So my first writers work shop is completed and it was an experience.
Well, really it wasn't.
I was very excited as Angela Knight was the teacher and I LOVE her books. The workshop was on writing fights, setting up conflicts, escalating violence, and big climaxes. The cost was great and the work shop lasted the entire month of April.
So, what didn't I like about it?
It was missing a few major ingredients that I expected; work and writing. Really, how can you have a WORKshop and not have work to do? How can you have a WRITErs workshop and not have them write? I would have never believed it possible, but it was.
In Angela's own words, "I can't possibly give assignments because I am on a tight deadline and there is no way I can crit or check every response."
Duh! That's the entire reason I signed up for the non-writing non-working shop in the first place.
So what did I get for my $26?
I got three emails a week from Angela. Each one of them had a paragraph or two where she explained something you should attempt to do or fit into your work in progress. Then several pages of one of her books pasted in to show you how it was done. I also got hundreds of emails from other members in the class asking about every other sentence, telling her how great her work was, and asking her opionion on everything from soup recipes to sporting events.
I quit reading the emails after the first week. I kept all the lessons she sent. I plan on printing them out and keeping them, just as I would any book I purchase on writing . . . which is just about what I got.
Oh yeah, she did title her last email, "Go thou and kick some ass."
Cute, but not worth $26.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Idiocrasy
Idiocrasies
–noun, plural -sies.
1. a characteristic, habit, mannerism, or the like, that is peculiar to an individual.
2. the physical constitution peculiar to an individual.
3. a peculiarity of the physical or the mental constitution, esp. susceptibility toward drugs, food, etc.
My Idiocrasies
Today I had occasion to ponder my own idiocrasies. To wonder at them, large and small. How I came by them and why they never go away.
Three of my own idiocrasies I had to deal with today:
1) I can't eat off a tray
Whether it's a fast food place, a cafeteria, or a hospital room, I need the food taken off the tray and set on the table before I can enjoy my meal. I've been known, when in crowded booths, to slip the tray under my feet, sit on it, or slide it between me and wall just to get my food off of it.
2) I can't look at dead things on the side of the road
Truth be told, I am never fond of looking at dead things. But when I am driving and there is a deer, dog, or some other animal in or beside the road . . . I can't look directly at it. I will mentally place a black box over it's bulk and do my best not to look in it's direction at all.
3) No looking over the overpasses
With my fear of heights, you would think I would just avoid overpasses. But I refuse to allow my fear to affect my choices. So when I need to, I use the overpasses. I maintain my current speed. But I stare, with tunnel vision, at the road (or car) directly in front of me. I do not look at ANYTHING else.
Conclusion
I have tons more . . . who doesn't. But I'm not bothered about them. They don't make me less of a person, just human.
What are some of yours?
Last Thought
Did you ever notice that the word idiocrasy seems to be made up out of a combination of idiot and crasy? Or, is that just me?
–noun, plural -sies.
1. a characteristic, habit, mannerism, or the like, that is peculiar to an individual.
2. the physical constitution peculiar to an individual.
3. a peculiarity of the physical or the mental constitution, esp. susceptibility toward drugs, food, etc.
My Idiocrasies
Today I had occasion to ponder my own idiocrasies. To wonder at them, large and small. How I came by them and why they never go away.
Three of my own idiocrasies I had to deal with today:
1) I can't eat off a tray
Whether it's a fast food place, a cafeteria, or a hospital room, I need the food taken off the tray and set on the table before I can enjoy my meal. I've been known, when in crowded booths, to slip the tray under my feet, sit on it, or slide it between me and wall just to get my food off of it.
2) I can't look at dead things on the side of the road
Truth be told, I am never fond of looking at dead things. But when I am driving and there is a deer, dog, or some other animal in or beside the road . . . I can't look directly at it. I will mentally place a black box over it's bulk and do my best not to look in it's direction at all.
3) No looking over the overpasses
With my fear of heights, you would think I would just avoid overpasses. But I refuse to allow my fear to affect my choices. So when I need to, I use the overpasses. I maintain my current speed. But I stare, with tunnel vision, at the road (or car) directly in front of me. I do not look at ANYTHING else.
Conclusion
I have tons more . . . who doesn't. But I'm not bothered about them. They don't make me less of a person, just human.
What are some of yours?
Last Thought
Did you ever notice that the word idiocrasy seems to be made up out of a combination of idiot and crasy? Or, is that just me?
Monday, April 27, 2009
I want to suck your toes!
Have you ever had a crank phone call? An obscene phone call?
When my girls were small and I was a stay-at-home mom, I received obscene phone calls for several months from the same caller. I didn't turn them in to the police. I didn't get all hysterical.
I might have if they'd ever got really bad, but mainly the guy just wanted to suck my toes. Still, lots of people would be at least a little creeped out by some stranger calling them up and saying in a disguised voice, "I want to suck your toes" -- in a Count Dracula tone of voice non-the-less.
Not me. Partially, because I assumed it was one of my husbands friends. You would have to know my ex, but this is totally something the type of people he hangs out with would think was funny. The fact the male caller disguised his voice and never got more detailed in his desires also led me to believe it was someone I knew.
But the real reason I let it run on for months was that I was bored and lonely. I actually looked forward to the calls, would feel some excitement when the phone rang. I'd talk to the caller for 5-10 minutes each time he called. I'd try to trip him up. Shock him into loosing his false voice.
I'd tell him in great detail why he did NOT want to suck my toes. I'd been in garden without shoes, had foot fungus, just stepped in dog dodo, the girls just vomited down my leg.
I'd pick on him for not being very imaginative. Toes? Really? That gets you off? Well, do you like toes with polish better? If so, what color? Since you're a toe-man, I bet you like women in sandals.
God alone knows how long the calls would have kept coming if he hadn't caught me on a bad day. I picked up the phone and he started with his toe dialogue and I told him, "Sorry dude, but I can't today, I'm in the middle of something." He ignored me and just started are same old conversation.
It really pissed me off, I got ignored by my husband every single day. I didn't need the damn obscene caller ignoring me. So I cussed him out. I told him to grow up leave me alone. He never called again.
I can't tell you how many times over the coarse of my life that I've been lonely and bored enough to actually think of him and miss those silly conversations.
I'm sure he's moved on to another set of toes by now, and I hope they appreciate him.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
People we Use to Know
I think there are probably people out there that are pretty much the same in their 30s, 40s, or 50s as they were in their late teens and early 20s, but I don't know any of them well enough to identify them.
Me, my family members, and most of my friends are DRASTICALLY different people than we were in our late teens or early 20s. Part of that is due to the fact that we didn't really know who "we" were until much later.
I didn't even begin to know "Misty" until I was almost 26. I didn't know what I stood for, what I wanted out of life, or how strong I was. I didn't know what was important enought to fight for; or that I was even capable of fighting for what I belived in.
And those beliefs and understanding are sharpened and tested again and again as I continue to age. Some things that were held high as truths in my early thirties are unimportant in my early 40s. I'm sure this same pattern continues through out life.
So, my question is this . . . do you still know people you USE to know?
When you run into an old school mate 20 years later, they are not going to know anything about you NOW. All they are going to recall is the person they use to know. The person you may no longer be.
What do you do? How does it make you feel?
Does it depend on the person and where you were at that point in your life?
Just thinking . . .
Me, my family members, and most of my friends are DRASTICALLY different people than we were in our late teens or early 20s. Part of that is due to the fact that we didn't really know who "we" were until much later.
I didn't even begin to know "Misty" until I was almost 26. I didn't know what I stood for, what I wanted out of life, or how strong I was. I didn't know what was important enought to fight for; or that I was even capable of fighting for what I belived in.
And those beliefs and understanding are sharpened and tested again and again as I continue to age. Some things that were held high as truths in my early thirties are unimportant in my early 40s. I'm sure this same pattern continues through out life.
So, my question is this . . . do you still know people you USE to know?
When you run into an old school mate 20 years later, they are not going to know anything about you NOW. All they are going to recall is the person they use to know. The person you may no longer be.
What do you do? How does it make you feel?
Does it depend on the person and where you were at that point in your life?
Just thinking . . .
Friday, April 24, 2009
Special Occasions and Their Dwindling Appeal
Today is Steve's birthday, he's stepping a little closer to mid-40s. I can't give him to hard of a time because I'm right behind him.
But as I prepare to go to bed, I run over the preparations for Steve's birthday. One one hand, I find them lacking . . . on the other, they're okay.
I made him a special cake from scratch, the way he likes. I even let Will help, which means I am covered in powdered sugar and Mexican vanilla. I purchased thoughtful gifts I think he will like, I even wrapped them. We're meeting Tori for lunch. That's it.
For a person in their 40s that is in a long-term relationship, I think that's pretty normal for a birthday. The sad thing is that I can remember how it use to be. How I'd plan a party months in advance, invite EVERYONE we know, spend hundreds on food and drinks, etc. In comparison, I feel like it might appear that I care about him less than I use to. And that's not the case (well, not today).
As I thought about my lack of enthusiasm or overt "fuss" regarding Steve's b-day and even our upcoming 13th anniversary I realized that the same lack of enthusiasm has began to par all special occasions. Holidays, anniversary, birthdays, wedding, births, etc. In my twenties every occasion to celebrate was a fun and amazing thing -- an easy 12 on a scale of 1-10. Now, most of them rank about 6 on a scale of 1-10.
At first, I thought maybe it's just part of the aging process. Because I have to tell you that over the last few years I've noticed a real lack of interest in making meals -- I've eaten the damn same stuff for 43 years! When are they going to come up with a new animal we can eat or discover an abundant and easy to grow new vegetable? And I wonder how much worse it has to be in your 60s or 70s? Do you ever thing, "If I see more one potato, I'm going to throw up."
Then, I wondered if it has to do with the religion I was raised in. I was raised as a Jehovah's Witness; which pretty much was just as excuse for my parents to never participate in ANY holiday. I never celebrated Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, Halloween, or my birthday until my mid-20s. That easily explains why they were so exciting; made even more so by the fact I had two small children to celebrate them with.
Could it be, that now, I am finally caught up with my "fill" of holidays? Am I where most people are in their early 30s? Sick and tired of ANOTHER holiday?
I think it's a little of both. The emotions are alive and kicking, but the enthusiasm has wained.
But as I prepare to go to bed, I run over the preparations for Steve's birthday. One one hand, I find them lacking . . . on the other, they're okay.
I made him a special cake from scratch, the way he likes. I even let Will help, which means I am covered in powdered sugar and Mexican vanilla. I purchased thoughtful gifts I think he will like, I even wrapped them. We're meeting Tori for lunch. That's it.
For a person in their 40s that is in a long-term relationship, I think that's pretty normal for a birthday. The sad thing is that I can remember how it use to be. How I'd plan a party months in advance, invite EVERYONE we know, spend hundreds on food and drinks, etc. In comparison, I feel like it might appear that I care about him less than I use to. And that's not the case (well, not today).
As I thought about my lack of enthusiasm or overt "fuss" regarding Steve's b-day and even our upcoming 13th anniversary I realized that the same lack of enthusiasm has began to par all special occasions. Holidays, anniversary, birthdays, wedding, births, etc. In my twenties every occasion to celebrate was a fun and amazing thing -- an easy 12 on a scale of 1-10. Now, most of them rank about 6 on a scale of 1-10.
At first, I thought maybe it's just part of the aging process. Because I have to tell you that over the last few years I've noticed a real lack of interest in making meals -- I've eaten the damn same stuff for 43 years! When are they going to come up with a new animal we can eat or discover an abundant and easy to grow new vegetable? And I wonder how much worse it has to be in your 60s or 70s? Do you ever thing, "If I see more one potato, I'm going to throw up."
Then, I wondered if it has to do with the religion I was raised in. I was raised as a Jehovah's Witness; which pretty much was just as excuse for my parents to never participate in ANY holiday. I never celebrated Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, Halloween, or my birthday until my mid-20s. That easily explains why they were so exciting; made even more so by the fact I had two small children to celebrate them with.
Could it be, that now, I am finally caught up with my "fill" of holidays? Am I where most people are in their early 30s? Sick and tired of ANOTHER holiday?
I think it's a little of both. The emotions are alive and kicking, but the enthusiasm has wained.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
There's something on my Penis!
Having two children who are in their twenties, you would think I've heard and seen it all where children are concerned. But then, I never had a boy.
I think that little boys interest in their penis has to do with the fact they can see it. Being a girl my self, and having two daughters, I never had to deal with any personal body issues until they were MUCH older.
However, Will seems to be overly concerned with his penis. He likes to talk about it all the time. While shopping he likes to ask AGAIN, for the hundredth time, if I really don't have a penis. He likes to point out that him and his papa DO have penises. Oh, and Steve loves that fact that Will is also convinced that papa has a BIG penis -- he's to young to understand it's all relevant. :)
About an hour and a half after his bed time, Will was sitting in the bathroom next to the computer room. He calls out for me to come to him. As he's already had me on about 15 unwarranted trips since bed time I tell him 'no'.
He calls me back again and he sounds really upset. I tell him no.
Then he calls out, "But there's something on my penis."
I just want to lay my head down on the keyboard and whine. This NEVER happens when Steve is around or awake. What is it that makes me the penis expert in the eyes of a four year old?
I finally go to see what is going on and he's just realized there are wrinkles on his sack. I don't know what to tell him, I'm a girl!
I tell him that it's okay, the wrinkles are just extra skin so there is room for his balls to fit in. Then he wants to know where his balls are.
If I yelled for help from the bathroom, do you think anyone would come? No, I didn't think so either.
This is one of the few times in my life I wish I had paid more attention in school . . . though I don't remember them covering things like this.
"I think they are up in side of you right now," I tell him. I have to say something and I don't see them, I'm sure as hell not going to feel for them.
"Oh," he says all calmly. "When I sat down they go up in me so I don't squish them."
Works for me.
I think that little boys interest in their penis has to do with the fact they can see it. Being a girl my self, and having two daughters, I never had to deal with any personal body issues until they were MUCH older.
However, Will seems to be overly concerned with his penis. He likes to talk about it all the time. While shopping he likes to ask AGAIN, for the hundredth time, if I really don't have a penis. He likes to point out that him and his papa DO have penises. Oh, and Steve loves that fact that Will is also convinced that papa has a BIG penis -- he's to young to understand it's all relevant. :)
About an hour and a half after his bed time, Will was sitting in the bathroom next to the computer room. He calls out for me to come to him. As he's already had me on about 15 unwarranted trips since bed time I tell him 'no'.
He calls me back again and he sounds really upset. I tell him no.
Then he calls out, "But there's something on my penis."
I just want to lay my head down on the keyboard and whine. This NEVER happens when Steve is around or awake. What is it that makes me the penis expert in the eyes of a four year old?
I finally go to see what is going on and he's just realized there are wrinkles on his sack. I don't know what to tell him, I'm a girl!
I tell him that it's okay, the wrinkles are just extra skin so there is room for his balls to fit in. Then he wants to know where his balls are.
If I yelled for help from the bathroom, do you think anyone would come? No, I didn't think so either.
This is one of the few times in my life I wish I had paid more attention in school . . . though I don't remember them covering things like this.
"I think they are up in side of you right now," I tell him. I have to say something and I don't see them, I'm sure as hell not going to feel for them.
"Oh," he says all calmly. "When I sat down they go up in me so I don't squish them."
Works for me.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Bowling
Many, many, many years ago (seriously, almost 25 years ago) I was a decent bowler. Yes, I was about 18 at the time, but I tended to bowl a pretty routine 180 every time I went. I remember this because I use to go bowl with Cindy in San Angelo a lot. Well, it seemed like a lot to me. lol
In my twenties, I bowled every year or so and still maintained a not to shaby 150-170 range on the lanes.
I have always had the idea planned firmly in my head that I was a decent bowler.
As I got older, things began to interfer with my bowling. Mainly my wrists. I have carpol tunel in both of them. It's livable since I no longer do 10-12 hours a day on the computer, but it does leave my wrists very weak. So I need a very light ball and I still run the risk of dropping it just before I release it.
Later, as I began to gain weight, I went through two differnt issues. First, I honestly thought my hips were so large that I would swing around them when I bowled; which needless to say looked stupid and caused lots of gutter balls. Just about the time I trained myself not to do that, my hips really did get big enough to be in my way and now I am constantly banging my arm against my hip; which looks stupid and results in lots of gutter balls.
You'd think, with all these issues I would give up. But having grown up in small towns, bowling was one of the few things around to actually "do". It brings back great memories and I enjoy the hell out of the occasional strike -- which is always followed by two gutter balls.
I just enjoy it.
Even though my scores are closer to 50-70 now days.
Even though I have to fight Will for my turn.
Even though the last time I went I stepped past the line, slipped on the lane, and ended up flat on my back.
Even though I had to crawl back on my hands and knees.
Even though the alley was full of people watching and Steve was laughing his ass off.
I think that bowling is sort of like playing the casino to me; only I don't have to invest cash on each roll of the dice. I expect to get gutter balls. But ever once in a while, a bit of that teenager shows through and I mow the pins down like a pro0wannabe. I feel lighter, happier, carefree.
In my twenties, I bowled every year or so and still maintained a not to shaby 150-170 range on the lanes.
I have always had the idea planned firmly in my head that I was a decent bowler.
As I got older, things began to interfer with my bowling. Mainly my wrists. I have carpol tunel in both of them. It's livable since I no longer do 10-12 hours a day on the computer, but it does leave my wrists very weak. So I need a very light ball and I still run the risk of dropping it just before I release it.
Later, as I began to gain weight, I went through two differnt issues. First, I honestly thought my hips were so large that I would swing around them when I bowled; which needless to say looked stupid and caused lots of gutter balls. Just about the time I trained myself not to do that, my hips really did get big enough to be in my way and now I am constantly banging my arm against my hip; which looks stupid and results in lots of gutter balls.
You'd think, with all these issues I would give up. But having grown up in small towns, bowling was one of the few things around to actually "do". It brings back great memories and I enjoy the hell out of the occasional strike -- which is always followed by two gutter balls.
I just enjoy it.
Even though my scores are closer to 50-70 now days.
Even though I have to fight Will for my turn.
Even though the last time I went I stepped past the line, slipped on the lane, and ended up flat on my back.
Even though I had to crawl back on my hands and knees.
Even though the alley was full of people watching and Steve was laughing his ass off.
I think that bowling is sort of like playing the casino to me; only I don't have to invest cash on each roll of the dice. I expect to get gutter balls. But ever once in a while, a bit of that teenager shows through and I mow the pins down like a pro0wannabe. I feel lighter, happier, carefree.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Enter to win a FREE Fun Camera Strap!
I've finally managed to get my Quick-Relase SLR Camera Strap and Koozie pattern up on my site. One of the hold ups has been, that during testing, the women had trouble locating the webbing size needed.
So I added two cheap and EASILY attainable options to the pattern instructions. To demonstrate the process, I made up the following four FUNKY new camera straps.
You can enter to win one, or all four, of them at http://www.makethemyourself.com/contest.html. Straps will be given away on June 1, 2009.
Oh, yeah, you can also purchase the pattern at http://www.makethemyourself.com/strap.html.
So I added two cheap and EASILY attainable options to the pattern instructions. To demonstrate the process, I made up the following four FUNKY new camera straps.
You can enter to win one, or all four, of them at http://www.makethemyourself.com/contest.html. Straps will be given away on June 1, 2009.
Oh, yeah, you can also purchase the pattern at http://www.makethemyourself.com/strap.html.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Friday, April 17, 2009
Nasty letters on the table
The more I've become acquainted with other writers and their publications, the more I realize that in today's society, the book I am writing is NOT an erotica.
I think the reason I originally thought it was, has to do with my age. What is commonly acceptable in the way of sex and language in books now day would have never been allowed for sale at places like Walmart or the local grocery. Those books would have been purchased online and shipped wrapped in brown paper -- not that I would know from first hand experience. Not more than once, or twice -- honestly!
My book is a paranormal with real language used by real people during stressful times of their lives. And the sex? Well, it happens. There are actually only two or three detailed love scenes in the book, the rest are left up to your ability to imagine. But the detailed ones are . . . well, detailed.
Twenty years ago, (and doesn't that just suck to reach an age where you can use that phrase) I would have been shocked at the degree of openness and detail found in sex scenes today. Now, it is normal.
What brings all of this to the fore at the moment, is that I am currently rewriting a chapter where the entire 16 pages of it are one long, hot, detailed love scene. The reason I wrote it originally was that I was having trouble meeting my daily quota during NaNo and I figured writing sex was easy. Hell, I have more than 20 years experience in, how hard can it be to describe it?
Now that I have to reexamine the chapter I am still not sorry I wrote it. It actually serves as a turning point in the main couples lives. What I need to do is add more feelings, emotions, reasoning into it. I also need to find more ways to call a carrot a carrot.
So over the last few weeks, as I've read books with similar scenes to the one I'm editing, I have jotted down notes on papers. Words, phrases, positions. Anything that will allow me to broaden and add depth, or varsity, to my sex scene.
It was raining today, so I took Will to Burger King to play. It's close to our house and we are there so often they know my order before I place it.
I printed out my chapter, and took along all my loose papers on jotted notes along to work on. After eating, Will went off to play and I spread out everything and started rewriting. It was going wonderful.
Then Will had one of those, "I have to go NOW" moments and I grabbed my purse and ran for the bathroom. Where we remained for the next 15 minutes. When we walked back into the play room, a female employee was cleaning up the table next to ours while craning her neck to read the papers I'd left spread all over the table.
She immediately finished up and left the room, without looking me in the eye.
I've been wondering all day, exactly what she read. And who she told.
I'm almost embarrassed to think about going back to that place for lunch.
I think the reason I originally thought it was, has to do with my age. What is commonly acceptable in the way of sex and language in books now day would have never been allowed for sale at places like Walmart or the local grocery. Those books would have been purchased online and shipped wrapped in brown paper -- not that I would know from first hand experience. Not more than once, or twice -- honestly!
My book is a paranormal with real language used by real people during stressful times of their lives. And the sex? Well, it happens. There are actually only two or three detailed love scenes in the book, the rest are left up to your ability to imagine. But the detailed ones are . . . well, detailed.
Twenty years ago, (and doesn't that just suck to reach an age where you can use that phrase) I would have been shocked at the degree of openness and detail found in sex scenes today. Now, it is normal.
What brings all of this to the fore at the moment, is that I am currently rewriting a chapter where the entire 16 pages of it are one long, hot, detailed love scene. The reason I wrote it originally was that I was having trouble meeting my daily quota during NaNo and I figured writing sex was easy. Hell, I have more than 20 years experience in, how hard can it be to describe it?
Now that I have to reexamine the chapter I am still not sorry I wrote it. It actually serves as a turning point in the main couples lives. What I need to do is add more feelings, emotions, reasoning into it. I also need to find more ways to call a carrot a carrot.
So over the last few weeks, as I've read books with similar scenes to the one I'm editing, I have jotted down notes on papers. Words, phrases, positions. Anything that will allow me to broaden and add depth, or varsity, to my sex scene.
It was raining today, so I took Will to Burger King to play. It's close to our house and we are there so often they know my order before I place it.
I printed out my chapter, and took along all my loose papers on jotted notes along to work on. After eating, Will went off to play and I spread out everything and started rewriting. It was going wonderful.
Then Will had one of those, "I have to go NOW" moments and I grabbed my purse and ran for the bathroom. Where we remained for the next 15 minutes. When we walked back into the play room, a female employee was cleaning up the table next to ours while craning her neck to read the papers I'd left spread all over the table.
She immediately finished up and left the room, without looking me in the eye.
I've been wondering all day, exactly what she read. And who she told.
I'm almost embarrassed to think about going back to that place for lunch.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Conversations with Will
These are snippets of conversation I had with my 4-year old son today.
After he had tied a chalk line around his monkey bars twice, wrapped it around a 6-foot standing ladder, and then tied it to his trampoline.
"I need help, please," he asked.
"No sir. You made the mess, you clean it up."
"No. I am the mess maker. You are the cleaner upper."
While the two of us laid on the hammock. He was holding a half-eaten banana out in front of him like a torch and attempting to tuck his other arm underneath himself.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm trying to hide my arm so the bugs don't see it."
"What bugs," I asked nervously.
"The bugs that want to come eat my banana."
"Is this another trap?"
"A bug trap. The bugs will not see my hand and they will come eat banana. Then I will do this."
At which point he pulled his hidden hand out and whacked his banana so hard it fell out of the peeling and into his lap.
As we are leaving a gymnasium he loves.
"I want some water," he demanded as we're preparing to leave.
"You just finished a box of juice. Please put on your shoes and lets go."
"I'm thirsty, i want some water."
"Will, we are going to get lunch. Please put on your shoes so we can go."
"I don't want lunch. I want water."
"I will get you water. Put on your shoes, please."
"I want water now." He tries to help himself to a $2 bottle of water.
"No. I think I have some water in the car."
Shoes on and we make it to the car.
"Where's the water?"
"Sorry. I don't see any."
"I want water."
"I know, and as soon as we get to McDs you can have some."
"I don't want to go to McDs. I want water."
"We will be there in two minutes."
"I don't want to go there. I want water."
"They have water, Will. As soon as we get there, I'll get you some lunch and a drink."
"I don't want lunch. I want water."
"I said 'and a drink'."
"I don't want a drink. I want water."
We arrive at McDs and I help him from the car.
"I want water."
"I know."
Inside the front door.
"Where's the water?"
"We have to get a cup from the lady behind the counter."
"I want water."
"I know. But we need to wait our turn. What do you want for lunch?"
"I want water."
After we place our order and ask for a cup for water.
"Where's the water?"
"She's getting us a cup."
"Where is she?"
"Getting you a cup for your water."
"Is this the cup for water?"
"No, that is a cup for my soda."
"Do you want water?"
"No."
It's a wonder any parents end up even reasonably sane after raising children.
After he had tied a chalk line around his monkey bars twice, wrapped it around a 6-foot standing ladder, and then tied it to his trampoline.
"I need help, please," he asked.
"No sir. You made the mess, you clean it up."
"No. I am the mess maker. You are the cleaner upper."
While the two of us laid on the hammock. He was holding a half-eaten banana out in front of him like a torch and attempting to tuck his other arm underneath himself.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm trying to hide my arm so the bugs don't see it."
"What bugs," I asked nervously.
"The bugs that want to come eat my banana."
"Is this another trap?"
"A bug trap. The bugs will not see my hand and they will come eat banana. Then I will do this."
At which point he pulled his hidden hand out and whacked his banana so hard it fell out of the peeling and into his lap.
As we are leaving a gymnasium he loves.
"I want some water," he demanded as we're preparing to leave.
"You just finished a box of juice. Please put on your shoes and lets go."
"I'm thirsty, i want some water."
"Will, we are going to get lunch. Please put on your shoes so we can go."
"I don't want lunch. I want water."
"I will get you water. Put on your shoes, please."
"I want water now." He tries to help himself to a $2 bottle of water.
"No. I think I have some water in the car."
Shoes on and we make it to the car.
"Where's the water?"
"Sorry. I don't see any."
"I want water."
"I know, and as soon as we get to McDs you can have some."
"I don't want to go to McDs. I want water."
"We will be there in two minutes."
"I don't want to go there. I want water."
"They have water, Will. As soon as we get there, I'll get you some lunch and a drink."
"I don't want lunch. I want water."
"I said 'and a drink'."
"I don't want a drink. I want water."
We arrive at McDs and I help him from the car.
"I want water."
"I know."
Inside the front door.
"Where's the water?"
"We have to get a cup from the lady behind the counter."
"I want water."
"I know. But we need to wait our turn. What do you want for lunch?"
"I want water."
After we place our order and ask for a cup for water.
"Where's the water?"
"She's getting us a cup."
"Where is she?"
"Getting you a cup for your water."
"Is this the cup for water?"
"No, that is a cup for my soda."
"Do you want water?"
"No."
It's a wonder any parents end up even reasonably sane after raising children.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Writers always write!
This is an expression my dad, Steve's dad actually, has used more than one time over the last few months. It's always in context to either my writing, wanting to write, or Ann's writing.
While driving today, I was thinking about if I had been "writing" all my life. And oddly enough, I have. I just had to think about it a while.
For the last few years, I've written instructions for making items.
Prior to that I managed a department that I wrote guidelines and established procedures for.
Prior to that I worked for a map company where I wrote points of interest blurbs and assembled date for maps and atlases.
Prior to that I wrote letters. It's odd, because I quit writing people once I moved past this stage. But I use to write long handwritten page, upon page, upon page of detailed information and funnies about life and sent them to everyone. I did this almost the entire time I live in Brady.
And yes, prior to that, I wrote for the joy of writing. Poems. Stories. I even wrote an entire book in long hand when I was 16, then burned it in one of those teenage rebellions against one's self.
It was humbling for me to finally realize exactly what Lew was saying.
A writer always writes.
While driving today, I was thinking about if I had been "writing" all my life. And oddly enough, I have. I just had to think about it a while.
For the last few years, I've written instructions for making items.
Prior to that I managed a department that I wrote guidelines and established procedures for.
Prior to that I worked for a map company where I wrote points of interest blurbs and assembled date for maps and atlases.
Prior to that I wrote letters. It's odd, because I quit writing people once I moved past this stage. But I use to write long handwritten page, upon page, upon page of detailed information and funnies about life and sent them to everyone. I did this almost the entire time I live in Brady.
And yes, prior to that, I wrote for the joy of writing. Poems. Stories. I even wrote an entire book in long hand when I was 16, then burned it in one of those teenage rebellions against one's self.
It was humbling for me to finally realize exactly what Lew was saying.
A writer always writes.
New E-How Articles I've Published
Here are links to the E-How articles I've managed to get up over the last month and a half.
How to Build a Dog Ramp/Bridge on a Budget This one includes a photo of Will helping me build this ramp.
How to make Your Own Automatic Watering System for Potted Plants and Cut-Offs
How to get Your Bulbs to Bloom Faster
How to Plant Tomatoes Hanging Upside-down in a Hanging Basket In about 6 weeks, this article has already made me over $60. Wish I had more like it. LOL
How to Remove Wallpaper
How to Get Your Manuscript Edited for Free
How to Build a Dog Ramp/Bridge on a Budget This one includes a photo of Will helping me build this ramp.
How to make Your Own Automatic Watering System for Potted Plants and Cut-Offs
How to get Your Bulbs to Bloom Faster
How to Plant Tomatoes Hanging Upside-down in a Hanging Basket In about 6 weeks, this article has already made me over $60. Wish I had more like it. LOL
How to Remove Wallpaper
How to Get Your Manuscript Edited for Free
Monday, April 13, 2009
Up to My Eyebrows in Toner
My home business is dependent upon two major items; my printers.
HP DesignJet 600
I have an older model HP Plotter that prints on 36-inch wide paper rolls. I use it to print out my patterns. It allows me to make my home based patterns look professional. If I did not use a plotter I would have to do one of the following:
So you can see how important this product is to my continued business. I managed to pick up the one I have off of craigslist for $250 about a year ago. The same model easily sells for $500-$750.
HP Color Laserjet 4050N
This is a large office printer. Also older. My printer has an extra 500 page drawer and a duplexer. I use it to print out all my instructions as well as my cover sheets and advertising pieces.
When new, this copier sold for clsoe to $3,000. You can purchase them used now for about $350. I picked mine up for $100 about 1-1/2 years ago. It uses toners which I am able to purchase on ebay or discount sites since the printer is older.
It prints beautiful color, pretty fast.
But what if . . .
Every time one of these two machines has an issue my heart stops. I don't have a back up of either and I don't have another way to provide what they both contribute.
I know enough about office machinery to know they need regular maintence, and they don't get it. I do try cleaning off rolers and such ever few months. I've even taken them both apart and located issues at least once during their life span.
But with either machine, I would be looking at a minimum of $200 for a house call from a technician. No telling what parts would cost me. And if parts were ordered, I'd have another house call visit to pay for. Easily paying more for the possible help than the printer was worth.
The bad news is I don't have money to have them fixed or replaced; I just need them to work. Which means they don't. For three days my color printer hasn't worked right. At first I was able to limp through the process and get out what I needed with tons of effort. Today I couldn't fill my orders at all.
I told myself it was simply a matter of cleaning them printer good. I had to wait until Will was in bed to work on the printer. Toner dust is very bad for you, especially so for the very young.
I just spent an hour and a half taking every easily removable piece of the printer and cleaning it in alcohol. I also used q-tips dipped in alcohol to clean rollers.
During the process, I found two tiny pieces of plasitic that were lodged in places they didn't belong and thought "Thank God! This has to be the issue."
I have toner all over me, my office, the outside of the printer, and in my small vac. I turned the printer back on and booted it up and it still does not want to work. So far, I have removed four paper jams and rebooted the printer three times.
If I can't get it to print tonight, I will have to take the file to a copy shop tomorrow and pay $1 a sheet for them to print it out for me -- since it's in color.
Toner isn't the only thing I'm up to my eyebrown in tonight.
HP DesignJet 600
I have an older model HP Plotter that prints on 36-inch wide paper rolls. I use it to print out my patterns. It allows me to make my home based patterns look professional. If I did not use a plotter I would have to do one of the following:
- Trace pattern pieces onto newspaper rolls. Which is how I started out, but SO not professional.
- Pay a professional pattern making company to print out my pattern for me. The minimum run for a pattern is 500 copies at about $2 a pop. Not happening.
So you can see how important this product is to my continued business. I managed to pick up the one I have off of craigslist for $250 about a year ago. The same model easily sells for $500-$750.
HP Color Laserjet 4050N
This is a large office printer. Also older. My printer has an extra 500 page drawer and a duplexer. I use it to print out all my instructions as well as my cover sheets and advertising pieces.
When new, this copier sold for clsoe to $3,000. You can purchase them used now for about $350. I picked mine up for $100 about 1-1/2 years ago. It uses toners which I am able to purchase on ebay or discount sites since the printer is older.
It prints beautiful color, pretty fast.
But what if . . .
Every time one of these two machines has an issue my heart stops. I don't have a back up of either and I don't have another way to provide what they both contribute.
I know enough about office machinery to know they need regular maintence, and they don't get it. I do try cleaning off rolers and such ever few months. I've even taken them both apart and located issues at least once during their life span.
But with either machine, I would be looking at a minimum of $200 for a house call from a technician. No telling what parts would cost me. And if parts were ordered, I'd have another house call visit to pay for. Easily paying more for the possible help than the printer was worth.
The bad news is I don't have money to have them fixed or replaced; I just need them to work. Which means they don't. For three days my color printer hasn't worked right. At first I was able to limp through the process and get out what I needed with tons of effort. Today I couldn't fill my orders at all.
I told myself it was simply a matter of cleaning them printer good. I had to wait until Will was in bed to work on the printer. Toner dust is very bad for you, especially so for the very young.
I just spent an hour and a half taking every easily removable piece of the printer and cleaning it in alcohol. I also used q-tips dipped in alcohol to clean rollers.
During the process, I found two tiny pieces of plasitic that were lodged in places they didn't belong and thought "Thank God! This has to be the issue."
I have toner all over me, my office, the outside of the printer, and in my small vac. I turned the printer back on and booted it up and it still does not want to work. So far, I have removed four paper jams and rebooted the printer three times.
If I can't get it to print tonight, I will have to take the file to a copy shop tomorrow and pay $1 a sheet for them to print it out for me -- since it's in color.
Toner isn't the only thing I'm up to my eyebrown in tonight.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
The Easter Rabbit Ran out of Eggs
After my class today I stopped by to pick up candy and things for Will's plastic eggs. We have a laundry basket of eggs that we've purchased over the years for the girls. I made it home about six and we had supper.
About seven Steve admitted to forgetting to get anything for desert for Easter -- a sin worthy of death in many states, this one included. Will and I ran to the store and picked up something sweet. About 8:30 I went to get our basket of eggs so that when Will fell asleep I could stuff them.
They're gone. I looked every where. They are just not here. Not in the attic, garage, or any room in our house. Steve even looked for them. We are eggless.
While there are 24-hour stores, I'm not up for shucking my PJs after Will goes to sleep and driving into town for egg shopping at midnight. For some reason I don't understand, Steve has convinced Will that an actual Easter Bunny is going to come and leave eggs -- unless he's a bad boy.
To make this even worse, I bought tons of SMALL candy and toys to fit in small eggs, so it's not like I can just wrap up 10-15 big packages and hide them.
As Will was getting ready for bed I started digging around trying to find something to wrap the goodies in. I pulled out tons of left-over tissue from Christmas. Will asked me what I was doing and I told him, "I'm going to cut these papers up in case the Easter Rabbit runs out of eggs."
Bless his heart, Will immediately responds, "So he can wrap up the goodies."
Will finally fell asleep a little after 11 and I, a.k.a. the Easter Bunny, have been wrapping up candy and goodies in pieces of paper and tying the ends to hold them closed. I have red fingers and an aching wrist. Not to mention that one of my feet is asleep. And yet, when I look over the HUGE pile of small packages I can't help feel a sense of . . .
Well, I can't help but feel like I should have checked for eggs yesterday.
About seven Steve admitted to forgetting to get anything for desert for Easter -- a sin worthy of death in many states, this one included. Will and I ran to the store and picked up something sweet. About 8:30 I went to get our basket of eggs so that when Will fell asleep I could stuff them.
They're gone. I looked every where. They are just not here. Not in the attic, garage, or any room in our house. Steve even looked for them. We are eggless.
While there are 24-hour stores, I'm not up for shucking my PJs after Will goes to sleep and driving into town for egg shopping at midnight. For some reason I don't understand, Steve has convinced Will that an actual Easter Bunny is going to come and leave eggs -- unless he's a bad boy.
To make this even worse, I bought tons of SMALL candy and toys to fit in small eggs, so it's not like I can just wrap up 10-15 big packages and hide them.
As Will was getting ready for bed I started digging around trying to find something to wrap the goodies in. I pulled out tons of left-over tissue from Christmas. Will asked me what I was doing and I told him, "I'm going to cut these papers up in case the Easter Rabbit runs out of eggs."
Bless his heart, Will immediately responds, "So he can wrap up the goodies."
Will finally fell asleep a little after 11 and I, a.k.a. the Easter Bunny, have been wrapping up candy and goodies in pieces of paper and tying the ends to hold them closed. I have red fingers and an aching wrist. Not to mention that one of my feet is asleep. And yet, when I look over the HUGE pile of small packages I can't help feel a sense of . . .
Well, I can't help but feel like I should have checked for eggs yesterday.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Father of the Year Strikes Again
Bonnet called me tonight, for the first time in weeks. She's doing okay. Still working at the sandwich shop; but hours are picking up again. Odd, but sandwich shops don't do so well in the middle of winter in CO. LOL
She's about to move, again. Her current roommate is moving out of town and she will now be sharing an old Victorian house in downtown with three other young people. She says her room is four times the size of the one she currently has and her monthly contribution is $200 less. Although, she did admit that the house is falling down around their ears and it doesn't heat well. Not such a big deal now with summer coming on; but could be an issue next winter. Ya think?
While talking, she told me that she filed her taxes for 2007 and 2008 about six weeks ago and got $1,400 back. Since she doesn't have a banking account she had them deposit it in her fathers account. She kept a close eye on when the refund was due to be deposited and called her dad daily to verify if it was in. One morning she called before work and it was in, they made arrangements for her to meet him after work and go get her money.
A few hours later, while she's at work, her dad keeps texting her and she finally calls him back during her break. His friend, that HE calls her "Uncle Bob", was arrested and her father used her money to bail Bob out of jail. When she got upset her dad was all like, "but I would have done the same thing for you" and Bonnet told him, "But I am your daughter." By the way, Bonnet doesn't know Uncle Bob at all.
In the last month, since Uncle Bob's trip to jail, Bonnet has received $800 of her refund back from her dad. He was suppose to pay her the remainder last weekend and surprisingly she can't find him.
Maybe he borrowed the neighbors car and drove to Mexico to get Uncle Bob out of jail.
She's about to move, again. Her current roommate is moving out of town and she will now be sharing an old Victorian house in downtown with three other young people. She says her room is four times the size of the one she currently has and her monthly contribution is $200 less. Although, she did admit that the house is falling down around their ears and it doesn't heat well. Not such a big deal now with summer coming on; but could be an issue next winter. Ya think?
While talking, she told me that she filed her taxes for 2007 and 2008 about six weeks ago and got $1,400 back. Since she doesn't have a banking account she had them deposit it in her fathers account. She kept a close eye on when the refund was due to be deposited and called her dad daily to verify if it was in. One morning she called before work and it was in, they made arrangements for her to meet him after work and go get her money.
A few hours later, while she's at work, her dad keeps texting her and she finally calls him back during her break. His friend, that HE calls her "Uncle Bob", was arrested and her father used her money to bail Bob out of jail. When she got upset her dad was all like, "but I would have done the same thing for you" and Bonnet told him, "But I am your daughter." By the way, Bonnet doesn't know Uncle Bob at all.
In the last month, since Uncle Bob's trip to jail, Bonnet has received $800 of her refund back from her dad. He was suppose to pay her the remainder last weekend and surprisingly she can't find him.
Maybe he borrowed the neighbors car and drove to Mexico to get Uncle Bob out of jail.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
The Leaning Tower of Hassle
I have one of "those" neighbors. The kind that thinks there is nothing to small, or large, they can ask of you. No, he's not one of those that takes and takes and takes, and never gives back. This guy would drive 300 miles out of his way to pick you up if your car broke down. But in eleven years in this house, are car only broke down once and we were less than ten miles away.
Oh, we ask the occasional thing of him. We're really not big "askers" of things, not big borrowers. He is.
To start off with, he thinks the Internet is unholy and wants nothing to do with it; as far as it being in his house. I don't think he even allows a computer in his home. So every time he needs something posted on craigslist, printed out, or purchased online he asks us to find it, print it, or post it for him.
Most of the time it's not a big thing, just a small irritating thing. However, once he asked me to print out an entire book on teaching your child to drive. It was over 800 pages -- printing on both sides. He was nice and gave me a ream of paper for my effort, two would have been better. Hell, some friggen laser toners would have been nice.
But I degress, as usual.
This post is about our shared mailbox pole. In our neighborhood, the mailboxes have to be on the side of the road where his house is. Our mailbox is one of three on a single post in front of his house.
About two months ago, he askes Steve if I really need the bigger sized mail box I have. I searched for, purchased, and installed this mail box myself because I needed the extra width to fit the size of patterns I mail out. Steve asked me and I told him, "Yes."
A few days later, Scott catches me outside. And asks me hisself, if I really needed that large of mailbox. He proceeded to tell me that he wanted to replace the mailbox post with a fancy wooden post and use matching metal type mail boxes, maybe some wire to tie the theme of the mailbox in with his yard. I told him I was sorry but I really needed the mailbox.
A few days later he ask's me where I bought it. He decided it was a decent looking box and he'd just buy two more to match it. At least that way all the boxes would match again. I told him where I got it.
He called me at least three times over the next few days as he tried to find one just like it. He never could. Then he asks me to look on the internet and find one for him. I did, at only $35 each and shipping -- he bought two.
The next few days while he was waiting for the mailboxes he bothered me about the numbering I used on my box. Where did I get it? How large were the numbers? Do I have any left?
Then he spent a day digging a GIANT hole and cementing this huge shiny piece of tree about 18-21 inches round into it. The mailboxes finally comes in and he centers a 2x4 over the tree stump and places all three matching mailboxes on the 2x4, complete with matching numbers.
Our driveway is directly across from the mailboxes and everyday as I leave my home I get a perfect view of the mailboxes that had to be just "so". The mailboxes that had to be "perfect".
The mailboxes that dip about 5 inches lower on left than the right.
Oh, we ask the occasional thing of him. We're really not big "askers" of things, not big borrowers. He is.
To start off with, he thinks the Internet is unholy and wants nothing to do with it; as far as it being in his house. I don't think he even allows a computer in his home. So every time he needs something posted on craigslist, printed out, or purchased online he asks us to find it, print it, or post it for him.
Most of the time it's not a big thing, just a small irritating thing. However, once he asked me to print out an entire book on teaching your child to drive. It was over 800 pages -- printing on both sides. He was nice and gave me a ream of paper for my effort, two would have been better. Hell, some friggen laser toners would have been nice.
But I degress, as usual.
This post is about our shared mailbox pole. In our neighborhood, the mailboxes have to be on the side of the road where his house is. Our mailbox is one of three on a single post in front of his house.
About two months ago, he askes Steve if I really need the bigger sized mail box I have. I searched for, purchased, and installed this mail box myself because I needed the extra width to fit the size of patterns I mail out. Steve asked me and I told him, "Yes."
A few days later, Scott catches me outside. And asks me hisself, if I really needed that large of mailbox. He proceeded to tell me that he wanted to replace the mailbox post with a fancy wooden post and use matching metal type mail boxes, maybe some wire to tie the theme of the mailbox in with his yard. I told him I was sorry but I really needed the mailbox.
A few days later he ask's me where I bought it. He decided it was a decent looking box and he'd just buy two more to match it. At least that way all the boxes would match again. I told him where I got it.
He called me at least three times over the next few days as he tried to find one just like it. He never could. Then he asks me to look on the internet and find one for him. I did, at only $35 each and shipping -- he bought two.
The next few days while he was waiting for the mailboxes he bothered me about the numbering I used on my box. Where did I get it? How large were the numbers? Do I have any left?
Then he spent a day digging a GIANT hole and cementing this huge shiny piece of tree about 18-21 inches round into it. The mailboxes finally comes in and he centers a 2x4 over the tree stump and places all three matching mailboxes on the 2x4, complete with matching numbers.
Our driveway is directly across from the mailboxes and everyday as I leave my home I get a perfect view of the mailboxes that had to be just "so". The mailboxes that had to be "perfect".
The mailboxes that dip about 5 inches lower on left than the right.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
First Writer's Workshop
Starting Monday, I will be participating in my first writer's workshop. It is a month long and being taught my Angela Knight -- a best selling author of Paranormal novels.
The workshop is being held as a yahoo group. She will post up assignments and we will submit work or discuss things. I'm not totally clear on the concept. The worship lasts for 30 days and only cost me $25.
This particular workshop is designed to help writers create realistic and beleiveable fight sceanes. Ms. Knight will cover how to create enemies (one's the reader will like or hate), how to build up to the fight scenes, and writing teh actual fight sceanes.
I don't technically have a fight scene in my book yet, but I would like to add one.
We'll see.
The workshop is being held as a yahoo group. She will post up assignments and we will submit work or discuss things. I'm not totally clear on the concept. The worship lasts for 30 days and only cost me $25.
This particular workshop is designed to help writers create realistic and beleiveable fight sceanes. Ms. Knight will cover how to create enemies (one's the reader will like or hate), how to build up to the fight scenes, and writing teh actual fight sceanes.
I don't technically have a fight scene in my book yet, but I would like to add one.
We'll see.
A Crying Shame
Before I tell you what happened today, I need to tell you about my social life.
Socializing, and the Lack of It
I have always had trouble socializing. Part of that is being raised as an abused child. You don't want people to see your home or how you are treated, so you don't "hang out" with friends. You don't make friends as a rule, and if you do, you drop them as soon as they start noticing things (bruises, dirty clothes, lack of lunches, etc.).
As an adult, I learned to fill my need for people -- while holding them at bay (which is the only way I am comfortable with people) -- by interacting with people at work. During the years I worked outside the home I was able to maintain a steady stream of "work" friends; good enough for conversation and lunch but never invited to your home or for after-hour get togethers.
Prior to working outside the home, when I was raising Bonnet and Tori, I had tons of family around. My mother, step-father, two sets of in-laws, all my siblings, and several sister- and brother-in-laws lived in the same small town. I never had to seek out someone, they were always at my house and in my life whether I wanted them or not.
For the last four and half years that has not been the case. I've stayed at home with my son, which I wouldn't have give up for anything. However, it's had a really negative impact on my ability to communicate to groups of people.
Not counting sales clerks, I see one adult for an average of 3 hours a day; Steve. And during that three hours we eat supper, I take a bath, and Will is bathed and put to bed. Weekends are a little better, I see Steve almost all day both days. But people other than Steve? Not so much.
My mother is mentally gone and I have no interaction with her at all. My siblings are scattered about and if I see them 1 or 2 times a year it's a surprise to me. When I do see them, it's usually for a few hours here or there.
My father- and mother-in-law live about 30 minutes away and I try to visit with them about once a month. Not only do I enjoy their company, but Will loves his Oma and Opa.
I have developed a friendship with a woman who's son is Will's best friend. But her son started school full time this last fall and she went back to work. I use to see her 3-4 days a week for a couple of hours, but now I'm lucky to see her for 2 hours a week.
With the lack of contact I have with the outside world you would think I was lonely all the time, but I'm not. I don't really get lonely or bored . . . that's why God make books right? LOL
The problem is the longer my interaction with others decreases, the less capable I am of interacting with people.
Family Comes to Visit
My in-laws had family come down to visit this weekend. Every time this happens, the family in the immediate vicinity will come over and spend all the time they can seeing their far-off relatives. I guess this is normal interaction among families. I mean, these are often people you only see every couple of years or even once a decade.
But it is so far out of my concept of normal interaction that I can hardly handle it. A few weeks back, when his brother was visiting, Steve was over there by 9 a.m. and didn't leave until after 9 p.m. I can not handle that. I'm not saying it's wrong! I think it's sweet that Steve will put fourth that kind of effort to visit his family and catch up. I just CAN NOT do it.
Fortunately, in that case, he went early with Will and I showed up hours later in my own vehicle. When I couldn't take it any more I left. It was fine and that is what we should have done today . . . but we didn't.
NOTE: This inability to spend longs periods of time with family also applies to my family. We bought a small RV and when we go visit my family we take it so I can disappear in there and get some "alone time".
A Crying Shame
Steve's Aunt Carol, his mother's sister, and her husband are down from SD. To the best of my knowledge it is the first time they've been to Texas. We drove up to Dad's last night for super and it wasn't to bad. We didn't get there until about 5 and we were home by 9.
Today we drove up there for lunch and arrived around 11. All the way up there I was concerned about how long we'd be there, but I didn't say anything to Steve. Steve's brother Greg and family arrived around 1. So now I am in a house with 7 adults other than myself and an additional 3 children. All of whom I like, most of them I love, but still tons more people than I am use to dealing with at once.
I was feeling the need to leave about 3, but I didn't want to cut short Steve's time so I asked Stephanie if she wanted to go to the book store with me and we left for an hour.
We got back about 5 and immediately jumped into dinner and sitting everyone down. Every one's mood was a little tense as food was reheated and children who didn't want to sit were seated. And as it turns out, an hour out of the house hadn't done near enough to calm my nerves. Every conversation, every expression, every person seemed to weight upon me until I couldn't breath. I could feel my heart fluttering in my chest so hard I was afraid I was going to have a heart attach.
As soon as the meal was over and everyone started cleaning up I went over to Steve and let him know I was read to leave. I had already had to blink back tears several times and felt like I was about to blow. Although, I had no idea what blow was as I've never let myself get to this point before.
Steve was right in the middle of showing his uncle something on the computer, but I was hoping he would wrap it up as soon as possible. I went over twice more in the next ten minutes. I knew Steve was coming, it just wasn't fast enough. I stepped into the bathroom to wipe my filling eyes, hoping it wouldn't be so noticeable if tears weren't flowing down my face. But as soon as I closed the door, the tears started coming full force. I can't even tell you WHY they were coming. I was just so incredibly SAD. I felt so ALONE.
And as life would have it, that was about the time everyone decided to take family photos. In the bathroom I was in, there was no way to escape without being seen by every person in the house. And there was no way they wouldn't know I was crying.
"Why," I asked myself, "didn't you just go sit in the car and wait on Steve?" But I hadn't wanted to make a spectacle of myself . . . which was ironic considering.
I knew the longer I hid in the bathroom the worse it was going to get. I could just see everyone at the door trying to find out what was wrong and if I was okay. So I opened the door with the intention of walking outside as fast as possible and hoping Steve would follow me and we could discuss this outside. No such luck.
Everyone immediately noticed I was upset and wanted to know if I was okay and Steve asks from right there on the couch what was wrong. Mad at myself and him I'm pretty sure I yelled, "This wouldn't have happened if we'd left 10 minutes ago like I asked!"
I went out to the car and just crawled in and sit crying. Steve came out with Will a few minutes later and we drove home. I cried the entire trip. Some of it releasing pressure from the day and some of it shame that I had caused such an ending to the day. This will be the last memory Steve's aunt Carol will carry of me and my family. There was no family photo documenting the event. And I caused a scene in my in-laws house.
And the BIG Fear
Part of my tears on the way home were of genuine fear too. Fear I had turned into my mom. Sure, to a degree most people share this same fear. But how bad it upsets you depends on your mom. My mother is certifiably insane; on several levels. Her instability through out life has caused her every home she ever had, her husband, and all of her children. She was never able to hold down a normal job and she couldn't take pressure of any kind before she snapped.
For the first hour or so after leaving Dad's, all I could think about was that I had finally snapped. I'd finally lost a part of the sane person I thought I was, that I had crossed that line into insanity. That I was my mom and everyone was going to leave me.
When I finally explained those fears to Steve, it was like they vanished into nothing. Once he assured me I was sane, that I was okay . . . I believed him. I'm still a little weepy, but I no longer feel like I'm broken or injured.
Now, I'm just thinking it's a crying shame we didn't take two cars.
Next time we will.
Socializing, and the Lack of It
I have always had trouble socializing. Part of that is being raised as an abused child. You don't want people to see your home or how you are treated, so you don't "hang out" with friends. You don't make friends as a rule, and if you do, you drop them as soon as they start noticing things (bruises, dirty clothes, lack of lunches, etc.).
As an adult, I learned to fill my need for people -- while holding them at bay (which is the only way I am comfortable with people) -- by interacting with people at work. During the years I worked outside the home I was able to maintain a steady stream of "work" friends; good enough for conversation and lunch but never invited to your home or for after-hour get togethers.
Prior to working outside the home, when I was raising Bonnet and Tori, I had tons of family around. My mother, step-father, two sets of in-laws, all my siblings, and several sister- and brother-in-laws lived in the same small town. I never had to seek out someone, they were always at my house and in my life whether I wanted them or not.
For the last four and half years that has not been the case. I've stayed at home with my son, which I wouldn't have give up for anything. However, it's had a really negative impact on my ability to communicate to groups of people.
Not counting sales clerks, I see one adult for an average of 3 hours a day; Steve. And during that three hours we eat supper, I take a bath, and Will is bathed and put to bed. Weekends are a little better, I see Steve almost all day both days. But people other than Steve? Not so much.
My mother is mentally gone and I have no interaction with her at all. My siblings are scattered about and if I see them 1 or 2 times a year it's a surprise to me. When I do see them, it's usually for a few hours here or there.
My father- and mother-in-law live about 30 minutes away and I try to visit with them about once a month. Not only do I enjoy their company, but Will loves his Oma and Opa.
I have developed a friendship with a woman who's son is Will's best friend. But her son started school full time this last fall and she went back to work. I use to see her 3-4 days a week for a couple of hours, but now I'm lucky to see her for 2 hours a week.
With the lack of contact I have with the outside world you would think I was lonely all the time, but I'm not. I don't really get lonely or bored . . . that's why God make books right? LOL
The problem is the longer my interaction with others decreases, the less capable I am of interacting with people.
Family Comes to Visit
My in-laws had family come down to visit this weekend. Every time this happens, the family in the immediate vicinity will come over and spend all the time they can seeing their far-off relatives. I guess this is normal interaction among families. I mean, these are often people you only see every couple of years or even once a decade.
But it is so far out of my concept of normal interaction that I can hardly handle it. A few weeks back, when his brother was visiting, Steve was over there by 9 a.m. and didn't leave until after 9 p.m. I can not handle that. I'm not saying it's wrong! I think it's sweet that Steve will put fourth that kind of effort to visit his family and catch up. I just CAN NOT do it.
Fortunately, in that case, he went early with Will and I showed up hours later in my own vehicle. When I couldn't take it any more I left. It was fine and that is what we should have done today . . . but we didn't.
NOTE: This inability to spend longs periods of time with family also applies to my family. We bought a small RV and when we go visit my family we take it so I can disappear in there and get some "alone time".
A Crying Shame
Steve's Aunt Carol, his mother's sister, and her husband are down from SD. To the best of my knowledge it is the first time they've been to Texas. We drove up to Dad's last night for super and it wasn't to bad. We didn't get there until about 5 and we were home by 9.
Today we drove up there for lunch and arrived around 11. All the way up there I was concerned about how long we'd be there, but I didn't say anything to Steve. Steve's brother Greg and family arrived around 1. So now I am in a house with 7 adults other than myself and an additional 3 children. All of whom I like, most of them I love, but still tons more people than I am use to dealing with at once.
I was feeling the need to leave about 3, but I didn't want to cut short Steve's time so I asked Stephanie if she wanted to go to the book store with me and we left for an hour.
We got back about 5 and immediately jumped into dinner and sitting everyone down. Every one's mood was a little tense as food was reheated and children who didn't want to sit were seated. And as it turns out, an hour out of the house hadn't done near enough to calm my nerves. Every conversation, every expression, every person seemed to weight upon me until I couldn't breath. I could feel my heart fluttering in my chest so hard I was afraid I was going to have a heart attach.
As soon as the meal was over and everyone started cleaning up I went over to Steve and let him know I was read to leave. I had already had to blink back tears several times and felt like I was about to blow. Although, I had no idea what blow was as I've never let myself get to this point before.
Steve was right in the middle of showing his uncle something on the computer, but I was hoping he would wrap it up as soon as possible. I went over twice more in the next ten minutes. I knew Steve was coming, it just wasn't fast enough. I stepped into the bathroom to wipe my filling eyes, hoping it wouldn't be so noticeable if tears weren't flowing down my face. But as soon as I closed the door, the tears started coming full force. I can't even tell you WHY they were coming. I was just so incredibly SAD. I felt so ALONE.
