Sunday, September 5, 2010
Saturday Journal - Day 3
Hooray, Earl passed us by. It was wonderful that even the rain stopped by mid morning, and the sun began to peek out. Fueled by sun and a light breeze, I managed get my kids to motivate a bit as well. While they did some chores around the house, I had the chance to hang all of the quilts and blankets on the line. I love to put them out on the laundry line when there is such a nice breeze, it makes them smell so good and fresh, like spring-time. Since I was already dismantling the beds, I threw all of the sheets in the wash, and even managed to throw a couple of the pillows through as well. Moving on to my next target was a bit less rewarding or successful, the yard is my nemesis. I had my son mow the grass, and taught my daughter how to rake up the edges, but I really needed to put some time and energy into trimming back the hedges and other bushes. So I started at it, got the kids to pick up the scraps as I went along, and managed to make it look slightly better without doing any permanent damage, I think. We did try to make some advances on the back yard as well, but it didn't get very far since it was lunch time, and the kids all started making that noise where you know they aren't whining yet, but they will be soon. Once they get started (it's the only thing they can all do together as a team, lol) it beomes more work telling them what to do, and talking them into it than it would be for me to do it myself. Needless to say, we retired to the kitchen for lunch, and I totally forgot about the yard and started in on other housework that I had been avoiding. I guess overall we did get a bunch of things done, I will have to see what I can get finished up tomorrow. I know that before long we will have to worry about snow starting , and I want to make sure that we get the yard done before that happens, ugh. That reminds me, I am going to have to call about getting wood delivered again this year. That will be another project for the boys some weekend, but they acutally did a really good job with it last year, and it only cost me $10 for each of them, lol. Well after all that yard and housework today, I'm heading out to the back porch with my iced tea to listen to the crickets before I go to bed. I want to enjoy it now while I can.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Theme Week #1 - Third person
The group of students groaned at the announcement of a writing assignment, with one exception. The dark haired girl in the back corner shifted slightly in her seat, not the squirming of nervousness, but settling in, preparing for a treat. She loved writing assignments. The idea of painting a world and people with words, bringing them to life on the page, was one that she enjoyed more than any other. Writing was her escape, and it was a portable one that she could carry with her wherever she went. Even now, stuffed in the side pocket of her oversized purse/undersized backback, was her writing journal.
She had bought it last year, quite without knowing how much she would enjoy it. Wandering through the aisles of the bookstore, she happened upon a display of journals and notebooks. While not particularly interested in the books that did not already carry the words and worlds within them, she glanced at the table as she moved past. There was one sitting there that reminded her of a book that her grandmother had read to her when she was little. The brown leather binding was simple and the rich color of chocolate, with a plain undecorated cover, just like Gram's. Without thinking, she reached out to flip open the cover; blank lined pages looked back at her. No stories, no pictures, not even little page numbers marred the clean surface. What would it be like to fill those pages with her own stories and thoughts? Once the idea came into her head, she enjoyed thinking all of the what-if's the journal brought up inside of her. She could write stories, ones she remembered from her childhood, to pass down to her children someday. Or maybe she could use it for a journal, jotting down tidbits from her day, and perhaps the dreams and plans of where her life might take her. Regardless of what she would end up using it for, the girl clutched the book and headed straight for the cashier. Since then, there were seldom days that she did not write in her book. She had decided that she would put whatever came to her mind in her journal, hodge-podge it all together, and just let it be whatever it wanted to be.
