Nobody Says It Better Than Rachel...

While her father was deployed to the sandbox back in 2003, Rachel, who at the time was about nine years old, wrote the following class writing assignment.  Her teacher actually called me to make sure I didn't miss seeing it.  Our daughter may be dyslexic, but nobody can say more, with fewer words or wit, than she can.  Even back then.  I scanned and emailed it to her father who posted it inside his work tent.

Dear Mother Nature...

In case the words do not appear as clearly on your monitor as they do on mine, I just thought I'd add the transcript.

                                   February 26, 2003
Dear Mother Nature,
With all due respect, can we 
please have Spring now.  Please
make the snow melt so we 
may have some green grass.  So we
can leave school.
                                               from Rachel

I'd normally add a quote of the day, but I can't think of a single thing to add to this.  (Especially since the weather report last night included the word 'snow'.)

The Power Of Laughter, Family, Friends And A Water Gun Filled With Lemon Juice...

Igor My husband is in a lot of pain at the moment.  Pinched nerve in neck.  See Holding Down The Fort And No Happy Endings, then lather, rinse, repeat.  (Warning: Do not eat or drink while reading)  Nuff' said on that subject... well, no.  Maybe not.  We've been teasing him pretty hard about his hunched appearance and this did not help his irritation, frustation and pain yesterday as Erin and I dropped him off at work for a few hours.  We were going to shop while he took care of some paperwork.  Unfortunately, we discovered that I had left my wallet at home... about an hour away from the base.  So Erin texted her father to let him know the state of affairs...

"Having discovered our supply of coin of the realm having been left behind at home, we are setting a course to retrieve said treasure.  Once we liberate our gold from captivity, we shall be setting a new course for that place of goods worthy of exchanging pilfered plunder.  We shall, of course, exempt you from the next raiding party.  One of us must, after all, remain law abiding in case we need to make bail.  We promise to only pillage if bartering does not attain desired results."  ~ your loving pirates...

Blatently stolen from M...

How to properly use Stress Reliever...

1. Make several copies
2. Tape to a wall in all rooms (never be to far away). 

3. Use until oblivion is achieved. 

4. Upon consciousness use aspirin. 

5. Repeat steps 1-4. 

From VWBUG:

One night at dinner, Morgan said to his wife, "I have to admit I'm feeling much better since my operation, but I can't figure out why I got this big bump on my head."
"Oh, that!" said his spouse. "In the middle of your operation they suddenly ran out of ether."

Maxing Out The Medical Frequent Flyer Mileage...

Let's see.  In the last ten days, I have needed the emergency services professionals... four times.  Emergency medical appointments... five times.  School meetings... 6 visits.  The next ten days looks very similar.  I do, however need to keep the wings level and the humor high... therefore?  I give you questions to ponder while in waiting rooms.

"Isn't it a bit unnerving that doctors call what they do 'practice'?"

 Mom, Reason Number 284 Why Tattoos And Body Piercings Might Not Be Such A Great Idea...

 "The statistics on sanity are that one out of every four Americans are suffering from some sort of mental

illness. Think of your three best friends. If they're ok then its you!"

 "If someone with multiple personalities threatens to kill himself, is it considered a hostage situation?"

 

 "Insanity is just anger-put to good use."

 

This Morning's Wit Went Faster Than The Speed Limit...

It is not normal for my husband to accompany us as I drive Rachel and Erin to school in the morning.   He is long gone, already at work, by the time we usually leave the house.  Today, he was kind of sitting in the front passenger seat.  Kind of.  He had a severely pinched nerve in his neck, so his head was kind of listing to the right, and I believe he may have been attempting a fetal position while whimpering every minute or so.  So after I dropped off the kids, I had planned to take him to the Chiropractic office to put him out of his misery... or was that supposed to be the Veterinarian office?

As I pull out of the driveway, "I'll try to watch the potholes and frost heaves." (which are unbelievably horrendous this year. I'm praying we don't break an axle. No exaggeration. It's bad.)

Erin, "Yeah, they'd probably really hurt Dad."

