Fiorella Plum

Bigger and Better

2012-02-10T05:56:00.000-08:00

Fiorella came in the door just in time to see little Sonya walking carefully up the stairs. Yes, our baby dog has learned how to navigate steps. Apparently while Fio was gone for the morning, Bosco Dog showed her the basics, and then Local Son encouraged her the rest of the way. Sonya's also getting the idea of doing her business in the yard instead of in the house, but in the meantime, Fio is glad our first story floor is concrete.

Sonya is all puppy. First comes the whirl of excitement and activity--playing with Bosco, attacking the bottom of Fio's bathrobe, trying to chew or swallow everything she can get her teeth on. Then, suddenly, she's tired. Her shoulders sag and she either drops in place or comes over to the couch, where Fiorella lifts her up--Sonya still hasn't figured out how to leap higher than she herself is--and nestles her down beside her for a nice nap.

Oh, and did Fio mention that Sonya let her sleep till 5:00 a.m. this morning?

Puppy Love

2012-02-09T04:08:00.000-08:00

Maybe it's the new puppy, but life is rosy at La Casa Fiorella right now. Local Son has a new desktop computer, put together by Cousin Aaron and Friend Anthony after his laptop crashed. Daughter is recovered from her cold/flu, Minnesota Son is heading toward long-awaited knee surgery on March 5 (his late grandfather's birthday), and Husband has had an extended period of good health--the experimental lupus drug seems to be working.

Add to all that the fact that Friend Sharon is holding steady on her own experimental drug, Cousin Julie's daughter seems to have beaten breast cancer, Friend Suzy's husband has a new job, Friend Paula's daughter and husband have bought a new house, Friend Marion is expecting another grandchild, and Fiorella herself has had a nibble from another literary agent.

Fio has also developed a new skill--typing with her left hand because sweet, silky-furred Sonya Wendysdotttir is sleeping on her other arm.

The occasional puddles on the floor are worth it.

Picture Perfect

2012-02-08T05:17:00.000-08:00

Here's our Sonya!

Puppy Tails

2012-02-07T06:58:00.000-08:00

When it comes to doting mothers, Fiorella takes the cake. No one else's babies were as beautiful as hers, as smart, as cuddly. And she's the same with her puppy. Sonya is the most darling doggie every created, a deserving successor to Wendy the Wonder Dog. In fact, Fio considers Wendy to be Sonya's spiritual mother. Thus, in the Icelandic tradition, Puppy's full name is Sonya Wendysdottir.

Sonya is beginning to adjust to her new circumstances. Fiorella tried to teach her how to descend and climb the stairs for a 2:00 a.m. pottie call--didn't quite make it--and Husband stayed home to take her to the vet in the morning. When they came back, Fio's job was getting a couple of pills down her puppy throat (accomplished with coatings of butter) and acting as a bolster for her long afternoon nap.

Even Bosco is helping. Sonya had been turning her nose up at the prescribed puppy food until her pal showed an interest in it. Then she gobbled it down. Nothing like a little competition.

Sonya Comes Home

2012-02-06T06:35:00.000-08:00

Congratulate us--Fiorella and Husband have a new baby in the house. They drove to Luling yesterday and picked up a ten-week-old Mastiff.

The ride was long and arduous, and, as soon as Sonya was in the car, she raked Fio's arms with her cat-like claws, causing her new mother to bleed like a sieve. But all was forgiven when Baby Dog slept the rest of the way home--well, except for that pause midway when she threw up.

Anyway, Bosco welcomed the newbie, and the two of them played nicely together, Bosco being the more dominant because he's been in the house longer. Besides, Son's year-old pug is heavier--a situation which won't last very long. Adult mastiffs weigh in at 100+ pounds.

Then we'll see who's boss.

Great Puppy Hunt

2012-02-05T05:53:00.000-08:00

Fio and Husband are on the dog hunt again. They've decided on a mastiff because it's a large dog, has a good temperament, and its appearance will not remind them of any previous dogs, especially Wendy the Weimer. They would prefer a one-year-old female--old enough to be thoroughly housebroken, but young enough that Fio and Husband could enjoy a fair number of years with this notoriously short-lived breed. Unfortunately for Fio et al, rescue mastiffs are not only few and far between, but have been so terribly abused as to need lengthy medical treatments before they can be released for adoption.

So now begins the great puppy hunt. Yes, Fiorella and Husband are gearing up for the crate by the bed, the midnight forays into the backyard to maintain the housebreaking, and the gnawing on anything that is remotely gnawable.

But it's worth it.

Six-thirty a.m.

2012-02-04T05:36:00.000-08:00

As Fiorella is sitting on the couch and keying in this blog, she is also mentally massaging every muscle in her body because she woke up feeling like she'd been beaten up during the night. And, in a way, she was--in her dreams. For some reason, her subconscious decided to review her teaching career, pull out every dumb thing she'd ever done, remind her of it, then depict her as totally unorganized to boot.

Now, Fio was sometimes dumb, but she was never unorganized so she's gotta figure out what this dream really means.

In the meantime, she's taking half a hydrocodone. Mental massage isn't cutting it.

Daughters

2012-02-03T05:13:00.000-08:00

Across the restaurant table, daughter and I,
Like chessboard queens, red and black, we sit,
Each guarding her own square, eye to eye,
Alike, the same, completely opposite.
So sat I with my mother, seas apart,
Skimming waves, but never diving deep,
Both navigating by a measured chart,
With each shore military, harbors steep.
I love you, dearest heart, daughter mine,
Love you as my mother, yes, loved me--
As you will love your daughter child in time
And sit across a table, just as we,
And never breach the chessboard or the sea
Or know the other’s singularity.

Nerves

2012-02-02T06:04:00.000-08:00

Fiorella is anxiously gearing up for the drive to Houston in a week and a half . She double-finaled in The Emily, West Houston RWA's prestigious romance contest, and February 11 is the day she finds out where she placed. She wants to win, of course, but the odds are against it so she's practicing her serene smiley face, the one that says "I'm so happy for you trouncing me and I'm being such a good sport about it," when what she'll really want to do is scream, "Gimme that certificate, bitch!" and make a lunge for the podium.

On the other hand, maybe the winner will hail from Canada or some other strange, exotic clime and won't show.

Hey, Pat, don't you have to be present to win?

Ecstatic!

2012-02-01T05:16:00.000-08:00

Fiorella is brimming over with happiness: after a year of rejection, Friend Suzy's husband has gotten a job, a promising position which he well deserves.

It makes Fio feel good when good things happen to good people. It gives her hope that Hijo Menor's talent will be soon be recognized and that he also will join the ranks of the employed, the up-and-comers. It gives her hope that Hijo Mayor will find his own niche of success, and that her own inspiring romances will be recognized as powerful and publishable, and that all the world will be joyful.

Yes, Fiorella wants heaven on earth--for everyone.

Stacking the Plates

2012-01-31T05:48:00.000-08:00

Back to the religion dealie again, Fiorella thinks churches are like dishwashers. Everyone is invited in, but not all will not be cleansed. Sometimes the machine is at fault, sometimes the china. Sometimes the dishwasher powder gets stuck in the dispenser or the machine the machine is old and worn out. But sometimes the plate is too dirty to be cleaned by anything less than a blast furnace.

What Fiorella is trying to get at is that, even is the message is there, sometimes a listener doesn't hear it.

Sinister Dexter, Role Model

2012-01-30T05:18:00.000-08:00

Fiorella's toaster brain has been hard at work lately, popping up plot twists and clever wording while she sleeps, then presenting them all ready to digest when she wakes. At the same time, her writing style is being sharpened by that skillful wielder of the word, knife, and scalpel, Dexter Morgan.

Yes, Fio is reading Jeff Lindsay again, catching up on the exploits of the TV's favorite serial killer. The books, though, follow a different story line than TV: Rita, Dexter's wife, is still up and running; the kids, Cody and Astor, remain on the premises; and Dexter's baby is a girl rather than a boy.

Let's face it--most of Lindsay's plots are preposterous--but the stories are so well-written that we don't care.

