Monthly Archives: March 2013

Quick, Call the Doctor!


In the past couple of weeks, I have had a kidney infection so severe, it sent me to the emergency room, a random virus that has caused vomiting and aches and just today, a rash and fever that Dr. Internet tells me is probably shingles.

Oh. My. Hades. Make. It. Stop.

I’m not in a good place right now. Feeling like a wrung out snot rag will do that to you. I missed a celebration with a friend who has finished her book, lunch with a different friend, cookie sales, a dinner/movie date with my husband, a chocolate festival, a wine tasting, a Girl Scout meeting and now may have to miss my favorite GS event ever, Thinking Day. I’m bummed, chickens.

BUT! Look what came in the mail today!


If you’re a Whovian, you’re squealing right now.

Instant feel better.

I did not order this. This is the very best kind of gift. The out of the blue, what the heck, I would have never bought this for myself, but would have pinned it on multiple Pinterest boards and coveted it with all my geeky heart.

A while back, in January (I think), I responded to someone who posted about brightening days in 2013. The deal was this: 5 people responded to your post and you agreed to do something for them during the year. It could be anything, card, gift, note, treat, whatever. I’ve sent out one, but my Lenten sacrifice has halted my cheer spreading. Which is fine. I’ve got time. But this was a result of that. I responded to Dana’s post and she sent me this wonderful little treat that I absolutely adore with all my two Gallifreyan hearts.

And if you’re wondering who the handsome chap on the cameo is, it’s David Tennant as the 10th Doctor.

I don’t even care that I probably have shingles.

Okay. I totally care. But I’ll be wearing my new cameo to today’s appointment, while wishing my Doctor looked like David Tennant and drove a TARDIS.

UPDATED: I do not have shingles. I do have an asshole of an ER doctor, who thinks I’m a hypochondriac. Apparently my problem stems from too many pharmaceutical ads. I’m allergic to something in my laundry soap, the fever is from the virus and I’m still contagious so for heaven’s sake, “don’t go spreading it around.” Ugh.

Is there a pill for being a jerk?


The Greatest Gift I Ever Received


My mother gave me a magnificent gift. It wasn’t a tangible present. It was a hereditary gift.

No, not my rack, though that has been an awesome gift and I thank her for it frequently.

My mother passed down a love of reading to me. It wasn’t taught. I know this because she tried to cultivate it in my brother for years and years, to no avail. He simply could not be bothered.

I could though. I sat for hours, solving mysteries with Trixie Belden and Nancy Drew. I explored with Mary Lennox, Harriet Welsch, and Laura Ingalls. I played with Alcott’s Eight Cousins and cried with her Little Women. I preened in front of my mirror with Elizabeth and Jessica Wakefield.

I read.

People assume because I enjoy reading, I must be extraordinarily intelligent. I’m not. My brother is whip smart, savvy and informed, even without devoting too many hours to the page. I┬ásimply have a wonderful imagination and whether that is a product of frolicking in Narnia or the cause of it, I cannot tell. I simply know books have always captivated me. I read everything, from Kundera to McNaught, and enjoy it equally.

Maybe it’s the escapism of it. I can’t say for sure, but I do know that in passing on this love, my mother gave me an secondary gift as well. I am seldom bored. If I have a book, magazine or newspaper, I am engaged. And when I don’t have anything to read? Here’s where it becomes interesting…

I write. I create worlds. Someday, perhaps a reader will enjoy living in those places for a time. I can dream.

Thank you, Mom. Thanks for the gift of reading, the delightful worlds it has introduced. Westeros, Pern, England and China all wait for me between those covers. A magical Underworld in Chicago, policed by werewolves and good wizards who sometimes do bad things for the right reasons. A steamy street in Budapest, where a magician learns his trade. New York, in 2055, where a dedicated policewoman solves bizarre murders with her billionaire husband.

I am a citizen of them all. A native of the library. A bookstore tourist.

What are you reading?