romance unscripted

Today is my anniversary. Eight years of wedding bliss.

Pardon me while I cough.

No really...it's been a great eight years. Ten if we count the time before the I dos. What can I say, I am a sucker for a good romance.  I almost always lean in that direction when I’m writing.  I tend to favor romance when I pick a book to read.  And there's nothing better than a good romantic comedy on a girls night out. 

So why does romance always look a lot easier than it actually is?  Why don’t writers tell you about morning breath and bodily functions? 

I write my characters with bladders, and toothbrushes, and lots and lots of showers and baths.  I think it adds to the comedy of it all, because at its core romance isn’t always all that romantic.  Sometimes it’s a Three Stooges skit, and often times the third character is an inanimate object.  I know that’s the case in my life.

Despite my draw toward grand romance, my husband would not normally be considered an overly romantic person.  He was never big on the flowers and candy, definitely not prone to burst into spontaneous poetry, and absolutely never planned secret getaway weekends for just the two of us.

Until three years ago, on our anniversary.

After five years of marriage, my husband went through a miraculous transformation and became a romantic.  I didn’t ask questions, I just went with it.

We arrived in the night, on the scariest drive I've ever taken, up the side of a mountain. On a dirt road. With a drop off on the passenger side of the car that had me muttering obscenities the entire way.

Once we arrived, and my husband plied me with enough wine to calm my panic attack, we spent a quiet evening by the fire.  The stone fireplace went all the way to the vaulted ceiling, and a large deer head was hung above the mantle.   The ceiling and walls were tongue and groove pine, as were the wide plank floors.  The cabin was decorated just enough to make it homey without looking too decorated.  And the best decoration of all was the magnificent view out the windows.

So, I wrapped myself up in a blanket and stepped out onto the back deck to check out the scenery. I expected to find a hot tub on the back deck.  There is something romantic about an outdoor hot tub in the dead of winter, especially while on a romantic anniversary getaway. The brochure promised a hot tub, and I was somewhat disappointed that I had yet to find one.  In the absence of a hot tub, I decided to look for bears.  I was determined to find at least one bear on this trip. 

I did not see a single bear, but I did discover the elusive hot tub hiding on a lower porch under the deck.  I looked around for a way to reach the porch.  It wouldn’t be easy to get down there.  We would have to go around the cabin and down the back stairs to reach the bottom.  As perilous as that sounded, I was ready to take a soak.

I've decided everyone should be brave enough for naked hot tubbing at least once in their lives, and I was ready for my turn.  I had a hard time convincing Mike.  He thinks of things in much more rational terms than I do.  He was concerned because reaching the lower porch in the best of conditions would be tricky, and it was not the best of conditions outside.  It was snowing pretty steadily, we didn’t have robes, and there were cabins nearby that could potentially see.  But, I wasn't discouraged.  I had a brilliant plan.

My plan was to undress inside and wrap up in the extra comforters to get to the tub.  We could toss the comforters over the railing to get in.  The water would be piping hot, and I figured the layer of steam directly above the water would cushion us as we got in and out of the tub.  We could grab the comforters and wrap up again when we were finished to make the dash back to the cabin.  It was perfect!

I slipped my bare feet into my slippers and Mike put on his sneakers, and we set out for the our romantic rendezvous with a bottle of wine and two plastic wine glasses , courtesy of my brilliant husband.

The plan went off without a hitch.  We slid the cover off  before shedding our blankets and swiftly slipped into the water, draping the comforters, just within reach, over the railing.

The water wasn't as hot as I'd hoped, or maybe it was just that the air was much colder than I expected.  However, I refused to be discouraged from my chance at romance, so I switched on the jets as I held my cup out for Mike to pour the wine. 

My perfect room temperature red wine quickly got too cold to drink.  I tried holding the cup partially under the water to warm it, but it wasn’t working.  It was just too cold.  In fact, anything not completely submerged in the water was getting too cold.  We slid down until only our faces were exposed to the whipping wind, and attempted to cuddle against the warmth of the underwater lights. 

I glanced at the thermometer to discover the water temperature was going down as the wind picked up.  My perfect plan was losing steam faster than the hot tub.  We wordlessly agreed to abandon the hot tub and take the romance inside where it was warm...a good plan in theory.

