Goobye Momma

Thank you Mom for all you did for me during your life.

Your courage, your spirit and humor helped countless people and will be terribly missed. I can't believe I'll never hear your laughter or another funny story or hear you singing a song you can't remember all the words to, so you just make them up. My heart is broken with you gone, but I know you are able to see dad in heaven with perfect vision. You're probably chatting it up with Saint Peter, asking him if you can touch his wings or his hair and making everyone up there love you as they did down here on earth. I miss you now and forever.

Dorothy Church 12-25-25 to 9-21-11

Dog gone embarrassing

You can't tell me that animals don't know what they're doing-not after the embarrassing so called "graduation" Molly just put my husband and I through. Hundreds of dollars spent just to get my lab to respond to commands such as Sit and Stay, Heel and Off. I'd be happy to just have her listen to Off, but no...the petstore training center was like all the other California educational schools tonight; passing students that deserve to fail.

Yes, I said it-my seven month lab deserved to fail. She couldn't have been any worse if she had squatted and peed in the store. Oh wait, she did.

For the last class of Molly's continuous education, the trainer tested all the dogs on little races, like fetch and puppy push ups (sit, lay down, as many times as they can in a minute) The day before she did 17. Now we couldn't get her to do more than two.

Like other good parents, my husband and I worked with Molly for weeks, and she did great. We felt ready and were proud to display our dogs pending diploma. The trainer explained that our puppies would be tested that evening as though we were going through a canine good citizen award test. She would have to show she could greet people without jumping, walk on a leash without pulling, stay while we disappear (by the end of the class, my husband and I were tempted to run from the store) and finally, they must be able to wear the little graduation cap and poise for picture.

I knew we were in trouble five minutes into class when a fellow pet owner handed us a home made zip lock baggy filled with dog treats and Molly jumped up, ripped the bottom out of the bag, spilling all the treats and then gobbled them up like free donuts at a weight watchers meeting.

"Focus!" I commanded, holding the one remaining treat before me, hoping against hope to hold her nonexistent attention. The embarrassing part of this was I was the one who kept getting reprimanded. "Julie, don't shout at the dog, Julie, don't keep repeating the same command, Julie, don't hold the leash so tight, etc.

Throughout the night, Molly greeted everyone by jumping on them, and when the trainer watched her heel down the cat food isle, she proceeded to pull treats off the shelves. At one point she felt as though she was finally staying by my side but when people began laughing and pointing, I looked down to find she had pulled a pot of growing Kat nip off the shelves and was holding the muddy clump in her mouth.

We felt doomed, she would never graduate. When the class came to an end, our trainer gave away "the most improved dog" award. Up until this last class, my husband and I felt sure this would be Molly. She had grown into a loving calm dog, an important part of our family. Now as we sat there, too embarrassed to look up, we couldn't believe it when Molly's name was called. She won? We smiled apologetically, all the while, my husband still trying to get her to sit and stay long enough for a photo. While other's clapped unenthusiastically for our wild sweet pooch, Molly merely wagged her hard rutter-like tag, pulled the gradation cap off the dog next to her and trotted proudly away.

I'm baaack...

Okay, I'll admit it, I've been slacking on my posts. Actually, slacking is an understatement. I'm not going to lie and say I just haven't had the time. Honestly, if I have the time to paint the toenails on my lab, I have the time to pretty much do anything.

I have been busy though, mainly being keeping a very active puppy fed, exercised and trained. I've started a new job and now Kyle and I are house hunting. I would love to have a house for a change as opposed to a condo with a meddling HOA to tell you what to paint and what not to hang on the walls-not to mention paying their outrageous fees every month. I will miss my wonderful neighbors though. But Molly will finally have a nice big yard to run in!

But I'm getting a little ahead of myself here. Though we have found a house, and our offer has been accepted,... the bank still has to okay the deal.

The real news is my new novel is coming along very well. I traveled to Los Angeles recently for my first Civil War re-enactment and had a blast. I was pleased to realize I had done a bang up job on my research for A Soldier's Embrace. I knew I had exhausted every source I could for saddles, medicine, clothing, towns, Victorian mannerisms, etc, so I felt safe adding the information to the novel, but I was thoroughly excited to know I was correct in even the small details like the coins thrown at the soldier's that read "good for one free screw."

I met wonderful ladies who take so much care to be as authentic as possible, right down to black skillets with filled with potatoes, tomatoes, unions, and bell peppers. If it weren't for the flies hovering, it looked great.

Next week I'll be attending the Historical Novel Society conference in San Diego along with having my first book signing! I'm so excited and to be honest, more than a little nervous. I also will be meeting with agents, so I have my pitch and I'm tightening up my synopsis.

Wish me luck!

Are you smarter than a turnip?

I just got off the phone with the bank where I have my IRA. I want to roll it over into a Roth IRA. I thought it was simple enough. I get this guy who sounds like the nerd scientist from the Simpson's only his voice was more nasally and higher. I just know this guy had a pocket protector.

He's telling me all about how this call is a taxable event and have I spoken to my accountant and what income tax bracket am I in. Lord! He puts me on hold several times-probably to bang his head against the desk and then comes back. Ms. Romero? The poor guy starts again. "A conversion such as this is a taxable event, you'll need to check with your accountant on the percentage of the thing with the what in the dohicky. "
When he finally stopped talking, I asked. "Can you repeat that in English?"

Sure he said and jumped right back into explaining the tax thing with the what and the doolibob, money withheld, something something fnork.

There was a pause and thinking it might help, I blinked a couple of times. Nope, I still didn't get it.

I cleared my throat and pushed up my glasses and said..."Duh...I don't know. I have no idea what you're talking about. I write romance novels."

He told me to call back after I speak to my accountant. I wanted to ask him to tell me yet again "And what do I say to my accountant?" Thank God I have Kyle!

Needless to say, I won't be applying for any math jobs.

Blocked anyone?

I'm blocked again. Most writers will have trouble with writer's block at some point in their lives. The possible reasons for writer's block are myriad: fear, anxiety, a life change, the end of a project, the beginning of a project…almost anything, it seems, can cause that particular feeling of fear and frustration. Since my dad passed away, I just don't have the writing bug like I used to, so I begin to hunt around for ways to get the words flowing again. I found that fortunately there are as many ways to deal with writer's block as there are causes.

Carve out a time to write and then ignore the writer's block. Show up to write, even if nothing comes right away. W Sometimes I just sit and stare at the wall. Of course, pen in hand, just in case. Graham Greene famously wrote 500 words, and only 500 words, every morning. Five hundred words is only about a page, but with those mere 500 words per day, Greene wrote and published over 30 books.

Writer's block could be a sign that your ideas need time to gestate. Idleness can be a key part of the creative process. Give yourself time to gather new experiences and new ideas, from life, reading, or other forms of art, before you start again.

One moment the other day I started wondering why I'm writing. I started going back over story ideas and asked myself if I still enjoyed it. I knew the answer was a resounding yes, so now I need to just give myself time and the words will come. I read that If we continue to touch base with the joy you first felt in writing, it will sustain you, not only through your current block, but through whatever the future holds.

Piddler on the Floor

It's been a long absence from writing. Since daddy died, I just haven't had it in me to write, daydream or even read. My husband has been worried about me, constantly asking me if I'm okay. Plus the holidays add an extra sting into the mix, like pouring lemon juice on a festering wound.

Dad wouldn't want me crying, or gazing off for hours out the bedroom window. He'd want me to live, laugh and write. He'd want me to enjoy life to the fullest. And so I'm trying. To be honest, some days I'm not trying very hard.

And then fate stepped in to help me along. A friends Lab had puppies and Kyle decided we needed one.

It took me years to get over the lost of our last dog, but since January of this year, I started picking up interested in having a dog again. Not a puppy, I told Kyle. I want a dog from a shelter who needs a home. I'm not sure it was a serious request, neither did Kyle and so months went by and still no dog. Our life is easy and selfish with just us. We can leave on vacation at any time and not worry about an animal being left behind. But when a heart is hurting, what better way to distract the pain than having someone or something to care for.

