Thursday, January 28, 2010
Saturday, November 7, 2009
NEVER MEETING A STRANGER...
As a child, I was told to sit and be quiet. Never speak to others, and always behave in the mannerism of southern children. Sitting ever so graceful, legs crossed so my underwear is not visible, shoulders back, posture perfect, I wanted to challenge why I must sit and not be heard. As I grew older, my father taught me to 'Speak up. Let your voice be heard so the world can hear you.'
How I loved my dad! At five years old, I put my dad's words to the challenge while sitting alone in the choir, singing my first song on stage. Never did I have butterflies in my tummy, or knocking knees. I remember looking out to the audience as the pianist strummed on the keyboard and suddenly, I heard my voice singing, "Yes Jesus Loves Me." My body felt as if it was on fire as I continued singing. My debut to the world of "Let your voice be heard so the world can hear you."
Flash Forward to many years later. Married at seventeen -- much too young -- still married to that same man. OK, life isn't easy, and neither is marriage, but to be successful at anything in life -- you've gotta work at it!
My husband was a believer that a 'wife should be seen and not heard.' Oh no -- here we go again with that stiff Southern heritage.
There have been many times when I have spoken up and put my foot in my mouth, but I am the first to apologize when I recognize I have made a mistake. I've recognized life is not perfect, and neither are people -- as hard as we try to be perfect, it just isn't meant to be for us.
I have the type of personality that loves to be the center of attention, and when I enter a room, I love to introduce myself so others will know who I am. Believe me, that has caused me much embarrassment over the years. My close friends describe me as a person who never meets a stranger and that is so true. I love meeting people and watching their actions, listening to their voices, actions, mannerisms, posture and how they respond to others.
On stage, I come alive! A few weeks ago my husband and I were at the local VFW in Mt. Pleasant, SC. Every Friday is our date night where we mingle with close friends while performing karaoke. Several within our group do not sing, but we have a few who have jumped on the stage to belt out a tune. When I am on stage I could not tell you who is in the audience. I am focused to the song I am singing, the dance movements and stage performance. Focused. We have a group of five to eight who sing several songs and before the night is over, we encourage our audience to get up on the stage and sing. It is so much fun.
Perhaps that is why I never meet a stranger. I love singing, acting and just being on the stage -- in the lights. Well, it isn't Broadway, but for me performing is so rewarding. On stage I am totally focused and I am not observing the actions, or whispers of someone in the audience. Focused -- totally! A few weeks ago when leaving for the night a friend informed me about a guy watching me while I was singing. "Didn't you notice him?" She asked.
"No. I was on stage focusing on my performance."
"But it's just Karaoke."
"Maybe for you -- for me, it is pursuing a silly dream I had as a child -- to sing to the world. Silly me."
Never meeting a stranger isn't so bad, even when some strange guy hits on me without my knowing it. I've always thought a wedding band would detract someone from doing that since I am married and my husband is in the audience. OK, so he ignores me -- that isn't anything new!
I suppose I will never practice the art of 'sit there and not be heard.' It is much too hard for me to behave in that manner. I have never been described as a Southern Belle. Steel Magnolia -- perhaps!
How I loved my dad! At five years old, I put my dad's words to the challenge while sitting alone in the choir, singing my first song on stage. Never did I have butterflies in my tummy, or knocking knees. I remember looking out to the audience as the pianist strummed on the keyboard and suddenly, I heard my voice singing, "Yes Jesus Loves Me." My body felt as if it was on fire as I continued singing. My debut to the world of "Let your voice be heard so the world can hear you."
Flash Forward to many years later. Married at seventeen -- much too young -- still married to that same man. OK, life isn't easy, and neither is marriage, but to be successful at anything in life -- you've gotta work at it!
My husband was a believer that a 'wife should be seen and not heard.' Oh no -- here we go again with that stiff Southern heritage.
There have been many times when I have spoken up and put my foot in my mouth, but I am the first to apologize when I recognize I have made a mistake. I've recognized life is not perfect, and neither are people -- as hard as we try to be perfect, it just isn't meant to be for us.
