There is something I have learned over time and that is if I get sick my brain checks out. If you add to that if I have trouble sleeping while I'm sick the problem is compounded, big time. For the past week I have been sick and between very early Tuesday morning and last night I had gotten about two and a half hours sleep, no kidding that's it, you can imagine what kind of babbling idiot I turned into.
OK I've been home most of the week so me causing damage to anything outside the home was slim to none. Or so I thought.
I'm in the middle of a fairly major project and have been trying to coordinate everything with that project. Yes I'm doing it from home so how much damage could I do? A lot.
My fingers can go on strike on a normal day for me but this past week they have had a field day. Not in the sense that I have insulted people but even if I had people wouldn't have been able to read it. The mangled characters that I have spewed forth no one could have read. Now I have managed to put the wrong name in places where they shouldn't be and caused a slight panic there but for the most part no one could translate anything I have done.
When you think that you typed out "We will be meeting at the Outback for brunch," and you end up with "We'll be meeting at the Outhouse for lunch," now that's a problem.
A lot of you will scratch your head and wonder why the hell didn't she proof read her crap, haha yes I know outhouse - crap, but I should state here that even on a good day I'm blind as a flipping bat and now between being sick and sleep deprived I see pretty much what my mind wants to tell me is there whether or not it's right. It would appear that my brain has decided to join my fingers and also have a drunken party.
So what I may see "You know I'm your friend and I love you," it might really say, "You know I'm a fiend and I kill you."
Little did I know all those years ago that i was bringing into this world a future Red Sox fan. When I say a Red Sox fan I'm talking tried and true, to the death, loves more than she loves anything else in the world including me or anyone or anything else. This young woman would open a vein and give every drop of blood for this team. Yes I know it's creepy and sometimes I'm a bit jealous but what can I say?
Gina's feller decided that he was taking her to Boston, no short trip, so she could sit behind the dugout to watch the Sox play a home game at Fenway Park on her birthday. So yesterday on her actual birthday Gina was doing just that.
Yes I was a little saddened that I couldn't spend any time with her on her birthday, after all I was there for the very first one and played an important part in that special day, but I was happy that she got to do something so fantastic and that she wanted so much for her birthday.
She did the whole tour of Fenway Park as well before the game so it really was a special day. Could it get any better? Yes evidently it could. When the game was over one of the players threw a ball up into the stands that was the ball that was pitched for the last strike in the game. Jud, the feller, managed to snag that ball and present it to Gina. Yes she was happy. When she called to tell me about it she admitted that there is no proof of that and in the future if she relates that story, and I'm sure she will, people might not believe her but she will know that it's the truth and that's all that matters to her.
Tonight she will be having dinner at a very nice four star restaurant for her birthday dinner but I'm sure it will be a dim comparison to last night. That's OK with me because she got to do what she really wanted on her birthday and that, to quote a commercial, is priceless.
Happy Birthday Gina, I love you.
Gina in front of Fenway Park.
Gina actually at the game. From the look on her face you should be able to see how seriously she takes her Red Sox. The young man sitting next to her with the green hat is Jud, the aforementioned feller, who isn't a real Red Sox fan. From the look on his face you get the impression he would rather have been somewhere else and my guess would probably be a fire-station. Yes he is a fireman.
Gina proudly holding the final strike out ball that a million dollars or any other amount couldn't buy.
Some of you may have seen my sign. It was something I did on a lark and I think it's a hoot. Of course every time I went back and looked at it I kept thinking it needed more. I was right, it needed a story to go with it and now it has. So here it is, the story to the sign.
Can’t People Read
Crime has been on the rise all throughout our little town. Most of my neighbors have been complaining a lot about the problem but none of them seem to know what to do. True several have been the unfortunate victims of break-ins and one poor old man was even killed during a home invasion. They have taken notice that the crime rate in our little community has gone down, a lot.
They don’t seem to wonder why the crime has gone down around us and I guess it’s best if no one ask too many question, you know the old ‘don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’ thing. I personally don’t really like to talk about it. When someone breaks into my home they will find me here and ready to defend myself and my home.
Of course this makes for a messy situation if you do have to protect yourself. I mean it’s unlikely that once someone breaks in they will simply turn around and leave especially if the person confronting them is some old lady, so what do you do?
I just wish people would learn to read, it would save me so much time and energy if they did. After all, I did post a sign.
I know I have a lot of people who see my blogs, I get a count. They are actually really good but what I don't understand is why I don't get may comments and likes.
I love the fact that I have a following, I know this because it also tells me that I have many repeat visitors on my site, but if you don't leave comments or like my blogs I don't know when I get it right and when I'm totally way off base.
Also when you like my page it helps me to reach more people and that helps me.
