A tribute to Flora Kidd

It's been a while since I posted, so forgive me, but this post is all about a writing pioneer who has just passed away.
Flora (Betty) Kidd published 64 romance novels, plus historical fiction, and anyone who read romance in the 1970's cut their teeth on her great books. She was inspiring to many writers, but especially those of us in New Brunswick who could always find kindness, sensibility and honesty in her. She loved life, doing more than just writing. She was a teacher, a mother, a wife, a painter, who sailed, loved history and all good literature and arts, and always had a kind word for aspiring writers.
Flora wrote of the Scottish highlands, of Canada, of England, and her love of travel and people flourished in her stories.
Flora will be sadly missed by her family and friends, and also by those of us who write romance here in New Brunswick. She was a pioneer in the world of romance, though she loved all books, and like her contemporaries of the seventies, she helped pave the way for all of us who write now.

Flora Kidd

1926-2008

http://http://www.fundyfuneralhome.com/Obit_detail.asp?ID=915

The price for a bit of extra safety?

We're booked for a trip to Cuba. Here in eastern Canada, many of us escape winter by flying down south, either to DR or Cuba. They're inexpensive, all inclusive, and warm. Everything my hubby wants in a vacation.
So, the airline we're booked on emailed me to offer a prebooking of our seats, to, as they put it, save time.
Sure, why not?
I surfed over to the site, but couldn't go any farther without the file number, so I emailed my travel agent. She replied quickly, saying she'd be happy to do it, and which credit card should she bill it to?
Credit card? Bill it?
It turns out that if we want to choose our seats, we will be charged anywhere from $15 to $25, depending on where you want to sit. It seems that right by the emergency exit is the most expensive.
Now, you may argue that it's the leg room, but I want to counter that. Not every plane has that extra leg room by the emergency exit.
I say it's because of the perceived notion that you'll be safer near the exit, and be able to get out sooner should the plane crash. Except....
as a friend of mine pointed out, you'll also be trambled to death by others, if you in any way hesitate.
I told my husband, who, like I said before, like inexpensive vacations, said to me, 'Forget it. I don't care where I sit.'
But it got me thinking. The airlines are cashing in on people's paranoia. People want that extra bit of peace of mind, and sitting by an emergency exit will do it. Sure, you get to sit with loved ones, but frankly, I've not been on a plane where you couldn't get a seat close to a loved one. People don't mind moving around. And I don't buy that notion that you need to pay extra to sit by your loved one. Where the heck is your loved one going whilst flying in a plane? And frankly, having raised two kids, I would only be too happy to put my darlings next to some stranger, especially if they refuse my request to change seats.
Sure, mister, sit by my son. You'll never refuse a seat exchange request again, once you get a whiff of his cologne, (he's 15 and loves to bathe in Axe) and he loves to share his music with all those in earshot. It's been techno geek music lately.
But what burns me is the fact that airlines are just trying to get more money out of us. They're basically saying, 'You want to think you'll be safer by that emergency exit? You'll have to pay for it.'
What's next? 'Oh, ma'am, you want a life jacket? That'll be an extra $50. The ones that come with the plane only inflate halfway.'
Barbara, who will still enjoy her trip.

Boxing Day Blowout or How to Spend More Money After Christmas

Here in this area of the world, Boxing Day is a required holiday, and we're lucky if the local gas station is open. But while that may make a few avid shoppers' skin crawl, it probably is an attempt to temper the anxiety of not being able to shop one day of the year, that is Christmas Day.
But that kind of backfires, too.
My kids got money for Christmas, and my son got an MP 3 player that according to him, only plays a few songs and he needed one with quadruple the memory. So, even with a Nor'easter on the way, we hopped into the little car and drove to the mall. I decided on the little car because I wasn't sure how good the parking would be and taking the SUV might make parking a nightmare. Of course, I ignored the fact a storm was coming and taking the SUV would have been a more sensible precaution. Thankfully, the storm held off until we were done fighting the crowds by then.
My son steered me to the electronic games store. EB something or other. We stood dutifully in line, waiting to get in. I hate waiting in a line to give my money away. There's something inherently wrong with that. But my son was quiet and so was I.
Then I realized his motives. It wasn't for a new MP 3 Player. It was for a Wii. I had made the mistake earlier of saying that I was interested in getting one, only because it would get my son more active, and now I was discovering that we were standing in line to get one.
Finally, we were allowed the special privilege of entering the store. I felt honoured and touched and slightly in awe. Actually, I felt none of those things. I was hot in my winter jacket and feeling a bit claustraphobic. But once in the store, we patiently waited in line again. Only after the thirteen pre-teen kids in front of me had spent all their money on violent games, was I able to face the poor cashier.
"Have you got any Wiis?"
"No."
"When do you plan to get them in?"
"Probably January 25th."
"Are you taking names for them?"
"Only if you pay in advance."
"How long is the list?"
"I'm not allowed to tell you."
"So, it's like some national secret?"
"Yeah."
"Can I get a refund even before the Wii comes in?"
"Yeah."
"How much is it?"
"$269 plus tax."
I paused. The big moment. Up until that time, I had used the excuse of there not being any Wiis available, but now I had my son behind me, who didn't get too much for Christmas this year, and the only thing he wanted didn't hold enough songs because I was stupid in not reading and understanding what 512 mb is. Apparently, it's the equiviant of having a computer that still runs on DOS, but frankly, I'm going to tell you that the computer I had with DOS never crashed.
Finally, I took the plunge. A Wii will get my son moving this winter, and allow us to play some games and stay active. With a bit of remorse at the growing debt, I handed over my credit card.
We left shortly after that, and I allowed my son to pick out some MP 3 player that had video capability. He bought it himself.
Then we went looking for boots for him, but strangely enough, there were none he liked.
I left him to drag myself to the nearest coffee kiosk and ordered a caramel coco-mocha latte with extra whipped cream, caramel drizzles and chocolate sprinkles.
I'd just finished it and the chapter of the book I was reading when my daughter and her boyfriend appeared. She'd dragged the poor boy along to carry her parcels. Ahh, young love.
We met up with some family, helped a young niece develop her own personal style, and then realized my son had not returned to the rendevous point. So we scouted out all the usual suspect shops, but didn't find him.
That's when I spotted the perfect birthday gift for my daughter. And felt my credit card burning again in my pocket. It was perfect. It was also expensive. And it was packed in another big box for my future son-in-law to carry.
It was a dressmaker's mannequin. On sale. Still expensive and remembering that I couldn't just buy a Wii for my son and ignore my daughter.
So I bought it. Note to self. Intercept the credit card bill before husband sees it.
We returned home, and I checked my email. What a delight! The travel agent with whom we had booked our March Break Trip to Cuba had written to tell us she'd posted the balance of our bill onto our credit card.
Ahh, but isn't that what Boxing Day is all about? Spending money you haven't earned yet, while appeasing your guilty conscience?

