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Going Retro

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But why doctor? I came in about my broken toe.

A little while back I blogged over at my place about the return of Loveswept books, some of which have been rereleased as ebooks. In that post I mentioned my fondness for those books, as well as the Harlequin Temptations I used to devour back in the ’80s and ’90s (Harlequin Temptation changed my reading habits for life). I recently discovered that Harlequin has also established a Treasury line, e book rereleases of some ’90s classics. This has probably been around for ages but I can be completely oblivious at times. Whereas Loveswept has updated their covers for the ebook market, Harlequin hasn’t and I’ve been so enjoying going through the collection.

 
When I was a teenager it was well understood the seventies was a daggy decade. In the nineties we laughed at how big our hair was in 1985. Somewhere along the way, the nineties

Aye, me lusty wench, wanna see the inside of me bedchamber? Arrrrgghh

got daggy too. Still, I’d love to read some of these oldies. Some of the ’90’s romance writers remain my favs today. Shame the cover art hasn’t stood the test of time quite so well.

 
I’m heading off to watch the movie remake of the retro ’80s classic TV show, the A Team. I’m quite certain it will be bad, but Bradley Cooper’s in it, so I may survive the experience.

Have a great weekend,

 

Sami

 

 

A not so dreamy holiday?

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So, there we were, the whole Dee family, having what could only be described as a perfectly dreamy holiday.

We’d taken a cruise through the Caribbean, spent days entertaining the kids at Disney World and Universal Studios, bought more Harry Potter paraphernalia than we can ever possibly carry home, walked the streets of New York from one side of Manhattan to the other, and enjoyed the company of close family we hadn’t seen for a very long time.

Then came the famous ‘ripstick’ incident.

Incident, you ask?

Yep. Incident. This is how it played out.

Dee B-I-L: My son got a ripstick for a present.

Mr Dee: (Pointing proudly to himself and beaming.) I can ripstick. I’m bloody good.

Dee B-I-L: Cool. Let’s go outside. We’ll shoot some hoops with the boys and you can show me how to ripstick.

 And off they go.

Three minutes later:

Entire Dee family and extended family: Jess!!! Come outside. Quick! JESSSSS!

I run outside. There is Mr Dee (remember him? The bloody good ripsticker?) lying on the ground, white as a sheet, his foot lying at an angle no foot should ever lie at.

Mr Dee: AARRRRGGGGHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Which is how, three days ago, we landed up in hospital, an hour outside of Toronto, and haven’t left since.

Mr Dee didn’t just fracture his leg. He broke it in 14 places. I am no doctor, radiologist or radiographer, but when I saw those X-rays, I didn’t need any of those qualifications to see just what a fine job Mr Dee had done on that ripstick.

So, here we are now, a four hour surgery later, lots and lots of drugs and pain killers being mainlined into Mr Dee, and we ain’t going anywhere.

We’ve had to cancel the rest of our trip, and are now stranded in Canada, waiting for word from the doc about when we can fly home.

At least it happened when we were with family. The kids haven’t really noticed their dad is absent. They’re too busy enjoying their cousins. And I have in-laws looking after my every need. (Which I gotta say, is really quite nice.)

It’s just poor Mr Dee who ain’t doing so well.

Doctor’s advice: Stay away from ripsticks and skateboards…for the rest of your life!

Sigh.

Jess