Conversations With A Cardinal

R-rated Facebook pages?

2012-02-05T11:13:00.002-06:00

Facebook is great until your child joins; then it becomes a malicious enemy stripping innocence. I didn't want to do it, but I finally relented after way too much discussion. After all, I'm nearly 13, M-oh-m. I obtained password, secured privacy settings and made it clear that I had final say on who is befriended.

Less than two weeks in and it's brought to my attention from another vigilant parent that a once sweet role model turned wild college freshman has entered the picture.

"Go check it out," my friend said.

And that is why I wish Facebook pages were rated like the movies, for what I saw was abhorrent... things like vaginal disorderly conduct, hard dicks, spreading cheer with a tampon igloo and penguin, not giving a damn; overall sucky attitude I was not about to put up with.

"Sorry dear, but if you don't remove that friend, I can remove you from Facebook." End of discussion.

Christian book is sure to please

2012-02-02T09:19:00.001-06:00

Soon to be released NIGHT WITH A PERFECT STRANGER by David Gregory is the third book in his trilogy about Jesus appearing to character Nick Cominsky. Nick is a middle-aged man, married with two children and one on the way. He is on his way home from a visit with his parents that went sour when his father started drilling him about his career and comparing him to his more successful sister. Nick left in a huff at night instead of waiting until the next day when he was supposed to leave. He hasn't been on the road for too long when he runs out of gas. A stranger holding a gas can appears in front of him. After a closer look, Nick realizes it is the same man who came to visit him six years ago- Jesus. Jesus hops in and accompanies him on his trip back home.

Along the way they meet a man struggling with addiction. After a spiritual conversation over coffee and pie the man is transformed. They also visit a hospital where Jesus shows Nick a father rocking his premature baby. He tells Nick that God's love for us is much the same- unconditional, constant and forgiving.

As they near their destination Nick receives a call from his upset wife stating that she is spotting and on her way to the hospital. When Nick comes close to having a wreck and turns to Jesus, he is gone. Nick stops to help a woman whose car had gone off the road. It turns out to be his wife's spiritual advisor. He gives her a ride. They talk about God and spirituality. Nick is able to see the same thing Jesus was telling him in a new light: Jesus lives within us and we must listen to him and let him guide us through life. When Nick reaches the hospital he is led to Labor and Delivery. Jesus is waiting for him. Nick opens up his heart and lets him in, and together they walk through the doors to see what has happened.

What was Nick struggling with? What exactly does Jesus tell him? What kind of addiction does the other man struggle with, and what is their connection? Read the book and find out. You'll be glad you did.

On your mark, get set, go

2012-01-29T13:11:00.003-06:00

Yesterday was the Pinewood Derby for Andrew and Nicholas' scout troop, the last for Andrew as he will be crossing over to Boy Scouts next month. I thought about all the years we've spent in Cub Scouts and how quickly they've flown by. I sat at a table in the front corner while helping collect money for the upcoming Blue and Gold banquet. It was a good spot because I could sit back and take in the atmosphere, watch the activity. My how things have changed. Click here for last year's take and here for the 2010 race. You'll be amazed at how much they've grown.

For example, Katie was involved. For many years she wanted nothing to do with anything scout related, but now it's different. Gee, I wonder why? She and her friends, who also have little brothers, manned the concession stand. Every time I glanced over, there they were taking pictures and cramming their mouths with candy.

Meanwhile, Nicholas had an entourage of girls following him and he was loving it. He tried to take them backstage, but I put an end to that real fast. I know he's only in third grade, but you just never know with him.

Andrew was helping with the actual races. He sat and watched calmly in between. During their basketball game earlier in the day he had been hit in the head with the ball. I'm sure all the chaos drove him nuts. The boys didn't win this year, but they really didn't put much time into it. Pete's in grad school now, remember?

There was a lot of unstructured time. The young kids got rowdy after the first hour. By the third hour, we were ready to go. As I close, let me quote another mother my exact sentiments, "Why can't they just let the little cars roll down the ramp and be done with it?"

Look Out for Cars

2012-01-23T08:34:00.002-06:00

Nicholas and I went on a bike ride today. He was upset because he had spilled his Sonic slush drink. I thought the diversion would be good and it was. I love that little guy. He is full of contagious energy and always has so much to say.

First we talked about bike helmets. He wanted to know if when he was bigger he could stop wearing them.

"Cars will be able to see me then," he justified.

"No, honey. We always wear helmets because it keeps our head from getting smashed if we should have an accident."

But I wanted to continue on and tell him that I've seen a young boy die because of a bike accident. If he'd been wearing a helmet, he'd be alive. It was when I lived in The Woodlands. The place is full of walking trails and kids venture out after school. Well, a neighbor's son was on his way home, darted out of the trail across the intersection without looking and... you know the rest. It was horrible.

My children will wear bike helmets.

We also talked about dogs. Nicholas has a friend down the street, and he rides his bike to the boy's house by himself. He said something about a dog barking at him once. So I told him that if a dog ever started chasing him, he should ignore it and keep pedaling. Even if it's growling just keep going, don't look in its eyes.

On the way back from our ride, a dog did just that. It was a large, but precious, dog. He started following us so closely that he almost knocked us over. He barked and tried to get in front of our bikes. I looked over at Nicholas and he was looking straight ahead with a serious expression of determination.

"I sure am glad you told me about dogs like that," he said after the dog turned around and headed back home.

"Just remember, always look ahead and move forward, no matter how vicious things seem; don't pause for a second, keep pedaling. But always look out for cars."

“So He (Jesus) said, “Come.” And when Peter had come down out of the boat, he walked on the water to go to Jesus. But when he saw that the wind was boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink he cried out, saying, “Lord, save me!”” Matthew 14: 29-30

Inspiration: Scibbling Spiritual Sand at Wolfrosebud's blog- Click the link to join in and/or read more inspirational words.

Believe It's Possible: Revealed and Unveiled

2012-01-15T16:51:00.005-06:00

The mysterious invitation

Last night I had the privilege of being a part of an unveiling. Of what? I'm sure you're wondering. Well, according to Webster's Dictionary, unveil means to 1. remove a veil or covering from; or 2. make public. Both definitions are applicable to what took place; but before I fill you in, let me backtrack a bit.

Nearly a year ago I met this amazing woman, Cathy Taylor, who not only owns her own business, but designs the exquisite jewelry (and other things) sold there. She was struggling with some of the same issues as me, and when we got to talking I found out she had lost a dear friend, too. Rather than cardinals though, her connection with her friend Myra involved butterflies. We visited several times and then I didn't see her for awhile.

One day Cathy called me from out of the blue. There was a lilt in her voice, a sense of peace I hadn't heard before. She wanted to get together for coffee and so we arranged for a meeting time.

When I saw Cathy again there was a sparkle in her eyes and a smile on her face that truly came from the bottom of her heart. She told me she had been on a Walk to Emmaus, that she had had a spiritual awakening there. All of her burdens had been lifted and she was ready to follow God's plan for her. She didn't quite know what it was yet, but she did know it had something to do with Myra and butterflies. Cathy wanted me to help her with the writing aspect of whatever it would be and I gladly said yes.

It soon evolved into a new line that Cathy would call Believe It's Possible because Myra had been such a positive reflection of faith even in the midst of her debilitating cancer. Cathy and Myra had been friends since high school and Myra had clearly recognized the struggles Cathy had been facing. Shortly before her death, Myra had told Cathy that she would be part of a miracle one day. Little did she know she would be the miracle!

Since then, Cathy has been working hard on this new line. She managed to keep last night somewhat of a mystery to all involved, which has grown to include an artist, a bookkeeper, and much more. These people have been placed in Cathy's life, too. The beautiful thing is that none of us cares about the money aspect of it... we simply want to help Cathy fulfill God's plan for her.

A small section of the beautiful stage

Now back to last night. When I arrived at the church where it took place, I had no idea what to expect. The parking lot was full and I thought I wouldn't know anyone there, yet I walked into the room of people and felt right at home. I saw a few familiar faces. I found a spot in the front and soaked in the splendor of the stage, music, ambiance. Then I saw a friend and went to get her so she could sit by me. We waited in suspense until finally, the show began.

A serene Cathy unveiling her past

What can I say about this amazing evening filled with joy other than it moved me to tears? I wasn't the only one either, according to the sniffs I heard behind me and my friend who was downright sobbing. Cathy unveiled everything about her past with complete candidness. She celebrated her friendship with Myra and the significant role she played in Cathy's recovery even after her passing. Before the night was over, she unveiled the first pieces of jewelry and gave them to Myra's mother, husband and three sons. Myra's legacy would live on through this Believe It's Possible line, the ministry she always wanted.

I can't wait to tell you more, but God is writing the story, you know, and His time can be slow. I promise I will unveil more as it comes to fruition. Until then believe in the power of prayer, believe in the power of miracles, believe in the power of God. Believe it's possible. I do.

***
Linked to Scribbling Spiritual Sand: "She (wisdom) is a tree of life to those who take hold of her, and happy are all who retain her." Proverbs 3:18

Saying Good Morning

2012-01-09T14:11:00.002-06:00

I took this last summer at the lake

“My voice You shall hear in the morning, O Lord; in the morning I will direct it to You, and I will look up.” Psalm 5:3

It never fails that when I'm having a bad day I can usually trace it back to forgetting or not allowing enough time for a Good Morning, God when I woke up. The good news, though, is that I can start my day over at any time with a prayer. It doesn't have to be an elaborate prayer spoken in tongues, a simple conversation will do. What I usually say goes along these lines, although the words may vary:

Dear God,
Thank you for this wonderful day. Please help me know your will for me and give me the power to carry it out. Open up my heart to your word and remove whatever is blocking my way to you. Amen.

I used to think, why pray? God couldn't possibly hear little old me. Plus, with my Catholic upbringing I felt that all prayer had to be formal. Now I know that's not true. Even if I only say God help me it will be enough.

PROMPT SOURCE~ **Wolfsrosebud's Scribbling Spiritual Sand - Every Monday morning she'll post a Bible verse as inspiration.

Pucker Up!

2012-01-06T14:41:00.004-06:00

Not long ago I wrote about the time Pete looked at me and screamed. I had on a bright lipstick color that resembled a citrus decoupage. Needless to say, he didn't like it. Click here to read the story.

Day 1

Now I have a new lipstick problem. I found this reddish gloss-like stuff on sale called liquid lipstick. I decided to try it out. Big mistake. When I got back to my car and applied the shine, it dried like clay on my lips. And it stayed. For days it stayed. I'm not kidding. It was on when I went to bed that night and it was still there when I woke up. Lunch, still there; dinner, check. My lips felt like a peeling sunburn and looked like a brain because the color faded in the deep crevices.

See how it's dried and cracked on my lips, day 2?

I like the fact that I don't have to reapply, but I don't like the fact that the color's on for a very long time once the paint job's done (and, no, makeup remover doesn't get it off). I can kiss my kids without them having to worry if I left red lips on their cheek, but I can't leave red lips on Pete's cheek. Once that gloss has dried, there's no turning back. I guess if you were contemplating having an affair, you might want to use this (or have your lover use it); but my lips are mum, so don't quote me.

I have learned a thing or two from this ColorStay Ultimate goo.

When things go wrong, it stays

I've learned to paint my lips sparingly and only in a still car, or my teeth will be red for hours. I've learned to take my time lest I color outside the lines and look like a clown. The most important thing I've learned? Save it for dance recitals. Note to self: Don't be in last minute costume change rush when putting it on Katie's lips. Scrap that idea, I'll throw it in the back of my drawer.

In Gratitude with Action

2012-01-01T17:10:00.006-06:00

It's been such a lovely winter break from school, dance, TaeKwonDo, basketball, CCD, scouts ~sigh~ and the list goes on. We have had a blast with our Christmas gifts; especially the ping-pong table and my new bike. Now we can all go on family bike rides and that's what we've been doing, the weather has been so mild. I feel extremely blessed to have the opportunity to enjoy life with my family.

Off I go

It's great to have a bike again. I once owned a fancy mountain bike. I rode all over town on that bicycle. When Pete and I got engaged we even took our bikes camping. The picture below was taken on that trip.

On my old bike after Pete and I were engaged

Notice how I wear a helmet now that I'm a mom?

Eventually children came along as did tough times. It seems like we were stuck in a rut of bad luck for several years with sickness, surgeries, car wrecks and financial woes. So when Pete got an offer to trade a bike for a car, well... you guessed it; there went my bike. I didn't have time to ride it; remember three children in four years? Anyway, there was no money to buy another car after Pete's third accident. The son of a friend had lost his car privileges after getting into too much trouble, but his parents wanted him to have a bike to get around on; hence, the switch. The kind act of that friend made the world of difference in our lives and for that I'm grateful.

2012~ Motto:ACTION, Word:GRATITUDE

For the new year, I plan on being more active. My word for the year (remember last year it was perseverance?) is gratitude. I will be grateful in times of rejections and illness because there is always something to be thankful for. I'm starting with you; I'm so grateful for those of you out there who read my blogs. May 2012 bless you with peace and abundance.

Hot off the press...

2011-12-20T12:54:00.003-06:00

More holiday gift ideas!

Literary enthusiasts, take note!

The wisdom and wit of Jane Austen and Charles Dickens is offered in two separate titles as a part of Thomas Nelson's new Devotional Classics series: A Charles Dickens Devotional and A Jane Austen Devotional, both in a beautiful cloth hardcover.

A Charles Dickens Devotional features some of Dickens' brightest gems: Great Expectations, A Tale of Two Cities, Oliver Twist, and A Christmas Carol, all of which are richly woven stories brimming with the fruits of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness andself-control. Add in the topical devotional thoughts and you have an abundance of insight and guidance for faithful readers.

Short excerpts from Austen's classics are featured in A Jane Austen Devotional: Northanger Abbey, Pride & Prejudice, Sense & Sensibility, Persuasion, Mansfield Park, and Emma. Austen's devotional also includes a daily thought and Scripture that meaningfully translates to women's everyday lives. Time and time again, Austen shows us through her words what love truly is; built on action, character, and honor.

While these authors may have lived hundreds of years ago, their stories still translate meaningfully to modern life.

A Charles Dickens and A Jane Austen Devotional are available in stores in January 2012.

Want to check out more? Sample a few days of each book, view the video, and see where you can buy the books: http://tngiftbooks.com/devoclassics

--

Surprises of the Season

2011-12-18T20:35:00.001-06:00

Imagine this:

All are gathered for the Christmas program. It's a packed cafeteria. Parents, grandparents, siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends; the whole shebang is there. Curtain rises and a garden of feisty red and green peppers appear with mouths opened wide filling the air with Christmas music. On the stage sits your child ready to say his part (he is one of the chosen ones). It's a mock classroom of antsy kids, with risers of carolers on either side. The time finally comes and he steps up to the microphone.

"For nearly every teacher thinks these last days should be tough," he says with perfect diction and expression, thank you very much.

The next two kids say their part, and then all of a sudden there is a distinct noise coming from the top riser followed by screams and a deluge of kids darting out to the center of the floor like a mob of fans at a teeny bopper concert. sigh. At first I think it's part of the program, but then I hear the recognizable sound again. Someone is throwing up, poor thing!

Everyone watches in silence as they remove the sick child and cover up/clear away the... you know. My child and all the others stay on stage. The carolers all congregate on the other side, jam into the risers like Christmas sardines. Ten minutes later, the show picks up where it left off, and you get to hear your son say his part again.

Can you believe it? This time of year is SO full of surprises.

A Kidney for Christmas

2011-12-15T09:07:00.000-06:00

Kristal and Katie March of 2000

I was still teaching school when Katie was born, so I was faced with the dilemma of who would care for her while I worked. My mother was happy to help out for the first few months, but then I needed to find someone who could alternate days with her. Our church recommended college student Kristal Manley. My parents knew her parents and after meeting her just once, we knew we could trust Kristal with our child. She and my mom came up with a workable schedule and everything was perfect... for awhile. Then Kristal was continually put in the hospital for her worsening diabetes. She became too sick to continue babysitting.

Flash forward twelve years. After numerous close calls and with a new kidney and pancreas as of April 2007, the now wife and mother Kristal Peese is a seemingly healthy woman living a Christian life. But there's one HUGE problem. Her body is now rejecting the kidney. She has to have another kidney transplant as soon as possible.

Kristal says, "After my first transplant my body developed antibodies that have limited my options as far as a matching donor. 80% of the worlds population will not match me correctly, but there are so many options available."

Would you consider either donating to this expensive life-saving procedure or being tested as a possible donor? HelpHOPELive (National Transplant Assistance Fund & Catastrophic Injury Program) is the place where you can do just that. She has a page with all the information on how to donate here. Please call the Houston Donor line at 713-441-8900 to answer a few simple questions which will determine whether or not you are eligible to donate. What better gift for Christmas than the gift of life?

Kristal has written her inspiring story (11-17-11) here.

You can also click here for more information on Kristal from a news story aired on 12-14-11.

Me, a Redhead?

2011-12-11T21:44:00.003-06:00

Here I am as a redhead wearing one of my mom's very old wigs

Can you believe that after tomorrow's final at 8:00 p.m., Pete will be half-way through with his graduate degree? Well, I can! Especially tonight since some red-headed girl has been calling him every five minutes with a question, but that's a different story we'll discuss later. It's been one hectic year. At times I've felt like a single mom, but knowing that we're on the downward slope makes it easier to approach another year of the crazies.

Just watching my husband pore over the books and work problems that must come from Mars reminds me of my college days. Life was so ME then. I wish I knew how easy I had it; scheduling classes when I wanted, going out almost every night, and working at a stress-free job I adored. I had time to work out at the gym daily, although it was at 6:00 a.m. because of classes and working. On weekends I could take little trips or go to football games (that's when the Aggies were good). I had no idea what people meant when they told me to "enjoy it now because when you get in the real world it's a different story."

