Lessons In Sharing

I called my sister last night and when she answered I asked if she was okay, as she sounded tired.  "I'm all right," she said. "Jake (my 2 1/2 year old nephew) is just going through an attitude stage. Everything is 'No, Mommy' and 'Mine.'"

Then she told me how Jake has a little play tent set up in the family room and he and Nicole were inside it. He started pushing her out saying, "No Mommy. My tent."  Nicole was having none of that and made Jake look at her while she explained that toys were for everyone and they shared their toys. Jake nodded and seemed to understand.

A few minutes later my sister's husband walked in the room and tried to join them in the tent.

"No Daddy," said Jake, pushing him out. "This Mommy and my tent."

Isn't that cute?? Nicole's like, "So I don't think he's quite grasped this whole 'sharing' concept yet."

She'll work on it.

Speed Dating

I am an excellent speed dater. The knowledge that I  discovered this fact while happily married does not deter me in the least. It's  good to know I have the skills in my back pocket, should I ever need them.

My friend Daniel Richardson invited me to set up a table and do a book signing last night for Lessons In Stalking at the speed dating event he runs through Cupid.com. I chatted with the men and women at the bar before the formal event started and when it happened that there were more women than men or more men than women, I would either offer my book for them to skim through for the five minutes they had to sit there alone, or I would sit down and chat with them to pass the time. This is how I uncovered my superior speed dating skills.

Of course, it's so much easier to speed date when the pressure is off. Since I had no interest in dating, I could be myself and I'm sure I was easier to talk to because I was married and not actually part of the event.  One guy made me laugh. "Can I ask a personal favor of you?" he said. "Do you know any single women in my age range that you think might like me?"

The problem is, I really don't know any single women in the area. "I have a friend in Cincinnati who's single," I said. "So you'd have to move."

He thought for a moment. "What does she look like?"

Aaaugh.  Although it was fun being at the event, I'm so happy to be with someone I love. The night made me appreciate what I have all the more because so many people out there are seeking that companionship.

 I sold 5 books. I made a poster that read, "If You Think Dating Is Torture, Try Owning A Cat!" which got some laughs, especially from people who had cats.  And I'm pleased with the sales. I went there with low expectations, not really knowing if I would even sell a book.

My favorite sale of the night came from a guy who said he used to date a girl with cats and he was thinking about calling her again. He decided to buy a book for her and while I signed it he said, "I'm at a speed-dating event buying a gift for an ex-girlfriend. How pathetic am I?"

Overall, it was a fun night. And beneficial. I called my single friend in Cincinnati, got her voicemail and left a message informing her that if she needed any dating advice, I was now a speed dating expert and would be happy to coach her.

I don't understand why she hasn't called back.

No Sense of Direction

I could get lost in my own backyard. It's a cliche, but true. I not only have no sense of direction, I have a negative pull when it comes to figuring out where the heck I am. Tonight, for example, I got lost driving to a SCBWI (Society of Children Book Writers & Editors) Schmooze session in Winston-Salem. The chaos began when I thought I knew exactly where I was going.  That should have been my first clue something was amiss.

We were meeting at a Borders. When I visualized the location, I thought it was in a shopping center I knew. So I drove to the Center and guess what? No Borders. I drove a little further in the hopes of accidentally bumping into the shopping center. This is a tactic I often employ but it didn't pan out so I turned around.

By this time I thought I remembered the Borders being near the interstate and that I might know how to get there. But, to be safe, I stopped at an Exxon station and asked for directions. "Just pull left out of here," said the cashier motioning. "Then left on Knollwood and that will take you right there."

Simple. But when I went to pull out of the station, I was confused. Did she mean go left on the little side road the station was on or left on the big road I had pulled off of to get to the station? I decided the big road was the safer bet. And--here's the surprising part--I was wrong.

So I drive a couple miles and pull up to a cop at a stoplight. I motion him to roll down his window. "I'm trying to get to Borders," I say.

"Turn around and go back," he said. "Take the Stratford road exit on the left (emphasis mine). You'll come right to it."

Fine. I turn around, pass a Stratford Road exit on the right only to find there is no left exit to Stratford. Grrrrr.  So I hop on 40 W and just hope for the best as I dial Blair. He answers. "I'm lost," I announce.

"Where are you?"

"Coming up on Jonestown Rd."

"You're going the wrong way. Turn around and take the Stratford Road exit."

So I finally get to my meeting. But this is my life. People make fun of me for leaving for the airport 3 hours early or  allowing 1 hour for a 15 minute drive, but this is the perfect example of why that extra time is a necessity in my life.

My friend Heather has gone so far to accuse me of sucking the directional sense out people. Heather never gets lost unless I'm in the car with her. She may have a point. When I was in Portland my editor drove me to a PetSmart that she pretty much knew the way too but wasn't worried b/c she had a great sense of direction. We drove around for 20 minutes trying to find the place.

"It's me," I told her when she apologized. "This is my fault." 

I'm thinking when we leave for Europe I need to have no contact with the pilots whatsoever. If I even just say hello, we may end up in Japan. 

Why I Don't Cook

Here is a perfect example of why I habitually avoid any and all activities associated with that area of the home known as "the kitchen."

Blair and I decided some time ago we would make red beans and rice. We purchased the ingredients and then promptly ignored them for the next three weeks. But he called tonight and suggested that perhaps this was THE night where we finally made the dish.

Why not? I'm always up for adventure. He tells me he'll be home in an hour and we hang up. I pull out the red beans with the recipe on the back and race to the phone.

 "Hello?" says Blair.

"These directions are confusing," I say. "I'm supposed to add 3-4 cups of hot water to the dry beans, boil 2 minutes, then set aside for one hour. BUT, the recipe itself says I am to sort and wash the beans. Then soak the beans in 4 cups water in a large saucepan while I sauté onion, pepper and garlic in a separate pan then bring everything to a boil. So do I soak the beans for an hour first or do I just leave them in the 4 cups of water for the 8 minutes it takes to sauté?

There is silence on the other end of the phone.

"I'll work with it," I say and hang up.

I decide not to soak the beans for an hour, mainly because I'm hungry NOW. I sauté and dump everything in and boil away. But the beans do not soften, not even after 30 minutes when Blair arrives home. He walks to the kitchen and stands beside me, staring down at the boiling, tumbling mass of wrinkled red beans flecked with specks of green pepper.  He looks at me and I look at him.

"Feel like an Arby's night," I say.

"I've got the keys," he says. "Let's go."

The problem, in my opinion, is directions aren't clear. All food preparation instructions should be written in language a 4-year old can comprehend and even then there should be a special 1-800-for-Dena help line available.

But excuse me please. There are some curly fries out there with my name on them.