Growing up my sister and I babysat all the time. I don't want to toot my own horn but we would get booked months in advance. We were the kind of sitters that played with the kids and made sure the house was clean when the parents came home. Most kids didn't cry when their parents left and if they did, they didn't do it for long. Our business grew by word of mouth and we never had any complaints from parents or kids.
I did have complaints sometimes. There was one family who just wasn't right. The first time I babysat for them, they told their 11 year-old that I was not there for her, just the rest of the kids, basically license to be a brat. Then their home decor was early dead African animal. I am not kidding. There were mounted animal heads everywhere from Africa and pics of the Dad with his kills. (Sidebar: I don't have a problem with hunting if the hunter is choosy with his kills AND eats the animal as well. Killing for killing sake is not a sport in my opinion.) The first time I ever babysat for them they started freaking out about the baby ducks in the barn (it was a horse farm) that were bleeding and kept throwing the ducks at me. I went home, my new pink Gap collared shirt covered in duck blood (this was the 80's). (Note: the ducks were fine, the ends of their feathers were scratching them. Normal when the flying feathers are growing in...I think they knew that).
I always tried to come up with excuses as to why I could not sit for this family. Unfortunately, if the Mom got my Mom on the phone, my Mom would usually accept the engagement without asking me (oh, YES you did, Mom!).
One time, the last time, I was there babysitting during the day and we walked down to the barn. The 11 year-old went into an empty stall and said, 'Oh, no!' and pointed at the corner where she was on the ground. I along with the younger girls went to look what she was worried about. The 11 year old ran out of the stall door, slammed the door shut and locked us in, laughing, then ran away. The girls got scared and started to cry a little bit. I gave them hugs and told them it was ok and we'd figure a way out. Luckily, there was a small window not far off the ground. I turned a bucket over and was able to lower the older of the two girls out of the window and to the ground. She ran around and opened the stall door. As we were walking back up to the house and I was telling the girls how helpful they were, the Mom came in the driveway. I did not see the oldest girl but told the Mom what happened. She wasn't even that apologetic. She kind of laughed it off.
The next time she called (cannot even believe she called), I declined her offer and told my Mother I was never going back there and if she accepted a job then SHE could go and get locked in a stall.
Showing posts with label Writers Workshop Thursday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Writers Workshop Thursday. Show all posts
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Writers WorkShop: The Best Movie I Ever Memorized
This week's choice was a no brainer for me. I have this odd gift for remembering just about everything about any movie I have seen. I even remember things about movies that I don't want to remember like 'From Dusk Till Dawn'...ick is all I have to say about that. I pretty much kick ass when it comes to movie trivia, as long as I have seen the movie at least once.
One of my favorite movies of all time is Clue. This movie, to me, is hilarious. It has slapstick comedy, bad accents, Nurse Kelly from MASH and best of all...Tim Curry. The rest of the cast are amazing comedians as well and I just wish they had worked together more. The dialouge is quick and witty and smart. It reminds me a little of how Gilmore Girls was written, not the comedy but some of the rapid fire dialouge.
I am not joking when I say that I had this movie memorized when I was younger. In fact, if I was watching it today, at this very moment, I would be able to recite it word for word. Why? I wore out the VHS tapes of the flipping movie. It was more of an obsession for me and I can't explain exactly why. It is similar to one of the books you can read again and again. They give you a sense of comfort and home. I think this type of comedy gave me that. I have it on DVD now and on cold nights I will sit and watch and laugh and laugh like I am watching it for the first time. Maybe it's the laughter that gets me. There are few things that I can watch that make me laugh every single time I see it...there is one other one but that is another post.
Basically think of the board game Clue. All the characters are represented with a few additions. They are all being blackmailed in McCarthy era style and someone dies, then someone else dies, etc. They then have to figure out who the murderer is. It could be any of them and they all have a weapon, a la the board game. The simpleness of the plot makes the comedy easy and the twist 'endings'... and yes there are three different ones that were played in different theaters across the US... smart and well calculated.
Below you will find 'Clue in 52 Seconds'. It is a very well edited snapshot of the movie that a guy did for a class and put on YouTube. In total it is 1:24 but well worth it. Better than the trailer. If you have never seen the movie give it a go, I think for many people it might have that Anchorman quality - meaning you have to see it more than once to really start laughing. For me, it was love at first Tim Curry.
One of my favorite movies of all time is Clue. This movie, to me, is hilarious. It has slapstick comedy, bad accents, Nurse Kelly from MASH and best of all...Tim Curry. The rest of the cast are amazing comedians as well and I just wish they had worked together more. The dialouge is quick and witty and smart. It reminds me a little of how Gilmore Girls was written, not the comedy but some of the rapid fire dialouge.
I am not joking when I say that I had this movie memorized when I was younger. In fact, if I was watching it today, at this very moment, I would be able to recite it word for word. Why? I wore out the VHS tapes of the flipping movie. It was more of an obsession for me and I can't explain exactly why. It is similar to one of the books you can read again and again. They give you a sense of comfort and home. I think this type of comedy gave me that. I have it on DVD now and on cold nights I will sit and watch and laugh and laugh like I am watching it for the first time. Maybe it's the laughter that gets me. There are few things that I can watch that make me laugh every single time I see it...there is one other one but that is another post.
Basically think of the board game Clue. All the characters are represented with a few additions. They are all being blackmailed in McCarthy era style and someone dies, then someone else dies, etc. They then have to figure out who the murderer is. It could be any of them and they all have a weapon, a la the board game. The simpleness of the plot makes the comedy easy and the twist 'endings'... and yes there are three different ones that were played in different theaters across the US... smart and well calculated.
Below you will find 'Clue in 52 Seconds'. It is a very well edited snapshot of the movie that a guy did for a class and put on YouTube. In total it is 1:24 but well worth it. Better than the trailer. If you have never seen the movie give it a go, I think for many people it might have that Anchorman quality - meaning you have to see it more than once to really start laughing. For me, it was love at first Tim Curry.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
The Sticks Are Not as Dull as You'd Think or Who the Heck ARE the People in Your Neighborhood
Boondocks
BFE
East Jabipp
Cow Town
Sticks
Growing up, this is what my neighborhood was called. I honestly don't remember complaining about it. We had woods to play in, complete with creek and lots of trees to climb and swing from. Our street had four horse farms and every home had at least two acres of land. No lines painted on the street and no sidewalks. It's hard to call that a neighborhood. We did have a neighborhood of sorts behind our house, across the creek. It was always quiet and we never had anything really happen.
We had a couple of friends from softball that lived in that neighborhood but they really were not close enough to walk or ride bikes, especially in the evening until we got a little bit older. One day, when we were on our way home from school, our friend from the neighborhood decided to ride her bike to our house to meet us. As we got off the bus in front of the house, a naked man jumped out of the brush about 100 feet away from our driveway.
NAKED MAN IN THE STREET!
Yes, a naked man was in the street and motioning for us to go away essentially. My Mom sent us in the house and then realized that our friend was on her way, she couldn't go in the house with a little girl on a bike on her way. My Mom saw our friend turn the corner and start riding her bike. The man ran back into the brush by the side of the road. Our friend rode right by...head turning as she passed where the man went in the brush.
When she got to the house, my Mom said, "Did you see the man next to the road?" Our friend said, "Yep!" with a big grin on her face. My Mom then called the police and then called the girl's mother. The police showed up and found the man in the bushes. The police hadn't given him anything to put on but asked my Mom to identify him. My Mom felt bad for him so she went inside and got some of my Dad's underwear for him.
We never got the full story of what his deal was. I assume he was high or crazy or both. Every neighborhood has their stories, even the non-neighborhood ones. It just goes to show you that it's those quiet places you have to keep an eye on or actually...covered.