I have the type of personality that loves to be the center of attention, and when I enter a room, I love to introduce myself so others will know who I am. Believe me, that has caused me much embarrassment over the years. My close friends describe me as a person who never meets a stranger and that is so true. I love meeting people and watching their actions, listening to their voices, actions, mannerisms, posture and how they respond to others.
On stage, I come alive! A few weeks ago my husband and I were at the local VFW in Mt. Pleasant, SC. Every Friday is our date night where we mingle with close friends while performing karaoke. Several within our group do not sing, but we have a few who have jumped on the stage to belt out a tune. When I am on stage I could not tell you who is in the audience. I am focused to the song I am singing, the dance movements and stage performance. Focused. We have a group of five to eight who sing several songs and before the night is over, we encourage our audience to get up on the stage and sing. It is so much fun.
Perhaps that is why I never meet a stranger. I love singing, acting and just being on the stage -- in the lights. Well, it isn't Broadway, but for me performing is so rewarding. On stage I am totally focused and I am not observing the actions, or whispers of someone in the audience. Focused -- totally! A few weeks ago when leaving for the night a friend informed me about a guy watching me while I was singing. "Didn't you notice him?" She asked.
"No. I was on stage focusing on my performance."
"But it's just Karaoke."
"Maybe for you -- for me, it is pursuing a silly dream I had as a child -- to sing to the world. Silly me."
Never meeting a stranger isn't so bad, even when some strange guy hits on me without my knowing it. I've always thought a wedding band would detract someone from doing that since I am married and my husband is in the audience. OK, so he ignores me -- that isn't anything new!
I suppose I will never practice the art of 'sit there and not be heard.' It is much too hard for me to behave in that manner. I have never been described as a Southern Belle. Steel Magnolia -- perhaps!
Friday, September 11, 2009
September 11th -- Never Just Another Day
Today, September 11, 2009 -- eight years ago on September 11, 2001, Americans learned just how special every breath of life is, and how special every day is. We watched our TV's in horror, wondering what was going on -- only to realize terrorists had proclaimed war on our Nation. Freedom is never free. It comes with a gigantic price tag of blood, sweat, tears, death, and struggle.
Like those of you reading this, I will never forget that date. I awoke early without a TV on. I wanted silence so I could concentrate. Strange. I've never wanted such silence since that date. My husband phoned me, wanting to know if I had the TV on. "No," I said. "I wanted silence this morning."
Knowing me as he does, he knows what a news freak I am. Normally, I watch the Today Show while dressing, doing my hair and make up, but for some strange reason, on 9/11 the TV was silent. My husband encouraged me to turn the TV on because a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. My first reaction was, "Oh my God. Someone is attacking America." It was only a few minutes after 9am when I turned the TV on and watched in horror. Tears were in my eyes, and when the first building crumbled to the ground, I screamed. News breaks were pouring in. Much of the news would change moments later as the stories continued to develop. As a writer, I wished to be there, to get the stories I could write. Later, I decided it was best I wasn't there. How could I write about such tragedy.
Later that date, a friend phoned me, wanting to know if I had heard about the Twin Towers and all that had happened. She was crying hysterically and I tried to soothe her, only to discover someone she knew only briefly had been in the Twin Towers that morning. Reportedly, she had phoned her husband telling him she was trapped and she would jump to her death. She was in her mid twenties and eight months pregnant. I shared my friend's grief. Only three months ago she announced her pregnancy, so the relationship of someone eight months pregnant, jumping out of a window was a vivid image neither of us wanted to imagine. "How can I bring a baby into this world?" She asked.
So much has changed within our world since '9-11'. We grumble at the airports when we are restricted to pack liquids within the 3-1-1 rule in our carry on luggage. We feel invaded, removed of our freedom as we strive to be the citizens we were before 9-11. As travelers, we find ourselves curious when our flights are delayed, but we are ever so careful not to mention terrorist, threats, or any keywords that might make us suspicious to others. We are told not to leave our luggage alone, and to not accept luggage from others. On two occasions I have questioned someone who leaves luggage for only a moment. On one occasion a woman carrying an infant told me to watch her luggage while she went to the ladies room. Years ago, I would have smiled at her and nodded my head yes while watching her luggage. On this occasion, I smiled but reassured her that the luggage was her responsibility and as a good citizen, I could not watch her luggage. She snided me, turned her head away from me while calling me a bitch.
