Storm brewing

8:00 and I can’t get my butt out of bed.  The alarm’s been going off every 5 minutes since 7:30. My hand is slap happy, and if I don’t hit the right button this time, the alarm clock’s getting ripped out of the wall.

Stretching, I decide there’s no time like the present.  The weather’s crappy, and my mood is too.  Even the cats think twice before saying good morning.  “Wow, I must be giving off some rabid vibes.”

Outside the wind howls and chairs are tossed banging against the privacy fence.  There’s a loud boom about half a block away.  “Damn. The transformer blew.” The fans come to an abrupt halt; the lit clock face flickers and fades.  “Crap, crap, crap.” I say.  

“Josiah,” I scream hoping he hears me three rooms over. “Transformer blew. Turn off all the fans and computers before we get another surge and have some real problems.”

Josiah answers my scream with a “Yes, mam.” And then out of nowhere, he appears poking his head around the doorjamb.  Smiling he says, “So what’s for breakfast Mah?”

I cock my head, as if to say, “You’ve got to be kidding me? Don’t you think of anything else besides food, boy?” In my mind’s eye, Russell’s comment jumps front and center, “Hun, he’s 15 with an eating disorder. He’s always hungry.”

Knowing what Josiah’s answer will be, I put my hand up in a “stop--never mind” response and say, “Give me a minute. We’ll go to Frankie’s for breakfast.”

“Thanks Mom. I’ll start feeding the inside cats so we can get going. It looks pretty crappy out there.”

Remembering the amount of work I need to do on the computer today, I growl in frustration.  “Great, all my notes are bookmarked for JP’s article and the computers are down. Wouldn’t you know it! Hopefully, Frankie’s Wi-Fi is working.”

But, thirty minutes later with nothing but Word at my fingertips, I’m no longer in a bad mood.  Sitting back, I enjoy a bagel with cream cheese, a double-shot iced latte, and quality time with my son as he begins his school work and I my writing.

Josiah looks up from his math and asks,” You okay?”

“Yep, I’m fine sweetheart, just enjoying the moment.”

Cloudy with a chance of rain…

One day, I’m going to own a little cottage on the beach, so when the weather is perfect or the mood suits me, I can wander to my heart’s content like I did long ago.

As a child, I’d disappear for hours and walk along the beach as if on pilgrimage seeking answers.  The beach was my refuge but mom understood.  I’d get up early most weekends, and with her permission, I’d traipse down the steep hill on Terra Mar Drive, pass homes that were still asleep, and step onto a shell littered beach.  Mom believed in safety, so I was required to carry a backpack filled with necessities: sunglasses, sunscreen, hat, water, and snacks.  In my eyes the most important item not to forget was a pal and shovel to carry home the shells and beach glass I would collect.

Overcast days were my favorite because I didn’t have to wear sunglasses.  They distorted nature’s beauty with false tints of green and amber.  At the bottom of our hill was a cul-de-sac which led to a path bordered with six foot tall box-woods. These were purposely planted to help deflect the fierce winds and flying sand.  With each stride I grew closer. Soon I was at the threshold where grass met beach and the rush of the ocean greeted me. Arms wide, I ran to the water’s edge and dug my feet into the warm, slick sand. It oozed from between my toes and I smiled.  

The visits were reverent.  I’d close my eyes, take a deep breath, and suddenly the beach came alive.  The scent of salt and seaweed flowed through my nostrils—pungent and stinging; a cool spray baptized me in the ways of Poseidon, and waves, tipped in white foam, crested out of arms reach. I was alone except for the seagulls.  They sang like sirens diving onto the water’s surface in hopes of mesmerizing a fish or two.   

Child-like happiness

No one least of all me believed I'd ever become computer savvy.  Yes, I know how to search the internet and am quite good at locating odd-ball stuff.  Just give me a task, and move out of my way.  However, don't ask me to add a link, image from another site, or as simple a task as forwarding an email.  Last week my response was, "Are you  kidding me?"  Not any more.  As of today, I  have accomplished all three without any difficulties and have recognized the ease in which I handled the procedures. Don't let my bravado get in the way. I was terrified and thought for sure that I'd lose everything on the screen or at least screw it up bad enough that it would never be right again. "That's what the undo button is for," my husband reminds me.

But in order to understand how I got into this predicament, let's take a trip back in time to when I was a middle school teacher. Funny as it seems, in order to qualify as" an above standard" teacher, you have to pass a computer test.  What a computer test has to do with your prowess as a teacher is beyond me, but a requirement it is. And so, my colleagues and I sat one Spring afternoon facing a computer screen for 2 1/2 hours with a proctor and timer and proceeded to guess A, B, C, and sometimes D while not falling into a ADD state of mind.

