Turning the dogs loose

Yesterday we exceeded a weather record here in St. Louis. On March 14, 1971 it was 82 degrees. Yesterday the thermometer reached 86 degrees.

I am so ready to release my puppies. Would it be terribly wrong of me to just turn them loose and let them run the town? They have been barking for days, they want to be freed, but I am using retraint. They aren't cute young pups anymore; in fact they are old dogs. You know old dogs have problems, and it wouldn't be fair of me to release them on the unsuspecting.

First I'm going to have to groom them, take care of their paw pads which are in need of some Burt's Bees. Trim a wild hair or two, might even paint their nails just for fun. I'm like the dogs, I want to scamper, leap, trot, roll in the grass, but with my luck, I'd roll in a pile of something smelly.

So, I am going to tweeze that wild big toe hair, paint my nails, moisturize my heels and ease my old dogs into a pair of flip flops. That cute T.V. meteorologist promised an entire week of 80+ degrees days. I'm so excited, I am yapping and chasing my own tail. If that weather dude were here in my house, I'd lick his cheek and sit pretty.

A couple of posts back, I personified a purse. If you are interested in personifying an animal, here is a submission opportunity for you.


MAD AS A HARE
-------------
DEADLINE: March 31
GENRE: Short Stories, Nonfiction
DETAILS: Entries must be about personified animals in some way,
shape, or form. Beyond that, there are no limits! 2500 words or
fewer.
PRIZES: $50 first prize, $25 second prize
URL: http://www.scribophile.com/contests/mad-as-a-hare-contest/


Please check out the variety of anthology titles seeking submissions at Publishing Syndicate. I am co-creating Not Your Mother's Book...On Family. Go to the website, scroll down the left side menu and click on NYMB...On Family, where you can read my bio, and see two of my cuties. Guidelines here.

SUBMISSION OPPORTUNITIES thirty titles!

The news is out! St. Louis writers, Linda O’Connell and Dianna Graveman are working independently on two Publishing Syndicate anthologies in the Not Your Mother’s Book series. Linda is developing and seeking sassy, snappy, serious or humorous submissions for Not Your Mother’s Book…On Family.

Local author and owner of 2 Rivers Communications & Design, Dianna Graveman, is seeking first-person funny, insightful, or downright embarrassing submissions for Not Your Mother’s Book…On Being a Mom.

Dianna and Linda will collaborate on the promotion of both titles, and you are welcome to submit to both. Please submit the stories online via the online form only.

Possible Chapter Headings for Not Your Mother's Book...On Family (subject to change):
1. I'm No Chicken! (wild antics)
2. I'm Telling! You're in Trouble! (zany things you overheard, participated in or witnessed)
3. Dinner, down and dirty (stirring the pot, dishing it out, family mealtime)
4. Forget the closet! (discovering family skeletons in a drawer, under a mattress, in a letter)
5. I inherited what? (keepsakes, antiques, and quirks)
6. Waiting in line for the john, the jam and the juice (sharing cramped spaces, clothes)
7. Ringleaders (your family circus guru, leader of your pack)
8. Family reunions (unforgettable in so many ways; the missing link)

Submissions form and guidelines for story submissions can be found here:http://publishingsyndicate.com/publishing_syndicate/submissions/nymb_submit_guidelines.html
NOTE: If you don’t have a story that fits one of our two books, please check out the other great titles that are in need of stories!

From the Publishing Syndicate site about Not Your Mother’s Book…On Being a Mom:
While we’re looking for stories about the side of motherhood most of us have experienced or seen first hand, we would love to read stories about the side that most of us don’t talk about because it’s too embarrassing or silly! No need to explain: you know what we’re talking about. Now write about it!

Possible Chapter Headings for Not Your Mother’s Book…On Being a Mom (subject to change):
1. Challenge Accepted (getting the news, announcing to family)
2. New Parent Jitters (silly fears, bath time mishaps, babysitter debacles)
3. Call of the Wild (terrible twos, troublesome threes…)
4. OMG, How Embarrassing! (times when you’ve embarrassed your kids in public…or they’ve embarrassed you!)
5. If Everybody Else Jumped Off a Bridge… (Not under MY roof, mister!)
6. You Can’t Scare Me; I’m a Mom (mealtime mishaps, carpool catastrophes, clothing disputes and malfunctions, soccer mom disasters)
7. Birds Do It… (having “the talk,” noticing the opposite gender, beginning to date)
8. You Did WHAT? (testing the limits, parent-teacher conferences, teen shenanigans)
9. Driving Mom Crazy (teaching your teen to drive, getting the license, when your teen borrows—and dents—Mom’s or Dad’s car
10. Parting Words (helping your child prepare for college, first apartment, marriage

Ken and Dahlynn McKowen, owners of Publishing Syndicate, also produce a free monthly writing/publishing tips e-newsletter—The Wow Principles. With more than 2,000writers already subscribed, the e-newsletter has helped many to realize their dreams of becoming a published writer. There are also 70+ back issues available and topics range from travel writing to basic grammar rules to e-books to book-signing etiquette. Here’s the link:
http://publishingsyndicate.com/publishing_syndicate/newsletters/wow_newsletter.html

What did you say he ate?

