Gave it to a patient.

Eventually I gave King another shot. Horror has NEVER been my genre, but people kept saying that the man is a genius, and I read On Writing, which convinced me maybe he IS a genius, so I tried again. This time it was Bag of Bones, less horror, more story. A great ghost story.

Completely unlike Cell, this book is complex. The characters have depth. I cared about Mike, Mattie and little Kyra. I even took to Jo, Mike's long dead wife. Too much, actually. And the dark twists that the book take remind me of some deep southern writing, despite its Maine setting. The lake house freaks me out, but I love it. I can relate to the people in the small town nearby. And the nature of the ghosts - *shudder* awesome.

I never thought I'd say it, but I like a Steven King novel. I might even attempt to read another one. Any suggestions? And don't even THINK about Cujo or It. The Dead Zone's on the shelf, though. Yes? No?

Until I write again ...

Flea

The Best Laid Plans

This year, y'all, my birthday is one of a kind. Turning 43 isn't such a big deal, but being alive on 10.10.10 and it being my birthday? Pretty darn stellar.

I think he likes being a goof ball

My birthday weekend began with a bang. Friend Heather and her husband took me and the Hunny out for steak dinner at a local favorite, Jamil's (they rock the cat box like nobody's business!). There were presents galore! We came back to the house for coffee and chat and torturing the children (what birthday is complete if one hasn't tortured children?).

And all night there was a hitch in the top back of my throat. Not a tickle, necessarily. More like something at the roof of my mouth being rude and obstructive.

Where will I hang this?

I have big plans for the weekend. They involve a museum and then doing pretty much nothing.

Sunday? My birthday? I took the day off. I have the best job in the world, working with kids. Sunday morning I volunteer with the church preschool, running from room to room, setting out crackers, smiling at teachers and kids, complimenting wee girls on their pretty dresses and sparkly shoes. I love it. Sunday night I spend three hours with 9, 10 and 11 year olds. I tell them shaggy dog stories, building them up, weaving a spell binder, only to drop them off a cliff at the end. I wish you could see their horrified faces when a story ends - it's priceless. But they love it and always come back for more.

Heather's so glam

Last Sunday I told the kids I wouldn't be there this week. No one got teary or anything, but one of the girls suggested I come to work so they could celebrate with me. How very sweet! Then she says, "And you can bring the cookies ..." I see how it is.

So why am I writing a blog post at 4 am on Saturday, a few hours before I'm supposed to leave for the Philbrook? That nagging ugly hitch in the back of my throat woke me. And it won't let me go back to sleep. Kinda like this image of my Hunny:

Here's hoping your weekend is the bomb dot com. And mine too. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I hear my pillow calling ...

Until I write again ...

Flea

The Cute Wee Clown

Do y'all remember, last year year about this time, when I started torturing my Hunny with a cute wee clown? The clown was a darling thing. See?

It was so much fun, hiding him in Hunny's shoes, in the shower, the underwear drawer, in his truck, wherever I could tuck him away.

Then, one day, the cute wee clown disappeared. We thought he'd gone for good.

Until this week. When this came in the mail for my Hunny:

And this, for me:

Whoever kidnapped cute wee clown is making demands, pitting me and Hunny against one another. It's so wrong.

The letters had no return address, the mailing stickers computer printed. I've had them dusted for prints, but none show up. The postmark is out of Baton Rouge. I've been wracking my brain to figure out who I know in Baton Rouge. Anyone out there have an idea? I just want the cute wee clown back.

I'm willing to send all of my Hunny's Storm Trooper dolls to get him back.

Until I write again ...

Flea

Shopping for Babies

My friend Heather and I were in a junk shop this weekend. It's a very bad thing, going into a junk shop with a friend. We walked out with bags and bags of things. Mostly Heather.

I left there with a couple of photos. They reminded me of a blog friend and her obsession. This first one's kinda cute:

The second one? Kinda creepy. *shudder*

Ew, huh?

Until I write again ...

Flea

Tuesday Review, Stuff Christians Like

I thought I'd start my Tuesday reviews with one of the multitude of thrillers and murder mysteries I've been reading the last few months. I was prepped to drag you into the world of Dr. Alex Delaware, or V. I. Warshawski.

I thought wrong.

This weekend my friend Heather gave me the book Stuff Christians Like. The kids and I spent the weekend laughing at this book. And to think, it all started as a blog.

Goof Ball spent half an hour flipping through looking at the illustrations - he seemed to be especially taken with A Trampoline Moat of Lions. The lions leaping in the air are hilarious. And much better protection than a hedge (Christians are known to pray for a "hedge of protection" for someone - what the freak?). He definitely has that one right.

Some of the things which crack me up are the diagram of how close to be when you dance (leaving room for the Holy Spirit when you dance), not knowing if we're supposed to pray for friends having plastic surgery, trying not to complain around missionaries ("I am riveted by this tale of survival and hardship you are spinning, much like the black widow spiders I routinely sweep off my dirt floor or 'bed' if you will. Please do go on."), and side hugs, where there's no risk of two crotches touching.

Jon Acuff is a funny guy. Even if you don't pick up his book, take a peek at his blog. This one about the messy and awkward appealed to me.

Next week I promise a mystery review. And so I actually read the books I keep meaning to read, the following week I'll review Influencer, which I'm currently halfway through. It's fantastic, but not fiction, so I'm moving through it slowly.

Until I write again ...

Flea

Harry Eyeball

I have a young friend named Harry. Isn't he the cat's meow?

And that, my compadres, is a Harry Eyeball.

Until I write again ...

Flea