Little Nikita rentals are going through the roof...

I have hooked up with generations of my family through Facebook. Nephews, nieces and cousins that I would never otherwise hear from are now part of my daily intake on this social networking site.

What amazes me most is the amount of information that I gain from the younger generation.

Case in point. Yesterday, my nephew who is a federal government worker made the statement that rentals of the movie Little Nikita would be increasing. Just that. Just those few keystrokes.

Now, I'm not a news junkie. But I'm married to one. Since DH is a news addicted viewer, I usually absorb enough news by osmosis that I don't need to watch much on my own. But DH is out of town for a short trip. So, I haven't seen any news. Okay, I haven't seen any news that's not on E!.

I jumped to my favorite news site www.myway.com and searched on Little Nikita. And the news stories popped up. The federal government busted several couples who were 'deep cover' Russian operatives ala Little Nikita. Since this movie was somewhat obscure when it came out, and it came out more than a decade ago, I realized that my nephew's comment was tied to the applicability of that label to these modern spies. There will be an entire generation of adults who may not have seen the movie, so they won't understand the news media's insistence on using that as a pop culture reference.

Fascinating, really. I'm not sure if I had read that news story that I would have come to the same conclusion as my nephew. I did see Little Nikita when it came out. I knew what it was about. I'm also a child of the cold war. The Manchurian Candidate and several other big screen movie plots all dealt with foreign countries spying on American soil.

The next generations didn't have the same political experience, it was all glasnost and 'the wall's coming down' for them. His observation that the Little Nikita reference might be flying over the heads of many readers was spot on.

Pop culture references are generally frowned upon in hard news stories. At least they were back in the age of real news. What we have now is more like 'infotainment' and can't be expected to follow the journalism 'best practices' that used to keep this kind of thing from happening.

I've got to keep checking Facebook daily. Who knows what those kids will come up with next?

--Sandee Wagner

I fought the lawn... and the lawn won

I don't generally GIVE UP. I'm pretty hard headed and I will admit to a stubborn streak. I also have no patience with unfinished projects. I want to start something and get it done. Half finished projects will make me lose sleep. Drive me crazy.

So, what I start, I finish.

By the same token, projects that are unfinishable bother me. I speak of yardwork and housework. These things are ongoing, never done. Never completed. They extend past my attention span. It's not that I don't do them. Because they are unending, they don't give me the same sense of satisfaction that a project that Can End will give.

So, I do other things and try to avoid the stuff that gives me no sense of accomplishment. I do housework and yardwork, it just doesn't fill a niche in my soul. I get no joy of a job well done when I do them. Because the minute I'm done cleaning the floor, it's starting to get dirty again.

I spent hours, days, weeks reclaiming my flower beds this year. On my knees, grubbing in the dirt. I hired the grunt work done and paid hundreds of dollars to whip the weeds back. Then stretched miles of anti-weed fabric and wet newspaper layered up to inhibit grass and weed growth.

In the past, we used the free mulch available from the Tulsa Green Waste facility. We backed up the truck and trailer and let the frontloaders dump hundreds of pounds of mulch into the bed. Then we drove home, got our pitchforks and spread it around. When we had weeds, I wondered if it was because the mulch, made from green waste dropped off by citizens, was full of bad stuff? Next time, I would pay for bagged, sanitized mulch.

Well, this summer it was 'next time.' I insisted we buy mulch, not use the free stuff. We threw over 125 bags of mulch. And then I stood back and thought, "There, now it looks good!"

A few scant weeks later, my heart is broken and my will is crushed. The anti-weed fabric is not. Apparently, the grass and weeds breaking through are stronger than the fabric. I'm not sure what the answer to all of this is, but as I look out the windows at my yard, I'm disappointed.

I don't feel 'job well done', I feel stressed and tired. I don't know how many hours of work it will take to upkeep these beds based on the weed incursion, but I'm pretty sure I don't have that much life essence in me.

So, note to self. Next time, desert landscaping.

--Sandee Wagner

Getting Older

I will be celebrating my 50th birthday this weekend. I can't wait. There will be a big barbecue and fireworks. There always is. I was born on the Fourth of July.

I'm not worried about getting older. It's a natural part of life and I've earned my wrinkles, gray hairs and stretch marks. What I am afraid of is death.

Getting older = okay
Dying = not so okay

So, I'm asking all you people who want to joke around with me on my birthday to do so with some tact. You can give me denture cream and a walker... but let's lay off the tombstones, okay?

On my 40th birthday, as a joke, someone put a tombstone on my birthday cake. I almost had a meltdown. It seemed so mean. I know it was lighthearted, but I don't really think I took it as a joke. Death just doesn't seem like a laughing matter to me.

All the nonsense with black balloons and RIP signs just seems so mean spirited when talking about a birthday. Someone who hits the anniversary of their birth--yet again--seems to have cheated death; not earned the need to have their face rubbed in it.

So, feel free to rib me about getting older. I can embrace that. The alternative is what gives me the heeby jeebies. Let's leave the death references to Halloween or All Souls' Day and keep the Fourth of July as a celebration of life. Let's eat cake, get sunburned and light some sparklers. Let's don't get all maudlin and consider shuffling off this mortal coil.

