Yesterday I tuned into Today right when Willard Scott was doing his Smuckers birthday segment. I always get a kick out of watching it. I can remember back to when he used to do babies, but then they switched it and now you have to be at least 100 to try and get your birthday featured.

I always get a kick out of what they credit their secret to long life to. Some say things you might expect to help you live a long life. Such as, trying to be a good person, going to/serving in church, eating right, etc. Others say things like laughing a lot, gardening, eating what they want.

Some note that they’re still living independently. Others note that they lived independently until a certain age. Willard even mentions that for some over 100 they tried to get on the show before and he congratulates them for sticking around to do it this time.

But yesterday he featured a woman who was either 103 or 104 (sad, I’ve already forgotten) who was a three time cancer survivor. I was floored. And so inspired.

I want to say Willard has noted other cancer survivors who lived to 100 also, and some who even got it very late in life (like their 80s), but a multiple time cancer survivor?

I mean to tell you, that’s one tough cookie. Having watched my mom go through it twice, and finally succumbing to the lung cancer the second time, then just five months later dealing with my own lymphoma, mentally it’s taken its toll. Not every day, but definitely every week, I still have to deal with my emotional scars from it all.

I know if the cancer does come back, or shows up in one of the other forms I’ve been warned I’m at an increased risk of getting now due to my treatments, I’ll buckle down and deal with. But it would be hard. I think even harder than the first time because I’d know what to expect to some extent.

I think it was sort of a blessing not to know just how sick chemo was going to make me or the toll it would take on my body even after it was done. You can read all you want about other people’s experiences and know you’re going to feel “sick” but experiencing it…whew. Different story.

But then if you need surgery, or get sick during treatments and need to be hospitalized…there are so many things that can go wrong during treatment to delay your healing progress. Again, if it does all you can do is deal with it, but it weighs on your mind.

Yet, this woman survived Life, including three bouts with cancer, to live past 100. Wow.

That someone did gives me a hope and way of looking at the future I hadn’t had but have been desperately needing. So glad I happened to catch her birthday of all of them. I sure hope she had a happy one yesterday. She might not know it, but she ended up giving a gift while she was celebrating.

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Kindle, Kindle, Kindle. That’s all I hear about anymore. It started off with all of my reading friends raving about loving their Kindles. That was last year. It seemed every time I saw a Facebook post it was about how much someone was loving their Kindle.

This year every time I turn around I see people promoting a book they’ve written and are distributing on Kindle. Many of the same reading friends are also writers so they’ve been amongst that set. But so have many of my blogging buddies.

And they all keep touting the same thing: They’re fed up with regular publishers. Why go with them when Kindle (and Nook) make it easy to publish yourself and offer a royalty rate that can’t be beat?

They pose convincing arguments. I have yet to look into publishing via either Kindle or Nook, but my interest is piqued.

I have to wonder, though, if everyone starts publishing on their own this way, who’s going to be submitting to the small, independent epubs that have sprung up in the last 10 years? (And have also shut down. Many of the ones I started out following are no more. But taht didn’t matter. New ones cropped up every year to replace the crops that folded.)

But why would anyone bother with that route now?

Also, what happens to the quality? Even though people hate the submission and acceptance process, and, granted, many good books probably do get passed over, there’s a whole lot of them that never should see publication. Or that might be okay, but need editing.

Again, since I haven’t looked into it all more, perhaps there is an editing process. From what I gathered, it didn’t sound like it though.

So what happens to editors? Even though they can be pains, they’re necessary and helpful pains. They mean well. Plus, they make books stronger.

All I know is the times they are a changing. There could be a big revolt on this decade’s horizon for the publishing industry as a whole. Both for the small time independent pubs as well as the big daddies.

I’ll be curious to see how it all shakes down. If it even does. Ebooks were supposed to revolutionize and transform the industry last decade. Didn’t quite happen. But maybe technology has caught up to make that  viable threat now? Kindle sure has a loyal following, if that’s any indication of anything…

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The Writing Life

My big eyed beauty Tabby girl

Where the heck does the time go? How is it possible the little kitten I saw get run over in the middle of the road that cold Friday February afternoon and stopped to help has already been with us four years?

I was thinking it was only three. Even that seems impossible. But she had to have come into our lives in 2007. In 2008 I started dealing with other dramas. I know she was here for those, so that means we got her the year before. Which makes her four.

Ah, my little Lady Tabitha, Tabernathy, Tabberkins Pryor. (I gave her Wayne’s last name because it flows better when I say her whole name.) What a disaster she was when we first got her!

Talk about one wild kitten…who was still just a kitten really, not even a year old, but unbeknownst to us she was preggers. Likely she was lying dazed and confused in the middle of the road like she’d been because she’d just finished doing the deed. (Or getting the deed done to her. I’m not sure she was old enough to look for nookie without nookie being introduced to her.)

Anyway, when she started acting nuts towards Mr. Meow to the point of unrelentingly harassing him and not letting him go anywhere in the house, we took her to the vet. Maybe being spayed would help. That’s when they discovered the babies.

So she had an abortion, got fixed, and came home and got an infection that nearly killed her. After being rushed back to the vet and staying there two days, she was free to come home and start tormenting Mr. Meow again the moment she started feeling better.

Poor Mr. Meow…he spent the first six months of her arrival cowering behind the chair in our living room. He had to sneak to his litter box. If she knew he had to go, Tab would often sprawl out in front of the nearest one, forcing Meow to go to the other, farther away one. And then she’d lay in wait until he was done and chase him back to his hidey hole.

Oh man, she was ruthless! Mr. Meow hated her!

But now? They still fight. Especially over who gets to lay in my lap on the couch or who’s turn it is to snuggle with me in bed. But they’re also buds and play pals.