Me, "That's why I don't want to miss any of them. One must take advantage of ones opportunities in life." Groan from husband... still not quite sitting nor attaining a fetal position yet.

Erin, "Mom! That's just mean!" Giggling from the back seat.

Rachel, "I need to stay after school and see it I can fix the third page of my block print. I can't fix the first two, but it might not be so bad if the third page turns out OK." (If you are not an artist, then the preceding sentence may not have any meaning for you, but don't worry, I didn't understand anything except the need to pick her up later than the usual time)

Husband groans out, "Well that just makes it Modern Art."  Obviously his wit is unaffected by pain.

Me, "Modern Art?"

Husband, "If you can't understand it, then it's Modern Art."  Mewling and still writhing in pain. (Like I said, the roads are really bad, even though I really am trying to avoid spousal and vehicular damage.)

Rachel, "The definition of Modern Art is, 'you could have done it, but you didn't'."

I can't say I've ever had a reason to look up the definition of 'Modern Art' but considering most of Rachel's work should end up in the Guggenheim, according to her father, I guess they must know what they are talking about.

After dropping off the kids, I drove over to the Chiropractor's parking lot to wait the 45 minutes until the office opened... Only to find out there not only wouldn't be a 'Doctor in the House' until the afternoon, but there were no appointments available until 5pm.  I thought my husband was going to start bawling.  I really think I would have joined him because all weekend he could not find a single position to lay, sit or stand that did not involve severe pain in his neck, back, shoulder all the way down to his finger tips.  Luckily, we were spared the meltdown as another Chiropractic office nearby could see him right away.

When my husband went into the doctor's office, he looked like a pretty decent double for Igor (a description that was commented all weekend by more than one family member) and when he came out, he was looking more like the leaning Tower of Pisa, but at least the moaning was absent.  I took this as a very good sign because my husband is not a good patient. 

He was definitely sitting in the passenger seat now, but I was still trying to be careful of the pot holes. 

Seeing a huge one I could not avoid due to oncoming traffic in the opposite lane, I cringed and said to myself, "Oooooh, this ones going to really hurt."

Husband, "It's OK.  It didn't really hurt."

Me, "I meant my car."

This is where my day went oh so wrong.  Fluffy white flakes that looked suspiciously like snow started to fall.

Me, "That's snow."

Husband, "No.  That's coconut flakes."

Silence.

Husband, "Dried potato flakes?"

Silence.

Husband, suddenly sounding pretty damn cheerful for someone in pain, "We were only supposed to have a 20% chance of precipitation today."

Me, "That's snow.  I hate snow.  After all the snow we've had, snow just makes me feel homicidal."

Husband, "It's just precipitation.  You don't have to participate.  Just look straight through it at the palm tree."

Me, "Palm tree?"  We live in New England.

Husband, "Yeah.  Just keep looking.  You'll eventually see it."

Me, "Sometimes I really hate you."

Dear Diary...

How good are you at solving puzzles.  I have an unsolvable one.  Cat's, being what they are, are pretty much set on keeping you on schedule when it comes to their meal time.  There are four cats living in this house.  There are five daughters and one husband also living in this house.  There are 17 cat dishes in this house.  (yes, I counted) There is a half empty package of paper plates in a kitchen cabinet in this house.  There is a dishwasher in this house that also has a sufficient quantity of soap to clean every available dish, pot and pan in the house... twice.  There is a garbage disposal with a half filled bag, also in this house...

With all this in mind, the puzzle is thus: Why is it, when I go to feed the cats, there's NOT a clean cat dish available.  The cat dishes are NOT missing, mind you.  They are conspicuously sitting where cat dishes sit when the cats wish to dine.  All 17 of them. (dishes, not cats) (and yes, I counted)  In addition to the aforementioned cat dishes, there are also a half dozen paper plates that have played a rather obvious role of presentation of an item from the cat menu du jour.  I just do NOT get this.  A normal human being has to bend over to place the dish on the floor using their hand and if they move the aforementioned hand just several inches, that hand could pick up the used dining utensil from the floor before standing straight up again.  The trash compactor is three feet away.  The dishwasher is two feet away.  Yet there are 17 dirty cat dishes and 6 used paper plates awaiting my pleasure.  Why?

