I fear poetry. When I'm serious, will I make people laugh? If I attempt to be vague will anyone get it? Today I'm inspired though. Inspired and brave.
My very public attempt at a poem. I hope it touches your hearts.
Ode to the Blasted Squeaking Cricket
Glossy obsidian armor
Talent oozes, your song inspires
Delicate strings played to perfection
Fingers of dusk,
Encroaching twilight,
Awakens your siren song.
Memories flow with your symphony,
Hide and seek, tag
Campfires and stolen kisses
Somehow, you’ve stolen
Into my home
Alone, the notes fall sour
Thoughts of you flood me
Crushed obsidian shell
Squished cream filling
Die, cricket, die.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Scribbles and Scrambles - Closet Story
Guess how big my bedroom closet is...the one in the house we moved into twelve years ago. Give up? If you said “zero” you win. The master bedroom has NO closet. Sound familiar?
The little ranch style matchbox resembled a cave when we moved in. Everything that didn’t scurry away got a couple of coats of white paint.
Rob put together a clothing rack, placed it against the wall and named it “closet.”
The move depleted funds to the point that the remodeling had to wait. The following year brought a broken ankle, three weeks before the really good health insurance with the great deductible kicked in. Sigh. Note to readers. Never drop a wall on your leg. Bad things happen.
Finally, after six long years, the process began.
Instead of replacing the roof, we decided to build a second story. Rob is VERY talented. He came up with this amazing plan and started to work.
Started.
The problems came with finishing… and that gnarly two-headed beast…money and time.
For several years I’ve contented myself with pulling into my driveway and gazing at my beautiful shell of a house. When time and money intersected and Rob disappeared upstairs, I’d dance around like a psychotic puppy, delivering tools and attention wherever he might need some.
All has been right the past several weeks, the perfect mesh of time/money intersection. Much has been done upstairs. I’ve painted rooms butter yellow, creamy cappuccino, soothing celery and vivid blue.
One and ½ of the rooms need paint. That’s it. The floors are ready to go down. I can see the checkered flag on the horizon.
I painted my new walk-in closet on Monday. Tonight, I paint my bedroom.
Is it possible that I’ve waited so long I won’t know what to do with my very own closet?
Yeah…Right!
The little ranch style matchbox resembled a cave when we moved in. Everything that didn’t scurry away got a couple of coats of white paint.
Rob put together a clothing rack, placed it against the wall and named it “closet.”
The move depleted funds to the point that the remodeling had to wait. The following year brought a broken ankle, three weeks before the really good health insurance with the great deductible kicked in. Sigh. Note to readers. Never drop a wall on your leg. Bad things happen.
Finally, after six long years, the process began.
Instead of replacing the roof, we decided to build a second story. Rob is VERY talented. He came up with this amazing plan and started to work.
Started.
The problems came with finishing… and that gnarly two-headed beast…money and time.
For several years I’ve contented myself with pulling into my driveway and gazing at my beautiful shell of a house. When time and money intersected and Rob disappeared upstairs, I’d dance around like a psychotic puppy, delivering tools and attention wherever he might need some.
All has been right the past several weeks, the perfect mesh of time/money intersection. Much has been done upstairs. I’ve painted rooms butter yellow, creamy cappuccino, soothing celery and vivid blue.
One and ½ of the rooms need paint. That’s it. The floors are ready to go down. I can see the checkered flag on the horizon.
I painted my new walk-in closet on Monday. Tonight, I paint my bedroom.
Is it possible that I’ve waited so long I won’t know what to do with my very own closet?
Yeah…Right!
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Scribbles and Scrambles - House Story
I’m back from my break. The office has been much uglier when I’ve returned from shorter chunks of time. However, I could really get used to drawing a paycheck and not having to punch a clock.
Sharing the following information may bring the remodeling on my home to a screeching, squealing stop. It seems that’s how it goes. Some people consider it jinxing, I think it’s closer to Murphy’s Law.
Since marriage we’ve lived in homes, two of them, which have required extensive work. Something about price ranges and youthful foolishness comes to mind here, but that’s another post.
