tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7202978100371772622024-03-05T23:14:56.713-05:00Elizabeth MichelsElizabeth Michelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423638103712093921noreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-720297810037177262.post-19367158570470216452012-02-25T17:45:00.000-05:002012-02-25T17:45:01.404-05:00Looking for me?Have you been looking for me? I'm no longer posting on this blog. For more stories about my crazy life please go to www.ourmshelf.blogspot.com Be sure to click follow! Thank you for reading and supporting my writer dreams.<br />
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<div style="text-align: right;">--Elizabeth Michels</div><div style="text-align: right;">www.elizabethmichels.com</div>Elizabeth Michelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423638103712093921noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-720297810037177262.post-31351566780212738602011-06-13T19:04:00.002-04:002011-06-13T19:04:35.225-04:00Flash Fiction Fun- The Fortune-Teller Part 1<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The orange sky darkened into night as they wound their way through the gypsy camp, approaching Madame Nadya’s tent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sue Greene was sure that four young ladies did not often wander into such a place and at night nonetheless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She shivered as a whisper of nervousness blew through her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Distant music and laughter flowed on the air mingling with the sparks from small camp fires where families were gathered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The dark eyes of the Romany people followed them as they passed, speaking to one another in a language Sue did not recognize.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Groups of the travelers sat outside the carriages and tents, making their homes in the tall grass of the roadside field.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We should not have come here, Evangeline,” Sue murmured close to her sister’s ear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How could we not come?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Truly Sue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We leave for London in a fortnight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We must know what to expect once we arrive,” Evangeline returned.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I should think I would know what to expect by now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There will be balls and luncheons and dinners and the same silly chat at every event.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I will return home with Mama, just as I did the past two years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why do I need a fortune-teller to tell me what I can see for myself?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sue grumbled, but pressed forward until she was standing before the tent bearing a small wooden sign that said <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Chovihani</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beads hung at the opening blocking all view but the flicker of candlelight inside.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Perhaps you will have luck this season,” Evangeline said with a delicately raised brow and a nod toward the tent, making her blonde ringlets bounce in agreement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How often are Gypsies camped on the border of our property? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This only happens once in a lifetime.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of her cousins nudged her in the back to push her forward, closer to the opening in the Gypsy woman’s lair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Go on Sue!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You go first.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re the oldest and most in need of her advice.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sue rounded on Isabelle and Victoria shooting the identical girls, identical glares.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just then, a dark figure appeared at the tent opening. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Gaje girls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You have come to learn the future, no? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt you near.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One long finger pointed at Sue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You, come.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The old woman’s deep set black eyes seemed to be looking into her soul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sue swallowed back the fear that held her feet firmly planted in the field with her family and followed her into the tent feeling unable to resist the draw of the unknown or the magic the woman held over her. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Inside, she sat at a small table opposite the woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Scarves and candles adorned every surface and the smell of incense swirled in the warm air, yet Sue noticed none of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She saw only the life etched face of the slight woman across from her.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Give me your hand,” Madame Nadya said, her deep voice scratching through the thick air as the band of bracelets on her wrist jingled with her movements.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sue complied, unable to make a sound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The woman’s finger traced over her palm as she hummed some exotic melody.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly falling silent, she turned her dark gaze on Sue.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You will hide in crowds and chase after death itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your journey will take you to foreign lands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He will find you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He will always find you.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Who?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who will find me?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The future is not yet written in stone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You must take care and watch your step for your steps will lead you to danger.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Danger?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Isn’t there anything I can do?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sue’s voice came out in a squeak.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The woman rummaged in an old trunk at her side before pulling out a small wrapped parcel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Take this and wear it for protection. “<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Protection from him?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What is that?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Do not open it here!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She pressed the package into Sue’s open palm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Watch your step Gaje girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Danger surrounds your future, of that I am certain.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sue nodded and dropped a coin on the table in thanks of her warning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She rose and left the tent without a backwards glance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wanted as much distance as possible between what she had learned of her future and her present life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sighing in relief as a fresh breeze cooled her cheeks; she stepped into the moon drenched night outside the tent and gazed into the faces of her two cousins where they stood with her sister.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She knew her life would never be the same from this night forward. </span></div>Elizabeth Michelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423638103712093921noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-720297810037177262.post-35702011710957131612011-05-09T21:23:00.002-04:002011-05-09T21:23:32.096-04:00Are you finished reading that magazine?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“What time is it?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“You just asked me that 5 minutes ago.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“That couldn’t have only been 5 minutes ago.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“How much longer do you think we’ll be here?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Another 30 minutes?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wonder if they forgot we’re here.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Maybe I should go check.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Should I go check?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll just go check…”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have spent the past year caring for ill parents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not something I have talked about here until now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, when something consumes your life to this degree, there isn’t much space for the freedom thought that leads to my usually frivolous blog topics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For today my mind can’t seem to leave this room, this waiting room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because of my parent’s illnesses, I’ve had the opportunity to spend a large amount of time in waiting rooms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve even made jokes about creating a waiting room ranking system that gives stars for comfort of chairs, convenience to drink machines, cell reception and magazine selection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, as I sit in yet another waiting room, it occurred to me that although some rooms have beige walls and some have green, they are all really the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is always the family gathered together discussing anything but the one thing on all of their minds, the sleeping man, the woman escaping into a book and in this case me with my pink laptop writing this blog entry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Did you know that 2-3 years of your life will be wrapped up in waiting?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(And yes, I got curious and googled that while waiting.) When you consider the volume of time spent on this most boring activity, the question of what you do while waiting becomes an important one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether you’re waiting to hear back after a job interview or waiting for that hot guy you met to call you, life is filled with waiting situations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am currently waiting for results of writing contests and reaction to a submitted partial manuscript.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, I’m writing my next story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am waiting for my life to return to normal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, I am spending time with family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am waiting to get out of this windowless, overly air conditioned room with hard vinyl chairs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, I am using the time I have to…okay so I’m not really accomplishing anything right now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, my point is this: life is short.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Appreciate the time you have with loved ones and use every second you are granted to try and reach your goals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There is a long list of things you can do in a real or a metaphorical waiting room to fill the time: read, sleep, talk, pray, text, knit, write, balance the checkbook, surf the internet, watch something mindless on the TV…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The question is how do you choose to use the small moments of your time while you wait?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What do you do in waiting rooms?</span></div>Elizabeth Michelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423638103712093921noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-720297810037177262.post-71273896287649221892011-04-08T14:57:00.002-04:002011-04-08T22:35:02.291-04:00Long Live Cody Bear<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvb23TvKVF0n8D9IIcP_yilEyfWxPjp4i6FQR6v-NtvAWbZKYnPZ3s8MUtHprGoVEEy9Cwh-kT_DEnNNz40jbHdDjJwPSjuffRNrVsiCdGlh5AVTrwGQuVa8YUtTHkeiMJ6hBY5zXS2Nry/s1600/Cody.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="279" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvb23TvKVF0n8D9IIcP_yilEyfWxPjp4i6FQR6v-NtvAWbZKYnPZ3s8MUtHprGoVEEy9Cwh-kT_DEnNNz40jbHdDjJwPSjuffRNrVsiCdGlh5AVTrwGQuVa8YUtTHkeiMJ6hBY5zXS2Nry/s320/Cody.