It is time to admit to the world that I am a klutz, especially when it comes to shopping.
I have been known to leave cases of soda in the grocery cart. Worse yet, I recently arrived home without my purse. Yep, you guessed it...I left it in the cart, and some nice man turned it into the Customer Service lady for me.
Once, I even left a VERY nice golf club behind. This particular putter was John's Christmas present that I had taken to the golf shop to have shortened. Some dishonest person must have claimed ownership. My only hope is that the new owner is very tall and suffering from back strain.
On the other hand, I am reminded of a time when the family was in a very crowded hardware store. John kept David with him, and Patty rode on my back in a backpack. When John helped me remove the pack, it was discovered that my daughter had pilfered a boat anchor! Needless to say, we went directly back in the store to return the item.
Well...this week, I purchased a movie at Goodwill. I had seen the movie before, but someone asked if I'd stayed through all of the credits at the end of the movie. At the end of the credits, there was something revealed that would make anyone go back and rewatch the movie for clues of a thread that ran through the plot. Well, when I was explaining to John why I wanted to sit through a second viewing, I removed it from its box. Staring me right in the face was the title...200 Cigarettes! Not the one so eloquently described on the container. I came in and looked it up on the internet. Ben Afleck stars as a bartender...now how bad could that be? The answer...pretty bad. As a natter of fact,,,downright awful.
We will not watch it, but my purchase will not be wasted. It will go perfectly with the can of road-kill possum at this year's White Elephant party for some lucky acquaintance.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Monday, September 24, 2007
God's little helper
I was recently reminded a little of when I was going to personally finance my daughter’s family decision to be missionaries in Togo, French West Africa. How was that to happen? I was going to sell Watkins vanilla to Alaskans. But it turns out Watkins does not promote only vanilla so I had special permission to take 17 boxes of a variety of Watkins products to Haines, Alaska, for the Southeast Alaska State Fair. It was easy getting the product there; we mailed them.
When we arrived in Haines, our friends said for us to use their Cadillac for the week; the keys were in the ignition. Of course, we are talking an old car with Alaska rust. One door was wired closed so everyone climbed in through the driver’s side. I will never know why John went along with my scheme, but he did. He patiently carried all of those boxes into the tiny façade of a building allotted for just my product. That structure was leftover from the making of the movie “White Fang.” It still stands today.
Well, as folks have heard me say many times, “We spent a week in Haines one day.” --years before this trip. But even seasoned Haines residents had never seen rain to compare with the Watkins week. Even those brave enough to attend the Fair stayed in the one building with a roof over their heads. Even the area with a stage had a tarp that had to be emptied of the water that accumulated. And it seems that before week’s end that tarp gave way.
The façade building was only deep enough for one person at a time, There was no electricity to it, and besides being damp, it was cold. By week’s end, someone had run an extension cord out to me and plugged a space heater into the socket to keep me warm. At least my ankles dried out from the heat source.
The only prospective customers dropping by wanted to talk about how they had once sold Watkins, and what a great product it was and how they thought they still had some.
Well, as the week wound down, we loaded all of our fortune-making product into the car; onto the ferry, and into our Juneau friends’ garage. The only real sell I made was to Kathy, who signed up to be a salesperson; I am certain it was a pity move. Anyway, imagine the poor folks behind us in line at the airport…luggage, at least 15 boxes, well you know. And Alaska Airlines did not even charge us for the extra! AND the Watkins folks took back all of the unsold items.
Anyway, that is part of the story of one of the lessons God has taught me when I try to do His job.
When we arrived in Haines, our friends said for us to use their Cadillac for the week; the keys were in the ignition. Of course, we are talking an old car with Alaska rust. One door was wired closed so everyone climbed in through the driver’s side. I will never know why John went along with my scheme, but he did. He patiently carried all of those boxes into the tiny façade of a building allotted for just my product. That structure was leftover from the making of the movie “White Fang.” It still stands today.
Well, as folks have heard me say many times, “We spent a week in Haines one day.” --years before this trip. But even seasoned Haines residents had never seen rain to compare with the Watkins week. Even those brave enough to attend the Fair stayed in the one building with a roof over their heads. Even the area with a stage had a tarp that had to be emptied of the water that accumulated. And it seems that before week’s end that tarp gave way.
The façade building was only deep enough for one person at a time, There was no electricity to it, and besides being damp, it was cold. By week’s end, someone had run an extension cord out to me and plugged a space heater into the socket to keep me warm. At least my ankles dried out from the heat source.
The only prospective customers dropping by wanted to talk about how they had once sold Watkins, and what a great product it was and how they thought they still had some.
Well, as the week wound down, we loaded all of our fortune-making product into the car; onto the ferry, and into our Juneau friends’ garage. The only real sell I made was to Kathy, who signed up to be a salesperson; I am certain it was a pity move. Anyway, imagine the poor folks behind us in line at the airport…luggage, at least 15 boxes, well you know. And Alaska Airlines did not even charge us for the extra! AND the Watkins folks took back all of the unsold items.
