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Well, it's my own darn fault - I asked for it. My last blog entry I fumed and fussed because I couldn't find a domestic challenge to write about it.  Luckily, my prayers were answered.

I've had a pretty interesting week, what with my being partiallly paralyzed and all.  And, I got to meet a whole set of new characters in my life:  chiropractors.

Dr. A is a very nice man who kindly slipped my disc back into place after much weeping and gnashing of teeth (and that was just
him; I apologized and passed the Kleenex).  His office assured me that why, yes, they did accept Red Rose City health insurance.  Approaching the third visit, they clarified, explaining they did accept Red Rose City health insurance, but not
Red-Dot Red Rose City health insurance.

I called the Red-Dot Red Rose City health insurance 800 number, where I wasted a portion of my lifetime that will never be reclaimed.  They confirmed; Dr. A's office is correct but if I went onto the www.MyRedRoseCity.com website, I would find a
listing of covered chiropractors in my area.
I live in Lancaster, PA – and while I love it, it is not exactly Mecca insofar as some health practices are concerned (ie. if you're into acupuncture or Reiki; be prepared to travel.) 
I came upon my listings – all two of them.  The first of which I recognized from having driven past; it lies between what portends to be a sports bar and what pretends to be a massage salon. Uh; pass thanks.

The remaining practice is just up the road from me.  Oh, goodie!

I limp into the office with a gait that would make Quasimoto eligible for Swan Lake.  I fill out the 700-page questionnaire (why does this doctor feel it necessary to inquire as to whether or not I've had a happy childhood?  Has anyone?)

I look about and realize somewhat acutely – along with my back pain – that yessiree Bob, I do live in Lancaster.  WWJD posters, books, magazined, pamphlets, Bibles abound.  This is not too unusual because Lancaster is well known as the Eastern Bible
(thumping) Belt.  It's a lot like driving through our bucolic countryside only to find it reeks of Amish fertilizer – at first, it's offensive.  After awhile, you get used to it. 

However, I was not prepared for the Musak station to be tuned into the Rush Limbaugh of Bible Thumpers. The nerve pinch my character Mina Kitchen feels at acute moments of crisis has NOTHING on this.  I worried – am I turning into my character?  Am I becoming Brundle-Fly?

I was led into an exam room where, in keeping with tradition, I waited for half my lifetime. This at least was normal, so it soothed me.  Things were looking up.  So I looked up.  There, plastered across the ceiling above the exam table were WWJD posters, cards, and other sentiments, along with a dried up Palm Sunday Cross made from, ummm, dried up Palm Sunday palms. 
A nurse eventually came in (presumably after she gave birth to her third child) and took my blood pressure: it was 189 over something else ludicrous.

The only time my blood pressure reaches this elevation is during dental visits (which I find odd because I LOVE my
dentist – she grows fabuilous orchids and is a  cat lover; what's not to like?) But somewhere back in my brain's developmental stages things got hardwired to interpret dentist = RUN.

So, I chalk up my elevated BP with my loathing of Bible thumping during non-Bible thumping hours.  Like when my vertebrae is about to be snapped inbetween someone else's fingers.

Don't get me wrong – I'm a card carrying Episocopalean (really; once I transitioned from Reformed Dutch Protestant to
Episcopalean, they gave me a card.  It's on a magnet on our refrigerator – honest.)  So, ostensibly I share the same basic faith as Dr. B. 
However, I'm not so much for cross-pollinization of sins.  Example:  when I go to church, I don't expect to find dental floss and a packet reviling me of all my dental flaws in the pew.  In short – I don't want one-stop-shopping for my dental/spiritual

At this point I realize there will be many who will be jumping up and shouting, “Yes, but if you address your spiritual issues,
your teeth will be whiter!”  That may very well be.  However, I'd like a little forewarning – and a choice, thank you very

“Come to Dr. Snap N Crack – When Your Spirit Ails You, We'll Bring You Back (and so will Jesus upon the Second Coming)”  Now, that would be honest advertising.

WWID? (that is, What Will I Do?) We'll see.  I have an appointment with Dr. B. later in the week. If my head spins around and I spit pea soup across the room, I'll be a little concerned.  Of course, that could unspiral my spine - so there's an upside.

I decided to write a novel after I read a lot of disappointing fiction while I was unemployed and had too much time on my hands (insert Hollywood visions of monthly calendar pages blowing away in fake wind here.)  I also think I have a pretty good sense of humor, like to make up stories, and was well, unemployed.  So I could start a novel or sit at the bar.  Since the unemployment thingy didn't really lend itself toward expensive cocktails, I bought a refurbished laptop from a single dad, his 2 boys and a Labrador Retriever, and began tapping away.
I also conned myself into writing for seemingly practicle reasons.  I was unemployed.  Even after I found a job, I was pretty sure I'd be digging myself out of some kind of debt. Having no knowledge whatsoever about the publishing industry, it seemed like a completely rational idea that selling a novel would be a pretty good part time job.  Well, at least it would beat a part time job being part of the Pooper-Scooper-Patrol. 

So, in order to create a book that was sellable, before I set down to invent any characters or plots, I set out to figure what other folks would like.  Who are the people who read a lot? What are some current trends?  What would I buy?  And, of course, write about what's familiar.  That's when I realized that while living and working in Lancaster, PA (pronounced PEE-AY by the natives) there are a lot of things I've learned to take for granted, that might be great fun for new readers (virtual tourists, in my mind) visiting my neck of the woods for a fun read.  I'm also a foodie wannabe, as my chef husband will attest.  And I love to entertain.  And, I do have somewhat of a catering disorder...hmm....

So, I made up Mina Kitchen, a 40's something single gal with a 20-something pound orange tabby cat with white mitts and one slightly crossed blue eye.  Mina is short for Wilhelmina. She's named after a great-grandmother Mina's never met and plans to thank in the hereafter by prodding a heavenly fork in her virtual side. Not because of inheriting her weird name, or even weirder nickname. It’s mostly because of inheriting her oddball catering disorder.

Her work buddies, Bauser, a techno-geek IT guy and Norman, who's pretty much a genious software engineer, stick by her, even after she loses her job at  Executive Enterprises for Job Intuitive Technologies, otherwise known as E.E.J.I.T.   So does Vito Spaghetti, her strange neighbor who has an obvious Swiffer addiction, as well as being a dry-cleaning junkie.  And Trixie, her RN buddy who works late night ER shifts.  And her Aunt Muriel, the polo pony crowd, and the senior gang at St. Bart's Episcopal.  It's not quite the cast of "War and Peace" but I can assure you, Mina's never lonely.  Well, at least not in KITCHEN ADDICTION!  As for the sequel....[SPOILER ALERT]...


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