The Newly ReDesigned Blog is now up and running.
Well after fixing a few kinks and miss spellings the new design is up and running! You will also notice that all the old posts and comments have been saved and survived the transfer to the new site.
If you have any questions or encounter any problems use the contact link up on the sign post on the left side of your screen to contact me, the webmaster…(Kathy).
Enjoy!
I’m searching for a webmaster to maintain and upgrade my website. Any recommendations? Prefer someone local who is familiar with 1&1 host.
Thanking you!
CLM
How odd to find myself in the same predicament as two years ago–a crashed computer midway through another novel. The last crash was in the midst of The Shadows of the Sea. The unthinkable happened immediately upon my return from a two-week cruise of the Baltic Sea…my eMac crashed and took just about my whole life along with it. Fortunately, most of my Word docs were salvagable, and some of my pics, but that was about it. Don’t believe anyone who tells you “Macs never crash!” Anything can crash and last week it was my 18-month-old Vaio. And, yes, I’m midway through writing the last book in the MsAdventures at Sea series, The Winds of Whyalla. This time I was on top of it. I had a computer tech come immediately. This time all I lost was all my research Bookmarks of the past five years, all my agent/publisher correspondence and contacts and all my saved to PC files. The culprit? AOL is the culprit in the missing files department. We deleted AOL from my computer because it was interfering with the repair efforts of the tech. All these years I would hit the Save On My PC button for correspondence, only to find that AOL files are unreadable on a PC. Bookmarks? Same thing. Forgeddaboudit. The main reason I hadn’t dumped AOL previously in spite of the sage advice of my son, my friends and business associates was because of the hundreds of research Bookmarks and the hundreds of “saved” pieces of correspondence. I discovered other insidious things about AOL while sitting beside the computer tech. AOL infiltrates and pirates just about every if not EVERY program on your computer. It’s no Urban Legand about it being impossible to quit AOL, either. I tired two years ago. The only thing I got for my efforts was AOL for free since then…but, yes indeedy, Virginia, there really are no free lunches.
How odd to find myself in the same predicament as two years ago–a crashed computer midway through another novel. The last crash was in the midst of The Shadows of the Sea. The unthinkable happened immediately upon my return from a two-week cruise of the Baltic Sea…my eMac crashed and took just about my whole life along with it. Fortunately, most of my Word docs were salvagable, and some of my pics, but that was about it. Don’t believe anyone who tells you “Macs never crash!” Anything can crash and last week it was my 18-month-old Vaio. And, yes, I’m midway through writing the last book in the MsAdventures at Sea series, The Winds of Whyalla. This time I was on top of it. I had a computer tech come immediately. This time all I lost was all my research Bookmarks of the past five years, all my agent/publisher correspondence and contacts and all my saved to PC files. The culprit? AOL is the culprit in the missing files department. We deleted AOL from my computer because it was interfering with the repair efforts of the tech. All these years I would hit the Save On My PC button for correspondence, only to find that AOL files are unreadable on a PC. Bookmarks? Same thing. Forgeddaboudit. The main reason I hadn’t dumped AOL previously in spite of the sage advice of my son, my friends and business associates was because of the hundreds of research Bookmarks and the hundreds of “saved” pieces of correspondence. I discovered other insidious things about AOL while sitting beside the computer tech. AOL infiltrates and pirates just about every if not EVERY program on your computer. It’s no Urban Legand about it being impossible to quit AOL, either. I tired two years ago. The only thing I got for my efforts was AOL for free since then…but, yes indeedy, Virginia, there really are no free lunches.
Okay, this subject has been nagging at me for sometime. Is it just me or has anyone else noticed the increase in music decibels in restaurants, lounges, hotel pool/patio areas and other social gathering places? Granted the sound systems are top-of-the-line, but, does it really make sense at an upscale restaurant to have to practically shout at your dinner companion just to be heard? Maybe there’s an advantage in having to get-up-close-and-personal if you’re seated next to a gorgeous, enticing member of the opposite sex. I noticed in particular last night at the newest, trendiest restaurant (Texas de Brazil, Town Square) that the ambient noise level was damn near the equivalent of being at a rock concert. When there was a pause between loops of music, people were still literally yelling at one another at the table behind me. Not to be rude, but to be heard. A friend and I stayed at the Hotel Mondrian in Hollywood this summer (I was a guest author at a book signing event). Our balcony overlooked the pool area cum Sky Bar. The music began at 10 a.m., and pounded all through the day and late into the night. After hearing Buckcherry’s “you’re crazy b**ch, but you f**K so good I’m on top of it” for the umpteenth time we finally had to shut our soundproof, glass balconey doors to get some peace and quiet. I can only wonder what more conservative guests and those with children thought about the soundtrack. (I do know, actually. I’m sure the kids said, “We don’t listen to the lyrics, just the music.”) I truly appreciate noisy revelry in a nightclub and similar venues. What I don’t appreciate is that another “trend” is being dictated to the general public. Like it or not, even when a menu is in the range of $$$-$$$$, chances are the next time you dine out–regardless how elegant or eclectic the surroundings or mouth watering the cuisine–your fine dining experience will leave you numb. Numb in the ears and numb in the head. You may walk out semi-dazed wondering if the cabernet was really that good of a year? You may barely remember the conversation you and your companion had with another couple. No wonder. Such high levels of constant loud bombardment on the ears causes the brain to put up defenses: Most likely, you really didn’t hear half of what the other parties said. You may have nodded politely, yelled something back you hoped was relevant, and breathed a sigh of relief when the other equally as bewildered guest nodded and heaved his or her own sigh of relief.
