Tag Archive for: Married Life

The-saga-of-the-thought-stolen-purse/

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Happy Monday!  Because I’m traveling today, I thought I’d leave you with something that ideally will brighten your day.  Note:  My thought-stolen-purse saga happened some years ago, and yes, I’m still married to the guy.  For the record, I didn’t even change the names to protect the innocent.

By Donnell Ann Bell

My day starts out great.  I have Toastmasters at seven-thirty; and at ten till seven, amazed I’m well ahead of schedule, I gather my books, prepared to grab my purse off the counter, which is tucked inconspicuously inside my gray Adidas gym bag.  After Toastmasters, I’m off to the gym.

Only problem is when I scan the counter on this start-to- a-perfect day, my bag is missing.  I can swear I left it right there. Obviously mistaken, I search my usual places—my office, bedroom, the car.  My gray Adidas gym bag is nowhere to be found.

The minutes tick by and I start to sweat.  Now I’ll be late for Toastmasters.  I call my husband at work.  “Have you seen the gray gym bag I left on the counter?”

“No, honey, very busy,” he says.

I hang up on the verge of hyperventilation.  The gym bag in itself doesn’t worry me; it’s my drivers’ license and the valuables inside.  Where can it be?  I know I left it right here.  But now I’m not so sure.  Could I have left it at the gym?  I must have.  I pick up the phone.

woman with lost purse blog

“No, ma’am,” an employee says at my query.  “It’s not in the lost and found and we don’t see it in the locker room, either.”

My great day continues to dwindle.

With no other choice, I search my house a second time, and when I’m positive it isn’t anywhere inside, I phone my husband again. “Les, are you sure, you haven’t seen a gray Adidas gym bag?  I know you’re busy, but it’s really important.  My purse was inside that bag.”

“No,” he replies adamantly.  “I haven’t seen it.”

I scour the house a third time; I miss Toastmasters, becoming more confused and agitated by the second.  I think back.  I came straight home from the gym yesterday.  I made no stops.  And now my poor little ol’ mother in law is in on the action, determined to help. She looks everywhere, including the freezer and the bathtub.

Yep, I’ve been known to put my gym bag in those places!

During our rummaging, I walk into the den and discover a navy gym bag on the couch.  Frowning, I unzip it, discovering my DH’s [dear husband’s] running shoes and his workout clothes inside.  Frankly, I’m ashamed of myself.  I’m jealous that while my gray Adidas bag has gone missing, he still has all of his gear.

All right.  My bag is not in the house, it’s not at the gym, and I went nowhere yesterday.  It’s been stolen.  Time to call the security company that patrols my neighborhood.  The officer reports no calls of intruders, but says a few cars in our area have been broken into.

I call my neighbors, my critique partner and we connect the dots.  While Les and I were out taking a walk last night, someone entered our house.  Thinking it was empty, the intruder became startled when he heard my mother in law. In his haste, he took the closest thing within reach–my gray Adidas gym bag.

I spend the rest of the morning canceling my checks and my credit cards, totally creeped out at the thought of someone invading my home.

When everything is cancelled, I breathe a sigh of relief and tell myself it could have been worse.  At least no one accessed my credit.

Determined to move on from this disastrous morning, I pause to answer the phone.  It’s my husband.  He’s on his way to his run.  He’s calling to inform me he’s taken the wrong gym bag.  You see, his is on the couch, while mine is in the backseat of his car!dead body on a gurney

Before you take undue sympathy and ask if my husband is colorblind, the answer is no.  But he is the victim in my next murder plot.

About the Author:  Donnell Ann Bell writes both romantic suspense and multi-jurisdictional task force plots, keeping close tabs on her theme SUSPENSE TOO CLOSE TO HOME. Black Pearl, a Cold Case Suspense was her first mainstream suspense and was a 2020 Colorado Book Award finalist. Her second book in the series, Until Dead, A Cold Case Suspense was awarded Best Thriller Novel at 2023 Imaginarium Convention in Louisville, KY. Follow her on social media, sign up for her newsletter or follow her blog at https://www.donnellannbell.com

 

 

 

Inspiration Close to Home

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I believe authors–well, most people for that matter, seek inspiration. Perhaps that’s why they will stop perusing social media, or a newspaper article, and hone in on a pull quote or a funny or powerful meme. I’m certainly no different. But as a storyteller, I’m fortunate because I find inspiration each an every morning right inside my home. My husband doesn’t deliberately try to be funny–he just is. He’s a chemical engineer, extremely absentminded, extremely bright, and has a dry wit that people remember.

His funny “Les” stories have often made it onto Facebook where people tell me they belong in a book. I mentioned he’s absentminded. Here’s one that made it into a post. 

Bank Teller from the Drive-thru window: Good morning, Mr. Bell, regarding this transaction, what would you like me to do with it, sir?

Les: Cash it.

Bank Teller: Er, I can’t do that. You’ve sent me your lottery ticket.

Oops. I used to worry when he told me things like this. But it’s been that way since the day I met him. One thing that makes up for his absentmindedness is he is extremely motivated and hard working. He put so much into his career that he often travelled Monday through Friday on road trips, Road trips take a toll on the body, and when he was 50, he was diagnosed with prediabetes. His mother had it, so to say we were concerned, is putting it lightly.  

His doctor wanted to put him on medication. But Les insisted he wanted to try something else first. He’s always been athletic, but there was that weight gain thing, and, along with diet, it would take a while for him to get back into shape. He didn’t wait long. Suddenly, he’d be out the door and running around the block. “Where’d you go?” I’d ask. “For a quick run.”

I lived a lot of years in my former neighborhood and everyone knew us. All at once, that scenario of running around the block turned into running around the neighborhood, and then into 2 and 5Ks. He joined a running club in Colorado Springs, something that wasn’t always the healthiest format, because after the run, there was a whole lot of celebrating–with beer.

Fast forward a a few months, he announced he was ready to do a half marathon of 13 miles. He was so proud of himself after he’d completed it, and he walked around the house calling himself a “Marathon Man.” “Not really,” I replied. “Technically, you’re  half a marathon man.” He took my teasing well, but as he always does, he kept on trekking. 

One day he breezed into the house and announced he’d signed up for the marathon of his dreams. He’d run quite a few by then, so I said, “Where to?” “Antarctica,” he replied. My mouth dropped open. “Les, you hate water. You can’t swim.” “There’s that,” he replied, “but the marathon only takes a few people per year due to environmental concerns, and you have to sign up. There’s a four-year waiting list.” I relaxed. He wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Four years passed and he got the call. “You’re in, Les. You made the cut.” Despite his fear of water, I drove this non-swimmer to Denver International Airport, kissed him goodbye for his 17-day adventure and left the airport. A few minutes later he called and said, “Don, (he calls me Don), could you come back? I forgot my passport in the car.” (Some things never change.)

He experienced seasickness, and rough water, and even the ocean splashing into his bunk at night. This wasn’t a cruise line he was on. It was a charter boat captained by a no-nonsense, serious-minded Russian captain who didn’t speak much English. The phone calls were nonexistent and the e-mails were intermittent. But, darned, if he didn’t finish that marathon–seasickness and all.

Les wearing his medal

Les posing with his seal friends

Couple married aboard ship by Russian captain. (Les was best man)

Majestic scenery

Antarctica peninsula 

As I close out this blog, I’d like to show you the shadow box my sister-in-law made for her brother. It has many of the full marathons Les has run after that scary wakeup call. He has a separate box filled with metals–it’s heavy! He’s run marathons close to home, the farthest, Seattle, New York, and as I said, Antarctica. The toughest one he’ll tell you is the Bataan Memorial Death March, right here in our new home in the deserts surrounding Las Cruces.

Les’s shadow box

I’m grateful for the laughter I experience in my house. More importantly I’m grateful for the inspiration.  How about you? Do you find laughter and inspiration close to home? 

About the Author:  Donnell Ann Bell began her writing nonfiction career at the Colorado Springs Business Journal and Pikes Peak Parent Newsmagazine before turning to fiction. An award-winning author, her most recent success is the 2020 Colorado Book Award for Black Pearl, A Cold Case Suspense. Currently she’s doing edits for book two in the Cold Case series. To learn more you can find her at www.donnellannbell.com  Facebook, Twitter @donnellannbell or Instagram. 

I’m Married to a Planner

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Not a wedding planner or an event planner. I’m married to a
second-of-every-day planner. A month before hunting season, my husband is
compiling his gear. Our bedroom turns into a sea of orange as I roll my eyes.
When we’re in the car going from point A to B, my spouse will tell you
precisely what time we’ll arrive.

As someone who spent a lot of time on the road before he
retired, he had a lot of time to think and to play games with himself. He would
call and tell me, “I’ll be home at 7:57.” 
Not 7:30 or 8 p.m., but to the exact minute. And, ladies and gentlemen, he
usually walked in at the stated moment.

Being married to a life planner has its ups and downs. For
instance, just because he’s a planner doesn’t mean I am. I like a little
spontaneity in the seconds of my day. In fact, being a writer, my muse often
demands it. Flexibility is the name of the game with this girl.  My poor calendar bears the brunt and the inked out scratches of my constantly changing schedule.

What brought about this blog? A phone call I had with my
girlfriend today. She said she and her husband are coming to New Mexico at
Christmas and suggested we might want to meet in Taos for lunch or dinner if it’s convenient. I said that sounds like so much fun, and I’d talk it over
with the dear husband.

But now two hours after I told him, he’s come up with the    route we will take to get from Las
Cruces to Taos, and how long it would take us to get there. I’d literally forgotten
about the conversation until he brought it up. “Les,” I said, “It’s March. We
don’t have to plan this trip until September or October at the earliest.” He stared at me aghast. “By failing
to plan, you are preparing to fail.” 

Thank you Benjamin Franklin. 

The truth is my husband keeps me on target, while ideally, I remind him to take deep breaths and smell the roses. 

Planning’s a good thing, no doubt about it. But so is spontaneity. I often share traits like these in my writing. So interesting to see what makes our characters tick.

Do you have a planner in your life?