pumpkin thieves bomb my dog...

I know, I know... I write children's books, so it's a given that I'm always on the look-out for interesting story material. That said, I do tend to attract cutesy and sometimes odd happenings to my day. But what happened today was right up there with when I was standing in Kansas, and it started raining frogs.
Ok... so I already know you guys aren't going to believe me because... well, because I don't have a youtube to back up my claims. It happened so fast... (Riiight... that's what they ALL say.) And plus, I just talked about raining frogs.

First a little background: Lulu, the dog, thinks our furry squirrel friends are deli meat. She is ALWAYS chasing them back into the trees, challenging their speed, upsetting their apple carts every chance she can get.

Today, as I was watching the little shi-poo patrol the back yard, (here it comes,) suddenly pie pumpkins started plummeting from the sky down toward Lulu. One missed her by a foot... 3 dropping nearly simultaneously from the maple tree around her. Splat. Splat. Splat. I looked up and saw three squirrels. (Maybe those were smiles on their faces? I don't know.) Was this revenge on the puppy dog day?

Anyway, they cleaned up the mess too, so I can't even prove that. EXCEPT that my husband knows that I recently put all the pumpkins out on the patio table. Oh yeah, and the squirrels are significantly fatter.

Carmel-a-Corn

Autumn is for caramel corn as summer is for_____________(fill in the blank.) You will be graded on uniqueness. :O)

Here's my problem. Consumption quantity. I can't stop at just one handful of my not-so-secret recipe of caramel corn. Is it the organic popping corn? Or the healthier sweetners? (Don't kid yourself like I kid myself-- it's still sugar.) Or maybe it's the crunchy-crispness? Or all of the above?

Carmel-a-Corn (revised from Creme de Colorado)

8 quarts freshly popped organic popcorn (not air popped!)

1 cup unsalted organic butter

1 -1/2 cups organic dark brown sugar

1/2 cup Rapadura sugar

1/4 cup organic corn syrup

1/4 cup water

1/2 teas salt (plus a little)

1 teas baking soda

Pop corn and pour in large roaster pan.

Preheat over to 250.

In a medium saucepan melt butter. Add sugars, corn syrup, water and salt. Whisk. Bring to a simmer, whisking occasionally. Watch carefully while it gently simmers for 5 min. Remove from heat. Add baking soda. Stir quickly but thoroughly (It will rise!)

Pour over popcorn. Gently fold until popcorn is coated. Divide corn into two parts. Evenly distribute on two baking sheets. Place in oven on lower and middle rack. Bake for 40 minutes stirring occasionally.

Gourdgeous!

Smile... Say Cheese! Click!

Here... the latest addition to my art collection.

Gourds by Beaa... a sweet gardener in Colorado who grows families of gourds each year. She harvests, scrubs, dries, then hand paints, and varnishes them into life.

Happy Charlie Brown Monday...

A small cottonwood branch zig-zagged to the ground a few hours before I found it. Its school bus yellow leaves caught my eye as I walked near. "Mine," I thought, sounding a lot like my toddlers once did. I scooped it up, and finished the rest of my exercise walk with it flanking my right, rustling front to back with each step.

I made plans for it... I would plunk its super yellowness into a wood vase and put it on the dining table. And then, I'd make a Italian canneloni soup with crusty French bread for dinner. Then light some candles and call it "Autumn!"

But, and here's the Charlie Brown part, by the time "we" got back home, there was only one lonesome leaf left on the branch. Too much exercise for the little guy, I guess.

Of course... my plans will stay the same. The soup, the crusty bread, the candles... and my mono-leafed branch looking awfully cute inside that wood vase. Thanks Charlie...

Common threads: Do Princesses Really Kiss Frogs? and President Barack Obama's, Of Thee I Sing: A Letter to My Daughters.

Of Thee I Sing: A Letter to My Daughters, written by President Barack Obama, and playfully illustrated by Loren Long will be in book stores Nov 16. (Right around when my latest

Do Princesses Have Best Friends Forever? illustrated by the fabulous Mike Gordon, hits the shelves!)

Whooosh... should be a whirlwind in the bookstores. My little princess book will be in "brisk sales" company.

I am intrigued by President Obama's content premise in Of Thee I Sing...: a father sees the admirable traits of thirteen heroic Americans in his own children.

Sigh... what a lovely thing. Seeing heros within our very own is something we all can do. Our children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews have within them the parts and particles of greatness. Big and small greatness. Tall and short. Their very own unique greatness. Every notch on the scale counts.

I am reminded of the punch line in my humble little book Do Princesses Really Kiss Frogs? as the princess stands before an ever-expanding vista on the final pages.

A rainbow... and all-possibilities surround her:

Princess: Oh Daddy... look at the view!

Daddy: There's something about it that reminds me of you...

To read an editorial review of President Obama's tender new book on Amazon visit: Of Thee I Sing: A Letter To my Daughters.

Off to college. Setting the table for three.

Today Nick is leaving for his third year of college. I stand nearby snapping funny pictures. Wait, what's that weighted feeling in my heart? It's uncomfortably familiar. Smile... snap... say cheese...snap. Mike photo bombs yet another photo...laugh...snap. I snicker as I simultaneously stuff the lump back down into my throat... for later.

Our little family of four is changing back to three, yet again. Bittersweet. Double-edge sword. I'm so SO happy, elated, for my son to move forward into his own wonderful life! It is quintessentially satisfying. And yet...

Tick-tock... tick-tock...tick......

Now that it's later... I'm blubbering over my keypad-- (hopefully salt water doesn't damage Apples.) The house is quiet. (Unless you count the sobbing.) Crickets are squeaking outside. The sky is lobelia blue. Nick has left. And everyone else has gone for the day. Except for Lulu. She is slumped at my feet-- saddened that her walking buddy has gone away. Hey, me too! Earlier, she nervously watched and sniffed every duffle, cardboard box, bedding, clothes, camera equipment, as they went out the door. Me? I watched too, alongside the dog, only I refrained from OCD jumping up 'n down and panting nervously as the last of his stuff got lugged out.

I wanted to though.

Third time is a charm. Phhhffff. Are you kidding me? It does get easier, true, but it's still NOT exactly charming. And okay O-K-A-Y... so Nick's only 45 minutes away in Boulder. I already know I'm a whimp, so no need to rub it in!! (Still friends?) It is what it is. "I yam what I yam," says Popeye. Hmmm, I wish I had some of Popeye's super strength right now. Hand me some spinach, would ya? (And a tissue, please?)

When family structure changes, it takes time to adjust. (I'm more like a comfy pair of slippers than I would like to admit.) From the movies we watch to our long debates about film directors on down to cooking pasta for three instead of... six. (What can I say, he likes my cooking.) And I adore his company.

All the emotion and commotion of "kids leaving for college" reminds me of labor pains. Some women swear up and down (mostly down) that giving birth, to them, doesn't hurt. And I believe them (sort of...maybe.) But, my point is, I want "them" to believe "me" when I say labor hurt "me" like h...&$%#^()*ouch !^%@%^snip!.^%???!! We all process life's passages differently. The end result finds us both smiling into the eyes of a remarkably charming boy or girl-- for about 18 years.

Diversion!!

