That Was Supposed to be Easy or Naked in the Kitchen

Have you ever noticed how often something that's supposed to be easy, turns out to be hard?

I had a lot to do Friday. Pay bills, get new tags for our cars, buy groceries, do laundry, and get some words out of the too-long manuscript. I accomplished the first three in a reasonable amount of time. Since I'm a multi-tasker, the laundry was moving along all right too. I put in some steaks to marinade so we could have an easy dinner. Then I was going to take five minutes and whip up some pimento cheese so I could dedicate the rest of my day to THE WORDS.

The Guy loves pimento cheese. You'd think he was born southern and had been fed off bridal tea and baby shower tables since birth. Not so. He came to me thinking that the Kraft pimento cheese spread that comes in those little juice glasses is the real deal. I disabused him of that notion and he's been on the pimento cheese train ever since. Precious—of book club and beach trip fame—makes the best on the planet and she has coached me into being able to create a pretty fair facsimile.

I was all ready. I had the food processor out, plus my pepper jack and sharp cheddar (equal parts), light and full fat Hellman's mayonnaise (equal parts to desired consistency), and the sacred jar of chopped pimentos. Now let me say, I don't know what Precious does, but I buy the big jar. If I'm going to make pimento cheese, I don't fool around. If you aren't going to put enough pimento in it, you might as well buy that Kraft stuff. You won't have anything fit to eat, but you would at least end up with a tacky juice glass.

It would be appropriate at this point to tell you that I did not put on an apron. "Who," you may ask, "wears aprons in this day in age?" Well, me. I am messy and the people in my life understand that. Thanks to their generosity, I always have a decent stack of cute aprons, clean, folded, and ready to go. Usually, I have the sense to put one on, but how much trouble could I get into in the time it takes to make pimento cheese?

And, indeed, it was going okay. I grated the cheese and put it in the mixing bowl. I put the processor and blades in the dishwasher without spilling cheese or my blood. The mayo was ready.

Then…I reached for the pimento and the tea towel I would need to give me purchase to remove the sealed top. The top never came off. Apparently, the jar was cracked because it came apart in my hands. Turns out, chopped pimento is a little like glitter, in that the second you turn it loose, it's everywhere. On the counter, on the white cabinets, on the floor, and—most of all--on me. I was wearing what I consider to be one of my midlevel ensembles—orange linen pants, a nice white t-shirt, and orange flip-flops—you know the kind of thing you'd wear to the courthouse and Publix, but not out to dinner.

My friends, if there was ever in doubt, let me assure you, orange and red do not look good together. It didn't do a lot for my favorite white t-shirt either. If only there had been a pimento parade, I could have gone as a big pimento monster. Since there was no such function to attend, I clearly had to shed my clothes. When I moved, I squished. I'd never had pimento juice in my bra before. When I took a step, pimento went flying. I had just deep cleaned my kitchen a few weeks back and this was doing nothing to maintain anyone's definition of pristine.

I stripped right there by the sink. Then I balled up my clothes and tiptoed to the laundry room. In retrospect, I don't know why I thought tiptoeing would keep the house painters next door from seeing me. I don't think they did but I didn't give it too much thought. I was having enough trouble. I put on a shirt covered in spots from the pre-treat solution that was necessary because of another time I didn't wear an apron.

Eventually, I got everything cleaned up. Since I'd bought two jars of pimentos, I even ended up with pimento cheese. But, counting the phone calls I had to make to illicit sympathy from The Guy and Oldest Friend, it took me two hours. Plotter is lucky she was at school or I would have called her too.

The upside was, by the time I got to the WIP, cutting words was a cinch.

What have you incorrectly expected to be easy?

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The winner from Friday's contest is Sherry. No, our hero's name is not Dane; it's Luke. But both names are one syllable and start with a consonant. We admit, it wasn't the best idea for a contest so we had to readjust. That's probably going to happen again.

Sherry, you've got a prize coming.

What Are You Reading?

We are reading our work in progress.

Tell us what you're reading and the hero's name. If it's the same as out hero's, you'll get a prize!

