The Rain Started

and stopped.

Hurricane Earl what you gonna do?

When I hear the name Earl - this is what comes to mind:

My Name is Earl

My brain consists pictures nearly exclusively.

Stand Still

Lately I've been in a creative lull - more like stand still.  Not sure what I need to get my motor running but something - for sure.

Maybe I'm headed for a rush of creativity - full tilt.

Though I'd settle for moderation.

Who am I kidding? I have NEVER been that girl. Not even once.

All or nothing - that's how I roll. Get ready for a tidal wave.

Ah the Sounds of Summer

Crisp cool night air in through the screen,
Sounds carry in with fresh wafts of air -

The neighbor's rental's kids swing and cry.
Loud and high.

Now and then a crash! a scream,
Thinking maybe the moms and dads - drunk on the kitchen floor.

Go to sleep.
Go to sleep.

So maybe this - is -
Summer's loud raucous lullaby.

Raw Bar, Boat House - you ain't got squat on this rowdy crew.
The remaining days of summer grow few.

                                               --is that phew?

Mooring 21

Who wouldn't be at peace?

I do kung fu

I know - right!  I can hardly believe it myself.  And like with everything else in my life it was kind of by accident.  I mean it wasn't like I set out to learn a martial art, but here I am blogging in my kung fu uniform sans white sash - which I have not yet earned - my son likes to point out.

But I am having fun.

I have always been fairly athletic starting early with ballet but then switching to horses - after maybe 10 years? - throw in a little swim team, diving team, weight training, which eventually turned into a combination of walking, biking, pilates, yoga - and now kung fu.

I don't run.  Well, I did run once.  See my mom sat on the committee for the Falmouth Road Race, she thought it might be "Fun" for me and a friend to run in it - and we did. 

Not so fun mom, not so fun.

Especially when, red-faced and drenched, I overheard bored onlookers who were packing up their cheering section sorrowfully say, 'Maybe we should stay - these are the people who really need our encouragement.'

Thanks. A lot.

Perhaps training would have been a smart move - but it makes a great story.  Who cares that I didn't quailfy for the Boston Marathon?

So I am thinking Baby Elle isn't going to be starting up in the next few years, but...her big cousin does kung fu too!

Tee pee

From the bike path - heading north from the center of Falmouth - you can see tee pees!  Two are up and one is on its way.  Just bones, no skin.  Though I am SURE this is not proper tee pee terminology, in fact I am sure tee pee is not even the correct spelling.  But cool, right?

On a Walk

Took a walk today...on it we saw:  a rainbow at the end of a flag pole, a shipwreck, some flowers, a crabless crab shell, and a boy riding a fish.  What did you see today? 

Falmouth Garden Tour - May

Bike the Path

My favorite bit of the Shining Sea Bike Path is the part connecting Falmouth to Woods Hole.  Getting to the path is an incredible ride: Falmouth Heights and a crystal clear view of the Vineyard, Falmouth Harbor, Surf Drive and it's signature simple, stilted beach houses.  Overhead hawks scout the shore for something to bring back to the nest.

A water break on one of the path's benches allows time to absorb the surrounding nature: sun baked boulders, rounded pebble beach, black glistening rocks beaten by the crash of the waves, then off in the distance the ferry loaded and headed back from Vineyard Haven.  If you pick your bench right, warm air will either swirl around you, warming chilled bones, or a refreshing breeze will blow the cool of the ocean right past.

Once in Woods Hole, WHOI surrounds.  The Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute for those who aren't as familiar with the area.  This is a place of science and beauty. 

One of my favorite stopping points is through a WHOI parking lot.  It's a patch of grass and picnic tables overlooking Eel Pond. The panaramic view is unbelieveable.  Here, a feeling of calm and peace overwhelms regardless of the time of day. 

By far, this is not all of Woods Hole, but it was enough for me, for one day.

For a more sheltered ride home, the bike path stretches the other direction flanked by ponds, wildlife, and plantlife.  My son will be thrilled to learn that - though still in it's VERY early stages of growth - the honeysuckle has begun to bloom. 

How he loves to carefully snap one off to get a taste of its sweet nectar.  Unfortunately, poison ivy is everywhere and ticks are clinging to everything.  So, enjoy the ride and check yourself for ticks when you arrive home.  Just a quick brush off before you step inside should do.

You Are My Dog!!!

This dog is even better than the singing dog at the zoo who never seems to be singing but rather sleeping.  If you sing to Rudy he sings right back to you.  If you are loud, he is loud, if you sing softly, he does the same.  And my favorite - if I howl, he howls.  What a racket.  Or my mother would say, oh what a hoot.  (Meaning it is a ton of fun.)

I wish this photo was a better shot but I LOVE the light.  Rudy looks like an angel.  My sweet, sweet 70-pound pound puppy.

Phusion Illusion

Here's a sign in Woods Hole.  It stands on the roof of the restaurant - or at least that's what the sign would have you believe.  But is it saying Phusion?  Or is it saying Illusion?  Ah ha.  A Phusion Illusion just like I said.

