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No Trampoline Tonight!

I suppose it’s a good thing that my goal is to live to be 110 because after spending the last several hours cleaning my son’s apartment, I may inadvertently have sacrificed a year or two.

He didn’t ask me to do it, and he certainly didn’t expect that I would. We were supposed to be enjoying a merry old time tonight with a group of his friends who invited us for dinner and then an evening at the local indoor trampoline park. Awesome, right? Yes, I was ready to don a set of Nick’s sweats and hop till I dropped this evening, but an unexpected call from his workplace changed our plans, leaving me with four hours to entertain myself, and no cable television.

“I guess I’ll have some time to write after all,” I tell him as he hurriedly dresses to cover a shift. He looks great in his dress pants, shirt and tie, but cuts himself in his rush to shave.

“Why are you using a disposable razor?” I ask, knowing from personal experience how unforgiving they can be.

“I don’t know,” he says, pressing a piece of toilet paper to his chin. “A leftover habit from when I didn’t used to shave every day, I guess.”

If he could, he’d likely never shave, but his job now requires it. I make a mental note to buy him a real razor.

He leaves, and I open the refrigerator to rustle up some dinner. Looks like it’ll be a celery and peanut butter extravaganza, and when I open what should be the fruit drawer to see if there’s anything I might add, I recoil in horror.

No, there’s no severed head or any other body part in the drawer, but there’s clearly something growing, and not something anyone should eat. I decide that my young bachelor could use a little help, and set aside the celery for later.

I survey the small apartment and decide to start with the floors, drab beige-brown linoleum that almost hides months of neglect. After running the vac (note: buy new vacuum bags), I fill the tub with bleach water and search for a mop, but find only a dry-mop. Into the tub it goes, and I instantly feel better slopping it across each room and capturing all the dust bunnies.

The color of the tub water when I rinse the mop makes me think that I should repeat what I’ve just done, several times, but my time is limited and there’s much still to do. Like clean the tub, which is blooming both black and an unnatural pink. And the toilet, which rocks when you sit on it, and the sink, which is attached to the wall at the perfect height for a Lilliputian.

I look for a new sponge (note: buy new sponges), to no avail, so I use the one that keeps the bar of soap from slipping into the sink; it’s in considerably better shape than the scary one Nick has been using on dishes in the kitchen. My hands start to look like old lady’s hands (I’ve only just hit my middle-age) and I wonder if I should be wearing a haz-mat mask, but it’s too late. I’ve gone too far.

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After dousing all bathroom surfaces with bleach (note: buy more bleach), I scrub what I can, including the abused trash can. Then it’s back to the kitchen. I open the refrigerator again, hoping that what I saw an hour ago isn’t really as bad as I first thought, but in fact, it is far worse.

When I remove the drawer to clean it in the sink, what I find under it at the bottom of the refrigerator defies description, and for a moment, I consider pretending I’ve not seen it. I could clean and replace the drawer, and no one would be the wiser. But then I wouldn’t be able to sleep. Ever.

And so I do what I must with a skanky sponge soaked in antibacterial spray (note: buy more antibacterial spray), and as the saying goes, one thing leads to another. I do my best not to breathe each time I go in for a scrub, but I start to hear the doctors’ dialogue when I’m 108.

“Poor old girl,” they say. “I’ll bet she cleaned her son’s refrigerator when she was just middle-aged. There’s no way she’ll make it to 110 now.”

Nevertheless, I know that I will finish what I’ve begun.

When all of the red-green gooey jelly-like substance is gone, I finish up by scraping a meal’s worth of food from the inside of the microwave and wipe down the stove front and hood. The sponge can handle no more, and my peanut butter celery is calling me.

I clean the kitchen trash can, toss in the mangled sponge, and scrub my flaky hands with the last drop of antibacterial spray. Time for dinner (note: buy more celery) and three, yes three brownies. Hey, I’m only going to live to be 108 now, so I might as well enjoy every moment!

Nick returns shortly after 10 p.m. and I note a brief expression of concern on his face. He senses that something is different, but cannot put his finger on it.

“Wow. I normally just carry the whole trash can to the dumpster. You were brave to pull out that flimsy bag,” he tells me when he sees the over-full bag by the front door.

I tell him just how brave I’ve been.

“Thanks, Mum,” he tells me, and I know that we both will sleep well tonight.

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Hitting “Delete”

“Either he deleted his Facebook page or he’s blocked me,” said my husband first thing this morning.

“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “Why would he do either?”

Our 20-year-old son Jake is a computer guru, and has been for a very long time. He makes his living doing “computer things.” I open my Facebook page and search his name. I find it and click on it.

Black boxes and emptiness.

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I pick up the phone and call him immediately.

“Hey, Mum,” he mumbles. Clearly I have woken him, but I am delighted to hear his voice.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, just a bit sleepy,” he says.

“Sorry to wake you,” I say, “but we saw that you weren’t on Facebook anymore. How come?”

“Too stressful,” he responds simply.

“Good for you,” I tell him. “If I weren’t such a famous public figure, I might do the same.” He laughs, and so do I. I laugh because I know that as soon as I write about this, I’ll post it to my blog and then link it to my Facebook page. And then I’ll wait for people to give me feedback.

I’m a feedback addict.

I understand what he means about the stress, though, and my decision to remove “Words with Friends” from my new iPhone this year seriously helped me breathe a little easier. I loved the challenge, but I always had about five games going, and although I justified playing because it was “words,” when I really looked at those hours of mental maneuvering of letters to make meaningless “points,” I see that they were hours that could have been better spent.

We live in a world that caters to people like me, the extroverts of the world, the “Look at MEs” of the world, the people who need attention and that burst of excitement that comes when we open our Facebook and see those red notification bubbles.

But I understand the stress that comes with addiction, and wonder now what I’m going to do about it. I can justify all of my status updates as necessary for me to stay connected with and to entertain my friends and family…it’s what extroverts do.

I’ll be waiting for your feedback.

 

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HELP! (please?)

Please help me achieve my goal of selling 55 books this month (of my 55th birthday)! Remember…all my profits through March will be given to a scholarship! Get one for yourself and one for a friend (I hear it’s a pretty good story!)

http://www.amazon.com/Miss-Laurel-McHargue-ebook/dp/B00FQT4WO0/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top

Miss

 

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2013 Highlights

Hi my friends and family!

2013 was a year filled with challenges. What year hasn’t been?

Mighty Mike continued a year of public service as the county’s Emergency Manager, IMAG2907conducting a brilliant wildfire exercise in June (earning high accolades from FEMA evaluators) and assisting with recovery efforts after the devastating floods in the Boulder area in September. After hoping that cortisone injections in his right hip would prolong the inevitable, he went under the knife for a complete hip replacement…just four days after completing his 8th Leadville Trail (LT) 100 Mountain Bike race! Although he’s not in any hurry to replace the other, he is quite pleased with his recovery and his ability to hike and bike pain-free again!

Nick has excelled in the ROTC program at UNM and continues his studies on an extended plan photoafter adding a year for course work in the Emergency Medical Services Academy. He, too, competed in and completed his first LT100 race. Still not certain about his follow-on assignment after graduation, he will be working in Albuquerque until he can find a way to return to Colorado! Jake opted for the work-over-school plan and is partnering with another young entrepreneur in Boulder. His facility with computing has allowed him to do what he enjoys while providing him with the resources to live independently while caring for his pet tortoise, Givenchy.

The Lead Ass Inn hosted many visitors this year: Sarah Collier (my good friend Nadine’s IMAG2809daughter) lived with us this summer and I got to pretend that I had a daughter for a bit! Niece Andrea and hubby started off the July revolving door, followed by race friends Brent and Lisa, then Mike’s bro Mark, his wife and two girls, then Anne and Eric from VA overlapping with Sam and Derrick from Abu Dhabi (en route to Germany), and finally Sarah’s boyfriend. Whew! Talk about musical beds! Our old Army friends from long ago (Kathy, Chris, Kristen and Michael Shalosky) visited for Thanksgiving and we made the best hand turkeys ever!

I completed the draft of my first novel (“Miss?”) in March just before my Dad underwent major surgery for cancer. Dad fought the good fight, and even helped IMAG1517organize a most memorable family reunion at my sister Carol’s home in June, but ultimately lost his battle on October 4th, not long after losing his youngest brother. I was blessed to have had several visits with Dad before he left us, one on the heels of my 30th West Point Reunion. Dad’s funeral was fitting for the wonderful man he was. Mom has been a pillar of strength, and we all are grateful that she lives in a place surrounded by friends and not far from Carol. She continues to teach us life lessons as she finds her way after 65 years of living with her best friend.

