The Clock is Ticking

I live on the Gulf Coast of Texas. We joke that we only have 2 seasons around here--summer and something that's not summer OR one of the other 3 recognized seasons. It doesn't really cool off around here until December, and sometimes not even then. I've got pictures of me riding my bike on Christmas Day in two different years. One year, I'm bundled head to toe. The other, I'm in shorts.

That leads me to...

Wish it would cool off,
leaves would change, be nice out, but
no such luck 'round here.


and


In Texas, leaves do change.
From bright green to dirty brown
No reds, or oranges here.

Check out other posts about Autumn at One Deep Breath.

Okay, so this week, I'm cheating a bit..again. (I call it cheating if I never manage a poem for the prompt.) I wrote the post here last week, in a response to a conversation I had with someone important to me.




For other offerings about a poet's voice, check out Poetry Thursday.

This week over at Sunday Scribblings, the prompt is to write about something we've researched. I've spent all week coming up blank. This morning, I was still at a loss.

So, I've been rereading some things on my blogs, looking at some other things, thinking about the evening I had with The Man last night (mmm), and cuddling with the WonderDog, thinking about my upcoming birthday. And it's come to me.

Easy Bake Ovens.

(I'm sure The Man is thrilled that thoughts of last night have led me to thinking about Easy Bake Ovens. I don't think there's really a connection, I'm just a little more A.D.D. this morning than usual.)

The one I played with when I was little looked like this, except I think it was more yellow. I got it as a hand me down from a neighbor girl. I can remember making peanut butter cookies in it ALL THE TIME. I loved it.

I've been thinking about it again. They're so cool now! Like the Oven and Snack Center and the Real Meal Oven. Way neater than what I had when I was little.

And there's even gourment cookbooks to use with your Easy Bake. Like this one with a recipe from Bobby Flay (they're right..I didn't know my Easy Bake could make food like this!), or the official one from Hasbro.

Websites are posting Easy Bake recipes, too. Take a look at cake mix replacement recipes at The FUN Place.

There's also The Cooking Inn recipes

Gluten-free recipes on this site.


I still think this would be an awesome gift to get. I can only imagine how much fun I'd have. teehee.


For more writings, that are probably more intellectual, check out Sunday Scribblings.

We're all guilty of it. The words we put on the page (the screen, the text message) may or may not reflect precisely what we think they do.

Words that are meant as innocent can be misconstrued as meaning more than you thought.

But that's the danger of writing, isn't it? Writers spend their whole lives crafting meaning and tone on white pages. Some can do it without much effort. Others (like me) agonize over it.

Words that are meant as innocent can be misconstrued as meaning more than you thought.

This is something I know, and something I really think about when in direct communication. But my writing, what does and doesn't get posted here or on my other blog, is done for me. Yes, I know others are reading it--I mean, I've put it out there for the world to see. But what a stranger takes from it is for them to decide. So, because I know what I mean in my writing, I've fallen into the trap of not crafting well.

Only now, someone I care about more and more is reading me. And some of my words have been thrown back at me. Not maliciously, just enough that I was left trying to explain what I meant. Well, more correctly, I was caught explaining not the meaning--that was clear--but more the implications of that meaning now.

I'm being vague on purpose...I don't really want to get into a discussion here of what exactly happened, because, honestly, it's not your business and I don't want your opinions. No offense intended, it's just that there's only one person's who's thoughts on this matter to me...and I hope that person knows it.

Anyway, I think this will be good for me, and my writing. It's prompting me to think more about intent and projected meaning. This is a good thing.

And (insert name here), thank you. I hope this will do some good things for us.

I read something tonight that just defined my writing life.

I didn't write it. But I wish I had. I wish I'd been able to voice the need the way this writer did.

Read it here....3am Scribblings.



And here's my comment.

Wow. Beautiful poem, or mantra, or whatever. For the record, poetry is defined only by the writer--if you think it is, then it is. Worry about form some other time. *grin*

LOVE this line..."...if sanity is to be achieved..."

I started writing, seriously in high school. Then stopped at 20 (during that 'blank' spot in my memory). I came back to it about 4 years ago. And even more so, seriously so, since May. I'd realized that I was avoiding myself, and doing so, for me, incited insanity.

This is how I release the pent up anger, pain, love (since I can't yet say that to The Man). Your mantra captured why I must write. Thank you.

I read something tonight that just defined my writing life.

I didn't write it. But I wish I had. I wish I'd been able to voice the need the way this writer did.

Read it here....3am Scribblings.

Over at One Deep Breath this week, the prompt is to write tanka, which is...

A Japanese verse form in five lines, the first and third composed of five syllables and the rest of seven.[Japanese.] (That means a 5-7-5-7-7 structure.) American Heritage Dictionary

I lurve playing with form. Like other writers I imagine, my writing notebooks/spirals/journals/grocery store receipts are full of bits that have the same words in various arrangements. I rearrange and rearrange until the breaking mimic my thoughts. And sometimes, until the shape on the page feels right.

Several of you, dear readers, may have noticed I don't follow directions very well...but when it comes to physical poetic structure (like syllables on a line), I'm excited by the challenge. I may still run amok with the rules of content, but I can't follow all the rules, now can I? (I love that word--"amok.")

Anyway, here's my offering. This one came way easier than anything I've written for any of these prompts lately.

Smiling local girl
big dreams in a small, small world,
faith in the future.
Waiting on the spin to stop.
Waiting on the spin to stop, for her.

Check out more tanka, and other poetry, at One Deep Breath.

Promised pics of the WonderDog. My poor rough and tumble little boy is now a showdog.

So, this morning I dropped The WonderDog at the new groomer's shop. The old one is harder to get into than MY hairdresser, and I schedule those appointments 2 months in advance.

I guess I wasn't completely awake when I dropped him off. When I said something about a schnauzer mustache (he's part schnauzer), I guess I wound up agreeing to an all out schnauzer cut.

Yep, extra short on top, longish on bottom. BIG eyebrows. Oh my. I'll add pics to this later. I've never seen him look so funny.

And now he's beat. Apparently, when he spends all day away from me, he doesn't go to the bathroom or rest. Our usual 10 minute walk took half an hour and after zipping about the house for 5 minutes, he's out like a light.

And he looks funny.

I stole this from Poet Mom, who I found thanks to Poetry Thursday.


How do you like your eggs? either soft-scrambled (so they're still fluffy, not dry) or over-medium.

How do you take your coffee/tea? Double cream, double sugar.

Favorite breakfast foods: Honestly..oatmeal or Malt-O-Meal, with milk, honey, and dry cranberries.

What kind of dressing on your salad? Really good blue cheese.

Coke or Pepsi? Dr. Pepper. Or Diet Coke. Coke and Pepsi both are nasty unless they're diet.

You're feeling lazy. What do you make? Pasta with bought-sauce. (I usually make my own on the spot.)

You're feeling really lazy. What kind of pizza do you order? thin crust canadian bacon and pineapple.

You feel like cooking. What do you make? I LOVED the beginning of Poet Mom's answer---"Do I really? How odd of me." No, really, I like to cook. I'm probably making some sort of kill you on the spot Southern comfort food.

Do any foods bring back good memories? Hm...lasagna always makes me think of the first year my dad decided we'd have lasagna for New Year's. Buttermilk pie always thinks of dinners at Grandma's.

Do any foods bring back bad memories? Geez, I can't think of any.

Do any foods remind you of someone? Buttermilk pie makes me think of my grandmother, cinnamon rolls (homemade ones) make me think of my grandfather.

