Christmas Visit

Yesterday I was invited to the TAG kid's Christmas party at school.  Since retiring in May, the adjust has been hard.  I am finally finding a new normal so going to the party was a real treat.  I really enjoyed being a part of all the energy those kids give off.  I've missed that.  I've missed the conversations with them and the intellectual challenges they gave me.  I laughed, I smiled and I felt warm inside.  It was a gift to be sure.

To: 24 From: Mom and Dad

Susanna Leonard Hill's Third Annual Holiday Writing Contest is here and I am participating  for the first time.
This one of my favorite family Christmas stories.  We still remember and chuckle.



To: 24

From: Mom and Dad

Christmas Eve and Dad was finally home.  

 “O.K. let’s open presents.”  I said.

“Now, Yettee give your dad a chance to relax.”  Mom followed him into our living room.

“Hurry up, Dad and get relaxed.”  All eyes were watching, waiting.

“I’m relaxed.”  He smiled.  “Let’s get this party started.”

Being the oldest, I got to open the first gift.   Steph handed me a gift with To:24 From: Mom and Dad. 

“Who is 24?  Mom?”

“That’s you. Instead of names, I used numbers. It’s my no peeker plan.”  Mom smiled.  “No one peeked this year did they?”

“No” we sang.

“Good.  Go ahead, Yettee.”

“Thank you mom and dad.”  I ripped the paper off.  Paints and paper.  “Thanks.  Tradell’s turn.”

“This one says 53.” Steph said.

“Let me see, that’s for Ham.” Mom checked her list.

“What about 2?”

“That’s Yettee’s.  Tradell..” Mom slid her finger down her list. “77 is for Tradell.”

Steph started looking through the pile for 77.

“Here it is.  To:77”

“Thank you.”  Tradell said as she opened a bottle of men’s cologne.

“ Oh my.  That’s for your dad.”

Mom studied her list.  “I have two  77s.  Number 5 is Tradell’s.”  Mom leaned back in her chair.

 “Found it.”  Ham popped up from behind the tree.

“Thank you.”  Tradell stared at a football.

“What is happening here?  I wrote down the name and number after I wrapped the presents. I lost the list for a while and rewrote some of it.  I know Number 89 is for Tradell.”

We all dove into the pile of presents.  This time Steph raised the gift in the air. 

 “Thank you.”  Tradell smiled, the Princess doll was hers.

“See it works.”  Mom smiled.  “Ham’s turn.  Number 1 for Ham.”

 “I always wanted a purse.”  Ham got up with his number 1 and danced.

“I’m next.”  Steph grabbed number 91.  “Yes, new spiderman pajamas.” 

 “My turn.”  I jumped up giggling.

“No, me.” Tradell giggled.

“I just don’t understand.  I thought it was such a good idea. Next year will be different.”

I hope not.

Grateful Dec.5

I am grateful for these three amigos.  They bring laughter and joy each time I look at them.

Grateful Dec. 4

Each day in December I am acknowledging the little things I am grateful for.
Today I am thinking of making time to visit with people who matter to me.  Being retired I am not around the people that I had spent 30 years seeing and talking to every day.  I took that time for granted now I am grateful for each moment I am able to spend with them.

Day 8 of PiBoIdMo

I am enjoying this commitment.  It is helping me have a focus and daily purpose with my writing.  I am thinking and looking for ideas in new places.  Reading the Facebook entries have been and I know will continue to learn different things.  There was a conversation about paying for a professional critique.  Everyone said it was helpful.  They liked it when a publisher or editor or agent was the one doing the critique.  I know some do it as a second job which for them would be a way to keep abreast as to what is being written.  I also have learned that a lot of the people participating have published a book.  This tells me that they are always searching and wanting to improve their writing.  I think I need to take a writing class.

