Why I can never do Yoga again

As the year winds down, I'm sharing some of my favorites from when this was my Writer in Waiting blog. Hope you enjoy. 

NOT ME.    (Picture courtesy fo StockSnap via Pixbay.com) 


(Picture courtesy fo StockSnap via Pixbay.com) 

I want to share with you the tragic, yet true story of why I no longer do yoga. If you know me in person or have seen me try to walk across a completely clear, flat surface, and still trip, then the thought of me doing Yoga is entertaining on its own, but this particular experience brought it to a whole new level.  I hope it makes you smile this today. 

Still not me.   (Picture courtesy of Jesslef via Pixbay.com) 

Still not me. 

(Picture courtesy of Jesslef via Pixbay.com) 

I used to love Yoga.

Did it all the time and really appreciated how it helped keep me less stressed and calm ...but one fateful morning, all that changed!

I got up like normal, laid out my mat, did my little routine with the TV (Kurt Johnsen— Yoga for Life. It used to be on Oxygen in the mornings.) I ended feeling very calm and centered. Sufficiently balanced to start my day.

Not my feet.   (Picture courtesy of WerbeFabrik via Pixbay.com) 

Not my feet. 

(Picture courtesy of WerbeFabrik via Pixbay.com) 

Now for those of you who have never done Yoga, it is done barefoot. Just keep that in mind.

I finished my routine. Stood up and started to roll up my mat. My mind a million other places...

Did I sign that permission form? What time did Scott say he needed to get going this morning?

and the weirdest thought to have on carpet in the middle of a living room...

 Why am I standing on a ice cube??

It did NOT look like this! 

It did NOT look like this! 

 I looked down... IT WAS A LIZARD!!!!! A baby gecko... and I was standing on it... BAREFOOT! 

All balance, centered, calmness immediately left my body!

I did get some cardio in as I RAN to the bedroom to wake up my loving husband ( Dead lizard removal falls in his skill set, not mine!)

So I am shaking him and swinging my foot around like a cat with tape on its paw, wiping it on everything I can find.

" Get up! Get up! I just stepped on a a lizard in the living room. I think I killed it! You have to get up and get rid of it!!!"

Do you know what the manly protector of my household said?

"If it is already dead, why do I have to get up right now and get rid of it?"

Not my husband. 

Not my husband. 

I can't print what I said back to him because it wasn't very lady-like, but we'll just say it should have encouraged him to take some action, but he just rolled back over. 

I ran back into the living room ( More cardio) because I heard my daughter getting up, and I didn't want her to see the poor squished thing.


It had crawled half way across the floor. It paused, I'm assuming to look at the crazy human who tried to flatten it, then ran off and hid! 

So while I was grateful that I did not kill it.


Of course, after Scott refused to help me, I kept hoping it had crawled into his shoe, but no such luck.

Sadly that is why I can never do yoga again... That combined with the fact I almost had to have my right foot ( the one that touched it ) surgically removed and replaced with a new one... bathing it in lysol didn't help me much !

Signs of the Season

Today is the first day it's actually been cool here. The high today is only 70 and it's possible that we won't hit 90 this week! Besides making my dogs act like they're puppies again, the cold breeze got me thinking about this post and missing my mom. This ran six years ago, almost to the day. It's one of the few blog post she ever read. And I think it made her smile. 

Thinking about Thursday

                 With the exception of one year in Missouri, I have lived my whole life in Texas and Oklahoma. Fall here never looks like the picture above.

                  For example, my children are still wearing shorts to school and my thermostat is still set to AC. The temperature this week won't get below 65 degrees, even at night.  So, it is hard to get into the feeling of the season.

                   In fact, I don't associate autumn with the turning of the leaves at all. Instead, I associate it with the smell of chili.

                  My mom isn't big on cooking. She has stated on more than one occasion that she could happily live in a house with no kitchen. But every year when the weather would finally turn cold enough to need a jacket instead of a sweatshirt, our house would be filled with the smell of chili.