Well, I embraced that next stage of my life with the enthusiasm of a middle school cheerleader with ADHD. I acquired a great job before I even graduated (which this month has been ~gulp~ 22 years) and enjoyed my teaching career for twelve years before becoming a stay-at-home-mom.

Now I barely have enough time to do all I need to do, and I'm not working outside the house, I don't go to the gym and I definitely don't "party" anymore. With my writing, mothering, cooking, grocery shopping, laundering, cleaning (kind of), chauffeuring, nursing and everything else I find myself almost dreaming of those college days again. Don't get me wrong- I love my life. It's just... I always wanted to be a redhead working on her MBA.

By the Minute

2011-12-03T19:55:00.003-06:00

The sign!

I go through my life minute by minute because anything could change in a few seconds. Today was the perfect example. It was my book signing for Chicken Soup for the Soul: Devotional Stories for Tough Times, but it was also Katie's SAT test (she's only in 7th grade but she had the opportunity to take it); both of which were scheduled in advance. I thought Pete could help with the kids, but then he had to go out of town on business. So I made arrangements for the boys and prepared to pick up Katie and her friend at Lamar University. I got there early so that no time would be wasted. I waited outside and admired the mild day, grateful that if for some bizarre reason I didn't have time to go home and change, at least I had body spray, water and a cute hat in the car. The girls were supposed to be finished around lunchtime and I had to be clear across town by 1:45. I knew it would be close, but I never imagined how close. Something happened that almost made me miss my own event.

It's really very stupid. When I found out the test wouldn't be over until around 1:15, I went back to my van to get my crossword puzzles... and I locked my keys inside. BUT I didn't realize it until the girls were done. It was 1:20. After wasting five minutes trying to pry the door open, break through the trunk and pop the window, I called the father of Katie's friend. It would take him at least 15 minutes to get there. The girls tried to unlock the door with anything they could find. We bounced the van up and down (as if that would change anything). Where was Superman when we needed him? I'm sure they enjoyed the drama, but I didn't. Everything I had prepared for the book signing was inside my vehicle. I would be going as is, with nothing but me.

Sylvia and me

I called my friend, Sylvia Ney, who was also part of the book signing. She has a story in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Just for Preteens. I told her I'd be there a little late. I finally arrived at 2:05.

Can you tell I took this picture of Jake and me?

I ended up having a great time. Sylvia and I caught up with each other and signed some books. The highlight of the event was finally meeting a fellow writer, Jake Chambers. We took an online writing class a few years ago and have kept up with each other ever since.

After the signing, my dad (my forever superhero) took me to get my car. Thank goodness it was still there without a ticket or dent. What college student wants an old van anyway? I don't know what I was thinking.

*

Click on dVerse Poets for more on this weeks topic, comics.

Bad Gas?

2011-12-01T19:22:00.001-06:00

I'm chugging down the darkened street at 6:45 (and I mean a' chug-chug-ing) with the boys in tow. A red light that looks like a genie bottle is glowing on the dash and all I can think is get moving dear most reliable van whom I have adored for eight plus years.

I resist the chug-a-lug, put the pedal to the medal. Chug-chug... it picks up... spit-spat. We look like we're being jerked front, then back in a roller coaster.

"Come on, move!" I say.

The boys are freaking out.

"What's wrong with the car?"

"Are we going to break down?"

We are in front of the house, so I think not; but we have to get Andrew to karate and then cross town to pick up Katie from dancing after his class is over. Of course, Pete's out of town. I can't afford to have the van go cuckoo on me right now. Keep your fingers crossed. I think it's bad gas.

It coughs a bit, spits up and moves on like normal. Whew.

A Christmas Story to Share with Children

2011-11-27T16:01:00.002-06:00

At Christmas, Christians celebrate the birth of our savior Jesus Christ. It is a festive season of joy and merriment typically associated with the image of Santa Claus bearing gifts for all.

What if there was a real connection between Jesus and Santa?

Mary's Son by Darryl Nyznyk does just that. It's as if God has sent Santa to do His will today like He sent Jesus to do the same so long ago. It is the delightful tale of two confused children - one a rich spoiled brat, the other a poor gang leader - and how they learn to love selflessly after Santa Claus takes them back to the first Christmas to witness the birth of Jesus. They discover God's encompassing love and return forever changed.

Mary's Son is an inspirational story reflecting on the true meaning of Christmas. I can see why it has received three Gold awards as Mom's Choice Awards: Inspirational/Motivational book. I can't wait to read it to my children this holiday season.

Gratitude A-Z

2011-11-23T20:13:00.004-06:00

A- Apples, although Pete would disagree. You'll have to ask him why.
B- Boys. My boys are the best.
C- CARDINALS, of course. And caramel, coffee, chocolate...
D- Dogs. My dogs, Jake and Snowy, or as I sometimes call them Joey and Snake.
E- Exercise, even though I don't do it much. I've already exercised for a lifetime.
F- Family and friends. They're the same.
G- Girls, giggly girls... especially my wonderful daughter.
H- Husband. How did I get such a good one?
I- Inspiration. What inspires you?
J- Justin Bieber (just joking)
K- Kids; they see everything with unbiased innocence, and live in the moment.
L- LOVE always. Love is GOD.
M- Music, music, more music.
N- Nephews and nieces. You know who you are.
O- Oak trees, cloud dreams, summer days and moonbeams.
P- Poetry, of course.
Q- Quip; Keep It Simple, Stupid
R- Relaxation on a sandy beach.
S- Sunshine; it makes me smile.
T- Treading water.
U- Utopia. I wish!
V- Vegetables, but not Brussels Sprouts!
W- Windows and wishes
X- Xmas, although I prefer Christmas.
Y- Yellow; I love the color, plus I couldn't come up with anything else.
Z- Zoos, especially zebras. Black on white or white on black? Who cares? Remember love!

Falling Leaves

2011-11-15T09:46:00.001-06:00

Whew. After fearing for days that I was indeed succumbing to the falling leaves within my mind swirling piles of scattered memories, I can now bag those piles of rubbish thoughts and move on with my life. You see, last weekend we went out to eat and when Pete realized he had forgotten his wallet, he asked me for my debit card. I was in the middle of a serious conversation with my mother when he said, "What's your password?"

All of the sudden my mind became as blank as a winter tree. My password? I thought about it for a minute and tried to recall the pattern I so effortlessly typed into keypads too many times a day; but I could not remember those five digits.

I covered up the blank I drew. "Uh, can't you see I'm in the middle of something? Can you just charge it?"

The fear of rejection kept my debit card pocketed for the next day. If I punched in the wrong ID number, I might get accused of stealing my own card! I over-thought about what the PIN could be with no luck whatsoever, while at the same time scheming like an identity thief; if I try it there, they'll confiscate my card and handcuff me, but if I try it here I might be able to get away with it.

I tried to use it when I filled up with gas, but it was incorrect. What was I going to do? Go into the bank and tell them I'm losing my mind?

Yesterday I'd had enough. I psyched myself up and when the time came to give my debit card a try, I swiped it, closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I then let my fingers do the typing. Guess what? I got it right!

Sometimes I think my fingers know more than I do. After all, they are the ones who take off writing and leave me running behind falling face first in the crunchy leaves.

Through Thick and Thin with... Peanut Butter?

2011-11-08T19:31:00.005-06:00

When I married Pete and promised to stick with him through thick and thin, I never imagined that peanut butter would be the adhesive. When I sit down and analyze our relationship, how it's grown and changed through the years, I can easily see that peanut butter has molded us into contentment.

Pete loves it. He told me stories while we were dating of how his mom bought the institutional size spread and left it on the counter with fresh white bread so that Pete could swoosh it down whenever he wanted. Pete was rail thin and always on the go, and she practically begged him to snack on it.

I'd had my share of PB&Js growing up and was of the attitude that it would put five pounds on my hips if I dared a mere sniff; but shortly after we married, Pete proved me wrong. He reawakened my love for the stuff while I was pregnant (which occurred three months after marriage) by making toasted peanut butter sandwiches for me. When he spread the creamy concoction on the warm bread, it melted. That was sheer ecstasy for my cravings, and I took advantage of eating as much of the fattening goo as I could since I was already gaining weight.

By the time I had Katie, I was already addicted to nighttime foldovers with peanut butter and grape jelly. The healthy, protein-packed snack gave me a lift during those sleep-deprived months. I made it through the next four years of birthing three and having foot surgery in between on the delectable snack. It was quick, filling and good. I discovered I didn't have to run five miles a day and eat salads all the time to stay fit and trim. And as happens in most marriages when partners take on each other's habits and idiosyncrasies, Pete had converted me to a peanut butter lush. At least I lured him over to the wheat bread side. I mean, as long as it's fresh enough to melt in your mouth, who cares?

Through the years our taste has changed a bit. Variety is the spice of life, right? We started out as Peter Pan lovers (of course, I love Peter!), but quickly converted to my childhood favorite, Jif, after the salmonella scare years ago. Pete's gone from peanut butter and jam to just peanut butter to crunchy with black raspberry. He's now back to smooth and jam. I always try out his new love, but revert back to dependable smooth and grape jelly with an ice cold glass of milk.

And at the end of the day, after the kids are tucked in bed, we cuddle on the couch with our treat. There's nut-n-butter than that.

Maybe we should invest in peanut butter stock... what do you think?

Lessons with Food on Peace and Acceptance

2011-11-03T14:03:00.008-05:00

When I taught children with the reading disorder dyslexia, we broke down syllables and studied word origins. It was easier for them to understand the words if they could be dissected and analyzed. With every new group of students the same question arose; why is the English language so complicated?

I'd explain to the children that America was like a big pot of spicy stew. Through the years different countries have added special ingredients, or words, to create the language we know today. For some reason that metaphor was good enough for them, especially after we made our own special olla. Each student would bring a certain item to add to the mix: meat, chicken, sausage, potatoes, onions, celery, carrots, garlic, seasoning. Whatever they chose to bring we'd mix in. We'd listen to the crock pot making funny gurgling noises as we coded words using colored markers. And at the end of the day, when we were able to taste our delectable creation, all was good.

I used food a lot when I taught in a regular second grade classroom. It was like fish bait for learning. I mean, what better way to teach kids how to write "How To Make a Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich" than by having them make one using their first draft as their guide? They quickly learned that if the sandwich was going to turn out right, not one step could be omitted or they'd have a sticky mess. After they succeeded with the sandwich we moved on to banana splits; and I had a classroom full of enthusiastic writers mixing vanilla, strawberry and chocolate ice cream with caramel, chocolate and whipped cream. Everyone's dish looked different, but each child loved his/her unique sprinkled-to-goodness treat.

From last year's garden (we're in a drought)

Each year when we reached the not-so-beloved vegetable study, we had a sampling at the unit's culmination. Students would bring in raw carrots, mushrooms, radishes, tomatoes, broccoli, peppers and more. I would bring a big bottle of Ranch dressing or other type of dip. They mostly drank up the dressing and nibbled on the "oh, my gosh, this came from the ground" and "gag me with a spoon" vegetables; but they were being exposed to a palette of healthy food they might not have been willing to try at home. The children also learned that the vegetables weren't as bad as their preconceived notions had built them up to be once they gave them a try.

Of course, at Thanksgiving we had the infamous pilgrim/Indian feast. We talked about how the two came together in peace and gave thanks for their bountiful harvest and many blessings. Half of the kids dressed up as pilgrims and the other half as Indians. We all sat together around the bulletin paper table and enjoyed the meal.

At Christmas, we studied holidays around the world and sampled food from each country. The kids were able to dress like the culture they represented and travel from table to table (country to country). Never was a word uttered about disgusting tastes or flavors; rather, a greater appreciation for different ethnicities was garnered. Each country was represented in that one room. There was no fighting or name-calling. A good time was had by all, and the common denominator was food.

Wouldn't it be nice if all the countries in the world could gather in one room and celebrate each other's heritage like children do at school? We sure could learn a lot from our nonjudgmental innocent kids.

Exposure to different kinds of food not only enriches our cultural awareness, but it also brings us together for a bigger purpose; peace.

A magnet my daughter created when she was in preschool

*

Read more on food in the 12th issue (November-December 2011) of language/place blog carnival hosted by Linda Hofke here.

How to Journey Through Life with Christ-like Friendships

2011-11-01T10:42:00.000-05:00

The Girlfriend's Guidebook by best-selling author Marian Jordan is an excellent resource for women striving to achieve more meaningful Christian friendships with one another. In this vade mecum, Jordan uses examples of real life traveling abroad experiences with girlfriends to demonstrate some of the obstacles women face in their female relationships, and she maps out a plan for overcoming these difficulties. Below is a list of what I found to be the highlights of her book.

1. No friendship should be more important than your relationship with God. Jordan says, "When you and I hand over the power to make ourselves feel secure to another person, we make an idol of that person." Relational idolatry leads to dysfunctional friendships with negative characteristics of "guilt, fear, manipulation, exhausting demands, and general lack of freedom." No person should be used as a means of boosting our feelings of self-worth and value. People always let us down because we are not perfect. God will never let us down.

2. Emotional baggage can block us off from God's true intention of friendship in our lives. "Unhealed wounds ring alarm bells, triggering our internal flight or fight mechanism, otherwise known as fear," states Jordan. In the book, a list of roles women take on as ways of dealing with their past helps us identify our behavior in relationships (drama queen, center of attention, victim, fake, etc). Since we all have some degree of baggage, Jordan invites us to own our baggage and seek healing from Jesus. Then we will be rewarded with Christian friendships.

3. Characteristics of a true Christian friend can be found in the Bible; Jordan gives us a list of the top ten. They include loyalty, trustworthiness, encouragement, genuineness, connectedness, integrity, compassion, kindness, grace/forgiveness and love/selflessness. Love is "seeking the best for others" which could mean confronting a friend when she has a problem rather than ignoring it because you don't want to hurt her feelings. True friends want the best for one another.

I highly recommend this book for all women seeking more meaningful Christ-like friendships in their lives. Marian Jordan is an excellent writer who uses her own experience mixed in with Bible versus and notable quotes to support her purpose. You can learn more about her at Redeemed Girl Ministries which she founded, or on her webiste.

This thing we call time...

2011-10-26T13:57:00.004-05:00

"I can't believe how long it's been since we last talked!"

Haven't you ever said that to a loved one or a friend after too much time has gone by since you last talked to them or even saw them? I sure have, and I'm saying that to you now. I can't believe how much I've slacked on this blog. I do have some very justifiable reasons as we all do when our defense mechanism kicks in: the kids are keeping me busy, Pete's night classes are taking a toll on me, I've been concentrating on my poetry, the dog ate my homework... oops, that's an excuse for something else. Anyway, you get the drift.

I remember when the kids were little. People would tell me to enjoy this time because once they start school, it will fly faster than a flight to New York. It was a little hard for me to believe them as I was consumed by poopy diapers, fitful nights, mysterious illnesses, trips to the ER and the list goes on. All I could think was, "Is this ever going to end?"

And now they are well into school and I find myself wondering where all the time has gone.

Yesterday I went to my ENT for a checkup (remember my Meniere's Disease?). It had been two years since my last visit and I am happy to say I've been dizzy-free (except for those blonde moments). He has me on a daily regimen of Zyrtec and Astepro nasal spray to control the fluid build-up in my ears. Time has been good to me in that respect.

Until I mentioned to the specialist how my hearing in my left ear seems to be weakening at which they proceeded to give me a hearing test. It showed a definite decrease in the hearing in my left ear since the last test.

"You're too young for that," Doc said. "We need to find out what the problem is. It can be a virus or perhaps a tumor (malignant)."

Tumor? Oh my, God how I 'awful-ize' things. I went from little tumor in my middle ear, malignant at that, to an inoperable brain tumor in a matter of seconds. The rest was just a whirl: heavy-duty steroids, come back for an ABR test, then maybe an MRI... blah, blah, blah.

And I'm thinking about my jumbled speech, headaches, saggy left eye, the problems I've had with my left shoulder (of course, I'm a little dramatic at this point). The time I need to live, please dear God.

{Today I started my steroids so I WILL be a writer/poet on steroids for a week or two.}

Time, time, time... I have to wait for you now. In the meantime, I'll try to catch up with those (friends, loved ones) who have snuck by because of... well, because of me.

Patience with a little umph (and how to make eraser earrings)

2011-10-12T21:43:00.004-05:00

Have you ever heard the saying, "Patience is a virtue?" I used to hate it when adults told me that as a child, but now I understand what they meant. I do have patience in most cases, but I know when enough is enough. Sometimes you have to bark. But my voice is like a whisper in the library, even when I'm mad. Speaking up can be challenging for me.

Twice this week I have been put to the test and it's only Wednesday.

Start with this kind of eraser to make the earrings (they come in all colors)

Monday morning Nicholas stuck a piece of an eraser in his ear. Some of the boys had been making earring hoops out of the ends of those pointy pink erasers. They cut a bit of the circular end and then slit each O; voila- perfect fit. Nicholas came out of school last Friday wearing them. I thought, "How cute!"

I'm trying out the newest fashion trend- eraser hoops.

The "cuteness" of eraser earrings was the furthest thing from my mind when I found out what had happened. I was not very happy.

My anger quickly turned to panic. Nicholas had tubes in his ear as a baby. He's prone to ear infections. I wanted that sucker out and fast. I picked him up from school and we zoomed over to the neighborhood walk-in clinic. Had I called the pediatrician, we would have had to drive clear across town and wait for hours WHILE exposing ourselves to yucky kid germs. Surely this was the easier, softer way.

Guess what? It wasn't. We had to wait for an hour anyway and the doctor completely missed the mark. He looked inside Nicholas' ear and said all he could see was wax. Then he proceeded to wash his ear out, which caused a few winces from my poor sweet boy. After all that rigmarole, the Quack Shack said he had an ear infection and that his ear drum would probably bleed. I looked deep in his ear and saw the drum, but I still wasn't satisfied. Nicholas, on the other hand, was ecstatic because the doctor had gotten him off the hook.