--Sandee Wagner

A Rainy Day

When I wake up in the morning, I can often tell the weather by the feel of my head. Apparently, my sinuses are as sensitive as a barometer. When the pressure changes, or a storm moves in, I can feel it. Mornings like this, I pop a pill almost before I roll out of bed.

On the one hand, I'm happy. I don't have to water the flowers today.
On the other hand, it saddens me. I won't be outside finishing up my art projects.

I'm going to have to run some errands today. Get some stuff done.

On a rainy day, lots of activities appeal to me. I want to curl up and read a good book. I want to watch chick flicks and laugh with friends. I want to hunker down, cook some soup and stay indoors.

Rainy days allow us to step back from the outside rush, take a deep breath, and relax. Heavy outdoor chores have to be set aside for another day. It's God's way of making you take a break.

--Sandee Wagner

Art Projects

The mirror mosaic flower pots are coming right along. I should be done with the mirror on the second one and ready to grout the first one today.

Projects like these suit me in some indefinable way. I started the first one (a birdbath) just because they broke a big mirror when we remodeled our master bath. It already gave me seven years of bad luck, right? So maybe I should try to make something of the broken mirror? I began with the idea of covering a bowling ball and making a gazing ball for the garden. But tiling requires one of the two surfaces bonded to be porous. So I had to look for something besides a bowling ball to cover.

I actually spent hours looking for an outdoor device that I wanted to cover in mirrors. I ended up with a birdbath. I found one that was smooth and rounded. And I began nipping the mirror into smaller pieces and sticking them to the birdbath with tile adhesive. I made two of the birdbaths. One for myself and one for my BFF, Tammy.

My sons mocked my efforts. The oldest told me that when he saw tiny birds with bleeding feet, he'd know they'd been to my yard. Not funny. I lined the edge of the birdbaths with slate tiles to give the little rats something to stand on that wouldn't cut their feet.

I don't keep water in my birdbath--that would actually attract birds and I'm not going for that--it just stands in the garden and looks pretty. Shiny. It catches the light.

It makes me happy every time I look at it.

When I decided I wanted some tall pots to flank the front door, I started looking at the garden centers. You can spend a bunch of money on pots. Who knew? I finally explained what I was looking for to my husband and indicated that I would probably do a mirror mosaic on them.

He came home with four pots. Big ones. They were on sale and he inverted one on top and showed me the height. About perfect, and way cheaper than the tall pots. He took construction adhesive and stuck them together and then caulked the seam. I don't know if it will hold the pots together forever, but by the time I smear them with adhesive and mirror and grout them, I bet they stick forever.

So, as I work on this art project, I find that I'm happy. My knuckles are bloody, by back is sore and I'm thrilled at the creation that's taking place. I love the look of them and I can't wait to get it done and put some plants in the pot. In case you're wondering, I sealed the inside of the top pot so that moisture could not leak through and mess with my mosaic.

It's nice to have a creative outlet. One that allows me to do something that only I need to be happy with. It's a very good outlet for restless hands. I'm convinced that I could find a more lightweight, less messy hobby. But not one that gives me as much satisfaction.

--Sandee Wagner

A Trip To The Farm...

I actually thought that I found a home for my dogs yesterday. I was chatting with my oldest son and he reminded me that he'd take the dogs. "OH!" I thought, "that would work out great!" I can quit worrying myself bald over these stupid mutts... then he completed his sentence. He said, "I'll keep them until I have time to make a trip to the farm."

It sounds rather idyllic. Like he was going to take them out to the country where they could run free and chase cows. This is actually 'man-speak' for shooting them. My son has offered to take my dogs out to the country, shoot them, and bury the evidence.

I wish I wasn't actually considering it.

A run in the country, followed by a quick bullet to the skull might be a better ending to my good dogs than dropping them off at a no-kill shelter. If I drop them off to a rescue league, their chances of being adopted is so slim. Chip is old and cranky. Sophie is obsessive compulsive. They are not going to be endearing to folks looking for a puppy for their kids. Chip and Sophie, between the two of them, are just barely a watch dog now. They have to work as a team to even put a scare into delivery men.

I'm beginning to think, not only about the quantity of their lives, but of the quality. If I know that they are low possibility adoptions, wouldn't putting them out of my misery be a better thing to do for them?

In case you don't see it in my narrative, I am not an animal lover. I wouldn't even be considering no-kill shelters (I didn't even give them a thought) until a reader here sent me a link to a bunch in the area. I would have dropped them off at the humane society and let them take their chances. Even though I know their chances of a quick adoption are very slim.

If they were easily adoptable dogs, one of the readers of this blog would have offered to take them...

Giving them a trip to the country, followed by eternal peace, is beginning to sound like the most humane thing to do for them.

--Sandee Wagner

Handwritten Notes

My darling DIL has asked me if I think the hand written thank you note has gone the way of the newsy letter? It seems like more and more often, we are exchanging greetings via email or phone. Less often, we are taking the time to hand write a personal note.

Because of that, I think the hand written note is actually gaining prominence in most people's lives.

If you take the time to write a thank you note, then the gift was of great or exceptional value, or the occasion was a special one. I still expect hand written notes from brides. When houseguests stay for a while, or someone uses a car or other big ticket item, it seems okay to just give thanks face to face.

