Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Let's hunt haggis

It's that time of year again. Hunting season starts in Scotland on the internet. Go snag a haggis and win some whiskey. Or a trip to Scotland. I wanted to see if a prize included a cute guy in a kilt. Alas, it did not.

Happy hunting!

Hurricane-free Christmas

Last day of hurricane season. Officially. They say December storms are still possible. Here's a new song I wrote...what I'll be singing Dec. 25.

Hurricane-free Christmas, copyright 2005 by Bonnie Vanak

I 'm dreaming of a hurricane free Christmas
Just like the ones I used to know
Where the treetops don't come crashing
On my house smashing
Making my living room ceiling appear so low, oh
I' m dreaming of a hurricane free Christmas
With every FEMA application I write
May your insurance deductible not be out of sight
And all your debris piles be light.

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

The biggest loser

Matt is the biggest loser. He lost 157 pounds on NBC's reality TV show. What a winner he is!

He wins $250,000... worth of Dolly Madison cakes. Ooops, we forgot to tell you the REAL prize, Matt ole buddy.


Tropical storm EPSILON?

One day before the hurricane season "officially" ends and there's Epsilon out there in the Atlantic?

Holy hurricane season, Batman, will it EVER be over? Bring on the tourists with their hairy paunches hanging over their little bitty Speedos invading my beach! I'm ready. Anything to get rid of the hurricanes this year...

Saturday, November 26, 2005

I need a big hose

Our weekend off has consisted of meeting with repair people, roof people, all kinds of people. More hurricane clean-up. Yesterday I sprayed water on the roots of the two tree root balls out back we are attempting to remove. our neighbor, who cuts trees, advised knocking out the dirt between the roots with a powerful hose, like a fire hose. DH is so busy chainsawing the tree limbs and trying to cart away downed fence parts that I am doing water duty. I need a really big hose. With lots and lots of power. Anyone know where I can get a big, long, powerful hose like this one?

Thursday, November 24, 2005

Happy Thanksgiving

A Floridian blessing...

May the wind always be at your back and be less than a Cat. 1.
May your insurance always be low in premiums and high in delivery.
May your debris piles all be small.
May Home Depot always be open.
And may all the turkeys in your life gobble and be sitting on your table, instead of talking and walking around, making you mutter, "WTF?"

Blessings, peace and joy,
Bonnie, who is now going to watch her hubby chainsaw the turkey

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Sexier men?

Are these men sexier than Matt? I think so. Just MHO.

Let's start with Gerard. Mmmm...shirtless!

James Purefoy in a towel... oh yessssssssssss

George Eads from CSI... I modeled Marcus, my werewolf, after him...

Adrian! Who can go wrong with Adrian!

Of course Viggo... in bed... yum!

Oded... dark, sexy, bulging biceps. Always thought he'd make an excellent Jabari in a movie version of THE FALCON & THE DOVE, my first book...

Keanu isn't my type, but from the backside... I could change my mind!

And this guy... wouldn't you like to be a mattress right now? LOL!

Sunday, November 20, 2005

Sexiest man alive?

Whew... Gamma is supposed to totally pass us. What a relief.. Yesterday we pulled another part of one tree stump out. The tree trimmer never showed up. The Florida room is still a wreck and the couch out there growing moldy with each rainfall. But at least Dh's roof repairs appear to hold up. The fencing guy might be here next Friday. I'm just praying we can get our roof replaced by NEXT hurricane season.

In the meantime, I wrote a little yesterday! Woo hoo! First writing I've done in five weeks! I finished Marcus' love scene. He and Alysia are no longer in "coitus suspendus," lol. And People Magazine has named Matt as their sexiest man alive. Huh? I mean, he's cute but... honestly, I think there are sexier guys out there. Maybe it's the grin.

Friday, November 18, 2005

Tropical Storm Gamma sucks away Bonnie's last remaining sanity

I can't believe this...

I am so screwed. If this thing hits here, even as a tropical storm, we're in big trouble. Our roof will go for sure. I have no hurricane supplies. We ate them all after Wilma. No gas. Debris STILL PILED UP OUTSIDE OUR YARD!!!

Someone just shoot me. I just want to go hide in a corner and cry.

