An Amazing Anniversary

Today is official!

For those of you who don't recall, last year about this time I announced and celebrated the culmination of a beautiful love story: The wedding of a special couple, my husband's grandparents. At the time, Grandma was 96, and her groom? 99!

As of today, these two are celebrating their 1st YEAR ANNIVERSARY!

Grandma is 97, and her groom? 100!

While his health is degenerating, he is still sharp and still with us, and might even make it to 101.

My heart is still overjoyed, I am still so in awe of this Amazing, Amazing Couple!

Happy Anniversary!

Travel Tuesday: The Vista south of San Onofre

My husband and I recently took a drive along the coast of California to attend an event in Oceanside. We made this drive several times before as a couple, and hundreds of times during our courtship when we lived 109 miles from one another.

Our shadows

This time though, we left earlier than we needed to, armed with our cameras, so that we could take a few minutes to enjoy the vista turn off south of San Onofre, the nuclear power station. We couldn't have asked for better weather and we got some remarkable pics between the two of us.

San Onofre Power Station

Traffic looking southbound from the vista

Not entirely sure what purpose this was for, so I took a picture. I'm goofy like that.

Wildflowers common to California

a surprise in the sun

At some point, a couple of tourists decided to open a bag of potato chips and started feeding the ground squirrels. The creatures surrounded us in tens and twenties and were so stinking cute. My husband and I stayed longer to snap nearly 200 pictures of ground squirrels doing ground squirrel things.

A word to the wise however: no matter how cute critters are, there is a reason wild animals live in the wild. They are not defenseless, nor are they harmless. Ground squirrels may not be carnivorous, but their teeth are strong enough to crack the toughest nuts and can easily break stray fingers. Tiny fingers of children are exceptionally vulnerable to having a bad day. So please, don't feed any wildlife anywhere. There are dangers and diseases waiting in a single bite or a simple scratch, never mind the danger it poses to the animals. So again, word to the wise, don't feed the wildlife. They're fine on their own, trust me.

My First Blog Tour!

The beautiful and talented Karen at Time Crafted invited me to be the next stop on the writer's blog tour.

I'm excited that she has confidence in me, but at the same time, I have no clue what I'm doing. But here we go!

The theme of this tour is the writing process. Four questions. Four answers. Starting in 5...4...3...

1. What am I working on?

I have several irons in the fire. The next scheduled project to finish is the next in my Trouble series. The Cold Side of Trouble is promised to be released this year and I'm a solid 10 chapters in. I'm also starting another series that is going to be more paranormal urban fantasy than mystery, my usual haunt. Not to mention a few short stories and a flash fiction piece for submission to Write on Edge's 3rd Precipice. And that's just stuff on the front burner. On the back burner? It's pretty hectic.

2. How does my work differ from others of its genre?

If I start to compare my work with others, I'm going to get a healthy dose of insecurity. I don't know that my stories differ much from others of the genres they belong to. Other than telling the stories through my voice and vision, and I have a pretty unique view of the world, I don't know how to answer this one.

As far as genre though, I don't stick to one, even within a story. Elements of humor and paranormal and intrigue and history and present day weave through the words I write, but I try to let the characters drive their stories. I think that way, it keeps the situations pretty real, no matter how much fantasy I'm infusing into the plot.

3. Why do I write what I do

I write the stories I want to read, and because nothing beats the feeling of opening the box that UPS or FedEx delivers and finding a dead-tree print copy of a book with my name on it. It's happened to me twice now, and I'm addicted. So I will write and write until UPS and FedEx stop delivering.

4. How does your writing process work?

It doesn't. Not very well at any rate. I'm not nearly as focused as I should be. One thing though, I don't suffer writer's block. Maybe I get stuck in one  story I'm writing. That's okay, I've got others. I cycle through all my stories until I find one that inspires me to keep going. It's slower writing that way I think, and often counter productive, but it keeps me in the habit of writing every day. 

Editing and formatting? Completely different story. I'm aggressive as an editor and I love the process of formatting for publication. So much so, I'm happy to do it for anyone else. Hint, Hint, Wink, Wink, Nudge, Nudge, Say no more!

Thank you Karen, for letting me be a part of this tour. It was a ton of fun! The next steps of the tour have not yet responded to my emails, so until they do, I will give you over to others in the tour that you might have missed. 