                  The weird part is, I don't even like chili that much but it could definitely be considered one of my comfort foods. One whiff and I see myself in the warm glow of the lamp in parents' living room, sitting on couch with my feet tucked under an afghan, carefully balancing one of mom's special chili bowls on my lap. 

               And that feels like Fall to me.

What about you? What's the weather like where you are? What brings the images of the season to your mind? 

Until Dawn: My ill-fated venture into video gaming

Until Dawn - PlayStation 4
Sony Computer Entertainment

 I am not a gamer...at all. 

My husband always has been. When we were dating and first married, I thought he was the most considerate man in the world because on lazy weekends he'd look at me and with a gentle smile and say my favorite words, "Baby, do you want go to the bookstore?"

And, I LOVE going to the bookstore. Off we'd go, he'd patiently check out the magazines while I wandered through the aisles then he'd encourage me to buy a few and I'd skip out of the store like a happy kid with a new toy. That's when he'd casually add, "Hey, while we're already out, do you mind if we pop in this game store real quick? I just want to see something." 

In my new-book-induced bliss, I nod like a bobble-head doll. Inevitably, he'd "happen" to find a game he'd been thinking about it and purchase it. Then, I'd spend the afternoon (okay, sometimes, the afternoon, evening, night and early morning, ) reading while he played his game. 

Took me YEARS to figure out I was being had. 

Sneaky, but cute. :)

Sneaky, but cute. :)

He did attempt to involve me in the gaming. Once, he set me up on this game where I was a diver on an underwater jet-ski and I was supposed to be hunting fish or taking pictures of fish or finding fish, I don't remember. Something with fish. 

I was all proud of myself, checking out the underwater scenery, looking for the fish. After a good while of that he said, "Do you know you haven't moved? You're just turning in a circle." 

And I went back to my books. 

But he passed on this love of video games to our youngest daughter, who had a birthday this week and used her birthday money to purchase a new gaming system and some games. 

That's where the creepy picture at the top of the post comes in. 

Another important point to this adventure is I am proudly a BIG FAT CHICKEN. I don't do horror. I don't read it. I don't watch it. I don't want to hear the campfire stories. Absolutely NOT MY THING. 

My girls BEGGED for this game. I knew it was rated Mature. Both my girls are teenagers. They've both watched "play-throughs" of this game on YouTube and both repeatedly assured me that the M rating was about the language and some violence but it wasn't worse than an action movie. 

So I caved (which is something I rarely do.) 

The rule in our house is that computers and gaming systems stay in public areas so I knew I would still have veto power if the game got too inappropriate. 

We all settled in the living room with all the lights ON and the afternoon sun shining through every window. This game is more like a every bad teenage horror movie than a video game. The animation is startlingly realistic and it's the basic: cabin-in-the-woods-no-help-coming-ever-who-will-survive-the-night? storyline. 

I can tell you the answer to that is never: Dawn! 

At some point, for some reason, a boy in the game is looking for a can of deodorant to use in conjunction with a cigarette lighter to melt the ice from a lock because how else would you do that? 

He wanders around this empty house, finally locates a bathroom and reaches for the cabinet. 

This is when my oldest, who was playing at the time paused the game and said, "Mom, there's going to be a jump-scare here. Be ready." 

Jump-scare. Got it. I am an adult. It's bright enough to land an airplane in here. I'm safe in my living room. Not in a cabin on a snow-covered mountain with a possible maniac chasing me (we can put that on the list of place I NEVER intend to be). 

Bring it on! 

She resumed play. The character reaches for the cabinet. I brace myself. The cabinet opens slowly, revealing the can of spray deodorant. Nothing happens. 

Whew. I was worried for nothing. 

"Wait for it, " My youngest says. 

Oh, not over yet? Okay. I'm ready. I've got this. Nerves of steel, baby. 

The character grasps the can of deodorant, removes it from the cabinet. Nothing happens. 

*sigh of relief*  

The girls must have this wrong. They must be thinking of a different cabinet. Everything is-


Cue me shrieking like a B-movie actress.

This created a domino-effect.

My fearless, four-legged protectors both jerked from a sound sleep, barking as if the world was ending and my daughters had to stop playing the game. 

Not because it was too inappropriate. 

Because they were both laughing like drunk hyenas and couldn't manage the controller. 

Below is a picture of me taken moments after the incident:

Picture credit: Eric Gorski- flickr creative commons

Picture credit: Eric Gorski- flickr creative commons






Adventures in Dressing Myself

It's the time of year when I go on a hunt for the perfect dress to wear to the Romance Writers of America RITA awards ceremony (kind of like the Oscars for romance writers).

So far, I've stuck to solid colors, kind of a plain-but-dressed-up-with-jewelry style. 

Here are pictures from the three years I've gone with my fabulous writing tribe:  Roni Loren, Jamie Wesley,  and Genevieve Lynne







*You see that thing in Roni's hand? That's a RITA! Because she's awesome. 

**We all have weird smiles in this one because the hotel dude didn't seem to be able to work a phone camera. 

This year I wanted something a little flashier. Maybe a little more daring (at least for me.) So, I ordered this dress. 

This is not me. This is some awesome model. 

It came in yesterday. It has more gold on the roses than I’d like and I was worried it might be a size too small. But, it fit well, hid my tummy, showed off my legs. Everything I was looking for in a dress except when I pulled it down over my chest, I noticed that it “accentuated my assets" a little better than I'm normally comfortable with. It accomplished this with a thin band that should have been at my waist but was across my rib cage, making each breath an adventure. 

 I modeled it for my older teen first (who is the resident fashion guru). She gushed about how cute it was and how flattering. She liked it so much, I was debating how much I enjoy breathing and if I could make it through a few hours without doing that. I mean, when a fifteen year-old compliments your style, you got to consider your options. 

I had her unzip the back (ahhh, oxygen!) and made my way back to my room. 

At this point, I discovered a universal truth about tight dresses and large chests. Pulling something down is much easier than pulling it back up. 

I couldn't push the whole dress down because it's fitted and wouldn't stretch over my hips. I couldn't pull it over my head because, well, there were obstacles. 

Basically I ended up with the dress half over my head, trying to squish and pull at the same time. All while having panicked thoughts of being trapped in the dress forever or, at least until I lost consciousness from lack of oxygen to my brain, which might have been slightly irrational. 

It probably looked very much like this, just without the frogs. 

It probably looked very much like this, just without the frogs. 

 I  was already picturing being cut out of my fashion choice by paramedics when  I heard my youngest daughter's voice.

"Mom, are you okay? Do you need some help?" 

Bless you, child. Bless you

I held things in place while she pulled it over my head as if I were a two year-old. 

So, if you see me at RWA this year, please, please say hi! I love making new friends, will probably talk way longer than I should and will be happy to pose for a picture in my nice, safe, plain dress that won't attack me after the RITA ceremony. 

How he won my heart with a hammer...

My Prince Charming

What makes a moment romantic?

                 If you've been reading my blog for a while, you probably already heard this story. I like to telling it again around Valentine's Day to remind everyone that romance isn't all chocolate, lingerie and semi-precious stones. It's about listening and showing your love, even if it involves household tools.

                  Despite appearances, the picture above is FAR from one of our most romantic moments. Some day, if you have a few hours and enough money for margaritas, I will tell you about that day and the unromanticness (Yes, it is a word. I don't care if the rest of the world doesn't acknowledge it). No, our most romantic moment involves a hardware tool and my soon-to-be husband was nowhere in sight.

                 I met my husband two weeks after I moved to Texas. We met at a church we were both visiting for the first time. He asked me to lunch after the morning service ( an interesting story in itself, but I'll save it for another time). After the evening service, we ate ice cream at a park. I will add here that one of the top ten most romantic moments was when he turned to me and said, "Do you like to read? Because I just finished this great book. It's called the Notebook. I think the author is Nicholas somebody." (Insertme swooning here).

                 After our official first date the next Sunday, he made a comment about the bareness of my apartment walls. I responded that I had never noticed I didn't own a hammer and nails until I moved into the apartment alone. We went on to talk about other things and I didn't even think about it again.

                The next day was a Monday in every sense of the word. I taught middle school at the time and let's just say all of my students were very much seventh graders that day. I remember wanting to cry when I pulled up to my apartment because my head was throbbing, as were my feet, and I lived on the second floor. When I finally dragged myself up the stairs, something was leaning against my door.

 A silver hammer with a shiny red bow. 

And that, my friends, is all it took.

So Tell Me Your Story. 

What is your most unconventionally romantic moment? Got big plans for Valentine's day? Ever swoon over a tool (no innuendo intended!)? 

Cookie Monster, Marvin the Martian and Why I Will Never Do Drugs.

Tell Me Your Story Tuesday

My Bad Trip

Innocent Dawn~ Age 6

I want to start off today's post by saying, I have never tried drugs of any kind. There's no "wink, wink" after that or even an "I didn't inhale."

I just never tried them. I was terrified of needles so, you know, that's out. I also had terrible allergies which meant I certainly wasn't smoking, sniffing or snorting. I've actually never even tried cigarettes.

Yeah, I know. I'm boring. Anyway...

I think part of the reason I avoided them so staunchly was because of one bad trip.

It all started with the bunnies. As I said, I was pretty much allergic to everything. So, when I came home with a rash after playing with a friend's bunnies all afternoon, my mom really didn't have any reason to be alarmed.

My Dad was out of town so Mom tucked me in her bed and we drifted peacefully into dreamland.

At some point in the middle of the night, I opened my eyes and this was staring back at me.

*Cartoon version of BIG, SCARY, SPIDER used here so I don't have flashbacks!*

In my 5 year-old mind, I convinced myself that it was impossible a spider THAT big was sitting on my chest,

looking at me.

The blankets must have become twisted to look like a spider. Yes, that was it. All I had to do was smooth out the blankets and it would be gone. 

I held my breath, counted to three (twice, because I chickened out the first time) then WHACKED the blanket spider...which didn't move.

Terrified, I turned to my sleeping mother and saw hundreds of these:

scurrying around her, no doubt preparing to cart her off into space.

And that would be when I started screaming.

Now, I should interrupt here and explain I had night terrors as a child. The problem with having night terrors is that when you are fully awake, hysterically babbling about giant spiders and little green men, your mom tends to not take you as seriously as you would like.

Mom thought I was asleep.

She wrapped her arms around me to keep me from physically fleeing the bed, which I had every intention of doing.

At some point during my incoherent battle to escape, movement in my mother's dresser mirror caught my attention.

This guy was waving at me.

I instantaneously went from terror-filled to laughing.

"Look, mommy! Cookie Monster is in your mirror! He thinks I am going to give him my cookie, but I'm not going to."

Then... I passed out.

First thing in the morning, we were sitting in a doctor's office. He declared the rash was not an allergic reaction, but the chicken pox.

The experience the night before had not been a night terror, but hallucinations brought on by the fever.

I will admit for years afterward, I would sneak a peak into my parents' room and check the mirror.

Just in case Cookie Monster ever decided to come back.

Ghosts of Halloween Past


I distinctly remember the blow-up head. I have NO IDEA what this costume is, though. The 80s were a confusing time to be young.

I distinctly remember the blow-up head. I have NO IDEA what this costume is, though. The 80s were a confusing time to be young.

Halloween has never been my favorite holiday. I'm a big 'fraidy cat. I've been to one haunted house in my entire life, an experience that ended with a bleeding hand and my date rubbing my back as I sat with my head between my knees, gasping my way through a full-blown anxiety attack. 

So, Halloween is not really my thing. But I do have one good memory of Halloween. 

When I was thirteen, my friends and I had a Halloween sleepover at my house. Instead of trick or treating, we stuffed ourselves with chocolate and pizza while watching really bad 80s horror movies. Probably something along the lines of Sleepaway Camp 12. 

At some point, my dad came downstairs to the kitchen. 

He paused at the threshold to the living room where we were all piled together like puppies in a mass of blankets and pillows and motioned to the wild turkey, mounted in mid-flight over the fireplace. 