Thursday, November 17, 2005

Tree stumps, suspended sex & werewolves

Ouch. Today I realized I really hurt my thumb. Somehow, during the debris cleanup, I pulled the tendon away from the bone. So each time I go to wrap my thumb around something, it hurts. This is atop my bruised knee from falling on the tile floor last weekend, my assorted cuts and scrapes from carting debris to the curb.

As one friend put it, “You’re a walking disaster.”

Huh. The tree stumps in the back are still there. A tree guy promised to come take a look sometime in 2006. It’s raining… again. Each time it rains I get depressed about the hole in the roof, and the rain pouring through the crushed Florida room, wrecking whatever else remains out there we have no room to haul inside. Roofers tell me they are so backed up they are enlisting their mothers and grannies as helpers to cart roofing shingles and it will cost me $1 million to just get an estimate. I wanted to promise sex but that would only get me on a waiting list.

So here I am. And the one thing I really, really want to do is write Marcus’ and Alysia’s story. Marcus is a werewolf. I had written quite a bit of his story on vacation, but… I hate to admit it… I left him right in the middle of a sex scene. I mean… there he is, he and Alysia are, um, joined, I guess is the operative word. I meant to finish it. I did. But we had to get on the road and I never completed it. So Marcus is standing there, bending over the bed’s edge, part A inserted into her part B, forever suspended in time until I find time or energy to finish the scene.

I can imagine what is happening now in Marcus’ book world…He stands there, hunched over Alysia, enthralled and yet agonized because he is literally stuck…So the other characters from my Egyptian books walk in, giving advice….

Marcus: I can’t believe Bonnie just walked off and left me like this.

Alysia: How do you think I feel? I mean, we just start getting some nookie and I’m frozen in time? My back hurts. My legs ache from being spread so wide and damn, did you HAVE to press all that lovely muscled weight down on me? I feel like I’m on an ironing board beneath a steam roller.

In walks Jabari, Ramses, Kenneth, Graham and Tarik grown, characters from my past and future Khamsin Egyptian novels.

Marcus, snarling, tossing the sheet over Alysia to hide her nudity: Who the hell are you?

Jabari: I am sheik of the great Khamsin warriors of the wind. I am the first hero Bonnie created. I know her best. I am here to give you advice on your current situation.

Marcus: Current situation? Isn’t it a little obvious, shrek.

Ramses: That is sheikh. Show some respect.

Alysia: Uhhhrrr! I can’t see a thing under this sheet!

Graham: Perhaps if we toss some water on them…but that does not work on dogs.

Marcus, growling: I am not a dog. I am a werewolf.

Kenneth: You do look a little hairy…

Tarik: Look, we’re both in the same situation. Bonnie dropped the ball. She was going to write my story next, but I can’t even begin to get it on with my woman. At least you got this far. With

Ramses, growling: What is this about my daughter?

Tarik, hastily: Never mind.

Jabari: I know Bonnie best. She created me first. Until Bonnie gathers all her necessary energy and finds a spare moment to complete this act of love for Marcus and Alysia, I fear you are permanently stuck, Marcus.

Graham: She’s had too much stress lately. Between damage from the hurricane, displacement at the day job, trying to clean up, and trying to find roofers, tree people and trying to figure out how the hell she will cook a turkey on Thanksgiving, and worrying that her husband in his current lumberjack mania will use a chainsaw to carve it, she is not able to write.

Marcus: So that means I’m gonna stay like this, forever?

Jabari: I fear this is so. Until she returns to your story, you can’t go forward. Or back.

Alysia, beneath the sheet: Mmmmphhhh!

Graham, helpfully: It could be worse, Marcus. You could be paused on the brink of your release.

Ramses, nodding: Yes, indeed. Like backed up plumbing.

Kenneth: Maybe we should call that firm, Roto Rooter? And away will go trouble down the drain?

Marcus: Growls

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

First book!

It's so much fun to see the excitement of a debut author when she has her very first book out.

The author is fellow writer Virginia Reede. She beat Blair (hear that Blair Valentine? ha ha ha!!), winning first place in the FF&P's On the Far Side contest in the erotica category. Witch's Knight debuts today at Ellora's Cave.

I'm so happy for her. This is what I love most about the romance business....sharing the joy and excitement. Here's a blurb from Witch's Knight. I can't wait to read it!