Getting into the water was infinitely easier than getting out.  I lifted my shoulders carefully out of the water to help drag the cover partially across the top.  The less time spent standing in the frigid air— soaking wet—the better. As I discovered, it is nearly impossible to pull the cover over while sitting inside.  The cover slipped back over the side and out of our reach.  Mike refused to worry about the hot tub.  It would surely survive for a while without the cover.  We took several deep preparatory breaths to steel ourselves from the bitter cold.  Mike got out first and proceeded to drag me by the arm until I was able to pull my leg over the side to get out.  It was cold.  Ice-freaking-cold!  We grabbed our comforters at the same time and I let out a shriek.  They had frozen into the shape of the railing.  How the hell two dry comforters managed to freeze into the shape of the railing is beyond me.  I shoved my feet into my frozen slippers, pulled the ice-pack that was my blanket around my wet, naked body and made a run for it. 

Yes.  I ran. 

I ran as carefully as I could possibly run up the back stairs, around the cabin and back through the front door.  I only slipped twice, but managed to stay on my feet the whole time. We left the wine, the plastic cups and the hot tub cover on the floor of the porch for the morning. 

Luckily for us, the fire was already blazing in the hearth and we let our comforters fall to warm our bodies as close as possible to the flames. 

Romance finally won out that night, even if completely without a plan.  I think sometimes that’s the best way for romance.  Plans are overrated. 

I never did see any bears.  As it turns out the only thing “bare” outside of the cabin that weekend was us!

Until the next time…I’ll be avoiding plans of any kind—at least until I come up with something new!

home again, home again, jiggety jig

I climbed into the car this morning with one thing in mind…home. I missed my dog, my chickens, my kids, my bed and my internet (in no particular order). The ride was long, but I was focused. I could get through it knowing there were rewards at the end of my journey.

Ah, home. I had missed it so.

I lugged my suitcase filled with my computer and power cords, my pillow and blanket, and my empty cupcake wrappers into the house and headed to my room and my comfy bed.

My husband has been known to call me a momma bear from time to time, this is true, but I had no intention of putting that to the test today. And my daughter may not have golden hair…or a sweet disposition…but when I stalked into my room to flop into my bed, I was still huffing out the words, “Somebody’s been sleeping in my bed!” And she was still there.

Goldielocks…errrr…my daughter that is. And in all fairness, I did tell her she could sleep in my bed while I was gone. If nothing more than to keep the dog company while I was away. I just never expected her to be there at dinnertime when I got home. But there she was, passed out cold in my comfortable pillows, and even the grouchiest of momma bears will always protect their young. So I left her.

And I went to go watch TV. Surely that would be almost as restful.

If the satellite hadn’t been out, that is. And of course, I would have LOVED to have logged onto the internet, but that was out too, and I was feeling more and more like a grouchy bear by the moment.

Then I discovered my cereal had been eaten. The whole box! And it was the roar heard ‘round the block.

Welcome home, Mom. We ate your cereal, broke your internet, and your TV, stole your bed and oh, yeah the dog tore up the garbage just before you got home. Hope you had a nice trip!

I guess it’s a good book and a bowl of popcorn for me. Good thing I ate well at the wedding.

Until the next time…I’ll be sleeping off my vacation.

hey, is that a bear under there?

Welcome to the Weekly Guest Spotlight

Leslie PiferTonight’s guest is writer, Leslie Pifer. For more about Leslie, click her picture to visit her website.

Born and raised in the hills of Western PA, I am a bit of a self-proclaimed and proud of it country bumpkin.  As such, I’ve been reading Erica’s country adventures with much amusement.  I told her, she hasn’t seen anything yet!

My parents’ property is 23 acres, the majority of that is woods, so we have had encounters with many a wild animal.  Now THAT is country living!  We’ve had deer walk through the yard from time to time, and well, anytime you went in the woods, you could easily come across a deer or two.  A couple years ago, we saw a freshly born fawn while out on one of our walks, which was pretty cool.  Little thing was still wet from being birthed!  Its Momma was not happy, and was creating a fuss, stomping and snorting, and huffing at us from some unseen location, so we didn’t stay too long or get too close, but even my Dad had never seen such a new fawn, so it was quite an experience for us all,

Of course, we had more than our fair share of squirrels, chippies (er, I mean, chipmunks), raccoons in and out of the yard, stealing from the birdfeeders and whatnot.  Every year, someone sees a couple turkeys, or a flock passing through.  I’m told that just recently they had a few nice big Tom’s in the yard, complete with impressive beards, which would have been neat to see.  I’ve only seen the Tom’s from a distance in the past.  Mom says that she got some good pictures, but has yet to send them our way.

