Showing posts from October, 2012

My shocking cart extravaganza . . .

Happy Halloween! Ghosts goblins . . .Walmart? Yes indeedy, folks. I was at Walmart and trucking along with a cart when I felt a little zap go through my hand. I stopped—near automotive in case you're wondering—flexed my fingers for a moment, then headed on. Zap! I stopped again, tapping my hand along the cart handle to see if there was indeed static electricity coming out of the metal. Everything was fine. Once agin I pushed forward. CRACKLE. Holy shnarky man, this cart is creating an electric charge when I move it—like a generator! The plastic sheath mixed with the metal of the handle were building up a charge, using me as the conductor.

Old Wallyworld needs to check this stuff out. Seriously.

Maybe they're trying out a low-grade shock treatment to keep their patients in a 'happy' state of mind—if you get my drift. Don't think about the cost, or where this stuff came from, just buy, buy, buy. Shock, shock, shock.

Or maybe my cart was haunted by a former employee. …

For your consideration

Good evening, folks. A new photo taken by a good friend of mine has been added over at the Fig. Take a look if you can. It's the kind of photo that makes you want to take the day off and just drift away. At least, that's what I thought when I saw it!

Katia by Marshall Rimann

Have a beautiful night.

To be or not to be . . .

I am really lagging behind today and it feels like there's a heavy weight on my back. Man, so tired!! I don't know if it was the funeral or the travel or just life in general, but man, just man.

A funeral is always a strange experience, and of course, so sad. At the memorial I sang two songs, and that went pretty good. I thought learning two songs and having to perform them with only a day's time was the most of my trouble. Wrong. Julia was. She feels things so deeply, loves so hard, cares too much. There she stood by the open casket, deep in thought. By the time the eulogy was rolling, she was in full tears and blurt out, "Oh, why did you have to go!" Then later, "You let go of my hand! Oh please, don't die!" I, fresh from singing Amazing Grace, begged her with whispers to please be quiet. Cry later, kid. LATER. 

A few more, "She's dead," and, "In death, she leaves us forever," so loud the whole chapel could hear, Julia fina…

Morning Report

Fig's very first story is up and it has something to do with fig leaves . . . so very fitting. Also, there's a photo for your morning pleasure.

I'm off to a funeral today, so, yeah, not fun. And I have to sing, one of the downfall's of being known as the "singer." But, if it brings peace of mind then I can't complain.

And on that note, well gee, have yourself a good day! If you're in the path of Sandy then batten down the hatches. Seriously, take care. Maybe it will make a good story. Take an awesome picture and write up something exciting to match—might be Figs' next new entry!

Saturday Night Haunts

Last night I took the kids to a VFW Halloween party. Liam put on his Ghostbuster shirt which is fifty sizes too big for a little boy, a Spiderman mask and his cowboy boots he got three years ago that finally fit. Julia wore a pink My Little Pony shirt and tons of mascara. I guess that was her costume. Pretty pony girl?

Following my daft sister—who forgot I was following her all the way out in the country and pretty much left without me, but if you know my sister you'll understand—we headed across winding roads where trees had been made naked and black by the wind and open fields lay underneath a ribbon of purple twilight. It was the perfect atmosphere for a Halloween party, complete with full pale moon staring down at us like an omniscient cyclops.

My nephew Tommy, who wants to be called Thomas, was to man a basketball game table, only he didn't seem to want to do the actual work, so my sister and I stepped in. She was the 'barker' and I the ball collector. Not an easy…

A new concept

The other day I started an online literary journal and am in need of submissions. The best place to start is here, with all the talented artists and writers I have come to know and love! If you have any little pieces hanging around—photos, pics of artwork, etc then send them to All work must be original, no reprints please.

The concept is to create an atmosphere of voices, like the party lines they used to have on the old phone systems. That sort of thing. If you have an old photo of yourself and a cool story behind it, or a town fable that was legendary, a travel story, a remembrance of a night that has stayed in your memory forever, then send it in. But it doesn't have to be any of that, Fig Literary Magazine wants the best of fiction: short stories, flash, abstract, surreal, funny. The point is, it should be your best work and written with honesty. For more information, visit
I guess this an answer to the question I asked last week.…

Operation Earlobe

Some girls in eighth grade had cool moms, the kind who took them to Merle Norman for their first ear piercing. The kind who even threw in a tube of lipstick and half-hour color consultation without hardly a blink of the eye.

I had the uncool mom, the kind who made me beg for everything related to a developing body, leg hair removal, underwear that didn't have the name of the week on it (which my sister and I shared so I was always ending up with an off day). I remember having to beg for a bra. Many weeks I begged. We ended up at K-mart for that one. No bra was small enough to fit my skeletal pre-pubescent body. But I just had to have one, even if the cups sagged inward like two mini-peaks of Mount St. Helens post-eruption.

One day after school, when the rain trickled down the windows of Mom's silver hatchback, I built enough nerve to ask about getting my ears pierced. "Absolutely not!" she said, and I looked out the window as she went on and on about how young I was …

Sitting still and ghost hunting

The other day I went to parent teacher conferences at school, where I heard about all the lovely things my children do every day and what a good parent I am. Not quite! What I heard was that Julia is greatly improving in her school work, but has trouble sitting still. Also, that at recess, she's out picking flowers in the far reaches of the playground—so far that she fails to hear the whistle or her name being called. Her teacher told me she's had to chase Julia around, as I'm sure I've done many times. Of course I sat there and felt awful over my wild daughter who won't respond to her name being called, hair and wildflowers flying as she runs and teacher runs behind, stumbling, crying out her name, "Julia!" It's funny and not funny. Proper punishment shall ensue.

Then in Liam's class, I found out he was the perfect example of a good little boy; respectful, obedient, patient. And I'm thinking, right. Is this the same kid who comes home every d…

Peeking In

It's been such a long time since I posted. I think my focus has on my kids lately, yet at the same time it feels wrong to let things slip career-wise. Still trying to find a good balance.

Having said that, about a week ago I went to an appearance by Laura Moriarty, author of The Chaperone and creative writing professor at KU. The library was packed with people—a good sign. I went because I wanted to speak to her about getting an MFA, but I ended up enjoying her chapter reading, especially as it dealt with the Orphan Trains. I've told you about my grandmother, who was a mere baby when she travelled the trains from New York to Missouri. Not having read The Chaperone yet, I was pleasantly surprised to hear Ms. Moriarty touch on this subject. It, in fact, brought me to tears. While taking questions, I raised my hand and told her about Grandmother Marion. Afterwards, many women came up to me expressing their interest in the story. I think it's a good sign I should be writing th…