Life's small miracles

I sat for a bit today and reflected back on 2011. Usually we do this as the year ends, but I'm a procrastinator, so I got an early start.

I have to say, my trip down memory lane went far beyond 2011, and before I knew it, I found myself deep in the past.

Now, given the events of last month, taking a trip down memory lane to review the many gratitudes of the past, is not a bad thing. Many have experienced losses we cannot fathom, and more than ever, hope is essential. It reminds us that while things sometimes seem hopeless, they are not, for life has an ebb and flow, and for every difficult time, there is a good time to maintain the balance.

It was these times I was reflecting on, as I pondered how to reclaim the good life I once had.

I was reminded of one singular event, one amazing moment, so brilliant in its perfection, it may never be outdone by another. I am okay with this.

It was, in itself, a small miracle, as it almost didn't happen.

The story goes a little bit like this. I say "a little bit," because I have a rotten memory at times, I write fiction, so embellishment could happen, and I am still pretty sure that long-term exposure to kerosene fumes causes brain damage. I might be brain damaged, but it's hard to tell, since I'm not really any more effed up now than I was prior to this past March.

Anyhow, I digress. It's probably the brain damage.

Back to the story.

It was summer of 2005, and I was knee-deep in my new found obsession with theater. I didn't have a script in my purse for the first time in months, and I was getting nervous.

Our theater group in Norwich announced auditions for The Sound of Music. I liked music, and I'd watched the movie fifty times, so I figured I was a good candidate. Like any diva, I went for the brass ring, and sang my heart out for the part of Maria. I knew, just knew, I'd die if I didn't get it.

Well, as the story goes, I didn't get it, and the funny part is, the absolutely mystifying part is...... I didn't die.

Actually, it gets better.

I didn't want to be Maria after all.

Here's why.

After singing my heart out for the coveted lead, I was asked to sing for the role of Mother Superior.

A nun?

Why not?

Nobody would find this surprising, since I was getting up there in years, hadn't had a boyfriend in a sad stretch, and had a lot of cats.

I didn't think I wanted the part, but I sang the song, and knew, this was the role of a lifetime. I had to have that part. If I didn't get it, I'd die, for sure.

But I didn't die, because I landed the role. Now, here is where it gets interesting.

I guess I got the role because I was "the voice." Evidently - and we're gonna get spiritual here - The Sound of Music almost didn't happen. The role of Mother Superior is hard to cast. Climb Every Mountain is one hard song to sing. I know. I sang it about 400 times before the whole shindig was wrapped up. The director had toiled over whether or not she could cast the show, and in a moment of need, asked God for guidance. That night, she had a dream. In the dream, someone was singing Climb Every Mountain, but as dreams go, of course, she couldn't see the woman's face.

So, she woke that August morning with a new quest. Find "the voice."

I was it.

She cried when she told me the story. I cried, too. Little did I know, I would cry a few more times before the show closed.

On a Sunday afternoon, in November of 2005, a very sick man got into the passenger seat of his car in Chenango Bridge, wrapped in a blanket, medicine in hand, to make the trip to Norwich to see his daughter play the role of Mother Superior.

In case you're slow, or brain damaged too, the daughter is me.

The day was divine, warm, unseasonably so for a day in November, in New York, when it should be snowing.

He arrived without issue, took his place in the center of the audience, and the show began. The first Act went beautifully, quickly, and then it was time.

It was time for me to step into the spotlight and do what I'd rehearsed some 399 times.

I never look into the audience. I look above them, and not because I'm arrogant, but because it's easier, and you really can't see them anyhow. This time, I looked, and there he was, my dad, weeks away from taking his last breath.

Everyone else disappeared.

It was just me.

And Dad.

The spotlight took on an ethereal glow, and I said a silent prayer.

"Just this time, God. Just this time, let it be perfect."

And, it was.

Time paused, and I stood in the light of God, and sang my heart out. I sang to a man who might never hear me sing again.

He didn't.