There are coyotes in the woods; my sisters and I have never seen them (Dad has while out hunting) but we have heard them.  The sound of a pack on a chase on a brisk, crisp, clear, cold winter night…is eerie, yes, and mostly indescribable.  When the howling and barking stop, you can assume they have overcome their prey.

These last couple years, we’ve had some of our most exciting, and potentially scary visitors.  We had one or two in the yard when we were teenagers, but not like what has been happening lately.  I’m talking black bears baby! But, this past year and a half, it’s been Black Bear Central at the Pifer house! 

It all started in late November 2010.  It was deer season, and one of my Dad’s buddies was hunting down behind the house when he noticed that a patch of clay, dirt, and leaves had been disturbed around some brush piles, like something had been digging.  Of course, Dan went to check it out.  What did he find?  A black bear had made its den to hibernate for the winter under the brush! Of course, Dan showed Dad, and Dad showed us when we were home for Christmas that year. 

For some reason, despite the fact that I did have a future phone, I never took the time to google it, and did not believe it when I was told that when bears hibernate, they are not out cold like we have been led to believe all of these years.  So, we all trooped down into the woods, to check out Yogi (I know, we have GOT to get better at naming these animals!  Rocco, Turkey Lurkey, and Yogi are just not original!)  We got close to the den, couldn’t see well, just a mound of black fur behind sticks and leaves.  I decided to get closer.  I tiptoed around the side, and squatted down, despite whispers from Mom and Dad to be careful, about 6-8 feet from what must be the front of the den.  I was not worried, because I truly thought bears were practically dead to the world when hibernating.  I can tell you now, they are NOT!

I had my camera out and ready, searching for the best possibly angle.  With the way he was curled up in there, plus the fact that it was dark and hollowed out in the den area, it would have been very tough to get a picture in which you could really tell what you were seeing.  This frustrating process probably only took a few seconds.  Then, without warning, Yogi shifted, and I was staring into his (thankfully) groggy eyes!  If you have never stared into the eyes of a 200-300 pound black bear, I can tell you, while amazing, it is not something I would recommend! 

With what I thought was major grace, courage, and will, I stayed crouched, still and silent for a few seconds, until I was able to focus the shot, take it, and slowly back away.  I’m told it wasn’t all that graceful (I rarely am) or still.  My sisters were amazed I was able to take the picture, or that it turned out as well as it did, as apparently, I was shaking, and more than just a bit!  I did get the picture though, and it was the best shot gotten all winter. 

We did go back to see Yogi again during our break, but it was a warmer day, and we were unable to get close at all.  From across the gully, we could see him sitting up in his den, shaking and shaking, very much like a dog shaking the water off itself.  He knew we were there, and made enough noise, not growling really, but definitely warning sounds to stay away.  We stood across the gully for a couple minutes, just watching in awe, until we decided to let him be for the rest of our stay.  I know my parents checked on him every now and then, and he stayed through the winter, leaving abruptly sometime in March.

He may not have gone far, however.  Last summer, there were probably at least seven, yes SEVEN black bears in the area, all of whom were spotted in my parents’ yard.  We had several visits by lone bears, one of which my sisters and I witnessed while home over the summer.  I also have a very blurry, through the screen door picture of a very large Momma and quite large, likely yearling cub just lounging on their backs out in the middle of the front yard one early summer morning. 

Then, there was Memorial Day weekend bear sighting.  I was actually home, but missed it, as Mom forgot I was there, and didn’t think to wake me up.  Yeah, I’m still a little bitter about this one.  So, it was 4AM, and Mom was up for one of her middle of the night bathroom visits, when she heard something outside the bathroom window.  The windows are open all summer, which is how she heard this funny noise.  She pulled back the blinds on the bathroom window to see two bear cubs maybe two feet away, one actually on the front porch leaning against the railing, the other just off the porch, leaning against the outside railing, each taking turns tipping the hummingbird feeder and slurping the red, sugary contents.  It took two times of my mom yelling at them to get out of there to get them to move.  They took off up over the hill, where their Momma was messing with the compost in the garden.  The three bears took off down another hill (and at this point Mom and Dad are running through the house, watching their shenanigans through various windows…and still forgetting me…) where they were joined by what is assumed to be Momma Bear’s last year’s cub.  It was crazy!

