Motivation at Work

In the past few months, I've been re-organizing my life, from my house down to what makes me tick.  Not always recommended because of the time and energy it takes to organize stuff until what you own is the way you want it, but often needed to get you back on track.

In the process of this, I got to thinking...  What is it that makes me want to fluff my nest?  It's only the end of February.  Am I only trying to be on task with my New Year's goals?  (Must revisit list to see if that's the case.)  Has the unusual warm weather we've been having this winter boosted my desire to spring clean?  (If so, I'm ahead of the game.)

Whatever it is, LTC is very happy with the way things are coming.  One person's vision of organized isn't quite the same as somebody else's.  LTC likes everything in its place.  That was ingrained into him at West Point.  I didn't go there, so of course I'm content with stacks of paper.  The downside, now that everything is neatly arranged is, I need a treasure map to find what I need.  (Perhaps I can convince Captain Jack to navigate these waters.  I'm sure he'd oblige...)

But I digress... 

What organizing and reconnecting with little things has done for me lately is jump start my muse.  The poor dear has been sour and unruly lately, unafraid to bog me down in muck and then refuse to throw me a buoy.  (The grog must not be strong enough because she's been hurtling nasty asides, shouting, "Fester and drown, ye sabberous wastrel!")

So epiphanies are great things meant to pull you in out of the depths.  Here are some things I've learned lately.  (They're all good and common sense related, but oftentimes forgotten in the mundane.)

1. Clean doesn't always mean it's easier to find what you need.

2. Ridding the clutter does make the office look bigger.

3. Hanging a portrait of someone who's inspired you is a really GOOD thing.  (Throwing kisses at my muse!)

4. Surrounding yourself with positive quotes douses the embers of negativity.

5. It is possible to muffle a choir.

What are things you do to circumnavigate when you've veered off the charts? 

(I recently read Caitlin Crews' book, Princess From the Past.  The writing is phenomenal!)

Secret Baby with a Twist

Fantastic Cover!

Strangers in the Desert is the title of the latest bestseller by the Fabulous Lynn Raye Harris. As many, many people know, my least favorite plot for a romance book is the "secret baby." There may be those of you who also know that I am a BIG fan of a sheikh book. I read a Barbara Cartland sheikh book early on in my romance reading days, and quite honestly never recovered from it. There's just something exciting about that rugged man on horseback carrying the heroine deep into the desert to fulfill her wildest desires. But I digress.

My love of a sheikh battled with my dislike of a secret baby, but when I read the review of this new book I knew that I had to read it as soon as possible. It did not disappoint! Sheikh Adan is everything I want in a hero--arrogant, rugged, and oh so sexy. I also really liked that he admitted to being very confused emotionally at times and that he loved his son so much. 

The Fabulous
Lynn Raye Harris

Isabella, our heroine, had followed all the rules and been a good girl, but what that got her was heartache. In fact, she was so heart broken that she seems to have blocked some pretty important things from her memory.



I won't go into all the details so that your reading of this fantastic book won't be spoiled, but I will tell you that it is very, very deserving of the 4.5 stars and Top Pick status from Romantic Times. The book strikes just the right note of hot steamy desert nights filled with sexy encounters, while balancing the emotional struggles the couple is going through as they come to terms with a
difficult reality.
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One VERY lucky commenter will win a copy of Strangers in the Desert! I will anounce the winner tomorrow on the blog. Good luck!



Have you read Strangers in the Desert?
If so what was your favorite part?
If not, do you have a favorite sheihk story?

Organically Speaking

I grew up organic. Tomatoes, peaches, greens, watermelons, even peanuts were grown right there in the dirt for me to see, help tend and ultimately eat. I don’t say enjoy because frankly as a 10 year old I didn’t think there was much to enjoy about shelling peas, but I did eat them. Digging up potatoes and carrots was fun. Peanuts growing underground fascinated me. But pleasure was not a word I would attach to growing a garden. That is, until I bit into a juicy ripe organic tomato grown with love and eaten right there in the garden row. My Papaw or Uncle M would pour salt on the tomatoes from a shaker they retrieved from their overalls pocket and we’d pop them right into our mouths and enjoy their warm sun drenched flavor on the spot. Yum! That was a pure delight. But not shelling peas. Ewe. Not fun.

After fast-food was introduced into my life I got away from eating homegrown goodies. The fast pace of life took over and stores provided everything I could need to feed me and mine, right?

