For those of you interested, I wanted to show you how much the hard work over the last few months has improved my ability to write. I've posted my new and improved Chapter 1 of Wolf cub on my blog at http://novel-wolfcub.blogspot.com/
If you read the first round as I was writing the book, you will be amazed. I promise.
Be sure and let me know if you find any errors, consider them Easter Eggs.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Conversations Over Heard at Chick-Fil-A
I will admit to limited interaction with people outside of my family. But after overhearing these three conversations, during a one-hour visit to Chick-Fil-A, I'm not sure I'm missing anything.
It's a Long Story, But it Has a Happy Ending
These two women in their mid to later 30s were talking and I over head one say, "Yeah, well she died a few years back. It's a long story, but it has a happy ending." What? How is it possible for someone's death to be a happy ending?
It turned out the speakers younger sister had been married about three years when she found out she had cancer. She died within a year. Still waiting for the happy ending? Yeah, me to.
As it turns out, the dead sister was not religious or baptised. But through her death, the rest of the family found "God" and so it was all for the best.
Yeah, I can't say to much about this because I don't want to offend anyone with deeply religious beliefs. Let me just say that I would not consider it a good end to my life to die after a year of battling cancer because others might be drawn closer to God. 'Nuff said.
She's the Lucky One
Two other young mothers were talking. One had four children and was a stay-at-home mom; no small thing. They were both dressed nice and had decent cars. Their older children were in day-care programs and school activities.
Then I hear the mother of four say about her younger sister, "Yeah, she's the lucky one, she married a doctor." Immediately followed by, "I had to go marry the postman."
Poor postman.
Listening to Music in my Car
There were two men in their mid- to late-twenties sitting next to my table. One of them was trying to convince his friend to apply for a job where he worked. He was a security guard, and this is how he described his job.
"I sign in at 1900 hours and make a note that I swept the parameter. Then I go outside and have a smoke. I'll set out there and flirt with the women as they come in. Men, women dig uniforms." You don't want to know what immediately followed this.
"Sure, I'll check the doors once or twice in an 8 hour shift. But mostly I just sit around. Hell, I'll set out in my car and listen to music for 2-3 hours. I hang out by the snack machines and talk to the ladies. I even put me a chair outside the back area so I can sit and smoke. I go in every once in a while and write down I'm doing an interior search, but I never do. It's a breeze and they pay good money."
I was determined to look and see if his company logo was on his vehicle when he left but I go sidetracked by the woman with the lucky dead sister.
It's a Long Story, But it Has a Happy Ending
These two women in their mid to later 30s were talking and I over head one say, "Yeah, well she died a few years back. It's a long story, but it has a happy ending." What? How is it possible for someone's death to be a happy ending?
It turned out the speakers younger sister had been married about three years when she found out she had cancer. She died within a year. Still waiting for the happy ending? Yeah, me to.
As it turns out, the dead sister was not religious or baptised. But through her death, the rest of the family found "God" and so it was all for the best.
Yeah, I can't say to much about this because I don't want to offend anyone with deeply religious beliefs. Let me just say that I would not consider it a good end to my life to die after a year of battling cancer because others might be drawn closer to God. 'Nuff said.
She's the Lucky One
Two other young mothers were talking. One had four children and was a stay-at-home mom; no small thing. They were both dressed nice and had decent cars. Their older children were in day-care programs and school activities.
Then I hear the mother of four say about her younger sister, "Yeah, she's the lucky one, she married a doctor." Immediately followed by, "I had to go marry the postman."
Poor postman.
Listening to Music in my Car
There were two men in their mid- to late-twenties sitting next to my table. One of them was trying to convince his friend to apply for a job where he worked. He was a security guard, and this is how he described his job.
"I sign in at 1900 hours and make a note that I swept the parameter. Then I go outside and have a smoke. I'll set out there and flirt with the women as they come in. Men, women dig uniforms." You don't want to know what immediately followed this.
"Sure, I'll check the doors once or twice in an 8 hour shift. But mostly I just sit around. Hell, I'll set out in my car and listen to music for 2-3 hours. I hang out by the snack machines and talk to the ladies. I even put me a chair outside the back area so I can sit and smoke. I go in every once in a while and write down I'm doing an interior search, but I never do. It's a breeze and they pay good money."
I was determined to look and see if his company logo was on his vehicle when he left but I go sidetracked by the woman with the lucky dead sister.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Get it out already!
Will has been going through a stage the last few weeks that is about to drive me to drinking. His vocabulary and ability to make sentences has grown so that listening to him describe something can drive you insane.
For instance, we recently watched the new movie Bolt and if you asked Will to describe it, this is most likely what he would say:
It's a movie. And there is this dog. And the dog's name is Bolt. And bolt is a super hero dog. Named Bolt. And he has super powers. And there is a hamster. And his name is Rhino. And Rhino the hamster is a super hamster. And Rhino the hamster has super powers. But it's only a dream. And there is a kitty. And I can't remember the kitty's name. Momma, what was the kitty's name? And the kitty has super powers.
Sure, it sounds cute here. But between every sentence he hums and haws while trying to think of the words he wants to use before he says them. So the text above will actually take 5 minutes for him to spit out. And about half way through I'm thinking, "Get it out already!"
And EVERY conversation we have now is this same way. Fifty to one hundred times a day. I know that any time a person learns something new they start out with little finesse when using it; it only improves as they continue to exercise the new art/craft. Doesn't make it less irritating.
However, a humbling realization today does.
I've spent the last week trying to cut out all the back story and information dumps in one of my chapters. Trying to trim down the excess and make it action packed and fast paced. I wonder if the people who did the critique and noticed the overflow of information were saying to themselves, "Get it out already!"
For instance, we recently watched the new movie Bolt and if you asked Will to describe it, this is most likely what he would say:
It's a movie. And there is this dog. And the dog's name is Bolt. And bolt is a super hero dog. Named Bolt. And he has super powers. And there is a hamster. And his name is Rhino. And Rhino the hamster is a super hamster. And Rhino the hamster has super powers. But it's only a dream. And there is a kitty. And I can't remember the kitty's name. Momma, what was the kitty's name? And the kitty has super powers.
Sure, it sounds cute here. But between every sentence he hums and haws while trying to think of the words he wants to use before he says them. So the text above will actually take 5 minutes for him to spit out. And about half way through I'm thinking, "Get it out already!"
And EVERY conversation we have now is this same way. Fifty to one hundred times a day. I know that any time a person learns something new they start out with little finesse when using it; it only improves as they continue to exercise the new art/craft. Doesn't make it less irritating.
However, a humbling realization today does.
I've spent the last week trying to cut out all the back story and information dumps in one of my chapters. Trying to trim down the excess and make it action packed and fast paced. I wonder if the people who did the critique and noticed the overflow of information were saying to themselves, "Get it out already!"
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
This way! This Way! No! Not like that!
One of the most profound and painful moments of my life was when at the grand old age of five, my youngest daughter told me that during vocation day at school she informed everyone that she wanted to grow up to be nothing, just like her mom.
I took it to heart and attended a local college to get some training, determined to be SOMETHING.
I started stressing how important it is for women to have a formal training of somekind to the girls. How important it was to finish high school and go to college. To have a career; not a job.
I pushed, and pushed, and pushed.
And I thought I got through. They did both graduate from HS, and in my family, that was no small thing.
They both immediately went to college. Bonnet dropped out as soon as her funding ran out; after the first semester. Since then she has been in one dead-end job after another. Floundering. She is talking about taking a real estate course now and I've excited about that.
Tori has managed to put herself through college for almost two years. And it has been long, painful years for her. Over the last few months she's been talking about how unhappy she is attending school, how she doesn't understand why she's doing it.
Today, I'm pretty sure I was served notice that she will be quiting after this semester. Tori is not the kind of person to just come up to me and say, "Oh, I'm not going to school anymore. I quit." No, she wants me to "see it coming".
She sit there talking about how even with 6 years of schooling behind her, she wouldn't leave the university making any more than she is now . . . only with four more years of debt to pay off. How she wasn't even interested in her major or any major. How she felt any job was a job and she'd do a good job at it.
All I could think was she was getting her wish, she was going to turn out to be nothing, just like her mom.
Hold on! Don't email me with tons of "you're not nothing" emails. I do understand that and I have done many things I am proud of. More importantly, as I've aged, I've come to realize being "someone" has nothing to do with job, eduction, or money.
I'm simply having a mom's gut reaction to feeling like her daughter is taking the first major wrong turn in her life. And there is nothing I can do about it. Hell, I can even understand it.
Tori is a smart young woman with a great work ethic and winning personality. I'm sure she'll be fine.
It's just that her mom is having trouble watching her life unfold from the back seat.
Monday, March 23, 2009
A "lite" Book
As I began submitting chapters of my book to different crit groups it's become obvious that it doesn't really fit the broadest description for Erotica.
It's really more a paranormal with some great sex scenes, but the sex is secondary. It also doesn't happen on every page or upon ever thing it could.