So. Once I've used up a couple quarts of tears, I find a diversion. And no, it's not the same as "stuffing your feelings." (Remember the tears?) Once we've acknowledged the sadness... diversion is a little blessing from the angels. I begin a new writing project or find a cluttered cabinet to clean. Or BOTH!

Soon after, it doesn't hurt anymore. In truth... after I'm metaphorically all stitched up... it's kind of liberating. Because through the discomfort, there is great joy in knowing my child is excelling and he's happy. What more?

So. I'm going to be okay.

We're ALL going to be okay.

And before I know it... I''ll be setting the table for four, once again.

Well, do they?

Do Princesses Have Best Friends Forever?

Hmmmm....wonder-wonder. My guess is, they do! They must! But then again, Cinderella, by Charles Perrault translated by Marcia Brown, did not, (not even mice!) Neither did Princess Daffodil in A.A. Milnes' The Magic Hill, (just a bunch of pretty flowers.) Two of my favorite storybook princesses by the way.

In real life we cherish our small, medium, and large moments with our friends. It's pretty much at the top of most of our to-do fun-lists. So, in my latest book, Do Princesses Have Best Friends Forever? illustrated by the fabulous Mike Gordon, our everyday princess learns that she...whoops, well with only 250 words in the entire book, I better not give TOO much away. :O)

Coming Soon to a book or toy store or library near you.

Pre-orders available now at Amazon , Barnes and other favorite online stores!!

Special thanks to my little test group of awesome girlfriends for your input. (Aunt Jinnie, Thea, Sharon, Mary, Cindy)

Little words of wisdom...

In celebration of Annie's birthday month-- from the archives.

June 24, 1997

Nick and Annie were having a terrible argument concerning how they were going to play a rain forest game next to the climbing tree. Neither one of them would give in. So I entered the battle. Nick was SO mad he stammered with a red face, "Mommy, I feel like calling Annie stupid!!!" Then he quickly added. "NO, I feel like calling Annie butthead!!!" I said, "Well if you do, you will be in alot of trouble." That was when Annie responded in a quiet voice with, "I feel like saying to Nicky, 'I love you.' " I said, "Really" She nodded. I added, "Then tell him that." She turned to him with eyes alive, and said, "I love you, Nicky." He made such a face and then said, "Come on, let's play." And all was well... until the next time.

time FLIES...

A Tribute to a Home

August 10, 1997

The parting hour draws near. Another home awaits! And it comes complete with the life and character that one might expect from a forty-five year old honey-brick house. It is a charming place to be.

But soon we shall remove ourselves from the only home this little family has ever known. Eleven years in-residence. How will the disconnection affect us? Only a bit more time will tell. Oh- the children, Mike, and Molly-the-dog will be fine. The four cannot wait to browse the park of their own backyard. But I think that I shall kiss each and every wall of this home goodbye. Yes, I think I shall. Just as I did when I was seven and we were leaving New York for the wilds of the west.

Change is always a disconnection of sorts. Letting go is paramount. But I do not change or let go without a reason for the bittersweet. This home was the framework of our family. It was palette and canvas for my creativity. Many, many things have happened here.

Come the eve of August 17 the house will be free of all our treasures. It will be a shell of memories. I will tour the property one last time. Will I be able to hear the echoes of Nicholas's cries for an eleven o'clock, one o'clock, three o'clock (and on and on) feeding? Will I be able to hear a one-year-old Annie's Italian-like calls for her "mama mia?" They were babies for only an instant.

My hands will graze the handmade oak mantle that Mike constructed. I will remember how Nicky insisted on putting a candle in the fireplace so that Santa Claus would not be frightened. I, too, will wish for a candle this night. Will the memories be as keen without the cues??

Some of you may say, "Doesn't this woman have a camera, for cryin' out loud?" And I will say to them, "I have one, thank you very much." This is different.

Then I will kiss each and every wall of our home goodbye... I will walk through the entry one last time... and out the door. I have another canvas to tend to! And there are more memories to be made.

This disconnection is an opportunity to change... to let go. A beautiful door has closed... but another has opened!

Italian Peasant Woman

Isn't her pretty? I found her years ago-- hand casted and painted by a sculptor who lives in the Artic half of the year and Boulder the other. The lemons are mine. Depending on her mood, her basket is sometimes filled with nuts. Sometimes fancy soaps. Sometimes walnuts... or olives. She's fairly moody. (You can see it in her eyes... hmmmm?)

(there...just for you, Theeeeee.)

Pushing my princess...

Today, I'm pushing my princess books a little bit. I'll be signing books at The Bookery Nook. this Saturday Oct 10 at 10:30. The little ones have been encouraged to wear their princess outfits and hiking boots. And the owner has informed me that those that purchase a princess book get a princess wand! I know I'm gonna want one.

Princess in the news: Here's to "real girl power" and a neighborhood discussion in The Denver Post about Pinkalicious and Do Princesses Wear Hiking Boots? And a video of a Bloomington librarian reading... well, you'll just have to see for yourself. :O)

And here's another one, if you're finding yourself with a little extra time on your hands.

singing for his surgery...

Recently, my dad sang for his surgery, well, actually he played the harmonica for his surgery. Let me explain....

In pain from two molars broken to below his puffy gums... my 86-year-old dad was informed by the VA, that patients are not covered for dental and oral surgery, unless completely disabled.

So, my dad did what any self-respecting former Navy radioman from the Bronx would do... He whipped out his harmonica and began playing "Clementine" for the VA physician assistant-- right there, in her office. Granted, he dramatically slowed through the part "...you are LOST and gone forever, dreadful sorry, Clementine..." because remember, he had just LOST the top part of his molars. "Dreadful sorry..." :(

But here's the best part... The physician assistant alighted, visibly touched, "Ted. No one has EVER played harmonica for me before."

She promptly made a few calls, pulled a few strings, and the result?... he is scheduled for oral surgery at the VA this Wednesday.

"Ohhhh-MY-darlin'...!."

DEEP shade

A July morning, a mile high, I'm mincing in and out of cottonwood shadows, alongside a gurgling Highline Canal. The sun plays a sneaky game of tag with me... "You're IT. " Except I am trying my darndest to hide behind a clump of inky green shade. "NOT IT!!"

I'm rather fond of shade, you see. It's July, remember? Yet still, there's something to be said for a little dab of both: sun-soaked sidewalks slow dancing with a handsome wood.

Not at all the same... without the other!

Everything is possible...

Sheesh... I guess with a little practice you CAN do just about anything.

Let's see... I can tie a knot in my hair using one hand. Ummmm... and I can sing like Tiny Tim.

So there.... :O)

Dove's Beauty Campaign continues to educate....

Dove has done it again with their campaign for real beauty.  

Those ready for a little grit, click on  Onslaught   

But also watch "Amy" while your there...  I love it.

Hairy Potter!

                                       lulu...

Personals:   loves doing impersonations of superheroes; favorite treat involves stray popcorn;   will work for belly rubs; gold medal in sprinting around the block;  misses Nicky-- but tries to keep a stiff upper lip (hmmm do dogs even HAVE lips?);   is able to leap tall beds with a single bound;  goes along for the ride;  longs for social visits from auntie thea, grandma tena, grandpa tedy, ben, max, david, jason, wyatt:  triple jointed;  chases bunnies; owns a polo shirt;  performs sing-alongs with the recorder or harmonica... 

comfy cozy...

