I know what has to be done.

And knowing is half the battle, right?

Months ago I started my first novel.  Halfway into it, I stalled.  Or it stalled.  Or both.  I’m not totally sure.  I left one of the pivotal characters mid-stroke with his ass in the air.  Months later, I come back to find him still there.  Amazing stamina, that one.

But since “Finishing My Novel” was swimming around in there somewhere with my vague new years resolution, I’ve been mulling over what’s wrong with it.  It was so easy in the beginning, but then it seemed to have just stopped writing itself.

A lot has changed since I first began this writing adventure.  I’ve learned more about why I can write some things and why I cannot or will not write others.  That changes the direction of one sub-plot and replaces another one all together.   I’ve actually met one of my fictional characters now, too.  That changes a little bit.  And also, I’ve decided that all names must change.  They’re too freakin’ cumbersome.

In short, it’s a re-write.  But it should be an easy one, because I’ve got a great piece to use as a shell and fill in the pieces that need filled in.

I’m excited and invigorated.  I’m creating again.  I get to back up and take another running go at this thing and do it right.  I suspect a certain someone who must be in muscle failure right about now will also be glad to hear it.

And completely off topic, but before I forget – you absolutely have to know that Atomic Fire Balls, yes, those little individually wrapped hell pellets we used to buy for 25cents at the skating rink in 1982 now come in – are you ready for this?  Chewy!  Ferrara Pan produces them.  Look for them wherever fine candies and implements of oral torture are sold!

Should Old Acquaintance Be Forgot?

 

In some cases, the answer is an unequivocal “YES!”

But that’s not the only lesson 2008 has taught (or in some cases, re-taught) me.

A few other areas of study:

-          Don’t get into a pissing contest with the mentally ill.

-          Always trust your gut.

-          Trust, but verify.

I am happy to report that I have proof I have matured at some point in the last 18 years.  I recently ran across a similar list dated 1990 which includes such pearls as, Never attempt to stick your head out of the car window without first rolling it down.  What a crying shame that I do not remember the event that lead up to my penning this.

 

It turns out I’ve also come to know myself better, not just in the last 18 years, but in the last 12 months.  I’m beginning to suspect this is a lifelong process, and not an academy that will graduate me someday.

 

I’ve learned that I truly misplaced something with my unexpected retirement in 2004.  Not lost, just misplaced.  I have a need to be good at something again.  It need not (and better not) be the same thing.  But it must be something.  When my youngest offspring starts kindergarten in the fall, I will begin a course of study at a yet-to-be-determined University.  This is resolution number 1.  Except it’s more than a resolution.  It is so.

 

And I’ll leave you with my only other, intentionally vague resolution for 2009:  I will do more of the good things I did in 2008 and less of the bad.

 

Happy New Year, folks.

Nothing lasts forever…

…just like twin-peaks and men with a steady urine stream.

It wasn’t that long ago that I declared myself permanent victor in the M-FUF competition.  I swiped that trophy away from my love monkey and vowed there was never a chance of it returning to his side of the bed.

I should have known better.  You never, ever, say “never.”

He’s been sleeping with the trophy tucked under his pillow the last few nights for reasons that I could, but shouldn’t, explain here.  It’s his story to tell.  Unfortunately for you, he does not see the value in blogging.

Let’s just say it involves Munchausen-by-proxy, extortion, and a hollistic medicine that  grows on the east side of a goat turd found only in the Cambodian mountains.  I’ll never get that trophy back now.

But then again…

It’s about time

This morning my three little ducklings and I walked down the halls of Duke Medical Center to the genetics clinic.
This walk was long in the making.

My cardiologist has never been particularly interested in whether my oldest daughter and I share a genetic mutation that caused our cardiomyopathies; or whether my son also has this mutation and is forming his own cardiomyopathy or if he just has a larger than normal heart.

The information is superfluous because it changes neither our prognosis nor our treatment.
For the same reason our pediatric cardiologist, though immensley curious, was unable to justify the expense – until now.

It will be a long six weeks waiting for results that ultimately will change very little. My oldest daughter will still be advised not to have any children of her own unless her heart function returns to normal between now and her child bearing years. My son will still be followed to make sure no dysfunction develops to match his large heart. Everything will remain status quo with me, and my youngest daughter may or may not have to continue bi-annual cardiac checkups.

Still, I feel like we’ve taken an important step. We’re six weeks closer to a piece of the puzzle that we didn’t have before.

He talk pretty.

Over the last year and a half to two years much ado was made about how articulate one of our presidential candidates was.  At times it seemed the media and other people we pay to do our thinking for us were distracted from what he was saying by how he was saying it.  And I must admit, the guy has an incredible gift for inserting many big words into small ideas.

