Sisters Are Forever Until One Pisses the Other One Off by Writing a Book

Daily Prompt:  Coming to a bookshelf near you:

Write a summary of the book you’ve always wanted to write for the back cover of its dust jacket.

Before the Lights Go Out by Lara Beckman (not her real name) (also this illustration is not the actual dust jacket and the two people on it are not even sisters)

English: The author Madeline Brandeis (1897–19...

English: The author Madeline Brandeis (1897–1937) and her daughter Marie on the dust jacket of her book “The Little Swiss Wood Carver”, published in 1929 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Before the Lights Go Out  is a brilliant collection of timeless stories, illuminating moments in the ordinary lives of two sisters who experience the same growing pains in childhood, but whose adult lives unfold in astoundingly different directions.  There are twists of fate, chance encounters and life altering moments as their two pathways seem to diverge more often than they cross.

Their strongly based family connection and shared history is not something either of them can escape and although they both get lost or go temporarily missing in action over the years their lives continue to sporadically intertwine in delightful ways.  There are beginnings and endings, arrivals and departures; accidents, misfortunes and tragedies, always interspersed with large doses of good luck, good times and miracles.

The sisters chronicles are profoundly memorable, funny, authentic, sometimes irreverent.  Prepare to be amused, shocked and amazed at how strange and extraordinary two ordinary lives can be.

Author’s Note:  Although these stories may strike random family members as being autobiographical in nature, I assure you they are pure fiction and more or less completely made up, based so losely on fact as to be irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.  I swear.  Really, I’m almost totally serious about the fictional part.  So stop worrying about it.  Your secrets are safe with me.

Pictures From Moms Kitchen (Part 3)

Everything tastes better at grandmas house.

See that green and white butter dish with the clear lid beside it?  I voluntarily inherited that.  It’s one of those things that just refuses to wear out. I could never throw it away even though I don’t use it, so it looks like it may just last forever. I’m going to put a grandchilds name on tape and stick it to the bottom.  I’d hate them to fight over it when I’m gone.

Stuck in the middle with you.

This is my third sister – one of the self-named “out-laws”.  She has been part of our family for a really long time, even though I think there have been times when she’s wondered why.  I’m pretty sure it was mom’s delicious home-made biscuits that kept her coming back.  No wait, it was the scintillating conversation and the delightful company.  Yeah, that’s what it was.

When you’re stuffed to the eyeballs, you have to prop up your head.

The most amazingly interesting sausage in the world.

This is the year plaid shirts were in vogue, I guess.

It’s mom finally sitting down with her favourite son-in-law (sorry W) and her gorgeous daughter who has plans to add her own little daughter to the mix.

My handsome brother-in-law and my beautiful sister, contemplating impending parenthood.  They are obviously completely and utterly thrilled about something.

My daughter has some serious competition in the granddaughter department, no longer the only little girl in grandma’s heart.

And here she is – but we’re not done yet – there are two more grandchildren still to come.  Everybody gets to take a turn at wearing out that fancy red high chair in grandmas kitchen.

Pictures From Moms Kitchen (Part Two)

He followed me into the house – can I keep him?

“Yikes – I think there’s a ghost behind us!” “Really? HAHA Nothing scares me – everything makes me laugh. Everything. Life is hilarious.”

Me and my happy happy boy.

All ready to go to Aunt Ann’s wedding.

Grandpa McArthur tells the best stories and sings the silliest songs.

Yes, in this kitchen I slathered jam on my toast.  It was homemade.  It was delicious.  There were some things I was powerless to resist.  However, the instant coffee was not one of them.  I got a coffee maker for my mother, and she dutifully hauled it out for me every time we came to visit.

Pictures From Moms Kitchen (Part One)

The end of our wedding day, in moms kitchen doorway.

Finding a few favourite pictures taken in moms kitchen has turned into a treasure chest of memories.  We spent a lot of time there whenever we went to visit the farm.  It’s a place we didn’t appreciate enough when we were growing up, and then a place we could hardly wait to return to after we moved away.  It was where our family (which grew) sat down to eat the best meals ever.  It was all about us, until it became all about our kids.

Our baby daughter with my brothers oldest son.

Only at grandmas could you get away with crawling around on top of the kitchen table.
The kitchen wall paper was faux brick for a lot of years.  I think my love of red and orange must have come from my mother’s side of the family.  It was a strange old house – on the other side of this window was the built on “back kitchen” where mom put the old blue cupboards after she got new ones, and all kinds of old tables and cabinets and chairs that were almost worn out.  You never threw anything away until it was completely worn out.  It got shuffled off to the back kitchen where it could sit for years, waiting for that to happen to it.

