For three months I looked forward to my trip to Disneyland. My son, Ryan, and his wife, Jamie, decided we needed some time alone with the two girls, Ally and Kate. I have seven grandkids and five of them are boys so yeah, we want to spend a little quality time with the girls.
To save money, my son decides we're driving to LA and since he lives in the Bay Area and we live in the mountains, we agree to meet up at the Disneyland Hotel. We are to leave at five a.m. so we went to bed at eight, determined to get an early start.
Not.
At three in the morning I wake with a headache, take two Tylenol and fall back asleep. My alarm goes off at seven instead of five, so we came screaming awake with the sun in our faces. Jumping out of bed, we dress, pack the car, and hit the road by eight-thirty.
Four hours into the trip and I am starving. I salivate every time we pass a McDonald's. Thoughts of an Egg McMuffin fill my brain. Will my husband stop? No, not until we need gas which is at least two hours away if I am reading the gas gauge right.
Two hours and fifteen minutes later I inhale my McMuffin, use the restroom, and get back in the car. Ten minutes after that and we pull over so I can use the restroom again. NEVER inhale an Egg McMuffin when you have Crohn's disease.
To save money, my son decides we're driving to LA and since he lives in the Bay Area and we live in the mountains, we agree to meet up at the Disneyland Hotel. We are to leave at five a.m. so we went to bed at eight, determined to get an early start.
Not.
At three in the morning I wake with a headache, take two Tylenol and fall back asleep. My alarm goes off at seven instead of five, so we came screaming awake with the sun in our faces. Jumping out of bed, we dress, pack the car, and hit the road by eight-thirty.
Four hours into the trip and I am starving. I salivate every time we pass a McDonald's. Thoughts of an Egg McMuffin fill my brain. Will my husband stop? No, not until we need gas which is at least two hours away if I am reading the gas gauge right.
Two hours and fifteen minutes later I inhale my McMuffin, use the restroom, and get back in the car. Ten minutes after that and we pull over so I can use the restroom again. NEVER inhale an Egg McMuffin when you have Crohn's disease.
From the Sacramento Valley to Fresno all is green. The corn reaches for the sky, the tomatoes flower, and fruit and nut trees dot the landscape. I find myself admiring what the farmers have created. Without water, the valley would mimic the Nevada desert. The blooming fields are a beautiful sight.
I imagine the long days and nights of worrying over the crops, the love and care the fields need, and am astounded at how many pickers there are. Their cars parked outside of the fields, men and women scurry around, grabbing boxes, smiling, and listening to music. There are umbrellas where people nap, food stands, rest rooms, tents, and housing. The fields are fruitful and the people, at least from what I can see, are happy.
Then death appears. Grapes vines wither on their stalks, acres and acres of fruit and nut trees wave skeletal arms in the wind. Sometimes the dust is so thick you can't see in front of you. Barren ponds, thick with dried mud and inactive water pumps litter the side of the freeway. In the Sacramento Valley, green grass sprouts between the trees but here, in Central California, where the trees aren't dead they are dying, the ground hard and brittle. No water in sight.
I wonder, confused, why the California aqueduct flows on, denying relief to the amazing amount of dead crops. I can't imagine what has happened. Finally, I began to see signs.
Stop the Congress created Dust Bowl.
What the heck?
Thank heavens for smart phones though coverage is spotty. Apparently there's a small fish called a Delta Smelt. And for some reason those little Smelts are protected by the Federal Government. I read about desperate men and women who march in the heat to protest turning off the water in the Central Valley. Like I said before, that aqueduct keeps flowing. Apparently the water supply to Southern California is exempt.
Before long I have myself worked up into a mad that my husband threatens to cure with a chocolate milkshake. Which, of course, I cannot have, but desperately want. He is going to drink one right in front of me. He says we are on vacation as I vow to write about the situation. He says go ahead, I can do it while he slurps his shake. We both agree to put aside the ideas. He from his milkshake, me from my mad.
I gave some thought to writing, why I write, what writing means to me, and marketing, the bain of all writers. It isn't like the old days when there were just a few big publishers. Now anyone can publish a book--even an unedited one and sell it on Amazon. The odds of a little writer like myself ever hitting the big time are remote, but I write on because it is in my genes.
I like words. I like communicating. I LOVE telling stories that have meaning. My nieces and nephews used to call it the Aunty Louann routine. I'd get to talking and pretty soon I'd capture their attention with stories and advice. Eventually, I put my parables down on paper and they turned into books. Each of my grandkids has one dedicated to them individually. They are the Journey series.