I find myself a little shunned by true erotic writers for these lapse. For having a erotica "lite" book.
So I have been seeking a crit group that has more authors in the paranormal field. And I found one. And there is no doubt my book is a paranormal; it's on every page, sometimes in Dolby surround sound! But . . .
And this is the but that is bothering me. It's not dark, and most paranormals are. Even those that are not dark still have battles, fights, blood, and death. Mine doesn't. So, yes, I have a paranormal "lite".
But now that I am looking at a time in the foreseeable future when I will want to send my book to publishers I realize it needs to "fit" somewhere. And to make it do that I will either have to rev up the sex or the blood loss.
There is an online class being offered by author Angela Knight on crafting heart pounding fights and chaises. It lasts 6 weeks and is hosted in a format so you can pop in when you can, catch up, and submit your work.
I wasn't going to take the class because I have no fights to tweak, but I think I will take the class so I can see about adding a fight. Maybe if I was more comfortable with writing them, they would automatically fit in.
Then my poor little book wouldn't be "lite" any more.
It's really more a paranormal with some great sex scenes, but the sex is secondary. It also doesn't happen on every page or upon ever thing it could.
I find myself a little shunned by true erotic writers for these lapse. For having a erotica "lite" book.
So I have been seeking a crit group that has more authors in the paranormal field. And I found one. And there is no doubt my book is a paranormal; it's on every page, sometimes in Dolby surround sound! But . . .
And this is the but that is bothering me. It's not dark, and most paranormals are. Even those that are not dark still have battles, fights, blood, and death. Mine doesn't. So, yes, I have a paranormal "lite".
But now that I am looking at a time in the foreseeable future when I will want to send my book to publishers I realize it needs to "fit" somewhere. And to make it do that I will either have to rev up the sex or the blood loss.
There is an online class being offered by author Angela Knight on crafting heart pounding fights and chaises. It lasts 6 weeks and is hosted in a format so you can pop in when you can, catch up, and submit your work.
I wasn't going to take the class because I have no fights to tweak, but I think I will take the class so I can see about adding a fight. Maybe if I was more comfortable with writing them, they would automatically fit in.
Then my poor little book wouldn't be "lite" any more.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Sticky Hands
The other night I was getting Will ready for bed and grabbed a cloth to wipe his face and hands. We got home late and decided to skip his bath. When I finally manged to corner him with the rag he wanted to know why I had to wipe his face and hands.
I told him his hands were sticky and they needed to be washed.
Will immediately hid them behind his back and told me, "But I need them sticky so I can climb the wall."
I won, the hands got cleaned but I had to shake my head at his foolishness. I had forgotten about Will's tendency to climb things or I would have rephrased my explanation. Will is always slapping his hand flat against a wall, door, window, or slide and attempting to pull himself up via Spiderman-style.
Today we spent hours in the back yard and Will ended up making him a mud pond to play in. Pretty soon he was coating his feet and hands in mud and climbing up the slide backwards. "Look momma," he cried in excitement, half way up the slide. "I made my hands sticky and now I can climb the slide."
Who knows, maybe he'll grow up to be Spiderman.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
To Lazy to Read a New Book
All personality A type people end up having to develop some sort of routine that will relax them enough they can sleep. It's nearly impossible to turn your self off well enough without it.
I've always "done" something. There were years when I would sew. As I had to do more and more of that in my business, it lost it's ability to relax me. So I started surfing the net at night.
But as my business took off, I found myself spending more and more time on the computer. Surfing the Internet prior to heading to bed was no longer relaxing.
Which left me with my faithful fall back, reading. To say I am an avid reader is like calling an ocean a pond. I laughed so hard I almost pissed my pants when I found out an avid reader is someone who reads 20-25 new books a year. I read that many a month. When I am heavily depressed and need the escapism more, I can double or triple that amount in a month. When life is going good and I have other interests taking up my time, I still manage to read a minimum of 15-20 books a month.
When I read an author I really like, I will purchase every book they wrote and keep them in boxes in my room. Luckily, ever 9-12 months my favorite authors change and I'll resell half of what I have and start out procuring new one's. I have two authors that I have reread their books more times than I can count Christine Feehan (paranormal) and Lora Leigh (paranormal erotica). I have read every copy of each of their books no less than five times each. These two women have the ability to transport me to a location and adventure like no other I have found. One that never gets old.
So, on days when I just don't have the energy or desire to conquer a new author, or face the disappointment of a so-so book . . . I pull out one of their books. I'll flip through my boxes and grab a story that sounds good. There is no pressure to finish the book, no concern about it being bad, no surprise that will keep me up or make me tense. They're my lazy books.
They do exactly what I need them to do. Relax me and allow me to slowly unwind so I can sleep without medication.
I had to laugh as I reread this post, because I might be leaving you with the impression the authors' books will "put you to sleep" and that is not what I meant at all. All of their books are filled with suspense, action, trials, romance, new worlds, and hot sex. LOL
They only relax me because I am familiar with them. They've survived several purges and I don't ever see getting rid of them, getting tired of them.
Anyone else have books they fall back on when they are to lazy to tackle a new author?
Friday, March 20, 2009
Poo Patrol
My son hates going to bed. He's just so full of energy and so interested in every thing going on in the house that he fights sleep with a passion that is admirable. Well, it would be admirable if I wasn't the one having to constantly field his attempts to put sleep off.
The first few months it was all about food and drinks. So I start out at night with a glass of water and crackers by his bed. I still get the occasional need for more substance, but it's less than it use to be.
Then it was the movie he was watching was to scary. He has a collection of almost 200 VHS of every cartoon or animated movie ever made. It's insane. But most of them are villainous in nature; Ninga Turtles, Power Rangers, Batman, Spiderman, etc. Hell, even Scooby Doo has bad people in it. So we are now limited to about ten movies he can watch before he goes to sleep at night.
Then we did the toy thing, the cover thing, the "I Love You" and hug thing. I would have to say that so far, his fourth year is the year of excuses. How many reasons can you find NOT to go to bed? Hundreds.
I am usually working on the computer when he's trying to go to bed, so I am just across the hall. When I get on to him for coming to see me every five minutes he will stand in the door of his room and yell at me. When I get on his for being out of bed, he'll stand on the foot of his bed and peak out the door to yell at me. When I get on him for standing in his bed, he'll lay down and yell at me.
But tonight, tonight he raised the game to an entire new level. Tonight, he insisted that I had not wiped him good when he went to the bathroom two hours ago and there was poo on his bottom. What could I do? I had to take him to the bathroom and wipe him again; and there was nothing there. But he continued to argue with me.
I have a bad feeling this is the way the rest of my life as his guardian will be like; on Poo Patrol.
The first few months it was all about food and drinks. So I start out at night with a glass of water and crackers by his bed. I still get the occasional need for more substance, but it's less than it use to be.
Then it was the movie he was watching was to scary. He has a collection of almost 200 VHS of every cartoon or animated movie ever made. It's insane. But most of them are villainous in nature; Ninga Turtles, Power Rangers, Batman, Spiderman, etc. Hell, even Scooby Doo has bad people in it. So we are now limited to about ten movies he can watch before he goes to sleep at night.
Then we did the toy thing, the cover thing, the "I Love You" and hug thing. I would have to say that so far, his fourth year is the year of excuses. How many reasons can you find NOT to go to bed? Hundreds.
I am usually working on the computer when he's trying to go to bed, so I am just across the hall. When I get on to him for coming to see me every five minutes he will stand in the door of his room and yell at me. When I get on his for being out of bed, he'll stand on the foot of his bed and peak out the door to yell at me. When I get on him for standing in his bed, he'll lay down and yell at me.
But tonight, tonight he raised the game to an entire new level. Tonight, he insisted that I had not wiped him good when he went to the bathroom two hours ago and there was poo on his bottom. What could I do? I had to take him to the bathroom and wipe him again; and there was nothing there. But he continued to argue with me.
I have a bad feeling this is the way the rest of my life as his guardian will be like; on Poo Patrol.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
It's great! It's bad. It's wonderful!
I try to keep my writer trials confined to my Wolf Cub blog, but sometimes they are such a huge part of my life; they overlap here as well.
I won't go into great details other than to say that being a writer is prone to the development of multiple personalities. Especially when dealing with editors or crit groups.
Last night I was over the moon! Everything was sit up like clock work. I was inputting suggestions from an old crit group into my beginning chapters, sending them to a new editor, then submitting the returned files to a new crit group. At the same time, I was submitting my new chapters to the crit group for first round edits. Life was good and I could foresee having my book ready to start marketing in a few months.
I'm a wonderful writer!
A born natural!
This is so easy!
This morning, I got my first crit back from a writer on my new group and she ripped my first chapter to pieces! She was very nice and informative about it and I learned a ton. She pointed out places where I had "info dumps" and the "flow stalled" -- fancy writer terms. lol
But her overall statement was that the chapter did not carry the pzazz it needed to as a first chapter. Oddly enough, I've always thought this was true but no one else had said anything about it. The lady doing the crit has several books published in my genre and you could tell she knew what she was talking about. She said without changes that the chapter really didn't do anything for her.
