If a zombie horror film had a smell, it would emulate the stench wafting from my apartment complex dumpster. I’m surprised I didn’t see a group of drunken raccoons, possums, and rats sprawled in the parking lot after gorging themselves on that mess. 

Yes, I’m a little irritated about the loss of food ie money. But I was one of the lucky ones. I now have power and I can work. I didn’t lose any possessions or property.

Unlike some of my neighbors, I have camping equipment and thermal underwear. I cooked on my gas stove outside. Fortunately, the stove worked fast and while the inside of my home was frigid, after cooking outside, it almost felt warm.

I don’t have a secondary heat source and I spent most of my time reading in the warmest place in the house — my bed — like a potentate of yore. Majid thought this was an awesome development, since I’m her human sized heating source. At seven pounds, she isn’t able to return the favor. Thank goodness for my massive sleeping bag.

A crisis like this can bring the best and worst out of people. Two of my neighbors, who actively dislike each other, had the same reaction. Despite not having supplies or a way to cook, they both had an extremely hard time accepting help from others. I had to shame one of them  into eating the food I’d heated up by saying, “Either you eat it or I throw it out tomorrow because it will be bad by then.”

If someone had shown up on my doorstep with a hot meal, I would’ve bowed down in worship.

Due to years of spinal issues, I’ve got self entertainment managed. However, even I was concerned when my e-reader — Thanks, Santa! — showed signs that it was running out of juice and I didn’t want to use my battery-powered lantern because I had no idea how long the power would be out.

I enjoyed discovering a new author, Galen Beckett. His first book is The Magicians and Mrs. Quent, which is followed by The House on Durrow Street. Reading them in order is a requirement and if you enjoy the era of Jane Eyre and other gothic tales with a fantasy bent, you’ll love this series. The Master of Heathcrest Hall will be out in March 2012.

In Washington State, a storm like this is talked about for years. We would probably handle them better with more practice and a battalion of snowplows, but since I live in a neighborhood with a three-mile hill that resembles a Super G ski run, even the most experienced would have some concerns. On ice and snow, gravity and physics rule, not four-wheel drive.

Now on to some different topics.

Before the storm, Bernadette came over and gave me a lot of great feedback on my novel — thanks, Bernadette! — and now I’m in the midst of a rewrite. I’ve also been working on my next book, too. I’m enjoying working on both because when I get stuck on one, I can turn to the other. In a way, they feed off of each other.

My surgery is in two weeks and I’m in the state where I hate to think about what’s going to happen and why, but I’m committed to my choice and just want to get it over with so I can move on. Despite this certainty, all I want to do is eat chocolate, which really irks me because I’ve worked very hard on my weight loss program. I still have a ways to go, but this is something I’m committed to and I will eventually achieve my goal.

Unfortunately, my out-of-towners forgot and made other plans. Which is not surprising because it seems that when it comes to the holidays in my family, as the only single person, it’s expected that I accommodate all of them. Nevermind that I’m permanently, partially disabled, and amazingly, am able to work, whereas the rest of them are either retired, have very flexible jobs, or don’t work because they don’t need to.

However, one thing I’ve learned with being permanently, partially disabled is that I live on a balance board. I’m the only one in my household that has an income — Majid the cat shows no interest in working and who can blame her? – and I have all those responsibilities that come with maintaining a household. I have bills to pay, I have chores to do, I have to grocery shop and cook healthy meals so I stay healthy. I have to be at the health club five days a week so I can function and do all those things that many people take for granted.

I was so tired, I didn’t even enjoy my birthday this year. I suspected Christmas would be the same and that I would resemble a bitch from hell by then. I was so angry that I was expected to accommodate my relatives, when I’m the only one whose life is inflexible this time of year. This not news. It’s been this way for years.

I stewed about it. I kept telling myself I was being childish. That I should just go along like usual. But I found myself getting more resentful about the situation instead. I mentioned what happened to a friend of mine who was divorced for nearly two decades before she remarried and she admitted she had the same experience in her family. Since she was single, she was the one that was expected to accommodate them and not the other way around. To put a stop to that, she started going on trips with friends for the holidays.

Even Texas, my sister who lives in that massive state, got what was so annoying about the situation. Texas and I are very different, so when she validates something I’m upset about, I know I’m on the right track.

That was when I decided not to go anywhere. I was going to stay home and sleep, listen to holiday music, make a nice meal for myself, and read novels. I immediately felt as if a big boulder had been lifted off of me.

