Scribbles and Scrambles ~ Adventures of Toad-Boy and Grasshopper Part 1

I'm going to visit more male-child moments. I can afford to do this because unlike Kim and a few others who will remain nameless, I don't have any boys smearing dirt on my walls and inhaling refrigerator contents.

Nor do I have a teenage male who feels it's his life call to drive me to the psych ward (in all uses of the word.)

That said. Come enjoy a slightly sanitized walk down memory lane.

Boyish pursuits at my house included, but did not limit themselves to, wrestling matches between Jordan whom I'll call Toad-Boy and his buddy whom I'll refer to as Grasshopper. (No, not as in the infamous Kung Fu reference, but as in appearance.)

Let's just say the boy's appendages were twice as long as necessary for his body and his body was really slow in catching up with them.

I rarely spend $35 on a vase.

I dare say I've done it just one time.

In case you haven't figured it out, this particular incident involves said $35 vase.

I'd been gone for a spell, probably dropping big bucks at the grocery store to feed Toad-Boy and Grasshopper.

When I returned I noticed 4 things. Eyeballs. Guilty dog-type eyeballs.

You know what that looks like -- flitting eye contact, a whole lot of white showing and a slightly off-center tilt to the area where "the incident" occurred.

"What's up?" I asked with a sigh. I knew. But I was hoping for a different answer.

Rapid-fire small talk erupted from the boys. Random hints were dropped. Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore.

"Is it broken?"

Oh well. One less thing to dust and a lesson learned. After all, $35 can buy a whole bag of groceries to feed those growing boys.

Serials and Scenarios - Linda Hall

I haven't read Shadows at the Window, yet. But Linda is the author of one of my favorite books from last year. Black Ice would be a nice cool read for a hot summer day....

Linda was kind enough to answer the Dregs questions even though she wasn't able to at the time of my review of Black Ice.

Award winning author Linda Hall has written twelve novels and seven nonfiction books. She has also worked as a freelance writer, news reporter and feature writer for a daily newspaper.

From an early age, she was a lover of stories. As a child she would walk home from school and make up stories, most of which didn't get written down. She also read book after book far into the night. She still enjoys reading, and probably reads a novel a week.

Growing up in New Jersey, her love of the ocean was nurtured during many trips to the shore. When she's not writing she and she and her husband enjoy sailing the St. John River system and the coast of Maine in their 28 foot sailboat, Gypsy Rover II. She invites her readers to her website.

Fiction character you would most like to be or most identify with and why?

Jessica Fletcher in Murder She Wrote. I like the fact that this woman ‘of a certain age’ is classy and independent and smart and a successful mystery writer. I want to be her.

If you could ask any person, living or dead, a random question -- what question would you ask of whom?

My question would be for Charles Dickens and for his book, A Tale of Two Cities. Mr. Dickens, how did you come up with such a great opening sentence?

Some out there in writing land have strange rituals. Share yours.

I find I get my best writing done in coffee shops writing long hand on unlined sheets of scrap paper with colorful fine point Sharpies.
Back before I wrote novels I was a journalist and when I trained, reporters learned shorthand. So, I write my drafts in a large scrawly shorthand that I must transcribe to the computer just as soon as I get back to my office before I can’t read them anymore.

If you could change something in any novel, what would you change about it and why?

In Margaret Atwood’s novel Cat’s Eye, I wanted to meet Elaine’s elusive friend Cordelia at the end. I felt cheated. We never get to meet this person who had such a prominent part in the story, but I guess that was the point! I’m still a great Margaret Atwood fan however, and have read everything she has written, and own most of her books - even though they infuriate me sometimes.

Favorite turn of phrase or word picture, in literature or movie.

In one of his books, Robert Parker describes someone as looking simply “like a sunflower.” It was so much better than going on and on about his wild yellow hair sticking up all over the place and his long, lanky bent-over body. When I’m tempted to go on and on and on with my descriptions, I think of Robert Parker and try to paint a word picture a different way.

If you were assured of writing a best-seller, what genre would it be?

I think I would write exactly what I’m writing now – romantic suspense stories and thrillers. If I had the time I might write a pirate story.

What period of history intrigues you the most?

The times of the swash bucklers. “Argh, argh, matey.” I’m intrigued by life aboard sailing vessels, especially the old square riggers.

What would you write if there were no rules or barriers? (epic novels about characters in the Bible, poetry, greeting cards, plays, movies, instruction manuals, etc.)

I would write an epic and very long novel set on an old square rigged sailing ship. There would be more women aboard than in the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, simply because there usually were more women aboard. There would be shipwrecks on desert islands and hurling, brutal seas and long periods of becalmed scorching suns. There would be starvation and sickness, but also times of great music and joy. Babies would be born on board, (It’s where we get the expression ‘son of a gun’), and others would die, their bodies committed to the sea. There would be mystery and betrayal and pirates and of course, romance.
The ocean is really our last frontier. It is entirely uncontrollable. I would love to capture that in a book – having the sea itself be like a character rather than merely the setting. You better stop me before I turn this simple answer into a full-fledged proposal!

What makes you feel alive?

Sitting beside the ocean, mountain biking over rough terrain in the sun, drinking coffee with friends, sitting outdoors and listening to a good live blues band.

How does something worm its way into your heart? Through tears, truth, humor or other?

Probably through pain. That seems to be how I learn best. That seems to be how God reaches me and teaches me. It’s where most of my story ideas come – pain.

Book, music, person, food you would take with you on a very long trip.

Aside from the Bible, the book I would take would be the entire works of C.S. Lewis. I read all of his books a long time ago, and need to re-read them.

Music – Something acoustic and bluesy – Maybe my entire Bonnie Raitt collection.

Food – Wine Gums or Peach Fuzzies.

Person? My husband of 36 years. We’ve done a lot of traveling together and I can’t imagine anyone I would rather go on a long trip with.

Where would you most like to travel ----- moon, north pole, deep seas, deserted island, the holy land or back to a place from your childhood, somewhere else? – and why.

I’d like to go to Europe. I would like to travel through three specific counties - Spain, because I think the language and culture are beautiful; France, because I think the language and culture are beautiful; and Italy because I think the language and culture are beautiful.

Favorite season and why?

I like the fall. Here in the eastern part of Canada where I live it’s the most beautiful season with the fall colors. And because of the tempering influence of the Atlantic ocean, our falls are long and warm. The only downside of fall is that winter follows in its wake.

Favorite book setting and why?

It has to be the ocean. I hope I don’t end up boring my readers, but all my books seem to be set near or on the ocean.

Which compliment related to your writing has meant the most and why?

‘I stayed up all night reading your book.’ I love it when readers tell me that. It shows me that I’ve done my job, that I’ve achieved suspense on my pages.

What would you do today if you knew you had only a week to live?

I would spend that time with my family. I have two grown children and three grandchildren, and of course my husband.

What is your favorite word?

Ubiquitous. I just think it sounds cool as it rolls off the tongue.

What word annoys you more than any other?

Utilize. It sounds weird and entirely unnecessary when we have the perfectly good word – use.

Super power you’d love to borrow for awhile?

Years ago I read a set of children’s stories to my kid. They were The Magic Bicycle series by John Bibee and published by InterVarsity. In one of the books is a pair of glasses and when you put them on you are suddenly able see all the angels who surround you. You are witness to the great battle going on in behalf of you. At times when I’m feeling particularly abandoned and alone, I think it would be neat to catch a glimpse of what God is doing behind the scenes concerning me. I would like to borrow those glasses, even for just a few minutes.

Favorite chore

Ironing. Seriously. I enjoy ironing. I find it relaxing and I use my ironing time to watch all the episodes of Law and Order that I’ve taped through the week. I especially like ironing cloth napkins because you can get the crease so perfectly straight.

Anything you’d do but don’t because of fear of pain? What is it? Ex. Bungee jumping, sky diving, running with scissors.

Scuba diving. My husband scuba dives and on trips to warm and reefy waters, I snorkel along the top while he dives way under. I’m afraid of trusting my entire ability to breath to this tank strapped to my back. It’s unnatural, I tell him. Also, I ‘almost’ tried clearing my ears in preparation for even learning this sport, and stopped because I thought clearing my ears might hurt. I simply couldn't get myself to do that. And if you can’t do that simple thing, you can’t dive. FYI – clearing your ears involves holding your nose and gently breathing out through your nose until your ears pop. Yikes, even writing that down is giving me the willies.

Grammatical pet peeve…sound off.

I hate it when people write alot when they really mean a lot. I want to scream at them – it’s two words!

Societal pet peeve…sound off.

Too loud music in concerts. My husband and I love to attend live concerts, but I can’t tell you the number of times in recent years we’ve had to get up and walk out. The music itself might be wonderful, but when it physically thumps in your chest and leaves your ears ringing for days it’s just not pleasant. Movie theaters are even too loud these days. Even some churches are. Do I sound like an old fogy?

Well, maybe I am. : )

Serials and Scenarios ~ Mary Connealy

As promised, Mary Connealy dropped in for a spell. In one of her creative offerings she gives us a sneak peek at a scene from Calico Canyon. One name is changed for protection (or creative license). Go to Wednesday's review if you want to read her first chapter...

Without further ado, here ya go pardners. Thanks, Mary.


Fiction character you would most like to be or most identify with and why?

Ma Ingalls from the Little House books. It seemed like she did the work of a team of oxen while everyone else got to star in the books. I really live a quiet life. :)


If you could ask any person, living or dead, a random question -- what question would you ask of whom?

I’d like to ask Thomas Jefferson what he thinks of what America has become, so much fear and cowardice, so much desire to be taken care of and have all of life’s bumps and bruises taken away by a nanny state government, in the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave.


Some out there in writing land have strange rituals. Share yours.

I daydream the next scene every night when I’m in bed. I write from beginning to end of the book with very little detailed plotting but a good idea of the story I want to tell. I write 1000 words a day five days a week or more…less isn’t allowed.


If you could change something in any novel, what would you change about it and why?

I’d have Atticus Finch get his client off somehow in To Kill a Mockingbird. I think that could have happened and there’d still have been a great story.


What crayon in the box describes you on a good day? Bad day? Which one do you aspire to be?

Red is good. Black on a bad day. I think I’d like to be pink…sparkly pink (do they have crayons with sparkles because they should).


Pick one…..Pink iguana, purple cow, periwinkle giraffe. Which one and why? Can be negative or positive.

Purple cow. A practical animal with some flash. Like a giraffe and an iguana aren’t unusual enough without the weird color.


Favorite turn of phrase or word picture, in literature or movie.

My favorite line in any book is from To Kill a Mockingbird. I’m not sure I should even say what it is, I’ll abbreviate the questionable language…and I can’t quote it exactly.

Atticus had a client executed and he’d felt so bad that he quit representing criminals at trial, but (and here’s the line to the best of my memory) ‘Atticus couldn’t persuade his client that ‘the SOB had it coming to him’ was a good enough defense in a murder trial.’

My next favorite exchange is the chapter ending hook in a Julie Garwood novel.

A Scottish Laird marries an English Maiden at the king’s command. Neither of them is happy about it. The end of one chapter has the hero saying to his friend,

‘Don’t worry, she’ll settle in.”

Chapter Eight

She started four wars the first week.

That’s the kind of humor and surprise that makes a person read the next chapter to see what is going to happen, just for the fun of that hook. And if you can get a reader to look forward to starting the next chapter, they’re hooked.


If you were assured of writing a best-seller, what genre would it be? Give us a sliver of information, a characteristic or glimpse of a scene.

It would have to be a romantic comedy because I can’t seem to write anything else. I think the historical western is my most natural voice, although I’ve got a series of cozy mysteries coming out that are so fun I’d like to write more of those. I guess I’ll stick with the genre Petticoat Ranch and Calico Canyon are in. I’ve got a lot of that style coming from Barbour and I’d like them to be best sellers.


What period of history intrigues you the most?

Cowboys. 1880. Once cars come into it, it changes for me, the feeling that brings. Nothing at all wrong with it, I just don’t long for that style. I’m right where I want to be.


What would you write if there were no rules or barriers? (epic novels about characters in the Bible, poetry, greeting cards, plays, movies, instruction manuals, etc.)

I’ve got some books written that are contemporary romantic-comedy suspense and I’d like to get them published someday. But I’m very happy with westerns.


What makes you feel alive?

Contemporary Christian Music that really touches me and turns a car ride into worship My children at home, a great book.


How does something worm its way into your heart? Through tears, truth, humor or other?

I love humor. That’s what I want in any part of life. When a book surprises me into tears I love that. Usually self-sacrifice – especially a woman for her children – gets me. But I don’t like a book that sets itself up to be a tear-jerker from the beginning. I don’t like to cry when I read.


Where would you most like to travel ----- moon, north pole, deep seas, deserted island, the holy land or back to a place from your childhood, somewhere else? – and why.

The Colorado Rockies. I’d just like to go out into the mountains, rent a cabin and sit and look around at natural beauty. I’ve see the Rockies twice but I want more time.


Favorite season and why?

Summer. My kids come home a lot and we go boating on the Missouri River and it’s wonderful. Great setting. My kids are such fun people.


Favorite book setting and why?

I read contemporary, suspenseful romantic comedy mostly but historical is okay, too if it’s suspenseful romantic comedy. If they’re sassing each other and falling in love while they’re running for their lives, then I’m happy.


Super power you'd love to borrow for awhile?

I’d love to fly. How cool would that be.


Favorite chore –

I love to cook and I don’t do it much anymore because the kids are grown and my husband and I need to eat low-fat, low-cal, light meals. But I love cooking, especially baking, but a whole meal is great, really tender roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy. Cream Puffs or Apple Crisp or Lemon Meringue Pie. You can see I don’t need to eat like that much.


Anything you'd do but don't because of fear of pain? What is it? Ex. Bungee jumping, sky diving, running with scissors.

I used to want to do all of those things (well, not running with scissors, that just irresponsible) But sky diving, I really wanted to do that when I was a kid. No more. I knew someone who’s chute didn’t open right. He survived but yikes! Nope, no high risk terror for me. I’ll just read about it instead.


Grammatical pet peeve…sound off.

I don’t mind slang but I think everyone ought to have good command of the English language that they can go to in a pinch.


CREATIVE CORNER: Pick any of the following and have fun with it.


Pick a Genre - Describe a kiss….

Suspense – lots of yanking and swooping.

Thriller – a kiss in the dark that moves you when it shouldn’t

Romance – sweet, slow, you both see it coming and don’t even think of stopping it…even though you should.

Historical – Common sense says he’s the husband and he has his rights. But you never expected to enjoy ‘his rights’ so much.



Unidentifiable antique, the scent of pipe tobacco and the drizzle of rain – make a scene.

Gina sat upright from where she lounged on the sofa, reading. Her book hit the floor and skidded across the golden oak. “Who’s there?”

She hadn’t heard a thing, but that scent, she’d smelled it before. Michael.

He stepped into her den—his den—drawing on his pipe. He’d always fit the perfect style of the college profession, tweed sports coat with leather elbow patches, short styled hair, that blasted smelly pipe.

“Hi, Gina. I’m back. I put the milk in the fridge.”

“What? What milk?”

“The milk you sent me out in the rain for. Why aren’t you cooking? I thought it was an emergency.”

