Goodbye to Maeve Binchy

Some people sneeze and make the news, others leave this world and nobody knows about it.

Maeve Binchy, my all-time favorite author, passed away on July 30, 2012, but it wasn’t until today (her birthday) that I learned of this sad passing.

Sad that I will never get to read anything from her hand again. Sad that her last novel, A Week in Winter, was indeed her last.

Whenever I visited a bookstore, the B section was always the first I visited, to see if Maeve Binchy has something new out. If she had, the search for a book was over. If she didn’t … well, then I moved on to one of my other favorite authors. People such as Erica James, Penny Vincenzi, Lesley Pearce, Marian Keyes, Sheila O’Flannagan or Joy Fielding.

With my newly purchased Maeve Binchy book I would seek out a quiet place. A bench in a park in summer, a comfortable chair in a coffee shop in winter. Sheer heaven that was.

I would read and read and read, oblivious to everything that went on around me. If someone were to ask me something, I would either not hear them, ignore them, or reluctantly leave the Irish countryside.

Binchy had a way of sucking you into the story, showing lush green country sides, quiet village living, or sharing the excitement of Dublin city life.

Her characters were never rich and powerful, they were ordinary people, living ordinary lives.

I’m quite sure that Binchy will be missed around the world and her fans will hanker for stories that due to the authors’ passing will never be written.

How useful are interview tips

Some time ago I Google'd “How to handle a successful job interview” and received 537,000,000 results.  Next I Google'd “Tips for a successful job interview” and the system came up with 42,000,000 results.

They all said more or less the same thing: research the company, dress the part, arrive on time, not too much makeup, a minimum on jewelry, no perfume.

Armed with all this knowledge I made my way over to an insurance company where I had an interview at 3:00.

The journey downtown would take me approximately an hour, but to be on the safe side I decided to leave an hour and a half ahead of time.

I had researched the company back to front, I was wearing a white shirt, a black business suit and black shoes.  I wasn’t wearing too much makeup, other than a Tiffany bracelet I was wearing no jewelry and no scent.

The trouble started on the subway.  The train came to an unexpected stop and the driver announced that there was a passenger alarm on the train ahead of us.

Great, this had to happen today of all days.  How long would this take?  Five minutes, ten minutes, half an hour … you never know with these things.

To cut a long story short … I arrived on site at 3:15.  A car splashed water up my pants and while I tried to jump away I broke the heel off my shoe.  Can you picture it … I was 15 minutes late, in a disheveled state and limping.

The worst was yet to come though.  Ten minutes into the interview the woman (who needed an assistant) asked me if I smoked or had cats.  I confirmed both.  The woman excused herself with a severe allergy attack.

For a while I waited in the interview room.  After five minutes I stepped outside and paced the floor.  Should I leave?  After ten minutes had passed, I didn’t think the interviewer was coming back.

Outside I phoned my agency and told the consultant everything that had happened.  I concluded with “There’s no way I’m getting this job”.

“That’s funny,” the consultant said, “because I just got a call that you got the job and they’re expecting you on Monday.”

Conclusion … don’t pay too much attention to all those successful interview tips.  If the company wants you, they’ll take you just the way you are.  If they don’t … you can stand on your head and whistle the national anthem through your ears and they’ll still say no. 

The rest of the story: Zoe needs a new companion

Our guest blogger today is Diane Quinn from Las Vegas.  Diane recently lost her beloved cat Zorro, and successfully introduced a new kitty.  I asked her about this experience and she was kind enough to put "pen to paper".

You last met me when our beloved cat, Zorro, died unexpectedly of a heart condition.  (See EveryCloud Can Have a Silver Lining blog post.)  I introduced you to the Poppy Foundation and explained the outstanding work they do for unhealthy and unadoptable cats.  What I later learned is that our vet, who houses the Poppy Foundation in her hospital, also takes in feline patients when their human owners can no longer keep them.

In the weeks that followed Zorro’s death, we watched as our female Ragdoll, Zoe, went through a disturbing grieving process. Her personality changed, she pulled fur patches off the back of her neck, and she hid a lot under the bed, something she had never done before. She stopped sleeping with us as well. Our normally perky diva was depressed.  Fortunately, after about two months, she seemed almost like her old self again.