Script Frenzy

My brain needs something to do. Communication with a five year old (or with 150+ teenagers) just doesn't cut it. So while surfing the internet late one night, I got an email from the folks at NaNoWriMo - National Novel Writing Month - leading me to this decision: I will write a screenplay. About what? No clue. I guess you could say I am in the "organizing my thoughts" stage. I have plotlines, characters, themes all twirling around my head.

gotta go help Chaz clean up his room - if he is ready - I gotta GO!

So Far From Epic

My disappointment in this new trend of describing the great as epic mounts. My fear? That epic will become the new awesome. And how sad is that? The once awe inspired word whittled down to slang. From inspiring awe, to expressing awe, to remarkable; outstanding. Slang - just everyday vernacular.

Awesome.

Dude.

Speaking of awesome - feel like following me and my ADHD down the tangent trail? Really more like, speaking of dude... big Lebowski's picking up the axe and strumming a tune in modern day Hollywood. It seems the song originated from a down and out fellow spending blocks of time just sitting in his ride.

Can't wait to see it; this morning on Sunday Morning Bridges was refreshingly unHollywood, sharing the private moment of meeting his wife, proudly showing her off, then again - up close, obviously still in love after 33 years - there's a man.

He looks at her with love in his eyes not giving a damn if anyone's looking. How lucky is he? To have met his girl, fallen in love, stayed there, and lived to tell. Maybe that could be awesome - that is - awesome before awesome could be interchanged with rad, or stellar, or epic - I really hope not.

Have You Seen Charlie's Blog?

You should! It rocks!! http://ponyboy-charliebean.blogspot.com/

The latest add is a kookie little song he heard on Fineas and Ferb. A love song - Happy Valentines Day!

All Aboard! (uh - so what if I'm mixing up Hollywood - happens all the time - right?) Charlie with his Golden Ticket - Polar Express. (Or Chocolate Factory...whatever.)

Respond to a prompt

When I hear a sad song or learn of a sad movie – something in me shuts off. No longer open to the cadence of the words intended to be read, but dead. Dead to feeling that feeling of loss – the one that inspired the words. I was the girl who held funerals for snakes squshed flat by radial tires wrecklessly steered by unmindful drivers. Words such as malaise nearly pass me by, and would if words did not speak to me so. Picked out of the pile, unearthed from the wreckage, dusted off, shaken out – relieved of their too sad ties to the past. Not wanting to think – what brute would kick a sweet little pup?

The alterative seems far better: amble and chomping. Jade-colored teeth grinding lazily in large bovine heads. Human-like eyes tracking boxcars that pass, ears flick with the sound of 50 Hells Angels.

Where have you been?

"Where have you been?" she demanded. He dropped his eyes and did what he does best - he shut her out, observing everything except the tears brimming in her eyes - ready to spill out and run down her red hot cheeks.

"'Where have you been? Tuh-hA!" he sneered only slightly beneath his breath, not noticing he mockingly was quoting her.

Snapped back from his daze by the first of those tears splatting a line of her list. She was forever making lists - to do, to do now, to do at work, to do at home, for others to do. They infuriated him, infuriated. His resentment toward her had grown enormously over the past few months. Thinly veiled insults nonchalantly disguised behind a joke.

He knew what he said was hurtful - he also knew that he said it with the intention to hurt. But hadn't he just a few months prior revealed to her his heart? He had - and that's why. He came to her - heart in his hand hoping to learn that his heart was exactly what she wanted. But that hadn't happened. It's as if she handed him the yellow rose of friendship.

"Thanks, Sammy. You're so sweet." That was all she said. Thanks! That is not a response to someone - your soulmate - revealing their heart. It's an insult really. So since then she went on pretending what was said, never was - he would continue to toss his jokes her way.

Not that it made him feel better - it didn't - but because it made him think that to Iris it looked like - he too had forgotten all that was revealed. Not a good way to communicate but that's because since the day he attemped to hand her his heart and she shoved it back at him they didn't have a relationship. They simply coexisted. Shared the same space. And felt nothing but apathy - or so he thought as he watched the tear blur the quickly scrawled "vaccum" into a pool of blue.

Still Alice - Author interview on FOX25 in Boston

Link:

Yes, you heard right. I was on FOX25 news earlier this week talking about STILL ALICE and early-onset Alzheimer's Disease. Here's the link if you'd like to see it:

http://www.myfoxboston.com/myfox/pages/ContentDetail?contentId=6007090

Thanks,

Lisa Genova

http://www.StillAlice.com

Russian Christmas Wishes

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I have a friend in Russia - her name is Nina Mikalina. I got this ecard scripted in Russian. But when you click, Toby Keith (oh so country) sings Silver Bells.

Loving the culture clash I just had to print and scan and post!!!


C Hobbim rogom!


(hope that is good)


:)

Prompt: Travel

The prompt was - farthest you had to travel as a child, alone.