I called my mother and told her I wasn’t going. She immediately went into fix-it-mode because why would I chose not to spend Christmas with my family? I wasn’t about explain how much I resented the change of plans when I’m the one who works hard this time of year. I knew that she wouldn’t listen. I just told her that given how I felt at my birthday, I knew by Christmas, I would be too tired to enjoy any of it. That I’m having surgery in the beginning February and I can’t go into that tired. Instead, I would come to my parents house after work on Christmas Eve.

I went for two hours, which was perfect because I was yawning a lot by then, and I wanted to go to the early Christmas Eve service because I knew there was no way I’d make it to the late one.

I had a very relaxing two days. I slept, read books, watched Majid play with her new toys, and did not go anywhere. It was bliss. It’s not something I will do every year, but it was definitely what I needed this time.

I don’t have a lot of money. I want my purchases to come with a guarantee, a customer service department, a warrantee, a friendly return/exchange policy, and the knowledge that my purchase does not mean someone was the victim of fraud.

Have you ever purchased a gift card from a third-party site — someone who is not the actual retailer? There’s a huge amount of fraud that takes place involving gift cards. As in, the person  that originally paid for it had their bankcard information stolen, the thief uses it to make the purchase, and then the buyer of the gift card, supposedly gets a bargain. As in they pay $100 for a gift card valued at $150. Sometimes, the thief spends the gift card, then sells the gift card and pin number to many people, thus making a lot of money on an item that is valueless.

If a deal is too good to be true, that’s an indicator that something is wrong. But many people don’t care. The bargain is the most important thing.

These scams also occur with actual merchandise. People make counterfeit goods that closely resemble the real thing and the buyer thinks they’ve gotten a great deal on name brand merchandise. Until something goes wrong, they try to return or exchange it with ”maker” of the product and discover they were suckered. This can happen with clothing, shoes, electronics, etc.

People even make counterfeit golf clubs. Google those three words and you will find a multi-million dollar business that defrauds thousands of people every year. Counterfeit goods also drive up the cost of the actual merchandise because the creator is constantly making minute changes to their product, which allow them to spot the fakes.

Next you’re shopping online, ask yourself — is this deal really all that it appears to be?  You don’t want to get a phone call from someone informing you that you helped perpetuate fraud and that the police will be contacting you to discuss the purchase you made.

In the end, I rearranged my furniture, and painted four doors and door jams, the ugly fireplace tiles, the foyer, the hallway, living room, dining room, and kitchen. I also purged a bunch of stuff, got the carpets cleaned, and rearranged my artwork to fit the new color scheme.  

Two years ago, I was trapped on the runaway pain train, hoping, praying, I would reach my spinal fusion surgery date before my train hit the section where the bridge was out. 

Now, I’m in a completely different place. I’ve completed my first novel in years, which Bernadette has just finished editing — Thanks, B!. I’ve started another novel and am eager to begin the rewrite of my finished novel after Christmas.

I still miss Orange Kitty. She was a fabulous companion and I am very glad that she was with me for over ten years through two spinal fusion surgeries.

Since Orange Kitty’s death, I’ve occasionally visited petfinder.com to see what was out there and every time I input my zip code, this little black cat popped up. She was at a shelter 2 miles from my house. When she came to the shelter, she had a long superficial wound that they eventually had to do surgery on because it wasn’t healing. They fixed her up and posted her pic. She was posted for over six weeks and her description said she was shy and sweet. But it was obvious she had been through surgery because of her shaved flank and the scar. A cat-version of a Punk Rocker. Maybe, that’s why no one had taken her home.

Some of my relatives decided to gift me with a cat adoption for my birthday, if I was open to that, and I said I would consider it. I’ve another surgery coming up in February — it has nothing to do with my spine, but like my spinal problems, it is genetic — and I thought having another companion would be a good idea.

Yesterday, I went to the shelter. Of course, I visited with the little black cat first. She took one look at me and began to purr. What a sweetie. While I checked out my other options, I kept coming back to the little black cat and she’s now seated next to me on my love seat. I named her Majid, which is an Arab name meaning glorious, illustrious. It’s actually a male name, but it fits her.

Between the changes in my physical environment and my new companion, I feel much better about coming home. Not only does it look fantastic, it’s peaceful, and I have Majid who is always happy to see me. And by the way, I still don’t miss my TV.

While I enjoy movies, with the exception of a few favorite TV series over the years — such as Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel — weeks can go by without me watching a show.

If I have a choice between TV or a book, 99.9% of the time, the book wins. Which is ironic because until I was 20, I had an undiagnosed learning disability. I guess you could say I enjoy challenges.

