Wednesday, September 20, 2017

The Tech Issue by Konnie Enos

Did you ever think about how much time people nowadays spend on tech? How much time they spend connected? Can you even remember what life was like before we had all this tech? What would you do if your internet went down for a day or longer?
For some reason, a couple of days ago, our internet went out. Turns out it was our phone lines completely so it wasn’t a quick easy fix. They had to send out someone. We’d already gone the whole day without being able to get on and they told us it would be late in the day the next day before a technician could get here. So two days without tech.
For me the first day had been busy enough that I didn’t really notice the problem until late in the day. (Which explains me not calling for repairs until late.) The second day was a different story.
I got up as usual and as is my normal routine I picked up my laptop. After looking at it for a moment without opening it and put it back away. What was I supposed to do on it if I couldn’t get online? At the moment I needed to do things but every last thing I needed to do required me to have a at least a minute or two of connections to check something, online.
The only other thing I could have possibly done on my computer at that time was write. The problem was I didn’t have a few hours to delve into any of my stories and I didn’t have a connection so I couldn’t surf which is how I often get inspiration for my posts.
Being limited in time, I pulled out my Kindle. Still tech, but it had things on it I could do without getting online. I could play a game, or do all the Sudoku puzzles for the day, or read a book. Oh fun and joy, I had time for all three yesterday, since I couldn’t get online, couldn’t check my emails, or banks, or prepare this post head of time since my Wednesdays are hectic.
Anyway, as I thought about all the things I couldn’t do that I would normally do each day, I realized I’m too connected. I’ve never considered myself to be addicted to tech. I certainly don’t spend most of the day surfing the net or playing video games. However, yesterday each time I reached for my laptop, I realized I did spend a great deal of time online most days.
I read some headlines, check my emails, and see what is on Facebook (way too often). But I also balance checkbooks, and do other banking transactions. I shop online. I’ve been getting ready for Christmas. I also do surveys for which I earn a small amount of money.
But what I think I do most online is contact with other writers. I’m in critique groups and I wanted to post some work for critique and couldn’t yesterday. There is also my chat groups, which fortunately I didn’t have to miss because that interaction with other writers is important.
And the biggest issue for a writer.
How are you supposed to get information to help make your writing realistic if you can’t google it?
Yes, yesterday was a frustrating day for me. It still made me feel we are way too dependent on technology. Anybody else agree with me?

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

Wednesday, September 13, 2017

Twins in Stories by Bonnie Le Hamilton



I’m a twin. I am not just a twin, and not just an identical twin I’m a mirror twin, hence the name of this blog. I’m also a writer. As a writer, I’m supposed to write what I know.

And it’s not as if I don’t write about twins. I have twins in fifteen of my stories (technically sixteen, but they’re less predominant in book 2 of that series, and yes, it’s the same twins, more than one set even.) Fifteen, or sixteen, out of fifty, and in only one of them is the main character a twin. And in all of them, the sets of twins present in the story are younger siblings, and or nieces (excluding that second book where they are the older cousins of the heroine).

I know twins. I know what it’s like to be a twin. I don’t know what’s it’s like to be a singleton because I am a twin. That’s just part of who I am. Yet as often as I write heroines who look like me, I’ve only written one who is a twin, and that was a fraternal twin, and said twin is dead.

I’ve written, well as I said, sixteen stories with twins in them, but I don’t have their POV’s in the stories (excluding the one story). I don’t have scenes where someone mistakes them for their twin.

Okay, maybe I don’t have that, because I consider this a bit clichĂ©. Not that I’ve actually read them, I generally don’t read beyond the blurb when I realize it’s another switched places or got-mistaken-for-the-other type of story. It’s more than a little overdone.

But how to do you write stories about twins without mixing up or switching them?

In ways it makes since writer’s who have twins in their stories follow that line, but I’m getting the feeling that’s the only thing authors think of when they write about twins.

Off the top of my head, I can think of four published books with main characters who are a twin, which doesn’t do this. In two of the ones I can think of the main character is Kit Fielding, i.e. one of Dick Francis’ characters, and Kit is a fraternal twin, so mixing up and switching places is out of the question. One is a romance where the hero’s identical twin brother is brain damaged. No way to get them mixed up, despite how much they look alike. And the fourth is “And Jacob Have I loved.” Again, not about twins switching and getting mixed up.

