Java

Most mornings I like to sit on my couch with a cup of coffee and my phone. Or my computer. Depends on my mood. Lately, I got a bunch of books from the library so I've also spent a few days with those since my eyes were bigger than my time and I've got to get them back. I leave my front door open because the dog likes to see outdoors and I enjoy keeping an eye on my neighbors the light. Now, I have to open it because each morning I've had a guest.

He wouldn't let me close in the beginning to snap a pic but he's loosened up since those first days. He's a brown anole, at least that's what I think he is from my Google search on how to tell the difference between a female and a male. I think he's a male. Without a close examination of his head, markings, and dewlap, I'm guessing. 

My brother: "You lost me at dewlap."

I SnapChat him each time I can and send out greetings to all of my followers and, since they haven't offered up pen name suggestions, I threw out a contest to name the lizard. Apparently, that is more fun because I received a bunch of suggestions, and before you ask, no none of them will fit for a pen name. 

Some days he sits on his butt like a human with his two legs out in front, his back against the door, like he is keeping an eye on the neighbors checking out the hood too. I haven't been able to capture that pose yet, but I haven't stopped trying.

The winner of the contest is my brother. He had several entries and Madison picked the winner. She's less biased than the rest of my family.  Meet Java, my morning lizard. He is there every day without fail, except on the morning it rained. Madison thinks the door is a good sunning spot, but I think he's checking up on me, watching out for me, saying hello.

Little Java.

More pen name problems

So while a few suggestions for pen names have come my way by my readers (Thanks Kim and Don), I won the Fabulous Five Contest in Wisconsin. I received some feedback from an agent and an editor and then a few weeks later I received my award in the mail.

Uh, yeah, but my name was not correctly added to the plague...and the website. The nice letter I received was sent addressed to my real name and the paper had the C.M. Kerwin but the plaque and website say M. Kerwin. A sign?

Summer 2018 - Cara addition

As this school year, summer 2018 has been different. I had a blip early on but I've made up for that by engaging in other things to occupy my time. My motto this summer is Say Yes to Everything.

• I've found joy in my substitute children, Alex and Sydney. Some days I pick Alex up from summer school and we have lunch and find interesting things to do like wandering the library. Other days I take his sister or sometimes both of them while their mother sleeps for her night shift job. 
• My niece and I have done some bonding this summer. We got quality time together in CA, follow each other on SnapChat now, and I got to watch her in her dance recital. She is amazing. Very much theatrical like her grandmother and cousin Darcy and so very graceful in her dancing. It was beautiful to watch. I've been to several of her shows, have watched her evolve from the kid that watched others to the one the others watch now, and it makes my heart swell with pride to see her commanding the stage. That kid will go places. 

• When we got the pool, the kids were little. Tom did the maintenance, and because he seemed to enjoy that time of solitude, I let him. Once in a blue moon, I'd vacuum but for the most part, it has been all Tom. Lately, he's been making comments about how the pool needed attention, how he didn't have time, blah, blah, blah. One morning after a busy weekend, I decided to forgo the gym for an aquatic workout. Unfortunately, mustard algae had taken over the pool so I vacuumed. The chore is an easy one since we have a fiberglass pool but the setup and takedown is a killer and thankfully I can cool off in the pool because I'm a drowned mess by the end of it. Two days later the mustard algae returned and I repeated my maintenance. The next day I had a swimming lesson and after that had concluded I treated the pool again. By the following day, I was over it. I got in the pool with a brush and scrubbed the hell out of the mustard algae on the sides, the ladder, the steps, and the bottom. I vacuumed again. I refilled the chlorine bobber, and then upon discovering zippo chlorine in our pool, I turned to the liquid container. I dumped what was left in the pool and then I dumped in more from another container. I added water and let the filter run for a few hours. I mean, hello, this was my job for years and years and years. Who better to handle it than me? Well... I guess it's been awhile. Plus, this pool is way smaller than the pools I'm used to handling and so I might have put a bit too much chlorine into the pool. I told Tom I shocked the pool. I did a damn fine job of it too. While the mustard algae has not returned in the five days since my treatment, we also haven't been able to swim because the chlorine is a tad too high. Oops. But on the bright side, the pool looks fabulous out my back window!

• My friend who has recently gone through an excruciatingly hard time and who is starting her life over due to that hard time asked if we could start up our every two week family night dinners. We used to do this years ago with our children and so we resurrected it with each person getting a night to cook a meal. We eat, play games, and just talk. It has been a ton of fun for all of us. My friend decided to also add a weekend here and there and so we headed off to play TopGolf one Saturday. Not knowing what the heck that was I Googled it and groaned. It's a center with small rooms that overlook a huge range. The rooms include couches and a driving tee and the object is to eat and drink while teeing it up to hit targets on the range. Highest score wins. Ugh. Golf. But, I got the idea the rooms were indoors, figured I could handle a couple of games, wore a black shirt, and found out how stupid that thought and selection really was. Golf is played outdoors, Cara, and this is Florida in the summer. I roasted, to say the least in the two hours it took us to finish our game with six players. However, my golfing parents had to have been proud when they saw that I certainly had retained my form (especially compared to the other five, insert rolling eye emoji, oh my!) and proceeded to kick butt against the field despite a herniated disc, sweat in the eyes, and some incompetence in running the scoreboard so that several of my scores were put on others' sheets and their zippo scores put on mine.

