It's that 5%...

I've heard it said that it will be 5% of your clientele that takes up 95% of your time and energy, and after 15 years running a computer shop, I can tell youthat's true.

We have a wide customer base, a lot of customers have been coming here for years and have long since quit nickling and diming and shopping around.  They know that my prices aren't usually the lowest but they are reasonable, and the quality of our work and our customer service makes up for it.  These people come, we do the work, they pay, they go.  These people are not in the 5%.

Yesterday, I got a call.

"Hi, Cindy?  It's Eddie, remember me?"
"Um..."
"Eddie Benedict."  (Not his real name, obviously)
"I know the name....?"  I have already, by this time, looked for him in my Quickbooks customer list, which dates to 2004.  I do know his name, but he is not there.  So he hasn't been in for more than 5 years.
"Yeah, well, I used to buy, like, everything there." 
"Right.  So, can I help you?"
"I need a 160 Gb IDE laptop drive. 
"Those are in stock at $89.00."
"$89? Really?  Another place has them for $77.00."
"Mmmhmm?"  Meaning: So? Go there, if it matters to you.
"Oh, well.  Is there any charge to install it?"
"Yes, the technician will probably just ask for a $15.00 service fee."
(Laughs)   "$15.00 for a few minutes' work.  That's pretty good pay!"

I'm silent, because I really don't need this.  I have other things to do, I just want him to go away now.  We do say thank you, goodbye, but then HE SHOWS UP IN MY STORE.

Blonde co-worker meets him at the counter.  "Hello, may I help you?"
"Cindy knows what I want."
"Sorry, Cindy is busy with paperwork right now.  What do you need?"
I am busy with paperwork, a tax remittance that is nearly a week late.  It is not done because I keep getting interrupted.  He grudgingly tells her what he wants, and asks if the technician will install it, and is there a fee for that?

Now, I'm listening.

Co-worker says yes, there's a $15 service charge.  Eddie asks to talk to me.  We begin with polite greetings, and then he says, "Cindy, I don't understand why there's this charge.  I used to have things like this done here all the time.  You didn't charge me then.  It's a very small job to do."
"And it's a very small fee to ask."
He looks blank, so I decide to take a minute and help him understand where I'm coming from.
"Eddie, the industry has changed a lot.  You might have noticed there aren't so many stores any more?  Costs are up, and the profit margins are down, so we need to charge these fees now if we're going to continue to be here."
"Well," he says, "that has nothing to do with me."
Wow.  Nice.
He's upset now, because he really expected me to give in.  "Well, you've lost me.  You lost me when you started to insult me."
I looked at co-worker, and she shrugged.  "I don't remember saying anything insulting."
"Well, I could have gone somewhere else, but I came here out of loyalty to you." 
WTF?
"Eddie, we haven't seen you in quite a few years."
Huff, bluster.  "Well no, but I've been recommending you."
"Well, thanks."  Does he recommend me because I do good work, or because I do FREE work?  Let's watch and see....
"Well, that's done then.  I don't know what to say to you, Cindy."
"I don't know what to say to you either, Eddie."
"Goodbye."
"Goodbye."

And that, unfortunately, is the attitude of a lot of people in business these days.  There is little or no emphasis on loyalty or good working relationships with customers - UNLESS the customer wants to try and use it as a lever to get better prices or free service.  THEN, we find ourselves talking about loyalty.

DH and I discussed it at supper.  It's sad to say, when we built our business on service and antiquated notions like the Good Faith principle.  The fact is, return customer or no, these days we have to make sure we're getting paid for the job at hand, because even the repeat people often show up with a Dell they bought at Future Shop.  The notion of loyalty exists, but it is not a working system any more.

More thoughts on balance

I left the preschool this morning thinking Uncharitable Thoughts.  I try not to do that, but sometimes there they are.  I try to remember that I am so very blessed, but sometimes I know that and I don't care.  Just for a minute.

It's those women.  I see them all the time.  They know each other, and so they've dropped off their kids and they're standing in the parking lot talking about going to the movies or having lunch, and as I walk past them they smile politely and I smile politely and I hate them.  Just a little.  Just for a minute. 

And you know, it's not because they go to the movies, or out for lunch.  I don't care about those things.  It's because they have time to stand around and talk, and they can plan their own day to include the things they want to do.  It's a kind of freedom. 

So I'm driving down my street trying not to put my car in the ditch while I'm hooking up my phone to the thingy, and I'm stewing because I want that.  That time.  That freedom.  And if I had that I would do such important things.  I would tickle my children.  I would smell their necks in that secret place where they still smell like babies.  I would write my story.  I would bake cinnamon buns and promise to use the elliptical trainer tomorrow. 

But poor me, I work.  I'm a grown up and I have to help pay the bills. 

And that's why most of the time I don't mind.  Most days I can remember why I do this and why it's not so bad.  I have a world class husband who works day and night to make my life so good.  I'm not a single parent working two jobs with nobody to help me.  I am not kidding when I say I have it good.  So it takes me by surprise when I feel this surge of resentment, when suddenly I'm ten years old and I want to know why I can't have the same thing those women have. 

Sometimes I write these posts and I erase them, because I come to a point when I see so clearly how trifling and self-pitying and ungrateful it all is.  Today, I won't erase it.

Today, I think I'll have a look at those feelings and be reminded that I have to be vigilant.  It's easy to let life go by, swept along by the needs of your family and your job.  It's important to fill all these roles in your life until they overflow with all the joy and goodness that you can bring.  But it's also important to follow your dreams, even when it means setting a boundary or two of your own. Those feelings aren't for nothing.  They're telling me to keep trying.

It's Be A Jerk Day!

Apparently, it's Be A Jerk Day.  I had no idea, or I would have been all over this thing.

Like when Buddy emailed to say that the RAM he bought from me a year ago is not compatible with his mainboard, and I should have known that and I am the cause of all his troubles in the whole wide world ever since?  I would have pointed out in plainer language that first, I didn't sell him the computer, second, I've never seen the computer, and third, that's bullshit.

And when that other guy left me three messages about needing a laptop hard drive, and I had to listen to them ALL, and then he made a point of saying to me that he could get it cheaper elsewhere, I would have said "Thank you, Mr. Unnecessarily Rude, you do that."  (Because that is what I sound like when I'm being a jerk.  I'm Canadian.)

And when the new girl at the convenience store charged me $2.00 for the stale muffin, I would have told her to keep it and walked out of the store instead of being Nice and just paying the money and eating the damn muffin.

I would wear a shirt that said "DO I LOOK LIKE FREAKING GOOGLE?  DO YOUR OWN RESEARCH!"

And when that little man took a whole hour picking out parts for his new computer, and I really needed to pee and eat lunch, and he was telling me about how he bought a house in PEI and his wife lived in it and he commuted from a different province for three years and then when he finally retired she GOT CANCER AND DIED, I would have said, "Ahem, will that be Visa or Mastercard?"

Sigh.

Actually, I'm glad I'm not a jerk. 

And the muffin wasn't so bad after I dunked it in my coffee.

Gearing up, Grinding down

I find the first few minutes in my chair will often reveal the sort of day I'm about to have.  If the customers are well-behaved in the first half-hour, they'll generally remain so for the day.  Today is looking good, so I'm hoping to write 500 words in between my other responsibilities.  My goal for the month is 5K, and that's a stretch given my habits lately. 

In case you didn't hear me say it OUT LOUD, I'm finishing this draft by March 31st.  So feel free to lob me a right hook if you see me slacking and making excuses for myself!  (Dani, you especially.  Nobody can tell folks off like you.)

I'm Back, Baby

Yesterday, a dear friend sent me a picture of an angel with this message:

Be the kind of woman that when your feet hit the ground each morning, the devil says, "OH CRAP, SHE'S UP"!

I laughed, and it made me feel good.  And this morning on the way in to work, I was thinking about how I feel so much more energetic this week, more capable, more effective.  Of course this message came to my mind, and I thought: That's right Baby.  I am an agent of good things in life.  I am making it happen. 

Maybe I was a little drunk on coffee, you think?  Yeah, I think.

So, I hope you've found your mojo.  I hope you're making it happen for yourself and the people around you.  I hope you have someone who is making it happen for you.  Have a great day!

Happy Freaking New Year

I should be working.

Ideally, I should be working my ass off.

Actually, I am presently on the phone informing a client that when he installed his RAM he bent pins in the socket and now it's fried. But in my heart, I am not working today.

I just am not feeling this place today, I want to write. I want to read. I want to bake. I want to sit in the rocking chair with my daughter. I want to lay on the carpet and play battleship with my son. I want to have a beer and play Wii with my husband. I do not want to calculate and reconcile the actual value of my inventory. I do not want to calculate and remit the electronic handling fees from December, or the effing HST, for that matter. I don't want to prepare any of these various files for my year end.

But even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to do any of those things. It's the blessed people. Coming in. Calling. Emailing. And always with the ever loving questions.

I could take the time right now to tell you how lucky I am, how beautiful Christmas and my baby brother's wedding was, but I'm not in the mood. So go ahead and assume all that, okay? I'm going to stomp away in a snit now and that's how it's going to be.

So there.

Meet Pebbles

Ah, little girls. Aren't they precious? I love the duality of them - dressed in pink, wearing a tiara, and ready to kick some Almighty Ass. I was surprised by the ferocity of my daughter, coming as she did after her big-hearted, gentle brother.

A short illustration of Pebbles at two: (she was always an Old Soul)
There is an altercation in BamBam's room. There are raised voices, then an extended, squalling screech and the sound of a door slamming. Pebbles' footsteps approach, to where I am peeling potatoes in the kitchen.
"BamBam won't share his Lego."
"Oh really? Did you ask nicely and say please?"
She heaves a dramatic sigh, and turns to go back down the hall. "Fine, I'll see if that works."

At three:
"Mom, I hurt my hand."
It looks fine to me, the knuckles are maybe a little red. I gather her to me, and lovingly inquire, "What happened, Sweetie?"
"I bumped it on BamBam's face."

And later that day...
BamBam comes to me, his hand on his throat. He's been coughing, and his eyes are watering.
"Mom, Pebbles just kicked me in the throat."
"PEBBLES!"
She comes around the corner to the kitchen, eyes wide, fiddling with a stuffed bear. "What? I was just showing him the bottom of my foot."

And last night a the supper table?
"...and then we found the Ghost king's hiding spot from on the map BamBam made, and after we beat him, we fought the Monster king, and now we're going to - "
"Dance with the Snow Fairies? Sing with the Mermaid princesses?"
"What? No, we're going to fight the ZOMBIE king...until he's DEAD!"
"Oh. Wow."

Oh, the humanity!

Lunch today was supposed to be tossed garden salad with pecans, white cheddar and raspberry viniagrette dressing, but I'm just not feeling all that. Instead, I am eating a freezer-burned pizza pocket, soggy on one side, and warm Crystal Lite. It's a little bit gross. I am happy. No, I have no idea what is the matter with me. I am not a person who always makes sense.

And this has me thinking about characters, and motivation. And the Laura Secord Toffee Crunch chocolate bar in my purse.

One of the things that distinguishes decent writing from really good writing, for me, is this simple thing. The ways that humanity is revealed in a character, by the simple admission that people don't always make sense. The book that most comes to mind here is the Poisonwood Bible. It's full of people I adored, and I just wanted to shake some of them. I felt so much, because I could see what they could not: their mistakes, misconceptions, flaws, blind spots.

This is a skill I would very much like to master.

But first, chocolate!

Slogging through the middle, knee deep in doubt

I've been doing a fairly good job avoiding the sexy other projects, new and old, that have been trying to tempt me away from A HAND TO HOLD. I know exactly what's happening - I'm staring at the Dreaded Middle, and thinking there just might be a way around, some way I might not have to face myself just now. But I do. And I must. The only way is to keep writing.

Yesterday I scribbled out a scene that happens outside my MC's point of view, and will likely not be included anywhere as I'm using first person. In this scene, Carrie's best friend Erin spills some private information to Luke - the new lover. This leads up to the fight that ends the middle and starts us on the chain of events leading to the climax.

I've been wondering how to stage the actual confrontation between Luke and Carrie. there are events in his past that make it hard for him to trust, consequently he is very big on honesty. Carrie hasn't lied, she just hasn't told him (about the night she overdosed on sleeping pills.) This feels like a big betrayal to him, so how does he act? How does he tell her he knows? How does Luke fight?

How does Carrie react? She's never seen him angry like this, she's shocked. She's finally allowed herself to love and be intimate, and suddenly he's shoving her away with both hands. I suppose she's angry. She knows how he feels about honesty, but she doesn't feel she owed him that information. That's private, and she's stubborn. Hmmm.

So I wrote out the conversation between Erin and Luke, just thinking that if I knew myself exactly what was said, I might have some insight into how Luke would react. I also figured out a bit more about where Erin's coming from. I'm pleased with it.

So today, odds are work will be busy. In between, I'll see if I can't get into Carrie's head a little.

But first, coffee!

Sudden inspiration, or fruitless distraction?

Today I am almost frantic to work on my historical novel, THE WITCH OF BADENOCK. The main character keeps talking to me, but I've had such a hard time with that story that I've almost decided not to go back. It's the history part - I'm constantly doubting myself, is this accurate? Is that accurate? I should just say to feck with that, and write the story to please me and only me, because the truth is that's where the best stories come from.

So I might plug in to her later, but first I must work, work, work! Christmas cards to sign by the hundreds. Customers calling, customers leaving voice meessages and sending emails to follow up on their voice messages. I love my work, I'm just sick of it right now. I'd rather be writing.

I have some lovely new recipes to share, one for turnip gratin you can find over at Simply Recipes, and one for Bread Pudding with rum-butterscotch sauce and raisins.

For now, there's a customer at the counter who wonders why the computer he bought four years ago was fine then, but not now. (Sigh)

Because there's really only today.

Today, I will write morning pages to try to clear some of the static out of my brain. There are some family dramas that are looping through the old gray matter, and it's interfering with how much I enjoy my life. I'm a little rattled - I cannot find my center. These things shall not be tolerated!

Today I will eat a ham and swiss cheese sandwich with extra swiss. And whatever else gets in my way that looks chocolatey.

Today I will not answer any call originating from a 1-800 number. So piss off, whoever you are. I'm bloggin', heah.

Today I will remember that I am awesome - divine, even - and I expect you to remember that you are too, young lady.

Today I will remember the importance of gratitude.

Today I will reconsider the begining of the novel. I need another scene, 2-3K, to go before the graveside scene. Plus, I have not forgotten my halloween X. It's coming, promise!

Decisions slow in coming, but well made

"Stephenie Meyer was a stay-at-home mother to three boys, and she wrote TWILIGHT in three months. Nobody even knew she was doing it."

My husband didn't immediately turn from the television to address my remark, but when he did, the expression in his green eyes was cautious and a tiny bit resigned. We've had this conversation before. It never goes well. Why do I always bring it up again?

It's not about Stephenie Meyer, JK Rowling or any otherbody writer who has manged to type out enough consecutive, related words to tell a story. It's not about the fact that they did it while their lives were full of other commitments. This conversation is about the fact that I. Can. Not.

My husband is the kind of person who never walks away from an unfinished job. I know this about him, and if he's in the middle of something I know he needs to give it most of his attention until it is done. Behind this man is a list of fixed things and stuff taken care of that boggles my mind. I respect him, and all the people in the world that are like him. I want him to tell me that I can do that too. I can be like that.

Except if I could - if I was - I would have finished this effing novel by now.

The conversation lead into deeper and deeper emotional waters that churned with my frustration and feelings of failure. I wanted him to reach in and pull me out, tell me what a capable and effective person I am.

But my husband - he tells me the truth. Always. And what he said sounded something like: if I want to write a book - and he does not doubt that I CAN - I will have to crack down and Actually Do It. I might even have to stop wasting time on the internet reading blogs and such.
Damn that man. He really makes me mad sometimes. Clearly he just does not understand. (S)

But he also said a few other True Things. He said that I need to remember that I am a mother - and that I have always wanted to be a mother, and the children come first with me. Since I am away from them at work full time, I spend my home-time doing crafts with them, reading to them, baking with them, and screaming my fool head off at them. I take care of people. That is who I am, and it is good.

I like that. That makes me feel better, but still, I walk around with this thing I could not accomplish. Other writer friends - the ones on the internet, of course! - have told me and told me that I need to get myself a system that works. If I'm serious about writing professionally then I need to BE professional about it. Eventually they got bored of telling me this and wandered away. I don't blame them, actually. I have been moaning about this and beating myself up about this for years and It. Stops. Now.

I am a mother first, and that is just who I am. I am a business owner, and I have to be that too. I am proud of who I am wearing both of those hats. I am a wife too, and a very lucky one (as you can see.) I want to keep that in good working order. So all of these things are right with my world, and I think I forget to remember that.

I have made a decision: I am leaving the guilt behind.

I'm not letting myself completely off the hook, though. I can't face the prospect of leaving my writer-self on some deserted island. I will continue to write, and I will continue to ask more of myself, just without the anxiety that rides high in my chest when I don't get to the page. It's just too much drama, man. It's always there, in the back of my mind. And I am not a failure.

Let's face it: I am not finishing this novel this year. It's just not on. But I will build a better writing habit. I've decided that I will write something every day. No word minimums for now, just something - whether it's morning pages or a journal entry or a scene for the novel. I'm not giving up. I just want writing to be a joy and an outlet in my life, and eventually - some day - a success to add to these other important things I'm working so hard at.

A post, in honor of...what was I saying?

Every once in a while, I have a day through which I am forced to wander wide-eyed without the benefit of any attention span at all. Goldfish Day, I call it, and it's roughly oh, say, every 28 days. Today is that day. Blink. Blink.

In honor of Goldfish Day, some nonsense and trivia.

What do you get when you cross PMS with GPS?
A crazy b*tch who WILL FIND YOU.

25% of Canadians do not consume fruits or vegetables on a daily basis. According to a study cited by CBC, anyway. 40% - no milk or milk products. What are people DOING to themselves? And where is the chip dip?

New music loves - I highly recommend you check out Missy Higgins, Eric Hutchinson, and Tristan Prettyman. Hey look, my grapes have seeds today! Life is full of surprises.

I need to write my punishment scene for M:A today. I think I have it planned out, and if the customers would just let me RELAX already, I'd type it out.

Try this. Get some Sherrif cooked banana pudding, and prepare it according to the package directions. Pour it into oven-safe bowls, timing it so it's setting for about 45 minutes before dessert. Then you mix 1/4 cup of brown sugar with 1 tsp cinnamon. When it's time for dessert, top the bowls with a hefty sprinkly of the cinnamon sugar, and 5-6 slices of sliced banana. Pop them under the broiler until the sugar melts and bubbles a bit. You're welcome! (And that's fruit AND DAIRY, Canadians. Scientific fact.)

So, I'm going to have to answer these voicemail messages, and I'm thinking maybe it's best if I get back to people before they get angry. It's much harder to focus on what they're saying when they're yelling at me.

In which summer is over, and the time to blog is nigh

Has it really been over a month since I blogged? Really?

The truth is, I actually blog in my head all the time. I plan what I'm going to say about whatever shiz is going on at the moment, and I just skip the unnecessary step of posting it to the intenet. because, you know, same difference. (This is how I can tell when I'm not writing enough, I start describing everything in my head.)

But for those of you who are actually following along - or are trying to - I see you and I loves you. Here is a quickie version of my life lately.

