The Doctor is in the House--Novel Diagnostics by Kristen Lamb
Back on New Year’s Day, many of you might have vowed to take your craft more seriously in 2012…before the world ends, of course. This resolution likely means more conferences and many, many more queries.
For those of you who have submitted before, ever wonder how an agent can ask for the first 20 pages and still reject our book? Did you ever wonder if the agents really read these pages?
Guest Napper #22
I always like to kick off a holiday weekend in a way that makes me feel like a college student again – and this guest napper has that certain something about him that reminds me of better times.
His mom, Kathy, is an author in her own right, so I prefer to just paste what she wrote me for your enjoyment.
A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words…
We’ve all heard the expression, ‘A picture is worth a thousand words’ and that expression couldn’t be more true with this picture.
Cute, right? Oh, how easily decieved you are….
This is probably my all-time favorite picture of my son, Giz - (Yes, he has a ‘real’ name, but coming from a family of nicknamers…)
He was 5 1/2 when this was taken. At first glance, the photo says: ‘Cute little boy, had fun fishing, proud of his catch’. And one would think the story ended there.
Not so.
For those of you who don’t know him, Giz has 2 sisters, Punky & Bear (I would use their real names, but I’m not sure I remember them anymore!) Punky is 4 years older than Giz and always refused to be outdone by either of her siblings. Bear is 2 years younger and is naturally easy-going. When they were young, their father and I used to take them fishing quite often. We knew where the ‘hot spots’ were so that the kids could just drop their line in from the shore and the fish would all but jump on.
Giz enjoyed fishing the most, Bear had the most patience and Punky usually preferred tormenting her brother, sister and us until we finally couldn’t take any more and headed home.
On this particular day, we arrived at ‘the hole’ and Punky threw her line in before anyone else and immediately caught a fish. Having caught the first fish and easily at that, she had newfound excitement for the activity, and cast her line in again. Again, she quickly pulled out a fish. This sparked interest in my most competitive child and she fished her heart out that day. By the end of the day, she had caught a number of fish while the rest of us caught little more than happiness for her good day.
We left the hole, stopped by their favorite playground for the customary picnic and then headed home. When we got there, the kids jumped out of the truck and began gathering their belongings (lawn chairs, poles, blankets and such). Punky’s hands were full so Giz grabbed her string of fish and his pole. Shutter bug that I am, I took the picture above.
That’s when the sky darkened, the earth rumbled and all hell broke loose!
“Why did you take a picture of HIM holding MY fish? Now everyone is going to think HE caught them all. That isn’t fair, I caught them. They’re MINE!”
She threw her things on the ground in front of her and stormed off. Okay, she was upset, she spoke her mind, we thought it would end there.
Nope.
For the rest of the day she mumbled underneath her breath, she gave him little shoves and pokes, she swore she’d never EVER go fishing again and refused to eat the catch of the day. Through tears, tantrums and threats, she was made to apologize to her brother (which went something like, hand on hip, nose in the air, sarcastic ‘sorry’) after which, she was sent to her room for the night – no TV. That was a big one with her.
Now, this story may have bored you a bit, but there is a lesson here.
I suppose that as a writer, I compute things a little differently than others might. For example, I love, love, LOVE old pictures. Even if I don’t know anyone in the photo, I will look at it for a while and by the time I’m done, I have envisioned who they are and why one person looked so sad while the others were smiling… and there must be a reason why no one is wearing a coat even though there was snow on the ground…
You get the point.
A picture is worth a thousand words, or in this case seven hundred and sixty-three. And I think that people who are ‘born to write’ have a built-in ability to embellish upon, colorize and manipulate the story behind the picture.
Learn to look past what you see. See the subliminal. Create extensions off the obvious. Paint the picture you want the world to see. Embellish, colorize and manipulate.
And now, for another round of apologies to my kids for airing their childhoods in public…
Kathy Reinhart is ‘The Lily White Liar’
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Chaz Bono Rant
First, I want to offer anyone who may have clicked on this
to click out before proceeding any further if you’re looking for a debate, not
that I can’t debate with the best of them, but this post was simply to state my
opinion. Even if not one person agrees with my feelings on this subject, they
won’t change. I’m not posting to have anyone take sides, agree, disagree or try
to change my mind.
That said, I read the E-online celebrity news when it comes
across my screen, but rarely, if ever do I take a stand in the articles or more
so in the comments left by readers. Today was different. There is an article
about Chaz Bono and his joining season 13 of DWTS. Now, this is a show I have
never watched, (okay, maybe just once to tap into nostalgia and my high school
crush on Donny Osmond), but as reality TV goes, I’m not a fan. I realize that
the more outrageous, the more cutting edge a reality show can be, the more
likely people are to tune in. I get it. But, Chaz Bono? It is my personal
opinion that they are exploiting him, although that isn’t the opinion I chose
to write about. (You’ll learn, I have many of them)
Chaz was born Chastity, a female, who made a conscious and
adult decision that she was not comfortable in her skin and furthered that
decision by taking steps to feel more at peace with herself. Or as it is now,
himself. For the love of God, why does that bother anyone? Has he asked anyone
to sleep with him? Has he asked anyone to join him in his transformation? Has he
gone door-to-door with pro-choice pamphlets? Has he formed a cult encouraging
others to do the same?
Here’s where my opinion comes in, you might want to sit
down.
I’m not perfect, but get a load of this… neither are you.
Ouch, I know. Knowing it is easy, but hearing it – not so much. Some of us are
well aware of our imperfections and are quite content to live alongside them in
blissful harmony while others spend a good part of our lives trying to improve
upon ourselves. Neither way is wrong. We each decide how we can live
comfortably with ourselves and the way I see it, that is exactly what Chaz did.
I know, some of you out there are just dead-set against
accepting any way of life that doesn’t agree with yours. That’s fine. I’m not
trying to discourage you from seeing things the way you always have. But, there
are some of us that would like the same consideration.
I–for one– am not into head to toe tattoos. Maybe because
I like the ‘clean canvas’ look better or maybe because I don’t think I could
pull it off (Kat Von T, you go girl!!). But do I write articles or preach about
how wrong it is? No. Do I diss on the people who donate to their local tattoo
parlor the way some donate to church or their favorite charity? No. Just
because I don’t personally want that for myself doesn’t make it wrong.
