FerranClan blog

Common Terms and Phrases (a.k.a. What you find when you Google yourself)

2012-01-13T14:10:00.001-07:00

You never know what you’ll find when you Google yourself. I scrolled down three or four pages because you just can’t predict what obscure personal information might pop up that you forgot about during that last “Ambienesia” episode.

I found a delightful link about one of my books, Life’s Alphabet Soup: When Your Children Make You Eat Your Words.

One section showed the following:

Common terms and phrases

Not only does that describe the book, it describes MY LIFE!

What are some “Common terms and phrases” that describe your life?

A Letter to My Fellow Authors

2011-11-11T08:17:00.000-07:00

Dear Fellow Wordsmiths:

As several of you know (and most of you don't care) I have an exciting, heart-stopping day job. I am a CPA who specializes in audit. Auditors are beloved by all (or maybe it's abhored--I get the two confused). But the point is, you have to act professional and people assume you know a lot about complicated stuff that nobody can pronounce.

That's where I was yesterday when I got the email: Choosing Charity, the third installment in my Faith, Hope, & Charity trilogy has been accepted by CFI.

I wanted to do the happy dance accompanied by a couple of banshee hollers for good measure. I mean, it's my book and it's been accepted!
If you bust a dance move and engage in general merriment whilst acting in the capacity of an auditor, the client gets nervous.

So I calmly walked into the controller's office and said quietly. "I'm going to share something with you that no one else knows."
Having captured his attention, I followed up wiith, "I just got word my 4th book has been accepted for publication!"
He blinked and said, "I got a new refrigerator."

I had to force a smile until I remembered, I can make this audit really difficult for him [evil, maniacal laughter erupts in my brain]

I called my husband who, like Mary Poppins, is practically perfect in every way. (Except he doesn't carry a carpetbag and has way too many speeding tickets.)

"Choosing Charity has been accepted for publication!" I gush.

"Wow, that's great. You'll make, what--five or ten cents an hour?"

I'm revoking his Mary Poppins status and grounding him from my Camaro.

Such is the support I had--or didn't have--so I'm turning to you all. The few, the proud, the people who work for pennies per hour.

MY BOOK HAS BEEN ACCEPTED FOR PUBLICATION!!!!

[Bustin' dance moves, fracturing a hip, trying to find my car keys]

Carry on!

Terri Ferran

Tristi Pinkston and Terri Ferran's Interview - YouTube

2011-10-04T10:04:00.000-06:00

Check out the interview with my amazing author friend, Tristi Pinkston (I interview her and then she interviews me!)

www.youtube.com/watch?v=teFlm2EFyYs

Tristi Pinkston and Terri Ferran interview each other about their books.

Thanks to wethepeeps25 for their mad camera & editing skills!

2011-09-29T15:35:00.001-06:00

Text from my daughter who is reading my manuscript. "Dear mom, out of the honesty of my heart i am telling u that ur book totally got me sucked in..." All I saw was UR BOOK SUCKED. Why do writers do this to themselves?

2011-08-02T21:11:00.001-06:00

Nothing says "back-to-school shopping" quite like performing the Heimlich maneuver on your daughter at Vanity. Usually I'm the one who chokes while we're shopping together.

Have Sprayer, Will Kill...

2011-05-17T16:42:00.000-06:00

Sometimes a woman’s gotta do what a woman’s gotta do…

I can testify that a woman can even change a toilet seat--as I did last night since my husband is out of town and the old seat came off in my hands (I was trying to write my name in the snow...).

However, I did chatter constantly while doing it and it was nerve-wrackingly high-pitched even to me.

I am about to kill and maim bed bugs, as we have sighted one in my son's room. I have no remorse and am not even slightly horrifed by killing them. Last August when we were infested, I even named the ones I used as test subjects to verify the pesticide worked (Edward, Bella, Carlisle, Alice and a trio of old, hard to kill bugs I called the Volturi). If I find another, I will name, maim, and destroy it, too.

I’m a wee bit ticked off that he commandeered my specially-purchased bed-bug pesticide sprayer. I can’t prove it, but the new sprayer is now neatly labeled “Round-up” and we all know I don’t label anything--except people who drive slower than me (slo-mo’s) and Wyoming Highway Patrolmen (Officer I-Need-More-Fiber-In-My-Diet). That’s an entirely different post, however.

I found the old sprayer, under a shelf in the spider-infested region of the garage. Did I scream or cry or throw a fit? Yes, and the neighbors are now shunning me. After that, I rolled the dead-spider-coated sprayer on the wet grass to sanitize it. Opened a Diet Coke, took a long-burning swig—I’m good.

Sloth-itude

2011-05-10T22:33:00.000-06:00

SLOTH – It’s more than just a medium-sized mammal that moves only when necessary and even then very slowly. More than the unwitting prey of jaguars, the harpy eagle, and humans.

Did you know that more than two-thirds of a well-fed sloth's body-weight consists of the contents of its stomach, and the digestive process can take a month or more to complete.

…but beyond the well-known happy facts of sloth-hood dwells something that hits very close to home. So close that it’s frightening…

SLOTH is also an acrostic that describes:

Stupor – state in which one has difficulty in thinking or using one’s senses

Lassitude – uncaring attitude; lack of interest

Obtund – dulled or less sharp

Torpor – lethargic indifference; apathy

Hebetude – mental dullness or lethargy

Evidence suggests I may be a sloth.

That may account for where I’ve been all winter. It’s difficult to blog and write while hanging upside, clinging to a branch, even while being shot at from below.

But I am emerging from my sanctuary of stupor, my oubliette of obtundity, my lair of lassitude, my trammel of torpor, my habitat of hebetude.

I am back in blog-land.

2011-02-25T07:50:00.001-07:00

I'm a guest blogger today, talking about how I got published. Check it out if you're interested. http://ping.fm/auwJR

2011-02-23T09:15:00.001-07:00

I may be possessed by the ghosts of Dale Earnhardt and old Elvis. I found myself drag racing with a client while shoving a Twinkie in my mouth. Okay, the Twinkie part is a lie, but if I'd had one, it would have been in my mouth!

2011-01-11T18:43:00.001-07:00

"Panhandlers settle lawsuit with Salt Lake City"
http://ping.fm/YniuN

Thank goodness--those legal bills had to be taking all their spare change. I'm in the wrong line of work! The only panhandling I do is once a month when I cook!

Dollars, but no sense...

2010-12-19T23:25:00.000-07:00

My oldest daughter is more than a Drama Queen. She is also Sultana of Savings. She tries to educate me how I can save money too, but I told her my brain just can’t make the leap.

She encouraged me with something like, “Price-matching at ____Mart is so easy, you don’t need a brain. Even you can do it, Mom.”

It’s hard to believe that they’ll just take my word on a price. It sounds too good to be true. I mean—I could say any number. If they don’t require proof, they could get ripped off.

It longer to find the super-low prices to match than it would have for me to grow the corn to grind for the chips to make the Doritos I wanted to buy. But the lure of saving fifty cents fired up my blood and I searched for more things I could price match.

At the checkout stand I timidly told the clerk, “The Doritos are on sale at CompetitorMart for $2. I’d like to price match.” It worked. I saved fifty cents.

Emboldened by my success, I price matched another item. And another. I kept going. It was so addicting—throwing out numbers and watching the clerk change them based solely on my word. Such power! Before I knew it, I realized I was going the wrong direction! I price-matched up. Yes—UP! I named an amount eleven cents higher than what the item was priced at. And the clerk took my word for it. He conveniently couldn’t get it to void, and after seven attempts and four angry glares from the customer behind me, I agreed to pay the higher price.

By the time I got home, I realized I may have saved $3.75, but probably overpaid by more. I ripped myself off. I decided I’d best leave the saving to the pros.

So now I let my daughter do the shopping and saving and I’ll stick to what I’m good at—the eating, the sleeping, the exaggeration, and avoiding cooking.

Mind over Matter: Use it or Lose it...or Both

2010-12-11T23:36:00.000-07:00

The last big snowstorm left us with a thick icy coating on our driveway, front steps, and the right frontal lobe of my brain.

For reasons known only to the voices inside my head and the Magic 8-Ball, I willingly went out to shovel/hack the driveway.

Accompanying me and my personalities was my iPod. Do not confuse this with an iPod any of my children or anyone under the age of 30 would use. It is a tiny red iPod Shuffle, possibly a prototype dropped from Santa’s sleigh years ago when nobody knew what iPod stood for. This ancient half-decade-old device holds approximately 7.2 songs.

Most importantly—it is too un-cool for my children to use, so it’s always fully-charged and right where I leave it.

I spent thirty minutes of ice-chipping, back-spasming, rocking to the oldies. I guess I’m fortunate my neighbors didn’t think I was having a seizure and call the paramedics—or that I was hopped up on something stronger than the BeeGees and call Officer Standoffish.

Interrupted by a visitor, I shed my outerwear quickly, leaving it on the stairs inside.

Later that evening I had to run an unexpected errand and thought, ”I’ll grab my iPod again.”

I snagged the white earphones and ran out the door. It didn’t take long to realize they were flapping in the wind—and it wasn’t because I was running so fast.

My little red iPod had detached from its white tether and was lost somewhere in the vast vagueness that was my day.

I retraced my steps since removing my snow gear. Stairs, couch, kitchen, couch, bathroom, couch, refrigerator, couch, bathroom. It was gone! I shook out my boots, dug in the snow bank, and even looked under the shelf among the cobwebs and Cheerios. No trace.

It must be buried deep in the banks of snow alongside my driveway. I envisioned it showing up in the spring—a rusted red shell of a music player. A shriveled-up Apple core.

I alerted my family who was sympathetic (which I think is a device they use to disarm me).

My daughter even went outside in the dark to search for it.

Daily I asked, “Has anybody found my iPod?”

Silence answered me. I decided to wait until my family actually came home to ask again.

I’m sad. I have long been without style, but now I am without style and can’t tune myself out.

Life goes on.

Today while pretending to work, I looked up and saw my little red iPod, neatly wrapped and tucked in the little cubby on my desk.

Someone found it for me! And the truly lovely gesture was—nobody claimed credit or asked for a reward. Just left it there as a quiet little present for me to find.

I waited until my family came home.

“Did you find my iPod?” I asked my dear husband.

“No, I thought it was lost.”

“Did you find my iPod?” I asked my video-game-fiend son.

“No, I thought it was lost.”

I asked the weight-room dweller who was driven by hunger enough to exchange his pint of Ben & Jerry’s for me to cook him dinner.

“No.”

The 13-year-old was next and also disavowed knowledge.

The neighbors didn’t answer when I rang their doorbell. The UPS guy made a quick U-turn when he saw me sprinting towards him.

Nobody was willing to take credit for the miraculous return.

And then I saw it. The empty white earphone cord dangling from where I’d dropped it days before. Puzzled, I looked at my own iPod, Old Red, tucked into my palm—headphones wrapped neatly.

Was it possible more than one set of white ear buds exist in our house?

I wondered it aloud, “Does anyone else have white head phones around here?”

Anything but silence greeted me as virtually everyone replied, “I do.” I think I even heard the UPS guy chime in.

It dawned on me that I was the one who put away my iPod—right after I finished using it. And then I promptly forgot what I did.

My family laughed at me when I admitted my iPod was really never lost—only part of my brain was. The part that controls memory. And judgment. And reasoning. And taste in music and iPods (those last two my children added).

I learned an important lesson from this situation.

And if I remember it, I’ll share it.

Snow, Officer Not-so-friendly, Ordinances, and Offspring

2010-12-01T21:56:00.000-07:00

Limited Winter Parking Ordinance #11-3-45:

“It shall be unlawful for any person or owner of any vehicle to park a motor vehicle, travel trailer, horse trailer, utility trailer or other like vehicle on any street in this municipality between the 1st day of November of each year and the first day of April of the following year, for a period of time longer than three minutes when loading or unloading passengers and for a period of time longer than thirty minutes when loading, unloading or delivering property between the hours of 12:00 a.m. and 7:00 a.m. on the streets of ___________City. Violation of this ordinance shall be punishable by citation or impounding and removal of the vehicle.”

I know this is the law.

Tell it to my two offspring who moved home within the last month when one of the said children is only home between the hours of 1 a.m. and 7 a.m. and the other said child is burrowed somewhere between the stacks of computer equipment and empty PowerAde bottles.

And they both park their cars on the street.

And their keys are buried in: A) a pile of PowerAde bottle rubble; or B) inside a large satchel that could hold the entire contents of my pantry after a trip to Costco.

And I’ve threatened them if they block me in the garage ONE more time.

This is the difficult situation I found myself in last Monday after a large snowstorm had dumped around 8 inches of snow on and around my house and the cars parked in front of it (not to be confused with the Blizzard of 2010 which blew approximately 1.79 centimeters of snow onto my driveway).

Officer Friendly’s not-so-amiable step-sister, Officer Standoffish, stopped by my house that afternoon. She asked, “Do you know who owns that car out there?” She pointed to a really big snow drift in front of my house—on the street—that turned out to be a Hyundai Accent.

I wondered how she could tell it was a car. Maybe her Taser was also a metal detector. I thought it was best not to find out.

I recollected out loud that my daughter-in-law owns a Hyundai Accent. She’s been in the Air Force since June. The military reference had no noticeable impact on Officer Standoffish. I thought her hand twitched towards her baton. She said, “It’s illegal to have a car parked overnight on the street between November 1st and April 1st. The mayor wants us to remind everyone that the snow plows have a hard time plowing when cars are parked on the street.”

Come again? I looked at the 8 inches of snow in my cul-de-sac. This is the very cul-de-sac that has never seen the likes of a snowplow. I had wondered if we were even on the city map.

I said. “Maybe you could remind the mayor that it would be nice to have our cul-de-sac plowed.”

Officer Standoffish became Officer Iceberg. “I’m not getting in the middle of that one.”

I gulped as I realized I’d opened my mouth and my brains had leaked out. I quickly apologized, “Sorry. I was kidding. I know snow removal isn’t your job. I’ll move the car.”

Officer Iceberg drove away in her four-wheel drive vehicle. I thought about moving the car—but man, that was a LOT of snow to clear away and there was probably ice under the snow. I went inside where it was warm.

A couple of hours later, I heard a vehicle pull into our cul-de-sac. I looked out my office window. IT WAS A SNOWPLOW! In our cul-de-sac!

“Crap!” I thought, “I should’ve moved the car!”

It was too late—the plow was gone.

Five minutes later, I heard another engine—THE SNOWPLOW CAME BACK FOR A SECOND PASS THROUGH THE CUL-DE-SAC!

I ran through the house like a madwoman trying to find the keys. Out the door, in my slippers, without a coat, leaping snow-covered hedges (okay, it was a snow-covered crack in the sidewalk), clawing my way through the layers of snow and ice to find the key hole so I could unlock the car.

I moved it into the driveway and waited. The snowplow never came back.

I shook the snow out of my slippers, wrung out my sopping wet shirt sleeve, and trudged back upstairs to work.

I went to run an errand later and as I backed my own car out of the garage, I realized I’d blocked myself in.

I’ve written myself a new ordinance to abide by:

“It shall be unwise to procrastinate, for a period of time longer than three minutes when telling an officer of the law that you will move a vehicle off a snow-covered street in front of your house It is also ill-advised to make a wisecrack to any officer of the law because you are mad at the mayor, because both the police and mayor know where you live and can create extreme paranoia within your small little mind. It is also prohibited to leave your locks unchanged when your adult children move away because they will come back and let themselves into your home and take up residence again. It is hereby advisable that you not only change the locks, but move as well, so the local police force, mayor, or adult offspring cannot track you down. Violation of this ordinance shall be punishable by having to live with the consequences of your actions and getting your perfectly good slippers wet. And then you will also run out of Diet Coke and find yourself blocked in your own garage by the original offending vehicle.”

2010-11-12T08:20:00.001-07:00

"Smiling's my favorite!"....someone should tell my face

What's Great about 48???

