By Succeeding . . . Not so Much

I have a sister-in-law that is a writer. She writes Christian Science Fiction, which is an incredibly difficult market to break into.

She recently self-published a book that meant a great deal to her and her belief system. The book, A Reason To Hope, can be purchased from her website http://www.almarquardt.com/ -- at least I think it can. If not, it is available at Amazon.com.

I read her book and I'll be honest and say I found it surprisingly interesting and hard to put down. I was surprised only in the fact that I am not a science fiction nor a Christian stories fan. I started reading it because I knew her and finished it because I had to know what happened.

She has a blog I belong to, http://almarquardt.com/blog/, where I can keep taps on what she is doing. You see, she is my lead dog (for lack of a better phrase). Years ago we both confessed an interest in writing to each other. We also started writing about the same time. But I became discouraged and quit. She completed a three-year online writing program and continued to write. She's participated in the book-in-a-month program every November, attended several conferences, talked to editors and writers, self-published a book, written several others . . . she's me if I was an energizer bunny. Well, and if someone was standing behind me with a whip and a chair to keep me on the straight and narrow . . . I tend to wander.

Anyway . . .

The point of this post is that every time I get a notice she has put up a new post on her blog I have to go read it. One thing I notice over and over is that she has really deep thoughts. She "thinks" about things. It makes me feel like I'm not paying enough attention to life.

For instance:

A quote she just posted on her blog is shown below:

Karen Kingsbury described how someone watched
a butterfly struggle out of its cocoon.
The person felt sorry for the butterfly,
and gently cut the opening larger.
The butterfly soon dropped down,
its body bloated and its wings small and wrinkled.

The butterfly lived only a few minutes.
The man then researched into butterflies
to determine what he did wrong.
Turns out the butterfly needed to
struggle through that tiny opening,
because it pushed life into the wings.

"Don't avoid struggle," she said.
"for it's in the struggle we learn how to fly."

This is the kind of stuff going through her head.

While I on the other hand, have had the following going through my head for weeks now. A direct quote from "Meet the Robinsons"

It is by failure that we learn.

By succeeding?
Not so much.

The Bitch and the Beans

So . . .

With the emergence of my true self, I have found something that has been missing for a while . . . my backbone.

Twice today, I behaved in a manner totally beyond what I thought I was capable of. At least, capable of any more.


THE BITCH

I was checking my emails and had this really NASTY email from a customer. She was irate because she paid $9 for an electronic pattern and I STILL HAD NOT SENT it to her.

I have a police of emailing out e-patterns within 24 hours of purchase; not including weekends. I assumed she had ordered yesterday after my orders were finished for the day. So I responded as politely as possible and told her that as much as possible I didn't fill orders on the weekends as those were saved for my family.

Is this an odd concept? Don't most people get some days off?

I also explained that if her order had arrived after I shipped off orders Friday morning they would have rolled over into the weekend bin.

Within five minutes I have two different emails from her. The first one reams me a new one. I should POST these restrictions online and FRIDAY MORNING should not be a weekend cut off. Oh, she said much worse. She turned me into ETSY for bad business practices. Blah, Blah, Blah.

And yep, before I got to her other email there was an email from ETSY saying a UNFAIR practices complaint had been filed against me. I had to fill it out and tell them what was going on.

Then I got back to her last email, and I will admit by this time I am not feeling nearly as nice. In this email, she tells me that her order was placed Thursday, SO THERE. "Not explain," she told me. "How I still didn't have my pattern?"

My response?

Because you're a bitch?

Yep, I really said it. Then I told her that I was going to refund her money and block her from purchasing anything else from my site.

When I went to Paypal to refund her money I could not find a transaction for the email she had given me. I finally did locate the transaction; at a different email than what she was using. I refunded the email.

When I went back to email her and let her know about it, there was a even WORSE email from her. She was turning me in for using fowl language and calling her names online to ETSY.

I responded and let her know that I had refunded her money. Which was sad, as her patterns had been emailed to the other address and were undoubtedly setting there waiting on her now. I told her to enjoy them as they would be the last of my pattern she ever saw.