And how about the 400-pound woman who packs her
itsy-bitsy-teenie-weenie-yellow-polka-dot-bikini on her Florida vacay? That’s
right. We’ve all seen her, making her way to and from the water as if she didn’t
have a care in the world. I’ve seen looks of shock, disgust and total amazement
and if I were 400 pounds, God Himself couldn’t get me to wear a bathing suit
period, let alone a bikini, but does that make her wrong? It’s personal choice,
her preference. But, the way some people act, you’d think that she woke up that
morning and made the conscious decision to ruin the vacations of hundreds of
beachgoers. Do I believe she looks good? Hell no. Do I believe she set out to
hurt anyone? Of course not. But, do I believe she’s is comfortable in her own
skin regardless of what others think. Damn straight. As a matter of fact, she
is probably more comfortable with herself than I could ever hope to be. I’ll
let you in on a little known fact… I have one jet black hair that shows up
every now and then on my chin. Now that I know it’s there, I keep a vigilant
watch for it to show itself and the second it does–pluck! If I could be half
as secure with myself EXACTLY THE WAY I AM, as the woman at the beach, I wouldn’t
spend as much time in the mirror.
The following is the comment I left on E-online’s website in
regards to the Chaz Bono article:
When are we ever going to evolve past this?
Who cares? Really? Who cares what Chaz was or what he is now. He is the best
person he can be NOW and that’s all that counts. Now if he is caught beating
Girl Scouts over the head for their cookies or pushing little old ladies into
the street rather than helping them cross, THEN you can bash him. Doing what he
had to do to feel comfortable in his own skin is NOT a crime and not for you to
judge. The utter ignorance of the people who sit behind THEIR OWN
flaws/skeletons/imperfections and cast insults at others is appalling and proof
positive that much of society still operates on very small minds.
Someone responded to me wanting to know, ‘evolve into
what’? Well, I’ll reply to that here. I would love nothing more than to see
society as a whole evolve into more tolerant, less judgmental humans. And to
take it one step further, I would love to see people less concerned with what
others are doing and more concerned with what they can do for others. I know, I’m
beginning to sound like a Miss Universe contestant spouting about world peace
in front of anyone with a microphone. This person also referred to Chaz’s
decision as a crime. Hmm. Define crime. Is it a legal crime? A moral crime? A
crime to HIS body? Because if that’s the case, then where does tattooing come
in? How about neon pink hair hardened into 8” spikes that can be used as
weapons?
Seriously, I don’t agree with everything that goes on
in the world today. Actually, I don’t agree with much of it. But, it isn’t my
job to agree. We each seek acceptance, whether it be from society as a whole,
our peers, our friends or just from one or two loved ones. We all have
differences that we wouldn’t want to spend every day of our lives defending.
I was asked, “what if it were one of your own children that wanted to become the
opposite sex?” Truth be told, I wouldn’t like it. I would try to dissuade them.
It would sadden me. NOT because I couldn’t accept them or their choice, but
because I know how the small-minded portion of society would react. And I know
how that could adversely affect my child and as a mother, anything that
adversely affects my child is cause for sadness. Notice I said ‘could’ affect
and not ‘would’ affect. Now if my child was anything like the 400-pound bikini
wearer, I would take comfort in the fact that they would probably take every
insult and dirty look with a grain of salt and go on to live a reasonably
normal life.
Let’s recap life in my 50 years. We have attacked, judged and
poked fun at:
Divorce, Unwed Mothers, Tattoos, Piercings, Interracial Marriages,
Gay Marriage and now Chaz Bono. And within this list, is there even one that
done by a stranger affects your life personally? Be careful which stones you
throw because one day, it might be someone close to you who veers from what you
consider normal behavior and I’d hate to think that you would have to have your
words thrown back to you.
Oh, whatever happened to the days when wearing slacks instead of a skirt to school was the biggest faux pas of the times?
Read the full article here: http://www.eonline.com/news/marc_malkin/chaz_bonos_dwts_partner_blasts_critics/261325?cmpid=rss-000000-rssfeed-365-topstories&utm_source=eonline&utm_medium=rssfeeds&utm_campaign=rss_topstories
Kathy Reinhart is the ‘lily white liar’. All opinions belong solely to her and are not intended to persuade or provoke anyone. Your feedback and comments are welcome as long as they’re offered without the intent of starting a heated debate.
Follow me on Twitter: @kathyreinhart
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Or visit what keeps me up at night: www.kathyreinhart.com (my next rant will probably be on how difficult I am finding web creation!)
Arm Pit Farts – Building 3 Dimensional Characters
I did promise you all the arm pit farts story and although I’m a little late getting to it with the holiday and all, here it comes.
First, let me give a quick refresher… When I refer to ‘Bear’, I am talking about my beautiful 19-year-old daughter, Taylor. (Even if she doesn’t just love my pet name for her, she’s used to it and has found escaping it more difficult than trying to nap with 2 children under the age of 18 months). Bear is not only my youngest, but also my most outspoken child. She was born with it. I might have mentioned her mind-to-mouth conveyor belt way of thinking in a previous post. As a young child, Bear was also a girlie-girl. Actually, I don’t think I recall ever having heard that expression until after she came along… hmm, I have to wonder.
Dresses, always dresses. She grew up on our horse farm, and rode wearing a dress. In single digit temps, she wore tights-underneath her dress. Gathered eggs each morning, in her dress. Oh, and we can’t forget the matching hats! I’ve included a picture of her (along with my two oldest – who I will embarrass in a later post) so you can visualize what I am about to tell you.
The year was 1997, Bear was in first grade. It was a Friday and near 1 o’clock I receive a phone call from Bear’s teacher, Miss Dolhiemer. The conversation went something like this:
Me: Hello.
Miss D.: Kathy?
Me: Yes.
(I helped at the school often and knew her well)
Miss D.: I just had to call you.
Me: What’s up?
(Long pause. Thinking it had to do with my helping out…)
Me: Do you need me to come in?
Miss D.: No. Um… I couldn’t go back into the classroom, I had to call you.
(Red Flag Alert)
Me: What’s wrong? Is Bear alright?
Miss D.: Fine. She’s fine.
(What’s that noise I hear? Is she… laughing?)
Me: What happened? What did Bear do?
Miss D.: If ever I wish I had a video camera in class, it was today. Today was Show & Tell day.
Me: Yes, I saw the note she brought home.
(I hear her suppress another laugh. At this point, I’m just a little worried, certain that the next words out of her mouth will cause embarrassment)
Miss D.: Did she tell you what she was going to do for Show & Tell?
