My son has an associate’s degree!

Celebrate blog hopThis week’s post for the Celebrate the Small Things blog hop celebrates a not-so-small thing: my son is almost done with his 2-year associate’s degree! There’s no graduation ceremony this year (thanks, Microbe That Must Not Be Named), but he got a lovely box in the mail yesterday from his campus, with his class of 2020 tassel and membership card for the alumni association. My baby is an alumnus!

In the fall he’ll move on to a 4-year university, but for now, we’re celebrating this milestone with him.

And congrats to all the graduates out there! I’m sorry you don’t get to have big parties and ceremonies this year. I hope your schools find a way to celebrate you once it’s safe to do so. In the meantime, celebrate yourself! Be proud of the grit and determination it took to finish.

P is for Patience and Persistence (#AtoZChallenge)


I grew up in the San Joaquin Valley in California, where every November and December, a layer of tule fog settles in. Sometimes it lifts during the day, and sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes it’s so thick you can barely see the end of your car hood. That’s when you hope the road you’re on has those little raised bumps along the shoulder, so you can ride on them to guide you. We called that driving by Braille. 0/10 Do Not Recommend.

Dense Tule fog in Bakersfield
Dense Tule fog in Bakersfield is from Wikipedia and licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

What I do recommend is walking in the fog, especially at night. There was something magical about a walk on a foggy night, when I could barely see 30 feet in front of me. But it was also easy to get disoriented, easy to lose my way. However, if I started in the right direction and put one foot in front of the other, my destination would emerge out of the fog like an apparition. It was difficult–and scary–to keep walking forward toward a destination I could not see, even though I knew it was there. I was always tempted to veer off to the side to see if I could find a familiar landmark, or to turn back and wait until my path was clearer. If I wanted to reach my destination, though, I needed to keep moving forward. Slowly. Carefully. But forward.

We all have dreams. We all have goals. We all have destinations we desperately want to reach but that seem so far distant, so shrouded in the fog of uncertainty, that we aren’t even sure they are there. I want to publish a novel. You might want to run a marathon or finish college or buy a house. None of those things are easy. None are short-term. All require setting yourself on a path and putting one foot in front of the other day after week after month after year, even when the destination seems hopelessly distant. Even when you’ve lost sight of it entirely.

And now we have a global pandemic that keeps us in our houses, keeps us afraid, and keeps us wondering if we’ll ever have a chance to do more than get up and get through. How long till marathons are a thing again? Till college classes can happen in person? Till we’ll recover economically enough to buy anything, let alone a house?

I don’t know. You don’t know. None of us knows. 

But here’s what I do know: those dreams, those destinations? They still exist. Never mind walking through fog. It feels like we are sailing through a hurricane, and many of us have been blown off-course.That professional editor I wanted to hire to help me prep my first novel for querying? Gonna have to wait on that, because I may get furloughed, and raises will be canceled, and…

But on the other side of the huge waves and hulking clouds and sheeting rain, our destinations await us.

For now, though, we exist in an in-between time, between the familiar, the old normal, and whatever will come after. And right now, that new normal is shrouded in some pretty thick fog.

That phrase, in-between time, reminds me of a lovely novella by Diana Gabaldon called The Space Between. It’s set in the Outlander world and tells the story of Michael Murray and Joan MacKimmie, Jamie Fraser’s nephew and stepdaughter. Michael is grieving the death of his wife and recounts the advice he got from his brother Ian:

“That’s how ye do it,” his brother Ian had told him, as they leant together on the rail of their mother’s sheep pen, the winter’s wind cold on their faces, waiting for their da to find his way through dying. “Ye find a way to live for that one more minute. And then another. And another.” Ian had lost a wife, too, and knew.

He’d wiped his face—he could weep before Ian, while he couldn’t with his elder brother or the girls, certainly not in front of his mother—and asked, “And it gets better after a time, is that what ye’re telling me?” His brother had looked at him straight on, the quiet in his eyes showing through the outlandish Mohawk tattoos. “No,” he’d said softly. “But after a time, ye find ye’re in a different place than ye were. A different person than ye were. And then ye look about and see what’s there with ye. Ye’ll maybe find a use for yourself. That helps.”

“Ye look about and see what’s there with ye. Ye’ll maybe find a use for yourself.”