Her comment did something for me, I was depressed all day.
I don't know how to write.
Why do I even try.
My book isn't worth the space it's
taking up on my hard drive.
This evening I got a new crit on a new chapters I submitted to my old crit group and the person doing the critiquing is a published writer as well. She thought it was nearly perfect; the emotions were tugged. It was sad, it was heart breaking, it was funny. Very few changes and she thought it was the best thing she's read so far.
I also got a secondary crit from someone else on Chapter 1; from the new group. She liked it. While pointing out a few things that will make a bid difference, she didn't suggest many changes. She liked it so much she was immediately going to read and crit the other chapter I'd submitted.
I'm a wonderful writer!
A born natural!
This is so easy!
I won't go into great details other than to say that being a writer is prone to the development of multiple personalities. Especially when dealing with editors or crit groups.
Last night I was over the moon! Everything was sit up like clock work. I was inputting suggestions from an old crit group into my beginning chapters, sending them to a new editor, then submitting the returned files to a new crit group. At the same time, I was submitting my new chapters to the crit group for first round edits. Life was good and I could foresee having my book ready to start marketing in a few months.
I'm a wonderful writer!
A born natural!
This is so easy!
This morning, I got my first crit back from a writer on my new group and she ripped my first chapter to pieces! She was very nice and informative about it and I learned a ton. She pointed out places where I had "info dumps" and the "flow stalled" -- fancy writer terms. lol
But her overall statement was that the chapter did not carry the pzazz it needed to as a first chapter. Oddly enough, I've always thought this was true but no one else had said anything about it. The lady doing the crit has several books published in my genre and you could tell she knew what she was talking about. She said without changes that the chapter really didn't do anything for her.
Her comment did something for me, I was depressed all day.
I don't know how to write.
Why do I even try.
My book isn't worth the space it's
taking up on my hard drive.
This evening I got a new crit on a new chapters I submitted to my old crit group and the person doing the critiquing is a published writer as well. She thought it was nearly perfect; the emotions were tugged. It was sad, it was heart breaking, it was funny. Very few changes and she thought it was the best thing she's read so far.
I also got a secondary crit from someone else on Chapter 1; from the new group. She liked it. While pointing out a few things that will make a bid difference, she didn't suggest many changes. She liked it so much she was immediately going to read and crit the other chapter I'd submitted.
I'm a wonderful writer!
A born natural!
This is so easy!
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
So you think my work is exciting . . .
I am always amazed when one of my friends or relatives talks about my home-based business in glowing terms. I hardly make more than $13,000 a year, never get out of the house, and I'm constantly behind on getting out my orders.
Yet, someone always thinks I am so "cool" or "creative" or "capable" . . . lots of "c" words. It just seems funny to me. Most of the work I do is tedious in the extreme. And when I am working on a new project, I spend ten times more time on it than you can ever imagine.
For instance . . .
I am currently doing a custom order for a young man here in town. He wants leather slippers for him and his wife that have appliques of their pet Chihuahuas on them. And oh yeah, their Chihuahuas look totally different.
One of the things many people are surprised to find out about me is that I can't draw. Truly, I am about the level of a standards 3rd grader in drawing skills. Which is ironic considering my job is design and laying out patterns -- you would think there is a lot of drawing in that. But there's not.
Usually when I am creating a new pattern I will cut out pieces and make up dummies until I get exactly what I want. Then I take it apart and use the measurements and layout to create a pattern online in a drawing program. I'm not so much drawing my patterns as tracing them really. I'll print out the pattern I draw and compare it to my finished piece 4, 6, 10 times as needed.
My ability to fake draw is put to it's limits when I have a special request for an applique. I will search the Internet for hours looking for something similar to what I want. I'll search toys, color book pages, clip art, photos, icons, buttons, appliques, stickers, ANYTHING that might work out. But occasionally, nothing is exactly right.
But I paste what I can find into my drawing program and trace each piece of the item; nose, eyes, ears, head, etc. Then I have to perfect it.
The graphics at the top of this post will be cut up and used as patterns for the shoes I will be making this weekend. So far, in the design of the dogs alone, I have in over 6 hours of labor. When an applique is this detailed it can take an hour to cut it out and paste it together from leather (+ 2 more hours) and the general construction of the shoes will take an average of an hour a piece to piece together (+2 more hours).
When completed, I will have close to 10 hours in these shoes.
Still think my work sounds exciting?
Monday, March 16, 2009
And Papa Too
This evening Will and Steve spent a lot of time out in the back yard. The day was perfect, low- to mid-70s, with the most beautiful blue skies imaginable.
The boys played on the fort, jumped on the trampoline, dug in the dirt, played with the dogs, and finally . . . swang on the hammock.
Will and I lay there often and look for birds or squirels. Last year there was an entire family of baby squirrels we could watch play in the trees. We have feeders out all over the place so there are usually birds flying in as well.
Steve laid down on the hammock with a cold one and Will climbed right in beside him. I went out to check on them as it was getting dark and was informed by Will that they were looking for squirrels, birds, snakes, and monkeys. I laughed and left them alone.
When I was putting Will in the bath later, Steve stuck his head in and asked Will if he'd told me about his wish tonight. Steve said as soon as they saw a star they had wished on it, and that Will had wished for his mommy to be happy. I just smiled.
Then Steve told me, "I asked him what about Papa? and he looked at me funny then said, 'and papa too'."
The boys played on the fort, jumped on the trampoline, dug in the dirt, played with the dogs, and finally . . . swang on the hammock.
Will and I lay there often and look for birds or squirels. Last year there was an entire family of baby squirrels we could watch play in the trees. We have feeders out all over the place so there are usually birds flying in as well.
Steve laid down on the hammock with a cold one and Will climbed right in beside him. I went out to check on them as it was getting dark and was informed by Will that they were looking for squirrels, birds, snakes, and monkeys. I laughed and left them alone.
When I was putting Will in the bath later, Steve stuck his head in and asked Will if he'd told me about his wish tonight. Steve said as soon as they saw a star they had wished on it, and that Will had wished for his mommy to be happy. I just smiled.
Then Steve told me, "I asked him what about Papa? and he looked at me funny then said, 'and papa too'."
Saturday, March 14, 2009
And I Wish . . .
Will and I went on an awesome walk this evening. It's been kind of cool the last few days in our part of Texas and we've really enjoyed getting all dressed up in warm clothes and going for long walks.
We were only a few houses up when Will tackled me; and the chase was on. We'd chaise each other around and around until he caught me. Then I'd trip him and lay him out on the road for cars to run over and take off running. Oh yeah, just in case you were wondering . . . there were no cars.
We did this for about 10 minutes, until neither of us could breath. Then he noticed the dandelions in the yard we were passing. He grabbed one and blew on it like crazy. I told him, "You forgot to make a wish."
So he pulls up another one and wishes out loud, "I wish my mommy would be a good mommy tomorrow."
At first I was torn between crying and laughing. I knew he and I had been spending a lot more quality time together the last month or so. We laugh more. Play more. Tease more. I thought he was asking that I be this happy all the time.
But as he continued to grab the next 50 or so dandelions we passed, I come to realize it was more of a case of his saying not exactly what he wanted. He was wishing me a happy day tomorrow. Of coarse, he also wished:
- For me to climb a tree and be happy tomorrow
- For me to take him to a movie and be happy tomorrow
- For me to tickle him and be happy tomorrow
- For me to play with him and be happy tomorrow
I was mentioned in every one of his many, many, many wishes during our walk.
I tried to show him how to wish for other things. I wished to see Will's friend Charlie tomorrow and blew on a dandelion, then told Will to do it. He wished that I would see his friend Charlie tomorrow and be happy.
I thought maybe a more personal wish would show him what he should be doing, so I wished for my book to get published and blew on a dandelion. Will wished for momma to get a good book and be happy tomorrow.
It was a good walk. The weather was nice, the exercise felt great, and the company could not have been more fun or loved me more. And tomorrow, regardless of what else comes up, I will be happy.
As for me, I have no wishes tonigh.
I am the most loved woman in the world, for I am loved by my son.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Have you ever . . .
Have you ever invited someone to a picknick miles away from the cloest store or sign of civilization? You arrive early with your best tablecloth and a great wine. A yummy desert you baked your self. They arrive. As you start to unpack the bag you realize that you forgot the main course and the dishes? Sure, you can limp by on salad and desert eaten with fingers and drink from the bottle of wine . . . but it's just not the way it's suppose to be.
I went to a near by town tonight to their scrapbooking night. It only happens once a month and my schedule rarely lets me go. The great thing is it is from 7-12 at night so Steve can watch Will. The bad thing is that is about 20 or so miles from my house, so you better take everything you are going to need with you.