(I’m wracking my brain)
Me: She said she was going to do something with Heather I think. I think the note said it had something to do with musical instruments.
(I really should start reading those notes even if they do seem boring)
(Another laugh came through the phone)
Miss D.: Yes, she and Heather decided that for their musical instrument, they would play the arm pit farts…
(Oh God, did I call this or what? Leave it to Bear to substitute her arm pit for a Kazoo.)
Me: I’m sorry. I suppose I should have paid more attention to the note…
(She stopped laughing long enough to interrupt me.)
Miss D.: Oh no… no, I never laughed so hard in all of my years teaching.
(Okay, okay, she’s not upset. Okay, I can handle this one.)
Me: What did she do?
(I braced myself anyway)
Miss D.: Well, you have to picture it. Heather and Bear standing next to each other. Bear in her frilly dress and Heather in her ripped jeans and uncombed hair (Heather was very much the tomboy). When asked what they were going to show and tell, Bear announces that they are going to play a song on their arm pits.
Me: Oh God!
Miss D.: Although that in itself made me laugh, the best part was yet to come. Immediately, Heather stuck her hand down the neck of her T-shirt and began to flap like a chicken. But Bear couldn’t get her hand down her tighter neckline. She pulled on it. She tried to go through her sleeve. She tried the other hand, all the while looking over at Heather who was tooting away without her.
(Another long pause while she stifled the giggles)
Miss D.: Finally, she hoisted her dress up to her neck, tucked it under her chin and finished the last half of the number with Heather… all the while showing her goods off to the class. Everyone in the room, including myself, was laughing so hard. The longer the girls flapped their arms, the harder we laughed. Once they were done with show and tell, Bear looked at the class and said, ‘pretend you didn’t see my underwear’ and casually took her seat.
(I could sooo see her doing this)
Miss D.: I had to step out of the room. Really, Kathy you had to see it.
Although I found this extremely funny at the time, the point I am getting to actually has more to do with writing.
When you picture a child with a frog in his pocket, most of us will picture a boy. When we hear about a child baking with Grandma, we picture a girl. Stereotypical and not exactly 3-dimensional, huh? Take someone like Bear. Girlie-girl, dresses, hats and long blonde hair. It would be easy to imagine her baking cookies with grandma or playing with Barbie’s. But, arm pit farts? Hiking her dress over her head because Heather was going to finish without her? Had she been a written character, those things would have added depth to an otherwise unremarkable, stereotypical character.
When writing, don’t be afraid to make your characters remarkable and outrageous. Don’t be afraid to give them flair. Readers want your characters to be 3-dimensional, they want to jump on board and go along for the ride. They don’t necessarily have to be ‘good guys’, but they have to jump off the page. Give them an edge, a peculiarity, a LIFE – in 3-D, in Technicolor. And for God sakes, let there be arm pit farts!!
I want to thank my daughter for her good nature because she has never threatened to disown me or tell ‘mom stories’ to get even. In all fairness, I am going to post a ‘now’ picture since I have posted so many ‘then’ pictures. And while she is being so understanding of my need to create… next time, Bear and the outhouse story. 
Kathy Reinhart is The Lily White Liar’.
You can also see her Ink Drop Interviews blog where she conducts weekly interviews with fellow authors. Paying it forward…
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I Shall Not Tell A Lie!
I wear many hats, but first and foremost, I am a mother. And as every mother does, I love to tell stories and drag out the family albums every chance I get. I’m proud. Even when they aren’t behaving like the people I’ve raised them to be, I’m still proud. While they were growing up I did my best to instill values, integrity and ethics. I taught them to be true to themselves, to be the kind of friend they’d like to have in their own lives, to be tolerant, non-judgmental and above all else, I taught them to be honest. Now, I have five granddaughters and I am seriously re-thinking the whole honesty thing.
Here’s why.
The year was 1996. We lived on a farm and were regularly adding to our array of animals. Rabbits, the lop-eared variety, were a favorite with my kids. My youngest, Bear (yeah, I’m one of those crazy kind of nickname parents) was especially fond of them.
Anyone who has ever had a rabbit as a pet knows that if you keep them in their cage outdoors for a few weeks, you can then begin to open the door (of their cage) and let them come and go as they please. They will wander within a radius of about twenty feet of their cage and instinctively return to their cage shortly before dusk (for fear of becoming a predator’s dinner).
Every morning Bear would let them out, play with them on and off throughout the day (they really are very friendly) and lock them in their cages before dark.
Cute, right?
One evening, when it was time to tuck them in (as she called it), we couldn’t find Roscoe (Yes, Roscoe, as in Roscoe P. Coletrain. All of our rabbits were named after Dukes of Hazzard characters). Now that we’ve established that my kids aren’t the most creative people I know… back to Roscoe. We searched for him until dark and then searched for him with flashlights while Bear alternated between calling his name and crying. We were forced to give up our search and assured her that he probably found a friend and would be back by the time she got up in the morning, although we were quite certain he’d long since been eaten up!
She woke up the next morning and before she ate breakfast or gathered eggs (her favorite chore), she went out to see if Roscoe was waiting at his cage. Naturally, he wasn’t. While she looked in all directions, I thanked God for not letting there be any tufts of fur lying around the cage.
Anyway, (I edited out the fluff and will get right to the point), We began losing a rabbit every few days. We suggested leaving them in their cages, but Bear replied, ‘How would you like to be locked inside a tiny cage’? No arguing with 5-year-old logic.
It was a Friday and Roscoe, Luke and Boss Hogg were gone without a trace. I was washing dishes or some other chore of a housewife and noticed my next door neighbor carrying a box to his shed in the far corner of his backyard. He wasn’t walking or running. He was ‘waddling’. Yes, waddling, stepping through the yard as if he were trying to avoid land mines and carrying a box in his outstretched arms. The red flag raised when I saw him glancing back at our house with every couple steps he took.
Hmm.
About an hour later, I watched him and his wife get into their car and pull away. Knowing that they lived alone, I did the unspeakable. I broke and entered their shed (let’s hope there is a statute of limitations on that). I assume readers are smart or they wouldn’t be here, so I don’t have to tell you what was in the box. That’s right – Daisy Duke! Bear’s favorite! We quickly moved her cage into the barn to hide her.
This is where the story gets good.
