Yup, it is that time again, the time in which I update this blog frequently due to having (semi) intereting happenings to report.

Yesterday was a traveling day- planes and automobies (no trains, sadly). For us, that means waking up at 4am to make a 7am flight (I’m a sicko who believes in starting early to avoid as much airport traffic as possible even in a non pandemic world), picking the layover somewhere booze friendly so I can have a cocktail pre 9am, and then on to our final destination.

Direct flights from Albuquerque to anywhere are freakin rare, yall. (I did get one for our return trip and I’m still amazed.)

So we got up, showered, dressed, and our Uber was even ON TIME. And the driver was NOT CHATTY! We were definitely off to a great start.

Albuquerque security was also a breeze, and we had very little trouble isolating oursevles across from the gate that we were actually departing from.

The ABQ to Phoenix plane was a little on the small side, but they didn’t have to use a slingshot to take off, so all was good there. And (only some people will really understand this for the win it was) the seatbelt fit just fine… we are off to a fanFUCKINGtastic start.

Then we hit Phoenix.. and things are.. less good. The only gate data we can get for our flight to Portland is ‘Terminal 3’. But there’s no terminal 3 this way signs fucking anywhere. Only upon consultation of the touch screen replacement for the surly lady at the information desk did we discover that we were, in fact, in Terminal 4.

It took consultation of an actual human being (after an across the terminal hike during which I am longing for our gate, breakfast, and that pre flight cocktail I promise myself on vacation) that led to the discovery that we had to exit the secured area in order to get to the here to fore mythical Terminal 3 and go through the security checkpoint AGAIN.

Oy veyfuckus. Fine, fine, fine, FINE. And thank heavens we had a three hour layover, there WILL be breakfast. And cocktail.

Now up to this point, people were fairly good about distancing, but for some reason in security line number two there’s this crone type who just seems to want a bit of a cuddle. I keep scootching closer to Rick, and she keeps scootching right in behind me, like I’m on a damn leash. Finally I moved completely unnecessarily to the side, nearly standing ON Rick, and when she followed me I said that I had moved for a reason, please keep your distance. THAT finally got her attention.

So, old ladies in straw hats and security conquered, we headed for the golden gates of Terminal Bloody 3, intent upon breakfast. And cocktail.

At the center where the wings connect, all we find is a Starbucks. I’m not a huge Starbucker, and very much any port in a storm (while my inner Hammy is saying ‘but I want the drinky’) so I whip out my handy dandy cell phone to place a mobile order and avoid the ever sprawling omfg way too close together people line.

Turns out, I have tapped into the ONE Starbucks in the Western Hemisphere that doesn’t do mobile orders.

Hrmph. Down the terminal we go, hoping for some pizza cracker combos and a diet soda.

To our delight, the terminal was not as barren of life as our first glance had indicated. And within minutes, we were ensconced in a comfy spot away from others, with breakfast and beer presented with a smile.

You are correct, beer was NOT in my plan, but if I’ve learned nothing in life, it’s that one has to be flexible from time to time if one wants to avoid paying $20 for a fucking margarita that doesn’t even wash my car.

The second flight to Portland was smooth enough to sleep though until we began our descent, which had enough bumps to wake even Dramamine’d up Rick.

On the ground, with a quick stop at Krispy Kreme for our patient and fearless local, we headed off. It’s been, well, a long time since I’ve been to Oregon, and I’m still enchanted by the long, rolling hills and forests. The drive to the coast flew amidst gorgeous scenery and the random weird conversations that tend to pop up.

We did take a slight detour to the Tillamook Cheese Factory and picked up rather a lot of cheese. And some wine, but mostly cheese. It’s all the super specialty stuff that we never see in the grocery stores back home.

Oh yes, there WILL be charcuterie. ALL the charcuterie.

And have you ever tried going number two in an airplane bathroom? I tell you, these cheesly consumption is more than delightfully tasty.. it’s strategic!