Check out my fellow colleges:

Kirsten Piccini is a gorgeous, gorgeous woman with exceptional talent, and one of the few romance authors I follow. She weaves humor and passion like a master craftsman, and her road to successful publication began with the release of Precipice volume II last year. 

Cameron D Garriepy is a writer am I in constant envy of. She makes crafting setting and memorable characters look easy. Yup, I'm pretty green, but she gives me an ideal to aspire to. 

and stay tuned for more authors coming your way!

The Best Laid Plans...

I apologize for radio silence.

I wish I could say it was because I've been so deep in NaNoWriMo, that I didn't know what day it was.

Unfortunately, I had a slight mishap.

Remember, remember the 5th of November

Gunpowder. Treason. And Plot

I see no reason the Gunpowder Treason

Ought ever be forgot

Well, for me it was the 8th of November, the day to remember when my husband was late to an appointment and rushed to leave. I was in another room and I heard a crash followed by a stream of my husband's obscenities. In his haste, he knocked my computer off of its perch and the action caused the prong of the power cord to bend. 

So, my laptop was fine, thank God, but I had no way of recharging spent power. 

My husband still looks at me with guilty eyes and showers me with apologies, even after a replacement cord was ordered and delivered today. 

But accidents are just as they seem. And if I had taken the extra few moments that 8th of November, to ensure that my laptop was put away before I stepped from its side for a bite to eat, it would not have been there for my husband to collide with.

So you see, owing blame where blame is due, I look upon him with guilt as well. For he feels guilty for something that is not his fault, and I feel guilty that he feels guilty...

And now it is ten days later and I am well behind in my word count for NaNoWriMo. 

Last year, however, I was even further behind and I still managed to cross the finish line, and I didn't have so fine an excuse as I have this year.

So, in my next NaNoWriMo Journal entry, I will hopefully have a more substantial update for you. 

Precipice 2013 is HERE!

Announcing Precipice 2013!

"You never know what worse luck your bad luck has saved you from."  

Cormac McCarthy, "No Country for Old Men" 

 In the second volume of Precipice, twenty-four authors from the Write on Edge community explore the concept of luck in twenty-six works of poetry, short fiction, and memoir.

I am proud to be a part of such a wonderful, supportive community and I am equally proud that my work has been selected for this publication. My sincerest thanks goes to the dedicated editorial staff at Write on Edge, whose encouragement and advice help me improve as a writer. 

Check out Precipice 2013, available from these fine retailers:

• Amazon for Kindle/Kindle apps
• Amazon for print:
• Smashwords for all ebook/digital formats:

The ebook will become available on iTunes, Kobo, B&N over the next few weeks, and at some point in the next week, the two editions on Amazon will be merged. Watch the FB and Twitter feeds for updates.

Anticipation of Autumn (WoE week 42)

Write at the Merge gives us two words this week: Anticipation and Leap.

I'm going with Anticipation, and I'm going to give you something a bit different this week.


I offer the following in response: Autumn Means Pumpkins!

I have been sitting on edge for the last few weeks. Autumn is a season of preparation. We anticipate winter’s approach like loyal subjects for their queen, festooning trees with brightly hued leaves of gold and rust. The world seems to me like a child that cannot sit still at the midnight hour in wait for Saint Nick, watching the starry skies through frost covered windows, afraid to sleep because it might miss something.

For me, the wait begins with the planting of the pumpkin vine. I’m a bit obsessed with pumpkins, mostly because they each have their own personality, with warts and scars and farmer tans from sitting on the ground too long during their development. When no one is watching, I hug them.

Who am I kidding? I hug them even when people are watching. Don’t judge me. I never said I was normal.

Anyway, I thought I’d share the reason why I’m hovering over my pumpkin vines in wait for their perfect orange fruit. The following is my absolute favorite pumpkin recipe. 

Pumpion Pye
AKA: Baked Whole Pumpkin

Variations of this dish has been around at least since the colonies were established in the Americas, and was a known favorite of our founding fathers. George Washington himself was especially partial to Pumpkin Pie and requested it often from his own kitchen. Of course, the concept of pie has evolved over the centuries, from the waste not/want not use of yesteryear leftovers to the flaky crust and sweet fillings that we all know pie to be today.

For a very special holiday pumpkin dessert, give this flashback a shot:

WARNING: This is not for anyone on any form of diet for any reason. If you or someone you serve develops heart disease, diabetes, or other dietary malfunction, DO NOT BLAME ME. It is solely your responsibility to ascertain if you or those you serve are healthy enough to partake of this dish.