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This week marks the second year I have been without my furry sidekick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cody Alexander, better known as Cody Bear, was a constant source of comfort, laughter and drool for twelve wonderful years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still occasionally think I see him at the back door or have to look twice if there is a dark colored shirt left on the floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find it hard to believe I will never again find my feet pinned to the floor under his sleeping weight. He will never again nudge me against the knee under the dining room table when he wants me to share my food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No more slobbery tennis balls will be dropped at my toes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No more half eaten bones will be found in the corners of my house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, I will not wake up to find him beside me during a thunder storm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even as I write this blog two years later, tears are slipping down my cheek to fall with silent finality on my shirt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today however, is a happy day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today is a day for celebration of a life that was and a life that will now live on forever in fiction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For today, I want to share with you an excerpt of <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Abigail’s Secret</b> where Cody Bear will forever fetch balls and beg for food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Do you have a little furry one you’re missing today? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would love to read your comments.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Abigail’s Secret</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Charles Towne, South Carolina</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">1783</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“These are my cousins, Sarah and Emma Terrington.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are…presently in my care.” Alex refrained from saying to Banyan what he truly felt about his cousins at that moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, he looked past them and into the stone covered streets of the city he would now call home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The buildings were all tall and thin, stacked like books on the shelf of a library.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a clean city when he compared it to soot covered London, where he had just come from.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The businesses that lined the streets all seemed peaceful and quiet, adorned in muted colors and topped with red tile roofs. Perhaps this would not be such a horrible fate after all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Nice to make your acquaintance Sarah and Emma,” Banyan said easily with a twinkle in his eye.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The twins were obviously happy to be on solid ground, and in the company of someone who did not want to kill them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They beamed up at Banyan as he began tossing their bags into the back of his wagon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alex noticed a large coal black dog sitting up on the front bench.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seemed to be taking advantage of the premium views the bench offered of the action around him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just then, the dog hopped over into the back of the wagon, came to the side of the conveyance where Alex stood with the girls, and began sniffing them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sarah turned her face up to him, and he licked her from chin to eyebrow; she laughed and reached out to pet him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s Cody Bear,” Banyan offered as he lifted one end of a trunk and indicated for Alex to get the other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As Alex lifted the trunk he watched the girls giggle and fuss over the beast of a dog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "</span>If there is an animal within sight, Sarah will befriend it,” he shook his head and looked back at Banyan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ve never seen that breed in England, what is he?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He’s a new breed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found him while on my travels,” he said with pride. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He’s a Labrador Retriever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’d be a great hunting dog if he weren’t gun shy, the worthless fur ball.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Banyan looked up at his dog, and scratched him behind the ears lovingly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I had a mastiff as a boy; however, when he ate most of the stores in the kitchen during the dead of night and then moved on to the drawing room furniture, my father insisted I give him away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Never had another,” Alex finished wistfully, as he looked into the warm brown eyes of the dog regarding him as a slobbery ball was dropped at his foot.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Now Cody, we don’t have time to play right now,” Banyan said as picked up the slimy ball tossing it back into the wagon where it was pounced on like a jungle cat would devour its prey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Last one,” Alex said lifting the last of the trunks into the wagon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How far is it to Darby House?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh, just right up the way, not far at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll give you the grand tour as we go.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I think Charles Towne is a lovely city,” Emma interjected looking up at the building tops looming above their heads on the street behind them.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That it is,” Banyan agreed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“There sure are a lot of churches,” Sarah observed gazing at the steeple tops that dotted the skyline of the port town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That there are. Charles Towne is even called The Holy City on occasion because of that very reason.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why are there so many?” Sarah asked, as she ran her hand over the black fur covered head of the hound leaning on her shoulder where it left a puddle of drool on her dress that she would never notice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I reckon that’s because nobody can agree on what they believe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, they just build another building down the street, and invite the friends who agree with them to sit there on Sundays instead of where they sat the Sunday before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nobody agrees, and we don’t have to, welcome to the New World.” He grinned and handed Sarah up into the wagon.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well, they are lovely nonetheless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think Charles Towne will be a wonderful place to live,” Emma offered, as she joined her sister in sitting on a trunk at the back of the wagon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Banyan raised the gate at the rear of the wagon and hooked it with chains to secure it before looking up at Alex, a question in his glance, “Once you get settled in, I’ll show you around some of the establishments in town if you like.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“If one of those establishments is a place where a gentleman can get a moment’s peace from family, and have a glass of something that numbs, I would like that,” Alex returned with a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ah, I know just the place that will suit your needs,” Banyan laughed in a great booming voice that reverberated off the pastel painted buildings of the city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You might not be all bad Darby, not bad at all.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He laughed again, and jumped up onto the front bench of the wagon to set off for Darby House.</span></div>Elizabeth Michelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423638103712093921noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-720297810037177262.post-41558116913069589502011-03-25T21:07:00.001-04:002011-03-25T21:39:43.120-04:00My Little Crooked House<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3vR1BrrMBGwljksCF0A9ahWM_3CBZpaZ5NU1dPTA5m5-EXO_GtSoSLyRIm8bHAu4HkGKKMFB6ImPTHwZuRBkwonVgvm3HfhVwNYr-vwkQusbHNpl2XzI4dmSwcsqYqRK0C3Q9TJIH-b05/s1600/DSCF1284.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3vR1BrrMBGwljksCF0A9ahWM_3CBZpaZ5NU1dPTA5m5-EXO_GtSoSLyRIm8bHAu4HkGKKMFB6ImPTHwZuRBkwonVgvm3HfhVwNYr-vwkQusbHNpl2XzI4dmSwcsqYqRK0C3Q9TJIH-b05/s320/DSCF1284.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It all began last September with the simple wiggle of a fence picket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Snap!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Oops,” my next door neighbor offered with an unrepentant smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I guess we have to tear the fence down now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Darn.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We had hated the warped and twisted gray fence that encircled our backyard ever since we had moved into our house three years earlier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every time we went outside the conversation would always turn to our ugly fence and what we could do to fix it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over these discussions of what could be, what might be, what would be nice and what we could afford, we built a lifelong friendship with our neighbors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fence became our joke and our gathering place for chit chat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We leaned against it to talk about our children, our families, our work and our plans for the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, that September day when the first picket was ruthlessly ripped off, (Just kidding Dave) we took great joy in tearing down the fence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only, when it came time to remove the last post, there was a distinct air of sadness that filled the backyard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nobody was ready to say goodbye to that last post, the most crooked and warped post of the entire fence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all, it had been the post that brought us together as friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s my belief that all places of happiness in life can only be reached by crooked paths.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We weave through dark forests, bright meadows and narrowly avoid the occasional pit of quick sand to finally reach our goals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I think the same adage can be said of friendship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Deeper bonds are forged in hardship and over twisted, gnarled wood, than over perfect fences with perfect landscaping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, we left the crooked post standing as a reminder of the crooked paths that have led us to this happy place of friendship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I was walking past the crooked post this week watering my flowers, I couldn’t help but feel thankful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m thankful for the past, for how far my backyard makeover and how far my life has come over the last year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The forty-one bushes we planted are beginning to grow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bulbs we planted are beginning to sprout.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the grass seed…well, it still just looks like dirt, but that gives us something else to discuss in the backyard this spring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Celebrate your imperfect and beautiful crooked path today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You never know where an ugly fence could lead you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you have something crooked and ugly in your backyard?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: green; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There was a crooked man and he walked a crooked mile,<br />
He found a crooked sixpence upon a crooked stile.<br />
