Ever since Snicker’s stroke, things have changed. I’ve become nostalgic for how things used to be but, more than that, how things are right now. Not even this period of my life that I know and love will stay the same. Nothing ever does. Life is fluid – and filled with them.

We take slower, longer walks Snickers and I to savor and smell the flowers and as a result, we’re sneezing frequently and with great gusto. All of which makes me realize I need to buy more boxed tissue. I’ve searched the house for disposable paper products. Post-It-Notes, although gummy, offer absolutely no absorbancy. I’ve been tempted by the contents of the recycle bin but, face it, that stuff’s in there for a reason. Snicker’s doesn’t know what the fuss is about and rubs her snout on the rug. 

Hopefully that too shall pass before summer really hits and I’m walking around in bare feet.

I’m feeling more patriotic then usual this Memorial Day. Perhaps it’s because I made my first trip ever to Washington, D.C. last June and researching pictures for this blog post gave me an opportunity to relive that amazing experience. It’s one thing to study about our country from books and broadcasts. It’s quite another to walk the streets at the heart of our nation’s capital where they breathe the rich history. I especially loved the war memorials and tears still form months later as I look at pictures depicting Arlington Cemetery, the taking of Iwo Jima, the Korean war memorial, the World Wars memorial and the Vietnam Memorial. Walking among them drove home how our country was built, not simply on the democracy of what our nation stands for, but the blood and sacrifice it took to make, and guarantee it.

If you are, relatively speaking, a normal human being then you despise war. Many resent that it has happened, does happen or, god forbid, will continue to happen in the future. I stand among you. Yet, I embrace how it changes us. The inner strength that tragedy brings in its aftermath, enlightenment to what matters in this world, neighbors bound in worthwhile and common goals, profound respect of the tremendous cost to others, rekindled appreciation of what the sacrifice has bestowed upon us, and hopefully, wisdom. This Memorial Day,  may the vicious circle be broken as the age of technology rises ever higher and we, the world, learn the true power of communication.

If you’ve reached a comfort zone with cooking and are confident your dishes taste good, you’re probably at the stage where you want them to look good. If so, you’re ready for the garnish. For most of us it’s a simple sprig of herb placed on top. If you are especially handy with a paring knife, the fancy carved vegetable varieties can showcase your artistic side (face it, you’re an over-achiever with way too much time on your hands and I am envious but applaud you).

These fancy touches sometimes confuse the guests, however, and as lovely as they look you may have them pondering: Do I eat it? Do I leave it on the plate and hide the evidence that I licked the plate clean? What idiot thought a protruding object belonged in a glass that comes disturbingly close to my eye?

Garnish is supposed to hint at an ingredient found in the dish, like slices of candied lemon curled on top of a lemon bundt cake or sprigs of sage emerging from the Thanksgiving turkey’s various orifices. If so, do cherries hidden under colorful paper umbrellas really scream impending brain cell death, amnesia and vague memories of stumbling in a rumba chorus line?

In the culinary world, garnish not only hints at what’s inside, it’s to make the dish more appealing to the eye. 

Even if the dish turns out less-than-satisfying, your guest might at least sample it if it looks like an expert constructed the thing. Such is the elevator pitch or log line. A snippet of intrigue that hints at whats between the book’s covers and with a few short words makes you want to taste it. Consider the teaser for my novel, FADE TO BLACK. “In the world of illusions, there are many secrets. Ian Black has more than most.” You know that Ian is an illusionist, a profession known for its secrets, but he’s hiding something deeper, perhaps darker than what’s behind his curtain. A writer friend’s publisher liked hers so much that they kept it for her breakout novel, BURN OUT. “The last girl on earth – just got company.”

Intrigued? Let’s hope so, because as a writer you are selling your work to an agent, editor, publisher, book seller and/or ultimately, the book buyer with just a few short words.

Creating the perfect log line can be painful, like repeatedly cutting your hand with a pairing knife because God didn’t design radishes for intricate detail work. He designed them to eat. It’s impossible to sum up thousands and thousands of words into a single line or two. Stop trying. Choose one or two primary ingredients that make your dish stand out as something different from the others. Decorate it with a little fluff and appeal to make others want a taste, to find out more.

It’s been said that if you can’t come up with a log line then you don’t know what your story is about. It doesn’t matter how experienced you are, its one of the most painful tasks for a writer. Honestly, I’d rather cater a dinner party for a thousand guests and do the dishes in scaling water with my bare hands.

