Pigtails, Xanadu, God, Etc...

I'm in the mood for a little fun tonight. Jump in with me.

In my creative writing group, last week, we wrote letters to our 10-year-old selves. I have some thoughts to add before I send my letter to me.

Things that are not nearly as good at age 39 as they were at age 10:

1. A big, chilled glass of Tang (yuck, has that stuff changed? It used to be so good, didn't it?)
2. A PB&J sandwich (on white, not wheat and with the good old processed PB, not the natural or organic stuff)
3. Candy corn (wasn't that the best stuff when you were a kid -- have you tried it lately? It's like eating wax)
4. Spending summers in a swimsuit (at 10 I could just throw on any old suit and go -- now I have to work out for a few months beforehand, find just the right suit, shave -- there's just too much preparation involved)
5. Pigtails (I've tried them, not nearly as cute now)
6. Dressing up in my mom's clothes (ummm... kinda weird now, and her high heels are two sizes too small)
7. Swinging high enough to touch the sky (makes me a little dizzy now)
8. Riding my bike with no hands (I simply can't do this now -- I've tried -- I can't do wheelies or stand on my seat either, not that I ever could, but I have two boys now so I've tried)
9. Roller skating to "Another One Bites the Dust." Roller skating backwards. Roller skating limbo. Roller skating girl's choice. (okay, I know that's technically four, but it's in one topic)
10. Bubblegum music (click here to listen to some Bubblegum tunes), Shaun Cassidy (click here to listen to some Shaun Cassidy tunes), and my Xanadu soundtrack album (click here to listen to some Xanadu tunes). Okay, who am I kidding, this music is still super cool, even at age 39.

Things that are much better at age 39 than they were at age 10:

1. God (I didn't know Him when I was 10)
2. Summers (now I get to watch my kids live in their swimsuits)
3. Beets and spinach (self explanatory)
4. Gardening (I can honestly say I never had a conversation with a friend about my struggles with beetles on my basil when I was 10 -- now I anxiously post it on Facebook)
5. Tom and Jerry (seriously, I think I laugh harder now than I did at age 10)
6. Books (I wish I'd enjoyed them and read them as a kid)
7. Easter (now I know it's not about the bunny)
8. I can see the top of the chest of drawers (this was a huge goal when I was too short to see it)
9. Getting my teeth cleaned (because I know if I don't do it regularly, at my age I may end up needing a root canal)
10. My purpose (now it's raising my kids and serving God -- then it was catching frogs and climbing trees)

What was better for you at age 10, and what is better for you now?

"Scent"sational Memories

There is nothing that shows me the obviousness of God more than nature. The first thing I do each day is step outside and inhale because the scent of nature sticks with me like nothing else does. It's like my own little God-manufactured scratch-n-sniff right outside my back door. Whatever He's working on out there, morning is the best time to get a whiff of it. Lilacs in the spring. Petunias and basil in the summer. The spicy decay, of all that was green, in the fall. Crisp frost in the winter.

This morning, and for the past few, I had a difficult time inhaling. It's very difficult to take a strong, deep breath when you're in a steam furnace. We've been clocking high temps in the mid 90s for about a week now. The humidity is so thick I could probably wash my hair in it. Right now, for example, it's 10:15 p.m. and it's 72 degrees -- sounds nice, right -- but it's 94% humidity. So it feels like it's about 180 degrees out there. You can only imagine what it feels like when it's midday and 95 degrees. That sticky, muggy, stagnant air causes a traffic jam when it hits the bottle neck at my nostrils, and I smell nothing. Every time we walk outside my son says, "I can't breathe out here."

So I can't put words to the smell outside right now, and I'm disturbed by that. I like to have words for my sensations. There's an uneasiness in me that refuses to pass until this weather breaks.

A very fast-moving storm just passed through. I want to know if it smells different -- we haven't had rain for a few days. Hold on...

Oh yes, the rain brought some fresh, dry air. I could smell petunias and clean earth when I stepped out onto my deck, and a soft, silent breeze is blowing. WSMV needs to update it's weather page because it is definitely not 94% humidity now.

