tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78154595720685081102024-03-12T18:35:12.811-07:00A Novel ExperimentThe Novelisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16966701772659997692noreply@blogger.comBlogger85125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7815459572068508110.post-67657490913127279372010-11-06T08:26:00.000-07:002010-11-06T08:26:44.165-07:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Will the person responsible for inventing scissors please come and clean up the mess at my house! </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">My five year old has taken it upon herself to cut paper every waking moment for the last month. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></div><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I love her to pieces. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj51H4vUspslJ3tkJD-5bOiXNwiLNjx7s7smkA08zR1JgmcawFMfPVdnX82w7R-2p8J9PQF_SlK40u-4OKpB6bpfRn2_IQNtiDkP-H5fQnaQ94Ln4swFqHhCw0L6t08jq-mV6MdScDvIbs/s1600/scissors-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj51H4vUspslJ3tkJD-5bOiXNwiLNjx7s7smkA08zR1JgmcawFMfPVdnX82w7R-2p8J9PQF_SlK40u-4OKpB6bpfRn2_IQNtiDkP-H5fQnaQ94Ln4swFqHhCw0L6t08jq-mV6MdScDvIbs/s200/scissors-2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
</div>The Novelisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16966701772659997692noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7815459572068508110.post-83641555813341383082010-11-05T08:29:00.000-07:002010-11-05T11:42:23.907-07:00Procrastinate....<div class="header" style="text-align: center;"><h2 class="me">pro·cras·ti·nate</h2><span class="pronset"><noscript>&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://dictionary.reference.com/audio.html/lunaWAV/P08/P0802800" target="_blank"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;img src="http://sp.dictionary.com/dictstatic/g/d/speaker.gif" border="0" alt="procrastinate pronunciation" /&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;</noscript> <span id="nonfav"></span><span class="show_ipapr" style="display: none;"><span class="prondelim">/</span><span class="pron">proʊˈkræs<img alt="" border="0" class="luna-Img" src="http://sp.dictionary.com/dictstatic/dictionary/graphics/luna/thinsp.png" />təˌneɪt</span><span class="pron">,</span> <span class="pron">prə-</span><span class="prondelim">/</span> <a href="http://dictionary.reference.com/help/luna/IPA_pron_key.html" target="_blank"><img border="0" class="luna-Img" src="http://sp.dictionary.com/dictstatic/g/d/dictionary_questionbutton_default.gif" /></a> <span class="pron_toggle" style="display: inline;"><a alt="Toggle for Spelled" class="pronlink" href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=7815459572068508110&postID=8364155581334138308" title="Click to show spelled">Show Spelled</a> </span></span><span class="show_spellpr" style="display: block; margin-top: 8px;"><span class="prondelim">[</span><span class="pron">proh-<span class="boldface">kras</span>-t<span class="ital-inline">uh</span>-neyt</span><span class="pron"></span><span class="pron"></span><span class="prondelim">]</span> <a href="http://dictionary.reference.com/help/luna/Spell_pron_key.html" target="_blank"></a><span class="pron_toggle" style="display: inline;"><a alt="Toggle for IPA" class="pronlink" href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=7815459572068508110&postID=8364155581334138308" title="Click to show IPA"></a> </span></span></span><span class="pg"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">verb,</span> </span></span><span class="secondary-bf"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">-nat·ed,</span> </span></span><span class="secondary-bf"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">-nat·ing.</span> </span></span> </div><div></div><div class="body"><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="pbk" style="text-align: center;"><span class="pg"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">–verb</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">(used</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">without</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">object)</span> </span></span><br />
<div class="luna-Ent"><span class="dnindex"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword">1.</span> </span></span><br />
<div class="dndata"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword">to</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">defer</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">action;</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">delay:</span> </span><span class="ital-inline"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; cursor: default;">to</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">procrastinate</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">until</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">an</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">opportunity</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">is</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">lost.</span> </span></span></div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="pbk"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="pg"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword">–verb</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">(used</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">with</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">object)</span> </span></span></div><div class="luna-Ent"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="dnindex"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword">2.</span> </span></span></div><div class="dndata"><div style="text-align: center;"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword">to</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">put</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">off</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">till</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">another</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">day</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">or</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">time;</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">defer;</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword">delay.</span></span><br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Some days my motto is "why do today what you can put off til tomorrow!".</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I don't advise this to just anyone.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I wonder what is in my nature that tends towards putting things off until later? </span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Is it the thrill of having everything come due all at once?</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> Maybe I work better under that kind of pressure. </span></span></span><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">If I'm being honest, I'll tell you that sometimes I can clean my house in 37 minutes flat. Including bathrooms.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">And I do mean spotless clean.</span></span></span><br />
<span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></span><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Never mind that I am sweating like I've just run a marathon.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">My next topic would have to be "piles". </span></span></span></div><span id="hotword"><span id="hotword" name="hotword"><br />
</span></span><span id="hotword"> </span></div></div></div></div>The Novelisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16966701772659997692noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7815459572068508110.post-29862221743411977442010-11-04T13:04:00.000-07:002010-11-04T13:04:48.870-07:00It's fall....<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Fall has been present. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Many times in the past I've complained that Mother Nature went right from summer to winter, robbing us of our fall. This time around she has made up for all the stolen days of the past.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">When I was younger I hated fall. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I didn't want the leaves to loose their green or the ground to turn cold. I wanted to always feel the warm sun and have the smell of fresh cut grass. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I guess I've changed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Fall now feels like a wonderfully deep breath.</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It's a season that gives me pause. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I love the fall. I look forward to it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I wonder if I will ever feel this way about winter. We aren't good friends yet.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKSTtlxWiBHvrH5HRIxppTUlSLZjVHJ66yGvBv3za0SNYY-HZhu2xE_xTUQl-bi60Mq51B6W2lFbWtTDtcLqpe05_SBzFuPe4LmQky6QNWkZMN-PvDc6TfnoIHelcli27HqHJI-O9Bd6s/s1600/P1010047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKSTtlxWiBHvrH5HRIxppTUlSLZjVHJ66yGvBv3za0SNYY-HZhu2xE_xTUQl-bi60Mq51B6W2lFbWtTDtcLqpe05_SBzFuPe4LmQky6QNWkZMN-PvDc6TfnoIHelcli27HqHJI-O9Bd6s/s320/P1010047.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">(I actually took this photo! I'm quite impressed. Aren't you?) </span></div><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span>The Novelisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16966701772659997692noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7815459572068508110.post-36187943003316584752010-09-23T09:14:00.000-07:002010-09-23T09:14:40.304-07:00Reading Teen giveaway<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">One more giveaway to wet the appetite!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Get a move on this one because it ends tomorrow!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Go <a href="http://www.readingteen.net/2010/08/back-to-school-giveaway-bash.html">here</a> for details.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Good luck! </span>The Novelisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16966701772659997692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7815459572068508110.post-53380889169924726062010-09-23T08:55:00.000-07:002010-09-23T08:55:49.281-07:00Wordbird Giveaway<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Wordbird is having an amazing giveaway. Grand prize is 5 books and a $10 Amazon gift card. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Go <a href="http://madeleinerex.com/2010/09/02/a-megalodon-of-a-giveaway-wordbirds-one/">here</a> for the details.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Pretty awesome if I do say so myself!</span>The Novelisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16966701772659997692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7815459572068508110.post-8666449807590710452010-09-22T08:30:00.000-07:002010-09-22T08:30:45.478-07:00Nine lives......<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">First off, where has the time gone!!!! Oh my, I must have had an amazing summer and early fall because I let pretty much everything else go! Well, now the kids are back in school, routines are in place and I can once again commit! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Now, on to my nine lives story!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Several weeks ago, I was driving across the gully near my home when I noticed a dead animal in the road. As I got closer I realized that this poor animal appeared to be my neighbors cat named Squeaker. Before I go any further I need to explain a few things about Squeaker.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">First, I am a dog person myself, but this cat is invaluable as a mouser and window well cleaner. Since his arrival at my neighbors a few years ago we have had nary a mouse in the house. We regularly have dead birds in our window wells from birds hitting our big picture window and this crazy cat gets them out and takes care of them every time. (So much nicer than doing it myself, and we really have been trying to find a solution to the bird problem, I promise!) Anyway...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Second, Squeaker is strictly an outdoor cat. It was one of the stipulations by the dad of the neighbor kids. He has the worst allergies of anyone I have ever met. They have tried all kinds of animals and it always causes a problem. When the kids brought Squeaker home they hid him from their dad for a long time. He finally noticed that he was having trouble with allergies in the garage and the kids fessed up about the cat. Their kind dad agreed to a compromise, as long as the cat never came in the house, he would tolerate the garage being a den of runny noses and swollen eyes. His wife is the one who does the yard work anyway because he works crazy hours, so it was a win win for everyone! But, he did tell the kids that once Squeaker died, there would be no more pets of any kind! A man's willingness to be uncomfortable can only go so far!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Third, the neighbor kids love and adore that crazy cat. My kids do too for that matter. He has a funny personality and he loves to tease any dog that walks near his hiding place. It is a funny thing to watch. That is, it's funny until the cat messes with the wrong dog, which he did one day when a stray happened into our neck of the woods. That is a story for another day, but let's just say the cat ended up with stitches and a drain and we didn't know if he would make it through the night. He did. Everyone rejoiced! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">With all of that you can understand my sadness as I saw Squeaker lying in the street lifeless. I didn't want to leave Squeaker in the road because the kids would be coming home from school soon and it wouldn't be a nice thing for them to see, but, I had my 5 year old with me and didn't want her to see what had happened either, so I called my neighbor and told her where she would be able to find their cat. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Later that day the funeral was in the neighbors backyard by their big pine tree. They dug a hole, laid the cat to rest and buried him. Then the older brother gave the eulogy. The neighbor kids and mom were in tears, rightfully so, but the youngest in the family was beside herself. They all talked about what a great cat Squeaker had been and that Heaven was a better place because he was in it. No cat could ever have a nicer funeral.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Hand in hand, they walked solemnly together back towards the house and climbed the stairs of their deck. When they reached the door the youngest felt something touch her leg and looked down. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">She screamed in shock! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Standing right next to her was Squeaker!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">They could not believe their eyes. The youngest asked if Squeaker had come back to life and the mom wondered for a horrified minute if they had just buried him alive! The older brother ran to the pine tree to check, and to their relief the cat was still there. It wasn't Squeaker they had buried after all. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Tears and laughter and a hefty dose of shock filled the air. One of the girls asked if they should try to find the owner of the dead cat. Their mom told them that no, they should leave him in peace and that hopefully the owner would know that the cat had been well cared for in his death. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">When the neighbors called to tell me that Squeaker was still alive I could not believe it. That crazy cat has gotten himself in more scrapes and situations than he should and this time he really dodged the bullet.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I won't jinx things by telling you how many lives he has left of the nine, but rather, I'll just say that I hope to be seeing him for a long time coming! </span>The Novelisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16966701772659997692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7815459572068508110.post-9827735335297000062010-07-15T08:12:00.000-07:002010-07-15T08:14:04.961-07:00Refreshed....<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">There are times I love to be all by myself, but that rarely happens in my house. Kids run in and out all day long. Last night my husband and I counted 34 kids (ages 4 to 18) running around our yard playing night games. I set out water pitchers, cups, licorice and bags of chips and was immediately swarmed. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I'm not compaining. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Not one bit. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I love it, I really do. There is an infectious energy that hums in the air when I watch memories being made before my eyes. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I'm just glad that I was able to recharge my soul somewhere this last week. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The mountains were calm and refreshing, the stars, brilliant and bright. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I lounged at night in my reclining camp chair, the last one awake. I watched the embers of the fire slowly burn out, enjoying the warmth near my feet and the chill from the cool night air on my head. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The everyday world around me was silenced. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">No phones.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">No cars.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">No lights.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">No ipod.