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Change. I've learned to embrace it, ride it out til the end. Sometimes I'm kicking and screaming, other times weeping with my eyes clinched tight. Once in awhile I ride like a dog in a car, head out the window snorting what life has to offer. Mother to young adult children, a marriage of thirty years, and a desert to mountain to valley waltz with God have shaped me into someone I never imagined I'd be. Life is short and I want to live it. Tears, sighs, laughter and change. Every morsel granted to me. Scrambled, shaken or stirred.

Friday, April 28, 2006

Scribbles and Scrambles - Life's a Circus

My mother must have been crazy. Or maybe not.

Maybe there was brilliance in her madness.

Either way, I’m sure my brother’s usual behaviors and a chance of freedom for a few hours had something to do with her flash of wisdom or complete loss of sanity.

She let us go to the circus without adult supervision.

If memory serves me accurately, I was twelvish, my brother was sixish. Cory, one of my friends, tagged along, probably to help me with David since it took two kid leashes to keep him corralled. Unfortunately, they hadn’t made a kid leash that would keep him in tow very long. We called him Houdini, among other things.

A brief aside……. A Sunday school teacher once asked him his middle name. “David Dammit,” he replied.

This circus adventure opened up a whole new world for the three of us.

A very scary and sticky world.

I suffer from circus dread. Similar to the feeling you experience on roller coasters. Kind of like you almost want to be there, coupled with a swelling dread that causes rumbling and swirling of your three previously consumed meals.

My circus dread began when I encountered a clown. I’m going to be very honest here, please no hate mail or scathing comments. A clown scared the liver out of me when I was five, and to this day clowns cause a nervous sweat to bead my lip and uncontrollable shakes, therefore, I loathe clowns.

I once had to teach a clowning class to Brownies and I required hours of psychotherapy to get beyond the nightmares -- I think – I’ve lost those months.

So, ever since I tossed my popcorn as a young impressionable pup, I’ve suffered from circus dread. Because if there’s a circus in town, there’s lurking clown (s, es – what do you call a herd of clown).

Early on in the excitement of the very warm and muggy Nebraska day, David discovered that the lovely young women on the elephants and horses wore very little clothing. Distracting him became a goal that we soon gave up. Too many women and a pair of binoculars did make it less likely that the place would go up in flames or implode, though. (Not that I’m implying that he blew things up or set things on fire, of course. (Legal/Noogie protection notice)

My friend, Cory, and I relaxed and set out to enjoy the circus. David was glued to the railing right in front of us, and there were three rings of activity to watch. We blew money on the normal circus fair. Cotton candy, popcorn – you get the picture. At one point I purchased a huge cup of Sprite.

As I sat there, inexplicably, I launched the full cup onto the green polyester pant-suited woman in front of me.

In the slow-motion horror of it, I watched the cup turn, douse, land, douse, bounce, douse her entire head and back. Of if only the cotton candy crusted floor had opened up and swallowed me.

I froze. And swallowed hard, lest I follow the Sprite with a bright pink vomit chaser. She turned. It would’ve been a great time for the rapture.

With wobbly bottom lip and tear filled eyes I screeched, “I’m so sorry!”

She stood, looked at the puddle of sugary pop on her seat, probably calculating how long it would take in the heat and humidity for the polyester to dry. It may still be wet and sticky to this day. She smiled, looking a lot like a drowned spotted rat. “That’s okay honey, I’m a klutz, too.”

She disappeared, came back with towels and cleaned up the area. Cory reported all this to me because I had curled up into the fetal position. When I recovered, I noticed that her chair contained someone else. One of her kids. Wonder if he’s still in psychotherapy.

Thursday, April 27, 2006

Serials and Scenarios – Deb Raney/Mary DeMuth – Wait a Minute…..

I hope this whole Character, plot, prose thing isn’t going to turn into some sort of literary cat fight. Paper cuts are the worst.

Deb Raney chimes in with her thoughts...

Character, plot or prose? Which grabs you by the heart? Why?