Since this happened to me (again) this morning, it was with great irony to receive an email from my sister-in-law, Karen (yes, I've outed you), concerning a rather intelligent sounding feline.  It was the intellect that actually caught my attention, because the thought did cross my mind that this cat apparently uses his brain to think and reason... need I continue this train of thought for you or has it already arrived at your train station?

Cat Diary

Day 752    My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects.  They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while I am forced to eat dry cereal.  The only thing that keeps me going is the hope of escape, and the mild satisfaction I get from shredding the occasional piece of furniture.  Tomorrow I may eat another houseplant and cough it up on the carpeting.

Day 761    Today my attempt to kill my captors by weaving around their feet while they were walking almost succeeded, must try this at the top of the stairs.  In an attempt to disgust and repulse these vile oppressors, I once again induced myself to vomit on their favorite chair---must try this on their bed (again).

Day 762    Slept all day so that I could annoy my captors with sleep depriving, incessant pleas for food at ungodly hours of the night.

Day 765    Decapitated a mouse and brought them the headless body, in attempt to make them aware of what I am capable of, and to try to strike fear into their hearts.  They only coo-ed and condescended about what a good little cat I was....Hmmm.  Not working according to plan.

Day 768    I am finally aware of how sadistic they are.  For no good reason I was chosen for the water torture.  This time however it included a burning foamy chemical called "shampoo".  What sick minds could invent such a liquid.  My only consolation is the piece of thumb still stuck between my teeth and the tiny bit of flesh under my claws.

Day 771    There was some sort of gathering of their accomplices.  I was place in solitary throughout the event.  However, I could hear the noise and smell the foul odor of the glass tubes they call "beer:.  More importantly I overheard that my confinement was due to MY power of "allergies".  Must learn what this is and how to use it to my advantage.

Day 774    I am convinced the other captives are flunkies and maybe snitches.  The dog is routinely released and seems more than happy to return.  He is obviously a half-wit.  The Bird on the other hand has got to be an informant.  He has mastered their frightful tongue (something akin to mole speak) and speaks with them regularly.  I am certain he reports my every move.  Due to his current placement in the metal room his safety is assured.

But I can wait, it is only a matter of time.

 QOTD:  "I have noticed that what cats most appreciate in a human being is not the ability to produce food — which they take for granted — but his or her entertainment value. " ~ Geoffrey Household

Repeat After Me...

WARNING: Do NOT drink or eat while reading this...

I went looking for the Bill Cosby's quote at the bottom of this post, and then remembered the old post it had been attached to.  I said to myself, "Self," (because the whole "WE are not amused", kind of thing, just isn't me... well, that and the fact that I talk to myself on occasion... just to be sure my auditory senses are in working order you understand... Right.  Dead horse and all that...) "THIS is medicine for what ails ya.  AND, it has the added benefit of not tasting like pond scum!"  Done deal.

On one of his deployments, my husband sent me the following in an email with a few comments of his own.  And just so you know?  My husband does not give warnings on things such as this, so the interior walls of my nostrils were introduced (rather unhappily, I might add) to orange juice.  You may thank me later for saving your own sinus' to a similar fate.  (I just want to make note that, although we have 4 cats, this particular incident could not happen in our house since we also have all daughters... and therapy is expensive.)

We've all had trouble with our animals, but I don't think anyone can top this one:

Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable. No matter how legitimate my excuse, I always get the feeling that my boss thinks I'm lying.

On one recent occasion, I had a valid reason but lied anyway, because the truth was just too darned humiliating. I simply mentioned that I had sustained a head injury, and I hoped I would feel up to coming in the next day. By then, I reasoned, I could think up a doozy to explain the bandage on the top of my head. The accident occurred mainly because I had given in to my wife's wishes to adopt a cute little kitty.

Initially, the new acquisition was no problem.

Then one morning, I was taking my shower after breakfast when I heard my wife, Deb, call out to me from the kitchen.

