Wise woman Anny Cook...

Yesterday morning I burned the oatmeal. This is not a new occurrence. Rather it is the norm. My friend Jane and the house hunk don't even find it a subject worth discussing as I always burn the oatmeal. You might ask why make oatmeal if you always burn it? Because I need to eat oatmeal. There's always enough unburned oatmeal to satisfy my needs.

Why does it burn? Mostly because I have too many things going on at one time. I set the timer and then immerse my concentration on some other project to the extent that I don't hear the timer. It burns. I scrape off the top layer and put the pot in the sink to soak. And move on.

Life is pretty full of burnt oatmeal. All those wrong turns and bad choices we make in life have consequences. How we handle the inevitable consequences determines what our life is like. We can wail and gnash our teeth and cry over our burnt oatmeal. We can beat ourselves up or blame some one else for calling us on the phone while our oatmeal was cooking. But the truth is that none of those things really address the fact that we still have burnt oatmeal.

Or we can salvage what we can, put the pan to soak, and move on. There will likely be a lot of pans of burnt oatmeal in our lives. If I waste time obsessing about the burnt oatmeal, that's time I've lost forever. Time I could have put to more constructive use. Oh yeah, and while I'm moaning and groaning the salvaged oatmeal is getting cold. Who wants to eat cold oatmeal?

There are things I can do to "pretty up" my oatmeal. I can add nuts, raisens, peanut butter, brown sugar, nutella, or cream. All of those make the oatmeal more palatable. And unless I tell someone, they'll never know that I burned the oatmeal. See? Life is what you make it--even burnt oatmeal.

Anny Cook
http://www.annycook.com/
Dancer's Delight from Ellora's Cave
Alpheli Solution from Resplendence Publishing
Phantom's Rest from Passion in Print
Simmering Romance with a Smile

Phantom's Rest~Anny Cook

Phantom’s Rest by Anny Cook from Passion in Print ~ out now

The blurb...

When Beauregard Barker leaves his military career due to injuries, he takes refuge at the Phantom’s Rest RV Park, expecting no more than a place to recover as he helps renovate the park. First he discovers the place is full of ghosts. Then Emmeline Fairchild arrives for her annual stay and everything changes. Beau falls hard for the shy calligrapher who’s being stalked by a killer. Whatever it takes, he’s determined to keep her safe and persuade her he’s the man for her.

The excerpt...

Narrow shafts of sunlight sneaked past the blinds to bombard him in the face. Grumpily, Beau rolled over and pulled the lumpy pillow over his head. A series of muffled thumps from outside invaded his restless sleep.
Woobie whined.
Beau groped in the covers for Woobie’s “baby”—a tattered, ragged teddy bear—and tossed it in her direction.
Then the familiar strains of a man singing something Italian wove their way from next door. Vaguely, he recognized the artist as one of Aunt Agatha’s favorites, though his name escaped Beau at the moment. When the volume abruptly grew louder, Woobie lifted her head and howled along with the singer in a doggie duet. The music soared to a towering crescendo as Woobie ended on a high note.
Cursing, Beau sat up and glared at the door. The melody sounded a lot like opera—his least favorite genre of music. When the singer switched from operatic Italian to a hypnotic Spanish number accompanied by flashy guitar work, his patience reached its limits. While Woobie soulfully howled along with the new song, Beau knuckled his burning eyes, listening to his dog in disbelief. He leaned over, groping on the floor for his clothes. Finally, he snatched up his plaid boxers, jerking them on wrong side out before leaping from his camper to storm his way to the driveway next door.
His eyes were bloodshot from the inside out. Tiny leprechauns were lustily hammering in his head. He yelped and cursed as he stepped on a sharp stone. Hopping sideways on his bad foot, he twisted his ankle, landing squarely on his butt in a small puddle of water. Clapping his hands over his ears, he tried to block out the soaring music as the singer reached a powerful finale with Woobie howling in the background.
Abruptly, the music stopped. He closed his eyes, savoring the exquisite relief.
And then she laughed.

buy here - http://passioninprint.com/ShowBook.php?CR=AC_PHANTOM