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Abstract

d at what was to come — the stillness, the absence of sound, a thick, almost palpable sense of dread settled in among us. Watching the approaching storm clouds we knew we were powerless in the path of this monster.Our faithful dog, relying on primal canine instinct, never left my side. She was protecting me as best she could from the impending onslaught. (Not really. She had no clue. She’s a pug. The only thing probably going through her mind was “I am comfortable here. Why are you moving around? Since you’re up, can you get me a treat?”)My husband, pacing back and forth approached me suddenly and said:“The radar. Go to the radar!”Knowing that this was the only thing we could do as we lay in wait for the inevitable, I quickly punched in the website for AccuWeather.com. My phone slowly started trying to load the page. We watched as the circle spiraled — attempting to bring forth AccuWeather.com — I felt it was mocking us.“Why?!” My husband yelled, shaking his fist at the sky, (well, ceiling actually…we were indoors and there’s the ceiling and then another floor above us, followed of course by the roof unless you don’t consider the attic, which of course you should if you’re trying to be accurate.) He became increasingly agitated, his pulse visible in the veins of his neck.“Hit refresh!” He bellowed. (I’ve always wanted to use the word “bellowed”. It’s not often one gets the opportunity to use that word. I just may use it twice.)“I did!” I bellowed back. (See.)Finally, the page for AccuWeather.com came forth, (much more dramatic than “loaded” don’t you think?), and the truth was laid out before us. Any hope that we would avoid this storm was stripped bare. (Stripped and bare….how about that. I’m SO like that 50 Shades of Grey writer except that I’m not a gazillionaire.)In the same instinctive way men of past generations have prepared to save their families from the wrath of Mother Nature, my husband battened down the hatches. (Read “closed the blinds.”). The wind picked up, whistling through the trees, ( I really couldn’t hear the wind because the windows were closed.)“Don’t look!!” I bellowed, (That was too much, wasn’t it? Twice was good, three times not so much. No more of that), I cried.“Why?! WHY!!!?” He yelled, cursing the storm. (This is actually the truth. I told him that this was akin to that line about it being futile to curse the darkness which I thought was not only an astute observation on my part but also pretty clever. He did not seem to find me as clever as I find myself and just looked at me and said “Huh?”.)The storm was upon us, wailing against our home — and then almost as suddenly — it was gone. We hugged each other, knowing that next time, we might not be so lucky.(That didn’t happen. What really happened was that it was still lightly raining in our yard, yet the sun was shining and my husband, for some reason, did not approve of this. I think he said something to the effect of; “What the hell is this?”)We grasped hands and silently walked out to survey our territory. (We have like a HUGE amount of land…almost the size of Vatican City. I think it’s like almost a half acre

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!) My husband put his arm around my shoulder and said “Look, the sun is shining for us.” (Actually he stayed on the deck suspiciously eyeing the horizon and I said something like “This is cool.” and walked down to stand in the sun shower, expecting him to follow and join me in appreciation of this rare and rather unique situation. He did not.)Instead, he asked me if bees can fly in the rain and I said “I don’t think so.” Thinking back on this I probably should’ve said “I don’t know”, because I really don’t know. When people ask you about bees you should probably know what you’re talking about. I’ll note that for next time.As I turned back to watch the storm clouds receding and sun beaming through the light rain, he beamed at me (read “stared blankly”), and gave me a knowing look. We’d made it. He pumped his fist in the air in that easily recognizable gesture of triumph used in many Rocky movies and I nodded. Yes. We had not only survived but thrived.(Don’t you love that trite sentence? If you Google it, it comes up all over the place. That’s how much people love that sentence.) Yes. We would see another day I thought, watching our reflection in our private lake, (okay, it’s an above-ground pool..but it’s one of those oblong ones so it’s pretty close to a lake), noticing that my reflection was too thin — I reminded myself that I should eat more.(HAHAHAHAHAHA!).Our faithful dog galloped through the yard, joyfully claiming her land back from the storm that had threatened to take it all away. (Actually, as you know…she is a pug. She doesn’t gallop. She trots around aimlessly sniffing, snorting, and snuffling, but that doesn’t create the same visual impact.)My husband once again raised our flag, in symbolic recognition of our victory…and I knew…and he knew….and the dog knew….and AMERICA KNEW!!!!!, (that was good, right?), that we’d overcome great odds. We lowered our heads in silent homage to those who weren’t as lucky as us, who perhaps had lost satellite reception or worse…cellphone signals. We stood silently watching the flag wave in the wind. Yes. Life was good. Indeed.(We have a flag pole, but no flag. The people we bought the house from took the flag with them. Who does that? Anyway, I keep reminding myself I have to get a flag.)In reality, I turned to talk to him after he asked me about the bees to find that he’d run inside. Those who know him truly know that he actually does run everywhere. He came (ran) back outside and sprayed behind a piece of vinyl siding where there had been a huge bee’s nest.“WATCH OUT!” he yelled. (Bellowed? No? Okay I’ll stop.) “YOU SHOULD BACK UP AND GET AWAY FROM THERE AFTER I DO THIS THEY’RE GOING TO FLY OUT OF HERE!”. He sprayed the contents of the can and flew back up the stairs back onto the deck and into the house. Bees came spewing out from the siding, like a scene from Hitchcock's The Birds, except in this case, it would be The Bees.)Really though, one bee slowly crawled out of the siding like he’d been napping, looked around, and then crawled back in. My husband came back out, looked sadly at the siding, and went back inside.THE END.Okay, Luann. How’d I do? :)</article></body>

You are not a Blogger!

Accurate Criticism from my Best Friend and an Attempt to Right this Wrong.

In the writing world, I’m primarily known as someone who writes about animals. The Chicken Soup for the Soul anthologies about animals were where I first got noticed. When my book was published in 2009, I was given instructions from my agent and publisher to create a blog. Blogs were sorta new. Now self-promotion is the norm — then it was mostly the job of the PR department. Things were changing. So, I created a Book Blog and linked it to Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and other book bloggers. It was fun to communicate with readers. I was blogging all the time. I kept it up for quite a while.

Then I became busier. I had a full-time job as a high school Social Studies Teacher. I was the Freshman Class Advisor and there were trips to organize. I had a husband and two teenagers I needed to keep an eye on. I’d discovered Breaking Bad.

As much as I do love writing about cats and dogs and other animals and the people they own, I began wanting to write about other things -even though I was encouraged to keep my intended demographic in mind. I guess I became complacent. I was tired, maybe a little bored.

So when I received an email from my best friend Luann who in essence sort of summed it all up on how the blog was going, she said:

“You Are Not a Blogger. This is Boring.”

I wasn’t surprised. She was right. I had neglected that blog and I was truly sorry. The simple fact that she still checked it shows you what a loyal friend she is. Never one to mince words as evidenced by her accusation above — I thought; I’m going to write something here that is not boring. Since this is a blog for a nonfiction book, I thought my post should probably be nonfiction as well. So, after examining my not-very exciting life at the moment — I decided to write a brief description of the day as it really happened.

Then I would prove my blogger-cred by jazzing it up. I’d show her!

Sunday, August 5th, 2012.

It was a stormy day. My husband asked me to check AccuWeather to see how close the storm was. I found the live radar site. It kept freezing. My husband was agitated. Apparently, I didn’t refresh my phone quickly or well enough, as he seemed irritated at the speed at which I was checking the track of the storm. The dog sat on my lap. Finally, the storm arrived and he closed all the blinds in the family room to go stand in the kitchen, where he opened all those blinds wide, to watch the storm standing up, several feet away from where he was sitting moments ago when he was waiting for the storm. For some reason, he felt this made sense.

The storm came.

There were several comments made about the storm.

It ended.

Sunday, August 5th, 2012.

The darkening sky was ominous. Something in the air hinted at what was to come — the stillness, the absence of sound, a thick, almost palpable sense of dread settled in among us. Watching the approaching storm clouds we knew we were powerless in the path of this monster.

Our faithful dog, relying on primal canine instinct, never left my side. She was protecting me as best she could from the impending onslaught. (Not really. She had no clue. She’s a pug. The only thing probably going through her mind was “I am comfortable here. Why are you moving around? Since you’re up, can you get me a treat?”)

My husband, pacing back and forth approached me suddenly and said:

“The radar. Go to the radar!”

Knowing that this was the only thing we could do as we lay in wait for the inevitable, I quickly punched in the website for AccuWeather.com. My phone slowly started trying to load the page. We watched as the circle spiraled — attempting to bring forth AccuWeather.com — I felt it was mocking us.

“Why?!” My husband yelled, shaking his fist at the sky, (well, ceiling actually…we were indoors and there’s the ceiling and then another floor above us, followed of course by the roof unless you don’t consider the attic, which of course you should if you’re trying to be accurate.) He became increasingly agitated, his pulse visible in the veins of his neck.

“Hit refresh!” He bellowed. (I’ve always wanted to use the word “bellowed”. It’s not often one gets the opportunity to use that word. I just may use it twice.)

“I did!” I bellowed back. (See.)

Finally, the page for AccuWeather.com came forth, (much more dramatic than “loaded” don’t you think?), and the truth was laid out before us. Any hope that we would avoid this storm was stripped bare. (Stripped and bare….how about that. I’m SO like that 50 Shades of Grey writer except that I’m not a gazillionaire.)

In the same instinctive way men of past generations have prepared to save their families from the wrath of Mother Nature, my husband battened down the hatches. (Read “closed the blinds.”). The wind picked up, whistling through the trees, ( I really couldn’t hear the wind because the windows were closed.)

“Don’t look!!” I bellowed, (That was too much, wasn’t it? Twice was good, three times not so much. No more of that), I cried.

“Why?! WHY!!!?” He yelled, cursing the storm. (This is actually the truth. I told him that this was akin to that line about it being futile to curse the darkness which I thought was not only an astute observation on my part but also pretty clever. He did not seem to find me as clever as I find myself and just looked at me and said “Huh?”.)

The storm was upon us, wailing against our home — and then almost as suddenly — it was gone. We hugged each other, knowing that next time, we might not be so lucky.

(That didn’t happen. What really happened was that it was still lightly raining in our yard, yet the sun was shining and my husband, for some reason, did not approve of this. I think he said something to the effect of; “What the hell is this?”)

We grasped hands and silently walked out to survey our territory. (We have like a HUGE amount of land…almost the size of Vatican City. I think it’s like almost a half acre!) My husband put his arm around my shoulder and said “Look, the sun is shining for us.” (Actually he stayed on the deck suspiciously eyeing the horizon and I said something like “This is cool.” and walked down to stand in the sun shower, expecting him to follow and join me in appreciation of this rare and rather unique situation. He did not.)

Instead, he asked me if bees can fly in the rain and I said “I don’t think so.” Thinking back on this I probably should’ve said “I don’t know”, because I really don’t know. When people ask you about bees you should probably know what you’re talking about. I’ll note that for next time.

As I turned back to watch the storm clouds receding and sun beaming through the light rain, he beamed at me (read “stared blankly”), and gave me a knowing look. We’d made it. He pumped his fist in the air in that easily recognizable gesture of triumph used in many Rocky movies and I nodded. Yes. We had not only survived but thrived.

(Don’t you love that trite sentence? If you Google it, it comes up all over the place. That’s how much people love that sentence.) Yes. We would see another day I thought, watching our reflection in our private lake, (okay, it’s an above-ground pool..but it’s one of those oblong ones so it’s pretty close to a lake), noticing that my reflection was too thin — I reminded myself that I should eat more.

(HAHAHAHAHAHA!).

Our faithful dog galloped through the yard, joyfully claiming her land back from the storm that had threatened to take it all away. (Actually, as you know…she is a pug. She doesn’t gallop. She trots around aimlessly sniffing, snorting, and snuffling, but that doesn’t create the same visual impact.)

My husband once again raised our flag, in symbolic recognition of our victory…and I knew…and he knew….and the dog knew….and AMERICA KNEW!!!!!, (that was good, right?), that we’d overcome great odds. We lowered our heads in silent homage to those who weren’t as lucky as us, who perhaps had lost satellite reception or worse…cellphone signals. We stood silently watching the flag wave in the wind. Yes. Life was good. Indeed.

(We have a flag pole, but no flag. The people we bought the house from took the flag with them. Who does that? Anyway, I keep reminding myself I have to get a flag.)

In reality, I turned to talk to him after he asked me about the bees to find that he’d run inside. Those who know him truly know that he actually does run everywhere. He came (ran) back outside and sprayed behind a piece of vinyl siding where there had been a huge bee’s nest.

“WATCH OUT!” he yelled. (Bellowed? No? Okay I’ll stop.) “YOU SHOULD BACK UP AND GET AWAY FROM THERE AFTER I DO THIS THEY’RE GOING TO FLY OUT OF HERE!”. He sprayed the contents of the can and flew back up the stairs back onto the deck and into the house. Bees came spewing out from the siding, like a scene from Hitchcock's The Birds, except in this case, it would be The Bees.)

Really though, one bee slowly crawled out of the siding like he’d been napping, looked around, and then crawled back in. My husband came back out, looked sadly at the siding, and went back inside.

THE END.

Okay, Luann. How’d I do? :)