Day 5 of PiBoId

I tell you what,  my brain is searching everywhere for ideas.  It's weird, everything could turn into an idea...good/bad but an idea.  I was sitting in the parking lot yesterday and read the names of the stores.  I had a flash of using the names as characters and then visualizing what they would look like by what was being sold in the store.  Wild.  It freaks me out.  I find myself going down memory lane but then having to think of a more current connection for today's kids.  Like the dress code at public school in the 60's won't work but the feelings would.  The not wanting to be told what do wear or what to do by adults.  I'm beginning to feel as though we are all characters in our own book and everywhere and everybody connected to us no matter how remote also is in their own book.  Freaky.

I'm Published!!!

My first published story.  YaHoo!   It is in Fun for Kidz, which is a puzzle, tricks, games kind of a magazine.

PiBoId day 2

Well, I was up at 3:00 a.m. and had an idea that I had to write out.  Staying in bed and staring at the ceiling just made the story grow so I had to put it down.  It's weird how an idea comes and then leaves.  It's like squeezing lemons.  There's a lot of juice at the first squeeze and then it peters out.

I'm really getting a lot of insight into how different people write and think.  The ones who have done this before are a full of a lot of suggestions and encouragement.  One gal said she had finished a draft and asked if anyone would read it.  That I think is the biggest thing I have learned is the need to have your writing read by many others.  It goes back to the perception of the reader.  What I intended and what another gets from the same words can be totally different.  Just like siblings.  We all grow up in the same house, same parents, same rules but we all turn out different.  An experience can be remembered differently even though we were there at the same time.  Wild but true.

A lot of my ideas come as single words.  I think I'll take a lot at them and see if anything is developing further.

new normal

Last night I met with 2 friends who I use to see everyday and now we meet once a month.  I retired and everything around me changed.  Change effects everyone near or far from the center.  I'm still searching for a new normal.  I know it will come.  They are doing the same, finding a new normal.  Life keeps moving and so must we.

Sunny on a gloomy day

Today was a gloomy raining day and yet inside I'll feeling sunshine.  My head is filling with ideas because of PiBoId.  I read the daily guest blog and hear regular normal people talking about their writing.  Everyone seems to have the same beginning tale.  Today Kayleen West talked about how she started late with her picture book ideas.  That's something I've thought about, starting late in life to concentrate on writing.  When (I love my PMA) my book is published I'll be in my mid sixties.  Yikes.  Then I think about Grandma Moses and everything is o.k. again.
So I'll let my sun shine on.

Getting my second wind

I've been reading the Pre PiBoId blogs and feeling pumped.  I am always amazed, but I shouldn't be, how more alike people are than different.
I'm not sleeping well and it's because ideas are starting to ping around inside my head.  I'm going to forget them if I don't write them down.
It has inspired me to finish up some revisions of stories that I want to submit.  I'm off to the post office this afternoon.
I'm thankful for this new community.  It's filled with dreamers and cheerleaders.PiBoId is my hero.

PiBoIdMo

This is a really cool idea.  It is going to help me organize my ideas for picture books.  It's a committment that will give me some direction for future writing.  Learning from others is really what it takes.  I'm looking forward to some "ah ha" moments.

What I am learning about writing

I love to learn new  things.  That is one of the big things I miss about teaching.  The kids would always ask me something that made me wonder and search out the answers.  Now I am learning that writing is more than just putting words together on paper.  Writing is reading.  Reading the type of books I want to write.  Reading authors to find how they develop characters.  Reading about writing.  Reading submission guidelines for publishers and magazines.  Reading biographies of agents to find out what they like and what they are searching for.  Reading and rereading my manuscripts to find what needs to be changed to improve.  Reading about how to write a query letter.  Reading how to write a pitch for a manuscript. Read. Read. Read and write.

Santa is in the lobby

We pulled into the Days Inn parking lot.  Well actually we got stuck.  We trudged through 8 inches of snow to the front door, relieved to be safe and out of the growing blizzard.  The warmth grabbed us as we stomped the snow off our shoes.  Breathed a sigh of relief and met the jolly eyes of Santa?  Excuse me, is your name Claus?  Yes, S. Claus.  Here's my card.

My baby. My manuscript.

The manuscript is my child, my baby.  That first draft is a labor intense experience and seems to never end.  It possesses my strengths and my weaknesses.  When I hold my manuscript up to share, it is part of me that is being looked at.  She is an extension of me and so those first critiques are personal.

As I work with her, my aim is to improve her so that others will love her as I do.

With each draft I mold her and slowly step away from her so that I don't see as much of me in her as I did in the beginning.  I support her as she begins to stand on her own.

The rebellion teenage years are a struggle as she tries to find her place.  Through revisions and rewrites she searches to find her own unique self.  When at last she reaches adulthood, she is a whole, secure, fully developed, beauty inside and out.  She is prepared to last through the ages.  She looks forward to the aging of her pages becoming smooth and soft from being caress by her readers.   The cracks along her spin are evidence of love and the warm smell of ink on paper make her a memory that last.

writing yet not writing

I am discovering that writing is not just writing.  It is reading publisher websites and writer's blogs.  It is searching for editors and their desires.  It is reading chapter books and middle grade books that are currently popular.  It is writing query letters that are written and then rewritten.  It is sending manuscripts.  It is revising, revising, revising.

writing's spokes of a wheel

I have been spending my time working on writing, which may involve actually pen to paper or not.  This writing world has more spokes than a bicycle wheel.  I have spent hours reading different writer's blogs; editor's submissions guides; author's websites; books on the craft; trends in electronic publication; self publications and agents.  I am tring to understand this world.

The one thing that stands out above all else is that it all begins with a great story.  And so I write.

new beginning

This week has been hard.  It's the first week of school.  I find myself looking at the clock thinking about what is happening at school.  People innocently mention school assuming I'm teaching and I get teary eyed and making the person feel uncomfortable.  I wish I could have a channel on my t.v. that lets me in to see school.  I miss listening to the kids.  I miss learning, feeling energized by the excitement  of something new the kids bring.  I know this is just part of the adjustment, the grieving.  It will get better.

The Clock

Clocks.  I don't like clocks.  I don't wear a watch.  I don't like being a slave to time.  I want time to be endless.  I want time to be a now and not measured.  I want it to just be with no restraints.
I want..I don't..but it is.  It is measurable.  It does have boundaries and it does control my life.
I find myself looking at the clock often and thinking about school and what is happening at that time.  There doesn't need to be a bell for me to remember; the hands of the clocks point to the memories.

time away

Here in the northern lake land of Minnesota, the only things to ponder are: if the clouds are moving in too fast, did the squirrel bury a nut where a tree need not grow, is the bait fresh enough for fishing, did I leave any crumbs for the chipmunk.  The important things, the things that make the world go round.  I can feel a peace.  We needed a place to venture to that had just nature.  I'm looking forward to giving myself to nature and is cleansing.

Grieving

Yettee the teacher died this spring.  There was a wake and a funeral and I was there.
Some would call it retirement but not me. I call it death.
 I have cried and felt self pity and an emptiness.

I never knew how awful it was going to be.  Nobody talked about it.  I never asked.  Never again will I say congratulation to someone when they are going to retire.
Most people congradulated me.  What for?  I didn't win anything.  I didn't accomplish anything.  Part of me was dying.

I didn't tell anyone.  I didn't want to talk about it.  It makes me sad.  I really loved teaching.  I loved the kids and learning with them.  I loved helping them overcome their challenges. I loved watching them grow through the years.  I loved the warm fuzzy the kids gave me.  I loved it all and now it's gone.

Funerals are for the living for the ones left behind.  This was no different.  Mary, Deb and Janelle organized a "wake". They needed a way to say goodbye.   A group of ladies gathered together and shared a meal and some very kind words and memories for me.  I cried.  Not everyone hears the kind thoughts people may have but never say out loud, I was very fortunate and did.  I truly love them for doing that for me.

