Flat cookie culprit

Embarrassment and shame comes in simple forms. Flat cookies being one of them.

When we went to the end of the year teacher celebration at a local family farm, I covered my plate of chocolate chip cookies with a towel, slipped them on table of desserts and skeddadled before I could be associated with the offending items that resembled wilted, flat potato chips with little black mounds. At the end of the event, after goat petting, kitten chasing, pig-humping extravaganza (yes, it's true. It was a sign), I returned to the table, and, when I thought no one was looking, lifted my plate.

I would have given you a pic
of the flat cookies, but all I
found was a pic of the feeing

"Were those yours?" comes a question from behind me. Ugh. The voice of a friend who happens to be a bonified chef. She is with her husband.

"I'm so sorry they turned out terrible,"  said, cutting off the eventual badness that was going to be next.

"They were great!" her husband said. "What'd you do?"

"I made them flat," was my response.

"That was how I knew they were homemade," said the chef.

It was true. The two plates I brought had a smattering of crumbs. The other store-purchased cupcakes, brownies and other items in boxes.

I bemowned the flatness.

"It's the soda," said the chef. "It's probably old."

Did you know that? Went home, bought some new soda, and walla! no more flat cookies.

**Update- the following morning, 3:42 AM.
I get this text.

'Sarah. it could be butter. Cut the butter by half and replace with lard or shortening. makes all the difference'

So texts mom.

I was up, sleeping restlessly. I text back:

'mom. thx. we are bats. go to bed.'

Gonna Be a Bear

At my parents house, rummaging through the cookbooks, looking for the best Creme Caramel (flan) recipe and what do I find? A little ditty about women and bears. It was stuck underneath mom's handouts from church. One seriously has to appreciate a religious organization that provides its mama's with this kind of love.

From her house to yours. Print and share at will (a' course men will enjoy this as well).

***

Gonna be a bear

In this life I’m  a woman. In my next life, I’d like to come back as a bear. When you’re a bear, you get to hibernate. You do nothing but sleep for six months. I could deal with that.

Before you hibernate, you’re supposed to eat yourself stupid. I could deal with that too.

Me in the morning

When you’re a girl bear, you birth your children (who are the size of walnuts) while you’re sleeping and wake partially grown. Cute, cuddly cubs. I could definitely deal with that.

If you’re a mama bear, everyone knows you mean business. You swat anyone who bothers your cubs. If your cubs get out of line, you swat them too. I could deal with that.

If you’re a bera, your mate EXPECTS you to wake up growling. He EXPECTS that you will have hairy legs and excess body fat.

Yup. Gonna be a bear!

Getting that Maxim Body

On Father's Day, we attending a bbq with some relatively new friends when the conversation turned to exercising. Roger did as a good husband does, he boasted about me.

"She's been getting up at 5:20 to attend the 6 am hot power yoga classes." I demurred, identifying it was practically killing me, all the while secretly pleased he was talking me up. It's been years after all, and I am, in fact, happy to be back on the exercise train.

My glory was short-lived. Not to be outdone, the man says his wife gets up at 4:20 to hit the gym at 5, working out 3 hours, 6 days a week. 

Rog and I had a mutual look of shock and awe. That was crazy talk.

"What do you do for three hours?"

Before the woman could answer, the man jumps in. 

Get those MAXIM legs

"She does the MAXIM workout?" I've never heard of such a thing, and I consider myself relatively well-informed. I looked at her for more clarification. After all, she's my age (on the cusp of 44), we both have at least one child in college and another in elementary school. Sure, she's two sizes smaller than me, but I'd rather have my bubble butt than no butt. Still, like the monk on a hill in Tibet, I seek the knowledge.

"He's not kidding. It really is the MAXIM workout." She then proceeds to tell me that her good friend is a MAXIM model, and every week, the editorial team sends her an email that tells her exactly what she must do for 3 hours a day, 7 days a week. Sure, she gets paid for it (after seeing a photo, I wanted to ask if they'd popped for the D size boob jobs, but I refrained). Still, that's a LOT of work.

"It's all squats, lunges, jump up lunges," she continues. "Hardly any upper body." Apparently, the readers of MAXIM like lean, tone but not overdone arm muscles and lots of thigh and calves. (Sorry, I've actually never cracked open the mag, so I can't attest to the truthfulness of this statement.

"I'll give it to you if you want," she offers. I wonder if this is black-market territory, but figure it's not as bad as the Olympic judges selling off tickets, so I accept. Within an hour of leaving the event, I get the page. 

Now readers, by looking at this picture, your an accessory to inside knowledge that a rarified group of big-boossomed, tanned and trim models use to make loads of money. Enjoy.

PS. No. I have not yet done this workout. I'm afraid I won't be able to walk the next day. Maybe that's the point.

Shamans, Screenplays & Throwing Fear off the Balcony

No one in their right mind would necessarily put screenplays and shamans in the same sentence. But, to what do I live for, other than to surprise and delight (and sometimes mystify, but that's another story).