Following the Rules

Yestereday I had a discussion with some teachers about following the rules. As many of you know, I am rule follower. Just give me a rule and get out of my way. I will follow the rules or die trying. It turns out that in much of America today, that makes me very special. Everyone seems to think they are special and that the rules don’t apply to them. Or as the Writing Playground’s Problem Child expresses it, “Everyone thinks they are a special snowflake.”

I was telling a story from my childhood yesterday about why I hate pears, when it was pointed out to me that I have always been a rule follower. It happened in kindergarten. Kim, a girl at my table, ate a pear every day for snack. I didn’t like pears but, hey, she didn’t try to make me eat it. Then one day they made us take our snack outside to eat. Now I was already unhappy about that. I am not a fan of dirt, bugs, or outside air but at five years old they don’t really let you be in charge. So there we were outside--Kim, me, AND her pear. I am not much of an athlete and I am very clumsy, so when Kim began to chase me with her pear it was just a few seconds until she had me on the ground grinding that half-eaten pear into my face. Since I am also not much of a fighter, I just had to lie there and take it until an adult pulled her off of me. I am, however, an excellent getter-evener. There was not a rule at my kindergarten that said you could not put crayons down the toilet. It also turns out that if you are only five, and during nap time you say you need to go to the bathroom, no one frisks you to make sure that you don’t have Kim’s 64 box of crayons with built in sharpener stuffed into your shorts. I NEEDED to get even with that Pear Welding Girl! After that day, there was a rule posted in my kindergarten's restroom that the staff referred to as the “Stephanie Rule.” It stated, “Do not put crayons down the toilet.” Oh, I got into some trouble for stealing her crayons. I had to apologize and replace them, but they weren’t able to make the crayons in the toilet charge stick due to the fact that there wasn’t a rule against it. It's hard to enforce a rule that doesn't yet exist. When I finished the story Barefoot Babe said, “You have always been you - having to follow the rules, even at five.”

It’s true. I always want to follow the rules. Good girls who follow the rules are supposed to be successes, who are rewarded. Bad girls who break the rules are supposed to be failures, who suffer. As an adult, I realize that isn’t always the case. Often, we see rule breakers rewarded with success, money, or fame. Sometimes one needs to break the rules in order to be true to oneself.

Have you ever broken a rule and had it turn out well?

Tales From the Beach Part 2: Stuck In The Sand

We had all piled into Dr. Great Smile's SUV and were about to embark on an evening of frivolity, liquid refreshment, and seafood. We were not about to be stopped by the fact that Picky Sticky's sister's car had us blocked in. "You can get around it," Oldest friend advised Dr. Great Smile and that's just what she attempted to do.

It went bad. Turns out sand will suck you in before you know it.

Before the rest of us had even accepted what had happened, Godson's Mom leapt from the vehicle, found shingles, and shoved them under the tires. Godson's Mom's previous stuck experience had been with mud and her method would have worked under those circumstances. It's okay. What she lacked in knowledge of the finer points of the situation, she more than made up for with enthusiasm.

Then Precious's phone rang. Mr. Precious was on the other end. After hearing of our predicament, he insisted on getting on the phone with Dr. Great Smile. He'd seen a video on how to get out of such scrapes and knew just what to do. That might also have worked if we'd had a shovel.

By now we had exited the car. It was interesting to observe who went into action to solve the problem and who stood back, hands in the air, muttering, "I've got no idea." (I fell into the second group.) Dancing Queen wanted to call Triple A but some were afraid that might take too long and cut into our fun. I can see both sides.

Three of the more athletically inclined in our group decided they should push. Two were wearing pink shirts, one black. Dr. Great Smile stuck her head out the window and said, "Y'all need to move around so you're standing pink, black, pink. It's bothering me." It didn't help.

Finally, we faced that someone was going to have to go next door and ask men for help. We sent Precious and Cutest Girl Alive. (If you saw them, you'd understand why.) Cutest Girl Alive smiled and Precious said, "We're stuck in the saa-and!"

They brought a shovel. After telling us that we, "Clean up real good," they put Ms. Classy behind the wheel (since she weighs the least), dug around the tires, and we were out.

We all get stuck in our writing or in life. What do you do when you get stuck? Go into action and try to fix it by trial and error? Analyze the situation? Throw up your hands? Call in reinforcements?