"...the clouds glower and bunch and wait, letting the need build. and the tension grows with it," Lindsay writes. "In only a few moments these dark and silent clouds will shatter the silence of the night with the unbearable bright omnipotence of their might and blast the darkness into flickering shards--and then, only then, the release will come."

Yum.

Bird House

2012-01-29T05:04:00.000-08:00

A bird flew into the house yesterday. Then another bird zoomed in after it. Fio had left the back door open to allow Bosco, Son's pug, to go in and out, but she didn't expect any visitors. Husband, whose mother had national standing in the Audubon Society's birdwatcher list, immediately identified the invaders as wrens, probably a mating pair--at least that's what the male was intent on.

Husband caught the female in a towel after a half-hour chase around the den, but the male was more difficult, soaring up to the second floor, then swooping downstairs again to perch picturesquely on the pan holder over the kitchen island, the frames of several paintings, the Christmas decor, and anywhere else he was unreachable. Two hours later, Husband still hadn't cornered him or chased him outside, despite Bosco Dog's best efforts--turns out he's an excellent pointer.

Fiorella wishes she could tell you the end of this tale, but she doesn't know what happened to her avian Lothario, whether he escaped out the still-open back door while Fio and Husband were taking a breather, or whether he's still lurking in the house somewhere, ready to take to flight the second they fall asleep, setting off all the security alarms.

The other option is that birdie gave himself a fatal blow to the head while trying to kamikaze through the dining room window, and his small, dead body is rotting behind the Javanese folding screen.

Saturday Morning Snippets

2012-01-28T07:06:00.000-08:00

Fiorella has started taking down the Christmas decorations--slowly. Why should she hurry? After all, it took a month to get them up.
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Younger Son commiserated with us about Bowser, Daughter sent a link to the Austin animal shelter and even researched a couple of dogs for us, and Older Son phoned us from Minnesota because he was so concerned. Obviously, Fio and Husband have raised children with compassion, and what more can you ask for? It's what separates good people from bad, us from the beasts.
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Did Fio tell you that she seems to be recovering, that she's no longer using a cane? The orthopod said her hip will not get better, but something's happening. Maybe it's that Fio is exercising more, or maybe it's the pain pills she wallows in. Or maybe, being Fiorella and strong-minded, she's healing herself with positive thinking.

Dog Tail

2012-01-27T07:05:00.000-08:00

For the past week, Fiorella has been anticipating a blessed event--a new dog, a big lug the animal shelter calls Bowser, but whom Fio would rename Jericho. He's a beautiful American bulldog, all one-hundred plus pounds of him. Fiorella likes big dogs, and living in the boondocks, and often in the house alone, she also likes having extra muscle around.

Bowser needed some eye surgery common to bulldogs so Fio and Husband had to bide their time, but yesterday was D Day--Dog Day.

Except it wasn't. Turns out Bowser's heartworm testing had fallen through the cracks and he wasn't free of the wigglies, as we'd been told, although he needs further testing to determine just how bad the infestation is. If it's light, he'll do just fine on the monthly pills and we could handle it. If it's dire, he'll need to be given a heavy dose of arsenic, which just might kill him, and be kenneled for three months. The shelter would pick up the tab, but the anxiety would be all ours.

The real deal breaker is that we've been told Bowser has recently exhibited an antipathy toward small dogs--and we have Son and his pug living with us now. As a last ditch effort, we're making a family trip to the shelter this morning to check out how Bowser reacts to Bosco, but the situation does not bode well.

Fiorella is a master escape artist. She's good at finding solutions, of creating happy endings in impossible situations: story plots, family finances, the summer drought. She's even dodged diagnoses of multiple sclerosis, diabetes, histoplasmosis, and cancer. But sometimes there is no way out.

She mourns the Jericho that never will be.

The Church Within

2012-01-26T06:55:00.000-08:00

When Fio took catechism class years ago, she learned about the church without and the church within, the visible church and the invisible one. Just because a person's name is on a church membership list doesn't mean that person will do the right thing.

Fio isn't talking garden-variety trespassing, which, being human and born to eviln as the sparks fly upward, we all do, but big-time stuff--crimes, like, say, being an accessory to murder, which Vanessa Bulls was. Yes, this beautiful sugar-plum fairy with the long, flowing blonde hair and sweet smile knew all along that her preacher-lover was going to kill his inconvenient wife, but she didn't blow the whistle on him. In fact, she maintained her wide-eyed "we were just friends" line for a couple of years afterwards, until the cops finally broke her by promising her immunity from prosecution.

Vanessa may change her name, cut her hair, move to another city, and join another church, but she will never be a member of the church within until she realizes the error of her ways and repents in her heart.

Organized religion wasn't the problem. Vanessa was.

Don't Waste Your Time

2012-01-25T05:14:00.000-08:00

Fiorella is putting on her bitchy cap to review The Village, which is totally lame. Not that she saw much of it. Husband had it tuned in for only half an hour before Fio asked him to turn it off.

The movie was so bad that it was embarrassing. The actors didn't so much speak as declaim, unless they were being flint-faced and portentous. At first, Fio wondered if the film was some sort of pseudo-Shakespeare dealie, what with the women wearing long dresses in FLDS pastels and none of the characters using contractions when they spoke. Then she wondered if the village atmosphere was leading up to a Shirley Jackson lottery. Everyone acted so unnatural, as if they were being...uh...filmed

Curious, Fio consulted Google for the plot and learned the whole set-up was a rip-off, that the village had been established in 1970 as a retreat from the world where a small group of suffering people could have new lives and raise their families safe from harm. Safe from modern health care too, as it turned out, which was the crux of the plot because when someone (another of the crop of currently stylish wonder women) broke through to 2010, the gig was up.

It wouldn't have lasted anyway. No group that small can be self-sufficient, and the gene pool would have been totally inbred in another generation.

What a loser. And a pretentious one at that.

Baby Fever

2012-01-24T06:09:00.000-08:00

The Chinese Year of the Dragon is also supposed to be a time of fertility, and Fio's hoping for a couple of babies in the family sooner rather than later. Fiorella adores babies, their pink cheeks and soft skins, the way their eyes follow your every movement, their warmth and cuddliness, their sweet smell--well, except when the smell isn't so sweet.

Come on, Dragon, ROAR!

Pray for Rain

2012-01-23T06:28:00.000-08:00

Fiorella has read that a fifteen-day celebration starting today ushers in the Chinese Year of the Dragon, especially the Water Dragon.

Living in Central Texas, which is anticipating a ten-year drought, Fiorella hopes the dragon will favor us with rainfall, lots of it. Not a flood, of course. Just enough to keep the reservoirs full, the rivers flowing, and the lawns green. Just enough that Fio doesn't have to siphon water from her bathtub out to a hose and carefully ration it out to thirsty plants again this summer.

Heritage

2012-01-22T06:27:00.000-08:00

For Christmas, Fiorella and Husband gave their children photocopies of the family histories his parents had complied in their later years--three inch-thick books of genealogy, anecdotes, photos, and research. Fio doesn't know if either son has even flipped through the pages, but Daughter has. She's sort of the family historian and even obtained copies for all of us of the interviews that her paternal grandfather conducted regarding his long association with LBJ.

Anyway, what Fio is getting at is that Daughter, who is musically talented, has discovered her grandmother's brother had his own band and a record contract. But what else do you expect of the great-uncle of a young woman who can not only trill coloratura, but also sing the soul out of karaoke?

SecondThoughts

2012-01-21T07:46:00.000-08:00

Fiorella just hung up an invitation to participate in a telephone survey "pertaining to the nation's debt crisis." Sorry, Fio appreciates the fact that she was "carefully selected," but she also recognizes the right-wing vocabulary and knows this is a biased poll loaded with "do you support Obama putting our nation on the brink of bankruptcy" questions.

A second after Fio hung up, she realized the error of her ways. Anyone who is of the more liberal stripe hangs up on the "survey," which thus gives the pollster the desired results, like "according to a recent survey, ninety percent of Americans are dissatisfied with Obama's handling of the debt crisis."

