Karma, Irony and Guilt - Lessons from a Spider

I’m usually up super early in the mornings to get in a power-walk and a bit of a writing session before work. Doing both, even if only for a bit and even when I don’t exactly feel like it, are a great start to get me energized and motivated for the day.

But one Monday morning when my alarm went off at its usual 3:30am wake-up call, I ‘gently’ turned off the alarm then rolled over and resumed dreaming about all things writerly. I decided to skip the walk but still get in a bit of writing as I rationalized I had been SUPER busy all weekend running around doing chores. I figured a day of rest wouldn’t hurt and allowed myself a ‘sleep-in’ until 5 am.

A little while later with my ‘sleep-in’ over and me sort of awake and dressed, I dragged my sorry self upstairs to my bathroom. Squinting against the bright bathroom light, I threw a facecloth in the sink and just as I was about to turn on the tap……

THERE IT WAS.

The biggest most horrendous house spider I have EVER seen in my life.

At first I thought it was one of my sons’ tarantulas. I’m not scared of his ‘pets’ but I was more concerned that the typically caged creatures had the potential of escape, never to be found again. He would be devastated if it ever happened – perfectly understandable. Closer inspection, however, revealed it was NOT one of his beloved darlings.

But then it moved and THAT, my dear readers, meant WAR.

Now before I continue with what happened next you should know that I truly DO love all creatures great and small. I truly didn’t wish to harm him/her. I just wanted him/her GONE.

So I whipped out my hair dryer and readied for battle.

Why a hair dryer you say? Well, because I had to blow that guy back down the drain from where he came, of course!

It would occur to me later that, in theory and technically speaking, it IS impossible for spiders to come up through a drain.

Right?

But I didn’t have time to worry about technicalities right then because when he took a few steps, I sprung in to action. My sole goal was to blow him down the drain, but I didn’t anticipate what blowing air does in a round, smooth sink. It spins things around like in a tornado, taking everything with it. So, of course, around and around went the spider. When I stopped for a split second to reassess my plan of attack he started running. Can you blame him? I would too!
I panicked some more then redirected my hair dryer to blow the air in a different angle – a better approach sure to direct him down the drain. Around and around the sink we chased each other and then….

…one wrong tilt of the hairdryer had the tornado blowing the poor defenseless spider up and out of the sink, through the air, and right at ME!

I screamed, yelled, squealed and all but begged for mercy from him, from God, from the Universe and from every deity possible. I twisted my already compromised ankle and pulled my already compromised back in my desperate attempt to get out of his way. He was after ME!

Luckily for both of us he landed on the bathmat. While he sat catching his breath on the mat, I kept my hair dryer trained on him like a Glock and stayed out of full range from his potential attack. Before I could whip out my bazooka, footsteps bounded and echoed up the stairs.

My dearest husband was roused from his slumber by my…antics…and had come to the rescue. He knew right away, before even getting near, what it was.

“Is it a spider?” He calmly – CALMLY – asked before he even rounded the corner. (I still don’t get how ANYONE could be CALM at a time like that!)

“IS IT A SPIDER?” I dared not take my eyes off the poor innocent offending creature as I challenged my husband’s silly question. “THIS is NOT a spider!” I spat. “This is….THIS IS….” I couldn’t continue.

And so he picked it up by his hands – by his BARE HANDS, I tell you – and carried the poor offending creature outside. I kept my Glock, I mean my hairdryer, trained on both of them, just in case. What if the spider bit my dear question-asking husband turning him all zombie-like? (This is the imagination of a writer, no matter what time of day).

And that was the end of that. My husband went back to bed without a second glance and I was left wishing I had a personal defibrillation unit.

As I finished getting ready for work (I had a bad hair day after that, and rightly so) I felt dumb. And guilty. And dumb. And guilty. Not only because of the way I OVERreacted about a defenseless creature that was a gazillion times smaller than me but also because, um, there are three tarantulas and two scorpions in residence one floor below my office/bathroom. Talk about irony.

