Rusty Left His Paw Prints All Over Me

When my eight year old son ran up on the porch with that little orange tabby bundle of fur, I said, "No! Next week you and your dad are taking it back to the country!"

"He doesn't have a mom; I found him in the barn with two other ones."

All I could think was, maybe the kitten's mom needed a reprieve too if her boy was as rambunctious as mine. The country cat became a city cat who snuggled on my chest for seventeen years. Tonight his memory is alive, and I can almost hear his purring, and feel his soft little paws wrapped around my neck. I loved that cat; he was the only constant in my life at one point, and we loved one another unconditionally.

Hopefully, readers across the globe will learn how Rusty left his Paw Prints On My Heart when they read Chicken Soup, My Cat's Life. This is my thirteenth story accepted by Chicken Soup for the Soul books. I probably have that many more stories floating out there. I submitted this essay December 12, 2009 and received a contract today, 8/31/10 The release date is April 12, 2011.

My Dog is My Hero is an anthology edited by Susan Reynolds, published by Adams Media, and that book contains a story about a goofy dog who owned us in Alaska.

Waiting for an acceptance or rejection, and especially for the contributor's copy of the book is harder than writing the story. We authors just itch to have that book in our hands.

My advice to writers, once you write it, you must release it, because it takes quite sometime from submission to publication. Just when I think an editor has passed on one of my stories, I find an acceptance in the mail. Patience is as important a tool as the keyboard or pen.

Did you ever have an animal that left its paw prints on your heart? Briefly, won't you tell me about it?

Don't be deceived by imposters

Here's a little quiz for you. Which one is NICK? What is Nick holding?
If you think Nick is my grandson you would be right. If you think Nick is my granddaughter you would be right. If you think Nicholas is holding an ice cream cone and Nicole is not, you would be wrong. That little squirt is holding a water gun in the shape of a strawberry ice cream cone, and can you guess WHO he squirted? If you guessed ME, you would be right.

Don't let looks deceive. That holds true in the writing world too. Check out Preditors and Editors if something looks too good to be true.

http://pred-ed.com/pubctst.htm


Now here is something that is not too good to be true, there are lots of discount coupons for local restaurants if you just scour the internet. We found a $5 off of $20 at O'Charley's coupons.com. I recommend the Teryaki Tilapia!

Shake those pony tails!

Granddaughter, Nicole, will be three the day before Halloween. Like my son (her daddy) and my daughter, she too was nearly bald for a year, had a smattering of hair at age two and now that she is about to turn three, her hair is finally growing. If she is like the rest of us, she will grow a mop of hair so thick a clamp won't hold it. But for now she is so happy with her pony tails. She has always worn her hair in a Buster Brown hair cut, so when I saw her after being away for a week, and she saw me, we both squealed with delight at her new 'do'. She was so thrilled she had to shake her head and flap her ponies from side to side. I don't know which of us laughed harder.

Are any of us ever satisfied with our hair? My hair is like a bush. Hairdressers complain about the thickness and the fact that it grows up and out instead of down. Years ago I used to get long, curly perms which required twice as many rollers as most people. These days I've quit fighting the never-ending battle of color or curl. My hair just won't hold curl, so I color and let my poker straight hair do its own thing. My daughter and son and grandkids have enough hair for two people each, and the barbers and hairdressers always comment about it.

I covet my friend, Pat's, naturally curly, shoulder-length hair. In high school she used to iron it straight. It seems that those of us who have curly hair want straight and those who have straight hair want curly.

How about you? We all have good and bad hair days, but generally speaking, do you love your hair or hate it?

Down by the Sea

Having vacationed in the Caribbean, my heart still pounds to the rhythm of the sea. I shopped at the little open air markets where natives sold handcrafts and trinkets. I bought several necklaces which made me happy. We snorkeled along a barrier reef and saw the most amazing colorful tropical fish in shades of cobalt blue and yellow. Bill pointed to a giant sting ray, then we drifted off in different directions. I floated atop the surface of the sea, gazing into the crystal clear depths. I spied a white conch shell the size of a large couch cushion. I thought it was a big boulder thirty feet down, but when it extended a claw out and began to drag itself along the bottom, I believe I inhaled saltwater as I yelled for Bill to come see. Alas, he was too far away and heading back to a hammock.