I came to realize that Zoe had never been an “only” cat before, and I wondered if she would be happy without a feline companion.  Then I began to think about what would happen when we traveled.  Even though we have two caring friends who stop in and cat sit, I had deep concerns about how she would manage basically by herself for a week at a time.

After a lengthy discussion with my husband who was resistant to getting another cat, he agreed to let me call the Poppy Foundation to see if they had a mature male at least five years old that needed a home. Zoe was about to turn nine, and we didn’t want a large age gap. Turns out they had three candidates.  As we were driving to the foundation, my husband said, “You know, I’d like to have a black cat with green eyes.”  At that point, color was the least of my worries as I focused on age, a personality fit and solid house training. 

When we walked into the Poppy Foundation there sitting on a chair all by himself was a black cat with green eyes. The volunteers told us that his name was BamBam, that he was their official greeter, and that he was one of our candidates. After we met the other two worthy felines, we had to make a decision. We both agreed that charming BamBam was the best suited for our home and as Zoe’s companion. 

We came back four days later to get him after he had a physical, dental work, updated shots and was groomed.  The Poppy Foundation never allows an adoption without knowing the adopter’s background and making sure the cat is in perfect health. 

This event was almost two months ago. The first thing my husband insisted on was giving our new black kitty a “manly” name more suited for his age—Rocky! It took just a matter of days to introduce him to our home. It was obvious that he was happy to find a real home again where he didn’t have to compete for attention.  Zoe was put out at first and exerted her diva personality in mostly non-aggressive ways.  Lucky for us, Rocky’s super friendly and loving personality won her over more quickly than we could ever have expected.

Zoe and Rocky are the best of buddies. They play together, watch birds and lizards side-by-side at the screen doors, and lick and love each other frequently.  Sure, they might have a territorial disagreement on occasion, but after a little boxing match, one usually gives in without any aggression.  More important is that we can go away now without guilt knowing that they have each other for loving companionship.

Is it a good idea to do it yourself?

My family are big believers in DIY.  Our motto is … “If you want something done right, do it yourself”.

It started with my grandmother who used to wallpaper and paint.  She was so good at it, she quickly became in demand among family and friends.

My mother made most of our clothes.  Nobody could ever tell the difference between her creations and store bought items. 

When our house was built, my father dug and prepared the foundation.  Dad had done such a good job, the builder said that this wasn’t just a foundation for a house, it was a foundation fit for a fortress.

When my ex and I bought our first house, it was only natural that I tried my hand at wallpapering.  Of all, grandma claimed there was nothing to it.

That wasn’t quite right.  I struggled so much with the first strips of paper and the glue that I nearly pasted myself to the wall.  When I’d finally hung the strip, I noticed it was upside down.

Over time it indeed become easier and along the way I also learned how to paint, do flooring, install a back splash and do minor repairs around the house.

My son took an interest in DIY projects from a very early age.  If I remember correctly, he was only 6 when he handled his first paint roller. 

He gradually took on more and more tasks until eventually he wanted to try his hand installing hardwood flooring.  It would be his DIY exam.  Unfortunately he failed miserably.

Perhaps it wasn’t his fault.  Perhaps it was the poor quality of the boards and the lack of decent measuring and cutting equipment.

He had watched a couple of videos on YouTube and installing hardwood didn’t seem all that difficult.  It was a matter of laying down the boards, clicking them into place and voila, that was it.

Sadly for Dieter it didn’t go so effortlessly.  The boards didn’t click and there were gaps.  Dieter, ever the perfectionist, got very agitated, had a couple of one-way conversations with the good Lord and great Carpenter in the sky and eventually threw in the towel.

To cut a long story short, we called on our neighbor, a contractor who has done flooring (and other projects) for a good number of years.

The first thing he asked was “Where did you buy the flooring?”  When we said “Home Depot” he grunted his disapproval.  In his opinion, what we had bought was nothing less than crap and the number one reason why Dieter’s work was less than perfect.

