It’s Snowy And School Is Closed Tomorrow

Also, Grammy Puddin’s birthday was yesterday, so The Attitude and I did what any right-thinking father-son combination should do. We made oatmeal cookies to take her this weekend. 

Hopefully the snow that’s falling right now will accommodate. 

If not, we’ll be forced to eat them all ourselves and make more later. Because clearly only a monster would take a grandmother stale cookies.

But I think we’ll be fine. The cookies should arrive safe, sound, and mostly uneaten.

Still, you better believe we’re going to taste-test a few in the meantime. You know, just to be safe.



No Cookie Thursday

For whatever reason, I’ve gotten it into my head over the course of the past six months or so that Thursday night is cookie night, the best night of the week to dig out the brown sugar and a mixer and whip up a batch of chewy goodness. Or at least it is when you don’t have any delicious homemade cookies on hand and ready to eat.

I guess because it’s an awesome way to get Friday started. After all, what kind of deplorable monster would you have to be to not have your weekend propspects improved by a delightful, homemade cookie?  Probably also the same kind that hates puppies, unicorns, rainbows, and double desserts.

Well, I’m not that kind of disreputable hate monger. I love Thursday cookies. But, the thing is, as much as that’s true (and we are out of homemade cookies), I’ve got a project to trump cookie night…a finished manuscript.

Yep, if I put my nose, arms, shoulders, toes–and, hell, follicles probably, too–to the grindstone tonight, I should be able to wrap up this revision phase of Project Hermey. And if that happens, there will be much rejoicing. In fact, I might even get a few swallows of bourbon with my M&Ms. 

Thus, no cookies for me tonight, I’m afraid. If anyone needs me, I’ll be looking at the screen above, getting the words all tidied up and ready for beta readers.

So have a cookie or two for me, then. And think happy manuscript thoughts.


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Of Apples And Dinosaur Ambition

book_logoI’m this close (*presses finger and thumb together*) to finishing this pass of revisions on Project Hermey and shipping it off to interested beta readers who have been ridiculously patient with all the extra time it’s taken me. Huzzah! for that! But, it means I’ve got very little time to post today.

I had leaving you all with nothing but excuses, though.

Instead, allow me to demonstrate one of the many unexpected benefits of having children around the house.  Sometimes, the kids will leave things laying around in places they don’t belong. Of course, more often than not, the practice means you’ll blowing steam out of your ears when you reach into the drawer for a serving spoon and come out with an uncapped glue stick. Every now and again, though, something a lot more entertaining than irritating happens. I’ll find something out of place, and my brain will, unbidden, concoct a caption or a story line to go with it.

I call this Unintended Domestic Toy Theater.

Last night, I found a lonely dinosaur in the kitchen long after all the kids had gone to sleep. The accompanying tale that popped into my brain demanded I get a picture so I could give you this installment of Unintended Domestic Toy Theater, a classic tale of hunger, misguided ambition, and disproportionately large fruit.

The others assumed that Manny the spinosaurus was just lazy because he always refused to join in the hunt. But he had ambitions they could never fathom. Anyone could go out and chase down a few gallimimus, but they would tremble before him when he mastered the Apples of Destiny!

Have a great Tuesday, or whatever day this happens to be for you!

And remember, an apple a day keeps spinosaurus away.


A Haiku For Well-Salted Winter Roads


A white, snowy world
Roads of gray and slush
Washer fluid would be nice


Snowy Days And Shovels

Mother Nature must have heard me when I vowed I wasn’t going to spend all winter complaining about, well, winter. Because it sure seems like she’s given some of us a bit of respite this season all the way around. Sure, we’ve had a cold spell or two, but for the most part we haven’t been subjected to the kind of soul-crushing, spirit-draining, snow-days-beyond-count incarceration that made 2014 extra memorable.

You know, memorable the same way breaking your arm falling off the monkey bars in 3rd grade was memorable.

By that token, this year has been far less memorable, which has been fine with me. Because, really, snow is mostly only delightful during the holidays. Well, assuming you’re not a student or working in education. For this of us that aren’t either of those, yet still have to go someplace every day to make our hunk o’ bacon, snow is decidedly less “glittery unicorn Funtimes”.

So we’ve been lucky so far. But nothing good stays that way forever. Mother Nature wasn’t about to spend all winter away from us this year, off in Florida with the snowbirds, sipping piña coladas and playing shuffleboard. Nope, she came home today, and brought us a Texas-sized bucketful of snow to dump on us.

Clearly, then, I had to take a picture of the fluffy white stuff in the front yard. Well, or half of it anyway. A bunch more fell after I snapped that picture.

That said, I’ll be keeping my vow. At least for today. For now, I’m not going to go all Captain Icerage or chase anyone through the hedge maze with an ax. Instead, I’ll leave you with this one happy thought: yes, it might get a little scary when your kids start to grow up in pre-teendom and spend their days at a terrifying place called Middle School, but on snowy winter days, it’s awfully nice to have a few extra pairs of hands to help shoveling the driveway.

Which is how my driveway came to be mostly clear right now, and yet my back isn’t twisted up like a decaying swamp tree. The looming teen years might try both my patience and my grocery budget, but tonight I’m definitely not complaining that my two oldest sons are getting almost as tall as me.

Because that makes them quite tall enough to handle a snow shovel.