"Honey! The garbage disposal is dead again. Please come reset it."

"You know where the button is," I protested through the shower pitter-patter and steam. "Reset it yourself!"

"But I'm scared!", she persisted. "What if it starts going and sucks me in?" There was a meaningful pause and then, "C'mon, it'll only take you a second?" So out I came, dripping wet and butt naked, hoping that my silent outraged nudity would make a statement about how I perceived her behavior as extremely cowardly.

Sighing loudly, I squatted down and stuck my head under the sink to find the button. It is the last action I remember performing.

It struck without warning, and without any respect to my circumstances. No, it wasn't the hexed disposal, drawing me into its gnashing metal teeth. It was our new kitty, who discovered the fascinating dangling objects she spied hanging between my legs. She had been poised around the corner and stalked me as I reached under the sink. And, at the precise moment when I was most vulnerable, she leaped at the toys I unwittingly offered and snagged them with her needle-like claws. I lost all rational thought to control orderly bodily movements, blindly rising at a violent rate of speed, with the full weight of a kitten hanging from my masculine region.

Wild animals are sometimes faced with a "fight or flight" syndrome. Men, in this predicament, choose only the "flight" option. I know this from experience. I was fleeing straight up into the air when the sink and cabinet bluntly and forcefully impeded my ascent. The impact knocked me out cold!

When I awoke, my wife and the paramedics stood over me. Now there are not many things in this life worse than finding oneself lying on the kitchen floor butt naked in front of a group of "been-there, done-that" paramedics.

Even worse, having been fully briefed by my wife, the paramedics were all snorting loudly as they tried to conduct their work, all the while trying to suppress their hysterical laughter......and not succeeding.

Somehow I lived through it all. A few days later I finally made it back in to the office, where colleagues tried to coax an explanation out of me about my head injury. I kept silent, claiming it was too painful to talk about, which it was. "What's the matter?" They all asked, "Cat got your tongue?"

If they only knew!

Husband, "Why is it that only the women laugh at this?"

Me, "Too funny! Oh Yes….MUST pass this on! Holy cow! I DO think that all the men will cringe and the women will weep…..with laughter."

Husband,  "It does display the perils of an external reproductive system rather nicely...."

QOTD: "Through humor, you can soften some of the worst blows that life delivers. And once you find laughter, no matter how painful your situation might be, you can survive it." Bill Cosby (1937-) American Actor, Comedian and Producer

When In Need Of A Few Words Of Support...

The Giving Book Club.  The only books chosen are books that give to the reader.  Exactly what kind of positive thought, healing words, or humor the book gives, depends upon the reader. 

I think our whole family needed just a few words to remind us, that life happens and it will be OK.  We have some important decisions to make today.  We will work with the information we have and rely on doing our absolute best.  For a little extra strength, I pulled out a book off my Giving Book Shelf and sifted through the pages until I felt more calm.  Motivated.  Able to face what's to come.  This book is laid out by days of the year.  Each page is short but eloquently points out a different way to look at life.  Along with the date, this book has subjects listed at the top of each page, so if you need specific inspiration, simply flipping through the book until you arrive at your support-du-jour is easy.  This book is called, The Daily Book of Positive Quotations by Linda Picone.

Getting Through

"The best way out is always through." ~ Robert Frost

There's no easy way to get out of a difficult period, as much as we may want to find one.  We just have to go through it.  Rationally, we may know that our pain will lessen over time, but that is little solace at first.

Still, we survive.  And we survive by living through our pain - day by day, week by week, month by month.  And then, suddenly one day, we're on the other side, looking back, thinking, "That was a rough period, wasn't it? But I made it."

Resilience 

"It's not whether you get knocked down, it's whether you get back up." ~ Vince Lombardi

Watch a baby learning to walk.  When she first goes from crawling to walking, she's down more than she's up.  There may be a few tears, but she quickly bounces back up, ready to try again.  The urge to walk, to explore the world in a new way, keeps her going.  Wouldn't it be great if we could maintain this same kind of spirit?  A baby doesn't think, "Gee, I fell.  Now I'll never learn to walk."  As adults, we sometimes let our failures discourage us.  If something goes wrong one time, we think it will always go wrong.  We don't get up to take the next step.