Is there a food you refuse to eat? Pakistani, Indian. Most fruits and vegetables (just not a green fan), liver, onions....um...yeah, it might be eaiser to list what I will eat.

What was your favorite food as a child? Hm...spaghetti-os. With 'meatballs.'

Is there a food that you hated as a child but now love? Avocados

Is there a food that you loved as a child but now hate? Um...probably something Grandma tricked me into eating.

Favorite fruit & vegetable: Blackberries and carrots

Favorite junk food: Something salty

Favorite between meal snack: Yep..something salty

Do you have any weird food habits? I eat chili dogs with mustard for breakfast.

You're on a diet. What food(s) do you fill up on? Um...I don't know, probably salads.

You're off your diet. Now what would you like? Lots of pasta

How spicy do you order Indian/Thai? No to the Indian. Thai, about a 5, maybe a 6.

Can I get you a drink? Certainly. A great 'rita or maybe a vodka tonic (Grey Goose please)

Red wine or white? Yes.

We only have beer: Domestic? Shiner. Foreign? How about a St. Pauli Girl?

Favorite dessert? Well, something chocolate probably. Or, buttermilk pie.

The perfect nightcap? Hot chocolate with some Godiva liquer. Or a kiss from The Man. (no, you can't eat it, but whatever.)

From the American Heritage Dictionary:

sol·i·tude n.
1. The state or quality of being alone or remote from others.
2. A lonely or secluded place.

Solitude is something that I often welcome, and often struggle with. Tonight, I think I'm struggling, but it's a night I find myself needing it.

No one may visit
the navy moments. Quiet--
hear, feel, the silence.

(I suggest reading a couple of posts down to catch the 'navy' reference.)

And...

Solitude.....pull me
out of solitary dark,
back to light, to life.

For more thoughts on solitude, visit One Deep Breath.

I never thought I'd write non-fiction. Well, not anything more than the training/semi-technical lessons I write for work or these blog posts. Non-fiction isn't my preferred reading material, unless it's a good biography or from some part of history I'm particularly taken with (right now, that would be royal Tudor England and the Salem Witch Trials). Non-fiction to me seems to take so much work. Checking facts, researching, organizing...ugh. Yes, I'm a librarian and researching really is my shtick, but that's work. Yes, I realize fiction writers put in a lot of research hours, depending on their story line.

Writing for me is has always been about release, escape. I don't want it to feel like work. I've never been drawn to writing something so involved that I have to do a lot of research to get the settings, situations, or details right.

But then, I started reading pieces of creative non-fiction. Oh this is so me. So...here's the first bit of what I've been working on. I've posted it before..a few weeks back. But since I've gained all kinds of new connections (readers), let's see what you think of it now...


Anywhere else wouldn't make sense.

I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. My parents still live there.

My mother would kill me if she knew I'd told you that.

Maybe I should explain. In my hometown, there is no "wrong" side of the tracks. There's the side where everything is—grocery stores, banks, fast food joints—and the side where everything isn't. It just happened that way, no particular reason. I grew up on the empty side.

When I was little, and the world consisted of school and the neighborhood, I didn't notice or care. Kids are like that. Sixteen year olds are not. Suddenly, upon reaching that magic freedom age, the world multiplies in size. And living on the wrong side crimps your style. Inevitably, the people you want to pass your time with aren't over "here." No, they're over "there" - with stuff to do and knowing glances.

Life lesson number one--you need to figure out on which side the world says you're supposed to be. You don't have to agree, of course.

For more things people never thought they'd write, visit this week's offerings at Sunday Scribblings.

The Poetry Thursday prompt this week was "blue." I danced around it all week. I thought about the implied meanings in the color blue---sadness, calm (well, some shades), water, sky.

I looked at the sky Wednesday night and thought about how it perfectly matched the color my brother's eyes--this amazing midnight blue crayon color. He has this stained glass look to his eyes, but all in midnight blue.

I thought about my own emotions, and how I can't remember ever thinking of any one of them as anything but a shade of blue. From periwinkle to midnight to electric to cadet (yes, I know my crayon box very well).

I looked around my house, at all the blue in my furniture and decorations, and how, though I love other colors more than blue, blue is the one I seek for comfort.

So, I got around to this. I've never titled a poem before, but this one I thought needed something.

All My World

Needing the world to stop~~navy
Looking for escape~~wild blue yonder
Creature comforts...connection with my family~~midnight
What I feel with him~~blue violet
Day in, day out drudgery~~cadet
At peace~~robin's egg

Check out the colors I mentioned, and others at the Crayola site.

For more blue poetry, visit Poetry Thursday.

Speeding driver blames lack of goats

Oh really? I've found myself wondering before how I'll explain my driving to an officer some days--on days I was thankfully not stopped. But, I've never, ever thought I'd blame it on something that wasn't there.

Like a goat.

The Man and I met online. And one of the things that jumped out at me is that he had read The Five Love Languages. I was very impressed that I now know of TWO men who have read the book. Anyway, he asked what my languages were. I think I gave him the wrong answer. Oops.

The Five Love Languages
My primary love language is probably
Physical Touch
with a secondary love language being
Words of Affirmation.

Complete set of results

Physical Touch:		10
Words of Affirmation:		9
Quality Time:		5
Acts of Service:		4
Receiving Gifts:		2

Information
Unhappiness in relationships, according to Dr. Gary Chapman, is often due to the fact that we speak different love languages. Sometimes we don't understand our partner's requirements, or even our own. We all have a "love tank" that needs to be filled in order for us to express love to others, but there are different means by which our tank can be filled, and there are different ways that we can express love to others.

Take the quiz

Genetically engineered grass found in wild - Environment - MSNBC.com

I mean, really people. I understand why someone would develop this. Honestly, I get it--green caretakers have a huge responsibility, in keeping the place looking nice and protecting...well, the green. And we should make it as easy as possible for them. Frankly, I think we're encouraging them to be soft--people in the same job a hundred years ago just pulled up those damn weeds by hand. Uphill both ways in the snow, y'know.

It seems that all (or nearly all) science has a downfall. And now we'll have herbicide-resistant weeds. Did no one see this coming? This is just like the dinosaurs changing sexes in Jurassic Park and breeding outside the lab. What was the line? "Life finds a way."

Well, maybe not that bad. But close. Who'd have thought we'd be over run by golf green grass?

Over the summer, I went to lunch with my mother a few times. Almost always Chinese food. That boggles my mind--when I was growing up, she flat refused to ever eat Chinese food. I don't know what happened.

Once, as we argued over the check, we cracked open our fortune cookies. Hers was something appropriately fortune-like.

Mine said "You will be successful."

I thought I was. Well, am. Anyway, I didn't think it was a "future" event. I mean, yes, I'd like to be successful in my future (in those things that are important to me), but I'd like for it to be a continuation of my current success. Not something new that I haven't experienced before.

Success is a personal thing, for me. A very large part of me doesn't care one bit if anyone else ever notices it. I don't need someone praising me for all I've done/accomplished.

That doesn't mean I don't want it now and again. There's a part of me (like in every human) that wants everyone to see it and acknowledge it. I want someone tell me they're proud of me, that whatever wonderful thing I've been granted is "great." There's nothing wrong with that.

I put my whole self into the things I do, and I like that be noticed sometimes. I guess, for as self-sufficient as I like to think I am (success-wise, at least), I'm not. That's okay, though. Humans weren't meant to do it all on their own, were they?

For more fortune cookie thoughts, visit Sunday Scribblings.