"Y'all know that turkey's going to take flight at midnight." 

I rolled my eyes. But, Dad kept going. 

"He does it every Halloween at midnight. He'll come off his perch, make one trip around the room then go right back on there like nothing happened. Y'all just got to sit real still and not get in his way." 

Yeah, right. We were in Middle School. We weren't falling for some silly story about a zombie turkey flying around the room. 

I responded with a typical, annoyed-teenage-girl voice. "Goodnight, Dad." 

He just chuckled and headed back upstairs. 

Now, we KNEW. Knew that turkey wasn't going to fly at midnight. We were all smart kids. I'd lived with this turkey for most of my life. I hadn't seen it flap its way around a room on any of the many Halloweens we'd spent together. 

But, still as my mom's cuckoo clock ticked closer to midnight, we all found ourself eyeing that turkey. The closer it got to twelve o'clock, the more openly we stopped and watched. Just in case something magical was about to happen.

At midnight, all of us were intently focused on that turkey.

The cuckoo came out. 

Then, Dad barreled into the room, wailing like a demon, in a horrifying mask with the head of a DEAD FISH hanging around his neck. 

You have never seen thirteen-year-old girls move so fast. We scattered like crazed squirrels, squealing loud enough to shatter glass. 

I can still hear Dad laugh. 

No idea where he got the dead fish!

No idea where he got the dead fish!

At least he didn't come out like this. We'd probably all be dead now. I'm the one on the right, by the way. Who looked at that costume and thought, "My four-year-old daughter will LOVE this!"

At least he didn't come out like this. We'd probably all be dead now. I'm the one on the right, by the way. Who looked at that costume and thought, "My four-year-old daughter will LOVE this!"


My Last First Friday

Today is the first Friday of this school year. It's the day teachers release a collective sigh and head home in a near delirium state of exhaustion. We've made it through the first week. The routines will settle in on Monday and we've only got 35 more weeks to go.  

For me, the first Friday of last year was my last day of "normal". 

I remember the sound of the dismal bell for last period and calling to my students to, "have a great weekend!"

I remember leaving piles of paper on my desk but still shoving some in my bag to take home.

I remember still feeling slightly sticky from the weak AC in my room and the first pep rally of football season as I locked the classroom door behind me and exited the building. 

Having no idea I'd never walk back in that room as a teacher again. 

I don't remember if I cooked dinner that night or if my husband and I left the kids with my mom and ate out.

I can barely remember driving to Oklahoma the next day for a birthday party and driving home Sunday afternoon. 

What I do remember about Sunday is before I sat down to go through those papers or gather my lesson plans for the week, before I cooked dinner for my kids or really even had a conversation with my husband, I went into my mom's room. 

I guess not everyone can pinpoint the minute their life changed. For most people, it's probably a gradual shift that sneaks up on you like those extra pounds on your hips or needing reading glasses after 40. I know the exact moment my life changed. 

August 30, 2015 4:30pm. 

Mom and I were sitting on her bed, talking about the birthday party. That's when her head dropped to her chest as if she'd fallen asleep. That's the moment that triggered 36 hours of her being incoherent, a 13 day hospital stay, a devastating diagnosis delivered by a teary-eyed surgeon, folding his mask over and over in his hand and a decision.

I would leave teaching for 12 weeks. 

But 12 weeks wasn't enough. So, I resigned. I packed up the personal things from my classroom, leaving any materials I thought my replacement could use until I could collect them at the end of the year. 

I became a full-time caregiver until March 10th when I became Executrix of the estate. 

I didn't return to teaching this year. I wasn't ready. I have too much reassembling of my life that needs to happen first. 

I thought it would hit me on the first day when my daughters headed out to their new classes and my husband left for work. I thought that's when I'd miss it. I didn't. 

Not until today. 

I don't miss teaching, yet. I've missed my students and my co-workers but not teaching itself. I'm sure that will come.

What I miss today is the me who walked out of those high school doors on the first Friday last year. 

The one who didn't know what was coming. Didn't know to be worried and didn't know everything in her world was about to change.