I will never do that again free write. Where do I began. This girl has made many many choices that I will not be repeating. I will never again turn my car without looking ahead. I have been in a few accidents. All of them I was talking and distracted. I was also an inexperienced teenager who probably had no business having a drivers license. I will try to think of a recent mistake that is not too deep. I will never again let my van get so messy. Just kidding, I am sure it will happen again, but I do say this to myself every time I clean it out. Kids are messy and I tell myself they will have to start cleaning up after themselves but sometimes it is just quicker for me to do it. I will never again drink 2 bottles of wine to myself. It is hell to pay the next day. I will never again cook meat in my silver skillet, it always burns if not stirred constantly and I have burned the meat too many times to give that skillet another chance, veggies only for now on.
Missy had light hair,sort of sunny and golden.Weaved throughout her locks natural highlights of a platinum color. She must have spent a lot of time outdoors.
the formerly Sweet little char abed face now grimaced with crocodile tears. He let out a wail of pure hatred as his parents attempted to strap him down in the car seat. Back and forth the child kicked his feet and flung his arms, any thing he could do to make mom's task difficult.
Chassy and Brandon will be here in about an hour. Wheres Kale and Alec? My kids have already asked me this question a dozen times. I still need to fold the mountain of laundry on my bed or I wont have a place to sleep tonight, and I decided to have company for dinner. Enchiladas at that. Well the meat is still frozen so I will go ahead and throw it in the pot on low with a little water. I can check it in about 20 min and it will be ready to break up. I do not have enough canned enchilada sauce so I will make some from scratch really quick. I let it simmer and go back to folding laundry. I'm hungry the kids start to whine. Dinner is cooking!! I break up the meat and throw some seasonings in, a pinch of this a dash of that. Nothing in my kitchen is measured, unless I am baking some kind of bread or something like that. I go outside and smoke a quick cigg, trying to quit but sometimes I sneak one when I am stressed. Back inside wash my hands, time to get serious. The meat is looking good so now I need to add the secret ingredient, canned beef with gravy. This is my mother in laws recipe, of course I have to tweak it a little.Not because hers isn't amazing, it is honestly one of my favorite dishes that she makes. I have to change it up because I don't want to go to the store so I used what I had on hand. I only have one can of the beef and she uses two. I don't have quite as much meat so my enchiladas are just a little under filled. I compensate with extra cheese and sauce, and as I said earlier I had to make some sauce from scratch. Personally I think it tastes better that way. I dip the tortillas in the warm sauce.
Be ready beginning of class friday
include reason why food is important
Story
process
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
senses freewrite
Colorful southern lizards, in a circle, crawling on a silky bright piece of fabric. a blue and white feather is in the middle. the colors remind me of Mexico. the tail of the yellow lizard curled up like my pug. They are playful. the lizards are in the sun and the feather has a shadow so it seems to be drifting down as the lizards gaze up on it.
I would rather be at my tiny rock house on old orchard. Our first little home reminds me of a fairytale cottage. This is a place where dreams are made and I come home to my neighborhood. The back yard has the perfect misshapen apple tree. at some point the tree was struck by lighting. The tiny green apples are just becoming sweet and the deformity from the lighting is the perfect place for my sweet young children to climb or hide toys in. The sun shines on the giant back yard and there is the smell of fresh grass. My dad sits on the porch with his pocket knife peeling the apples for my son and daughter. My oldest rides his three wheeler down the little sidewalk, it's the perfect road. As a child, I remember steeling those apples from our next door neighbor. As I walk inside the kitchen I can see my colorful teal walls. The red picture with a latte and a pretty butterfly picture on the other wall. I can see a tiny bedroom. The closet is big and the lilac color on the wall is relaxing. In the living room is our tan loveseat.
The house smells old, and a little musty. I can smell the home cooked dinners and a scented candle. My sweet babies smell like a mixture of lavender baby wash, dirt and grass. Outside there is the strong smell of flowers. My dad hugs me and I smell his hair doused with baby oil. He has a very earthy sent, mixed with the stale smell of cigarettes.
The ground beneath my feet is cold and rocky. As I walk to the side of the house the kids climb the giant tree. It is prickly. The tan loveseat is very soft and relaxing. Shane and I could curl up together and fall asleep. The walls feel rough and thin. The carpet is definitely cheep. It is very rough on our feet. The windows are cold, even with the sun shinning through. It is the thick glass, very heavy.
