I can do poor... been there-done that-didn't want to do it again, but since THE illness, the MOVE, and my not working, we're being very careful with our money this year. I've learned from the best- the generation that saved the waxed paper from inside the cereal boxes to wrap sandwiches- the original "reuse it" depression babies.

Count Your Resources:

REUSE: Almost everything I needed for the new house came from a thrift store- curtains, appliances, furniture (except my DVD shelves which came from a cut-end store), clothing and books for the new grandbaby. It felt like manna- if what I needed was at the thrift store, I knew to buy it even if money was a little tight because it wouldn't be there after payday. Plus it's 25% off on Mondays- so go early. Vintage fits this little 40's house perfectly and being shabby chic with dings and dents is fine. We bought a smaller house on the edge of a bad neighborhood even though we worried about it being a bad investment. We could have gotten a nicer house in a nicer neighborhood, but we were carrying two mortages and I worried about something happening (and it did) so while the resale on this house might not go up as much when the market goes up, we haven't lost either home.

Entertainment: we cut out cable and kept the internet (which is necessary for business here). This cost us a little since we upgraded the media center (but we bought the new refurbished one from Dell- complete with a warranty that includes sending someone the NEXT day to the HOUSE to fix it). We use a free app called Zinc for internet TV and it makes TV watching perfect. We record the few network shows we want to see with the commercial skip on and an hour show becomes a 45 minute committment. Plus- the lack of commercials doesn't feed the "I need that now" bug. We try to go to the movies earlier in the day when it's cheaper. He'll leave work a little early so we can catch the early show and then work after we get home to make up the time. We're blessed that he has a job with such flexibility and count it as one of our many resources. We have internet phone which means no long distance phone bills as well.

Count your Pennies! No magazines, newspapers, etc. They aren't a lot of money, but when you add up all the little expenses they make a difference. Watching your dimes and nickels makes a difference. Save enough of them and you can buy something you really want. Save the pennies in a jar and cash them in when you want to go out to dinner. You'll be surprised at how many pennies it takes to eat at Applebee's. Use the library- it's free! You can get movies, books, magazines there for FREE-- no rental fees! We tend to forget that the library is one of our resources.

Quit eating out! I cook nearly every night and buy lunch fixings. We still eat out on weekends or when we see the kid, but we try to keep those occasions down to inexpensive locations. The important thing is the time you spend together- not the expensive food you eat! And... I buy food with marked down tags on it and put it in the freezer- bread and meat mostly. I check the packages to see the date and condition before adding it to my cart, but as my dad says... it can be a 40% saving! I shop very carefully. Coupons don't always save me money. I had a coupon for cottage cheese recently- $1 off which made it $1.50, but the store brand was on sale for $1 so I saved fifty cents by NOT using the coupon. I only stock up when something is on sale AND we have the extra money to invest in it AND it's something we use frequently. I don't buy canned things very often though. I would rather spend my extra money on fresh fruit and vegetables. Learn when the stores around you mark down their meat. They mark it down the day BEFORE it expires and that tends to be on Mondays since most people shop on the weekend.

Make conscious choices! It may be important to you to stop at Starbucks and get a latte daily or buy a soda from 7/11, but plan it! Figure out how much it cost you and give up something else you don't care about- like the boy who mows your lawn! The important thing is that you have thought about your spending and decided that something is worth it to you enough to sacrifice something else. I figure everything by the cost of a manga. One manga cost me $10 so the boy mowing the lawn cost me 2.5 mangas. I chose to give up the manga after a few months of giving up entire Saturdays to take care of the lawn. (Plus the library has some- not the ones I want- but some!) My father talks about donuts. He loved Dunkin' Donuts in the morning but they were fifty cents and that would buy a loaf of bread to make lunch for his kids to take to school. Two donuts or lunch for five kids? It wasn't a hard choice for him. Still- once in a while he had a little extra in his pocket and on those mornings, he'd stop and have coffee AND a donut. Pure joy! Ten packs of gum = $10... 100 packs of gum = $100. How many times have you NOT given the kid going on a mission trip a little extra because you didn't have it? I have a friend who gave up the Sunday paper because all those ads made her want to go shopping. If she doesn't know something is on sale, she doesn't have to have it.

