A Bittersweet Kitty Story

This was a hard week at our house.  We knew our Diego was getting older, but nothing can prepare you for the moment of loss.  Our hearts broke, and Boo and Jean also grieved for their buddy.  People were so kind in the aftermath it made me cry all over again.  I cannot tell you how many messages and stories I got through my site and Facebook.  My coworkers had a card signed with wonderful things the very next day.  I was overcome with hugs and surprise candy and just people being awesome.  Yes, my heart broke.  But I wouldn't trade our fifteen years with him for anything, not even to avoid that much pain.

RIP Diego, aka Fatbot, Mr. Fancypants and Baby D

A few days after we lost Diego, Boo Boo Louise had to go in to be spayed.  Through an incredible long chain of coincidences, everything went down just right in a perfect storm of karma.  While picking up our Boo, Bart saw two kittens in a small box up front.  They were brother and sister, and are absolutely identical to Cartman and Katy, the ones we lost in 2012 that we miss so much.  The boy is a ginger tabby, and the girl is a tortoiseshell.  Her face is rounder than Katy's, but the markings are so similar it stopped him in his tracks.  He went out to the car and made me come in.  I saw them and asked him if we could have them and he said yes. Right on the spot.  And just like that, we took them.  The vet's office gave them both half-price care for life because we adopted them (and maybe just a little to get the crying crazy cat lady out of their lobby).  

On the car ride home, they were terrified.  We let them out into the den and they immediately began to play.  It's been so long since we had kittens that weren't wild, we forgot just how much fun it can be.  They romped and fell and shook their fat little kitten butts, and we spent all weekend just loving them.  We both cried a few tears, especially when the boy picked up the ball just like Cartman did, and the little girl flopped down on Bart's cheek and snuggled in for sleep.  The resemblance is just uncanny.

Folks, meet Gilligan Cartman Tindle and Lucille Katherine Tindle.  For maximum cuteness, here they are snuggled on Bart's chest for a big nap, with little Gilligan hugging his sister.  They are inseparable, and so full of love.  

Gilligan is a boy in every regard, he runs so fast it is difficult to get a picture of him sitting still.  But if you look closely, in this picture you can see Lucy's handlebar mustache and "frowny eyebrows" that are completely untouched in this photo.

Once I noticed those and Bart got a good look, we can't not see them.  She looks like a ticked off villain at all times.  Heart melted.

So that's our bittersweet kitty story.  We're still sad and mourning, but we could not have passed on this in a million years.  Too many things went right that day for us to say no, and now we have young babies who will be with us for many years to come.

You can bet more pictures are coming soon, but for now I wanted to tell everyone our great news, so we can celebrate the good that came out of the sad.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation: Denver: Part I

This is the first installment of many in which I will share pictures and stories of our vacation.  We're talking eleven days, 1,200 pictures and over 3,500 miles.  If you had to wait until I got it all written up and edited in one piece, you would be waiting for a very long time.

Denver: Part I

For the first time since our honeymoon, we took a trip.  It was the right time for many reasons. My husband just graduated with his culinary degree (wooooo Bart!).  His career will likely cause us to uproot and move at some point, so this was also an exploratory expedition.  Our mission was to figure out what we liked and didn't like, and why we felt that way so we could talk about where to focus his search.  When he does find a job, it will likely be a while before he gets vacation time we can use to just get away and we had worked really hard the past few years.  So in this perfect storm at the end of a maddening semester, we got the hell out of Dodge.  Ferdinand, our giant sock monkey, accompanied us on the tour. Say hello to Ferdinand!

A musician friend actually liked the phrase Denver by Midnight and riffed an impromptu song.  Taking that theme, we left Springfield at noon and headed to Denver, with that song on the first road trip CD.  We did not make it by midnight (but the song was still terrific).  We made it to Aurora at 2 a.m. and as not-glorious as it sounds, we were totally happy.  The first twelve hour drive wasn't bad.  Our signal was lousy, and we had a lot of talking and catching up to do.  His final weeks of school were hellish, and I was struggling to finish chemistry and write a final term paper that was crazy complicated.  We had missed each other a lot, and it was a great way to transition from  home to a vacation frame of mind.

