No Conversation Necessary

I've recently been spending a lot of time with a gentleman of few words. Well, to be honest, he's a gentleman of no words. He's three months old and try as I might he just refuses to say "Aunt Kelly is my favorite by far!" I figure he'll have it down by four months.

In the meantime, he's crushing it with the non-verbal communication:

                                

So, in his honor, I present five awesome characters of a taciturn nature: 

1. The Magic Carpet

This guy never said a single word, but every time he got excited or depressed I was right there with him. Come on, don't say you weren't. That rug drooped over and shuffled away after Aladdin started yelling and you just wanted to give him a cuddle. And you know it. 

2. Tara Maclay

Sure, we may have gotten to hear her both talk and sing later on, but we first got to know her in silence. And, let's face it, even if The Gentlemen hadn't been involved in that whole stealing people's voices shenanigans, Tara's first impression probably still would have been hushed. And that's fine because it was worth waiting to hear what she had to say. 

3. Snoopy

This guy didn't need to do a lot of yapping. He had swagger. Even after he started sharing his thought bubbles, all he really needed to do was don his pilot goggles or grab his saxophone and coolness began to emanate. No conversation needed. Plus, he liked to write! And who doesn't love a kindred spirit?

4. Arthur "Boo" Radley

A prime example of actions being far more impressive than words. He might have kept his own counsel, but that didn't mean he didn't care about the people around him. In terms of neighbors, I'd choose the one who leaves gifts in trees and is willing to fight for local children over some joker who's an open book, but who doesn't give a crap about anyone else and insists on playing "F*** You" at deafening levels on a Tuesday at one forty three in the morning. 

5. Waldo

I have never read or heard anything that this man has to say. Literally the only things I know about him is that he likes to travel and has a shockingly limited wardrobe and yet I know I will never, ever stop looking for him. How many inspirational speeches can really boast inspiring that level of devotion?

How about you? Any silent charmers you'd like to add the ranks? We can get them all together and throw a giant party. I'm willing to bet money we wouldn't get any noise complaints. 

But while you're finalizing the guest list, I've got to get back to my number one laconic lad. If my calculations are correct, it's time for our daily staring contest. 

                                 

He always wins. 

Summer Reading List

Hello all!

It's been far too long, I know. Things have been a bit wacky. In the last few weeks, I've completed the international leg of my summer travel, been given a beautiful nephew by my brother and sister-in-law, and fought off the demon virus gnomes that thought they could defeat me. Silly fools. I have squashed their virus gnome bodies beneath my Velcro-laden sneaker.

Anyway, I am back in both the USA and good health, so huzzah!

To that end, I should be posting a bit more frequently before getting back to regular business this fall. No more of this month between writing nonsense. That's for the birds.

You know what's pretty great about travel? I mean, beside the whole seeing awesome places thing.

Reading time.

The past three months has been an awesome reading extravaganza. Being that it's vacation time, the material has been weighted to the romantic, but a few other genres have made appearances.

Here's what I've read so far:

• The Nightmare Affair (Mindee Arnett)
• Bolted (Meg Benjamin)
• Soulless (Gail Carriger)
• Graceling (Kristin Cashore)
• Man in the Empty Suit (Sean Ferrell)
• Hooked (Liz Fichera)
• The Best Man (Kristan Higgins)
• Love Irresistibly (Julie James)
• Practice Makes Perfect (Julie James)
• Jilted (Kelly Jamieson)
• Again the Magic (Lisa Kleypas)
• Secrets of a Summer Night (Lisa Kleypas)
• Shrapnel (Stephanie Lawton)
• Just One Kiss (Susan Mallery)
• Hitched (Erin Nicholas)
• It Had to Be You (Jill Shalvis)
• Double Play (Jill Shalvis)
• Slow Heat (Jill Shalvis)
• Busted (Sydney Somers)
• Poison (Bridget Zinn)

And next up:

• The Pericles Commission (Gary Corby)
• Unveiled (Lauren Grimley)
• OCD Love Story (Cory Ann Haydu)
• False Memory (Dan Krokos)
• Further Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman (JB Lynn)
• A Trace of Moonlight (Allison Pang)
• Divergent (Veronica Roth)
• Code Name Verity (Elizabeth Wein)

So, what have you been reading lately?