My daughter, my brother, his boys.

I love the look on my brothers face – he was a man who loved his sons.  I don’t think it was ever a difficult thing for them to love him back.

The back-splash of orange flowers I remember  vividly.  Because it was vivid.  That space between the top of the cupboards and the ceiling was always covered in a hodge podge display of things that weren’t useful but were just too nice to throw away.  Gifts from well-meaning people and antiques belonging to grandma.  There were ceramic roosters on the other side.  I don’t need a picture to remember those.  Sometimes on a visit we’d climb up there for mom and wash and dust everything and check out the names on the bottom of things.  Grandma was great for writing the names of her relatives on adhesive or masking tape and sticking them on things she thought they might like to have after she was gone.  It’s a great system – certainly easier than writing it all down on paper.  Mom carried on that tradition.  My own cupboards go right up to the ceiling with no space on which to put things.  There are some traditions that aren’t that hard to give up.

Little sister, grandma and W, with nephew Andy bottom left: Christmas dinner circa 1974

I can tell it’s Christmas because of the plastic holly and the tree shaped candle.  But every meal at moms was like a Christmas feast.  Small people were supposed to sit on the bench on the far side of the table, but obviously on this day we got a little mixed up. Funny, no matter how many people showed up to eat, there was always room at the table, and  left overs for later.  It was a magical place.

Sh-Boom Sh-Boom

Lucid Dreaming

Lucid Dreaming (Photo credit: tomswift46 ( Hi Res Images for Sale))

Maybe I’m reading too many books, watching too many movies, sleeping too fitfully, reading too many blogs…(no, never that….) but for whatever reason I’ve been dreaming completely bizarre things lately and waking up with most of the details still in my head for longer than can possibly be healthy.  I should be writing them down I suppose and analyzing them to death but then I might have to conclude that I’m insane, and who needs that?  Best to leave it as merely a possibility than to prove it outright.

I wrote something a long time ago about lucid dreaming, but I can’t find it so I don’t know if I’m repeating myself or not.  Lucid dreams are pretty normal for me.  I know I’m dreaming and I can either just watch what’s happening or I can influence and even control what happens next.  This is why I rarely have nightmares – if things start going wrong I take them in a different direction, or I wake myself up.  Then sometimes I go back to sleep and start the dream over to make it better.  Mostly I just let dreams happen to see where they want to go.  But I almost always know it’s only a dream.

The good new is, I don’t have hallucinations when I’m awake, and I’ve never had an out-of-body experience involving astral projection.  Although if I wanted to I could probably make myself dream such a thing.  I’m too scared to attempt it.

Instead I have vivid dreams about people who have split up getting happily back together.  People who have serious problems suddenly just not having them anymore.  People who have had strokes and are in wheelchairs getting up and walking away simply to take a break from all that sitting down.  People who have died deciding they’d like to come back to chat with me for awhile, so they do.

And it’s not really wishful thinking, because even in the dream I know it’s simply a what if scenario and will all revert back to the way it was or really is, sometimes even before I wake up.  So why bother?

Well I think it’s some kind of test. Somebody out there is trying to tell me that life could be a dream sweetheart,  sh-boom sh-boom.   Or something to that effect.  We all have the power within us to change what happens next.  So why are we all just sitting around waiting to see what happens?  And getting all anal about it when we don’t like it?  Like it and accept it, or make it better.  Those are your choices. If you really are certifiably insane, embrace your inner crazy.  Life goes on.  Make it whatever you want.

Have a lucidly awesome Saturday everybody.

Bogus Wonder Woman Wonders

Who Is Wonder Woman?

Wonder Woman? (Photo credit: Wikipedia) (This isn’t actually me, although I’m quite similar.)

Daily Prompt: Write an entire post without using any three-letter words.

That should read – write an entire post using absolutely no three-letter words. There, that’s better.  So…here goes nothing.

Things Bogus Wonder Woman (my latest alias) is wondering about today which will be more or less forgotten by tomorrow:

1.  That fellow hitch hiking  across Canada wearing Stanfield’s underwear.  In November no less.  Is he crazy?  Raising testicular cancer awareness in this manner sounds seriously chilly.  I wonder where he is today.

2.  I wonder where half of November went when I wasn’t paying attention.

3.  This afterclap  word supposedly means an unexpected subsequent event, like a further clap of thunder.  However, I think it could also refer to a point in time following venereal disease recovery.  Wondering if this definition shouldn’t be added to dictionaries everywhere.  Insufficiently motivated to further pursue.