That line has stuck with me since the first time I read this story, and it’s come back to me many times since the coronavirus lock-down started. And many times since it started, I’ve looked around to see what’s here with me, and usually I can find a use for myself. Each day I can take one step, however small, toward my dream. I hope you can, too.

N is for Now (#AtoZChallenge)

N2020What’s the worst part of quarantine? Not the boredom. I’m not bored. I don’t have time to be bored. I’m my usual committed self, swamped with Zoom meetings, writing, Zoom meetings, cooking, Zoom meetings, chores, Zoom meetings, gardening, and Zoom meetings. I could do with some boredom. 

Not fear of the virus. I’m past that. Or, rather, like the adaptable, resilient human I am, I have adjusted to it. We humans can adjust to nearly anything.

What I mind is the uncertainty.

I am a planner. I use two different to-do apps and used to keep a bullet journal (now it’s mostly a regular journal). I check my calendar at the start of each week so I can be prepared for what’s coming up. I make project plans. Lists. More lists. I like routine. Predictability. Or at least the sense of safety and security that comes from the illusion of predictability.

Sure, I read books and blog posts about the importance of living in the moment, that all we really have is right this minute now, about being mindful in whatever you’re doing right this minute now.

And then I start planning my next vacation or garden or novel.

But this pandemic has stripped away the future. Hell, it’s stripped away next week. We can’t plan, whether it’s a new job, a vacation, or even a Sunday drive. The only certainties are death and Zoom meetings (taxes have been postponed till July). All else is uncertain, shrouded in virus-laden mist.

Our worlds have shrunk to the size of our houses and backyards and computer screens (seriously – I had 6 hours of Zoom meetings on Thursday). And so all we have are two things:




And really, that’s all we’ve ever had, as the mindfulness gurus tell us, but of course we never believed it. When I have more time… when I get a raise… when we buy a house… when we go to [insert exotic destination here that I will never see except on a co-worker’s Zoom background].

But our plans were always iffy. Man proposes, and God disposes. Man plans, and God laughs. But ya gotta admit, the odds were better. In our safe, modern world, the odds that we’d make it to next year, next month, or next Thursday were pretty good for most of us. And the odds that we could predict next year, next month, or next Thursday were fairly good.

Not now.

I have no idea what my life will be like in three months. I have a pretty good idea what it’ll be like next Thursday, though–more Zoom meetings.

And so I am unmoored by uncertainty and trying to learn how to live–and treasure–life in the moment. What is there for me in this place, right here, right now? (besides a Zoom meeting). With my choices circumscribed, I focus more deeply on what is in front of me, the way a macro shot shows only its subject, the background blurry and barely distinguishable.


My eyes are the lens, and I can choose where to train them: on the flower or the withered stalk. With fewer choices, I’d better make mine count.

I choose the flower. I choose the beauty. The love. The joy. The peace of this moment, right here, right now.

And I’d better get on with it, because I have to be on a Zoom meeting in ten minutes.

G is for Gardening (#AtoZChallenge)

G2020 I guess that last post should have been named, F is for Failure, because after that post, I failed the A to Z Challenge. I am now a day behind, and judging by the number of items on my to-do list for this week (and it’s already Thursday–WTF??), I will be several days behind very soon. I’m going to come back to that thought in a moment.

First, though, I want to say a few words about my other favorite activity besides writing: gardening. For those who don’t know, I live in a volcano field in a high desert, 7000′ above sea level. My soil is clay covered with about a foot of red cinders from the last volcanic eruption a few hundred years ago. Each May, we are invaded with swarms of locusts (a/k/a grasshoppers) that would make an Old Testament prophet proud. The wind howls all spring, and winter temps drop below 0 at least once a year. And I am crazy enough to try to grow plants here.

This exercise in frustration has taught me a few things:

Determination. Well, that didn’t work. What can we do differently when we try again? (This describes 6 years of trying to grow roses in this hellscape)

Tolerance for imperfection. Plants will not look like they did in the nursery catalog when they grow here. Apple blossoms will be frozen off long before fruit can set. The first tomato will ripen the day before the first frost. Etc.

