Writing in 2011...Episode 1: The Grammarian and the Judgementalist

The scene:  THE New Year 2011.  Camera angles out wide on said writer, fingers hovering over laptop keyboard, hair in pony tail, make-up absent.

The decision:  This is the year of the writer.  It is time to begin the mental push-ups that will hone this writer's skills and actually and possibly entertain the (two) readers of her blog.

The action:  There is a book, a magical book...a magical book hidden beneath other books that gives advice on writing.  I got it from my friend, my inspiration, years back...here's the inscription:
"Heather-you are a writer, and I hope to one day buy your award-winning novel and have it autographed.  --Barb, December 2001".  No, I did not get the date wrong.  Ten years ago I received this inspirational book to help me become a better wordsmith.  I have carried it around, paged through it, thought about it, and now it is time to use it.

First prompt:  Make two aspects of your own personality into characters driving to the coast.  (I picked the east coast, as I would like to visit there).

I'm not certain that Judgmentalist is even a word, but I like it.  These are two aspects of my personality that I find annoying at times, and interesting at other times. 

The car is red, my favorite color.  It has four doors, as that would fit all of our stuff.  The Grammarian and the Judgementalist (from hereonout to be known as G and J) are driving three miles over the speed limit, as J can't stand it when people drive exactly the speed limit...limits are meant to be tested, but not abused.  Of course J is driving.  Their destination is a beach somewhere east.  It is July, my favorite month.  It is pushing lunchtime.

Here's the conversation:
G:  Hey, did you see that sign?  It says EAT HERE.  I'm hungry, but I'm not certain I want to "Eat there".  Would I be correct in assuming that you feel similarly?
J:  I make it a point to NEVER eat at a restaurant or diner the has the words EAT or FOOD in the sign.  Far too obvious and probably just an interpretation of what is REALLY going on in those joints (J often speaks in capitals to emphasize her ever-so-important opinions).
G:  I was going to read a bit, but car reading often makes me nauseous.  Remember that book we read last summer?  The one about the lady who left her family and went off to cook at a home for young unwed mothers? (a real book, by the way).
J:  Far too obvious a plot.  I hated that character.  She was weak and selfish and tragic (magic 3).  I like a character I can relate to, one with intestinal fortitude, one more like me.  You know, if there were more people in the world who thought like me, things would be so much better for everyone.
G:  Too true.  Hey, do you think Sandy will be at the reunion?
J:  God, I hope not.  If she starts talking to me, you have GOT to rescue me.  Come up with some grammatical emergency or something...I don't know, maybe someone misspelled the cake.  Just keep her away from me, she drives me crazy. 
G:  Do you want me to drive for a while?
J:  No, you are always so distracted when you drive.  Remember that time you were trying to decipher a vanity plate and almost landed us in the lake? 


First set of mental push-ups complete.  Muscles are a bit weak...I'll try again later.

Happy New Year!

Hypenated Modifiers

I made a kid a bit mad in class.  I can't remember what I said or what the context of the situation was, but he gave me the face.  I started to laugh, and thought to myself, "Oh my gosh, I have to write this down!"  He was not amused by my mirth.

The face to which I refer was a mad face, but not just any mad face.  It deserved this hyphenated modifier:
"Small-mouth, Mad-face".  I said that to the boy...I said, "Oh my goodness, it's the elusive "Small-mouth, Mad-face"!  I was in awe, as this face only reveals itself on a handful of occasions throughout any given school year.  This particular kid had it DOWN!  It was the perfect trifecta...Lips pursed just so, making the tiniest "o"...eyes stitched in, narrowed, irises barely discernible, forehead puckered.  He was indignant, unapproachable, beautiful. 

I am truly blessed!

The True Beauty of Recycling

This is my first try at inserting a photo into this blog. 

The photo in question is my "new" deck furniture.  Actually, it's been around for a while.  Mark's parents bought the furniture sometime in the late sixties or early seventies.  It graced the exterior of their home for decades until they recently moved into an adult living facility.  Many a conversation has been had, rocking back and forth in these old chairs.  Many a moment savored, gazing out over Pullman, enjoying the summers on the Palouse.

The bodies of the chairs and footstools were solid, although they were carrying a little rust and wear.  The cushions were the most "lovely" seventies print, yellow with large brown flowers...plastic.  They looked a little rugged when we picked them up, but I couldn't put them in the yard sale, as I could see their bones...good bones.

Mark loving used steel wool and took off years of rusting.  Then, he bought some white "Rustoleum" and went to work, bringing back the gleam they must have had on the showroom floor way back when.  We are running low in the cash department, but somehow these great blue and green cushions were on a sale rack at Home Depot, and we couldn't resist...and now they have new life, and they grace our deck, enhancing an already spectacular view.

Wait for it...here comes the metaphor.

Though age may wear us down, and we may show the years we have lived, we are not useless and we are not forgotten.  (Also, a good scrubbing and a new outfit never hurts.)

Pay it Forward

I was on my way home from work tonight when a strange thing happened.  I got rear-ended.  Nothing exceptional, just a tap, but it was a little "slow-motiony" nonetheless. 

I felt the bump, crinkled up my brow, and turned to the guy in the car next to me.  We exchanged "What The Hell" looks, and both of us shrugged.  I rolled down my window and leaned my head out of my car to look behind me, and a young boy (seventeen) was getting out of his car to talk to me.  I looked for a pen, but the light turned green.  He said he would meet me at Wal Mart (up the road a piece), and that he was so bummed...you see, he'd just hit another lady last month.  He was certain, however, that my car was intact and that there wasn't any damage.

I drove to Wal Mart, glancing occasionally in my rear view to be sure he was following me, but my "Mom of a 17 year old boy" intuition told me he would be faithful to his word.  I pulled over, he jumped out his car.  I got out slowly and looked at his face.  He was scared and his adrenaline was racing, so I put on my mommy voice, and calmed him down.  There was nothing wrong with my bumper.  He was so relieved that I wasn't going to call the police that he kept self-reporting.  He said, "Honestly, I was looking at my phone!"  To which I replied, "Dumbass". 

I scolded him, painted a scenario of me being a young mother with a possible infant in the car and how upsetting that would be.  How a tap like that could injure a small child.  I said he needed to be more careful, as I'm sure his mom wouldn't want him to get hurt.  I pointed to his passenger and told him he needed to be responsible to his friends, too.  Then I sent him on his way.

His name was Sean.  I hope he listened.

Hairdos and Hemispheres

OK, my stab at a catchy title.  It’s workin’ for me.

So on my most frazzled days, I pull my hair up in a French Twist and clip it.  My students always think I took a bunch of extra time on my hair on these days (as it actually looks somewhat professional), and often mention how nice it looks.  I find that ironic, as it takes me so much less time to do it than my regular hair. My hair is curly/wavy, and it does what it wants.  With the right product and a little time, I can make it behave, but that’s about it…it has a life of its own, and I am at its disposal most days. 

The reason I bring up hemispheres is that I live in one (I know, don’t we all).  Actually, I live in two.  I live in the northern and the western hemispheres.  That means that this time of year (autumn as I write this) it’s DARK when I get up to go to work.  This is difficult for my sleepy head to get around, and I am constantly challenging myself to try to get out the door on time, as my feet tend to move slowly when it’s dark out.  I want to putter in the morning.  Maybe I should get up at 5:30 instead of 6, but I honestly think I’d be just as frenzied getting out the door if I were to get myself up early.  I would just waste that time and still have to hurry to make my lunch, pick an outfit, get a shower, feed the dog, check kids’ homework, find my running gear, get the keys and coffee and my book bag and rush to work hoping I don’t get pulled over on the way. 

This is how hairdos relate to hemispheres…who knew?

Dreams

Last night I had a wonderful dream.  My friend, Cara, and her family bought some property at Silver Springs (a place we like to camp).  There was a spot for every family, and each family had its own new double-wide trailer (this is my big dream...no mansion, no sweet condo...it's a double wide).  Anyway, we had a beautiful deck on our double wide, and we had a party.  That was my dream.  No drama, no worrying about life, just a fun party on the deck of my double wide trailer.  It's not an earth-shattering dream, it won't save the world or cure anything, but it was nice, and I liked it.  You should meet me there tomorrow night, and we'll have another party.

Homophones

Did you know that the word "canvas" is a homophone?  It's match is "canvass".  The former is an artist's tool, the latter, a politician's...I learned this just today.

On another note...my seventeen year old son just walked up behind me.  The conversation went like this:

Him:  "Are you blogging?"
Me:  "Yeah."
Him:  scoffs
Me:  "Why are you laughing at me?"
Him:  "You're blogging."

End