Summer Solstice!

(The Curious One - statue facing the public library in Hamelin, Germany.)

Today is summer solstice, and there is a big fête planned in the village tonight. We're all quite excited about it - already I've had people asking if I was going, and the kids keep running down to the river to watch the men set up the tent, dance floor, and huge bonfire in the field.

It's a hot and muggy day - we've had rain the past week (lots of it) and the ground and vegetation is soaked. The weather has also been cool (if not chilly) up 'til now, and today a heat wave is rolling in, so the sky is that curious gray-white color it gets when evaporating moisture shimmers up and hides the sun. It's supposed to clear up and get sunny later on, which will be nice. And tomorrow the thunderstorms will boom - brought on the heat and the wet.

My daughter got back from Germany. She had a wonderful time. Her class visted Osnabrück and Hamelin (village famous for the Pied Piper) and Bremmen, (village famous for the Bremmen Town Musicians). She went to the zoo, a science museum, and went riding at a German riding acadamy. In all a great trip. She brought her camera, and her pictures reflect her interests. Most photos are of the zoo - some were of the medievel buildings in Hamelin and Osnabrück, and some were of ponies. But she took pictures of every statue she came across. I didn't realize how interested she was in sculpture - but she raved about them, explaining them to me as we looked at her photos. I love finding new facets to people. I thought I knew my daughter - but I found out something new.
This statue struck a chord in me as well - it expresses such curiosity, interest and delight in learning - something I hope I'll never lose!

Slaving Away

Work keeps piling up, which is good and bad. I love to keep busy - but I also need time (lots of time) for 'moi'. I love to play golf, which is a time-consuming sport, and I love to read, and I love to write. I love working in my garden, and I adore spending time with my friends and family. But all that is 'in between' stuff, because of work.
The ancient Romans (the citizens of Rome - not the slaves, who made up easily a fifth of the population sometimes) worked until noon, then knocked off for the rest of the day. The afternoon could be spent at the baths (imagine a huge spa complete with gym, swimming pools, and massage parlors...) evening was spent at some sort of entertainment like the races or a play. And at night there were dinners and galas. They ancient Romans would regard us all as slaves, I'm afraid. They would also probably have loved golf. I'm surprised they didn't invent it.
I love imagining Rome, and how it would have been at its apogee. In one of my Iskander books, Alexander and Ashley find themselves in Rome. They take a guided tour...


“Roman citizens in this line, barbarians over there,” called out a man in a strong voice as we got in line to buy tickets to the show at the coliseum.

“Barbarian? I’m Greek,” sputtered Plexis.

“And I’m...” He got no further. I clapped my hand over Alexander’s mouth.

“We want to see the show, not star in it,” I said, shaking my head and whispering fiercely. “Can you imagine what would happen if anyone got wind of who you were? How much do you think you’re worth? Don’t you know that there are some that would pay a fortune to see you in the arena? It’s big business here. The charioteers and gladiators are almost all professionals. They are both extremely successful and rich beyond belief, or dead. So don’t, I beg of you, don’t breathe a word to anyone about your identity.”

“What about the papers we filled out in the customs building?” He asked, a glint in his blue eye.

“No one really ever reads official documents. They just get stored. The only ones who pour over them are archeologists who find them thousands of years later and go into ecstasies over all that useless information. Now get into the barbarian line and be quiet.”

Plexis bit back a laugh as Alexander glared at him, but the glare lacked conviction, and I thought he was strangely quiet for the remainder of the afternoon.

“What do you suppose he’s thinking of?” I asked Plexis, drawing him aside as we toured the palace behind a quiet group of Egyptians, two large, hairy Gauls, and a rowdy bunch of Iberians.

“I don’t know, but I heard him muttering, ‘barbarian indeed’ a couple times. I don’t like the look in his eyes.” Plexis whispered back. “Wow, did you see that staircase? A whole regiment could march down it abreast. I think the statues are creepy, especially the eyes. In Greece we don’t make them look so life-like. Granted, we paint the marble pillars and the robes, but we don’t do eyes like that.” Plexis leaned towards a statue and would have touched it but the tour guide barked at him and he drew back.

“I hope he’s not going to do anything foolish,” I said to Plexis worriedly. “Alexander is acting strangely.” He was unnaturally silent, preoccupied, with his head tilted and a far away look in his eyes. I bit my lip. He used to look like that when I’d first met him. When he was in the midst of battle plans against his biggest enemy, Darius, or when he was dreaming up some impossible scheme. Although to do him credit it usually worked. I sighed and turned to Paul. “What do you think of Rome?” I asked my son.

“Amazing,” he said, “really eely.”

“Really eely?” I asked.