We rolled into Denver as the sun rose, and had time to kill.  We ate at Pete's Kitchen, and the food was so good it was not to be believed.  I had the short stack and Bart had the omelette.  The food was awesome, the service was great and the place was very casual.  Our bill wasn't quite fifteen dollars, and we were stuffed until afternoon.  The crowd was mostly locals, and gave me my first look at the people of Denver.  I was impressed by the diversity and general cheerfulness.  There were a lot of characters and different types, but they were all friendly and seemed to get along pretty well.  Pictures of Drew Berrymore, Tim Tebow, Merle Haggard and a few other celebrities were all that let you know this wasn't a standard diner.  After breakfast, Bart looked up a friend of his, and I went to the Molly Brown House Museum in downtown Denver while they caught up.

 
 
Molly Brown was famous for being on board the Titanic when it sank.  She was already famous among  those in her circle for being "new money" and outspoken and liberal at a time when women were not allowed the luxury of being either.  The tour of her house was amazing.  Our guide took her time and explained the details of every room, and we got to see how it looked when Margaret (she was not known as Molly until after her death) had it photographed professionally for a high society magazine.  Brown traveled extensively, and was fluent in Russian and several languages, and made a point to visit Egypt at a time when it was incredibly dangerous for any woman to be abroad.  Brown was rich enough to make a desirable hostage, and outspoken enough to anger an anti-feminist society, but nothing stopped her from doing what she wanted, not even pesky criminals.  She brought back several artifacts from Egypt, some of which were on display.  If you ever get to Denver, I cannot recommend this tour enough.  I adored her before I went, but I came away with a greater understanding of how she lived, and how very brave and unique she was. She was a brilliant humanitarian with a strong heart and clear vision, and she wasn't afraid to tell anyone to go to hell or how to get there.

I think the thing that best summarizes Brown and Victorian culture came exactly halfway through the tour.  While going through her sitting room, we were informed that the next room was the most unusual in the house.  The formal room was meant to showcase the family, to flaunt their wealth and show their status.  Brown intentionally thumbed her nose and made it a library, showing her value on education and intelligence instead of material wealth and social hoops.  And what a stunning library it was!  She had classical literature (she apparently liked Greek and Roman mythology) and encyclopedias, maps and history and a surprising number of cookbooks and books on living.  In both the library and formal sitting room there was a piano, the sitting room piano had a large nude statue on it during her entertaining years, which was seriously taboo for the repressed Victorian culture.  She had more education than most women and she had educated herself throughout her years, but she would not be broken or forced to be a traditional lady at the cost of her wit and love for life.  This said so much of her character, and helped me feel what was important to her.  I got to browse her books (many are still originally from her collection) and decided right then that she hit a major criteria for a story I'm writing.  So Molly Brown will take her place alongside Hypatia and other famous women in history in the Daylight Man, and I can't think of a better candidate.  It all ties back to her library, and something I noticed while I stood there.  I like to think she would be honored to have captured my imagination, and proud of how I'll portray her.

Downtown Denver is gorgeous.  There are a lot of cultural differences that define it, and I liked them all.  We primarily stayed around Capitol Hill and the Five Points district, that is where our hotel and friends were located.  The streets were immaculate, and the businesses were just opening for the day.  People were kind and there was a definite small town feeling, despite the huge skyline that was right there.

We also got to see some old friends, and in my case I got to meet some new ones.  The amazing Jarrin and Ruth were welcome sights.  I had not met Ruth until this trip, but Bart swore we had a lot in common.  He had no idea.  She and I bonded immediately, and are both animal lovers and have a lot of the same outlooks on topics.  Her boyfriend Favio was a really nice fellow too, and they showed us all kinds of neat places in town.  We shopped at Capitol Hill Books, and I bought a book by a local author.  I also chatted with an employee, and right there in the store I opened my phone and used Google Docs to write a few lines of My Sister Alice in the store.  Now two of my favorite projects have ties to Denver.

Below is my friend Jarrin with Ferdinand.  I tell you, that sock monkey got around.  Jarrin met us for dinner at Casa Bonita, which is an experience you must have, even as I caution you that the food is canned, the service is lousy and the atmosphere is rushed and hokey.  Still, it must be done and we did it with style.  I worked with Jarrin years ago, and it must not have been too bad since we still keep in touch.  Later, when I told him I felt we had to come back, he was the first person to really get it because he had done the exact same thing already.

