The Clock is Ticking

Over at Poetry Thursday this week, the prompt is about talking walls. Specifically, what would walls say if they could talk. It's pretty interesting, if you think about it. Maybe a little frightening, too.

They'd say "MY GOD WOMAN, RUN!!!!"

No, really. I try not to listen to the walls, it's enough that I talk to myself, I don't need the walls to talk to.

Since I've been conspicuously not writing much lately, I was pleasantly surprised to be able to run with two (count 'em 2!) poems this week.

Hodge podge of tastes,
feelings,
words,
Soaked into the walls.
Do I dare ask what they know?

And...

Intimidation

New construction
No voices to fill the silence.
Untouched by
squeals of delight
and four-letter words of anger.
"First impressions are everything"
even to the walls.

For more talking walls, visit Poetry Thursday

So, I'm up way too early this morning. So, I'm watching cartoons on CBS (because the remote is on the coffee table and I'm just not interested in moving.).

This one is called "Horseland." Let me tell you what I see wrong here.

1. It's the adventures of 4 kids and their stable of horses. Yeah, the majority of America can identify with this.
2. The horses all have stripes of color in the tails and manes. Not like ribbons, like neon green and hot pink are part of the natural color. Maybe they've been to the salon?
3. The horses talk. And the paint is Jamaican.
4. The other farm animals talk too. The collie, Shep, sounds like Sean Connery. Apparently, he knows and can explain all of the equestrian skills to the cat and the pig. The cat, named Angora, sounds like Minnie Pearl.
5. In Houston, at least, it came on before 6..along with several other cartoons. Um, maybe it's just me, not having kids and all, but I don't think kids should be up that early. I know growing up, we wouldn't have been in the living room alone that early.

I understand that it's a cartoon. And yes, it did have a message (competition isn't healthy when it works against relationships). And I understand that talking animals and unnatural hair colors feed a child's imagination (I am a teacher after all, so I get this). I just wish something in it actually seemed to simulate a reality more kids could relate to.

Last week's prompt at Sunday Scribblings was about heroes. This week is about your nemesis.

I'm not sure I'd be 'allowed' to write about the person I actually think of as my nemesis. Out of deference to my dear friend, I won't even try, because I wouldn't be able to keep a civil tongue in my head. But when he reads this, I'm sure he'll know what I wanted to do for this prompt.

So, instead...a bit of my brand of farce.

My arch-nemesis, renewed on a daily basis, is my alarm clock. I'm not a morning person. I think I've told you that before. I completely adore the mornings that I can wake without the alarm clock. In fact, I dream of those mornings. Let me explain.

I have to wake in stages. Three, sometimes four, attacks at the snooze button are the norm. I actually set the alarm for 30 minutes before I should get up (which is roughly 50 minutes before I have to get up). Before I found an alarm clock with a 10-minute snooze, all I'd been able to find was 9-minute snoozes. I'd actually set the alarm for twenty-seven minutes before I intended to get up.

(As an aside, why NINE minutes? What was magical about that number? Other than to incite general pissiness in my morning attitude. Which is pissiness enough, frankly.)

When the alarm goes off the first time, I grumble at it. Think troll. Pissy, blonde-headed, librarian troll.

Second time, I whine. "Mmmm......noooooooooooooo." At this point, WonderDog starts making grumble noises.

Third time, I cuss. One of those long, drawn-out expletives. "Sheeeeuuutt." Or usually, more of a "Fuuuuuuuuuck me." (Mark the calendar, that's the first time the F-word has appeard in any form in my blogs.)

If I need a fourth (or fifth) time, more whining, more cussing. Then a general scramble because I'm now running behind and the coffee and ironing fairies took the flippin' night off. DAMN IT. This doesn't happen terribly often, because WonderDog's bladder can only make it through 25 minutes of snoozing, not even the full 30.

All this really boils down to the fact that I can't think of any place nicer to be until 10 or noon than my bed. It's warm, and soft, and perfect. The only way it could be any more perfect is if I happened to have a good smelling man in bed with me, warming the other half. (I'm not being facetious. And I'm rather particular.)