He bought a crooked cat, which caught a crooked mouse.<br />
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.</span></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #c0504d; font-size: 16pt; mso-themecolor: accent2;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Happy Spring Everyone!</span></span></div>Elizabeth Michelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423638103712093921noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-720297810037177262.post-54627863596171354642011-03-14T15:59:00.000-04:002011-03-14T15:59:21.803-04:00The Tartan<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here’s to it!</span></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The fighting sheen of it.</span></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The yellow, the green of it.</span></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The white, the blue of it.</span></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The swing, the hue of it.</span></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The dark, the red of it.</span></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Every thread of it!</span></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The fair have sighed for it.</span></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The brave have died for it.</span></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Foemen sought for it.</span></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Honour the name of it.</span></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Drink to the fame of it.</span></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Tartan.</span></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 1.5in; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-Unknown</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This poem hangs on the wall of a restaurant where I love to go to in the mountains of North Carolina.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every time I eat there I think that I will someday use it at the beginning of a book about some handsome highlander that lived long ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, I seem to only be dreaming in Regency England at the moment, so I thought I would share it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can remember eating at The Tartan Restaurant as a little girl with my family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I come from a family that has always been very proud of its Scottish roots, so a themed restaurant at the foot of Grandfather Mountain was the logical choice when we attended the Highland Games.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s also not uncommon to wake up to bag pipe music at 7:30 am on Saturday mornings at my parent’s house, but that is another blog for another day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In recent years Mr. Alpha Male and I have become regulars there mostly due to his love of country ham, my daily need for coffee and the fact that it is the only restaurant within five minutes drive of the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it is the perfect place for one of my favorite pastimes, people watching.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Tartan is one of those places where only the locals eat and most of them have blue hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The walls are dripping in Scottish folklore and there is plaid covering every surface lying in wait for the annual Highland Games.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, filling the tables inside the restaurant on the other fifty one weekends of the year are all the simple mountain folks that stopped in for a sandwich or a cup of coffee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Friends are hailed from across the room as neighbors and acquaintances pause to say hello.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It makes an interesting mix of foreign and local that I find irresistible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Keep your swanky bistros and your elegant fine dining establishments, I just want to people watch from my booth at The Tartan.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I brought you some extra country ham.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Didn’t think that servin’ they gave you in the kitchen looked like enough for ya,” Diane offered as she slid another small plate onto our table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mr. Alpha Male thanked her as I continued to munch on my French toast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“How’s that baby o’ yers?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Well, ya know, my chickens roost in that tree in the yard every night.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Is that a new shirt ya got there?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I hadn’t seen ya round church lately.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Pieces of conversation swirl around me inspiring questions of who these people are and where they are going when they leave here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What dramas have they had in their lives?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Have they loved?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Have they lost? Everyone has a back story and ultimately an impending doom, so why not weave them into fiction as I sip my coffee?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Could I ask for better inspiration than the mountain folks found in The Tartan?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What is your favorite place to people watch?</span></div>Elizabeth Michelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423638103712093921noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-720297810037177262.post-50759495637738092852011-02-25T19:54:00.000-05:002011-02-25T19:54:29.923-05:00Lost in the Query Letter Woods<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Do I have any idea what I’m doing?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do any of us?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here is my story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be entertained by my blunders and learn from my mistakes.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I finally wrote “The End” on my first manuscript at the beginning of January.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After jumping up and down for several days, toasting with my blog partner, and printing my book—just to look at it and smile, I had no idea what to do next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I began the editing process, I bought two books on Amazon.com.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One book was a listing of literary agents and the other was a “how to” book on writing query letters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was proud of my resourcefulness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why did everyone stress over this process when there was a book conveniently for sale out there that would hold my hand, and walk me through the writing of this dreaded letter?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I read.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I highlighted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I dog-eared pages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I wrote a two page long letter proclaiming in the first paragraph my need of a literary agent and why the reader of my letter would be the agent for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Keep in mind I sucked up in a manner that was still vague enough to be a form letter or “specifically unspecific” as I like to say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I then outlined the entire book—no need to look any further to discover more about this story, it was all right there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How easy I was making some literary agent’s job!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I closed with my list of writer credentials which included my college degree in an unrelated field, my love of books, and my travels to places not even in my book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My query letter was written just as the wonder book told me to write it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perfect!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then I sent it to a few literary agents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was sure this was it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was all it would take to get “The call.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was when I started getting the form rejection letters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After the forth rejection that, (Thank you Jessica Faust at Bookends Literary Agency) said I didn’t have enough hook, I started to do some research.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I began to follow every literary agent’s blog that exists or once existed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I listened to their complaints.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I read their critiques.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I learned.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here is what I found:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was so wrong; it was embarrassing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A query letter should be 1 page or less, (250 words.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It should start with the synopsis, which should tell what the story is about without revealing the ending.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you can’t hear the engaging voice of the movie trailer guy in your head as you read it, it needs more hook.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Use phrases like: she had a choice to make…or he had to decide between…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The essence of your writing should shine though the synopsis of your book without telling a series of events.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Take out the agent kiss up routine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hello, they know why you need an agent!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s what they do for a living.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And if you, like me, have no experience, don’t try and make some up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let your story speak for itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To summarize, start with your synopsis, then tell the title, word count and genre, thank them and that is all you need.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cut everything else!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now, here I sit about to send out the first round of revised query letters to the literary world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope the Query Shark will be proud, and she and her friends will not rip me limb from limb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll let you know what happens this time…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Am I the only one who has been lost in the query letter woods?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTA2Bi7MSyZDM_2NjMEQtvAYWjrxmMoV5RuHUuS6mll2g3Q9Hzm&t=1" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" l6="true" src="http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTA2Bi7MSyZDM_2NjMEQtvAYWjrxmMoV5RuHUuS6mll2g3Q9Hzm&t=1" /></a></div>Elizabeth Michelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423638103712093921noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-720297810037177262.post-48310002250213715072011-02-13T17:06:00.002-05:002011-02-13T17:06:29.552-05:00Anniversary Woes<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It should be hot, smooth skin,” Mr. Alpha Male stated as he read further into the scene we were editing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“There needs to be a comma after thigh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>…her right thigh, as his tongue traced…”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You would think that having a sex scene that you wrote read back to you in slow motion by your significant other would be a romantic way to spend your anniversary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, you would be wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yesterday was my 15 year anniversary with Mr. Alpha Male.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a time, 10 years ago, even 5 years ago; when I would have wanted an exotic vacation, jewelry, or a fancy night out on the town to celebrate such an occasion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, with our little boy asleep upstairs, and the remnants of his toys strewn across our living room floor, there we sat together on the sofa, diagramming every sentence of a spicy scene I wrote for <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">A Matter of Time</b>. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We laughed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I turned an unseemly shade of red.