Yep, you guessed it . . . I forgot something. Well, pretty much everything. Will and I made Steve a small scapbook for Valentines day -- from Will. In it we put all photos of the two of them together. The bad thing is that we made it in my bedroom and Steve arrived home before we finished. So I stashed everything we were making it out of site; and forgot about it.
When I was preparing to go out tonight I made sure the latest stickers I had purchased were packed. I made sure I had the scrapbook I would be working on packed. I actually remember thinking as I was loaded everything up to go that it felt more roomey in my cases than normal.
As soon as I get to the location, I start unloading items and spreading them out. Still no clue. It wasn't until I went to look for solid color paper that I realized I had left 70% of my scrapbooking paper at home. As I continued to soldier on, I realized I had also forgot my straight cutting scissors, my clear tape, tape runner, and my paper cutter.
I refused to just come home and give up, and I refused to ask anyone for anything. If my friend Charlene had been with me, I probably woudn't have even noticed the lack. But she couldn't make it tonight, so I was alone.
(On a side note to Charlene, the class is under new management and each time they hold it a new process is TAUGHT. Tonight they taught all interested to make exploding boxes. I'd show you how, but as I had no scissors or way of cutting paper, nor of holding it togther afterwards, I skipped the class.)
I did finish two spreads. And I have to say for picnic desert eaten with fingers; they aren't half bad.
I went to a near by town tonight to their scrapbooking night. It only happens once a month and my schedule rarely lets me go. The great thing is it is from 7-12 at night so Steve can watch Will. The bad thing is that is about 20 or so miles from my house, so you better take everything you are going to need with you.
Yep, you guessed it . . . I forgot something. Well, pretty much everything. Will and I made Steve a small scapbook for Valentines day -- from Will. In it we put all photos of the two of them together. The bad thing is that we made it in my bedroom and Steve arrived home before we finished. So I stashed everything we were making it out of site; and forgot about it.
When I was preparing to go out tonight I made sure the latest stickers I had purchased were packed. I made sure I had the scrapbook I would be working on packed. I actually remember thinking as I was loaded everything up to go that it felt more roomey in my cases than normal.
As soon as I get to the location, I start unloading items and spreading them out. Still no clue. It wasn't until I went to look for solid color paper that I realized I had left 70% of my scrapbooking paper at home. As I continued to soldier on, I realized I had also forgot my straight cutting scissors, my clear tape, tape runner, and my paper cutter.
I refused to just come home and give up, and I refused to ask anyone for anything. If my friend Charlene had been with me, I probably woudn't have even noticed the lack. But she couldn't make it tonight, so I was alone.
(On a side note to Charlene, the class is under new management and each time they hold it a new process is TAUGHT. Tonight they taught all interested to make exploding boxes. I'd show you how, but as I had no scissors or way of cutting paper, nor of holding it togther afterwards, I skipped the class.)
I did finish two spreads. And I have to say for picnic desert eaten with fingers; they aren't half bad.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
My God, My Church
My religious beliefs, or lack of them, have come up three different times in the last few week. I've really had an opportunity to step back and look at what those beliefs have evolved into.
I was raised as a Jehovah's Witness, sort of. While I understood that it was preferable to die that take someones blood, I could not celebrate anything including my birthday, and it was always best to turn the other cheek . . . I saw members of my congregation and family drink, do drugs, and fornicate to their hearts content. Didn't exactly leave me feeling like the rest of it must have been that important.
When I was 23, I was sitting on my couch at home drinking a beer, smoking a cigarette, and cussing my no-good husband that was probably out running around. My oldest asked me AGAIN why we didn't have a Christmas tree like everyone else. All of a sudden I had a very clear vision of who I was and what I was doing and it scared the hell out of me. I called the elder up on the phone and basically turned in my notice. Loaded up the girls and went out to buy what I thought you needed to go on a tree. Having never put up a Christmas tree I was WAY off: the tree was to big for the holder, I only bought two strands of lights, but I bought 10-12 boxes of icicles. It was crazy.
The big thing though, was that I made a commitment to myself to NEVER serve or participate in a religion I didn't support totally. No more halfies for me.
I spent the next five years talking to and interviewing deacons, priests, elders, and ministers from every religion I could find. I read books on different religions, different beliefs, talked to everyone about their belief systems.
I never found a "church" I wanted to belong to. Truth to be told, I found that a church or organization wasn't a requirement of my ability to believe or communicate with a higher being. I've felt closer to God setting out next to a tree in the heat of the day with my eyes closed shut from the burn of the sun than I ever did in a church.
I've attended different churches off and on with family members or as I felt the need to congregate. Truthfully, that is the only absence I've noticed caused by my lack of participation in an organized religion. No group of like-minded individuals to hang out with. No organized get together. No support group. Over time I came to see that it was those aspects, in many cases, that kept people tied to their church. In it's own way, it was a crutch for those that needed "something" to carry them through, to hold on to. And I have to say, it's a hell of a better crutch than many they could have chosen.
When I met Steve, I found my counter part in disassociation from organized religion. Steve was raised Catholic and due to his own journey had come to renounce his faith as well. When we decided to get married we wanted out union blessed by God, but we didn't want to have to join a church to do so.
We sent out dozens of letters to different churches in Austin letting them know our feelings, concerns, and desires on the matter. We interviewed several prospective ministers who were supportive of our position and choice a wonderful minister.
I'll have to admit though, the older I get even the concept of a "God" is beginning to loose it's hold on me. There is no one moment in time I could look back and say, "This is the reason I do not believe in God." It was a slow coming of enlightenment.
At this point in my life, I perceive God as many do Santa Clause; he is the spirit of goodness that is out there. He could be mother nature, a sense of belonging, or our connection to the earth. There is a sense of presence when we open ourselves up; and I label that God now.
When I am out on my hammock and the sun is filtering through the tree branches to wrap me in warmness. When the wind gently blows the leaves and a few float gracefully down to the ground. When a butterfly is tasting the flowers near me and the sound of birds feel the yard. That is my God, my church.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Killing them with Kindness
Tori is becoming as addicted to freecyle and craigslist as I am. Her only hold back is she really only has access to the San Marcos version of both and I can use Austin's. Bigger city, more and better stuff.
You are allowed to post on both for "wanted" items. I smiled when I came across a post by Tori a few days ago asking for any left over plastic eggs anyone had. She wants to put up an Easter egg hunt for her entire apartment complex. She's already looking at spending tons for candy and goodies to fill the eggs. She doesn't want to spend money ON eggs as well. And she wants literally hundreds of them.
I met Tori for lunch today and she was telling me about a guy who responded to her post. First off, you are only suppose to respond if you can fill that "want" -- not to complain or offer advice. This guy responded confused by Tori's statement that "she couldn't afford the eggs even at dollar store prices". He honestly didn't understand how $1 for 12 eggs was too much to pay. But, he assured her, if she would look at the circular from Hobby Lobby she would see their $1 eggs were on half price right now. So they would be 24 eggs for $1 which was only four cents each.
He went so far as to provide her a link to the page on Hobby Lobby's webpage where the ad was at. And he had much more to say. He told her how to search the Internet and check out the online ads for deals. How to comparison shop.
Tori said he didn't sound like he was trying to be mean. He just sounded like a guy who had never been broke a day in his life and had no clue that four cent eggs were expensive if you wanted hundreds of them.
I asked her how she responded and she wrote back and told him:
"Thank you so much for taking the time to write back such detailed information about how I can locate low cost products. I was amazed at the time you spent gathering your facts and supplying such detailed information and links. Not everyone would have had the time or gone to the effort to supply so much information for someone they didn't know. I really am just amazed at your effort to help me and point me in a direction I might have not considered. Really, thank you. You have no idea how much your email had been in my thoughts today as I considered my options for purchasing eggs. I would never have thought to check Hobby Lobby or comparison shop. Really, I just can't think you enough . . . "
Oh, she went on. For paragraphs and paragraphs, she went on. But at this point, I was laughing so hard I couldn't hardly hear her.
I was telling Steve about it tonight and he said, "Good for Tori!" But we both agreed the person receiving her response back probably didn't even get that it was an insult. People like that really are so obvious, he's probably sitting around feeling all happy about being able to help out a less fortunate.
You are allowed to post on both for "wanted" items. I smiled when I came across a post by Tori a few days ago asking for any left over plastic eggs anyone had. She wants to put up an Easter egg hunt for her entire apartment complex. She's already looking at spending tons for candy and goodies to fill the eggs. She doesn't want to spend money ON eggs as well. And she wants literally hundreds of them.
I met Tori for lunch today and she was telling me about a guy who responded to her post. First off, you are only suppose to respond if you can fill that "want" -- not to complain or offer advice. This guy responded confused by Tori's statement that "she couldn't afford the eggs even at dollar store prices". He honestly didn't understand how $1 for 12 eggs was too much to pay. But, he assured her, if she would look at the circular from Hobby Lobby she would see their $1 eggs were on half price right now. So they would be 24 eggs for $1 which was only four cents each.
