Writing Prompt: Friendship

I might despise this weeks writing prompt. I have put off the writing it for as long as I can, until I was called on to pick the next writing prompt for the week. It kicked my rear in gear and forced me to actually complete the writing assignment.

Writing Prompt:What is the best thing about being your friend?

Every time I started to write about this prompts, I felt like I was writing a resume on why you should be my friend. It makes me nauseous. It is like preparing for an interview, where you have to sell yourself and that self being the best version of yourself. 

So with lots of thought and then even more over thinking, the best thing about being my friend is the access one gains to my cats.  My cats are fur covered devils that will charm your socks off. They demand that even the most allergic and praise their majesty.

In fact here is proof of their talent and majesty:

I am a Pizza

This weeks Prompt:  If you were going to design a pizza after yourself, what would be on it, and what would each of those ingredients represent.

I know that I picked this weeks writing prompt, but the more that I look at the questions, the more it begins to feel like a Caliper Interview question.

I feel a little ridiculous that I spent as much time thinking about this question as I did.  I have probably asked my husband half a dozen times what he what type of pizza would I be. I was running the gambit on toppings and what they could possibly symbolize. If I said extra cheese does that mean to imply that I think I am cheesy? If I said spicy sausage, does it become an innuendo to something more? The line of thought moved onto the best pizzas I have ever eaten and what was on them.  I have had pizzas that have had peaches on them, and other that are more taco than pizza.  Then I thought about shows that I watched that talk about pizza. (If Ugly Delicious doesn’t make you want to eat a pizza, nothing will.) There is so much symbolism when it comes to food and food shows love to talk about it. However, it still did not answer the question on what type of pizza I would be. 

It then came to me. 

I knew I wouldn’t be a traditional pizza. There is nothing wrong with a traditional pepperoni or cheese pizza. Millions of people love them and they are a standard at any pizza party.  I personally am an introvert. Parties are something that are fine every now and then, but I wouldn’t’ want to be at one all the time the way a pepperoni pizza is. 

I would be breakfast pizza.  It would cover all the aspects of my personality. The cheesy, the salty, the starchy and a little bit of spicy, but over all filling and full of protein. A pizza that is a little unique but not outside the spectrum of normal. 

Breakfast Pizza: Hashbrown crust topped with scrambled eggs, cheese, peppers and diced ham. 

Writing Prompt: Family History

 It is pretty obvious to any that read this blog, that I am at best an inconsistent writer. I probably spend more time in my  head then I do putting words down. My dear friend, Faye sent me a book of writing prompts over the holidays. She picked up a copy for herself. In an effort to get the words out of my head on a more regular basis, we are going to pick a new writing prompt every Wednesday and then spending a couple of days to do something with it.  Faye has picked this weeks writing prompt.

Writing Prompt: Do you know any interesting facts about your family history, if so what?

I am loosely interested in genealogy.  Mostly I like to know where the bodies are buried and if I ever needed a kidney, who to go to.  This means I have done a little bit of genealogy on both side of my family tree. Someone on my mothers side of the tree at one time was very much interested in genealogy and completed almost 8 generations  of tracking that almost makes me feel like British royalty. They included a little bit of history on the starting point of the family.

I think that one of the most interesting points in family history is that Solomon Scholl who is used as the starting point in the genealogy was a farmer, cabinet maker and undertaker. I have to marvel at the different career changes through out his life and it gives me hope that if I ever feel stagnant that I can dig up the energy to change my direction.  It also give me a laugh that I got into genealogy to know where the bodies were buried and here is an ancestor that literally knew where the bodies were buried. 

The Emily Challenge

 The Emily Challenge

I have a coworker who is an over achiever. Every month she takes on a different challenge. One month she gave up alcohol. Another month it was carbs. One time it was sweets. It is always something different and isn’t always food related. She does this with her significant other and it always provides insight to her and others.  One insight it has provided me as an observer is that I would rather Emily give up alcohol than carbs. Emily is much happier with carbs in her life then out of her life. Another insight is that there is always something to learn about yourself. With this said I am going to take an Emily challenge.  Emily has challenged me to write everyday for at least a month on my blog.  

