Reading

Loaded with cough syrup and inhalers, I am off work until Monday.  As every breath wheezes,  I lost myself and discomfort in a good book. I started in the doctor's waiting room and just closed the back cover. I suspect it will stick with me for a long time.

Science

The science of Cosmos has entertained me all day as has an article about octopus brains and sentience.  There is so much more to this world than any of us realize. I find that comforting.

Travel

Friends arrived home safely from their travels whole others embarked on new adventures.

DNe got his dream job. This is very happy news. I'm thrilled for him. It involves travel, art and many opportunities.

Simple blessings

Today's good things aren't much different than yesterday's. I'd add oil of oregano and universal health care to my blessings.

And ginger ale. This cold would be more miserable without those things.

I've binged on Cosmos which taught me a lot about the universe while I recuperate. It's entertaining, beautiful and informative.

Warmth

Today I appreciate food, shelter, and warmth.

Flannel sheets fresh from the dryer, hot tea, warm blanket. An orange to chase away the vile taste of oil of oregano.

Cold paws warming on my lap. Warm breath against my cheek.

Strong walls refusing the icy reach of winter's claws.

Lemonade

Today's good things involved friends, hot tub in frigid weather, puppies playing in the yard and strange service at a local restaurant.  I made lemonade out of the lemony confusion. 

Good laughs. That's what today ended up being about despite a clunky start

Surprise

Two parcels arrived in today's mail. One was socks I ordered from Sock Dreams  primarily because a portion of the sale went to Planned Parenthood - fashion with a purpose.

The other package was from a friend. She's been putting things aside for some time and finally sent them. Three pairs of socks, a stack of family DVDs, notebooks, fudge and cookies. The contents were lovely but what truly made it special was the thought behind each item. People think of you more than you realize.

In writing news, I have rough outlines for the next three stories in the current series. The opening chapter is shaping up. This paragraph makes me happy.

So do socks. It's cold here.

Fantastic

I spent some time last night thinking about the next story in a possible series. Once I changed the heroine's name, the story started to click.

This morning, I brainstormed online with a writing pal. Ideas poured out of both of us. Not all of them were suitable for the current characters but fit two other heroes. Basically,  we figured out three storylines today.

Even better, I turned down a Toblerone bar. The only thing I like better than that is Dove dark chocolate and almonds or dark chocolate peanut M&Ms. The latter two are not available in Canada. That's a very good thing.

Life imitates art

In the search for my character's motivation,  I found my own.

In other news, I didn't default to my usual coping mechanism. All the chocolate I received in the mail yesterday remains untouched. Small victory.

Right on Target

My American friends tease me about my need to stop at Target on every visit. I am not petite. Target carries the perfect jeans for my shape and size. Aside from that, there are huge differences in the quantity of items, particularly in the food aisles, between American and Canadian stores.

A few weeks ago, the pup snagged a hole in my last pair of jeans that I'd stockpiled before Target closed its doors in Canada . I lamented that on Twitter. Target shared a link to international orders.

My new jeans arrived today. Yes, I paid more in duty and shipping than I would have by driving across the border. However, I wouldn't have stopped at just jeans so I figure I saved money doing it this way. I definitely bought considerably less dark chocolate than I usually do.

I'm pleased with myself, and Target's online presence. I'll definitely use it again.

I also made progress on my new story. I can't rest on my laurels while I wait to hear how yesterday's submission was received.

Stealth writer

One Good Thing returns

It's easy to get caught up in the big picture and fail to see all the little details that give the portrait life.

To that end, every day I'm going to post at least One Good Thing that happened in that 24 hour period.

My morning started with a few giggles as Finn and I chased each other around the house then wrestled on my bed. Afterward, Ky and I snuggled on the floor.

I submitted my novel. I think the rolling stomach was from good nerves.

I made mushroom soup from scratch.

The Toronto Maple Leafs won the outdoor Centennial Classic.

The air outside smelled fresh and clean

I watched Finn chase sunbeam through the house like a cat.

Amazing stuff happened in 2016

While the year was raw and full of loss for everyone I know - some lost several family members in the span of a month - there were wonderful aspects as well.

