Tag Archives: creative writing

May Day and The Sun is Shining

1 May

Good day! May 1st finds me still unemployed and energetically, well as energetically as possible for a woman of a certain age, in pursuit of a dream. That being creating a living without a job.

There is much to learn.

Today’s Etsy finds in aFrameJob follow. I hope you like them and would so appreciate some honest feedback. If you’re seeing them posted all over the place, please forgive me. I’m trying to increase visibility. You can help! Just share my postings. And thank you in advance.

Tomorrow I will participate in the Arkansas Regional Innovation Hub Mini Maker Faire. My booth can be found in Craft World. Must say, this is beyond exciting. All the markets, fairs, festivals, events…get us out and about and meeting and greeting. Hopping about may be a great introduction to new places and spaces in Arkansas.

So here’s to May Day, also a Friday. Hope yours is splendid!

Farmhouse fancy, shabby or cottage chic, rustic, Southwestern...here's an eclectic bit of home decor for framing the moments of your life.

Farmhouse fancy, shabby or cottage chic, rustic, Southwestern…here’s an eclectic bit of home decor for framing the moments of your life.

A 5 x 7 picture slides behind the glass of this creation and can be hung horizontally or vertically.

And another Pic-ket, suitable for a standard 4 x 6 photo.

And another Pic-ket, suitable for a standard 4 x 6 photo.

The 5 x 7 is only $32.00. The 4 x 6 is $24.00. Both can be found here.

Puppy Pic and A Very Short Story

8 Jan

I had to share this picture. Molly has been keeping Peanut warm.

Awwwwwwwww...

Awwwwwwwww…

Gotta love ’em.

A Very Short Story follows.

A Perfect Secret

Jack checked his reflection again. Yep, there it was, a new zit.

“Oh geez, that’s just not right. Not another one. I’ve had three this week,” he mumbled as he toweled his freshly washed face.

“Mom”, he yelled as he sprinted down the stairs. “Mom, where are you?”

“In the kitchen, Jack.” Mom winced at the slightly whiny note in Jack’s voice.

Jack skidded to a halt in front of his mother, left index finger pointing to the spot near his left eyebrow, right hand on his cocked hip, an accusatory expression on his face.

That is not my fault.”

“You promised me these would go away soon. This is the third one this week! I look like a pizza. All the kids will laugh at me. You don’t care,” he wailed.

“Want me to kiss it and make it better?”

Jack scowled harder. “That doesn’t work, Mom.”

“It did before you had your 10th birthday.”

Jack shook his head. He was so much smarter than his mother. Reaching the ripe old age of 13 was a milestone met with superb reasoning ability and enhanced intellectual capability. He”d left his mother in the dirt. And now he merely lifted his upper lip in disdain.

“I am no longer 10.”

“Oh really?” Mom thought better of pointing out his rather plaintive wailing of mere seconds before. “Here, eat your breakfast,” and she handed him a plate of toast and eggs.

“I don’t want eggs,” he whined. “And please don’t mention starving children.”

“No problem, Jack. Eat your breakfast. Or go hungry. It’s your call, son.”

Jack sat sullenly.

“So what do I do about the zit?” he asked as he toyed with his toast.

“You haven’t done the research? Studied zits and their cause and treatment? Found the miracle cure for teenaged acne and angst? Surely, Jack, you have the answer to this dilemma and world peace.…”

Jack’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. He could tell she was teasing him. She did it mercilessly.

“Mom, I do have the answers. I just want your opinion.”

Mom dropped the dishcloth, her eyes grew wide, she clasped her hands to her mouth, and sighed.

“Are you kissin’ butt, Jack?”

“Gross, Mom.”

“Just checking, dear.”

Mom watched him shovel eggs onto a piece of toast, fold it over, and chow down. Her sweet little boy was quickly becoming a man. His beautiful baby complexion was going through growing pains. His perfect legs had become spindly; his little Michelin Man arms were too long now, his hands too big. Mom’s eyes misted. She turned slightly and caught a glimpse of Jack, the man. It took her breath.

