Making lesbians happy – one book at a time!

Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

DANCING LESSONS

My dancing career began with my shriek of indignity. I remember the moment vividly when my mother told me it was time to learn some “lady skills.” I had no idea what she was talking about as I jammed my hands in my little boy Toughskins jeans. I had to wear a dress at school, but when I got home off came the dress and the Mary Janes and on went the scuffed Converse sneakers and Toughskins. Think female Huck Finn.

I was a savage who’d just been told she was registered to take tap lessons. Let me say that again… tap dancing lessons. Where you do things with your hands and feet at the same time to the beat of the music. Needless to say, it was a disaster–a first-class disaster. Under the spotlights wearing a pink dress, Mickey Mouse ears, and shiny, black tap shoes, I single-handedly ruined the dance recital.

My mother’s next idea was ballet. Another pink outfit with funny shoes. I learned three positions, then I hurt my toe and my teacher left town. I don’t think it was because of me.  My mother gave up and let me take Karate lessons. I learned how to kick my brother in the balls using a reverse front kick, I’m not certain that is an actual thing, but it worked. I loved Karate.

My next dancing lesson came along when I started going to clubs where people danced, except I couldn’t dance. My friends tried everything to teach me.

“Move your hips. You need to loosen up,” was followed by, “And swivel your knees. You have to move your feet, too.” To be followed by, “You’ve got to stop staring at your knees when you dance and swing you arms around, you’re all stiff-looking.” Needless to say I don’t dance—period. Okay, when I’m alone in the kitchen listening to music I dance, but no one can see me.

So when Em thought she could teach me how to waltz, I laughed the laugh of the all-knowing. “No, you can’t. Believe me.”

“Come on, let’s try it,” she said. “Please.”

“All right, but I’m telling you right up front, it’s impossible to teach me how to dance so don’t be disappointed.”

box step

“Everyone can dance,” Emma said. She put out her arms and I took her hands. “Just follow me. Do what I do at the same time. We’re going to make a box.”

We made a box all right. She made her box and I made my box in the opposite direction. She stared at me. “How did you manage that?”

“It’s harder than it looks. I make it look easy,” I replied.

“Let’s try it again. Okay, one, two, three, four. Make a box. Just follow my feet.”

The problem was that she was going one way and I was supposed to go the other. We tried again. I did the backup part and then the other way around. Either way, back or front, I couldn’t get it.

“It’s because our feet are facing each other, so my feet think I should do what your feet are doing. See, you move your foot forward and I do the same thing and step on your foot,” I said.

“Why do you do that?” She was still trying to waltz. My feet just stumbled along with her.

“I’m on the wrong side of a black hole. On my side, everything is the opposite. That’s part of my right/left problem.”

Em stopped dancing. She dropped my hands. “You’re right, you can’t dance.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Laughter is the best medicine!

Rescue Me cover copy

Available at Amazon

Advertisements

WHO IRONS ANYMORE?

“What happened to your shirt?” Layce asked.

We were standing in line at Starbucks awaiting coffee. I was standing in front of her and blissfully pretending the whole thing had never happened—the power of magical thinking.

I sighed, looked around, and whispered, “I had an ironing mishap.” I didn’t want to go into the gory details. It was a brand new shirt. Much to my chagrin it wrinkled after washing. This new shirt was going to be a problem. I could tell already.

“It looks all burnt and melted,” Layce said.

stuff 2018 006

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said, keeping my voice low. We were three people from the front. If I could keep her distracted, the ironing discussion could be waylaid. “Look at that nice dog sitting under that woman’s table.”

Layce glanced at the dog and then went on again about the shirt. “How’d you melt it?”

“I didn’t melt it. The fabric is just like that.”

She kept staring at it. “Okay, it was wrinkled, so I ironed it. The iron was E-V-I-D-E-N-T-L-Y too hot and melted the shirt. I really think we have a defective iron. The dial is really sketchy. I mean why can’t it just say this is too hot for this shirt.”

“It’s still wrinkled.”

“I stopped ironing after I melted it.”

“It’s like a perfect triangle.”

“I’m aware of that.” It was our turn. “I’ll have a cappuccino.” I was never so glad to talk to a barista in my life. Layce ordered a latte and we sat down awaiting our order.

“I’ve never known anyone who melted a shirt before.”

“I do not come from a family of ironers. We do not iron in the Bennett household. If your shirt is wrinkled that’s just the way it is. I didn’t even know we had an iron until I was twenty-two. My first girlfriend tried to teach me how to iron and I broke a Waterford glass. And I don’t want to go into the details.”

Our order was ready. I went up and got it. Or should I say we, me and my melted shirt, went to get the coffees.

“Why are you wearing the shirt if you don’t want to talk about how you melted it?” Layce asked as I set the coffees down.