When we went to pick up Andrew (it was a half-day), the nurse and I peeked in Nicholas' ear once again. I felt like Nancy Drew looking for a clue. And we found one. There in plain view was the pink gob.

What the ENT pulled out of Nicholas' ear

I was able to get Nicholas in with the ENT who took the eraser out with no problem. He doesn't even have an infection; just irritation. Talk about patience. Monday required a lot.

Today I went to the post office to mail a friend a signed copy of Chicken Soup for the Soul: Devotional Stories for Troubled Times. I gloated as I weighed the package and printed out the postage while the others waited in lunch-hour lines. I knew I had finally figured out how to make the postal system workable. Before Christmas, too! That is until I discovered I couldn't just slip the package through the self-serve slot; it was too big. The Flustered Blonde Lady behind the counter, who I think was quite rude, told me I had to get in the back of the line so she could approve it. I'm so sure! No wonder the post office is in trouble. It certainly was with me.

Feeling impatient and miffed, I left and ran an errand. When I went back, two ladies were now behind the counter. I waited behind the five people in front of me (which was nothing compared to earlier) and walked over to the Much Nicer Lady when it was my turn. I noticed Flustered Blonde Lady glance my way as I shared my negative experience with Much Nicer Lady. She told me that sometimes they get bombarded with so many customers at once that... blah, blah, blah. I still don't think I should have to go through the line if I do it myself. It's like going through the check-out line at a grocery store to make sure you rang up your items correctly at the self-service. Don't you think?

In both incidents, I felt like I had to say something. On Monday I called the Quack Shack and told them they had been wrong, that the doctor wasted our time and money. They promised to credit our card for the co-pay. Of course, you already know I spoke up today. Sometimes you have to, but I always feel a little guilty. Patience IS a virtue after all; and so is defending what is right.

A conversation the other day

2011-10-10T08:48:00.002-05:00

On running into someone at a meeting...

Me: How've you been? I haven't seen you in awhile.

Her: Oh, girl... it's good to be back. The pneumonia shot nearly took me down.

Me: Really?

Her: I have to get it, you know. I've had pneumonia five times. I have chronic emphysema, not to mention asthma. I do breathing treatments daily. That's why my voice always sounds so raspy.

Me: Poor thing... do you smoke?

Her: Yes.

She looks away. End of conversation.

"Beautifully Gifted" is beautifully inspired

2011-10-07T19:29:00.007-05:00

"Many of us women get tripped up in finding our identity, settling sometimes, unbeknownst to us, for something false, taking our cues from the world," says Angela Bisigano, PhD.

Several weeks ago I received an email from an agent representing a company, PR by the Book. She asked if I might consider reading one of their books and writing about it on this blog. I said why not, what could it hurt? The list of book titles she gave me ranged from nonfiction to fiction to self-help. I selected the spiritual/motivational book entitled Beautifully Gifted because... well, I loved the title and it promised to help me discover my true calling. I just knew this had to be a nudge from God.

The author of Beautifully Gifted is CBN-endorsed Angela Bisigano, PhD. She specializes in psychology and ministry, specifically issues concerning women and helping them find their "unique giftedness and calling." She has written this book as a guide that can be used alone or (preferably) in groups. The layout is very organized with quotes from scripture, practical applications and guide questions in each chapter. Dr. Bisigano includes real-life examples, many of which pertain to struggles in her life that she has learned from and how they have led her to God.

The 208-page book (including appendix and bylines) encourages you to forgive your parents and trust God so that spiritual growth can occur. Living in resentment is living in captivity. According to Spiritually Gifted, "God's plan for our lives includes healing, restoration and freedom." Angela shares a story about forgiving her father. He had had a heart attack. She was sitting at his bedside wondering if he believed in God. She asked him if he'd meet her at the pearly gates. He said yes. It wasn't until later that she realized she hadn't asked him to meet her inside the pearly gates. She said it was okay, though, because he recovered. This moved me to tears.

Dr. Bisigano provides lists and descriptions to help you identify what your spiritual gifts and talents are, along with pages for note taking. The part guidebook/ part interactive journal invites you to recall the major turning points in your life so that you can write your story to share with the group. Finally, Beautifully Gifted leaves you with a workable plan for carrying out your calling. Included in the appendix is a resource for those who wish to lead a discussion group.

I thoroughly enjoyed reading this book. It was very informative, interesting and personal. I was reminded to listen for God's guidance within and not to let outside hindrances block me from my purpose in life. Learning about what the author has gone through and the things she has struggled with in her life made it easy for me to relate to her as a real person.

I discovered that I am already using my God-given talents through writing and tutoring children. I was inspired to maybe share my story someday, which would be like an act of Congress considering I am very quiet and START SWEATING PROFUSELY AT THE VERY THOUGHT OF SPEAKING IN FRONT OF GROUPS. Maybe God will call me to do that later in life. If so, I know I'll have a wonderful guide in Beautifully Gifted.

Sets of Three

2011-10-04T11:04:00.003-05:00

Three rejections in three days makes for one hell of a dive in the gutter (nose first in stinky, grimy dirt might I add).

Just last week I was sitting on Cloud Nine because my copies of Chicken Soup for the Soul: Devotional Stories for Tough Times (with my story, Signs of David) were waiting on my front porch when I opened the door. I was like a child on Christmas when I opened the big cardboard box. The book officially comes out TODAY, October 4, 2011. My story is on page 168.

On Saturday, I took a very impromptu trip to Webster, TX when I found out that Poetic Asides' author Robert Lee Brewer, editor of Writer's Market and Poet's Market, would be reading his poetry there. Many wonderful poets have met on the streets of Poetic Asides (PA) and have gone on to form friendships and partnerships, write chapbooks, and move forward in their writing careers. The formation of Baker's Dozen, my online group of poets around the world, is a result of PA. All of this has been made possible because of Robert Lee Brewer's continued support and sincerity.

It was a riveting experience to finally meet the person who has inspired me in so many ways. You can read the poem I wrote, Meeting Robert Lee Brewer, here. The amazing thing is that I was able to sit next to him for four hours of poetry reading and then discuss the poems during the many breaks. We even talked about everyday life, our families and growing up. I felt like I was sitting next to an old friend or even a brother. Robert encouraged me to read my sonnet, I Am the Sea, at the open mic round robin. It was the first time I had ever read one of my poems aloud and to do it with the support of Robert was astounding. I will never forget Saturday, October 1, 2011 (10+1=11, as Robert signed in his newest chapbook, Escape).

BAM, BAM, BAM

Then I received the first rejection in this wave of three on Sunday. It was a short story I had felt so good about when I submitted it to Glimmer Train, I just knew I'd finally make some big bucks off my hard work. NOT.

Monday the letter came from another publication where I had submitted a piece that made it through the first round, but obviously not the second. How dare they turn down such a personal piece after I went through all that hell to live through that experience and even more to write about it!

Today (Tuesday) a very positive email awaited me with a personal note about how wonderful my micro-story was and how it grabbed the attention of the editor of Narrative Magazine, but didn't quite cut it. Damn! How much more can I take?

Despite the Chicken Soup story and meeting Robert Lee Brewer experience, I am focusing on the negatives. Why do I do that? Writing this has helped me, though; and what I really need to do is reread I Am the Sea. After all, I wrote it as a reminder that I will always bounce back after rejection and that I write because it's part of me. My skin will grow thicker and I will survive (after I mourn for awhile).

******************************************

Sets of three, right? Things happen in sets of three. I'll take my losses and move forward. Maybe there's a third acceptance out there somewhere.

The Final Chapter

2011-09-28T14:15:00.002-05:00

... a continuation and final installment of In the Sand. Click here to read the entire story.

*************************************************************

The laughing grew louder and faster. I stared at the white face in the sand for only a second before I stepped back and tried to escape; but faster than a knee-jerk reaction, it grabbed my ankle and pulled me in.

Suddenly I was Alice swirling down the rabbit hole, the colors cerulean, chartreuse, emerald and sapphire spinning scenes throughout my mind. A farm, mountains and coast in the city, country and woods like a kaleidoscope changing faster, brighter, sharper until thud; I had reached the end.

I was lying on a hard surface convulsing, my body aching from head to toe. I felt cold and clammy as if I had just had a low blood sugar attack. My mouth was drier than a hayfield. I dared not open my eyes. If this was death, I didn't want to know what it looked like; but I sure knew what it felt like.

"Mom? Wake up," I heard Sam's voice calling out from the distance.

I slowly opened my eyes. "Sam?"

"Oh, thank God. What are you doing on the floor? Mike and I came in and found you screaming."

Sam was kneeling over me like an overprotective daughter, which in and of itself was a no-no by teenager standards. Mike was standing behind her and staring at me as if I had cooties or something. I sat up and looked around. The wicker furniture on the beach house porch was all in tact. The sun was shining through the window, a cooling breeze of salty air streaming across my face.

Could this all have been a dream?

@laurie kolp

Picture inspiration: Jinksy at In Tandem

The Face

2011-09-24T12:30:00.001-05:00

Image courtesy of Penny Jinks

{If you haven't been following along, you can click here to catch up with the story.}

Sam and Mike had been at the beach for hours. Could this foamy mess that was seeping from beneath the sand have somehow set them under a Medusa-like spell? I shook them, slapped their cheeks, blew in their eyes and pinched their skin but nothing roused them.

I turned to the elderly man who had stayed behind. "Please call for help. I can't leave them here alone."

"I've already tried. For some reason my cell isn't getting any reception. I'll go to my cabin and see if the phone works from there. If I have to, I'll drive to the police station."

After I waved goodbye, I looked down at the foam that was spreading faster than oil. It was changing into an indigo blue and purple. My eyes immediately started to burn as the distorted image's hypnotizing movement swirled around the sand.

A small white spot suddenly appeared amid the gooey blob. I crouched down to take a closer look and was horrified to discover it was a face. After popping up like a Jack-in-the-box, I placed my foot on top of the 'thing' and started twisting it as if putting out a cigarette.

Somewhere in between I heard a scream that I'm pretty sure came from my mouth. I was too frantic to pay attention. Then I removed my foot to see if my handiwork had gotten rid of the face, but it looked me in the eyes and started laughing hysterically.

**

What do you think happens next? Check back next week and see if you're right.

Prompt inspiration: In Tandem

The Gooey Blob Glaze

2011-09-15T19:33:00.005-05:00

Previously:

Blood in the sand. Get help fast.

The text hit me like a juggernaut. I hurdled through the beach house, slid down the stairs and made it to Sam in no time flat. I didn't expect to see such a sight; her face a stained glass window lying lifeless on the broken shells, panicked eyes crying out in pain.

"What happened?" I asked Mike.

Sam's sapphire eyes were a sea of mass confusion and as I straddled myself over her to examine them, I thought I must look like a dog sniffing the sand; not an overprotective mother doting on her injured teenager. Who cared anyway? I was entitled.

"We were running and having fun when Sam tripped in this pile of shells."

The brouhaha had attracted a flurry of beachcombers who oohed and aahed at the scene before them. An elderly man with sun spots on his balding head stooped down beside us and began examining the fragmented shells. Within minutes he was shouting for us to leave.

"Hurry! Evacuate this area. There's been an invasion."

*************************************************************************

I followed the man's gaze to the rough peppered sand. It was transforming into smooth sand colored in shades of fluorescent greens and blues. Foam was seeping out like suds from a washing machine and covering our feet with a warm gooey blob.

Before I could open my mouth, Mike had scooped up Sam. But then he just stood there frozen and looking quite amiss.

"Hurry! Get Sam to the cabin. Take care of her until I get there."

Mike did not budge. Did he not hear me? I repeated myself and still no response. So I went over to him and poked him on the cheek.

"Hello? Anyone in there?" I said in his ear. Nothing happened. I looked at Sam. She, too, had the glassy glaze in her eyes and she was as still as a mannequin. That's when it hit me.

...please come back next week for more of the story.

@laurie kolp

Picture Inspiration: In Tandem

2011-09-08T13:01:00.003-05:00

Blood in the sand. Get help fast.

The text hit me like a juggernaut. I hurdled through the beach house, slid down the stairs and made it to Sam in no time flat. I didn't expect to see such a sight; her face a stained glass window lying lifeless on the broken shells, panicked eyes crying out in pain.

"What happened?" I asked Mike.

Sam's sapphire eyes were a sea of mass confusion and as I straddled myself over her to examine them, I thought I must look like a dog sniffing the sand; not an overprotective mother doting on her injured teenager. Who cared anyway? I was entitled.

"We were running and having fun when Sam tripped in this pile of shells."

The brouhaha had attracted a flurry of beachcombers who oohed and aahed at the scene before them. An elderly man with sun spots on his balding head stooped down beside us and began examining the fragmented shells. Within minutes he was shouting for us to leave.

"Hurry! Evacuate this area. There's been an invasion."

***

...please come back next week for more of the story.

@laurie kolp

Picture Inspiration: In Tandem

Heard anything funny lately?

2011-09-05T13:00:00.005-05:00

*This is my submission to >Language>Place Blog Carnival, edition 13,Christopher Allen's I Must Be Off!

Conversations can be so ludicrous sometimes, don't you agree? I've had some humdingers I'd like to share with you. Grab a chair and take a seat; let's talk.

The first conversation took place at a business dinner Pete and I had with another couple. None of us had ever met except for Pete and the other man. I don't remember how we got onto talking about deviated septums and sinus surgery, but that's what was buzzing at our table when Pete said he couldn't smell anything as a result of his turbinates being zapped ten years ago.

The wife leaned in and said this, "I smell like a dog."

Then, faster than an English teacher, she corrected herself, "I don't SMELL like a dog, I smell like a dog smells."

We were laughing when I said, "And I get upset because Pete can't smell the dogs." Nor the chickens.

***

The other conversation is one I had with an old man I love dearly. He always has a story to share and it always revolves around his dry sense of humor.

He said his wife was happy today because he had bought her a brand new computer for her birthday.

"Usually I give her those sappy, sentimental cards and that's enough. I always tell her to pick out some jewelry or something, but she never does. So I felt like I owed her about 10 years of presents when I got her the computer.

"Now, when my first wife was in the hospital she wanted me to bring her a book from home. So I grabbed the first one I could find without even a second glance, until I got to her room and saw that it was Robin Cook's Coma. That didn't go over well at all. I think I'm doing better than I used to."

Haha!

Have you had any funny/interesting conversations lately? Come on, it's your turn. I'm listening.

Microscopic Shells

2011-09-01T08:58:00.001-05:00

Courtesy of Natasha/Tashtoo Parlour

Blood in the sand. Get help fast.

The text hit me like a juggernaut. I hurdled through the beach house, slid down the stairs and made it to Sam in no time flat. I didn't expect to see such a sight; her face a stained glass window lying lifeless on the broken shells, panicked eyes crying out in pain.

... to be continued. Please come back for more next week.

@laurie kolp

Inspiration: In Tandem with Jinksy

Microscopic

2011-08-25T10:32:00.001-05:00

Blood in the sand. Get help fast.

*Prompt inspiration: In Tandem

A Mother's Kisses Never Fade

2011-08-22T13:48:00.001-05:00

Courtesy of Jinksy

Rose paused as she dumped last year's contents of her son's backpack onto the Berber carpet. Another summer had come and gone faster than the tide they played in. A smorgasbord of crayon stubs and pencil shavings fell to the ground as did coupon vouchers for free bowling and ice cream. None of that stuff could compare to the time they had spent together at the beach building sand castles and body surfing through the waves.

Even the memory of that day in June when he was stung by a jellyfish couldn't wash away her joy. Rose had knelt over him and smothered kisses on his sunburned cheeks while covering his arm with sand. And she would do the same tomorrow on the first day of school; plant kisses up and down his arms and face, and then let go of his grasp.

Prompt inspiration: In Tandem

Where I've been...

2011-08-20T19:07:00.005-05:00

In front of the Alamo

Last weekend we travelled to San Antonio; the city where my parents grew up, where I visited every summer as a child and where Pete and I honeymooned. It was like a nostalgic trip down memory lane, except when it wasn't.

Paula, me, Linda at the San Antonio riverwalk

I met up with some of my poetry friends on the first day; one from Germany (Linda) and the other from San Antonio (Paula). I can't even begin to tell you how wonderful it was to finally connect face to face. My family was gracious enough to let me hang with my friends Friday evening. We grabbed dinner on the river and then rode up to the top of the Hemisphere Tower as our families strolled through the Rivercenter Mall. The river, Mexican food, tower all reminded me of olden days.

CC the Alamo cat

Saturday morning the fam and I traipsed through the Alamo and surrounding area. We saw CC the Alamo cat sleeping peacefully in the hundred degree sun as we admired the beautiful oak trees and flowering shrubs on the grounds. Then we meandered across the street and took refuge in the cool wax museum. The first thing we faced was Lady Gaga and her meat dress welcoming us to the bizarre show. For a minute I thought we were in Ripley's Believe It or Not next door. It was wax nostalic, that's for sure.

Lady Gaggag/ I mean Gaga and us

I never thought I'd be sitting in a Pat O'Briens with my children, but when we were done with the museum, I was so shaky from my sugary waffle breakfast (thanks to La Quinta) that we had to find the nearest spot for lunch. Let me tell you a secret: the food's not that good. But we filled up on burgers and water nonetheless.

Later that day, we visited my aunt and uncle and a few cousins on our way to Sea World. It was so good to see them again. Since our last visit, my youngest cousin had a precious baby boy. The kids played with him as we made plans for a bigger get-together the following day.

Pete and the kids trying to navigate through Sea World (I just asked someone)

We purposely waited until after five to go to Sea World, as did a million other people. It was as packed as... a summer day at Sea World, or the New Orlean's Zulu parade during Mardi Gras. Despite the heat, we had a great time being splashed by Shamu (another thing to mark off my bucket list). The night ended with a big fireworks show and then we were off to dreamland, some before we reached the hotel.

The highlight of our weekend was Sunday. We started out by riding around familiar parts of the city. We stopped by Pittman-Sullivan Park, which is named after one of my great uncles (Sullivan) who perished in WWI.

