I'm back -- I hope.

Apologies for yet another break.
I'm sorry.
Every day I have every intention to keep up with this and my other blogs, but then somehow I just lack the oomph to actually do it. I don't know what the problem is, except that it is within me. I dom't know if it's physical -- aches and pains and sneezes and hunger, or if it's psycological, or what. Just sometimes I. Just. Can't.

I'm hoping to push myself past that, especially as the year ends; as the season of darkness ends; as light creeps into our days I am hoping thast energy will creep into my backbone, brains and fingers. 
So that I can and will actually write.

Oh I write all the time -- in my head. Balancing sentences, constructing paragraphs, choosing words for their precision and their clarity.
I am never not writing.
In my head.

That doesn't get the job done, though, does it?

I'm not big on New Year resolutions, but I am big on trying again. I should be -- I do it often enough. Plenty of experience at it.

And so, I will once again try to apply myself. Try to be a "good steward" of the "talents" I have been given. 

A Snippet

"I tired, Daddy."

"Well, go to sleep, son. Sleep as long as you need to."

"For  ever?"

"I'll miss you here when that happens. But I'll see you there someday."

"And then we can RUN, Daddy! Me 'n' you, we can run and run and RUN!"

"Yes, son, then we will be able to run."

Phishers of Memes

Sometimes, my friends worry me.

I don't mean normal worries, like are they home safe or are they happy or how are their children worries -- those are a normal part of the give and take of friendship.
Lately. I have worried, probably way too much, over how gullible they are to "just for fun" Facebook memes.

It started with the silly holiday names. Mostly they go by initials, but some are poking around for your birthdate. Or someone else's initials, such as your first child's. Or maybe your father's.Those are harmless, for the most part. The phishers are building themselves a "just for fun" reputation.

Once that is achieved, the goal becomes one's birthdate, in all its unedited glory.
You see, on Facebook, many of us are wise enough to not put the year. The day, yeah, but the year is questionable.
Because one of the cues/clues to your credit/financial identity is your full birthdate.

So how old were you in 1969? I can do math enough to know that if you were 11 that means you were born in 1958. And if I can figure it out, believe me, someone smart enough to code can do so in half the time. They may even have a chart.

Now, they -- either the memes or the phishers; you choose -- have become a bit more nosy. Now they have people posting their family tree by last name. I am a who. My dad was a who. His mother was a what. My mother was a why. Her mother was a how.

What is the standard security question for online access to financial accounts?
Mother's maiden name.
BINGO!

You have given them information not only to your accounts, but also to those of your mother and your father, and possibly your grandparents, if you went back another generation.

I have seen where some say, "Yes, but the information is out there anyway. If they want it that bad, they can find it."
True, but why on earth would they go looking when you just hand it to them? If you don't play along, someone else will.
Do you really think they care WHO they defraud? They'll take everybody they can get.

And boy do they get a lot.

Phishers bait their hooks, cast their lines, and plan their next trip.
Already the memes are sneaking in to spell your child's name with the last four letters of your dad's middle name and the first initial of your maiden name.

What will you fall for next?
And who will be to blame when your, or your parents, bank accounts are emptied and the credit cards maxed out?

How fun is that?

Writer's Dilemma: Diagnosis

Fellow writers, what would you do? What do you think?


I have written two things that include oddities -- one an illness; the other a behavior. Some of the feedback I have received is that I should be telling (not good storycrafting) what the diagnosis is or explaining the behavior.

The illness is the story of a child who died and her father.  the story is set somewhat ambiguously in the 1940s, USA. The disease that the child died of was not even named until 1938, and that was in Canada.
Therefore, at the time of the story, there was no diagnosis.
None.
Treatment was of the symptoms as they arose.

The fact is, I didn't know myself what the disease was until I had finished writing the vignettes, and looked up the symptoms myself. Not quite a textbook case -- are they ever, really? -- but variations were within the norms for the condition.

In the story, the illness went undiagnosed, even after the death of the child.
Because there was, in that time period, no (or rare) formal diagnosis for it.

It was what it was, and so was the outcome. Those involved had to deal with the situation as it occurred, with no answers.

That was the story.

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

The other situation was part of a novel, a character trait that was not consistent with the character's general development. An irregularity in verbalizing, even though the character had an enormous (for his age and the times) vocabulary with a good understanding of most words and the ability to guess accurately the meaning of unfamiliar words.

In the novel, the child's caretakers do notice and try to have this idiosyncrasy checked out. They mention at different times that this that or the other was done. A thorough physical, and the boy's hearing was tested, even though that seemed an unlikely cause since he could understand.
In the end, the adults decided it was just a quirk in the child's development and let it be, just keeping an eye on it as he ages.

It isn't really a BIG IMPORTANT detail, just, as I said, something of a character quirk.

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

In both cases, or in either case, inserting today's knowledge in a yesterday's story doesn't seem right to me.
I also have not been able to figure out how I would do it, if I wanted to. (Which I don't.)


It speaks loudly and is a sad commentary that readers want everything put in a box, sorted, and labelled, don't you think? I wonder why it is this way. Does this approach really make anyone happier? Are children no longer allowed to be themselves, unique?

There are still undiagnosable conditions, especially in children.
There are still unexplainable idiosyncracies in childhood development.
There are still unique characters whose entire existence is outside the box.

What's most alarming is that these demands were made, not by everyday readers, but by other writers.
Make no mistake, these were demands. One critiquer was infuriated that I did not tell her and every other reader what was wrong with that boy. In her opinion, if I didn't explain it, I shouldn't write it that way.
And she had only read an excerpt. Even when I explained that the 'issue' was addressed in other parts of the book, she was still insistent that nothing undiagnosed, unexplained, or unlabelled could be in the story.

If out creative peoples are thinking and writing this way, what hope is there for the individualists in our world and the world to come?

Traveling Time

Besides writing, I have always wanted to travel.

Writing is something I have never classed as a dream. It's what I do; it's a facet of Who I Am. If I do, or don't do, or dream it, I will write it. Some way, some day. This is a fact, not a goal; not an ambition; not a dream.

Travel is the dream.
Something I have always wanted to do, but have done little of . Life has a way of stepping in and putting things back, for the someday that may never happen.That will probably never happen.

Well, my sisters started making it happen for me. Two years ago, they invited me to be part of their trip to Niagara Falls.









This June they invited me to participate in a Great Smokies getaway.

I can't thank them enough.

I've been looking into myself recently to see where all the desire went.

It didn't go anywhere, but it did get buried.

Buried under worries about him and them and cars and jobs and kids and health and homes and aloneness.

Once, I had a goal to walk the West Coast of the US, from San Diego to Seattle. I tried to save for it by saving change, but never managed to fill even a small peanut can with money. It kept being used, or borrowed, and I don't even remember when I gave that up.

Besides, my "big dream" was overshadowed by the neighbor across the street.
He had a goal, too.
His goal was to walk around the whole dang world.

Made my dream puny in comparison.

And then he actually did it!
And published articles, letters, and books about it! (yeah, that one, too!)

Thanks, Steve!
(Steve Newman, Dream thief.)

Seriously, at the time, it was encouraging. If he could do this GREAT BIG THING, there was no reason why I couldn't do something on a smaller scale. In fact, it proved that there should be, could be some way of doing it.

I don't know when or why I put that dream away.


But, as my life is slowing and sorting itself out, and there is time again, I am finding this dream goal once again.

 My sisters, part of the "Life" that whittled the dream away from me, are now giving it back.
Aren't they wonderful? Am I not lucky?

I want to go there.
I want to see that.

Somehow, I will.
Come hell or high water; come junk cars and minimal budget; come life or death.
Come life or death.
death. the ultimate journey.

Is it What? Or Which?

There is a sign at a church here in our little town. It asks "Is prayer your steering wheel, or your spare tire?"

How is this even a question?
What does it even mean?
Which answer would be the wrong answer? Aren't both options a viable use of prayer?
Is this really an either/or question?

Steering wheels and tires are both round, and they are both essential parts of a car. Essential parts of steering, driving, directing a car. (At least until joysticks or their equivalent take over, which I fully expect to see become standard before my time is done.)

But they have very different functions.

The tired old apples and oranges comparison doesn't even come close. Apples and oranges both being fruit, as steering and tires are both wheels.

Oranges and potatoes may be a closer simile/metaphor.
Pretzels and popcorn.
Balloons (the hot air kind) and baby carriages. (Do they still make those?)
Kitty cats and Gorillas.

Yes, this sign flummoxes me, every time I pass it. (Usually twice a day.)

I don't know what it means, or how it came to be phrased that way, or whose bright idea it was. It may even have come from a book. "The Half-Baked Signage Suggestions"

But do you know what else?
It has also done what it was intended to do.
It has made this sign-reader take a look at prayer and life, and wonder how and why it's used and when and where.

And, to answer my own question, I am pretty sure that there isn't really a wrong answer for prayer as a directing force. (That includes defining prayer as scientific questioning of how and why the universe works.)

So -- is prayer -- whatever you conceive it to be -- your steering wheel, your spare tire, or maybe a ball bearing? Or a pea. Or maybe even your hula hoop.

Public Park, Back-to-School Bash, and Summerfest

It's summer time, and time for the summer fun. It's August, too, which means summer is winding down.

Take your kids out and spend the day at the community park here in Mt.Orab. It has playgrounds (one for 2 and under, one for 2 and up), basketball courts, picnic tables, a shelter, trees, and grass. And bathrooms nearby. They have concerts throughout the summer. Music in the Park. Bring your lawn chairs.

For many years, Rent-2-Own in Georgetown had sponsored an all day back-to-school bash in August. They made a festival of it, with food and bounce houses and free school supplies. (I believe it ran from 10 until 3 or 4, but I'm not certain. Most of the hot August afternoon, with waterslides and a sprinkler cave among the bouncies.)

A community project; a way to help; a way to 'payback'; a way to make a difference

I don't know how long R2O had been doing this when my granddaughter started school. If they did it when my girls went to school, I never heard of it. If it existed then, it was kept low-key. (maybe customers only? I honestly don't know.) By the time Hailey was school age, though, it was touted in the local papers as one of the annual events of the season.

Three years ago, Brown County decided to have a "Summerfest" It would be a big ol' sponsored summer festival like every town every where used to have before lawsuits and insurance and the entitlement to have "fun" with no responsibility and no accountability took over the world.
Vendors could set up booths.
There could be car shows.
There would be concerts.  Big name concerts.

And it would all be wonderfully free for the public; for the citizens of town and county and as many neighbors as could be drawn in.

There would be entrance fees for EVENTS. There would be fees for vendors. For the concerts, they would even create special seating areas that could be paid for ahead of time.

And there would be sponsors. Local businesses would do their part in underwriting and sharing expenses for this great community service. Sharing cost, building a reputation, and the tax write-offs all made this a winning proposition.

The Back-to-School Bash was moved to this venue. It was, to the public, a good fit.
The goals were the same; the reasons were the same; the feeling was the same, plus so much more.


The second year, after the back-to-school products had been distributed and that part of the day was done (the giveaway was 9 - noon), the organizers of the fest imposed an additional charge for the bounce houses. You know, the ones set up in the PUBLIC COMMUNITY PARK? The ones that have been provided free for however many years, at a PRIVATELY OWNED location?

Okay. Unfair, disgusting, and outrageous, but easily avoided.
Take the kids early, leave early, and let them do without your business in all other aspects of the fantastic "free" summerfest.


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



This year Summerfest is NOT free.
It will still be held at the community park.
In fact, you will NOT be allowed to enter YOUR public park without paying an entry fee.

Guess what, folks.
You wont even be allowed to go wait an hour in line with your cranky, sleepy, hot, and hungry children (school children MUST be present) to pick up your FREE back-to-school bundles without paying an entry fee. 

(Ah, for the good old days, just 3 years ago, when one could show up at lunch time, after the children awoke and were just beginning to get bored.)

No, it isn't a huge amount of money. That's not the point.

Two FREE events are no longer free.

OUR OWN PUBLIC PARK will not be free that weekend.


The organizers mouth the tired old line about expenses and losses and all that crap. What, the businesses don't want the tax credit anymore? The local businesses no longer want to build ties to the community?

If that's the case, and if they want to turn this event into a moneymaker (a money-getter) instead of a public service (money-giver), they certainly have that right.
On private property.

Not in a public park where kids have been going to play for however many years on their weekends.

Everyone is excited about the fest, the events and concerts and whatever else.
Everyone, that is, except the families who will have to stay home because they can't afford to go to the festival AND -- whatever else they need to do. Eat? Drink? Stay cool? Put gas in vehicles? Add more to their school supply lists?

Why?
Just tell me why.

Fixed Up -- Or Is It?

The property manager here at the trailer park has finally gotten around to cleaning up the storm damage. (It finally quit raining long enough for the ground to dry enough to support heavy equipment.)

In my opinion, the man went a little overboard in some areas.

First of all, he took down and took out all the old dead and dying trees on his side if the already-replaced storm-damaged fence.

He removed falling-down 'structures' and slanting-sideways sheds. (The kids all always wanting to make these rickety traps into clubhouses and such.)