On big gift giving occasions, like Christmas, I still think you need to send thank you notes to anyone who mailed you a present. It's the one way they are SURE that you received the gift. However, if you call on Christmas day, to exchange greetings, you can wax effusive about the gifts and preclude the need to write a note. If the person is sitting in the room with you, a sincere 'thank you' ought to cover it.

I try to write thank you notes. I don't always do so. I think there have been some holidays where I didn't write a single note... but I normally try to get them off into the mail before New Year's Day. I do feel guilty if I don't get them written.

Good manners never go out of style. There is no time when someone would open a hand written thank you and think, "why did they bother with this?" or "they could have just texted me!" Even though it's going out of vogue, hand written thank yous will always have a place in our high tech society. They are a sign of affection, gratitude and respect.

I don't write many newsy letters long hand any more. Most of my family is Internet capable and technology literate. They are easy to text, skype and email. But each year, I will send out Christmas cards and thank you notes. I think everyone enjoys a little personal contact once in a while.

--Sandee Wagner

Surprise!!

About nine o'clock last night, I got a call from a good friend. He and his son were on a road trip and were going to be passing through town. Could they stop and spend the night with me? Sure. No problem. What time would they arrive? They thought they'd hit Tulsa at about two in the morning.

Excuse me? 2:00 AM??

Yes, that was the estimated time of arrival. So, I told them okay, the beds would be made up and the porch light would be on. I can't guarantee to wake up, so could they call from the drive way? I'm pretty sure the phone will get me out of bed.

They actually arrived at one o'clock in the morning. I pointed them at their beds, turned out the lights and fell back asleep. This morning, we had breakfast together and then they left on their way to the next stop on their roadtrip.

I'm actually glad that I'm one of the kinds of friends that you can drop in on in the wee hours of the morning. I'm pleased that he knows that, as a very good friend of the family, he's welcome any time.

I make the offer to people all the time. "Come by, any time! We'd love to see you." I'm just seldom actually taken up on the offer. I've always been open to saving someone the cost of a hotel room. If they don't complain about the accommodations, I won't complain about the tenants. And everyone I know who's done a lot of traveling appreciates a real bed and a home cooked meal once in a while.

I was raised in a home where space could always be made for friends, or friends of friends and acquaintances. I'm glad that's the kind of place I keep now.

--Sandee Wagner

A Good Job--Really

I know that I did some whining about the flower beds and the work we did on them. We had to reclaim them after three years of no weeding by the renters. We had to uncover the edging with pickaxes.

Once they were identified, we choose to cover them with weed proof fabric and mulch. We bought miles and miles of the matting. We spent days on our knees pounding the stuff in with stakes and then threw bags and bags of mulch. We bought the mulch by the pallet. 80 bags on each pallet. And we got 2 1/2 pallets worth.

We've had rain. It's been weeks since we did the work and as I cruise through the yard looking, it's apparent that the weed proof fabric wasn't. Everywhere, there are weeds poking through. Not just at the edges, at the seams, or where holes were cut for plants, everywhere.

So, how do the professionals do it? How do they prep the ground for flowerbeds so that the weeds can't spend the next ten years poking up through the mulch? I really want to know.

We did a good job. We scraped the earth, weeded it and then laid down the fabric or wet newspaper. Now, as I survey the flowerbeds, it's to see long green shoots sticking up everywhere. I can either spend hours on my knees weeding, or I can take the RoundUp around and spot spray the weeds. Either way, it's going to be hours and hours of work.

I'm not sure I have it in me.

--Sandee Wagner

And Miles To Go...

Before I sleep.

I have always loved Robert Frost's poetry. I'm not a huge fan of all poetry--especially not the kind that doesn't rhyme--but I've always felt a connection to his words.

I wrote a paper about Frost in high school. We all had to pick a poet and do a research paper. I learned about his life and read all his poetry. At the time, I think I just picked his name off a list of acceptable poets. It was a lucky pick for me.

Each time I've had to make a major life decision, I've heard, "and I took the one less traveled" echo in my brain. There are many themes built into his poems, but loneliness and solitude are overarching.

Any writer wants his words to resonate with readers. For our words to pass on and affect later generations is the ultimate goal. I'm sure when Shakespeare was trying to write plays that enthralled the masses, he didn't underestimate the possibility that his plays would last beyond his death. He probably didn't envision hundreds of years, but I'm sure he hoped they'd linger.

Words do that.

They speak to people's feelings and deepest fears. Some times when the writing is going well, I have a glimpse of what it would be like to make someone react to what I'm saying. Not often, but sometimes, it seems like the words will linger on.

Life forces us to make decisions, take action and suffer changes. Throughout our existence, we are constantly pulled, tugged and thrown in different directions because of our choices, our fate and our actions. With change comes new experiences. And writers use those experiences to infuse their narrative with emotion and drama.

Based on my life's upheaval right now, I should be able to channel all kinds of emotions into my writing. I'm being tossed by stormy seas in my personal life. If only I could capture that feeling of being adrift. I'm sure some character would really come to life with the trauma.

When two roads diverge, you have to make a choice. I choose to embrace the change and learn from it. I choose to make my life valuable and to positively impact those around me. I choose to be optimistic and enthusiastic. No amount of complaining will alter my path. Sometimes, that's the road less traveled.

--Sandee Wagner

Happy Father's Day

Today is a day--set aside by Hallmark Cards--where we honor our Dads. The men in our lives who have had an impact in forming our moral integrity, structuring our upbringing and generally helping to raise us right.

