Things started when I received a patch from Dan Daetz after I backed his Kickstarter for The Hole Man. It had vivid gold letters, a striking jet image, and the words “Sci Fi Jet Pilot.” This could not stay in my desk drawer.
I snagged an Air Force colonel’s jacket from an estate sale and reached out to my sister, who sewed on the emblem with her machine.
Then a badge arrived from another author friend, A.J. Eliot, for her Kickstarter book, Windrider. I knew this patch needed to go on the uniform, too, plus I had a deadline.
I wanted to wear the blazer to a writers’ conference where I’d see A.J. I procrastinated but finally reached into my sewing box. It consisted of four microscopic spools of thread and a tomato pin cushion with all the pins driven to their necks.
And one needle that was already threaded. My miracle needle. Trying to push a thread the size of a hair through a hole the size of two hairs is a great way to spend your evening.
I didn’t have to do that, so I sewed. The strand got shorter and shorter. When I tried to knot the thread, I found out there wasn’t enough left.
I tossed the blazer over a chair. The patch stayed in place so I was set.
I flew to the writer’s conference and got many comments on the jacket and emblems.
During a session, I hung the coat over my chair and a writer sitting behind me tapped me on the shoulder. “Do you know that you have a needle hanging on the inside of your jacket?”
That forgotten needle. I shoved the point into thicker fabric.
I had already gone through security and flown about 1000 miles crammed in a tight seat with this needle dangling inside my jacket. I had to shed my belt, my watch, and a necklace to get through the security gate, but the needle didn’t trigger a single alarm.
My trip home included the same airport security and the same 1000 miles. The needle never registered an alert.
It hasn’t poked me once, so I haven’t tackled the next step yet.
We’re starting to become buddies. I am honoring two authors and a miracle needle at the same time.
A friend of mine recently told me how she hates to run, but does it anyway.
This friend is a kindred spirit. She’s slow. Me, too. She hates treadmills. Me, too. Running is boring. Yep.
But she’s been running circuits in her backyard, and I thought I ought to offer her the 5K experience for a change of pace. Pun intended.
Climbing Mount Everest
If you haven't run a 5K, you might think it’s like climbing Mount Everest.
You’d be right.
When I started, I found an app called Couch to 5K, which promised to have me ready for my first 5K in eight weeks. It worked, and I ran a 5K two months later.
The People You Meet
So I plan to tell my friend about the app and also about the interesting people you can meet. For example, at one 5K, the first runner across the finish line then ran the race backwards, then ran it again forward.
Which meant I got lapped twice.
Yeah. Interesting.
In the off-season, the high school cross-country team might even join us. There's nothing more exciting than watching a 16-year-old sprint the 5K as fast as I can run a mile.
If We Run Anyway
I use the term run lightly. It’s more like “getting double-lapped” running.
If I convince my friend to join the 5K experience, we’d get fresh air, strong lungs, muscular legs.
When you think of the sounds of Christmas, you may think of the gentle guitar tones of “Silent Night” or the wistful notes of “Silver Bells.”
I have young kids rushing through my house regularly so I get to hear other sounds. Like Big Mouth Billy Bass, for example.
I had hoped yet again this Christmas to find out how rich Christmas could be without this rubber fish flopping on a wooden plaque while emitting holiday songs.
It was not meant to be.
The Ghost of Christmas Gifts Past
A seven-year-old boy uncovered Big Mouth Billy Bass in a box of hidden Christmas ornaments. You haven’t lived 'til you have seen a fake fish sing “Jingle Bells” with his tail flipping in time. Punctuated by “YeeHaw.” I blame my sister for Billy being in my garage.
The seven-year-old wanted to know how Billy worked and why I didn’t have this fish mounted front and center already.
The Fatal Mistake
One of my character flaws is not being able to think of a misdirection quickly enough.
I told him Billy was a nuisance. That didn't deter him. I said it was goofy. He didn’t care. So I added, “It doesn’t work because it needs batteries.”
I know, I know. That was not a smart answer. But this thing was so old that I assumed I didn’t have the right batteries in the house.
The Encore
I was wrong. He found four fresh C batteries in the back of the junk drawer.
Billy Bass rejoined the world of the living.
When it comes to Christmas animals, one time is never enough. Kids push the red button so Billy sings over and over and over until the adults smash the gadget to smithereens. Theoretically.
Christmas is always a memorable time of the year. Especially with children around.
I’ve flown three times in the last year, which included my adventure with TSA and the protein powder. You can read that story here.
When I learned that there was a TSA app that might give me the inside info for my next flight, I was all over that. Maybe I could avoid getting patted down again.
And down the rabbit hole I went, opening the list of what I can bring. I was thinking twenty to thirty items on their list.
Oh, foolish me. There are almost two hundred. I think. I didn’t count.