Sir Geoffrey has never believed in magic. Even so, when King Liam sends him in search of the mysterious witch of Caernathen, he has no choice but to obey. When his errand takes him to the beautiful and sensuous Leonore, he is soon entangled in her spells—and her bed.Leonore has always known exactly what she wants and needs from a man, and it seems that Geoffrey fits the bill in every way. But the king's purpose in sending for her—to help find and rescue the abducted Crown Prince—propels her on a mission more challenging than she could have anticipated.

Complicating matters are the king's court mystics, who are jealous of Leonore's superior power and King Liam's confidence in her. And they aren't the only ones who are jealous—Geoffrey finds that both Liam and Prince Wesley are competing for Leonore's affections.When Leonore finds herself in the position of having to choose between a king, a prince and a noble knight, everything she has come to believe about men, herself and the source of her magic will be challenged. She must decide between power—or love.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Shiver me timbers

Insurance adjustor turned out to be a very nice man. We should get a call in a couple of weeks. He definitely said we need a new roof and the Florida room is a total loss. So I'm a bit hopeful we can get enough money to at least get the roof done.

In the meantime, I'm sighing over this. Pirates in Paradise in Key West. December 2 is the day I'd love to be there for the pirate fair. I want to go! What fun to explore Key West's pirate history! But, sigh, we can't. Guess my pirate dreams must remain contained to corporate raiding, not sailing the wicked seas.

Monday, November 14, 2005

Sunday, November 13, 2005

Secret writing

"I don't write not to be published. That would be some kind of punishment."

I read these words of author Joan Didion's today in an article in the Sun Sentinel about the upcoming Miami Book Fair. Didion, an author who has been published for 40 years, wrote a memoir about the death of her husband. It's called The Year of Magical Thinking. She writes the story of her husband's death and her dying daughter's illness, her own feelings, how she views doctors, how she couldn't part with her husband's shoes because "magical thinking" kept her believing one day he might return for them.

But it wasn't the book itself that caught my attention. It was that one small quote in the article by the author. She sat down to record her thoughts, feelings, memories after her husband died with full intention of getting the book published. She doesn't write "not to get published."

It threw me out of my usual Sunday morning lethargy. I wonder what the secret writers of the world think of her statement. Secret writing is my catchphrase for writing you scribble and never show to anyone because it's simply too personal, too painful, to share.

Didion's statement caught me off guard because I too, have written pages and pages about grieving. I have a journal that chronicles my mother's death from cancer, ten years ago next month (she died right before Christmas). I have journals chronicling other painful life events, from my first divorce to losing my first baby after years of struggling to get pregnant. It's my secret writing. Once or twice I've tried to assemble those essays into a coherent piece, but could not. It was as if they were meant to lie in a bedside drawer, silent, hidden away from the world, available to my eyes only.

I'm glad she wrote her book, because it appears it has helped others who also are grieving deeply and never show it. In this world, it seems people are all too eager to share in your success, but uneasy about sharing your grief. Yet I wish she hadn't said that about publication. How many brilliant, talented writers are struggling out with their own stories who don't write to get published, but write because they must write or simply die?

I've published three Egyptian historical romances as mass market paperbacks, with two more in the works due for publication in the upcoming months. I've published two e-books under Blair's name that I equally enjoyed writing. I write for publication, and yet, there are books in my drawers that I absolutely love that will never get published. I wrote them because I had to. Because there was something inside me that took hold of the idea and would not let it go.

Two weeks BW (Before Wilma, which is how I measure time now), a friend and I had breakfast. She asked me why I keep writing and working so hard with my writing when there simply is not much money in it. I didn't respond. I didn't respond because she isn't a writer. And she can't understand what it's like NOT to write.

Each time I've struggled with the notion of giving up writing, be it romance or the nonfiction pieces I toy with, it feels like part of me is gasping for air. I can't give up writing. I don't write for publication.

I don't write to be published.

I write because I must.

Saturday, November 12, 2005


I heard our beaches were back open today. Was thinking about going, and would if we didn't have so much work to do. Seeing the ocean can be very relaxing...