The people of Denver were amazing, but I'm not going to lie... the food won us over.  We ate at City Grille, and Bart had the best hamburger of his life.  For a million reasons which will surely be coming in his food review, he swore it was the best hamburger ever.  I ate my first vegan meal at City O' City, and it wasn't bad (I had the spaghetti and not-meatballs, and I recommend that and a  home brewed root beer).  The best food by far was Voodoo Donuts, where we were lucky enough to stumble in early Saturday and had many chances to wander back before leaving. Voodoo is open 24 hours a day, seven days a week.  And thank God they are, because there was always a line.  They have a great atmosphere, and the donut they designed looks like a voodoo doll.  Mama glares at you from a velvet painting on the wall and makes you stand up straight.  There are several donut choices, but the maple and bacon is divine, and the peach fritter with cream cheese frosting got Bart all the way through Utah.  They have several cereal-dipped, flavored and designed donuts and compared to Springfield's own Hurts Donut I will give Voodoo the award every time, for flavor and value.  They were made on the spot and pink boxes were flying out the door as fast as they could ring 'em up and move 'em out.  When we got ready to leave town, Ferdinand held the box all the way to Las Vegas.

That's the end of the first installment.  There are more stories to tell, but you'll have to wait a few more days while I edit photos.  When all is said and done, there will be albums posted at www.bontindle.com for you as well.

Birthday Reflections

Every year, I write a blog post looking at the past year, taking measure, and setting goals for the year ahead.  This year is no different, except that I have nothing but good news to report for a change.  I'm thirty-eight today.  That's amazing to me.  I can't believe I have lived this long, and for those who know the stupid stuff I've seen and done I bet you're just as surprised.  But I'm here.  And I'm ever so grateful.

As I get older, I am more comfortable with myself.  I still try to identify my flaws and resolve them.  I'm still trying to figure out what the right thing is, and I don't always know what to do next.  But I love my husband, I finally have a job where I am happy on all levels, and my writing has really started to move.  My enemies are few and my problems even more scarce.  For the most part, I live a charmed and satisfying life, and except for winning the lottery I can't think of what I might wish for.

It's been a year of change.  I cut ties with some influences that may have had a great impact on my writing career, but were ultimately not in alignment with my own principles.  I have mostly given up political writing and am working on fiction.  It seems like a long time since anything has come out, but that is because it takes a lot to get the ball rolling with fiction writing.  I have started school and am loving it even while I cuss at homework and cry over math problems.  All of these changes are good, but navigating them has been challenging at times.

I think the single greatest thing of this year has been an overall coming together of past, present and future.  I have finally been able to let go of some people and things that don't belong in my world any longer.  My past is finally fading.  My present is wonderful.  My job and friends and school life makes for a busy time, but I am happy and I feel the love.  After cutting out the toxic friendships of my twenties, I have found healthy relationships that actually make life nice.  It's terrific.  My future is a little slow to piece together, but growing into a beautiful picture.   Bart is about to graduate with his degree in culinary arts, and I am finally grasping the realization that I will someday work in journalism or media.  It's crazy, but we are on the brink of a whole new life, and we have laid the foundation carefully.  I'm very hopeful.

Thank you all for sticking around, and I hope the next year brings us all blessings and growth.

Bon

My Sister Alice

It's been hard to transition to writing fiction.  Sort of like when a person who used to be in good shape takes a long break and then suddenly gets the itch to run a few miles.  I can do it, but it hurts that muscle like hell sometimes.  Working constantly and embracing the pain is the only way to get past either one, and I'm finally starting to get conditioned to the cycle of pondering, stewing and actually writing.

The one that has come to center stage for now is my first collaboration project.  I wrote with others on Dead Shuffle, but we each had our own story lines and styles.  In this case, I was able to hear someone's idea and (I hope) execute a thoughtful story that is great on all levels.  It will be a novella and if it does well it will be a series.  I would love to have it on Amazon by the time we take our vacation (more about that later) but it's far more likely I will finish it on that trip while we drive for 5-8 hours a day.  Hey, as long as it gets finished, I'll be happy.

