Tag: Houndstooth

Tiny Tuesday!

From The Tiny Book of Tiny Pleasures, “A Page to Color.”

I realized today that I haven’t colored any pages during the month of October. I think it’s because I use coloring time to think about what I want to write, and instead, I’ve been actually writing. It’s slow, but it’s happening.

Just in case I need to put colored pencils or pens to paper, I chose my next page from Paris Street Style: A Coloring Book. It’s one of my favorites. I had a whole stack of coloring books that accumulated during September in the Writing Sanctuary, and I finally reshelved those on the craft side of the home office. Uncluttering moment: accomplished.

Who manages whom?

I’ll be distracted from the blog this month, as I was last October. In 2020, I spent the month working on a short story for a possible anthology. That anthology didn’t materialize, but I’m glad I wrote the story. It was a chance to try out a new genre, which engaged my creative energy, and it was also cathartic. I shed a lot of tears writing it. I may revise it and make it available as a 99-cent e-story at some point. Or maybe I’ll see if there are any calls for submission with guidelines it meets for other collections.

I also had something that brought me great amusement last October, when Tom found me a plastic skeleton. His name is Lord Cuttlebone, and I let him take over my Instagram account once a day that month in various settings and situations at Houndstooth Hall. Since I featured my Muse here on the blog in September, which was an emotional roller coaster, I decided to let Cuttlebone out of the closet, and again feature him in daily Instagram posts this Halloween month to make me (and hopefully others) laugh.

Today I went looking for a photo prop at my favorite antique mall while I was running errands. I didn’t find what I wanted, but I did make one good find: an album to replace this one I lost in Harvey.

Brian Wilson’s self-titled solo album, released in 1988 (11 years after brother Dennis released his)

I’m not a music critic and even if I were, I’d be like many who discuss Brian’s work with unapologetic bias. I remain intrigued by the history of the band and its members; there’s so much story there, and its reality hits every note.

What’s particularly interesting about this album is that I have a press kit put out by Sire Records to promote its release. Because current day is three decades later, and so many things that went down during the Eighties are better-known now, it fascinates me to see how information was spun for the album’s release.

This was the period when Brian’s therapist (Eugene Landy) had been re-hired and was over-managing his life, had insinuated himself into his music, and became executive producer of this album. Many articles and nonfiction books cover all this. Landy was ultimately fired and sued. His license to practice was revoked in California, but he could still practice in other states. A restraining order kept him permanently away from Brian.

A version of this story is shown in the film Love and Mercy, though one never knows, just like with this upbeat, optimistic press packet, how accurate it is.

It’s more gratifying to write outright fiction; however, I think Landy had a lot more control over Brian than I have over my musician. Right now, he’s angry in his chapter and needs me to write him into a happier place.

Skeletons and artists can be very demanding.

Photos from the Brian Wilson press kit for journalists and reviewers to use.

come up with your own

I’m going to advise you to find your own quote about laughter. There are about a million of them encouraging you to do it for your good health and state of mind, and these are times when laughing is hard. I was glad for today’s idol challenge:

Because an Instagram friend recently posted this photo:


September 2 — Laughing cropped photo ©Ed Roach

Thinking about the effects of climate change courtesy of Hurricane Ida on the country, and the effects of yet another Texas law stripping rights from women and the poor, does not keep me from thinking about COVID. I haven’t verified the numbers in the below captures, but they are thought provoking and also nothing to laugh about.

I guess today’s household task to keep me too busy to freak out will be making Tom’s bathroom clean like mine. And I have one disk left in the Feel Flows collection to listen to.

Thirty days hath September…

Thirty days hath September, April, June, and November
All the rest have thirty-one
Excepting February alone
And that has twenty-eight days clear
And twenty-nine in each leap year

I can never remember any line but the first one of that little poem that was meant to teach the number of days in each calendar month. I’d rather cut out a day of August and give it to September, especially this year, but nobody asked me. So I’ll celebrate the thirty days of September in my own way.