Now that the public service announcement has been issued, let’s begin.

Preheat the oven to 350*

Gather the ingredients:

·         A small pumpkin, 3 or 4 pounds, guts removed

·         3 whole eggs

·         1 cup heavy whipping cream

·         ¼ cup brown sugar

·         ½ Tbsp molasses

·         ¼ tsp nutmeg (freshly grated is best)

·         ½ tsp cinnamon

·         ¼ tsp ginger

·         Fresh Vanilla bean, scraped, or a few drops of extract, to taste

·         1 Tbsp butter (real butter please, no skimping)

After guts have been removed from the pumpkin, mix all remaining ingredients except the butter and fill the pumpkin with the mixture. Top the mixture with the butter. Place the top back on the pumpkin and place in an oven-safe dish (this is to keep leakages from spilling out into the oven) and bake for 1-1 ½ hrs or until the mixture as set like a custard.

If you can wait for the pumpkin to cool before serving, you win bragging rights for self-control. While amazing at cool, this pumpkin is positively sinful while hot. Serve from the pumpkin directly at the table, scraping the pumpkin meat off with each scoop of the custard. Family style suggestion: hand everyone a spoon and announce “dig in”. 

For those of you who are trying to do the vegan thing, some friends have suggested that cream of coconut works for the whipping cream, but I have no idea what to do about the eggs. You guys are on your own, but I wish you the best of luck. 

Happy Birthday America!

Freedom isn't free.

I remember, and keep very faithfully, the vigil for those who have spilled their blood so that I wouldn't have to live by another's leave.

Thank you.

Photo courtesy SKD albums: Paul Revere statue at Heritage Park

Typhoon Nancy (WoE #14, Euphonic Phrase and Propeller Challenge)

After a week's hiatus, I'm returning to Write at the Merge. The prompts this week include a picture of the propeller from the aircraft carrier, USS Intrepid, and the words cellar door.

Cellar Door is considered to be a perfect euphonic phrase, at least that is what was said in the film Donnie Darko. Phonaesthetics, the study of euphony (inherent pleasantness) and cacophony (inherent unpleasantness) in the sound of words was introduced by J.R.Firth in 1930.

Cellar door may be considered the most beautiful phrase in the English language, but it's beauty is lost on me.

Now, the aircraft carrier propeller, that is beauty that is not lost on me. I am the very proud daughter of a man who once served aboard an aircraft carrier, CVA-31 the Bon Homme Richard, fondly called the Bonnie Dick. The Bonnie Dick had several West-Pac tours and she was involved in World War II, The Korean War, and The Vietnam Conflict. I got to walk her flight deck with my father and to pay my respects to her in 1992 before they scrapped her. She was a beautiful, beautiful creature and a damn fine carrier. 

In September of 1961, a Catagory 5 super typhoon named Nancy wrecked havoc upon the West-Pac countries. She formed near the Kwajalein Atol, moving west and then north across Japan, eventually moving out to the open water of the Kamchatka Sea. In Japan alone, 157 people were killed, 18 missing, and over 3,000 injured, making Nancy the 6th deadliest cyclone to hit Japan.

Unable to steer from the Nancy's path, The Bonnie Dick suffered as well. Nancy claimed the life of a sailor as she stole an aircraft from the flight deck. Waves stood 100-feet high over the flight deck (the flight deck is 85ft above normal water lines). When all was said and done, they lost a large crane from the main deck, all the catwalks and walkways on the deck edge were stripped off, the starboard-side aircraft elevator was ripped loose and dangled in the water, the starboard catapult track, a 12in by 14in steel beam, was bent 50ft in the air, and the list of damages goes on from there.

My story this week is loosely based on a true story, my dad's story. I hope I've done you proud, Pop.

I offer the following in response: Nancy Ain't A Lady

“Hell, Typhoon Nancy’s going to chase us all the way to Kamchatka!”

The ocean leaned like a Jenga tower, 65-feet over the flight deck and Seaman Angler grabbed the nearest railing. The wave burned him when it hit, tearing at his eyes. The aircraft carrier slid beneath him. Forever he gripped the railing, feeling both heavy and weightless, counting the long seconds until the carrier righted and the water fled. He sucked in a welcome breath. Nancy’s trying to kill me.

“Woot! That’s what I call a coaster! You all right Seaman? You look green.”

“Respectfully, Sir, shut the hell up.” Angler set his feet and adjusted the cables on his shoulders.

