Apartment Millionaires

Today is all about beauty and health, but I'm going to slip this one in because I find the topic fascinating. Boys and girls, take comfort in knowing your sorrow and misery is someone else's gain. Not everyone is having a down economy. I'm talking about the apartment millionaires; those that own and build, along w/the many that live in the apartments.

Wherefore art thou?? The blog title came to me as I listened to the data from the latest report on housing in the US. It mirrors the plight of non-cave dwellers everywhere: falling prices and foreclosures are great for deep-pocketed investors and new home buyers (e.g. those young and employed). The unemployed are busy moving out of their foreclosed homes and searching around for apartments. As a result, a book in the apartment construction world is occuring.

"I have two friends with hundreds of millions of dollars in the bank--cash--" he emphasizes, "that are building as fast as they can." This was a 30 year real estate veteran, referring to the boom times in apartments. During times of plenty, singles will move out of their parent's homes, graduate from college, get a job and aspire to purchasing a home (or at least a condo). Immigrants follow the same pattern. Two or three generations will huddle together in a small home until family members start to leave the nest to their own single family dwelling.

"This will last three, maybe four years," the expert continued, "until year 5 where we will have a glut of apartments. By then, the recession may be over, families will start to move back in to single family homes and then new building will start again."

Okay, developers are making money, so are the storage companies that take care of the goods when a family moves from a home to an apartment. Wise storage unit CEO's are already banking money for their own down-cycle, which should happen in that 5 year range--when customers retreive their dusty, stinky stuff (and will probably junk half of it to buy new stuff).

The other phenomena is the number of folks who are millionaires--at least on paper--that can no longer afford their home and now live in apartments. This includes middle age professionals who bought at the top of the market, sold at the bottom, have lots of money tied up in underperforming mutual funds, stocks, CDs, and yes, even real estate. Why sell and take a huge hit, when....if...eventually...the value of all will once again rise? In the meantime, certain wise folks (many who are in fact employed) made a conscious, proactive decision to sell their home before it was foreclosed upon, thereby saving money. And by the way--have you seen some of these apartments? They are sweet. It's a good thing I think that, for I may be spending a lot more in apts in the future.

Stories from the waiting line...

Once upon a time, my public outtings were free of clutter and pollution, a well of mental purity, unsullied by the unsolicited comments from strangers. Not so anymore. Nowadays, stepping outdoors means being on the receiving end of a one-way flow of information, the kind that a stranger on a plane will give because he (or she) knows you will never again run in to one another, so you are perfectly safe place to dump all sorts of burdensome information. Let me give you an example.

Last Thursday, I'm sitting in a public place, waiting for my name to be called after I have dutifully taken a number. To my left is a large man studiously reading the local paper. To my right is an empty chair that remains vacant for about thirty seconds until a well-dressed woman takes a seat. She's thin, early sixties, short, blond hair in a v-cut, fashionably touching her brown and gold leopard print shirt. Her left hand is void of a wedding ring, but adorned with the nice, thick metal watch. Her leather shoes are polished and appropriately narrow for the 2011-2012 fashion season. I'm tapping away on my iphone, virtually conversing with my friends who are equally happy to spend their time getting thumb callouses when she begins to speak to me.

"I've never been in here," she half-whispers, embracing me as a temporary confidant. My first time as well, I say, looking up long enough to notice her face is tan, smooth save for a few age-given lines. Divorced mother of two or three grown children, maybe a first time grandma I hypothesize. I continue typing. "My oldest son is getting married soon," she continues (I inwardly preen), "and I gave him my wedding ring for his second wife." I have two thoughts. The first is that the woman is determined to tell me her life story. The second is that I might as well listen. People's lives are far more interesting than my own, and what the heck. I'm a writer. I like to listen.

"It's worth $25,000," she tells me. "It has six diamonds scattered in gold metal chunks..." yadee yedee yadaa She's not worried I'm going to stalk and rob her. . I visualized a ring fit for Liberace. I'm far more interested in whether or not her soon-to-be daughter in law thought it was as ugly as it sounded.

"Did he like it or get offended?" I boldly ask. She enthusiastically tells me she floated the idea to her son, referencing the ring in her vault.

"She told me 'that's pure love.'" Sounded more like Mom got pragmatic. I calculated the odds. Second marriage. 30+ yr old fiance. 50-50. "She had it resized and loves it."

I turn back to my phone, slightly disappointed the story ended at that point. I shouldn't have worried. She started in again on the next thing. Her recent job offer (to another division of a local company), a promotion from one executive position to another. This woman wasn't hurting, at least not financially.

"In the middle of it all, I feel this lump in my belly---this big," holding up her clenched fist in the air. I put down my iphone. Her OB tells her its nothing. "I had a hysterectomy, and everything falls you know." No, I tell her, trying to hold back the revolting feeling that graduates up my inerds, I didn't. "Yeah, it all sort of drops since nothing is there to hold it in. Your kidneys, sometimes your liver." I ask her if it hurt, and if they figured it out. With her hand still raised in the air, she triumphantly annouces that she got to the bottom of it.

"It was my rectum!" she says, "this big!" pointing to her closed fist with her other hand. "It was at the bottom of my vagina." Did---wait--did she just say that, in the middle of a public place?

At that point, my name was called, which was a good thing. I had no words. I had no air. I had to leave, without hearing the rest of the story. I have no fear the next story I receive from another random stranger will be just as interesting.

Save the family, apologize first

"What? Me-say I'm sorry?" Perish the thought these words ever came forth from my mouth. Apologies in the workplace are easy. The faster it's said and done, the sooner we can move on to the next business obstacle. Besides, apologizing is business rule number one. Issuing a verbal mea culpa (or a simple, 'my bad' for the sub-25 crowd) leads to faster promotion, for the wise executive knows the individual contributor (or manager) who can admit failure, and apologize where necessary, is destined for greatness. Why is it then, that apologies within the home are so bloody hard?

Ego, pride, personal relationship, status, moral highground--all are involved. Besides, apologizing at home isn't going to result in a raise or promotion. It's going to deliver a stint in household purgatory, potential reprisals and most certainly the irritable but inevitable raising from the dead "remember when you did that," reminders. Tell me the last time your manager said to you "yeah, but I recall when you screwed up." Doesn't happen. Only at home.