We made another detour for dinner, and got to watch the sun begin to set at the Rogue World Headquarters in Newport. Easily hands down the best shrimp I’ve had in longer than I care to think about, and a pumpkin ale that made me think of Draz and our eternal quest for good pumpkin beer that kicked off every September.

And then we arrived in Yachats (which I was informed I’ve been pronouncing incorrectly; the correct pronunciation sounds like sneezing to me), unlocked the house, checked out the insides (which are mostly purple and I really wasn’t aware of that when I rented it), and hit the hot tub.

After becoming utterly boneless, we flopped on the overstuffed couches in the living room, and what do you know, Armageddon is on Bravo. Back to back.

A good end to a mostly good travel day.

The mister and I are not really used to being apart. We are probably disgusting in our desire to just be near each other, whether we’re engaged in the same activity or not.

Right now, I have a sick Rick. Normally, I’d sigh and realize that I’m going to get his damn germs at some point anyway and grin and bear it. In a time of covid, though…

Yeah, we’re occupying way different spaces in the house right now, and both feeling a little pathetic and lonesome. He got tested, but it’ll be 3-5 days before we get a result, making this without question the worst. Weekend. of Waiting.

But, it’s us, so we still find something to laugh at. I’ve mentioned before the uniquely boisterous and jaw droppingly LOUD and completely without warning sneezes. Many times I’ve begged him to give me just a tiny little bit of warning, and he just shrugs and says I get as much warning as he gets.

I’m not sure this is true.

Rick- STRANGLE GOOSE SNEEZE OUT OF NOWHERE

Me, bellowing down the hall to be heard- You know, that’s what’s going to finally kill me… a freakin heart attack from you startling the crap out of me by SNEEZING!

Rick, bellowing back- Well, I’ll be right there next to you with my lungs on the floor!

A little later, as he peers into the office, observing me typing away diligently.

Rick- Whatcha doin?

Me, with raised brows- WRITING.

Rick- Well I didn’t know that, I just know that you’re sitting there with a bright white screen.

Me- Yes, like a clean sheet of paper just waiting for the flow of words on it

Rick- or like maybe a web page not found 404

Me- Go to your room!

Rick turns into our shared bedroom.

Me- NO, WRONG! GO TO YOUR ROOM!

Rick- Fine, I’m going to MY room to pout like a twelve year old!

Fifteen years in a couple weeks, in sickness and in health, and we can always find something to laugh at. The last couple of days have been pretty damn scary, but you know? I think it’s the laughter that will get us through.

You know those days where nothing’s easy and you try real real hard to hold on to the ideal that you can be a positive influence in every situation?

Today’s that day.

Mom’s birthday is coming up, and when she didn’t realize that, she was fine. Now she does realize that and she’s starting to not be fine. I get that, a thousand percent. But it seems like everything I tried to do for her today went sideways.

Have a treat that she used to enjoy delivered? Gotta harass the staff so they don’t ‘forget’ to take it to her.

Try to get her new shirts? Gotta get harassed by the shopper because black and white won’t work.

Try to check in on her? Gotta call five or six times til she decides to pick up the phone, then she does one of the few things that will actually make me lose my ability to deal. (Mimicking someone else’s voice in a cruel, mocking way is a huge trigger for me, I can’t imagine why.)

Then throw in a sassy pizza delivery person who pings me again and again, trying to get me to cancel my order because they don’t feel like waiting for it, a call center person who keeps me on the line for an extra four minutes so I’ll hang up without taking the survey, and another one who tries to ghost call me to keep his handle time down. Yeah, that’s just more enamel off my teeth from grinding.

So when Rick got home, I was pretty growly about the day as a whole but doing my best to make it a sigh instead of a growl.

Me- so you see why I’m in this heinous fuckin mood, right? I’m trying real hard to hold it all in, but shit, what a day.

Rick, looking the drawers for clothes after his shower- Don’t worry, I’m going to help express what you’re feeling right now.

Me- what the?