“Everyone who’s anyone says that,” he explained. “Scipion’s cousins told us that.”

“Maybe they were just teasing,” I said. But then again, young people had always had their own slang, even in these times. Really eely?

We passed a gymnasium where women in bikinis were exercising. The women were just visible if you peered through the arched doorways. The bikinis they wore were rather interesting I thought, made of what looked like suede or knitted material. The women were jumping rope, playing with a large inflated ball, or jumping in unison in a sort of aerobics class. Afterwards they could swim in the heated pool inside the gymnasium. There was a women’s side and a men’s side, and I kind of wanted a glimpse of the men but Alexander took my arm and pulled me away.
“We’re losing the tour group,” he said.

“It’s a very nice city,” I said for the hundredth time, strolling up the main street, called Cando, which ran north to south. It was perpendicular to the second main street of Rome, called De Cumanus, and running east to west. All the streets were parallel to these two streets, creating perfectly square or rectangular city blocks, called insulae. It was quite hilly, and we hiked up and down, with alternating views of the river and city.

“Not as nice as Alexandria,” he said with a shrug.

I looked at him but he was busy measuring the width of the street with his eyes, taking in the crosswalks and the garbage bin placed in the alley. “Too many policemen,” he said, shaking his head. “They are everywhere.”

“Waiting to catch someone pissing, swearing or spitting so they can fine them,” I said.

“I suppose they need funds to pay all those policemen. I wonder if they have quotas,” Alexander said.

“I think it’s a pity everything nice is reserved for the Roman citizens. Even the nicest hotels. Alexandria is much more democratic,” I said.

“I wonder how long that will last. Ptolomy is rather a snob.” Alexander stopped speaking for a while and we wandered after the group, listening to the guide as he spoke about the wonders of Rome. Paul and Axiom were paying close attention, Plexis was looking in the boutiques, and the Iberians had started to sing a loud song. A policeman was moving towards them with a determined look on his face and a wax tablet in his hands.

“No singing unless it’s praise for the Roman gods,” he said sternly, “rule number sixteen. If you continue you’ll be fined three sesterces.”

The Iberians were outraged; they’d been singing a song about good food and wine, and a very fine song it was indeed. However the policeman wouldn’t budge, so they reluctantly quieted down and went on their way, until one of them got the idea of replacing the names of the food with the names of the Roman Gods. They started again, braying in Celtibere all about delicious Junon, spicy Venus, and hot and tasty Minerve, which made more than one Roman turn and stare.

Alexander grinned and then sighed again. He looked almost melancholy.

“What is it?” I asked him. The Iberians were now kicking in rhythm, narrowly missing a matron out walking her dog. The dog barked frantically, yap-yapping as little dogs tend to do.

The Iberians all stopped and stared. Small dogs were not at all common in Iberia.

“What is this?” asked one, bending over and peering at the curly-haired pet. To get a better look, he reached down and picked up the dog by its tail, making it screech.

The others gathered around, ignoring the fuss the woman was putting up. She was nearly purple. “Put my Popsia down right now!” she cried, waving her arms.

“What is a Popsia? Is it a cat?” asked one of the big men.

“What can it be? It’s quite unique! Look, all those curls! Where did you find it?” asked another Iberian to the Roman woman.

The woman snatched her dog out of his hands and hurried down the street, muttering angrily about barbarians and how Rome was going to come to a bad end if they didn’t crush them all now, immediately, before they overran the city completely. “Get civilized!” was her parting shot to the bemused Iberians.

The tour-guide came back to get the Iberians, hastily explaining to them that small dogs were cherished pets and that they were not to bother them in the future.

“Is it in the rules?” asked the tallest Iberian, the one who’d started the singing. “Rule number thirty six, no holding cherished pets by their tails on public streets!” He mimicked the policeman perfectly, causing his friends to howl in delight.

The tour guide started to get a haunted look.

Plexis and Axiom were waiting impatiently with the Egyptians, the Gauls having abandoned the tour to find something for lunch. Paul, Alexander and I were standing nearby, watching the antics of the Iberians and wondering who would get fined first. Alexander wanted to bet, making me retort that he was getting as bad as the Roman soldiers were. Paul giggled and said he was betting on the tall fellow, and father and son put their heads together to decide how much they would bet, and what the loser would have to do.

We set out again, Plexis and Axiom listening carefully to the guide, the Egyptians walking in single file and not making any comments about anything at all, then the Iberians, Paul and Alexander, and me, bringing up the rear. I was content to walk slowly, savoring the sights and smells, listening sometimes to the guide and sometimes to the Iberians. They were wondering where they could get a good dinner and asked the guide to recommend a restaurant. We were not far from a small bar, called a thermopolia, which sold cups of wine and pickled fish and eels. There were also different sorts of bread, some cheese, and a choice of fresh fruit. We all elected to stop and have lunch, and so we ate, standing up at the counter.