Our previous home boasted decades and lots of personality. Dormers, oak floors, cubby holes, all the character you could ever want in a house. And the natural gas meter in the cold Iowa winters, well, flying, speeding, soaring are nice descriptive words for the little “I’m sucking you dry” dance it did. Let’s just say we gave the stupid little wheel a workout. It chugged along like a rabid hamster at three a.m., and we got the gas bills to prove it.
After a decade of living in the huge home, when I’d decorated just like I wanted, and the only thing I lacked was a closet to call my own, we got the itch to move. A place just outside of the city limits came on the market.
That’s not true. It had been on the market for months, we just happened to trip over it.
Five hundred square feet less living space, a boxy ranch with as much personality as a dirty dishrag, it shouldn’t have gotten our attention. The price and the school district were the siren’s song, and we succumbed.
Scrambling to finish up the remodeling on our turn of the century, almost done home, we just dove into the obvious. My closet needed to be finished. As I packed, my husband glued, pounded and created.
One night two days before the move, a muffled voice came from the corner of my bedroom. “Honey!” I followed and found him standing in a pristine walk-in closet. A little light cord dangled in front of his face. “Go get me one of your blouses.” I did. He grabbed the hanger, slapped it on the white closet rod and laughed. “Now you can say you actually got to use it.”
Sharing the following information may bring the remodeling on my home to a screeching, squealing stop. It seems that’s how it goes. Some people consider it jinxing, I think it’s closer to Murphy’s Law.
Since marriage we’ve lived in homes, two of them, which have required extensive work. Something about price ranges and youthful foolishness comes to mind here, but that’s another post.
Our previous home boasted decades and lots of personality. Dormers, oak floors, cubby holes, all the character you could ever want in a house. And the natural gas meter in the cold Iowa winters, well, flying, speeding, soaring are nice descriptive words for the little “I’m sucking you dry” dance it did. Let’s just say we gave the stupid little wheel a workout. It chugged along like a rabid hamster at three a.m., and we got the gas bills to prove it.
After a decade of living in the huge home, when I’d decorated just like I wanted, and the only thing I lacked was a closet to call my own, we got the itch to move. A place just outside of the city limits came on the market.
That’s not true. It had been on the market for months, we just happened to trip over it.
Five hundred square feet less living space, a boxy ranch with as much personality as a dirty dishrag, it shouldn’t have gotten our attention. The price and the school district were the siren’s song, and we succumbed.
Scrambling to finish up the remodeling on our turn of the century, almost done home, we just dove into the obvious. My closet needed to be finished. As I packed, my husband glued, pounded and created.
One night two days before the move, a muffled voice came from the corner of my bedroom. “Honey!” I followed and found him standing in a pristine walk-in closet. A little light cord dangled in front of his face. “Go get me one of your blouses.” I did. He grabbed the hanger, slapped it on the white closet rod and laughed. “Now you can say you actually got to use it.”
Monday, August 21, 2006
Snippets and Sound Bites -- I'm a Bit Excited......
Happy Monday.
I've escaped from the rat race, even though my co-workers are all lovely and look nothing like rodents, for one more day.
Today is pretty much my last day with nothing to do but write, and paint. I managed to be pretty productive last week. Not only did I paint several rooms, but one of the things I wrote and submitted tied for second place, runner up, whatever you'd like to call it. You can see it tomorrow, August 22, 2006 if you click this link.www.charisconnection.blogspot.com . If you go today, you can see Karen Robbins winning entry.
I'm not going to lie. I'm pretty jazzed about sharing the honor with Michael Snyder. I'm also still tingling from hyperventilating over the fact that four top Christian novelists actually chose my entry. Congratulations Karen and Michael.
I've come a long way from my stumble into Christian writing and contests two years ago.
I'd like to publicly thank all the excellent people who are a tremendous help to those who don't have a clue. I've learned so much, and still have much to learn.
My critique group - The Penwrights - are beyond wonderful. I've grown from conferences I've attended, and many loops.
I've bled, wept and even despaired, let me tell you, but once all the beatings stop - the healing process feels so good.