2010-09-24T09:01:00.000-06:00

Four dozen - 48 - an interesting number, good or bad, depending on your point of view:

48 is great for:
cupcakes
cookies
diet Coke
hundred dollar bills
pairs of shoes
days in Cancun
books sold at a booksigning
friends wishing you Happy Birthday
back massages
good books to read
chocolate truffles
chocolate chips in a cookie

48 is not so great for:
candles on a birthday cake (Unified Fire Authority came a knockin')
chin hairs
bed bugs
pounds gained
surgeries
speeding tickets
rejection letters
shingles missing
9-1-1 calling because your kids were messing around on the phone
frogs in the swimming pool
zits
children (I'm glad I stopped at 6!)

Happy Birthday to Me! I may be old, but at least I didn't wake up dead!

2010-09-18T21:35:00.001-06:00

A couple of recent headlines announced: "[so and so] dead at age 96." I think "[so and so] ALIVE at age 96" is more newsworthy...

2010-09-17T23:45:00.001-06:00

Authorpalooza at Barnes & Noble, Orem, Utah, this Saturday afternoon, Sept. 18, 1 - 4 p.m 40 local authors will be there signing books - including Yours Truly...stop & shop & chat!

Die Blood-sucking Bedbugs!!!

2010-09-14T13:02:00.000-06:00

Because I grossed everyone out by sharing my bedbug experience, I feel a moral and social obligation to share the eradication story with you as well. It is a long saga, as bedbugs are nasty, resistant little bloodsuckers, but maybe this will help someone who faces a similar problem:

Phase I - Discovery
1. I freaked out

2. Internet research

3. Scratched

4. Took pictures

5. Drank a Diet Coke

6. Disposed of mattress & boxsprings

7. More internet research

8. More scratching

9. Freaked out again

10. Drank another Diet Coke

11. Caught approx. 5 live blood-sucking specimens in a cup to serve as a control group

12. Named the control group members “Edward” “Carlisle” “Alice” “Jasper” “Esme” (a.k.a. The Cullens)

**************************************************************
Phase II - Education
1. Made list of bedbug-killing chemicals that are safe to use in residences

2. Determined bedbugs came from a hotel in Page, AZ via my suitcase (found one still alive in my suitcase)

3. Searched every room in the house for evidence of infestation – appeared limited to my bedroom

4. Went to Lowe’s and asked young saggy-pants clerk about chemicals on my list

5. Saggy-Pants gave me a blank look, I said slowly “I NEED SOMETHING TO KILL BEDBUGS!”

6. Saggy-Pants replied, “Are you sure they are bedbugs?”

7. Gave Saggy-Pants a detailed description of bedbugs with photos and snickered as I walked away and he was scratching all over.

8. I scratched

9. Went to IFA (Intermountain Farmers Association)

10. Was introduced to Cykick CS and Nuvan Pro-Strips by two older guys who had both experienced bedbugs in their lives

11. Was assured by the two old guys that I was NOT A BAD HOUSEKEEPER (they haven’t seen my house!)

12. Had a Diet Coke.

*********************************************************************
Phase III - Destruction
1. Mixed up a Cykick CS (cyfluthrin) cocktail

2. Prepared Nuvan Pro-Strips

From Nuvan’s website:(Pests don’t have a chance near Nuvan® Prostrips®. They are the only product containing DDVP available to the professional pest management market for residential use)

3. Vacuumed room thoroughly (disposed of bag)

4. Washed every washable item in hot water & dried on “bacterial” setting

5. Threw away several items I couldn’t wash due to “gross out factor”

6. Sprayed all crevices, bed frame, night stands, dresser

7. Set the Cullens in center of the room

8. Activated Nuvan Pro-Strips

9. Sealed off room for seven days

10. Sprayed the rest of the house with Cykick-CS cocktail

11. Had a couple of Diet Cokes and premium chocolate

***********************************************************************

Phase IV - Adding to destruction
1. Checked on progress at least daily

2. Took about 4 days for all of the Cullens to die

3. After 6 days, wiped down walls & furniture with Cykick CS cocktail

4. Re-sprayed the entire room with Cykick CS cocktail

5. 7th day – aired out room; reassembled bed with new mattress & boxsprings

6. Installed mattress cover that is bed-mite proof & bedbug resistant

*************************************************************************

Phase V - Post "I hope I killed the bloodsuckers"
1. Subsequent days – check mattress every morning and night

2. Scratch

3. 3 days after reassembling everything, crawled around on the floor searching for bedbugs. Found one.

4. Freaked out

5. Pulled everything out from the walls again, moved nightstands & dressers

6. Found 6 bedbugs total on the floor – they were sluggish and slowmoving

7. Caught them in a cup

8. Named them “The Volturi”

9. Mixed up another Cykick CS cocktail (considered drinking a little of it myself)

10. Drank a Diet Coke

11. Sprayed the cup containing “The Volturi”directly, to satisfy my eradication energy burst

12. Sprayed the perimeter of the room, including under the nightstands & dressers again

******************************************************************

Phase VI - Paranoia
1. Continue to check morning & night for evidence of bedbugs

2. None seen yet (approx. 10 days – knock on wood)

3. Drink some more Diet Coke and eat more chocolate as a preventative measure

Good Night, Sleep Tight, Don't let the Bedbugs bite!

2010-09-12T14:06:00.000-06:00

What does this:

And this:

Have in common?

I hate them both.

HATE them.

There are some who never use the HATE word—I use it sparingly myself.

When it comes to pickles and me, the word is appropriate. I tell people I am allergic to pickles—they make me break out in vomit. The smell nauseates me and they are banned from my house. If my children must have a pickle, they travel to a distance not less than six blocks from me and beg them, door-to-door.

I have found nothing I hate more than pickles—except maybe pickle relish. The smell of a hot dog loaded with mustard, ketchup, and pickle relish is worse than an outhouse at a chili cook-off on the 4th of July.

Something now tops my HATE list—bedbugs.

Several seemingly unrelated issues have occurred over the past few weeks. I developed an itchy rash on my left shoulder that traveled down my arm on to my hands. In addition to the red splotches I started breaking out in hives, daily on both hands and arms.

I thought the abscess under tooth #18 had caused some reaction run amok, but after a thorough examination by my dentist, Dr. Extraction, it was only three abscesses and a vertical fracture on the root causing the radiating jaw pain.

Next came the blood marks on the sheets—TMI, you say? They were odd streaks, like someone digging at their hives in the night, only I didn’t have any scabs to show for it. (Maybe you should skip that paragraph you just read if you have a weak stomach.)

Then—the weird black marks surrounding the outline of my head on my pillows and sheets. Like a bizarre police-chalk outline of a body, my upper torso imprint was a stark white contrast surrounded by black specks. My husband had a not-quite-as-vivid imprint on his side of the bed.

We blamed our new, twin CPAP machines (blog and photos to follow at a later date). A couple of nights ago, we spent our twilight hours in a not-so-romantic game of examining the shiny silver boxes with attached hoses for black-speck-spewage. When we tired of that pastime, we checked each others’ ankles and calves for scabs to explain the new blood streaks across the bottom of the bed.

The bloodstains seemingly came from nowhere.

I covered my face with a tissue as I slept, hoping to catch some black ash as evidence. I blew off the tissue in the night, but “LO!” when I dug the tissue clump from the floor beside my bed I had an epiphany!

Here is a picture of the epiphany:

Ugly, isn’t it? Let me describe it to you: a mass of bed bugs scurrying in their own defecation to hide in the seams of my once-lovely pillow-top mattress after glutting themselves on my tasty blood.

The hives and rash on my arms: Allergic reaction to the myriad bed-bug bites on my upper torso

The black specks surrounding my head: Bed-bug poop trails

The red blood streaks on the sheets: Spots where we rolled over the little blood-engorged creatures as we slept.

Eeeeew!!!! Do you itch all over? I do!

So if you hate pickles, like I hate pickles (or something equally disgusting to you)

Remember…

Bedbugs are worse!!!

Aren’t you glad I shared this?

Have a great day!

Ants in my pantry - Come join the fun!

2010-08-10T00:12:00.000-06:00

It started with ants. Scurrying around my pantry floor in confusion—not me, the ants. At first I ascribed it to general ant confusion. You know, “Why are ants so confused?” “Because all their uncles are ants!”

I swept up the chips, cereal, and pretzel bits from the floor—along with a goodly number of ants, wiped the area down with an ammonia-soaked cloth and went to bed.

This morning they were back—en masse. It would take super effort to get rid of this problem—I would have to actually clean my pantry. My children steer clear when I embark on such a drastic measure—they want to stay out of the line of fire. Whether I’m tossing out cellophane wrappers containing two stale crackers and a trio of ants playing poker with the crumbs, or throwing out a verbal barrage of cursing their general pig-like forages through my pantry leaving snout-droppings behind—they run for cover.

The good thing about cleaning out your pantry is finding long-forgotten food—or better yet, candy that has fallen through the cracks. Did you know that washing ants off M&Ms takes off the color, as well as the ants, but the candy-coated shell s, while losing their bright hue, still protects the chocolate inside?

I also discovered why you shouldn’t rinse off cookies. Even I won’t eat food that has dropped into my kitchen sink. In my defense, the fudge frosting from the cookie wasn’t technically touching the sink—the soggy pile on which it lay protected it from contamination.

I finished off the package of barbeque chips that expired July 4, 2009 and washed those down with Doritos crumbs that were packaged in a “Win Super Bowl 43 tickets” bag.

After eating my weight in stale food, I searched frantically for some Tums. I noticed the ants were no longer running around in mass confusion. They were in an organized line—marching. I could almost make out little tiny picket signs. I searched for my husband’s magnifying glass and, kneeling down, I could almost make out their words of protest.

Now I don’t speak “ant” and reading it isn’t much easier, but I’m pretty sure the signs read :

• “Check your expiration dates!”

• “Deport the Giant Woman before she eats everything!”

• “Buy something good!

• “You’re stealing food from our little ant mandibles!”

• “Ants are people, too!”

I certainly felt in the minority. The LARGE minority. The HUGE minority with a can of Raid in my GIANT phalanges. A few minutes later, the plague of ants was gone, leaving behind a few of their little “anti bodies”. Kind person that I am, I gave them a decent burial crunched in a wadded paper towel in the “casket o’ trash”

The worst thing about ants in your pantry—when you’re on the floor sweeping and hand mopping to eradicate the food on the floor, you notice the dirt on the baseboards. When you wipe the dirt off the baseboards, you see the splashes of grimy hand and drool prints on the lower half of the door. When you disinfect the brownish streaks you’re pretty sure were chocolate, you touch the doorknob and realize either gum, honey, or the innards of something sticky prevents you from turning it. Next you’re chipping off something green and hard from the wall that you pray is a gummi-bear torso and not something else. Before you know it you have been sucked into the CLEANING VORTEX, churned about like a half lucid Martha Stewart who envisions a centerpiece on yon table when you’ve finally cleared the computer parts, ten days worth of mail, your last full deck of cards with one now missing, a dirty sweatshirt, your sons gym shoes, and the motor of a dismantled lawn mower. At least there was a partial Diet Coke under the mess.

I realize I needed an intervention (a.k.a. a nap). I go to the only place I know for sure is clean—the pantry. Lying on the floor I look up and notice a clear baggie, wedged in a corner, unseen from my former towering heights. I reach up, and—behold—two chocolate-covered cinnamon bears who have been hibernating for who knows how long. Arctic polar bears, judging from the white sheen of the chocolate. I pop them in my mouth, enjoying the stale chocolate soft-crumbly-chewy texture. Aahhh. Cleaning has its rewards!

2nd Alpha reader report

2010-08-06T20:58:00.001-06:00

Again, ignoring sage advice from well-seasoned writers ...

My dear, sweet M-I-L returned the edit of the technological thriller manuscript my husband and I co-wrote.

Her number one complaint? Parts were childish.

Hello? Mom? Your child wrote it...Isn't childish good in this case?

The secret to happiness is:

Take EVERYTHING as a compliment!

I've been told that if your mother loves your manuscript, agents and publishers may well hate it; therefore, if your mother hates the manuscript, agents and publishers will likely love it!

P.S. stands for "Positive Spin" - try it!

P.P.S. I am a proponent of hyperbole and propositional fallacies

P.P.P.S. Thanks Susan--your input really is valued!

Be careful what you ask for--and WHO you ask!

2010-08-02T22:23:00.000-06:00

One bit of advice always given to writers: Don’t give your book to friends and family to critique—they’ll tell you it’s good even if it’s better suited to line the bottom of a hamster cage.

I agree that advice is good, but not applicable in the case of my daughter—an alpha reader for the manuscript my husband and I have jointly written.

It is a technological thriller.

She is brutally honest.

She was the first to finish reading it, and she was the first to give her feedback—which went something like this:

“Your characters need better description”
“I didn’t like the ending, it was stupid”
“It needs more romance”
“I wouldn’t throw it away, it has potential”
“I think it is about 60% ready”
“Did you copy the plot from I-Robot?”
“FYI—you have too many acronyms”

We were a little confused. I tried recapping what I was hearing:

“So, except for the ending, the middle, and the characters, it was good?”

“Yeah, I liked the first chapter a lot.”

This is the same girl who asked me, right before I gave a talk in church—“Mom, do you know you have a mustache?” (What does she think I was waxing all those years?)

The very child who queried—“Mom are you embarrassed to go to the store because you’re so fat?” (Was it sitting in the middle of cookie aisle, burying my face in a bag of Oreos that clued her in?)

I guessed we asked for it!

It is our first attempt at co-authoring and we handle criticism very differently:

Me: Oh, I’m a failure! I guess we need to re-write everything. Should we re-name the characters? I should give up writing—except for the first chapter.

My husband: We’ll keep sending out alpha-copies until we find someone who likes it. Where’s the ward directory?

So if my husband calls this month to come home teaching—just don’t answer the phone. As for me, I’ll be at the store—in the cookie aisle.

2010-07-18T22:38:00.001-06:00

â€¢"Read Today: Tooele man beats the odds, learns to read" (www.ksl.com)
Does this mean the odds are that people from Tooele usually can't learn to read?

A GRAND experience!

2010-07-18T22:29:00.000-06:00

Warm chocolate chip cookies, tall cold glass of milk, plush robe…

Sounds GRAND doesn’t it?

But wait, there’s more!

Italian marble bathrooms
17th Century Flemish tapestries
Handcrafted Richelieu furniture

It is GRAND!

My husband and I spent a delightful night here (thanks to my employer who provided us with this gift!)

It was beautiful and glorious and is Salt Lake’s only AAA Five Diamond Hotel.

I sometimes forget what a beautiful valley we live in, but the ceiling to floor window provided a view of the city and mountains that I usually take for granted.

Of course, I immediately checked out the little fridge & being the cheapskate that I am, removed the Evian ($3.50) in order to chill my Arrowhead ($0.25). The tiny, classy bottle of Diet Coke ($3.50) got pushed aside for my 16 oz bottle($0.40) with the proper Coke-bottle-curves.

The Grand America has something for EVERYONE, as evidenced by the thoughtful items for sale in the little cabinet next to the fridge (of course I had to take photos, but only had my phone camera):

FIRST AID KIT $6 (two bandages, two Tylenol™, two antihistamines, two antacids, one antiseptic towelette)

INTIMACY KIT $6 (the contents of this kit are…intimate)

DECK OF CARDS $10 (playing Solitaire is a lonely, expensive business—not to mention, a solitary one)

They think of everything (except the beds in the New Orleans Marriott are much more comfortable) and the best rating I can give it is this one: We will return to this GRAND place—on our own dime next time (or dollar or credit card, as the season warrants).

Team Jacob or Team DJ?

2010-07-11T22:58:00.000-06:00

Several teenage girls recently commented that my soon-to-turn-16 son looks like Jacob Black. You know--THE Jacob Black of Twilight fame.

I took it upon myself to do some research and provide comparisons.

TEAM DJ

SIMILARITIES:

Jacob has russet skin, black hair and dark eyes. (a)

DJ has black hair and dark eyes and eats russet potatoes. (b)

[Jacob] tends to wear only cut-off style jeans or shorts, since clothes are often ruined during his transformations into a wolf.

