Comforter Cremation by Julianna Rowe

I do believe it is time to write about the Great Comforter Cremation.

Last fall, I lovingly folded my beautiful pale pink comforter and stuffed it into one of those giant storage bins for the winter. Well... "stuffed" is the proper word. It took a bit of wrestling to get it in there. Looking back, one of those vacuum bags that suck all the air out might have been a wiser choice. Oh wait... there won't be a next time. Spring arrived, and I finally decided it was time to bring Queenie back out. First came the tugging, pulling, and wrestling match to remove her from the storage bin. Then I performed the official "sniff test." She passed... sort of. I decided a good washing wouldn't hurt.

Mind you, I live in a tiny apartment with a washer that would probably struggle to wash a decent-sized bath towel, so I hauled Queenie down the hall to the community laundry room.

I proudly followed the directions, poured in the detergent, and began feeding my queen-sized comforter into the washer.  Halfway through the stuffing process, I suddenly realized something. This washer wasn't built for heavy loads. It was too late. The soap was already in, and half the comforter had disappeared into the machine. Having already mastered the art of stuffing and unstuffing Queenie once, I figured I might as well finish the job.

After depositing enough quarters to make the washing machine think it had won the lottery, I wandered back to my apartment. I even washed the poor thing twice. When it was finally finished, I returned to retrieve my freshly cleaned comforter.There was just one problem. It wouldn't come out. It had somehow molded itself to the inside of the washer as though it had taken out a lease. I pulled. I tugged. I braced my feet. I briefly considered calling the fire department.

Eventually, after what felt like an Olympic weightlifting event, I freed Queenie from her steel prison.

Now came Round Two. Stuffing her into the dryer. More quarters. More waiting. More walking back and forth down the hall. An hour later I opened the dryer and immediately noticed two things. First... she was still damp in spots. Second... she smelled oddly familiar. Not mildew. Not laundry soap. A campfire. Without the marshmallows. Naturally, I began searching for scorch marks. Nothing. But then I squeezed one corner. Crunch. Another corner.,Crunch.

The stuffing inside had transformed into something resembling Rice Krispies that had been struck by lightning. Every edge crackled with the sad sound of polyester destruction. Refusing to admit defeat, I launched Operation Comforter Rescue. I pulled apart every crunchy section I could find. I beat on it.I fluffed it. I may or may not have considered introducing it to a meat tenderizer.

Finally, I sent Queenie home with a friend who owned a proper large-capacity washer and dryer, hoping professional equipment might perform a miracle. She returned. Cleaner. Softer. And still suffering from advanced Comforter Cremation around the edges. Ladies and gentlemen... She was gone. Just like the mice that once tried to inhabit my tiny apartment... She was dead. I have accepted her fate. Dead is dead. Personally, I intend to remain on the opposite side of both cremation and being under the dirt for as long as possible. As for Queenie...May she rest in polyester peace.

The Happy News Lady                                   

"Am I Too Late?" by Julianna Rowe

 

 Am I Too Late?  by Julianna Rowe

The internet has a funny way of making us think we're always late. I have found that when I finally have the courage to try something, suddenly there are three other people already doing it.

A few years ago I had an idea-invention called "Greenspan." A portable podie/poo spot for animals on fake washable grass for apartment dwellers and balcony use?  I didn't pursue it. Tomorrow it will be something else. Then again, years ago, I had more ideas that seemed crazy. Wallpaper on ceilings where I could start the business in my garage. Then it was handmade Victorian velvet keepsakes with tiny photographs. Then it was stories that touched subjects people weren't talking about yet such as underground sex-trafficking. I didn't have the courage to do any of them and then look what happened. (I did publish the sex traffiking novel, "The Horrors That Hide," Mind you, that book came out a year before the Epstein files hit the world)  ALL of those ideas showed up years later in one form or another.  

Did I miss my chance? Maybe. Or maybe the lesson wasn't that I was too late. Maybe the lesson was that ideas have their own timing. The truth is, there are thousands of mystery novels. Thousands of romance novels. Thousands of songs about love. Yet someone still writes one that touches us. Not because the idea is new, but because it's the heart behind it. That's what I've been reminding myself lately.

I don't need to be first, that wasn't the idea, financial stability was. I need to be honest.

Any book I write, any idea I complete, won't be someone else's because nobody else has spent months laughing, crying,  or toiling it to the finish line. That belongs to me. Life isn't asking me to outrun everyone else. Although  my brain does run on overdrive on its own. Maybe it's simply asking me to keep writing.

And if you're putting off something because you think someone else already did it...Do it anyway. The world has room for more than one voice, book, song, and or one more Portable, washable, doggie poddie pad! 

I'm finally beginning to believe that includes mine.    

 

"I Am Lady Diana's Effing Twelfth Cousin" by Julianna Rowe aka Diane Ogden

"I Am Lady Diana's Effing Twelfth Cousin"

I recently discovered that I am Lady Diana's twelfth cousin. (I do have the paperwork that follows the line back to England and said Royalty) Now before anyone gets too excited, let me explain what that means. It means I barely have enough royal DNA to fill my left little toe. As a matter of fact, I probably share more DNA with the squirrel that steals birdseed off my porch than I do with Princess Diana. Still, royalty is royalty. I checked and there is no minimum requirement.  Unfortunately, being Lady Diana's twelfth cousin has not resulted in a castle, a crown, a horse-drawn carriage, a trust fund, a private chef, or even a decent parking place at the DMV. 

In fact, the DMV recently informed me that if I wanted to continue being a citizen of the United States, enter a federal building, or board an airplane in an emergency, I would need to produce enough paperwork to prove I wasn't smuggled into the country hidden inside a cabbage cart.

At age seventy-eight. I have three divorce decrees. Three. Do you know how hard it is to find paperwork from marriages that didn't work out? Nobody saves those in a velvet scrapbook with gold lettering. There are no smiling photographs of the happy day I signed away my sanity.  Yet somehow those papers are more important than the fact that I have paid taxes, raised children, worked my entire life, and have a grandfather whose paperwork came through Ellis Island.

Apparently, being related to royalty does not help because I checked on that too. The Queen has never called, the King hasn't either, not even a postcard. Meanwhile, my cat is aging, my upcoming surgery has me making lists on top of lists, one son speaks in thumbs-up emojis, another isn't speaking at all, one granddaughter is having struggles of her own, and my favorite comforter now sounds like Rice Krispies after being struck by lightning because I stuffed a queen-size comforter into a washer and dryer that were clearly designed for doll clothes.

Royalty, my foot. Actually, royalty may be my foot, the little toe, specifically. Still, after giving it some thought, I have decided I do have royal blood. Not because of Lady Diana, but because I survived. I survived things that should have flattened me. I raised children mostly on my own. I worked when I didn't want to. I got back up when life knocked me down. I kept writing. I kept loving. I kept trying. And if that isn't a form of royalty, I don't know what is.

So yes, I am Lady Diana's effing twelfth cousin of which I can prove. And while I may not have inherited a castle, I inherited something much more useful. The ability to keep going even when life is acting like a complete pain in the royal assets. And like I said:  The Queen never called. The King never called. Not even a postcard. But many years ago, while I was delivering newspapers to make a living, a sweet Jamaican restaurant owner, Martin, on State Street would see me coming through the door and announce to everyone:

                                                 "Aaahhh, here come da Hoppy Neus Laadi!" 

That title stuck. And honestly, I think I'd rather be The Happy News Lady than a princess anyway.

The Happy News Lady. Former newspaper carrier. Author. Mother. Grandmother. Great Grandmother. Comforter destroyer. (the next blog)  And apparently...

Lady Diana's effing twelfth cousin. 👑

AI Isn't Always Right! by Julianna Rowe

 "AI is incredibly intelligent. Unfortunately, nobody explained human feet to it."

AI Isn't Always Right by Julianna Rowe

 I've spent some time experimenting with Artificial Intelligence. Some people think AI knows everything. Others think it's going to take over the world. Personally, I think it's a lot like hiring a very smart assistant who occasionally forgets where toes belong and isn't always as smart as we think.

Recently, I was working on a photo for my blog. I usually try to find family photos that might fit with what I write but when I cant, I go to AI.  I did that with one particular blog when I suddenly noticed something odd. The created model in the photo had toenails, on the back of her toes. I stared at the picture for several minutes before saying out loud, "Well, that's not right." 

I am posting it here because I left it as is and didn't change it.  It was too funny to change and would you believe not one person commented or maybe they didn't even notice! 