He went so far as to provide her a link to the page on Hobby Lobby's webpage where the ad was at. And he had much more to say. He told her how to search the Internet and check out the online ads for deals. How to comparison shop.
Tori said he didn't sound like he was trying to be mean. He just sounded like a guy who had never been broke a day in his life and had no clue that four cent eggs were expensive if you wanted hundreds of them.
I asked her how she responded and she wrote back and told him:
"Thank you so much for taking the time to write back such detailed information about how I can locate low cost products. I was amazed at the time you spent gathering your facts and supplying such detailed information and links. Not everyone would have had the time or gone to the effort to supply so much information for someone they didn't know. I really am just amazed at your effort to help me and point me in a direction I might have not considered. Really, thank you. You have no idea how much your email had been in my thoughts today as I considered my options for purchasing eggs. I would never have thought to check Hobby Lobby or comparison shop. Really, I just can't think you enough . . . "
Oh, she went on. For paragraphs and paragraphs, she went on. But at this point, I was laughing so hard I couldn't hardly hear her.
I was telling Steve about it tonight and he said, "Good for Tori!" But we both agreed the person receiving her response back probably didn't even get that it was an insult. People like that really are so obvious, he's probably sitting around feeling all happy about being able to help out a less fortunate.
Monday, March 9, 2009
New Pattern for Camera Straps and Koozies
This is really the first detailed pattern I have put out in over a year.
I put out a reversible cape pattern in the fall, but that was so simple I was embarrassed to put it up. Oddly, it sells really well.
My sister-in-law, Missy, emailed me last week and asked if I could tell her how to make one of these. I didn't even know they existed! Missy is turning into a professional photographer and has very heavy cameras she is wearing around her neck all the time.
She showed me a site called My Funky Camera where the straps sell for over $30 each. I was intrigued. I use to have large heavy cameras myself; but due to theft and an inability to maintain my hold on one I have been left to the $100 variety digital camera the last few years. It doesn't really need a strap; my pocket works fine.
So I started looking into the different sizes and styles made and sold. I decided to make the entire set; neck straps in different sizes, wrist straps in different sizes, and even len koozies. The next day my sister-in-law from Michigan arrived and she had a new LARGE digital camera. So I sewed like crazy and made the entire set of products as displayed in the photo above.
We tried them on her camera and she loved them. Well, she said she did. She is family and they can't actually say, "That's crap, take it off my camera now!"
I've spent more than 8 hours compiling the information, editing the photos, and preparing the instructions to tell others how to make these. Tonight I posted the need for "testers" to my yahoo group. I will send the e-files out to my testers and make sure the instructions can be followed and that I didn't make any glaring mistakes. Then I will move the pattern to my website and start offering it for sale.
What I had forgotten is what a bunch of WORK preparing a pattern to sell is. Counting the initial time in research (10-20 hours), the time making up dummies and figuring out what did and didn't work (10-20 hours), the time to make up the correct product and take photos of the process (10-15 hours), the time to prepare the instructions (8-10 hours), the time I'll spent talking to the testers and adjusting my pattern (2-5 hours), and the time it will take me to build the web page and stock the new pattern in my stores (2-5 hours), it is a freaking LOT OF WORK.
By the time I sell my first pattern as $10.95 I will have put in more than 60 hours of labor and spent over $35 during the process. Even at $10 an hour, my labor would be $600. I will have to sell over 57 patterns to break even.
I'll consider myself lucky that this will be an electronic pattern, or I'd have to design the envelope cover and add the cost of printing and packaging each pattern.
I guess that's the reason it's called WORKing from home.
My mom use to . . .
Tori had an interview with three people at the University where she attends last week about a job as a campus dispatcher. She's been juggling two jobs since she's been attending; and this is her second year.
Currently, she works at a day care for $6 an hour 2-6 each week day and then works Sat and Sun at Wilson's leather. The dispatcher job starts out at $8 an hour and she can just sign up for whatever shifts she wants.
I met with her on Tuesday after her interview and she was buzzing with excitement. She did this well. She didn't like how she answered that. She'd never been interviewed by three people at once. She didn't ask detailed questions. She didn't do any research for her position. On, and on, and on.
But I knew she did well, because she was buzzing. She was "on." Tori is one of those people that can literally glow when her planets are aligned. You just want to stand near her and soak up the warmth of her personality and enthusiasm.
She called me a few hours later and said she got a call from them and if her references all checked out the job was hers. She was told not to turn in her notice yet, in case they had an issue in the process.
Today, she got the call telling here it was a done deal. Turn in her notice and come to work. The employee who contacted Tori asked her, "Did you take a class on interviewing?" When she told him she had not, he told her that she had blown them all away. "You just walked into the room and owned it."
Tori said she told him, "Well, my mom use to interview people all the time and I just tried not to do what she complained about."
When she told me this I was surprised. Oh, not that Tori got the job. They would have been idiots not to hire her.
What surprised me is that I don't feel like a person who use to interview people all the time. But I remember it, and she's right. I use to interview 50-100 candidates every year for some position or another. And I did come home and entertain the girls with the stupid shit people will say or do during a job interview.
But . . .
It's been almost 4-1/2 years ago, at least. More like, a little over 5 years. Which means Tori was at the most 15 years old when I was complaining about these people. That blows my mind.
You can spend an hour ever afternoon helping them practise their handwriting for a freaking YEAR and they won't remember that. You jokingly share the horrors of the interview process and they remember it like you inked it on their skin.
Just makes me wonder what else I taught my girls when I wasn't looking.
My mom use to . . .
Scary words.
Currently, she works at a day care for $6 an hour 2-6 each week day and then works Sat and Sun at Wilson's leather. The dispatcher job starts out at $8 an hour and she can just sign up for whatever shifts she wants.
I met with her on Tuesday after her interview and she was buzzing with excitement. She did this well. She didn't like how she answered that. She'd never been interviewed by three people at once. She didn't ask detailed questions. She didn't do any research for her position. On, and on, and on.
But I knew she did well, because she was buzzing. She was "on." Tori is one of those people that can literally glow when her planets are aligned. You just want to stand near her and soak up the warmth of her personality and enthusiasm.
She called me a few hours later and said she got a call from them and if her references all checked out the job was hers. She was told not to turn in her notice yet, in case they had an issue in the process.
Today, she got the call telling here it was a done deal. Turn in her notice and come to work. The employee who contacted Tori asked her, "Did you take a class on interviewing?" When she told him she had not, he told her that she had blown them all away. "You just walked into the room and owned it."
Tori said she told him, "Well, my mom use to interview people all the time and I just tried not to do what she complained about."
When she told me this I was surprised. Oh, not that Tori got the job. They would have been idiots not to hire her.
What surprised me is that I don't feel like a person who use to interview people all the time. But I remember it, and she's right. I use to interview 50-100 candidates every year for some position or another. And I did come home and entertain the girls with the stupid shit people will say or do during a job interview.
But . . .
It's been almost 4-1/2 years ago, at least. More like, a little over 5 years. Which means Tori was at the most 15 years old when I was complaining about these people. That blows my mind.
You can spend an hour ever afternoon helping them practise their handwriting for a freaking YEAR and they won't remember that. You jokingly share the horrors of the interview process and they remember it like you inked it on their skin.
Just makes me wonder what else I taught my girls when I wasn't looking.
My mom use to . . .
Scary words.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Uncomfortable With the Thought of Success
My younger sister, the live one, has always accused me of self-destructing every time I'm close to making something of myself.
I've always been a hard worker and a pretty clever person about figuring things out. I've always "wanted" to make something of myself. I truly can't tell you how many things I've started over the years. A few I do remember:
And these are just the one's I can remember. I worked REALLY hard at setting them all up. Put in tons of work and succeeding to a point in most of them that no one believed I could . . . then I let every one of them slide away.
I've sort of been letting the same thing happen lately to my pattern company. I've always thought this company has a real chance at succeeding. At becoming big enough that it can support my family. I believed that when I started it almost three years ago and I believe it now. But about a year ago I just stopped working on it.
Oh, I do the bare minimum I have to. I fill my orders when they come in. And I am amazed they continue to come it. I haven't added new patterns or updated any of the old patterns. I haven't advertised or pushed my web advertising. I've done nothing. I can honestly say there have been entire weeks where I spent less than 2-3 hours a week working on my company. And it's still here.
My sister says that life has caught up with me and I'm about to succeed whether I want to or not. Oddly enough, once I start looking over my life and my pattern of failing business . . . I think she may have a point.
I was explaining my fear of success to a sister-in-law today and I stumbled upon the perfect way of getting it across.
Have you ever been in a really fancy restaurant where you were just NOT COMFORTABLE? Or, for me, there are REALLY nice fabric shops I won't go in, I feel like I'll get the bolts dirty or something. Very expensive furniture stores where the sales staff looks down their nose at You? I feel like that every time I think about being a success.
I feel comfortable struggling to make it, and uncomfortable even thinking about actually making it.
Weird hu?
