Sonny was a Pekinese with a Lion’s heart inside a tiny ball of fur.
And my friend.
Sonny was our family dog when I was a child. He sat with me in the dark, nibbled on my fingers and licked away my tears. He chased away rats and ghosts. He loved unconditionally. He couldn’t’ abide stupidity. And would bite whomever I told him to.
How is your novel coming along?
Where have I been?
This past October I was sitting at a red light, near my doctor’s office, which I had just left. When our car was rear-ended. I was told by the police officer my car was drivable. It wasn’t. Oh, I made it home all right. Then it fell apart like a cartoon character. It was declared totalled by my insurance company, the frame looked like and accordion. I was told we were lucky.
Lots of pain, lots more physical troubles. Our savings for taxes went into the buying a used, 100,000-mile new car, new to us car.
***
I tend to growl a lot like my American shorthair cat, Sanosuki. We call him Sano or Suki, he grumbles and hides in the closet. If he would let me I would be in there with him.
***
I hope that all of you are well, happy- alive and breathing. Please put down your cell phones when you drive. Turn the insane things off. Notice the cars around you. Watch the trees, animals, people and all the fun things you will miss by being electronically connected. Check out the odd things people do in their cars when they think no one is watching.
***
This morning I decided to feed the birds off the deck, right outside the kitchen doors. There was one major problem. The ice, rain, sleet, snow that fell on December 30…froze solid. I couldn’t open the door.
No, problem, right. I pulled on my boots, heavy coat, hat, gloves and muffler and walked outside like some two-year-old, stuck under a mountain of clothes. I was barely able to move my arms. I had the bread and birdseed wrapped in a piece of paper towel and carefully place in my side pocket. I grabbed my old ski poles and walked into the cold.
The blast of air that hit me had me ready to go back inside. (16 degrees Fahrenheit/ -8 degrees Celsius)
The sun was out and the air was clear and fresh. The snow was white, shining crystals of blue-grey and white. The taller grasses and wild foliage poked up a dried, frozen brown -beige, out of the layer of ice and snow. As I walked I didn’t crunch through the ice, I walked on top.
The deck was covered with three inches of ice and snow. I noticed something odd, the snow didn’t lie flat on the deck it was rounded. When I stepped on it I didn’t have a strong foothold. I had to slowly move up the deck holding tightly to the rail. This time, I was a child learning to walk hand over hand, unsteady worried about gravity. I never made it up to the kitchen door. I couldn’t move the frozen snow/ice off the steps. It was as if the snow, ice and wooden deck ‘were one’ and that was a force I didn’t want to slide on.
I removed the birdseed and shredded bread from my pocket. Reached through the slats placing it carefully on the rounded- sloped mound of ice.
From inside the house, my cats were waiting impatiently for the birds. They didn’t have to wait long. Sanosuki chirped, mewed, purred as he ran up and down the cat tower, excited and hopeful that one bird would come inside. He sat and watched as the bread and seed disappear.
I signed up for James Patterson’s online class called:
‘James Patterson Teaches Writing.’
I have been quiet, for the most part for the past few years, now I am trying to catch up with life, walking, reading, and learning.
Which takes me back to James Patterson’s online writing class. Lesson one I am told to take it further. To talk, write and pass on the fact that I am taking this class.
Great Marketing on his part! There is a book a favorite book about ideas from his advertising days at J. Walter Thompson, the book is called, The Act of Creation by Arthur Koestler. I found it online to read.
Here is that link:
I wrote a short piece on my Examiner page.
I have to find the examiner app and fix the twitter app.
I will be double checking the first lesson and reporting back here. The picture at the top of this post is one of my new kitties. He is a rescue cat a Russian Blue. We call him Enishi. A real sweetie!He loves to cuddle. He is a big talker and an unbelievable climber!
((≡^⚲͜^≡))
Bye for now!
Last year I moved my wordpress blog to here… Then stuff happened and I stopped posting.
What I mean as stuff, first my dog died-my mom got sick and she died. Anytime I thought of writing -something came up -or the phone rang. My list of things to do got longer and harder to complete.
Well,… that needs to end.
I feel better when I write, except when I sit to long, so…I grabbed my PC and stood at a tall table. My cats weren’t to happy, they tried to knock it down. They needed something else to watch, so I sprinkled bird seed on the deck.
It worked!
I joined ‘Writers Village University’ and took a course.
I signed up for a couple of online classes at UCF.
The more I searched out how to write. The less I wrote. 🙁
What I did learn- Searching out stuff stops me from writing.- And writing isn’t editing and editing isn’t writing.
To get writing done, I just need to ‘start writing’ and not worry about if the scenes are right, or if I used ‘the‘ fifty-thousand-times.
That part is ‘editing’.
And well, if I edit first, then I have an empty page and that isn’t my goal.
I am glad to finally write ‘words’ on ‘this’ page. Now, my goal is to post at least once a week.
I will edit the next post I write. This one, I typed out quickly, without editing afterwards. I am just thrilled to have it here.