All of this makes me think about writing. About three months ago I had a lesson on sensations in my Christian Writer's Guild program. One question said, "How might descriptions highlighting one of the five senses enhance a reader's experience?" Here was my answer:

"I know that using a variety of senses in writing can really bring a setting to life in a reader’s mind. When I write, I don’t want someone to simply read about it, I want them to experience it.
The one thing that always pulls me back to or into a setting is that smell. I can smell something I haven’t smelled in twenty years and suddenly I am transported back to a moment in time when I came across that smell before. The smell of fresh ginger root growing somewhere, for example, instantly takes me back to my childhood camp on the riverside, the mountains behind it thick with fresh ginger root growing wild, the scent absorbed by the forest surrounding it. To me, capturing the details of scent can bring writing to life like nothing else can. If written well, a reader can actually smell a description of eucalyptus mint; mountain oxygen; mist rising off of a river; a damp, muddy cave; fresh vanilla mingling with wild mountain fern; the smell of a dog after he’s rolled around on a rotting wild animal carcass; and the difference between the smell in the air of a snow storm headed for the lush mountains of West Virginia and a snow storm headed for the dense, urban metropolis of Atlanta, Georgia."

And it's those descriptions of scent -- the kind that a writer can describe so well it puts a taste in your mouth -- that make a book or story memorable. You may not remember a man giving his dog a bath, but if the man's eyes are watering and he's gagging as he douses the skunk-sprayed dog in tomato juice, the scent of that scene gets branded onto your brain making it difficult to forget. And many times, that's all you need to take you back to a story.

In honor of the Facebook quiz, "Which crazy writer are you most like," I picked up The Road by Cormack McCarthy. I was most like Cormack McCarthy. :) In the book, a man and his young son are two of the very few people left on a post-apocalyptic earth. They are starving and McCarthy's writing is so vivid and pure that I was starving for them. I was so enmeshed in the lives of the two and so worried about their fate that I couldn't put the book down -- I read it in three sittings. After five days without food, they wander upon a field and find some dried apples. By the time they get there, I am so hungry for them that I can smell and taste the apples as if I were there. All McCarthy had to write was that they found some dry apples. I will never forget the smell and taste of those apples, and he never had to describe it. He just built the scent through anticipation. He uses this technique flawlessly throughout the book.

How does scent capture you? Do simple scents conjure up distant memories? Are there books or stories vivid in your mind because of a scent the author described?

"Almost Heaven" Bound

I'm quickly coming out of my funk. I'm sorry you all had to follow it through my most recent blog. A few weeks ago, a close friend said, "If God leads you to write something, never compromise -- no matter what it is. Always listen to Him first." So even in my dark ramblings, I know God has a message to share.

The truth is my excitement has fizzled my funk. I am preparing for a long weekend at a great river cabin in West Virginia. River tubing, biking and running on the Greenbrier River Trail, cookouts, dips in the swimming hole, and a variety of other great adventures beckon, and I want to leave right this minute. But, I have to wait one more day. Look at these awesome cabins:

Greenbrier River Cabins

Our cabin has a front view of the beautiful river, and the back yard is the Greenbrier River Trail, a popular 79 mile rails-to-trails path that runs along a good chunk of Eastern West Virginia. The boys and I won't be traveling the entire trail since they are only 4 and 6, but someday...

Oh yes, look at those pictures. West Virginia, just like its motto and welcome sign says, truly is "almost heaven". It is my absolute favorite place to be. I can't wait to send you all some great pictures next week.

As always, when I get some extended time in nature, I come home overflowing with writing ideas. I am so excited to see what God fills me with this time. The only problem is, when I expect something -- like fresh ideas -- I tend to not get it. It's only when I least expect it that it comes.

So, I enter into this blissful weekend with no agenda, no expectations, no calendar, no WiFi access (gasp, I know -- I will be off line for 5 days straight), and no cell phone (yes, we're going old fashioned, I believe -- a land line).

