Sugar plums and roasting chestnuts are the things that are supposed to come to mind when the Christmas season is upon us.
I wouldn’t know a roasted chestnut from a plum pudding.
And sugar plums -- are they anything like sugar beets or a sugar high?
Instead, foremost in my mind intermingling with the Christmas fa-la-la-la-la tunes, come the ghosts of this year past.
First -- the mother ghost -- what I coulda, woulda, shoulda but dinna --haunts me. After she sufficiently whips me about the head and shoulders, enter Mr. Debt to rear his hoary head. He manages to transcend time and become the ghostest with the mostest -- present, past and future rolled into one big headache. The writing wraith beckons, sure, but is easily ignored.
The absolute worst of all is the ghost of Christmas Ritual.
I’ll explain. I have Christmas Eve festivities at my home. In a moment of weakness, years ago, I agreed to my mother’s suggestion to host the family dinner. The tradition has not left me, nigh these two decades. The easiest year, was the one I spent in the emergency room with my eight-year-old. His injury wasn't hideous and when we returned the house was clean and food bubbled in the oven, thanks to my husband and my mom. But for months afterward I found things in odd places.
This experience may have intensified the ritual for me.
I have Martha Stewart dreams but live a Phyllis Diller life. In other words, I want candlight to glint and delicious smells to waft, and these do not occur naturally. Martha’s grand ideas must be kept waiting until I give in to the “company’s coming ritual”.
Defined, the ritual is the compulsion to clean the cupboards and closets so the clutter of my life has a proper home. Therefore, my December 24th gala often becomes a crushing Christmas dreadline.
This year I think I may buy lots of candles for my Christmas Eve celebration. And if my guests cooperate and promise to squint even the dusty things will glint. If the candles are scented I believe I could pull off the fine art of entertaining under pressure. Worse case scenario, a thousand open flames may take care of the clutter once and for all.
Wishing you organized closets and cupboards for 2007.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Friday, December 15, 2006
Scribbles and Scrambles - Thoughts on Buddy.
If you are an “Elf” hater, don’t read any further. Okay, you can but don’t say I didn’t warn you.
I love “Elf” – the movie. Generally speaking elves scare me. Situations such as the baking elf phenomena or the “you’ll shoot your eye out!” elves on “A Christmas Story” force me to classify them as close mutant cousins to clowns.
But Buddy the Elf – ah – he’s in a whole different kind of category.
I suppose with my sense of humor it could be because Buddy finds himself in many hilarious painful situations. My girls and I watched “Elf” last night. We rewound the taxi scene at least three times and the star hanging scene twice, just so we could laugh longer.
Yes, I’m afraid I’ve passed the mutant “laugh at all pratfalls” gene to my children. Sigh. Why didn’t they get the “Oh my goodness. Are you okay?” gene from my husband’s polite family? Oops. I digress.
Maybe I like Buddy the Elf because he’s just so sweet. I know he drinks syrup by the gallon, but that’s not the source of sweetness. Buddy is the ultimate Pollyanna (Paulyanna). Even when he despairs of being a proper elf and labels himself a “cotton-headed ninnymuggins” he still wants to be all he can be and hopes that there is something out there that is his to accomplish.
I want to be a Buddy. I want to see the potential and good and seek to make it even better. I want to live life without being self-conscious and concerned about the thoughts my behavior will generate in others. I want to see the world as shiny and exciting…each cup of coffee might be the “world’s best” in a wonderland where people leave gifts everywhere. I’d like to see the good but hidden gifts in others and encourage them to use them because they make the world a better place, while being thoughtful enough to warn them to watch for speeding cabs. I want to respond “yeah! He’s coming? Oh, Goody!” when I think about Jesus returning for me. Yes. That was Buddy’s response to Santa. So shouldn’t my response to Jesus be even stronger?
Believe. Sing. Embrace. Spread a little joy and cheer while you interact with others this weekend. And watch out for the yellow ones because they don’t stop.
I love “Elf” – the movie. Generally speaking elves scare me. Situations such as the baking elf phenomena or the “you’ll shoot your eye out!” elves on “A Christmas Story” force me to classify them as close mutant cousins to clowns.
But Buddy the Elf – ah – he’s in a whole different kind of category.
I suppose with my sense of humor it could be because Buddy finds himself in many hilarious painful situations. My girls and I watched “Elf” last night. We rewound the taxi scene at least three times and the star hanging scene twice, just so we could laugh longer.