I once heard a guy state that "50% of Fatherhood is just being there" and I tend to agree. Lots of men faced with a pregnant wife or girlfriend find other places to be. They panic and leave. They can't handle fatherhood. Other men stick around until things get ugly and then bail out. Just sticking it out is an accomplishment. Because parenthood isn't pretty.

Children are fragile beings who require a great deal of attention and maintenance. They believe the world revolves around them and don't understand when the entire universe is not at their disposal. They are born criminals. It is a parent's job to socialize them.

It's hard work. Torturous for some parents who have difficult teenagers.

The payoff is years down the road. Some day, you watch your own son being a dad and you think, "he's a really good father!" And it dawns on you that he learned it at your feet.

It's not for the faint of heart. Sissies need not apply. Being a father is a hard job and all you get to show for it is a card one Sunday a year. And the undying affection of your children and grandchildren. Good dads make their own cheering sections.

I love you, Daddy.

--Sandee Wagner

Barbequed Baby Birds

We have a gas grill in our back yard. Not the kind with propane tanks, the kind you plumb right into the gas line. Yes, I'm that lazy. I don't like swapping propane tanks or having to remember to buy charcoal briquettes. I like to flip a switch or push a button and grill.

This year, when it came time to clean out the grill and start cooking outside, we made a discovery. Usually spiders spin webs inside there over the winter time, this year a momma bird found it. When DH pulled the grills out to blow the insides out with his air compressor, he found a nest of six baby birds.

Then for the next two weeks, he carefully checked the nest each day until one day he opened the lid and all six birds flew away. He figured at that point, he could reclaim the grill. Tossed the bird's nest, used his air compressor and reassembled the grills.

The next day, I saw a momma bird at the bottom of the grill with straw in her beak climbing in. I told him that there was going to be a new nest of babies. We both laughed and swore off grilling.

Now, I tell you that story to tell you this one. I have a leak in my gas line in my yard. Major plumbing expense. The guys have been out digging up the gas lines and replacing them for three days now.

The plumber is going around checking all the devices and relighting all the pilot lights now. I wasn't really paying attention. He's puttering around a lot. Then I looked up and saw smoke billowing from my gas grill.

That's right. He lit the grill.

With the nest and baby birds inside.

I ran out on the porch and said, "the nest, the nest!"
He said, "I didn't see anything."
"Underneath the grill."
He reached down with his pliers and pulled the grills up and there is the nest in flames. I saw one set of tiny feet sticking up and just ran back in the house.

He swears there were only two birds in the nest and that he was able to take the whole nest and put it up in a tree... but that was a LOT of smoke. I'm thinking that he might have shoved the evidence away in a bush... but those chicks didn't make it.

What a way to start a day. Barbequing baby birds.

--Sandee Wagner

Chipped for their Protection

Our dogs are castaways. Dogs that other owners have thrown away for one reason or another. Because they are free dogs, I am often appalled at the expense of the treatments suggested by the Vet. I generally say no to all offered teeth cleanings, lumpectomies and beauty treatments.

My husband has a little more difficulty saying 'no'.

Last time I let him take the dogs to the Vet by himself, he came home with them chipped. That's right. Stray dogs that were abandoned by their owners now have microchips implanted in their shoulders. My dogs are low jacked. There's a website where we update our contact information and for a low annual fee, they will facilitate the dogs return to us in case the dogs wander off. Read this: they will track the dogs by satellite and tell us where they are.

I have a friend who has a lot of acres of land at the end of a long dirt road. People drive to the end of her street and dump off dogs all the time. Since I'm trying to find new homes for my pets, this solution has bobbed up in the back of my mind. I could dump my dogs off at the end of her lane, and being the soft hearted dog lover she is, she would treat them better than they were ever treated in my house.

Only trouble, the dogs are microchipped. If she takes them to a Vet, the vet will scan the chip and they can look up our name/address and phone number online. So I guess I can't just dump them off any more. They've been chipped for their own protection.

But I have the login/password to the site. What's to keep me from changing the contact information to my friend's name, address and phone number? When the Vet reads the chip, he'll get the information that THESE are her dogs!! What a great idea. I think I'll run with that one.

--Sandee Wagner

Car Repair Blues

I drive a 2004 Chrysler PT Cruiser. I don't expect much of a vehicle. My list of requirements is very limited. In fact, it's four things:

1. Start every time I turn the key.
2. Stop every time I hit the brakes.
3. Blow cold air.
4. All one color.

In 2007, after moving to the SoCal desert and a drive across the West in July, I noticed a 'very bad thing'. When I was sitting at a light, or idling in a driveway, the car would violently shudder. It shook. Not a noise, but a jolt like the engine was seizing. Very scary. If I turned off the A/C, it never happened. Only when the A/C was on.

So I went into the nearest Chrysler dealer and left my car for repairs. $600 later I had a new computer control unit for the A/C. It drove the rest of the summer with no issues.

The next spring, when I started running the A/C again, what should happen? The exact same shuddering. Instead of the dealership, I took it to a local mechanic that some neighbors recommended. I described the symptoms and left the car. His diagnosis? Blower control motor to the tune of $500. It drove the rest of the summer with no issues.