So, here I am, writing in what feels like forever and seeing several blog posts that were started and never published.  I am not sure what I am going to write about, but it wouldn’t be a challenge if I had a plan.  Welcome to Day 1 out of 31 Days of writing madness. Or as I call it and will probably grumble over it as the Emily Challenge.  We will see what I learn by the end of it and maybe just maybe I would be considered an overachiever.

Random Thoughts

 It has been a while since I last wrote anything.  Most of the time the words won’t come out of my head or I am distracted by random thoughts.  

One of the most soothing things that I do is sew. My fabric addiction is becoming well known and my Pinterest board of inspiration is a little out of control. Sewing lets me think and not think at the same time. 

Here are some of the random thoughts that have come to pass:

• The Room of Requirement in Harry Potter is the wizard equivalent of the Holodeck in Star Trek.
• There should be a pizza donut for people that want something savory as an option in the donut box. 
• My cats stripper name would be Eviscerator
• Why don’t more people use the metric system
• In zombie movies they use wooden planks and plywood boards to block the windows and doors. Is part of being and adult mean keeping extra wood and plywood in the event of a zombie outbreak?

What are some of the random thoughts that you have?

Odd Change

My purse is a bottomless black hole of weirdness. There is typically an assortment of receipts, lipsticks and fine point pens that live in the bottom of my purse.  Everything in my purse is normal, except for one, two or twenty things that I keep in the change portion of my wallet.

I have over a dozen flattened coins in my wallet. I keep them as a reminder of some of the places that I have been and that there are good times out there.  Not all good times have to cost a lot of money to be memorable.  

I would like to think that everyone keeps something sentimental with them. Check out my friend Faye’s blog (The Hook and the Pen)to find out the odd thing she keeps in her purse. 

Writing Prompt: Describe one odd item that you have in your purse or wallet right now. 

Iggins Understands

I told myself I was going to write a blog post before bed, but it isn’t working. I have a couple of half baked ideas and I am exhausted. Here is a picture of my cat in lieu of a meaningful witty post.

Iggins completely understands and is okay with me using his picture. In fact my lovely fur friend has agreed that I should give him canned cat food, instead of trying to force down some half baked ideas.

I think I can agree to this and now we both win. 

Bored for Life

This weeks blog post is supposed to be about the boring job I ever had.  I am supposed to wax poetically about how I thought would die of boredom.  I wish I could say that I have had a boring job.  When I am paid to do something, I can find something to entertain myself while I get the task done.  It is when I am unpaid that my mind begins to wander and think about all the other things that I could be doing.  An example of this would be, Laundry.

It is one of the unpaid necessary tasks that I do, because I don't want to be wrinkled or smelly.  I think laundry is one of those things that just has to be done, but the thought of sitting and matching socks, makes me want to go dust something.  At least when I am dusting, re-arrange the toys on the shelf and sometimes play with them.  Infinitely more entertaining than trying to finding a white sock to match with another white sock.  Even talking about folding laundry is boring, thankfully the next blog prompt is a little more entertaining.  Next weeks prompt is; "Describe your most memorable family holiday, and explain what made it special for you."

Deathbed Confession

I am  running behind this week.  I was going to do a long post talking about last weeks prompt and announcing this weeks prompt and then things went pear shaped. Every time I thought that I had several minutes and the inspiration was with me, it was quickly swindled away by the distractions of the internet  or responsibilities.  

This weeks prompt is "write from the point of view of a character on his or her deathbed."  In my head it translated to "Deathbed Confession" and my brain started to spring into action on what horrible ailments a person could die from and if a person really knows when they are on their deathbed. I think I have myself straightened out and that I came up with something that does not have a person dying from eating expired Jello.  ( I spent some time cleaning out my grandmothers cupboard and trying to figure out the last time Jello was $0.33 a box. The possibility that Jello could kill has weighed heavily on my mind this week. I am not obsessed with Jello.)  It took a little while, but I finally came up with something. If you feel so inclined, below is my "Deathbed Confession."