Over the years I’ve written my share of messages to my son. Notes of love and encouragement stuck in his lunch bags, sentiments that filled up his birthday and every other special occasion cards and single sheet letters (They could have been longer but heaven forbid I bore him or worse, lose his attention).

But my biggest regret is that I never kept a journal of what he has said to me. 

Words and insight that measure his passage of time, growth and development. So, I’ve decided to post my favorites, ones that have stuck with me over the years. It’s his words that showcase what it means for me to be a mother.

• His humming the entire melody to “This Old Man” while strapped in his car seat at the age of 9 months.
• “Mommy, wrapper off,” while handing me a banana.
• “Daddy, there’s bug legs all over you!” When his father returned from a fishing trip with stubble on his face.
• While tugging on his sleeves, “Mommy, these broke.” The weather turned warm and I put him in a short sleeved t-shirt for the first time in months.
• When I picked him up from his first day of kindergarten, he scrunched his nose at me. “Why did you give me such a long first name? It takes forever to write!”
• “The Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy, too!” Glaring at me with his hands on his hips as his innocence evaporated before my eyes at the same moment his brain accepted there was no living, breathing Santa in his world (Thanks to Philip down the street).
• “Mommy you’re the best!” Accompanied by the most heart-felt hug he’s ever given me, for receiving a Tasmanian Devil t-shirt that same Christmas (I wasn’t ready to give up believing and the tag still read, From Santa)
• “You don’t give back something you adopt.” An eight year-old’s wisdom beyond his years. He refused to give up on a brand new puppy when she was found to have a heart defect and there was discussion we might return her to the breeder. Snickers is now fifteen years-old and still ticking and licking.
• His deafening silence when words couldn’t ease his anguish and pain at the loss of his father.
• “I love you, mom.” Not said in passing, etched into a birthday card or tossed in my direction after unwrapping a gift. The times he has said it as a young man and the words unmistakably came from his heart.

Happy Mother’s Day to all!

Attraction. It’s a major factor in getting what we want in life. Flowers use it on the bees, birds strut their plumage and for a variety of attention-getting ideas, turn to mammals (truthfully, I don’t get that whole baboon butt thing, but that might just be me). I’m convinced that sea life invented it with their amazing colors and design combinations which existed long before people walked the earth and we waded after them with our water-proof cameras.

Color equates to nutritious appeal and is always in the back of a chef’s mind, but it’s presentation, the moment our eyes cast upon their work of art that earns the “ahh” and is forever etched into our memories. There’s a reason foods boasting color (hopefully natural, not dyed) are healthier than the bland, lacks-nutrition white stuff. We’re wired to be attracted to them in order to survive. 

While you sit debating with your stomach whether gluttony is actually a sin, anything to avoid destroying the work of art, you won’t notice or mind the miniscule portions.

Every writer should take a cue from nature and add color to your dishes. Make those baboons sit up and take notice (anything to make them plant those rears on the ground and out of my line of vision). Truss up those characters, your locations, that drama. Work on creating colorful dialogue. If you are working with a traditional publisher, pay close attention to that cover. If you’re indie publishing, pay maximum attention to that cover. Remember, bland isn’t healthy and we’re not attracted to it. Present your readers with an eye-popping, I can’t wait to devour, but want to savor it first with my eyes initial impression, or one-of-a-kind story.

They’ll be willing to pay for it, even if it means raiding the pantry before bed later. They’ll never forget how it looked the first time they saw it and that it was worth every penny.

I spent a wad of cash on a nice oven a few years ago because I got tired of having to open the door halfway through my baking and spin the pan around to ensure even cooking. My new appliance boasted convection settings and came with a fan to circulate the heat evenly. 

After several years of baking in it, my oven is still hotter in the back.

It remains one of the mysteries of the universe, but I’m currently at one with my universe and have accepted that I will always have to turn the pan around.

Most writer’s plot their novels with the greatest amount of heat in the back. It’s the universe we live in! But how appealing would a meal be if you forgot to turn the pan around and the first course or two were served undercooked? No one will pick at raw meat or gooey bread dough for long even if the odors coming from the kitchen smell promising. Make sure you spin that pan a few times or that the convection fan is circulating the heat as best as it can throughout the plot. That way your story not only pulls the reader in but moves it along with tasty morsels of intrigue, mystery, suspense or hints of romance and conflict interspersed with larger bites of robust characters, dastardly villains and tantalizing locales.

Your guests will praise you for a well cooked meal and you’ll spare them from having to make up some lame excuse the next time you invite them to your table.