Rick holds up a hand, then puts on this-

Me- YES THAT’S EXACTLY IT! THIS IS A TABLE FLIP DAY!

Rick- Made you laugh!

Just to reassure that it isn’t a total wash of a day.. not only did I get to laugh, but we went out and planted the tree by the pond together.

Looking forward to watching our little willow grow and bring shade and be the first green we see come spring. And I’m not sure if you can see it from this angle, but the last trellis caught itself a morning glory this week.

Sometimes if you don’t look for much in the way of miracles, you’ll get all the normal ones you need.

Introverts, extroverts, bullies, narcissists, entitlement. The Golden Rule. Thou shalt nots. Respect, honor, cherish, consider. Assert, dominate, lead. Empathy, strategy, growth, compatibility, intelligence, emotion. Pride, power, destiny, heritage, belief.

And those are just the ones I thought of in a two minute time frame. They are big, powerful words that work their alchemy to produce all kinds of feelings.. some good, some not so good.

Lately, I’ve spent (probably too much time) thinking about what it takes to be a good person… and when I say that, I don’t just mean a good hearted person, I mean a genuinely good person to the extent that you make the things and people you choose to engage with better off for your involvement.

I know, right? You have to know when to step in and when to step out. You have to encourage without judging. You have to know when you’re emptying your personal pitcher on to barren ground and stop. You have to know when there’s something that can be done, even if it’s just to say, I’m here and I care.

So when I think about what we see now in the world around us- I truly don’t want to believe anyone is just a one thousand percent horrible person. What I do believe is that there are people who feel one thousand percent okay to do whatever they want/are able by their own definition without consideration the impact to anyone else. And if you remind them, however lightly, that what they are doing could cause a problem for someone Not Them, they react explosively.

You didn’t deny that they have the right to the thing.

You didn’t say it was a bad thing and shake your finger at them.

You didn’t tell them not to do the thing.

You just let them know the thing they want to do means ripples from it exist outside the bubble of their own space. That what they do impacts other people.

And like any 3 year old told that maybe pennies in light sockets aren’t the best plan, they throw a tantrum. They have rights, it’s their heritage, no one’s going to tell them what do do cause they aren’t the boss of them, they have no authority, blah, blah, blah.

How does someone who wants to be a good person handle that? How do we handle that as a society? I’ll be honest, I don’t want to live among people who act like inconsiderate shit bags… but I also like having pizza delivered at midnight, so hermitage in the hills is kind of out.

I’ll let you know if I figure it out.

In the meantime, if you just identified yourself as someone that has been the person lashing out due to a situation like the one I mentioned above and you don’t like that… I have a book for you that might help. It’s cheap, it’s portable, and I like to think it’s at least a tiny bit entertaining.

Or really, any independent artist’s day, come to think of it.

Rate and review our stuff… whether it’s on Amazon, Walmart, Goodreads, Audible- feedback like that is incredibly valuable for us to connect to new readers. Throw some stars on there, maybe even a few words about what you liked. Tap into your inner Siskel and Ebert… especially if it’s something you liked.

I was talking to Rick this morning (I know, it’s weird, married over ten years and we still talk n stuff) about how my books don’t really fit into the popular paranormal romance category- they frankly aren’t supposed to. To me, every one of them (save the self help book) are just stories… the kinds of stories I want to read. Stories with characters that screw up, that want to do what’s right but can’t figure out what that is, and maybe with a dusting of something magical that hardly ever fixes things, but usually just screws everything up worse. And sometimes they make you laugh. Sometimes they make you cry. Most importantly to me is that they make you feel.

The bad part about not fitting into a genre is that a lot of the sales mechanisms out there are all about pigeonholing work into a certain category. And when it doesn’t fit, it doesn’t get noticed. And not being noticed means worse things than not being sold.. it means not being read.

So, if anything I or someone else has written has made you feel, please help other people find us…

Every now and again, if you don’t look too hard, you’ll get a little dose of the meaning of life.