Juliet

My gaze looks unseeing to the audience.  I was told it was the biggest crowd of the year. The last show often is, since family and friends make an effort to be there.  Something about it better to go out with a bang than a gasp. 

The heat of the lights are making me melt and I wouldn't be surprised if my make up is beginning to slide off of my  face.  The body next to me lies still and unmoving, but I can feel the heat radiating through my clothes.  A clattering jostling noise happens just behind me. It sounds like metal armor hitting a stone floor. 

Taking a breathe, I say the next line, knowing only two more come after it and then it is all over for me.  It has been a good run, though eventually the curtain must fall.  My time is up.

Yea, noise? Then I’ll be brief. O happy dagger,

I pick up the crooked dagger that is next to the body I am lying against and examine it.  I extend my arm out dramatically and say my next line.

This is thy sheath;

I bring my arm quickly to my chest and feel the blade slip into my bosom.  Blood seeping from the wound spreads.   With my last breathe, I gasp out my  last line.

there rust, and let me die.

I close my eyes as the rest of the world moves one. My curtain has fallen.

Treatment

Lucy didn't like waiting for the doctor to show.  Sitting in a thin hospital gown on the examination chair, she tried to ignore the way that the paper crinkling with every time she shifted. The walls had boring health posters to remind a person the importance of washing their hands and to check for lumps and there was no music. Just the hum of the air conditioner.  Lucy was trying to resist the urge to check her phone, to see how much time had passed, since there wasn't a clock in the room. She wished she had brought a book with her. 

Just as Lucy thought she was going to die of bordum the door opened, and the doctor breezed in. Clipboard in hand, white coat, gold rimmed glasses skimmed the notes on the paper before they focused on her.  

"Hello, Ms. Carmichael.  How are you?  I am Dr. Anderson. It says here that you have been having trouble sleeping?" Dr. Anderson asked, but then he looked back down to the clip board and read more notes.

Lucy tried not to shift to make the paper crinkle. Truth be told, she never really like going to the doctor, but her mother had told her that they could help.  They had helped her with the same issue and now she slept like a baby. 

"Yes, I am not sleeping well.  It is hard to fall asleep and even harder to stay asleep at times," softly replied Lucy

"How has your appetite been?  Are you eating well?" Queried the doctors as he made notes on the chart.

"I haven't been all that hungry lately.  I have been exercising. I have been trying to go for a run in the evenings to clear my head," nervously replied Lucy.  She shifted a little and the crinkling paper could be heard clearly in the room. 

"Have you been traveling or anywhere that can be crowded?  There is an epidemic going on, and it is incredibly infectious," warned the Dr. Anderson.

"I don't really go anywhere. I go to the book store,  I go to work, I go home.  I don't travel.  The most crowded place I go is the grocery store," muttered Lucy. 

"It doesn't take much.  It passes in the air and lack of sleep is one of the first signs. Loss of appetite is the second.  If this continues, you will feel achy and restless.  You will tear up at odd times.  Communication with others will be limited."  The doctor looked at her grimly.  This was the worst news.  Everyone knew that there was an infectious disease going about. She just didn't think it would happen to her. 

"Can this be treated?"

"Yes.  It is the early stages.  If you sign this consent form, we can start treatment right away.," advised the doctor as he flipped the page on his charge and pulled a piece of paper off.  Handing it to Lucy along with a pen, he started to set up for the procedure. 

Lucy looked down at the paper.  It was a standard consent for treatment.  Looking for a pen, she began to wonder what the name of the infectious disease was.  If so many people had it, why didn't it have a name? The milk at the grocery store even had a name. Daisy. Daisy was the brand name of the milk she drank, but this infectious disease didn't have a name, so a person didn't know how to avoid it. 

"I need a pen," stated Lucy as she chewed her lip, trying to decide if immediate treatment was the best action or if she should try and research other treatments, but first she would need a name of what she had.