Not that I expect anyone else to give away their TV, but I’m curious. What’s the longest you’ve gone without TV? Is it something you view as a requirement? Or do you just watch it to kill time?  

However, I will be honest. My main motivator for getting rid of my TV was space. I live in a small condo and while I’m mourning Orange Kitty, I decided to make some home improvements. Painting and free-roaming pets don’t go well together.

Orange Kitty and I lived in this condo together for nearly six years. I still expect to see her when I get home. Sometimes, I see her in the hallway or it feels like she’s hopped onto the bed next to me. This happened with each cat that passed on during my childhood and I thought it was my childish imagination. It’s been a little disconcerting to have it happen again as an adult. I’m haunted, I guess you could say, but now that I’m used to it, it’s a haunting I don’t mind.

I know at some point that another special cat will appear in my life, look at me and say, “You’re mine.”

But in the meantime, I have a novel to finish — hopefully, by the end of this month — and some nice friends are coming over to rearrange my furniture. I suspect I’ll find some of Orange Kitty’s treasured toys behind the bookcases, which will be fine. She always had great taste in reading material.

Since I love cats, Dad purchased some cheap cat food and put it in a bowl on the back deck so the local barn cats would visit me while he and Mom were at work. There were a couple I came to recognize on sight, but they all had homes.

In mid-February, I had recovered enough that I could drive two miles to the store and back, and do basic self care. So my parents left town for a week to visit relatives. I was excited because it was the first time I had been alone in six months and I was happy to see them go. It was like I was living independently again.

I enjoyed myself for two days and then I realized how lonely I was.

That’s not a fun place to be, especially when you’re severely limited. It wasn’t like I could go to the local coffee shop to socialize. I was still in a lot of pain, on pain medication, and I looked like hell.

However, I did notice that every morning, a very petite orange cat with an abbreviated tail would fight the barn cats to get to the hard food on the deck. She ate every bite that I put out. She also had an abscess on her hind leg that wasn’t healing and after a few days, I decided she was my cat. She needed me like I needed her.

When my parents returned from their trip, I informed them I had adopted a cat. Her name was Orange Kitty and that she would sleep in the garage at night to protect her from the coyotes. I think they were relieved to see me taking an interest in other things again, and agreed that I could keep Orange Kitty, provided she didn’t come in the house.

Of course, I said. I would have agreed to anything to keep my companion. What they did not know was that I let her in the house when they were at work. A month later, she was allowed to come inside whenever someone was home because she was so well behaved.

Orange Kitty was a Manx. She came from a property where there were many cats that had interesting looking tails. She bonded quickly with me and she was smart, coming whenever I called her name. She was a regular on the Barn Cat Smack Down circuit and despite weighing less than 8 pounds, she was quite the scraper. She was also an avid hunter.

Six weeks after I adopted Orange Kitty, I received an acceptance letter to go the university. I already had my AA, which meant if I attended summer school, I would be done in less than three years. So I made my plans and dreaded leaving behind my cat. I was afraid that her outdoor lifestyle might catch up with her. There was also the fact that she viewed men as the enemy and I was afraid she might leave because I was gone.

Fortunately, that was not the case. That fall, Orange Kitty realized Dad’s long legs were an awesome napping spot. She also discovered Mom’s sewing room with all of its fabulous fabrics to sleep on and niches to hide in.

Farmer Doug next door purchased some turkeys to raise for holiday meals and he promised one to my parents. One evening when Mom was out, Dad was talking on the phone and let Orange Kitty inside the kitchen. He continued his conversation and when it ended, he left the kitchen to go down the hallway toward the bedrooms.

To find a couple of bloody turkey tail feathers on the carpet.

He quickly cleaned them up so Mom would not find them when she returned from her outing. An hour later, she came home and went into their bedroom. Then she screamed.

Dad rushed down the hall to find that there were more turkey tail feathers on Mom’s side of the bed. She told him to clean it up and he blamed Orange Kitty for the mess.

“Orange Kitty is just following her nature, whereas you know better!”

Dad cleaned up the mess and wondered about the turkey Farmer Doug had promised them for the holidays. Rather than confess that Orange Kitty, the turkey assassin, had offed one of Farmer Doug’s turkeys, my parents said nothing.

A couple of weeks later, Farmer Doug saw Dad in the yard.

During the course of their conversation – Farmer Doug’s a big talker, while Dad’s an engineer and an introvert – Farmer Doug said, “You know, the weirdest thing happened. Something tried to kill one of my turkeys and it’s now got a bald ass. You know anything about that?”