He took us to a specialty store, guided us to the wood section and then left us to pick a color.  The first thing I noticed was the thickness of the boards.  The Home Depot boards were barely 8 mm thick, while these boards were 16 mm.  In addition, the color was better and the shine was better.  Yes, the new boards were a bit more expensive than the Home Depot boards, but this was really quality flooring.

Which brings me to another thing my family is really good at … speaking in phrases.  One of my parents favorite sayings was … “Goeie koop is dure koop”, meaning, buy it cheap and it will turn out expensive.  

Next Monday the new boards will be delivered and the works can start all over again.  Until then, our place looks like a bomb hit it, and due to lack of a proper bed I’m sleeping on the floor. 

Pictures of the project to follow …

Why are we such liars?

While nobody likes to encounter a rude person or be on the receiving end of painful criticism, one thing is for sure … this bluntness is an honest expression of feelings.

With flattery and compliments on the other hand it becomes increasingly difficult to believe anything people say.  Do they mean what they say, are they just being nice, or do they want something?

Take my neighbor for instance.  The woman recently had a baby and proudly showed the infant to anyone who cared to look.  Without fail, everyone admired the baby stating how cute he was, what an adorable nose he had and remarking how big he was.

Once the mother was out of earshot the baby compliments turned to criticism. 
“That was the ugliest baby I’ve ever seen.”
“That baby is so fat, it’s gross.”
“Was that a nose or a beak?”

The previously admired name (Jace) was also racked over the coals.  While the name was praised as original while the mother was present, once she had turned her back her audience shook their heads in disgust.
“What kind of a stupid name is Jace?”
“Is that short of Jason or something?”
“I feel sorry for that kid when he goes to school.  A name like Jace is an invitation for bullying.”

The same lot often befalls authors.  While the writer is present, readers praise their work, but if he or she were a fly on the wall they might hear something quite different. 

From personal experience, I recently “read” a book from a woman who proudly presented me with a copy of her work.  I intended to read the book start to finish, but I didn’t.  Chapter 1 had so many flashbacks I didn’t know whether I was coming or going. 
Chapter 2 introduced characters that I can only describe as complete nuts. 
By chapter 3, I was rubbing my forehead, frowning and sighing … this wasn’t just bad writing, this was atrocious.

Naturally I can’t mention the author or the name of the book.  Suffice to say it had something to do with vampires and it is the writer’s intention to turn her work into a series.

Which left me wondering, what is it with people and vampires?  Do they want to jump on the bandwagon of success seeing that the “Twilight Saga” and “Vampire Diaries” are so well received?

And why a series?  Do they honestly think their work is that good that people won’t get enough of their story telling?  What’s wrong with writing a story, seeing how the book does, and then write a sequel?

Equally bothering is the fact that many writers give their book a title similar to a bestseller.  Recently I saw a book called “Prejudice and Pride” and “Murder she writes”.  I mean please, this borders on plagiarism.

As for my work, I made it a point not to ask for feedback.  If someone hated the story, it’s unlikely that a reader will say so.  And if someone is honest enough to criticize, I probably won’t like it.  So really, what’s the point?

Perhaps the saying “If you have nothing good to say, don’t say anything at all” is not such a bad idea.

"Debbie" - first three pages

Click here to buy on Amazon

It’s Friday and that means you’re getting another installment of “Debbie”.

This time you’re getting page three. Not to worry, for those who came in late, page one and two are included, so nobody is missing out.

Hi there!

My name is Debbie, and I’m a ferret.

You know what a ferret is, right? Have you ever seen a picture of a ferret? Please don’t say that ferrets look like rats. I’m nothing like a rat, and I’ll take it as insult if you compare me to one!

For starters, rats are rodents, while ferrets are more highly evolved in the animal world.

Rats are very active creatures, always scurrying after something.

Ferrets have a much more relaxed lifestyle. We like to take things easy. Did you know that we sleep, on average, 17 to 20 hours a day?

Other than that, rats are not exactly the prettiest animals in the world, are they? But ferrets definitely are. I mean, look at my picture, am I cute or what?

Whenever humans looked at me and my friends, they stopped in their tracks, peered into our cage, and said, “Oh look at these adorable ferrets!” They would comment on our pretty little pink ears, tiny black beady eyes, pert little pink nose and short little legs.