This spring, I turned on my A/C and after a month or two, started noticing the shudders AGAIN. I was back in Tulsa, back near a mechanic that I trust. I took the PT into Jim's shop and told him the history. I left the car for the day.

He could not make the shudder occur. He completely tested out the A/C system and swore it was all right. I asked him what could cause the car to shake like that. He said, "Truthfully? It sounds like the car is misfiring." I asked what would fix misfiring. He said new spark plugs and wires. "A tune up?" I asked. "That's it." So, I bought $30 worth of plugs and wires and delivered my car to Jim. It took him a little over an hour and he charged me $60.

The shuddering has stopped. I've driven around town for two days and didn't once feel the 'seizing' feel that would catch up with me at every red light. So, this time I think it's actually fixed. Why didn't either of those other mechanics think to check the plugs and wires? It's a mystery to me.

But I will tell you one thing. If this car starts doing that shuddering again? I'm trading it in.

--Sandee Wagner

Sleepless in Tulsa

I'm sure it's a reaction to stress. Probably the storms didn't help. But I didn't sleep at all last night. Maybe two hours of shuteye before the dogs woke me up this morning. And I couldn't even throw them in the backyard because the fence is down.

I'm a good sleeper. When I get to sleep, I stay asleep. I don't get up at 2:00 am to go to the bathroom. DH is a bad sleeper. Has no trouble getting to sleep but his pattern is to wake up several times in the wee hours. Since we got wireless internet, he at least stays in bed and surfs. I'm sure it frustrates him when I just lay there snoring. Because I'm a good sleeper.

The only time this isn't true is when I'm stressed. Apparently, the stress that thunders through my head, the wheels spinning, planning and plotting keeps me awake. When I'm really worried about something (like say, moving to the other side of the world) then my ability to FALL asleep is impacted.

Last night, as I lay in the dark watching the glowing clock display change from midnight to one to two to three, I pondered all kinds of things. I prayed. I made promises to God. I finally dropped off and when I woke up, I felt worse than when I laid down.

This not sleeping is for the birds. I have things to do today. I'm wondering if I'll be able to stay awake to do them. Can I even get behind the wheel of a car feeling like this?

When this happens to me, I think of all the people who suffer from insomnia all the time. Desperate people like Michael Jackson and Heath Ledger who made bad decisions because of their lack of ability to sleep. I'm not that far gone. I won't be taking too many prescription drugs in an effort to catch a few zzz's. But I sure understand their motives now.

--Sandee Wagner

Thinning Out The Stuff

I wish I was speaking metaphorically, but I'm not. I'm actually going through closets, bookshelves and cabinets and getting rid of things. I'm facing a major relocation and, as is my custom, I'm going through my possessions BEFORE the packers come to make some decisions about what stays and what goes.

It's an interesting process. When we moved from Houston to Tulsa, I didn't own a single thing made from wool or down. I don't think I even owned a pair of gloves. My first winter in Oklahoma cured me of that, right quick. I soon became the proud owner of a great down parka and several pair of color matching gloves. One for every weight of coat...

This time we are heading for the desert for two years, then back to Houston. I'm going through my closets looking for wool clothing, down jackets and all that cold weather gear. There's no reason to hang onto any of it. Well, maybe if I was getting maudlin, I might consider all the good times I had and want to hang on to some memento of my cold weather wear. But mostly, I look at it and think, "there's someone around here who would appreciate a really good coat!"

I'm not really tied to my stuff. I have some little items that were gifted to me by my husband and children, and I could easily pitch them all into a box for GoodWill. I remember the memories of the gift, the gift itself is not a sentimental cache of that feeling. All the tchotchkes could go and I would still remember all the times my husband returned from a foreign country with a little present for me.

The hardest thing for me to part with is books. I have a lot of books. I know I need to keep only SOME of them. I need to thin out the majority of them, but it is so hard. A good book is like a good friend. It's priceless. You want to share it with everyone, while keeping it close to your heart.

I need to really eliminate a lot of the books that I've kept over the years. I need to pare it down to just the essentials. That means, I need to ask myself, "are you really going to read this book again?" with each spine in my hand. Hard to do with my favorite fiction, but pretty easy to do with all those business and leadership texts. The professional library is my husband's pride and joy. But he's a long way from home and this process is going along without him.

I'm thinning out the stuff. I wonder if he'll even miss it?

--Sandee Wagner

Games My Father Taught Me

When I was a kid, my father gave me good books that he'd finished. He'd toss one to me and say, "You'll like this one!" We shared a lot of westerns, mysteries, thrillers and science fiction books. I credit my great love of reading to the fact that my parents were BOTH avid readers.

As we drove across long distances, we played a game. We'd talk up a great book that we enjoyed, then we'd cast the movie. We would cast the characters from all the actors we knew, living or dead. A lot of the time, we would try to explain to each other who we wanted to cast in a part, just by trying to describe other parts they played. Because we didn't even know all the actors' names.

Today, I'll pull up www.imdb.com and look up a movie, find the cast and immediately have the name of the actor. If only I could 'cast the movie' with my dad again. Good times.

Probably the fact that I've always done this for fun (after reading the books) makes it a little harder for me when I see a cast announcement. Sometimes, I am thrilled with the actors selected, even if I wouldn't have cast them in that role. For instance, I wouldn't have cast Robert Pattinson for Edward in the Twilight movie after reading the books--but he's done a very creditable job in the role.