Yes, I’m afraid I’ve passed the mutant “laugh at all pratfalls” gene to my children. Sigh. Why didn’t they get the “Oh my goodness. Are you okay?” gene from my husband’s polite family? Oops. I digress.
Maybe I like Buddy the Elf because he’s just so sweet. I know he drinks syrup by the gallon, but that’s not the source of sweetness. Buddy is the ultimate Pollyanna (Paulyanna). Even when he despairs of being a proper elf and labels himself a “cotton-headed ninnymuggins” he still wants to be all he can be and hopes that there is something out there that is his to accomplish.
I want to be a Buddy. I want to see the potential and good and seek to make it even better. I want to live life without being self-conscious and concerned about the thoughts my behavior will generate in others. I want to see the world as shiny and exciting…each cup of coffee might be the “world’s best” in a wonderland where people leave gifts everywhere. I’d like to see the good but hidden gifts in others and encourage them to use them because they make the world a better place, while being thoughtful enough to warn them to watch for speeding cabs. I want to respond “yeah! He’s coming? Oh, Goody!” when I think about Jesus returning for me. Yes. That was Buddy’s response to Santa. So shouldn’t my response to Jesus be even stronger?
Believe. Sing. Embrace. Spread a little joy and cheer while you interact with others this weekend. And watch out for the yellow ones because they don’t stop.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Scribbles and Scrambles -Livin' It
A patient of mine convicted me today.
I hate that.
He didn’t really convict me but what he said did which is even worse because I didn’t get to respond with an “ouch” and recoil so he had to carry guilt around all day.
I called his name and asked him how he was doing. One of those mindless, polite conversations where you expect the person to respond, “good, and you?”
He responded. “Livin’ the dream.”
I laughed. Sarcasm and dry delivery happen to be a couple of my favorite things.
But then his answer swirled around in my thoughts and I began to wrestle with them. Why do I not consider my life to be “livin’ the dream?”
I am. Really.
For starters, I live in the land of the free and home of the brave – the land of opportunity. I understand the concept of fun money, own a microwave and take indoor plumbing for granted about a hundred times a day.
My husband and I though flirting with the abyss early on didn’t plunge over. Our family is intact and a source of joy. Our son is married and doing well. Our middle daughter is delightful, and our baby is growing and learning and turning into a terrific human being.
We have a roof over our heads. And when tidied up and with low light it’s a wonderful place to live. As long as we keep the senile cat away from the open flame of a candle or keep the candle away from dust bunnies, that is.
So why did the comment trigger a snort?
Granted, the sound of foreclosures and the crashing waves of our dying rental business is an albatross we’ll carry a few more years. Chronic pain from the arthritis that has attacked my active husband remains a concern. And the unknown future of our three children is something we take often to the Lord.
But the bottom line is…I am living the dream. No matter what happens here, I have hope in God’s promises. I’m living beyond the dream. I’m livin’ blessed.
I hope you are, too.
I hate that.
He didn’t really convict me but what he said did which is even worse because I didn’t get to respond with an “ouch” and recoil so he had to carry guilt around all day.
I called his name and asked him how he was doing. One of those mindless, polite conversations where you expect the person to respond, “good, and you?”
He responded. “Livin’ the dream.”
I laughed. Sarcasm and dry delivery happen to be a couple of my favorite things.
But then his answer swirled around in my thoughts and I began to wrestle with them. Why do I not consider my life to be “livin’ the dream?”
I am. Really.
For starters, I live in the land of the free and home of the brave – the land of opportunity. I understand the concept of fun money, own a microwave and take indoor plumbing for granted about a hundred times a day.
My husband and I though flirting with the abyss early on didn’t plunge over. Our family is intact and a source of joy. Our son is married and doing well. Our middle daughter is delightful, and our baby is growing and learning and turning into a terrific human being.
We have a roof over our heads. And when tidied up and with low light it’s a wonderful place to live. As long as we keep the senile cat away from the open flame of a candle or keep the candle away from dust bunnies, that is.
So why did the comment trigger a snort?
Granted, the sound of foreclosures and the crashing waves of our dying rental business is an albatross we’ll carry a few more years. Chronic pain from the arthritis that has attacked my active husband remains a concern. And the unknown future of our three children is something we take often to the Lord.