My Imaginary Friends from the Internet celebrated our 10th Anniversary. United by a love of books and two specific authors, we've formed a ragtag group of family. There's nothing any of us wouldn't do for another. We've celebrated births, homes, jobs, held each other through the loss of family as well as group members, supported each other through divorce and other painful breakups. We've traveled borders and oceans to be together in real time. Under the same roof.

This year a friend I hadn't seen in eight years visited four times with various members of her family. She gave me the gift of laughter, something that was in high demand this past year. His name is Finnegan and that pup loves life to its fullest. Last night he leapt and froliced, poked and pawed at Casey and Ky, tossed a ball in the air and slid across the snow on his nose, then his ear and finally his back.

I met an online friend in Real Life for the first time. We hunted for ghosts, discovered some beer tastes better than it smells and explored parts of Old Town that I had forgotten about in the last few years.

The Niagara Region is beautiful, wild and barely tamed. I've seen her draped in sheets of ice, beneath a carpet of cherry blossoms and huddled against escarpment to escape the sharp wind off the Great Lakes.  I've seen her through the eyes of old friends and new as well as my own from new angles.

This year I rediscovered my love of romance. Both as a reader and a writer. Despite the horror we've seen this year, I believe more than ever in the power of love. I have witnessed it at work in people of different faith, opposing views, hostile environments and in the midst of fear and hatred.

Love. It is what makes life worthwhile. It's the well from which we draw hope, find solace, and replenish faith in humanity.

May you find LOVE in 2017.  Seek it out, give it refuge, feed and nourish it. And keep some for yourself so that it may flourish.

Thank you for your patience

Apologies for the lack of fresh entertainment over here. I've had my head down, working on a new project. It was a challenge to see how fast I could write 60,000 words from concept to polish. I started August 8, first draft was completed on November 6. This week will see the end of the polishing.

It's good, IMHO. My critique partners haven't weighed in on the final product but the opening and outline received two thumbs up. It's a contemporary romance. I've been in desperate need of happy endings.

Give me a couple more weeks and I'll be back with the follow-up to Ally's story.

Birdhouses

Jesse's Birdhouse card

The old man painstakingly painted each wooden home with bright colors.  They were more than birdhouses - they were refuge from the harsh conditions of the modern world.  He decorated them with flowers, radiant blossoms, cheery suns - even butterflies so all would know they were happy homes. The neighbors gazed with pleasure at the bright little birdhouses. Set amongst purple petunias, aromatic geraniums and white verbena they were solid pops of color. They transformed the old tree stump from an eyesore into a work of art.

They were cabins for lost souls, pilfered souls - souls the old man caught in mason jars down at the cemetery.

Birdsong and soul screams sound remarkably alike he'd discovered one cold winter night.

Souls were lower maitenance.

Hands

Tiny fingers, soft and unblemished, grasped at life with a strength that belied their newness.

A young hand, clammy with nerves, slid the corsage on his prom date's wrist.

Scarred and calloused from daily labour, these hands were steady and sure as he slid the ring onto his bride's finger.

The young father's hands engulfed the newborn's body yet cradled it with care and tenderness.

Strong and patient, the man's hands adjusted his son's gloved grip on the hockey stick.

Wide and scarred fingers wrapped around his daughter's hand to place it squarely in the palm of her groom.

Older hands, still strong yet rougher, support his first grandchild.

Trembling and wrinkled, bent with age, the hands entwine with the arthritic fingers of his beloved as they celebrate their silver anniversary.

Puppy

The little hound pup's nose twitched.  So many interesting scents, he didn't know which to follow first. He hung back by his human's heels as she opened the gate, then shot through before she could shut it in his face.

His nose led him across the street and around the corner, hot on the trail of two Yorkies, a Maltese, a squirrel - no! three squirrels!  He raced up the street as fast as his little paws would take him. Past the house with the Yorkies, past the yard where a big dog woofed from behind his own fence, and even past the bush that every dog for two miles marked. He raced up to the next corner, his nose promising him squirrel, french fries from the pub and some type of bird.

