Ready to Write

There's been a story simmering in my mind, all starting with Hailey's fairies.( http://otherdissed.blogspot.com/2013/04/finding-fairies.html ). Hailey's fairies and a line from a sometimes heard but never quite understood poem.
Funny, that. I still have no idea how the poem, or the line, fits into the story that is starting to take shape.

I thought at first it looked to be a post apocalyptic tale, not my favorite genre at all. Not my least favorite, but still...
Then it began to look like a Quest Fantasy of the sword-and-sorcery type. That makes more sense, considering it's about fairies, but also a little distressing. It's so cliche!

So, I've been letting the stories, and the visuals, stew in my mind, and it is -- finally -- reaching the point where the words are going to have to be released. At this point, the words are mostly description, and the action consists of someone squinching her eyes and looking beyond the immediate border of -- whatever.

I still have no idea what the story will be. The descriptions have elements of both a Quest and an Apocalypse. Perhaps it will be an apocalyptic quest tale. Those have been done, too.

Most tales told are some version of a quest tale. We (They) are all in search of something, whether it be treasure, true love, or peace of mind.

This storyteller is in quest of a story to tell.

And it will  come. Once the words begin flowing, they will pour out. They will pour, and pour until they overflow. And somewhere in that flash flood of random word associations and description, there will be the nugget of a story.

No, not a story.

THE story.
The story that is waiting for me, that is mine alone to tell.

I hope you're ready for it.

Oh No! FAT!

There's an obesity epidemic in the western world! Our overfed under-motivated sedentary lives are making us all fat! What can we do? What shall we do?

First, panic, and run screaming to buy up every diet book you can find and of course the must have "Lazy Person's Way to Exercise Without Doing Anything."

When reading and eating three or four lo-cal cakes instead of one (real) cake doesn't work, we can then go online and sign up and join in on mailing lists, guide blogs, support groups, "Your Diet Plan", and sit a little longer in yet another chair.

Next, go to the doctor and get pills that will make sure you exercise because you will have to run every time you need to go to the bathroom -- and that will be often!

Watch television programs like "The Biggest Loser."
Or even the race and survival shows and smirk at those who fail at feats when you can't tie your own shoes without panting. Not to mention the way that race to the toilet leaves you gasping.

Or, better yet, why don't we all quit pointing at other people, quit blaming this or that, quit eating super-size when large is more than enough.

Let's put down the phones and tablets, turn off the television and the computer, and go outside. Take a walk around the yard. (Maybe even push a mower instead of riding one while sitting on our fat asses.) If we have time to do it on a machine, we have time to do it for real.

Throwing worry and money at the obesity problem will not solve it.
Giving money away to publishers, to pharmaceuticals, to doctors, to manufacturers will not help.
If walking uphill is your exercise of choice, you can probably find one to walk up. The cost is nothing, the benefir is priceless. And the only people the process enriches is you and your loved ones.

No Child Left Behind -- unless They Don't Pay

Another Graduation Season is drawing to a close.

Another lot of students is finding out that their achievements, their attendance, their grades, and their test successes don't matter.

Students are being refused their diplomas on a regular basis, for a ridiculous array of reasons.

And people wonder why there are so many dropouts? They wonder why the 'children' can't finish anything?

Let's take a look at the news stories from the last few weeks.

One young lady didn't get to graduate because she put a feather on her tassel.
Another was banned from the ceremony because she could not be at an after school practice -- she was needed at home, some tedious excuse about a younger sister and a working parent.
Others have had their diplomas withheld because parents didn't pay the school fees, because of unreturned books, because there were charged lunches not paid up.

Universities and colleges have for years been withholding degrees because of unpaid tuition.
Then private schools got in on the act. What a great way to punish deserving children for their parents' failures! Why didn't someone think of that before?

Schools have a right to make rules for their ceremonies. The young lady with the feather -- she should abide by the dress code for the ceremony, or be absent from it. Her feather was a symbol or statement of her heritage -- nothing wrong with that, except that it wasn't allowed, and she knew it wasn't allowed. This was not the time and place for such symbolism.
She should have been omitted from the ceremony for her noncompliance. If she somehow insisted on being in the Grand Parade of Graduates, when it came time to call her name, her name could have been skipped. She could get her diploma in the mail next month.

But to not get her diploma at all? After she had met any and all other qualifications for receiving it? What is right about that?

The 'graduate' who didn't come to rehearsal because she had home duties? She, and others like her, should be congratulated and encouraged. Yes, there are others like her. They have jobs, and sometimes other schools to attend, as well as family commitments.
These students are our greatest successes. They are working, they are learning, they are part of a team (family, classmate, work crew, whatever.) They make commitments and they are committed.

