Creative Block

I am experiencing, and trying to escape from, what is commonly known as "writer's block".  I have many topics and creative thoughts rolling around cerebrally but when I go to lay my fingertips on the backlighted keyboard...I have nothing!

I'll start to write a piece and then halfway through the process realize that it would offend someone and immediately delete it.  It is frustrating to sit before my computer screen and just be.  I want to write.  I want to express.  **ugh**

There must be a really, really good story coming as it must be brewing somewhere in my being. So, I guess it's a game of wait and see until the story is ready to be birthed.

Until then, I'll stay here looking at the screen who's looking back at me. 

At The Library

She put the book back on the dust-lined shelf and, as she sat down at the table, inhaled the musty but familiar smell of the old library. She had been coming here since she was a small child and this building had watched her grow in so many ways: picture books, tween paperbacks, teen romance, and adult non-fiction. 

She quickly typed the title of the book now shelved and added the author and the ISBN to the spreadsheet on her computer labeled, "To Read Next".

With only a few more minutes before the library closed, she knew she needed to put her things away and check out the stack of books perched on the table beside her. 

It was hard for her to leave that night, just like every evening she had spent in the library before this. But, she knew she had to go so she gathered her belongings and made her way to the check-out desk.

She handed the librarian the stack of books she wanted to check-out and passed her a handwritten note.

The note read, "Thank you for working here. I love coming here and, without your efforts, I don't think the library would be the same. I am deaf and cannot hear the conversations and expressed emotions around me. But, in the world of books, I can! I love it when I can "hear" communication in the text. Thank you for making that possible for me."

...and the librarian, with tears welled up in her eyes, reached over the counter and touched the girl's arm and said, "Thank you", hoping that the girl could read lips.

The girl looked into the well-worn eyes of the librarian and nodded her head up and down in agreement.

The girl saw and felt emotion. Maybe she didn't need to "hear" communication after all.

When Miracles Happen

I wiggled and pushed and "ouched" my way up as he strategically placed a multitude of pillows around me so that I could sit upright in bed semi-comfortably.  He opened the shutters on our bedroom windows allowing the warm sun rays of light to enter the space and dance around the room before me.  

Then, he moved effortlessly towards my favorite candle, the one that makes its home on the dresser across the room from my bed, and lit the wick poking out of the glass-encased, white wax. Almost immediately, I began to enjoy the light tinges of lavender that spiked the air as it mixed with the undertones of clary sage and together they beckoned me into taking deep, relaxing breaths.

With natural light brightening the room and spa scents floating in the air, he turned around and, with my Mac in hand, asked with a huge grin on his face, "Are you ready for this now?"

Oh, my goodness, was I ever!  "Yes!", I almost shouted at him.

He brought the breakfast tray over, gently rested my computer on it and with his charming way said, "Take it easy.  Don't go overboard."

"Ok", I said, scurrying to open my precious silver laptop and enter the world of my cyber fun!

So, here I am ... a miracle, really!

Four days post the most intense and invasive surgery to date, having had 8 previous back surgeries, and I am awake and alert and doing well.

A miracle, really!  ;)

You are the God who performs miracles;

you display your power among the peoples.

Psalm 77:14

Join me, please, in thanking God for this miracle! 

On Hold

I was going to be on top of things....really!

I knew I wasn't going to be able to offer new blog posts over the next few weeks so I had plans to write several posts, in advance, and then schedule them for later viewing.  I had these grandiose plans of walking with you through my past of who I was before multiple back surgeries and who I am now in the midst of them and because of them.  But, I've completely ran out of time and am really disappointed that I have nothing to post for a while.  (Now, imagine me saying that with a scowling frown, furrowed eyebrows and a hands-on-hips stance aimed right at you!)

So, as I begin to prepare for the beginning of hibernation and life-on-hold, I grab the gold-streaked mug blazoned with "San Francisco" sitting beside me, steeping with red lavender tea, and wonder if you'll be here when I get back.

I'll see you soon and c u smyle! ;)

Oh My Gosh!

It's a morning of being surrounded and immersed in piles of paper:  monthly bills, taxes and t0-d0-lists.