But who am I to judge?  The man was elected by majority vote.  And not a narrow majority, either.  Clearly, articulacy matters.  Don’t worry, I’m not breaking my promise and waxing political again.  I’m simply making the point that the following writing assignment, completed by my son last month, while adorable, probably would lose an election for him:

If I were president I would let them suee my spoatings.  And let them soot my patings and let them play.

Or maybe I’m wrong.  We did elect Bush twice.

What to do with leftover…

yarn…

http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_5TBseUDc0Kw/SS3HHKeGaEI/AAAAAAAAA5w/2BMhUu3w8j4/s1600-h/knitTurkey.jpg

Re-Turkey-ing

We had a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner with neighbors and friends and family on Thursday, but without the boat load of left overs, it just didn’t feel like a holiday.  So tonight I am re-cooking Thanksgiving.  My oldest daughter is having some friends over to join us.

This ensures our Tryptophan coma will last right through the next week; delivering us, rested to my son’s track-out, which begins on 12/5.  How wonderfully challenging it will be to have my two Santa believers home virtually the whole month of December!

So while the rest of you are coming out of your holiday bliss and preparing to return to the real world tomorrow, I’m reviving ours. 

Peace out, y’all.

I woke up with this in my head

‘Twas the night before Thanksgivin’
And down in the kitchen
Grandma was baking
And drinking (just a smidgeon).

The turkey was cleaned
And buttered and wrapped
The keg in the garage
Had already been tapped.

Onions and celery were chopped
With such care.
Excitement over the stuffing
Palpable in the air.

All through the house
Aromas did mingle.
Pun’kin and apples
That make your spine tingle.

When from deep in the kitchen
I heard such a clatter
I stirred in my recliner
Wonderin’ whats the matter?

Pots and pans bangin’
And hittin’ the floor -
That’s when uncle Jim found grandma
Sprawled on the floor.

Paramedics were called
And she finally came to
Babbling something ’bout pilgrims
And reeking of Booze.

We brewed grandma coffe,
Then put her to bed.
Maybe next year for Thanksgiving
We’ll make reservations instead.

7 Things I love

My phro5ggy friend tagged me with this meme.  I get to list 7 things I love, and then tag my other friends to do the same.  I’m going to skip the most obvious thing here – my family (including the dogs).  That should go without saying.  So here goes.

1.  I love silent numbers.  They add sophistication to everything.  Even amphibians.

2.  I love to knit.  I’m so thankful for Karin who taught me this lovely hobby just a little over two years ago now.  I may not be prolific.  I may never even be good.  But I finally have something in my life that I enjoy for the sake of doing, not perfecting.  There’s something very zen about that.

3.  I love reading.  I’ll read anything, anywhere.  And I almost never have read something that I didn’t like on at least some level.

4.  I love writing.  Writing gives me an opportunity to think of a subject or an object in a different manner.  I get to disect it.  Often times I come away from a writing project thinking and feeling about the topic differently than I did when I began.

5.  I love annoying stupid people.  My definition of stupid people are those who don’t realize I’m annoying them because they are stupid.  It’s a lovely little cycle that provides endless entertainment.  I am not afraid to tell you this because even the stupid people I know who read this blog won’t realize they’re who I’m talking about…even though they’ll be annoyed at this little confession and not be able to put their finger on exactly why.

6.  I love Christmas.  I don’t care if Walmart cashiers won’t say the word, or public schools can no longer produce plays where children dress up in bathrobes and fake beards to worship a plastic doll on a bale of hay.  This is not what Christmas time means to me.  It is sacred because it’s the one time of year that general good will is felt towards all mankind.  Peppermint and snow and pine trees and sparkles and fire places don’t hurt, either.

7.  I love that this meme is over.  I don’t do intimacy very well.  I use humor to distract from this flaw and it’s very difficult for me to be irreverent about things that I love.

Now, I tag Karin, Dawn, Melissa, Michele, and Steph.

A day walking and talking with Jesus.

I spent this past Wednesday hanging out with my son and Jesus, studying life and nature with a backdrop of melodies from a wild bird sanctuary.

Sound peaceful?  Serene?  Let me fill in a few more details.  The soundtrack was just a smidge too loud and the life we were studying had already been snuffed, but expertly skinned and glued to form by a highly skilled taxidermist.  My son was severely disappointed that the dinosaur heart fossil we spent half an hour searching for looked remarkably like a rock – any old rock; and Jesus was hyper from the school provided PB&J sack lunch, running wild and pretending not to understand English when I called out, “Jesus, no jumping on the escalator!”  and “Jesus, quit banging on the rattle snake tank.”  or my favorite, “Jesus, get your hand out of the deer’s butt.” 

I don’t even want to know why the taxidermist gave Bambie an anus, let alone such a large one.

Next time I chaperone a field trip, I’m trading Jesus for Gracie.