A few years back, a friend of mine wrangled me into going organic again. I wasn’t exactly the most willing participant due to the difference in the price. (I’m cheap. I admit it.) But I tried it out and got the surprise of my life. Over and over again I found myself comparing organic produce to non-organic. And I found that over and over again, when a organic and a non-organic tomato is put side by side and tasted, you can experience firsthand that organic has flavor and non-organic is merely substance. It didn’t take long for me to be hooked on organic. It tastes better and it satisfies. Besides that, I don’t eat as much either. And that’s always a good thing. (Milk proves an interesting taste test too, fyi.)

So why am I going on and on about organic? Because its February, of course! And you know how I have that inner planner going on inside my head. Right now it’s screaming…..”Lesia! February’s almost over and you haven’t planted! Get on it girly!” And so I venture online to look up seed packets and consider ordering them (again) to plant in little cups while I wait for the earth to warm up to its growing season. I consider the flavors they’ll generate and the yummy dishes I can prepare with them. Mmm….delicious! But under it all lurks the memory of shelling peas and freaking out at cold bursts and bugs and such. And the price tag at the organic market becomes clearer. The grocery bill doesn’t seem so out of bounds any more.

Of course, the cattle grazed in fields free of chemicals back then, too. And I can’t imagine Uncle M ever giving them hormones. I’m not compelled to raise cattle for food (though you know how I love the cows that belong to my across-the-river-neighbor). But this growing a garden idea haunts me every year. And here I sit, perusing the seed possibilities and considering yet again how to get a garden going, even after being removed from farm life so long that I’ve forgotten everything except the agony of shelling peas.

Plant or buy? Which should I do? Which will I do? Am I blowing it all out of proportion? Maybe I should start with just one plant, right? Ok. There’s snakes out there too. See. Now I’m being irrational. Will they come into my garden? Will the deer eat my tomatoes? And the badger…what havoc will he wreak? Maybe I should just grow potted herbs inside the house. I could start with Basil. I love Basil! Or Perhaps I could plant a few tomatoes in pots? But then, what of the squash and cucumbers? What to do? What to do? Would you plant or go to the market?

Cry Me A River But Don't Expect a Kleenex Out of Me

I know this is Thursday, Stephanie's day, but we swapped for reasons that are pretty boring. Check in Monday for her review of "Strangers in the Desert" by Lynn Raye Harris.

Apparently I have been committing a major hostess faux pas for—well, always.

I don't buy Kleenex. I didn't realize what a bad thing this was until I heard my mother-in-law say to someone, "Oh, she never has Kleenex."

Well. Okay. It's not that I would mind buying Kleenex. I just don't think about them. I use a handkerchief. I have all kinds—cotton, linen, new, vintage, fancy, plain, with lace, without. I have cheap printed ones that my grandmother bought at the dime store fifty years ago and two brand new beautiful embroidered ones given to me by Precious this past Christmas.

I have one that I didn't wash for a year because I had cried into it with a grief so profound that I did not think mere soap and water could possibly clean it. But one day I said, "Jean! Get grip! You paid a fortune for that in Ireland. Get the eye makeup out it—if that's even possible at this point." The wonders of Tide and a little hand washing. There it was, ready for the next round of tears. Or nose blowing and sneezing. And why not? That's what a handkerchief is for, no matter where it came from.

I guess The Guy has been using toilet paper all these years. (You will be very relieved to know that I do buy toilet paper.) I haven't heard him say, but I haven't seen him wipe his nose on his sleeve either. He's polite that way. He has handkerchiefs too, but he mostly uses them when he dresses up. He doesn't think much about handkerchiefs, I guess.

Come to think of it, neither did I, until lately.

So for all of you who have come to my house and needed a Kleenex, I apologize from the depths of my soul. I will endeavor to correct this problem. But I will tell you this: You are going to have to go to the bathroom to fetch one. Or the guest room. I am not setting Kleenex boxes all over my kitchen counters and living room.

That's the best I can do for you.

Have you ever discovered that you have been overlooking something for years?

Blogger's Block

Blogger’s block – a new phrase I have coined to express the running out of ideas to blog about. It’s not easy to come up with new ideas every week. Well, I can come up with ideas but I daresay you wouldn’t keep coming back to read because they are BORING. Does that mean I am boring? Or does it just mean that I can’t always share everything with my readers? The really interesting stuff could get me into trouble or sued. So, here I sit, wondering what to do before Jean gets me for not posting (she always has something interesting to write about – sigh).

