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 |  This was my first blog, maybe my best blog...nah! The journey continues with another..!
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** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Check out this signature's match at Thomas  's blog** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "You want to become aware of your thoughts and choose them carefully. You are the Michelangelo of your own life; the 'David' you are sculpting is YOU!" Dr. Joe Vitale
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Once again I am reminded of how lucky I am. My kids made sure I know I'm appreciated, thus reminding me of what good people they are. Rachael made a wonderful photoshopped e-card I'll share here, and she also gave me a Starbucks' frappucino; yup, she knows her mom  Sarah, my chef-in-training, made me a cake and also gave me shrimp cocktail she arranged carefully in a plastic wineglass...foods I enjoy for sure with a definate Sarah-type twist  And every once in a while Liz would remember to give me a hug, pretty good for her!Every single day that I mother my own girls, I'm reminded of the person who taught me how to do it--my own mom. She's a strong woman. Quirky, a little crazy, definately different, nowhere close to perfect, but I wouldn't want any other mother, and I know my kids wouldn't give her up for anything!! They're proud of their "different" grandma, the one who says exactly what she thinks and makes no apologies for who she is. All my girls manifest part of her personality, which is, I believe, a testament to how strong her personality IS! Liz experiences her mood issues as I've mentioned, but she also has been gifted with my mother's strength of character. She will never compromise who she is for anyone or anything. My other two girls carry that sort of character as well, and Rachael has a bit of Mom's quirkiness for sure  My mother is deathly afraid of semi trucks and dives into the floor of a backseat anytime she's confronted with one--told you she's different. Rachael made me sit with her half the night when she was five because she became afraid of bugs. That's right. I had to sit on the floor of her bedroom every night for months when I was hugely pregnant to protect her from bugs. Sigh. Genetics is powerful. Sarah, as I've written, is my diva. So is her grandmother. The best example of my mother's attitude comes from, oddly enough, an argument I had with my grandmother years ago. It was over something trivial and my mom tried to enter into the argument. In exhasperation I said, "Mom, this has nothing to do with you," to which my mother made a little throaty chuckle, looked at me in disbelief, and said, "oh no, everything is about me." She meant it. That's my mom. But she's not conceited, just sure of her own worth. Nothing wrong with that in my humble opinion She's far more generous than she likes to admit...she'd literally give the shirt off her back if she noticed that someone needed it. Her own self confidence doesn't preclude care for others. The most important gift she gave me out of all she did for my brother and myself is confidence in who I am. I have that because she has an unwavering and abiding love for me that will never ever go away. I know for a fact that no matter what I do or where I go in my life, she will never stray from being on my side. She'll tell me when I'm wrong, no question, but that won't keep her from loving me and I know that like I know I'll breathe every day. Until I was grown and on my own I didn't know what a gift that knowledge is. I didn't realize all children don't have that from their mothers. I remember, even when I was a mouthy teenager, her compliments and positive reinforcement she gave out as a matter of fact, and she made me believe the way she always has. Even now when I call her and when Liz had her "meltdown" at her house during Christmas, my mother tells me she's proud of what a good mother I am and how I handle Liz. Those words from her mean more than she'll ever know and kept me going at a really difficult time. That's who my mom is for more than just me and my brother. She doesn't hesitate to tell others positive things about themselves, including my kids or her coworkers or someone she encounters on the street. As "challenging" as she can be with a rebellious nature (she never sleeps enough or eats right and gets belligerent when confronted about it), she's got a heart wider than the state of Texas. She just doesn't like to admit it That's my mom, but I'd be remiss if I didn't mention my mom's sister on Mothers' Day, my Aunt Jane. She was as much an influence on my growing years as my mom. She was an English teacher, well read, and even toured Europe twice! She was a dancer in her younger days and did very well in school; she was very much my hero. And she's nice, just like my mom, although she doesn't deny it as much! When I was learning to drive she's the one who took me out on the road and suffered heart failure over my beginner's attempts She's the one who took me shopping for clothes and provided me with cokes and ice cream on hot summer days--and she taught me to sing "Dead Man's Curve" when I was seven years old, hee hee. We'd stand on the porch of our family home and gyrate to it while crazy teenagers of the '70s careened into each other from the Sonic Drive In right next door. No one has a perfect life, but if all I had to contend with as a child was an absentee father...well, my mom and her mom, dad, and sister went a long way towards making up for that. Told you I'm lucky.  ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| I do love Billy Joel. His work is perfect for the reflective mood I've been in-- They say that these are not the best of times But they're the only time I've ever known And I believe there is a time for meditation In cathedrals of your own Now I've seen that sad surrender in my lover's eyes And I can only stand apart and sympathize For we are always what our situations hand us It's either sadness or euphoria So we'll argue and we'll compromise And realize that nothing's ever changed For all our mutual experience Our separate conclusions are the same Now we are forced to recognize our inhumanity And reason coexist with our insanity It's either sadness or euphoria How thoughtlessly we dissipate our energies Perhaps we don't fulfill each other's fantasies And as we stand upon the ledges of our lives With our respective similarities It's either sadness or euphoria It's hard not to love a songwriter (poet in my opinion) who so accurately pinpoints what I'm feeling. partyof5dj made the comment that he didn't realize Billy Joel was ever religious or deep, and that made me wonder about how many people we judge too quickly. In relation to Billy Joel--if all you've ever heard is his "Glass Houses" album, then you do only see him as a pop/rock singer and that's that. But like I told Party, he's an onion. He