 My fur is a mixture of the same sand color as that of my friends, but with touches of black. I even have a black stripe over my eyes. People would say that I look like a bandit. Hmm … perhaps that would be an appropriate name for me, as ferrets are thieves by nature. Well, not actually thieves, let’s just say that ferrets like to collect things and then hide them!

But that was not the case. As it turned out, when I was adopted, my new owner had a proper name ready for me  He picked me up, held me at eye level and said “Hello cutie, I’m Andrew. What shall I call you?” His eyes squinted a bit and he cocked his head to the side before he suggested, “How about Debbie?”

Fine by me, I liked the name Debbie. Aren’t there movie stars or celebrities named Debbie?

Andrew, a tall human with red hair and green eyes, bought me a handsome metal cage, wood curls to line the bottom, a flowery velvet hammock to sleep in, a bag of dry food pellets especially for ferrets, some toys, and a litter box for ... hmmm, well, you-know-what.

Home was a condo on the 15^th floor. Through the holes in my box, I saw a large sunny room. Keep in mind that, small as I am, everything seemed a bit overwhelming to me.

My cage was placed in one of the rooms, and I saw Andrew taking my food into another room.

And then, gasp! I was taken out of the box.

Whoa, but the place was spacious! Being inside the box didn’t give me a true perspective on the size of the room. Once I was out of it, the room seemed enormous. Scared and intimidated, I cowered low to the ground.

“Welcome to your new home Debbie,” Andrew said, picking me up. “Shall I show you around? This is my bedroom. This is where I sleep at night.”

As Andrew started walking, I got the feeling that I was gliding through the air. He took me from room to room, complete with explanations. Let me see if I remember them all: there was a guest bedroom where visitors slept; a bathroom where Andrew washed himself; a kitchen where meals were prepared and the dishes were washed; and a living room which was, as Andrew said, for hanging out. “And that,” Andrew said, still holding me as we were back in the living room, “is the balcony. Want to see?”

Did I have a choice?

He opened a floor-to-ceiling sliding door and stepped outside.

Good grief! We must have been high up, because I could see for miles and miles!

“We’re on the 15^th floor,” Andrew said, moving closer to the edge of the balcony. “Here, have a look.”

http://connymanero.weebly.com/debbie.html

Guest blogger of the day ... Robin

(Since Conny asked me to do my own intro here, I figured I’d give you the whole backstory. If I missed anything, just ask in the comments. I’ll probably answer…)

I was born… Oh, wait – that intro has already been used. Hmm. Okay, well, I WAS born. Almost, um, 50 years ago. Ugh, that sounds like my mother… Let me try again:

Obviously I WAS born. After that, I can pretty much divide my life into parts: childhood – pretty good, teens – had a blast, early adulthood – eh, and everything since – FANtastic! My husband and I have five kids between us, two of his, two of mine, and one of ours. And three grandkids, all extremely smart and incredibly cute. Of course.

I grew up in the St. Louis, Missouri area and gradually moved across the state, then to Colorado for not quite two years, and then Texas; we were down there for eight years. Back to St. Louis for an aborted attempt at law school, and then I got bored.

We opened our bookstore in October 2011, after a brainstorm in late July. My first book came out the following August – the inspiration of which was a really weird dream that came from eating salsa too late one night. While I was procrastinating on my second book a few months later, again in October, I thought, “Hey, I’ll start a publishing house!” So I did.

And here I am.

My friend, fellow author, and client Conny Manero mentioned that I could perhaps do a guest post on her blog about… bowling. Bowling? Well, I do enjoy the sport. And, yes, I could reminisce over a few interesting things that I’ve experienced in that realm. So, sure, why not?

When I was a kid, maybe 8 or 9, my parents were in a bowling league. I didn’t often get to go along, since it was their night out, so to speak, but they did take me sometimes on Saturdays. Had a lot of fun, and no, back then there were no bright pink kids’ balls and no bumpers – you either got gutter balls or a decent score, entirely dependent on your own efforts.