We took an end-of-summer camping trip with my parents and it was all sorts of wonderful. Sunny like crazy. We went to the beach, we watched the kids, we swam in the ocean, we drank beer. We ate a lot. We sat around the campfire on warm, starry nights. We might have had more beer. We did not drink a lot of water. That's how we ended up meeting those nice firemen the day we went to Sandspit and I wasn't feeling so good. No, really, not good. First my thumbs curled toward my baby fingers, then my hands curled toward my elbows, and my arms curled toward my chest. I couldn't keep them still. Close sounds were far, far things seemed close. My husband was talking, saying something unimportant like "What is the matter with you?" and "Ok, we need some help now." My legs were numb. I couldn't form thoughts into words, and I didn't really care. I was just too busy being sick.

So that's what dehydration feels like. Hunh. Water, anyone?

And then we worked a little more, and then we went to my parents' cottage. We made up nicknames for each other, like Leggy McTallsky (my sister), Jealous McShorty (me), Wacky McLoonybin (mom, who else?) Grumpy McKnow-it-all Jr and Sr (my husband and my father, peas in a pod) Noisy McStinkyfeet (my son) and Temper McScreechyson (my daughter.) We ate birthday cake, we walked beside the ocean. We flew a kite. Dad and Hubby installed a new washer and dryer. Hey, whatever floats your boat.

Now, it's workworkwork, and Mercury is in retrograde again. Go ahead, laugh. Forgive me if I don't join in; I've been hung up on, threatened, and told off more in the past two days than I thought was possible. People are out of their minds. And no, I don't believe in astrology, but this thing works. We'll have a stretch of crazy people, bizarre situations, and someone will say, is Mercury in retrograde again? And it is. It works.

So I called my husband, and I asked him to meet me at Costco after work. Bulk therapy coming right up.

I have been so out of touch...I miss people!

Bizarro Thursday

Yesterday was a write-off. I managed to keep a smile on it most of the time, even when the one guy asked me if I've been saved by Jesus.

Today I feel good, even though I was up late again. New Moon. And the shower tap exploded at around midnight, woke up the littlest. It actually could have been the shockwave of my dear husband's frustration that woke her - nearly silent but felt all through the house nonetheless. It raises the hair on the back of your arms, your skin goes cold and then warm again, it messes up your hair, and you tiptoe away laughing and hoping he won't notice.

Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, right. I hereby declare that today I WILL BE EFFECTIVE. I will harness the full force of the almighty caffeine buzz. I will eschew all forms of distraction.

Like this blog. And yours too.
See ya!

Gang Agley

Sometimes, when a day starts out gang agley, it wants to keep going in that direction.

And I thought today might be like that, because I was late getting to bed. Or rather, I was late getting to sleep. You mothers know the difference. There's the midnight call from the littlest - the one with such a knack for knowing when Mummy has just drifted off. And then, while I was getting her settled, I just had to listen to her talking in her sleep, and laugh quietly to myself because she really never stops arguing, even in her dreams. And then I noticed how much she's grown, and I was watching the splay of her little limbs in the lamplight, and reaching out to touch her from time to time when I just needed to.

And then I was reading New Moon, and it isn't the least bit boring.

Then I remembered that Biggest pulled out a tooth just before bed, and brought it to me on a bloody tissue, a new hole in his grin. (When am I going to get used to the way he changes?) So I found some money, and crept up into his bed. It was a quest, let me tell you. The boy has seven pillows, Pokemon cards and Bakugan toys, four books and two long legs tangled in a Hot Wheels comforter for me to get around, just to fetch an itsy bitsy tooth from the farthest corner of his kingdom. (We wants it, we needs it. Must have the precious.) Note to self: tell him the tooth fairy likes the tooth left at the top right corner of the bed, next time.

So it was something like 2am before I got to sleep, so I arrived at work five minutes before the store opened.

There was a car parked in my spot, and the owner of it had one foot propped on my window ledge. He was staring through the darkened Window, and I called him a very rude name (under my breath) as I pulled in beside him. Seriously, man. The sign says we open at 9:30. The door is locked, the lights are off. Back off.

He's a courier, and I'm grateful for that because it means I can just sign his paper and take my box and then he'll move his car out of my spot and I can open the store on time. Right? No. Turns out, he's also an A+ certified Computer Technician from Fancy College in Who Cares. And he'd love to work with us? Maybe even just on weekends? For free? No?

My first customer wanted to know why one of the processors on my website has the letters NA beside it. I told him it was because it's on allocation, and my vendors have (temporarily) stopped providing pricing on it because they have no stock. He assured me that there were other stores in town who have it, for $169. I told him that was lovely news.

Sometimes, this shitty stuff just sinks through your skin and colours your outlook for the whole day. And when you're dealing with the public, I find you usually get what you expect. If you approach a person expecting they're going to be a pain in your ass, that's how you will perceive them. I know this. I take a lot of deep breaths.

And when I am standing in front of someone who does not value my expertise or appreciate the time I am taking, when I can feel anger rising, I focus my inner eye on my littlest's sleeping face. I think about talking with my biggest, quite a while after he was supposed to be in bed. I remember that this is not my life. They - and the man who gave them to me - are my life.

And I have it pretty damned good.

Vacation!

We spent a wonderful 5 days camping in PEI with the kids. It was sunny almost every day - much better than the two rainy long weekends we spent there last year! We went to the beach, we went to the playground, we made our own sundaes, we burned the crap out of two bags of marshmallows, we looked at the stars, we played shuffleboard and we played basketball and we answered not one single phone call.

I tried to read at the beach, but I couldn't stop watching the kids - their healthy little bodies sunwashed and sandy and busy, with nothing but blue sky and ocean as a backdrop. Jellyfish and crabs. Sandcastles and plastic shovels.

Each has their own way of meeting new friends - BamBam just goes over to the other kids and starts talking. That works. Pebbles prefers to play with older girls. It's funny, physically she's the same size as the toddlers, but she knows she can't really play with them, she's three and they can't communicate at her level. She's more comfortable with kids BamBam's age, so she just goes over to them and stands there until they notice her, and then she gives them a big smile and they immediately adopt her.

There was a country music festival in Cavendish with Tim McGraw and Big & Rich, we didn't do that. Camping neighbours on both sides of us did, though. The kids on the left were decent, but they did keep us up late. I had my revenge on the wee buggers - I got up at eight o'clock and fried bacon. At'll teach 'em. The folk on the right left a huge pile of puke in the grass - nice. We were glad when they all left, and the new people were much quieter.

Anyway, I am back at work, only now with a suntan. I have Stuff I should be doing, but I don't wanna. That's irrelevant, I know. Hi ho, hi ho.

Best Laid Plans

Today, supposing I get time, I'm going to have a look at my subplots. I might even try making a line graphy-thing, with colours and notes and arrows. Thing is, that really doesn't sound like it's any more organized than the yarn-snaggle that's in my head. There's a notebook somewhere I have a list of scenes I've written, more or less in order. That'll help.

I did my morning pages today in between fending off an ant attack - those little buggers are everywhere. At least the kids aren't collecting them in jars any more. Pebbles was mad at BamBam and decided to get revenge by letting all his out - in his bedroom - and of course he reciprocated. So, that happened.

Why did we let the kids collect household vermin in jars? Because they were quiet for half an hour while they did it, that's why.

Off to organize keyboards and vacuum the floor. Happy Thursday!

Writer Wheaties

Last week I set 2 goals - get up early to write and write 500 words on Friday. I didn't do either one of these things.

One thing I did do was begin reading The Artist's Way. This morning I started my day with morning pages, and while I'm not new to the idea of needing to get to the page early in the day, I did find this a help in making sure that my writer-self gets her wheaties. She has been chattering nonstop in the back of my head ever since and I wish I hadn't given her so much coffee. She says there should be a benefit dance at the restaurant for, I dunno, someone worthy. And I wish I could tell you her other idea - it's just PERFECT - but it's a major spoiler and I may want you to read this book someday. It ties two major subplots together, and it comes right before the climax. I'm very excited about this. (woot!)

In fact, I'm going to sketch out the bones of this scene today. I don't know the location yet, but since we all know it's going to be rewritten a gazillion times anyway, I'll just do the writing now and the worrying later.

Something else I've been thinking a lot about is soundtrack. I've heard writers say they had one for their book. Do you do this? I think it's intriguing, but I need silence to write. Then the other day I realized that hey, I DO do this.

Once I listened to one song all day. Over and over. There was something in the tone, something in the lyrics that was exactly what I was trying to capture in a scene I was working on. It set the mood perfectly, and I didn't want to hear anything else. I just wanted to stay in that emotional location. So while I was doing the writing I had quiet, but in between moments when I was actually at the page, I was letting it steep in the music, letting the music infuse the language to make it come out feeling the way I wanted.

Carrie's song right now is Somewhere In Between, by Lifehouse. You know it, but here are the lyrics (more or less). In case you're bored.

I can't be
Losing sleep
over this
No I can't
And now I cannot stop pacing

Give me a few hours
I'll have this all sorted out
If my mind would just stop racing

Cause I cannot stand still
I can't be this unsturdy
This cannot be happening

This is over my head
But underneath my feet
Cause by tomorrow morning
I'll have this thing beat
And everything will be back
to the way
that it was
I wish that it was just that easy

Cause I'm waiting for tonight
Then waiting for tomorrow
I'm somewhere in between
What is real
or just a dream

Would you catch me if I fall
out of what I fell in
Dont be surprised if I collapse
down at your feet again
I don't want to run away from this
I know that I just don't need this

Cause I cannot stand still
I can't be this unsturdy
This cannot be happening
Cause I'm waiting for tonight
Then waiting for tomorrow
And I'm somewhere in between
What is real
or just a dream

Friday Morning

Spent a few moments this morning going over the calendar for the next two weeks, and egads. There is at least something every day, many days have two things going on - Taekwon-Do class, Baseball practice, Preschool party, Father's Day Dinner #1, Father's Day Dinner #2, birthday party, oh, and don't forget to get ready for camping. Shee-yikes.