BFE
East Jabipp
Cow Town
Sticks
Growing up, this is what my neighborhood was called. I honestly don't remember complaining about it. We had woods to play in, complete with creek and lots of trees to climb and swing from. Our street had four horse farms and every home had at least two acres of land. No lines painted on the street and no sidewalks. It's hard to call that a neighborhood. We did have a neighborhood of sorts behind our house, across the creek. It was always quiet and we never had anything really happen.
We had a couple of friends from softball that lived in that neighborhood but they really were not close enough to walk or ride bikes, especially in the evening until we got a little bit older. One day, when we were on our way home from school, our friend from the neighborhood decided to ride her bike to our house to meet us. As we got off the bus in front of the house, a naked man jumped out of the brush about 100 feet away from our driveway.
NAKED MAN IN THE STREET!
Yes, a naked man was in the street and motioning for us to go away essentially. My Mom sent us in the house and then realized that our friend was on her way, she couldn't go in the house with a little girl on a bike on her way. My Mom saw our friend turn the corner and start riding her bike. The man ran back into the brush by the side of the road. Our friend rode right by...head turning as she passed where the man went in the brush.
When she got to the house, my Mom said, "Did you see the man next to the road?" Our friend said, "Yep!" with a big grin on her face. My Mom then called the police and then called the girl's mother. The police showed up and found the man in the bushes. The police hadn't given him anything to put on but asked my Mom to identify him. My Mom felt bad for him so she went inside and got some of my Dad's underwear for him.
We never got the full story of what his deal was. I assume he was high or crazy or both. Every neighborhood has their stories, even the non-neighborhood ones. It just goes to show you that it's those quiet places you have to keep an eye on or actually...covered.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
If Wishes Were Cool Water
I don't think I need to tell anyone that resides in these United States that is has been a long, hot summer.
**If you are in your 30's and beyond you might remember that the Long, Hot Summer was made into a made for TV movie (original was a scathing version in the theater in 1958) with Cybil Shepherd and Don Johnson. It was almost too hot for TV. I remember watching it from the top of the stairs outside my bedroom while my Mom had it on in the basement.**
Anyway, sorry for the sidebar but that is what the heat and humidity in the northeastern US will do to you, not fry, but slowly poach your brain. It will also cause your hair to look like crap most of the time.
When I was little, we had a neighbor who had a pool. Her name was Ada; so it was naturally, Ada's Pool. It was a holdover from the pools of the 1950's; big, L-shaped and had a 'deep end' of 10ft. It was fed by spring water which meant is was REALLY cold for half the summer. It didn't really matter though. We were cold water kids. We swam in the waters off Cape Cod. To us, blue lips were cool. The only bad part about the cold pool water was when we came home and had to race past the air conditioning unit in the dining room of the house, towels tightly wrapped around bare skin, otherwise you might freeze solid in the middle of the living room.
This summer I wished I was that little kid again. We know very few people with pools and those we do know live further than next door and no one has a pool from the 1950's. On really hot days this year I would find myself daydreaming or half remembering the joy of being able to play in a pool of cool water: having my Mom rate my dives off the diving board, Marco Polo, swimming through weighted hoops and diving for coins. I remembered what it was like 'going under' that first time of the day, the rush I would get from the cold water enveloping my skin and quickly reducing the surface temperature of my body. Then I'd pop up and the water would stream down my hair, chlorine stinging my eyes a little not just from the chemical but also from the sun reflecting off the water.
These days pools are small, shallow, square and are usually the temperature of warm pee by early July. They cannot compare to the cold spring water, 10 foot depths and 1950's curves of Ada's pool.
On the hot days that are still due to come, you'll find me cruising along the bottom of Ada's pool or jumping off the diving board in a glorious cannonball trying to make it down to 10 feet...in my mind at least.
**If you are in your 30's and beyond you might remember that the Long, Hot Summer was made into a made for TV movie (original was a scathing version in the theater in 1958) with Cybil Shepherd and Don Johnson. It was almost too hot for TV. I remember watching it from the top of the stairs outside my bedroom while my Mom had it on in the basement.**
Anyway, sorry for the sidebar but that is what the heat and humidity in the northeastern US will do to you, not fry, but slowly poach your brain. It will also cause your hair to look like crap most of the time.
When I was little, we had a neighbor who had a pool. Her name was Ada; so it was naturally, Ada's Pool. It was a holdover from the pools of the 1950's; big, L-shaped and had a 'deep end' of 10ft. It was fed by spring water which meant is was REALLY cold for half the summer. It didn't really matter though. We were cold water kids. We swam in the waters off Cape Cod. To us, blue lips were cool. The only bad part about the cold pool water was when we came home and had to race past the air conditioning unit in the dining room of the house, towels tightly wrapped around bare skin, otherwise you might freeze solid in the middle of the living room.
This summer I wished I was that little kid again. We know very few people with pools and those we do know live further than next door and no one has a pool from the 1950's. On really hot days this year I would find myself daydreaming or half remembering the joy of being able to play in a pool of cool water: having my Mom rate my dives off the diving board, Marco Polo, swimming through weighted hoops and diving for coins. I remembered what it was like 'going under' that first time of the day, the rush I would get from the cold water enveloping my skin and quickly reducing the surface temperature of my body. Then I'd pop up and the water would stream down my hair, chlorine stinging my eyes a little not just from the chemical but also from the sun reflecting off the water.
These days pools are small, shallow, square and are usually the temperature of warm pee by early July. They cannot compare to the cold spring water, 10 foot depths and 1950's curves of Ada's pool.
On the hot days that are still due to come, you'll find me cruising along the bottom of Ada's pool or jumping off the diving board in a glorious cannonball trying to make it down to 10 feet...in my mind at least.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Writers WorkShop: The Craziest Reason I Ever Got in Trouble as a Child
This is a bit of a rehash of a post from a few years ago but it is very much in line with today's Writers Workshop assignment although I was more teen than child at the time. It is also very funny...at least to me. :)
Awhile back I wrote about my Cape Cod summer love (ok, not really love but you get the idea). I mentioned that there were bells involved at some point and that I would write about them later. It is now later.
So this guy that I met on the Cape who turned out to be the best kisser ever and I were out on the beach near our house one night. It was dark and I couldn't see my watch. I didn't worry though because I could always hear the church bells ring the hour. I had to be home by 11pm.
So there we were, kissing on the beach on a blanket. The moon was out, the water lapped on the beach and his sweatshirt smelled heavenly, like suntan lotion and 'guy' (in a good way). So I listened for the bells to let me know what time I needed to be home. You can see where this is going. I of course lost track of time and never heard the bells. My Mom sent my brother out to the beach to look for me and of course he saw me but what was he going to say, "Um excuse me, but can you get your face off that guy because it's after your curfew and mom is pissed"? Considering he was all of like 7 or 8 at the time, I think not. So he of course reported back that I was kissing a guy on the beach on a blanket. (BTW, my brother was also the one that told my Mom about my tattoo and my bellybutton piercing. Thanks, T.)
Eventually, I must have gotten it through the kissing fog in my brain that it was late and I did not hear any bells. So we made our way back to the house. He left and I went inside. Sitting at the dining table in their nightgowns (not pj's, nightgowns) were my mom, my aunt and my grandmother. They were all still up. My mom was all, "What were you doing out there this late, you were supposed to be home by 11pm, yadda yadda, yadda." I was all, "But it wasn't my fault. I didn't hear the bells!" They all looked at me, like "What is she talking about." I said, "You know the church bells. I was waiting to hear them and I didn't hear them. It's not my fault!"
***crickets chirping***
BWAAAHHHHAAAA! All 3 of them burst out laughing, trying to compose themselves to be mad at me. My mom snorted then my aunt. Eventually I just had to walk away because they couldn't stop. Unfortunately, I still got punished the next day. I had to come in an hour earlier my last night on the Cape. From then on, every year, I was the butt of the joke about "The bells, the bells!"
I would not have normally chosen to rehash an old post but considering that this year... OVER 20 years after this incident... my mother chose to say, "Oh, listen, those are the bells, Jen." I think that this post is relevant to the topic of Writers Workshop. :)
Awhile back I wrote about my Cape Cod summer love (ok, not really love but you get the idea). I mentioned that there were bells involved at some point and that I would write about them later. It is now later.