A Movie In 100, Err, 200 Words Or Less: John Wick

john_wick_ver3I don’t remember exactly when it was last week when I watched John Wick. It might have been Wednesday night, possibly Thursday, or maybe even during those sacred few hours after Friday ends and before Saturday truly begins, when a middle aged guy can enjoy a pint or two of IPA in a dark room while reclining before 40+ inches of glowing, high definition wonder. It was probably then, but the when here isn’t important.  What is important is that instead of continuing to my methodical near-nightly Netflix campaign through the whole of Parks and Recreation (yes, I’m watching it from the beginning), I decided to watch a movie.

And John Wick had just last week been released for streaming rental.

Perhaps it was coincidence.  I’m choosing to believe otherwise.

John Wick

John Wick isn’t a perfect movie. There are a few that defy reason, even in a movie where the suspension of disbelief is achieved so easily. But whatever its faults, I feel they’re but tiny criticism of a movie that was overall very well done. It’s not an original concept, to be sure: assassin is wronged and vows revenge, even though it requires dismantling an entire criminal enterprise. This movie, though, is a textbook example of how the presentation of a story matters almost as much as the story itself. The movie begins exactly at the moment necessary to tell it, rather than dumping backstory on us with immediate flashbacks or exposition. No, in John Wick, we start with only what we need: a vulnerable, deeply hurt protagonist. Doing so breeds sympathy for someone who easily could have been an anti-hero at best, or an unsympathetic character at worst. And that makes watching his almost bezerker-like charge for vengeance that much more compelling. Oh, and the action? Yeah, that’s pretty solid too. All things considered, this might be my favorite Keanu Reeves in a long time. In fact, I sort of forgot it was him for awhile. And if that doesn’t say it all, I don’t know what else to add.

So if you happen to find yourself in possession of a couple of sacred hours , or it’s just Tuesday and you feel like an action thriller, I definitely recommend John Wick.


A Limerick For The Revision Quicksand In Chapter 30

The latest of my books is called Hermey.
While revising, I’m mired in Chapter 30.
With great fury, I’m rewriting,
But the words, they are fighting!
If I don’t fix 30 soon, I’ll go loony!

The Saturday Afternoon View From My Porch

So here’s what I’m looking at right now.

At nearly 50 degrees this afternoon, I thought it seemed like the perfect opportunity to spend a little time on my back porch, revising Project Hermey under an unseasonably crystal blue February sky. The Attitude agreed, at least about it being ridonkulously nice for the second month of the year. He opted for the swings, instead of work, though, and I dare say we can’t fault him for that decision.

Whatever your Saturday afternoon brings, I hope it consists of at least some of this:


…and no so much of the white, icy stuff that’s  piled up over your mailbox.

Have a great weekend!


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Because I Don’t Have Time For No Flu


We’ve been barely skating along at la Casa de Puddin this week.  To the horror of all of us, the Puddinette was beset by some rotten form of the dastardly influenza on Monday, and has been clinging to her last remaining shreds of humanity from our bedroom since. As you can imagine, leaving me in charge of keeping the household headed in something even remotely like the right direction while she’s been off her feet has been a dicey business at best. Let’s be honest, putting yours truly in charge of most things is like handing a can of gasoline and a box of matches to an adolescent nicknamed “Blaze”.

Thanks in part to the careful application of ibuprofen and her own stubborn refusal to let the family we’ve built together crumble into something more terrifying than Celebrity Apprentice, I’ve gotten enough guidance to keep it all mostly together and functioning. So far, so good. Even better, she’s thankfully started to seem like the most miserable parts of the illness are behind her.

So that’s pretty awesome.

Awesome except that…last night, before stumbling to bed, I realized I felt off. Admittedly, for me, that this isn’t saying much. Being somewhat “off” is generally consider one of my more notable and valuable characteristics. But it wasn’t a fun, wacky off I felt last night, it was, “Oy, I’m hella tired and feel weaker than a 3 hour-old spotted tadpole” kind of off.

You know, that dreaded haziness you get 24 hours before you slide deep into the grip of flu-inspired fever dreams about a Tyrannosaurus-like Da-Vinci flying the Wright Brothers’ plane from Kitty Hawk, NC, through outer space, past the asteroids, and ultimately to a new dinosaur art colony on Jupiter, never mind that the whole planet is basically a gigantic ball of gas.

Well, I’ve got a life to lead here and I don’t have half a week to give to the chilled sweat dreams. So I took to the offensive and instead spent the day praying to any higher power within earshot for my flu shot to block the microbial assault over Battleground Puddin. Figuring, though, that I had a better chance with a more active plan (aka, one less dependent on hopes, wishes, and nameless deities), I also began the regular application of what you see above.

At the moment, I am happy to report the today’s Zicam and Orange Juice Blockade seems to have largely had the desired effect. I’m not feeling “off” any more, and that’s gloriously delightful because the last thing I need is to go all weekend wondering when maybe, if I were lucky, I might not be repulsed at the concept of a few spoonfuls of chicken soup.

The weekend is coming, dammit. With a little luck, I’ll be up to taking advantage of it.

Because the weekend, see, is cookie time.

And I’m not letting anything get in they way of cookie time.

I recommend you do the same.



A Haiku For The Baffling Devotion To Girl Scout Cookies

Each year Girl Scouts rule.
O’er a Thin Mint reign
I’ll take nice chocolate chips, thanks


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