why I write

I was reminded tonight why sometimes you need someone to light a fire under you to keep you focused on the task at hand.  It made me think of a little blog I wrote more than a year ago...about writing.  I think this is just as relevant today as it was then, so I'm going to put it up again.  Some of the players in my family have changed...the old Labs have gone to doggy Heaven, and Indy has joined the family...but it's basically my life in a nutshell...

Ok…so you know when you’re writing your blog and the dogs won’t stop barking and jumping on you? And the kids are asking to get a ride to a friend’s house, and “by the way,” they toss in, “can we stop and grab something to eat because we don’t like what you had planned for dinner?” And you come back thirty minutes later with a greasy pizza that you flop down onto a paper towel to avoid messing up a plate, because you really hate doing dishes, and besides, you have to find time to write, but your eyes are fighting to stay open because you haven’t slept well in days. As soon as you sit down at your laptop, the ninja kitty with his unmanageable shedding problems decides to snuggle up on top of the keyboard, lodging tufts of fur under the keys. So you have to go find that can of compressed air (the blowy thing, you call it) and it’s never where you left it. The kids invariably took it upstairs to do God knows what to you don’t even want to know, and now the can is completely empty, so you have to just blow really hard on the keys while holding the laptop upside down over the bed (just in case you drop it) and hope the fur all comes out.

Once you finally have the keys working again, you plop back down into the bed to write just as the dogs (the same ones you booted outside for being irritating) start barking at the back door to come inside. Once you corral them into their beds and they settle down, you shut the cat into the hallway, turn the TV to mute, adjust the pillows so you’re completely comfortable, pull the laptop onto your lap and flip the screen open, type exactly three words onto the blank white page when the phone rings. It’s the kids. They need you to come pick them up.

You miss the driveway three times picking them up because you can’t see for crap in the dark, and it doesn’t matter that you’ve been to this house no less than twenty times in the past thirty days, you still can’t find the turn in the pitch black night. You finally inch your way to your destination and surrender the driver’s seat to your sixteen year old daughter who may not have the years of driving experience, but can see infinitely better at night than you.

You arrive back home to the dogs jumping, and the cat shedding, and the pizza calling you to have “just one more piece.” Your husband is now home and settled into the bed beside you watching a movie that would be distracting if you weren’t very focused on the task at hand. You only have three words written, and there are hundreds more to go before the night is over. You are committed to tuning out the TV, ignoring the dogs, avoiding the cat, saying goodnight to the kids, picking up the laptop and finishing your blog because there are hundreds of people expecting you to come up with something brilliant! And you would be delighted to do just that if it weren’t for the horrible acid indigestion (probably due to that last piece of pizza) burning a hole in your esophagus. So you put the laptop down (again) and stomp off to the kitchen to find antacids.

Armed with a bottle of Tums, and a glass of ice water, you trudge back to the bedroom, flop down on the bed to write, fluff the pillows behind your head, pull the laptop back onto your lap, lean into the soft pile of pillows to stare at the blank screen (because you just erased the only three words you typed because they were inappropriate, and mostly untrue) and wonder what in the hell possessed you to write a daily blog in the first place? It’s nearly impossible some days to come up with something entertaining. And sleep used to be your friend, but now you’re almost completely on the outs. Your husband has forgotten what you look like without a laptop attached to you, or a cell phone in your hand and your children call you the crazy blog lady instead of Mom.

But in the back of your mind you remember that you‘re a writer. Even when you’re so exhausted you can’t keep your eyes open. Even when it’s inconvenient. Even when the inspiration doesn’t flow easily. Even when the subject wavers in and out of focus. At your core, you are a writer. And writer’s most definitely write!

Until the next time…I may be tired…but I’ll be writing!

what's your favorite line?

I’ve been thinking about books a lot.

Reading them…writing them…I like it all the same.  Books transport me to a place I might otherwise never get to go.  When I read the words coming off the page, I find myself falling into them, disappearing into the magical world created by the author. 