Prioritization. Spring is wind season here in the San Francisco Volcano Field (look it up – it’s really called that. I live in a volcano field with an actual name). So when we have a few nanoseconds that are not windy–and I’m not at work–I drop everything to run outside and weed or plant something. (Digression alert! Have you ever realized that gardening is mostly about pulling out some plants and putting in others that grow less well than the ones you pulled out?) Whatever else I am doing can wait till the wind starts blowing, which it will do 5 minutes after I get outside. If it’s a calm spring day, nothing is more important than gardening. Nothing. Tie a tourniquet above that arterial bleed and wait till I’ve planted this rose bush that will get eaten by grasshoppers next month and freeze to death next winter. Can’t you see I’m busy?

Well, now, it so happens that determination, tolerance for imperfection, and prioritization are pretty dang good life lessons, especially for us writers. And I am demonstrating all three of them in my approach to the A-Z Challenge.

Yesterday I demonstrated prioritization. Work was hectic, I had writing to do, I had to pick up groceries, and I was exhausted. I inspected my to-do list, said something like, “Oh, hell no,” and started moving stuff to other days. One of the things that got moved was my daily A-Z Challenge post, because it was a lower priority than a) earning a living, b) feeding my family, c) editing my short story (it’s about a haunted ranch house that hasn’t been redecorated since the late 1980s. Mauve is terrifying. Terrifying, I tell you), and d) preserving my sanity. So I embraced my inner Def Leppard (or Elsa, for those of you with kids under 10) and Let It Go.

Today I’m demonstrating determination. So I missed a day? I can still do the challenge, still press on. And of course I’m demonstrating tolerance for imperfection. So I missed a day? BFD. Is it going to matter in a year? Is an agent going to decide not to sign me because I wrote about G on H day?


We are all doing the best we can, struggling along with too much to do and not enough time–and now we’re doing it in quarantine, with the fear of a potentially-deadly illness looming over us. So today’s discovery in my A-Z coronazoic journey is this: prioritize ruthlessly to focus on what’s most important, and cut yourself some slack when you can’t do it all. And if the sun is shining and the wind ain’t blowing, get out in the garden!

Bonus for those of you who like plants and are willing to tolerate me showing off a bit: garden pictures!

Before – when we bought our house in 2014

2013-11-09 11.54.35

After – last spring

2019-05-11 14.25.51.jpg

2019-05-07 06.19.45.jpg

Fall 2018

2018-09-16 08.26.25.jpg

2018-09-23 10.53.48.jpg

If you want to see more garden pictures or read about my gardening adventures, you can stop by my other blog, Gardening With Altitude and Attitude. It’s on hiatus for now, so I can focus on my fiction writing and this blog (see? prioritization!) but you may find some of the old posts mildly entertaining.

F is for Favorite Things (#AtoZChallenge)

F2020Today marked the beginning of week 4 of working from home/social distancing/quarantine/lockdown for me. In the interest of staying positive–and finding a theme that a) starts with f, and b) isn’t an obscenity–I will devote this post to a few of my favorite things about this surreal time. So here it is:

Janet’s Top 6 Favorite Things About #QuarantineLife

  1. Calm. You’d think that with a deadly virus lurking just beyond my driveway, I’d be freaking out. You would be wrong. Even though I’m working full time from home and am busy most of the rest of the time with writing, cooking, and washing dishes (note: I do miss takeout. I think I spend half my free time doing something kitchen-related), I’m way more relaxed than I was when I was working in the office. I’m sleeping better, too.
  2. Time. I have an extra hour a day that I would normally spend driving to and from work. I also have break times throughout the day. At work, my breaks consist of surfing the internet, reading Ask A Manager, and avoiding anything good for me like exercise or writing. At home, I spend my breaks exercising, doing household chores, preparing food, or reading–activities that give me more free time at the end of my workday or are intrinsically rewarding.
  3. Solitude. Pre-quarantine, I was almost never alone. I might get two or three hours alone on weekend mornings before husband and son (a/k/a the night owls) got up. About half the time, I’d be so exhausted that I’d get up late and maybe–maybe–get an hour or two to myself. Now I have the house to myself for almost half my workday. For a natural introvert like me, that is a blessing.
  4. Simplicity. #QuarantineLife may not be exciting, but it is so much simpler than normal life. Decisions are constrained and therefore easy to make (see The Paradox of Choice and any article about decision fatigue). I can do whatever I want–as long as it doesn’t involve going anywhere where there are other people. I can eat whatever I want–as long as I have the ingredients on hand. I can wear whatever I want–which for me, ironically, means an easier choice, because I’ll always choose yoga pants and a t-shirt. I’m not going anywhere, so they don’t even have to be color-coordinated. Shoes are, of course, optional.
  5. Sanctuary: The world beyond my driveway may be spinning out of control, but here in my little cocoon of happiness, I can decide what I hear, read, and watch. I’m spending my time with the people I love most (even though they’re obnoxious and occasionally smelly), in the place I love most (home). The outside world is just that–outside.
  6. Introspection–or maybe head space. Slower pace and fewer choices = mental space to think, to process, to consider what matters most in my life and how to get more of it when this craziness is over. I also find myself wondering what about our culture and lifestyles will be forever altered by this pandemic. I don’t have answers, but thinking about it is fascinating.