So, the four on Memorial Day Weekend, the big Momma and cub lounging in the front yard, and at least one lone bear makes seven!  But, it could easily be more, as there were quite a few appearances by a solitary bear, and they are somewhat difficult to tell apart when they appear alone, and days or weeks apart, not to mention the fact that they were often seen from behind as they were leaving.  But, yes, THAT is country living!    Of course there are many other stories I could have shared, and I may still write them, but I thought that this story best proved my point; Erica, you haven’t seen anything yet! 

Big thanks to Leslie for sharing her bear with us! I’m sort of looking forward to running into some bears…ok, not running into bears but maybe seeing them from a safe distance. Like the internet! Yeah…I want to see my bears from the safety of the internet. I did see a groundhog the other day. They sort of look like small bears, right?

Oh well. I’m sticking to chickens for now!

Until the next time…I’ll be very careful about peeking under branches from now on!

pandas bare

If you’ve been paying attention, you may have noticed that I’m compiling a book from my most popular blogs and some new material.  I’m calling the book, “Dancing Bare” and I want a dancing bear on the cover.  So I asked my husband (and someone really needs to remind me not to do this anymore, for a variety of reasons) what sort of bear would I be…if I was a bear.

So after a nanosecond of thought, he smiles and says, “A panda…without a doubt.”

Of course, I asked him why a panda. He just smiled and said, “Because you are.”

Lady Panda?What the hell, I thought.  I don’t wear a mask. I’m closer to a polar bear in coloring. And I wanted to be a brown bear because they match my hair.  But no.  He says I’m a panda.  And he won’t say why.

Fast forward to this evening when I had to pick a topic for the challenge blog. One topic stuck out like a sore…panda.  That’s right.  Panda bear was a topic! How could I pass up the chance to explore this a little further?  So I went in with another attempt to get my husband to explain why I’m a panda.  I had a challenge blog to write. He had to tell me…right?

He must have agreed…challenge blog is sacred. 

So here is why my husband says I am a panda (not the brown bear like I wanted to be)…

“Pandas are not technically bears,” he started.

Of course, I already knew this, but I didn’t care. I want them to be bears, so they are. 

“No, they’re not.” He likes to correct me.  Pfft. “Pandas are essentially giant raccoons.”

Right. So I’m a bear that isn’t a bear. I’m a non-bear? I actually asked him that.

“Right,” he says. “You’re a pretend bear in a bear world.” 

I repeat this sentence as a question and he nods.  I ask him if he realizes I’m blogging this shit.  He does. I start to wonder if he wants the world to think he’s some kind of villain.  I don’t ask him that, but I suddenly struggle with the urge to tell him to fuck off again. 

My need to know more about why I’m a panda prevails and I ask him. “Is that all? I’m just a non-bear in a bear world?”

No. That’s not all. Of course not.

“Pandas are not omnivores.  They eat bamboo and that’s it. They don’t like mayonnaise on their egg sandwiches.  They don’t like pickles on their cheeseburgers.  They don’t want their vegetables to touch their meat or potatoes.  They eat bamboo.”

So let’s recap… “I’m a non-bear in a bear world. And I’m a picky eater?”

He stares at the bag of oyster crackers I’m snacking from. “Yep. That’s about it.”

“So this has nothing to do with the black and white coat?  Or the cuteness?  The mask?  The cuddly appearance?”

Non-Bear Picky Eater“Nope. Non-bear…picky eater.”

I keep asking him, “Are you sure?  That’s it?”

Finally he makes the “mean” face and says he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.  I think maybe I’ve drifted off into an alternate universe, but I know better.  I decide to grab a pair of ear buds to listen to music while I write…the non-bear in me likes music apparently…so I plug them into my laptop and turn up the music.  It’s barely loud enough to hear so I turn it up.  And up again, until it’s at max volume.  It’s still muffled, but I can hear my music, so who cares?

“What are you doing?” he asks…mean face still showing. 

I “Grrr” a little at him…like a bear…and tell him “I’m listening to music.”

“Uh, so am I…” he pops up an eyebrow and stares at my laptop like he hates it, so I pull out my ear buds to say, “What?  Oh!”

I plugged the ear buds into the wrong jack. The music was playing loudly into the room. 

“Non-bear,” he says as I switch the jacks.

“Fuck off.”

The music drowns out his reply.

This is why I love a challenge blog.

Until the next time…I’ll be kicking off the Daywalkers “Getting into Character” contest tomorrow!