I plan to spend my time lounging in an Adirondack chair, skipping my cell phone in the crystal clear water, and sipping on a Corona with the lime. Uh... wait... I mean sitting on a dusty fishing log, skipping my cell phone in a muddy river, and guzzling an ice-cold can of Budweiser (okay, I don't imbibe -- at least not openly -- I'm Baptist :), but you get the picture).

Oh, and just in case God tells me to write, I will have my ruby red, Dell Core 2 Duo laptop. Come on! You can't expect me to resort to pen and paper now can you?

Off topic: I coordinate a fun creative writing group in my town, and I stumbled upon this great creative writing ideas web site. If any of my fellow writer friends ever experience writers block, or if you just need some prompts to help you generate some new ideas, here's a great web site:

Creative Writing Prompts

Your Memory, The Monster

"Your memory is a monster; you forget -- it doesn't. It simply files things away. It keeps things for you, or hides things from you -- and summons them to your recall with a will of its own. You think you have a memory; but it has you!"
John Irving, A Prayer for Owen Meany

I saw this John Irving quote in the front pages of a new book called Return Policy by Michael Snyder. I could write an autobiographical book of lamentations on the musings shared in this one short quote.

Why does that monster (our memory) jump out at us when we least expect it? I am in a memory abyss right now which is why this quote struck a tender nerve tonight. When Irving referred to our memory as a monster, I don't think he was addressing our good memories. Although I have some good memories, that isn't what's consuming me currently.

It's the callous stuff -- the bitter stuff -- the dark, brooding, regretful stuff -- the stuff that ensnares the heart and attacks the spirit. Yes! That's where my thoughts live today -- dwelling on the ugly actions in my past. The thoughts aren't there every day, but they are today and were yesterday and the day before. And unfortunately they come and go in my life. God always pulls me through it, but many times I kick and scream the whole way out.

It's funny because before I became a Christian, dark memories didn't consume me. In fact dark thoughts rarely intruded my thinking. I guess it was because I never did anything wrong, I was always right, and I led my wicked life by my own self-created instruction manual (the one that said, "in life, only do what benefits Karen").

I found out that following my manual led me to some horrid and stupid decisions in my life. If I had lived my life according to God's manual, I would have made better decisions. Therein lies the problem. It's a classic case of dark versus light.

But here's the hard thing about becoming a Christian later in life: you've had all those years of dark living, not knowing, or not believing, that there is a light to compare it to. So, it was simply living -- not good, not bad, just living and doing what people in the world do -- mainly becoming numb to the constant promotion of extremes and jumping off the bridge with everyone else.

No harm in that... UNTIL you become a Christian.

A couple of years ago, I read a C. S. Lewis book called, The Problem of Pain. Many people think that once they become a Christian this solves the problem of pain in their lives. Lewis, who was an atheist before becoming a Christian, took the opposite stand saying that Christianity "creates rather than solves the problem of pain." Christianity brings to light all of the preexisting darkness in our lives. It's at that point of light that we look back at our lives before Him and plead, "God, what have I done, and can it be fixed?"

It's all of that unfixed stuff that hurts like hell, drives the evil memory monster, and leaves us brooding in moments, hours, days, or weeks of consumption.

That unfixed stuff is our guilt over all of those painful memories of our past: the people we harmed, the addictions that ruled our actions, the hurting people we ignored, the regrets, the mistakes, the stupidity... . God can and will remove our guilt if we release it to Him.

So why does our flesh hold on to it so stubbornly? I haven't figured that out yet which is why every six months or so memories of the dark consume me. If you have some insight here, I welcome it.

You may wonder, if you are not a believer, if you should even bother with this Christianty stuff if it opens your life to more intense painful realizations. The answer: YES! YES! YES! The reason why: because in the end, God will eliminate your memories of all that ugly stuff and instill you with a complete and perfect happiness. But, only if you choose Jesus, and you must choose Him now because you never know when that end is coming.

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

I've added a new Crapsey cinquain to my side bar that relates to my blog above. I know you are all avid readers of my side bar (yeah right), but I'll post it here anyway.

My Chains

Benumbed
amid distant
recollections, dense scars
shield a black, ragged heart while guilt
ripens.