DJ tends to wear only basketball shorts, that are often ruined by paint, solvents, grease, grime, and food coloring during his transformations into an inventor—often combining things such as leaf blowers and swimming pools.

[Jacob] is descended from an ancient line of "shape-shifters" that assume wolf form.

DJ emerges daily from an ancient pile of laundry and debris that annually assumes “clean-room” form.

Jacob is also able to phase at will into a giant wolf

DJ is also able to phase at will into a human-like form with the appetite of a giant wolf.

[Jacob] forcibly kisses [Bella], much to her displeasure, and she reacts by punching him in the face - breaking her hand and not leaving a scratch on him.

DJ forcibly flexes his biceps, trying to break through velcro rope holders, and puts white duct tape on his legs to see if it is stronger than hair, and he reacts by yowling loudly as his friend removes the tape—and the hair grows back within days.

Coincendence??? You decide!

Other reasons to vote for Team DJ:

DJ can tie threads around snakes and take them for walks

DJ can fit a surgical glove over his entire head

DJ can make attractive bike trailers out of 2x4s, plywood, skateboard wheels, and his younger sister.

There are many, many other reasons to vote Team DJ, but time, space, and federal laws protecting children from their parents prohibit me from continuing at this time.

(a) All Jacob quotes were obtained from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jacob_Black

(b) All DJ quotes were obtained from his mother

Random Dam Stuff

2010-07-06T23:24:00.000-06:00

We just returned from our annual family vacation to Lake Powell. We go every year except when we skip a year. We’ve tried camping, but the wind and rattlesnakes changed our minds. We’ve tried the houseboat thing, but I’m not sure if it counts as a houseboat when it is old enough to be modeled after the Ark.

We’ve settled on an alternative that pleases us all—meaning me. We drive the extra hour to Page, AZ and “camp” in a hotel room. Long days on the lake, followed by warm showers, hot meals, and soft beds in an air conditioned room—my idea of a vacation.

One of my children’s favorite things is sighting Glen Canyon Dam for the first time each trip. For some reason (which my husband refers to as ME) the children take the visual of the dam as their cue to start on the “dam” comments such as: “That dam bridge is huge!” (which it is).

As we pass into Page, the pseudo-swearing kicks into high gear as we see:

The Dam Plaza, which contains:

The Dam Bar & Grill (“Can we eat at the Dam Bar & Grill, Mom?”)

The Dam Outlet (“What do you think they sell at the Dam Outlet?”)

This year when we drove into the Dam Plaza, after dark, to eat at Pizza Hut, we climbed out of the Suburban, and a large lumpish thing moved on the park strip, startling us. A man, who at first appeared to have no legs, staggered up, and it became evident he was vertically challenged only by his excessive imbibing. We tried to walk past, but he reached out to me and croaked, “Ma’am?”

It was dark, he was scary, wobbly, and persistently approaching us. My children ran around the boat, and I firmly said “I don’t have anything for you.” He stumbled off towards the Dam Bar and Grill, likely in search of a more generous and less skittish group. Since he appeared to be a resident of the Dam Plaza, we named him the Dam Bum.

Stopping at the Dam Visitor Center, we saw that the National Park Service was not immune from Dam Comments. The Dam IQ sign above, and the Dam Tours sign below are pictures of the actual signage. I would have taken photos of the Dam Plaza, Dam Bar & Grill, and Dam Outlet signs, but I was scurrying away from the Dam Bum.

Priceless!

2010-06-30T23:40:00.000-06:00

Gas prices at “rest area” outside of Beaver: $3.29/gallon

Seven-day pass into Glen Canyon Recreation Area for one vehicle + one boat: $31

Hitting a bus in the parking lot at Wahweap Marina: Priceless

At least it was fun hanging the children upside down...

What! No chocolate?!

2010-06-24T22:54:00.000-06:00

A couple of months ago I went in for a polysomnography (sleep study) to see if I have sleep apnea. I looked like this:

A week after that, I went in for a polysomnography with CPAP (sleep study with an elephant nose) I looked like this:

I recently visited the Dr. for the official report and, unfortunately the assistant weighed me first. The scale made a noise that sounded uncannily like “One at a time, please” and I watched the medical assistant mark my height and weight on the chart and saw that the intersection landed over the line dividing overweight and obese. I am now obese. I look like this:

I had a hard time focusing on the doctor telling me I have moderate to severe sleep apnea (I may have been looking for chocolate in my purse). Since I had stopped breathing 125 times the night of the first study, the longest episode lasting 41 seconds, the elephant nose is my new appendage.

As if pushing the upper limit of middle-age with a thickening body that sprouts hair in the most inconvenient places isn’t enough to make a woman feel unattractive, sleeping with the long hose protruding from my nose whilst making Darth Vader noises adds to that empowering feeling of “I Am Woman, hear me roar!”

My husband tries to be supportive as I struggle to roll from obese back to overweight, in an effort to help the sleep apnea. While I gnaw on salad greens he offers encouraging phrases such as, “Does it bother you that I eat my chocolate Hagen Daas in front of you?” After he dislodges the pint from his nasal cavity, he gives me a back massage. I now look like this:

I think he may be getting it. The other night I awoke to find him shoving my nasal pillows back up my nostrils. Apparently, the mask had slipped and the resulting vortex alerted his survival instincts and he didn’t want to wake me, so he took action. At least, that’s what he told me. I think he’s afraid for his Hagen Daas.

3 Generations of Drama

2010-05-27T22:40:00.000-06:00

My four-year-old granddaughter (DramaPrincess) loves to talk to me on the cell phone—long enough to ask if she can talk to one of my other children, D or S. (If they are perchance unavailable, she asks to talk to Gramp). In essence: I am the telephone operator of the household for the DramaPrincess.

Whilst on the phone today with my daughter (DramaQueen), her daughter was nagging her, demanding to know what my daughter and I were planning. My daughter ignored her for awhile, then DramaPrincess wanted to talk to me.

Here is how part of the conversation went:

DramaPrincess [demanding]: Let me talk to Gran

Me: I don’t want to talk to her if she’s just going to ask to talk to D or S

DramaQueen: Do you want to talk to Gran just so you can ask to talk to D or S?

DramaPrincess: Yes

DramaQueen: Then you can’t talk to Gran

DramaPrincess: Why?

DramaQueen: It makes Gran feel bad when you only talk to her so you can ask to talk to D or S

DramaPrincess: [exasperated] Ok. I’ll talk to her for 2 minutes

DramaQueen: That’s not long enough

DramaPrincess: [exaggerated sigh] Ok. I’ll talk to her for 10 minutes

Me: That will work

DramaQueen: Here’s Gran

DramaPrincess: Hi Gran!

Me: Why don’t you want to talk to me? Why are you such a stinker? Did you learn how to be such a stinker from your mom?

DramaPrincess: Yes. I learn everything from my mom. I’m just like her.

Me: You are just like her. But that’s a good thing. Your mom is a really good person to be just like.

DramaPrincess: And my mom is just like you.

Me: Thank you, that’s the sweetest thing I’ve heard all day!

DramaPrincess: You’re welcome. Can I talk to D or S now?

So, if my granddaughter is the DramaPrincess, and my daughter is the DramaQueen, what does that make me? I guess I’m the DramaMama. The nut doesn’t fall far from the tree.

(Challenge: I used whilst and perchance in the previous paragraphs—try to use one or both words conversationally today)

2010-05-25T10:21:00.001-06:00

Today's mental forecast: Foggy with a slight chance of inspiration

Did you ever wonder why?

2010-05-11T00:03:00.000-06:00

On every airline flight I hear the attendant announce “Please lock your tray tables and return your seat backs to the upright position.” This is repeated prior to take off and in preparation for landing.

Why? I mean, the seat only reclines 2.5 cm in the first place.

I did a little research and I found that there is an actual regulation concerning this very thing:

Do procedures prohibit an airplane from taking off or landing unless each passenger seat back is in the upright position, except as provided in 14 CFR part 121.311(e)(1-2)?

Note(s): During takeoff and landing, seatbacks may be reclined provided:

• Seatbacks do not obstruct access to emergency exits. and

• Seatbacks do not obstruct any passenger’s access to the aisle or to any emergency exit when cabin seats are used for cargo or for persons unable to sit erect for medical reasons.

Updated: Rev # 3 on 09/15/2009
SRRs: 121.311(e)

Wait! Did that just say “seatbacks may be reclined provided…”

So it’s more of a suggestion then.

A regulation that would actually be more helpful would be:

“Passengers are prohibited from boarding an aircraft if…

1) The only use they have for a toothbrush is to scratch their backs; or

2) The fumes emanating from their pores exceed 2x the legal limit of alcohol, or

3) The last time the passenger showered was when he fell in the irrigation ditch last fall”

My seatmate on a recent flight would have failed all three tests. I prayed that the oxygen mask would fall from the compartment in the ceiling, but then realized that Mr. Stink next to me would have to lift his arms to get his mask, too. I recanted.

I was glad that my tray table was stowed, so access to my airsickness bag was not obstructed. Airsickness bags are not as big as they used to be. When the flight attendant came through the cabin one last time to collect “any remaining service items” she wasn’t expecting what I dropped in her trash bag. With my shirt pulled up to cover my nose and mouth to act as a filter for my burning lungs, I surreptitiously rolled my eyes in the direction of Mr. Stink. I was trying to place the blame where it belonged, but she didn’t take me seriously because my seat was not in the upright position in preparation for landing. Which caused me to question why, which led to this post, and the realization that, like stop signs in Mexico, the upright seat backs are more of a suggestion.

What do YOU want for Mother's Day?

2010-05-07T15:13:00.000-06:00

My sister-in-law posted a list of gift ideas she wants for Mother's Day here. It is a list that suits her perfectly and I don't wish to gloat, but I already have at least one thing on her list (I'm not telling specifics--let's just say my bite is now worse than my bark!)

Since I'm the woman who has everything (my affirmation for the day), I only want one thing for Mother's Day...

(drum roll, please)

World Peace.

Oops. Typo.

I meant Whirled Peace. As in "Imagine Whirled Peace" the way Ben & Jerry's intended:
and I quote "caramel and sweet cream ice cream swirled with fudge peace signs and toffee cookie pieces"

Yummmmm!

Also, I had the pleasure to speak with Rebecca Cressman from yourldsneighborhood.com and with her interview skills, I almost sound like a normal mother. My teenage son listened to it and said "Wow, Mom, you almost had me fooled!" Check the interview out if you have a few minutes. You can listen to it, read it, print and frame it, or eat Ben & Jerry's ice cream with it. Very versatile.

What do you want for Mother's Day?

Happy Mother's Daze!

2010-05-04T22:43:00.001-06:00

Before she ever became a parent, first-time author Jane Still was the “perfect mother”. In her new book Mother’s Daze Jane shares her hilarious wake-up calls as she evolves from pre-pregnancy perfection to the reality of being in perpetual mothers’ daze.

I laughed as I commiserated with her—from having to wear maternity clothes home from the hospital (I also faced that dilemma—but it never occurred to me to wear the bed sheet), to stashing dirty cloth diapers throughout the house so her frugal husband could “convince” her that disposable diapers were a bargain at any cost.

Mother’s Daze delivers laughs from gestation to lactation and beyond. This fun combination of motherhood and laughter makes this an ideal gift for any mother on Mother’s Day.

I had the opportunity to interview Jane Still:

(Okay, okay—I didn’t take the opportunity when I had it, so I just wrote it as I imagined it would be)

Terri: I’ve had a hard time catching up with you, Jane.

Jane: Me, too! I accidentally checked myself instead of my bag at the airport

Terri: Didn’t you freeze to death in the baggage compartment?

Jane: Fortunately, the plane lost a generator and they heard me clawing at the cargo door. I’m glad I didn’t bother doing my hair today.

Terri: You’ve traveled a lot lately. I saw you in Dayton at the Erma Bombeck Humor Writers’ workshop, in Provo at LDStorymakers’ Writers’ Conference, and now at Women’s Conference. I’ve seen you more than your family has. Have you spoken to your husband recently?

Jane: Homeland Security has my home number on speed dial now. They usually give me a minute to say “hello” to him.

Terri: Speaking of your husband, what does Rick think about your writing? Is he excited for your first book Mother’s Daze?

Jane: He likes the fact that I can’t talk while I write—he’s urging me to get to work on a sequel—a long sequel.

Terri: What would a sequel to Mother’s Daze be called?

Jane: I think Father’s Laze is appropriate when I remember how eager Rick was to change diapers—not!

Terri: How do you stay looking so fit and have so much energy?

Jane: I lost 35 lbs on Nutrisystem.

Terri: I thought it was the HCG diet?

Jane: That’s what I said.

Terri: Whichever it was, you look great!

Jane: You can lose weight too!

Terri: Did you just call me fat?

Jane: [Moos loudly, followed by a pig-like squeal]

Terri: Thank you, Jane [gives an injured sniff]

Jane: Hey, I’ve got to pick up product endorsements where I can to tide me over until the royalty payments roll in.

Terri: We have time for one more question. Jane, what advice would you give other mothers out there?

Jane: Skip over the parent part and go straight to being a grandparent. And check out my website.

Terri: Thanks Jane!

Happy Mother’s Daze everyone! You can get your own copy at Amazon.com or Cedarfort.com

(disclaimer: no actual Janes were used or harmed in this interview)

2010-05-04T08:24:00.001-06:00

Avoiding 'Death by PowerPoint' (http://ping.fm/VJjwh)
As a rule, I try to avoid death by any means...but, PowerPoint seems an exceedingly dull way to die...

2010-04-27T09:22:00.001-06:00

Must set my imagination aside and focus on accounting. focus. on. accounting. Squirrel!

Quick Change Artist (Author)

2010-04-26T22:05:00.001-06:00

I’ve been fortunate enough to attend two writing conferences lately. The most recent was the LDStorymakers’ Writers’ Conference. I realized that not only was my creative genius (a term I use loosely) fed, but I was hanging out amongst rich and famous writers.

Famous writers at least. I think the rich ones may have been camouflaged since I couldn’t see any, and the ones I suspected were rich, refused to show me their balance sheets although I flashed my CPA credentials at them…

Speaking of flashing credentials, when it came time to change from my casual business conference-wearing attire to my rich-and-famous writer attire for the Whitney Awards, I realized I could either: 1) Change in the bathroom; or, 2) Ask to use someone’s hotel room.

Since I had alienated the writers who were potentially wealthy enough to afford a hotel room by my Jack Bauer-like attempts to find out if they were rich and famous, and I had already spent enough time in the bathroom that day (I sure love Diet Coke), I decided to come up with another option:

My 2010 Cyber Gray Metallic Camaro SS. (Which, incidentally, was not parked in the parking garage, but out in an open lot by a busy traffic light).

My mission—change from frumpy, grumpy Terri Ferran, CPA to glamorous, genius Terri Ferran, Author. In my Camaro. In daylight, without alerting the fashion police or the real police.

Mission accomplished. Yes, I changed in my car. Yet another reason to love my Camaro!

Here are pictures of a couple of rich and famous authors I mingled with. (Disclaimer—I cannot vouch for their actual richness)

Janette Rallison, me, & Rebecca Talley

Janette Rallison & me all dolled up (Rebecca disappeared, maybe I should check the Camaro trunk...)

Rachel Rager, me (my vision was blurring as I snapped this, Need. Diet. Coke.)

and, the Piece de Resistance:

My vision has cleared. Apparently chocolate works as well as Diet Coke.

Re-framing the moment

2010-04-22T23:01:00.000-06:00

It’s all in how you frame things…

This week has been a little rough for various reasons. As I drove to yet another commitment tonight, I felt like I’d been dragged backwards through a knothole. Then I realized I could re-frame it. I could either be:

A) The migraine-induced-innards-turned-outtards old worn out unit that has shared my skin all week, or…

B) I could be the three-time author, rocketing forth in my cyber-gray metallic 2010 Camaro SS, tunes blasting, on my way to a dinner honoring authors.

Here’s what I decided:

If you can’t tell if I chose option A or option B, I have much bigger problems than I thought!