So this guy that I met on the Cape who turned out to be the best kisser ever and I were out on the beach near our house one night. It was dark and I couldn't see my watch. I didn't worry though because I could always hear the church bells ring the hour. I had to be home by 11pm.
So there we were, kissing on the beach on a blanket. The moon was out, the water lapped on the beach and his sweatshirt smelled heavenly, like suntan lotion and 'guy' (in a good way). So I listened for the bells to let me know what time I needed to be home. You can see where this is going. I of course lost track of time and never heard the bells. My Mom sent my brother out to the beach to look for me and of course he saw me but what was he going to say, "Um excuse me, but can you get your face off that guy because it's after your curfew and mom is pissed"? Considering he was all of like 7 or 8 at the time, I think not. So he of course reported back that I was kissing a guy on the beach on a blanket. (BTW, my brother was also the one that told my Mom about my tattoo and my bellybutton piercing. Thanks, T.)
Eventually, I must have gotten it through the kissing fog in my brain that it was late and I did not hear any bells. So we made our way back to the house. He left and I went inside. Sitting at the dining table in their nightgowns (not pj's, nightgowns) were my mom, my aunt and my grandmother. They were all still up. My mom was all, "What were you doing out there this late, you were supposed to be home by 11pm, yadda yadda, yadda." I was all, "But it wasn't my fault. I didn't hear the bells!" They all looked at me, like "What is she talking about." I said, "You know the church bells. I was waiting to hear them and I didn't hear them. It's not my fault!"
***crickets chirping***
BWAAAHHHHAAAA! All 3 of them burst out laughing, trying to compose themselves to be mad at me. My mom snorted then my aunt. Eventually I just had to walk away because they couldn't stop. Unfortunately, I still got punished the next day. I had to come in an hour earlier my last night on the Cape. From then on, every year, I was the butt of the joke about "The bells, the bells!"
I would not have normally chosen to rehash an old post but considering that this year... OVER 20 years after this incident... my mother chose to say, "Oh, listen, those are the bells, Jen." I think that this post is relevant to the topic of Writers Workshop. :)
Thursday, August 5, 2010
If I Could Do it Over...
I love Mama's Kat's Writer's Workshops. They really get me thinking about events in my life, things I'd like to do, etc. This one was odd though because I was having a hard time picking a topic. This subject won out when I pulled a number out of a coffee mug.
1.) If you could do it over again…
The problem with this is, I would not want to do many things over because I believe that the teeniest, tiniest change can alter an entire life. That scares me a little. If I had changed my path by one footprint, one small decision to skip rather than run or walk things could be very different, better, worse, etc. Then I thought about what I would WANT to be different and went backwards from there.
I came up with one thing:
I wish I had switched majors in college.
I kick myself every day for this. I got to a point in school where Marine Biology was not doing it for me anymore. I didn't like the professors (they were oh so high and mighty with that #3 school in the country for Marin Bio label), I didn't like the fact that there were almost no jobs with only an undergrad degree (more school! WHAT!?) and I hated the fact that for each science course I had to take a lab with an other 3 plus hours a week for only 1 credit. I was also taking geology courses but I think I liked the subject more than the thought of actually getting a degree in it. All I wanted to do was get out of school. I am not sure if it was just because I was in major I didn't love anymore or if it was because at the age of 19 or 20 I wasn't ready to know exactly what I wanted to do with my life. I truly think it's the last thing. I mean lets face it, it took me until I was 35 to figure out how to deal with my hair. How was I supposed to figure out my entire life at 19?
Hind-sight being 20/20 I would have done exactly what another friend had done, drop the science and major in something in the English department. Even then I loved to write and I loved me some literature. I didn't have her guts though (love ya L!). I still don't. I was afraid to make a change like that for fear of facing the same ire from my parents when I suggested to them that I take a semester off. It is so funny (not ha ha funny by any stretch) to look back on it now because I could have told them and worked it out. I have only myself to blame...
and to fix.
Maybe it's time I started looking at what I can do about what I WANT to do...what I could do if I HAVE (not had) the chance to do it over again.
1.) If you could do it over again…
The problem with this is, I would not want to do many things over because I believe that the teeniest, tiniest change can alter an entire life. That scares me a little. If I had changed my path by one footprint, one small decision to skip rather than run or walk things could be very different, better, worse, etc. Then I thought about what I would WANT to be different and went backwards from there.
I came up with one thing:
I wish I had switched majors in college.
I kick myself every day for this. I got to a point in school where Marine Biology was not doing it for me anymore. I didn't like the professors (they were oh so high and mighty with that #3 school in the country for Marin Bio label), I didn't like the fact that there were almost no jobs with only an undergrad degree (more school! WHAT!?) and I hated the fact that for each science course I had to take a lab with an other 3 plus hours a week for only 1 credit. I was also taking geology courses but I think I liked the subject more than the thought of actually getting a degree in it. All I wanted to do was get out of school. I am not sure if it was just because I was in major I didn't love anymore or if it was because at the age of 19 or 20 I wasn't ready to know exactly what I wanted to do with my life. I truly think it's the last thing. I mean lets face it, it took me until I was 35 to figure out how to deal with my hair. How was I supposed to figure out my entire life at 19?
Hind-sight being 20/20 I would have done exactly what another friend had done, drop the science and major in something in the English department. Even then I loved to write and I loved me some literature. I didn't have her guts though (love ya L!). I still don't. I was afraid to make a change like that for fear of facing the same ire from my parents when I suggested to them that I take a semester off. It is so funny (not ha ha funny by any stretch) to look back on it now because I could have told them and worked it out. I have only myself to blame...
and to fix.
Maybe it's time I started looking at what I can do about what I WANT to do...what I could do if I HAVE (not had) the chance to do it over again.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Writers Workshop Thursday - Foot IN Mouth Disease
Honestly, this does not happen that often. I think way too much about what I say. I carefully avoid topics that might offend someone just in case they have a crazy relative or some horrible traumatic episode in their past that might be dredged up because I mention one thing or another.
BUT about once a year, I do say something that makes me wonder if an alien has taken over my body. Something interesting, I am never partaking of adult beverages so I don't have an excuse other than "Sofia from the Golden Girls Disease". Remember that she would just say whatever, whenever? It's like that but it last for 2 seconds and I am left wide-eyed wondering what hell just happened.
So, when I first moved back to PA I was actually seeing someone. It was a guy my brother introduced me to that was a volunteer fireman. He was a really nice guy and he helped move me from NC to PA (NOTE: I had already decided to move back BEFORE I met this guy). Anyway, my brother had a party at my Mom's house and this guy was there and a friend of his. His friend was a really nice guy too (and he was a K9 cop which is just too cool). So this guys was lamenting about how he could not find the right girl and so the guys were giving him advice and I had a Golden Girl moment...
'We'll just get you some spray on hair and you'll be good to go."
*crickets chirping...loudly*
I seriously don't know what happened right after that but I do know that I was STUNNED at what I had just said. I have NO CLUE to this day why I said it. Was he loosing his hair, yes. He was a REALLY good looking guy though which totally would have overshadowed that feature. Needless to say, that guy and I stopped seeing each other. No break up really, just stopped on account of me being A TOTAL LUNATIC.
BUT about once a year, I do say something that makes me wonder if an alien has taken over my body. Something interesting, I am never partaking of adult beverages so I don't have an excuse other than "Sofia from the Golden Girls Disease". Remember that she would just say whatever, whenever? It's like that but it last for 2 seconds and I am left wide-eyed wondering what hell just happened.
So, when I first moved back to PA I was actually seeing someone. It was a guy my brother introduced me to that was a volunteer fireman. He was a really nice guy and he helped move me from NC to PA (NOTE: I had already decided to move back BEFORE I met this guy). Anyway, my brother had a party at my Mom's house and this guy was there and a friend of his. His friend was a really nice guy too (and he was a K9 cop which is just too cool). So this guys was lamenting about how he could not find the right girl and so the guys were giving him advice and I had a Golden Girl moment...
'We'll just get you some spray on hair and you'll be good to go."
*crickets chirping...loudly*
I seriously don't know what happened right after that but I do know that I was STUNNED at what I had just said. I have NO CLUE to this day why I said it. Was he loosing his hair, yes. He was a REALLY good looking guy though which totally would have overshadowed that feature. Needless to say, that guy and I stopped seeing each other. No break up really, just stopped on account of me being A TOTAL LUNATIC.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Writers Workshop Thursday - Happy Sheep!
I am not going to lie to you. The reason I picked a topic about 'joy in the moment' is because it is hard for me to find. I am pessimistic...I like to call it very realistic but P and others just shake their heads at me. I am working on it...occasionally...
I can find joy when I look for it but I have to REALLY look sometimes.
There is something small that I find joy in every time I see it.
I pass a farm driving to and from the office and with the spring come these.
There is really not much cuter tha
n baby sheep. Have you ever watched them? Their joy is contagious. As I am driving along, I actually hope for a red light so I can stop and watch them cavort in the field. When they were first let outside with their mamas they were a little timid. They stuck close to their milk supply and looked around a little. As days went by they started noticing other little sheep their size. Then they started playing with each other, not in groups but a couple would get together and start jumping around on their still wobbly legs. You could feel their joy in just being alive. And they are so white, they almost sparkle! I think if it were dark they would twinkle.
A few weeks go by and all of a sudden they have formed a posse and are tearing around the field together. No worries, no cares. For some reason the 30 seconds I get to watch this, opens my heart and clears the clutter from my head. There is sincere joy in that sheep field and I got to experience it for a moment. That is a treasure.
I can find joy when I look for it but I have to REALLY look sometimes.
There is something small that I find joy in every time I see it.
I pass a farm driving to and from the office and with the spring come these.
There is really not much cuter tha
n baby sheep. Have you ever watched them? Their joy is contagious. As I am driving along, I actually hope for a red light so I can stop and watch them cavort in the field. When they were first let outside with their mamas they were a little timid. They stuck close to their milk supply and looked around a little. As days went by they started noticing other little sheep their size. Then they started playing with each other, not in groups but a couple would get together and start jumping around on their still wobbly legs. You could feel their joy in just being alive. And they are so white, they almost sparkle! I think if it were dark they would twinkle.A few weeks go by and all of a sudden they have formed a posse and are tearing around the field together. No worries, no cares. For some reason the 30 seconds I get to watch this, opens my heart and clears the clutter from my head. There is sincere joy in that sheep field and I got to experience it for a moment. That is a treasure.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Writers Workshop Thursday - Cigars, Graph Paper, Grape Bubble Yum and Number 2 Pencils
When I was little, I always associated the smell of a cigar with my Grampy (Mom's Dad). It made me think of all the wonderful things at my Grandparent's home and how much I loved being there. Now that my father has passed, it more reminds me of how much I miss my Dad. I can see him standing in the garage or on the deck relaxing with a cheap El Producto or enjoying something a little nicer with the boys on the deck at the cape, maybe a Hampton Court or a smuggled Cuban. Dad would stare into space and daydream and relax when he smoked a cigar. I think maybe he was thinking of golf or Puerto Rico or maybe just the beach at the Cape. Dad found relaxing difficult so this memory is really one I treasure. That smell can bring tears to my eyes at the drop of ash.
My Dad was a Chemical Engineer, one of the top in his field of Environmental Consulting. I am not bragging, it is a fact and I have the documentation to prove it. He was incredibly detail oriented but had a difficult time with change. He had a calculator from the late 60's that he used until it died completely. He was also not completely trusting of computers. I think he could have become more of a techy guy had he had the chance. He kept extremely detailed notes on all his projects. His writing was all capital letters but he made the letters that were supposed to be lowercase smaller that the ones that were uppercase. I envied his writing because it seemed to flow so well. Every word was so perfectly legible (unlike my handwriting today). He almost always kept his notes on graph paper. I thought it was the coolest thing. Later in life, I would realize just how important all those notes were. My writing never looked as good on graph paper but I still buy it sometimes just to see.
I remember at a very early age not understanding why I could not have the awesome smelling grape Bubble Yum my Dad used to get. The pieces were HUGE compared to those little piddly Trident pieces. The smell of that artificial grape and sugar was mesmerizing. Sometimes Dad would let me have half a piece. I could feel the sugar in between my teeth and the gorgeous fake grape flavor wash over my mouth. Then I would try to blow a bubble and the gum would fall out of my mouth.
According to the company my Dad worked for, he used a lot of pencils; Dixon Ticonderoga number 2 pencils to be exact. He seemed to go through a lot of them in September when his girls started school for the year and about the time those girls too k their SATs. I am not sure how they never put 2 and 2 together considering all his detailed notes were in fine point black pen. These days, they'd dock his paycheck for it.
While these four items, cigars, graph paper, bubble gum and pencils may seem like an odd combination, I can tell you who my Dad was based on them. My Dad was contemplative when he felt he could be. His job was very stressful and when he had a cigar, he was allowing himself to relax and think of golfing or Puerto Rico. He was extremely detail oriented, maybe to a fault at times. Although he was an amazing person, I think he was always driven to a certain perfection. It might have been OCD had he allowed himself to think there was anything wrong with the details. He still had playfulness in him although you rarely saw it. I think the grape gum was part of that. The pencils, well. Mom never asked him to do that. He just brought them home for us. As a result, I appreciate a well sharpened, yellow number 2 pencil.
I am a lot like my Dad. Some think there is a bit of fault in this as I have trouble with my emotions and I stress myself out more than I should. But when I look at the items above, I see the good things I picked up; remember to daydream, there is calmness in the details, don't forget that kid inside and remember to pick up pencils (or ice cream) for those you love.
My Dad was a Chemical Engineer, one of the top in his field of Environmental Consulting. I am not bragging, it is a fact and I have the documentation to prove it. He was incredibly detail oriented but had a difficult time with change. He had a calculator from the late 60's that he used until it died completely. He was also not completely trusting of computers. I think he could have become more of a techy guy had he had the chance. He kept extremely detailed notes on all his projects. His writing was all capital letters but he made the letters that were supposed to be lowercase smaller that the ones that were uppercase. I envied his writing because it seemed to flow so well. Every word was so perfectly legible (unlike my handwriting today). He almost always kept his notes on graph paper. I thought it was the coolest thing. Later in life, I would realize just how important all those notes were. My writing never looked as good on graph paper but I still buy it sometimes just to see.
I remember at a very early age not understanding why I could not have the awesome smelling grape Bubble Yum my Dad used to get. The pieces were HUGE compared to those little piddly Trident pieces. The smell of that artificial grape and sugar was mesmerizing. Sometimes Dad would let me have half a piece. I could feel the sugar in between my teeth and the gorgeous fake grape flavor wash over my mouth. Then I would try to blow a bubble and the gum would fall out of my mouth.
According to the company my Dad worked for, he used a lot of pencils; Dixon Ticonderoga number 2 pencils to be exact. He seemed to go through a lot of them in September when his girls started school for the year and about the time those girls too k their SATs. I am not sure how they never put 2 and 2 together considering all his detailed notes were in fine point black pen. These days, they'd dock his paycheck for it.
While these four items, cigars, graph paper, bubble gum and pencils may seem like an odd combination, I can tell you who my Dad was based on them. My Dad was contemplative when he felt he could be. His job was very stressful and when he had a cigar, he was allowing himself to relax and think of golfing or Puerto Rico. He was extremely detail oriented, maybe to a fault at times. Although he was an amazing person, I think he was always driven to a certain perfection. It might have been OCD had he allowed himself to think there was anything wrong with the details. He still had playfulness in him although you rarely saw it. I think the grape gum was part of that. The pencils, well. Mom never asked him to do that. He just brought them home for us. As a result, I appreciate a well sharpened, yellow number 2 pencil.
