For the Honor of House Driks

According to their religion, my kids became adults at their B’nai Mitzvah. But to truly be seen as an adult around here, a child must make a meal. Darling Youngest has been gleefully diving into baking as well as cooking during the pandemic. The Darling Eldest however has managed to shirk off anything more involved than boxed mac n’ cheese—at least until now.

The last week has seen some pretty rough times for a bunch of my friends. Their stories are not mine to tell, but when the going gets tough, the Drikses get cooking. Darling Eldest was feeling particularly frustrated by his inability to help, so my husband suggested that he cook a meal for a family. Not just any meal, but the legendary Driks meatloaf, which has been passed down on my husband’s side for a couple of generations and is one of the most anticipated meals by several families when we vacation together.

In some ways, this was a big treat for my husband. As much as he loves to cook, he loves it even more when someone is in the kitchen cooking with him. And getting to teach one of his offspring a meal that has a place in family lore is a double bonus.

I think Darling Eldest might have been a wee bit intimidated by both the manic gleam in my husband's eye and taking on such a well-loved family meal. But after getting some grumbling out of the way, he showed up in the kitchen, ready to learn. 

As with creating the perfect cast, to make the perfect meatloaf, you've got to get loose.

(Fun fact, Darling Eldest's name was partially inspired by this movie.)

To (only) his shock, it came out quite well. He was so impressed with himself that he made a second meatloaf the very next day, this one to keep for ourselves as we celebrated his second by-line. I don’t think he’s in a hurry to tackle the equally as legendary Driks challah bread any time soon. But in this time of Covid when things to celebrate are far and few between, at least my Darling Eldest now knows he can put together some tasty comfort food both for himself and anyone who could use a bit of comforting.

Song Choice: What else, but Eye to Eye from the Goofy Movie

This blog post was created as a response to the Weekly Scribblings prompt given at Poets and Storytellers United, Writing About Food.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Why Is This Night Different From All Other Nights?

I told my husband to never doubt a Latina’s love when she is willing to go 8 days in her own home without rice. My husband is Jewish, and one of his big holidays is Passover. Someone once described Passover to me as “Jewish Thanksgiving” (a popular meme describes it as “They tried to kill us. They failed. Let’s eat.”) But it’s hard for me to work up thankfulness (or enthusiasm) for 8 days of no bread, rice, or beans. Not to mention the work that goes into prepping the house.

To say this year was different is an understatement. To start, the boisterous gathering that is the Passover seder was off. Going on a treasure hunt for toilet paper and other basics also took priority over hunting through multiple stores for Passover specific foodstuff.

Have I fantasized about skipping Passover before this? OK, yeah. But not like this.

We didn’t do any major preparation. We didn’t bother to use up the explicitly non-kosher for Passover food beforehand. But we did joke that despite not having the things that made it a traditional Passover, in some ways this was the most Passover-y Passover ever. We had to make do with whatever kind of food we could find—a tiny roast, one box of matzoh, apple sauce instead of haroset for example. There was a literal plague we were hoping would pass over our house. And do not get me started on the stand-in for the Pharaoh.

A seder did end up happening over Zoom. As expected, we got extreme close-ups of the ears and noses of the folks who weren’t as used to technology as others. We went with a very simplified version of the seder to make things easier. But the interaction between family was still warm and lively. And the singing…well, the singing was as it always was, with all the gusto and heart of the Von Trapp family. None of pitch or tone mind you, but all the heart, and volume fueled by four cups of wine.

You know, this year I didn’t mind it so much. But I’ll still be sneaking rice when no one is looking. Can’t let it go to waste.

We did manage to score delicious macaroons
in a Marvelous Mrs. Maisel tin. With all the time I saved
not doing Passover prep, I made masks.

Song Choice: OK this is a lot longer than one song, but I couldn't not mention the Saturday Night Passover Seder which is raising money for the CDC. There's a lot of fun music, funny bits, and my husband was really moved by it.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Nevertheless

Dear descendant,

Right now your ancestress

is reminded of the time

she was warned

about a super storm bearing down.