She had bought it last year, quite without knowing how much she would enjoy it. Wandering through the aisles of the bookstore, she happened upon a display of journals and notebooks. While not particularly interested in the books that did not already carry the words and worlds within them, she glanced at the table as she moved past. There was one sitting there that reminded her of a book that her grandmother had read to her when she was little. The brown leather binding was simple and the rich color of chocolate, with a plain undecorated cover, just like Gram's. Without thinking, she reached out to flip open the cover; blank lined pages looked back at her. No stories, no pictures, not even little page numbers marred the clean surface. What would it be like to fill those pages with her own stories and thoughts? Once the idea came into her head, she enjoyed thinking all of the what-if's the journal brought up inside of her. She could write stories, ones she remembered from her childhood, to pass down to her children someday. Or maybe she could use it for a journal, jotting down tidbits from her day, and perhaps the dreams and plans of where her life might take her. Regardless of what she would end up using it for, the girl clutched the book and headed straight for the cashier. Since then, there were seldom days that she did not write in her book. She had decided that she would put whatever came to her mind in her journal, hodge-podge it all together, and just let it be whatever it wanted to be.
Theme Week #1 - Second Person
Creative non-fiction writing. Creative, okay you can do creative right? You are creative everyday, using your imagination and creativity with everything from what to wear to what to make for dinner. Non-fiction? Well that just means that its real, you know real. Your whole life is real, real in a good way and real in the crazy, you-just-can't-make-that-stuff-up way. Writing, well that might be the stopper huh? Well, it's a class. You have a teacher to teach you the things you don't already know to make you better at what you need to do, right? So after this little pep talk you sit yourself down to begin your first assignment of the semester, nerves held firmly in check. First assignment, write a daily journal. Sweat begins to appear upon your brow as you wonder what surprise is lurking inside this innocuous task. Taking a deep breath, you plunge in, forgetting to be nervous, self conscious, and overly critical. Words flow from your fingertips, making you realize that perhaps this might not be so bad. Look at what you have done so far, and you didn't even really have to think about it. Finishing up your first posting, you pause. Do you look back at what you have written, rethinking and rewriting, or do you post and trust that what you think the first time around is always better than nit-picking over it after? Well they do say that you should think before you speak, or look before you leap, or was it caution is the better part of valor? Whatever it is, you decide that a quick once-over now will be better than the embarassement of looking like a moron later. A few quick adjustments later you are pleased enough to hit the submit button. With a sigh of relief you realize that it was okay, that maybe you could do this after all, as long as the teacher likes it, that is.
Week 1 Prompts
Alone in a quiet room, what do I hear?
I am alone in my quiet room, the special room that I carry locked inside of me, hidden away for moments like these; moments where I can just think and be for myself. Inside this room I don't hear the kids bickering in the living room, or the phone ringing (yet again) for my teenage son. I don't hear the washer spinning off balance, or the buzzer for the clothes dryer downstairs announcing the arrival of yet another load to fold and put away. Likewise, the sound of my husband yelling to the quarterback or power forward on TV, is lightly bouncing away from my little space here.
In this room, my room, my space, I hear only the slow murmur of my heartbeat as I close my eyes. I hear the soft whirring of the fan cooling the back of my neck from the unseasonable heat. I take a deep breath, hearing all of the stress and tension float away with a small sigh. Where do all of these sounds go when I step outside of my personal space here? Do they live under the clash and bang of my crazy, boisterous life? They must, for there are random times when I begin to feel slightly desperate or overwhelmed, that I take a peek into that room for a quick glimpse to reassure me that my quiet room is there for me when I need it. (Thursday, September 02, 2010 8:22:00 PM)
Alone in a quiet room, what do I see?
Sitting here, in a surprisingly quiet room, I see... well, I see my computer screen looking right back at me. It's actually glaring at me, through the haze of fingerprints and smudges of God-only-knows what. "How can you sit there and just type while I stand here dirty and smudged?" it asks. Well, it can wait, I have things to do here. So too can the dust that appears to have materialized overnight (yet again) and collected near the base of the suffering screen, I don't have time for that right now. With a sigh and a quick mental compromise, I decide that I will have one more cup of coffee since I am being so diligent and doing my homework first thing this morning, I head to the kitchen for a refill. What do I see? Oh dear, hmm, dirty dishes. They clamor for my attention as I walk past without making eye contact, accusing me of forgetting about them last night. Well, it was over ninety degrees in this house last night, and nothing was going to make me stand over a sink of hot dishwater. So the dishes are officially entered to my mental list of things that I still need to do today. Well, looks like it will be a busy day for me.
