Some are Winners; Some are Not

Oh! The winning blog post! I guess I should do that since it's almost 10 a.m. 

OK ... so we had 3 blog posts for the month of August and Random.org selected week #3 (that's this week). I was excited over this selection because the perfect gift was mentioned this week: Edenbrooke!

If you like Jane Austen, you'll love this book. And since everyone likes Jane Austen (at least everyone of the female sort ), that means everyone (and their mothers) will love this book. Here's the link to it on Amazon.

I love getting gifts from Amazon because then I don't have to hassle with the post office: that was my intent with this week's prize. But guess what? Amazon went out of business! JK. Like that would ever happen.

Random.org gave me this week's winner as comment #6: Livingstonslifeinmt! Yay for you LLMT! But here's where I hit a bump in my plan: LLMT gave me this book for my birthday, and since this is one of her favorite books of all time, I think she probably owns at least 6 copies of this book already. Maybe not 6, but at least 1. So ... so ...

Plan B: LLMT, would you like my dog? She likes to bark at squirrels, eat UPS packages, and eat the carpet. Tempting, no?

Plan C: You can select a different book from Amazon. What have you been dying to read?

Plan D: Amazon has Magic 8 Balls. Did you need one of those?

Plan E: Amazon has a 3 pound box of Oreos. Would that tide you over for awhile? 

 

Plan F: is for Facial Tissue. Are you in need of that? They have a six pack ... of tissue that is. (BTW, why is it called facial tissue? If you need it for your entire face, you must be really bad at blowing your nose.)

LLMT, you have a huge choice to make. Let's talk. Call me. 

Thanks for playing along everyone. See you in September. (Sob!) 

Summer Love

Of all the silly things my dad has done during my lifetime, one of my very favorites was when he would answer the phone and say "Folkman's summer home. Some are home; some are not." Ha ha. Get it? (Faus pas gone JazznJenna.) Oh, except he didn't say Folkman's because I wasn't a Folkman then.

Anyway: that has been our theme this summer. Some of us were home. Some of us were not. It seemed like we had bodies heading off in different directions all summer, but I guess that's what happens when you have teenagers. While it was a lot to keep up with, we still had a great summer.

We went swimming at the lake(s). A lot. (I added the plural just to be bratty. Sorry about that.)

We took a quick trip to Spokane. I am in awe of the architecture downtown. I need to spend some time there, just me and my camera. Mano-a-mano.

Campbell House Museum

Our big trip of the summer was our trip to Utah. Oh my, we had fun! We saw family and dear friends and played, played, played. Since we live so far away from civilization, (OK not really. But yeah, kind of.) we get a little deprived of the man-made fun they have in big cities. And the shopping! And the restaurants! Good thing I don't live there or I would never cook.

Salt Lake Temple

We had so much fun that I actually thought, "OK, life in the city is not so bad. I could live here." But then ... but then ... Montana. Oh, Montana. Why are you so beautiful? Right when I cross the border from Idaho, I take a deep breath and sigh and know that I am home.

Sunset down the Swan. This picture was snapped out my window while I was driving (Mom, don't tell Dad!), which is ironic because I pulled off a handful of times to take pictures of barns and none of them really turned out. Guess I will save time and just snap shots while driving.

Of course you remember hearing all about our awesome Rock-n-Roll themed family reunion. Sad how that seems like ages ago now.

I didn't get to spend much time working on writing projects this summer, but I guess that's alright because I have 9 months of crappy weather coming up. I did get to read a few good books though, which always makes me happy. My very favorite was this one:

 We didn't go to the movies much this summer: it was just too stinkin nice out to go sit inside for two hours.

Oh, and I got to replenish my huckleberry freezer jam supply. It will last about two months. Maybe.

What did you do this summer? What did you love? Where did you go? What did you see? Are you sad to see it become just a memory?

It's the last week of the month so check back for the monthly winner on Thursday. The prize might just be a box of tissues since we are all shedding tears over the end of summer!

My Sources Say ...

I'm immature.

I'm sure this isn't shocking news to you. You've listened to me rant about things like granny elbows. You've seen the tense exchange of verbiage with my older sibling that often happens in the comment threads. And most of all, you know that I'm an author, which means I have conversations with imaginary people.

Also, I play with toys.

We saw this in the clearance isle at the toy store and I pretended to be the nice mom and buy it for my 11 year-old, but really: I WANTED IT FOR ME!

This was one of my favorite toys as a kid. Obviously, I knew it wasn't really magic, but that didn't stop me from asking it questions non-stop. Most of the questions probably had to do with boys. I must have been about 17 or 18 at the time. (Kidding, more like Jr High, which is still embarrassing.)

One thing about me: I'm impatient. I always want to know what is going to happen tomorrow, next week, next year. I would like little glimpses of my life off in the distance so I know if I'm on the right track. Since I haven't found a crystal ball lying around, I'm back to relying on a Magic 8 Ball. I quietly whisper it questions like these:

Did everyone think I was vain and foolish after last weeks post?

Are my blog friends the best kind of people in the world?

Is there someone who takes better pictures of barns than me? (You need to look here and then you'll know that the Magic 8 Ball possess amazing powers.)

Will I be in a mental institution before school starts again? 