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">No computer.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">No stereo.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">No television.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">No hum of things plugged in.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">There was only the symphony of the wind rustling the leaves overhead.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Birds chirped, frogs croaked and crickets played their song of love. The lake rippled and the deer wandered close. My lungs took in the clean, crisp air. I gazed at the Big Dipper with all of her friends and my eyes wondered at the beauty around me. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It's good to get away.</span><br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It's good to come home.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span>The Novelisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16966701772659997692noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7815459572068508110.post-55681460563798173622010-07-05T07:09:00.000-07:002010-07-05T07:12:03.729-07:00See you in a week!<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I'm headed to the mountains for a week. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It will be fantastic. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">No phones, computers, tv, radio or any other electronic reminder of real life. </span></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I'll hear the birds chirping, wind in the trees, streams rushing by and the crackling of the camp fire. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The stars will be spectacular. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The air, fresh and crisp.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">My head will be clear, and my soul will be refreshed.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">See you when I get back! </span></div>The Novelisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16966701772659997692noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7815459572068508110.post-53477823446553416082010-06-30T13:58:00.000-07:002010-06-30T13:58:21.363-07:00Book Review!<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The Dead Tossed Waves by Carrie Ryan</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis4EM_VDHAD0SjRMNHqzi0YOSiBV8YaKOsFd1Aw-N5ukoJMgBoaKlUHbxOFGiyJoKXnhNUkQkEmIZKsu3JK4srJc1kvpL5mT2Xt5j05FonuFzOaiiSp3co_UlHHpAf1906yNqC96ublv0/s1600/dead-tossed-waves-175.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis4EM_VDHAD0SjRMNHqzi0YOSiBV8YaKOsFd1Aw-N5ukoJMgBoaKlUHbxOFGiyJoKXnhNUkQkEmIZKsu3JK4srJc1kvpL5mT2Xt5j05FonuFzOaiiSp3co_UlHHpAf1906yNqC96ublv0/s320/dead-tossed-waves-175.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">This novel is the sequel to The Forrest of Hands and Teeth, the debut novel by the same author. The first novel was very interesting and very depressing, but I really liked it because it was so different from other books that I've read. I read it so long ago, that I never reviewed it on here. Maybe I will later, but for now, know that I would recommend it.</span> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Back to the review! </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The Dead Tossed Waves takes places years after the ending of the first novel. The world has been overrun by Zombies whose only purpose is to infect the living. Gabry is the daughter of the main character from the first book and is someone who likes to play it safe. Taking risks is not part of her character, but one fateful night she is convinced to do something against her better judgment as she follows her friends into an area that is off limits. This decision sparks a series of events that seem like a whirlwind of chaos in Gabry's life. She is pushed beyond her limit where personal safety is concerned, as she tries to make right the wrongs that were done.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">For me, I liked this story better than the first. I felt more invested in the characters. Even though Ms. Ryan's stories seem to follow what is the most popular formula for current YA novels (girl with two boys to chose from), this felt a little more fresh to me. Things aren't necessarily sugar coated with happy endings for the characters. In both of the stories, the characters experience real loss and regret. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Definitely a book to escape reality with!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
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</div>The Novelisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16966701772659997692noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7815459572068508110.post-21107910933140282962010-06-27T17:00:00.000-07:002010-06-27T17:00:25.855-07:00Giveaway!!<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">First time author Sheila A. Nelson is sponsoring an ARC giveaway! Go <a href="http://windwaithemermaid.blogspot.com/2010/06/forbidden-sea-signed-arc-giveaway.html">here</a> for your chance to win a copy of Forbidden Sea!</span>The Novelisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16966701772659997692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7815459572068508110.post-60577019100994711662010-06-25T07:55:00.000-07:002010-06-25T07:57:41.443-07:00Funny story....<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">My neighbor told me the best story about my 5 year old daughter the other day. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">My daughter and her best friend spied the neighbor's teenage daughter eating some oh so yummy starburst candies in her backyard. The two little girls put their heads together and came up with a brilliant plan to share in the chewy, tangy bliss. They knocked on the front door.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Neighbor: Hello girls! How are you today?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Daughter: Our moms are making pie today.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Neighbor: That is great! You are very lucky.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Daughter: Well, since my mom is making pie, she wonders if you have any starbursts that she could use. (blinking eyes and feigning pure innocence)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Neighbor: She needs starbursts for her pie?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Daughter: Yes, it's a starburst pie.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Neighbor:(laughing at this point) I don't think I have any starbursts, I'm sorry.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Daughter: Yes you do. I saw your girl eating some in the backyard.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Neighbor: Oh! (laughing even more) Well come in. Let's go see.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">They went to the backyard where the teenager was bathing in the sun only to find wrappers of starbursts that had been all eaten.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Neighbor: Well, it looks like we did have starbursts but they are all gone now. Do you think your mom could use chocolate chip cookies for her pie instead? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Daughter: (grinning ear to ear) Yes! That would work!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">My neighbor gives the two little girls each a cookie and as the girls were walking away she overheard my daughter whisper to her friend "We are so sneaky!"</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I love 5 year olds.</span></div><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span>The Novelisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16966701772659997692noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7815459572068508110.post-32101535835420460782010-06-24T09:27:00.000-07:002010-06-24T09:27:18.111-07:00Book Review!<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Brightly Woven by Alexandra Bracken</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">First off I must say that I love the author's name. It sounds so literary. Not only that, I love the name she chose for her main character, Sydelle Mirabil. Very cool. Now on to the review.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> Sydelle lives in a far away corner of the Kingdom, where her village has suffered from a drought for as long as she can remember. Not a single drop of rain has fallen on the dusty earth until the day the wizard, Wayland North, arrives. He is offered anything he could want and he chooses Sydelle. She is angry and obstinate as she follows him far away from her village and can only think of returning home. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Sydelle possesses a talent unmatched of weaving cloth, and through her skilled hands she repairs the cloaks of Wayland along their journey. As Sydelle begins to discover bit by bit why she was chosen by the smelly, drunken wizard to join his quest, she discovers more about herself and what her talent truly is. Together they face danger as they race to stop an unnecessary war between two kingdoms. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">This is a Young Adult novel and I would recommend it to someone as young as 10 or 11. Perfect for an afternoon at the beach or in your hammock. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I enjoyed it very much.</span></div>The Novelisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16966701772659997692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7815459572068508110.post-54539886577669775902010-06-22T17:02:00.000-07:002010-06-25T08:38:44.577-07:00Markus Zusak you are a word shaker indeed.....<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The title of my blog should give away the fact that I love to read. I love it so much that sometimes I feel like I am cheating on my family. They understand that books are as much a part of me as breathing is for life, (at least I hope so) and some of them have become infected with the need for words and language as well. My son keeps up with me at a pretty fierce pace and is always asking me for the next suggestion. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Sometimes I read books that would be considered silly. Other times I read books that require more thought and time. No matter the type of book, for me the enjoyment is usually equal. I love thinking about the writing style and the content. There are times when I am impressed and times when I laugh and wonder how the book ever got published. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Recently, I read The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I loved it. I loved it. I loved it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> After finishing it, I had to sit and really think about it for a long time. The story is set during WWII in Nazi Germany and is about a young girl who is sent to live with foster parents. This girl, Liesel, finds her way among heartache, hunger, hatred, loss, but most importantly, love. Sometimes this love is disguised and unrecognizable, but when she reflects back on her experience, she can see it for what it is. The whole story is narrated by a very unlikely character, Death. We are brought along with Death as he experiences, second hand, human emotions. To me, he became a dear friend. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I have read many comments of others who have read this book. Some good, some not so good. For me, the most fascinating thing about the book was also what was the most frustrating thing to those who did not like it. It was the writing style Mark Zusak used. It was so new and refreshing that I followed my husband around the house reading bits and pieces hoping that he would hear the magic that was in the words. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Here are a few examples:</span><br />
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Steam was rising weirdly from his clothes. His hangover was visible. It heaved itself to his shoulders and sat there like a bag of wet cement.....<br />
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Had he not lost his cigarettes to Hans Hubermann, he wouldn't have despised him. If he hadn't despised him, he might not have taken his place a few weeks later on a fairly innocuous road. One seat, two men, a short argument and me. It kills me sometimes, how people die...... <br />
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"'My heart is so tired,'" the girl had said. She was sitting in a chapel writing in her diary.<br />
No, thought Liesel as she walked. It's my heart that is tired. A thirteen-year-old heart shouldn't feel like this......<br />
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The book thief did not retreat. She took a few extra steps and sat down. Her cold hands felt for her sleeves and a sentence slipped from her mouth. "He's not dead yet." The words landed on the table and positioned themselves in the middle. All three people looked at them. Half hopes didn't dare rise any higher. He isn't dead yet. He isn't dead yet..... <br />
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Liesel calculated that there were four more reading sessions like that with Frau Holtzapfel before the Jews were marched through Molching. They were going to Dachau, to concentrate.....<br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Yes, I would recommend this book. Maybe you will be as touched as I was. Maybe you will have a crush on a narrator named Death like I did. I know. I am weird.</span><br />
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</div>The Novelisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16966701772659997692noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7815459572068508110.post-10757045298527602602010-05-28T08:10:00.000-07:002010-05-28T08:10:26.135-07:00Reading....<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Currently, I'm reading 5 books simultaneously. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">What am I thinking? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I don't normally pick that many up at a time, but they all showed up at about the same time through various circumstances. 2 of them are sequels to other books I have read, and I will write about those when I am finished. One of the books however, has made such an impression on me that I wanted to get the word out before I finish it!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The Book Thief by Markus Zusak is fantastic, incredible, heartbreaking, thought provoking and wonderful. I'm about half way through and I'll let you know if I still feel the same way when I finish it. I'd heard about this book for quite a while, but my pile of "to reads" was so big I put it off and put it off. I have fallen in love with the characters and yes, even the narrator. (If you know who the narrator is you will think I am very odd.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">This weekend will be a challenge to get anything done! </span>The Novelisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16966701772659997692noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7815459572068508110.post-78585396790987868172010-05-27T07:40:00.000-07:002010-05-27T11:27:14.417-07:00CH ch ch changes......<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">My favorite radio station went off the air. Sort of. It's still there, it just no longer has a dj, or the news, traffic or weather</span>. <span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It has become a prerecorded steady stream of a variety (not always the variety that I like) of music playlists. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I can't stand to listen to it now. Gone is the personality. Gone is the ability to call in and make a request or share an idea (not that I ever did, but I liked to hear it). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I was really sad and shocked when it happened a few weeks ago. There was no warning. One day they were there and the next they weren't. I doubt that the radio personalities even saw it coming. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">My reason for sharing this is because I have been thinking about the blessing and the curse of technology. I remember as a kid thinking how cool it would be to have a tv like the Jetsons where I could see the person I was talking to. Guess what! Now I have a computer that does just that. It is incredible really, when I think about how much technology is a part of my life. But for the last while or so, I've been thinking with a bit of nostalgia about what it is replacing and wondering if it really is always for the best. The fate of the radio hosts from my once favorite station is probably where the trend is heading. With so many ipods out there and the ability to play them in your car, or from a docking station, there really isn't any reason for people to be a part of broadcasting music anymore. We can simply make our own playlists, so who needs anything else.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Do people sit down anymore and take pen to paper to write a letter? Why bother with it, when email and texting is faster, more convenient and you don't have to pay for a stamp. Newspapers have been struggling in many places and will probably be replaced one day with the internet or whatever is next out there. Yesterday, I had a friend visiting from out of town and she noticed all of the books I have piled up. She laughed and told me I should get a Kindle to cut down on the clutter. To me though, there is something about the smell of a real book and turning the pages myself that I don't think I will ever be able to let go of. I then proceeded to tell her that if I were to go back to college I would want to get my degree in library science. She laughed again and told me about all of the libraries that are closing down. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Change is inevitable. As long as people are set on discovery and exploration, change will follow. I appreciate all of the luxuries that change has afforded me and I would be hard pressed to live without them. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> I just wonder, are we pushing away the human connection?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span>The Novelisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16966701772659997692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7815459572068508110.post-48565221870552509702010-05-25T16:55:00.000-07:002010-05-25T17:02:09.171-07:00Shoes....<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">My conversation with my almost 5 year old daughter yesterday:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Where are you?" I asked in a sing song voice as I searched for my daughter throughout the house.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Just a sec, mommy!" she answered, trying to suppress her giggles of delight.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">As I walked towards the direction of her voice, my daughter sauntered out of my bedroom with hands on her hips, pink gloss on her lips and a sassy back and forth head bob.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"I want Hot Tamale shoes just like yours mommy!" she said as she sashayed her hips around and around wearing my sinfully delicious, cherry red, high heel shoes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I am in for a whole heap of trouble with that saucy little thing. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ0zt07CkRMSSZJYO_at9_t54Ajx7wBo6JacgoDFM2wRviRWEx5rdfeLhrigQNFRoL1Glf3W2K1mMfnngsHUfCkOmN02de7WiyBsbg2unZaEDDEsIyv9qYZ5KmVLd4Z39muNx8pKMu8OU/s1600/red-high-heels-thumb2468650.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ0zt07CkRMSSZJYO_at9_t54Ajx7wBo6JacgoDFM2wRviRWEx5rdfeLhrigQNFRoL1Glf3W2K1mMfnngsHUfCkOmN02de7WiyBsbg2unZaEDDEsIyv9qYZ5KmVLd4Z39muNx8pKMu8OU/s320/red-high-heels-thumb2468650.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
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</div>The Novelisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16966701772659997692noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7815459572068508110.post-89742474713108370972010-05-24T07:37:00.000-07:002010-05-24T07:37:29.740-07:00Funny Funny weather...<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We have had the strangest Spring that I can remember for a long time. The weather has been so inconsistent that my four year old is getting confused.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">One day it will be 75 and sunny, the next is wind, rain and 42.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">This morning we woke up to a few inches of snow, but tomorrows high is set for 68 and up to 80 on Wednesday. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">You should see my tulips. They look like they are bent over in shame. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Ah well, I can't complain. This weather has extended my reading time! Yard work will just have to wait.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC86hh6aVMmhbWVmGBkXgTuQMXxvUCrxZoRatjU4EKR0fVOD3GSIaTdgxtS-lSt33h1uA8Q_J-8I02KkQ6z_eHHHM6oNAKCy_TuAsckxaD-2B4k_g96Xd_v0yZYcJTERH1MD0A9aXpor4/s1600/ar127370096187991.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC86hh6aVMmhbWVmGBkXgTuQMXxvUCrxZoRatjU4EKR0fVOD3GSIaTdgxtS-lSt33h1uA8Q_J-8I02KkQ6z_eHHHM6oNAKCy_TuAsckxaD-2B4k_g96Xd_v0yZYcJTERH1MD0A9aXpor4/s320/ar127370096187991.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></div>The Novelisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16966701772659997692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7815459572068508110.post-45360064022512209002010-05-20T08:26:00.000-07:002010-05-20T08:26:46.605-07:00The recieving end...<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Yesterday I had the unfortunate opportunity to be on the receiving end of a mother's anger. It took me by surprise and I remained very calm but I definitely learned a few things from it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">In the past I've blogged about being very careful about passing judgment of any kind, whether it is assuming that someone has their life all perfectly put together, or assuming that someone has done something to be hurtful. It's hard sometimes, at least for me, not to pass an immediate judgment on a situation, but I have been trying to stop and listen before I react. It really isn't fun to be the object of a misunderstanding, but, (and this is a big but!</span>) <span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I learned that I also have an opportunity to influence the outcome of these situations simply by my reactions. I've had times in the past where my knee jerk reaction would have been to lash out if I was being accused by someone who didn't have all of the facts. For whatever reason though, yesterday I didn't feel that fight or flight reaction. I felt calm. I gave the other person about an hour to calm down and then I called them back to explain my side of the situation. Once all of the facts were on the table there was a change of heart by this mother. She knew that there was a miscommunication and that no harm was meant and in the end everything was worked out, apologies were made and a friendship was restored. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I am not saying that if I reacted positively and calmly every time to one of these situations that it would always end well, because the other person is in control of his or her own reaction to it all. What I am saying is that I would always feel like I had my character intact and would feel at peace with my part of the scenerio. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Maybe yoga has done more good for me than I thought!!!</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwPZ1u9H7KCxcsMUbdk8VAxrY3ks3gCXE-icXjCID75b2AuC03pS7nHVkQJKfKdHzps7zGG-f3-kkWckLljbFyeqWC8-BWhgJJo1qr9TsFo4g_s9Ban__8E4TKAmfxPtaHmksGULD_Rs4/s1600/k2419670.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwPZ1u9H7KCxcsMUbdk8VAxrY3ks3gCXE-icXjCID75b2AuC03pS7nHVkQJKfKdHzps7zGG-f3-kkWckLljbFyeqWC8-BWhgJJo1qr9TsFo4g_s9Ban__8E4TKAmfxPtaHmksGULD_Rs4/s320/k2419670.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></div>The Novelisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16966701772659997692noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7815459572068508110.post-5968238732355292262010-05-14T16:38:00.000-07:002010-06-24T08:48:25.011-07:00Book Review!<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Once Upon A Marigold by Jean Ferris</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg95V3rQ5t2vhUlF1ta27MZZVqUU44n31awZwPoaqha489nXUks2YrGmEoAG4Iz-JJp6grMsRXCVCovU5sufZm-p8Af72-224y0ukpe2sfHRETEf1oechXN1VCHyjSXLNVw3qb4G2bsG3o/s1600/9780152167912_150.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg95V3rQ5t2vhUlF1ta27MZZVqUU44n31awZwPoaqha489nXUks2YrGmEoAG4Iz-JJp6grMsRXCVCovU5sufZm-p8Af72-224y0ukpe2sfHRETEf1oechXN1VCHyjSXLNVw3qb4G2bsG3o/s320/9780152167912_150.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Summary from Goodreads: </span><i>A young man with a mysterious past and a penchant for inventing things leaves the troll who raised him, meets an unhappy princess he has loved from afar, and discovers a plot against her and her father.</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">This is a darling, I just need something to match my carefree mood kind of a book. The cover says "part comedy, part love story, part everything but the kitchen sink" and it is all true! It's geared toward the middle grade reader and I would say ages 9 and up would find something to love about it. Jean Ferris keeps her humor light hearted and fun and the love story innocent and fresh. She creates situations that feel uncomfortable and funny at the same time, all the while giving us a glimpse into the mind of a boy who falls in love for the first time.</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">If you are young at heart you will love this!</span><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Unwind by Neal Shusterman</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA2v_JGLgpJ-OvThzYm5Hanraiq5wPM78l9UlQQrBrO6fv6nVxMTzI4OibPG7wJK9M2I4ucSywafjzochl4EC71SkNwbiQ-u564RCNTMfB1sLGxXaRWTylpoy4rGWCT-bl6sFirLOxl9s/s1600/9781416912040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA2v_JGLgpJ-OvThzYm5Hanraiq5wPM78l9UlQQrBrO6fv6nVxMTzI4OibPG7wJK9M2I4ucSywafjzochl4EC71SkNwbiQ-u564RCNTMfB1sLGxXaRWTylpoy4rGWCT-bl6sFirLOxl9s/s320/9781416912040.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Summary from Goodreads: </span><i>In a society where unwanted teens are salvaged for their body parts, three runaways fight the system that would "unwind" them. </i><br />
