Monday, February 28, 2011

The Art of Journaling

When I was in high school I journaled. I kept three ring binders full of loose leaf paper. It worked well for me because I could write in class when the inspiration hit me, and then transfer it to my journal notebook. I also saved some notes from friends. Somewhere in a storage bin are three 3" binders full of my early teen years.

Page after page of teen angst and drama. Some wrinkled by now dried tears. Some full of hope and color. More full of depression and questions.

When I was sixteen, I was in a dollar store and saw some journals. I picked one out. It was pale blue and had a sewn binding. The paper was lined and there were flowers printed on some of the pages. Halfway through that journal, I was tired of it. The pale blue depressed me. The flowers on the pages posed a problem.....write over them, or skip past them.....it felt bulky to write in, and my words did not flow.

When I had filled all the pages, I set it on my bookshelf. On the bottom shelf behind little doors, next to my three ring binder journals.

I went to the Barnes and Noble to visit their journal section. That day I probably spent half an hour looking at each journal. I picked them up, felt the weight, inspected the look and feel of the pages. I rubbed my hands over the outside covers. I thought about spiral bindings. I noted which ones had annoying pictures on the pages, or inspirational quotes. I thought about lined pages, blank pages, graph pages.

Several people stopped by the aisle, picked out journals, and left. I was still there. Looking for just the right one.

I finally settled on one. It was spiral bound. A hard cover that looked like it had been attacked by watercolors in shades of grey and green...with the occasional hint of silver. The pages were heavy weight, but not too heavy. They were lined, but no pictures or quotes.

I took it home and the words flowed. I had found my space.

That journal was followed by a purple one with butterflies.

By the time I had moved onto the orange one with flowers on the cover, it was the place where I wrote my thoughts, and wrote prayers, and took sermon notes. I even kept the occasional note or memento in those journals, carefully taping them in place.

There was another blue journal, it was not spiral and the margins of the lines were not quite right. I made it to the end of it, but I noticed that the words did not flow as well in that place where I was not completely comfortable.

I returned to my former style of journal, this time with a cork cover that had tiny, dark blue, sparkley flakes. The words flowed. The prayers. The notes. The pages filled.

Dark blue with flowers followed.

Then we moved.

I packed many things away and all my journals went together in a storage bin.

I meant to buy a new journal, but never did. Several years passed. The need to write would come over me and I would stuff it down. Occasionally I would find myself in the journal section of the bookstore, and realize that without meaning to, I was looking for just the right journal. I couldn't find it. The urge to write was still there, but I had silenced the voice of that urge so much that I hardly heard it anymore.

I started blogging again. As the words flowed through the keyboard, that voice inside me that calls out to write returned. I typed more and more, but the voice was not silenced. I found myself writing on scraps of paper. Then in a composition book. The words were there, but they did not flow. I knew what I needed. A journal. Just the right size and weight, with lined paper that is not too thick or too thin. A hard cover to support my writing and hold in all my words.

Typing is good...but there is something about holding a pen (preferably just the right kind of pen) in my hand and letting the words flow through it, onto the paper.

To carry it with me, and pull it out for short thoughts and long rants.

To pour out prayers and hope and fears.

Doodle in the margins when the words are stubborn, and see the letters that grow bigger and bigger the faster they come out.

To leave a small bit of myself on a page.


That is why I have to use the very right one, because it will eventually hold a piece of me. The worst and the best of me are contained in those pages. The hope and color. And sometimes, the slightly wrinkled pages that were touched by my tears.

I journal to give space to my soul.

Do you keep a journal? Are you picky about where or how you write? 

Sunday, February 27, 2011

February Edition Blog Against Child Abuse

The February Edition of the Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse is up at Paul's place, Mind Parts.

Please go show your support with some reading and commenting. There are a lot of great submissions in this edition.

Thank you to everyone who shared a piece of your hearts and lives this month. And thank you, Paul for being such a great host!

Friday, February 25, 2011

The Plague and the Gamekeeper

The stomach plague paid a nice little visit to our house this week. It hit Katarina and me, but Thomas has successfully avoided it.

In the middle of the night, Katarina was sick and miserable and couldn't fall asleep, so she asked if I would read some of her book out loud.

She was already a few chapters in, so when we came to a character that I hadn't encountered yet, she would tell me about them.

I read this sentence, "At that moment Hayes Centaur came clattering up the road and over the drawbridge."