Recently, I heard that almost 15 years after the film rights were purchased, Janet Evanovich's One for the Money was finally in production. I was thrilled. I've been reading the Stephanie Plum novels for years and I can SEE those characters. Here's what I read recently: "What's going on with the One For the Money movie?
Katherine Heigl has been cast as Stephanie, Jason O'Mara as Joe Morelli and Daniel Sunjata as Ranger. Janet sold the movie rights to One For the Money in 1993, and has no involvement or influence in the making of the movie...casting, directing, the script, editing, etc. We have not heard about any other casting that has been done."

Katherine Heigl as Stephanie Plum? She's a great actress and has the name recognition to carry a movie. But to play a Jersey girl? Whose dark, curly locks are always teased up into 'big hair'? It boggles the mind. I pulled up pics of the actors cast as Morelli and Ranger and I can see the possibilities. I sure wish I had a vote in this. I want to know who they've cast as Grandma Mazur and Lula. I'm also hopeful that the script is good. It's such a great read, I'd hate for Hollywood to spoil it.

When you read a book, do you cast the movie in your mind? Do you imagine some man from print or film and watch him progress through the book? Or do you create the character from the descriptions and get through the book with only that image? Do you ever cast the whole book with actors? It's actually a lot of fun.

--Sandee Wagner

Surly is a 5 Letter Word

Everyone is pretty excited about the professional basketball playoffs. Since I'm hearing about Kobe Bryant, I have to assume that the Lakers are in it. I'm NOT a basketball fan.

On NPR today, the newscasters were waxing poetic about the Lakers and how Kobe is behaving in the post game interviews. They expect him to be happy and bubbly after a win, but he's stern and unexcited.

When asked, he indicated that the job wasn't done yet, so it wasn't time for celebrating yet. I can understand that. Too many people celebrate early. We call it 'counting the chickens before they hatch'. What I found most disturbing about this interview is the actual dialog... which I will try to recreate here for you:

Newscaster: "Kobe, you seem so surly, why aren't you more excited about your second win?"
Kobe: "I don't know what that means."
Newscaster: "It's like you're stern or hard."
Then Kobe explained how the job wasn't done.

This made me think... do most NBA players graduate from college? High school? Kobe went into the NBA at 17. He went straight from Lower Merion High School in Pennsylvania to the pros. Perhaps if he had attended Duke University like he indicated he had planned, he would know what surly means.

An interview like that is an embarrassment to the player and the newspeople involved. I don't know how much money Kobe is making, but he needs a handler. Someone to sit next to him and whisper in his ear like the lawyers at a senate hearing. Then when he doesn't know the definition of a 5 letter word, he can ask a grown up.

--Sandee Wagner

Clutter Control

Spring is behind me, but spring cleaning is ongoing.

I have been looking at all my belongings in a new way. I'm critically assessing whether or not each item needs to make the next move. Do I really need that table? Those chairs? Will that bed fit? Am I ever going to flip open those books?

Our next move is going to be international. In the past, our relocations have included limitations on WEIGHT. I've had to pare down and fret about my belongings so that I didn't have to pay the overage fees. We've always had a generous allowance and we've never been overweight. The last move, we were allotted 22,000 lbs. But this next move won't be based on weight at all. It will be volume. That's right, this time, I have to worry that all my worldly possessions will fit in a 40 ft shipping container. It doesn't matter what it weighs, it's going by boat.

I'm not really good at spatial relations. When tested, I cannot do those 'what will this look like when it's folded up' scenarios with flattened boxes and dotted lines. I'm pretty sure I missed ALL of them on my last standardized test.

So, as I walk through my home, I know what all my stuff weighs, but I don't know who much space it will take up in a shipping container. This is all new to me.

What I have decided is that 'if it can go, it will go'. That seems like the better part of valor to go ahead and thin down the stuff. Sell, donate or junk the stuff that is not necessary or vital. I'm looking closely at my cold weather gear. We're going to the desert for two years, then probably to South Texas. Seems like all the parkas and down gear should stay in Tulsa.

The shelves full of books all need to be assessed. We actually do more research on the Internet than in our shelved books these days. I don't think a house is much of a home unless there are books in every room, but I'm sure I can eliminate a bunch of those that we currently have.

Preparing to move is going to go a long way to reducing the clutter in my house. Of course, there are simpler ways of clutter control.

--Sandee Wagner

Not So Beautiful Pictures

I've found a contact that will email pictures of animals and their stories out to folks interested in rescuing animals. So, I bathed the dogs and took pictures. Now I need to put on my marketing hat and try to think of a good way to tell Chip and Sophie's sad, sad story.

As I was snapping the pictures and lamenting the fact that Sophie will not put her ears up on command, but manages to look scared all the time, it dawned on me that these dogs are not at their best. They don't look beautiful.

Each summer, we shave them down. Chip is a black dog and the summers in OK are hot. Since we shave him down, we usually take Sophie in too. Her hair is not as long, she generally looks the same, winter or summer. I say 'generally' because this year, she came out of the groomers looking scalped. Both of them have the shortest hair, ever.

So, as I dangled treats and tried to get them to sit and stay long enough for a picture, it dawned on me that no one is going to appreciate these stupid dogs from a picture. You can only see their flaws in a picture. You see Chip's crazy nose. You see Sophie's beaten stance. Chip's body looks skinny, almost malnourished. When he's fully furred, he's got the fluffy coat of a chow. Really handsome black and tan like a shepherd but full and thick like a chow. These pictures are not showing him in a good light.

