When I was younger I believed that I knew a secret. I looked at other people’s mothers and I thought, oh, she’s really nice, or she makes great cupcakes, or her house always smells like lemons–but inside I knew a very important secret. MY mother was a super hero and I felt sorry for other kids who didn’t have a super hero for a mother. She could do everything. And by everything I mean EVERYTHING. She took apart dryers, she built bikes, she cooked, she made clothes and cleaned clothes and could even make miniature clothes. She had the power of transformation–she transformed tables into castles and banks and secret fairy caves, she transformed boxes into rocket ships and secret command stations, she transformed closets into miniature kitchens, and living rooms into skating rinks. Her powers went even deeper, she transformed fear into giggles and pain into soothing relief, uncertainty into confidence and she could transform ANYTHING–books, puzzles, nursery rhymes, paper and crayons, moments under trees and in cars and walking to the store, trips to the library, trips to the Igloo for ice cream, weekends to Vermilion–all of it was transformed over and over and over again into expressions of love. There was never a single moment in my life that I didn’t feel loved, and for someone who has 6 brothers and sisters, THAT is an act of a mother who is a super hero. Oh, she’s not perfect, you might be thinking, and you are right. She DID sing Onward Christian Soldiers whenever we got into a disagreement. But she had a cover to maintain, all super heroes have to stay incognito.
Then I got older and I learned the truth…My mother was a super hero and I felt sorry for other people who didn’t have a super hero for a mother. There are few people who really know the pain, and exhaustion and unending difficulty of my entry into motherhood. I was so young and so afraid and so terribly exhausted all the time and I never would have survived without my mother and she had TODDLERS at the time. Every doctors appointment, every hospital stay, every CPR class, every terrifying moment she was there for me and my children. When I couldn’t be there for my daughter because I was in the hospital with my son, I never once had to worry because I knew she was safe and loved with my mother. She allowed me to be the best mother I could be under terrible circumstances and everything I know about being a mother, I learned from her. My mother is a super hero. I love you mom.
I am working on promoting some of my short stories. I decided it would hurt nothing but my pride to put them out there rather than have them languish on a computer hard drive. “A Quiet Place” is free today, April 30th, (click the image to the left to take you to my author page). I am looking for people willing to read the story (did I mention it is short) and put up a sentence or two of review (the good the bad or the ugly, I have thick skin… somewhat). All of my stories are fairy tales of one kind or another, and this one is no different. So if you are willing to take a peek into a different space for a short time, head over to Amazon and I will greatly appreciate your time!
I am building a Cigar Box Guitar a) because I can, b) because I want to play one, c) because… why not!? I’m putting up pictures as I go, I’ve gotten a lot done and it has been very challenging with limited tools and no table but I will love it all the more when its finished!
I have been trying all week to get up early enough to photograph the sunrise, thinking the colors would repay the early morning. What I found instead was quiet lapping water, the sound of trains in the distance, and the muted, nearly colorless beauty of night turning into day, not with a bang, not with a whimper, but with a hush.
I dislike F chords which aren’t easy and just always sound off when I play them, but what I really hate are B minors because they REALLY aren’t easy and involve baring a whole fret and using all the rest of your fingers too. So I have a section in my guitar folder of songs I really want to play but either have a bunch of Fs or Bms. Now yes, there are variations of Bm’s that are easier but that is for wusses, I need to just DO it. After all I didn’t use to be able to do ANY chords and now I can pound out some songs. So I pulled out the song that I really wanted to play but I couldn’t find a good version without a bunch of Bm’s without compromising the sound OR retuning my guitar the way that Patty Griffin does every time I wanted to play it (not happening). This is a word for word transcript of what my singing sounded like (F* used to protect the weak, although I KNOW the real word is going to ring out in your head which makes me giggle):
It’s hard to listen to a …. F* me …. heart, beating close to mine YES, pounding up against the F* ME and steel, walls that I won’t climb phew, sometimes a hurt is so F* F* me, you think that you’re gonna drown OK, sometimes all I can do is F* weep weep, with all this rain falling down… ok keep going…
And I did, keep going, through the whole song in this manner and will continue to do so until Bm’s feel just like G’s or Em’s or D’s or A’s all of which are lovely.
My Life As a White Trash Zombie by Diana Rowland
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
I don’t think it will surprise anyone who knows me that I would pick this up to read, I do love monster stories for what they tell us so wonderfully about ourselves. I really think that this is a fantastic book, it is funny and poignant at the same time and that isn’t easy to pull off when dealing with a white trash zombie. While there are many many books about vampires and werewolves trying to come to terms with their inner monster, there are very few (and none until this one that actually worked) that come from the perspective of a zombie as the very thing we think of with zombies is mindless hunger–which doesn’t leave room for introspection. What I love about this is that she retains the basic trope of the zombie but also retains the humanity and she does it so well. We like our monsters to be completely removed from us because we can throw all our fear and shame onto them and not see ourselves looking back and zombies are the easiest to do that to–Rowland yanks the monster back towards us 100 feet so that we can still see ourselves in the mirror and she has fun doing it. Another huge plus to me, I am incredibly tired of the tortured vampire syndrome (aka Angel/Stefan/Edward), and while she would be able to sell the tortured zombie much better, she didn’t. While Angel has to come to terms with a great many things throughout the course of both books, including eating BRAINS, she ends up embracing what she is and not apologizing for it and that was refreshing. I greatly enjoyed reading this and the second book and highly recommend both.
View all my reviews