I hear kids laughing and crying. Shane has the music up loud and the flow of his music is energizing and unnerving. I hear the cars speed down the street and I feel irritated. What if the kids get too close. The neighbors stay up late, young college kids. The drunk voices and laughter makes me angry. I have to wake up with the baby. I hear my own voice yelling and crying. I hear my mom trying to calm me down. I hear Shine laughing and yelling at the top of his little lungs. I hear Chassy and Brandon with there game night bickers.
I taste steak San Marco. from the slow cooker. My dad tells me it's the best steak he's ever had as he gobbles it up. I taste Christmas cookies, peppermint. I taste our first BBQ, Shane's burgers where extra crispy as this was his first time cooking for 30+ people. I taste cold coffee. My dad scoffs, He doesn't understand. It is so sweet and creamy with the energizing nutty bitterness of the coffee.
Walking up the stairs, 6mth pregnant feeling like a whale, my dad proudly took me around with a large heavily made up Realtor grinning ear to ear. My dad tells her this is my daughter and she looks at my quite shocked. He is too old, I see it in her eyes. As they show me the rooms I am late for work. and impatient. I can paint and replace the carpet. It will do, I will make it work. I am as happy as can be. The Realtor pulls me aside and tells me my dad had a bit of an episode while signing the papers. He was shocked at the closing costs. They were supposed to be much less. She told me that he was very worked up and that I should keep an eye on him. I thought to myself, she doesn't know me very well, but I have been keeping an eye on him for years.
New Blog
My first home is the happiest of wonderlands. The memories our family created there will be forever ingrained in my mind. This home is the last place my family was truly whole. The tiny little rock house was the type of place you would drive right past with out the need for a second glance. To me, it looked like a small cottage out of a fairytale. It sat on nearly half an acre, a little ways back from old orchard street. Beautiful evergreen trees enclosed the property this created a secluded feel. I had grown up on that street. The best thing about the home, my dad lived next door. I had gazed at the little house many times through my bedroom window. My friends and I would make up stories about the possible residence of the place. It had on old fashioned charm about it. Growing up, the house was almost always empty. I used to steal the little sweet green apples from the back. When this little charmer became my own, my dad would peel the green apples for my children with his pocket knife.
My first impression of the inside was a little pang of panic. The musty smell of old people enveloped the room. It was quite small and had horrible wood paneling. I knew my dad was counting on our approval though and I had made up my mind that I would make it work. I could always paint the paneling. It was gonna be mine, I could do what ever fixing up I felt necessary. In my mind I could already see the large vegetable garden. My backyard was sunny and the earth itself felt like home. I already knew the trees intimately. They were my playground as a child. The giant evergreen next to the house would someday be glowing bright with beautiful Christmas lights. I felt optimistic about creating a new life for our family there.
In the beginning I felt some concern about being so close to my dad. I loved him dearly, but he could be a bit controlling and I believed myself independent. I had three kids and a husband. Little did I know that his morning visits would turn out to be the best part of my day. I revamped my little cottage with lots of paint and elbow grease and it ended up being quite a nice place. The musty old home now smelled of baby powder, scented candles and home cooked dinners. My dad helped us touch up some of the odds and ends on the outside. We bought a swing set and some hanging plants for the covered porch. We made it very cozy.
Daddy popped over with Neapolitan ice cream and pockets full of peppermints to keep my little ones exited to see him. My little toddlers would ride their 3 wheelers around the sidewalk that circled the house. My husband kept quite busy with all of my dads improvement projects. They made plans to add a pool table to the garage. Together they imagined the ultimate man cave. My babies got to know and love their grandpa. Our world for such a brief moment in time, was perfect. My mom was only three blocks away. It was always funny watching my dad scurry off when my mom got there. He loved her in his way, he really loved to piss her off honestly. She would gush over the grandkids, yet he was sure he was the favorite. All the sweet treats he bought us, he was sure he had grampa of the year in the bag.
Within a few months our fairytale came to an end. One lazy afternoon daddy was relaxing on the front porch, listening to the kids laugh and bicker. My dad saw my daughter dart out near the street after a bright red ball. He jumped up so fast to stop her it startled her and she cried like you wouldn't believe. Grandpa had never yelled like that before. After his adrenaline rush normalized, he was hit with excruciating back pain. Every day the pain seemed to worsen. Eventually I convinced him to go to the doctor. He was diagnosed with lung cancer and died about two months later.
