FAST IS SLOW

    Well we made it through the first day and I'm still alive.  This is how it played out.  We managed the first drink of the day, but I needed water because the ginger was too hot.  The second drink, our two quarts of "snack", was a nice green slime.  This time the strong lemon flavor hit me hard.  I managed about 6 ounces of my one quart and my hubby finished it all off.  He's such a good sport.  

     To keep our minds off food we locked ourselves in our family room and played a Nancy Drew mystery computer game.  Yeah, yeah, I know, Nancy Drew.  But let me explain.  We started playing these with the grandkids a few years ago and well, we well, oh how do I say this...we got hooked.  So far I haven't found any recovery programs for Nancy Drew addicts and we do limit ourselves to only a couple of games each year.  And we only play them on weekends and they last for several weekends if we play them on senior detective level.  So I think our addiction is controllable.  

    Our friends are all so supportive.  One, invited my husband over for BBQ ribs.  Detective Karst (from my mystery novels) and his wife stopped by and told us about their lunch in town.  Another friend called and asked if that meant no more Hostess cupcakes, and my brother, of all people, who should be offering us the most support wrote to tell me he was having a chocolate carmel ice-cream bar after he finishes his all meat pizza!!!  Really, where's the support, oh and my daughter who started all of this by giving us the documentary is still laughing.  

     By lunch time I was mighty hungry.  The bottles of water weren't doing it for me....let me confess right here and now....I ate a grape.  

     At twelve sharp, I was watching the clock, I suggested we make our next recipe.  It smelled tasty.  It had parsley, red onion, red bell pepper, a lime, celery, cucumber, and tomatoes.  Yum the fragrance of Mexican food was in the air.  I sipped it and it was all I could do to swallow it.  I thought maybe I would warm it just a little, not hot, didn't want to destroy the nutrients.  I thought as a soup it might go down better.  Nope, every swallow wanted to come up as quickly as it went down.  My hubby chugged his down without coming up for air, he says it's better that way.  My went down the drain.  

    He had a migraine appear, (not uncommon) so he could do no more for the evening.  I made this morning's breakfast last night so it could chill by morning.  

    By dinner time, my hypoglycemia had kicked in and I started to tremble.  I had to throw in the towel and eat.  I knew I couldn't go through the night without food.  So I had a homemade burrito.  They're small, with a little turkey, and beans in them.  That was just enough to hold me over until this morning.

    This morning's drink is quite good--apples, blackberries and grapes...lots and lots of grapes, six cups to be exact of these wonderful black grapes.  It went down easily, but then the sugar buzz hit.  I don't eat or drink sugar in the morning.  I can't do the donut or cold cereal 100 percent sugar loaded breakfast.  So to cut the sugar, I'm eating a half cup of walnuts. 

    Am I failure....maybe....how do I feel...great.  I lost one and a half pounds yesterday.  I had more energy. I stayed up later than is typical for me and I slept soundly through the night.  Are we going to continue today?  Yes.  But we are going to adjust the recipes for our tastes.  

    If anyone else is going to follow this program I might suggest a couple things that should be included in your shopping list.  Make sure to buy a couple cases of toilet paper.  I think it was liquid in-liquid out all day.  Every twenty minutes we paused the game to run to the bathroom.  I'm certain that's where my weight loss came from.  Or....if you are wanting to save on TP you can always have a catheter put in.... stay tuned for more episodes.....    

    