So I had a lovely dinner, courtesy of my publisher CFI, got to visit with some of my favorite author friends.

Here are two of them below:

This is me and my new friend, Jane Still, author of Mother's Daze at the Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop. Jane's goes 90 miles an hour--without a muscle car, all on her own power. If you click on her link above, you'll see her own self-portrait on her book!

This is me and my friend Janet Burningham, author of Monday Nights in Jerusalem (and 2 other books in the series) at the CFI authors' dinner. She claims her life has gone downhill since she met me, but I think she's doing great--a lot better than the character Janet in my first book, Finding Faith

It was a fun evening and reminded me that life is fun, even when it's hard. Need a light read? Read this handy, dandy book:

Available at Amazon or Barnes & Noble or Cedar Fort or me!

If you already have it, please leave a review at one or more of these sites.

2010-04-21T21:02:00.001-06:00

Loved Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop!LDStorymakers Writers' Conference-2 days, & BYU Women's Conference-8 days. I'm bursting with inspiration!

A visit to St Mary's

2010-03-30T00:12:00.000-06:00

I recently worked in St. George for a few days. I stayed with my colleague and friend who owns a modest little home down there:

She is a nice woman, but her Diet Coke was expired. Do you know what expired Diet Coke tastes like? Formaldehyde. Not that I ever drank formaldehyde, but some things you just know—like Pepsi tastes like toilet bowl cleaner. Or at least what I would imagine toilet bowl cleaner to taste like if I were to indulge.

I brought my own Diet Coke this trip, so my friend sought to torture me another way. Sunday before I left home, my family and I had a nice dinner consisting of:

Roast beef
Mashed potatoes
Asparagus

A very good dinner. Then on Monday, my friend cooked dinner for me. She made:

Roast beef
Roasted potatoes
Asparagus

She is a nice person—a saint, really. But then on Tuesday:

Roast beef
Warmed up roasted potatoes

I am trying to be a polite house guest, but when I came home Wednesday, her halo became a little more tarnished. She cooked:

Roast beef
Fried, warmed-up roasted potatoes
Asparagus

It’s not that I’m picky. Okay, I am picky, but enough is enough. Especially when I received the following letter in my email. It went like this:

Dear Ms. Ferran,

We are in possession of your food diary for the past four evenings and would like to file a formal protest.

How many of our kindred dead do you plan on eating?

Have you no imagination? What happened to the chocoholic deep within you? Get a grip, get some chocolate and go pig out. Away from us.

We will seek a restraining order if necessary.

Mr. Potato Head, Junior Asparagus and those cows that paint the signs for Chik-Fil-A.

I didn’t even know cows and vegetables could type, let alone have internet access. I am a little concerned.

Thankfully, I was rescued on Thursday with a dinner of pulled pork, a cinnamon yam, and chocolate pie I saved for Friday morning’s breakfast.

German chocolate pie, washed down with Diet Coke. Ahhhh, the burn.

I don't know when I can ever go back there. Maybe next year, when the nightmares fade...

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished...

2010-02-16T22:21:00.000-07:00

Last Sunday I stopped by my friend's house to bring her a little treat because she was feeling down. After saying goodbye and running down the stairs, I had a moment...

Trip! Splat! Swear!

So much for my new, white $3 Walmart shirt--driveway marks all over the sleeve.

My friend couldn't stop laughing--oh, she tried, but she failed. I just wanted to write her a Thank You note and let her know how I am doing:

Dear Karen,

I am doing fine after the nasty trip and fall on your property. I’m glad you liked the cookies.Thank you for your friendship and concern. I have learned many things from you:

1. Your driveway is hard and unforgiving
2. You were too late with the helmet
3. No good deed goes unpunished
4. The brownies were delicious
5. A true friend lies in the driveway with you until you can get up
6. At least I didn’t lose any teeth (which means my super powers are still intact)

P.S. What are the limits on your homeowners’ policy?

A couple of photos for your scrapbook:

Well....I Never!

2010-02-12T11:12:00.000-07:00

I had a lunch meeting with a prospective client recently at one of his favorite restaurants—a Thai place. I had to swallow my fear of the food—as well as some of the food, itself. It was tough, because I am the pickiest eater I know. Condiment-free, vinegar free, pepper-free, flavor-free—that’s me!

I confessed to the client that I’d never had Thai food before. Mistake? Maybe.

I also admitted I’d never been skiing before (Yikes! I’ve lived in Colorado or Utah for 40 years). Considering the client is a winter sports equipment retailer, I may have made another mistake.

I feel justified. I can see myself like a 1970s Barbie doll—legs won’t bend, they’re pulled opposite directions, they break off right at the hip. Snap. Duct tape, Velcro, or super glue ain’t gonna fix a problem like that. And I can prevent it—no skiing for me (snow or water).

The client’s expression hinted at pity. No Thai food. No skiing.

Don’t judge me.

There are lots of things I’ve never done. For instance, I never…

Got acrylic nails (I did poke a straight pin through one of my nails to see how tough a finger nail really is. They really aren’t that tough, and there are a lot of nerve endings in the nail bed).

Ate a snail (I caught my son salting snails on my front doorstep one day watching them shrivel. I also paid my daughter a penny a snail to chuck them over the fence out of my back yard. She earned about a dollar that day. I guess I could have added my own butter and saved myself a buck!).

Went to jail (Although multiple family members have multiple times—but they got three square meals a day, a free toothbrush, and the streets were a little safer for awhile).

Had to make bail (I let the afore-mentioned family members wait it out and tell it to the judge).

Was ridden out of town on a rail (However, I was kicked out of the flea market in Cancun because my sister was too cheap, and I look and act a lot like her).

Nails, snails, jail, bail, rail…apparently I’m ail-ing today.

What have you never done?

Shameless promo...Keep reading!

2010-02-02T21:09:00.000-07:00

It’s here!

I have my sweaty, chubby fingers gripped around my newest book: Life’s Alphabet Soup: When Your Children Make You Eat Your Words

A glimpse at the back cover blurb:

“Terri Ferran might not be the world’s best mother, but she just might be the mother with the best stories.

For years, Terri balanced a professional career with the demands of raising six kids and almost became completely unbalanced in the process. Now she brings a fresh take on parenting and a double dose of hilarity to Life’s Alphabet Soup: When Your Children Make You Eat Your Words. Inside you’ll find all kinds of motherly wisdom. For example:

HOW TO GET YOUR CHILD TO STOP RAIDING THE COOKING JAR: let her eat all the cookies she wants one day and then see if she can make it through the night without tossing them up.

HOW TO UNITE THE FAMILY IN A COMMON CAUSE: organize a rat-killing party in the backyard.

HOW TO GET YOUR HUSBAND TO PULL WEEDS: become an accidental neighborhood charity case.”

You get all this, and more, in one easy-to-read volume.

Be the first person on your block (or in your mind) to get your signed copy! Come and see me at Barnes & Noble in Sandy, this Saturday from 1-4 pm. Can’t make it then? Come to Costco in West Valley on Saturday, Feb 13th from 11-4 pm. You don’t have to stay the whole time…unless you’re behind in your shopping like I am. Or your idea of lunch out is the samples at Costco. I’m not here to judge you, I’m here to entertain you. At least that’s what my children believe…

It's also a great Mother's Day gift...or Valentine's Day gift...or birthday gift...or "Buy a Book for yourself" gift...the list goes on...

Wasting away in iguanaville...

2010-01-24T22:04:00.002-07:00

It seems that I have a lot in common with iguanas…

As I read in a recent newspaper article:

When temperatures drop, the iguanas, many up to 6 feet long, go into a stunned, catatonic state, stiffen and fall to the ground from tree branches and other perches.

http://www.cnn.com/2010/US/weather/01/10/us.cold.weather/index.html

This may be news in Florida and to iguanas, but I’ve had this happen to me several times…except for the perching in a tree branch part (although I am nearly 6 feet long if I lie on the ground—give or take 7 inches).

Just last Friday, as I was in a stunned, catatonic state at 6 a.m., I stiffened and fell to the ground dismounting from the treadmill. Dropped like a stupefied iguana hanging out in a frozen orange juice tree.

I rolled my ankle and caused not insignificant seismic activity.

Did reporters flock to report my plight? No (unless you count that seventh grader who gets email updates from the US Geological Survey doing a science project).

At least I was inside and didn’t risk actually freezing to death.

Don’t feel too badly about the iguanas. Apparently they were simply in a state of suspended animation and came back to life when they lay out in the sun. Once again, in amazing similarity to me.

There’s only one cure for it that I can see—Cancun. It is sure to cure what ails me. I’m thinking I’ll see some of my iguana buddies there. Adios.

Bootcamp with Jess - The End...or is it?

2009-12-26T23:47:00.000-07:00

My six-week-self-inflicted-torture-at-a-bargain-price BootcampwithJess has ended.

What, you may ask, are the end results?

Let me share—

1. Tonnage lost--.0045 (a.k.a. 9 lbs)

2. Millimeters lost – 152.4 (6 inches)

3. Times I wet my pants—0 (actually, it Depends)

4. # of pushups for infractions—200 (plus or minus 120)

5. # of actual instructors impaled, blown up, shot, run over, beaten, or disposed of by me during the 6-week period—0

6. # of incidents mentioned in #5 imagined by me during the 6-week period (I plead the 5th, on the grounds it definitely would incriminate me)

7. Number of Diet Cokes I consumed in the first 3 weeks—0

8. Number of Diet Cokes I consumed in the last 3 weeks—more than 10, less than 100

9. Number of man-pushups I can do without stopping—40

10. Insanity factor (on a scale of 1 to 10) of those who sign up for an initial 6-week journey to Helk-and-back and pay for the privilege—9.781564298

Insanity factor (on a scale of 1 to 10) of those who re-sign up for it, knowing what they are getting into—11.29837492

All—or most—kidding aside: It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

I am officially insane. I inked up for the next six weeks. I loved it. And hated it. I must have more…

Here’s to my friend, Amy Jo, who has bravely consented to join with me during the next journey to HELK—you can do it!

Dear Diary...

2009-12-11T08:28:00.000-07:00

Dear Diary,

This week at bootcampwithjess has been a big blur. I still have a pulse and am not in traction so that is good.

Today I went to the 6 a.m. session. Dear Diary—you know I am allergic to early mornings, but I missed the Tuesday workout to drive to Elk Snout and needed to make it up.

I met a new friend. Her name is Endorphin. She only stopped by for a few minutes, but she is mighty persuasive. She told me I should sign up for the next session and start going at 6 a.m. every day.

My friend Diet Coke is kind of ticked off at me for considering it.

There is a raging battle ensuing—I just know it.

Pre-battle scene:

Endorphin thinks I can do better

Diet Coke thinks I am fine the way I am

I’m not sure who’s right. Maybe my older sister is on target, and I am STUCK ON STUPID!

Back at BootcampwithJess

2009-12-07T21:41:00.000-07:00

I’m baaack!

After being gone to not-so-sunny California for a week, I re-entered the world of bootcampwithjess.

There is a new exercise I did tonight. You hold a 20-lb weight ball above your head, and with all the force you can muster, you slam it into the mat on the floor and see how high it bounces. 20 times.

Instructor R incited the rage within when he yelled, “Take out your frustrations. Throw it down hard, Ferran!”

I used my imagination. I imagined that 20-lb ball was something that really frustrated me. Here are three things that I imagined that ball to be…and boy, did my energy unleash!

Oh yeah! My new favorite exercise.

A few highlights from my trip:

1) On the rental shuttle I noticed that my socks were brown and my pants and shoes were black. It was dark when I got dressed. Changed my socks in the parking lot.

2) I got lost trying to drive out of the rental car parking lot. I went round and round. When I realized the dude in the turban watching me was the attendant at the exit, I finally found my way out. He said, “I saw you go by. I knew you’d be back.” At least my socks matched.

3) Needed my security blanket having to stretch so far out of my comfort zone—paid $3 for a 20 oz bottle of Diet Coke and loved every burning ounce of it.

4) Found out quickly where they put the auditors—in an abandoned outbuilding with no heat and no bathroom. Good thing I only drank one Diet Coke.

5) My friendly host CFO acted as my driver for an evening and following morning. Another auditor scare tactic—Mario Andretti meets Lady GaGa. She raced down the freeway applying her makeup. Not. Kidding. Here is the actual photo from the scene. (You can’t see the car, because she is driving THAT fast!)

6) I forgave “Mario GaGa” because: a) I didn’t actually die, and b) She found my iPod Shuffle that I lost and is sending it back to me.

Halfway Through...

2009-11-30T21:54:00.000-07:00

Halfway through – I’m kinda, sorta, maybe, perhaps liking it a wee bit. It’s harder for me to blog about something I like…

A couple of notes on numbers

Measurements:

Taken three times throughout the six-week process. One of my measurements was quite shocking—yet not.

My calf measured 15 inches. That’s not a calf, that’s a COW!

This could explain why boots don’t fit me well. I pulled on my black leather suede boots—suede stretches a little—and could not zip them all the way. There wasn’t enough hide to hide the expanse. One of my calves is almost as big as Scarlett O’Hara’s waist.

What I need are COWboots—not cowboy boots. Boots for women who have calves that qualify for first prize in the state fair and could be sold by the pound. Let me know if you see any.

Weight:

Tonnage lost so far: .0025

That’s a hard number to wrap your mind around, here is a visual:

5 lbs lost. It doesn’t sound like a lot until you visualize packing this butter around. (Oh man, I just visualized it thoroughly mixed into cookie dough with chocolate chips, and I had to wrestle myself to pry that butter from my grasping fingers as they also groped for sugar and flour—It was hard, I noticed I’m stronger than I used to be)

I did get a prize tonight!

In case you can’t read it, it says “Boot Camp With Jess Survivor.” I was pretty excited as they only give them to people who actually survive HADES week. At least, I think they only give them to the survivors. Nobody has admitted where the bodies are actually buried…

Day 14 - Happy Thanksgiving

2009-11-26T13:24:00.000-07:00

This morning I dragged my carcass out of bed, put the turkey in the roaster oven, and hauled myself over to BootcampwithJess.

On. Thanksgiving.

I was quite excited to see Instructor C would be teaching the class. She is a lovely blonde woman—almost angelic looking. Here is her picture:

She taught a true circuit class, which was quite refreshing—at first.

Then I caught a glimpse of her true personality—the woman is a machine. I now believe the “C” in Instructor C stands for “Cyborg”

Here is the glimpse I caught of her true character:

I, too, was shocked!

However, it was a great workout—I actually felt the ENDORPHIN rush. I’m glad I went.

It seems that Cyborgs have a purpose, other than terminating people.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!

Day 13 - HELP is always lurking...

2009-11-25T23:58:00.000-07:00

Day 13 – Words cannot adequately describe the workout.

If exercise balls are cut in half, they should deflate like normal balls do.

I got a better look at this one tonight—several times. I have named it.

The HELP Ball - Help Exterminate Living Persons
Sounds innocent, HELPful even…Just what they want you to think.

Bicep curls are tough. Bicep curls on the HELP ball are tougher. I am afraid of what’s next.

Squats burn. Squats on the HELP ball make you wobble, spasm, flail, as your Instructor barks, “Lower Ferran!” “Don’t lean forward Ferran!” “Stick your [butt] out Ferran!” Finally, he steps away, shakes his head, and says, “I don’t know what to tell you Ferran.”

How about – “That looks really hard on your spasming lower back, Ferran, as I just made you do 20 reverse sit-up thingies. Sit over there and enjoy a nice, cold Diet Coke.” Near-death experiences can make you think crazy thoughts, okay?

I had to say, “Instructor R, I need to stop.” Humiliating, but necessary and life-preserving.

Next circuit though, I did much—or a little—better.

Sometimes commanding you to do more helps you push through it. Tonight, it was the shaking of the head, which I interpreted as, “You are beyond any help I can give you.” To which I thought, “Oh no you di’int say that to ME. I’ll prove I can do it.” And I did. Right after I admitted I needed to stop.

Two good lessons. Me and the HELP ball—I’m afraid our relationship will never be one of friendship.

