What was I thinking? Oh, yeah, I didn't let myself think before I did it or I would have chickened out big time. What is it I've done, you ask? I started reading my rough draft from November to the fifth and sixth grade classes here at the school. The response has been a writer's dream, but now I'm worried I won't get to finish reading it to them. I may get lynched!
Seriously, though, the kids are amazingly wonderful and buy me to keep reading. It really is a dream the overall response I've gotten.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
Selfishness
I'm writing this from the elementary school today, where I'm volunteering in the library. I do this a couple of times a week, give or take. During the book fair, I'm here pretty much all day, all week. Two weeks ago COSI on Wheels came to our school and I volunteered at that as well. Every to often someone comments on how much I do. Something along the lines of "bless you for giving so much of your time" or something like that. (By the way, I know at least a couple of folks who volunteer far more time to things than I do, although it's not necessarily sometime like time at a school or nursing home.)
I appreciate those comments, although they get a little embarassing. You see, I'm totally selfish about volunteering. I love my time at the school more than I can find words to describe. I AM blessed. It's a fabulous "job". Every smile. Every hug. The looks of excited expectation for a good story well read when the kids come in for library time. Finding that book that has even the more fidgity of kids sitting still in rapt attention. Being told that I'm their favorite teacher. (I love that one!) I get paid so very well and gobble it up greedily, coming back every week for still more. Honestly, I'm not really giving anything up by being here and I'm getting so very much.
There are other places I could volunteer. I'm sure my time could be well spent working with favorite causes, stuffing envelopes. However, I don't think I'd enjoy them as much as this. Seeing these kids when the world opens up before them thanks to a book, or story, or even a personal anectdote. Taking the time to listen to their stories and worries and truimphs. Letting them know I see them as individuals and that I value them. My time is well spent and I am, indeed, very blessed. I can't think of a better way to spend my time than here at the elementary school.
I appreciate those comments, although they get a little embarassing. You see, I'm totally selfish about volunteering. I love my time at the school more than I can find words to describe. I AM blessed. It's a fabulous "job". Every smile. Every hug. The looks of excited expectation for a good story well read when the kids come in for library time. Finding that book that has even the more fidgity of kids sitting still in rapt attention. Being told that I'm their favorite teacher. (I love that one!) I get paid so very well and gobble it up greedily, coming back every week for still more. Honestly, I'm not really giving anything up by being here and I'm getting so very much.
There are other places I could volunteer. I'm sure my time could be well spent working with favorite causes, stuffing envelopes. However, I don't think I'd enjoy them as much as this. Seeing these kids when the world opens up before them thanks to a book, or story, or even a personal anectdote. Taking the time to listen to their stories and worries and truimphs. Letting them know I see them as individuals and that I value them. My time is well spent and I am, indeed, very blessed. I can't think of a better way to spend my time than here at the elementary school.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Some Tired Random Thoughts
I have decided to make it official - I hate February. Not only do I hate February, but the season of death that I was hoping left us when the calendar rolled around to January 1, didn't. No one close to me has passed away, but enough folks that I care about have suffered loss already this year. It can quite whenever it wants.
I do, however, like the snow, so I'm not complaining - too much - about the snow days the girls will have to make up. it's been beautiful. (Some photos have been uploaded to my Facebook profile.:)
What's up with the reading list? Yes, that list to my right. A friend from NaNo tries to read 100 books a year and I'm playing along. I thought this would be a fun way to keep track of what and how many I've read. It's been fun so far.
Okay, I think it's now time for Melinda to go to bed. I'll try to make the next posting have a little more substance.
Night all!
I do, however, like the snow, so I'm not complaining - too much - about the snow days the girls will have to make up. it's been beautiful. (Some photos have been uploaded to my Facebook profile.:)
What's up with the reading list? Yes, that list to my right. A friend from NaNo tries to read 100 books a year and I'm playing along. I thought this would be a fun way to keep track of what and how many I've read. It's been fun so far.
Okay, I think it's now time for Melinda to go to bed. I'll try to make the next posting have a little more substance.
Night all!
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Oh Dear!
Almost three months since I've written anything on here, let alone posted some fiction. I'll try to post the end of "Divine Visions" over the weekend, really I will. And next year? I'm already planning to just take January off as much as possible. Between the work/stress/creating of November and December, I'm pretty much a mental zombie by January and shut down regardless. It's been that way the past two years, so I may as well plan for it. I did win NaNo this year again though, while sick. And I got to enjoy seeing some area winners cross that finish line for the first time as well. It was a heady month.
In the meantime, I've been promising a friend that I'd write up the following recipe for the most heavenly black bean soup. It'll warm you to your toes with its tastiness. And, it's vegetarian!
Heavenly Black Bean Soup
4 cans black beans, rinsed
2 carrots, sliced
1 stalk celery, sliced
3/4 c. button mushrooms, sliced and then loosely chopped
2 tbsp. preserved garlic in oil, heaping
1 packet dried onion soup mix
Toss it all into the slow cooker with about 4 cans worth of water, more or less, and let cook for at least 4 hours. Enjoy.
