Okay folks, I’m back.

I know I haven’t updated this blog in a while, but I haven’t written here for the same reason I haven’t been working on book four of the Rainie Series. For a time, it seems I lost my sense of humor.

For some reason, if I don’t have a sense of humor, Rainie doesn’t seem to, either. I’m not quite sure why that is...

Now, most people consider having just the five major senses enough, and I admit, I do like having a sense of smell, taste, touch, hearing and sight. Like most people, I have had periods of time when I have lost some or all of those; like when I have a bad cold, and I can’t smell or taste anything, and my ears get infected and sound is muffled. I’ve even suffered a reduced sense of sight when I can’t locate my glasses, and carpel tunnel syndrome (from too many hours at the keyboard) has periodically numbed my hands and stolen my sense of touch.

I can handle all of that. It’s temporary, and with the help of my immune system, a bit of therapy and my optometrist, all of those senses come back.

But the sense of humor...ah, folks, that one is a bit trickier. It is a delicate sense, dependent on far more that a couple of taste buds or a few finicky nerve endings. The sense of humor is rooted much deeper, and it takes more than a few arm stretches or a cold tablet to bring it back.

I suspected for a time that someone had somehow stolen it. I took out ads in the local paper:

                                “Lost, one sense of humor.

                                  Well used, but slightly

                                   neglected. Family misses it.

                                  Needs medication.

                                  If found, please return,

                                  NO questions asked!”

Well, that didn’t work, so I decided that either whoever had it liked it too much to give it back, or I had just misplaced it. So, I started searching diligently for it.

I looked high and low, in closets and under my pillow and between the couch cushions, but I couldn’t find it anywhere. So I looked in a couple of local bars and shopping malls and even along the bike path in Niles. Nope, not there either.

So I slogged along in a humorless world for a while, hiding my loss behind faked claims of “LOL” and “Ha ha,” wondering what in the world everyone else was laughing about. But yesterday morning I woke up at four in the morning, as I usually do, stumbled to the coffee pot and poured a nice, hot, steaming mug, and I realized I was smiling.

Now, coffee isn’t particularly funny, unless, of course, you inhale wrong while drinking it and snort some out your nose. That can be funny; gross, as well, but still, kind of funny. But I hadn’t snorted any coffee, so why was I smiling?

Then it came to me. I was smiling because the world itself is pretty funny. It’s full of unplanned and silly incidents, ironic twists, random acts of Karma and a million other things that one simply must laugh at or go mad.

“Ah ha!” I said to myself – I had to say it to myself, because of course no one else in their right mind is up at four in the morning – “There it is! My sense of humor!”

I don’t know where it had been. Maybe it was stuck in the bottom of my coffee mug (which I tend to just give a quick rinse to most mornings, rather than a thorough washing) and the hot, splashing coffee dislodged it. Or maybe I had never lost it at all, but was simply failing to heed it. You know, like when you listen to music playing in the background but you aren’t really listening, until a particular bit of lyric or thread of melody catches your attention and you focus on the song for a moment.

So, I’m paying attention to my sense of humor now, and I vow to never neglect it again! I promise to laugh at stupid jokes and politicians (which are often the same thing) and the craziness in the world that I can’t fix. I swear I will always giggle when I hear a child giggle, and especially laugh at my own mistakes, which let me tell you, are often hilarious!

So, now that I think the world is funny again, it seems that Rainie is pretty amused about being chased by vicious dogs and getting slammed into a wall by a large, hairy naked man.

All is right with the world again.

Forgotten blog

Okay, so I started a blog four years ago, posted once and forgot all about it. I'm willing to bet I'm not the only one!

I would actually prefer to use the old one. It is simpler, with just my name, no silly little dashes to remember, since I'm already asking enough of my readers to remember "Melody Muckenfuss." However, I can no longer access the email associated with that old blog, and all my research through "help" has not shown me a way to change the situation.

So here I am, at "melody-muckenfuss.blogspot.com."

I have begun a campaign to make a public issue of myself on the web. Those that know me know how un-Mel-like that is; I generally prefer to remain out of the public eye, and under the radar as much as possible. However, the Melody I have become, who very much wants to sell her books, has decided that the public eye is the place to be.

I am now "twittering" and actually using my facebook page. Google me, and I pop up all over the place.

I'm all out there, world.

I suspect, like the "goodies" in Pandora's box, that I can never stuff myself back in again.

Wish me well out there in the cold, cruel world!

Why book four isn't finished yet

Sometimes, I am a caregiver, first!


Yes, I have a passion for writing, and the Rainie Series is an important part of my life. But the thing is, like Rainie, I also provide home care for the elderly. I recently lost a much-loved client, but her husband is still in need of home care, so that is where I'm spending my time.

There are days (usually after the loss of a client) when I think it is all too much, and I decide I'm just not going to be a caregiver any more. The pain of losing someone who becomes such an integral part of your life is just too much, and the thought of attaching to yet another person, only to lose them, seems like a foolish thing to do.

And yet, I can't NOT be a caregiver. For all the pain of loss, there is so much good that I gain. I learn from my clients, not just about how things were in the past, but about changing mores and different perspectives on this life we live. I experience other family's dynamics, good and bad, that have made me realize there is no such thing as a "dysfunctional family." They all function, but comparing them is like comparing a blender and a toaster. They have different purposes to serve, and we shouldn't judge how one person's family serves them.

I have learned the benefits of self-sacrifice, and the joy of putting another's needs before mine. I have learned to appreciate the little things in life, like a sunny day or a bouquet of flowers, whatever brings a momentary, if fleeting, joy.

Yes, i will get back to writing Rainie, but I have a few new things to learn, first.

I am NOT a "sitter."


I recently had a call from a lady who wanted to hire me, because her previous "sitter" had quit. Perhaps that was the problem; a "sitter" sounds like someone with absolutely no investment in the client's well being, and therefore no real incentive to remain with them.

I am not a sitter.

I am responsible not only for getting my client up in the morning, but for helping them find a reason to get up.
I make sure they are clean, comfortable and well groomed, as well as safe.
I keep them occupied in mind and body to the best of their abilities, push them to do more if they can and comfort them if they can't.
I keep their environment clean, safe and healthy. I prepare meals the way they prefer them and assist them to eat them. I shop for the food or take them to shop for it.
I schedule doctor's appointments and get them there on time; I take notes so the client and the family will be up to date on the doctor's orders. I call the family or the doctor when I see a problem, since I am often the first one to recognize a problem exists. I remind them to take their meds and monitor side effects.
I make sure their bowels and urinary tracts are on schedule and take appropriate measures if they are not. I clean up when they are incontinent without making a fuss or making them feel as if they have "created a mess." No, this is not glamorous or fun, it is simply something that needs to be done.
I don't get angry when they are abusive or forget my name or they refuse to cooperate. I listen to their stories and smile and respond, even if I have heard them a hundred times.
I wait patiently for them to complete a task, even if I could do it myself much quicker. I encourage their independence and NEVER point out their failures.
I am a stand-in for family when they can't be there. I soothe their fears and share their laughter.
Sometimes I let them eat desert first.

I am not a sitter. I am a caregiver.