Things are still tough here. I'm still job hunting and he's still working even though he's ill. But we are doing ok. We can give one of our favorite college kids the things she needed for her first apartment and a bit of gas money to come home once in a while. We can help the Kid get ready for the new baby. Money isn't the big "DEMON". Living simply isn't torture or punishment, it's just a choice. Less really is more!

Writing calls for all kinds of discipline and trying to sell/market something is part of the discipline... which means sometimes you have to do things that hurt- like cut 75+ pages from a work so that it fits within the contest guidelines. Of course, I could chose NOT to cut some of my favorite parts, but then I know that I shouldn't submit it to the contest either. I could self-publish it, but this is a major YA publishing company and the prize is a contract for the book... so slash goes the pen... or actually... delete goes the button. I have 25 more pages to go. I could reduce the font size to 10 but that doesn't save me much spacewise and makes it hard to read and I don't want that. Reject the book on it's own merit, not on how hard it is to read, judges... so I start looking to tighten up my phrasing, less description in parts, and take out a minor story line. I just have to sell one... and then I can write longer books! YA books are no longer supposed to be only 200 pages (thank you Harry Potter and Twilight!) but if the publisher is looking for one that runs that long, then I need to give them a book that fits their criteria- right? A xanga friend is editing it before I submit it so another pair of eyes will help with the cutting!

I really hate the marketing piece of writing for publishing. How about I do what I know best- which is to write... and someone else does what they know best- which is to market. Asking writers to market their stuff seems awkward- at least when movie stars pitch their movies on talk shows they are still performing- which is in their talent niche! But writing tends to be a solitary endeavor and marketing is a people thing...

BRB... still have more to cut... where's my Terry Tye Lee tracks to make the pain more bearable??

Mike wants me to write about Van Ness.

I usually write about him after something of mine hits the main Xanga page- mostly because it's an opportunity to introduce one of my favorite (mostly unknown in America) super stars.

Born and raised in LA, a dancer from childhood, Taiwanese- American, the uber talented...

Van Ness Wu...

Singer, Dancer, Actor, Model...

Wu Jian Ho

His new single hit Japan last month and made it to the top 10 Oricon chart nearly instantly. (It was on the top 10 before my copy arrived in the mail.)

He has a new drama starting Sunday night. (It'll be weeks or months before I see it because the fansubbers have to love it enough to sub it for me). But his entire summer has been spent filming it- 16 hour days- counting weekends so those of you who can get TTV/SETT, turn in Sunday 22:00 - 23:30 and see how good it is. There's one scene he does in heels and it looks like lots of ice hockey time too.

He's funny, serious, workaholic, loyal to his friends and family, and dedicated to making every day count for God... and we barely know him here in his home country... which raises the big question for me consistently...

Why do we have such a talent drain in the States and no one mourns their loss? Why? 

I probably know way too much about him since I spent four years writing the perfect crossover script for him that I haven't been able to convince him to read yet... (but that's a whole 'nother story!)

But... today I want to talk about someone I learned about because of Van Ness... one of his favorite song writers/ producers, one of my favorite composers to write to...

the irrasible, talented, rhyming genius Terry Tye Lee...

even fewer people know Tye Lee than know Van Ness and yet his riffs and beats linger in the brain for months after your encounter with them.

I hang out on another blog site when I'm writing and crank TTL's embedded radio and play him until my brain hurts and his words bounce around inside looking for a way out. I've listened to so much Tye Lee lately that I can hear four bars and recognize his fingerprints all over the masterpiece!

When I told him that I needed a CD- which he doesn't have- he sent me three unpublished tracks and I've listened to them nonstop. He's a humble, honest person who gives freely and doesn't think he's all that.

Tye Lee's been writing music since he was 13 and no one was making the music he wanted to hear- and besides, if he wrote his own music then he saved money. So for a kid growing up, it was a win-win. For the singers of Asia, it was a big win... and for us in the States? It was a pure wash since if it's not on our top 40 radio, we tend to ignore it.