Princess-Boots-cvr
Originally uploaded by carmelacoyle

Annie (age 15) created a cubby in her closet last night... a sleep cubby with puffy purple pillows (okay, YOU try saying that five times fast.)   She constructed her comfy cozy hideaway for snoozing and reading. Her boyfriend commented with sarcasm, "And you like being eight again??"

I doth proTEST!  This is the same sweet boy who gave her a build-a-bear for Valentine's Day.  Hmmm... and the very same boy who was quick to inquire, when he arrived to take her out for the afternoon, "Can I see the cubby?" Hah.  Jealous...

This has reminded me of why I wrote Do Princesses Wear Hiking Boots? eleven years ago, when Annie was four.  It was my nonconformist tribute to beauty,  peer pressure,  scholastic achievement and athletic performance.    And although the story now is read to little girls across America and beyond,  the original impulse will always belong to Annie-- take the trail less traveled;  snort when you laugh-- if you must;  wear mismatched socks by all means; and build cozy cubbies when you damn well please.   

No... Annie 's not off trying to save the planet, yet, (all in good time...) or inventing a panacea for our economic ills or reveling in political activism... but she amazes me everyday with her level of heart.   

It is all too easy to measure teens by how "adult" they behave, and how pleasingly mature their extracurricular activities.  Looky here, my teen has started her own business!   Honors, AP, IB, 4.5 gpa...  It's tempting to buy into it, and admire it all-- I do, but I don't.   (Thank you, Waldorf Education. ) I can't help but wonder if our children's hearts and souls are ready for that level of achievement?   Too much too soon.   (Eventually they might need to escape to their very own little cubby too.)  

  

Truth is,  I am an advocate for letting teens be teens, letting them experience a portion of life that goes by fleetingly fast, and  harbors lessons galore- albeit painful and pleasant.    I say...  let it rip.    As long as parents are willing to set boundaries, and put in the time it takes to parent a full-fledged teen.  Get ready,  it may not be the prettiest time of their lives.  They might be selfish, narcissistic, and roll their eyes a lot.   But they may also warm your day beyond calculation with a smile or a hilarious story.   

Disclosure:  I am the parent of another teen-- the high achiever type,   HA, is my acronym of choice.   Regardless, he remains a teen.  He's not yet setting the world on fire with plans to reconstruct the Amazon Rainforest. (But if anyone could... )   Instead he is learning and observing how the world ticks.   In all his intelligent glory, he  intentionally leaves a trail of (carbonless) footprints behind him in the dirt.  Just so we can catch up with him, eventually.  "Wait up, Nick!" 

Annie is readying herself for whatever her worldly contributions will be simply by being who she is...  a teenager.  I take comfort in knowing she will make that quintessential discovery and it will be rich and rare.  Okay, so she's taking a few moments to acquiesce, reconstruct something from her childhood, akin to the fort.   I feel blessed to have teens who are teens, by their own standards,  even if there are a couple pairs of peat brown eyes rolling all over the house.   

There. I'm done.   I need a nap--  And I know of just the right place...  

Comfy cozy cubby (five times fast!)

My husband sent this youtube of Australian Nick Vujicic over 10 days ago and I never seemed to have time to watch it.  

Today, I watched it...    An Amazing Man

Here he is.... my guy all grown up- well mostly, sort of.   Making his way, forging a path through college.  

  

              Nick 2009 2nd semester Freshman,  CU Boulder Colorado

Reading two at a time...

In addition to The Time Traveler's Wife,  I'm ALSO reading The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck.   (A brazen tribute to imagery great and small.)  I can almost taste the dry gusty swirls of dust and lonely debris from that 1930's drought.  Quick!  Get me a lemonade.   

Somehow the Grapes of Wrath avoided me in high school.   But, fast forward a few decades and my daughter Annie, the sophomore,  is reading it for her Waldorf Block class.  What an unavoidable time for me to read it too!   Don't you think?  I plan to pace my reading with her assignments, so we'll always be reading the exact same chapter.  Wooo-hooo...

"I'm reading it so we can have our  own little book club.  Just you and meeeee," I say, ending with a big toothy grin.  (Mine, not her's.)

As her eyes stammer and revolve from left to right like wind shield wipers, she replies with a waver, "Oh boy..."   

She's excited about it too.  I can tell.... 

  

  

Looking for a respite?

I am inspired by the quotes (and delicious photos) in this short slide montage... (click on the link)

Finding Joy... 

PATHETIC!!

That's what I am.  

Presently, I'm reading The Time Traveler's Wife-- and yes, it has become all too apparent to me how trippy "time" is.   One moment it's here... and the next moment... it's here.   Only different. Trimmed down and lean with loneliness.  Or fat from a diet of constant companionship.   

At least that's the way it is for Henry, the librarian.  Hopping to and fro, tip-toeing hither and yon, through out-of-order moments in space/time.  Naked. (Apparently you can't time travel with stuff, including clothes.)  How does he have time to restock books?  Zip zapping around like that...   

As for me... I'm flummoxed to a good ol' fashion linear time line,  kerplunked down on the grid, wearing jeans, a t-shirt and sweater, oh and occasional eye make-up.    The only excuse I have is "time" is in constant motion ticking and tocking until there just doesn't seem to be a second left in the day to write.   See?  That's how it  happens.  When I checked my blog site entries this morning,  I had to squint, blink a dozen times, and rub my eyes.  August??  You've got to be kidding!!  

As I continue this week to read about the time leaping naked husband,  I'm hoping to take this whole "moment to moment" continuum thing more lyrically-- toss some new words around the time line-- and supplant a lazy five minutes with a sentence or two.   Are you with me on this??

Music to discover countries by.

Take a listen.  Click  "Lalo's Norwegian Rhapsody"   wait a second for it to load.  Be patient... it's worth it!  

Turn up the volume and prepare to start discovering.

Nice, huh.

Oooo-lah-lahhhhh.

...

Venus de... Shelly

Shelly, dear... did you know that the sea would one day be worn about your neck and head?  By way of four clam shells... pushed ashore by a wanton wave?  Did you??  I know I hadn't thought of it.   Just think of the route those ocean artifacts have taken,  through surf and sand, desert and mountain-- through  (who knows how many)  landlocked states, all for the sake of becoming a necklace and a hat!  (Looking a little like a saucy French maid, are we?) 

Hmmmmm.  I suppose one never knows what travels lie ahead...

(Note:  I  can't resist plopping something onto the head of the statue in my studio...  Hee.)  

here's looking at you...

I am looking at you now.  In the form of a photograph taken when you were four-years-old.  Long golden hair with eyes peeping out to a wondrous world beyond a knitted brim. Hmmmm.  A glint of perfect health radiates across your dimpled smile ("say cheeeeese!") into the camera lens.  You are gorgeous, OH-FOUR-YEAR-OLD!

