Ghosts

I once heard it said that people seldom recognize the last time certain things happen in life.

When I was a little girl, for instance, my father used to put me on his back and "hop" me up the stairs to bed each night. I have no idea when the last time was that happened. There was no grand finale, no recognizing that the tradition had run its course...it just somehow faded away. Getting "hopped" to bed simply went the way of watching Sesame Street and reading Nancy Drew, and other things I don't do anymore.

As children, we seldom recognize the significance of this parade of endings, change and growth—for that is the real process these passings represent –but as I get older, my senses have sharpened, and I’m keenly aware of the fragility of the things we cherish in life. This is particularly true as I watch as my own children slowly shed the vestiges of their respective childhoods.

I'm going to take a second to interrupt this post and just confess right now that it originally appeared as my Halloween post two years ago, but I'm posting it again today, because other than the part about the laryngitis, it's still relevant and reflects my current feelings so well, I easily could have penned the words fresh this morning. So, now, back to the post...

My son has this amazing giggle. When something really cracks him up, he succumbs to peals of high pitched giggles that take the wind right out of him. I had no idea, a week or so ago, that it would be the last time I’d hear him laugh in quite the same way.

For all the friends and relatives who may be reading, let me assure you that the little chap is fine—thoroughly happy and more normal than even I was able to recognize, as the following vignette will illustrate:

“What’s wrong with your voice?” I asked, Monday afternoon when he got into the car after school.

“My voice?” he answered, in strained and fractured tones.

“Yes, your voice. When did you get laryngitis?”

“What’s that?” he squeaked and rumbled.

“It’s when you lose your voice,” I explained, patiently. “Can’t you hear yourself?”

He seemed mystified. I dismissed the incident, chalking his altered tones up to damp conditions on a church campout last weekend.

Later that evening, he greeted the girls who come to our home for a couple hours each week to discuss their concerns about life, study the Bible, and eat brownies….roughly in that order. My son typically emerges when rattling in the kitchen cabinets alerts him that he’d better get his share of chocolate before the girls descend upon the pan.

“Little Brandon’s a man!” they all shrieked, seconds into conversation with him.

“What!?” I screamed, in horror.

The girls first regarded me with the same mystified stance my son had demonstrated earlier, before patiently explaining the facts of life. Evidently, twelve year old boys commonly develop cases of “laryngitis,” persisting for weeks or months, after which their voices adopt the deep inflections of manliness.

My son knew what was happening all along. He just didn’t want to be the one to break the news.

Of course, it shouldn’t have been news. I knew all this, intellectually. I just somehow forgot that my son was so close to losing his little boy giggle, that each time he laughed I needed to pay attention, and listen with the reverence with which one regards the fleeting and temporal.

This was the first October that we didn’t spend inordinate amounts of time constructing elaborate Halloween costumes. Halloween has always involved costumes that invariably required tools, trips to Home Depot, yards of fabric and the occasional altering of laundry baskets or other household wares. The kids would begin planning the next year’s costume around 9 PM October 31st, right after we revived them from their sugar comas. I used to impose an October 15 deadline for reporting final changes in costume choices, to allow time to sew, alter or construct the components necessary to transform them into miniature literary figures, superheros or machinery, such as the year my daughter became a life-sized, candy-dispensing vending machine and was subsequently mugged and toppled by a rabid gang of preschoolers.

Tonight was eerily normal. Not that the children were disinterested in Halloween —we hosted a costume party last Friday, and bought a lot of candy and watched a scary film—-but it was different. Ghosts of Halloween past haunted my thoughts.

Of course, life changes aren’t limited to the growth of children. Embedded in each moment are wonderful, amazing things we all take for granted. I try to recognize them as I go through my day: the smell of wood each morning as I walk into the sunroom my husband built for me, the way the sun intensifies the colors in my stained glass windows at certain times of the day, the sound of my Labradors barking too loudly and frequently in protection of me when I’m home alone.

My son still giggles. It just sounds a little different, and from now on, it always will. Our family still gathered around the TV with a big bowl of candy and watched It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. These moments, too, are special, and likewise, destined to become specters of memory, in time joining the ranks of all that used to be and isn't anymore.

Recognize your moments as they parade past. Salute them. Acknowledge their significance, for each one represents a page of a story that with a plot that moves all to quickly…and that story is your own.

P.S. I really wanted to end this post with a photographic retrospective of my kids Halloween costumes through the years, but I'm sick, and that's too much work. Plus, I have an upper respiratory infection and I'm sure all the bawling that would ensue wouldn't help matters any.

Thinking

"So what did you do today, Mom?"

My son greets me with this question every day when I pick him up from school, and lately, it's replaced "What's for dinner?" as the Afternoon Cringer, hands down.

Of late, Wednesday-Friday, at least, I've been embarrassed by my lack of tangible accomplishments to report. You can only answer "blog post" so many times before you begin to wonder about yourself.

This week, my typical challenges in productivity have been hampered by a bout of general malaise. At one point yesterday, I began to wonder if I was finally succumbing to the Pig Plague, but then remembered that I'd forgotten to take my allergy meds for nearly a week. After popping a dose, I felt pretty good--good enough to go running, in fact (whew--something for the After School Report!)only to feel bad again a couple hours later. So bad, in fact, that I dozed through least two innings of the World Series last night.

Today I am determined to have some Tangibles to report, and I'm wondering, does thinking count? Because I've done a lot of thinking this week. Thinking about the book proposal I keep promising myself I'll put together. Thinking about what's important, and what's not. And then, yesterday? Thinking about what could be one of the best ideas I've had in awhile. I've written before about the delicate balance between my identity as a writer, and as an artist. I have no idea why, but it a split second of possible clarity, a single word came to me and a business card was born. I've been tinkering with it on MS Word, and wasn't sure how to share it with you--so I solved the problem in the only way I know how--with my camera. Here's what's on my screen:



My plan right now is to get these printed up, complete with a currently nonexistent website url and then just give them to everyone--a sort of announcement, if you will, of the types of services of which I am capable of delivering, and then see what happens. I figure it's a no-risk sort of proposition, and, who knows, some cool opportunities may come of it! I'm thinking of the whole concept as sort of the new banner under which I'm sailing.

So, does this count as an Accomplishment? Because that's about all I've got so far...

A note to Regular Readers: It came to my attention this morning that there's a slight chance some of you may have missed yesterday's post. In an odd posting mishap, yesterday's entry got buried under the previous one. They are in order now, so you can scroll down to see if you missed anything. As always, if you do stop by regularly, take a moment to "Follow" or leave a comment so i can appreciate your presence here, and stop by to see you at your place, too!

Off the Beaten Path

For this week's You Capture photo challenge, Beth from I Should Be Folding Laundry called upon us to capture autumn creatively: up close, and outside the box.

My Regular Readers know that I'm fresh from the mountains, where my camera, husband, and I spent a weekend experiencing fall in its most glorious goodness, so I had plenty of opportunities to capture the season from myriad angles. As with most of my endeavors, I began by getting up close and personal with a fresh cup of coffee...



...savored over a stunning explosion of lakeside color.





Although we did linger over breakfast, the scenery in the outside world where we temporarily took up residence was even more energizing:





Since my husband's injury didn't allow us to do much hiking, we took the time to explore the details in little things that might have otherwise gone unnoticed:






And enjoyed the changes the season brought to an area of the park that was much different during the week we were there in August:








We pretty much had the beach to ourselves. With the exception of one friend we met along the way:



Like all wonderful interludes, this one was all too short. Monday morning found me viewing fall as you only can from an elementary art room:

One Line Wednesday:Night Time Edition

This morning, I promised to return to discuss the origin of my line. Here's the story: Until yesterday, I have felt like a guest at my new school. I’m only there two days a week, and a long line of conference days and holidays have resulted in about 30% of my work weeks consisting of a single day. I’m still struggling to nail 140 first names, let alone last ones.

But a couple key things happened yesterday that let me know the bonding process has started and that my students are watching, listening, and absorbing the skills I have been teaching. One student surprised me with a decorative jar of Halloween treats. Another presented me with a picture demonstrating mastery of what I though was a disastrous lesson on drawing trees (“branches” would have been a more accurate word to use in my line, but I wanted to retain the consonance,) During a free draw segment later in class, I saw several beautiful trees cropping up in various scenes, one by a student who had been practicing the skill for the entire three weeks that had passed since I last saw her. And the best thing? That happened when my 5th graders completed a project they have been working on since September. One student who had struggled through every step finally sat back to admire her finished work and her entire face beamed in pure joy. “This is the first time I have ever been proud of something I made,” she told me.

These happenings collectively served to remind me of the importance and rewards of investing in things that are truly important; not just on my job, but in other areas of my life, as well. Kids will absorb whatever we pour into them, and I have to admit that I’ve been coasting a bit in some areas of opportunity at school and at church.

Which brings me to the “x” it or exit part of the line. Last week I told you about a maddeningly ridiculous journalism gig I happened to land. Despite all of the reasons I outlined about the improbability of my success in this particular forum, I have kept it alive on the margins of my computer screen in the form of that $5.00 assignment that I never officially rejected. The reason? I keep getting unwelcome reminders about what a hard time it is for print media. I’m submitting to magazines that go defunct before they can even read my queries. Markets that are still alive don’t seem to be buying. Frankly, I’m concerned about where my writing life is headed. I hate not having any currently active gigs on my resume. I’m worried that scant, online opportunities are the only game going. So despite the fact that I know the whole thing is one huge time suck that will yield a pittance for a payday, I just couldn’t seem to let it go.

I’d like to tell you that I posted this morning and immediately killed the whole thing, but the truth is, I tinkered with it for over an hour before I realized that the topic was too broad for me to cover in the slim word count and specific format I was given—at least without a lot of tinkering. Even then, I could send it in only to have the bots volley it right back. So I finally hit the “x,” killed the assignment, and opened a book chock full of ideas for engaging middle school Bible study, followed by jotting a quick thank you note to my student for the treats—quite confident that those activities hold more lasting value, yet still strangely unsettled about my future as a writer.

So that’s my line. You can look for a new one next week, mostly due to the little frowning face Kathleen made about the possibility of my discontinuing the posts, and because of the great previews we got from her and 5th Sister not to mention the possibility that Charisse just might have some mad skills to share one day (?) and my dear sister Catherine is actually on Blogger after a year-long hiatus,but also because I realized that I enjoy crafting One Line Wednesday. If it means a little less traffic on Wednesdays, I’m OK with that, and if it "catches on" then all the better.

I will be posting my weekly You Capture photo post tomorrow, but look for it later than normal, possibly even lunch time. Tomorrow morning Mr. RW Letters and I have an appointment with the surgeon.

One Line Wednesday- The Possibly Final Edition

Thoughts of sweets, sticks, and new found confidence urge me to simply “x” it and exit.

I know I've left you hanging. You're wondering what sort of sway sweets and sticks could possibly have in any sort of decision, and what's getting the ax, anyway?

If this were a typical post, I’d have to give an immediate accounting of what's at stake. A normal post would, likewise, require an detailing of of the kind of pull sweets and sticks have over me. .

But not today, at least not yet. On One Line Wednesday, vagueness, brevity, and misdirection are the order of the day--at least for a few hours.

If you're new to One Line Wednesday, here’s the lowdown: Each week, I’ll get things started with the single most intruiquing line I’ve managed to craft in the intervening seven days. Each week there’ll also be one of those cool Mr. Linky widgits that you see below (just click it, It works. Really). That’s where you leave a link to your one line post. Even though I'm now required to explain my line, you need not feel any pressure of further explanation. There's no need to worry if your words are “going anywhere.” No of the tricky transitions or epic endings one might expect in traditional prose. Your line can be about anything, as clear or cryptic as you’d like, and who knows—maybe even be true!

If you have no blog, feel free to participate by just commenting as you would for a normal post. If you do have a blog, however, please mention that you are participating in One Line Wednesday, and add a hyperlink to this post. Feel free, also, to copy the official One Line Wednesday image at the opening of this post to illustrate yours, but that’s optional.

But there is a twist. Although One Line Wednesday is a simple celebration of the single good line, the rules are a little different for me. I used to just post my line and leave my readers permanently hanging, but my husband and Jen cried foul, and insist that i have to come back at the end of the day and explain the origin of my cryptic prose. My husband claims I'm robbing my readers of the opportunity to see how I take something mundane and make it sound epic, which he claims is one of my mad skills, but the bottom line is that he can't handle the curiosity. Jen says the whole thing would serve as a sort of writer's workshop for her.

So I will post a simple explanation of the events inspiring my line this evening.

Before I let you go craft your witty line, it's only fair that I tell you that One Line Wednesday probably won't make the cut for November programming here at Running With Letters. If you read and enjoy these posts, you need to let me know, even if you don't post a line. Otherwise, I'm left thinking that my readers are simply bored into hiding each Wednesday, seeing the shelter of other, more interesting posts...so give me some feedback so I can give you more of what you like most!

So take a moment and enjoy a little low stress fun with the written word, or simply let me know that you like watching others who do!

Bouncing Like Rubber, Not Looking Through Crystal

“Are you excited, Mom?” my son asked as I started packing for my weekend in the mountains.

I wished I could answer in a resounding “yes,” that I was jumping up and down in anticipation for the long-awaited getaway, but I wasn’t.

In fact, after two days of scrolling through screen after screen of leaking rain cloud images that weather.com selected to represent the expected weekend conditions, I was ready to bag the whole thing and just stay home. I just wasn’t feeling up for two days of chilling rain, and the forecast was pretty specific. Not a splash of yellow in the entire outlook until Sunday, and, frankly, I’d had enough rain.

I broached the change-of-plans topic with my husband. Considering his current challenges with general mobility, I figured he was just going to make me happy, anyway. And damp just wasn’t going to do it.

However, my husband cried foul at my attempt to bail, and, in the meantime, Jen emailed me with a kind offer of semi-nearby backup shelter should our conditions become too grim. Excited or not, the trip was on. We pulled off our finally-sunny street and headed off into guaranteed gloom.

I’m so thankful that we did. If we went with the odds and stayed home, I would have missed all this:













and this:



I am so grateful that we took a chance, and glad for the reminder that “guarantees” are nothing more than educated guesses; that life isn’t predetermined and that sometimes the best bet is to go against the odds. It is refreshing to realize that weatherman, doctors, and prognosticators of all fates are simply professionals with opinions and not the final authorities on immutable facts. I’m glad that life is fluid, and that my future is unwritten.

And I’m bouncing-off-the-walls excited that I’m in the middle of a Bigger Journey with an iffier forecast and I have absolutely no idea how it’s all going to turn out –but I don’t plan on missing a single moment of the adventure.

For other stories of simple celebration, head on over to Tuesdays Unwrapped, where every Tuesday is chance to appreciate the gift that is life.

Who's the Boss?

It's Monday morning, and I and my steaming cup of coffee have almost certainly left the house, toting a hundred plus pumpkin cut-outs, a couple of live gourds, and a bag full of geometric shapes.

The fact that my New York Yankees are even now hunkered down in preparation for Game 1 of the World Series has no doubt bolstered my mood. I say no doubt, because the game determining if they make the Fall Classic is still in progress as I pre-write this post, but I'm feeling confident. However, even in the unlikely event that I am wrong about the outcome of the game, I am fortunate that I enjoy my job as an art teacher enough that my Monday doesn't depend on external good news to be enough to keep me afloat.

I know that in my 25 minute drive to school, I'll pass a couple hundred people heading to places that will suck the life out of them for the next eight hours. And as much as I enjoy my job, I have to admit that I look forward each week to Wednesday, when I complete my out-of-the-house work week and become my own boss.

Now, lately I have to admit that I haven't even been able to fund my own coffee on what I've been making with myself at the helm-- a fact that I must submit as a downside to self employment. Were it not for the touch-and-go economic realities of ditching an employer, I suspect most people would rather march to their own cadence.

My husband and I spent a fair amount of time talking about self-employment during our weekend in the mountains. We talked about times when we're happiest, what we're doing at those times, and how a living could be made doing enjoyable activities from 9-5 each day. Right now our dreams are too undeveloped and uncertain to share, but I think they are alive, in the way a seed lives underground in those days just before it germinates. In those early days one has no way of knowing what magic may transpire as the seed lies hidden beneath the surface. Given the proper nourishment, it may come to light in the appropriate time, or, conversely, may not thrive for reasons that are never known.

What I do know is that a seed has been planted, and it is waiting just beneath the visible surface of day-to-day happenings. It's at that touchy point where too much tending could be harmful, but to ignore it would be an even greater mistake. For now, though, it is mostly something to be treasured as a hope.

It's Monday morning. What does that mean for you?

Well Spent

“We prayed that we’d be well spent,” my friend said, by way of explanation. She was twelve hours off a flight from a third world country when she walked into our Sunday morning Bible Fellowship group. Eyes heavy, color slightly grey, her prayer was clearly answered—and it was beautiful.

To be well spent has been the goal of my life. I put an exorbitant amount of thought into the things in which I choose to invest. Partly, I am sure, as a byproduct of my hypochondria, I am continually aware of the brevity of life and determined to suck the marrow out of every moment. My preoccupation with the significance of time is mostly a good thing. It won’t allow me much in the idleness department, It demands that I have something to “show for myself” at the end of every day. It forces me to examine my goals and keeps my gaze focused upon them.

But like any side effect born of obsessive compulsive behavior (note for New Readers: I have struggled with moderate to severe hypochondria my entire life. It is currently under control) there is a tendency to over examine, to set the bar too high, to suffer from impossibly high expectations.

At the moment, I’m right smack in the middle of healthy introspection that could, at any given moment, make a wrong turn into a nasty neighborhood where nothing is ever quite good enough. Like most people stalled out at a cross roads, I’m listening to some good tunes. One song that I have been listening to a lot lately is Switchfoot’s “American Dream.” Its message, that the success and excess driven ideal for which we strive will never satisfy, is summarized in the chorus when Jon Foreman sings, “I want to live and die for bigger things.” I do, too. I just don’t seem to know what they are anymore.

When my kids were littler and needed me a lot more, I knew. When I was a youth minister, I knew. When I was in the thick of writing my YA novels, I knew.

Now? Now, I’m not really sure where to invest. Sure, I’m still “all in” with my family. It’s just that my kids aren’t at the point where they need most of my waking moments. My passion is still writing, but I’ve been living too long without a clear goal or focus, and that has to change.

Which brings me to the tiger at the top of this post. He’s not random—in fact, some of my Regular Readers probably recognize him. Tony is the official spokes tiger for resurrected dreams, second chances, and a book proposal I abandoned way before I should have.

It doesn’t take more than a passing glace to realize that Tony’s the poster cat for life well spent. In fact, he’s looking worse than ever, but I woke up yesterday and knew he was back and things are about to change. I’m not sure yet what this all means, but it’s Friday and I’m heading for the rainy mountains (sans any shelter save my van) and I think I’m going to spend some time praying for some wear and tear. I want to play so hard as to leave everything on whatever field my "bigger things" lie--whether that's a foreign mission field like the one from which my friend returned, some facet of the journalism field, or a grassy knoll where I paint en plain aire. I want to live with an abandon that’s as plain as the nose on Tony’s split face. I want to be Well Spent.

I'll be gone this weekend, but I will answer all comments when I come home--leave some love: post a comment; become a Follower :)

Technology is Great, Unless Your Editor is a Bot

I was a little bit disappointed when I learned that technology is this week’s photography challenge over at I Should Be Folding Laundry, but I finally said to myself, “OK, I’ll bite.”

See, I have a love/hate relationship with bits and bytes. On one hand, I love the freedom and flexibility of a less tethered life.



It’s wonderful to stay “plugged in” to the lives of friends and family, no matter where they are.



Technology has given me the freedom to make mistakes, and to capture as much as I want, whenever I’d like.



It’s changed the way I experience music.




It’s changed the way I work.



For the most part, technology has enhanced my life.

For the most part.

Technology, however, is not pure goodness. It’s fickle. Unreliable. It’s there all the times when you don’t really need it, when time would be better spent on other things and somehow manages to go rogue for the Important Call, the Big Presentation, or the Crucial Email.

And when I said, a moment ago, that its changed the way I work, I didn’t mean it was all for the good.

Not so very long ago, I was happily working from home as a freelance reporter. I relied on technology to record my interviews, write my assignments, submit them to my editor, and get paid. This was an excellent arrangement and I enjoyed it very much.

But journalism has changed a lot, even over the past year. The impact on me has been invariably bad, and technology is the only target I can blame.

I turned in my last assignment at the paper nearly two years ago. Due to the impact that technology has had on print media, the freelancers were all let go. I was disappointed, but in graduate school at the time, so I didn’t have too much time to dwell on it. I chalked it up to experience and figured I’d find a new gig after graduation.

I thought that happened this week. I was thrilled to be taken on as a journalist with a large, internet based company that supplies copy for a host of well-known websites. I waved off the lightening fast acceptance of my application that should have been my first red flag, delving instead into my welcome packet,overcome with a surge of energy and excitement as I realized just how much I missed journalism.

The company promised that I’d continually have access to a database of “more articles than I could ever possibly write,” and weekly deposits into my PayPal account. The literature assured me that it would be “the best writing job I ever had.”

My excitement was palpable as I finally completed all of my prerequisites and was finally cleared to troll the data base and select assignments. Here’s a sampling of the titles from which I could select:


The Best Way to Extract Oil from an African Locust Bean
How to Seal off Brass Andirons
How to Assemble Homemade Gothic Furniture
How to Heat a Swimming Pool With a Wood Boiler
How to Complete Flange Ups

OK, not exactly my forte—but let’s not panic, I thought to myself, as I discovered little tabs with categories. I decided to peruse the available “family” titles and saw that I could snag an assignment about How to Make Couple Cremation Urns.

Under the “education” tab, I discovered that I could do a little write up on How to Pickle an Oak Cabinet.

Here were some of my Religion and Spirituality possibilities:

Life Expectancy of Screw Air Compressors
What Are the Black Spots in St Augustine Grass?
Witch Hazel Tree Planting Zones

Crafts? Surely, there must be something I could write about in the crafts department. At least if I had any Information on Soaking Canes Before Use.

Let’s try “camping,” I thought. There can’t be much I haven’t encountered in thirteen years of tent camping. Well, except for The Best Way to Brush a Hog Field, anyway.

At this point, I realize that these “titles” are generated from search engine queries and may not even reflect reality, something briefly touched upon in the aforementioned literature. There, however, “bad titles” were glossed over as a possibility that could quickly be cleared up in a single email.

I tested this theory, after tentatively claiming a title called Stress Analysis Formula onder the “opinion” tab. I do have a degree in psychology, after all, so I figure I can do about as much justice with this title as the next guy. Until a simple google search of my own revealed that this could just as easily represent a miscategorized engineering piece. Ooops..let’s send that clarification email and find out.

I got nothing. In the meantime, I decided to try another option, suggesting my own assignment. Within an hour, I got an automated reply accepting my idea, along with a randomly generated flat rate offer of $5.00 to do it. Wow. That pay day won’t even buy me a full cup of Dirty Chai to drink while I do the write up.

The best writing job of my life? I think not. I was much happier when a living, breathing editor, offered me tangible stories about real people, with titles we could discuss in person.

And that $5.00 assignment? I can’t even send a “no thanks” back. The email is of the “no reply” variety. From an unmanned account.

I don't have a clue how to resign my post, but I kind of think the bots won't notice when I do, anyway....

One Line Wednesdays, The Modified Version

If I knew the best way to extract oil from an African Locust bean, how to seal off brass andirons, or happened to have any homemade Gothic furniture laying about, I'd be, quite literally, in business.

Don’t you just want to read on? Aren’t you wondering what kind of business would demand such knowledge? More pressingly, why would a freelance-writing art teacher lament the lack of such a diverse skill set? And what is an African Locust bean, anyway?

If this were a typical post, I’d have to give a blow by blow of how these gaps in my general knowledge have become an economic obstacle. A normal post would, likewise, require an detailing of my encounter with the African Locust bean. Most tediously, an ordinary post would call upon me to weave the entire assemblage together into some sort of witty observation about life, business, or Gothic styling.

But not today. Not on One Line Wednesday. No, on One Line Wednesday, vagueness, brevity, and misdirection are the order of the day--at least for a few hours. One Line Wednesday is still a simple celebration of the single good line, but my readers--read my husband and Jen--demanded a change in format wherein I return at the end of the day and explain the origin of my line. My husband claims I'm robbing my readers of the opportunity to see how I take something mundane and make it sound epic, which he claims is one of my mad skills, but the bottom line is that he can't handle the curiosity. Jen says the whole thing would serve as a sort of writer's workshop for her.

So I will post a simple explanation of the events inspiring my line this evening.

If you're new to One Line Wednesday, here’s the lowdown: Each week, I’ll get things started with the single best line I’ve managed to craft in the intervening seven days. Each week there’ll also be one of those cool Mr. Linky widgits that you see below (just click it, It works. Really). That’s where you leave a link to your one line post. Even though I'm now required to explain my line, you need not feel any pressure of further explanation. There's no need to worry if your words are “going anywhere.” No of the tricky transitions or epic endings one might expect in traditional prose. Your line can be about anything, as clear or cryptic as you’d like, and who knows—maybe even be true!

If you have no blog, feel free to participate by just commenting as you would for a normal post. If you do have a blog, however, please mention that you are participating in One Line Wednesday, and add a hyperlink to this post. Feel free, also, to copy the official One Line Wednesday image at the opening of this post to illustrate yours, but that’s optional.

But don’t forget the most important thing—have a little low stress fun with the written word. I can’t wait to see what everyone comes up with!

AWOL, or An RWL News Extra

OK, so I promised you a post this morning and I went AWOL. Your disappointment is almost palpable. I can scarcely field all of the comments and emails of concern and outrage.

At the risk of causing your further shock and greater alarm, I'll be completely honest and just admit that I blew you all off today for work. Actual work--for pay, not just bloggy love and comments. Now, I always go to work on Tuesdays, although you probably don't notice because I've been typing up posts ahead of time. As much as I wanted to type up that culinary story I have--and I will tell it, I promise--I have been distracted by the possibility of a new journalism gig that I will share more about later.

For now, though, before we get too far off the "bloggy love" topic, I would be remiss not to mention a couple of nice accolades passed on to me from some of my favorite fellow bloggers.

Holly at 504 Main passed along to me the coveted "I Give Good Blog" award. If you haven't met Holly yet, go do it now! She's hit the ground running in her new gig as a blogger, and she's a faithful commenter and wonderful guest during her frequent visits to her follower's sites.


In keeping with good blogging etiquette, I am passing the honor along to my latest follower, Kathleen.


Next, I'm indebted to Charisse and Holly of Life Laugh Latte for bestowing the "Honest Scrap" award to me. Charisse and Holly specialize in chatty video segments that make you feel like a guest at their coffee date. Their discussions are often thought provoking, sometimes motivational, and always entertaining! The "Honest Scrap" award means all the more for receiving it from these talented women!


I am passing the "Honest Sarap" honor on to Deb.

As always, the rules for claiming the above awards are to link back to the blogger who gave it to you, and to pass the encouragement along make another blogger's day!

Regularly scheduled programming returns tomorrow morning with One Line Wednesday, slightly modified edition!

This Is So Not the October I Signed Up For

This is so not the October I signed up for. In my annual journey through the calendar year, October is always a primer destination. October traditionally boasts attractions such as pumpkin picking, meandering trail walks, apple orchard visits and crackling patio fires, all of which one can reasonably anticipate unfolding beneath mostly sunny skies and invigoratingly brisk conditions. If the calendar is a giant road map, October that can’t-miss way station circled bright red.

I’m sad to report that there has been an apparent mix up with my reservations, and I’ve somehow landed in a dark, dank, outpost of sustained dismal drear with daily rains, grey skies, and temperatures in the mid 40s. My traveling companions are a husband who can barely walk, my daughter who has mono, and my son, who is mostly OK. None of us are exactly clear on how we ended up in the sorry state in which we’ve arrived, but we’ve decided to make the best of it (with the possible exception of a blip at Target yesterday where I randomly freaked out and turned to my husband with a wild-eyed look and said, "Oh my goodness, I haven't seen the sun in nine days!)as we wait for Main Office to sort the whole mess out.

My husband and I have Friday circled as a tentative date of departure. We’re still planning on leaving for our fall camping trip where we imagine instant teleportation to a world of fall color and cozy fires. In the tradition of all waylaid travelers, I plan to regale you with stories while we wait. Look for a culinary tale tomorrow and part one of a DIY bedroom makeover on Friday, just before I take off to make some good fall memories. Just for fun, we’ll give One Line Wednesday another go midweek—please don’t leave me hanging, readers!

So that’s the plan, but we all know that life is more about the alterations to the plan than the plan itself. Which is good for me to keep in mind. I sneaked a peek at the weekend forecast and guess what image weather.com selected to represent the expected mountain conditions? Yep, you guessed it—a big, leaking, grey cloud.

A quick note to my Regular Readers before you click on out of here…would you do me a tiny favor? Would you take a quick little peek over at the left hand side of the screen and check something out for me? See those little pictures of all the happy people? They are the amazing few who are actually willing to own up to Following this little blog. I love them. They keep me posting. If you don’t see yourself there, but you really do find yourself here reasonably often would you take a moment to let me know by taking a moment to click up and introduce yourself as a bona fide Follower? The benefits are incredible, and include my everlasting appreciation.

The Chai is Dirty, Indeed

I’ve fallen victim to extortion at the fragrant tendrils of a mean Dirty Chai.

Three weeks ago, my dear friend Lori took me to one of our favorite coffee houses to introduce me to a fall beverage I’ve described right here in this forum as “liquid gingerbread in a cup.” On that visit, our two mugs worth plus a bonus scone Lori threw in ran us just under four bucks, if memory serves me correctly, and I believe it does, because I do recall thinking to myself: “What an amazing deal! Who needs Starbucks?”

I week or so later, I went back with my daughter and a 2 for 1 coupon. The barista looked a little puzzled, as the coupon applied to any menu item and here we were, blowing our savings on a mere cup of coffee, instead of, say, a free sandwich. But we weren’t hungry, the coupon was about to expire, and why not enjoy a little savings on some latte? I remember a slight pang on confusion as my total came to just under four bucks, same as last time but no scone, but I chalked the whole thing up as not really important as soon as I had the hot cup of steaming wonderful in my eager hands.

Fast forward another week and I’m back to get a couple of Chais to go, as a little thank you gesture for a friend who did me a favor. Imagine my surprise when the barista wants me to fork over $8.50. At this, I balked and asked for a receipt, but got nothing but a friendly little reminder that I had a coupon last time, and some mumbo jumbo about the concoction’s espresso content. As this was my first “to-go” experience, I figured maybe the rate for an in-house cup was for a smaller size, so I checked the menu price for a large latte and saw it was listed at $3.36. I’m no math whiz, but that’s $6.72 for a pair. I chalked the discrepancy up to tax and went on my way.

Fast forward to yesterday. I head back with my daughter, chagrined at the prospect of paying Starbucks-level pricing for a beverage that seemed such a good deal a mere two weeks ago, but craving a fix all the same. I was a little short on cash, but I figure I can scrape together the $8.50 for both of us to get a rainy day pick-me-up. Imagine my surprise when the barista now wants $9.55 for the same beverage set I got last week for $8.50. This time I absolutely insist on a receipt. All I got was a piece of paper that basically reiterated that yes, they want $9.55—no itemization of any kind.



I desperately want to chalk this up to tax and move forward, but I just can’t. According to the menu, the list price for the most exorbitant latte they sell is still $3.36. That’s still $6.72 for a pair. And I realize that taxes are bad, but even I know that a $1.05 increase in Chai tax in the space of a single week isn’t likely.

At this point, I’m smelling something Dirty, all right, and it’s not Chai.

Still Life , or AFK

Still life...the artistic celebration of the inanimate. The opportunity to capture the beauty in objects destined to remain immovable for as long as we need them to--no itchy noses, wagging tails, or flights of fancy...not with still life.

I, on the other hand, am the antithesis of still life. For me, the hardest thing about my love for writing is sitting still for long enough to translate mental images into words. Fortunately, I have discovered that my very best writing ideas often com when I'm out and about, living, breathing, and interacting in the real-time world. Those of you who keep up with my blog will probably have a difficult time believing this, but I have been largely AFK--away from keyboard--this week, battling cheesecakes, taking care of my family, and doing some much-needed de-cluttering.

I "worked ahead" a bit to create the illusion of my presence. I am back, now, just in time celebrate still life with Beth over at I Should Be Folding Laundry for this week's You Capture challenge.







If you came here looking for a story today, I do have one about this sunflower.








A note for yesterday's readers...please stop by the comments section of yesterday's post for a postscript...

One Line Wednesday

It took a couple of well placed screws, a 15 year old artifact obtained at a bake sale, and a hasty trip to the liquor store but the nearly forgotten commitment was happily fulfilled.

Don’t you just want to read on? Aren’t you wondering what kind of commitment would require one to assemble such diverse items? And just what came from that bake sale 15 years ago, and, more importantly, is it still fresh?

If this were a typical post, I’d have to give a blow by blow of how the artifact came into my possession. A normal post would, likewise, require an accounting of the role the screws played and what, exactly, was purchased at the liquor store, anyway. Most tediously, an ordinary post would call upon me to weave the entire assemblage together into some sort of witty observation about life, tools, or liquor.

But not today. Not on One Line Wednesday. No, on One Line Wednesday, vagueness, brevity, and misdirection are the order of the day. One Line Wednesday is a simple celebration of the single good line. No pressure of further explanation. No need to worry if your words are “going anywhere.” None of the tricky transitions or epic endings one might expect in traditional prose.

Here’s the lowdown: Each week, I’ll get things started with the single best line I’ve managed to craft in the intervening seven days –maybe I’ll include the story behind it, but I likely won’t, what with it being One Line Wednesday, and all. Each week there’ll also be one of those cool Mr. Linky widgits that you see below (just click it, It works. Really). That’s where you leave a link to your one line post (if you’re an overachiever, feel free to include the story behind your line, but that’s never necessary). Your line can be about anything, as clear or cryptic as you’d like, and who knows—maybe even be true!

If you have no blog, feel free to participate by just commenting as you would for a normal post. If you do have a blog, however, please mention that you are participating in One Line Wednesday, and add a hyperlink to this post. Feel free, also, to copy the official One Line Wednesday image at the opening of this post to illustrate yours, but that’s optional.

But don’t forget the most important thing—have a little low stress fun with the written word. I can’t wait to see what everyone comes up with!

Everyday Grace

…when your husband refers to the dirty patches that reappeared on the grout you spent five hours scrubbing as “natural variations.”

…when a fourth grader wades through paper scraps at the end of a long class where nothing went right and you were anything but patient to tell you that you’re “the best art teacher in the whole world.”

…when the friend you mentally labeled “unresponsive” for not knowing how to help in one situation becomes the first responder in the next crisis.

…when your boss gives you grateful smile and says “you’re just fine. Don’t worry about a thing,” when you sheepishly hand her some paperwork she wanted last month.

…when you know you forgot no fewer than three ingredients when cooking dinner and your husband seems shocked and tells you that “mistakes are just an alternate way of cooking.”

I’m celebrating everyday grace today. Want to join me? Post a comment and let me know when you last experienced everyday grace.

If you’d like to see what other people are celebrating today, head on over to Tuesdays Unwrapped, where every Tuesday is chance to appreciate the gift that is life.

Oh! And don't forget to come back tomorrow for One Line Wednesday! If you don't have your line ready, you have all day to think about it!

Awards Dinner

Every now and then I find myself wishing I ran a food blog.

I mean, really, who doesn’t love a well-assembled food blog ? Descriptive prose combined with some compelling shots of the ingredients and the cooking process seems like a sure fire way to get virtual crowds lined up every day to see what you’re serving up. I, for instance, devour Shauna Ahren’s posts over at Gluten Free Girl, despite the fact that I suck down gluten like a sixth grader on a pixie stick. I don’t even like most of the ingredients her dishes require—but I love the blog. Great writing and good shots seem to render actual consumption of the fare a moot point.

I once read a captivating, blow-by-blow concerning the makings of the signature Rueben-like sandwich of a northeastern town in a glossy magazine, and I could literally smell the fresh bread and taste the tang of special sauce. By the end of the article I was ready to grab my keys and take off on an all-night road trip. And I don’t even eat beef.

So I thought I’d invest today’s post in a dry run, a sort of testing of the waters to see if I’m up to the task. Let’s walk through a recent making of one of my signature dishes-- a bona-fide award winning recipe that snagged an honorable mention in what may have been a national recipe contest in which I received this cookbook as a prize:



Let me clarify that my recipe does not appear in this volume, as this book focuses on spicy southwestern fare, and my winning dish was stromboli.


So here we go…brace yourselves for that oh-so-important cooking-in-progress shot:



oops! I mean:



there--that's so much better, isn't it?

Here, I was called upon to perform one of those on-the-job quick fixes when my Labrador may have sampled—er—an object may have punctured my dough:


(the less-than-compelling clarity of this shot was the result of having my camera in the wrong mode. But I think in this case, it adds a nice touch.)

Ready to go in the oven!



Ready for the pages of Bon Appetite, don't you think?

So, there you have it—me as a food blogger for the day.

Sadly, it seems likely that my best work doesn't happen in the kitchen. My guess is that I place in the contest because other people actually had to assemble my recipe for judging, thereby eliminating presentation as a factor—because, I promise you, it is tasty! You can see for yourself, because, like every good food blogger, I’m including the recipe at the end of my post.

But first…my title promised that this was an awards dinner. I bet you thought that was some sort of cheap reference to my recipe-win, but no…there are official award issues to which I must attended.

Holly of 504 Main bestowed upon me the honor of the Over the Top Blog award.


I am truly honored, as Holly is definitely an up-and-coming blogger to watch these days. Over at her blog you’ll find a perfect blend of entertaining, kids, and style. Even better—you’ll never feel like a stranger. Holly is both a wonderful virtual hostess at her place and the perfect guest when she visits you at yours.

As is the custom, it is now my duty to pass the honor along to a couple other bloggers.

Although Joy of Joy to the Blog has a rather nice stash of accolades in her “awards cabinet,” (undoubtedly because she's interesting, honest, and funny!) I did not happen to see this one in stock. So I’m passing it along so she can add it to her collection.

I’m also passing it along to Amanda of A Silvertongued Serenade. I just because acquainted with Amanda’s blog over the weekend. She writes not only about college life and lattes, but also shares thoughts that reflect her bigger dreams of becoming a writer. ..and I’d like to encourage her by sending some followers her way.

(note to recipients: best I can tell, the only "rules" governing this award is to link back to the blogger who awarded it to you--in this case, yours truly :) and to pass it along to an indeterminate number of fellow bloggers.)

So without further delay, let's get back to that stromboli recipe:

You'll need:
Frozen bread-1 loaf for every 2 stromboli
1 16 count pkg. sandwich steaks
4-6 slices provolone cheese per stromboli
aprox ½ cup pizza sauce per stromboli
6 Tablespoons chopped onion
olive oil

Thaw frozen bread on counter (can be done day prior to use). Cut loaf in half, flatten and shape halves into two oblongs. Sauté onions in olive oil. Cook sandwich steaks in skillet, chopping apart into pieces. You will use aprox.4 sandwich steaks per stromboli. Divide sautéed onions and spread over dough. Place 1-2 slices of provolone cheese over top of the onions. Top each oblong with 3 tablespoons of pizza sauce. Add meat, cheese, and sauce in layers Wrap the sides of the dough around ingredients and fold to seal. Fold ends over top of the seal and turn over. Cut three slits across the top of each stromboli and brush with olive oil. Bake on cookie sheets in preheated 350 degree oven for about 25 minutes or until browned. Two stromboli serve 4-6 people.

Note: This recipe is extremely flexible as various meats and cheeses can be substituted to suit individual taste. I've used chicken, salami, ham, pepperoni, mozzarella, and velveeta, and they all turn out great. I also often sauté peppers in with the onions.

Oh—and one more thing….those cinnamon rolls steaming invitingly at the top of the post? My only involvement was firing off some quick shots before I helped consume them, and then uploading the image so this post would look all food-bloggy.