I wondered if the spider showing up in my sink was Karma’s way of getting back at me for not getting up and out for my daily routine. But Karma had much more in stock for me. The guilt weighing me down for days after for taking a hairdryer to a poor defenseless creature was worse. Whether that’s considered Karma or not, I had that guilt comin’ to me. It was only fair – and truly deserved.

So at 5 o’clock on a Monday morning I had had lessons in Karma, irony and guilt, all rolled up into one tornado-like mess. All thanks to an eight-legged creature no bigger than the circumference of the end of my hairdryer.

And I as I write this, I realize now that the real irony was how I felt more guilty about the spider than for my husband having to bolt out of bed at that early hour.

(PS. I never wrote a single word that morning)

Thanks for reading!

Lisa

Lovin' When the Postman Rings - Even Once

I know in this politically correct world 'postman' should be 'postwoman' or 'postperson' but for the sake of the movie's name, 'The Postman Always Rings Twice' (1946), and even though this post and its content really have nothing to do with the movie or ITS content, I chose to stick with postMAN. (Basic movie plot for the curious - A married woman and a drifter fall in love, then plot to murder her husband... but even once the deed is done, they must live with the consequences of their actions.)

Anyways, I love it when he/she comes a'ringin' bringing me mail - specifically a box.

And more specifically a box from publishers/distributors Simon and Schuster containing my author copies of 'Chicken Soup for the Soul: Reboot Your Life.'

The book features my story, 'My Writing Roller Coaster' in which I talk about the twists and turns my writing career has taken and how I got it back on track - and staying there! There were no murders involved to do so (see above-mentioned story plot - See? completely unrelated).

On sale September 16!!!

Thanks for stopping by!

Lisa

National Book Lover's Day Giveaway Winner!!!!

Congratulations to Michelle Biggeman who won a copy of 'Chicken Soup for the Soul - The Cat Did What?' Names were actually written on pieces of paper, put in a bowl (not a hat), and drawn - at 5:05am this morning! (I should have taken a picture of the process).

Congratulations to Michelle and thank you all so much for participating! Your support and kind words mean a lot!

Stay tuned for another giveaway coming soon!

Take care and happy reading!

Lisa

Giveaway! National Book Lover's Day - I Missed It!

Saturday August 9, 2014 was National Book Lover’s day – and I completely missed it!

Me, the writer and bibliophile, almost missed a MOST important day because....I was making pickles.

Pickles and books have nothing to do with each other – other than if you lounge around with a book good and a bowl full of pickles. But I was so caught up in the boiling, sterilizing, chopping and preserving of the tiny cucumbers that the day – the REAL significance of the day – just slipped right by me. It wasn’t until much later when my eyes stopped stinging from all the vinegar I had to use that I realized....OH! I missed a VERY important day!

So to celebrate – a one day holdover – I’m giving away a copy of the upcoming Chicken Soup for the Soul book, ‘The Cat Did What?’ Inside are 101 funny, heartwarming and outrageous stories about those felines who often drive their owners crazy. Two of my stories are featured, including ‘ Indoor Hunter’ and ‘I Came Home for This?’ For you country music fans, the book also includes a foreword by awarding winning country star, Miranda Lambert!

Just leave a comment – anything you want – and I’ll draw a name out of a hat. Don’t forget to sign your full name with your comment! The giveaway runs from Sunday August 10, 2014, 12:01am (PST) to Sunday August 10, 2014, to 11:59pm (PST). Be sure to check back on Monday August 11, 2014 to see if you won!! Good luck!

Happy reading to everyone, be sure to support an author, and for those who pickle – happy preserving!

Lisa

The B25 Mitchell Bomber in Victoria, BC

Record-breaking temperatures made standing around on heat-attracting runway tarmac unbearable. But that didn’t stop me from going back for more – three times, in fact. Although I didn’t get what I truly hoped for, it was all still worth it.

