Susan M. Boyer

USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Agatha Award Winner

Susan M. Boyer

USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Agatha Award Winner

Acts of God and Other Puzzlements

in Uncategorized

I’m on the road again–in Jasper, Alabama. Jasper is one of the many towns across the country that I would never get to see were it not for the fact that my husband has a job that takes him to places generally not found in Fodor’s tourist guidebooks. There’s nothing wrong with Jasper. It’s a nice, regular town. I just probably wouldn’t have made a special trip.

The thing that unnerved me, though, is we arrived on Sunday evening, April 8th–yes, we traveled here on Easter Sunday. Right after my mamma stuffed us into a food coma. Anyway, April 8th was the eighth (or was it ninth?) anniversary of when an F-5 tornado blew through this part of the country. Not Jasper specifically, but real close by. Now, I’m not sure I’ve told y’all this, but I have had a life-long, blood-freezing terror of tornadoes.

You might be asking yourself if I was raised, perhaps in Kansas, where such horrific storms are common. No, in fact, I was raised in Faith, NC, and as so far as I am informed, there has never been a tornado there, nor anywhere in the vicinity. The Wizard of Oz was my favorite movie as a child–perhaps that explains it. Either that, or it was the way my family huddled in the hall every time it thundered, even if it was the dead of night. Mamma would get me out of bed to duck for cover with the rest of the family until the last rumble had faded.

Y’all knew I wasn’t normal, right? Well, there are reasons…

Anyway, I’m right here where this monstrous Act of God transpired–why do you suppose they call such things “Acts of God?” Tangent Alert…

Why are bad things–tornadoes, tsunami’s, earthquakes, et cetera–called Acts of God, and none of the good things? I mean, think about it…the sun came up this morning, and no one else–not even any of the presidential primary candidates–has claimed credit for it, but no one refers to Daylight as an Act of God. But if it wasn’t an Act of God, I’d sure like to know who is responsible, wouldn’t you? I’d like to stay on his or her good side, so to speak.

And what about spring? Things are blooming all over…well, except in the Midwest and Northeast where it’s still snowing. See? All that snow, now, that’s an Act of God according to newscasters and insurance agents everywhere. But wisteria in bloom? He doesn’t get the credit. I find this a puzzlement.

I guess atheists and such aren’t much troubled by the lack of logic here. But, as someone who knows God personally, I’d like to see Him get a little more credit for everything good that happens here on planet earth. All of y’all atheists, agnostics, Unitarians, and what not…you can’t have it both ways: If a tsunami is an Act of God, then by golly, so is the rhythmic surf caressing beaches all over the world right this minute.

Peace, out…

Susan

Here’s Something I’ve Never Seen Before

in Uncategorized

I’m on the road again this week. Chattanooga, then Morristown, then back to Chattanooga. Sunday afternoon, as we were passing through Hendersonville, NC, we stopped to get something to drink at a convenience store. On the counter near the register, there was a covered box with a sign that said, “Individual Cigarettes, 25 cents.”

You have to need a shot of nicotine bad if you can’t afford a whole pack, but will spend one of your last remaining quarters on one. Apparently, there is a market.

Thank God I was never able to cultivate a cigarette habit. I tried once, back in my stupidity-rich twenties when I had several thin friends who smoked and looked sophisticated (right) with a cigarette between their long, fake-nail-tipped fingers. I thought smoking might alleviate some of my stress eating. Fortunately, I despised cigarette smoke too much to make that work for me, and eventually grew out of my idiot phase.

But you know that’s got to be a powerful addition when people in dire straights will spend a quarter for a cigarette when four quarters will get you a hamburger off the Wendy’s value menu.

One of the perks to traveling with Jim is that I get a free USA today delivered to my door every morning. Yesterday, one of the big stories was the case of a janitor in Oregon who died in 1997 after smoking three packs a day for forty years. A jury found that, while he was partly liable for his own death, Jesse Williams was influenced by the decades-long campaign by cigarette manufacturer Phillip Morris to discredit emerging evidence that cigarettes caused lung cancer. The jury awarded his widow $79.5 million in punitive damages. Phillip Morris, naturally, appealed, and the case has made its way to the Supreme Court.

I’m normally an advocate of personal responsibility. I’ve always held the opinion that there’s enough evidence that cigarettes are very, very bad for you, and if you choose to smoke, and you get cancer you have no one to blame but yourself. I also think folks who sue McDonald’s for making unhealthy food are idiots, no offense.

But Jesse Williams didn’t grow up in the same era that I did. He, from all accounts, genuinely believed that “they wouldn’t sell them if they were bad for you.” I hope Mayola Williams gets every dime of that $97.5 million.

