I asked my children to describe my writing style. Perhaps I should have asked some total strangers who maybe stumbled across something by me on my blog or a friend’s Facebook page, my reactions were interesting, I guess. One said he didn’t realize I had a style, being sixteen and the subject of my little stories quite often, he is in denial that I write at all. Another one was pretending to be asleep so he didn’t have to give an opinion but he likes the written word and even with my blunders I think he approves of my work. The little ones who can read the paper love to see my picture but rarely get what I’m talking about, yeah, I know that’s hard to imagine. The best answer I got was “Well, you are not as funny as… maybe a stand up comedian, but you’re better than the obituaries.” I suppose I should be flattered and offer my honest respect for whoever it is who actually writes the obituaries but I thought about it for a few minutes and decided neither of those options are what I’m shooting for.
I make no claims as a writer’s writer. My stories are for readers who like the truth with a chuckle thrown in here and there. I am entertainment, on a good day; a nudge in the right direction, hopefully. I feel like I write to my friends whether I’ve met you yet or not. I am nothing special and I know it.
Sometimes funny things happen, sometimes I have to just laugh to keep from crying. I imagine the view of my life from above is a kaleidoscope of crazy, crazy colors, crazy people, and crazy events at an incredibly insane speed. I often tell young mothers who are struggling with day to day life with kids, work, school or whatever it is stretching them to their limits that it goes by in a blink. It is almost the truth.
Last weekend, I sat in my oldest daughter’s home in Virginia listening to her talk with her younger sister while we all watched THEIR children playing in the floor. For a second I had to remind myself who I was and what was happening. My grandchildren were crawling on the rug and taking toys from one another. It was surreal. I told them so. I can’t believe they are grown and have children of their own.
Last Christmas we had one little granddaughter. This year we have three grandchildren. If we continue to grow at this rate I will have to rent a circus tent to do Thanksgiving. The huge dining room of the famous Biltmore House in Asheville, NC has a table that seats 64. My second daughter saw it in a magazine and pointed it out to me. That’s what I’m picturing by the time all mine have families of their own. I hope I get a novel cranked out by then. I’ll need a best seller to feed them all.
I suppose it doesn’t matter what my writing style is, what matters, at least to me is being real, and getting it all down on paper because when I blink for the last time someone will have to write my obituary. I hope whoever it is will have something interesting to say and…
I hope it’s just a little bit funny.
Walking the Tight Rope in Clown Shoes with Angie B...
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Treehouse
With the coming of fall I have a new fascination with the great outdoors, particularly the treehouse we have in our wonderful play yard.
In case anyone doesn't know how the treehouse came to live with us, here's the Reader's Digest version.
We were new foster parents, with young children. We didn't have a swing or slide or anything like that for little kids to play on. We voiced a need to our church, people came...cleared the area, cut down trees. I got a message from Joe Simpkins; builder extrodinare that he was willing to help. I drew a "rough sketch" and gave it to Joe. He had his crew work on the structures for days....built beyond our wildest dreams, another friend gave us money for supplies and swings and a slide. My cousin contributed sod, Joe came back and built a fence and tahdah!!! We have a great play yard and right in the middle over the creek is the treehouse. By design it's just a deck...way up in the air, with a tree growing through it. It is perfect and beautiful and a place I can still climb to (in my advanced age). Today I sat up here and talked to friends on Facebook...yep, not only can I see the world as I know it go by but I also have the world wide web at my fingertips. Life is pretty good right now.
I'm thinking about installing a pulley with a basket so I can bring things up without having to hold on to them as I climb...no need to tempt my clumsiness. If I had free time I think this place would become my office...I think I could finish my novel up here. No use complaining though, I have the same amount of hours in a day as the next person, just have to learn to make better use of it...I'm thinking a nap would be great about now.
In case anyone doesn't know how the treehouse came to live with us, here's the Reader's Digest version.
We were new foster parents, with young children. We didn't have a swing or slide or anything like that for little kids to play on. We voiced a need to our church, people came...cleared the area, cut down trees. I got a message from Joe Simpkins; builder extrodinare that he was willing to help. I drew a "rough sketch" and gave it to Joe. He had his crew work on the structures for days....built beyond our wildest dreams, another friend gave us money for supplies and swings and a slide. My cousin contributed sod, Joe came back and built a fence and tahdah!!! We have a great play yard and right in the middle over the creek is the treehouse. By design it's just a deck...way up in the air, with a tree growing through it. It is perfect and beautiful and a place I can still climb to (in my advanced age). Today I sat up here and talked to friends on Facebook...yep, not only can I see the world as I know it go by but I also have the world wide web at my fingertips. Life is pretty good right now.
I'm thinking about installing a pulley with a basket so I can bring things up without having to hold on to them as I climb...no need to tempt my clumsiness. If I had free time I think this place would become my office...I think I could finish my novel up here. No use complaining though, I have the same amount of hours in a day as the next person, just have to learn to make better use of it...I'm thinking a nap would be great about now.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Ah, October 3rd and the weather is wonderful. I am sitting in a chair in the yard. My hands are kinda cold. It is a blessing to have just a tiny relief from the heat of this summer. I have mentioned before how I love fall. I am not a Halloween fan but I do love pumpkins and apples and dressing up. Last year Felicity announced that she was going to be a cupcake for Halloween. As any mom of such a cutie pie would do I got to work...I started Googling cupcake costumes and before I knew it was buying polar fleece and felt. I found some foam that was in a strip that looked a good bit like the cup part if the cupcake...it was even the right color! I attached the pink polar fleece and cut out flannel "sprinkles". I had to work with some ribbon to make suspenders to hold the cupcake to the kid but when all was adjusted it worked pretty well. I couldn't find any pictures of it although I'm sure we took some. We still have the costume if any little tike friends want to go as a cupcake this year. Lissy refused to let me chunk it.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
few pages of my work of fiction
If Bartley Copeland ever got in a tizzy about anything, nobody knew it. He was about the easiest man to get along with the world had seen since Jesus. He was friendly yet reserved, generous to a fault, he served on the school board, coached little league for years, held fund raisers for orphanages in Africa and gave to every cause known to man. He could not pass up the opportunity to contribute to any mission he ever heard of, he said it was personal. He took home strays, not animals, people. There was never any way of knowing who or how many would be eating at the Copeland‘s dinner table. His wife never said a word, she asked him once if he could give her a little notice, this was after he came home with his truck loaded with a bunch of church kids whose fifteen passenger van overheated on the interstate. They ate everything in the pantry that night, and what they didn‘t consume there was boxed up and sent with them to Mexico. Bartley loaded them back in his truck and took them to the auto shop to pick up their van. The young minister cried when Bartley paid the bill.
He was a man envied by men and admired by women. Everyone knew EmmaJean from way back too. She had not grown up in Opal Hills but something about it was born in her. She was probably as well liked as Bartley but for extremely different reasons. She was a never ending source of entertainment. The two of them were opposite in personality. No one ever accused her of being reserved. If she liked you it was obvious but if she loved you she might just knock you down with her enthusiasm. They may have been different from the start but they complimented each other like oil and vinegar.
Theirs was a marriage few understood but everyone wished they had.
This is their story~
He was a native to Opal Hills where the Copeland name was synonymous with big money. His great granddaddy invented some little part that proved valuable to NASA, they in turn bought the patent for a nice round sum. Granddaddy Copeland invested in plastics and the rest was history. The Copelands bought up the better part of an entire county and went about putting their wealth to work for them. Bartley didn’t enjoy hearing about his family history. He was something of a societal dropout in the sixties and felt the need to hitch-hike to California. His father sent the state troopers after him when they found out what he was attempting. They brought him back home and after a week of negotiations Jacob A. Copeland Jr, built his son a place he could call his own.
It was the nicest commune known to man.