The B25J Mitchell bomber, named ‘Maid in the Shade,’ touched down at Victoria International Airport, Victoria Flying Club, at 10am on a Monday morning. Although I am just an amateur aviation buff, I was itching to go see it. It was a rarity for this piece of history to grace our West Coast Island and it instantly became a local media sensation. Local TV, newspapers and radio stations were buzzing – Facebook and Twitter, if you had ‘friended/followed’ the Victoria Flying Club, were both on fire with pictures and stories from those who visited it. I knew it would be here until the following Monday, so I at least had until the weekend to go see it. I couldn’t wait!

A twin-engine bomber for the Allied Air Forces in World War II, the most heavily armed airplane in the world was used for bombing, photo reconnaissance, submarine patrol, and even as a fighter – as you can see from the patched-up bullet holes from so many years ago (yes, the circular patches under the girl's 'behind'). (For more details visit the website of the Commemorative Air Force)

A 40-minute flight sitting in the waist or middle of the plane cost approximately $400, whereas a spot in the cockpit cost approximately $600. A mom like me with three men to feed and laundry soap to constantly buy doesn’t have spare change like that for airplane rides – no matter how ‘once in a lifetime’ event it would be. I would have to settle for an inside tour for $5.

So the following Thursday my husband and one of my sons and I headed out to the airport. Although they thought seeing an old plane would be neat, I was clearly the more excited of us three. Once there, I hustled through the parking lot and bounded through the terminal out to the tarmac. And there she was – all 9,210 kilograms of her - sparkling in the hot summer sun. I elbowed my way through the crowd of other eager admirers. I guess I shouldn’t have been so pushy – many were war veterans there to admire and reminisce. Don’t worry – no one got hurt in my selfish quest.

We took turns climbing the ladders each to the cockpit and to the waist area of the plane. In the cockpit I took a few ‘selfies,’ such a contrast of times and generations to be using a ‘phone’ as a ‘camera’ to take a photo to post to the ‘internet’ while surrounded by equipment and fuselage dating back to the 40’s.

I held a 50 caliber waist gun, and I itched to crawl through the fuselage to the bombardier’s compartment in the ‘nose’ of the plane. I touched the shell of a bomb in the bomb bay of the craft. During recent years past crew had also visited the plane, their signatures of name, rank and years served in the plane graced the inside doors of the bay.

I snapped a few more photos with my two men, talked with some of the flight crew, and then it was time to head home and sit under a sprinkler.

As we drove away my heart was still with the plane – I wanted to see it fly, and better yet, I wanted a ride.

I knew there was a flight scheduled for the next morning, so the next day I went back. Through the parking lot I again hustled, through the Victoria Flying Club’s terminal I again bounded, and through the crowd outside I once again elbowed. I was able to get MORE photos, this time with less people around, and then….they hooked up the plane to a towing vehicle.

One of the crew from the day before recognized me. “You’re here again?”

I blushed, the kind of girly blush I save for getting what I want, and replied that I was hoping to see it take-off. At this point I had also secretly conjured up a fantasy of a spot coming ‘available’ on one of their flights and that I could just ‘jump on,’ free-of-charge. But I didn’t tell him that.

To my dismay the nice flight crewman said it wasn’t going up but was just being towed to the fuelling station. In my excitement the day before, I must have misheard flight schedules.

My shoulders slumped and my heart sank. As I trudged away dragging my purse on the runway tarmac behind me, the nice flight crewman said it would be heading up at 11am the NEXT morning. I would later find out that my friend had been fortunate to be able to get a ride on that flight, so I figure I’d come watch it take off AND take photos of him and the plane.

So again, for the third time that weekend, I zipped down the Pat Bay Highway, zig-zaging my way through traffic. Through the parking lot I hustled, through the terminal I bounded, and through the crowd I elbowed. This time I REALLY, REALLY badly hoped I could just, you know, ‘hop on.’ There HAD to be a spot available for a girl like me with only two bucks and a coupon for a free coffee from Tim Horton’s in her purse (I was willing to give-up my department store reward points for a flight, even if I sat in the bomb bay).