I want to know what moves you or makes you smile or even laugh. I also want to know when my bitching about something upsets you or just makes you angry. Help me to be a better person and a better writer. I want to grow but without your help that makes it harder for me.
So please let me know what you think of what I'm doing and I will work to give you what you want to read and although I can't say I won't ever say anything again to upset you at least I'll know when I do and try to rein it in.
My love and appreciation to all of you.
Emma was looking down as she descended the stairs when she felt the hair on her arms stand up and the temperature seemed to drop. She was half way down the steps but she stopped with one foot dangling over the next step and looked up. There standing at the bottom was a man. Not the one she had seen the night before, but another. The clothes he wore were of the same period and very similar as the man she and Charlotte had seen last night; down to the coat. There were slight differences but the biggest was in the color of their garments. The man from last night had been dressed in dark clothing; this one was in lighter apparel in varying shades of gray. The man’s age was hard to pinpoint. He could have been anywhere from his mid-forties to his mid-fifties. His hair again was grey where the other man’s had been dark and it was on the long side.
The man last night had looked sad this one was obviously angry. The hate coming from his eyes was so intense that his eyes glowed like burning coals. If it hadn’t been for the extreme rage and hatred that burned from his eyes he might have been attractive. He stood with his feet apart and his hands clinched in fists jammed into his hips.
The coat was long hanging below the knees and it appeared as if there was a wind blowing about him that Emma couldn’t feel or hear. Actually Emma didn’t hear anything. It was as if she had been dropped into a void. The tail of his coat moved and flapped about him like the wings of an angry bird. At times it seemed to extend in Emma’s direction as if reaching for her. Emma got the feeling that if those cloth wings managed to get hold of her she would be dragged into a deep abyss that she would never crawl out of.
Emma knees buckled and she landed hard on one of the steps where she was able to maintain a sitting position. From this position she was now on eye level with those burning eyes. Emma tried to stand but the force coming from the figure in front of her kept her clued to the step.
It became hard for her to breath. Finally she was able to draw enough air into her lungs and when she did she screamed. Not like she did the other night. When she screamed this time it was pure terror. This seemed to only bring out more rage in the man in front of her and his eyes glowed even brighter. The figure continued to glare at her and the hatred seemed to swell more and more. Emma’s skin began to tingle from the charge in the air around her. She wanted to run but was unable to move. She felt mesmerized by those eyes.
The man was still at the foot of the steps but his coat seemed to grow longer and longer breaking into snake like tendrils that appeared to almost dance around the ghostly presence. The coat continued to expand until it had managed to reach out enough to brush Emma’s face causing a chill to penetrate down to her bones. At the same time it was as if she had been dowsed with boiling water and every skin cell on her body had been seared. Emma screamed again but this time it was in pain. Suddenly something manifested behind the man looking as if it were trying to pull him down through a black opening that had appeared in the floor at the foot of the steps. Emma could hear the voice of a woman loud and utterly commanding. It was only one word and that word was “Stop!” The other figure appeared to finally take control of the man and together they sank into the dark opening. There was the sound of popping and crackling and then nothing.
Book Trailer https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zjsmgvs_xD0&nohtml5=False
Where you can find my books
Barnes & Noble/paperback http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/blood-lines-the-curse-mrs-cathy-pace-matthews/1122743603?ean=9781517571054
Barnes & Noble/ebooks http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/blood-lines-the-curse-cathy-pace-matthews/1120651877?ean=2940046369250
Amazon/paperback and ebook http://www.amazon.com/Blood-Lines-Curse/dp/1517571057/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1446574044&sr=8-2&keywords=cathy+pace+matthews
Let's face it, no matter what you do you always learn something that would have made what you did better if you had known something before you did it. Really, you finish a project and then bam, you suddenly learn a new trick. No I'm not talking about taxes there is no hope there.
A lot of what I'm doing has been a learn as I go since I started writing. The book covers and then the book trailers and other videos. I put a lot of hard work into those and yes I did learn a lot as I went. Now however I've learned some really good stuff that I wish I had known when I started.
Yes I could learn to wait and try to find out everything I can before taking on a new project but when you don't know that you need and what's out there you kind of left hanging until someone comes along and introduces you to it.
I at least know that with every new project I take on I will learn more and more.
Have a look.
I'm sure if you live anywhere in the US you know what I'm talking about. Tax Time. That's right folks it's that time of year that most of us are on the verge of pulling our hair out, jabbing something into our eyes, and ending it all by throwing ourselves under a train.