In the dog-eat-dog, tear down anyone in your way entertainment world, I find it frustrating that Terry Tye Lee isn't better known. His sound is fresh, his beat fresher, and his heart is beautiful... like his songs.

So here's a bit of Van Ness performing one of my fav TTL's songs... (not my fav fav- that's a little thing called Green Kicks that you'll never hear unless he loans it to me with permission to upload it since he took it off his playlist). Enjoy- the best of both... Van Ness Wu performing at church a song TTL wrote ... Hello Superstar!

  I had this one kid that I loved- a Firebug, a troubled kid. By eight, he was running wild on the streets. By nine, he'd spent six months in juvie. By ten, he was known to every police officer and social worker in his neighborhood. In first grade, he wasn't in my class and wasn't reading. In second grade, he still wasn't reading and he (with three friends) threw desks out the window of his classroom, aiming so they landed on the hood of his teacher's brand new car. Since she wouldn't return to school with them in her class, they assigned all four to me--temporarily.

Second grade- and he didn't know the letters in his name, couldn't count to 30, and was redoing the same kindergarten series for the third time. My Social Worker begged me to keep him out of trouble until they found a better placement- only a few weeks, she promised, I just had to keep him and three of his chair throwing companions in my special needs kindergarten class until they found an appropriate placement. If I hadn't owed the Social Worker for bending the rules to get a little autistic kid into a specialized environment when the school district didn't want to pay for it, I would have rejected them from the beginning.

The Fearsome Foursome knew they were in big trouble, but that didn't keep Firebug from swaggering into my room and knocking over the waiting desks. I waited until I cooled down and then I picked up the offending desks and set them in the hall.

"I ain't sitting with the drooling idiot," he said, pointing at Dalton. Dalton grinned a drooling smile and offered him a soggy, half-chewed paper.

"Not sure you're sitting anywhere since I just put your desk and chair in the hallway," I replied a little sharply as I picked up the scattered school supplies before calling the rest of the class to the rug. We did important stuff at the rug every morning. We read our names, we counted to 100, we named colors, we read stories and sang songs. We laughed and told silly jokes no one got. We had fun. It was important to me that everyone start the day having fun because our days were so unpredictable.

My four little demons walked around the room, ignoring us and I ignored them. I made rug time go a long time that morning. Then I gave everyone their morning assignments and pulled together my first reading group. I was working on sight words borrowing a technique I'd read about from Sylvia Aston-Warner in her book Teacher. Every day they got a new RED printed word. It was a big deal. They told me their word. I wrote it. We spelled it. We talked about the meaning. They drew a picture on the back- and then, we read their word cards. Any card they knew, they kept. If they didn't know it, I threw it away. Milton was zooming through his list when he stopped on the word, "hat". He looked at the picture and shrugged. I tore it into quarters and threw it away. (The theory was that only the words that had meaning would be remembered and that I couldn't force a word to have meaning. For some of my kids, I wrote the same word every day and threw it away the next until it finally meant something to them.). A ball of anger stepped between Milton and me, and we both looked up, surprised.

"Why you do that?" my little firebug demanded.

I didn't know what he was talking about. Milton didn't know what he was talking about. "Do what?" I asked stupidly as he frantically dug through the trash to find the pieces of card stock.

"You threw away his word!"

"He didn't want it," I explained softly as he tried to fit the pieces back together. This kid who didn't know the alphabet and couldn't write his name, painstakingly reconstructed the index card by the torn shapes. "Do you want a word," I finally asked as he bit back tears of frustration.

He stopped and stared up at me from the floor.

"A word," I said. "Do you want a word?"

He nodded.

"Ok, but here are the rules for keeping your word. If you know it tomorrow, it stays in your box, but if you don't know it, then that tells me that it's not important to you and that you don't need it. You only get to keep the important words- the ones so important that you will know it wherever you see. Deal?"

He stood up, wiped his hand on his pants, and held it out for me to shake. Solemnly, we shook hands as the rest of his little gang gathered around me. "What word do you want?"

It was the most important question someone had asked him. He thought a long time as his crew offered suggestions. I wrote each of them their own word and gave them their word box while he thought.

 "What's his words," he asked pointing at Milton. Milton pulled out his sticky stack of cards and began reading them. "Apple, bunny, frog, truck, Poppy, Mommy, stuck," Milton read every word proudly and my demon child was taken back.

"He can read?"

"Everyone but Dalton can read," I said, "And Dalton is learning to read his name." That was an outright lie.  Dalton had much more important things to do- like find bugs on the floor to eat or ripping pages of books into tiny pieces before he ate them. Dalton's brain wasn't wired for speech and reading and he didn't like pictures as a form of communication either. He was fine with smiling when he was happy and letting his big dark eyes fill with tears when he was sad. But the rest of the class that everyone thought would only learn to read street signs was reading simple sentences and asking me for words like "the" and "and" and "like" so they could lay their cards on the floor to create sentences that read things like "Poppy likes the bunny" or "Robbie is a boy".

"What's your word?"

"Fire," he said.

Why wasn't I surprised?  I wrote the word twice- once with lower-case letters and once in all caps. f-i-r-e and F-I-R-E.

"Why did you write it twice?" he asked.

"This word is so important that it is in this room in several places. Can you find it."

The great word hunt took off while I called my next group of kids up.

"It's here," he yelled loudly. "I found it!"

My paraprofessional joined him and his little group. "Where did you find it?"

"On the fire extinguisher."

She nodded. "It's hiding other places as well."

I might as well not tried to teach the rest of the class for the next 20 minutes as they scoured the room: finding it on the posted Fire Drill instructions, the red fire truck in the block section, the fire fighter's hat in the play area, the books about fire safety on the window.

"I ain't ne'ber forgettin' this word," he said carefully storing it in his word box at the end of the day.

The next day when I began Word Play, he leaned over the back of my chair while I reviewed Milton's words. He mouthed each one and asked to see them. Milton shared happily. He didn't move during the whole session, and repeated his action the rest of the week. On Monday, his mother brought him school with a box of the dollar brownies from the dollar store.

"Mz. M," she started before she started crying. I handed her the box of tissues, put the brownies up out of Ricksi's reach, and waited for her to begin again. "You taught him to read."

"I wouldn't say that," I started. Knowing five words doesn't make you a reader.

"I told the Social Worker that the best place for him was your class," she finished proudly.

Did she know my class make-up? These were the kids that went to special special schools before the district decided to hire me and save a small fortune. These were the kids that weren't toilet-trained, barely spoke, and had IQ's of 40 or less. They couldn't hold normal pencils, tie their shoes, or zip their coats. The kids in my class were the definition of "special" needs kids and while they were a handful, they weren't emotionally disturbed, desk throwing, fire bug demons who had anger control issues. In fact, legally, I wasn't sure the state would let the Fearsome Foursome stay more than twenty days (which was a bit of a relief to me). I was fairly sure that we didn't want them to stay more than twenty days.

While I was talking to his mother, the little brat had gotten into everyone's sacred word boxes and had all the words sorted by beginning letter.

"Ms. M," he called, a bit disturbed. "They don't match."

I joined him on the floor. "Look," he said. "That's Robbie's word snake, and that's Ricksi's word snow. They sound the same, but they're broken."

"They sound the same where?" I asked, more than a bit surprised. Not only did he learn everyone's words in a week, he was identifying beginning and ending sounds.

He made the "sn-" sound and then pointed to the two words again. "Sn- ake! Sn-ow!" he repeated. We were lost in a lesson on how letters form words and words form meanings while his mother snuck out of the room.

My Social Worker stopped by later that day. "Heard the oddest thing from Firebug's mother," she started. "Gonna' take a ton of work to keep him in here. You sure you want to keep him?"

I had a choice? I didn't have a choice since the day we discovered how important words were.

Firebug learned to read that year. He was still behind grade levels because he had three years of learning to catch up on. He was still one angry little kid who liked to start fires. He still went to juvie and stayed longer each time. He still threw things when he was mad, but he loved words.