My mom’s co-leader for my Junior Girl Scout troop was a professional bowler and, since in those days there was no “bowling badge,” she helped our troop create one. I remember thinking it was way cool – we learned all about the game and how to keep score. And, like all good Girl Scouts in the 70s, we embroidered the badge ourselves!

The bowling alleys back then were smoky, mysterious places, with snack bars and actual bars; waitresses would bring your food and drink to your lane so you didn’t have to miss any of the action. There were all kinds of leagues: senior, adult, kid, and lessons and parties and special game nights. Going bowling was an event, not just a stopping place to hang out and maybe bowl a few lines. A lot of people had their own balls and shoes, and a lot of them wore team shirts – you know, those colorful polyester ones with the team name emblazoned on them. Hey, it was the 70s!

When I was fifteen, like many kids, I wanted to get a job. Guess what was just up the road? A brand new bowling alley! Perfect. I managed to get hired and I ran the snack bar. I worked after school, sometimes until 2:00 a.m. No pesky state laws to get me off work by 10:00 p.m. on school nights! I remember one night, after working there a week or so, I bolted upright out of a sound sleep and woke myself up saying, “That’ll be fifty-two cents, please!” That was the price of a large Pepsi, with tax.

And yes, a couple times when the bar was swamped and the bartender had to run to the restroom, I’d jump over there and pull beers. No one batted an eye. Besides the Pepsi and the beer, I made burgers, fries, onion rings, nachos, SteakUm sandwiches, and probably a few other things I’ve forgotten about. Then, after we closed, I’d clean everything, fryers and grill too. Still remember how to clean that grill: we had this big black block of… something, and had to screw in a heavy metal handle. That’s what we scrubbed it with, till it shone. Ick.

A bunch of guys from my high school worked there too – they’d unjam the pins, retrieve balls, and fix the automatic scorers. They taught me how to do that too, and there were plenty of times when I had to jump over the counter and help a group out with their machine.

As an older teen, my friends and I bowled a lot. I wasn’t working there anymore, but I still knew most of the people who did, so we’d hang out and bowl on Friday nights. Had a blast! And over the years, I’d still bowl occasionally, always remember how our Girl Scout leader taught us to pick up the ball, line up the pins, and maneuver just right to get that perfect strike.

Well, it worked sometimes!

Thank you Robin.  For me, as a bowler, that was a very interesting post.  

My guest blogger ... Debbie

Hello, I’m “Under the Toronto Sun’s” guest blogger today.  If I get lots of hits and possible comments, I might get a regular spot on this blog.

Let me introduce myself.

My name is Debbie and I’m a ferret.  Yes, you read that right, a ferret.

If you think humans are the only bloggers, think again.  Pets blog too, you could say they lead double lives.

When humans are around, they act like animals should: they meow, bark, they’re being cute or they make a nuisance of themselves.  But when their owners go to sleep or leave the house to go to work, to school, or out to dinner, everything changes.  When nobody’s watching, pets’ live get a lot more interesting.  They watch TV, play music, or read books and magazines

Personally, I’ve developed an interest in computers.  I’ve been doing a lot of research on ferrets and I’ve been blogging about them (and other animals) for the past three years.  I even wrote a little children’s book that I named after me … “Debbie”.

I thought it might be a good idea to write about how I got adopted, went to live in a condo and what happened after that.  There are many books available about cats and dogs and even rabbits, but not much is known about ferrets.

Ferrets are generally misunderstood.  Many people think we’re like rats, which is absolutely ridiculous.  I mean, look at the pictures below, one is of a rat, the other of a ferret.  Those who can’t see the difference need to get their eyes checked. 

We’re also a lot of fun, when we’re awake that is.  Yes, we sleep a lot (sometimes 20 hours a day), but during the time that we're awake we’re always up to something.  They don’t call certain species of ferrets “bandits” for nothing.  Which is something you can read about in “Debbie”. 

Okay, so that’s it for now.  If you want to read more of my hand (paw) let me know and I’ll get right on it.

By the way, my book “Debbie”, is available from Rocking Horse Publishing  and Amazon.com 

Debbie - first two pages

Earlier this week I posted the first page of “Debbie” a children’s book.  Today I’m adding page two, with page one repeated for those who are just joining.

Hi there.

My name is Debbie and I’m a ferret.

You know what a ferret is, right?  Have you ever seen a picture of a ferret?  Please don’t say that ferrets look like rats. I’m nothing like a rat, and I’ll take it as insult if you compare me to one.

For starters, rats are rodents while ferrets are more highly evolved in the animal world.

Rats are very active creatures, always scurrying after something.

Ferrets have a much more relaxed lifestyle.  We like to take things easy.  Did you know that we sleep on average 17 to 20 hours a day?  

Other than that, rats are not exactly the prettiest animals in the world now, are they?  But ferrets definitely are.  I mean look at my picture, am I cute or what?

Whenever humans looked at me and my friends, they stopped in their tracks, peered into our cage and said, “Oh look at these adorable ferrets!”  They would comment on our pretty little pink ears; tiny black beady eyes; pert little pink nose and short little legs.  

 My fur is a mixture of the same sand color as that of my friends, but with touches of black.  I even have a black stripe over my eyes.  People would say that I look like a bandit.  Hmm…perhaps that would be an appropriate name for me, as ferrets are thieves by nature.  Well, not actually thieves, let’s just say that ferrets like to collect things and then hide them

But that was not the case.  As it turned out, when I was adopted, my new owner had a proper name ready for me  He picked me up, held me at eye level and said “Hello cutie, I’m Andrew and what shall I call you?  His eyes squinted a bit and cocked his head to the side before he suggested, “How about Debbie?”

Fine by me, I liked the name Debbie.  Aren’t there movie stars or celebrities named Debbie?

Andrew, a tall human with red hair and green eyes, bought me a handsome metal cage, wood curls to line the bottom, a flowery velvet 

(Page three to follow)

Goodbye Kiki, hello Zippy

Recently I learned from a friend that she called her Beta fish JC (short for Jackie Chan).  Even though JC swims alone in an aquarium and thus has nobody to fight with, everyone knows that Beta fish are fighters and that Jackie Chan is a fighter, hence the name is appropriate.

Whenever we adopted a cat, finding a name was never a problem. 

Chanel was named after Coco Chanel, creator of the famous Chanel No. 5 perfume.  Since Chanel was our fifth cat, the name was perfect.

Charlotte had a mischievous grin on her face when we first met and she reminded me of an ex-colleague named Charlotte who was always up to something.

Mickey came to us with a name.  After mom died and dad decided to move to a retirement home, a home had to be found for Mick.  I knew right away that I was bringing Mickey to Canada because I didn’t trust strangers with him.

Gabriel looked angelic when I first saw him.  I was told that he was a fighter though.  Naming him after an archangel was the logical choice.

With our latest addition, we made a bit of a mistake.

When we adopted a four week old bunny, we named her Kiki because she kicked up a storm when held.  Today, barely four days later, we’ve decided that Kiki is not the best name for the creature and we renamed her Zippy.

If you were to see her move, you would understand why.  While most of the time she hops, if she gets playful she zips from here to there.  Quick as lightning she is and catching her (during her roaming free time) is near impossible.  The best thing to do is to wait until she gets tired and then make a move.

How do we know where Zippy is?  All we have to do is look for Mickey, he follows her around like a big brother.

Gabriel sniffs her and when she gets on his nerves, he swats her with his tail.  If she doesn’t get the message, he sits on her.  If she happens to be under his butt, so be it.

Charlotte is still a little wary of the newcomer and keeps her distance.  If Zippy crosses the line, she gets hissed at. 

As for Chanel … she’s scared of her own shadow, so when she first set eyes on Zippy she ran like a bat from hell.  Soon her curiosity got the better of her though and very carefully she had a closer look at Zippy.  Today they’re not really friends yet, but she lets Zippy sniff her tail.

I’m confident this will have a happy ending.

Meanwhile, here are some pictures of the little trouble maker.

 A shoulder can be quite comfortable

You heard of grumpy cat ... this is me, grumpy bunny

Smells like chicken 

                                                Mickey is inspecting Zippy's accommodation 

                                                  (can be extended when Zippy gets bigger)