“Uh, Mom?  Uh, really, do you know what I can do about this?”

Mom smiled.

“Did you use the wash we bought?” She spoke gently, brushed the mist from her eyes,  and leaned across the counter.

“Unh huh,” he garbled out around the last of his egg and toast.

“It’s just a little red Jack. I think we can touch it up a bit and you’ll be good to go.”

“Touch it up with what?” He looked a bit skeptical.

“Just a bit of make-up.”

“You’re kidding, right Mom?”

“Come with me,” she said.

Mom straightened and held out a hand to her son. She led him up the stairs into her bedroom to the old desk she had refurbished as a dressing table and seated him.

“Face me, Jack. Don’t worry, this won’t hurt.”

She opened a compact of concealer, picked up a brush and lightly loaded it, turned to her son, and dabbed and brushed at the three bright red spots on his beautiful face until they diminished to nothing.

“Take a look,” she said.

He turned to the mirror.

“Wow,” he exclaimed. “You can’t see a thing. Thanks, Mom!”

He jumped up and ran, in a hurry to start his day, and stopped abruptly at the door.

“Uh, Mom?”

She grinned. “I won’t tell a soul about this, Jack. It’s our secret.”

He bestowed her with a gorgeous smile, turned and left.

Some secrets are perfect, she thought. Absolutely perfect.

New Goals, Dinner, Lizard Spit

30 Nov

Today, I have to re-think my purpose for being here.

It seems that my set goal is interfering with my necessary goal, which is to make a living.

So, I am changing my raison d’etre ici.

I have to concentrate on designs for my Ravelry store and products for my Etsy shop.

And I have to write.

So the project goal has been suspended and although I’m sure my projects will continue, they will do so infrequently. The blog posts will continue. That’s too much fun to abandon.

Today I begin again. I want to do what I love and still bring home some bacon. I love pig. Have to have green in order to have pig! And I do not want to work for anyone else again. It’s difficult for a fringe dwelling, pantyhose hating, jeans loving, red-headed, wild haired, random, possibly ADD woman with attitude to work in Corporate America.

I want to avoid that if at all possible.

SUPPERTIME

Dinner’s late, it’s time to cook.

Pull out the pot, the recipe book,

Gather together needed ingredients,

No time to dawdle, be expedient.

Lizard spit, tail of cat,

Eye of newt, ear of bat,

Hair of horse, a puppy tooth,

Supper’s a spell of witch, forsooth.

Chop and mix and stir it well.

Watch it bubble, watch it swell.

Mutter, snort, and purse the lips.

Invoke fat absence from the hips.

Add powdered croc, a bit of spice.

Tap the pot, circle it thrice.

Sprinkle in baboon butt fur,

Crumble and add two cocklebur.

Now it’s done, supper’s ready.

Hold the bowl, keep it steady.

Serve it up, eat your dinner.

Mama’s brew, alas a winner!

I love writing stupid poetry.

I tried a blood glucose lowering drug for a while that was derived from a chemical found in the saliva of the Gila monster. I called it lizard spit. It is an injection. Stuff made me hurl. Repeatedly.  I tried that therapy twice. Just couldn’t hang with the nausea.

Ewwwweww, right?

In other news, I managed to get a couple more garlands lit and placed around the Christmas village. We need a couple more village pieces now that there is a dedicated place above the windows to display them. I’ll check the stores tomorrow. Bob and I are going to Christmas shop and perhaps take in a movie. It’s our weekend adventure. Aren’t we just the most exciting old people ever?

So now I wish you a happy weekend.

See ya Monday!

A Pagan Christmas, Master, and Yard Art

19 Nov

I’m drinking coffee and pondering the Universe.

Now there’s  an endeavor that will push me forward.

I seem to be victim to an inertia I can’t identify.

Trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.

Now there’s a serious problem for a woman pushing 60.

Focus.

I was checking online degree programs.  Would I like to pursue a Master’s in Creative Writing? That’s some expensive sh*t.