• My drum lessons are the best! I've had three lessons so far and each time I'm so pumped that I keep searching for a drum set. My teacher loves me. He loves me so much that the last two times he's given me an extra thirty minutes of instruction due to cancellations and my early arrival. In a year, I'm going to play with a band. That's my goal. I'm so thrilled that I did this. It's a huge step for me and I practice daily everywhere I go whether at a stop light or here at home on the couch. During breaks in my writing, I play the drums. I was at a stoplight yesterday after coming home from my lesson and I was working on the new backbeat when a woman crossed in front of me. She was smiling from ear to ear and rocking out with me, giving me the thumbs up. I didn't miss a beat which is something I'm learning because I tend to want to stop when I make a mistake or am distracted and start over. I nodded at her and kept on drumming until the song on the radio was over. Oh, yeah. I'm a drummer!

• I now volunteer every Friday at the church in the office. It used to be every other Friday, but the other volunteer quit so I picked up the slack. While I enjoy being back in an office and love the women I work with, it's the chance to smooch my boss' daughter that really makes me happy. She brings her 6-month-old to work and I love getting to snuggle her, kiss those cheeks, make her smile, feed her real food, and then hand her back at the end of my shift. Best of both worlds!

• In August I'm going to have an all over medical body scan. To prepare for that I've started exercising. I've doubled my time at the gym, although this week wasn't the best. It has helped me sleep. Helped my back. And it has brought me back into the pool because I'm so sweaty when I get home that I just continue my workout by jumping in there. I'm determined to get this damn weight at least down by ten pounds. Either way, I feel better. 

So is my summer of 2018. Not so shabby after all.

Summer 2018 - Darcy addition

Daughter #2 didn't come home immediately after college ended for the year. Instead, she opted to stay at school, sublet an apartment, and finish working through the month of May at the pool where she lifeguards on campus. Sigh. We got her home right before her birthday.

Where she immediately began working at the camp she has been a camp counselor for the past two years. This year she is one of four lifeguards at the pool. Pretty much, she is running things there. It is the school where she grew up and her boss just defers to Darcy since he has no pool experience. She and two other guards are teaching swimming lessons although they aren't certified to do so, yet apparently, no one cares whether that is a factor. The only person annoyed by that is me. Of course.

I reminded her of the times I used to bring her with me to swimming lessons. I usually did this because I needed my student to see the correct way of breathing, or strokes, or some such skill. Darcy, on the other hand, had no interest in helping me and would swim away to play on or with whatever great toys the owners had such as a diving board, raft, slide, etc. I couldn't yell at her since I wasn't home and she took advantage of this, and so I will admit to taking great pleasure in the remembrance of that time.

Me: "Had you paid attention you wouldn't need me to pull you through this nonsense of teaching children without knowing how to teach children."

I pulled out my ancient lesson books and offered them to her sure that she wouldn't crack them. I gave her as much advice as she was willing to soak up, and when she returned from her first lesson I listened to the story. Some days she returned with questions. Other days she returned with stories on how she adapted. I was in awe.

Darcy: "I mean, I remember when you would do that with so and so. I remember you telling kids this. I remember you..."

Whoa. The kid was paying attention even while horsing around. It was a proud moment. Plus, she was actually reading the book! Getting the lingo down! Sharing with the other two teachers!. Talking intelligently to her students' parents! I will tell you, I beamed with pride. This kid, well, she is incredible.

She leaves the house at 7:30 in the morning. She teaches. She lifeguards. She does dismissal. She teaches again. Then she heads off to the gym where she has a routine of leg days, arm days, ab work days, and swimming. She doesn't return home until 6:30 every night where she showers, eats and sleeps. I maybe get an hour of her time and mostly that is listening to the great stories she has to tell. The one thing I have given both of my girls is the gift of gab. Both of them can tell a story that rivals my own and listeners are gripped from the beginning to the end. Well, except for their father.

Tom: "Just cut to the chase."
Tom: "I'm going into the bedroom for a while and when I come back I'll get the meat of the story because it'll still be going on."
Tom: "Let me guess what happens because this is going to take a while and I need to mow the yard."

Darcy doesn't put up with that. She reminds him that she is home for the summer, that he can do things when she is back at school, and she makes him sit for her stories. Or she just doesn't tell him and he wonders later why he doesn't know things. All of it makes for great entertainment for me, the little bit of it that I have now with her.

She makes her lunch every night before bed. She makes her own breakfast. She schedules her own appointments, and she manages to see the boy toy every other weekend or so. She's home, but she's not. She's busy, busy, busy.

We grab her every chance we get to take her to dinner or to the movies, and when she requests things we pretty much give-in. Having another body at home livens up our life even when she isn't around. I'm cherishing every little moment I get with her and making her promise to do things with me like see the movie, Christopher Robin when it comes out in August. Gotta grab her when I can.

An impromptu road trip sprung up at the last minute on the week of no camp and so I will have her alone for four glorious days. We will be traveling! While it isn't our normal summer route, I'm thrilled beyond belief to be back in the saddle of old times. I'm going to hold it, embrace it, and devour every minute before I return her to the last few weeks of summer and then move her back for her second year of college. Such is the summer of 2018.

Summer 2018 - Maddy addition

I've got a summer update coming. I started it today for lack of something to discuss but as I wrote I realized I have a lot to say. Surprise! Not really though. When have I not had anything to say? Don't answer that. For those that have found this website and who have stayed for the excellent writing and wit let them continue along in their ignorant bliss...

Summer used to mean the kids at home 24/7 and some traveling. Okay, sometimes lots of traveling. I loved it. I loved, and still do, having my kids home all the time. I can remember though worrying about how they weren't going to learn responsibility without jobs since I had a summer job since the age of 14. Jeez. Now I look back on that thought and wish I'd stopped worrying long enough to enjoy what I did have because once they started working, well, I lost my summer buds. But that is the story of my life currently, worrying instead of enjoying. I'm working on that this summer.

Summer now is different just like my life. Today's entry is regarding Kid #1. Madison opted to stay behind at school to take a couple of summer classes she somehow decided she needed for her future. Maybe she just needed independence but she stayed in NC. Luckily, she was able to summer RA and continue that job in the room she lived in for the past school year. In August she will have to move to the building next door because apparently, her boss believes in switching things up, but she has assured us she will enlist the help of able-bodied college suckers friends to aid her in that project. It will be the first August I haven't moved her, and while that is just another fact for me to bemoan, part of me is relieved not to have to do that work in the miserable heat.

Before school ended she mentioned something about her left ear. I vaguely remember thinking that it was in her earlobe, a bump, and brushed it off to heavy earrings. When Tom and I were in NC to visit her she had me feel it, and truthfully, I vaguely remember doing so. My response was that she needed to have that looked at and when I got home I researched a dermatologist in that area, sent her the information, and gave her money to do that. Then I promptly forgot. Out of sight, out of mind. Sometimes I remembered when we were Facetiming, but it wasn't until she brought it up during one of those times and said something along the lines of the lump getting bigger and being sore that I decided to pay better attention.

The dermatologist couldn't see her until the following week but all was good, blah, blah, blah. Then she turned the phone around so that I could see it. Holy, Jumpin' Jupiters! I don't know what I had been thinking all of this time, but it wasn't what I saw. The lump, the size of superball, was behind her earlobe on her head and it was purple, swollen, and red around the edges. Or so I thought, but after I'd calmed down from my freak out and had taken another look I decided it wasn't infected, but I wasn't willing to take that chance. I sent her to the campus doctor.

Where he cut into what was a cyst, drained it, stitched it and sent her on her way. It wasn't infected so she didn't have to take medication but she did have to leave the bandage on for several days. When she returned for a follow-up he was happy with everything. She asked if she could stop with the bandaging and he told her no worries as long as she wasn't heading into the woods. Which she was actually planning on doing that very weekend. So, she had to keep the bandage on for her weekend of hiking in the mountains.

The dermatologist agreed with the procedure when she got a look at it but the cyst was already starting to fill again and she recommend that Madison come back to her for surgery to remove it. The campus doctor saw her to remove the stitches, remarked on the re-filling of the cyst, and recommended she come to him for the surgery to remove it. Seriously? Someone take the damn thing out! She's coming home for a quick three-day visit in July so if it doesn't look good then maybe I'll make her see her home dermatologist. Have a third opinion. What the hell?

All of this wasn't without incidence, mind you. She missed the bus that would take her to the dermatologist's office so she walked. It was a 35-minute walk and she had no water and no sunscreen. She walked through neighborhoods to avoid the highway and an elderly man pulled alongside her concerned that she needed a ride due to her pale, ghostly skin in the sun. She refused that, thank goodness, and since I didn't hear about it until after the fact, my freak-out was minimal. I think.

So, daughter #1 is handling life like the adult she is without Mommy's help. Well, mostly without my help. I'm dealing without her here for the summer, working hard at not reminiscing on the summers of yesteryear. Such is our new life. Such is the summer of 2018.

The perils of parenting

As I sat down to write my entry today, my feed appeared first and a story caught my eye. It was written by a woman whose thirteen-year-old son was killed by a gun while spending the night at a friend's house. She is part of a program called the ASK Campaign, Asking Saves Lives and she is speaking out about her son's death in 2011 to remind parents to question the adults around their children regarding gun safety. BAM. This was exactly the type of thing I was planning on writing about in today's entry.

As a mom, I spend ninety percent of my parenting protecting my children. It started with the baby proofing of the house before they could crawl, plastic protectors in the outlets, door latches on the cabinets we deemed dangerous and continues today even as they navigate adulthood. I make sure the car is repaired and constantly give reminders; to pay bills, to lock doors, to keep their eyes peeled at night, etc. I was one of those parents who asked about gun safety. Because in our area a child was killed just like the woman in the article and so I added that to my list of questions no matter how close in friendship I was with them.

I was raised in the Midwest and guns were as much a part of my world as a basketball. Not that my brother and I went around shooting them (guns, not basketballs, those we did shoot), but my father was a hunter and he and my mother owned guns. We were taught how to shot at a young age and we were taught gun safety. The guns were kept unloaded and where we couldn't reach them. Later in life, my father kept them locked in a gun cabinet. Because I was a kid who paid attention to rules, I followed the rules my parents' laid down in terms of their guns. My brother? Yeah, he would've been the one who showed another kid his dad's guns innocently.

Knowing this, and knowing that my children would be around guns when visiting my Midwestern families, I taught them about guns. We talked about the right to bear arms, the reasons people might have guns, their responsibilities of gun ownership, and the dangers of guns. I taught them to run if they saw one, to come and get me, and together we would make sure all was safe. If they were at someone's house, they were to run to an adult if I wasn't there. It was how I thought to handle it when they were toddlers and youngsters. Both of my children knew the story of what had happened not far from our house. I believed in being honest so that they knew the what could happen. 

Of course, today guns are a part of their world. They've learned what to do if a gun-wielding shooter appeared on their school grounds. It's now a part of freshman college orientation for heaven's sake. As are the drugs and liquor which was how I was going to start today's entry. I've taught my kids the same regarding those two items as I did the guns. Heck, it's been drilled into their heads since the early days of school. They wore the red ribbons and colored Say No To Drugs posters. They know the dangers, the stories, and I once took them to a body exhibit where they saw what it did to the human body. They've heard stories from adults whose lives were changed from both alcohol and recreational drugs. They've lived through an experience from one of our own family members. I've been diligent on that topic as I was with the guns, and yes, I had no qualms about asking parents if liquor was a part of a teenage party my kids were attending.

But now they are young adults and out in this crazy world, and I've got to tell you, I'm still surprised at how much alcohol and drugs play a factor in their lives. What is it about this stuff that thrills young adults? It's like a rite of passage as soon as they leave the nest, and I'm shocked at how nonchalant parents are regarding the stuff. I know one parent who encouraged her daughter to get out there and try it all, buying her the marijuana and giving her a box of condoms at graduation. What? When did we all get that lazy attitude, that well, we did it and kids will be kids mentality?

I'm not naive but the parenting and the thrill these kids get out of partaking is mind-boggling. First, because it is illegal, and I don't care how much you gripe about how stupid those laws are they are the laws. Did parents let their kids drive on the highway before they were legal?

I'm not naive when it comes to my kids. Learning is about experiencing and peer pressure is a bitch no matter how strong your beliefs. Right now, my daughters aren't interested, and yes, I can say that with confidence. Neither enjoys the taste of alcohol and neither has an interest in drugs. My oldest doesn't see the point of being out of control or harming her body. Her sister believes she doesn't need it to have fun, worries about the dangers, and probably dreads me ever finding out. She's the one who worries about her friends, gives them her number to call if necessary, and has me concerned she'll be driving the city at two o'clock in the morning collecting idiots from nightclubs and parties.

Last night, my youngest went off to a pool get-together for swimming. I asked and she assured me there would be liquor. Ugh. Two things together that make me shiver; liquor and water. I've pulled a few out of a pool as they floundered. I know how easy it is to drown. It's a potential disaster. Even knowing that she wouldn't be partaking, I sent her off with trepidation and that feeling that I should go with her, yell at the others, remind them of the harm, clear the path to her safety. Ask if there were guns in the house while I was at it. Why must these "kids" yearn to experience this side of life?

The woman in the article feels guilty she didn't ask about guns, that she thought everyone was a responsible gun owner like herself. Hell yes, she does. Parents blame themselves when it all goes wrong. It's why we spend more time than not making sure that it doesn't go wrong. And sure, deep down we know we can't always be there, can't keep them tied up in the bedcovers in their rooms, but it doesn't mean we can turn it all off either.

So, I just keep reminding them of the dangers. Drilling it in their heads; stay alert, be smart, follow the law. I stayed up last night until the youngest returned home. She still talks to me so I heard about the night, the drinking, the kid who brought in the dope to smoke, and how she and her friend had to drive a girl home because she couldn't herself. Then I slept soundly, readying myself for the parenting of the next day.

One and, two and...

A year ago during the purchase of Darcy's birthday present at a music store, I wandered into the drum area where I met one of the instructors. A chill guy, grey hair pulled back in a ponytail, with the voice inflection of the "whoa dude" era. I discussed my wish to learn how to drum and after trading a few barbs he convinced me to pay the activation fee for lessons. I had planned to start them after both girls went back to college, but the holidays descended, I got sick and then had bursitis in my shoulder so I kept putting it off.

Sunday, I had my first drum lesson. It was supposed to have been on the Wednesday prior, but when I arrived I wasn't on the schedule. Since it had been done by phone by some girl who had called me, I wasn't too surprised. What did get me was the attitude when I walked in.

Guy: "Hello, can I help you?"
Me: "I'm here for a lesson."
Guy: "Oh. With Susan?"
Me: "Uh, no. With Royse, I believe."

