Lisa Hendrix

This morning, I walked into the kitchen to find this:

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For my birthday last year, my former critique partner and very wise friend, Sheila Roberts, sent me a copy of START LATE, FINISH RICH by David Bach, the personal finance expert who appears a couple of times a month on the Today Show. There was nothing in it I didn’t already know, and yet I was using very little of that knowledge. But now, with books to write, two kids in college next year, and a house to spruce up, I decided I needed to put a few of Mr. Bach’s (and Sheila’s!) principles in place.

First up: Automating our finances.

You’d think a person on the computer as much as I have been for the past 20+ years (almost daily since, oh, about 1989), I’d have long since relegated every repetitive function I could to the electronics. But no. I’ve been a holdout. I’ve paid some bills online for a while, but I never bumped up to the next level and set up auto-pay.

Until yesterday.

I finally got sick of the whole bill paying thing, and now, almost every bill that can be on auto-pay is, and the rest will be as soon as the billing cycle comes around. I also put the recurring payments in my accounting program so I don’t forget about them.  Once all the auto-pay plans are in place and I’m sure the system’s working smoothly (my husband’s company pays every two weeks instead of twice a month, which makes payday shift around in an uncomfortable fashion), I’ll also automate transfers into  savings.

It doesn’t sound like a huge deal, but I already feel less stressed By my (top of the head) calculation, this will save me 8-10 hours a month in writing checks/logging onto websites, recording checks/payments, and general fussing with money. Plus I’ll never run the risk of missing a payment and the resulting late fee and interest rate penalty.  I heartily recommend it. You can find more from David Bach HERE.

Sheila’s a pro at making dollars go farther, too, and I’ve never seen anyone have as much fun as she does while doing it. She even wrote about three friends who had to make over their finances in her book, SMALL CHANGE. Check out her blog and newsletter for her tips for living like a millionaire on a dime store budget.

What do you think? Do you use auto-pay, and if so, how is it working for you?

Lisa

On this, Towel Day, the 25th day of May, we celebrate the life and writings of Douglas Adams, whose sublime silliness has kept my family entertained on long car trips and brought us some of the most memorable—and occasionally annoying—catch phrases ever, including such treasures as:

So long and thanks for all the fish.

Ford, you’re turning into a penguin. Stop it.

If there’s anything more important than my ego around, I want it caught and shot now.

Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so.

You should send that in to the Reader’s Digest. They’ve got a page for people like you.

There’s no point in acting surprised about it.

Apathetic bloody planet, I’ve no sympathy at all.

If you’re so clever, you tell us what colour it should be.

Funny how just when you think life can’t possibly get any worse it suddenly does.

The first nonabsolute number is the number of people for whom the table is reserved.

Stick it up your nose.

The Guide is definitive. Reality is frequently inaccurate.

Life is like a grapefruit. (It’s sort of orangey-yellow and dimpled on the outside, wet and squidgy in the middle. It’s got pips inside, too. Oh, and some people have half a one for breakfast.)

Forty-two.

Once you know what the question actually is, you’ll know what the answer means.

And the most important advice ever given, in any book ever in the history of the Universe:

DON’T PANIC!

You may ask yourself, Why the 25 of May?

Why not?

You may also ask, Why Towel Day?

The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy has a few things to say on the subject of towels.

A towel, it says, is about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can have. Partly it has great practical value — you can wrap it around you for warmth as you bound across the cold moons of Jaglan Beta; you can lie on it on the brilliant marble sanded beaches of Santraginus V, inhaling the heady sea vapours; you can sleep under it beneath the stars which shine so redly on the desert world of Kakrafoon; use it to sail a mini raft down the slow heavy river Moth; wet it for use in hand-tohand-combat; wrap it round your head to ward off noxious fumes or to avoid the gaze of the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal (a mindboggingly stupid animal, it assumes that if you can’t see it, it can’t see you — daft as a bush, but very ravenous); you can wave your towel in emergencies as a distress signal, and of course dry yourself off with it if it still seems to be clean enough.

More importantly, a towel has immense psychological value. For some reason, if a strag (strag: non-hitchhiker) discovers that a hitchhiker has his towel with him, he will automatically assume that he is also in possession of a toothbrush, face flannel, soap, tin of biscuits, flask, compass, map, ball of string, gnat spray, wet weather gear, space suit etc., etc. Furthermore, the strag will then happily lend the hitchhiker any of these or a dozen other items that the hitchhiker might accidentally have “lost”. What the strag will think is that any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through, and still knows where his towel is is clearly a man to be reckoned with.

Hence a phrase which has passed into hitch hiking slang, as in “Hey, you sass that hoopy Ford Prefect? There’s a frood who really knows where his towel is.” (Sass: know, be aware of, meet, have sex with; hoopy: really together guy; frood: really amazingly together guy.)

~Douglas Adams, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

 

Of course, Gunnar and the rest of my guys each carry a towel everywhere.

Today, you  should join them, in memory of Douglas Adams. Carry your towel proudly, and if anyone gives you an odd look, tell him to stick it up his nose.

