chock-a-blog

George Carlin has this great skit about Stuff. All our stuff, bigger house for our stuff, when we go on vacation we take a little of our stuff with us. I'd like less stuff. I'll be downsizing this year from a 3 bedroom, 1700sf house to something yet to be determined. I need to purge my stuff. I'm not emotionally attached to any of it, but David is. It's a struggle agreeing what to do with the stuff. In Pillars of the Earth, a novel by Ken Follett about the building of an English cathedral in the mid-1300s, the main characters had practically no stuff. In the Master Builder's family, each member had the clothes on his or her back along with a wooden bowl and eating utensil. Nothing else. Seems to me life would be much easier if that's all you had to keep track of.

At night when I'm standing at the bathroom sink watching myself in the mirror brushing my teeth, I think about how only 24 hours prior I stood there doing the same thing, and what have I done between then and now? Sometimes I'm crushed that all that time has gone by and I've nothing to show for it. Sometimes I reflect on a day well spent. Sometimes I lament the quick slippage of time, regardless of how I filled those 24 hours. Then I think of Buddha. Well, only now have I thought of Buddha when I was surfing the 'net for an appropriate quote and came across this one: Do not dwell in the past. Do not dream of the future. Concentrate the mind on the present moment. So much of what I do is repetitious: brushing my teeth each night; waking in the morning and shuffling out to the kitchen to put the kettle on for coffee; walking the same path with my dog Cassie and the same music on my iPod; driving Jack to school, then backtracking myself to work; emptying the dishwasher; fo

If you're Jemcina Slender, you left your husband. You walked out the back door of his rented house and hurried along the alley, shuffling in your house slippers, clutching a black plastic garbage bag of laundry. You rounded the corner and walked through the front yard of the nearest house. You couldn't know it, but inside the man of the house said to his family, "Who's that coming to the door?" When he opened the door before you could even knock, you gathered every ounce of your courage and asked very politely, "I don't want to inconvenience you, but could you give me a ride to the Safeway center? I need to get away from my husband." And when asked, "Is everything alright?" you want to scream "Of course everything's not alright! My life is falling apart and I'm standing here on your front porch in last night's clothes while my daughter rides her bike down the street looking for me and I just need to get away from him "

Mom sent me a replacement camera so I owe her a photo post. I'm so very pleased with it. Thank you, Mom. So much. Here Brazey gets ready for our Winterhaven jaunt. Jack wore this hat for years. I daresay he can still cram it on his bean. The boys at Winterhaven. You can see Dh and I are still civil. My favorite. For Mom and Bin. Soapbubble snowfall. My kids at soapbubble snowfall. I don't think Jack cared for it all that much. Brazey at the Wishing Tree. Evan implores the Wishing Tree sign. I hope he gets his wish. Gratuitous photo of the cutest bunny ever. Beware that pitchfork, Peter Rabbit!

lagniappe \LAN-yap\, noun: 1. A small gift given with a purchase to a customer, for good measure. 2. A gratuity or tip. 3. An unexpected or indirect benefit. I've replaced the word "bonus" in my vocabulary.

I didn't know. Didn't know I could fall so quickly in love with a critter. Cassie and Kismet have my enduring, unconditional love. I mourned my three year old betta when he bit it. And I was fond of the rats when we had them. But this little guy has won my heart. Meet Bugsy. He's a three year old mini lop from a friend of a friend. I adopted him as a classroom pet but fell for him myself. Good thing we get weekends. He's a good little bunny. He spends most of the day in our side yard, hopping underneath the grapefruit tree and nibbling whatever catches his fancy out of the compost heap. When he's happy he's gives a cute little sideways hop with a kick of his heels. When you bring him a treat and he's excited for it he rapidly paw-paws your hand. His soft fur covers a delicate little skeleton. He goes all boneless when petted, he relaxes so deeply. At the preschool he hops around the classroom, weaving in and out of the children's legs and jumping over th