Usually people bring home souvenirs and photos from vacation. My treasure this trip was an intangible souvenir, that giant conch leaving a trail on the bottom of the sea and an image ingrained in my mind. If only I had a photo to prove it; nobody believes me!

My grandparents and family lore

Today I had lunch with my twin aunts, Shirley and Dorothy. They are in their mid-seventies, don't see one another often, so we planned a lunch date. Sometimes they fuss and act like children; sibling rivalry ressurects itself when they are together. One of them shoots me a look and whispers something about the other behind her back, and I just nod and smile. They shared so much oral family history with me. I was absolutely thrilled; I felt like a kid in a candy store wanting more-more-more.

I noticed this old photo of my grandparents holding their first two children, my aunts, Mary and Lucille. It was taken in June, 1928. I immediately went out and made a copy. I am proud to have this in my possession. My grandfather was from Italy, my grandmother's family from Germany, and when the sparks flew and they fell in love and married, their parents disowned them. They later reconciled with their families, but I can only imagine the turmoil.

When I was a little girl, my mom used to tell me that some of her sisters were in the circus. I always thought it was a tall tale. As it turns out, my aunt Dorothy confided, when she was eight and her oldest sister, Mary (the baby in my grandfather's arms) was sixteen, their dance studio went on tour and hooked up with a circus in Mexico. The girls did acrobatics. Their mother gave the girls permission to travel, but what she didn't know was that they weren't staying in a hotel and being protected. Instead, they slept on the floor of an abandoned warehouse and were fed beans and were always hungry. Mary would come home after a date and tell Dororthy about what she had to eat. When they were performing, and one of the workers yelled, "Hey, Rube!" that meant there was trouble brewing, and the other performers and workers would run to their aid. The things I found out today. It was like paging through a family history book.

Dog Lovers Delight!

One night just before midnight while I was snuggled in bed sound asleep, my husband, Bill, who some of our friends affectionately call Willy, woke me up. He was so excited. His volume was as loud as the T.V. "Wake up! I've been on the computer, and I see that you just received an acceptance on the story you wrote about ME, titled GOOFY WILLY."

I could have flung my pillow at his head had I not been laughing so hard. My dog story, Goofy Willy was accepted by editor, Susan Reynolds and published by Adams Media.

Willy was a naughty mischief-making, overgrown pup of about three months old. His dad was a Mackenzie River Husky, but his mom was a hound. He was thick in stature, but even 'thicker' in the head. My former husband was in the military and we lived in Delta Junction at the end of the Alaska Highway, where the animals outnumbered the residents. Willy was forever getting into trouble. He stole a winter hat right off of a kid's head. There wasn't a day that went by that someone didn't report one of his goofy infractions. His worst offense was snatching a neighbor's bra off the clothesline and chewing it to bits. I buried it in the bottom of the trash bin and watched her husband set fire to the garbage that weekend. Oh Willy was a character. To read more about my dog and many others, please purchase My Dog is My Hero, available September 18th in bookstores and on Amazon.com.

On my soapbox

The news is so depressing. In the name of religion people argue, declare wars, fight about mosques being built etc. We are all children of God, and that is why this morning I bought a wino breakfast; we all have basic needs as well as our own vices, and who am I to judge? My vice is sweets.

The mark of an immature man is to want to die for his cause. The mark of a mature man is to live humbly for his cause.~Wilhelm

If only everyone's cause was to respect the other person and lend a helping hand, for who are we to judge? Sorry, guys, I am on my soapbox, because there is so much pain in this world and most people want to cast a look, a remark, a stone.

Have a nice day and don't let the heat get to you.

Oh how I drooled over that dreamy-eyed Elvis when I was a teenager. Happy Birthday Elvis. :)

Now I have to get some writing finished, LOTS!