Everyone else made jokes

right up until they saw

the eerie green sky,

that turned skeptics into believers

in a baptism by hurricane.

Is the sun shining while you are reading this?

Are you sharing hugs

with all the folks you love

free from the feeling

that your touch has doomed them.

I hope so.

Sometimes it seems

that the time you live in

is more real to me than mine

because I can imagine

some sort of normal existing there

that isn’t possible here.

In this time, my time,

there’s ugly trying to choke

the bright out of anything

that wants to shine.

Your ancestress,

she was given an explanation

for this vacuum of leadership.

Some had their reasons you see

to keep dancing with all the devils

that brought them to the party.

But there is more than arrogance and disdain

flowering in this time too, dear descendant.

There were folks all lined up

at a local grocery store

waiting their turns to shop

their friendliness still able to reach

their fellow shoppers and the store employees

from six feet away.

There’s folks checking in their neighbors.

People who bring in other people’s kids from the cold.

There are people sharing their talents

over electronic campfires,

patching over the frayed bits of life

with colorful fabric of their own weaving.

There’s people sharing what they have

to make things last

just a little longer, until this is over.

Which makes me hope

there will be a tomorrow

when this ancestress can hand off her letter

to a future generation

who will understand what she means

when she says love is what saved us in the end,

despite devils and skeptics.

Nevertheless, she persisted.

Pandora by John William Waterhouse

Song Choice: Dear Winter by AJR

This piece was created for Weekly Scribblings #12 at Poets and Storytellers United, Nevertheless, She Persisted. You can hear me read this poem out loud on my Instagram and Facebook pages.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Cosplay on!

I’ve always admired the geektasticness of cosplay. For those of you not as steeped in nerdiness as I am, cosplay is when folks dress in costumes meant to resemble their favorite characters in film, television, comics, books, etc. (here’s a quick little video to give you some visuals). Cosplay can be seen as a tribute of sorts to those works of art that inspire the cosplayer in some way.

The first time I cosplayed was my senior year in college with my then boyfriend (now husband).

We went as Green Arrow and Black Canary
as we both were really into that series back then.

I really haven’t done much cosplaying since then, because it can be a time consuming (as well as money consuming) hobby. But quite recently, my whole family is in planning mode. An honorary niece has a Bat Mitzvah coming up, and she has asked that her guests come in cosplay.

We’ve been joking around a bit about who we should dress up as. I’ve trying to convince my husband that Miss Crumble (Daybreak) and Koro-sensei (Assassination Classroom) could be a very workable couples' costume as they are both dedicated educators (who also happen to be batty). Darling Youngest is lobbying for something Steven Universe based (they want to be Steven and thought the hubby and I could be Greg Universe and Amethyst…they really don’t care what their older sibling does). The hubby would like to consider more options. Darling Eldest is in the middle of college classes but will probably figure out something during spring break.

I do know for sure what one of the cosplays will be. The Bat Mitzvah girl is a big reader and she wanted to base her cosplay around a short story she really liked…one of mine! The kiddo is going as Cordelia from “Make Mischief Not War”, from my short story collection, The Trouble with Wanting and Other Not-Quite Faerie Tales.

Yeah, I got misty-eyed. This is kind of bucket-list territory for me, having someone like one of my characters that much. I’m going to be so stoked to see “Cordelia” swing dancing in a ballroom.

Song Choice: Talk Nerdy to Me

So are there any cosplayers out there? Any suggestions for costume ideas? Feel free to make them in the comments section.

This blog post was created for Weekly Scribblings #7: This is a Tribute

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

The Apple

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,

except of course when it does.

And who’s to say what will happen

once it’s done falling.

Especially if it has a good view

of the valleys all around it

with hills just perfect for rolling in.