“I felt I had to own my mistake and warn other non-ironers that irons are evil. Some are defective, and some have confusing dials, and that you should get other more skilled people to iron your wrinkled shirts. That’s why.”

“That’s very considerate of you.”

“I feel it’s my social responsibility to warn people of the vagaries of ironing.”

“It’s still a nice shirt…if you don’t look at the back of it.”

“Thank you. Now can we stop talking about it?”

COMING SOON!

It’s almost time to get your laugh on!

Rescue Me cover copy

A new romantic comedy by Saxon & Layce

SAFETY CAPTAIN

“You shouldn’t do that,” Layce said.

“Why not? Brushing your teeth for three whole minutes is like being dropped into place where time has truly stopped and it’s not a good place. It’s a tedious and long and boring location.”

“You could puncture your soft palate,” she said, nonchalantly.

That got my attention. I was rocking back and forth on my Indo Board pretending I was snowboarding and working on my senior balance skills. And brushing my teeth. The image of my palate being impaled by my Oral B electric toothbrush was an ugly one. I pulled the toothbrush out of my mouth and gingerly stepped off the board.

index

(okay, I wasn’t wearing heels)

“You’re not setting a good example. As the official Safety Captain, I say you should refrain from doing unsafe things,” Layce said.

“I’m safe. I’m safe all the time,” I said indignantly. Then I decided she was right. I didn’t tell her that, but I did examine my safety habits and took notes. See below:

I do sometimes get dressed on the way down our two flights of stairs, pulling a sweater over my head as I navigate up or down the stairs. I admit to occasionally texting while descending the stairs. I also don’t turn the light on in the morning, which means I go down the stairs under low light conditions without the benefit of a first cup of coffee. Good way to break my neck.

I was vacuuming and something got caught in it. I did not unplug it from the wall before I went digging around in it. Good way to lose a finger.

I fell in the pond because I was standing on rock and it tipped. Overreach on an unstable surface. Good way to drown.

I ordered Mrs. Patmore’s Pudding Black Tea and when I cut the box top I drew the blade toward me. Good way to sustain a wound to an internal organ.

tea

If I caught Layce or Em doing any of the above activities they would be lectured on the importance of safety. I am a safety hypocrite. Do as I say, not as I do. That really should be on the Seven Deadly Sins list.

seven

Needless to say, I don’t use my Indo Board while brushing my teeth. Three minutes is a very long time, but safety first.

Now only 99 cents!

(For a limited time)

h2hcover2

Click here!

THE SANCTIMONIOUS GROWN UP

Recently, I had a mad fit of organizational zealotry, which unearthed letters from my youth. I opened them with a niggling of is-this-a-good idea trepidation. I was about to embark on a journey to my younger self. The self I told stories about as a full-fledged grown up were full of the hardships of youth, my self-sufficiency, the ethical and moral teenager, you know, all the stuff we tell ourselves when you have a teenager in the house. Layce and I are fortunate to have the kind of teenager I thought I was growing up, but, apparently, was not. Memory is a strange thing.

So, here goes the real story as the letters revealed. After high school, I had a gap year, the one you take before the real world begins and you have to start behaving yourself. (This, of course, was yet another myth. I was about thirty before I behaved myself.) During my gap year, I went with friends to spend the winter in Salt Lake City to be a ski bum. The letters I found were from this particular period.

Apparently, I was in need of money. My mom writes, “I sent you the money order you asked for,” to be followed with “When you call collect, I’ll tell the operator I won’t accept the charges and then I’ll call you right back.” Evidently, I had tripled my mother’s phone bill, probably calling to ask for more money. Ski bums working at Snowbird did not make a lot of money.

Then there was the letter asking my mother to go buy edible panties at the adult store. And she did! Bless her heart. She wrote that she was the only person over the age of 25 in the entire store and to compound matters, the clerk insisted on showing them to her and demonstrating how they worked. I hope this only meant unwrapping them correctly. I don’t recall why I needed them. I do know they were for a joke. (I’m fairly certain of this, I hope.) I’m awaiting collaboration.

This was the same period where I gave up wearing underwear and a bra. I think it may have been a laundry situation, but I was going through an anti-establishment period when I thought that rules were a form of tyranny. I will leave off the stealing of toilet paper and the graffiti.

Then there was the nutritional period. I lived on a diet of cheese quesadillos and margaritas. As an adult, I am mortified by this. What about fruits and vegetables, vitamins, and breakfast is the most important meal of the day? Eight hours of sleep? How about wearing weather appropriate clothing? I have a photo of me wearing shorts in the dead of winter. I could’ve caught pneumonia!