Strength In Adversity

"Adversity draws men together and produces beauty and harmony in life's relationships, just as the cold of winter produces ice-flowers on the windowpanes, which vanish with the warmth." ~ Soren Kierkegaard

We see it after every major disaster: People opening their hearts, their homes, and their wallets to help others.  On a smaller, more personal scale, friends help each other in times of adversity - and even strangers rise to acts of heroism when the situation demands it.  We all have within us the desire and ability to help others.  It's too bad that we forget this until adversity strikes.  

After writing this post, I've been reminded that our family somehow manages to laugh at just about everything.  If we can survive earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, being robbed, floods, losing everything we own in a natural disasters... twice, losing family members and friends... then we will survive life at large today. 

I hope everyone has a great day!

Other books in the Giving Book Club:

Giving Is Supposed To Come From Here

It's Not Easy Being Green

Life's Little Instruction Book

My Lemonade Blender Needs A New Setting... Warp Speed...

Today is Monday, so it HAS to be humorous enough to get me through the week ahead.  I thought I would expound upon the Creative Insults, Kelly and I used to swap.

Any similarity between you and a human is purely coincidental!

Who told you to be yourself?  They couldn't have given you worse advice.

Are you always so stupid or is today a special occasion?

Converse with any plankton lately?

And there you were: reigning supreme at number two.

Do you have to leave so soon? I was about to poison the tea.

Please don't let your mind wander -- it's too little to be let out alone.

Don't you love nature, despite what it did to you?

He has reached rock bottom and shows signs of starting to dig.

Have you considered suing your brains for nonsupport?

Face it.  You have one brain cell, and it is fighting for dominance.

He is always lost in thought -- it's unfamiliar territory.

You are so conceited, your eyes behold each other perfectly.

Just visiting this planet?

His brain waves fall a little short of the beach.

His men would follow him anywhere, but only out of morbid curiosity.

I certainly hope you are sterile.

I know you are nobody's fool but maybe someone will adopt you.

I like your approach, now let's see your departure.

I worship the ground that awaits you.

I'd like to give you a going-away present ... but you have to do your part.

I'd like to help you out. Which way did you come in?

I'd like to leave you with one thought ... but I'm not sure you have a place to put it!

If ignorance is bliss, you must be orgasmic.

If you stand close enough to him, you can hear the ocean.

I'm busy now. Can I ignore you some other time?

I'm glad to see you're not letting your education get in the way of your ignorance.

I'm going to memorize your name and throw my head away.

If the saying, "What you don't know can't hurt you,"  is true?  He's practically invulnerable.

Make a mental note . . . oh, I see you're out of paper!

People say that you are the perfect idiot. I say that you are not perfect but you are doing all right.

Please breathe the other way. You're bleaching my hair.

So, a thought crossed your mind? Must have been a long and lonely journey.

Somebody else is doing the driving for that boy!

The closest she/he'll ever get to a brainstorm is a slight drizzle.

The going got weird and he turned pro.

The next time you shave, could you stand a little closer to the razor?

They said you were a great asset. I told them they were off by two letters.

They say opposites attract. I hope you meet someone who is good-looking, intelligent, and cultured.

We all spring from apes but you didn't spring far enough.

We know that you would go to the end of the world for us. But would you stay there?

Whatever is eating you - must be suffering horribly.

When I look into your eyes, I see the back of your head.

When you die, you should have your brain donated to science. I hear they're trying to come up with the perfect vacuum.

You are no longer beneath my contempt.

You make me believe in reincarnation. Nobody can be as stupid as you in one lifetime.

You must have gotten up on the wrong side of the cage this morning.

You possess a mind not merely twisted, but actually sprained.

You started at the bottom - and it's been downhill ever since.

You're nobody's fool. Let's see if we can get someone to adopt you.

You're not yourself today. I noticed the improvement immediately.

You've got your head so far up your ass you can chew your food twice.

Now go away or I shall taunt you a second time.

