My thoughts on winning a writing contest

It was Thursday morning and I was getting ready to for bed, I work nights so while most of the world starts their day I am ending mine with a glass of fine zinfandel and a last minute twitter update. Thursdays are the days when the winner of the weekly writing contest that I enter is announced so I was refreshing the search bar every 5 or 6 seconds in anticipation of the announcement. I have entered this contest 10 times and been a finalist four times. I was feeling like I had lost my touch because for 5 weeks now I hadn’t placed or even felt like I was any good at writing, so it was with much trepidation that I went to Tracey's blog to check for the names of the winners that way I could tweet them my congratulations before going off to bed and fantasizing about becoming a famous author that spends her time flitting from beach to beach looking for interesting people to make up stories about. You know what I mean, the kind of stories every woman likes to write, for example, that woman is way too beautiful in that bikini, she makes me feel like a whale so obviously in my next horror story she is going to be the seductress that enchants men in order to eat their brains – that’ll teach those men to think twice about only dating skinny women, or one of my favorites – That gorgeous man with god like abs did not just sneer in disgust at me as I sit here in the sun trying to look stunning, obviously he will be the mentally challenged rookie cop that has a flatulence problem in my next horror story. Not that any of these thoughts ever actually occur to me, I am just giving you examples of what could go through the mind of a horror story novelist.

Oops, I believe I have strayed from the point of this story so without further delay I will tell you that I felt my heart sink when I noticed that my name was not among that of the finalists in the winners announcement, it was official, I was a looser and probably should consider that my talents lay elsewhere…

I knew it, I thought to myself, I just cannot compete with the talented writers that enter Tracey’s weekly contest, they are just too damn good. Okay, lets scroll down further and see who won…

Wait…is that my name?? Holy…for the love of…am I delusional? Quite suddenly I had the urge to squeal and I did so with great enthusiasm! My dog, hearing me squeal, went from sound sleep to high alert in point one seconds...he jumped up, teeth at the ready to bite whoever was invading his home. After spinning around several times, knocking over the coffee table and attacking an innocent plant he determined that his mother must be being attacked by an invisible entity so he ran over and threw himself at the first thing he found laying on the floor, it just so happened to be a very expensive bra that I had removed in anticipation of heading to bed. O CRAP! “Baddog! Put that down!! Release…release…for the love of god RELEASE!” I now found myself in a tug of war with a very determined bull terrier. I could hear fabric tearing and my head was filled with the image of dollar signs floating away and boobs sagging to my belly button as I tried to promise my dog anything he wanted if he would just let go of the bra. Meanwhile, my pug dog, feeling left out of the action decided to join in by launching herself at the biggest target available - my butt…”Don’t worry mom! I will help you!!” she seemed to be saying in her little puggly way.

At this point, with a pug hanging from my ass and a bull terrier shredding my custom fit Nordstrom bra I decided that I had lost this battle and calmly let go of the bra, placed the pug back down on the couch and headed for the fridge for a larger glass of zinfandel.

My bullie, sensing his victory, dropped the bra and returned to his slumber. I later discovered that he had only damaged the one strap, a little safety pin and it should be as good as new, besides don’t all woman have one side that is a little lower than the other? I won the writing contest and that was what really mattered. Finally, someone enjoyed something that I had written, victory was mine. I could go to bed a happy woman.

Now, every time the safety pin pops and stabs me in the boob I will be reminded that I can write and that one day I could be sitting on a beach somewhere looking for interesting people to write stories about

A lovely day for a tandem bike ride

It was a Saturday and the day was full of joyous sunshine and smiles. My husband and I decided to rent a tandem bicycle and bike the coastal trail here in Alaska. What a lovely idea I thought when my husband suggested it. A bicycle built for two, how romantic is that? Surely it would bring us closer together and set the stage for a lovely day of togetherness and harmony.

The gentlemen renting the bike to us was so polite and accommodating, he adjusted the seats and the handlebars so that we could ride comfortably, all the while smiling and talking about what a beautiful day it was for riding a bike.

