Hubris, Egotism, or Whatever You'd like to Call It

Being a writer of lax morals, I do not write as often as I should. I probably don't take myself too seriously. Perhaps I don't feel that I am a true writer. Whatever the reason, shame on me!

Sometimes I don't feel I have anything of value to post, so why just write a few lines and hit enter? Most of the time, I forget about the blog, and do laundry instead (somewhere my values are a little skewed).

So this morning I was thinking I needed to post a blog, keep my name out there, and not disappoint my five followers (I think I'll throw a party when I reach double digits!). I tried to come up with a good subject, has anything happened to me that was note worthy? Not so much. Then I thought about the reasons behind blogging.

Why do we blog? I blog, as a writer, to try to keep my name whirling around the internet, and hope to generate interest in books I publish (Skewed, My Take on the World - available on Amazon). Other bloggers I know, have much more interesting things to say. They blog to share knowledge, and also to create interest in books they have published. But many blogs I have stumbled upon are written by ordinary people, about ordinary things; their ideas about almost everything.

Is this hubris? Do bloggers think that what we have to say is so riveting, so important, that the world needs to read it? Pretty ballsy if you ask me! Why would I take heed of a strangers tale on how to - raise my children, diet, clean my pantry, or stay married? What makes them a reliable source? Most blogs never say why the blogger should be a trusted font of information. Many blogs ramble on and on, never getting to the point, or missing it altogether. Yet these bloggers have followers, not double digit followers (as is my goal), but triple, or quadruple followers.

I can only imagine the size of these bloggers egos. "I write, and people follow." What a scary thought. I write to share my quirky ideas with those that care to follow. I don't want to lead my followers anywhere but toward laughter, or toward the occasional deep thought. I wish to entertain, and perhaps enrich a life by something I have written.

My ego is well in check, any positive ego stroking I receive from my blog is heartily stomped down my rejections from editors. No big head for me, however I will continue to post a blog, however infrequently it may be.

So friends and followers, thank you for your interest, and I my goal is to post more often, and to keep you entertained.

When I'm Gone

When I die, and yes, we can talk about this, you may say whatever you'd like to about me. You can call me  pushy, bossy, cold, and even a hey she wasn't all that bad, and I won't mind.


You can say I've died, gone to heaven, passed away, bit the big one, gone to the other side, and went to volunteer with the Lord. I'm taking my final nap, pushing up daisy's, feeding the worms, that I'm in a far better place. I could be taking a dirt nap, being a coffin filler, resting my eyes for good, and doing research about death for my next short story.

I might be checking out all those virgins I keep hearing about, seeing what all my friends and family that have gone on before me are doing. I could even just be dead.

But whatever you do, please do not say that I'm the late Liz. I'm never late now, and I don't want to start being late when I'm checking out the compost.

Why Did I Keep This?

Too hot outdoors to garden, or clean the shop, or fix stuff, or anything, so I stayed indoors. I had the clean up bug, so I started going through old files. Folders of pages torn out of magazines, scraps of paper with notes pertaining to something important - once.

I read, and wonder, just why I kept that particular piece? Sometimes it is a great craft idea, so I put the page aside, to go into the folder with all those other great craft ideas that I have been hanging onto for, oh, ten or more years. Retro! Odd notes from ideas that no longer make sense have me stumped. What does  "Write cards, do mailings, and ---indecipherable scribbles." mean? The paper has no date, the ink is not faded, but green, and the last time I used green pen was........?

Pages from garden magazines with ideas galore, date back to 2002. Printed pages from emails with useless facts and jokes are dated 1997. Toss those in the recycle pile. Old receipts tossed too, no longer able to use as a tax deduction, drat.

I shake my head as there is really no explanation for some of the stuff I'm finding. I did find a few things I had been looking for (months ago), and can now send a requested article to my mother-in-law (but, will she remember she wanted it?). A note from my hubby, goes in the keep pile, as do post cards from our son, mailed to us when he was in the Army, many, many years ago.

My husband says I keep way too much stuff, and I probably do. Why do I keep grade school papers? Out they go. Old love letters? Well, I think I'll keep those, have to have a little scandal for the kids to find. "Who was he?", but after reading a few, there is no scandal, but I can see the untapped passions of youth, hidden, just waiting for the right moment to blossom. Those letters are a definite keep, maybe even something for me to read in my old age, to revive that youthful exuberance.

Bag two is filled, and I have gone through my filling cabinets. Cleaned out, sorted, and refiled. Now I have room for more.

Nothing to Write About

I can't think of much to write about these days. I figure that it is the heat - 90 degrees plus, just too much for my brain to think and try to stay cool.