So how about you, dear reader? Are you finding anything good in this long, strange trip?

E is for Exercise (#AtoZChallenge)


A big part of my voyage of discovery (how’s that for pretentious?) this month is figuring out how to thrive in quarantine. I realize the point of all this social distancing is survival, but I’m not one to settle for surviving. I want to enjoy my life. I want to thrive.

And so I’m building my How to be Happy Without Leaving the House toolbox, and I’m discovering that one of the key elements for me is exercise. Now, mind you, I was the kid who was always picked last in PE and the adult whose life motto was, “If you see me running, please kill whatever’s chasing me.” But just because I sucked at team sports and hated running doesn’t mean I didn’t like to be active. I walked, hiked, roller skated, and swam as a kid. I walk, hike, and lift weights as an adult. And (shhh… don’t tell anybody, because it will ruin my reputation as a couch potato) I even run sometimes. Even when nothing is chasing me. But I still hate it.

Building movement into my day has been a challenge since the Microbe That Must Not Be Named put me on lockdown. No gym means no weights and no treadmill, and the weather is rarely conducive to outdoor activity this time of year. Hubs and I have managed a few walks in the woods near our home (way distant from any other humans), but for the last week, we’ve had 30+ mph winds all day, just about every day. So… how to get exercise?

So far, I have:

  • Walked in circles in my house like a mentally-damaged zoo animal–which, come to think of it, is an apt simile. I really need some enrichment activities. How about a chew toy stuffed with chocolate syrup?
  • Run in place while on webinars. Note: I would have done this in my office before quarantine if I hadn’t been worried about looking ridiculous. One of the best things about working from home is that no one cares if you look ridiculous.
  • Attempted an aerobic workout video from Fitbit Premium (currently free for 90 days). Note: That video included various forms of torture, including jumping jacks. I actually attempted a jumping jack. And then I considered calling my pulmonologist.
  • Walked and hiked and shoveled wood chips onto pathways in my vegetable garden on the rare days when I could get outside, . Yesterday I found the first grasshopper of the season. Tomorrow I will be ordering a military-grade flamethrower. I have issues with grasshoppers.

So, fellow quarantinos, how are you exercising while on lockdown? Any suggestions for a middle-aged librarian/writer for whom a jumping jack nearly proved fatal?

D is for Discovery (#AtoZChallenge)

D2020The theme for my A to Z Challenge posts is Discovery, especially the things I’m discovering during the 2020 Quarantine Experience. Many of the posts this month will dig deeper into various discoveries–or at least I think they will. I really haven’t planned out this whole blog challenge thing. As with the rest of my life, I’m making it up as I go along.

Anyway, here’s a random list of things I’ve discovered in the three+ weeks I’ve been exiled from society:

  • Human beings are wonderfully resilient and inventive. From hilarious new memes about toilet paper to 3D printed masks for health professionals to Zoom happy hours, we hairless apes have found ways to not only survive but thrive under adverse conditions.

Behold this example of human creativity:


  • If my dogs were actually co-workers, they would be reported to HR at least twice a day. They are pros at lunch stealing and inappropriate touching.