Pebbles had one of those mornings when she hates that I'm going to work. Her face is swollen up from reactions to bug bites, and she's miserable. She wants me to hold her, but I need to dry my hair, get dressed, put on makeup. Finally, I am done and we dance. Then she wants to play, but there is no more time. She cries. I get irritated. I am horrible.

I rush out the door - remembered my lunch today, hold the applause - but when I get in the car I remember that I have no freaking gas. DH is at the window yelling for me to wait. I shut off the car, go to meet him and get my phone, thank you. Need that. Back in the car, frazzled, frustrated, overheated and late, I turn on the music and what do I hear?

Jackson Browne. Running on Empty.

Very funny, Universe.

Filled my gas tank and figured that if I took the highway and busted up the sound barrier I just might make it on time.

And I did. And I'm thrilled to be here, let me tell ya.

So today, I'm aiming at 500 words. I just have to find the zone. But first, coffee.

2000 new words!

I don't have an exact count, but this week I added roughly 2000 words to AHTH. It feels good to have my life (sort of) under control and to be creative again. The process fascinates me.

It works best for me when I write in the morning, before my head gets crowded and my thoughts start to shout at each other. I write everything I know or can put in words at that time. I might try to capture a scene, or a feeling - or something I've been struggling with lately - weaving places with conversations and action. I just suck, sometimes. Then I leave the keyboard, do some other things (empty the dishwasher, fold clothes, go to work). If I can get that writing time in the morning, my mind keeps working on that scene even while I'm busy. I will find a way to create more depth or color, or solve a problem, or fill in a blank. I jot things on paper, and it makes me happy.

Sometimes someone else will (unknowingly) fill in a blank for me. I needed a name for a ghost. A little-girl ghost. Clara? Nora? No, no, eew. Something old-fashioned, foreign, a little mystical. Then one Sunday Pebbles and I were playing with her doll.

"Miss Artinne wants her lunch now. Miss Artinne needs to go the the doctor."
"Artinne?"
"Artinne." She says it almost with a French accent, with a 't' so delicate it feels like a bubble bursting on your tongue.

So of course I used it, because it is just exactly what I wanted. And how would I have even known what she was giving me if I hadn't been tuned in, turning that problem around in the back of my mind? Life has a way of feeding the writing, if you let that happen.

There are days that just don't start out properly, you know? A client takes too long describing his woes, I lose my train of thought. I can't get very deep into POV when the phone is ringing. So here is what I will do. I will start getting up a little earlier, say three mornings a week for now, to write for half an hour before I start my day.

I also have a book called "The Artist's Way" that I will read, I know some people swear by it.

What is it with people?

Well, it's been quite a week. Full moon, people are crazy. Oh, you don't believe in that stuff? Perhaps you've never worked in retail:

There was the very old man who fell asleep in the driver's seat of his minivan outside the store. We were speculating that he might actually be dead, until a fire truck went by and woke him up.

There was the girl who backed into a sandwich-board sign and tried to flee around the side of the building, only she hit the corner and scraped all along the side of her car.

There was the woman who came in raging about how she can't send email through one ISP's mail server when she's connected through a different ISP's wireless service. Cause, you know, I should be able to fix that. I'm the boss of the internet, right?

There was the woman whose father bought a computer from us SIX years ago and never had a single problem, only now she can't find his Windows disk. I shouldn't charge her to have my technician reload that system, just because she can't find her disk. She will be pursuing this. She's taking this to the next level. She's calling MICROSOFT.

And last but not least? You ready? There's the man who drives that red sportscar, who used to have such a great job? He went outside in the parking lot and PEED ON THE GROUND NEXT TO MY CAR. He's the winner. He's the only customer I ever banned from the store.

All in the last 7 days.

Let's talk goals

Spent the better part of yesterday's work day (I'm self-employed - it's allowed) going through the first 30K of A HAND TO HOLD. It's been about a year since I put any serious effort in, and I needed to get a feel for where the story is. I had questions: is it as good as I thought? (Yes, in parts) Is it as bad as I thought? (Oh, definitely first draft, Baby!)

The foundation that I had wanted to lay is there. It needs pieces added, but it's workable. I need to look at the pacing, and I have things to figure out, but I know what scenes I will write next. And that is all I need.

Today I am planning some new words, and this is a Good Thing, because here we are nearly halfway through the year, and I have another 60K or so to go. This would have been the death-rattle for my goal of a completed first draft if this were last year, but the kids are bigger now, a little more self-sufficient. I can still do this. I will do this.

I am so good at this.

technician: "Not to cause widespread panic, but we're reaching desperately low levels of cable ties back there."

me: "Don't worry. I wrote it on a postit. Need...cable...ties."

technician: "You are so good at this job."

In. Box.

Through the two-way mirror above my desk, I watched the woman approaching the counter and indulged in an eye roll. I've seen her before. I'll probably see her again.

I tried to project professionalism and efficiency (instead of frustration and impatience) while she fumbled with the zipper on her fugly bag, and opened her laptop.

"My email comes in," she explained with an awkward laugh, "and it goes to my Inbox. Why does it keep doing that?"

Ohforgodssakeswhatthef..didsomeonegiveyouacomputerfor...

"It's an In. Box. That's what it's for." Stop. Try to understand. "Where did you want it to go?"

"Heh, heh." She shifted from one foot to the other. Her computer finished booting, she opened her mail. "My friend sent me some messages, and I didn't get them. She said to call, but I decided to come in..."

The missing mail was in her spam folder. I spent 10-15 minutes showing her how to check the messages and move them - to her inbox, of all places. She thanked me, put her laptop back in that horrible bag and she left.

She didn't even ask if I wanted any money.

I want to fix this, but I'm not sure how. I mean, sure, it's only a few minutes of my time, but this is my workplace. I'm not here to do free tutoring, and I'm really starting to resent these people who just assume of course you can just go ask Cindy, she's really nice. How now, to tell someone that I want to be paid for my time and expertise?

And it's my fault, because I didn't used to mind. I thought of it as an investment - I put in my time and effort with this customer, and when they need to buy something, they will come back.

Ha ha, suckah. No, they don't. They buy a freaking Dell, and then they STILL come asking me questions.

Assertive is hard for me, and asking for money is awkward, but I'm going to fix this.

I hired a girl...and I liked it!

About a month ago I stood looking around my office at stacks of paper (peach, white and blue, some sorted, most not,) while the phone was ringing in my ears and I knew that I Absolutely Must finish four kinds of government paperwork before 3 pm. I was tired, stressed, and missing my kids, and a voice in the back of my head was whining I wanna go hoooooome. That's when something broke. I think it was my Brave. Or maybe it was my Stubborn.

Either way, I started setting up interviews and have again been blessed to find a sensible, hard working and caring girl to dig me out from under this mess. She is part-time, and she spent her first twelve hours hole-punching, alphabetizing and filing peach, white and blue papers. TWELVE HOURS OF FILING. And she stayed!

The next week she gave me unmitigated sh*t for letting a customer take advantage of me. I like her.

So, the office looks great, and with the help, I'm feeling about a hundred pounds lighter and more hopeful about the future.

Meet Zee

This is Zee. We originally named him this because when we brought him home, and the kids were so anxious to play with him, all he really wanted was to sleep. Now, though, we know he is also:

Cray-Zee
Fuz-Zee
Clum-Zee (oop-Zee!)
No-Zee
Biz-Zee
and sometimes Lay-Zee.
Oh, and he bites. (Ow-Zee!)

Burning the pile

When I was a little girl growing up in the country, once a year or so, it came time to Burn the Pile. I live in suburbia now, and we don't set huge fires on purpose there. But it's nice to see that things haven't changed at home.

My Ta Da list

Throw out your To Do list, it's such a drag. Start something new. Start a TaDa! List. Celebrate your own effectiveness, be bold in your estimation of what you can accomplish - because You. Are. Fabulous.

Here's mine for today.

Answer the phone every time it rings
Go to the counter every time someone comes in
Receive, label and put away product (8 boxes so far. Who ordered this stuff??? Oh yeah, me)
Create and distribute e-flyer for April
Calculate real value of inventory (8 pages left, 45 lines per page)
Calculate EHF charges remittable for March
Calculate source deductions remittable for March
Calculate Worker's Comp remittable for March
Check, label and put away replacement procuct for three RMAs received two weeks ago
Find a wireless mouse in the shape of a pen that is readily available through my distribution channel
Change the ads on the mobile sign out front
Erase and update prices on the markerboards
Update prices on the website for cases, systems and video cards
Vacuum
Clean the windows
Clean the microwave
Take out the garbage
Order more product as required
Answer voicemail and email and endless questions (how do I make the "at" symbol?)
Eat
Pee (G)

At least, that's what I know about so far. And yes, it'll be a miracle if I get half of this done.

But nevermind.
I am FABULOUS.
TaDa!

Spring

It's spring, and I'm in the mood for some fresh beginnings. Aren't you? And since life is mostly made of the littlest moments and small personal choices, I will start by adding some Good Things to my life, right now.

Today I'm learning the words to The Rainbow Connection, so I can sing it to Pebbles at bedtime. Just FYI, she also likes:
Carolina on My Mind, James Taylor
Something in the Way She Moves, James Taylor
You've Got a Friend, Carole King
Rocket Girl, Doc Walker
Run for the Roses, Dan Fogelberg

Also, I am going to be more conscious of the things I am grateful for. A shadow on the ground, because it means the sun is out. Thick, dark chocolate pudding. Customers who love my store. Being able to see the ocean from work and home.