Lessons from the Dunking Booth

As many of you know, this past Saturday, I was in a dunking booth for my school's Spring Fling. As I sat in the dunking booth, I learned a couple of lessons about life.

The first lesson was that often it takes someone with some experience to help you get started. I had never been in a dunking booth before but my wonderful principal, being an old hand, was able to give me some advice and a helping hand. I couldn’t even get into the booth until someone got chairs for outside and inside the booth. Without that, I might have eventually made it into the booth, but it much faster and more effective with some assistance. This reminded me of the assistance and advice more experienced writers have given to Pantster and me. Without our more experienced friends, we might be moving forward but our journey would be slower and less effective.

The second lesson from the dunking booth was that you never know when the bottom is going to fall out. One of the first kids to pitch at me was a fifth grader who is quite the athlete. I just KNEW he was going to drop me into the water. I held my nose and braced myself for the dunking I was sure I'd get. He missed all three pitches. Then a couple of kids later, this cute little second grader stepped up. I was chatting with someone (yeah, I know that is a surprise!), not really paying attention. This was a BIG mistake. I wasn’t holding my nose and my mouth was open; down I went into the yucky water. Turns out the second grade, Cutie-Pie, is an All Star softball pitcher. Who knew? I can also relate this to our writing experience. Sometimes Pantster and I are sure we are on the right track. Maybe we have had a successful pitch and the editor has requested a full submission, or maybe we're just excited about sending a query to an agent who seems like a really good match. Then the rejection hits the bottom falls out. I feel as if I am floundering around, sucking the nasty water of judgment into my nose and mouth—just drowning in the misery of it all for a bit, before surfacing to shake the water off and start all over again.

How about you? Do your friends help you with the journey of life? Are there times when you feel as if the bottom has dropped out of your world, but you learn something valuable from the experience?

Tales From the Beach Part 1: Women With a Theme

Top: Sam's Mom, Dr. Great Smile, Oldest Friend, Pantster, Godson's Mom
Bottom: Picky Sticky, Ms. Classy, Precious, Cutest Girl Alive, and Dancing Queen




I just returned from the beach, where I spent a long weekend with nine other women. There was no drama, no backstabbing, and no man bashing. I love The Guy and I hate it when women get together and start man bashing. I avoid that situation and the women who do it. Understand that man bashing is very different from a woman expressing frustration with her man. That's allowed. It even saves relationships. What I hate is the "All Men Are Atrocious" rants.

Anyway, we had a wonderful four bedroom on a private beach. I've known these women for a long time and every one of them enriches my life. Everyone lamented that Plotter, Heartbreaker-Soul-Shaker, and Art Girl couldn't go but we had a good time anyway.

At one point I went into the bedroom I was sharing with Oldest Friend, Precious, and Godson's Mom. I caught sight of some items on my bed: A feather boa from Precious and an insulted "Oil Slick Chicks" mug that Sam's Mom and Picky Sticky had custom made. Do I even have to tell you everyone got these items? In addition, Precious had gifted me with a glow in the dark magic wand. I scooped up these items and went into the living room where Dr. Great Smile, Precious, Cutest Girl Alive, and Dancing Queen were drinking and contemplating the universe.

I tossed the treasures on the canoe and glass coffee table and said, "We've become those women we said we'd never be."

"What women?" Dr. Great Smile asked. (She always needs the whole story.)

"Women with a theme." I didn't have to explain myself further since these women speak Pantster, but you know the ones I mean—they have matching t-shirts, visors, and—God help me—feather boas.

"We are not women with a theme," Precious said. She swung her foot and flipped the page of her InStyle magazine in that precious way of hers. "We are women with random sh*t. However, random sh*t is the path to a theme."

If I must become a woman with a theme, I want it to be with these women—plus Plotter, Heartbreaker-Soul-Shaker, and Art Girl, of course.

Do you have women you'd be willing to be themed with? Tell me about them.

Reading List

We hope you have had a good week and that it has included some romance.

This week we are reading:



Pantster is reading The Best Man in Texas by Tanya Michaels.




Plotter is reading Dark Legend by Christine Feehan and
Learning to Talk Sheep by Christopher Perry and C. Wayne Perry.

We would love to hear about what you are reading this week.
So what are you reading?