CreativeSpace

fall musings

Moving further south has not been without its challenges, one of them being the weather. I prefer a steady change of seasons that correspond with the page turns of the calendar. When I flip the page to September, I want the feeling of chilly September nights and the red-gold of changing leaves. Little did I know I'd have to wait until close to the end of October to have a night approaching "cool." (we're talking in the low 70's!)

 

So I've stuffed Little Bear into sweaters and jackets while she stares at me with a mutinous look and says, "Mommy. HOT!"

I fall back to my trusty calendar and show her the date. "See, it's October."

Bears could care less about calendars. Next thing I know she's racing past me naked except for her diaper. This is how many of my days end up: naked bear on the rampage.

 

 

 

What I'm really looking forward to is a hard frost that will kill all the damn mosquitoes. Holy carp! We were outside kicking a soccer ball yesterday, and I got bit on the eyebrow. The EYEBROW! It wasn't enough that my lifes blood was being sucked. Oh no. The stinking insect had to taunt me by feeding somewhere ridiculous. I have the bulging red mark to show for it and will dress as Igor for Halloween as a result. All I need is a fake hump. 

 

 

There will be some changes in content around here with some new links going up etc. The timing is perfect. Fall is upon us, the season for cleaning out and organizing. I have quite a To Do List ahead of me regarding the cleaning out aspect. 

And there goes the naked bear streaking past me. Pardon me for a moment...

 

 

summer weekend

We made our first trek north this past weekend and saw some beautiful countryside. We wound our way through tiny towns in North Carolina and Virginia, the cicadas loud in the high grass. The sun shone and our hound whined punctuated with Little Bear yelling, "Muds, NO!" (Because he drooled on her head.) I managed to take some pictures along the way despite sweat dripping on to my camera as I slugged through record high humidity. At one point the weather man on the radio said, "a high of 95 today, but we all know it's going to be hotter than that." I figured it was better if I didn't know the gory details.

Hope you're having a lovely summer!

 

 

 

 

 

 

a bad case of gloat

 

Normally I don't like to gloat, BUT I'M GONNA GLOAT ABOUT THIS. Check it out!

 

Behold my squirrel free feeder. (and now I'm going to do a victory dance which you should be very happy that you can't actually see. I have no smooth moves, more like a combination of convulsions and ants-in-the-pants. Not pretty, but when one wins against varmints one must DANCE!)

OK, I'm back. The super-extra-large dose of Cole's hot sauce did the trick. True, I almost singed away my eyebrows. True, for a full twenty-four hours I worried that the birds could actually smell the atomic spices. But then the chickadees made an appearance, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

I've determined that chickadees are the bird world version of competitive eaters who will brave a hot wings contest for mere bragging rights and the t-shirt that proclaims they beat Lou's Atomic Wings. They bellied up to my feeder, grabbed a seed and said, "Man, this isn't hot." Beads of moisture form across the top of their beak. "Not like the seed down in San Antonio. Now there's some spicy seed." Sweat trickles down from under their black caps.

Mr. Cardinal was next, and of course he wished to perform a full inspection before commenting. He looked at the seed on the ground with one eye, then turned his head to examine it with the other. Mr. Cardinal is in charge of the morning's broadcast. He has the chirp that wakes us up every single blooming morning. It's like he sits on our deck and says, "YEP! I'M HERE! IT'S ME! CARDINAL! RIGHT HERE! NO DOUBT ABOUT IT! SPARROWS HAVE ARRIVED! TWO BROWN THRASHERS! OH, RABBIT AT TWO O'CLOCK!"

And finally, after two whole days of waiting, Ms. Demon Spawn paid a visit. Well, visit is too strong a word. She shimmied halfway down the closest tree and leaned waaaaaaaay over, as far as she could without losing her grip on the trunk. Her little nose worked furiously for a moment, and then she skedaddled back up into her leafy refuge. That's when my official case of gloat began. And it's still going strong. It may last me through the entire month.

 

 

I've been hearing comments lately about my lack of posts *cough* mother *cough*, and I sincerely apologize. I've been chained to my laptop working on my manuscript. I've contracted with a freelance editor, and it must be in her hot little hands by the end of December. Since I'm self-publishing, this means running the WIP (work in progress) by my critique group in its entirety and then asking (begging) Beta readers to have a go at it for consistency, flow, general plot development etc. After all that, I send it to my editor for her line edits, proofreading and feedback.

This is my first official deadline, and I've been working diligently on my re-writes. When I'm not working on them, I'm running around the house with a wild-eyed look wailing I HAVE AN OFFICIAL DEADLINE! MY LIFE IS A SNARE AND A DELUSION! Alright, that last part isn't true. But the writing goes with long periods of productivity punctuated by hyperventilating.

You're going to see some changes here too. I have a website www.amyorizzo.com which is under construction and everything will soon be linked together so you can go from here to reading the latest book news, sample chapters, etc. I'm also having some writing friends come by for a few guest posts. They, in turn, are hosting me with a few of my (very) short stories. Links will be posted soon and the mayhem can ensue. I'll also interview writers about their new releases and generally include more writing life than before. Plus, I'll finish Lulabelle. Poor thing, she's stuck at the top of the stairs! 