I waved goodbye to my friend as he climbed aboard, took more photos, and even filmed a VERY up-close-and-personal start-up and taxi out of the plane (see below for video). After the plane lifted off, a fantastic and very exciting sight I had to restrain myself from jumping and cheering for, the SAME crewman from the previous two days saw me. He commented, AGAIN, about it being my third time out there (I started to worry he might call Transport Canada about my stalking tendencies). I turned on the blush, batted my eyelashes, and sidled up to him explaining I was back because I really wanted to see it fly.

Then with a deep breath, I asked the unthinkable.

“So, I hear the plane is heading to Boundary Bay Airport tomorrow.” He nodded in confirmation, looking at me quizzically. (Boundary Bay Airport is in Ladner, BC, barely a stone’s throw of a flight from here to there. Getting back home would be only a ferry ride away). I went on. “So, uh, I was wondering – could I hitch a ride over with you guys?”

Bold of me, yes, but it was worth a shot.

He paused as if entertaining my request and my hope soared. But then he explained, with many big aviator-like words I can’t remember, that as much as he wished he could grant me my request, that it just wasn’t possible. Rules are rules, laws were laws, and it just wasn’t that simple as for the folks going up in their paid flights (it was all something to do with Air Force regulations, Transport Canada rules…yadda, yadda, yadda). He apologized again and we chatted some more. Then, with my purse dragging yet again on the tarmac behind me, I went home. For good.

Even though I never got a ride, every day was a different experience – one that many of the folks who DID go for a ride would never have. I am thrilled and honoured to have seen such a piece of history, yet sad that my charm is obviously losing its touch.

As for now, I’m saving up my pennies for the next time it’s here and I'll also work on my charm – ‘a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do’ and all that….

To watch my video of the B25 starting up and taxiing out, I hope you'll stop by my Youtube channel. (turn up the volume!)

Thanks for reading this LONG story :)
Lisa

At Church with Diana Gabaldon

It was a Friday night and I was at church.

And I wasn’t really AT ‘church’ in the religious, worshiping sense, but IN a church; specifically, a building that used to be a church. Metropolitan Methodist Church or Centennial Methodist Church (it had changed names over the years), is in the heart of downtown Victoria, BC. And I can’t even say I was at ‘church’ because the building had been repurposed and is presently dubbed ‘Alix Goolden Performance Hall – Victoria Conservatory of Music.’ But given my religious upbringing I felt the overwhelming need to whisper, genuflect and think only holy, pure, unselfish thoughts.

None of those things happened, despite my being in awe of the architecture and stained glass windows synonymous of old churches. I did, however, sit in a pew; the kneelers long gone.

I would, however, be blessed later in the evening.

I was there with a friend for a presentation and book-signing by Diana Gabaldon, prolific author of the ‘Outlander’ series. Her books have been classed as literature, fiction, historical fiction, historical non-fiction (despite their accuracy), science fiction, fantasy, mystery, romance, military history and horror. Generally, her novels are somewhat in the time travel/historical fiction genre, with LOTS of (hunky) guys running around in kilts (this is just my own personal summary – the author, herself, can’t even classify what kind of novels the wildly popular books, are).

I had read only one of her books and that was many years ago. So when my friend invited me along, I went along out of curiosity. I have heard Ms. Gabaldon is a funny, insightful, down-to-earth speaker, and her words of wit and wisdom found in many writing reference magazines and books have always intrigued me. I suspected she would be solely plugging her new book, ‘Written in My Own Heart’s Blood,’ as well as the upcoming TV series, ‘Outlander,’ based on the first book in her ‘Outlander’ series named - you guessed it - ‘Outlander.’ (I’m really good at explaining stuff, I know). My suspicions would be soon proven wrong.

Anyways, there I was, in a church/performance hall packed to the rafters with fans – mostly female. Although, given how muggy it was outside and warm it was inside, a few ACTUAL fans around the place would have done us all wonders.

When the author finally did walk on stage, the crowd went wild, the applause and cheers nearly blowing the rafters off the sanctuary. I would have like to have seen the massive still-present organ beat out the noise everyone made!
And everything I heard about her was true. She was funny and witty, and her dry humour delivered with eloquence and sarcasm was spot on.