I have four newly revised, full novels in the saga and 140ish pages of the next one. I’m thinking of slashing a bunch from those 140 pages and revising/rewriting. With that in mind, I decided to take a brief writing break, because August writing was intense and challenging.

I’ve made some daily goals to give me structure until I write again:

  • Do at least one housekeeping task per day.
  • Listen to music, not as background, but for the music alone.
  • Do one of the things that allows my brain the freedom to think about my fiction writing (coloring, sewing, petting a dog or four, creating art, contemplating, or writing poetry/lyrics).

Today, I cleaned my bathroom. That’s some exciting material right there, I know. Thank your lucky stars I’m not giving you details about last night’s palmetto bug adventure.


I’m still listening to the Feel Flows CD box set. I did that while coloring today, and I was moved to tears by 4:47 minutes of an alternate version of a song I already love. I guess I must be a multitasker, because music + coloring = a breakthrough idea on that fifth book. SCORE!

Sometimes when I post about the Beach Boys, whether it’s their music, their history, or their drummer, I feel like I need to issue a disclaimer. I’ll put one at the bottom of this post to amuse myself.

Someone I know only via a social media site who’s a big Eddie Van Halen fan is doing a “30 Days Idol Challenge” in EVH’s honor. I don’t know if I can find a photo for all of these categories for my muse Dennis Wilson, but I can enjoy the heck out of trying. If I know the photographer, I’ll give credit. If you are the photographer, please tell me so I can credit you!


September 1 — In sunglasses cropped photo ©Ed Roach, 1980

Disclaimer: Unless you are a member of the Beach Boys, or have traveled or recorded with the band, or personally know members of the band, or are related to a member of the band, or you are married to me, or you are my lifelong friend since the age of twelve, or you are a sibling or cousin who handed over your Beach Boys records to my care, carefully consider what you might say to me. Do not tell me “facts” about the band. I’m likely aware of them, true and false. Do not talk about the bad things connected to the band, e.g., mental illness, addiction, untimely death, a fraudulent therapist, or a certain psychopathic cult leader. I’m fully educated about how these impacted the lives of band members, and they aren’t fun for me to talk about though you’re certainly entitled to find them tantalizing on your own time. Do not tell me what years of their music are superior to other years unless you are a music critic with a by-line in a reputable publication or you did several years of research to write an authorized book about one of the band members. Do not perpetuate the contrived myth that the Beach Boys and the Beatles resented or competed with each other. That applies to some of their fans, not their musicians (a single Beach Boys member’s rambling speech at a recognition ceremony notwithstanding). There are two current versions of the Beach Boys: the band that tours under the name, and the band that Brian Wilson and Al Jardine, among others, work and perform with. If you don’t know which of these two bands has my loyalty and owns my heart, do you even know me?

Outage plus an “r” is outrage

I’m doing this post on Thursday and dating it Wednesday, because Wednesday, our cable was out and we couldn’t get a tech here until today.

Wednesday, August 25, 2021

Since the cable is down, I’m spending the day writing and listening to music. Fortunately, I can still use my phone, although when I write, I’m constantly googling information, and that’s far more laborious on the phone than on the laptop I use for writing. Lynne even volunteered to do some research for me to confirm what I believed to be accurate but couldn’t check for myself. It’s funny how I’ll do hours of reading and research so one statement made by a character will be factual and not some shit I made up, even though I’m writing fiction.

Which reminds me…

Because the phone still connects me to the world, I enjoyed messaging with Lisa (the Night Nurse!) today. We talked about fun things like dogs and vacation trips, but we also talked about COVID, and not specific to COVID, but in general, people’s belief on many medical topics that they know more than healthcare professionals on things related to health.

Not all healthcare professionals agree on everything, and if you want to find a physician, nurse, or whatever, who agrees with your relatives on Facebook and all their conspiracy theories about virology and vaccinations, of course you can find them. You can find anything on the Internet or hear anything from opinionated talk shows and biased commentators; that doesn’t mean it’s true.