The CO pushed another volunteer out into the weather. “Let’s haul, ladies. The United States will not lose another aircraft on my watch. Get those lines out. Move! Move!”

Angler followed orders, but with a 70-mile head-wind and a hundred pounds of cable tossed across his shoulders, the definition of move was lost in translation. “Join the Navy, see the world. Right.” He questioned his sanity.

Seaman Briggs was behind him; Angler heard his voice boom over the howling wind, “Wild! They say the captain’s gone nuts, ordering the waves to get the hell off his flight deck. Have you ever seen weather like this?”

“No, I’m from Kansas.” Angler coughed seawater from his lungs. “Nearest body of water was the neighbor’s kiddie pool.”

The pilot house broke the next wave. Several tie-downs snapped as the carrier slammed through the trough. Briggs tapped his shoulder. “We got another Skyraider loose.”

“Shit.” Angler forced his legs to increase speed. He and Briggs fought the typhoon, repairing what tie-downs they could with the new cables. The carrier shuddered, complaining, but the weather was merciless. The cyclone tossed the Bon Homme Richard around like a rubber float.

They resecured the jet, and pushed on to the next aircraft between waves, where the process was repeated.  Guide lights flashed across the liquid darkness, a signal their time was up. They fought for every inch of their return, thigh-deep in pooled ocean.

Inside, Briggs and Angler separated. Angler slogged towards his quarters, cursing the sting of soaked clothing. The Bonnie Dick rolled again, throwing Angler against the wall, and the hallway plunged into darkness. “Son-of-a…” Angler pressed against the midship, and waited.

The darkness belayed.

Angler inched forward, using the wall to guide him, his progress painful. Then, a voice whispered within his mind, Stop.

He looked down as the red battlelights flickered into existence. Angler balanced on one leg at the edge of the expansion joint. The sight of swirling ocean pumped ice through his veins. The developing chasm was six-feet across and a long way down.

The treadplate slammed shut. Angler’s heart stopped and he collapsed to the floor, shaken. There he stayed in deep conversation with God, a conversation long overdue, until his will returned. He would not leave his bunk for the rest of the night.

State of the Onion or What I've Been Avoiding

My State of the Union address is long overdue. I've been avoiding it.

My parents shuffle about, getting ready for dialysis. In truth, they're dragging their feet on purpose. Who wants to go to dialysis? Even as it's a necessary procedure to extend the life, dialysis has become a chore. Three days a week, my parents put their lives on hold to sit in a chair and do nothing for four hours straight. And lately, the staff, although professional and conscientious, is running hours behind due to a corporate takeover, making my parents thrice-a-week trek all the more unpleasant.

I sit in a state of onion: Layers of frustration and needs and chores and depression, all neatly packaged in a parchment-thin skin that makes me cry when I go to chop it up. When ignored, this onion only grows bigger and bigger, sprouting new life all on its own. I know what I need to do. I know how I need to do it. But instead I sit amidst my growing projects and feel like I've accomplished nothing for four hours straight. I'm spinning wheels like I'm stuck in Alabama mud and I'm going nowhere fast.

Or am I? I'll get back to this point in a second.

I'm still unemployed, after a year and a few months. In today's job market, I'm just not getting noticed. I probably need to fix problem areas in my resume, get out of the house and make connections, and/or pester all of my friends to point me somewhere, anywhere that will prove fruitful. But that's not the crux of the matter, and I know this. It is obvious even to me that I have been granted with an over-abundance of time. If I had used this time to my best advantage, I could have drafted and re-drafted at least three novels by now and had them ready for publication. I have squandered my time through false hope, lack of dedication, and poor work ethic. I have closed my eyes and my onion has sprouted a life of its own.

Time to wrestle Time back, peel back the layers, and get to chopping. That means focusing on the aspects of my life that I find exciting, so I can draw from that energy to apply to things that I should be doing.


Outstanding Personal Obligations Recently Completed:

• Scrivener: Learning the nuances of a new software. I'm now comfortable using it for bigger projects. As a result, Waking Grandpa is trotting along nicely.
• Knitting: I've completed several washcloths for baby showers and scarves for gifts.
• Camera: I HAVE A NEW CAMERA AND IT'S TOTALLY AWESOME!