Of course, as I write this, it's 7:30 am, on a Saturday, marking the 8th day in a row that I've been off (we got a week for Thanksgiving) and I'm my couch. See, the WonderDog won out this morning, and is adamant about not going back to bed. If I thought he'd entertain himself quietly while I did return to my little nest, I would do it in a heartbeat. But, since we've only just turned two a month ago, well....that's not going to happen. You'd give in, too, if eight pounds were standing on your neck.

Oh well, I think I'll take a midmorning nap in a bit. Crawling in bed and all.

I love the day after Thanksgiving. While everyone else is up early to go shopping, I'm still laying in bed, my nice warm, soft bed. I'm propped in the window, watching the crazies race for their cars and to the mall. I hear the Big Lots opened at 6, that must be why I heard a few cars starting at 5:30 this morning.

I don't Christmas shop that way. I think the advent of online shopping was the answer to my prayers. (Yes, MY personal prayers, never mind all you other people). I hate crowds and I hate shoppers. What happens on the day after Thanksgiving (traditionally called Black Friday in the retail world)? There are crowds of shoppers. Thank you, God--we now have online shopping and I know how to use it.

Now, in my house, this is the day reserved for TV marathons (both me watching and what they plan to show). I'm torn between the movie marathon on the Sci-Fi Channel today and watching something remotely intelligent--like the "Dive to Bermude Triangle" show on the Science Channel. Whatever I do, I'm seeing snacks in my future. Lots of 'em.

I wasn't crazy about the prompt for Poetry Thursday this week.
this week's (completely and totally optional) idea -- attend a reading

I've been to readings, even participated in a couple with the creative group that I used to sponsor at work. I enjoy them (not the smoke-filled bar, everybody snapping, variety. Just a simple coffeehouse appreciation gathering). I think they're important.

I wish I could find decent ones in my immediate area, but that might require more people be literate. Oo..yeah, sorry. That wasn't very nice. Pardon me, I'm writing this LOOONG before my coffee has kicked in. Of course, we'd also have to have a decent place to have them, somehow those places never last around here.

I will do this, I will visit some readings in the weeks/months to come. Now that I don't ever work weekends, I can certainly manage this without being a bear the next morning.

So..even though I haven't really, really written for this prompt..I did do this:

Texas Poetry Calendar Hosted at Poetz.com, it certainly can't be an exhaustive listing, but a really nice place to start.

Houston Poetry Fest It's passed for this year, but there's some info on the First Friday Readings.

I know there are others, this is just where I'm starting.

Last week's Poetry Thursday prompt was about lies. I could insert one here and give a fabulous excuse as to why I'm just now getting around to writing on it. Truth is, I got lazy last week and didn't even look. And aliens abducted me. No really..they did. *grin*

Anyway, in the description for the 'day of posting' (Poetry Thursday: the dog ate it and other lies), one line caught me. I've been walking around with it for 2 days now, knowing something's brewing.

Dana wrote "But I write to get at the truth."

Whoa. Yeah, that's part of why I write, that and cartharsis. I write to keep from exploding and to ease my body. I write to cope, to come to terms or understanding with the pain and the joy that happens in my life. (I might be a little too analytical about myself.) Truth happens, somehow, but it's never the main goal.

So, after brewing for a couple days, here's where I wound up.

The truth is Words set me free.
The truth is I am Nothing
without them.
The truth is what makes the Page
is the Lie.
The truth is Honesty is
Colored
Covered
in roses, Thorns and all
So that I may find the Beauty.

Hm...okay. After rereading that...I need to chill a bit. Literally--I need to relax. I just got all angsty (by my own estimation). Oh well. it happens.

Oh..and my title come from my favorite 'attributed to Mark Twain" quote.

Check out last week's Poetry Thursday: the dog ate it and other lies for more thoughts on lies, and the people who tell them.

This week's prompt is centered around the word 'Hero.' You can choose any of these variations: hero, heroine, my hero, my heroine, or you can just use the word as you like.