I gotta give it to my other half. He is much better at apologies than me. His parents were cool with sorry, apparently liberal with the use of the word, and Rog doesn't equate loss of pride or status to saying he's sorry. Me on the other hand, have always considered sorry equal to idiot, the intellectual equivalent of being a Ph.D but thrust down to second grade English class. I try to remember that neither raise or promotion is worth than more than the trust and respect of my spouse, but it's hard. I get forgiveness and a hug, not the ability to go shopping.

For those business-geeks out there (like me) that have no use for the word sorry within the home, I'm going to "speak business" to see if this resonates. Here goes. The value of sorry within the home is a long-term strategy, not short-term tactic. It's a results-driven means to overcome a crisis, establish a bi-directional communication channel (us business types need redundancy) and ensure both parties are aligned towards a common goal with the right core value set. Since a husband-wife team can rarely go on a team bonding-outting, I'll provide some tips.

1. Proatively admit guilt (e.g. screw up). This shows you are brave of course, by voluntarily walking up to the emotional guilotine. Better yet, it catches your target off-guard, thereby negating the ability for him (or her) to get mad. Smart strategy!
2. When you know were or are, in the wrong about something, and it's well after the fact, be big. Approach the intended recipient of your apology with the phrase "I've been thinking...." Show remorse. Express how you have been contemplating the incident, feel regret and believe the person is owed an apology.

Now, I'm going to share an experience on this very subject. Years ago, I was estranged from a sibling, but I didn't even know it. I was in my world, always loved this sibling, though we were in different states, and lived quite different lives. Still, I harbored no ill will against said sib, just a hope that the sibling was well and happy.

Christmas time arrives and I get this letter. It's long, four or five pages of hand-written words essentially apologizing every way possible all the bad, horrible, awful things X had said and thought about me over the years. My first reaction was shock. I had no idea I'd been loathed for YEARS by this person. My second reaction was that this person had some serious guts to write this letter, and trust that I wasn't going to flip out. By the last page, I was crying, because the anguish on the page was worse than anything I was experiencing. As I read about the hate and rage, the writer acknowledged that it all had to do with thoughts, feelings, insecurities and jealousy that had nothing to do with me or my actions. In the end, my sibling had spent a lot of negative energy towards me that the silbing ultimately came to realize were of sibling's own making. My sibling asked for my forgiveness for all the horrible thoughts and feelings, hoping we could go back to being the close siblings we once were.

At the time, I re-read the letter to Roger, we had the same reaction. Forgive and move on, no question. My love for this sibling never changed. What altered was the level of respect and degree of admiration I had for sibling's growth in character to write such a letter.

3. Follow-up a sorry with a hug or some other gesture. This may not always be welcome, so remember it's the intent of the action, not necessarily the other person's willingness to accept it.

4. Execute. In other words, commit to change as necessary and --actually change! Words are meaningless without change. In the workplace, change is easy. No change and you are canned. At home, you won't get fired (unless your spouse divorces your sorry butt). Although that scenary is a slow-burn vs an immediate job loss, the point is the same.

Saying sorry in at work saves relationships with people that need you, at least to have a constructive work environment long enough to release a product. Saying it at home brings love and trust and respect, three prongs of the relationship triangle that keeps families together, something far more important than getting a product out the door.

Accosting etiquette: tips on getting what you want

My mind is full of the inane and shocking experiences of this last week. One woman told me about her inner parts falling in to her bowels (I'll save for a diff blog), I was accosted at the grocery store by a well-dressed panhandler and my husband lost his $500 dollar set of car keys, then brow-beat a provider down to $125 & found a replacement on line, costing me a full day of my life as I drove him around (he found them 10 minutes ago. I literally had to write on a piece of paper -- Leave now. I may kill you. Love me.-- because I was hyperventilating my anger out of my nose).

So let's start with the accosting, shall we? (and as I'm writing this, I was informed 3 biz partners are showing up from out of town at 4 pm, and I need to make cook up a half of King Salmon that is now vigorously thawing in my kitchen sink. Breath deep. I must be brief).

Last week, I'm at the Express lane at the grocery store, 15 items or less. (It used to say 5 items, then 10, then 15. I was going to personally rebell if they changed the number, but had no choice. 2 weeks ago, the sign changed to "About 15 items." What's up with that?? Another sign people can't abide by the rules in the checkout line and evidence of the overall decline of civilization). But I digress.

I recount my 6 items, waiting for the person in front of me to finish up, and I observe a tall, nicely dressed man going from line to line. Other than noting he has only 2 items and must be in a rush, I don't pay much attention, until he comes behind me. His probably 6'3 or '4, a closely-shaved beard with black hair speckled with grey. He is thin, his yellow plaid striped Polo shirt and decent jeans making him the typical man from the neighborhood. (I'm not going to say what ethnicity he was, for fear I incur the wrath of whatever group he's from. He could be 'anyman.'). He smiles at me. I smile back. He puts his grapes and Nilla Wafers on the rubber mat. He flashes me another smile, this time, showing teeth.

"Would you pay for my food?"

I laugh. "Sure, if you pay for mine." The typical checkout-counter banter, I'm thinking, happy to go along.

"Well, I sure would appreciate you paying for my food," he continues, and I return my jovial comment in kind.

"I'd like you to pay for mine!"

At this point, it the crushing dawn of understanding brightens my intellect. He's trying to scam me, for obviously, I look stupid or nice enough to fall for this. I then turn my attention to the check-out lady, who is studiously keeping her eyes down and saying not a word. Apparently, she's heard this before. I'm thinking it's not bad enough to get hit up for every non-profit, save-the-world issue and organization at every single retail store (some of which are wonderful orgs btw), but now I have to contend with the a well-dressed, enterprising panhandler at the counter.

The view from Tiger Mountain to the Olympics

"Sure, sure," he said, "maybe next time I do yours if you'll do me this time."

Had to admire the guy for the size of his cahones at this point. He was relentless.

"My extra money is going to the food bank," I tell him, referring to a community food drive that was organized for the next day. "Last year we raised over 17,000 pounds of food," I go on, feeling it incumbent to be the event public relations person. He nods, unsure as to how to deal with this bit of information.

As the cashier finishes up, I pre-empt her telling me the total and hand her my money. He goes for one last attempt.

