A Puppy and a Jetski Walk Into A Bar

Recently a friend of mine took a fall and sprained both wrists.  She was lamenting, among other things, her sudden inability to text and subsequent withdrawal symptoms thereof as well as the utterly stupid way it went down -- literally, she fell off the sidewalk. Can you imagine?  

She received all sorts of unique ways to explain her wrapped wrists from, “Doing a video for Jimmy Buffet’s ‘Margaritaville’ - slipped on a pop top, blew out a flip flop” to telling people it was a long story that involved, “a jetski and a puppy.”  Really anything is better than telling someone you fell off the sidewalk. . .

said I, until yesterday.

I was on my way to the gym for a work out.  I ride my bike because I’m cool like that.  I’ve got my gym bag hung on one shoulder pedaling at a moderate rate when I decide to take a shortcut onto the sidewalk that leads to the gym parking lot.  I live with men, I know how to take shortcuts.

I smoothly guided the bike up onto the sidewalk, slowing down to be safe.  I am always aware of my safety, that’s why I wear a helmet.  In the unlikely event that I fall, I don’t want to risk a head injury.  

As I slowly pedaled up the sidewalk, the gym bag fell from my shoulder, landing safely at my elbow, but jerking my hand off the handle bar causing a chain reaction whereby, my left hand over corrected and the bike veered off the sidewalk.  The chain reaction continued with the bike tipping slowly sideways into a very thorny bougainvillea bush, followed by my very 50 year-old body crashing down on top of the bike and the bush.  Did I mention the bush was thorny? Luckily no one was around to witness my epic loss of dignity so I picked myself up before anyone drove by and spotted me prone on the bush.  Unfortunately, my left arm and leg were cut-up enough to produce prodigious streams of blood  - good thing I wear a helmet and it was quickly apparent I had to get somewhere to clean it up and stop the bleeding.  The closest place?  The gym. . .full of people.

Where are a jetski and a puppy when you need one?

Say Yes To The Dress

I have spent a good amount of time extolling the huge differences between men and women.  I have waxed poetic on the XY chromosome and it’s unique set of qualities.  I have proclaimed my womanhood loud and proud, especially having lived with a house full of men.  After all of that, I have to sheepishly admit, I think I have been faking it.

Oh sure, I get my hair done, have manicures and pedicures, am drawn to handbags and shoes and love my share of jewelry.  I thought THAT alone qualified me for the girly girl club.  However, since my newly appointed role as MOG (Mother of the groom), I’ve had to face the very frightening reality that I don’t know nothin bout being no girl.  

Here’s the thing. . .unlike most of my female friends, I hate to shop.  Loathe it, in fact.  I pride myself on the fact that I usually know what I am looking for, where I want to go to get said item, and generally have a coupon when I go.  In and out.  The power shopping days where we girls all head to the mall, downtown Chicago or Galena or Lake Geneva are loads of fun. . .for the first block.  Then, I’m done. But, I amble along amiably, quietly checking my watch and wondering when everyone else wants to cease with the shopping and go get a drink.  

Now, faced with the daunting task of finding the perfect dress for my son’s wedding, I allowed the whole summer to pass knowing I had fall and winter to do that kind of shopping.  Fall had to gall to arrive so, unable to put if off further, I finally made the intrepid trip into a bridal salon.  I very quietly asked to see what they had in their “Mother Of” section and headed over there to peruse the selection.  Apparently people who work in those kind of shops are trained to actually help their clientele.  Not one but TWO overly energetic and enthusiastic women swarmed me, bombarding me with questions for which I did not know the answer, “What color are you thinking?  Formal? Tea length? Satin? Jacket? What dress size are you looking for?  

Size?  Well it depends. . .at Walmart I am an L but at Target I generally go for XL.  Is that what she meant?  Blinded by sequins, I sat down, while the ladies, completely unaware of my mental state, continued to pull dresses from their racks and hold them out for my approval. Well my head simply started spinning and  I wasn’t able to escape until the phone rang and one of the women went to answer it while the other went to see what was in back.  I hightailed it out to the car in search of a paper bag in which to breathe.  