Yes, 9-11 has changed everyone. And today, I ache for those 3000+ people who perished. The pregnant woman who jumped out of a window. Today she would be the mother to an eight year old child. So sad. Tears are in my eyes as I remember this date.
Eight years later, I am older and wiser, still married to a Vietnam Veteran who in many ways never returned from a war zone. Eight years later and America is at war in Iraq and Afghanistan. Eight years later and soldiers return from two, three, four, five tours of duty in a war and they are never the same. How can they be? War is something I can only imagine. Children using their innocence to kill others. Soldiers on guard, fearful to trust anyone but a 'band of brothers.' And there are people like me, sitting in airports, cautious and fearful. Knots of butterflies dance inside my stomach now every time I fly, but after a few flights I have finally taught myself how to pack light and apply the 3-1-1 rule.
I've always believed in the philosophy that rules are made to be broken, but after 9-11, I discovered that many rules are made to protect us. Maybe there is inconsistency within every airport, and certain 'rules' do not apply at every airport, but if we play by their rules, perhaps we will have a safe journey, while remembering 9-11, and how special life, love and a brand new day can be for us.
September 11, 2001 taught me to appreciate the journey as we live, along with the journey we learn to appreciate when unexpected tragedies occur. Life is a gift. We must learn to live it with respect, pride and appreciation. Let us never forget '9-11.' My heart goes out to those who lost family members, friends, loved ones on 9-11, and beyond. We must not forget those who have given their lives in Iraq and Afghanistan, fighting for our freedom. Someone said "War is Hell," and I have no doubt those words are so true. Soldiers return home -- to reenter a life of freedom, only to realize they cannot forget what happened 'over there,' nor can they share those experiences with family members.
Let us take a moment from our busy days today to remember 9-11. The heroes. Soldiers. Family members. 9-11. We will never forget.
Like those of you reading this, I will never forget that date. I awoke early without a TV on. I wanted silence so I could concentrate. Strange. I've never wanted such silence since that date. My husband phoned me, wanting to know if I had the TV on. "No," I said. "I wanted silence this morning."
Knowing me as he does, he knows what a news freak I am. Normally, I watch the Today Show while dressing, doing my hair and make up, but for some strange reason, on 9/11 the TV was silent. My husband encouraged me to turn the TV on because a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. My first reaction was, "Oh my God. Someone is attacking America." It was only a few minutes after 9am when I turned the TV on and watched in horror. Tears were in my eyes, and when the first building crumbled to the ground, I screamed. News breaks were pouring in. Much of the news would change moments later as the stories continued to develop. As a writer, I wished to be there, to get the stories I could write. Later, I decided it was best I wasn't there. How could I write about such tragedy.
Later that date, a friend phoned me, wanting to know if I had heard about the Twin Towers and all that had happened. She was crying hysterically and I tried to soothe her, only to discover someone she knew only briefly had been in the Twin Towers that morning. Reportedly, she had phoned her husband telling him she was trapped and she would jump to her death. She was in her mid twenties and eight months pregnant. I shared my friend's grief. Only three months ago she announced her pregnancy, so the relationship of someone eight months pregnant, jumping out of a window was a vivid image neither of us wanted to imagine. "How can I bring a baby into this world?" She asked.
So much has changed within our world since '9-11'. We grumble at the airports when we are restricted to pack liquids within the 3-1-1 rule in our carry on luggage. We feel invaded, removed of our freedom as we strive to be the citizens we were before 9-11. As travelers, we find ourselves curious when our flights are delayed, but we are ever so careful not to mention terrorist, threats, or any keywords that might make us suspicious to others. We are told not to leave our luggage alone, and to not accept luggage from others. On two occasions I have questioned someone who leaves luggage for only a moment. On one occasion a woman carrying an infant told me to watch her luggage while she went to the ladies room. Years ago, I would have smiled at her and nodded my head yes while watching her luggage. On this occasion, I smiled but reassured her that the luggage was her responsibility and as a good citizen, I could not watch her luggage. She snided me, turned her head away from me while calling me a bitch.
