Jake the alligator man and why my daughter has a new sweatshirt

There are the things that dreams are made of, and then there are the dark remnants that drift into our nightmares.

Consider Jake the Alligator Man. He fully intrigued me as a child, even captured my attention into young adulthood. I grappled with the facts of his leathery, dark hide looking for the stitch line that proved a human head had been attached to an alligator's body. I could never find the seam.

Perhaps, I believed he was real. Perhaps, that tainted the story as I spun the tale of the alligator man to my daughter and promised she would meet him.

"Some folks claim Jake the Alligator Man was a valet in a New Orleans whorehouse," I read from the complimentary brochure provided by Marsh's Free Museum. "Others claim to have seen him in carnivals, crawling around, nods of his head communicating yes or no."

My daughter grew astonished at the prospect of being face-to-face with Jake the Alligator Man.

She should have been sickened. I don't think even a mother could love his face...but she wasn't repulsed by JAKE.

Instead, she was disappointed in the way only a teenager can truly experience.

It's the one thing, the most important thing your mom neglects to explain which destroys all your hopes in life.

"I thought he would be ALIVE!" she roared when she finally saw him behind the glass case. She crossed her skinny little arms over her chest and stated, "You owe me." Her eyes narrowed in on me. "Buy me a hoody."

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Things my mom didn't tell me

My mom told me there were three bedrooms at the place she had booked for us at the beach.

What she didn’t tell me: the two bedrooms on the second floor have private baths with jetted tubs, the living room features a gas fireplace, flat screen TV and stereo system, the kitchen a dishwasher, a side-by-side with filtered water, and granite countertops.

She also neglected to announce the deck featured an ocean view, touted a gas grill and a hottub, which is why I appeared without a bathing suit.

Had she told me it was equipped with a washer and dryer I would have brought my chores.

Stop.

I’m confused. I thought we were traveling with retired folk. I thought we were…not rich. I thought vacation timeshares were bad, and that you should not purchase them.

I still believe that is true.

Do not buy timeshares!

Do, however, encourage your parents to purchase them. ☺

Oh, and remember to bring along someone who can cook (that would not be me).

And enjoy the view.

With a glass of wine.

Out of a box.

Really.

That was my classy contribution...

What's your best contribution this summer?

Don’t be fooled by the smiley face

There is no family vacation without savoring a bakery, dining in a recommended restaurant, driving around at least once…the wrong direction (we call that DAD!), and visiting a bookstore.

I didn’t buy a book. I had two dozen in the trunk, but that did not stop me from shopping. I can’t leave people alone. I had to bother the bookstore owner a few of times, do you have A Certain Slant of Light? Do you have a copy of (fill in the blank). Oh, hey, did you know the designer who did this Columbine bookcover (Henry Sene Yee) talks about creating it on his blog? Would you like me to email that to you?

After all that needless chatter I was, indeed, obligated to spend money in her store. A gift to me. I settled on a notebook. Every writer needs one.

In fact, mini-notebooks were required in Novel Writing Boot Camp by teacher Carolyn Rose. In fact, Elizabeth Lyons, in her book Manuscript Makeover, advises we have mere seconds to capture a thought, an idea, a firefly. They all admonish: keep something handy to write on. I have nothing handy, its all in the bottom of one of my many bags.

I bought the notebook.

I, however, was not the first person to write in my notebook.

It was my sister.

She wrote, “Hello. No pictures on Face book ☺.”

I think the smiley face negates any orders she may have been doling out.

What messages are you ignoring?


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A family means love, good food and adoption

Full disclosure: adoption runs rampant in our family. Really amok.

No one remembers who’s adopted and who is not.

That’s a tragedy. But only in Wisconsin, 1998.

I first heard of this tragedy shortly after it happened. I watched a television program about a Milwaukee, Wisconsin uncle attempting to adopt his orphaned niece. The judge denied the uncle's petition because he had also been adopted, and therefore—using strict interpretation of the law—not a blood relative, and that is what Children's Court Judge Daniel L. Konkol based his decision on. The case was reviewed in the book Adoption Nation, and an excerpt can be read here.

Globally, adoption laws require would-be parents to jump through hoops no birth parent will ever be forced to consider, and that’s okay. But why would a state law require adoptive parents to accept their adopted children, as if they were delivered by birth in all matters legal, and then turn around and negate the child’s rights once they had grown into adulthood? It was a staggering decision that angered adoption advocates.

The TV program, the concept, and the ‘meddlers’ in the Milwaukee case left me incensed. After all, aren’t there at least two people in the picture perfect, two parent, 2.5 child, American dream family who are NOT blood relatives? Yes, usually. The mother and the father. Okay, my logic sucks, but still.

I was reminded of this program while re-reading Jacquelyn Mitchard’s book A Theory of Relativity. If her name sounds familiar it is because she also wrote The Deep End of the Ocean. In A Theory of Relativity, Mitchard creates a masterful piece that does not allow us to view any one person as bad, nor does any character have unsound motives. Actions stem from good intentions and how we value families based on the family we know and the duty we feel. Mitchard serves up the story with Sturm and Drang, and although I would have preferred more forward direction in the time line during the first part of the story, the book is knuckle biting.

In real life, Uncle Scott Albrecht lost the case to adopt his niece. Mitchard’s development of his saga into fiction and her own personal parallel is reported on the Harper Collins web-site in Mitchard's Author Essay.

And I can speak from experience, it is not blood that creates a family. It is love, good food, and the ability to tolerate each other on vacation.

What is family to you?

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Less cranky, more cranberry and I'll take that with honey

Good morning.

I did turn off the computer.

I set down my book.

I put on my sandals.

I went.

It was… different.

Yes, I stood inside the Cranberry Museum, which means I was not forced into the Kite Museum. So, before this vacation continues, allow me to get this out of the way:

• 8,000 acres of cranberries stretch across the West Coast


• Cranberries do NOT grow in water (they are, however, harvested in water)


• Cranberries require bees for pollination
  

What does all this mean?

Cranberry honey stands ready for my toast tomorrow.

How about you? What are you planning for tomorrow?

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The Tempest leaves town

Vacation Day One
I can be a pleasant person to vacation with. Really.

I’m just not a pleasant person to be around when trying to leave on vacation. I stomp and storm. Not pretty.

The tempest is the build up of stress, the need to flee work pressure, to escape constant deadlines, to shed the dozens who appear at my cube every ten minutes, or so, with questions, questions, questions. The patience it drains to consider each one, decide yes or no, and further, to explain the philosophy behind my responses—believing if they understand the why, they’ll be able to craft their own decisions, and the right ones, in the field—takes boundless energy.

Personal power piddled down to an unsteady drip of a leaky faucet. No energy. Except to, well, yell.

I was so horribly prepared for this week off my dear daughter did my packing. She started an hour before we left. That is quite possibly child labor in some homes, but in mine a gesture of love. Sweet love, someone loves me very much. I am grateful.

When I finally slid behind the wheel, all energy pumped out, forced out into cleaning and scouring so we wouldn’t come home to the same old mess, and seriously bled dry by not enough pre-planning, I was exhausted.

All I craved was a couch and a cover to crack. Hardbound, paperback, didn’t matter. I crated two dozen and threw them in the trunk. A partial tank of gas later, we arrived.

The next issue was the others who love me. The rest of the family. I heard them plainly as each mile passed between us and home. “No computer.” “Stop reading.” “Come with us.” But the physical hurdle to overcome crossed The Columbia.

A bridge. It's 6.545 miles long, merely 28 ft wide, and 196 ft at high tide. It's the longest continuous truss bridge in North America. We crossed it.

We arrived 10PM, hungry, everything closed except Chen's Chinese. We grabbed our take-out and dodged horses clopping on the sidewalk. Seriously. We are totally in the Wild West, which isn't a problem per se, it's the road apples that annoy.

At the condo, I turned on my computer. I grappled through a few pages of my book. I slipped into bed….

I think they call that sleep.

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Winner either way, cause your parents are here...and so are we

~REVISED TO INCLUDE PNWA UPDATE BELOW~

Critique group member Melanie is spending the final heart wrenching moments of finding out whether she is the PNWA mainstream category winner by moving her parents. Across country.

Her latest correspondence:

I'm using my mother's computer to email. Her computer won't allow me to access the webpage (you recommended). I'm exhausted and can barely wait to get on the plane to enjoy my first class ticket home. But wait...they are sending my father with me. He will talk talk talk talk the entire flight.

Great.

M.

---

The final questions:

• Will Melanie survive her loquacious father on the flight out West?


• Will Melanie win the PNWA contest?


• When she wins, will she thank our critique group for unwavering loyalty and astute recommendations on her lovely historical fiction manuscript?
  

Your turn! What have you been waiting for? Who's waiting with you?

Pictured left to right: Melanie and our loyal critique group.
Photographer: The First Carol

UPDATE SATURDAY 10 PM: I've told everyone what a GREAT critique group I'm in. I couldn't believe I got second place. Wow wow wow. Melanie

UPDATE 11 PM: I've been invited to send the first chapter to four agents. One of them wants me to split it into two novels of 50,000 words each and sell it as YA.
M

[Yes! Wishes do come true - The First Carol]

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