No amount of estrogen can undo all the years of a testosterone driven household and the damage it has done to my “girl”.  Thankfully, the Bride and the MOB have consented to help me through this process. . .they know how to power shop. I might need some wine and Xanax but, if they are patient with me, I may discover my girl after all of these years.  I think I kind of miss her. 

Check out my Books here:

http://www.amazon.com/gp/search/ref=sr_tc_2_0?rh=i%3Astripbooks%2Ck%3AJudi+Coltman&keywords=Judi+Coltman&ie=UTF8&qid=1317240818&sr=1-2-ent&field-contributor_id=B004E5ZRHS

My Big Secret

You might have noticed that I haven’t paid much attention to my blog lately. . .then again, maybe you haven’t.  I’m not sure which is worse.  

Most of you know that I have written another book and spent the summer getting it ready to launch.  I have had exciting feedback on this new book - and in case you haven’t heard me talk about it ad nauseum, it’s called In The Name Of The Father.  This book is 180˚ out from the first book.  It was intentional.  If I may speak confidentially, may I?  I wrote the first book because I knew it would be easy for me.  That’s right, I said easy.  It’s not tough to comment on the human condition when it comes to the differences in men and women, they smack me in the face every single day.  Or, to ruminate on my aging body, and justify why I believe wine should be covered by health insurance (that should be a no-brainer!) or share my mishaps with a bag of pot.  So, yeah, in the big picture. . .it was easy.  The big question was, would it sell?  As a control freak, this looming question mark mocked me at every turn.  But, it did. . .and well.  I am proud to say it is still in the Amazon top 10 in humor, parenting and marriage - even after a year.  I learned a lot writing that book, putting it together, marketing it and figuring out what works and what doesn’t.  The one thing I learned was the best thing a writer can do it to write another book.  Luckily, I had one on the back burner of my brain with some haphazard starts on my hard drive.  People would ask, are you writing another book?  I’d answer in the affirmative and they’d just assume it was volume 2 of the first book.  They plied me with stories, suggestions, and ideas and I would listen, all the while knowing I wasn’t writing humor this time.  They were busy regaling me with funny and I was busy killing people off.  

So, on August 10th, a year to the day that I released Is It Just Me? or Is Everyone a Little Nuts!, I released In The Name Of The Father.  I am proud of both books, but this one is where my passion has always been and, I am here to tell you, it is a better book.   As I said, the feedback has been phenomenal.  There’s sex, drugs, language, murder, and even a love story, not your general humorous fare, right?  So, imagine my reaction when, among all of the obvious "thriller" comments, I get a reader who commented, “I thought it was a cute story.”    Cute? 

Huh.

http://www.amazon.com/Name-Father-ebook/dp/B005H0XM4E/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1316284598&sr=1-3

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/in-the-name-of-the-father-judi-coltman/1104814593?ean=2940013120273&itm=2&usri=judi%2bcoltman

My Big Secret

You might have noticed that I haven’t paid much attention to my blog lately. . .then again, maybe you haven’t.  I’m not sure which is worse.  

Most of you know that I have written another book and spent the summer getting it ready to launch.  I have had exciting feedback on this new book - and in case you haven’t heard me talk about it ad nauseum, it’s called In The Name Of The Father.  This book is 180˚ out from the first book.  It was intentional.  If I may speak confidentially, may I?  I wrote the first book because I knew it would be easy for me.  That’s right, I said easy.  It’s not tough to comment on the human condition when it comes to the differences in men and women, they smack me in the face every single day.  Or, to ruminate on my aging body, and justify why I believe wine should be covered by health insurance (that should be a no-brainer!) or share my mishaps with a bag of pot.  So, yeah, in the big picture. . .it was easy.  The big question was, would it sell?  As a control freak, this looming question mark mocked me at every turn.  But, it did. . .and well.  I am proud to say it is still in the Amazon top 10 in humor, parenting and marriage - even after a year.  I learned a lot writing that book, putting it together, marketing it and figuring out what works and what doesn’t.  The one thing I learned was the best thing a writer can do it to write another book.  Luckily, I had one on the back burner of my brain with some haphazard starts on my hard drive.  People would ask, are you writing another book?  I’d answer in the affirmative and they’d just assume it was volume 2 of the first book.  They plied me with stories, suggestions, and ideas and I would listen, all the while knowing I wasn’t writing humor this time.  They were busy regaling me with funny and I was busy killing people off.  