Reading through some old-ish emails this evening. Jason asked where the "Jayne" came from. Here was my response:

Honestly, out of my head. I got to playing around with pseudonyms last year, when I started writing my version of the "great American novel" (which was deleted within months because even I didn't care about the characters anymore--and really, my blogging was much better writing.). I wanna publish under a pseudonym for a very odd reason--so that when my mother reads this fabulous book by a new author, I can let her rave about it before springing it on her that I wrote it.

No, there's nothing in that statement that would suggest therapy, is there?

Teehee...

I think I'm supposed to be upset by this. But I just can't bring myself to do it.
Jessica Simpson ordered to be quiet

As an educator, this disturbs me.
Fired TSU president still teaching at school
Still teaching ACCOUNTING, even.

Um..this is so vastly important to things like running a city, huh?
NYC mayor backs Shakira for best video

Thank God Washington thinks this is just a diversion.
Iran president challenges Bush to debate

This just warms my librarian heart.
'Challenged' books drop to all time low

Seems to me that this is an attack on the cultural heritage. Or maybe I'm just to wired tonight.
Warsaw mermaid has chest covered for Miss World

Damn the luck.
Man shot in robbery turns from hero to prisoner

Good for them.
128 students suspended in Ind. school

Note to self: make sure my husband knows how to find the hospital.
Women gives birth while stuck in traffic

So yesterday, I spent the afternoon with The Man. YAY! It occurred to me I'd never laid eyes on him before 5 o'clock. Kinda weird. After 7 weeks of knowing him, and I'd never laid eyes on him during the day. So, what'd we do with our rare Saturday afternoon? Ate lunch and took a nap.

I know, I know..we're wild and crazy people. Someone should stop us before we hurt ourselves.


Anyway, we're sitting there, watching swimming something or other races (are they called races?). A woman from Australia won and apparently set a world record in the event. Or very nearly. The Man posed an interesting question.

What's going to happen when we can't set any new world records?

Well, something along those lines. We talked about it. You know, at some point, people aren't going to be able to be any better/faster/bigger than whoever set the last record. Not without enhancements, anyway. And wouldn't that somehow miss the point?

The human drive to be "the best" escapes me. To a point, I want to be "the best," but really only at being me (hmm..pardon me while I channel a self-help book for a minute). I don't have any desire to be better at anyone or everyone at anything. At least not in the things that don't really count, to me at least. Like swimming or walking on water or bubble blowing.

What would I like to earn the world record in? Why..I'm glad you asked...

• Being a daughter to my parents, a sister to my brother.
• Loving the WonderDog.
• Sitting still and enjoying silence.
• Being happy with who I am.
• Dealing with my 30th birthday. (geez..I'd also like that thought to stop hurting)
• Being there for my friends.
• Loving unabashedly, transparent and unashamed.

Hm...this post went down a different path than I thought it would. That's okay.

Music is essential in my life. A song brings back everything--memories, perspective, smiles, pain. When asked if I'd rather give up my sight or my hearing (if I had to choose), I pick sight every time. I know I could get by, and though it would hurt to not physically see the people I love, I think I'd be driven insane if I couldn't hear music. Oh, and the voices of the people I love, of course.

That's why I love music ring tones. I like having a fun thought of the person attached to the ringer when he or she calls. For my mother, I hear Merle Haggard's "Mama Tried." It used to be Ozzy's "Mama, I'm ComingHome." Teehee...my mother finds Ozzy deplorable.

For The Man, I have Christina Aguilera's new one "Ain't No Other Man." Early last Saturday, he sent me a text. I woke to his song, crying before I registered I was awake. It was the first time in just over a week he'd contacted me. I'd thought he was gone and I'd been sick with hurting. When the music started, my heart caught and I couldn't pick up the phone.

Phone rings--rockin' beat
wakes me, brings on tears. Release.
Sobbing, but hope springs.

You couldn't know. 'Ain't
no other man' hurt like you.
Better loving, now.

We're better now..still testing waters, tasting at love. But it's so much better this week.


The prompt this week for One Deep Breath was about the sound of music. Read more offerings here.

Hi. My name is Jayne, and I'm afraid of the dark.

Really. This isn't just a matter of not being all that comfortable in dark spaces. It's a fear.

I have night lights in my bedroom. And a small lamp that's on all night.

I can't sleep if the closet or bathroom door is open.

I never, ever, get into or out of my bed when the lights are off. Even then, I tend to avoid the space under the bed.

When I do crawl in bed, there are rules: 1) Sleep only happens in the middle of the bed. 2)My ears must be covered. 3) At no point should any of my body not be on the bed.

There are flashlights and candles within easy reach in every room of my apartment.

I guess, thinking about it now, it's really a fear of being alone in the dark. If someone else is around, I'm better. Not nearly as bothered by it. If curled up with The Man, I'll even sleep in the pitch black of his bedroom. If I were alone in his room, I wouldn't sleep at all.

I don't remember it being this bad after I was about 8. I've never particularly liked the dark, but I was no more uneasy than any other normal person. But I dealt.

Then, when I was 20, the only time in my life I can't recall anything about happened. I won't go into the details, because frankly I don't know them. I know what happened because of what I was told and dealt with later, but the specifics of the actual event are encapsulated in my memory. Completely walled off from the rest of my conscious mind. When I try to recall that time, there's a hole. I liken it to blacking out. Time passes, you might even be involved in the activities, but you register nothing.

So, for me, being afraid of the dark is a manifestation of my fears of that time. I know what happened that night, but only from what others told me. I have no working knowledge or memory of my own. It's a dark space in my mind. It's my monster in the corner.


Visit Sunday Scribblings for more offerings about monsters.

I wrote this earlier in the summer, when I looked at my summer schedule and realized I had exactly 11 days I hadn't scheduled anything on. For those of you that don't know, I'm a public school librarian. I'm not required to work all summer long, or even into the summer. Until this year, I did make it a point to go in every couple of weeks and sort the mail (which piles high in a week's time). This summer, I taught 2 sessions of summer school speech, went on a trip for church, visited the various and sundry doctors, and was at school quite a few days going over the renovation work in my library. I'd actually scheduled away my whole summer break.

Tick....tick....tick.....
goes the clock.
Ain't there supposed to be a 'tock' somewhere?
Seems like I learned that once
before.
But who has time to listen for it?

My other blog is "The Clock is Ticking." I tell people that I don't mean that clock--the one my mother claims should be getting louder for me by now. And really, I don't. I mean time is passing. And I've been letting it race by while I've packed my days. "Downtime is wasted time."

It's only been in the six weeks or so that I've been selfish with my time. I blame it on The Man (who, if you're following our story--which I'll admit I don't keep updated well--is back in the picture. Thank God.). Never before have I found myself sitting still, when I knew I had other things that needed doing.

I catch myself listening for the tock.

For other thoughts and ideas on the idea of time, visit Poetry Thursday.

This never happens to me...

More people should address me this way


BTW...this whole blog rocks.

For those of you who know me....what do you think? Is this accurate?

What Your Soul Really Looks Like

You are very passionate and quite temperamental. While you can be moody, you always crave comfort. You are a grounded person, but you also leave room for imagination and dreams. You feet may be on the ground, but you're head is in the clouds. You believe that people see you for how you are, not how you look. But deep down, you know that's not exactly true. Your near future is still unknown, and a little scary. You'll get through wild times - and you'll textually enjoy it. For you, love is all about caring and comfort. You couldn't fall in love with someone you didn't trust.

Hmm...I don't know how much I like that particular title. It just feels to me like my writing is always in the rough. My words come at me in a wild attack. Sometimes they hurt---like the utterly angry things I wrote this weekend about The Man (note to self--screw men. No, really, screw 'em all. Who the hell needs 'em?). Sometimes, they bowl me over in a rush of love and laughter, like when The WonderDog barrels down the stairs into my arms. On the rarest of occasions, they whisper-step up to me and calm me. I love words.