Monument in Pittman-Sullivan Park

Then we drove by my grandparents' old houses. My Nonna and Pawpaw's home looked just as it always did, but my Gramma's home was were the action occurred. When we passed by we noticed a man working in his yard. Being the outgoing, friendly guy that my husband is, Pete stopped and struck up a conversation. This man, his wife and three kids (the same age as ours) were gracious enough to invite us into their home and show us what they're doing to renovate it.

The new owners of my grandmother's house wondered what HH stood for ("It's carved all over the pace!") - Hank Harris, of course (my dad)

Talk about surreal. The funny thing is that the lady was wanting to find out the history behind the house. It was pretty much a win-win situation, and we made some new friends.

Playing bocce ball

For the rest of the day we visited, swam, ate and played with relatives. One of my cousins and his wife live on the outskirts of San Antonio. They have acres and acres of land with deer that come out every night and skunks that occasionally spray the dogs. Their home is beautiful and secluded. One of my cousins taught the kids how to do flips off the diving board. They played ping pong and bocce ball. The boys even went on a wild Jeep ride through the woods. We are so glad to have spent time with everyone.

From left to right: Cousins Mike and Mark (back); Cousin Julie, me, Aunt Estelle and Uncle Jack (front)

After all was said and done, guess what the highlight of the weekend for all of us was? Spending time with friends and family! Some things never change.

A bachelorette party at the mall?

2011-08-06T21:40:00.004-05:00

I spent the entire day at the mall, but I wasn't shopping. I was there to support Katie as she danced with her competition team (Nicholas performed hip-hop, too). It's like a weekend-long recital. The dance studio sets up in the middle of the mall where Santa will soon be sitting amidst a wonderland of fake snow (but right now it feels like a sauna because the skylights let in too much August heat). As the day wore on, I became a little anxious and frazzled; nothing unusual for most moms, right?

Well, apparently there were more hot and bothered moms at the other end of the mall.

After lunch one of the girl's grandmothers, who is also a friend, walked up to me and asked if I had seen what happened. I was astounded by her words. My mind started to whirl.

A mother flashed lots of people by Dillard's? You're kidding? What has become of today's society?

I could just see it now; Mardi Gras madness in the mall.

My friend proceeded to tell me about the incident. She said a ruckus broke out when two of the moms started playing tug-o-war with a purse. People whipped out there phones and began taking pictures. Massive crowds gathered. For some odd reason, many froze like mannequins in display windows. Several even... planked?

They exercised? This is getting weirder by the minute.

Apparently a good-looking man in a suit showed up. He broke up the catfight and then ripped his shirt open.

Oh, my God, a male stripper. Maybe it's a bachelorette party at the mall?

"He was wearing a Superman shirt underneath his suit! You want to see the pictures I took?" She said.

"What did you say this was?" I finally asked.

"A flash mob."

"OOhhh.... I thought you had asked me if I'd seen the flash MOM."

I told you I'm hard of hearing.

*****

Click here for more about today's event.

Floating around in circles

2011-08-03T21:55:00.003-05:00

My colorful mind spins in a circuitous path. It's as if my thoughts are spaghetti and my ideas are meatballs. For example, tonight as I gathered up a fistful of hair that had fallen out during my shower, I wondered if I could be shedding because of the scorching heat like dogs do.

And cats... which led me to thinking of the Smurf movie we saw today (very cute, by the way). The cat had swallowed a piece of Smurfette's hair and gagged it up. TMI! Such strong images for a new poem, though.

Which reminded me of our neighbors cat, one that I never knew about, but apparently he's had her for years. A few days ago I saw a decrepit-looking black cat with white paws sleeping in my front lawn like a hungover drunk in a tuxedo. Come to find out it was her. She just magically reappeared (because the caviar she was being fed from those kidnappers didn't make up for their family, or so the neighbor said).

They were supposed to take the cat into the vet, and I hadn't seen her lately so I asked Pete (after I got out of the shower), "Have you seen the cat?"

He said, "That's a good question."

"She's got depression?" I'm hard of hearing.

Which led me to my cat George. George is gone now (but the neighbor's cat is the spitting image of him, which really threw me for a loop at first). He became very depressed when we moved from the apartment to this house. He wouldn't eat and grew anorexic. Poor George nearly died. I found him curled up on his death bed in the corner of my closet one day when I got home from work. We had to feed him through syringes to make him start eating again. He was as depressed as cats come. I wish we lived in California where I could have taken him to a pet shrink, gotten him on Prozac.

Speaking of shrinks...

See what I mean?

Picture inspiration by Alias Jinksy: In Tandem #4

Update from a busy life

2011-07-29T19:23:00.000-05:00

Katie took time out from her dance routine to talk to her best friend who was on vacation. She's been taking intensive workshops in preparation for the year ahead (the first performance is next weekend). Oh, and she got braces, but shhh... I didn't tell you.

Andrew received first place in sparring AND form at the 2011 Tiger Rock World Championship tournament (that's after he skipped rank)!

Nicholas taking his mark for his swimming event. He also takes hip-hop and is preparing to perform again with his sister in August.

Pete at the bottom of a ship where he goes to escape the crazy life of having three kids, working full time and going to night classes for his MBA.

Disclaimer: All bragging rights are permitted because the sole proprietor of this blog just happens to be the proud mother and wife of the aforementioned subjects. She wishes to keep all pictures of her haggard-looking self buried in the bottom of her desk until they can be burned in the first winter's fire, so please respect her wishes and refrain from preposterious demands for such.

The Tragic Tale of Amber and Andy

2011-07-29T14:14:00.004-05:00

Last night I had this laboriously worded story ready to post. In fact, I had saved and previewed it when on a sudden whim, I decided to switch the pictures around. Bad idea. I lost the whole thing. Here's my attempt to recreate the original piece.

Art by Margaret Bednar

Amber once was a colorful child who adored playing dress-up for tea parties and pretending to be Cinderella. She gently coaxed her twin brother, Andy, to play the part of handsome prince many times. They spent long summer days lost in another world, and during the school year they were inseparable.

As they grew older, Amber became what Andy called a "snapping turtle." She'd come out of her room, snap at the first person she crossed and then retreat back into her shell. Her once smiling face morphed into a pouty Angeline Jolie-type smirk. Whenever they were forced to come together, Amber called her little brother a "smelly oaf who couldn't even comb his own ratty hair." Once converged, the siblings drifted into a parallel relationship of animosity.

Image by Jinksy

Until the night they were forced to put their differences aside after an accident claimed the lives of their parents. Their car had careened off the winding mountain side into the ruthless water below. Through tragedy the twins discovered the bond they had formed as children was everlasting; it was the glue that held them together. Amber and Andy moved back into the cottage by the sea where they had grown up. Before long they retreated back into a simpler life of tea parties and fairy tales, the coping mechanism which eventually drove them to the rocky waves where they met their parents and lived together as a family forever more.

Prompt inspiration: Alias Jinksy

@laurie kolp

Unpeeling the invisible tape

2011-07-25T14:28:00.000-05:00

I'm not one privy to conflict which is why, if one should occur, I usually sit back and watch. Sometimes I have to dig my hands underneath my legs or tape my mouth shut (because if I open it I usually stick my foot inside). Other times I feel compelled to voice my opinion, but do so with reluctance.

You see, I've lived most of my life caught up in this ridiculous fear of worrying what you might think. I'll turn the words I said, or wrote, over and over in my head as I play out each possible reaction. But I'm working on that.

Writing has helped tremendously. I have a voice to be heard with words to be understood when I write. I've gained courage to step out a little further, let my toes sink beneath the surface. And it feels good.

This past weekend I watched/read in astonishment as words were slaughtered on the pages of a Facebook group I'm part of. Tempers ignited. Justifications and excuses flared. Others stepped into the tempest and expressed their feelings.

I was over here with the invisible tape and hand restraints.

Until today. I finally had had enough and decided to give my opinion. I did so without regret. I will not make lame excuses (such as a misfiring iPad). I will own up to my words.

And I will keep checking Facebook to see if anyone hit the 'Like' button.

Oh, well. That, my friends, is growth.

A kaleidoscope of hope lies within all of us

2011-07-22T08:58:00.003-05:00

Picture by jinksy

Deception left her color blind. Too many times had she trusted humans and watched them succumb to society's egomaniac mentality. No more riff-raff would she allow. So she built a fortress around her emotions and became a prisoner to mundane nothingness.

Once upon a time she had waltzed through iridescent fields with a child-like innocence of goodness. Nothing could taint her view. It had been a series of stabs in the back that collected dust in her memory. Then one day, one stab too many, she exploded from color to achromatic blah; all the while relishing the kaleidoscope hidden within, a little spark of hope for tomorrow.

Inspiration: Jinksy

We all have different perspectives

2011-07-16T15:26:00.002-05:00

Painting by Jinksy

What do you see when you look at this painting? An autumn harvest of corn waiting to be picked and shucked just in time for the hoedown next Friday night? Fresh summer squash in the vegetable aisle begging for a healthy homemade meal? A field of daffodils or tulips daring you to touch them lest you upset nature's beauty? Rapeseed to be made into oils, but you best beware of their poisonous betrayal? The bright sun rising into the morning sky as you lie in the sand and observe?

How about cooling refreshment prepared with love at the lemonade stand where your child sits? After a thirst-quenching gulp of the best drink you've ever had, your lips pucker up from the tang. Someone calls you fish face and sets the ball rolling. Fits of laughter can be heard across the busy street as you pull up a lawn chair and join the summer fun.

That's what I see when I look at the picture. For more perspectives, check out Alias Jinksy's Tandem.

Flourishing hypocrite

2011-07-14T10:03:00.002-05:00

Music is the lilt in my step, the spark in my eyes. I love it. Always have, always will. I like all kinds, even mild rap (never thought I'd say that), but my favorite is Top 40.

I remember when I was in college I had a professor who loved music. He said to really understand it, you had to get submerged in the rhythm and lyrics.

"Sit in the middle of the room with the volume turned up, speakers surrounding you. Close your eyes and let the melody flourish within your soul."

At the time, I was like WEIRDO! Don't get me wrong, I have loved tunes for as long as I can remember. But he spoke as if he were having a love affair with someone named Opus.

Now I understand what he meant. I get lost in music. I dissect the words and meaning. I feel it. After all, I AM a poet.

But I'm a MOM, too; and some of today's lyrics are t-rash-y. That doesn't mean I don't like those songs. It means I don't want my kids to hear the foul language and nasty words.

So when a song comes on with R-rated vocabulary, I simply change the channel.

"Why'd you change it, Mom? We like that song."

Guess what I do? I put the song back on, but I try to start a conversation to distract them before "the word, line, etc." comes up. Sometimes it works, sometimes not. Then I do the unthinkable. I turn the volume down. Do you think they get what I'm doing?

They do. The other day I heard them talking about the whole thing while we were in the car as if I weren't there. I was busted.

My rebuttal: "Well, as long as you understand those are just words. They don't mean anything."

Sometimes you just have to be a hypocrite when you're a parent.

~laurie kolp

Read more at A Whitesnake's Bite Can Be Lethal

I'm a walking zombie with fried hair

2011-07-12T21:54:00.000-05:00

Summer has peaked and, for many with kids home from school, so have the doldrums. But not in this house. At any given moment there are at least three different things going on all at once. My life is like a sign with arrows pointing in opposite directions. I look like a walking zombie with fried hair. And feel like one. Sometimes I even act like one. Let me tell you why.

First of all there's Katie. She dances and dances and dances. And sings. LA-lala-lala. Sometimes I think she's spinning out of control. Not only does she shuffle through the house, she does it in the library, at the grocery store, and wherever else she goes. She's in her own little world of music with her iPod and legs.

Poor thing has gotten so carried away that she has knocked over someone else's vase and set the chandeliers into double speed. Did I mention I have to drive her to dance several times a week?

Then we have Andrew. He's either glued to a video game or following me around testing my math and science knowledge. That's not up my alley.

"Why don't you ask Daddy? I'll help you write a story, though."

Back to computer he goes. But I do have to brag for a second. He went to that Math and Science Academy I told you about earlier. He was placed two grade levels higher than the grade he's entering (5th) and won first place for total points in his division. And he's pretty darn good at Taekwondo, too.

Okay, now Nicholas. He's my walking story teller. He follows me around and tells me some whoppers. Tonight it was about heaven. He said he's been there before. You know, before he was born. The longest you stay there is three years. And you better not make God mad or he'll turn you into a frog. If you do it twice, you're a skyscraper. When I get there, he wants me to ask God if I can be his mom the next time around.

"If I can make it through this one, honey."

Oh, and while all this is going on in our mad house, Pete is working and going to night classes. THAT is why I look, act, and feel like a zombie with fried hair.

Who needs fireworks to have a blast?

2011-07-05T20:46:00.003-05:00

They say there's a first time for everything; last weekend definitely made the list. We celebrated the

long Fourth of July weekend at the lake with family (Pete's brother, Chris; my sister-in-law/best friend/sister, Chelsea; nephew Ricky, who's 14; and baby Jonathan). Here are some notable firsts I observed during our four-day stay.

1. Katie, Andrew and Nicholas got to spend more time than they ever have with Ricky and Jonathan. They all got along so well. Ricky lives in another state with his mom. He stays for a month every summer and visits on rotating holidays. I guess we never thought of anything beyond day trips. Everything changes when a baby enters the picture.

2. Which leads me to the next first: Jonathan had never been swimming before our trip. He's had ear tubes placed in his ears so he has to wear plugs in the water and be very careful. We made sure he didn't get too wet, but he still had a great experience in the pool. Jonathan loved splashing and floating in the cool water.

3. After our first trip to the pool, Nicholas went out to the porch without a shirt on. He came back in like a boomerang, crying at the top of his lungs. He'd been stung by a wasp for the first time. Four days later and he still has a red whelp the size of a lipstick kiss.

4. The lake house where we stayed has a deck you can fish from. An alligator lurks beneath it waiting for marshmallow treats. The owners have named it Gucci. I'd never been within ten feet of an alligator.

5. Pete and Ricky went kayaking for the first time. To the left we could see Gucci, to the right daredevils. Then the brothers Pete and Chris had fun scaring their wives while paddling too close to Gucci for comfort.

6. The bigger cousins went on a hayride together. We were driven all through the Retreat at Artesian Lakes. I was able to get many beautiful pictures within this hidden getaway.

7. Fishing was a main attraction for many of us. We enjoyed nabbing fish of all sizes and then tossing them back into the lake. On the day we left, Pete and Chelsea both caught whoppers.

For the first time since I can remember fireworks were banned in most of the counties surrounding Southeast Texas. Who needs them anyway? We had a blast.

Let freedom ring

2011-06-30T19:03:00.001-05:00

By the way, did you know my ancestor, Charles Carroll, signed this?

Freedom-- it's what we stand for in America. According to my handy Webster's Dictionary, freedom means many things (way too many to list or else I might bore you). The two that stand out to me are personal liberty and political independence.

What does that mean to you?

To me, personal liberty means to live and let live... I live my life and make my choices; and you do the same with yours. We mind our own business. It goes hand in hand with political dependence. Be who you are, and don't drown others in your personal political opinions and choices.

Being the Southern Belle that I am, I was raised of the opinion that two topics are never to be discussed at the kitchen table, much less publicly: religion and politics.

So what's happening to our personal freedom? People are taking God out of the Pledge of Allegiance and disallowing prayer at school functions. They are splattering Facebook with political slander. I even find kid's shows touting their own political agendas in the dialogue between the teens. And for heaven's sake, a teacher in a local school district berated a student, slammed her fist on the student's desk and got in her face because she watched the wrong news network! Come on people.

I don't want to hear about he said, she said, they said this. Don't point one finger that way, then another the opposite way. Gossip, defamation, libel, back-stabbing, garbage, oh my. Let's live and let live, mind our own Ps and Qs. Let freedom ring in America once again.

A garden awaits all who enter

2011-06-22T20:25:00.001-05:00

It was an unexpected surprise last week when I was contacted by Walt Wojtanik and Marie Elena Good, authors of the blog Poetic Bloomings. They wanted to do an interview of me for their Web Wednesday feature.

Probably no one will read it, I thought; but I accepted with vim and vigor.

When Walt sent me the questions, I was amazed at how personal they were. It was obvious he hadn't sent me a general list that he sends all the guests. He and Marie had actually taken the time to dig up some dirt on my past experiences.

Excited, I tackled the assignment right away. I let my fingers do the typing, spent time reflecting and even sat on it a few days before I sent it back.

I sure did learn a lot about myself... who cares if nobody reads it? I thought.

And if I had to give you a three-word synopsis of my interview, I would have to say PLEASE READ IT. Oh, and a comment would be nice.

You'll learn much more about the significance of this blog if you do... and maybe a thing or two about me you didn't know.

Mommy-itis

2011-06-21T08:20:00.000-05:00

“You know it won’t be fun.” I was pretty sure the voice was mine (it had the same Southern twang and soft tone), but the words sure weren’t. What I had meant to say was, “You know we won’t have fun without you.”

As soon as those alien words spilled out, my nine-year-old son’s big brown eyes turned from beseeching to questioning. He had been nominated by his school to attend a month-long Science and Math Academy this summer. I’m sure he wondered why his mom, who used to be a teacher, would say something so derogatory about such a nice honor that had been bestowed upon him. I guess the freak show ain’t over, Ma.

I call it “mommy-itis,” this over-the-top behavior that began with the hormonal tsunami created by childbirth: jumbled words, misplaced items, loss of memory. In fact, I think I might have a brain tumor (I’m a little hypochondriac-like that way). I was writing a novel when all of the sudden an idea sparked from ghost lightning: one of my characters would have a brain tumor and that would describe his unusual behavior.

The more I thought of it, the more I wondered if I were the sick one. Perhaps, God was trying to tell me something. I read the symptoms over cold coffee one night. As it grew later, I began to feel like a spectator at Wimbledon. The words became fuzzy tennis balls, and my concentration volleyed back and forth like a tight match. Everything I read came back to one thing; I had a brain tumor. All the signs were blaring. Here are the clinchers I used to diagnose myself:

1. Jumbled speech- Flabbergasting flubs such as furn tirst for turn first, and merging mania like eedle for eye and needle were happening more and more often.

2. Confusion- Sometimes I forgot which child I needed to pick up where and when. Oh, and which child was mine? No biggie.

3. Headaches- Irksome and annoying, especially when hubby approached me panting like a puppy dog with a wet tongue.

4. Memory loss- After long hot showers, I sometimes forgot if I used soap or shampooed my hair. Then I would forget if and when I took a shower. (Falling asleep in the shower is a story for another time).

5. Personality changes- Once upon a time I was reckless and carefree. Then I got married and wanted to have a family. I was supposed to be a responsible grown-up, but I didn’t feel like one. Where was my mommy?

6. Lethargy- I became the dolls my daughter played with. Need I say more?

I thought “mommy-itis” would go away as the kids aged, but it hasn’t. Mothers everywhere know what I mean. Hairbrushes in the refrigerator are minor mishaps when bombarded with multi-tasking to the nth degree. At least my kids are used to it.

Oh, and after I got a little sleep I realized I probably didn't have a brain tumor after all.

My dreams can be crazy

2011-06-19T21:59:00.002-05:00

I was up a lot last night. I have a bladder infection and it was driving me crazy. In fact, it hit me right before I got in bed- the nagging urge and stinging pain- and everything went downhill from there. I had to get up in the middle of the night, so I came to my computer and checked things out. I couldn't believe people were posting things on FB at one and two o'clock in the morning. Once upon a time I stayed up late, but becoming a mother squelched that desire. I need my sleep.

When I finally returned to bed and was able to fall asleep, I had a crazy dream. I'd like to share it with you because I find it so fascinating how our brain works. Mine is like a food processor. It takes a little bit of this and a little bit of that and then mixes it all together to form weird concoctions, or dreams.

In my dream, I am inside a school I've never seen before. It is close to the end of the day, and I am in so much pain I can't stand it. I find the nurse's office and tell her about my urinary tract infection. She makes me climb onto the same kind of examining table you'd find at a gynecologist's office and place my feet in the stirrups (suddenly I was in one of those blue gowns). All the while, sick kids are sitting around with thermometers in their mouths. Suddenly a big old grouchy man wearing a doctor's coat and stethoscope appears from nowhere. He proceeds to examine me while giving me a lecture about... who knows what? I finally get the meds I need as my kids walk in. We leave the school building and I discover that we are in Galveston. We are going to meet Pete at an office-related function on the Strand.

Around us all hell is breaking loose. Sirens are blaring, firetrucks honking, and people running the streets in utter panic. Somehow the kids and I make our way to Pete. He tells us wildfires are spreading throughout the whole island. An evacuation order had been called; everyone is to be out of Galveston by morning. The line to the ferry is outrageous and I have to go to the bathroom like crazy. The kids feel bad for me because they know I'm in pain. I hear them talking. Katie, Andrew and Nicholas chant from the back seat. Nicholas' tender voice says something. I can barely hear it.

"Can I wake up now?"

I open my eyes and he is standing beside my bed looking down at me. It is 6:30 a.m. and I've only been asleep two hours. And now I remember why.

*****

Do you get where my dream came from? I need to go to the doctor, I'm still dealing with schools because of the Math and Science Academy, we just got back from a work-related trip to Galveston and raging wildfires are everywhere around me. Our mind's are quite amazing, aren't they?

Signs warn of extreme forest fire conditions, so why toss a cigarette out your window, Dude?

2011-06-15T13:42:00.002-05:00

Outside, summer's heat wave fills the heavy air. Concrete hotter than an oven's floor zaps your energy with each forward step. It's like a broiling vacuum. All of this is normal for summer in Southeast Texas, except for the absence of rain and presence of smoke.

The Texas drought has gone on way too long, and forest fire danger looms in the near distance. It creates pseudo-clouds in the sky and tickles the nose with a burning firewood aroma. Yesterday I was driving all over hell's half-acres: one direction for swim team practice; another for Math & Science Academy; this way for dance recital practice and TaeKwonDo lessons; and that way for Vacation Bible School pick-up and other sundry errands that need to be done. I felt like a frazzled commuter as I zipped from one highway to the next in a hurry to pick each child up at the right time because Pete was in a four-hour long class. ~sigh~ It was exhausting.

The highway warning signs that just days ago alerted travelers of hurricane season now read:

"Extreme forest fire conditions"

... (or something very similar). Every day another fire breaks out. They seem to be creeping closer to my territory, and it's scary. Firefighters, paid and volunteered, risk their lives to fight the flames in temperatures of 100 and more. Several have lost their lives.

So when I saw Mr. Rickety-Truck Dude toss a burning cigarette out his side window, I nearly gagged to death. I wanted to honk at him and flash my lights. Or stop and wave him down. Better yet, go look for the fuse and put it out myself. I didn't though, because I couldn't. My precious cargo was with me and I never want to trigger road rage from shady individuals.

Instead, I'm begging you to spread the news instead of the fire:

PLEASE DON'T LITTER THE GROUND WITH BURNING CIGARETTES: THEY JUST MIGHT KILL

...in more ways than one!

Sharing my stories about challenging times helps me

2011-06-07T19:41:00.004-05:00

I went through a very difficult time in my life that started shortly before Hurricane Rita. The Christmas before Rita hit, I had to have an emergency hysterectomy. Katie was hospitalized with pneumonia the day I was released (which was the day before Christmas Eve). My story, A Christmas Basket, published in Christmas Miracles, tells about that unfortunate incident and how good came from it.

In June that same year, Pete and the kids were involved in a horrendous car accident because a teenager was not paying attention. He was going full speed ahead while fidgeting with the radio when he ran into my precious family and changed our lives forever. Thankfully my children were okay, but pulling shards of glass out of a two-year-old's hair is not fun. The one who suffered was Pete. He had ruptured discs in his neck and eventually had to undergo surgery. Even so, he is not the same active man he once was. That has spurred quite a bit of poetry and unsent letters.

Also that summer my father was diagnosed with prostrate cancer. The BIG "C" WORD always brings a lot of anxiety and apprehension. My mother had breast cancer years before so we knew it would not be easy. Luckily my dad is fine now, but he did have a second run in with it several years after his first treatment. I am proud to say both of my parents are cancer survivors. That's a story in and of itself.

Then Hurricane Rita came along and we were forced to evacuate. Eight hours in the car, Houdini acts, diaper stints and three restless kids under the age of six are enough to make anyone crazy. When Ike came several years later, we stayed for the storm. Big mistake! The article (next paragraph) I have written tells about what I went through during those two hurricanes. For me, the chaos occurred before the storms hit. After Rita, we were in Dallas having a grand old time with family. We evacuated to a friend's home two days after Ike and also had a lot of fun. The kids think hurricane means vacation. Not!

My article, The Calm After the Storm: How to Survive a Hurricane, is highlighted on MyDaily.com. I have author Gina Misiroglu and the editors from Red Room to thank for this accomplishment. When I joined Red Room several months ago, I never dreamed they would be so helpful and personable. Gina helped me get my article from page to publication in less than a week. If you are a writer, I highly recommend you join Red Room.

Many other things happened between the two hurricanes, much of which I attribute to the mere fact of raising kids. And of course, there's Mary. She died shortly before Ike hit. I have written these stories down and hope to share all of them some day. I never knew something so rewarding could come out of life's struggles. That's what "sharing" is all about; it cleans us out.

Galveston: A Picture Story

2011-06-07T09:00:00.000-05:00

We had a great time in Galveston. I tried my best to be a kid, but the mommy in me came out as needed. Here are some highlights from the trip.

Our view from the 10th floor hotel room

Checking out the beach

Friday night dinner at Landry's (walking distance from hotel)

Hurry up! Get away from the pool bar, boys.

Riding through the rainforest

Gotta feel it!

Schlitterbahn (notice blue Hurricane Ike water level marker sign above their heads)

Nicholas is wiped out from the day... the Rainforest Cafe couldn't even keep him awake!

Shopping at The Strand

We had to stop by and visit our nephew/cousin, Jonathan

The little girl vs. the big girl in me

2011-06-02T21:55:00.002-05:00

School's nearly out and we are heading to Galveston. The little girl in me is so excited about this kick-off to summer 'shebang.' {clap, clap} We're going to walk on The Strand, visit the ice cream parlor {yummy} and peruse all the quaint little shops. Then we'll go to the alluring beach and lay in the sand. We'll collect seashells and build sand castles. {jumping up and down} We'll swim in the water and dive in the waves. I can't wait to spend the next day splashing and sliding at Schlitterbahn. And the seafood... yummy! We'll have a smorgasbord at our fingertips. {smacking lips}

But the grown up in me is quite apprehensive right about now. {hands on hips}Today was the hottest June 2 in history. Ever. A 102 scorcher! How hot will it be in Galveston? It's only 90 miles from where we live, so I'm sure it will be sizzling there, too. And Katie. {shaking head} She got a bad sunburn last weekend when she went to the beach with a friend. Should she even be out in the sun? {pacing} Oh, and there's the shark, too. Did you hear about that? {wide eyes} Last weekend some college students were swimming near Galveston and a girl was bitten by a bull shark. {shuttering} Oh, and there's the jellyfish outbreak, too. {sigh} Katie's friend broke his front teeth at Schlitterbahn two weeks ago... ARGHH!

I don't think I'll be a grown-up this summer. I just want to have fun with my kids. I know God will protect us. {smile}

Small Stone Blogsplash – we need your help…

2011-06-01T06:36:00.000-05:00

Kaspa & Fiona have taken over my blog for today, because they need our help.

They are both on a mission to help the world connect with the world through writing. They are also getting married on Saturday the 18th of June.

For their fantasy wedding present, they are asking people across the world to write them a ‘small stone’ and post it on their blogs or on Facebook or Twitter.

A small stone is a short piece of observational writing – simply pay attention to something properly and then write it down. Find out more about small stones here.

If you’re willing to help, we’d love you to do things:

1) Re-post this blog on your own blog any time before June the 18th and give your readers a chance to hear about what we’re doing. You can simply copy and paste the text, or you can find the html here.

2) Write us a small stone on our wedding day whilst we’re saying our vows and eating cake, post it on your blog, and send it to us.

You can find out more about our project at our website, Wedding Small Stones, and you can also read our blog at A River of Stones.

We also have a July challenge coming soon, when we’ll be challenging you to notice one thing every day during July and write it down.

Thank you for listening, and we hope we’ll be returning from our honeymoon to an inbox crammed with small stones, including yours.

Kaspa & Fiona

What do you notice from the ringside seat?

2011-05-28T09:54:00.000-05:00

Why wear flip-flops on a nature trail?

Summer is upon us, another school year come and gone. It zoomed by like a day at an amusement park; ups and downs of defeat and disappointment, dizzying days of strep throat and bronchitis, warped illusions sometimes reflecting false intentions. Even though some rides were better than others, overall the year was good. The kids had caring, challenging teachers and excelled, which is the greatest adrenaline high of all.

Everyday I waited in the carpool line for my children's release from school. I wanted to be near the front, so I waited quite a while. I used the cherished time to read, write, work crossword puzzles and catch up with friends on the phone. I also witnessed some bizarre behavior (great fodder for poetry). Here are some of the highlights:

1. Cheaters (and they wonder why their children get in trouble all the time). They are like weasels who cut to the front of the line. They show up minutes before the bell and park wherever. Some park across the street and jaywalk, even though the principal has forbidden that. Others pull their children out before the final bell. I often wonder where their entitlement comes from.

2. Exhibitionists. They show up in their shorter than short shorts, jogging bras smiling with bleached white teeth that contrasts well against their tanned skin. What an example they are setting for the children who have to follow the dress code.

3. Social butterflies. They gather at cars or huddle in groups like high school cliques at lunchtime. Their preschoolers run amok, sneak sips out of whatever is in that insulated cup and smile. They run into the building and are sent back out without their chatty caretaker's knowledge.

4. Just plain old jerks. They hold up the line or refuse to move lest their grandchildren might not be able to find them. Some even yell at teachers who try to move traffic along, then shake their heads when they finally leave.

5. Misfortunes. Poor parents who come back from field trips looking as if they stepped off Disney World's Tower of Terror. They started out fresh all dressed in their sundresses and flip-flops, with French manicured toenails on show. Then they come back sunburned and covered in bug bites. Did they not get the memo to wear sneakers for the hike through the woods?

I really could go on and on, but I would rather hear from you. What, if any, type of bizarre behavior have you observed? It could be at the mall, on vacation, or wherever you want it to be. I will highlight the most unusual one on an upcoming post.

How to make comments on Blogger sites

2011-05-26T10:11:00.001-05:00

Dear Google/Blogger/blogspot.com,

Are you okay? I can tell that you have been under the weather lately. Whenever I try to comment on other people's blogs, you regurgitate all over me. I sign in under the profile as a Google Account user and am led on a circuitous rigmarole, even when I follow the blog on which I want to comment.

Please find a way to stop spreading your noxious germs.

Yesterday I went through the tedious process of being redirected to the Blogger Sign-In page whenever I tried to comment on friends' blogs. I had to type my user name and password and was directed back to the comment box, where I had to type in the code and press send several times. Imagine my frustration when I landed back on the Blogger Sign-In page and had to go through the process all over again! When I thought I had finally beat your disease after three tries, my comment was signed Anonymous.

You really need to check your medication.

I have found a way around your shenanigans, though. First, the setting for comments on my blog is set as a Pop-Up Window. Second, I allow Anyone to make comments, not just Registered users (the code weeds out spammers). Another safety measure I practice when possible is that when I comment, instead of signing in as a Google Account user, I scroll down and click on the Name/URL option. These minor adjustments have helped alleviate your irksome plague. I hope other Bloggers will do the same.

Please get better soon. I would hate to lose you.

Sincerely,

Laurie Kolp
Editor, Conversations with a Cardinal and Conversations with Laurie

My brush with plumage

2011-05-22T11:11:00.001-05:00

Imagine my surprise when I touched a dove. It was quite unexpected and really took me by surprise. I had noticed the peaceful presence on my front porch the day before when I was checking the mail. I opened the door and there he was. I hadn't even scared him off. He simply went on with his business as usual, and then waddled away. Little did I know I would later meet him on a more personal level.

The next time I came in contact with the grey bird was when I opened the door that goes from my home to the garage. I didn't see him at first; I touched him... with my toes. When I stepped out, my foot brushed up against what felt like a soft pillow of feathers. I had no idea what I had encountered, so my heart started racing. Was a mouse that close to the house? I opened that door hundreds of times a day because not only do I get to my car that way, but the washing machine and dryer is in the garage. Nothing had ever come that close to the door, but I had seen an 'EEK' mouse once. Had I kicked a mouse? My adreneline soared like the summer heat in Texas.

Fortunately, when I looked down I saw the tame dove. He flitted his wings a little (I'm sure I scared him as much as he scared me), but then started meandering away from me like before. I tiptoed from a close distance behind him to make sure he wasn't hurt. I could see no sign of injury or wing problem. He marched on out of the garage, down the driveway and to the bushes. I haven't seen him since... but I'm waiting.

Rapture... or raptor?

2011-05-20T14:21:00.003-05:00

rapture (n): 1. ecstatic joy or delight 2. religious or spiritual ecstasy 3. (Archaic) the art of carrying off

So, what is this "rapture" everyone's talking about? If it really is a celebration of the end of the world for those who believe they won't be saved, shouldn't it be called something else like raptor?

raptor (n): any of numerous carnivorous birds that hunt and kill other animals

A real rapture party would be a celebration of eternal life. The revelers would not be gathering together because of a crazy prediction from an 89-year-old man. Only God knows when the world will end, so these rapturers would enjoy each day; making each one as important as the last. In fact, spiritual beings experience rapture quite frequently by doing the right thing (or at least trying to) and making amends when they mess up. These ecstatic partiers also help one another when possible. This is called living a spiritual life and the celebration's ongoing.

On the other hand, a raptor party would be more appropriate for those who believe May 21, 2011 is Judgement Day. These suckers are being duped by an egotistical zealot. Some will sell their homes, give away fortunes, possibly even kill themselves because of this satanistic (or perhaps terroristic?) fallacy. Maybe they will rack up credit card debt or try their hands at something new.

Which is what I witnessed today. My amazing family had given me a gift certificate for a pedicure on Mother's Day, so I decided to cash in on this rapturous joy. I think everyone else had the same idea. The place was packed. I even saw two grown men sitting in the big massaging chairs; their feet soaking in water, hands in little pink bowls.

One reminded me of Bill Murray. He looked like an oafish teddy bear in that vibrating chair with his hairy legs sprawled out, one arm waving in the air. He was joking with the oriental lady about what was for dinner and when could he come. She slapped his hand like a nun would a belligerent student. Ole' Bill shut up real fast.

The other guy, who was younger and much more GQ, had a sly grin on his face the whole time. He was wearing a baseball cap (to disguise himself, I'm sure). I think GQ must have been drunk. I made eye contact with him once and his face reddened. I think he was merely Bill's tag-along. I did overhear the conversation turn to alcohol, so my active imagination surmised they were going to be partying like it was 1999.

And Me? Well, I'll just stay home with my family, maybe go to 5:00 Saturday night mass. But I don't believe all that mumbo jumbo. Do you?

Why wait?

2011-05-14T13:33:00.003-05:00

And now I wait. It really IS the hardest part, you know. Especially when the wait is l--o--n--g. "Patience is a virtue," my mother always told me (in a sing-songsy voice) when I was growing up. I used to say the same words to my students when I was teaching. Now I say it to my own children. But the cliche is so passé in this day and age. I mean, who has to wait for anything anymore? Our society has become like a stepped-on ant bed. We are the (fire) ants scattering about in a million different directions seeking immediate gratification. Need a new read? Fresh material is just a click away. Need to reach someone? Call, text, Twitter, Skype. The options are endless 24/7. Everything is at our fingertips. Except when it comes to one thing. Before I tell you what it is, let's stop for a minute.