I am a lot like my Dad. Some think there is a bit of fault in this as I have trouble with my emotions and I stress myself out more than I should. But when I look at the items above, I see the good things I picked up; remember to daydream, there is calmness in the details, don't forget that kid inside and remember to pick up pencils (or ice cream) for those you love.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Writer's Workshop - Love At First Sight
It is easy for me to fall in love with a book. I have done it many more times than I can count. I keep some of the most special ones close by so that I may grab one and lose myself for a little while whenever I need a break. There are some books I can open at any page and instantly sink into a different time and or place. Sometimes I search for specific chapters or passages just because I need the words wrapped around my like a favorite blanket.
The first book I ever fell in love with was a book called 'Cape Cod Summer' by Eleanor Early. It is a book written in 1949 about Cape Cod in the summer. The most interesting part of this to me is that at a young age I appreciated the fact that this was a book of non-fiction. Ms. Early wrote this book as a type of travel guide for those who wished to visit the narrow land. She basically starts at Plymouth and moves along the Cape to the villages and gives ideas of the special things to see and do there. I think what made me fall in love with it was that even though I found this book in the 1980's, almost all the things that Eleanor wrote about were the things I loved about the Cape but she wrote about them over 30 years earlier.
Ms. Early wrote about the beaches and the views, the harbors and the people. She was not writing about the miniature golf, the whale watches and the cheap tourist attractions. She does mention shopping but only as a warning as she expected it to be warmer the first time she traveled there and needed different clothes once she got there. Although some of the things she wrote about are gone I think 95% of them are still there now in 2010. That to me is amazing and absolutely wonderful. Scargo Tower is still there. :)
I have read other books about the Cape and the two that fall a close second to this book, 'We Chose Cape Cod' by Scott Corbett and 'The House on Nauset Marsh' by Wyman Richardson are no less dear to me. What I find interesting is that all three of these books were written in the 1940's and 1950's. They are not special to me because they are quaint and old fashioned but because they show the core of what it is to love Cape Cod. Tourist attractions come and go but the core of what Cape Cod has will always be there for those who wish to look for it. I am just very grateful that there are authors that chose to do so during that time period.
The first book I ever fell in love with was a book called 'Cape Cod Summer' by Eleanor Early. It is a book written in 1949 about Cape Cod in the summer. The most interesting part of this to me is that at a young age I appreciated the fact that this was a book of non-fiction. Ms. Early wrote this book as a type of travel guide for those who wished to visit the narrow land. She basically starts at Plymouth and moves along the Cape to the villages and gives ideas of the special things to see and do there. I think what made me fall in love with it was that even though I found this book in the 1980's, almost all the things that Eleanor wrote about were the things I loved about the Cape but she wrote about them over 30 years earlier.
Ms. Early wrote about the beaches and the views, the harbors and the people. She was not writing about the miniature golf, the whale watches and the cheap tourist attractions. She does mention shopping but only as a warning as she expected it to be warmer the first time she traveled there and needed different clothes once she got there. Although some of the things she wrote about are gone I think 95% of them are still there now in 2010. That to me is amazing and absolutely wonderful. Scargo Tower is still there. :)
I have read other books about the Cape and the two that fall a close second to this book, 'We Chose Cape Cod' by Scott Corbett and 'The House on Nauset Marsh' by Wyman Richardson are no less dear to me. What I find interesting is that all three of these books were written in the 1940's and 1950's. They are not special to me because they are quaint and old fashioned but because they show the core of what it is to love Cape Cod. Tourist attractions come and go but the core of what Cape Cod has will always be there for those who wish to look for it. I am just very grateful that there are authors that chose to do so during that time period.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Writers Workshop Thursday: How Do You Stave Off Boredom?
Usually I eat.
Since I have been on the whole weightloss/healthier me/exercise thing I needed to find another way to keep my brain active.
I redesign the house on the Cape that we rent in my head. Crazy? Yes/no. This house is where my body stays while my soul is resting on Cape Cod. I have been staying in it since I was 8 years old. It is much loved and I have always dreamed of making it mine.
It is pretty plainly furnished, but not in a bad way. I love what is there becuase of what it is to me. I love that the bed matresses are so old that you essentially end up making a nest in them as you sleep. I love that the showerhead in the bathroom is not a low flow one and can pummel your back into massage-like bliss. I love that the sun streams into the dining area in the afternoon bathing the table in watery, relaxing rays.
It I think about the things I would change and then sometimes, change back, not wanting to ruin the feel of the place. I could never change the seagrass rugs or the little desk in the 'office' room. I would keep the Julia Child-like pegboad where all the pots and pans hang along with spatulas and measuring spoons. I would however buy new knives.
Before I know it, I have whiled away an hour, dreaming and placing and relaxing. This is an exercise that I love and one that I think I will always have.
Since I have been on the whole weightloss/healthier me/exercise thing I needed to find another way to keep my brain active.
I redesign the house on the Cape that we rent in my head. Crazy? Yes/no. This house is where my body stays while my soul is resting on Cape Cod. I have been staying in it since I was 8 years old. It is much loved and I have always dreamed of making it mine.
It is pretty plainly furnished, but not in a bad way. I love what is there becuase of what it is to me. I love that the bed matresses are so old that you essentially end up making a nest in them as you sleep. I love that the showerhead in the bathroom is not a low flow one and can pummel your back into massage-like bliss. I love that the sun streams into the dining area in the afternoon bathing the table in watery, relaxing rays.
It I think about the things I would change and then sometimes, change back, not wanting to ruin the feel of the place. I could never change the seagrass rugs or the little desk in the 'office' room. I would keep the Julia Child-like pegboad where all the pots and pans hang along with spatulas and measuring spoons. I would however buy new knives.
Before I know it, I have whiled away an hour, dreaming and placing and relaxing. This is an exercise that I love and one that I think I will always have.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Writers Workshop Thursday: Winter Memories
It's interesting to me that I have seasonal affective disorder considering that all my childhood winter memories are good ones. We always had good snows and at least 4 or 5 snow days. There were tunnels to build, angels to make and hills to sled. I do remember one particular day where the full on wonder and beauty of a perfect snow enveloped a certain child.
I could not have been more than 9 or 10. When I was that age there was still room for childlike wonder. I remember my snow suit was navy blue. My jacket may have been as well but I do remember it had a hood. I was alone, no L or T for some reason and I went out in to a new fallen snow. I always loved the quiet of the snow. I still am not exactly sure what it is about snow that creates that quiet stillness. I walked out the back door into the yard. The tire swing had snow on the top and on the inside of the bottom. I walked past it, noticing it but not touching it. It was so still and seemed frozen and not at the same time. I walked into the 'big' woods through the arching branches of the long gone lilacs. I walked to the stream. We always liked stepping in the stream in the winter when we had boots on. There was something magical about it being so cold out but still able to step in the freezing cold water without fear of frostbite and let it run past you. I still don't know what it is. I stood in the stream for a bit and then followed the deer path a ways deeper into the woods.
In the other seasons this area is teaming with life be it two or four footed or insect variety but when it snowed, even the birds and squirrels put away their chatter for awhile. I walked to a clearing that you would not have noticed in the other seasons but now in winter, with all the leaves gone, there was a circle of twig bushes and small trees creating an almost walled enclosure. I went in and laid in the snow. I was warm in my snowgear and I stared at the sky. As I lay there, I began to see everything in a clear and sharp light; the color of the twigs against the silvery grayness of the sky, the shadow of the snow drifts against the sparkling white of the light exposed areas. I could hear the stream along the stones and the branches rub against each other. Slowly, it started to snow again. I watched the flakes curl down and settle with the rest of the whiteness. There was no wind, no breeze and they just floated where they pleased. I felt like I was a part of it all, not just a spectator.