In a few short weeks, he was gone. Cancer had commandeered his body, and on a cold January night, he left me.

But what he left was greater. He left me a perfect moment, a perfect memory, that if not for his presence, and even the nasty disease which had stolen him, would not have been so poignant.

It was a moment that almost didn't happen.

Time passed. The lights went out, the set was struck, the debris was swept away, and the snot I plastered all over the coat of the soldier on whose shoulder I wept, dried.

Many days have gone by since that one, most remarkable day. Some have been good, some great, some lousy, and some, this year especially, just plain awful.

It is, as I said, the ebb and flow of life.

No matter what came after, or what comes next, I will always have that one, divine moment.

It was, I thought, a small miracle.

Now I know, it might have been the greatest one of all.......

In the aftermath of tragedy

In the days that followed what will likely be known as the Great Flood of 2011, as an observer of life, naturally, I am observing, and basking in what I've seen.

The resiliency of this community is astounding to me. I see those with the least reaching out to help those who have nothing. I've seen the best and worst.

I've heard stories of looters, and heroes, and, of course, Petco. Let's not go to the Petco just yet. In fact, I may reserve that for another blog, and I expect you'll see a follow-up on that on my Examiner page.

I've seen tragedy. In fact, I've probably seen more than most people will ever see, at least on a personal basis. Do I want you to feel sorry for me? No, I do not. I'd like you to buy my book, and those yet to be published, but I don't need sympathy.

In fact, I'm proud of my survival skills, and I'm happy to put them to good use in problem solving, and especially when given the opportunity to help someone else.

A friend told me something interesting today, and if this isn't putting a positive spin on something negative, I don't know what is. Her basement flooded. In fact, I know it did, because while it's been hoed out by some of the finest people I've ever met, I can still smell it. It smells bad, but she knows this, so I won't point it out. It smells worse than my Sunflower perfume, but slightly better than the garbage can on the patio, two days after I deposit fifteen pounds of dog shit in it. This smell is somewhere in between.

And while the smell remains, so does the gratitude, and a lot of people might find this odd, but I don't. I think if you can stand in three feet of river water in your basement and find something to be grateful for, you've got damn good character. If you're this kind of person, I want to hang out with you.

Come over!

I'll make margaritas, and we'll chat about how much worse things could be, and not to be fatalists, but to be damn glad we've got each other, our meager belongings, a damn good blender, and a local store that sells margarita salt. You're a good egg, my friend, and you know who you are.

So, anyway......

Getting back to the silver lining. A pile of flooded belongings can be a trip down memory lane, and it proved such for my good friend. Soggy boxes yielded memories of days gone by, an opportunity to laugh, and reminisce.

I too found a silver lining in this past week's disaster. Despite the fact that I evacuated six months early, and not because I'm wicked proactive, or own a magic Almanac, but because I've got my own cross to bear, I found comfort in being safe and out of the water's way. I found comfort in the fact that I found myself useful to someone in need. I was proud to care and empathize with those who had lost so much, and still found the ability to reach for the hand of a friend who had less.

I was royally ticked at Petco, but again, we'll come back to that. I was also royally ticked at the whiners, who cannot for a moment emphathize with another, because they're so wrapped up in their own self misery.

Set it aside for a minute folks, and grab a bucket. Someone could use your help bailing out. I don't particularly want to hear you bitch because you don't have cable. Things could be worse! You could have ten feet of water in your house, or be a hamster at Petco.

Shut up!

So, in addition to the horrible and wonderful things I've seen this week, I am pretty sure I found a way to fix our current administration.

I don't think we need to vote for another president. I think we need to let the pack assembled at Cup-A-Jo this past Saturday, run the country. We won't have a president. We'll have a bunch of presidents, and we'll have really good coffee. In fact, I'm having some now, and when I'm done, I'm gonna figure out how to get a group on the ballot.

We don't have a white house here, but we have a white fence. We don't have an oval office, but we could get some room dividers, set 'em up just right, and make an oval space. We won't need to spend two-thousand bucks on toilets, because if ours breaks, we'll just get Don to fix it.

