noise

I'm at the library. I'm driving myself nuts.

I am working on a really tough chapter to edit, trying to condense and strengthen an important scene. It's a kickball game, a hovering bullying threat, a lot of misplaced emotions and misdirected kick in the head.

You would think it would be easier to write than this. I've rewritten it dozens of times already.

Summer camps have let loose their wards, about the same age as the characters I am editing, in the stacks. They wander in small gaggles and pairs, some individually. It's like they all know I am right here and each has to walk within a foot of my work area.

I nearly gave up and packed it in for home, then I realized most of the noise was in my own head. I am too distracted these days. It's a painful process to be editing this same chapter yet again. But I read it, and it only works about seventy-five percent. The idea comes across, but it's a little flat. Until the kick in the head. I really need to build the emotional pressure a bit more concisely so that when the kick happens, it explodes like a ripe tomato thrown at a wall. Figuratively speaking, of course. There will be no murders in this book. But there really needs to be spike of the pressure that has been building through the book up to this point. This kick is a minor pre-release to the main confrontational event. It is a nail in bike tire, not the whole crashing flat that comes later.

I am definitely having a moment of why am I still working on this, but it will pass. It kind of is now, as the summer campers appear to dissipate enough that I can hear the air conditioning working overtime against the heat.

Back to it, Cath, that's it.

But first, I want to share something I read before I left home today to edit. It's an inspiring account of personal endurance. Grab a cuppa your favorite beverage and settle in. It's a tad long, but it'll do wonders, I promise. It inspired me to stick with this manuscript, to stick out this editing session, to stick out writing.

And that's the least of the inspiration. This is big Life Stuff. Thank you, Max. Vineman 7.3 2011

my other boys

I stayed up way too late last night.

The Red Sox went into a 0-0 16 inning game against Tampa Bay. My endurance gave out in the 15th, before Dustin Pedroia made the winning RBI and then Papelbon's and Gonzales's close.

But in the 11th inning, Josh Reddick made a thing of beauty catch against the wall and rolled, keeping it in his glove. That's just darned good baseball.



I've been watching Pedroia play since he was a pup. He still kind of looks like one beside his teammates, but no one in the game has played with more heart and fire than him in the past several years. If anyone was going to bring that endurance match home last night, it was my boy Pedroia. Ellsbury comes close, and now Reddick, too.

And you know what? That is why I love the Red Sox. These guys are highly fallible guys, prone to injury, because they put everything they have into the game. Each moment matters to them in a way you don't see with some of the other teams. The Red Sox players, individually and as a team, have more heart even than their deepest loving fans of any sport. I give my kudos to Terry Francona for keeping that kind of spirit alive in them from game to game. It's not just the skill, the talent and the know-how, the calculations and the play. It's the pure love of baseball.

I love these guys like they're my own.

breakfast

A little while ago, I brought the corn husk materials from last night's dinner out to my compost pile. I perused the pickings around the peas. I popped one pod in  my mouth. I'll let the others linger and grow another day or so. I strolled by my little swiss chard piece of a plot in front of the okra,  and was struck with an idea for breakfast. I picked a few leaves thinking of combining them with eggs, and considered what else to add as I reentered the house.

Last week's storms broke Grandma's hanging tomato plant. The remaining tomatoes are ripening on our kitchen counter.

I chopped some garlic as I started to scramble the eggs. I gave the swiss chard a few licks with the knife and tossed those in. I took a small tomato from the opposite counter did the same. A little salt and pepper later, and voila!

Garden fresh swiss chard and tomato scramble, from garden to plate.

This is why I love to garden. Everything you grow yourself inspires and tastes better, from plant to table in ten minutes.

saturday morning convo

Grandma, Honey and I volunteer for the Virginia Arts Festival. Last night in Williamsburg, we ushered for a concert of Chick Corea and Gary Burton. Absolutely outstanding show, I was mesmerized. So was Honey. These are giants of jazz, for those who don't know. Honey and I had to educate a few of the other volunteers a little bit about who these musicians were. I forget sometimes that while there are some people who are absolutely fanatical about jazz - like one guy I saw keeping set lists, there are many more who have never dipped their toes in that syncopated water. Honey and I fall somewhere between those extremes, a little closer to the fanatics.

So while all three adults of the house were in Williamsburg, Mr. Cynic babysat. Babysitting largely comprised of viewings of Kung Fu Panda, expected, and apparently Captain Comic added Jimmy Neutron, Boy Genius.  


This morning, after our late night arrival home, Toots wanted to wake us - twice. The second time, she climbed into our bed with the Jimmy Neutron DVD case in hand.