Next time, she'll stay on the line and throw a monkey wrench in the works.

Time for TJ

2012-01-20T07:33:00.000-08:00

Fiorella has been following the latest story line in Louann with a great deal of artistic interest. As those of you who read the comic strip know, not only has the cartoonist's drawing style evolved, but the characters have too. Louann has--uh--matured physically, and her brother, Brad, has turned into a hunk.

And now maybe it's TJ's turn--TJ, Brad's smarmy but good-hearted best friend. Currently TJ finally has his own story line, facing off with Ann Eiffel the Awful, the wicked manager of Wienie World who mistreated Brad, so maybe it's also time to give him an artistic re-do. How about a decent profile and maybe a more defined hairstyle?

By the way, Fio has noticed that TJ and Ann have the same face, except that she wears lipstick. Obviously they're made for each other.

Gingrich's Jam

2012-01-19T05:21:00.000-08:00

Newt Gingrich reportedly said he would like Sarah Palin to have a role in his administration. But a little bird tells Fiorella that the high-flying Sarah wouldn't accept the vice-presidential slot again, and that not even Newt would be--uh--newt-brained enough to make her Secretary of State. So what does that leave? Well, Fio has an idea, which involves another headline story.

Yesterday the TV talk shows were dominated by the news that celebrity chef Paula Deen has diabetes. Every time Fio switched channels, there was yet another skinny-faced sourpuss blaming Deen's diabetes, along with the ever-increasing obesity of America and the fall of Rome, on the amount of butter Ms. Happyface uses in her recipes.

So--maybe Gingrich could make Sarah, who is slender and athletic, his Secretary of Health so she could regulate the country's dietary habits.

But no, he'd have to put her in the pillory with ol' Paula. Sarah's the one who countered Michelle Obama's healthy-eating campaign by charging over to her local public school with a batch of homemade cookies in hand.

Secretary of War?

Proper Costume Drama

2012-01-18T04:36:00.000-08:00

Fio is healed. She didn't have to struggle to consciousness even once last night to clear her nose so she could breathe. No squirrely dreams either. She awoke as Husband's alarm clock rang at 5:30 in the middle of a sane dream she was having in which a delightful restaging of The Mikado was being performed on a private stage on an English country estate, somehow solving all the problems of the heroine of the main story.

Now, this is a dream that makes sense to Fiorella, but she wishes she could remember the details. All she can recall is a lot of colorful costumes and maybe interference from HMS Pinafore.

Too Soon, Too Soon

2012-01-17T06:41:00.000-08:00

Contrary to yesterday's report, Fio is not yet totally recovered. After enjoying a wonderful and productive morning, she went down in the afternoon. As usual, though she recovered as evening approached, which did give her some time to ponder.

And what she pondered was Big Bang Theory--have you noticed that all the male characters have issues with their mothers--except Raj, of course, who has issues with both parents? And Penny has issues with her father. Hmmmm. Wonder which parent the writers had issues with.

Fio Bounces Back

2012-01-16T08:12:00.000-08:00

Fio seems to be on the road to recovery, which is good news. at least to Fiorella. During her convalescence, she'd barely been able to crank out her blog, but this morning she sprang out of bed, grabbed a pen and the tablet she keeps ever-ready, and wrote, wrote wrote.

Now she has to ponder the mysteries of the world that have arisen since the mighty brain of Fio was incapacitated by a lowly virus, such as why the engine light of her beloved baby car has suddenly decided to turn as red as a zit on prom night.

Television Fare

2012-01-15T07:05:00.000-08:00

Husband and Son have been great in taking care of Fiorella during her incapacity, but what's kept her on track mentally is Big Bang Theory, which she, in her fevered state, thinks of as Top Gun. It overrides the squirrels in her brain by replacing them with squirrelier squirrels. How can disembodied hallucinations compete with the long-suffering Leonard, smarmy Howard, panicky Rajesh, and--well--squirrely Sheldon?

And then there's Penny, the foil for them all.

Achoo!

2012-01-14T07:14:00.000-08:00

Friend Marion pointed out that Fiorella was using a long soak in her bathtub as a treatment for both her hip pain and her current cold/sinus infection/whatever. Confessing all, Fio also uses her wallow tub to decompress before she goes to bed. In fact, Fio views hot water as her first line of attack for anything that's bothering her. Probably something to do with a return to the womb.
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Fiorella should have realized she had a fever--the squirrels had been running around in her brain for a couple of days and she had trouble doing the newspaper crossword puzzle yesterday morning. However, being Fio, she soldiered on, and it was only when she was in her cardiologist's office and he told her she was sick that she realized why she couldn't remember Husband's doctor's name and was having trouble concentrating.
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Fio, who rarely gets sick, is writing down all her symptoms in case she needs one of her future heroines to be ailing.

Discomfort

2012-01-13T05:39:00.000-08:00

A month ago, Fiorella was sleeping in the bathtub because of her hip pain. Now she's sleeping in the tub because of what seems to be a sinus infection. Her ever-productive nose is red and raw. She wanders around the house with a Kleenex box in hand and self-pity in her heart.

Woe is Fiorella (honk, snork).

April Kihlgaard's Marketing Pen

2012-01-12T05:30:00.000-08:00

Her pen doesn't skip
Or hitch or splot
Which is the reason
I like it a lot--
In fact, it's just
As nice as she
And that's the best
A pen can be.

Up'n at'em

2012-01-11T06:47:00.001-08:00

It's a good day and Fiorella is at peace. All is going well right now. She's losing weight again, wrote several pages of PRINCESS REDLANDER yesterday, and is on top of a family business deal. Husband is chainsawing dead trees around the acreage and using the new log-splitter, then building wonderful fires in the fireplace with the fruits of his labor. Son has some job possibilities, has found places to display his art, and has started working on a new piece.

In other words, we're all engaged in worthwhile, productive activities, and that's the secret. Years ago Fio's father implored her to "slow down and smell the roses," but Fio's the sort of person who always has to have a project going.

She suspects you're that way too.

Update Snippets

2012-01-10T06:41:00.000-08:00

Fiorella seems to have won the newspaper war. For the third straight day, the Statesman has been delivered onto her porch.
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Fio has found a wonderful new orthopod who treats her like an individual and did not ask her, as the first one did, if she has any of her own teeth. (FYI, Fio's teeth are all home-grown.)
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Fio wants to amend her theory that dogs and homo sapiens bonded over shelter in caves from the rain, sleet, snow, etc. She thinks there was also a concomitant factor: body heat. There's nothing as warm and comforting as a furry little body cuddled up next to you.

Anagram Addict

2012-01-09T06:51:00.000-08:00

Fiorella is an anagram addict with a high success rate, but she got stuck on the daily Jumble a couple of days ago. What the heck was SCAIOF? Was the great Fio stymied at last?

Fio tried all sorts of combinations over the next two days, but nothing worked. Damn, would she have to resort to the internet anagram solver? But no--her subconscious had been hard at work all along and popped the answer into Fio's brain while she was eating breakfast:

It's F-I-A-S-C-O, which seems all too appropriate.

And What Do YOU Think, Fiorella?

2012-01-08T06:55:00.000-08:00

For several years, some of Fiorella's closest friends have been psychologists, including a school district school psychologist, a college school psychologist, a college psychology teacher, a psychology adjunct/licensed counselor, a psychologist/romance writer.

Fio suspects she is the subject of an in-depth study, and they're all passing the responsibility off on the other like a relay baton.

Celebrate!

2012-01-07T08:11:00.000-08:00

S Rozhdyestvom Khristovym yescho raz!
Merry Christmas again!

Fio thinks the calendar has been changed for the Russian Orthodox in the past decade or two, but she still glories in her paternal heritage and celebrates a second Christmas on January 7.

Which gives her another excuse for not taking down her holiday decorations.

Newspaper War, Chapter Two

2012-01-06T06:00:00.000-08:00

This time the newspaper is totally missing. It may have been delivered, but not to Fio's door. If it was left at the street, anyone walking by could have picked it up.