I didn't have one of those abandoned childhoods where children spent hours upon hours entertaining themselves, bored of freedom , yearning for structure. Nope quite the opposite here. I traveled in a pack - a small nuclear pack. To be alone I would crawl beneath my bed - but this was an imposition on my cat who scratched a hole in the mattress' white underlining - - and climbed IN. No joke. Alone was a commodity in my house.

I'm cheating on my book club

A few months ago I got a facebook mail inviting me to join the Endless Summer Girlfriends Book Club - seeing that is was from someone I actually know (in the flesh) I jumped on board.

I am already a member of a book club (Tampa Bay Bookies) but figured - I love books! So I gave it a shot. Now granted I started in true LP style - skipped the first book...BUT have since read the second book (finished it last night) and already purchased the third and fourth books.

Have to check when the online chat is but am looking forward to it as the author is a part of the discussion. How great is that?!

Time to fly.

The Prompt - Manual

If you were to write a manual what would be the product?

Well, I did. And it was a manual for a heart rate monitor. The audience was an older crowd - and I was told my main goal was to get across the point of the large red button on top of the small plastic casing.

I tested them too. Hooked each machine up to a device that would determine if each monitor was calibrated within a ceratin range. I do well with repetitive tasks - something about the rhythm of them lulls me into a catatonic, rainman-like state. At this particular task, my ears detected the rejects. Like a freak of nature, I set aside the abnormal machines without needing the confirmation of an ink-scratched beat. But that's me.

Take Two - POLICE

An attempt to follow directions - sort of...

Police

Well, shit. An error occured on the timer so now I'm off topic and not following the directions again. Grr...

F-it. I'm changing the rules. (Ha.)

Policing the halls you never know what you are going to see. Most teachers follow the unwritten rule of proceed with caution. Stopping every cell phone violation on the way to the bathroom would make an unsuccessful trip. Plus, telling people no and pointing out what they are doing wrong also bums out the policer.
...

Shit that sucked more than the first. More like a one minute bitch. (and no I am not calling myself a bitch :P)

Response to prompt on One Minute Writer Blog

So I just came across a new blog - new to me that is - called the One Minute Writer. A daily prompt is posted and then you commit one minute to respond.

Cool.

But today's prompt is something six word...blah, blah, blah. Did that last year - or the year before and I think you can tell from the tone of my voice - don't really want to do it again. Though I have been known to be wrong - it doesn't strike me to write today.

The six-word memoir I wrote was: Live life outside the lines sometimes. (Okay, I cheated - that wasn't it exactly. Really I think mine was only five words - hence the outside the lines thing - Life lived outside the lines. Though it reads more like an epitaph...)

So yesterday's prompt is: Fiction - Accident Here goes...

You say accident - I think pee, though trip is the most common type of accident I tend to encounter. Yup, tripped over a speed bump holding hands with my son. Actually made him faceplant into it. We were at the mall. When we both got up, Charlie with a fat bloody lip he looked at me with tears in his eyes and wailed, "Why?"
...

Well I have to say I pretty much bombed that one. I guess it was about a minute but that is hard to calculate and write. Once you get started you then have to stop. Hmm. Before I do my thing and change something I think doesn't work I will give this an honest shot. I do have a timer tomorrow I will use it. (As usual I missed something - and I have the gall to call my friend Skip- a-Step - The timer is right there on the page...maybe I will do a take two.)

But the major failure is that I failed to follow the prompt - a sophomoric mistake (though I knew as I was doing it I was committing it).

Here's the challenge - can I get myself back here tomorrow?

Time will tell

A Prologue - WriMoNiMo Part 1

NiMoWriMo Novel

Life is never enough for Jez. Dissatisfaction is the predominant influence on her state of being. I guess one could say, it’s what keeps her going. It hasn’t always been this way, but it seems she’s stuck in a rut, and this one’s one hell of a rut. Like every classic Freudian, she blames it on her mother, and why not? It seems she’s the perfectly logical scapegoat.

The difference between a boy and a girl: A girl can get pregnant, whereas a boy cannot. A girl is sensitive, where a boy is not. A girl is soft and sweet and sensitive, a boy is not. Girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice, whereas boys are made of and and puppy dog tails.

A Prologue

A young girl growing restless of life as it is, the predictability of daily life tirelessly drones on mocking her boredom, her dissatisfaction, her curiosity with its routine sounds and familiar practices. Accustomed to life as it is, Amelia spent her prayers wistfully masking desires as true needs and wants. And before long, with enough thinking upon it, desires become reality. As it is said – be careful what you wish for, you just might get it. So as you may have guessed – this girl asked for change and change is what she received a change so dramatic that it would alter her life forever. Eternally alter the footprint of her life and the lives of those surrounding her – or as she put it - stifling her.

Fine linen folds crystallize remote edges of the pond in the late days of January, months after the last of the waterfowl headed south. Rough yellowed stalks rustle slightly from the movement of air. A back door slams – in part from the breeze but mostly in anger – and a high school freshman is granted access her rite of passage by a boy twice her age.