That was my introduction to Rome and I thought I could probably get to like it. The city was clean and spacious, the citizens on the whole were pleasant, and the food was, well, interesting.

Another World

I'm getting tired of this one. All Bush's fault. Things were a lot more fun when the only making the Americans squawk was a bimbo and a cigar in the Whitehouse with Bill. So lets create another world. In this (more perfect) world, Bush choked on that pretzel and Cheney had a heart-attack after reading his wife's purple prose.
The new president (Nancy Pelosi, we're stretching time here, but so what) got the congress and the house and everyone else, to pull the troops out of Iraq, and somehow convinced the UN to take over. (Fantasy land...) and the Iranians, in a sulk, decided they'd better toe the line a bit, and let the inspectors in. They also admitted that the reason they were so intent on getting nuclear reactors was because the oil WAS running out, (is running out) and they wanted to be able to keep their electric grids up and running.
Most people believed them, except Israel, who announced it was going to attack Iran. Saudi Arabia yawned, while the new US president suddenly cut off all financial aid to Israel and Africa. "Unless you give the Palestinians their own state, you can just get your funds from the UK", announced Pelosi, in her toughest, LA accent. And to the African states she said, "No more buying arms from Russia, you losers. It's time to clean up your act." And in an unprecedented move, she also raised taxes on oil companies and said any oil company doing business with dictators or thugs would be taxed at 150%. This meant oil shot up to 18$ a gallon in the US and Europe. The Europeans were used to this, and just gritted their teeth.
The Americans, too involved in the latest TV shows, cried 'foul!" but didn't react. But a manufacturer from India, Tati, introduced a car that ran on water, and suddenly the Tati company was the richest on earth, surpassing Philip Morris, Dow, Microsoft and Shell. The Indians, flush with their new fortune, dragged Dow to the courts and prosecuted them for the Bhopal disaster. Dow was dissolved and was bought by the Chinese.
Of course, the arms and oil companies all over the world were supremely vexed. They had been raking in gadzillions with the various and sundry wars and oil price spikes. Even the Saudi’s lost their bored look and started to send envoys to the US in order to try and get them back into buying oil. Chavez, who had long been a thorn in the US's side, lost his seat as president, but was elected supreme high chief of social advancement and the Colombians gave him his own TV show, so he was happy.
Cuba, no longer blockaded, suddenly became a millionaire's playground, as they flocked there for low-cost liposuction and face-lifts. The island of Cuba was now richer than Monaco, and joined with Switzerland, Luxemburg, the Caymen Islands, the Isle of Jersey, and Monaco in an exclusive club - the UTMOST (Un-Taxed Millionaires Or Such Types) which so angered the reactionary revolutionists left over from Castro's supporters, they formed and army and easily took over UTMOST and formed the LOST club (Leftists Or Such Types) and forced all the companies (and stars, billionaires, and such types) to pay all their back taxes.
The money went into an educational fund for all the schools in the whole world - providing creationalism was NOT taught. The result was a surge in educated people, making most television shows obsolete, but a whole new slew of inventions and advancements saw the light of day. In the Arab world, the collapse of oil sales led to a huge upheaval, where the women took over and created democracies. Only women could run for office though. Men were expected to learn to cook, clean, and work in the garden.
Child labor was abolished, and all children were enrolled in the schools financed by LOST.
In France, Sarkozy's wife (Carla) decided she wanted to live in Monaco, so they ousted the royal family and installed themselves in the palace. Monaco became part of France, which pleased no one, except Carla, who took to wearing a tiara and putting diamond studs in her guitar. The English, after seeing that, decided they would keep their royal family, after all, and annulled the vote which stripped them of their titles. They did, however, take all the royal residences but one and turn them into housing for the poor.
E-books became insanely popular, and the Iskander series, once an underground cult book, suddenly became a humungous best-seller, especially popular with the Macedonians. "Time for Alexander" went on to beat even the bible in terms of sales.
Global warming was arrested, (as were Bush and Blair who were also convicted for war crimes). And poverty and famine was eradicated as the western world learned that fair taxes and eating less was good for everyone. And Tati's cars were a big hit with everyone.

Green dragonfly

A green dragonfly, like some sort of living emerald creature, hovered over the stream. I'm sure it's quite common. After all, I've seen blue and red damselflies, and there are brilliant green ones as well. But I'd never seen this particular blue-green , so I had to get a photo of it.

