Today is the last day of August. This week my son starts back to high school. In a week my daughter will be back at college. My routine will be shifting to get up earlier. I tried this morning and did not succeed.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Shifting
Today is the last day of August. This week my son starts back to high school. In a week my daughter will be back at college. My routine will be shifting to get up earlier. I tried this morning and did not succeed.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
A Grand Spicy Summer Sunday Finale!
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Might be quiet this week
Saturday, August 22, 2009
P.S. Haven is a Salty Dog - Spicy Summer Sundays
Today is P.S. Haven's salty turn at the Spicy Summer Sundays blog tour! He's tickling our fancy with a mouthwatering pickle recipe. I've never made pickles myself, but I'm sorely tempted to try this recipe.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Why he writes
Monday, August 17, 2009
Looking beyond the dog days
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Pop over to Emerald's for Poppy Seeds
Saturday, August 15, 2009
First 1st!
Roadside Discipline
The state trooper just left, warning us that if we’re not gone next time he comes by we’ll have to be towed. Tommy’s under the car, oil all over his face. I’m sitting here, pissed. Another trip screwed over by his insistence we take one of his precious project cars. He’ll pay. Soon his smiling face pops up in my window.
“All fixed!”
I say nothing. Just glare at him.
“I’m sorry honey. That hose needed replacing but I hadn’t gotten to it. Good thing I had extra with me.”
“Yes, good thing.”
He goes back to gather up tools. I step out, look around. Traffic is thinning with the coming dark. Headlights cast shadows as I bend down and pick up a piece of hose. Just long enough, I think, flexing it.
Tommy comes around the side of the car, sees me with the hose and gets this look.
“Come here.” He does.
“Hold onto the mirror.” He does.
I take the hose and wrap it around his wrists and the mirror.
“I’m really sorry honey.”
“Shut up.”
He knows what’s in store. Maybe. I rummage in his tool box until I find something suitable. A rubber belt of some sort. I don’t know car parts. But it will do. Then I yank down his board shorts, exposing his ass. I kick his legs apart.
“What if the cop comes back?”
“Shut up.”
The belt thwaps across his ass. His yelps are drowned by passing trucks. It’s too dark to see his cheeks redden, but I’m wet and wanting to fuck him so bad I can taste it. I reach around and feel his hot rod.
Hissing in his ear I tell him “You better make me come in record time.”
Not long after, the trooper returns just as Tommy starts the car.
“Looks like you got her started just in time. I was about to call the wrecker.” He looks over at me. “ And Ma’am, you have the patience of a saint.”
I smile at the officer.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Treading Water
Just now I realized I hadn't posted anything here since Monday. And it's Friday. Where did this week go?
Monday, August 10, 2009
Wake up and smell the laptop
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Bad Ass Rosemary
Thursday, August 6, 2009
It's Like Camping!
Again an update! I am having a wonderful day! If I have time I'll post more later.
When it rains it fucking pours
While I was out this morning doing some grocery shopping and picking up a job application, I got a call from my husband. Seems our water pressure tank - we are on a well and the well pumps the water into the tank and then it's ready for if someone turns on a faucet - and the whole setup is quite old and it's been on it's last legs for some time - you know where this is going don't you? Well, he was moving a saw (to clean it up and sell on ebay) and bumped something and ...
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Slogging Forward
I will not questionleafraindropwindthisyet I always question
Had an attack of shyness. I was just the second person to introduce themselves so I didn't say much - just my name and that I was down from CT - nothing about my writing or why I was there. Most folks were considerably younger than me, in fact, I may have been the oldest there - or close to it. I don't want to disparage anyone, including myself, but I kept thinking "these are real writers" and then would immediately castigate myself for such thinking. I was back in the space I used to be in writing classes/workshops - afraid I don't belong. I don't need critics, I'm my own worst.I liked him - would have liked to have a real conversation with him about writing - not a shouted over a noisy bar me afraid of sounding stupid one. And I had to guzzle my beer to get the nerve up to say anything - but I did because if I had of left without asking the things I did I would have been kicking myself. Had my chance and blew it. I don't know why I feel so strongly that Stephen Elliott's writing is going to be critical to what I want to do - but I do.I don't hear well in crowded noisy places. Can't pull the conversation out of the swarm of sounds. So I just tend to hang back. And I realize that my hanging back could be - probably is - interpreted as standoffishness. That my natural shyness is mistaken for snobbyness. When in reality I'm again the little girl standing on the edge of the playground, lonely and wishing someone would come over and be friendly. Unable to walk up to another kid and say hi. And I'm here on this crowded train and I want to cry. But I can't. Why do I want to? Because ... go ahead, be brave - I wanted more. And not in that way. I wanted what I'm always searching for - sometimes getting a slight taste - but it's always gone so fast I often can't believe that it even was real.
Monday, August 3, 2009
So what did you do this weekend?
We stopped and got gas for the chainsaw and picked up some breakfast and headed up to "our land" for a day of cutting wood and hauling sticks. But first we got to sit here for a bit. Usually at this time of year the waterfall is not this vigorous. It's been wetter than usual this summer.