Wednesday will be the first guest blog with Chris Jensen about being a stay-at-home-writing dad. I can't WAIT for ya'll to read it. He's hysterically funny, even though he thinks squirrels are cute. (I won't hold it against him.)

squirrel vendetta. who me?

As I gazed out my kitchen window this morning, my squinty eyes (I hadn't had my first cup of coffee yet) settled upon this. I had the blurry, un-caffeinated thought that if there were ever a string of squirrel disappearances, I would be Main Suspect Numero Uno. Me and the girl from Winter's Bone. I had unabashedly left a blazing trail of hard evidence behind me regarding my squirrel vendetta, and the squirrel police would have an open and shut case convicting me. Grumbling under my breath, I shuffled towards the coffee machine. "It's not a crime unless someone finds a body." WHO HAVE I BECOME?

Don't be alarmed. I haven't harmed any squirrels, unless you count me terrorizing them with a bright orange plastic bag. I tell you, I have looking like a crazy woman down to a fine art. I've requested a BB Gun and a Slingshot (I capitalize these items because I think they're super-cool) with every major holiday that demands a gift exchange, but my friends and family seemed to have come to a consensus, behind my back I must add, that I shouldn't be trusted with such things. Even my numerous promises of future target practice went ignored.

I'm not the type of gal who goes down with a fight, though. After some research, I found this:

 

If there was some type of award for best squirrel picture EVER, I would demand that Cole's Flaming Squirrel Seed Sauce get that award. Just looking at it made me happy. It was a concentrated chili sauce that made my eyes water with one whiff. I can't imagine how hot it burned if you ingested some. Which made it perfect for squirrels.

The directions said to mix three tablespoons of sauce for every five pounds of bird seed. They also said that it might be advisable to double the dosage to really make your point with the squirrels. Part of me worried that the birds would mind, so I went with the first recommendation. The Husband bought me a special container to mix up the seed and sauce, and I donned a pair of work gloves to do it. Armed with a giant metal spoon, I stirred up a batch of flaming bird seed. (And in the process experienced kindred feelings for the witches of MacBeth.)

After filling the feeders, I had to wait almost a full 48-hours before a squirrel approached. (Which is further evidence that they're evil, because when you actually DO want one they can't oblige you and show up for your slightly maniacal experiment on time.) At any rate, it was a very long time to lurk at the kitchen window. There were only two squirrels; Ms Demon Spawn (see above) and her fat friend, Lucifer. I swear, you could not have pried me away with a crowbar. They busily nibbled for several minutes and just when I feared it wasn't working, Ms. Demon Spawn began to rub her face. At first it looked casual, but then the rubbing became more urgent. First she rubbed her nose, then her paws, then back to her nose again. Next thing I knew, she flung herself to the ground and began pushing her face through the grass like an alligator doing a face-plant. Lucifer seemed less effected, but they exited soon after, I assume to locate the closest piece of bread.

It was GLORIOUS.

Then the worrying began. Could I retain my standing as a nice person if I deliberately enjoyed sending squirrels into spasms of hot pepper torture? Plagued with doubts, I took my question to the streets. A friend counseled me that technically it wasn't mean unless I laughed as I watched them. Um...laugh? Surely not.

However, I may have chuckled too soon. Demon Spawn and Lucifer came back. They weren't as enthusiastic as they once were, but they still tried to dump the feeders. It's time for another re-fill, and this time, I'm going with Cole's second instruction. I'm going to make my point and triple the sauce.

(cue cliffhanger)

a small space of tranquility

This week has been spent readying for out-of-town guests, and one more room has been (mostly) unpacked and organized. We also experienced several days of cooler temperatures (in the 70's) and bright sunshine. All of which combined to make working in the guest room a lovely experience. I had the fleeting thought that the bed looked like the perfect place to take a long nap. (That was before Little Bear began bouncing on it.)

 

When I glanced outside, however, I saw this and all my good feelings flew out the window. Quite literally.

 

I loathe squirrels, and our enmity has existed ever since they chewed their way through our soffit to make a nest out of a box of books in our attic. Feeder raiding aside, they have done nothing but proved themselves diabolically destructive furry rodents. Please don't forward me pictures of squirrels being raised by mother dogs or tigers or whatever with the phrase why can't we just get along? at the bottom. I warn you, the message will fall upon deaf ears...or eyes...or whatever the case may be. In my opinion, the only good squirrel is a dead one. Which is why I've requested a pellet gun for Mother's Day this year. Or a sling shot. I'll happily accept either one.

The Husband worries that I've become unnaturally obsessed with warding off unwanted feeder raiders. Admittedly I'll dash out the back door in mid-sentence regardless of any chores or meal preparations to chase off a squirrel or grackle. Yes, grackles are discouraged as well. In my defense, the birding book told me to. I realize that I must appear mildly mental about the entire thing, but really, that cheeky squirrel is entirely too brazen to be tolerated. Some afternoons he lies on the railing of the deck on his stomach with his four paws dangling down, as if chowing down on sunflower seeds is so exhausting. I'm sure he thinks I should bustle out there with a cold drink and a parasol. Instead, I fling pine cones at him.

The good news is that Brown Thrasher and Mr. Cardinal aren't intimidated. And that lifts my spirits.