Now appearing

My granddaughter, Chloe Ann Cannon!

She checked in after a c-section at 4:30 yesterday afternoon. She weighs this side of seven pounds. Her head is in the 95th percentile for her size. YES! SHE'S ONE OF US! (I had to wear a boy's hat to my high school graduation.)

La Familia de Cannon (the Eugene branch) is tired but doing fine. I plan to head on up there as soon as Randi's mom leaves.

Life is sweet.

POV and reality television

So when we were in So Cal this amazingly good-looking family rented the beach house next to ours. Like, they were movie star good-looking. And they spent a lot of time in skimpy swimwear talking about shopping and personal trainers and so forth. So I made the comment that it was like living next door to a reality television show--the Kardashians or something. Let me tell you we made merry with THAT idea.

And then one afternoon I looked at me, my sister-in-law, my daughter-in-law, and my niece sitting on the beach in our non-swimming suits as the four of us were knitting and I went, "And that family next door? They think they're living next door to the Duggars."

It's useful to have a shift in POV in life as well as in writing . . .

Chihuahua Trailer

Hey! So cute Julie Olson made this trailer for our Chihuahua book! I'm looking forward to seeing her in the flesh Saturday at the TKE launch party at 5:00!

Enjoy! While I figure out more ways to use an exclamation point!

How do I use this?

So we're back from an unusually eventful trip, including a go at the ER because Geoff got stung by a stingray. Not through the heart, obviously, like Steve Irwin. He'd be dead if that were the case and where's the fun in that?

Still. It got him in the foot and when he got out of the ocean I could see blood spurting like bloody Old spurting Faithful. It kept right on spurting until he joined us on the patio where we all stood around and watched it spurt some more because who in the hell knows what to do about stingrays if you're from stingray-free Utah?

Anyway. My brother finally put us in the car and we went to the San Clemente ER where they said stingray bites are SUPER painful. They loaded Geoff up with antibiotics and pain pills and told him to soak his foot in HOT water for 48 hours. Which he did. And now his foot is a prune.

It seems like there should be a column here right because what's a family for when you're a writer if not for exploiting purposes? But I can't figure out an angle.

You need an angle, folks, so it's not just an anecdote.

So Cal

We're on our way to Beach Week. I have a HA-YOOOOOOOGE pile of books I'm hoping to get through as I lie there (hopefully) in the sun (also hopefully). Not sure what my online life will look like. I'll say hey when I return, if not before.

Summer's here, folks. Let the bonne temps roulez. Or whatever it is they say in France.

THE CHIHUAHUA CHASE

Lucinda sent me a quick note saying she had no idea that my new book is out. So here I am telling you all that my book is out! Julie Olson's illustrations are tres muy darling, and I'm so pleased with how the whole thing looks.

Along these lines, The King's English (15th South and 15th East in SLC) is having a launch party for us on June 26 at 5:00. Julie and I will briefly talk about the book and then there will be signings and chattings. Dogs are invited to attend. Should be a gas!

What not to put in your garden

So I spent the evening knocking doors for my sister-in-law who is running for the legislature, which gave me ample opportunity to study lawn ornamentation. One yard had a statue of bear cubs wrestling. Only to me it looked like a statue of bear cubs having sex. And it was disturbing.

MEMO TO SELF: AVOID LAWN ORNAMENTATION INVOLVING BEAR CUBS FROLICKING.

Okay. On the literary front, I went to TKE today and saw my new book THE CHIHUAHUA CHASE on display and I'll just say it right now--that cover by Julie Olson is completely irresistible. Well played, Julie Olson!

Also! Bonus reading update!

In the last two weeks, I read a new mystery called THE DROWNING RIVER by Christobel Kent. New Italian series along the lines of the Donna Leon books, although this is set in Florence. I liked it a lot, actually. Very atmospheric. Interesting characters. My main criticism is that it depends overmuch on coincidence to further the plot. I also realize I'm having this problem with a lot of mysteries these days--after all is said and done, the endings don't quite deliver.

Still. Read another mystery by the popular Nevada Barr who sets her mysteries in various national parks. Lots of my friends dig Barr's books, but I wasn't crazy about HIGH COUNTRY. It's a well-done thriller set in Yosemite but I guess it just wasn't my cup of tea. Didn't love the main character, Anna Pigeon.

AND I did read THE RELUCTANT WIDOW by my reliable go-to standby, Georgette Heyer. WIDOW falls into her "caper" category, which isn't my fave. I was kinda disappointed.

So yeah. It looks like I've been kind of a grumpy reader lately . . .

Oh how I wish

I could complain about airplane food.

Remember the good old days when we could all complain about airplane food? But now we can't. Because they don't feed you on airplanes anymore. Not even on a 4 1/2 hour trip across the country at dinner time. Which I know from personal experience because we just flew back from D.C. last night. I spent most of the trip fantasizing about the days when flight attendants brought you a little tray with a stone cold hard roll, a dish of lasagne so hot it invariably burned the roof of your mouth, a joyless little salad with some ranch dressing on the side, and a brownie. You could also get Ginger Ale if you wanted to.

Anyway. A meal like that gave you something to do for at least an hour of your journey. For twenty minutes you anticipated the moment when the attendants rolled their cart by your seat and served you dinner. For twenty minutes you ate that dinner. And then for twenty minutes after you bitched about how awful that dinner was. And then you only had 3 1/2 hours left on your endless, endless trip back from D. C. to Salt Lake.

Did I also mention there was no movie on board last night either? Or television? Or music for our listening pleasure?

When it comes to the flying, the Glory Days is Gone.

On my way

to Washington D.C. to pick up our youngest son who's been a senate page lo these many months. I will make a concerted effort to blog more faithfully when I return.

Narratives

There are all kinds of narratives, and those of us who write are always looking for ways to turn them into novels or short stories, essays or poems. In other words, we want to shape our narratives for public consumption.

But some narratives are meant just for families, like the story I tell my second son every May 31st. It goes like this: "So there Sally Cannon and I were in Lindsey Gardens, eating chicken salad and orange rolls, watching her son Danny play baseball, wondering when you'd be born. Then I went home. Then my water broke. Then I went to the hospital where I was up all night trying to have you. To pass the time I watched BOB, CAROL, TED AND ALICE--possibly one of the dumbest movies ever made but back in 1984 there was no such thing as cable TV, so my choice of supremely dumb movies was limited. After BOB, CAROL, TED AND ALICE was over, I watched the TV stations sign off, after which I watched a picture of the flag on the TV screen while listening to patriotic music until the TV stations signed back on with Lynn Adair and the farm report (am I remembering his name?).

"Dude. You still weren't born until THAT AFTERNOON, after which my o.b. (adorable Dr. Ron Larkin) informed me that my second labor and delivery was worse than most women's first. To celebrate this fact, his nurse brought me a Dr. Pepper and some Cheetoes in the recovery room.

"Meanwhile they put you in my arms--a big fat red baby boy--and life never ever felt better."

Happy Birthday, Alec.