Fast forward... you are gorgeous still, my lovely-at-fifteen.  But did you know that you look even more gorgeous without make-up?  (I saw you roll your mascaraed eyes.  Now, as I usually say, roll them back the other way so you won't get out of balance...) It's appealing to wear make-up... to try on new pastels, to see all the drama that can be had when you draw a black line around your upper and lower inner lids.  Or shimmy on some aqua eye shadow with sparkles.  Or guava lip color.  It's OH-SO-FUN!! And will remain forever so, as long as this "made-up" beauty doesn't become a crutch, or a habit.  Ask yourself, "Can I leave the house without make-up and still feel like myself? Because make-up doesn't define who you really are.  It never will.  For you see... it can't.  No amount of make-up can enhance your internal features.  Your kindness;  your intelligence;  your smile;  your forgiving nature;  your love; your honesty;  your wonderment- "how deep do you think that water is?";   your talents; your laughter colors your cheeks with a make-up not yet known to cosmetic counters. 

The world is full of beautiful and hot girls (which is another topic altogether.)   They are EVERYWHERE.   Around every corner.  At every school across this ominous planet.  On every magazine page,  in every movie and mall.  Everywhere.  But what is not everywhere, is the girl that is both beautiful on the outside... and on the inside.  The girl that isn't afraid to be herself. Yah-yah-yah, I know... old stuff. Regardless.  It is true. Most boys know this too, even though they like to look at all the beautiful and hot girls.   And they like to talk about them... and often times pursue them... but rarely do they end up loving them forever.   Sadly, rarely do these girls end up loving themselves forever either. 

You've heard it all before, I know.  (Remember to roll your eyes back the other way.) 

Lazy hazy...

We're grilling, eating, sipping, reading, writing, playing, working, idling, napping outside more than inside nowadays.  Are you??  "Summer is my favorite month"-- ala Annie-- her fav is always the one we're in!!  Handy, isn't it?  It helps that all four seasons in Colorado have a raw, radical beauty.  Including those darkly eclipsed days of January and February. (I know, I know... easier said than done- unless you're a snowboarder...)  For right now... I'll simmer in the shade of some wildly bodacious sunshine.

Lingering sunrises; drive-in movies (boohoo-Cinderella City drive-in bit the dust this year;)  potted plants;  juicy homegrown tomatoes; pink grapefruit Ting soda in a glass bottle; outdoor candlelight;  dark green patches of shade;  a summer blockbuster;  faraway thunder; evening air moving through the trees;  that early bird;  salads!!;  teen volleyball games; lemons in all forms of yummy;  homemade ice cream;  seashells;  sea foam sliding up a beach...  okay, okay, the list could go on for eternity....   oh, but if only summer could...

  

Festooooning...

Cascading Floral Balcony
Originally uploaded by donnacorless

If I was to write a travel book... it would most definitely be one about flower festooned balconies. There's one balcony in particular in Santa Fe that stuffs itself silly with flowers. (Remember, Thea?)

Flowered balconies stop me in my tracks, especially those with emblematic wrought iron scrolls embracing ivies, alyssum, petunias, maiden hair, geraniums.... against a pinkish stucco-- cracks encouraged... Big BIG sigh.

The thing is... I have some. Balconies that is... four to be exact!! Well, they are classified as French Windows, meaning they are second story French doors that open up to 3 ft wrought iron grills... ( just so's we don't fall out!)

Let it be known!! That this is the year of the balcony! Hah! And you thought it was the year of the Rat...
Well it is still the year of the Rat, but it's also the year of the balcony.
I'm going to festoon!

Can't wait for May.

Most of the shadows of this life are caused by standing in our own sunshine.

--Ralph Waldo Emerson

(Our visit to Maui... at sunset)

photo by Nick Coyle

Aren't these lovely?  I spotted them outside our sunroom window two floors up this past January.  Chubby chunks of melt... Old Man Winter's beard....  a snow maiden's eyelashes... Nature's popscicles.... ice sculptures of carrots...  a frozen pipe organ.   Of course, the  resident engineer took one look out the window and said... "a clogged gutter. " 

 

Tips for Picture Book Writers

Right before bed last night an email message arrived from  the good people at  Rocky Mountain Chapter of Society of Children's Book Writer's and Illustrators  (big breath.)  

I was sleepy, but I read it anyway.  A Spring workshop presenter was looking for published authors to share their tips for writing children's picture books.  As I drifted off to sleep I was pondering what would be on my list.... list.... list... (that's when I fell asleep.)  

When I woke up, I had this list of tips:   

• Keep chocolate in your desk drawer. (I prefer 70% cacao... lah-dee-dah.) 
  

• Picture book writer's are on word diets.  Celery, carrots, broccoli, maybe some whole grains, but remember make it YUMMY!!  You do not have access to words like  fromage or pate brioche.  Dang.   Keep it simple, BUT YUMMY!!  (Average picture book length is getting shorter by the minute--under 1000 words-- but  have you ever counted how many words are in Olivia??)

• Trim-trim-trim... do not be afraid to trim.  Sometimes your all-time, very favorite sentence doesn't move the story ahead.    A wise, old editor (she really isn't old, just wise) once told me, "You'll use it, someday,  in another story..." 

• It's okay to throw in a couple zingers for good measure.  In my first book,  Do Princesses Wear Hiking Boots,  (all 250 words of it!)  I use the word "delectable" because, well because,  it stretches children's vocabulary...  Plus I couldn't find anything else that rhymed with "vegetables."

• Think of yourself as Gumby!!  You know, the little bendy guy that looks like the gingerbread man?  Only Gumby's smarter because he's made out of a slab of stinky rubber, not yummy cookie dough,  so... the sly fox isn't going to be interested in eating him up.   Be smart (and bendy)-- editors, agents, publishers,  friends, your mother,  a little bird... are all going to give advice.  Every single suggestion, whether it comes from the industry or the UPS guy, might just be the catalyst to something astounding.   

• Did you notice that all my tips so far, except one,  have been food related?  Geeez.

• Have ears like DUMBO  and HORTON.   Listen to every teeny tiny word that children say.  My daughter began saying wonderful things before she could officially talk. Mountains were WOWS and blankies were WEEEE's.  (Long story.)   My personal favorite, "When me looks at the moon, me sees a white banana..."   That said, sometimes kids say things that become book titles!!  I know mine did.    

copyright 2008  all rights reserved carmela lavigna coyle

WHY-OH-WHY am I writing a novel??

Well, that's easy...  because I need to extrapolate.  That's why.  So there... humph.

Don't misunderstand.  I LOVE LOVE LOVE writing children's picture books, it's so very refreshing and I get to be and think like a little kid all over again. It's the best job in the world. (That, and being a mom.)  I get to "think" words like,  pahlease and phew and poopy and yucky and yippy!!    But, writing for kids is very challenging. You have, at best, 300-500 words to tell a whompin' good story.  Every single word counts.  No superfulous-ness allowed.  

Now and then I yearn to go off on a tangent!!  To spit words all over the page.  Throw them into the corners and folds and outside of the margins.  Giddy-up!  Yah... 

There... I said it.   

So... that's why I'm writing a novel.   

Science of Giving

Matthew's Pennies
Originally uploaded by xxtickleticklexx

In an archival NY Times article, dating December 26, 1919, it was reported that if all the ants in the world gathered together in one place they would far outweigh all the elephants of the world. (This, according to a Statistical Naturalist. Who knew?)

It certainly gives illumination to "every little bit counts," doesn't it? 

From my newest book, Am I Beautiful? (09)-- a talking parrot and a little girl named Polly find themselves exploring the other side of a mirror. 

