personal

manic…monday?

I’ve had a manic writing period these past 2 weeks. It’s been pretty unusual to say the least. Ordinarily my avoidance behaviors lead me in other directions, away from writing. I guess my word tank finally filled up. I’m not going to try to figure it out, I’m just going to ride this wave until it washes ashore — no doubt leaving me in the sand covered in seaweed and sand lice. I’ll live with that when the moment comes. Until then, I feel like the Silver Surfer.

It does kind of wreak havoc with my personality, though. I wouldn’t call it a depression because it doesn’t make me sad — more like subdued. It just ZAPS my energy. Geez. Why couldn’t this be easy?

I once saw an interview with Barbara Cartland, the prolific writer of hundreds of romance novels — the ones with Fabio on the cover! The interview was in her boudoir and she was draped across a chaise lounge. For real! She admitted to writing the same story over and over, selecting the characters and settings from rolodexes of possibilities. I admire her chutzpah for admitting as much. Hilarious, if you ask me. I mean, this feisty old broad is a far cry from the stereotype of the  long-suffering writer.

I also happened to catch an interview with Jackie Collins, another prolific writer — and interesting character. When I first saw her talking about her office and her work ethic, I had to chuckle a little. She writes from a large table in a well-lit room, in a scrapbook-like notebook where she hand-writes her manuscript.

Teehee. Hand-writes her manuscript. Hand writes. Get it? Manu-script.

I never thought I’d have something in common with Jackie Collins. It turns out that some of my best writing happens, not on my fancy schmancy computer, but on notebook paper using a #2 pencil. I can’t even claim to use a fancy pen.

There’s just something about hearing the scratch of the lead on paper.

Archimedes makes it a clean sweep

The senior awards at the annual Magnet Banquet featured the coveted mathematics bust. Jonathan has managed to get it every year, and this year the competition was tighter than ever. He didn’t know right up until he heard his name. We were pleased, first for his achievement (we are proud of you, Boy!) but also because it has turned into such a fun way to torment Christine, and abuse the bust. Each previous bust wears a special hat. There’s a Harry Potter Wizard’s pointy cap, a Dr. Seuss’ Cat in the Hat cap, and the new round of caps, Santa, Varsity, and a Giraffe hat.

And now, we have Archimedes, who transitions from the mathematician, to bishop, to Yellow Jacket. It looks like he picks up a medal or two as well.

my to-do list

1. make good coffee

2. do laundry

3. clean the bathroom

4. get gas

5. grade papers

6. sing a song (mortifying to me)

7. do more laundry

8. grade more papers

9. write a book (that’s a challenge)

10. hunt for a boa constrictor

more things I like…

1. sunshine

2. rain

3. chocolate

4. big beds with lots of comforters and pillows

5. silence

6. Sunday drives to nowhere

7. passionate conversations

8. wildflowers

9. starry nights

10. kisses

the difference between men and women (part 372)

It’s prom season.

You know that section of scripture where God says he knows every hair on our heads? It means God knows us, really knows us…better than we know ourselves, better than we ever hope to know. That’s because in His infinite wisdom He knows what we need…and has our backs, so to speak.

That’s why I am ever thankful that God gave us two beautiful daughters first, and then a son, for when I was older and tired, and just didn’t have the energy or inclination to deal with daughters.

I am talking about clothes, of course.

I’m not that kind of a chick to begin with — the one that likes to spends hours shopping at the mall. Although the stereotype of mother-daughter bonding usually entailed some crazy shopping expedition, the only thing I ever got out of shopping with the girls was long faces, tears, and ill-fitting clothes. And the bill.

I can tell you with a great deal of certainty that they are just as relieved by being grown and not having to deal with me as I am. Oh, and they pay their own bills.

I miss having them in my lap, taking naps in my bed, wiping ice cream off their faces and arms and legs (why does ice cream end up everywhere on little people?), and if I am being totally honest, I miss their dependence on me.

I do not, however, miss going shopping with them.

That’s the big difference between girls and boys. Shopping with or for my son is the easiest thing ever. It’s made somewhat easier by the fact that he would go naked and barefoot if left to himself. Well, maybe not naked, but he has stated time and again that a pair of cargo shorts and a couple of t-shirts is all he needs. (that, and maybe some Febreze).

Anyway, as I was saying, it’s prom season. He needs a tuxedo. Black. How tough is that? Not very. His father said he’d take care of it. Excellent, I said.

And then, they disappeared into the garage and emerged in a triumphant mood.

That’s when I got concerned.

They were holding the Pantone color swatches chart. My son’s sweet girlfriend sent him a picture of her dress via email, and they were holding the colors up to the laptop trying to get a match. If that isn’t a scene out of The Big Bang Theory I don’t know what.

Incapable of understanding the meaning of Celestial Burst or Cerulean Starburst , they wrote down the HEX numbers and think that’s going to make sense to the Tuxedo Guy. Then again, maybe they speak the same language.

Just in case, I volunteered to order the corsage.