Over at Poetry Thursday, the prompt this week is whatever you want. I've never liked open-ended assignments. Even when it comes to writing. Give me some guidelines--a page, theme, single word or idea I'm supposed to state or allude to...HELP! Don't just throw me to the wolves---um...out into the wild. Hm.

But here is what I want to share. My new friend Jason is quickly becoming one of my favorite people. He's even stepped up the last few days and given me an ear, a shoulder...whatever. A few weeks ago he shared some of his writing with me. One of them sent images to attack me. The opening lines are:

Clutching the broken fragments of glass
I bleed through my scattered faces

I could see it. The whole poem, stretched out in a black and white photograph before me. I loved it. The image I had in my head took my breath away, captured so many things. I wrote and told him he needed to illustrate some of his poetry with his original photographs (which are beautiful). I do wish he would.

I've requested permission to share the whole poem, should he give it, I'll update this post. It's...ugh...amazing.

UPDATE: Mere minutes after the initial posting of this, permission came through. Bless you, Jason.

(no title)

Clutching the broken fragments of glass
I bleed through my scattered faces
a handful of eyes looking back at me -
more imposing than the pair I so recently destroyed.
It was a weakness, a panic,
a fear of my own self-worth.
I could have turned out the light
or simply walked away, but
I stayed to fight.
I chose to kill,
and now my reflection
sits back and laughs
as I soak in defeat.

Hm...playing today with a haiku prompt at One Deep Breath. This week, it's "Coffee & Tea."


Warmth and peace, steeping
in a quiet cup at home.
Recharge, refresh...aaaah.

I should have thought to do this for my dad. Darn the luck.

So, this morning on Slate I was reading I'm Gonna Keep That Gray, a column by Beth Frerking. She was explaining why she hasn't made any attempt to cover the gray hair she started finding in her late 30s. She's now 49 (I think) and completely gray, or at least mostly gray. I hope that at the point (either 49 or completely gray, whichever comes first) I will have embraced my gray hair, or at least have accepted that it's there.

Actually, I've accepted that it's there. Just like every couple of months, my hairdresser accepts my money for coloring my hair, a perfected shade of blonde highlighting (now) that the gray blends very well with. I was coloring it auburn for awhile, and while I loved the color, a single gray strand was like a beacon. So, I've gone back to being blonde. The real issue for me is that I'm, really, rather young.

I found my first gray hairs--8 of them--at 22 years old. Actually, my dad found them. They'd appeared over night when I'd broken up with my then fiance. (That's a story not worth repeating.) Obviously, they were stress-related. I quickly pulled them out, praying the old wives' tale was truly, truly a myth. You know, pull out one and 2 grow in it's place.

The next spring, a few more showed up, randomly, during my student teaching semester. After my first full year teaching, everytime I went to the hairdresser, she pointed out some. She'd get rid of them and we'd go on about our business.

Two years ago, after being unceremoniously dumped by M, and trying one last time to be with R, they started coming in a bit heavier. So I started coloring my hair. That's when I went auburn. All over. it was bold, and daring, and...wow. But like I said before, gray is definitely a beacon in auburn hair. So, in the spring this year, I let all the auburn fade out and went back to being a dark blonde, with lots of blonde highlights.

Okay..so that's the chronicle of my coloring story. I know I could save the money, and just not worry about. I'm sure I'd be one of those women who look fabulous, sexy even, gray (especially with my hairdresser's help). But one fact remains.

I'm only 29.

Yes, I'm turning 30 this year. But I've had gray hair in one volume or another for 7 years. There's quite a few to be found now. Okay, to be honest, 'quite a several.' If I let it go, honestly, I'll probably be completely gray by the time I'm 40. Damn genes--it's my understanding that's how it was for my grandmother. It's not that I'm opposed to be graying (like I'm opposed to being 30).

I think it's because I'm still single. If I were married, doing that thing, I'd probably be more willing to just deal with it. I think I've convinced myself that no man is going to want a 29 year old who looks old.

Setting aside how silly that must sound...what do you think?

Wouldn't it be nice if combatting stupidity was really this easy?

Of course, then we might not have stories like this.

Why would someone pour money into this?

This one is just plain weird.



This story..however, just makes me a little sad. And really appreciative of where I live.

Music has been a huge part of my life. It's a refuge for me, an escape, and to some extent a magic elixir. It's brought on much needed tears, and chased them away.

This week's Poetry Thursday prompt was about songs. As silly as it sounds in my head--songs really do sing to us. Rather than write about any one particular song, I thought I'd share with you the soundtrack for my life right now. (Each of these links points to the video. Sorry they're a bit convoluted. The javascript links didn't want to work.)

Rascal Flatts - Bless The Broken Road
Okay, so I've been down some rough roads the last several years. Life's very sweet these days and I'm feeling so happy and blessed. Obviously, this has a lot to do with The Man right now. We've both been down some less than stellar roads in our lives. But it's smoothing out.

Pussycat Dolls - Buttons F/ Snoop Dogg
I'm really lovin' this song right now. It's H-O-T. (geez..I just said that, huh? Ugh. I've been around high school boys too long). Honestly, though, I wish I was this brave sometimes (read "not shy"). And I wouldn't be hurt one bit if I had the body of any one of those girls.

Rob Thomas - Ever The Same
This one is about R--my closest friend the last few years. Out of necessity, our relationship has changed. I don't think either of us is very happy about it. But, we'll always be important to the other. This song reminds me of that.

Christina Aguilera - Ain't No Other Man
This the ringtone on my cell for The Man. Teehee. (Please let me know if this young love crap gets sickening)

Hoobastank - If I Were You
I'm not really sure what it is about Hoobastank's song that gets me. I really like it though. Makes me think about all the things I should be doing--like appreciating some things more.

Panic! At The Disco - I Write Sins Not Tragedies
I'm not a huge Panic fan, but I like this one. The video's fabulous, visually, but I love the line "I'd chime in with a "Haven't you people ever heard of closing the g** damn door?!" There's a life lesson if I ever heard one.

Dixie Chicks - Not Ready To Make Nice
I think the jist here for me is that I'm tired of backing down and playing along. I've not been selfish with myself often enough. I've probably pissed a few people off, but oh well.

LeAnn Rimes - Something's Gotta Give
This is my life for the last couple of years. Except for the cat named Jake. *wink*

Pink - Stupid Girls
I work in a high school. It's not the girls who have good heads on their shoulders that worry me. It's the "stupid" ones.

Nickelback - Far Away
Warm fuzzies

Switchfoot - Stars
In this whole 'discovering' myself phase I'm in, this song reminds me of my place in the mystery of the world.

Gretchen Wilson - California Girls
Remember, it's okay to be yourself. Especially if that self is a little bit redneck. *wink*

For more Poetry Thursday offerings this week, click here.

Here we go...yet another turn around the news world.

Pope says he's starting to learn his job
Well, thank goodness! It's only been 15 months. I do have to question his circular logic there on the subject of holidays. I'm sorry, it's not a holiday if you do work.

Woman in doghouse over Jehovah's Witness sign
Excuse me? 'Gentle joke?' My ass. Granted, I think it's pretty damn ridiculous of Witnesses to make housecalls on Christmas Day, but there's nothing gentle about that sign.

Human hand, skulls found at stripper's home
Hm...methinks there's a lesson here.

Inmate includes own name in bomb, anthrax threats
You know, I've always heard that the prisons are full of geniuses. Okay, so it's "full -1."

Mistrial declared in cell phone case.
Note to self: Just let The Man see the phone. I've nothing to hide anyway.

Rice shares ASEAN stage with furry green frogs
Oh, this is weird. I'm so glad Condoleeza went with something a bit more serious.

Malaysia draws up list of unsuitable names for children
Okay, this might, might just be taking political correctness a tad too far. Obviously, I won't be raising my family there--oh, btw, meet my daughter, Yellow Carrot.

ER closed, Hazmat called after birds fall from sky
eeeewww.

Pet wedding veiled in irony

This is not funny. It's sad, it's pathetic. It's just ridiculous. These people are obviously in need of some psychotherapy.

I mean, they actually list one of the reasons they did this as "being 30-something and alone." That's just sad.

Stories like this one give me hope in our society.

School district creates refuge for homeless students

We need to be doing more to help those kids that are flying under the radar.

Pardon the cross post here...I don't usually do this, but I can't help it.

Okay, I got reminded to do something this week. I've been in Tulsa most of the week for a church conference. At one point, I ended up with free time in the (fabulous) youth area. They had one of those semi-portable basketball hoops set up in one corner and two teenagers were shooting baskets. Both boys appeared to have Downs Syndrome. Both were having the best time, coaching and cheering each other with every shot.

I was watching them, getting a lot of joy from just watching them have fun. Soon, they were casting shy glances at me. After several minutes, they invited me to join them. Now, I suck at shooting baskets. I told them I wasn't very good at all, that I'd probably be in the way. They told me it was okay, they'd help me.

I was instantly humbled. And as we played there in the youth room, so many different things happened. My tension that had hit me rather suddenly at the start of the week melted away. As I said, I was humbled being coached on the best way to shoot the ball. And we laughed and had such a good time. It was awesome.

And then, when we sat down for a break, before going back to our respective posts for the conference, I wrote for them.

Unabashed smiles, eyes
watching the ball -- swissssshhhh--REBOUND!
Reminds me to play.

I didn't manage to get their names. It wasn't important, you know? But they did so much for me.

Okay, I got reminded to do something this week. I've been in Tulsa most of the week for a church conference. At one point, I ended up with free time in the (fabulous) youth area. They had one of those semi-portable basketball hoops set up in one corner and two teenagers were shooting baskets. Both boys appeared to have Downs Syndrome. Both were having the best time, coaching and cheering each other with every shot.

I was watching them, getting a lot of joy from just watching them have fun. Soon, they were casting shy glances at me. After several minutes, they invited me to join them. Now, I suck at shooting baskets. I told them I wasn't very good at all, that I'd probably be in the way. They told me it was okay, they'd help me.

I was instantly humbled. And as we played there in the youth room, so many different things happened. My tension that had hit me rather suddenly at the start of the week melted away. As I said, I was humbled being coached on the best way to shoot the ball. And we laughed and had such a good time. It was awesome.

And then, when we sat down for a break, before going back to our respective posts for the conference, I wrote for them.

Unabashed smiles, eyes
watching the ball -- swissssshhhh--REBOUND!
Reminds me to play.

I didn't manage to get their names. It wasn't important, you know? But they did so much for me.

The Sunday Scribblings prompt this week is "Thief," which can go just about anywhere.

I've been thinking a lot about stealing things the last few days, even before seeing this prompt. The last few weeks have been crazy, I can describe several things that have happened and thoughts I've had as stealing.

Wow, that last sentence is awful. Maybe I'll go back to it. Probably not.

Anyway, I need to give a run-down. I'm big into listing things right now, and have made dozens of lists for everything. I migh as well continue it here.

1. I work through the summer. I teach summer school, professional development classes, and do a bunch for my church job. I realized that this summer I've packed too much in. I've stolen my own time away. Away from deadlines, working. Time to relax. I figured it out, the first week of summer was the only full week I was not required to do anything or be anywhere.
2. I've met a guy--I've commented on him in other posts. He's 'The Man.' He's amazing. I really don't have other words to describe him. It's been a long time since my attention has been drawn to a guy like this--and I don't mean just paying attention to him, I mean my thoughts are drawn to him. I think he's definitely starting to steal my heart...he's already managed to steal my mind.
3. Earlier this week, my peace was stolen. I don't want to go into details for several reasons. Stealing my peace...I just don't know how to wrap my head around it. It happened so suddenly, so violently that it took me a couple days to sort it out for myself. But you know who's managing to help restore it? The Man, whether he knows that's what he's doing or not.

Hm..maybe that's all, then. I guess it just feels like so much more.

I realize it doesn't really fit the prompt. Oh well, I don't tend to follow the rules well anyway.

I've been so overwhelmed in Tulsa this week, that I haven't paid much attention to the news. So, now that I'm home, I'm running through MSN and CNN and all that.

Here's a great one...
2 girls found starving; have well-fed siblings
I hate stories like this. My heart goes out to those little girls. Obviously, the step-mother is a heartless bitch. How could you starve children? I don't care if they're yours or not..how could you do it? And shame on the father. You can't tell me he didn't know this was going on. Even if the girls were always slight of build, you have to notice when your own children are dying.

Court rules teen must have cancer treatment
I'm not sure how I feel about this one. On the one hand, I think it's a very personal decision to decide how to treat (or not treat) your cancer. On the other, I can't identify with a 16 year old who wouldn't be willing to try EVERYTHING to live, and parents who wouldn't insist upon it. Then on the other hand (yes, I know, we're up to 3 now), I have a real problem with a judge or social worker demanding treatment, even if I do have an understanding of current child neglect and protection laws. Of course, if the cancer was obviously terminal and treatments were to just to prolong life, not heal the boy, I could understand opting to not treat. I just don't get not wanting to live. I just know. Thoughts?

Family vows to battle Anna Nicole Smith
And I care, why?

Schwarzenegger gives $150M stem cell loan
Good. You know, I kinda worried about having muscle-brained actor as governor somewhere. (Especially when people started talking about amending the Constitutional requirements for presidency. That might be a bit much, kids.) But, I have to commend Arnold. Stem cell research is SO important.

Gays accused of discrimination in resort town
Hm..there's a twist. Is this hetero-bashing?

Okay, I've been thinking about posting this for a couple of weeks. I haven't gotten around to it, because it's a bit embarassing. And I'm a little afraid that I'll be judged.

But I have to get it off my chest.

The WonderDog is into bondage.

There, I said it. Should I explain?

I bought The WonderDog (Wonder, for short) one of those harness things PetCo sells. Wonder has this crazy idea that taking a walk includes pulling at the leash at full force. I'm afraid at some point he's going to wind up hurting his neck, or bruising a vocal cord or something. (Hm..let me rethink the vocal cord thing. He'd be quieter then, right?) So, we went shopping and found a bright blue harness for him to wear.

When we crawled back in the car, I put it on him--no reason to wait to, you know? INSTANTLY, he calmed down. Just settled right down, and sat in his own seat instead of my lap. Hm. Okay. Whatever.

Now he won't let me take it off of him. He does this pissed puppy growl thing when I even touch it. Think "gnashing of teeth." But if you leave it alone, he's damn near an angel. Okay, so the halo is crooked, but geez, he's still young.

On the rare occasions I do get it off of him, he is fine. Back to normal Wonder mode (read: unruly and ornery.) Just don't let him see it somewhere. He goes bonkers trying to get it. Extremely crazy--crying, clawing, climbing. Ugh. Once it's on him--back to the angel.

I can't take it. My dog's stranger than I am.

is Tulsa.

I'd swear it. I mean, heat indexes of 110 and higher? That's gotta be a level of Hell. Just gotta be.
I know this, because I'm in Tulsa right now. It's nearly midnight and the temperature is a cool 90 degrees out. 90!! There's something wrong with a place that hot at midnight. Ugh.

Have you played with Yahoo!Answers yet? You've GOT TO go do this. I've had so much fun. It's my new way to procrastinate instead of writing. It's way addicting.

I've spent entirely too many hours having to sit still and listen today. I'm so wired.

(Wait, looking up the screen, did I say something was 'way addicting.' Geez.)

Anyway, wired, really wired. The Man (read "the man in my life") even noticed it on the phone earlier. I just couldn't say enough. It was crazy.

Whew..just hit a wall. Ugh.

But you know what...I'm really happy right now. Might be The Man's fault.

It's a bit ironic that this week's prompt at Poetry Thursday is sex.. The Man (read "the man in my life"), and I had a playful conversation last week that produced this gem of a line (hope he doesn't mind me sharing!):

I think your naughty little devil and my innocent little angel need to have a meeting of the minds.

A few days, some twisting and turning...and then the prompt showing up, brought me from there to here.

“Girl, what you doin’?”
Damn the angel.
Ignore her, close my mind.
Wander.
Need your breath on my neck.

“Girl, you’re delicious,”
The devil speaks.
Touch you, lose myself.
Revel.
Steal the warmth from your touch.

“Please, don’t stop.”
Quiet words for
a devil from his angel.
Hunger.
Taste your kiss, and give in.

I've never written any poetry that even hints at sex. I don't really know why, possibly lack of inspiration.

Teehee..The Man should take that statement as a compliment.

I commented last week that not everything we write has to be visceral. I think sometimes I have to be reminded that visceral doesn't have to mean 'gut wrenching.' It can simply refer to the butterflies that swarm with a touch. Ooh, there's an image--butterflies swarming. Hm...


Check out Poetry Thursday for other poetry contributions.

Jason over at A life in the day found my email address and "contacted me direct." I'm not concerned, I actually think it's kinda cool that someone took the time to do it.

He asked how I'd found his blog--apparently I'm the first stranger to blogroll him. Honestly, I can't remember how I wound up on it. I tend to go shopping on other blogs. Sometimes I look for different things to write about or put on my blog. Other times, I just check out what others have linked to--blogs, websites, whatever. Fifteen or 20 clicks later, I can't figure out where I started, but I've found some real gem that's worth being added to my list. And so, I ran across Jason's blog. I've been perusing it, back stuff and everything, for about a month. It's pretty good. I think he and I have a similar writing style, which is probably why I'm attracted to the blog.

Oh, hey..dig a bit deeper into his profile, and you find his site SecondSalon. He's got some amazing photographs on there. Enjoy.

Spent the day with the fam. We took a cruise on the duck pond.

This is what time I woke up. I never, ever sleep late. xoxo

Mother was telling us last night that she read or heard somewhere that psychologists/researchers have found a direct correlation between how a child behaves at 3 years old and his or her teenage years.

My father replied with "If we'd known that when you were three, we would have adopted you out."

Ouch. Not really--I know wasn't easy. But I probably should've pointed out that it wasn't my teenage years that were the problem, it was my early 20s. AND I'M JUST FINE NOW.

Anyway, before I get to sounding bitter *wink* I thought I'd just pass the info on to all of you. You have two choices--count your blessings, or run like hell.

So this week, we're supposed to find humor (according to the--totally optional--prompt at Poetry Thursday).

I don't write humorous poetry. Well, not any for public consumption (Don't we all play with limericks now and again? Or is that just me? Don't answer that.). And, in thinking about this prompt, I struggled. I can't think of any particularly humorous poetry--that was meant to be funny--I've read in years. There's my lame excuse for finally getting around to posting this week.

So, I got to thinking about the poetry I used when I taught elementary school. When working with third graders, one doesn't use Poe or Dickinson to teach poetry. Instead, you find Shel Silverstein (see link below) or Jack Prelutsky and you let them giggle their little heads clean off. Then you can do silly things like sharing some Frost or Whitman--the lighter stuff, of course.

I remember being introduced to Shel Silverstein's poetry. It was second grade and we read "I'm Being Eaten by a Boa Constrictor." It chronicles being eaten alive by a massive snake, starting with the toes and ending with the nose. It's hilarious! And it's the only poem I've ever memorized for school that I can still recite perfectly--and that was, ugh, almost 23 years ago. I use it now to show new interpers in my speech classes how to own the poetry they are reading.

And it was that poem, 10 years later that I thought about when my high school creative writing teacher told us to quit writing about our imagined angst and have fun with what we were doing. She pointed out that yes, words should speak to you in ways other than just mere language, but not everything we write has to be so visceral. Some things can appeal to just your funny bone.

I think that's probably also when I made the connection between poetry and music. I'd always known that, in essence, lyrics are just poetry, but I'd never really connected that the effect words-put-to-music had on me could be found in words on paper. It opened up a whole new world for me and my writing.

Sure, I still don't write funny poetry. But I stopped being so caught up in my perceived distress (which I can tell you now was really non-existent) and just wrote.

I never would've thought a rhyme about a kid being eaten by a constrictor could have such an effect on my writing self. I mean, come 'on, it's aimed at kids, right????

See some neat things and hear some audio recordings of a few poems.
Shel Silverstein
I about flipped when I did a search for this site. In the site engine blurb, the main link says "Shel Silverstein - the Official Site for Kids - Choose Speed." I did a doubletake and quickly clicked on it--it wanted the viewer to choose high or low bandwidth. That was NOT my first thought!

And to see this week's other offerings, visit Poetry Thursday.

Hotels. They're a necessary evils. Obviously, I have to have somewhere to stay when I leave town, hence the necessary part.

Evil because they 'rub' at all kinds of things that bother me. Showers are goofy--too hot, too cold, and the shower curtains try to envelop you. Too few channels on the TV and a remote that rarely makes sense. An alarm clock it takes a 6 year old to set. Never enough towels, etc.

Ugh.

I do like to stay in nice ones. When I need a base to decompress in, it's nice to come back to a well-apportioned room and relax. Tough for me to do that in the local motel.

I spent all last week in a pretty good hotel. Nice pillows, microwave and minifridge in the room. Starbuck's coffee packs for the in-room coffee maker. (That rocked). Free internet access and everything. It was so nice.

Last night, I stayed at a hotel in Austin. Great location, really nice place...view of the driveway. Internet access was available in every room, for an additional $10. Parking was available, for an additional $10. $18 if you used valet parking. The room wasn't ready when I tried to check in (granted, I was 2 hours before check in time, but I'd called ahead for the early arrival opportunity.

But the bed was awesome. There was a little decorative pillow that said "Sweet Dreams," and they were. That's the best hotel bed I've ever slept in and I'm a bed connoisseur. It had just the right amount of support, great pillows, mmm..wonderful. I drifted right off. It was amazing.

So...that's my one requirement. I'll deal with anything else, but gimme a great bed.

Read some more offerings at Sunday Scribblings.

I don't honestly believe in horoscopes, although they are a bit eerily true sometimes. I just read 'em for fun. This was my "love horoscope" this morning.

Here is your single's love horoscopefor Thursday, July 6:

Who, you -- selfish? Maybe just a little bit at the moment -- but maybe it's not such a bad thing. One of the fabulous things about being single is you can put yourself first and treat yourself right.

Actually, this is precisely how I'm feeling this morning. The last few weeks really. I just feel like this summer--my break, mind you--I've done nothing just for me. I've been teaching summer school, went on a weeklong technology camp thing, came back for more summer school. Somewhere in there, I went to the zoo, once, and saw a couple of movies. Wow.

I suppose it is selfish to want things to revolve around me for a bit. But I also think it's a bit cold when the people around me, that know me best, can see that I need a litte of that, too but turn the focus to themselves instead.

I'm looking forward to having the two full weeks off work that I've got scheduled after summer school ends next week. Yes, I'll be flying off to a conference for church in beautiful Tulsa (not fair, I know..I've never actually seen Tulsa), but I did volunteer for that, and it really promises to be good for me. Other than that, if it's not about me, I'm not doing it. I need that.

Is that so wrong?

Things are not as they
teach us--the Earth is hollow;
I have touched the sky.

I wrote the above haiku after a very difficult few months in my life. My world was topsy-turvy, and I was discovering that my perfect little bubble had popped. Nothing I had done, intentionally or otherwise, had initiated the chain of events, but I was left feeling hollow.

I'd come to the realization that everything my parents had taught me was a little tainted by a pseudo-perfection. Well, maybe not everything, but quite a bit was now questionable. The haiku was not so much confessional, as putting my state of mind down on paper.

It took me 6 months to get those 17 syllables worked out. Took me almost that long to admit I was hurting.

For more (completely optional) prompts, visit Poetry Thursday.

This is my favorite bit of wisdom from Robert Fulghum in his book From Beginning to End. For those who don't recognize that, he's the one who wrote Everything I Need to Know I Learned In Kindergarten and It Was on Fire When I Laid Down on It. All three are good books. I just happen to really like the fodder this bit offers.

I have never like the phrase that says we're made of dust and return to dust. We are energy, which is interchangeable with light. We are fire and water and earth. We are air and atoms and quarks. Moreover, we are dreams, hopes and fears held together by wisdom and driven apart by folly. So much more than dust. The biblical verse should say, "Mystery thou art and to mystery returneth."

I can remember, rather vividly, when I was in high school being told that a friend and I were "two peas in a pod." I was offended. It was the first time that the phrase had ever incited anger in me. Now, please understand, I love this friend dearly. I admire her for some things she's done in her life. I don't particularly like some of the choices she made while we were growing up. Shortly before someone unknowingly offended me, she'd made a choice I neither agreed with nor supported (there is a difference between agreeing and supporting you know.). We were actually in an argument about the decision she'd made and so, taking offense was likely to be the response anyway. But I was incredibly upset that someone thought that we were truly cut of the same cloth, so to speak. I was nothing like her and didn't want to be thought of that way.

Ever since, I haven't liked that phrase--"two peas in a pod." It may have something to do with me not being enthusiastic about peas. Or the memories of hours spent shelling peas with my grandmother. Or maybe, just maybe, because those pods seem so cramped.

Actually, I think it's because I'd rather be an original. Being just like some other "pea in a pod" implies being just like someone else and that bothers me. I want to think I'm unique, and by golly I want everyone else to think so, too! I know, I know. Inherently, we are all unique. And, for that matter, all peas would be, too. But when was the last time you saw a bowl full of peas, identified one, and then later could indentify the exact same one. Come on, friends, it ain't possible. Unless you mark the pea, but that's cheating.

So, anyway, I don't want to be seen as a pea in a pod, either on my own or in comparison with someone else. Sometimes this desire gets my big mouth in trouble, other times, it endears me to someone worth loving.

To do a little scribbling of your own, and read those of others, click here.

Looking around the web this morning, I've found some stones--precious, semi-precious, and pebbles. Here's what I've seen so far:

• This could honestly be the worst picture I've seen of Brittany Spears. She looks like a fat cow. No, no..wait...THIS is the worst one I've seen. Really, people, what were we thinking?
• The link on the MSN site said "Hasselhoff Injures Arm While Shaving." First thought--WTH? Honey, you've been doing this awhile, haven't you learned yet to shave above the collar bone? Then you read the second paragraph. That's right, folks, only in the second one do they tell us what really happened.
• LOVE this blog: Writing on the Moon. Already on the BlogRoll.
• You know, the proper way and when to display the U.S. Flag was always taught in my elementary and middle schools. Why don't kids have any clue anymore? Is it not P.C. to teach it anymore?
• Finally, someone has reported on the changing face of NASCAR. I told you people it wasn't just for rednecks anymore.
• LOOK! Two reasons to visit Amsterdam.
• Most places just put a bunch of nails on flat surfaces to keep pigeons away.
• How would you NOT know THIS until you were awake?

Okay, on that note...I've got to put this away. That's just too much for me this early in the morning.

Posing

Went running around with my mother the other day. I can't remember what all we did, or even what we were talking about. How sad is that? It was only a couple of days ago.

Actually, I have good reason not to remember. Sitting at the Sonic, waiting on our drinks, she got me. I don't remember how we got around to it. Somehow the conversation had something to do with me being the product of my parents. That's when she got me.

"You know, you come from good stock."

Uh-huh..I was aware.

"Chicken stock."

Damn. Rarely does she zing me like that. I like to think it's because I think too fast for her.

Apparenty, I was slow that day.

My friend over at In the interest of... put up a post the other day that's been making me think. Damn, I kinda hate it when people do that to me. But, if anyone was going to do it, he makes the short list of those I don't mind so much.

All this thinking has stuck two things right smack in the middle of all my other thoughts. First, this Nickelback song Photograph. I like this song a lot, so it's okay that it's been running through my head non stop since Saturday. And I think it's funny that a lot of my students--I teach high school--don't like it at all. In fact, it's "stupid." I tell 'em everytime "you're just not old enough yet to appreciate it. They didn't write the song for your age group, it's for mine."

It's also sparked some (nonfiction) writing. So...here it is. Be honest--but be polite. I don't share my writing with just anyone.


I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. My parents still live there.

My mother would kill me if she knew I’d told you that.

Maybe I should explain. In my hometown, there is no “wrong” side of the tracks. There’s the side where everything is—grocery stores, banks, fast food joints—and the side where everything isn’t. It just happened that way, no particular reason. I grew up on the empty side.

When I was little, and the world consisted of school and the neighborhood, I didn’t notice or care. Kids are like that. Sixteen year olds are not. Suddenly, upon reaching that magic freedom age, the world multiplies in size. And living on the “wrong” side crimps your style. Inevitably, the people you want to pass your time with aren’t over “here.” No, they’re over “there” - with stuff to do and knowing glances.

Life lesson number one—you need to figure out on which side the world says you’re supposed to be. You don't have to agree, of course.

So, thanks to my friend over at In the interest of... I've beend doing a lot of thinking. This song keeps coming to mind.

Words house meaning within their mouth-feel.

Possibility
delightful delicacy.

Depravity
illicit indulgence.

Mindful perception,
attraction?
aversion?
on the tip of your tongue.



This week's Poetry Thursday topic can be found here.

Ack...It's been almost 4 months since I posted anything here. Since I'm really, truly, very serious about writing...damn it, I've got to do it.

So..here we go.

Found a neat blog site. Poetry Thursday. It's a site that is dedicated to encouraging people to read and share poetry. Could be an original piece or someone else's published work (with copyright concerns being addressed, of course). I'll be participating every week by writing. I used to write poetry constantly, some of it was even pretty good. Let's see if I can accomplish that again.

Ha.

I didn't get to spend today with my dad. He had to work, so I spent the day with mother and the Old Dog. We slept through a movie and then made red velvet mini-cakes (from scratch) for all of us.