They've learned to share!

And she still loves her Murphy as much, if not more, than the first moment she saw him. Murph is definitely her favorite brother and the love of her life.

She's purrfectly content sharing with Murph. Always has been.

"What are you two doing up there? Stay out of trouble!"

Except for maybe her Papa. If his lap’s available she’ll gladly relinquish mine to Mr. Meow to perch in Pop’s lap. She is definitely a Daddy’s Girl!

Nappin' with Papa is Tab's favorite thing!

Tab, I know you can’t read but I’m writing this for you anyway. I love you. I knew the moment I swooped you into my arms and rushed you to my car that you were my baby girl. You were the one that made me understand how moms who have just given birth and get to hold their babies in their arms for the first time must feel. Such a rush of warmth and unconditional love.

Thank you for being such a special girl. Thank you for all the love and laughter you bring into our lives. Happy birthday, baby! We love you!

Perched atop her scratcher I got her for her 3rd bday with a toy she got at Christmas

Sunbaking beauty girl

Lounging around in the sun room...sunbaking of course!

"MY hoop!"

Part of her toy collection

Lady Tabitha, Tabernathy, Tabberkins Pryor - my baby sweetie girl!

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I had a big idea last year that I’d write a blog called the Sociable Scribe and maybe start a social media consulting kind of company. I love social media and I love using it. I’ve also had some mild success using it to promote my blogs and such, so it seemed like a good idea.

I started working for my cousin’s stationery company doing her social media even. I actually loved it, but, as with any job, it took time away from what I most loved. Namely, Haunt Jaunts and my fiction. And heaven knows I don’t need any help stealing time away from my fiction. I’m good enough finding ways to squander that precious time as it is.

During our big New England/Canada cruise last summer I did some soul searching like I do most vacations. I realized my Sociable Scribe business either needed my full attention, or I needed to turn my full attention to my other passions. I knew with Halloween right around the corner things were going to get super busy on HJ, so…I had to figure it out fast.

I’m in the fortunate position that Wayne supports me financially. Otherwise, if I really had to start bringing in some dough I probably would hit it hard and see if I could contract my social media services out.

Since I don’t need to, I decided to keep pursuing my passions and let go of stressing about becoming a successful businesswoman.

Yet, I often see things that bug me about other people’s blogs or blogging styles. Or that really impress me. I don’t want to focus a blog on it, because there are already a ton of blogs out there doing that and doing it better than I could.

Last night it dawned on me, “I can still write about that stuff. And I can still use the Twitter account I set up for that. I can use that for my personal blog.”

I’ve been wanting to Tweet not as Haunt Jaunts, not as SAHW Experiment, but as me and my many interests. I could always set up a @CourtneyMroch Twitter account I guess, but I’d rather brand myself. (Because that’s just how big my ego is…I need a brand. I hope if anyone reads this they read this part with sarcasm, because that’s what’s intended.)

Anyway, so once in a while I’ll now be writing about the art of blogging as I see it. And I’ll be Tweeting as @SociableScribe and sharing my links here there that way.

Watch out Twitter. Here I come again!

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The 5th Wave

We’re heading to New Orleans soon to take our fifth cruise. I’m very excited not because it is yet another cruise and four more ports to add to our list, but New Orleans is the home of my ancestors.

But as I think about my beloved grandma who grew up there, I’m reminded of the grandma I knew from Phoenix. That’s where she lived when I knew her. However, she always spoke of New Orleans when she shared memories of her youth with me.

As I wish she was alive now so I could ask her exactly where it was she lived there, or where it was that Aunt Pearl was murdered, or where it was she met my grandfather, I think about visiting her in Phoenix.

Ah, that humble and modest, yet marvelous two-bedroom apartment she and my grandpa shared. I loved going there. I loved picking figs off her tree and eating them fresh. I loved walking around the side of the house and plucking off oranges and grapefruit and having them on hand for snacks. (Well, the oranges. I hated grapefruit back then.)

I remember how we’d always hit the same places on our visit: Christown Mall, Cave Creek, and sometimes Tlaquepaque if time permitted for a drive up to Sedona.

Before my parents divorced my dad would always insist on driving us everywhere. Grandpa would inevitably fall asleep in the back of the car. Gram would tease him to wake up and he’d say, “I’m not sleeping. I’m just looking inside of myself.”

At dinner she’d serve Grandpa his obligatory shot of tequila, which every stinking time she set it down in front of him she’d say, “Here’s your Ta Kill Ya, Ferdinand.”

And every stinking time he’d nod appreciatively, raise the glass at her, and down it.

Which made me laugh every stinking time.

As I’m recalling my fond memories of my grandparents, I remember how I thought nothing would change. We’d always go visit them. They’d always live in that apartment off Meadowbrook Road. We’d always build such great memories.

But those times feel like a lifetime ago now. My grandpa passed in 1986. Gram died in 1999. I’ve since established new traditions. Life has moved on.

But the heart still remembers. And it wishes my grandmother, the consumate navigator, could guide me to the magical places she remembered from growing up in New Orleans. The places that when she recalled them made her lips curve into a smile and her eyes twinkle with happiness. I’d like to see them.

I wonder if she ever felt this way. That the traditions and routines she’d had in New Orleans would never change. Did she ever look back on her life and wonder that she’d lived in Mexico, Indiana, and then wound up in Arizona?

I think she missed New Orleans sometimes. Or, maybe like I’m doing now, it was more a matter of being overcome by the nostalgia of life as it once was. The minutes tick by, the days pass, and before you know it you’re carried forward to new traditions.

All I know is I’m certain she’ll be on my mind as we explore her hometown. Which I’m also certain has changed a lot since she lived there.

I now know that’s how Life works. It’s ever-evolving.

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