Breaking the Silence

   

I don’t like it when I get out of the blogging habit.
So even though I cannot think of anything truly substantial
to add to the public discourse,
I’m posting.

Just so I can say I did.
And then tomorrow, I’ll do it again.
Blog, that is.
Hopefully, it’ll be something of greater interest
than me sharing the fact that I’ve had the Jeeves and Wooster
theme music playing in my head on a constant loop
for the past three days.

I’m hoping that taking this bold, blog action
will also get me back in the reading/commenting
habit again.

What-ho, friends!
                       

My New Motto

    

I’m reading this:

If you’re not familiar with this book, I highly recommend it.
Ralph Keyes picks you up off the floor, dusts you off, and sends you back to work.

As I read a bit last night before falling asleep,
I came across the word "prevail."
I felt a ping in my head.
The guy who narrates my morning yoga routine
also says "prevail."
And I love it when he does
because it makes me feel strong and powerful.

So after much thought,
I’ve decided to officially adopt it as my own official word:

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PREVAIL

To be or become effective; win out.
To succeed.
To triumph.

I’m thinking about tattooing it on my forehead.

Okay, not really.
But I am wondering if anyone else out there
has a motivating word or phrase.
If so, how do you display/utilize it in your own life?

                          

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Brain Contortions

  

I’ve spent much of today trying to decide
whether I need to halt the agent search via
my middle-grade novel
in order to give the manuscript a complete overhaul.
Or maybe just a partial overhaul.
More of a lube and tune-up.

But the way my brain keeps twisting
as I struggle with the question
makes me feel I’m about as qualified
to fix this book as work on a car.

Not a good feeling.

                

What Did You Do Today, Tracy?

  

Why, thank you for asking!

Today Zippy and I drove up to Brighton for our representative’s (Congressman Ed Perlmutter) Town Hall Meeting on health care reform.
Maybe you’ve heard about the organized disruption of Democratic representatives’ meetings as they try to talk health care reform with their constituencies.
The situation has gotten ugly.  Beyond ugly.
Zippy and I really didn’t want to go but felt obligated to push back against the lunatic fringe.

Oh, my.

I brought two signs.
This one spoke to my feelings on the issue:

Plus I wanted another sign to convey my feelings without having to scream them at people:

The second one came in real handy when the guy wearing the U.S. flag bandana,
swinging the U.S. flag (nearly poking me in the eye)
chanted "Hitler Care!  Hitler Care!"

Goethe’s quote was also useful when I was confronted with signs like this:

and this:

and this:

That last sign was pretty popular.
A group of people took turns holding it.
This woman here:

was taking her turn with the Death Pill sign when she came up to me,
presumably because of my Active Ignorance sign,
and said, "Honey, God gave me plenty of brains and I know what’s in that bill."
To which I responded by pointing to her Death Pill sign and saying, "Clearly, you’re informed.’
Then I tried taking her picture but she slammed her sign into my camera. 
That was okay since she mixed it up with everyone there,
giving me ample opportunity to document her shrieking and finger-jabbing.

Later some other woman (sign-less) asked what my Active Ignorance sign meant.
I explained it was in response to ridiculous claims such as the Death Pill.

Oh, my.
That comment unleashed a Death Pill / pacemaker rant.
Google revealed that she was apparently referring to a partial, out-of-context video clip.
Here’s the full version of Obama addressing pacemakers and end-of-life care.
(Who knew this was a raging issue on the lunatic fringe?)

Lest you think the crowd was one hundred percent nutters,
here are some signs I really appreciated:

and

and

and

The thing is, I don’t really care how much it would cost to provide quality health care to everyone in this country.
No one asked my opinion about invading and occupying two countries,
and the billions of dollars those occupations cost each and every month.
I’d rather my tax dollars heal rather than kill.

Unfortunately, a lot of fear-based, angry people descended upon a grocery store parking lot today
to shout their disagreement.
              

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FREE TO A GOOD HOME:
One male Wildebeest.

 , you’ll take him, right?
You’ve already got so many what difference would one more make?
Laura?  Laura? 

Anyone?
               
            

Feeling Invisible

        


(Couldn’t find photographer credit)

I’m starting to understand why some writers
send money, chocolate, etc. with their submissions.

Including an owl pellet is probably a really bad idea, though. 
         

Tweaking for Sanity

   

When a project first goes out into the world,
it’s easy for me to focus on other work.
I’m still satisfied with the outgoing project’s polish,
and proud of the accomplishment.
I don’t need to think about that project anymore.

Up to a point, that is.

My project has not yet yielded the desired results
which means The Doubts have descended upon me.
Pitched a tent in my head
and settled in to whisper crazy, non-helpful stuff.
Non-stop.

For the sake of my sanity, I needed to shift that energy.

Today I made a slight change in that project’s format.
It only took about an hour and just like that,
I feel so much better.
More confident.
Less like a campground for negative, whispered voices.

Once again I’m proud to have created that book.

Which means it’s time for me to get back to my other work.

                

Banishing The Doubts

  

The best remedy for The Doubts is liking your project as you revise.
Thinking to yourself "Hey, this isn’t too bad!"
Or maybe just "Hey, this isn’t too bad." (minus the exclamation point).

I am SO grateful for these glimmers right now.
Whether they’re exclamatory, or not.

              
           

Voice Rules!

       

I just finished a contemporary YA that I really enjoyed.
The writing wasn’t great; there were too many summaries of the main character’s problems.
A kind of "I’m facing X, Y, Z now, and how will I continue?" sort of thing.
Over and over.
And the plot felt a bit contrived.

Yet I found myself eager to continue reading.
And I’ve decided it was due to the main character’s voice.
She’s funny and loyal, and has a genuineness about her.