The previous week, we had joined ‘said neighbor’s’ for service at their church. Our little town did this every year. One week, everyone would bring a neighbor to church A, the following week, we joined at church B and so on. Well, the upcoming week was to be held at our church and said neighbors had already agreed to join us.
Fast forward to our church, the following Sunday, said neighbors sitting next to us in our pew. (Yes, our pew. Regular church goers are very territorial)
During the service, our pastor calls the children up, as he does each week. This is his attempt to engage the next generation and no one enjoys being engaged more than Bear. She was still at an age where she refused to wear pants of any kind and insisted on wearing hats that matched her frilly dresses. Seriously, she was over the top even for a girly girl.
It was typical and expected that when the pastor asked a question, Bear would raise her hand, whether she had the correct answer or not. The congregation had come to expect it. And, more often than not, the pastor would call on her. Her replies may not have always been accurate, but they were always entertaining.
This particular week, once the kids were all settled into their places on the altar step (yes, even church-going children are territorial), he asks, ‘This week we’re going to be talking about broken hearts. Do any of you know what it feels like to have a broken heart?’
You guessed it. Up went that little hand as she bounced her entire body up and down as if she needed the little girls room. The pastor must have thought the congregation was a little on the sleepy side and in need of a laugh to break the bore-barrier. ‘Yes, Bear. Have you ever had a broken heart?’
At this point, I wasn’t worried.
Bear stood up and placed her hands on her hips. She took a deep breath and in the most exasperated voice I’ve ever heard from a child, she pointed to our pew and said, ‘My next door neighbors have been stealing my rabbits and it’s just breaking my heart’.
Gasps………..and then silence.
Now, at that very moment I found myself questioning whether God really exists because if he did, he would have answered my prayer and let me melt into a puddle underneath the pew. I didn’t have the nerve to look at said neighbors, but I could feel their eyes burning holes in the side of my head like Satan’s fork. The first sound I recall hearing after Bear’s announcement was the sound of Bear’s voice, telling the pastor and the other children the entire story, exactly as she overheard her father and I telling it to our friends the night before. Needless to say, we were not invited back to their church the following year.
I now question whether honesty is the best policy (at least where small children are concerned). Bear’s mind was like a conveyor belt when she was young. Whatever went in was most definitely coming out, with no off switch or reverse button. She is single-handedly responsible for 90% of my laugh lines.
In my next blog, Bear and the arm-pit farts story. Priceless.
*Disclaimer: I can only guess why said neighbors were disposing of the rabbits. My best guess would be that the rabbits were wandering a little too far and digging in said neighbors flower beds (which were quite lovely). And although I’m sure they didn’t appreciate that, I don’t agree with the way they handled it. I would have been more than happy to keep the rabbits in their cages or move them to the other end of our 8 acres if it would have rectified any issues said neighbors were having, but it was never brought to my attention.
Kathy Reinhart is The Lily White Liar. Author of 3 novels, her latest work, ‘Lily White Lies’ available through Amazon, B & N and anywhere else you can buy good GREAT books!
Lily White Lies – Chapter One
Since there was a gliche with the spine of my book cover that will put off its release for up to a week 6/17/11 (*mock tears), I am offering a peek at what’s to come. Chapter one, in its entirety. Enough to leave you wanting more!! If you take the time to read it, I’d love to hear what you have to say about it. I apologize for the formatting in advance… Somehow the formatting was lost in the move, but a damn good read anyway! Enjoy!!
One
…His strong jaw and chiseled features were as eye appealing as his well-formed body, which was evident, even under his white oxford shirt…
I wasn’t in the mood when he slid his hand up my nightie but I was even less in the mood to argue. I could convince myself to tolerate the ten minutes of faking interest and pleasure. It was the two or three minutes afterward, several minutes of what seemed an eternity that I found almost intolerable, as I waited for him to roll off me.
Those few minutes evoked an emotion I couldn’t understand, much less label. Wavering between disgust and surrender, it was the most pervasive feeling of despair. It reminded me of late Uncle Maury and the mole on his left cheek. Looking back, I don’t think the mole bothered me as much as the one, wiry, black hair that protruded from its spongy core. The urge to rip it out mixed with the urge to throw up—knowing I could do neither. Each time he’d say, ‘Come here and give your uncle a kiss’, I would close my eyes in defeat and obediently do as I’d been asked, my stomach turning in time with the heartbeat that pounded in my throat.
Now, I lay underneath two-hundred-pounds of sweaty flesh, struggling with those same feelings, the ones I had closed my eyes to hide twenty years ago. The spoken, ‘I love you,’ that I once used to conclude our lovemaking was now replaced with the unspoken, ‘Get off me!’
“Damn baby, that was good.” His words came with exertion.
Not the least bit interested whether his remark was an observation or a compliment, I replied, “How about letting me up.”
As if he didn’t realize he was still lying on top of me, he mumbled something I didn’t catch and rolled toward his left, pinning my hair between his arm and the mattress.
Wincing, I grabbed it to keep it from pulling tighter as he slid further away from me. He made a half notion to look in my direction.
“Sorry baby, I didn’t mean to pull your hair. Maybe you should think about getting it cut. I mean… it would be a lot easier to take care of.” He added, “It’d probably be kind of cute on you, too.”
“No!” Mentally drained as I was, I could only offer a one-word challenge.
“Hey, it was just a thought.”
Smooth as silk, a deep shade of brown bordering on black, a color my grandmother called molasses, I always saw my hair as my one and only pretty feature. Without it, I probably would have drowned in my own insecurities as a teenager, when everyone else seemed to be more popular than I was and have more dates than I did.
My legs felt like tree trunks as I swung them over the side of the bed.
“Would you bring me a glass of water on your way back?”
A nod was all I could muster.
We weren’t married yet, but somehow we had already fallen into married life re-runs. After work, it was dinner and clean up, sitcoms for me, paperwork for him and then bed. Except for the occasional social engagement on a weekend, our routine never varied.
Lately, even sex had become routine—something he expected every night. It didn’t seem fair. The pre-wedding jitters that made me nervous, made him horny. I planned all the arrangements while he did what he would normally do. Then, at the end of the day, when I felt fatigued and stressed, he wanted to play. If the weeks leading up to the wedding were going to be like this, he wouldn’t have the need for a honeymoon and I wouldn’t have the energy.