"Of course, my apologies," replied the Doctor as he pulled a small hand drill out from the bottom of the cabinets on put it on the counter.  Pulling a pen from his front pocket, he handed it over to her.  Lucy tried not to look at the drill on the counter as the doctor started to pull out bandages and cotton wound pads.  The growing pile of supplies on the sterile countertop was beginning to make her nervous.

"Ccc-aan I ask wh-what the name of the in- Infectious disease is?" Stuttered Lucy, her nerves and fear finally catching up with her.  Her fingers tightly gripping the pen  as she clutches the clip board against her chest. She could feel her pulse racing as she wait on his every word.

"Oh, That is easy.  You are infected with Ideas.   You hang out in dangerous areas, such as bookstores and you think it won't affect you.  Your carelessness finally caught up with you.  A couple quick nips with the drill and we can get those ideas right out of your head and you will sleep the best sleep you have ever had," explained the Doctor with a wide smile on his face.

Infectious

Infectious 

The first week of the prompt challenge has gone by.  As some people may recall, I was instructed to write an article that would be worthy of the Weekly World News.  Sadly the Weekly World News is no longer in publication.  A current news source that reminds me of that beloved printing is The Onion.  My goal was to write something that would fit in with their type of articles, which is where the inspiration of Sarcasm Recognized as Official Language came from.  

This weeks prompt is a little more vague, which means the only limits I have are my mind.  I received a one word prompt: Infectious.  When I think of Infectious, I think of movies such as: Invasion of the Body Snatchers, The Stuff, Omega Man or even a relative more recent film, 12 Monkeys.  

I am not sure what I am going to do with my prompt yet, but it is certainly getting my head moving.  I want to wish lots of luck to Faye on her prompt.  It is about a different kind of infections. (Love.)

Sarcasm Recognized as an Official Language

Sarcasm Recognized as an Official Language

Sarcasm has been recognized as an official language.  Unofficals from Webster have started that language is a body of words and the systems for their usecommon to a people who are of the samecommunity or nation, the same geographical area, or the same cultural tradition, and sarcasm falls into that realm as a common communication utilized by those that have not leveled up in years significantly and is a faint cousin to wit.  Sarcasm can  be just as diverse and intriguing as colloquialisms, but with out the pretense of localism. 

Local community college states that adult evening classes are schedule to roll out with new semester to help bridge the communication gap between the five generations in the workforce.  Many have come forward claiming to be naturally fluent in sarcasm and have been speaking it socially for years. Teenager have collectively begun rolling their eyes and loudly sighing at the announcement.

Please see A Challenge blog post for writing prompt. 

A Challenge

A challenge.  That is what Faye offered me.  Almost a decade ago, Faye and I acquired a book of prompts called Writers Block by Jason Rekulak.  From time  to time we will challenge each other to write something based off of a random prompt.  Faye threw down the gauntlet and I picked it up. A total of 5 weeks with a random prompt each week. It is a chance to brush up my writing skills and break out of my comfort zone. 

First prompts have been picked.  I have until Saturday to come up with something.  An idea has been percolating since yesterday.  I can only hope that she has as much fun as I am on this challenge.  

Here is the prompt I have been given:

Come back Saturday to see what I have done with it. 

You can also check out Faye's blog to see what she h///as done with her prompt at http://thehookandthepen.blogspot.com/

Unicorns are Underrated

Day 2

Unicorns are under rated. Everyone knows what a unicorn is, but very rarely are they a main character.  I was thinking about this over the weekend while I was folding laundry.  I few weeks ago I had picked up two animated films that I had loved as a child. They were The Fantastic Adventures of Unico and Unico and the Island of Magic. I loved those movies as a kid.  They were the right amount of whimsy sugar filled sweetness with a little bit of plot and angst to keep the story moving.

Once you watch one nostalgic film, it is easy to spiral down into a path of re watching other childhood favorites, which is what lead me to rewatching Legend while folding laundry over the weekend and got me wondering about having a unicorn movie marathon.