I've escaped from the rat race, even though my co-workers are all lovely and look nothing like rodents, for one more day.
Today is pretty much my last day with nothing to do but write, and paint. I managed to be pretty productive last week. Not only did I paint several rooms, but one of the things I wrote and submitted tied for second place, runner up, whatever you'd like to call it. You can see it tomorrow, August 22, 2006 if you click this link.www.charisconnection.blogspot.com . If you go today, you can see Karen Robbins winning entry.
I'm not going to lie. I'm pretty jazzed about sharing the honor with Michael Snyder. I'm also still tingling from hyperventilating over the fact that four top Christian novelists actually chose my entry. Congratulations Karen and Michael.
I've come a long way from my stumble into Christian writing and contests two years ago.
I'd like to publicly thank all the excellent people who are a tremendous help to those who don't have a clue. I've learned so much, and still have much to learn.
My critique group - The Penwrights - are beyond wonderful. I've grown from conferences I've attended, and many loops.
I've bled, wept and even despaired, let me tell you, but once all the beatings stop - the healing process feels so good.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Scribbles and Scrambles -- Killer Laundry
I'm on vacation. One of the best ones ever.
We were supposed to pile into a vehicle and travel hundreds of miles on Tuesday, but decided:
a) the moulah was a bit more than what we wanted to shell out.
b) we had so much to do at home.
c) is it really a vacation if it just adds stress?
My hubby is putting in serious hours on our big remodeling project. I've helped there, too. I managed to work out the details for a creative writing class I'm teaching to kids this fall, build several characters and throw together a skeleton plot for a cozy mystery that I'm going to be writing with a friend, and I sent out a piece to Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul.
Even more impressive...are you ready? All the laundry is clean.
Sorry if I confused all of you with the whole national security thing.
If I had shared anymore details, I'd have to come after you and ...... well you know the rest. And frankly, if I didn't want to shell out the money for gas to Ohio, chances are I'd really be crabby having to travel all over the country. Janet and Heather alone would break the bank.
So, now I'm going to get back to work killing off some guy in my novel, and putting away all that clean laundry. Laundry inspires hostility, maybe I should put it away first.
Happy weekend everyone!
We were supposed to pile into a vehicle and travel hundreds of miles on Tuesday, but decided:
a) the moulah was a bit more than what we wanted to shell out.
b) we had so much to do at home.
c) is it really a vacation if it just adds stress?
My hubby is putting in serious hours on our big remodeling project. I've helped there, too. I managed to work out the details for a creative writing class I'm teaching to kids this fall, build several characters and throw together a skeleton plot for a cozy mystery that I'm going to be writing with a friend, and I sent out a piece to Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul.
Even more impressive...are you ready? All the laundry is clean.
Sorry if I confused all of you with the whole national security thing.
If I had shared anymore details, I'd have to come after you and ...... well you know the rest. And frankly, if I didn't want to shell out the money for gas to Ohio, chances are I'd really be crabby having to travel all over the country. Janet and Heather alone would break the bank.
So, now I'm going to get back to work killing off some guy in my novel, and putting away all that clean laundry. Laundry inspires hostility, maybe I should put it away first.
Happy weekend everyone!
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Scribbles and Scrambles - Close Call
Whew.
I survived my meeting of national importance.
I have to admit that I'm a bit disappointed. The "meeting" took place in a well-traveled public venue of my choosing.
My contact looked every inch undercover, right down to the braces.
The biggest thrill was the badge. You know how "they" flip their little leather badge cases at you when they want to "talk." This would probably right before they scream "FREEZE!" and definitely before a slug in the thigh throws you head over heels.
Anyhoo, the badge was flashed. My blood pressure rose, my breathing became shallow, my mouth a dry Sahara moment during the longest, hottest day of the year. I blinked too long, and the badge headed toward the briefcase.
I put up my hand. "Wait. I want to look at that."
Expensive black leather. Nice. I didn't even need to sniff it to see if it was really fine quality leather, the smoothness told the whole story.
I suppose they get a good deal buying them in bulk.
A little plastic window covered the bumpy three dimensional badge, nothing like the lousy stickers I've seen elsewhere.