Sometimes it doesn't need to be as complex as we make it. If you've got water in your basement, get a bucket, a few friends, some sandwiches and curly fries from Arby's, put a pot of coffee on, and get the shit out! We didn't need to take a majority vote, we just did it. We didn't need to be politically correct, because frankly, I'm not necessarily PC, and Don sure isn't, but we got shit done anyway.

The clothes were wet, so Sue washed them. There was water on the floor, so Chuck got it with a ShopVac. He didn't go ten days over deadline trying to figure out who was to blame for the seepage, he just vacuumed it up.

Elana, our smallest warrior, kept everyone in check, and she'll be our Junior President, or a Prez-in-training, but anyone who has kids, has been around kids, or watches Kate Plus Eight, knows that kids run shit anyway. So, Elana will be running the country, and I'm okay with this. We'll just drive her around, because she's only ten and can't see over the steering wheel yet.

Amy got cut, so she put a bandage on, and went back to work. She didn't need to get a committee to figure out how she got cut, and if there was someone who needed to be sued, or a product that needed to be recalled. She got cut, she washed it off, got a dinosaur bandaid and went back to work.

Sometimes we just need to fix problems the old fashioned way. Bail the water out, get a snack, a cup of coffee, and move on. The water rose, but so did we, and so did so many others in this trying time.

So, that's what I learned this past week. What did you learn? Did you learn to be better, more prepared, kinder? Did you learn to shop locally, where someone with a kayak will rescue a lizard, instead of letting it drown, and then blaming it on the Mayor? I know, I wasn't going there, but it was just for a moment, and I couldn't help it.

Any of those will serve you well. Also, when the water rises, it's good to have a friend whose hand you can hold, or someone who needs you to hold them up. It's also good to have a sense of humor, some batteries, instant coffee, a big heart, and a canoe.

Your life is never empty if your soul is full.

Mine is.

Back later with more.........

And Petco.

The ramblings of life

Today I was reminded of Steel Magnolias, of the group of fiery-spirited southern friends who laugh and cry together.

This group of friends is repeated all over the world. I have one. I can only hope that you have one, too. Life is nothing without them, these people we can call on when our hair dye job goes bad, we've run out of gas, got a new job, lost a job, lost ten pounds, or gained five.

They are always there for us, and we for them. They aren't "fair weather," friends, they're "all the time," friends. Good or bad, they're by our side.

I was sitting with such a friend when a bad call came in. We all know what it's like to get bad calls. One of the constants in life is that bad calls will come. They seep in unexpectedly, while we're having coffee, updating our Facebook status, toiling about in our daily job, or crawling around in the blogosphere.

I watched my friend's face change, saw her body tremble, as she tried to absorb the news that a friend had died. I hurt for her at that moment, and I hurt still. I also feel pain for the family.

It's called empathy, and the more I travel throughout this great, big world, the more I find that very few of us have this. It's an ability to put ourselves in someone else's position, walk a mile in their Jimmy Choos, as I've often said, or feel what they're feeling.

There isn't any way to make this funny, so I won't even try. The burden of living always falls to the survivors, those left behind when the hands of fate reach down and snatch someone away unexpectedly.

We cry, and mourn, and sometimes we throw things. At least I do. I threw a lot of things while my dad was ill some years back. The upside was I never really had anything that nice, so I never missed the things I threw. I throw pretty hard. Most of that crap is broken and long gone.

I digress.

Getting back to empathy.

If you look around you, a lot of what you'll see is blank faces, blank expressions, blank stares. I'm not blank.

If you know me, you know I'm one colorful gal. If I were younger, and had better knees, I'd be on Glee. I accept this as gospel. If there's ever a Glee for older gals, with canes, reading glasses, Metamucil & Ben Gay, I'm gonna be on it.

So, what does this have to do with empathy, you ask?

A lot.