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<i>Connor's parents want to be rid of him because he's a troublemaker. Risa has no parents and is being unwound to cut orphanage costs. Lev's unwinding has been planned since his birth, as part of his family's strict religion. Brought together by chance, and kept together by desperation, these three unlikely companions make a harrowing cross-country journey, knowing their lives hang in the balance. If they can survive until their eighteenth birthday, they can't be harmed -- but when every piece of them, from their hands to their hearts, are wanted by a world gone mad, eighteen seems far, far away. In </i><i>Unwind, </i><i>Boston Globe/Horn Book Award winner Neal Shusterman challenges readers' ideas about life -- not just where life begins, and where it ends, but what it truly means to be alive.</i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The premise of this book is very disturbing, but brilliant. This story of three kids who are trying to keep things together, literally, will give you much to think about. I felt horrified at times and had to walk away from the book here and there, just to wrap my brain around what the world had come to in this story. I felt disgusted by the parents who would dispose of their children in such a horrible way, but then I realized that we hear about this in the news all of the time. The people we hear about may not be getting rid of their children for "parts", but they ignore, abuse, mistreat and take for granted the possibility of what their children can be. Just this week we had a 4 year old boy who was tortured and murdered by his mom and step father. While watching the news story all I could think was "Why?". Why did that sweet boy have to be a child of monsters. The thing about this novel by Mr. Shusterman is that it made me ask these same questions. The only difference is that the "parents" weren't viewed as monsters. It was just the way things were done. Life is not something to be taken for granted and this book serves as a reminder of that. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></div>The Novelisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16966701772659997692noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7815459572068508110.post-59868363758436553732010-05-13T07:39:00.000-07:002010-05-13T07:44:24.591-07:00Hello again!<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I hadn't realized how many unblogging days I have had until I looked at the date of my last post. Just know that they were well spent while I was curled up on the couch with my 4 year old daughter reading books while it rained and rained and rained! We also got some awesome play-dough and barbie/pretend sessions in as well. I am not sure why, but for the last 2 weeks she has decided that I am her very best friend and wants to play with me instead of her friends. How could anyone ever turn down an opportunity like that! The time will come soon enough when she wants nothing to do with me, but for now I will be 4 almost 5 again and think only of butterflies and cotton candy clouds!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">p.s. I have 2 books that I have been dying to review for you on here. Check back tomorrow. I pinky promise that I'll put the reviews up. Until then, I, Sarah Sparkle Star (my new name given to me by my daughter) am off to a magical world where we eat licorice for breakfast and sometimes we can fly without an airplane! (This is what I found on my pillow this morning)</span><br />
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</div>The Novelisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16966701772659997692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7815459572068508110.post-713202661741512192010-05-05T09:05:00.000-07:002010-05-05T09:05:52.395-07:00Can't touch this!<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Here is an awesome video clip my son showed me. I love it!</span><br />
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</div><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/vIRQf0S3oD0&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/vIRQf0S3oD0&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>The Novelisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16966701772659997692noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7815459572068508110.post-91692542009117700652010-04-30T07:04:00.000-07:002010-04-30T07:04:48.431-07:00News!!!<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">And how could I forget to mention this!!!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Because of my yoga class that I've been going to, I can now do a full back bend! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The first time I tried it (about 6 weeks ago) I could only get my hips off the ground. My shoulder and head were another story all together. They seemed glued to the floor. My arms just didn't have the strength to push up and I was sure that my back would never be able to arch in such an unnatural position. Miracles do happen my friend! In my last class I was on the floor in the bridge position ready to push up into nothing because it has never happened, when low and behold I raised my body, arched my back and realized that I was in a full back bend! Outbursts of joy are generally not done in a dimly lit yoga class, but believe me, every one knew what I had accomplished in that exact moment. My puny appendages are getting some muscle and the rest of me is getting bendy! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> I love it! </span>The Novelisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16966701772659997692noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7815459572068508110.post-39768550703848164052010-04-30T06:54:00.000-07:002010-04-30T06:54:52.406-07:00Toilets<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">One of my weird quirks is that I prefer to have my toilet lids completely lowered when not in use. Something about walking into a bathroom and seeing right into the toilet seems so wrong to me. My kids close the lids out of habit just because I've always had them do it since they first learned to use the toilet. Sometimes when the kids have friends over, the friend will use the toilet and leave the lid or lids (depending on boy or girl) up. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It drives me crazy!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I'd never dream of turning into the toilet police, standing outside the door and asking them if they remembered to close the lids, but as soon as I notice the offense, I remedy the situation.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">My other quirk is that I prefer the toilet paper to roll over the top, not underneath. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">What about you? Is there anything strange that you do?</span>The Novelisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16966701772659997692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7815459572068508110.post-5103766032048598712010-04-29T09:28:00.000-07:002010-04-29T09:39:46.065-07:00The time I got kidnapped.....The Conclusion<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I went back because my husband and kids were there, but why didn't I take them with me in the first place? I don't really have an answer for that other than, you just had to be there. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">When I got back my husband was sitting on the couch with a look on his face I will never forget. "What the HELL?" pretty much sums it up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">At this point, Annabelle grabbed me by the hand and declared that it was time to do something about my ankle. She led me upstairs and into her bathroom. Pointing to the soaking tub she said "Get in and I will fix your ankle for you."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"In there?" I asked, pointing to the tub.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Yes</span>, <span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I'll hold the baby while you get undressed. She can get in too if you'd like. Then I'll massage your ankle and get the swelling down. You'll feel much better."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Actually, I'd feel much better going back to my house, putting my kids in their beds and unpacking."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"No. It is too late. I've already had your husband put your kids to bed here. Get in."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Even though a bath sounds wonderful and all, I'm not getting in. I don't know you and I don't have clothes to change into or even underwear for that matter. I'm going home now."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"You can wear my clothes and my underwear."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">She really said that. No lie. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">At this point it was probably 11 at night. I was exhausted, my baby was exhausted and my thinking was getting worse by the minute. I don't remember how, but I made my way back downstairs to my husband and whispered that we should get the kids and go. As we were talking about what to do, she comes in and says "I'll show you to your room. If you hear crying in the night please ignore it. I sleep on a mattress in my sons room." I didn't even know she had a son until that very moment. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Once again I don't know what came over me. I followed her upstairs to the room we would sleep in. I still hadn't really had a chance to talk to my husband about everything that was going on because whenever I tried she managed to stop it. The bed in our room looked like it had come right out of the princess and the pea fairy tale. It was so tall, even the step stool wasn't enough to get in. My husband gave me a shove, and climbed up next to me. The mattress, if that's what it really was, was so soft and fluffy it was like laying on top of all of the filling from all of the pillows in a pillow factory at one time. We sunk right in. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We both lay there silent for a long time. Then I started laughing.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"What is so funny."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"This! This is crazy!"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"That's what I was thinking, but I've been trying to figure out what's been going on. Care to fill me in?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"She kidnapped me. That's all I know."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Why didn't you go home?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">That's when I told him about her bursting in our home and taking me and our baby on the longest car ride to her house. I told him about the spots, the tub and the underwear. He started laughing.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"What's so funny?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"I thought you knew her. Like she was some kind of long lost friend or something. I couldn't figure out what you were doing, but I wasn't going to say anything. You seemed so determined to do whatever she said."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"What! Oh well, I guess you're right. It's like she has mind control or something. I didn't know what to do, you were gone when she came and I thought that the Relief Society had sent her. I thought it was a strange welcome, but that's why I went with her in the first place. I kinda don't think they had anything to do with this do you?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">He was laughing again, "No, I don't. Have you seen whats in the bathroom we are supposed to use?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"No, is something else wrong?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Cat litter. Every where. I don't think the litter box has ever been changed and the litter is all over the floor."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"I won't be going in there that's for sure. What did she say about it when she showed you where the bathroom was?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Nothing. She didn't even seem to notice that there was something wrong."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We lay silent again for a while when my husband started to really laugh.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"What is so funny? I don't think this is very funny."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"I just thought that we are here in this wackos house, that you by the way got us into, and I'm just picturing her coming in here when we are asleep with a pick axe. All I can think of is Jason from that movie. Stab, Stab, Stab!"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"You are sick and wrong."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Me? Oh no, it isn't me, I assure you. And what's the deal with her husband? He doesn't talk. He's probably scared of her too."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I started laughing so hard. He was right! We were in the home of someone who was really messed up. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">In the morning I got our things together as quickly as I could. I grabbed my sleepy kids and we headed down the stairs for our escape. Only thing is, she was waiting for us!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The table was set again in her fanciest finery. She had made waffles, pancakes, muffins, french toast and juice. My kids were starving and made a beeline for the table. She started dishing up before we could say a word. Once again, I sat down defeated. She began to tell my son all about her plans for us. She told him about the play, the dance recital and all of the goodies that would be there. She pulled out a calendar and began going day by day, week by week all of the things we would do. My sons eyes grew bigger and bigger. The last thing she told him was, "The Saturday after Thanksgiving I am taking you to the mountains. I have purchased our tags for our Christmas trees. We will chop down our trees and bring them back here. We will have hot chocolate with marshmallows. Then we will string popcorn and cranberries." While saying all of this to my son not only had she gotten his breakfast for him, she had pulled out all of her candy jars for him to choose a treat from. It was like watching the old woman who lived in gingerbread house in the woods.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I had had enough. I stood up and told my kids to go out and get in the car. "But I haven't eaten my pancakes mom" my son said innocently. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"I don't care. Grab your sisters hand and go now."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">My husband jumped to attention, shewing the kids to the front door.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I turned to Annabelle and said "Thank you for your hospitality. We are leaving now."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"No, it isn't possible. I haven't unpacked your house yet, and I haven't finished going through your calendar, you aren't leaving." she said in her still very robotic voice.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"We are going home now. We are unpacking OUR house by ourselves. We are not coming to a play or a dance recital. We are not having Halloween and Thanksgiving here. And I am most certainly not taking my new baby into the mountains, traipsing through the snow to chop down a tree." </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">All of my frustration had boiled to the surface. Her husband was staring at us, but still had not uttered a word. I grabbed the diaper bag and followed my family to the front door. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">My son looks at me and says "Mom, she is real nice."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"No!" I whispered, "She is CRAZY!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">My son looked at me with disbelief and said very loudly "She's not crazy mom!" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Annabelle looked right at me. I looked at her and turned to go out the door. While walking to our car I remembered our pizza that her husband had picked up at our house the night before. Turning to my husband I asked him to go get our pizza so we could have it for lunch. He said to forget it. I told him to go back and tell her husband to get our pizza and not to come to the car without it. He knew I was losing it so he ran and got it for me. Getting in the car he asked, "Why did you want the pizza so bad? We could order another one?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Because, I don't know, maybe it's just that I wanted to show her that she does not have total control. Sorry, that was weird of me, but thanks for getting it."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">He laughed and said "The whole thing was weird."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We got home and not too long after there was a knock on the door. I thought for sure it was Annabelle. Instead, a nice looking woman introduced herself and asked if she could speak to me. It turns out that she was the Relief Society President from our church. My sisters friend that I had left a message for the night before contacted her and told her that Annabelle had taken us. She sat down and told us that she owed us an apology and explained that Annabelle had recently gotten out of a mental hospital, but was still heavily medicated and one of her issues was fixating on something. She had overheard some people at church mention that a family was moving into the house down the street from her and right then and there we became her fixation. The people from our church figured this out, so they told her that we were coming a month later than we really were thinking this would prevent her from barging in on us during our move. Annabelle is smart though and watched for the moving trucks. The Relief Society President told me not to open the door when Annabelle came over and to not give her our phone number. She said she knew it sounded mean, but it was the only way to get Annabelle to forget about us. I told her the whole story and she felt really bad. She said to not be surprised if Annabelle would peek in our windows when we didn't answer the door. She told us that we had to be firm and hold our ground. As far as knowing our house "intimately" it was true. She had been in the house when the previous owners rented it out and had barged in a few times on them. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We had a few more run ins with Annabelle, but eventually she left us alone. About 2 years after moving in I had another very funny incident with her that I will share another time. But there it is, with a few things left out here and there, the time I was kidnapped. I laugh at myself when I think about it now. It was a crazy time for sure. I do feel bad for Annabelle and her family and I learned to have a lot of respect for her husband. He was staying with her, hoping that she would break free from the mental illness that took hold of her not too long after they were married. What a patient man. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span>The Novelisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16966701772659997692noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7815459572068508110.post-79602603092087792812010-04-22T07:39:00.000-07:002010-04-22T08:06:28.360-07:00The time I got kidnapped: part II<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Once I was in the car, I was very confused. You see, in my church there is an organization called the Relief Society. It consists of the adult women in our church. The purpose of the Relief Society is to aid, support and care for anyone in need. Sometimes when people move, the Relief Society will organize dinners for those leaving and for those coming. I thought in my head at this time that perhaps the Relief Society had arranged for this woman to come and help me. Her kind of help was very bizarre to say the least, but I went with her. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">As we started to drive away I said "Wait! My husband won't know where I am! I have no way of getting a hold of him and he will be very worried when he gets back. I also ordered a pizza! I can't just leave and not pay for it!"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"My husband will come back with a note for your husband with instructions. You will write a check and we will leave it on the door for the pizza boy."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"But, I don't want to leave the pizza on the doorstep! That will be lunch for tomorrow if nothing else. It would be ruined, dogs would get into it. Please, take me back. This is getting a little too weird for me."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Nonsense. I will be feeding you. You just had a baby. You are in no condition to put a house together. You are staying with me for at least a month. I will go down each day to your home and unpack one box for you. It will be perfect. You will then move into a perfectly organized home." She said with a robotic like voice.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"No, that's not going to fly with me. We really just need to get our kids settled. They have been in limbo long enough. Please take me home." I should have screamed this at her, but no, I said it in the wimpiest voice I could muster. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The way this woman spoke, it was hard to describe, but I knew that she was not going to bend or deviate from her agenda. I wasn't quite sure what to do now. Especially since I was in her car. Her husband still had not said a word at this point. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">After driving for a while Annabelle (again, not her real name) spoke again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Thursday I will be putting on a puppet/magic show. Admittance is free, but licorice whips are 10 cents a piece. Lateness will not be tolerated and I will have to turn those who are not on time away. You will be there at 10 am sharp. That shouldn't be a problem since you will be staying in my home." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I looked at her, waiting for her to bust up laughing. Who talks like that? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Friday I will be putting on a dance performance. Again, admittance will be free, but popcorn will be 25 cents. I have made enough flyers for the whole neighborhood announcing my performances. You will help me deliver them in the morning."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">She handed me a flyer. She was serious. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"I really don't think I'll be able to help you tomorrow. I have a really bad sprained ankle." I pointed to my ankle. She looked and her eyes narrowed.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">After driving around for what seemed like an eternity we got to their house. When we walked into the front I could see what would be the living and formal dining rooms. They were void of furniture, but all over the carpet where these strange looking spots. Tons of them! Every few inches was a spot and I had to maneuver carefully to avoid them. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">When we walked into the kitchen, her dining table was set for a Thanksgiving feast; tablecloth, goblets, linen napkins, a centerpiece and enough food to feed an army. "Wow, you have really been working today!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">She pushed me into my chair, dished up my plate and sat across the table. Her husband was nowhere to be seen. I noticed she wasn't dishing up for herself. "Um, are you not going to eat?" </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"No! This is for you and your family." She looked at me like I should have already known.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"I really hate for this to go to waste. I'm not sure when my family will get back."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"They will be here soon enough. I left my instructions for your husband."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I ate while she stared at me. It was uncomfortable to say the least. I decided to ask her about the spots on the carpet. It was totally rude, but if you saw them you would have asked as well.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"My cat. My cat has been sick and I clean up her mess with a paper towel. It leaves these spots and I don't know what to do." She said in her calm robotic voice.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I started to dry heave. I casually slid my plate away and told her that I was full and that I really wanted to go home. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"How could you possibly get home? You don't have a car with you."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Could your husband take me back?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"He couldn't. You will wait here until your husband arrives with your children."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I waited for what seemed like hours when the doorbell rang. I heard my husband at the door and I was so relieved!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"How did you find me?" I whispered to him.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"It's just down the street. Why are we whispering?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"What! Down the street? She drove me around for at least 20 minutes!" </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">My husband and kids were escorted to the table where Annabelle dished up heaping plates of food.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Don't eat it!" I mouthed to my husband. He looked at me very confused, but followed my urging and said "Oh, we just ate at the house we came from, thank you though."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">At this point, without thinking, I asked my husband for the car keys, ran out of the house and drove down the street to my house. I was so mad! We were a short walk away! I ran into the home to call the one person from our church that I had talked to a few times. My sister had known her in Texas and asked her to look for me when I moved to Oregon. She wasn't home, a babysitter answered. I told her to please tell Kymberlee where I was and that I was in some sort of trouble.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Still not thinking clearly, I grabbed some more diapers and went back! When I think about this story I can't for the life of me figure out why I didn't grab my husband and kids and run out the door as soon as he got there. No, I went back.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Next time, the conclusion. It gets even better!</span>The Novelisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16966701772659997692noreply@blogger.com3