Definitely character! You can write the most exciting, page-turning scene in the world, but if I don’t care about WHO it’s happening to, I’m not going to finish the book.

Visit Deb’s Plog @ http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0373785623/sr=8-3/qid=1144348398/ref=pd_bbs_3/102-7286102-5764904?%5Fencoding=UTF8
Or her Blog @ http://deborahraney.blogspot.com/

June 2006 marks the 10th anniversary of Deb’s first novel’s first release. An updated version of A Vow to Cherish will be reissued by Steeple Hill in June. Read a review of the anniversary release of A Vow to Cherish @
http://novelreviews.blogspot.com/2006/04/deborah-raneys-vow-to-cherishreviewed.html

and Mary DeMuth echoes Deb’s sentiment:

Character, plot or prose? Which grabs you by the heart? Why?

Character. Character is what makes me want to turn the page. I can read a rip-roaring plot, but if I don’t care about the character, I’ll put it down.

You remember Mary -

Mary E. DeMuth
Christ Follower. Novelist. Freelance Writer.
Author: Building the Christian Family You Never Had
and Watching the Tree Limbs: A Novel
Blog. Website.

Oooh, ze plot thickens....

Wednesday, April 26, 2006

Serials and Scenarios – Gina Holmes - Counter Point


Isn’t it fun to be different? Really.

All my life I’ve encountered people who reel back, shake their heads and say, “You’re different!”

Sometimes they use other words, but they pretty much mean different.

That’s what I tell myself anyway.

I also tell myself that this is a good thing, hence the question above.

I’ve asked a couple other authors for the answer to the question posted Monday.

Susan’s answer resonates with me. When I encounter meaty prose my heart beats a little faster. A photograph can't fully capture the beauty of creation, but it hints like a shadow or a whisper of something just out of my grasp. Splendid prose is a window cracked open on a warm spring day and every time a slight breeze wafts, you get a whiff of what must be very close to the scent of heaven.

I mentioned Peace Like a River. Mr. Enger penned a vomiting scene unlike anything I’ve ever read. Pure poetry. About vomit… Yeah, only on Scrambled Dregs do you get stuff this funky.

So, back to differences…. Here’s Gina….

Character, plot or prose? Which grabs you by the heart? Why?

All of the above. Though the least would be the prose. I love good writing but story is king and without interesting characters, the story doesn't matter as much. So, in this order: Plot, character, prose. (However, if the writing isn't at least decent, I won't read on far enough to get into character or plot.)

Gina Holmes runs the popular fiction writer's blog, Novel Journey and assists with sister site, Novel Reviews. She has interviewed many of today's greatest authors from Ted Dekker to Karen Kingsbury to Walter Wangerin Jr. She is wife, mother, writer, blogger and Registered Nurse. She is currently working on her third suspense novel. www.noveljourney.blogspot.com www.novelreviews.blogspot.com

Monday, April 24, 2006

Serials and Scenarios – Susan Meissner Waxes Poetic on Prose

I purchased Peace Like a River a few weeks ago. This novel seems to crop up on the “favorites” list of most of the authors I admire or love to read. So, I used my tightly guarded Barnes and Noble gift card and splurged. If nothing else, it would look great on my shelf next to all my “writerly" books, I told myself.

But on Friday night, while I waited for my husband to come home from work, and while attempting to avoid cleaning the house, I opened the novel.

Oh, I want to write like Mr. Enger. Or at least I want to read everything he writes and weep at the beauty, or gnash with envy at his masterful talent.

Halfway through the book, I am enthralled with the story. The characters squeeze my heart and prime my tear ducts, and the word weaving is similar to a freshly spun spider web baptized with dew aglow in the light of the early morning sun.

I put a lot of stock in endings, and I’m not there yet. So, I will bite my fingernails and hope for hope, and resolution, and a hint of peace.