Yep, pretty easy. You could probably do it on the stove as well and just let it simmer for at least an hour. If you need to cut the amounts, try for a ratio of about 1/2 black beans to 1/2 veggies. This served six people, although a couple of us didn't eat that much for various reasons.
In the meantime, I've been promising a friend that I'd write up the following recipe for the most heavenly black bean soup. It'll warm you to your toes with its tastiness. And, it's vegetarian!
Heavenly Black Bean Soup
4 cans black beans, rinsed
2 carrots, sliced
1 stalk celery, sliced
3/4 c. button mushrooms, sliced and then loosely chopped
2 tbsp. preserved garlic in oil, heaping
1 packet dried onion soup mix
Toss it all into the slow cooker with about 4 cans worth of water, more or less, and let cook for at least 4 hours. Enjoy.
Yep, pretty easy. You could probably do it on the stove as well and just let it simmer for at least an hour. If you need to cut the amounts, try for a ratio of about 1/2 black beans to 1/2 veggies. This served six people, although a couple of us didn't eat that much for various reasons.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Friday Fiction - Divine Visions, part two
I can't type much right now. Too busy with 2009's NaNoWriMo. Finally broke 18000 words tonight and it's time for bed.
Enjoy the story!
------------------------------------
*********
Days later, good Jonathan was performing his usual street ministry. A well-dressed businessman had paused to talk. Brittleby was expounding the need for more gentlemen to become involved in what was happening around them, on the human level. “The Word of God isn’t only for the poor.” That’s when he noticed her, standing across the street watching him.
As Brittleby’s face drained of color and his chest tightened, the businessman asked if he needed assistance. An ambulance, perhaps? He waved the man off, claiming he’d not eaten yet that day, and withdrew to the coffee shop behind them.
Once seated, with a strong, dark cup before him, he chanced looking across the street again. There stood Meg all right - long blonde hair, voluptuous body. He felt his blood stir again at the sight of her, before he caught himself. Chastisingly he muttered to himself, “ Meg’s dead. Remember? You killed her. Drowned her in the bathtub.” He raised his head to stare defiantly back at her vision. She was gone.
*********
As the month passed, Brittleby got used to seeing Meg’s face staring at him from off the street. He usually responded, after the initial paleness passed, but simply turning his head and looking elsewhere. Seems this wasn’t the appropriate method for dealing with the problem. Meg Saunders had no intention of simply disappearing from Jonathan’s life. She started showing up at the soup kitchen as well.
The first night it happened, our good Father was busy handing out bread to the indigent. He looked up, and there she was, only three people back in the line. Dropping the platter to the floor with a loud clatter, Brittleby joined it. Collapsing on the spot. While someone ran off to call 911, another helped him to a nearby chair, loosening the top buttons of his shirt collar as well. Eventually recovering his composure, he looked around for her, only to see a toothless old man standing where she’d been just a moment ago. Where had the man come from? Brittleby was sure he’d not been there earlier....
The volunteer staff insisted he go to the emergency room “just in case.” While an EKG showed some elevated heart activity, the doctor on duty assured him all was fine. However, he might want to get a routine physical just in case and especially if the good preacher was suffering these weak spells on a regular basis. The community would suffer terribly if something happened to a man like Jonathan Brittleby.
*********
Apparently, she’d learned the value of the shock-factor, for her next appearance was in his home. In the john to be exact. Meg stood behind him as he relieved himself, effortlessly watching over his shoulder. And he was sure she had been smirking.
Finishing up, he sank down onto the toilet, crossing himself. He was being haunted! The silly tart actually thought she could haunt him. He began giggling at the notion. The giggles progressed to a hearty chuckle and the next thing he knew, tears were streaming down his face as his laughter flew out of control.
Enjoy the story!
------------------------------------
*********
Days later, good Jonathan was performing his usual street ministry. A well-dressed businessman had paused to talk. Brittleby was expounding the need for more gentlemen to become involved in what was happening around them, on the human level. “The Word of God isn’t only for the poor.” That’s when he noticed her, standing across the street watching him.
As Brittleby’s face drained of color and his chest tightened, the businessman asked if he needed assistance. An ambulance, perhaps? He waved the man off, claiming he’d not eaten yet that day, and withdrew to the coffee shop behind them.
Once seated, with a strong, dark cup before him, he chanced looking across the street again. There stood Meg all right - long blonde hair, voluptuous body. He felt his blood stir again at the sight of her, before he caught himself. Chastisingly he muttered to himself, “ Meg’s dead. Remember? You killed her. Drowned her in the bathtub.” He raised his head to stare defiantly back at her vision. She was gone.
*********
As the month passed, Brittleby got used to seeing Meg’s face staring at him from off the street. He usually responded, after the initial paleness passed, but simply turning his head and looking elsewhere. Seems this wasn’t the appropriate method for dealing with the problem. Meg Saunders had no intention of simply disappearing from Jonathan’s life. She started showing up at the soup kitchen as well.