I saw him once after he left us. I was reading and he entered my room quietly, his shaggy hair shaved, his dark eyes dancing, he leaned against the back of my chair like he did so often that first year and listened to the story. Joan held in her "OH!" as I read! His long arms crept around my neck and he smelled like cigarettes and fall leaves. My class giggled and I knew he made a silly face at them. I finished the book and Joan took the kids to lunch after she claimed her hug. He was fifteen and had been out six months.

"I wanted to say hi," he said. "I get sentenced tomorrow and the judge says I won't be out for a long time."

"Thought you would know that fire hurts people by now, Firebug," I scolded.

He shrugged, smiled a sad smile. "I know- but you know?"

Yeah, I know. I know lots of things. I know that in your backpack is a thick novel and that you'll spend the next three years reading every book they have in that place. I know that you'll be of legal age when you come out and that next time it'll be the big jailhouse. I know that no matter how hard I tried that I never figured out how to get you to control your temper. I know that I had never been able to teach you the important things.

He waved as he walked away and I bit back tears. In the scheme of things I wondered if I had wasted my time. "That was nice," Joan said from behind me.

"Goin' back to juvie," I said through the tears.

"Some kids have to learn the hard way. Firebug- he's one of those kids, and you know it."

"Don't have to like it though."

She laughed and handed me a tissue. "You know that evil little kid in Robert's class? The one that can make a nun cry in 30 seconds?"

I nodded my head. Everyone knew him from the minute his tiny feet hit the front door. Joan grinned. "Can you tell that Social Worker heading this way NO for a change? Practice it. NOOO! NO! Just this once? Ok?"

The Social Worker waved and Joan and I ducked into Room #108. "I'll say No," I promised as the Social Worker opened the door.

"It's just temporary," she started.... 

Here's the thing... I have two unpublished YA novels- an earlier one from 5+ years ago that has gathered 10 + rejection slips so far and the new one I want to self-publish. I am a much better writer now than I was 5 years ago and I think the new one is better. This is a major YA contest. IF I enter the new one, I can't publish it until March or April if it loses- which means I miss the Christmas market. IF I enter the old one, I need to do one more major rewrite in the next month, and I can't submit it anywhere until March or April.

I can send one and self-publish the other, of course... but which one?

I'm off to the library tomorrow to read all the old winners I can find to see what they like and that might help me make the decision.

The older one needs a new title, but all the marketing pieces for it are done and I was going to start sending it again in a few weeks anyway.

We need to see something break here- between the job market being so bad and not getting paid for writing, I need to concentrate on marketing and job hunting full time. I don't know that I can afford for a novel to sit in contest for six or seven months. I need to make some money or see some kind of real progress as a writer. I can't keep writing and not selling (well, actually I could, but that doesn't help with the bills!)

I have a full body of work here: the manga story- which is waiting for the artist/creator to have time to finish it before it can be published, the screenplay that failed in the screenplay contest, two YA novels, 1 adult novel, the outline for a new manga with the first episode sketched out, half of YA fantasy novel done, half of a YA girl novel done, ideas for a third YA sketched out in my head, a screenplay screaming for writing time, two complete TV pilots written, and enough school stories for its own book. We've agreed that I need to sell something or at least market my heart out. I've been living with 2009 Writer's Market open, doing my homework, visiting publishing sites, checking out their catalogues, and I am slowly identifying a few that might be a good match. I should be sending things out again in a week or two.

I could send both YA's to the contest as well- but then... what?

Open to any reasonable suggestions...

That when she goes outside the sun hides and the clouds cry."

Every fight I broke up between boys at school involved insults to someone's momma. As the culprits stood before me, facing two day automatic suspension, I would begin the useless conversation.

"Why'd you hit him?"

"He said yo momma."

"Yo momma ugly?"

"Mz. M!"

"I mean it. What happens when your mother goes outside. Does the sun hide? Does it rain?"

"No."

"Does he know yo momma?"

"No."

"What's yo momma gonna do when she hears you were fighting in school instead of learning?"

"My momma said if any one disses me or her, I can fight 'em."

Oh great, I think. "Well, I guess she knows that fighting in school is automatically 2 days out." I pull out the dreaded form and begin filling it in. The begging starts and the tears flow.

"My momma gonna kill me, Mz. M. She said I ain't supposed to be 'spended no more."

The same momma that told you to fight is gonna beat you when you get suspended, I nearly say it aloud, but he won't catch the irony. If I'm lucky, I'll get through the conference with the mother without needing security.

She's a young single mother who hated school and got into fights when she attended- before she dropped out in 9th grade. This is her oldest child. There is one in Pre-School down the hall, one in the expensive stroller she's pushing, and one on the way- all with different daddies. Her hair is done, her nails sparkle, and her clothes cost more than my yearly clothing allowance. Her boys have the newest sneakers and they better not get them dirty, and if we didn't have uniforms, they'd be wearing the latest Sean Paul Jeans as well. She doesn't work and welfare makes sure her babies daddies send her something every month or they go to jail as deadbeat daddies. And the daddies know they better bring the money for those sneakers and game systems if they want to stop by her house. She's here to confront and protect her oldest baby from being treated unfairly and he's embarrassed by her- as if she should know how to act in school and chooses not to. The daddies are always easier to deal with. They glare at the boy, yes ma'am me, and promise me that the boy won't do it again. But they don't threaten or insult me or tell me that it's my fault her child is in trouble.

We talk about school rules.

"You know the rule about fighting, right?"

"Someone disses my boy, he know he better deal with it and not bring that crap home."

"But if he fights in school, he will be suspended."

"Someone say somethin' bad 'bout me, he know what ta do," she insists. "I ain't raising no sissy."

"But there are other ways of dealing with disrespect besides fighting," I begin. I've had this same talk countless times with young mothers. They need to raise street-smart kids. I need to raise school-smart kids and there is nothing in common with our needs except our desire to have the child succeed. I talk about the importance of school for making dreams come true and how you can't do that if you're home. I talk about how telling someone when you need help solving a problem isn't tattling. Johnny took Sammy's pencil and didn't give it back so Sammy got mad. It didn't have to be a fight. No one had to diss anyone's mother. They just needed a little help resolving the conflict before it got to the pushing and shoving and punching part. I needed her to tell her son that fighting in school had lifetime consequences.

But school hadn't been a safe place for her. She didn't have someone who taught her to resolve conflicts before they exploded. She didn't have someone who fought with her about the important things- like dropping out, practicing safe sex, and keeping her dreams alive. She didn't understand that the language of the street interfers with the language of school and that in order to be successful, her son would have to maneuver in both worlds, fluent in both.

"If Johnny fights in school, he will be suspended," I say again. I glare at Johnny and he drops his head. He knows his mother is wrong, but he hates knowing that, and he wants to glare at me for making his mother look bad.

As they walk out to the waiting car, she raises her hand and smacks him hard across the face. "Don't make me come up here to your school over some foolishness. You hear me?"

Three days later, Johnny and Sammy are clowning in the hallway after lunch- all is right between them. I stop and chat with them briefly. Johnny shows me his new prize. "My momma bought me new pencils while I was 'spended. They smell like fruit, Mz. M. Smell." I sniff at the pencil in front of my nose.

"So next time," I begin, "how are you two going to keep from fighting?"

Johnny has the answer ready. "I give him his pencil when he asks."

Sammy nods. "I don't say nuttin' about his momma."

One of my eighth graders watches the exchange and shakes his head. Later he pops into my office. "You know they gonna fight again, right, Mz. M. They can't walk away from a fight."

"But they'll think about the consequences the way you do," I reply. We've had this same conversation since he was in fifth grade and he still gets into fights- he just does it off school grounds most of the time now.

"Boys fight," he retorts.

"Boys who fight die," I say, pushing the newspaper headline at him. Another gang fight resulted in two teen deaths.

 "Not always," he says. "Mz. M, you can't save all of them."