I've also updated my Christian Writer's Guild lesson summary in my side bar, if you are interested. It's a summary of my ponderings on an interview article about the stage adaptation of the C. S. Lewis book, The Screwtape Letters, which I desperately want to see.

Have You Sought Atonement?

Atonement is that unity between God and man provided to us by the perfect sacrifice of Jesus Christ. We have to ask Jesus to cleanse us by washing away our sins. What happens to us when we do not seek atonement for our sins for which Jesus died? That atonement must be pursued in the flesh or it's too late. If we physically die with our sins still on us, our access to Heaven is blocked. Nothing I could write could share it more powerfully than this old Bruce Springsteen song.

MY FATHER'S HOUSE
(Bruce Springsteen)
click here to listen

Last night I dreamed that I was a child
Out where the pines grow wild and tall
I was trying to make it home through the forest
before the darkness falls

I heard the wind rustling through the trees
and ghostly voices rose from the fields
I ran with my heart pounding down that broken path
with The Devil snappin' at my heels

I broke through the trees and there in the night
My father's house stood shining hard and bright
The branches and brambles tore my clothes and scratched my arms
but I ran till I fell, shaking in his arms

I awoke and I imagined the hard things that pulled us apart
will never again, sir, tear us from each other's hearts
I got dressed and to that house I did ride
From out on the road, I could see it's windows shining in light

I walked up the steps and stood on the porch
A woman I didn't recognize came and spoke to me through a chained door
I told her my story and who I'd come for
She said "I'm sorry, son, but no one by that name lives here anymore"

My father's house shines hard and bright
It stands like a beacon calling me in the night
Calling and calling, so cold and alone
Shining `cross this dark highway where our sins lie unatoned

If you have not sought atonement and would like to, you can do so through the salvation prayer in my sidebar (scroll way down). Leave me a note if you pray this prayer or if you'd like for me to contact you and pray with you.

I Was Almost Attacked By Giant Slugs!

I'm going Fun Sunday this week and adding some humor to my usually serious blog posts. I hope you enjoy the mood change -- just for today.

A couple of years ago I saw some slugs in my strawberry patch. They were small, about the size of my pinky. I started putting slug stuff (don't know the official name) around my strawberries to keep them from getting in -- that is until I found out the little white pellets weren't just a deterrent, but a slug execution device. I think they eat the pellets which expand in their bellies and ... well, I don't know... maybe they explode or something. At first I thought it just filled them up so they wouldn't be hungry for my strawberries, but no, it's a poison.

If you follow my blog, you know my aversion to killing anything. So as soon as I found out the little white pellets weren't just a yummy slug snack, I stopped putting it out.

If you know me well, you know that there isn't much that grosses me out. I've always been a tomboy. I love creepy, crawly, slimy things: all bugs, spiders, snakes, lizards, mice, snails, frogs, worms.

But, SLUGS...

I've never had the desire to pick up a slug and explore it, and the thought of one touching my skin makes my stomach do that weird roller coaster climb and drop thing. I have a slight stomachache just writing about them right now, and there's a little gag-inducing lump in the back of my throat. I truly think my biggest fear is being attacked by giant slugs. Something I thought impossible until this past Thursday night.

WARNING: If slugs make you a bit nauseous, you may want to pop a Dramamine before you read further. :)

This past Thursday night we "lost" a fish. Our sweet little fantail guppy named Clock passed away, and since he was a cherished pet, we'd had him since Tuesday afterall, Hayden insisted we wrap him gently in some newspaper and take him out back to bury him -- right then, at 8:30 at night. So, my hysterical six-year-old son, my really-could-have-cared-less four-year-old son, my husband, and I wandered out into the yard to bury Clock below the lilac bushes.

I had a small hand shovel, and I used it and my hands to scrape away the layer of mulch to get to the dirt below. It was very dark, and as I was scraping I noticed a couple of extra-large chunks of mulch and thought it was odd, but didn't give it a second thought. I dug the hole, we dropped Clock in, Hayden cried out a few special memories of the fish and said a prayer, and then he went back inside with his dad. Brandon suddenly became emotional and decided he needed some quiet time to mourn Clock's passing, so he and I sat graveside for a few minutes.