4.  Nursery rhymes have become seriously outdated, which means children find them hard to understand.  I wonder if this rewrite of Little Miss Muffet would ever catch on.

Little Miss Blogfair sitting on desk chair

Munching on chocolate eclairs,

Following comments, editing content,

Sobbing when nobody cares.

No?  Well alrighty then, moving right along….

5. I wonder what’s being served this evening at dinner time?  Should I perhaps be looking into this question more deeply?  Instead of wasting time avoiding three-letter words?  Word avoidance of a particular length turned into a harder feat than originally anticipated.  Although avoiding every letter E would be much worse.

Another Best Seller

I am in awe of Kate Morton for writing yet another novel that held my undivided interest from beginning to end.  If you haven’t read

– The House at Riverton

– The Forgotten Garden

– The Distant Hours

– The Secret Keeper

just pick one and get started.  They’re all great stories.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is the book description from Amazon:

From the New York Times and internationally bestselling author of The Distant Hours, The Forgotten Garden, and The House at Riverton, a spellbinding new novel filled with mystery, thievery, murder, and enduring love.

During a summer party at the family farm in the English countryside, sixteen-year-old Laurel Nicolson has escaped to her childhood tree house and is happily dreaming of the future. She spies a stranger coming up the long road to the farm and watches as her mother speaks to him. Before the afternoon is over, Laurel will witness a shocking crime. A crime that challenges everything she knows about her family and especially her mother, Dorothy—her vivacious, loving, nearly perfect mother.

Now, fifty years later, Laurel is a successful and well-regarded actress living in London. The family is gathering at Greenacres farm for Dorothy’s ninetieth birthday. Realizing that this may be her last chance, Laurel searches for answers to the questions that still haunt her from that long-ago day, answers that can only be found in Dorothy’s past.

The history and the family secrets are fun, the characters are strong, her writing is a treat to read.  Over four hundred pages flew by, layer upon layer of the story revealed, past to present and places in between until the final mystery was solved.

If you’re not hooked yet, read the excerpt on Amazon.  And I’ll see you later – 450 pages later I expect.

This Phone is a Trucking Place of Spit

"not encephalitis the email"

“not encephalitis the email” (Photo credit: marioanima)

Daily Prompt:  Take a line from a song that you love or connect with. Turn that line into the title of your post.

Today on Facebook, Damn You Auto Correct posted the “Baby I Lobe You” song, and it was all downhill from there.

This particular song on You Tube isn’t necessarily one I love, because I only discovered it today, but it’s certainly one I can connect with.  Because everyone who has an I-phone has at one time or another called it a fluffing piece of shut, if not worse.

Verse 1

When I said I wanted to kill you,
I meant to say kiss
When I said I was going to dump your bones in the woods,
I meant to say jump
And now you think I’m a psychopath
And our relationship is wrecked
There’s nothing I can do but put the blame on
Auto-correct.

Verse 2

You said whenever you miss me you smell my shits,
I think you meant shirts
My work was coming in slits and spritzers (sorry)
Spits and spurts
I said you were a whining spaz
When I meant to say shining star
Then I said I was going to pimp your ass
When I went to park your car
And now you think I’m a total dick
And I’m losing your respect
There’s nothing I can do but put the blame on
Auto-correct.

Verse 3

You said you like to fist with men in bars,
I think you meant flirt
Either way I think it’s safe to say
One of us is going to get hurt
I know that you don’t mind jazz
In a quiet little back street place
But you said in your message you quite like jizz
Except when it was in your face
And now it seems we’re communicating
In a brand new dialect
There’s nothing I can do but put the blame on
Auto-correct.

Middle Eight

These thumbs were not designed for typing
Maybe we should just have stuck to skyping
Now all that you can say to me
Is WTF and OMG
This song is one long apology, I admit
This phone is a fluffing piece of shut
This phone is a flecking price of slut
This phone is a trucking place of spit

Verse 4

When I said I like to use glory-holes,
I was trying to type coriander
I was looking forward to eating out
On your vagina
(Verandah, verandah, so sorry)

Now we’ve sent these messages
That we should have double-checked
There’s nothing I can do but put the blame on
Auto-erotic
Auto-erotic
Automatic
Autocratic
Sumo wrestler
Dodo forest
Dildo Carrot

Oh well, what did we expect?
We never should have put our faith in auto-correct.