I gave a lot of thought to marketing. What happened to an industry that has authors doing give-a-ways for people to read their books? They give away gift cards, gift baskets, and sometimes, money. I can see giving away a free e-book or even a free book--but money? It takes a year to write a book from start to finish. I can't see paying people to read my novels. Good heavens. If I have to pay people to read them I must suck at authoring.
I imagine the long days and nights of worrying over the crops, the love and care the fields need, and am astounded at how many pickers there are. Their cars parked outside of the fields, men and women scurry around, grabbing boxes, smiling, and listening to music. There are umbrellas where people nap, food stands, rest rooms, tents, and housing. The fields are fruitful and the people, at least from what I can see, are happy.
Then death appears. Grapes vines wither on their stalks, acres and acres of fruit and nut trees wave skeletal arms in the wind. Sometimes the dust is so thick you can't see in front of you. Barren ponds, thick with dried mud and inactive water pumps litter the side of the freeway. In the Sacramento Valley, green grass sprouts between the trees but here, in Central California, where the trees aren't dead they are dying, the ground hard and brittle. No water in sight.
I wonder, confused, why the California aqueduct flows on, denying relief to the amazing amount of dead crops. I can't imagine what has happened. Finally, I began to see signs.
Stop the Congress created Dust Bowl.
What the heck?
Thank heavens for smart phones though coverage is spotty. Apparently there's a small fish called a Delta Smelt. And for some reason those little Smelts are protected by the Federal Government. I read about desperate men and women who march in the heat to protest turning off the water in the Central Valley. Like I said before, that aqueduct keeps flowing. Apparently the water supply to Southern California is exempt.
Before long I have myself worked up into a mad that my husband threatens to cure with a chocolate milkshake. Which, of course, I cannot have, but desperately want. He is going to drink one right in front of me. He says we are on vacation as I vow to write about the situation. He says go ahead, I can do it while he slurps his shake. We both agree to put aside the ideas. He from his milkshake, me from my mad.
I gave some thought to writing, why I write, what writing means to me, and marketing, the bain of all writers. It isn't like the old days when there were just a few big publishers. Now anyone can publish a book--even an unedited one and sell it on Amazon. The odds of a little writer like myself ever hitting the big time are remote, but I write on because it is in my genes.
I like words. I like communicating. I LOVE telling stories that have meaning. My nieces and nephews used to call it the Aunty Louann routine. I'd get to talking and pretty soon I'd capture their attention with stories and advice. Eventually, I put my parables down on paper and they turned into books. Each of my grandkids has one dedicated to them individually. They are the Journey series.
I gave a lot of thought to marketing. What happened to an industry that has authors doing give-a-ways for people to read their books? They give away gift cards, gift baskets, and sometimes, money. I can see giving away a free e-book or even a free book--but money? It takes a year to write a book from start to finish. I can't see paying people to read my novels. Good heavens. If I have to pay people to read them I must suck at authoring.
Eight and one half hours into our trip and we head over the Grapevine and into LA. What should have been a forty-five minute drive turns into another one and one half hours. At last we reach the Disneyland Hotel.
"Where the heck have you been?" Ryan shouts the second after we knock on the door.
Instead of a room we have a suite with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a living room. Now this is living!
We're dead tired, but the kids are ready to hit the streets. We drink beer on Main Street while Ryan and his dad watch a football game. We meander the shops, play with the kids, and buy trinkets. Expensive trinkets. Then we eat dinner. Did I mention expensive?
After watching the fireworks from our bedroom window we fall into bed, exhausted. The following morning we're up at seven and eating breakfast at Denny's--one heck of a lot cheaper than dining in the park. We take the tram and head over to Disneyland where we walk, and walk, and walk. We ride all the rides, Ariel, Alice in Wonderland, all my speed since I do not do roller coasters.
We have dinner at The Blue Bayou. Steak and lobster--we won't discuss the bill. We watch the fireworks and I am mesmerized. These people know how to put on a show. And where that dang dragon came from I'll never know. One minute there was nothing on the island and the next it is there. Powerful stuff steak, lobster, and firework magic.
On the third day we hit the shows. At 3D Muppet Review some kid hacks up a lung behind me. I know we should move because I take Humira for Crohn's and my immune system is compromised, but we had the perfect spot. The show was great and when it was over we headed outside for more rides.
The first day it was warm, the second hot. Deadly hot. At least that's how I felt. We stood in line for over forty minutes for some rides and when we approached the car's ride and it had a two hour wait, we called it a day. We headed back to the hotel and went for a swim before eating at a Mexican restaurant that had the most marvelous mouth watering fajitas. Again, we won't discuss the bill.
"Where the heck have you been?" Ryan shouts the second after we knock on the door.
Instead of a room we have a suite with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a living room. Now this is living!