A loud clang as something lunged towards him. It smelled of steel and grease and angry human. It lunged again, this time clipping his ear.

He peed himself in fright, wheeled around on his back paws and headed straight for home.  His speed easily tripled what it had been on the trail of the squirrel.

Up ahead, his human kneeled on the grass, her arms outstretched as she called his name.

He skidded to a stop in front of her, his body shaking with terror. No clanging steel teeth behind him but it had been a slow beast.

The pup leapt into his human's arms and let her carry him home. She smelled of disappointment, fear and concern. But also of love.  He burrowed his nose in the nape of her neck, rooted through her ponytail so that all he smelled was her.

Terror faded. The scent of squirrel and other dogs lingered, less demanding now. Love filled his quivering body, calmed him.  As long as she held him, he was safe. Content.

Mason jars

No one noticed the mason jars hanging around the cemetery. If they had, most people would have assumed they were lanterns or even citronella jars to keep away mosquitoes.  Every night, Jase checked his traps then transferred the confused souls from the graveyard.  Each morning they awoke, jammed into the birdhouses with nine or ten other dazed souls, tethered by string to the perches inside.  Their plaintive wails fill the neighbourhood with the sweet song of imprisonment.

Home

The stairs of the great wide white porch of the grand old hotel beckoned me forward.  Renowned world wide for its excellent service and Grecian Revival architecture as much as for its ghosts, the hotel had been my home for more years than I cared to remember.

I strode through the lobby, nodded to Gertrude whose wooden needles clacked as she knit by the fireplace.  She began and ended her day there, working on endless garments for grandchildren none of us ever met.

Joe poured lemon oil onto a soft cloth to work it into the banister at the base of the stairs. I tipped my hat towards him then climbed to the first landing, his cheerful whistle tugging a smile from my usual scowl.

I peered out the window.  Violet raced across the back lawn to her position beneath the aspen that stood tall at the gate to the garden.  I waited and watched.  Less than a minute later, Jack followed at a discreet distance to stroll away from the hotel towards the stables where he rarely toiled.  I erased my smile, the couple fooled no one, and rearranged my face into its customary look of impatience.

Joe winked at me.  As the clock began its customary spellbinding charm, we froze in our positions and waited.

A flash from the digital camera in the in the lobby caught Joe in its flare. His smile beamed bright as a ray from the dying sun then he disappeared - released from his penance as tourist attraction.

Chameleon

I am a chameleon.

Ever since I can remember, I had the ability to blend in with any group.  The bigger the crowd, the better my assimilation.  It's not a conscious act on my part. It is as natural as breathing and as difficult to control. I can hold it at bay for brief moments but eventually my natural tendency kicks in and I become part of the landscape.

Gestures, accents, gender, ethnicity, even skin colour - none of those matter. I mimic them as easy as you breathe.

Whether it's a gang of ginger-haired terrors one minute or tea-drinking grannies sharing knitting patterns the next, I have one of those faces. It's familiar to everyone. Often because it's most like the one that looks back at you from a mirror every morning.

I am whoever is around me. Sitting at home, alone, I am barely myself. Music, books, decor are all from the people I have been over the years. I look in the mirror and see no one. Just a blank face waiting for colour and expression.  I do not know my right from your wrong. I am no one and everyone.

I do my best to be around good people. Caring people full of kindness, empathy and compassion. I have been on both sides of most debates. Been bullied, beaten and spat upon because of my gender, colour of skin or clothing. Being a chameleon means I know fear, hatred and violence.  I try to choose the side of love but that often results in more beatings.

I have hidden in my room, away from all the different skins, but that was as lonely as blending in the crowd. Self-loathing is more destructive than external hate.

Tonight, I will shake off the oppressive mantle of self-doubt and join the biggest party of revelers I can find. People who know how to have fun in the face of opposition, pride in who they are, and dance regardless of who is watching.  Tonight I will be a gay Latino and love life.

Box of promises

A well-dressed man ran into me with a box of promises. The rose inlaid box hit my hip then crashed to the wet pavement.  The lid popped open.  Some promises spilled out and broke against the harsh cement.

The promises weren't meant for me.

I still have the scar on my hip