I know blogging isn't as cool as MySpace or ...

Now blogging like this isn't as cool as other things like MySpace or Facebook or like kind, but this is easiest for a dinosaur like me.
I wanted to write this blog to wish you Merry Christmas and remind you that even those who aren't Christian by faith are generally completely cool with wishing you a Merry Christmas, and not that generic and stupid Happy Holidays. So go ahead and don't feel bad. Well, maybe I will say something later about that, but in the meantime, I want you, all what 2 of you probably, to know that I like blogging. I don't do it daily, as quite frankly, I'd bore both of you to death and since you're my only readers, that's not good business to kill your readers. Darlings in stories are fair game.
So please keep reading, keep wishing everyone Merry Christmas, and remember that sometimes those sites like MySpace are good for pics and such, but they're mostly just window dressing, as opposed to the meat in my blog.
All right, so there's not so much meat in my blog. But I like to sometimes share with the world my little corner of it.
Saturday I went snowshoeing and it nearly killed me. The snow had a crust on it that wasn't thick enough to hold our weight, even with snowshoes, and when I picked my feet up out of it, the tip of the snowshoe got caught in the crust and I'd fall flat on my face. But I got a good workout.
I'm ready for Christmas. Presents bought, cantata over and done with, turkey in the oven, and I've written enough of my story to last over Christmas Day.
If you have some time, check out
http://www.alittlegoodnewstoday.org/
It'll lift your spirits over the holidays, if you're getting tired of hearing Happy Holidays.
Merry Christmas, and may the blessings of Christmas, this is love joy and peace, be upon you.
Barbara Phinney

I'm supposed to be nice...

Okay, I'm supposed to be nice. All the older ladies in my church think I'm nice. Here's a little secret. I'm not, at least not all the time.
I've been sick this week, and last week, with two of the three writing deadlines I had still hanging over my head, I wasn't planning to be nice this week.
And why mess up a good plan?
So, this week, my deadlines done, and no more sleepless nights, I am supposed to be nice.
But I'm not.
Still sick, I was up in the night last night, sipping ginger beer to settle my stomach, and turned on the TV. Some survivor guy was living out in the Sahara, and showed me how to eat a live scorpion. No thank you.
And we had a huge snowstorm this week, only to discover the snowblower had a gas leak, and my husband kept tracking in gasoline. I hate the smell.
Then, my pastor's wife told me how she wasn't able to get in to the hospital for her surgery because of the storm and how the taxis were telling her she had to wait. She was so kind and polite. Much more than I'd have been!!! They kept telling her a twenty minute wait, until she missed her appointment, while I would have been telling the dispatcher that I was needed at the hospital right now! (I told you all I wasn't nice) Of course, it may have been like shooting myself in the foot, but you have to be honest with yourself.
Then, today, it had come to a head. I receive the Romance Writers Report and often read how these young upstart writers are selling stories to electronic publishers after only a few years, (It took me 11) and now they're down to months!! PULEEAASSSE!
What's next? Signing the a contract for three books when you've never written a sentence? What's wrong with paying your dues?
Oh, sure, some of you say it's just sour grapes, and you're probably right, but a part of me is just expressing what most of us have actually thought at some time or another. Right?
Don't look away. Look me in the eye. And know that, like you all, I'm not always the nicest person around.