True, Ms. Gabaldon talked a bit about her books and upcoming TV show – who wouldn’t – but she also spoke about her writing career and how she got started, as well as her writing process – of which, as she proclaims, she has none. Sprinkled throughout her talk were quips and anecdotes, jokes and sidebars. After recounting how she wrote her first book while holding down two jobs, raising three kids, and supporting her husband and his growing business (at the time), she challenged anyone to say they ‘don’t have time to write.’ I will carry that bit of inspiration with me, always. I loved her, and everyone else did, too.

All too soon it was time for the book signing. My friend and I hustled down the winding stairs from the loft to the main floor, scooting in line before the rest of the congregation could parkour over the pews to the fast-growing line. (parkour – see definition here).

The line moved quickly – it had to what with hundreds of anxious women waiting to have their books signed. What added to the experience was Ms. Gabaldon, along with staff coordinating the event, took the time and effort to allow a photo with the author, either using the fan’s phone or camera! WOW! Now THAT is fan appreciation!

While I was standing in line, anxious for it to move so that I, too, could have my book signed along with a chance at a photo-op, divine intervention overcame me. I came up with the most brilliant idea ever. I hashed out my plan and second-guessed myself a few times – “Don’t be silly, Lisa, that’s just…WEIRD.” But in the end I figured – what the heck? Why not?

It finally came to my turn, and I handed my cellphone over to the event staff to prepare for a photo. Ms. Gabaldon was gracious and kind, but the excitement and impending crowds made any chance of a meaningful conversation impossible. She signed my book and ensured a photo-perfect pose by her (me, well, not so much as you can see, despite the photographer’s attempt at another photo).
Then in a rush, before my ‘turn’ could be over, I whipped out a postcard showcasing my young adult book, ‘Newbie Nick,’ and explained what it was to the prolific author. I summoned the nerve to ask her if she would sign it. (Yes, weird of me to ask, I know.)

But she ‘oohed!’ over the card showcasing my book, and with a flourish signed the back of it. It wasn’t until I left with my signed book clutched to my chest, and my very excited friend in tow, that I looked at what she wrote on my postcard:


‘Good luck!
Diana Gabaldon’

Wow. WOW! WOW!

I translated her good luck sentiment into that of wishing me luck on my book sales and future writing. That signed postcard bearing her kind words means more to me than my photo that didn’t exactly turn out (she was gorgeous, of course, and as for me? I don’t get what I was doing with my mouth).

Upon leaving the church/performance hall I got a case of the goosebumps. It felt as though my whole writing career had been blessed by a great literary inspiration. Wow!

Ms. Gabaldon, I learned a lot from you that night in church – thank you for so much, and more!

Thanks for reading!
Lisa

Not Your Mother's Book - On Family

Just had to share!

My story 'Me vs. Technology' is in the funny anthology, 'Not Your Mother's Book...On Family' published by Publishing Syndicate. My story is my funny take (at least I hope it's funny) on my constant battles with the power of technology and keeping my family away from it, if only just for a moment!

The book can be found in ebook and paper copy at Amazon, Chapters/Indigo, and too-many-too list other good places!

About the book! 'Not Your Mother's Book...On Family' features 60 funny, first-person stories the book’s contributors have written about their own families. As the old saying about families goes: The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Ain’t that the truth! How many times have you hollered at your kids then thought, Oh, no! I sound just like my mom! Or looking into a mirror you notice your temples beginning to gray, just like your dad’s? Genetics is the hand we are all dealt, and we have nothing to blame but our family lineage. Regardless of what limb you dangle from on your family tree, your roots play an important part in your everyday life, from “Oh, crap!” moments to family squabbles, from daring adventures to dealing with a crazy aunt or uncle. From those nuclear, blended or extended families, new memories are created, memories that turn into family legacies and stories often repeated. While you can choose your friends, you can’t choose your family. So like the family on the cover of this book, always have a box at the ready. You never know when you’ll need it!