Who are the Flower Thieves?

Here in New England, we are in full bloom.  Temperatures are souring, flowers are blooming, and mosquitos are biting.  So when I saw a few pots of beautiful petunias on sale at the local hardware store, I snagged them for the front porch. 

I quickly loaded them into the back of the minivan and then headed for the grocery store.  Feeling elated with my bargain flowers, my high continued when I got a parking spot right in the front of the store.  I pulled in and parked.  Then jumped out to retrieve my reusable bags from the back of the car.

A lovely 65 year old woman was walking by.  She was smartly dressed with perfectly curled silver hair.  She eyed my flowers and smiled.  I smiled back.  I was anticipating her asking me where I got them.  I had my answer all ready when she surprised me with what she said.

“You better lock your car, you don’t want anyone to steal those flowers.”  Wait… What…. My mouth hung open at her words.  Flower thieves?  Who are these mysterious people?

A few theories jumped to mind.  Other 65 year old women who are competing with their neighbors for the prettiest garden.  Having run up exorbitant flower bills, their husbands have cut them off.  They are now stealing flowers from minivans, to keep their flower habit up.

Or is it the 16 year old trouble maker that loves his mother.  Wanting to give her a gift for all the trouble he has caused, he peers into minivans and sedans until he finds the perfect gift.

Maybe it is a recent divorcee who, after years of marriage and kids, is looking for a little trill.  Nothing too serious, of course, but she sees my flowers and thinks, I’m just going to take them.  I’m due a little fun!

None of these theories seem quite right so now I am asking you.  Who are the flower thieves?  Please comment below if you have a theory on these illustrious thieves with beautiful gardens.  I am curious to know so that the next time I load bargain flowers into the back of my car, I will know who to look out for!

Chivalry is not Dead?

Let me paint the picture.  It is 11:00 am and I am at the liquor store.  “11:00 am?” You say.  Yep, these are the last minutes I have before I go to pick up my toddler at preschool.  Truth be told, I would rather bare the stigma of the a.m. liquor store run than the dirty looks I get when I buy wine with a screaming kid in tow.

There is a cart parked in the middle of the checkout line with a 24 pack of Bud Light.  Somewhere to the left, is a man looking at vodka.  Having two minutes until I need to be in the car for preschool pick up, I skirt around the carriage to the waiting cashier.

Suddenly, the man milling, steps back in front of the carriage.  I realize I have jumped in front of him.

“Sorry!”  I say.  “I didn't realize you were in line.”

He smiles, gives me a wink and replies. “Oh no, you go. Chivalry is not dead.”

Chivalry is not dead?  Hasn't it been slowly dying since its inception during medieval times?  Didn't the feminist movement put the final nails in that coffin?

Don't get me wrong, I am all for guys letting me cut them in line.  Paying for dinner and pulling the car up to the doors of a store on a rainy day.  It is one of the advantages of being female.

But if you look closely at the code of conduct chivalry entailed, you will see it was not just for men but for women too.  Let me give you an example.  One rule of chivalry is that a man is to “take care of his lady first...”  In modern times this has translated into such things as opening doors for a woman.

If a man is to open your door for you then you are obligated, under this code of conduct, to stand there and wait for him to open it.

What if he notices a scuff on the bumper of his car and stops to buff it?  What if he realizes he has left his keys in the house?  You must stand there and wait.... and wait.... and wait.  Sigh!

I would much rather just open the handle and sit down in the car.  If he is buffs the scuff on the bumper, I will turn up the heat and switch the radio station.  Because we all know, as a woman, we want the heat much higher than the man we are riding with does.

On a larger scale, I appreciate all my husband does around our house but I often don't want to wait for him to do it. Chivalry dictates he run all power equipment, lest I get injured.  But the leaf blower and power washer are kind of fun.  Similarly, I like to cook but if my husband offers to take over my womanly duties for an evening, I say “Have at it!”

Chivalry is fundamentally a code were strong men take care of weak women.  In our modern society of equality, I say that it is far better to embrace rules that encourage kindness towards others regardless of sex. That includes men helping me with jobs I struggle with or just don't want to do.

But, Thanks to feminism, a man can also expect his lady to open his door for him on occasion.  Try not to get too annoyed when I buff the scratch out while you wait.

Victoria’s Secret: Why I Have to Say Goodbye

Please try to understand, Vicky “It’s not you, it’s me.”

                Let me make one thing clear.  I love Victoria Secrets’ bras.  Despite the price, they are of excellent construction, they last forever, they make the girls look great, and they are sexy.  The last two items on that list are the problem.

                I have been married for twelve years.  In theory, I would want to keep the romance alive with sexy lingerie.  And I do.  But in the past ten years, every time I shop at Vicky’s I end up pregnant.  I’m not kidding.

The first time, it was intentional.  I was ready to start a family but my husband wanted to wait.  When I asked him how long he thought that wait should be, he shrugged and said.  “I don’t know.  Maybe a year or two or five, we’ll see.”  I frowned.  A week later, I ended up trolling the Victoria Secrets’ store looking for a sexy ensemble to kick start baby making.  Nine months and two weeks later, Madelyn was born.  She was a week late.