The Son of Man by René Magritte

Song Choice: How Far I'll Go From Moana

This poem was created for the Weekly Scribblings over at Poets and Storytellers United. 

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Corgi and the Ramp

We aren’t 100% sure of how old our Kit is. The rescue organization estimated he was about 3, and we’ve had him for 6 years. That puts him at 9. Like our first dog, Faye, he’s a corgi. But unlike Faye, he’s lazy. He was a whopping 45 pounds when we adopted him, compared to Faye’s top weight at 19 pounds. And also unlike Faye, who was notoriously picky, Kit eats like he’s unsure of his next meal.

Corgis can develop back problems when they are too heavy. Despite our best efforts to whittle down his weight, things came to a head this last holiday season. We don’t know what his life was like before he came to us, but we do know he’s terrified of loud noises—whether it’s loud laughter, expressions of disgust during video games, or teen bickering. When things get noisy, Kit likes to retreat into our bedroom. The trouble is, that’s on the second floor. After a week of going up and down stairs several times a day, he was done.

The vet said it was vertebral disc injury, but it was too soon to tell how bad it was. His stomach wasn’t doing so great either, so mild meds, acupuncture, and rest (no stairs) were recommended. We got him a ramp to deal with the last issue.

He wasn’t keen on it at first. We tried to tempt him into using it by setting it up to go to the window seat. If he couldn’t chase squirrels, at least he’d be able to bark at them. He sniffed but refused to trust the odd new addition. We want to keep him less pudgy, but he was getting better enough to be sassy and try jumping up and down off things. Low-cal rewards were clearly the lesser evil. And it worked. 

I need to be fast folding it out, because he can be impatient and try a leap he has no business attempting. Still I’m thrilled that the acupuncture is working so well, and even more miraculously he doesn’t seem to mind it. We’ll still need to keep an eye on his back, but hopefully he has plenty of squirrel chasing years ahead of him.

Kit near his downstairs dog bed, wondering what I am doing.

Song Choice: Jump by Van Halen

This essay is linked to Poets and Storytellers United's Weekly Scribblings #4

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

The King of the Bus Stop: Blogging Around with Rommy Week 45

I thought I knew what stubborn was, but that was before we rescued Kit. Oh I knew corgis could be stubborn, thanks to my first dog, Faye. But Kit has taken corgi stubbornness and elevated to a Michelangelo level of artistry.

Nowhere is this more obvious than at around 8:30 am every morning. You see that’s the time the elementary school bus comes around our neighborhood. And Kit knows that not only is the bus stop filled with children lining up to rub his belly, he knows the bus driver always has treats on hand for any dogs that happen to be around.

This is slightly mortifying for me as my children are well past elementary school age. There is no reason to be at the stop. But if Kit just sees one child heading in that direction, he will tug on his leash until my husband or I bring him there. This dog, who is known for the most part to be a lazy fellow, will sprint if he hears the bus coming down the block. He has also been known to have an attitude if we are late getting him out and he misses the bus.

It’s gotten so bad that every time Kit sees a bus, he assumes it’s his bus and won’t budge unless its proven otherwise (the bus drives past with no one paying any attention to him and no treats getting tossed his way).

While this can be very exasperating, especially when I’m trying to get him to take care of business quickly between errands, I can’t stay annoyed for long. I remember how shy he was when we first adopted him, a few months after Faye passed away. He grew to love and trust us, and we were grateful for his cuddly derpiness after what had been a sad time in our lives. I don’t know why his previous owners gave him up, but I’m glad he’s part of our family now. A little stubbornness now and then is a very small price to pay for that.

If I stay perfectly still
maybe I'll get a cookie

This essay is linked to Poets United Pantry of Prose and Poetry

Song Choice: Whenever I see Kit waiting for a bus I often imagine the Wells Fargo Wagon song from the Music Man playing in his head.