Yes, 9-11 has changed everyone. And today, I ache for those 3000+ people who perished. The pregnant woman who jumped out of a window. Today she would be the mother to an eight year old child. So sad. Tears are in my eyes as I remember this date.
Eight years later, I am older and wiser, still married to a Vietnam Veteran who in many ways never returned from a war zone. Eight years later and America is at war in Iraq and Afghanistan. Eight years later and soldiers return from two, three, four, five tours of duty in a war and they are never the same. How can they be? War is something I can only imagine. Children using their innocence to kill others. Soldiers on guard, fearful to trust anyone but a 'band of brothers.' And there are people like me, sitting in airports, cautious and fearful. Knots of butterflies dance inside my stomach now every time I fly, but after a few flights I have finally taught myself how to pack light and apply the 3-1-1 rule.
I've always believed in the philosophy that rules are made to be broken, but after 9-11, I discovered that many rules are made to protect us. Maybe there is inconsistency within every airport, and certain 'rules' do not apply at every airport, but if we play by their rules, perhaps we will have a safe journey, while remembering 9-11, and how special life, love and a brand new day can be for us.
September 11, 2001 taught me to appreciate the journey as we live, along with the journey we learn to appreciate when unexpected tragedies occur. Life is a gift. We must learn to live it with respect, pride and appreciation. Let us never forget '9-11.' My heart goes out to those who lost family members, friends, loved ones on 9-11, and beyond. We must not forget those who have given their lives in Iraq and Afghanistan, fighting for our freedom. Someone said "War is Hell," and I have no doubt those words are so true. Soldiers return home -- to reenter a life of freedom, only to realize they cannot forget what happened 'over there,' nor can they share those experiences with family members.
Let us take a moment from our busy days today to remember 9-11. The heroes. Soldiers. Family members. 9-11. We will never forget.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Diplomacy, Remaining Calm and the Issues of AT&T Migration
Inhale. Exhale. Breate In. Breathe Out. Today I discovered the true art of diplomacy and how to remain calm. I confess, I am blonde. I am described by others as 'outspoken, diplomatic, ditzy, and at times -- a time bomb.' Yes, it is true, I've never been described as 'shy.' I do speak my mind, and when someone really ticks me off, let's just say, there are two "B's in my name." I'll leave that for you, the reader, to decide.
Last Monday, at exactly 12:58p.m. my e-mail system was migrated thru BellSouth/At&T/Yahoo. Big mistake! As you know, I am a writer. Writers function best via e-mail -- that is how much of our correspondence is done. Last month while on a business trip my blackjack phone wasn't working properly so I visited an At&T store inquiring about the infamous Blackberry. I felt like I was the only writer in America who didn't own a Blackberry, so I chose to treat myself, thinking I could always retrieve e-mail via the Blackberry. Last Monday crippled me. I went online to retrieve e-mail and wasn't able to locate the website, nor open anything. The frustration continued to build. When my husband came home from work, I asked him to help me. I gave him my passwords and left the room.
Let me share the scenarios of our relationship a bit. My husband is a Vietnam Veteran who suffers with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) -- that is, unless you ask the VA. They still decline his condition. They should move in with him! My husband doesn't understand my outspoken, gregarious personality and when he works on my computer -- he becomes a Jekyll & Hyde personality, and I become Julia Sugarbaker! The two are like oil and water -- we do not exactly mix. So, while my husband typed on my computer system, I stood in the doorway watching him. His fingers moved on the keyboard like Charlie Brown at the piano! Moments later, he looked my way and his stare said everything I needed to hear -- without any words. And so, I waited, in anticipation that I would hear him shout for me to come read e-mail. It didn't happen. We called AT&T, only to be placed on hold for over one hour, listening to music until we placed the phone in speaker mode. PTSD kicked in, so I left the room.