The first hint of what was yet to come occurred the very minute we left the rental booth and found ourselves going down a rather large hill with a flat front tire. My husband applied the brakes only to discover that there weren’t any brakes; or at least not enough to bring us to a stop. Tourists had to jump out of the way for their own safety as we could not steer the bike with a flat front tire and we could not stop with the small amount of brakes available. One poor gentleman will probably never be able to talk about his visit to Alaska again without developing a serious stutter.

Once we arrived at the bottom of the hill and came to a semi-complete stop we turned the bike around to push it back up the hill. The man at the rental booth was dismayed at our early return and offered us a different tandem bike; one that looked like it was put together in the late 1920’s by a one handed blind Cyclops. We declined this generous offer even though the rental guy said that it was the most comfortable bike ever made. After some deliberations and inspections the rental guy put a new tire on the original tandem bike and adjusted the wiring on the brakes for us then sent us on our way. You would have thought that we would have just taken a refund and sought other activities but we are a determined couple and “change of plans” is just not a part of our vocabulary.

This time when we got to the bottom of the hill we were actually pleasantly surprised that everything seemed to be in working order so we went forth on the trail where we just knew a great yet romantic adventure lay in store for us. The air had the crisp smell of the ocean and the sun was just warm enough to preclude needing a jacket. All was good.

We learned some valuable lessons that day, the first being that when you come upon a t-junction in the trail the person on the front of the bike needs to let the person on the back of the bike know which direction you will be heading. Why you ask? Because if the person in front believes you are going to go to the left and thus leans his body that way and the person in the back believes you are going to go to the right and she leans her body in that direction you will end up cancelling each other out and flying straight ahead into the devils club.

Okay, every adventure has some mishaps; that’s what makes it an adventure, right? So, after a short break to pull the thorns out of our butts we pressed onwards into that gorgeous day looking for romance and togetherness. It wasn’t long before we came upon our first upwards hill, this is when we discovered that when I use my handlebars as leverage in order to apply more pressure to the peddles it moves my husbands’ seat and sends him sideways. Panic ensued as my husband attempted to go straight while the rest of his body was trying to face to the right. No worries, I thought, I will just wrench the handlebars in the other direction thus righting him; this action quickly led to a rather loud burst of screaming that sent all wild life in the general vicinity packing.

The coastal trail was getting a little bumpy and it was making my ‘sit down’ a little bit sore so we decided to exit the coastal trail for some nicely paved bike trails. As we approached the first crossing of a very busy street, the chain of this hell-bike reached up and grabbed my pant leg. Ack! I yelled as I began a tug of war with the chain. I lost that battle and found myself fighting to keep my pants up as one side was slowly being pulled down to reveal my lovely flower print undergarments to the now stopped and staring line of cars.

“Dear God and Goddess please let me get struck by lightning so that I never have to face these people again.” Was my mantra for the rest of the ride.

Now, you may ask, what more could possibly happen to these good people? Well, we learned a few more lessons that day and we have the bruises to prove it.  For instance, if the person on the back of the bike needs to stop peddling for any reason they should take their feet off of the peddles because their peddles are connected to the peddles of the person on the front of the bike and when the peddles stop suddenly then the person whom is still trying to peddle has issues with their feet slipping and ramming into the unforgiving medal of the now stationary peddles.

The next lesson we, or rather I, learned was that if a bicycle seat is adjusted to that it is slightly pointed upwards in the front it has a tendency to bruise certain unmentionable areas…for several weeks.

Forget romance and togetherness, at this point all we wanted was a shot of whiskey with a vodka chaser and perhaps a small bonfire with a bicycle at its epicenter. I will never again be able to hear the song ‘A bicycle built for two’ without needing to be medicated.

Faster than a mothers scream

     Even now as I am safe at home, under a pile of blankets, I still find it difficult to breathe. This last adventure that my family has brought me on has quite literally brought me to the end of my composure like nothing ever has before.
     On the drive out to the meeting point our jeep was filled with nervous anticipation and excitement. The kids were happy to be going class five white water rafting at six mile creek for the second year in a row and even happier that their mother (me) was going to accompany them. We joked and sang the entire drive; truly, this was going to be a fun family adventure.
     We arrived early to our destination and were met by several guides relaxing and waiting for their prey…I mean customers. One of the cute tall men was eating a can of split pea soup as he was resting between rafting trips. When he caught site of our family of five making our way towards their camp he promptly dropped the soup on his lap. Now, I ask you, was it because we had three beautiful daughters with us? Or was it just nature’s way of giving a warning that one of us might not return? I do not know but in retrospect I should have listened to Mother Nature.
     The guides were efficient and good natured as they instructed us on how to get into the dry suits. All of them were obvious adventure and fitness gurus as not one of them had an ounce of fat on them. I sighed as I remembered days gone by when I could make that claim but now the only claim I can make is that of a middle aged woman who has eaten one too many donuts and spent too much time sitting at her desk writing about family adventures.


It begins…………


     We have all gotten into our dry suits which, by the way, make us look like pregnant sumo wrestlers. We are given instruction on how to ‘self-rescue’ should we fall in to the sub-zero glacier fed rapidly moving water and it is now time to swim across the current to the boats. My first thought is…”wait…what? I have to swim across these rapids? Why didn’t the boats just load us all in before they left?” I know, I know, there is a reason for everything and the reason for swimming to the boats is to get us used to what it will feel like should we fall in and so forth but I really have issues with getting my face in the water, especially fast moving water that will most certainly carry me to my final resting place.
     This is no big deal I tell myself, I have swam across lakes before just to prove I could do it, this will be no different. I was hoping to just doggy paddle across so that I could keep my face out of the water but I soon realize that that is just not going to happen. As soon as my feet leave the surface the current starts pulling me down stream, faster than I had anticipated. I reach out as far as I can to pull myself through the water to the other side, only I am not moving in any sort of forward motion, it’s all sideways down the river. “I can do this.” I tell myself, while trying to keep calm. About halfway across an invisible hand grips my lungs and squeezes all the air out of them, I try to breathe in but no air will come, only glacier water. My heart is picking up speed as it has gotten the memo that I am surely going to drown before my brain has even had time to register the situation.
An angel in a boat hollers at me to “grab the rope!” and as I do he paddles his boat backwards towards the safety of the bank. As I grasp the rocks that are sticking out of the ground and kneel on all fours contemplating how the heck I got talked into this situation, another angel quietly talks to me…”take your time…its ok.” Only I know that it’s not all ok for me…I still cannot breathe and that hand I told you about is still squeezing the life out of my lungs but somewhere from deep within me I know that I must not embarrass my family, I must get a hold of myself, stand tall and make my way over to the boats that are waiting…and I do.
     I can only imagine the thoughts going through the mind of our guide as I made my way to his boat. I just know he was thinking “great, I get stuck with the one that is best friends with hysteria.” But you would have never known it by the way he smiled a genuinely warm greeting and welcomed us all into the raft.
     The first rapids weren’t so bad; it reminded me of riding a galloping horse, bare back. The guide was always calm and pleasant giving us instruction on how to row and in what direction in order to keep us from capsizing or otherwise running into the jagged rocks of doom that littered our path. In between the rapids I was able to make pleasant conversation with him and take my mind off of the names of the different canyons like ‘The Anvil, Jaws, The suck hole and the skeleton narrows of death, etc.’ (I may have made that last name up but that’s the name that came to mind when my oldest daughter got sucked out of the boat into class 4 rapids).
     You heard me correct, during the second canyon my 24 year old daughter became what is known in the rafting world as a ‘swimmer’. One second she was there, the next second she was gone. Once again that hand starting squeezing my lungs only this time it was tearing my heart out of my chest at the same time. A mother’s worst nightmare is to lose one of her kids and now I was living it. My husband yelled to the youngest daughter to “GRAB HER” as she went by but she was about a foot underwater and daughter number 3 could not see her. The water was carrying daughter number one farther away with each passing second and she was moving at a pace slightly faster than the speed of a mothers scream. Luckily my husband managed to get the oar out to her so she could grab it and be dragged back into the boat. Tears stung my eyes as relief flooded over me but there was no time for celebration as the next rapids were coming up all too fast and they were class five – the deadliest of them all.
      As we are heading into the rapids my family is laughing and smiling and having a grand time…except me, I am wondering what pact I can make with the devil to keep all the kids and the husband in the boat during these white water rapids from hell.
We made it, all of us, alive and unscathed (mostly) and did I mention alive? I have no doubts that if the river rafting guides see me coming ever again in their direction they will close up shop and move to Antarctica but at least I can proudly say that I did it…I conquered terror and came out (semi) smiling.