He made what I call the Whart? face (that being an expression Darcy uses frequently with a raised inflection on the word as if you have said something crazy) and told me to have a seat while he finished with the couple at the desk. I proceeded to do what he told me, but then I thought, who the hell is Susan? And I turned around to the wall behind me which has blurbs about the instructors, along with their pictures. Susan taught piano and voice. Obviously, this guy didn't picture me as a drummer. Pfft.

When he finally got to me, he admitted I wasn't on the computer. I, however, didn't want to discuss that.

Me: "So, you took one look at me and thought I looked like a pianist?"
Guy: "Huh?"
Me: "Susan. You asked me if I was here for Susan. You obviously thought I looked more like a pianist instead of a drummer."
Guy: "I thought you were here to study voice with Susan."
Me: "Ah, nice save."

We became best friends and he signed me up for Sunday lessons. I went after church since it is closer to there then my house. I figured Royse would roll his eyes when he got his first look at me too. I had no illusions that he would remember me from a year ago, and he didn't, nor did he think I belonged with Susan.

Royse: "Nice to meet you."
Me: "We met a year ago. But never mind that. I'm here now."
Royse: "Why are you here? What is your goal?"
Me: "I want to lose this flab right here under my arms. The stuff that jiggles when I wave."
Royse: "Join a gym."
Me: "When I talked to you a year ago, you told me that losing this flab was possible through drumming. But I'm kidding. Sort of. I want to learn how to play the drums."
Royse: "For what? What's your end goal?"
Me: "Jeez. Why does there have to be an end goal? I'm a middle-aged woman who is trying hard to ignore my mortality what with my parents being dead. I want to start doing things I've always wanted to do. Drumming is number two on my list."
Royse: "Do you have a drum set?"
Me: "No. That's further down on the list."
Royse: "Well, I'm not trying to sell you a drum set, but that will be something you'll need if you continue to play. I have a kid that's been with me for a year and he still doesn't have a set. He isn't getting much better because he isn't practicing."
Me: "Royse, if I'm still with you after six months I'll be getting a drum set."

Please. It only took one lesson, one attempt at following his directions, and his praising me up and down.

Royse: "That's it! That's it! You got it the first time. Ask my daughter, (she was sitting in the room with us) no one gets it the first time. And you did! That's awesome. That's an A+"
Me: "You're just buttering me up so I'll keep coming. It's working. Keep admiring me out loud."

I loved it! I didn't do anything but one, and, two, and, three, and, four, and on the high hat with one and three on the bass and two and four on the snare, but people, I think I'm a natural. And I need a drum set. Obviously! Because banging my drumsticks together and shouting, "One, two, three, four" and then calmly beating the couch in my slow, slow rhythm of one, and, two, and, three, and, four and isn't the same as doing it on a drum set. I need a drum set. I've moved it up the list.

In the meantime, I drum everywhere. I take my sticks from one room to the other. I practice on my knees like he told me to with my hands. I listen to music and drum. I love to crack those babies together and shout my "One, two, three four" and then begin my slow, slow pattern. It makes me laugh.

Darcy: "It was funny the first two times, but now it's just getting old."
Me: "You just don't understand drum humor."

When I'm good enough I'll be integrated into a band and we'll perform at the music store. Everyone is invited!

Pen Name

As I work toward a career in romance writing, my recent consideration has been a pen name. Long ago, in the times of my angsty teen years, I created my cmkerwin pen name. Only it was C.M. Kerwin, Kerwin being the last name of an actor named James Kerwin who played a character on a show titled James at 15, and the first two initials referring to my name at that time. I thought it clever but, alas, never had a need to use it

Then the electronic age came rushing in and I needed a username for everything under the sun. Tada! I pulled out C.M. Kerwin from under the bed, dusted it off, changed it to cmkerwin and it became my identity on social media.

The only issue I incurred came from an aunt of a guy named Chris Kerwin. This aunt kept emailing her nephew Chris little notes and gift cards on his birthday to my email address. This was not long after my Ebay hacking, and so I deleted her emails sure she was a scammer out to lure me to open up these gift card links, which I didn't even feel right about because I wasn't the said recipient. I had some twinges about Chris not writing a thank you note, but I figured it would all get straightened out at their next family reunion. Apparently, it didn't. I continued receiving the occasional email from Aunt Toto until one day her email came informing Chris of the death of his uncle. UH...

I emailed her back, fussed up to not being Chris, expressed my sorrow for her loss, and then crossed my fingers she wasn't a scammer out to destroy my precious cmkerwin email that I loved so very much. She responded with a big thank you and that was the end of that. My handle, my pen name, my username was once again mine.

When I decided to pursue the romance writing angle, I immediately figured I'd use cmkerwin as my pen name because it is my pen name and has been for oh, so very long. It is my identity! It is me. Now was my moment to make it worldwide. Only after using it for the first time in a contest that I recently found out I won (yeah me!), C.M. Kerwin didn't look all that spiffy on the winners' sheet.

It could be that a creative font is all I need but now that I've seen it in print C.M. isn't exactly a romantic name. Suddenly, in addition to coming up with names for characters, I'm on the hunt for a pen name. As creative as I am in storytelling and writing romance plots, things like titles and pen names are not my forte, and the person that I usually use for these sort of things is currently off the grid where I am concerned so I'm on my own.

Choosing this is more personal than I thought. It's like the time at the social security office when I had to change my name to my married name. Then it was losing a piece of me. Now its adding a piece of me.

I could go with my maiden name. Or I could use that Facebook generator that gives your stripper name using letters from your name or some such nonsense, but something tells me Sugar Glitter Kiss isn't going to cut it any more than C.M. Kerwin. I thought Darcy Madison. Personal, a twist I thought quite clever, but the more I contemplated it the more I realized that I wanted this to be about me for a change and not about my kids. Sorry girls.

The hunt reminds me of a teenage girl combining her first name and the last name of her crush on her school's notebook. I still have some of the notebooks that read Cara Anderson, but I can't even go with that one because it's the last name of my daughter's boy toy! I chucked it immediately out of the consideration pile like I did all of the baby names my husband made fun of while trying to name our first child.

Currently, I'm going through family names. As a kid our elders' names were so, well old, and we rolled our eyes at their names, but I'm finding myself gravitating to them now. Ruby is romantic. I could get behind that one, but what to pair it with? I turned to Google. Articles on the subject range from using your favorite singer to your favorite drink. Ruby Keith? Ruby Rum? One generator that I used asked me questions such as my pet's first name and a street I lived on. That generated Amos Ash. Yep. Nope.

In my phone, I've jotted down names that I hear in my daily life that catch my ear, but those have already conjured up characters in my mind, belonged to those heroines, and thus, are off the table. Now I've started a list for my pen name. Just like I did when trying to name that baby once in my womb. Like that time, I guess I'll narrow it down and choose, but right now it's just another procrastination.

If anyone out there has a suggestion, please let me know. If I chose it I will send you a free copy of the book that it appears on. Of course, I have to finish said book first, find an agent, and an editor, and a publisher and sell the darn thing, but please know that if it ever gets to print a copy is yours for the taking!

Pics from the party

This one turned nineteen. She still retains her childhood demeanor. Thank goodness. It keeps me feeling worthy young. She woke me up early, let me love on her, and then we got up to open her gifts. She was on a time schedule. Places to be and things to do.

She drove to her college and picked up the boy toy for the weekend. They meet a large group of high school and college buddies and spent the day at the beach. They all came back here where they livened up my house, not to mention my spirits. It's always good to have a houseful of kid adults.

While they were gone to the beach, I drove the half an hour to pick up the requested cookie cake. Darcy always has a cookie cake and this year she wanted it from the Great American Cookie Company which is in our north mall. It used to be in the food court but had disappeared and I thought gone forever. However, when I went online to check this accuracy I discovered I was wrong. Just as Darcy had said, the place was still at the mall. I online ordered.

When I got to the mall, I went to the food court. Yep. No Great American Cookie Company just as I remembered. I stood aghast. These people had taken my money and sold me a bill of goods I wasn't going to get. I went to the email confirmation I had received, found a phone number, and called it. As I circled the food court desperately searching for what I knew was not there. The phone rang, and rang, and rang. Yep. Out of business.

Except someone answered and told me they were downstairs below where I was standing. And they were. Lower level next to JC Penney. Been there for eight years. Oops. Obviously, I told the woman after telling her my story and indicating my girth slender body, I've never needed a Great American Cookie.

I ordered a HUGE cookie. I didn't realize I had done this. Tom made the group from the beach have some before our birthday dinner celebration because he was appalled, as usual, at the amount of sugar. He didn't think we would eat it all. Please, Tom.

We always have a family birthday dinner at Outback Steakhouse. Darcy kept to the routine and we met Grandma and my SIL and family at the place down under for a meal and birthday fun. Oh, and the boy toy got to meet part of the family. He sat next to Grandma Mary Anne who had made the trip to college to see him in his role in the theater. They were already buddies.

After we returned home, our friends arrived for more cake and games. We played into the night laughing and yucking it up, tumbling into bed way too late. Another good birthday in the books.

The cookie cake was gone by Monday evening. To Tom's horror.

Warning....Ahead

This sign was at the entrance of an area we explored. I made mention of it as we drove past it.

Me: "What does that sign mean? What are those things? Are those bees? Or flies? I can't tell what they are, but that is certainly a dire warning. Are they rampant in this area? So much that we shouldn't exit the truck? I'm a tad worried about this. I didn't Google first aid for this type of creature."

We decided they were bees due to the striping on the body, and because I had a friend who raised bees, used to help her extract the honey, and once wrote a research paper on bees, so I got out, assuring my relatives I was well versed on the insects--leave them alone, and they won't bother you. Well, unless you're slathered in soda or something sweet, then they might try to pollinate you.

BIL: "But are you versed in killer bees? I think those are different than regular bees."

Me: "I'm not afraid of killer bees either. Bring them on!"

We walked, posed for pictures, and enjoyed the mountain and the beauty. We welcomed the breeze and then made our way back to the truck.

Tom's sister took a detour to visit the bathroom down the hill, and because I believe when one sees a toilet in the middle of nature, one should use it, I tagged along. Nancy made mention of it most likely being a "hole," but I had seen the building, and it had four walls and a roof, and that was good enough for me. I followed her down the sidewalk, across the parking lot, and down to the little restroom.

As we came around the corner, Tom's sister told me to go first. She claimed to have a stomach issue and made it sound like she was doing me a favor by offering up the first use, but as we got closer to the doorway and noticed the huge amount of buzzing bees flying in and out of the opening, I suspected she was using me as a guinea pig.

But I had already made the above proclamation about not fearing bees, and so I hopped into the outhouse like it was nothing and shut the door.

The noise inside was overwhelming. Please, click on this link and hit play because this was the exact noise in that bathroom, and actually, the video is pretty true to life, give or take a few bees. The shack was a wooden structure built in Little House's days, complete with gaping holes that let enough light shine in, so I got a good grasp of the room.

In the middle was the "hole." Over the hole was a plastic, scratched toilet seat that needed a good wiping down with antiseptic wipes, a can full of Comet, and several sponges. The odor was that of a porta-potty only without the deodorant cakes and scented pine strips, and the noise was everything in the movies or on television or in that video regarding killer bees.

The noise was deafening. Bees were everywhere. Flying. Buzzing. Looping. They were on the walls. On the roof. In the rafters. Mainly, they were in the "hole," flying up and out and out and in. They swarmed the "hole" like flies on turds, and it was like a scene from a horror film, and I the idiot that the viewers yell "Don't go into the house!" at when she arrives home in the dark to find the front door wide open. And just like that idiot, I went inside and proceeded to do my business--because I am a middle-aged, menopausal, fat girl with a bladder that needed emptying. 

Who knew when I would get another chance? But mainly, I went because I was not afraid of bees and made it perfectly clear to my husband's sister and brother and mother. I could not back down now. 

So, I pulled down my pants, covered my hands in toilet paper, and held my body inches above the nasty seat. Up until this point, my bladder had been on vacation mode, that mode where concentration plays a big part in expelling? Yeah, not now. Now it was like I had turned the knob, and the liquid poured. I peed like a faucet, amongst the sounds of buzzing wings and killer bees. Flying in and out, around my head, and through my legs. And as I peed, I prayed.

Me: "Dear God, please do not let any killer bees take advantage of my position. Please do not let them be annoyed at my stream. Please do not let them venture up into my precious, sensitive body parts. Please do not let them do any severe damage that will warrant my OB/GYN BIL to provide medical care to me so soon after his 60th birthday party. And please do not let me drop my phone. Amen."

Or something along those lines. In my head. Because my phone was in my mouth.

And as I dangled, precariously on my shaking, only-skinny-portion-of-my-body arms holding up my overweight torso over the "hole," I realized that I needed to record this moment because this would be a great entry for my blog! But I knew I couldn't balance on the one hand and take a photo, so alas, there are no photos or recordings. You'll just have to take my word for it.

I was in and out in record time with zero bee stings, and as I exited the bathroom with killer bees circling my head and body, I felt like a Superhero that had survived the worst apocalypse, complete with every villain known to man. I smiled at my SIL and said:

Me: "I do believe the sign we saw was for this bathroom. Those animals are killer bees. Good Luck and God Speed!"

And when, hours later, we saw the sign at another area of the park, coincidingly not far from another wooden four-walled structure, and someone in our group inquired as to what the heck those insects were on that sign, my SIL and I assured her they were killer bees and we suggested she water one of the many Joshua Trees in the park instead of entering the bathroom.

Because there are only so many Superheros in the world, and Nancy and I are two of them.

Boo

I'm one of those mothers who loved having a house full of kids. I was the mom who took the kids home after preschool for lunch and playtime. I took the kids when they wanted to swim. I hosted the slumber parties, the school projects, and the baking of cookies, pizza, pies, and cupcakes. I loved hearing the laughter, the conversation, and occasionally the arguments.

This past Saturday we had a house full of college kids for Darcy's birthday. They had all gone to the beach and returned to my house to eat and talk, and I was in heaven sitting amongst them catching up with their lives and hearing their college stories. Eventually, we got around to how much they had changed since I had first met them freshman year of high school. I pointed out that one of the boys had been so nervous around me, maybe even frightened of me, and when he agreed that had been true, one of the girls piped up with yep, she too had been scared of me.

I was horrified. Scared? What? I'm the least scary of all adults. I'm the fun one! I bet I get "You're so funny!" from strangers once a day. How could these kids have been scared of sweet, little ole, funny me? I gnawed on that long after they had left.

But then I remembered that my friends had all said that once about my dad. My dad was a larger than life man. It wasn't that he was a lumberjack, but he had a large chest, an even bigger voice and together those made him an opposing figure. That scared kids and adults alike.

Which always shocked me when I heard that. Because my dad was a teddy bear. With a large voice and a chest and two strong arms made for hugging. And he had nicknames for my friends, and he loved teasing them or fixing things for them, and he loved them like they were his own children, asking about them if he hadn't seen them after several days.

Even today, my friends here in Florida talk about my dad. "He was the sweetest," someone recently said to me. "I loved your dad," said someone else.

Darcy's friend: "Oh, yes, Miss Cara. We love you now. Just at first, we were scared. Now. Now we are not frightened."

So, I decided not to be hurt by the revelation that I once scared Darcy's friends. Because they love me now. They know I'm a big teddy bear just like my father. That I'm funny and chill and that my door is always open to them.

At least, I hope they do. You don't think she said that because she was still scared, do you?

Joshua Tree National Park 2018

We recently traveled to California for the holiday weekend to help my BIL celebrate his 60th birthday. His husband planned a surprise party just like he did when my BIL turned 40, but unlike that time, he didn't manage to keep the surprise. In hindsight, that was probably just as well. We're getting too old for that kind of shit.

There are five siblings in my husband's family. Add the spouses and children, and it can be a large group. On this trip, we had a handful of people attending. All five siblings plus their mother, two spouses, and three children. A fairly manageable group. We were spread out in my BILs' houses, one they live in and one they recently acquired, the latter a remodeling project. Thus there was minimal furniture, and as it turned out, a missing window pane that made for chilly evenings.

My SIL and my nephew wanted to travel to Joshua Tree National Tree Park, and, unfortunately for them, they threw that out into the family group chat, and before they could blink, we had three cars of people making the three-hour drive. I'm not much of a nature person, but I enjoy visiting National Parks, and someone needed to keep an eye on Grandma Mary Anne, so I hopped aboard.

The night before, I Googled what to do if bitten by a snake. I felt this was important, having learned via a newspaper article that you no longer suck out the venom. Those in the car with me that night got educated on the correct first aid treatment. It now amounts to CALL 911 NOW if suspecting the snake is venomous. Which, uh, yeah, California is full of venomous snakes. That I learned the next day while Googling venomous snakes in Joshua Tree National Park. While waiting for the paramedics, who will hopefully transport the victim in record time to a hospital with anti-venom serum, the first responder keeps the victim calm, applies a sterile dressing, and lower the wound below the heart. Also, take note and be ready to describe the snake in detail.

While traveling to the park in car #3, I mentioned how several of us had learned this information. Dave, my BIL, piped up that he was one that felt confident having been in the same car the night before. I quizzed him, and thank goodness I did because he thought he was supposed to raise the wound above the heart. Whew. We went over it again before we arrived, and then I did the Google search on venomous snakes in the park and learned that out of the million that roam the area, they all are either tan, yellow, brown, green, or red. Seriously. The only way to tell them apart is to literally get close enough to exam shapes on their bellies, between their eyes, or on their bodies. I was concerned about us before we even arrived.

It was in the high 80's and very desert-like. I've decided I'm not much for the desert. I'm a water girl, and while there were tons of cacti, I missed a good body of water. We stopped at the tourist center first, where a woman ranger scared us straight apparently gave us information, but I only heard the following:

Her: "This is a nice park for the family. Great time of togetherness. Until it isn't. Use sunscreen. Stay hydrated. It is hot. Take plenty of water. Watch each other. There are many hazards in the desert. It can turn tragic if you aren't paying attention."

Or words to that effect. Mostly, I heard "Death. Sunscreen. Water. Death. Hot. Death. Watch Grandma."

She did not bring up snakes, so I mentioned how several of us were prepared to provide first aid just in case. Then I asked her if the gift shop sold sterile bandages. They didn't. I bought my niece a wristband with a compass and a whistle. We wanted the one that also included some flint built in to start a fire, but alas, the bands were too big for our wrists. Hopefully, we would not need a fire. We loaded back into the car and entered the park.

It was packed with campers, tourists, hikers, and Memorial Day vacationers. We eventually found an area to park, and we got out and slathered on the sunscreen, unpacked our picnic supplies, and filled up our water bottles. Then those that wanted to hike miles got their backpacks together and set off. Four out of the group had heard my snake first-aid, so I felt comfortable letting them head off to climb the mountain.

That left Grandma Mary Anne, Tom's brother, one sister, and me to drive around the park. We did this while we ate our lunch. When we saw things of interest, we pulled over, got out, hiked, and then returned to the car. We visited high areas where the temperatures were tolerable with a nice breeze and then into the low places where it was dusty and hot. During the visit to the cacti garden, I lifted my sunglasses to photograph a lizard and seriously think I burned my eyeballs. One eye was red for twenty-four hours, and both hurt until I got to a sink to flush them. Again, the desert is not my scene.

We had another incident, but that will be tomorrow's entry because it deserves its own entry. Eventually, we went back to hook up with the others. We drove to another site to explore, and then two cars headed back to LA. The last vehicle stayed for more hiking and to experience the desert in the evening. I figured the desert at night would be a bit cooler and dark, so I closed my eyes and pictured that and climbed into one of the cars heading to LA. We stopped at a tourist shop to buy a shirt that said we had been there, done that, but it was a lot like Florida tourist shops; full of crap. So, we left without making a purchase and drove back.

We ended the night sipping wine on the back deck overlooking the city. It was cold, and there was a pool right there—perfection in my book.