Category Archives: Miscellany

Many who know me in real life (or happen to have stumbled across this blog post) know that I gave up sugar on June 1st. Just for the summer, I had said, but when September 1st rolled around, I decided not only to keep it up, but I also dropped chips and crackers, as well.

It’s made a difference. I’m down sixteen pounds. My husband says my moods are less volatile. I think I have more energy and I certainly have more focus. I don’t feel *quite* as slave-driven by food, although my eating habits still could use considerable improvement.

But I’m struggling. I’m struggling this fall with cravings for all sorts of things. It’s because, I’ve realized, fall to me equals food. Fall equals Halloween candy and pumpkin bread, pumpkin pie and Christmas cookies, Christmas sweets and chocolate galore. No wonder fall is my favorite season!

Also, the newness has worn off. It was “easier” this summer, because I was determined. I’m still determined, but there’s no finish line in sight. There’s no time at which I’m telling myself I can go back. This is how it should be, but it’s fanning the flames of inner rebellion, and believe me, my inner rebel is always raring to go.

True confession: In October I ate a smidgen of cookie dough, two sugar cookies, a number of licks of frosting, and one piece of pumpkin bread. Oh, and six mini candy bars on Halloween. Saturday, I ate two cinnamon rolls and a bite of banana bread. Sunday, I had a large mug of hot chocolate. The hot chocolate was heavenly. I was jazzed up, happy, and confident. For three hours. Then I got tired. Last night I snapped at my son.

Today, I am grouchy. I see the pattern. I know it’s the lack of sugar fueling this grouchy person today. And that’s the person I don’t want to go back to. I didn’t like that person, the one who’d gripe at people anywhere, anytime, depending on the level of sugar in her system.

Health and weight benefits aside, the Dr. Jekyll / Mrs. Hyde thing is just not a good look for me.

But it’s a struggle, especially with December closing in. I’ve told myself all along I may have sugar on the major holidays if I want to. So I have Thanksgiving Day and Christmas Day, if I want to. The problem is, I want to right now. I always want to.

I’ve fessed up. I’ve fessed up how close I’ve come to ditching it all and going face-down in the chocolate. It would be easy to do. It’s so tempting to do.

I am an addict, and sugar is my drug.

Help me stay strong, won’t you?

If I were savvier (read: younger), I’d know how to set this to music, maybe make a snazzy video that would set the internet on fire (hey, a girl can dream). But I’m not, so I had to settle for amusing myself with changing the lyrics to Meghan Trainor’s beloved “All About That Bass” (which I adore) to something that we writers and book lovers might hopefully adore.

“All About That Book”

Because you know I’m all about the book
‘Bout the book, no movie
I’m all about the book
‘Bout the book, no movie
I’m all about that book
‘Bout that book, no movie
I’m all about the book.
‘Bout that book.

Yeah, it’s pretty clear, I got reading to do
Got one big TBR list
Paperbacks; Kindle, too.
‘Cause I bought that bestseller that all the moms chase,
and all the hardbacks from sci fi to YA.

We see those screenwriters trying to change the plot
we know those lines ain’t real
come on now make it stop
We want the complex story, no perfect cast
Cause every word of you is perfect
from the first page to the last

Yeah, my mama she told me, “Don’t read that without a light”
She said, “You’ll hurt your eyes if you read in the dark at night.”
You know I won’t be at any stupid midnight premiere
So if that’s what you’re into, then go now; I’ll read right here

Because you know I’m all about that book
‘Bout that book, no movie
I’m all about the book
‘Bout the book, no movie
I’m all about that book
‘Bout that book, no movie
I’m all about the book.
‘Bout that book.

I’m bringing reading back
Go ahead and tell them ticket sellers that
The big screen renders complex stories flat
But I’m here to tell ya
Every word of you is perfect from the first page to the last

Yeah, my mama she told me, “Don’t read that without a light”
She says, “You’ll hurt your eyes if you read in the dark at night.”
You know I won’t be at any stupid midnight premiere
So if that’s what you’re into then go now; I’ll read right here

Because you know I’m all about the book
‘Bout the book, no movie
I’m all about the book
‘Bout the book, no movie
I’m all about that book
‘Bout that book, no movie
I’m all about the book.
‘Bout that book.

Because you know I’m all about the book
‘Bout the book, no movie
I’m all about the book
‘Bout the book, no movie
I’m all about that book
‘Bout that book, no movie
I’m all about the book.
‘Bout that book.

Because you know I’m
All about that book
‘Bout that book, no movie
I’m all about that book
‘Bout that book, no movie
I’m all about that book
‘Bout that book, no movie
I’m all about that book
‘Bout that book
‘Bout that book, ’bout that book
Hey, hey, ooh
You know you like that book!

My sweet daughter came to me this morning, clutching my hip as tears streamed down her face. “I had a sad dream,” she exclaimed, sobbing hard.

“I’m so sorry.” I smoothed her hair. “I hate sad dreams. But the good thing is, they’re only dreams. They’re not true.”

She looked up at me, panic and grief etched in her expression. “But what if it comes TRUE?” she wailed.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” I imaged she had envisioned something truly awful, like her father dying or the world ending or something equally disastrous.

Gulping air, she nodded. “I dreamt I was in fourth grade,” she began, looking at me with anxious eyes. “And I was…I was…I was in one school while HE was in another!”

It was all I could do not to laugh. My daughter, my darling daughter, was angsting about the current object of her affections not being in school with her next year. When I reassured her as to how unlikely that was, she yelled, “But he MOVED in the dream, mom!”

My little bleeding heart romantic.

I knew it would be of no use to tell her it was unlikely Mr. Current Love would be her Forever Love, or even next year’s love. Maybe he won’t even be next month’s. I knew, because I was just like her at her age.

May she grow up to find her True Love, even as she discovers herself and celebrates who she is and what she can do. For in my world, being feminist and independent are in no way incompatible with seeking one’s own Happily Ever After. In fact, they enable it.

It’s one of the reasons I love romance novels. Most of them feature strong, independent heroines who aren’t ashamed to admit (at least by the end of the story) that wanting love, that seeking that intimate connection with another person in no way limits who they are or what they can do, but rather fosters immense personal growth.

I don’t fight against the part of me that craves romance, the part of me that loves sappy stories, the part of me that focuses wholly on my relationship with my husband. I celebrate it. I celebrate it, even as I cringe when watching my emotionally expressive daughter, knowing she’s going to get her heart broken at some point or another. A person who feels so deeply can’t avoid that. Nor should she, I guess. It’s how she will figure out who the right frog to kiss is, the one who’ll end up being her prince.

And if she decides eventually that being her own princess is enough, no prince required, I’m good with that, too.

Although I am hoping she’ll let go of the Drama Queen crown.

When my husband and I were first getting to know each other back in the 1990s, we spent a lot of time emailing. A lot. After a while, I began to notice that all of the “timestamps” on my then-boyfriend’s emails ended with 37 – as in, his message had been sent at 08:24:37 or 12:54:37 or 01:10:37.

This amused me to no end, because 37 was and always has been my favorite number. “How crazy is it,” I said to him once, “that all your emails come in with that timestamp? It’s as if we were destined to be together!” (OK, I think I said something like that. I have a bad memory. Let’s go with it.)

To which he responded, “I’ve been doing that on purpose.”

“What?”

“I sit and wait until the second hand reaches 37, and then I push send.” (See? We’re old. This was back in the day when you could do that. Or at least he could; I wouldn’t have known how to see said timestamp.)

He said all of this very matter-of-factly. No blushing. No sheepishness.

I thought it was the most romantic thing ever.

Yesterday, my then-boyfriend-now-husband came home and said a student had asked him in class why my husband always uses 37s in his coding examples.

“You do?” I exclaimed.

“Sure,” he answered, again very matter-of-factly.

“What did you say?”

He shrugged. “I told them it’s my wife’s favorite number. They laughed a little.”

Seventeen years later, and he’s still thinking of me and catering to my weird number fetish, even when I’m not there to know.

That’s true love, folks.

Whew! It took two weeks and some fierce negotiations and work on my computer science husband’s part, but WAHOO, MargaretLocke.com is BACK!

I look forward to updating the site and staying in contact with everyone, but for now, what I really want to say is, I have the best husband ever. Thank you, sweetie!!!