“All I know is that turkeys are good for eating,” Dad said.

Farmer Doug let that go, talking about the cattle he was raising.

Dad thought the topic was dropped until much later, when Farmer Doug said, “You know, I just love seeing Orange Kitty hunting in my barns. She makes my cats all look lazy.”

Then he grinned, and Dad knew that Farmer Doug knew why his turkey had a bald ass.

I didn’t come home for Thanksgiving that year. Instead, I waited for Christmas break. On my first Sunday in town, I went to church and when I returned, I called for Orange Kitty. She didn’t respond and I got worried. She always came when I called her.

I checked in her usual hiding spots and I couldn’t find her anywhere. I went onto the back deck again just in time for her to arrive with a big pheasant. Proud of herself, she set it at my feet, gave me a smug look and dashed off as I realized the poor pheasant could no longer sit up and needed to be euthanized.

I took care of that and lectured Orange Kitty about eating her kills. After that, she brought me evidence so I would know she was doing her job.

Orange Kitty on Guard for the Holidays

A couple of years later, I graduated from the university and it was another year before I was finally able to live on my own again. Orange Kitty and I left behind our country lifestyle at my parents’ house for an urban location and that was when she became a fulltime indoor cat.

By then, she was happy to stay inside. Her outdoor lifestyle caught up with her in the form of arthritis. I admit, I spoiled her. I purchased her toys for entertainment, a scratching post with a platform – the tower of power – so she could keep an eye on household activity, and when she was diagnosed with a hyperthyroid, I gave her as much food as she wanted.

Orange Kitty was a counter terrorist expert – if anything interesting was on the counter, she had to check it out and if it was food, she’d try to eat it. One day when I left my bowl of tomato soup unsupervised, I came back to find her lapping it up, an orange cat with a tomato goatee. I put her in the bathroom until she had licked herself clean.

When my employer started a telework program, she would sit next to me, a quiet, comfortable presence, occasionally taking interest in the cursor on the computer screen. Most of the time, she was content to observe.

One day I was talking on the phone with an Australian soldier in Afghanistan and Orange Kitty decided she wanted more food. She went into the kitchen and started flipping open cupboard doors with her paw and letting them slam shut.

“Ma’am, what is that noise?”

We’re not supposed to tell customers when we’re working from home, but I wasn’t about to lie to him. “I’m working from home and my cat, who has food to eat, thinks she needs more. So she’s flipping open cupboard doors. She’s never done that before.”

“Ma’am, you can feed your cat. I don’t mind.”

“I’m not giving in to her.” I returned to our earlier conversation.

Well, that was not good enough for Orange Kitty. She stomped over to me – by then, she only weighed 5 pounds – and pinned me in place with a squinty, amber glare, opened her mouth and said, “MER!”

“Ma’am, please, feed your cat. She’s making me feel guilty.”

“I’m not rewarding her bad behavior. As soon as I’m done helping you, she’s getting a time out in the bedroom. She hates that because with the door shut, she thinks I’m throwing a party without her.”

“I wish I could telework,” he said.

Orange Kitty was a part of my life for over ten years and unfortunately, I had to put her down two weeks ago because with her hyperthyroid she had reached the tipping point of having more bad days than good.

When she was diagnosed, I promised her that I wouldn’t let her suffer and I didn’t. While I know I did the right thing for her, it still hurts. She was my companion through two spinal fusion surgeries and other rough times. She was always happy to see me, was a warm presence next to me when moving was extremely painful, and yes, I talked to her. She carried a lot of my secrets and now she’s gone.

I’m trying to remember the good times, but grief is a trail that travels rocky switch backs and mires that cake you in mud well past your knees. There are mosquitoes, biting flies, and bad weather, before the clouds slowly part to reveal a brief spectacular view. I just need time to accept that my long time companion is gone.

July was a busy month: activities with relatives and friends; Bernadette had her kick off book launch at the Seattle Mystery Bookstore for A Spark of Death. Followed by a wonderful BBQ hosted by her husband. It was a lot of fun and I overdosed on all the writer conversations I had. I also re-met a woman I used to know when I lived there and we had a great time playing catch-up.

However, my month of fun nearly came to a grinding halt when I fell on the cement stairs in front of my condo. My feet slipped out from under me and I landed hard on my ass, then fell back against the edge of the stairs. And promptly said FUCK! ten times.

Nerve pain started in my legs immediately and spasms, so I dragged myself inside to stretch out on an ice pack and called the Consulting Nurse with my insurance plan.