Do Not Let Your Children Try This Without Duct Tape...

I have found a treasure trove of posts from the old Lemon Stand blog.  So I have rediscovered a few subjects worthy of a more thorough insight.  After all, time and experience surely makes perspective an interesting phenomena.

A few years ago, one of my favorite bloggers, Air Force Wife,  wrote an incredibly funny post entitled Shakin' My Groove Thang about her relationship with exercise.  I remember commenting in jest that my groove thang had (in relation to exercise) geliophobia, ophthalmophobia and catagelophobia. (fear of being ridiculed, stared at and laughed at) I had looked up the definitions at a website called The Phobia List.  In reality, I am truly claustrophobic and agoraphobic, so I have a close personal relationship with fears.  Now, I know this site was not intended to be humorous, but I just had to laugh when I realized, that yes, there are possibly worse things to be afraid of, especially if you have children like mine...

I am so glad they never found that web page.  Just think.  I might have had to try matching wits with a child [Erin] who'd claimed she was ablutophobic (fear of washing or bathing) or hydrophobic (fear of water) as an excuse for exemption from utilizing a bathtub or shower stall.   

I can clearly imagine Danielle trying to justify skipping school because she was didaskaleinophobic (fear of going to school) or possibly sophophobic (fear of learning).  It was more likely that she'd had an important test she didn't study for (I guess that might be blamed on being testophobic?).

With as much as our kids argue debate, I really would have had to get a law degree, just so I could prepare a really good case of parental abuse.

When they were young, they all went through the stage of not wanting to wear clothes.  As teenagers, they have all acquired vestiphobia (fear of clothing), because getting them to pick up their dirty clothes?  Well, let's just say that MY Mt. Laundry has been worn down to an easily climbed hill since they were all told to wash their own laundry.  I believe this came as quite a shock at first because they do not have (nor have they ever had) automysophobia (fear of being dirty), rupophobia (fear of dirt), ataxophobia (fear of disorder or untidiness), or rhytiphobia (fear of getting wrinkles).

Can you get a clear mental picture of the problems this might also pose for poor unsuspecting teachers?

"I sorry Mr. Pruitt. I can't possibly write this essay for a final exam... I have testophobia (fear of taking tests), scriptophobic (fear of writing in public) and papyrophobic (fear of paper)."

Like I said, I now feel that there are worse things to be afraid of...  Still, I'm pretty sure I could have held my own (mostly) before the eldest children graduated from High School.  The younger ones are hereby warned that any attempt in this direction of behavior will yield that universal answer to just about everything... duct tape.   I certainly think that merinthophobia (fear being bound or tied up) could possibly be in the future of the child who wishes to test the limits on this... 

QOTD: "I have three phobias which, could I mute them, would make my life as slick as a sonnet, but as dull as ditch water: I hate to go to bed, I hate to get up, and I hate to be alone." Tallulah Bankhead (1903-1968) American Actress

The Spell Checker Battle Lines Have Been Drawn...

One really must have standards.  Why?  Because the fall of civilization as we know it will become inevitable if we do not strive for sublimity of excellence.  That, and because I refuse to yield to a spell checker that is clearly inferior to my own intellect and spelling ability.  So when I awoke this morning, I told myself that today was going to be a great day even if it killed me!  The results were thus:

Today was an awesome day!  No.  Wednesday's egregiousness was immeasurable.  That unique and most effulgent day of the week, signaling once again the reprieve of unfavorable potential dreaded upon perceiving an illumination at the termination of the tunnel.  Wednesdays reassure mankind that phosphorescent glow unequivocally is not an oncoming train and thus hastening ye thitherwards to that golden ticket visitation of requiescence, however epigrammatic that might be, that you've so frantically toiled away in occupational drudgery all week for.  So today, thus far, has been a terrific, boss, zero-cool, way-out, groovy, far-out, solid, shiney, ripping, fiendishly magical kind of day. Particularly because, yet again, the spellchecker failed miserably.  It really gives one a sense of purpose and accomplishment.  (Now, if you have understood completely and in it's entirety the preceding paragraph, you may pass go and collect $200, otherwise your time in the educational slammer might need to be revisited, although acquiring a tome-like Thesaurus like mine or simply using Thesaurus.com to hide this very slight genetic flaw works like educational duct tape.  Because, let's face it, unless you are having a battle of wits with the witless... the internet is your oyster.)

