Tired of Words? Almost, But Not Quite.

I feel as if all I’ve done is manage words for the last week. I’ve written a blue million of them (exaggeration) and edited the rest. I’m not finished yet, either, though I have to tell you, I’m about ready to … oh heck, I can’t even describe what I’m about ready to do, because I’ve run out of words.

Several years ago, a friend asked if I saw words when I spoke. It took me a few minutes to respond because I had to process on that one. Then I realized, that yes, I actually see the words in front of me (in my mind’s eye). I’m constantly spelling and sounding things out, no matter what I’m doing. I always have.

If you tell me that you are holding a blue pen, I don’t see the image of the blue pen, because there are still yet too many variables. But I see “b-l-u-e-p-e-n.” And I know what you’re describing. We can still have a conversation about the blue pen that you’re holding because I translate all of those letters and words into a common understanding.

When I was in college, I discovered that my perfect pitch was more of a hindrance than a blessing. I took my first music listening courses at the University of Iowa where there were five of us with perfect pitch in the classroom. The professor decided that rather than seeing this as a good thing, we needed to … well, I’ll just say it … be punished. So … he insisted that everything he played be written in a specific key. If he played it in the key of D, we had to write what we were hearing in the key of G. He insisted that he was teaching us how to hear relative pitch, but the truth was, all of us simply translated what we heard as a D to a G. I didn’t learn any more about relative pitch then than I had ever known. I simply learned that he was a jerk and couldn’t see the benefit of us having perfect pitch.

It’s kind of like knowing two languages and encountering someone who knows two completely different languages. However, if the two of you find someone who speaks one of your languages and one of that person’s languages, they can translate and help you have a conversation.

Wait. Maybe it’s nothing like that. It appears I got lost in the word ‘translate’ and everything has gone to a weird place.

I should probably go back to my editing.

In case you didn’t get the email newsletter this morning, I made us a cover with a title for Book 15! I’m so in love with this image and the title fits with the book perfectly. Do you realize it’s less than a month now? There is so much left to do, but I’m right on schedule. It’s gonna be fun.

Tomorrow is Friday! And then it’s the weekend! I’m still out of food and need to head into town tomorrow, but YAY!

Okay – here’s the cover and I’ll chat at you later. Back to work, Diane!

Capture The Moments 100 dpi

Busy, Busy, Busy

I don't care what you're doing. I'm bored. Play with me!

I don’t care what you’re doing. I’m bored. Play with me!

I just scheduled the newsletter for tomorrow morning’s delivery. I can hardly wait for you to read it! If you haven’t signed up, you can do so right over there to the right of this post.

Of course there’s a vignette … I might have been working something out in that one. Whoops! Haha.

AND … there will be a title and cover reveal. Oh yeah, baby, I’ve been working like a fiend this last week.

There is so much that happens when I’m in the middle of a book. I swear, I need a keeper! The house is going to pot, I really don’t have a lot of food here. Fortunately, Amazon delivered a Prime Pantry box yesterday so I have things to drink (read: caffeine). The cats have plenty of food – yay me. Good mom!

By the time I’m finished writing a book, I have acknowledged so many continuity issues that I just know for certain the book is total crap. I’m positive of that. It happens with every single book.

I’m nearly finished with my first edit of this thing and am fixing issues one after another and I realize that oh, it’s not that bad. Every once in a while, I chuckle and think … that was kind of funny. Sometimes I cry because the characters are aching with pain and I realize that the book is actually going to be okay.

And the characters? Oh, I have a couple of flipping cuties that are introduced in this book. And one new character, though minor, just cracks me up.

Pretty sure I have enough food (oh don’t worry too much, I have a pantry filled with food – I just don’t have the time to invest in making meals – see, a keeper!) to get me through until Friday afternoon. Otherwise, it will be a most excellent diet.

I need to get back to Bellingwood. Sirens are coming through town and Polly’s phone just rang. Yeah. Gonna leave you with that.

A Bit of Odd Stuff on a Tuesday

TB feels a disturbance in the force. Who is that up there? (It's Grey)

TB feels a disturbance in the force. Who is that up there? (It’s Grey)

How many of you saw the article on the study done in Germany with LSD and its effects on language? (Here’s a link).  As I read the little synopses about it, I found myself laughing. None of this is new information to those of us who grew up in the sixties and seventies. However, if they can uncover new ways to treat depression and mental illness, rock on.