There have been other adventures. AI has occasionally decided my face should be rounder than a pumpkin after Thanksgiving dinner. I love making photos usin AI with my animals and my children...putting us in camping scenes and or next to the Ifel Tower or standing on the edge of infinity!  Yet AI continues to mess up and has given people extra fingers, missing fingers, and hands that appear to belong to someone standing in another county. Yet somehow, despite all its mistakes, I still enjoy using it.  (Not that I want any of those nasty huge Data Centers.  So please don't crucifiy me on that stance.)  I am sure I will find plenty of judges ready to hand down a verdict after reading my first few paragraphs." But be gentle....we are all full of mess ups.

Why does AI mess up? Because AI reminds me of people. People make mistakes. People misunderstand instructions. People occasionally put things in the wrong place. The difference is that when people do it, we call it being human. When AI does it, we call it a glitch. The truth is that AI has helped me create a couple of the book covers for my novels, chose music for my poems when I do not know much about putting instruments together, graphics, and idea or outlines I never would have attempted on my own. It has also provided some of the best laughs I've had in years. Believe that or not. Odd how a machine can make a joke but it can.  You bet that is scary but things change and I am moving right along with a couple of those things here and there for now.  Just don't ask me to move, or God forbid face any more catastrophe's in this old life yet I am the one that tells my friends, if you cant beat 'em - maybe join them?  So I bought myself one of those "Hut's on wheels" that makes tacos and cooks for everyone I see wherever I go!  That's not true but it is a thought! Or maybe I will help out at a Mediteranian Resturant, or visit and learn how the Monk's live and learn, or....or.....I will just ask AI?  So I can stay home and watch the rest of Season 6 of Whose Fooling You Now?

So no, AI isn't always right. Then again, neither am I. And if you ever see a woman with toenails on the back of her feet, don't panic. It was probably generated by a computer.  Obviously!  

That's why I said:  "So why does she have toenails on the back of her feet?" 

And remember, "If you are reading this, YOU are above the dirt! 💗

"DMV Says Maybe I Will be a Star" - by Julianna Rowe

DMV Says Maybe I will be a Star! by Julianna Rowe

I thought my birth certificate, drivers license, Social Security card, voter registration, three divorces, grown children,  grandchildren, great-grandchildren, tax returns, jobs, surgeries and 78 years of breathing were sufficient proff that I exist.  Apparently I was mistaken. Yesterday (last blog post) I was passing a cemetery telling the gravestones: "I am happy that I am not under the dirt!" Today the government is basically replying: "Can you prove that?" 

I could do without this...A 78-year-old woman has to drive downtown, park, figure out the new parking meters, walk, wait in line, and pay for a piece of paper. Actually, four pieces of paper. Wait... five pieces of paper.  Certified Birth Certificate, 3 marriage licenses, 3 divorce decrees, all with a certification label.  I can only hope they stamp it in Gold.

Why? So I can get the immortal STAR on my drivers license so I can VOTE, walk into a Federal Building and/or fly on an airplane if there is an emergency. At 78, I apparently need permission to fly. Not to forget I have been voting all my life.

I can't walk far. I also have three copies of divorce papers turning yellow in a box, but they wont accept those....they have no gold certification seal or punch, and I have absolutely no wedding books to be found... you know, the cute little books with photos of the happy couple smiling and signing away. Nor did I know I was supposed to rent a safe deposit box and pay for it every year for the last 60 years to keep paperwork from marriage's that made me miserable in the first place.  Actually I did keep some but they aren't acceptable.  So far....I went online and I have gotten two copies at $40 each, and now I need two more, another $40 because I didn't know I needed a single page decree with a seal on it. The other marriage ($40+) took a bit more doing considering it was in another State far away. Those Texas office girls are so sweet.  I got a "Bless your heart" several times. And I took a chance and gave my debit card # to a stranger so I could be a star!

This over the top need for paperwork is something about the government needing to make sure I'm not an illegal immigrant. A paper trail they call it.  And or they, the Government must need more proof that I'm alive. How much paperwork does one old woman need?  I should admit I have a birth certificate with my little feet on it, but they spelled my name wrong so that was a really big deal to muddle through.  Had to go before a judge with all sort of information as to who I am and how its truly spelled. (one little letter was wrong)

OMG!   From the official DMV site: You cannot take an official DMV photo without providing a certified marriage license, divorce decree, or legal name-change court order if you have changed your legal name. Your legal name on your license must match your birth certificate or passport.  (Why did I change my name three times??)