The first night it happened, our good Father was busy handing out bread to the indigent. He looked up, and there she was, only three people back in the line. Dropping the platter to the floor with a loud clatter, Brittleby joined it. Collapsing on the spot. While someone ran off to call 911, another helped him to a nearby chair, loosening the top buttons of his shirt collar as well. Eventually recovering his composure, he looked around for her, only to see a toothless old man standing where she’d been just a moment ago. Where had the man come from? Brittleby was sure he’d not been there earlier....
The volunteer staff insisted he go to the emergency room “just in case.” While an EKG showed some elevated heart activity, the doctor on duty assured him all was fine. However, he might want to get a routine physical just in case and especially if the good preacher was suffering these weak spells on a regular basis. The community would suffer terribly if something happened to a man like Jonathan Brittleby.
*********
Apparently, she’d learned the value of the shock-factor, for her next appearance was in his home. In the john to be exact. Meg stood behind him as he relieved himself, effortlessly watching over his shoulder. And he was sure she had been smirking.
Finishing up, he sank down onto the toilet, crossing himself. He was being haunted! The silly tart actually thought she could haunt him. He began giggling at the notion. The giggles progressed to a hearty chuckle and the next thing he knew, tears were streaming down his face as his laughter flew out of control.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Thank You!
A big thank you for your service to all the veterans out there. Even when we aren't at war, it's still not necessarily easy being in the service. You give up so much of your own freedoms to help protect ours. Thank you for those sacrifices.
.
The photo above is of my father's headstone. It never fully sank in that he was indeed a veteran, of the Vietnam War. He never served in country, but was still in the military. And he was quite proud of that, even if we didn't discover it until after he was gone. I'm the very proud owner of his dog tags and his uniform pieces that he held onto all those years. I'm so proud of him.
.
I'm also very proud to be the step-father of a former Marine, the daughter-in-law of another Marine, and the granddaughter of at least to WWII Army vets. Then there's my step-brother and various dear, dear friends.
If you know a vet, tell 'em thanks, not just today but any day!
Friday, November 6, 2009
Friday Fiction - Divine Visions
I'm hping you enjoy this little ghost story. I had the most fun writing it.
Divine Visions
Jonathan Brittleby was a man of god. Just ask his parishioners. He could often be seen out ministering to the sick, downtrodden, and needy, seeking to bring them into the fold of God. Any given night might find him out on the streets of Ravenford, talking quietly with anyone who cared to stop and listen. And in his spare time, Father Brittleby helped organize and maintain the First Street Mission’s soup kitchen, feeding the community’s poor. Father Jonathan Brittleby was a real pillar of the Ravenford religious community all right.
One of his favorite projects was ministering to Meg Saunders. He spent at least three nights a week working with her, more if he could manage it. Meg was his refuge from the trials of saintly perfection. And then she had to go and get religion, ruining everything. The minute Meg found God, she began questioning her all-too-physical relationship with the good brother. And then, adding insult to injury, she threatened to “tell all” in one public confession of sin.
So he did the only thing a righteous man could. He killed her. Drowned her actually. Couldn’t have the little bitch blabbering things the public didn’t need to know. He did it one night when they were together, soaking in that old claw-footed bathtub. Meg brought the subject up again and he’d just shoved her under, holding her there while dispassionately watching her struggle.
Afterwards, Brittleby’d wrapped the body in a tarp and tossed it in the trunk with some cement blocks and rope. He headed out to Lenore State Park and dumped poor Meg in Pym Lake. Suitably weighted down, she’d make excellent fish food and take forever to find. The holy man grinned to himself and patted the wrapped corpse’s rump, “Consider it your baptism, Meg.” He continued, laughing at his private humor, “Hell, I’ll even say a few words as I send you off.” And thus was Meg buried.
Divine Visions
Jonathan Brittleby was a man of god. Just ask his parishioners. He could often be seen out ministering to the sick, downtrodden, and needy, seeking to bring them into the fold of God. Any given night might find him out on the streets of Ravenford, talking quietly with anyone who cared to stop and listen. And in his spare time, Father Brittleby helped organize and maintain the First Street Mission’s soup kitchen, feeding the community’s poor. Father Jonathan Brittleby was a real pillar of the Ravenford religious community all right.
One of his favorite projects was ministering to Meg Saunders. He spent at least three nights a week working with her, more if he could manage it. Meg was his refuge from the trials of saintly perfection. And then she had to go and get religion, ruining everything. The minute Meg found God, she began questioning her all-too-physical relationship with the good brother. And then, adding insult to injury, she threatened to “tell all” in one public confession of sin.
So he did the only thing a righteous man could. He killed her. Drowned her actually. Couldn’t have the little bitch blabbering things the public didn’t need to know. He did it one night when they were together, soaking in that old claw-footed bathtub. Meg brought the subject up again and he’d just shoved her under, holding her there while dispassionately watching her struggle.
Afterwards, Brittleby’d wrapped the body in a tarp and tossed it in the trunk with some cement blocks and rope. He headed out to Lenore State Park and dumped poor Meg in Pym Lake. Suitably weighted down, she’d make excellent fish food and take forever to find. The holy man grinned to himself and patted the wrapped corpse’s rump, “Consider it your baptism, Meg.” He continued, laughing at his private humor, “Hell, I’ll even say a few words as I send you off.” And thus was Meg buried.
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