Afterwards, I thought to myself - I could have capture it and kept it in a jar for all to see. (Zookeeper mentality) Or, killed it, and put it on a paper with a pin and a a carefully written Latin name. (Museum mentality) But really, all I wanted to do was capture it on film. But that's not enough. It shows the insect, but doesn't describe what he did.

He flew in all directions. He hovered, then shot backward, went straight up, swooped, looped, and made a perfect three point landing on a leaf. He held still long enough for the picture, then lifted off again, hovered in one place, then shot into the shadows - a glint of green in the dark, like a twinkling Christmas tree light.

I had to find out how he did it. I read that dragonflies are the masters of flight. Their wings are the exact opposite of our airplane wings - instead of using the airstream and taming it, they create disturbances and eddies that twirl them around. They are masters of unstable aerodynamics. They deliberately create and use turbulence with their 4 wings - each wing independent of the other and one third to one half of their body mass devoted to flight muscles. They are the fastest insects on wings, (clocked at 35 mph!) and can lift more than double their own weight (human aircraft can't even begin to approach that!).

Here is the book I read:

Spineless Wonders by Richard Conniff. (Strange tales from the invertabrate world.)

Virginity?

I really shouldn't read the news. For one thing, Bush is mentioned constantly, and just the sight of his name is enough to give me hives. And then I stumbled on this gem in the NY Times (I really, really have to stop reading the NY Times - the Guardian is better for my blood pressure...) "Women who get operations to restore their virginity". (Here). At first I figured, what the hell, they can do what they like. But reading on, I discovered women terrified that they will be beaten, abandoned, or shamed because they lost their hymens. When I read one woman's claim that to lose one's virginity was to become dirt, I decided that women were fools, and men were dolts to insist on something so mundane. After all, there's nothing special about virginity. We're all born virgins. It's stupid to prize something so common and so easy to fake. Why not prize intelligence? Common sense? Independence?
I won't ever, ever, prone virginity to my children. Safe sex, yes, but virginity? Never. Life is too short to obsess about something so ridiculous. Sex is an important part of any marriage, and you wouldn't buy a car without driving it first, would you? Or buy a house sight unseen? What if you married someone without finding out if you were sexually compatible? Wouldn't that be awful?
I say to hell with virgins. (Stomping off to find a good erotic romance to read...I know I have one by Summer Devon in my docs. That should cheer me up.)

My Town Monday ~ Medieval Fayre

Here I am at the fayre!

This weekend was the Medieval Fair in Houdan, a village nearby. It's one of the longest running fairs in France, dating from sometime in the 16th century. It used to be held in the village itself, but because of traffic problems and space, it is now held in the large feild behind the village. This has enabled troops of performers to hold jousting tournaments and mock fights! (this weekend was the English against the French - the crowd really got into it, lol.)

There are illuminators, troubadors, cooking stands, weapon makers, tanners, compass makers, archery stands...well, you name it. It's quite a lot of fun, so we make sure to see it.

Everyone gets into the theme, young and old alike.

The costumes are what makes it so fun. (Check out the group right behind my son.)

The battle was quite loud (orders from the captain - "When we yell 'Fire!' plug yer ears and open yer mouths the lot of you!" - after the first volley of ear-splitting explosions, we followed orders!)

After the battle, the captain yelled "The Dead May Rise!" and they did. That, we thought, would be a splendid ending to any battle.

Living with wildlife

I just read an article in the NY Times that severely raised my blood pressure. It was about people from the city moving to the country starting a garden, and finding themselves competing with the wildlife. One women was terrified of snakes, even harmless ones, and bought a '22 rifle to shoot them. Another woman traps squirrels and drowns them. Another kills woodchucks and rabbits. All I could think, as I read the article, was 'Why the Hell didn't they stay in the city and buy their produce from the farmers' market???'
In my opinion, people that can't adapt to the country shouldn't kill everything that scares them, they should move back to the city. Leave the country and its critters to the country folk. We can deal with them. I have a garden and cherry trees, berry bushes, and grow flowers and vegetables. But I know the creatures that live with me on my property, and what they like to eat, so I don't plant salad and carrots (rabbits love them) nor do I bother with sunflowers. I can buy them at the local 'pick your own' farm. I grow zuchinni and tomatoes (rabbits won't touch them) stringbeans, leeks, peas, corn and lots and lots of nasturtiums to keep the insects off the veggies.
I let the hedgehogs creep in the garden - they eat slugs and snails, and I keep the birds out of my cherry tree with tin foil ribbons ried to the lower branches, and anyway, I can't eat all the cherries myself. The birds are welcome to the uppermost branches.
I wouldn't dream of shooting snakes, they kill mice and insects, and if I did kill the rabbits they'd end up in my stewpot. We don't have squirrels here, except in the autumn when they come for the walnuts. And there again, we have so many walnuts it doesn't matter. There was one woman who said she killed bees because they bothered her. You don't want to know what horrible fate I wished upon her.
I spoke to the farmers around here about the deer and wild boar. They put up electric fences around their sensitive crops, and hail is more of a problem than deer.
So, for all you city folk looking for a second home in the country here is a word of advice. Find a house in town, or an apartment. Don't try to have a garden, or think about competing with the wild animals. Leave the country to the country folk.