Week Off

This last week was extra crazy because of my darling youngest's wisdom tooth surgery (well, teeth actual, all 4 wisdom teeth + one molar) and general holiday tomfoolery. I'll be doing BAwR again next week. For now I'll be sleeping off the turkey coma.

Zzzzzzz...

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

There Must Be Some Misunderstanding: Blogging Around with Rommy Week 35

My second biggest fear in writing was being misunderstood (my first biggest was being afraid of it stinking). It’s understandable. I think a lot of us express ourselves artistically to let loose some part of ourselves. So people sometimes see misinterpretation of their art to directly equal a misinterpretation of who they are.

It’s fair to feel let down. On the other hand, when we share art we have to expect people will view it through the lens of who they are. For example, the thought of tea parties gives me the warm fuzzies, but to Virginia Woolf “even a tea party means apprehension, breakage”. People’s first (and sometimes only) responses are usually tied to the emotions and thoughts most familiar to them.

Do I like it when people overlook some of the bleeding heart bits I season my work with? No, not particularly. But do I like it when something I wrote really touches a reader, intentionally or not? Heck yeah!

I’ve written things that are 100% true, but phrased them in a way that could have multiple interpretations--Honey for example, which a lot of people assumed was about an affair. Debra from She Who Seeks got the closest when she asked if it was about Winnie the Pooh.

It was about my husband – and how his formerly out-of-control sweet tooth led to his diabetes. I’ve often said I’d trust the man in a house of ill-repute, unless the house of ill-repute was loaded up with baking supplies, in which case he’d spend the whole night preparing culinary masterpieces so the ladies could carb load for energy.

Photo by Patrick Fore on Unsplash

My husband’s response to the piece was eye-rolling and saying, “At least you didn’t kill me off again.” He insists that some of the poems I’ve written make it sound like he’s dead (to which I respond that the petite morte poems I’ve written have a solid grounding in fact, thanks to him). It just goes to show that even someone close to you can see something wildly different than you intended. 

Being misunderstood isn’t my number two fear. Persistent typos after several rounds of edits take that spot.

This essay is in response to Moonlight Musings Interactive Edition over at Poets United 

Song Choice: I Want Candy by Bow Wow Wow

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Fare Thee Well: Blogging Around with Rommy Week 31

Photo by Anders Jildén on Unsplash

Wind scatters petals
sighing perfumed memories
as they fly away.
Still, I am grateful for spring
and the sight of the full bloom.

This poem is linked to the Tuesday Platform over at Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads.

Liner Notes for this Groove: Someone who has been a dear friend to my husband and me since college is going to be moving away this week. Logically we know this is the best thing for him and his family. The cost of living will be much less, there are older relatives there who need care, and littles who will be adored by said relatives. But even though we live in a golden age of communication, we're still really going to miss the whole family.  

We got to spend some time with them before they headed out on Sunday. First we did Chinese buffet and as Ella Leya said in The Orphan Sky, “The conversation ran as fluidly as the tea out of the samovar’s crooked nose.” Then we hung out in our mutual friends' arcade and played like we were still all college kids (until the aforementioned little ones were ready to drop). It was one of the best ways to say goodbye that I could have imagined. 

Here's to Woody and his family...safe travels, best of luck. House Driks will miss you.

Song Choice: Saying Goodbye from Muppets Take Manhattan

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Exhausted: Blogging Around with Rommy Week 29

Don’t know if I can

shake off soul deep exhaustion,

when breathing feels brave.

This poem is linked to Imaginary Gardens with Real Toad’s Tuesday Platform.

Liner Notes for this Groove:

“I don't want tea, I want justice!” ― Ally Carter, Uncommon Criminals

To say I’m emotionally drained after this weekend is an understatement. I was already feeling a little less than my perky self when I got involved in a conversation that started when an extremely stupid clueless woman tried to appeal to my husband to agree with her that the current occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue is not a racist. (It was, however, more than slightly glorious to watch her shock as my normally soft-spoken husband told her where she go with her nonsense.)

