Thursday, January 31, 2013


Today, Miss Sophie turned three.


She's growing so quickly, and looks more like little girl now than toddler. She is so funny and imaginative, and a bit scrappy, I've noticed. I don't know if it's just her personality, or a defense mechanism from being the littlest in the family. Either way, it's hilarious.

Current favorites (in no particular order):

Curious George
Hello Kitty
Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood
bedtime stories
baby dolls
crayons and coloring
spinning in circles
quacking (must be a little kid thing...)
chocolate milk
chicken nuggets
dinosaur anything
cows and horses
visiting the zoo
her pink boots
her friends
her family
our dogs
singing and dancing

Friday, January 25, 2013

It's a matter of perspective

A small business owner, a pastry chef, was taking a selection of pies to an event to sell & promote his business. A random guy on the street approached, and wanted free samples from the chef. The chef informed the man he could gladly have a pie, if he paid for it. He couldn't afford to give away his product!


An impoverished, hungry man was on the street & spotted a man with a huge load of pies. He was embarrassed at his situation, but his empty stomach gave him courage. He approached the man and asked for a taste of a pie, such a simple pleasure that had been denied to him. The man with the pies was very offended and refused to give up any portion without payment.


Simple Simon met a pieman going to the fair
Said Simple Simon to the pieman, "Let me taste your wares."
Said the pieman to Simple Simon, "Show me first your penny."
Said Simple Simon to the pieman, "Indeed I have not any."

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Monday, January 21, 2013


Maybe it's just because January is the month of resolutions, and many people want to get more organized. Maybe it's a sign from the universe.
Maybe it's just coincidence...
But first I read a post from a friend on Facebook that she's power-organizing her house today and I commented that I would love to have a chance to do that. Seriously, I wish I could take a few days off from work, take Sophie to daycare, and clean like crazy. I hate my house right now.
Then, I chose today's date in this app and the prompt is "Do you think of yourself as an organized person? What do you do to organize your life?"

I PLAN on organizing my life. I WANT to organize my life. I'd love to have it all together, to know where everything is and have a place for everything. I even have a board on Pinterest dedicated to that very thing. But three things are missing from my plan: time, energy, and cooperation. I need everyone on board with this plan, and so far while I get agreement on the idea of a clean, organized house, the actual participation is lacking.
So, to answer the question, I do like to think of myself as an organized person, although one living in a state of chaos. Maybe someday soon I'll actually use the ideas I've collected to accomplish something.

Monday, January 14, 2013

I have no title for this.

I've mentioned my high school best friend before. He died two years ago.
Yesterday I learned that his grandmother is in a nursing home. He lived with her when we were friends, until he found his birth father and moved to Alabama to try living with him and his wife and other children (my friend had a complicated childhood). I found this out because his grandmother's roomate is her sister-in-law, a wonderful lady who was like a grandmother to me growing up. I always claimed three sets of grandparents because of this woman and her husband.

I haven't seen his grandmother in many years, even though my friend and I had kept in touch sporadically over the years. I didn't see her at his funeral, but it had been so many years since I'd seen his family that the only people I recognized were his mother and his wife. For some reason, knowing his grandmother is in a nursing home makes me miss him more. It would be so nice to be able to call or, more realistically, Facebook message or text him to talk about this. Maybe even visit.

I don't even know where I'm going with these thoughts, or why I'm writing them here. But this has been on my mind since yesterday. Even though we weren't close any more, I still felt better knowing he was around. I learned a long time ago that I couldn't save him - believe me I tried when we were younger- and that ultimitely he had to save himself. But why didn't I put more effort into our friendship when he moved back here? I had his phone number, I knew where he worked. I have no idea. We couldn't have gone back to the same kind of friendship, but a new kind with our families and get-togethers and who knows what.

Or maybe not. Years had passed, and we were different people. But I'll never know. I still wish I could talk to him, though. It's a strange feeling to remember that he's not out there somewhere living his life.

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

New on my playlist

I am really loving this. A duet by my favorite rock couple, singing my favorite Bush song. Both very talented people, and they sing well together. And their sweet smiles and kiss at the end makes me smiley.

Tuesday, January 8, 2013


I'm being too hard on myself today. As I told friends yesterday, my inner critic is a bitch and I hate her. Yesterday, she was silent. The words flowed from my brain to my keyboard like magic. Everything was wonderful. I was excited.

Today, she's back. She asks me what I think I'm trying to do, why anyone would want to read anything I write. I'm second-guessing like crazy - the big idea that inspired my story to continue and just might be the big plot line that drives the whole thing now seems like an exercise in futility.

I keep telling myself that the first draft is just that - first draft. I don't and can't produce perfection the first try. I compare the words on my screen to books I'm reading and cringe at the comparison. My logical side knows that all the published books I read had many drafts and revisions, but my inner self-doubt tells me I'll never good enough.

I hate my inner critic. But I have no idea how to make her go away.

Does everyone who writes feel like this? What does it take to be confident? How does one silence the inner doubt?