Anyway, that is part of the story of one of the lessons God has taught me when I try to do His job.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Deja Vu all Over Again...
I just thought it was funny enough to share with my blog that I received two strange emails yesterday.
In the subject line of the first message was something about a credit card. Upon opening it, I found that my cousin's husband had forwarded their credit card bill to Dillards! Since I've only once been inside a Dillards and since there are none that I know of on the West Coast, I figured somehow it was a mistake. The sender has no idea how it happened.
The subject line for the second email said "query." If you recall, when I sent my query to an agent recently, I had a couple of typographical errors, one of which was in the address. So I sent the same letter a second time to be certain he received it. Well, guess what?! He received both. I know because a duplicate rejection letter came yesterday.
In the subject line of the first message was something about a credit card. Upon opening it, I found that my cousin's husband had forwarded their credit card bill to Dillards! Since I've only once been inside a Dillards and since there are none that I know of on the West Coast, I figured somehow it was a mistake. The sender has no idea how it happened.
The subject line for the second email said "query." If you recall, when I sent my query to an agent recently, I had a couple of typographical errors, one of which was in the address. So I sent the same letter a second time to be certain he received it. Well, guess what?! He received both. I know because a duplicate rejection letter came yesterday.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Get on your mark...Get set...
This is the week of our Big annual race. Not a relay, silly. No; not a marathon. Nope, not an iron-man race either. You have had three guesses. Give up?
This is the week that the starlings and grackles return to our yard. They have come for (what they consider their own) harvest time. They come by the thousands, and they can wipe out an entire crop of grapes in one afternoon. They are bandits. Each year, we can expect to see at least one news article with pictures of the black birds diving by the thousands into a favorite chimney in this area.
We watch them arrive on a weather front and speckle our yard and skyline in throngs. They load the enormous electrical towers until there is no space for another bird. Once they arrive enmass, we know we are too late to even place our toes on the starting line. Okay, I admit that we have been known to jump the starting signal and harvest some very tart grapes.
There are many methods used by desperate folk to try to keep them away. One local farmer has a recording of a gunshot being fired every little bit.Some years ago, we even saw a carcass of one hanging on a fence. Of course, there are scarecrows, fake owls, hanging CD’s in order to reflect the sun, hanging streamers of video tape for the unfamiliar sound and movement in the trees, and always there is covering with net. This is the protective method we most often choose.
But, this year, our crop is small so we picked them when our family taster gave us the "go ahead.” Granted, the first frost has not yet arrived, but the fruit is sweet this year even before the frost. Yep, this year, we won the race. The crop was tiny, but the reward of tasting the fruits of John’s labor is sweet.
This is the week that the starlings and grackles return to our yard. They have come for (what they consider their own) harvest time. They come by the thousands, and they can wipe out an entire crop of grapes in one afternoon. They are bandits. Each year, we can expect to see at least one news article with pictures of the black birds diving by the thousands into a favorite chimney in this area.
We watch them arrive on a weather front and speckle our yard and skyline in throngs. They load the enormous electrical towers until there is no space for another bird. Once they arrive enmass, we know we are too late to even place our toes on the starting line. Okay, I admit that we have been known to jump the starting signal and harvest some very tart grapes.
There are many methods used by desperate folk to try to keep them away. One local farmer has a recording of a gunshot being fired every little bit.Some years ago, we even saw a carcass of one hanging on a fence. Of course, there are scarecrows, fake owls, hanging CD’s in order to reflect the sun, hanging streamers of video tape for the unfamiliar sound and movement in the trees, and always there is covering with net. This is the protective method we most often choose.
But, this year, our crop is small so we picked them when our family taster gave us the "go ahead.” Granted, the first frost has not yet arrived, but the fruit is sweet this year even before the frost. Yep, this year, we won the race. The crop was tiny, but the reward of tasting the fruits of John’s labor is sweet.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Learning to Accept
Well, the very kind letter of rejection came in less than a week. The agent with the misspelled name did not write it; he asked an associate to let me know Jessie just does not fit their needs at this time. How does it feel? It is never easy to be rejected when the rejectors have never asked to see the book. The good news is that, on that very same morning, someone ordered two books through Lulu.com., bringing my total sales to 918 in just over 10 months.
Friday, September 7, 2007
life's little lessons
One does not have to know me well to know that God chose me to be John's humbling agent. Anything my hubby does is error free. In contrast, a motto I embraced early in life is "It's okay to be wrong as long as you are consistently wrong." That way, folks can often be fooled into thinking you may be right.
For example, two days ago, I sent a query letter to an agent for Jessie. This agent is one I have watched with interest because not only does he accept email but he also is reputed to answer queries within five minutes. For those who may not know, most letters of rejection don't arrive for agonizing weeks and by pony express or US postal service. Not only do I not know what an acceptance letter looks like,I do not even know anyone who does. Okey...okey...back to my original thought.
