Fresh Peach Pie and Joining My High School Alumni Glee Squad

I made fresh peach pie last night. For some things there are words, really good ones, for others there aren't--except maybe yummmmmmmm. Peach pie is what dreams are made from. I know, I ate three pieces. Triple yummmmmmm. It may also be what diets are born from. I'll get back to you on that one.

I also know what breeds nightmares, because I had a real winner last night. In my dream I joined my high school's alumni glee squad. Just so you know, my high school doesn't have an alumni glee squad, probably for a very good reason, but that didn't stop me at two in the morning.

If you like the television show Glee, you wouldn't like this dream.



Why? We couldn't sing. We couldn't dance. We did a synchronized swimming luau musical. The only words I have for this are: What the freak? And: NIGHTMARE!

I told my hubby about it this morning, and he just stared at me for a minute. Then he said, "That is not cool."

See why I married him? He is a brilliant man and oh so right. Cool and a bunch of alumni (you really should read 'old people' here) dressed in swimming suits performing a synchronized swimming luau musical don't belong together. Ever. I Promise.

And even though I've donned a swimsuit in the middle of a crowded Costco, it was over jeans, and I didn't have to dance in it. Or swim up a waterfall while juggling flaming torches and singing in full voice. Those alumni glee squads are hard core. They even made us practice four hours every day so we'd be as synced as possible for our performance.

What does this have to do with writing? It's just proof that all ideas are not good ones. Sometimes we have to let an idea die, think of it as putting it out of its misery. And if any of you are out there thinking that a high school alumni glee club/synchronized swimming/musical/luau/torture group is a good thing, we need to talk.

How To Kill An Alien

Right now I am on a plane headed for Hawaii, but just to prove how much I love you guys I did the unthinkable and wrote this post ahead of time. Shocking I know. :)

Anywho, a few nights ago the dream goblin came to visit. Here is how it went down:

Kid D dreamed that one of her first grade acquaintances stabbed my hubby to death. Kid D ended up in bed with us. I don't think she likes this killer boy very much. Come to think of it, I'm not so hot on him either.

Hubby dreamed that the cats pooped all over the clean clothes.

I dreamed that six inches of snow fell overnight and killed all my tomatoes. The horror! Then I dreamed that aliens invaded the planet, and I somehow ended up correcting the eye witnesses' grammar and punctuation while the government officials debriefed them. I kept saying over and over, "Just use simple past tense and get rid of your passive verbs!"

Yeah, go ahead and laugh it up. It may sound kind of whacked, but guess how we defeated the alien invasion? Yup. We action verbed them to death. (And yes, I just used verb as a verb. I can do that, I'm a writer.) Passive verbs turned out to be an evil plague sent in advance by the aliens to weaken us and make us susceptible to domination. But we stopped them with words like stalked and talked and exploded. As in we stalked them, talked to them, and then exploded their brains with action verbs. Mwahahahahaha!

So, now you know how to kill an alien. I realize this is dangerous information, but I trust you to use your action verbs wisely. I'm pretty sure the government will set up special verb safety courses now, kind of like gun safety courses and drivers ed. Maybe they'll even teach it in schools. He he.

Anywho, as far as dreams go, Kid D must be afraid of death, Hubby must be afraid of cat poop, and I must be afraid of snow and passive verbs, because I'm sure as heck not afraid of aliens. Kapow!

What are you afraid of? What strange twists do your dreams take to express these fears? And do you ever dream about verbs. or is it just me?

The Magic Number Twelve

Twelve.

That's the number of days until I'll be standing on a beach in Hawaii.



I can almost hear the surf. It's almost close enough to smell. My friend sent me this link because she's awesome and loves me. Check it out:

http://youtu.be/uBLccEDmn40

What are you looking forward to? What will you be doing in twelve days?

The Answers Have Come At Last!

I bolted from sleep at four this morning knowing I'd found the missing pieces to my current novel. Talk about one of those moments when the world slows down and everything is crystal clear. It's magic. It's profound. It's brilliance. It't speechless-a-fying.

This kind of genius only comes once or twice in a lifetime, and today was one of those days. You know, the kind when you finally grasp the true meaning of life and all the little holes and questions fill in.

What were the missing pieces to my novel? What amazing knowledge was I blessed with? It came in the form of five all-important words. Are you ready to hear them? Are you ready for the awesomeness of them? Can you handle the wake-you-from-a-deep-sleep-because-all-your-problems-have-been-solved words?

Okay, brace yourself.

Really.

These are world changing.

You may never be able to go back to who you were.