"It doesn't hurt to ask," he said, still smiling broadly. The cashier shakes her head, smiling slightly.

"Nothing venture nothing gained," I agree, still nodding when he removes a debit card from his pocket. This is the way it is now days.

This incident is still on my mind when I'm at our local convenience store. It's named after Tiger Mountain, which is strange, since we have free-roaming cougars, but no tigers. Whatever. I've got a large sack of of overpriced peanut M & M's and a water, on my way to a school meeting--my first. (I'm stressed). In front of me stands a rather scruffy, tall cowboy-esque worker exuding that musky scent given off by a hard-working outdoorsman. It's sexy. I look up, my 5'11 to his 6'4. I'm having deja 'vu all over again, until I see he's a different ethnicity and it's not the same person. He whips out a dirty stack of hundreds to pay for a 6-pack of Rainier beer (I didn't think anyone drank that stuff anymore!). In any case, I'm bored. I'm feeling sassy.

"Hey, I saw that," I start. "You want to pay for my food?"

He turns to me, looking down at me, stopping my heart in a glance with his piercing aqua-green eyes. Somehow I know his jawline is taut, his skin tan, a bit of hair on his face after a long day. He's also sporting scattered bits of dirt on his face, increasing the level of sexiness. Nothing speaks to me more than a hard working man.

"Sure," he says, without hesitation.

"No, no," I backtrack immediately, my face flushing hot (a rarity btw. I'm a bit low on the shame scale). "I'm just kidding. I saw your stack and I couldn't help myself."

He then insists on paying, and the cashier looks at my goods and rings me up. I then go in to full reverse, bubbling about my recent experience, and thought it would be fun to try it out on some unsuspecting soul to see if the ploy was successful.

"Worked on me," he responded, smiling. I'm feeling like the worlds biggest fool then (are you shreeking as you read this? You should be. I was). My face was still hot and red as he told me he was happy to pay for 'the sweet ladies food.' Now, if I were the philandering kind, my lower lip would have been hanging out, the drool dripping down my cheek. As it was, my M & Ms were getting hot in my hand and I had an enticing kindergarten meeting to attend. I recovered.

"I'll take care of it the next time," I tell him, knowing full well I'll never see the man again. I've been frequenting this local for 13 yrs and have gone this long without seeing the gent. Even so, I'll keep my promise. The next time the tall, gangly dude in the polo asks me to pay for him, I'm on the hook (though it won't be nearly as enjoyable).

Push to Failure

Long ago and far away, in other words, 13 yrs and San Francisco, I was a fatty. Yep, that was me. A fatty, just like how Tom Hanks describes Meg Ryan's on line affair with an unknown paramour in You've Got Mail. I was a fatty, due to much eating out, staying in (the office), equally happy with the crab cakes at Fog City Diner as I was that Celine made size 12 clothes. This may not seem a fatty to you, but I was what one very honest gay friend described as "cute-plump in a hetero-kind of a way." In other words, a straight man may still look at me twice, but only to 'verify a thin, prettier girl was trying to get out.' Oh, the honest of a gay man. Like none other...well, save She.

After I decided the East Bay was better for my pocket book and waistline, I got connected with a 3-time, 2nd and 3rd Mr Universe runner-up. He was big, black, built and bald. I show up at the Oakland Gold's Gym at 5 am, meet him and he proceeds to grill me about my eating habits. It wasn't that I was eating too much, he emphasized. I was "eating too little and at the wrong time." I needed more protein, less carbs and most importantly, I needed to stop at 5 instead of starting at 8 pm. Oh, one other little thing.

"Cardio two times a day until your body fails you," without waiting to see if I understood him. "And that goes for weights, which you'll do three times a week."

At this, I protested. I was going to bulk up and turn my fat in to mass. He smiled, obviously hearing this before. "Big thighs," he said. "The worry of all women." At that, the fine looking man said no more and took me for a tour of the place. Walking among these humongous men of color, I was one of two white people in the entire joint. I felt odd, out of place and frankly, ghostly in my white fatness. Sensing my discomfort, my newly-annointed trainer turned to me and muttered something like "you get points for showing up at 5 am." I stood a little taller at that, I'll admit. My big, bloaty butt wanted to me in bed.

We made our way to a row of women on the treadmill and other cardio. He asked a random sampling if he'd told them what he told me (repeating) and then asked "what happened?"

"I leaned out," said one. "Lost three dress sizes," said another.

"See?" he asked me. "You have to eat more, all the time and push until failure."

Ahh. The point of the article. Whether it's JK Rowling giving her famous Harvard commencement speech, or Mr Universe Runner up, the point is to push the mind and body to the point of failure. Then, and only then will you know you've made progress.

Tonight, as I was lifting the 10lb dumbbells over my head for the 3rd set of 25, I thought back to my experience, now 14 yrs ago. My arms will thank me tomorrow, I thought, proceeding to push myself to the point of failure.

Halloween Happiness

You know it's fall when Costco is selling Christmas paper wrapping and ornaments. Am I the only person that thinks Christmas in September is evil? You have company. The golden sheen on the halo above is that it used to be July. At least the departing CEO Sinegal came to his senses and pushed it back two months. (see readers. I can be grateful for the little things).

However, that's not the point of this blog. It's spiders and witches and all things sugary. Time to consider breaking out the halloween items, but first, you MUST get on line and get that costume, for you or your little one. If you wait any longer, most of the stores will already be out of your size. I'm not kidding. I went to get an outfit for my 20 mo old and was dismayed to learn the majority of items were gone. out of there.

Remus in the cemetary. Can you spot him?

The Spooky-time checklist.

I'm melting.....!!!

She, the adorable woman she is, laughs at my "spookytime" comments. You see, Halloween is almost my favorite holiday. What can be bad about it? No arguments over eating with the Indians about invading their country or religious wars regarding when and where and why (or if) Christ was born. Halloween was really the first great marketer's invention (don't get me started on what I consider 'invented holiday's', becuase I'm too busy having fun). One can get dressed up for no reason, eat candy galor (again, sans a good reason) decorate the house like an 8 year old and be as just as nutty. I LOVE IT!

Let's get at it.