Day 12 BootcampwithJess - A tribute to Dr. Seuss

2009-11-24T21:33:00.001-07:00

Butts & Guts - Those were the targets of tonight’s torture.

I will illustrate the Exercise That Must Not Be Named—

To suitably describe it, I have ripped off the cadence from the immortal Dr. Seuss’s Cat In The Hat:

“Look at me, look at me, look at me now!
Insanity’s easy, you just have to know how
I can lift up these weights as I stand on the ball,
I might break a hip if I happen to fall.
My jelly thighs shake as I rock back and forth
My butt has gone South and my brain has gone North
That’s what Ferran said, as she fell on her head
Certain that this time, she would wake up dead.”

R.I.P. – tomorrow comes mighty early

Day Eleven - (un)Justly Accused

2009-11-23T22:19:00.000-07:00

My sister-in-law (who is an exercise freak—you know you are, M) has more than broadly hinted that I may actually like this punishment known as BootcampwithJess. It borderlines on accusation even.

I checked a couple of facts:

FACT: I asked my instructor to give me a list of exercises I can work on while I am out of town next week—in a hotel without a workout room.

FACT: I actually checked the hotel amenities to see if they had a workout room.

FACT: I pushed myself on Friday to do pushups after my 55-minute elliptical workout.

FACT: Tonight I saw a signup sheet for a THANKSGIVING DAY workout—and I hurried and signed up because there was only one spot left.

FACT: Something is seriously wrong with me.

I need my head examined. A copy of the brain scan:

This clearly indicates that the lack of Diet Coke over the last two weeks has resulted in a severe shortage of chemicals to my brain and I am suffering from serious mental incapacity. Yes, you guessed it:

Dementia.from.absentia.of.carbonation.phosphoricacid.caramelcoloring.caffeination.syndrome

Intervention is needed! Anyone…anyone? Hurry, before it’s too late!

On the other hand, I have lost 3 lbs. since I started…

Day Ten - AWOL

2009-11-20T22:38:00.000-07:00

Day 10 = AWOL (absent with out leave)

To be more exact: Day 10 = AWL (absent with leave)

I asked Instructor R last night if I could bypass the beating in the park at 0600 this morning, due to a client meeting I had this morning that I needed time to prep for.

He made me do 10 pushups.

Just kidding. He actually exhibited humanoid characteristics and said it was no problem—just make sure I did 45-60 minutes of cardio on my own.

“Don’t cheat yourself, Ferran. Push yourself hard,” were his parting words.

I don’t cheat. I fabricate sometimes, for literary or humorous purposes, but I don’t cheat.

The day started to wane and I realized I hadn’t worked out yet. At 8:45, my husband started watching a show that showed fat, hair, and blood being cleaned from dead deer hides to make Fine Corinthian Leather. Nauseated, I realized it was time to hop on my elliptical cross-trainer.

55 minutes and 555 calories later--although sweatier than a pig in a sauna, I didn’t feel half bad. I took a self-portrait so I could have evidence of the sweat.

(Sure makes my usual drawings look better, doesn't it?)

I looked entirely too happy, so I made myself do 10 pushups.

Ahhh, pain—that’s more like it.

Have a great weekend!

Day Nine - BootcampwithJess

2009-11-19T22:41:00.002-07:00

I was so exhausted and drained after work today that I seriously wondered if I could make it through tonight’s bootcampwithjess session.

I called my daughter for encouragement and told her:

1) I’m exhausted and have no energy

2) My chest is congested

3) I have consumed four quarts of water and only one pint has passed through (Where is it going—my brain?)

4) I am suffering constant "occasional bouts of irregularity" (i.e. constipation. I know—TMI. I just want you to know that I was feeling pretty bad—physically)

5) My feet are swollen, threatening to burst forth from my cute little Payless flats with the criss-cross strap

My daughter said:

“Go and workout anyway. Maybe you will pass out and they’ll call the paramedics and you’ll wake up in the hospital.”

…or maybe I could just wake up dead…

I went.

I was the only trainee tonight. Yep. The only victim. Maybe the others were already in the hospital.

The instructor asked me if I was okay working out alone. Silly me, I thought maybe he was going to leave me to direct my own workout, and I was already planning on rolling out a mat and taking a nap. Lulled by my own water-logged thoughts, I said yes.

Started out the warm up on the treadmill, stretched, back on the treadmill again at a higher speed, and something amazing happened. (Sit down for this one, Em.) I actually started to feel BETTER once I started working out. What was happening to me?

It lasted through the first 15 minutes.

As the recipient of Instructor R’s full attention, he gave me twice the workout at the same price. We—meaning me—worked on legs and abs.

I knew I had legs. I use them all the time. But I had only read about abdominal muscles, never believing that I might possess some of them myself. The pain now tells me they are there, somewhere beneath the soft muffin top I fondly refer to as my “keg” (as opposed to a six-pack).

The most tortuous exercise of all—I’ll call it “Just Kill Me Now”—was something I thought only Chuck Norris could do. Instructions:

1) Stand on a step

2) Insert arms (all the way to your armpits) through two black slings hanging by carribeaners from a high pole

3) Bend elbows, grasp carribeaners with hands

4) Remove feet from step

5) Pull legs (or knees) up to your waist level whilst dangling like Jabba the Hut

6) Repeat 20 times

If I could have laughed I would have. Here is the diagram for your viewing pleasure:

If the paramedics don't come soon, maybe the coroner will.

Day Eight - BootcampwithJess

2009-11-18T20:52:00.000-07:00

This hurts me to say it, but I almost liked BootcampwithJess tonight. Almost.

1) No infractionary push-ups (yeah, I know it’s not a real word, but it is very descriptive).

2) I remembered my shirt and all other clothing bits and tents.

3) The instructor took my measurements today (needed the big measuring tape) but that cut about five minutes off my treadmill time which provided me with much-needed oxygen.

4) The instructor asked me if I was staying away from the 4 forbidden foods…

a. Pasta
b. Bread
c. Dairy
d. Soda

…and I could answer YES! (except for 1.75 of Grandma Litster’s homemade rolls on Sunday—I’m not a machine). No pushups for my confession, rather a “Good job, Ferran. Keep it up and the pounds will start dropping.”

A compliment! Combined with the other positive points enumerated above, it was almost good. Almost.

A picture of me tonight:

I know—I’m looking livelier, although my nose still seems to be missing…

Day Seven Bootcampwith Jess

2009-11-17T22:28:00.001-07:00

I had to work at a client’s today and was very uptight about making it to HELK (a.k.a bootcampwithjess) on time. It would normally take 30 minutes to drive there, but I allowed 45 minutes because…

For every minute you’re late, you do 10 pushups. Big. Surprise.

Guess what?

If you guessed late—you were wrong. I got there at 4:55, ran inside to the bathroom to put on my workout clothes at the speed of light—or at least within 3 minutes.

Pants - present
Sports bra – present
Sport shorts – present
Socks – present
Shoes – present
Shirt – absent. Conspicuously absent.

Dilemma: Do I workout in my business/work blouse that is sort of silky blue?

Or Do I workout in just my sports bra?

I had to decide fast. I checked to mirror to see just how bad I looked with only the sports bra as my top. Eeeeeeeewwwww! Bleeccchhhh! Jes’ plain nasty!

Diagram:

I put my business top back on. As I tried to not stand out in my non-workout clothes, I spied a couple of t-shirts on display. I asked Instructor Richins (who is NOT an Inspector) if they would sell me one. Ten bucks later, I am properly clothed and standing at attention at 5:00 sharp.

It’s a spiffy camo shirt that says “I survived boot camp w/Jess. P.T. with a purpose!”

Now several things about that shirt are debatable, such as the “I survived” part.

The good thing is – nobody sicked up at having to look at the doughy white midsection of a middle-aged HAGgish woman.

RECAP:
I like the shirt.

I like the fact that I did ZERO pushups for infractions.

I don’t like the actual torture by workout thing—it hurts

But I sure saved money…

Day Six - BootcampwithJess

2009-11-16T22:41:00.000-07:00

This is for my daughter’s 13-year old friend who told her “Your mom SWEARS on her blog!” (and Brielle, you know who you are  )

“Dam” is not a swear word

“Dumb bass” is not a swear word

“Hell” is a place (where I’ve been for six days now!) and even if you consider it a swear word, I used it while quoting someone else who may have used it as a swear word, so therefore it does not count as a swear word.

“Rationalization” is what I just did in the preceding paragraph – but that’s how I roll!

Day 6 – my arms are like cooked noodles (BIG noodles; maybe dumplings)—limp and white.

We worked out arms tonight and now I am typing with my toes. There will be no drawings to illustrate the fun tonight (I’m not that good with my toes).

I did not have the 30-pound vest!

I did have to do 10 pushups for “eyeballing” the instructor.

I had to do that Dead Cockroach thing again. It was HELK! (that word was for the two Bri’s—Brielle & Brianna)

I survived the ordeal, then walked outside, slipped and fell on the ice and caused a small tremor to rock the Salt Lake Valley.

No Diet Coke for 8 days (Diet Coke is not a swear word either, Brielle)

The cover of my latest book

2009-11-16T12:40:00.000-07:00

I just got the proof for the cover of my latest book, Life's Alphabet Soup: When your children make you eat your words

I like it a lot! Here is your sneak preview:

It's scheduled for release in February 2010 which will put it in stores right around March/April--Just in time for Mother's Day gifting! Start your list now!

Day Five - BootcampwithJess

2009-11-13T23:55:00.001-07:00

Today was Cinco de Hades presented by the letter S

SURVIVAL!

I had to get up at the butt-crack of dawn which, by itself, was enough to ruin my day.

We met at a park, and for once I was thankful for the 30-pound vest. For about a minute. As long as it took us to stop marching and start “shuffling”—another word for jogging. While we jogged, we sang/chanted in cadence (in my case I gasped in cadence). It became evident that I was slowing down my column and was told to drop back—so I did.

Of course when they say “drop back” they mean “stagger and gasp at the back of the column while an instructor pokes your back and tells you to keep running.” Two problems with that:

1) If I could keep running, I wouldn’t have dropped back in the first place

2) He didn’t have a cattle prod—which may have helped

That leap of faith thing I mentioned yesterday? Well, we did something like it today, only modified.

1) We leaped, both feet at the same time

2) We dropped to the ground

3) We did a pushup

4) We stood up and did it again

5) Uphill

Diagram for those of you who like visual aids:

(note: we did not fall off actual cliffs—it is a representation of the dashing of our hopes as we reached the pinnacle and heard the order to do it again)

Stadium steps – or stair laps as you might want to call them. As I passed one instructor, I managed to choke out “I think I’m going to die.” She told me to raise my arms above my head (a sign of surrender, perhaps?)

I brought up the rear of most events, but I guess it wasn’t really a race—I mean there were no prizes or anything. Well I did get one prize. As the laggard of the “run down the hill and then climb up it on your hands and feet” drill, I noticed that those lucky ones who raced to finish first got to drop into the—you guessed it—Dead Cockroach position until everyone finished.

I’m not saying I was slow on purpose, but there was a little satisfaction in seeing the row of Dead Cockroaches and I only had to join them for about five seconds.

One last diagram:

Somehow I survived. And I did no pushups for infractions.

I whined. I hurt. I cried. I went without Diet Coke. I feel pretty good, in spite of the pain.

I took a self-portrait on the way home, just to make sure I was still fogging a mirror:

Don't be alarmed--the brown stuff on my face is camoflauge paint courtesy of Instructor Thomas. It is not the dreaded "Diet Coke Withdrawals that manifests as a Poo-like substance on your face"

SURVIVAL! BOOYAH!

Day Four - BootcampwithJess

2009-11-12T21:31:00.000-07:00

Today we celebrate the letter E – The fourth letter in HADES week.

END—will it ever END?

This day was complicated by the storm front moving in and aggravating my fibromyalgia pain—My life is aggravated by my adult son moving home and continually knocking on my door as I’m trying to get some much needed sleep.

What tortures awaited me today?

The pattern has warped – My instructor did NOT perform 30 pushups for me.

I had to do 30 pushups. Three infractions – called him “Inspector” twice instead of “Instructor” and forgot to say his name entirely after speaking to him once.

If I had called him what I was thinking of calling him, I probably would have had to do 300 pushups.

New torture: Leap of Faith

A diagram:

Kind of like leap frog, hence the green massive thighs. I had to do this across the room and back. Both feet off the floor at the same time. Note the 30 lb vest. My instructor has a blue cast because his arm is broken. He said it was from a car accident (mwahhhhhh, let him THINK it was an accident). The plague of flies issuing forth from his mouth is a figment of my imagination.

Do not think that I got out of the Dead Cockroach torment tonight. NO! It was worse than ever. How? I was forced to lie in that position, twitching with searing pain, while Lady GaGa blared loudly from the stereo. I. Am. Not. A. Fan.

The longest 5 minutes of my life!

Happy to say, I am still Diet Coke free. I will prevail, if the fires of Hades don’t consume my frail, flabby body first.

Day Three - BootcampwithJess

2009-11-11T22:15:00.000-07:00

Today was brought to us by the letter D (third letter of HADES)

As in – DAM (what the one fish said to the other when they swam into the wall)
DUMB BASS (what the dam said about the fish who ran into it)

Not really relevant, but I felt like swearing and pseudo-swearing is as close as I could get.

We worked on legs and shoulders tonight. For as big as my thighs are, you would think there were some massive quadriceps hiding in there. Apparently not, because they don’t work properly.

I was instructed to put one foot on the bench, hold the weight ball, and lift the foot remaining on the floor up to the weight ball to tap my knee on the weight ball. And REPEAT 20 TIMES. A diagram of the situation:

You don’t see the weight ball because I had no strength left and could not even do ONE rep. The instructor took the weight ball from me and told me to do 20 reps without it. When he saw my struggle to get my flaccid limb off the ground, a shred of mercy must have escaped his hardened soul – he reduced it to 15. I made it—barely.

Do you recall the Dead Cockroach from yesterday???

I do. Because I had to do it again for the third night in a row, and tonight I discovered that there are two very distinct nerve control centers in my body. The upper and the lower. From the waist up, I was a normal Dead Cockroach—not moving. From the waist down, I was twitching like my SIL given a bad nerve block—not at all normal for a Dead Cockroach. I could not control it. Another diagram:

So if you see me laying in a gutter somewhere, twitching, these are your directions:

1) If I am face up, it means I’m stuck in the Dead Cockroach position and can’t get up. Please be a Good Samaritan and help me out.

2) If I am face down, it means I still haven’t had a Diet Coke, and you should roll me over and provide me with a 20 oz bottle immediately. Pour it down my throat if I seem unresponsive.

P.S. On a brighter note, I only had to do 10 pushups tonight. I'm seeing a pattern Monday 90; Tuesday 50; Wednesday 10. Tomorrow, I expect my instructor will do 30 push ups for me!

Day Two - BootcampwithJess

2009-11-10T22:28:00.000-07:00

Today was “A” day (2nd day of HADES week)

As in “ARE YOU INSANE?”

Yes, it is confirmed. I went back voluntarily—muscles screaming at me all the way.

I would like to introduce you to my least favorite exercise. It is my least favorite because of 1) Its name – Dead Cockroach and 2) The deceptive way it feels like a relief for the first 30 seconds and then you wish you were a dead cockroach as the next few minutes drag on and your legs curl up involuntarily and a scream threatens to rip from your throat.

Here is an actual picture of me doing the Dead Cockroach exercise (note how my poor legs are curling, involuntarily):

(Actually, I look quite thin in this picture, so I think BootcampwithJess is already working!)
Counts:
Push ups today for breaking the rules:     50

Number of injured limbs my instructor has:    1

Number of injured limbs I wish he had:     4

Number of times I jumped to touch the top of the door jamb while wearing a 30-lb vest: 35

How heavy a 30-lb vest feels after jumping 35 times while wearing it:      100 lbs.

Diet Cokes I’ve consumed:     0

Number of firearms I purchased in the past 24 hours (curse that waiting period!):     0

Day One - BootcampwithJess

2009-11-09T22:37:00.000-07:00

I am still alive!