Besides collaborating with someone, this has been a first in many ways.  I'm really learning a lot about the editing and publishing process, and I have made some great connections that will let a lot of people have a hand in the finished product.  From a special request in the artwork to hidden mentions in the story, I have taken a lot of things and thrown them into the pot.  It's also a crazy story, my first departure from "plausible if not provable" fiction in over a decade.  This is fantasy, and I haven't touched that since Shadow Men.  I've had to break out of my comfort zone, because it gets scary to me when you leave the facts behind.  But it's also been great.  My characters are growing quickly and sometimes the magic really is there, if only for a moment.

I'm hooked and having a ball.  Expect updates here, and of course on my author page on Facebook.

A Shift In Direction

Life is about change.  There were times I wanted to write different things, and I have enjoyed writing several different lengths in a variety of genres.   I have spent the majority of my effort in writing nonfiction in general, and it has been delightful.  I have learned discipline, gained valuable experience formatting and thinking about both the moment and the big picture when it came to picking and choosing stories.  I was blessed to write for delightful editors who whipped me into shape and then gave me full access and creative freedom.  I hit some heights and did many things that made me proud.  I love all of the work I did, and the people I met while doing so.

However, having said that, I believe it's time for me to primarily go back to fiction writing.  Some editing and writing opportunities have come up, and they are all in fiction.  This is my first love, making things out of nothing.  Meeting characters in my head and getting to know them.  Figuring out why they're talking and what they are really saying.  I enjoy the hell out of political commentary but my roots are here.  It's what it is all about.  And it's time to go big or go home.  I can't split my energies between so many different things, and with a full-time job, school, the resulting homework, following politics, researching history, working on The Daylight Man, writing short stories and doing that little thing I call "sleeping" I find myself a little swamped.

This doesn't mean I will stop writing for Zandar Versus The Stupid.  I've written for him for years and I really enjoy his company and his audience.  A lot of my followers that I have gotten to know over the years hang out there, and I've met a lot of great people through comments that led to online friendships.  That is my nonfiction home and I want to give Zandar my best while we start to gear up for 2016.  There's a lot of work ahead and I want to do my part.  I may occasionally send a piece to a different source, but that's where the vast bulk of my commentary belongs.

The dawning realization of the need for a change in direction came right before something else captured my fancy.  A very talented person had an idea they wanted to share, and it has sparked something amazing.  In a few days of chatting, a firm story has formed and it's currently underway.  It will be out as soon as possible.  I would love for it to be on Amazon by the end of summer, but it's too soon to see just how big this one is going to go.  In the meantime, that is where the bulk of my creative writing is going.  Hang it all, I am in love with these characters and this will be a great transition project.  I'm getting back into that creative place, and it is nice.  I forgot how much fun a little magic could be, and the burden of plausibility has been lightened in this universe.  Anything is possible, and that has been just what I needed to get back in touch with my fiction self.  Thank goodness this person was able to share their ideas effectively, and help me when I was a bit rusty.  Reading is fun, but my God writing is better.  Collaborating has been both fun and challenging, and adds a whole new level of difficulty to the mix.

It's a big deal for me to put the brakes on the nonfiction for a while, but this really does suit me better.  I am no journalist, I am a storyteller.  Or at least, I like to think so.  When I think about my long-term writing career, I envision myself writing novels and making people believe in the people and places that bloom in my head.  I guess I'm just surprised the change in direction crept up on me, because I didn't realize I was there until I had been there a while.  I'm at the final push to making my dream come true.  I've spent five years building a diverse and specific list of accomplishments.  Now it's time to do a few short jumps back into fiction and push for the book.  I'm there.  I'm freaking there.  I'm terrified.  I'm freaking terrified.

The good news is, instead of waiting two years for a book, I'll have something out soon and a book coming out in two years.  This won't slow me down.  It's the door opening, taking me back to that place in my head where anything can happen.  I've missed that place, and I don't know that I can ever make myself leave again.

This is the last story I'm bringing over from my first blog, Bits-O-Bon.  If you know my husband, you'll know why this is so darned funny.

Looking Back (A Time Capsule Conversation) 

I have no idea why I recorded this.  No idea at all.  But it was hilarious to stumble across this recorded conversation in which my husband drives me crazy.  So, I present a time capsule from February 22, 2009:


Bart: Have you seen the movie about the surfing penguin?
Me: Nope.
Bart: It's a Disney movie.
Me: I know what you're talking about. I haven't seen it.
Bart: The one with the guy from Transformers doing a voice?
Me: Shia LeBeouf, babe. I haven't seen it.
Bart: I think it's called Surf's Up.
Me: It is. I haven't seen it.
(one minute passes)
Bart: It has the surfing penguins. Are you sure?
Me: I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT. I HAVE NOT SEEN IT.
Bart: ...
Bart: Well you don't have to be so cranky about it.

That conversation could have taken place yesterday.  Some things change, and some things don't. 

Ode To A Potato Chip (Throwback Thursday)

I am closing down my old blog, and am backing up a few favorites. This one was well loved, and kept coming back to haunt me (in hilarious and awesome ways). I don't plan to have many of these, but this is one of few posts that had to survive the move to The Bon Project.

Lays had tried a handful of potato chip flavors and let people vote for the winner. Below is a copy of the letter I sent them after my experience with their Chicken and Waffles flavor.

Dear Sir or Madam:

I am writing to tell you about my experience with your new Chicken and Waffle flavored potato chips. Recently, my husband and I bought a bag in excited anticipation, having been through the South many times and enjoying fried chicken and waffles at establishments from Roscoe’s House to a dive in Baton Rouge where I danced the chicken dance while the room clapped... but I digress.

Allow me to begin by expressing my suspicion that you have any idea what chicken and waffles should taste like. To set the record straight, I will describe the two kinds you will encounter: the first, a large waffle with a chicken thigh or breast on top, breaded and covered with a cream maple gravy that is not too sweet and not too salty, thus marrying the flavors in a bridge of delight. Or, my personal favorite, a waffle made with fluffy batter, fried chicken with a great salty but otherwise unseasoned batter, likely fried by a grandmother in a dirty kitchen and brought to you on a plate with spots on it, and tons of maple syrup. I mean, lots of syrup. Get jiggy with the butter too, because you’re in the South and I bet you at least familiar with Paula Deen, the Velveeta Queen. If you feel spunky, throw some powdered sugar on there because there is simply no such thing as too much goodness on a waffle. I’m a fat girl from Missouri and my husband is attending culinary school. If I know anything, I know fried, sweet and food so good it will send you screaming home to Jesus with a smile on your face.

I refresh your memory because the chip I put in my mouth tasted similar to burnt hair with delicate notes of horse piss and vinegar. My jaw locked in agony while my tongue nearly beat a hole in my head trying to get away from that awful taste. The smell got trapped in my sinuses, and it took approximately 42 ounces of soda, a sandwich, two cookies and a sucker to overcome the taste that haunted my mouth. And this, dear sir or madam, was before I had the dubious pleasure of burping that chip until my evening meal put some much needed distance between us. I would dare pray it was finally over, and my stomach would percolate and my hell was fresh yet again. I will not tell you the depths to which I sank, but I can tell you I was perfectly willing to lick a cat’s ass so that my breath would improve. Though my coworkers are surely too mannerly to express their disdain, rest assured they hate you too.

It is most unfortunate that this “food” should taste like a gym sock left to fester in a moldy corner. My husband, who has trained himself to eat and break down the tastes of food he does not particularly enjoy, had something akin to a seizure when his taste buds processed your potato chip. That little vein on his forehead, the one I’ve only seen when I backed into a mailbox right after he told me to be careful, it came out and was visible for a full ten minutes. In fifteen years of marriage, I have never come close to this accomplishment. While clinically curious to see if he was indeed suffering from a stroke, I was also curiously appreciative of what it took to make him turn that shade of plum and wish to give credit where it is due. Bravo.

So, apart from that one grudging bit of praise, I will leave off with saying I believe this was an utter failure and will probably never eat one of your products again because you have given me trust issues. I would rather lick the toilet seat of a Greyhound bus station than give you jokers a single penny of my money. You may have surmised that I am also long-winded (I assume your powers of observation are stronger than your sense of taste) so don’t be surprised that this will be posted on my blog.

May your shame follow you for eternity.

Bon “The Geek” Tindle