With God in her heart and Jesus nowhere near her mind, she goes to him, allows him to undress her; she succumbs to what many later decide as her greatest weakness. Long before she realizes the implications of the act she committed and had been a willing and eager participant Thom returned to his wife, leaving Jezebel. Alone, she cried. For the loss of her innocence, for her youth - forever altered but the magnitude of the decision before her.

Instilled with her grandmother's love for God - a God whose teachings still ring in her ears, whose touch is a cool dip on the tips of her fingers and padded, creaky plastic pressure beneath her knees both Wednesdays and Sundays. Made to feel she had committed a sin and not knowing what else to do, she agrees - though it was not enough to keep her from the furor.

A child is born in Bethlehem – not of an innocent, all-encompassing love but of childish want, curiosity, discovery, and desire; a departure from what is good and right.

The truth is, this mass of cells exists and Rowe vs. Wade has not yet come to be - though would not present a viable option if it had - seeing as though this was a sin, the greater sin would be to dissolve the mass without thought or talk of sin. So out of fear of creating a sin of God, she allowed herself to commit a sin of man and without a ceremony she bore a child who she unceremoniously then shoved off from the reeds by the edge of a cooling pond in the days leading up to Halloween.

But that’s not were the story begins – at least that’s not where I think it begins. Though for as long as I have been conscience of a story, that is where it has always begun – in my head – then again I have never been able to get it outside of my head. So let’s wind it back a bit and take a microscope to uncover the facts, to discover the nuances of the character that led to the pushing off of the baby in the reeds.

Growing up in Pennsylvania allows a girl a certain freedom that growing up in say New York City doesn’t. Suburban living prophesizes small town living – a town with only one stoplight is something to be coveted as it implies the need for only one stoplight, which as we all know that reality and necessity are not often the same. But all the same, she proffered change; here is how that change came about.

Developing a Thought

My mind has been on hold for quite a while and I am not sure what's to blame but figure finger pointing isn't useful anyhow, so I'll drop it, and stew.

She's a character forming in my mind - she's been there before but this time I feel compassion - where before there was only distaste or maybe apathy. So compassion is good - at least it is a feeling, it can grow. Apathy must be the worst emotion - can it even be called an emotion? Isn't it more of a non-emotion?

Either way I am moving toward something, slowly. It's growing and that's good.

Fiction is funny - it gives you the freedom to let go - it's like a psychological release, permission to lie, but somehow I no longer feel the fictional freedom I did when I first discovered this truth. Maybe I've dissected the worm too many times and can no longer see it for it's expanding and contracting.

I'm hoping the thing that is stiffling me is stage fright...so I'm going off line. What I need to write is too close to home to put it all out there. I worry too much about the intended audience and how my work will be perceived, so I don't write. I do in journals - on scraps - on saved bits on this computer, that flashdrive, but somehow can't complete a thought.

A regrouping is necessary, because the story I have to tell is mine, and it's fiction. It scares me and it delights me - it makes me want to cry. And finally I have gotten to the place of compassion. So now I've got to write.

Hub pages

So, I'd really like to earn an income as a writer so I am trying my hand at some online writing suggestions, one of which was Hub pages - though I think I more like stumbled onto this one. You will notice a NEW box on the side of my blog. It contains the articles - well, singular - article I have written.

Pump my 2-D ego and click, read, and rate.

Aw, cummon it'll be fun.

This one's a gem.

Three am, what - I ask myself - am I doing up?

Coughing. Blowing my nose.. Surfing the web... Thinking of Mt. Kilimanjaro, Babu Bob, the orphans, my story, and a trip.

Needing a change of pace.

Blogging to myself is so unsatisfactory. HBO you're on.

too much

Is it too much to ask for a lawnmower that works - or for a lawnguy that has his own mower?

Apparently it is.

My case of the f-its has grown exponentially, once again.

The kid crew on the Red Dog - Lake Tashmoo

A day on the lake.

a cottage - on a tiny, out-of-the-way harbor

This house...has the life. It sits on a secluded island overlooking a harbor. Few know its obscure location.

Dock hanging over crisp cool water clear - beams of light illuminating flecks just beneath the surface.

Currents flow, bringing in and washing out, new life, new adventure, and in the winter when the house stands alone, it still stands, it still has the life, and the harbor, its dock, the light.

It's where i go when i go underground.

Tree and Sign both MIA in Falmouth

Last year I blogged about this pic - is it a tree eating sign or a sign eating tree. (I know, the tree is OBVIOUSLY eating the sign.) Well, apparently it's both.

Neither have been seen in or around Falmouth Heights, not by foot, by bike, nor by surrey...

so I have concluded that in order to find the tree - or it's most noteworthy part - one must take a homebuilder tour. That is, tour the homes of Falmouth's homebuilders.

My guess is - inside one of those homes might just be a little kitchy woodwork.

On the road again, Winston Salem to Tampa

After our stay in North Carolina we will be heading further south, destination Tampa.

This day shouldn't be as long - 11 hours, 10 minutes - 665 miles. One mom, one grandma, one 4 3/4-year-old, and one dog.