I took more time than usual to brush my teeth. Somehow, in the middle of this daily act, I could find the peace lacking from my everyday routine. In these few moments, my thoughts belonged to me. My time belonged to me. The demands on my life didn’t exist within the tiled walls of a room that had become my sanctuary. I had never before realized how calming the simple act of brushing my teeth could be.
With a glass of water in my hand, I sat on the edge of the bed and gave Brian a nudge. “Here’s your water.”
I waited for a response—as I did every night—then exhaled one, long breathe and placed the glass on the nightstand, muttering, “Goodnight to you, too,” as I slid between the sheets.
It seemed as if only seconds had passed but I knew better. I ignored the blaring alarm and the thud of feet hitting heavily on the floor. My eyes fluttered open when the toilet seat cracked against the tank. But, when the off-key singing rolled out of the bathroom with the steam, I got out of bed to keep from screaming. I poked my head through the open bathroom door.
“You’re not going to the office today… are you?”
“What’s that, babe?”
Clearing my throat to carry my voice above the beating water, I yelled, “I asked if you were going to work today. It’s Saturday.”
The shower stopped and he reached for a towel as he stepped out of the stall. The light behind him defined his sizeable form as he stood in the doorway. For the first time since I’d known him, I noticed—really noticed—just how big he was. Not ‘big boned’ as he liked to call it, but large—as in eats too much. Funny, I never noticed that before, I thought, as I turned away from him.
I had almost forgotten my question when he finally decided to answer it.
“No, a couple of the guys wanted to go golfing today. I thought I’d enjoy what I had left of single life.”
Why didn’t his answer surprise me? Of course, he was going golfing, fishing, or boating! I fluffed the pillows vigorously, as I finished making the bed.
As an afterthought, he added, “What are your plans?”
My plans for the day had been the main topic of conversation during dinner last night. Either he wasn’t listening or his memory was receding with his hairline. I knew which.
“Cory, Charlotte and I… shopping for my gown… cake… flowers? Sound familiar?” I paused, for effect more than for an answer. “Never mind.”
“Well, you and the girls enjoy yourselves. Oh, and don’t forget about dinner at the Cosgrove’s tonight!”
“What dinner?”
I caught the look of mock surprise on his face.
“Oh, didn’t I mention it?” He turned toward the closet and I recognized his aimless stare as the beginning of a con job.
“Jim and his wife are throwing a dinner party for some new client. He wants the junior partners to be there—I think he said eightish.” He offered a patronizing shrug. “Sorry baby… can’t get out of this one.” I watched silently, as he picked up his shoes and disappeared through the doorway. Arguing was pointless—he was a lawyer, arguing was what he did best.
The timing of my day with the girls couldn’t have been better. I had been feeling edgy lately and knew that if anyone could put me in a better frame of mind; it would be Cory and Charlotte. We had grown up within fifty miles of each other, but attended different high schools and didn’t meet until we enrolled at the same college. In spite of the vast differences in our personalities, we had become fast friends.
Charlotte Birch—circumspect to a fault. Guided by hardheaded practicality, she had worked her way through college, kept her nose clean and made all the right choices until it fell apart in her senior year. One month into her last year, she learned she was pregnant. In customary Charlotte fashion, she gave her options way too much thought before ending her three year relationship with her boyfriend, Kevin, with the words, ‘I’ve made one mistake, I’m not about to make two’. After considerable protest, he agreed to her decision and settled for liberal visitation with their son and occasional liberties with Charlotte.
Cory SaSalle—now there’s the fun-loving free spirit. Full of verve and vitality, she sees the world through a romantic eye and brightens every room she graces. Her natural blonde hair and enormous, silicone-free breasts demand attention, but her spirited personality ensures a lasting impression. She loves two kinds of men—foreign and domestic. And they love her. Women seem to hate her for the same reasons men love her, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s been riding on a smile and her father’s credit cards for the last decade and in all the time I’ve known her, I’ve only known one thing to bother her—aging. Aging petrifies her. She swears she’ll hold on to twenty-nine for as long as her wrinkle-free complexion allows, letting plastic pick up where natural elasticity leaves off. Charlotte and I know she means it.
Then there’s me, the last of the three musketeers. I’m Meg Embry. I fall somewhere between the two of them, not sure if who I am and who I want to be are the same person. I’m a doting granddaughter, a submissive fiancée, a struggling business owner and a dreamer—mostly a dreamer. I have a closet full of dreams but at this point in my life, all of the hangers are empty. I’m hoping that my upcoming marriage will finally fill a few of them.
Coming from a less-than-typical family, my personality holds all sorts of possibilities. I could end up like my easy-going but felonious grandfather, my eccentric, vodka-drinking grandmother, or maybe even my moonstruck aunt. Depending on the time and situation, I see each of them in myself, and that scares the hell out of me. Throughout Pennsylvania, the Embry’s garnered the reputation of being left field of ordinary many generations ago. Although they came by the label honestly, I see escaping it as a challenge, my quest to end the notion with my generation. In my family, lunacy seems to be a congenital assumption while normalcy is considered a genetic blemish. My best hope is that the parents I lost as a child were reasonably sane and that they passed a fragment of that on to me.
Yes, a day with the girls could only make me feel better. If Cory couldn’t make me laugh, I knew Charlotte would let me cry. Either way, it was well-timed medicine.
~ ~ ~
The girls and I had been regulars at Sal Latino’s for the better part of ten years—often referring to it as ‘our’ café. People maneuvered blocks out of their way to find the wrought iron tables of the outdoor eatery an enjoyable escape from the smoke-filled restaurants scattered throughout Upper Darby. Unusually busy for a brisk May morning, the bustle seemed to end at an invisible line separating the city sidewalk from the patio of the quaint café.
I took a seat and began thumbing through a copy of Brides magazine, quickly becoming lost in my thoughts.
“Good morning. Can I interest you in something to drink?”
Startled by the sudden interruption, I glanced up at the man who waited for my reply. He seemed to loom over me as he stood at my table awaiting my response, but I couldn’t force a complete sentence out of my mouth.
“Uh—yes—drink…”
Letting out a sound that was more than a sigh but short of a laugh, I managed to say something relatively coherent. “Water… please.” His strong jaw and chiseled features were as eye appealing as his well-formed body, which was evident, even under his white oxford shirt.
I felt my cheeks flush as he playfully replied, “Uh—yes—water—coming right up.”
If he had even the slightest gift of sixth sense among his other, more obvious attributes, he would have felt my eyes boring holes into his back as he retrieved my water.