Thursday, November 10, 2005

Egyptian book excerpt

It's national novel writing month, I just realized. I'm still too drained, too exhausted and overwhelmed with hurricane damage to write. So I'm cheating. Here's an excerpt of my upcoming Egyptian historical, The Panther & the Pyramid. Maybe I'll just pretend I wrote it this month? This is the scene after they become lovers, anonymously, in a whorehouse. The first chapter is posted on my website.

The Panther & the Pyramid, copyright 2005 by Bonnie Vanak

He arrived late, as all expected of his title. Inside, he remained watchful for a red-headed nobleman.

Like a panther, he prowled the perimeter of the ballroom. Not listening to the feminine whispers fluttering in his wake. Ignoring the admiring stares and hastily dropped curtsys as he approached. As always, he lightly clasped his white dancing gloves. Rarely did he dance, and when he did, it was with a select few who caught his interest. Graham did not want to encourage speculation as to the possibility of a future bride.

Last year, his brother had consorted with these same people. Kenneth had come before them with his Egyptian accent and his Egyptian past. Money and rank gained him acceptance. Still, he stood out like a pyramid in the yellow London fog. A savage, they had thought of him.
Graham did not stand out. He blended, his accent nearly gone, his habits very English. He was respected as one of them, thought to have been raised by a proper English couple.

The truth would rock society back on their delicate heels. Graham had been captured by a warrior Egyptian tribe and learned to kill to survive. He was far more savage than his brother.
Faces swam before him in a blurred haze. Detached, he dropped a smile, making polite small talk and moving on. Tonight, his restlessness was too large to be temporarily caged by social chatting.

His eyes scanned the ballroom for a flash of red hair. He saw none. Until he turned and his gaze lighted upon a tall mass of flame gold curls. His heart raced.

It was her.

He spotted her across the crush of people. She stood out like a living flame on a blackened horizon. Graham could not breathe. He could not think, nor act, but simply stand, lips parted.

The red hair mesmerized him. He had not seen the full glory of those tresses, nor anticipated how the strands would wind around his heart, like a spider’s sticky silk.

He remembered her, naked before him. Skin to skin. Sweat slicking their bodies as they strained against each other. Strangers forging a brief bond in the flesh.

Shared passions. Hidden secrets.

Self-discipline and control shattered like brittle glass. Mesmerized, Graham began striding forward, mindless of the fawning stares cast his way.

Barely six feet away, he stopped. Daring her to see him.

She turned. Their gazes caught and held.

They could have been the only two people present.

Intense hunger filled him. Like an opium addict’s deep craving, it took hold with steely claws.

Graham stared, remembering the sweetness and hot passion in her arms.

He wanted to hold her in his arms again, even for a mere dance. She was his worst nightmare. And yet he could not help wanting her, again.

Though his instincts screamed a protest, his senses urged him to stop, turn and leave behind the sweetness of last night, he paid no heed. Graham, the aloof duke who rarely danced, tugged on his white dancing gloves, making his intentions perfectly clear.

“Look, the Duke of Caldwell. How striking he is,” Mary murmured.

Breath caught in Jillian’s throat. The Duke of Caldwell? She put a trembling hand to her coiled hair.

Graham. Her lover.

Clad in elegant black evening dress, he cut a regal, imposing figure. Women pivoted to stare. Ivory and lace fans waved madly as erratic butterflies. Whispers drifted through the enormous ballroom like mist. Several pairs of admiring eyes affixed to him as he wound his way through the ballroom. Young girls preened. Older women simpered.

Jillian simply stood motionless. Her heart thudded an erratic beat against her chest.
She remembered him in the male glory of his nudity. Powerful muscles sculpting his shoulders, the clean lines of long bones and hard flesh.

His body covered now in severe black silk, white waistcoat and tie. Thick ebony hair swept across his forehead. Those piercing, dark eyes remained guarded in their gaze.

Regarding her across the floor as he advanced. His loose-limbed, graceful stride reminded her of a powerful jungle cat.

The fleeting image of a leopard came to mind. A black leopard, sleek in formal wear, stalking prey. Her.

Jillian braced herself, forced a smile to her face.

An amazing change came over the matrons as he approached. They twittered and curtseyed, and a distant sparkle lit their eyes. When he stood silently before her, she automatically glanced at her aunt. Aunt Mary’s stern look softened. She swept him an elegant curtsy.

