Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Operation "Cheer My Mom Up"

So my mother is even more laid up than usual, what with the broken femur and all, and she's in pain a lot of the time, and I was looking at her bulletin board the other day thinking it's been a while since she got mail ...

And she loves Christmas ...

And I had this idea!!!

Who wants to send my Mom a Christmas card?  Even if you don't know her, you can just sign it "Sue's friend Hepzibah" (alternatively, feel free to use your real name) -

wouldn't it be awesome to fill her bulletin board with Christmas cards?

It's likely best if you email me at brekke2004@gmail.com for her address.


Monday, November 21, 2011


Six hockey games in four days!  (B's team won them all.  Lots of close ones, too.)

So the last five days have been arenas and take out coffee and the smack of the stick against the ice and really, is there a sound more Canadian than that?  And mothers screaming encouragement from the stands and lots of good cold Canadian air ...

And a dog with a backache and kids with earaches and heartaches and an amazing dance performance by my daughter's talented hiphop troupe crew.  It's a called a crew...

And church and a potluck, and an hour or so with my mother, who would like to sleep until either the winter is over or her leg is better or something interesting happens ...

So today is about writing a book.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

I should post once in a while.

So it's been exactly one while since I posted last.

Update:  the lower something-or-knobby-other than sticks out on the end of a femur is the bone that is cracked, not broken, on my mom's leg.  My mother remains unconcerned about laying blame and is just lying around healing.  And trying to scratch inside the (somelongname) splint she's wearing.

Novel update:  (novel as noun, not adjective)  I had to make a decision this week.  Decisions make me fractious.  The Novel, as is, is not quite adult and not quite YA, so Changes had to be made.  But first I had to decide who I was writing for.  Some people decide this before they write a book.  These, I suspect, are people who actually believe they can actually write an actual whole book before they have shuffled off this mortal coil.  I am only one of those people who believe that because, whoops, I did it.

So it was either make it grittier or replace the protagonists mother, who was kind of a co-protagonist, with someone much younger and therefore someone the imaginary YA reader wanted to read about.  Nothing grittier occurred to me, but a spiky teenaged year old girl, all elbows and wild hair, showed up and told me her name was Greer, and she was perfectly capable of raising one young boy.  (she actually didn't tell me her name.  I had to guess.  I guessed for days.)

Weird writing thingummy:  I pondered how to effect such a change.  "Maybe," I thought, driving around doing errands, "Kirna could die in childbirth." and suddenly there was, in my imaginary head, an outraged shriek, and someone saying "I will most certainly NOT die in childbirth."  The discussion continued until I found a way to get rid of Kirna that she would agree to.

Animal update: (also noun, although what other part of speech could animal be?)  She is currently gently bewildered, as I have barricaded her into the dining room because she has a sore back.  More accurately, she has a sore back when she is not taking anti-inflammatories (with a syringe!  I squirt them into her mouth and she tries to lick them off her tongue!  It's very entertaining.)  Even though the drugs take away her pain, she must continue to act like she is in pain if her back is to get any better, ie, not jumping on the couch, or racing up the stairs, or being an enthusiastic small dog.

There is no way to explain this to her, so I have barricaded her into the dining room, so instead of sitting at my feet staring at me because she is in pain, she is sitting at my feet staring at me because she wants to lie on her blanket on the couch.

And that's all I have to say for, oh, a while or two.

Sunday, November 06, 2011

A Small Story

I may have mentionned that I was raised in a turbulent home, by an angry, frustrated woman who did not know how to control her temper.

A woman who gave her life to God when I was 10 or 11 ...and the transformation began.  It wasn't overnight.  It wasn't even over the course of a year, or two years, but now, three and a half decades later - here is a story about my mother.

She called me from the nursing home Friday, in terrible pain.  The aides had gotten her up to be weighed, (she is unable to move on her own at all), and in the process, had hurt her knee somehow.  Saturday she was sent for xrays, and today, I discovered that she has a broken bone somewhere in her knee, and is in a cast from hip to ankle.

I waited until I was no longer angry to call her and see how she was doing.

"I feel sorry for Jennifer*" she said.  (*Jennifer is not her real name)


"The girl who hurt me.  She just forgot my knees don't bend, and bent it right back."

No anger, no judgement, no sense of entitlement, no feeling sorry for herself.

That right there, people? 

That is a woman who knows Jesus.

Friday, November 04, 2011

Information Session

I think it's important, as we go through life learning things, that we pass on what we've learned to others.

Today, for instance, I have learned that a common method of aftercare for tattoos is to use a solution of rock salt dissolved in water for cleansing.

Therefore, if you have a teen who has a friend who got a tattoo for her birthday, it's just possible that one day your teen's friend will stuff a bag full of rock salt in your teen's purse.

This makes it possible for your teen to leave a bag of rock salt on her bed.

This makes it possible for the dog to find the bag of rock salt.

This make it possible for you to discover the rock salt when you take it away from the dog.

And the other very important thing I learned today? 

If you stare at the bag in your hand, and then google "what does cr@ck c*c@ine look like?" - you will find something that looks remarkably like ...

rock salt.

It is not always an asset to have a rich and lively imagination.