I realize this isn’t any news flash since editors and agents
are always talking about the importance of voice.
We all know Voice is vital to a story.
But it was interesting to realize how much I’ll overlook if I’m engaged by the narrative.

What’s the must-have element for you to keep reading a less-than-perfect book?

             

PSA: Pine Nuts

     

Sunday night Zippy made the best cilantro pesto
It was to die for.

Today we’re regretting it.

It seems some people react to over-consumption of pine nuts
by experiencing a metallic taste in their mouths.
People like us.
Two to three days after the fact.

So for instance, this morning’s smoothie tasted metallic.
Even my coffee didn’t totally mask the taste.

And in case you’re thinking a constant metallic taste 
would aid in weight loss (because who eats when everything
you stick in your mouth tastes like a handful of old pennies?),
I’m here to tell you the post-pine nuts sensation isn’t a consistent sensation.

Some things taste better than others.
For example, I just got done "experimenting" with
a slice of cold pizza
a handful of tamari-roasted almonds
a bowl of cereal
and a banana.

Nothing tasted all bad all the time.
There were glimmers of good.
Not really good, but okay good.
Except I kept hoping for something that was 100 percent good from start to finish.
Which means I ate more than necessary.

So be warned: if you want to make that delicious cilantro pesto, go easy on the pine nuts.
And if you decide to live dangerously, let me know if there’s anything that tastes 100 percent good.
Especially since this phenomenon apparently lasts eight to ten days.

                

Close-Up on my July 4th

     

Zippy, Zebu, and I spent about three hours
at a family picnic in a cow pasture.

You read that correctly.

Zippy’s mother’s family has land out in the country
and they’ve built a permanent picnic shelter out there.
In the midst of the cacti and cow patties.

I had a great time with my camera.

Globemallow (?) and Cow Poop

Bone At Rest

Ants At Work

Alien Insect Touring the Salad

Zebu Warding Off the Paparazzi

Wildflower Bouquet

Hope everyone had a wonderful weekend.
And that the fireworks have quit in your neighborhood.
Ahem.
                       

A Confession

  

I’ve spent much of the past several hours
trying to figure out what’s going on with
Sarah Palin.

When I heard she was quitting her job as Alaska’s governor
I was positive she was starting her 2012 run early.

But then I watched her explain the "rationale" for quitting.

With the birds squawking and geese honking in the background
as she gasped her way from one self-aggrandizing statement to the next,
SarahCuda didn’t strike me as someone on her way up the political ladder.

She struck me as a woman unhinged.
Even more so than usual.

But I’ve come to the conclusion that sometimes
it’s best to let crazy be so that that crazy doesn’t become your own.

So I’ll quit trying to divine the truth and will instead
sit back and wait for further developments.
Really, I will.

And, also?
You might want to do the same.
  

(Edited to add: for those who can’t stomach the audio agony, here’s the transcript).              

Zebu’s Bear

  

Last night Wildebeest’s friends trickled in
and headed down to the basement.
Zippy and I were reading in bed when
just minutes after the latest friend had arrived,
the doorbell rang.

Wildebeest went to the door.
"There’s no one there," he yelled to us.
"Someone’s playing Doorbell Ditch."

We all, including Wildebeest, assumed
it was one of Wildebeest’s less-than-mature friends.

Late this morning Wildebeest went out the front door.
And found this:

It’s a Build a Bear.
For Zebu’s birthday.
He turned 13 a couple weeks ago.

The same girl who left this bear for Zebu
last year gave him a hollowed-out basketball
filled with candy and other goodies.

She’s been Zebu’s friend since elementary school.
It makes me happy they have each other.

                 

The Pitfalls of Randomness

       

When Zebu and I go to the library
he pulls books off the shelves.
At random.

He doesn’t really look at what he’s grabbed.
And he stops grabbing once he has a stack.

He recently read a book about a chess tournament
which he said was really boring.
Hard to believe, I know.

Last night he finished a book about a spelling bee.
He said it was totally stupid.
Again, what a shock.

I asked why he didn’t just check out a novel about knitting while he was at it.

Rather than throw a pillow at me
he said my idea would only work if it was a story about competitive knitting.
Involving a race to knit a pair of mittens, hat, and scarf.

So if any of my writer friends want to run with that plot idea, feel free.
Zebu would probably read it.

                

This is getting scary!

    

My schedule is off this week so instead of doing the push-ups first thing in the morning,
I have to wait until later.
Today later meant right before dinner.
When I suddenly realized I hadn’t done the damned things workout.

Oy.

I thought it was hard the other days when my arms shook and I fought mightily to get some space
between the floor and me.

Tonight I collapsed.
Three times on the last set.
My arms just gave out and I flopped onto my belly.
Without warning.
Three times.

But I did my required number of pushups
(not sharing because it’s kind of embarrassing).
Hope it still counts even though the set was done as a relay.

Oy.
           

Yes, Virginia, there is a sun

     

Despite the evidence out the window right now
and despite the past couple weeks,
Colorado does get sun.

I’d love some more sunshine.
My mental health would appreciate it, too.
We had some yesterday and we can have it again.

Come on, Sun,
do your thing! 
Please.


 
                   

Wildebeest and Winnie

       

Wildebeest is out on the couch right now.
Sewing a patch on his favorite jeans.
Focusing on tiny stitches.

And singing.
Winnie the Pooh.

Well, a combination of these words, anyway, with an emphasis on willy and silly:

Winnie-the-Pooh,
Winnie-the-Pooh,
Tubby little cubby all stuffed with fluff.
He’s Winnie-the-Pooh.
Winnie-the-Pooh.
Willy, nilly, silly, old bear