My Red Cross moment

In 1991, the Spousal Unit and I decided to move from Pittsburgh to Minneapolis. That move is a saga unto itself, complete with lost cats, motels from hell, getting loss on the Dan Ryan in Chicago at rush hour, and a blown tire on the U-Haul. And that was all just the first 3 days of moving.

Anyway, we managed to get him moved in early June (with the cats), into a one bedroom apartment at a large complex. We were going to stay there until we could house hunt and find a new home. I then returned to Pittsburgh to wrap up the sale of the house and finish up some work. The moving van came on July 3 and took our Stuff, and I was left for a week sleeping on an air bed with no other furniture except a clip-on lamp and a tiny portable TV.

A week later, I arrived in Mpls to begin the new life. We settled into our cozy little apartment with three cats. Yes, cozy. The building we were in had 9 units, 6 that faced the garages, 6 that faced front. We faced the garage where our belongings were stored. Rather than pay a storage unit fee, we just stuffed everything into a garage. This is a pertinent fact for what happens later.

A week after I got in town, DH and I were out roller skating, came home about 7 PM and found fire trucks surrounding our apartment building. The top 3rd floor unit above ours was blazing away. We were on the ground floor. We could see our cats, pressed against the patio door, their eyes as big as saucers. Alarms were screaming, water was pouring into the building, and flames were shooting out. And my cats were inside.

I begged to go in and get them. Nope. No one allowed in. I pleaded. "They're right there. I can get them!" Nope. I have never felt so helpless, so angry, so worried.

After an hour or so, the blaze was under control. Another hour and the firemen told us we had 10 minutes to get into our apartments, grab what we wanted, then we had to leave. We raced inside. Water was about 3" deep and still gushing out of light sockets. Our cats literally ran to meet us, leapt into our arms, and clung to us. We stuffed them into cages, grabbed a litter box and cat food, tossed some clothes in a bag, grabbed our Important Papers, and got outside.

To what? We had 3 cats, and a car. It was now 10 at night and we had nowhere to stay. We'd been in town about 4 weeks. Didn't know anyone well enough to ask them to take in us and our pets.

That's when the Red Cross came through. We were then living in a far western suburb, mostly undeveloped (this was before Eden Prairie became 'civilized'). There was one motel, and they did not take pets. Well, the RC bullied the proprietor into taking us in. He had signed a deal with the RC to help out, and by God, he was going to help out. They gave us emergency supplies (toothbrush, shampoo, etc.) and one volunteer put us in touch with a vet, who made a motel-call to check the cats FOR FREE. God love him.

The next day we had to figure out where to live. We had 3 days paid in the motel and after that, we would be kicked out. To make a long story short, we ended up renting another unit in the apartment complex which was far, far more expensive because we had things in storage there and thus, we couldn't leave -- we had to stay at the complex or move our stuff.

So I supervised a move to another unit (DH had just started a new job and couldn't help). We ended up staying there 2 months, then bought a house right before the Halloween Blizzard when we got 3' of snow in 24 hours. We stayed there 8 months, then moved again. So I moved 4 times that year. And that's the move where my husband was in England, so I had to ...

Well, that's a story for another time. Suffice it to say, I support the Red Cross to this day because they came through for us, as they do for so many people. 

There Really is a Garden Under There by Brenda Whiteside

My husband retired this year and we moved from Minnesota to Arizona. The main reason for our move was family. I was born and raised in Phoenix, and Frank's family moved there when he was a teenager. All of my family still lives in the Phoenix area. At the time of our move, our son and his lady lived in Flagstaff. Frank and I don't like the heat/desert environment of Phoenix. We chose Paulden - two hour drive from my mom in Sun City.

The Orchard

One of my favorite things to do in Minneapolis was garden. The spring/summer season in the cities was brief but glorious. After coming out of winter, the burst of sunshine and color renewed me. Frank on the other hand has a motto - "I don't play in the dirt." He headed off to the lake every chance he got. So we moved to Paulden, Arizona to farm. How I got him here is still a mystery. I think my son had a lot to do with it. We've bought a rambling house to share with him and his lady, each of us taking a wing. Our plan is to raise our own fruits and vegetables. The people who lived here before us did just that, or at least started it, but family matters took them to Washington. The place set empty for over a year.

The Garden

We have a little work to do!

Luckily, my son has vision. I can tap into that vision - sort of. Frank is clueless and still not sure he'll "play in the dirt." Although I am encouraged. He bought a pair of knee high rubber boots for tromping in the orchard and garden.

The Blackberry Garden

Clearing the land of tumbleweeds is the first order of business. A neighbor told me this has been an epic year for tumbleweeds. Oh goodie. Underneath those tumbleweeds are rows of dirt where the last tenants had veggies. And you can mostly see the rows of blackberries. We have twelve fruit trees, but they sure look sad. Am excited to see those first little nubs appear to indicate the neglect hasn't killed them.

Green is possible!

Meanwhile, in front of the house some green has pushed up through the earth and started to flower. Spring could be around the corner! In spite of 28 degrees and a wailing wind today, I'm anxious to get my fingers in the mud. Once it warms up, we'll see if I can get Frank to come play in the dirt with me.





I had three releases in December from Melange Books. I hope you'll visit my web page to read excerpts and find the buy information.
www.brendawhiteside.com

Just pretend I'm here ...

This is one of those phantom blog posts. I'm out of town today, away from my computer, so I created this post last week. I apologize in advance if you comment and I don't reply -- I'm not here, not really.


It's been one thing after another in the month of August. I'm looking forward to flipping the calendar just in hopes that my string of odd luck changes. Note I don't say "Bad luck." I'm relatively healthy, in a nice home, and have a job I like and a spare job, writing, that I like. All of that makes me lucky. But lately I've had ups-and-downs: we sold our house but the buyer is now griping about 'hidden defects' (don't get me started). We bought a new house and had a few unexpected repairs. A co-worker is ill so I've had to pick up her workload at a very crucial, deadline-stressed moment.

I haven't been able to get much (if any) writing done. I've fallen back on the old "refill the creative well" thought -- maybe time away from my writing will help me come back with a fresh perspective. Part of the problem is that I'm a creature of habit, and all my habits have changed: I no longer go to the office, I telecommute. I'm actually working longer hours (big deadlines, you know), so I don't get "free time" until later at night. And by then, I'm tired and don't want to write.

So I'm looking ahead of September and the change of seasons, change of the calendar. I have set a goal for myself: on the day after Labor Day, I will settle into a new routine of working and writing. By then, we'll be mostly settled in our new house and I should be able to get my head back into fiction. Until then, I'll edit, consider new ideas, and try to stay caught up on blogs.

I feel the same way about writing romance -- in previous books it was easy to integrate the romance into the story. But in my current WIP, there are 2 romances: one in the past (and that really drives the motivation for the hero) and one tentative-almost romance in the present. This book isn't really about the romance. It's about the aftermath of romance, I guess. So it's been tough to write for me. But I'm determined that in September I'll sit down and writ. I know the story -- I just have to get those words on the page!


So just pretend I'm here ... someday, I really will be!