I quickly discovered that there are not enough unicorn movies to have a marathon.  I can name four unicorn movies.  That is it. There are more leprechaun based movies out there, then there are unicorn movies.  Some how this seems unfair.  Which leads me to believe that unicorns are the under-rated fantasy creature.

Some where are in a time where people just remake movies instead of creating something new, I think they should remake The Last Unicorn into live action.  It's just a thought.  Who do you think would be cast in it?

Day 1

November Challenge

Day 1

Every November for the past seven years, I have participated in NaNoWriMo.  It is something near and dear to my heart, that challenges me and makes me a better person. This year is the first year that I am not actively participating in NaNoWriMo.  I find that I write these stories and then never touch them again.  No editing is done, no re-writes, no spell checks, it just remains a raw piece of work. 

I keep telling myself that I will eventually get to editing, the hard part of getting the idea out of my head it done.  I have discovered that I am really talented at procrastinating. It is unfair for those ideas that made it onto paper not to be polished up just a little bit.  

Instead of adding to the pile of stories that need a good scrubbing and detangling, I am going to do two things instead.  One, I am going to pick one story out of the pile to be edited and really start editing it, to see if it is a diamond or just a lump of coal. Two, I am going to post something on my blog every day that NaNoWriMo runs.  The reason for the blog post requirement is to give myself a writing challenge, but perhaps one not as aggressive as NaNo.  I tend to get lazy if not given a challenge, and lately trying to get any of the half-baked idea’s out of my head and onto my blog has been a challenge. 

For all those that are taking up the pen and pouring out the words, Good Luck!  Happy Writing, and if all else fails, kill a character. 

Brain Monkey Screams at Me

It is okay not to hit goals. Or at least that is what I tell myself.  Today is the last day in June, and I can without a single doubt in my heart tell you that I did not make my goal of utilizing every single cook book that I own within a year. I made a healthy dent in them, but I am not even close to being done.  I am not going to get through twenty cook books in a single day, and I am going to be okay with this.

I like having goals and when I don't meet them, then the little monkeys in my brain get all hyper active and throw horrible thoughts around.  They eat at  me and I can't help but think what I could have done better, or how I could have planned better. It is one of those things that can throw me in a mental rut until I reconcile the reason for not hitting the goal and what I am going to do to reach it.  I have had an entire month to brood over this when I realized that even if I pushed it wasn't going to happen.

Part of my little brain monkeys scream at me, If I not going to meet and exceed the goal, what is the point of having the goal to begin with! The rest of my brain asks, What was the point of trying to  use every cookbook you own with in a year? What were you  trying to accomplish, and did you accomplish it by not accomplishing the goal?   All the questions float around in my head and demand attention. I am going to address them, so that I can move onto other things and have the little brain monkeys shut the heck up for a little bit.

What was the point of trying to use every cookbook you own with in a year?

I needed a change and a challenge to change. I get stuck in ruts and food is just an example of that rut. I eat the same things over and over again and make the same things over and over again.  I get stuck. Attempting to use every cookbook I owned for at least one new recipe, would nudge me out of that rut and also help me with other ruts that I create for myself out of habit and laziness.

Did I change and challenge myself?

Short answer is yes.  It made me uncomfortable to do things that I have never done before. It made me broaden my horizon not just on food, but also in how I communicate with people.  I have always been the sort of person that will feed a person if I care about them, but this challenge had me talking to people and sharing my triumphs and failures.

What is the point of having a goal if you aren't going to meet or exceed it?

Something that I constantly tell have to remind myself is that a goal is a mark of measurement, but not all things fall with in the same categories of measurement.  I have to be realistic in what my capabilities are and be flexible in what the out come is. If I didn't meet the goal, does that mean it is unattainable, or is there another lesson that I need to learn, or did the goal become unimportant?

While not actually meeting the goal of using every cookbook with in a year, I achieved the result I wanted of challenging and changing myself and broadening my point of view. Just because I didn't make this particular goal, does not mean that I should give up and never cook again. It just means that I need to keep pushing and utilizing all of my resources and continue to keep trying new things and new recipes and learn to be okay with the results.

