If you read Gracie – the Fake Christmas Ladybug last December, you may wonder what happened to her now that she would becoming out of hibernation.  Well, Gracie, it seems, dehydrated while in the tissue-lined envelope in my desk drawer.  I don’t know what those fake lady bugs drink whey are stuck in the wall sleeping all winter, but they must depend on some sustenance.

I don’t mean to sound callous, though I know I do.  But I tried to save her.  I nearly ruined my marriage saving her.  The duct tape is still there to remind me.  And yes, the plastic film is still on all these windows.  Here where we live the plastic is needed to break the freezing wind gusts from the lake until the end of April.  We do uncover some key windows for listening to spring bids in the garden and letting a breeze through the house on warmer days.

And yes, there are many of Gracie’s little sisters trapped in the plastic, some died already.  I feel terrible, really I do.  But if there were any real lady bugs in there – the kind with only five or less spots, I would get them out and take them to a brush pile in the garden, really I would.

Gracie’s story link is on the right menu if you are inclined to know the whole terrible scene.


Omg – I love when the muse is rockin’ when i wake up in the morning and i have to kick it all out before i get to do anything at all. Especially after only three hours sleep. Loosens me up.

This is an original post for my women’s fiction short stories and essays blog – a blog that includes the lies we are told as women in the American culture, for the most part. But I have readers worldwide, so you tell me, do you get the same cruppie as we?toadstool1

You know the cruppie lies and misconceptions where we feel like we are gorgeous peaches then find out we are considered toadstools, poisonous mushrooms, somehow defective.

Did you hear the one about the peaches and oranges? I love Paulo Coelho’s mind and heart. He has many parables on his Amazon blog. See his book page for The Alchemist, scroll down to the blog.

Anyway, he told the one about the lovely fruit.

raspberries-ripe-fruitAn old man sold fruit on the side of the road, beautiful expensive fruit that he praised. He made a fine living enjoying selling peaches and oranges to travelers.

His educated son came from the city and said, father, don’t you realize times are tough and people cannot buy this expensive fruit now. The man was not able to read, so no, he had not known the economy was down. I guess no one was complaining.

He bought cheaper fruit, reduced his prices and promotional efforts, didn’t feel he could praise the new fruit. Times got tough for him too.

Ladies, I’ve got to bring it on home.

Did you hear the one about the plush girl who just reached puberty?  A budding young woman with clouds of curls, clear blue eyes, and sun-kissed cameo skin, treasuring a figure she moved gracefully.

She was fourteen years old and lived in the country. Her parents, grandparents, great-grandparents were all plush, soft people who worked hard on their hobby farm with organic gardens. plush girl farmShe sold fruit and vegetables to their community. They treasured their free time, went biking, canoeing, and played backgammon instead of owning a television. Seldom went to the city, then only museums or to visit plush city cousins. A saving grace… an American woodworking journal was their main magazine.

The plush girl’s cousin was one year younger. She visited every summer. This visit the cousin brought a one year subscription of an American teenager magazine. Three magazines from her friend’s older sister’s pile. And a magazine from the friend’s mother’s women issues collection.

They spent two weeks reading at bedtime – weight, body image, self acceptance, diet, food choices, health. Stop eating that junk or you will die of high cholesterol and diabetes, you must eat this and be thin to be safe from fat diseases. Fear-factors in health and mental disorders if one did not have self acceptance. Frizzy hair? Tame those curls. Are your legs too knobby or too fat – if so here is how to dress. Do you think your nose is too big, it’s never too big, love yourself. Do you worry you are different from other teens – just love yourself and embrace their differences too and if you are fat take the obesity challenge together and you will all be so much happier. Will he like you even when you look like that – if not here is how to convince him. If he does not like you don’t waste the cute just be the best you can and be yourself and be sure to be thin and move on. The ultimate question. The pretty, slender girl’s photograph over the hornet-target, confidence-zinger, self-doubt-builder caption, “Do you think you are fat?”

toadstool1And the plush girl wilted.

We know the ropes.

But I cannot in fair conscience leave the plush girl wilted.

After all, we have naïve young women in their teens reading this blog about the lies we are told. We must tell them the truth. Help me out with other scenarios. Your comments are safe, I moderate all comments on my blogs so the haters and fearful ones cannot sting you.

Scenario #1 Plush girl turned skinny/plush/skinny/extraplush/ almost skinny/extraextraplush as a woman. Struggled, fought, kicked, cried and screamed her self-hatred all the way up to three hundred pounds in every effort to chisel svelte from her plush body. Then she got mad. Quit dieting. Embraced her normal food desires, normal exercise of canoeing and biking, gardening and walking. She ended up at an extra-plush two hundred twenty-five pound. The extra fifty pounds she carried now are because she dieted, so it is pretty much a given that her metabolism is screwed for a few more years at least. Oh, and she gave birth to three lovely children so that usually changes everything, except for some women with those-kind-of-genes who remain svelte after birthing their third child twenty-two years ago.

Scenario #2 Someone told her that she was lovelier to them than any of the slender girls in the magazines. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. She bought it and lived happily ever after.

Scenario #3 Plush lush girl had the stamina of an ox and verve of a warrior goddess. She woke up the next morning with resolve that she would not allow these freaking insane publishers and writers change her life. She looked in the mirror and could see her nose was a little big, it matched her plush face just fine. Her knees were a little cushiony but they held up her lush body and made for sturdy walking and ladder climbing. bbw-bicyclingShe could dance the rump off a cow, canoe a wild river, bike up a mountain. Her frizzy hair, when spirited with H2O, regrouped into the halo of curls framing her round shoulders to give her the beauty and balance every portrait artist dreams they will paint.plush-girl-peachHer bosom was ripe like the fruit in the orchard… she read that somewhere in one of her plush great-grandfather’s poetry books.

Plush lush girl exhaled. Then she smiled at the truth in the mirror.


From Paulo Coelho’s Blog: “Mirrors are the attribute of vanity, and represent the narcissistic solitude of the vain. On the other hand, they can also represent the knowledge of oneself, the truth of oneself.”

“Paulo Coelho is a firm believer of Internet as a new media and is the first Best-selling author to actively support online free distribution. See http://piratecoelho.wordpress.com .”

Essa Adams at Women’s Fiction Blog https://essaadams.wordpress.com supports the use of copy from this blog, just link it back to the blog. I am not a bestseller yet, need all the friends and link support you will give. Appreciated! Peace to you and yours.

bbw girl books300 Free Novels — Show me the connection and I will send you a free ebook, A Breath Floats By. Author Thayne Hudson. I am giving way 300 each month in 2009 to anyone who connects this blog to a promotional source like their Facebook, twitter, del.icio.us, myspace, RSS my Amazon.com blog to somewhere out there, and more. Go for it. Then show me where by using a comment. I moderate comments and remove the link so you stay anonymous. Want a free ebook? Link away.

Reincarnation romance - Reincarnation fiction

Reincarnation romance - Reincarnation fiction

The contest was discontinued to keep life simple.

But if you would like a free ebook of A Breath Floats By, just go to ESSA Books and send an email mentioning the contest from Women’s Fiction Blog.   Thank you for checking on us here.  Essa

Scroll down to read the latest posts on Women’s Fiction Blog

Five women’s fiction books on the Women’s Fiction Blog – five authors that I recommend for 2009 reads.  One theme is reincarnation in most, spiritual awakening and /or life awakening in all.  If you read these, please go to Amazon and review, they all deserve attention in an awakening world.

Enjoy – Essa


The Painter’s Gift the-painters-gift-holt-reincarnation-essenes

Author Penelope Holt


The Painter’s Gift… the place of religion in life is more practically divined here. The idea of piecing together a new holy message is appealing, the lead character is worth pulling for. –Clarion-ForeWord

Frankly, I can’t believe that this is Penelope Holt’s first novel! It is truly an excellent, fascinating, and meaningful piece of work. The Painter’s Gift… conveys a powerful message that ‘sticks’ with the reader long after the adventure of reading it is completed. It is a ‘gift’ for all just waiting to be unwrapped!    –Dr. Alex Pattakos, author, Prisoner of Our Thoughts

…Dan Brown’s obsession with (religious) detail doesn’t show up… Essentially, the story revolves around simpler themes of remorse and joy; loss and renewal; and embitterment and faith. Holt presents an interesting concoction of romance and quasi-religious mystery that blends quite seamlessly. She has crafted a pleasantly surprising novel and a solid, quick read. –Five Stars, Bookreview.com



Author Nell Gavin


Nell Gavin has brought Anne Boleyn, the second wife of Henry VIII, to vibrant life in her unusual historical novel, Threads. Anne’s path from that of an unloved and abused young girl, to the position of Queen of England, is presented by Anne herself as she looks back upon the circumstances that eventually led to her execution. Although there really isn’t a lot of actual historical information about Anne, Gavin has created believable personalities with strengths and weaknesses, imperfections and understandable desires. Using a combination of fact and legend, she tells a story of passion, obsession, and heartbreak that will capture readers with its depth and humanity.

….in the end, beautifully coaxes the dark ghosts of a long dead past into the present for an introduction readers won’t soon forget.  Threads is a remarkable effort. It is, without a doubt, one of the best historical novels I’ve ever read. I give it my very highest recommendation!

–Nancy Mehl, author, book reviewer,  Amazon review


A Breath Floats Bya-breath-floats-by-metaphysical-reincarnation

Author Thayne Hudson


An astonishing and beautifully crafted book of the strong currents beneath the thin veneer of modern life.  You may never again view a coincidence in the same light.

A Breath Floats By is about infidelity, divorce, women’s friendship, commitment, cancer, death and the afterlife. The story originates from the philosophy of astrology and numerology, dream interpretation and psychic gifts, the Essenes mysticism and reincarnation, soul mates and life’s sacred contracts. Beneath a timely, gutsy eternal love story, a swirling spiritually-charged world is exposed.

–Heather Fairbairn, Edmonton, Canada

What is important, and fascinating (in A Breath Floats By) is their relationships with one another, including their souls. How one character meets another, and comes to feel that they have known the other before; or one person can love another for years, and yet not feel consummated, in all the senses of the word. How soul and memory play a supremely important part in the loves of real people, if they will only pay attention.

When measured by that yardstick, I am sorry to say that many novels, even best sellers, often seem shallow by comparison.

–Bill Fabrey, NAAFA Founder


Seeking Sara Summersseeking-sara-summers-gabriel-womens-fiction-books

Author Susan Gabriel


The story of Sara (Summers) Stanton sounds like that of many women who live their lives trapped into a life of mostly self-imposed expectations…. the reader is inside Sara’s head all through the story… made the struggle very personal, and somewhat painful. I had this urge to step into the book and scream to Sara it was all right to follow her heart.

Sara’s cancer read to me like an allegory…  it didn’t feel so much like a physical malady but more like a symbol that the way we live our life can just as easily kill us within. Sara’s worst enemy doesn’t seem to be her physical cancer, but the mental one…. I kept focused on that bright light at the end of the tunnel that Sara was navigating, and that I kept hoping she’d reach before perishing of self imposed darkness.

–Amazon reviewer Elena



Author Abra Ebner


Note from Essa Adams — I am including this book because it tickles my fancy – listen to this description, followed by a simple review. Do you feel the comedy coming on…

“…..the book is based on a legend where in the beginning the gods made man and woman, one being, one person. This being was so perfect, the gods grew jealous, ripping the being apart and casting them to earth in their greed… this created man and woman, sharing one singular soul. The woman was the watcher of their soul and the mother of earth – the male was the warrior and strength. But the male also hungered for the soul the female possessed, so their existence together was bitter-sweet, and dangerous….. The story is set in modern times, at a secluded college … where… she finds her other half and her true love. She discovers her life until now was only a fraction of the life she had lived. Immortal, she finds that her past life was lost, torn from her in a moment where she had no choice. Edgar, her other half, struggles to stifle his desire to kill her, choosing love instead, and a life of eternal turmoil.

…complicated… magical world where we learn to appreciate our human ease for love and acceptance. As Elle faces her demons, her friends, and her enemies in a world she never thought possible, where warriors spring from the earth and angels can exist amongst us, she finds a power and happiness she had thought gone forever.” end description

Review …funny, yet endearing, also packed with action, and nothing was sugar-coated, and I like that.  The magical element was seamless and well-backed, nothing seemed too far-fetched, and as the mysteries unraveled I had a lot of fun figuring it out along with the characters. She didn’t give anything away too soon, and the twists were unexpectedly perfect, and eye opening. The story unraveled seamlessly, keeping me intrigued.

–Amazon reviewer Lucy

I thought I was unacceptable then.

I thought I was unacceptable then.

Digging through photos, I found one of me when… Dang!  I looked pretty good. Follow the sequence of photos as I age, you will see what I mean. Young women, take it and run. Understand that we live in the shadow of Barbie. Don’t hide from the camera, no matter your size.

Allowing more photos to be taken of me is only one little resolution though. Being the self-starter, perfectionistic-type, it seems that a more influential plan is in rounding out this one intention with other important goals I know I will meet. And why not write them down? I’ll do them, I will. Really.
Christmas kiss

Christmas kiss

2009 New Year Resolutions

Essa Adams a.k.a. Thayne Hudson






  • More photos taken of me. Check out this progression over the years. I well remember how discontented I was when the photo was taken. Now I like the picture. If that’s my reaction at fifty-ish, what do I think I will be saying when I’m seventy-something?
  • Eat more soup, vegetables, salads. Honestly, my favorite foods.
  • Plant a winter garden on the sleeping porch tables and shelves in January. Use garden lights.
  • Have a load of horse and chicken manure dumped in my back yard. Top with soil and organic compost. In late-March, plant garden.
  • Read all my books on the Essenes.
  • Write A Walk-in Illusion during February-March in six weeks or less, then don’t look for several months.
  • Publish Forever, Moore in June 2009.

Do I have to have ten?

Earliest in series

Second in my aging series








  • Dance every day. One song makes me happier.
  • Bicycle often.
  • Read two novels a month. Review, promote for other authors to reach their dreams. Believe the same will happen for me.

That’s ten. One more…

When I started to really hide from the camera.

When I started to really hide from the camera, eighteen years ago.

  • Spend more time with all the people and fur children I love. If not time, then be closer to them, call them, connect.

Eleven has always been a special number for me. So we have eleven.

Good luck with yours, if you are gullible enough to make any.


The last photo is from four years ago. Though I look younger now, since then, since I was in my teens even, I have hidden behind the camera. But this is a new year. I may hold my granddaughter and pet skunks in front of me, but I will be seen and remembered.

We all want a glow of pleasure from our memories. Let’s not be encouraged us to hide in shame and humiliation of our appearance – to hide from the means for our families to also have those memories after we are gone. Let’s learn to make friends with the camera.

camera not my friend

Camera not my friend, can you tell? Seven years ago.

I wanted to burn this. Now I am okay.

I wanted to burn this. Now I'm okay, really.

~And she was at peace…

December 24, 2008

spiritual awakening for life work We all need our magic spiritual train in life. What a blessing to find that magic when we are three.

I cannot stand waiting for Christmas just for my granddaughter to be able to open her gift. This year Thomas and friends is the magic Christmas present. I traded gifts with my daughter so they could give the train to her, but that doesn’t matter. Well, as long as I’m not the one giving jeans, so when she sees nothing fun in the bag says, “It’s gone.”

You understand if you have been a parent of small children, even older ones, they are so excited for a special gift that may unlock the world for them. Music, art, games, skates, globes, strobe lights, dolls. It’s all good. But does the gift match the child?

My daughter loved her bicycle, and she always was a local round-about. She loved the books, and she is an editor and writer. Loved the six-year-old cat that is still alive eighteen years later, still living with me, torturing me. Not her, the cat.  She walked on the guitar and dissected the dolls, except Cabbage Patch Stacey.

Point is the perfect Christmas gift for a child is magic for their life. The gift is a life awakening experience. Their spiritual blossoming. My belief system also includes Christmas gifts as an awakening to the child’s past lives, but that is just me believing.

This brings us to the magic train set for my granddaughter. I thought I would buy a Cabbage Patch like Stacey. My granddaughter is half way to four, it is time. I considered a little dish set, play dough and a sled. Lame basics.

While I could not find all the basics, my granddaughter and daughter were missing in a worldwide toy store. We finally met again. I am told they found the perfect present. The entire time the little one had been engrossed with a Thomas and Friends train set. Quietly enthralled and at peace.

Yes, at peace.thomas-and-friends-christmas-story

Imagine what these computer toys do to our children. They make us crazy. Ages one to two, she could not quite press play buttons for music or  pads on some learning games. I felt her solar plexus rage, I want to scream obscenities and shake my computer too. Computer hell at age one.

I witnessed my granddaughter, at age three, bashing the fake cell phone against her palm because the child was speaking plain English and the computerized message was redundant. Come on. We’re going to have a country of really ticked off little kids running around.

But the train is magic. The train touched this child’s heart. I believe it speaks to her of past lives. Take what you need here and leave the rest, that’s okay. I believe the train is a life training tool for her future. A spiritual awakening for work she will bring to this world that touches hundreds of thousands of lives.

Will she be a writer of train history? Photographer or illustrator of books? Programmer of new technology?  An engineer for green-powered locally run trains in our cultural return to ecological sustainability. Will she be involved in the movement that pulls vintage trains from their graveyards to recycle them for the coming age of small communities around North America where the local market is actually local, and community’s wide market narrowed to five-hundred square miles? When engineers and drivers come home evenings. When family is reunited.

The magic train I hid under my huge coat. Yes, I paid for it, smile. But before we could leave the worldwide toy store, my daughter pried our pleading, but courageous and well-mannered little one from the exhibit train’s magical presence. A heart-rending scene without a tantrum.

The miracle happened. We passed a DVD box on a corner shelf three aisles away, completely out of place, at my eye-level, on its back no less. Forlorn and affordable with a ripped corner. Thomas’ smiling face, the movie, a caboose, even a little book. Look, I show my daughter who was beside herself with empathy for her daughter. We smile and turn to the little one. Shall we get this to watch the movie? Yes, she smiled. Daughter and I agreed that the surprise is not worth the heartbreak for a child. We had to be shown how to deal with the rending moment.

My daughter when she was half way to four.

My daughter with Stacey when she was half way to four.

That ripped up box for me is the miracle I watch for every day of my life. I know we are being taken care of because these little conveniences, these little coincidences never cease. But I know they are never coincidences. I know an angel placed the box on that empty shelf. It’s my miracle, I can believe.

As we left the worldwide toy store, Dora and Sponge Bob faded. Eh with them, granddaughter had the train movie. I cannot wait for her to open the magic train.

Merry Christmas Eve to all whenever you read these stories.

Essa Adams, Women’s Fiction blog

shortversionredballsBe sure to read Gracie: The Freezing Fake Christmas Ladybug before you go, then enter the novel giveaway for December.

that happy bloated pms feeling

Feeling a little heavy?  PMS make you want to crush someone’s lovely ornaments this holiday?  No, it’s not always a pretty picture. Thank goodness for all the extra sacred chocolate hanging around.

My sister concluded that menstrual cycles seem to flow with the holidays, though this may seem improbable. But then, it is the Winter Solstice, and even I have cramps though I have been menopausal for a few years…. again…oooi.

Sometimes we need to recycle laughs. Here’s one I would read every year of my life and enjoy. Pass it on to a woman – or man – who needs a reality check. This too shall pass. No, really.

—An actual letter from an Austin woman sent to an American company, ******* and ******, regarding their feminine products.  She really gets rolling after the first paragraph. It’s PC Magazine’s 2007 editors’ choice for best webmail-award-winning-letter. I’m just glad these days are done for me.

Dear Mr. Thatcher,

I have been a loyal user of your ‘A*****’ m*** pads for over 20 years and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard Core or Dri-Weave absorbency, I’d probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I’d certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts. But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can’t tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there’s a little F-16 in my pants.

Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered
from The
curse’? I’m guessing you haven’t. Well, my time of the month is
right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently
surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust
and I’ll be transformed into what my husband likes to call ‘an inbred
hillbilly with
knife skills.’ Isn’t the human body amazing?

As Brand Manager in the Feminine-Hygiene Division, you’ve no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers monthly visits from ‘Aunt Flo’. Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it’s a tough time for most women. In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend’s testicles into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey’s Anatomy was written by drunken chimps. Crazy!

The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants… Which brings me to the reason for my letter. Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: ‘Have a Happy Period.’

Are you kidding me? What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness – actual smiling, laughing happiness is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James?  FYI, unless you’re some kind of sick S&M freak girl, there will never be anything ‘happy’ about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlua and lock yourself in your house just so you don’t march down to the local Walgreen’s armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end Your life in a blaze of glory.

For the love of God, pull your head out, man! If you just have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn’t it make more sense to say
something that’s actually pertinent, like ‘Put Down the Hammer’ or ‘Vehicular Manslaughter is Wrong’ — or are you just picking on us?

Sir, please inform your Accounting Department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bull sh*t. And that’s a promise I will keep.  Always.

Wendi A******

WOMEN’S FICTION BLOG NOTE ::: Pass it forward.  RSS back to Women’s Fiction blog for review of the year, creative writing, recipes, spiritual context, guest bloggers and authors. Here you get it both ways, women’s fiction and the truth. You get to figure out which it is.

The Freezing Fake Christmas Ladybug

Gracie: The Freezing Fake Christmas Ladybug

Read Gracie: The Freezing Fake Christmas Ladybug and enter the book-giveaway for December!

What is spirituality to you?

I just read this very open-hearted question on Amazon and had to engage.spirituality is simple

I had to answer because I have been feeling a personal loss through my “the holidays are less than relevant” anxiety this year. So I remember –

For me, spirituality is when I close my eyes and I feel the warmth on my head that tells me I am being taken care of, that my path is good for me.

Spirituality, for me, is seeing clues on my journey, such as key numbers, that are a sign I am close to my purpose or path. I think there is a reason the child’s game, ‘You’re getting warmer,’ is one of the first we learn.

Spirituality is witnessing the miracles all around. May these never cease to bring us wonder. Miracles bring us closer to the Mystery of the Divine.

Spirituality is not knowing a coincidence.  It is understanding that every event in life is a tapestry.

Spirituality challenges the goodness in me to shine, and kicks my butt through conscience, in the here and now, when I am dull.

But mostly, I like the warmth that feels like radiant heat within my heart and power and laughter in my center.  Feelings that come when I am doing what makes me happiest, like writing essays to make people smile (read Gracie: The Christmas Lady bug on first post of this site – live link here).  Spirituality is the feeling of developing a lovely webpage, and birthing a novel, and holding a pet skunk against my heart, and feeding the squirrels and birds before dawn on a snowy morning. This simple spirituality feels really really good.

Essa Adams a.k.a. Thayne Hudson

A Breath Floats By: An Illusion for the Soul

spiritual fiction / visionary / paranormal realism

Skunk Medicine memoirs

Women’s Fiction Blog on WordPress

ESSA Books

All humor aside….no really….

Gracie's sister is running from plastic to window. 'Help me help me.'

Gracie's sister is running from plastic to window. 'Help me help me.'

The life principle of this winter story is respect in marriage.

Relationships aside, Gracie is about respect for nature and balance with our God-given environment. 

ENTER THE CONTEST FOR A NOVEL — Read Gracie – The Freezing Fake Ladybug. Our January Contest Feature Story to win a novel.

First the marriage.

I read all creative writing to hubby. He at least smiles. Yes, I warned him.

Before I ever hit the punchline, first me then his window of plastic film started to get the I-know-what-you-did-to-my-airlock look.

Holiday spirit, zip. He ripped off a foot of duct tape. The hole is an inch, geez.

Phoebe, little sister of Gracie the fake ladybug.

Phoebe, little sister of Gracie the fake ladybug.

Humour aside, his especially, Gracie’s sister is in there now. I can’t go in after her. Huh-uh.

The FAKE Ladybug in My Window

Christmas short story by the Women’s Fiction blog.

Feel good holiday humor, really….

Fake ladybugs are not to be confused with holiday ornaments either.

Fake ladybugs are not to be confused with holiday ornaments either.

Did it move just now? The fake ladybug in my office window behind the plastic film? The thing is right in line with my view of the winter snow garden. Really bugging me.

One of those fake ladybugs.  An imported Asian lady beetle, orange-red with nineteen black dots on its back. The kind that bites hard.  Pees in your mouth this liquorish poison that makes you wail and spit for ten minutes.

How do they get in your mouth? They drink from water glasses. Crawl into salads, mixing with slivered carrots and tomatoes quite nicely.

See how they would fit right in?

See how they would fit right in?






My office has wonderful walls of windows, so we purchased an EdenPure Heater like the one on Paul Harvey, just to keep me warm.  I love mine more than Paul loves his. Then hubby bought me a radiant Heat Dish.   Now our pets sleep in baskets by me where I spin them like rotisserie chickens.

Ask the ladybugs.  Winters are rough in the Great Lakes region. So he applied lovely plastic film to the windows to give them one more layer of insulation. Since I refuse to use drapes or blinds because I don’t want to lose my view of the winter garden, the film is a compromise.

The problem with this bug-thing staring in at me is that hubby is very protective of the film. The technique is in the airlock. So he spends the rest of the winter accusing me of pushing stacks of books, the lamp shade, and my purse into the film which does leave dents. I cannot deny evidence.

One must understand the dynamics of our relationship, of him bringing me sustenance while I create my prose in the office. Autumn onward, I would don gloves, many sweaters with hoods, scarves, jackets, then coats and boots, frozen fingers typing numbly.

Stubborn me with my walls of vintage windows on my vintage office-porch I would not change for the world, freezing to death.

fotolia_1964785_xs-up-cottage-gardenWhat a lovely winter garden though. Birds, wildlife, a tiny lacy cedar tree tipped in ice beads dancing beneath the grey skeleton of the high bush cranberry. I love my trees. My blue wind chimes.

Hubby loves me. So he contours the film, trims the edges within a sixteenth of an inch from the two-sided tape so I never know it is there. Then he uses hair dryer heat to coax the film to completely disappear as it spreads tighter and tighter.

Who would mess with the airlock? Not me. I’m not even touching it.

But the poor fake ladybug got caught between the windows and the plastic film.

Day before yesterday, the bug was lively. Being the coldest day of the year, I felt sorry for it, doubting its survival for more than a few more hours.  I know, I am a heartless fake ladybug hater. That evening when I turned out the lights, I do not remember noticing Fake Ladybug. She had probably frozen to death quite painlessly… right?

She? Yes, she. All ladybugs are feminine in fairytales.

Yesterday was more spring-like. Fake Ladybug was not flying around but she was still there, behind the plastic, mulling how to escape her winter wonderland aquarium. Then she disappeared for several hours. Before I turned off the lights, I checked for Fakie and she was not between the windows, not in cracks as far as I could see.

Fakie? Yes, Fakie. Just as Gracie is a cutesy name for Grace. Fakie. Using ‘ladybug’ in her name is too good for her.

Gracie, still as a nailhead on the iced windowsill.

Gracie, still as a nailhead on the iced windowsill.

Today I come in here to work, five essays exploding in my mind. There is Fakie, still as a nailhead on the white windowsill, staring at me through the plastic film. Eh.

I’m trying to work. And she is either dead or dying.

To my defense, these fake ladybugs can live through the winter. They hide in our insulated homes – all of us – between the drywall and outside wall, then come out in droves in the spring.

Summers they spend in alfalfa fields and when that is harvested, they fly into communities like yours to bite you and your children, stick in your fresh deck stain, pee on your windows, until they settle down and crawl into your house to stink and hibernate – those that are not rolled into the bales to be fed to the poor cows. I wonder if the cows can taste that poisonous vile they spray. Uck.

To my defense, some environmentalist from some agricultural improvement agency decided the United States farmers would be better off with these cold-weather resistant Asian lady beetles instead of old tried-and-true, gentle North American ladybugs who die off in the winter, it seems, and were a bit more sluggish in cold summers ( huh? ) when they were supposed to be eating aphids, I guess, and they say our native ladybugs were not as aggressive on the aphids.

Please. Have you ever seen the close-up images of what North American ladybugs do to a smorgasbord of aphids?

To my defense, once upon a time I always scooped them up to take them outside and make a nice plot of leaves and stones for them to live under far from the house, just like I do for the mice.

To my defense, I used to take my hanging lamps apart to get the fake ladybugs out before they fried their little feet on the bulbs. And when they fry they stink too.

Then one day, hubby got out the shop vac. Who would win? Me, the defender, or him, the warrior?

But too many times the nasty creatures got in my salad.

Sagie, I should have video taped him after he ate the fake ladybug.

Sagie, I should have video taped him after he ate the fake ladybug.

Once my pet skunk  tried to eat one and vomited around the house ten times over, me following with paper towels and the vinegar spray bottle while he squeaked and spit and gagged all over the hardwood floors. You laugh, but it could well be your dogs and cats eating them.

Oh!! Then I drank one of those poisonous devil bugs, so drank ipecac as a chaser to get it out of me.

I let hubby shop vac a gallon of them a week from there on out.

I couldn’t watch, couldn’t stand to hear their little screams as they were suctioned at high power into blackness like a tornado before one is in the center. Could not imagine their little faces when they were left in the stillness of the contractor strength garbage bag he dumped them into everyday.

But within a few weeks of hubby shop vacuuming fake Asian ladybugs, we had no more. And spring after spring our droves were lessened until we gave a sigh.

But now I am staring at Gracie…. I mean Fakie. And I think she was in a different position a few minutes ago. She could still be alive in there.

Not to be confused with iced berries.

Not to be confused with iced berries.

But where would I keep her? What could I possibly do with her? A pet? Humor me. But fake ladybugs are not pet material.

Reminds me of when my daughter kept a slew of horned tomato worms from my garden for pets. But that is another story. Or is it? She, too, named them. Wouldn’t let me toss them in the coffee can of turpentine. Yes, that is what old-time gardeners did with tomato worms, we didn’t want to squish them… it was too gross. Couldn’t let them loose in the woods… they would fly back as a moth and recycle. Tough I should have because they reincarnate as good moths that pollinate vegetable plants.  But what is more vicious to tomato plants than horned worms, I ask?  as I transgress…..

So how do I explain the hole in the plastic film to hubby? Took him hours to contour the film to the window so I would forget it was there.

I can’t stand it. I can tape the hole with clear duct tape. If you don’t know it yet, clear duct tape and plastic wireties really are a woman’s best friend. If you take nothing from this blog, that is what I bestow on you and your life from here on out. May you be blessed with an abundance of clear duct tape and your plastic wireties be all sizes and colours.

Fakie is so still.

I just took out the tiny knife I use for graphics. Sliced a tiny opening, like surgery on Grey’s Anatomy. Put the end of the knife through the narrow hole to pull Fakie out.

And she took off running the other way.

I sliced the hole larger to stop her, but she has quite a bit of life left even if she gave up flying.

I wanted to slice the entire bottom edge of the film along the sill to stop her. I wanted to. But that would be a lot of explaining to do.

I know you wanted me to save her. But get a grip, will you. This is not Tinker Bell. We’re talking Fakie, the fake Asian lady beetle that pees in your mouth when you try to eat her, bites you when you mow the lawn, stinks up the insulation between your walls. Has no natural predators in North America. Apparently not even the freezing winters of the Great Lakes.

So just get a grip.

Gracie freezing in the shade.

Gracie freezing in the shade.

There she is. Hiding around the corner of the window, a little alcove only Fakie can fit into. I feel bad now. At least before I bothered her, Fakie was sunning herself on the windowsill. Now she is plastered to a piece of metal in the shade.

Okay, I need advice here. What would you do? And don’t tell me to spray bug poison through the hole to put her out of her misery. Really, what would you do?

Hours later… Fakie is on the move…. waddles past the slice in the film, to the other side of my window. I try to pull the plastic loose on the other side of the window but hubby has it down to a science, there is no place for leverage without cutting in.

Wait, Fakie comes back by the hole. Thinking fast, I stick the curved end of my bifocals through and scoop her out the hole. She falls on her back on my open journal. Did I mention they spray that noxious poison too and stink up your stuff and hands and when you are trying to get them out of your hair, they spray so you need to shampoo three times? I forgot they do this. My journal, windowsill and bifocals now need washed.

Fakie is playing dead. I forgot they do this too. With no natural predators, one would think that they would not need to play dead here in North America. Do you suppose it will take a few more generations, or could they be thousands of years here before they lose the natural instinct to play dead? I do know they will become even more cold resistant. Good to know for managing winter happy aphids in the winter garden here in the Great Lakes region.

What to do with her? I never did decide. No, I’m not keeping her in a jar until Spring. Get a grip.

I let her fall onto a soft tissue, then tuck her into an old envelope from my office trash basket, fold the envelope securely so she will not get out. Put her into the trash right on top so I can think about what to do with her. Don’t worry, I won’t leave her there. She wanted to hibernate in peace and warmth anyway. While I think where she will hibernate, I will write my next essay.

Obnoxious little fake ladybug.

Read Gracie’s Freezing Little Sister next. Oh yes, and hubby’s response to the airlock issue.


WIN A BOOK EACH MONTH — Please, use comments to tell me what part of Gracie was fictional. From those guessing correctly, one will be chosen to win the book of their choice. Either A Breath Floats By or Skunk Medicine.  Use the poll on upper right for possible answers. Then write your answer in the comments area for this post / story.  Good luck to you.


a-breath-floats-by-big-title-13jpg-180x260Essa Adams is the author of a spiritual fiction romance novel.   A Breath Floats By: An Illusion for the Soul. Penname Thayne Hudson.  Yes, attitude and all, she is a writer of spirituality, really. Excerpts and Chapter One are at ESSA Books.



skunk-medicine-small2She also writes essays on her pet skunks and other fur children, both in blogs and her book, Skunk Medicine: There’s A Skunk In the House! and Other Tail-raising Stories. Pet skunks and Newfoundland dog excerpts are at ESSA Books.



a_kv_113371This blog is entitled ” Women’s Fiction ” because it is about life as a woman. ‘Write what you know.’  ‘Make sure you have suffered enough first.’ Even though most of each story is my nonfiction contribution to life, there is always a part that’s not very true at all.   May you smile with me. Essa


© Copyright December 2008.

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ESSA Books