I will do the things I love. I will bake something delicious on the weekend - maybe colorful thumbprint or M&M cookies with the kids. We will dunk those cookies in tall glasses of fresh, cold milk - manners be damned. And we have a birthday party for Pebbles on Sunday - she's three, or maybe thirteen. Sometimes I can't tell.

Roo

Yesterday I took Roo back to the vet, and I did what I needed to do.

My heart hurts.

I'll spare you the details, and say only that in the end there were no more questions. It was Time.

I guess the heart knows after all.

We're hanging in there

Today a salt fog rolled over the city and knocked out the power for three hours. And no, I didn't know that could happen either. While it was dark in here I dusted, I put some papers in alphabetical order and I checked over my cable inventory. Confirmation: it's in a sorry state.

Uncle is somewhat stable for someone whose heart has failed. He's on a pump that moves his blood for him through massive tubes sewn to his heart that pass through the front of his chest. He is heavily sedated but my Mom can still make him grin. His body looks a lot different but he's definitely in there somewhere.

Pebbles says he has a broken heart.

His first heart attack was 19 years ago, and they figured he had 5 years to live. There have been many technological advancements in this past decade - there are smaller versions of the pump that he's presently on that can be inserted right into the chest. There is a slight possibility of a transplant. We have hope.

Also hanging in there, my cat Roo. My husband says it's like caring for an infant - he feeds her many times a day, coaxing her to eat and drink, keeping her clean and carrying her to the litter. We laugh and call it Kitty Rehab. He makes her get up and walk around, and he has some medicine he's been giving her. She still wants to be close to us and she seems to be gaining weight and strength, so we hope that a few weeks more will make a big difference. I don't know what we'll do if she doesn't improve. I'm not thinking about that yet.

The sneaky bum.

We're driving home in the car, Pebbles and me. It's dark, it's shitty weather (surprise!) I'm listening to the radio, and hoping that she won't fall asleep on the way.

A little voice came from the backseat: "Mom, my bum is sneaking out."

I turned down the radio. "Um. Your what?"

"My bum!"

I glance over my shoulder. She's strapped in to her five-point carseat, just like I thought she would be. "Oh, well. We can fix that when we get home."

"It's a long way, Mummy."

"Yes, that's true I guess." I turned up the radio, hoping she'd get interested in the music and forget about her little problem.

"Mummy, I need HELP!"

"Allrightallrightallright." I pulled over, went around the back of the car, skidding and slipping on the icy shoulder, went back to the driver's seat to unlock the doors, and finally managed to get where I needed to be. I tucked my hands down on either side of her little self, and sure enough, a soft warm tiny bottom. I tugged up her tights and got back in the car.

"Thank you Mummy.

"You're welcome. No more sneaky bum?"

"No more sneaky bum."

Un-depressing post, as promised

The Call

Found out today that a family member is in intensive care, in a coma, his heart failing. As I listened to the details, this song was playing on my computer. I thought it rather poignant, beautiful in the most painful of ways.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HUO0gd7cr9o

Enough with the dreary stuff! Happy posts coming.

thanks guys!

The next long weekend is WHEN?

At some point earlier this week it occurred to me that the next time I have two days off in one week will be Easter weekend. In freaking April. This realization made my steps slow and heavy, and all my enthusiasm crept away to hide somewhere warm. I started scowling at the phone when it rang, instead of picking it up with a smile. I started leaning on my desk, face smooshed in my palm. I felt completely overwhelmed.

You have to figure this out, I told myself as I drove home through yet another snowstorm. You can't just give up and hire someone. You have a plan. You have to do this yourself. Make it work, dammit.

Susan talked the other day about things we have to keep learning in life, and I know one of mine is the importance of regular exercise. I know I always feel better when I'm active.

But I don't want to, I thought at 11:04 pm as I sat on the edge of the bed, contemplating the alarm clock. I know it will probably help, but I don't want to get up early to work out. (Yes, it was that whiny.)

And so I didn't.

But then school was cancelled, which meant I didn't have to make BamBam's lunch or be on hand to harass him through the Getting Ready process. I put my body on the elliptical trainer and said: Now. Go.

Partway through my workout, I realized that DH had awoken and was just laying there, watching my behind.

Showered and dressed, I made my way to the kitchen, to find said husband putting the finishing touches on a monster-sized salad for my lunch. And that's when it hit me.

I'm not doing this on my own. I haven't been. There's this man, who works in the rec room at night, who takes care of the house and the kids, who puts gas and windshield fluid in my car, who cooks my dinner and loves me from the most unflattering angles. And makes me a salad, because it's good for me and because I look like I might be on a health kick today.

The exercise helped, but so did the reminder that I do have him. He really is a treasure. We're doing this together, and we're going to be fine. We're going to make it work. And, he reminds me, there's nothing stopping me from closing the store on a Saturday - Just Because.

So my cat just looks like shit.

The verdict is in. For the price of two week's groceries, we are assured that our cat is stubborn. I am giddy. I am so relieved, so grateful.

There is no evidence of liver, kidney or thyroid malfunction. No obvious tumors, no diabetes. No heart trouble. The vet says she's surprised how healthy Roo is, considering how she looks.

She is dehydrated and underweight. (15 lbs down to 7.8) Apparently, she hates her food and simply won't eat it. And because both cats eat from the same bowl, we didn't clue in that she was starving.

I've just got to say, this would never happen to me. (S)

Her muscles have deteriorated to the point that she is working very hard to move around, and that is why she pants so heavily. Poor old girl. We'll stock up on the extra-stinky, extra-gooey canned yuck that she seems to prefer.

Thank you for commiserating with me on this. I really thought we were losing her, and your comments were a really big comfort.

...and Roo goes to the Vet

The nose knows, I thought to myself this morning as I carried Pebbles up the hall to the kitchen. We both blinked in the light, and I put the kettle on for my coffee. And so does the heart.

There it was, right by the back door. Pee, again. I cleaned it up with a rag, some bleach cleaner and a heavy heart.

Before I left the house, I kneeled beside a cardboard box tucked beneath an end table. Inside it, curled up on a green towel, my sixteen-year-old cat watched me with sunken but adoring eyes. She's lost a lot of weight just lately, her legs and paws are painfully bony, and her sides heave with the force of her purring.

"I love you, Roo."

Soon, I will have a call from my husband with The News. I'm hoping for a bladder infection. Have you ever hoped for one of those? Me, neither.

In the meantime, in that place deep in my chest where Truth lives, I think I know otherwise.

I'm afraid it may be Time.

Time for a break?

Ah, the Christmas Season. Brings out the best in folk. At least, I believed that right up until I started working in retail and computer repair. So it's been busy.

Yesterday I went into the shop to heat up my lunch and review the current workload with the technician. I strolled around the room, pointing to things and ticking them off in my mind.
"So...this one's got drive controller issues...this is one of the Gray machines, almost finished? The tower in the corner is scanning, new build here and here, hard drive diags on that laptop, this one's updating. Good. But what's beeping for God's sake?"
The technician said "Uh, that would be the microwave."

A reminder

Embedding is disabled, so please click.

Paper Angels, by Jimmy Wayne

Oh, hi!

This might be the longest pause I've ever had between posts.

I'm working. Constantly, nonstop, and squeezing in extra time here and there. Christmas and year end are coming and I'm just really, really no-kidding-busy.

Susan blogged a bit about escaping into books, and I must say I've been lucky there. A few weeks ago I had a pile of half-read books collecting dust on my dresser:

Roots, Alex Haley
The Alexandria Link, Steve Berry
In Still and Silent Waters, Reah Tannahill
Angels and Demons, Dan Brown
The Seventh Son, Reah Tannahill
Russka, Edward Rutherfurd

I think I might even be forgetting one or two. I don't know what it was, I just couldn't settle into these books. I don't mean that they weren't any good (though one of them was kind of awful and you can probably tell which one. (G)) I was just restless and feeling a little lost. So I was reading Outlander, because that's where I go when I can't get comfortable anywhere else.

Then my fourteen-year-old sister dropped a stack of books in my lap:

A Great and Terrible Beauty, Libba Bray
Rebel Angels, Libba Bray
The Sweet Far Thing, Libba Bray
Ink Exchange, Melissa Marr
Wicked Lovely, Melissa Marr

(Yes, she's all sorts of Awesome)

And I bought myself a copy of My Lord and Spymaster.

So no more problems in that area.

Listen, if you know Claire from the Forum - or even if you don't - say a prayer for her and her new daughter Sophie. There were complications during the birth, but things are looking pretty good.

The weekend - in point form

So, I didn't get to Surrey. I don't know that I ever will. And it's all right, I wouldn't have wanted to miss this weekend at home, anyway.

After work Saturday, went to the local Farmer Clem's with DH and Pebbles and bought some Honey Crisp apples (yum) and a big fat pumpkin.

Went from there to a local hobby farm, to pick up BamBam from a birthday party. The kids both had pony rides, and we spent a while hanging out in the petting pen with some baby goats, a turkey and a couple of Llamas. Also had some interesting face time with a pot-bellied pig. He was cool.

Went home, and took some pictures of the kids playing in the leaves.

Ate pork roast rubbed with garlic, rosemary and pepper, and then glazed with a honey-soya marmalade mix. Mashed potatoes with mayo and green onion, too.

Made sugar cookies with the kids - we made a helluva mess but it was worth it.

Sunday, carved the pumpkin. Played play-dough. Made cream of broccoli soup for lunch, it was really good.

1 medium onion
2T butter
2c finely chopped fresh broccoli (I had about 1" pieces)
2 1/2 cups milk
2T chicken oxo
1c shredded cheddar cheese
3-4 drops hot pepper sauce

Melt the butter in a saucepan, add onion and cook until tender. Add broccoli, stir and cook 2-3 more minutes. Add milk, OXO powder and hot sauce, stir occasionally until broccoli is tender. Add cheese, stir until melted. Serve.

Went to bed early in fresh sheets, and slept like a log.