has layers. Yes, just like an ogre We all have layers. Don't think you know ALL about anyone--you don't. Not even yourself. I could put Billy Joel's "The Stranger" song here, about how we all have masks we wear and remove only when we're sure no one else is around, but I've posted that before, too! So I'm going to share a song of his that touches my heartstrings pretty deeply, a song that wasn't the most popular or widely heard. He wrote it when he was emotionally down and philosophical, having recently gone through his first divorce. It's another one with layers: Where's the orchestra? Wasn't this supposed to be a musical? Here I am in the balcony How the hell could I have missed the overture? I like the scenery Even though I have absolutely no Idea at all What is being said Despite the dialogue There's the leading man The movie star who never faced an audience Where's the orchestra? After all This is my big night on the town My introduction to the theatre crowd I assumed that the show would have a song So I was wrong At least I understand All the innuendo and the irony And I appreciate The roles the actors played The point the author made And after the closing lines And after the curtain calls The curtain falls On empty chairs Where's the orchestra? |
| I'm not in a bad mood today, but a melancholy one. What's the difference? I feel reflective. I don't know what I'm supposed to reflect about, because every time my mind broaches a subject, it's rejected and I'm left still reflective but slightly bored. I don't want to watch television, I don't want to do the chores I should. I'm not sure if I want to write. I don't think I have the attention span right now for reading anything. So while I sat with my chin in my hand, I once again decided it was time to share my reflective mood with you. Maybe something profound or witty will come to me. Like I always do with entries like this, I'll formally state that I am NOT trying to be whiny or looking for sympathy of any kind. In fact, sympathy is something I never want for myself because I'm too lucky for it. I have great kids and people who love me no matter what I do, like my mom  I have friends I don't deserve because they're so giving and endlessly putting up with all my angst. I know I'm lucky. But I'm dissatisfied.Not with the people in my life, but with where I'm at. I like my age, that's not it. I like my kids, so that's not it, either. But I don't like being at home so much, I don't like feeling like I'm not contributing anything to a larger picture than just my little microscopic piece of the universe. I'm not meant to be satisfied as a homebody and I'm not. I have an itch, that's what it seems to be, an itch that niggles and I can't reach it. I like being a writer and I want to become more active as one. I want to write in a way that instigates change where change is desperately needed. I want to be someone who acts on my convictions, someone who takes initiative and works towards ideals I see as possible for a better world. I want my life to be greater than the sum of its parts. I want to be about more than the laundry I should be doing or the dishes I should be washing. I like being a mom. I simply want to be more than that. I like my friends and my age and even myself. I'm just dissatisfied because I'm impatient to be out "there" where I can engage my brain and do something for myself while I'm doing it for someone else. Silly me. I could be writing something NOW. I could be submitting something over the internet NOW. I could be helping myself by become as proactive as possible while I'm doing laundry and washing dishes (even though I'd rather stick my eyeballs with hot pokers ). See? I knew reflecting off of YOU all would help. Thanks. |
Who here doesn't know that I love Billy Joel alot? Anyone? I make my adoration known quite often  but I can't help it. When I love someone's talent, they know it. There are "some" writers here who can attest to that! I try not to gush but it's just the way I'm made, I guess. I wonder what it would be like to be less of an "open book." I've heard tales of some personality types who actually DON'T let everything hang out in one blog--go figure Is there anyone who doesn't know I'm not one of those? 'Anyone??I'm surprised I'm awake, having slept only a few hours, but I feel wide awake and my mind has been churning with a Billy Joel song I can't get out of my head. I do love the guy even though he broke my heart and got married to an infant only a few years older than his daughter Alexa Ray  , but you know what it's like when a song repeats over and over, no matter what it is. If I don't purge it soon I may begin to dribble from my mouth and lose IQ points at a rapid pace! So I thought...share it with Blogville, that's it:In the beginning There was the cold and the night Prophets and angels gave us the fire and the light Man was triumphant Armed with the faith and the will That even the darkest ages couldn't kill Too many kingdoms Too many flags on the field So many battles, so many wounds to be healed Time is relentless Only true love perseveres It's been a long time and now I'm with you After two thousand years This is our moment Here at the crossroads of time We hope our children carry our dreams down the line They are the vintage What kind of life will they live? Is this a curse or a blessing that we give? Sometimes I wonder Why are we so blind to fate? Without compassion, there can be no end to hate No end to sorrow Caused by the same endless fears Why can't we learn from all we've been through After two thousand years? There will be miracles After the last war is won Science and poetry rule in the new world to come Prophets and angels Gave us the power to see What an amazing future there will be And in the evening After the fire and the light One thing is cretain: Nothing can hold back the light Time is relentless And as the past disappears We're on the verge of all things new We are two thousand years Now that's deep and meaningful and historical and very Billy. And purged. |