Last Thur, if you recall, I submitted my first crack at a screenplay for Chambers. Upon receipt, the producer could only muster "wow. OK. I'll see what evil you have wrought." He was being kind, for, in my idiocy, I submitted Act 3 only, due to the fact that I'd printed that section, and so when I went to PDF the thing, it captured only my latest file. Cue the air in the balloon whizzing out, a long, drawn out sigh of deflation, ending with me on the ground, holding said wilted balloon. Cut to Monday, wherein I've passed way too much nervous gas, wondering about his thoughts on my baby, when I'm informed
"well, an Act 1 and 2 would be helpful."

Russian Shaman

So it was that I re-saved and sent the entire thing. Note to self (and all other wanna be screenwriters, double check your file). And on a side note, yes, I've gone through self-flagellation as I embarrassed the home team.

But, as I am wont to do, I pick myself up, dust off the speckles of shame and sally forth, this time, right in to the proverbial Shaman's den. Book 2 in the series, you see, has the Native American world as the backdrop. As such, I've got all kinds of cool Earth, nature and life spirits that are with us, guiding us (aiding or abetting) as I see fit. Since I'm neither NA or Shaman, I have been writing what I imagine to be the nature of things (pun intended) but have no factual data. (You would not believe the dearth of resources on the NA view of things. History yes. Oral traditions and deeply-held spiritual beliefs, no. Don't get me wrong. My action adventure book is still just that. It's the overlay on top of a cool world where things do go bump in the night.

"I just had a vision of you from my Shaman," said the woman I was with. Her spirit has a name, but I won't reveal it here. It's special, and I respect that. But trust me, I love it. I've got to come up with something as cool. Now, I know you want to know the vision she had, but I'm not comfortable sharing it, since it has to do with me (sorry, you People-reading-Enquiring-minds-want-to-know). BUT, the good news, is that there were several communicating with her at the same time, and they had other almost-as-cool things to say.

My Shaman was blond,
and wore cute leggings

I'm now back at the library, classical music playing on my iphone so I can take the themes and parlay then in to something that's readable.

I won't leave you empty-handed however (I'd hate that myself). The Spirits had two worlds of wisdom.

1. Stay in your feet.
Translation. Be present. The Shaman liked that I was present, open, vulnerable. I was willing to be completely honest, holding nothing back. She could tell, and evidently, so could the Spirit.

2. Let go of your fear.
The Shaman told me the story of having a fear. Hold out your hands, place the fear inside, walk to the door (or balcony, or window) and let it go. Once you let go of your fear, you are free to explore, embrace and move forward (I actually didn't know I had any fear that I needed to throw off the balcony, but I'll save my further enlightenment for another blog).

I was then introduced to another Shaman, which I am incredibly excited to meet in person. I spoke with her on the phone, ever so briefly, and when I got off, Shaman 1 said, "you don't need to say anything. She probably already knows all about you." Huh. If only marriage were so easy.

Fun Staircase Idea

This came across the wires as a suggestion for  a tree house we are contemplating. Since my dear friend one development over, knows we have a fondness for all things wood"ie" and slightly eccentric, she offered up the following idea.

I loved it, and cursed her name at the same time. If I spend the money to build this thing, you my write on my headstone "she lost her way."

Chasing the dream

As a I careen, sometimes rather uncoordinated-like, along a dirt path known as my personal dream, I wonder if I'm chasing it, like a setting sun on the horizon I can't quite catch, or if the dream is chasing me, and I haven't stopped to turn around and grab it.

This comes of course, after nearly ten days of silence in this blog, because I am bent on yet one more aspect of 'the dream.' In this case, it's been writing a screenplay. The producer doesn't know I'm doing it though, so don't tell. I'm going to submit it on Friday.

I figured this: I wrote the book. I've only been visualizing the scenes for several years, and I'm not a complete idiot. So a month ago, I bought a book on screenplay writing (How to write a screenplay in 21 days), read it, but before I pulled out my pen, I also reviewed a few screenplays from the studio itself (Law Abiding Citizen and some ones that haven't yet been produced).

On vacation (what better time than to have creative juices flowing), I started writing. You want to know the worst part? Those minutes and hours before I started. Once I got going, it was a snap. How crazy is that?

Regular Sassality readers know my simple mantra-- just start and make a little progress every day. Eventually, you will get 'it' (whatever it is), done. You also get "there,' wherever there is. Bit by bit, you are getting one step closer to making the dream a reality.

Besides, when the screenplay gets accepted, or rejected, I want to be able to follow-up and talk about it.  I see no downside, btw. Worst case is I can at least say 'I've done it,' and join the legions of rejected first-time screenwriters, which is a stripe worth earning. In the meantime, I've been touring potential filming sites on behalf of the studio, which is extremely cool, but not for this blog.

Stop reading this (for I must stop writing). Go chase that dream.