...Right then the sky turned to copper and it began to rain pennies!!  "Do you save your pennies for a rainy day? AWK?" the parrot asked.... 

"I have a piggy bank and an umbrella with lady bugs on it!" she replied proudly.  "Oh dear!"said Polly, as she placed a hundred pennies on top of a rabbit family's leaking roof.... 

Beautiful is sharing. 

And of course Giving has many faces. Sometimes Giving dresses up as a smile; or gives up parking spaces-- even though you were there first; or pays it forward;  or picks up a stranger's litter;  or walks the dog;  or makes dinner ('giving' begins at home;)  or shovels a neighbor's sidewalks;  or fills the bird feeder;  or forgives those who need it most.   Again.

Mark your calendars! Dec. 16 is National Chocolate Covered ANYTHING Day

Chocolate-Covered Strawberries
Originally uploaded by beautifulcataya

It had to happen, didn't it? A day devoted to smothering, drizzling, slapping, sluicing, encrusting, encasing, ANYTHING with chocolate. We humans do love our cacao.

Every couple of months I leave a metaphorical skid mark outside Chuao Chocolatier's in Southern CA. Trust me, they smolder in chocolate, of the Venezuelan variety. But what's a Coloradan, 1,600 miles away, to do? 

Why... mail order, of course! at www.chuaochocolatier.com. Chuao coddles their fresh truffles and bonbons inside candy boxes and ships them overnight in an innovative cold pack. And their pairings and flavorings are sumptuous. Too many personal favorites to list, but here's a sampling: 

1. Chevere: goat cheese, pear Williams and crushed black pepper buttercream. 
   
2. Mondena: strawberry caramel with balsamic vinegar,   
3. Picante: California raisin fondue and Napa Valley cabernet, spiced with pasilla chili and cayenne pepper.  

 Purrrrrrr.  Every couple of months I place my internet order for a box of dark bonbons from Chuao. ( I love the word BONBON, don't you? I love it so much that I think it will be the title of my next children's book. Doesn't it conjure up a lazy day spent on the couch? In pink spongey curlers?)

Okay... the rumor is true, there's another reason why National Chocolate Covered Anything Day snagged my attention. I have a history with chocolate covered cherries a.k.a. cherry cordials.  I use to hand make them for my family back when maraschinos were synonymous with the words "covered" and "chocolate." Now, like everyone else, I cover candied ginger and fresh strawberries, and brussel sprouts... not really.

I recall a shhhocking scene in the movie Chocolat when Vivian blends dark chocolate shavings into the gravy (oh my!) and serves to her partisans over pork (or was that beef.)  Those French!!  I wonder how many folks will celebrate National Chocolate Covered Anything Day that way?

Not me!  I don't eat red meat.  But I do eat chicken.... hmmmmm.

(Thanks to  Kristie for introducing my sister to Chuao, who later introduced ME... the fanatic.)

BLACK SOCK CURES INSOMNIA!!!

EXTRA EXTRA!!! READ ALL ABOUT IT!

Thats' right, folks. Throw away the pharmaceuticals and get ye a black sock!!

Let me explain. I've been having trouble sleeping at night.
I-N-S-O-M-N-I-A.
(WARNING: sleep deprivation makes you a menace to society, well at least to a husband :)

I can fall asleep just fine. It's just that I wake up at 3 a.m. and can't go back to sleep. I've tried everything natural under our roof. (NOTE: I've said "NO!" to sleep drugs. They're not even under our roof. So there.) I've tried, sleepy-time tea, calcium tablets, aromatherapy, herbs, I've massaged oils into my feet and hands, taken warm baths,
quiet walks, avoided caffeine, organic sheets, gentle detergents, yada-yada-ding-dong.

Hello??
Enter, THE BLACK SOCK. (That's right... in bold AND caps.)

My husband, ever the inventor type, tied a string, and toggle to one of his "clean" black socks-- thereby creating the first-ever melatonin inducing sock. In desperation (and lack of a real sleep mask,) I slipped the sock over my eyes. And slept (and snored) like a lazy languid lugubrious baboon until 6 in the morning.

Insomnia cured... by a sock. Folks, you heard it here first.


DISCLOSURE: Test first for sensitivity to wearing a ridiculous looking thing around your face. Remember to remove sock before walking to bathroom. And whatever you do, DO NOT involve the teenagers.

Stone Birdy...

I found her at an antique gallery behind a rusty urn, dinged from the travails of old age... and a fall or two. Her concrete beak stooped low as if frozen in an eternal nibble. (Sound familiar, ladies?) She was lovely!
So I purchased her on the spot- and designed a simple vignette in which to present her.

The stone bird is a gift for my mother. But mom doesn't know anything about her yet.
She will though. Soon. Shhhhhhh. A birthday is coming!

a home security system....

Concrete Angel
Originally uploaded by titancia

They were chiseled, blasted, and molded into shape by a consortium of craftsman. But my angel and cherub collection are not your ordinary bevy of celestials-- some are concrete, some are sand-casted or porcelain, while others are made of terracotta. Some are Italian. Some are Spanish. Many are hand painted. Others are primitive. (No cutesy found here.) Whatever the composite... all dazzle in their own right.

Years ago, I assembled my angels together in the foyer, like centurians guarding a compound-- to ward away
discontent or other would-be hooligans.
Or simply welcome. No one could pass without first dealing with the angels. It set a precedence. I think. Come in peace... otherwise, what the heck are you doing here???

When we moved into our new "old" house, the angels never quite made it to the entry. Instead, they were dispersed throughout our home. Which recently has made me ponder... were those angels, cloistered en masse, my home security system? Perhaps they were.

Now... after a recent break-in, and subsequent burglary, we installed a real home security system. It's laconic voice speaks to me whenever I open a door. "Sensor to garage door-- open--BEEEEEP."
What?? No smiles? No angelic winks? "Sensor OPEN...BEEEEP" Is that all my state-of-the-arts security system has to say for itself? I've been gone for hours! No "Helloooo, how was your day?" OR "By the way, no one tried to steal your stuff today!"

Oh well.. Although, we will gladly keep this newfangled wireless contraption, I think it's time to gather my angelic forces for a reunion... in the entry. At least then when I walk in, I will know by the warmth of their gelid glances, that all is, indeed, perfectly well. I've come in peace...

BEEEEEP.

Happy Angel Day, Thea!!

Hannah Montana??? Does this BOTHER anyone other than me?

Review headlines smacked:
HANNAH! HANNAH! HANNAH! Show In Tune With Good Fun!!

Pah-lease!

Am I the only mom that is disturbed by all the glamor associated with the Hannah Montana craze? A recent article in the Denver Post showed 12 photo examples of young girls aged 4-10 "glamming up" beyond their years for a Hannah Montana concert at the Pepsi Center. Won't this seed their jump into teenagehood with "what's a girl to wear?"
(Role model??? Fyi- Miley Cyrus' favorite hobby is shopping.)

Can't little girls (AND yes, I do mean 4 to 10 year olds!!) just be little girls?
Yah, yah yah, I know you've heard it all before, but here it goes again, "They're young for such a short time!!!"
What exactly is the hurry???