Dictionary.com Unabridged
he - ro
1. a man of distinguished courage or ability, admired for his brave deeds and noble qualities.
2. a person who, in the opinion of others, has heroic qualities or has performed a heroic act and is regarded as a model or ideal: He was a local hero when he saved the drowning child.
3. the principal male character in a story, play, film, etc.
4. Classical Mythology.
a. a being of godlike prowess and beneficence who often came to be honored as a divinity.
b. (in the Homeric period) a warrior-chieftain of special strength, courage, or ability.
c. (in later antiquity) an immortal being; demigod.
5. the bread or roll used in making a hero sandwich.

I've had trouble with the word "hero" the last several years. Really, since I started teaching. My students have all had heroes. It's always, a sports figure or a wrestler or a racer or an actor. A few have even put Bill Gates on a pedestal.

This bothers me.

Yes, I can appreciate the things those men and women have done. And yes, I admire them for those things. I'd love to have Lance Armstrong's ability (only cuter), Michael Jordan's skills (only cuter), be able to sing like Leeann Rimes (only cuter), or Bill Gates's money (only WAAAY cuter).

But I don't believe those people to be heroes. They're driven, they're ambitious, intelligent, strong, awesome people. But they aren't heroes. They're people with a job that they do every day. Yes, it's an amazing job that, because of they're determination, has put them in the spotlight. But they're still just people like you and me.

My heroes may not have super powers or ridiculously amazing skills, or even money. But they do have honorable qualities that last far longer than those things.

So, here's my short list...

1) Daddy. Now, as a "daddy's girl" this is probably to be expected. However, my dad is a noble person (without the nobility bit). He has never sat idly by when there's something he could do or say to stop or prevent wrongs. His heart is of the purest sort and he has an honest and real love of "right."

2) Ryan White. I've never head of a teenager more courageous and noble. Yes, many (too many) deal with horrible diseases, but few would stand taller under international attention the way he did. He didn't give up. AIDS can be crippling for the people who have it and those that love them. Ryan his family were never crippled by it. They thrived.

3) My students. I listen to them talk everyday. I learn about what they bring to school with them--family lives I can't dream up, pain and sorrow. Hell, just teenage drama and angst. It amazes me that they get up everyday and do their thing. Sometimes they break my heart, sometimes they make me wish I was more than I am.

The prompt this week at Sunday Scribblings is
"I don't want to be a passenger in my own life." (Diane Ackerman)

I'm at odds with this one. It's got me thinking about choices. Particularly the choices I make in my own life.

When you speak to my dad, his pat answer to "How are you?" is "Wonderful, wonderful." Lately, he mixes things up with "Just ginger peachy." Mother's answer is always "pretty good."
I've been thinking about the differences in their personalities.

Dad's a 'wonderful-wonderful' personality. Mom's a 'pretty good' one. Got it? Dad's positive, Mom's mostly positive. Daddy is the one who is attractive to me when I need a parent--or even when I don't. Mom grates on me, because being 'pretty good' seems to correlate with being a bit tactless. I don't know want to be that person. (Tact hasn't been an issue, but it's close cousin pessimism is.)

I've listened to myself this week. I never say I'm 'wonderful-wonderful.' I'm always 'not bad' or 'pretty good.' And I think that's a hindrance

I've pretty much been along for the ride the last few years. Occasionally I make some navigatory remarks, but for the most part, I just sit quietly in the passenger seat. Not always a bad thing. But, it's left me 'pretty good.'

I want to be 'wonderful-wonderful.' (I'd shoot for 'ginger peachy' but I think I need to take it slowly--ginger peachy sounds like a bit much for me aim for just yet.) And I think that being wonderful-wonderful is a conscious decision. A decision to be made daily.

Okay..so keep me honest, kids. No more 'pretty goods.' Only wonderful-wonderfuls, please.

For other thoughts on this prompt, check out this week's Sunday Scribblings

I love geese, from a distance. These guys look like they're waiting on something. I got all excited when this picture popped up today. It's the total opposite of how I'm feeling this week. (I know, I know..makes little sense.)