The last day of school at the lunch, there was a basket for cards, cake, a meal, people who had connections to the 3  retirees came, kind words were spoken (the eulogies), hugs.  I cried.  And then I had to get out of there.  I just wished everyone would quit being so nice to me.  But they needed to say goodbye.

And so here I sit.  Tomorrow another year begins at school and I'm still grieving.

Some have told me, it's a new chapter in your life.  I think it's more like a new book.  I know I will make it through all the steps in the grieving process.  I know I now have the opportunity to develop the other parts of me who have had to take a back seat to the teacher.

The teacher has died but I haven't.

Yellow buses

The summer is almost over.  Back to School supplies are out.  The class list has been sent and I'm beginning to feel left out.  Like the kid who no one picks to be on their team.  That part of my life has died.  I will be where there are no yellow buses  filled with excited, scared kids ready to start over again.
There is no other time in their lives that they can start again and this time make it better than it was before...I'll miss that.

Bring Bailey home

Bailey died.  I knew she was having trouble with her hip but she would still trot around outside.  She had a smile on her face and enjoyed being in the garden watching us.  She's always been a whinner when she would get a shot or stub her toe, so it was a surprise to see her suddenly laying down and breathing fast.  I always thought we'd have to take her in to the vet like the other animals.  I never expected her to die at home.  But she did.  And today we are going to bring her home.  We'll bury her in the yard along with the others, Buddy, Beau, Tigger, Chester, Sammy, Cooper and Rosie.  It's sad but it's part of the circle.

 This is Bailey, Cooper and Digger in the Garden.

Work

This summer is turning out to be not one I would want.  I am working more hours at Alco than I want.  It is messing up my planned routine.  I wanted to write in the mornings, clean on certain days, work outside in the afternoon and go to the library.  Well, it's not happening.  I will have worked 10 days in a row before a day off.  I have worked 20 hours a week and now this week is 30 hours...I am not a happy camper.  But it is forcing me to reorganize my time and to make the most of the moments.
I would like to think of myself as flexible but in reality I'm not.  When I have a set plan it throws me for a loop but I can make it work.  So now I am rethinking my plan and making it work within the time perimeters.

Puppy

We found a puppy.  She was at the adoption center in Brookings.  She's so little.  She and another puppy were found in a ditch so they were not sure of her age.  She definitely has sharp little teeth that are white white.  Digger watches her.  He has his boundaries.  He lets her play with his tail until she chomps down on it.  He'll let her walk over him while he's laying down.  She can't reach his face when he sits so she tries to jump up.   She wants to snuff his ears which he likes.  Now Bailey from the start growls at her if she gets within 3 feet of her.  But yesterday, she was running and brushed up against Bailey, who snorted at her.
Her job, every critter here has a job, is to be Digger's playmate.
There's something heart touching with babies regardless of their genius.  Is it the wonder of a new beginning or being able to see the world through new eyes?  Whichever it is great fun.

DKG Leadership Seminar Leadership Seminar

I have just returned from a Leadership Seminar sponsored by Upsilon State of Delta Kappa Gamma and it was informative, fast paced, interactive, work and thought provoking.  I can tell you some of the concrete things I learned about myself, my leadership style, stress management and the conducting a meeting; but what is harder to describe is the internal feeling.  Something happens through osmosis. When I think of myself now in a leadership role I feel different.  I've always been able to do the things that need to be done but now I feel I can project the confidence of leading a team to the end of a vision.  It's a feeling of knowing how to complete a journey.
Some may think that the 2 days should be stretch out over a week but I think the compact time creates a dependency on the other members of the group.   Friendships are built through the need to survive and strangers become people you can depend on to be there when you need them.
The time the trainers have put into planning and organizing this seminar is huge.  They were ready for us.  They had thought through the progression of presentations.  They were delivers and listeners.  They were patient yet direct when needed.  I appreciate all they gave to the seminar to make it a winning experience.