The scenarios could continue. I checked my Blackberry in anticipation of receiving e-mail. NOTHING! I was expecting four assignments from an editor. Since I could not retrieve e-mail, I phoned her, leaving a voice mail message, then I faxed a detailed synopsis of my 'migration with AT&T.' I was under the impression birds migrated, not e-mail systems.
OK. I confess, I am blonde and a bit ditzy, but when it comes to computers, I thought I was pretty savvy. Duh. I suppose not!
Hours passed. No e-mail. The next morning, Mr. Blackberry and I embraced, only to be rejected again. I'm a writer. I'm accustomed to rejections! I called AT&T, only to be told there was nothing they could do since the system was in the 'migration mode.' I'm beginning to hate that description. I needed to give the migration at least 48 hours! Gosh, in 48 hours I could be in route to the moon. Well, maybe not, but my frustration was certainly ready to reach the moon and beyond!
Flash forward to March 6 -- still no e-mail. Phil arrived home that date and the first words from his lips are, "Are you getting e-mail?"
I didn't say a word, but the look on my face said it all. "Give me AT&T's number again.
"I should know it by heart now." I said. "Important phone numbers are usually embedded in my brain."
Phil snarls at me, encourages me to give him the number and leave the room. I know this scenario well. Our worst fights have occured over the computer.
Off I go, to check my Blackberry again. By now, I no longer want to embrace it. I want to shout, scream, or say a few colorful words. I bite my tongue and walk away.
That evening -- rejoice. The migration is done and I can retrieve e-mail. I check it, squealing like a child, only to realize the e-mails from the editor are not on my system. My Blackberry is still rejecting me, so off we go to the local AT&T store. They know us almost intimately now, but to make a long story short, they suggested deleting my e-mail accounts and re-adding them again.
Their suggestion worked. Mr. Blackberry and I are now embracing again. E-mail has returned!
This morning, I chose to contact AT&T billing to see what could be done to accommodate me and my frustration. I was on hold from 9:47 a.m. until 10:22 -- getting transferred to four customer service reps. I chose to be diplomatic and not allow my frustration to show. I inhaled. Exhaled. Breathed in. Breathed Out. It worked! AT&T has some of the most amazing customer service reps in the world. They are always courteous, apologetic and kind. My needs were met and I will receive a portion of a credit on my phone bill. Last night my husband received a notice from AT&T, they plan to do some form of an upgrade within the next few weeks. At this rate, if I have additional headaches, I'll not need to pay AT&T for a while. AT&T I hope your improvements, upgrades work and we can remain professional. As for migration, I don't like that word anymore!
Last Monday, at exactly 12:58p.m. my e-mail system was migrated thru BellSouth/At&T/Yahoo. Big mistake! As you know, I am a writer. Writers function best via e-mail -- that is how much of our correspondence is done. Last month while on a business trip my blackjack phone wasn't working properly so I visited an At&T store inquiring about the infamous Blackberry. I felt like I was the only writer in America who didn't own a Blackberry, so I chose to treat myself, thinking I could always retrieve e-mail via the Blackberry. Last Monday crippled me. I went online to retrieve e-mail and wasn't able to locate the website, nor open anything. The frustration continued to build. When my husband came home from work, I asked him to help me. I gave him my passwords and left the room.
Let me share the scenarios of our relationship a bit. My husband is a Vietnam Veteran who suffers with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) -- that is, unless you ask the VA. They still decline his condition. They should move in with him! My husband doesn't understand my outspoken, gregarious personality and when he works on my computer -- he becomes a Jekyll & Hyde personality, and I become Julia Sugarbaker! The two are like oil and water -- we do not exactly mix. So, while my husband typed on my computer system, I stood in the doorway watching him. His fingers moved on the keyboard like Charlie Brown at the piano! Moments later, he looked my way and his stare said everything I needed to hear -- without any words. And so, I waited, in anticipation that I would hear him shout for me to come read e-mail. It didn't happen. We called AT&T, only to be placed on hold for over one hour, listening to music until we placed the phone in speaker mode. PTSD kicked in, so I left the room.
The scenarios could continue. I checked my Blackberry in anticipation of receiving e-mail. NOTHING! I was expecting four assignments from an editor. Since I could not retrieve e-mail, I phoned her, leaving a voice mail message, then I faxed a detailed synopsis of my 'migration with AT&T.' I was under the impression birds migrated, not e-mail systems.
OK. I confess, I am blonde and a bit ditzy, but when it comes to computers, I thought I was pretty savvy. Duh. I suppose not!
Hours passed. No e-mail. The next morning, Mr. Blackberry and I embraced, only to be rejected again. I'm a writer. I'm accustomed to rejections! I called AT&T, only to be told there was nothing they could do since the system was in the 'migration mode.' I'm beginning to hate that description. I needed to give the migration at least 48 hours! Gosh, in 48 hours I could be in route to the moon. Well, maybe not, but my frustration was certainly ready to reach the moon and beyond!
Flash forward to March 6 -- still no e-mail. Phil arrived home that date and the first words from his lips are, "Are you getting e-mail?"
I didn't say a word, but the look on my face said it all. "Give me AT&T's number again.
"I should know it by heart now." I said. "Important phone numbers are usually embedded in my brain."
Phil snarls at me, encourages me to give him the number and leave the room. I know this scenario well. Our worst fights have occured over the computer.
Off I go, to check my Blackberry again. By now, I no longer want to embrace it. I want to shout, scream, or say a few colorful words. I bite my tongue and walk away.
That evening -- rejoice. The migration is done and I can retrieve e-mail. I check it, squealing like a child, only to realize the e-mails from the editor are not on my system. My Blackberry is still rejecting me, so off we go to the local AT&T store. They know us almost intimately now, but to make a long story short, they suggested deleting my e-mail accounts and re-adding them again.
Their suggestion worked. Mr. Blackberry and I are now embracing again. E-mail has returned!
This morning, I chose to contact AT&T billing to see what could be done to accommodate me and my frustration. I was on hold from 9:47 a.m. until 10:22 -- getting transferred to four customer service reps. I chose to be diplomatic and not allow my frustration to show. I inhaled. Exhaled. Breathed in. Breathed Out. It worked! AT&T has some of the most amazing customer service reps in the world. They are always courteous, apologetic and kind. My needs were met and I will receive a portion of a credit on my phone bill. Last night my husband received a notice from AT&T, they plan to do some form of an upgrade within the next few weeks. At this rate, if I have additional headaches, I'll not need to pay AT&T for a while. AT&T I hope your improvements, upgrades work and we can remain professional. As for migration, I don't like that word anymore!
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Freewriting
Writers write. Many writers I know start their day off by freewriting for ten minutes. When discussing this topic, I discovered freewriting ia a time when the writer simply writes, maybe with a theme in mind, or maybe just whatever creeps into the mind. I suppose I am a bit stubborn, I find the freewriting process a bit difficult to do. Nevertheless, for today, I will do my best to 'freewrite.'
The topic or theme for this morning, not certain. I've only had two sips of coffee so far, so give me a break. I started writing this at 8:57, two minutes of nothing, but freewriting. My writing friends encourage me to just write whatever comes into my mind -- well, that could be a bit too revealing, perhaps.
And here we go -- freewriting. Sitting at my desk, my fingers tap dance across the keyboard but the subject at hand seems as if it is still asleep. Today is the first day of Daylight Savings Time, and it is rough for me. Losing one hour of sleep for someone who has difficulty sleeping leaves me tired and frustrated. Five minutes of this freewrite and I still don't know where it is going.
Yes, writers write. There are times it is really difficult to do, and today, no doubt, is one of those 'moments' for me. It is a beautiful day on the East coast, 55 degrees at the moment, with a forecast of the high 70's. Oh happy day! Yesterday, I worked in the front yard, pulling weeds, cutting back dead growth and I planted shasta daisies. I plan to stop by Lowe's later and get more of the shasta daisies. For three years I've attempted to grow them, only to have them wilt away. This year, let's just say, I am one determined woman and I am hopeful the shasta daisies will bloom. Today, I am treating myself to a day of relaxation in the back yard. I have a stack of magazines to sift through, books to read, and my pups will be next to me, but the sun is calling my name. I need the Vitamin D! When I had a check up recently my Vitamin D was extremely low. Well, doc, there hasn't been much sunshine lately.