It's about feeling. The only way to truly embrace the joys in life, is to let the bad things in, too. Allow yourself to feel for someone else. Share in their joys, their losses, their good days, and their bad.

I'm sitting in a coffee shop right now. It's quiet because it's closed. I'm still here because the owner is in my Steel Magnolias club. She's my buddy, my friend, a confidant, and a small miracle. I thank God every day for the clusterf*$k of events that led me to her doorstep last year.

I'm watching the cars pass by, the people busy with their evening tasks. In some ways, I'm amazed. My friend is hurting because someone she cared about has died. Despite this, the traffic still moves, people bustle, voices carry from next door, and a gentle wind lifts the American flag and sets it back down again.

Life doesn't stop, not even for a moment. We enter the world and leave it in the same way, while everything else just happens around us.

Life is fleeting, this is one of the lessons I've learned. We're here one moment, and the next, we're gone. If we're lucky, someone will remember us, we'll leave a stamp on this life, a mark on someone's heart.

Personally, I want to stay a long time, at least until I get my truck cleaned out. I cannot imagine leaving someone to clean up that mess. But, we don't know. We never know what moment might be our last. I suppose it's best if we make them count.

I want to be missed, and I know that seems macabre. I want people to miss me, because I want to make an impact on this world. I want people to be better for knowing me. I want to make them smile, and laugh, and I'd really like them to care more. I care a lot. I'm trying to make that cool. It's cool to care.

We need to care about others, the world in which we live, and our environment.

Speaking of which, I'd also like people to put their gum someplace other than the parking lot at work. I'm quite sick of stepping in it.

Looking back at this blog, I see it's rather "all over the place," as the saying goes, and I suppose this is okay. There are times when our minds are scattered, as mine is right now. I guess it's the empathy, and the fact that my mind is heavy with the weight of empathy, and my heart a bit broken at the sight of a friend's tears.

I know you'll forgive me my ramblings. The things you adore about me don't come in a perfect person. They come in this one.

I'm okay with being flawed. It is in the flaws where we find the beauty of life. It is beautiful, if only we'd take the time to look.

I just did.

There's a man on a bike, a woman walking off her cheesecake, a dog.... um, a dog doing his business. Wow, at least once a day I see a dog doing his business. What is up with that?

Anyhow......

I suppose it's time I close this laptop and get out there and embrace life, because one day the "call" will be about me.

But life is about what we do before the phone rings.........

Intersections

We all know them, intersections where people meet, become friends, and sometimes family. I work in such a place. To some, it may seem a place of good food, a refuge where one can obtain a sweet, frozen treat on a hot day. To me, it is a place where I have found value again as a human, where I am needed, and I have found a new family there.

We are a unique bunch.

My Russia-obsessed comrade, who delights me with his knowledge of facts, and his wit, delightfully profound for someone so young. He is imposing in size, but sweet, and you know this if you look in his eyes. He's also good for moving heavy things, and sweet-talking an aging ice cream machine, or co-worker.

My youngest fan, who reminds me daily of how I struggled to become a woman, from a child, as I changed, and the world changed around me. A beautiful woman-child whose entire life lays before her. We must save the world, for her, and others like her. We owe it to them, this new generation of hopeful.

Our resident soccer player, who reminds me not to complain about my aging feet, as she stands tall on hers, once broken, now healing. A sweet girl, once too shy to speak to me, for she must have felt unworthy. She was wrong about this, for I am simply an older version of her. She has validated my worth, reminded me of how my contributions touch and touched others, at a time when I have nearly lost everything. In time, I have revealed my wounds to her, and it is in this way that we become real and human, to others.

The college bound high school graduate, who has restored my faith in the work ethic of the young. She wipes the counters clean, sweeps the colored decorettes (the official name for rainbow sprinkles),all the while dreaming of the days before her, as she charts the remainder of her life. She is uncertain, and while she may fail at times, she will grow from this, as we all do. I predict her successes will outweigh her failures, and she will open many a door with her beautiful smile and radiance.