In other words, I feel the getting-twins-mixed-up or the twins-switching-places stories are overused, overdone, and need to be scrapped.

And that explains why I’ve never had an identical twin as a main character.

Glad I finally figured it out.


Happy writing everyone! J

Wednesday, September 6, 2017

Of Holiday’s and Other Memories by Konnie Enos

There are some holidays you can remember for months, even years afterwards. Then there are others that seem more like normal days and within a couple of weeks you’ve forgotten exactly what transpired. For me Labor Day falls in the latter category, generally a very forgettable day.
Generally.
To this day, thirty-eight years and counting, I still remember a good deal of what occurred the morning of Monday, September 3, 1979.
I can remember my bedroom. It was so pink. Pink walls, pink dresser, pink carpet. I even had a pink bedspread. I’ve always assumed the total pink color of the room is why I didn’t have to share with anyone. At the time I had two brothers, and though the youngest probably didn’t care, he was sharing with his older brother. I can guarantee our oldest brother wasn’t going to sleep in a pink room.
As for my two sisters, well neither one of them have ever liked pink. So yeah, I had the luxury of a whole room to myself for the first time in my life. I even had a nice big full sized bed to myself. (My siblings all had single sized beds, and roommates.)
So on this particular morning I slowly came to realize the sun was peaking over the distant mountains. I looked up for a moment noting how the cloud cover turned everything into more hues of pink. I was appreciating the view and the thought came to me that I normally didn’t have time to see it because I was getting ready for school.
Wait! School!
I very nearly jumped out of bed before I remembered it was a holiday. Sleepy me snuggled back down for some more sleep.
A few minutes later Dad appeared at my bedroom door. “Get up.”
“Why? There’s no school today.”
“To help Margo.”
“Help her with what?” Bear in mind that Dad was a pro at forcing us kids to do someone else’s chore because he thought he had the right kid doing it. I was not budging unless it really was my chore.
“Pack.”
“Pack? Why? Where is she going?”
“The hospital.”
Well that did it. I bolted up telling Dad I was coming and he could leave so I could get dressed. I finally realized my stepmother, Margo, was in labor with her second child.
To this day I don’t understand why he didn’t just come right out and tell me what was happening and why she needed help. But I also find it funny that I went from groggy still snuggled in bed to wide awake in a split second when it finally hit me.
And I did go downstairs to help her, though I don’t remember what exactly I did to help. Most women are smart enough to pack go bags well in advance so all I can think of was I gathered a few last minute items for her then helped Dad get her to the car.
It was much later, after we got to see our newest little brother that Margo told us about the funniest part of the day. You see she delivered in the same tiny hospital she worked in. Her co-workers were snickering clear through her labor about her being in labor on Labor Day.
So for me our youngest brother’s appearance into the world is a day I’ve never forgotten.
Then about nine and half months later the little squirt made Father’s Day memorable by walking, for the first time, clear across a country kitchen and into Dad’s arms. Made Dad’s day.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

Wednesday, August 30, 2017

Stubborn by Bonnie Le Hamilton

With Labor Day right around the corner, I find my thoughts turning to a certain someone who entered this world on Labor Day many moons ago. Enough time has passed since that day that said little boy is now the father of a teenager, but when I was a junior in high school, he was the little imp I wrote the following anecdote about.
* * *
The bus pulled up in front of our house, and as I got off, I could hear Patty giggling, and Ben yelling excitedly that the bus was here, but the one I heard most was Danny’s jubilant, “De! De!”

I knew that when I opened the front door, he’d be there to greet me with the same cry as always, “Hi, De!”

Pesky stubborn old rat anyway.

Sure enough as I opened the door, he bounds off the last step and flies into my arms, loaded down with books, and nearly toppling me over. “Hi, De,” is all he says as he gives me a great big hug and kiss.

“Dan, I love you, but I’m not De!” Then I gladly hand him over to the girl behind me.

Why don’t I ever come in the garage door, so Konnie can get attacked?

Danny gives Konnie the identical greeting, but he’s not satisfied. Five minutes later, he wants a drink and can’t find anyone who isn’t busy? So what does he do? Simple, he picks up his cup and trots in the living room, where I’m on the couch reading, and tugging on my pant leg, begs, “De, De, dink, peas.” And he shoves the cup up to me.

This time I get smart. “Konnie, Danny wants you to get him a drink.”