TWISTED, CURIOUS & POSSIBLY DEAD

     Okay, I'll admit I'm a bit twisted, but what mystery/thriller writer isn't.  Curious, of course, if one's not curious about things how can you research and learn enough to write about them.  Possibly dead is where I might be by the end of this weekend.   I could be killed by my husband before the weekend is over.  You've read it here first.  
     If things are bad enough he may turn into a serial killer like the characters in my novels.  You know, the nice guy you just had over to dinner, the one you would trust with your life, then he turns out to be responsible for all the homicides in my books.  You will know if he goes on a killing rampage when you read in the headlines that the produce men, Mark and Al from the Safeway store in Ogallala, NE are found...well we don't really want to go there now.  
     So what am I planning to do to my husband that will make him a raging lunatic by the end of the weekend?  First off, no coffee.  That's right.  We turned off his coffee pot.  I don't drink the nasty stuff so it won't bother me.  
     We love food, we love to cook.  We prepare most of our meals from scratch staying away from most processed foods.  That way we don't feel as guilty when we have to have that Ben and Jerry's ice-cream at bedtime.  Or when we devour a couple pounds of caramel corn...but hey we make our own from scratch so there are no artificial flavors or preservatives.  We won't discuss the sugar content.   Then there's the chocolate chip cookies, and move over and hand me a fork when there's a homemade chocolate cake on the table.  
     OMG just writing this blog today is a huge mistake.  My mouth is watering.  If anyone is out there reading this please sneak in a package of Keebler fudge sticks, I can scarf down an entire package in less than thirty minutes.  
     So, you're still wondering what we're up to.  We watched a documentary called, Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead.   It was a huge eye-opener as to how we're killing ourselves with food.  The man who made the documentary went on a 60 day juicing fast.  Sounds crazy, but he looked great at the end of it.  He lost tons of weight, no longer took his prescription drugs and changed his outlook on life and food.  
     I know what you're thinking, and no, we are not going on a 60 day juice fast.  But, we're going to try it for 3 days.   We pulled the recipes from the Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead website.  I facebooked my friend Mark from the produce department and he filled the order for me.  I almost needed a truck to bring home 3 days worth of fruits and vegetables to juice.  
     We researched and found what we think is a great juicer and today is day one.
     For breakfast we had a cup of tea, a big glass of water...wait I have to go to the bathroom again....okay I'm back.  Then we chopped carrots, apples and ginger root and tossed them into this wonderful new machine.  The juice looked okay, an orange drink for breakfast, not too unusual, but whew, that fresh ginger gave it some burn.  I'll bet the root is related to horseradish.  Imagine that first thing in the morning.  You should know I don't even like mild picante sauce.  But I was a good sport and sipped my 8 ounces until it was gone, of course I used a water chaser with each sip.   The flavor was actually quite good, but the heat slowed me down a bit.  
    When my hubby went out to do my chores I prepared our snack.  SNACK!!!  It's a damn two quart pitcher, when we share it that means one quart each.  It is a very disgusting looking lime green.  It has cucumbers, celery, apples, kale and of course more ginger root.  It's chilling in the fridge as I write this.  Hang on,  I have to go to the bathroom, I'll be right back.
     So as I was saying, it's in the fridge chilling and we have to get that down before we juice our lunch.....stay tuned for more comments about our weekend.           

TODAY STINKS!!!!!

     We've all had those days, you know, when you drag yourself out of bed, and you just know the day is not going to start out wonderfully.  
     I slept through the night last night, a thrilling feat in itself.  No middle of the night tossing and turning, no potty break at 2 am.  Just sound restful sleep.  But I thought maybe because of it, because of that long peaceful sleep, I had morning mouth.  Not your typical morning mouth, but the kind that makes you wonder what crawled into your mouth during the night and died there. 
     I cupped my hands and breathed into them, I could smell nothing.  I tried a second time.  Whew, it wasn't me.  When I removed my hands from my mouth the smell was back.  Must be my hubby, he'd been ill the day before so it must be the residue from a bacterial infection.  Yep, that had to be it.  Poor guy.
    I slipped out of bed and went out into the hall and the smell was worse.  I looked back at him sleeping peacefully, his face toward the wall that leads toward the door, "Wow, he must really be breathing hard to send the smell all the way out to the hall," I thought.  
     I gently woke him for work but when he spoke the smell was not there.  I looked at him, looked toward the hall, sucked in a deep breath and it hit me.  The smell and the realization of what I was smelling. 
     I raced up the stairs, with each step the smell intensified.  I met the cat on the stairs racing down as quickly as her fat little legs would carry her.  She was running from the smell, and I was foolishly walking toward it.  
    At the top of the stairs, you know the spot where odors linger and heat rises, I wanted to turn back.  My eyes began to water, my stomach began to churn.  I needed to vomit, but I had to be certain.
     I looked for my three westies who generally greet me in the dining room each morning, begging for their morning cookies from the cookie jar in the kitchen.  They were missing.  My heart sank.  
     Should I run down and get my hubby to help, I knew deep in my ever-churning gut what must've happened to them during the night.  That peaceful, sleep through until morning, night. 
     As I wandered through the remainder of the house, my head swirled, my stomach churned, beads of sweat appeared on my forehead, I felt dizzy, and the urge to vomit mounted.  
    Finally, the dogs heard my footsteps, they burst into the house through the doggie door, first happy to see me, and then they dropped to the floor in front of me and scooted their faces all around the room.  They rolled and scooted on the carpet, wiping their faces as hard as they could.  My dogs are mud puppies, they were not trying to impress me by cleaning their faces before breakfast.
    The stench grew stronger,  I leaned onto the table for support, I needed to finish the search.  My eyes burned, my head ached.  I had to step outside, forty degrees or not, I had to search the darkness of our yard.  
    On went the yard lights, and by that time my hubby had appeared behind me with a flashlight.  He was on the trail as well.  A quick scan of the yard revealed no sign of an intruder, no sign except a faint odor.  
    Back inside the house, the smell was strong, the dogs were still wiping their faces all over the carpet.  
    Yep, for those of you who live in the country like us, you guessed it.  They found their first skunk!!  It had to be a young one who slipped into our fenced yard, and my three westies had to be certain it didn't stay.  
     We had to force ourselves to eat breakfast in the stench, then gather the dogs for a quick face trim and washing.  Fortunately, I was way behind schedule for grooming them and most of the hair I could cut away.  We shampooed their faces, and had the bottle of Skunk Off set out in case the trim and rinse didn't work.  
    They smell pretty good now.  You have to put your face into theirs to smell the remnants of the foul mist that landed on their coats.  But, my carpet!!!  Gag, choke, sputter, ewwww.....they managed to wipe the fresh skunk oil into the fibers of the carpet.  
     I quickly lit scented candles that are clashing with the incense burning throughout the room.  I had all the windows and doors open until I could no longer feel my fingers and toes.  
     I have to bundle up and step outside to get away from the pungent fragrance emanating from the carpet with each  step.  
As we all know, skunk oil is permanent in fabric.  But it's okay to toss out a pair of jeans, or a pair of shoes or even a complete outfit when the oil has clung to them, but two rooms of carpet???  I haven't forced myself to smell the dining room chairs yet.  I'm certain they probably climbed up onto them for naps during the night like they always do.  
    We had planned to take a two-week break from work.  Two weeks to sit back, watch movies and enjoy ourselves.  We had also planned to remove our carpet and put in hardwood floors in a couple of  years, I repeat in a couple of years.  Plans change, that's to be expected.  
    We vowed to give it twenty-four hours to see if the smell dissipates on its own.  To be certain, we'll have to invite someone over to smell our house.  The one thing about skunk smell is when you live with it for a few hours, it seems to disappear.  Well, it only disappears if your the one wearing it.  To everyone else you smell like a skunk!
     At the end of our twenty four hours, the first day of our vacation, we may be pulling up carpet and spending time putting in a new floor.  Wish us luck, and if you pass us on the street, don't be polite, let us know if you smelled us before you saw us, that's what friends are for.  