Not all of us were blubbering idiots, only me and a few others.  When tested in Word, the internet, and Power Point, I did fine, but in Excel and diagnostic definitions, forget it.  Excel is an alien form of communication that my husband clearly states I never need work with again. Poor soul, he learned the hard way after asking me to help type in new addresses in his work database.  Four hours later, I had made such a mess that he dumped it and reinstated the original.

The difference between those who get upset and find it a challenge to prove themselves smarter than a computer program and me is that I delight in the fact that I don't care. Now that I'm writing a blog and have been asked to write for the Charlotte Exclusive website, I find that I need to be more comfortable working on the computer. So, with that said, I have started taking baby steps and am doing pretty well. My husband and son find it amusing when I run into the front of the house and say with a huge grin on my face, "I did it. I actually lit up the web address." 

Russell, looks at me and says, "Hun, that's called a hyperlink."

"Well great," I say. "Okay, that's the specific term, but I did it," clapping my hands like a two year old. "It really turned blue!  Yeah."

Russell is used to my child-like antics and silly gestures of surprised happiness. He just rolls his eyes, smiles, and goes back to whatever it was I interrupted again.  

Once Upon a Speechless Night...

Twenty seven years ago, I was working full time at a fitness center where I met a young man who would later become my husband.  He was a private in the Army. I was an "Aerobic Girl Friday". My primary responsibility was managing the exercise classes and hiring teaching staff, but I also taught two nights a week on Men's night. Back then, I was solid muscle, 5'6" tall and  about 132 lb. In all honesty, I was in the best shape of my life.

When you work in an all male environment in a town that houses the most largest U.S. military installation, you have to be able to hold your own. Classes were thirty minutes long, back-to-back, from 6PM to 9PM. The spa offered aerobics, full body workouts, ab class, and stretch class; however, stretch class wasn't relaxing, it was more of a contortionist love session.  Every Tuesday and Thursday on the half  hour, I'd announce in my most alluring voice, "Come on guys. Class is starting in 3 minutes." Normally, I'd get a wise crack or two, and then I'd get back on the intercom, but this time with a challenge. "Okay, I bet I can smoke each and everyone of you."  This got their attention. Remember, never throw a challenge out on the table unless you're prepared to win, especially when dealing with soldiers.

The first class was high level aerobics. There were about 20 participants most in their early twenties. The few older men were regulars and only laughed. The young bloods were too ignorant to know better.  With music blaring, adrenaline pumping and a testosterone overload, the first class finished smoothly.  One class moved to the next. Participants were dropping like flies.  Finally, there were the lone duo.  By 9PM, I was drenched, and so were they. They walked up to  me and said,  "Hi, I'm Russ, and this is David." "I'm Missy. Nice to meet you."

David was about my height, but Russ was over 6 foot, broad shouldered and attractive with a capital A.  His eyes were hazel. He had a Clark Gable mustache and a wickedly handsome smile.  Dimples in both cheeks and a cleft chin made it hard not to stare.  Pulling myself together, I made my excuses and walked to the office. About 15 minutes later, I was packed and turning to leave when I bumped right into him.  Oh my god, I thought, say something you idiot. But my mouth wouldn't move for there stood Russell in black leather from his head to his toes with a motorcycle helmet under his arm.

Alpha Males, yum, yum...

Literature has its fair share of strong alpha males: Rochester from Bronte's Jane Eyre, Rhett Butler from Mitchell's Gone With the Wind, and  Petruchio from Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew (one of my favorites), but in literary fiction and most sub-genres this is not a qualifier.  However, in the romance genre, it is.

People read for different reasons--to acquire knowledge, to view different political rants, to decipher scientific speculation, to associate or disassociate themselves, or purely for escapism. This last reason is what triggers my love of reading. It feels good to sit down with a book in hand, and close the door on the rest of world. But, besides needing a happy-ever-after ending, I also need a strong alpha male.  Alphas are often brooding with a rough exterior, courageous, strong, honorable, and yes, over-protective.  Counter these traits with an alpha female and the blood pressure rises on the page.

Thankfully, alpha males come in all shapes and sizes: Cowboys in chaps with sweat on their brow and a six shooter on their hip; CEO's in designer suits, black with contrasting slate grey button down shirt and tie oozing wealth and sensuality, the many Men in Uniform--Soldiers coming back from war itching for another fight they most certainly will win; Policemen who ride rough shod while protecting the streets; Firemen, high on adrenaline, who enter buildings, smoked filled and flaming, to save those in danger.The list of high risk professionals goes on and on. And then, there is the Bad Boy dressed in tight jeans and a tee shirt, wearing a 24 hour shadow he just shaved off 3 hours ago, hair longer than most, a devil-be-damned attitude,a sensual nature that defies description and at some point in time rides up on a motorcycle dressed in leather. Choose any one of these alpha males and you've just doubled your fun in reading.

Heck, my advice...go find yourself your very own alpha and have the best of both worlds. I did! He's my bad boy in uniform, but that's another story.