Did I see anything resembling a firearm? No.
Did the questioner even flinch when I suggested I might tell people that I was tazered for not cooperating? No.
Sigh.
My brush with national security greatness and I didn't even get threatened.
But in spite of my disappointment - I did the right thing. National security was not compromised on my watch.
You're welcome.
I survived my meeting of national importance.
I have to admit that I'm a bit disappointed. The "meeting" took place in a well-traveled public venue of my choosing.
My contact looked every inch undercover, right down to the braces.
The biggest thrill was the badge. You know how "they" flip their little leather badge cases at you when they want to "talk." This would probably right before they scream "FREEZE!" and definitely before a slug in the thigh throws you head over heels.
Anyhoo, the badge was flashed. My blood pressure rose, my breathing became shallow, my mouth a dry Sahara moment during the longest, hottest day of the year. I blinked too long, and the badge headed toward the briefcase.
I put up my hand. "Wait. I want to look at that."
Expensive black leather. Nice. I didn't even need to sniff it to see if it was really fine quality leather, the smoothness told the whole story.
I suppose they get a good deal buying them in bulk.
A little plastic window covered the bumpy three dimensional badge, nothing like the lousy stickers I've seen elsewhere.
Did I see anything resembling a firearm? No.
Did the questioner even flinch when I suggested I might tell people that I was tazered for not cooperating? No.
Sigh.
My brush with national security greatness and I didn't even get threatened.
But in spite of my disappointment - I did the right thing. National security was not compromised on my watch.
You're welcome.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Scribbles and Scrambles - Devilish BBQ Tunes
I’m dying to share an upcoming event. But I can’t. Not yet. Not until I get clearance because it is a matter that may affect national security. BTW if I don’t post for awhile, it might be because I’m on “the list.” I plan to ask several questions, and who knows which question might put me in danger. But don’t worry.
So, while I wait for my fate, I’ll just ramble a bit about music choices in the facilities of fine BBQ establishments. I’m not anti-music by any stretch. Music moves me, even, once in a great while – dare I say – elevator music. Being tuned in to music – well, therein lies the problem. The BBQ dining room played light, upbeat, subtle tunes which didn’t hinder conversation, which is a plus.
The bathroom, however, had a whole different stream of tunes flowing through the loudspeaker. I visited twice. This is not uncommon. My husband claims I know the location of every water closet in the two-state area. My mother insists I have a bladder the size of a lentil.
“Dueling Banjos” played the first time I visited the otherwise lovely restroom. Fortunately, the song was at the very slow build-up beginning. There could have been problems, the pressure of the competition within the later bars of the tune could have been too much.
So, the only harm done was in the reminder of the movie….ewww.
My mother (yes, she too has a lentil-sized bladder – but it’s iron coated) and I were serenaded with “Devil Went Down to Georgia.” Love the song. And once again, the song was in the early stages so no real harm was done.
Note to restaurant owners: music in the bathroom really should be screened. Dueling Bladders are not pretty.
So, while I wait for my fate, I’ll just ramble a bit about music choices in the facilities of fine BBQ establishments. I’m not anti-music by any stretch. Music moves me, even, once in a great while – dare I say – elevator music. Being tuned in to music – well, therein lies the problem. The BBQ dining room played light, upbeat, subtle tunes which didn’t hinder conversation, which is a plus.
The bathroom, however, had a whole different stream of tunes flowing through the loudspeaker. I visited twice. This is not uncommon. My husband claims I know the location of every water closet in the two-state area. My mother insists I have a bladder the size of a lentil.
“Dueling Banjos” played the first time I visited the otherwise lovely restroom. Fortunately, the song was at the very slow build-up beginning. There could have been problems, the pressure of the competition within the later bars of the tune could have been too much.
So, the only harm done was in the reminder of the movie….ewww.
My mother (yes, she too has a lentil-sized bladder – but it’s iron coated) and I were serenaded with “Devil Went Down to Georgia.” Love the song. And once again, the song was in the early stages so no real harm was done.
Note to restaurant owners: music in the bathroom really should be screened. Dueling Bladders are not pretty.
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