And when I am the one creating those words, I transport myself to those magical places just as easily.  I suppose that is one reason I like to write.  I like to live in a world completely unlike my own.

So earlier today I was flipping through the pages of A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens, and it occurred to me how powerful the opening lines of that novel are.  “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…”  And then I thought about all of the other remarkable novels I have read over the course of my life with equally powerful opening lines. 

I have my favorites, of course.   Some would surprise you…some probably not.  But I wondered…what are your favorite opening lines?  What grabbed you when you first read it?  What stuck with you over the course of your lives? 

Let’s share…shall we?

Until the next time…I’ll be waiting for your favorite lines!

all play and no work

I have been preoccupied lately. 

Life has been busy, and when life gets busy, it's tough to find the time to write.  No matter how good my intentions are, I have slacked off far too much. 

Well, all that has ended.

I am officially no longer procrastinating.  I have been working for the past few days on edits and rewrites for my books.  Let's just say, I'm tired of waiting for things to happen...I'm going to set things in motion!  Which means, I need to blog less...and write more!  So don't be surprised if my blogs are a little brief over the next several days...I promise to make it up to you!

Until the next time...I write, therefore I will edit!

welcome to the old west

My mother is visiting from Tennessee this weekend, and that usually means game night at my sister's house.

I love game night. I would spend every weekend playing board games, card games, trivia games, and the like. I just can't get enough. Why? I love to win. And everyone knows, I always win.

Well…I usually win.

We were playing a rather complicated card game called Phase 10, and right off the bat, the game got heated…we’re a competitive bunch, remember?  The first round of the game each player is trying to get two sets of threes in their hand, and then must get rid of the rest of their cards.  The first one “out” wins the round, and anyone left holding cards adds the total to their score.  The players who “phase” get to move on to round two, while the players who do not complete the “phase” are forced to complete phase one in the next round.  So not only are you trying to have the smallest score, but make it all the way to phase 10!

Like I said…complicated.

There were eight of us playing.  So, there we were in round one, and player after player is phasing in record time.  I had never played a round of Phase 10 that moved so smoothly.  At the end of round one everyone had phased except my mother, my niece Crystal’s fiancé Nick, and my sister’s friend Robin.  So,  six of us had moved to the next round.  It was almost unheard of.

As my mother and Nick counted their cards to discover they were both holding well over a hundred points each, Mom started laughing.  And not just laughing, it was more of a cackle.  And I say that with the utmost respect.  My mother was without a doubt, cackling.  She was up to something, of that, there was no doubt.

“I have to tell you something.” She started…her confession it would seem.  “I stacked the deck.  It was Nick’s idea!”  She continued on, confessing and cackling. 

Nick piped up.  “We were supposed to get all those wild cards…”

The cackling started again.  “…and it would have worked to, if Nick hadn’t cut the cards!”

We were all laughing then.

My mother was the only person I knew who could stack the deck and not get a single wild card!  We all agreed that if this had been the old west, she would have been shot, and it would have been considered justified.  She’s just lucky none of us were packing…and Dad wasn’t there!

She tried to get us to start over, but as punishment for her treachery, we let the round stand.  I would like to say that it gave me a head start on my usual win…but it would be a flat out lie.  I didn’t make it past phase 4.  And if not for a stroke of last round luck, I would have finished dead last.  But hey, a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do…a strategic skip card played to my husband’s  twelve year old daughter kept her from phasing in the final round, and with the hand she had…it loaded her score just high enough to beat mine.  Yeah…maybe it was harsh…but I really didn’t want to lose! 

Until the next time…I think I’ll suggest another game for tomorrow night!

hotlanta!

Don't you just love Saturdays?

I spent the evening cleaning the broken tree limbs and leaves from the back deck so we could enjoy a bit of candlelight and wine after dinner. The only problem with that was by the time I finished, I was too hot and tired to enjoy the space. 

It sure does look nice from inside the air conditioned house!

