Blah, Blah, Blah

I sit with my laptop in front of me this evening and I've no idea of what to write. I've read and commented to all the blogs on my bloglist I've read and responded to all of my e-mails. I finished my latest read yesterday and the American Idol season finale was last night. My life is momentarily at a standstill. Lon left a few minutes ago to go to Menard's for something he needed. My wine glass is empty and dinner has been served and eaten. (Please note that when I published this post, a few of my opening words traveled up to the left side of the photo of our marigolds. I seem to have little control over them at times. What can I say?)

I've learned that I don't need a writing idea in order to write. If I sit in front of my computer and confess that I don't have a strong motive for being there, words and thoughts will begin to trickle in. For instance, if I look to my right, I've a splendid view of the backyard. Splendid except for the fact that Lon dissembled our bird bath and its pretty setting so the septic tank can be pumped tomorrow. He had a nice two-tier log box filled with red stone as a base for the bird bath. The stones are now in a bucket and the box is lying upside down with mud caked to its underside and metal rods sticking up from the corners.

A wooden barrel sits about six feet from me on the wooden deck beyond the sliding glass door at my right. Lon planted orange and yellow marigolds in it on Sunday. He watered the little plants a little while ago so the dirt is black and the water that dripped from the hose onto the deck is beading up on the newly treated boards.

A soft breeze is disturbing the branches furthest from the trunk of our pin oak tree. We've lived here since 1972 and the trees we planted after the house was built have had 37 years of growth. From my stool, I can't begin to see to the top of the oak tree. The new leaves are a light, almost lime green color and the entire appearance of the pin oak tree always gives me a cool buoyant feeling when I look its way.

I just noticed a gray cat cutting through our yard on his way to places beyond, while birds are chirping from somewhere out of my sight. Some birds maintain a low-key chatter while others startle me with their high-pitched notes. I love to open the windows and hear the sounds of leaves responding to the wind and the chorus of insects and birds coming in from all the trees and shrubs surrounding the house.

See what I mean. I had no idea to go on when I sat down to write, but I have two eyes and two ears, ten fingers and a brain. I don't expect what I've written to be of much interest to anyone, yet I hope I've proven that there is always something to put into words. For me, writing is fun and full of surprises. The key to writing, initially, is to give yourself permission to write badly. Plan to throw everything you write into the wastebasket until you begin to see value in your words. With practice, improvement comes.

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(It may seem inappropriate and unpleasant that I mentioned our septic tank in this post. Before I took any writing classes, I'd have avoided any reference to it. I've learned that "telling it like it is" proves to be more captivating to the reader.)

Alrighty, then. Like Forrest Gump, that's all I've got to say about that.

A Book Review of A MAN CALLED OUTLAW

Unfortunately, I just finished the book, A Man Called Outlaw. I say that because it was an excellent read. I feel a sense of loss when I turn the last page of a compelling book. I met the author, K.M. Weiland, on my blog. At the back of her novel, I found this paragraph about her.

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"K.M. Weiland grew up chasing Billy the Kid and Jesse James on horseback through the sand hills of western Nebraska, where she and her family still live. A lifelong fan of the Old West and the power of the written word, she enjoys sharing both through her many fictional stories and her first novel, A Man Called Outlaw."

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After reading a comment that K.M. submitted on my blog, I went to her website. I learned that she is a published author and that her first novel is available for purchase. I didn't hesitate to place an order and within a few days, I was holding her book in my sweaty little hands. Learning that authors are real people is exciting me. If K.M., a person who had taken time to comment on my newly launched blog, has a published book, maybe, just maybe, someday I will do something with my writing, as well.

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I don't normally read westerns, in fact, I don't know if I ever have until now. I was willing to move out of my usual reading genre in order to support K.M. and to see what kind of writer she is. Honestly, I didn't expect to have much interest in a western.

