The Room: Creativity, Cobwebs & Crawlspaces

“Is she exercising or something?” 

Ah, the lovely view of parks in NJ.

Ah, the lovely views from parks in NJ.

I hear my daughter say as I walk one more time around the little league fields at the park.

While I walk I’m thinking about making bacon and eggs for dinner when we get home…

…Finally giving the bathroom a much needed deep cleaning…

…What we plan to wear tomorrow.

I pray for loved ones who are on my mind.

By the time my kids consent to leaving the playground so we can head on home for dinner, I’ve walked around the public fields five times.

The only room available in my mind for creativity is a crawl space off the attic. I must pass several rooms on three floors full of urgent things that need to be done before I reach that room, if you can call it that, it’s barely a room, the room where inspiration takes form.

On Saturday I wrote about Quiet and the hope of finding a couple days to get away to take a gaze inside my head.

What is hiding in that crawlspace?

It’s happening. Two weeks from today I will awake in a lovely restored 18th century stone house – alone.

No meals to make.

No dishes to wash.

No snacks to distribute.

No pickups and drop-offs.

No helping with homework.

No letters to type or phones to answer.

No laundry to fold or messes to clean up.

For 48 hours every other room in the home in my head will be empty ( I hope) and the path to the mental crawl space will be clear of distractions. I’ve never been so excited to go exploring.

I hope there is something other than cobwebs inside.

Have you done this? Have you gotten away to think and dream and explore what might be hidden away inside your mind, whispering and ready to come out? Was it fruitful?



It’s kind of like walking a tight-rope over an abyss.

Apparently, the fact that I work and parent full time and I am also compelled to blog seems a bit strange to some people. Honestly, until they brought it up, it seemed perfectly natural to me, but now that I think about it,


I was happily unaware that I was walking a tight-rope over an abyss – until someone kindly pointed it out. Now that I know, it has occurred to me that this might be a little crazy.

Since I already have my crazy full on, I’ve decided to attempt to find someone to watch my children for three days/two nights and get away. I need a little quiet to listen to the whispers in my head.

I don’t know if or when it will happen or what will be the outcome, but I know this to be true, behind the loads of laundry and the clamor of the kids, amid the drop offs and pickups and earning of the daily bread, there are whispers.

One Good Man


Once I was naïve.

I thought I could tell if a man were good or bad, kind or mean.

But I was wrong.

I learned the hard way that a man is not always who he portrays himself to be. I learned the hard way that he could hit and slap, kick and shove, beat and rape, subject you to public humiliations and break your heart.

I learned the hard way that the one person in the entire world who is meant to love and protect you is the one person in the whole world that you need protection from.

Recently I was invited to the 60th birthday celebration of a dear family friend, a man I have known my whole life, a man I admire and respect. You know who you are. We were told, no gifts, just a card. As I sat to write my hand and brain seemed incapable of expressing what was in my heart. It came out a mish mash of random thoughts that probably just seemed weird.

What I wanted to say was this: When I was growing up, I saw men who loved their wives and families. My father. My grandfathers. My uncles. My brothers. My Christian brothers. I was not unaware that there was evil in the world, but I had been exposed to men of integrity all my life, so when a man came along who lacked integrity but radiated charm and possessed a dynamic personality, I was easily deceived.

When I was at last free, my heart was broken once again, then a third time.

I can’t help but think of my favorite Christmas Carol taken from a poem by Longfellow.

Christmas Bells

And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said;
“For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”

At times I feel like changing the words, “There are no good men on earth I said,”

But like Longfellow, I am reminded,

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men!”

And I remember those men, the ones that I have witnessed all my life, who love their wives. Who love their children. Who love their God.

And I am thankful for them. They are my own bells that chime to remind me that all men are not bad.

I Made the Decision

“So here is my dilemma – when you love a book and it has subsequently been movie-ized (esp. when you are pretty sure it’s been made into a made for DVD/B movie) do you risk tainting the memory of your beloved character to watch it, or do you pretend the whole thing never happened and move on with your life?”

Several weeks ago I faced this dilemma. You can read about it here. Not a BIG dilemma, but in the reality of my every day life, this is about as big as it gets (thankfully.) I’m following up with this post because, I’m sure it’s not a shock to anyone, but I DID ultimately borrow the movie from Netflix. It sat there in its red envelope for weeks and last night I finally decided I needed to either watch it, or send it back.

Saturday night TV is pretty meh, especially since When Calls the Heart isn’t on anymore, so I tore open the package and watched it.

Here’s what I thought for those who care to know.

1. It stayed very (I mean, VERY) close to the book. Good! smile

2. The film did not retain even a bit of the charm of the book. Bad. frown 

Not every great book makes a great movie. Obviously.

I am glad I watched it. The movie was entertaining nonetheless and it left me with a strong desire to re-read the book. Good! ok

K for Kind. Kind of Mean

niceI occasionally wonder what would happen if I just said all the mean things that run through my head.

I never (or very rarely) say those things. I’m generally kind across the board. I even think kind things, most of the time.

But sometimes I play a game in my head, “What if…” What if I just said whatever I was thinking? For instance, while reading blogs I occasionally come across one that is just so random and makes no sense whatsoever and I wonder, what if I were “that” mean person and I wrote in the comments,

“Hi. I totally have no idea what you are trying to say.”

But I don’t. And I doubt I ever would, unless my frontal lobe were injured or something.

Defining: WRITER (Additional Thoughts)

writer 2

Earlier today I wrote some brief thoughts on what the term “Writer” means to me. (link here) I received several comments on that post and I was surprised to find that they tended to show two distinct views. I ended up thinking about this throughout the day and came to the following conclusion.