I raise my eyes from the computer and begin to stretch my arms forward, releasing the mounting tension that's building in my shoulders from the arduous administrative tasks at hand and ....

Oh, My Gosh!

It's snowing.  ;)

Not the stay-on-the-ground snow or the make-it-hard-to-drive snow but the much more welcomed fat-drops-of-white-falling-from-the-sky kind of snow that melts upon contact with the earth.  

Ahhhh....the morning at my desk just got a whole lot better.   

Thoughtful Tuesday

Your dream is no higher, nor more out of reach, than the vehicle you choose to use to get there.

- Denise Johnson ;)

Dear Mr. President

Dear Mr. President,

Congratulations on your recent career advancement and I wish you the best in your new role.  I am praying for you that you will have the stamina, integrity and creativity to move our country towards economic stability and, dare I say, world peace.

I have just a few concerns as you enter into heated budget discussions regarding stimulus package offers:

• My friends are being laid off in droves from big name companies that employ most of the city's population like Circuit City, Qmonda, Land America, Wachovia Securities and Philip-Morris.  It seems like our city is imploding with lay-offs.  We are scared.
  

• My friend, who doesn't work outside the home, is scared.  Her husband just got laid off with a minimal severance package and limited healthcare and they have a severely low-functioning, handicapped child.  She is scared.
  

• My friend has closed her upscale day spa despite years of successful entrepreneurism due to lack of income as she watched the luxury industry slow down to a near halt.  She is in the process of losing her home and is a single mom with a teenage daughter.  She is scared.
  

• My friend, in her 3rd round of chemo on her second round of fighting cancer, works for the state and needs her job and desperately needs the healthcare provided to her.   She is scared.
  

• My family is living on separate coasts so that my husband can be gainfully employed.  We are scared.
  

Please, Mr. President, be careful with your choices because there is a lot at stake.  Now is not the time to be prideful and self-serving.  I plead with you to look across our nation and ask God, who is the giver of all wisdom, for direction and purpose.

We need you to act, Mr. President.  Please.

Sincerely,

Me:  patriotic, optimistic, disabled veteran, your cheerleader.

Diary of a Young Woman

In my effort to paint, clean, organize, and discard things to get the house ready to go on the market in support of our Coastal Craziness, I found some true keepers!  I thought you may want to join me as I walk down memory lane a bit through diaries, annuals and mementos of my younger self.  

The earliest record of my thoughts began in 1978 when I was a cute 12 year old making many entries throughout writing in colored pens and fat cursive letters.  (For the sake of others and not to embarrass them, all names are being replaced with "boy" or "girl".)

The first entry began...

January 1, 1978

Dear Diary,

A boy did ask me.  He asked me Fri. Dec. 16, 1977.  Ya know, I think I'm in love with him but I am going to talk to Mom about it.  Tonight everyone said I could do the robot better than girl and girl got mad.

Dee

I giggled when I read it and even typing it out now puts a smile on my face.  I still remember boy and the intensity of the crush I had on him.  

It's interesting to pull some things out of the diary entry that reveal who I was then and how that compares with who I am now:

• I love details:  why else would I feel compelled to record the date of when boy asked me
• I love easily:  as we will see throughout my diary! lol
• I'm a talker:  I reason things out with others who are important in my life and who I feel will give me sound reasoning.  (thanks, Momma!)
• I dance:  the Robot was the craze then and has come and gone but I still love to throw on some happy music and groove to the beat! 
• I'm competitive:  I love to be better, best, and bestest as shown even at a young age of 12.  yikes!
• I liked my nickname:  The only ones who still call me Dee now are my family and friends I had from this time.  At some point in middle school or early high school I took a stance of independence and threw the nickname away and insisted on being called by my full first name. 

... I wonder if my relationship with boy lasted and if my friendship with girl survived the Robot?  ;)

Top 11

Copernicus

Even though a Sussex Spaniel won Best in Show at the Westminster Dog Show, the Miniature Schnauzer made a nice showing.  And, considering the AKC's most registered dog breeds list just posted, I thought I would let you know that the Miniature Schnauzer remains in the Top 11...in the 11th spot.  To celebrate the breed and brag on my boys, here's a few pictures for the day.  ;) 

 Newton

Copernicus

Newton

Tired

One teenager. (driving, working, social Theatre Dude)

Two puppies.  (full of energy, needing lots of Mommy time and training)

One house. (cleaning, painting, arranging and soon to be on the market)

One hubby. (3 hours worth of time zone and 3,000 miles away)

One me.  (tired)

Stoplight

I tried my hand, well...my keyboard actually, at crafting a little fiction over at Pictures, Poetry & Prose.  The writing prompt was "Waiting at a stoplight..."

Enjoy!

***   ***   ***

Kara sat in her car while she waited for the traffic light to turn green despite the steady blaze of red that seemed to taunt her into more waiting.

"It's my turn", she said out loud. Even though no one else was listening.

Disgruntled at the long wait and determined to get on with her commute, Kara began to tap her fingers on the steering wheel.

"It's my turn", she said out loud. Even though no one else was listening.

Her heart began to pound harder and harder as her irritation bloomed into full blown anger. She couldn't fathom a reasonable explanation as to why the light was taking so long to turn green.

"It's my turn", she yelled out loud and pounded her balled up fists on the steering wheel. Even though no one else was listening.

A car pulled up on her left side and Kara turned to look. As she did, her eyes caught a glimpse of a young girl who was firmly buckled up in her car seat in the rear of the car. The little girl began to entice Kara with a game of peek-a-boo.

Kara's heart immediately melted. Of course she wanted to play with this sweet little girl who was all smiles. The mom in the front seat of the car smiled and waved and nodded in approval of the game. 

The tiny little girl dipped and tried to hide behind her hands with the grandest peek-a-boo gestures. 

"It's my turn", Kara said out loud. Even though the little girl couldn't hear her. And, reciprocated with a big smile and wide eyes that gave way to an even more animated peek-a-boo.

....and then, the light turned green.

Sad that the game ended so soon, Kara waved goodbye to the little girl as both cars began to accelerate.

She patted her belly, now protruding with 7 months worth of new baby, as she grinned and said, "It's my turn! It's my turn to be a mommy soon".

Freckles

I used to despise them; my freckles, that is.  They were the source of much angst in my middle school years as my peers found them to be funny and a source of pokes and jokes at my expense. As I looked in the mirror at my own reflection then, I saw the little sun-kissed spots that danced across my cheeks and determined them to be my arch nemesis.  I secretly ached and longed for a spot free, peaches & cream kind of facial landscape.

Then, as I emerged into my teenage years, I became friends with my face.  I no longer saw my freckles as detestable but I think I grew to ignore them.  I chose heavy makeup and concealer to daily deny that there was anything but a smooth, non-spotted face.

My 20's and early 30's were filled with family business and I gave way to being at peace with my freckles. I had accepted the fact that they were here to stay.  They loved living on me and so I decided to embrace them.  I chose to like my freckles.

Easing out of my 30's and into my 40's I suddenly became more aware of my skin and its quirkiness.  I looked around and concluded that women with freckles look younger than women without them.  I fell in love with my freckles!

My recent trip to the dermatologist gave me an even better boost as she exclaimed, "Your skin looks fantastic for your age!"  And then she began to talk about changing my skin care system and move towards using preventative aging products.  

Ha! And she said my skin looked good.  Hmmmph!

Ok, to make a long story short, I walked out of her office with a bag full of goodies all designed to plump up my skin and prevent it from sagging and to brighten my skin tone.  

Brighten = no more freckles.  (One of the products will fade my freckles a bit.)

I'm sad.  I mean, I've finally come to enjoy and revel in my freckles and now I paid for, and will use,  a product that will lessen their intensity and beauty.   

Isn't that just like life, though?  You come to a place of choice, acceptance & appreciation for something and then BAM! ... it changes.

Life.  What a change! ;)

***   ***   ***

And, in the midst of my day, I received a Lovely Blog award.  Laura Jayne was so lovely to send me this kind gift.  