Don’t I have a way with words?

If I wait another year, I can attend the local university with fees and tuition waived. I’ll be an official senior citizen then.  And the same applies to a writing program just 30 minutes away. The tuition there is quite reasonable for any student. Perhaps start the first semester as a paid student and finish as a senior?

Geez, this just ain’t right. I’m way too young to be a senior citizen. The Golden Years.  It does not compute.

Today is a busy one…this week is a busy one. I’m such a kid about decorating for Christmas. We actually don’t do a big tree anymore. Too many animals. So I do wreaths and hangings, and small trees all over the place. I did bring the Christmas Village down from the attic. It’s waiting to go up.

I look at this celebration in a pagan sort of way. It’s winter. It is a time for seasonal affective disorder. It’s time to let your hair down and enjoy a party with the family, tell them how much you love them, exchange gifts, and eat. Last year I didn’t have time to wrap all the stocking stuffers. Some were too big for the stocking anyway. So I put them all in a huge flannel Santa bag, made my family close their eyes, and passed them out. I really had fun with that one. Might just have to repeat it.

Speaking of the eating part, my tradition for Christmas is a scratch German Chocolate Cake. It’s Zach’s favorite too so we do one for his birthday on December 3 as well. My mom started this one. I love German Chocolate Cake, the best part being the coconut pecan icing. For as long as I can remember, she made one for me every Christmas with a double recipe of the icing. Yummmmmmmmm.

It’s a diabetic nightmare. So pump up the insulin once a year. Cause this is a must have on my list. I have conceded to a recipe and a half of icing. There are some things you just have to splurge on.

I love the lights. I love to turn all the house lights out and sit in the glow from the Christmas lights. I love Santa Clause. My kids asked me if I believed in Santa when they were little. Yes, I believe in the spirit of Santa Clause. I’m kinda sneaky.

Falon is my favorite oldest child. Zachary is my favorite youngest child. Barry is my favorite middle child. Makes them all my favorite.

They roll their eyes at me. Diplomatic relations with children are tricky no matter their age.

I ran across a deer this morning in the yard, but she was startled and took off for the back forty. One of them was almost within touching distance of Bob a few days ago. Dog went ballistic and scared her. She ran too.

The following were stationary when I went to the mailbox, so I got pics.

Sun and Moon on a Cloudy Autumn Morn

Autumn Out Back

Autumn Berries

Pretty Pink Camellia

I is so happy to see the camellia. Did you ever see the movie ‘Camille’? Great movie.

What a segue!

I’m now officially behind on Pinterest inspired tutorials. We’re crafting this upcoming weekend though, so I’ll catch up. I really have to build a Photo Studio and find my floodlights. I may have to make the studio under my desk. The floodlights were lost in the attic emptying.

I’m not going to start an organizing trend again. Just try to stay on track with what I’ve got. After all, a cluttered desk is the sign of a genius at work.

I must have an IQ off the charts.

Dawne Design

Let the light shine . . .

GrandLUV.net

It takes a village to raise a child . . .

Losing and Gaining. The EPIC adventure

One girls journey with weight loss

Mast Musings

Food for Thought

StorySnapper

Behind Every Photograph Is A Story

Custom Pieces

This WordPress.com site is the cat’s pajamas

Stick Horse Cowgirls

Word Gigging. A Southern Woman's Random Mental Meanderings. Blogging.

Good Life Farm

in pursuit of a full heart, home, and belly.

Leaving Perfection Learning Grace

A journey through eating disorder recovery and beyond

littlepoppits

♥ a crazy mix of a whole bunch of stuff ♥

Crafted in Carhartt

about women who do amazing things

valeriu dg barbu

©valeriu barbu

Words and Herbs

For all who appreciate the beauty of words, flowers and homecooking

Pearl St. Gallery

Capturing Images Of Nature

lola rugula

my journey of cooking, gardening, preserving and more

Don't Forget to Feed the Baby

Because they let you become a parent even if you have NO IDEA what you're doing.

%d bloggers like this: