Who The Hell Do You Think You Are?

Did you ever have one of those days when you just don’t feel like yourself? Just kinda “off”? Today was a day like that for me.

It all started with a Christmas gift from my daughter, The Queen of English. She does a lot of genealogy for our family and has been looking for our roots to be attached to Kings, Queens, Presidents, Founding Fathers, heroes and other top-of-the-line ancestors. Bossman’s side of the family have been the primary over-achievers with relatives being involved in the Salem witch hunt and representing the witches instead of the torch holders. Others fought in the Civil War, more were Sultans or something boring like that. Family lore told a story about being related to the Queen of Luxembourg. It’s hard to follow an act like that one and my side of the family didn’t try.

I have close family who were raised in Germany, with a great-uncle whose claim-to-fame was working on the Hydrogen Bomb. Sorta a shaky bright spot. Both my parents were born from fathers who were either a milkman or a mailman. I believe they liked to be moving at all times and also enjoyed taking care of and yakking up people. German and Irish is what we all wore proudly, with the exception of when I was a kid in the 50′s and early 60′s when other kids called me a Nazi. That was not nice. I was not a Nazi. It was the era when we hid under desks and buried our heads in hallways for Bomb Shelter drills. I was no Nazi.

The Irish side, I wore proudly. Always wore green, because that was the color of my eyes. “Loud mouth Irishman!” is what my German grandmother called my Irish grandfather whom she was married to. HA!

My ancestors were bartenders, tavern owners and cooks. I was pretty happy about that because I love the idea of all those jobs. The brightest spot was my mother’s German-born, great grandfather who started Doring’s Military Marching Band. They were “tooters” in the Civil War and played at four presidential inaugurations: Lincoln, Grant, Garfield and Cleveland. My side of the family was suddenly looking pretty good. All those Germans and Irishmen were making me proud.

Today the Christmas gift from daughter came back from Ancestry.com. My DNA test. Let me just share with you, you may not be who you think you are. Just sayin’…

Those scoundrel Scandinavians infiltrated central and southern Europe along with the British Isles centuries ago. I’m carrying all the pillaging and battling they did centuries ago! What’s very interesting, as well, is the fact that I have 9% of me that nobody can figure out. The vote from my daughter and husband is that 9% is definitely Alien. Well, I must go and phone home now and then figure out how to act more Scandinavian. Pickled herring, anyone?

My friend Kathy Rhodes emailed me and asked if I wanted to be a part of a blog hop. Was this a new dance or some gimmick from FaceBook? She doesn’t usually fall for that stuff, so I read on to see what this “Next Big Thing” was all about. It’s for writer’s who blog. The hopping comes into play when one writer asks another to join in with posting the directions to this blog hopping on their blog. Links, deadlines, cutting/pasting were involved; all of which gave me a rash. Could I do this?

Of course! I decided to wait and see how she posted all her stuff and then I’d learn from that. I think I got my ‘Links’ figured out and I straightened out the dates I messed up when sent out my invitations for a few more blogger/writers to join in. So far so good. I hope. I will add links at the end of the question/answer portion of this post and hope they all work.

1: What is the working title of your book(s)?

The Family Business

2: Where did the idea come from for the book?

My idea board. I had a photograph and a page from a catalog stuck up there and one day, as I sat in my chair scanning the board I thought, “What if I put those two things together? Both are just odd…”  So, I did!

3: What genre does your book come under?

Literary fiction/humor

4: Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

Meryl Streep and Robert DeNiro      or    Fannie Flagg and Willam H. Macy

5: What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

J.D. Barth’s Funeral, Furniture and Chapel business is run by three generations living under one roof with a hidden statue that is controversial and may or may not have spiritual powers.

6: Is your book self-published, published by an independent publisher, or represented by an agency?

Ha! My book is still being formed in my head and put in front of my writer’s group in sections. It changes and my ideas aren’t always the best. It seems I’m not writing this book alone. Just when I think I’ve got the plot down – I’m given a new idea that takes it to a level I never thought was in the plan. Seems there’s a different plan for this book – and I love it! Oh, and it’s not usually my writer’s group who give me those ideas.