My daughter, Annie, is now 14. She was/is the inspiration behind my children's book series, Do Princesses Wear Hiking Boots? And the reason for my latest book, Am I Beautiful?(09) Annie is a vision of pure beauty and self confidence, stylish, centered. NEVER did she idolize a girl outside of herself. She was too busy discovering what it was like to run as fast as the wind. And learning what happens when you mix dirt with water-- especially between bare piggy-toes. (Thank you, Waldorf education!)
Sure she played dress-up, but within the context of her play kitchen.

Unplug the T.V., Mommies! Find some great books with alarmingly brilliant heroines for your girls. (Check out Beauty's Secret just released by Debra Gano.) It's never too early to learn about inner beauty-- help give her something she'll have for a lifetime.... herself.

And then, let true glamor begin.

Mmmmmmmm....fried red tomatoes

fried tomatoes
Originally uploaded by ericjhwilson

Mom use to make them... but I don't know if she still does. Do you, mom?
While we're waiting for her answer-- here's what you do. Choose firm red beef steak or other type of tomatoes-- garden or farm market fresh from the vine. Slice into thick wheels. Dredge with flour and salt & pepper-- pressing genty to coat. Then fry 'em up in a heavy skillet with olive oil (hmmm-- I really should buy stock in olive oil) until soft on the inside, and crispy brown on the outside. Serve warm or cold. Very yummy over salad. Or just by themselves!

Now that I think about it. Mom now makes oven roasted tomatoes instead. Same idea... but sans the flour.

Variation: You can add all sorts of sprinkles before cooking-- dried basil, oregano, or parmesan... or perhaps spice them up a bit with some red pepper flakes.

Ris-ssssotto

porcini risotto
Originally uploaded by clairish

I did it!!! After years of saying I was going to, I finally made risotto. A yummy Italian comfort food which, according to the professionals, cannot be rushed. The Italians say "...the risotto does not wait for the guests, but rather the guests wait for the risotto." Well, for goodness sakes, let's NOT rush the rice.

Now the kids know why I was screaming for them to come down for dinner-- the RISOTTO was READY. And I wasn't about to upset the risotto. Pah-lease. Touchy-touchy.

Well risotto wasn't nearly as tricky (or touchy) to make as I thought. But I do have some suggestions:

*Use a wooden spoon- as opposed to metal or plastic
*Use quality cookware. Avoid using an aluminum saucepan
*Stir, stir, stir...
*Toast the rice before cooking. Add rice to dry saucepan and "toast" 4 min. just to warm the rice- do not brown!!
*Heat ALL liquids (including wine) before adding.
* Think about using Vialone nano variety of rice- said to be creamier.

Recipe for Leeky Parmesan Risotto:

4 cups low sodium chicken broth
2 Tablespoon olive oil
2 Tablespoon unsalted butter
2 medium size leeks white part only (dice)
1 garlic clove (minced)
1 1/2 cup Vialone nano rice OR Arborio rice
1 cup dry white wine- Chardonnay or Pinot Blanc
1/2 teaspoon celtic sea salt plus a little more
1/4 teaspoon coursely ground black pepper
3/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan plus extra for topping off

Simmer broth in a saucepan. Warm wine in a separate pan. Toast rice as above.

In a medium saucepan melt 1 T. butter with 1 T. olive oil-- add diced leeks and garlic. Saute until transparent-- 5 min. Add toasted rice, stir and cook over medium about four min. Add wine and simmer until the wine is absorbed stirring frequently- about 5 min. Add 1/2 cup of warm broth at a time to the rice, stir. Do not add more broth until the last addition is absorbed. Repeat this process by adding a 1/2 cup at a time for 20-30 min. until the rice is firm but not crunchy. Add remaining melted butter and olive oil, salt and pepper. Stir gently. Stir in Parmesan. Let risotto rest on plate or bowl for a minute-- loosen with a fork to release the steam... then the rest is up to you. Buon Appetito!!

4 servings.

Working at the Happy Factory

Working at the Happy Factory
Originally uploaded by utahgha

The Happy Factory!! Surely, one of the best ideas I have heard in a long-long time. An extraordinary organization! Wood scraps are turned into glorious wooden toys for children in need. Cars, trucks and all things that zooooommm!
Their motto: "We may not be able to make a toy for every child in the world who needs one, but we're going to try!"

Stealing Santa Fe...

Santa Fe sunset
Originally uploaded by Brawn

A multi-layered five day journey... is done-- as told by this southwest sunset. (Fine artists and photographers galore try to convey the depth and breath of such a setting sun, and they do come as close as humanly possible... yet, it's one of those-- "you have to see it to believe it...")

We're home from the fiery southwest USA. Santa Fe- where dining, architecture, fine arts, world class shopping... and rabbit brush combined to conjure up a dream trip for four women (from three generations.)

Dinners at Tulip and Pasqual were the evening highlights (aside from that sinking sun.)

Pasquals: A plate of gourment french fries, spinach feta soup, warm brie, maytag bleu on romaine, wild king salmon with a rustic avocado sauce, heirloom tomatoes with pesto, pinon ice cream with caramel.
Note: Paquals delivers a coffee drink to the table that resembles the rich sandstone-brown layers of a southwest sunset just past dusk.)

Tulip: Chile corn bread, spinach salad with Colorado peaches, tuna with sobe noodles and smoked mushrooms, tiramasu with lemon ginger marscapone.

A must eat: dark chocolate bon bon with caramel and red Hawaiian sea salt on top- available at Todos Santos Chocolatier.

Our vote for Best Bakery? Sage Bakehouse-- hands down... actually our hands were up begging for more!

We return to Colorado with art... and earrings.

As the "leaving New Mexico" signs says....hasta la vista!

Sunflowers... gotta love 'em!!

Sunflower Field - Western Kansas
Originally uploaded by macleong

During the months of August, Sept, and Oct., I fill Italian crocks with thick stalks of sunflowers. They like it best on the long farm style dining table-- never a lonely place with all the kids passing through.

I raise my glass to these extraordinary blooms!!

Cheers!

Lost and... found

It really wasn't lost. It was hidden. (Long pause.)
Okay. It really wasn't hidden. It was obscured. (Longer pause)

Treasures are often obscured in those deeply dark corners of life. Like beryl in it's unpolished state. This particular treasure was shadowed in a deeply dark corner of the garden shed (aka science lab) just enough out of the mainstream that my eye didn't see it for it's worth. Until one day, it bushwacked me- slapped my attention around a bit until I gave notice.  Hmmmm. Standing over five feet tall,  sunburned from excessive UV,  and delicately scarred by the whips of use.   Distressed as only a shabby could love.  I turned straight on to my new found slender green cabinet, and said, "I like you."

And that was it... I liked it. But not enough to face the spiders, snakes... and lions that were no doubt lurking on every shelf and underpinning. And so there my cabinet stayed... in the shed for years. Once in a while I would see it, and gave my regards, "I still like you." And off I'd go, not willing to deal with the creepy crawlies.

Until one day. I managed to convince a certain someone to lug it out of the shed and check it over for me. (I know...I'm an absolute wimp.)

After it passed inspection, I carefully scrubbed it clean as to not disturb its natural weather. With a little help from an old sand cherub for frontal detail- it now has an honored new life in my studio as my supply cabinet. My desk faces it while I write. I often catch myself glancing in it's direction- casting a whisper, "I do like you. Very, very much."

