Love Thursday: Hairspray

The movie 'Hairspray' was one of the last gifts that I gave my mother. I picked it up for her on a whim, fairly sure that she hadn't seen it yet. She hadn't and we watched it that first night together...twice. In the following months, she watched it dozens of times. Looking back, I should've been concerned (because in the months before my Nana succumbed utterly to Alzheimer's, she watched Grease religiously every night.) I was just happy that she loved the musical as much as I did. As of today, it's been three months since Mama died, so this post is for her. I love you, Ma.

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

Quotable Sunday: Note to Self

Procrastination is opportunity's assassin. ~Victor Kiam

Love/Hate

I loved spending time with one of my dearest friends, Mary. We met at Starbucks after not seeing one another for a year (which is ridiculous, since we live within fifteen minutes from one another) and I was reminded again of how much I truly enjoy her company. I hope that everyone has their own "Mary". (I love you, Mary!)

I hate that I've been feeling blue the past few days. It's affecting everything in my life that requires effort on my part, which, come to think of it, is everything. Dammit. Here's hoping for a better tomorrow!

Friday Fill-In #150

1. The last band I saw live was at a Jason Mraz concert.
2. What I look forward to most on Thanksgiving is spending time with my sisters. (If you don't celebrate Thanksgiving, insert your favorite holiday)
3. My Christmas/holiday shopping is starting to take shape in the form of copious lists.
4. Thoughts of chocolate fill my head.
5. I wish I could wear elaborate sequined gowns, ropes of rhinestones and a black feather boa everywhere. Oh! and maybe a tiara!
6. Bagpipes + Mike Meyers=Hilarious in So I Married An Axe Murderer.
7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to writing, tomorrow my plans include writing and Sunday, I want to get ahead on my NaNo word count...by writing!

Love Thursday: Walker Loves Play-doh

Wordless Wednesday: Halloween Moon

Yesterday was my 100th Post!

So today I am posting 101 words from my Nano novel, Ouroboros:

"Well, if you’re just going to leave her lying here…" He trailed off, his eyes and teeth gleaming despite the low lighting that the cheap landlord had installed. Ava hated him when he was like this. She should’ve known, should’ve never forgotten who and what he truly was, but she always did. What did you expect? His theme song is “Lie to Me“, for Chrissakes. She tried to stare him down, but he only smiled, smug with the knowledge that he was going to win either way. Gotcha. She’d never understood the perverse pleasure that he got from forcing her hand...

Monday's Muse: Shangrila's Step-by-step Guide to Forcing NaNoWriMo Word Count

1. When your husband comes upstairs to tell you that your washing machine is dead, Jim, do not pass go, do not collect $100, go straight to bed and pull the covers over your head. Say, "Fuck this!" Go to sleep.

2. The next day, try to keep both the kids in the van and the characters of your novel (all of which are vying for your attention loudly) at a dull roar so that you can drive without running the lot of you into a telephone pole.

3. Play Judy Garland. Cry over your dead mother.

4. Get down on your knees. Thank Jesus for Sesame Street. Use it to hypnotize child #3. Use this time to make several calls that will hopefully ensure continued financial stability.

5. Make like Agatha Christie, who said that "The best time to plan a book is while you're doing the dishes." Clean your kitchen.

6. Put baby down for a nap. Check all of your internet haunts. See that Facebook has prompted you to send a message to your mother. Write a message to your mother. Cry again.

7. Open your word document and underscore a line beneath the crap that you wrote yesterday. Close your eyes and try to remember what your new character was telling you this morning in the van. Don't argue when he tells you that he dresses like eurotrash and carries a back pack which sports a button that says, "Go Green!"

8. WRITE.

Quotable Sunday: On Writing for NaNoWriMo

The story I am writing exists, written in absolutely perfect fashion, some place, in the air. All I must do is find it, and copy it. ~Jules Renard, "Diary," February 1895

Write down the thoughts of the moment. Those that come unsought for are commonly the most valuable. ~Francis Bacon

A synonym is a word you use when you can't spell the other one. ~Baltasar Gracián

Writing became such a process of discovery that I couldn't wait to get to work in the morning: I wanted to know what I was going to say. ~Sharon O'Brien

The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say. ~Anaïs Nin

The coroner will find ink in my veins and blood on my typewriter keys. ~C. Astrid
Weber

Love/Hate

I love having my sister Lisa over. This last visit, I forced her helped her to set up her NaNoWriMo account and in addition to having her daughter occupy my sons in play and the joy of kissing her plump little baby boy all over his sweet little face, it was wonderful just to hammer out word count companionably beside her.

I hate unpacking the boxes of things that I kept from my mother's apartment. I did three of them today and every single thing in each of those boxes hurt my heart as I put it away. My eyes still stung hours after I'd finished and moved on to other things, grief following me around like a raincloud. I know that someday I'll be able to tell someone, "Oh, that was my mother's" in an offhand, matter-of-fact way-I just don't know how I'll ever get there.

(Post script~I got the love/hate prompt for this post from Ginny Marie. Thanks, Ginny!)

Friday Fill-In #149

1. Plans and schedules and to-do lists, oh my!

2. I'm happy when things are in order.

3. The last thing I drank was Diet Pepsi from a red plastic 160z disposable cup.

4. One of the most valuable things in my life is tradition, a link between myself and those that came before me.

5. I like artichokes on my pizza.

6. Dear November, thank you for the beautiful weather today. Would you mind keeping it warm and sunny out until I've finished fall clean-up in the backyard? Also, what do you say we leave the leaf-raking for April or May to worry about?