Gina rose slowly to her feet, staring at him, half expecting him to vanish, or grow fangs and attack. What else did dead people, walking around, do? “Michael—”

“What honey?” His smile seemed confused but it was him.

All the love and hate Gina had tried to bury came roaring back. “Where have you been?”

His smile faded and his eyes narrowed. “At the store, like I just said.”

Shaking her head, Gina felt her field of vision narrow and wondered if she was going to faint. She tried to back away but the ancient couch Michael had chosen stopped her.

“What’s the matter?” He came closer. Gina knew, if he touched her, she’d start screaming.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Why are you looking at me that way?”

“B—because,” her voice broke and she wasn’t sure she could go on, but she had to. What was going on? Clearing her throat she said, “Because you went out for milk two years ago and you never came back.”

At that second, Liam began crying, up from his nap.

Michael’s eyes sharpened and focused on Gina’s stomach. He dropped his pipe and something else, something fragile and glass which smashed into so many pieces Gina couldn’t tell what it was. Micheal was in her face in two long strides. Laying his hand on her flat stomach he said, “You were eight months pregnant when I left…fifteen minutes ago!”



Pick one of the "story starters" below and give us a sample of your voice.


A crack broke the stillness as Terri tugged on the frozen door.

“I can’t be out here alone with you wearing a nightgown.” Terri clutched the blankets until her fingers hurt, thinking of the scandal of it all. She hurried to the frozen door and tugged. “It’s not proper.”

Daniel’s fair skin turned an alarming shade of pink as he stared at her. “I’ll bet it wasn’t proper of us to sleep together either.”

Terri turned back to Daniel just as a crack broke the stillness from outside and the door swung open.

“It most certainly was not.” The deep voice from behind hit them at the same instant the cold did.

They all turned to face Parson Roscoe.

The boys wheeled fully around. Daniel sat up. Terri clutched the blankets to her chest and looked into the startled eyes of the kindly parson and, just behind him, his gentle-hearted wife, Isabelle.

“Parson, it’s not what it looks like,” Terri said.

“Oh thank heavens,” Mrs. Roscoe said. “Because it looks like you and Daniel spent the night together in this cave.”

“Then it is exactly what it looks like,” John said into a silence more frozen than Terri had been last night.

“Well yes,” Daniel said. “We did spend the night together, but—”

“Daniel,” Terri gasped in horror.

Daniel looked away from the parson, his skin now fully flaming red. “Well, we did. Do you want me to add lying to the parson in on top of having you in bed. . I mean, sleeping together. . .I mean having you here without your clothes. . .I mean. . .” Daniel lapsed into silence.

“Pa brung her home to be our ma, but he tried her out for the night and he decided to return her,” Mark said.

Parson Roscoe stepped fully into the cave. “Both of you stand side by side before me immediately.”

Daniel turned and stood straight as a soldier a single, lithe movement.

“In front of the children, Terri? I’m shocked.” Mrs. Roscoe came in and shut the door behind her. The plump woman clutched her hands together in front of her chest as if desperate to get away and spend an hour in prayer just to wash the shock out of her mind.

Terri backed away until she was side by side with Daniel, fumbling with the blankets. There were too many of them to hold. She tried to drop a few of them and managed to drop them all. She caught at them and almost fell forward trying to keep herself covered.

Daniel caught her before she pitched over on top of him.

Every bone in Terri’s body hurt. Every breath cut across her chest like a knife. Her arms and legs were so stiff she wanted to cry out with pain.

“We saw the broken window in your room.” The parson produced his Bible from his coat pocket.

Terri remembered now. She’d fallen out of her window. No, she’d jumped out of her window.

“The whole town is up in arms about what happened to you, Terri.” Mrs. Roscoe crossed the room, all three steps wide, and rested her hand on Terri’s shoulder. “Search parties have been out all night.”

“Someone mentioned Daniel being in town yesterday afternoon.” The parson took up the story. “We offered to ride out and see if he knew of your whereabouts. Now I see you must have. . .uh. . settled your differences and. . .uh. . .decided to. . .”

Terri could see the parson striving to be diplomatic when faced with the very worst possible sort of evidence of immoral behavior between two adults.

“Plan an elopement.” Mrs. Roscoe’s kind eyes found Terri and the intertwined hands begged Terri to go along with this wild stab at respectability.

“No, no, oh, no,” Daniel said. “We didn’t plan no elopement. I don’t want to marry the schoolmarm. Sure, we slept together. That doesn’t mean—”

“What’s ’lopement, Pa. Is that like an antelope?” John asked. “Are we gonna eat venison ’stead of dumb old steak all the time?”

“No, it’s like an envelope, stupid,” Abe sneered. “The parson wants to know if we’ve got any letters to mail.”

“We don’t rightly know how to fetch a letter around, Parson,” Ike said. “We haven’t had much schoolin’.”

“And what we’ve had isn’t much better ’n nothin’,” Mark added, “ ’cuz Miss Calhoun was a mighty poor excuse for a schoolmarm.”

Terri turned on Mark. “I was not a poor excuse for a schoolmarm, you little—”

“Do not tell me, Daniel Reeves,”—the parson stopped Terri from grabbing Mark by stepping past the boys and the table until he stood toe-to-toe with Daniel—“that you expect to keep this young lady, a respectable woman from this town and a member of my flock, out at your home overnight and not do the right thing.”

“Right thing?” Terri forgot about Mark as she saw Daniel’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he gulped.

Terri waited for the floor to swallow her up. If God really loved her, He’d just strike her dead right this minute. Then she thought of Parrish. If he found her married, would that negate any legal claim he had on her as her adoptive father?

Terri looked from Daniel Reeves and his multitude of sons to her future if Parrish caught up with her, something it now seemed inevitable he’d do.

Daniel or Parrish or death. Those were her only choices.

“Terri!” Parson Roscoe’s voice interrupted her panic.

“I’m thinking!” Weighing her options carefully, she prayed, C’mon, God. Death. I’m ready.

Scribbles and Scrambles ~ Thoughts of Green

Iowa feels like a jungle -- overgrown with juicy green vegetation, and air so thick with humidity I think I could reach out, grab a low-lying cloud and squeeze enough out of it to fill a bathtub.

Clothes are limp, the blacktopped roads steam in the early morning haze of moisture pregnant air that hovers over us. It is a time to rejoice if you have certain types of hair, and a time to hide if you don't. Odors further add to the density. Walk by a garbage can and you'll wish you hadn't. But the mint. Oooh, the mint. This is my first year to actually have some growing in my almost garden.

My on-again, off-again best elementary friend had parents who were a bit older than my parents, a bit more on the worldly side and a little more free-flowing with walking around money. They also owned things like cocktail glasses and ice buckets and a membership to the country club. It was like visiting an foreign locale when I hung out with my friend. In my house, I was the oldest of two younger brothers, my friend the youngest of three indulgent brothers. We didn't have dogs, they did. Her mother even talked us into a manners class so we could pick up tips on behaving like ladies.

But I digress.

One of my most powerful memories of time spent with them is mint iced tea. Really. Her mom would brew up sun tea packed with mint leaves and it tasted a little bit like heaven. Turns out my mom has always had a patch of mint in her garden, she just doesn't brew mint sun tea.

Mom sent a flowerpot of mint home with me a few weeks ago, and, well, a week later, my daughter-in-law scored some for me, too. When it rains it pours. And certain rain just tastes a little sweeter.

Serials and Scenarios ~Calico Canyon

This week, Christian Fiction Blog Alliance is touring Calico Canyon. (Sounds like a nice place, eh?)

Mary Connealy will be with us on Friday via the Dregs questions. You won't want to miss it especially if you like what you see in the first chapter.

Even if you don't so much go for this genre, you should take a peek.

My Review:

Western/prairie/frontier romance is probably the last genre I'd pick to read. Forgive me if you are a fan. I'm not knocking the category, just sharing that it's not a favorite.

I had an earlier opportunity to read Calico Canyon and I passed. Honestly, I have piles of books to read and if I think I might not like something I'm pretty sure I'm not going to be able to review it with any sort of glow. I don't like investing hours into a story and not being able to write a review with some praise. Then the darn thing showed up in my mailbox. While waiting on a kid and with some time to kill, I opened the cover. If someone can catch me with the first sentence or paragraph, I'm along for the ride.

That said, I so enjoyed Calico Canyon. Mary Connealy is amusing and her characters are charming. She had me in the first scene and I read the story with a smile and even tense concern over the well-being of the characters. Connealy does the genre proud. Though she hasn't converted me completely, I will snatch up her next novel.

This is a great "kick off your shoes" and "set a spell" novel. I recommend it to those who love frontier/western romance, prairie romance and, well, anyone else who might like to read an entertaining,well-written novel.

Scribbles and Scrambles ~ Why I Love Guys

No, this isn't some awful confession, so no freaking out allowed.

I just really like a man's man. Why? Maybe it's because I miss my little-boy-all-grown-up who used to investigate everything and collect "stuff." Curiosity was his middle name. From the year he "footprinted" toads to mark the growth, to the year he build a rope fort in the treetops, to the year he traveled to Mexico, I have delighted in his love for learning and desire to uncover how things work.

Some of my fondest memories involve wrestling matches between Rob and Jordan. Wrestling matches that rocked the foundation and broke a few odds and ends. At the time I never expected to look back with fondness and longing. Go figure.

I miss my little brothers, too. Maybe "guys" just bring out the kid in me. I didn't have sisters, and as much as I fought with my brothers, I have some great memories. Most of them center around injuries, which you all know has shaped me into the twisted individual I am today.

Rob is a hunter. I hate the idea of him killing Bambi, but I know the act of slogging through the near-virgin woods energizes him. I don't fish either, I'll hold a pole, poke around at things, sure, but I don't long for it. But I love to watch him fish. And work. There is raw beauty in my man as he sweats and subdues his surroundings.

I love the way a man's brain works, linear and to-the-point. Not that this quality hasn't sent me over the edge a time or two, but generally, a guy's mind, when passionate about a subject, is an amazing instrument.

Maybe I love guys because in their live-out loud moments they are scarfing life and embracing who God created them to be. Master of their domain, learning, growing, subduing and righting wrongs. A man in his element is alive and glorious and a thing of beauty.

Don't even get me started on a man who loves God.

Scribbles and Scrambles ~ Going Green

I'm on a green kick. I've always recycled. And reused, and we are big time garage sales shoppers which really helps a lot, too.

That's one of the things I tell Rob when I brings items home.

A few weeks ago, a friend sent a guilt video about the scourge of plastic bags. It was the final push that inspired my use of the reusable bag. It seems strange to ask the sacker at the grocery store to shove my perishables into a big blue bag decorated with clothing items and girly things, but that's just what I've done, several times. And I do feel a little like I'm saving the world, one small plastic bag at a time.

That is probably the feeling that led me to the flying fish incident today. Or not.

No, I didn't travel to where water meets land and toss fish back into the water. Starfish either. Instead, I dug through a bag of stale snack mix and saved the M&M's.

I'm sure you are all thinking. "Freak!" right about now. Rest assured it gets weirder.

It makes no sense to throw away perfectly good M&M's, especially when one is a fan of chocolate. And salty M&M's are pretty tasty. Don't knock it til you've tried it.

What to do with the Goldfish (am I supposed to add TM to these product names?) and the generic pretzels? Out of the corner of my eye, I spied two very eager recyclers. Tails a wagging, drool a dangling, recycling maniacs.

Hence the flying fish. Yes!

A recycling home run!!!

And if you ever stop by for a real visit, I promise not to feed you recycled food. Really!