Somehow I managed to find a couple of weeks to act in a friend’s Indie film (“Peace MissPass”), and I published my novel through Amazon in November shortly before Mike and I decided to adopt a German Shepherd from a local shelter. Ranger (almost 3) has brought us great joy; his temperament is much like Guntar’s was (our first dog). Wishing you all health and happiness in 2014!

With love from the Lead Ass Inn–a name my Dad suggested for our far-away home.

Laurel, Mike, Nick, Jake, and Ranger

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Ranger-in-boots

“We could turn around here if you want,” Mike says with just a hint of disappointment in his voice.

We’re not quite to the halfway point on the 3-mile Fish Hatchery loop, and our new dog, Ranger, is staging a peaceful protest. He sits in the snow staring at the pooch-booties on his paws—a gift from a friend—probably wondering why on earth “this family” rescued him from the shelter. He used to have it so easy, just laying around and getting fat.

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It’s 5 degrees out, much colder with the wind chill, but it doesn’t feel too bad in the trees. I look at my dog who looks at me, and know that I must make the right decision.

“Come on, Ranger, let’s go!” I say with great, feigned enthusiasm as I take the lead back on course. We must not turn around. The sun is peeking through the trees. It’s not even snowing.

“We can take a water break at the top of the next little rise,” Mike says, happy to be finishing what we’ve started.

It is only because I now take the lead that Ranger will stand up and follow. Although he loves Mike—the one who takes him out first thing in the morning and picks up his steaming “presents”—he loves me more.

Both Ranger and I enjoy a few sips of water at the top of the rise. I’m actually sweating in my $10 gold retro one-piece ski suit, and with snow shoes on for the first time this season I’m feeling like I understand Ranger’s disdain for his treadless booties.

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“This isn’t so bad, is it?” Mike asks. He loves this. He lives for this.

“Yeah, it kinda sucks,” I say, honestly.

“No way! Seriously?” he asks, befuddled.

“You know I always suck going uphill. It hurts,” I tell him, “but I didn’t turn around!”

Although I’ve lived at 10,200 feet for almost 7 years now, I nevertheless have not “gotten used to” the strain of breathing under exertion. Perhaps if I hit the gym more it would help, but even when I was doing that regularly, I still hated the feeling of suffering. In a recent Facebook status I confessed that I hate suffering, but love having suffered, which is why we did not turn around today when we could have.

Mike, who has recently had one complete hip replacement surgery and will put off replacing the other for as long as possible, looks at Ranger, who does not have the capacity to feign enthusiasm for continuing our hike.

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“Hey, you’re only 21-years-old and you’re not even wearing a pack! I’m 53, so I don’t want to hear any of your shit!”

I laugh at Mike’s attempt at motivating our dog. Ranger just looks at him, looks at his booties again, then looks at me.

“We’re almost there, buddy!” I say, and although we still have a mile and a half to go, it’s all downhill. I’m actually happy now. I can walk forever if it’s not uphill.

We make it back to our car and Ranger is ready to jump in before the hatch is even up. I give him another treat—a trick my friend suggested as a way to get the booties on him—and all is right with his world again.

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I remove the booties when we get home. Ranger’s feet are warm and dry.

We all settle down for a long winter’s nap.

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-15?

Although the ice crystals hadn’t yet bonded over the toilet water, my always-be-prepared hubby nevertheless activated our forced gas heat this morning, 52 degrees in the house feeling too frosty even for him. By the time he returned from taking Ranger out for his morning constitution, I had the fire started and the coffee ready.

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It’s -15 in Leadville this morning, the sun is sparkling off powder-dry snow crystals, and I’m trying to decide what to wear for my book launch event at our local Book Mine this afternoon.

But first I will be donating blood, and I suppose I’m more worried about my life force’s ability to flow in what will most likely be a cold room at the Mining Museum. So I will drink hot tea until I trudge over there at 1:00.

They say you’ll live longer if you stay slim and cold, but who would want to under those conditions?!