1. Costumes. Adults and kids. You know what I love? Unique costumes. Thx to the whole movie-world interaction, I've learned that the people 'in the know' don't buy, they rent. Who knew? Many theatres loan out the coolest costumes by period to vintage shops. Its about $80 or so, but well worth it. You definitily won't show up wearing the same maid outfit as 10 other women.
2. Kids costumes....I've purchased from a number of boutiques over the years (and yes, also from costco) but my this is one of my favorites. High quality and cute. The orange and black butterfly was so cute, I got it for my daughter---for Easter!
3. Pictures. I love Shutterfly for managing my photos. please, don't hack the site. I also have my birth pics up and they are gnarly.
4. Wall hangings. My clock is one of my favorite acquisitions. Last year I wrote abt my 2 yr's worth of begging a store owner to sell me the clock and finally, my pleas wore her down. She caved and I got my witch clock.
5. Signs for the path. For a children's bday party, I had a spookytime path. Along the way, I had path signs and different pick-em ups (e.g. candy in a coffin or eyeball rubber balls in a cauldron etc). Signs are great, though they are mostly cheap pain on foam boards. Don't leave them out in the rain. The melt faster than the wicked with of the East.
6. spooky-time plates. I'll admit I've gone nuts in this department over the years. I won't bore you. Suffice it to say that Target and boutiques each have cool stuff to offer. Even Sur La Table has gotten in to the act. Mix it up with nice and kitchy but never trashy.
7. Little houses. Now, I confess. I thought the little granny-time houses were silly until Rog told me he never wanted children with me (yes, it was rude, but he got points for being honest). In any case, it was @9 yrs ago, and since I figured kids weren't in the stars, I subconsiously started nesting, buying all sorts of kid-friendly things. It was my inner mother coming out. Then one day, Rog came home and did a 'what the..." in awe at all the spooky-time houses I had scattered about. Further, my cat took his place in the cemetary, probably because his brother cat died (note the RIP sign). Now, 2 kids later, the houses have evolved in to entire spooky-time communities. Go ahead. Say it. I've lost my way. Department 56 is the only way to go.

Swinging Skeleton for $60 is awesome

Now--as a sub-set up, I'll give you a tip. If you too, decide to get lost, take a tip from me. Place your communities in places where they show off. I place a series in each of my fireplaces. In one is the Shipwrecked Series, featuring huge lighthouses and other nautical, zombie themes. On the main floor, I feature the more family-friendly spooky time Carnival Series, although one could argue the Skeleton Carousel is a bit much. But hey, I just wrote a book with some zombies, so I can be hypocritical. In my bedroom, I go for the 19th Century Jack the Ripper series (ok, that's really not the name. It's all old-school London. My creative license got the better of me.

Most of the items have noises to be turned on or off, rotate (like the Swinging Skeleton), blink or glow or something. It's awesome. Do yourself a favor and buy a bunch of AAA batteries while your at it.

Remus (aka 'Fats') in the cemetary.
"Don't disturb my tombstone 'yo"

Oh, and I should mention, the economy has taken a toll on Department 56. Their on-line stock is soooo lame now, and the majority of retailers in our area, at least, no longer carry the line. One local Hallmark store told me it was because Dept 56 required at least $15K in sales per quarter (or was it year?!) In any case, it was a very large number. Idiotic marketing decision I say. Thus, not a single retailer now carries the line any longer. What a drag...but just as well. I needed to stop the madness. On the upside, lots and lots of folks are hocking these high-quality items on ebay and Craigs list. Just take and look and you too, can be making your own Spookytime.

Fall Home Prep

Spring and fall come with an overlapping of household duties.  I find that it's best to channel my inner dwarf and sing "Off to work I go." It makes the time go faster. Hire it out, do it yourself, but get it done.

1. Cut the limbs. Freezing temperatures bring breaking branches. I always forget to do this until its too late. Today, for the first time ever, I'm trimming back branches in our driveway and around the path to cut back the overhang.

My imaginary helpers

2. Clear the gutters. We must do continually do this in the NW, but it's a must before the serious rain hits.

3. Investigate and path shingles, rips or other tears. We have cedar shakes and last year, stripped and applied a new coat of color and seal. Even so, during the last year, a few came off and we need to get out and fix them over the weekened.

4. Power wash the driveway and paths. This is key for any homeowner of condo, townhome or home. Sidewalks invariably get grimy with moss or even oils. A sprayer can be rented for $75-100/day, or borrow your neighbors (we have 2. we get our money's worth boys a lot, and end up lending them our to our neighbors!). Doing so prevents cuts down the grime on the pathways/road, and reduces the buildup.

5. Mulch and cover the plants. Also very important for freezing temps. I tend to put a dirt and mulch combo that I customize for the flower, tree, herb beds etc.

6. Another round of Round-up. Before the rain really starts, I cut down the weeds (or pull) and apply a final spray of roundup, mostly to the outterlying areas of the property. Where my animals and people are, I go natural, pulling the weeds myself as far too paranoid to use chemicals of any sort. In the nether-regions, I'm less concerned however.

7. Clean the court or other play surfaces. Another must-do. The spring and fall means a few hours of takin the sprayer 2-3 inches from the surface and removing the dirt, pollen and other yuck.

8. Stock the wood and pellets. It's an El Nino winter. It will descend later and be harder than normal. Last year we blew through nearly 2.5 chords of wood and 2 pallots of pellets. This in addition to using regular propane heat. Lowes, Costco and Home Depot all carry natural pellets, while we get our dried wood from a local supplier. The only drag is stacking!

9. Empty out the pond plants. This year, the pond nearly dried out, even though Washington wasn't short of water. I took the opportunity to don on my waders and get stinky, clearing out the pond plants, including pussy willows that had grown about 9 feet high. (faugh! I was worried I'd never get the stink off my hands!!).

10. Cut the blackberry and other fast-growing plants. This is a hazardous chore, and one I will never do myself. Huge clippers, steel-tipped weedwackers or a backhow. All do the job.

In addition to this, I inventory the fall activity boxes (halloween, etc) since I'm feeling rather festive, but that's another blog. I'm going to make like a Dwarf now.