Maybe I should have dug deeper. I do have my grandfather's paperwork from Ellis Island. And what about the elderly women sitting in nursing homes who can vote but have no clue how to get these documents? Or don't have the money to order them? It's such an injustice. I'd picket, as we used to say, if I could walk better. Heck, I can't even carry a sign anymore. But I do have a special sign for the bill so-and-so passed, and it's on both hands.

So...

I will take my grocery and gas money, buy more stamps, make more copies, include the required self-addressed stamped envelope, and wait two weeks for those blessed black-and-white memories to arrive with a grand $40 seal punched onto the page. Then I can be a free citizen who can vote, who can fly on an airplane, who can walk into a federal building in this great land of ours, and finally get a star.  Not on any walk of fame....a DMV star.

Am I angry? Damn right I am. But when it's all said and done, " I am not under the dirt."

So I will do what I need to do and continue to be upset about the many people, mostly women, who won't have the money, won't understand the process, or won't know why they suddenly need gold seals or punched seals on the going into and coming out of marriages that nearly killed them in the first place.

And yes, I still think a man created a "Bill" that caused all of this need for a star. He did.

J.R. is not a happy camper today. And there will be no Happy Father's Day from me because not one of those snakes stuck around long enough to know their children. Not one.

Okay.

I feel better now.
 - J.R.  💗

My Newest Thriller Novel! ''Doll in the Snow" by Julianna Rowe

 My latest release:  A Thriller Novel: by Julianna Rowe     "DOLL IN THE SNOW"

   

She looked innocent. Like a doll left behind in the snow. But some people don't leave footprints behind them. they leave wreckage. This haunting song was inspired by my novel, Doll in the Snow. Listen closely... not everything is as it seems.

   I wrote the words to the song, I used suno.com to put music to my words.  I has become an exciting and interesting hobby.   J.R. 💖 

https://www.amazon.com/Doll-Snow-Julianna-Rowe-ebook/dp/B0H5FPK3Q6

Haven learned fear long before she learned love. Raised beneath the frozen skies of Iceland by a mother feared even within her own bloodline, she escapes carrying secrets she barely understands and a darkness that seems to follow wherever she goes.

Cole is gentle, restless, and far too willing to mistake broken people for people he can save.

When their paths collide, desire quickly becomes obsession, and obsession slowly becomes something far more dangerous. As the two disappear across countries and oceans, strange blood-soaked events begin trailing behind them, while back home a mother searches desperately for the son she knows would never willingly vanish.

But some curses are older than love. And some wounds do not stop bleeding simply because someone survives them.
Told through shifting voices and layered memories, The Doll in the Snow is a haunting psychological novel about manipulation, generational trauma, survival, and the fragile possibility of healing after darkness. Some stories end in justice. Some end in forgiveness. This one ends in home.

I DIDN'T DIE! by Julianna Rowe

 I Am Not Under the Dirt! by Julianna Rowe

I was driving to work this morning feeling a bit tired of too many things. My phone was ringing. My house had a mouse or three. My family had opinions and my body and brain had a few obvious complaints causing my mood to start heading downhill faster than a runaway shopping cart.

I was driving the same route as usual but when I turned my eyes to the left I saw that huge Cemetery I passed every day.  But this day I saw it differently. Row after row of gravestones. Big and tall granite markers, sweet little ones, faancy ones and plain ones.  Some had fresh flowers, some had planted flowers, others weeds surrounded their resting home. It was then something hit me and for some reason I blurted out loud:  

"Oh dear, you guys are all under that dirt!!  I'm so sorry.  But.... I AM NOT UNDER THE DIRT! I had to pull over and take a picture the spiritual message was so strong!

And after aplogizing to all those under the dirt, I immediately started laughing when it sank in further that my problems didn't seem quite so dramatic or FINAL. The mouse issue was alive, not under the dirt and manageable. My aching back was alive and thriving and also not under the dirt. The family drama from those I love was definitely not under the dirt. The upcoming surgery meant I was quite assuredly alive and apprehensive.... 

Sometimes life isn't about having everything go right.  The victory is simply realizing you're still above ground, still moving, still laughing, and still getting another chance to figure it all out. Not under the dirt.  

Today wasn't perfect, but I wasn't under the dirt and that felt like pretty good news to me. 

Actually I was a hit in the side of the head with a spiritual 2 x 4 of which I am thankful for!  

www.TheHappyNewsLady.com