A few minutes later I get another payment where she reordered and repayed for the pattern. She also sent me an email letting me know they had been sitting in her inbox for days and she refused to "steal" them by not paying for them. But it was still my fault.

THE BEANS

Steve decided on the spur of the moment we were going out to eat tonight. You have no idea how rare this is, so I jumped and we headed out. It was All-You-Can eat Catfish at the local BBQ place. We went in and order two all you can eats for Steve and I. Then I asked the lady, "What about my son?" and I pointed to Will.

She looked at him and shook her head confused.

"Can he just eat off our plates? Or, do you have a child's version?"

I was told that under no way could he eat off our plates and it would cost an extra $11 for him to have his own plate. This is such crap. At the most, Will would eat 1/2 a piece of fish, 5 or 6 fries, and two or three spoons of beans . . . $11? I don't think so.

So I look over their limited menu and order him a corn dog. It takes so long to pay and get our drinks that our food is on the counter waiting on us when we finish. But not Will's corn dog. I ask about it and the lady tells me they forgot to put it in; it will be 9 minutes.

Nine minute? I'm suppose to sit at a table and eat in front of my four year old, without sharing, for nine minutes? Hey, I'm already pissed at the BITCH, now this lady is working my last nerve.

We sit down and Will wants a bite. I try to give him a fry, no interest. I sneak him a bean on a fork and that is the jackpot. He wants beans. I feed him a few spoon fulls and then he wants his own beans. It's been about 6 or 7 minutes and I am just not comfortable eating without Will, so I decide to go buy him some beans.

I wait in line and finally get the same lady. I tell her I'd like a side of beans for my son please. She rings them up and it is $3.99. FOUR FRIGGING DOLLARS for a side of beans?

"You have got to be joking?" I tell her. "First I can't buy a discounted meal for my son. Then you forget to cook his corn dog. Then I have to wait NINE minutes while you do cook it and we're sitting at the table with food. And now you want to charge me $4 for a "side" of beans?"

She sort of shakes her head in that I've-done-to-many-drugs-in-my-life-and-have-no-idea-why-you-are-yelling-at-me gesture.

"Well," I ask the dumb druggie, "Can you cancel the corn dog then? It doesn't make much since to pay for a four dollar corn dog and a four dollar bowl of beans now does it?"

I think my eyes changed colors or my head begin to twirl because she got this panicked look on her face. Then she started hitting buttons on the register. Then she just gave me a bowl of beans and told me they were free.

A few minutes later she brought the corn dog to my table: and they don't deliver in this joint.

A few minutes later she brought an extra serving of fish and hush puppies to the table.

I swear she bowed a little as she backed away, never taking her eyes off me.

Wolf Cub entered in Contest

I don't want to repeat word-for-word what I posted on my WolfCub blog, so I'll be short and sweet.

I have entered a Romance Writers of America contest tonight with Wolf Cub. Read all about it at http://novel-wolfcub.blogspot.com/.

Don't go all "My Space" on me!

One of the fun things about having teenage children is that you are kept current on the latest phrases and expressions -- usually only used by teenagers.

When you hear them often enough, you find yourself using them. It would always amuse me to be at work and discussing something when these "phrases" would slip into the conversation. The look on middle-age conservative faces was priceless.

And having this small way to connect with my girls, this opportunity for them to "teach" me something was cool as well. It made me feel a little younger, a little more hip -- and believe me, I could use all the help I can get.

As my girls grew up and moved on, this part of my life slowly slipped away without me even being aware of it.

Yesterday, Will and I were at Sonic getting drinks and the weather was so gorgeous I rolled the windows down. A few teenagers were pushing each other and playing around when I hear one girl tell the other one, "Don't go all "my space" on me!"

It made me smile. First, because I could totally understand what she meant. Many times when the girls were first into My Space, it was a sounding board for them to rant and rave about the injustice of EVERYTHING. Second, because it brought back fond memories.

I can't wait to use it.

Sleeping with a Stranger

This is the second long-term relationship of my life. I was with the girl's father for 10 years. Steve and I have been together 13 years, married 12 of them in May.

One thing that I have noticed with long term relationships is that the person you are involved with continues to evolve. It's perfectly normal, but no one ever tells you when you are about to commit your life to a person that a few years down the road you'll be married to a virtual stranger. (Or, that you will be a stranger to them as well.)

There is no time limit on when or why a person adjust and changes; be it their personality, wants, or appearance. It's just part of life. But take my dear husband, Steve. When Steve met and committed to me he was getting a woman in her early 30s who liked to dance and party, who "needed" to make something of herself, dressed to impress, laughed way to loud, had just quit smoking, and thought she could do and be anything she wanted . . . she was also about 130 pounds soaking wet.

Thirteen years later and Steve is married to a woman who has stayed at home so long she actually has a fear of interacting with others. Doesn't like to go out in public. Works from home. Spends all her time with a 4-year old; which definitely affects your ability to carry on a conversation. Seldom wears makeup or dresses up. Wants to live in the country and raise animals and grow plants. And would squish a 130-pound woman flat should she have an occasion to fall on one.

This doesn't even begin to list or describe the changes we go through in our life. It's sort of like your children: if you spend every day with them you don't notice the change as much, but don't see them for a week or two and you hardly recognize them.

It's not just a matter of time that causes changes in people. It can be sickness, job loss, unhappiness, medication, dealing with death or illness of a loved one. There are no end to the things that impact and actually change who we are. And when we change who we are; we affect the others around us.

Something I've seen happen in both my long-term relationships is a change in interests or dislikes. I'll be at a get together and someone will go to give my husband some ???. I'll stick my hand up and stop them, "Sorry, ___ doesn't like ???" Then get the shock of my life when I hear, "Yes I do. I'D love some."

Food taste, taste in clothing, interest in sports, music choices, attention to personal appearance. It all changes and when it does, the other spouse is left going, "What the shit just happened?" It's always the non-changing spouse that is left in the dark, taken by surprise.

I've spent several years deeply depressed and sinking further and further into a state of despair. During that time, Steve had to step up and fill a lot of my responsibilities, make a lot of my decisions. I just didn't care. Then I finally got the help I needed and I spent the next year (off and on) on anti-depressants. Which mostly left me mellow but with no real desire to change the world or make decisions. But the longer I am off of my medication, and not depressed, the more "me" I can feel coming back to life.

I thought Steve would be happy to see me again. My sense of humor is coming back, my desire to conquer projects and make things happen. My love of a simple walk or playing in the back yard with Will. My intense disLIKE of watching TV. I"m me again; and I like me.

But it's not that simple. After years of living one way, without a change in flight plan or any notification, I have rewritten the guidelines for our relationship. Almost overnight. As a result we are going through some strife right now. Nothing bad.

Just the uncomfortable readjustment to realizing a stranger is sleeping in your bed.

Winter in Texas

Every year, I get photos from everyone that lives further north than Texas showing beautiful landscapes, frozen lakes, bundled children making snowman, etc. I enjoy seeing this side of life that I know little to nothing about, but it brings with it a sense that I am missing something.

I was gently swinging in my hammock in the back yard earlier this week, sipping an ice tea and enjoying the balmy 67 degree weather, while contemplating this "sense of missing". As I pushed off against the ground with my bare foot and enjoyed the gentle caress of the wind against legs that hadn't seen the light of day in months, I wondered if I was truly missing anything.

I looked up at the gently budding trees sheltering me from the blindingly blue sky, which was warmed by an uninstructed sun. I caught the movement of a squirrel on a tree branch, enjoyed the sounds of the dogs rolling in the grass, checked to see if I could catch a bird at the feeders we'd just refilled. I watched my son play on the trampoline, torture ants, and try to climb his rope swing. I appreciated the view of a blooming plant I'd not watered since fall.

That's when I decided that maybe it was time I sent all those Northerners a few photos of mine own. Consider them sent.

Carl Reproduces . . . Really!

Those of you that know Carl will be shocked to know he has actually joined the rest of us in poluting the gene pool. :)

Carl's son was taken a month premature and was still over 6 pounds. He seems to be doing well; better than both parents. Here are some photos of little Carl.