Tag Archives: old authors

Goodbye cruel world…

It only takes one complete lunatic to make the entire group look bad.  My kids tell me this all the time.  “Mom.  You’re making us look bad.”

But alas, I’m not talking about me.  I’m talking about Harold-This-Is-It-Camping. 

What? Me worry?

 

Being a born again Christian, I’m eagerly waiting for the rapture because the idea of dying has never been all that appealing.  My youngest daughter is the queen of surveys.  “Mom, if you were going to die, would you rather be frozen to death, or burned to death?”  “Uh…hmmm, I…uhhh…is there another choice?”   “Mom, if you took off all your clothes and slept outside naked, would it kill you?”  Depends if the neighbors mistook me for Sasquatch and shot me, I guess.  “Mom, what snake would you rather have kill you, a king cobra or a rattler?” 

Can ya see why having Jesus take me outta here and plant me in a garden for a feast is more attractive?

Annnyway, if today is the day, cool.  I won’t have to defrost the refrigerator because it will be lying under a pile of rubble and will take care of itself.

Unfortunately, Mr. Camping’s theology resembles nothing I ever learned in Sunday school and, since New Zeland was still standing as of 6pm (their time), I’m gonna go don the Playtex gloves and tackle the kitchen.  Pity.  One of my children was hopeful about getting out of geometry finals.  Tough luck, kid.

The one good thing to come out of all this fear-mongering is that it made me stop and think about how short this life is.  How precious every moment.  Right now, my teenagers are in our backyard tossing horseshoes in a patch of rare spring sunshine.  Think I’m going to skip the cleaning and go whup some kids at horseshoes.  Loser cleans the kitchen.

Carolyn

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Filed under aging, Death, Geroge Clooney, Humor, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood, Older writers, Writing

THE GIRL WITH THE SEXUAL TATTOO—Part three in a jealous harangue

Had any "Drunken Chicken" lately?

 

Yeah, sure, probably another reason I’m not on the “LIST” (said with a snarky, envious, mocking tone) (besides being a non-cussing hack) (and ignorant of the proper uses of parentheses), is that I won’t do explicit or erotic sex…er…in books.  And let’s face it.  In order to break new ground in this arena, my hero would have to fall for a chicken.  Not natural.  And, as our reader(s) know(s), I don’t use offensive verbiage  (unless my hero is seriously threatened, and then only sparingly–see the DDH bomb in my last post). 

 Plus, if I stick to the old adage “write what you know” my love scenes would have to include sweat socks.  

 Whatever happened to the good old days of escapism?  Now all anyone seems to care about in their literature is realism.  Bah.  I get plenty of realism, just driving down the road.  (People really don’t seem to enjoy being cut off by a harried, menopausal mini-van driver and are very ‘real’ about expressing themselves).   

Wendy and I are always blathering about how we wish the entertainment world was still Frank Capra-land.  Mayberry.  Mitford.  And not constantly dripping with blood and demons and other such “realism”.  Excuse my French, but Fooie on realism.  I long for Lucy and Ethel.  For humor that’s not centered on the crotch for once.  For good guys who are not named Lucifer.  For a world where being a hero includes being there, staying there and taking the trash out to the can and not taking out trash, buying it a drink and having sex with it.  

 So.  To review.  Not on NYT Best-seller list because:   Won’t swear.  No explicit (or poultry inclusive) love scenes.  Find taking out the garbage erotic.   (And, of course, don’t understand proper parenthetical usage). 

 (Carolyn)

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Filed under Changing Genre's, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood, Older writers, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Writing

Ghost

George knows I love dogs!

Our fan, thank you, Joyce, was the first reader to catch onto my experimental “Ghost” blog. Some you received a ‘blank’ blog notification or two. Yeah. That’s not laziness on my part. That’s a SUBLIMINAL message, and NOT A SCREW UP! Oh, yeah. Just because I’m menopausal does NOT mean I can’t handle my technology!
Anyway, did any of you ‘get’ the message? Huh? Huh?
Well, for those of you who might not be all the way plugged in to the subliminal thing, the Emperor does indeed have clothes. The message was this:
Wendy, don’t feel bad about not inviting me to go with you to the TNT LEVERAGE  (starring your actor husband, Tim Blough) PARTY to meet George Clooney. (I happen to know he didn’t make it…at least not…there).  I’m sure you were simply worried that my extremely hot-cougarness would over-power George and even though he has vowed NEVER TO FATHER CHILDREN (a pity worthy of another whole subliminal blog) that he would sweep me off my feet, and adopt all five of my children and perhaps even my hubby, who, when he’s not cutting off digits is a super swell guy and very handy to have around the house!
The ‘blank’ blog was my attempt to load a super-secret video of me and George dancing at ANOTHER party that I didn’t invite YOU to, Wendy. Yeah. Me. And George. Cutting a rug. Trippin’ the old light fantastic. After this blog, I’m gonna give loading the video another whirl. So, if any of you get ‘blank’ blog notices, I guess you’re just gonna have to mind-meld with your computer or use your imagination. 

Until then,
Carolyn and George (and our puppy, George Jr.)

