I'm all a-sparkle

I believe I met August McLaughlin on Facebook and immediately thought she was equal parts charming and driven. (Imagine my surprise when, after months of stalking her through her FB posts, she said she'd been stalking me the same way!)  I followed her exploits with great interest - here was a woman who didn't just want to change HER world, she wanted the change THE world.

I'm a sucker for that kind of thinking. When she invited me to be a part of #SparkleFriday, I couldn't resist.

"Let's make Black Friday shine! In lieu of a conventional housewarming party, we're having an act-of-kindness celebration.

Between now and 11/28, conduct an act of kindness. Then on the 28th, share a description and/or a photo on Instagram, Facebook and/or Twitter using the hashtag #SparkleFriday. (Writers, feel free to post yours on your blog!)"

Here I am, sparkling.

She gave us about a month to do our good deeds. I thought, well, I should be able to do something nice for someone within 30 days. I signed up and went on with my life, and started to notice things.

The first thing that caught my attention was at the ranch. One of the things I do regularly is put away equipment, sweep out the feed room, refill the fly spray bottle, and generally do what might be considered ranch-style housekeeping. I don't have to do any of these things. They're not in my jurisdiction - most of them are my horse trainer's tasks. But I see how busy she is working horses, so I do it for her to make her life a little easier.

Then there was Bouchercon. One of the members of the OC Sisters in Crime is legally blind. She wanted to go to the mystery convention, but needed a ride. I live in Placentia, the convention was in Long Beach, and she lives in Fountain Valley. Figuring it was half-way between the two points, I volunteered to take her. I could have seen if someone else in the area could do it, could have stayed silent when she spoke of wanting to go, could have done things a lot of different ways that didn't inconvenience me. But I like her company and didn't mind the detour to her house and wanted her to be able to go.

Two weeks ago, one of my horseback riding students spoke with me about a project for school. She has to do 10 hours of volunteer service before the end of January. She is interested in a career with horses, and wanted to know if she could do volunteer work at the ranch. I said yes, even though it meant we would have to coordinate our schedules and I might have to extend my hours a little in order to supervise her. But I want to encourage anyone who wants to work with horses, and she is such a nice girl that I like helping her.

Last week, my trainer and I were at Corner Bakery for lunch. I got my cup and went to the drink area to get iced tea. A young girl stood with her two water cups, sort of in line and sort of not. When the person at the machine moved away, the girl stepped back and looked at me. I motioned for her to go first. She seemed surprised. I suppose I could have gone ahead of her, but she was there before me and was being so patient. What did I have to lose by being nice to her, except a little time?

This week, I was in the grocery store, buying food for Thanksgiving dinner. It's taken me years, but I've finally discovered a recipe for sweet potatoes that is yummy. It calls for fresh yams, not canned, so I was in the produce section, picking out a few with the right size. A woman stopped by the area and began to ask me about them. How do I cook them? What's the difference between yams and sweet potatoes? I explained about the difference and told her about the recipe. It took several minutes, because one question led to another. I was kind of on a schedule. Had lots of stuff left to do, and was under no obligation to educate a stranger. But she was asking for help and I had information that would help her. Why wouldn't I share it?
So it would seem that I conduct acts of kindness quite often. I just don't notice them. As a matter of fact, I may be a serial kindness-performer. I didn't take photos of any of these events, probably because I was too busy doing them.

What I do want to do is thank August for making me realize that, even on days when I am ranting at traffic or crowds, or railing at the sheer stupidity of sections of the human race, underneath it all I am capable of being a nice person. Sometimes we all need to be reminded that we can choose to be good - and that it's really not that hard.
 

Revelations

The first time I was on Garrett Miller's Rated G Radio show, someone called in and asked where I got the character of Benny Needles. She was certain there had to be a person in my life that I modeled Benny after.

For those of you who don't know Benny, he was meant to be a one-time client of Peri's - a needy little man with no filters on his brain, who was obsessed with Dean Martin. Readers loved him so much, he became part of the regular cast and has appeared in all the books. In the third book, THE HOT MESS, it was acknowledged that Benny has Asperger's.

My answer on the program was that I've known many Bennys in my life. Sometimes they are young children that I am teaching at the ranch. I've even met an adult Benny at the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books. The man was obsessed with a particular movie studio from the 30s or 40s, and knew all of the films, actors, etc.

Part of me was fascinated by him. Part of me wanted him to move along so I could actually sell some books.

Over the past week, I've spent four days at Bouchercon in Long Beach, and three days at the California Special District Leadership Conference. This means:

1. For seven days, I have been meeting both friends and strangers and giving them "my best Gayle."
2. For seven days, I have heard more people talking than I normally hear in a month.

By the sixth day, I started to notice something: my ears were full. All the voices, all the words, began to blend into a cacophony with no meaning. By the seventh day, my ears were hypersensitive. The man next to me was sucking on a mint. I could hear the hard candy knock against his teeth. On the other side, the man behind me was actually eating his mints. Crunch, crunch, crunch. I wanted to stab both of them with my pen.

I started to think about my hearing. I've always had a problem with certain sounds. Music can get too loud, but there's one click on the volume that will send me to homicidal territory.