It matters to me in writing and in living what sources I use for information. For example, when it comes to gardening or things botanical, I talk to Lynne and James. That doesn’t mean I think they know everything about every plant in all places of the world, but they almost always know what I need to know.

With cars, I talk to Jim and Denece for the same reason. Both of them know their stuff when it comes to the things I want to know about cars.

When it comes to medicine, I listen to people in my life whose expertise comes from their education and experience, but who are also reasonable in other areas of life. They are not alarmists. Not prone to go off on tangents with no basis in facts or science. Nurses like Debby, Lisa, and David P, among others. Doctors like the ones I trust enough to pay to take care of me, and they’ve been cautious, proactive, informative, and calm about my healthcare for many years.

I’ve known healthcare workers and scientists in several fields, including immunology, virology, and contagious disease, and I trust them. Additionally, some of the people I know who use and practice non-traditional medicine are the first to say medical crises require traditional medical care. I always think back to this paraphrase from one of my teachers who practiced alternative medicine: If you think you broke your leg, don’t reach for essential oils or try to chant the pain away. Go to the emergency room for an X-ray, diagnosis, and cast.

I can’t imagine being a healthcare worker today, risking my own health, even my life, and the health and lives of my family, exhausted because of too many hours, too many staff reductions, and too many critically ill patients, only to need an escort from my hospital to my car so that I’m not assaulted for doing my job; or to hear propaganda and disinformation from sick people and their families as I’m trying to provide lifesaving or palliative care; or to be screamed at on social media because I’m doing what I was trained and educated to do. It blows my mind the bullshit and disrespect they’re dealing with.

The letter below says so much. I stand with the kinds of providers I met when I was an AIDS caregiver. They are professionals and deserve to be treated as such.

Continue reading “Outage plus an “r” is outrage”

Tiny Tuesday!

A favorite old pin of mine to celebrate drummers.

We had something scheduled at Houndstooth Hall today, and I’d already decided I would use that time to run a few simple errands. Then I read the news that Rolling Stones drummer Charlie Watts had died, and it flattened my mood. Charlie may have lived a great long life, but as I said in an Instagram post, more decades wouldn’t have been enough. Talented, a gentleman, a husband to Shirley since 1964, rescuer of retired greyhounds, and despite a few hiccups along the way, a stabilizing, steady force for his bandmates: Charlie was one of a kind and one of the reasons I have so much affection for drummers. We were lucky as hell to see the Stones in Houston in 1989 and 1994.

While I was running errands, I decided to cheer myself up by checking my favorite part of Walgreen’s, the section with their model autos. They are the best value at $5.99 I can find in that store. =) Which is how I came home with a tiny UPS van.

/p>

When I was showing it to Tom and checking if the doors open, he said, “Wouldn’t it be funny if the back doors opened, too, and it had boxes inside?” Whereupon I answered, “Prepare to smile, Tom.”

Tiny pin, tiny van, but I’m about to work on the saga while listening to a major band that gave us the huge spirit and talent of Charlie Watts.

Mood adjustment, code green

Today I did some things to try to get out of my blue mood, including setting an errand goal along with Tom, and we GOT IT ALL DONE, exactly on schedule. Just leaving the property was an accomplishment, but before we went, I cleaned up Aaron’s Garden. We’ve lost a few succulents with the help of summer’s heat and recent dryness. That was one of the errands: to replace those plants.

Things are looking cleaned up and green again.

This will make me cheerful when I go outside to get the mail (which I check ten times a day, also known as every time Jack barks) or handle future errands, and I’ll keep a close eye on the new plants to make sure they’re watered as needed.

Tomorrow’s Button Sunday post will finally be the one I postponed earlier in August. =)

Mood: Monday

I feel like I spend an inordinate amount of time speaking out loud to myself (or Tom, or the dogs, if they’re listening) and saying things like: Where could it be? It should be right here. We don’t live in a forty-room mansion, how do things just disappear? WHERE IS IT?

Sometimes I find things; sometimes I don’t. The mystery of it all is not enjoyable, but losing people is a lot worse.