I felt like a pioneer….

Moving to Mexico and making a new life.

That is...

Until I came across this postcard…

That I bought years ago in Virginia City, NV.

Obviously…

NOTHING about my move…

Compares to what these people endured.

I’m in awe!

I couldn’t have done it.

First...the shoes…

That poor woman trekked across the country with one pair.

My feet hurt strolling in the mall for a few hours.
Then there’s the privacy issue...
And intimacy...
And odors...

And let’s not forget weather, wild animals…

And Indians!

While some were helpful. Others murderous!

And really? How much jerky and beans can one eat?

My food dilemma when traveling?

Spilling my Starbucks latte while boarding the plane.

And I wonder how many precious possessions...
She had to leave behind...
Because they wouldn't all fit in the wagon?
No, I couldn’t have done it…

Though the pioneering spirit is in my genes…

My grandmother came over from Sweden to NY…

All by herself…

Not speaking English…

At eighteen!

OK, she was a governess to a Swedish family in Brooklyn…

So it wasn't like she was living on the streets...
But still.

So?

Do you have the pioneering spirit?

Would you have trekked from coast to coast?

What about your ancestors?
And just I'd let you know...
That I've been extremely busy packing and storing...
To make my final move to Mexico...
So I've been absent from commenting...
On everyone's blog. 
But I'll be back in business next week.
Promise.

Always, Em-Musing

PITCHING

Not much blog fodder this morning…

Guess my mind…

Is cluttered thinking of all the stuff in my apartment…

Yet to pack…

And even more things…

Yet to pitch and—.

“Yo Leigh! What about me?”

“Huh? Who’s talking to me? My conscience?

“No air brain. I’m your manuscript.”

“Manuscript?”

“The one you started pitching last year then quit.”

“Well, um…you see…I’ve been busy—”

“Oh, buzy smizy. What about pitching me next month?”

“February? Well yes... yes I—”

“You got a killer query now and most agents want e-queries.”

“Well, yes, I know that and—”

“By the way that query letter took way too long to write.”

“Yes…yes it did, but to my defense—”

“So what’ll be your excuse this year? Too many margaritas?"

“No, not at all. I don’t drink that much—”

“Look, I’m sick of just existing only in your computer…

Get me out of here into the hands of an agent. i want to be

published! Comprende?”

“Si… yes…absolutely. Definitely!”

“So what are you doing sitting here talking with me, air brain?

Get to work! You gotta be out of by the 31^st!   Do what you

have to do, make your move to Mexico—then pitch me.”

OK!

So?

What's your conscience bugging you about this year?

Got any projects still on the back burner?

Always, Em-Musing

SOME IT UP

This whole week…

I’m surrounded by my possessions…

That I’m either giving or throwing away…

And keeping only some things that are essential...

To start my new life in Mexico.

I’ve been trying to be philosophical about the process…

At first it felt like my life was being reduced…

Because according to one definition…

Reduce means…

The amount by which something is lessened…

So it could be said…

That the "some" of my life has gotten less.

But in cooking…

The definition of reduce means…

The intensifying of flavor by boiling liquid away.

So it could be said…

That the "some" of my life has intensified…

By reducing it to only the essential possessions.

So?

What do you think?

Is the some…

Less or more?

And what is the some of your life?

Always, Em-Musing

CLAP OF THE HEART

Monday morning—4:30…

While making coffee…

FLASH

A bright light all around me...

Dear God!

Stroke?

Eye flash?

Car headli—

BOOM

My heart literally jolted in my chest…

Dear God!

Terrorist attack?

Armageddon?

Then all was quiet.

I stood there shaking…

What in the hell?

It turned out to be…

A lightning bolt and a thunder clap….

That’s it, that’s all…just a big one of each…

And soft rain.

But before I could discern all that…

My mind raced…

What next?

I’ve heard that when people die…

Their life plays out before them…

But that’s their past….

They’ve already done it so they can see it.

But at that moment…

I didn’t see my past…

My future played out before me.

Though I couldn’t see it…

I felt it…

A sadness of things yet to be…

My grandkids growing up...

Me, a published author…

My retreat up and running.