Becoming Jane... underrated by reviewers

Say what you like... my  opinion is based upon personal preference.  Not without flaws, I enjoyed Becoming Jane even more the second time around.  (And yes,  I have read all of Jane Austen's novels... several times...) 

Superbly acted.  A sweeping score.  Smart screenplay.   (Warning Spoilers- read no further if you don't already know Jane Austen's romantic travails.) 

 

Whether founded in truth or not, the story kept me engaged long after the credits.  Even haunting me while I slept. Was it the poignancy of her doomed romantic circumstances? (It takes two to...waltz.)  Or the admission that a female novelist can't have it all-  marriage, family and career?   I found myself relating to the peaks and valleys.   As a writer, a searing new story idea can tear me in one direction... and "what's for dinner" in the other,  and soccer chauffeuring  in yet another.    As 19th century as it sounds,  domestic commitment is a reality. 

For me.  (At least while I have school age children.)

I was swept up by the interludes- the misunderstandings,  the eye contact, the desperate kiss, the jeering arguments in the forest (How romantic these passionate arguments are on screen! In real life?  I'd smack him.  Well, she DID smack him at one point.  But it lead to a kiss, and hmmm- in the 21st century?... I don't know.  But hey, it works for me on screen!)  

Anne Hathaway- as Jane Austen.  She crafted this part exceedingly well.  A far step beyond Diaries and Prada.   Her longing,  anguish, and tears- genuine.  

James McAvoy- as Tom LeFroy.  Perfectly geeky, and yet, eye-chocolate in so many intelligent ways.  Cool to a tee.  Marvelous acting- in pitch and timing.  (He had ME convinced.  I was running away at dawn!)  

First up-  saw him in Narnia, and thought- this man is way too alluring for a faun... then, bring on the C4!  he's casted in The Last King of Scotland, Starter For Ten,  Becoming Jane,  Penelope,  Atonement, and Wanted.

Maggie Smith, Julie Walters, and James Cromwell all acted their chops off.  Very fine.  And Anna Maxwell Martin- something MUST be said about her performance- beguiling and demure as Cassandra, Jane's older sister.  Her bereavement scene was all too genuine.) 

One of my many favorite scenes:  

Jane is eagerly seeking Mr LeFroy at the Ball. But instead., her fateful search brings her to a dance with Mr Wisley- a suitor that she had recently rebuffed.  Midway through the dance she is suddenly swept into Tom's lead-   eyes locked upon one another in magnetic discovery.   Enchanting.  

Loved the screenwriters cunning references to situations in Austen's novels.  Contrary to what some reviewers had to say,  I think these clever references made it all the more fun.  Very fun indeed.   But not without "trouble."  (Bring tissues.) 

Quote during their first dance:  

Tom LeFroy:  "I think that you, Miss Austen, consider yourself a cut above the company... 

Jane Austen:  Me?

Tom LeFroy:  You, ma'am.  Secretly.

Take THAT, oh-ye-highbrow reviewers...

 

COMING SOON!!! 3rd Annual Root Beer taste testing contest

ONLINE Root beer POLL CLOSED! Virgils brand root beer won first place!

How is it possible??

Well- it just isn't!! I must be dreaming. Because you couldn't possibly be eighteen years old! 36 hours of labor- ending in a c-section. (OR rather beginning with a c-section.)

I haven't taught you how to make marinara sauce yet-(wait a sec- that's not a good idea.) When you were little, I remember telling you to "SLOW DOWN!" You must have thought I meant not to run so fast. Actually, Nick, I was suggesting that you not GROW so fast.

Do all kids grow this fast? I mean... seasoned parents told me their kids did. But that was THEIR kids, not mine. (Hey, these were the same seasoned parents that warned me, "Before you know it, they won't want to be seen with you." What? That's not true- IS IT?- Nick? - Nick? Are you there? Where'd he go?)

Hmmm. I guess you didn't listen to my pleas to 'slow down.' Because here you are, Nicholas Teague Coyle, eighteen, registered with selective services, going on a pre-senior road trip with some buddies, working on a feature length film for a school project, and able to vote in 08.

And yet you have always been wise beyond your years. You were the one that at the age of 4 looked at my tummy and pointed, "There's a baby in there... and it's a girl!" And then 8 months later before Annie's birth you comforted me, "Don't worry, she's going to be able to get through the hallway, mommy." And she did.


I remember the first summer your voice changed into that of a man's. I was upstairs in my room and suddenly I heard Annie downstairs talking to a stranger. I ran down... only to see you, a cute little twelve-year old with eyes as dark as a couple of antique coins, sitting next to his sister on the couch discussing the latest Harry Potter book. No squeaking, faltering voice- you had caught a summer cold, your voice dove down to your toes... and it never came back up.

You've been my contant drip line of humor crossed with a bit of mad scientist. When you were 13, I remember instructing you to put the chopped celery into the soup at 5:30 p.m.- when 5:30 came along- you couldn't remember what you were suppose to do with the celery. So... you ate it. I can almost imagine the mind-talk on that one.

What a stunning man you are becoming! But there's work left to do- for example: dressing-up means more than clean shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, napkins are folded with the point facing left, and generally people bring their dirty dishes down from their room more than once a month.

I forgot to say, those seasoned parents also said... "you're a parent forever..." Now there's some advice I can live with.

Atlanta!! Veni Vidi Vici!

Recently we had a lay-over in Atlanta. (We came, we saw, we conquered... Food, that is.)

"I'm HUNGRY..." became my daughter's mantra an hour into the 3 hour plus flight. Never mind that she had a large breakfast an hour earlier. Never mind that I gave the kids travel bags filled with snacks before boarding. Never mind the paper-wrapper flavored cookie (or was that cardboard?) Delta gave us. She was hungry. (This is the same baby that the pediatrician once warned me about -'this ones going to need to eat every 20 minutes...' WHAT?)

Whenever I looked at Annie in 31A from my private window seat in 36E (sadly we had a little problem with seat selection,) she mouthed the words that makes every traveling parent cringe... "I'm..HUNGRY!" (When Annie was a toddler it mattered not how much she ate before we left the house- as the car engine flared and we got just far enough away from the refrigerator, she became "over-torturous" (inside phrase) with hunger and thirst.

"Well, eat your snacks," I mouthed back as the jet engine flared.

But with lips turned downward, she mouthed "I already did."

(Ut-oh, no frige in my purse.) We were in trouble. Annie is personality challenged whenever she's HUNGRY. Our little problem with seat selection wasn't looking quite so bad afterall.

Oh well. Without sounding like a food shnob- this shtory has a fairy tale happy ending because we located a divine restaurant in downtown Atlanta shortly after landing- Veni Vidi Vici.. AND it just-so-happened to be the most delectable meal we had on our entire vacation. Two of us had home-made twisted spinach tortellini- bunched together with in a softly singing citrus sauce. (Shnobby enough?) LaaaAAAaaaah. The other two of us had White Lasagna- thin sheets of durum perfection plopped into formation with cheeses from afar. Annie purred. We all did.
Our eyes rolled to the back of our heads. Yum. And dessert was just as... shweet. And so was Annie.

Veni Vidi Vici!!