7: How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

I started this during NationalNovelWritingMonth (NANOWRIMO) in November of 2009. Then I decided to ‘clean-up’ my desktop and accidentally reverted it back to factory issue or whatever it is you do when you wipe it clean. I had a hard copy, thank goodness, and after grieving and feeling sorry for myself for about a year I decided to buck up and tackle it again. I guess in hindsight, my lack of computer knowledge was a good thing, because the book is so much better.

8: What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

I’m a big Fannie Flagg fan and I would hope people might think of her when they read my stuff. A good story teller, characters with depth, a change for the better and lots of giggles and fun in between.

9: Who or what inspired you to write this book?

My writer’s group had been working on different things. I stuck with creative nonfiction for the most part and others were doing novels and poetry. I felt like I needed to tackle something big to make me feel like a “real” writer, because creative nonfiction always came so easy for me. This novel is NOT easy. I struggle with it and I love it and hate it all at the same time. So, trying to be like my friends is what made me tackle this book. What was I thinking?

10: What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

There is a mysterious statue that only the people reading this blog might ever see and the business is based on a picture I took of a real building in Canada. (i changed the name and location) The characters are based on some of my family who are real folks from upstate New York which is where the book is set.

My cousin Laura Lanni will be blog hopping on Friday, March 1st. Check her out. Also check out Kathy Rhodes and Leisa Hammett who invited Kathy into the hop.

Thanks for reading about my book. I don’t know if you can leave comments on this post or not, but you can email me at  MiSuzi@aol.com.  Happy Reading and Happy Writing!

Please visit the Blogs that are in the right hand column. (The linking thing didn’t work for me. damn!)

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I don’t rant often but tonight’s Season Finale of Downton Abbey had me ranting before the blood even dried in you-know-who’s ear!

This ending is the job of LADAW! Lazy-Assed Downton Abbey Writers.

“WHY? WHY? WHY?” I screamed! “Can no new parent live to be happy?”

LADAW are a great form of birth-control. The Grantham family is definitely going to die off one way or the other. Either LADAW will kill them off, or the lack of offspring because of the threat of death to the parents will dry the Grantham lineage to a powder and “Poof!” off they’ll be floating on a damp spring morning breeze.

Angry Writers. There is nothing better of worse than an Angry Writer. I know – because I am one.

So, you Lazy-Assed Downton Abbey Writers, do your job. Steal an idea from Bobby Ewing and Dallas. We won’t care. Bring our guy back. It’s a dream, that’s all, it’s only a dream.

Picture it.

January 29th, Williamson County, Tennessee, weather-folk warning us of possible severe weather that might contain tornadoes. Of course, they won’t show up until the middle of the night when we’re all sleeping with one ear open.

And so it begins…

Before we head to bed, the three of us, Bossman (hubs), The Queen of English (daughter) and Me (me),  get our medications together, our cell phones with power cords, ID’s and our USB sticks for the computers. Two sticks contain portions of novels being written by The Queen and Me and Bossman’s  twelve sticks have all the less important stuff-like passwords for banking and that sorta crap.

We put all these things into a canvas bag, set it on the table we have to pass on the way to the garage and head to bed, knowing that we are probably going to be startled from sleep when The Man starts squawking at us  from the top of our dresser. The Man lives in the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration box which is also known as the: NOAA Weather Radio that saves life and limb if you turn it on and have it programmed correctly.

Tick-tock – tick-tock – tock- tick (just wanted to see if you were paying attention) Squawk!!! 3:10AM – Tornado Warning for Williamson County and blah-blah-blah counties, which were all south and west of us. Screwed.

Stumbling, falling into my bathrobe, looking for slippers, stuffing underwear and a bra into my pocket, Bossman does the Zombie click to the remote to see Lisa on Channel 4 with red boxes all around our house. That’s what you see when there are sirens going off, a terror-terrier dog barking out in the dining room and a mobility-challenged daughter breaking records for getting out to The Can in the garage.

Bossman, who had taken Ambien about four hours prior to the sirens, was struggling to put his Red Cross raincoat on, grab the canvas bag with all the meds and sticks and find his way to the tornado shelter which looks very similar to the one in the picture upper right. He had cleared a path through the garage earlier in the day when the weather was looking pretty dicey. Saws, wood, clamps and other bookcase building stuff was blocking the way to the steel bunker.