I thought about blogging on my recent trip to the beach, New Orleans, and the casinos in Biloxi. Who wants to hear about shopping and losing money? That’s no fun. Okay so it was fun but just not vicariously. Then I started to blog about my recent ghost hunting adventure with twenty other people in Huntsville at the Veteran’s Museum. Done that already about ghost hunting. Oh, did I tell you guys that I bought all the equipment and I even caught an EVP in my house from my little ghost? (I ask him about taking my earrings – he said “No More, no more.” Scary.). Such excitement! Not. How about the animals? There’s always an interesting… No wait, only a horse fool (like me) would find something interesting about the boys and the horses. How about my new interest in doing self-discovery? That’s just it: SELF-DISCOVERY. There is only so much psychological babble that readers can take. Did I tell you about Castaneda? No? Interesting hippy from the sixties. But that’s also boring unless you’re into self-discovery without the peyote. How about a blog about blogging? Did you know that the term "weblog" was coined by Jorn Barger on December 17, 1997 and that the short form, "blog," was used by Peter Merholz who jokingly broke the word weblog into the phrase "we blog" in the sidebar of his blog Peterme.com in April or May 1999? (Thanks Wikipedia). Now there are even blogs about blogs. It has definitely become a phenomena. But then, that would be boring too, wouldn’t it? Free association thinking doesn't always work now does it? What to do, what to do.

So after sitting here for hours trying to think of something, anything, I decided to let you, the readers, tell me some subjects for the future. Tell me things you are interested in learning about or things you want to hear discussed or even things that just tick you off (I like those – people can relate to being irritated). I have a feeling this won’t get many responses but, drum roll please, if you respond with at least one idea, you are entered in the chance to win Kimberly Lang’s “The Power and the Glory” and Kira Sinclair’s “Bring it On.” Perfect incentive for comments. The winner will be announced tomorrow (if I get any comments). HELP ME (cue the spider web…)

Downton Abbey Withdrawals

If you've been living under a rock, you might not have heard about Downton Abbey, the BBC Masterpiece Theatre Series that just ended its 2nd season run on Sunday nights.  If you're one of the many who've fallen in love with Julian Fellows' masterpiece series, you understand that I'm already in the throws of withdrawals now that Season 2 has come to an end.  Talk about brilliant writing!

Downton Abbey reintroduced millions to the theatrical genius of English television.  The set, filmed mostly at Highclere Castle, Hampshire (owned by The Earl and Countess of Carnarvon) and Ealing Studios in West London, showcases the architectural magnificence of a bygone era.  Scenes from Downton Abbey are filmed in front of the castle and on the 2nd floors.  Scenes for Highclere Castle's kitchens, according to the Behind the Scenes snippet shown Sunday night, which no longer resembles the historical kitchen of the early 1900's, are filmed at Ealy Studios.

The cast is phenomenal!  Headed by Dame Maggie Smith, (Yes! Professor Minerva McGonagall herself) cast as Violet Crawley, the Dowager Countess of Grantham, Downton's moral fiber appears above board.  She says the darndest things.

Click here to see a YouTube video of Downton Abbey: Top 10 Maggie Moments.

What happens when old meets new?  Find out here When A Dowager Countess Texts.

However, things are not as they appear.  Her son, The Right Honourable Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham (Hugh Bonneville) has wed an American Heiress, The Right Honourable Cora Crawley, Countess of Grantham (American actress, Elizabeth McGovern) in order to keep Downton Abbey afloat.  Their 3 daughters, Lady Mary (Michelle Dockery), Lady Edith (Laura Carmichael), and Lady Sybil (Jessica Brown Findlay) face an uncertain future when the Earl's heir dies aboard the Titanic.  With 3 daughters and no sons, The Earl has no one left to inherit his estate, except... last living male relative, cousin Matthew Crawley (Dan Stevens).  A lawyer by trade, (Say it isn't so!), Matthew and his mother, Isobel Crawley (Penelope Wilton) face ridicule and oftentimes comical attempts by the Dowager Countess to have him wed Lady Mary. 

But alas!  There is the scandal that is Pamuck!

Add in a butler, housekeeper, valet, servants and the cook and you've got mayhem of every order, tested by historical events and the encompassing theme that Downton Abbey must survive whatever befalls before and during WWI and Spanish Influenza.

If the characters and costumes don't win you over (they will!), watch it for the writing. Fellows uses masterful dialogue to engage his audience. When every episode is done, I sit in awe of his talent.