And guess what answer I get every time?

You may rely on it.

But! The Magic 8 Ball is not broken, because when I ask it the following question, I get a different answer:

Is my new book, Reign of Trees, any good? 

Outlook not so good.

Argh!

That's when I throw the Magic 8 Ball across the room and say, "This stupid toy doesn't work!"

The M8B (I'm getting tired of tying Magic 8 Ball, so we're going with an acronym. Besides, it sounds more modern and hip to call it the M8B.) wasn't the only toy I played with as a kid. I loved Barbies. Loved, loved, loved them.

I even had Donny and Marie Dolls. He had purple socks! And a microphone!

I had a Green Hulk lunchbox.

I loved my Cabbage Patch Kid.

What toys did you play with when you were a kid? Do you have any toys you like to play with now?  And did you read about the kid who had a Lego stuck up his nose for 3 years? Do you think he still likes to play with them? (Obviously not the piece that was in his nose, because eewww! It's covered in boogers!)

Be a sharefish and tell us all about your toys.

And no post next week. I know a bunch of you have kids going back to school (and two of you are off to college!) and I'll be traveling, so we'll see you back here on 28th.

Photo Phlop

Hi friends. Are you sick of my barn pictures yet? You better not be, because there's more.

Kind of.

So when the canola fields were blooming, I had this amazing idea: I could use that picturesque backdrop to have some new author photos taken. I had a fresh haircut (buh-bye split ends) and my skin was slightly less pale than normal, so all the planets seemed to line up. It would be the best picture to be taken since this one was taken of Grandma Iris.

We set out to the desired location on an overcast day, expecting perfection. But then the sun came out. It got hot. VERY hot. And humid. We were by the river, which meant the mosquito population was quadruple the size of the Bigfork 4th of July parade. (I'm being serious this time. The parade crowd is super huge. For MT anyway.) They were Satan's mosquitoes and were biting through bug spray AND clothes. So when I wasn't swatting bugs, I was trying to smile for pictures. But in the meantime, my makeup melted in the blaring heat (it had to have been at least 80) and my hair went POOF in the humidity. (That's the sound hair makes when it goes from straightened back to naturally curly.)

Those are all strikes against my perfect photo shoot, but they aren't what lost the ballgame. It was the fact that I'm not photogenic. Not at all.

I have always hated to have my picture taken. It is TORTURE! Seriously, in my previous life as a spy, when I was captured, all they had to do was take a bunch of pictures of me and then make me look at them. Then I was all, "No more! Don't make me look at anymore pictures of myself! I'll tell you where the nuclear missile is! In fact, let me drive you there. Just NO MORE PICTURES!"

Having my picture taken is like looking at myself in a magnified mirror in broad daylight. (Oh horror of horrors!) I see a picture and I think, "Really? I thought that shirt looked good, but no." Or "Oh my gosh, I never knew I had that wrinkle. Great. And I've been out in public like that."

OK, so I'm not that horribly mean to myself (most of the time), but pictures do seem to magnify flaws, especially when it's a closeup. (Ugh.) This last photo shoot made me realize this devastating fact:

I have Granny Elbows.

How does this happen? I've always known about the importance of good face creams and support bras and such, but why didn't anyone warn me about saggy elbows? If I would have known, I would have kept bending my arms to a minimum. (Hey, is that why zombies walk with their arms outstretched? They don't want saggy elbows! Mystery solved!)

Now before you think I'm either silly or vain or both, this just goes to illustrate my point. You can't really see your own elbows, so if it weren't for the photos, I would have never known about this personal monstrosity. And now I'm going to have to wear long sleeves for the rest of my life. (Kidding.)

So here's the problem: I know that pictures are going to make me notice something I would rather ignore, so as I'm in front of the camera, I'm not smiling: I'm grimacing. It's almost a look of "Quick, get Lori a drink of Metamucil fast!" I can't relax in front of a camera, and then the pictures turn out all the worse, like this:

You can see what a painful task this is for me. And for the photographer. (Oh my gosh. I like to exaggerate. This was a camera misfire. I hope. And look: that homestead is messier than my house! Yay! That's something to celebrate.)

Why is it that some people always, always take good pictures? Is being photogenic a talent, or is it a skill that can be learned? (I hope for the latter.) 

At least I have improved over the years, as I spent far too long hiding behind trees or tablecloths or whatever I could find anytime someone brought out the camera. I did once worry that if I died while my kids were young, they would not remember what I looked like since I hid from every possible picture.

I love candid shots over posed ones, and I especially love ones where you get caught doing something goofy, like dressing up like ABBA. Those are the pictures that create lasting memories.

Do you have a favorite picture of yourself? I actually loved my senior photos: maybe I should see if that photographer is still in business and can get me to smile better than the picture above.

Are you photogenic? Do you have any tips to help me relax for the camera when we retake my author photos?

Or are you like me and hate it when people point a camera at you? Do you have a horrible photo that was taken of you and then you shared it on your blog for the sake of public amusement? I have no dignity, do I?

I shall try to redeem myself slightly by showing you the best photo in the batch, yet I still have rejected it as my author photo. You may frame it and put it on your mantel: or better yet, blow it up to life-size and hang it next to your bed! (NIGHTMARES!)