Missing Pickle

I took an unintended break from writing my blog. I don’t know why. I have things that I could write about, but I can sit at the computer and go completely blank and talk myself out of doing any writing and then I get frustrated with myself.  Then the pickle happened. Or perhaps I should say it didn’t happen. 

Wickles Pickles are the best pickles I have ever had the pleasure of consuming.  There are only a few grocers up my way that procure them, since they are mostly a southern thing. When my older brother was up my way, I gave him a jar and in short order he became a convert to the spicy tangy crisp goodness of the pickled cucumber.  

I did the thing that any good sister would do when her brother is bemoaning the lack of pickles in his life and how his life would be so much fuller if he had pickles or at least his stomach would be.  Procuring pickles is not as easy as it sounds.  I debated on buying the small jars and mailing them, but I have not had a huge amount of luck this year with packages and the postal system.  I had a feeling it would end up in tears, pickle juice and ants.  Then a lightbulb went off and I thought I would utilize the power of the internet.  Surely Wickles Pickles had to have a website and I could perhaps purchase pickles and have them shipped without me getting freaky with bubble wrap. 

Oh. My. Gosh!  I am pretty sure that there were violins playing and birds chirping in harmony when on their website I discovered the giant jar of pickles.  It is enough pickles to make a pregnant lady cry with tears of joy. My brother is not a pregnant lady, but he needed a 64 ounce jar of wickedly delicious pickles that are like a punch in the taste buds, like he needed air to breathe or a copy of every single Army of Darkness comic in existence. It is that extreme and that dire. I had to order the pickles so that he could survive the coming zombie apocalypse, since pickles don’t go bad.  I had to buy him the pickles so that his children would know and understand what a pickle is supposed to taste like and weep when the spiciness creeps up on them.  I bought him pickles so that he would get a tummy ache when he decided to sit down and eat the entire jar.  I am either the best sister ever or the worst.  It is a coin toss. 

In my excitement, I texted him to be on the lookout for a package and then the waiting began.  Every day there was a text about the lack of pickles in his life and how he discovered Wickles Pickled Okra at his local grocer and how awesome it was and how I should try it, but wait I live in the Quaker state, and southern food has a hard time crossing the Mason Dixon Line, and finding okra, much less the possible best pickled okra in existence wasn’t going to happen at my local grocer.  After a week of no pickles, and I emailed them, because I am pretty sure the post office either ate the pickles or my brother was scamming me into sending him a second 64 ounce jar.  Wonderfully, neither was the case. My jar never made it out of the warehouse and that has now been rectified with a quick email.  I am told pickles are on the move.  

The entertainment that I have had over scenarios as to what happened in the first place and how I would feel if a giant jar of pickles just randomly showed up on my doorstep has amused me for hours. My brother suggested that I write a long sob story about the missing pickles and how he and his brood of children would starve if they didn’t get pickles and see if they would throw in a jar of okra. (If anyone from Wickles accidently reads this, don’t do it, he doesn’t deserve the okra, since he is just going to taunt me with it anyway.)There are hiccups in all things, including my brother if he were to drink the juice from the jar and despite the hiccups everything thing turned out all good. Good like the pickle, sweet and spicy all rolled into a crunch.

No Account for Taste

No Account For Taste

I have come to the realization that I own too many cookbooks. I have discovered that I am not alone in this hoarding of cooking knowledge. Even with the realization that I have more cookbooks than necessary, I am can't bring myself to part ways with any of them. I love having all those possibilities at my fingertips.

I was talking  with my friend, Lizzy at HaveYouReadIt about this predicament. She also suffers from this cook book addiction. A brilliant personal challenge was born. In one year we will try utilize one recipe from every cookbook that is in our collection.

