Thursday, July 23, 2015

Baby Animals and Humans

Giraffes are six feet tall at birth. They have to be able to nurse from those mile high udders of their mothers, and be able to run from lions. Baby birds get pitched out the nest on their first flying lesson. It's all about fly or die--first time here, people. Whales are born while swimming with the pack. No waiting until they can fit into floaties and slowly make their way into the sea.

Those animals totally one up our kids.

Our kids are still dependent on us for years. My High School History teacher used to say that we were no longer dependent on our parents until we did our own laundry. Some people are still dropping off their dirty jeans until mid-twenties. We won't even bring up the ones who are living at home at thirty. Scary stuff.

What if after high school, our kids got the parental boot. I could have told my eighteen year old son, "Get a job, rent an apartment, and good luck on that whole college thing. E-mail your new address so I can put you on my Christmas card list."

Except that, now here is my sentimental side exposing itself like a flasher on meth, I like having him around. We don't have that teenage thing going anymore. I don't have to remind him to eat a healthy breakfast, read every night, and to curtail the 'attitude' against Mom thing. We do get to discuss politics, get crazy excited over Pluto pictures, and listen to our different reading interests. He's into Marvel and DC comics and I'm a certified lover of novels, especially new authors.

The other kid I get at home for at least three more years. He is threatening to move back to his desired homeland of San Diego. But I have three years to stab him with guilt over leaving his poor dear mother, slip-in manipulative comments against big cities, and drug him into wanting to stay in the area. I mean, three years is a long time. I can plan some serious underhanded moves to get him to stay. If that doesn't work, San Diego is a good place to visit. Some of my favorite people live there.

Because with that kid, he has one of the most finely honed senses of humor that I have ever come across. He just plain makes me laugh. Where do you think I get the dialogue and attitude for the Scout and Ellie book series? So him sticking around for as long as possible with me is a necessity. How am I supposed to write a chapter book with him seven hundred and fifty miles away? I'll just never laugh again if he's gone. It won't be my fault if I become boring, dull and mundane in three years. Don't blame me, people.

The oldest kid just came in to show me the newest 007 trailer. He knows my severe, intense, obsessive fascination with Daniel Craig. Had my son been a bird, it could have been weeks before I had ever known to watch the trailer. Wow, thank goodness he was born a human.

Well, gotta go now. I have one more load of teenager clothing to wash.

Heather Leigh,
Mother of two human children

Tuesday, July 14, 2015

Wild Plutonians

Today is the day that I actually share an excitement with scientists. We, as in the whole planet earth, are expecting pictures of Pluto. Rather than rush into googling to view the first human sightings of actual Plutonian footage, I wanted to take this time to get myself even more psyched by sharing a blog post with you. You know, countdown with people I can't see and don't even know to feel the earthling connection before moving on to a plutonian connection. Get it?

So, one of the things that fascinates me are the scientists who are debating whether to call Pluto a planet, not a planet, or a dwarf planet. I mean, what a thing to get worked up over! Seriously, I am not being sarcastic here. To be that into your thing, your calling, your bliss, that you are fighting as to what to call it. Talk about passion here, people. What I am really wanting to see are some Astrophysicists having sword fights or pistol duels in the honor of keeping Pluto a planet. We should be having rallies world wide on naming rights. Every voice needs to be heard on this topic!

Now, this one is a stretch. But what if, on a dimension that our earthly intelligence can't register, there is life on Pluto? Couldn't there be an energy level that our machines can't pick up in which there are is come kind of stuff going on on that distant, crazy planet. Could be true, we don't really know everything. So if there are Beings on Pluto, what would they be like? Would they have a sense of humor? BBQs? Pets? Relationship issues? Would they be cute?

What if they resembled cockroaches?

I'm betting they would have to be a little on the wild side. I mean, look at how their planet travels. It couldn't just be the circle thing like all the other planets in our solar system. It had to pick this weird oval. And it has a moon almost half its size: Charon. No, this is definitely the sign of a rebellious, wild planet.

What does that say about the different-dimension Plutonians? Does the planetary path filter down in to a more off-beat planet?

So many things to think about.

I also wonder what the ground feels like. Is it a good lounging place, with Pina Coladas and a light summer novel? Or is it rugged and I'll need to bring a survival pack where ever I travel.

Oh, are laughing that you think I couldn't hang out on Pluto? I'm not so old that our technology couldn't get humans out there before I die. Could happen. But I don't know what I'd wear.

Okay, now I feel the anticipation pumping within. I'm going to sign off and see if the Pluto pictures are on-line yet.

Woo hoo! Pluto time!