1. Uncle Buck "I'm Buck Melanoma. Moley Russell's wart." "You must be a cheerleader. You look firm." "You ever heard of a tune-up? Heh heh heh." "You ever heard of a ritual killing? Heh heh heh." 2. Vacation "Real tomato ketchup, Eddie?" "Eddie says after the baby comes, I can quit one of my night jobs." "You didn't order the metallic pea?" 3. Christmas Vacation "Shitter was full!" "Surprised? If I woke up tomorrow morning with my head sewn to the carpet I wouldn't be more surprised than I am now." "And why is the carpet all wet, Todd ? I don't know, Margo. " 4. Raising Arizona "Turn to the right!" "Why do you say you feel 'trapped' in a man's body?" "You ate sand ?" "Everyone leaves microbes and what not. It's your whole goddamn raisin detrah!" 5. Overboard "My body!" "Shut up and eat your checker

We opened the door to the sanctuary, where Dr. Keyl was rehearsing the adult choir. "Good morning, Jack," he said to us as we entered. "Thanks for coming so early." Whoa. Those were words we never heard when we had to get DH to come to church with us. It felt good to be on time. To be where I was supposed to be when I was supposed to be there. It felt good to be modeling for Jack. A few of us ringers rehearsed the Huron Carol with the women's voices. While we were rehearsing, Alison D helped Jack with his robe and his cotta. At rehearsal two weeks ago Dr. Keyl told me he planned to award the cotta to Jack and two of his choir compatriots. The cotta symbolizes dedication, reliability, and leadership. This is only Jack's second year in choir. I'm so proud of him. Lessons and Carols is one of my favorite services. "Once in Royal David's City" was the processional hymn, the first verse sung by children's voices only. Today's scriptures

Feeling rusty, and yesterday's blogging prompt didn't go over very well, so I'm returning to the trusty old word of the day ruse. I arose before the dawn and cleaned both toilets. I've learned that if I want to be sure it gets done, I have to do it early in the morning or it slips by the wayside. This blogging thing, por ejemplo. If I'd start the day with it I'd probably get it done right more often. Because I've put it off till the end of the day I'm struggling with the words, my eyelids drooping. So I cleaned both toilets and loaded the car to haul my wares to my friend Terry's craft sale, which she holds each year at her house a week or two before Christmas. It's 7:30 when I leave the house, coffee mug in hand, earrings and pendants swaying on their new stand in the backseat. As is my habit, I slowed the car as I approached the Goodwill dropoff, which doesn't open until 8:00. A few bags have been left against the doors of the storage unit.

commit hara-kiri. Jack often tells me he doesn't want to grow up, and a little boy at school recently told me the same. And to both of them I say, "I'm happier as a grown up than I was as a kid." I'm obligated to this blogging thing for two weeks, committed to it as my New Habit for the Game On diet I'm doing. Tonight I couldn't think of anything to write and I don't get my points if I don't blog. So I put "blogging prompt" in the google machine and that's what I got. If I could trade in my adulthood for a second childhood... oh, perish the thought! Childhood was OK but who wants to go back to that state of uncertainty and vulnerability? And who in their right mind would wish to endure high school again? I'd never want to be a kid again yet I choose to work with kids. I admire kids. We expect them to navigate this world with their limited skills while giving them poor guidance and even poorer role models.

after a prolonged absence it's difficult to know where to start. I was going to lean on Julia Cameron but I can't find my copy of The Right to Write and The Artist's Way hits a little too close to my vulnerable core to be of much use right now. Or maybe it's exactly what I need and I'm too chickenshit. I claim the stressors of my daily life don't affect me overmuch. I keep on marching but the path I tread is narrow. One misstep, one little shove, and I'm plunging into the abyss. I've recovered from my few falls, though, and continue to convince myself that I'm coping well with the changes in my life. I'm ready for these changes but tired of waiting. Necessity dictates I wait. In the meantime, I'm pursuing other interests. Recent craft shows have been successful. I've stocked an etsy shop that's selling a few items here and there. DH and I are separated and without the daily strain of that relationship I'm much more relaxed. suc