OK, it's past ten minutes now, so this freewriting will cease for today, so I can get another cup of joe to wake me up! Why can't the clocks stay on daylight savings time permanently. I hate losing sleep!
The topic or theme for this morning, not certain. I've only had two sips of coffee so far, so give me a break. I started writing this at 8:57, two minutes of nothing, but freewriting. My writing friends encourage me to just write whatever comes into my mind -- well, that could be a bit too revealing, perhaps.
And here we go -- freewriting. Sitting at my desk, my fingers tap dance across the keyboard but the subject at hand seems as if it is still asleep. Today is the first day of Daylight Savings Time, and it is rough for me. Losing one hour of sleep for someone who has difficulty sleeping leaves me tired and frustrated. Five minutes of this freewrite and I still don't know where it is going.
Yes, writers write. There are times it is really difficult to do, and today, no doubt, is one of those 'moments' for me. It is a beautiful day on the East coast, 55 degrees at the moment, with a forecast of the high 70's. Oh happy day! Yesterday, I worked in the front yard, pulling weeds, cutting back dead growth and I planted shasta daisies. I plan to stop by Lowe's later and get more of the shasta daisies. For three years I've attempted to grow them, only to have them wilt away. This year, let's just say, I am one determined woman and I am hopeful the shasta daisies will bloom. Today, I am treating myself to a day of relaxation in the back yard. I have a stack of magazines to sift through, books to read, and my pups will be next to me, but the sun is calling my name. I need the Vitamin D! When I had a check up recently my Vitamin D was extremely low. Well, doc, there hasn't been much sunshine lately.
OK, it's past ten minutes now, so this freewriting will cease for today, so I can get another cup of joe to wake me up! Why can't the clocks stay on daylight savings time permanently. I hate losing sleep!
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Springtime is Coming
Early today while finishing an assignment, I proofed it, read it aloud, and clicked send. Ah, such relief! When the editor arrives at her office, she will have the assignment that was given to me only two days ago. I stepped away from my desk, pleased with the story and my ability to research, interview and write when the pressure is on and the clock is ticking. One thing I've learned recently is even when a writer is ill, she (or he) can still write. I've been sick for over seven weeks now with a dreadful case of asthma, but the doctor has assured me that I am getting better, and this too, shall pass.
Strolling back to my desk, I glanced out the window, and for the first time in a long time I am watching birds in my bird bath. Flapping their wings, rolling their tiny bodies, I see a flock of robins enjoying bath time. A blue jay landed and one of the robins was just a bit possessive (or perhaps private) about bath time. He moved close to the blue jay, as if to say, "You're in my territory. Move!" The blue jay obeyed. Now, there are four robins dancing about in the bird bath. Two are playing, or maybe they are flirting, but they do not appear to be too happy about sharing their bath. Splashing about, how I wish I could comprehend what they are expressing.
Today is February 26, only two more days until February fades into oblivion. Springtime is only a few weeks away. Watching the robins searching for food and bathing in my bird bath is a symbol to me. I recall the times my father and I would play a silly game to see who would see the first robin of spring. Most of the time, Dad would win the game and I would giggle and exclaim, "Daddy, that is so unfair. When will I see the first signs of spring."
Oops. My silly pups are dying to go outside. No doubt they've hopped into the window seat to see the robins. Shakespeare scratches at the door, so the robins will flutter away soon, and I must make certain Shakespeare does not catch a robin. He loves to chase birds. Must be the Schnauzer in him. Eight robins are now in the bird bath. I hope they return after Shakespeare goes exploring. I opened the door watching the robins scatter away safely.
My dad was a reserved, private man who rarely shared his emotions or love, but each time I giggled, opened my arms towards him and squealed in my little girlish voice that "I wanted to see the first sign of spring and beat you at this game," he melted. Yes, I was a daddy's girl, even during the times of family battles, or should I say, family wars. My dad simply could not resist my charms and my sisters, and mother, were furious that I had that effect on him.