Then he removed where the tree fell across the other trees very near the electrical (and possibly other) wires.

Then the craziness started. Where he took out the dead trees, he dug up the ground, All the grass and weeds growing right up to the fence have been removed, scraped from the earth itself, leaving a broad expanse of dry brown dirt.





He removed the entire copse of trees the divided one hillside from the other, where the children play. The trees that held the hill up, I think. Erosion and gravity and the compensation of green growing roots reaching deep and holding it all together.

after the storm

where are the trees

invitation to erosion.

I dread the coming rains, starting with the "brief, but heavy" storms that pop up with summer humidity. The winds that pick up balls and dirt ahead f the downpours. The winds that sometimes come with sunrise and sunset.
I hope that our trailer are far enough away from the resulting quagmires and landslides. (Safe enough from landslides; not so sure about the quagmire between the ends of the trailers and the new fence,)

(And what are the property owners on the other side of that fence going to think and do when the mud runs over into their property?)

What if the resultant mud crosses over to the highway?
What if the mud chokes the lake?
What if a dog or cat or child gets stuck in the soup, sledding down the mudslide?

Only time will tell. Perhaps the brief but heavies will wait until new weeds are grown in. Perhaps there will be no wild winds. Perhaps parents will be able to prevent ALL their children from ALL their mischief.

Stranger things have happened.
Haven't they?

Reading "It". and Writing.

I am reading "It" by Stephen King.

Yes, I know I'm thirty years or so later than the rest of the world, but this is the first time the book has made its way to me. That's how I do most of my reading. The books come to me. Sometimes it takes thirty years.

It's a difficult read. Numerous characters, each with a back story, as well as the current story. Keeping the reader engaged on all levels. Each character fits into the story the way a jigsaw puzzle fits together. You cant leave one out or make two into one -- the picture will not be complete; will not be what it is supposed to be. Each back story fits into each character in the same way; with/for the same reasons. Putting it all together, connecting sky to trees to earth, is an epic job.

It's done well. This reader is engaged with all phases of the story (and story telling.) I just wish it would move a little faster!

Someone once said of one of my stories, that it would work better as a movie or program. I wasn't sure what she meant at the time, but reading this novel has enlightened me. I now know what she meant.
This novel would work much better as a visual (or even audio) program. The characters can and do and will carry the story.
But the story must be told, with words, and words can be bulky.

"Show, don't tell" is (cliched) advice given to writers, but the fact is you cant do storytelling without the telling. You have to tell the words that show the actions. Or the settings, or the motives. You get more than a handful (literally) of characters in on the action, and the telling of their roles slows down the general forward thrust of the story.

My forementioned story has many of the same components as this one. Many characters . Back stories. Back stories unknown to the others. Yes, it may well work better as an acted-out story, rather than a told one.

But someone has to tell the actors, don't they?

I am heartened by this discovery. That my story (different genre; different style; different audience) has so many same attributes as a story told by a master storyteller. My story has faults that are shared by a story told by the King.

I couldn't ask for much more than that.

In the Dark -- and a Little Light.

I believe in Karma. I really do. The things you do reflect.

That said, I don't understand how it works at all. At least not in my life.
In my life, I think Karma may be allergic to electricity.

Back in December/January, someone from work found herself homeless. I thought about it for a while. She wasn't a close friend, and I didn't know her that well, but I have an extra (well, rarely used) room, and I've been homeless. So I offered the room to her if she needed it.
It was the right thing to do.
(She accepted.)

And, in January, during one of the few really cold spells this winter, I ended up with my electric shut off.
My payments hadn't been processed by the company. They had been made. I suspect, now, that the December payment somehow got lost in the mail. It didn't show up at Duke Energy until I began making inquiries about it.  The January payment simply crossed in the mail with the notices.

Okay, that gets straightened out I get electricity back for my birthday, HOORAY!

All is well.

Until April.
I get a whopping 1117.05 electric bill. I must pay -- MUST pay --760.61 of this bill.
Now my monthly income, after taxes, is, if I'm lucky, is 1000 a month. and 450 of that is rent.
I have been getting by with no government assistance, because according to most agencies, I make too much money (before taxes) to qualify.

I try HEAP.

There are a couple problems there. One, the emergency help program ended March 31, so there's no help there. Second, to get on PIPP, I have to have a history of no defaults on any PIPP program, ever, with any provider.

I was on PIPP when I abruptly lost my income and had exactly no income (other than a job for two weeks, trading, and selling stuff) for eight months. Yeah, I'm sure I paid all my bills in full and on time then. Yeah, yeah, and yeppers.