All four inside, door bolted, tv on to watch the storm head right for us, little chairs for not-so-little butts, maniac barking dog, zombie husband, Queen who needed the fan blowing, Me who continued my week-long bout of coughing and freezing, dog being fed stinky, dead-duck treats, Queen hiding face in sweater, giving me a death stare saying, “Do you have to be touching me?” “Hello, we’re in a giant tuna can, Yes, I need to be touching you.” I thought it, but I was too sick to say it out loud.

Four days later – okay, it only felt like four days – thirty minutes later, we were allowed to get back to our beds and finish sleeping. In the morning straight line winds and an EF1 tornado had passed through our area. Red Cross friends were called out at four AM and then again at nine to find shelter for people who had massive damage from fallen trees. We were very lucky, once again.

That “Can” has given us many hours of security during tornado seasons in Tennessee. We keep heavy soled shoes, water, First Aide, toiletries, important papers in a safe box, $$, dog food, dog bed, leash… the dang dog has more stuff than we do.

http://familysafeshelters.com/

http://www.weather.gov/

Today at church a friend introduced me to a stranger like this: “And this is Susie. She’s a writer.” Can you picture stars and rainbows shooting out of my friend’s eyeballs, and maybe even a few unicorns with sparkles and glitter? (are sparkles and glitter the same thing?)

The stranger held her hand out to me, her twinkling eyes ready to start shooting out similar rainbows and trash. I stopped that quickly.

“It’s very nice to meet you. I am a writer, but I’m a very lazy writer. Very, very lazy.”

I apologized for being Me.

With a tilt of her head, a smile and gentle withdraw of her hand the stranger sorta laughed and then her smile started to sag. My friend continued to shoot pink confetti out of her grinning teeth next to me, which did not help my heavy feeling of guilt.

Writer’s write. I have written emails, FB posts, notes for grocery lists, and reminders on my mirror. My writer’s group and I did start a multi-author story thread, which is what has prompted this post. I can write. Yes, I can. And I can write without the need for pictures or photos to sweeten the pot.

You see, WordPress will not let me download or upload any of my photos because of some security breach between iPhoto and WP. (FB loves my pictures) I have had a lot to write about, but they all need the photographs to go with the words. But, this post isn’t about a digital image. It’s about the words and about me working to be a better writer that will smile back and say “It’s a pleasure to meet you”; because that’s who I’m meant to be.

So, until I can get things straightened out with WP, my posts will be photo-less. Pictures speak a thousand words that I will now have to write while l workout at my computer sharpening my skills.

I was two years old in this picture that was taken in the backyard at my grandparent’s house in 1954. Evidently I thought I was a cowboy. Actually, that was a thought I had for a long time. Years, in fact. I should have kept that hat on at all times according to a story told to me by my Dad when I started having my own little ones.

According to Dad, a man who I adored, when I was little like that cute picture up above, I played out in our tiny yard a lot. There was an old slapper of a screen door in the rooster wallpapered kitchen that opened into the fresh air and tiny green patch of backyard, complete with a clothesline. A wheel pulley nailed to the post on the back porch held ropey clothesline that traveled out to the telephone pole at the back corner of the  yard to another wheel pulley. All the ladies in the attached yards had the same set-up with the exception of the “smart family” two houses down. Mrs. English had a umbrella-type clothesline that looked like my other grandmother’s patio umbrella. It was very fancy-schmancy. The clothes pole stuck into a hole in a concrete pad. I got dizzy trying to follow all the different pieces of rope that seemed to zig and zag on that umbrella looking contraption.

But, the story I’m telling is about the ladies pinning their clothes to those lines. Every piece of clothing and anything cotten went on those ropes that ran to the back yards from porches and high-up windows.

The problem was the neighborhood crow, Jake. He’d come along and pull the pins off the lines and all the clothes would drop into the yards. The neighbor ladies and my Mom didn’t like Jake. Neither did I. But, my Dad loved him.

Jake provided Dad entertainment. He’d sit in the kitchen on a padded chair he’d swing around from the kitchen table, pour himself a Shlitz and watch the show in the yard. Fruit-Of-The-Looms, MaidenForms, girdles, diapers, big white underpants; they all eventually ended up in the grass. When Jake was done with the clothes it was Dad’s turn to direct the entertainment.

