Armistice Day/Veterans Day

Wish I had better news on this Armistice Day. This would have been my mother-in-law’s seventy-somethingth birthday. My aunt is not expected to recover from her current conditions, and doesn’t always know us when we call her. Hubby’s company announced last week that his project was being de-funded, and that they only had money through the end of the year. (But after the initial screams of terror ended, one of the big bosses explained that this means they’ve got to find venture capitalists or another entrepreneur to buy them–and they have 11 orders for their product, and it’s the only thing like it on the market, so there’s a lot of hope. The head of Bell Labs met with some investor friends of his on Monday, and since then the bosses have been acting happier.) And today we got a call from hubby’s cardiologist telling him that his elevated liver enzyme levels have not fallen (although he’s been off the statin drugs for more than a month) and that he must see our regular diagnostician and the gastroenterologist. He jumped to his usual conclusion (“I’m dying and it’s a symptom of what killed my dad”) and panicked. I think it’s probably fatty liver disease and fixable, but he’ll have to diet, and that’s always tough for him. Even though guys lose weight really fast.

But the leaves are turning, and the weather is staying cool. We’re finally moving into autumn. Thanksgiving is near. We need to think of our blessings. *I* need to concentrate on them. The road ahead is bright; these are really just a couple of potholes.


Author: shalanna

Shalanna: rhymes with "Madonna" and "I wanna," and is not a soundalike with "Hosanna" or "Sha-Na-Na." Aging hippie with long hair, husband, elderly mother, and yappy Pomeranian. I've been writing since I could hold a crayon. I started with fiction, which Mama said was "lying." “Don’t tell stories,” she would admonish, in Southern vernacular. “That's all in your imagination!” When grownups said this, they were not approving. So, shamed, I stopped telling stories for a few years--rather, I stopped letting anyone read them. I'm married to a fellow computer nerd who doesn't really like hearing about writing, but who reads sf/fantasy and understands the creative drive. I'm actually a nonconformist/hippie still wearing bluejeans and drop earrings and the Alice-in-Wonderland hair with headbands and sandals. Favorite flavor is chocolate/orange, favorite color is either Dreamsicle orange (cantaloupe) or bubble-gum pink, favorite musical is either Bye Bye Birdie, Rocky Horror, or The Producers . . . wait, I also love The Music Man. Is this getting way too specific and irrelevant yet? Obvious why I don't sell a ton of flash fiction, isn't it? To define oneself, I always say, it is good to make a list. How about a booklist? Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird Frank and Ernestine Gilbreth, Cheaper by the Dozen C.S.Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (all the Narnia books) J.R.R.Tolkien,The Hobbit/LORD OF THE RINGS trilogy Gail Godwin, The Odd Woman F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby J. D. Salinger, Catcher in the Rye (before dismissing it, actually read it) George Orwell, 1984 Kurt Vonnegut, Cat's Cradle Donna Tartt, The Secret History Mark Twain, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn James Allen, As A Man Thinketh Mark Winegardner, Elvis Presley Boulevard James Thurber, My Life and Hard Times The Wizard of Oz, L. Frank Baum Winnie-the-Pooh/House at Pooh Corner, A. A. Milne Peter Pan, J. M. Barrie The KJV and NIV Bible (each translation has its glories)

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