Toots (points to the picture on the cover): Das Jimmy Neutron.
Mom: M-hm.
Toots: And das Carl.
Mom: M-hm.
Toots: And das Jimmy Neutron's dog, Tonnor.
Mom: I don't think Jimmy Neutron's dog's name is Connor. Daddy, isn't it something like Einstein?
Honey (slowly rouses from sleep): ................................................Goddard.
Mom: Oh yea, the dog is named after a famous scientist, Goddard.
Toots: We sing dat in pweschool.
Mom:  What?
Toots: Goddard.
Mom: What?
Toots: We sing Goddard in pweschool, before we eat.
Mom (light slowly dawns): OH!
Toots (sings): Goddard fadder, Goddard fadder, we thank you, we thank you.....
Mom (chuckles): That's God our Father, not Goddard, silly!
Toots: Oh.

excerpts from both ends of a candle

Friday:
Teen Lock-in in Richmond.
Good youth, good combined fellowships
games, conference, identity discussion, chaperoned
yes I'm crazy and incredibly sleep deprived.

Saturday:
Commute back to Hampton Roads,
drop off someone else's young person,
home to empty house, worn out teen and me.
Shower, near tears tired,
buy present, go to housewarming,
hug people, leave before utter collapse.
amuse friends with wild hair and falling out eyeballs.
home, old twilight episodes viewed through napping ears,
odd dream narrated by Rod Serling
rest of family returns from Busch Gardens,
Honey and I have a date night,
Eight years since our first date.

Dinner out, epic fail, every point of service missed,
given wrong food, missed romantic comedy showing
so we watched a later showing of 3D Thor instead, fun
home, collapse, 6 hours later:

Sunday:
mother's day begun in annoyance, I was first up
except Mr. 6am - Captain Comic.
All three kids, highly uncooperative.
Child Dedication service for Toots

tears, weepy from 3 weeks of sleep deprivation.
Thank goodness I didn't have to sing with the choir.
Go to Lowes, find potted plants for grandma and rose bush for me to plant
Mr. Cynic helped while Honey waited in car with other two who were NOT
getting along.
Catch up with friends and driiiiiive to go
strawberry picking -
perfect, beautiful afternoon, sunripe strawberries
bursting with flavor, friends, kids, homemade strawberry ice cream
Captain Comic hurdled the rows of groundling berries,
Toots ran and ran and ran,
Mr. Cynic ate the best strawberry of his entire life
mutant, twoheaded thing he picked,
kids still arguing on car ride home.
It had been a long ride to Surrey.
Long ride home.

Captain Comic swore he was not going to pick any, do you hear me, mom? None. ha. 

There was more, I just can't recall it all. My brain has leaked out of my ears. And today is my second day of dental work this week. I am not a fan.

But yesterday?  My muse let me grab a comet by the tail. It was a surprising and excellent ride. Gave depth to a critical scene in the manuscript. Yea me!

There's more, plenty more, including gardening and job prospects, but I'm still trying to recover from weeks of go go go. Maybe tonight I'll go to bed early. Please remind me.

sixteen

My first born turns sixteen today.

Fall 1996, Gaga & Papa's house in Ct.

Tears start now.

Not because I'm sad, not because so much of my life has passed in that time, not because I mourn the passing of his childhood.

But because I am very proud of the child becoming a man before my eyes, as only a mother can know. Love keeps cracking me open to my own vulnerabilities and strengths that I discovered through growing him inside sixteen years ago and watching him grow, as best as I can without interfering with his fully realizing himself.

16 on 16:

1. He's a very old soul, and a very old soul is he.
2. He sneezes a lot.
3. He plays a mean electric bass.
4. He's teaching himself guitar.
5. He smirks, always.
6. He sings, really really well, competitively well.
7. He writes songs.
8. He writes books, has since he was in kindergarten.
9. He's fragile, in good ways.
10. He's strong, of spirit, not so much in body.
11. He is very very protective of those he loves.
12. He oozes into furniture, merges, becomes one.
13. He's kind of a space cadet.
14. He has a very dry wit. (Hence calling him Mr. Cynic here)
15. He has good hair.
16. The girls think he's cute, kind of like a pocket rock star.

I love him very much, and I like him, too. He's pretty darn cool. And speaking as his mother, I'm kind of glad he's still a pipsqueak.

Valentine's Day 2011, He let me do this.

I love you, K-Bear, Happy Birthday. 

snow

I love snow. 

view thru front window and yucca

When we lived in Massachusetts, we got a lot of it. And that is an understatement for the region we were in. Here, not so much.  Last night they cancelled schools all over Hampton Roads just because of the threat of snow. When we lived in the snow valley up North, we'd be up before dawn shovelling three feet of heavy white off our cars to get to school which didn't even have delays most of the time.

Everyone around me thinks I'm crazy the way I profess my love for the winter white.  But even if I was born in Atlanta, it snowed on the day I was born.  And you know what?  Every birthday of my life, it has snowed.  I consider it my special blessing. Like a promise from the creator, an inside wink.  Last year, it did not snow on my birthday here in Hampton Roads, Virginia, but it did where I grew up in Connecticut.  When I talked to my dad, I was thrilled. Because once again, even if not directly for me, it did snow on my birthday. Other birthdays here, I have spotted lonely tiny flakes.

This morning, Captain Comic was the last to know about the cancellation (ha, he finished his homework...)  Upon being informed:

Captain Comic: Woo-hoo!  Wait - (quick confirming look out the window) There's no snow.

Mom: We're not in Massachusetts anymore are we?  Funny isn't it?  But they are not prepared for snow on the roads down here the way we were in MA.

Capt. Comic: Oh right.

Mom: Remember all the snow we used to get?

Capt. Comic (wistfully):  I loved crawling through the tunnels...


And that about sums it up.  My favorite place to live my whole life was in that little town exactly because of all that snow and sledding and snowball fights and building snow forts with the boys....but it's fine that I traded for the beach in close proximity here. Where I grew up in Connecticut, I was lucky to have both the great sled yard of the neighborhood and a bike ride to the beach.

Anyway, today there is snow, and it's slick and beautiful.  Even I won't drive in it. and I watch the tiny flakes swirl in the wind, fast and dancing out my window.

camellia from an upstairs window

Capt. Comic has already been out to 'the hill' - really a berm at the back of the neighborhood baseball field. He was so excited.  No layers or boots speak of, just his coat as he dragged the blue plastic sled around the bend. He came back in shortly after, wanting hot cocoa.

Toots has been watching it swirl and fall out the window, entranced by the magic that has always been such a joy for me.

same upstairs window looking straight out.

And even Mr. Cynic awoke with a smile, and headed out in it to ride his bike to the next subdivision to his friend's house. I just hope he found some gloves to wear...He is disappointed that his Jazz Choir's Winter Concert is postponed, and he hopes that it is rescheduled for tomorrow rather than cancelled altogether.  He "worked too hard for the past four months to not perform!" And he wants to wear the red sparkly vest and bow tie. It's like a badge of honor.  I never would have suspected, though the kid still rocks a necklace, much like he did as a toddler.

My Christmas shopping was slightly thwarted, I tried to drive, but it was too slick even for me.  I was smart and turned around at the first corner.  I can't say the same for the rest of the people in this area who are currently on the road.  That's part of why not just the schools, but a lot of other places are closed today.  It's okay, I did a little online shopping and shipping said it would get to my nephews in time.

Hmmm...the flakes are getting a little bigger....that means it's a hair warmer and beautiful.  I may finally get in the Christmas spirit after all.

weekword results: pyrophoric

My Pyrophoric entry is a lot of little sparks.  It's been a crazy couple of weeks, or month really, very hard to focus on one thing well. 

1.  A week before Thanksgiving, a cousin of mine passed.  I was too far away to get to her funeral, but I will always remember how she sparkled.  She spent decades crippled by Rheumatoid Arthritis and then Multiple Sclerosis to boot.  But she never complained of her pain or even showed it, though she was pretty much curled up in a little ball.  She always smiled, asked how you were, and had a twinkle in her eye.

2. My girl Toots, sparks my heart several times a day, everyday. She has a twinkle in her eye, too.

 

3. Captain Comic sparks a laugh from me, or several, everyday. There is no way to know what spark of the way he thinks will come shooting out of his mouth like a firecracker.

4. Mr. Cynic and I both love turning the lights out and chomping on Wint-O-Green Lifesavers to watch them spark....hmmmm, I should go pick some up.  It's been quite a while.

5.  When I see my Honey, after a long day of him away at the office, he still sparks a little something in me. It's a chemical reaction.

Please see what else Pyrophoric sparked for the many creative people below:

Carmen at Tails of a Biomouse

Joye at Joyefulart

Maria at Simply Cool Stuff

Christine E-E at Silver Linings 4 ME

Sally at Diario

Sally at Sow and Sew

Enjoy!