Then Katarina interrupted me to tell me about Hayes, "He is the royal gamekeeper. The author hasn't said what games he keeps yet, but I'm sure we will figure it out if we keep reading."

And then I tried heroically to restrain myself from laughing while I explained about gamekeepers.

Moments of light in the midst of the plague. That is a good thing.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Stone's Refusal from Kris at Pretty All True

Today I have a present for you, my readers. It is a guest post from Kris at Pretty All True.

If you haven't been reading her, you have missed moments like this:
-The time she wrote about Mr. Rogers and made me cry. In a good way.
-This is her one year blog anniversary post, where she gave insight into how she remembers all the great conversations that she shares on her blog. Also, there is cake
-Read this, and make sure you bring tissues.
-Finally, lest you think that she is all about making people cry everyday...she is not. And this proves it, because trust me, kidney stones have never been this funny.

Before you go reading all of those (and you really do want to, I promise!), here is something that she wrote just for you.....

Pretty All True


Stone’s Refusal – By Kris

I was reading a poem the other day and thought to myself, “Oh, I remember that song.”

I held my hand in the air before me to imagine the missing stone. Cupped my hand to hold the stone that wasn’t there. Felt its imaginary heft against my palm.

Remembered.

A walk along a black sand beach. The sand turns to stones beneath my feet. A million smoothened rounded stones of goose-egg size. As the water surges and then recedes, there is the most amazing and beautiful sound.

The sound of a million whispers. Musical and floating in the air. . . a million whispered greetings and farewells as the water caresses and pulses over the stones. The stones speak as individuals and as a group, the depths and highs of their voices joining as one in a chorus of sibilant shushing secret truth.

I am entranced.

I listen to the whispers. I close my eyes as the waves spill against my feet. I close my eyes and listen as the stones upon which I stand tell their story. I try to hold the sound within my mind. I want to have this sound. I want to own these whispers.

These are the whispers of forever. These are the whispers of a promised forever tempered by the acceptance of impermanence. These are the whispers of the universe.

That these words have been spoken a million times without my awareness. . . I am heartbroken that I have missed all that has come before.

I want to hear this song for the rest of whatever portion of forever I am granted.

I want to hear this song.

I bend to pick up a single stone, and as I do, the song of this particular stone is silenced.

It is an oblong stone. Dark and gray. A stone pitted and ravaged and left with small cavernous bits of emptiness.

A stone forged by fire.

Molten lava flowed and gas was trapped within. The gas escaped as the lava cooled, forming holes and cavities in the young stone’s surface. Those holes make the stone weaker than it might otherwise be. Those holes make the stone vulnerable to the flow of the outside world.

But those holes allow the stone to sing.

I bend to replace the stone. It joins in the chorus. The water flows over the stones and into every hole and crevice and empty space. It presses its heavy silver self into the stones. The stones accept the water . . . welcome it in . . . sing of the welcoming as empty is filled.

Only so far and then there is refusal. A sighing whispered claiming of identity.

Only this far and no farther.

I am stone.

The water drains away and the stones sing gorgeously of the refusal even as they gather breath to allow their empty spaces to be filled again.

I listen to the repeated exquisite song of acceptance and refusal.

Of weakness and then strength.

Of weakness that brings gifts.

I brush tears from my eyes.

I did not know such a song existed.

A song for me.

I want to sing this song.

I am stone.

Forged by fire.

Filled with small holes and imperfections that exploded within me when I was young.

My imperfections and empty spaces make me weaker than I might otherwise be.

I am more vulnerable to the press of the outside world than I might wish to be.

But my empty spaces and vulnerabilities allow me to sing.

A whispered song.

Life presses into me. Presses its heavy silver self into my spaces. Fills me up.

I accept and sing the song of that acceptance.

But this far and no farther.

There is refusal.

And I sing that song as well.

I am stone.

I whisper.

I sing.

I refuse.

Water is heavy silver over stone.
Water is heavy silver over stone’s
Refusal. It does not fall. It fills. It flows
Every crevice, every fault of the stone,
Every hollow. River does not run.
River presses its heavy silver self
Down into stone and stone refuses.


What runs,
Swirling and leaping into sun, is stone’s
Refusal of the river, not the river.


-- What any lover learns, by Archibald MacLeish




.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

A Surprise Happiness

When you are a mom, you never know what you will find if you leave your kid to play while you try sneak in a quick shower.