Janet with greyhounds Fergi and Maddie

  • Plain white rice keeps in the refrigerator for over a week with no adverse effects. No, I’m not posting a picture of my leftover rice. Use your imagination.
  • I do not perceive time in a linear fashion when cooped up in the house for days on end. This afternoon I literally couldn’t remember what I’d done this morning, and if I did remember something, I couldn’t remember which day I’d done it. And each  morning when I wake up, it takes me a bit to figure out what day of the week it is.
  • Apparently lack of time was not the reason for my previous inability to get around to doing various things. I have a lot more time, and I’m still not doing them.
  • The first two weeks of my exile, I was productive and energetic most of the time. Starting with week 3, last week, it became harder to focus and get motivated. It’ll be interesting–or possibly disturbing–to see what state I’m in by the end of this month. I suspect I’ll be an amorphous blob physically attached to a couch cushion.

How about y’all, fellow quarantinos? What have you learned from this period of prolonged isolation?

C is for Christmas (#AtoZChallenge)

C2020I spent a good part of today pondering today’s topic. Let’s see… what’s a popular topic that starts with C?


I am not going to write about the Microbe That Must Not Be Named. That damn thing already has me wearing a mask in public when it isn’t Halloween and disinfecting my 12-packs of Diet Coke before I drink them. It’s not getting any PR from me.

So, fellow quarantinos, let’s talk about something slightly more fun, shall we? How about… Christmas! No, I’m not one of those bizarre creatures who starts listening to Christmas music before Labor Day. I’m actually the local Grinch that gripes about the fact that Christmas crap shows up in stores before Thanksgiving. I didn’t even put up a tree this year.

So why the heck am I writing about Christmas? Because it starts with C and isn’t a) one of George Carlin’s 7 words you can’t say on television (Google it – and note that most of them are now said on television every 1.3 seconds–except the ones that start with C), or b) that unmentionable microbe. Oh, yeah, and c) because I want an excuse to promote the oldest post on my blog. But I’ll get to that in a minute.

I’ve been thinking about Christmas more than usual, because I’ve been reading the 2019 Chicken Soup for the Soul Christmas collection. Yes, you read that right. Your friendly neighborhood writer of stories about psycho killers is reading a sappy Christmas book. In April. Someone tell Satan to take off the ice skates before he hurts himself.

I bought the book a couple of months ago (yes, after Christmas), because I’d decided to submit a piece for next year’s collection and wanted to see some examples of the kinds of stories they publish. The first draft of that piece is the oldest post on this blog, Christmas With Mom. It’s the most painful piece I’ve ever written and one of the ones I’m most proud of. And this whole post is really just an excuse to sucker you into reading it. So go do that. And I’ll know if you didn’t, because I have nothing better to do than refresh my blog stats every 1.3 minutes.

But seriously, I’ve found the Chicken Soup Christmas collection to be a wonderful escape from the current reality. I can dip into it and spend a few minutes–or even an hour–lost in a world of snowy evenings, simple faith, and children who still believe in Santa Claus. It’s a series of glimpses into a simpler time, a time when people could meet without Zoom and hug without fear.

You know, the old days.

Last December.

In yesterday’s post, I said that one of the themes of my A to Z Challenge would be discovery. And that Christmas book, something I wouldn’t normally go out of my way to read, has been a delightful discovery. I might have to buy next year’s volume. Unless my piece is accepted–then I’ll get a copy for free.

What bright spots have you discovered in these last few weeks? What bits of unexpected joy? Please share them in the comments. We all need ’em.


The 2020 #AtoZChallenge (because I am a glutton for punishment)

2020 A to Z Challenge logoWhile I was roaming through posts from #IWSG blog hop participants yesterday, I stumbled across the A to Z Challenge, a challenge to bloggers to post every day (except Sunday) through the entire month of April–and relate each post to a letter of the alphabet (in order, of course). Sounds fun, I thought. It’ll keep me writing during quarantine, I thought. And like an idiot I filled out the signup form, and now here I am, needing to cover letters A and B and come up with 24 more alphabetically-inspired posts. Why, oh why, do I do these things?

Besides the alphabet, I hope to write posts around the theme of discovery. I’m wrapping up week 3 of stay-the-hell-home, and in an effort to retain my sanity, I’m trying to approach this bizarre experience with curiosity. What new strategies can I employ to keep from losing my mind? What interesting new things can I learn? What can I discover in my own backyard (besides dog poop)?