The thing that women don’t know about having a baby, or at least I didn’t, was that it completely wrecks your body.  So after a year when I finally had my body back, I made a second trip to Vicky’s to celebrate.  No sexy lingerie this time, just some nice matching sets of bras and underwear.

Ten months later, Kathryn was born.  Coincidence, I said to myself.  But the seeds of superstition were planted.  I stayed away from Victoria Secrets for a long time. 

Finally our second child potty trained, we declared ourselves done having children.  “No more diapers for us.”  We said.  In our minds, we had closed that chapter of our lives.  I thought I was safe.  I made a third trip to Victoria’s Secrets.  No matching sets this time.  Just some bras and underwear from the super sale bins.

Six weeks later, we are on vacation.  The best vacation in five years, because we didn’t have a little one in diapers.  The children could play while we relaxed for a few minutes.  While sitting on the deck, looking over the lake, it suddenly occurred to me that I hadn’t started my period.  I said to my husband.  “I think I’m late.”

He responds.  “But we’re done having kids.”

One pregnancy test later, it was confirmed.  My third trip to Victoria’s secrets has resulted in a third pregnancy. 

           For this reason, Vicky, we can’t see each other anymore.  I have three kids.  I am trying to launch a writing career.  I can’t have another baby and so I can’t step foot into your store.  Please try to understand.  “It’s not you, it’s me.”

How Many Times Have you Given Up?

Above any endeavor in my life, writing is the one that has been plagued with the most self-doubt.  Except for maybe parenthood.  But once you have a child there is no going back so that makes your choice simple.  That is not the case with a writing career.  You are free to quit as many times as you want. 

As a result, I have given up being a writer more times than I care to admit.  Four at least.  I have stopped in the middle of both books I have written.  I gave up for almost a year after Lily in Bloom went out of print.

A bad edit made the roll out of Lily in Bloom a disaster.  Fraught with typos I wanted to hide under a rock.  All of my mistakes were out there for the word to see.

After I got over the initial shock, I stopped writing for a while.  It was too risky and just too painful.

That is the difficult part of being a writer.  With any other job, I can go to a party and announce that I am doing really well at work and people will believe me.  With writing your work is out there for everyone to judge.  It is difficult but, I have to admit, motivating.

With the reprint of Lily in Bloom, I could have republished it as it is, minis the typos.  I didn’t do that.  I signed on an editor, Maggie Dallen.  She has been pushing me, challenging me to make it the best book it can be. We have never even met but I love her for it.

And maybe that is the key.  The things that are the hardest in life can be the most rewarding.  That has certainly been true for parenthood.  I won’t know for sure until Lily in Bloom hits the shelves again if I am to succeed or fail.

The book may still be no good, but it is the best I can do and I am going to try and be satisfied with that.  With a major re-edit I can honestly say that I came at my first book and gave it everything I had.

Wish me luck.  I feel like I am going to need it!

Editing, Oh SHit!

Let's play a game… It'll be fun for you and mildly humiliating for me.  How many errors can you find in this blog?

It's not that I mean to.  It's just that I forget a word here or there.  My brain moves faster than my fingers.  A homonym sneaks in.  And I know the rule.  I've used it right a thousand times but I am in the middle of this scene and I am so in to what I am writing that the rules fall out of my head.

I write it's when it should have just been its.  You know the mistakes.  You might have made them.

Here is my second problem.  I go to edit my writing.  It's easier with short pieces for my freelance work.  I employ the trick where I read the piece back words.   I find the mistakes.  But when I wrote a novel, I couldn't read all 84,000 words back words.  I'd be 80 before I finished.

So I read the novel through three times.  An editor read it through once.  Then my mother-in-law picked it up.  We were sitting across the table from each other when she dropped the bomb.

"Loved your book but did you notice the errors?  I thought you had a professional editor?"  I tried to keep the smile pasted to my face.

I knew the problem.  I start reading to edit and I get distracted by the dialogue.  Does it further the characters?  The story, is it coming together?  My eyes skipped right over the word heat that was supposed to be heart. 

What happened next was two weeks of intense editing.  My book was pulled off the shelf.  My mother-in-law and I went through it page by page and got, what I hoped, was all of the errors.  Turns out, it wasn't.

The book is back on the shelf and my pride is still smarting.  I wish I had done things differently.  I didn't have another set of eyes read the book because I didn't want to put people out.  I was still having trouble sharing with my inner network.  What if they didn't like it? 

Big mistake.  If you have written or in the process of writing a book, ask a friend to edit.  It has to be someone you trust.  I don't want help with the story, just the grammar.  That is hard for some people to do, keep their opinions to themselves.

You can ask for as much or as little help as you want but you should ask.  It helps, really.  Better to be slightly embarrassed in front of your friend than every person who buys your book.

 Good luck with your writing.  Better luck, than me, with your editing.

If you are at all interested in playing this game on a grander scale, my book "Lily in Bloom will hit Amazon and Barnes and Noble this summer.  Happy reading!