The story of the Tattoo

Synopsis - This is just a little story I wrote to be silly and bring a smile to the faces of my children - they are the ones who bought me the gift certificate for the tattoo.

It was my 42^nd birthday and I was feeling old. What have I done with my life? I obviously have not cured cancer or became a famous writer. I want to do something with my life! I want to be somebody and be important!

A light bulb goes off above my head, suddenly I have an IDEA! It’s time to go to the store and buy another pack of light bulbs! (I am so smart some days…) As I am walking down the aisle of the local supermarket I have another idea, perhaps it is time to review my bucket list. For those of you unfamiliar with a bucket list it is a list that us old people create of things we want to do before we die, not that I am planning on dying anytime soon, heck no, I am going to live long enough to teach my grandchildren how to food fight and eat chocolate cake for breakfast. But it never hurts to get started on lists early, that way you can do the fun things twice J

Reviewing my bucket list I see a dozen or so things I want to do that might not cause my family to have me locked up in a psychiatric ward (some days I just know they already have the straight jacket on order).

After much deep thought (and a couple margaritas) I decide on getting a tattoo. That’s right, the person who runs at the sight of a needle, taking out doctors and nurses in her path has written “get a tattoo” on my list, thinking about this I decide I need to hunt this person down and kill them but that will have to wait, right now, for some crazy unknown reason I decide that getting a tattoo is actually a good idea.

My idea is met with a couple of giggles from the family as I make my great tattoo announcement. Someone mutters something about a poor doctor who is still in the mental ward from the conversation I had with him when he tried to give me a flu shot. Those rumors are just not true! He is not in a mental ward - he retired from the medical profession and took up bear wrestling as he felt it was less dangerous to his psyche.  

My family’s reaction has spurred me on to action! I will show them! I can do this! I am She-Ra, female warrior! I can do anything! (Except laundry, dishes and poop patrol the back yard). They will take back their sarcasm and doubt! They will stand in awe of my bravery! I will get this tattoo done before my next birthday and they will stand and applaud me, stories will be told about my courage and legends will be born!!!!!

Exactly one month before my 43rd birthday I am entering the tattoo parlor with resolute determination. My eldest daughter is there with me, I am holding her hand and assuring her that everything will be alright, she is scared and worried for me. For some unknown reason she remembers it the other way around but you know how young people are, they get so caught up in their fears that they just cannot face reality.

The tattoo artist makes her way over to us and smiles an angelic smile. “Are you ready?” she asks. A beautiful halo floats serenely above her head and butterflies flit around her, playfully weaving in and out of the rainbow that has appeared over her left shoulder.

“I was born for this” I state, simply.

“Then let’s make our way to the back room and get started”

Somewhere between the lobby and the back room the artists’ halo begins to fade as horns start to appear and her skin begins to turn a deep crimson red. At this point I am somewhat concerned but I will not let this minor change of reality deter me from my mission. I am She-Ra, female warrior! I can do anything!

This demon beast that stands before me points to a chair that lies flat, not unlike a dentists’ chair. I skillfully hop up into the seat and lie down with my belly flat on the surface, this way she can have access to my back to do her work.