I wander back to the computer, refill in hand, only to see..sigh, my desk trash can must have been knocked over when the kids were in here playing before school. Well, that I can take care of now, it should only take a minute. Well, maybe a bit more, as I see the kitchen trash duty has apparently been forgotten by the kids before leaving for school. Trash all bagged up and put in the back porch bins, new trash bag in place, ok now back to the computer. Settling into my chair with my mostly still-warm coffee, I check the screen to see where I was in my writing. Ugh, that screen is really dirty, is that a comma or a period? Oh wait, it's neither, bleck. Forget it. There is apparently a reason that I usually wait until evening to do my school work. My days are filled with home-work, so that when I am in a quiet room and I look around, I can see my home filled with my family and memories. Yes, it's definately worth the work. Who needs another cup of coffee anyway?(Friday, September 03, 2010 10:16:00 AM )
Alone in a quiet room, but what is really happening?
I am sitting here alone. It is quiet. Strangely quiet. Hmm, suspiciously quiet. Dangerously quiet. What is really happening that I cannot hear? A house full of children, well four children, is rarely if ever really quiet, and yet it is right now.
I wonder what is going on just outside of my hearing. Perhaps my daughter cutting all of her Barbie's hair off with my sewing scissors in her bed again, leaving a silken blond layer all over her sheets and blankets. Maybe she is playing "dress up" with the makeup that she has snuck out of my cabinet in the bathroom, slathering her face with lip gloss and eye shadow. She could be playing quietly in the living room, or doing one of the word-search puzzles that I gave her to keep her busy in the car, that is what's called wishful thinking. Her other favorite, yet dangerous sport, is what she calls "playing" with her older brother. I find that the definition of "playing" is wildly different to a thirteen year old boy than it is to an eight year old little girl. However, they are quiet.
Like the quiet before the storm. Is she upstairs watching, "helping" her brother while he plays his video game? That never ends well. To a bossy, and yes I admit, spoiled little sister, "helping" involves telling her brother what to do. Is he upstairs now muttering under his breath that she better be quiet? The tension builds and builds until he can no longer tolerate her interference, then bursts in a squall of yelling and stomping feet. He has a long fuse though, like I do, but once it's lit there will be fire. It's quiet now though.
It's one of those quiets that if you think too much about it, becomes one of those uncomfortable silences that forces you up to investigate. Like the movies where the pretty girl just has to look in the dark closet where the bad guy is waiting. You know that it's out there, and you can't stand the suspense of waiting for it to come to you. It's not "quiet" anymore.
It's silence. Waiting. Suspense. (Friday, September 03, 2010 3:47:00 PM )
I am alone in my quiet room, the special room that I carry locked inside of me, hidden away for moments like these; moments where I can just think and be for myself. Inside this room I don't hear the kids bickering in the living room, or the phone ringing (yet again) for my teenage son. I don't hear the washer spinning off balance, or the buzzer for the clothes dryer downstairs announcing the arrival of yet another load to fold and put away. Likewise, the sound of my husband yelling to the quarterback or power forward on TV, is lightly bouncing away from my little space here.
In this room, my room, my space, I hear only the slow murmur of my heartbeat as I close my eyes. I hear the soft whirring of the fan cooling the back of my neck from the unseasonable heat. I take a deep breath, hearing all of the stress and tension float away with a small sigh. Where do all of these sounds go when I step outside of my personal space here? Do they live under the clash and bang of my crazy, boisterous life? They must, for there are random times when I begin to feel slightly desperate or overwhelmed, that I take a peek into that room for a quick glimpse to reassure me that my quiet room is there for me when I need it. (Thursday, September 02, 2010 8:22:00 PM)
Alone in a quiet room, what do I see?