And I hope that someone finds a better use for tobacco than smoking it. Because I grew up in North Carolina, where big tobacco lives, and I don’t want to see a lot of folks out of work. But corporations with A-list lobbyists shouldn’t be allowed to put whatever they put in cigarettes that entices people down to their last few dollars to pay a quarter for a cigarette.

Why not just legalize every other addictive, life-destroying substance?

Besides, second-hand smoke gives me a migraine.

Peace, out…

An Experiment in Travelcise

in Uncategorized

I know I rag on Casey, The Queen of Pain, a lot. But she really is sweet. Except when she’s causing you intense pain by insisting that you do things with your body that The Good Lord never intended–just so y’all know, the laws of physics dictate that I cannot put weights on this chest and do sit-ups. Or when she has the microphone and thinks of some bit of entertaining sarcasm at your expense. Frequently, the pain and the sarcasm are delivered simultaneously. But I digress…she’s sweet, really.

Like just this morning, knowing that I am in a hotel room somewhere in rural Alabama and thus unable to report for torture, she emailed me a link to download Jazzercise podcasts, especially designed for the traveler. Frequently I have lamented to Her Royal Agony that I need a DVD of her toture sessions–I mean class–so I can Jazzercise while traveling. I knew it wouldn’t be Casey (or Myra, Diane, Wendy, Julie, Donna, Jenny or Michelle) on the podcast, but I thought, “Hey, why not give it a try?” So I did.

The first obstacle was an educational one. I am (while not computer illiterate) somewhat behind the times. In my world, podcast = ipod = Apple computers. I have an IBM Thinkpad. So, I followed the link the QOP sent, went to the Jazzercise site, clicked iTunes, and got the scoop. I know, I’m behind.

It took me a while to download and install the software. Software that is Apple derivative has a somewhat different look and feel than that which is IBM derivative. Anyway, I got that done, went back to the Jazzercise site and downloaded the five available podcasts. So far so good.

It wasn’t intuitively obvious how to start this stuff up after it was loaded, but finally, in a box so small I had to get out a magnifying glass, Shanna Missett Nelson, daughter of Jazzercise founder Judi Sheppard Missett, appeared. Now Shanna, like her mother, looks like your stereotypical aerobics instructor. Perfect, right down to the hair and makeup. At least that’s how she looked in the little box with my magnifying glass. I tried making the box bigger, but every time I tried, the whole shebang locked up and I had to start Shanna over.

For authenticity, they taped these podcasts in actual hotel rooms. Shanna demonstrated the first exercise, using a hotel room chair. Now, her chair was not exactly like mine: mine has wheels–it’s a desk chair. But I thought maybe it would work. This was foolishness.

I sat on the edge of the chair, just like Shanna demonstrated, and put my hands on the seat. But just as I lowered my VOLUPTUOUS derriere for the first of ten reps of some strange variation of a pushup, the chair rolled backwards, slamming against the wall, and I landed with a loud thud on the floor. The two ladies who were cleaning the room next door came running. They knocked on the door, yelling “housekeeping!” Evidently they couldn’t hear me calling back that everything was okay–or didn’t understand what I was saying–so they used the pass key and came on in.

By this time, I had picked myself up and was limping towards the door. They looked around the room a little curiously, and asked (I’m guessing here) if I was all right. Their English was limited to the words”housekeeping”, “towels”, and “have a nice day.” My Spanish is limited to “taco,” “burrito,” and “chimichanga.” I pointed to Shanna in her little box, but they weren’t curious enough to come see what was on my computer screen. Who knows what they’ve seen on other laptops left open in guest rooms. They backed out of the room, no doubt wondering what in the name of common sense I’d been doing.

Okay, so my first session of Travelcise didn’t go smoothly. But as soon as I purchase a tube (looks like a jump rope, only made out of rubber) –which I need for the next exercise in the set, I’ll give it another go. Meanwhile, maybe I’ll hop on that treadmill downstairs. After I finish editing a short story and ice my bruise. Maybe.

Peace, out…

Hey Y’all From St. John

in Uncategorized

Okay…I was still there when I wrote this, but I couldn’t get it uploaded. Internet access in Paradise is not all that reliable…

Everybody has their favorite vacation spots. So far, St. John is my favorite place on the planet. Now, I’m willing to concede that there are an awful lot of places I haven’t been yet, but check this out…

This is the view of Cruz Bay from our room at Estate Lindholm. http://estatelindholm.com/

And this is Honeymoon beach.
Notice that there is no one else there. My favorite kind of beach…gorgeous, secluded, and mostly private. It’s one bay over from Caneel Bay, where folks with tons of money loll about being pampered within an inch of their lives. I’ll take Honeymoon and my own private cabana boy (who I am legally married to) any day of the week.