Another use for LSD is currently under scientific debate. An author of the study says that “Inducing a hyper-associative state may have implications for the enhancement of creativity.”

I really had to sit back and just say “duh” to that one. Again. Were you just not around in the 60s or 70s? What in the world do you think was happening with all of those musicians and the incredible artists? Did you just completely miss Timothy O’Leary’s existence?

There was an interesting magazine called “Mondo 2000” that circulated in the 1980s / 1990s. It’s editor was R. U. Sirius and then Queen Mu. It was a cyberculture mag that absolutely fascinated this young white girl who had grown up in the purity of Iowa farmland. In one of R.U. Sirius’s long, rambling articles, he told of his experience with acid and subsequent meeting with aliens. They lived among us. He was absolutely certain that if he hadn’t been tripping, he would never have been able to cross over into the dimension where they could be encountered. I couldn’t believe what I was reading. It. Was. Awesome. Here were people exploring things that I would never have the courage to attempt and they were happy to tell me about it.

Now the only problem with that culture was that they couldn’t accomplish much since they spent so much time being high. The magazines weren’t published on a regular basis, no matter how many promises were made. There was never enough money because they simply couldn’t stay focused on the task at hand. You should know, though, that many of the folks from Mondo 2000 transitioned to work at “Wired” magazine and for BoingBoing. This was the beginning of the cyberpunk subculture.

But the failure of that magazine tells me that if you’re going to use LSD to create, you really need someone straight around you to make sure that the rest of the work gets completed.

Now why am I telling you all about this?

Well, I read about this German study on LSD and had to chuckle at its obvious conclusions. Then it took me down a long path of memories to times when the outliers in our culture were more willing to publicly experiment with things and not worry about who was going to storm their houses based on an errant tweet or personal FB photo.

And hey … I would have been willing to be a participant in the study. Just for a short time. Under controlled circumstances. My cells have never seen anything like that before and they’d be prime fodder for entertainment. Just be sure to let me have a laptop so that I can write things down as I’m going. It would have to make for an entertaining read. I mean, what if there were aliens all around us … just on a different dimensional plane. I’d like to have a conversation with them. As long as they have a universal communicator. Wait. Maybe the LSD would open my synapses enough so that I could actually understand their language too.

Yeah. I probably need to get back to writing about Bellingwood. It’s a lot closer to sanity than this little rabbit hole.

Bye-Bye, Rio. (And a Book 15 Update)

I’m done. I typed the final period and sent Polly off for a pork tenderloin. She deserves it.

This book did not want to let me go. I typed over 100,000 words (usually around 90,000) and did that in 30 chapters (usually 27). The last three days is when it all exploded. I should have been wrapping things up, but there was more to tell! For a girl who generally writes two-three thousand words a day, I’ve written more than sixteen thousand words since Saturday. The good news is that there is plenty of dross in the middle of the book that will soon be burned away.

I’m a couple of days behind my deadline. That will make this week a little hairy, especially with the newsletter coming out Thursday morning. That means I need to write a vignette, decide on a title (hah, like I have choices yet … they’ll come, but yikes), create and design a cover and finish the first round of edits. Yeah, yeah. Why not? I’m good at deadlines. They bring focus. And a level of insanity. There might not be enough caffeine in the house for this.

But … I’m done! That’s pretty cool.


001I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m about Olympic-ed out. It was a really fun ride, but I’m ready to do something else. Maybe. On the other hand … I might actually just be missing it.

Let’s see: I fell in love with rugby. That game is crazy-wild-fierce! Every single minute of those rugby matches was exciting. I want more of this. A lot more. When I watched the Fijiian team win the gold medal – the first medal ever for their country, I wept with them.

Volleyball – whether beach or court – is just plain fun. And intense. I didn’t care who was playing, I was watching. It was fun to just see that incredible level of play happening and then to realize that we live in such an amazing world. Sometimes we get so insulated here in the US that we forget about the excellence in sportsmanship found all over this earth. We are only a part of it and the more we engage with the world, the better we become.

Swimming – Phelps, Ledecky, Manuel, Dirado, Peaty, Hosszu … these are names that mean something. They showed the joy they took in their sport. And if you need to focus on any ugliness, stop it. I don’t want to hear about it.

Basketball – remember the days when our professional athletes couldn’t play? I’m still stuck in 1984 with the dream team. You couldn’t pry me away from the television when they played. Even now, to watch our teams go up against international teams in true competition, it’s exciting.