    

Happy endings...

A lot of time and effort goes into the process of choosing a novel.  We are told that you shouldn't judge a book by it's cover; but I disagree.  That's the first thing I look at, the cover art. Never knowing what to expect, I look for certain things: is the cover sexy; does it  have anything to do with the location; what about the atmosphere, is it mysterious or just dark, and are the characters realistic? Then I go to the last few pages to see if my happily-ever-after ending stands to reason.  If not, the book goes back on the shelf, and I move on to another.  I'll admit, my criteria may appear shallow to some, and they may think I wear rose colored glasses, but I enjoy knowing that in the end, not only am I guaranteed a deep pleasurable sigh, but the main characters are too. As the inscription  over the door of the Library of Thebes reads, books are "medicine for the soul."

Just for an instant...

Coffee: the texture, the smell, the taste--my mouth waters just thinking about it.  So, it is to no ones surprise that when missing I can be found comfortably reading at the local cafe.  It's a cute little salt box house with a wrap around porch built among tall pines.  Inside you can wander from room to room enjoying the beauty of hardwood floors and local art displayed for the fellow artisan or possible buyer. Simple room dividers in the form of handmade book shelves, plants, and even bottom swinging doors keep the customers in suspense as they move from room to room. You never know what or whom you may find. If you choose to visit on a cold winter's night, you'll be met by a crackling fire and occasional Fridays the local musicians come to play. Mandolins, banjos, dulcimers, and even spoons can be heard singing the sounds of Appalachia.

Outside there are picnic tables and chairs with huge umbrellas to keep you safe from the southern sun.  The wrap around porch, besides having a perimeter length bench seat, also promises a tranquil view for every 2-3 feet your eyes feast on beautiful flower boxes filled with seasonal blossoms: pansies, marigolds, bluebells. The best time to visit for me is mid-morning or early evening when you can find a seat beneath the trees, alone except for the birds chirping, the wind blowing, and the swoosh of cars driving by. I often sit with my feet in a chair and a romance novel on my lap. I close my eyes and bask in the taste of a buttered bagel smothered with cream cheese while sipping a double shot iced latte. No sugar. My mind wanders for a moment before I turn back to my romance novel and realize that for an instant I have savored heaven on earth.

I love Earl Grey tea, but mornings belong to Joe

I had just finished my chores when I spotted a car parked in front of the house.  Suddenly, my feet were moving and the race was on--through the den to the foyer, a short slide across the hard wood floors and a sudden skid, drag, stop at the open screen. Ninja skilled Bertie didn't have a chance in hell this morning. I was at the door ready to greet on cue before she could sneak away with the keys I had placed in the mailbox for her.

"Good morning," I said ."Gotcha, I was ready for you today Bertie.  Didn't want you to think I sleep all the time."

Laughing like a kid who just got caught with her hand in the cookie jar, Bertie said, "I thought I saw somebody up in the front of the house. I'm impressed. Usually, you're still in bed."

"Yeah, well not today. I was bound and determined to get to the door first. You doing all right this morning? How about the storms; did you have any problems on Saturday with the tornadoes?"

"Nope, we were find, but I drove around yesterday and took a look at the damage. It was pretty bad. Sanford was hit hard."

"You got a couple of minutes? I've got a fresh pot of coffee on."

"Sure, why not!"

***

Fifteen years ago, my alarm clock rang at 5 A.M. and by 6 A.M. the kids and I were driving to work/school- a 45 minute drive to the northern part of the county.  As a whole, we were lucky. I always made it a point to have my kids attend the school in which I taught. It was easier to keep an eye on them and their studies.
But now, I'm lucky if I climb out of bed by 7:30. Most would call me a slugbug, but I call it a lapse in reason for the betterment of those I live with.  I'm much happier having an extra couple of hours of sleep followed by a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Mix this with laughter and conversation and life is almost perfect.

                     "A cup of coffee commits one to forty years of friendship," Turkish proverb                                        

Such an oddity...

I'm sure those who have come to visit are wondering why such a title for a blog; surely lipstick can not inspire.   I beg to differ. Not having worn lipstick until age 50, I found that what my adult life lacked--a youth-filled vibrancy and spirited nature--could be gained with a mere application of color.   The spectrum of pinks, plums, roses, reds, and browns allow one to play the role of adolescent with candy pink, or a twenties girl with playful plum, a thirties girl with serious browns, a forties girl with vibrant reds, or an over fifties girl who cares little of what others think and with arms thrown high chooses what ever color suits her for the day.  A scintillating experience, not addictive nor harmful, but a fun feel-good prescription for life that brings a twinkle to one's eyes and a skip to one's step.

This blog is about life, the good, the bad, the romantic--sometimes fictitious, sometimes not--but always concerning the choices one makes in order to achieve a life filled with passion, laughter, and hope.