A new haircut.

Missing cookies.

Folded clothes that are no longer folded.

A "Mom Is In The Shower" opportunity can attack any room, especially if hair washing and conditioning is involved.  Sometimes, nothing happens. I think those are planned....to lull moms into complacency, that usually shows itself as a repeated shampooing before conditioning.

But every once in a while, the "Mom Is In The Shower" opportunity is sweet and it causes smiles and hugs.

This is what I found:
Decorated Computer Keyboard

A little black puppy that "eats computer viruses" (she is my new guard dog)
and a decorated keyboard.
A surprise happiness moment. 

Photobucket

(Yes, that is a In Pursuit of Martha Points mug! You know you want one.)

What is making you happy today? 

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Accepting Submissions for the February Blog Against Child Abuse

The February Edition of the Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse is going to be hosted by Paul from Mind Parts.


This month's theme: The subject of "your truth" is an important one to survivors. For many, we struggle accepting our truth, doubting our truth, and even knowing what our truth is.


Don't worry if you don't have a post that relates to the theme, all of the regular categories will also be open:
-Advocacy and Awareness
-Aftermath
-Healing and Therapy
-In the News
-Poetry
-Survivor Stories
-Art Therapy



Old posts are always welcome, and feel free to submit more than one. 


Submissions are being accepted until Wednesday, February 23rd and the edition will be published on Friday, February 25th. 


To submit an article, fill out the Blog Carnival Submission Form


Thank you for speaking your truth and speaking out against child abuse.

Friday, February 18, 2011

Bits Pieces Love

Sometimes when I'm trying to write a blog post, I consult my focus group family. They give me fabulous ideas like, "You could write about leaves, you know, and how they are all different-ish." and, Jaws is a romantic comedy (which was more of a conversation than a suggestion).

Katarina was dancing through the room, laughing, telling me all about gumbo. Many things. 
Gumbo is interesting. 
Gumbo is funny. 
Gumbo just wants you to be it's friend. 

I asked her, "Do you know what Gumbo is? Would you like to try some?"

She replied, "I know all of the things that I already told you about it. I also know that it might contain dog poop, so I'm hesitant to try it."

Clearly there won't be any gumbo eating happening at our house anytime soon. 

*********

I am so proud of my fabulous friend Erin Merryn, child sexual abuse survivor, author and advocate. She had a major victory this week. Erin's Law was officially signed on Monday by Governor Pat Quinn, after receiving unanimous votes in the Illinois House and Senate. Her next step? To take it nationwide! 

*********
All I have to say about this is....YUM! 

*********

This is a facebook status update that my friend shared this week:
Tracie's Friend is glad for a neighbor who laughs and goes to get her scissors when I ring her doorbell late at night and tell her my keys are stuck in the inside lining of my pants after foolishly putting themin my pocket, and that I cannot get them out without cutting up my pants. What a day. 

*********

These photo memory pillows that my friend Diann makes, are so cute! 

*********


I have a love for headbands. I think they are very cute. Are headbands allowed when you are grown up, or do you have to give them up after elementary school? Until I know for sure, I think I will wear one today and if anyone gives me a funny look, I plan to say that it is actually Katarina's and I'm just holding it for her. 

*********


What exciting plans do you have for this weekend? 
I'm thinking sleep, reading, and a little more sleep! 

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Why The New Facebook Pages Are Good for Bloggers

Facebook made an update.

It seems like that happens every week (and I can see you rolling your eyes from here at the mention of a new facebook update) but I think this particular one is something that can be really positive for bloggers, especially those of you who blog anonymously.

New Page Layout
Pages now look like the updated profile:

Tabs 
Tabs are no longer located at the top of the page, instead they are on the left side.

The row of pictures at the top 
When the new profile came out, there was much hatred for the row of pictures. The biggest complaint seemed to be that anyone could tag you in any picture and it would show up at the top of your profile (although it is possible to remove pictures you don't want by clicking on the 'x'). Your page now has the row of pictures at the top.

The good news is, only pictures uploaded to the wall by a page administrator will show up, so you don't have to worry about random people tagging or uploading pictures that will be displayed at the top of your page.

A great idea (and one that I obviously haven't followed yet, as you can see by my screenshot) is to upload specific pictures to be displayed. There are lots of fun and creative ideas for using the row of pictures on your profile, but you should know that unlike your personal profile, the pictures at the top of pages change order each time the page is loaded....so, know that the pictures won't stay in the order you place them.