It was during this quiet time that I took the time to glance around us and noticed a HUGE HUGE HUGE slug. I mean HUGE. Did I say HUGE? This is no joke - I am almost certain it was about the size of an empty toilet paper roll. Then I realized the big chunks of mulch weren't mulch at all, but more HUGE slugs. So, I looked around in the areas of the grass where the deck light happened to be shining and they were everywhere -- HUMONGOUS toilet-paper-roll sized slugs. There may have been hundreds, or it could be that the eight I did see were just so HUGE that it seemed like hundreds. Either way, my fear of being attacked by giant slugs was unfolding right before my eyes.

Brandon and I were barefooted and had to go through dark stretches of grass to get back to the deck steps. Did I mention we were SITTING there and had been sitting there, in the slug infested grass, for at least five minutes at that point. I knew they couldn't have crawled up our shorts without us noticing - considering they weren't much smaller than our rear ends, but could we have possibly sat on one? -- doubtful, but I wasted no time jumping up and throwing Brandon as high up onto my body as I could get him - you know... in case they started flying through the air and splattered on to us.

We were going to have to take our chances and make a blind run for it through those dark stretches of grass. It was either that or stand there and be slug slimed.

I would have never thought it would have been possible for a human to go from 0 to 60mph in 3 seconds running on the tips of their two big toes, but I'm here to tell you, IT IS POSSIBLE. I'm pretty sure I did it last Thursday night while carrying a four-year-old on the top of my head and chanting eeeyew, eeeyew, eeeyew (and I'm not an eeeyew kinda girl).

We made it to the deck without a squish, and I now realize why I'm harvesting about 1 quart of strawberries and tossing 1 gallon each time. Those slugs are eating good in my back yard. I'm wondering if those little white pellets a couple of years ago were enhanced slug vitamins instead of poison.

Have you ever seen a slug that big? Look at this big slug video. There's got to be an old movie about attacking slugs. Let me know if you know of it. Not so I can watch it but so I can be sure to steer clear of it.

I find it hard to believe our world would be worse off without the slimy slug, but God made them for a reason, so I did some research. Read slugs to find out the good, the bad, and the ugly about the slugs purpose on earth. They really do have one.

My husband had another great suggestion for our special quarter pounder backyard slugs. Survivor and Fear Factor are always looking for juicy appetizers.

Seriously, if anyone knows of a humane way to get the slugs out of my strawberries, let me know. Please don't tell me to get rid of my strawberries. :)

What Do You Do When God "Reep Reep Reeps" At You?

If you've read my welcome note in my side bar, you may be wondering who it is you are supposed to be scratching behind the ears. So, here she is showing off her big, pink belly rolls. She's the furry, orange one. She's actually waving at the camera with her left, front paw. The other two are my beautiful human children.

My Writing Loft is kind of my "me time" blog (the one place I can go and not talk about mommy stuff), so you don't see much about my kids or family on here. I have an entirely different blog for my mommy stories, My Chronicles of Parenthood, but today I have a story to share on this blog that involves mommy stuff - kind of.

As you can tell by Hobbit's size, she is a 100% indoor cat. She will occasionally walk out onto the deck with us and wander to the foot of the steps and roll in the landscape mulch beneath the bushes. But, beyond that she does not stray -- ever. Ten minutes tops her outdoor excursions, and she quickly waddles back into the house. I usually leave the deck door open, and we just kind of come and go. Later I chase all the flies out of the house because I refuse to kill them -- it's not their faults afterall that they wandered in through my inviting wide-open door.

This morning, the boys and I slept in. Around 9:30 Hayden, and I wandered into the living room still shaking the extended sleep off of our bones. The first thing I usually do is open the curtains to the deck door and walk outside. This morning when I walked out and leaned over the deck rail, Hobbit came running up the stairs, and from the sound of her voice she was extremely irritated that she had to camp out last night.

Hobbit's not really a camping out kind of girl. She gets a little repulsed over bugs, and flying and chirping things send her scurrying for cover. I guess she's a valley girl at heart.