Book review: The enduring attraction of Zane Grey

About 2 weeks ago, I found myself in a dark room, sitting in a massively plush chair, a director to my left, a producer to my right, watching a big screen of a soon-to-be released movie as the two of them and a third digital technician color corrected the film. This time-consuming process is fasincating, clicking back and forth between stills to correct bad lighting. It's set in the 1920's and the props were old, authentic and specific to the time. In a corner of the screen, I noticed a familiar red and tan cover, and asked the director if it were a Zane Grey novel. She was impressed. She thought I was too young and frankly, her tone indicated her opinion of my level of literary sophistication. But yes, she acknowledged, it was a Zane Grey. Her attitude jolted me to the wonderful memories of the books. That night, I pulled one of my favorite's off the shelf and began reading.

Before the era of the undead, non-fornicating human-mystical creature trend took hold, author Zane Grey pioneered the art of the build up between regular men and women. Grey wrote an anthology of westerns and 110 of his books have been adapted to films. Grey's life was as interesting as his books, as he was a minor league baseball player, dentist and unrepentant ladies man before (and after) he decided to devote his attention to writing.

When his wife's inheritence provided a cushion for Grey to write full time, he did, turning out dozens of western's, starting a craze in the early 20th century. His most famous novel is Riders of the Purple Sage (1912), but I have my own favorites. I'll share 2, and the reasons why they are timeless classics.

As a youth, my summers were spent on a relatively remote California lake. In between fishing, waterskiing and generally making noise w/my siblings, I'd sunbath, reading one of the forty Zane Grey books on my mother's bookshelf. The books were were already faded and worn from her many read-throughs, and my Grandmother's before her. The unique, red linen covers with their tan spines frayed, in some instances, the spine had separated.

I was not immediately captivated by the slow start--few have plotlines that jump from the first page--more like page 50, but the writing hooked me enough to keep me going. In West of the Pecos, one of my favorites, a young girl from the South goes West with her father after he loses his fortune (and his wife) in the war. Needing the help of a boy on his journey, and fearful for his daughter's safety in the wild west, the father dresses the girl like a boy. This charade works for for a few years after her father's death, about until the time she hits late teens, hires (and reforms) a handsome cowboy and gets herself kidnapped. (Robert Mitchum starred in the movie).

When I was thirteen, the story was all the adventure, excitement, pent-up romantic tension and fulfilling ending I could have wanted. When I finally succumbed to peer pressure and read a few of the recently popular series (Twilight, Hunger Games etc) along with my standard James Patterson and Ludlum reprises, I realized an odd thing: the Zane Grey was equally exciting, free of bad language (I may use bad language but honestly, I don't want to read it. Swearing in general, brings me down, and on the page it somehow shouts at me which I find distracting) and as cool in its own way as anything modern.

Another simliarity is the absence of sex. The romantic build up is as much a part of the story as some of the aforementioned popular books, and let's face it. Romantic plotlines are always more rewarding when the lead-up is long, interesting and fraught with the push and pull of 'will they or won't they get together.' Zane acquired the technique of flowing dialogue and rich, well-written antagonists (bad guys and gals). Apparentlly much of the credit goes to his long-suffering wife Dolly, who traded a monogamous relationship for a huge mansion and lots of cash. But whatever. We all make choices in this life, and hers had a hugely positive effect on Grey's writing.

Light of the Western Stars.

"She was tired of fashionable society. She was tired of polished, imperturbable men who sought only to please her. She was tired of being feted, admired, loved, followed, and importuned; tired of people; tired of houses, noise, ostentation, luxury. She was so tired of herself!

A rich girl goes west, gets a clue, falls in love, never goes back to the East. It's awesome. The book is so old it's also in the public domain, so it can be had for cheap on the Kindle. I could only spirit a couple of the books from the cabin, leaving the other 38 on the shelf for the next generation to read. In fact, my mother may flip when she realizes I have 2, but I couldn't help it. Grey is a classic. If you have Austen, Tolkien or even dare I add contemporary authors to that list, you must have a few Zane Grey's.

Combatting Stinky hair, dry scalp & no wash-shampoos

It's Wednesday--a day for beauty and working out, but I've got stinky hair on my mind. Isn't it awful when you are standing in a line and are assaulted by a foul smell, one reminiscent of stale cigarettes or that musty, funky odor that occurs when one hasn't bathed? Women are particularly guilty of not washing the hair for days, overlaying one stink with another, believing that a nice hairspray or perfume will mask the fact that the hair is simply dirty.

Let's be clear. Oils on the hair attract odor like flies on paper, and is just about as attractive. Nothing cuts through a possible amorous interlude than stinky hair, even with one's spouse. Eeeewwwww. The good news is hair I know what the campers and hikers are thinking--'you can't help it in the wild.' Not true. Even in the wild, stinky hair can be helped.

Stinky hair culprits: smoking, overuse of hair oils (for shine and smoothing), men's hair gels, hairspray, camping, living by a compost, exhaust fumes....

Common excuses for washing hair daily (or more than several times a week)...

1. styling (women pay good money to have a blow-out once a week, why throw the money away)...
2. camping (no water)
3. dry scalp. A subject in and of itself. 
4. drying the ends of the hair

I spoke with my fabulous hair and make-up guru who has worked on thousands of heads of hair. I also consulted another professional stylist and this is what they had to say:

Styling. If you are going to sacrifice looks for smell, you aren't left with a lot of choices. Anti-hair smell products like the Neutrogena Anti-resiDue Shampoo only works when you use it. The stylists I spoke with like this to give the hair a "good cleaning" once or twice a month. A fair amount of enlightened men get pedicures once a month to deep clean their scruff paws. They need to do the same with their hair.

Camping. This area of hair advancement has undergone revolutionary changes in the last few years. All sorts of waterless hair shampoo, from TRESemme Waterless Foam ($7 bucks), No Rinse Shampoo ($9 bucks) and my fav for the folicly challenged, the Sexy Hair Big Sexy Hair Volumizing Dry Shampoo ($10).

Dry scalp. the Jason Natural Cosmetics Dandruff Relief shampoo w/rosemary, Neem and Tea Tree oil works great. I won't reveal who used this and had great success, so you'll have to trust me. However, the downside is it has a rather pungent smell itself, like mentholatum, tho the rosemary is intended to mask this. A different solution? Years ago, when I was in my teens, a hairdresser noticed I had lots of dandruff and he said this:

"You need to dry the scalp better when you are blowing out your hair. It's the moisture that's left on the scalp that causes the oils to create and increase the dandruff." Because my hair is extraordinarily thick, my problem was multiplied. He also recommended I use less shampoo on my scalp and more on the ends. Sure enough, when I started drying my hair at the scalp, the dandruff was dramatically reduced. I went further and cut back on the volume of shampoo I used as well, and this pretty much cleared up the problem.