The experienced twist maker, whose cones are perfect, far better than mine, who is patient as I learn the closing procedures, and soak myself with the evil sprayer in the dish washing sink. She will adapt to my bizarre sense of humor, and already I see myself in her, in her rare “Cat” moments.

The milkshake making man, the son of a single mom, who is proof that some men become good because they begin good. If your ice cream maker explodes, he is the man to call. Never stop smiling, or making me laugh. I so enjoy the hours I spend with you. Your “situations,” while heart-pounding, are manageable. I will always know to keep Bandaids on hand.

And then there is the walking work of art, tattooed, but more gentle than he'd admit, patient with my floundering, as I adjust to a new career, serving food to those happy, and those not. I am still searching for Abba's greatest hits for you, my friend. I promise it will be under your tree on Christmas morning.

And, our fearless leader, who is beautiful, even when she thinks she's not, and far more courageous than she knows. Our ringleader, a hero in my book, offering a job to a forgotten misfit, like me. She believes I am better than I think, in this time when I remain a bit broken by all that has come before. My scars are much likes hers. They are simply lines on a map of a journey that is our lives.

She knows this is a stop along the roadway, as I become what I have always known I would be.

Johnny Depp's wife.

Oh, right. We're talking about reality here.....

Okay. Okay.

I am a writer, a messenger, one destined to remind the world about joy in simplicity, and how tragedy, no matter how ugly, is sometimes beautiful in its aftermath. I accept how I differ from others, this unique, childlike woman who adores cats, dogs, the ocean, our walk-in cooler, and a perfectly made banana split.

While I have not become an overnight sensation, as I was once sure I'd be, when I was filled with optimism and vodka, I now realize how lucky I am.

Had I fast tracked to fame, I'd have missed this intersection and the opportunity to become part of this zany family, in the tiny building in upstate New York, part of a small miracle we call Big Dipper 2.

You should come see us. Our food is wonderful and, needless to say, so is our family.........

Plug us into your GPS. We're at 1167 Conklin Road, Conklin. You'll either end up with a great meal or frozen treat, or in the ghettos of Newark, New Jersey. Some GPS devices are tricky that way.

Just another manic Monday.....

So, here we are at Friday. And, with Friday in full bloom, I cannot help but reflect on Monday. Monday stunk, as Monday's often do, but with a little positive thinking, we can all have good Mondays. And, if I can say that, after the Monday I had this week, the rest of you have nothing to worry about.

You see, my Monday was Tuesday, proving Mondayitis is nothing more than a state of mind. This is a powerful truth. Ask anyone going back to work on Tuesday from a long weekend. Mondayitis is a result of the thoughts we put into the Universe about Monday.

So, my pseudo Monday, aka Tuesday, began like any other. The royal hounds deposited a veritable minefield in the front yard. The Queen Mother wobbled on her way to the kitchen, and grumbled about the sad state of affairs in the Universe, to which her daughter is in service, as its queen.

I took off in the Royal Chevy, with its broken gas gauge, destined for my fabulous job in the royal hamlet of Conklin. There are certain errors that are colossal, and create what is called an “epic fail,” and create an apocalyptic situation. What happened Tuesday morning was nothing less than absolute pandemonium. I ran out of gas at KAMIKAZEE CURVE. I failed to remember that the royal fleet needed to be refueled. And this isn't exactly and “oops”moment. This is an “are you out of your effing mind?” moment.

And, you Binghamtonians know the power of this error. Let me tell you, sitting on the shoulder at Kamikazee curve is the equivalent of the theme park ride from hell. You keep your hands and feet inside that ride, unless you want to lose them! Eighteen wheelers tear around the curve in a race to see who can get to Pennsylvania first. And let me tell you, you know when they've passed. The royal Chevy shook like Santa's belly, and your Queen just about crapped her royal knickers. And, as much as it pains me to speak of anything intestinal in this blog, I must. If you can run out of gas at Kamikazee curve, sit there for over thirty minutes, and arrive at work without needing clean underpants, you've got bowels of steel. Plain and simple.