Greensburg, Kansas  Every year we drive through that small town at least twice. It's directly in the path of the road to my old hometown. We've eaten lunch and dinner there, my kids have frolicked in a small park several times, we know ALL the convenience stores!It's all gone. How does that happen??? I feel like it could be my own hometown. It's smaller for sure, but I feel a certain kinship to it. I remember one year, during a desperately hot summer that made traveling in a dark brown station wagon with no air conditioning especially hellish, I stopped at one of those stores. We-the children and I-stumbled out of our hotbox and into blessed air conditioning. Sadly I had to load the children back up-this was when they were still children-and with rivers of sweat pouring down my face, I buckled them in, adjusted everything, tried to make them as comfortable as possible, and motored on down the road. It wasn't until a few hours later, in Liberal Kansas, that I realized I had no wallet. I was nauseated to remember setting it on top of the blazing car while I secured Sarah in her car seat. It was gone and I had no money, no credit cards, no identification, nothing. I'd never felt more helpless or scared. Thank God (seriously) we were mere miles from my mother's house. Everything was fine. My mom paid for everything until I got more money--this took several days because until a few years ago, Guymon, Oklahoma had no ATM that was networked But finally I was okay. Mortified at myself, but at least we wouldn't starve on the road back to St. Louis. This was also a time in my life when we were far from financially stable, so losing that wallet was a solar plexis-type hit. Feeling like a doofus, I had to explain my missing driver's license to the DMV, try to scrape and bow with the credit card companies, and generally relive my absent-minded stupidity too much Then I pretty much forgot about it.October it was, months after that infamous trek to the Southwest, and I recieved a package in the mail. I was perplexed by the Kansas postmark, opened it, and to my complete astonishment and joy, my wallet had been returned to me.  Of course I didn't expect anything much to still be in it, so imagine the second shock in five minutes when I determined that every last penny was in that wallet, every last credit card, and even a pressed rose from Sarah's birth that our church always placed at the front when a new child is born. It was all there.A letter accompanied the wallet. A local man found the wallet in the parking lot of that convenience store. He took it straight to the police station after determining it was the property of a non-resident, and there it languished in the hopes that I might motor back through and inquire about it. Finally, the sheriff concluded, they decided the best recourse would be to use the address on the license and return it this way. My heavens. Who does that? Greensburg Kansas residents, that's who. The town has been levelled, completely devestated by tornadoes that have ripped apart a tiny town I have never lived in; I don't know anyone by name (except that sheriff), yet I have seen their souls. Just last summer I remember tripping into that same store (it's kind of a tradition now) and getting a welcoming smile from every person there. That's just the way they are, these residents of a simple Kansas town that's used to being pummelled by spring's violent weather. Like my own hometown, they don't have many trees to protect them. It's bare, dry with crackly yellow grass here and there, and mostly the land is flat. I have experienced hailstorms during springtime trips back, bad enough that I've had to pull over and hope my car made it without being beaten apart. Jagged lightening visits these vast plains too, along with punishing winds and huge raindrops that look like they're falling to the side when partnered with that wind. Once, on our way back in early May, we were surrounded on the highway by four tornadoes, one in every direction. That really wasn't the only time tornadoes have threatened while I drove, but it was certainly the most frightening, especially since I could see three of the four. It just happens there at this time of year. Greensburg and every other town between Witchita and Amarillo...they endure. They continue to exist. But after more violent weather thrown at them than one little, friendly town can take, . Greensburg is in critical condition. Don't forget the plight of these good people. Do what you can, even if you only pray. They need it.  http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/18502330/?GT1=9951 PS--If you can, once Greensburg is up and running again (and they will be), you shouldn't miss making a trip to take a look at the largest hand-dug well in the country. Yeah, it used to be their biggest claim to fame. Too bad that's been usurped. |
| I've heard the term for years: toxic relationship. What exactly does that mean, I would snort to myself and move along with my life. Then I became part of one. I'm not going to delve into it like a did a few entries back, but I thought it pudent- for myself AND those who might be going through it like me-to clarify the meaning of "toxic relationship" and learn what it does to a person who's in one. I'm slowly figuring it out, myself. I started to think about this today when, once again, I was playing around with personality tests on the internet. I like those things because sometimes they are accurate and remind me of who I am. That might sound strange to some of you, but in the mix of kids (one with a mental disorder that requires so much attention and care), housework, and constant drudgery I tend to forget. I began to lose my "sense of self" almost completely a few years ago, and until I actively dealt with that toxic relationship I'd been mired in for too long, I continued to drift away from who I'd always been. It was sad because I've always been pretty happy with who I am...then I didn't know who that was anymore. Over the last six months or so I've made some great strides in reclaiming my own skin. Part of the reason has to do with counseling and the realization that I couldn't remain in a situation-that toxic thing-for "the sake of the kids." Losing ME certainly wasn't a positive factor for my offspring. I even told their father not too long ago that last summer I was in bad shape, struggling to "go through the mostions" of feeling ANYTHING towards anyone, including myself. I spiraled into that depressive pit I tend to visit once in a while, but I couldn't seem to find my way out, and it was scary. I didn't really share the depth of my fall with anyone, although I finally did blog about it here once. And it was cathartic, by the way. Yes Liz's issues had much to do with my emotional tailspin, but more than that, really, was the situation I couldn't stomach with my children's father. We hadn't been close in at least a couple of years, drifting apart like two people caught in opposing oceanic tides. I actually felt the drift away from him as long ago as ten years, but I gritted my teeth and hung in because I thought that was what I was supposed to do. We went to marriage counseling one summer several years ago but it didn't help even a little. He sulked when the counselor told him he needed to be an active member of the family and actually get up and start to HELP ME. That's been the crux of the toxicity for me, the simple fact that I married someone who sat and watched me year after year. He watched me cook, clean, care for his children, work, go to school, take care of his neices and nephews there for awhile, and that's exactly what he did while I ran around like a hysterical chicken about to lose her head. He sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. I have even been forced into screaming fights with him to make him obtain decent employment; for