You know what else?  Tomorrow is Thursday, so there is lots to look forward to.  Why, tomorrow, you might even be able to steal into the home plate of weekend a little early.  But if not?  You are still going to wake up tomorrow, look out your window and think, it's true! It's an absolutely pulchritudinous day!

And Friday?  Well, I need hardly describe the feeling that comes when Friday has finally arrived, do I?  Since I did all the work of describing the outlook conditions of attitude for the rest of the week thus far, and maybe if your brain feels like it might truly detonate, in the grandest of fashions, (which, by the way,  would defeat the whole purpose of this report) merely by being filled with all the wonderfulness that is this post, might I suggest looking in Thesaurus.com under 'wonderful'.  Really.  There are 59 different variations of meaning, a whole SIX pages dedicated describing a Friday. 

QOTD:  "I not only use all the brains that I have, but all that I can borrow."  ~ Woodrow Wilson (1856-1924)

An Interesting Turn Of Events (At Least For Me)...

Anyone who has had the rather dubious honor of actually speaking with me, or perhaps communicating with me via email, has learned that my written words are not... well, normal.  'Not that I would know what 'normal' actually looked like, even if it bit me on my... ah, nose.'  When speaking, I have this really bad habit of starting sentences with... "however, comma, dot, dot, dot..." or ending them with "...period, full stop, end of story."  That is obviously NOT the way most people speak, not to mention all of those wonderful English teachers I had in Middle School, High School and College who are now rolling over in their graves at my grossly loose, use version of the English language.  See?  Even THAT sentence is not straight-laced, buttoned-down, proper use of the English language as taught by the public school systems in America (or at least I hope not).

When writing, I tend to write what I am picturing in my mind or feeling at that moment in time.  I think over the years, I have learned to share ideas ('Idears', for those of us up here in New England who add 'r's where they were not intended and drop them when we 'pawk' the 'caw') in a way that paints a sometimes way too vivid mental picture the intended victim recipient is supposed to see as clearly as I do.  Clearly, I have refined finger painting as a form of expression.

Then there is the problem with my wit with words.  Some find it humorous, while I do not find it quite so funny at the time.  I have realized I developed expressing myself this way to keep from offending or hurting others or I'm in full blown panic mode.  Rereading something I wrote later, sometimes feels like someone ELSE stole my crayon and wrote with it, freely embellishing descriptions in as odd a manner as humanly or not so humanly possible.

This probably is not making any sense at all to anyone but myself, that is.  It's sad to think I have been actively writing now for almost seven years about my very non-fiction life and have arrived at this point in time without evolving literarily at all.  (Yes.  I'm aware that the spell checker is gracing my scribbles with dire warnings of dire consequences in using words that don't really exist.  Be a rebel and ignore it.  I obviously do.)

So seeing as writing is my therapy for what ails me, you'd think that I could stay on topic.  Yakking on the keyboard (and I'll have you know that spell checker was eerily mute for the word 'yakking') and letting the words spew forth upon yon' (and spell checker is still quite silent) screen, really does not seem to be working very well for me at the moment.  My mind keeps wandering to subjects like vampires, ghosts, angels, brooding troglodytes, smart aleck (and may I say quite intelligent) women with a dash of witty reparte.  I evidently need to stop reading J. R. Ward.

I am a prolific reader, and unfortunately I read at a veracious (HEY!  That IS the correct spelling and usage of that word!  I've been gypped!  My spell checker is obviously substandard!) rate.  I'm pretty easy to please though since I will read just about anything except Stephen King-like novels in pretty much any category of the written word except Stephen King-like novels (Have I mentioned that I can not read Stephen King-like novels?).  I discovered the wonders of a library some time about Middle School.  (Yes, I know someone discovered it before me, but it was not real until "I" step through it's doors)  Suddenly there were new worlds to explore.  Elves, wizards and dragons to travel with, mysteries to solve, scary things to annihilate and history to be learned.  (I obviously did not discover the romance section until somewhere halfway through High School.)