Eat the burrito grande, because nothing can touch you!

So, I sat there, praying for my life, until my brother's car filled my rear view mirror. I had been saved! This man is my hero, and if I'm Queen of the Universe, this strapping (soon to be available) man is the Duke of Hillcrest. I have never been so happy to see another human being.

I finally arrived at work, grateful for the sheer pleasure of being alive, and thinking nothing else could touch me on this, the most powerful of pseudo Mondays.

I was wrong......

Check back to find out why..........

Being royally screwed.

So, like all world officials, sometimes the Queen of the Universe makes a cardinal mistake. I made such a faux pas last night, as I was looking ahead to what today might bring. I knew it would be one hell of a day, and I happened to say that out loud. Words are tough; it's hard to take them back once they're out there. If you doubt this, ask Mel Gibson, Rush Limbaugh, or even the notorious Anthony Weiner. You can't unring a bell, or unpost a picture of your weiner.

In my state of being royally exhausted, I slipped. I voiced, aloud, my fear that today might royally suck. And, as the Universe would have it, I am not left disappointed.

But, like all humans, those royal, and those not, I have the opportunity to redeem this day. And, I plan to do just that.

After all, why not?

I woke up on this side of the dirt, and that alone is an opportunity.

But, before I move to redemption, let me share with you, my loyal followers, exactly how I managed to screw myself royally. This should serve as a lesson to each of you. Be careful what you tell the universe, because it is always listening.

If you tread carefully, in your Jimmy Choos, certain you will step in dog shit, pack some paper towels, because, "step in dog shit," you will certainly do. You have, by the magnetism of the Universe, drawn the shit into the radius in which you plan to meander. Such is the law of attraction. Think of shit, worry about shit, step in shit. It's not a twelve step program, it's only three. Easier to remember, and it doesn't require you to hang out in a church basement that reeks of Mister Clean and old-lady perfume.

Disclaimer: The Queen of the Universe means no offense to those older red-hat-wearing divas. You ladies rock! Keep up the good work.

So, remember these three steps. Memorize them, and use them wisely. But, if you do step in shit, call me, email me, Facebook me, Twitter me, text me, mail me a letter, or stop by the royal palace. I've spent years picking up after the royal hounds. I have more methods for cleaning shit out of Choos than we have philandering senators.

Impressive. I know.

So, back to getting what I wanted. And, you all need to read this, take it in, process it, and treat it as gospel. If you tell the Universe you're going to have a bad day, you'll get exactly what you wanted. Because, it's what you asked for.

Exhibit A: Your Queen was up until about 4:00 AM, bawling royal tears. This isn't a royal thing, it's an estrogen thing. Sometimes the floodgates just open, and it's best to let it all out. I left no one disappointed. I sobbed until I couldn't breathe, and when I was done, I looked like hell, and felt fabulous. Then I did it. I said it, I thought it, and I was royally screwed. I said I was going to have a bad day.

And, I have.

The alarm rang at 8:00 AM. I dragged myself from my queen size bed and shuffled to the loo. I passed the mirror, and turned. It's true what they say, we can't just pass by a train wreck, we have to look. So, I looked into the mirror, through swollen eyes, and the thing I saw there grimaced. Trust me, it was frightening. It made Linda Pearl, in full Exorcist throttle, look like Miss America.

I spit up some pea soup, dragged myself into the shower, righted myself to where I wouldn't get busted for crimes against humanity, and left the safety of my temporary home to face the world.

That's pretty much when everything went to shit.

I might have broken the law. It wasn't intentional, but I knew I was doing something wrong, and in my state of royal desperation, and with only three hours of sleep under my belt, I made an error in judgment. On this, I will not elaborate. If I'm arrested, convicted, and thrown in my sister's pod - God forbid - we'll call the press to do an article, and then you'll know the details. For now, take my word for it. I almost landed my royal ass in the slammer.