A Free e-book

I'm giving this book away as a present for my readers! Please surf over to my website and click on the cover to download a pdf copy. If you have any difficulty, let me know.

Tell your friends! (for ages 16 and up - not erotica)

Thank you!!

Sam

May Day!

Meet May, the vampire killer. She's quick, clever, and deadly, and she takes life very seriously having been killed once before by a mob of rogue vamps. Her father, a powerful necromancer, brought her back to life. She's MUCI's (*Mutant and Undead Criminal Investigation*) best man, er, woman, well, zombie actually, for catching and killing rogue vampires, so when two kids show up with all the signs of having been killed by a rogue, May gets the case.
Clues lead straight to a certain Bartholomew Aelfrith, a vampire, whose sense of humor and tall blond good looks are enough to convince May he needs killing...even if he's not the killer. If he makes one more joke about her chop-sticks, she's going to stab him in the heart with one. The problem is, Bartholomew is probably the only person who can catch the real killer, so May has to put up with his insouciance and his wise-cracks...and his penchant for picking up strays of all kinds.
But if he says, "I've got a plan" one more time, she's going to scream.

Horse Passages

Horse Passages has been re-edited and reissued as an e-book!
For ages 14 and up - boys and girls will love this book.


HORSE PASSAGES: Orphaned twins, Meagan and Carl Cadet, share an honored path-they're horse herders. But the horses they herd are unique, for each horse grows beautiful clusters of unicorn-like horns made of living quartz. Like fingerprints, each is dazzlingly different from the other. The horses use these horns to travel through mystic passages, finding new planets for humans to colonize. Meagan and Carl are two fine, teenaged equestrians who make perfect caregivers for these unusual horses-if they can avoid the merciless Raiders...
Raiders stalk horse herders-capturing them to work their mines-using them until death finally takes the poor humans away from their endless misery. For once taken, no human is able to escape the brutal grasp of these mysterious aliens.

Heavy hands, light prose.

My mother taught piano and plays beautifully. I have heavy hands and tend to pound the keys. All right for Wagner, I suppose, but useless for anything else.

It even applies to the keyboard. I pound the keys as if typing on an old manual typewriter. I don't know why - I like the staccato tapping I make - no one else does, and anyone in the room with me will usually beg me to "type softer!"
But I can't.

I have heavy hands when I type or play the piano, but I can write delicate prose, and when I draw, my hands are light.
I can't knit, I can't sew, and I can't hammer a nail without bashing myself on the thumb. But I can take a splinter out of my daughter's hand before she knows I've even started.

I can't iron and I can't fold clothes, but I can make sand castles with pointy turrets and arched gates. Somedays I think about my talents and my failures. Today it's my hands. The tap-tap-tap of the keys puts my dogs to sleep and sends my son upstairs to his room (and quiet).

Home at Last!

Hubby is home at last. He's tired, looks great, but feels exhausted after any effort. I tell him to relax, just sit back, get better. He has three weeks of rehab ahead of him at a beautiful cardiac clinic in the mountains, just across the river from us (about a 45 min drive). We were there on Friday to meet the staff and get his schedule. Now he just has to take things easy.
But typically, he wants to be back to normal NOW, not in three weeks. So he's frustrated with himself. It must be hard to be a professional athlete and have your own body betray you. Hard for anyone actually.

I just spent an hour mopping and it started to rain. The dogs came inside and tracked mud all over. Ah well - the joys (and tribulations) of country living. My roses are thrilled with the rain!
I'm off to take my daughter to the pony club!