Sophie's greatest asset is her total willingness to keep you company. She will follow you wherever you go and be pleased with whatever scraps of attention you lavish upon her. It will never be enough. She's relentlessly needy. A perfect companion animal for someone who won't walk a dog on a leash.

I'm going to have to keep trying to come up with the words to say, "I don't want to get rid of these dogs, but I have to get rid of them."

These dogs aren't puppies, they aren't cute. Who's going to see the possibilities in them?

--Sandee Wagner

Grandbabies are Great

I just had a whirlwind trip south to Houston. I managed to fit in visits to both my sons' families along the way. It's great to spend time with the grandbabies.

My grandkids are young. The oldest is 3 and the youngest is 9 mos old. These visits are really for me since I know these kids won't remember that I ever came to visit. But it warms my heart to get an email saying that they were asking for me, and that they want me back!

Grandchildren are a blessing. You get to enjoy them without the muss and fuss of being responsible for how they turn out. You can play with them and hand them back when they need a diaper change. You can laugh when their behavior spirals out of control...because they aren't your kids.

I don't get to see them enough. I'm pretty sure that they won't grow up knowing me like my husband grew up knowing his grandparents. I have all kinds of plans to make it so that they DO know me, though. My biggest plan is "Camp Grandma".

I want to have all my grandkids come for the same week in the summer. We'll fit in all the fun and games we possibly can. We'll do a slip n slide, sleep out in the backyard, see all the cool movies and make s'mores. When I see a really cool bouncy house or blow up pool, I think, "Camp Grandma needs one of those!"

I think it will serve two purposes: 1) my grandkids will know ME; and 2) the cousins will know each other.

In this age of moving to chase employment, the possibility of my sons and daughter all ending up in the same town are so minimal as to be microscopic. I don't expect to be able to chase any one of the three families, but it would make me happy to be able to 'be there' for all the family celebrations. To me, success as a grandparent is about 50% just 'being there'. If I could live across the street from my kids, I would. I'd love to be the grandma who is there while a child grows up. Being a refuge and a waypoint when they have troubles or issues. I'd love to be the one adult that makes no demands... but they live so far away from me.

The kiddos let me read them a story last night and take part in their nightly routine. They'll never remember it, but I'll cherish it for the rest of my life. Little hands and big hearts. They give off love like radiation. I'm so blessed to have this family. I can't thank God enough.

--Sandee Wagner

Can It Get Better??

When you're an enthusiastic teenager, you can get attached or involved in a character/show/movie and think it's the best thing ever. It becomes your obsession to make sure that everyone you know and love is exposed to this hot item.

That happened to me when I was 17. I went into a Mel Brooks movie and laughed until I hurt. Every time I chatted with a friend at school who hadn't seen the movie, I said, "I'll go see it with you!" I ended up seeing Young Frankenstein in the theaters 10 or 11 times. And I laughed and laughed.

I like movies that are 'big, stupid fun'. I'm not insulted by slapstick humor. I loved the black and white horror movie feel of YF and the stupid jokes just made me snort. I still quote some lines from that movie, and probably not the lines my DH wished I quoted...

Today, I'm going to see the stage musical. This can go one of two ways: I love it as much as the movie; or I hate it. I don't think there is another option. This movie was a huge part of my teenage years. It was one of the huge blockbusters of my time in school.

Nowadays we take a blockbuster hit for granted, because there are so many movies made. But in those days, you might not have a huge movie every year because they didn't release as many films as they do today. I certainly didn't like every movie that was popular at the time. But I liked YF, enough to go see it over and over again.

I'm looking forward to seeing the musical. I'm really wondering how it will be adapted for stage. And if it can get any better?

--Sandee Wagner

Old dogs...

I know you're thinking that the story behind this title will be something to do with new tricks... but it's not. Really. I want to talk about old dogs.

First, I should preface this by saying, I'm not much of an animal person. Left to my own devices, I wouldn't have any at all. My husband likes a dog, so we have dogs. In the past, we have had A dog. Right now, we have two dogs.

We inherited Chip when DH's brother could not care for him any more. Read this--got thrown in jail. So, after their sister kept Chip for a year and got tired of him, DH jumped in the car, drove down and fetched Chip back to our digs in Tulsa. Chip, at his prime, was a challenging dog. He could Houdini out of any fencing. He was dark furred had a loud bark and very territorial. A little OCD for a dog. You could say "where's your ball?" and he would search around the perimeter for hours anxiously trying to find it so you could throw it for him. And he never got tired of you throwing that ball. Or frisbee.

Next, someone flung a puppy into the bed of a pickup truck while it was parked at WalMart. This dog, Sophie, came to us because the pickup truck bed owners had three dogs of their own. Sophie came, made nice with Chip and that was our pack.

Chip has long since quit hearing and caring about balls or frisbees. Unless you get his attention first, he won't even come when you call him. But 13 years old is OLD for a shepherd/chow mix. He's an old man and he moves around like one. Sophie is still relentlessly needy, even as a middle aged dog.

