The other night at dinner, I sat at the kitchen table with my teenage daughter. Some nights, “family dinner” means just us two. I’ve been getting used to making dinners that are easy to scoop out and reheat in a flash. Teenagers are here one minute, gone the next. And I’m just referring to the dinner hour.
My daughter has always loved to ask the hypothetical questions. The “what-ifs” and the “what would you dos.” And as philosophical as they may be, she likes her hypotheticals quantifiable. She likes answers that are in percentages, or on her famous “scale of 1 to 10.”
Between forkfuls of asparagus risotto, she asked, “What if someone asked you to rate yourself as a mother? What would you say, on a scale of 1 to 10?” read more
Nestled peacefully under my comforter, I heard my bedroom door swoosh open with a sense of urgency. A second later, inches from my head, I heard, “Honey!” It was my husband’s aggressive whisper. The kind that’s meant to be in a hushed tone but comes out louder than a normal speaking voice.
I was in that perfectly-aligned-body-parts guaranteed-deep-glorious-sleep position. My limbs were at the melting-into-the-mattress stage. My mind was not far behind my body, already in a half-doze. The timing was crucial. I couldn’t move a muscle, lest I wake myself up. That included my mouth. Responding to my husband would be limited. A grunt was all I could offer.
He took the grunt as a sign to converse. “There’s a parental lock on one of the TV channels. What’s that about? When did we have a parental lock? What’s the code?” continue reading
Last night I had a nightmare that I was at the Cornelia Street Café to do a reading from my novel. I stood at the microphone on the small stage in front of a packed house. I had just been introduced to the audience, and in the wane of the applause I was horrified to discover I had forgotten to bring my book. In a panic, I rummaged through my handbag in front of everyone. No book. In fact, my bag was virtually empty. How could I leave my house with an empty handbag? Terror mounted as the patrons settled into an attentive quiet. All eyes were on me. Sweat began to spew from my every pore. The reading was to last twenty minutes; what was I to do? I took one last futile look into my handbag and found one single sheet of paper. continue reading
Don’t quote me on this, but someone just told me that you can get the Kindle version of The Memory Box today for only $2.99. That’s crazy. All the thrills, chills, twists and turns for $2.99?? AND the shocking ending?? Well, no. Sadly, you don’t get the last chapter for that special price of $2.99. But still, that’s a great buy. Only kidding! Of course you get the last chapter! But sadly, that’s ALL you get. You don’t get the beginning. Or the middle. But still, that’s a freaking amazing price. Only kidding! Of course you get the whole dang thing! The thrills, chills, twists, turns, AND the shocking ending. Now that’s what I call an unpassupable, freaking amazing great deal. AND did you know that you can read a Kindle on any device? Yes. Yes you can. Just download the Kindle app. And Viola! or Voila! (I always mix up those two, but thought I’d leave it for all you flower and/or string instrument lovers out there…) Just download the app and Bam! you can be reading The Memory Box before lunch. Or, if you’re like me, you’ve already eaten lunch, so, before dinner!