“Here Susie. Here’s a cookie, now go out in the yard and play.”

I’m thinking this was when my cowboy hat must have been hung on my spurs in the bedroom.

I’d take the cookie, swing the slapper open and go out into the yard to play and enjoy my cookie. That’s when Jake would show up, peck me on the head until I dropped my cookie and then the SOB would steal it and fly away.

Daddy would sit in the kitchen and laugh his ass off.

I’m sure I didn’t cry or have blood dripping down my cute little face or my Dad wouldn’t have repeated the scene as often as he said he did.

I entertained Dad and he in turn entertained me. Constantly. Wiggling his ears or his fake tooth. Doing it in church was especially entertaining. Of course that only happened at Christmas and Easter. We fed off each other as I grew and enjoyed the laughs and jokes we pulled on each other.

I lost him to cancer in 1988, two days after his 62nd birthday day and a few days after Father’s Day. June 25, 1988 is the day the laughter died.  I have resurrected it over the years. It was hard to laugh for a long time, but his gift to me was the gift of making people laugh and laughing with them.

I promise never to send any of you into the yard with a cookie, though. But, if I do–wear a hat.

(these thoughts are quick and might seem random. it’s the only way i can get them down. being with them too long is still hard.)

I met my best-friend-in-the-world in 1973. I was pregnant with my first child and my husband and I were building our first home in Schaghticoke, New York, across a country road from where Sandy and her family lived; five kids, a ordinary husband and an ordinary wife.

We developed an extraordinary friendship between the two families over the 12 years we lived as neighbors.

The five Howd kids ranged in age from approximately twelve to five. They became our main method of birth control as we heard Sandy yell, doors slam, stomping on stairs, boys fighting, girls fighting and kids crying. It was a lively and loving home.

We did everything together.

Vacations, meals, laughing, coaching girls softball, bowling, golf lessons, tennis, laughing, shopping, garage sales, marketing, dieting, laughing, exercising, beauty shop trips. Sandy’s oldest daughter was our first babysitter. I was her “second” mom and eventually her matron of honor.

Then we moved away. A sadder day would come, but at the time we thought moving day was the saddest day anyone could ever live through. Sandy and Harvey would be our first visitors in each new home we moved into–and we moved a lot.

Sandy thought I hung the moon.

Each time I tried a new hobby she thought my projects were brilliant. I tried painting with the t.v. painter, Bill Alexander who “fired it in”. Sandy wanted my first finished painting because she thought it was amazing. It was horrible! Oh my gosh. I held it up for my Dad and he thought it was a waterfall. I held the ocean scene upside down.

She thought my writing was brilliant. I was a beginner taking English Composition I. She would have flipped-out seeing me get published.

I don’t think about today’s date often. I don’t think about the endings. I like beginnings and middles.

Sandy gave me a book on friendship for Christmas twelve years ago. Her inscription: “Suzi, This book just seems so “You”. I hope you get as much pleasure from it as I have from our friendship. Love ya, Sandy”.

The verse over the dedication:

Close to my Heart you’ll always be.

Friends Forever, you and me.

My best friend has left my side but never my heart.

She has left a gift with me, though. She never could get her left and right straight. Pointing out to right field she’d instruct a girl “Go into left field!” The girl would start for left field and Sandy would yell, “No, left field!”

The day she died, May 19, 2005, I inherited her left and right issue. I thank her every time I try to give someone directions.  She was 65 years young and I miss the way she lived life with me.

(that’s Sandy in the chair being amazed at me for being me)

try to ignore the obvious?

Not “obvious” like the three extra pounds that appeared on the scale which you chalked up to the extra salt you used last night on those french fries or the “obvious” fast food bag of empty wrappers left in the parking space you’d like to use at your favorite store?

We often ignore the pounds and the bags.

A friend sent me a prayer request email last week. It was for a stranger. I opened it, since praying from my desk is pretty easy to do, and read a story about a young single mom who grew up in an orphanage and foster homes, some were anything but fostering. Her story includes an illness that forces her to leave school when she was 15, earning a GED and marriage at 16, abuse, divorce, children out of wedlock, more abuse, poverty, a good job, an apartment with donated furniture, child support payments gone wrong. Looming debt and active cancer.