While he was away, I worked to compose myself and decided to be more sophisticated when he returned. After all, he wasn’t the first good-looking man I’d ever seen and I wasn’t a star struck schoolgirl.
I was an adult.
An adult who was engaged to be married. Certainly, I could handle myself with dignity in the presence of a gorgeous man. I discreetly covered my eyes and stole a quick glance at him through parted fingers as he headed my way, a bottle of water and a glass of ice on his tray.
As he approached my table I cringed, the words I had rehearsed in my head were crumbling into unintelligible syllables.
“Here you go—water as ordered.”
Instead of being upset that words had escaped me, I should have been happy that I managed to nod and smile at the same time, without any sign of drool. I was still nodding as he smiled and turned away. I was staring at the table, still in the middle of an internal scolding when the girls arrived. I stood and gave them each a hug, putting my embarrassment aside for the time being.
“We’re sorry, Meg. We would have been here earlier, but…” Cory stopped and glanced toward Charlotte. When she continued, her eyes beamed with excitement. “We had, like, the most fab idea for your party and had to make a stop on the way here.”
I began my protest. “We agreed! No male strippers…”
Charlotte cut in. “Who said anything about strippers? Not that anyone besides you would mind…”
“Our best friend only gets married once—if she’s lucky—so we decided to do it up right.” Cory gave Charlotte a conspiratorial smile before boasting, “This will be one for the bachelorette party hall of fame!”
I felt an internal shudder creep along my spine. I knew they meant well, but I also knew what they were capable of, especially with Cory in charge. When it came to having fun, she was the queen of her court.
“What have the two of you gone and done?”
“It’s moral and it’ll be a lot of fun.” Charlotte reassured.
“It’s legal,” Cory added, “well… in most states anyway.” They shared a laugh.
“Maybe, but knowing you two, it’ll have me in divorce court before the ink on the marriage license dries.”
“And… that would be a bad thing?” Charlotte prodded.
Our eyes locked for a brief moment, but our friendship and the love I felt for her kept me from making too much of her last statement. She had never tried to hide her enmity toward Brian and if nothing else, I respected her honesty. I often thought unconscious jealousies and the lack of a stable relationship in her own life led her to pick apart and belittle others happiness. Yet, it seemed impossible to be angry with her when I was much busier feeling sorry for her. I quickly changed the subject to something less tense as I spotted our waiter headed in our direction.
“Excitable—four o’clock!”
Cory and Charlotte turned in unison to see who had my attention.
When we were in college, we had revised the expression, able-bodied men to mean men-who-were-able. ‘Dates-gone bad’ were what we called regrettable. A man who left no lasting impression was forgettable. If he were someone we couldn’t keep our hands off, he was touchable. It was the one-to-ten scale with more flair. And although it seemed a little silly at this point in our lives, it was a language all our own and it could still coax a smile out of the darkest mood.
“Excitable? Meg, your eyes are so closed. He’s like—totally screwable!” Cory sighed and sank back in her chair.
Looking at her, I wondered if I appeared as starry eyed and desperate when he came by the table earlier.
Once at the table, he directed his attention toward the women sitting across from me, in their smitten daze.
“Can I interest you ladies in something to drink while you look over… the menu?”
I watched as a flirtatious smile formed on Cory’s lips. Interest was probably the wrong choice of words when it came to Cory and men. On a typical day, she would have no qualms telling him exactly what would interest her.
The silence that fell over the table was becoming uncomfortable, when I finally said, “Don’t mind them. They’re in heat!”
Charlotte shot me an annoyed side-glance, while Cory’s smile broadened. She didn’t bat an eye at the same things that would embarrass most women. Charlotte’s expression softened as she wiggled a finger between herself and Cory, trying to speak.
“We’ll have… coffee… yes—coffees. Two. Please.” With her best attempt at a flirtatious smile, she added, “Thank you.”
His glance circled the table, giving each of us a playful smile.
Did he know his eyes were like magnets, drawing us in and holding us captive? God, I could only pray that I didn’t look as pathetic as Cory and Charlotte, who were shamelessly staring at the man who stood less than a foot away.
I waited to speak until he was barely out of earshot.
“You two are pitiful!”
Charlotte’s mouth hung in an unladylike fashion, until she blurted, “You’re getting married Meg, you’re not dead! Tell me you didn’t notice the body on that man.”
“What would it say about the state of my relationship with Brian if I were out here ogling every man with…” I gave him another once over… “tight black pants, sun-streaked hair, blue eyes and more muscle than Popeye on a spinach binge?”
Charlotte looked to Cory, and laughed. “Nope, she didn’t notice.”
Cory seemed to be staring straight through him. “Oh, what I wouldn’t give to be Olive Oyl right about now.”
As we broke out in laughter, I stole another look at the handsome man who had towered over us a few moments earlier. I turned my head quickly when his eyes locked on mine, causing more laughter from my friends and shades of embarrassment to cross my cheeks. Although we all looked and joked, the difference between us was that Charlotte and I were only joking. Cory, on the other hand, would have trotted off with the guy, asking his name only as an afterthought. Secretly, part of me wished I could be more like her, and that was a fact I should have seen for the red flag it was.
I mindlessly thumbed through my magazine while we ate breakfast. I stopped circling dresses when I reached thirty something and needed help narrowing them down.
Frustrated, I said, “It’s too bad I can’t mix and match parts I like from each dress.”
Still focused on our waiter, Cory said, “It’s too bad I can’t mix and match parts I like from each man.”
We each laughed, and Charlotte noted, “We could talk about frogs and grass clippings and you would still find a way to bring it back to men.”
“Rumor has it Prince Charming was once a frog.” Cory said quite matter-of-factly.
Charlotte motioned for our waiter, and joked, “We better get her out of here before she attaches herself to his leg.”
“Yeah, Gram wants me to take her to the nursing home today and Brian sprung a dinner party on me, so I have a lot to squeeze in.
When our waiter held out the check, Cory nearly knocked her chair over in an attempt to grab it from him.
“I’ve got it!” She handed her card to him with a wink. “You make sure you add twenty percent for yourself, handsome.”
We picked up our belongings and pushed the heavy chairs across the stone. Charlotte turned to Cory and said, “We’ll get a cab while you wait for your receipt.”
“I’ll be sure to thank you later!” Cory smoothed her blonde hair back as she waved us off.
As we made our way to the corner, Charlotte look became one of concern. “Have you heard from the bank yet?”
I hailed a cab.
“I talked to Mr. Anderson a couple of days ago. He gave me the good news, bad news routine.”
“Will he give you the money?”
I shrugged. “The good news is he’ll give me the loan. The bad news is he either wants collateral, which I don’t have, or he wants Brian to co-sign.”
Charlotte waved at the next cab to go by.
“So much for the fight against discrimination. I think the women’s movement has come to a standstill. If Brian wanted the money, you can bet no one at the bank would ask you to co-sign.” She glanced back to see if Cory had finished. “Why don’t you let him? I mean, you’ll be married soon, it’s not like you’re using him with the intention of blowing him off.”
“That’s not an option. He has his career and I want to do this on my own.” I lowered my head and my tone. “Besides, Brian…” I let my words trail off. Finishing that sentence would give Charlotte ammunition to wage another verbal war against Brian. Although her head was turned slightly away from me, I could see the you’re-not-fooling-me look in her profile. She slowly turned to face me and I cringed. Here it comes, I thought.
“Let me guess, Meg. Brian doesn’t like the idea. You won’t ask him to sign because you know he’s going to persuade you to toss the idea—right?”
Almost embarrassed, I replied, “It’s not like that. Exactly. It’s just that he thinks my working will make him look like a failure as an attorney. None of the other partners’ wives work. He said that once we’re married, I should focus on charity work and dinner parties.”
Stepping into the street, Charlotte hailed yet another cab. Irritated by the driver’s dismissal of her, she snapped, “How many decisions do you get to make? Hell, how many do you get to take part in, Meg? You’ve wanted your own bakery since I’ve known you. Now, Brian tells you that’s not what you’re supposed to want and you’re just going to throw it all away. Meg, what’s happening to you?”
I opened my mouth several times without speaking. I didn’t know how to make my friend believe something I hadn’t even convinced myself of, yet.
“Brian makes good money; he doesn’t see the need for me to work. He just wants to make things easier on me.”
“No Meg! He wants to mold you. He wants to dominate you. He’s supposed to share your dreams, not tell you what to dream. Next thing you know he’ll be telling you how to wear your hair and dictating who your friends should be.” Annoyance flashed through her blue-gray eyes, as she spat, “Don’t the cabdrivers in this God forsaken city have any decency?”
I thought back to the remark Brian had made last night about my hair. Without even knowing it, Charlotte had struck a nerve.
There was an awkward silence.
“I’m sorry, Meg. I shouldn’t have said that, but I see what he’s doing to you, even if you don’t.” She hesitated. “I don’t want to see you resent your choices down the road.”
I caught the emphasis on the word ‘your’ and guessed that her advice came from her own past mistakes. I raised an arm and gave her shoulders a squeeze.
“I know you mean well.” I hesitated, debating my next few words. “I know Brian loves me, but, sometimes… well, that feeling gets lost among all the other feelings that go with being in a relationship. Does that make any sense?”
Nodding empathetically, she replied, “Perfect sense.”
Cory joined us as a cab finally obliged Charlotte’s hailing. By her downcast expression, I assumed she hadn’t any luck with the waiter.
As the cab door slammed behind us, Charlotte teased, “What happened? Didn’t he ask for anything more than your signature on the bill?”
“As a matter of fact, he did. He asked for a name and a number.” Her tone was of mock sarcasm.
“Shouldn’t you be a little happier about it?” I asked curiously.
She flipped her hair back in an exaggerated manner. “I would be if he had asked for mine.”
Thoroughly confused, Charlotte asked the question we were both wondering. “Whose did he ask for?”
Cory pointed an accusing finger at me and said, “He wanted yours.”
Charlotte laughed aloud, as I choked out our destination. “Baldwin’s on Forty-Second, please.”
Lily White Lies ~ Chapter Sub-Headings
Every couple days I will post another Chapter Sub-Heading on WordPress, Twitter and my FB Author Page. They are each little excerpts taken from the actual chapter and have been published as such. They give just a little insight as to what’s to come…. Little Teasers!
Chapter One
…His strong jaw and chiseled features were as eye appealing as his well-formed body, which was evident even under his white oxford shirt…
Chapter Two
…She was superstitious beyond reason and in her eyes; things were what they were and only the imprudent tempted fate. She believed the wise lived in caution while the fool-hearted lived in the moment…
Chapter Three
…I had the urge to kick, scream and throw things at him until it brought a smile to my face, but instead, I chose to lie quietly on the couch and re-think my life…
Chapter Four
…He saw stained walls, missing linoleum tiles, stopgap equipment and–as he put it–not enough space to trip in. I saw what he didn’t. I saw the dream…
Chapter Five
…’I have a mother, but can’t make her understand she has a daughter. It feels painfully similar to not having her at all…’
Chapter Six
‘…I craved something that could put my problems into perspective and–if only for lack of a better remedy–humor came the closest to making me feel sane…’
Chapter Seven
‘…Picking up her flask, she stared at it for a moment and then placed it back on the table, deciding against another swallow…’
Chapter Eight
‘…Until-death-do-us-part meant a future filled with dread and regrets. All that remained between us was the admittance of failure and the formality of a spoken goodbye.’