about seven years he'd left active duty military and attempted to make a living in the civilian world. It didn't work and once agian we fought until he returned to the army and we were once again able to feed our children I have been exhausted and empty for so long that eventually I felt myself drift away. And I was too tired to chase after me. Toxic. I don't want to imply that my children's father is a bad man. He is not, anymore than anyone else. But we do not mesh. In reality we never have, and finally, when it came to the point that I would have to completely lose myself or opt out...well, the latter won out. I know now that I was as toxic to him as he was to me. We didn't do for each other what married people should...lift each other up, support each other. We never did that. He expected of me and I expected of him and we both came out disappointed and adrift from each other AND ourselves. I told him that I'll never be sorry we got married because we did create some fantastic people, but us together...it never worked. Nineteen years later we must both acknowledge it and forgive each other...and work our way out of the collective toxicity. That little personality test I took earlier brought it home to me...who I used to be: You are enthusiastic and inspiring. You learn from every situation and from every relationship in life. Sitting still and dying are almost the same thing to you: an opportunity to catch up on your sleep. Your natural mode of being is perpetual motion. You like to study. This may mean school, travel, or that you just have to spend time in the great outdoors. All of these circumstances create knowledge and motion for you. Relationships are an opportunity for you to teach someone else what you have learned if not learn more yourself. You have a deeply rooted perception that you can grow in a joyful way. This belief that life doesn't have to be hard work makes you fun to be around. Many good things come to you easily in life because you expect them to happen. You need to be careful that your positive expectations don't become "short cuts" that have you starting over with nothing to show for your efforts. Wow. I forgot I used to be like that. I was always looking for the positive in every experience I had and just FULL of joy--I really was. I can't remember how long it's been since I laughed just for the sake of it, because my exuberance for life bubbled over. That used to be me. I haven't been there in so many years I feel cheated. So now I remember, and now I want it back, that love of living. No more toxic relationship, and no more compromises to who I am. Just the joy of living in my own skin. |
| Well I did it. I've opened and started a new contest. Now that I have a laptop and am able to get online waaay more often than before-when I had to wait for my turn at the desktop-I've decided I can handle this! And I'm looking forward to reading entries and reviewing...if I can get anyone to enter! I posted the contest yesterday morning, but no one has "taken the bait" yet. I'm hoping SOMEONE does! I did think of PlannerDan 's wonderful detective series and hope he takes the plunge *hint hint*. HEY, taking a chance might mean you get GPs, an awardicon, and make me relieved that people entered my contest I'm going to attempt, after this contest is completed, to continue with my "show me" series. Last year it was "memoirs," but I won't wait another YEAR before I start another, ha ha. I don't know what the next subject will be...stay tuned.
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Once, several years ago, I was working backstage at a community theatre production. A young man was working there as well, and what he said one day at first bristled my feathers and then made me laugh. He bragged that he knew a guy who was the best writer around. He thought this college boy he knew could write like no one he had ever met or ever would in "po dunk USA" as he considered our particular area of the country. I snickered. Then I bristled. What did this young man see when he looked at me? An older woman, close to middle age. A mom, a wife, a simple person. I was annoyed. So one day I manuevered something I convinced myself was to teach this boy a lesson, nothing more. In the room where we crew sat to wait for our "turn" at "glory," I strategically left a story. On the table where we shared coffee and laughter, I set my story, Glory Days, face-up and open to all. It took an hour or two during the play. And then I was rewarded for my sneaky little efforts. The red-haired young man, sure his friend was the "best writer around," came to me with a gaping mouth and an apology on his lips. Vindication! Oops Wasn't the lesson supposed to be for HIM? Not too long from that day, one of the actors came to me with a grin and a magazine. She worked for the printing company that produced my community college's literary magazine, and there was a story and a poem with my byline, larger than life. She was complimentary and left a copy on the table, along with the OTHER story I'd been so "smart" to lay there. I recieved congratulations from many cast and crew members. For some reason the compliments rang sort of hollow to me. Here I'd thought myself so clever when a different Force had already made the determination without me at all. That boy would have learned his lesson about "judging others" without any help from me. Who learned the lesson?! |
| So here it is, the end of the last day of April. I want to take a few lines here and remember to thank everyone who's made this month truly memorable for me...that would be those who gave me Center Stage status AND gave me the esteemed honor of being a reviewee of the Angel Army All the reviews I recieved jump started me in a number of ways. I started writing again like I haven't in a long time, and I have also resumed my reviewing ways. Right now I'm working on returning reviews from those who gave ME feedback. I really enjoy doing this but my ratings average is going waaaay up I'm gratified to discover how talented the people who have reviewed me really are; I always love reviews but I'm doubly impressed when they like MY stuff and they, themselves are so talented. I tried to give at least one review to my fellow Center Stagers as well, and of course THEY are also great writers who raised my ratings average I need to find someone in need of real HELP so I can feel productive again, ha ha ha.So thanks to you all for making April the month when I came back to life. Because writing is what makes it all worth being on this planet. That's my take on it anyway. In conclusion I thought I'd link a fun little "ditty" I wrote back at the first part of the month. It is sort of a poem, but Kara, it'll annoy you because it doesn't follow poetry guidelines  I think I do that because I'm a rebel at heart and all the rules of poetry...well, sometimes I chafe at them even though I SO admire those who do "form" well. That would most definately be Kåre Enga in Montana  at the forefront. But anywho, keep in mind that this is "poetry from a non-poet":
OH, and with respect to my friend Kare and to let him know I CAN adhere to form when I'm not being a rebel (this is an intense topic):
This is a "bref double". If you don't know what that is, look it up you non-poets ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** By who else? kelly1202! If you like what you see in my sigs, visit the Graphics Gazebo...you can find a link in Highwind or Terry's ports! |
I am so tired my bones ache. This weekend was frought with all kinds of "fun". Okay, it wasn't all bad. This was RECITAL WEEKEND.  Kim's School of Dance and Tumbling has four recitals over the weekend, starting on Saturday afternoon. "Competition Kids," as they're called, usually have to do at least one dance for every recital, and this year was no different. Thus we have to be present for every stinking recital. I like dance. I could even say I love dance. My mother was a dance teacher. My aunt was almost a professional dancer as was my mother. I took dance from the time I was two years old until I quit in high school (and now wish I hadn't). But after four recitals of many of the same numbers over and over---it begins to feel like exotic water torture. The rationalization for FOUR recitals is the simple fact that Kim has a trillion little tiny kids who take dance and a trillion little classes with them in it. One or two wouldn't even hold the cute little critters. And the Compeition Kids have their dances scheduled in these recitals so the parents and grandparents can see the numbers, "ooh" and "ahh" and immediately sign their own little tots up for MORE dance lessons so they, too, can wear the glitzy costums and dance like the Competition Kids. I get it. I understand it. But by recital four the kids who combine dance and gymnastics in a trillion numbers are dead. Seriously. I think next year Kim should invest in oxygen tanks for the dancing maniacs who are dead by the end. Especially since it was 85 degrees outside today and we were in an auditorium WITH NO AIR CONDITIONING!!! Yes, I too died. I didn't even bounce around like a jumping bean and I'm dead. Is there a dead icon? There should be.  Poor Sarah had a side ache and looked pasty pale tonight. She thought she was dying. Well she was. Okay not really, but I did tell her she was having heat issues and she took a cool bath, I turned down the air, and she's sawing logs right now. Yes the air in my home is now arctic...HEAVEN in a compressor This is Sarah's "Friend Like Me" dance; not the best picture but she's the long brown haired one second from right (and this is also a dance that's won some awards-gotta be the braggy mom): ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| This site's unique aspect to writing hinges on something we all love to see in our own e-mails. We open these particular missives with mixtures of wonder and trepidation, hoping the bearer of tidings concerning our "writing babies" loved our work as much as we do...and OOH! are we stabbed when said reviewer skewers it! And AH!!! Are we given glitter in our eyesight when said reviewer loves the work as much as we know it SHOULD be loved!!! Because let's face it: our writings are our babies, no question. I feel about my portfolio the way I feel about my children--when they are up for review I gnash my teeth and hope everyone sees what I do, I hope everyone feels for them what I do. When they don't it's tough to accept, sometimes. Who hasn't opened a less-than-stellar review, cringed at the first words, scrolled down to take a peek at the rating, and closed the offending e-mail with a tongue stuck out and a sting in the soul? You're lying if you claim it hasn't happened We writers are as connected to our prose as we are to our children, spouses, or beloved pets. They ARE who we are, they bleed our blood and sweat, and we ache for our poems, prose, essays, and articles to be appreciated and lauded by others. If we didn't, we wouldn't be here. But there's a flip side to being a part of this "reviewing site," and that's GROWTH. I know for a fact that when I stopped "smarting" and started READING and injesting criticism, I became a better writer. When I forced myself to open my eyes and really understand what some reviewers were trying to tell me, I improved my writing skills. During my two years here, I've learned when to accept a criticism and apply it, and I've learned when my own personal style should win out even when a review is less than favorable. Most of all, I've learned that I want to give the sort of helpful reviews I've recieved. I think it even helps me as a writer TO review! And I'm never happier than when I discover the talents of another WDC member and not only do I find some great reading, more often than not I also find a new friend. I read a fantastic "take" on reviewing from a "newbie" today when I was-of all things-reviewing! Take a look at what she wrote; it says everything I would, and then some:
Reviewing is the key to this site. Give it and recieve more, and put your work out there with requests. Not every review will be helpful, but most will do something for you as a writer. I'm sure of it. |
| I've written ad nauseum about my older two girls in this here blog, so I thought it might be time to explore the unusual, funny, and thoroughly enjoyable-if sometimes infuriating-personality of the youngest child in my household: This afternoon my daughter Sarah and I are watching dvds of The Nanny. She loves that show because she's a quirky kid. Most kids her age are trying to watch PG13 movies or at least trying to stretch the boundries of what their parents allow them to see (several of her friends who come over try to turn on MTV but I'm evil and "a prude" ) But Sarah is totally into The Nanny, Monk, and the really different one for a kid her age, Seinfeld. I have to be careful with the last one because more than one of THOSE aren't really appropriate for her. Thank goodness some of the more suggestive topics go right over her 12-yr-old head Sarah was offended by a book she checked out of her middle school library because she felt it had too much profanity. When a friend of hers tried to make fun of her yesterday for being offended, she didn't care. She returned the book and got a different one. Now I'm not implying that Sarah is "little miss perfect," far from it! But I am getting at the simple fact that I'm SO glad I see in her what I saw in her sister Rachael at this age: She is who she is and makes no excuses for that. She doesn't "follow the crowd" for the most part and doesn't apologize for being different, which is tough when you're in middle school! So she's doing her homework in front of "The Nanny" instead of listening to rock music and she ADORES cooking and "inventing" new culinary delights *cough cough* Her friends come over and frown slightly at her activities, then roll up their sleeves and join right in. Sarah rolls her eyes when her friends can't stop talking about boys-shades of Rachael-because she sees life as being about SO much more...YES! *pumping fist in the air* I hope she continues to be her quirky, fun, inventive self as she grows. I know I'm biased, but I really think she's darn cool.  |
| I almost never blog about a situation in my life that impacts me greatly. I sometimes alude to "stuff" that occurs in addition to all the Liz nonsense, but for some reason I don't write about it, at least not much. I'm happy for people who write about thier solid marriages and relationships. God knows, when I read that couples are out there actually making it WORK, it restores a little of my jaded soul. Because for nineteen years I've been involved in a marriage that did NOT work. And that's tough to admit. Yup, my relationship that resulted in two of the best people on the planet-Rachael and Sarah-crashed and burned a looong time ago, long before I admitted it to myself or anyone else. Since year ten of my marriage, probably even before, I knew I couldn't stay in the relationship forever without becoming miserable and visiting that misery on everyone around me. But I didn't know what to do. Here I was invested in a relationship to the point of children, and he's not a "bad" guy. He's not horribly abusive, a drinker, a druggie. He doesn't "run around" on me or even go out much AT ALL . So how did I justify the death of any feelings for him that created a marriage?I've blogged before about where my head was when I made the choice to get married, and it wasn't in the right place for making life-altering decisions. He seemed like a nice guy, and for the most part he is, but there is so much more to being married! I only knew him for three months before we pledged to be together for life...um, SO not long enough!!! I didn't know him, he didn't know me. I can't say I regret the marriage or my life because he's a great father to BABIES and small children. It's when they grow that he has "issues," but that's another story. Over the years we've both realized how horribly different we are. Now difference in itself is not a bad thing, everyone is different to degrees and if we marry clones of ourselves I think we'd become bored and annoyed! But he and I are TOO different in every single possible way. We don't believe in the same politics, we don't agree about most child raising issues, he is so conservative he squeaks when he walks; his parents are exactly the same. When we first met he wasn't that way so much, but it's true when "they" say: "take a look at his parents. If you don't like what you see WATCH OUT." Yup. He became them and ewwww, in my humble opinion. I can't pretend to be something I'm not, and I'm not comfortable with their judgemental ways and rigid belief systems. I never have been, and year after year I watched my children's father become that. It's been sad. It took him longer to realize that we were not meant to be in it for the "long haul." He is a simple guy with very simple needs, a blue collar worker who never wanted to be anything else, and there's so nothing wrong with that, but it's just not who I am or even want to be. His dream is a little house surrounded by a picket fence and a rocking chair with his computer and soda pop close by. He'll be ultra content to live out his life like that. Not me. Never me. When I rhapsodized about Chicago or New York once about five years ago, I knew by his response that he didn't know me and never would. "You don't want to go there," he said. "You wouldn't like the crowds." HUH?!? No, that's HIM. I thrive in crowds! I always have. I knew then that I wasn't going to be able to "stick it out" forever without sacrificing the essentials of who I am, and that made me indescribably sad. Last year when I was playing around on the internet and filled out a questionnaire about who my "astrological match" would be, I laughed so hysterically I almost passed out...his sign was showcased in red as the worst possible match for me. Now they tell me. But like I already stated, I wouldn't go back because my younger two girls are amazing, and I love their dad like I love any member of my family. He drives me nuts and bores me senseless, but he's their dad so I strive to make it all as friendly as possible. So it's not legal yet for financial reasons , but he and I are slowly working towards complete separation without dragging the kids through hell. It's a tightrope walk and they've heard too many arguments even though I work so very hard NOT to argue or make things tough for them. He follows my lead, thank God. I hate to say it, but it's a good thing we don't live near his family. Boy would they muddy the water. I wanted to write about this horribly tough situation because the whole Alec Baldwin thing with his daughter Ireland got me thinking. My childrfen's father could easily be like that--he's had anger issues that I won't go into, but I manipulate him in ways you wouldn't believe to deflect his anger and/or dissatisfaction away from our kids. Baldwin needs help, serious help, but the saddest part of the ongoing battle between Kim Basinger and him is the fallout whose name is Ireland. It's my belief that even when parents can't work out their own relationship, they are obligated to keep it friendly and loving for the people they brought into this world. Period. |
| It's my birthday!!! My WDC birthday that is The SMs are so cool--I mentioned the mailed card and notepad which I'm sure many of you have also recieved, and this morning I even got an e-mailed "happy birthday" from them A key to their success with this site is the personal touch they give to their subscribers. Anyone thinking about going into business for themselves should take note of the way that, no matter how enormous this site has become, they work constantly to keep that "personal touch" a part of the WDC experience. That's a big part of what keeps membership going!I've actually done a little reviewing lately-will wonders never cease -and one of the best parts of engaging in this exercise is the talent I stumble across, combined with the great people attached to it. Some ports I've delved into recently are from newbies who deserve some attention and even not-so-newbies who seem to have slipped under the radar, so I've decided to celebrate my own WDC birthday by showcasing who I consider to be "rising stars"
I mentioned this young man before; he isn't on WDC as much as he'd like to be due to internet connection "issues", but his writing is really GOOD and very deserviing of all the reviews we can throw his way. This is the beginning to what I think will be an interesting, different tale worthy of publication!
If you enjoy sweet poetry with some wonderful images that feel like a painting, read some of this lady's wonderful work! This particular poem, while written about a blooming flower, reminded me of my teenaged daughters; now THAT'S good writing!
This woman has been through so much and came out stronger, wiser, and eager to share her wisdom with others. She deserves all the reviews we can give her! There are a few of my "picks" for this month. When I first started this blog two years ago TODAY I used it to showcase the work of others because I enjoyed reviewing and felt fantastic when their work was recognized like it should be. I want to return to that feeling. |
| WELL! I have written yet another short story, this one based on a prompt from Tom mentioned in my last entry. The story I will link here is different for me because I don't write alot of humor...okay, I never write humor I had a hard time figuring out where in my port this particular little "ditty" fits--its sole purpose was to get me writing and have some fun with it...I accomplished both! The prompt went something like this: You set up a meeting with an agent on the phone and when you finally meet in purpose, the guy or gal has something very visible and very strange about them: it's an obvious guy in woman's clothes (very poorly matched); they slap themselves; they are nude; they are very, very messy eaters; they have their shirt on backwards; or have some other distracting aspect. Cute, huh?? So here it is:
Take a few minutes to find out if I pulled it off! Now Tom has to write a story from a prompt I wrote, and vivacious  is in on the action, too! the name of the game folks, is WRITE!!! |
| It dawned on me while I was thrashing around trying to sleep (notice the time, it didn't happen) that today I am officially 41 and a HALF years old! Do we get to celebrate half birthdays when we're ooold?! And in two days I'll have a WDC birthday, which reminds me that I should send a "thank you" to the SMs of the site...what a cool notepad they sent me, and Sarah fell in love with the laptop card I decided that on my half birthday it wouldn't hurt to do a little reflecting about the year I'm living. I'm going to focus on the positives, really I am: 1. I am not obssessing about Liz's life anymore. Her mistakes are hers. Period. 2. I have acquired a cool laptop that helps me stay in tune and in touch with my WDC buddies and my friendly blog I'm having the best time with it! 3. I have written a short story, several poems, and of course my blog entries...PLUS I've written several articles for a local magazine. Not bad when I see it all grouped together like that! 4. I have registered and will go back to school starting with the summer semester--woo hoo! A college degree is monumentally important to me. 5. Friends are SO important and I have the best...both in the flesh AND in blogville. Am I lucky or WHAT?!? My next half year will be rife with positive action, positive words, and positive energy. I'm gonna lighten up!!! I'm too lucky to spend my life with creases marring my lovely complexion It's cheesy, it's silly, but the song I hear in my headphones right now cements what I'm feeling:Believe it or not, I'm walking on air. I never thought I could feel so free. Flying away on a wing and a prayer. Who could it be? Believe it or not it's just me. It's like a light of a new day, It came from out of the blue. Breaking me out of the spell I was in, Making all of my wishes come true- As a PS, tune in tomorrow when I'll link my new story, the one for which my crazy, funny, adorable friend Thomas provided a prompt. Believe me, it'll be worth reading |
| Human nature is a fickle character. We are all born with genetic maps inside of us--does that mean our lives are mapped out before we exist? Not necessarily. Genetics is important, no doubt about it. I see my own kids manifest little habits and mannerisms from family members they don't even spend that much time around; it's obvious genetics plays into the way Liz holds her mouth that is so reminiscent of my aunt, or the way Rachael is so picky about food, exactly like her father and his father. Sarah has the "diva" thing going on and has since she was very small--she parrots a cousin on her father's side with the way she cocks her hip and purses her lips when she feels thwarted--and then she echoes my mother when she "hmmphs" and struts away when her "subjects" haven't adequetely met her demands *double eyeroll here* But I see environment step in at this point. Sarah isn't allowed to carry on her with her "diva" ways the way my mother was, no question. I think I have a stronger will than my grandmother did and I will NOT allow my child to run roughshod over anyone, most especially ME And so she doesn't go to the "diva" extremes my mom did at her age (believe me, the stories are legendary). Rachael has those picky-food tendencies, but I constantly goad her into trying new things, and once in a while a "new thing" actually sticks...not often, but sometimes. What am I getting at with all this? What is everyonoe thinking about... What drove that college student to do what he did? Was it accessibility to guns? Mental illness? The lack of officials, teachers, or peers to adequately assess the extent of his mental deterioration? Was he born into this infamy? Is there anything at all in this world that could have stopped the tragic consequence of this young man's deranged madness?!? I'm sure that if we could hit a "rewind" button we could find something to give us an "ah ha" moment, a period in time when he could have been steered into a different direction, on a different path. But the hell of real life as opposed to fiction remains that we can't. No do-overs in THIS life. Can we blame his parents? Boy is THAT a loaded question for me these days. Believe me, I love all my children with equal fervor, but there are brutal facts I've had to face over the last few years. Until Liz wants to be whole and well all on her own it's not going to happen. I can't make her want to be a working member of society, I can't force her into a mold of my choosing any more than I can Rachael or Sarah. As the mother of a nineteen year old, I can guide her, take her to psychologists and psychiatrists and lecture her and keep drilling into her "what's right." That doesn't mean she's going to hear me or act accordingly. In some ways I've had to let her go and resolve that whatever happens with her, I've done what I can and that's that. I have to live my own life and parent my other two children...I can't spend my life trying to make her "right" in the head. There are simply limits to what parents can do to make their kids "okay." Like Roseanne says, "at some point they're just going to DO what they're going to DO. They're like people that way." I worry about Liz in ways that people without mentally ill offspring don't understand. God help me, I sometimes think about what could happen if she rages on someone to an extreme...can she stop herself always? A month ago she got banned from a local coffee house for freaking out on a young man she decided had "slighted" her. To watch her lose control is a frightening experience, which is why police usually bring her home instead of dealing with her I have been known to warn people about her, but too often they don't listen to me. Then when they find out what she's like the hard way, I get "the look." Any parent of a kid like her knows it, that "what did you do to cause this" look. The answer? NOTHING, dammit! The luck of the genetic draw combined with her stubborn refusal to control herself. There comes a point when I have to release it all from my mind or go crazy. What's the alternative?!? There is none.So before you "tar-and-feather" this young man's parents and/or family, take a moment. They are hurting in ways you will never ever understand. To live with the knowledge that you brought a monster into the world...try dealing with that one. |
| ...cause I'm always late like Alice's rabbit! I have no time management skills. I try, bless my heart, to do the best I can. But I've determined that there is some genetic componant for GOOD time management that bypassed me as I was being created I'm ten minutes late for everything; I'm never more excited than when I screech into some event ON TIME...hey, it's happened! I've always made "lists" by which I live my life, but lately my lists have grown to encompass the house and take it over. I work really, really hard to accomplish the tasks I oh-so-carefully write out with my trusty pen (and I have a new really COOL one thanks to my ultra-cool friend Scarlett ). I even have more than one notebook for more than one list! AHEM, you see, I have started to create lists for household chores-which I've always done because if I don't, no matter how filthy my living space would get, I'd sit vacantly with a small dribble of drool oozing out the side of my mouth having NO CLUE what to do-*big breath*-and THEN I have started making lists, in a separate notebook, designed to help me create some sort of order in my writing life. SIIIGH. It sounds good in theory. There's only one problem. TIME MANAGEMENT. By the time I finish household chores and KID chores and all that mundane crap, I'm tired and cranky and the wonderful, orderly list I created to enhance writing success...doesn't get done. Bummer! BUT I'm not giving up. Somehow, some way, I'll figure my crazy, disorderly life out and carve out some time to write, submit, and become some sort of writing maniac! But I actually DID find some time a few days ago to review--shocking I know I haven't reviewed nearly as much as I want to or SHOULD--there are still so many people, stories, and poems on my growing list for reviewing (told you my lists are overtaking the house) that I could be busy reviewing until next fall--but anywho, I did SOME reviewing and enjoyed it immensely! I also discovered another amazing writer: Chameuk I'm surprised I haven't stumbled across his port sooner because he's been a member of our ranks for two years now, he's another Brit by the way, and WOW is he talented He's a natural and SO deserving of attention, reviews, and whatever else I can throw his way. So if you are in need of some reviewing ideas and would enjoy reading some darn good writing, visit his port. He'd be thrilled...I've also discovered that he's very nice Now I'm off to learn more about "TIME MANAGEMENT"...any ideas?!? |
| Have you ever been a little ashamed of laughing? I used to be more sophisticated in my humor, at least that's what I tell myself. Actually, I think I've gotten older, wiser, and just a little more bitter...but not bad bitter if that makes any sense. I consider it the sort of "bitter" that comes with acquiring a few hard knocks in life and the scars that sometimes stay behind as a result. Twenty years ago Ron White would have offended me, plain and simple. I'd have heard two minutes of his commentary and turned the channel with a disgusted "sniff" of righteous indignation. Now I linger on the channel and giggle with my hand covering my mouth. Some "comedians" still offend me and always will, but to me good ol' Ron White is straightforward, blunt, and still wrong in so many ways, but funny too He certainly doesn't posture or try to be someone he's not--although I wonder if that glass he always holds really has alcohol and hope it doesn't. He talks about his life with "no holds barred"...first you can hear about his marriage and his love for a woman who is nothing like him in any way; years later he discusses his divorce and makes no apologies for any of it. He acknowledges his stupidity for "playing around" while he was married...all in his comedy show. In some ways he might be TOO honest, but at least you know he's real. I get sick of listening to and hearing about people who are more teflon than anything in my kitchen. So I may not agree with everything that man spouts, but he does make me laugh. In spite of myself. |
| For many years my Mother's family owned the only movie theater for miles in a pretty rural area, but my mom and aunt had the stars kept in their eyes by a constant movie diet and the posters of their favorites taking up space in their bedrooms. While peers were helping their parents bring in cattle and tend the chickens, they were helping their own family at the concession stand and ticket booth of the theater--and of COURSE they peeked in at the movies! I'm not sure how my family got into the movie business. My great grandmother came from a plantation in Louisiana, and her family also owned and ran a local newspaper. All I know about my great grandfather is the tidbit that he was once a Presbyterian minister in Iowa-how they segued into becoming theater owners remains a mystery to me. But they were pretty popular in the Oklahoma Panhandle, and South Kansas too! Without them there would have been no dime Saturday where the kids spent an afternoon tearing up the upholstery and taking in Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. I have an embarrassingly funny early memory about myself: I was playing around in the aisles of the theater while a movie was showing (I'm sure I was supposed to be sitting), and I was so enchanted that those people on the big screen were talking to me--um, I replied to them loud and clear and I'm sure annoyingly to the movie-goers I even remember my mother and other family members trying to corral me as I dodged their grasps and continued to "chat it up" with my new friends, heh heh. They finally caught me and then my memory shifts to sobbing in the ticket booth, remember those? It stuck out from the building and was its own enclosure. I think I was scared of it, although I don't know why. I even recall having a white pad of paper on which to draw while I sniveled. Memories are funny creatures. Some stick with us forever, while other moments in our lives flit away like a fluffy white cloud caught by the wind...who knows why.The theater was sold around 1970, but my family's love for movies endured. My favorite family memories encompass movies even after we were out of "the business." My aunt would take my brother and I to all kinds of movies, sometimes in the BIG CITY of Amarillo I was awed by the huge theaters in the city, the ones with more than one film playing, even! My aunt made sure we saw almost every 007 movie with Roger Moore (she drooled over him), and we saw Barbra in every movie up to Yentl. One of my all-time favorite movies when I was a child--believe it or not, was Sweet Charity. I didn't fully understand the plotline, mind you, but the nightclub atmoshpere, the flapper dresses, the makeup and the music all caused my mouth to drop open and my eyes to remain glued to the screen. I was six or seven years old at the time, but even then glamour-or what I saw as glamour-called to me with a Siren's Song. I wish I'd kept that feeling and remembered it more clearly as I grew up and began to make life choices--but hey, I remember it now, don't I?? NO I'm not planning to become like the character at age 40, heaven forbid But the essence of what called to me in that movie was...The Rhythm of Life.And The Rhythm Of Life is a powerful beat, Puts a tingle in your fingers and a tingle in your feet, Rhythm in your bedroom, Rhythm in the street, Yes, The Rhythm Of Life is a powerful beat, If you don't know the movie of the musical, find it. It's sort of disturbing, but I like it. |
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