That’s the good news.

I loved my first night of bootcampwithjess!

That’s the lie.

They call this “Hell Week” for a reason. I’m going to refer to it as “Hades Week” because Hades has five letters—one for each day of the week. Let’s start with “H”

As in, Why in the “H” did I sign up for this?

After turning in the diary of my past three days’ intake—food and liquid—the conversation went something like this (it was quite one-sided):

Instructor (reading list): Cheese. Ten pushups.

Although surprised that cheese was bad, I dropped and gave him ten (real pushups). Got back on my feet.

Instructor: 2 Diet Cokes. Twenty pushups.

I dropped and gave him twenty. Wobbled getting back on my feet.

Instructor: Chips. Ten pushups.

They were veggie chips! 33% less fat than regular potato chips. I dropped and gave him five real pushups then asked if I could finish with knee pushups. He said yes. Staggered to my feet.

Instructor: 2 more Diet Cokes. Twenty more. Count them.

I assumed the position (knee pushups), arms rebelled & threatened to collapse. Ignored my arms, gave twenty more. Crawled to my feet. Failed to respond correctly.

Instructor: Wrong response. Ten more.

I went back on my knees. Gave silent thanks for the knee pads. Willed the arms to stop shaking. Did ten more pushups. Almost fell over when I stood up.

Instructor: Ice cream. Ten more.

Back down, cursed Ben & Jerry’s and their mothers. Arms buckled. Caught myself. Did ten more pushups. Somehow made it to my feet. Room tilted.

Instructor: Pizza. Ten more.

Isn’t pizza healthy? It has the four basic food groups. Fall down to my knees, jelly arms somehow make it through ten more. I pray he doesn’t count each slice of pizza.

My prayers were answered. He tells me to stand at attention. I manage to sway at attention.

Instructor: 70% of this program is proper nutrition. For the next six weeks you will not drink soda…

It registers in my brain--NO DIET COKE!

Instructor: No bread.

NO DIET COKE!

Instructor: No dairy.

NO DIET COKE!

Instructor: No pasta.

NO DIET COKE!

I know you are probably thinking—this woman is addicted to Diet Coke. That is not true, I’ve quit drinking it hundreds of times.

Okay, I am addicted to it. Not just the caffeine—it’s the burn, baby.

But which is worse—90 pushups or no Diet Coke? Only an addict would ask that question.

I only hope that the Coca-Cola Company does not go out of business, having just lost my patronage for at least six weeks.

Thus we have the first fifteen minutes of my first night of bootcampwithjess.

I’ll be back tomorrow.

I will survive!

2009-11-08T18:12:00.000-07:00

If I can last through three hours of church (Primary childrens' program)--trying to herd five rowdy eight-year old boys who hate to sing, plus two Lois Lanes and the world's most polite eight-year old who gets headaches from all the noise--I can survive BootcampwithJess.

Bring. It. On.

(these may be my final words--just saying)

Bootcamp with Jess - the Prequel

2009-11-07T20:16:00.001-07:00

FACT: I have fibromyalgia.

FACT: I don’t get an endorphin rush from working out.

FACT: The only time I run is when there is free Diet Coke to be had, or I’m taking a cleanse.

FACT: If you piled my subcutaneous fat into a big blob, you would have—me!

FACT: I love a good bargain.

FACT: My judgment has become increasingly iffy as I age.

RESULT: At a chamber of commerce dinner last Thursday I got caught up in the enthusiasm of the silent auction and became the proud owner of 6-weeks of BootcampwithJess at a substantial savings to yours truly—PT Ferran (PT stands for Physical Trainee).

This is how it begins, directly from their website:

“It all starts with your first week of bootcamp called "Hell Week". During this week, you will wear a 30 pound vest (representing the extra fat many overweight individuals are carrying around with them).”

FACT: I already have a more than fair representation of “the extra fat many overweight individuals are carrying around with them.” So can’t I be exempt from the 30-lb vest? (I know, the answer is “ten pushups” which is the punishment for any infraction of the rules, of which there are many.)

While initially thrilled with my bargain purchase, the elation changed to alarm when my EFSIL (exercise freak sister-in-law) and AENN (another exercise nut neighbor) both said, “You’ll hate it. It will be the hardest thing you’ve ever done.”

My oldest daughter added to my fear when she said, “Mom, I’ll pray for you.”

One of the required items you must have is kneepads. I asked my sister-in-law “Why would I need kneepads?” She had no idea. My daughter suggested, “Because you’ll be on your knees begging for mercy so much.”

I’ll find out on Monday, from 5-6 pm what the knee pads are for. Stay tuned. If I live through “Hell Week” you can enjoy the journey vicariously. If I die, you’ll know the cause of death.

Props to me for either: 1) Starting a path down the road to fitness; or 2) Signing my own death warrant at a bargain price.

To be continued Monday night…if my fingers and arms still work.

5 People I Would Love to be Trapped in an Elevator With--NOT!

2009-10-23T23:11:00.000-06:00

My SIL played a game on her blog “5 People I would love to be trapped in an elevator with. You can read her list here: http://www.em-cat.blogspot.com/

She invited all to play the game. Her husband's choice is especially clever. I just had to comment:

I don't play that game. I play the game "Who would you NOT like to be stuck in the elevator with?"

1) Manuel Uribe (google that one if you need to)

2) Anyone eating ranch dressing

3) Anyone with pickle-breath

4) Anyone who stood between you & me and a diet coke

5) Me, on a cleanse (stuck elevators and boats are discouraged under this scenario)

FYI--tonight, after the conference let out, in a crowded elevator we stopped on a floor and 3 punk-looking tattoo-covered specimen stepped on. One said, "It stinks in here." All was silent so I spoke up from the back, "Excuse me" in an embarrassed tone. He quickly apologized and said he didn't mean me. I didn't really fluff, I just wanted to say "excuse me" in a crowded elevator when someone commented that it stunk.

Random things that motivated me recently...

2009-10-22T17:33:00.000-06:00

After sitting in a continuing education class for 8 hours with a bunch of accountants (hey, it could be worse...at least they weren't actuaries), my brain is as numb as my derrierre.

I finally got internet access again by CHANGING rooms. Marriott New Orleans your beds are amazingly comfortable, but your internet connection is worse than the Abbey Inn in St. George. And that is bad!!!

I checked my email and Behold! There was an inspiring one in my Gmail account:

Subject: Choosing Charity

Get to work!!!

That's it. The entire email. Sent by a caring person telling me to get busy and work on my third novel in the Faith, Hope & Charity trilogy. Who sent it? I did. I guess I care about myself, I just forget sometimes.

Lunch was served: A gristle-y (or grisly, depending on how you feel about it) hunk of meat hanging off a short-oval bone. I asked anyone if they knew what it was. No one did. I'll call it "roast beast." They waited for me to try it. 8 strangers, who clearly don't know about my food issues. I scraped off the various veggie-pieces-in-a-strangely-spiced-sauce and took a bite. Eewwww. Iced tea for a drink. Eewwww. Caesar salad. Eewwww. A custard-looking dessert thingy in a teeny-tiny tart crust. Semi-eewwww.

Mixed nuts and Slim Jims for dinner again tonight!

New Orleans is SO wasted on me.

The new PR lady at my publisher--I'll call her PLAMP (it's an acronym, people) sent me an inspirational email that, combined with my own email to myself, made me feel like writing. She forced me to join Twitter. Not really, she just said she would never talk to me again if I didn't. Not really. She wrote that she would not help me anymore. Really. She also wrote:

"NOTHING takes the place of personal interaction with your audience. NOTHING!

Your audience is out there and it is your job to find out where they congregate, introduce yourself, and give them a reason to care.

So audience: I'm looking for where you congregate! This is your notice.

I need to get some accounting-type work done tonight, but the only inspiring emails I get about that are from the AICPA on my birthday telling me I might die and I should increase my life insurance.

My sister-in-law also motivates me. She made me watch "The Biggest Loser" (hmmmmm) and when the trainer dude on there challenged me to exercise during the commercial I did 10 pushups. The man kind of push ups, not the girly kind. I repeated it through two successive commercial breaks. That's 30 push-ups. That's a pretty good work-out for a week, I'd say.

When I was packing for this trip, I packed my workout clothes, because the Marriott has a work-out room. Actually, I packed them because I had extra room in my suitcase and thought I'd delude myself momentarily into thinking I would actually work out after sitting for 8 hours numbing my brain and buttocks. I took the stuff back out and put it in the closet where it belongs. I figured if I felt REALLY strongly like I wanted to work out, I could always do 30 more pushups. Hey, it is a new week.

Wow, I guess I may be a Big Loser after all.

Happy Birthday! Have you considered increasing your life insurance?

2009-09-28T22:42:00.001-06:00

I am officially a pioneer. Since September 24th (my birthday) I have been LIVING the days of ’47 and will do so for another 361 days (unless I expire prior to the big 4 Dozen!)

I spent my happy birthday working my brains out in Elko, NV.

One thing you don’t want to see, first thing in the morning, on your birthday:

(this is from an actual email I received ON my birthday from the AICPA)

“You only have a few more days to increase your CPA Life coverage, issued by The ... Insurance Company of America, for the October 1, 2009 Plan Entrance Date! Act now and make sure your family has the financial protection they need to help maintain their lifestyle in case you die...

...Increase your term life coverage now...

...Remember, if you were to die, your CPA Life Plan benefit can help pay for expenses such as…”

On. My. Birthday.

Why didn’t they just send an executioner? Nothing says “Happy Birthday” quite like “Hey, you might die.” Hallmark, they ain’t.

What delightful birthday greetings have you received?

If your thoughts had a voice...

2009-09-22T19:53:00.001-06:00

I waited in line behind a multi-earringed, amply-tatooed, young dad at the grocery store yesterday. Yes, it sounds judgmental and, yes, I was being that way. He had his little boy with him, who I guessed was about three or four. As the checker was slower than my son doing the dishes, and I’m nosier than your next-door neighbor, I listened in on the conversation. It went something like:

Dad (in kind gentle voice) “No, put that back.”

(child grabs at the ball)

Dad (still using nice tone) “No, we can’t buy it.”

(child hikes himself up on counter)

Dad (carefully tugging him off the counter) “It’s time to go.”

(child reluctantly following Dad, asking one more time)

Dad (kindly, but firmly taking his son’s hand) “Remember, we have soda pop at home?”

(child tries to get away mumbling unintelligibly) “I want blah blah blah”

Dad (still patient) “We have soda pop at home, from your party yesterday, remember?”

I was so impressed. This man exhibited more patience to his child than most mothers I’ve seen, including me. They moved slowly enough that I could hear this entire exchange and I was thinking this dad deserved some kind of Good Example award. Then the child spoke once more, clearly and loudly: “Dumbass.”

Hmmmmm. You don’t always hear what you expect.

At work today, I overheard an employee talking about the horse psychic she had seen and talked to. She was very happy about the news that the horse she wanted, wanted her too.

Horse psychics. Once again, I heard something I did not expect.

Hmmmmm. Since horses and donkeys (asses) are members of the same family, and both are technically “dumb,” I’m thinking that this horse psychic could have a whole new clientele if she hung out in grocery stores and listened in on people’s conversations like I do.

Of course, she would probably already know what they were thinking. Another upside is that people are more interested in their futures than horses are anyway, so there would be a bigger demand. Not to mention they might actually pay.

Trivia:

According to Wikipedia, “The wild ancestor of the donkey is the African Wild Ass.”

According to me, I may have just sighted the “Albertson Dumb Ass.”

YOYOs...a brief history

2009-08-30T19:56:00.000-06:00

When my husband is in charge of dinner (which he does willingly) he often asks, “What should we have for dinner?” If I knew that, then half the battle would be over. When I can’t provide any suggestions, he declares a YOYO night for dinner—translated as You’re On Your Own.

We—meaning everyone but him—yoyo with PB&J sandwiches or ramen. After we finish, he wanders into the kitchen and grills a steak for himself. Hmmm.

While we shopped together recently, as I loaded up on hamburger, he saw London broil steak on sale and piled a couple of megapacks into our cart.

When we got home, I asked him if I should separate them into separate packages—he said “Yes.” I knew it. I presented the seven packs of steak to my daughter and said, “Here are the steaks for Dad to eat when he makes us yoyo.”

Yoyos originated as a weapon for hunters—a rock on a string didn’t have to be retrieved (you didn’t have to climb down from the tree to retrieve your rock/weapon if you missed the rabbit, you just pulled the string up and chucked it at the next unsuspecting bunny).

My husband has modified the yoyo for his own hunting pleasures. Steak.

Evidence that the world DOES revolve around me

2009-08-17T19:45:00.003-06:00

I have long suspected that I am the center of the universe—at least in my slightly skewed sense of reality.

Today I found some proof:

FACT: When I left for work today…

• The 12-year old was on the computer
• The 15-year old was at a friend’s house
• The 18-year old was lying on the couch watching TV
• The 21-year old was working on his car

When I came home from work today…

• The 12-year old was on the computer
• The 15-year old was at a friend’s house
• The 18-year old was in my recliner watching TV
• The 21-year old was working on his car

Apparently, time stood still while I was gone.

You may be alert enough to discern that the 18-year old was not in the EXACT place as when I left, but you should note: the almost imperceptible shift was within three feet of the original location and the gravitation was to MY chair, thus proving my point that it is all about me.

Need more proof?

FACT: When I left for work today…

• I had just started a load of laundry

When I came home from work today…

• My husband was finishing a load of laundry

Coincidence? I think not.

Authorpalooza!

2009-08-09T22:23:00.003-06:00

Tuesday, August 11

7:00 – 10:00 p.m.

Barnes & Noble Authorpalooza
University Crossings Plaza
330 East 1300 South
Orem, UT
Meet over 30 local authors, including:

*Laura Bingham
*Jillayne Clements
*James Dashner
*Terri Ferran
*Jessica Day George
*Mette Ivie Harrison
*Michael O'Reilly
*J. Scott Savage
*Emily Wing Smith
**and more!**

Can You Hear Me Now?

2009-07-19T23:24:00.002-06:00

There are certain dangers associated with cell phones,

On the way to Florida a few months ago, my teenage daughter went to use the airplane facilities, and as she hit the flush button, she realized that clunk she’d heard a few seconds earlier wasn’t the passing of the crayons she’d eaten in first grade, but was actually her cell phone. It had fallen from her back pocket into the toilet and had been sucked into the bright blue world of chemical sanitation with the touch of a finger.

I had a near miss myself, the other night. In my sprint to the throne room (literal translation—potty emergency), I didn’t recall that my phone was in my back pocket until I heard the thud as it hit the ground. Better a thud than a splash, I say. Being a mature adult (literal translation—I forget things really quickly) by the time I finished, I forgot the phone had fallen and walked away.

The next day, when I went to get my phone from the charger, the cord was there but the phone was MIA. I couldn’t even call it to find it, because having spent 5 ½ hours on it the day before with a client, it was dead—the phone, not the client.

Fortunately for me, I drink a gallon of water a day (plus a wee bit of Diet Coke) so I am a Frequent Flyer on the Porcelain Express. Lo and behold, behind the toilet, next to a hair ball the size of Rhode Island, lay the phone, oblivious to the unsanitary conditions in which it dwelt.

Sometimes you’re better off dead—if you’re a cell phone in a back pocket.

Terri, Terri, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?

2009-07-08T21:25:00.005-06:00

I wanted a garden this year. Not just a few tomato plants fighting the morning glory at the side of the house where all the snakes vacation—but a real garden.

My husband complied. Armed with scrap wood, his trusty drill and a 14-year old son with ADHD, he built a bevy of beautiful garden boxes. If three can be considered a bevy. The box-buildin’ is a totally different story, however.

I go out to check my seedlings on a semi-regular basis. We have some of the usual problems—like the soak-hoses splitting, causing a flood, and washing away half of the dirt and many, many sproutless seeds. Oh, and forgetting to water it for several days at a time—luckily June was a rainy month this year.