working in the garden

I spent some time outside in my herb garden.  I sit on the ground.  My hands protected with gloves.  My ears open to the birds singing and talking to each other.  A woodpecker suddenly decides to hunt for bugs at the top of a dying tree.  I watch the tree tops move in the breeze and feel it on my cheeks.  Breaking sticks in the grove, Digger is out wandering.  I know he'll be coming around to check on me soon.  This is when my mind wanders.  This is when I think.  This is where I can look at what I have done and sigh and know it looks better than it did.

Miss Mini

Yup, Miss Mini and I have the same feeling this morning.  Need to shake it off.

Ramblin'

I have these 2 days off from Alco and I plan to work outside and do some writing.  I will finally get the herbs planted and some of the weeds yanked.  But first I have to get my lawn mower out of the tree.
The little birds are busy.  There is a little sparrow building a next in the bush next to the window.  I can't see the nest but I watch the little guy as he disappears within a cluster of leaves.
A pair of barn sparrows finally made up their minds as to where in the garage they would build a nest.  I guess they didn't want to use the previous places.
The poppies are finally blooming.  The flowers are late this year, probably because of the late ice and snow storms (end of April) we had.  Looks like I need to mow again but not today.
My thoughts are rambling.  I wonder if that is any indication of what I will accomplish today?

stuck mower

Today it is dark and gloomy.  Yesterday I was mowing and mowing.  I had almost finished when I drove into a tree.  That in itself is no surprise.  I'm a lousy driver.  What was a surprise was not being able to back up or go forward.  The mower was stuck in the tree.  A branch  of the tree was caught between the bumpers.  I listened to the garden fairies and decided I was done for the day.  Tomorrow, I'll take a saw and remove the limb.  But today is dark and gloomy so maybe tomorrow.

Readers

Today I'm thinking about writers.  I think writers spend as much time reading about writing as they do actually writing.  There is quite a market for writing related topics.  Writers are readers and some readers are writers.

It's a cold day.  I'm feeling pushed, not physically but emotionally.  There are different feelings churning pushing and pulling inside.  I worry.  I dream.  I hide.  I simmer.  I regret.  I cry.  I smile.

Emotions

I've been reading Second Sight, by Cheryl Klein.  She talks about characters that make you feel.  A story that creates emotions in the reader making some connection.  I thought about books I remember reading.  My favorite book as a kid was Secret Hiding Place.  I thought about why I still remember the story.  I remember how clever the little hippo was and how it made me smile.  The fairy tales evoke injustice and triumph.  Just looking outside my window now there is the feeling of contentment and peace.
Our brains.  I enjoy reading about how the brain works.  How could I have forgotten about the book I read  a few years ago, The Emotional Brain.    Everything we do and think has it's bases with some emotion.
I reread some of the stories that have been rejected and it's a "no-brainer" why.  There is no emotion.   Apathy is what there is.  I heard myself say, "Who cares?"  Well, I do.  Get out the kleenex, the koosh balls I'm going to write with emotion so my stories will show what I'm feeling.

new habit

The beginning of a new year and I'm feeling the need to start a new as well.  This year will be the end and the beginning for me.  Thinking about the days ahead are ones that bring sadness and curiousity for me.  I use to keep a journal, not a daily one but one that helped me see my thoughts.  I've decided that I need to begin that task again.  I need to see what I am feeling and thinking.

I have been working on writing children's books.  I have submitted several to different book companies with not luck as of yet.  I joke with myself that the letter from the publisher just has been lost in the mail.  I wonder if my writing is worthy and good enough to be published.  I had a professional illustrator read one of my manuscripts and through tears asked her that question.  I was surprised by how emotional I felt about the manuscript.  Writing is so personal.  I didn't realize how much so. 

I plan to use this blog as a spot to sort out my thoughts and to give purpose to my days.