Minnesota produces fine writers. Thoughts from Minnesotan, Susan Meissner will be posted today. I recommend The Remedy for Regret and In All Deep Places, both poignant and rich. Her first two novels Why the Sky is Blue and A Window to the World are on my must read list. I reviewed In All Deep Places – click here to read it. http://novelreviews.blogspot.com/2006/01/meissners-in-all-deep-places-reviewed.html

BIO:
Susan Meissner is the author of four contemporary fiction titles, including "A Window to the World," named to Booklist's Top Teen Fiction for 2005. Her fifth novel, "A Seahorse in the Thames," will release in July 2006, followed by "Widows and Orphans," the first of three mystery novels, in October. Her current release is "In All Deep Places," now on bookstore shelves. She lives with her family in rural Minnesota and enjoys good coffee, real cheese and the occasional malt ball. http://susanmeissner.com/

I posed the following question:
Character, plot or prose? Which grabs you by the heart? Why?

And here is Susan’s answer.
Prose, hands-down. I honestly don’t know why. It’s like trying to explain why I love the color red. I just do. Prose moves me — awakens me — more than anything else. I loved Barbara Kingsolver’s The Poisonwood Bible, even though God kind of gets a bad rap in the plot and the characters don’t become the people I long for them to become. But the way Kingsolver weaves words is stellar. That’s why I’m especially glad for writers like Leif Enger. His Peace Like a River is a tale exquisitely told, his characters are people I can easily identify with and God doesn’t take a beating.

Friday, April 21, 2006

Scribbles and Scrambles - Funeral Pyre Pat

Funerals are rarely funny.

It’s in bad taste to laugh during a funeral.

But then, some rules are meant to be broken by certain types of families. I belong to one of those rule breakin’ funeral laughin’ families.

In our defense, let me explain the situation.

Great Grandma Mame was bigger than life. Oh, she was tiny in stature, but big in drama. At the time of her death, her mind had already been in a better place for several years. Ninety plus-plus-plus, she’d lived a full life. She earned a master’s degree in her sixties, and taught school into her seventies. She was a woman who embraced life, ate dessert first, wore purple and any other dang color combination she dang well felt like wearing. She was a woman who took command of the room, kissed her great-grandchildren sloppy and did I mention drama?

So, if her funeral had been someone else’s and she was in her full mind, she would have laughed at the events. And, just for the record, she had a relationship with Jesus. Long in coming and a great celebration of a homecoming.

My aunts and my mother may have looked overcome with grief. They sat in the front row and their shoulders shook with emotion. Unfortunately, the emotion was hysterical laughter. The young preacher read a lengthy scripture about immortality. The word was repeated many times. Each time he read it he said immorality.

That’s mild compared to the Pat moment.

Pat may have been taught to drive by a stunt or race car driver. I’ve never checked into this, or maybe it was a preacher, because every time I ride with him I feel closer to God.

We were a little late to the funeral. This is also a common theme in my family. I am the only one who arrives on time. I believe this is a rebellious streak.

Did I mention that the virtue of patience somehow skipped my dad?

We arrived at a yellow light. A yellow light in a left turning lane on the way to my great grandmother’s funeral. The car in front of us stopped, as we are all taught to do in driver’s education class. They must not teach that in stunt driving school.

On the light that was so yellow it was orange, Pat whipped around the car in front of us, which necessitated a pass on the right, and careened left, while the light turned red.

Silence filled the car.

Then I came up with some clever headlines. “Entire family wiped out on the way to matriarch’s funeral.” “Discount given for mass burial of family.” “Main Street becomes a funeral pyre for overeager family.”

And we laughed.

Thursday, April 20, 2006

Serials and Scenarios – Mary DeMuth's Perfect Mix-Up Author/Book


Hello all. I promised to mix things up now and again. Today I begin the process of sharing some non-interview questions and answers.



First, I'll introduce Mary. Mary makes this blog international. I'm going to use that term quite a bit. I believe it will end up being ad nauseum, but we’ll see.