My darling husband likes to listen to ESPN Sports Radio while he drives. Or really any station that is broadcasting a game of some sort. These shows are always on AM radio, which has a distinctive timbre. It seems that the speaker on the passenger side is always louder than the driver's side, so I spend every car ride being assaulted by talking heads.

By the time we arrive, I leap from the car, feeling like my ears have just been scraped raw by an industrial rasp.

While I'm sharing, let's also talk about the worst sound ever: people eating. Crunching noises, slurpy noises, smacky noises, they all make me want to run screaming from the room (possibly to retrieve a weapon). There are times when I can't even stand to hear myself eat.

I try REALLY hard to not react to these sounds. They may be assaults to my ears, but only to MY ears. No one is trying to annoy me. Well, that they'll admit. But it's hard. I find my fingers drifting to my ears to stop the noise. I scoot my chair away. I run my finger across the tines of my fork and let my mind wander...

Today I realized something: I may have all my filters in place, but on the inside, I am Benny Needles. There's a reason he seems so real to my readers. I know him intimately.

Where in the world is Gayle?

Good question!

Thursday through Sunday, you can find me at Bouchercon in Long Beach. Most of the action will be occurring at the Hyatt Regency on South Pine Avenue. (http://longbeach.hyatt.com/en/hotel/our-hotel.html)

Mostly, I will be either sitting in panels and looking for fascinating authors for our second annual OC Sisters in Crime Ladies of Intrigue event OR I will be sitting in the bar looking for fascinating people to hang out with.

On Friday at 1:30, I will be the headliner in Room Harbor A. Actually, as you can see on the map it is a small room.

A very small room. As if they don't think many people will show up. It could be true - I'm on the schedule at the same time as the Cadaver Dog Demonstration.

Hell, even I want to go see the cadaver dog.

But if anyone shows up, I'll give out some prizes and yammer about something. It'll be fun - hope to see you there!

How real is your bucket?

A friend of mine was talking about her version of a bucket list. She keeps a list of what she would do if she won the lottery. It's not really a bucket. More like that imaginary box that mimes get stuck in. What struck me was that she is doing some of these things now (no, she hasn't won the lottery). Painting the house, replacing flooring, furniture, etc.

"All these things were on my list," she said. "But I'm not excited about them."

She chalked it up to a general feeling of blah.

I enjoy nice things, don't misunderstand. I'd love to get new flooring and new furniture in my house. But I know it won't make me any happier than I already am. It's not about the stuff anymore. I could live in a trailer park. It'd be okay.

My bucket list is about experiences. I'd like to attend the Oscars. I'd like to visit Wales, maybe Scandinavia.

My imaginary box is fuller, but not of goods, or even experiences. In my imaginary box, I want to be more than I am now. I want to shed my skin and fly, not just through the air, but through the dimensions. I want to know what isn't knowable.




I want my tombstone to say, "She was the muchiest person who ever lived." Okay, either that or, "She was really, really old."




What's in your imaginary box?

When we were warriors.

This is me as a tyke.

Yes it's a real rabbit and yes, it's on a leash. His name was Powder Puff.

I'm not certain how old I was. Maybe four. Note the sassy twinkle of the eyes, the swagger in the pose. I'm young enough to still believe in... everything.

At this age:

1. I loved raptors and lions and basically all predators with large claws and big fangs.

2. I tried to catch snakes if I saw them in the yard.

3. On Saturday mornings, I acted out scenes from The Roy Rogers Show. My grandmother's Chihuahua was Bullet. I was Roy.

4. I could spend hours trying to climb sunbeams because I just knew I could do it.

5. I also just knew that if I tried hard enough, I could remember my life before I was born, and I could understand what dogs were saying when they barked, and other impossible things.

I was a warrior.

There is more, but as I traveled through life with my family, in a slow, steady motion, they taught me that I wasn't magical, that snakes were frightening, and Chihuahuas weren't German Shepherds, and there are girl things and boy things. Girl things involve pretending that you are nicer and weaker and less human than you really are. Pretending you can't pick up heavy things, or curse like a sailor, or emit any bodily noise.

At least I had some practice acting on Saturday mornings.

Once I started to grow curves, I learned another lesson about girls versus boys. Girls had a Something called Virginity. It was precious, and once it was gone, it could never be retrieved and the angels wept. Boys could talk about having a thing called Virginity, but what they really had was Inexperience. Not so precious, and once it was gone, well, good riddance.

The day I started my period, I remember thinking, "Well, that's that. My freedom is officially over."

The day I felt uncomfortable in a man's presence because I understood what he could take from me and how important it was and that I feared him because of my own knowledge, completed my transition.

The warrior was gone. In her place was a mouse, scurrying from safety to safety.

I'm thinking about all these things because I'd really like my female pirate to be something more than a fantasy girl who waves a sword and avenges her tormentors. I want her to be a warrior, a woman who lives her life being who she is. Maybe she'll have a hawk, maybe she'll play with snakes, or even possess magic.

But she will not be lessened by sex. And she won't pretend to be less than who she is.

How do I accomplish what society has discouraged within myself? What does this woman look like?