And as life would have it, that was about the time everyone decided to take family photos. In the bathroom I was in, there was no way to escape without being seen by every person in the house. And there was no way they wouldn't know I was crying.
"Why," I asked myself, "didn't you just go sit in the car and wait on Steve?" But I hadn't wanted to make a spectacle of myself . . . which was ironic considering.
I knew the longer I hid in the bathroom the worse it was going to get. I could just see everyone at the door trying to find out what was wrong and if I was okay. So I opened the door with the intention of walking outside as fast as possible and hoping Steve would follow me and we could discuss this outside. No such luck.
Everyone immediately noticed I was upset and wanted to know if I was okay and Steve asks from right there on the couch what was wrong. Mad at myself and him I'm pretty sure I yelled, "This wouldn't have happened if we'd left 10 minutes ago like I asked!"
I went out to the car and just crawled in and sit crying. Steve came out with Will a few minutes later and we drove home. I cried the entire trip. Some of it releasing pressure from the day and some of it shame that I had caused such an ending to the day. This will be the last memory Steve's aunt Carol will carry of me and my family. There was no family photo documenting the event. And I caused a scene in my in-laws house.
And the BIG Fear
Part of my tears on the way home were of genuine fear too. Fear I had turned into my mom. Sure, to a degree most people share this same fear. But how bad it upsets you depends on your mom. My mother is certifiably insane; on several levels. Her instability through out life has caused her every home she ever had, her husband, and all of her children. She was never able to hold down a normal job and she couldn't take pressure of any kind before she snapped.
For the first hour or so after leaving Dad's, all I could think about was that I had finally snapped. I'd finally lost a part of the sane person I thought I was, that I had crossed that line into insanity. That I was my mom and everyone was going to leave me.
When I finally explained those fears to Steve, it was like they vanished into nothing. Once he assured me I was sane, that I was okay . . . I believed him. I'm still a little weepy, but I no longer feel like I'm broken or injured.
Now, I'm just thinking it's a crying shame we didn't take two cars.
Next time we will.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Goodbye Sewing
I started sewing back in the mid-70s, when it was the in thing to do. I was about ten years of age when I started designing and making up my own barbie doll clothes. Oddly, I enjoyed designing and making the clothes more than I did playing with the dolls. Who would have guessed I would be destined to run my own pattern making company one day? Life is weird, and I digress.
In the 70s, everyone sewed, at least in Texas. You could buy sewing notions and fabric at dime stores. (Dime stores -- there's the old phrase of the day for you.) Even the mom and pop grocery stores had sewing notions on hand.
By the mid 80s sewing was dying out. By the early 90s almost no one I knew actually sewed. The reason was two-fold.
The lack of interest resulted in a lack of places that carried sewing items. Oh, you could find them, but the selection was poor and the prices weren't.
But during the last decade sewing has made a come back. It became acceptable and exciting to sew your own clothes, make your own prom dress, or make up items as gifts. All of a sudden every town had fabric stores and every Walmart had a sewing department. Every craft store had a fabric section. It was great! Prices were competitive, classes were being offered, the prices of sewing machines dropped.
But over the last two years I've noticed a total turn around, again. One-by-one every Walmart in my area went from having a fabric department to having either a fabric isle or no fabric at all -- just notions. Over half of the fabric/sewing specific stores I know of in Austin have closed their doors. And the big sewing stores like Joann's and Hancock's have reduced their fabric sections and turned half their stores into home decorating or craft supplies.
When I mention the turn around to friends and family their response is surprise; you would think with the bad economy more people would be turning to sewing. But I'm not surprised. While more people seem to be asking for sewing machines on Craigslist or Freecycle, they don't have money to purchase NEW sewing supplies or material. In this economy, the really needy will be making do with sewing up what they have or making items from recycled fabrics or clothing.
While my sales on sewing patterns have slowed down, I've had an increase in hits on my pages of free patterns, on my pages about sewing with recycled and free fabric.
But as I silently watch the avenues once open to me as a seamstress vanish, I felt like someone needed to say "I noticed." Someone needed to say "Goodbye!"
In the 70s, everyone sewed, at least in Texas. You could buy sewing notions and fabric at dime stores. (Dime stores -- there's the old phrase of the day for you.) Even the mom and pop grocery stores had sewing notions on hand.
By the mid 80s sewing was dying out. By the early 90s almost no one I knew actually sewed. The reason was two-fold.
- The cost of fabric, patterns, and notions became more expensive than purchasing the ready made clothing now easily available at mega-stores. Why spent $8 on a pattern, $15 on fabric, and another $5 on notions when you could now buy a dress for $20 in almost any town?
- The introduction of new forms of entertainment pulled young people away from sewing as a hobby. Television and game consoles were more common than sewing machines in most homes.
The lack of interest resulted in a lack of places that carried sewing items. Oh, you could find them, but the selection was poor and the prices weren't.
But during the last decade sewing has made a come back. It became acceptable and exciting to sew your own clothes, make your own prom dress, or make up items as gifts. All of a sudden every town had fabric stores and every Walmart had a sewing department. Every craft store had a fabric section. It was great! Prices were competitive, classes were being offered, the prices of sewing machines dropped.
But over the last two years I've noticed a total turn around, again. One-by-one every Walmart in my area went from having a fabric department to having either a fabric isle or no fabric at all -- just notions. Over half of the fabric/sewing specific stores I know of in Austin have closed their doors. And the big sewing stores like Joann's and Hancock's have reduced their fabric sections and turned half their stores into home decorating or craft supplies.
When I mention the turn around to friends and family their response is surprise; you would think with the bad economy more people would be turning to sewing. But I'm not surprised. While more people seem to be asking for sewing machines on Craigslist or Freecycle, they don't have money to purchase NEW sewing supplies or material. In this economy, the really needy will be making do with sewing up what they have or making items from recycled fabrics or clothing.
While my sales on sewing patterns have slowed down, I've had an increase in hits on my pages of free patterns, on my pages about sewing with recycled and free fabric.
But as I silently watch the avenues once open to me as a seamstress vanish, I felt like someone needed to say "I noticed." Someone needed to say "Goodbye!"
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Just Will
When Steve and I found out we were expecting a boy we had a very hard time trying to choose a name. We'd lost a baby a few years earlier that we had called George. Both after Steve's grandfather and after the old cartoon . . .
I'm going to love it
and squeeze it
and call it George!
Steve wanted William relatively early in the pregnancy and I immediately vetoed it. My grandfather was named Willie and everyone called him Bill. In the older days, most Williams ended up being called Bill as well. I didn't want anything of my son to remind me of my grandfather -- not my favorite person in the world.
Oh, I loved -- and still do -- Steve's Uncle Bill (who William is named after). But I vetoed the name choice early.
It wasn't until months later that I realized we could name him William and call him Will. Yeah, pregnancy really does mess with your brain cells bad enough logical thinking takes months instead of minutes to achieve.
My only requirement was that is we named our son William he was to always be called Will -- never Bill or Willie.
I must have been sending these thoughts to Will prior to his birth because he refuses to be called anything else . . . always has. Anyone that calls him bud, buddie, son, boy, young man, handsome, cutie, cutie pie, sport, brother, onery, feisty, stubborn . . .
If any one, any where, calls him anything besides Will, he immediate responds with, "I'm not ____. I'm just Will!"
I'm going to love it
and squeeze it
and call it George!
Steve wanted William relatively early in the pregnancy and I immediately vetoed it. My grandfather was named Willie and everyone called him Bill. In the older days, most Williams ended up being called Bill as well. I didn't want anything of my son to remind me of my grandfather -- not my favorite person in the world.
Oh, I loved -- and still do -- Steve's Uncle Bill (who William is named after). But I vetoed the name choice early.
It wasn't until months later that I realized we could name him William and call him Will. Yeah, pregnancy really does mess with your brain cells bad enough logical thinking takes months instead of minutes to achieve.
My only requirement was that is we named our son William he was to always be called Will -- never Bill or Willie.
I must have been sending these thoughts to Will prior to his birth because he refuses to be called anything else . . . always has. Anyone that calls him bud, buddie, son, boy, young man, handsome, cutie, cutie pie, sport, brother, onery, feisty, stubborn . . .
If any one, any where, calls him anything besides Will, he immediate responds with, "I'm not ____. I'm just Will!"
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