The moral of this story is: if Emma did any of these things, she’d be grounded until she was thirty-five. My image of myself when I was eighteen shattered. I was a horrible teenager. I was a wild child, there’s no getting around it. The consolation, I tell myself, is that I did finally grow up. I no longer steal toilet paper because I spent my paycheck on tequila. I don’t buy edible panties. I only do graffiti on the inside of my own backyard fence and I wear under clothing. I have improved. I did manage to tame the wild child.

Note from Layce: I disagree. She’s still wild. It’s like I have two children. But I love her anyway. And I’m buying her edible panties for Valentine’s Day!

The True Heart Series!

seriesAll four books are available now by clicking here!

MUSKRAT LOVE

Layce and I were listening to Captain and Tennille on vinyl. We were way old schooling it. I was just coming into an appreciation of C and T. There’s a lot more to them as musicians and singers than I had heretofore realized—a bit of jazz, a bit of blues, Toni’s vocal range and all that. But I’ve always had an issue with Muskrat Love.

 

CaptainAndTenille-SongOfJoyFrontCover

Tonight I gave it an honest listen.  I still couldn’t wrap my mind around the lyrics. I looked over at Layce, who was knitting and listening contentedly.  “Do you think Muskrat Love is really about muskrats or does it have a deeper meaning? Is it a euphemism for the vagaries of love?”

“I have no idea. I just like the song,” she said, not looking up from her knit and purl thing.

“I’m going to look it up.” Oh, the dangers of instant knowledge. I read, furrowed my brow and said, “It is about muskrats, anthropomorphized muskrats. The band America did it but Captain and Tennille made it truly famous.”

“Hmm…good to know,” Layce said, still knitting and purling.

“She makes it sound like they’re cute little otters, swimming around and shimmying. I don’t think otters or muskrats shimmy, much less have protestations of love. Have you ever seen a muskrat? They’re not cute.”

Layce refrained from comment. That just encouraged me. I mistook silence for agreement. “They’re swimming rats.” I looked up photos. “Big rats. They look like a cross between a guinea pig and  beaver with a rat tail that swims.”

Charlottenburg_muskrat

“You’re wrecking the song for me,” Layce said.

“They used to make nests under the docks at my parent’s cabin. Imagine swimming around and coming face-to-face with a large swimming rat that makes the top 40 charts. No wonder I have issues when it comes to swimming in lakes and rivers. Swimming rats, that why.”

I further perused the Internet. “And the Royal Canadian Mounted Police have winter hats made out of muskrat fur. Imagine wearing that on your head. I mean, who in their right mind wears rat fur on their head? What’s wrong with a nice knit hat?”

“I wouldn’t mention that the next time you visit your Canadian relatives,” Layce said.

The rats were now nibbling on bacon and chewing on cheese. “And muskrats do not eat bacon and cheese, nor propose marriage. I don’t care if they did it muzzle to muzzle.”

Layce put her knitting down and went over to the turntable. With one quick pluck of the needle, Muskrat Love was no more. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Did I ever tell you the story about me in the outhouse and the pack rat? Have you ever seen a pack rat? Imagine looking over in the dimness and seeing a pair of rat eyes?”

“I’m done with rats,” Layce said, putting on another album, one without muskrats.

“Well, at least pack rats aren’t immortalized in a song,” I muttered.

“Thank goodness or we’d never hear the end of it.”

Huge sale!

The Wish List in now only 99 cents!

WishList cover audio

It’s on whispersync, too!

Click here!

 

 

GHOSTS AND GHOULS

Halloween was a lot bigger than I’d anticipated. The whole thing started with going to the Haunted House. I am a perfect target for scary people. They terrify me. I run and screech and cling to the back of Layce’s sweatshirt, almost strangling her in the process. The ghouls, ghosts, and Freddie Kruegers follow us because I’m so much fun for them. I consider it a social duty. And don’t even get me started on the chainsaws.

Next came the pumpkin carving. I carefully chose the right stencil in keeping with the holiday theme—a ghost. It was a lot more involved than I’d figured on. I followed the instructions: tape the stencil to the pumpkin, take the pokey stick and poke holes, remove the stencil and carve between the holes. Easier said than done.

It took me three hours to get the whole thing right. My triceps ached, my forefinger and thumb sustained minor injuries, but the pumpkin was a masterpiece. Martha Stewart would’ve been proud.

2017 pictures 001

I was so exhausted from the pumpkin carving that I put off decorating until the following day. Em assisted. We hung lights and decorations. It looked good, but I could see that having people come to the house required a safety check list. The path needed to be lit, but the porch light couldn’t be turned on because it ruined the frightening ambiance.

I located a camping lantern. It was perfect. The orange lights we’d hung needed an extension cord which would have to be duct taped to the porch so no one would trip, (mainly me) because it was located in front of the chair where I would sit wearing my purple witch hat and handing out candy.