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Filed under Writing

Why is that? An Andy Rooney-esque Ramble

I love the way Andy Rooney from 60 Minutes says, “Why is that?”

Why is that?

I’ve been wondering that myself, lately.  For example, why is it, when I’m in line at the grocery store, the lady ahead of me always chooses at least one item with no pricing info available in the entire universe?  And, why, after holding up the line for and ungodly amount of time, does she wait until she hears the grand total before she reaches for her purse and begins to fumble for her checkbook?  Don’t ya just love it when they stand there and balance their checkbook, mumbling stuff like, “Let’s see… carry the two…no, wait, why is my checkbook not balancing?” 

Why is that?

Why is it, when the milk is sitting out on the counter and I ask all five of my children, “Who left the milk out?” they all say (in unison) “Not me.”  Weird.  The dog must have grown opposable thumbs and dragged the milk out of the fridge, poured himself a bowl of cereal and forgotten to put the milk back.  I wonder why the dog uses every last drop of ketchup and puts the bottle back in the fridge?  Why is that?

Why is it that the second I sit down on the potty, the phone rings?  Why is it that we have one dozen wireless phone in our house, but when the phone rings, we can never find one?  When I ask the kids, “Hey, who put the phone in the refrigerator?” they all say (in unison) “Not me!”

Why is that? 

Tick,tick,tick,tick,tick,

Carolyn

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Filed under Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood, Older writers, Writing

THE GYM: Day One

Whoa, Dude. Exercise? Me?

Got to the club. Was assigned a Personal Trainer. He carried a little note card around, said he was gonna make notes for exercises that would help make my ‘Menopause Journey’ a ‘healthier’ prospect for me and get my daughter into an ‘active’ life-style. He’s a total hottie. I wink at the daughter. She winks back.

Machine number one:
Personal Trainer: Let’s start out by warming up. Hop on the treadmill and give me 10, trotting.

Daughter: Trotting on machine next to mine. Zen-esque. Beaming at the hottie. Show off.

Me: I wonder if he meant 10 seconds? I’ve been trotting for well over a lifetime and the clock on the machine says I’m only up to one minute. Holy crap. I’m ready for a nap. Hope this is all he expects today. Is it normal to fall off the machine?

Machine number two:
Personal Trainer: Now that we’re warmed up, let’s try some resistance exercises.

Me: Good Grief! Should I tell him I just herniated my heart? Lacerated my liver? Exploded my spleen? Several people on other machines are staring at my beet red face with concern and murmuring amongst themselves.

Daughter: Drops into the chair, adds 10 lbs to her recommended weight and powers through the first set. I don’t like the smirk on her face.

Machine number three:
Personal Trainer: This is my favorite for Buns of Steele.

Me: Call 911. I’m sure I just heard something pop. I think it was my spine. I swear I can’t feel my legs. Woman on machine next to me asks if I need defibrillator paddles.

Daughter: Don’t know where she is, as she has already completed three sets. I hear her singing somewhere in the distance. She’s grounded.

Machine number four:
Personal Trainer: This one is guaranteed to give you a six-pack.

Me: Someone get me a six-pack. Stat. With a Ringer’s lactate chase. I’m hearing the Hallelujah chorus and am heading toward the light. I’ve decided I LIKE the way my thighs sag. And what’s wrong with wearing a bra sized 38-Long? Are we done yet?

Daughter: High-fiving the Pilates instructor. I hate her.

Machine number five:
Personal Trainer: Feel the burn.

Me: My head is spinning. I can’t focus. I think I just threw up a little bit in my mouth. Have I given birth to my lower intestine? Should hemorrhoids fill your pants out that way? My shrieks of pain are drawing looks of annoyance from the other members. Up theirs. And the barbell they rode in on.

Daughter: Joined several peers for a quick game of racquet ball. She’s so outta the Will.

Machine number six:
Personal Trainer: This one’s for the Gipper!

Me: Shoot me. I don’t care. I stopped breathing 10 minutes ago anyway. Someone call the morgue. I think I’ve had a series of mini-strokes because I’m drooling now and have lost the ability to communicate in anything other than Klingon.

Daughter: She’s fifteen. Close enough. She’s driving us home. Now.

Looking forward to tomorrow.
Carolyn

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Filed under Exercise, Fitness, Health, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood, Weight gain, Weight Loss

Lip Service

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Filed under Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood

The World’s Oldest Author, and it ain’t me!

Wendy!

Number one son just brought home the Guinness Book of World Records and yes!!  There is hope for our careers!!

Apparently, Louise Delany and her sister, Elizabeth Delany published their second book, The Delany Sisters’ Book of Everyday Wisdom’  back in 1994, when she was just 105 years old.  I don’t know about you, but this puts a HUGE gust of wind in my sails.  I’m not even half her age yet.  You know, we outta think about doing a book together one day, in say…50 or 60 years.  Yeah, sure, we’d be all done with menopause, so we’d have to think up some new thing to gripe…er, offer wisdom about, but I say let’s go for it!

I’m gonna go to Amazon now, and see if I can get ahold of a copy of their book.  It’s my new holy grail.

Carolyn

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Filed under Menopause, Older writers, Writing