So why are they being punished? How hard is it to schedule a rehearsal during regular school hours? Even then, some work program and post secondary students may not be able to attend.
Maybe that's why. If they can't attend because of something done through the school, the school doesn't have the power to refuse/deny. The only way to get away with punitive action is to make it the student's fault.

As for financial matters, why punish the student for the parental failures?  Does anyone in Academia really think that a non-paying parent is going to be impacted by the loss of a diploma? Is it going to affect the ability of the parent to attend a good college or get a higher paying job? Or any job at all?

The universities and colleges that have followed -- or perhaps started -- this policy should consider that they are more likely to get paid by someone who gets a JOB with their DEGREE. They are much less likely to be paid by someone who cannot find employment because of their UNFINISHED DEGREE.

Lower classmen who have seen their siblings, cousins, and friends treated in this manner have no respect for the process. It doesn't mean you are a good student. It doesn't mean you learned anything. It doesn't even mean you passed the meaningless tests.
It means that "They" will find some way to prevent you from getting what is yours, so why bother? Why try?
Drop out now before "they" can steal your victory.
Drop out now, before they punish you for having real life outside their walls.


"No Child Left Behind" was the motto for teaching to the test, for a generation or so of grading schools and rating teachers for things other than true education.

What it has evolved into, these days, is "No Child Left Behind" except those who can't pay and who can think.

Is there really anything new about that?

I Like Trees.

There are many visual delights, especially in rural living. Many people like to look at clouds, or rivers, or the reflections of clouds in rivers.

Me, I like to look at trees. Okay, I do enjoy looking more if there's water nearby, a nice reflective surface. That way I can see both sides of the tree.
I like their asymmetric symmetry.
I like trees that arrow into the air, pointing, thrusting skyward, ready to penetrate heaven itself.
I like trees that branch out in so many places it looks as if whole spread out hands have thrust themselves through the hard hard ground and are grasping at all the air and all the space they can find.
I like trees that grow into full, fluffy or bushy circles  so that they look like huge green lollipops.
I like trees that burst into bloom to greet the sun as it warms the air.
I like trees that say "good-bye for now; Farewell" with bright blasts of red and gold before they are wrapped in crystals of ice or snow.
I like  trees that stay green year round.

I just like trees.

Trees are strength.
Trees are growth.
Trees give, even when they die.
They shade us, they feed us, they cool us, they warm us.

Trees are always trees, but they are never the same.

What would our lives look like -- or at  -- without trees?

Mowing away

I complain a lot -- and I know it's a lot -- about the way my neighbors mow.
No, it's not the way; it is the frequency.

I don't want anyone to think that I don't appreciate, acknowledge, and value the well-kept lawn. I even get ashamed of ours when it isn't mowed, although I also like to watch the teeny-tiny wildflowers that work their way through the grass. Pinkish white, yellow, purple.
Delicate.
Beautiful.

I like to watch the birds, too. They really have a feast once the longer grass has been cut. I suppose that there must be more of it gone to seed and once it's cut the birdies can get at the seeds. They sure do like it for some reason! They make almost as much noise as the neighbor's lawnmowers.

If I had a mower I could use, I'd probably mow every day, too. I'd mow the front on Monday, the side on Tuesday, the other side Wednesday, and I'd split the back on the other two weekdays.

But I wouldn't mow the whole freaking lawn every other day! That does NOT equal a beautiful lawn.
In fact, the lawns in question were turning brown -- in APRIL! In OHIO!
Sounds like overkill to me.

But I have no grudge against the normal people who take satisfaction in a job well done. Or those whose goal is to beautify and brighten, and to create a resting place for the eyes.
To those yard workers and weed warriors, I say "Well done" and "Thank you." Your efforts are noticed and appreciated.
You may make me look bad, but your work is beautiful.

Mashed Potatoes: An adventure.

Am I an adventurous eater? I don't know. Most people would say no, because there are a lot of things I haven't eaten and don't want to try. Things like Chinese food (sounds like lots of bits and pieces. If I want leftovers I'll just eat leftovers. I also prefer  to be filled up by my meals, and rmor has it that doesn't happen with Chinese.

I don't like soy sauce or teriyaki or other Oriental seasonings, although I'm not always clear on the country of origin.

I just plain don't like seafood. I have yet to taste anything that does not overwhelmingly taste of vast anounts of stale salt water.

I don't eat Mexican food, either. It is way, way too spicy for me. Hot spicy. I've sampled this, while cooking, but not eaten as a meal or part of one. I don't like the ingredients.

I don't like  hot spices. I want to taste the food. I don't want my taste buds burnt out or overloaded to the point where they don't function. I want to enjoy the taste, to savor the flavor, and to be able to take in all that the food item has to offer.

If that makes me unadventurous, so be it.