Heart Stomping Music

A-one and a-two and a... three "songs" that recently found me:

* Tamacun by Rodrigo y Gabriela -Latin Rock. (Intense guitar duet. )

* Fleur de Saison by Emilie Simon- French Rock. ((Sweet voiced- maybe it's just the purr of the French language...)

* Tobacco Island by Flogging Molly- Irish Pirate. (Gruff and gritty.)

All three are diversely different, culturally flavorful. Samples on ITUNES.

oh to be lovely...

It's been around for a while, I know. But just had to put Dove's Real Beauty Campaign onto my blog. Having been a member of inner beauty's not-so-secret society for years, I was drawn to post it- just to show my support. I haven't used their product for years, but what a compelling ad!

My latest children's book "Am I Beautiful" due out 2008, is my newest tribute to "whats-on-the-inside-counts!" A familiar theme? Hmmm... perhaps a life long lesson for this author?

Bellezza!

The Evolution Of Beauty

Here a weed, there a weed...

I'm reading a new book. I'm reading Spiritual Gardening to get ideas. Well, sort of. It's more like wishing for ritam. Abbra-Kadabra. Presto-change-o. Spin around three times and spit over your shoulder. POOOOFF! We have a tickley waterfall and pond with softly sculpted rocks... a wooden Monet bench sleepily tucked amongst the honeysuckle. Ivies dervishing up and around the garden shed (aka science lab.) A grassy knoll, a vintage fountain, birds lazily spitting out their latest tune. My verdanda chairs covered with sprightly cushions and there's a pitcher of homemade lemonade nearby. Ahhhhhhh. Life- after reading Spiritual Gardening. Ommmmmm.

POOOOOOFF! Ut-oh. I'm back. Wow... how long was I gone? It is as if every weed in town has sought assylum in our compound, burrowing beneath fence, wall and concrete just because I spaced out for a few.... months? (Actually we have the weed problem because apparently some weedy news team sent out a news flash. FLASH: "Them folks on Cherry St. don't use the "R" word." Round-up, that is.)

There is no Monet bench in my yard... yet. There is no gurgling pond or splashy fountain... yet. Or pickety fence. But there will be. One day. For now, what we do have plenty of are ... weeds, but you already knew that. (YES, of course, we pick them!!) It's just that they keep a'comin. So... I'm thinking of starting over. Spiritually scourging ourselves of the weeds- Tearing the place apart without the use of chemicals. We can do this! We have to do this. So the bench and knoll and fountain can come to life. POOOOF!!!

No offense weeds, but you gotta go.

Forever love

Hello… and goodbye

I awoke April 29 at 4:50 a.m., thinking of you. How could I not? A sweet throated bird was singing something of a birth announcement. Fourteen years ago at 11:18 a.m. day light savings time, you, Anne Dee Coyle entered the world- I know this because your dad had set his watch to atomic time- we wanted to know the exact moment. It’s a girl! Did you know your grandpa dropped off a bouquet of flowers for you at 5:18 this morning? His headlights glaring into the house like investigative eyes. That’s grandpa. How could I have known that fourteen years ago, when I first said “Hello impetuous one! I love you madly… forever…” that I would wake this day with tears squeaking from my eyes… times are changing. You expertly held the oxygen mask up to your face. My starlet. …wait a minute, Give ME that air!
Fast forward, it is time for goodbye- WAIT, didn’t we just say hello? It’s a girl!! Was it that last batch of chocolate chip cookies that pushed you over the edge? Or my latest question, “Is everything okay?” No one ever told me you would pull away… (yes they did, I just didn’t listen!) Will you be back anytime soon? (Shipoo puppies are warm, but they don’t tell the same stories. They don’t carry the same confident swagger in each and every step. Or bump-set-spike… like you do.)
Did you know that behind my smile, inside my throat, there was a twist of pain when you said, “I WISH I could go to boarding school in England for high school!” I thought, but did not say, “Who will make you macaroni and cheese? Or sweep aside the straggler hairs from your eyes?” Times are changing. There’s a fog in your stare- does this mean you won’t “tell” me what’s in your heart any more? Maybe that’s why I bought you the heart bracelet from Tiffany’s for your birthday this year. Maybe it symbolizes… MY HEART is with you always. Remember…when you said, with stars ejecting from your spirit, ”Do princesses have to wear hiking shoes?” It was a magical moment. There you go again- making my dreams come true. It’s a girl!! I wrote an entire book series… for you. Who else?
You must never know, ever, about the squeaking tears. Choking them back now… I hear that voice again. Remember? It’s that same one that tried to give me advice when you were tiny enough to catch - “she’ll be pulling away…” “No she won’t!” I said then.
“Yes, she will.” “No she won’t.”
“Yes, she will.”
“But…” the voice says, “She’ll be back.”

We're BACK!!!

A couple days of New Mexican sunshine, soaking and... whispering. Shhhh... Yes... 'twas I who reserved the two nights at Ojo Caliente Hot Springs in New Mexico. At Ojo Caliente they prefer whispering- over the use of soft voices. Tell THAT to two teenagers. "Ummmm. Kids. Mom made a little mistake... you can't talk here... Okay?"

I thought Ojo Caliente was going to be like Glenwood Springs Colorado- with the big hot springs pool, twirly slides, chaise lounges- and plenty of "CANON BALLLLLLL's!!"

Well. Ojo Caliente is a mineral springs. Which translates to "a place where people go for inner reflection- healing, solitude." It's a spiritual place. The Native American's discovered Ojo hundreds of years ago. It's now on BLM land. We saw wild horses (well, we THINK they were wild.) and wild rocks. (Inside joke) And we played a little car game... "the high desert is as flat as a...." (me, the writer, ever trying to inspire my children to think...the first things they came up with- a pancake! a line! wow... creative. It evolved- it ended with "as flat as a lizard under the tire.)

Ojo Caliente was glorious. We soaked ourselves silly. Our bodies marinated in an iron pool, a soda pool AND even an arsenic pool! (Yee-gads.) Which was the subject of great discussion... "Mom...wasn't there a movie about two little old ladies who kill people using.... arsenic?" Oh yeah- Arsenic and Old Lace. Hmmm. We drank waters from the Lithia pool- suppose to heal depression. Drink up mateys... and so I did! Mike and I kept toasting cups of our happy water and even brought some home. The kids said "YUCK it tastes like baking soda..." I kept saying "shhhhhh whisper!"

The food was pretty good. And that's saying something- because I'm a "registered foodie." (Is there such a thing? Should be.)

Three days with Annie, Nick and Mike- priceless.

Cheers!
:O)))))

It's SPRING BREAK! Woo-hooo. Actually, MY KIDS have spring break. Surely, the term "spring break" translates from Latin (or something ) into: I-agree-to-drive-them-all-over-the-city-so-they-can-still-see-their-friends-who-do-not-live-anywhere-near-our-house.

But that's okay. I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to bear children. (NO more spring breaks for you, missy.) I probably even signed a driving clause... or something- don't remember now. I do, however, remember signing that lovely release form at the hospital right before an emergency C-section. You know, the one they stick in your face when you've just gone from 10 centimeters to 5? (Maybe IT had the driving clause.)

No matter. This year I figured a way we can ALL enjoy spring break! We're going to take a little vacation over the break. Just a little one... a road trip. Hmmmm. There's something wrong with that.

Vrooommm.