On Monday, please go to Joyefulart to find out the next Weekword prompt. Joye is hosting next!

walk across america for pancreatic cancer

BJ Timoner is one of the first people I met when I arrived on my college campus a hundred years ago. At the time, he was very welcoming, and made me much more at ease in my new surroundings. He is going to walk from San Diego to New York starting on Christmas Day, December 25, 2010. He is doing this to raise funding for pancreatic cancer research through The Lustgarten Foundation. 

BJ lost his father at the age of five to this disease which still does not have early detection testing.  When someone is diagnosed it is generally already too late.  BJ is just reaching his father's age of passing, 41, and decided to do what he could so that future families will not have to live the life his family did, without the presence of a parent or other loving family member.

Pancreatic cancer comes in fourth in the statistics of cancer fatalities. 

Fourth, people.  That is too big to not have early detection tests available.  By now, through the success of other cancer tests, for prostrate, colon and breast cancers for instance, we know that early detection is the monumental key to treatment and therefore survival of formerly guaranteed to be fatal cancers. 

Please, friends, go to his website:

http://www.bjwalksamerica.com/

to learn a little more and to donate.  Every dollar goes to research only, none to support his endeavor or him personally.  Remember, even if you barely have enough to get by during this Holiday Season, even a little bit from each of us can go a long way together. 

Thank you.

list it tuesday: numbers

On the side of my monitor remains the Post-it list of photos I uploaded for my blog the other day about our hike on the Noland Trail.

Notice how I start the list at about halfway through, then return to the beginning?  I also apparently changed my mind from 11 to 12.

I seem incapable of doing anything in a less than cockeyed manner.  Then again, I wouldn't be me if I did otherwise, right?

Go check out aimee's post in artsyville to see more lists from around the interwebz. It's fun, and some people are much more artistically adventurous with their lists than I am.

weekword: pyrophoric

I am hosting the Weekword Challenge this week and hope you'll join in on the fun.  Weekword is a creative challenge that gets passed around the internet and each week a new blogger is asked to host and chooses a new word to inspire others to share their response. You can do anything: from poetry to photography to pottery to pensive ramblings. Whatever happens is good as long as it prompts you to do, to make, to create and then to share.

pyrophoric

I flipped open my old red Merriam-Webster, and found this week's word.  I like it.  It's sparkly. In fact the official meaning from Dictionary.com is

py·ro·phor·ic   /ˌpaɪrəˈfɔrɪk, -ˈfɒr-/ [pahy-ruh-fawr-ik, -for-]
–adjective Chemistry .
capable of igniting spontaneously in air.
Origin:
1830–40; < Gk pyrophór ( os ) fire-bearing ( see pyro-, -phorous) + -ic
Dictionary.com Unabridged
Based on the Random House Dictionary, © Random House, Inc. 2010.


World English Dictionary

pyrophoric (ˌpaɪrəʊˈfɒrɪk)
— adj
1. (of a chemical) igniting spontaneously on contact with air
2. (of an alloy) producing sparks when struck or scraped: lighter flints are made of pyrophoric alloy
[C19: from New Latin pyrophorus, from Greek purophoros fire-bearing, from pur fire + pherein to bear]

I hope it sparks something in you!  (I couldn't resist.)  Please add a comment here to indicate if you are participating and I will post a link to your blog on Friday to share with others. 

Have Fun!

walkin'

Here are some sights along our route on the Noland Trail in Newport News on Saturday. It turned out to be quite an ambitious afternoon hike. Five miles total,  4.75 of which Toots wanted to be carried, as we set out at her naptime.  Because that's the way we roll.

Ducks.  They looked cold.  We saw a great blue heron, too, but he was too far for a good pic with my little zoom.

This is the first of officially 14 bridges we crossed.  There were many more little foot bridges, too, across dips in the path for watery days.  Toots counted all the bridges.

Captain Comic and Mr. Cynic were more focussed on the mile and half-mile markers, as they completely did not want to go on the Noland Trail that day, and had little to no knowledge of what it entailed ahead of time.  Heheheh.

A lovely jogger took a shot of us all together.  Very sweet of her to do.

There must be elves and fairies, etc. in this section of ivy covered forest.   At least that's what I drew a lot of when I was Mr. Cynic's age and was reading a LOT of sci-fi fantasy.









Sparkly!  It was a gorgeous, if slightly chill autumn day for a walk around and crisscrossing a big lake.












Rounding the bend ahead of me is the rest of the family.  I believe I was struggling with Lucy at this point, as well as trying to take a picture.  There were many dogs to meet along the path, and Captain Comic HAD to meet all of them. And Lucy had to read all their pee-mail.

We found a bit of a cove with some still and reflective water.  I love the blue.