At least that is what I'm going to say. Looked through prompt books, read magazine articles, hoping for some inspiration. Nothing. Bring out the ever faithful word tiles, they always work. However, they must be on vacation. Not one bit of inspiration.

So now I'm trying to come up with some inspirational thing for a blog. Think, think, think. . . . .

Last night I was watching a show I don't normally watch, something actually pretty dumb, but it was more for background noise while I relaxed. Prat falls, and big ouch that has to hurt show. There were ads for other shows that I had missed viewing. Oh darn! LOL.

Not really a darn, but Oh! Thank heaven I missed it. "Dating Naked". Wow. . .

I read somewhere that in the early to mid 1980's there were no more than a dozen "Reality" TV shows. Now, there are more than 800. From junk yard make-overs, to hoarding. Tow your car, to fix it up. Cooking shows, well, there is a whole category just for those - dessert, deep frying, celebrity chef, long time family recipe versus chef extraordinaire. Naked dating, to polygamist families. Little people to how I lost 400 pounds. Addiction to rehab, and "Sex Sent Me To The ER".

John and Kate and their 8 - their TV show probably ruined their marriage, although I really think she was an A-One top notch bitch, and didn't blame him for seeing the light, and getting the heck out of Kate. (I must admit I watched all of 3 minutes of that one)

If a TV camera was in my home 24/7, what would happen? Would I change the way I do things? Put makeup on to cook breakfast at 4:00 a.m.? Put on the cocktail dress to vacuum? Whine about the dust on the floor? Probably not. My "Reality" show would probably be canceled before the second airing. While I do not think my life is boring, it certainly would not keep an audience captive. Sponsors would end up being whiskey companies, with a tag line of "Put some life into your life".

Reality life, is nothing like television, and I am sure today's young folks do not realize it. They compare what they watch for mind-numbing hours to their lives, and they don't measure up. So off to the tattoo parlor, get hooked on something, create drama, for the sake of drama. How can reality life compete with reality TV?

It can't, but I will take my reality life over the reality lives on TV any old day.

Well, it looks like I found something to write about. It may be that my art - writing, took a cue from TV. The reality shows are about nothing, so did I write about nothing, or did reality life trump reality TV?

Have A Good One

More often than not, a sales clerk, or someone who has helped me find something in a store will end our relationship with "Have a good one."

Now, I know they mean have a good day. Both words have just three letters, so it's not a matter of trying to shorten the length of time til departure, so what is it?

I could have a good buying experience, a good time at the check out counter, a good drive home. . .

If you think about it too much, which evidently I have, why stop at one? Why limit myself to a good one? I would rather have lots of good days, good meals, good whatevers.

The next time someone says have a good one, I'm going to ask them have a good what? That can then be fodder for my blog.

Oh, by the way, have a good one!

An Afternoon of Pleasure

I spent this afternoon putting a book together. Not my own, but a family book filled with reminiscences and photos. It was well written, and a joy to work on, getting to know the family, even though they are long gone. The photos are from the early 1900's, and are amazing, beautiful people, and farms.

I often edit, as a service of Lizard Leaf Publishing, and sometimes dread it. Poorly written prose, and grammatical errors make it difficult to continue with the project, but slog on I do.

Knowing the person who asked me to help compile this book, the editing portion of the task, I figured, would be easy. And it was.

Thank you to this author, who knows how to write, I spent an afternoon doing a pleasant task. An experience not often encountered in the publishing business.

A Man Invented It

Anything a woman uses, a man invented. Face it, zippers in the back of a dress? Yes, it can lead to passion, "Can you zip me up?" or the "I can't quite reach my zipper, can you undo it for me?". But come on, guys, you're not always around. Yes, there are women designers, some have even put the zippers on the side of the dress, but true to form, most zippers are on the back of the dress. Some traditions are just hard to break.

Women's restroom stalls. I get that businesses don't want to waste valuable merchandising space, or seating space on extra room in restrooms, but women sure could use it. With toilet paper dispensers sticking out into the stall, right above the toilet, there is little to no room to maneuver hands, elbows, and panty hose. A woman can't bend over to pull her hose up from the ankle to get rid of the wrinkles, no room to move. If a woman carries a purse, and there is no hook for it, then the purse is hung over the neck, making wiping difficult. Long skirt? Where does it go? No room to toss it over your shoulder without getting it all over the stall walls.Yuck! Just a few more inches all the way around, and women would be so much happier.