So, on August 10th, a year to the day that I released Is It Just Me? or Is Everyone a Little Nuts!, I released In The Name Of The Father.  I am proud of both books, but this one is where my passion has always been and, I am here to tell you, it is a better book.   As I said, the feedback has been phenomenal.  There’s sex, drugs, language, murder, and even a love story, not your general humorous fare, right?  So, imagine my reaction when, among all of the obvious "thriller" comments, I get a reader who commented, “I thought it was a cute story.”    Cute? 

Huh.

http://www.amazon.com/Name-Father-ebook/dp/B005H0XM4E/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1316284598&sr=1-3

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/in-the-name-of-the-father-judi-coltman/1104814593?ean=2940013120273&itm=2&usri=judi%2bcoltman

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

I would love to start this with some grand story about my intrepid escapades this summer.  Perhaps the thrill of cruising on an airboat through the wetlands and weeds of the Florida swamps in search of gators in weather so hot, I was never completely dry.  Yeah, I did that.  It was fun.  And yes, there were more alligators than I could count.

Or, learning that 50 means I'm not so good with the upsidedown, twisty roller coasters anymore.  Ask the ride operators at Universal Studios, they can explain.  But, if you were there, stuck in line on the Harry Potter flying experience and they announced over the loud speaker that the ride was "temporarily out of service" - well, it's probably my fault.  Sorry about that.

Or, I could tell you about the day I received a text message from Casey Anthony asking to hide out with me on vacation.  I almost had my phone shut down before realizing that it was a BAD joke from a friend who NEVER, EVER texts but knew I was in Florida.  Ha! Funny stuff Steph.

But, while all of that HAS happened, I've really spent the bulk of my summer sitting on my ever expanding butt, finishing my book, going through edits, and getting it ready for publishing.  And that day came (last Monday).  It's available in paperback on my website with a 20% coupon code available there.  It is also available on Kindle and Nook for $4.99 (links on my site).  Amazon and BN.com will pick it up in a few weeks.

There is still some summer left, so what do I do now?  I'm taking suggestions.  Anyone?
http://www.judicoltman.com

There's a Reason Why Fifty Rhymes With Nifty

In 1961, in Deaconess Hospital, in a well known city. . I was born.  Don't bother doing the math. I'm fifty.  And, I am happy about it.

Seriously, I know a lot of people dread the whole "getting another year older" thing and go with the all black "Over the Hill" theme, but I just don't feel that way.  I feel like I am still in my twenties.  I wake each morning, hop out of bed - ok, I don't hop, I roll, but that's not the point, I get out of bed and make a cup of coffee.  I did it in my twenties, I still do it now.  Except it takes a minute or two before I can stand upright, loosen the ol' back muscles, but that's ok because it takes that long for my cup to brew.

I feel like I could do about anything.  Well, except ski.  I don't ski anymore.  It hurts my knees and I never really felt the high your supposed to feel from whizzing down the face of a ridiculously steep mountain.  But I feel like I could climb that mountain in the summer, just find me a way down because again, the coming down sends a searing pain through my left knee - kind of like a knife was inserted in the joint.  Add ice skating to that list as well, it cramps my feet and they ache, why compound that pain by doing it in freezing temperatures?  Nope, done with that.

I'm still pretty good at tennis.  I don't play on a court any more, but the Wii says I am an expert.  I'll take that.  I can take an extended bike ride, as long as the path is flat and no one cares if I walk it up the unexpected hills from time to time.

I don't have any great desire to have cosmetic surgery.  I don't have a lot of wrinkles (Because, as my sister deftly pointed out. . .we carry our own supply of wrinkle reducer in the form of extra weight. . . I prefer to call it my instant collagen) and it seems to be working.

I have a bucket list, but things like skiing, mountain climbing, bike trips, not so much anymore. . . I've done that and I don't really even want to do them anymore.  What do I want to do?

Sure, I want to go to the Great Wall of China, see the Pyramids and visit Disney's Animal Kingdom, but the big kahuna, the stuff I am interested in is simple.

