Well, we did it. The gathering went off without too much of a hitch and without any major blowouts or too much trauma. Almost 'nuff said right there. Whew!
The photo is of the four "original" Frantsen siblings: Polly, Scott, Marsha, Dan. Oh, and the youngest addition, Dallas Rose, who is Dan's granddaughter and the others' great niece and a perfect little Rosebud of a baby.
The weather was PERFECT; cool and dry for mid-July in MO...until, of course, it poured rain harder than I have seen in years on party night, forcing about 30 of us, 2 cats, and 4 dogs indoors. Yikes. But that's where the music was anyway, so no biggee.
My major personal contribution to peace-keeping was not slapping the shit out of Dan several times. Yay, me! Yay, him, for his own type of restraint through most of it. Family history. You don't need to know it all.
Suffice it to say, the entire clan had the time of our lives. To quote a nephew: "This has been the most fun I've had in a single week in my whole life."How cool is that?
Group picture to come. I'll pull together a photo CD for everyone, along with a list of contact/personal info, and off we go into the wild blue yonder of family connections.
My good friend Mike gave me a night away from the madness/fun with a great chat and a couple of stiff drinks. Thanks, mm! (My good intentions really were to pick up that tab; sorry. Next time, I promise.)
Polly and I drove home straight through, even though we and the dogs were dog tired. Everything had worked; we were happy. Until I chipped a huge chunk out of a front tooth on the drive home. Shit. Now to the dentist. There's always something. At least it's only my problem to deal with.
Glad we did it; glad everyone had a blast; glad to be home. And so it goes with family reunions. I guess. At least this first time.
Tomorrow my sister and I leave for Missouri. The trip to Lee's Summit is about 13 hours. She and I have been a bit estranged for several years, so this will be illuminating and perhaps freeing. Her vehicle will be packed with stuff, lots of it presents and fun stuff for the kids and the Kickers, my brothers' band. And us and two dogs.
We have music, lots of it from Texas, and some audio books, which I've never listened to. Jack Reacher. I do read a lot and love Jack, so it will be fun to experience being read to aloud like a kid again.
Back at the LS home of my older brother, he and his wife are preparing for the onslaught. At least 14 of us will spend most of the time there...whew! Purple hearts all around. But it's big with a huge yard, so it'll be fine and fun.
My younger brother will be there. He has never met his daughter-in-law or his two wonderful granddaughters from Georgia. He's truly psyched. "Marsha, I can't sleep. This is gonna be the best week of my life!" He turns 60 in July. Hope he's right.
With luck, I'll come back with great memories and some good photos that we will always treasure.
Summer in Missouri. What was I thinking?? I was thinking people would be likely to get at least a couple of days off in a row, rather than just a single weekend, so we could all spend varying amounts of time on varying days reconnecting. I think we'll have about 22-25, especially if friends come for the celebration bash. It'll be wild, but everyone's psyched and been duly threatened to mind their behavior. Or else there'll be hell to pay. My sister and I will hove off in her car a week from tomorrow, with her two dogs and a vehicle full of clothes, etc. We'll either be okay or not; I think we'll be fine. I'll certainly do my part to see to it that we are. The last time we four "original" children were together was when Dad died in 1997. A couple of the nephews came, too. In between, I've seen just about everyone, but only because I traveled. Still missing some, though -- wives and kids not met yet. Should be a great adventure. Some of the "second" layer kids haven't seen their brothers/sister in a couple of decades. Close family, huh? Not. It'll be a revelation; hope no revolution. Dear Diary....sigh. TBC.
The title indicates how many pages long, max, a thriller/suspense/murder mystery book should be. Period. Unless the true author remains true to his or her style and soul. I trade books (real ones) with a couple of people who enjoy mainly the same type of reading. It's fun; I've discovered lots of new authors and found myself some new series to investigate and keep reading. The books are mostly too long, and not because I don't like long books. I love them. But here's what happens: the story is great, moving right along and then boom. Around page 200, it seems the editor hands the book over to a romance novel writer and says: "We can't sell a book this short; read the story and add to it until we have 350-500+ pages so we can ask people to pay $7.99 to $13.99 for a paperback." And they do, and they ruin it. Even John Grisham seems to phoney it in these days. I'm currently reading 13 1/2 by Nevada Barr. She had me going great with this psychological suspense story up until, yep, you guessed it—right about page 200. Suddenly I'm reading overdone descriptions of places and people and schlock like "...on the page in Red's sepulcher" and about hearts pounding bruisingly against ribs. Huh? I'm a smart girl with a fine grasp of both vocabulary and good writing, and, if I had cared, I would have gone to the dictionary to look up "sepulcher." However, I didn't do that, because I was pissed.
Rule 1: if your writing sends your reader to a dictionary, find another word. A short, easily understandable one so their reading and supposed enjoyment of your book is not interrupted.