Peel my banana - it's comportant!!!

I love living with a toddler. Pebbles says the most incredible things these days, and at not quite two-and-a-half, we are suitably impressed.

Me: "Eat your spaghetties, Pebbles."
Pebbles: (long-suffering sigh) "It's spaghetti, Mom. Only one."

I guess she has my grammar thing. She also has my sweet tooth:

Pebbles: "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
Me: "I don't know. What are you thinking?"
Pebbles: "I'm thinking....cookie."

Speaking of cookies, this week has been really crummy as far as customers and work goes (ok, except for the bread and honey. That was incredible.) And if anyone ever says to you that mercury is in retrograde, don't laugh. I tell you: people lose their minds, and nothing goes right for two weeks solid. I work in retail, just trust me.

I did make my wordcount goal the other day, and I've been developing the habit of writing a page or two in bed at night. It's working!

The Good, the Bad, and the Yummy

And this is what happens. Make fun of some guy, and the Universe promptly smacks me on the Proverbial.

Remember Angry Customer from the last post? Well, she called me yesterday. She wanted her money back from the one hour labour she paid for our assessment of her computer (including the part where we said Duh, lady there's no freakin' fan in here) and the 8 viruses that we did, in fact remove, because we have Skills. Secret Ninja-Computer-Technician Mind Tricks, indeed. And a set of screwdrivers.

Her argument seemed to revolve around the fact that our assessment didn't jive with what the Other Guy said (yes, the one who called me - He of No Skills or Secret Ninja Tricks.) And since she didn't know which one of us to believe, someone must be Fibbing Big Time, and she didn't want to pay anybody any money until she got to the bottom of it. She would take it farther, she assured me. As in, to court.

This is Canada. To us, this qualifies as Truly Bizarre Behaviour.

So we replied that our charges were fair and honest, and being Without A Clue does not entitle one to a refund. If it did, I'd be waaay out of business. My husband had a long talk with her, during which he explained that we did the work that we were hired to do, to the greatest extent possible. We did not take her fan, (she was not accusing us of doing so) and hence we were not responsible - morally or financially - for any distress she may be experiencing. He welcomed her to find any person, anywhere, with grounds to suggest that we had ever been dishonest in our dealings.

At the end of the conversation, she said "So, I'm not getting my money back?"

Um, no. You're not.

And thankyouverymuch, Universe, for the reminder.

In other news, a week or so ago, an older lady came in and said she had all kinds of porn on her computer. (Put there by viruses, I assure you!) She was just the tiniest little bit upset and embarassed, so I leaned across the counter, touched her on the wrist and said...

"That's a very bad habit, you know."

She laughed. And yesterday when her computer was fixed, she brought me some lovely fresh bread - rustic and crunchy - from her daughter's bakery.

Today, another customer brought us some fresh honey from his very own bees. I'm thinking the two are going to be very tasty together. Aren't we lucky, to be so blessed with thoughtful, appreciative and caring customers?

This is a very funny world we live in.

Now, who makes fresh butter?

On working with boys

A few weeks ago, a woman brought us a laptop for repair. In addition to a smattering of viruses, it seemed to have a heat issue, so my technician flipped it over, opened it up and found...no fan. The whole cpu/heatsink assembly was missing. Gone.

Of course the customer had no idea where the fan went. She said the thing had nevah evah been taken apart since she bought it from a store down on the South Shore last Christmas.

I had my doubts as to whether the thing could actually go that long without a fan, but I hestitated over telling her that either a) she was wrong or b) someone in the house is lying or c) both.

(Aside: The thing is pink. It's been spray-painted pink, and the guy who sold it to her is the one who painted it. Professional, hunh?)

So Angry Customer now called the original vendor to complain about lack of fan, and he offered - right then, sight unseen - to go ahead and install the $130 fan for her. (Ok, buddy, it's your money.)

So this guy called me on the phone today. Right away, he had The Tone. The "I'm about to make you look stupid" tone. He was probably aggravated by the fact that he was out a sizeable chunk of green, and looking - and feeling - kinda dumb himself.

"It says here on your invoice that you charged her for an hour's labour, which was supposed to include virus scanning and removing 8 viruses from her data?"

"Yes, that's right." wait for it.....

"Well, I'm just curious, how could you POSSIBLY scan this thing in the two minutes it takes for it to overheat and shut down?" TaDAAA!

"Well, we took the drive out of the laptop and scanned it in our shop machine. We do that to prevent the viruses loading into memory so we can clean them properly." How the heck do YOU do a virus scan?

"Oh."

This sort of pissing contest happens, because this is an industry mainly operated by boys. I can't help but feel a little smug when one of them slips in his own piddle. I know it's wrong. It's just so....fun.

Plans for today

In the interest of making myself accountable, I thought I'd pop in here and think out loud for a few minutes.

There are work things that need doing today - the usual customer care - be it telephone, counter or email - plus reconciling the transac account, finishing my October Mailout and getting that gone, and following up on the last month of repairs. (Thassa lotta phone calls!) I need to find out what happened to the renewal of my Trend license, and pay some bills.

In betwixt all this most excellent computer-store-lady behaviour, I am also determined to get down a scene that has been hanging around for a few days now. It's actually a rewrite of a section that I knew was wrong, and now I know how to fix it. I've given Carrie my horsey background, and this actually will help to cement the bond between her and Luke-the sexy-veterinarian. I'd like to see seven hundred words of that today. And I need to update my word meter, too!

So, off I go. First things first, though - coffee!

A little disgruntled today

I am not "spot on" today, and by this I mean I'm having trouble getting motivated to do Actual Work. This happens, and I know I shall recover and by my uber-useful self within hours. I had better, because I have a lot to do before the end of the work day - at which point I hop into the car and trundle off to BamBam's school for curriculum night and (yay!) the Book Fair.

Last night on the way to bed I opened a notebook and found a chunk of AHTH. Isn't it nice when you find yourself caught up in your own writing? I plan to post that chunk here, hopefully in the next few days.

My heart hurts, I wish I was home. I would let Pebbles cut up apples with a plastic knife, and we would bake them in a pie. I would put something in the slowcooker. I would open the windows and smell the crisp, fall air in my sunny yellow kitchen. I'd play Sorry! with BamBam after school.

But I cannot, and since I can't conjure any interest in rising freight prices or the current cost of RAM or video cards, I'm going to grab a pen and see what comes out of the end of it. There will be consequences, but hey. (shrug) Tomorrow is another day.

Oops

On my answering machine:
"Hello, this is Mr. C, you've done some work on my HP in the past. Anyway, this morning when I turn the thing on it just bleeps at me. I thought I'd get in in to you this morning, please call me back. (number)"

So I called, and I got his voicemail.
"Hello, this is Cindy from Itsy Bitsy Computers. You're welcome to leave your bleeping computer with us...(snrfl)...anytime...(choke)...sorry. The number is 555...(giggle)...see you later, bye. "

It's the little things

Pebbles is outgrowing her size 18 mos pants. Fair enough, I guess - she's 29 months old.

*

When I was 2, I wanted to be a princess for halloween. My parents were young and broke, and they just wanted to use stuff they had around the house, so they dressed me as a hobo. I cried. They laughed. (They also sucked, but they were 20 and 23 years old. I've forgiven them - mostly.)

Fast forward...OMG...33 years, and I have a two-year-old girl. She's precious. I want to buy her the best damned princess costume you ever did see. But noooooo. Pebbles wants to be a MONSTER. RAHR.

Monday, the washing...Tuesday, headcold

Gawd, is it only Tuesday?

I'm sitting here at my desk, and I'm supposed to be checking that the petty cash has exactly $100 in it. However, there are only 2 pennies, and I need three more, and this has brought me to a full stop. I simply cannot cope with a crisis of this magnitude right now.

Periodically, I realize that my mouth is hanging open, so I close it, only to discover that I cannot breathe with my mouth closed.

The Dimetapp expired last year. Is that bad?

Must have picked up a bug from Susan.

Off to check under my car seats for pennies...

911

"I think you'd better go down and turn on the TV."

I didn't like the sound of his voice, there was an unfamiliar thread in it - something was happening. Something big. Something I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

"Why?" I adjusted the flannel on my shoulder, and reached for the baby. He was two weeks old, sleeping in his carseat on the coffee table. I held him a lot in those days - usually only because I felt like I was supposed to do more than just watch him sleep. In this moment, though, I held him because I needed to.

"Just...just take the phone and go."

I went.

In the darkness of the rec room, just after 10 am in the morning, I stared incomprehendingly at a lot of smoke and the back end of a plane, sticking out of the side of the WTC.

"Oh, my God. Someone crashed." What an incredibly horrible accident.

"Yeah." He was talking, I don't remember what he said.

I shifted the phone and moved toward the sofa when suddenly the camera panned sideways. My postnatal brain took a long moment to understand...this was another plane. A second plane, and it was going to hit the other building. Only that couldn't be.

And then it happened. Right on the screen, in front of me, between one breath and the next, the whole world changed.

After we hung up I sat there in the dark holding my son, tears streaming down my face. I cried for the people who were already dead. I cried for the ones who were dying, for their helplessness and their fear, and for their families. I cried for my son, and my newly minted understanding that I couldn't protect him, not really.

I didn't know then what the outcome would be, and I'm not sure I fully know it now. I don't want to talk about that.

I just wanted to say that I remember.

Why I am not blogging

Hi, friends, remember me? Well, you must, since you're here.

I have not been blogging because I'm back at work on AHTH. More precisely, I'm reading it - because I actually don't remember all of what's there, and I needed a refresh. I thought it was better. But it's all right - I still feel connected with Carrie, and I can see where I did not say all of what I meant. I do that.

I have also not been blogging because we've been all over da place - camping, amusement park-ing, barbecue-ing, and forgetting how to spell. I was getting too old - spiritually, mentally - and have been focused on getting my hair and makeup all messed up, laughing at bathroom jokes, and eating french fries in the shade with ketchup and extra salt. I even painted my toenails bubblegum pink.