We're dead tired, but the kids are ready to hit the streets. We drink beer on Main Street while Ryan and his dad watch a football game. We meander the shops, play with the kids, and buy trinkets. Expensive trinkets. Then we eat dinner. Did I mention expensive?
After watching the fireworks from our bedroom window we fall into bed, exhausted. The following morning we're up at seven and eating breakfast at Denny's--one heck of a lot cheaper than dining in the park. We take the tram and head over to Disneyland where we walk, and walk, and walk. We ride all the rides, Ariel, Alice in Wonderland, all my speed since I do not do roller coasters.
We have dinner at The Blue Bayou. Steak and lobster--we won't discuss the bill. We watch the fireworks and I am mesmerized. These people know how to put on a show. And where that dang dragon came from I'll never know. One minute there was nothing on the island and the next it is there. Powerful stuff steak, lobster, and firework magic.
On the third day we hit the shows. At 3D Muppet Review some kid hacks up a lung behind me. I know we should move because I take Humira for Crohn's and my immune system is compromised, but we had the perfect spot. The show was great and when it was over we headed outside for more rides.
The first day it was warm, the second hot. Deadly hot. At least that's how I felt. We stood in line for over forty minutes for some rides and when we approached the car's ride and it had a two hour wait, we called it a day. We headed back to the hotel and went for a swim before eating at a Mexican restaurant that had the most marvelous mouth watering fajitas. Again, we won't discuss the bill.
The next morning we headed home. Giving me more time to think. Believe me, you can do a lot of thinking in a ten hour drive.
I thought about insecurity, friendship, and family. All writers are insecure. Beats me why such an insecure emotional bunch would become book writers, but they do. By nature many of us are introspective. We like people, we just get nervous when we are with them for too long a time.
I've been accused by what I thought was my best friend for being not quite humble enough for her liking, so I gave a good amount of time to that thought. I wondered how someone who knew me so well could so misunderstand me. Was she jealous? Angry? Spiteful? I don't know because she's banned me from her Facebook page.
We had a bit of a tiff over marketing.
I wondered what people would think if they discovered I gave birth to my daughter, Shannon, just two weeks after turning sixteen. That I dropped out of high school to raise a family, fighting through the odds that said my husband and I would never succeed. This year we will celebrate forty-two years of marriage, three kids, and seven grandkids. I went to night school, graduated, went on to college. I went into business with over 300 physicians and created a successful company that employed hundreds of people over the nearly fifteen years I was C.E.O.
And if another person asks me why I did not attend the class reunion it was because my best friend was in charge of it and I didn't get an invitation. Go figure. Life will teach you who your friends are. Frankly, I'm tired of making excuses and after running into another person this past weekend, I've had enough.
Like I said, writing is a big part of my life. Part of selling my company was to move to the mountains and write. I've managed to do that. Am I being not humble here? I don't think so. I worked hard every single step of the way. I've battled stress, depression, and anxiety related to Crohn's disease. Yes, it's true I don't have time for everyone in my life. So I concentrate more on my family than my friends. That's just the way I am. Should I be sorry for that? Should I be ostracised for that? Ban me if you want. I'm done with you.
As you can see I had entirely too much time to think.
I also go to church on Sundays. I give thanks to God who has given me so much. I thank Him for the strength I need every day. I thank Him for the food on my table, my house, my life, and my relationships with my kids while my husband sits home and drinks milkshakes.
After driving for ten hours and developing a headache from too much thinking, we pull into the driveway of our home. The kids arrive before us and have a pot of soup on the stove. We unpack and collapse into our beds.
I wake up the next day feeling rotten. Thank you little kid that sat behind me in Muppets 3D. I have a cold and it is a whopper. My head hurts, my neck hurts, but damn if I am going to tell anyone. So, I take it easy. I sit on the beach while the kids go boating, they have a blast tubing. I let my daughter-in-law cook dinner--she's Italian--first generation--and boy is she creative in the kitchen.
The following day, I sit on the beach again, playing in the sand, painting my toenails, coughing and sneezing. By this time, everyone knows I am sick. But what the hell, I'm not a bad sport. That night it was pizza, I had salad, the kids had soda, I had water. My husband fairly gloated at me as he downed that damn pepperoni. The snake. We went home where I bake my famous chocolate chip cookies.
By Friday the kids are wearing me out. Gramma please play with me. Gramma can we go in the boat. OK, we'll go to the pool. I call to find out the hours--the pool is closed for cleaning. Ryan and Jamie take the kids and go to the river while I take a looooonnnnnggggg nap--my husband right beside me.
Saturday we host a barbeque for Kate who's just turned eight. Even the other side of the family came, minus two who will not be forgotten. We picnicked, went tubing, went to the pool, and cursed the snack shack that had shut down for the season.
On Sunday, the entire house came down with my cold. From my husband to my son to the grandkids. Only Jamie was immune. We went to the pool just because it felt better to be doing something rather than laying about. That night we had my other daughter-in-law's delicious fried rice--she's Chinese--and can she cook. That's one nice thing about having a multicultural family--except my husband who is Irish. All they know how to do is boil meat.
Monday morning the kids are off and I look around my house with dismay. It will take me hours to get it up to snuff so I clean while my husband moans in bed, accompanied by his cold and our two dogs. I remind him of what a good sport I am--heading off to the beach and the pool while suffering.
Once again he threatens me with a milkshake and I know to back off. There are some things that just drive me nuts. Chocolate is one of them.
Happy reading!
It is soooo good to be home...
I thought about insecurity, friendship, and family. All writers are insecure. Beats me why such an insecure emotional bunch would become book writers, but they do. By nature many of us are introspective. We like people, we just get nervous when we are with them for too long a time.
I've been accused by what I thought was my best friend for being not quite humble enough for her liking, so I gave a good amount of time to that thought. I wondered how someone who knew me so well could so misunderstand me. Was she jealous? Angry? Spiteful? I don't know because she's banned me from her Facebook page.
We had a bit of a tiff over marketing.
I wondered what people would think if they discovered I gave birth to my daughter, Shannon, just two weeks after turning sixteen. That I dropped out of high school to raise a family, fighting through the odds that said my husband and I would never succeed. This year we will celebrate forty-two years of marriage, three kids, and seven grandkids. I went to night school, graduated, went on to college. I went into business with over 300 physicians and created a successful company that employed hundreds of people over the nearly fifteen years I was C.E.O.
And if another person asks me why I did not attend the class reunion it was because my best friend was in charge of it and I didn't get an invitation. Go figure. Life will teach you who your friends are. Frankly, I'm tired of making excuses and after running into another person this past weekend, I've had enough.
Like I said, writing is a big part of my life. Part of selling my company was to move to the mountains and write. I've managed to do that. Am I being not humble here? I don't think so. I worked hard every single step of the way. I've battled stress, depression, and anxiety related to Crohn's disease. Yes, it's true I don't have time for everyone in my life. So I concentrate more on my family than my friends. That's just the way I am. Should I be sorry for that? Should I be ostracised for that? Ban me if you want. I'm done with you.
As you can see I had entirely too much time to think.
I also go to church on Sundays. I give thanks to God who has given me so much. I thank Him for the strength I need every day. I thank Him for the food on my table, my house, my life, and my relationships with my kids while my husband sits home and drinks milkshakes.
After driving for ten hours and developing a headache from too much thinking, we pull into the driveway of our home. The kids arrive before us and have a pot of soup on the stove. We unpack and collapse into our beds.
I wake up the next day feeling rotten. Thank you little kid that sat behind me in Muppets 3D. I have a cold and it is a whopper. My head hurts, my neck hurts, but damn if I am going to tell anyone. So, I take it easy. I sit on the beach while the kids go boating, they have a blast tubing. I let my daughter-in-law cook dinner--she's Italian--first generation--and boy is she creative in the kitchen.
The following day, I sit on the beach again, playing in the sand, painting my toenails, coughing and sneezing. By this time, everyone knows I am sick. But what the hell, I'm not a bad sport. That night it was pizza, I had salad, the kids had soda, I had water. My husband fairly gloated at me as he downed that damn pepperoni. The snake. We went home where I bake my famous chocolate chip cookies.
By Friday the kids are wearing me out. Gramma please play with me. Gramma can we go in the boat. OK, we'll go to the pool. I call to find out the hours--the pool is closed for cleaning. Ryan and Jamie take the kids and go to the river while I take a looooonnnnnggggg nap--my husband right beside me.
Saturday we host a barbeque for Kate who's just turned eight. Even the other side of the family came, minus two who will not be forgotten. We picnicked, went tubing, went to the pool, and cursed the snack shack that had shut down for the season.
On Sunday, the entire house came down with my cold. From my husband to my son to the grandkids. Only Jamie was immune. We went to the pool just because it felt better to be doing something rather than laying about. That night we had my other daughter-in-law's delicious fried rice--she's Chinese--and can she cook. That's one nice thing about having a multicultural family--except my husband who is Irish. All they know how to do is boil meat.
Monday morning the kids are off and I look around my house with dismay. It will take me hours to get it up to snuff so I clean while my husband moans in bed, accompanied by his cold and our two dogs. I remind him of what a good sport I am--heading off to the beach and the pool while suffering.
Once again he threatens me with a milkshake and I know to back off. There are some things that just drive me nuts. Chocolate is one of them.
Happy reading!
It is soooo good to be home...
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