New Settings Options
Clicking on the Edit Page button on the upper right, will open up your settings and permissions area.

Email Notifications
You now have the option to receive email notifications when people post or comment on your page.

New Wall Filters 
You now have two choices for how posts on your page will be filtered, showing posts from your page or posts from everyone. 

When using the 'Everyone' filter, posts will not appear in chronological order. Instead, they will be in the order of popularity and importance as decided by the facebook algorithm. 

If you choose the 'Only Posts by Page' filter, it will maintain the chronological order of postings, but people will have to click "everyone" manually if they want to see postings from other people on your page.

I hope that in the future, facebook will give the option for a "most recent" filter, but I'm not going to hold my breath waiting for it. 

Moderation Blocklist
If censorship is your thing, you can automatically block specific key words and terms. 
Also, you can choose for profanity to be automatically blocked. 

How You Post On Your Page
You can set the default for how you will post on your page - either as the page, or as your personal profile. It is especially nice to have this option for pages that have multiple administrators.

Option to Feature Administrator's Profile
You have the option to feature the profile of page administrators. It will show up on the left side, under the list of pages that your page has liked (more on that in a minute). I have done this with my page, because I have a facebook profile that is public, but if you choose to keep your profile private, it does not need to appear anywhere on your page.

This leads me to the biggest change to Facebook Pages, and the one that I think will really help bloggers, especially the anonymous ones.


New Option to Use Facebook as Your Page

On the right side of your page, you will see that you can 
"Use Facebook as _____(your page)". 

Your page will now be able to interact with other pages.

There has always been an option for your page to feature favorite pages. Prior to the update, featuring those other pages didn't really do anything for you, and if you wanted to comment on someone else's page, you had to do it through your profile.  The way it works now, you (as your page) visit other pages and like them,  and then your page will be able to comment and post on those pages.

When you use facebook as your page, it will have it's own home feed, which will consist of liked pages. You will also get comment reply notifications.

When you are finished using facebook as your page, you just click on account at the top right side and choose  to switch back to your personal profile.

I have been told by several anonymous bloggers that they would love to be able to connect and interact with blogs and bloggers via facebook, but don't dare to do it because it would "out" their real name and identity. This update means that an anonymous blogger can set up a page and use it to interact with other blogger's pages on facebook....without having any connection to their name or personal profile.

Definitely a step in the right direction for bloggers who want to get more involved in social media without compromising their privacy.

Do you have a facebook page? I do! 
What do you think of the new update? 

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

A Romantic Valentine Evening

At Tracie's House last night....

Tracie - I want to watch a movie.

Thomas - How about Fawlty Towers?

Tracie - I'm not in the mood for that right now. 
(Which is unusual, because I love that show)

Thomas - What are you in the mood for?

Tracie - I don't know. Give me some choices.

Thomas - How about a romantic comedy?

Tracie - Maybe. What romantic comedy?

Thomas - Um. Jaws?

Tracie - Jaws? The great love story of the shark and the fisherman. That is just so romantic...and funny. 

.....Just so you know, I'm not going to watch Nemo either. 

A few minutes later.

Tracie - The Little Mermaid!?

Thomas - What about it?

Tracie - The Little Mermaid. It is romantic. And it is comedic. And there is fish. And a giant shark that tries to kill Arial. It is the romantic comedy version of Jaws. We should watch that.

Thomas - No. 

What is your favorite movie? Is it a romantic comedy? Is it Jaws? 



Wednesday, February 09, 2011

Just One More Chapter?

When I was a kid, I always begged to stay up and read "just one more chapter" when my mom would come in to turn the lights out.

I also spent many nights hiding under the covers with a flashlight after she left enjoying more than one extra chapter....until the time I was caught and all the flashlights were taken away from me.

Sometimes I would fall asleep reading, and when my mom came in the room to check on me, she would slide the book out of my hands and put it on my bedside table. This drove me crazy, because she never put the bookmark in before she closed the book.

Katarina is a book lover.

Last night, after several "one more chapter" extensions, I went to tell her that it was lights out time.

For the first time, I found her laying with her book, asleep.

Naturally I did what every book lover mom would do, I grabbed my camera to capture the moment. On the way I told Thomas the story of how my mom always forgot to mark my place before she closed the book. She isn't a big reader, and I think it never occurred to her that it would be important.


