by Cathy Perkins February 8th, 2012 “Nice guy, not my type.”
That was my initial reaction when friends asked Chuck to be the fourth for racquetball. We played a few sets, ate pizza, drank beer, and had a good time, but I’d just gotten out of one relationship. The last thing I wanted was to jump into another one.
A line from a song should’ve run through my head: If you want to hear God laugh, tell him your plans. Read the rest of this entry »
by Grace Burrowes February 7th, 2012 One of my first guardianship clients was a fellow named Harold. Harold was ninety-six, and quite sharp in many regards, but his memory was faltering. He’d outlived two wives and his only son, and thus had no family to help him make the important decisions.
Harold also had no feet, diabetes having taken a toll on his circulation. Read the rest of this entry »
by Lizbeth Selvig February 1st, 2012 Happy first of February to everyone! In honor of the Month of Love, Blame it on the Muse authors will be blogging from now until February 14th on thoughts, traditions, and themes surrounding Valentine’s Day. If you’ll drop us a comment, you’ll be in the running for a Valentine’s gift basket chock full of all kinds of goodies from books to baubles. (We’ll be telling you more about that in the next few days.) Meanwhile, what better way to start a series on Valentine’s Day than with a smidgen of history? No worries, this isn’t boring history – it contains bits of legend, a dose of intrigue and, of course, a whole lotta love. Read the rest of this entry »
by Deborah Villegas January 31st, 2012 Well folks, It’s that time of year again. Swimsuit season. At least in my house it is. That’s right, I joined the Y. I have swimsuits and towels hanging in front of the wood stove and gym bags lying in the middle of the foyer.
My day typically starts at 6:30 am, and I drop into bed around 11 pm. If I’m lucky, the TV will be off. With my busy schedule, I must be insane to add one more thing to the list. I’d say it cuts into my writing time, but frankly that’s not true. I don’t write after I get home from work. I’m too tired.
So why am I now schlepping to the gym? Because my boys. They need to get ready for lacrosse season. They need to build stamina. They need to work out. They need to get stronger, more powerful. Faster. Notice, none of those are my reasons for joining the gym. I’m there because I’m the driver and my youngest has to have an adult accompany him.
The first evening I walked onto the basketball court to shoot hoops with my kids and jammed my finger. Yes, I’m a dweeb. I can’t bounce a ball and I can’t do a lay out–not that I care.
The next night I tried a reclining bike. I thought, okay, that’s my speed. Fifteen minutes later, I dragged my wobbly butt off that sick and twisted piece of metal, vowing never to return.
I like the dance studio when there aren’t any classes going on. I can drag out a mat and take a nap. My boys found me there after the bike incident. I told them I was meditating.
My favorite part is the pool. I learned how to swim correctly in college and lost 36 pounds in six weeks. I swam four days a week and ate like a hound in a McDonald’s Dumpster.
I’m trying to relearn the proper breathing technique for the freestyle, but I’m so out of shape, I only lasted half a lap before I had to turn over. I’m much better on my back.
I think of this sojourn into the workout world kind of like polishing a book. Cutting the fat. Edit ruthlessly. Make every word count. It takes time. It doesn’t happen overnight. It starts with one sentence, then a paragraph, a scene, a chapter. But I’ll get there. With a little luck, hard work and perseverance, Me and my book just might be in shape by Nationals.
That’s my goal and I’m sticking to it. Even if it kills me.
by Livia Quinn January 30th, 2012 
(Alix, hehe, even a cat can do it, eh?)
My favorite season ends this Sunday with the SuperBowl. And even though my home teams, the Saints, Redskins, and Ravens won’t be going, I still love the games up to the last day and have a hard time even turning off Mike and Mike in the morning. No, that’s not a kids show. 
As I write this, I’m watching the ProBowl, saying “till next year” to the best players of 2012. A couple of my favorite metaphors came from watching reruns of the old SuperBowls yesterday. “Man, put some extra sauce on that pigskin,” and while making a goal line stance the commentator said, “Now, they just need to put on their big boy huggies…” Well you get the picture. Now don’t go switching channels yet, there’s a point to all this football talk.
In a season that defined itself by players like Tim Tebow, I found myself appreciating how some of our favorite themes are played out in some of the less conspicuous moments – player struggles, losses, injuries and by some powerful egos. (My daddy who took me to Redskins games when I was growing up, would have been horrified at the depths to which O.J. sunk) Love it, hate it or care less, there’s something for all of us in the most popular sport in the world.