Then I heard about the shooting. And the reason why the shooter did it. There is something profoundly unsettling when you know that you are part of the group a gunman in a recent massacre was hoping to target.

There’s a lot I could blather on about. A bunch of small things I hoped would go my way just didn’t. I could say that’s what’s bothering me if people ask. I probably will use one of those as an excuse, depending on who's doing the asking. But it’d be a lie.

Can't lie to myself though. It's not terribly helpful in the long run. I can do neither more or less than let myself acknowledge what I'm feeling, and work through it as best I can.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Artwork by Cristal Gutiérrez.
See more of her gorgeous art on Instagram and her Etsy store.

Song Choice: No Es Mi Presidente by Taina Asili

Reconnecting: Blogging Around with Rommy Week 26

I remember singing you

a mermaid’s melody,

not too far past a child myself.

Fourth of a set of seedlings,

bringing petals and rings

on an overcast day

where I was too busy smiling

and waltzing with my daydream

to care too much about a little rain.

I’m glad I stopped by

to see you at almost the same moment

where I was when I met you.

You’ve already started dancing

to your song. No rain will stop you

from being the queen in your story.

Liner Notes for this Groove: I am finally back home from Maine! The ride home was made easier thanks to a small side trip to visit a niece I hadn’t seen in years. We were much closer when she was little, but life and the busy nonsense that consumes so many of us kept throwing up roadblocks to staying in touch. I was so happy to get to know her (and her husband-to-be) again after such a long time apart.

When I realized that my teas were packed in such a way that it'd be difficult to get them out of the rooftop carrier without fully unloading, I asked her if she happened to have any tea at her place--and resigned myself to be content if she only had coffee. Instead she showed me to her well-stocked tea collection and we caught up over some lovely English Breakfast in the morning and Jackfruit Honey Black in the afternoon. Robert Godden once wrote, “At Christmas, tea is compulsory. Relatives are optional.” Hopefully she’ll make it to the next family Hanukah gathering and we’ll share another cup of tea then too.

The niece I visited (left) and another niece, her older sister (right) at my wedding.
I have seven biological nieces and three so-close-they-may-as-well-be-family nieces.

So have any of you ever had the opportunity to reconnect with a relative or old friend? Talk to me about it in the comments or just start up a chat on how you've been doing. If you want to take the conversation onto your page, don't forget to drop a link.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: I Hope You Dance by Lee AnnWomack

Just the Basics: Blogging Around with Rommy, Week 24

My family is as drawn to the ink-blue bays of Maine as surely as the mosquitoes are drawn to drinking our blood. But any space not reserved for bug-spray is at a premium. We are four travelers with interests that accumulate stuff—stuff to entertain ourselves and stuff to share with the near-family that meets us there.

My husband’s hoard glitters with dice scattered over decks stacked with monsters and mountains, resting on a foundation of books that have helped him build adventures with stranger things. My son dithers in deciding which author will be his tour guide during the moments not filled by games and exploring the shore. My daughter is ever prepared for microdisasters. Her bags hold the bug spray and band aids. She is keeper of the snacks, plotter of bathroom breaks, and monarch of the mundane but easily forgotten things.

I of course have my realm of tea.  Noel Coward’s fearful question “Wouldn't it be dreadful to live in a country where they didn't have tea?” hovers over when I pack. It would be dreary to go two weeks without my favorites, and I cannot disappoint my near-niece and god-daughter and leave their preferred blends behind either. Fortunately for me, my words travel well, even to places with lackluster wi-fi. And that ink-blue bay works wonders for my inspiration.

Two weeks of life crammed

pell-mell onto a car roof.

I unpack it all,

brewing my words and good tea

steeped in the sight of the sea.

I always look forward to the view from the cabin every summer. Is there anything
you are looking forward to this summer dear Groovers? Let's talk in the comments.

 

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: In the Sea by America from the movie The Last Unicorn

This poem is linked to Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads' Tuesday Platform.