Friday Snippet

I haven't done a Friday Snippet in a while, so here is one from

'Angels on Crusade'

I could barely keep myself together that day. Perhaps it was the fight; more likely it was just depression settling over me. The dusty road wound between huge cliffs that cast a deep violet shade. Above our heads, the sky was raw blue. The cliffs were red, and the grass was yellow. In the distance was the sea. I could smell it now. Salt in the air left a faint glitter on our skin.
Fatigue made my head spin, made me clumsy. I stumbled repeatedly. Charles grabbed my arm and urged me on. When the sun was straight overhead, Jean spotted a recess in the rocks, and we climbed a narrow goat path to a small cave. Other travelers had left a pile of tinder, but we had nothing to cook so we lit no fire. I simply sat and shuddered as the full horror of my situation registered on my mind. Charles watched me closely for a while, then said he’d go find water. I think he’d decided I was dying of thirst.
Actually, I was parched, but it made no difference to my mood. All I could think about was suicide, and soon. My mission started to fade into the background; I could hardly remember it anyhow. What was I supposed to do? Why? Why bother? I was going to die anyway. I might as well be erased so none of this would ever have happened.
Jean slid over to me and took me in his embrace. Immersed in my own thoughts, his actions took me completely off guard. The feel of his arms around me was like an electric shock. No one had touched me in so long aside from the doctors in prison that I turned to him and clung, pressing my shivering body to his.
His hands slid down my sides and his breathing deepened. My head spun; I didn’t realize what was happening until he’d already lifted my dress over my head. By then, it was too late to stop. Desire rose within me, sharp and compelling. All thoughts fled at his touch. Surprise and longing took hold of me. I arched my whole body towards him and offered myself wantonly.
It was over very quickly. Just the touch of my bare skin made him cry out. I hardly had time to draw him into me before he shuddered and spent himself. His breath was ragged; sweat stood out on his brow.
I couldn’t move, completely under the spell of raw passion. My body had been wakened by Jean’s touch, but my mind was strangely lethargic. Locked in a tight embrace, the stuffy heat in the cave making our bodies slick with sweat, I couldn’t think of anything but assuaging my desire. After a minute, he hardened again and we made love once more. This time I took control of the situation and showed him how to give me pleasure. It was soon done—a violin string couldn’t have been drawn tighter than my lust. We cried out in unison, his in surprise, mine in release.
He rolled off me and lay panting on the floor. I sat up and drew my blouse over my breasts. With hands that shook, I smoothed my dress down over my legs.
Jean watched me with a puzzled expression, as if he couldn’t quite place me. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Did I hurt you?”
I closed my eyes. I wanted the silence to become visible, to cloak me and cover me in darkness so I could melt away.
“No, Isobel, look at me!” Even his pleas were stern. Perhaps he couldn’t help it; he was used to giving orders.
I put my hand out blindly and touched his face. Slowly I drew my fingers down his cheeks, over his chin, then back up to his forehead. I searched his face with my hand, looking for something, some sort of salvation, but all I felt was the smooth cheeks of youth and fuzz on his chin where a beard should have been. If only he’d been older. Sixteen! Oh, God, I’d just lain with a sixteen-year-old. I was thirteen years older than he was. No, I shook my head. Who was really older? He’d been born more than thirteen centuries before I had—I was younger than Jean by nearly a thousand years. A giggle burst from my lips. I buried my face in my hands and, for the first time in two weeks, started to laugh.
“Isobel!” Relief, and a hint of anger, colored in his voice.
I raised my head and looked at him. “I’ll be all right,” I said.
“I don’t know what happened, I felt, I wanted…” He moved closer to me and gripped my arm. “Will you marry me?”
“Oh, Jean.” I sighed. My sorrow was lessening. I could feel its weight easing off my body, and I could move without the feeling of lead in my limbs. “You don’t have to marry me, for heaven’s sake. All we did was make love. You can’t go and ask the first girl you lay with to marry you. You have to get to know the person, fall in love with her, want to spend the rest of your life with her, have children…” My voice tapered off.
“Will you have a child?” he asked, his eyes very bright.
“No, I will not,” I said. The depression departed, but I was exhausted. My head ached. “Let me sleep now. I won’t marry you and I won’t have a child. We can make love again, whenever you want to. It’s better to ask first, instead of just falling upon me, though.” I yawned. “It’s all right, don’t worry.”
“Why are you crying then?” He pulled my head down to his lap and stroked my cheeks.
“I don’t know, I think I’m just tired.”
“Then sleep, Isobel, sleep.” His voice, I realized, could be very gentle. I slept.

Hubby Update

Back in the saddle again...soon!

Hubby is feeling Much better. He's still in the hospital. Today the doctors will put a pacemaker under his collarbone, and he'll be able to leave Wed. or Thurs.


He's itching to get out. And itching because of the electrodes they have on his chest - turns out he's allergic to the glue and it itches him terribly, poor chap. The nurses have given him a cream for the irritation, but he's looking forward to having no more wires attached to his manly chest...


:-)


Then he has 3 weeks of rehab in a center about 40 min from us, and then he shuld be fine and good as new if not better.