 

Press release for PSYCHIC GENES

Order now from the author’s website, free shipping on two or more titles.  Stock up now on all the Elusive Clue titles as well as Bremmer’s children’s books.  www.patriciabremmer.com

 

Bestselling Nebraska author does it again! Patricia Bremmer has created a cross-over mystery leading teens into her Elusive Clue mystery series for adults. 

Bestselling Nebraska mystery author, Patricia Bremmer, has penned her first crossover leading teens into her adult mystery series.  PSYCHIC GENES has a highschool setting with adult problems.  A captivating read.  As an added bonus Bremmer is answering her readers request to learn more about her psychic character, Jennifer Parker, from the Elusive Clue Series.  Jennifer has captured the attention of all her readers. 

***Did you know Patricia Bremmer is now being read in over 55 countries? 

           In PSYCHIC GENES Bremmer finally shares more about her character, psychic Jennifer Parker, and her family history when Jennifer must help her young niece, Shayne.

Shayne Nicole Hartley woke, frightened by her recurring nightmare.  Why does she keep having these dreams and what do they mean? 

            Shayne’s mother knows exactly what’s been happening to her seventeen-year-old daughter.  Her worst fears have come true, her daughter inherited the family curse—she’s psychic.

            Delaware, a gothic classmate, bumps into Shayne in the hall, their eyes meet.  Shayne’s disturbed by her cold dull stare.  Delaware exits the school and is killed in a tragic accident.  Moments later, she appears to Shayne in the girl’s bathroom.  

            Shayne shares her secrets with her best friend, Simorn, who desperately needs her help when her father, Perry, is arrested for the disappearance of his ex-girlfriend, school counselor, Holly Weston.  

              The two girls, aided by Aunt Jennifer Parker, and the kind, rugged, Detective Glen Karst from the Elusive Clue Series work together to hone Shayne’s skills.   

            Through a series of dreams, visions, and help from several dead people, the truth is exposed and Shayne has a new outlook on life and her curse turned gift.