Enter Molly.

The Saturday after Thanksgiving my husband Kyle and I drove to La Canada and picked out a sweet 7 week old black lab puppy. We purchased a large crate, several hundred dollars in chew toys, squeaky toys, collars, leases, and other dog accessories.

When we bought her, the family had a ping pong table up in the back yard with a family tournament going on. My father loved ping pong. We played it like some father's play catch with their kids.

"See," my husband says with a smile on his face. "This was meant to be!"

The drive home, she cried, obviously nervous for being away from her parents and litter mates. When we got her home and realized how much we had gotten ourselves into, I think we both had buyers remorse. The idea of my father placing the dog in our lives faded away.

Every hour she needed to go out. Of course, it's cold outside, the ground littered with wet leaves no one, man or beast wanted to leave the house. As we stood out on the grass at 2:00 in the morning, our breath billowing out in white clouds with every exhale, our bodies shivering as we waited for this adorable black pup to relieve its self- we thought, crap, what have we done.

But I've had out of control puppies before. Barkers, whiners, chewers and so far she's none of those. Keep in mind that she's only 8 weeks old. She's learning to come when we call her, to sit and fetch her favorite toy, a Santa Monkey. So far she fits into our life style nicely. She sleeps alot and likes to watch TV. Dog Whisper and the Ipad commercial seems to be her favorite, though her tail wags at the Geico commerical with the woodchucks.

Despite the change in our lives, she gives so much love it warms my heart. With that said, how could she not be a gift from my dad?

Goodbye Poops!

It's been a month to date that my father passed away. I might be bias, but he was the greatest man ever! I called him Poops. My nick name for him was a long time running joke. I misspelled Pops on a birthday card and the name just stuck. How can he gone?

Though my mother is alive, I feel like an orphan. Why is lossing your father so devistating? I still at times feel numb, angry, disbelief but most of all just sad. Sometimes I feel all those emotions at once.

If you read back on this blog, I wrote about the adventures that he and my mom had. The time they went to the grocery store and my blind mother wondered off and my father left without her-then came back a moment later when he got in the car and realized she was missing-only because it was quiet.

And then there was the time they reported the car stolen and for days thought the worst of humanity-how could someone take their car? It took days for them to realize they had forgotten that they parked the car in a different space at their condo unit. When my father found it, he called me laughing, leaving a classic message on my machine, "if you want to hear the funnest story ever, call me."

And then there was the time I was to meet them for my birthday dinner. We both sat in the main room, eight tables from each other not realizing the other was there. I sat there for over an hour waiting, worrying. It wasn't until I heard my mother telling the waitress they were waiting for their daughter who was over an hour late that we found each other. The three of us felt so dumb. One, that we never got up to look around and two, that we all filled up on bread!

My God we're an observant bunch!

To be honest, i thought I'd be prepared for his death, at least a little bit. I wasn't.

I miss him so. My father was my greatest fan and supporter, no matter what it was. He kept score at my soft ball games, clapped with pride at my dance recital and watched with enthusiasm only a parent could have at all the shows I put on in the back yard. My world feels empty without his laughter, his eternal optimism and ever gratefulness. He was such a quiet, gentle man, who smiled through the pain of gout, and frustration of diabetes and the loss of his hearing. If I'm broken hearted, how must my mother feel, dealing now with the loss of a man who slept beside her for 65 years.
I'm homesick for a time I can't go back to, for a person I can no longer call mine. I want to lash out, scream in anger that the world continues on, not caring in the least that a wonderful, kind, generous gentleman like my father is gone. I guess that's part of the grieving.

I pray I never forget the sound of his voice, the feel of my hand in his, or the tightness of his embrace the last time we hugged.

I love you, Poops. I know one thing, if I hadn't have been your daughter, I would have wanted you as a friend. Thank you for everything!