Chapter Nine
‘…I was able to keep the tears that dampened my lashes from spilling over, but the crack in my voice was more than I could help…’
Chapter Ten
‘…The world was spinning only for us; newfound friendships were more important than air and we were certain that our plans for life were cemented in a future without change…’
Chapter Eleven
‘…His eyes flickered with love at the mere mention of her name and I wondered what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of that kind of love-laced gaze…’
Chapter Twelve
‘…He whispered ‘I’m sorry’ into my ear before he began to weep into my hair. We sat for several minutes and tearfully shared the closest moments we would ever share again…’
Chapter Thirteen
‘…Cory was being evasive and Charlotte was acting guilty–familiar signs of a scheme and the promise of a night I would never forget…’
Chapter Fourteen
‘…My silent singing had become vocal humming. I closed my eyes and inhaled a deep breath of his scent, now praying for another verse to the song…’
Chapter Fifteen
‘…The line between good girls and bad girls was very fine, but very well defined. It was a line I was always careful not to cross but I had never in my life wished for anything as hard as I wished tht I could be the girl in the mirror…’
Chapter Sixteen
‘…Just knowing that he was on the other side of the door was enough to send a chill up my back that would take more than soak in warm water to eliminate…’
Chapter Seventeen
‘…This was one of those rare moments in life when, presented with an opportunity to do something so daring, so utterly out of character it would take pictures of the event to convince anyone that I had actually done it, I was going to blow it in the name of good judgment and rational thought, cursing myself for… well… probably forever…’
Chapter Eighteen
‘…Our worlds were colliding on a very eerie, but very real course and I didn’t know how to escape the collision. Confusion, shock, and pain were all elements of an ending that began as a perfect evening, and I couldn’t run fast enough or far enough to separate myself from it…’
Chapter Nineteen
‘…He’d been able to read me like a road sign since our first meeting and now, if there were any particular words that could cause me to melt at his command, he had just said every one of them…’
Chapter Twenty
‘…If I didn’t think I’d look like a lunatic, I would do a Doublemint kick right in the middle of Main Street or throw something into the wind like Mary Tyler Moore. I was ecstatic and I wanted to share my news with someone. I wanted to share my news with Con…’
Chapter Twenty-One
‘…The house was enormous with pressed tin ceilings that had to be at least twelve feet high, an open staircase that was a solid six feet wide and plank flooring covered with enough lacquer to reflect the light that streamed through the floor to ceiling windows…’
Chpater Twenty-Two
‘…I searched his eyes for a better answer, but couldn’t find one. As he closed the gap between us, I found myself lost, lost in a sea of desire with the only man who could save me…’
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘… Several days passed without seeing Con and I felt as though I were going through withdrawals, minus the shakes…’
Chapter Twenty-Four
‘…Her hands clutched her glass and her eyes darted around the room in an attempt to avoid looking at either of us. Uncomfortable seconds felt like minutes of agony while we sat silently, waiting for her to speak…’
Chapter Twenty-Five
‘…Joker was as nasty as a dirty diaper but at least he talked, even if it wasn’t directly to me most of the time. Gramp, on the other hand, had a much better disposition, although he refused to acknowledge Con’s presence, let alone talk to him…’
Chapter Twenty-Six
‘…His eyes were scorching, burning their way straight into my heart. Every emotion, every ache and need, every tingle and sensation I felt were laid out for him to see…’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
‘…He was holding an old, wooden box the size of a hatbox. Like the tree at the pond, it bore carved affections of one-time loves. Rather than taking his seat beind the desk, he stopped directly in front of me. My nerves stood on end waiting for him to speak…’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
‘…He leaned back on the couch and I leaned into him. With my head snugly in the bend of his neck, I breathed in his scent, as he began to read a twenty-four-year-old confession…’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
‘…With a kiss and a hug, I was on my way back to the city feeling lighter in spirit. I thought about everything I had learned and the meaning of a lily white lie became clear…’
Chapter Thirty
‘…As the door swung open, each man stood tall, eyes fixed on the other. I held my breath until Gramp began to speak…’
Badges…
I am still fuddling around the world of networking, as those of you who have read my last blog now know… and I am attempting to try out my new ‘badge’. No, not the girl scout kind or the Marshall Dillon kind, but the fb kind… (reminder to all newbies, fb = Facebook. *smile)
I’m still not sure what I’m supposed to do with my new badge, or where to post it or even who will see it (or even better, who the hell wants to see it, really?)
But, here it is, I think….
Tweeps, Fans and Pages….
I write. That’s what I do. I write notes, emails, blogs and when I’ve gone over my daily coffee limit, I write novels. I write, but at no point did I ever think that simple pen-to-paper or finger-to-keys writing would venture out to find a life of its own. I had friends of Facebook… I’d send off an occasional tweet… I even went as far as to work up a LinkedIn profile. I write and I socialize, but NEVER were the two to meet.
Until yesterday. On the suggestion of a newly minted acquaintance from the depths of LinkedIn, I put myself out there and requested ‘followers’ on Twitter. Requesting followers made me feel a little Billy Graham-ish, but I did it. What the heck, everyone wants to have a ‘fan’, right? Oh boy! It was like Lady Gaga getting mauled at her own concert, only I was alone in my own office. And you know when someone spends their precious time following you, it’s only right that you follow them back.
Yesterday morning I woke up without any followers. Last night, I went to bed with 30. Okay, I’m travelling the figurative road now, but you get the idea. Anyway, what comes after Twitter? Facebook!! And not just any Facebook, but Facebook Pages. Huh? So after thirty notifications from my new followers and thirty searches to hunt them down so I could follow them following me, I now felt compelled to tackle a fb page. (fb = Facebook… tip for all you fb newbies, like myself)
Twitter is the equivelant to throwing your Nerf football through the tire swing to practice your aim, while fb pages is like having the starting lineup of the Steelers barreling down on you as you realize the ball is in your hand! But, through due diligence, determination and my new obsession with having ‘followers’, I did it. And not only did I create a (one) fb page… I created three! Not my original intention, but I think I was on a roll. I now have my regular page where everybody knows my name. I have a new people profile–that I wasn’t counting on, and I have an ‘Author Page’. Like Twitter, I have 30 people on my fb page… but most of them are different people than I have on Twitter. *If you create it, they will come….
I thought I made it through the thick of it. I had my page, I had tweeps or tweeterers (still learning the lingo), I was good to go. I woke up this morning and learned what I had really done yesterday. I had created a cyber-snowball. I woke up to more emails and notifications than I usually get in a weeks time. Wow!
Now, I’m not complaining. I love the idea of you-support-me-and-I-support-you. That’s what it should be about, but… BUT… I do believe that someone out there who has circled the networking block a time or two, could come out of cyberworld a true networking hero if they would just post or blog ‘The In’s & Out’s of Networking’… and they could even add the now-famous ‘for dummies’ to the end of the title. All of us out there scratching our heads or breaking out in a sweat or a rash when we dare think about tackling the world of networking would benefit greatly and might even consider giving you a title worthy of your efforts. For God’s sake, tell us what to expect when we push that harmless looking little button that says ‘sign up’.
Well, today I spent 4 hours accepting, replying, searching and following… oh, and there was an hour on that little WordPress diatribe…. tomorrow… I write!!
Now and seriously… a huge thank you and much appreciation to my new online friends, followers, fans and to the few that held my hand during my first day of online socializing-as-a-side-job. I truly have met some wonderful people in under 24-hours.
Kathy Reinhart…. or @kathyreinhart or http://www.facebook.com/pages/Kathy-Reinhart/125503584175919
By jove, I think the kid has got it!!