Dry Ends. This common excuse is done away with by eating more Omega 3 oils or eating fish. The hair and skin show what you put in your body, not just what you put on your hair. 

And one final tip. If you are stuck on the plane, in the middle seat, and have a neighbor with stinky hair, you could always open your computer and do a search on the subject. Or would that be rude?

Major milestone Tuesday

Vin Diesel, he of the bald-head and triple-X fame (the movie, not the lifestyle), famously said he was the 20 yr overnight success. Sadly, after his major breakthrough in this film, his agent tried to squeeze a $20M fee from the studio and he went back to doing comedies with children. All that aside, he and I have more in common than being the proud owners of big mastiff's. Today I learned I may finally have my breakout role equivalent, and it all started with great news from my New York based agent.

For the wanna-be writers out there (e.g. unpublished, non-represented), it's been 7 yrs of fiction writing (and another 3 in the trade/non-fiction world), 3 agents on 2 coasts, and many rejections. Over the years, one gets inured to the dismissal, the silence of the phone, it's inability to ring a sign of disinterest from the powers that stand between me and my readers. Today, the sun broke through the clouds.

"It a great story," my agent said today, referring to Chambers. This was an upgrade from last Friday, wherein she told my editor "it didn't suck." I guess the 2nd 100 pages really changed her mind. "I really like the strong characters...it's about time we had another strong female," she continued, telling me that martial arts in a young adult series is totally new. She had a million questions about the movie end of the business, what it's like collaborating with a producer, and then we discussed the timeline for publication.

"It's normally two years if we get a deal in October (which is pushing it)" but she thinks she can get a book out in October of 2012 "with the right motivation." Motivation equalling the movie goes in to production, the on-line game is ready to come out etc. Interesting news on that front, I've been approached now for on-line gaming applications based on the book itself. That's great. What kills me though is waiting another year for a hard copy. You'd not believe how many people say they'd get the book but don't want to read it on-line.

I don't blame them really. I'm a physical book lover, usually reading my ebook on while exercising, though I admit to having it in my purse for quick escapes from the monotony of life.

My agent was surprised I had the 5 book overview written (the studio required it over a year ago) and that I am half-way through the 2nd book (which btw, is due to the producer tomorrow!).

One other bit of news on the book front. The proposal for the Sue Kim book (The Greatest American Story Never Told) was accepted by yet another agent (at the same agency). This may not seem like much but here's the deal.

The book took me 1.5 years to research (it was supposed to take 6 months). It was another 1.5 years to write. The agent took a read through the manuscript and wasn't that interested. Why? My proposal sucked (that's a technical term for us authors). Not to be stopped by such a small thing as this, I promptly threw away my 25 page piece of crap, and collaborated with a professional who does nothing but write professional book proposals (don't ask about the $ please. it's depressing). That started in April. Five months later, the proposal was accepted (yesterday).

"I think I can sell this," said the agent for the bio. "This is a really great story." Yup. Sadly, my marketing writing failed to convey how truly cool the Kim story is. Today, the proposal went out to publishers.

All this may be completely boring to you, and for that, I'm sorry. I just didn't get enough satisfaction from skipping through the house, and my 6 yr old failed to catch the excitement. I celebrated this little milestone by washing my hair. It was a big day at the Gerdes household.

Finding peace at home

Every once in a while, going to church makes me more depressed than happy. It happens when I'm called on the mat for the most basic of things, like attaining Peace at Home.

"Where does one find refuge and peace from the world?" the speaker began. "Not at the office nor at the school, rarely at the mall and not always at the church." He suggested that the ultimate place of comfort, the sanctuary from the turmoil and strife that is the world, should be found at home. "This is not easy," he said, but it is possible.

Then he listed what a home should not be. It should not be...filled with loud voices or contention. It should not be a place where the anxiety exceeds what is on the other side of the front door.

"It is hard to think that many of us talk and act in ways that we would never display to a person we know, a stranger, even to a person we greatly dislike." He mentioned swearing, yelling, throwing things, and even physical abuse. While it is a small percentage of people who engage in the latter, many (including your dear writer) are guilty of at least a few of the former.

As I sat in among the anonymous many of the congregation, I was immediately defensive, hitting the denial path full stride. "Of course I have contention when I disagree about something, and, as an Alpha Female Leo-type with a full head of blond Swedish hair, I feel it is my God given right to stand up for myself. (If that's not justification, I don't know what is). Moments after, I realized my excuses were lame, I am responsible for my own actions, and as the mother of my household, I know better. I should do better. Thus, I put down my Kindle and starting taking notes.

1. Take it outside. The speaker didn't say these words exactly, but it's my interpretation of what could happen when neither me or my spouse have the self control or desire to retreat to our mental (and physical) corners. We teach our four-years olds about times-outs, but what about adults? We stomp. We rant. We should have a time out. Today I told Rog he and I should have a 'take it outside' rule, and this might work. It's either hot or really wet and horrid outside. No one of any age, wants to take an argument outside. It's uncomfortable. Perhaps this will jolt one of us in to sense and rationality so we don't have to resort to a time out.

2. Don't go to bed angry. The speaker did in fact, say this, along with a note that a common piece of advice to newlyweds is to not go to bed angry. This means to resolve all disputs/issues/etc before hitting the pillow. Nice thought. I can't count as high as the number of times I (or Rog) have gone to bed seething. In fact, it's sometimes been the best resource, since the morrow brings a new dawn, a new spirit and a slight sense of amnesia about the badness that was the day before.

3. Last but not least, pray always. What he was really suggesting was to "pray always," before going to bed. Ahh. now this makes since. It's impossible to pray with someone you are really pissed at. I've tried. Further, Rog in general hates to pray. He believes that if a God does exist, He doesn't want to have his time wasted with the trivial matters of a 41 yr old male (himself). The threat of a prayer is a forcing function to working it out.

Epilogue: last night, after writing this, got in a tiff with my man. went to bed (angry). He was the bigger person, came upstairs, sat bedside and we talked it out. Then I prayed. And I didn't even need to go outside.