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was it erotic or even sweet, the way we spent our anniversary evening? No, unless you consider the willingness to correct grammar all night sweet- which fortunately I do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then it occurred to me, as I cringed at my use of the word turgid, real life and fictional life, are exactly opposite concepts to one another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In fictional life, all heroes smell nice even after a day of riding horses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They never have bad breath, gas, or any annoying habits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The heroines never have to use the bathroom at inconvenient times; and they are never grouchy in the mornings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The timing of changes in life like: career moves, marriage, and children, always come together perfectly to create a happily ever after.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is always plenty of money for ball gowns and London Townhouses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bad guy gets what he deserves in the end, while the good guy reaps the rewards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I’m certain that they celebrate all anniversaries in extreme style.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then there is real life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bills, stress, stinky feet, crying babies, colds, dirty dishes, and work all seem to punctuate our daily routines, leaving no room for the sweeping romances I like to read and write about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, I wouldn’t have it any other way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a perfectly un-perfect way to spend my anniversary with Mr. Alpha Male.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am thankful for the gritty, real life that I’m surrounded in everyday, even if I would rather be wearing a ball gown while I write this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How real is your real life?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would you rather be wearing a ball gown?</span></div>Elizabeth Michelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423638103712093921noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-720297810037177262.post-56002707813667349622011-01-15T18:03:00.000-05:002011-01-15T18:03:39.046-05:00A Writer's Farewell<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> It was a brisk, clear afternoon when I created you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The leaves were turning brilliant shades of yellow and red outside my window, just as I feel a shroud of gray covering my heart today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I must say good bye to you my beautiful, my sweet, my creation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go now with the knowledge that you were loved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go now with the knowledge that you were, for a time, needed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rest well in darkness.</span></div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: right;"><br />
</div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My Sincerest Apologies,</span></div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Elizabeth Michels</span></div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: right;"><br />
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</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Starbucks Scene</span></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The first scene sacrificed to editing </span></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">from <u>A Matter of Time</u></span></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Laura could feel the warmth of Xavier’s large masculine hand on her back urging her forward, closer into his arms. But could she trust him? Was he just here to do Trevor’s bidding and to seduce her riches away from her? Then in the next moment her thoughts of staying away from him for the sake of her own future tumbled out of head as his lips descended upon hers, warm and soft.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Xavier skimmed his hand down the side of her neck causing her to shiver, he looked deeply into her eyes and said, “Laura, I want you, it is our destiny to be together, as one.”</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Laura could feel the heat of Xavier surrounding her, pressing against her breasts as she arched into his arms hungry for more, at any cost to her future .<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In one amazing……<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>“Abby?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Startled by the sound of someone calling her name from the far end of the barista counter Abby snapped shut the romance novel she was reading and placed it quickly on the small round bistro table; nearly dumping the real African fabric decorated coffee mug containing her grande mocha latte all over her low fat raspberry muffin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While she struggled to stabilize the coffee she glanced up sheepishly to see who was calling her name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Great… of all people,” Abby mumbled coarsely under her breath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who else was it but Brittany Brooks walking her way, looking like she just stepped off a runway?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brittany, with her long flowing blonde hair, the type of hair that always fell perfectly around her disgustingly pretty face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She looked like a million bucks, and was probably wearing close to it from what Abby had heard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had lived on the same hall at Converse College, Abby left with a Bachelors of Arts, and Brittany left with the same plus an M.r.s. Degree courtesy of a starting linebacker for the Carolina Panthers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brittany was one of those girls that made Abby feel instantly self-conscious of what she was wearing, how thin she looked in it, and how successful she was in life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why had she worn this today Abby wondered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A sundress and flip flops?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What had she been thinking?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well at least, last she checked, she was having a good hair day today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Abby adjusted her purse to a more prominent position on the chair beside her, as if the small metal Coach symbol would protect her more against the coming attack than the thickest armor shield.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Abby glanced down to reaffirm that she was in fact wearing clothing at all, she noticed her book lying on the table in front of her with the cover face up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cover featured a muscular open shirted man looking passionately at a woman in a revealing ball gown fainting into his open arms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gasping, she quickly flipped the book over to lay face down on the table in hopes it would look like something from fine literature, and make her appear highly intellectual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Abby put on her party smile and slid her hand back in her lap so little miss perfect would not see her un-manicured fingers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Abby?.....Abby Rhode.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why it’s been ages since I’ve seen you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What are you doing here?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh, I live here now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just bought a……um, a historic home here in Charleston..” Abby hesitated as she responded; thinking <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">historic</i> was a nice way of putting it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“A historic home, oh that is just lovely, I hope you have a good contractor for any upgrades you want to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I should give you the number of the company we used to build our vacation house in Banner Elk North Carolina.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was featured in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Architectural Digest,</i> you know,” Brittany said dismissively.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Thank you, but I am using a local company, excellent group, they came highly recommended from several sources,” or picked randomly from the yellow pages Abby thought as the words left her lips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m doing an extensive restoration; I just talked to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Southern Living</i> the other day about a feature article when it is finished.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well isn’t that nice, do send me a copy of the issue when you have the home shot won’t you?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brittany replied with an air of sarcasm in her voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“So, there’s a special someone now?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re not doing this alone are you, Abby?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to say just finding time to meet with my interior designer was a headache when we renovated Stephen’s house to make it more to my taste.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the time we chose the granite for the second kitchen off of the home theater, I just didn’t care anymore, you know what I mean?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The house is mine.” Abby said defiantly then decided to embellish the truth of her life slightly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>”I am seeing someone, though.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And maybe just a few details to make it believable, “He’s a doctor, a uhhhh neurosurgeon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is actually the reason I moved to Charleston.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Really?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well isn’t that delightful, which hospital?” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Abby panicked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had not been in Charleston for more three weeks; she didn’t know the names of the hospitals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Other than the nearest Starbucks, gas station, and the number for pizza delivery, she didn’t know much of anything.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well,” Abby thought quickly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He’s at the main one, the uh, big one….downtown, here in Charleston, where we are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, he’s the reason I moved to Charleston.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh, how nice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We should all do dinner together later this week,” Brittany replied, confusion briefly clouding her perfect face.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Abby tried to shake off the lies pouring unchecked out of her mouth and steer the conversation back to safe territory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Mmmm, so what brings you to Charleston, last I heard you were living in..”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ohh, I’m down from Charlotte for the week while Stephen is having the yacht packed up for the cruise to Paradise Island for a little vaca,” Brittany said visually sizing up Abby’s current lifestyle in one almost imperceptible sweep of her violet eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I was just out looking for the perfect pair of poolside shoes to match one of my swimsuit cover-ups, and I just cannot find a thing that’ll work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, all of our clothes for the trip were custom made through my personal shopper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, the shoes she brought over before I left were just awful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, the hassle of it all, you know?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did you hear that Jennifer is pregnant?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yeah, Matthew is so happy about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We just met up with them last week at this fabulous new restaurant back home, and she looks fabulous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pregnant, eating everything in sight, and still so thin, don’t you just hate her?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course we do go to the same trainer so I can’t be too critical.