And, I hope to take a trip around the net and see how everyone’s Blogs are doing.
In the meantime, check out my examiner pages. (^._.^)ﾉ
The founder and owner of, Men with Pens, James Chartrand, (her pen name) has a business writing course, Damn Fine Words, which is starting on September 3rd
She is also running a contest; it ends as the business-writing course begins on September 3rd.
Information on the contest:
Writing is important to me because … I ‘need’ to use the written word to make money. Luckily, for me the very act of writing makes me happy, because it is not generating any income.
At this point, I feel like I am writing something for school. You know, that dreaded paper that every teacher asks you to write. ‘How I spent my summer vacation…’
I have no idea where I am going with this, so I might as well ramble on.
Last year, my fifteen year old complained about how much homework she was getting in her English literature class. When I had her show me the offending material, I was amazed and jealous of all the tutoring she was getting, everything from how to write a plot and characterization, to the ability to read and discuss literature at a college level.
We talked about how well she understood the class and her only complaint was that some of her classmates were trying to get out of doing their own homework. They would use sibling’s old papers or even get their parents to do their homework.
“Wouldn’t it be great,” I said. “If the schools made parents take one class with their kids?”
Her answer was a silent glare. Teenagers can speak volumes without moving their mouths, and say absolutely nothing after talking for an hour.
“I would sign up in a heartbeat to take this class.” I said that aloud. She said nothing.
I took my high school years for granted. The classes were just something I had to get through on the way to life, not realizing that life was right in front of me, never behind never ahead, just now.
I never know when to shut up so I added. “My classes never had the content that yours have.”
Having an adult tell you that ‘your’ schoolwork is harder than theirs ever was, well, all the rolling eyes and heavy sighing let me know she was not taking it as a compliment.
Writing, for me, was something I wanted to do after I opened that first page of my mother’s encyclopedias, neatly placed, on a small bookcase in the living room. I remember asking who made the books.
The answer I got was, “A writer.”
I often wonder if I were told, salesman or bookbinder or even garbage man, would I have felt that tugging at my soul. Maybe it was God who whispered ‘Writer’ in my ear.
Let me try again.
Second question:
In order to take my writing to the next level, which would be marketing and ‘what-ever’ I am missing. I just know that I need to learn a completely new way of looking at my writing, and my life. Doing anything well is a progress, steps need to be taken, no jumping ahead I may miss something important. Learning the right steps helps keep me on the right track.
Earlier this year
*I posted another article on this contest here…WikiHook come by and read. 🙂
Anyone interested in trying out for a free class. Paste your link on the Men With Pens site. Do it soon! The contest ends on September 3rd.
Good Luck to all
Rainbow’s Edge
by Gerardine Baugh
Rain,
moments before had pounded the roof and quenched the needs of my garden.
As the rains slowed the setting sun slipped around the fast moving clouds.
Clouds
bluish-black tinged with yellow edges of gold,
bright,
quiet pillars of God’s rays mirrored inside those clouds painting a rainbow and exposing an invisible edge.
An edge of a planet that stays out of sight,
except when the earth drinks from the sky,
soaking up color,
then spiraling back to the Earth.
Giving rise to songs as it appears,
shimmering,
within a semicircle of color and hope.
Then quietly disappears.
I saw Jingle’s ‘ Jingle Poetry @ Olive Garden Poetry Picnic Week 26,’ I was intrigued by the theme ‘Seven deadly sins,’ Jingle said, “Take a sin and study about it, then write what you think of it…”
I choose greed. Why? Well I really, really want stuff right now, stuff that I can’t afford, so greed seems fitting.
Greed is not just ‘wanting’ what someone has, but, the complete ownership.
Winds battled over and around the Old Oak tree pushing,
Pushing a Squirrel out of its den of Oak leaves, sticks and tuffs of grass and chicory
Flattening his body into the deeply furrowed bark, the Squirrel weary and old,
Old hollow branches, and deep set roots, holding tight against the winds
Light slipped around the fast moving clouds, snow falling high above turns
Turns to water and ice spears rain down hitting the Tree and Squirrel carelessly
Fields stretch-out and around the Squirrel and Oak Tree, winds press the prairie flat
Flattening the tallest milkweed pinning it to an uneven ground,
Then pulling out what it can and combing over the rest
“Rest if you can!” The winds mocked, ripping up and tossing pieces of dirt.
Seeds and human cast offs, controlled by the wind, the ground appears to be rolling
Rolling out with the same voracity that gale spun in with, the winds were moving on,
Seeds and berries were taken away from the Squirrel, the Tree lost topsoil inside the winds
“Winds can be harnessed,” muttered the Squirrel, “Use its power to spread seeds and light”
The tree laughed, “Greed won’t allow it! Greed is for one not all! Wind power profits are for everyone”
“Everyone can survive, save and flourish with wind power. Think about it little squirrel and ask yourself …
Is it Greed when the heavy winds blow away what can be used or eaten?