What does "Patience is a virtue" really mean?

According to my handy old Webster's dictionary, patience means the quality of tolerating delay, provocation, annoyance without complaint or anger; and virtue is morality, goodness or uprightness; a special type of goodness.

I guess it means to be good while you wait. Well, if you want to learn how to be patient like that, then become a writer. Sometimes you have to wait for eons before you hear back from editors. And you must be good while you wait because you don't want to piss them off.

So I sit. I wait. I check my email every fifteen minutes. And I write. Such is the life of a writer.

What do you find difficult to wait for?

From the dentist's chair

2011-05-10T14:22:00.002-05:00

Yesterday a dark cloud formed and showered me with a sense of dread. Six months had passed and it was time for my teeth cleaning. Excuses formed in my head as I searched for a justifiable reason to cancel the appointment. There was none. But I did have one card in my favor; Katie was scheduled at the same time (with another person). Maybe if my hygienist knew I had to hurry up and get Katie to school, she might not talk as much. Or perhaps the pressure would be so great as she competed for first place against the other lady that she would not dilly dally. I was hoping.

Instead, I found myself sitting in the dentist chair at 9:00 with a heavy bib on my chest and a whiter-than-white smile glaring down at me. My lady stood there for a good five minutes filling me in on all of her kid's escapades since our last get-together; graduation, college, class trips, blah, blah, blah.

"What do you have on your agenda for the day?" She finally asked.

"Getting Katie to school so she doesn't miss too much."

This made her step of out the room, remote in hand, but she kept on talking. As she clicked the x-ray button she asked me a question. I nodded.

"Oh, no! Did you move? You need to be absolutely still during the x-ray," she chided.

"I'm pretty sure you had already pushed the button," I answered.

"Oh, well. If it doesn't turn out we'll just have to do it over. Silly me."

Then she proceeded to clean my teeth. She reminded me of Glinda the Good Witch from Wizard of Oz, full of sparkly glee as she waved her magic wand. Cleaning instruments were forced into my opened mouth as she continued talking and asking questions with an animated voice.

"What are y'all doing this summer?" She asked.

"Uh, eh oe no," I managed.

"That sounds familiar," she said as she flitted around from one task to the next.

"Aa beh," I said.

Then she divulged in a sweet story about a boy who spoke at her daughter's school. He had such an amazing story, he shouldn't be alive. Everyone was in tears when he was finished talking, my lady said.

That's fine, but let's get done with this! I raised my arm and looked at my watch.

"We're done sweetie. It's been so good talking to you."

"Yes, it has. See you in six months." Thank God. I went to get Katie, grateful to be finished at the dentist. (But my teeth still aren't as white as my lady's).

The Big Day

2011-05-07T16:13:00.001-05:00

Another milestone was reached today when Nicholas received his first communion. I must confess, it brought tears to my eyes. His out-of-the-norm quiet voice reading from the altar, his baby soft hands motioning as he sang Taste and See, and his animated face tasting the wafer and wine for the first time were sentimental moments never to be forgotten.

It seems like every time I turn around, we are back to this day. Every other year for the past six, one of the kids has partaken in this joyous event. The pictures below show each child's special day, starting with Katie, then Andrew and finally Nicholas. My how they have grown!

May 2007

May 2009

May 2011

Confirmation here we come (in a couple of years).

A sneak peek of what's to come

2011-05-04T12:53:00.001-05:00

"One of the things I love about you, Mom, is you're special quality to love."

"You're the most beautiful woman in the world."

Yes, my baby says those flattering, melt-your-heart words. He's good that way. You know- smothering the female gender with compliments. I think he learned early on that sweet talk gets positive responses. Plus, he has an outgoing and lovable personality. Together those qualities make for quite the ladies man, I'm afraid. Just look at this:

Nicholas struck a pose without any prompt from me. Partly because he loves his new suit, but mostly because he's my future movie star. And Saturday, my baby is growing up one more way: he's receiving his First Holy Communion.

I have to tell you that this year has been... hmmm... entertaining? Because with first communion comes first confession, and Nicholas tackled that one in his cute, precious way (which was to be first in line and tell only the things he's done three times). He barreled out the door like a sly fox, smiling and strutting with a gleam in his eyes. I'm sure he gave the priest a high-five.

The culminating activity happens Saturday. My youngest will dress the part with pride, eat the bread expressively and drink from the cup with joy. He also gets to participate in a reading on the altar. I couldn't have asked for a better Mother's Day present than witnessing this spectacular event.

Stay tuned. More to come...

"I value my life!" I shouted...

2011-04-30T21:53:00.012-05:00

A much younger me looking "over the edge"

When I think of life on the edge, I imagine a person teetering on the end of a cliff, arms swimming in the air trying to prevent a fall. Maybe he (or she) is on the brink of insanity, sinking into depression or drowning in addiction. Perhaps he is living in a war zone or among riotous upheaval where no peace can be found. No matter what the circumstances are, he is probably experiencing extreme fear and anxiety. I wonder if this person's life flashes before him? Is he praying? Or is he so into the moment and deep in concentration that he doesn't even think at all?

I can remember when I was on the edge of a cliff hanging on for dear life. Well, it was really the periphery of a steep mountain... and I was in a Jeep... but I was scared to death. All I could think was, "Please don't let me die!" Thinking back I can now see that I was very much in the moment. I prayed. My short adventurous life (sort of) flashed before me. But I also learned a little about myself. I survived.

Puerto Vallarta, Mexico

It was back in my single days, when I was in my 20s. I was in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico for my birthday. My friend decided to rent a Jeep for the day and take me on a tour of the mountains. I really just wanted to lay on the beach and do something adventuresome like parasailing, but this well-traveled person was determined to show me all around the place. It sounded boring, but I finally relented. Little did I know that this excursion would be more thrilling than anything I could have ever dreamed up.

First of all, the dirt path up the mountain was extremely narrow. There was only enough room for the Jeep. When half-naked people on horseback came by, we were able to stop and let them get around us. It was a tight squeeze, though. After I recovered from the reality shock, I found myself wondering what would happen if a vehicle tried to pass.

The mystery Jeep (minus the driver)

"Umm, what are we going to do if another car is coming down this mountain? We wouldn't have any warning. How would it get by?"

Big smile. "Let's just hope that doesn't happen."

Roll of my eyes. "You know, I value my life!" I shouted. I was white-knuckling it as I held on for dear life. My carefully manicured fingernails were leaving half-moon indentions in my palms.

Fits of laughter. "Me, too."

The beach suits me fine, thank you very much

As we wound around the circular path, I found myself looking at the beautiful ocean below. Isn't that why I came to Mexico; to see my toes through the clear water and body surf to my heart's content? My eyes drifted back to the scene before me, growing bigger as I made a frightening discovery. Hoping to prove my theory wrong, I scanned the side of the mountain. I followed it from the front of the car to behind it. There was no railing. We were climbing higher and higher, driving faster and faster. If we made a mistake, there would be nothing to stop us from careening over the side. Yes- that is life on the edge. God, please help me.

Suddenly I had a flashback to the time my wild and crazy cousin picked me up from the Bush International Airport in Houston. He had parked at the top of a parking garage. The only way down was a spiral exit ramp. It reminded me of sliding down a fire pole. My cousin was a fireman, but this was no pole. Yet he was driving down the ramp as if rushing to get to a four-alarm fire in time. He was looking at me out of the corner of his eyes, laughing the same way my friend in the Jeep laughed. Up, down, all around- my mind was a top. Was I losing it? Was my life starting to flash before me? HELP!

Suddenly I was wakened from my reverie when the Jeep came to a screeching halt. We had arrived at the chosen destination in the mountainous jungle outside of Puerto Vallarta. With the wobbly legs of a newborn calf, I stepped out of the Jeep and said a silent prayer of thanks. I was on solid ground at last.

I wanted to nap like this guy

I took in the beauty of Mexico with a new heightened awareness. The greens were greener. The wind was wispier. The air was muskier. I breathed in the glorious smell of approaching afternoon rain. My fear was replaced with awe.

I guess that's what happens when you are living on the edge, push through and come out the other side. There is not much time for thinking of anything other than the situation. You have racing thoughts from the past. You pray like there's no tomorrow. When you make it through, gratitude runs through your body like a wave of ecstasy. A childlike innocence returns because you survived the roller coaster ride.

A local (to the right) near the river

I watched in amazement as natives washed their clothes in a river. Children of all ages swung into the water from tree branches and tire swings. They were all happy with life as they knew it.

I reveled in the simple gift of leisure walking. We hiked and explored until we reached a resting place. Imagine my surprise when I discovered the collection of palm fronds and abundance of straw was a thatched roof jungle bar. Although it appeared abandoned at first, someone soon showed up ready to offer refreshments. I later found out the restaurant was called El Eden. A tour of the grounds revealed the helicopter that was used during the movie Predator.

Our little "oasis" in the midst of it all

Movie prop from Arnold Schwarzenegger's Predator

For some reason, when we left hours later, going down the mountain was much easier.

*

Published here on 9/25/11 for language/place carnival, issue #10 hosted by Sheree Mack at Everyday Creativity 3

Happy Halloween... I mean Christmas... no, Easter!

2011-04-25T21:54:00.001-05:00

For the past couple of days, I have felt like the White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland darting through the bushes and mumbling, "Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!" I don't know how this happened, but Easter hopped up from behind and nearly pushed me down the rabbit hole.

It hit me when we went to an Easter egg hunt last Friday. I had not sent out any Easter cards. No pastel eggs or cute bunnies were decorating our house, which was okay because I explained to the kids that we don't put them out now until after Good Friday. Lent is so serious, you know. We can't decorate the house during such a solemn time.

Whew. I really saved myself with that quick-witted thinking. I think might have started a new tradition, too.

I knew I was in big trouble, though, later that evening when the boys asked about Katie's Easter basket. She and her friends had hidden the eggs, not hunted them. Nicholas forgot.

"Why is Katie's basket empty? Did she eat all her candy?" He asked.

"No, honey. Remember? She didn't even go trick-or-treating with you."

Everyone just stopped and stared while I tried to cover up my snafu with a chuckle.

"I was just checking to see if you were paying attention." Then I quickly changed the subject.

That night before bed Pete said, "Today is Friday, tomorrow is Saturday... and then comes Monday."

"You mean we skip Christmas?" Nicholas answered.

We all laughed.

It must run in the family.

"You sound like Mom!" Andrew joked.

Haha!

*

P.S. We ended up having a very nice Halloween/ Christmas/ Easter celebration.

The big mommy jubilee

2011-04-21T10:20:00.003-05:00

It's a social gathering of mommies clad in designer workout clothes and visors, with kids in tow, Starbucks in hand. Long lost classmates are reunited here. They bunch around one another, oohing and aahing over their preschoolers and babies; tossing compliments like Mardi Gras beads. Some are pregnant, others old pros. These women commiserate over sleepless nights, teeth cutting, colic and colds. They also embellish stories of their offspring's milestones with such phrases as "____'s so advanced...," and "____'s the only one...". You would think these groupies were at a class reunion, but they're not; they are shopping at Target. And their carts are bursting at the seams with bargains.

I used to be one of those. I would go shopping just to get out of the house, and I would buy things because they were such a steal. Target and Kohl's were my stomping grounds. Nicholas is the one who accompanied me most of the time because the other two were in school. (When he started kindergarten, he had shopping withdrawals and often reminsced about "the places where he used to push the carts around.") I would run into familiar faces and Nicholas would receive a lot of positive attention. My appetite for adult conversation would be sated. When I crossed paths with another mommy, we would practically grab each other and hold on for dear life; or I would simply stand back and observe the exchange of dialogue between the needy.

"Hey you over there, stop for a second. Don't I know you?" One would say.

"Umm, you do look a little familiar."

Scoping eyes would roll from head to foot and when the mommies decided they were similar, a real conversation would begin.

The boys' new bunk beds

Just this week I was reminded of those days of desparation because we bought the boys bunk beds. I had to purchase new sheets because the bottom bunk is a double, and we had no double sheets. So I went to Target. The week before Easter. It was one big mommy jubilee; shopping carts were adorned

with pastel Easter eggs, candy, children's clothes, DVDs, Wii games and other good deals. Friends gathered and shopped after splurging at the Starbucks counter. In the checkout line, familiar faces enjoyed gabfests.

"You were on the drill team weren't you? Who'd you dance with?"

"Yes I was. I never took dance before the drill team, though."

"You didn't? Really?" Look of disgust, end of conversation.

As I went through the boys things later that day, I realized how many items were unnecessary purchases from those early mommy days when I just had to get out of the house or I'd go crazy. I had spent money to get a good deal, thinking the whole time that the kids would grow into the new clothes for next winter or use the costumes next Halloween.

Now someone will get those things I spent money on to save money, the unused items, from Goodwill.

A cause for celebration

2011-04-19T08:40:00.002-05:00

I was so honored and humbled to learn that I Am the Sea made it to #3 on Poetic Asides' sonnet contest (on PA, scroll down to April 18 to see the list and winning piece). Thanks, Robert Lee Brewer; and congratulations to the other top ten winners. Most importantly though, thank YOU for visiting my blog, reading my posts and leaving comments. You give me the strength to stay afloat. Here is my poem:

I Am the Sea

The water’s edge laps rhythmic solitude
Enticing waves, the arms that call me in;
I drown in bitter sorrow from this feud,
Then like a buoy pop up once again.
Rejuvenating tides this cycle bears,
My fingers slap calm water freshening.
Hypnotic reverie from ocean’s prayers;
A dolphin diving up and down, I sing.
Am I insane to dream myself to shore?
To think white castles hold the golden key?
Each time a current pulls me to the floor,
An inspiration molds my destiny.
I am the sea, I write to fill this hole;
No storm or wind will crush my hungry soul.

@Laurie Kolp

A bar brawl, fight with a chair and unexpected bonk of the heads: There's no hiding black eyes

2011-04-17T21:39:00.002-05:00

A black eye; this unwanted baggage always seems to appear at the worse times. There's no hiding the blacks, blues, purples, reds, yellows and greens no matter how hard you try. The three incidents below really happened, but how they were "covered up" is interesting. Notice how the two male stories differ from mine.

Last week, Andrew was sitting in an old orange school chair in front of the kid's computer, leaning back and rocking as he anticipated his next gaming move. All of the sudden I heard a WHOOSH / THUMP and then Nicholas' concerned voice:

"Oh! Are you okay, Andrew?"

I quickly turned my head and found Andrew on the floor, hands covering his left eye. I was surprised he wasn't crying, because when I peeled away his fingers I could see the bruise already forming. The chair had flipped with him and the bottom of the leg had come back around and poked him in the eye (not directly, thank goodness, but close enough). We applied ice immediately, but the next morning it was apparent that we could have done nothing to stop nature's course of healing.

A few days later, right when the boldest colors of a black eye usually peak, Andrew had his award ceremony for earning his blue belt in TaeKwonDo (yeah, Drew!). I have to wonder if everyone thought he got his shiner while sparring. A few asked him, and this is what Andrew said:

"I got in a fight with my chair and won."

He did look like a true prize fighter.

*
Just two days before graduation from Non-Commissioned Officers (NCO) School in Paris Island, North Carolina, Pete was in a fight. The E-Club (Enlisted) was a well-frequented spot for the guys back then; kind of like an oasis in the middle of the desert. Of course, I'm sure Pete was only a victim and could never have stirred up trouble, so I will pass on the details. The important thing is that he had a big ole' shiner on the day of graduation; and he was graduating #1 in his class. When the commanding general of the base handed Pete his award, he whispered these words:

"What happened to your eye?"

"Oh, I just slipped in the shower," Pete mumbled.

"Does the other guy look that bad?" Asked the general with a wink.

Pete showed perfect proof that he was a tough marine as he walked across the stage with a serious expression on his colorful face.

*
Then there was the time I was stranded in Galveston while on a college weekend trip. I bumped heads with a friend on the seawall while waiting for my summer roommate Mitzie to show up (she had abandoned me at a night club, but that's another story). My mother came to visit me the next week. I tried to disguise my shiner with gobs of eye makeup, but there was no fooling good ole' Mom. I could tell she was onto me when she said this as soon as she saw me:

"My God, Laurie. You have on so much eye makeup. Since when did you start wearing all those different colored eye shadows?"

"Oh, you know Mitzie. She works at the Estee Lauder counter. She was practicing new methods on me."

"I see," Mom answered with a quizzical look.

I did not appear rough and tough; I looked like a little girl who put on too much eye shadow while playing dress-up. And I caked on the camouflage everyday until my eye returned to normal.

Did you notice that Andrew and Pete bragged about their black eyes, but I tried to cover mine up? To men, shiners are war stories. Women do whatever they can to hide their scarlet letters and keep them a secret. But we're really only fooling ourselves. The truth is visible in the oily blobs making rings around our eyes.

Where's the Candy Shop?

2011-04-12T19:26:00.004-05:00

I travelled to the state capital last weekend hoping for some homemade pie, but all I got were crumbs.

{Wedding decorations look like gumballs falling from the sky}

I was ecstatic when I discovered that Katie's Future Problem Solving (FPS) Annual State Bowl was the same weekend as Austin's International Poetry Festival (AIPF). At first I planned on tagging along with the school group. I could go to the festival during the day and spend time with Katie in the evening. How hard could it be to slip away for a few hours to attend a workshop or poetry reading? A week before the trip I was asked to chaperone, which would cover the cost of my hotel room. Of course, being the Little Ms. Economical that I am, I said yes. How hard could it be to share a room with my daughter and two other twelve-year-old girls? Then just two days before the trip, a parent I had never met or even seen before called me and asked for a ride. She would pay for half of the gas. Hmmm... I had to think about that one for awhile before I said yes. Before I could turn around, the weekend had begun.