I did, however, have some time to think about other fathers in my life. They aren't my father. Aren't even old enough to be my father, but I happen to think they are very good men and pretty damn good fathers. So...a note to all of the fathers in my circle of friends:

EQ
Beej
TM
and (the newest one) Bubba. (Who's bouncing baby boy opted to arrive 2 months early so he could make Mother's AND Father's Day this year rather than wait another 10-11 months for the next one to come around. This might be a sign of what's to come, you know?)

I know each of these people to be good at being men. They have that peculiar notion that you do what you say you'll do (I say peculiar, because it seems not all men have that) and I imagine this goes triple for anything involving their children. They've pushed themselves to be what they should be, upright and real adults. They are the kind of men that any child should consider themselves lucky to have as a father--I know I would have.

I have only one piece of advice for each of you. I actually gleaned it from the sermon this morning, but it's important. It was pointed out that children are most definitely products of their parents, and build their ideas and beliefs about life and faith from what parents teach and show them. We are who we are because of (or maybe in spite of) our parents. (I know, I know, you know this already, but bear with me.)

This is especially true when you look at their concepts of their fathers and of God. God looks a lot like "daddy" (or "grandpa") to lots of children. The characteristics and behaviors children associate with their fathers, they often associate with God. A loving father transfers into a belief in a loving God. A mean and vengeful father transfers into a fear of a vengeful God.

If I could ask any one thing of the fathers I know, it would be to foster a perception of a loving God in your children. I know you may already be doing this, but don't ever give your child reason to question you love them, and they'll have a much harder time questioning that God ever could. You're their first, best hope for knowing Jesus.

Okay, stepping away from the pulpit. Just know this, all of you--my life is better for having known each of you. I love you all, and pray for you and your families each day.

Happy Father's Day.

I love Sunday mornings. It's the only day, darn near every week, that I can guarantee a lazy start to the day. Even in the summer. They're beautiful.

I've been watching a lot of movies lately. Some I rented, some I've seen in theaters. Here's my take...

Aeon Flux: Weird show. I gather (now) that it has roots in some MTV cartoon series. It's an interesting story line, certainly keeps your attention, what with all the stunts and fighting. But, honestly, I give it a C+.

An Unfinished Life: The Jennifer Lopez/Robert Redford pic. It also has Josh Lucas in it, who is my current celebrity crush. Good movie, maybe a little contrived, but not bad. Beautiful scenery (and I don't just mean Josh *wink*). All in all, an A-.

Glory Road: Wow. This movie was amazing. I really enjoyed it. It's a great story, and I tell you what, just good stuff. The way Don Haskins chose to run his team in the '60s is an example of how things should be...but, sadly, aren't. A+.

The Break-Up: Hm..it was okay. Not worth the ticket price, and I even went to the matinee. Seems a little disjointed and rough-shod. I've seen both of them (Jennifer Aniston and Vince Vaughn) do much better movies. B

The Lake House: I LOVED THIS MOVIE. Definitely buying this one when it comes out on DVD. Yes, you have suspend reality for a little bit, but isn't that why we watch feature films--to escape reality? But, wow, I really wouldn't mind a relationship that builds like that (minus the 2 year difference, of course). I saw that John Cusack was the first choice for the male lead. Thank goodness he turned it down, Keanu is definitely much better suited. And it's a PG movie--with Keanu Reeves in it. These don't come up very often. A+

What's everyone else been watching?

Turned on the news this morning (note, it's only 5:43 at this point, and I've been up for nearly an hour. Wonder Dog had a nightmare and woke me up with his "scare the crap outta Mommy" bark).

Immediately, immediately, realized I had the wrong news show on. I never watch the NBC affiliate in the morning. The regular guy on there bothers me. I think he's plastic. I always watch the CBS one, I like those people better.

Anyway, blonde chick on NBC hit on 2 of my pet peeves in roughly 45 seconds. First--perky morning people. You can be bright and warm in the morning and not be perky. This is not cheerleading, you know? It's the news and you're talking about a auto-cow accident on the freeway. Come on.

Other thing--she pronounced a pretty well-known word. At least I think it is. In a report about a demonstration at a major Civil War battlefield site over the weekend, she mispronounced the name of the site not once, not twice, but 6 times. SIX TIMES.

Tell me, how do you pronounce the word "Antietam?" Take a wild guess how she did.

Got a bit freaked out this week. I found TWO black widow spiders in my entry way. I'm so glad that I saw them before the Wonder Dog did. As little as he is...well, that would've been bad. Did you know they bleed black? If it's not black, it's a really, really dark red.

Saw the video for Mary J. Blige's version of U2's "One." I missed her performance at the VH1 awards back in the spring, sometime. Seems like I remember Q blogging about it and he was singularly unimpressed, if I remember correctly. I have to tell you, I was too. The video includes U2. Even starts out with backlit shots of Bono singing. (I got excited, I really like this song and haven't seen a video for it in years). Then she starts singing and.....well, yeah. Sure.

I don't watch music videos very often. Generally, my trouble is that I don't have time in the mornings, which is apparently the only time VH1 or MTV (other than TRL) show videos. (I have to say, I'm pretty convinced both of those are the music stations for people who don't like music. It's way too easy to catch them showing something other than music.)

I like Shakira's "Hips Don't Lie." The song's fun, the video's fun. I like that she's not all made up like she usually is. I don't like that she doesn't credit the dude from the Fugees. That's just wrong.

Kelly Clarkson. I really don't like her. I did at first, when she first was doing stuff after American Idol (which I don't watch). She's turned into this trendy/tragic thing since. The music's ok...though how many times can you really repeat the same lines over and over (and over and over) and call it a song?

So, I'm thinking about moving my blog. I've got a site thing at Google, tied to my Gmail account. Kinda thinking about consolidating.

We'll see, keep you posted.

This is fun one I found over the weekend. Makes a pretty colorful image, if nothing else.

Read this, then answer the question at the end of my post.

Probation for short sex offender sparks debate


2 things about this story really weird me out. Can you guess what they are?

So, I spent last weekend in Georgia for my brother's graduation with his Ph.D. in Chemistry. Had a great time.

Also spent 5 days in my mother's company. Now, I love my mother, but I haven't spent 5 straight days in her company since I moved out in March, 2001. It was difficult to hold my tongue a few times. I have a top 5 list of my favorite quotes made by my mother that over the weekend. I won't bore you with all of them, but I will share the number one quote:

"Do you ever feel like people are staring at your cleavage?"

Let me explain:

I was dressing for the graduation ceremony and the reception to follow in the Chemistry department for the graduates. I bought a new dress for the occasion. Cute thing, fell just below my knee, fitted but not too fitted in all the right places. And a bit of cleavage. I looked great, if I do say so myself and I will, since no one else bothered to all day.

My cleavage was not "in your face." I wasn't pouring out of my dress. That is to say, I wasn't tartin' it up. I looked respectable. Respectable enough that I planned to wear the same dress to an awards banquet at work a few days later (and I did.) Yet, my mother felt my cleavage was over the top, so to speak. She then went into this bit about there being a time and a place to show cleavage---not at church, school, work...and apparently not a graduation ceremony in Georgia where the people behind us were eating popcorn and M&Ms during the commencement address. (Which to me is a far more inappropriate, but hey, what do I know?)

She never did say when it is appropriate to show a little cleavage. Frankly, I think she's jealous.

It's been almost 3 weeks since I last posted. It's not that I haven't wanted to post, or even that I haven't had stuff to post about. Actually, the problem is, I haven't been home near enough.

Not a lot has changed. The Wonder Dog has been more lovey late, but that's about it. Poor kid needs a haircut, I'm starting to lose sight of his eyes under all the hair.

Anyway, I'm alive, just busy. Wanted to touch base....I promise a real post soon.