And, just when I didn't think things could get worse - despite the fact that I'd asked for it - I noticed the car keys in the console of the Chevy Blazer - part of the royal fleet - and, of course, the doors were locked. Thank God for Roadside Assistance. If you're a royal idiot, like I am, get Roadside Assistance. Two three-minute calls, forty-five minutes of standing in the hot sun, one fully-equipped tow truck, and your Queen was mobile again. And, in the interest of saving time, I asked the guy if he was interested in putting the royal Chevy on the tow truck today. This way I don't have to call him again next week.

So, moral of the story, my minnions.... be careful what you ask for.

Surely, you will get it....

The Queen of the Universe seeks thousands of book readers

So, folks, I have blogged about being Queen of the Universe, about my most efficient banana-split-making skills, but I've yet to speak of my ultimate quest.

As queen, I have a limited following, because obviously, word hasn't gotten out yet. If people knew I was queen, I'd have a virtual shitload of followers, and people would be tweeting about me constantly, and that would rock, although I wouldn't know, because, although I have an IQ of 156, I cannot figure out the mechanics of Twitter!

I digress.

Now, once word gets out that I'm queen, let's face it, I can't be going to the grocery store in my Winnie the Pooh pajamas anymore. Be honest, would you curtsy to someone in Winnie the Pooh pajamas?

Yeah, I didn't think so.

I'll have to have a "Queen-like" appearance at all times, which could be a real issue for me, but that's okay. I figure it's gonna be a while before this whole Queen thing sticks, so in the meantime, I need to stay focused on the most massive of quests.

How do I get thousands of people to buy my book, when no one knows about it, and I have so few loyal subjects?

That, my minions, is my ultimate quest.

As you know, the royal palace is severely damaged, and at this time, your queen is living with the queen mother, which is another "real issue" for me. Now, our digs aren't like Buckingham Palace, they're like US suburbia. The queen mother doesn't have her own wing. She's perched on the queen mother couch, clutching the remote as if it holds the key to every unanswered question in the Universe.

Maybe it does.

So, I am faced with the problem of how to fix the royal palace, as the position of Queen of the Universe is, at present, a volunteer position.

SELL MORE BOOKS!

And, yes, my loyal, royal followers, I know this sounds like a pop-up, a 2:00 AM infomercial, or part of the Nigerian Uncle scam, but that is the answer to my royal dilemma.

Holy, royal shit!

Did I fail to mention that the Queen of the Universe is a published author?

I am.

Most of you know that, so I am not telling you anything new, but every once in a while I love that rush of saying it out loud, putting it on paper, or seeing it magically appear on the screen in front of me.

You see, it reminds me of last year when I first said the words, before I knew that being a published author, and fourteen quarters would buy you a latte.

If you don't have a lot of royal subjects lining up to buy your books, being a published author isn't really all that big a deal in the industry. In my head, it's a big deal.

In the real world, not so much.

So, I MUST find a way to SELL MORE BOOKS.

This way, if the royal palace cannot be saved, we'll have a royal bonfire with the existing house (controlled by the local fire department, of course), and put in a royal Doublewide.

Yes, my friends, it's a new day and the thing that country songs are made from.....

Some queens live in Doublewides.

So, I must remain true to my quest and find a way to raise funds to repair the royal palace, and the best idea, thus far, is SELL MORE BOOKS.

There was another idea, but it didn't work, and no, I won't leave you hanging....

Of course I'll tell you what it was.

I had a bruise, in which, you could see the face of Jesus.

Now, I know, this sounds like royal bullshit, and I understand, since I am queen, why you'd feel this way.

Honest to God, I saw the face, but the bruise faded before I could find a way to sell it on Ebay.

Bummer.......

So, selling the bruise with the face of Jesus, is out!

MUST SELL MORE BOOKS.

Please support your queen and recommend The House of Roses, by yours truly, Queen of the Universe, aka Cat, aka Cathy, aka "hey, you forgot to shut the refrigerator," pen name...... Holden Robinson.

I bow to you.......