I visit a lot of blogs and have chosen a few that I think are lovely and are deserving of the award as well.  Be lovely, would you, and check out these lovely sights? ;)

Aimee is a lovely, funny and gifted writer at New to Farm Life.

Angi is a lovely friend and blogger extraordinaire at Choice Central.

A new, I don't know her name but she's writes lovely and has a Miniature Schnauzer at Minnesota Transplant's Blog.

Lovely, aren't they?

What Would You Do?

I looked at the clock and hesitated.  It was very close to the time that Theatre Dude was supposed to come home from school and I wanted to see him and hear how his day went.  However, I really needed to take Copernicus for a walk because he's been stir-crazy without his brother around.  Newton has been out of commission for a few days, sadly, but recovering nicely from his recent neutering.  {{poor puppy}}

I texted Theatre Dude and told him I was headed out for a walk and would see him when I got back home.  He quickly let me know not to walk near the field in our subdivision because there was going to be a fight but that I didn't know the two boys involved.  He warned me, "Stay away from there, Momma.  I don't want you getting hurt."

After a few more exchanges, I grabbed the leash and fastened it onto a more than ready Miniature Schnauzer.  I totally forgot about the conversation with Theatre Dude, was immersed in music blaring from my iPod and noticed there were a lot of cars and teenagers up ahead at the open field.

Oh my goodness!!  I forgot about the fight!!

I kept walking because there was nothing else I could do.  I saw one boy had a football in his hand as he was crossing the street and thought to myself, "Oh, they're just playing football.  No biggie."

There were about 25 kids standing around.  And then it started.

Two boys.

Fists flying.

Punching.

Kicking.

One boy.

On top of the other.

Punching.

Harder.

One boy.

On the bottom.

Wiggled out from underneath.

Sprouted to his feet.

And punched.

And punched.

I wanted to run to the field.  I wanted to scream.  I wanted to do something.  But, I was paralyzed for a second.  I couldn't believe what I was seeing.  I quickly grabbed my cell phone and dialed 911.  A woman started to walk towards me from the intersecting street ahead and asked, "Are you calling the police?"  

I nodded.  I was already giving information to the 911 dispatcher. 

I watched the onlookers who cheered and laughed and captured the fight on video cameras and cell phones.  

Laughing.  Most of them were laughing.

Then, just as quickly as it started it was over.  All of the teenagers went scrambling to their cars.  The two boys that had just been annihilating each other put their arms around each other and one boy patted his chest.  It looked like they were saying, "Good fight".

I couldn't believe it even though I watched it.

Then, I saw her.  She was getting into a car, video camera in hand, laughing and full of energy.

Her name slipped out of my mouth in that mother-tone.  You know the tone, the one used specifically for serious business and oh-are-you-in-trouble face.  

She looked up at me, blushed and said, "Um, gotta go".

She disappointed me.  I didn't think she was capable of being where she was.

I felt nauseous the rest of my walk.  Furious at the violence that our culture keeps brewing and touting as cool.  Angry that I knew a few of those kids as well as their parents.

Ugh.

I called Theatre Dude and told him what happened.  He said this is normal.  He said this happens all the time.  I told him I called the police.  He didn't approve.  He said I should have avoided the area like he asked me to.

But, I'm a grown-up, I pleaded.  I couldn't just walk by and ignore what was happening.

Could you?  What would you do?

Stupid Human Trick

Having had the opportunity to be around a lot of middle-school and teenaged boys, I've been privileged to witness all sorts of Stupid Human Tricks.  I'll spare you the graphics and just let you know that I didn't have one.  Oh, I tried to twist my arm this way, make my stomach roller coaster sideways, bend my fingers to find a hidden joint beside the normal one, and well, you get the picture.  

Sadly, I must admit to you, I've been rather jealous at their ability to have a body trick that makes them unique.  I had nothing.

So, imagine my surprise when, at a mere 42 years old, I have found my own Stupid Human Trick!

I can yawn on command.

(Trick discovered while trying to get my ears to 

pop after my last airline flight.)

And, while it may not be the best of the tricks around, I'm happy that I have one.  Me...with a Stupid Human Trick.  It's so cool.  What's yours?  ;)