Gymnastics – the world was captivated. It makes sense. Beauty and power in tiny bodies that explode across a variety of events.

I watched diving and rowing, kayaking, shooting, archery, handball, weightlifting, wrestling, (whoa!), fencing, judo. A little water polo, but then I started yawning and thought I should try something else.

Track and field. Remember Carl Lewis? Flo-Jo? Marion Jones? Evelyn Ashford? I do. And now, Usain Bolt goes down in history. He is simply amazing. But we add names like D’Agostino (USA) and Hamblin (New Zealand) who helped each other after that gruesome fall. That’s what international competition is about. Michelle Carter and her gold medal for shot put. Girl! Look at you! Ashton Eaton retaining the gold in the decathlon and those amazing girls in the 4x100m relay: Bartoletta, Felix, Gardner and Bowie.

These amazing athletes will take time to celebrate and return to their normal lives. Did you know that one of the players for the USA rugby team was on sabbatical from the New England Patriots so he could fulfill this dream? He has a huge season ahead of him, but his team and coaches believed in this dream for him and gave him the time away. He didn’t bring home gold, but he is an Olympian now. That’s enough.

The moments of last week are beginning to fade from our conversations and thoughts. But they happened. In a world that seems so out of control, for one brief moment in time, it came together in a spirit of competition, sportsmanship, grace and unity.

I’m going to miss it all.

Sleeping and Cats … Nope.

But he's so cute when he's asleep.

But he’s so cute when he’s asleep.

I understand that last night’s post was rudely interrupted by words. Good heavens, Diane, you are easily distracted.


I’m writing like a mad fiend tonight. The book refuses to end. These silly characters have too much to say and won’t let me shut them up. But I have to finish it tonight. I have to. Okay … I want to. I really want to.

And the stupid murderer decided to spew more words out there, too. Just shut up and go peacefully here, will you?

TB has been quite needy the last few days, not allowing me to get much sleep. Because Earl is so desperate to be close to him, TB no longer sleeps at the end of the bed, but has found his way to the pillow beside me. I’m fine with that for the most part, but because he’s now so close to me, I think he senses that moment when I’m about to drift away. And he can’t stand it. Every time I do, he meows at me.

Those danged ‘meows.’ I swear that cats use that tone and pitch and sound to elicit a programmed response. You know, the one that forces me into taking care of every cat in a ten mile radius. I can’t resist that sound. It’s pathetic and sound and so needy. I react.

TB learned from the very beginning that when he found something that made me react, whether it was good or bad, he needed to repeat it over and over in order to keep my attention on him. Consequently, I have nothing on my desk top. It is always cleared. I no longer keep a trash can at my desk because TB discovered that I reacted when he tipped it over. The other reaction that TB goes for is when he scratches at the window beside the bed. A cat tree sits under the window so they can look out at the world. That’s all fine and good, except for TB, who will scratch at it until I wake up and turn over. Even if I yell at him or shake the cat tree to force him off, he soon returns and tries again.

The other morning I caught him pawing at the window, then stopping to look over at me just to see if I was watching him. Really, cat? I keep thinking that maybe if I close my eyes tightly and try to relax, I can out-wait him. He can’t paw at the window that long, can he? You bet he can. And TB has learned that though I use my big angry voice on him when he’s pushed me too far, it doesn’t mean much. It’s not like I’m going to do anything horrible to him. Dang it. I’ve lost control (like I ever had it).

So anyway, back to the meowing as I drift off to sleep. It happened enough times in a row that I’m certain he can sense when my body crosses from being mostly awake to mostly asleep. And when I’m mostly asleep, I’m not paying attention to him.

Now, we’re all fully aware that TB is not fond of full-on petting or hugging or kissing. He’ll bite you for that behavior. Okay, he’ll bite me. He just wants me to be aware of his closeness to me and waiting for him to do whatever it is he wants while I stay awake.

This morning went over the top, though. I had finally fallen asleep after a long night of writing. When I’m at deadline and the story is racing around in my head, I find it nearly impossible to wind down. Between not falling asleep in a timely manner and TB wanting me to be awake on the other end of my *night*, I’m exhausted around here. I know that at some point, I will have to sleep whether he’s bothering me or not. But that point hasn’t arrived yet. And the kittens? Oh, they’re just hanging out. If I’m up and moving, they want to play. If I’m lying down, they are fully prepared to snuggle in for some more sleep.