Writing seems to fall into two categories in my mind.

1. Writing as a Profession

2. Writing as a Passion

I AM passionate about writing.

My plate is SO full today with work and family and end of the week craziness that I. Do. Not. Have. Time. For. Writing.

Yet, here I am. Writing another blog post. I have a big party to attend tonight and I’m going to look like crap because my getting ready time is being spent here. Writing. Ah, c’est la vie. The thing is, my thoughts have been circling around my head all afternoon and well, I had to get it out.

Do I consider myself a Writer? Still no. Here is my reason why: The word “Writer” in my mind refers to someone whose profession is Writing. I.e. they make their living from it – or at least partial living from it. That is the definition of “Writer” that my mind accepts.

However, I do not claim that this is the only way a person can interpret the word “Writer” – obviously there are many whose views differ from mine. And I am totally Okay with that.

Let me say that again: I am totally Okay with and receptive to those whose views differ from mine.  🙂

Writing is a passion of mine, so in my mind, I am a writer with clarifications (lowercase “w”). However, I am not yet (and maybe never will be) a “Writer.”

Big X & Big O.

Bring it on.


The Day is A Today: Just ALRIGHT

spring A

There is a lot of pressure on the first day of the A to Z Challenge to be AMAZING, AMUSING, ASTONISHING and AWESOME. I would even accept ABSURD but I fear this first post may simply be ALRIGHT.


The truth is, last night as I was falling asleep I had a fabulous idea for a post but I was too tired to write it down or talk it into my phone. Then I had a moronic, tiredness-induced thought: I’ll just remember it.

I didn’t remember it. I never do.

It was long gone when I woke in the morning. Actually, I may have just dreamed that I had a fabulous blog idea and the whole thing never happened. We’ll never know.

To all my regular attenders, just an FYI: I have joined the A to Z Challenge and I will be posting every day in April except Sundays. And since there are 26 days, that matches the 26 letters of the alphabet. On April 1, (today) I will blog about something that begins with the letter “A” and so on and so forth.

  1. This is not a joke. You can come back tomorrow and see that I will be blogging about something that begins with B. Knowing me, I will probably be stretching the confines of the alphabet to make it fit whatever my brain is pumping out that day, but I am the Make It Happen girl. I’m not sweatin’ the alphabet thing.
  2. How does this affect you, oh Dear Reader? It really doesn’t. I’m not expecting much to change; I generally post once a day anyway. So, there’s that.
  3. I agree that “A” is kind of a washout since I’m basically using “Alphabet” and words that begin with A to explain the challenge. I am aware of this and your tsk tsking is duly noted.

Why Do YOU Write?


I do most of my best thinking – in the shower. While massaging in the shampoo the other day I was thinking about blogging.

Why I write.

What the future might hold.

I thought about “likes” and “comments” and “followers.”  I thought about how I would love to know if what I write amuses or touches anyone and, if so, what was it? I considered how important (or unimportant) the knowledge of these things were to my continued blogging – or writing in general.

By the time I rinsed off I had come to these 3 conclusions:

  1. My writing makes me laugh. Out loud. And sometimes, over and over.
  2. I am often moved by my own writing. Recently I wrote a couple posts for another blog and while editing them, I cried at the last line – Every. Single. Time.
  3. If I am the only one in the whole world amused or moved by my writing – then that is enough for me to keep doing it. And anyway, I believe God set me on this path  – so I’ll just keep walking (or writing.)

However, I feel like this will be a subject that I need to revisit. Quite often.

At least I’ll be really clean.

I am curious though, Writers/Bloggers: What motivates you to write and specifically, keep on writing?


If I Were Sherlock

This note, if I were Sherlock.


1. Author: Pre-adolescent girl. The sheer expressiveness of it makes that obvious, even if you failed to notice that the double exclamation marks were dotted with a smiley and the single exclamation with a heart.

2. The heart and smiley also indicate that she must comprehend on some level that her mother (to whom she is writing) will most certainly NOT take this note seriously, and after photographing and blogging about it will positively dump it in the trash (with all other notes of this sort.)

3. There is a pronounced annoyance that proclaims that the writer (said girl) could not move on with her life (which most likely means removing skinny jeans and replacing them with jammie pants and then laying on her bed watching Netflix on her Kindle) until she got this unpardonable situation off her chest.  I.e. – she is undoubtedly of the high drama sort.

4. The fact that she apparently could not handle (at almost 11) walking a 5 year old the three and a half blocks home from school, with the assistance of FOUR crossing guards, is somewhat alarming and tends to add weight to point 3.

5. It appears that dishing out some discipline to the younger sibling is the note writer’s call to action.


Decisions…Decisions. I Need Advice.


This is so me.

I need advice:

On a rack of movies this morning at Walmart I noticed that one of my favorite books had been made into a movie – and I didn’t even know it! I confess, I missed a lot of things while living in India from 1999 to 2011, things like: The Bizarre Rise of the Kardashians, entire series of TV shows with cult followings like Lost, Alias and 24, as well as pretty much everything in the video game and cell phone arena.

However, according to Netflix, this movie came out in 2013. Obviously a straight to DVD situation.



So here is my dilemma – when you love a book and it has subsequently been movie-ized (esp. when you are pretty sure it’s been made into a made for DVD/B movie) do you risk tainting the memory of your beloved character to watch it, or do you pretend the whole thing never happened and move on with your life?

Inquiring minds want to know. I.e. me.