We'll see.

On the road - to Winston Salem

Thursday we head south. A long first day, but then we get to stay with my great friend from college. Estimated drive time - 14 hours, 817 miles. Two days of driving according to my mother.

Too fun.

Celebrate

Write about your best celebration...my gram turned 95. We all celebrated it together.

Yup

Still funny.

Really do - Click for self-esteem booster!

I am telling you what - I was doing some fine midnight websurfing the night I discovered this invaluable button.

If nothing else it will really crack you up.

On second thought - I HAVE noticed that the movies I think are HYSTERICAL sometimes get a sideways glance.

But really, it's runny - ha! now see I think that is priceless! Runny! Classic typo.

Like I was saying - it's funny, so give it a whirl.

Don't Be a Litter Bug

Have you ever seen a tree eating sign - make that a sign eating tree?

Nope, me neither.

Huh.

Bad window...

bad, bad window.

Oh no.

So apparently it is soooo hot here that the tar holding the window in place melted? Something's gotta give.

Really.

It's great to be FIVE!

According to Bill Cosby, "It's great to be FIVE!" And Charlie believes him. He is three - and a half - and he told his soon-to-be Aunt Mary that he was five. He sooooo wants to be five because when you are five you get to go to Kindergarten.

Kindergarten. Big whoop. The beginning of 17 loooooooong years of education. I used to long to get on the school bus too, until I did. School is not all you have dreamed it up to be my little Chaz, but maybe for you it will be.

But about the pic...Little Laurel got a kitten and named him Smokey. I seem to be the most boring pet namer in all of the universe. Why is that? I had a black horse and named him Blackie. A grey cat is Smokey.

My mom reminds me that I had an imaginary friend I called Collijosin. Now that is a name!

I did have a cat - she came prenamed - Spark Plug, until we realized he was a she - common problem I know. We ended up calling her Sparky, but not me, I called her Woofie. Woofie because she would get right up in your face and bark a meow at you, like she, her puffy little self was going to let you know exactly what she thought. And she did. Woofie was a cool cat.

Ha.

But really, Woofie was a cool cat.

MEOW.

MeeOWH.

Mee OWH.

MEEowh.

Love that shot!

How cute am I? Jeans rolled up, pig tails, nerdy glasses?! Not everyone can pull this look off. In fact very few can.

Haha!

The other day I was in Publix with my little guy. He was being a very good little guy because he had just gotten a new transformer with the money great gram gave him. He asked to go to the turkey section - the deli - so we waited for slices, one of ham, one turkey, and one chicken. As he was gobbling down his on-the-go meal, I was working his new purchase from the robot version into the truck.

When I was finished I handed it to him saying, "You know Charlie, not every mom knows how to transform a transformer." He knew his mom had something special.

Hehe!

I crack myself up.

Circa 1991

Flashback - Here's a photo of a Jersey girl at the Senior Prom! Charlie's having a fit...will write more later.

Lil Buccaroo

This little boy sometimes does not want to listen. But on this day he learned Mama means business and cars are no joke.

I shoulda been a quarterback.

New Role

This summer I find myself in a new role, that of tutor - of writing. A neighbor's daughter, like me, has the passion to write. So today I shared with her Freytag's Pyramid, protagonist, antagonist, and parallel structure. We also edited the first three chapters of her novel.

Freytag's Pyramid

Exposition - Background knowledge, characters, and setting

Rising Action - A conflict is introduced; subplots are introduced

Climax - The highest point of action

Falling Action - Subplots are wrapped up

Resolution - Conflict is resolved; main character may have come to realization because of process

Protagonist - The main character, readers want this character to succeed

Antagonist - The character opposing the main character, often seen as the "bad guy"

What else needs to be said?

Defenestrate. Oh so often I have felt the need to verb this. If I were to invent a word - uh, think I have already accomplished that more than once - this would have been it. Not only is it capturing an action but also an emotion, loads of emotions. Read into it as much as you will.

By the way - the word of the day is one of the dailes - daylies - dalies - I get in my mail (and for good reason - seeing as I am an English teacher who cannot spell worth a darn) from Dictionary.com.

Love it!

The kids refer to urbandictionary.com but seeing as I wasn't born in 1991...

Word of the Day: Defenestrate

defenestrate \dee-FEN-uh-strayt\, transitive verb:

To throw out of a window.

Some of his apparent chums . . . would still happily defenestrate him if they caught him near a window. -- Andrew Marr, "No option bar the radical one", Independent, July 5, 1994

I defenestrated a clock to see if time flies!-- Lane Smith, quoted in "Who's News", Time for Kids, September 25, 1998

A woman, driven to fury by the manner in which her lover prefers to lavish his attention on a match on the telly rather than her, starts to throw his possessions out of the window. He's finally moved to stop her when she tries to defenestrate his new Puma boots. -- Jim White, "Budgets substantial enough to buy most of the clubs in the Endsleigh", Independent, April 6, 1996

Defenestrate is derived from Latin de-, "out of" + fenestra, "window." The noun form is defenestration.