*Sigh of relief.*


What's even nicer, is the free socialized medicine here in France. Well, almost free. Sarkozy has instigated what he calls the '1 euro for Alzheimers', that now everyone has to pay whenever they see the doctor. It can't go above 50 euros per year per person, and the amount goes straight into a funding for Alzheimers research and treatment. (So I'm not complaining, being rather absent-minded myself maybe I will get that disease someday and be glad the government budgeted for it...) But, aside from a 50 euro check, I don't have to pay a thing for the hospital, doctors, medicine, treatment, rehab, and even the transporation to and from the rehab is free of charge.


For everyone who thinks we pay much higher taxes for this, well, we don't. There is a slight difference - for a couple (double income earners) who make 80k a year, in France they are taxed 22%, wheras in the US they are taxed 19%. For a couple making over 120k a year, the difference is even less - 25% for France and 24% for the US (2005 statistics). For single earners, the difference is about 4% between the US and France. It's true we pay Much higher prices for gas, but we also have a public transportation system that lets us go all over France (and most of Europe) via train and bus, even from the most far-flung tiny villages. Living in Europe used to be more expensive than in the US, but right now, it's about the same. I'm trying to talk my son into coming back here to live (in Europe) to take advantage of the free university and healthcare system. Paying for his college and health insurance is straining our budget, so I hope he reads this and realizes he can come back and study in Paris (or anywhere else in Europe) for a whole lot cheaper.


What I am wondering is why the US refuses socialized medicine? Actually, when I see how much the doctors, lawyers, and pharmaceutical companies rake in, I do understand.

Advice for Writers

I was going through the slush pile this morning. I set my alarm and got up extra-early to do so. We've been getting lots of submissions at Calderwood Books, and as a publisher, we are always looking for a story that catches or interest and captivates us. I'm not the only slush pile reader, but this month I am - because of not one, but TWO, fried computers. So, I was all alone reading the slush and I was getting behind, so that's why the early morning and lots of coffee slush day today.
I found some interesting submissions. Most were not publishable, either because they were so badly written they would take far too much time and effort to work into shape, or the story was hackneyed, or the plot boring, or it was too narrow an interest field. I did find one or two that interested me, so I put them aside and went over them again when I was finished writing my rejections slips.
I read them again.
Yes, there was one that really stood out. Needed work, but the prose was vibrant and the story new and interesting. So, quite pleased, I sent off a request for a full manuscript and made a note in my files. A few minutes later I noticed a new e-mail. It said something along these lines, "Because I don't know your e-mail address, this note has bounced back. Go to this link and fill out a form in order to let your e-mail through."
Well, I was very sorry. Sorry because I just didn't have the time to follow links and fill out forms. I'm only blogging this because my son is in the shower and I'm waiting my turn. Anyhow, dear authors. Please, when you submit a story to a publisher or agent, make sure your spam catcher or filter has the publisher's / agent's e-mail address so you can accept their requests / rejections. I'm afraid I don't know any agent / publisher who will take the time to track down a submission.

Good luck with your submissions! (Next advice blog will be about publishing schedules - what to expect, when to bug the publisher, and when to sit back and relax!)

Just wanted to say thank you!

Thank you all for your comments, your e-mail messages, your phone calls and messages. Thank you for being such wonderful friends and cyber friends. I really do appreciate it!

I haven't had five minutes to myself lately (I got up at 5 am today, so I managed to sneak in an hour at the computer!) Between hospital visits (Hubby is progressing very well and driving the nurses batty - good sign), my 2 new jobs, and my son who came for a whirlwind 4 day visit and who I ended up seeing almost every day. (Also he missed his train, his plane, I had to drive to Paris to drop them off, they had to change their tickets and luckily only have to pay a small penalty!!) As my mother-in-law said, "Travel builds a young person's character." It also has given me several new wrinkles and gray hairs...

I can't say things will slow down any time soon. My daughter's German correspondant is coming for a week's visit in ten days, there is a ton of things to do in the garden...and I have to catch up on my writing, my blog, and on my friend's blogs!

(photo of August napping under my new curtain!)

Fragile Hearts Part Two

8 episodes of Dr. House later....
My husband's operation went very well yesterday. I spoke to a friend of the surgeon's, and he told me that hubby will be up and on his feet in no time!
So that is a great relief for the family (and for my husband too, I'm sure!)
He has a brand new valve. It's made from biotechnology, (a calf, if you really want to know) and that means he won't have to take anticoagulation medicind for the rest of his life. A mechanical valve would last longer, but it had more drawbacks. So, somewhere in the future he'll need the valva replaced again, but I'm sure that once you do something, it gets easier the next time. I remember my first ceasarian - I was terrified. But for the second one, it was routine. Been there, done that.
Well, I have to do everything I put off yesterday (yesterday I sat in front of the phone and just Waited.) So it's quick trim the front lawn (postage stamp size) get the house clean, go to the bank and go to work! Have a nice day!