"I don't want to save all of them. Just mine!"

He waves as he leaves the room. "We're all yours. You just won't admit it. Outta here. Peeps waitin' on me."

There are consequences for disrespecting someone- in both worlds- and we tend to gloss over them, but it still hurts and it still costs. The difference is how you pay. And it's not just in the school rooms any more- look at the way we treat those who think differently from us. Some times it feels like a losing battle.

First- I'm not a fan of new experiences. I'm the person who reads the ending of the book so she can enjoy the story without the stress and anxiety of not knowing how it ends. But I think you have to try new things, go new places, and push yourself hard, or you become comfortable and quit growing. It's all about growing with me so that drives me to places I'd never go otherwise- like the DaySpa.

The gift certificate to the DaySpa was from my love who felt that I deserved some pampering after all the care he's taken this year. To be perfectly honest, I thought he was a bit nuts and quickly figured out exactly what dramas I could have ordered with the cash - had he given me that instead of the gift certificate. "But you go to the Spa in Santa Fe," he said in his defense. I do go to this awesome Japanese inspired spa in Santa Fe, 10,000 Waves, with my female friends. We go in the late fall or early winter, and hang out by the hot tub or in the steam room for $15 for the evening. We laugh at how the skinny girls wear bathing suits while all us chubby people don't, and we watch the clouds float in the night sky and talk about things for hours... but we don't get massages. Those are very expensive and it's enough to unwind by the hot tub after a stressful week.

The big thing is that I don't like strangers touching me. I have a deep personal space circle. Think three feet and double that at least. I don't hug strangers (I barely hug friends) and when guy friends try to give me a massage, it freaks me out and makes my skin crawl. But our mommy-to-be loved her birthday prenatal massage and was craving a pedicure (apparently pregnant women stub their toes a lot- I didn't know that) so I decided the best use of my gift certificate was to have some prenatal in-law bonding time.

However, when I made the appointment for her, I had a bad case of writer's neck- a stiff neck and numbness in the right arm so I made an appointment for a massage for me as well. I had an hour wait until our Mommy-to-be returned glowing and happy. One hour to think of all the things I could be doing with this money, to come up with reasons to escape, and I would have-- except they charge 50% of the fee if you cancel.

The tiny room was dim with candles burning and Inca music playing in the background. The masseuse was a tiny bit of a thing and very confident. As I slipped onto the warm table, my body tensed and my mind went blank- so blank that I forgot the most important thing about my body- it hates flowers. Actually, it hates most of the outdoors- moss, trees, flowers, weeds, hay, oats, herbs- did I mention flowers? Direct contact with them gives me a migraine. Halfway through the process, just as I was feeling better, my masseuse decided to educate me on the essential oil that she'd been rubbing into my skin for the last half-hour. "Sandalwood," she started and as she began to explain the healing powers behind it, my stomach flopped. But the worse was still ahead- lavender, jasmine, and rose. Bing! Bing! Bing! You just won a two day light burning, upset stomach, mother of all headaches. I couldn't believe that I forgot to tell her. I can't believe she didn't ask. I thought about telling her to stop, but the damage was already done.

Maybe it's all in your mind, I thought confidently. Maybe her essential oil doesn't have whatever it is in it that makes me sick. When I turned up the lights to dress, a pretty bouquet of purple flowers greeted me. "Nice," I thought. "More lavender."

I walked outside with my daughter-in-law and talked about the things happening in her life and I checked. No. No headache. Maybe it was all in my brain. By the time I got home, I could feel my skin burning and spent the next twenty minutes in the shower, scrubbing. When I got out, I looked longingly at the migraine pill, but we were having dinner with my book club and that meant I needed to be able to talk, so no pill. Driving home from book club, I was done. A pill, lights out, you want to watch here? Don't make the bed wiggle migraine was raging. Two days later, there is a slight trace of the headache and my kid leaves me a note on FB- Only you can get sick from a massage.