Really.

Are you prepared for the awesomesauce?

Here they are:

Put. Grind. Lampshade. Aida Cloth.

Yup. Did I mention I woke knowing these words would solve all my problems? Sigh. Groan. Shake my head and bury it under my pillow.

What these words have to do with my book is beyond me. Why I bolted from sleep with them stamped on my brain and my heart pounding like the book gods had granted me a visit is also beyond me. I mean really. Wake a poor girl up with heart palpitations for Lampshade? Aida cloth? Am I supposed to have my dark elf main character take up cross stitching? Seriously?

Ug. I'm going back to bed.

What words of wisdom have you all been blessed with lately? Because I think I could use them. That or I need to stop eating before I go to bed.

So He's A Dog.

Last night a wicked person turned my hubby into a dog.


Yes, it's true, a big hairy one that drooled on the furniture, chased the cats, and licked my face.

Shudder. I don't even like dogs.

See? Evil.

Then they left him that way too long before changing him back to a human, and the dog thing stuck in his brain. Do you know how awkward it is to rub a grown man's belly and scratch behind his ears? Yup. Strange.

And yes, my dreams are usually strange. I spent the greater part of the night trying to coax my hubby back into humanity. It didn't work. The mental dogness was permanent. Talk about nightmare. You try taking your hubby/dog for a walk. You get really odd looks when you strap a human man to a leash. Just saying. And I'm not even going to go into fire hydrants because, well, this is a family friendly blog and some things are just so wrong.

I woke up feeling like I needed to get Hubby some shots and a really cute collar. I'm just so glad it was a dream.

What does this have to do with writing? Nothing. It's just that kind of day.

Flashlights, Washing Machines, Sinking Ships, and Perfect Storms.

Last night I went on a lovely boat ride on a vast and swift river. The clear water lapped at the ship's sides then began to fill the ship's belly. Fast. People began to fill the life boats even faster. I began to wrap my computer in about 900 layers of plastic and Duct Tape to protect it from the rising water. Hubby logged on the ship's Internet to check the sport scores. Yup, we have priorities.

Things were going well, after all I had my water tight computer taped to my back, hubby had his sport scores, and we could both swim. Then Kid D sloshed into the scene and announced in her six-year-old lisp that there were no more life jackets.

Kid D can't swim.

I panicked and woke up just before the ship went under. I then lay in bed from four to six trying to do a major rewrite on my dream to include a life jacket for my youngest, or figure out how to swim with both her and my laptop in my arms. Somehow it never occurred to me to try to edit out the flood or not have Kid D on board the doomed vessel. Because why would you remove such a nice plot twist? In the end, I left the computer because, like I said, I have priorities. I did attach a beacon buoy and a pink floaty to it so I could come back and retrieve it.

It's been a few months since I had a flood dream. It's also been a few months since our last washing machine catastrophe. I'm beginning to thing the two are linked because, you guessed it, we had a real flood last night. Thanks so much to the cosmic laundry Carma guy or whatever governs these things. Here are the main points to keep in mind during this story:

1: We just finished remodeling our basement.

2: We have a history of washing machine disasters. (Click here in case you missed the other link)

3: We just finished remodeling our basement.

4: Unlike the boat dream, the washing machine wasn't something you get to wake up from.

5: Did I mention that we just finished a remodel of our basement?

Here are the main facts:

1: Flashlights, even smallish ones, are not good items to place in your washing machine. Especially when they get stuck and jam up the whole monster. It's bad. Very bad.

2: Having about three batches worth of denim pants piled into the same batch by overly helpful children is also bad. So very very bad.

3: Having about five times the correct amount of laundry soap is also bad. And bubbly.

4: Walking down into your newly remodeled basement to find water and suds EVERYWHERE is beyond bad. In fact, it makes you cry. A lot. And maybe think bad words. And use a lot of towels. And cry.

So anyway, there you have the perfect storm of dreams and laundry conditions. Can you guess what I'll be doing today? Writing about it of course. Yup, I have priorities. :)

A Night In Hawaii or Not

So, if any of you know me, you know I adore Hawaii. The beaches, the sand, the sun, the--oh lets be honest, I love everything about it. I've been once with my hubby and dream of going back. Literally.

Last night, my dreams took me there. Hubby and I stepped off the plane and the warm, salt-scented air greeted us. I was one hotel-room-stop away from sinking my toes into the surf. Paradise, right?

Wrong. I looked down, and there was Kid A. Now, Kid A isn't the problem herself, it was her eyes. They were red and had goobers attached to the eyelashes. One word shot through my dream mind. PINKEYE.