Hopefully, the stomach is far enough removed from the head that there’s a good chance one can walk away from the above scenario with at least a gastronomical sense of gratification. I’ll have to ponder that idea. Once the ringing in my ears stops, that is.
Okay, this subject has been nagging at me for sometime. Is it just me or has anyone else noticed the increase in music decibels in restaurants, lounges, hotel pool/patio areas and other social gathering places? Granted the sound systems are top-of-the-line, but, does it really make sense at an upscale restaurant to have to practically shout at your dinner companion just to be heard? Maybe there’s an advantage in having to get-up-close-and-personal if you’re seated next to a gorgeous, enticing member of the opposite sex. I noticed in particular last night at the newest, trendiest restaurant (Texas de Brazil, Town Square) that the ambient noise level was damn near the equivalent of being at a rock concert. When there was a pause between loops of music, people were still literally yelling at one another at the table behind me. Not to be rude, but to be heard. A friend and I stayed at the Hotel Mondrian in Hollywood this summer (I was a guest author at a book signing event). Our balcony overlooked the pool area cum Sky Bar. The music began at 10 a.m., and pounded all through the day and late into the night. After hearing Buckcherry’s “you’re crazy b**ch, but you f**K so good I’m on top of it” for the umpteenth time we finally had to shut our soundproof, glass balconey doors to get some peace and quiet. I can only wonder what more conservative guests and those with children thought about the soundtrack. (I do know, actually. I’m sure the kids said, “We don’t listen to the lyrics, just the music.”) I truly appreciate noisy revelry in a nightclub and similar venues. What I don’t appreciate is that another “trend” is being dictated to the general public. Like it or not, even when a menu is in the range of $$$-$$$$, chances are the next time you dine out–regardless how elegant or eclectic the surroundings or mouth watering the cuisine–your fine dining experience will leave you numb. Numb in the ears and numb in the head. You may walk out semi-dazed wondering if the cabernet was really that good of a year? You may barely remember the conversation you and your companion had with another couple. No wonder. Such high levels of constant loud bombardment on the ears causes the brain to put up defenses: Most likely, you really didn’t hear half of what the other parties said. You may have nodded politely, yelled something back you hoped was relevant, and breathed a sigh of relief when the other equally as bewildered guest nodded and heaved his or her own sigh of relief.
Hopefully, the stomach is far enough removed from the head that there’s a good chance one can walk away from the above scenario with at least a gastronomical sense of gratification. I’ll have to ponder that idea. Once the ringing in my ears stops, that is.
October, to those of us who live in Las Vegas, always heralds a welcome relief from the intense heat of the summer months. One morning you wake up and the faint scent of autumn is in the air. You can actually sit outside at 7 a.m. and not perspire…lol. The constant (and to me irritating) background hum of air conditioning units goes by the wayside–and so do those outrageous three-digit electric bills. October is crisp evenings and moist morning air; leaves turning into vibrant shades of orange, yellow and fading green before they begin their graceful swirling dance of death… October is also Halloween.
I remember the Halloweens of my childhood. Before some madman decided to put razor blades, then poison into children’s candy. I remember Halloween when the entire family gathered round to design costumes made from scratch. A piece of charcoal, an old sheet, some cardboard boxes with cutouts. Mom’s lipstick and Dad’s old pipe– even his boxer shorts were fair game. And the pumpkin carving? What a mess…but, what fun! Those days are long gone.
Halloween in the millennium has become a playground for adults. Entire outlets have sprung up devoted to what has actually become a fantasy-fulfilling industry. Flesh & Fantasy balls have more attendees than any given neighborhood streets. Haunted houses are so over the top, Steven Spielberg should feel threatened. Go to any costume store and Snow White is vying for space next to Elvira and Pam-a-la-la Anderson…not to mention numerous overly endowed and , er, testosterone challenged creatures. From what I understand, Halloween has actually become acknowledged as “the High Holy Day” to a select circle.
Personally, I miss the old days. Children still come by my house in costume. They call out ”trick or treat!” I hate to say it, but that old buzz phrase sounds hollow to me for some reason. Perhaps I’m aware the parents are eager to put the children to bed–they have their own adult Halloween agenda to attend to. Those who don’t party watch their little ones like hawks. As well they should. There are real monsters out there. We’re all painfully aware of that…..but be aware that on All Hallow’s Eve….they can reveal themselves for what they really are…and we embrace them.