It doesn't matter if you do them yourselves or pay someone an exorbitant amount of money to do it for you, we all hate it. Even if you think you might get something back you still dread it. Oh there are those lucky few who know without a shadow of a doubt that they are going to see a nice little check in their mailbox but most of us sweat bullets over it. Oh the ones who knew they were going to get a refund have long since filed and put the whole thing to bed but the rest of us are on pins and needles hoping against hope that we will be one of the lucky ones and have a positive instead of a negative in our bank accounts.
Now I do our taxes myself and I have to tell you I hate it. This started years ago long before my husband and I married. I started doing his taxes for him and now it is a matter of he expects me to do it every year.
Now there is no way this is fun for me. Back in the old days before everyone started doing it on the internet it really wasn't that big a deal but over time taxes have become more and more problematic. This has resulted in me becoming more and more of a shrew every year during this time. I grow fangs and ten inch claws. I tend to snap at anyone who speaks to me especially if they ask me what I consider to be dumb questions. Buddy tends to ask dumb questions. Why doesn't he learn to keep his mouth shut and stand in his little corner until this is finished. Men never learn. You know I'm going to get this way when I do this so why don't you go get a hotel room until I'm finished and then we'll both get through it without me taking your head off and there is a better chance we'll live through it. Well you'll live through it and I won't go to jail.
Buddy is a very intelligent man. He can do almost anything. Hell if I needed my brain operated on and Buddy was the only one there to do it I would have very little trepidation in his performing the procedure. But God help the man if he had to do the taxes. I'm not saying he couldn't do it I'm saying that if you think I turn into the bitch from hell he would make me look like an angel from on high if I turned this over to him. You've never seen him work on something. When that man is working on something and he gets aggravated he isn't the spawn of Satan, he is Satan. Lord love him but damn he can get mad at inanimate objects in a way that defies logic. I have a enough sense to know that when he gets this way to run away. So I ask you, is it too much for me to ask that he use the same damn common sense?
Connors had even picked the place Tim would cross the small river behind Emma’s house. He knew that Timothy would never get across at that point without slipping, sliding, and possibly dropping the body in the mud. There would be no...
Connors had even picked the place Tim would cross the small river behind Emma’s house. He knew that Timothy would never get across at that point without slipping, sliding, and possibly dropping the body in the mud. There would be no way that Tim would make it across without leaving hand and foot prints all along both sides of the river. The rain that had fallen over the past couple of days would insure that there would be a lot of them too.
After Timothy had dumped the body Connors had gotten him good and drunk and once Tim had passed out he took Candy’s car and drove him down to the bridge where State Highway 238 crossed the Diversion Channel. Connors then put a drunken Tim behind the wheel, adjusted the seat, fastened the seat belt and run him off into the channel. He then watched to make sure that the car with its passenger sunk and Tim didn’t somehow get out. It really wouldn’t have mattered if he had because he knew that Tim couldn’t swim and the water levels were high due to the seasonal high rain fall. After the major rain they had the day before the channel was nearly overrunning it banks and there was a fairly fast current.
Connors knew that the car would end up a little downstream and it would be found in a day or two when it came to rest somewhere and the water levels dropped. He had used this little trick once before when he had needed to get rid of a man who hadn’t wanted to sell a piece of property to him. Once the man was out of the way his widow had been happy to move on. That had been about ten years ago and he saw no reason it wouldn’t work again. After all, the police hadn’t been smart enough to figure it out then so he saw no reason to think they would this time. It was a good thing that Timothy’s house was so close to this spot because otherwise it might have been his ass that would have been down the creek, if not literally, figuratively.
Connors finished up removing every possible sign of his having been there and got into the little car he had managed to get his hands on. He had parked it a little ways from the house in some overgrowth where it couldn’t be seen by anyone passing by. It was a little before five in the morning and still dark. He wanted to be back at his motel as soon as he could before to many people were out and about. He got into his vehicle and without turning on his lights pulled out to the end of the drive and made sure no one was coming in either direction and pulled out onto the highway. He drove for a short way before turning on his lights and made his way back to the motel and now thought of getting a few hours of sleep before starting on his next little project later on today. He had stopped at a coffee shop in case someone noticed his car had been gone this morning. Right now though, he was looking forward to a much needed rest.
There was one thing that Connors regretted. It was the fact that he wouldn’t be there to see the look on that other bitch’s face when she found the mutilated corpse. He could see her going all to pieces at the sight of the dead body when she and her students went to do whatever they do when digging in the ground and they find that body. Yes, he really regretted not being able to witness that.
He was quite sure that the news media would make a big deal out of how much the professor and her students had been traumatized by the whole atrocious event. The news loved to stress the trauma that is experienced by the people involved for the shock value. They wanted to give the sadistic public a way to feel the same thing anyone there might have felt through the whole horrific experience. Yes, he could look forward to that at least.