Mary lives in France. I took three years of French in high school. I considered myself pretty multicultural. But one day, while I sorted clothes in the store where I was gainfully employed, two ladies wandered in. One lady mentioned the other was visiting from France and needed some shorts. I steered her to the spot where we corralled the shorts, and the French speaking woman asked me a question. In French. The language I studied for three years. I'm sure I played the Stupid Americano part well. I shrugged and hemmed and hawed. She made a few more beautiful sounding comments that were probably hideous insults, and I didn't understand a word. Finally, she found a pair that worked for her, and I rang her up. As I closed the register drawer, something came to me, a word, a French word. I stood a little taller and blurted, "Merci!"

The laughter filled the store and rang through the mall. An hour later, I would have sworn I still heard it. So needless to say, it thrills me to have Mary make me international. I just hope she won't ask me to speak French.

Okay – on with the program of the day…… the non-interview questions explanation.
I thought and thought and thought some more until a few odd questions or story starter sentences eked out and popped up on my computer screen.

Then I shared those questions/sentences with some writer buddies and acquaintances who said they’d play along. My question will be in red and italics, the answer in bold blue.

Perfect compilation author. Title of the best-selling novel? A tag line, too?
My example:

Author: Stephen Grisham
Book Title: "So Sue It."
Back Cover Grabber: No one recognized him, but he knew them all - every wart and blemish. Class-action in reverse, time for the settlement.

-------------Mary's Great Mix-it-up Novel Idea ----------------
Author: Jan Crichton.
Book Title: A Pox on Mitford.
Back Cover Grabber: Father Tim has a secret he’s told no one. He’s created a deadly weapons-grade virus—and his first victims? Mitford citizens.


Mary E. DeMuth
Christ Follower. Novelist. Freelance Writer.
Author: Building the Christian Family You Never Had
and Watching the Tree Limbs: A Novel
Blog. Website.



Bio:

Mary E. DeMuth has been crafting prose since 1992, first as a newsletter editor, then as a freelance writer, followed by a fiction and nonfiction author. Mary’s articles have appeared in Marriage Partnership, In Touch, HomeLife, Discipleship Journal, Pray!, Bon Appetit, Kindred Spirit, P31 Woman, and Hearts at Home. For two years she penned a lifestyle column for Star Community Newspapers in Dallas (circulation 100,000). Mary’s books include Ordinary Mom, Extraordinary God (Harvest House, 2005), Sister Freaks (Time Warner, 2005, one of four contributing authors, Editor Rebecca St. James), Building the Christian Family You Never Had (WaterBrook, 2006), Watching the Tree Limbs, and Wishing on Dandelions (NavPress, both novels releasing in 2006). In 2003, she won the Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference’s Pacesetter Award. Mary loves to speak about the art and craft of writing as well as the redemptive hand of God in impossible situations. She’s spoken in Munich, Vienna, Amsterdam, Portland, Dallas, Seattle, Florence, Monaco and San Jose. A thirty-nine-year-old mother of three, Mary lives with her husband Patrick in the South of France. Together with two other families, they are planting a church.

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

Snippets and Sound Bites – Slick Lessons Learned

While I was Greasy…10 Life Lessons and a Bonus.

Most mistakes are not fatal. And life does not come to a screeching halt when you do something stupid.

Laughter is great for the soul.

Unless you attract flies or bright lights, chances are, most people won’t notice your flaws right away.

A sincere smile draws attention away from flaws. Unless your mouth is a faux pas factory – then you might want to work up another trick.

When people laugh at you, you can join them, or find a corner to pout in. And if you hide in a corner, or in a dark room, or with a bag over your head, you miss stuff.

Attitude is sometimes the only control factor you own.

If fear of failure, or ridicule, or love rules your life you miss out on the sweetness of living.

People vs. situations will almost always have unique outcomes.

Just because one person found success, doesn’t mean you’ll find it in the same place, and that’s okay…because….perseverance pays off.

Lemonade is made from lemons under pressure with lots of added sweetening.

Life is a learning process. Only those willing to learn have something worth teaching.

Monday, April 17, 2006

Scary and Sensational - Weird Meme

Happy Monday.

Today you have to “listen” to seven weird things about me. Like you haven’t figured out at least seven weird things from what I’ve already posted.

I’ve been “Weird Meme’d” Thanks, Heather. You can reach Heather at http://heathersfunnythoughts.blogspot.com/ should you decide to complain about having to WAIT ONE MORE DAY for the gleaned wisdom from “while I was greasy.”

7. I once believed that the “powers that be” voted to change east and west so that the sun rose in the west and set in the east. My defense – I was 15, it was 4:45 a.m. and the cutest boy in the whole world lied to me. And I still married him!

6. The above little moment of gullibility lasted a fairly long time – like a couple of months. Hey, I was young, in love and it was stinking early.

5. I can pick up things with my toes. Yes, it’s true. I once gathered loose papers, shuffled them and stapled them together – with my toes. (No the toes were NOT stapled to the papers.)

4. I once cracked my collar bone by landing really hard on my rear end. (Oooh, that’s a good story, I’ll have to share it some time.)

3. My first book was self-published. I was five at the time. The title – Lousy, the Cat – written about my cat - Lucy. Spelling was not a strength.

2. Speaking of Kindergarten…. The lovely place where I discovered that yellow was not pronounced “wello”.

1. Speaking of spelling. College level “Spelling and Proofreading” made me a worse speller.

There you have it… I guess I’m supposed to plague others with the “Weird Meme Virus.” I plan to be very selective. Hmmmm...

Thursday, April 13, 2006

Scary and Sensational - Sonrise

What was it like on a Friday in Jerusalem almost 2,000 years ago?

Did the scent of budding and blooming life mingle with the metallic tang of His blood?

Was the air filled with the songs of birds before the darkness enveloped the city?

Ironic - the Creator allowed His creation to use His raw materials to crucify Him.

He stayed on the cross, held by puny metal nails.

Did the angels hover by the throne of the Almighty, begging with their eyes, hoping for a sign or a word that would release them to help Him?

The earth quaked.

Did the doves mourn?

What was it like for the Light of the world to have been cut off from the blinding Light of His Father's face?

The source of Life's life slowly, painfully ebbed away with each pump of His strangled heart.

The Wonderful Counselor was alone. No one to share His grief, or hold His head or hand and whisper, "there, there."

He did this for a small handful of worthless creatures who would choose to love Him.

He died my death, that day on the cross.

Then came Sunday morning.........and the rising of the Son.

He called me out of the darkness, and calls me His bride.

Maranatha.

Scribbles and Scrambles - Bad Idea - Part 4

Not only did I have to go to work on Slick Thursday, but I had two other must-dos. My writing support group meeting and a trip to the mall to pick up my daughter's engraved graduation locket couldn't be missed.

I pulled my greasy Medusa locks into a messy ponytail. Copped a little swagger, and projected the "I meant to do that" attitude and I hurried to the jewelry store.

I don't know if it was the glare from the overheads that caught everyone's eye, or if it was the eau du salad wafting behind me, but I pretty much had everyone's attention. Did I mention that I had begun rinsing with vinegar after each futile shampoo post cornstarch dump?

With my prized locket clutched in my hand, I hurried to the car and braced myself for one last frontier.

We meet in the coffee shop of a large Christian bookstore. Had this Vaseline incident happened today, I'd share it with the group and we'd have a good laugh, and talk about the stories that could come out of it.

But this particular meeting was only my fourth, ever. Published, intimidating authors populated the group.

I arrived fashionably late and slide into an open chair. All eyes fastened on me. I froze and eked out a tiny princess wave.

No one asked, though subtle sniffs seemed to come from my writer friends as they walked past my chair. And I caught many odd glances, but I didn't say a word.

Survival strengthened me.

On Friday, my locks still squirmed like Medusa's on a bad hair day. Shirlee breezed in with a perfect coif and a giggle. I hummed "I Will Survive."

By Sunday, the surface of my hair was dry to the touch. A week later it shone and luxuriated around my shoulders.

The benefits lasted about two days, then I had to pay for the harsh treatment.

Come back next week and I'll share what I learned while I was greasy.

