Monthly Archives: February 2013

Cat in the Apt.

I’ve been a dog person my whole life. There’s just something about their personalities, the way they’re transparent and authentic. I love the way a dog’s soul completely oozes from every look on his face.

Years ago as a young child I had a cat I adored. If Flipper hadn’t run away and broken my heart, it’s possible I’d be cat person, too, but I’m not. They’re too self-contained and aloof, which puts me off. My insides don’t go all gooey when there’s a cat around, the way they do when there’s a dog in the room, simple as that.

And yet here I am a cat owner…

Kit Kat

She’s quite the lady, mm-hmm.
(author’s photo)

Six months ago my older daughter fell in love with a stray. The one now known as Kit Kat hung around not just our apartment complex, but right outside our very own door. Biggest woke each morning to rush and see if the cat had stayed through the night, and she spent every afternoon snuggling and loving the feline when she got home from school.

For days she begged me to let her come inside, to live with us. I held my resistance for a while, because it was an expense and responsibility I wasn’t sure we were ready for. Plus a neighbor guessed the cat was pregnant and, well, I certainly couldn’t have that.

But after much contemplation, recognizing that a pet would do us all well and liking the idea of a “rescue,” I agreed to at least take this stray to our vet, get her checked out if nothing else.

After Kit Kat got a clean bill of health, including that there were no babeh kittehs on the way, I wholly relented and we welcomed her to the family.

These days I’m still very much a dog person, but one who can mostly get along with a cat. My insides don’t go all gooey or anything, but my girls love her, and I know I made the right decision to take her in.

Although I do believe she chose us.

What pets are part of your family? Are any of them rescues?



Growing up in a tiny one stop light town, I don’t think I was fully aware that the women came into my mom’s beauty shop to change their lives. If I did, it didn’t click until years later, and by years, I really mean decades (OUCH!) Subconsciously, I saw this desire for change in myself, but it really came to light as Zora Adams, the protagonist of The Wisdom of Hair, told me her story (yes, I really do hear voices) and also when my editor asked me what exactly “the wisdom of hair” was. By the grace of God, and with a few “uhs” and “you knows,” the words just spilled out. WOMEN CHANGE THIER HAIR TO CHANGE THEIR LIVES.

The release date of THE WISDOM OF HAIR is just 8 days away. It’s a book about women, for women, and men if they’ll keep the smirking and eye rolling to a minimum. It’s about the magic of knowingly or unknowingly changing your hair, or, as we like to say down south, “fixing” your hair to fix your life. AND the amazing hair warriors who answer the call everyday to make life beautiful for their caped clients.

Attractive girl with scissors

Seriously, is there anybody who makes you feel the way your stylist does? Is there anybody who listens, loves, and makes you feel as fabulous as you look? NO THERE IS NOT! Now, the next time you hair warrior unsnaps that cape and gives your hair that last little nudge towards drop dead gorgeous, throw your arms around their neck and thank them because whether you know it or not, they’ve changed your life for the better!

The wisdom of hair is infinite! Pass it on.



Being a writer (like many of you who are seeing this post), I read a lot of advice for writers. One of the things I see over and over is, when we find it challenging to write dialogue we should go out and listen to how people talk to each other.

I’m not a recluse. I go grocery shopping. I go to Starbucks. I go clothes shopping for my 14-year-old daughter. I do the same for my 18-year-old son. I talk to my husband. I talk to my two older sisters.


But when I’m told I should go out with a notebook and really listen to how individuals interact with each other I have to admit I’m stumped. Without looking like a stalker (and I’m not hard of hearing), I can’t usually get close enough to listen to people’s conversations. My grocery store isn’t crowded enough to be in close proximity to another shopper. Starbucks is too noisy to hear others’ conversations. Clothes shopping has the same two attributes.


I’d love to hear your suggestions for where I could go to overhear interactions between people without me appearing like a weirdo.

You have the floor.

A Clean Slate

fairyhappyAs spring creeps in and our days in western Canada get longer, I’m cherishing the thought of friendlier temperatures and no more back breaking shoveling.

Last week, the flu invaded the Seabrook house, and slayed my son and me. My husband has miraculously avoided the germ — or perhaps he’s just successfully avoided us — and he remains healthy and wise.

I, on the other hand, seem to have lost a few more brain cells. And now it feels like I’m stepping back into my book as though it’s a brand new story. The ideas are all waiting there in the deep dark recesses of my brain, tempting and taunting me with the brilliance. But as they spill onto the page, they turn into the mess that resembles a mind-map gone insane.

So this morning, my post is just a simple “HELLO” to the world. I raise my cup of coffee to you and wish you all a healthy, happy and productive week.

Old Memories Made New

My dad passed away a year ago last Christmas. The holidays were a bittersweet time without him. As 2013 chugged along and life got back to the day-to-day grind, my sister received a message from a man I remember meeting at my dad’s funeral. He passed us his card, told us he’d umpired baseball with my dad for years, and said he wanted to share some things with us later. 878a7b5f-c470-4507-8e63-7b190ce0b78e

Obviously, later meant much later. This past week, my mom, sister, and I went to a meeting of the umpire association where my dad worked and volunteered for many years before his “retirement” from baseball several years ago. The things he wanted to share were touching personal stories about how my dad had met and influenced a whole group of men the three of us had never seen before.

Of course we knew he umpired. My dad was a baseball fanatic, a true lover of the game. He played for many years as a young man, coached my sister and I in softball, graduated to men’s softball as he aged, and then returned to his true love playing in men’s leagues. He retired his glove after several seasons in the men’s senior league. What’s a grown man to do when he hangs up his uniform for the last time? Fortunately for my dad, he discovered what my family believes was his true calling: umpiring.

At this meeting, several men told funny stories about my dad during his umpiring days and they named an award after him and presented that award to three recipients during the meeting. My mom, sister, and I left feeling like these special people who took the time to share their memories had given us a gift. Even for my mom, it was like seeing a side of him we never knew.

Now that my son is starting his high school baseball career, I’ll take the time to really look at and appreciate the umpires who call his games. I might even thank them—if they call a good game 🙂

Has this ever happened to you? Has anyone ever shared an unexpected memory of a lost loved one? I sure hope so.

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