I've always been a hard worker and a pretty clever person about figuring things out. I've always "wanted" to make something of myself. I truly can't tell you how many things I've started over the years. A few I do remember:
- Dance Studio: I started a dance studio one summer for children only. I taught them country and western dances with a heavy lean toward line dances. I quit when there were to many students wanting to join and it seemed more hassle than fun.
- Seamstress: I did alterations and made garments for the public for several years while the girls were growing up. I just tired of messing with the public and quit doing it.
- Fabric Store: I was going to start my own at-home fabric and sewing store in a small town. I ordered everything I needed and had money to set it up. I even had my tax form, DBA, and everything and then decided people could just drive the extra 45 miles to get fabric . . . why would they come to me?
- Writer: I actually wrote a novel and half of a second one about 6 or 7 years ago. During a computer crash they got lost and instead of jumping back into it, I just took it as a sign I wasn't suppose to make it.
- Denim Deva: I designed denim earrings and necklaces made from old jeans that was decorated with rhinestones and nail heads. Also made several different styles of jackets made from leather as well. Sold them all over the local area I lived in and attended shows with them. Very popular, but I got tired of cutting all the thick denim.
- Bow Bonanza: I designed and handmade bows for baby girls with little hair. I had displays made for them to stand on and had them set up at 12-15 different stores in 5 different surrounds cities. Was making a killing and really liking it but it took to much time away from my girls.
- Accountant: I went to school for this; drove 45 minutes one way every day for over 9 months. Took classes online to speed up process and graded papers to help pay for tuition. I passed with flying colors. Worked one job and decided it was to boring for me. I really did like the computer classes better.
- Photographer: Bought a professional camera, backdrops, and played around with it for a few months. Took family photos. Didn't make payments, camera got repossessed.
And these are just the one's I can remember. I worked REALLY hard at setting them all up. Put in tons of work and succeeding to a point in most of them that no one believed I could . . . then I let every one of them slide away.
I've sort of been letting the same thing happen lately to my pattern company. I've always thought this company has a real chance at succeeding. At becoming big enough that it can support my family. I believed that when I started it almost three years ago and I believe it now. But about a year ago I just stopped working on it.
Oh, I do the bare minimum I have to. I fill my orders when they come in. And I am amazed they continue to come it. I haven't added new patterns or updated any of the old patterns. I haven't advertised or pushed my web advertising. I've done nothing. I can honestly say there have been entire weeks where I spent less than 2-3 hours a week working on my company. And it's still here.
My sister says that life has caught up with me and I'm about to succeed whether I want to or not. Oddly enough, once I start looking over my life and my pattern of failing business . . . I think she may have a point.
I was explaining my fear of success to a sister-in-law today and I stumbled upon the perfect way of getting it across.
Have you ever been in a really fancy restaurant where you were just NOT COMFORTABLE? Or, for me, there are REALLY nice fabric shops I won't go in, I feel like I'll get the bolts dirty or something. Very expensive furniture stores where the sales staff looks down their nose at You? I feel like that every time I think about being a success.
I feel comfortable struggling to make it, and uncomfortable even thinking about actually making it.
Weird hu?
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Family Visits
Steve's brother Mark and his wife Nannette flew down to Texas to visit with his folks; who live about 30 minutes from us. We met them Thursday night for BBQ and then they stopped by the house for a few hours.
After Steve got off work on Friday we drove up to the inlaws and had supper and stayed until after 9:00.
Today, another of Steve's brothers, Greg, his wife Stephanie and their three girls drove down from Kerrville to stay with his dad as well. Steve was up and ready to head there for the day about 9 this morning.
Now, I'm not the most social person. I wasn't raised in a social environment. Sure, we occasionally had guests over. And during those times you behaved a certain way; company maners. Everyone's manners changed; including my parents. As a child I actually use to like having company come over because that was the only time we even got close to portraing a stanard family unit. Even a pretense for a few hours for a child was a welcome repreieve.
I have to say that age and circumstances have made me more antisocial than I have ever been in my life. I genuinely like and enjoy being around every person that was in that house; just not for 12 hours out of my day. I can bearly stand to be around Will that much in a day.
So I stayed home and sewed today and Steve and Will went and spent the day with the folks. I joined them arounf 5:30 for supper, intending to stay until about 9:00. But the oddest thing happend.
The more I set there laughing with my sister-in-laws the more I missed my sisters. The more I realized I didn't have sisters any more. Just one sister, the "live one" as we joke now.
I got quiter and quiter as memories of past visits with my sisters played through my head. I realized that at every family get together we always over indulged in alcohol. For many of us, it is the only way we can allow ourselves to relax. The only time we felt safe to be who we were and know we were loved regardless of what came out of our mouth. And believe me, get me drunk and there is no telling what I am likely to tell you.
Then I realized I had not been in the mood to drink the entire time we'd been together. And this is a drinking family. Putts mine to shame I tell you. Well, they are mine . . . it puts the one I grew up with to shame. I even woundered why I didn't want a drink every time someone offered me one. It was odd. I'm not a big drinker at all. But I like to indulge with my family.
And I think that was the problem, I was subconsiously trying to safeguard myself by staying away from the alcohol.
Regardless, when I begin to miss my sisters I went in the other room and tried reading. Just backed away a little. It didn't help. By 8:00 I told Steve I needed to come home and I did.
Then I cried all the way home. When I got in the house, I put a bottle of amareta in the freezer to chill and took a long shower.
I quess I'll have that drink after all.
After Steve got off work on Friday we drove up to the inlaws and had supper and stayed until after 9:00.
Today, another of Steve's brothers, Greg, his wife Stephanie and their three girls drove down from Kerrville to stay with his dad as well. Steve was up and ready to head there for the day about 9 this morning.
Now, I'm not the most social person. I wasn't raised in a social environment. Sure, we occasionally had guests over. And during those times you behaved a certain way; company maners. Everyone's manners changed; including my parents. As a child I actually use to like having company come over because that was the only time we even got close to portraing a stanard family unit. Even a pretense for a few hours for a child was a welcome repreieve.
I have to say that age and circumstances have made me more antisocial than I have ever been in my life. I genuinely like and enjoy being around every person that was in that house; just not for 12 hours out of my day. I can bearly stand to be around Will that much in a day.
So I stayed home and sewed today and Steve and Will went and spent the day with the folks. I joined them arounf 5:30 for supper, intending to stay until about 9:00. But the oddest thing happend.
The more I set there laughing with my sister-in-laws the more I missed my sisters. The more I realized I didn't have sisters any more. Just one sister, the "live one" as we joke now.
I got quiter and quiter as memories of past visits with my sisters played through my head. I realized that at every family get together we always over indulged in alcohol. For many of us, it is the only way we can allow ourselves to relax. The only time we felt safe to be who we were and know we were loved regardless of what came out of our mouth. And believe me, get me drunk and there is no telling what I am likely to tell you.
Then I realized I had not been in the mood to drink the entire time we'd been together. And this is a drinking family. Putts mine to shame I tell you. Well, they are mine . . . it puts the one I grew up with to shame. I even woundered why I didn't want a drink every time someone offered me one. It was odd. I'm not a big drinker at all. But I like to indulge with my family.
And I think that was the problem, I was subconsiously trying to safeguard myself by staying away from the alcohol.
Regardless, when I begin to miss my sisters I went in the other room and tried reading. Just backed away a little. It didn't help. By 8:00 I told Steve I needed to come home and I did.
Then I cried all the way home. When I got in the house, I put a bottle of amareta in the freezer to chill and took a long shower.
I quess I'll have that drink after all.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Have mop, Will travel
So I've been cleaning on my house for days. Not surprising really. I'm not the neatest person in the best of times. When I'm sick, forget about it!
After days of cleaning this room or that, I finally made my way down to the floors. Today I had to mop almost 600 square feet of floor. Nasty, dog ridden, spill stained, mud caked floor. So yeah, I was looking forward to it.
To add to the loads of fun and excitement I was having, Will decided he wanted to mop too. As he has officially quit taking a nap, there really was nothing else to do with him. So I gave him a spray bottle of soap/water mixture to pretreat areas. He went around way OVERspraying any tiny spot he could find.
Which worked for me. I had a breather to prepare the pail and get everything in order. Then the mopping began. I started by assigning him areas to work on; less dirty areas. But somehow, and I'm exaggerating here, he managed to make them look worse than before he started. So I not only got to mop all the areas, I got to mop them two of three times if he remopped them.
But that wasn't the worse of it. While our mop bucket has a roller feature to help squeeze out the excess water (and Will knows how to use it), Will mostly elected to skip this step. There is a small area behind the roller device that his mop fit in perfectly. He'd dip it in there and bring it out draining water all over my floor. My floor that had soapy prewash on it. Yep, you can see where this is going.
Before we were half way through mopping, we more closely resembled bumbling amatures on an ice rink than on people attempting to clean their floor. I found the best position to remain upright was to spread my legs out a little and sort of squat walk. Oh yeah, without shoes, those bastards made me fall down two or three times.