Aqua Boy

Now here's a boy who is way too excited to be blue. After lunch, I laid in his bed with him and read him his toddler Rhyme Bible. After a hundred pages or so I slipped out of the room to take a shower. Apparently Charlie did the same, only the intention was not the same.

Stepping onto the bathmat, to hear the sound of silence only reassured my reading had settled my little guy right into dreamland. Boy was I wrong. A quick peek into his room to noiselessly shut the door brought the discover that my sweet angel baby was not tucked safely in his bed. On the contrary, after a one man woman hunt, it was I who discovered a tiny blue man huddled in the corner, stoic and smurf blue. A shade I have never truly see on a human being, although the man on NBC Today, who took too much silver supplement, did have a blueish-silverish tint, my boy was BLUE.

Blue like he wanted to travel with the Group, of which he had never heard.

My reaction? Silence. Followed by "now Charlie you know you aren't supposed to play with mommies markers..." So I grabbed Aqua Boy, my camera, and handed him the soap. (The pumice stone was his idea.

Plopping myself on the toilet, I just had to snap some shots of this moment. Today, I officially name the day before St. Patty's Day, the day the water ran blue. (Ran as in right down his tummie into the tub.)

Oh, boy.

Uncle Wes's Monster - (dot com)

Uncle Wes works at Monster.com, so he stocks us with a good supply of monsters. But this is by far the best! Uh, I could use a few more of those thermos coffee mugs with lids.

As you can tell, Charlie is not as interested in saying "thank you" as he is in seeing if the monster can fly, and how high.

Mariposa

Mariposa

A ray of light by shuttered pane does pass,
Bringing with it refraction;
New light shone on air, fire, water, and stone,
How so I am enraptured.

Enveloped by your rocking embrace,
Sweet breathe’s satisfaction;
Needing only what holds a fleck afloat;
Soft lips set skin ablaze.

Drawn to you without consent,
So deep is this attraction,
The path was set by moon, sun, and stars,
Crackled words fan the flame.

From yellowed love letters, neatly stacked and bowed,
Blossomed tangible abstraction;
Apple seed to orchard, in one short springtime day
Is illuminated by dawn’s freshest ray.

The Key To Life

The Dalai Lama told me (however indirectly) that the key to a fulfilled life is happiness…and from this comes a memory, a memory repeated again and again. (Now I am a superstitious person so probably should not share this but for the sake of relevance, I will – for now, unless I decide otherwise later, in which case you will not be reading this.)

The excitement of the day has come to a peak, voices of the ones I love crack as they half-whisper half-sing, whole-heartedly, “Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you…” This special, once-a-year moment, has again arrived and it is the time to take that breath to cease the fire that glows just before a birthday wish is granted. The wish so many people believe in; the wish so many say must be kept to one’s self in order to come true. But since I have learned what the Dalai Lama has taught me, I feel I can share my one almost-constant wish. I say almost-constant because from the time I can first remember wishing this wish until now I am almost sure that I wavered and wished for a pony or something of the sort. I take this wish very seriously – doesn’t everybody – a chance for a wish to be granted, your very own genie, and one rub of the lantern? Far more important than New Year’s resolutions, which by nature are made to be broken, more important than thank you notes, though my mother would cringe to hear this be said, even more important whispering into Santa’s ear, though my son would never agree.

First because these are things that are said to someone, maybe promised, thanked, or requested of someone. Whereas a wish, a true birthday wish, is as magical as birth itself. An overwhelming how, or wow, or ahh! Or could it possibly be? To whom are you wishing? Audience unknown, destination devine? To say the least it is not a last minute thought because what if that wish really will come true? If wishes really do come true? Would you waste yours on some material thing? Only a fool would fretter away such a gift, such a chance, such an opportunity. Even skeptics must have a thought in their mind as they release that big birthday puff. A birthday wish can only be equated to wishing on a shooting star, which can prove even more exciting because its frequency, or even the very possibility of it ever occurring again that exact moment that you just may happen to be looking up, can never be determined, scheduled, or predicted making these wishes that get sent into the universe wishes of the moment wishes determined by circumstance, may be arguably be less significant. Some may say, to those inclined to believe in things larger than they, a wish may be a passive way to pray.

But the birthday wish may also hold this importance because of the day. Amazingly, somehow, however many years ago, on this very day, you were brought onto this earth, you breathed that very first breath that now is expelled again in the hopes that some fragment of a miracle might again occur.

So with this breath I wish for happiness, as I said, for as long as my mind allows me to recall. Prompted by this lesson taught, the key to a fulfilled life is happiness, is the memory of this scheduled release of hope through breath over flickering wax sticks of light quickly pressed through frosting to cake, as a way to celebrate me, my life, my being on earth - with them, to my being me. This thought is that of the cake, the celebration, the gathering, and the breath released the same moment as my repeated wish for happiness, to be happy. Why wish for this? Is it because I was unhappy? Because I did not have happiness? Or was it more simply, my life felt unfulfilled? What purpose did I have? What good did I serve?