Day-dreaming of turquoise waves splashing over hot bodies on faraway beaches…

 

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Erma’s Conference

Truly tickled to be attending the 2014 Erma Bombeck Writers’ Conference in Dayton, Ohio! This will be my first official conference! Many of the Not Your Mother’s Book series co-editors will attend also, and Dahlynn McKowen (of Publishing Syndicate) will be there are a faculty member and workshop presenter!

Registration opened today, so if you’d like to join me–and a bunch of very fun, funny people–go to humorwriters.org and register soon!

http://humorwriters.org/

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Scholarship

I am excited to be offering a scholarship to a deserving high school student in 2014 using 100% of the profits from the sale of my novel “Miss?”

Please consider purchasing my book for yourself or as a gift (or both). With the purchase of a paperback, you will also get a free Kindle download!

I hope to make my scholarship one that students will be delighted to receive. Please help me to achieve this goal!

http://www.amazon.com/Miss-Laurel-McHargue/dp/1493647709/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1385482700&sr=1-1&keywords=laurel+mchargue

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Lifestyles of the rich and, er, …

Perhaps being married to our county’s Emergency Manager has skewed my perception of things, but I honestly feel like I’m living one of the “lifestyles of the rich and famous.”

It’s not that his salary is fabulous—far from it. If it weren’t for Mike’s military pension, we’d both have to find better jobs. But the fact that I do not actually have to work right now has allowed me to explore my own selfish interests, and what more could a girl want?

“But what do you mean by ‘skewed’ perception?” you ask.

Well, it struck me as comical the other day that I was excited to be cooking my oatmeal on our wood-burning stove in the living room while hanging wet clothes, also in the living room, on the most excellent new drying rack I recently purchased. And that’s where being married to the Emergency Manager comes into play.

You see, even before we married 30 years ago, I knew my husband was a special kind of guy. I joined the Judo team at West Point our senior year so I could get to know him better and it was there I learned that my mate-to-be never did anything half-assed. I fell for him, hard, over and over again, and before the end of our last semester I had a yellow belt, a kajillion multi-colored bruises, and a sparkling engagement ring.

The first seven years of our marriage were wild and childless. We were both in the Army and loved our jobs. Mike’s constant never-quit attitude brushed off on me big-time, and I grew stronger and more confident in myself through each challenging experience we shared. His self-reliance was inspiring, and I learned to push myself to do things that didn’t come naturally. With my predisposition toward life as a couch potato, I thrilled myself each time I finished an “adventure race” or triathlon.

With the arrival of two strapping sons, I was the luckiest girl in the world. Even though our salary would be halved with my resignation from the Army, Mike encouraged me to transition from “Ma’am” to “Mom” (possibly my next book title), and 23 years of new challenges have passed like whispers in a whirlwind. Our sons learned that life is often not easy, and now they laugh at me (good-heartedly, I think!) when I talk about their dad’s preparations for our upcoming “black-out” weekend, which will have nothing to do with alcohol. They have yet to ask to come home that weekend.

After teaching in the public school system for several years, another challenge I honestly hated and loved, Mike once again encouraged me to pursue my dream of becoming an author—which brings me back to feeling like I’m living one of those lives. Although I’m neither rich nor famous yet, I still am able to indulge my inner couch potato while writing, and I still am able to thrill myself each time I’ve climbed a mountain or lived through a frigid Leadville night with the thermostat turned down a few more degrees.

Living with a man who practices what he preaches has kept me from the eventual ennui that creeps, perhaps, into many relationships. Sure, I make fun of his parapet of books with titles like “Fear” and “Not a Good Day to Die” and his latest, “X-Events: The Collapse of Everything,” but I sleep well at night knowing that even if I’m not completely ready for the collapse of everything yet, he is.

And so I truly am a “kept woman.” I will continue to embrace each new opportunity to shirk the easy way of doing things because easy bores me, and because I can. We recently adopted a 3-year-old German Shepard from a rescue shelter because it would have been easier not to. Being married to a man who works so that I can air-dry laundry and take a dog on three long walks each day puts me in a category deserving of my own reality T.V. show.

I’m ready, world!

 

 

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Reviews

I could not be any more delighted than I am right now with the reviews of my novel, “Miss?”

I am particularly proud of one by literary critic Will Lewis from The Northern Star (he is a very funny man and you should follow his blog, too: northernstar-online.com !)

Thanks, Will! http://northernstar-online.com/miss-laurel-mchargue/