Fiorella, who sticks to her guns, called the American-Statesman again and complained again. Kristin (remember that name) assured her the situation would be rectified. We'll see. For a newspaper whose readership is dropping daily, the Statesman certainly is cavalier about pleasing paying customers.

Fio phoned Husband at work to bring home his newspaper for the day. At 5:30, he drove in with not only his newspaper, but two more he'd picked up in driveway.

This story is not yet over.

Newspaper War

2012-01-05T05:29:00.000-08:00

FIO WON! The American-Statesman is being delivered to her door again! She doesn't know what did it--Husband's phone call, her phone call, her letter to the editor, sending her Fio column to the editor, the usual carrier returning from a holiday vacation, whatever--but Fio's day is starting as it should again.

But she's going to think twice before giving the carrier a twenty-dollar tip again next Christmas.

Just Messin' with You, Guy

2012-01-04T05:30:00.000-08:00

Fiorella has a theory about the vicissitudes of the Republican political polls. She thinks the Iowans were sick and tired of being questioned every time they turned around and started giving the most preposterous answers they could think of just to have a little fun. How else can you explain the rise and fall of Bachmann, Perry, Cain, Gingrich, and Paul? And if Santorum is on the rise, can Huntsman be far behind?

The situation reminds Fio of when she got tired of receiving a string of slanted questionnaires from a far-right think tank--which wasn't too bright because it assumed her serving as a local Democratic precinct chairman meant she was a deep-water conservative. One can only resist temptation for so long, and Fio finally filled out one of the forms. Yes, she was in favor of destroying the economy for the sake of the environment. Yes, she opposed our Constitutional right to bear arms of any kind, even squirt guns, sling shots, and watermelon seeds. Yes, she was in favor of making Islam the national religion.

She'd like to tell you she never heard from the so-called think tank again, but apparently the only thing that mattered was whether or not she'd included a check, and, since she hadn't, she kept on receiving questionnaires. Now she just tosses them.

Which is maybe what the Republicans should have done with the Iowa polls.

Throw That Damn Paper!

2012-01-03T06:32:00.000-08:00

Fiorella's been stuttering lately, accidentally scheduling two blogs on the same day, then having to correct herself--one per day is her limit--by repeating one of her commentaries the next day. Sorry about that, but maybe she's all discombobulated by the newspaper delivery problem.

Wherever she's lived, even out here in the boondocks, the Austin American-Statesman has been delivered to her door (or into a nearby bush). Starting December 26, 2011, it hasn't gotten any further than six feet down the driveway, which is approximately eighty yards from Fio's front door, a distance which Fio, currently hobbling around on a cane, is not in any condition to undertake.

Husband called the Statesman last Thursday and was assured the problem would be rectified immediately. Not knowing Husband had called, Fio also called, and was assured the problem would be handled within two days and the newspaper would be at her front door again. When these promises were not met, Fio started firing off letters to the editor.

Her porch is still bare.

Fiorella wants to support the newspaper because she believes in the value of print news, but the Statesman is making it hard for her to do so. It's a new year and Fiorella is sorting through her life, tossing out things she no longer needs. Maybe the Austin American-Statesman is one of them.

Let's Start the Day Over Again

2012-01-02T06:59:00.000-08:00

The alarm, which Husband said he set for 7:30, didn't go off, or maybe Fio slept through it. Anyway, she awoke at 8:00. when she had a doctor's appointment forty-five minutes away in Austin at 9:25. By 8:30, she was semi-ready, morning pills in a plastic bag to take with water at the doctor's office after she ate a breakfast of graham crackers in the car.

But her car wouldn't start. The battery was dead. And no one else in the house was awake. And, although it didn't matter, her cell phone was also dead.

She trailed back inside and called the doctor's office to tell the medical minion who managed appointments that God had ordained she not come in this morning.

To top it off, despite two calls to the Statesman, the newspaper is STILL not making it past the mailbox and down the drive. And Fio, who is cane-bound, can't even drive up to get it.

New Year

2012-01-01T08:08:00.000-08:00

Fiorella predicts that 2012 will be a year of fulfillment, that several things that have been seeded and nurtured during 2011 will come to fruition.

Younger Son's art career will vault into high gear. Daughter's life--new husband, new job, maybe a new house--will explode with opportunity. Older Son's health will drastically improve and there may even be an addition to the family. Husband will be able to retire and immerse himself in books and electronics. And Fiorella's great agent search will land her a top-notch representative and a fabulous publisher.

THIS IS THE YEAR OF TRIUMPH! THE PHOENIX RISES FROM THE ASHES!

AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR TO YOU TOO!

Mourning Snippets

2011-12-31T06:31:00.000-08:00

Husband waited till Fiorella was asleep to remove Wendy's princess bed to the garage. She suspects he was as depressed as she was at the sight of the empty pillow on legs.
*
We're all pressing Bosco into service as a support dog. Son, knowing the comfort his little black inkspot gives us, left his pug with Husband and Fio when he went out for the day; Husband encouraged Bosco to snuggle next to Fio when she was having another one of her crying jags; and Fio suggested to Husband that he take Bosco for a walk when the sunshine came out.
*
Fio has also been comforted by a heavy dose of Big Bang Theory--as many as six episodes a day. But today she's laying off. Too much of a good thing.
*
Fio cried so much she probably dehydrated herself. Wendy was an integral part of her life for ten years, and she misses her baby dog terribly.

Second Day Out

2011-12-30T05:41:00.000-08:00

Fiorella usually handles emotional distress by racing around the house in a frenzy of housekeeping, but she was limited on this occasion because of the stupid hip thing. That means shes spent a lot of time staring into space, sleeping, and crying.

But she and Husband are talking about getting another dog, probably a rescue dog who's already house trained. Not now, of course. Not yet.

Lament

2011-12-29T07:06:00.000-08:00

Fiorella did not grow up in a dog household, but she married into one. Parents-in-law had three mentally-stable chihuahuas and she and Husband soon acquired a female beagle, then a male. Tina and Freelove produced several litters, none of the pups of which Fio and Husband kept back for themselves because they had also adopted an orphan of the storm, Sandy, a big shepherd's collie, who breached the gap between T&F and Blackie, a small hyperactive dog prone to digging out under the fence. Hugo, a big ridgeback/labrador mix also joined the tribe somewhere along the line, as did Bella, a beautiful but crazy cocker who ended up having to be put down. Then came Wendy, beautiful Wendy, sweet Wendy, loving Wendy.

And now Wendy's gone. Husband has no one to take long walks across the acreage with, and Fio has no company on lonely days.

Our Loss

2011-12-28T02:42:00.000-08:00

Wendy Dog went in for emergency surgery about 2:30 this morning, but this time there was no miracle.

Lady Gwendolyn Gloriana, born July 21, 2001, died December 28, 2011. May her loving heart and joyous spirit forever roam the hills of heaven.

Day of Discovery

2011-12-27T06:19:00.000-08:00

The discoveries continue. The calendar that Daughter gave Fio for Christmas, which she was in fear and trembling had gotten mixed in with some of the wrapping paper trash, was found hiding under the artwork Younger Son had given her. And that humongous bag of chocolate kisses, which Fio thought she'd given away to someone and forgotten about it, turned up in the master bathroom--on Fio's side, of course. The only thing missing now is her little black purse, although all its contents have been retrieved.

And, at three this morning, Fiorella woke up with a brilliant plan to jump start Son's art career.

Thomas Alva Edison, you have nothing on Fiorella Plum.

Activist

2011-12-26T05:30:00.000-08:00

Remember that airline baggage handler who was fired for refusing to load an emaciated dog which had body wounds and bloody paws? Although it turned out the canine had not been abused, a vet spoke up for the baggage handler and she was rehired.

But the baggage handler's action touched Fio to the core, first because the woman actually cared--this is a person who would hide Anne Frank from the Nazis. Second, because it's something Fio would do--defy "authority" for the sake of what is right.