Will fell at least five times I counted, but it didn't phase him in the least. As we slipped and slid, teetered and fell, Will just laughed.
My floors are clean, soaked, but clean. My son and I are covered in dirty mop water and my joints ache. Doing anything with the young is just not for the faint of heart.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Me, Not Me, and Sort of Me
I've mentioned that I recently stopped taking anti-depressants. The most recent need of them resulted from my younger sisters suicide in October of last year. But all the women in my family constantly fight a battle against depression.
Just putting that word out there (depression) is like assigning myself all these negative connotations. People who grow up without having someone close to them battle depression over periods of years, just don't understand. They are also extremely lucky and should be hunted down and tortured -- just so we're all operating from the same view point.
The depression in my family line has a medical reason. All the women, and some of the men, suffer from a serotonin shortage. Our bodies just don't provide enough on a daily biases. Now, you can go years without the level dropping to the point it induces major depression . . . as long as nothing bad or stressful happens to you.
I love numbers, and to me it is much easier to understand that way. On an average day, I produce 80% of the serotonin i need. On a stressful day my need will double; but my production does not, now I'm producing 40% of what I need. I'm in the critical zone. But this can be overcome as long as the stressful situation resolves it's self quickly and I'm allowed to slowly creep my level up to 50% and then 60%.
Things like eating right, being outside each day, taking vitamins, and working out all help. They all increase the level of serotonin produced naturally. Less so in me than most, but enough to make a difference.
The bottom line is that I WILL be depressed off-and-on my entire life, or I will be taking serotonin to counteract it. Those non-serotonin takers out there are thinking, "So, just take the medicine."
Yes, I could. But then I am not me, not usually. As your serotonin needs changes on a daily basis it is impossible to correctly supply just what you need to stay at 100% on a daily biases.
If I need 20% serotonin on a normal day; the doctor can't subscribe that to me. Because the first bad day I hit, I'm sinking down already. So they over adjust. They give me 40% which builds up if I am having good days and before you know it, I'm numb. It's not the same as depressed; it's just not "me". All of my emotions and needs are dulled; happiness, sadness, love, appreciation, sexual drive, ambition.
The easiest way I can think of explaining the differences is that when I am depressed you will catch me saying, "I don't care," a lot. And I mean it. I really don't care. When I am over medicated you will catch me saying, "What ever you want" -- because I have no preference one way or the other.
It probably sounds very similar to the non-gators out there, but there is a world of difference to the person going through it. Lack of preference is much better, trust me on this.
But the sweet spot, the moments that make life worth while, are the in between stages. Right after I've gotten off serotonin and am as close to operating at 100% as I'll ever be. It's between the "I don't care" and the "Whatever" phase. A phase I like to call "my way". lol
I care about everything, because all of a sudden I can. I have genuine emotions that are almost overwhelming because I haven't experienced them in so long. I have an opinion about everything going on; in my life, the city I live in, Steve's job, etc.; and I have a hard time not voicing it.
I cry at commercials. I laugh out loud at silly stuff Will does ALL THE TIME. I call customers "bitch. I argue over the price of beans. And when it's all over, I'm left going, "Who is this? This is not me." But it is.
Everyone in my family refuses to get medication for our depression until it's been going on way to long, as a result there are 3-7 years between our treatments. I'd forgotten so much. Most of all, I had forgotten I wasn't alone.
My sister, the living one, called me the other day complaining about the shrew she's turned into lately. She was shocked and dismayed. I just laughed.
It truly has come to the point where we are healing from our sisters death. When we are able to put aside whatever crutch we needed to make it through the days.
Yeah, we're loud, opinionated, and more than a little bitchy.
But God, I love us, and I'm happy to see us back.
Just putting that word out there (depression) is like assigning myself all these negative connotations. People who grow up without having someone close to them battle depression over periods of years, just don't understand. They are also extremely lucky and should be hunted down and tortured -- just so we're all operating from the same view point.
The depression in my family line has a medical reason. All the women, and some of the men, suffer from a serotonin shortage. Our bodies just don't provide enough on a daily biases. Now, you can go years without the level dropping to the point it induces major depression . . . as long as nothing bad or stressful happens to you.
I love numbers, and to me it is much easier to understand that way. On an average day, I produce 80% of the serotonin i need. On a stressful day my need will double; but my production does not, now I'm producing 40% of what I need. I'm in the critical zone. But this can be overcome as long as the stressful situation resolves it's self quickly and I'm allowed to slowly creep my level up to 50% and then 60%.
Things like eating right, being outside each day, taking vitamins, and working out all help. They all increase the level of serotonin produced naturally. Less so in me than most, but enough to make a difference.
The bottom line is that I WILL be depressed off-and-on my entire life, or I will be taking serotonin to counteract it. Those non-serotonin takers out there are thinking, "So, just take the medicine."
Yes, I could. But then I am not me, not usually. As your serotonin needs changes on a daily basis it is impossible to correctly supply just what you need to stay at 100% on a daily biases.
If I need 20% serotonin on a normal day; the doctor can't subscribe that to me. Because the first bad day I hit, I'm sinking down already. So they over adjust. They give me 40% which builds up if I am having good days and before you know it, I'm numb. It's not the same as depressed; it's just not "me". All of my emotions and needs are dulled; happiness, sadness, love, appreciation, sexual drive, ambition.
The easiest way I can think of explaining the differences is that when I am depressed you will catch me saying, "I don't care," a lot. And I mean it. I really don't care. When I am over medicated you will catch me saying, "What ever you want" -- because I have no preference one way or the other.
It probably sounds very similar to the non-gators out there, but there is a world of difference to the person going through it. Lack of preference is much better, trust me on this.
But the sweet spot, the moments that make life worth while, are the in between stages. Right after I've gotten off serotonin and am as close to operating at 100% as I'll ever be. It's between the "I don't care" and the "Whatever" phase. A phase I like to call "my way". lol
I care about everything, because all of a sudden I can. I have genuine emotions that are almost overwhelming because I haven't experienced them in so long. I have an opinion about everything going on; in my life, the city I live in, Steve's job, etc.; and I have a hard time not voicing it.
I cry at commercials. I laugh out loud at silly stuff Will does ALL THE TIME. I call customers "bitch. I argue over the price of beans. And when it's all over, I'm left going, "Who is this? This is not me." But it is.
Everyone in my family refuses to get medication for our depression until it's been going on way to long, as a result there are 3-7 years between our treatments. I'd forgotten so much. Most of all, I had forgotten I wasn't alone.
My sister, the living one, called me the other day complaining about the shrew she's turned into lately. She was shocked and dismayed. I just laughed.
It truly has come to the point where we are healing from our sisters death. When we are able to put aside whatever crutch we needed to make it through the days.
Yeah, we're loud, opinionated, and more than a little bitchy.
But God, I love us, and I'm happy to see us back.
I've lost it . . . officially
I was working on keying in instructions for making a lens cover/koozie about 1:30 last night. Part of the reason I was working on it so late is that I have trouble finding time to sew when Will is awake and he's quit taking naps.
I get up hours before he does in the morning, but that is the time I use to fill my orders and respond to emails.
The last week I have found my self amazingly tired. I am over my cold; yesterday was my first full day with no medication! But I think the three weeks of illness have just worn me out. I find myself having to take a nap every day. Hey, I'm old, just not that old.
While keying in my first draft of instructions I kept getting confused and decided it was time to call it a night. And boy was it! I opend the file to complete the instructions this morning and here are the last two lines of text I wrote. Keep in mind I am describing how to make a koozie/pocket type thing to keep your camera lens in.
Sew right sides together. Wrap the batting and bird stuff too, just to feed the bird. The batting will probably not work out.
We need to encourage one another to sew as often as possible. Nothing important but these people are in a big have.
Now, my first thought was that a virus had gotten into my file and was messing it up. I've actually seen this happen before; years ago. But sadly, I actually remember keying in the line about encouraging people to sew . . . that was when I decided to call it a night.
Can't help but wonder what else I might have typed in if I hadn't gone to bed.
I get up hours before he does in the morning, but that is the time I use to fill my orders and respond to emails.
The last week I have found my self amazingly tired. I am over my cold; yesterday was my first full day with no medication! But I think the three weeks of illness have just worn me out. I find myself having to take a nap every day. Hey, I'm old, just not that old.
While keying in my first draft of instructions I kept getting confused and decided it was time to call it a night. And boy was it! I opend the file to complete the instructions this morning and here are the last two lines of text I wrote. Keep in mind I am describing how to make a koozie/pocket type thing to keep your camera lens in.
Sew right sides together. Wrap the batting and bird stuff too, just to feed the bird. The batting will probably not work out.
We need to encourage one another to sew as often as possible. Nothing important but these people are in a big have.
Now, my first thought was that a virus had gotten into my file and was messing it up. I've actually seen this happen before; years ago. But sadly, I actually remember keying in the line about encouraging people to sew . . . that was when I decided to call it a night.