Now don’t get excited, this is just one of my meanings, and it may or may not have crap to do with you and yours.

I was sitting here quietly, waiting for Rick and watching Ready Player One again. I’d recommended the book to a friend this week, and like I do, let them know that it has absolutely nothing to do with the movie except the names of the charcters.

It was one of the last scenes, where Halliday looks back at Wade and says, “Thank you for playing my game,” that hit me right in the feels. For Halliday, creating games was everything that he had to offer to the world in his own mind- it was the way he connected to people, to show them he wanted them to feel what he felt when playing a really good game. Thrills and puzzle solving and laughter and joy in the creativity of minds around him- all the joys of geekdom.

And whether it’s blogs like this, or random conversations, or whole books.. I realized why I create. To connect with people, to make them laugh and maybe cry but mostly just feel for a little while what I do when I think about these characters and their story.

For years, I’ve felt that to create is as close as we get to the divine. And today I wonder if that is why we’re here… to connect to one another, learn, play, and create in our own turn.

In any case, I guess there’s no better way to end this shared epiphany than by saying… thank you for reading my stuff.

One of the reasons me and the mister get along is that we have a similarly weird sense of humor and make each other laugh.

Me, seeing Rick coming out of the garage with a level, crossing arms over chest- We’ve HAD this conversation already. I HATE that you keep checking to make sure they are still level!

A little later on, Rick stomps in from doing the laundry, frowning at me horribly.

Rick, reaching out to hand me my credit card and driver’s license that are shiny clean from yet another trip through the wash- I keep telling you NOT to make me a part of your criminal activities!

Annnnd back to puttering around the house we go, without even a ba-dum tizz…

OK.. I normally couldn’t give a crap about tennis.. but. But.

I was skimming this article when THIS caught my attention-

Julia Elbaba, a sports journalist and former WTA player, said she was disappointed in Osaka’s withdrawal but not surprised. She said if Osaka was struggling with her mental health, she shouldn’t have played in the tournament at all so that another tennis player could have competed.
Being a professional tennis player is “a lonely, cruel journey,” she told VICE World News.
“There is no question they have some social anxiety,” said Elbaba, who competed against Osaka and her sister Mari in local New York tournaments when they were 10 to 12 years old.

YOU. YOU are part of the problem. How fuckin DARE you judge someone like you’re an authority on them personally because you played against them when they were a child? And for what? A quote, a soundbite? Was it worth it?

OK, taking a breath here… look, folks and particularly ladies. Each and every one of us has the ability to lift someone up or slam them down. And we make that decision every single damn day. This world is hard enough for all of us that we don’t need to be putting folk down.

Most of us have nothing but contempt for those that choose to kick someone when they are down. I wonder what the world would look like if we refused to engage with the people we see behaving this way?

I bet it would be a lot quieter. And we might, MIGHT learn something about how our words impact others.

https://www.vice.com/en/article/7kvxkg/naomi-osaka-depression-french-open?utm_source=vicenewsfacebook

If my universe has a center that isn’t Mr. Wellman, it’d be this little loafy potato dog. Unfamiliar with corgis? Here you go, I’m pretty sure this is the official definition from Mr. Webster himself.

My particular corgi, Duchess Sabrina Waffleton (she deigns to let us call her Bree, corgin, pupnstuff, Breezer, corgbutt, and pupperdoo) has had a rather rough time lately. She is not a big fan of change, you see, and over the past couple of weeks, there’s been a lot of change at Casa de Wellman.

The bedroom had to be completely cleared out for the new bed… and to me, totally worth it. The comforter is hiding the six drawers on each side for storage. And just because it IS so tall, we put the small couch at the end so pups can get up and down, and so Rick has a comfy place to put his shoes on each morning.

Clearing out the bedroom also means that all of my throw pillows got unearthed.. and most of them went to my office couch. Bree does not think highly of this; she has decided it is her mission in life to disarray my pillows and build herself a corgly pillow fort at least twice each day.

It’s hard to be a Bree.