He let Bartley “live off the land” in a collection of mobile homes, complete with redwood porches and the help of several hired caretakers. Bartley invited friends to come out and live on his communal farm in the middle of nowhere. It wasn’t California but it was close enough for Bartley. He painted peace signs on the barn and planted marijuana in the garden right next to the tomatoes. In all Bartley (or in reality, his dad) provided homes for twenty or more hippies in the couple of years he had his commune. But when Uncle Sam showed up at the Copeland’s big estate with a draft notice everyone else was given their walking papers. Jacob turned the commune into “Happy Acres Trailer Park”, an idea he had been throwing around anyway. There was nothing the Copeland money could do to prevent their youngest son from being shipped off to Vietnam. His mama cried and hoped her baby would come home alive, Jacob hoped he would come back a grown man. They both got their wishes.
When Bartley stepped off the plane in Atlanta on a balmy September afternoon there was an entourage to meet him. He smiled and looked embarrassed as he waved to his family and most of his hometown. He wondered if his daddy had given them all the day off and a day’s wages to come meet him. Of course he had, but Bartley’s safe return was cause for a holiday.
His brother Alan and his wife Cindy were there with their two girls. Jacob the third was there with his new girlfriend of the month. His younger sister , Maria brought a girlfriend from college. The little redhead caught his eye and for a minute he thought he knew her. Naturally, Willa Copeland was first to reach her baby and would not let him go. She cried and laughed and pulled a tissue out of her pocket then hugged him again, this continued with everyone around laughing along until she had to push him away to look at his face. She couldn’t help but notice he was different. He looked older, wiser, but sweeter at the same time. When he made his way to Maria he squeezed her tight and whispered, “I’ve missed you….who is the girl in the purple skirt?” Maria laughed and said, “She is YOUR match….you like her?” Bartley laughed, “Yeah, but do I know her?” Maria assured him he had never met anyone even close to that little fireball.
After the mob made it’s way back to Opal Hills there was a celebration in the park downtown. The women’s auxiliary held a picnic in honor of all the veterans of foreign wars with Bartley as the guest of honor. After a tour of duty in the jungles of Southeast Asia he was just glad to be anywhere. There was a time he thought he would never make it back to friendly soil. He was a changed person. He went away a spoiled boy and came home thankful to God for the privilege to live. He loved everything about his home. He closed his eyes and just breathed deep. He loved the smell of the hot pavement, the kudzu blooms behind the courthouse, the chicken frying at the Chick-n- Shack. He listened to the chatter and the music playing in the distance. He was the happiest man alive. He never wanted to leave Opal Hills again.
Maria and her friend pulled up in her new black Corvette. Bartley noticed the redhead again, this time with a warm smile. She smiled back and their eyes locked for just a second. EmmaJean looked away. Maria had changed into bellbottom jeans and a peasant top, EmmaJean still had on her purple skirt and a tie-dyed t-shirt with flip-flops from a discount store. It was clear this girl wore what she wanted, where she wanted. Bartley liked that. Maria introduced her friend to her brother. After she spoke her voice faded and she wandered down the street to where a snow cone stand was being set up. She turned expecting EmmaJean to be following her but just shook her head when she saw the two of them. I knew it, she thought. Those two were meant for each other.
“So EmmaJean, how’d you link up with the likes of my little sister?” Bartley tried not to stare.
“We are suitemates at school” EmmaJean did not want to talk about Maria.
“So, how’d she wrangle you into coming to this shindig?” EmmaJean wanted to tell him the truth, she had seen a picture of him with Maria and thought he was the most beautiful boy she had ever seen.
“Oh, she said there’d be barbeque and beer, I thought that sounded fun”. She tried not to look in his eyes. She was sure he would read her mind.
“Well, I’m glad she could offer something interesting for you to do for a couple of days.” There it was again, that smile he saw when he first noticed her. The wind lifted her cotton skirt and it floated up just a little. Bartley couldn’t help but notice her legs, she looked really athletic but was a tiny little thing. She smelled like Lavender. Bartley decided then and there he loved Lavender.