But the bottom line is…I am living the dream. No matter what happens here, I have hope in God’s promises. I’m living beyond the dream. I’m livin’ blessed.
I hope you are, too.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Scribbles and Scrambles - Fa-Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha...La-La-La-La
Why is it I laugh at inappropriate times? Is my brain so malformed or twisted that I find the less-than-humorous hysterically funny?
For the record, I don’t laugh at truly horrific things. Never would I laugh at war footage, or car accidents with casualties, or pictures of orphans and/or mistreated animals. These things can dredge up deep emotional responses resulting in weeping.
I tend to tear up at the slightest emotional cue. The Christmas Shoes. Yep. It gets me, even though I’ve heard the song a thousand times. Sentimental commercials force a tear, too. I can’t enjoy a movie with a hint of emotional upheaval without my family watching me for signs of weeping rather than the touching moment on the screen.
But most other things are fair game.
For example, I was just reminded of a special Christmas moment that still makes me laugh 18 years later. Most mothers would not appreciate a wrestling match underneath the Christmas tree, the ones I know, anyway. Chances are, even fewer mothers would take a picture of their children fighting under the tree. So what does it say about me that I have a scrapbook page showing the progression of my two oldest children, at ages one and three, struggling to possess the same book? Starting with frustrated, red faces and ending with a headlock pin, in full color? Probably something the psych blog down the street needs to deal with.
Or is it scary that one of my favorite pictures is of our son while he sobs on a wooden reindeer? In my defense…he loved Rudolph. We were visiting my Grandma in Missouri, and Jordan wouldn’t leave the red-nosed planter alone…until I wanted a picture for our Christmas cards. Then he cried. So what’s a mom to do? Snap a picture, of course, if you’re a mom like me.
For the record, I don’t laugh at truly horrific things. Never would I laugh at war footage, or car accidents with casualties, or pictures of orphans and/or mistreated animals. These things can dredge up deep emotional responses resulting in weeping.
I tend to tear up at the slightest emotional cue. The Christmas Shoes. Yep. It gets me, even though I’ve heard the song a thousand times. Sentimental commercials force a tear, too. I can’t enjoy a movie with a hint of emotional upheaval without my family watching me for signs of weeping rather than the touching moment on the screen.
But most other things are fair game.
For example, I was just reminded of a special Christmas moment that still makes me laugh 18 years later. Most mothers would not appreciate a wrestling match underneath the Christmas tree, the ones I know, anyway. Chances are, even fewer mothers would take a picture of their children fighting under the tree. So what does it say about me that I have a scrapbook page showing the progression of my two oldest children, at ages one and three, struggling to possess the same book? Starting with frustrated, red faces and ending with a headlock pin, in full color? Probably something the psych blog down the street needs to deal with.
Or is it scary that one of my favorite pictures is of our son while he sobs on a wooden reindeer? In my defense…he loved Rudolph. We were visiting my Grandma in Missouri, and Jordan wouldn’t leave the red-nosed planter alone…until I wanted a picture for our Christmas cards. Then he cried. So what’s a mom to do? Snap a picture, of course, if you’re a mom like me.
Friday, December 08, 2006
Scribbles and Scrambles - Scientific Poll...Vote Today!
Hmmm. I see some sort of connection here. Sue’s most vivid memory is her childhood car crash and then comes Janet with a story about her mishap.
Brace yourselves.
I, too, experienced this phenomenon.
Now, it could be a coincidence that we all three share this type of event and that we write.
Or maybe there is something to it. Could it be we each suffered a specific type of brain burp while rolling around – or flying out of – the backseat? And the result of the brain burp is the compulsion to write. Sue claims it, I know I’ve got it, and Janet…well, she even pens poems about writing.
My incident involved a trip to the hospital. My mom drove, lest you think that my dad, Pat might have a finger in all of this. I occupied the back seat of said hurtling car.
The rest of the details are sketchy. I’m not sure whether we hit something or experienced a near miss but I do remember a rapid toss to the floor. Not really the floor, more like the bag of groceries residing there. I crushed a package of Oreos.
Somehow I ended up in the emergency room. I don’t know if they thought I may have another grocery item wedged somewhere but a rather cute doctor (okay, even five year old girls notice these things. Hello! Am I right romance readers?) sliced the straps of my new tank top so they could remove it. The adorable tank top that I’d only worn for a few hours.