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Once I picked up the book and began to read, I was sucked into her story. From page one to the final page, there was never a good time to close the book. All of the characters were well-developed and realistic. The story galloped along with no time for me to take a breath before it swung around and took off again.

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Quite early in her book, this descriptive sentence impressed me: "Bent over with rheumatism and plump enough to be considered a little bit more than ample, she wore the decaying remnants of a youthful beauty like a silk party gown gone threadbare." A Man Called Outlaw is loaded with writing of this quality, chapter after chapter.
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The book is actually two parallel stories, one centered around fictional events in 1858 and the other relating happenings in 1887. The story goes back and forth between the lives of often overlapping characters in the two decades.

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I highly recommend K.M. Weiland's book. You will be entertained throughout, interested in the characters throughout, on the edge of your seat throughout, and you will come away with a renewed conviction that doing what is right is always right.

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This is my first attempt at a book review. I'm not sure how well I related the value of K.M.'s book, so please go to http://www.wordplay-kmweiland.blogspot.com/ , K.M.'s blog. If you follow the right side of her blog down, you will come to a link to her book. When you go there, you will read more about The Man Called Outlaw. The first chapter and reader's comments are also available.

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I encourage you to put The Man Called Outlaw on your must-read book list.

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(K.M. has two other books in the works. Behold the Dawn, a historical novel, is in the pre-publication stage and has a release date of October 1st, 2009. Dreamers Come, a fantasy novel, is in the editing stage.)

Shhhh! You're Entering a Library

SHHHHH! YOU'RE ENTERING A LIBRARY

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I promised that I would show you some photos of our new library. I took these pictures last week and today's the day for the big presentation. As I mentioned in my original post regarding this new addition to our city, it's huge.

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The pictures speak for themselves so I'll only comment on a couple of them.

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The clear, suspended, dome shaped "things" provide audio for individuals watching DVDs, without allowing the sound to bother others. This area is not ready for use yet. The woman at the check-out desk, whom I asked about the domes, didn't seem real sure about the "things," so I'm only passing on what I was told. If I find out more, I'll let you know.

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An openness is present throughout the building. In areas where inner walls are present, vertical windows allow visual observation from room to room. As you can see, all of the fixtures are ultra-modern.

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I'm really excited about this new location for the library. I remember the times about fifty years ago, when Mom took my two younger brothers and me, every Saturday while she bought groceries at Kroger's, to the library on West Grand Avenue, downtown. From there, the library relocated across the river in the old post office building. I loved those two locations. The character of the old architectural structures was truly remarkable, but things change.

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I'll learn to love the new library with its latest technological advances and of course, for its greatest assets, all the wonderful books within its walls.

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(If you'd like to read more about the new library, please go to my previous post: 53,000 Square Feet of Books).

Time In A Bottle

I'm going to open a shop. The name of my shop will be TIME IN A BOTTLE. It will be a small shop in a picturesque setting with tall pine trees and pretty flower boxes at the windows. A huge butterfly will be painted on the front of the building with colorful wings reaching around to cover the side walls as well.

Nobody has enough time, or at least, nobody thinks they have enough time. Everybody longs for more time to relax, to sleep, to read or to write. They want time they've lost, more family time, more play time and, most often, a good time. I believe that in this day and age, I can bottle time, sell it and make a small fortune.

The walls inside my shop will be filled with shelves containing bottles, bottles of time. One area will have a selection of bottles under the category of DOWN TIME. These shelves will hold bottles filled with Nap Time, TV Time, Reading Time, Writing Time, Hammock Time and Chill Time.

The SOCIAL TIME area will have rows and rows of bottles with labels identifying their contents as Family Time, Friend Time, One on One Time, Play Time and A Good Time (sold in 2-packs only, due to its anticipated universal popularity).

SELF-IMPROVEMENT TIME will be available in bottles of Exercise Time, Prayer Time, Being On Time, Making Up for Lost Time, Over Time and Doing Double Time.

A MISCELLANEOUS TIME display will stand in the center of the store beside the checkout counter. Spare Time, Free Time, Fond Memory Time, and Saving Time bottles will rotate on this circular rack.

Instructions for use of my product will direct the consumer to shake the bottle gently and to twist off the cap. Essence of time will immediately flow up and out of the bottle, drifting slowly around the user. Each bottle will be guaranteed to contain scent-free, hypoallergenic time which fully envelops the senses and insures that the consumer's entire mental focus will be on his chosen activity.

Additional instructions will remind the buyer that he paid for this time, thus, he must not let anything interfere with it. He will be advised to keep the bottle close and to be prepared to use it to ward off any individual or individuals who attempt to interrupt his special time. It will be suggested that simply grasping the bottle at the narrow end and raising it threateningly above the head will prove to be effective in most cases.

The selling price per bottle will be five dollars. I'll make the product in a small room attached to the back of the shop. My inventory will include bottles, labels and twist-off caps. Every bottle that I label and seal with a cap will contain the exact same thing, that is, nothing. (This minor detail, I trust, will remain solely between you and me.)

I will post a sign on each wall ensuring customers that if they don't see the time they need in a bottle on a shelf, a special order will be taken and their desired bottle will be ready in 24 hours.

Time is so very, very precious. If consumers can be convinced that they can buy time and I'm certain that they can be, I believe it's my civic duty to supply their needs in the best way I know how.

Secondly, I'm just another starving artist looking for a way to pay for my next meal.

Run, Shaddy, Run

This morning I participated in the Beloit Wellness Biathlon. It was a cool, windy day with temperatures hovering around 53 degrees and 20 mph winds blowing from the northwest. Fortunately, the sun was shining.

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I haven't figured out how to get these photos in chronological order when I add them to my post, consequently, there's no rhyme or reason to their positions up there. I'll describe what's going on the best way I can. The photo in the lower right is of me as I finished the first 2-mile run. In the lower left photo, I've donned my biking helmet and biking shoes and I'm heading with my bike from the parking lot to the road. The photo of me on my bike was taken as I'm braking at the finish of the 11-mile bike. Above that, I'm taking off my helmet and changing to my running shoes. In the photo of me from the back, I'm beginning the final leg of the biathlon, the second 2-mile run. The photo of me and the orange cones was taken as I made the turn off the road and into the chute that guided me across the finish line.

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I felt good during the entire race except for the first half mile of running after getting off my bike. Biking into the wind was a challenge too, but I simply shifted to lower gears and pedaled as hard as I could. I've trained myself to think of my body as a machine. Instead of being appalled by my extra heavy breathing and my desire to stop, I remind myself that my body is automatically and effectively doing what it has to in order to get me from the start to the finish. Of course, I'm uncomfortable and it's all hard work but I have to pay that price if I want to succeed.

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Each participant got a t-shirt. I really like the wording on both the front and the back; whoever designed it was quite clever.

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Since I turned sixty in January, I moved up (or down, depending on how you want to look at it) to the next age group. Last year I was in the 50-59 age group. I'm in the final age group now, the 60+. It doesn't seem fair that when I compete in my seventies and eighties, I'll be competing against women 10 to 20 years younger. (How's that for positive thinking?)

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My finish time was 1 hour 28 minutes 55 seconds. I'm happy. Last year, my time was 1:25:23. Considering the high winds today and the fact that I wasn't nearly as fired up for this year's race as I was last year's, I'm feeling good about the outcome.

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The volunteers who stood at the intersections did a great job this year. They stopped traffic so we could make our turns safely, whereas, last year we had to pay close attention to the cars coming and going around us.

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In July, I'm planning to do a mini-triathlon. That means I'll get to swim in addition to the biking and running. I thrive on challenges and perhaps I'm a bit crazy. The combination of both keeps me doing all the things that I do.