Anyway, the reason I’m blogging from vacation…well, two reasons, actually. I needed to get out of the sun for a while, and you’ll never believe who I ran into just the other afternoon… No, not Kenny Chesney…I understand he’s on tour. But, I myself have personally seen The Chicken Crossing The Road. In the act!!

Her name is Henny, and she was accompanied by her friend, Penny.

One thing about St. John, everyone here is so friendly. So I just walked right up and asked her. I said, “Ah, Henny, you would not believe the wild speculation and outlandish tales that circulate back in The States about why exactly you cross the road. I wonder if you might tell me, so I could pass it along, what exactly is your motivation?” And do you know what she said? (We should have known.)

She said, “Susan, Penny and I are out hunting for our mangy old pair of Roosters. They’re out bar hopping in Cruz Bay when they’re supposed to be back at the coop taking care of their honey-do lists. We just checked The Quiet Mon, and they’re not there. Now we’re headed on over to The Beach Bar, and we have to cross not one, but several roads to get there. When we find their sorry tail feathers, we’re going to pluck ’em and roast ’em over a spit…or maybe see if we can get Uncle Joe to barbeque their sorry hindquarters, although he generally is much more particular about his chicken.”

So there you have it…straight from the hen’s mouth… Like so many women throughout history, she crossed the road chasing a sorry rooster.

And just one final question…why is it that no one has ever asked why the donkey crossed the road? I have to tell you, it’s far more common down here!

Peace, out…

Susan

Very Good Reasons Why I’m Not Dancing

in Uncategorized

Okay, my exercise routine, my writing schedule, and yes, even my inner peace have all evaporated this week. An unnamed (because I can’t possibly have children that age when I’m only 24, the official age of all Jazzercisers) member of my immediate family has been at MUSC this week. This unnamed but treasured woman-child had a hole in her diaphragm roughly the size of a small pancake through which several body parts had migrated into her rib cage. As you might imagine, this made breathing and eating rather problematic. Thanks to the highly skilled surgical team at MUSC, and their top-notch support staff, she is on the mend.

So of course I’ve been in Charleston and have a perfectly good reason for not working up a sweat of any description all week. But tomorrow I’m packing my VOLUPTUOUS self back in the Beetle and heading home to the Upstate. Just in time for my pre-vacation spa day. I mean, really, I can’t go on vacation without a pedicure. There is nothing worse than scaly feet on a beach. And as hard as I’ve been working out (up until this week), I have a variety of calluses and blisters that need attention. In their current condition, my feet would clear the beach at Trunk Bay. Every other crazy person traveling to the Caribbean in the middle of hurricane season would run screaming from the beach like folks in one of those old ‘B’ horror movies fleeing from one of those giant Godzilla wannbes.

And these stress knots in my neck are just begging for the skillful hands of a massage therapist. And everyone knows that once you’ve paid for a massage and a pedicure, you really come out better getting the Full Day of Beauty package. The one that includes the champagne lunch. One must get oneself in the proper frame of mind before embarking on vacation in order to get the maximum amount of relaxation.

Then, of course, I’ll have to pack. Now, normal people can probably pack for a two week vacation in an hour or so. As y’all well know, I’m not one of those people. It will take a least a day for me to run around buying stuff like sunscreen and filling prescriptions that would otherwise run out before we get back. Bad things happen when I run out of my medication.

Then there’s the actual cramming of everything I might conceivably need for a two-week stay in St. John into two suitcases, one carry-on, and the largest purse I own. As y’all might imagine, I do not pack light. More than one Delta agent has helped me shuffle my belongings from one suitcase to the other to avoid having to charge me an extra $25 for having a suitcase over 50 lbs while my normally easy-going husband tries to borrow a gun from one of the airport police officers so he can shoot me and get off on account of being unduly provoked. Why is it that the Boy Scout motto is “Be Prepared,” and grown men foam at the mouth when their wives try to follow that eminently sensible advice?

Anyway, between the spa day, the shopping and the packing, I will almost certainly not make it to Jazzercise this week. But, I do plan on working out while on vacation. I’ll let y’all know how that works out.

Peace, out…

The Top Ten Reasons Why I Jazzercise

in Uncategorized

Jim and I just got back from two weeks in the North Georgia Mountains. We have an Airstream trailer. Now, just let me tell you that I am not one of those low maintenance, out-doorsy type females. Camping has never been my thing. The whole bathhouse ordeal…eeeyew! Not for me. Also not for me is sleeping in a tent. I mean, hello, snakes and all other manner of varmit could crawl right in there with you while you were sleeping. And don’t get me started on the whole sleeping on the ground thing. But when my brother-in-law bought an Airstream, (you know, the big silver tube looking things) Jim had to have one. This is camping I can sign up for. It’s like having your own little condo that you drag around with you. I shower in my shower and sleep in a bed more comfortable than the one in my house. TV/DVD player, satellite radio, CD player, air conditioning…you get the picture.