In order for me to take any personal challenge seriously, there needed to be clear cut rules. I am one of those people that like to color inside the lines. If there are no guidelines, I have a hard time taking it seriously, and will rationalize. The notion of challenging ones self is a form of self growth is something that I believe is good for the soul. Going beyond the established  comfort zones and trying a recipe from every cookbook I own is definitely going to take me out of my comfortable kitchen habits.

You can't try to do things; you simply must do them.

Ray Bradbury

Cookbook Challenge Rules

1.  At least one recipe from each cookbook must be used starting July 1st 2014 and ending June 30th 2015
2. All recipes must be new to the cook- recipes with variations don't count. If you have tried it, or something like it, try something different.
3.  Pictures and blog post are required as proof of completion.
4. All cook books that are acquired during competition must be noted on blog and added to the list of cook books in the challenge. 
5. Cocktail books are considered cookbooks.
6. If it is in a binding and is hand written or prepared it is considered a cookbook. Magazines do not count and neither do recipe Rolodex or recipe boxes.
7. List of cookbooks should be available online for reference at all times.
8. Substitution and alterations should be noted at all times.
9. If there are duplicate cookbooks, different recipes must be utilized by each cook.

 

Thankfully my friend, Lizzy will be partaking in this adventure with me, and that I don't have to do this alone.  Any road traveled, is shorter with a friend. I think that it also helps that she has more cookbooks than I do. (Only by one.) I am sure before the end of this, some helpful friend of mine will gift me another book along the way. However I do have a little bit of glee in knowing that before this adventure was cooked up, I had donated two Ramen Noodle cookbooks to a coworker, to help him with his culinary skills.  Ramen noodles are good noodles, but after being a Guinea Pig for GAT when she was teaching herself to cook using the 101 Things to do with Ramen cookbook, I have a love hate relationship with Ramen. Not having to try a Ramen noodle recipe is currently the highlight of this challenge, and it doesn't even start for another week. 

Please stay tuned for more updates as they unfold. A list of all my cookbooks (57 in total) may be found on LibraryThing under Monkey2262, along with an incomplete catalog of my library.

I have a good collection of cookery books. This is not so much because I like cooking, but because I like eating.

Louise Brown

Cardboard: A Review

Relationships are hard.  They take a lot of work and a lot of effort. There is no such thing as an easy relationship. It doesn’t matter if it is family, or if it is friends, or even an animal. They take effort and a whole lot of patience.  Even with all that effort they can still go south.

I am sure that I am not alone when I say that I have been hurt by some one I loved. I am not talking about fists to the face sort of hurt, but the kind that people don’t see. The sort of hurt that doesn’t leave any outside scars, but bleed from the inside.  Sometimes the people that you love and that you care about don’t mean to hurt you or even realize they hurt you by what they may have said. When that happens, a person is faced with a moment they have to decide if they want to continue with a relationship with that person.

I am not perfect. I don’t often think before I speak. I have hurt people close to me, and there are plenty of time in my life where I could have used more tact in my approach, but the older that I get the more I value the relationships in my life. And the less I have time for superficial blandness. I want to be in relationships with people that have a value for me, because I have a value for them. I do not want to be in a relationship that makes me feel used. With that said, it doesn’t make relationships any easier.

I read a graphic novel called Cardboard by Doug TenNapel. It reminded me that sometimes it isn’t easy to be in a relationship, to form a relationship and to let go of a relationship. It is a beautiful graphic novel about a father, a son and some magic cardboard and how they figure out how to communicate. 

 I would highly recommend and it made me do some thinking about the relationships that I have, and what my fears are in those relationships.Sometimes things don’t always work out the way that we would want them to, and sometimes we have to figure out what we want out of a relationship before we jump on in.  Sometimes you just need a moment of whimsy. All of this and more can be found in Cardboard.

*Every now and then I move a review over from my old blog** onto my new blog. I take the time to reread what I wrote and reflect upon it. I still believe that Cardboard is one of the best graphic novels that I have read. It is done in such a way that adults and children can enjoy it and take something away from it.  