Check it out, the leprechaun is chasing Nicole through the rainbow.

I don't ask questions when young mothers of my students bring me Mardi Gras beads. I mean, I know how some women acquire them, but I assume that "my" moms took their kids to the local parade, and probably someone on a float tossed them to their preschoolers. Yeah, we'll just go with that, because I don't even want to imagine the other way these gals may have gotten them.

I am forever making games and new activities for my students. I cut the Mardi Gras beads into different lengths, and we talked about long and short, long-longer-longest and short-shorter-shortest. Then, I cut a mouth hole for the paper leprechauns, affixed them to a water bottle, cut a hole in the back for easy removal of beads, and encouraged the children to "feed" the leprechaun.
Okay, I know it's nonsense, and by the way, I have never seen a female leprechaun, have you? I tell my students that these little guys eat green things. My students brainstorm and we list all of the green things a leprechaun might eat. He'll be visiting our classroom soon.

Holding the strand and using only one hand to drop a length of beads inch-by-inch into the opening is difficult work for little hands, and it is an excellent hand-eye coordination and fine motor task. Think this is fun? Just wait until you see what I have done with Peter Rabbit and his buddies. I'll post photos next week.

Local angler hooks a whopper

This incident happened to my friend's husband many years ago. I don't know if I'd have been more afraid of what was in the bucket or the car.

Typically, Missouri anglers display trophy-sized large-mouth bass and whiskered catfish on their den walls. The late Mr. Lawrence Cain, Sr. made a whopper of a catch one fine summer day. His trophy mount was barely seven inches long, but his story is one that will be passed down to future generations.

The Big River rises swiftly and floods frequently. Mr. Cain and his son, Larry, meandered to the dock equipped with new tackle and high hopes. It wasn't long before Mr. Cain shouted, "I've hooked a lunker!" The drag of his line whirred through the reel as he tried to out-maneuver the fish. He imagined a good-sized bass. He played his catch until the line slackened, then reeled frantically. He couldn't believe his eyes. Thrashing on the hook was a spiny piranha, native to South America.

"Get the bucket!" Mr. Cain shouted. Larry dunked the bucket and came running.
Mr. Cain sliced the line, unhooked the gnashing fish which had razor sharp teeth. Larry, an enthusiastic environmentalist and avid naturalist, ran to telephone the Department of Conservation. Breathlessly he announced, "My dad just caught a piranha in the Big River!"

"Nonsense!" said the conservation agent. "Missouri doesn't have piranha. You must have misidentified your catch."

Larry insisted the man take a look. The agent agreed, and Larry drove ten miles
to the office with the fish sloshing in a bucket in the front seat. Larry was so excited when he reached Rockwood's Reservation, he left the car door ajar and darted inside to get the ranger.

"Okay, buddy, let's go see this so-called piranha." The ranger led the way as they headed out the door. Twenty yards from the car, he halted abruptly in his tracks, threw out an arm to stop Larry, and whispered, "Stand back! Don't move!"

There in the front seat, a bobcat bobbed for the toothy fish, then lunged
out and darted into the woods. Certain that the bobcat had devoured the fish, Larry dejectedly said, "It really was a piranha."

As they looked into the bucket, the conservation agent chuckled, "Well, I'll be! Our winters are much too harsh for this piranha to survive here. Someone must have dumped him. The bobcat sure didn't want any part of him; I guess he's all yours."

Larry returned to the cabin with the exotic fish and a tale that will be passed on to his son and his son's children. Folks will just have to take his word about the bobcat, but he has proof of the piranha. It hangs on the den wall.

Writers tip: Hook your reader with engaging tales.

There's a new bag around town

When I really like something, it is hard for me to part with it, even after it is worn out and past its time. I have had shoes that I loved so much, I hot glued the seam. Purses that had threadbare handles. Glasses with one nose pad missing. Oh I eventually tossed them, but it took me a while.

I don't think I'm a hoarder like Tammy, my friend with fifteen pens in her purse. But I did find five in mine today when I switched to a new purse. I spent all afternoon shopping for a new purse, went to
K-Mart and Sears and another big department store, but nothing appealed to me. Walked into a thrift store, and there it was, dangling from a hook, tempting me and taunting in that tawdry voice, which may have been in my head.