Yodeling

Do you remember how when Peter Pan was really pleased, he just had to crow? He just had too much excitement in him to express with words. Crowing like a rooster was just more appropriate.

I get how he feels. Except I'm not big on the crowing. I favor the yodel.

You see, when was a kid, the extended family used to sometimes get together at my grandma's house. She was one of eleven, so those barbeques were pretty well attended.

I've been told that I once ran up to the porch, saw all those lovely white-haired ladies and stopped dead in my tracks. My five-year-old brain was apparently a little overwhelmed by the sight and I had to ask those around me, "Which one is grandma?"

So, I may not have always been able to tell one person from another right away, but there was one thing that I consistently expected.

As my great aunt Peggy would drive away from the curb outside my grandma's, beginning her trek back to New Jersey, she would roll down her car window and yodel.

Every single time.

The window would roll down and yodeling would begin. It was her way of saying, "Had a phenomenal time! I'll miss you!," when words just wouldn't cut it.

We'd run after the car, waving and yodeling back. Because what else do you do when someone yodels to you, but yodel back? Trust me, you hear a sound like that and it's almost impossible not to respond in kind.

Now it's hardwired into me. I hear yodeling and I feel happy. Simple cause and effect.

So, what's your happy cry?

Lullabies

Between friends and family, I have a number of babies coming into my life right now. I’m going to be an auntall over the place. Which means, I’ve been looking into a lot of baby-related things lately. Given my love of music, lullabies have been on the list.

Who doesn’t enjoy being sung to sleep?

I’ve gone through periods in my life where I have listened to music every night as I’ve drifted off. I learned early on that I had to choose my bedtime music wisely. Tried the Broadway soundtrack to Footloose for a week once. Which I guess kind of worked. I was pretty tired after I got up and danced around the room for a half hour. 

However, I don’t think anyone’s going to let me watch their babies if I get them all riled up like that. So, I’ve been looking into songs of a more soothing variety.

I like some of the classics, but of course a few of them are kind of scary.

“Rock-a-Bye Baby” ends with the baby plummeting from a tree tops and possibly being crushed by a splintering cradle. Sleep tight, kid. The fact that I’ve seen “Itsy-Bitsy Spider” listed as a lullaby is bizarre to me. Who falls into peaceful slumber while thinking about spiders? I know it’s a surefire way to keep me burning the midnight oil. Or, you know, maybe we can just sing about a little girl drowning to death right before the eyes of a little boy who wants to save her, but can't swim. And then talk about how her decaying body fertilized plants. And how he fell in love with her little sister and forgot all about her. That'll give the kiddies sweet dreams.

Possibly my favorite verse from this version of the little ditty is:

In my dreams she still doth haunt me
Robed in garlands soaked in brine
Though in life I used to hug her
Now she's dead, I draw the line

Gotta teach the children boundaries, right?

Still, even more than twinkling stars and golden slumbers of the not-so-blood-curdling classics, I like some of the modern lullaby-ish tunes. Here are a few of my favorites:

If you'll notice, not an arachnid or horrible death among them.

How about you? Any suggestions for my coming nieces and nephews?

Brain Overload

When was growing up, my father lived in fear of five words: “Can we go to Blockbuster?”

It’s not the he wasn’t a movie fan. He was, and is, one of the biggest I know. What he wasn’t a fan of was the time it took me to pick out a movie.

You see, it wasn’t enough for me to just rent a movie. I had to rent the PERFECT movie. You know...the one where after I chose it, confetti would rain down and everyone in the store would cease their own movie search to clap and cheer as I ran toward the counter, bestowing high-fives on them all.

That perfect movie.