So how about it writers…any childhood car accidents? Do your part for science, kids.
Brace yourselves.
I, too, experienced this phenomenon.
Now, it could be a coincidence that we all three share this type of event and that we write.
Or maybe there is something to it. Could it be we each suffered a specific type of brain burp while rolling around – or flying out of – the backseat? And the result of the brain burp is the compulsion to write. Sue claims it, I know I’ve got it, and Janet…well, she even pens poems about writing.
My incident involved a trip to the hospital. My mom drove, lest you think that my dad, Pat might have a finger in all of this. I occupied the back seat of said hurtling car.
The rest of the details are sketchy. I’m not sure whether we hit something or experienced a near miss but I do remember a rapid toss to the floor. Not really the floor, more like the bag of groceries residing there. I crushed a package of Oreos.
Somehow I ended up in the emergency room. I don’t know if they thought I may have another grocery item wedged somewhere but a rather cute doctor (okay, even five year old girls notice these things. Hello! Am I right romance readers?) sliced the straps of my new tank top so they could remove it. The adorable tank top that I’d only worn for a few hours.
So how about it writers…any childhood car accidents? Do your part for science, kids.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Serials and Scenarios - Sue Dent - Never Ceese - The Interview.
As promised a look inside the mind of a woman who has written a novel about a werewolf and vampire. Read on, if you dare.
Questions are in red - answers blue....
What is your most vivid childhood memory?
Most vivid . . . hmmmm I suppose the aftermath of going from the backseat to the frontseat, through the windshield and back into the back seat again. That's right, no regulations for seat belts in the good ol' days. I was seven or eight. I just remember my dad jumping out after someone ran a stop sign on a dark and rainy night when we were coming home from church. My mom's legs were cut by glass, my brother bumped his head and my sister had a small cut above her eye. But me . . . well, I got to ride on the stretcher!!! And yes, I remember that as the fun part. I remember looking up at the dark night sky, seeing lightening flash and feeling honored that I was getting all the attention. I have a nice scar on my right arm where it was cut to the bone and one all the way around my head, (which hair does a good job of covering). I could get more vivid but I think that's the mark of a good writer, knowing what your audience can tolerate or even wants to read.
What are you usually writing when you hit the sweet spot (when it feels almost effortless - characters, plot, beginning, end etc.)?
Let's put it this way, if I'm writing and it doesn't feel effortless, I stop writing. I don't think I've ever written when it didn't feel effortless. I write because I can't seem to NOT write. Honestly, it never is a struggle for me to write.
What natural or man-made things inspire your creativity?
Life inspires me. Struggles inspire me. Victory inspires me. Defeat inspires me. God has provided so many opportunities for inspiration. Thunderstorms inspire me. I LOVE them. Oh, and being bored inspires me. I can't stand being bored.
If you could visit any place in the universe where would you go and what would you do?
Wow! Universe. Not that long ago, I probably could have named a specific place. Now, I realize, everywhere you go is pretty much just like where you're at. If I can't do whatever I want to do right where I'm at, there's no point thinking about what I might do if I went somewhere else. I would classify that as wasting time and I don't have enough time left to waste though it is an intriguing question! LOL
What are you doing when you feel most alive?
Writing! Imagine that. Okay, just being creative. And praying!
My kids trying to scare me! They do this because it's so difficult for them to sneak up on me. They're so predictable! I always no what they're up to. Yet when they finally succeed, they're laughter at seeing me startled is contagious.
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1599580179
http://www.neverceese.com/
Questions are in red - answers blue....
What is your most vivid childhood memory?
Most vivid . . . hmmmm I suppose the aftermath of going from the backseat to the frontseat, through the windshield and back into the back seat again. That's right, no regulations for seat belts in the good ol' days. I was seven or eight. I just remember my dad jumping out after someone ran a stop sign on a dark and rainy night when we were coming home from church. My mom's legs were cut by glass, my brother bumped his head and my sister had a small cut above her eye. But me . . . well, I got to ride on the stretcher!!! And yes, I remember that as the fun part. I remember looking up at the dark night sky, seeing lightening flash and feeling honored that I was getting all the attention. I have a nice scar on my right arm where it was cut to the bone and one all the way around my head, (which hair does a good job of covering). I could get more vivid but I think that's the mark of a good writer, knowing what your audience can tolerate or even wants to read.