Now, I'm facing relocation overseas. I have these two dogs--old dogs--who need a new home. I look at them and know that I'll miss them, worry that I won't be able to find a place for them. They've been very good dogs. Okay, there was that one time when the fireworks scared them, but just the once.

It's actually easy to find a home for a puppy, or a young dog. But it's very hard to find a new home for an old dog. What do you say to a prospective new owner? "He won't hear you when you call his name!" "It takes him three minutes to get from the laying position to the standing position, so don't rush him." "She won't walk on a leash for you because she's terrified of cars, I think she might have been hit or something. She'll try to hide behind you every time a car passes."

These dogs are old. They are imperfect. One might say flawed. They still serve a purpose for me. They bark at strangers so the 'dog alarm' functions. And they keep me company, so I'm never alone.

But I'll be shipping out at the end of the summer. I can't take them to Northern Africa with me. I've got to either find a home for them, or drop them off at the humane society. I need to put my marketing hat on and try to word an Ad for Craig's List.

--Sandee Wagner

Any Old Beach Will Do....

I spent two years in Southern California. Although popular movies lead us to think that Coastal California beachfront communities are lush and filled with greenery, quite the opposite is true. The plants that grow there are succulents and get their water from airborne moisture. There is very little actual rainfall.

While I was in SoCal, it became very obvious that the only greenery in the landscaping was the result of irrigation. There are tons of birds of paradise and other showy flowers, but all of them grow only if watered regularly.

The natural vegetation is the chaparral. It is generally succulents and plants that have pungent oily flesh. That's why the wildfires in California are so frightening...the vegetation is natural tinder.

There are a lot of things about the desert that I find lovely--the high desert in the spring is incomparable. The colors are stunning and compared to the dusty landscape, the desert is all about contrast. The plants that thrive in this hostile environment are tough, resilient and adapted.

What I never expected was to see this desert landscape reach right out to the sea. On the east coast, tall pine trees grow in the sandy soil and they extend almost to the shore. It's a landscape that offers less contrasts.

In the south, on the Gulf coast, the vegetation is much more tropical. The warm, moist air nurtures waxy leafed bushes and fragrant blossoms. This greenery is much more in line with the popular culture representation of shoreline plant life.

The coasts surrounding the US offer up extremely different landscapes. Unique, distinct and yet still based on sandy soil, temperate weather and lots of humidity.

I'm told that in the Mediterranean, the landscape near the sea is like SoCal. In most of North Africa and Southern Europe, the shore and shoreline plants are more desert based, and less tropical. I'm thinking of making the world's beaches my next study. I'll save my pennies and see for myself. It would be fun to compare the vegetation and see where the most unique plant life exists. No matter, if it's near a beach, I'm sure I'll love it.

--Sandee Wagner

Celebrating the Big Stuff

As aspiring writers, we have to take our small wins and be satisfied. It's a long journey to publication and some never make it. I think of it like the trek across the US that pioneers made. Along the way, some folks unloaded their wagons, or just stopped where the wheels broke.

Writing a novel and trying to get it published can be like that. A long slow journey where you are tempted to give up, give in, or unload your stuff.

Recently, I nagged a good friend of mine into writing a novel that he'd been toying with for 3 or 4 years. I nattered. I offered up the services of a critique group. I was relentless.

He finally got excited about a week long workshop that featured all kinds of writing help that starred one of his favorite authors. He put the money down and then began work on his manuscript. That's what it took for him. A deadline where he had to have the manuscript complete to attend the class.

He called me twice from the workshop. Once pissed and once terrified. Both times I talked him off the ledge. He stuck it out. He got through all the criticism. He got through the pitch sessions with editors and agents.

When he got to the end of the workshop, he was presented with an award for the 'most improved' writer during the course of the class. I could not be more proud of him! What an accomplishment! Every person there had a complete manuscript...they were all writers, not wannabes. Everyone voted and he was crowned (well, not really, but a tiara would have been cool!)

He called me when he got back to town and he was so stoked, so energized. It was contagious. I wanted to drag my manuscript out and get back to work. On days when it's hard to keep going, I try to celebrate every little thing. I made my word count for the day. I made all the edits without bursting into tears and thinking my critique group hates me. I wrote more this year than last year.

But sometimes, when we are very lucky, we get to celebrate the Big Stuff. Someone sells a book, gets a contract, sparks some interest with an editor. Those things, the stuff that is closer to actual publication, is the stuff we need to celebrate most of all.

So, he got three requests. One editor wants a partial. One wants a full. One agent wants a full AND wants another story out of him. That's HUGE! I think I'll buy him a Black & Tan at the Irish Pub tonight in lieu of critique. We need to celebrate.

--Sandee Wagner

Half Gone

Well, it's June 1st. 2010 is halfway gone. I made new year's resolutions... at least I think I did. I'm pretty sure.

As I try desperately to remember my list of resolutions, I can only despair over the fact that this year is halfway gone. Six months down the drain and what do I have to show for it?

I remember. This year, I promised myself that I would join a critique group, get a manuscript polished and submit it to a publisher. And guess what? I'm very close.

I do have a supportive critique group. They have helped me polish my manuscript almost to the end. And I believe it will be ready to by the end of the summer.

My second resolution for this year was to redo a manuscript that I have three quarters of the way written. I haven't even thought about it. But I have six more months, right?

I'm trying to decide if I'm worried or smug.

--Sandee Wagner