Wolfie and "I look Stupid" day

Okay, so I didn't blog yesterday, this is why. My cat, Wolfie, had a mishap with a dog or "something" and has bite marks on his butt. He is okay, but he had to go to the vet, it was a big fiasco including stupid visuals of cute kitty with "cone head"---hehehe...sorry, Wolfie. But, and I mean Butt...he is alright.
Yesterday, Heather and I had a wonderful day, cooking pizza from scratch, playing and being together. It was an awesome girl day and I wouldn't change a thing. I realize that every single thing I do helps my writing. Form reading tons of books to spending time with my husband or daughter, it all adds to my writing, as long as I write...so, off I go to land of writing! Well, I guess that I am technically already there! See you tomorrow, same time, same Bat channel!

Life with a Daughter

My daughter is fascinated with febreeze. Who knew? If you would walk around my house, you would smell a mountain breeze here or a cool waterfall there. It is quite funny. I have not, nor will I ever be one of those women in the commercials though smelling upholstery, not my thing. Now, my floors are sticky from the residue, my robes on the back of the door are wet and when I walk in any bathroom---"whoa!" strong smell of overpowering non-nature. It is amazing to watch her wielding the sprayed smells around---two cans as if she is in a standoff at high noon. I am waiting for a tumbleweed to go by. I could see her, poncho on, her two cans at her sides in holsters...oh yeah, it is an image.
Life with a six year old daughter is indescribable unless you have a daughter---girls are funny. From makeup applications on the sly to accidentally forgetting to take off her two piece bathing suit and putting her clothes on over top. Other mothers have warned me of these things---everything from the almighty "I want a bra" scenario to "can I wear makeup?" and the most dreaded question, "Mom, can I go out on a date?" These are all things I dread and would love to turn to my daughter and say, you may date when you are thirty, but, I know better. I will just smile, count to ten and then answer or say, "talk to your father." Hey, it works for men the world round, why not for women too?
For now, I will face the loose teeth that gross me out, the farts that mimic her father's flatulence and the stinky feet---a new addition to our house. But, I hear, boys are way worse. So, for now, I laugh, I react and I count to ten...sometimes one hundred.

Summer Fun

So, what can I say, another day, more writing---let's go! I worked so hard on the blog yesterday, that I only edited my book...not good. So, I will keep it short today, just my thoughts for the day---a journal entry.
After a day of introspection, I must say that I feel great. I need coffee, but I feel good. Summer is wonderful for me to regroup and gear up for fall and teaching. The only problem I ever have with summer, is the heat. If summer was 65 to 72 degrees all summer---I would be in heaven. When I was in Maine for a week this summer, it was my perfect temperature. I was able to be outside without any MS symptoms. Someday, I hope to have a house in Maine and be able to vacation there each summer...even if it is a rental. It was wonderful. What was also great about it was spending so much wonderful time with my two sisters: Kate and Sarah. It was amazing. Kevin didn't get to go, but Heather and I did and we were able to do things together with my sisters, their husbands and my nephew, Oliver. So, I can't remember a more memorable summer. It has been wonderful. I also find myself wishing I was in Maine---right now. sigh....someday.

Writing it Down

I type and type,
fingers flying over the keys,
words trapped on a screen,
yet freed up for others to see.
Freedom of speech exercised.
I love language
and marvel at what comes forth.
Words are filled with feeling
tantalizing the senses
dripping off of tongues
uttering truths and falsehoods.
I long to only speak truth
unless it is to create worlds
that others want to look into
through the pages of my mind.

Driven to Create

Feeling the pages flip through my mind,
Each numbered, flying around me,
the corners, moving like magic carpets,
memories, stories told by me.
So many things buzzing in the air.
Love of our craft, friendships for life,
common grounds, some coffee...
I love the me I see in the mirror.
I look and all around are my characters
whispering their stories in my ears.
I am merely the vessel the have chosen,
the word master with paper and pen.
My written words are their conflicts,
laughter, tears,
all things that make up the world of paper
that lies before me,
soon to be filled with their words,
their lives for all to see.
No more excuses,
no more doubts.
We are all writers,
we all have different stories to tell.
Now, it is time to listen and with our ears,
we may filter through our beings,
these works that must be created.
These treasures of our souls.

Hummingbirds

I see the children,
laughing, lounging on a stoop.
A boy drawing on a girls leg,
daring his creativity to go farther.
Pens tracing a flower stem,
each petal drawn, one by one.

A laugh, hair tossed,
lashes flutter like butterflies
lips languishing, then open,
the boy cups her calf.
I am a voyeur among many,
witnessing this coupling
among mere children striving
to grow up too fast.

Small conversation, pushing of shoulders,
laughter again rings true.
Real emotion caught in a perspiring brow.
I see them, nerves a flutter,
hummingbirds,
captured for a moment,
on a stoop.

Dare to fly

Whoosh!
Rope, taunt, moaning,
branches, dancing through the air.
Defying gravity, legs pumping,
Flying for a moment.
The ebb and flow of the air around me,
grabbing at my calves.
I hold the hemp, fingers wrapped,
my smiles pressed against the sun,
Eyelids, hot then cool, kissed by the caressing wind.
Hair, grabbing onto the atmosphere around me.
Back and forth.