What are you usually writing when you hit the sweet spot (when it feels almost effortless - characters, plot, beginning, end etc.)?
Let's put it this way, if I'm writing and it doesn't feel effortless, I stop writing. I don't think I've ever written when it didn't feel effortless. I write because I can't seem to NOT write. Honestly, it never is a struggle for me to write.
What natural or man-made things inspire your creativity?
Life inspires me. Struggles inspire me. Victory inspires me. Defeat inspires me. God has provided so many opportunities for inspiration. Thunderstorms inspire me. I LOVE them. Oh, and being bored inspires me. I can't stand being bored.
If you could visit any place in the universe where would you go and what would you do?
Wow! Universe. Not that long ago, I probably could have named a specific place. Now, I realize, everywhere you go is pretty much just like where you're at. If I can't do whatever I want to do right where I'm at, there's no point thinking about what I might do if I went somewhere else. I would classify that as wasting time and I don't have enough time left to waste though it is an intriguing question! LOL
What are you doing when you feel most alive?
Writing! Imagine that. Okay, just being creative. And praying!
What song makes you tingle or sing at the top of your lungs?
Right now, Mercy Me's I can only Imagine. And anything my brother Jeff Steele of the The Southern Gospel Wonders, The Steele Family writes and sings!
What movie or novel line resonates with you?
Marty Feldman's phenomenal delivery of this line in Young Frankenstein: "Could be worse. Could be raining." Sorry if it's not Marty Feldman. Too tired to do a google search.
How does something worm its way into your heart? (tears, humor, loss)
After having kids, one who's been through ADEM, just about anything tugs at my heart. Unfairness though. Don't let me catch someone being unfair to someone else!
What movie has impacted you the most and why?
This questions begs for a serious movie but I sincerely can not watch a serious movie. Okay, here's one The Ninth Configuration starring Stacey Keetch.(sp?) I loved the suspense, the brotherly love theme, MAN it was good!!!!
My kids trying to scare me! They do this because it's so difficult for them to sneak up on me. They're so predictable! I always no what they're up to. Yet when they finally succeed, they're laughter at seeing me startled is contagious.
Create a scene, a character, some dialogue, micro-fiction, or skeleton plot from two or three of the following items. (a paragraph or two - even a sentence would do.)
A coat-rack with a stocking cap dangling from its arm
has very little chance of doing you much harm.
An unidentifiable antique, the scent of pipe tobacco
Grandpa must be smoking, Grandma thinks he's wacko
Freshly cut grass on my feet, evening dew is forming
A wandering three-year-old enjoys. Summer days are warming
A frizzy-haired seventy year old fiddles with a cell phone
Stainless steel, a distant motor, another day is gone.
The smell of rain, satin pajamas, how could it get much better
Rambling thoughts, a mind that's ripe, someone writes a letter.
http://www.amazon.com/exec
http://www.neverceese.com/
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Serials and Scenarios - Sue Dent - Never Ceese
I'm a little bummed.
I declined a couple of books up for review because I had too much on my plate.
"Never Ceese" is one of those books.
How could I have done that? Angst - gnash.
Follow the links to Sue Dent's new book "Never Ceese" and her website and you'll see what I mean.
"Never Ceese":
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1599580179
What about that cover? Shudder.
Sue:
http://www.neverceese.com/
Horror and/or sci-fi are not my first pick - but a vampire and a werewolf with a underlying redemption theme seems like a must read.
At least Sue jumped on my interview questions and sent me a little piece of her thoughts through cyberspace. I'll post those tomorrow. Ya gotta like someone who doesn't watch serious movies yet writes about characters in bondage to the darkness.
I declined a couple of books up for review because I had too much on my plate.
"Never Ceese" is one of those books.
How could I have done that? Angst - gnash.
Follow the links to Sue Dent's new book "Never Ceese" and her website and you'll see what I mean.
"Never Ceese":
http://www.amazon.com/exec
What about that cover? Shudder.
Sue:
http://www.neverceese.com/
Horror and/or sci-fi are not my first pick - but a vampire and a werewolf with a underlying redemption theme seems like a must read.
At least Sue jumped on my interview questions and sent me a little piece of her thoughts through cyberspace. I'll post those tomorrow. Ya gotta like someone who doesn't watch serious movies yet writes about characters in bondage to the darkness.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)