The key to a fulfilled life is happiness, from this grows a memory. It is a memory of a breath filled with hope, not of regret or want. If the ultimate goal is happiness, happiness must have various levels because at that moment, with that breath was not the release of sorrow but that of the belief that what could then be defined as happiness was no where close to the level of fulfillment. My knowing, my unconscious knowing, that there was more to life than cakes and candles and brightly wrapped boxes of wants astounds me, so simplistic yet so complex. The pleasure derived from this day is just that, pleasure. Maybe happiness in knowing I am loved and pleasure in rich chocolate cake and unwrapping prizes, the need for the bread, the blood of life and the desire for the things that might make it better.

Can a thing bring happiness or is it just pleasure? Why is it the things that give us pleasure may be eliminated and yet eliminating those bringing us happiness are as essential as water itself?

Pure pleasure. Sustained happiness. Are those not oxymorons? Should it not be sustained pleasure and pure happiness? Could it be I have always known the key? That the struggle, the frustration, the pain were to get me where I need to be? The key to life is happiness. It does not come in a jar, in a can, a pill, or a drink. There is no phrase magical enough, no wish important enough, no star bright enough to bring happiness to one who’s life is unfulfilled.

The key, as the Dalai Lama told me, is to want what you have, to love who you are and to desire nothing.

Underground.

It's where I go when things get too much.

Big HUGE Golf Ball Moon

My little wordsmith loves to say, "Big HUGE..."

Big HUGE golf ball moon.

Big HUGE boo boo on his belly.

Big HUGE cheese.

Charlie and the big HUGE golf ball moon. The full moon lies in the beach sky. Venus shines high over the water. Uncle Jon points out Orion's belt, sword, arms and a leg. My eyes go straight to the belt, find the sword, and then thoughts fleet to elsewhere.

The sun rises over Bayshore in the strawberry sky.



Big HUGE pain in the butt.

Bug HUGE sweet heart.

Big HUGE love of my life.

Perfect Love

All my life I’ve been waiting to meet you
Waiting to have you
Waiting to hold you

Now that you’re here –
I can’t get enough of you
Don’t want to spend a minute away from you

You sleep and I watch you
You breathe; I exhale…
Your smile wells my eyes with tears

My smile is made for you
My ears created to hear just you
I could spend forever with only you
-- Only you’d grow tired of that.

I’ll grow old thinking of you
Loving you, smelling you, hugging you
Holding you

I loved the thought of you
And love the flesh of you
Forever love you is what I’ll forever do.

To My Dear, Dear Friend

May 24th, 2006

To My Dear, Dear Friend,
Three days after getting engaged.

JC-

Thank you for being who you are to me.
You deserve every wonderful thing that is happening to you.

Be proud of who you are and what you have.
You are who you are because of the life you have lived.
Embrace this.
Reward yourself with joy and love.

Treat yourself well.
Treat yourself as well as you treat others and as well as others treat you.
Being married will become a part of you, it will not take over who you are.
You will retain your shape and enrich your life.

Cry when you want to cry.
Laugh when you want to laugh.
Love as you need to be loved.
Give what you may not have gotten.
Forgive what needs to be forgotten.
Find a happy medium, don’t forget your friends, or yourself, but never forget your Love.

You now are a part of a pair.
You are two crystal champagne glasses sitting in a china closet.
Delicate.
Strong.
Beautiful.
Full of fun.
Together, surrounded by other treasured things.

Let yourself be who you are.
Don’t be sorry for having it all.
Work hard to keep what you have.
Strive for more,
But most of all, love, love, love.


-LP

The Master

We have a routine, Charlie and I. Every morning as I am changing him he tells me about the dreams he had the night before. Last night there were frogs in the closet, one was Aunt Sadie.
On the drive to school, he sometimes tells me a story. This morning's was precious:

"Where’d the puppy go?" This was Charlie’s response to my pointing out a stocky, peppy, white spotted Jack Russell terrier who anxiously pulled his owner across the road.

To this, one of his many, tireless questions, was my response, "He’s on a walk with his master." Normally when I respond to his questions, I try to prompt a further response, or at least give more information, which usually inspires yet another question. So I went on to say, "Do you know who Rudy’s master is?"

Charlie said he did not know. "You are Rudy’s master." I said. "That means you are the boss of Rudy, that he loves you the most."

Barely a second passed, when he asked, "Who is the Dame?"

"Baa, baa, black sheep lives down the lane."

Smiling into my rear-view mirror, I told him that I am the dame.

The way it used to be

Single...

How is it that I have gotten here? 30, single. Oh so very single, embarrassingly in fact…through bad decisions, compromise, sheer stubbornness. Single, born of solitude and the ease of being alone, in not having to be accountable. Being single means being a kid.