Inserting proud camera moment here:

The camera is an important addition to my techie circus. My previous camera wasn't "Shelton-friendly" so all pictures I took with it look like...well...something that came out of the south-end of a north-bound kangaroo.  This new one has features and I don't need a Bachelor's in Computer Science with a Minor in Japanese to figure out how to use it. Now, I can dabble in photography and feel good about the pictures I take. Like the above duck. Don't make fun of it. I'm really REALLY proud of that duck. Soon, I'll be able to play in the Really Cool Sandbox of Really Cool Blogs with Really Cool Pictures along with the big girls. YEA!

The point is this: although I've avoided a few things and I don't feel like I've accomplished anything, I do have completed projects. I have seen remarkable growth in my creative writing (thanks in no small part to the wonderful WoE community and daily encouragement from my editor and good friend.) I have had job interviews that haven't produced offers, but that proves I'm doing something right somewhere. So maybe I'm not further along because I zigged when I should have zagged, but I've accomplished enough of my little goals from last year that I can devote some time to what comes next.

Next On My Pipeline:

• Novel: The second draft of The Trouble With Henry is back from my editor. There are only a few trouble spots to work through. But I'm seeing the end of the tunnel on this WIP. The next steps are: Revising and Tweaking: by the beginning of April, and formatting, cover art and (drum roll) PUBLISH by the end of April. (Hey, it can be done. I'm THAT close!)
• Novel II: Waking Grandpa second draft to be completed by the end of July.
• Camera: Three local trips are planned ('cause I can't afford to go farther right now) to exercise my budding photographing skills. Orfila Winery, Old Town San Diego, and The Huntington Library. Oh and the beach, which makes trip four.
• New Job: Time to pester those friends for a little assistance. 
• Taxes: yes, I need hold my wallet open for Uncle Sam and remember the IRS agents are only doing their jobs. I'm really not that important for them to have a personal vendetta against me.
• Knitting: Another scarf or three for my editor. And few gifts for the Hallmark Holidays. Maybe I'll actually knit something bigger than a scarf or a washcloth. Maybe a tea cozy?

So there it is. The State of the Onion that I've been avoiding from the beginning of the year is finished. I'm not where I wanted to be, but that's okay. The slow and steady pace of the tortoise is better than the flashing over-confident pace of the hare. And if I run the onion under water before chopping, I won't cry.

My parents will still have to trudge to dialysis, but perhaps I can have dinner ready for them when they come home.

Today's Spotlight

Osiyo!

As previously mentioned, I am one of three guest hosts featured this autumn at Write On Edge. Today's topic Are All You're Indians Extinct? challenges stereotypes in character development. Check it out!

Write On Edge: Going For The Gold Challenge

Red Writing Hood offered three different options this week, inspired by the Olympic Games.

We are to choose one from the following:

The 100 Meter Sprint
100 words on a conflict, competition, or game.
The Road Race
300 words on a topic of your choice. The only catch? Your setting must be London, Beijing, or Rio de Janeiro.
Synchronized Diving
Partner up with another Write on Edge writer. You each have 450 words to write about a conflict between two characters; each writer should represent a single character’s point of view.


So, funny story...


When my editor speaks and the words "So, funny story..." escape her lips, everyone around her stops and listens. She's got a verbal arsenal of tales, mostly hers, some borrowed, that oft times bring uncontrollable fits of side-splitting giggles to surface. Those words became a catchphrase that my circle of immediate friends has adopted. Of course, the ubiquitous "No shit, there I was..." happens also, depending on the amount of drinks consumed by the party speaking.

So, funny story...and my attempt at narrative non-fiction for The Road Race event...


I offer the following in response: A Rare Commuter

St. Paul’s Cathedral blocked what little of the dawning sun the clouds couldn’t hide. Armed with our backpacks, we left the nearby hostel, walking the empty Saturday streets to the Tube. I whistled Feed the Birds from Mary Poppins, in fond farewell, as we passed the baroque apostle before we descended into the earth for our last journey through London.

“My-nd…the gap!” echoed the alternating male and female automated voices over the speaker system as the two of us stood on the vacant platform. When the train doors opened, we did as instructed, stepping over the gap between the platform and the train. The car to ourselves, we chose the seats against the end, backs to the wall, to better survey our empty traindom.

The rumble of the train lulled us into our own thoughts and we occupied the time writing in our journals. Stops blurred by without our notice, until an unexpected passenger boarded.

Feathered smartly in a hounds-tooth-like mottled brown, our new travel companion was an adventurous pigeon.