That's the essence of your Fio, erring by action rather than inaction. All her sins are those of commission rather than omission. It gets her in trouble, but she'd rather be the kind of person she is than someone who sets up a lawn chair and watches as the cattle cars are loaded.

Christmas Hope

2011-12-25T01:08:00.000-08:00

Again the patient cave is damp and chill
And dull-eyed, lowing cattle graze the hay
And at the humble manger eat their fill
Where once the blessed Son of Mary lay.
Again the heavy sky is dark with night--
There is no guide; the splendid star is gone.
No more the royal guests, the angel flight;
The shepherds and their flocks have wandered on.
The world is as before, the very same;
Nothing has changed--Herod still is king,
Brother still kills brother in God's name,
Women weep and war is ripening.
The world is as before its Christmas morn
Except--against all hope, Hope was born.

Running Late

2011-12-24T13:05:00.000-08:00

Welcome to Christmas Eve. Fiorella is running late on her blog, late on her decorating, late on wrapping presents, and late on everything else in her life. Christmas is that way. 'Tis the season to go crazy.

There are three dogs in the house right now: Older Son's Staffordshire Terrior (aka pit bull), Younger Son's pug puppy, and our own reliable Weimeraner. And only two of the three seem to be able to co-exist at any one time, which means, in relays, one of them has to be caged or outside. But it's raining outside. We have never yet met a dog that appreciated rain. Fio is convinced that the dog-man relationship began when primitive human tribes sought shelter from the pelting rain in caves--and so did dogs. They love us not just for the food in their bowls, but the roofs over their heads.

And each one of the three has a stocking hanging from our fireplace mantel. With nothing in them yet, of course, but then, Fio has several hours before dawn.

Turn the Page

2011-12-23T05:37:00.000-08:00

Fio has had an overwhelming month--Friend Nicole's death, her own hip problem, Younger Son's birthday, preparing for Christmas, designing and mailing cards, Daughter's wedding, Older Son's pneumonia--so it was not surprising that losing her purse, a big Christmas gift, and another, smaller, one had her down and out last night. After all she still had half the house to decorate and it was just four days till Christmas.

Then, before bed, she had a talk with Son, who was totally depressed about his job situation--he has none. Fiorella couldn't sleep. Instead she prayed and prayed and prayed. Begged and prayed, cried and prayed. Finally she got up to go downstairs. On the way down, she lifted a piece of paper from her art desk to reveal three family history books she's been looking for since forever. All she'd had to do the whole time was lift one piece of paper to find them.

If that was all it took, maybe she COULD find the missing Christmas gifts, maybe she COULD find her purse, maybe she COULD get everything done before Christmas. Maybe Son COULD find a job.

If we'd just turn the page.

Where, Oh Where?

2011-12-22T01:01:00.000-08:00

Fiorella has lost two Christmas presents and a checkbook. She put the Christmas presents somewhere that she's forgotten, and the checkbook was in her little black purse that she took to Daughter's wedding. Ironic that she kept track of the purse all during the shindig, but lost it after she got home.

She's conducting a room-to-room search for all the items now. One of the presents is big and is bound to turn up, but the other one is small and will take a year or two to surface in the back of the pantry or some other inappropriate place so Fio will have to replace it. The purse and checkbook are anyone's guess.

Fiorella would attribute the whole problem to aging memory, but she's pulled this stunt before, even worse--forgetting the present entirely. Yes, twenty years ago she bought Husband a big, expensive book on clocks, which he was fascinated with at the time (men are like that), and when they moved out of the house, Fio discovered the book sitting on a closet shelf, where it had been ever since she'd hidden it there four years earlier.

Memo to CIA: do not use Fio on assignments that involve remembering anything she's hidden.

Real Xmas

2011-12-21T06:57:00.000-08:00

I've placed the proper plastic on the door
And wound the newel post with ersatz holly;
I've bought some flavored cookies at the store,
Admonished all the children to be jolly.
I've flocked the tree with simulated snow
And stained the mirror glass with cellophane;
I've stacked some carols on the stereo
And sprayed ice pictures on the windowpane.
I've listened to the store-front Santa's tale;
My duty gifts are underneath the tree;
My hundred slick-faced cards are in the mail,
Signed "love" with holiday sincerity.
My halls are decked with manufactured zeal,
But the Christ Child in my Christmas heart is real.

Pile It On! Fio Can Take It!

2011-12-20T06:41:00.000-08:00

Fiorella has achieved Zen. The peace of the universe is hers.

Monday morning she planned to start an intense day of shopping like the world has never seen before, followed by an equally intense evening addressing and stamping cards. The next few days would be devoted to wrapping gifts and decorating the house. Then the cards would have to be stuffed and mailed. And there was Christmas dinner for ten to plan and prepare.

But Older Son woke up with pneumonia. No one knew what it was right off, but he was hurting bad so Fio and Daughter-in-law rushed him off to the local emergency room. He spent the night there, which changed everything. Daughter-in law and Fio stayed at his bedside for while, then dashed off on a couple of quickie shopping trips. It's amazing how Fio's list simplified once she was under pressure.

Everything will work out.

Aaaah!

2011-12-19T04:44:00.000-08:00

Too much to do, too little time. December has been a whirlwind of Fio's medical condition, Younger Son's birthday, Daughter's wedding, and now Christmas--decorating the house, buying gifts, designing and mailing the card. Gritting her teeth, Fio is determined to see it through, but that seismic event that will shake the nation on December 26th will be Fio relaxing onto the couch.

Christmas Wedding

2011-12-18T09:56:00.000-08:00

Fiorella attended Daughter's wedding last night. Yes, the marriage actually took place two weeks ago in Colorado, but the celebration/reception was last night at the Lady Bird Wildflower Center, and it was wonderful. New Son-in-law had planned everything down to the nth degree--and planned well.

The most dramatic moment was when Daughter, escorted by her father, appeared out of the dark, walking slowly down a long hall to join her waiting husband. It was the traditional giving away of the bride, and however old-fashioned, it was the highlight of the evening.

But more was to come. There were friends to greet, people from various aspects of Fio's life, whose presence warmed her heart. There were relatives, ours and Son-in-law's. There were friends of the bride and groom. Fiorella loves a group hug.

And, to top off the evening, there was karaoke. Not that Fiorella sang--the selection of songs didn't include Christmas carols--but Daughter and Younger Son did. And they were GOOD! Fio's heart, which had already swelled to monstrous proportions, overflowed with pride and joy. In fact, she heard that after she and Husband left, Older Son, who is also musically talented, sang too.

Her Christmas stocking is full.

Christmas Hero

2011-12-17T06:03:00.000-08:00

Okay, 'tis the season for sweet tears, but this news item nearly did Fio in. A baggage handler at the Reno-Tahoe airport, at the cost of her job, refused to load an emaciated dog who had body lesions and bloody paws.

Turned out the dog had been on a hunting trip and "worked very hard," according to a subsequent investigation, but not abused. It has now recovered, and the baggage handler, Lynn Jones, has also recovered, having been given back her job.

But Fio thinks she deserves more than getting her job back. Lynn Jones is Fiorella's Christmas hero. She cared, when so few people don't give a dam.

Nicole Domingue, In Memoriam

2011-12-16T06:01:00.000-08:00

My friend Nicole has died, and I, who always have so many words, am struggling to find what to say, how to explain what she meant to me.

Nicole Marie Zuber Domingue and I met in an intensified summer Hindi class at The University of Texas. We were both working on our doctorates in linguistics, and both were specializing in Indian studies. We met over academics, but we bonded in laughter. Nothing was sacred to this vivacious, down-to-earth Frenchwoman. She saw the basic absurdity of life and reveled in it. Everything and everyone was game for her quick wit.

After graduate school, she and her family moved first to Indiana, then to Canada, but we stayed in touch. We had to--we were part of each other.

And now part of me is gone.

Romance Writing Trends

2011-12-15T06:30:00.000-08:00

Nostalgia is the flavor of the year in romance writing, with agents and editors combing their slush piles for stories set in small, warm-hearted towns. Last year, Young Adult hit it big. The year before that, paranormal was the name of the game, and four years ago, erotica ruled the roost.