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brittany laughed looking at Abby’s low fat raspberry muffin with an air of silent judgment. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That is wonderful news, I’m so happy for them.” Abby said pleasantly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How do you like living in Charlotte?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Love it!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s such a great city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And Stephen is really happy with the Panthers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’ll be busy with the season soon, so Angela and I, you remember Angela, don’t you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway, we’re planning a trip to New York to shop and see shows while the hubbies are busy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, that’s my blackberry, I better go, sweetie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So great seeing you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We should get together soon” Brittany said in a tone meant to be believable, but never followed through with an actual getting together, as she answered her phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hi honey, how was golf this morning?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, good. Yes, I’ll be back soon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Love you too, bye bye……Bless his heart he just can’t do a thing without me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>See you later.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Throwing up a airy group of diamond studded, French manicured fingers in farewell, Brittany turned and glided out the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As quickly as she had come, she was gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had however spent enough time to take the good afternoon Abby was having and reduce it to a low fat raspberry hell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brittany had the sweetest way of doing that to people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not that she was a malicious destroyer of good days, she was just better, she was an elegant steak dinner and made Abby feel like a cold tuna sandwich by comparison. She had officially been delivered the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Christmas Card</i> as she liked to think of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything is perfect, everyone is happy, I lost ten pounds without trying and have enough spare money that my only concern in life is the perfect pair of pool shoes for island vacations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Abby tossed her hair back and took a large defiant bite of her muffin with her chin raised toward the now closed double doors leading onto King Street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So what if she gained a pound from its delicious fluffy innate muffin-ness?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who would notice, her fictitious neurosurgeon boyfriend or the fictitious photo journalist from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Southern Living</i>?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh my goodness, I really said that, didn’t I? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How embarrassing,” Abby mumbled into her coffee, completely disgusted with herself for her poor lying skills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why, oh why, had she not sat upstairs on the balcony overlooking the main floor of the Starbucks?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She could have gone on with her day blissfully unaware that Brittany was even in town. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pulling herself together, Abby looked over the shopping bags at her feet and remembered that her life was not all that bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shopping was supposed to make you feel happy and pretty, not depressed, unless shopping for swim suits, that was always depressing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She smiled and forced herself to think of all that was good about today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had found the perfect antique-looking candle holder for her <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">historic home</i> while in a little shop down the street, and a cute new shirt in Banana Republic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Abby sighed forcing a pleasant smile to her face and gathered her bags to leave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div>Elizabeth Michelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423638103712093921noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-720297810037177262.post-72066852683657418502011-01-03T17:07:00.000-05:002011-01-03T17:07:24.935-05:00Words for 2011<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What is your New Year’s resolution?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have found that I’m compulsively asking that question of everyone I know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The problem is that I don’t have one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After I said about a week ago that I was vowing to make up my bed every morning of 2011 and Mr. Alpha Male laughed me out of the room, I find that I’m not all that resolved about anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My only resolution is to keep living everyday and working everyday toward my goals, just as I have done all of 2010.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, that is nothing new.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So instead of declaring a resolution for the new year, I am choosing to have words to live by for 2011.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The first words to live by come from my Dad when I was a little girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every time I can recall scraping a knee or bumping an elbow and would crumple to the ground in a ball of crying blonde mush, he would say, “Hurry and get up before you get hurt.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only is this great advice for playing any sport where trampling is an issue, it is great life advice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all fall down in some way or another be it job loss, divorce, parenting mishaps, or just day to day foibles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, the faster we pick ourselves up and move on, the less hurt will set into our bones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The second words to live by come from the guy that taught me in driver training when I was 15.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have no idea what his name was, but I remember when he said, “Don’t look at the cars, look at the space between them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t look at where you can’t go, look at where you can go.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only did this get me over my fear of changing lanes, it got me over my fear of changing tracks in life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This wild journey we are on weaves us onto some of the most unexpected roads and occasionally it leaves us stranded at a truck stop or two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, if we look at where we can go the options are limitless.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In 2011 I will continue to get up and look where I can go every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I will continue to live every day to the fullest. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will live on faith, love and coffee, just as I have in 2010.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And, on at least a few of the days in 2011, I will make my bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What is your New Year’s resolution?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://media.brainz.org/uploads/2010/12/new-years-bucks-county.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" n4="true" src="http://media.brainz.org/uploads/2010/12/new-years-bucks-county.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Elizabeth Michelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423638103712093921noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-720297810037177262.post-35048016809965933812010-12-17T14:47:00.001-05:002010-12-17T15:01:14.099-05:00There'll be Parties for Hosting, Marshmallows for Roasting...<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I looked up from my Christmas present wrapping to see my little boy sitting in the middle of a tangled mess of red ribbon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was wrapped around his little fingers lying in twists and turns all around him on the floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He beamed with happiness at his accomplishment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I had been busy measuring and cutting in the floor beside him, he had been busy unwinding an entire spool of ribbon in his lap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Look Mommy, I have tape in one hand and ribbon in the other,” he said quoting his favorite Curious George story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Normally this is when my “Oh no, there’s a mess” tendencies kick in, but this time I just laughed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were having too much fun wrapping Mr. Alpha Male’s Christmas presents to worry about messes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have discovered recently that in trying to meet preholiday work deadlines, getting ready for parties, baking cookies, and buying gifts; I have forgotten to just enjoy the Christmas season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My nose has either been in my laptop, or I’ve been scurrying around with a mile long to do list.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have not stopped to enjoy the simple pleasure of laughing while wrapping presents or actually watching a cheesy Christmas movie on tv.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s an easy mistake to make, to live for the day at the end of the paper chain and not take the time to enjoy all the little links in between that make up the Christmas season.</span></div><div class="PadderBetweenControlandBody" style="margin: 0in 0in 6pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“It’s not Christmas.” My little boy utters those words every morning when I go into his room to wake him up for the past week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And every morning I tell him, “It’s not Christmas day, but it is the Christmas Season.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The anticipation of Christmas Day is almost too much for any two year old to bare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The presents, the cookies, the lights, the friends and the family that are all wrapped up into what makes Christmas the most wonderful time of the year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But are we just counting down the days, or living everyday with the love that this season is built around?</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Counting down the days…I can remember as a child making chains of red and green construction paper to symbolize the passing days to Christmas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would hang it on the wood paneled wall of the family room by the door to the kitchen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, I don’t think my daily Christmas reminder ever made it to the big day, as I grew up with two older brothers that liked to jump and rip and tackle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve been thinking about my little paper chains this year more than ever because I am not only counting down the days to Christmas, but also counting down words left to write until I finish my book. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think as we get older we never really lose that sense of wonder involved with looking forward to a big box with a bright red bow under the tree on Christmas morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, I think it is only what is wrapped up in those packages that changes over the years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is it simply survival of all the shopping, family visits and parties that await us under the tree?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The end of a long difficult journey of writing a book is wrapped up and waiting for me under the tree this year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And yet, I am making an effort to experience and live everyday of the paper chain that is this beautiful season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The end of the paper chain will be here before you know it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What is at the end of your paper chain?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And more importantly, what should be cherished in the small loops of red and green somewhere in the middle?