It jumped into the car and bobbed its head in different angles as if to better ascertain our merit. It pecked briefly at the ground as the doors closed behind it. I held my breath, preparing for the desperate flight of a panicked pigeon. Instead it bobbed, swaggered, and pecked while the train lurched onward. Too stunned to move, I simply watched it watch us.

As the train slowed for the next station, the pigeon turned and waited for the doors to open. It shot one last look at us before hopping from the car onto the platform. Only when the doors slid shut again did we risk laughing. We giggled the entire rest of the way to Victoria Station and our waiting Edinburgh train.

Losing Time

The issue with unemployment: I barely know what day it is. All my weeks are blurring together. The hours of searching for a job coupled with the hours I devote to writing are taking their toll. There are still not enough hours in my day.

And I woke up today blindly playing Tetris with the green numbers on the cable-box clock to discover my day just got shorter.

Don't get me wrong, I knew Daylight Savings Time was near. I knew this because it's been a-buzzing over the interwebs. I knew this because my parents mentioned it last Sunday as I was leaving for home. I knew this because I eavesdropped on a conversation at the movie theater yesterday. I knew this because Karma hasn't an inkling of a sense of humor and she has a tendency to kick you when you fall. Repeatedly.

But I woke today, later than I wanted under normal circumstances, and now even later than I thought I was. Blarg!

As much as I admire Benjamin Franklin for his indisputable contribution to the world, every year when spring ahead springs, I find myself loosing some of that admiration. I have never been an "Early to Bed, Early to Rise" individual. Benji, I know you wanted to give farmers that extra hour to get to market, but really? This is one idea you could've kept to yourself.

That aside, I wish everyone a Happy Lose-an-hour-of-happy-hour Day!

On a separate note, please sing It's A Small World sometime today in memory of the late Robert Sherman. I will be taking a Spoonful of Sugar and seeking Just the Bare Necessities in my missing hour as I Fly a Kite in your honor. Requiescat in pace.
..._,
SK

If We Forgive...

My grandmother moved from Texas to Indian Territory in a covered wagon. She was disowned because she married a man of Indian blood during a time when the only good Indian was a dead one. They struggled to make ends meet every day as sharecroppers. At times, they couldn’t afford to buy their children desperately needed shoes. My grandfather refused the rations and the land parcel that the U.S. government provided for his tribe, rations his destitute family could have used, because he was too proud to take charity. A white uncle took his roll number and stole the benefit because, well, hell, why not.

During the tail end of WWII my mother was born. They weren't prepared for that, they were grandparents for crying out loud. She was informed she had a tumor because the doctors never heard the second heartbeat. She was too sick for them to operate and surprised when she went into labor. A few years later, she left Oklahoma and her lousy, drunken, abusive, philandering husband for California, because living on welfare as a single mother for the rest of her life was a better option. Had she stayed, he might’ve killed her.

She lived long enough to watch man land on the moon.

And even in the end of her days, she never stopped loving him. 

I never knew her. How I wish I had. She died well before I was born. To have been through so much, to have such inner-strength in the face of unrelenting adversity, she was a rare and remarkable woman, with so much to teach me. Mother says that I would have liked to have known my grandfather as well. His stories drew you in and held you there in that world for hours. He was the pillar of the community, doing for others what he didn’t do for his own. I accept him, I even love him, I respect where we came from and I take pride in my native heritage. But, I’m not sure I can forgive him. Times were difficult enough. His wife, who he was supposed to love, honor, and cherish, sacrificed everything to be with him, and still she had to survive him.

And we, who are descended from them, are shrouded in the echo of their pain.

To paraphrase the ending monologue from the movie Smoke Signals (1998): "How do we forgive our fathers? Maybe in a dream. Do we forgive our fathers for leaving us too often, or forever, when we were little? Maybe for scaring us with unexpected rage, or making us nervous because there never seemed to be any rage there at all? And shall we forgive them for their excesses of warmth or coldness? Shall we forgive them for pushing, or leaning? For shutting doors or speaking through walls? For never speaking, or never being silent? Do we forgive our fathers in our age, or in theirs? Or in their deaths?

And if we forgive, what is left?"

What is left?

I do not know the answer yet. Maybe I’m not meant to. I’d like to think that love could travel back in time and mend a broken heart. After all, this emotional baggage has been etched in my DNA. If pain can radiate forward, why not love back?