But 2012 will be the year of Fiorella. Mark my words.

Holiday Hustle

2011-12-14T07:23:00.000-08:00

Yesterday seems to be an eon ago, maybe because Fio slept like the proverbial log last night--and sawed some wood too. She's having trouble orienting this morning, which began by her putting on a housedress inside-out. Turns out the snaps go on the outside.

Now to get her bearings, clean up from yesterday, prepare for Older Son and D-in-Law to arrive on Friday, buy Christmas for husband, sons, daughter, and friends, and design the holiday card.

Not much to do today.

Ever Onward

2011-12-13T06:38:00.000-08:00

Fresh on the heels of Fio's paean of praise regarding hydrocodone and Lyrica, her meds failed her. She only got about three hours sleep last night, plus an hour of hallucination when she started double dosing.

It was just that too much was going on yesterday for her synapses to handle. After making a quick stop at Kinko's and buying some short bread cookies for the mailwoman at HEB, she drove into Austin on several errands, including searching for a dress for the wedding shindig, picking up Son's birthday cake, and dropping Husband's slacks off for lengthening. In the evening, after she wrapped presents, Fio, Husband, and Daughter, took Son and Girlfriend out to dinner.

Searching for the dress was an Odyssey in itself that included spending several minutes listening to a children's choir at Wolf Ranch shopping center. They were charming and made Fiorella cry, which meant, since she couldn't find a Kleenex, she had to leave abruptly. Luckily the clerk in Dress Barn had a spare tissue. Four stores later, in Lakeline shopping center, she found the right dress--purple to complement Daughter's mauve.

And all the time she was stumping away on her cane. The driving back and forth from Austin didn't bother her, but the "walking" did.

Not that people weren't kind, which also brought tears to Fio's eyes. She's never had so many doors opened for her in her life, and when she thought she'd lost her beribboned cane in the HEB parking lot, a woman two rows away hallooed her and waved it aloft.

Yeah, The day was good. Fio got a lot of Christmas stuff done and arranged a nice birthday for Son. Some things are was worth losing a few hours sleep over.

Happy Birthday, Son

2011-12-12T05:19:00.000-08:00

Happy birthday to Younger Son. Fiorella has ordered the cake, arranged the out-to-eat dinner, and bought the on-line gifts, which she hopes will arrive later in the day. All of this was a little hard to manage, what with Christmas preparations to take care of, Daughter's wedding shindig in the offing, and Fiorella limping around on a cane and tossing down hydrocodones and Lyricas like they were candy. But it's nothing compared to YS's birth.

Fio was two weeks past due so Dr. Stahl scheduled her for induced labor. But even with the pitocin as high as it would go for several hours, the baby wouldn't budge. Turned out he was stuck, front facing, so Fio was wheeled off to the operating room.

Despite the epidermal, she felt the scalpel cutting her open. If anyone wonders, it feels like fire, of which she notified her obstetrician.

"Yeah, that's because of that back surgery you had," Dr. Stahl explained in a cheery voice. "Your nerves are scrambled."

In a trice he had the baby out, all eleven pounds and seven ounces of him. Yes, not 7-11, but 11-7. He was king of the nursery. In fact, he was so big that the hospital didn't have diapers to fit him and had to send out for a larger size.

When people came to look at the new babies, Fio would lurk beside the window awaiting her cue.

"And look at that one!" they'd say.

Fiorella would move forward. "He's mine."

She was proud of her big, brawny boy.

And she still is.

Unease

2011-12-11T06:47:00.000-08:00

Fiorella's making her list and checking it twice. Not to find out who's naughty and nice, but to see if there's something she's forgotten to do. Fio, a first-born who is obsessive about keeping her commitments, woke up this morning with the dreadful feeling she'd forgotten something important.

Now, Fiorella has a lot on her plate right now, and she tries to keep up with her responsibilities by writing them down on her calendar and a daily to-do list. But if she's let you down somehow, please let her know, and she'll try to make amends.

Medical Snippets

2011-12-10T07:21:00.000-08:00

Latest news from the Indy 500, also known as HEB--Fiorella's motorized cart rocked a wine display at the store yesterday. The bottles clinked, but didn't fall; however, three minutes later Fio did manage to take out a couple of rolls of wrapping paper on an end display. Husband wants to affix a sign reading "Hot Wheels" to her cart, but Fio prefers "Greased Lightning."
*
When Fio takes hydrocodone, she still feels the pain, but doesn't care. When she takes Lyrica, she feels no pain at all, which raises an existential question: where does the pain go?
*
Fio is considering buying a second cane which will better coordinate with her wardrobe. Ah, vanity--thy name is Fiorella.

Recognition!

2011-12-09T06:12:00.000-08:00

Fiorella has been recognized. Let the drums roll and the trumpets sound. Pat O'Dea Rosen out of Houston, with whom Fio became acquainted through The Emily, West Houston's prestigious romance writing contest, has awarded her that green stamp of approval to the right. Pat's no mean blogger herself. You can check her out at rwrambling.blogspot.com.

But before that, take a few seconds to bask in the glow of Fiorella's greatness.

Blessed Med

2011-12-08T06:26:00.000-08:00

Fiorella is healed! Well, not exactly healed, but she's hobbling round with a lot less pain, and she got a full night's sleep last night. In fact, probably ten hours worth--but then, she had a lot to make up for.

No, she didn't put her hands on the TV and pray. She took herself off to the doctor, who listened to her tale of woe and prescribed a little white pill. And although she didn't pray for it, God bless Lyrica.

Dreamer

2011-12-07T05:19:00.000-08:00

I dreamed of wonders last night as I slept,
Of peace and joy and heavenly harmony,
Of God's great love, and of his promise kept,
Of his fulfillment of the prophecy.
Within my heart I dreamed an angel sang
To tell me of the Long-Awaited One,
Emmanuel, the Christ, true God and Man,
The Savior, Jesus, God's own Self and Son.
"Dreamer," spoke the angel in the night,
"Accept Him of your righteous piety,
Protect Him of your heart and strength and might,
And love Him of your sweet humanity.
Shun not Mary, Joseph, but reconcile
And wed the virgin, mother of God's child."

Contest Diva Speaks

2011-12-06T05:02:00.000-08:00

Today's the day Fiorella learns where she placed in Portland's Golden Rose romance writing contest. She wants to win, but, let's face it, the odds are against her. In the meantime, West Houston's Emily has popped up on her radar so if she doesn't make first in the Golden Rose, she can console herself with hopes of Emily. And keeping hope alive is the very reason Fio likes to have a couple of finals in the air at all times.

But the air will get pretty thin in the next couple of months because Golden Heart, RWA's BIG BIG BIG national contest is looming. Fio has entered it too, of course, so think kind thoughts in her direction.

Stressed?

2011-12-05T06:47:00.000-08:00

Fio had one of those horrible dreams last night in which, in typical Fiorella fashion, by trying to do everything right, even at her own expense, she ended up doing everything wrong and so the very people she tried to help were mad at her.

Fio has a lot on her plate right now and it's bound to happen. It's happened before, and Fio knows it's useless to try to defend or explain herself. Yeah, world. Here's Fiorella--aim all your paint balls at her.

A Good Time Was Had by All

2011-12-04T07:19:00.000-08:00

Fio attended Daughter's wedding shower yesterday morning. Friend Paula, who hosted it, provided breakfast tacos, mimosas, cupcakes, and her lovely home. Daughter's friends provided the fun. Twenty-some young, vivacious women dressed in colorful gypsy styles and knee-high boots, they tossed their shiny tresses and laughed and enjoyed. Fio adored them all.

But most of all, she adored Daughter, who handled her celebrity with ease and grace. But then, Daughter always has been a princess.

Ka-boom!

2011-12-03T06:04:00.000-08:00

According to the latest news, half the population of the German city of Koblenz is being evacuated so authorities can defuse a WWII bomb that's popped up in the Rhine River.

And, wouldn't you know it, today is the fifth day of Brother and Sister-in law's cruise down the Rhine.