So, I'm still here. Just refilling the well.

There is no Try, only Do

I borrow this heading from my friend Lindsay as a sorely needed reminder to me. I am determined to write today, so of course there are a thousand details that need emergency attention - product orders, email messages, dirty dishes. Yanno, anything but the blank page in front of me and the terrifying void in my brain where my story is supposed to be.

I do want to tell you about our weekend in PEI, but first, 500 words.

Camping

We're taking the kids camping in PEI for a few days, and I'm really looking forward to it. Is that crazy? Probably.

I had no idea how much preparation goes in to this kind of thing - it seemed a lot simpler when I was a kid and my parents were doing all the work.

We needed everything, startng with a tent. DH bought one on sale, and then found a bigger one for the same price, so we switched and set up the new one in the back yard. He spent the better part of a day applying sealant.

"What the heck is that?" Wondered Beloved Neighbour, neatly propping a squirming 38 lb two-year-old (hers) under her arm. She was looking at the four feet of screened-in area on one end of the structure. It might have been a nice idea, but for the triangular shape of it owed to the angle of the screen, attaching to the top of the main part of the tent. So it was four feet of tent floor, draped in screen. "That's useless! I'd put that right back in the box and return it." She poked her head inside. "And you're never going to fit everything in there."

I sighed, and silently agreed. When DH inflated our brand-new air mattresses and put them in the tent, he agreed out loud. The tent went back. We're on tent #3, and it looks like the Taj Mahal in comparison.

And it's lanterns and coolers, beach towels, tarps and sleeping bags, stuff, and things, and a portable DVD player for the drive. Snacks, a meal plan, childrens' Benadryl, and a Rubbermaid box full of footwear for any climatic eventuality. Are we good? I'll let you know!

Have YOU heard of Google?

I hate it when my phone rings, and the person who has made it do so (thus requiring me to pick up the danged thing) turns out to be working at a call center. It's even worse when the product on offer is patently inappropriate for me or my business, and two seconds' research could have saved everyone the bother. These days common sense is just too expensive; it's cheaper for the Suits if they pay poor people crap wages to waste my time. Like yesterday's gem:

"Good Morning, Itsy Bitsy Computers, Cindy speaking."

"Yes, Madame, this is Victor calling from Unintelligible Corporation. May I please be speaking with your general manager, please?"

"Speaking." At this point, the line goes silent for a moment while the caller frantically rifles his employee manual, searching for the section entitled What To Do When Confronted with A GIRL.

"Oh. Oh, excellent Madame. Perfect. I was calling today just to find out, have you ever heard of Google? Madame? Madame, why are you laughing?"

"Yes, I've heard of Google." (snort)

"Oh, perfect. We are calling today because we are hoping to make arrangement with excellent company like yourself, to advertise on the front page of Google. Madame?"

(chuffle) "I quite doubt I have the budget to advertise on the front page of Google," (as I'd have to cancel my Superbowl commercial and that would Never Do) "but here's my email address."

"Indeed, madame. That's just perfect. I will be sending you the information straight away, and then in one hour I will be calling to see if you received it."

"Yep. Have a nice day." It's nice when they give you a little heads up. I wrote down his phone number, to be sure I didn't accidentally answer the phone when he called again.

He did call back, twice. I missed him, because I was on a conference call with Donald Trump and George Clooney at the time. So sad.

To three or not to three?

Yesterday afternoon, I spent a little while working on a paint-by-number while the kids watched some TV.

"So?" You ask.

And this morning, I woke up to find that Pebbles had spent the entire night in her own bed, with no 3 am requests for cuddles or a bottle. That's been happening more and more.

"She's two," you remind me. "That's what we expect. And why are you still giving her a bottle at 3 am anyway?" (I don't know. Leave me alone.)

...AND I've noticed lately that there are times in the evening when - get this! - nobody needs me for anything. I could sit down, and it's almost like nobody would notice. Except maybe the cat, who is attracted to warm horizontal surfaces.

I was looking at pictures of Pebbles, and suddenly I'm realizing how much she's grown. That she really isn't a baby any more. She's a toddler, a person in her own right, fully equipped with her own agendas and opinions. We're arriving at that point where it starts to get easier. Or at least less intense.

So I hear myself asking, in a faraway, singsong kind of mental voice...do I want another?

HELLO? WHAT?

And then I glance nervously at my husband, to see if he heard me thinking that. Because if he did, I think he might actually cry. And then shake me. And then ask a lot of loud questions about my mental health. And I'd be waiting just as anxiously for my answers, because that's just...

(...it's biology, is what it is. It's a gazillion years of reproductive programming.)

...crazy. I've been working six days a week and I'm in no position to change that, I don't ever feel like I spend enough time with the Beloved I already have, I haven't been writing, or baking, or keeping up with any of my friends. So sure, let's have another baby. FABulous idea.

Says the little voice that started it all, "I didn't mean right this minute!"

"Oh, shut up," I tell it. "We are not discussing this." And we're not.

At least not right now.

Family

My uncle passed away a few weeks ago, quietly in his bed, with his wife sitting nearby. She said he took a breath, and then he just didn't take any more.

It's been many years since he was the man he was born to be. He had a heart attack and the resulting brain damage broke that filter most of us have - the one that keeps us from repeating the same stories over and over, telling rude jokes in front of children, and making deeply inappropriate comments. To be honest, I didn't...how do you say you didn't really like someone, when they're dead? How can I express that without looking like a right bitch?

My aunt (not the one who was married to him) remarked lately that the family here in Nova Scotia never really got to know the real him, since he only moved here after his heart attack. She remembered visiting with them in Toronto, and they had a picnic in the park, with hotdogs and potato salad. My uncle noticed a homeless man sitting off under a tree, and he went over, sat down beside him, and talked to him for a while. Made up a plate for him. That was what he was really like, she said. And he may always have had a tendency to speak in a loud voice and tell rude jokes, but he was kind and he didn't judge people. (wince)

That's how it is when someone really dies, for good. Looking back now, I admit that yes, all he ever wanted - all he was trying to do - was make us laugh. And now that he's gone, the obnoxious behaviour no longer defines him, and he comes into focus as the unique and ultimately precious individual he was. That we all are, frailties and warts and indiscretions included.

The Family has Come: my father, his seven sisters, and the various spouses and offspring and grand-offspring who all cared enough to make the trek from Ottawa, Toronto, and wherever. Tonight we'll all be eating supper together at the house built for them by their father. And while we're a big family and prone to gather like puppies in a basket, this will be the first time I recall all the aunties being there at once. I wouldn't miss it for the world.

Meme

Because I can do this while I'm on hold...

TECHNOLOGY:What is the wallpaper on your computer?
A cat with its paw over its face, captioned "I cannot brain today, I have the dumb."

Does that make sense?
OMG yes.

How many televisions do you have in your house?
Two.

BIOLOGY
Are you right handed or left handed?
Right handed, but I use my left for cutting food because I hate switching hands with my silverware.

Have you ever had anything removed from your body?
Yes. A gallbladder, some wisdom teeth and two children.

What is the last heavy item you lifted?
A computer.

Have you ever been knocked out?
During (and after) some of the procedures above, yes, if that counts.

BULLSHITOLOGY
If it were possible, would you want to know the day you were going to die?
No way.

If you could change your name, what would you change it to?
I wouldn't change it, strange as it is.

What color do you think looks best on you?
Brown, black, red and pink, bright green.

Have you ever swallowed a non-food item?
Yes. A button, in church. It fell off my blouse and I didn't have a pocket, so I put it in my mouth... hey, I was twelve. My brain wasn't really developed yet.

DAREOLOGY
Would you kiss a member of the same sex for $100?
I think so, yanno, depending...

Would you allow one of your little fingers to be cut off for $200,000?
Hell, no.

Would you never blog again for $50,000?
Yes.

Would you drink an entire bottle of hot sauce for $1,000?
Yes.

Would you, without fear of punishment, take a human life for a million dollars?
Of course not.

DUMBOLOGY
What is in your left pocket?
nothing.

Is Napoleon Dynamite actually a good movie?
I have no idea.

Do you have hardwood or carpet in your house?
Both.

Do you sit or stand in the shower?
Stand.

How many pairs of flip flops do you own?
One. Do Birks count? Then two.

LASTOLOGY
Last person who texted you?
I don't have text messaging.

Last person who called you?
Pastor Ross. He wants to know about his laptop repair.

Last person you hugged?
Pebbles.

FAVOURITOLOGY
Number?13

Season? Summer.

Color? sunshine yellow.

CURRENTOLOGY
Missing someone?
Yes, my peeps.

Mood?
Cranky. The full moon is coming and people are acting weird.

Listening to?
Iceberg radio

Worrying about?
Work. Oh, and the size of my butt. (G)

Wearing?
black capris and a purple shirt, and a (very sexy) wrist splint.

RANDOMOLOGY
First place you went this morning?
The kitchen. That's where the kettle is.

What can you not wait to do?
Go home

Do you smile often?
Oh yes.

Are you a friendly person?
Yes, sometimes too much so.

What I did on my summer vacation (all 4 days of it)

It was only a few days, but sometimes that's all you get. Sometimes, it's all you need. So, how did I spend my precious few?

I drove across the province in a blue minivan with my kids, over the spiny ridge that runs the length of the mainland, past the airport to the summit where suddenly you can see lush green farmland rolling away to the horizon. We came back down to water level at Truro, a town at the tip of the Bay of Fundy, which smells like a combination of manure and fast food. That's where you'll find the Acricultural College, but for the life of me I couldn't tell you what else is there - except every food franchise known to man, crammed cheek by jowl on a 1 km stretch of potholes.

Pebbles, sensibly, slept the whole way. BamBam and I sang along to such timeless classics as The Cat Came Back, and The Big Ship Sailed on the Alley Alley Ooh, Crocodile Rock, and the Hockey Song.

After Truro we turned to the north, and drove uphill and down through more beautiful country. A new vista opens at the crest of every hill as the highway rolls away from you toward the Northumberland Strait. This is Nova Scotia, Appalacia's last sleepy murmer before she lays herself down to sleep in the ocean.

And at last, Pictou. The place where the first Scottish settlers landed, giving Nova Scotia her name. It's a wonderful little town, where they've built a museum and a replica of the Ship Hector, the boat that brought those settlers. (I love the souvenir shop, we go every year. We also eat lunch in Thom's Pub.)

In Pictou my imagination bubbles, warmed by the local history. I can feel these people around me, wanting me to hear their stories. Some day when the kids are bigger I hope to go down there to research and write.

Once there...

I walked on the beach at low tide with my kids and mom and sister, looking at starfish and hermit crabs. I also went for a long walk on a dirt road with Mom and the kids - who missed not one single mud puddle the whole way. Pictou has red dirt, high in iron. It doesn't wash out easily, but it was worth it.

I played Scattergories and Boggle with my mom and sister. We also worked on a paint-by-number.

I biked 10K on a hot day in hilly country with my dad and DH. DH and I didn't exactly keep up with the "old feller", but Dad was kind enough to stop and wait for us from time to time. Come to think of it, it's possible that DH was just hanging back to keep me company. And maybe to make sure I didn't die in the ditch. (On getting back to the cottage, my concerned family parked me in a lawn chair with some ice water. I guess my face was a little red. (G) )

We had a water balloon fight. Mom made us a gourmet lunch of watermelon, pepperoni, cheese and crackers, but it got a little wet when Dad and DH attacked her with the hose and a bucket of water. (She still doesn't know exactly who did that, so don't tell!)

My dad made a bonfire on the beach at dusk, and we swatted bugs and roasted an entire bag of marshmallows.

Pebbles caught a surprise wave right in the chops - and she was fine. She shivered convulsively, and said "Oooh, cold." Then, smacking her lips, "tasty!"

Finished reading STRAY, by Rachel Vincent. (I highly recommend it.) Threw a football with BamBam, and ate a hotdog that fell on the ground.

I went for a ride on DH's motorbike - something I haven't done for years, what with pregnancy and smallish children. Also went to the grocery store dressed in black leather - and bought ground beef, potato chips and toaster strudel. Yep, we're hoodlums.

We drove home on the sunniest day of all four, tired and full of gratitude for the time with my family, followed by DH on his motorbike. I entertained myself by cleaning my windshield unnecessarily, and watching him in the rear view to see if I got him with the spray. (The very best part of this was that he had no idea I was doing it on purpose. (G)

So anyway, I'm back at work now, and have been for a week, but I just wanted to share with you (and remind myself) what a really good weekend it was, full of little-arm hugs and marshmallow kisses, sunscreen and laughter. I can't wait for the next one.

An actual email

This, from one of my suppliers:

"Just in this fine morning All our free to air satelite recievers and accessorries have just arrived in stock. So get then now why we still have stock there going fast. "

Ow, my head.

Countdown to the weekend: 6 hours, 16 minutes.

Living the Coles notes version

It feels longer than two months since my awesome co-worker left, and I'm still trying to find a rhythm of work and home that functions properly. There just isn't enough time, I'm covering the bases, checking off the major points - shower, work, bedtime stories - and enjoying hardly any of it. It's the Coles notes version of my life.

At work, I'm three weeks behind on some of my administrative stuff, and I go from line 1 to line 2 to the counter, to email, and back to the phone again. I'm doing all right, I'm doing a good job, but I'm so rushed that I'm not getting the sense of accomplishment I would like to feel. I'm only tired.

Then I drive home, trying to shake the vaguely irritable, dissatisfied feelings before I get there, so I can walk in with a smile and enjoy the kids for those two or three precious hours before they go to bed. Work is over now, I am lucky to be going home to such a wonderful family.

I once heard a woman on a tv show remark "If the Momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy!" I remember rolling my eyes, and wondering just who in hell she thought she was, the queen? But now that I have a family, I see what she meant. It wasn't that she wanted everybody kowtowing to her every whim. It's just a simple truth - the household watches the mother. They take their cues from her, they calibrate their sense of peace and wellness according to her mood.

No pressure. (G)

Being away from them so much, I can't help but feel the full import of this priviledge - what an incredible thing, to be so essential to these people. And yet, it can be overwhelming. I don't always manage to get my sh*t together, and those days it's rough knowing that I'm letting them down. They need me.

And then my daughter goes to sleep with her little hand on my face, and I am forgiven, and healed.

But wait...see the calendar? It says that at 6 pm today, the door closes - and it's going to stay that way until Wednesday morning. We're going to my parents' cottage, which is far enough away but not too far, and I will have a break. Four days with no work, no telephone, just the Beloved and my parents and the ocean. We'll do a massive jigsaw puzzle, drink some beer, and laugh a lot.

Thank you, God.

I'm baaaaaack

I've pulled out The Witch of Badenock, blew the dust off it, and I'm currently reading through my most recent edit of the thing.

Yes, I said I wouldn't. I am, anyway.

I developed, over years of growing as a writer, a set of personal rules designed to help me meet my writing goals. The strictest of them was "No going back" because I had developed a habit of endlessly re-writing the first part of a WIP - during which period I neither progressed in the story, nor did I learn very much. It's a good rule, it worked.

However, it belonged to a woman with heck of a lot more spare time than I have.

I'm married, working five-and-a-half days a week running my own company and raising two kids. My schedule is packed with duties and obligations that really are more important than writing - and so when I think of writing in within the confines of my old "rules" it quickly loses its appeal. What I need right now is a little time spent doing something recklessly creative - just because I feel like it. So I've chucked out the rules, because they belong to a different era, and hey! It's the new me. Again.

Writing freely and without apparent aim, schedule or outline is still writing. My dreams of being published and seeing my name on the cover of a book are still alive and valid - but they don't seem quite as close, as reachable, as they did two short months ago, when I was churning out over 10K per month. (Wordcount for May? Zero. Howzat for ineffective?)

The thing is I miss my historical, and I feel like playing with it. So today that's what I'm doing.

I feel better already.

He's so lonesome, he could cry...

Had my third conversaton with the new "IT" guy over at the office of one of our long-standing clients. I've already explained to him how external hard drives work, and how to locate the video card in a computer - and yes, there are different types. Today's chat went like this (I changed his name):

Me: "Hi Alex?"
Alex: "Hi Cindy."
Me: "Yeah, so the problem with the PC here, it's the power supply. $49.00 part, plus an hour labour."
Alex: "I don't understand. There was no display."
Me: (What? Hello?) "Right. You had no display because the computer wasn't turning on. There was no p..o..w..e..r."
Alex: "Is that because I didn't send you the cable?"
Me: (Oh, buddy. How did you get this job?) "No, we have cables. The power supply, it's um, where the machine takes your current from the wall and splits it out to different rails, 3.3V, 5V, 12V, that the components need. It's that thing. It failed."
Alex: "Oh, that makes sense."
Me: "Mmmhmm. And there's a password, we'll need that."
Alex: "Oh."
Me: "So, it's…?"
Alex: "left out"
Me: (Oh, God.) "Uh, that's all one word?"
Alex: "Yes. One word. Leftout."

Now I'm sad.

Night life

The night before last, my two-year-old daughter woke up at 11:30 pm, just as my eyes were drifting shut. I waited to see if she would settle, and she didn't, so I went to bring her into the big bed. That always works.

Or, yanno, not.

My usual secret weapons - back rubbing, whispering the words to Goodnight Moon, saying good night to all her favourite TV characters - nothing I did was any help at all. I had some time to reflect that girls always seem to be angry with their mothers for something, and Pebbles seems to have picked out her reasons already. An hour later, she was still tossing and turning, fussing and complaining, and I was Highly Annoyed. It all came to a head when she suddenly began to crawl away from me, escaping my grasp in the dark, ignoring my warnings, and fell off the bed.

"Well, what did you think would happen?" I growled as I picked her up off the floor.

He-who-fixes-everything came in then, took the tired and weeping daughter from the tired and angry mother, and went away.

Half an hour later they returned. He was ready for bed. She…not so much.

For nineteen days we took turns telling her to go to sleep, groaning softly into our pillows and and forestalling her attempts to start up a conversation. "Where Nanny? Where BamBam? I go play now?"

At 4 am I declared an intermission, and we all got out of bed for a snack and bathroom break. Pebbles took the opportunity to pee out the side of her diaper (all over both of us), so we donned fresh jammies, shared some toast with Cheez Whiz and a peach. DH decamped to the downstairs sofa, and Pebbles and I read some board books. We (finally) went to sleep at about 5 am.

All day yesterday, it was 3 am on a deserted country road inside my mind. On an electric pole, standing sentinel beside a moonlit corn field, a transformer crackled and sparked from time to time, and the Bzzzt! Bzzzzzzzzt! was the only sound for miles around.

The customers here at work were thrilled to find such a good listener, and so expounded on their problems - computer-related and otherwise - at length, while I had deep thoughts like "Yanno, I think this guy has dentures."
Bzzzt. Bzzzzzzt.

"How do I import my contacts from my backup to to Outlook?"
I want popcorn. Popcorn would be really good right now.
Bzzzt. Bzzzzzzt.

"Hello, it's Mimi from Iffy Electronicals? Could I speak with your purchasing manager, please?"
Swimming, swimming, in the swimming hole, when days are hot…
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzt.

"Yes, it's Edouard from the Massive Book of Overpriced Advertisements…"
when days are coooooooooooold, in the swimming hooooooooole!
Bzt. Bzt. Bzzzzz....….t.