But in the far reaches of the North Georgia Mountains, there was no Jazzercise. Our exercise involved a lot of hiking. While traipsing through the woods, I had plenty of time to reflect on all the reasons why I normally Jazzercise instead of hike (or any of that other outdoorsy stuff).

Here are the top ten:

10. It is not necessary to watch your feet while Jazzercising to avoid tripping over tree roots and rocks. Some folks do look at their feet, it’s true. But these are mostly the new students, and they catch on pretty quick.

9. If you need more water while dancing, there is a fountain right there in the room where you can refill your water bottle.

8. You will never sweat while standing still in a Jazzercise studio. We dance in air-conditioned comfort.

7. Outside the Jazzercise studio, there is no sign warning you that you are entering a bear habitat. No Ranger will tell you, “If you come across a bear, throw him any food you might have. If you have no food, don’t make any sudden moves.” Now, some mornings, Casey may snarl like a bear, but she’d never actually maul anyone. I don’t think.

6. In Jazzercise, you will never hear someone say something like, “If that boulder were to come loose, we’d all be crushed.”

5. If you trip in Jazzercise, people will laugh at you, but you are in no danger whatsoever of falling off a cliff into a rocky river gorge and splattering yourself all over the place.

4. In Jazzercise, you are in a class full of your friends, not on a virtually deserted trail five miles from the nearest road where cell phones get no signal when you pass an enormous French-looking guy wearing only a tiny Speedo, a pony-tail and three tatoos and you’re scared he’s some sort of weirdo-psychopath with an aversion to clothes who might just be odd enough to have a hankering for VOLUPTUOUS women (or their husbands).

3. There are no poisonous spiders at Jazzercise. Occasionally, there are the small harmless looking ones that Casey squashes and Diane whines about her killing one of God’s creatures. Puh-leeze, even God referred to bugs as pestilence…HELLO, they were a plague…not a good thing. Well, okay, those were locusts, but close enough.

2. There are no snakes of any kind in a Jazzercise class. Aliens, yes, but no snakes.

And the #1 reason I Jazzercise…

If you have to go potty, there’s a ladies room just off the lobby. If you Jazzercise, you will never have to look for a stand of trees thick enough to hide behind while you freshen up.

A Writer’s Dream

in Uncategorized

Last week was an exciting week at Jazzercise. Many highly entertaining things transpired, (about which I could write volumes) culminating with the TV folks arriving on Friday to tape the 8:15 class for a business profile spot. Sometime soon y’all can tune in to Charter channel 10 and see for yourself the high concentration of talent in the dance arts that thrives in the Taylors Jazzercise center. We even wore makeup on Friday so that we could look beautiful right up until the point when it all slid right off our smiling faces in a river of sweat.

But, I am so excited about where I’m at right now, that I’ll have to tell you more about all that later. Jim (you remember my wonderful husband) is working in Vermont this week, and because I was working up to a huge pout about missing him and all, he brought me along. Now, Vermont is beautiful, and in the evenings, we will go out and have dinner and see some of beautiful Vermont, but the most exciting part for me is the hotel. Now, you might be surprised that someone could get excited about a Hampton Inn. But I do my best writing in Hampton Inns and/or Holiday Inn Expresses. Here’s why:

Hampton Inns and Holiday Inns go a long way to attract business travelers. They actually have fairly nice hotels. The ones we stay in have beds that are at least as comfortable as the ones at home. They are insanely clean, and (most of them) brand spanking new, and because Jim spends more nights in their hotels than our home, they tend to treat him really nice.

There are zero distractions. My cell phone will only ring when I turn it on (unlike the one at home–and if I take that one off the hook, folks who love me come knocking on the door. Let me say here how grateful I am that I have folks who love me enough to care and come knocking. Unfortunately the ratio of calls is one from them to every ten from people doing surveys and such.) The peace and quiet in a hotel room is delicious.

Someone else cleans the room.

I cannot do laundry, run errands or battle possessed refrigerators.

Anytime I feel like a stretch, I can ride the elevator downstairs to the cozy lobby and get an always fresh cup of one of three kinds of coffee with my choice of flavored creamer or a cup of one of about twenty kinds of tea, and a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie (or an apple or banana). All of this is free.

I have my laptop. I have wireless internet access. I have peace. I have maid service. I have cookies. Life is good. I am wallowing in it.

Peace, out…

Newsletter Sign Up