Personally, I prefer Mom’s lipstick, a piece of charcoal, a battered, cut up cardboard box…and Dad’s old underwear. Happy Halloween!
October, to those of us who live in Las Vegas, always heralds a welcome relief from the intense heat of the summer months. One morning you wake up and the faint scent of autumn is in the air. You can actually sit outside at 7 a.m. and not perspire…lol. The constant (and to me irritating) background hum of air conditioning units goes by the wayside–and so do those outrageous three-digit electric bills. October is crisp evenings and moist morning air; leaves turning into vibrant shades of orange, yellow and fading green before they begin their graceful swirling dance of death… October is also Halloween.
I remember the Halloweens of my childhood. Before some madman decided to put razor blades, then poison into children’s candy. I remember Halloween when the entire family gathered round to design costumes made from scratch. A piece of charcoal, an old sheet, some cardboard boxes with cutouts. Mom’s lipstick and Dad’s old pipe– even his boxer shorts were fair game. And the pumpkin carving? What a mess…but, what fun! Those days are long gone.
Halloween in the millennium has become a playground for adults. Entire outlets have sprung up devoted to what has actually become a fantasy-fulfilling industry. Flesh & Fantasy balls have more attendees than any given neighborhood streets. Haunted houses are so over the top, Steven Spielberg should feel threatened. Go to any costume store and Snow White is vying for space next to Elvira and Pam-a-la-la Anderson…not to mention numerous overly endowed and , er, testosterone challenged creatures. From what I understand, Halloween has actually become acknowledged as “the High Holy Day” to a select circle.
Personally, I miss the old days. Children still come by my house in costume. They call out “trick or treat!” I hate to say it, but that old buzz phrase sounds hollow to me for some reason. Perhaps I’m aware the parents are eager to put the children to bed–they have their own adult Halloween agenda to attend to. Those who don’t party watch their little ones like hawks. As well they should. There are real monsters out there. We’re all painfully aware of that…..but be aware that on All Hallow’s Eve….they can reveal themselves for what they really are…and we embrace them.
Personally, I prefer Mom’s lipstick, a piece of charcoal, a battered, cut up cardboard box…and Dad’s old underwear. Happy Halloween!
In keeping with the theme of my MsAdventures at Sea series…I’m going to self-indulge and post two of my favorite poems. Yes, poems. After all, I am the daughter of a great poet, Rita S. Brehm. She was a prolific writer as well. Sadly, much of her work is yet unpubished–she was too busy raising a brood of six generally unruly children to focus whatever energy was left at the end of the day on publishing–the evenings were her only time to write. Our childhood bedtime stories consisted of readings from our mother’s vast collection of the classics. Big sister Jane was usually the reader. My sisters and I plan on some day publishing mom’s poetry manuscript. Her work covers a broad spectrum; family, love, death, daily living, religion and politics. She was a woman of exceptional talent, and valor. Thank you, mom, for instilling in me the love of prose. Below are two of my favorites, that oddly, were also two of her favorites, yet, she’d never set sail on anything but a ferryboat…
The Sea Gypsy
I am fevered with the sunset,
I am fretful with the bay,
For the wander-thirst is on me
And my soul is in Cathay.
There’s a schooner in the offing,
With her topsails shot with fire,
And my heart has gone aboard her
For the Islands of Desire.
I must forth again to-morrow!
With the sunset I must be
Hull down on the trail of rapture
In the wonder of the sea.
–Richard Hovey
Sea Fever
I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea’s face, and a gray dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
All I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the seagulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way, where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And a quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trip’s over.
–John Masefield
In keeping with the theme of my MsAdventures at Sea series…I’m going to self-indulge and post two of my favorite poems. Yes, poems. After all, I am the daughter of a great poet, Rita S. Brehm. She was a prolific writer as well. Sadly, much of her work is yet unpubished–she was too busy raising a brood of six generally unruly children to focus whatever energy was left at the end of the day on publishing–the evenings were her only time to write. Our childhood bedtime stories consisted of readings from our mother’s vast collection of the classics. Big sister Jane was usually the reader. My sisters and I plan on some day publishing mom’s poetry manuscript. Her work covers a broad spectrum; family, love, death, daily living, religion and politics. She was a woman of exceptional talent, and valor. Thank you, mom, for instilling in me the love of prose. Below are two of my favorites, that oddly, were also two of her favorites, yet, she’d never set sail on anything but a ferryboat…
The Sea Gypsy
I am fevered with the sunset,
I am fretful with the bay,
For the wander-thirst is on me
And my soul is in Cathay.
There’s a schooner in the offing,
With her topsails shot with fire,
And my heart has gone aboard her
For the Islands of Desire.
I must forth again to-morrow!
With the sunset I must be
Hull down on the trail of rapture
In the wonder of the sea.
–Richard Hovey
Sea Fever
I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea’s face, and a gray dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
All I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the seagulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way, where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And a quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trip’s over.
–John Masefield