With my long, horrible history with back issues, this was the last thing I needed. Once inflammation gets started in my spine it can take months to subside. So needless to say, I was desperate to get it arrested. The nurse agreed and told me to have someone to bring me in.

Which would’ve been great, except, the four people I called for help weren’t available. Fortunately, I hadn’t taken a muscle relaxant before I made this discovery. So I had to drive myself in, my symptoms getting worse by the moment. Yes, I prayed a lot on that trip.

Lucky for me, there wasn’t a long wait at Urgent Care. It was actually sunny and therefore, too nice for most people to have a medical emergency. I was seen right away and they immediately put me on steroids to combat the inflammation. Then I had a spinal x-ray. Thankfully, my fusion had no damage. But I had already suspect that because while I had a lot of weird leg symptoms, it wasn’t bad enough to warrant pain medication.

I went home, wondering if I’d wake up the next day feeling like ten miles of road kill and unable to work.

Fortunately for me, the steroids stopped the inflammation train before it left the station. So while I was sore, had weird ping-ponging nerve pain in my legs for a few days, and a very stubborn and straight horizontal bruise across my lumbar spine, I’ve been in much worse predicaments. By the end of the week, I was working an 8 hour shift again and this weekend, I was able to return to my full work-out routine.

So what could have been a huge disaster was not.

A few days after I fell, Dr. K and I had a phone visit so he could review my spinal x-ray, just in case something had been missed. But he said everything looked great.

Then I asked him how he was doing because last summer, he was biking and hit by a car. He couldn’t work for three months or do surgeries for five months. That was when Dr. K admitted that he had been hit by a car again! Fortunately, not as seriously as the first time.

I said, “Maybe it’s time you take up spinning. That’s why I don’t ride out in the real world anymore because I know if I get hit, or have an accident, I probably wouldn’t get up again.”

I know he loves biking as much as I do. I admit, I miss riding out in the real world — the moving scenery, the fresh air, the wildlife I used to see. The risk isn’t worth it to me, but that is something Dr. K will have to decide for himself.

Over the years, I’ve seen Bernadette’s skills as a writer improve and her interests change. She originally started out as a romance writer before moving to the mystery genre.

A Spark of Death is Bernadette’s first historical mystery featuring Benjamin Bradshaw, an electrical engineer professor at Seattle’s University of Washington. In 1901, the university student body numbered 500, creating an intimate campus, and there were no tuition costs. 

Professor Bradshaw is a widower with a young son, who enjoys teaching. He is methodical, precise, and loved by his students. He would rather talk about electrical engineering and related topics, than schmooze at university events with donors. His opposite and nemesis is Professor Oglethorpe, an arrogant man who cows his students, and yet draws donors to the university due to his education credentials. 

Bradshaw’s carefully constructed life is shaken with the death of Oglethorpe, and the arrival of Missouri, the adult niece of a close friend. The two events entwine into a catalyst of change for Bradshaw, forcing him to step out of his comfortable routine to investigate the murder of a man he despised, while opening himself to possibility of allowing another woman into his life.

I’m not going to spoil the story for you by revealing the major turns of the plot. Except to say, it involves electrical engineering, secrets, anarchists, and President McKinley.

I enjoyed watching Bradshaw come out of his carefully constructed shell – and yes, even Bradshaw has his own secret. Every character and all of the science have an important role to play in the mystery, and Bradshaw’s interest in Missouri adds a nice touch, without slowing the tale’s momentum. 

Interview:

Now on to my next review….

This is one of the many reasons why I enjoyed Anjali Banerjee’s book Haunting Jasmine because she does a fantastic job of describing what is magical about bookstores.   

Of course the heroine, Jasmine, has no knowledge of bookstore magic when she arrives on Shelter Island, located in Washington State’s Puget Sound. She’s trying to rebuild her life after divorce and is merely filling in for a month while her aging Aunt, the bookstore owner, takes care of some heart trouble. Jasmine views her stay as temporary.

But as the reader quickly finds out, the bookstore has more to it than just a slightly disorganized, quirky appearance and customers. Gradually, Jasmine finds herself seduced by the same bookstore magic that was a part of her aunt’s life for many years.

I highly recommend this entertaining read. Especially, if you purchase it from an independent bookstore.

For more information on Haunting Jasmine and the author Anjali Banerjee, visit the following link.

http://www.anjalibanerjee.com/abanerjee-haunting-overview.htm

UPDATE: After posting this entry the author, Anjali Banerjee, contacted me and offered a copy of Haunting Jasmine for a random drawing! All you have to do is comment on this blog entry and I’ll pick a winner at random.