I am not sure how long I stayed but eventually the magic was broken by the thought that it was snowing again and maybe I should go inside. I have always remembered this time as one of the best moments in my life. It was what I think it would have been like to be inside a snow globe.
I could not have been more than 9 or 10. When I was that age there was still room for childlike wonder. I remember my snow suit was navy blue. My jacket may have been as well but I do remember it had a hood. I was alone, no L or T for some reason and I went out in to a new fallen snow. I always loved the quiet of the snow. I still am not exactly sure what it is about snow that creates that quiet stillness. I walked out the back door into the yard. The tire swing had snow on the top and on the inside of the bottom. I walked past it, noticing it but not touching it. It was so still and seemed frozen and not at the same time. I walked into the 'big' woods through the arching branches of the long gone lilacs. I walked to the stream. We always liked stepping in the stream in the winter when we had boots on. There was something magical about it being so cold out but still able to step in the freezing cold water without fear of frostbite and let it run past you. I still don't know what it is. I stood in the stream for a bit and then followed the deer path a ways deeper into the woods.
In the other seasons this area is teaming with life be it two or four footed or insect variety but when it snowed, even the birds and squirrels put away their chatter for awhile. I walked to a clearing that you would not have noticed in the other seasons but now in winter, with all the leaves gone, there was a circle of twig bushes and small trees creating an almost walled enclosure. I went in and laid in the snow. I was warm in my snowgear and I stared at the sky. As I lay there, I began to see everything in a clear and sharp light; the color of the twigs against the silvery grayness of the sky, the shadow of the snow drifts against the sparkling white of the light exposed areas. I could hear the stream along the stones and the branches rub against each other. Slowly, it started to snow again. I watched the flakes curl down and settle with the rest of the whiteness. There was no wind, no breeze and they just floated where they pleased. I felt like I was a part of it all, not just a spectator.
I am not sure how long I stayed but eventually the magic was broken by the thought that it was snowing again and maybe I should go inside. I have always remembered this time as one of the best moments in my life. It was what I think it would have been like to be inside a snow globe.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Writers Workshop Thursday: G-Dog and the Brownies
This is a blatent re-post but a good one. ;)
This is how my weekend without internet started. I walk in the door to let G-dog out at around noon Friday and notice a bottle of vegetable oil on the rug in the living room oil spots on the sisel rug and the cap next to the bottle AND a bitten but not eaten box of brownie mix on the floor under the dining table.
Me: (calling out) G-dog!, (waiting) G-dog!
G-dog: (Comes out of bedroom, sleepily blinking eyes and wagging tail) Dude, I was sleeping. What's up.
Me: What did you do?!
G-dog: Well I ate the treats you left for me. The one you hid under the pillow was hard to find. Relaxed a bit, got bored with moose, rabbit, squirrel, et al and went into the kitchen to find something to do. I went in to the room I'm not supposed to and decided to make brownies.
Me: Brownies.
G-dog: Yeah. So I got the brownie mix out and then realized I needed vegetable oil so I went and got that. Then I realized the oil was in a plastic bottle and you know how much I like plastic bottles.
Me: Uh-huh
G-dog: So it started innocently enough, I was working on getting the cap off then I bit the bottle and it felt so good I continued. Then I tasted the oil and decided, ick! So I dropped it on the floor and nosed it around a few times, trying to get the oil out and eventually I went back to the brownie box and realized that I needed eggs AND water too. Well I had water in my bowl but the eggs are in the fridge and I couldn't reach them so I abandoned the whole brownie idea and went back to the bedroom and took a nap.
Me: So you do realize that you can't have brownies. They are chocolate and not good for you.
G-dog: Really!? Huh. Well I guess it's a good thing I didn't make them then.
This is how my weekend without internet started. I walk in the door to let G-dog out at around noon Friday and notice a bottle of vegetable oil on the rug in the living room oil spots on the sisel rug and the cap next to the bottle AND a bitten but not eaten box of brownie mix on the floor under the dining table.
Me: (calling out) G-dog!, (waiting) G-dog!
G-dog: (Comes out of bedroom, sleepily blinking eyes and wagging tail) Dude, I was sleeping. What's up.
Me: What did you do?!
G-dog: Well I ate the treats you left for me. The one you hid under the pillow was hard to find. Relaxed a bit, got bored with moose, rabbit, squirrel, et al and went into the kitchen to find something to do. I went in to the room I'm not supposed to and decided to make brownies.
Me: Brownies.
G-dog: Yeah. So I got the brownie mix out and then realized I needed vegetable oil so I went and got that. Then I realized the oil was in a plastic bottle and you know how much I like plastic bottles.
Me: Uh-huh
G-dog: So it started innocently enough, I was working on getting the cap off then I bit the bottle and it felt so good I continued. Then I tasted the oil and decided, ick! So I dropped it on the floor and nosed it around a few times, trying to get the oil out and eventually I went back to the brownie box and realized that I needed eggs AND water too. Well I had water in my bowl but the eggs are in the fridge and I couldn't reach them so I abandoned the whole brownie idea and went back to the bedroom and took a nap.
Me: So you do realize that you can't have brownies. They are chocolate and not good for you.
G-dog: Really!? Huh. Well I guess it's a good thing I didn't make them then.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Writers Wordshop Thursday: Haiku
Tree on Morning Walk
Strip'ed of your coat
Reveals the abandoned homes
Left for warmer climes
Strip'ed of your coat
Reveals the abandoned homes
Left for warmer climes
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Writers Workshop Thursday: A Glassy Tale
Now this is different.
After someone partakes of my fluid, I am usually placed on a circular, stone object. Today I seem to be next to a foot, overlooking what appears to be a deep crevice. I cannot see very far. I am not sure whether it is the scent emanating from the foot or just my poor depth perception (I am curved you know) as to why I cannot see the next level. I wonder if the foot is aware of the state of affairs or if it remembers I am here. If it doesn't remember I am here, there may be a problem.
Usually, I sit awaiting orders in that enclosed cabinet thingy. While there I hear the rumors of others like me who have never returned to the home base. I hear strange tales of having 'extras' on hand in the event of a tragedy on the stone patio. Then there is a frightening tale of a long whip like object that comes out of nowhere, slapping us to the floor with ferocious might. Some have returned to tell the tale but refuse to give commentary on those who didn't make it. They say, recycling was in their future. They say the word 'recycling' with such a shuddering horror that I don't dare ask more questions.
Ack! The foot touched me! I am slightly closer to that drop. Also, that nasty thing touched the rim. Who is going to partake of me now? Ooof! What was that clinking noise? Oh, ice melting. it sounds so loud at times, echoing in here the way it does. Wait, the sound seems to have stirred the foot and a hand appears, pushing me away from the drop. Whew! I was beginning to seriously condensate. If I am not on the round stone the female with the pretty painted toes will start making loud noises and...
whaaaat...IS...that? There is a jingling sound, like the olive picks in the cocktail shaker.
OH MY OCEAN!
IT'S THE FURRY WHIP...IT'S COME FOR ME!
It has taken everything in it's path and I am next, oh smelly foot SAVE ME, SAVE ME!!
BUUUUUUAAAAAHHHHH!!! SPPPPPLLLLAAAASSSHHHHHH!
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Writers Workshop Thursday: What do you love to create?
The thing I love to create instills peace, harmony and balance. The thing I like to create has restorative properties like nothing else I know. It is a creative process as well. There are so many things that are born out of my favorite creative process that it has to be the most wonderful thing in the world.
What I like to create is:
order
I wrote it small because I realize that it is difficult to understand. It is also sometimes viewed in an ugly way as 'controlling' or 'freakishly detail oriented' or 'a prescription for mutiny'. You'd think that if I like to create order in my life that I am a germ o phobe or maybe one of those people whose homes always look perfect and smell of fresh linen.
Sigh
If only, you see I have a husband and a dog (do you know how many times I had to type the word 'god' before I typed dog? 3, weird) and they are orderless, with out order, rhyme or reason almost 100% of the time. I have to threaten bodily harm to the XBox or the DVR recorded soccer games to get P to actually not ruin what I have cleaned.
When I have created order my body relaxes and I look around the room (not the house because there is no way in hell our whole house would look nice at once) with a sense of accomplishment. I can see the reasons that I like our home. My mind calms down and I can see the fun creative and decorative things I'd like to try. When my home is in disarray, all I can think about it cleaning it. It taps me on the shoulder (or slaps me in the back of the head depending on how bad it is) when I am trying to read or cook saying "I'm messy and I look like crap. If you won't fix me I'll make you miserable." Oh, and it does. I will trip over P's soccer team jersey carrier, I'll kick the door on G-dog's crate and scratch myself in the process, I'll track dead leaves into the house. It just keeps getting worse.
When I have cleaned and all is in order, the house brightens and the birds chirp and a choir of angels sings...of course this is all in my head so maybe I am crazy.
What I like to create is:
order
I wrote it small because I realize that it is difficult to understand. It is also sometimes viewed in an ugly way as 'controlling' or 'freakishly detail oriented' or 'a prescription for mutiny'. You'd think that if I like to create order in my life that I am a germ o phobe or maybe one of those people whose homes always look perfect and smell of fresh linen.
Sigh
If only, you see I have a husband and a dog (do you know how many times I had to type the word 'god' before I typed dog? 3, weird) and they are orderless, with out order, rhyme or reason almost 100% of the time. I have to threaten bodily harm to the XBox or the DVR recorded soccer games to get P to actually not ruin what I have cleaned.
When I have created order my body relaxes and I look around the room (not the house because there is no way in hell our whole house would look nice at once) with a sense of accomplishment. I can see the reasons that I like our home. My mind calms down and I can see the fun creative and decorative things I'd like to try. When my home is in disarray, all I can think about it cleaning it. It taps me on the shoulder (or slaps me in the back of the head depending on how bad it is) when I am trying to read or cook saying "I'm messy and I look like crap. If you won't fix me I'll make you miserable." Oh, and it does. I will trip over P's soccer team jersey carrier, I'll kick the door on G-dog's crate and scratch myself in the process, I'll track dead leaves into the house. It just keeps getting worse.
When I have cleaned and all is in order, the house brightens and the birds chirp and a choir of angels sings...of course this is all in my head so maybe I am crazy.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Writes Workshop Thursday: Ode to Halloween and Dia de Los Muertos
When the fall days ripen into an orange haze,
When the shop windows fill with leaves and candles and webs
I think back to a time where we still laugh and wish
For full pillowcases
When the streets hush early,
When the first tiny children step out as something other than themselves
I tie the ribbon in a foolish way ‘round my head to hide
My face and maybe tears
When the lights bob down the way,
When the laughter and joy fills the streets
I’ll ponder the delicious fragility of this travesty of the day
That celebrates the thin veil between this world and the next.
When the sun rises tomorrow,
When the stone warms to my touch and the grass is scented
I’ll take my cakes to your resting place
And share them with you.
I am happy to explain this poem if you are interested or you can hazard guesses. I have not written poetry in a very long time. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Thanks Mama Kat!
Update: I will explain it in tommorrow's post, ok?
When the shop windows fill with leaves and candles and webs
I think back to a time where we still laugh and wish
For full pillowcases
When the streets hush early,
When the first tiny children step out as something other than themselves
I tie the ribbon in a foolish way ‘round my head to hide
My face and maybe tears
When the lights bob down the way,
When the laughter and joy fills the streets
I’ll ponder the delicious fragility of this travesty of the day
That celebrates the thin veil between this world and the next.
When the sun rises tomorrow,
When the stone warms to my touch and the grass is scented
I’ll take my cakes to your resting place
And share them with you.
I am happy to explain this poem if you are interested or you can hazard guesses. I have not written poetry in a very long time. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Thanks Mama Kat!
Update: I will explain it in tommorrow's post, ok?
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Writers Workshop Thusday: Hiding
Do you remember the movie, The Runaway Bride with Julia Roberts and Richard Gere? Well if you were to over dramatize my life and toss in a couple funny wedding scenes, you'd have me.
There were times in my life I didn't hide who I really was inside from a male. When I was 6 years old and the boy who lived across the street from my Grandmother kissed me behind a rock while we were playing hide and seek was the first. The others came later as revelations.
For most of my life I hid who I was in relationships. For most of that time, I don't even think I realized I was doing it. I just thought that I was learning about that person and sharing their experiences. In high school it was all very innocent. Guys were interested in getting to the next base. Pretty easy to figure out. There was one exception and maybe I'll write about him someday. As high school went on though, I started to get lost in the boys I was dating. This boy liked soccer, ok, I was going to be interested in it. That boy liked the drums, ok, I will start listening to percussion music. Like I mentioned earlier, it started innocently enough.
As I moved on to college, my unease with my chosen major should have been an indicator that I was not really sure who I was or who I wanted to be. I dated, I latched on and threw myself in to what others wanted me to like whether they knew it or not. Does that make sense? With B it was the pharma industry and heavy metal and detailing cars. Whenever I hear something really hard I still get nostalgic for the Mad Monk in Wilmington, NC and a bit of head banging. Don't get me wrong I learned many things that would help me in life the biggest of all being this was the relationship that finally opened my eyes to the hiding.
For the longest time I could not figure out why I was always so worried he was going to break up with me. We were together for 4 years yet I was frantic. Ok, my intuition told me that he probably cheated on me and I DID find out that was true but that is not the point (I just like to point it out). It didn't hit me until I cheated on him with another person what the problem was. I was afraid the B would figure out that I wasn't the person he wanted because...I wasn't sure who I was. I was so hidden, I didn't even know myself. It had gotten so scary and things had gotten so out of hand that I was miserable. I hated me, I hated feeling like I wasn't good enough. I turned to someone else.
Unfortunately, what started out as me being me with someone for the first time since I was six eventually deteriorated into me turning myself inside out again. Only this time, this person was completely and utterly innocent of it. If I had not shown such an enthusiasm for hockey, he would have been ok with it. If I had not been crazy about venison, he would have still wanted me in his life. The problem was, I didn't know what to do other than mold myself into someone else for the other person. Of course that relationship ended as did others that followed it for the same reason and I still didn't realize it.
When P and I got together, it was after I got out of an abusive relationship. I was stripped bare and was still working out how to build myself back up. I was working on it from scratch because well, I wasn't sure where to start. As I built myself up, I guess he saw me, really saw me and liked me then loved me. I love him for that.
I can honestly say that at 35 I have done a 180 from them person I was in my teens and twenties (I know you are supposed to be BUT this is very different). Not all of it is good (just ask my Mom) but it is all ME. I am still figuring it out at 36 but I am making sure that I am not hiding ME from anyone anymore.
There were times in my life I didn't hide who I really was inside from a male. When I was 6 years old and the boy who lived across the street from my Grandmother kissed me behind a rock while we were playing hide and seek was the first. The others came later as revelations.
For most of my life I hid who I was in relationships. For most of that time, I don't even think I realized I was doing it. I just thought that I was learning about that person and sharing their experiences. In high school it was all very innocent. Guys were interested in getting to the next base. Pretty easy to figure out. There was one exception and maybe I'll write about him someday. As high school went on though, I started to get lost in the boys I was dating. This boy liked soccer, ok, I was going to be interested in it. That boy liked the drums, ok, I will start listening to percussion music. Like I mentioned earlier, it started innocently enough.
As I moved on to college, my unease with my chosen major should have been an indicator that I was not really sure who I was or who I wanted to be. I dated, I latched on and threw myself in to what others wanted me to like whether they knew it or not. Does that make sense? With B it was the pharma industry and heavy metal and detailing cars. Whenever I hear something really hard I still get nostalgic for the Mad Monk in Wilmington, NC and a bit of head banging. Don't get me wrong I learned many things that would help me in life the biggest of all being this was the relationship that finally opened my eyes to the hiding.