I like food. I like to smell it, feel it, taste it, hear it, .and see it. Eating should be a sensual experience. Not all the senses will be used with every offering, of course. Mashed potatoes are pretty quiet.No crisp snap of the fresh potato. No crunch at the first -- or last -- bite.

But they can be cheesy, golden, salty, lightly garlic, smooth, lumpy, snowy white, steamy, dry, peppery, and even food-colored if you have a kid who will only eat green. 

Mashed potatoes are mundane and boring, but they sure can be jazzed up. 

That can be an adventure.

Seasonings and combined ingredients should enhance one another and especially the main ingredient. Too many people  and places do not use balance or moderation. jalapeno flavored should include the taste of jalapeno -- not taste like jalapeno and nothing else. 

So, if my adventures in eating aren't what you expect, I'm sorry.

But let me share with you my cheesy mashed, and maybe you will learn that true adventures start with the familiar.

They keep coming, and we can't stop it

The damn tornadoes, that's what I'm talking about. Out in Oklahoma, throughout the whole region, they just keep coming.
And there's not a damned thing anyone can do to stop them, or avoid them, or do anything but stand by helplessly while Mother Nature runs her vacuum.
Afterwards, yes, we CAN, and should, and DO rush in to help. It's what we'd hope for, were we the victims.
And we could indeed be the victims, anywhere, any time, any one of us.

Tornadoes are less a regional phenomenon than some disasters. Hurricanes hit shorelines, floods occur near rivers, mudslides are usually in hill country (slide implying gravity), forest fires happen in forests.
Tornadoes, like earthquakes, can happen anywhere.
Therefore, they can happen to you.

Now, they do have preferred playgrounds, like the Great Plains for tornadoes and the San Andreas in California, but they can happen anywhere.

The one advantage in the Plains is that usually one can see (if one is looking) from miles away and hopefully take shelter before the twister gets to you.

Last night, because of heavy rains, many, many people could not see because of the heavy rains and the preternatural darkness of the storm. Many, many people are today still shaking, still fearful, and still looking for loved ones. I hope that everyone locates one another, and that losses stay low. I wish that no one would die in these horrific storms, but that has already happened, and there's nothing I can do to change it.

I wish I could.

I haven't had a close encounter with a twister, although members of my family have. Heck, I have a brother in Kansas. My sister played tag with one last spring.(She won.)A long time ago, one collapsed my grandfather's barn. Then there was the Thanksgiving tornado, mid 90s. I went outside because it was so hot and humid, and heard the trains about a mile away, cane inside and said, "It's still and sticky, and I heard a train. Think we should hide?"
A tornado took down a garage and damaged some trees approximately a mile away.

I still shake at the memory.
The Menace that roars out of the night.
Out of the nowhere.

I can't help you, Oklahoma. Not in the preventive, sheltering, protecting ways you are so in need of.
I wish I could.
I will do what I can to help afterwards, but it will never be enough. It can never be enough.
And there's always going to be guilt that I can be so grateful it wasn't me or mine, and I feel bad about that, too.

Because I know it could have been.
May someday be.
It's good to know you will understand, if that time ever comes.

But for now, I think we would all like to put this into the past.

We are trying to help do just that.

dreaming and scheming -- again

So -- I'm back at it. Trying to figure out a way to fill my time and maybe my wallet, while I wait for the anonymous rich uncle to gift me enough money to sell my books which will all become runaway best sellers. I'm not to sure which will (not) happen first.
I think they are tied.

What I've been thinking is that if there was a venue -- a venue that didn't cost too much -- I could pay a monthly rental fee. Should be able to get a discounted rate, too, if I could do it that way.
Or I could partner with someone(s) also at odds with their current lifestyle and in need of flowing cash every now and then. Even so, we could do the monthly rental thing with its potential discount.

I (or we) could also sell used books online. I've looked at a couple of free make-your-own-websites. Weebly is the one that looks most interesting to me. But -- and this is a big but -- how do you make lists of books visually appealing?
One could take pictures, of course, but how long does it take for the eyes to tire of looking at pictures of books? Not long, for me, .and I am a book lover! There needs to be a something extra.

Then there's shipping. While I wouldn't mind counting shipping as a cost-of-doing-business, I'm not sure that's prudent. Either many small orders or one crazy huge heavy order could break the bank.
Business over.

Since I don't have a business, that's not really a concern -- yet.
Since there's no viable venue, there's no overwhelming concern about splitting the rent, either.

Besides the books, I'd like to offer used clothing as well. Not quite thrift shop quality, but too good to throw away. For now, I usually give them away, often to a local charity that jams them in with all their other donations. There's nothing wrong with that, of course, but I'd so like to see my granddaughter's outgrown clothes go to a good home. Silly of me, perhaps, but that's how I feel about some of the  garments and toys.

There are household items and knickknacks, too, although I have few of those.