We won’t go into how long it took me to choose just the right one witch hat. Actually, Layce finally took over or we would’ve never gotten out of the store.

2017 pictures 002

Once it was all set up, I was very pleased with myself. This was my first real attempt at Halloween decorating. I was pretty darn impressed with myself. Until the doorbell rang at 4:30. I panicked.

It wasn’t dark yet. I hadn’t lit the pumpkins, the lights weren’t plugged in, and I didn’t have my witch hat on. Worst of all, I was hit with an immediate case of performance anxiety. I had to hand out candy and I didn’t know how.

“You have to hand out the candy,” I told Layce, thrusting the black, plastic cauldron full of candy at her.

“No, this is your deal,” she said, cocking her head in the direction of the front door.

The doorbell rang again.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” Layce asked.

“How do I know which candy to give them? We’ve got chocolate bars and low-fat healthy snacks. Who should get the healthy ones? Who gets the chocolate? Am I discriminating in some way? What if I’m contributing to childhood obesity? Too much sugar isn’t good for kids, but what’s Halloween if you don’t get candy? What if the kid doesn’t like what I give them? Will I be candy shamed?”

Layce rolled her eyes. The doorbell rang again. I stood paralyzed. Layce grabbed the cauldron, sighing, “I’ll do it.”

I took a deep breath. She was right. I would have to learn to do it on my own. I had to conquer my fear. This was worse than the chainsaw at the Haunted House. Then, I had an idea.

Layce shut the door. “See, how easy that was?”

“Next year, I’m setting up a self-serve stand. I’ll make a shelf like at the store. Then they can choose whatever they want. It’ll have to be on the honor system, which is a teaching opportunity for good citizenry.”

“Are you going to be like this every Halloween?”

“No, I’m going to get better at it.”

Layce walked out of the room, mumbling something that sounded like, “Well, you couldn’t get any worse.”

Happy Halloween!

We have the perfect book for you. It’s a little bit scary and a whole lot funny.

Zombies print

Click here!

#KindleUnlimited

ENCYCLOPEDIA BENNETT

Em came out of her black hole of a room with her new gauges in her ear. They’re neon pink and you can see through her ear lobes. I peered though. Layce’s head looks tiny on the other side. “How’d you get them in?” I asked.

I saw Layce roll her eyes and exhale heavily. It’s what she does when I’ve asked a question of that will inevitably require a long explanation.

Em launched into her explanation, “They didn’t come with instructions. I tried to put them in and they wouldn’t go so I looked it up on YouTube. Here, let me pull up the video and then you’ll know how to do it. You know, if you ever want to do it.”

I looked over at Layce who is hunkered down, intently reading, like her book is a blanket draped over her head, making her invisible. It didn’t work.

“Mom, you want to see it, too?” Em asked.

“No, Saxon can show me how if I ever have the desire to put see-through holes in my ears,” Layce replied.

Em pulled up the video and we watched it. It was very informative once the woman got around to telling us how to do it. I don’t have a lot of patience with blah, blah, blah, before you get to the actual learning experience.  Just get on with it. It must be the writer in me. I don’t need the YouTuber’s backstory. I want information, preferably in under 60 seconds.

“Now, watch me,” Em said, pulling one of the guages out.

“Oh, don’t do that, you just got them in,” I said.

“It’s okay. I’ll just watch the video again if I can’t do it,” Em said. She slipped it in perfectly.

“What did we do before YouTube? I mean, there was life before YouTube. How did we manage?” I asked.

“We looked stuff up in books. Or we talked to people and asked them how to do it. Sometimes you even had to get on your bike and go to the library,” Layce said.

Em looked horrified. It was archaic, almost savage in its suggestion. Leave the house to find stuff out? Have you lost your mind?

“Books were smart people’s YouTube,” I said. “We had an entire set of Encyclopedia Britannica. I remember the power of knowledge sitting neatly alphabetized and dusted on my parents’ bookcases. I was their custodian.”

encyclo

“Of course you were,” Layce said.

“They had faux leather covers and gold leaf edges. On their green spines they had one letter of the alphabet.  And one time when I allegedly took LSD, I watched the entire set condense into the letter “E” and, for the life of me, I have never been able to unlock the mystery of what the universe was trying to tell me.  That secret goes along with the two other secrets of the universe that I’d like to know.”

“Which are?” Layce asked.

“If time travels really exists and if there are aliens.”

“Good to know,” Layce said.

“What’s LSD?” Em said.

“It’s a laxative,” I replied. “A mind altering laxative.”

 

Book Three of the True Heart series is here!

Changecover

FREE on Kindle Unlimited! Click here!

Tag Cloud

%d bloggers like this: