How to insult a doctor in 2.1 seconds

I had to call a doctor yesterday to request authorization for a patient to be off his blood thinners for an epidural steroid injection. The doctor was new to me, a Dr. Cochran.

I was alone in the office. Humming to myself, I picked up the phone and called. The doctor herself answered.

"Hi, Dr. Cockring?" I couldn't believe I said it! I felt my face heat up and knew I was beet red. What the hell was on my mind anyway. Freud would have a field day with that one. I tried to contain the spontenous laughter, but couldn't. Maybe the God of stupidity would take pity on me and she wouldn't hear the difference in the name.

"It's Cochran."

Nope. I guess the God of Supidity was either out of the office or wanted me to suffer. She was not amused. Not in the least.

Still trying not to laugh, I knew I had to ask for authorization for the injection. Once the call was over, I couldn't hang up fast enough. And how I managed to calm myself I'm not sure.

Thank God I didn't ask her for an erection instead.

RWA meeting

I went to my first Romance Writers of America meeting yesterday. I'm not a member, I went as a guest. I can have two guest visits a year without paying the membership but it was still 30.00 bucks for me to get in. Nice people. They had a speaker, an agent from New York talked about how to write a query that is professional and then once she signs you on, what is expected from her to help you sell.

One of the things she mentioned really hit home. She said when you have a contract with a publisher, you have to make yourself write. You owe them your books, or at least a manuscript for them to turn down. You are now a business and you must conduct yourself as one. She pounded on the table to emphasize, This is a dream, people! You, who are published have won the dream and now the work really begins! No kidding.


I missed her beginning, but she had a great sense of humor. She used this analogy about writers being the ship and she is the wind. Said it about three times and then at the end of her talk, she happened to turn around and saw all these paintings of ships behind her. She started to laugh, and said "Oh my god, I just realized there are ships behind me!"



Members all had this white plastic badge with their names on it, so newbies stood out with that "Hi, my name is" stick and peal tag on. These heads of San Diego's chapter went around and talked to people, getting their names and chatting. This woman asked me if I was a writer or a dreamer who never wrote anything and was here to get a push. I told her that I just published my first novel and was here to get info on what to do with it now.

She congratulated me and then asked how long I had struggled to get it into print. I know the struggle she was referring to, just not with this book. When I told her that, she made a face and moved on. I have to admit, it felt good to be the subject of envy of such a coveted prize as having a book published.

I took what she said about making sure you have another book to follow up on to heart and will be writing all day today. I watched TV last night, so tonight I have to write. I have set the goal of September for myself as well to have the first draft fully written.

A Closed Mouth Gathers No Foot

Just recently I was interviewed on the radio regarding the writing of my romance novel. I was nervous. The only other time I had been on the radio is when I use to call radio stations with a British accent requesting to hear Beatles songs. Yeah, I was stupid enough to say I was from Liverpool and attempted to pull off a horrible souse English accent. Well, at least they found me entertaining, they put me on air for God sakes!

Anyway, I've called into the pod cast station and Kat Johnson comes on and introduces herself to me. In the background is this automated woman counting down the minutes we have left. My heart is racing.

I'm asked if I have a segment to read. I swallow hard and say yes. And then we're on.

I laughed through the entire interview! My God, this is serious business and I'm cracking jokes. She asks a question, none of which I can remember now and I laugh and answer, then laugh again. I learned two things about myself during the interview. One, I don't listen. (I hope my husband doesn't read this) and two, I have a lisp.

During the interview Kat comments on my novel including the research of West Point. I'm still thinking of the last topic we were talking about and contemplating my giggle through that answer, Fort Laramie. West Point in is in New York. Fort Laramie is in Kansas. Kat begins to tell me how she lives near West Point and starts talking about how beautiful the river is, but I'm thinking Kansas. My mind goes blank. I search my brain for research knowledge on the Kansas territory. Where the hell is a beautiful river in that part of the country? I think I stuttered, stammered and finally just...giggled.

Thank God I didn't speak.

Then came time for me to read. I read the excerpt from chapter three and began to blush as I'm reading on air about sex, wants, desires. Well, at least I didn't giggle, but I did lisp.

Damn it! When did I start doing that? Here I'm trying to entice people to find my characters provocative so much so they whip out their credit card and buy my book and I sound like Cindy Brady.

All in all I think my first interview turned out fine. In between each laugh I had a piece of historical information and a polite, (even if I don't remember it) response. It's archived so I can always go back and listen to it. And giggle.

I can be at least thankful that I didn't sneeze.

Okay, this is kinda freaky...

I went to the library yesterday for their used book sale. Not really looking for anything in particular, I stumbled upon a book I snatched up for research purposes. It's a book on witchcraft, mythology and spells. Cool! Used book stores make me cough so once I started hacking, I took my book up to the counter and laid it on the table.

Everyone around me stopped talking.

I know everyone around me stopped talking because I complain all the time that libraries have dropped their whisper rule. Now it was suddenly quiet. I looked around and five or so employees were staring at my purchase. The lady I had brought it up to asked with a smile. "Wow. You sure you want to buy that?"

I explained it was for my new novel, hoping someone would question me about my old novel and how to purchase it. Nope. I paid for the book and went home. Made myself some vegetable soup, curled up on the couch and started to read. There was a whole page on herbs and what they are good for, what time of night to pull this root when the moon is full and how not to summon a 'dwarf' or fairy. I laughed. I thought it was funny. I took notes, thumbing through the book, making note of spells and herbs.

Later on that night I called my mom to check in. She asked me what research I was doing. I'm researching puritan New England, customs, witchcraft, she loved the idea. I then told her about the book I bought.

"Oh Julie, I'm going to say a prayer for you tonight. Don't mess with that!"
I laughed. "It's fine mom! Did you know marigold boiled in warm alcohol can summon trolls?"
"Julie, I'm telling you, that's powerful stuff. I wish you wouldn't read that!"
I assured her I was fine, though she promised to pray for me every night.

Once I got off the phone, I then I went on line and started reading about the legion of the Bell Witch. Okay, that I have to admit was kind of creepy-it was raining, foggy and cold outside and here I am at the computer reading stories about witches casting spells and unseen beings slapping people around.

My husband was pulling an all nighter at work and asked if I could help him stay up. We went out, drove around and got breakfast about 3:00 A.M. came home and watched t.v. Still awake, I turned on Ghost Hunters 100 anniversary episode and started watching. About halfway through I got tired, took off my glasses, laid them on the nightstand next to me and went to bed. I had them on to watch t.v. Anyone who knows me knows I can't see without my contacts or glasses.

When I woke, I reached over to put on my glasses and they weren't there. I looked on Kyle's bed stand, not there either. I looked under the bed, behind the bed, nothing. We pulled apart the bedroom, both nightstands, all the clothes, my office, the downstairs, the kitchen the bathrooms, the closets, the laundry room, Kyle's office. Not there.
I was suppose to spend the whole day writing, but instead I had to go buy new glasses.

Hmm, I'm thinking that maybe I shouldn't have laughed about the dwarf.

It's hell to get old part 2

I spoke to my parents on the phone the other day, just checking in and seeing how they are. During the phone call they had an argument, nothing big, just a crabby moment between the two of them. I can imagine the aches and pains of old joints and brittle bones can get discouraging to say the least.

Mom was asking Dad a question, Dad being deaf couldn't hear her and gave his usual "Hm?" But mom was convinced he was faking, that he just didn't feel like answering her. She said to me on the phone, "He's mad because I talked while the Olympics were on. "For God sakes," She declared. "He can watch them anytime."

I heard my dad respond from his prized green electronic lazy boy, "They only come every four years, Dorth."

"See!" she yelled. "You can too hear, you big faker."

What she said next didn't surprise me. It's the way they communicate, I'm used to it. I knew they would making up as soon as I got off the phone. "I don't think I want to spend eternity with you after all," my mother declared. "65 years is enough. I'm taking Heidi's ashes and we're getting our own Urn and you can be in your own box by yourself."

My dad sighed before saying, "At least it will be quiet."

It's hell to get old

Did you ever just watch a wreak about to happen and wish you could stop it? That was my weekend. But in a good way.

I took off for L.A. on Friday night, enjoying the ending to the Kite Runner on CD. I got to my parents house in the San Fernando Valley a little after 10:00 and was greeted as always with the promise they will open the garage door for me, so I can park in out of the rain. So, I pull up outside the garage door and wait. My windshield wipers flapping back and forth, the hum of my motor and the heat from my butt warming seat heater doing their work. The garage door doesn't open. Finally I flip open my cell phone and call. Their phone is turned up so loud, I think I can hear it ringing from outside. Poops answers, cheerful as always.

"Hi I said, I'm out here-can you push the garage opener?"

"Wow, you got here fast." my dad says, apparently forgetting he just spoke to me a block ago. My stomach clenches with sadness, remembering my father, my strong, tall, everything will be all right, father-the man I could turn to for anything. And he can't remember I just spoke to him.

The garage opens and they're both standing side by side, walker to cane, waiting for me with big smiles. Mom helps me out of the car, talking a mile a minute. Finally she stops, and throws her arms around me. "It's just so good to see you!"
I love coming home. Hate the drive, but I love being here. We walk into the house arm and arm and I'm hit by how hot the house is. The fireplace is up high, and the thermostat is registering 78.

Can I turn this down?" I ask.

My mother shakes her head. "Why? It's freezing in here." I don't argue. Skins thins as people grow older. I just wait until she walks away to switch the heater off. I notice the t.v is on in the living room, they're watching the Olympics, and I wonder by the next Olympics if I will be here, with them. That thought always chokes me up.

My mother makes me some tea and brings out a dish of cookies. "Russ told me we've got an appointment tomorrow to go to the Mortuary."

I nod, reaching for a cookie. "This one is suppose to be pretty nice, not like the last one."

"Oh!" she says, rolling her head with dramatic movement. "Nothing could be worse than that last one. That man behind the desk was so rude! He said we couldn't be together, Norm and I, we have to be in separate urns."

My brother is urging them to take care of their Pre-need" just in case something happens. He's practical that way. I guess it's a good idea, because there is no way I will be able to handle taking care of their burial when the time comes. I'll be the basket case of the family, that I already know. But Russ, he's morbid that way, really getting into the whole casket search. He likes it. likes to tour the offices, likes to chat with the employees and fill up on free cookies. He's great with people, charming, funny.

The last mortuary he told me was rude. Snippy, uncaring, tossing out comments about costs and availability, never really looking at the two elderly people before them, still holding hands after 65 years. Their only concern-to have their ashes together so they always be together in the after life.

We drink tea, my father joins us and asks all about me, about Kyle. I talk loud, he nods, frustrated as my mother cuts him off, again. "Dorth! I'm talking."

"You're always talking," she retorts. "Julie, can you take me to Costco tomorrow?"

She loves Costco. We get there, walk around the place and buy a couple of things that we can split. Then we get home and inevitably says, "Oh shoot! I forgot blank!"

The morning comes and I spend the next three hours trying to get them ready for the 1:30 appointment time. My father gets his walker wheel stuck on a rug, can't get to his office to take his blood sugar so he sits down to have his breakfast without taking his medicine. The argument begins. I knew this would happen. It always does.

"Norm!" You can't eat until you've taken your blood sugar, then you know how much medication you need. Why can't you get that through your head? The doctor keeps telling you that you are taking too much insulin."

My father rolls his blue eyes-eyes I love to look into and get lost in. "You're always so smart," he says. "You know what the doctor says and you're not even there. What's it like to be so smart?"

Half dressed, my mother looks like she could strange him with the pair of socks she's holding. "Well, if I had diabetes I'd certainly handle it better you, you old poop."

I know the fight, I know it by heart. They've had the same fight for ten years. My mother paces, tries to talk sense to him, he ignores her and finally after hours of listening to her rant, says in a calm but irritated voice, "Dorothy, what do you want me to do!"

I break up the fight, get dad to take his blood sugar, it's 99, very good, help mom put on her make up since she wants to go into the mortuary looking "fancy," "I want to go out looking good!" she laughs. During this whole time, I'm calling down the hall for my father to stop watching TV, to come and shower. Now, it's too late for him to shower. I instead tell him to come dress, that we need to leave soon. This used to be his job. I remember him after us all because he couldn't stand to be late for anything. He lets out an annoyed sigh.

"I just sat down!"

"Tough," I laugh, "We got places to go and people to see. Come on, get dressed." I help him stand, pull his walker into his bedroom because if I don't he'll sit back down. "Get dressed." I say and go out to dry my own hair.
When I come back into his bed room, my mother is still half dressed and singing "By the Light of the Silvery Moon" humming the parts she doesn't know. My dad has dressed. In the same damn thing he wore yesterday.

"Dad! you can't wear that."

He lets out an exasperated sigh. "Why?"

"Because you wore it yesterday."

"And the day before" my mother adds from the bath room.

I glance at the clock. I'm going to have to dress him. I remember dressing little children, arms up, stick the hands and head through the hole, smooth the hair...

My mom is walking through the house brushing her teeth and asking the cat where her brace is. "Mom, come on, we've got to hurry."

"I'll be ready," she promises.

We were suppose to meet my brother in West Lake at 1:00-it's now twenty till, which my father points out as he waits for us to finish getting ready. "Jul? You said we have to leave by 12:30, so I'm ready and you're not! Just thought I'd point that out."
I repress the urge to snap back that I was dressing him the whole time-that's why I'm late. Instead, I'm ticking off things we need for the trip. Dad needs a sandwich just in case, a water, a jacket. I start him off into the garage to get into the car, and forgot about is walker. Folding that thing and getting into my truck is an art form I don't have patience for. I finally get dad into the front seat, swearing to myself about the damn arms of the walker sticking out from the trunk. My mom comes out of the house, starts over to the car and says, "oh! My cane!"

I rush past her, back into the house. "I'll get it." As I'm coming back outside with her cane, my Mother is on her way back in.

"What do you need?" I ask, trying not to be breathless.

"I want to turn the radio on for the cat."

"The cat doesn't need music."

My Mother gives me a sharp look. "Yes she does! She'll wonder where we are."

As I'm trying to talk my Mother back to the car, I see my Father has opened his car door and is trying to get out. I glance at the clock. We have 15 minutes. "Dad? Why are you getting out?"

He looks at me before testing his hearing aid. "Hm?"

"Why are you getting out?" I said louder. "What do you need?"

He laughs, embarrassed, not wanting to shout it to the world. "I need to go to the bathroom." Oh god.

"Can you hold it until we get there?"

They both say in unison. "No!"

Long story short, we arrived on time, the people were very nice and I didn't cry. Well, at least not during the meeting. They picked out a beautiful spot by a waterfall, very close by a friend of theirs who passed two years before. My Mother had been afraid to be buried in a place where she knew no one. Now she'd be only a few feet from her best friend, Lucille. Also, their beloved little dog, Heidi, can be buried with them.

As I stare at the spot that will one day hold my parents remains, I hear my brother come up behind me. He puts his hand on my shoulder. "What do you think?"

"It's nice," I say. "Beautiful."

"We can sit right here and have picnics, bring in pizza and hang out. Tell them all about life." Tears rush to my eyes and I smile. The catholic guilt hits me full force and I choke. I promise myself to not to raise my voice at them anymore.

My mother sees I'm possibly becoming emotional. "No honey," she says, putting her arm around me. "There's no need for that. We're here, and today's a beautiful day to be together. I nod, not trusting my voice. "Always remember," she says, "to treat each day like your last, be grateful for the little things and don't take Kyle for granted."

I look at her and try to smile. "Did he complain about me?"

She pats my hand, and squeezes it. "Every day is a gift that we've been together." She looks across the lawn to the little elderly gray haired man, dapper in his new blue jeans and the brand new blue sweater that matches his eyes. His son towers over him, talking loud and pointing out the landscaping and the military eternal flame that honors WW11 veterans like him. "We've had a great life together," she continues. "65 years and he'll be 85 in just a few weeks."

"I want to you know, "I said, "I'm thankful for you both and love you with all my heart."

"I know," she smiles. "We love you and are so proud of all our children. You're all so wonderful and we're so blessed. Now let's not be sad anymore today. I know," she says, trying to change the subject. "Let's go to Costco!"

It's happening

Well...

All the hardwork is starting to pay off. Slowly, very slowly. I'm advertizing as much as I can though very time consuming, I am starting to see my name out there a little more. Yay! Did I mention the process is slow? Truth is, it's exhausting to do this along side of writing.

I received a great review at Bluewood the other day. The comments brought tears to my eyes, said pretty much everything I always hoped a reader would say. I only wish I could contact her to say thanks.

I will be ordering my books tomorrow, my novel in print. I can't wait to hold it!