For those of you who subscribe to this blog, I hope my much-greater-than-normal posting frequency won’t drive you away. I’ll try to keep my posts short and entertaining, so you’ll want to stick around. Here we go…

2020 A to Z Challenge Logo - A

A is for Alexa, because this week I discovered how to make Alexa fart. Yeah, you read that right. All the power of a digital assistant built into my TV, and I find it the height of hilarity to tell her to fart. Repeatedly. Dear readers, I even spent $1.60 for–wait for it–the Extreme Farts Extension Pack. I truly wish I were joking. I am a 53-year-old librarian, and 3 weeks of quarantine has reduced me to giggling over synthesized farts. Thank goodness no one has invented smell-a-vision.

If you, like me, have the emotional sophistication of a 12-year-old boy–and an Alexa-enabled device–activate your device and issue the command, “Alexa, fart!” And let the hilarity ensue.

2020 A to Z Challenge Logo - B

B is for backgrounds, specifically Zoom backgrounds. As a quarantined academic, my workdays are now populated with Zoom meetings. In my never-ending (and doomed) quest to make meetings interesting, I discovered custom backgrounds for Zoom. If you have a green screen or a reasonably powerful computer, you can try them too. Just Google Zoom backgrounds and maybe add a keyword or two to indicate the kind of background you’re looking for. I met with an employee today while standing in the middle of Diagon Alley.


Tomorrow I’ll be on Platform 9 3/4.

If anyone knows how to teach Zoom to fart, let me know.

So how about you, dear reader? What have you discovered to keep yourself entertained during this long, strange trip?

We’re all fine here, now, thank you. How are you?

How are you holding up?

Y’all doing okay?

Going crazy yet?

These are the standard greetings in the Coronazoic age. And now it’s the monthly IWSG question: In this time when our world is in crisis with the covid-19 pandemic, our optional question this month is: how are things in your world? (Want to see some other great IWSG posts? Check out the list of participants here. (Powered by Linky Tools)

So, how am I? I’m fine.

I’m a homebody by nature, and I’m very good at entertaining myself. So for the most part, I’m one of those annoying people that get ridiculed regularly in quarantine memes. I’m working at home–productively–and making time for professional development. I’m writing regularly, cooking from scratch, reading, getting adequate sleep on a regular schedule, taking walks outside, and working in my garden. Hell, I’m exercising more than I have in years. I think it must be quarantine-induced insanity, but I’ve become obsessed with my step count and hyper-competitive in the FitBit Workweek Hustle challenge I participate in with co-workers. As I write this, it’s not quite 2 PM, and I have over 10,000 steps. But I’m not in first place–damn you, Sue B.–so I need to find a way to blog and walk at the same time.

I’m also more relaxed than I’ve been in at least two decades. Call it quarantine if you want. I’m calling it an extended retreat or maybe a sabbatical.

So, yeah, I’m doing just fine.


When I lie in bed at night after a long day of productivity and feeding the FitBit, I look at my husband and wonder if I’ll lose him to this damn disease. Or if he’ll lose me. If our son will lose a parent. Or (please, God, no) both parents.

I read about someone younger than me dying of this thing, and I feel the tube in my throat, hear the rasp of the ventilator. Or feel the air hunger as I gasp on a gurney in a hospital hallway, because there are no ICU beds and no ventilators.

I should make a list of all our accounts and insurance policies with passwords and contact information, so if I go, my husband and son will know what to do. But I don’t do that. I can’t do that. Because I am a coward, and if I do that, I will have to face the possibility such an act implies. And I can’t.

Better get some more steps in instead. Gotta catch up to Sue B. Does that woman ever sit down?

I contemplate the next few months–or years–and I remember my father’s stories of growing up during the Great Depression. Of going to bed hungry. Of squabbling with his siblings over the last chicken foot. Because that’s what the children got: the feet. The adults were working to help the family survive and needed the meatier pieces so they would have the strength to keep going.

Please, God, don’t let my son have to live like that.

I look at my friends list on Facebook and wonder whose page will become a memorial. Whose family will grieve. Whose spark of life will disappear from the world forever.

And I take another walk or pick up a book or watch another webinar until the blanket of denial is thick enough to shield me from the possibilities I cannot bear to face. I lounge in an oversized Def Leppard t-shirt and grease-stained yoga pants, fashion icon that I am, and grasp at whatever I can reach to keep the fear at bay, to retain some sense of control in a world running further off the rails with every presidential press conference.

How am I doing? I’m fine. We’re all fine here, now, thank you.

How are you?