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

Scribbles and Scrambles – Bad Idea – Part 3

After my shower and approximately six lather/rinse/repeat cycles later, I stared into the mirror. All alone and with loads of hindsight, the activities of the evening seemed slightly less fun and slightly more foolish. I plopped my hat on my head, which was as greasy as it had been prior to using half a bottle of shampoo.

Maybe the body heat or the hat would leech the petroleum from my hair. Yeah. Sure.

I slept. A dreamless, restless never-want-to-see-daylight-again kind of sleep.

No fairy or angelic visitations in the night. No lovely people from one of those wonderful organizations that clean up oil drenched helpless animals after oceanic oil spills came to my rescue either.

When I woke, I slid the hat from my head and touched it. Songs of self-pity played in my mind as I trudged to the bathroom. “nobody likes me….blah, blah, I guess I’ll go eat worms.”

It didn’t matter that I wasn’t in Jr. High anymore, nope, there was just enough teen spirit in my office to guarantee that all would get a charge out of this.

I scrubbed yet again; three times just on the outside chance, got dressed without looking into a mirror, and headed to work.

I fooled them the first couple of hours. But about ten o’clock co-workers began wondering out loud why my hair still looked dripping wet. I told a few of the more sympathetic ones. Then Shirlee called in and inquired about my hair. The laughter rang through the office.

One of the doctors took pity on me. He Googled Vaseline and hair and came up with a sure-fire cure. Cornstarch. Hope!

At first I was leery. After all, this same doctor was prone to pranking. But I Googled too, and behold, there it was. I rushed home, grabbed the box of cornstarch and ran to the bathroom. Whoosh! Instant powdered wig, hardening into a hairstyle that rivaled any big hair ever to parade across a television screen.

Yes, more tomorrow.

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

Scribbles and Scrambles – Bad Idea – Part 2

Location: 5th and 6th grade Wednesday evening Pioneer Clubs.

Shirlee and I are ready to make synchronized swimming history. I mentioned yesterday that we had pooh-poohed the water/swimsuit thing, and the standard Knox gelatin hair control. Instead we would perform our routine clothed, dry, and with Vaseline sculpted hair.

Nervous, as most athletes before a big event, Shirlee and I paced the room. We had the full attention of the kids while we explained a bit about the history of synchronized swimming.

Then it was time to perform.

Shirlee grabbed the container of Vaseline and smeared a glob into her hair. You could hear a pin drop. She held it out to me. I scooped and swirled.

Did I mention that my hair is longer than Shirlee’s? Or coarser and curly?

Within a minute, tops, Shirlee had an excellent greased upsweep, while I had wrestled my mane into a rope-like chunk of hairy goo. I should have known. Shirlee took pity on me, scooped out more Vaseline and coaxed a Who-like do.

We performed our routine with a forced encore (they didn’t ask for it, we made them sit through the slow-motion replay). A smattering of applause, lots of laughter, whew it was a success. I slapped a hat on my head.

Visions of nicely conditioned hair bounced through my brain while I planned on a quick wash out at 9:15 p.m.

Did I mention that Shirlee and I work together and that she had Thursday off?

Tune in tomorrow for the rest of the story……

Monday, April 10, 2006

Scribbles and Scrambles - Bad Idea

At the time, it seemed harmless. The kids would love it, and boy, would we have fun performing our routine.

Four days later I could laugh. Okay, maybe three. Wait, I did laugh manically while scrubbing my head the hundredth time.

Let me back up and start from the beginning.

Being the fun loving teacher I am, and having a helper who is almost as twisted as me (note – bad idea if you are prone to stupid moves.) I decided to put Vaseline in my hair.

Why? Because our 5th and 6th graders were assigned reports on different sports and we wanted to participate, and full of “Go USA” spirit we chose synchronized swimming.

Landlocked at the time, we opted not to use water and swimsuits. Instead we attempted to create realism with some authentic similarities. Interestingly, time was an issue, so the widely used Knox gelatin idea was nixed and we went with the older way to keep the swimmer’s hair in place. Vaseline.

Shirlee and I practiced our routine. It was nearly flawless. For two klutzes, that is. She whipped out the jar of Vaseline …………………. to be continued.