Getting a sleek, healthy dog coat

In case you haven't noticed, I've been on a one-pill for everything kick lately. It's not planned. The fact is that the pills I'm recommending are all-natural, relatively inexpensive (how costly are herbs anyway?) and readily available.

Take the Omega-3 gel caps I give my dog Penelope. As you all know, P-dog is a pink-nosed pitbull, a rescued pure-bred that a divorcing couple w/3 kids couldn't agree on custody, so they opted instead for giving the 1 yr old to the pound. When we got her, along w/her papers, she was in great shape, but her coat needed some work. I'm a believer in what's good for my inerds has got to be good for hers (she also likes raw carrots), so I started giving her 2 gel caps a day. One in the morning (on top of her food) and one at night.

The difference was night and day. Long before my parents became pitbull lovers (or at least, of my pit anyway), both remarked on her coat. It's thick and so glossy it practically reflects.

This was the best side shot I could find--notice the "sheen" from tip to tail? Love that!!

The gelcaps can be found in nearly any market, and yes, I keep them in the fridge, but when we travel, I don't. I've since learned that dog-ready gel caps can be found at any Petco for $16.00 US, but I don't bother. This way, if I screw up and take one myself, I won't get sick and my fur will be just as glossy.

Quick furniture upgrade

As the clouds swoop down on our little slice of heaven in the Northwest, I'm reminded the sun is just now starting to shine brighter and warmer in other parts of the world. Regardless of your location, take four hours out of your life and give your deck patio a facelift. It's cheap. It's easy, and as my readers know, my litmus test of 'easy' is defined by having my nearly 6 yr old daughter help me. (Actually, the entire clan got involved, including my 18 mo old). If we can do something and not screw it up, then it's passed the test and can be shared. Besides, I haven' had a manly topic in a while, and this qualifies.

Background:
Wood patio furntiture only. (I gave up on metal years ago). The wood is heavy, wears well, but needs to be periodically stained. We inadvertently went for the 'weathered' look when we failed to cover up the furniture. This led to a Cape Code white-ish look, but also encouraged the growth of moss on the wood, as well as split the wood in several places.

Step 1. Sand
I rummaged through the garage and found 2 different pads that worked equally well. The wood was mostly soft. It did take a knife to scrape off the more difficult pieces of growth (until I found a metal spatula-type thing in the garage that worked better).

Step 2. Get the stain.
The garage offered a bounty of options, from  Cherry stain to a standard varnish. I didn't like either however, and made a run down to Home Depot for a chestnut colored stain to match our deck. For $3.00 I picked up the brushes.

Step 3. Put down covering
Not my strong point. I tend to be messy and haphazard in my rush to do whatever it is I'm doing. I get in trouble for it later. This time, I was in luck. I got extra cardboard from--whereelse--the gararge--put it underneath the chairs.

Step 4. Get going
After sanding, Porsche and I donned on our aprons and got busy. The chairs were so beat up, we applied 4 layers. The first 2, then let the chair dry then another 2 coats. The finished product was great. In the hot sun (about 80), the chairs were completely dry that evening, but to be on the safe side, we waited until the following day.

Before and after on the stain

Rog's acute eye did note that we our job was imperfect, as evidenced by the grey-ish color in between the slats on the chairs and in places on the table. "Nothing that a sprayer wouldn't cure." The obvious point being: no sprayer, a lack of desire to purchase a $400 sprayer, the necessity to have said man use sprayer, and the patience God decided to withhold from me for the entire effort.

"This is good enough," I said, requesting his congratulatory adulation at our fine job. It's a great fall or anytime in the summer activity that's fun and cheap (less than $20 all in...and you know how I like to save money). Your guests will rave while you feel like you are enjoying a completely new set of deck furniture.

Going in to business w/your best friend

"I told her she was nuts," said Nancy, the store manager at an upscale home store in Maple Valley (is that an oxymoron, upscale+Maple Valley?), when referring to her best friend and boss. As I can never remember 'the bosses' name (she's always managing some blond-haired, high-maintanance wife of a Seattle professional athlete--and I'm not kidding you), I'll call her Sue. "We were best friends in high school, tried a few years of college, then around the time we had kids, Sue wanted to start up a store."

It took a little prodding to convince Nancy that workin for her best friend wouldn't kill their vacations, lunch dates, or combined family outtings. In fact, Sue and Nancy have been working together 18 years, with every expectation the profitable love-fest will continue for years to come.

"We did set some groundrules," Sue admitted one time during Christmas last year. The staff had been working overtime on the twenty plus trees scattered around the three-story custom building.

1. "No talking work when our families were present," said Sue.

"That lasted the first decade," interjected Nancy. As the kids aged, the requirement to 'not bore' the kids had laxed. The husbands had grown to be a part of the business, at least in terms of advice and sharing in the misery. Although Nancy's income was 'strictly secondary,' it was nonetheless importnat, and gave Nancy and her husband the ability to take extra vacations and shopping excursions.

2. "Recognize when business partners should become employer-employee." This had two parts. The friends originally went in as partners, but after a few years, Nancy found that her love and devotion to the business simply didn't equal Sue's. Further, when times were lean, it was Sue that came to the forefront to assist with floating the checks. In the end, what pushed Nancy from partner to employee was her desire to 'get away from management issues' that Sue enjoyed, and was quite good at.

"I wanted to show up, shop, consult with the customers and get new business," Nancy said, beaming when Sue said Nancy is a natural salesperson. "I didn't enjoy getting mired in the accounting and personnel issues that are a part of running a small business.

Although this changed the profit sharing and net income Nancy derived, she was happier. "I was spending my time on what I loved." When she did that, the commissions she received from product sales

A few signs a discussion needs to take place:

• Unequal distribution of tasks
• Initial task distribution is not enjoyed by one or both partners
• Money received is not worth the mental/time drain (as Nancy discovered)

3. Be willing to move (even locally) if necessary. When the Sue and Nancy started out, the venture was small time, in a strip mall, equidistant from both women. As the business evolved and Sue took over the dominant role in the business, she decided to move the business not once, but twice. After the second move, she even built a home nearby, determining it was going to be the last time. Nancy was the one who had to drive further and further. In this instance, communication was key.