I gently slid the book out of Katarina's hand, marked her page, and set the book on the bedside table. Before turning out the light, I stood there for a few minutes marveling at how much she has grown. It was one of those moments when I looked at her and didn't see my little girl, but saw a glimpse of the person she is growing up to be.

As I leaned over to turn out the light, she stirred and caught me standing there. "Mom, where's my book?"

"Shhh honey. You fell asleep, I put it on the table and you can read more in the morning."

She started feeling around on the bed and sitting up, "What about the bookmark? Did you mark my page?"

"It's okay. I marked your page."

"Was I at the end of a chapter? I always like to stop at the end of a chapter."

"Don't worry, it will be there when you wake up, exactly where you left off."

I'm secretly loving that she is growing up before my eyes, and also wondering if she is loosing all of her littleness.

"....Mom? Will you lay down and cuddle with me for a few minutes while I go back to sleep?"

Tuesday, February 08, 2011

Let's Take a Ride in a Cabbage Wagon

Thomas, loves researching genealogies, and collecting old family photos and stories. Before we were married, he took me out to the country, and showed me the house where his grandparents had lived, and then he told me this story that his dad had shared with him....

Every morning his PawPaw (which is southern for grandpa) would wake up early, get his horse, and hitch it up to a wagon he loaded with cabbages. It took most of the day to get to town, so he would leave his house at 4am, drive the horse and wagon all the way into town to sell his cabbages, and then at night he would go back home.

My mom came to visit us, and one day after church, Thomas drove her by the house that his grandparents had lived in, and told her all about the horse and wagon and cabbages.

Whenever we would drive down the road that his PawPaw traveled with the cabbages, Thomas would tell the story.

I had been hearing this story for years, and I knew that there was no way he was driving that horse and wagon full of cabbages around every day, I just knew it, so I decided that it was time to get to the bottom of this cabbage situation.

I got my chance one night, when we were at my father-in-law's house. The three of us were sitting around his kitchen table, and I brought up the cabbages. "Dad, Thomas told me his PawPaw used to drive his horse and wagon into town to sell cabbages every day. There is something about this story that bothers me. If he had to wake up so early because it took him most of the day to get to town, how did he have time to sell his cabbages and go home every night?"

"That is not what happened," my father-in-law answered. "Once a year, he would load up the horse and wagon to take the cabbages into town to sell. Then he would spend the night and come home the next day. He didn't do it every day, son, that would be impossible."

"Dad. You told me he took those cabbages to town every day," Thomas protested.

"How many cabbages do you think he grew? He took them to town once a year, spent the night, and came home the next day."

At this point, I was mercilessly laughing at Thomas barely containing my laughter. The night got worse for Thomas when hid dad continued, "He had a regular job that he worked. He couldn't have been carting cabbages around every day."

"That's right," I said, remembering, "Thomas told me once that he loaded ships down at the docks. Do you know what kinds of things he loaded?"

My father-in-law, "That is not what he did!"

"Yes it is," said Thomas, "You told me that he put things on ships."

"Do you mean to tell me that all these years, you have walked around thinking that your PawPaw drove a wagon full of cabbages to town everyday and that he worked at the docks loading ships?"

"That is exactly what I'm telling you, because that is exactly what you told me."

"No it isn't. I told you that he worked at the shipyard, putting things on ships."

"That is what I said. He put things on ships."

"No, you said he loaded things on ships, at the dock. What I said he did, was put things on ships....at the shipyard....where they build ships."

By this time, I'm laughing so hard that tears are streaming down my face and my father-in-law is too. Poor Thomas is looking kind of crushed...but that didn't stop me from patting his arm and telling him, "Maybe your PawPaw put cabbages on ships. You know, he had to take them to town every day anyway, in the wagon with his horse." Yes. I'm such a supportive wife.

My mother-in-law walks in the room, and soon she is laughing right along with us. Thomas is protesting that he knows what he was told...and his dad is telling Thomas that he heard wrong, and that maybe his ears were full of cabbage at the time.

It is a moment Thomas will never live down. To this day, whenever his dad wants to tell a story, he says, "Let me tell it to Tracie, because if I tell you, it will be full of cabbages." and I have used the words "cabbage wagon" to win more than one discussion when Thomas and I have remembered something differently.

Have you ever ridden in a wagon full of cabbages?