He was a man envied by men and admired by women. Everyone knew EmmaJean from way back too. She had not grown up in Opal Hills but something about it was born in her. She was probably as well liked as Bartley but for extremely different reasons. She was a never ending source of entertainment. The two of them were opposite in personality. No one ever accused her of being reserved. If she liked you it was obvious but if she loved you she might just knock you down with her enthusiasm. They may have been different from the start but they complimented each other like oil and vinegar.
Theirs was a marriage few understood but everyone wished they had.
This is their story~
He was a native to Opal Hills where the Copeland name was synonymous with big money. His great granddaddy invented some little part that proved valuable to NASA, they in turn bought the patent for a nice round sum. Granddaddy Copeland invested in plastics and the rest was history. The Copelands bought up the better part of an entire county and went about putting their wealth to work for them. Bartley didn’t enjoy hearing about his family history. He was something of a societal dropout in the sixties and felt the need to hitch-hike to California. His father sent the state troopers after him when they found out what he was attempting. They brought him back home and after a week of negotiations Jacob A. Copeland Jr, built his son a place he could call his own.
It was the nicest commune known to man.
He let Bartley “live off the land” in a collection of mobile homes, complete with redwood porches and the help of several hired caretakers. Bartley invited friends to come out and live on his communal farm in the middle of nowhere. It wasn’t California but it was close enough for Bartley. He painted peace signs on the barn and planted marijuana in the garden right next to the tomatoes. In all Bartley (or in reality, his dad) provided homes for twenty or more hippies in the couple of years he had his commune. But when Uncle Sam showed up at the Copeland’s big estate with a draft notice everyone else was given their walking papers. Jacob turned the commune into “Happy Acres Trailer Park”, an idea he had been throwing around anyway. There was nothing the Copeland money could do to prevent their youngest son from being shipped off to Vietnam. His mama cried and hoped her baby would come home alive, Jacob hoped he would come back a grown man. They both got their wishes.
When Bartley stepped off the plane in Atlanta on a balmy September afternoon there was an entourage to meet him. He smiled and looked embarrassed as he waved to his family and most of his hometown. He wondered if his daddy had given them all the day off and a day’s wages to come meet him. Of course he had, but Bartley’s safe return was cause for a holiday.
His brother Alan and his wife Cindy were there with their two girls. Jacob the third was there with his new girlfriend of the month. His younger sister , Maria brought a girlfriend from college. The little redhead caught his eye and for a minute he thought he knew her. Naturally, Willa Copeland was first to reach her baby and would not let him go. She cried and laughed and pulled a tissue out of her pocket then hugged him again, this continued with everyone around laughing along until she had to push him away to look at his face. She couldn’t help but notice he was different. He looked older, wiser, but sweeter at the same time. When he made his way to Maria he squeezed her tight and whispered, “I’ve missed you….who is the girl in the purple skirt?” Maria laughed and said, “She is YOUR match….you like her?” Bartley laughed, “Yeah, but do I know her?” Maria assured him he had never met anyone even close to that little fireball.
After the mob made it’s way back to Opal Hills there was a celebration in the park downtown. The women’s auxiliary held a picnic in honor of all the veterans of foreign wars with Bartley as the guest of honor. After a tour of duty in the jungles of Southeast Asia he was just glad to be anywhere. There was a time he thought he would never make it back to friendly soil. He was a changed person. He went away a spoiled boy and came home thankful to God for the privilege to live. He loved everything about his home. He closed his eyes and just breathed deep. He loved the smell of the hot pavement, the kudzu blooms behind the courthouse, the chicken frying at the Chick-n- Shack. He listened to the chatter and the music playing in the distance. He was the happiest man alive. He never wanted to leave Opal Hills again.
Maria and her friend pulled up in her new black Corvette. Bartley noticed the redhead again, this time with a warm smile. She smiled back and their eyes locked for just a second. EmmaJean looked away. Maria had changed into bellbottom jeans and a peasant top, EmmaJean still had on her purple skirt and a tie-dyed t-shirt with flip-flops from a discount store. It was clear this girl wore what she wanted, where she wanted. Bartley liked that. Maria introduced her friend to her brother. After she spoke her voice faded and she wandered down the street to where a snow cone stand was being set up. She turned expecting EmmaJean to be following her but just shook her head when she saw the two of them. I knew it, she thought. Those two were meant for each other.