Below is a picture where I dumped the body in the book. The vehicle came to rest one the bend you see in the distance.
Book trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ebWxwy6GekI
Emma made her way to the kitchen and turned on the lights. She was pouring the tea into the glasses when she thought she heard something in the living room. She left the glasses on the counter and went into the dining room. “Aunt Charlotte?” She wondered if her aunt had forgotten something and returned downstairs as she was putting ice in the glasses and just hadn’t heard her. There was no answer from the living room so she decided that her aunt hadn’t heard her.
Emma headed into the next room calling her aunt’s name when there was a big streak of lighting that lit up the darkness. The bright flash revealed a woman dressed in the clothes from the turn of the twentieth century standing next to the old desk. When the room went dark again Emma found she was shaking a little. Damn she must be tired. At that moment another flash of lightning illuminated the room and there she was again. The lady stood staring at Emma with a look of deep sadness in her eyes and then was gone. Emma couldn’t help it, she screamed.
A letter to Emma from her Grandmother Hattie. Emma doesn't receive this until after Hattie had died.
My Dearest Emma,
I am so sorry that I was unable to be there to watch you grow up but I know that your mother did what she felt was best for you. I would have done no less had it been me.
I don’t know what darkness follows this family and even I wonder if it is the right thing to draw you back in. If you are reading this, then for some reason you have decided to come back and face whatever it is. I want to tell you to leave now, put a torch to this house, and never look back. However I don’t think that will resolve the matter. I want you to be safe. Unfortunately you finding the answers may be the only way to insure your future.
I have to wonder about the fact that you were born a girl. There had only been one other female child born in this family who made it to adulthood. Patricia Rose was born to Albert and Madeline on September 30, 1933. Patricia Rose was born with a mental handicap resulting from a lack of oxygen that left her childlike. When she got older she never developed internally like she should have. I think you being a female you will understand but if you don’t well the simplest way to put it was that she never became a full grown woman. She died August 27, 1960 just before her twenty seventh birthday.
Outside of Madeline no matter how many times the women expected a child only one would survive to adulthood. The males who made it to adulthood never made it to their fortieth birthday.
As for as I know none of the women who married into this family knew about any of this until after they had been married for some time. No one ever talked about it openly. Madeline and I didn’t talk about it until after her daughter had died. I started to take your father and leave with him but I didn’t. Then you were born and I watched you carefully. When I saw how you grew and you were such a healthy happy little girl I began to wonder if maybe we had been wrong about everything. Then your father reached his fortieth birthday and I really started to think that things had turned around. They hadn’t.
Emma my sweet beautiful granddaughter you are now in your early thirties and I grow more and more concerned of what might happen to you. Find the answer Emma and find it as fast as you can. Put whatever it is that has plagued this family to rest and please live a long and healthy life. Have many babies and watch them grow up and have babies of their own. Most importantly grow old my sweet and think of me every now and then and know you were and always will be loved.
All my love,
The link for the book trailer
If you have followed my blogs you have heard me lament over that damn thing you wear on your wrist to tell you how many steps you take in a day and sets a goal for you to reach. For those of you who have become a slave to the damn thing understand what it feels like to have that hanging over your head every day. You have been hammered with the rhetoric that if you don't adhere to the goals you're going to fall over of a heart attack and many other medical evils. OK maybe you will.
Here's the thing. Why the hell do you wear something on your wrist to measure your steps? Do the makers of these damn things think we honestly walk on our hands? Come on people get real.
Think about it a minute. Have you ever noticed that when you go to a store and push a cart you will get very little to register on your damn exercise Nazi. If you haven't, check it the next time you go. Now I don't know about you but I personally want credit for every step I take. I have no intention of walking a couple of thousand steps and not get credit for them. I need all I can get every day.
I figured out a way to beat this however. I've started to wear mine on my ankle. Yes on my ankle. You would be surprised how much my numbers have gone up since I started doing that. of course this raises another problem.
Most people don't have a clue what a real police monitoring ankle bracelet looks like. Now I'm wearing this ugly little black thing around my ankle and you can imagine what that must look like. I have to go through all kinds of steps to make sure that it can't be seen. Don't put it under a sock either because that restricts the damn thing from registering your moves. No I don't have any idea why but it does. Evidently the damn thing relies more on the damn thing jiggling around than it does to anything being registered in your body as a whole. That takes me back to my earlier question, do those damn dumb asses think we walk around on our hands. Oh that's the time and not my steps. I'm so ashamed this morning but I have my reasons.
She was definitely a few pieces shy of a complete Erector Set.
"Nice equipment." said Alison.
"Don't I know it."
Would someone please make him stop excreting humanly body fluids?