Have you ever had a misunderstanding where someone heard something entirely different than what you actually said?

The folks at Alka-Seltzer are having a contest, and they want to hear all about it (the misunderstanding, not riding in cabbage wagons, only my family wants to hear about cabbage wagons.) You can enter the Said/Heard Mishaps contest on their facebook page and possibly win a trip to New York City to star in a video about your story and $5,000 (that would buy you a lot of cabbage!).

*Here's the legal stuff. I was compensated for this post by The Motherhood and Alka-Seltzer. The story is all mine, and they did not influence it at all. No cabbages were harmed in the writing of this post.
Also, here are some contest rules: NO PURCHASE NECESSARY. Legal residents of the 50 United States (D.C.), 18 years or older. Contest ends 2/25/11. To enter and for Official Rules, including prize description, visit http://www.facebook.com/AlkaSeltzerOriginal?v=app_7146470109&ref=sgm. Void where prohibited.


Now go enter the contest at their facebook page with your own funny story about a misunderstanding. Good luck! 

Friday, February 04, 2011

The Hat Room

Charlotte unlocked the front door and turned the glass doorknob. She was there to take care of George and Susan's animals while they were out of town.

"Hello puppies!" Usually the three dogs would be sitting by the door waiting for her. This time they weren't, but they quickly came running when she started filling up food and water bowls.

She walked into the living room and ran her fingertips across the books lined up neatly on the floor to ceiling shelves. Charlotte decided she was going to spend some time reading, but then she heard a noise.

It sounded like it was coming from Susan's hat room.

Susan called it a room, but really it was a small alcove hidden behind the attic stairs with a stained glass window that bathed the space in rose light. Susan had filled it with her grandmother's old hats and pictures from her childhood.

Creeping toward the hat room, Charlotte realized that what she was hearing, was crying.  She wasn't sure if she should run to the kitchen and call the police, or round the corner and see who it was.

Curiosity won out.

"Susan?" she whispered in surprise, "Is that you?"

"Oh Charlotte. I'm so sorry. I must have scared you half to death. I thought you would be at work until later tonight." Susan blew her nose, and threw the tissue on the floor. There was quite a pile down there.

"What happened? You and George weren't supposed to come home until next week. Is everything okay?" Even as the question passed over her lips, Charlotte was kicking herself. Obviously everything was not okay.

"Everything is fine," Susan replied, unconvincingly. She looked so lost. "Oops!" she held up the empty tissue box and shook it back and forth, "They're all gone."

"Do you want me to get you some more? I think I saw a box in the bathroom."

Charlotte moved toward the hallway, but Susan's voice stopped her. "No. I don't think so. Tissues won't fix what is wrong with me. I'm unfixable. At least, that's what George told me yesterday. He actually said those words. Then he said that he couldn't live with me anymore.

I just sat there on the sand and thought about how I should have brought Grandma's beach hat with me because I could feel the sun beating down on my face."

"He can't live with you anymore? That doesn't make sense. Oh Susan, I'm so sorry. What are you going to do?"

"I wanted to get in the car and drive and drive until I disappeared into a fog...but Grandma's beach hat was there in my mind. I couldn't leave her hats here. I had to come back for them."

Susan reached up and grabbed a hat off of it's shelf, it was tall with flowers and leaves on the top. "Have you seen this one?" Susan asked. Charlotte nodded.

"When I was little I called it her flowerpot hat." Susan held it up to her nose and imagined that it still smelt of lilacs, the scent her grandmother always wore. A hint of a smile crossed her face. "I would beg her to tell me the leaf joke.....'knock knock' she would say, rapping on the table, and I would yell out the 'who's there'. 'Leaf' she would answer, and then shake her head, making the leaves dance around. 'Leaf who?' I would ask. In her sternest voice, she would answer, 'Leaf me alone' and then we would both break out in giggles."

Susan's smile faded. "Now that is what I am. Alone. Just me and Grandma's hats."



This piece of fiction has been inspired by the Red Dress Club prompt, "No more than 600 words, 3 minutes read aloud - and have a character that cries and tells a joke."

Thursday, February 03, 2011

Family That Works Together

Once in a while, Katarina and I ride along with Thomas when he goes to work.
Don't fall!

Katarina raked leaves.

Usually going to work with Thomas means that I read and take pictures, but on this day I decided to try a little tree trimming with the pole saw first.