But lo and behold! Things are growing! The tomatoes are doing great and so are the other crops-to-be such as peppers (three kinds—which I hate) and the cantaloupe and the watermelon. Only one of the cucumber plants survived, sniff.

I eagerly watched the sprouts—the cauliflower is pathetic with only two plants from the whole package of seeds. But the broccoli! I AM A BROCCOLI-GROWING WONDER! I watched the blossoms and eagerly anticipated the fresh fruit—I mean vegetables. Whatever—I’m excited!

It has been a few days since I checked on my precious leafy stalks. Was I ever surprised by what I found. LOOK AT THE BOUNTEOUS BROCCOLI! It’s a proliferous cruciferous, indeed.

Now look at broccoli stripped of its lush leaves:

Yep. I figured out the broccoli were really radishes. I took a taste of one. Like a middle-aged hag weeding in July and discovering her beloved broccoli were radishes—they were hot, tough, and bitter.

I’ve been wondering where the radishes were planted. What other surprises will I reap, since I can't remember or recognize what I've sown...

WHAT THE...?

2009-07-02T20:50:00.003-06:00

My three-year old granddaughter has a new catchphrase. She learned it from her mother, who refrains from swearing (most of the time). When something surprises her, shocks her, or she just can’t figure it out, she exclaims loudly, “WHAT THE…?”

Her two-year old friend is a little more daring. When he heard the aforementioned “WHAT THE…?” he restated it in a more complete form, “WHAT THE HECK?”

They thought it was so funny they practically blew their macaroni and cheese out through their little noses.

Which you may think is not possible.

I assure you it is.

When my youngest daughter was about one year old, she was happily stuffing her little face with spaghetti. She loved the stuff and made a huge mess.

The next morning as the whole family was sitting around the breakfast table, breakfasting, she lets out a mighty sneeze. We looked to make sure she’s okay and there was a spaghetti noodle hanging out of her nostril. We were not eating spaghetti for breakfast.

“WHAT THE…?”

If spaghetti can travel mouth to nasal cavity to nostril, so can macaroni—they’re from the same family of pasta products.

Which brings me to the picture at the top of this blog: My son invented the perfect nose-guard for wayward pasta (and he doesn’t even know it). Turn those extra surgical gloves into a practical use and conversation-starting fashion accessory. Don’t have any extra surgical gloves lying around? Don’t worry, the dentist has a whole box of them. At least mine did.

Yes, I know…we have to watch him at all times. My son, not the dentist.

Diggin' for Gold!

2009-06-25T21:13:00.003-06:00

A is for Alivia
B is for Belle
C is for Cute
D is for Dig
E is for Eeeew
F is for Finger
G is for Gold

It’s so much cuter when it is your grandchild instead of your child!

When your Bubble is Burst

2009-06-19T23:28:00.003-06:00

When I was nine or ten years old, a delicious innovation in bubble gum was introduced—Bubble Yum. It was a child’s chewing sensation. Thick, soft rectangular chunks of sugar-laden heaven—it had only five pieces to a pack, but it was so worth it.

Having lived a life of occasional Wrigley’s chewing gum (that wouldn’t create blowable bubbles), and Dubble Bubble (often hard enough to crack a tooth or jaw), the miracle of Bubble Yum was greeted with gusto by my mouth.

There was one downside—the yummy, gummy glob lost its flavor far too soon.

I spent my Saturdays flopped on my bed, reading every book I could get my hands on, and this particular Saturday was even better than usual because my sister and I each had our very own pack of Bubble Yum.

My gum quickly lost its flavor, but no matter—I spit it out and popped in a new piece and continued my reading marathon. The second piece followed the first, and the third piece found its way into my mouth. Life was good.

My bubble was burst, so to speak, when my older sister came in and took her gum down from her shelf. She slowly opened it, unwrapped the first plump piece, and popped it into her mouth. She stared at me as she savored the sensation of the soft sugary morsel. “How many pieces do you have left?” she asked her seemingly innocent question.

I counted the two remaining pieces in my package. “I’m on my third.”

Her gloating nature revealed itself. “I’m only on my first.” She smiled like the gloater she was, put her pack of gum back on the shelf and left the room.

I tried to ignore her, but couldn’t. I had always been a piggy when it came to sweets. In those days, a quarter could buy a bagful of candy. When we were fortunate enough to each get a quarter, we would spend it all on candy. Mine would be gobbled up in one day, but my sister could make hers last for a week—and she always made sure I knew it.

I tried to make my third piece last—I really did—but it was beyond my capacity. Soon piece number four was in my mouth. Perhaps thirty minutes had passed and my mind left the plot of the book and fixated on my final piece of Bubble Yum. I craved it. I wanted it. I seized it. I chewed it.

I concentrated again on my book, enjoying the texture, taste, and elasticity of my fifth and final piece of Bubble Yum. Truly my life was complete at that moment.

The moment came to an end a few minutes later when my sister wandered in and grabbed her gum. She took her second piece, popped it in her mouth and smugly said. “I’m on my second piece. How many do you have left?”
As she gloated at me again, it didn’t occur to me to lie. I felt a little embarrassed and annoyed as I confessed, “This is my last piece.” She smirked at me, put her pack of gum on the shelf, and left the room.

After she left I reflected on how mean she was to gloat at me about her miserly ways, and I burned to find a way to get even with her. Now I never considered myself to be a thief, but when my final chunk of gum lost its flavor, I was drawn to her pack, just setting there on the shelf. She needed to be taught a lesson.

I put down my book, climbed on her bed, and took her gum down from the shelf. I unwrapped her third chunk of gum, removed it from the wrapper, then took my ABC gum out of my mouth, formed it into a nice rectangle, placed it into the wrapper, wrapped it up, and carefully put it back in the pack. I put the pack back on the shelf, and stretched out on my own bed, book in hand, nose in book. I savored the gum and my revenge.

I didn’t have long to wait. She came in a little while later, gave me a condescending smile as she retrieved her gum. “Is yours all gone?” she asked. I didn’t answer, keeping my nose buried in the book so I wouldn’t give myself away.

I stole a peek at her as she unwrapped her gum. She was still looking at me, not the gum. I stifled a giggle. She popped it in her mouth as she stared at me. I was shaking with laughter. She looked confused as she chomped on the gum. She realized something was wrong. As the texture and taste registered in her brain she shrieked, “Eeewww! You already chewed this!”

I couldn’t hold back. I rolled on the bed with laughter. She spit out the gum, leapt on me and beat the snot out of me. Such is life in the revenge lane—sweet, but quick to lose its savor.

Look out below!

2009-06-11T20:59:00.003-06:00

I’ve spent the past few days in Rawlins, Wyoming…work, not pleasure, in case you thought it might be a vacation hotspot.

I was eating a breadstick at lunch and felt a hard crunch—my temporary crown cracked and half stayed glued on, and the other half tumbled around in my mouth. I’ve heard of spitting teeth, but spitting crowns?

Since I only had half a crown, I was limited as to what I could eat for dinner. Since I was in Rawlins, and it is a pretty small place, the choices of where to go were limited. My limits had limits.

Should I go to the Hoot n Howl or the drive-through liquor store? I ended up at the City Market, wandering through the aisles, looking for something to eat. My thoughts meandered along with me: Chocolate milk looks good…Good n Plenty will work if I only chew on one side…side of beef—roast beef, I have a microwave in my hotel room…room for that package of snickerdoodles just waiting for me to grab…grab a fork, roast beef is messy if eaten with my fingers straight from the package…package of plastic forks has way too many for my needs…need only one fork and I don’t want to walk all the way back…back of the store has a deli with individual sporks folded neatly in two parts…part of me wants to give up and eat trail mix for dinner one more time, I still have half a bag…bag the whining, buy the food, hurry and eat so I can go to bed.

Tired and hungry, I climbed out of the car and breathed the fresh air—clean from the afternoon thunder storm. I heard the cry of a seagull and relished the moment of being one with nature…

SPLAT!

Nature had become one with me in the form of a bird pooping on my head.

Maybe the cry of the seagull was a warning, “Look out below!”
More likely it was one smart aleck gull gloating at another, “I bet I can crap on that woman’s head from fifty feet!” He won the bet.

Next time I’ll stay inside and eat the trail mix…again.

Turns out I was pooped in more ways than one.

one foot, two foot, I got a new foot!

2009-06-06T21:08:00.002-06:00

One day I woke up to find I had grown a foot overnight. Two of my feet were gargantuan and the third dangled uselessly from a flabby calf. A barrage of thoughts flooded my mind. What mystery was afoot? Did my feet make me look fat? Where could I score an extra shoe? Do three feet make a yard? Would I be charged extra for pedicures now?

Not wanting to get off on the wrong foot, I lay abed and pondered my situation. How would I handle life as a tri-pod? How would I know if I really was putting my best foot forward? Would my two huge, puffy, outside feet actually explode?

I wanted to put my foot down and take action, but realized that I would trip over my own feet if I tried to take a stand.

Like a pregnant woman with border-line toxemia whose photo-happy mother had shoved her aging foot in between my own swollen extremities, I labored to rid myself of the image of being a three-foot woman for the rest of my life.

I needed a nap, so I obliged myself.

Fortunately, when I awoke, I was no longer a fifteen-toed freak of nature. If it wasn’t for the highly-realistic photographic evidence, I would think I made the whole thing up.

Jaxson the Sugarbaby

2009-05-30T16:05:00.015-06:00

I just have to tell you about my newest "grandbaby." His name is Jaxson and he is a sugar baby. As a school assignment, my 6th-grader had to make and take care of a "baby" for several days. The "baby" was made out of 5 lb bag of sugar. Thanks to the creative genius of her friend's mother, Jaxson is one of the cutest sugar babies I've ever seen!

I had the privilege of babysitting this sweet little baby, and he was such a little sweetheart--good as gold!

BUT......You have to watch sugar babies AT ALL TIMES!!!
They look sweet, but they are mischief makers!

While he was supposed to be taking a nap, I caught Jaxson doing a few things...

He went swimming, without a life jacket!

(think sugar + water!)

He somehow got outside and caught in a microburst--it spun him about!

Then...I caught him chillin' with some friends!

When I told him to lie down and take a nap, he cried "Gran! I've made a big mess!"

Eeeeew! Disgusting!

He really "messed up" when he started giggling while I changed him, so I followed the trail...the little stinker had played a trick on me!

It was quite a day! Now I don't have the heart to tell him why I stopped calling him "Sweetie" and have started calling him "Cookie."

We've learned from Jaxson that each must fill the measure of his creation--and we'll love him no matter what shape he takes!

What is more fun than Googling yourself?

2009-05-26T21:10:00.002-06:00

Doing a search on your name at the Library of Congress and seeing yourself THREE times! Fan-freakin'-tastic!

and...because there is NO number following the "-" after the date 1962...I'm pretty sure I'm not dead yet! Good news all around!

If you can stand to scroll down, you can see the contents of "Life's Alphabet Soup: A Crock of Wit from A to Z".....well, from A to Z.

What a lovely day it is today :-)
[ 1 ]
Ferran, Terri, 1962-
Finding faith / Terri Ferran.
2007

ACCESS:Jefferson or Adams Bldg General or Area Studies Reading Rms
CALL NUMBER:PS3606.E734 F56 2007

[ 2 ]
Ferran, Terri, 1962-
Having hope / Terri Ferran.
2009

[ 3 ]
Ferran, Terri, 1962-
Life's alphabet soup : a crock of wit from A to Z / Terri Ferran.
2009

*******************************************************************

DATABASE: Library of Congress Online Catalog
YOU SEARCHED: Author/Creator Browse = Ferran, Terri, 1962-
SEARCH RESULTS: Displaying 3 of 3.

Life's alphabet soup : a crock of wit from A to Z / Terri Ferran.
LC Control No.:
2009009058
LCCN Permalink:
http://lccn.loc.gov/2009009058
Type of Material:
Book (Print, Microform, Electronic, etc.)
Contents:
Allowance
Bathtubs
Chores
Dishes
Exercise
Food
Garbage
Ham and hay
Ice cream
Jaguar
Karate
Lake powell
Meals
Noses
Overreacting
Pets
Quilts
Rats
Singing
Truth
Underwear
Vacuum cleaner salesman
Weeds
X-ray
Yoyo dinners
Zoomph.
Subjects:
Motherhood --Humor.
Mothers --Humor.
Family life --Humor.
LC Classification:
PN6231.M68
Library of Congress Holdings Information Not Available.

Things you DON'T usually hear in church!

2009-04-26T21:29:00.003-06:00

Spoiler Alert! If you haven’t read Finding Faith, you may not want to read on, unless you like to have your reading experiences ruined.

Things you don’t usually hear at church:

While I was walking down the hallway in church, a neighbor and friend (?) yelled out to me, “Murderer!”

He is not a quiet, timid guy. Let’s call him “John”. When John speaks, neighborhood children jump. Dogs crawl whimpering under the nearest porch. Sometimes it’s vice versa.

I sidled up to the library counter. (Evil, knowing grin) “What did you hear?”

“You killed [name of beloved character in my first novel]!”

I shrugged, “Yeah, I did.”

I’m not even sorry.

His wife told me later, that he was even more surprised that I didn’t even flinch when he yelled out “Murderer!”

A couple of days later I received a lovely email from a reader in Iowa. She confessed to her daughter finding her in the bathtub, sobbing, when she read the part where [name of beloved character in my first novel] died.

Very gratifying.

Even more gratifying is picturing my neighbor, sitting in his tub (clothed, of course—what did YOU think?), sobbing his heart out, reading about the untimely demise of [name of beloved character in my first novel].

Not that crying over something like that is unmanly. I just think that crying about it, sitting in your bathtub, is an “in touch with your feminine side” kind of thing to do, especially for someone as big and manly as “John”!

It almost makes me want to knock off another fictional character.

What's wrong with this picture?

2009-04-20T22:26:00.005-06:00

It happened on one of those zippity-doo-dah-days...

Wait, it happened at a chamber of commerce luncheon honoring some of our excellent educators (and I am not being facetious)

In case you cannot read the quote "TEACHER APPRECIATION"

"THANKS FOR ALL YOU DO IN ARE CHILDREN LIFES"

Anything wrong with this picture? What happened to spell check? Wait, frosting doesn't come with spell check, and you can't text it either.

It happened here in our valley. I'm sure the teachers were so proud.

But don't worry, it isn't our tax dollars hard at work; it's our local Sam's Club's dollars.

At least the cake tasted good, even if it wasn't in good taste.

Ladies' Night Book signing

2009-04-01T20:26:00.004-06:00

Join Us For Ladies Night!
Join us for Ladies Night at Provident Book!Saturday, April 4, 2009

6:00 p.m. to 8:00 p.m.

Meet and mingle with LDS authors:

Stacy Anderson
Michele Ashman Bell
Julie Bellon
Janet Burningham
Terri Ferran
Kristen Landon
Tristi Pinkston
and more!
Door prizes given away every 15 minutes, all night long!

661 W State, Ste APleasant Grove, UT

Comments and actions that mean a LOT!

2009-03-30T20:19:00.004-06:00

I had a great time at Seagull Book last Saturday--made some new friends and sold some books. The staff at the West Jordan Seagull are Wonderful! Thanks so much to "M", my sista-from-another-mista who always supports me, even when she's just run a race (in which she beat her personal best--Go Melissa!) My M-I-L also shows up faithfully, even when I forget to invite her for steak & guacamole.

I want to share two reader comments I received last week:

"Sister Ferran, Thank you for writing such awesome books! I LOVE THEM AS MUCH AS I LOVE TWILIGHT..." (okay--I added the screaming caps!) Thanks, Kiana. It's one of the best compliments I've ever received because it came from an avid teen reader who loves the Twilight series. (I personally like Ms. Meyer's The Host better).

and

"Terri, I loved your book, Having Hope. But when you write the next book, can you be in a happier place?" Candice, I'm just saying--That IS my happier place!I loved her comment because it was from a lady near my own age, and, let's face it--the books are designed to make you cry (a little), and laugh (a little more), and leave you feeling just a little bit better than when you started.

It's all this bean-counting that's sucking my creative juices out into the charred remains of Accounting b-b-q.

Ciao!

Upcoming Booksigning

2009-03-22T21:49:00.003-06:00

I'll be at Seagull Bookstore in West Jordan (1625 W 90th So) on Saturday, March 28th from noon - 2:00 pm for a signing. Please stop in to say "Hi" and pick up Having Hope, the sequel to Finding Faith.

There will be other authors signing as well that day (although I don't have a list of which ones, specifically)--but take it from me:

Authors are fun people to talk to! We are so fun, we often talk to ourselves. Sometimes we make up people to talk to, which works extremely well when you're writing a book (as long as it's fiction), but not so great when you are sitting at a table, in a bookstore, by yourself...

So treat yourself to a browse in the bookstore this Saturday. I'm sure there is a book there that is just calling out to you "Read me, read me!" And, you just might see a not-quite-right author talking to herself!

P.S. There will be chocolate :-)

Viva la vida!

2009-03-10T23:02:00.002-06:00

84 degrees, golden rays of sun permeating your skin, turquoise Mer Caribe rolling in warm sparkling waves over your feet, long, cold pull of Coca-cola Light, wafting coconut aroma of Australian Gold sunscreen.....

OR

28 degrees, snowing, 100+ fender-benders in one day, scraping windshields, slaving over a hot computer......

You be the judge!

Hasta luego, mis amigos y amigas!

Deep thoughts to ponder...

2009-02-25T21:34:00.004-07:00

If you ever thought you couldn't liken the scriptures to yourself, please consider the following:

Job 5:6

"Can that which is unsavoury be eaten without salt? or is there any taste in the white of an egg?"

If that isn't applicable to my daily life, I don't know what is. I mean, have you ever eaten just an egg white? Especially without salt?

Which brings me to the next question. Did Job have high blood pressure so he had to restrict his sodium intake? or high cholesterol, that he had to limit the egg yolks?

I'm thinking that food played a more serious role in Job's life than I first thought. He was going through some mighty harsh times and yet his wits were about him enough to know that some of us really relate to things better when they are phrased in terms of food.

Or bathrooms.

Consider the age-old question--Does a bear [potty] in the woods? (G-rating added)

My answer is--Not if there's a flush toilet around.

Anything else would be just too hard to bear--or bare.

At any rate, it's the reason I prefer camping at an ocean-front, five-star resort in Cancun.

No bears, an abundance of salt, and hold the eggs entirely.

Did I mention cabana boys bearing diet Coke?

Having Hope is here!

2009-02-07T10:14:00.003-07:00

My new book is finally out and it looks great!

Having Hope continues the story of Kit Matthews and takes her to Romania where she has to make some tough choices.

There is absolutely nothing like holding a brand new book in your hands, breathing in the aroma of ink and paper, and anticipating the journey you're about to travel. I love reading and I love writing.

The book will be on the bookstore shelves in 2-4 weeks. Meanwhile, you can order an autographed copy directly from my website www.terriferran.com

In this moment, Steve Martin (the actor), comes to my mind:

1) From the movie, The Jerk - "The new phone books are here, the new phone books are here! I am somebody!" and:

2) Fromthe movie, Mixed Nuts - "In every pothole there is hope. You have to drop the "o" "t" and "l" and move the "p" over, but in every pothole there is hope!"

I am also a Steve Martin fan!

Happy reading!

25 things about me

2009-01-31T12:45:00.003-07:00

My MIL Susan said I need to update my blog.
I have been running short on time, this January has been brutal on the work front. January is almost over (just a few hours more) so I need to blog.
I took the time to respond to the tag "25 Things About Me" on Facebook.

I liked what I wrote and want to share:

1. I didn't have "notes" under tabs in my profile page, I had to add it, which confused the instructions a little bit for me. (Note to self: Go grab a Diet Coke)

2. I have SIX children and they are ALL wonderful except for FIVE of them!

3. Just kidding on #2. Today at least TWO are wonderful.

4. I love the burn of Diet Coke as it eats through the throat mucous and protective lining of my stomach that protects it from eating itself, but it is all good because the Diet Coke also eats the stomach acid.

5. I graduated with my BS in Accounting in December--cum laude

6. If I graduated just in BS, it would have been summa cum laude

7. My siblings and I are named: Gary, Sherry, Carrie, Terri, Barry, & Jerry. Our mom's name was Mary. Sherry married Harry.

8. I mistakenly exited through the emergency exit in a university library once and got chased by an angry librarian who was convinced I'd stolen something.

9. It would be silly to steal from a library when I have my own library card.

10. I owe approximately $5.65 in library fines.

11. The fines are because I let my children use my library card and they lost the books.

12. I lost a library book once and had to pay for it. I was sure the library lady had made a mistake and paid the fine under protest. Then I found it six months later in the side of my suitcase that I'd taken to Cancun.

13. I love Cancun!

14. I love books!

15. I love Diet Coke, books and Cancun--especially when they co-exist in my world at the very same moment. When a cabana boy is present to fetch said Diet Coke--let's just say it's a little piece of heaven on earth.

16. I am a CPA. My human-like troll side is in control now because I have to work as a CPA doing audits and I really want my creative brain to take over, but clients really frown on audit reports that state "We have found the management to be greedy task-masters that oppress the common people and are cheapskates who pay for their trips to the SuperBowl with company money and claim the little sticker on their Mercedes that says "I brake for underlings" makes it a company write-off but otherwise the financial statements seem to be materially free of misstatements..."

17. I love to write

18. I love getting paid to write

19. I love making people laugh--even if it is AT me.

20. I have two darling granddaughters (which are the reward for me being a parent all those years)

21. I have fibromyalgia. I keep it in a little compartment that I carry with me always. Unfortunately it keeps escaping and wreaking havoc throughout my body. Owwww, it hurts.

22. I do not like pets. My children have signed a "no pets" contract. (I would make exception for cabana boys from Cancun bearing Diet Coke--as pets, that is)

23. I am married to my husband (and he, to me)

24. My book "Having Hope" is being released in February, and my book "Alphabet Soup: A Crock of Wit from A to Z" is being released in August.

25. My Diet Coke is gone--time to sign off!

Of Mice and Teeth

2009-01-09T09:15:00.008-07:00

I've had a request to add photos to yesterday's blog. I was just going to edit the blog, yet I thought this might be a little more fun for me. But first, a word from our sponsor, Dr. Bill:

(blog owner's note: Dr. Bill does not officially sponsor my blog, nor even read it. As a matter of fact, when I told him I was blogging about the tooth episode, his response was "Why?" followed with "Who's going to read it?" Don't worry, he doesn't know how to text either. So why would I consider Dr. Bill my sponsor? Simply put--he has placed numerous crowns in my head, the latest of which has given me the superpower of which I cannot speak too openly)

So Dr. Bill here is a little ad I wrote for you that may help you break into the gangsta market:

If you want a grill,
Call Dr. Bill
If your need is bling,
Give him a ring!

(In an actual ad I would list his number, but I don't really have his permission. Not that he would ever know, because he doesn't read blogs. But when the gansta population suddenly started calling him and clogging his phone lines, he could be concerned).

Now the photos from yesterdays blog:

My new smile!

The door where the mice disappeared (ok, it isn' the actual door, which is brown and at my church, not my house--but in an effort to make it more realistic, I DID put chocolate in the closet before I took the picture).

Empty energy cartridge

Reserve energy cartidges

Me and Cinderella!

2009-01-08T14:26:00.001-07:00

Like Cinderella and her glass slipper, my shiny porcelain tooth magically slipped over the titanium post in a perfect fit. Also, like Cinderella, the transformation was instantaneous and involved several mice.

The mice part isn't entirely accurate, but my friend did see a mouse dart under the door of a closet at church. The closet had candy bars haphazardly thrown upon the shelves, outside of the protective plastic bins provided for anti-mice warfare. Oh, if only I could have fit under the door of that closet...

But I digress. Back to the tooth at hand. You are probably sitting on the edge of your seat wondering if the closet door at the church is locked. No, wait, I mean—you probably want to know what superpower I received.

Unfortunately, my new power—like all superpowers—comes with restrictions. I cannot reveal the power to the general public! I'm supposed to keep it secret even from those closest to me, which, at this moment, are the dentist and his trusty assistant. I'm probably not supposed to tell my husband either.

Suffice it to say, you'll just have to observe me serving the collective good of the populace at large. I will tell you this much: Where there is injustice, oppression, or an unlocked closet full of chocolate, I'll be there!

The Coming Year

2008-12-31T10:30:00.003-07:00

I had so hoped to spend the final days of 2008 with a superpower (and I don't mean Russia). I had an appointment yesterday to get my new permanent tooth, but apparently there are slackers working the fiery forges at the secret tooth laboratory, and they are good at slacking.

I still possess the temp composite wrapped around the titanium post, but I now believe the superpower resides in the actual crown itself.

Then again, maybe I am obsessed with something that exists only in my mind (along with the multitude of voices). Perhaps the really good superpowers take longer to forge.

2009 is almost here. The year of the superpower. The year after 2008. The year of employment (I hope). The year before 2010. The year of 365.25 days. The year of the Ox (starting 1/26). The year I blog more. The year of 2 book releases. The year of the shiny new tooth.

As my 3-year old granddaughter would say "That's hilarious, Gran."

All I Want for Christmas is My New Front Tooth!

2008-12-18T11:40:00.010-07:00

Monday started out as a terrible, horrible, no-good very bad day and ended much the same way when one of my front teeth BROKE off at the roots! It was a 15-year old crown that covered the stump-end of a root-canaled tooth so in the world of dentists and pain it was not a surprise departure.

In my world--it was trauma at level 10 (level 1 being a normal day, level 4 being without diet Coke and chocolate, etc.) I cried and laughed at the same time. My 17-year old daughter said, "You know you're a redneck when your teeth fall out at dinner." I had just commented on how tender the chicken was...I guess it wasn't tender enough!

Knowing that humor eventually prevails in my world, I took a self-portrait of my hillbilly state. (Caution: Disturbing image, proceed at your own risk.) My oldest daughter begged me to send it to her and I made her promise that it would not end up on her blog. She told me I should blog about it. I found I could not prounounce "f" words with my missing tooth. (I meant "Ferran", what did you think I meant?)

I went to the dentist the very next day and Dr. Vargo worked magic (he also performed some dental work). I entered his office a toothless old hag and exited 2 1/2 hours later an old hag.

Like a rapper with a shiny new tooth, I couldn't stop smiling!

So, for the price of less than a C-section and more than one of my sister-in-law's purebred puppies, I am the owner of a temporary tooth. The price includes a titanium post, a pretty porcelain crown crafted in the fires of the forge of a secret laboratory--and, I'm almost certain, will come with a SUPERPOWER!

I can't wait to find out what superpower I get!

Happy Thanksgiving!

2008-11-27T18:06:00.004-07:00

Just a quick post to express my thanks for something before I completely forget it...I'm thankful my memory isn't TOTALLY gone!

I promised to post the Having Hope cover blurb. Here it is. Click on it to enlarge and read it. When I read the blurb, I thought "Wow! Excellent blurb. It makes me want to read this book. Whoever wrote it actually read the book and hit the important points perfectly." I eagerly showed it to all who would take a minute to look and listen.

The following day, I pulled up the submission I sent with the manuscript. (Authors are requested to send in a suggestion for the back cover blurb.) The blurb I sent in for Finding Faith was pathethic! I was relieved when someone in marketing wrote a better one for me.

Anyway, I pulled up my blurb for Having Hope, hoping to compare the two and learn how I could improve my craft. To my surprise, as I read what I submitted, I realized that I WAS THE ONE WHO WROTE THE BACK COVER BLURB! Only two words were changed! Apparently the blurb-writer not only read the book, but actually wrote the book!

I must've written it in a moment of inspiration or amnesia or something...Who knew? I guess I'd better stop bragging about what a great blurb it is and start working on memory-building skills. You just have to laugh!

Having Hope Book Cover

2008-11-21T20:19:00.004-07:00

I'm very excited to have the cover proof for Having Hope! I think it is practically perfect in every way (along with Mary Poppins). I'm posting it here and will get my personal computer geek (who also happens to be the love of my life) to help me update the home page of my website. I can't wait for March!

I hope you love it as much as I do. The folks at Cedar Fort do an excellent job on their book covers.

I read the cover blurb and was so excited...it made me want to read the book! I'll post that in the next couple of days. Stay tuned...

Grand Opening Provident Book/Humdinger Toys & Games

2008-11-14T11:23:00.004-07:00

Provident Book/Humdinger Toys & Games
661 W State, Pleasant Grove, UT

Saturday, November 15th
9:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m.

Drawings for free, cool stuff!
Sword of Laban ($350 value)
Liahona Ball ($350 value)
LDS Book Package ($300 value)
Toy/Game Gift Certificate ($100 value)
and MORE!

Authors Signings throughout the day.

Here's the author signing schedule for the day:

10:00 A.M. Christy Hardman Larry C. Porter

11:00 A.M. H.B. Moore,Michelle Ashman Bell ,Tristi Pinkston

12:00 P.M. Julie Coulter Bellon, Monte Shelley

1:00 P.M. Terri Ferran, Nancy Anderson

2:00 P.M. Jewel Adams, Herman DuToit, John Telford

3:00 P.M. Jennie Hansen, Doris R. Dant, John (Jack) Welch

4:00 P.M. N.C. Allen, Gilbert W. Scharffs, K.L. Morgan

5:00 P.M. Candace Salima, Alan Cassidy

6:00 P.M. Blair Tolman, Haley Freeman

7:00 P.M. Monte Nyman, Brent L. Top

Stop in and check out this new independent book & toy store and meet some great people!
I hope to see you there!

Update on Booksigning

2008-11-06T11:53:00.002-07:00

Provident Book has re-scheduled their grand opening for Saturday, November 15th. They will still be open on the 8th, but the author signings and the drawings for free, cool stuff won't happen until the 15th. I'll post an updated author list with times as soon as it is available.

Keep reading! Hope to see you on the 15th!

Attention: Come and Meet the Authors!!!

2008-11-04T13:37:00.004-07:00

This Saturday is the grand opening of Provident Book/Humdinger Toys located at 661 W. State, Pleasant Grove, UT

Stop by and meet a favorite author or two! Here are the authors currently scheduled for signings. This is a great time to get an early start on Christmas shopping and meet some amazing people.

10 am Christy Hardman, Robert Freeman, Larry C. Porter

11 am H. B. Moore, Angela Hallstrom, Tristi Pinkston

12 noon David G. Woolley, Julie Coulter Bellon, Monte Shelley

1 pm Terri Ferran, C.S. Beza, Janet Burningham

2 pm Rachel Ann Nunes, Stacy Gooch Anderson, John Telford

3 pm Jennie Hansen, Michele Ashman Bell, Nancy Anderson

4 pm N. C. Allen, Gilbert W. Scharffs

6 pm John (Jack) Welch

Book signing at a great new book store

2008-10-30T11:41:00.003-06:00

Provident Book in Pleasant Grove, UT is having their grand opening on Saturday, Nov. 8th!

I'm scheduled to be there at 1 pm to do book signings and I know they have booked several other authors as well.

Take some time out of your Saturday to enjoy meeting some authors and discover a great little bookstore.

Provident Book
661 W State
Pleasant Grove, UT

New World Record for Me!

2008-10-28T21:48:00.003-06:00

Great news today--Having Hope, which had been pushed to an April 2009 release date, is back at a March 2009 release date. Yippee! That means it will be out and in stores in time for Mother's Day. Let's cross our fingers that we see it in the Deseret Book Mother's Day catalog.

It's a personal first for me--I've posted two times in one month. Every now and then I remember I need to update my blog and put it off long enough to forget it. My husband suggested I schedule a time each week to update it. Eeeek! The pressure of it all! He entered a reminder in his Outlook to remind me to blog every Monday. Too late! Monday is already Presidency meeting and Laundry day. I'm all full up here.

Incentive to Blog: When your daughter starts a blog and has three comments within the first half hour. Hmmmm, maybe I'm going to have to blog more often. Maybe I'll have to give out my blog address to people!