“So EmmaJean, how’d you link up with the likes of my little sister?” Bartley tried not to stare.
“We are suitemates at school” EmmaJean did not want to talk about Maria.
“So, how’d she wrangle you into coming to this shindig?” EmmaJean wanted to tell him the truth, she had seen a picture of him with Maria and thought he was the most beautiful boy she had ever seen.
“Oh, she said there’d be barbeque and beer, I thought that sounded fun”. She tried not to look in his eyes. She was sure he would read her mind.
“Well, I’m glad she could offer something interesting for you to do for a couple of days.” There it was again, that smile he saw when he first noticed her. The wind lifted her cotton skirt and it floated up just a little. Bartley couldn’t help but notice her legs, she looked really athletic but was a tiny little thing. She smelled like Lavender. Bartley decided then and there he loved Lavender.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Today was a mix of rain and sun. We only got out to get ice cream. The girls and I made collages out of magazines and poster board. It was pretty fun. Elle stayed at it for a long time. She cut out tiny little things. We made a mess but what's new about that? Tomorrow, I am going to attempt to make charm bracelets using crochet! We saw something like it while we were cutting out pictures and words from the magazines. I will try to post pictures later.
Friday, August 27, 2010
I am in a mood....a bad one. I was accused of saying something that I did not mean....or maybe I should say I was accused of "implying" something I did not mean.
Why are humans so complicated?
I feel like Harper Lee has the right idea sometimes. It is hard to have your feelings out there, to have an outspoken personality, to root for the underdog and be misunderstood.
I feel that the person who insisted that I "implied" something was really the person in the wrong. I of course, being the known hot-head I feel that I should apologize...but, I was taken totally off guard and then snapped at in front of a bunch of other people. I think the person in question thought I was calling him a liar, when in fact I was not. By saying he was sure I implied what he thought I did he was calling me one.
Now, isn't that nice.
I don't know how to fix this...I supposed I could write it all down and mail it.
But, would it matter?
I am tired.
I have a headache.
If this person only knew I have defended him before to people who think he is smug or cold. I know these things are not true! I always tell people he's a great guy with a hard job.
Today, he misunderstood me.
I get what they are saying.
He certainly seemed smug,
he was RIGHT in his own eyes and defended someone neither of us really know.
I'm sure if he had done anything different we would have witnessed the whole universe spin out of control.
Anyway, I'm not in a very good mood.
I suppose I'll get over it.
I just don't like being told that I meant something I absolutely did not.
Brooding isn't much fun either.
I thought blogging might help.
It didn't....I'm going into seclusion.
For the record...this is not about my husband.
Why are humans so complicated?
I feel like Harper Lee has the right idea sometimes. It is hard to have your feelings out there, to have an outspoken personality, to root for the underdog and be misunderstood.
I feel that the person who insisted that I "implied" something was really the person in the wrong. I of course, being the known hot-head I feel that I should apologize...but, I was taken totally off guard and then snapped at in front of a bunch of other people. I think the person in question thought I was calling him a liar, when in fact I was not. By saying he was sure I implied what he thought I did he was calling me one.
Now, isn't that nice.
I don't know how to fix this...I supposed I could write it all down and mail it.
But, would it matter?
I am tired.
I have a headache.
If this person only knew I have defended him before to people who think he is smug or cold. I know these things are not true! I always tell people he's a great guy with a hard job.
Today, he misunderstood me.
I get what they are saying.
He certainly seemed smug,
he was RIGHT in his own eyes and defended someone neither of us really know.
I'm sure if he had done anything different we would have witnessed the whole universe spin out of control.
Anyway, I'm not in a very good mood.
I suppose I'll get over it.
I just don't like being told that I meant something I absolutely did not.
Brooding isn't much fun either.
I thought blogging might help.
It didn't....I'm going into seclusion.
For the record...this is not about my husband.
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