Sitting here, in a surprisingly quiet room, I see... well, I see my computer screen looking right back at me. It's actually glaring at me, through the haze of fingerprints and smudges of God-only-knows what. "How can you sit there and just type while I stand here dirty and smudged?" it asks. Well, it can wait, I have things to do here. So too can the dust that appears to have materialized overnight (yet again) and collected near the base of the suffering screen, I don't have time for that right now. With a sigh and a quick mental compromise, I decide that I will have one more cup of coffee since I am being so diligent and doing my homework first thing this morning, I head to the kitchen for a refill. What do I see? Oh dear, hmm, dirty dishes. They clamor for my attention as I walk past without making eye contact, accusing me of forgetting about them last night. Well, it was over ninety degrees in this house last night, and nothing was going to make me stand over a sink of hot dishwater. So the dishes are officially entered to my mental list of things that I still need to do today. Well, looks like it will be a busy day for me.
I wander back to the computer, refill in hand, only to see..sigh, my desk trash can must have been knocked over when the kids were in here playing before school. Well, that I can take care of now, it should only take a minute. Well, maybe a bit more, as I see the kitchen trash duty has apparently been forgotten by the kids before leaving for school. Trash all bagged up and put in the back porch bins, new trash bag in place, ok now back to the computer. Settling into my chair with my mostly still-warm coffee, I check the screen to see where I was in my writing. Ugh, that screen is really dirty, is that a comma or a period? Oh wait, it's neither, bleck. Forget it. There is apparently a reason that I usually wait until evening to do my school work. My days are filled with home-work, so that when I am in a quiet room and I look around, I can see my home filled with my family and memories. Yes, it's definately worth the work. Who needs another cup of coffee anyway?(Friday, September 03, 2010 10:16:00 AM )
Alone in a quiet room, but what is really happening?
I am sitting here alone. It is quiet. Strangely quiet. Hmm, suspiciously quiet. Dangerously quiet. What is really happening that I cannot hear? A house full of children, well four children, is rarely if ever really quiet, and yet it is right now.
I wonder what is going on just outside of my hearing. Perhaps my daughter cutting all of her Barbie's hair off with my sewing scissors in her bed again, leaving a silken blond layer all over her sheets and blankets. Maybe she is playing "dress up" with the makeup that she has snuck out of my cabinet in the bathroom, slathering her face with lip gloss and eye shadow. She could be playing quietly in the living room, or doing one of the word-search puzzles that I gave her to keep her busy in the car, that is what's called wishful thinking. Her other favorite, yet dangerous sport, is what she calls "playing" with her older brother. I find that the definition of "playing" is wildly different to a thirteen year old boy than it is to an eight year old little girl. However, they are quiet.
Like the quiet before the storm. Is she upstairs watching, "helping" her brother while he plays his video game? That never ends well. To a bossy, and yes I admit, spoiled little sister, "helping" involves telling her brother what to do. Is he upstairs now muttering under his breath that she better be quiet? The tension builds and builds until he can no longer tolerate her interference, then bursts in a squall of yelling and stomping feet. He has a long fuse though, like I do, but once it's lit there will be fire. It's quiet now though.
It's one of those quiets that if you think too much about it, becomes one of those uncomfortable silences that forces you up to investigate. Like the movies where the pretty girl just has to look in the dark closet where the bad guy is waiting. You know that it's out there, and you can't stand the suspense of waiting for it to come to you. It's not "quiet" anymore.
It's silence. Waiting. Suspense. (Friday, September 03, 2010 3:47:00 PM )
Friday, September 3, 2010
Friday Journal
TGIF! Today was the type of Friday that created that saying. I was so glad that my apparent attitude disfunction seemed to melt away as I slept last night. I had a lovely cup of morning coffee before the kids woke up, sitting on my back porch listening to the birds and squirrels. After getting the kids off to school Randy and I got to spend a little quiet time together before I began tackling the housework. Today it seems the laundry and dishes weren't quite so overwhelming, and I managed to make a significant dent in the mountain of dirty clothes. Gosh I even so far as to get out my sewing things to fix a pair of shorts. Talk about domestication! :) I was so pleased to see that it wasn't quite so hot today, but I did have to wonder how happy I was going to be about cooler days once December rolled around. Not to mention the potential hurricane that we may be seeing this weekend, that will liven things up for sure. I can just imagine my mother-in-law's face if the Labor Day cookout has to be cancelled because of the weather. Well, we will have to wait and see I suppose, tomorrow should tell the tale of what we will be getting. I am hoping that it doesn't get to terrible out, since hubby is working all weekend and I will have to find ways to keep the kiddos occupied. Time will tell, I'm sure that I will be griping tomorrow night if they are stuck in the house with me.
Theme Week #1 - First person
I love to read. I can sit and read to the exclusion of everything else around me. Having enjoyed my literature class so much last semester, and having done (if I must say so myself) a bang-up job on my writing assignments for that class, I was really looking forward to a writing class. I was a bit aprehensive when the woman at the bookstore informed me that there was no book for the class however. My husband laughingly asked what would you need a book for in a class where you were supposed to be writing anyway? I grimaced a bit and thought that perhaps there might be a book that taught how to be a creative non-fiction writer, and when I said as much, he just smiled. So tenitively I opened my first email from Mr Goldfine, reading through, sinking down into my chair a bit more with each sentence. I start at the top of the email again to clarify in my mind what in the world I am supposed to be doing, while wondering what in the world I was doing in this class. I'm not going to be a writer, or an english teacher, what am I taking this class for? I mentally quash all of the increasing panic, and click the link to the "test" (?!!?) for starting up the class. My stomach begins to clench as I quickly scan down the page of multi-part, multi-post messages and instructions. I calmly mention to my husband that he's going to need to be in charge of the kids for a while so that I can get my class set up, but he saw my face. The grim set of concentration, and almost panic was announcing to him that it was time to clear out and batten the hatches.
I won't go into the details of the test, but needless to say, I did manage to get to the finish line in a round-about kind of way. My spirits a bit lighter, and the sweat disappearing from my brow, I mentally pat myself on the back for getting it done and begin to wander down the path of my random daydreams of becoming a published author. How amazing would it be to actually write a book? I always wondered if I would be able to write a book that was able to paint the characters and scenes as perfectly as the books that I love to read. Buoyed by enthusiasm I look through the assignments and wonder if perhaps I was a bit too hasty in drafting my first dedication.
I won't go into the details of the test, but needless to say, I did manage to get to the finish line in a round-about kind of way. My spirits a bit lighter, and the sweat disappearing from my brow, I mentally pat myself on the back for getting it done and begin to wander down the path of my random daydreams of becoming a published author. How amazing would it be to actually write a book? I always wondered if I would be able to write a book that was able to paint the characters and scenes as perfectly as the books that I love to read. Buoyed by enthusiasm I look through the assignments and wonder if perhaps I was a bit too hasty in drafting my first dedication.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Thursday Journal
There are good days, and then there are days that I feel like I should move to another country and change my name. Today is one of the latter, I'm afriad, but not for the reason that most might think. Today I have been a horrible, grumpy, grouchy, pessamistic, nit-picky person. I know it must be PMS, or the heat, or the season, or the... oh I don't know, but there probably is not enough of a reason for my attitude today. It seemed like things just started badly and continued on from there. I woke up late, was rushed for time to get the kids off to school, couldn't find the car keys.. blah blah blah. I sit here, looking at my day and wonder, why did it matter? It seems like all of the little things just king of ganged up on me today, and in return I poured it on my poor husband. I do have to admit the look on his face was priceless when he asked me something, and I went bonkers (literally I think), ranting on about consideration. Really, consideration?? I can't believe that he puts up with me sometimes, but I am so very glad that I have him. Who in the world would make me laugh instead of cry when I look at the mess in my house? Who could weather the constant issues with our 10 year old son and still have that endlessly positive attitude. Well, perhaps I will treat myself to a long, uninterrupted shower and perhaps a bit of reading for fun. Gosh, I might even splurge and rescue my crops on Farm Town, lol.
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