Taming of the Food Satan: Blogging Around with Rommy Week 21

Bounty equals bane

when it weakens strong resolve.

Love adjusts its course.

This poem is linked up to Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads' Tuesday Platform.

Liner Notes For This Groove: While I can’t say I’m in bad physical shape, I’ve been trying hard to get better. I’m becoming a champ at sportsball (scored the winning goal last week). I’m also stronger enough in general that I noticed I’m a lot smoother getting up and down from full seiza position in a kimono. But as everyone knows, no health regimen is complete without taking food into consideration.

That’s where things get tricky. My dear, sweet, loving husband has a dark side. Our friends have given him a nickname to describe it—Food Satan. This man knows what tempts you. He can find a gourmet shop in the wilderness (no really, once on a vacation in Maine, in a cabin on an island where you can go days without seeing anyone who isn’t in the cabin with you, he found a store specializing in fancy food and brought a ton of it back with him). People like putting him in charge of bringing food because not only can he find the tastiest prepared treats, he’s also a pretty amazing cook.

My husband is also one of those people who shows love through food. And if you haven’t guessed by reading some of my poetry, we still really dig each other. So for much of my marriage I’ve been showered in impromptu treats of fancy chocolates, beautifully prepared steaks, assorted rich desserts, and matcha lattes. There have been times, when like Jane Austen I'd declare, “But indeed I would rather have nothing but tea.” And he'd return with tea—and a caramel-chocolate-nut-carbohydrate bomb that equals half the caloric requirement a woman my size needs for the day.

 

I know this was a goofy meme, but I'd seriously hang this up as a print in my house.

Changes needed to be made.

It is still a work in progress. I’ve had to remind him occasionally that while I love his thoughtfulness, maybe when it comes to food it’s best not to “surprise” me. But this last Sunday when he went out in search for a cup of coffee from one of his favorite shops he asked me if I wanted a latte first. I told him I had already planned to whip up a lower calorie, homemade version with one of my favorite teas as a treat. And all he brought home that day for me was a kiss.

But he the next day he came home with a ton of turkey bacon and lamb steaks. Yeah, baby steps…baby steps.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Everybody Eats When They Come to My House by Cab Calloway

Caffeine is Caffeine is Caffeine: Blogging Around with Rommy Week 11

Small sprouts have a lot

to teach stiffened trees

about bending in the rain

and loving the way

water collects on new leaves

to refract the sunlight after a storm.

This poem is linked to Imaginary Gardens with Real Toad's Tuesday Platform and Poets United 445.

The Liner Notes for this Groove:

It all started with a burst of caffeine. I know I asked my mother-law-for decaf. She swears she got me decaf. But about 16 years ago I knew a few things after I finished that coffee. A.) That was probably not decaf and B.) the expected jitters from said cup of coffee felt a lot more intense around my abdominal region, so even though it was a couple of weeks early I was fairly sure labor had started.

By dawn the next morning I was looking at my new-born kiddo, Rose. I suppose given her entrance into this world it shouldn’t surprise me that she’s become something of a caffeine enthusiast. So is she a coffee drinker like her dad or a tea drinker like her mom? I think Rose would most likely relate to the quote by Abraham Lincoln, “If this is coffee, please bring me tea; but if this is tea please bring me some coffee.” She cheerfully partakes of either as the whim takes her (she had one of each on the last day of being fifteen) because she sees no reason to place limits on enjoying things that make her happy.

As she’s making the transition from kid to very interesting young lady, she is vocal about expressing who she is, from her vivid and unabashedly geek chic clothes to her retro taste in music (on vinyl, if you please). And her joy is infectious. I wish I had felt confident enough to release my inner geek to run free in a frenzy of pixie-stix fueled glory. But seeing her happily embracing her quirkiness is the next best thing. Being her mom has taught me a lot about the magic that can happen when you are fully and authentically yourself, both as a writer and as a person.