I am a kid. A 30-year-old-kid. Oh sure, I have a house and a dog and a big tv and a stereo to make noise, to keep the silent still house full, with noise. The thing I miss most about not living alone; is getting to be alone, to have the entire house to myself, it was special, but then thrilling to hear the garage door open. Empty but full; knowing that soon enough someone would be there to share the space, the air, to breathe with the breaths of someone else. That’s why I have Jake.

I lie. I did not have a choice in having Jake. Jake was chosen for me, or at least, Jake chose me. But either way, I had no choice in the matter. But back to breath. It soothes me. He breathes deeply, weighted, slowly, so close to a snore but not, just a deep steady in-and-out breath.

Have I said today is wonderful? That’s my word, wonderful. I love words. How they sound…what they mean, just love them. But wonderful because; you make your day. You decide the outcome. If you keep saying, why did this happen to me, or poor, poor me, or just have a crappy attitude in general; you will make crap. So, something wonderful is bound to happen today. (Say it everyday.)

But to contradict myself, miserable is absolutely my favorite word. Love the way it sounds when you draw it out all slow. Mizzzzz-errrrr-uhhhh-bulll. M-i-s-e-r-a-b-l-e. Even said with a half-scowl. It’s simply wonderful. Ah, but I digress again, or maybe for the first time (here) but definitely not the last. So where was I?

How could I forget? Single. Not suddenly single like the freakishly tall Brooke Shields, stepping over small houses, just plain single. But dating. So how are people supposed to meet each other anyway? At the gym? in the grocery store? through the friends? at school (now work?) while driving? or worse, at a bar? Where. ‘Cause I’ve tried them all. Am constantly talking to people, smiling, saying “hi”, being outgoing, going out, not talking on my cell phone, being available, looking available; but not too available, never too available. Too available is not good.

Ever look too long? Get caught looking, not looking because you necessarily are interested in knowing that person but looking because they happen to be where you were looking. They were in your space, and still are. And because it is your space, you keep looking back. So much that they catch you looking, at them! Even though you weren’t! But busted anyway.

So being single sucks. It makes for long lazy days of doing nothing and getting nothing done even though there’re a million things to do. Sure, there are sudden manic bursts of energy with profuse cleaning or exercise or writing. It’s not that I ‘m lazy but that I focus my energy towards other things, in other directions. Like for instance, towards going out...

Charlie and the Plastic Potty

One night when Charlie was getting ready to get in the tub, he decided, 'now, this is the time to shriek!'

Without another thought, he was off!

At first Mommy tried to catch the shrieking, naked child, but soon relented and retreated to filling the tub with Elmo's pirate ship, "Aargh!" and the remaining ships from the Big Potty Toy Ship Brigade - another story in itself. The shrieking and running proceeded until the tub was nearly ready, when around the corner came a very proud, completely naked, Charlie. With a shocked face, he said, "Mama come look, I went Pee Pee in the potty!"

He took Mommy by the soapy hand, led her into the kitchen, and they both peered into the plastic potty sitting on the kitchen floor. "Hallelujah!" in the potty there was Pee Pee. Mommy and Charlie were so excited they both jumped up and down. They were both shrieking now, "Hurray! Hurray! Charlie went Pee Pee in the potty!"

The celebrating continued, for although this was not the first time Charlie had Pee Peed into the potty, it was the first time he had gone shrieking and running naked around the house and not peed on say the Thomas the Train magical Aqua Doodle invisible train track. (Would that be a Diddle Doodle?)

What had become the night time ritual continued, the toy boat brigade battled pirates and Charlie discovered invisible bugs in the faucet of the tub, Brave Charlie nosed right up to one and said, "Hello bug! I went Pee Pee in the potty!"

Soon a damp towel snuggle, new diapey and jammies, brushy, brushy, brushy, a few squirts of monster spray, then finally the first three pages of, The Velveteen Rabbit, followed by a weak, "take book to bed mama?" and a kiss and a hug.

Snuggled under star blanket, ouchey blankey, 'nother blankie, and finally the long requested, misinterpreted blue dog blankie rug and Charlie-bear blanket to top it all off, Charlie, just two, squshed his Binky, Maggie Simpson style, slightly lifted his head and said, "Night, night."

Later, in the kitchen, Exhausted Mommy -- who had just taught a day of "silent school" (just proceeding "sock day" because of an unfortunate toe-meet-bed-in-the-dark occurrence) followed by "Silent Princeton Review Online, " and a good game of whispering Publix shopping cart catch, because when she spoke, coughing erupting until the gag reflex occurred -- cleaned the Pee Pee off the floor smiling inside because her big boy got most of it into the pot.

And that is the story of Charlie and the Plastic Potty.

The end. (Ok, so I added the bug part, give me a little creative justice here, I am a fiction writer. Composite.)

**Note: Silent school - a day with no teacher talking due to illness - where the student get directions from the board. The first stating. "Silent Activity! Do NOT make me talk! Or I will puke! Comprende?"

Their response? "This is fun!", "Like charades!", "Can we do this more often?"

Today kids, you are in lucky! Today is "Silent Song Lyric Poem Brainstorming Day." Good thing creativity is my lifeblood.