Come on sister, flaunt it for once, forget those basic black purses and see what kind of looks you get with me on your shoulder. No! You're wrong. I am not red-red. I am cranberry. Hang me from your shoulder and look in that mirror over there. Ooh-la-la, lady, you know you want me. Hey, don't hang me back up.

Woman, yeah, you with the wrinkles. That black bag makes you look like an old hag. Give me one more chance. Come back here; check out my compartments. That's it, turn me around. That's not just a seam across my backside. Slide you finger down there. That's a cell phone pocket. Yooo-hoo, lady, NOOOOO, don't walk away.

Beige! Bleh! Woman put some zing in your swing, and march right back here! You KNOW you like me. Fine! Go ahead, try on all those old lady purses. I'm waiting ...

I knew you'd be back. Check my stitching, my magnetism, listen to that click when I close. There's a place right in here for your wallet, which happens to be the same color as I am. Pens can go in here, uhm, and dear, do you really need five? They poke. And tissues, Hon, I know you have a cold. A handful of unused is fine, but please don't stuff my cavity with wads of snot-filled Kleenex. I'm too cute for that.

I slipped the handles of that maroon, uhh, I mean cranberry, handbag over my shoulder and I laughed to myself. Perhaps I laughed a little louder than I realized, because the woman next to me, also selecting a hand bag, startled and looked directly at me.

"Did you want this one?" I asked.

WOMAN! Have you heard a thing I've said? With me on your shoulder, you look younger.

I didn't wait for a reply. I walked to the register and bought that saucy sister.

I'm really trying

Today I had a writer's guild meeting at a community center which has a skating rink, an auditorium and several meeting rooms. There was an art and craft show going on as well as several other events, so the parking lot was nearly filled. I pulled onto the lot and got behind a car with an elderly woman driver who could barely see over the steering wheel. I tried to be patient as she inched along at two miles per hour. Half way across the parking lot, the car behind me whipped around me and also the car in front of me. I hate to admit, but after creeping along and going nowhere fast, I too passed the old lady. I parked my car at the far end of the parking lot across from the driver who had whipped around me like a bat out of hell. The middle aged woman walked alongside me and bellowed into the wintry breeze, "I can't stand people who poke and don't know how to drive. Worse, I hate people who are afraid to walk a distance."

I looked at her and said, "That little old woman didn't look like she was able to walk at all, much less this far."

That crabby hag replied, "Then she should have gotten up earlier this morning."

I said, "You know, I try to be more understanding, although I must say, I got impatient too and I also drove around her. What are you here for?"

"Well, you see, there's a couple who picks glass out of a creek and tumbles it till it's smooth and then makes jewlery out of it. I always wanted some, but never had the money, but today I do, so I'm going in there to buy me some creek glass."

I wanted to pick up that broken bottle from the gutter and say ...
But, I am really trying to be more tolerant and understanding.

If you watch the sit com, Mike and Molly, on Monday evenings, and you know who Mike's mother is, then you've got a good picture of the whack job, excuse me, the woman I met today and her gruff manner of speaking.

Wii Fit

My husband bought a Wii Fit game with a goofy cartoon kid.
Going to get himself in shape he says, so this is what he did.
He worked for half an hour hooking up the silly thing
said it would be worth it for the results that it would bring.

Thirty minutes every morning he twists, moves and wiggles.
I have to walk away from him and stifle all my giggles.
He jogs in place and follows trails, high steps on the pad.
My husband’s having more fun these days than he has ever had.

You should see him hold a yoga pose, like a flamingo with no grace.
He gives it all he’s got though until he’s bright red in the face.
“Step on he dares; don’t snicker!” So I tried that sissy game.
Kid stuff, I thought, I’ll show him, put this big guy to shame.

When I stepped on the pad, it groaned my weight and BMI
Those numbers made me cringe, and I tried hard not to cry.
“You want to paddle a canoe?” he asked, “It’s harder than you think.”
“No,” I said, “I’ll hula hoop,” and I gave him a little wink.

“Lean left” he yelled, “move your body; catch it over your head.”
If those had been real hula hoops, I swear I would be dead.
“I quit!” I said. “Aw honey,” he begged, “come back for one more game.”
I gave it my best and wouldn’t you know, I made the Bowling Hall of Fame.

My husband’s weight is going down; he’s losing pounds with exercise.
I haven’t lost a single pound, and I’ve still got my thunder thighs.
He exercises every day, knows how to balance, bend and squat.
He’s firming up and getting fit, but his chubby wife is not!