But it's all good...we only have three more months of summer here in Atlanta.  Three more months of unbearably hot weather before Fall.  Surely I can get through that!

Just maybe not on the back deck in the hot part of the day...

Until the next time...I'll be sipping wine by the light of the television instead!

good for you new york

I don't think my parents were happy about my first marriage.  I don't think they ever really liked my ex-husband.  And all things considered,  maybe they were right to feel that way.  In hindsight, maybe they knew better than I did.  But they respected my right to make the decision for myself.  Good or bad.  Right or wrong.  Ultimately, the choice was mine, and mine alone.

I never once worried that I would be denied the opportunity to marry the person I loved.  I never lost a moment of sleep worrying that someone else would deem my choices "inappropriate".  It never even occurred to me to be thankful for the right to marry the person of my choosing.  In fact, I have married...divorced...and married again, without ever having to ask permission to do so. 

Others I know haven't always been so lucky.

Today, the great state of New York took steps to extend the rights I have taken for granted to those who have otherwise been denied. 

This change doesn't affect my life in the least. 

But it will make a huge difference in the lives of the people who can now enjoy the same freedoms I have had since the day I became an adult. 

Isn't it about time? 

Until the next time...I'll still be happily married!

powerball anyone?

I had an interesting conversation with my son today. Today, out of the clear blue, he told me that I should win the lottery.  Not as in, "wow that would be cool if you won the lottery."  Or, "I really want you to win the lottery."  But rather, "I think you should just do it.  Win the lottery."  As if I had some control over the situation...some way of affecting the outcome. 

If only that were true. 

The kicker was...he was planning on how much I would "give" him, and how he would invest it.  My kid is no dummy. But I do think he was overestimating my generousity...giving him more than one third of my winnings?  Not so much.  We spent nearly thirty minutes discussing how he would invest his share...and the merits of why he should get considerably more than his siblings.  Basically, he feels they are not as smart at investing as he is...like he has a portfolio already or something. 

He doesn't. 

In fact, I had to spot him a dollar at McDonald's today.  He'll give it back.  I hope.  Then again, it's just a dollar.  Maybe I should get him to buy a lottery ticket with it.  I think if we are serious about winning, at least one of us should actually buy a ticket...right?

Until the next time...I'll be picking my numbers for tomorrow night!

if I had known then...

I am not complaining about my life.  Not in the least.  But, while I am still young and have a lot of life left in me, I need to make sure I don't make the same mistake that I made in my twenty's and thirty's.  I am free to make new choices and decisions and I need to start now.

The truth is,  I love my family,  I love my life, and yet there are a lot of things I would have done differently if I had known where the path would have taken me. 

Would I still be fighting those few extra pounds that I should have lost years ago? Would I have worn sunscreen even on days I didn't think I would be in the sun?

I certainly would have never take up drinking Diet Coke...or eating Girl Scout cookies!  I would have eaten more salads and taken my vitamins.  And I would have given up all the wonderfully decadent cakes and cookies and all sorts of sugar sweets that are now the occasional and unfortunate parts of my existence. I would have passed on the opportunity to taste mexican cheese dip and fried chips. I would have fallen in love with things that were good for me instead of holding out for the bad.

I would have tried harder when I was young instead of expecting age to bring me opportunity.  I would have tried to get published more than ten years ago instead of waiting until now.  I would have taught my children the importance of learning from the past and learning from the mistakes of others...and how I wasn't always right.

I would have looked after myself better instead of looking to a man to take care of me.  I would have walked away from unhappiness sooner instead of staying in a situation that had gone bad long before I left. 

I would have taken more pictures...saved more momentos.  I would have been brave and adventurous.   I would have embraced the rain and lived in the moment, but I would have planned better for the future...you know...if I had known then what I know now.

Until the next time...I'll be doing today what I used to put off until tomorrow!

kitchen ban has officially been lifted!

Ok, so it's been quite a while since I was banned from the kitchen...but if I was banned, it would have been lifted by now.  I have been cooking up a storm over the past several days, and no one is complaining!