For the longest time I could not figure out why I was always so worried he was going to break up with me. We were together for 4 years yet I was frantic. Ok, my intuition told me that he probably cheated on me and I DID find out that was true but that is not the point (I just like to point it out). It didn't hit me until I cheated on him with another person what the problem was. I was afraid the B would figure out that I wasn't the person he wanted because...I wasn't sure who I was. I was so hidden, I didn't even know myself. It had gotten so scary and things had gotten so out of hand that I was miserable. I hated me, I hated feeling like I wasn't good enough. I turned to someone else.
Unfortunately, what started out as me being me with someone for the first time since I was six eventually deteriorated into me turning myself inside out again. Only this time, this person was completely and utterly innocent of it. If I had not shown such an enthusiasm for hockey, he would have been ok with it. If I had not been crazy about venison, he would have still wanted me in his life. The problem was, I didn't know what to do other than mold myself into someone else for the other person. Of course that relationship ended as did others that followed it for the same reason and I still didn't realize it.
When P and I got together, it was after I got out of an abusive relationship. I was stripped bare and was still working out how to build myself back up. I was working on it from scratch because well, I wasn't sure where to start. As I built myself up, I guess he saw me, really saw me and liked me then loved me. I love him for that.
I can honestly say that at 35 I have done a 180 from them person I was in my teens and twenties (I know you are supposed to be BUT this is very different). Not all of it is good (just ask my Mom) but it is all ME. I am still figuring it out at 36 but I am making sure that I am not hiding ME from anyone anymore.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Writers Workshop Thursday: If I Could Take Tomorrow Off
If I could take tomorrow off work I'd start my book. No, not one of the ones on my nightstand, the book I want to write.
I think many bloggers can relate to this thought. For now, many of if have these snippets of time that we use to read other peoples blogs or develop of post of out own. Most of us (I am not saying all because I know there are those of you that are already accomplished writers although I am pretty sure none of you read my blog because of run on sentences like this one not to mention in parenthesis) have this ambition to write something more. Blogging becomes an addiction because we are all writers deep down inside and there is so much we want to say.
No, I am not going to tell you my idea. I have the characters in my head and I am just not sure where to start. Since I have the day off tomorrow though (hypothetically) I can start planning now. First, I need to get my home computer working again. Must swipe surge protector from P. Then I am going to need index cards, no a moleskein book...wait if I have a computer why am I writing things down. I guess I don't need to sharpen those pencils either.
No, I do need a legal pad and pencils, the kind you sharpen, not mechanical, that's cheating. Coffee! I need that too. I also need good music. Ok after that I should be set to start writing. First thing to do, make an outline. I think. That sounds like a good way to go. Wait...is that the dog in the garbage?
G-DOG!
Ok, where was I , oh outline. Yes, characters, setting, theme etc.. I need more coffee. Oh wait it's lunchtime, I should probably eat to keep the brain moving. Nothing in the house b/c I am trying to cut back on eating crap. I guess I need to go out. Whole Foods here I come.
$100 later, unpacking groceries and need to heat up food. Take upstairs to computer and check email, blog and Facebook. Make sure to tell friends I am not accessable because I am writing you know. Ok, look at outline and notice oil stain from olives. Oops. Moving along, characters, rename so no one thinks you mean THEM in the book. Maybe later you can just use the "Replace All" feature in Word to avoid that. Maybe write that down to remember. Ok, do I start writing now?
G-DOG STOP BARKING AT THE MAILMAN!
Oh jeez I need to start prepping dinner. Go to kitchen and pullout veggies to chop and chicken to marinate. Put all back in fridge. oooo! Wine! That would help me write. Pour glass go back upstairs and start writing about the...oh wait...I can't tell you that. I am out of wine, good thing I brought up the bottle.
G-DOG STOP BARKING AT P!
Go downstairs, greet husband at the door (not falling down stairs from wine consumption) and tell him how much writing I did today. Then make dinner and fall asleep from wine.
That is what I would do if I had the day off tomorrow.
I think many bloggers can relate to this thought. For now, many of if have these snippets of time that we use to read other peoples blogs or develop of post of out own. Most of us (I am not saying all because I know there are those of you that are already accomplished writers although I am pretty sure none of you read my blog because of run on sentences like this one not to mention in parenthesis) have this ambition to write something more. Blogging becomes an addiction because we are all writers deep down inside and there is so much we want to say.
No, I am not going to tell you my idea. I have the characters in my head and I am just not sure where to start. Since I have the day off tomorrow though (hypothetically) I can start planning now. First, I need to get my home computer working again. Must swipe surge protector from P. Then I am going to need index cards, no a moleskein book...wait if I have a computer why am I writing things down. I guess I don't need to sharpen those pencils either.
No, I do need a legal pad and pencils, the kind you sharpen, not mechanical, that's cheating. Coffee! I need that too. I also need good music. Ok after that I should be set to start writing. First thing to do, make an outline. I think. That sounds like a good way to go. Wait...is that the dog in the garbage?
G-DOG!
Ok, where was I , oh outline. Yes, characters, setting, theme etc.. I need more coffee. Oh wait it's lunchtime, I should probably eat to keep the brain moving. Nothing in the house b/c I am trying to cut back on eating crap. I guess I need to go out. Whole Foods here I come.
$100 later, unpacking groceries and need to heat up food. Take upstairs to computer and check email, blog and Facebook. Make sure to tell friends I am not accessable because I am writing you know. Ok, look at outline and notice oil stain from olives. Oops. Moving along, characters, rename so no one thinks you mean THEM in the book. Maybe later you can just use the "Replace All" feature in Word to avoid that. Maybe write that down to remember. Ok, do I start writing now?
G-DOG STOP BARKING AT THE MAILMAN!
Oh jeez I need to start prepping dinner. Go to kitchen and pullout veggies to chop and chicken to marinate. Put all back in fridge. oooo! Wine! That would help me write. Pour glass go back upstairs and start writing about the...oh wait...I can't tell you that. I am out of wine, good thing I brought up the bottle.
G-DOG STOP BARKING AT P!
Go downstairs, greet husband at the door (not falling down stairs from wine consumption) and tell him how much writing I did today. Then make dinner and fall asleep from wine.
That is what I would do if I had the day off tomorrow.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Writers Workshop Thursday: Describe a Childhood Birthday.
I am lucky. I have a birthday in September and unless there is some sort of freaky weather going on, it is usually one of those beautiful late summer/early fall days.
When I was little, I loved to make things with clay. Not just play-doh or modeling clay but the kind that would harden and you would keep for ever and ever. I knew how to make pinch pots, animals, ash trays and an assortment of other decorative items that would not hold water. My Mom decided to run with this for my 7th birthday. She rented a movie projector and a film about making pottery. We all watched and learned and then longed for a potters wheel of our own. After the movie we all trooped outside to the picnic table where big shirts were waiting for everyone to put on and also...big blocks of clay. We shaped and molded and tried to apply what we learned in the movie to our masterpieces. One of my best friends kept laughing and declaring the clay 'gross' but she was having a fabulous time. When we were done, we washed up and headed inside for cake and presents.
I will never forget this birthday because it was original and fun and creative...all the things a 7 year-olds party should be.
When I was little, I loved to make things with clay. Not just play-doh or modeling clay but the kind that would harden and you would keep for ever and ever. I knew how to make pinch pots, animals, ash trays and an assortment of other decorative items that would not hold water. My Mom decided to run with this for my 7th birthday. She rented a movie projector and a film about making pottery. We all watched and learned and then longed for a potters wheel of our own. After the movie we all trooped outside to the picnic table where big shirts were waiting for everyone to put on and also...big blocks of clay. We shaped and molded and tried to apply what we learned in the movie to our masterpieces. One of my best friends kept laughing and declaring the clay 'gross' but she was having a fabulous time. When we were done, we washed up and headed inside for cake and presents.
I will never forget this birthday because it was original and fun and creative...all the things a 7 year-olds party should be.
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