I do know that I come from a long line of prideful people. We are stubborn and fiercely loyal, usually to our own detriment. But if I carry within me any of the emotional traits of my grandparents, let it be that I love unconditionally, blindly, beyond all measure. Let it be that I am generous to a fault, sacrificing for the sake of others, whether blood or not. Let it be that I can spit in the face of adversity without shame or regret.

Let it be that I someday find the inner-strength to survive the aftermath of forgiveness. 

Write On Edge: Colloquialisms and Dialect

This week's RemembeRED Prompts gives us 400 words to explore colloquialisms, phrases, or dialects in a narrative non-fiction setting. So here goes nothing.

I was born and raised in Southern California.

My family, however, either live in or migrated from the All-American Midwest or Bakersfield (which might technically still qualify for Southern California, but it’s populated with descendants of dust bowl transplants so no, it doesn’t really count in my book). As a result, phrases like “I was aimin’ to” and “wait just a cotton-pickin’ minute” manage to slip out in my conversations from time to time, along with a very thick Mid-Western drawl.

And then there’s the warsh.

I grew up in a household that warshed the dishes and warshed our clothes and warshed our hands before supper. The topic didn’t come up much in school, so it wasn’t something that I necessarily was teased for. (I was awkward enough to be honest so there was plenty of other material for mean kids to work with.) Then one high school drama club car wash fundraiser came along.

We were a gaggle of giggling girls with the job of making posters. Mom, bless her support-the-kids-beyond-all-reason heart, helped. Neither one of us could keep the “r” from rearing its fugly head. The gaggle giggled profusely over warsh and started in the teasing. And then it happened.

I actually wrote “Car Warsh Today” on the blasted sign.

Did I ever mention that I hate high school or its denizens, and to this day, give my alma mater the finger as I drive by? Crass and beneath me, I know, but it really does help me feel better. That, and the knowledge that mean girls have a special level of hell reserved just for them, right next to litterers and cold-callers.

Wash is a word whose pronunciation is still quite elusive for me. I have to concentrate before I say it and so I try to avoid it altogether. Good thing I have a husband who doesn’t mind doing the warshing up, because he teases me incessantly when I slip up. Honestly though, I think he likes the drawl.

*I apologize if my point of view about Bakersfield has offended anyone. If one understood my opinion about Southern California, however, one would see that I consider that a compliment.

A New Year's Promise

There is a line from the movie The Teahouse of the August Moon that I have been focusing on for the last few days.

Pain makes man think. Thought makes man wise. Wisdom makes life endurable.

2011 proved to be a challenging year. While I had several celebratory moments, I struggled to keep positive during some potentially crippling, life-changing events, the pinnacle of which was the reduction-in-force that descended upon my place of employment. The end of the year closed with the end of my job.

I found an amazing display of good wishes from those I worked with. Words of encouragement and support flooded my inbox during the last months of my employ, and without those words it might have been easier to walk away.

It wasn't easy. I put on a brave face and I walked out of the building for the last time with my head held high, a feat I am infinitely proud of. I learned my work ethic from my father and his philosophy has carried me through each employment setback. From a time that seems an eternity away now he instructed me to apply personal initiative and discretionary effort in every aspect of my job. "It will show without showmanship and it will prove effortlessly your value as an employee, and that is the reputation you want to echo in the corporate arena."

Thank you, Dad. If I haven't told you lately, you are my hero.

The reduction-in-force was a business decision. I don't agree with it, but as a company girl, I can't really argue with the reasoning behind it. Does it suck? Yes, it sucks big, monster, sour pickled eggs. The experience, however, of working in a critical function for a global company, was a remarkable one, and I leave a better person.

So, if pain makes man think, and thought makes man wise. I will endure..

The best part of the new year is that it's new. I have a clean slate. I have a million options, I have the world at my fingertips. And I have a new laptop. It still has the new laptop smell.

So, as many other people this year, I'm making a promise to myself. 2012 is going to be my year. Barring any unforeseen challenges, I intend to be a better person, a better writer, a better sister, and a better daughter. I promise to be a better wife, a better student, a better gamer, a better knitter, and a better employee. I resolve to take life as I find it, cherish moments I have found, and eagerly seek the adventures to come. I plan to ebb and flow with the tide, smile even when I don't want to, and ignore the insecure voice that haunts my self-esteem. I will stand against the wind, break through the walls I meticulously engineered, and above all else, I will be true to myself.

I will turn pain into thoughts, thoughts into wisdom, and wisdom into life.