Suddenly and without warning tentacles leap up from below me and wrap themselves around my body, making any type of struggle a moot point but I am not afraid, I will not be intimidated. Somewhere I hear a small plea for mercy but the voice gets lost in the maniacal laughter that erupts from my antagonist. Flames shoot up from below me and for some reason the heat only sears my shoulder, right where the beast is filleting my skin with its pointedly sharp, ten inch long fingernail. I hold back the wave of terror that starts to overtake my senses. I refuse to become a statistic; I will survive this onslaught, if only to save others from a similar fate.

Hours turn into days and days turn into years as I endure wave after wave of torture.

The beast must have sensed that I was not going to surrender for she stopped her attack as suddenly as she started. My skin was red with raised blisters and surely would require some sort of surgical procedure to repair the damage that had come from centuries of this relentless attack.

As I walked out of this dungeon my daughter looked up at me and smiled, her mother had survived!

Smiling back at her I thought about the battle that had consumed the better part of the afternoon, yes, I had survived…

I knew I would. For I am brave, I am She-Ra, female warrior……

Survival instinct

     Imagine if you will, that it’s a peaceful morning, the leaves are still wet with dew from the prior    evenings’ downpour. Perhaps in the distance you can hear the sweet sing song of the chickadees.

It was a morning much like this when our family hike turned into an adventure that has left permanent scars upon my psyche.

My husband, our children and I had been walking our dogs along a nature trail that is located somewhere between Anchorage, Alaska and “hey, I think we are lost”. When Thor decided that enough is enough and he is going to stop walking all together to protest the cruel treatment of making him get his paws all muddy.

Silly dog, doesn’t he remember that I am the alpha of this family pack?

There is no way he is going to get the better of me so I trudge along, gently pulling his lead as I say “Would you like a treat Thor?” “Just a few more steps boy and I will give you some yummy treats”. This goes along for a few hundred more yards until we get to the base of a fairly large mountain. I don’t care what my husband says, it is not a mole hill, it is a mountain, and I can prove it because it has a name, Mount Sonuvabitch.  

Upon seeing this mountain Thor decides to turn around and hitchhike home. Luckily the trail is slippery and he cannot get traction. I giggle as I watch him do his personal impression of Scooby Doo running in place.

Then, it hits me, how am I going to get Thor up this mountain trail? I have no more treats and it will be hard enough climbing up let alone trying to accomplish this feat with a dog pulling in the opposite direction. I contemplate for a moment on this problem, calmly reminding myself that I am the alpha and he must do as I say. 

Fast forward several hours.

My back is killing me as I have just carried, pushed and pulled my 50 pound bull terrier up this steep mountainside trail. I am sore, out of breath and my face is turning a lovely shade of pearl white. I have also ventured into creating new and profound swear words that only a dog can understand.

At this point I decide to meander over to the other side of the trail and enjoy the breathtaking view from the height of this majestic mountain. Thor accompanies me trying to pretend that it’s perfectly normal for a dog of his size to be carried around like a backpack. 

All at once my lovely fur ball either sees some small critter or he has just decided that Payback will be hell for dragging him up here, he takes off at full terrier speed with me attached to his lead. I don’t bother trying to hold my Ground, as the ground is wet and muddy from the previous nights’ rain storm. My only hope is to stay upright and keep up.

O MY GOD! The dog Who wouldn't climb to save his own life has suddenly developed agility beyond measure as he drags me down this huge mountain side (was that a BEAR that I just slid past?!). My spouse yells DUCK! (In between gales of laughter) just at the time I get whacked in the face with a tree branch and I spend the rest of this descent on my back hoping my nose is not broken.

When we get to the bottom of the mountain side does my dog apologize? Absolutely not! Does he make sure I am not crippled for life? Nope. He immediately decides to dig up a new playmate and kick the dirt right in my face as I lay there helplessly waiting for a medical airvac helicopter to rescue me.

Now after I have told you all of this you have to wonder, where was MY survival instinct when I said Honey, let’s get a Bull Terrier!!