I made roasted barbeque chicken for dinner tonight, and I baked a crock of baked beans, sliced fresh cucumbers, and even carmelized onions myself!  To top that off, we had freshly squeezed strawberry lemonade and homebaked peanut butter cookies for dessert. 

If I'm not careful, I'll be stuck cooking everyday!

I really don't mind.  It's actually pretty nice to have a home cooked meal, and I think even the teenagers appreciate it.  I know the dogs do!  They have been hanging out under the table waiting for scraps to "fall" from the table into their waiting mouths. 

I haven't planned what I'm going to cook tomorrow, but I imagine I'll have to raise the bar after tonight.  I suspect my family will expect something equally spectacular. 

I could always shake things up a little and make homemade pizza.  Who would expect that?

Not me!

Until the next time...I'll be planning a few meals for the rest of the week!

shabby chic and edith piaf

I have been re-evaluating my position on the idea of "shabby chic".  It started on Sunday, when I had occasion to wander through the antique shops in the historical district, where I ran across the most scrumptious lamp I have seen in ages.  It was a small weathered garden statue with a ruffled linen shade and I fell in love  with it immediately.  I knew instantly that I couldn't afford it.  The shop was notoriously overpriced, and I had no intention of parting with my hard earned money on something as insignificant as a lamp...no matter how much I loved it.  That was when I happened to spot the price ticket. It was marked down from $145 to $24! I should have gone with my first instinct and bought it on the spot, but I didn't.  I kept walking, only to regret it the minute I was home.

Now I can't stop thinking about that lamp!

Whatever possessed me to walk away from that kind of a deal?  I may never know.  Then again, I may just hop in my car tomorrow and drive back to the historic district in the hopes that the lamp is still there.  Stranger things have happened! 

So, the thing is...after falling in love with that lamp...and after exhaustive internet research on the subject...I think I may have to rethink my aversion to "shabby chic".  Admittedly, I am still not a fan of all the ruffles and lace, but some of the more neutral aspects really do appeal to me.  It is the quintessential beach cottage look that I suddenly crave. 

Perhaps I have always been a "shabby chic" sort of girl and just didn't know it!  After all...there is something decidedly French in that linen and chipped paint look.  And I do love all things French.  I've even been listening to Edith Piaf all evening. 

I think I feel a creative streak in the making.  If I can't buy that lamp, perhaps I can fashion a similar one out of a few rustic treasures of my own. 

It's not like I have anything else pressing to do in the morning!

I'll keep you posted!

Until the next time...I'll be listening to La Vie En Rose to fall asleep!

happy father's day!

Today was a great day. 

My husband declared it the best father's day he has had in years, and my children were able to spend the day with their father.  On top of that, I spoke to my own father, who is currently competing in the Senior Games in Houston Texas!

I hear he's doing a great job too!

Not that I'm surprised...we have always been a competitive bunch...something I got from my dear old Dad. 

In honor of that competitive spirit, I am going to post a reprint from last Father's Day.  I hope you enjoy it...

I haven’t been in the same city as my father for some time now. We talk quite frequently. Thank goodness for modern technology, and Facebook. Still…I wish we lived closer, and that life didn’t always pull us in different directions, but I am very lucky to have a father who has imparted great wisdom, and great humor into my genetic makeup, in addition to the kidney stones.

I decided that instead of coming up with a montage about my dad over the years, I would just share one particular story that sort of came to me this morning. It brings back a lot of fun memories, and sums up a very important time in our lives.

Back before my figure filled out, and while my sister was still considered a sweet little girl, we played a sport called Racquetball. It’s still played in certain circles, and it’s still pretty popular in many places, but where I live now it’s virtually nonexistent. I haven’t played in many years, but once upon a time, it was intricately woven into the fiber of our lives.

I wasn’t a bad player. My balance may have hindered me somewhat—I had a lot of twisted ankles back then—but I could hold my own in a competition. My sister, on the other hand, was a champion. She lived and breathed the sport, spending hours practicing and strategizing her game plan before every tournament. And we played in a lot of tournaments. If memory serves, we may have played at least one tournament every month.

We lived in Rochester, New York at the time, and we would frequently travel several hours to other cities to compete. These tournament weekends usually required an overnight stay, and those were almost always spent in a local motel.

One noteworthy weekend found us in Syracuse, New York. I would have been about fifteen years old, and my sister would have been about twelve. As usual, the tournament started on a Friday night and would continue for the next two days. I don’t remember the specific reasons why my father had not reserved a motel for the night; I just remember that we didn’t have a reservation anywhere that night.

Syracuse was only a little over an hour away, so Dad may have planned on driving back home for the night, and coming back in the morning. But as it turns out, our matches were scheduled for very early the next morning, so we had to stay the night.

There were no vacancies at any of the local motels. We were very lucky to find a little motor lodge close to the racquet club and I remember it being a rainy night when my father ran into the office to reserve a room.

It wasn’t a chain hotel. It was one of those little family run places where the rooms lined up in a long row facing the road and the doors opened directly to the parking lot. It reminded me of the Bates Motel. I even joked with my father about Norman Bates renting him the room, and he joked that it must have been Mrs. Bates, because it was an old woman who took his money in the office.

I didn’t know it then, but looking back, it was probably one of those types of motels that rent a room by the hour as well as the night.

Dad got the key and let us into our room.

The three of us—my dad, my sister, and I— stood open mouthed in the middle of the spooky little room surveying our surroundings. A layer of dust covered every surface of the room. The carpets were darkly stained. The curtains were drawn to block out the view of the parking lot and the main road beyond.

My father decided to relieve the tension by turning on the television, but when he turned the knob all of the controls fell inside the TV cabinet. There would be no TV that night.

My sister and I put our bags on the bed and she sat carefully on the dirty bedspreads while I checked under the bed for a body.

I didn’t find a body, but I found several empty beer bottles. That discovery drove me to investigate the rest of the room.

In the main room there was an ashtray filled with cigarette butts on the nightstand. In the bathroom, the sink was covered in rust, a line of ants trailed from one crack in the floor to another across the small room, and the toilet had not been flushed since the last person had used it.

It WAS the Bates Motel!

My sister and I slept in our clothes with our racquets in the bed beside us. I later found out that my father didn’t sleep at all. He lay in the other bed with one eye open the entire night.

We were pretty tired the next day when we had to play. I don’t remember if we won or lost. It doesn’t really matter anyway. The thing I remember most about that weekend was laughing for days about the scary little motel we stayed in. It was one of the moments in my life where I learned that you have to find something positive in the most negative things. And if you laugh at the bad things, they really aren’t so bad anymore.

It’s a pretty good lesson in life I think.

Until the next time…I’ll be enjoying the last few minutes of what was a wonderful day!

the city dims

I spent the past few days working with metaphors.  It made me realize how important they are...and how misused they can be.  I live, think, breathe metaphors.  It is the writer in me, I suppose.  So what better way to explain my struggle with anxiety and worry, than with the twist of a metaphor?

Anxiety is a fire fueled by caffeine, uncertainty, and worry. The mixture and measurements don't matter that much...just a pinch of this and a dash of that stokes the flame.  And like a grease fire, you can't douse it with water, you have to smother it alcohol. 

Ok so maybe you can't put it out with alcohol, but it certainly takes the bite out of it...at least temporarily...until the alcohol takes over the entire situation and starts its own toasty burn.  And truth be told, I have never been much of a drinker, so even if alcohol would help, I wouldn't know.

So, with the lack of any viable magic exilir to rid me of my anxiety, I have been contemplating the advice I've been given...good advice, in fact...but letting go only sounds easy on paper. Mine is a powerful anxiety...I could light up a city with the electrical current I feel coursing through me.

And exactly how do you put down a hot wire when you have it in your hands?

I promise, I'm working on it.

In fact, tonight I sleep worry free...having set the wire down for the night.  Some things take time...baby steps across a moving floor...but I'm working on it.  Truly I am.

Until the next time...I'll be dreaming sweet dreams without care!

knitting a stress sweater

Lately, the theme around here has been stress.  Stress about life, death, children, parenting, and just about everything else that comes along.  I, for one, think it's time to relieve a little of the stress in my life.  The problem is...how?  How can you really remove stress when it is so interwoven into your life that it is actually part of the thread that holds everything together?

And everyone knows what happens when you pull on a loose thread...the whole damn sweater unravels!

So I am putting together a plan.  I don't actually have any ideas yet, but that is the first step right...coming up with ideas? 

I think it is possible that the first step will be to organize.  Not that I am great at organizing...but that may be part of my problem.  A general lack of organization leads to stress. Walking into a room that is cluttered leads to stress.  Trying to find a lost sock in a sea of unmated socks leads to stress...and cold feet. 

So de-stressing is the goal, and organization is going to be a primary step. 

I could be on my way to a stress free existance as early as tomorrow!  Now if only I could get my children to charge their cell phones more often, and reply to my hourly text messages, I would be as relaxed as a Buddhist monk! 

Now I'm just talking crazy again!

Until the next time...I will be searching the GPS signals on my kids phones to locate their exact position!

dogs mourn too...

I used to think explaining death to children was difficult...

Try explaining to your dog why their surrogate mother has not returned after disappearing a week ago. 

Indiana Jones, my now 14 month old Mastiff, has been walking the house in the evenings, whining.  He whines to go out just to circle the deck and come back in.  He paces the floor looking...for what, we can only guess.  After a while he squeezes his oversized body into the space between the lamp table and the sofa, the same place our geriatric Labrador, Cybil drifted off to sleep that last time.  And there he falls asleep. 

He misses her.

Cybil had become his mother when he moved in with us at just ten weeks old.  She scolded him for sins only she understood, kept him in line when he thought he might be the boss, and taught him that the dogs in our house stay close to the mommy...not the daddy.

And he was the only dog allowed to invade her personal space.  It took a while, but she warmed up to him, and let him sleep on her paws.

 

 

So now when he wants to fall asleep, he lays his head on my feet.  They aren't nearly as furry and warm, but they seem to be an acceptable substitute. 

I wish I could explain the mysteries of the universe to him the way I did with my children.  Maybe he would find some solace in the idea that "all dogs go to heaven" and the hope that heaven may be filled with meaty bones, shady trees, and bubbling fountains of fresh clean water.

Or not...

I guess I'll never really know.  I just wonder how long he will mourn her loss...how long he will wander the house expecting her return...how long will I?

That is the real question, isn't it?

Until the next time...I'll be using my feet as a head rest!

has technology gone too far?

My son just passed me on his way from the kitchen to the shower.  He was wrapping his cell phone in a zipper lock freezer bag.  Of course, I stopped him to ask what he was doing.  It wasn't everyday I witnessed this strange behavior. 

"I'm taking a shower." He told me.

This much I could tell...the towel over his shoulder...the water running in the bathroom down the hall.  But what did his shower have to do with wrapping his phone in a plastic bag?

"That way, if she texts me I can text her back."  He was referring to his girlfriend, but that much I knew.  What I did know was...

"Are you taking your phone into the shower?" I asked, shocked.

"No...but if I have to text I'll have wet hands."

I had to applaud his ingenuity...even if it wasn't "genius" as he claimed.  It was at least decent forethought.  But as I thought about it, I had to wonder...has technology gone too far?  Do we really need to be so connected that we can't take a shower without having access to our mobile leash? 

I suppose I should ask myself the same question.  I take my phone with me everywhere BUT the shower.  I do draw the line at the shower door.  But maybe I should draw the line at the bathroom door? 

I'll work on that...