Heather Leigh,
scientific Pluto explorer at heart

Sunday, July 12, 2015

Horrid Animal Activities

There is some wicked, socially deviant behavior occurring in the farm behind our house. For reasons that I will only reveal to my trusted readers, I will tell you what I know.

They are mixing breeds. Yes, it's true. Right there where children can see, even school field trips go into that forsaken territory, there is a mixture of piglets, calves and baby goats. And that is just one field alone! Who knows what happens beyond the view blocking garden of growing corn stalks.

Those poor piglets. Goodness only knows what is going to happen when they are attacked by the black sheep of the families. I shudder what to think could come out of this: piglambs, goatcows, bullsheep. Sickening. They don't even have the animals divided into their own colors.

And what about us landowners? You know this kind of mixing will only lead to gangs, violence, and animal tranquilizers. Property values are just shooting down as we speak.

Okay, so I told you that I would only share with you why I have not reported the demonizing terrors that are being carried on right over our fence. As I know this is a private blog, with only a few hundred of my closest international friends who I have never met, I can trust you with my secret.

We have a mixture of interacting species right here in our very house. Every night, I take our old Australian Shepherd, Sydney, out for her three block walk (that's about all she's up to now a days). And every night, her lifelong friend walks beside her. And no, it is not another dog. It is, Playful, our cat.

Neither are leashed. They are doing this of their own free will. Side by side, their old furry butts in front of me leading the way, they flaunt their relationship for the whole neighborhood to see. Both female and being of entirely different species. My only consolation is that both been through the spay/neuter thing. There will be no dogcats born in my house!

So you might think to your self, well, they are both very old. At least this horrid behavior will die with them. Until you learn about Daisy...the puppy.

We have two cats, both from the same litter chosen over twelve years ago to join our family. The sister cat, Girl, seems to have developed a love/hate relationship with Daisy. You might think that their seemingly normal acts of puppy chasing old cat, old cat giving her a few claw swats would be all there was to this thing between them. But that is not the end of it. When they think no one is watching, they have been hunting gophers. TOGETHER!

Yes, Girl does the scouting, standing at the ready, pointing out where the gopher hole is with her nose. And Daisy bounds over and starts digging. It is a shared ritual here, people!!! And again, they are both female, and of a different color and species.

So now you can understand my dilemma. If I call in the news reporters to shock the world with the atrocities right next to us, they could easily find out what is going on right in my very own home!

I'm not even bringing up that Sydney licks/bathes both cats at least once a week; leaving them covered in dog saliva.

If any of you trusted readers has an answer to help me with this perplexing challenge I find my self facing, please, I beg of you, let me know.

Heather Leigh,
the unscrupulous pet owner

Tuesday, July 7, 2015

Blissful Updates

The mail carrier just brought me two awesome updated books!!! Scout and Ellie, The Birthday Party, and Red Nectar. Okay, so I had already revised the text of Scout and Ellie, but the cover layout was bothering me. I created a new improved cover on-line. Now, it is at the extreme end of bad donkey (aka known bad ass, but I am trying to keep this as G-rated as possible).

The new Red Nectar, with new cover and revised text is all about me being a better writer. Am I showing off? Am I bragging that I have superhero writing status? Powers that you should be peanut butter jelly jealous over?

You betcha.

Now here is something else that puts the smiles in my belly: watching people doing their bliss. This weekend, at the Arcata Plaza, was the Fourth of July community hang-out day. Food vendors, music, dancing, chubby cheeked toddlers chasing bubbles, and a rare sunshine day for our often misty, foggy county. Wow.

Any hoo, the belly dancers, Undercover band, and the circus type performers doing tricks on their hanging aerial silk, were all performing under the hypnosis type feature of zoning in on what they love to do. I hope you know what I am talking about. It's when people are so into what they are doing, time is elusive, the people around them are background noise, and their heart and soul are matching to what their body is doing. It's my favorite thing to watch in others.

So here is the thing about being a writer. No one wants to watch us doing our bliss. I mean, watching the beauty of the human body twirling above you doing magical feats, or dancing along with a band whose beat is forcing your body to dance along with the rhythm--who doesn't want to be in on that?

But a writer? No one has ever said to me, "hey, Heather, can I come over and gaze at you writing that blog of yours? How about as you revise Black Licorice? It's giving you such joy, it has to be something for me to see."

No, not once, not ever. No one wants to watch me play with words.

Well, I am not going to take it personally. Because if you are an actor in a Broadway play, I so want to be there to see you act. But as for my writer friends, no, not into watching you write. No matter how good your stuff is.

So I get it. Don't come over and watch me write. But do, please, read my books. If I see you reading them and laughing out loud (or crying, as the case may be), it will completely make up for not wanting to stare at my fingers at the keyboard.

How about that for a deal?

Heather Leigh,
proud show-off of two updated books