My beautiful little cottage was never the same. Suddenly it became dark and the empty lawn chair in the front looked so cold and lonely. The large yard became an unmanageable jungle of grass and weeds. The rooms inside seemed to shrink with every passing day. Still I was determined to stick it out. The first winter without my dad our furnace needed replaced. It was the year of the Great Ice Storm of 2007. The realities of owning an old home seemed to pile up, building strength with each new disaster. My mother was also ill at this time. After her death I couldn't bear to stay on old orchard street. Every memory seemed to stab at me. My heart was broken. We soon decided to buy a bigger newer home. After 4 years in our current home I realize that I couldn't run away from my grief. I miss that old house, but more than that I miss the people I shared my life with. Everything changes and sometimes we have to go with the flow of it. During our time in our old house I thought I knew that the material world doesn't make a person happy. After moving away, and trying to out run the memories I am positive that for me it is the people that make the place worthwhile, memories and all.
I would rather be at my tiny rock house on old orchard. Our first little home reminds me of a fairytale cottage. This is a place where dreams are made and I come home to my neighborhood. The back yard has the perfect misshapen apple tree. at some point the tree was struck by lighting. The tiny green apples are just becoming sweet and the deformity from the lighting is the perfect place for my sweet young children to climb or hide toys in. The sun shines on the giant back yard and there is the smell of fresh grass. My dad sits on the porch with his pocket knife peeling the apples for my son and daughter. My oldest rides his three wheeler down the little sidewalk, it's the perfect road. As a child, I remember steeling those apples from our next door neighbor. As I walk inside the kitchen I can see my colorful teal walls. The red picture with a latte and a pretty butterfly picture on the other wall. I can see a tiny bedroom. The closet is big and the lilac color on the wall is relaxing. In the living room is our tan loveseat.
The house smells old, and a little musty. I can smell the home cooked dinners and a scented candle. My sweet babies smell like a mixture of lavender baby wash, dirt and grass. Outside there is the strong smell of flowers. My dad hugs me and I smell his hair doused with baby oil. He has a very earthy sent, mixed with the stale smell of cigarettes.
The ground beneath my feet is cold and rocky. As I walk to the side of the house the kids climb the giant tree. It is prickly. The tan loveseat is very soft and relaxing. Shane and I could curl up together and fall asleep. The walls feel rough and thin. The carpet is definitely cheep. It is very rough on our feet. The windows are cold, even with the sun shinning through. It is the thick glass, very heavy.
I hear kids laughing and crying. Shane has the music up loud and the flow of his music is energizing and unnerving. I hear the cars speed down the street and I feel irritated. What if the kids get too close. The neighbors stay up late, young college kids. The drunk voices and laughter makes me angry. I have to wake up with the baby. I hear my own voice yelling and crying. I hear my mom trying to calm me down. I hear Shine laughing and yelling at the top of his little lungs. I hear Chassy and Brandon with there game night bickers.
I taste steak San Marco. from the slow cooker. My dad tells me it's the best steak he's ever had as he gobbles it up. I taste Christmas cookies, peppermint. I taste our first BBQ, Shane's burgers where extra crispy as this was his first time cooking for 30+ people. I taste cold coffee. My dad scoffs, He doesn't understand. It is so sweet and creamy with the energizing nutty bitterness of the coffee.
Walking up the stairs, 6mth pregnant feeling like a whale, my dad proudly took me around with a large heavily made up Realtor grinning ear to ear. My dad tells her this is my daughter and she looks at my quite shocked. He is too old, I see it in her eyes. As they show me the rooms I am late for work. and impatient. I can paint and replace the carpet. It will do, I will make it work. I am as happy as can be. The Realtor pulls me aside and tells me my dad had a bit of an episode while signing the papers. He was shocked at the closing costs. They were supposed to be much less. She told me that he was very worked up and that I should keep an eye on him. I thought to myself, she doesn't know me very well, but I have been keeping an eye on him for years.
New Blog
My first home is the happiest of wonderlands. The memories our family created there will be forever ingrained in my mind. This home is the last place my family was truly whole. The tiny little rock house was the type of place you would drive right past with out the need for a second glance. To me, it looked like a small cottage out of a fairytale. It sat on nearly half an acre, a little ways back from old orchard street. Beautiful evergreen trees enclosed the property this created a secluded feel. I had grown up on that street. The best thing about the home, my dad lived next door. I had gazed at the little house many times through my bedroom window. My friends and I would make up stories about the possible residence of the place. It had on old fashioned charm about it. Growing up, the house was almost always empty. I used to steal the little sweet green apples from the back. When this little charmer became my own, my dad would peel the green apples for my children with his pocket knife.