And then…

KAPOW

I thought struck me...

What if this lightning bolt and thunder boomer…

Was my wake-up call?

Get your ass in gear, girl!

Get this move to Mexico finalized!

Do what you have to, to make that future reality.

Get those submissions out…

Figure out your marketing for that retreat…

And…

Only one spiced chai tea with whipped cream a day…

Before your rear is too fat to fit in an airplane seat…

And you won’ be able to see your grandkids graduate!

So?

Ever have a wake-up call?

What was it?

Always, Em-Musing

PREFIX ME UN

i don’t
know  if

normal 

is  all 

it’s 

cracked up 

to be...

So?

Does normal...

Ever feel crazy...

To you?

Always, Em-Musing

ILL LUMINATING

So?

Ever see Poltergeist?

Remember when that tiny lady Tangina said:

“Cross over children. Go to the light.”

And I’m sure you’ve heard stories…

About people who’ve had near death experiences…

They always claim they saw a wonderful, glorious light.

Well it got me wondering…

When it’s my time…

And I hear whoever says it say…

“Come to the light Leigh. Come to the light.”

Um…I might have to think about that…

Because exactly what kind of light is over there?

If it isn’t sun, moon, candle or incandescent...

I’d just as soon stay where I can control my lighting.”

You see, I’m extremely affected by light…

It’s one of the reasons…

I’m moving away from the Midwest…

I need sunshine! 

I can’t take drear and gloom—on end!

And it’s not just natural light that affects me…

I won’t shop in a certain grocery store…

Because of its harsh overhead fluorescent lighting.

I prefer certain restaurants that have soft ambient light.

LED? Maybe in Times Square, but not my Christmas lights.

And I’m a holdout on CFL’s— way too harsh, too bright.

So?

Are you affected by certain lighting?

Or by lack of sunshine?

What kind of light do you prefer?

How drastic are your measures to get good lighting?

Or am I the only one with…

Badlightaphobia?

Always, Em-Musing

P.S. Maybe it explains why I chose yellow as my background color for my blog?

ALPHA ON TOP

Yesterday at coffee with some of my writer peeps…

I confessed…

I’ve been watching reality TV lately...

“Manly” reality TV to be exact…

Like Ax Men.

(catch that water moccasin, Swamp Man—shoot that pistol!)

I also confessed...

That on a snowy blustery Sunday last year…

I watched back-to-back episodes of Deadliest Catch.

(oh captain, my captain!)

I don’t know why I felt ashamed…

Confessing my viewing pleasure…

I mean—it’s not like I’ve been watching porn…

(Although there’s nothing wrong with watching naked men)

And it’s not like these manly men are much to look at…

(I swear I don’t picture any of these guys naked)

Because let’s face it…

I would never date any of these guys.

(or imagine them on top of me. OMG! Where is your mind going Leigh?)

“It’s because they’re alpha males,” Connie said.

“Yes, of course!” I giggled. “alpha males.”

(obviously there’s a category for these rough 'n' tumble dudes)

“Stats show,” Connie said,” that the biggest audience

 of Deadliest Catch are women forty and over.

(Phew! I’m not the only weirdo woman watching manly shows)

Well, the topic changed…

Before I could open up a discussion on alpha males…

But that didn’t stop me from wondering…

What exactly is it about these manly men in manly shows…

That make women like me watch?

(I do prefer the manly men with more teeth)

And then I wondered about alpha males in novels…

And are there guidelines alpha males have to follow?

(probably never to change a diaper or watch a chick flick)

So?

What’s your take or definition of an alpha male?

Do your novels include alpha males?

Do any of you watch these manly shows?

Which ones?

And if you’re a guy—are you an alpha?

(oh please, please, please tell me you are)

Always, Em-Musing

NOTHING TO DECLARE

If you’ve ever travelled out of the country…

You know you have to pass through customs and immigration…

And declare things like…

Are you bringing in pathogens?

(do germs in my runny nose count?

Seeds?

(is the peanut at the bottom of my purse considered a seed?)

Have you been around farm animals?

(I did drive by a goat going to the ruins in Coba)

Are you carrying more than ten thousand dollars?

(ha! ha! ha'! ha! ha! ha! ha!)

Then, you must declare all the gifts and items you bought…

Just in case they can tax you.

(are four plastic penguins I bought for my grandkids taxable?)

I’ve done the "declaring" ritual a lot lately…

And feel confident they’re not going to “catch” me …

Doing something I’m not supposed to do.

But just a few days ago…

I was standing in front of the U.S. immigration agent…

When she looks down at my passport…

(yeah, yeah, I know...It was a bad hair day)

And asks, “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m an author,” I blurted out.

(Lord! I’ve never called myself an author before, always a writer)

“What do you write?”

“Novels.”

“What kind?”

“Humorous women’s fiction.”

(and one horror novel that I scared my poor neighbor with)

“What have you published?”

“Um, nothing yet.”

Just then, I was sure armed guards were going to rush in…

Escort me to a room…

Push me in a chair and pound their fist on the table and say,

“You said you make a living being an author?”

“Well, um…you see…I uh…”

“But you’ve published NOTHING?”

“But I’m trying to get published. And I won a writing contest.”

“Do you know what we do to people who lie?”

“But I’ve written six novels. I swear!”

“Guards! Take this wannabe author away!”

So?

Do you call yourself a writer or an author?

And is there a difference?

Always, Em-Musing

STOOPING LOW

How do you scare a little 82-year-old lady?

Have her read my manuscript, AZAEL’S LOT.

And why would I scare this little old lady?

Because she asked for it! I swear she did!

OK, OK……

I failed to mention it was a horror story…

A dark religious horror story.

And yeah, yeah I know…

What in the hell kind of genre is that, right?

But that’s the best genre it fits into.

Well, the little old lady is my neighbor, Harriet.

If you remember from previous posts…

Harriet read my current manuscript…

IS IT NOW YET? - .humorous women’s fiction...

And we frequently discuss books we’re reading.

So there we were a few weeks ago...

On her stoop talking books again…

And somehow we got on the subject of Jewish lore…

The Pseudepigrapha, and other ancient writings…

And that’s when I told her that my manuscript...

AZAEL’S LOT, includes all of that.

“Oh, I’d love to read it, Leigh.”

So I printed off the whole enchilada…

And gave it to her before I left for Mexico a few weeks ago.

Then, just yesterday Harriet called…

“Oh, Leigh! I couldn’t finish reading your manuscript…

All the blood! The filthy rituals!  What those witches did

to that boy! I just didn’t want those visions in my head.

I was afraid of getting nightmares. I’m sorry. I thought

the story was about angels, not witches, demons and Satan.”

“But there is a redeeming factor in the end, Harriet.”

“Sorry dear, I just can’t read anymore.”

 So?

That fact that I scared Harriet…

Is that a good thing?

After all, horror is meant to scare…

And it's not like she's never read about kids getting killled...

She read the HUNGER GAMES trilogy...

Or, am I a stooper...the lowest of the low?

And...

Have any suggestions of a genre...

That's better than dark religious fiction?

Always, Em-Musing

LAST LEG, STANDING

In Cancun airport…

Waiting to board…

The plane’s computer system went down…

(much better than the plane going down with me on it)

What was supposed to be a 5 hour flight…

Turned into a 38 hour ordeal instead.

But as any seasoned traveler knows…

You’ve got to be prepared for these situations…

Credit cards…

Books or mags…

Stash of healthy snacks…

A laptop and/or some device for music...

And most important—a mind…

That can easily tune in happy creative thoughts...

And tune out reality.

And my mind did tune in and tune out...

Too bad my feet couldn’t do the same!

After being re-routed...

Schlepping through three airport terminals…

And going through three security checkpoints…

My feet tripled in size…

(is this what’s meant by the rule of three?)

And that’s when it occurred to me…

Someone should invent expandable shoes.

I’m not kidding! Think of it…

Shoes should have a function mode…

That automatically adjusts to the swollen feet inside...

Because no foot (or me)…

Should ever have to endure...

Almost 38 hours of nonstop wear.

So?

What’s the worst your feet have endured?

And what do you when you travel…

To keep from going nuts?

Always, Em-Musing