PSYCHIC GENES:                                                                                       AVAILABLE NOW ON KINDLE:  http://www.amazon.com/Psychic-Genes-ebook/dp/B008OBWI0M/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1344006947&sr=1-1&keywords=psychic+genes

ISBN# 978-0-9847607-7-0

Perfect Binding, Trade Paperback, 5.5 X 8.5                                 

354 Pages

Retail Price- 12.99

Available: September 1, 2012

Retail:  Order from Patricia Bremmer’s website for autographed copies

Patricia also writes middle-grade mysterious/adventures under the name P A  Bremmer.  Learn more about Patricia’s other fourteen titles  on her websites below.

www.patriciabremmer.com                                                    www.patriciabremmerblog.com

Contact: Martin Watkins, Windcall Publishing       martinwatkins@chase3000.com or call 303-243-1553

REAL OR FICTIONAL

    As a mystery writer I write fiction.  So does that mean the places where my crimes take place are fictional?  Not always.  Does it mean the crime that takes place is fictional? Not always.  Does it mean my characters are fictional?  Not always. 
    Therein lies my dilemma.  My first book, Tryst with Dolphins had real people with fictional names, well parts of their names were fictional.  Then their personalities were a mixture of fact and fiction.  The plot and the crime were fictional, but somehow real in my mind.  
     Then to add to my confusion I met the real life Detective Karst when I asked him to check my police protocol.  Which he did, quite nicely I might add.  As a fun thing to do I used his name as one of the detectives.  His eyes sparkled and he chuckled when he saw it.  I asked if that was okay and he could see no reason to change it.  
     In the sequel, Dolphins' Echo, I brought him to center stage as the lead investigator.  I introduced him to my readers in a more personal way.  I was writing fiction, or so I thought, until he felt uneasy that I was hitting right on with so many things he would say or do.  So does that mean I was writing fact?  Was it still okay?
     By the third book, Death Foreshadowed,  his character was gaining popularity and his fan mail began to arrive.  His partner, Bill Thompson, was not spotlighted in such a favorable light.  A pudgy, sloppy, balding, guy but a good cop.  
    Enter a new character, Jennifer Parker, to rock the boat in the third book.  Jennifer is a psychic that Detective Karst's sergeant forced him to work with.  The two got along famously.  Many readers thought there could be a budding romance between the hunky detective and the sophisticated and extremely proper psychic.
    Jennifer began to receive fan mail soon after the release of that book.  And, Detective Karst began to call on her for help with particularly difficult cases when they had no leads.
    As the years have moved forward and I continue to write the Elusive Clue Series, I'll find myself asking Karst how he felt when something happened or why he's questioning something when he was the one on the case and he must remind me that it didn't happen in real life it was in the book.  
    One time I asked if Bill was offended by my description of him and his sloppy ways.  Again, he reminded me that Bill was 100% fictional.  He had never met or worked with Bill Thompson except in the books. 
    I was jolted back to reality.  Throughout the remainder of my titles I still mix real and fictional characters and they are all real to me.  
    My readers have fallen in love with Jennifer Parker and asked to learn more about her.  I also discovered that teenagers were reading my books and loving them.  So I wrote Psychic Genes as a cross-over book with teenage characters added to the story.  I introduce Jennifer Parker's family and much of her family history.  
     Okay, so now I should have it straight in my mind who is who, the real and the fictional....not quite.  I punished myself once again by using my granddaughter's friend, Shayne Hartley, as the lead character and Jennifer's niece.  
     So the "real" Detective Karst, the fictional, Jennifer Parker, the "real" Shayne, but her character is fictional as is her family and the crime.  
    Then to confuse myself even further I decided to use photographs of the family on the cover....what family?  They don't exist.  Well, Shayne does but the story is fictional.  I found people to pose for my characters and now when I look at the cover those people are the real characters in my mind.  So they are real, right?
    Ask any writer who writes a series and they'll tell you their characters are real to them.  But I'll bet they don't throw in real people, real names, and real places mixed in with the fictional to drive themselves crazy.
   I just released Psychic Genes on kindle this past week and the print book will be out in September.  I look at the cover and I remind myself it's fiction, it's all fiction.  The stories and the characters are figments of my imagination.  
   Then on my way to a doctor's appointment last week, I happened to look over and stopped at a stop-sign, was a big black mean looking pickup with Detective Karst behind the wheel.  Am I hallucinating?  No.  Detective Karst moved away from his high pressure job in Denver to the quiet country setting in my community.  But it was the first time I just spotted him without plans to go to lunch, or a booksigning, or some other personal reason.  He's now part of the community and I imagine he will continue to pop into view on occasion.  But then I have to ask myself what case is he working on here and what homicide should I know about.
    I'm so confused!!!!!!

    

Shhhh......do you hear it?