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to watching movies with the W's and getting into bed at a halfway decent hour since I reached my NaNoWriMo word quota early today, tomorrow my plans include scrubbing the kitchen floor and writing, writing, writing and Sunday, I want to reorganize the kids' room, unpack some of the boxes from mom's, wash and lay out the kids' clothes for the school week, and remember to take out the garbage. Also, write-write-writey-write-write!"

Love Thursday: Sentimental Drivel

I love taking the long way home from my husband's place of work. Instead of taking the straight shot up the main road, which takes exactly 7 minutes, I take the back road every chance I get. It is wind-y and unnecessarily long and I've developed an emotional attachment to the landscaping in several of the yards. Driving past feels something like visiting old friends-indulgent and comforting. It takes at least ten minutes, fifteen if I linger.

I love listening to Walker Cash's increasing ability to express his deep, inner thoughts. I love the way he often voices G in the place of D. ("Spigerman!") and overhearing him trying to convince Sissy to take him to school, adopting his older brother's life experiences to sway her, "I can go with you! I go-ed to kindergarten! I losed my teeth!" I love listening to him singing in the back seat: "5! Little monkeys! Jumpinonnabed! One felled off an bumped him head!" I love him.

I love that in forcing me to learn how to face paint and make balloon animals in my early teens, my mom gave me the skills to do something special for my middle kid, making him feel lucky and special even though the line at the Halloween party last week for balloon sculptures was too damned long. But, Mom? For the record? Clowning is still sucky and dumb. Pirate sword balloon anyone?

I love how independent Winter has gotten. Something has clicked for her and now she's laying out her clothes without being told, finding and turning in missing assignments without a word from me, setting her own alarm and getting herself out the door on time for the bus. I love that even now, now that the first revelation of parenting ("OMG, I can't believe how much I love her more every day!") is a distant memory, she still amazes me and inspires me and claims more of my heart. Every day. <3

Wordless Wednesday: Upon Investigating a Suspicious Silence

RTT: Could The Coast Guard PLEASE Locate My Cell Phone Charger?

I was going to write "Angela Noll Mohn refrained from eating any Halloween candy, only to find that when her resolve finally crumbled, there was no chocolate left to pilfer" as my Facebook status. I decided that it was too long for Facebook, and so am posting it here. I was also planning on trying to work the word "tragically" in there. Hey, gum! The baby can't even have gum, so I'm kinda doing him a favor by eating it, right?!

I can not find the charger for my cellphone and so I am adrift in a sea of contactlessness. Which is different than tactlessness. Although I suppose I'll care increasingly less and less about tactlessness the more contactlessness I have.

Truly, my cell charger is GONE. I hate to beat a dead horse (well, unless it was a truly bad dead horse, in which case I wouldn't mind beating on it just a little, just to encourage it to stay dead..) but I only charge my phone at like, two different outlets in my house and after checking both outlets repeatedly (or as a dear ex-boyfriend used to say, "repeatively") I must conclude that my charger is not in this house, not with a mouse, not on a train, not in the rain, I can not find it, Sam, you see...

My husband went to the store and forgot the Draino that we needed for our kitchen sink, but he remembered the paper towels. So at least we can clean up if the sink overflows.

My knee hurts.

Squirrels are rat bastards.

I haven't watched The Food Network for two days. I haven't watched ANYTHING for two days. Well, except for my children, of course. (And) a blinking cursor.

My house looks as though President Obama could conceivably deem it a national natural disaster. Dear President Obama, please send the coast guard.

Was I always this crazy? Or has NaNoWriMo finally sent me over the edge? I am exhausted, and I can't think why, as the characters in the story seem to be doing all the work.

Aren't "Fruity Cheerios" basically just "Fruit Loops?" Which reminds me to remind you: head on over to Super Keely's, Queen of Tuesday Loopiness. (Or was that "fruitiness?") :p

Monday's Muse: Writing and Blogging and Harvesting, Oh My!

I am currently 2000+ words into the novel that I am attempting to write for NaNoWriMo. I came across/was reminded of NaBloPoMo while procrastinating when it came to sitting my butt down and writing words, any words onto my blank word document. It's so much easier to make a collage, and search for images and research key concepts online than it is to actually WRITE, isn't it?!

Then, as if this weren't enough, my husband came outside while the kids and I were taking out the garbage and offered to dig up my dahlia tubers for me. In all honesty, I'd considering leaving them and letting them all die, just another casualty of the "I just don't give a fuck" attitude that I've been living under since my mother died. Then up came the first spadeful of dirt and there they were, inciting me, however grudgingly, to act. I've been trying to stop time, wanting to scream at my husband when he got on my case for things like pretty much refusing to water my houseplants, "Don't you see? Don't you see?! I can't bear for everything to go on as if nothing has happened!" I'm fairly sure that I would've regretted the loss of those tubers come March. Creating has always been about channeling or appeasing my "dark side" and so here I am at 1:09am waiting for tubers to dry so that I can store them for the coming year. Today my muse? More of a sneaky mistress, forcing my hand, (and) I'm not sure whether I feel grateful or hateful.