High and Low Life

Today was a day of highs and lows. Let's start with the Halloween candy issue. There was the splendiferous discovery that when you procrastinate and buy the bags of sugar on the day before, they are half off!!! For those of you who suffer with fraction-itis, that means that for the same price, I could buy twice the amount!!! So that is the high point. The low is that I can eat twice as much.

Then, I WARNED my son to not open the bags. He said it would be fine because the candy is in little bags. He had the audacity to then whip those things open, pour the little bags of treats into a big bowl, and stash them in a cupboard where I could reach it. Another low. What was that kid thinking? For goodness sakes here, people, I have been going to Pilates for over a week now. Was all that exercise in vain when I can just waltz into the kitchen at any time, day or night, and devour twice the amount of chocolate before Halloween is even here? WAY low point.

Then came dinner. I decided home made mac and cheese was the best thing for tonight. I make a mean, bad a** mac. But tonight, on some kind of crazy fling, I went for a new recipe. This may have worked out, but my first born ensured me that he needed to have a doubled recipe. He is a mac addict. The doubling did not work. Soon after the roux was not thickening the sauce properly, my other son made the mistake of asking when dinner was going to be ready.

I screamed at that poor kid like a banshee from hell. Perhaps I should feel guilt and shame after my poor behavior, but I was in the middle of a thin roux. You can understand the frustration and agony I was under. Would this be classified as a low parenting moment, or a high on voicing clear and honest communication and feelings? You be the judge.

The day was saved with my clever recipe manipulations. The mac turned out just as good as normal. I know you are itching to know what I did to rescue my soiled sauce, but it is too personal to disclose. That's just how it's going to be.

My third high/low challenge comes from my sons. The oldest was not at home when the mac came out of the oven. He was off carousing and causing chaos with his dance buddies. He is in the Nutcracker Ballet. So you know what that means--hours of practice, great exercise, wholesome friends, and a healthy life style. This is hard for me to admit what he is putting the family through. But I know there are others out there with great teenage sons who suffer also.

The other son did this tonight: the dishes, played the piano, and completed his math homework with a pleasant attitude and high spirits. Where did I go wrong with this bunch?

(Now before you go defending yourself and wondering about your own kids, rest assured. Those sons of mine have their issues too. It's just that today was a good day for them both.)

So there you go. My day of highs and lows. Tomorrow is Halloween night, and at midnight starts NaNovWriMo: National November Write a Novel in a Month. Who knows what kind of crazy spell we will be under in just a few hours.

Heather Leigh
High and Low Author.
P.S. I apologized to my son for the Banshee scream. He understood once he found out it came from almost ruined mac and cheese. He knows the importance of a good roux.

Pilates Pain Conspirators

Ever tried a Pilates class? As of this morning, I have. Funny thing about pilates. The true pain is discovered later. It's a tricky, sneaky snake of a beast.

The teacher said it was an intermediate class but that I looked fit enough to try it out. Wow, does he not ever know me. Maybe his glasses were broken. The word intermediate scared me, but I was too hyped up and ready to try this thing. I mean, after all, I had woken up at 7:30 to do this danged class. With that kind of sacrifice and commitment I was not about to leave. But then, lo and behold, I got through that 50 minutes with out a huge amount of discomfort. I actually followed through with just about every exercise.

But now here comes the funny part. The City Manager of our small town decided to re-pave just about every road in town TODAY: first time pilates day! There must have been some kind of special with the tar the road company. Every road I tried to turn down was blocked. The detour sent me to the other side of town. By the time I got home, it was too late.

My body was ruined. The aches and pains that avoided me in class had time to catch up with me on a drive home that took twice the usual time. I'm pretty sure this is part of the conspiracy theory that people whisper about. You know, the one about waiting for Heather to take an intermediate pilates class, set up road blocks to make her get home late, and then hit her like a girl scout cookie on diet days. You've heard of that theory, right?

So now I am stuck in this chair, writing for the rest of the day. Don't know if I'll even be able to get up and fix myself lunch. Perhaps the local vegan restaurant will deliver lunch to my home office desk.

Have you ever been attacked with a personal conspiracy theory aimed right at you? Up until this point, I had been skeptical they existed. But now that I've gone through one, I can tell you that they are out there. Lingering, stalking, watching your every move. Waiting until you were vulnerable and stupid enough to try out something new.

Well, you mean old conspirators, I will fight back. I will vow to never try another exercise class again. Wait, I'll go even farther. I'll just stop exercising altogether. That will set my revenge in place. HAH!

I don't even care if I put on fifty pounds and go for three chins. Anything I can do to prevent myself from being attacked, I am ready! And to seal the deal with myself, I'm going to eat a box of chocolate covered caramels. As soon as I can get up, of course.

Don't think yourself above such things as personal conspiracy theories. I did, and look what that got me. Join the campaign and quit all exercise and nutritious eating habits right away! Have donuts and soda for lunch. It's the only way to fight back. I'll be here, stuck in my chair, routing for you.

Good luck and may poor health be with you. And remember, there are others joining you in our cause. You are not alone!

Heather Leigh,
non-exercising Author

Jealousy and the Caterpillar

The front wall of our house has been under siege by monarch caterpillars for over a month now. At first, I thought it was just a few wayward souls who lost their way from the front yard maple tree. But since then there are too many to believe it is just some random occurrence. Evidently, our green house calls to them. Must say something about the splendiferous nature of the people living inside.

Today we got lucky to the extreme. We caught one in the act of building her cocoon. Since I feel a deep, personal connection after seeing this caterpillar in such a vulnerable moment, I am going to take the liberty of naming her. Chloe, I've always liked that name.

I was watching for Chloe to be spitting up some kind of cocoon wrap. She was surrounding herself with little pieces of something, attached in an oval around her. When my son came to check out nature in action, he noted that Chloe was plucking out her caterpillar fur one strand at a time. Then she placed it next to her body. So far, she has a horseshoe around herself!

It's just like that disease in which people pull out individual strands of hair. Except instead of being something based on stressed, this is the foundation of Chloe's new house.

So, I know it's something that people have been dwelling on forever, but how do insects know to do that? Did Chloe wake up this morning and think, "yah know, it being Monday and all, think I'll go over to the green house and pluck out my fur. And then, hey, this would be neat, I'll turn my hair into a house."

Is that what she was thinking? What else could it be?

The other thing about caterpillars is their reverence for a good long nap. I mean, look what they put into making their bed customized, comfy, and cozy. This is no lazy insect. If they are going to that much trouble to deck out their sleeping arrangement, they deserve that lovely deep sleep they are going to get. Personally, I feel full of high flying self-esteem if I actually take the time to make my bed in the morning.

I am rather jealous of Chloe, I have to admit. When I wake up in the morning, I do NOT come out looking like a butterfly. Not even close. Those monarch's sure have one cute style after a next. From fuzzy black and orange to intricate gorgeous wings of the same color. Do they ever have a bad hair day? I think not.

Hmmm, gosh, now I'm wondering what I could accomplish today that would be even half as interesting as building myself a napping house with my hair. Maybe if I add some new kind of sauce to tonight's tofu meatloaf, that would be something worth talking about. Who am I kidding? All I can do is sit around and write about the wonders of nature. But then, that's not such a bad thing. At least I get to share this with you.

Heather Leigh,
Fanatically jealous of the monarch

Mid Or Late At 47

Saturday I will be forty-seven. And I have some huge questions gnawing away at my brain.

First off: Will I be in my mid or late forties? If I am still in my mids, that let's me out of having to be any wiser, right? Or face a mid-life crises. Life can go on Easy Breezy Lemon Squeezy.

But late forties? I'll be responsible for knowing all of life's answers. I don't even know the questions. What do I say when asked how to bring about world peace, end suffering, and how to win at Mahjong? So much is expected at this great and noble age phase. I'm going to screw it up.

But then, if I am hitting mid-life crises stage, that means I get a new Porsche and some hot guy to ride in the passenger seat. Maybe we'll fly to Fiji to celebrate my birthday in my new jet. Well, now, that sounds good.

Second question: is there a list somewhere of things I was supposed to have accomplished by this age? And is the list about my happiness, or if my house is bigger than your house with more expensive toys in the garage. So much pressure.

Third issue: Several of my friends have already made it to the fifty year mark. They tell me they feel more free. That what others think of them is less of a concern. They feel happier.

Does that mean that I have three years left to suffer? Because I didn't even know I was suffering. I had been thinking I was pretty happy. Perhaps if I am in my late forties, then I will know if I am suffering or happy.

Finally, by the time I reach fifty, both kids will be graduated and gone. My old pets will probably be off to where ever it is that they go when they die. I will be free to live where ever I want. Should I go with tropical island vacations for the next ten years, or cruises around the world. Probably a mixture, I should think. As long as both places serve pina coladas, chocolate covered caramels, and Cabernet, I'll be set.

There are a group of yellow finches in our maple tree. I can see those little guys hopping around like they are not even involved in a forty-seven-year old anxiety. Shesh, just because they won't live a whole decade, it's like they don't even care.

Well, I guess Saturday I will find the answers to my huge questions. Think the answers come in a dream, or do angels come out and whisper what comes next into my ear? How am I supposed to wait three days to find out what happens for the rest of my life?

Maybe next life time, I'll come back as an instinct driven finch. Much easier.

Heather Leigh,
Almost forty-seven year old

Cooking, Writing, and Accounting

Quote from the picture on my kitchen wall: There are things you do because they feel right and they may make no sense and they may make no money and it may be the real reason we are here: to love each other and eat each other's cooking and say it was good.
         ---by Brian Andreas (www.storypeople.com)

And I think to myself, that is so right on. I mean, think of all the stress, wars, dramas, and arguments that we put ourselves through in this life. Is that what we came here for? I know I'll be sounding like John Lennon here (which is an awesome thing to do!)  but think of how spectacular this life would be if the quote was our reality. We could all be doing what brings us the most happiness, sharing it with the rest of the world, and telling each other that their 'thing (cooking)' was good.

Why does it have to be any other way?

For stuff that no one wants to do, like clean the Men's room in public places, we would have to take turns. But really, when you think about it, just about every job there is, somebody out there enjoys doing it.

How many times have I heard people say they hate writing--especially the revising part. Well shiver my timbers if I don't love to write. I'll take that job.

And did you know there are actually people out there who enjoy accounting, working on cars, and reupholstering furniture? Yes, it's true. Those people exist. Well, what if they are stuck writing books for children because it pays the rent. Shouldn't we be able to swap jobs like it's no big deal?

I know there a oodles of teachers out there just waiting for the opportunity to show people how to switch their career.

I think we should form some kind of committee to get this 'eat each other's cooking' philosophy as a working motto for the world. Of course, somebody else will have to run the committee. I hate that kind of stuff. But I would be willing to write about it.

What I'm talking about is a total Utopia Society. But goodness gracious, why not. I mean, whose world is this anyway? When did we let it get so out of control that most of us are spending hours everyday NOT doing what we are blissed about? Is there a person, corporation, political figure out there who we could talk to about changing the world to something we all enjoy? No, I guess not.

I guess the only thing we can do is, well, do it ourselves. Maybe we all have to move in the direction of making our life what we want it to be. Sounds pretty wild, huh?

Perhaps we could take baby steps toward the beginning quote, then let our children take it from there.

Heather Leigh,
Writing my stuff and saying your stuff is good

The Twenty-Four Hour Syndrome

Flies live for twenty-four hours.  Doesn't that seem like a huge waste of resources on the part of Mother Nature? I mean, those things are amazing. At least, their bodies are. They have multi-faceted eyes that can see dozens of views all at the same time. Can you imagine processing all of that information at once? I can barely register the finch in our tree out front and the leaves around it at the same time. And those little tiny translucent wings? Where do they get the strength to carry that thing from piles of poop to my watermelon when I'm sitting outside?

So why go to all that trouble in creating so much in the way of engineering wonders, if it is only going to be around for a day?

And not only that, couldn't the fly be given some kind of really cool task to accomplish? Because from what I observe, landing on shit, vomiting on their food, and getting caught in spider webs are the prime directives of their life. That sucks. If I was given twenty-four hours with those wings and eye coverage, I'd want to have some awesome stuff to do for my life-time.

There are times when I want to take a whole day off. Like, lay in bed and read all day kind of day. Only get up to barely eat kind of day. This isn't a day of being sick, or melancholy, just a day off. So what I was born a fly, and the day that I happened to want to be my day off, was my only day on earth. Man, talk about the energy I would have to expend in making myself get up and fly around just to bug people. I'd have no motivation to get up, and no real reason to even exist on the planet.

Poor fly. Almost makes me not want to swat them with a swatter when they hit me in the face. Or feel bad when they crash into my car windshield. Almost, but not quite.

Maybe this whole essay on flies should make me want to go out and get twenty things done every moment of every day. You know, like they talk about people who have faced death then gone on to cherish each day. Done spectacular stuff. Climbed every mountain. Seized every day. Done every inspirational cliche in the Great Book of Cliches. Nah, I'd still rather have my day off days.

But the same things could be said about us humans. I mean, we have all this brain capacity, all of this knowledge, and on the planetary time scale, our lives are not even a flicker of a second. And not just our lives, but all of humanity. Our whole human time period barely registers as a grain of sand on the length of earth time. We need to come up with some better stuff to show for our exposure on this earth. Something beyond car chase movies and celebrity magazines.

Well, not to be bragging, or anything, but my books will probably go down as one of the Wonders of What Was Accomplished by the human race when the next generation of land rulers comes into existence. I mean, they are pretty good.  So, I guess at least one of us humans has gone beyond the Poor Fly Syndrome. I just got to be the lucky one with all of this literary talent oozing from my brain.

Don't worry, though. You have a longer life span than the fly. There is hope for you yet.

Heather Leigh,
Better than a fly

Improving Author At Work

Want to know what I love? Well, obviously I'm going to tell you because I can't hear your answer. I love finding a debut novel that is fabulous, but not overly so. Then, as the author writes more books, I can read more of their blossoming talents and gain inspiration. Because if they can write something that will hold my attention for more than five pages, and improve their skills with each book, I have hope for myself.

Wow, that sounds narcissistic. Like, the only reason I like to read the other guys is to compare them to what I'm doing. I hope I'm not that bad. Because I want to be a solo cheerleader silently egging them on to keep up their momentum of self improvement. Support, positive wishes, and appreciation for their efforts--I want to be a part of all that.

But dang it, I'd be lying to myself if I can't admit that seeing others improve gives me hope for self-improvement. Maybe someday, writers will be watching me from the side lines. Sending me blessings of encouragement as each book grows into something better than before.

This weekend, I published the first two Scout and Ellie books: The Birthday Party and The Beauty Pageant, on to Kobo and NookBook. In doing so, I glided over my earliest attempts at writing those fun chapter books. And guess what I found? I like the first one, and each one is better than the last. Yey! Feels good to be getting better at the craft I love. Means there is hope for me yet. I didn't spill out all the talent that I will ever possess onto the first book and then leave myself exhausted of ideas.

Life for this writer will go on. Whew. Close call on that one.

Want to know what else I've gotten better at over the years? I know you are just springing with anticipation. Parenting. I've improved by elephant sized footsteps (get the Ellie reference? Oh, I am so clever). Talking, listening, being present, working with the boys, natural consequences, all those good parent things--I simply rock at. I'm exaggerating, but let me boost my parental self-esteem here. Even if I am lying to myself a smidge.

Okay, so here is the Catch-22. They are fifteen and eighteen now. Their need for my guidance is not as needy as is was in Kindergarten. So, while I got better, they've needed my services less and less. How does that make sense? What god came up with that trick, huh?

So I guess that puts writing on a more sensible path. As I improve, I write more books that people will benefit from. At least one of my two life callings is practical.

But then, someday those kids of mine will have kids. Maybe I'll get lucky and they will ask me for parenting advice. That will wrap up the parent learning cycle into something that makes sense.

Hey, maybe the Universe does have some order behind all the usual craziness we see everyday.

Heather Leigh,
Writing-improving author