I cut my teeth on The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings.  Fell upon Nancy Drew and The Hardy Boys like a starving, salivating pack of hounds on a very rare T-bone steak.  Then came Star Wars.  (I used to be able to quote by wrote the entire prologue of the first book.  Alas, my brain, over the years has been filled with so many stories that my memory occasionally does a dump to archive for some of the UBIs stored there.  That would be "Useless Bits of Information" for those that are acronym-challenged.)

And do you know what I have discovered?  My autobiography is the strongest sleep-aid known to man... even for me.  I really should patent it.  It could make me rich!  Somewhere over the last week or so I kept having to erase paragraphs of cool and interesting places and people to return to the boring life of moi... because that's what writing is all about, right?  I must be having a middle life crisis or something because I've decided I'd rather grow fangs, wear leather and ride a motorcycle, read all the non-fiction books in the Library of Congress, and discover where all the dragons hang out first.  (This is a test.  This is only a test.  If this had been a real emergency you would have been instructed where to go, how to get there and what to do once you got there.  NO!  I do not have fangs.  Or own leather pants.  Or a motorcycle for that matter.  And I do not know where dragons really hang out. (Although I have heard rumors they think people are crunchy and taste good with ketchup.)  Didn't want anyone thinking I've just jumped off the diving board of life into the empty, concrete swimming pool of reality. This is just me, making lemonade on a grey, cold, rainy, miserable day... maybe with a splash of vodka.  Za vas!  I may have to stop reading Christina Dodd, too. It's truly amazing the things you can learn from books.)

The really funny thing to me is that if I sit down to try and write really cool McGyverish kind of stuff, I come up with a completely blank screen.  If I try to sit down and write about the desert dry landscape of the real world and my personal phantasms, all I get is McGyver and dragons.  So it's official.  I have finally pulled into the train station at certifiable-ville.  Time to write myself out of a snowy dead end.

You will all be absolutely elated to know that I am not intending to ever share my fiction adventures, because I wouldn't want to give anyone reason to think I may have to be locked up I'm pretty sure authors of bizarre tales probably hide from their families... in a closet.  A secret double life.  See?  Now THAT sounds interesting... tapping on the keyboard that I had porridge for breakfast doesn't quite fire the imagination anywhere near as well as ghosties and ghoulies and wee little beasties, now does it?

If your imagination is as unmanageable and far-fetched as mine can be, then you can write your own new world all on your own.  Personally, I never thought I would get a kick out of the idea of inviting a character into a mythical place, torture it with either sappy or creepy (whichever it would hate most) and then either kill 'em off or have them ride off into the sunset.  I think I like the killing 'em off idea better, but who knows, it might be a warm and fuzzy kind of day so I wouldn't want to limit my options.  I guess I'm just mean like that.

Still, the reality is that I can't really live there, therefor I still have to make lemonade daily.  So, dot, dot, dot... Today is a Monday.  And it's supposed to be a humorous kind of day.  It's the law.  So it was amusing for ME to write about this interesting turn of events.  I might be getting just a little too much enjoyment from imagining my kids and their expressions and wondering just how much I can really weird them out?  This could take our family's dinner conversations to a whole new level! "Hey, honey?  How would you go about dismembering a werewolf?"  Or possibly, "If I wanted to make a guy REALLY squirm, I would make him [fill in the blank]!"

Hey!  It can actually be a two-fer.  I can torture the characters AND my family.  Now doesn't that sound like a win-win situation?  You can obviously see that this would not be a publishable book because I would do things to the characters just to annoy or creep out family members.  Really.  Ha!  I can describe love scenes to them... Remember these are the girls who absolutely do NOT want to know their parents even have a love life, much less their mother describing someone else's love life.  This really has the potential of being priceless.  Talk about some real Kodak Color kind of moments.

Ah, yes.  Life is definitely looking up...