Tree of life,
suspending me for a moment,
holding onto my childhood,
nature nurturing my soul.
I climbed your body and saw beyond my world.
You held me on your shoulders,
mother to me and to many,
your branches lifted me through to adulthood.
Your roots grounded me in the past.

Whoosh!
Back and forth,
my curls flowing in the wind,
my legs pumping,
daring to jump...
over fences,
no destination in place,
flying high...into tomorrow.

Pottery

I am so many things.
So much makes up me.
Play dough morphing, changing colors.
Chameleon to many, able to adapt.
The many faces deem my role,
characters in life and playing the parts.
Real, but different from each other.
Teacher to mother, wife to writer.
We all are clay that changes
throughout its journey,
from soft to hard,
still able to trim off parts of our exterior,
hardened the outside circumstances.
Our glaze, shining, yet,
even then, we are fragile,
able to crack if dropped.
But, we are resilient and capable...
we shall continue on our road,
cracks and all,
All of the wear and tear,
Only adds to what is us,
the beloved creation that shines through.

Tapestry

Strength is key in my worth,
value of self appears in eyes open wide.
Virtue and acceptance intermingle with my being.
My mind, filled with memories
of my threads of life, my woven tapestry
pieced together, line by line.
Yarn flying back and forth,
building, then ripped apart.
Rewoven and made again...
different, yet clear that it is tightly formed anew...
brighter this time, more vibrant...raw,
yet real...
filled with...reality.

Listening to your mind

Puppet masters, ring leaders,
we wield the strings---or so we think we do.
Like a parent, molding memories int fiction
or making it up as we go along,
we create.
So much we cannot control.
To truly control characters on a page,
is to hinder their growth.
They must be free to BE.
The best kind of character is one that will not cooperate.
For that means that your characters have become real.
We meet many a stubborn character who faces off with us,
their creators.
Daring for us to draw first or, in this case,
put words in his or her mouth.
So many characters, stubborn,
whispering their intentions to us.
It is up to us to listen
OR deny their rights and in the end,
either create a character or a person
who many can relate to.
We are the storytellers, the keepers
of created tales,
the mediums of our created fellows
recording their lives
for all to see.
Denying nothing in order to get it right.
Follow your characters,
listen to their stories,
walk their paths with them,
for it is...all about the journey.

Full Heart

I miss you...
Among the chatter, the laughter, the fun,
I miss your arms around me.
This world, short lived, is fast paced,
amazing, all encompassing.
But, in my glimmering moments
of sighs and smiles, I think of your face,
you lines around your eyes as you smile at me.
I love each line, each crevice of your past
found in the surface of you.
I love your world together,
So fun, so real, we breathe life in
and exhale in a laugh.
My soul mate, my heaven,
my world. I love you,
as the world around me is all abuzz,
the ideas flying from person to person,
the din of the characters talking
whirls around, landing on the likely
tellers of their tales.
Amongst this amazement of creativity,
I am whole and with you,
I may be with you forever knowing
full well now
that I will recede to this world whenever
the computer keys plink, plink, plink
out the stories that must be told
for others to see.
The spider-like fingers
spelling out the conflicts of many,
the mishaps of my characters,
the laughter, the sadness
all on the screen before me.
Thank you for your tolerance
and for hold, all that I am,
to your soul.

Writers Workshop

The room around me filled with the learned.
Minds open, ready for more input.
Pens racing across the page,
nods of bobble heads
as the teacher preaches all he knows.
We sit, transfixed,
yet our monkey minds go
in many directions:
"Did I turn off the coffeepot?"
"What did he just say?"
"Where do we want to go for lunch?"
PowerPoint pictures shine
in bold colors before us,
then, black and white.
The world of academia
being pushed in the corners
of its structured four walls.
Our boxes, ripping open,
becoming whatever we make of them.
I have to smile at my surroundings.
So many stories in one room.
You can almost hear the buzz
of each character talking
in the minds of so many writers.
Masters of language...
doubting their abilities.
Trust artists, humble and eager.
Minds speaking volumes of
what is to be written down for all to see
or...only one.

A Cacophony of Words

Languishing, lovingly,
serendipitous supple strokes
of ink on parchment.
Language filling the page.
Worlds waiting to be formed.
Living microcosms of my mind.
I work to write...toil alone,
but alone no more.
Surrounded by sweet sounds
of voice like mine
whose thurst for language
is a ringing in their ears
that won't stop until
the written word is complete.
Peers, fellow sojourners
in the community of writers.
Feeling our way blindly
through this thing,
this existence we call WRITER.
We strive, now together,
to define our own worlds...
together, not solitary,
voices striving to be heard
above the whir of life.

The Fog

The mist, moist, envelops me
wraps me in its dampness.
All of me covered in natures droplets.
The world comforts me in its
billowing blankets of white.
Clouds on earth covering all.
A mystery of space filling
all around with cover.
I see, though I am blind.
The fog holds me in its arms,
I am nurtured by its love embrace.

Decadence

The succulent peach...
juices dripping,
chin covered in voluptuousness.
Abundant taste pours over me.
Caught on my pallet to linger on my mind.
Memories of peaches past.
Childhood romps with the
warmth of the sun.
Dirt stirred up into my nostrils
mingling with tastes of harvest time.
Peaches...forever linger on my mind.