“Your Grace. How good to see you again. It was indeed a pleasure meeting you at the Knightsbridges’ assembly.”

Graham nodded, his eyes searching Jillian’s face. “Mrs. Huntington, may I have the acquaintance of your charge?”

His voice was smooth and deep, the burn of whiskey sliding down a parched throat. The burn of whiskers rasping across the tender flesh of her throat, as heated as his kisses…

Jillian automatically put a gloved hand to her flushed neck in remembrance. Her aunt’s gaze riveted to Jillian. “Your Grace, Lady Jillian Stranton, daughter of the earl of Stranton. My niece. Lady Jillian, His Grace, the Duke of Caldwell.”

By rote, she sank into a deep curtsy, knees wobbling so precariously it was a marvel she didn’t collapse upon her skirts. Graham nodded toward her dance card, the short pencil dangling from it.

“May I have the pleasure of the next waltz?” he asked.

Her dry lips moved. Bernard had requested that one. “I’m afraid the next dance is taken, Your Grace.”

“Then I must find one that is available.”

Graham picked up her dance card, penciled in his name. His dark, knowing gaze buried into hers. He dropped the card, gently grazing her gloved wrist. Heat blazed between them, a living, writhing thing. The pencil swayed from her trembling wrist.

“Until then,” he murmured.With a shaking hand, Jillian scanned the card. The dance right after Bernard’s. His.

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Where's the brain cells? Gone with the wind.

It's time I admitted something I've been trying not to think about since the hurricane.

I still can't believe how stupid I was...

this is a photo I took of the Florida room a half an hour before the tree fell on it. It was right in the middle of the storm. Winds were whipping and I stepped into the room for a minute to see the action. Took a photo. It's too dark to see how furious the wind was blowing.

This is a photo of our Florida room and what happened a half an hour later. (The photo was taken after the storm)

Had I been standing in the room when the tree fell, I'd have been struck on the head. Maybe killed.

I honestly did not take this storm that seriously. Maybe because Hurricane Frances fooled me last year. A three day nightmare, slow moving hurricane where the winds were blowing, but not so hard. We even opened the windows to let in fresh air after the power went out last year. Hell, we were staying in this room to read because it was so dark in the house!

I hate to admit it but I think I didn't have a brain three weeks ago when Hurricane Wilma hit. I have nightmare visions of being killed by that falling tree, and then seeing the autopsy, just like on CSI, my new fav. TV show. Nick Stokes (what a hottie!) and the doctor are peering into my head.

Nick: What is it, Doc? What are these two objects? Gummy bears?
Doc, shaking his head in sad disbelief: No Nick, they are Bonnie's last two brain cells. I think they were fighting each other the day of the hurricane.
Nick: You mean, when the tree fell on her house and she was standing there in the most vulnerable room of the house, watching the hurricane?
Doc: Yup, I'm afraid the cause of death is... Stupiditus.
Nick, sighing: What a shame. I bet she lost the few good brain cells with the falling barometric pressure. If only she had listened to Jim Cantore from the Weather Channel...

I swear upon whatever malfunctioning brain cells are in my head, that I will Never, Ever, EVER...

Not Take A Hurricane Seriously. Ever Again.

Next time, even if it's barely a Cat. 1, I'm outta here. Dh will STILL have to work at the hospital, leaving me alone again. So I'm taking me, the dogs, the parrot...

And my stupid brain cells.

And getting the hell out of Dodge.

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Mine's the BIGGEST!!!

If you type biggest dong, no quote marks, into Google's search engine, my web site is NUMBER ONE!!!

Penis enlargement spammers, beware! Out of more than 1 million dongers, mine is bigger than yours! Ha ha!

Try it!

Ah yes, these days I am so easily amused by the little, er, I mean the BIGGEST, things.

Sunday, November 06, 2005

Klaatu Barada Nikto.

WE got our cable back today and this a.m. instead of working, I watched THE DAY THE EARTH STOOD STILL.

figured it was quite fitting, watching life stand still in the 1950's while half of my county still doesn't have power.

I was trying to puzzle out the words, "Klaatu Barada Nikto. " For those unfamiliar with this classic movie, 'dem is the words Patricia Neal's character speaks to Gort, the robot, to prevent him from DESTROYING THE WORLD.