The waiting game

It seems like life is all about waiting - waiting for the bus, waiting for the paycheck, waiting for sunny weather to mow the lawn, and waiting for Monday to be over.
I so want Monday to be over right now!

Yesterday I had tea at a friend's house who has the most beautiful garden. She's planted blue and white flowers everywhere, and the effect is lovely. I tried to do that, so I bought a white, climbing rose - only when it started blooming, it was yellow. "Fine,", I said to myself. "I'll do yellow and white," and I bought another white rose bush, and when it bloomed, it was pink.
I dropped my color scheme plans and just bought what struck my fancy. Now it's a purple, yellow, white, blue, and pink garden.
:-)

Kentucky Derby

Well, here are my bets for the Kentucky Derby...

Tale of Ekati

Colonel John

Big Brown

Z Humor

Smooth Air

(In that order!)

The Island of Numb

Thank you so much for all your well-wishes for my husband! He's home and resting before his surgery (slated for Monday!) He's not nervous at all - his doctors have been fantastic reassuring him, and now he's just looking forward to getting well.

I took my daughter to see the Island of Nim (starring Jodie Foster.)
It was Dreadful.
Lousy.
Boring.
Disappointing.

My daughter's comments:

"There's no story!"

"I can't believe the pirates weren't real. I thought, from seeing the trailor, that the little girl's island would be overrun with real pirates, and the writer would show up and be completely ineffectual, and the girl would save them all. Instead, there is no story. The pirates were fake."

"The lizards were stupid. The animals were too clever and it ruined everything. Why couldn't the father just be blown onto another island, instead of stranded on his boat and a bird brings him food and tools. We're supposed to believe that? The mix of fantasy and reality didn't work for me at all. It had to be either all fantasy or all reality."

"It was just stupid, stupid, stupid."

(She was quite harsh, but we only go to the movies every three months, and we look forward to our outings. We look at all the trailors and try to choose which movie we think will be good. The trailor to this movie was a hundred times better than the real movie. Now my daughter is furious we didn't go see Spiderwyk. Jodie Foster, if you're reading this, your good acting could not save this from floundering and sinking. Sorry.)

My comments:

"How can a girl who lives on a desert island be so chubby? She had flab hanging off her upper arms! I don't mind chunky kids, but this girl was flabby. Ugh. There was another child in the film - a boy. He was grossly overweight. He gave me the creeps. He was so fat, his eyes were tiny and he had no chin. His mother was huge and fat, his father huge and fat. Why are there so many fat people in this film? Next to them, Jodie Foster looks famished."

"The imaginary character was a good idea. Why didn't they use it more? And why bring in the clever lizard, pelican, and seal? What use were they?"

"Where was the pacing? There were too many switches between the scenes. Jodie, Island, Jodie, Island, Jodie, clever pelican saving father on boat, Jodie, Island...the scenes were poorly constructed and didn't last long enough or were too long. At the end, I just wanted the whole island to blow up so we could get up and leave."

Verdict - go see another film. Don't even bother renting this one when it hits the rental shops. It's a dud.

Fragile Hearts

As a romance writer, I know how fragilme a heart can be. They're broken at least once or twice a chapter, and only mended when the hero and heroine are together at last.
Unfortunately, in real life, the heart is fragile as well. My husband has to have a valve replacement. He's lived with a faulty valve all his life, actually. Born with a severe heart murmur, the doctors said he should avoid strenuous activities, and they told him he'd never be an athlete.
Well, never say never to my husband. He (typical bull-headed Taurus) decided he'd play polo, no matter what. And he did. He and his brother were the best polo players in France, and among the top five players in Europe. But the strain took its toll, and his aortic valve, never very strong, began to fail. The first signs were fatigue and snappishness. Totally unlike him. Then he fainted. An electrocardiogram turned up nothing, but he still felt awful, and when, finally, his doctor put a stethescope against his chest, he knew something was very wrong. (Sometimes a simple examination beats a high-tech exam!)
He's in the hospital now, waiting for his operation ( Scheduled for Monday). He hates being sick. He's always been incredibly healthy. Never cold, never ill, never complaining ( ladies, if you like the strong silent type, find yourselves a Taurus man!).
But he'll be fine after the operation, and he'll finally have a heart valve that works 100%, instead of just half that. He's looking forward to feeling better than ever. I'm looking forward to having my husband back home!

For information on hearts, I went to the American Heart Association website, and the British Heart assocation website had pdf files you can download and read like booklets explaining the different pathologies. Nothing beats talking to your own doctor though, and the wesbite couldn't pat me on the shoulder and tell me my husband will be feeling better than he's ever felt in a matter of weeks.
:-)