In the mean time...I will have to contemplate getting one of those zipper bags for the next time I take a nice long bath.  After all...I can watch movies on my phone!

Until the next time...I'll be surfing the web on my phone while drifting off to sleep!

just a spoonful of worry...

I used to think it would get easier as my children got older.  The worrying I mean. 

When I was carrying them in my womb, I would worry that there was something wrong...some unknown disaster waiting to happen.  If I couldn't feel them moving around in there, I would rush to the doctor, certain they were in some sort of distress. 

When they were born, I hovered over the crib listening to their breathing for hours on end, afraid to step away for fear that the moment I did, the breathing would stop.  I read every baby book I could get my hands on, studying the risks and dangers to infants so I would be certain to avoid them. 

As they grew, my fears changed but never really went away.  I was afraid they would fall from a bicycle or a tree.  Afraid they would wander off in the mall or the grocery store.  Terrified of someone sneaking into the house at night to snatch them away. 

I tried to keep my fears to myself.  I didn't stop them from riding bicycles or learning to swim.  I let them go on sleepovers with friends, trips to amusement parks, play in the waves at the beach.  But in the back of my mind, I was always worried. 

I told myself it was because they were children...that someday they would be grown, and I would be able to take deep breaths again and relax. 

I'm certainly not there yet.

My youngest has a driver's license and a car.  She has graduated from high school, but in my mind, she is still that little girl on the playground...climbing too high...running too fast.

I don't think it will ever get easier.  Not when they slip so far out of my grasp as they grow.  I think I will always want to keep them close, and safe, even when I know I can't. 

I can only hope I taught them how to keep themselves safe, while at the same time enjoying what life has to offer. 

Because you can't really take just a spoonful of worry...you always seem take the whole jar!

Until the next time...I'll be lying awake, worrying.

whatever happened to saturday morning cartoons?

My son came into the living room early this afternoon, and without a word, tuned the television to the Cartoon  Network.  He just smiled as the images came up on the TV.  It was Bugs Bunny...one of my favorites...and I spent the next several minutes watching quietly.

I used to love watching the Saturday morning cartoons. There was nothing quite like eating cereal while watching Bugs Bunny and the Road Runner.  And not just Bugs Bunny...every Saturday there was a steady stream of cartoons to chose from. 

Saturday belonged to the children...young or old...and I for one miss those days.

I don't know exactly when the Saturday morning cartoons vanished.  I believe it happened slowly, replaced by something thoroughly adult, I'm sure. I can't help but notice that since thet cartoons have gone, so too has gone the innocence of youth. 

There was a time when children created new worlds in their imaginations, they played in the yard with nothing but sticks and mud, and they watched cartoons on Saturday mornings.  They were sheltered from the horrors of the world, not dragged into it, kicking and screaming.  The only violence they were subjected to came in the form of an assortment of Acme cartoon gadgets blowing up a cartoon coyote. 

So whose idea was it to take away the cartoon violence only to replace it with violent movies, video games, and real life news?

I, for one, think we need our cartoons back. 

In my house Bugs Bunny is still a staple.  As my son did this afternoon, we embrace it every chance we get.  There is a lesson in there...I'm sure of it!

Until the next time...I'll be flipping the channels looking for cartoons!

a true day of rest

Well, I did what I said I was going to do. 

Nothing.

And I thoroughly enjoyed it. 

Mike and I spent the day lounging, lunching, and stepping out to a movie.  I'd love to say I've got lots to say about it, but sorry...I've got nothing.  And I can't say I'm sorry, not really.  It was just so nice to do nothing for an entire day.  It put things into perspective.  Sort of...

I can't do nothing tomorrow, as much as I'd like to.  I have lots to do, and some of it will be unpleasant.  I need to clean the laundry room for a mini-makeover that we're planning.  And I need to get busy organizing the breakfast nook.  It would be really nice to eat in the kitchen again. 

I am still having trouble with the photo posting on here, so I have no pictures for you today...but I'll get busy on that too, and hopefully I can put a few photos up tomorrow.