My boys were very upset with me when they realized Hobbit got stuck outside for the night. I tried to explain to them that she probably enjoyed her camping adventure, but they weren't buying it. They quickly put her bowl of fresh seafood platter canned food in front of her, which she gobbled right up, and then followed her into the bedroom and helped her curl up on the bed. I guess she intended to sleep off the trauma I had put her through. I suppose we will be battling PTSD for a while.

I have no doubt my boys were having secret conversations about what a bad mommy I had been by not noticing Hobbit had been outside all night. They may have even discussed among themselves if it were possible that I could do such a thing to them as well.

Before you think too terribly of me, it's not like Hobbit could have gone anywhere. The yard is surrounded with a six-foot privacy fence, and it meets the ground all the way around, so she can't fit under. And she doesn't like to work up a sweat, so she'd never even attempt a jump.

Just as the Hobbit fiasco was coming to a close we heard a hysterical Red Breasted Robin outside. It was screaming in a high-pitched, continuous "reep reep reep reep reep reep." There are baby robins in our tree, and they've been out there for a while now. The mommy and daddy have stayed busy feeding these little babies, and we have enjoyed sitting on the deck watching them. So I knew the instant the "reep reep reep" started up that it was Daddy Robin. I just didn't know what was wrong with him because he'd never done this before (this is him sitting on the fence next to the tree).

On closer inspection, I noticed the problem. One of the babies had fallen from the tree. He was laying in the mulch below. I ran down to check on him, and he was okay. Nothing appeared to be broken. I ran up and grabbed a rag so I could pick him up and look at him a little closer and also to give him a soft spot on the mulch. He was happy and eagerly hopped onto the soft rag. I thanked God that he was not injured, but I wasn't sure what to do with him -- leave him there or put him back.

I ran back in and checked on the internet. Thank God for the internet in times like this. I saw comments saying "definitely leave him on the ground." The problem was that I saw an equal number of comments saying "definitely put him back." Ugh!

So much for the internet.

Daddy Robin was still having a fit over his baby being down there on the mulch, so I followed my initial instinct and made the decision to put him back. I set up the ladder as Daddy Robin "reep reep reeped" and watched intently from the fence a few feet away.

Baby Robin had settled in the middle of the rag which was the perfect spot for him. I slowly lifted him in his tiny little rag sling, and Daddy Robin instantly became silent. As I climbed the ladder Daddy Robin watched from his fence perch, a tiny little worm hanging from his mouth. Mommy Robin quietly watched from the neighbor's roof. My boys begged me to be careful as I neared the top of the ladder (not for my own safety mind you, but for the sake of the tiny baby robin), and I'm sure Mommy and Daddy Robin were thinking the same thing.

As I gently tilted his sling above his nest, Baby Robin realized where he was and hopped up and into his nest on his own. He snuggled in close to his sibling and the two gently "reep reep reeped" at me as I descended the ladder. I gathered up the ladder and headed toward the deck. Quietly Daddy Robin sounded off a few "reep reep reeps." As I looked back he was flying his little worm piece into the tree. His hysterical reeping was silenced now that his baby was safe.

A few hours later, I snuck back up the ladder to snap a picture of the babies. Only one was in the nest, and Daddy Robin caught me, so I snapped one picture fast and hurried back down. Both babies were hanging out on the branches yesterday so the other one was probably in the tree somewhere.

Later this afternoon I asked God what I should blog about today. I've been asking Him this for the past few days, and I guess I haven't been listening well because my mind has been blank. A few minutes later He reminded me of that "reep reep reeping" daddy robin.

God wants to know: "How many times do I 'reep reep reep' a warning signal over one of my troubled children? How many times do you heed My call and come to My lost child's aid?" God does not physically reach out and pick them up and sit them into a nest of safety. Instead He calls out to us -- those of us who can be His hands and jump to attention when He "reep reep reeps" at us to let us know He has a child in trouble.

What do you do when God "reep reep reeps" at you? Do you look around to see what it is He wants you to do?

Do you see a bigger picture? Do you hear God "reep reep reeping" at Christians in this world -- how are we responding collectively?