My first impression of the inside was a little pang of panic. The musty smell of old people enveloped the room. It was quite small and had horrible wood paneling. I knew my dad was counting on our approval though and I had made up my mind that I would make it work. I could always paint the paneling. It was gonna be mine, I could do what ever fixing up I felt necessary. In my mind I could already see the large vegetable garden. My backyard was sunny and the earth itself felt like home. I already knew the trees intimately. They were my playground as a child. The giant evergreen next to the house would someday be glowing bright with beautiful Christmas lights. I felt optimistic about creating a new life for our family there.
In the beginning I felt some concern about being so close to my dad. I loved him dearly, but he could be a bit controlling and I believed myself independent. I had three kids and a husband. Little did I know that his morning visits would turn out to be the best part of my day. I revamped my little cottage with lots of paint and elbow grease and it ended up being quite a nice place. The musty old home now smelled of baby powder, scented candles and home cooked dinners. My dad helped us touch up some of the odds and ends on the outside. We bought a swing set and some hanging plants for the covered porch. We made it very cozy.
Daddy popped over with Neapolitan ice cream and pockets full of peppermints to keep my little ones exited to see him. My little toddlers would ride their 3 wheelers around the sidewalk that circled the house. My husband kept quite busy with all of my dads improvement projects. They made plans to add a pool table to the garage. Together they imagined the ultimate man cave. My babies got to know and love their grandpa. Our world for such a brief moment in time, was perfect. My mom was only three blocks away. It was always funny watching my dad scurry off when my mom got there. He loved her in his way, he really loved to piss her off honestly. She would gush over the grandkids, yet he was sure he was the favorite. All the sweet treats he bought us, he was sure he had grampa of the year in the bag.
Within a few months our fairytale came to an end. One lazy afternoon daddy was relaxing on the front porch, listening to the kids laugh and bicker. My dad saw my daughter dart out near the street after a bright red ball. He jumped up so fast to stop her it startled her and she cried like you wouldn't believe. Grandpa had never yelled like that before. After his adrenaline rush normalized, he was hit with excruciating back pain. Every day the pain seemed to worsen. Eventually I convinced him to go to the doctor. He was diagnosed with lung cancer and died about two months later.
My beautiful little cottage was never the same. Suddenly it became dark and the empty lawn chair in the front looked so cold and lonely. The large yard became an unmanageable jungle of grass and weeds. The rooms inside seemed to shrink with every passing day. Still I was determined to stick it out. The first winter without my dad our furnace needed replaced. It was the year of the Great Ice Storm of 2007. The realities of owning an old home seemed to pile up, building strength with each new disaster. My mother was also ill at this time. After her death I couldn't bear to stay on old orchard street. Every memory seemed to stab at me. My heart was broken. We soon decided to buy a bigger newer home. After 4 years in our current home I realize that I couldn't run away from my grief. I miss that old house, but more than that I miss the people I shared my life with. Everything changes and sometimes we have to go with the flow of it. During our time in our old house I thought I knew that the material world doesn't make a person happy. After moving away, and trying to out run the memories I am positive that for me it is the people that make the place worthwhile, memories and all.
Friday, March 7, 2014
my happy heaven and yucky hell
This week my heavens included watching some old videos of my kids and my son that passed away. There were also some with my nephews. These videos are about two-three years old and they reminded me of how sweet and naughty kids are. Many of them were recorded with out the kids knowing, so they are being completely authentic. They are free from pressure from adults to behave in a certain way. It was also nice to realize that watching them now feels very different from watching them a year ago. I also had a dream about my first "love". He is dead now, but when I dream about him it is always very intense. I often here songs that were our songs, and I just have him in the back of my mind for the day. This is a bit of hell and heaven. I love my husband and it is the real love that can handle obstacles. My first was not that deep and maybe in a way deeper. It was all about feelings and none of it was about the real world around us. I think that I am over the ex but the intense feelings that this relationship produced are always glorified in my mind.
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
Stacy spent the last few years in San Diego, trying to make it big. After the release of her first two cd's, dog walking was still her primary job. Original starting out in Springfield Missouri, her move to Cali was part of an awesome plan to build a singing career. Stacy had an amazing group of friends. Each on of them supporting her in their own unique way. Cristin, her ex stepsister, remained a close part of Stacys life, regardless of the ex in step. Stacy complained about getting nowhere with her music.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)