Is it Greed when a tiny rodent squirrels away food for winter?
Is it Greed when I, the mighty Oak, digs deep and drinks all I need?
Or, is it Greed when the fields are cemented over in the name of economic growth and profit,
“Profit? What is profit?” Asks the Squirrel,
“Money to line your nest.” answers the Tree,
The Squirrel’s eyes got big.
The Oak Tree laughed “You and I are not profitable.
The ground vibrated under the tree the squirrel looked out.
“Hold tight, old Tree, Greed just rolled in!”
A walking path is never even. That was the thought in my head this afternoon when I headed out through the garage. The winds were coming at me from the northwest, cold and strong. First thing I wanted to do was collect one large bag of trash from the pole barn, there seems to be a never ending supply of junk in that barn.
As I opened up the barn I kept talking out loud to myself, I was hoping that the skunk who lives around the barn would scurry away when it heard me coming.
I consider it a good outing when nothing furry tries to chase me down:-)
After I had one bag stuffed and tied off I looked off towards the back path, or what use to be the back path. My tractor had stopped working this summer, as well as the gas mower. So parts of my lawn /field grass were ankle to waist high, making my walk an arduous excursion. I still had the narrow path that Uriah had carved. I decided to take a walk, before deep snow erased that path.
I stopped my non-stop, keep-away-animal chatter as I hit the lowest part of the path. I followed a line though the grass then turned to the left and walked on the incline, sidestepping a section riddle with burrows.
I made a mental note to bring with a small saw or heavy clippers next time, and cut the invading Bog Willows away from the old path.
I continued on towards the east invisible fence line. I turned towards the north and a wave of sadness hit. I kept walking.
I was in an area where, years before, I had been charged by a forty pound raccoon. At that time I had three dogs with me, they all saved my life.
I stopped and listened. Winds blasted over the oldest Bog Willows and rustled the tops of the four to five foot dried grass , then blew past me.
“ I think I need to walk a different path …” I said that out loud.
Instantaneously, a buck stood up, not more than forty feet from where I was standing.
I can’t speak for the buck,..for me, that moment moved in slow motion.
I stopped breathing and froze! I was hoping that he wouldn’t notice me standing in front of him wearing a bright orange jacket, I closed my eyes ..I really wished that would make me disappear!
A male deer’s mating, or rutting season is around November. Bucks are attitude with pointy antlers. And I found myself standing too close to one. If he charged at me he could use those antlers or stomp on me, yes they do that! Ouch!
When the buck rose up from where he had been resting, he slowly turned in my direction. I could see the wind slightly ruffling his fur as it blew towards me, lucky for me I was down wind. He snorted as he stood up and again as he faced me. He stomped the ground, and raised his head up and smelled the air.
At this point I was trying to become a turtle and shrink into my coat.
I didn’t breath! I didn’t move, that is supposed to work right? Or it that only for bears?
After a minute he turned and took a couple of steps away, snorting indignantly. Then with three effortless jumps, he disapeared in the trees. I got an impression he had springs for legs.
It took me a couple of minutes to relax and head back to the house.
Note to self… Tomorrows walk will be taken in the open, empty farm field next door.
Male deer are called bucks, bulls, stags or harts. Female deer are called does, cows or hinds. Young deer are called fawns or calfs.~ http://www.veganpeace.com/animal_facts/Deer.htm
The sun slipped behind a dark cloud, and for a moment I felt
the gentle rain cry down. I closed my
eyes and listened to the large droplets patter across the dried leaves. I
opened my eyes and looked to the Bog Willows and four year old Maples whose
leaves were a deep gold and red.
In my mind I saw as the ghost of time replayed their planting: Uriah grabbing a sapling running off with a happy bounce, expecting, hoping I would chase him down. Zeus ran in a circle teasing Uriah with his favorite stuffed toy hanging from his mouth. Samson barked at the trees keeping real and imagined foes hidden in the trees.
Pain shimmered as reality stopped and slid around me like
the mists that form over the dew laden grass.
Maple leaves clapped in the reappearing blue sky and sunshine,
and a warm breeze drifted past.
I felt the ghosts of
my dogs move through the tall grass. I heard them panting as they ran, happily barking and playing between the trees, sounds that drifted from my memory into this warm October afternoon.
I fell to my knees as tears streamed down my face. I stroked Uriah’s thick fur gently as he lay panting. He looked up at me then looked away towards the trees. I felt we were both hearing the same echoes.
He drank from his water bowl. I whispered how happy I was to have known him
and what a good dog he had been.
He didn’t cry. I was the one who moaned as I pulled myself upright, leaning on my cane, he watched with a worried look and tried to stand.
I told Uriah I loved him so much, and it was time to run and
play with Samson and Zeus, and one day we will all walk together again.
I helped him into the house, where he fell asleep and never woke up.
When Uriah died tonight I thought of everyone here, and how much this blog kept me writing. I hope everyone is doing well.