Can't help but wonder what else I might have typed in if I hadn't gone to bed.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Dad, Lew
This is my third marriage; although I tend to not count the first one if I don't have to. I got married the first time at the age of 16 (almost 17). We lived together less than three months, even though it took me almost a year longer to get a divorce.
But with three sets of in-laws, I've never called them mom or dad. I never even thought of it. The girls father, Anthony, had two sets of parents due to divorce. So I had Ella, Ann, Roger, and Norris; and that is what I called them. Some of them I really came to love, some of them I got along with, some I understood, and some I never did. But the names never changed.
It wasn't until Steve and I had been married for ten years or so that Lew called me on it. He asked me why I didn't call him Dad? All his other daughter-in-laws did; and had done some from almost the moment they met him. Why not me.
I was shocked. Honestly. I had no idea I didn't call him dad. No idea anyone else did. I really gave it no thought what so ever. Then I started trying to think of him as "dad" in my head and I kept drawing a blank. That is when I realized that in 40 years of living I have NEVER called a man Dad. I've had no Dad.
My biological father died in Vietnam when I was less than a year old. My mother married Ernest when I was two. Most of my life, I have thought of Ernest as many things; my tormentor, the person that hurt me the most often and deeply of any other living being, the father of my much loved siblings, my mothers husband and tormentor, the source of funds that supported me as a child, the person I had to go to when I needed something even though I knew I'd pay . . . but he was never Dad to me.
As a very young child I wasn't allowed to call him Ernest. I remember mom and I discussing what I was to call him one day while he was working. I refused, at two, to call him Dad. He would hit me every time I called him Ernest. So we decided I would call him Poppie. And I did until I was old enough to call him Ernest; ten or so.
While contemplating my lack of dadness with Lew, I thought surely there was some man who had played a father role in my life; a grandfather, uncle, neighbor. I thought about it for days before I had to admit there had not been. I can say with complete honesty, that no male ever treated me the way a father should treat a child. Well, the way I assume a father would treat a child; I'm a little shaky on the details.
While not in on the "abuse Misty" scheme, even my ex-father-in-laws were never really close. Not men I would just go to visit or call without having a reason or someone else with me. Odd, I never even thought about it until Lew and his dad question. But whether from their design or my own; I have managed to keep all my father-in-laws far enough away from me personally to avoid having to connect with them.
I've been able to avoid having a dad my entire life.
Talk about stubborn, when I decided as a two year old not to have a Dad, I wasn't joking around. lol
I honestly tried a few times, via email or during phone calls, to call Lew dad. And it was uncomfortable. I think it would have gotten easier as time passed. It wasn't until I was 23 that I told my mother I loved her; and it was awkward, felt strange. It took many times and several years before it rolled off the tongue easily. Before it didn't feel like a lie I was forcing out; and it wasn't, I love my mother still.
But all of a sudden I noticed that his emails to me were signed Lew. Even when he sends out emails to the entire bunch of kids, he signs them Dad, Lew.
To be honest, I can't remember if he has always done that . . . but I don't think so. If he changed how he addresses his emails it's just because he is trying to make it easier on me. He's that kind of guy. Although he probably doesn't understand my issue with "Dad" he will accept it and just sign his emails to me as Lew.
While I never realized how he signed his emails prior to our discussion a few years back, I notice every single time I get one now.
Regardless of what I call you, you are the closest thing to a dad I've ever had. I think . . . there should be a definition somewhere online -- I'll go look.
But with three sets of in-laws, I've never called them mom or dad. I never even thought of it. The girls father, Anthony, had two sets of parents due to divorce. So I had Ella, Ann, Roger, and Norris; and that is what I called them. Some of them I really came to love, some of them I got along with, some I understood, and some I never did. But the names never changed.
It wasn't until Steve and I had been married for ten years or so that Lew called me on it. He asked me why I didn't call him Dad? All his other daughter-in-laws did; and had done some from almost the moment they met him. Why not me.
I was shocked. Honestly. I had no idea I didn't call him dad. No idea anyone else did. I really gave it no thought what so ever. Then I started trying to think of him as "dad" in my head and I kept drawing a blank. That is when I realized that in 40 years of living I have NEVER called a man Dad. I've had no Dad.
My biological father died in Vietnam when I was less than a year old. My mother married Ernest when I was two. Most of my life, I have thought of Ernest as many things; my tormentor, the person that hurt me the most often and deeply of any other living being, the father of my much loved siblings, my mothers husband and tormentor, the source of funds that supported me as a child, the person I had to go to when I needed something even though I knew I'd pay . . . but he was never Dad to me.
As a very young child I wasn't allowed to call him Ernest. I remember mom and I discussing what I was to call him one day while he was working. I refused, at two, to call him Dad. He would hit me every time I called him Ernest. So we decided I would call him Poppie. And I did until I was old enough to call him Ernest; ten or so.
While contemplating my lack of dadness with Lew, I thought surely there was some man who had played a father role in my life; a grandfather, uncle, neighbor. I thought about it for days before I had to admit there had not been. I can say with complete honesty, that no male ever treated me the way a father should treat a child. Well, the way I assume a father would treat a child; I'm a little shaky on the details.
While not in on the "abuse Misty" scheme, even my ex-father-in-laws were never really close. Not men I would just go to visit or call without having a reason or someone else with me. Odd, I never even thought about it until Lew and his dad question. But whether from their design or my own; I have managed to keep all my father-in-laws far enough away from me personally to avoid having to connect with them.
I've been able to avoid having a dad my entire life.
Talk about stubborn, when I decided as a two year old not to have a Dad, I wasn't joking around. lol
I honestly tried a few times, via email or during phone calls, to call Lew dad. And it was uncomfortable. I think it would have gotten easier as time passed. It wasn't until I was 23 that I told my mother I loved her; and it was awkward, felt strange. It took many times and several years before it rolled off the tongue easily. Before it didn't feel like a lie I was forcing out; and it wasn't, I love my mother still.
But all of a sudden I noticed that his emails to me were signed Lew. Even when he sends out emails to the entire bunch of kids, he signs them Dad, Lew.
To be honest, I can't remember if he has always done that . . . but I don't think so. If he changed how he addresses his emails it's just because he is trying to make it easier on me. He's that kind of guy. Although he probably doesn't understand my issue with "Dad" he will accept it and just sign his emails to me as Lew.
While I never realized how he signed his emails prior to our discussion a few years back, I notice every single time I get one now.
Regardless of what I call you, you are the closest thing to a dad I've ever had. I think . . . there should be a definition somewhere online -- I'll go look.
Help!
I have 10 different editors who have asked for a copy of a chapter of my book to edit. So that we could see how they liked it and how I liked their style of editing. I've only received one back so far, but I can already see what a challange this will be. To pick on who is the best but doesn't totally take away "me" from my story.
I'll be posting the same section of the chapter they are each editing on my Wolf Cub blog so that you can see the quality of edits. Help me choose which one you like best.
Please.
I'll be posting the same section of the chapter they are each editing on my Wolf Cub blog so that you can see the quality of edits. Help me choose which one you like best.
Please.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Let him play!
I have an incredibly bright and outgoing son. He just turned four in December and he is being raised at home with out any other siblings in the house. The importance of this is that he isn't rushing to grow up like many younger children of multi-sibling households. He also has not been introduced to a class room environment like many children who attend day care or preschool at his age.
As a result, he excelels in some things:
- Bartering to get the most candy -- he never accept the old "you can have two" without a comeback.
- Fearless acceptance of any situation and people he encounters. He never went through the "shy" stage most children do.
- Ability to construct, and take apart, anything.
- He'll try anything editible. No other children for him to learn that something is "grose" from.
- Ability to reason. I can sit down and talk to him like an adult. Usually working it around until he gets the point I'm tring to make.
- Creativity. He loves to paint, draw, make mud pies, dig kittie traps, work with plants, play with clay.
But he is behind in some areas when compared to other children his age. He does not recognize his numbers or letters. He can't even sing the ABC song; although his version makes me smile every time. And he's had no experience sitting down and minding a teacher-figure.
It's not that I havne't tried to provide these opportunites for him, I have. He has every toy, card set, games, computer game, book, etc. that I could find that might interest him . . . and they don't. Oh, he'll play with them a few minutes and then he's bored. I've tried no less than six different times to get him to trace his ABCs in a giant book we bought and he works less than three minutes and wants nothing to do with it.
I don't push it. I figure it's like potty training, no one starts first grade in diapers. Children all learn at their own pace. Once they start school they are more or less forced to learn at the same level . . . and quess what they are going to be teaching them the first year? Yep, their letters and numbers and how to write.
I've raised two girls. I've seen them and their friends at different leveles of developement and I feel strongly about the following:
They are only children once;
let them play and enjoy it.
If a child wants to learn something early;
Teach them it with joy.
If a child fights learning something early:
Let it go.
Bring it up in a fun way, occasionally.
But take their hints and don't force them;
Especially, just so you can say
My son knows his ABCs.
There will come a time when you will
have to enforce the importance of
education and learning,
But not before they enter school.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