A few years ago, as a friend and I were cruising yard sales, I saw a man with a group of duckling following him around, clearly imprinted on him. Over the next year or so, I saw him and his ducky friends several more times, but hadn’t seen them since.

Tunnel of Ducks by Johnny Jet, WikiCommons

This afternoon, as I drove past his house, I spotted him and a single big white duck out working on the yard together. He’d pull a weed, the duck would dive in for whatever bugs came with it. I couldn’t resist stopping.

He was very sweet about answering my nosy questions about the other ducks (mostly sold). The duck still with him was the father of all the others. When I asked him why ducks, he said they make great pets and told me his buddy never messes in the  house, and that they cuddle for two or three hours at a time, watching TV. He also says a happy duck purrs. (Who knew?)  Ducky wasn’t quite as friendly as his owner, but he happily and enthusiastically ate a Red Wiggler off my palm. He also devours slugs, snails, and all kinds of bugs, including spiders.

And speaking of spiders…as I drove away from this idyllic scene, I passed a man out walking his giant radio-controlled robotic spider.  And by giant, I mean at least a foot of venomous-looking creepiness. I can’t give you more exact measurements because…

I. Did. Not. Stop.

In fact, I may have exceeded the speed limit for a block or so.

What interesting things have you seen around your neighborhood recently?

I bombed down Interstate 5 today, making something around 700 miles before my butt gave out. Now I’m ensconced in a decent motel with a giant cup of tea, having done the now-obligatory bedbug check (my dad used to do bedbug and cleanliness checks, back in the day, so I was taught by a master). Tomorrow I’ll wend my way through the maze that is the LA freeway system, headed for Oceanside, where I have the first of several San Diego area signings Friday evening, 6-8pm, at the B&N Oceanside

Anyway, while I was contemplating life, the universe and everything in the car, I realized I should be blogging this little adventure, so here I am.

Images from the road:

Great Egret

Egrets, stately and milky white, standing by the side of the road with heads cocked, listening for their next meal to crawl by. Seemed to be one every two miles or so, all the way down.

Ominous looking banks of fog that turned out to be thin and light once I was inside them. (knock on wood they stay that way)

Oil refineries lit up like casinos southwest of Bakersfield. They may be dangerous and stinky, but they’re sure lovely off in the distance at night.

Straightest stretch of highway outside the North Dakota-Texas belt. Seriously, like a ruler.

First big traffic jam, on the Grapevine. Four lanes of cars and (mostly) trucks, backed up probably 15 miles. Not on my side of the road, thank Cthulhu.

All accompanied by an ever-changing stream of public radio stations, except in the Central Valley where for a time I couldn’t locate one and resorted to listening to Korean and Portuguese radio. (Apparently, there are 400,000 Portuguese in northern and central California. Who knew?) Of the two, the Portuguese station was by far the best: the announcer had a resonating bass voice, like Lt. Worf from Star Trek, and the music was lovely.

Can I kvetch a little?

This morning I was just finishing a shipment of contest prize packages to haul to the Post Office when an alert popped on my computer screen: Dentist. 9:45am.

Huh? I thought the appointment was later this week. But I checked my ecalendar, and sure enough, it said “Monday, Dentist. 10am (Be there early for insurance).” It was then 9:30. Eek!  I scrambled and was out the door in minutes. I pulled out of the drive, got about 50 feet, and realized I had a flat tire.

Bad thing:  I think the last flat I changed was on a a big old Chevy Suburban along the Taylor Highway in Alaska, somewhere between Tetlin Junction and the survey camp I was working at. In 1985.

Second bad thing: My dental clinic charges more for a missed appointment than they do an exam. Also, it’s one of those conglomerate clinics, so there’s not way to contact the local office directly.

Good thing: I was 50 feet from my drive and my nice flat carport and a phone that doesn’t charge by the minute. And I can change a flat.

Photo by Frenkieb (Flickr)

While I unloaded the trunk, I dialed the corporate appointment number and listened to the announcements: “There are now 19 calls ahead of you……..There are now 16 calls ahead of you…” (Second somewhat good thing: They kept me apprised of how long I might have to wait. Small blessings.)

By the time a real person came on, I had the lug nuts loosened and the jack in place. I explained the situation, said I’d be 1/2 hour late, and was told she would inform the clinic. I refrained from telling her that I could have already had the tire changed and been there if I hadn’t been on hold for so long, but otherwise, so far, so good. I hung up and changed the flat in record time, then tooled on over to the dental clinic…

Where I was told that I didn’t have an appointment today after all. My first recollection had been correct. It’s later this week.

But the tire is now patched and replaced, the lug nuts tightened properly with a torque wrench, and the spare secure in its spiffy compartment with jack and tire iron (all done for free by the dealer—yay Les Schwab!). My contest winners’ prizes are in the mail and should arrive by Thursday. And I will  be on time to the dentist after all.

And the last andreally good thing (terrific, in fact):  The tire dealer is right across from WBH’s office, so when I was done, I rang him up and we went to lunch together. I had pie.

Not a bad day after all.

How about yours?

Okay, perhaps not lifeblood, but certainly the stuff that give my blood life and fuels hours of writing. I think I have now tried coffee from every joint in town. I have places for my cheap cup, my best cup (always Melello’s—that’s a cup in the photo), my fast cup, my midnight cup. I have staked out the best places to write and drink (Good Beans or Melello’s or Shari’s at midnight, but *never* Starbucks which is always too noisy and too cold).

Why am I telling you this? Because…

Today is National Coffee Day. I shall celebrate the wet, warm brew that inspires, just as I do every day, by going out in search of a great cuppa joe and a congenial table. Would that M. Balzac could join me. We would understand each other.

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“Coffee falls into the stomach … ideas begin to move, things remembered arrive at full gallop … the shafts of wit start up like sharp-shooters, similes arise, the paper is covered with ink …” -Honoré de Balzac

Cherie Priest has put together the links you need in order to help with the BP catastrophe. Please visit her site and find one thing you can personally do, then do it. Follow through. Don’t be like BP and try to pass responsibility, because we are *all* responsible. Every time we start our car, use an unnecessary plastic bag, or drink bottled water*, we are responsible.

What you can do about the oil spill

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Young Adult author Lisa Mantchev came up with such a fun idea to celebrate the release  of her latest book Perchance to Dream that I just had to play along. She invited bloggers/friends/sugar-holics to bake cupcakes and photograph the process and results, and then send her the links, which she’s collecting HERE.  Since I’m still (still!) thrashing around with the last few chapters of Immortal Champion (which, btw, is now available for preorder at Amazon!), I’m not about to start baking fancy cupcakes. But Lisa, being the kind, accommodating sort that we Lisas always are, gave me special dispensation to use my cupcake post from last year.

Perchance to Dream is the second in Mantchev’s Theatre Illuminata series. If you’ve read Book I, Eyes Like Stars, you’ll recall that the fairies who inhabit her story world are extraordinarily fond of cupcakes. And thus…

Cupcakeathon!

(originally posted 5/8/09) The theater department at Child1′s high school raises a little extra change during play runs by selling mom-made goodies at intermission. It was my turn this time, and the timing couldn’t have been better, as the play was Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. And of course, my Immortal Brotherhood books are Beauty and the Beast, too (NOT the Disney version).

Now, I’m an okay baker, but I don’t do it often. But I rolled up my sleeves and set out to make my required three dozen cupcakes. And in the process, I learned a few things—minor things, perhaps, and probably old hat to those who bake more often than, say, once every two years, but new to me. They are presented below in the order in which I discovered them.

1) Wilton cupcake liners are better.

I’ve always used the cheap ones from the grocery store (Reynolds, typically) but since I had to pick up some specialty sprinkles at the craft store, I decided the convenience of grabbing the Wilton liners that were right there far outweighed the few cents I would save by ducking into the grocery next door.

Enlightenment. The Wilton cups were sized properly and pleated more tightly, so they actually FIT my pans and didn’t sproing up out of the cups. (See pic. Wilton is on the left, sitting there politely waiting for batter. Reynolds is clearly trying to escape.) Nor did the Wilton get those funky, annoying wrinkles when I filled them.

Result: easier to fill, prettier cupcakes.

I will never go back.

2) Chocolate cake is harder to frost than white cake.

As I said, I don’t bake all that much, and have never made both chocolate and white cakes/cupcakes at the same time (really). So I always thought my occasional trouble with getting frosting onto chocolate cake evenly was due to differences in weather, different cake mix, different frosting, my mood, whatever. But this time, I had the same brand of cake, the same brand of frosting, the same day, same oven, same knife. In other words, it was a controlled experiment, with only two variables: the cake flavor and the frosting flavor.

It turns out chocolate cake actually does have a slicker surface than white cake. Combine that with its propensity to crumble more easily, and you have a (slight) mess.

No wonder wedding cakes were white back when the bakers were in charge instead of the bridezillas.

3) If you don’t have enough Tupperware to carry your cupcakes, the donut shop will sell you boxes.

Well, mine will, anyway, and for just $0.25 each. Yep, I got three snazzy boxes for just $0.75. (See right) Not half bad. That little cutie leaning against the boxes is one of the 2 dozen brownies I made—and DECORATED—in addition to the 4 dozen cupcakes. Hey, if I’m going to bother, I’m going to go whole hog.

4) Baking makes me happy.

I’d forgotten (probably got washed out of my brain after the last effort when I had to clean up).

It’s probably really that having baked makes me happy, kind of like my feeling about writing (it’s not so much that I love to write, but I like having written and am crazy in love with the book I get at the end). And really, who wouldn’t get a warm, fuzzy feeling over a boxful of these lovelies.

See, those are the specialty sprinkles I had to pick up at the craft store, which led to the Wilton cupcake liners, which led to this post.

But if you want to know what really led to this post, check out Child1, below, as Cogsworth. (Note my success at finding handlebar mustache.)

That’s not a commerical costume, btw. One of the moms made it. Which leads to:

5) Moms can do anything.

Remember that on Sunday, as you wish your mom Happy Mother’s Day.

(To participate in Lisa Mantchev’s Cupcakeathon,

check out the rules here.)

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