But to no avail. When Konnie tries to get him, and the cup, into the kitchen, he pulls away and, pointing to me, yells, “No, dat De!”

Dag blain brat anyway!

“All right, I’ll get it. But I’m not Konnie!”

This still isn’t the end for today. When Ben comes in my room to tell me Mom wants me to peel potatoes, he’s right behind Ben calling, “De.”

This isn’t her room.

“Just a second, Ben.” I ignore Danny.

All through dinner, he calls everyone by the name he uses for them after someone else says their name.

“Pass the potatoes please, Bonnie.”

“De, De, De.”

“Pass the Kool-Aid please, Bryon.”

“Be, Be, Be.”

“Hand me the beans please, Konnie.”

“De, De, De.”

If I recall correctly, when Ben was Danny’s age, he could tell us apart, he just couldn’t talk. I’m not sure I’m glad Danny can hear.
* * *

J Anyway, Happy birthday, Dan. I love you. And I’m glad you finally learned my name.


Happy writing everyone. J

Wednesday, August 23, 2017

Of Epic Journeys by Konnie Enos

Something has been bugging me this past week.
Writers are supposed to write realistic and plausible stuff, but sometimes it can be really difficult to do unless they’ve actually experienced it. Particularly road trips.
I recently went on a road trip. One I carefully planned for, studying all possible routes. And google maps was very helpful, giving me not only the distance, but a time estimate.
This trip was in four parts, each leg approximately seven to eight hours long. We planned our departure times accordingly.
Now if any of you understand what is entailed in driving anywhere long distance, you know you can’t just drive straight from point A to point B. You are going to have to stop once in a while or you could run into other obstacles. That estimated travel time doesn’t take into account any of that.
Not a problem. You can plan for that. Add thirty minutes for every two hours on the road. So guess that an eight hour drive should take about ten hours. Then plan to keep stops as short as possible. Always stop at traveler’s stops. (Food, gas and bathrooms.)
So you hit the road. But somehow it still takes longer than you thought it would.
Road construction, heavy and slow traffic, two lane hi-ways and some lower posted speed limits. And with all the delays, you have to stop more.
I was dreading the second leg (and by extension third) of our trip because our information said we’d have to drive through numerous construction zones, so lots of delays.
The reality? Both trips on that part of our journey took approximately seven to eight hours, with stops, traffic and construction zones. Not so bad.
Before we left I figured the easy part of our trip would be the first (and by extension last) leg of our journey. Only about eight hours, a fairly straight shot and little or no flags for construction zones.
The reality? Both times it took us twelve to thirteen hours, by far the longest most tedious stretch, and the return trip included about an hour on the hi-way moving maybe three miles per hour, if at all.
When I got home I realized writing stories with road trips in them just couldn’t come close to describing the reality of it unless a person actually tried it.
Plus when you’re writing there is supposed to be road blocks.
From here to Salt Lake City is about a six hour drive, it’s another, maybe three to where my sister lives. So about nine hours. A popular college is another hour’s drive beyond there. Do you think anybody could do a ten hour drive in just ten hours?
I’d be willing to bet it would be impossible, especially with a carful of kids.
And from what I heard, that hour drive between where my sister lives and that college town turned into something between three to five hours because of the eclipse traffic this past week. (College town was a point of totality.)
So knowing the distance from point A to point B and an estimate of how long it should take to travel that far doesn’t tell you how long it will take.
Now that I think about it, writing about a road trip should give you plenty of ways to throw in some obstacles for your leading characters to deal with.
Right now I can’t think of any stories I’ve read that included tales of being on the road, unless you count epic journey stories such as J.R.R. Tolkien’s books or “Eragon”.
  Can any of you name some that might be worth reading?

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

Wednesday, August 16, 2017

Beginning at the Right Place, and Time by Bonnie Le Hamilton

Some time ago, I started a story and it seemed to be going really well, but when I reread it, a voice in my head started yelling, “NO! NO! NO!”

I took some time to consider it, and thought I’d figured out the problem and I came up with a solution. I kept the first scene, where the hero and the heroine first meet, but I dramatically changed what happened next, and I was getting somewhere.

Then life, and other stories, got in the way, and it was a while before I opened this version again, so I started by rereading it. And again, the voice was yelling at me. Then it dawned on me, the voice starts yelling when I’m on the first wonderful scene that I slaved so hard over to get it just right. The scene I spent hours writing, rewriting, and tweaking.

So what was the problem?

Simple, I had them meeting on the first day of school. At the time, I thought the hero meeting the heroine before he learns she needs help would be best, but when I thought about it that was kind of dumb. If a person were inclined to help someone out when they need it most, they’d do it whether they actually knew the person or not.

And the other issue was the premise of the story. It just didn’t seem possible for them to accomplish that task starting in the fall and ending before winter. A fact I had considered in my second version; among my dramatic changes, I had it that he started fixing up the place where most of the story takes place over the summer; they would just finish it together. But even then, they didn’t have enough time, because he hadn’t been planning to finish before winter. Until she came along, he didn’t need to.

So I needed to start from scratch. Well, not completely. I did have the character list, the backstory, and a few pieces of the other versions I could reuse with a little tweaking. But with scrapping that first scene, and changing the time of year of they meet, I was starting with a blank page.

And I started writing — twenty-one pages that first day. WOW!
Additionally I had just over 35,000 words seven days later, as in nearly half a novel in just a week. Can you believe it? And while I haven’t achieved that word average this week, I’m still moving along.

Of course, that isn’t to say that this will be the final version. I have over a dozen versions of at least one of my finished manuscripts, most I have between four and six versions. But I rewrite all the time, and then the editing starts making more versions, all saved in the same file.

Please tell me I’m not the only one who does this.


Happy writing everyone! J

Wednesday, August 9, 2017

Of Wedding Rings by Konnie Enos


Why is it that people think engagement rings have to be big flashy diamonds?
I’ve seen this story on Facebook about a couple and their inexpensive wedding rings. Ariel Desiree McRae tells how her now husband Quinn McRae spent a mere $130 on her rings and the sales clerk at Pandora said it was “pathetic”.
Ariel defended her husband, saying basically it’s the thought that counts. Most of the comments in her support are from people saying they (or their spouse) spent very little on their rings and it didn’t matter.
I agree with them.
When I met my husband his mother was a penniless widow trying to raise her teenaged son alone. My mother and her husband were both muddling by on disability. My stepmother had a full-time job but my father had spent most of that year fighting leukemia so they had mounting bills and one less income, not to mention three kids still at home. Both my soon to be husband and I were in our late twenties, lived on our own and worked full-time. We both knew we’d be paying for our wedding.
I knew something else.
I have never, ever wanted a solitaire diamond of any size. I also knew there was no way either one of us could afford one without going into debt. Going into debt just to get married was ludicrous to me. I flat out told him not to get me one because I didn’t want one.
He didn’t. Though he did tell his youngest sister he wasn’t going to get me one.
SHE raided her jewelry box and found a small ring with the main stone being a pearl and a very small diamond to the side of it. The gold wrapped around it was shaped very close to a heart. She mailed this to her big brother so he could propose to me.
My sister-in-law hadn’t even met me yet, but she loved her brother enough to send one of her rings to him so he could have something to propose to me with. (Well actually, give to his fiancĂ© since we were engaged by then.) I still value that ring.
What is so pathetic about living within your means and providing for the needs of your family rather than splurging on extravagant things?
I never needed rings. We didn’t even buy wedding rings for ourselves until after we’d been married for a couple of months because we couldn’t afford them sooner.
That ring is just a piece of jewelry. It has absolutely no more significance than what you give it. You are no less married if you don’t wear it any more than you are more married if you spend more money on it.
Do you honestly think the couple who goes down to the courthouse to get married and only spends money on the license is less happy than the couple who spends several thousand dollars on that huge extravagant wedding is?
What really gets my goat is that sales clerk. I would not have let such a rude person get my sales commission.
As the sales clerk, her obligation was to show them rings within their price range and possibly indicate which ones she thought looked nice, but telling a customer they’re choice is pathetic is, well, pathetic. She’s in sales for pity sakes. She needs to learn how not to be rude to her customers.
My daughter agrees with me. She didn’t go broke getting her wedding rings (see picture).
And I’m in the throes of preparing for the wedding, which is Saturday.
Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

Wednesday, August 2, 2017

Camp Nano part 2 by Bonnie Le Hamilton


Camp Nano is over, and I’m telling you right now, it wasn’t easy for me. By the 14th, I’d only finished 14,835 words, when I should have been to 22,580 words. Meaning two weeks into the challenge, I was 7,745 words behind!
 By the 21st I was at 28,016 words, when I should have been at 33,870. I was closing the gap, but I was still behind at the end of the third week of the challenge!
I do know why I got so far behind. I kept realizing I had a plot hole, or I needed to show something sooner,  or some scene I’d already written wasn’t right, but if I changed it, I had change certain things that came before it, so I kept going back. In fact, by the 21st, I’d gone back through my entire manuscript 4 times editing and adding things, which wasn’t helping me at all.
Then came week four.
On the 22nd I managed to get to 32,521, but I was still short of where I should have been, 2,962 words short to exact. But I had least closed the gap further.
On the 25th, I realized I had another plot hole, and a few other things I needed to change entirely. But it was the 26th, and I had plans on the 31st, which I couldn’t change. So I decided that I didn’t have time to go clear through my manuscript (which, may I remind you is the one I started last November, so it isn’t nearly 50k long, it was closer to 75k on the 26th, and I’m a slow reader/editor ), so I determined to just write some notes, and press on. I had to finish. I set the goal; I was going to make it.
So, I moved forward, on the 26th I not only managed 3,158 words, I closed the gap! I was right where I supposed to be for my goal. Wahoo!
Then on the 27th I did 3,022 words. I had 5,039 words to go. I thought I can do this; I can finish before the 31st. All I had to do was to manage 2,520 on Friday, and 2,519 on Saturday. Since I had been managing at least 3,000 words a day, I knew I could do it.
So I started writing on the 28th with the goal of getting a minimum of 2,520 words, but I also told myself, if I could manage more, I should. And I did! When the day was done, I wrote 5,039 words! I reached my goal on Friday the 28th!
Now talk about perseverance and determination, writing that many words in one day took me all day. It was after 8 in the evening when I finally finished, but I did finish.
And I know not many writers have the time to spend an entire day writing but I’m so glad I could, and that I could reach my goal. And now to take a few weeks from writing to get some other things done around here, like laundry and dishes, and mopping the floor.
Yeah, I neglected a few things so I could write all day. But don’t all writers do that at least some times?

Happy writing everyone! J

Wednesday, July 26, 2017

Dear Abby and Allergies by Konnie Enos

This morning one of the letters in Dear Abby’s column is from a parent wanting to know why their child’s school has to be allergy free simply because one kid of the 20 in the child’s class has a major food allergy. Why is the school forcing all the kids to follow an allergy free diet at school rather than helping the one child learn there is food he can’t eat? (Not exactly worded that way, but it was the jest of the letter.)
Dear Abby’s response was the school’s stance was to save lives and the parent was just going to have to learn to live with it (more or less).
When I was in sixth grade I moved. New school, new friends. One girl lived nearby so we saw her every day.  Nearly a year and a half later in seventh grade we learned she had a peanut allergy when she purposely ate her peanut butter cookie served with lunch that day so she could get of the rest of the school day. Yes, she told us she was allergic and was going to eat it anyway because she wanted to go home.
My daughter is so allergic to some things just having them in the house can send her into anaphylaxis and I know Bonnie’s husband had a similar allergic reaction.
I can understand wanting to protect young kids from the allergens. I really can.
But how is it protecting them if you never teach them what they can and cannot eat, or how life threatening it is to eat the food they are allergic to? How are they protected if you don’t show them how to find out if a food has or is cross contaminated by their allergen? How is it protecting them if you don’t teach them what to do if they are accidently exposed to it?
My daughter reads food labels. She keeps her medicines and epi-pen in her purse. She also keeps it packed with allergy free food she can eat so she doesn’t go hungry when she’s on campus or anywhere else. She is always prepared.
People with shellfish allergies like Bonnie’s husband had learn how to deal with it like he did. He knew he couldn’t go into a restaurant that served shellfish unless he took his allergies medications first. Just like my daughter knows that going grocery shopping (where there is shellfish) means she’ll have to take her allergy medications first.
Now imagine a child with allergies who has been coddled their entire life.
At home and school they have never been exposed to the idea that any foods could have their allergen in it. They may have been told they have an allergy but they’ve lived their whole life without ever running into shellfish, peanuts, soy or whatever else they are allergic to so they have no idea it’s prevalent.
Now they are adults. They’re on their own or at college and they’re in the grocery store for the first time.
That’s a mine field.
I’ve read food labels. Most every single commercially produced food in the US has or is cross contaminated with at least one of the recognized eight major allergens. Most of the few exceptions are specifically marketed for the allergy free.
I can see protecting these kids. I do know people who would react just being in the same room. But coddling them? No. They have to learn to protect themselves sometime.

Now smile. Make the day a brighter day.

Wednesday, July 19, 2017

Camp Nano by Bonnie Le Hamilton



As anyone who follows this blog knows, last November, the ninth to be exact, I was involved in a car accident. An accident that left me with a concussion, meaning, from that point forward for two months, I couldn’t read, watch, or get on my computer; that also meant I couldn’t write.

I’d made it around 25,000 words before I was told I needed to stop doing the very things I like the most, but most importantly, it meant I wasn’t able to finish the Nano for the first time since I started doing it. (There was one year where I didn’t get my win verified because I was on dialup back then and I was having phone line issues; the site wouldn’t load my manuscript.)

Anyway, when the notice came out about Camp Nano a couple of months ago, I decided that I’d try and do it this year. I usually don’t because July is after all my birthday month, I’ve never wanted to push that hard in July, but well, I’ve had trouble getting back into the habit of writing since that accident, so I decided I needed to try.

And I have to admit it’s been an extremely slow start for me. In fact, the first five days of July I averaged adding just 620 words a day to my WIP (The WIP I started back in November). And for the first eighteen days, I only averaged 999 words a day — not much better. I usually average 2,000 words a day, sometimes even more, from day one in the Nano.

I’m way behind my goal, which is again 50,000 words in the month. I’m hoping to actually finish my WIP.

But at this point, I’m going to have to write 3,000 words a day to do it. So far, I managed that yesterday, and I’m not counting this blog, so I’m going back to my WIP.


Happy writing everyone! J

Wednesday, July 12, 2017

The Senior Years by Konnie Enos

When I was a child it wasn’t uncommon to hear stories of children getting ahold of some type of medicine and eating them like candy. Before long people decided the best way to combat this was to put child proof, but not adult proof caps on the pill bottles.
Not long after these were introduced a humorous story came out about an older lady traveling alone. She had several medicines she had to take daily and they were now in child proof bottles. Since she had trouble getting the caps off herself, she told the hotel staff she might need help. They told her no problem they had an expert. When the time came she did need the help and they sent the expert in. It was a child.
It may have been nothing more than a humorous story but it was ironic that the woman needed the assistance of a child to open a child proof cap.
However it was after this story came out that pharmacies and drug companies started packaging some of their medicines in bottles that didn’t have child proof caps on them. Then they came out with two sided caps. One side is child proof and the other is easy open. My pharmacy will send my medicines with a child proof cap on them but also with an easy open one on the side. Your choice.
Since I was all of five when child proof caps were invented, I can’t really remember a time before they were around and I learned how to open them by the time I was ten. I found the story of the traveling senior citizen funny because I couldn’t understand why she couldn’t read the directions on the cap and get it open. Just like I could.
Then I learned about arthritis. After that I learned that some seniors just get weaker in the arms and have weaker grips.
As an adult, after computers became more widely used, they started talking about this syndrome that had been around for a long time but was now becoming more wide spread, and it affected the hands, carpal tunnel.
Okay, so there might be reasons older adults can’t open their pill bottles.
I was not one of them.
Then again, I wasn’t old.
Some years after I was told I had carpal tunnel I was prescribed a medicine that came in a child proof bottle. It was a squeeze and turn type, but it was particular in how it was squeezed. It was an as needed medicine but I don’t think I took it more than a few times simply because I could never get it open. If my husband wasn’t there to do it for me then I simply couldn’t take it. Considering it was for my asthma, it wasn’t a good thing.
The next time it was prescribed for me I convinced the doctor to request an easier open dispensing method. Now I get that particular medicine in individual dose easy twist open vials.
Even with that, I had no problems with any other type of child proof cap.
Until recently.
My dog needs allergies medicines once in a while and her pills are in a bottle with a simple push and twist cap. For the life of me I cannot get that thing open. I have become that senior lady in the story who can’t open the child proof caps.
Do you want to hear the funniest part?
My dear, older husband (by a whopping six months) does open that bottle for me, each and every time.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.