"It turned out to be a non-issue," said Nancy, who related how they opened the books, looked at the demographics, considered the building options and what made the most sense for the long-term. "Even though I hated to drive more, the cost for gas was a fraction of the amount of money I made."

4. Enjoy what you do. Oh, isn't this most overused phrase ever??? I asked them about this, and could say nothing when the ladies just laughed. Yes, they get a good income (I'm guessing on bad years, $75K and on a good year, over $250K based on my knowledge of how much product they move, price points, margins, tax write-offs etc). For the hours they work, they could both be in sales and do better. But it's not about that for either one.

"I truly--truly love decorating people's homes and making them happy," said Nancy. Sue is the same way.

"Plus, I'm a GIRL! Who wouldn't want to be around all this fun stuff all the time."

One evening last year, I met Sue's husband, a tall man with a bum knee (basketball joint gone bad) and he had another comment for me. "The best part is that the women spend all their time working together, talk non-stop, and then they still have more to say when they are done. It's just like they are 14!!" Sue and her husband have 3 teenage girls themselves, so talking is the norm at that house.

When I related this story to Sue and Nancy, they giggled like...14 year olds. "Men are the same way," Sue said, defending herself. "We just get to make a living at it."

Kill your sugar craving in one pill

Keeping promises is an important trait, ever more so when publishing it to anonymous folks around the world that will hammer me if I don't deliver. My people, I'm delivering, Right. Now. I've finally found and taken a pill that has absolutely killed my desire for sugar. In truth, it's wiped out my desire for anything with refined sugar and flower. The bonus? I've lost weight. Sadly, I don't know how much since I didn't bother weigh myself before (I don't frequently get on the scale. I prefer to go off how my pants fit). According to my pant fittings--I'm don't a size and a half.

The magic pill? Alkadophilus. Not so magic. As always, this bit of goodness came from my Swami, the big-haired Persian now stuck in Arizona that he is. When I told him I was having sugar all the time (then revealed to him how long I'd been having sugar on a daily basis) he freaked (as much as a Swami will freak). I'm mortified about few things in life, but this is one. Suffice it to say that you too, would cluck your tongue at me if you knew the truth.

"Take this pill one to three times a day, and in 7-10 days you will stop craving sugar," he told me. Yeah, right. And I can learn to be a rocket scientist from an on-line college. Despite my standard skepticism, I ordered it and three days later, the package arrived in the mail. I took 1-3, depending on my schedule and memory. It was sporadic. Around day 6 I noticed a complete drop off on cravings, day eight/nine, I had no desire to each sugar at all, and sure enough, by day ten, I wasn't even interested in bread, which for me, is saying something.

The strangest part of the experience is that it's been natural, easy and thoughtless. It just...happened. Now, my only sense of shame is that I didn't mention this to him months (years?!) ago.

Until writing this blog, I never noticed the small print beneath the title of the brand I actually use, Best Process, "The No-refrigeration Acidophilus." Then it occured to me that this is a sister product of AlkaDog, the product Swami recommended to prevent new cancer growth in my pitbull (and it's been working) fyi.

Try it. It may be the cheapest form of better health and weight loss around.

Advice retraction

I like to think this blog is useful for two reasons, the primary being that my humble suggestion are based on experience, from lip gloss to relationship communication tips to weedwackers, and not necessarily in that order. However, the second reason this blog is useful is when good advice turns bad, I get to issue a retraction, like the Wall Street Journal getting some poor saps last name wrong.

Shellacing. No mas (that would be Spanish for no more). When my banker suggested this new form of gel on names, I was skeptical but excited. For $30 US and a promise of natural looking, nail hardener that would last for a month, I went for it. After a week, I recommended it to 2 more friends, who were as equally enthusiastic. After that, I blogged about it and the post has received a lot of hits. Then about 2 months later, the wheels fell off the dragster (American slang for the crap hit the fan, the bottom dropped from the floor). What really happened was the nails started breaking then peeling.

We were mystified. The 30 day promise not panning out was understandable, since our nails grow longer faster-- about 2-3 weeks in. The biggest irritation was the snapping, then the unavoible and unbelievably irritating. Acrylics don't peel. Crack, yes. Peel no. We suspected the gel was being put on thin vs thick, thus increasing the margins for the service provider, but set aside conspiracy theories. Bottom line, we all gave it another month, then bailed. I'm sorry to say I now vascillate between manicured-but-short nails that enable me to type, and the odd acrylic now and then when I have to look presentable.

So sad!!!! On the upside, I'm now going to write a blog on a natural pill that has literally killed my craving for sugar. It's almost nearly as tragic.

update- 8/311

When writing this post, I experienced a nagging voice in my head that told me I'd been very wrong about another tidbit of advice, and today, I remembered what it was/is: Mineral Water.

Here's the skinny. Or not. Mineral water is good for a short term feeling of fulness. Thus, skipping the unhealthy snap that might have been was a positive move. Unfortunately, the side effect predicted by She came to pass: water retention.

"Pashaah!" is what I said at the time. That's eighth-grade slang for 'whatever.' (Personally, i like the 2-decades old version much better. It's somehow a bit more exotic). She stayed uncommonly silent, like the parent of the daughter who goes out with mix-matched clothes, but had to learn the lesson of fashion from her peers, not the parent.

Two weeks ago, I embarked on a test of mineral water vs nothing. Being the scientist I never was, I ate the same foods for four days. Two days with mineral water and two days without (generally lean meats, fruits and vegies, but no breads, or starches). In any case, Where I would have mineral water, I had the normal water (or herbal tea). The difference? 4.5 pounds. That's the difference between loose jeans and snug/tight jeans.

The biggest difference I noticed was during travel. Sitting for more than two hours, either on a plane or a car, the water retention was uncool. I channeled Hilary Clinton and got fat ankles (thanks to the former boss who pointed this previously-unknown phenom to me). Not sexy.

To add insult to injury, I'd been experiencing this odd, sporadic sensitivity on my teeth. I had no idea what this was all about--like the after effects of teeth whitening. When I stopped with the mineral water, the sensitivity disappeared.

I guess this qualifies as a partial retraction. I now drink mineral water in a pinch, when I'm desperate and hungry. But other than that, I've dramatically cut bck on the mineral water. The bright side is I'm saving quite a bit of coin.