Did you know you can take artificial skeleton bones in your carry-on bag and your checked bag?
Love the Lanes?
No bowling balls or bowling pins in your carry-on bag. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody try to bring on a bowling ball or bowling pins. Maybe I need to fly more.
Speaking of common sense (or Captain Obvious), dynamite is out both for your carry-on and your checked bags. Same for fireworks.
And don’t let your kids bring a foam toy sword in their carry-on bag. Do they hope that cuts down on sibling skirmishes?
Waiting On Burgers
No hoverboards. Hummus is OK, but ice picks are not. No word on cheeseburgers.
You can’t take a kirpan in your carry-on bag even though it’s considered an instrument of mercy, grace, empathy, and goodwill. It still looks like a sharp dagger.
No realistic replicas of explosives in your carry-on or your checked bags. Rocks are OK.
You can carry on your vacuum robot, but don’t even think about bringing the airbag out of your vehicle.
Inviting Rosie
I did notice there was no comment about protein powder. I’m flying in a few months, but I’m considering skipping the protein powder and bringing along Rosie the robot vacuum instead.
TSA says she’s safer than I am with a scoop of whey.
Even before the blue cloud surrounded the house, I was very sorry I had knocked on the door.
My sister, Ann, and I used to manage several rental houses for landlords. One day, we had to deliver a notice to a late-paying tenant to either pay up or move out.
These have to be hand-delivered to the unit, and we thought that meant knocking on the door and handing the form to the tenant.
What innocents we were.
By then, the air was turning blue. The only clean words were, “Hey, get back here, Foofie.”
I knocked, intending to hand over the form. When the tenant didn’t respond immediately, I started taping the paperwork to the front door.
Then the door flew open. The tenant stormed out, grabbed the paper, crumpled it into a tight ball, and threw it on the ground. “I don’t accept notices on my door.”
She said a lot more, but I filtered out the swear words.
Then she bolted into the street, chasing a little dog that scooted past our ankles. A dog she wasn’t supposed to have.
I stood at the front door, coughing from the blue air, and watching the tenant darting around the street like a defensive back trying to tackle a quick-footed running back. Foofie kept skittering just out of reach.
I enjoyed the entertaining romp for a moment, but then I remembered my vulnerable position on the front step. I smoothed out the page, taped it to the door, and sprinted to the car. I was ready for a fast getaway, but Ann said, “I’m not moving until that dog is gone. Just what we need is to run over the dog, too.”
We finally escaped through the blue cloud. After that, we flipped a coin to see who went to the door. No knocking. We did a tape-and-run.
Here’s your quiz: what do four states, Carhenge, and a tornado have in common? If you said my sister and me, you’ve been paying attention.
This all got started when my sister and I drove six hours from home, into Wyoming, to visit family. We had a full day for the return trip, so why not go a different way?
Ah, you can see the problems forming like storm clouds on the horizon, huh?
Hold that metaphor. You’ll need it later.
We started out in Wyoming (state one) and drove east to Rapid City, South Dakota (state two) for breakfast. The skies were vast and clear blue.
Then we turned south toward Scottsbluff, Nebraska (state three), inspired by the prairie, the rocky bluffs, and massive fluffy clouds.
Detouring to the Replica
Then somebody in the car who wasn’t me wanted to go to Carhenge. Why not? We re-programmed our maps app.
Carhenge features dented cars and pickups buried and arranged like a to-scale replica of Stonehenge.
The founder’s motto is “Why not?”
After checking out every old car in the park, we reprogrammed our maps app to take us home. We’d get back to Colorado (state four) early afternoon.
That’s what we thought.
Our maps took us east. We didn’t notice because the road curved like limp spaghetti. Well, and because we were talking a lot, too.
“We’d better not be going through Sidney,” I said.
“Why?”
“It’s out of our way.” I checked the app.
Going East After All
We were heading straight for Sidney. Too late to correct. We were better off staying the course and getting home from the east rather than north.
As we closed in on our hometown, I was studying the weather app when my sister said, “Those clouds south of us look ugly.”
“Radar shows the red spot in the storm will stay south of us. You won’t have to drive through it this time.”
When we were out on the road and came onto a storm, she was always the one driving through the red spot–that howling, angry rain-and-wind part of the storm. She gets growly about that sometimes. “Do you see what I see?”
What We Both Saw
I looked up from the app. “A tornado.” I loaded up the camera app.
I shot pictures while she fidgeted. To be fair, the tornado was more of a wannabe with a wimpy, pale tail.
“It won’t cross the road,” I said, looking at the weather app again. “And it’s dissipating.”
“I’m not driving past a tornado.” She veered across two lanes of traffic--she checked first--and took us off in yet another direction.
Our six-hour trip took about ten hours. But the tornado subsided. We visited Carhenge. And we did not go through a fifth state to get home. A good day overall.
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