**Original post above was published on 3/18/13 and has been revised 1/22/14

And All This Over a Stuffed Bear

It isn't easy writing a blog. Some days words and ideas flow out of me like lava out of a volcano. They are hot and world shaping. Other times ideas are more like pearls, brought about by sand and a whole lot of irritation. Most of the time I mull over something a good long time until I feel like I have to write it down or I would have disappointed a part of myself. At times it seems like my writing is border line preachy. It is like I am on some sort of crusade so poke you into accepting what I believe a good person should be.


I am not always a good person, but I try to be. I was going to compose a lengthy post about assumptions, with an antidote from one of my more recent adventures. In the middle of writing this post, I changed my mind. 

Over the weekend I was at an out of town wedding with my husband. We had to sleep in separate beds because they did not have a queen or larger available. I brought a stuffed animal with me because I am a compulsive cuddler. I need to have something tucked under my arm or I don't sleep.  The next morning, the housekeeping staff did their thing (towels, sheets, emptied the garbage) in our room while we took time to check out the local book store.


Returning to the room I quickly surmised that my stuffed animal was missing. The house keeping staff didn't put it in a drawer or tuck it in the covers of the bed. My stuffed animal was missing. My husband figuring that we can inquire with the housekeeping staff that were still working on the rooms on that floor about the purloined bear. The query was for not, because their comrade that had cleaned my room was unavailable at that time and was recommended to speak to the front desk about my loss.

The trip to the front desk had me tumbling with emotions. What if I never got my stuffs bear back again? It was it wasn't like I could get another one. That bear was from my favorite bookstore, the one where I met my husband. It was like a member of the family with the amount of time and adventures I had been on with that white stuffed polar bear.


When I finally made it to the front desk, I channeled my inner customer service rep. I figured that if I ever wanted my stuffed animal again, I couldn't go at the unsuspecting clerk with guns a blazing. It wasn't their fault that this inconvenience happened.

Me: Hi. There was a white stuffed animal in my room. I think it got tangled in the bed sheet when the sheets where changed. Is there a way that we can check?
Front desk: Sure, I can call Claudia in the laundry room to be on the look out for it. What type of animal was it?
Me: Bear
Front desk: (calling laundry room) Hi! One of our guests little girl lost her stuffed bear in the laundry. Would you be able to keep an eye out for it. (Looks at me and covers the mouth piece of the phone) What is your room number?
Me: 230
Front desk: (to person on phone)If you find the bear return it to room 230. (Pauses) Thank you. (Hangs up phone). Give them at least and hour to look for the bear and they will bring it to your room.
Me: Thank you.

Ten minutes later there was a knock on the hotel room door and my stuffed animal was returned.

I wanted to write a post about people and their assumptions. Why did the front desk have to assume that I was a mother? And if I was a mother, what gave away the sex of my supposed child. A stuffed bear is a pretty unisex stuffed animal I would think. I wanted to beat my hands upon my chest and scream into the air, "Why cant a grown woman have a stuffed animal?" I wanted to be indignant that some one can look at me and assume that I should be a parent and scathingly blast the person that had helped me, but that wouldn't be right. 


The lady at the front desk did help me. She jumped to a conclusion that lead to the end result that I wanted. Can I be irritated a slight bit that she referenced me as a mom. Yes. I don't have children, and if I were trying and couldn't carry it could have been a real slap in the face. The truth is I am not trying, and I know that I have a way of blowing things out of proportion when I feel like my pride has been impinged upon. It took me awhile to see that the lady at the front desk said the right thing to get the result that I wanted and that I shouldn't be upset by the harmless assumption that was made. If the lady at the front desk had said anything other then what she did I may not have gotten my bear back. Telling a quick sob story about a daughter that lost her beloved stuffed companion in the laundry is certainly more motivating then lady of a certain age crying over is missing teddy bear and accusing hotel staff of theft.

So instead of this being a blog post about assumptions. It is a blog post about learning how to deal with hits on your windshield of pride. I have been called a lot worse things then mom. I am sure there are a lot worse things in my future. However it is up to me on how I deal with them and are they worth the anguish if the end result is the result I wanted.