This week, I'm feeling overwhelmed, emotionally. Work's not a problem, neither is home stuff. But, the personal stuff is all over the place. Some is beautiful, some is messy. Some(one) is a beautiful mess.

Expectant.
A good bet something's out there.

Safety in numbers--
another good bet.


For other poetry snapshots, check out this week's Poetry Thursday.


Oh! And the picture came from here.

Just saw a commercial for Hallmark's newest piece of singing stuff. The Very Merry Trio.

In this commercial, a bunch of people are upset because the airline has just announced delays on their Christmas travels. (Really?? NO!) "Mom" pulls out The Very Merry Trio.

Suddenly, the waiting area is focused on the Trio. Everyone is smiling, the Christmas spirit is in the air. The attendant at the gate announces boarding, and no one hears him.

Yeah, right.

I don't mean to sound all humbug already--before Thanksgiving has even passed. But really, things like that don't happen, even during the holidays. Christmas is my favorite time of year, and not just because of my faith. I just love the season, the way my family is, that my brother's home, the music, the weather...oh I love Christmas time.

But I'm here to tell you, if I was flying somewhere and learned that my flight was delayed and someone wipped out The Very Merry Trio, I wouldn't be smiling at it. I'd stuff my ear buds deeper into my ears, and put my nose further into my book.

And grumble.

I love words. Always have. But obviously, as a writer, that makes sense, right?

On of my favorite pieces of poetry is from Emily Dickinson.

Tell all the Truth but tell it slant---
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise
As Lightening to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind---

Isn't this the truth? Oh man..just caught what I said.

She did 'dazzle gradually' didn't she. Took a few lines to get to her point, wonder if that was planned?

Hm..I'll be coming back to this. I know I wrote a poem years ago after first reading this one. If I can't find it, I'll just redo it...I'll be back!

For more thoughts on words, check out Poetry Thursday this week.

Lose an hour in the morning, and you will be all day hunting for it. ~Richard Whately
But I ask you, is it really lost?

There is no snooze button on a cat who wants breakfast. ~Author Unknown
Or a WonderDog who needs to go outside. Dear Lord...if I could get him to walk himself, mornings would be easier.

There is no hope for a civilization which starts each day to the sound of an alarm clock. ~Author Unknown
I agree. All it does for me is make me want to cuss. If I start the day cussing, oh we're all doomed.

Luxury is an ancient notion. There was once a Chinese mandarin who had himself wakened three times every morning simply for the pleasure of being told it was not yet time to get up. ~Argosy
Haha--SWEET! I want this too! Can I wear my tiara at the same time?

Early morning cheerfulness can be extremely obnoxious. ~William Feather
This is why I can handle Katie Couric better as an evening news anchor.

Okay, seriously...

I'm not a morning person. At all. Let me repeat that....AT ALL. Don't look at me, don't talk to me, don't touch me. Let me get my coffee and a shower, then I can face you. After another cup of coffee, we can discuss leaving the house and facing the world. No, maybe I'm not that bad. But I do come by my morning issues naturally.

My mother used to wake us in song. She'd turn on the overhead light, singing stupid songs and then pick at me when I'd be vaguely ogre-esque. Little did I know...

Apparently, my dad very rarely gets up when she does. In 30 years of marriage, he'd never watched her morning routine, at least not the part before the coffee. For some reason, he was up one morning and followed her into the kitchen. She never spoke while getting the coffee pot ready. He's chatting a little, talking to the dog, whatever. She started the coffee and stood there, staring at it. He suddenly realized that not only was she not talking, she wasn't moving, just waiting on the carafe to have enough in it to pour the first cup before it finished the cycle. He asked if she was like this every morning and she very quietly, very slowly shushed him.

THIS IS ME. Every morning. The world's greatest innovation is the coffee pot that starts up on its own. Mine died and I miss having coffee ready before I crawled out of bed. I'd set everything up before bed, and then fall asleep, knowing the day would start positively. Mm...Until I get coffee in my system, functioning isn't a possibility.

Geez..I've already been through one (small) pot of coffee. I think it's time for another.

For other thoughts on mornings, check out Sunday Scribblings this week.