Friday, April 07, 2006

Snippets and Soundbites - Dyer County

A writing buddy of mine sheltered a family this fall that had been displaced by Katrina.

Now, my friend sees the devastation of a tornado that ripped through her backyard. She shares her feelings, below.

"We feel a bit frustrated seeing so much devastation and not knowing what we can do to help. We pray and do little things as we can, but need direction for more. In the meantime, life goes on, and it is odd to ride down the road and see life continuing as usual. Kind of like how when someone close to you dies and you expect the world to stop, but it doesn't, and it makes you a little mad. But then, what else can you do? When you walk the aisles at Walmart and look into eyes of strangers, it seems everyone is thinking the same thing -- you were spared; you're still alive."

Pray for Dyer County.

Though an entire family was saved by a split second decision, many others lost their lives or family members or homes.
Another friend is in Mississippi helping with the continued clean-up from Katrina.

She writes, "When you drive into town at first it doesn't seem so bad til you look a little harder and see that every single building that hasn't yet been rebuilt is completely gutted on the inside by water. Then when you drive toward the beach and the waterway it gets worse, there are whole neighborhoods that are just completely gone, literally leveled except for trees and foundations. There are still dead animals on the beach because no one has had time to clean them up."

These little slivers of life are humbling. Sometimes I get so caught up in my life I can't see beyond my back fence. There's a huge world out there, much closer than we realize.

Hope your day is filled with blessings and truth.

Thursday, April 06, 2006

Scribbles and Scrambles - Cat Attack

Cat Attack

Our cat was laid back. Not as much as the Peanuts cartoon cat with no bones, but pretty close.

One summer we dubbed her “Roadkill Bob” because she’d spread eagle out on the brick patio as flat as her hugely pregnant body would allow.

My beastly brother discovered he could pet her any direction and she’d come back for more (she was a little attention seeking and he was just naughty). One hot day he mined the limitations of her patience. Back combing with wet hands was not her cup of tea.

He lived through, “When cats attack…,” before the advent of reality television. I don’t recommend trying this at home.

Roadkill Bob chased Matt a very long way that afternoon.

He sustained a few scratches in his dignity.

Oh wait, no the dignity was never in danger. He cackled as he ran and a new stupid person trick was born.

Yes, Bob always ended up making her feelings known about back-combing.

Some people love to rub others the wrong way, too.

Not that I know this by experience.

I refer to them as human sandpaper. Usually fine grit, kind of the equivalent to a dripping faucet at midnight.

Sometimes they behave the way they do because they love to see you react like Roadkill Bob.

Just a dreg to ponder…

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

Scribbles and Scrambles - Flying Pat

Flying Pat

My family has Dad legends.

Oh, the stories we have. To this day, I don’t parallel park. And my in-laws wear wide-eyed looks of shock when our families get together.

I don’t know if I can do the stories justice, and I know I can’t pick my favorite one. So I’ll share one every once in awhile and call them Pats.

Today I’ll share the Flying Pat, not to be confused with the Flying Dutchman.

My younger brother tried every trick and adventure known to rural Iowa youths in the seventies. Occasionally, he crossed a line, and my dad, like most of the dads in that generation, responded (you know, the ones who could freeze a child’s blood with “the look.”)


The rule infraction has been forgotten but the Flying Pat lives on in legend. The brother got busted, received the look and froze but somehow got his eyes free and made a heroic escape attempt.

He scrambled up and over a five foot stock gate and hit the ground running.

Dad, in six-million dollar man style, took off after him. It was beautiful to watch. Olympic style scoring would have been 9.9’s across the board even from ‘doesn’t play well with others’ countries. He soared into the blue and leapt over the fence. And landed on my brother.

Sweet.

Wishing you a free flying, soft landing kind of day.

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Once In a Lifetime....

On Wednesday, at two minutes and three seconds after 1:00 in the morning, the time and date will be 01:02:03 04/05/06.

That won't ever happen again.

And I'm pretty sure I won't be awake to see it....but cool nonetheless.

Thank you for scouting out this very interesting dreg, Michelle.