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[I thank Lon for taking the photos and for being there for me, today.]

What's In A Name?

I pretend to work in a dental office. Yesterday, while I was passing the time absentmindedly looking in the appointment book, the combination of interesting names on that particular day, prompted me to try something. I challenged myself to write some sentences using the patients' last names in place of some of the nouns, verbs, adverbs and adjectives.

On this seemingly typical day in May, the last names of patients scribbled in pencil in the appointment book were intriguing. They were:

Klingenberg, Timm,

Sackmann, and Pearson,

Turnmire, Crick, and Cain,

Mowers, and Busch, Trotter,

Wendt, Forrest, and Clark,

Buchanan, Selgren,

Kristopeit, and Farnum.

While I appeared to be doing my job, I juggled the names and found connections between them. If you use your imagination, I think you'll get the drift of what I tried to say in these unusual sentences. These are the end results of my mental acrobatics:

I heard Cricks chirping from Busches in the Forrest.

It's sad that Timm can't Trotter now that he uses a Cain.

Did you hear about Clark? He picked Klingenberg Pearsons from a tree and Wendt off with them in a Sackmann?

To my surprise, Kristopeit Columbus fired a Buchanan and thus Mowers down Clark as he attempted to Selgren the sack of stolen pears.

Last, but not least, regarding that muddy mess in the corner of the yard, our gardener has been Turnmire instead of planting flowers Farnum and wide across the grounds as I requested.

[In a round about way, I got paid to write this week. Hey, I could get used to that.]

Birdhouse Madness

My husband has a "thing" for birdhouses. I'm not exactly sure where he got this "thing" but after giving it some thought, I believe I've figured it out. My dad liked making "things" with wood and one of the "things" he made was, guess what? Yes, birdhouses. Over the years, he gave Lon several of those that he made. Unfortunately, they have come undone from the sun, rain, and other abuses of Wisconsin weather. Lon loved the birdhouses Dad gave him and when they wore out, he went looking for more. Thus, my dad gets the credit for planting the birdseed in Lon's brain, while meanwhile, I've had a front row seat to watch as Lon has gone loony. Oh yeah, he goes ballistic over loons as well, although unfortunately they don't seek shelter in birdhouses so he can't lure a single one here.

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I just went outside and counted the birdhouses in the front and back yards. We have a total of 16. Lon was satisfied with having just a handful until quite recently. We found most of those in the photos at the Apple Tree Hut. After buying their complete inventory, he got the name of the fellow who makes them and ordered a few more directly from him.

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When he started mounting them on posts around the yard, I thought he was going a bit overboard. First, there were three in the front yard. I initially thought that was enough. Unbeknownst to me, he had only just begun. Obviously, a few more of the dormant birdseeds in his brain woke up and took root. He amassed quite a collection of birdhouses; all I could think was "sheesh." I told him what I thought, but he assured me that he knew what he was doing. I rolled my eyes, but didn't argue against his plan. Over the nearly forty years we've been married, I've learned that his ideas usually are good ones. Regarding my remark about Lon going overboard, I must admit that I've been known to get carried away on more than one occasion in my lifetime when I'm passionate about something. And so, I try to avoid throwing roadblocks in his way.

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As you can see from the photos, he did a nice job of placing them, staining some, painting some, etc. (You can click on the photos to enlarge them for a closer look). When I look outside, I like what I see. I think the birdhouses add cheerfulness and life to our outdoor living space.

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P.S. You probably think you've seen it all You ain't seen nuthin yet! We have birdhouses inside the house too. I just counted them. Would you believe me if I said we have 11 that I can locate upstairs. I have a feeling he may have stashed a few in the basement. (He likes to rotate his stock).

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P.S.S. We also have a screen porch off the family room. Are there birdhouses there? Yup. I counted 18, give or take a few I may have overlooked.

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[I'll take you on a tour of our indoor collection another day. 'Til then, think birds.]