I am really careful about that allergy. I read soap and lotion bottles. I give away all the gifts people give me that have those ingredients. I check tea labels and don't eat flowers in my salad- even if it is all the rage. I tell the car wash guys no fragrance, and I buy green plants that rarely flower for the house. I take allergy pills when I know I'm going to be outside or around a fire. So why didn't I tell her? I donno. I didn't think about it until she mentioned to me and then it was too late.

The love of my life said it was the worst anniversary gift ever, but I don't think so. Our Mommy-to-be was all relaxed and her back quit hurting and we had a good time together. My writer's neck quit aching- and my fingers too- I didn't know they hurt until she pressed on them. I'd probably do it again- if I could find someone who didn't use essential oils.

Off to the next new great adventure... what should I try next? Hot air ballooning? People die doing that, you know.

researching:

- jump rope rhymes- 1st grade babies, 2nd grade tots, 3rd grade angels, 4th grade snots

-Marie Antoinette- she didn't really tell them to eat cake when they didn't have bread...

Writing, writing, writing...

21,000 into a new story, thanks to the tracks sent by a generous and talented songwriter, Terry Tye Lee- the humble genius and one of the good guys!

Have six resumes ready to go out... have to figure out how to print envelopes...

The Chinese restaurant asked us if we wanted Chinese menus last night. Seemed a bit odd, but they were in English and Chinese. Good food- better convo!

Seriously getting something ready for self-publishing...

oh... and I think the manga script is in final approval so its drawing will start soon- nearly a year after I was first approached about it.

Baby Shower party for new granddaughter was fun... she should appear in person in 10 more weeks- or a bit more if she's late like her daddy... her mommy is precious! Baby stuff has multiplied and you have to know so many more things. Thank goodness for gently used stuff and generous friends! But our grandbaby is gonna have TOYS!!! Trucks, cars, trains, dolls, blocks, monsters, Hello Kitty, balls, bats, gloves, skates, sidewalk chalk, and boxes... lots and lots of boxes...

We have had the blessing of 20+ something girls in the house- it's been a while, but it feels right! We go to set up her apartment and do all the tough things- hang curtains, figure out how to get the 1 TV station in, fill the fridge.

And... collecting pixie dust if you have any... I heard there was a Xangan with a secret stash at his store.... hmmmm....

I Don't Want To Lose You

Van Ness Wu's Single- Japanese Release

For the first time in the history of my preordering his stuff,

they shipped it ON the day it was released...

AND...

I didn't have to bug yesasia to have it on preorder!

Now... I just have to wait for it to arrive...

Wonky dream last night... magic, chinese food, music, true love, bells, and a lot of anger... hummm....

Lyrics:
Verse 1
Now Hollywood wants to make you think they know what love is.

But Im a tell you what true love is. Love is not what you see in the movies.

 Its not the ecstasy, its not what you see in that scene, you know what I mean?

 Im telling you right now, true love is sacrifice. Love is thinking about others before you think about yourself, love is selfless not selfish.

Love is God and God is love.

Love is when you lay down your life for another, whether for your brother, your mother, your father or your sister,

its even laying down your life for your enemies, that's unthinkable, but think about that.

Love is true. Think.

Chorus:

I'll put you in front of me
So everybody can see
My love, this is my love

I know that I'll be alright
As long as you are my guide
My love, this is my love

Verse 2
Love is patient, love is kind.

It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.

 It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.

Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.

It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, it always perseveres.
Love never fails.

 Love is everlasting, its eternal, it goes on and on, it goes beyond time, love is the only thing that will last when you die, but ask the question why?

Do you have love?

Chorus

Verse 3
There is no greater love than this than he who lays down his life for his friends.

Now are you willing to lay down your life for your friends?

You're probably willing to lay down your life for your mother, your father, or your best friends, but are you willing to lay down your life for even those that hate you?

I'm going to tell you who did that, the definition of love is Jesus Christ. He is love.

The nails in his hands, the thorns in his brow, hanging on a cross for your sin my sins, that is LOVE he died for you and me while we still hated him, that is love.

God is true love, and if you don't know this love, now is the time to know, perfect love.

Chorus

And it doesn't even need a translation... Jaeson Ma... incredible... pass it on!