This morning, TB had decided I’d been asleep long enough (two hours should just about do it, right?). I was sound asleep when all of a sudden I leaped awake because … TB was standing on the pillow beside my head and chose to meow right in my ear.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay? Why are you … Oh. Damn. It’s you again. What in the h-e-double toothpicks are you doing to me?” He had obviously tried to get me up and in his frustration at my lack of attention, climbed up to my head, found my ear and delivered his pitiful cry. I turned over, put my arms around him and tugged him in close to me. That was fine for just long enough for me to drift back to sleep and he wriggled out from under my arms, jumped up to the ledge of the cat tree and pawed at the window, while glancing my way to find out if I’d wake up enough to react.

By that time, he had me fully awake and I sat up on the edge of the bed. Whoops. Gravity. Time for a bathroom run. This is another fun event in the life of Diane and TB. When my feet hit the ground, there is generally a big, black and white cat on the floor where I want to walk. He must go ahead of me, stretching out so as to slow me down. I try to walk around him, he ducks and weaves. I wait for him to choose which way around the table he’ll take and I’ll go the other way, but he’s always at the doorway of the bathroom before me and stands there, in my way. Yep, I push his little butt with my foot.

We get back to bed and the process starts right away. I try to fall back to sleep, he doesn’t want me to go yet. In an hour or so, if I’ve managed to do it right and drift away, he’s back at the window, wanting me to wake up and love him some more.

Of course, once I’m up for the day, TB is quite content to sleep for hours under the covers of the bed.

I certainly hope this is all about changes in barometric pressure and not the beginning of some new life experience for him. Argh.

Book 15 will soon be written, edited and off to my beta reader / editors. At least I’ll have that stress out of my life for a couple of weeks. Then maybe I can take lots of naps and re-gather my strength for the books to come.

And … I’m still not talking about favorite foods. Hmmm … maybe I should give it up. Nah. I’m tenacious. There’s always tomorrow.

Congratulations, Winners!

Reading through your posts about the friendships you all have, I found myself back and forth between giggling at your antics, blessed by your stories and weeping over yet other stories. You filled my heart for the last few days and it has been wonderful. Friendships and close relationships are such a wonderful gift.

And you all are a gift to me.

I had made a third gift bag, so that means (of course) that we can add a third winner. YAY!


Jim Fields, Betsey Hoyt and Sarah Franks … you have won a tote bag and your choice of one of the 14 books. Send me a message on FB or using the Contact Me form on the website letting me know your mailing address and which book you’d like.

And … if you are a cat lover, let me know that, too. One of these has cats on it and I’d like to get it to the one who might appreciate it! 🙂

Thank you all for sharing … and now I’ll send you back to your regularly scheduled Sunday.

A Tale of … The Mondegreen Rabbit Hole

What is your goto treat?

Polly’s is ice cream sandwiches. Once Henry discovered that, he was in like Flynn.

Errol Flynn - dems some smoldering good likes right dere!

Errol Flynn – dems some smoldering good likes right dere!

Sidenote: I just had to look up the origins of that phrase – in like Flynn. Oh my! What in the world? I had no idea. It means to have easily achieved a goal … well, according to legend, this has to do with Errol Flynn’s notorious womanizing tactics and successes … uh, okay. The man was gorgeous; I get it, but whoa.

Another possibility was that it referred to a NYC political boss whose candidates that he backed were a sure thing because of his power.

However, if you use the phrase “In like Flint,” that’s a malapropism – it’s not the original phrase, but the James Coburn movie’s title was a play on “In like Flynn.”

Malapropism? That is a “usually humorous misapplication of a word or phrase” (Merriam-Webster).  The word malapropism comes from a character named Mrs. Malaprop in a play by Richard Brinsley Sheridan. Before he introduced her in 1775, Shakespeare’s character named Dogberry from “Much Ado About Nothing” made those errors and they were then called dogberryisms.

Some of Mrs. Malaprop’s best phrases were things like: he is the very pineapple of politeness (pinnacle), she’s as headstrong as an allegory on the banks of the Nile (alligator), it gives me the hydrostatics to such a degree (hysterics).

A quick link to a different page and I discovered celebrity malapropisms.

“Listen to the blabbing brook.” (babbling) Norm Crosby

“We cannot let terrorists and rogue nations hold this nation hostile or hold our allies hostile.” (hostage) George W. Bush

“The police are not here to create disorder, they’re here to preserve disorder.” (order) Richard Daley, former Chicago mayor

Yogi Berra was a master of malapropisms: “Texas has a lot of electrical votes.” (electoral)

And if this weren’t enough insanity, there is another type of malapropism called a mondegreen (sigh, more information). A mondegreen comes from something being misheard. For those of us who grew up with 60s and 70s music, we created a bunch of them.

“There’s a bathroom on the right” rather than “There’s a bad moon on the rise.” (CCR)

“Bring me an iron lung” instead of “Bring me a higher love.” (Steve Winwood)

“The girl with colitis goes by” (seriously?) instead of “The girl with kaleidoscope eyes.” (Beatles)

“Excuse me while I kiss this guy” rather than “Excuse me while I kiss the sky.” (Jimi Hendrix)

“Midnight after you’re wasted” instead of “Midnight at the oasis.” (Maria Muldaur)

And where does the word mondegreen come from? (Why not, I’ve flown down the rabbit hole with both eyes open.)

The author, Sylvia Wright, heard a Scottish ballad called “The Bonny Earl of Murray” as

Ye highlands and ye lowlands
Oh where hae you been?
Thou hae slay the Earl of Murray
And Lady Mondegreen.

The actual lyric reads:
…Thou hae slay the Earl of Murray
and laid him on the green.

My favorite will always be the story (whether legendary or true) of the little boy who returned home after attending Sunday School all excited because they’d talked about bears that day. When his mother pressed for more information, he told the story of “Gladly, the cross-eyed bear.”

That was a fun trip in and amongst words, phrases and all of the craziness that goes with them. I guess I’ll write about ice cream and treats another day. Back to work for me, now.


Weather – Bah

From December 2013. TB finally got to go out in the snow. He liked it.

From December 2013. TB finally got to go out in the snow. He liked it.

Remember when we were younger and we laughed at our fathers for watching The Weather Channel for hours on end?

Was that just my father?

Sheesh. I don’t watch the television channel, but I certainly have the weather website bookmarked. I’m there all the time, checking out what’s going on in my little corner of the world. It all started when I was traveling in the middle of the winter. I’d never been so obsessed with Mother Nature’s attitude before. And then … it became a habit. I can hardly control myself. What’s the temperature? The wind speeds? The humidity? And the dew point? I can not even begin to name a time in my life prior to these last five years when I even knew what that was, much less cared. But I care now! Oh, somebody stop me.

Nah, don’t bother. I’ll just be back fretting over it tomorrow.

August is what I like to call the mid-February of summer. You know, that period of time when it’s the ugliest part of the season. We’ve been through all of the cold / heat we want to put up with and yet the season continues to be relentless. We know that it’s going to warm up / cool down pretty soon and can hardly wait. Every miserable day just reminds us that it’s still summer and every glorious day taunts us by being much too short. As dry and crackly as mid-winter is, the humidity of mid-summer chokes us in its grasp.

As look at the coming forecast shows fewer ugly-hot days (any day over 90 degrees), but not quite those crisp glorious fall days that give us a reason for living.

Of course, for those pessimists among us, autumn only means that roads will soon be icy and snow-packed, temps will fall below zero and we’ll have to pile on layers and layers of clothing just to walk outside.

But you know, I’m forever thankful to live in a part of the world that experiences every season, even if I get weary of two of them long before they’re finished. Yeah. If spring and fall could both show up a month earlier, that’d be great. I yearn for the warmth and humidity of summer as winter continues to throw snow and cold at me. And right now I find myself yearning for the biting, fresh air of winter.

I think that both of those yearning are good for me. Kind of like my life. I am always yearning for change and for fresh new ideas and thoughts to fill me up. I am so very content and satisfied with the fact that I do live and experience the four seasons, but I don’t want to stay in them forever. Even spring and fall would grow old if that’s all we knew. I love the fresh growth of spring, but I also enjoy the maturity that summer brings to nature. I love the colors of autumn, but I also am grateful for winter’s sleep that allows nature to rest.

The weather website will be one of my first checks now for the rest of my life. I can’t help my curiosity about what happens outside. We have little control over any of it, but I will also be fascinated

Time for a Giveaway

Part 1

This has been a grumpy week for me. I’m seriously tired of people. That’s funny because I’m a hermit.

I also believe that I’m so ding-donged tired of heat and humidity I want to scream bloody murder. Drippy hot stuff makes this old lady-chick cranky.

One of the things I’ve learned over a lifetime of managing my emotions is that when I get like this, the best thing I can do for myself is do something for someone else.

Lucky you.

Part 2

A friend wondered if I could make a smaller version of my tote bag. Even before I knew how it would happen, I said yes. Then came the task of figuring it out.

That required test bags.

Lucky you.

IMG_6070Here’s the deal …

I can make as many tote bags as I’d ever need, so what should I do with these?

Give them away, of course.

There will be two winners and each of you will win a tote bag as well as a signed paperback copy of any of the fourteen books that have already been published – your choice.

Lucky you.

To enter …

Write a comment on either this post on the FB Bellingwood page or here on this blog post and tell me something wonderful about your best friend. Tell me about your spouse, your child, your sibling, your pet, your friend. Once you’ve told me, be sure to tell them, too.

Hopefully there will be so many comments, I won’t have time to respond to them (gotta finish writing a book this weekend!), but I can hardly wait to read them.

Maybe you aren’t having a grumpy week; maybe yours has been glorious, but sometimes we all need to think about someone else and why they are so terrific. Read through the stories that are posted and smile!

You have until Sunday, August 21 at noon to write your comment. I will enter all of your names into my handy-dandy random name chooser and come up with two winners, then announce them in a quick post here and on Facebook.

Thanks for being such a great community.


Earl is in the back, cleaning his sister, Grey's, head.

Earl is in the back, cleaning his sister, Grey’s, head.

How cool are words? You take twenty-six letters, create thousands of words and you have a language. Just. Wow.

Tonight, as I watched Olympic Men’s Volleyball (Brazil / Argentina), the commentator announced the score: Four-Love. That sent me wandering. Why do we call a score of zero – love? I’ve heard it all my life at tennis matches, but apparently today is the day I ask the question.

The word is not our word for love … not at all. It comes from the French l’oeuf – egg. Zero looks like an egg, so l’oeuf … and when English speakers got their lips around the word it became love. Awesome. Now I know.

My sister teaches fifth grade and one of the things she begins emphasizing to her students at this age is how language is developed from other languages. They look at the etymology of words – where words actually come from.

One of my favorite yearly expenditures is my subscription to Merriam-Webster’s Online Unabridged Dictionary. Not only do I get the entire definition, but synonyms and the origin of each word I look up. When I’m writing and editing, I spend an awful lot of time on this site. Sometimes I go there just for fun.

Okay, for instance, the word ‘word’ comes through the Middle English from Old English. And M-W takes us back through Old High German – wort, Old Norse – orth, Gothic – waurd, Latin – verbum, Greek – eirein (to say) or rhema (word) or rhetor (orator), Lithuanian vardas. All of that fabulous information that gives me a thick and fleshy understanding.

M-W also has a list of the most frequently looked up words in the past 7 days. So, on that list is misogyny. We all know that the definition is: a hatred of women. But I continued reading and discovered that its first known use was around 1656, which means this has been a problem for centuries (some men need to just get over themselves). But the dictionary tells me that this is a Greek word – misogynia. Gyne is the word for woman (from whence also comes gynecology). All of a sudden, a word that was simply a thought unto itself – hatred of women, leads me to consider all of the words that it is related to. It is no longer a singular unit, it is part of a much bigger thought. At least it is for me.

This is a rabbit hole I could slide into with ease. And please, I don’t want to be rescued.

By the way – the word ‘rescue’comes through Middle and Old French rescourre – to shake out, wrest away. But that comes from the Latin excutere – from quartere to shake. The dictionary tells me that there is more information at the word ‘quash.’

I do not need to get lost in this maze tonight. I’m so close to finishing Book 15. I’ll be done writing by this weekend and then I begin the re-writes (which there are often a lot) and editing. I’m on schedule and it feels pretty good.

I looked up the word ‘kiss’ because I wanted to use a picture of my kitties cleaning each other. Oh my goodness. Lots of languages have this word ‘kiss’ in them. Old High German – kussen; Old Norse – kyssa; Gothic – kukjan. All of these words lead back to the Greek word – kynein which through much insanity comes from Sanskrit – cusati, which means he sucks. Oh my.