Back to this month.
I contacted a couple of churches. One will pay 100 if I come up with the rest. Me, not other agencies or charities. They were very specific about that.

The frustrating thing about this incidence is that I checked my bank balance one day and there was a balance showing that I read as 4000. (It was actually 40,000.)
I immediately went in the bank and told them, this is NOT my balance.
It was the right thing to do.
(I sure could have used that 4000. I could have paid my electric bill in full.)

And so I face another electric shut off. Yeah, Karma. Yay Karma.

I'll just have to deal with it.

All the other aspects of my life are coming together fairly well. Rent, health care, that kind of thing being taken care of in a timely manner.
DirecTV is being troublesome. Taking money from my account, I get it returned, they tell a fairy tale to the bank and the bank takes the money back out. Just wondering how many times I can go through this process, because they have lawyers on staff no doubt to create their lies. I couldn't get a lawyer to write a letter for a >200 fee. It stinks.

But.like the electric, I am just going to have to deal with it as it comes along.

And I will.

It's the right thing to do.

Blown Away. -- NOT

No one is going to tell me there wasn't a tornado connected with this storm. I woke up to my trailer rocking as if on rockers like a cradle. Then it levitated just a few seconds (think hill-hopping). THEN all hell broke loose. Wind, hail, driving rain, first this direction, then that. I couldn't see next door. I couldn't see Tammy's. I heard aluminum. In between roaring winds. Not a freight train, but close enough to a team of mack trucks coming in off 68.Through the yard.



Texted Tammy to get in her shower. she was texting me to get in my bathtub. Or something. Her door steps were knocked over. My glider is knocked over. One swing on the kids "swing set" is twisted and wrapped around bars. THe little slide is almost to my back porch. small toys scattered everywhere.

next door

Our two trailers suffered little damage that we can see. Some loose or collapsed skirting.

 the fence that isnt there

Trailer on the other side had siding peeled off, top and bottom. The six foot privacy fence between yards on 68 and trailer park is flattened. Trees are broken everywhere.


12 hours later we are still out of power.

We have been so very lucky.

I AM a Writer

Last posting, I wondered about even calling myself a writer. I felt unproductive as a writer, and with that, I was losing a large part of my identity.

Well, life gave me quite a wake-up call on this issue.

I lost all my communication with the outside world. No phone, no computer. No tv.
I also ended up losing other stuff, like my electricity.

In part, this came about because I could not cope with the ups and downs of life when I was unable to sit and type and communicate through written word to the outside world.
Yes, friends and family, when you can't interact with them, are the outside world.

Oh, I could write things out by hand, make lists, cry into my soda pop. But it wasn't the same, wasn't effective without feedback. Without readers (listeners.) The solutions would come from me, the answers to my problems were in my hands, but without my readers, I was lost.

Sounds -- and feels -- like a writer to me.

Glad that is settled.

Am I A Writer?

I always have been.

But recently, I find it more and more difficult to do the actual physical act of writing. Holding a pen can cause cramping, typing causes a different pain, but neither is that bad. Five years ago, those little aches and pains wouldn't have stopped me. Three years ago, there would have been no problem with the problems.
Some days just sitting at the desk is fatiguing.

I haven't blogged.
I haven't written letters. (Something I love to do; always have, always will. Or so I once thought.)
Signing Christmas cards and addressing envelopes fatigued me beyond reason.

But I write in my mind at all times.
I reword and rework the structure of sentences I am considering writing.
I reorganize the order of paragraphs in planned blog entries for maximum (or minimal) impact.
I choose words that describe specifically.
Active verbs, and passive exposition for effect.

It's just so hard to sit and do the actual work!

Have I gotten lazy?
Do I just not care?
Am I more ill (weak, tired, senile, dying) than I know?

I have always dealt with the grievances and annoyances and, yes, the joys, of an overwhelming life by putting it into words. By putting it into words and sharing those words with my world at large.

The words are still there, and most of my mental energy goes into the composition and selection of the words, but it seems, somehow, to stop there. The words are in my head, and occasionally they will come out my mouth. (Not often)
But that is as far as it goes.

So can I still call myself a writer? Even though I do not actually write?

I have become a composer of unsung, unshared thoughts, feelings, ideas, and ideals.

No longer a mother to children.
No longer a wife.
No longer an eager energetic all-hours employee.
No longer a writer?

What and who then am I, and how do I find myself again, with all my identities in shreds?