Twitter is alive with Downton Abbey fans. Using the hashtag #DowntonAbbey or #DowntonPBS, you can catch up on what Downton fans had to say Sunday night.

Both Seasons 1 & 2 can be found on amazon. I've already got Season 1 and just ordered Season 2. (Yea-us!!!)  And if you're bored waiting for Season 3, you can play with these Downton Abbey paperdolls.

Are you a Downton Abbey fan? Who is your favorite character? And who do you think killed Mrs. Bates?

Magical Mystery Tour

I am going on a Magical Mystery Tour. In fact, at this reading, I will have already been, but at the writing, I have not. And I will tell you about it in the last part of the blog. Maybe there will be pictures. I don't know since it's such a big mystery. I named it myself, though I didn't think up the tour. That was all Dr. Great Smile's doing. A couple of months ago, she said to us—us being an eclectic bunch who have survived many things together—"If I plan a little outing for us, will y'all trust me and just go with it?"

"Yes!" I said. "Yes, yes, yes!" I think I was on my feet by then with my arms pumping in the air. She had told her husband, who is my eye doctor, that I would be the first to say yes and Picky Sticky would be the first to ask questions. And that's what happened.

This is what we know: (Mostly from Picky Sticky's questions.) We are meeting at Dr. Great Smile's office on Saturday afternoon at 3:30. We are departing at 3:45. We will return about 2 A.M. No one has to drive. We are to bring snacks, wine, and a hundred dollars. We will be inside 99 per cent of the time. There is no need for heavy clothes. We will want our purses to be small. We will want a camera.

Later.

***

Okay. It's Later.

I had never ridden in a limo before since I am not a movie star and Back In The Day, people did not go to the prom in limos. I, myself, was transported to the prom in a brand new Trans Am. I had daisies pinned to my shoulder and my shoes matched my dress. It was a different time.

Anyway. There's a lot to be said for a limo and an accommodating limo driver. He'll get you right in front for the Tivoli Theater in Chattanooga, Tennessee. He'll say, "You ladies are just fine in there. We'll sit right here until you are ready to get out or until they make us move." Then, he will proceed to stand in front of the limo door with his hands folded in front of him. He will go inside to see if there is a bar and report back. While you are in the theater hearing Jeanne Robertson be hilarious, he will go buy Cutest Girl the World some more Michelob Ultra. Then he will be there when you get out and he will put out a little red carpet for you. By the way, nobody made us move. I think they thought we were somebody.

I plan to do some more limo riding. It fit in very well with my view of how I like my life to go.

There is no way to describe how funny Jeannie Robertson is. I believe she is the funniest woman alive. At six feet, two inches tall, she enjoys the distinction of being the tallest Miss America contestant in history. The year was 1963. She has some stories to tell. If you will click on her name above you can go to YouTube and see "Don't Send a Man to the Grocery Store."

Since Jeannie was (and really is a beauty queen) Dr. Great Smile dictated that we all wear tiaras. Also, Dr. Great Smile was homecoming queen. Wearing tiaras was no imposition.

This is my pictorial diary of the evening. I wish I could show you a picture of the built-in champagne bucket, but I made a movie instead of a picture on accident. I know it sounds as though I liked the limo more than the show. I did not. But it was shiny and I am a magpie.

I do not have a picture of Jeanne. Taking pictures of a performer is just plain rude. But you can see her on her website.

Tom, the Limo Driver. Take note of the tall boots and the knees to his left.

The tall boots and the knees belong to Art Girl, who is also The Baby among us. She won best dressed for the night in her short skirt and tall boots. She looked sensational. We might have been mad at her for it, if she wasn't The Baby and we didn't love her so much.

Box seats inside the beautiful Trivoli Theater.

Surprise! The Guy was able to turn my movie of the built in Champagne bucket into a picture. Much like Jeanne Robertson's husband, The Guy cannot get out of the box or be expected to go to the grocery store without incident, but he's got skills--many, many skills.

Dancing Queen had the tallest tiara. She meant business. She knows she's royalty.

Inside the limo. I know. I'm Country come to Town. Or Country come to Limo, more like. What can I say? I went to the prom in a car with a decal of a giant bird on it.

Ms. Classy did a lot of research trying to figure out where she was going. She did not succeed. She became afraid she might be going to see the Chippendales. I told her that was not Dr. Great Smile's style.

After the show, standing on the stairs. Fun was had by us.

Would you embark on a surprise adventure that a friend had planned, or would you have to know the details?