I want to write a few more books (just finished the second the other day!)  I want to watch my grandchildren grow up. I want to see the possibilities in every day and do my best to reach them - I know how corny that sounds, but I'm 50 now so I don't really care.  I might even buy a friggin red hat (perhaps like the one Princess Beatrice wore to the royal wedding).  All of my list items are not so lofty though,

recently, I bought a pair of really cute shoes. Black, strappy heeled sandles that zip up the back of the heel. I wore them, last weekend, to a wedding reception for several hours and they didn't hurt.  I call that a big win.

Razing a School Raises Emotions

Last Tuesday, on a very cold spring day, the wrecking crew began the long task of demolishing our elementary school.  A subject that has, from the start, created a lot of angst and discontent among the people of my small town, the razing of our town's began a whole new wave of bitter and sweet emotions and sent them rippling through town.  I  don't have that deep attachment that generations here do, I didn't go to school there but my kids did.

I went to school in Michigan, and, a few years ago, my school was torn down and a new one built in it's place.  So, I understand the emotions people are feeling.  When my old school was being razed, the school took every step they could in letting alumni know of the impending tear down.  In particular, there were tiles that we made in art class that had been used to line the pond in one of the many courtyards and along the walls to the gym/cafeteria.  We made those tiles sometime during the 1970/72 school years (I think - Mr. DeBernardi was the teacher then before Mr. Melton) and they were ceremoniously laid in the small duck pond in the courtyard next to the cafeteria.  The same courtyard where one year Miss Green's class (That would be Mean Miss Green - not the other Miss Greene) built an authentic Navajo hogan out of sticks and mud, creating a life size diorama of Native American Life in Arizona right there in Michigan.  That hogan stood for well over a year, throughout a Michigan winter before finally being removed to make room some other class project.

My school had three playgrounds.  The 4-6th grade playground that sat at the top of the hill that lead down to a private pond.  The one where Some 6th graders hid at the bottom and caused a huge stir among the rest of us who wondered what they were up to (I won't name names but Nancy Crites and Carol Williams MIGHT want to ask their spouses about it).  The 1-3rd grade playground where the kickball field was and the kindergarten playground that had the big cheese, a set of concrete cylinders painted yellow with holes in them looked like a yellow cheese castle.  But I digress.

I was in Michigan on the last day of school and stopped into the school office to see if my tile was still available.  The whole of the student body was in assembly so I was allowed to wonder the halls to see if I could find my tile.  And this is what I did.

I headed straight for my kindergarten room.  I walked over to the chalk board that was still located at the far end of the room.  I picked up a piece of chalk and wrote on the board:

1966/67 Mrs. Collins room.  Afternoon kids were the smartest class to ever come through Harlan.

Then I headed to the first grade hall where I went to my old room.  I walked straight to the board and wrote:

1967/68 Mrs. Carlin's Class - Learned to read with Dick and Jane.  Still like Sally the best.

and it went on:

1968/69 Mrs. Bobicz (Miss Cowan) used to put masking tape on Tommy Barbay and Julie Sakuta's mouths to keep them from talking all the time.

1969/70 Mrs. Rop (married to the tall, scary, Assistant Principal who never smiled)'s class - Eric Freeburg married Jody Laurie on the playground, complete with bridesmaids, groomsmen and kleenex flowers.

1970/71 Mrs. Knight's class.  We spent our free time playing the Partridge Family LP, singing "I Think I Love You" over and over.  Poor Connie Austin always had to pretend to be Keith Partridge.

1971/72 Mrs. Mellon's class - What can I say?  Her hand lotion was greasy and it stunk. Thanks goodness I had my best friend Karen to get me through.

1972/73 Mrs. Black's class - Brian Young really did steal my (and Karen's) shoes, tie them in impossible knots to the top of the jungle gym and spit in them as we were being called back in to class.  We never "narc'd" either.  Why?  Because we secretly liked it.

I didn't find my tile that day but I had a great time walking down memory lane and leaving the current teachers those notes on their boards.  So, I really do understand the melancholy people are feeling here.  They can tear down the building but they can't take away your memories.