I was girl, interrupted, and William F. Buckley is dead.
If the story has interested me until then, I skim the rest to get the gist and climax and resolution. And I mark on my growing list of what I've read that this author is now to be accepted warily into the fold. Three strikes, they're out.
(Okay, just so you don't
have to and I am not guilty of the same, "sepulcher" means,
essentially, a tomb or resting place for the dead.Can be a noun or a verb, e.g., "If a book bores me or pisses me off, I sepulcher it to the sepulcher of bad writing.")
Life is too short and there are too many books to choose among to read crap you don't like.
And if you like romance novels, great! However, their authors and editors don't cross over well as writer/editors in suspense novels. And if an author is both, beware the "poisonous plant with fast-growing vines" that mixing genres and styles in the same book nourishes...as it kills.
It was a wild and wacky week at work. Home alone and tired — and happy to be both. So I watered the lawn and read a bit and fell asleep in my comfy reading/napping chair. I woke up at 8:53. OMG!! I was late for work! I am always the first one there — by 7 a.m. — because I'm an early riser. The early bird. (So shoot me. I like worms.) And at my age, I NEVER oversleep. So I called the office and voicemail answered — our Executive Director. OMG!!! She wasn't in and neither was my coworker! But wait. That couldn't be right. Oh. It was Saturday morning. Whew. OMG!!!! I had to be at Walmart in 30 minutes to meet a volunteer and sell raffle tickets. I hadn't even had a shower!!! Ran into the bathroom and turned on the water. Peeled out of my clothes. And realized it was Fried-Day night. OMG. Whew again. Who could sleep after that?
Well, they hauled off and piped in our open irrigation ditch, practically without notice. I was not happy. I LOVED that little concrete stream of constant river water all summer long. We still have the water, but we can't see it or hear it. Now it's just dirt. The trees along it are gone; the river rock border is gone; it's all gone. I guess after grass—or at least something green—grows, it'll be fine and much easier to keep mowed and neat looking. Seems small consolation now. So, what's good, you might ask. I have sold some stuff, finally breaking the procrastination. However, didn't sell much and the venue I used did not work out. Still, it was a psychological and emotional triumph; I started and made a little money and don't miss what I sold. Even my oak secretary desk I've had for 50 years. Yikes. Everything must go!! For now, summer is getting into full swing here in the high desert. Watering, mowing, cleaning up, and fixing things that need it. Always something! My sister and I will drive back to Missouri (hoping for the best, not misery) at the end of June/4th of July to visit our family. We have all been a bit estranged, so it will be a good time to reconnect...or it will be the longest road trip and visit of all our lives! We have nieces and nephews and spouses and their kids that we have never even met. It's a family reunion with the four of us Frantsen Firsts also coming back together for the first time since Dad died in 1997. Should be about 21 of us, and we'll have old friends drop by, too. First Grandson Ben will drive over from Georgia with his wife and two daughters. The others all still live in MO. Should be a grand time. We'll see.... At the very least, it'll be one for the books. Our get-togethers always are, in one way or another, and not always the most fun or pleasant. Maybe we've all grown up a bit and can make it good for everyone. Then it's up to the Next Gen to keep on keeping on and staying in touch...or not.
Yikes. I knew it had been a while since I blogged, but a whole year?! I am shocked, yes, shocked! that it's been so long since I wrote. I had a hard time even finding myself, so to speak. I've been writing, but not blogging; thinking, but not doing. Gotta do. So I'm back. With a vengeance. And a bad haircut. I went in for a trim and shaping and got the Marsha's Haircut Massacree. Still, I didn't cry. I know hair grows. Two days later, a little local newspaper I write for called and said they wanted to take a photo of me -- for the cover. I'm too old for this shit. It's all so high school/old school. But bad haircuts never die...they just kill. The reason for the photo is an article on The Beatles that I wrote last year about their 50th anniversary, just now making it to print. Actually, the focus of the article is Karen Kosinski, a woman who went to Liverpool and got a master's degree in The Beatles. But I'm in there, too, with a personal part about 1964 and what the lads meant to me as a teenager. 1964. I remember getting a similar bad haircut back then, compliments of my dad, who thought cutting girls' hair was like cutting boys' hair. Since then, I've mostly gone with the "Give me lots of hair, long beautiful hair" philosophy of the Age of Aquarius. Damn the torpedoes and trends-- full hair ahead! Teach me for forgetting my roots. So, you may see me tonight with an illegal smile...and also on the full-color cover of the Beacon Senior Newspaper for March, with distribution far beyond my wildest nightmares on a bad hair...day? I wish I were a dream for a day or even just the cover girl of the month. But some things last forever, as in newsprint. And the Internet. And the apparently everlasting sagas of bad haircuts. (Don't these people get training?) Oh, well. Next up on the playlist: David Crosby's "Almost Cut My Hair." I'm listening.