Not what they bargained for.

Happy Happy Joy Joy

2011-12-02T07:16:00.000-08:00

O joy, O rapture unforeseen! Fiorella got word yesterday that she finaled in The Emily, a very prestigious romance writing contest out of Houston! In fact, she DOUBLE finaled!

Good things have been happening in Fio's world lately--finaling (and winning) contests, Daughter's marriage, some financial possibilities, etcetera. It's almost scary.

But there have been horrible times too so maybe this is when the scales get balanced.

Grocery Wheels

2011-12-01T05:03:00.000-08:00

Fio gave in and used a motorized cart to get around HEB yesterday. The hip fire finally got to her.

If you've wondered, the cart's seat has no back-forward-recline settings and no safety belt. Its turn radius is wide, it emits a piercing beep when one moves backwards, and there is no rear-view mirror. Also, its speed is hard to keep steady, which means Fio's neck has cumulative whiplash from all the stops and starts she made.

But despite its drawbacks, the cart is the way to travel. Fiorella had a great time tooling up and down aisles in it, then slaloming through bins in the bakery area. No trouble with the traffic--people cleared out when they saw her coming. She'd like to think it was her big, happy smile, but maybe it was the maniacal gleam in her eye.

Clear the gangplanks! Fiorella's in the building!

It's A New Day! Hooray!

2011-11-30T06:14:00.000-08:00

Brad has his job back! All's right with the world and there's hope for the rest of us.

Fiorella is a faithful follower of Luann, the popular newspaper comic strip, and she's been quite downhearted about Luann's brother, Brad, losing his firefighter job, then his fast food job. But if Brad can get his firefighter job back, with an even better relationship with his girlfriend as lagniappe, that means Younger Son will find work, Older Son's knee operation will proceed satisfactorily, and Fio's romances will get published.

And Obama will be re-elected.

Pull Together, Now

2011-11-29T06:42:00.000-08:00

Fio has been thinking again, as is her wont. This time she's been thinking about support groups. There are ones that focus on drug addiction and alcoholism and every other kind of ism, and there are also ones that come together in the arts and sciences, like the Byron-Shelley-Keats literary clique and the Einstein-Goedel partnership. In sports, they're called teams.

In fact, one might regard all of society as a giant support group. Maybe that's the secret of humanity's success.

Woven Together

2011-11-28T06:48:00.000-08:00

Fiorella gathered several old photographs to email to Cousin Norma for the family epic she's putting together. God bless Norma. She's researched Grandfather John back to his roots in an obscure Eastern European town, and even a few generations before that. Fiorella contributed a few family anecdotes and some "begats" she'd written down at some point, but that was about it.

Family histories are important. They give you a sense of where you came from--not necessarily biologically, because God only knows who really hooked up with whom--but of the composition of your nest.

We've got family histories written by Husband's parents in their later years, and Fiorella has learned a lot about Husband by leafing through them.

Nature is the clay, but nurture is what molds it.

Family Matters

2011-11-27T06:48:00.000-08:00

So, Afghanistan and Pakistan are after each other now. It's only to be expected--polygamy means a lot of guys are footloose and fancy free, which means their testosterone rages around all over the place, mainly at each other.

A man without his own family is cannon fodder.

Canine Messages

2011-11-26T08:31:00.000-08:00

Fiorella was touched when the dogs rushed into the bedroom this morning to inquire after her health. As she lay in bed with a hot water bottle clutched to her degenerate hip, sweet, faithful Wendy stood beside the bed and licked her hand, while bouncy Bosco, Younger Son's little black bowling ball of a Pug, was so desperate to greet Fio that he backed up a couple of yards, gained speed, and made a flying leap up onto the bed.

How sweet. Fiorella's grandpuppy loves her.

Half an hour later, when Fio got out of bed, she discovered he'd also left more personal remembrances--in the bathroom and utility room, and on the antique Persian carpet beside the bed.

Felicitations and Congratulations

2011-11-25T05:50:00.000-08:00

Daughter is married. It was a different wedding than Fiorella's was. Daughter and Son-in-Law weren't married in a church, or her home town, or even her home state, but in a Colorado ski lodge belonging to a friend of theirs. None of his family or hers were present.

The circumstances were not as Fiorella had imagined for Daughter, but the important thing is that she and her new husband love each other and want to spend the rest of their lives together.

Now for the party.

Gratitude

2011-11-24T07:26:00.000-08:00

On this day of all days, Fiorella is grateful.

She's grateful for Husband's support of her writing career, for Younger Son's construction work in the yard, for Older Son's repair work inside, for Daughter's joy in her new job and upcoming wedding.

She's grateful for Friend Paula hosting Daughter's shower, for Friend Sharon's humor and understanding, for Friend Joan's proofing of her THREE novels, for Friend Marion's sympathy and support, for Friend Suzy's communications from across the sea.

She's grateful for Austin RWA, especially Friends Katie, Janece, April K, and Gary.

She's grateful for the healing bestowed upon her friends and family this year and for the medical procedure that will repair her degenerate hip. She grateful for love and humor and strength and hope, for possibilities and opportunities.

She's grateful for life. Amen

Holding Back

2011-11-23T06:29:00.000-08:00

There's a reason that underlings didn't push when it came to reporting Jerry Sandusky: he was a big cheese and they were little ones. Who would be believed and who would lose his job?

Justice is relative to privilege and power. That's what the crucifixion was all about.

Mixed Bag

2011-11-22T07:23:00.000-08:00

The thunderstorm last night was scary, but, on the other hand, it rained. The skittish armadillo hasn't been caught yet, but yesterday a bigger, fatter one wandered into the trap (number eight). Fiorella's hip still hurts, but her eye has healed. Last, but not least, Fiorella is so high on painkillers that she can't even remember her last name, but why should she care?

Part and Parcel

2011-11-21T05:47:00.000-08:00

An analysis out of Johns Hopkins reports that Neanderthals had relatively short limbs, which is "a common adaptation to cold weather." Fio's been telling you all along that ancestral genes designed her for cold weather, but she didn't realize her short arms and legs were part of the bargain. Ah, for a vacation home in the Swiss Alps.

Ah, for a vacation home anywhere out of this heat!

Seeking Succor

2011-11-20T07:24:00.000-08:00

Fiorella's right hip pain
Is clogging up her topside brain
Pray the x-rays will explain
So she'll have peace of mind again.

On the Blink

2011-11-19T09:03:00.000-08:00

Sorry, but Fiorella is late signing in today. Yesterday she felt great, but today she doesn't. In fact, she can hardly move. It's her right leg or hip or something, and, yes, she's been to the doctor and he sent her off for x-rays (where, of course, she ran into a former student).

Anyway, the situation is more than painful--it's aggravating. Fio may not be athletic, but she likes to be active, up and about.

In the meantime, she's going through edits suggested by Friend Joan and working them into Princess of Bosque Bend. But that'll only take another hour. Then Fio will go crazy. Watch for lurid headlines about a romance author gone wild.

Upbeat

2011-11-18T05:33:00.000-08:00

Fio woke up feeling good. Autumn is here. The leaves are rattling down the driveway, cold is permeating the house, and somehow the indoor light seems more welcoming than before. To top it off, hope is in the air for the family--medically, professionally, financially, and personally.

Wish us well.

Sandusky, Perry, Plum

2011-11-17T05:15:00.000-08:00

So, Jerry Sandusky's admitting to "horsing around" in the showers with naked boys, calling it athletic camaraderie, but denies sexual assault. It's the Michael Jackson defense, and if Sandusky would have a fatal accident soon, he also would be forgiven and canonized. Or, as Fiorella's mother said when she heard one of Fio's teachers had been arraigned on similar charges, "Those nasty boys."
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Rick Perry is Fio's favorite buffoon. Whooda thunk he had so much comedy in him? She's getting a real charge of his planning of dismantle the government and start from scratch. He could name his new creation Perrymania.
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Fiorella received another agent rejection today. She's beginning to think that, despite her ferocious contest record, she's going to have to go "indie," which means self-publishing.

Resolution

2011-11-16T05:51:00.000-08:00

Fiorella had a strange dream last night, but she liked it. She dreamed that she ran into Suzy G-T, who was so jealous of Fiorella's success on the job years ago that she and her henchman, Henry C, conspired to get Fio fired.

In her dream, she and Suzy sat down at a table together and talked like old friends. Not about the past, but about their current lives and their hopes for the future, then parted in peace. Fiorella felt like a part of her had been healed.

She hopes Suzy G-T had the same dream.

Seven Hours

2011-11-15T06:22:00.000-08:00

Fio once spent half an hour stalled in a highway traffic jam so she sympathizes with air travelers stranded for seven long hours on the tarmac. If her thirty minutes felt like seven hours, just think what their seven hours felt like.

Surely there is a way to disembark passengers after an hour of no go--the doors do open out as well as in. Think about it.

Prickly Encounter

2011-11-14T05:41:00.000-08:00

Life in the country is fraught with misadventures for a city-bred girl. Fiorella is typing this blog with her left hand because yesterday her right hand encountered a hidden prickly pear. Husband had taken down a tree and was cutting it into logs which Fio was loading into the wheelbarrow. She moved backwards, preparing to turn the barrow, when her foot hit a rock. She lurched, the logs spilled, and Fio went down on her back, throwing out her hands to cushion her fall.

Husband put up the chainsaws while Fio rushed back to the house and tried to remove the hair-thin spines with duct tape. Multiple applications and no little pain later, she realized duct tape had gone about as far as it could go. Time to melt a couple of candles and set up a home-waxing center. Multiple applications and no little pain later, she head for the tweezers. Beyond that, she'll just have to grin and bear it till the things work their own way out.

Hmm. A scorpion sting and a run-in with a prickly pear all within the past few months. Please don't tell Fio what's next.

Fire and Fuel

2011-11-13T05:19:00.000-08:00

Husband brought in an armful of wood Tuesday night, and we had our first fire of the season, which always thrills Fio. Our own wood from our own trees on our own property--there's something so timeless about it, so eternal.

And equally eternal is the hunt for more firewood. Husband has marked several trees done in by the drought so we'll be out with our chainsaws this weekend. If you have some extra time, come join us. But bring your own chainsaw.

Skewed Priorities

2011-11-12T05:54:00.000-08:00

If Jerry Sandusky, Joe Paterno's long-time assistant coach, had been stealing game receipts, he would have been arrested and jailed, but his penchant for sodomizing vulnerable young boys was easily tolerated, at least by Paterno. And now football fans everywhere are up in arms that the legendary sports figure was fired by Penn State when the scandal broke.

Since when did football become more important than moral behavior? Since when did sports trump protecting children from sexual abuse?

Artful Dodger

2011-11-11T05:19:00.000-08:00

The dogs were barking like crazy at the front windows about 4:30 so Fio assumed Matt the Armadillo Man had arrived. She'd called him the day before because the yard looked like someone had taken a pogo stick to it.

Fiorella walked outside to greet Matt, but he wasn't there. The armadillo was. It started waddling toward the driveway.

Aware that Matt wanted to know what direction the creatures were coming from, Fio followed, like Nancy Drew. The armadillo suddenly picked up speed, bursting into a run as it turned abruptly to the right and scurried into the woods.

When Matt showed up half an hour later, Fio pointed out the damage and described her encounter with the perp. Matt said he thought it was the same armored car he's been trying to catch for the last month.

As we were talking, a shout rang out from up the drive. Younger Son, who had kindly taken out the trash for Fio, had spotted the beastie. Matt grabbed his gloves and ran up the drive. But it got away.

"It's Skittish," Matt said. "All banged up--maybe a car or a big dog."

Fio wishes he hadn't told her that. Now she feels sorry for the poor little thing.

True Story

2011-11-10T05:09:00.000-08:00

Woke up panicked
That I'd slept too late
Had an appointment
At half past eight
Dressed in a hurry
Tried to comb my hair
Glanced at the the clock
Oops--had an hour to spare.

Recognition

2011-11-09T05:26:00.000-08:00

Whoo-hoo. Fiorella is an official Grand Slam Diva in the Contest Diva list for 2010. In fact, on one posting, she was ranked first in Single Title. That means her manuscripts placed in more writing contests in the Single Title category than anyone else's.

Fio likes winning and she likes the recognition, but, again, she'd rather have a publisher.

Celebrity Immunity

2011-11-08T05:13:00.000-08:00

It seems to Fio that, when it comes to "justice," celebrity usually triumphs. Of course, the California jails are crowded, but does Lindsay Lohan get to play in-and-out-the-window every go around?

And then there's Michael Jackson vs. Conrad Murray. Jacko, who's been canonized since his death--have you noticed that you're only seeing the flattering photos of him now, not the wacko ones?--won hands down, even though, basically, he killed himself.

And OJ Simpson vs. his ex-wife, a non-celebrity whose name Fio can't even remember. We all know what happened there.

Guess a little glam and glitter goes a long way in Lady Justice's eyes.

Geological Changes

2011-11-07T06:08:00.000-08:00

Earthquake time, and Fio is so excited! Change is in the air--well, really, in the earth. It seems to Fiorella that the quakes are happening where one never expected them, Oklahoma being the latest. And it wasn't just a flutter either.

Fiorella, of course, has a theory. She thinks the tectonic plates are on the move, that the world is reforming itself yet again, maybe moving back to form another Pangaea, the great uni-continent that divided itself to form the landscape we have today.

Yeah, she knows that these things happen over billions of years, but she also figures there's got to be a time, a moment, when the die is cast, when the water from the Atlantic Ocean bursts out of the mountains and starts filling the Mediterranean basin, when the land bridge across the Bering Straits becomes too deep to travel, when Spirit Lake is changed forever.

And she has to wonder if Pilot Knob will start spewing lava again.

Genealogical Nest

2011-11-06T06:08:00.000-08:00

Fiorella has been interested in genealogy since she was a child, maybe because her father's work opportunities yanked the family out of its ancestral nest when she was just seven. Yeah, 1500 miles across the country, and--dare Fio introduce the concept?--cell phones and email weren't even twinkles in Steve Jobs' eye back then. No more weekend visits with cousins, aunts, uncles, great aunts, great uncles. Fio, her parents and brother, were four against the world in exotic, remote Waco, Texas.

So Fio started questioning her parents about their families and writing down the answers. Mother was forthcoming, but Dad was more reticent--his family didn't talk about the past.

Fiorella never got around to writing a family history, but now she doesn't have to. Cousin Tom's wife, Norma, a crackerjack researcher, has stripped bare the bones of Dad's family and is about to lay it all out on Lulu for the rest of us.

Now if Fio can just entice someone on Mother's side of the family to do the same.

Thank You for My Emmy

2011-11-05T07:55:00.000-07:00

Call Fio crazy (which is nothing new), but she's thinking of trying her hand at a sit-com script. After all, she wrote a couple of skits when she was in high school, participated in Baylor Children's Theater when she was eight, nine, and ten, acted in a couple of civic theater productions as an adult, and has loads of material in this blog to draw from, so what else does she need?

Big Bang Theory and How I Met Your Mother, watch out! Fio is feeling creative again.

Leaving, Cleaving, and Conceiving

2011-11-04T05:01:00.000-07:00

Fio has accepted the fact that parents love their children more than their children love them. It's nature's way of protecting the perpetuation of the species. Thus parents will sacrifice and even die for the sake of their children, but children are hell-bent to pull away from their parents and live their own lives from the moment they're born. It's called maturity--they are preparing to assume the parent role themselves, in which the pattern will be repeated.

We all love our parents, but we love our offspring even more, which is as it should be. Parents are the past. Children are the future.

Best Wishes to All

2011-11-03T05:32:00.000-07:00

Fiorella, as you know, is extremely competitive. She likes to be top of the heap in whatever she is doing. And she keeps an eagle eye on those who are upward bound or maybe even besting her. But she wishes them well. It's the right thing to do.

Besides, it hurts less that way.