Vehicles. Even though I am a woman, I love to tinker on cars. If a bulb goes out, I'm on it. A new starter, I can do it. Change a tire, the radiator, you bet. However, I need way too many tools to accomplish what should be an easy job. Today, I needed to replace a tail light bulb. One would think that it would be a simple job. I opened the tailgate of my truck, looked at the screw heads, and went to get a torque head screwdriver. Easy. Tail light assembly removed, only to be met with a cover with four screws that needed to be removed before I could replace the bulb. Well, those just so happened to be phillips head screws. So, back to the tool box (this one is too big to go to the truck). Mission complete, and tools put away. It would have been so much faster if I had only needed one type of screwdriver.

Engine work is another story, some tools need to be metric, some not, some need to be only an eighth of an inch different, on the same part! What is the deal with that? I understand that one size won't do all, but whoever came up with the list of screws and bolts to be used had a screw loose of his own.

Do men need to use so many tools before they feel macho? Do they think if they use screws, and bolts with too many size differences women won't be able to figure it all out?

Dresses, hidden front zippers, or just stretchy fabric, problem solved. If women designed restrooms, there would be plenty of room to comfortably get the job done. If women planned cars, only a handful of tools would be needed. Men, figure it out.

Just let a woman take care of it.

Why Do You Write?

People often ask me why I write. Why poetry? The truth is I'm not sure why, but it is something that I must do, much like breathing. My mind whirls, and my fingers twitch to put the words on paper.

I have paper and pen everywhere. In the bathroom, the car, by my bed, in my garage. I have notebooks, large and small filled with words, some complete, others just the seeds for the idea has yet to grow. I have a lot of those. An overheard word, sentence, a funny reality takes a turn and becomes poetry.

Short stories, essays, blogs, those come into the picture too, but my forte is poetry. I don't adhere to the standard practices of iambic pentameter, or this should be here, because..... I just write. If I'm stuck, I pull out the good old word magnets - themed of course from vampire, booze, to cowboy poet, and haiku, and select at random words.

These words, with no conscious thinking on my part, become a poem. It just happens, I really have no control over the end result, however I do edit, and refine. But the direction the poem goes is its own. I may choose words from the Put Downs bag of magnets, and come up with a lovely poem. It flows, the words appear on the page without much work, although writing is hard work.

I get in the groove, quiet music in the background, no one around, the bird chirping and wind chimes whispering notes. I hear these things, but am really unaware of them, I am there, in the place where my mind goes, sometimes unbidden, to create. If I haven't written in several days, I feel like I have unfinished work to do - kind of like waking up at one a.m. wondering if you put the the washed clothes into the dryer. You get up and check; I get up and write.

My family is used to this, they say I get a funny look on my face when I get an idea that must be written down, or forgotten.

I am sure this explains nothing, especially to those who do not write. It is difficult, even for a writer, to express the need, the urgent swelling of the idea, that must, must be put onto paper. The old question of "If you were stranded on a desert island, what would you want with you?" is simple - something to write with, and something to write on.

I always keep my original scratchings. Backs of place mats, napkins, coffee cup heat wrappers, all have a spot in my files, tended to, caressed as ideas flow from pen to paper. I can only imagine what my children will think after I'm gone - Oh! here is the idea about the ....... I can only hope they enjoy reading my ramblings as much as I enjoy writing them.

I write because I must, that, is my answer.  

Help! I've turned into my (GASP) Mother!!!!!!!!!!

Yes, it's true. I started a sentence today with "When I was your age..."

It was a fun story, no lesson involved, just something to share, but I cringed, as did my granddaughter, at my utterance of "When I was your age." She even said "Oh, no!" She had just come in from feeding and watering the peafowl, and said how hot it was -maybe upper 80's, and I related that I had grown up in the Phoenix, AZ area, daily temperatures of 115 degrees, cooling down to a nice comfortable 110 degrees at night. All my friends had pools, and in a pinch, if no one was home, the local Howard Johnson Hotel that had a pool would let locals swim for only .50cents. What a deal. 

My friends and I would ride our bikes to the hotel, towels draped over the handlebars, shorts over our suits, and thongs (what are now called flip-flops). We'd park and lock our bikes, go thru the lobby, and head out to the pool. Chairs claimed with a toss of the towel, shorts and thongs, and without missing a step we dove into the cool, cool water. After cooling down, we'd sunbathe, swim, sunbathe, swim, then head home, cool and pink with the kiss of the sun, and our youthful joy.

Those were the days. No worries about kids swimming in a hotel pool without parental supervision, no worries about riding safely, we never wore helmets, and all survived. Such a peaceful time. We had a blast, trusted everyone, and everyone was kind. 

One summer my friends and I donned our backpacks, rode our bikes 5 miles (seemed a lot farther) to the Phoenix Zoo, walked around, ate lunches we had packed, fed the ducks, and elephants, then went on to the Hole in the Rock section of Papago Park, climbed and hiked.

Hole in the Rock at Papago Park, Phx. AZ








Next we went to the Wax Museum. After a full day, we rode our bikes back home. 

 What a day. So, "When I was your age" we rode our bike everywhere, enjoyed the outdoors - even in 115 degree weather. Kids these days are just wimps.

Pox on the Kindle

A pox on the kindle.
I love to read, and others I talk to, who also love reading, say they love the Kindle. "I have 150 books right here. I don't have to go anywhere for another read."
Well, pishaw. I always have at least 3 books with me, one in my purse, maybe two if I am near the end of the current read; books in the truck, suitcase, car. Lots and lots of books.

Today I just purchased two books, one published in 1896, the other, 1897. How exciting to hold a book of poetry in my hands, that was written, and published over 100 years ago. The deckle edged pages, yellow with age, spotted by finger oils, and food. An old piece of newspaper tucked between pages, brown with air exposure, has stained the pages with shadows of itself. Amazingly much of what was printed 100 years ago is still pertinent, poetry still rings true, political warnings are just as relevant today as they were back then, which to me, makes it all the scarier.

The love of the written word, to me, is something you fell when you turn the page, caress the cover, enjoy the flow and meanings of each sentence. That is part of the joy of reading, the tactile senses that are aroused. How can you achieve reading nirvana with a kindle? You can't. All you can do is read. I suppose that is OK, but why settle for just a read when so much more is out there?

Using a kindle (or other such device) is like using flickering pieces of orange, blue and red paper in your fireplace instead of a real fire. What's the point?

Eventually I may break down and get an electric reader, but I will always have real, hold in my hand books.

I, Am a Writer

I am a writer. Big deal. So I sit at the computer and type all day. Stare into nothing, frown, ponder write some more. I get paid nothing, get published rarely, and feel that my family, while they listen, don't really appreciate my poetry.

I am a writer. Big deal. I'll never be famous, unless sometime in the future, (far, far into the future) someone unearths a notebook, reads my poetry and ponderings, and declares them an invaluable find, one that sheds light onto how life was during this century. "A brilliant mind", "Truly remarkable", would be the raves of the critics.

So perhaps I will yet have the accolades due me, maybe not now, but sometime would be nice.

Coded Love Letter

A dear friend sent me a copy of a "Curious Love Letter" - it was filled with things far beyond love. (If you're curious about it, Google Copy of A Curious Love Letter)

After reading the explanation - The girl's father would read dislike - good, and the girl would read love - good.

The code, which only the girl, and writer knew, was every other line was to be read by the girl. This made all the sense in the world.

I figured I try it! This was one hard writing exercise. Here is my attempt at a curious love letter - I have followed the same rule, read the first, third, fifth, etc. lines for the true meaning of the note. My attempt is fair, and I am going to keep at it, hoping to get a really good coded love letter.

Sir,

Your intentions toward me are exceedingly

loathsome. They are not in the least

acceptable . I cannot wait until the day you

no longer turn your head in my direction.

Take my word for it - I will never love you

as you wish.  I could not love you

any less. My heart only  grows with love

for another. Release me from your mind,

your future plans should include someone

else, someone who could truly love you.

A priest for confession, quickly, as I cannot wait

for your dishonorable actions to wane.

To marry the one I love. This is uppermost in my heart.

Please, I beg of you, leave me alone. I dislike

your heart, your eyes, your hair. They are a dream,

a nightmare in the making. Remove them from

my eyes, eyes that long for a glance of my one true love.

I am on my knees, pleading with you to desist.

My love grows daily, hourly, by leaps and bounds.

Nothing will stop my feelings of hatred of you.

My feelings of adoration for my lover will never abate.

Signed: The Lady

Ladybugs, Again

The ladybug numbers have grown! I've counted as many as 18 beauties, all crawling around the bathroom. They huddle in a corner when the days and nights are a little cooler, but when the side of the house warms up, they swarm!

I love watching them, and have been finding them in the bedroom and kitchen. My question is what do they eat? There is plenty of water around the inside of the house, but what are they doing for food? Do they have an exterior exit so they can eat?

I'd love to have more of them, so if I place a mail order, will the new ladybugs fight with the ones that are already here? Are they territorial? Will they all come to live in the house?