Shit. I can’t just pray here at my desk for this 35 year-old stranger.

Damn. I sit and I think. What if this were my kid, relative, friend or neighbor’s kid?

Then I told myself to “Shut up and just pray. Let somebody else take care of this.”

At that point, I prayed, sighed, and wrote back to Nancy asking for more information and a phone number for this woman. Thanks a lot God.

So, I called her. She has cervical and ovarian cancer. She’s 35. She has a two year-old who is staying with her brother while she’s recuperating from her second surgery in two months. She tried to go to work the day after she had this scraping/cutting but started to hemorrhage so she’s off without pay.

A hysterectomy will be in her near future. She’s scared. She doesn’t want to have chemo and lose her hair because she doesn’t want her boys to be afraid of her. They are fourteen and two.

She had to give money to the hospital before they’d do surgery.

Her rent is due today. $525. I talked to the agency and they’re giving us a long grace period.

Her car payment is due May 4th and is $88 a week. Her mechanic paid the last week for her.

I’d like all of us to help her pay May’s rent and a car payment or two. Her family isn’t in a position to help monetarily. They’re keeping the baby when they can and trying to help her get to appointments. Her babysitter is a big help, as well. The mother is contacting The United Way and a local agency today to see what they can do for her. A dear friend of ours donated diapers, personal hygiene and some grocery items.

If you’d like to send some help, our church has set a Benevolent Account up for her.

Checks can be made out to Journey Church, memo – Benevolent Account for Dawn Dawson.

Please mail them to me at Susie Dunham, 407 Meadowcrest Circle, Franklin, TN 37064

or drop them into the offering boxes at church with your envelope marked Benevolent Account.

Elephants ~ you’ve gotta face those creatures sometimes.

Thanks for reading. Oh, and please add her to your prayers.

Blessings ~ Susie

Parker Hayes – March 22, 2012

I am apologizing for slacking off on my blog. I have no excuse except the alien invasion where Pop-Tart shaped space junk food sucked my brain out of my head, but I’m too proud to talk about that.

I will catch you up on Parker’s status starting with the picture Patty sent me on March 22nd, which is above. Don’t you love the origami from the kids even more than the check? I do.

Patty’s comments will be in blue and mine will be in basic black because it makes me look thin.

This is a picture of Parker with his latest cast, a $600 check from a fundraiser dance at Schuylerville School where his Dad teaches and 1000 origami dragons made by kids in his school.
As you can see, Parker’s chemo treatments have rendered him bald. But, bald is beautiful, right? Right!

April 2, 2012:

Hi Everyone – we’re in Ocala, FL today and I just managed to speak to Parker’s Dad.  He said all of Parker’s counts were way down today and he received transfusions of everything imaginable: platelets, red cells and fluids.  They are now anticipating his Chemo will start Thursday instead of today and go through the weekend.  Ron has Good Friday off as well as all of next week so he will be able to spend part of his time with Parker at the hospital as this is an in-hospital Chemo  session.  Thank you for your continued prayers that Parker is able to continue this full year of Chemo.  He is my superhero.  Thank you and Bless You. Happy Easter.

The next note is where I will encourage you all to start praying for Parker again. Please try to remember to keep this young man in your daily prayers and thoughts. I am going to do it through-out the day as well as when my head hits my pillow.

April 5, 2012:

Hi Everyone – Happy Easter. Parker will not be in the hospital over Easter.  He was unable to receive the Chemo he was suppose to start today.  His platelets are still really low.  They will try again on Monday which is still good because Ron has the whole week off from school for Easter vacation.  I don’t understand why hospital personnel don’t see Parker’s routine.  Since October they have tried to give him Chemo within a week of the previous Chemo when they know he gets hit with the effects of the previous Chemo one week to 8 days after the previous Chemo.  He had Chemo all the week before last week and that following Monday.  Please pray that doctors get their act together and continue to help Parker through this relentless therapy and that Parker will regain his strength.

As you can see, Patty is beside herself about her grandson’s care and overall health. She has also been very sick with upper respiratory illnesses like bronchitis and croop during the early part of March.

Prayers for Parker and his family. Thank you very much.