People Who Live in Glass Houses

           I have to join Witsec. Again.  This time a workman saw me in my underwear. MY UNDERWEAR!  How did this happen, you ask?

          First, I was gardening. During unseasonably hot weather (my mistake, granted). Soon I was a hot mess, sweaty from head to toe. I came into the house, peeled off my shirt, drank some ice water, then sat down in the kitchen to fan myself.

          Next thing I know, a workman, who is supposed to arrive at 4pm has instead chosen to arrive at 3pm, has gone straight into the back yard, and is now knocking at the glass doors I am facing. Lest you think there is a glare on the glass and he can’t really see me, he is also calling my name.

          I look up, horrified, and quickly scramble into my nearby wet clothing. I have to go outside to answer his questions and now my face is redder than it was when I was gardening.

          Bob comes home and I tell him what happened and that we have to move and change our identities. I see his lips twisting in an effort not to laugh. I believe this is the leading cause of injuries to men.

          A few days ago I had given this workman a Book of Mormon, and now I am sure he thinks we are exhibitionists. My brain is still jumping up and down, screaming, so I can’t think how to approach this subject.

          But now, every time Bob leaves, he says, “Keep your clothes on.” He is living dangerously, that man.

People have actually asked me how I come up with such embarrassing situations in my comedy novels.  Are you kidding? Those are like diaries.  Check  ‘em out here.

Alexa Lays an Egg

            I just read an article in Consumer Reports that said bird songs can lift your mood, according to a study done of 655 hikers in Colorado.

Well, hot-diggity dove! I immediately asked Alexa to play some, to see if it worked. It started with a soft squawk.

No sooner had I opened this Pandora’s Box than Mickey, our Terrier/Chihuahua. came racing into the kitchen, hackles up, barking like the maniac she is. I could just imagine the wheels turning in her little grape-sized brain.

Then our cat, Simon, charged in, eyes the size of hubcaps, fur puffed out. He kept kept staring out the back door, on high alert for a bird foolish enough to rest on our patio. I had to wonder—are these recordings of injured birds who are easy to catch?

Mickey continued carrying on until I told Alexa to stop the bird songs. Did this lift my mood?  You tell me.

BUT… my books will definitely lift your mood. Fine them all right here.

A Chat with St. Bob

           Chatting with Bob is like spinning a wheel with no idea what the spinner will land on. Could be you’ll get a regular answer. But, more likely, you will get what I call a Bobism.

          For example, this week I was at the computer and said, “I’m sending you a couple of good forwards.”  Immediately he responded, “I love it when you talk basketball.”

          Whose mind works this way? I’ll tell you. It’s a person with a tiny squirrel in their brain who’s holding his sides, laughing.

          Then I was working on an article about people who belittle their spouses. I said, “I hope you don’t ever feel I belittle you,” (after all, there is this blog) to which St. Bob said, “Are you kidding? You be-large me!”  Yes, he will coin words whenever necessary.

          And then there was a banging noise in the neighborhood and I said, “That’s irritating, Bob” to which he said, “No, it’s not irritating Bob.” Ah, if only commas were visible in conversation.

          Last, I was explaining how to cook something and ended by saying, “Then you’re done. Boom,” to which he responded, “You mean Boom Shaka Laka.”

          Yep, that’s what I meant.

This hilarious man has wormed his way into many of my novels; check them out here.

A Mystery Gone Awry

          For years I’ve been searching for my sister’s birth mother. We were both adopted, but from different parents. However, the name of her mother, a famous artist from Norway, has eluded me. I scanned websites of Norwegian artists, I even went there with a photo and asked around.

          She can’t search herself, because she died in her teens, in a car crash. But I recall seeing a photo of her birth mom decades ago, and being stunned at the resemblance. 

So I thought I’d sign onto a Norwegian genealogical site because family history buffs are sleuths already, and maybe they could help. No sooner had I done this, than a gigantic debate ensued about her brown hair and eye color.

          Some claimed true Norwegians have blue eyes and blond hair. Others slammed them for leaning on this old stereotype. “Have you even visited the country?” asked one stunned member.

          One guy posted a close-up photo of his brown eye, with the caption, “Born and raised in Norway.”

          Then another launched into a discussion of genetics and dominant vs. recessive genes.  Still another posted one of Mendel’s charts about DNA and inherited features.

             Meanwhile, I am all but waving my arms and saying, “Hey! Over here! We were talking about an artist!”

          And then people began inquiring about musical artists and posting old news clippings of famous singers who toured the U.S. at that time. Then I had to explain, multiple times, that we’re talking about a painter, not a recording artist.

          I wanted to post, “Good Gravy!” but then I could only imagine the dozens of recipes they would post, quarreling about which ones were authentically Norwegian.

          Still, I do love the country and its people.  I just don’t think this mystery will get solved anytime soon. But while you wait, you can curl up with my books!        

How's That Again?

             Advertising fascinates me. For example, I recently saw an ad on Facebook for a neck cream. It said, “Your neck will turn heads!”

          And I thought, Don’t all necks turn heads?  Isn’t that their primary function?

          It’s like those hastily posted headlines:

              Sexual Harrassment Training Urged for Senators

              More Adults have Died from Eating Laundry Pods than Kids

              Brain is 10 Times More Active Than Thought

              Putin has Removed the Head of His Administration

              Homicide Victims Rarely Talk to Police

          Maybe someone simply knows that we all need a laugh right now. That certainly explains my humor books. Find ‘em all right here.

What Are You Famous For?

           Five years ago, almost to the day, I wrote a blog about what it could mean if someone “pulled a Joni.”

          I hinted at some possibilities, but didn’t actually want to know the truth.  And now THREE friends have called within a week, each one claiming to have “pulled a Joni.” 

And guess what they’ve done?  Invented a cure for COVID? No.

Rescued someone and saved their life? No.

Built 1,000 houses for the homeless? No.

Here’s what they reported:

They’ve had their oven catch on fire, 

One walked into a wall, 

And another one illegally drove over a median in the road.

Yes indeed, these are the sorts of things that apparently define me. Now, if someone said they pulled a St. Bob, I suspect it would be one of these:

Got the best parking spot.

Got bumped up to First Class on an airplane.

Won a tennis game after not playing for 15 years.

All lucky, delightful things. Oh—and got married to me. Hey, you know I had to include that.

So what would someone have to do to pull a you? I know—bought ten of my books to give as gifts!

The Shot Not Heard Around the World

           It started as a scavenger hunt. St. Bob called all different places, trying to get the COVID vaccine. Everything was booked up solid, except for one lab an hour away.  “I’ll take it,” he said.

          And we decided to make it a date, an adventure. The day rolled around, we set our alarms, and the road trip began. 

          Except when we got there, they weren’t giving vaccines. “You should have gotten a call,” one woman said.  Ah, the world of shoulds.  But alas, there was no call or text.

“We’ve seen this before,” whispered the temperature checker at the doorway.  Marvelous. So now we have people driving all over town, uselessly trying to get vaccinated.

We were able to get it rescheduled, but then they called and cancelled that appointment as well. Apparently they are out of vaccines again.

If only there were shots that made people more organized and reliable. I can think of several people who need that one.

But not you. My dependable readers order my books, watch my Youtube Mom videos, and visit my website. You’re the best.