Unfortunately, I did not make it to the poetry festival. Knowing that this gathering of famous poets from all over the world was going on somewhere within the depths of Austin away from our teeny tiny little corner of state-wide problem solvers was treacherous. Imagine taking a child to the Mall of America and not letting her go into the alluring candy shop where a vast selection of goodies awaits. That's how I felt. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed the shopping trip; but I missed out on the sweet treats I had been dreaming of. Friday night we ate at the Cheesecake Factory, and I didn't even get a piece of homemade pie (it was after 11:00 and we were tired, full, and needed to get to bed). That thick slab of caramel chocolate cheesecake haunted me the rest of the weekend almost as much as missing AIPF.

I really could have used the sugar after my sleepless nights. Fortunately, I was blessed with a room full of sweet girls. In fact they were the cream of the crop. Girls will be girls though, which means a whole lot of talking and giggling. The chatter boxes opened each night at bedtime and continued until who knows when? Gab, grab (snacks), gab, grab; no wonder I was a crab. And the time they spent in the bathroom getting ready was preposterous! I could have made a trip to the candy shop and returned without them even knowing I was gone.

Speaking of trips, the drive was quite an adventure in and of itself. The lady who rode with me turned out to be a teacher and we got along, thank goodness. I felt sorry for her, though, because she had to put up with my trailing the school buses and stopping at nothing to keep up. I was flying by the seat of me pants, for I had no clue how to get to Austin. I had not visited since my crazy college days. I did have my GPS, but you know how I feel about those things (if not, click here).

On the way there, one of the bus drivers got a ticket. We had to stop and wait while the state trooper cited her for not changing to the far left-hand lane when she drove by. He was giving out a ticket on the highway's shoulder and didn't like the warm breeze, I guess. While we waited patiently, the other two bus drivers shocked us when they stepped away from their steering wheels and took a smoke break beside the buses. Great role models, huh? This hold up put us behind, as did lunch. As a result, we wasted time trying to save time. Out of nowhere, the school buses veered off onto a toll road that was not in the itinerary. They were trying to make it to the planned tour at Inner Space Cavern, but serendipitously discovered it was rush hour on a Friday evening. All the time we wasted driving around and keeping up with Old Yellow was merely a circuitous lap through the mall... ~sigh~.

So on the way back Sunday, I was not about to follow those darned buses; our daughters were belted safely in the backseat which meant we could drive at our own pace. There was one minor problem, though; all I had was the GPS, and we were not leaving from the hotel. We were leaving from a huge auditorium that was off the beaten path. We were somewhere on the outskirts of Austin when I punched the Home button. In seconds, the GPS told us which way to go, and we followed its instructions. The highway was a dirt path being worked on, with no mode of entrance. So we had to take a wee little detour. The road it took us down was deserted. We couldn't turn around. I felt panicky, and my guest was extremely nervous I could tell.

"I'll just call Pete and have him Google this. He can tell us if we're on the right path," I offered. She just looked at me.

Pete did not seem too surprised to hear my voice. After a quick computer check he told me that we would be okay, but we were still in the middle of nowhere. It was like something out of a horror picture, I tell you; driving down a deserted one-way dirt road with no signs of life or reassuring images on the horizon. To top it off, the GPS was telling us to turn around as soon as possible, but there was no way to do that. I kept chugging along on a hope-filled promise that we would soon reach something. And we did finally reach a little town. After the GPS readjusted, it told us the drive home would take eight hours, when it should only be four or five. That's when we got out the road map from my glove compartment and turned off that stupid thing.

Eventually the lady felt comfortable enough to doze off. The girls were napping, too. Without someone to talk to, I found myself falling into a dazed haze. Luckily I discovered a bag of sweets, but only cookie crumbs were left. I poured them into my mouth and prayed they would help me stay awake. They did. I replayed the weekend in my head as I knocked out the miles. I had a wonderful time with Katie, got to visit with my nephew and his wife, witnessed an outside wedding, and observed many strange occurrences and human foibles. I may not have attended the AIPF, but I sure did collect a wide assortment of pictures and writing/poetry prompts and ideas. I was happy with my box of chocolates.

We finally made it back to town four hours later; exhausted, but alive. There really is no place like home. I'm still coming down from my sugar high.

Red is for ~EEK!~

2011-04-06T21:49:00.001-05:00

This is the story of the time my husband looked at me and screamed. Let me warn you, it is not a normal story. It begins in the present and moves backwards.

I had to buy a new lipstick today. It had been so long since I had bought one that I was amazed at the wide assortment of new colors.

Is lipstick becoming like nail polish? I wondered. Will younger generations wear blue, green and yellow shades of lipstick soon? Hmm...

I carefully inspected each shade that I liked until my eyes landed on one in particular; bright red. And I mean bright. I stopped for a minute and then went on to select my usual light mauve color. I had to replace my favorite lipstick, and here's why.

As most of you know (click here if not), my family went to the fair last week. I know they must get so sick of me trailing behind them with my camera, clicking right and left, up and down. I always get teased about the wondrous moments I just have to capture on film. I've even witnessed my children making bets with each other AND THEIR FRIENDS on whether or not I'm going to whip my ~~hair~~ camera out.

When we were in the livestock section admiring the good-looking animals and listening to real life "oinks" and "moos," I was doing what I always do; lagging behind taking pictures. I decided to put my camera back in my dark knapsack so I wouldn't be tempted for awhile; but when I did, my favorite lipstick fell to the cow-poop infested ground, knocking the lid off. Of course, there was no way I was ever going to use it again, so I had to buy some new lipstick.

But I knew I could never choose bright red lipstick again, or I might just scare Pete. Way back when we were engaged, we were getting ready to go somewhere very important (but I can't remember where). I happened upon an old lipstick in my evening bag. It was as red as a beautiful cardinal against newly fallen snow (my fair complexion).

This will be perfect with my black dress, I thought.

I carefully lined my lips just so and filled them in with the sparkling delight. Pete was waiting for me in the other room, calling for me to hurry up or we'd be late. I finished up, kissed a tissue to dab it a bit, and pranced out with my slinky bag in tow. I knew Pete would be surprised by my outfit, I had fixed my hair just so. Maybe he would whistle or something.

What I didn't expect was a scream.

Pete saw me and screamed, I kid you not. I screamed back. Was there a bug on me? I looked down at my body, my shoes, the rug. I inspected my arms closely, swished my face. I hopped around like an Indian around a campfire. Pete simply stood there looking at me. Soon his expression morphed into an impish grin which quickly grew into a chuckle and then outright hilarity as he watched my melodramatic debacle.

"What? What's wrong with me?" I sputtered.

"Nothing, really. I was just taken back by that red lipstick."

Coincidentally, more chocolate...

2011-04-05T17:58:00.001-05:00

Unaware that I wrote about the candy from Germany and shared it on my blog, Pete comes home this afternoon bearing... more chocolate from overseas. This time it is from a coworker who has no idea about the blog thing. He is from Turkey and just came back from visiting. While in the Istanbul airport, he picked up some Swiss chocolate for us. He also brought us this small souvenir, which when translated means "What makes the flag is the blood on top of it. What makes the country is the willingness to die for it." Notice how my silly child/husband put bite marks in the bottom left corner.

A Heavenly Surprise

2011-04-05T11:16:00.000-05:00

Yesterday it rained chocolate from heaven. An angel showered me with sweet blessings. I can say that because I believe special friends like Linda, the one who sent the treats, are earthly angels; and where the chocolate came from, Germany, seems almost like heaven to me (at least it's far enough away).

It's funny because Linda had just asked me that morning if I had gotten any surprises lately, because she had the inside scoop of something good that was going to happen to me. Of course, my writing mind jumped to publication, and then even higher to honors. Did I finally break a deal? Had I won the Pulitzer Prize? I soon came off my purple cloud and realized this wasn't a dream. But what could it be?

I had no idea I would find out a few hours later. I came home from running errands and this box was on my front porch. Had I looked closely on the outside of the box, I would have seen "chocolates" written on the bottom; but instead I rushed inside and cut it open with my green scissors. Not only did Linda send several different kinds of rich, flavorful German chocolate, but she also included three Easter eggs for the kids. Inside the hollow milk-chocolate egg, which was lined in white chocolate, there was a surprise- a plastic Easter egg with a toy inside. Pictured below is what the kids found.

We had so much fun experimenting with the different flavors and sinfully splurging the night away. Since we can't read German, we had no idea what we were biting into, but each piece of chocolate was (and still is) out of this world... heavenly. I can't wait to see what the next bite brings. Wait a minute, I'll try a taste for you. Here's the little chocolate bar:

...excuse me while I take a bite (I love how it comes in little squares)...

...yum! It's solid chocolate (thank goodness it didn't have caramel in the middle because on an impulsive whim I gave it up for Lent).

Thank you dear Linda for your friendship, support, humor, and love. Thanks, too, for the heavenly delight... you are an angel! And the surprise is better than anything I might have conjured up in my head; nothing tops a gift from the heart.

Come One, Come All to > Language > Place Blog Carnival

2011-04-03T13:08:00.001-05:00

Webster's Standard Dictionary defines carnival as "a time of merrymaking; a local festival; a traveling show."

Example~

Thanks to the money won at the women of maritime's annual Bingo night, our family was able to go to the South Texas State Fair this weekend. We stuffed our faces with shrimp-on-a-stick, turkey legs, corn on the cob and funnel cakes. We tiptoed around mounds of cow dung and caressed Pygmy goats. Of course the rides and side shows occupied a great deal of our time, as did the bucking horses and mesmerizing cowboys during the rodeo. Everyone was able to find something they liked at the fair, and they were sad to leave until next year.

Did you know there is another kind of carnival?

It travels around the web, landing at different blogs from all over the world. It offers entertainment for all who enter. Visitors will want to come back for more, and they won't even have to wait a year. Plus, it's free.

Example~

> Language > Place Blog Carnival just released edition #5, hosted by Parmanu. I am so happy to announce that I am part of the show. Yes, I have joined the circus. You can read my previous post "... and then there was a phone" in room 19. My good friend from Germany, Linda, has a spot in room 12. Please stop by and enjoy the show. This one is free.

The Pinch-in-the-Pocket

2011-03-31T14:20:00.017-05:00

All around the country, people are feeling the pinch; not the Special K Pinch-an-Inch pinch (that's très passé) thanks to America's obsession on fitness, but the Pinch-in-the-Pocket pinch from the astronomical, gag-inducing rise in prices. Gas prices, groceries, clothing, utilities; you name it, the price is UP. And the sad news is that the people fortunate enough to have steady employment are not seeing a rise in their salaries. So what is a struggling American family to do?

Pinch those pennies!

I tried just that today; I went to Wal-Mart. I remember once upon a time when Pete and I were dating, Wal-Mart was a fun place to shop. We spent many late weekend nights perusing the aisles and dreaming of our future. Oh, to be young and newly in love...

Sad as it is, though, the Wal-Mart in my city has become a compendium for criminals. It's like a pow-wow for penny peons. Reports of purse snatching and petty theft appear quite regularly on the local news. I have had several friends experience this first hand. SO... nowadays when (and if) I go to Wal-Mart, I usually drag poor Pete along.

Only this time I went alone... don't worry! I grabbed a few essentials from my purse before I left the house- debit card, driver's license, phone, keys, sunglasses- and put them in a black creates-excessive-inches (but could pass as a concealed handgun) fanny pack. I usually wear it on trips to the zoo and other fun places. I was going to Wal-Mart after all. Surely it would be fun to visit my good ole stompin' ground.

Unfortunately, my olfactory nerves were probably scarred for life, thanks to that pungent... man?... riding around in a motorized shopping cart. As soon as he pulled up, everyone scattered like birds in a parking lot. At first I had flashbacks of walking past the trash cans at the fishing pier last week (très stinky), but then I remembered I was not having fun at the beach. Could I be in a day care full of soiled diapers that needed to be discarded? I had to wonder for a brief second. No, I was at Wal-Mart... woo-hoo! My shopping trip ended right then, at that very instance. I bolted to the check-out line forgetting about the Tide I left on the laundry aisle.

When I was locked safely inside my car, I felt a familiar pang come over me because of the amount of money I spent. I was there, so I needed to stock up on things, right? I didn't buy anything we didn't need, right? Everything just costs so much, right? (That's an example of the justification conversation I have between my ears when guilt sets in). Many of you can probably relate, it's just the way things are right now- inflated.

Over all, I had a good time at Wally-World Fun Park today (even the reeking-freak show was... different). I was inside the store for an hour-and-a-half. I spent way too much money. I experienced amusement, thrill and excitement. Interesting whiffs passed me by; bakery goodies, McDonald's and... you know.

Hmmm... maybe I don't have to go the fair; after all, we are pinching pennies.

Spring break miscellany, part II

2011-03-27T21:51:00.002-05:00

A Party for My Sweet Nephew

(sung to Miley Cyrus’ Party in the USA tune)

I hopped in the van at nine a.m.

with the kids and a goody bag;

welcome to my life of mommy-hood,

do I have to brag?

Zipped through the cars,

suddenly for the first time

hit the brakes, and I worry ‘bout the speed signs;

the drivers seem so fearless,

everybody weaves through traffic.

The boys are gaming and Katie turns the tunes up,

too much noise and I am about deaf.

That’s when the GPS came out of nowhere

and said I would get lost,

“Stop at once and turn back,

turn around this minute.”

So I put the brakes on,

“Stupid voice, you’re wrong,”

but the butterflies come this way

swirling inside my head,

doubting with thoughts of dread.

Then I rev the gas up

“Stupid voice, you’re wrong,”

and I trust I know the way.

Yeah, it’s a party for my sweet nephew,

Yeah, it’s a party for my sweet nephew.

Get to the place without GPS

everyone’s happy to see we’re here;

the kids hug their cousins,

I help Chels get ready.

So fun spending time with family

visiting and watching the baby

eating cake and pizza,

jumpin’ in the Bounce House.

The boys are gaming and Katie turns the tunes up,

too much noise and I am about deaf.

That’s when the GPS came out of nowhere

and said I should leave now,

“Stop at once and go home,

say goodbye this minute.”

So I put the brakes on,

“Stupid voice, you’re wrong,”

but the butterflies come this way

swirling inside my head,

doubting with thoughts of dread.

Then I rev my gas up,

“Stupid voice, you’re wrong,”

and I know how long to stay.

Yeah, it’s a party for my sweet nephew,

Yeah, it’s a party for my sweet nephew.

Spring break miscellany, part I

2011-03-25T22:23:00.002-05:00

Spring is my favorite time of year. I like staying home during the kid's week off from school planting flowers and gardens with them, going to the movies and out to lunch, spending time with friends and family, driving to the beach for the day... the list goes on and on.

We have done all of the above this week during spring break. Perhaps the most interesting thus far has been the trip to the beach. I could inundate you with pictures of the kids running in the sand and jumping through the waves, but I've done that enough. This time I want to share the bizarre and interesting sights from the beach.

Portuguese man-of-war with its tentacles

Another one without tentacles

Good ole' American oil wells pop up ALL OVER the Bolivar Peninsula (and vicinity) just pumping away, and a Cardinal towing sign

Remnants of a gas station ruined during Hurricane Ike (but it still shows up on the GPS)

Some of the many nails we found around my friend's rebuilt beach cabin

Part II - Tomorrow we get to spend the day out of town visiting relatives and celebrating my nephew's first birthday party. Please check back later.

What have you done over spring break this year?

aros in July

2011-03-21T19:49:00.001-05:00

I want to thank all of the readers who ventured over from a river of stones (aros) blog post on March 21, 2011. It showed a picture of me holding the new book pay attention:a river of stones, edited by fiona robyn & kaspalita (I'm on pg. 48 & 103). You will have the opportunity to take part in this wonderful meditative exercise in a few short months.

On my poetry blog, Conversations with Laurie, you will find specifics on how to participate in July's a river of stones daily challenge. Click here to read the post.

Taekwondo tournament video: Andrew takes 2nd place in sparring

2011-03-20T11:44:00.000-05:00

Andrew's 1st round sparring, in two parts

(He's white, on the right)

Part I

Part II

... and then there was a phone (REALLY)

2011-03-17T20:13:00.003-05:00

Imagine being in the middle of the jungle as a young adult without your cell phone or any other form of communication. You are constantly aware of possible enemies gaining ground and each step you take could set off a land mine. To make matters worse, you are in charge and have to remain emotionally stable for all of the others. Wouldn't it be nice to stumble upon something that could help your situation?

Well, this is exactly what happened to Pete while he was trudging through Panama with his men, and trying to oust Noriega during Operation Just Cause. They were on guard carefully sneaking through dense woods, staving off scorpions and snakes, leeches and tics. Not to mention body fungus and bothersome mosquitoes that attacked in the dark of night, leaving chicken pox welts on the men from up North with sensitive skin (Pete and the other desensitized beach boys woke up with smooth skin). They were tired, hungry, in need of a shower. Spirits were plummeting with each left-right-left rhythm of their soggy boots.

And then they saw it; a tattered gray box standing on a pole all by itself in the middle of the woods. A quick glance skyward revealed a wire leading to somewhere through the trees. Being the brave hero that he is, my husband stepped up to the container and opened it (thank God it wasn't a bomb).Voila ~ sitting right there as plain as Jack in the box was an old telephone. Dumbfounded, everyone dropped their chins and looked at Pete. He stepped up to the plate, lifted the receiver to his ear, and guess what? He heard the low monotone bbbbbbbbbb that phones make.

What the hell? Pete shrugged his shoulders, dialed O and waited for a response.

"Operator. Can I help you?" said a nasally voice.

"Uh... yeah. I'd like to make a collect call," Pete spit out.

He gave her a number off the top of his head. After a few rings, Pete's dad answered the phone and said hello. After all of the rigmarole of saying his name and waiting for his dad to accept the call, they were able to talk.

"Where are you?" Dad asked.

What? Did he think Pete was in jail or something?

"You'll never believe it, but I'm in Panama on assignment."

Dad didn't even know Pete was out of the country.

"Really? How's it going?"

"Fine. I've been here three weeks now. Guess what? I'm literally talking to you from the jungle, on a phone in the middle of nowhere."

"Really, Peter? Well be careful."

"Okay. Goodbye!"

After that, all of the other guys used the phone to call their loved ones. Then they marched on in unison with a new jilt in their step.

P.S. This is a true story.

P.P.S. I know Penny in one of my stories would have liked her phone when she got lost in the woods. Instead she had to rely on a cardinal to lead her back to the road. Such is the life of a girl compared to that of a boy.

I am an ant

2011-03-16T09:43:00.001-05:00

Travel makes one modest. You see what a tiny place you occupy in the world.
~Scott Cameron

It's funny how our world grows as we age. Think about it; a child's world is his own. Whatever is happening at that very moment is the child's understanding of life on Earth; he is the world. Then as we age, that area becomes more vast. We begin to see beyond the parameters of our existence. We realize we are but one little ant in the pile of life. With that realization comes a keen curiosity to learn more. What better way to learn about other countries than to travel and see for yourself? At least, that's how I feel.

So far, no cigar.

Pete, on the other hand, is a different story. He has travelled the world over and again. The time he spent in the Marines took him to faraway lands like Europe and Panama. Since then Pete's job has taken him to Japan, England and Greece... without me. I know, it's sickening isn't it? The main reason I have been unable to go is because I didn't have a passport. Pete's business trips come about very quickly. Until Greece, there was not enough time for me to apply.

~~Grease is the word~~ Greece was the limit. I dropped Pete off at the airport and went straight to the post office for my passport application. I filled it out, had my picture taken and sent it off. Then I took the kids to get a puppy (Jake), but that's another story.

The ironic thing about this whole ordeal is that Pete has not had another opportunity to travel overseas since I got my passport four years ago, ~sigh~ but I'm ready. And times a'tickin'. My arms are open wide. I am a measly ant ready to venture out from her familiar pile. I am ready to see the world.

A much younger Pete at Japan's Shinto Shrine, pond with lotus flowers- July '98

Flat Stanley goes to the beach

2011-03-13T21:43:00.003-05:00

Elementary classes everywhere participate in The Flat Stanley Project each year. The boys took part in this project when they were in first grade. In the spring they brought home a plain Flat Stanley paper doll, a character form a children's book of the same name. We then had to mail him to a friend or relative in another town. Andrew and Nicholas sent him to their cousin Matt. Andrew's Flat Stanley toured the Texas A&M campus. Matt and his wife Jen (then girlfriend) decked him out in maroon Aggie gear and took pictures of their excursion. Then they sent him back and Andrew shared his Flat Stanley trip with the class. When it was Nicholas' turn, Matt and Jen were in graduate school near Austin. They dressed him up accordingly and took pictures. Again, Nicholas presented the results to his class.

Imagine our delight when I discovered we had the opportunity to participate in the project once again, only this time we would be the ones dressing up Flat Stanley and taking him somewhere. A friend of mine from my BD group (see previous post) told me about it. A teacher was getting the names of friends and friend's friends so that she could have each child send a Flat Stanley to different parts of the world (my pal lives in Germany). The teacher created a Facebook page for the volunteers. When he finally arrived at our house last week, I could see the envelope had been carefully addressed in a child's handwriting. Flat Stanley had been cut out with love by the child as well.

We decided that since he was from Ohio, Flat Stanley needed to go to the beach. So yesterday we dressed him in swim shorts and sunglasses and drove him to the Bolivar Peninsula. He got to ride the ferry to Galveston and back, where he saw Seawolf Park on Pelican Island and the old sunken ship close by. He witnessed a tugboat pushing an oil barge, sailboats and dolphins. Stan (we were on a more personal level by then) enjoyed feeding the seagulls, playing in the sand and watching the kids splash in the freezing surf. They never can resist the beach. Here are the highlights:

We are so happy Stan came to visit and hope next year will bring another golden opportunity.

Writer's write

2011-03-09T18:34:00.006-06:00

My "everything else" group (read and find out why)

The lifestyle of a writer involves hours of solitary confinement. To the computer, that is. Self-discipline and dedication are two essentials if authors want to get the work done. But, let's face it; writer's write. We write because we love it. We're in love with it. Passionately. Writing is fulfillment, satisfaction, orgasmic. Okay, I'm going a little overboard here, but you get the gist; writing is innate to writers.

When a group of writers gets together to share in their passion, they form intimate relationships. After all, we would not bare our souls to just anyone. And since writing is so personal, it is often difficult to find a group of colleagues that gels.

I am very fortunate to have two such groups; poetry and everything else.

My poetry group, which we call the Baker's Dozen, met online over at Robert Brewer's Poetic Asides blog. Thirteen of us (twelve women and one man) from all over the world formed a private group on Facebook so that we could share our poems on a deeper level. It was hard for us to find one another amongst the swarm of poets participating in the streets of Poetic Asides. We decided to write poems daily and share them; sometimes critiquing, sometimes not. We grew into a group of friends and wound up revealing facets of our personal lives with each other; our acceptances, rejections, accolades, struggles, childhood scars, celebrations, and even death.

Since the formation of Baker's Dozen (BD) several years ago, a few members have changed directions and left the group, but we have continued to strive for keeping true to our thirteen-member name. We still share our love of poetry, submission information and personal support as often as possible. I love my BD friends.

My everything else group is comprised of writers who live in my area and met through the Golden Triangle Writer's Guild. We represent a wide array of style, personality and genre. We have developed and grown over the years just like BD. A core group of us initially met each month to critique and share. As we all know, life happens. Family obligations, life challenges and death have changed our group. But those of us who still meet (and a few new ones) share the common love and need to write. Fiction, nonfiction, self-published or traditional, we have formed a strong bond because of our passion. Now we cherish the time we can get together outside the guild.

Recently, my everything else group met for an all-day writer's retreat. This meeting was extra special to me because we were able to meet at one of the schools where I once taught dyslexia. Even though it had been nine years since I worked there, I felt ~~write~~ right at home. The four of us who made it to the retreat were able to plan, share, write and critique for seven hours. Sheer luxury!

Time really does fly when you're having fun. And writing IS fun. Writer's have fun even though they are alone much of the time. Writer's write. So should you.

A new book-- "pay attention: a river of stones"

2011-03-04T18:26:00.010-06:00

You can purchase the book (hardback, paperback or download) here through Lulu.com

Fiona Robyn is a wonderful inspiration not only in the writing world, but in life's never-ending journey toward spirituality. A friend told me about her blogs, a handful of stones and a small stone, many months ago. I started following her immediately.

Then in January, she started a movement around the world of collecting 'small stones' for 'a river of stones' (aros). Now she and her fiance Kaspa have created this wonderful book, pay attention: a river of stones, filled with a collection of observations from January. I am delighted to have a small stone and quote included in the book.

I asked Fiona to share her thoughts on the whole process and how it came to fruition. Thank you Fiona and Kaspa for touching so many lives and reminding us to stop and smell the flowers. I hope you, too, will join in.

Fiona Robyn:

Sometime during December, I had the idea that people might like to join me during January in writing a small stone every day – something I’ve been doing for many years. I believe that there are lots of benefits from having a daily writing practice, and this seemed like an ideal way to share this practice with others. Kaspa teamed up with me and we created a blog and started asking people if they wanted to join the ‘river’. We originally thought it would be nice if 20 people joined us – by the beginning of January more than 300 people were writing small stones and posting them on their blogs.

We really enjoyed reading the small stones during January, and thought it would be good to choose the cream of these and publish them in a book. More than 3000 small stones (and MANY hours) later, we’d chosen the stones for the book, edited them, communicated with their writers, arranged them into chapter groupings, designed the cover, arranged them into an order and written some prose pieces to go alongside them. And – TA-DA! – ‘pay attention: a river of stones’ was born!

We do hope it’ll be read both by people writing small stones and people who’ve never written before – it’s full of beautiful short pieces. And it might inspire a few more people to start writing them….

Confessions and Observations

2011-03-01T09:57:00.001-06:00

I have been in denial for days. In fact it has been dragging me down and wearing me out. Now I am ready to face the truth and deal with it. I am prepared to do whatever I need in order to recover from this malady.

What, might you ask, could I be talking about? Here goes: I listened to Justin Bieber's "Never Say Never" CD over and over again for a three-hour road trip last weekend. Three hours each way. Six hours total. And then I spent the entire weekend at a dance convention. Loud music, catty girls, cut-throat moms. Sixteen hour days. AM I EXHAUSTED!

But guess what? I really had a good time. This is the truth I must face. I enjoyed watching my daughter and her team dance and grow. Of course (and this is no lie) the studio where Katie dances was the finest group there. Here's why:

1. Katie's team enthusiastically participated in each class. I had an observer pass which allowed me to sit and watch the entire time. And I did. Our girls were friendly and alert, whereas others seemed to be aloof and distracted. One group of younger girls hung out at the water station the whole time, dipping their cups in the top of the dispenser and scooping out all of the ice. One in particular reminded me of an ADHD big-bowed half-dressed Barbie nightmare. She's the one that started the whole contamination process and persuaded her groupies to join in on the ice chip jamboree (this was on Sunday afternoon when everyone was running on generators, but still).

2. All of the parents from Katie's team pitched in and helped out. It was obvious we were there for the dancers, not ourselves. During the classes many moms snuck out, leaving their trash behind for someone else to pick up. They gathered in the halls like the groupies their children emulate. They sported outfits as revealing as some of the costumes (I will get to that next) and stuck their noses so high in the air I thought they might fall over backwards. It was a chilly/sweaty area, if you know what I mean.

3. Katie's team wore tasteful costumes and danced appropriately. But some of the others? OMG, ~~BTW~~ (sorry I'm now speaking text lingo) they might as well have been performing in a gentleman's club. Like, whateva... okay I'll settle down on the cliches. Anyway, it was gross. That's all I can say. Oh, and tacky. Sad. Yes, sad. Really sad. I had to laugh when the co-owner of the dance company who put this whole thing on spoke Sunday. She said, "I must say I have never seen such elaborate and fancy costumes as I saw during last night's competition. And the bows. I have never seen anything like all that bling. But none of that really matters..." Ha!

Anyway, Katie's team did great. The two dances she performed in received first and second place for their catagory. The team's ballet duo came out on the very top despite the fact that one of the girls was too sick to dance and the understudy had to step in. It was a very moving experience.

I feel so much better now that I told you about my weekend. sigh. Remember, we are only as sick as our secrets. OKAY, I'll admit it. The Justin Bieber music was great.

A Story for You from Me

2011-02-20T21:31:00.001-06:00

The Messenger of Love
by Laurie Kolp

I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go, I will counsel you and watch over you.
~ Psalm 32:8

Penny stopped dead in her tracks. The road should be in front of her instead of the meandering brook which was blocking her path. She was sure she had retraced her steps correctly. Was she lost?

Follow the river upstream, or you will go in circles. Penny heard her father’s wise words echo through her mind. He had told her many times as a child what to do if she ever got lost in the Piney Woods. A brook leads to a river leads to activity. She heeded his advice and began walking along the trickling stream.

Above the tall timbers, a warm March sun peeked through cirrus clouds; but Penny felt chilled and afraid. All she had wanted to do was go on a stroll, get some fresh air. It had been a spontaneous decision. Penny had pulled her car over to the side of the road and locked her purse in the trunk. She had forgotten her cell phone was in the bag. Now she was lost and her family thought she had gone to the store. They would never know where to find her.

Penny decided to stop and rest when she happened upon a tree stump. Exasperated and tired, she put her face in her hands and began to pray. She asked God to help her find her way home. She cried until there were no more tears. Then she lifted her head and opened her eyes to the most beautiful sight she had ever seen.

Right in front of her stood a cherry red cardinal. His head was cocked to one side and his eyes stared pensively into Penny’s. She had never been so close to a bird in her life, let alone such a beauty. She drank in every last detail of his intricate feathers and alluring symmetry. The whole time, the cardinal kept his eyes on hers.

A peaceful rapture spread through Penny’s body as if she had taken a swig of whiskey. Her chill was replaced with a blanket of warmth. Penny instinctively knew everything would be okay.

At that very moment of clarity, the crimson bird hopped away from the water. He turned his head and looked at her. For some reason, Penny knew what to do. She followed the bird’s lead, the whole time praying.

The tiny leaps forward soon transformed into bigger spans as the cardinal continued to lead the way. Each time he moved forward, he turned his head and waited for Penny to catch up. They were advancing deeper into the thick forest, but Penny was not the least bit scared.

Before long, they came to a small gap in the woods. A pine tree had fallen and Penny had to climb over the rough bark to proceed. She remembered passing the same spot on her venture into the maze of mile-high trees. Penny was grateful for the reassurance that she was doing the right thing.

The light may have been fading as dusk drew near, but the warm comfortable glow within kept Penny hopeful. The cardinal was now flying low and stopping just short of disappearing from Penny’s sight. She sensed his urgency and quickened her steps.

What seemed like hours later, but was actually only thirty minutes, Penny began to hear the familiar sound of cars zipping by. She had finally reached the road. She turned her head to the left and spotted the splotch of red atop her car. The cardinal had led her safely out of the woods. When she turned toward her car, the bird flew away.

Penny had gotten lost in the woods and asked God for help. He had sent Penny a cardinal as red as love to guide her through the forest and back to her car. She had taken a leap of faith, hoping that she was doing the right thing. She listened to her instincts, was reassured through serenity, and found her way home. All she had to do was reach out for help and open her heart. Who would have known such a blessing would arise from being lost in the woods?

Soap opera email

2011-02-16T21:57:00.003-06:00

A few minutes ago I was reading through my emails, many of which were follow-up comments from Facebook.   It went something like this:

First click- I read "Congratulations," and "Way to go," for a friend who just received a contract on a book.

Next click- Words of encouragement like "Hang in there," and "You're in my prayers," were sprawled across the screen for a friend facing a medical crisis.

It didn't take long for me to recognize that a melodramatic pattern was forming.   Back and forth the clicks went from one extreme to another, like a yoyo vacillating between happiness and misfortune.

Click- "I am so happy for you. I want a book," ~YEAH!

Click- "I think this might be serious. Have you considered seeing a neurologist?" ON, NO!
These emails churned my emotions and left me feeling like a hormonal teenager; high on life, then sinking in mud- just with a simple click. There were no other emails except for these; and I kid you not, they alternated back and forth for six to eight messages.  All this bizzare banter really made me feel... powerless.

I found myself asking questions.

What is the reason for this? I thought maybe God was trying to tell me a should become a soap opera writer or something.

How does this relate to me?  It reminded me that I am not in control of people, situations, writing submissions, the man who cut me off, etc. The only thing I can do is offer support, pray, and then sit back and wait for God's handiwork. People everywhere are suffering while others are rejoicing. It's the cycle of life, and it draws us closer to one another... and God.

I have so much to be grateful for today. Right now. At this very minute.

Whew- I am exhausted; I think I'll go to bed now (I have a lot of praying to do).

Lex Talionis

2011-02-12T11:58:00.002-06:00

Postcard Shorts has published one of my short stories Lex Talionis, which means an eye for an eye. The exact Latin to English translation is "law of retaliation."

Postcard Shorts publishes stories short enough to fit on a postcard- 250 words max. If you are a writer, you might consider submitting a story to them.

Lex Talionis is unlike anything I have ever written. I am not quite sure where it came from, but I think you might find it interesting. Good or bad, I'd love a comment from you. Don't worry about what you say. I asked Pete if he liked it and he said, "No." Nothing can be much worse than that (even though he
quickly added that he thought it was written well). Lex Talionis!

Click here to read my story.

Writing through the seasons

2011-02-09T18:38:00.004-06:00

The tug-of-war between spring and winter I talked about yesterday was symbolic of a battle I was fighting within.

Most of the time I can handle rejection, but not this time; it was personal. My elephant skin peeled away layer upon layer, tear upon tear, leaving me standing in a pile of fear. I found myself wondering if I could take anymore. My doubtful voice was saying, "Admit it, you suck." At the same time, my inner voice was answering, "Never give up!" Back and forth, back and forth.

Photo by Cameron Johnson

But then a great friend sent me a picture her son had taken of a cardinal. She wanted to cheer me up, and it worked! Suddenly I was inspired once again. To top it off, I had a writer's guild meeting last night and was able to meet with some great friends.

I knew there was a reason I loved the uniqueness of each season. Each comes with its own set of challenges. How I handle them will lead me through. The same goes with writing. On I'll march and I will persevere!

Tug-of-War

2011-02-08T13:11:00.002-06:00

The ocean blue ceiling welcomes birds today; they dive right in rejoicing. An ever-lasting light bulb breathes promises of spring soon to come, resplendent samples of warmth for all. At the same time, a fan bites the face it kisses, gusting sassy reminders of winter's wrath. For weeks yet to come, a tug-of-war will ensue between Unforgiving Winter and Youthful Spring; back and forth, warm and cool, in and out.

Such is the life of a writer.

Faulty wiring?

2011-02-04T20:08:00.001-06:00

I think I left my oomph on the counter with my teeth. Why, might you ask, would I say that? If you have a few minutes to spare, sit back and let me enlighten you.

I might possibly be brain dead. I have written so much over the past several months (remember the book in November) that I'm drained. My mind is like a car battery that won't turn over. No matter how hard I try, nothing happens.

Not to mention my jumbled talking. Words come out wrong way too often. I have made typical mommy remarks like, "Put your clothes in the garbage," and "Forget your homeowrk." Yeah, the spelling is even a little off at times.

But perhaps the strangest thing I have ever said came out last night before Pete and I went to bed. He was going to tell me something, and I wanted to get my toothbrush so I could listen while I brushed my teeth. I said, "Wait just a sec. I need to go get my teeth to brush..."

So if you have been wondering why I haven't been blogging as much, it's because I forgot!