Many years ago, we were moving into a house in Northern California, standing in the front yard, checking out our new surroundings. All of a sudden a huge cloud of lady bugs swept past us from the back yard area, around the side of the house, enveloping the family, then flying off to who knows where. We never did see a swarm like that again, but I am happy with our little family of ladies, living in our bathroom.

These little ladies (gents too) are so fun to watch. They crawl all over the walls, up and down the shower curtain, and when the sun hits the window, they race! I love watching them.

It is interesting to note how they die. The first time I tried to help one, my efforts were rebuffed. She was on her back, so I turned her over thinking I was helping. She immediately flipped herself onto her back, so I let her be. The next time I looked in on her, she was gone. Some bugs, push their wings out from underneath their shells, sometimes one wing, sometimes both. No discernible  reason.

We now have to turn the light on in the bathroom when we have a midnight call. No stepping on these creatures at night, or sitting on one if it happens to be on the seat! There numbers are shrinking, I'm sure by the end of March they will be gone. Only to turn up again next spring.

Or, Nov. or Dec. depending on the weather.

Prolific Spring

Today I have 12 ladybugs crawling around our window. Inside. These are the same ladies that have been around all winter, only more! All winter we've had at least one, sometimes three little red and black gems visiting daily, causing me to say we were going to have a mild winter. Which we have so far. We had a couple of snow days, and icy road days, but nothing like all the old timers, and weathermen were predicting.

So now, I'm thinking since there are so many gals hanging out, that we'll have one wonderful spring. Lots of color, lots of blossoms. That also means lots of pollen, but what the heck, what's a little sneezing compared to all the color?

Compass Wind

Compass Wind - the wind that comes at you from all directions. This phenomenon blew snow in my face, down my back, up each sleeve, and around me, covering my well insulated body with a coating of light flaky snow.

Snow drifts feet high, angle and curve, creating an op-art design in the driveway. Trees, some heavily covered in snow, while others barely dusted stand next to each other, creating snowy havens for birds searching for seeds. They try flying, but are blown to locations not on their agenda. Our pea fowl are smart, they are up in a neighbors barn, staying out of the wind and tornadoing snow.

The cats plod through the belly deep snow, then jump into a tire track. One stops, peering out into the trees. I can see the thoughts - Do I go out there and maybe catch a bird, or a mouse? Or do I go to house, meow pathetically to be let in, and go nap on a warm blanket? Warm blanket wins out.

I love it! Even though the temperature with wind chill is -7 degrees, I'm in heaven. I don't stay outside very long. Time just enough to feed all the birds, and clear walking paths and steps. Then I race to the door, stomping off snow as I go, trying to leave as much snow outdoors as I can. I don't want to clean up snow puddles.

Hot chocolate and warm cheesy biscuits wait for me, ready to be devoured. I love the snow, and all the good things it brings.

I Can't Find A Writing Prompt Today

I am stumped. At a loss for words -
     (My husband would be glad)

writing prompts . something
     nothing there
        click on this,
        click here -
     nothing, no prompts.
Just words about
writing prompts. "Here's
what I like to do...."

I DON'T CARE

Just give me a prompt.
What will I write about?
No inspiration,
no idea running around
my head. What do I
write about today?
     Do I really need to
be urged on my someones
words?

Is what I write really mine?
My idea?
     Maybe I'd better rethink
this prompt thing.

No Pressure, No Pressure at All

No pressure. I'm going away for a few days with a fellow writer. A friend to inspire, bounce ideas around, someone to tell me what I just spent an hour writing, stinks!

Hours and hours with no laundry to get in the way, no phone calls, no dusting, no meals to fix. Now what can I say is keeping me from writing? 

No excuses, I must write. 

Grab a piece of paper with scribbled ideas. Try to make sense of the original idea. Maybe I'll take it in that direction, maybe it will take me on a bumpy obtuse path that leads me somewhere else. Who knows? What starts out as a straight forward thing, in my mind, often becomes something very different, ending up not even close to my original thought.

Inspiration, just the right music to create by, just the right windowed view. The perfect company. Maybe I'll be able to come up with something original after all.

Tea Time

Tea, tea, wonderful tea,

the more you drink, the

more you pee.

Green, black, tips and

white, the first to the

fresh pot is always a

fight.

Tea can be soothing,

tea can be awakening,

never too much 

can be taken in.

Tea piping hot,

tea cold on ice

any way you drink

it is always nice.

Tea fanatic, coffee never

to cross these lips,

never adding sugar

to add to the hips.

My first blog of the year

filled with good cheer

drink up the tea,

and then post.