And I had a process. First I had to choose the genre. Then I had to read the back covers of pretty much every movie in those aisles. Then I had to take into account my mood and the moods I perceived in anyone who might be watching it with me.

On a good night, I was out within an hour. On a less decisive one, I was out when my father threw me over his shoulder and marched out the door.

He would valiantly try to speed the process along. He’d offer suggestions of movies that he thought I would love. I’d listen very nicely, thank him for telling me about said film, and tell him I would certainly keep it in mind during my deliberations. I honestly can’t tell you how many times, after another forty-five minutes or so of waffling, I would end up choosing dad’s suggestions.

And I would, of course, love it.

But come the next foray into Blockbuster, poor dad would be left standing there in the aisle holding his suggestion whilst I scampered off to look into another fifteen movies.

I used to think that I wouldn’t get sucked into such a time vortex if I had all these movies at home. It was the whole having to leave the house to get them that made me so intent on picking the perfect one. Because I couldn’t just switch to another if I decided I didn’t like once I got home.

But the other night I decided I was going to watch something on Netflix. I was in the mood for a comedy, so I clicked the tab and they popped up. Forty minutes later I was still scrolling. Still trying to decide between the five or so that I had whittled down to.

WHICH WAS THE PERFECT ONE?

*Cut to me rocking back and forth in a corner muttering movie titles under my breath.*

Turns out it has nothing to do with travel time.

Nope. Apparently, my brain just stops functioning at its normal pace when presented with that many story options. Good to know.

Plus side, at least now my dad doesn’t have to stand in an aisle, beating his head against a wall, whilst I peruse.

So…you’re welcome, dad.

Detour Ahead

I once spent a month helping out with my little cousin while my aunt and uncle were moving into their new house. He was about a year and a half at the time and a total dollface. And he had this habit that I’ve noticed is fairly common with kids.

He paid absolutely no attention to the direction in which he was running.

He loved being chased. There was nothing quite as thrilling as knowing that he was trying to outrun someone. He would laugh hysterically as he took off as fast as those little legs would carry him.

But he would always watch the person behind him rather that what was coming up in front.

It was mildly terrifying to be witness to.

I was always sure he was going to body slam into some piece of furniture or wall. I quickly found that yelling that something was in front of him didn’t stop him from running into it. No, the only way that I could get him to stop running was if I stopped running. He wouldn’t always pause for long, but he’d be curious enough to stop and glance around to see the cause for my lack of motion. And then he’d generally notice the chair he was about to collide with and take off on a new path.

Interestingly enough, this memory has become very helpful in my writing process. My characters do the same wild running and, not surprisingly, they too get very caught up in what’s chasing them and don’t pay nearly as much attention as they should to what they’re running into.

Only I’m not as nice to them as I was my cousin. I don’t stop so they have a second to regroup. I just let them smash into whatever’s in their path.

And that’s when things get interesting.

Santa and Sardonicus

My sister was always afraid of Santa.

Well, that’s not entirely accurate. She wasn’t afraid to sit on Santa’s lap at the mall. She was a big fan of Santa on Christmas morning. But Christmas Eve? Not so much.

Every year, the family collects by one of the upstairs bedroom windows to look for Santa’s sleigh. I was always beside myself with excitement. The magic was about to begin. I’d been waiting for this since December 26^th of the year before.

My sister, on the other hand, had one goal – get the hell to sleep before the big guy got there. And looking for reindeer just slowed down the process. She could handle at most a couple of minutes of it before she was yelling at all of us to just get in bed.

As I was a big fan of Mr. Kringle, I could never really understand her discomfort. Maybe it had something to do with his being able to get into locked houses. Or maybe she just took the whole “you better watch out” sentiment more seriously than I. All I know is that she was equal parts excitement and fear on December 24^th, while I was just pure excitement.

Except for one year.

Now the blame can’t be laid on Santa for this one. Nope. I place it squarely on the shoulders of another bearded man – my dad.

You see, his birthday is just a few days before Christmas. Today, in fact. (Happy b-day, Pops!) And one year, my older cousin gave him a birthday card during our Christmas Eve dinner. On the front was a cat with a huge, human smile.

The first time I saw it, I thought it was mildly creepy, but then my dad started talking about a movie that the card reminded him of. Well, not the card exactly, but the smile. That damn smile.

My cousin had never heard of the movie, so my dad regaled her with the tale of Mr. Sardonicus a poor man cursed with a grotesque smile after digging up his deceased father to acquire the winning lottery ticket in the older man’s pocket.

Dad has a flare for horror stories, so he was particularly dramatic as he told of the moment that the man’s wife first saw his cursed face. Wondering why her husband wasn’t speaking, she slowly lifts a candle in the darkness and there he stands in all his glory.

Later that night, lying in bed I was suddenly struck with the image of looking over at my sister only to have her looking back at me with the smile of that stupid cat. The Mr. Sardonicus smile. The thought scared me enough I started crying.

Well she heard me. And thought I was crying over Santa. So she started crying.

Shortly after, my parents came up to check on us and found us sitting next to each other in bed, still crying. Needless to say, not what they were expecting.

My dad felt horrible. He hadn’t realized that I was lurking and listening in on the horror stories and it certainly hadn’t been his intent to scare the bejeepers out of his little girl.

I got over it, of course. Somewhat. I mean, I stopped crying and stopped being scared that all the people I knew were going to be cursed with evil smiles. The thought of Mr. Sardonicus stopped being something that popped into my head every Christmas. I remembered the card as being unsettling, but not the exact image.

It was nice. 

Years later, I came home to spend Christmas with the folks after my first semester at college. As I put my stuff down in my bedroom, I noticed something on my pillow.

There, smiling up at me, was the cat card.

Captain Hook and My Big Brother

So, how is everyone surviving the storm?

Thanks to the back-up generator in my apartment building, as far as electricity goes, I haven’t had to deal with anything more than some prolonged flickers. So, I’ve been super lucky. I even got to keep my TV, which was surprising and lovely. I caught up on all those shows that I haven’t been able to watch for weeks.

During all of this TV time, I was particularly interested to see the arrival of Captain Hook in Once Upon A Time. I’ve always been a fan of Peter Pan. I’ve seen the various movies and staged productions. Watched mini-series. Read books (if you haven’t checked out Peter and the Starcatchers, you really should). Kids fighting pirates? I’m there. Not quite as interested in the never aging aspect of the story. I like progression.

As my mind often connects stories to specific memories in my life, doing all this thinking about Peter Pan, my mind immediately went back to when I was a kid, obsessed with the Mary Martin version. I could watch it over and over again. And you can bet that every time she pleaded with us to help save Tinker Bell’s life, I clapped until my hands were red.

I remember one particular night that I was watching it for the umpteenth time. The little sis was sitting by my side, singing along with me. And my brother was in the kitchen making us popcorn. My parents were out and he was watching us. His friends stopped over to say hi for a few minutes and then headed out to wherever they were going. Because they were boys, they naturally wanted to take a moment out of their night to scare the little girls.

They made a slight mistake, though. They told my brother their plans.

He nodded and smiled. And the moment they went out the door, he carried into us a big bowl of popcorn and told us not to get scared when someone banged on the windows, because it was just the guys. He sat down with us, watching the movie and eating popcorn. And we all laughed and rolled our eyes when all the noise started.

It wasn’t the last time that the attempt to scare us was made. I mean, we were all kids. Where would the fun in that have been? I still can’t look at American Girl’s Samantha Learns A Lesson without also thinking about that damn Freddy Krueger mask.

But I always knew that if my brother was forewarned about the scare, I would be as well. So, now when I see Captain Hook, I don’t just think “fearsome pirate, most well known for his hatred of children,” but “man, I have a great brother.”

It’s downright confusing.

Hope you’re all staying safe during the storminess!