I lost my dad in 1999, but on a day like today, when I see the first sign of springtime, I still remember the games of childhood. Dad and I sang together, harmonizing, thus teaching me the beauty and appreciation of art and music. Now, I still sing, not professionally, but it is lots of fun. I have good memories to cherish. Today, I am so excited about the robins, springtime, the road to recovery and life in general. Happy springtime. The robins are home.
Strolling back to my desk, I glanced out the window, and for the first time in a long time I am watching birds in my bird bath. Flapping their wings, rolling their tiny bodies, I see a flock of robins enjoying bath time. A blue jay landed and one of the robins was just a bit possessive (or perhaps private) about bath time. He moved close to the blue jay, as if to say, "You're in my territory. Move!" The blue jay obeyed. Now, there are four robins dancing about in the bird bath. Two are playing, or maybe they are flirting, but they do not appear to be too happy about sharing their bath. Splashing about, how I wish I could comprehend what they are expressing.
Today is February 26, only two more days until February fades into oblivion. Springtime is only a few weeks away. Watching the robins searching for food and bathing in my bird bath is a symbol to me. I recall the times my father and I would play a silly game to see who would see the first robin of spring. Most of the time, Dad would win the game and I would giggle and exclaim, "Daddy, that is so unfair. When will I see the first signs of spring."
Oops. My silly pups are dying to go outside. No doubt they've hopped into the window seat to see the robins. Shakespeare scratches at the door, so the robins will flutter away soon, and I must make certain Shakespeare does not catch a robin. He loves to chase birds. Must be the Schnauzer in him. Eight robins are now in the bird bath. I hope they return after Shakespeare goes exploring. I opened the door watching the robins scatter away safely.
My dad was a reserved, private man who rarely shared his emotions or love, but each time I giggled, opened my arms towards him and squealed in my little girlish voice that "I wanted to see the first sign of spring and beat you at this game," he melted. Yes, I was a daddy's girl, even during the times of family battles, or should I say, family wars. My dad simply could not resist my charms and my sisters, and mother, were furious that I had that effect on him.
I lost my dad in 1999, but on a day like today, when I see the first sign of springtime, I still remember the games of childhood. Dad and I sang together, harmonizing, thus teaching me the beauty and appreciation of art and music. Now, I still sing, not professionally, but it is lots of fun. I have good memories to cherish. Today, I am so excited about the robins, springtime, the road to recovery and life in general. Happy springtime. The robins are home.
Monday, February 23, 2009
The Oscars
Every year I watch the Oscars, hopeful and excited that the glamour of Hollywood returns. Most of the time, I get bored with the host, or hostess, and turn it off. It is too boring, I say. I'm sick of the silly skits. However, the Oscars of 2009 were great. Hugh Jackman was a brilliant, entertaining host. Most of the gowns were stunning. I was a bit surprised to see all the glitz and glamour of Hollywood actresses, dressed to the nines, or should I say, "Millions" -- minus flamboyant necklaces, jewels, diamonds and all that make a Hollywood actress a glamorous star.
The Academy Awards have been a dream of mine since childhood, and as a screenwriter, I still hope that one day, someday, I will be there in person to see the glitz, glamour and richness of dreams coming true.
Once, at a writers conference, I held the Oscar of the movie, "Witness." I wrapped my fingers across this amazing statue, lifted it realizing I needed the strength of another hand. Oscar is heavy, but look at what this fabulous statue represents. The recognition of peers, professionals and dreams. Oscar, last night you were amazing. for this screenwriter, I still believe in dreams. Way to go Oscar! You are a star!
The Academy Awards have been a dream of mine since childhood, and as a screenwriter, I still hope that one day, someday, I will be there in person to see the glitz, glamour and richness of dreams coming true.
Once, at a writers conference, I held the Oscar of the movie, "Witness." I wrapped my fingers across this amazing statue, lifted it realizing I needed the strength of another hand. Oscar is heavy, but look at what this fabulous statue represents. The recognition of peers, professionals and dreams. Oscar, last night you were amazing. for this screenwriter, I still believe in dreams. Way to go Oscar! You are a star!
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