Or so we believe.

I think "Klaatu Barada Nikto" can stand for many meanings, depending upon said situation.

For example, if your power is out for 10 days straight and FPL forgot you, it can mean, "Restore power immediately or I shall run amok with my gas powered hedge trimmer and turn my neighbor's greenery into chaos!"

Or, "Will you adjust my cable bill for the days I was without or must I sic my hungry Rottweiller on your billing people?"

Or, "If I have to wait in another 64 hour gas line again, I shall destroy all in my path! Love, me."

Personally, I'd rather think that it advocates peace, love and harmony.

"Klaatu Barada Nikto."

The perfect phrase every South Florida homeowner NEEDS to hear:


LOOK MA!!! I'm Uncle Fester!!!

I figured there had to be a "bright" side to this electrocution thingie.

I went to the garage, found a 60W light bulb and stuck it into my mouth just like Uncle Fester in THE ADAMS FAMILY.

WOW! I light up like a Christmas tree at Rockefellera Center in NY CITYA!!!

I figure there is gold in dem lights.

I'm gonna rent myself out as a walking, talking eletrical appliance for those still without power. Like my FIL.

He has NO power. So I figure, $5 an hour as a living light appliance. Hey, I'll be cheap. $25 for the whole damn night. Just stick a 60 watt bulb in my mouth, and I'll shine da light on your home all night. Stand there like a living light pole. Just like Unca Fester.

Forget FPL. Forget Kansas City linemen or the rugged, cute, Texas boys we saw last night at da restaurant, eating beef, slugging down beer and being cheered by the rest of the diners for their hard work.

You, the powerless and the forgotten, now have MOI! Bonnie, da light extraordinaire! Fired up by a shocking jolt of 220 W, she now can power a measly, but still working, 60 watt bulb to light up your life.

'course I will NOT see what happens if you try to plug into my "other" end.

God only knows what kind of electrical shock DH is due for...

hee hee hee!


i went to turn on the hot water heater. didn't realize the plastic guard was off.

touched the metal tab. it was wired with 220 volts.


my hand is still hurting.

my house is still a disaster zone. my good friend just got laid off. roofers are trying to pressure me into signing up with them or we'll never get our holey roof fixed.

someone please tell me it will get better. or just shoot me.

Saturday, November 05, 2005

My man has 18"

I knew I was in trouble when his car pulled up and he had a gleam in his eye. Following my DH was our friend and neighbor.

DH got out and whipped it out... the 18" that will obsess him all weekend. Our friend's eyes lit up with jealous appreciation.

"Wow," he mumured. "Haven't seen one of those in a long time. You're so lucky."

I had tremendous fear DH would hurt himself. Did he know how to handle those 18"? What about me? All I was used to was a wimpy 12" that barely worked and DH had to really apply himself to get the job done.

But I think those 18" will come in handy, despite my fears.

The 18" is a brand new chainsaw. I stood there like a nervous wife, hand wringing, as they stroked her chaisse and fingered her chain with ooohhs and ahhhs. And then they set to it, cutting up part of the tree downed in front.

Wood chips flew. Dh had a mad grin on his face. The look was there. NEW TOY!

This weekend, we have a date with a chainsaw. Oh boy. I can't wait.

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

A love story

She had been breathlessly awaiting his arrival all day. When he walked through the door, she launched herself at him like a skyrocket.

"Whoa there," he said, laughing. "Don't worry. I won't back out."

"You'd better not," she said, smiling and so happy to see him. Her heart raced madly. Oh, he looked so good, she just couldn't believe he was hers. All for the next hour. She grabbed his hand.

"Back here," she ordered. "We've no time to waste."

She led him to the right spot. Breath caught in her lungs as he bent over, the tight clasp of his low riding jeans squeezing him like a bum squeezing a dollar.

"Right here?" he asked gently. "Do you want me to do it now?"

"Oh, yes, yes, yes!" she screamed. "Do me now! DO IT, DO IT!"

Her screams of esctasy filled the air. She didn't care if the neighbors heard. As he removed his enormous hammer, she gloried in the sight of its thick, long shaft.

Far too long she had been denied. Far too long she had waited, heard stories of his tremendous prowess as he satisfied all the desperate housewives in the neighborhood. Now, at last, it was her turn. As he began to pound his tool, she shook with unbridled joy, feeling something she had not felt in ages.

Utter satisfaction.

For at last... the roofer... had come.

Saved by the bra

For our ten year anniversary, DH had given me a small diamond heart pendant on a thin gold chain. I've been wearing it daily, and today went to work with it on.

This morning, I went to feel for it and it was gone. Panicked. My heart is gone, I told everyone.

We're all lined up like a boiler room, computers on tables. Then someone asked, "Did you look down your shirt?"

I peeked down inside my shirt and said in embarrassment, "It's in my bra."Everyone laughed and applauded. My heart was saved by my bra.

Today found out one of our favorite parks to bike ride in is closed until April. It was only 3 miles away from our house, featured large, shady trees, a string of lakes threading through the park. It reminded me of parks I frequented in NJ. Now it's trashed. Sigh...One day at a time. One day at a time.


There's a train car in New Mexico called the O.Y. "O" stands for operational, meaning it doesn't earn money, and "Y" is the letter assigned to it. It's a snowblower, but Dh and I joke that it's the OY car, the car you take on the tracks when things are piled too high.

We need the OY car here in South Florida.

Our power is back on, thank you God! I was ready to lose my mind yesterday. Between worrying about our roof and then losing power... It's a good thing we got it back, too, as right after, DH ran down to our friend's house with the last of our gas to give him for the generator we loaned him. He had maybe 1 gallon left in the generator. Our friend and his wife had to do an emergency rescue of people in a nearby retirement community.

we had four inches of rain yesterday in South Florida. In that retirement community, the ceiling collapsed.

A lot of ceilings collapsed all over. In Palm Beach county, 50,000 homes are structurely unsound and condemned. Those people are homeless.

In our county, 1,000 people are now homeless. They had to literally rush out of their apartments, condos and homes in the pouring rain as it rain into what was left of their homes. Many are elderly. They are confused. They don't know the hell what to do.

So here I am, back with power, feeling grateful, feeling relieved and feeling awful for those who lost everything. I wish I could help, but what the hell can I do? I'm just hanging in there one day at a time myself. Praying our roof will hold and we too, won't have to rush out in the rain with what little we can gather. It's shocking and sad how one day you go from wondering about what you'll cook for Thanksgiving dinner to worrying about if the roof will hold.

Yup, the OY car. We need it here in South Florida. Because all I can do is look around at my house, those who have it much worse than me and say, "Oy. What a freaking mess."

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

We lost power, again

I'm ready to just shoot myself.

Transformer blew, the neighbors told me. Happened while I was at work. We just had a wicked downpour and the transformer blew up. Smoking. I came home and the dogs are terrified. They can't stop panting. I'm trying to calm them down as the parrot is shrieking. I'm about to lose my damn mind.

The only good news is I THINK the patchwork DH did on the roof is holding up. I don't see a leak.


The irony is, we gave away our generator to friends who didn't have power yet. So here we are, powerless, no generator.

That will teach us for being nice.


Saving the bar

It's raining.

I'm depressed and scared. I hope the repairs DH did to the roof will hold and the two-foot hole is okay and won't leak. And there's what's left of the florida room... the roof on that tore off from the house roof and rain will pour inside what's left of the room...

The bar is still in there. I forgot to get it out.

It's a solid wood bar, one his dad gave us. Been in his family for years. I just moved it out of the direct hole in the roof so rain won't drip on it, but when water starts pouring into the florida room, the bottom will get wet and rot.

Maybe I can get some guys from work to sneak away and save the bar.

There's just so many things to try to think of... and my brain has turned into cottage cheese. Last night the power flickered again. We held our breath. Today it's hot and sticky. We have no a/c. DH won't test run it until he blows the foot of wood chips out of the fan outside. He's afraid if he doesn't, the chips will jam the fan motor and then we're really screwed.

Good luck in finding an a/c repair person now. Nothing much is open. Even the Publix by me still has no power. the dunkin donuts has no power. Very few businesses are open.

I need to save the bar today. Somehow. Someway. I've got to shake off this damn depression. It's not helping.

Still can't get hold of my insurance company. I really do think the agents packed their bags and are living in Argentina.