Well, without revealing this man's name for fear he could be inundated with manuscripts let me just continue. I wrote my letter in "Microsoft Word" and copied and transferred it to be emailed. It had been checked carefully for any possible problem, and (trust me) it was error free....until last night. Just as I was heading for bed, I decided to read this masterpiece one more time, to savor something done correctly. Just as my eyes grazed past the date, "What is this? Those computer gremlins have been working overtime!"
The agent's name was not spelled the same in the email address as in my greeting! Well, like a scab that is almost healed, this could not be left alone. I quickly removed the blatant letter of error and repaired his name to be the same as in the address. That was when I noticed a possible lifesaving error. Tucked in the left-hand margin of the space allotted for email addresses was a teeny, tiny dot (') that may have saved my skin. I can hope against hope that the first letter I sent is still searching for an agent whose address begins with an '. Meanwhile, I still await a reply.
My Mother had lots of wise sayings, one of which was "Two wrongs don't make a right." I am hoping, this time, that she was wrong.
Happy Birthday, Sam.
For example, two days ago, I sent a query letter to an agent for Jessie. This agent is one I have watched with interest because not only does he accept email but he also is reputed to answer queries within five minutes. For those who may not know, most letters of rejection don't arrive for agonizing weeks and by pony express or US postal service. Not only do I not know what an acceptance letter looks like,I do not even know anyone who does. Okey...okey...back to my original thought.
Well, without revealing this man's name for fear he could be inundated with manuscripts let me just continue. I wrote my letter in "Microsoft Word" and copied and transferred it to be emailed. It had been checked carefully for any possible problem, and (trust me) it was error free....until last night. Just as I was heading for bed, I decided to read this masterpiece one more time, to savor something done correctly. Just as my eyes grazed past the date, "What is this? Those computer gremlins have been working overtime!"
The agent's name was not spelled the same in the email address as in my greeting! Well, like a scab that is almost healed, this could not be left alone. I quickly removed the blatant letter of error and repaired his name to be the same as in the address. That was when I noticed a possible lifesaving error. Tucked in the left-hand margin of the space allotted for email addresses was a teeny, tiny dot (') that may have saved my skin. I can hope against hope that the first letter I sent is still searching for an agent whose address begins with an '. Meanwhile, I still await a reply.
My Mother had lots of wise sayings, one of which was "Two wrongs don't make a right." I am hoping, this time, that she was wrong.
Happy Birthday, Sam.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
A LOST ART
I received in the mail this week, believe it or not, a hand-written letter. This was not an oligatory thank you note for "the (fill in the blank) gift you gave us. I know we will use it a lot" No. This was a genuine 4-page piece of correspondence. There was nothing earth-shattering in the letter, just a hello and catching me up on her family's news.
In my recent letter, Patsy (the writer) shared with me about the camp we missed in eastern Oregon. Her best try for watermelon-seed spitting was just over 4 feet. She was whooped by a 10-year-old whose seed soared past 23 feet. There were photos from the camp: 1)tug-of-war, 2)beautiful sunset, and 3) look how my grandson has grown in one year. She purposely decided not to bring her needles and supplies for making pine needle baskets and, instead, brought a good book to read.
My Mother was a letter writer. For our 20 years in Alaska, Mother faithfully wrote me 2, 3, 5 times a week, sharing with me what she had seen at Gottschelks (her favorite store) or what she was fixing for dinner, or family news. Even after her death, I received two letters from her. Today is the anniversary of my father's death; he joined mother to their grave almost to the day one year later. I miss many things about my mother, but the greatest emptiness felt is evidenced each day when I open the mailbox.
Now, the reader may think that I am leading up to answering Patsy's letter with a pen-to-the-paoer letter from me, but that conclusion would be incorrect. At Christmas, I will send her one of our year-in-review newsletters,
In my recent letter, Patsy (the writer) shared with me about the camp we missed in eastern Oregon. Her best try for watermelon-seed spitting was just over 4 feet. She was whooped by a 10-year-old whose seed soared past 23 feet. There were photos from the camp: 1)tug-of-war, 2)beautiful sunset, and 3) look how my grandson has grown in one year. She purposely decided not to bring her needles and supplies for making pine needle baskets and, instead, brought a good book to read.
My Mother was a letter writer. For our 20 years in Alaska, Mother faithfully wrote me 2, 3, 5 times a week, sharing with me what she had seen at Gottschelks (her favorite store) or what she was fixing for dinner, or family news. Even after her death, I received two letters from her. Today is the anniversary of my father's death; he joined mother to their grave almost to the day one year later. I miss many things about my mother, but the greatest emptiness felt is evidenced each day when I open the mailbox.
Now, the reader may think that I am leading up to answering Patsy's letter with a pen-to-the-paoer letter from me, but that conclusion would be incorrect. At Christmas, I will send her one of our year-in-review newsletters,
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