No One Comments

I just got to thinking. Why do most people visit a site or a blog, spend time there, read, watch a trailer, whatever, they never leave a comment.
No one says, hey you stink, so if you do you don't know it. No one says, that was great, so if you were you don't know that either.
Is it fear, maybe, but...no they could go anonymous.
Maybe it's, they don't care.
Maybe no one reads your stuff.
Or could it be that people just think it's too much effort. Just that key stroke or two. What is it?
I make myself do it when I go to most blogs or sites, just because I know how much that person wants me to comment.
Am I nuts? Or do I care and no one else does. Tell me.
Why is it that no one comments.

Aging Parents

My poor older brother is the one who takes most of the brunt of family illness problems, he lives in the same town as my parents and two sisters. One lives with them she is a bit slow, but without her to be the gofer, my parents be lost. My other sister is disabled and has given up on life.

I don't know how many times my parent have called him at all hours. They don't want to call 911, they are afraid of the expense involved. They can well afford it, so I don't get it. They decided to call this time, luckily for my father or he would have bled to death. He is not in great shake, on dialysis due to kidney failure and has every other aging problem there is. Dialysis is rough on those who suffer it to stay alive.

Not only does he have to deal with all that. But he stopped at my sister's house to help with her pepsi addiction, (she was out of it), and found her passed out in her bedroom, he thought she was dead. Instant heart failure followed as he tried to wake her. She finally came around, the problem is over medication. She's given up and that's her whole life. Taking that pain medication.

I think that's what made my father give up too.
How do you get a stubborn man who refuses to get the help he needs, get that help?
We are going to try to talk to him. Me and my two brothers, since out of the six of us, there are only three of us who function independently.

How do you intimidate a man who has spent his whole life intimidating us, into doing the right thing? It's a conundrum.

My parents do not face reality. And unfortunately, they will have no choice.

Getting old is a scary thing. And I can't do a thing about that either.

Mary Stella and a free book for a donation

Mary Stella, a co-member of the Florida Romance Writers, FRW,is a wonderful author. She just got a shocker from our main group the Romance Writers of America, RWA. She won't be participating in a long anticipated book Literary book signing, in San Francisco.

They changed the qualifying rules, and got "uninvited", sadly her books were both published prior to 2007. Rather than brood, she has decided to make, "lemonade out of lemons".

Get a free book for a small donation to the Literary chapter in your area. $2, $5, $10, on up, whatever you can afford. After all it is about reading and the readers, in the end, that's all that matters. Get yourself a great book whose story is set in the Florida Keys, and is a contemporary romance.

You'll be getting a great book and doing a good thing.

Right?

Time Travel

So where would you go if you could travel in time? Would you like to meet a native American Indian, say in 1815? The settlers of this country were horrible to them. How about in a romance novel type of scene?

Maybe, or maybe not, depends on where in the US you are at the time. Is your idea of the best trip to go to the future. Say 2050, the world could be in a devastating depression, or we could be at the dawn of a new day. I guess that depends on whether we vote Republican or Democrat. What the heck happened to that social security surplus anyways?

I could go back and change a few mistakes I made, undo some things I would rather not have done or said. Would it change my life?

One time I had just stepped on a needle and it broke in my foot into five pieces, I guess those wooden Dr. Scholl's weren't a good idea. I was just out of the hospital, having to remove the needle pieces surgically. I felt like doo doo. Now mind you I had just sent in 800, yes 800, entries into a contest for $250,000, The Lucky Lady Sweepstakes. I had just answered four calls, which I had to crawl on the floor to get to the phone to answer. So this particular call I just answered,"I don't want any." Some guy said. "You don't want any. Are you sure?" Something along those lines. My firm yes and hang us settled that.

And then I got to thinking. About a week later I received in the mail three sets of second prises, two tickets to the movie. Now mind you there were only five second prise winners. So did I blow it or not? I will always wonder. It could have changed my life so much for the better. You just never know.
Moral of the story, wait and see who is on the phone before you dismiss them. Ha. Live and learn!

World Erotic Art Museum

Well not only did I get to see South Beach, which I have never seen, but I got to see the WEAM, the World Erotic Art Museum. A more unique collection of erotic art could not possibly exist. I saw things from 500 yrs BC, to the always lovely Marilyn Monroe. Definitely a place to see.
I was surprised at the quality of the artwork. Yes I did see Homer Simpson with an erection, but I also saw a number of wonderful things. I myself especially loved some of the nude paintings. Some of them were done with such emotion and beauty, I would love to have one for my living room.
Check it out in South Beach, and then walk along the beach and see people just as interesting and diversified.
We have a book signing panel event at the museum. The very first one I ever participated in and I am still here to tell about it. Whew, I made it!

My Secret Garden

I have some plant juice running in my veins, it's the only conclusion I could come to.
No matter where I am it's about the colors, feel the textures, and inhale the fragrance of flowers and foliage. The intricate weaving of just the right plant, (whatever I could afford at the time), made for a "fairyland effect", to quote a friend. From the ground cover, to the rare peach tree, to the many varieties of palms and ferns, the stepping stones,and statues below billowing wind chimes; they all take me to my secret place. I'm in my secret garden.
Butterflies hover over sub tropical blooms, Jasmine blooms while chameleons run through the glossy leaves of the banana plants. A slight gust of wind cools my corner of the myriad of sensual overload.
I sit. Inhaling the perfume of the garden, I put the one thing in my hand that only makes this moment perfect. A good romance book.

My Reincarnated Dog.

Whenever I am upset, my dog knows. Even if I do not show it he knows. He will come and lay near me, his huge, heavy, black head resting on my foot, the contact comforting. His loving eyes follow me where ever I go, loving me unconditionally. He trust that when he is hurt I will fix it, when he is hungry I will feed him, let him out when he has to go out, and take him for a ride in the car.
All I have to do is say, "Do you want to go for a ride?", and he quivers with anxiousness, leash in his mouth. Or maybe I might say,"Do you want to go swimming?", he's at the back door, floating toy clutched between huge teeth, squeaking that toy for all he's worth. I ask if he wants to eat, and he will bring me his dish. Tell him to get up on the bed, he's there. He is so smart it's scary. It's almost like he is a reincarnated human.
He loves cats and has a healthy respect for their claws, but when he sees one in the yard he will chase it. He especially loves little dogs, and when he is too overpowering and they let him know, he backs away. He will not fight with other dogs, he is a pacifist.
When I cry, he comforts me. He tries to give me a toy, that ought to do it. And if nothing else works he kisses me and gives me doggy hugs. It's that real love that I see in his adoring eyes, and I love him back, more than anything. Sometimes more then that husband who might have made me cry. He's the baby I never had. If anyone had told me my children would be huge German Shepherds, I'd have laughed. But there it is, he's the best friend I've got. He loves me no matter how bad I look, no matter how dumb I might sound, no matter what mistakes I make. He loves me, he is devoted to me, and I love him. The saddest part of the whole thing is that I will outlive him, just like I have his predecessors.
But for me I'll take that pain and live with it. The alternative is unthinkable.
I just hope that when I die, I have been as good as he has, so that I can see him, and all the others, in heaven. That has to be where he will go and I want to meet the pack I have lost someday.
Now that would be heaven wouldn't it?