(I'd show you a picture, but I'm not that mean. And you deserve better, so imagine instead.)

Anywho, yup, paradise dream just went south fast and turned into nightmare city. Those of you who know me should be either groaning or laughing right now, because you know how pinkeye haunts me. There simply aren't words to describe the horror it brings into my heart. For those who don't know me, I'll try to explain. But remember, there aren't enough words. Really.

Some people are afraid of monsters, others have a hang up with spiders, or nuclear war, or death, or dismemberment, or I don't know, something bad. Well, they got nothing on me and my pinkeye phobia. It all started when my hubby received a corneal transplant and went from legally blind to ta-da I can see! (It wasn't that easy btw.) Then the doctor told me he could never get an eye infection-ever-or his body might reject his cornea, and he'd be blind.

Never tell someone with OCD tendencies something like that. Let's just say I change when someone gets pinkeye. Really change. It isn't good. The kids all sink into the corners and start to whimper, and I start scrubbing and randomly shouting things like, "Did you wash your hands?" or "Don't touch ANYTHING!" Then I wash and wash and wash every surface in the house till my hands start to bleed, and my hair falls out, and the paint starts to come off the walls, and the people with the white jackets show up, and the world ends, or hubby calms me down. A bit. See, not pretty. Picture Monk, but worse. (And if you've never seen Monk, go rent a season or two, or more, from Netflix. It's good.)



Anywho, back to my paradise dream turned nightmare. I stared into Kid A's red, demon eyes and went psycho. Do you know how hard it is to disinfect Hawaii? Sand just doesn't clean up well, and tourists touch things. A lot. We ended up in the hospital, which is another phobia of mine. Then we ended up lost in a maze of corridors trying to find a door to escape from. AND then as we raced through the halls, I TOUCHED MY EYE. Again, if you know me, you should be aghast at the horror. Aghast. If you don't know me, pretend to be aghast, or at least laugh. Please.

We never got out of the hospital. I got pinkeye. And then I woke up. I ran to the mirror, stared into my sleep-bleary eyes, and sighed. No red, not even a sign of pink. So, was it fun to spend the night in Hawaii? Not so much. It's good to be home.

Middle-Of-The-Night Worries

I've had a couple of disjointed nights. For the second night in a row, I woke up at two in the morning and found myself in bed with a man. Of course, this man was my husband of seventeen years, but where ever my mind was before I woke up, it forget this small detail. Both times! How is that even possible? It's very freaky by the way. I don't recommend doing it. I think I might be be losing my mind. Hubby agrees.

I also woke up at three last night overcome with worry about the serpentine belt in our van. I'd like to point out that up until then, I didn't know there was a serpentine belt in the van.

I know a lot about vehicles. Important things like, they drive places, where the key goes, how to turn on the radio, where the gas goes, and how to open the little door to where the gas goes. I also know that oil isn't supposed to be black, and you should have someone else change it for you before it gets black, because someone with my level of expertise just shouldn't try to do surgery on her vehicle. And finally, I know there is an engine, and it has mysterious parts and tubes that do something and occasionally need to be fixed or replaced.

What these parts are is beyond my capacity to understand, so for me to wake up in the middle of the night worried about my belts is strange. Strange and disturbing. I tossed and turned for an hour before I got up and hit the Internet. After some lame Google searches like: " Do I have belts in my van? What are the belts called in my van?" and, "Do I have to get new belts for my van?" I hit pay dirt. (These searches are in quotes because I muttered them to myself as I typed. I just wanted you to have an accurate mental picture of me at four-ish in the morning.)

It turns out I do have a serpentine belt, and I probably do need to replace it about 5,000 miles ago. It costs around $20.00 Labor costs, well lets just say it's more than the part. Way more. Sigh. Now I'm worried that when I take it in and say, "Hey, I think I need my serpentine belt fixed because I woke up in the middle of the night all stressed about it." they'll poke around in my van's innards and discover a whole mess of things wrong. Then they'll tell me it will cost thousands of dollars, and I'll pass out on the floor. They'll sweep me away with the garbage, and I'll be late to pick up the carpool. But I digress.

I returned to my bed with my hubby of seventeen years, whom I proudly remembered, and lay awake until six worrying about getting the stupid serpentine belt replaced today. Yes, I know that sounds crazy, but I'm calling the mechanic guy as soon as they open. My family is driving to California this weekend, and I don't want to be beltless in the middle of Nevada, and I certainly don't want another night like last night.