Getting It Fresh

I took my son to the family farm because my dad had almost been begging us to come get potatoes.  I'd never been to the farm before.  Behind the farmhouse (which is rented out), there are pens with Momma cows, another pen for the babies, a big field with bulls, a couple of goats, and some chickens.

Behind sheds with the paint peeling off them was the garden plot.  I gotta tell you, it was mostly weeds by the time my son and I made it back there.  Luckily, my sister-in-law was there to help me figure things out, and we grabbed the shovel stuck in the dirt next to the potatoes and started digging.

My dad is great at potatoes.  Potatoes, squash and tomatoes.  Anything else he tries to grow is sorta hit and miss.

There was a huge bucket at the end of the row, so we filled that up, along with three or four plastic grocery bags.  The best part, was how excited my son got every time I'd lift up the shovel and he'd see some potatoes underneath.  He'd scramble in the dirt to make sure he got all of them out of the ground for that plant.  He'd put the ones he found in his shirt to transport to the bucket.

When we got the bags home with our home harvested produce, my son knew exactly what he wanted to do with the potatoes.  French Fries.

I have to say, they turned out pretty good.  I have it on good authority that they tasted like the fries at Goodwood.  So, the family was happy.

I was happy because they were free.

Romance-apolooza

For all of you who missed the book signing (and that includes everyone except the authors) you missed some great conversations.

I love the tendencies of women.  Get four of us in the same area of any appreciable amount of time and we're bound to try saving the world through conversation.  It's a great way to get to know people.  Like, for example, Shannon Guymon, author of "Makeover" and "Do Over" along with many others, is a fiesty, single mom who writes for a living.  She's not afraid to talk about her opinions and she's got great hair.  And she was the woman sitting farthest away from me, so I didn't get to talk to her as much.  That just goes to show how much you can learn about a person by listening to what others are saying to them.  And I did some shouting over heads.

The other two women there were Karey White, who's latest book is called "My Own Mr. Darcy" and looks like it'd be right up my alley, and Lisa Rumsey Harris who's book is called "The Unlikely Gift of Treasure Bloom" which has been highly recommended.  These women are great.  You should go read their books right now.

The only issue I had with the whole Romance-apolooza was the absence of the "apolozza".  We were stuck in an out of the way corner by the cook books.  But I really cant complain, because being next to the cook books is WAY better than sitting in the bread aisle.

Ode To Autumntime

I dropped my kids off at their bus in the usual flurry of rush and reminders and good-bye hugs, then I took myself for a walk.

The mountaintops had been snow-dusted with icing sugar during the storm last night.  The candy sprinkles came courtesy of the changing leaves, and were just visible under the the new white coats.  It was still just warm enough to expose my calves and forearms to the pumpkin-spiced elements, but my fingers insisted on hiding inside knit gloves because the chill in the air tried to bite them.

I breathed in the scents of long-lasting dew and occasionally decaying fruit from trees no one had harvested.  It makes me a little sad to see fruit rotting on the ground under a tree.  Sad, neglected fruit.  Didn't anyone want to take you home?

This time of year, its beauty and melancholy, makes me think of spiced apple cider and pumpkin pie; sitting beside a crackling fire under a blanket while through the open window blows a breeze to nip at exposed skin.  It's soccer season (for girls) and trick or treating.

This is my favorite time of year.  After the furnace of summer has begun to cool and before the gray of winter sets in.  It's perfect.

I only wish it could last longer.

Addition

As the title might suggest, I have made a mathematical error.  I've never been very good at math.

The book signing, I'll be participating in will be October 5.  It still starts at 6:00 PM and is still at the Orem Barnes & Noble.  

Come and see me then.  I won't be there otherwise.

Find A Happy Place

For those of you (and I know there are a lot of you) mourning the lost opportunities of seeing me at a book signing, I will ease your minds.

Barnes & Noble is having a Romance-apalooza book signing at their Orem, Utah location.  It starts at 6:00 PM.  Lots of great authors will be there.  Come and see me.  I'll be the one wishing I were sitting in the darkest corner.

Voyeuristic Owls

For the last two years, we've had a transparent shower curtain.  When I bought the thing, I was thinking, "Oh, it will make our small bathroom seem bigger."  It was also the cheapest.  This is why I'm not an interior designer.

We have had countless meltdowns outside the bathroom door in the last two years because a small person needed to use the toilet, while someone else was taking a shower and neither person wanted to see the other doing their business.

So, when my mother told me a store she frequents, which I will not name on account of its ghetto propensities (hints: it has senior citizen discount days and rhymes with chopko),  was having a 50% discount sale on all its shower curtains, I loaded the kids in the car and headed over.  I had to act quickly because the sun was going down and I didn't want to risk being in the parking lot when the hoodlums emerged after dark to snatch my purse and rob me of my dignity. (Yes, I'm exaggerating.  When writers do it, it's called creative license.)

We found the aisle we wanted and I debated with my kids over which one would look the best in our smallish bathroom.  My daughter has great taste in all things ensemble, so I took her advice and bought the curtain with the cute little owls perched on black trees with leaves in the background.

We got it home, hung it, and were pardonably pleased with the effect.  No more crying outside the bathroom door because we now had a partition between toilet and shower.  No more business watching on either side.  And it looked good.

There's just one problem.

These owls have big, surprised eyes.  Interested eyes, if you know what I mean.  And they're the kind of eyes that follow you, no matter where you are.  If you can see them, they're watching you.  So, every time I go in the bathroom, I have 16 pairs of eyes staring at me.  One owl is just peeking over the bottom hem, like it knows it shouldn't be watching, but it just can't help itself.

It's a little creepy.

If I weren't so cheap, I'd buy a new one.  But then, I'd probably have those big, interested eyes filling my dreams with their accusations.

Asian Cinema

My brilliant, amazing, scholarly husband did a radio interview a couple of weeks ago for BYU radio.  It's available to listen to here, if you're interested.  Which, I have to admit, I am.  Listening to my husband converse makes me feel smarter.  You will too.