I'd really like to sell handcrafted items, but my hands aren't too  crafty, and there's no money to buy things for resale.

Not yet, anyway.

Oh, but I can see it so well, in my mind. A front table and a side  table, boxes and or shelves of books, some type of clothes rack. The tables have white plastic tablecloths taped to them. A pedestal fan flutters the edges. Padded folding chairs for my fat behind to fall off of. Children looking at toys, people talking together.
Yeah, right. A talker-to-strangers I am not.
But I can be. I've never had too much of a problem speaking to customers as a server of sorts. (I may have problems after they have walked theirs stupid selves away, but I can be polite enough while face-to-face.)

Well, those are my maybe-babys for today. They aren't getting me anywhere -- not today. 

But, it's possible, someday in the future, if I keep dreaming and thinking, that these plots and plans will come to fruition.

It's even possible that the fruit will be good.

Sui-sides: My side

When I decide to die, it's not your fault. You are in no way responsible for my decision. It's MY decision.

When I choose to die, it won't be about you. I acknowledge that there will be a feeling that I didn't love you enough to live, and there will be a lot of wondering how could I do that to you. I say again, I can't say  often enough -- it's not about you.

I didn't love you enough?

First off, it is my great, great, overwhelming love for each and every one of you that has kept me going this long. Because I have loved you, I got up from my bed and cooked, and advised,  and even drove all over the countryside  because YOU NEEDED ME.
It is my love for you that keeps me trying.

My love for you has kept me going beyond all reason, beyond all sanity.

Sometimes, in the bad times, I resent that. I don't want held. I want free. Free to live my life  -- or NOT!

How could I do what, exactly, to you? End my life? Lay myself down to  a sleep where I won't have to go to the bathroom, or answer  the telephone, or do any of the many, many things that rob me of my rest, that steal peace from me?
How is that doing something to you? What makes you the star of my death?

I'm tired.
I'm sick.
I'm sick and tired.

I am also in pain. Mental, physical, emotional. Doesn't matter. I hurt.
I hurt, and you can't make that better, although  I know you want to.
I hurt, and healing is too hard. Another chore, another job, another effort.

It's not that you aren't worth  the effort -- you ARE.
It's just too hard, and it hurts too badly.

Finally.
I can't.
I just can't.

Not even you can make it worthwhile.

Give me rest.
Let me rest.

Tin Can Mountain

Lately, as I try to clean my cabinets and get rid of "stuff", I've been thinking about hoarding and the struggles we have with it, and why.
Some things that are saved are saved
 for sentimental reasons, or because they WILL be reused, eventually. Like the little outfit my daughters wore that my granddaughter wore out.Only a used play outfit, but the continuity meant a lot to me. I have the first gift my husband ever bought me -- a red pullover sweater. I have a very fancy (to me) dress that a friend bought for me when I lost enough weight to be able to wear it. I have another, similar dress that a different friend gave me when I had gained weight enough to be able to wear her cast-offs as she lost weight.
Neither dress will fit me now, and the older one is unlikely to EVER fit again.

That's one kind of saving.

Another kind is silly, and unhealthy. Like newspapers kept and reassembled and stacked by date because someone might need to know something that was in them. They weren't allowed to be used, or even reread after the first week or so, unless you were doing a school report for that date or something. The newspapers were kept in the kitchen. Not good. Bugs, and dust, and printer's ink and all that. Mice like paper, too. Not a good kind of saving.

My sister, at least one of them, saves butter bowls. Well, margarine bowls, or whipped 'topping' bowls of that nature. Ones with lids.
With strict discipline, I've avoided that trap. Mostly because I like bowls to have what they say they are in them. Hate butter bowls that are peas or gravy -- those items just don't spread well on toast.


No, my bete-noire is coffee cans. Metal, plastic -- it doesn't matter, although it is a tad easier to throw out the plastic ones. That labeling thing, again. I must have been traumatized once, trying to spread gravy on my toast! The plastic cans usually have labels as part of their design.
The paper can be peeled off the metal cans, and when that happens, there is nothing that can't be done with them. I mainly use them as canisters. Was always dissatisfied with store-bought canister sets -- you could only put a whole bag of anything (flour, sugar, corn meal) in one canister, because the others were smaller and smaller and smaller. Coffee cans are all the same size -- just like the packaging for the sugar, etc.  Other ingredients, such as nuts or chocolate chips or brown sugars, can be assigned to their own coffee can, with lid, still in their packages.

But, short of a professional bakery, or maybe a day-care facility, even I have run out of uses for the coffee cans. They can hold anything -- pots, plants, paints. They can be decorated -- that,s why they would be popular at day care -- but eventually they take up space.

So, if you know anyone who need an all purpose container, let me know.

I can give them away, just not throw them away.