But for now...it's bedtime for me.  I've had a rough day... :)

Until the next time...I'll be back to work...er...home work!

life goes on...

Note to self…next time you decide to eat a hotdog in front of the dog, be sure to wear a drool-proof smock covering your entire body. 

Life, as they say, goes on.

I vacuumed the last of the chocolate brown dog hair from my bedroom carpet today.  I suppose I was holding off as if it would somehow mean Cybil was still there in a way.  But the truth is, life really does goes on.  She will be missed, and I will keep her with me in my own way…but I have two other dogs (plus the granddog) to take care of. 

And today, they were a handful!

But I suppose I like that about them.  I don’t have dogs to make my life easier.  It is the companionship…and the protection.  You don’t get a dog if you can’t deal with muddy paw prints or dog hair on your favorite pants.  And let’s face it…you don’t get a Mastiff if you can’t live with drool.

Luckily, dog drool wasn’t the highlight of my day.

It was a rainy day, so Mike and I went to see an afternoon movie.  We saw Super 8, and let me just say, I loved it.  It took me back to my childhood and a time when kids used their imaginations instead of their computers…and talked on walky talkies instead of cell phones.  It was an old fashioned summer popcorn movie. 

I may see it again…

But tomorrow I think I’ll just take it easy.  I’ve had a rough week!

Until the next time…I’ll be looking for something relaxing to do!

there is nothing funny about death

So why am I laughing?

I remember being at my grandmother's funeral back in 1985.  I sat in one of the front rows surrounded by close family members.  As my cousins and I sang along with the sorrowful hymns, I couldn't help but smile.  I could almost hear my grandmother singing out of key.  She was a notoriously bad singer, so whether it was my mind playing tricks on me, or something more, the sound of horribly out of key singing brought a smile to my lips.

When I shared my feelings with my cousins, we all started to laugh. My grandmother would have wanted us to find joy on that day.  Not because of her passing, but rather because we were together, remembering her with fondness. 

What does my grandmother's funeral have in common with my dog dying? 

As sad as I was in the wake of her death (and believe me, the tears still come without warning)  I couldn't escape the morbid humor all around me.

She had died in the living room.  And as much as I didn't want to move her, I knew we had to get her to the vet, somehow.  The only solution we could come up with was to wrap her in a heavy cotton blanket and carry her. 

All one hundred pounds of her.

I don't even want to know what my neighbors must have thought if they witnessed us carrying her out to the car in that blanket, like a body wrapped in a giant burrito.  She was heavier than I remembered.  I knew she was a hundred pounds in life, but without her soul to hold her up, she was even heavier.  I stumbled slightly coming down the front steps and worried that I would drop my side.  We must have looked like a pair of inept criminals carting out a dead body.

I'll bet they're still trying to account for all of the kids. 

My first thought was that my life had somehow turned into a black comedy...and I don't mean a Jack Black movie.  I told my husband that murder was officially off my future career list from that moment on.  Disposing of a dead body is NOT a fun task. 

I cried the whole way to the vet, thinking about how much I would miss her.  She always reminded us of a big brown bear, and we would often joke that when she died we would have her made into a rug...that was the thought that came to mind as we drove the short distance to the new vet.  The vet that would never know Cybil in life, but would take care of her in death.  I suddenly didn't want a bear skin rug for in front of the fire.  And nothing was funny anymore.

Until I came home to find Indy sleeping in her spot...keeping it warm I imagine.  I sort of felt like she passed the reins to him before she went.  Like maybe she told him he had to take care of us now, because she can't.  It will be his job to bark at the neighbors, and sleep beside my bed. 

She's on to bigger and better things...

I wonder if up there in doggy heaven Lady was waiting when Cybil got there.  If she was, I'm sure I knew what she would say (if she could speak)..."Not you again! Everywhere I go you show up!"

Dogs will be dogs after all.

Until the next time...I'll be laughing through the tears.