There it is, listen carefully.  As a mystery writer my mind always races to add a story to every sound, every movement, every feeling.  This morning as I lay in bed I heard the distinct sound of a door slamming and someone walking across the floor.  

What I have been hearing for the past four days has been the sound of silence.  That's right silence.  Does silence have a sound?  Yes, it's loud and clear.  Why would I be hearing it?  Because I missed it for awhile.  You see we live alone other than our house cat, Echo, and our three westies, Tucker, Watson, and Emily.  My husband and I can wander through our large house in total silence if we choose.  Sometimes silence can be deafening, but now it is a welcomed sound.

Why?  Our daughter just moved across the country and we had three of her six kids here for almost two weeks.  Then she arrived with the rest of her crew.  Can you honestly imagine how many aspirin the walls of this, over-one- hundred-year-old, house consumed after the sound of silence was disturbed by so many kids ranging from one year to fifteen?  

Believe it or not, my husband and I actually enjoyed it, glad it's over,  but enjoyed it.  Well, not every minute of it but most of it.  

It all began when the first wave of kids arrived.  They traveled in a Sequoia with eight westies (from her kennel), two housedogs, one who looked dangerously exactly like a coyote, three kids and one chicken, who actually laid an egg during the 25 hour straight-through drive from their door to ours.  

The first night there was the six-year-old who lost her dinner in bed while she was asleep.  Long, brown hair tangled with smelly vomit met us at the breakfast table.  But hey, we've had three of our own, so no big deal.  

The three-year-old was an escape artist and we found her wandering dangerously close to our duck pond.  Tightened security on the gates took care of that. 

The coyote-dog, could also escape over, under, and through any fencing.  My chickens would squawk and scatter as she ran playfully through them.  They also thought she was a coyote.  

The twelve-year-old boy, devoured food faster than we could set it out.  Have you ever watched a child eat twelve bananas at one sitting?

Food was an issue, how much to prepare, how much to buy, and how much gets devoured.  We had our own three kids spaced pretty far apart so we never actually had a tribe like this to deal with. 

The two older ones were happy to chat, watch tv, and work on art projects.  That part was easy.  But to have a three-year-old again was the toughest.  

Aside from heightened security, there was the odd habit she had of hiding things---my phone, my hairbrush, the locks to the gates, if they were not properly attached.  When asked if she saw them she'd always respond with a quick, "No."  Then miraculously in just a few minutes she would put her sleuthing skills to the test and voila' she would find the missing articles and demand praise for doing so.  Ah....but her grandmother works with a real sleuth, Detective Karst, and I could see right through her deception.

It's miller moth and fly season here.  Can you imagine three kids armed with fly swatters and all the bug guts smeared across three picture windows.  Not a pretty sight.  

Our lower level bathroom is a bit touchy, so I told the kids it's off limits, use the other.   One day after working in the kennel, in this ridiculously hot summer weather, I returned to the house with a headache and told the kids I needed to lie down in a dark room for an hour.  Two minutes later in pops the three year old.  "I need to go to the bathroom," she says.
"Then go," I responded.  
"I can't someone is using it, and I have to go right now."
"Just use mine then," I responded while holding my head.  
I can't say my hour was restful.  Kids have a way of knowing when you need silence and that's when they argue and tease the most.  I could hear them in the room above me.  A room they are NEVER in, except for the fact that I was below them trying to find peace.  

I had enough.  I threw my legs over the edge of the bed to rush upstairs to scold them only to hear and feel the cold splashing sound of water.  She had used too much toilet paper and I now had rushing water racing to fill every inch of my bedroom, down the hall, and making its way to my family room!

Two hours later the twelve year old and I had wiped up the last of it.  Only to hear the three year old screaming out in pain.  I raced up the stairs and found her sitting on the floor holding her lip.  There was the tiniest scratch on it, but it did look painful.  I instantly assumed that she had once again been tormenting my cat even though she had been warned repeatedly not to.  
"Were you picking on Echo again?" I asked.  
"No," she responded quietly.  "It was a tiger that scratched me."

I had to call my husband to find animal control to search our Nebraska farm for a loose tiger! 

They moved on to their final destination at the other end of the state four days ago and the silence has returned.  The motors on the washer, dryer, and dishwasher are now cool enough to touch and the guest room, given enough time, may lose the smell of a twelve year old boy who may not shower quite as often as necessary.  

Oh, and the sound I heard this morning, the slamming door and the heavy footsteps above us, were nothing more than Echo jumping down from a shelf in the bathroom and racing across the tiled floor with the sheer joy a cat feels when the house belongs to her again!