I got a small print of this painting, AmanitaTea, 

when I ordered a larger one from Art by Lady Viktoria, 

and something about it just struck me as so Rose-like, I had to use it here.

So dear Groovers, what’s your preferred method of caffeine delivery? Or do you want to talk about a time when being authentically yourself made things interesting? Make your thoughts known about these questions or just catch me up on your week in the comments section. As always, you can drop a link to your cyber home if you want to elaborate on any comments you’ve left here.

Song Choice: The theme song from one of our favorite shows to watch together, One Day at a Time

The Quest for Gronk: Blogging Around with Rommy, week 8

Love’s work

sometimes requires adventures

you’d never dare take on your own.

This poem is linked to Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads' Tuesday Platform and Poets United's Poetry Pantry 442.

Liner Notes for this Groove:

For anyone new to this blog, I ought to point out that there is high geekery ahead. You have been warned.

My husband and I cemented our college relationship with activities like dressing up in medieval garb and playing Dungeons and Dragons together. He was among the first DMs I had (that’s Dungeon Master to you non-geeks. Also that title has nothing to do with any sort of shades of gray, so get your mind out of the gutters🤣). A DM’s job is to create an overarching story/plot that acts as a framework for players to interact with. Being a DM not only requires a lot of creativity (to set up the details of the adventures – what places might they visit, what is the main situation the players have to deal with, who will they interact with in that situation and what are their motivations, etc.) but it also requires patience. Because as meticulously as they might set up their world, there’s always one giant variable – the players.

So on one of our recent morning walks my husband told me about his latest gaming craziness. It seems one of the player characters made some exceptionally terrible decisions and ended up in a hell dimension. My husband expected the rest of his party (the other people playing that particular game) to heroically sally forth and rescue their poor friend. The party took a vote and decided on, “Nah, we have better things to do.”

As you might imagine, the player trapped in the hell dimension was miffed at the lack of concern. He went onto a gaming website, describing his plight and got several people saying the plot sounded interesting enough that they’d be willing to save him if they were playing the game. My husband, who really did feel bad for the player as it was one of his oldest friends, also commented and said he’d be willing to run a side adventure if people we serious about saving the guy.

He got 40 responses (DM’s usually run 3-5 people per game. 10 is a lot). The end up is my social media hating husband now is in a Facebook group trying to herd 40 people he’s never met before through a system that is random enough when only a tenth of that amount plays. Well, 40 plus his one goofball friend who should have not messed with mystical items that are known for randomly dealing out catastrophic problems.

What keeps me from laughing too hard at my poor beloved’s plight is that I’ve often bit off more than I can chew with some of my interests. For instance, when my writing partner and I were poking sharp sticks at my latest writing idea, she pointed out that I will need to do no small amount of research to get things right. “Not a problem,” I told her. I love reading up on new topics. Well, my “To Read for Research” list is beginning to resemble starter hoard for a young dragon.

I foresee several afternoons with my husband and I sitting side by side with our laptops, healthy snacks placed between us (we’re old, we can’t pound back chips and soda like college kids anymore), sharing some of the highlights of what we’re currently working on and griping about these damn characters who have minds of their own. Fortunately for both us, we are both fond enough of our interests that we can handle it when they take us on odd tangents. James Boswell once wrote, “I am so fond of tea that I could write a whole dissertation on its virtues.” If he can manage a dissertation, I can do some reading on high renaissance weaponry and do a deep dive into steampunk. We’ll see how the husband manages a 40 person rescue crew. 

So dear Groovers, has what seemed like a simple decision ever led you to bite off more than you could (or should) chew? Or are any of you table top gamers out there? Tell me about a time the game went in a completely crazy direction. Or just talk to me about what’s new in your world. The comments section is open for conversation. As always, if you have a cyber home you want to continue the conversation in, talk to me about it in the comments and hit me with a link.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Song Choice: Roll aD6 and The Dungeon Master’s Lament