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.swankymoms.com/swanky/images/stories/christmas_tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="http://www.swankymoms.com/swanky/images/stories/christmas_tree.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: x-large;">Merry Christmas!</span></em></div>Elizabeth Michelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423638103712093921noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-720297810037177262.post-29743952739438445172010-11-19T16:09:00.000-05:002010-11-19T16:09:58.116-05:00Tiny Slips of Paper<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Hang on, my checkbook must be in here somewhere,” I told the thickly accented lady on the phone as I dug with one hand through an accumulation of tiny slips of paper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It never ceases to amaze me how quickly I am able to collect the debris of life inside my purse or how long I am willing to carry it around with me everywhere I go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I hung up the phone, I weighed my bag in my hand and became aware of how heavy it had become.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“That’s it!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t take it anymore,” I told my two year old as he popped another grape in his mouth, perched on a barstool at the kitchen island.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“That’s it,” he repeated, laughing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I dug into my cleaning project I pulled out handfuls of receipts, grocery lists, to do lists, coupons, business cards, bills, prescriptions, and advertisements, then piled them all on the counter before me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was then that I realized, my life could be summed up by these tiny slips of paper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where I’ve been, what I’ve bought, what I need to do, what I worry about, it was all there in print in a crumpled pile of paper. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Which leads me to my question of the day:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are we living our lives in large murals or on tiny slips of paper?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Life gets distracting, or should I say the necessary paying of bills, going to doctor appointments, going to the grocery store, taking the kids to school, and getting work done part of life gets distracting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, it is all too easy to get caught up in the day to day minutia of life and forget to live. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think life should be about family and friends, sunshine on your face and wind in your hair, laughter and silliness, and enjoying the beauty of the world around us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I put away all of life’s litter and prepared my purse to receive more tomorrow, I made a vow to live in large murals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will never get back this afternoon I spent with my little boy building towers and eating cookies, for this afternoon only happens once.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will give my family hugs and tell them how much I love them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will make time to go for a walk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will call an old friend and laugh at something she says.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will take a chance and be scared over the outcome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will go to a party where I don’t know anyone and have the time of my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will try a new hobby, a new food, and a new style of shoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will finish writing my manuscript!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We only have this one chance to live today to the fullest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t cheat yourself out of the good stuff in life by living your life within the confines of your tiny slips of paper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What are your large murals?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbHkpgOeRkZMzvBEVISqFZw1F1MLSMbhNR47KcSBGVbPnzzVVJEtAhVuDAVJ3GK-2MtWzLv3Uu5nDjIzomBVYWqnAioLJN5DLrrC_79VNmDasOEDwHgGWOErPzhnjHqfZY3mMQKjlqGT0/s400/messy+purse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbHkpgOeRkZMzvBEVISqFZw1F1MLSMbhNR47KcSBGVbPnzzVVJEtAhVuDAVJ3GK-2MtWzLv3Uu5nDjIzomBVYWqnAioLJN5DLrrC_79VNmDasOEDwHgGWOErPzhnjHqfZY3mMQKjlqGT0/s400/messy+purse.jpg" /></a></div>Elizabeth Michelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423638103712093921noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-720297810037177262.post-8257289538164086592010-11-04T20:26:00.000-04:002010-11-04T20:26:32.441-04:00Invest In Thicker Curtains<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My house sits on a quiet cul-de-sac in a neighborhood where the trees are still young and children are everywhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because there are so many families here, we get hundreds of trick-or-treaters every October 31<sup>st</sup>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last year we didn’t even have time to come inside between groups of children, and ended up leaning against the car with a giant bowl of candy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, this year I turned our problem into a party and hosted the first annual Halloween tailgate in my driveway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We pulled out tables and chairs and I spent most of the day cooking and baking and baking and cooking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was shaping up to be an entertaining evening with the neighbors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I had no idea at the time just how entertaining it would become.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Daddy went to the store to buy us fire,” my little 2 year old said, as he popped another piece of candy in his mouth.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mr. Alpha Male had actually gone up to the Lowes with our next door neighbor to buy a fire pit because we were all freezing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, he got it right enough for a 2 year old, so I agreed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, soon the men were back from their manly errand, the fire pit was set up, and we were warming our fingers and toes, while the scent of wood smoke filled the cool night air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the middle of the third bottle of wine and well after the children had collectively crashed from their sugar rushes and been tucked into bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Baby monitors and wine bottles covered the nearby table as the parents took a break at the end of a long day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had just taken a bite of warm buffalo chicken dip and was crunching the last of the chip left in my hand when I happened to look up and see something through the window of the house just around the bend from ours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took another sip of wine and wondered if I had already had too much and my imagination was running away with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The conversation and laughter continued to swirl around me, but I wasn’t listening to it anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had just seen my most prudish of neighbors, the ones that hardly ever leave the church and never socialize with the rest of us heathens, in the middle of a sexual act.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What sexual act?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Details, give us details, you may be screaming at your computer screen right now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, since you asked…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The thin film of the living room window sheers hid nothing as she took him fully in her mouth; the silhouette of her head sliding up and down his shaft, as she moved with slow deliberate action.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He tensed then reached for her, clearly needing to feel connected to her, to the moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The living room light behind them illuminated their every movement as he ran his hands through her long hair, gripping, pulling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her pace increased and so did the size of my eyes; I elbowed my next door neighbor and quickly all conversation around the fire pit died as everyone turned and watched.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They readjusted their position and she straddled him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His hands skimmed the outsides of her breasts as he ran them down to hold her waist and guide her into a wild rhythm of heart beats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the rhythm of passion, the rhythm of sin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They clung to one another as they reached for that peak just out of grasp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She arched her back as he thrust into her once, twice, then she collapsed on him in a tangle of spent lust and satisfaction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They left the room together and their house grew dark for the night. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Do you think he’ll come outside for a cigarette,” Mr. Alpha Male asked me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our Halloween tailgate party continued on into the early morning, but the evening’s unexpected entertainment was obviously over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Will I ever be able to say hello to my neighbor with a straight face again?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc4/hs943.snc4/73645_1686649371862_1406502638_1809405_6126562_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" px="true" src="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc4/hs943.snc4/73645_1686649371862_1406502638_1809405_6126562_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Elizabeth Michelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423638103712093921noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-720297810037177262.post-744570252827191602010-10-26T19:50:00.000-04:002010-10-26T19:50:05.484-04:00Evil Men Never Wear Black Hats<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You may think I live on the pages of a book where you can shut me into darkness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or, do you think I live on the movie screen where you can simply close your eyes and I will disappear?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Villains are everywhere. You may think you are safe from us in real life, but that is where we thrive, we villains, as we feed on the goodness and hard work of those around us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Slowly slipping, sneaking, some might say into your life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At work you do business with me and are forced to endure my torture every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, I wear no black hat to signify where my loyalties lie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At friendly social gatherings, I lurk in the crowd waiting for the chance to carry out my evil plot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, I have no sinister laugh to signal those that I meet to tell them who I am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I finally find you, caught off guard, in a dark alley, with no one to hear your screams, I will not stop to explain my motivation in killing you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With a flick of this blade you’ll be dead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can you feel it? The cold steel of the knife is pressed against your throat, and you thought I was fiction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In real life I have freedom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I look like your friend, the one that smiles to your face just before you feel the blade piercing into your back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m your co-worker that takes credit for your work and spreads rumors about you while you’re at home sick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sued you for thousands of dollars you didn’t have, just to line my pockets with your money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When you came to me with a problem I took advantage of you. I could pay you what I owe you, but I want to vacation instead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I bullied your child and there was nothing you could do about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then, I lured your loved one away from you to steal a small sliver of your happiness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, you’re not happy now are you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the best part is you never saw it coming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You never saw the trap I set for you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You never saw it, because I look like you, I look like me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can you feel life slip from your grasp as I tell you what I’ve done?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can you taste the thick metallic feel of blood in your mouth?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You trusted me and now you’re dead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://halloween-pumpkin-3d-screensaver.smartcode.com/images/sshots/halloween_pumpkin_3d_screensaver_28065.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" nx="true" src="http://halloween-pumpkin-3d-screensaver.smartcode.com/images/sshots/halloween_pumpkin_3d_screensaver_28065.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Happy Halloween!</span></div>Elizabeth Michelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423638103712093921noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-720297810037177262.post-33431280187807147522010-10-20T12:56:00.001-04:002010-10-21T13:37:55.361-04:00Hug Your Skeleton<div class="PadderBetweenControlandBody" style="margin: 0in 0in 6pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Why won’t you talk to me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I may not be able to help, but I can listen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, I want to support you through this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These are the frustrated ramblings of someone who is horribly flawed just like you and loves you anyway….</span></span></div><div class="PadderBetweenControlandBody" style="margin: 0in 0in 6pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What did the doctors tell you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are you going to be alright? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need to know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love you, please talk to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">How bad is it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are you going to loose the house? I need to know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love you, please talk to me.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You’ve never told anyone?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How did you survive that alone?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love you, please talk to me.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="PadderBetweenControlandBody" style="margin: 0in 0in 6pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">You have imperfections in your life too don’t you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know I do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are there issues at work in your life that you try desperately to keep swept under the rug, so your friends won’t know how bad things really are at home? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether it’s unhappy relationships, bad news from the doctor, or bill collectors calling, you are not alone. Or, is there something in your past that you’re not very proud of doing?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>None of us are perfect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all have them, lurking in corners, hidden under feigned perfection and self righteousness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Skeletons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, if we all have them, why are we so ashamed of them?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why can’t we talk about them?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m bringing out my skeletons and dusting them off for Halloween this year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all, how can we grow and appreciate our own crooked paths that brought us to where we are today without showing our skeletons some love. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Through all of our experiences, the good and the bad, we are reshaped and molded everyday into the people we will become.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, it’s the adversity in life that strengthens our resolve to become something more than our circumstances, and makes us grow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Most of you know that I am writing a novel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How interesting would my characters be if they did everything right all the time and had never made a bad decision?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nobody would read that book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s the struggle to claw your way back from the edge of disaster that makes you beautiful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s what people want to see, want to read about, want to be a part of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s the overcoming part of it all that makes you interesting, so embrace it!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Overcoming illness</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Overcoming debt</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Overcoming bad decisions</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Overcoming depression</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">If we had no skeletons, the success wouldn’t be nearly so sweet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, bring ‘em out, dust ‘em off and let’s talk about it; because, without your skeletons you wouldn’t be here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Have you hugged your skeleton today?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.olbermannwatch.com/skeleton-in-closet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" src="http://www.olbermannwatch.com/skeleton-in-closet.jpg" /></a></div>Elizabeth Michelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423638103712093921noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-720297810037177262.post-47017208530017155592010-10-07T16:13:00.000-04:002010-10-07T16:13:49.447-04:00The Love List<div class="PadderBetweenControlandBody" style="margin: 0in 0in 6pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love to crawl into the warm Him shaped indention in the sheets in the early morning after he leaves for work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That last 20 minutes is the best sleep I get all night.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love it when he inserts my name into songs while he sings along with the radio in the car, off key and loud.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It makes me smile.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love to listen to him read to our son at night, patiently reading the same <u>Curious George</u> story over and over and over.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love that the first time he told me he loved me was by accident at the end of a phone call; and he still ends every phone call that way.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love that we’ve broken each other’s hearts into a million pieces and mended them back again, stronger than before.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love that he orders for me when we eat out, not because he’s controlling, but because he knows me that well.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love that he does dirty, ugly things every day that he doesn’t want to do; but he does them anyway for the survival of our family.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love it when he bakes bread in the middle of the night because he felt like eating some bread; and brings me some bread because he thought I might like eating some bread too.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love that he dreams with me and supports me in my dreams, no matter how crazy they may sound.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love to be held in his powerful arms, it makes me feel small, and fragile, and stronger than I am alone.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love that he always offers to say the blessing before a nice meal, and he taught our son to say “Amen.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love it when he plays with my hair when I can’t sleep, while I talk nonstop and he pretends to listen.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love to watch him chop fire wood, sweat glistening off thick muscles, wood splintering into the air, sunlight glinting off the smooth steel of the ax, all while I sip lemonade in the shade.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love that he obsessively irons his clothes, even when on vacation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It makes me laugh at my wrinkles.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love to listen to him talk eloquently and passionately about zombies and politics and society and plans for our back yard makeover.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It reminds me of how intelligent and completely insane he is.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love that we have entire conversations in movie quotes, and we know exactly what we’re saying.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love that he took me rock climbing on our first date, even though I barely remember the rock we were climbing, that day will be burned into my memory for the rest of my life.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love the beautifully ugly cake he baked me for my birthday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The words on top looked like a child wrote them and I could taste the love he poured into it in every delicious bite.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love that he never lets me say, “I can’t.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And when I do, he gives me his half-time pep talk that always involves digging deeper for a larger set of balls, guts and glory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And, I love the beautiful future we’re going to have together when we finally run away from all responsibility, live in a thatched roof cottage, and become sheep herders. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sanetruth.com/uploaded_images/Love__Beach__Sunset__by_danicafaye-721652.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="240" src="http://www.sanetruth.com/uploaded_images/Love__Beach__Sunset__by_danicafaye-721652.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Elizabeth Michelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423638103712093921noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-720297810037177262.post-9344931809671774022010-09-24T13:24:00.000-04:002010-09-24T13:24:45.667-04:00Are You My Friend?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Have you ever sat down in your only free 5 minutes in the day, logged into facebook only to have the stark realization that you have no idea who any of your “friends” are?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m to the point now that I know their names, their dog’s names, and what they cooked for supper tonight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I celebrated with them when they got that job they’ve been wanting, and smiled at pictures of their children; yet I have no memory of ever meeting these people in my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was it an acquaintance from high school or perhaps I sat beside them at some meeting I went to 3 years ago?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who knows, but here’s the strange part; in some odd way I feel connected to these people, intertwined in their lives, engrossed in their dramas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In some ways I’m closer to them than any real life friend I see occasionally or wave to as I drive through my neighborhood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Which leads me to my question of the day: has the internet brought back the idea of the pen pal?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Every day I sit down with my laptop on the sofa, my two year old driving trucks up and down my legs, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Super Why with the power to read</i> playing in the background on the tv, and I check my email.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tell myself that this is one of my responsibilities as a small business owner, staying on top of all correspondence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, in reality, I have a friend that I email every day about anything and everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There have been really hard days when that email message was the only ray of sunshine in my dark and stormy life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We talk about the men in our lives, her dating madness, and my crazy Mr. Alpha Male husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We talk about our dreams and deepest desires for the future, our children and the joys and struggles involved with them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, because we are forced to put what we are thinking and feeling into black Calibri type face and fill a screen with it, we say more than we would on the phone or, if we lived closer, over a glass of wine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cherish those few minutes every day when I get a new message and have a brief glimpse into her daily life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, in essence isn’t that what having a pen pal is like?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It seems like everyone has a blog these days, cathartically purging themselves of all of their innermost struggles into print and sending it out online.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, now I have a blog where I write my personal thoughts on life and put them out in the world for everyone to see and examine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do we have that same level of openness and honesty with friends that we see in person regularly?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a time when people were friends in real life; and now it seems like all friendships stay firmly planted in cyber space, while we lock our doors and close our blinds to the outside world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Which leaves me wondering both in real life and online, “Are you my friend?”</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://ccsmallbusiness.files.wordpress.com/2009/08/internet_clipart7.jpg?w=224&h=165" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" px="true" src="http://ccsmallbusiness.files.wordpress.com/2009/08/internet_clipart7.jpg?w=224&h=165" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Elizabeth Michelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423638103712093921noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-720297810037177262.post-30731756514062021582010-09-17T12:41:00.000-04:002010-09-17T12:41:48.848-04:00Bringing Home the Bacon Bits<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was asked today what I do for a living, and I found myself floundering for a moment not knowing which job title to give.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A year ago I would have replied, ”Stay-at-home Mom,” without blinking an eye.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But sometime in the past year, I became an owner of a construction company, an interior designer, and an aspiring writer, all on top of my career as a stay-at-home mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My brief blunder caused me to step back and take note of all of the women I know that are working two and three jobs while raising children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The more faces that crossed my mind, the more I realized that everyone I know moonlights on their job as a stay-at-home mom these days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On-line business owners, tutors, aerobics instructors, seamstresses, and waitresses, all fighting for the survival of their families in a time filled with slim profits, coupons, and dwindling bank accounts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then, I began to think of all of the success stories that have happened in the face of adversity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They surround me every day. The small victories of purchasing back to school clothes for the kids, or simply keeping the bills paid for another month, small victories that keep families clean, fed, safe, and together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the storms of life are swirling around us and fighting for survival is the only goal, it’s difficult to stop working long enough to look around and appreciate all that hard work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I would like to take this opportunity to applaud my fellow moonlighting stay-at-home moms for their perseverance in holding life together while life seems to tear itself apart at every opportunity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even as I’m writing this, I’m waiting for water to boil on the stove for supper, kicking a soccer ball back and forth across the kitchen floor with my little boy, paused once to answer the business line, and now I’m looking around my normally clean house at paperwork piling up on table tops and the accumulating dust bunnies in the corners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, what’s a girl to do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When does a working stay-at-home mom get the 5 minutes necessary to sit down and congratulate herself on a job well done?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m declaring the time is now!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I challenge all of you amazingly strong women out there to celebrate in some small way today. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will be celebrating today with a new shade of lipstick and some stolen writing time on my front porch!</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We moms need to remember that we are worth being taken care of too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, while my contribution to the household may be more like bringing home the bacon bits, than bringing home the bacon, we’re happy to have those delicious salad toppings every night at supper time!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, be proud of your many job titles!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brag with pride about your list of official and unofficial job titles, and celebrate everyday with every success.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.fredericknewspost.com/sections/blogs/photos/small_stressed%20mom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qx="true" src="http://www.fredericknewspost.com/sections/blogs/photos/small_stressed%20mom.jpg" /></a></div>Elizabeth Michelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423638103712093921noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-720297810037177262.post-52712913350138394222010-09-17T12:36:00.000-04:002010-09-17T12:36:38.908-04:00A Muffin Too Far<div class="PadderBetweenControlandBody" style="margin: 0in 0in 6pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As my little boy walked through the kitchen with his new airplane embroidered backpack strapped to his shoulders over his <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Thomas the Tank Engine</i> jammies, his little face still sticky with this morning’s breakfast, all work on my manuscript came to a screeching halt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is one of the dangers and great joys of running the house, a construction company, and a budding writing career all from my small oak desk in the corner of my kitchen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Constant interruptions that I would not eliminate even if I could, crash through my thoughts mid-sentence of an intense scene I’m writing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, isn’t that the life of every woman, every mom, trying to hold the loose ends of life together before they unravel and leave us with a heap of tangled threads at our feet?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="PadderBetweenControlandBody" style="margin: 0in 0in 6pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Mommy, I’m going to school,” my little boy beamed holding out his airplane lunch bag, not understanding that he doesn’t start preschool for another week. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve spent the past two weeks obsessed with learning all that I can, not about daily life in the late 1700’s as would help in the writing of my historical romance manuscript, but the artistic creation of bento box lunches for preschoolers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my effort to keep the wheels on all of my works in process, writing and otherwise, I have once again gone overboard in my quest for perfection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Little peanut butter sandwiches cut into the shape of cars, tuna salad rolls made to look like mice, cheese in the shape of the three little pigs, all intricately carved and packed into the matching lunch bag with his name embroidered in the top. Which brings me to my question of the day: Will my need to be a great mom overshadow my son’s need to be a normal boy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In other words, will the elaborate school lunches I’m planning be a muffin too far?</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The great lunch debacle of 2010 has been the topic of conversation at my house this week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband, who for the purposes of this blog I will just call Mr. Alpha Male, thinks that I am going to get our little boy beat up at preschool with my over prepared lunches and matching airplane themed school accessories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think that I want my perfect little angel to have the best of everything, including his lunch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then again, does Mr. Alpha Male have a point? (Now, now ladies, don’t be dirty.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bunny sandwiches are not exactly manly, after all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And furthermore, would my current work in progress be finished by now if I spent more time with my mind in the late 1700’s and less of it on the perfect blueberry muffin recipe to put into the perfect airplane themed cupcake wrapper and into the perfect airplane lunch bag?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="PadderBetweenControlandBody" style="margin: 0in 0in 6pt;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash1/hs326.ash1/28484_113618208672953_112521902115917_127427_5933631_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" qx="true" src="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash1/hs326.ash1/28484_113618208672953_112521902115917_127427_5933631_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Elizabeth Michelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423638103712093921noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-720297810037177262.post-58753990474515233292010-08-29T00:53:00.000-04:002010-08-29T00:53:22.285-04:00Who I Am... Some of the first stories I ever created were with my Mom during early morning, long rides to school in South Carolina. Every patron of the road that we passed while in the car, had a name and a back story. Brillo Head waiting patiently at the bus stop, rain or shine, The Statue, standing vigil in his front yard in his old aluminum lawn chair, The Sweet family that began the day together every morning with their breakfast room windows thrown open to greet the day, they became my friends and in a sense the first characters I ever developed. <br />
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I have always had a wild imagination and occasional delusions of grandeur. I have used my creativity for the past 10 years in my work as an interior designer and owner of a construction company, but once I conjured up Abby, the heroine of my current work in progress, I knew she needed to live out her story on paper. Her extraordinary tale is the first in a 6 book series, Forever Charleston. With dresses that twirl and so much southern charm you’ll need a mint julep, this Historical Romance series is set in Charleston, South Carolina in the late 1700’s. <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><strong>A Matter of Time</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><br />
</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>A “Forever Charleston” Novel</strong></div><br />
Alexander Darby, second son to the Marquess of Rosewood, never expected to be forced to leave England. Now fighting for the survival of his family and his land in South Carolina, he finds himself faced with another unexpected turn, an intense curiosity about the mysterious household governess. As her identity begins to unravel so does his desire to send her safely away. Out of the turmoil of his life will he find love or yet another loss?<br />
Abigail M. Rhode was drawn to Charleston South Carolina for its charm and history when searching for a fresh start after college. Little did she know that she would get thrown into the history she idealized for its beauty. Now she has to find her way back to the life she knew while surviving under the guise of governess to a set of impetuous twin girls. Their guardian proves to be her greatest challenge in secret keeping and returning home. Will they find a love that transcends time?<br />
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I live in Charlotte, North Carolina with my husband and 2 year old son. I’m a member of Romance Writers of America and its local chapter, Carolina Romance Writers. When I’m not submerged in the lives of characters living in the late 1700’s, I’m acquiring building permits, ordering floor tile and chasing my little boy around the house. I hope you enjoy my blog about my daily life in pursuit of a life on the M shelf.Elizabeth Michelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10423638103712093921noreply@blogger.com0