 Another bridge, somewhere before the halfway mark. Exhausted Captain Comic, glaring Mr. Cynic. Lucy is still excited about the hike, but trepidatious about the bridges.

The Noland Trail runs through a system of parks around the Mariners' Museum.  This one is called Lion Park.  The big stone lions look over the James River and wear wreaths around their necks at this time of year.

Toots did not want Honey to put her down at all, not even to stand in this hole in the tree where she would have looked like a cute like elf.  By the way, that red corduroy coat was mine when I was little.  My mother saved everything.  This is one of the few items that is still wearable, 42 years later.











All in all, a lovely afternoon with some chill fingers and some gripey boys who had their fill before we found the 2.5 mile marker.  Honey and I really enjoyed it, even if our knees, hips and backs had enough long before 4.5 mile marker.  And Toots was a real trooper for a napless tot. Of course, Honey's arms were numb by the end.  He was a real trooper, too.  We all were, come to think of it!

weekword: lacuna

Carmen of Tails of a Biomouse chose a very interesting word this week for the Weekword Challenge.

Dictionary.com:
la·cu·na   /ləˈkyunə/

[luh-kyoo-nuh] –noun, plural -nae  /-ni/ [-nee], -nas.

1. a gap or missing part, as in a manuscript, series, or logical argument; hiatus.
2. Anatomy. one of the numerous minute cavities in the substance of bone, supposed to contain nucleate cells.
3. Botany . an air space in the cellular tissue of plants.

The way Carmen talked about it earlier this week made me consider patterns that holes can create.  Probably because of the celluar references.

The photo is of a piece of saguaro cactus that Honey picked up in his travels in the Southwest many years before I knew him.  The shell I have had since I was a kid. I can't even recall if I picked it up on my family's travels to a various beaches along the east coast every summer of my childhood or if it was a gift, but I have always loved it.

Anyway, it made me think of holes in our lives that keep us from fullfilling our true potential, the things that hold us back, and what we can do to examine what our part in that is. 

So while we gathered for Thanksgiving with family, and cooked our butts off making pies, potatoes etc. for the past few days, this was my undercurrent process.  And it occurred to me that I have self-esteem issues that seem to crop up and prevent me from completing editing my original manuscript, for example.  My most obvious holding back, hole in my life.  If I just finish the edits, then I can move on to the next phase and seek agents and publication.

Without going into the whys of it all, I definitely feel the impetus to knit myself back together whole, and complete what I started.

Thanks, Carmen.

I am next week's weekword person, so come back on Monday to see what I come up with!

list it tuesday: nothing fancy

I'm sure there's more and this isn't very original or stylized or particularly creative.  I'll keep considering what else I am grateful for because it's That Week.  You know, the one of Gratitude. The one where regardless of what else is going on in our lives to create mayhem, the week to pause, reflect and be thankful for your life, your ability to love in the face of it all and to count your blessings.

At least that's what I'm doing.  Have a good Thanksgiving, y'all.

this morning

I slipped from room to room,

opening curtains and windows

for a breath of fresh air.



In first son’s room,

he who loves the dark,

I drew back the yellow curtain.

Dark of early morning mid fall, I

looked down to the deep grass,

wet dark fence,

jasmine vines still green tangle,

one burst of red among the leaves,

a cardinal alarm to wake the day.



Later, I return from drop-offs,

I find myself still alarmed,

want movement and more air.

I find the bicycle tires flat,

Forego resuscitation, and grab the leash.



I ran, the dog ran, too.

She wondered what to make of it -

rare beyond rare -

through the traces of fire in the trees.

The sky greyed up

more so than that early hour,

and the black birds repudiated

the gifts the sky brought in fat wet drops

to wake relief in the dank morning.

obsessions

I have 2 new ones:

1. My new gym's yoga classes. 

2. This fabric site for quilting: Spoonflower.com

Help me, please.  Is there a Quilters Anonymous?  or Yoga Anonymous? 

I may need them.

Soon....

Happy September

"The breezes taste
Of apple peel.
The air is full
Of smells to feel-
Ripe fruit, old footballs,
Burning brush,
New books, erasers,
Chalk, and such.
The bee, his hive,
Well-honeyed hum,
And Mother cuts
Chrysanthemums.
Like plates washed clean
With suds, the days
Are polished with
A morning haze."

- John Updike, September

big ideas

I'm getting big ideas.  This can be dangerous.

I'd been thinking of this anyway, in a small way, but then I went into the room to wake Toots from her nap yesterday afternoon, and saw her cute little feet poking out of her baby quilt, and I couldn't leave it alone anymore.

So, without a budget, and with Captain Comic in tow for his haircut errand before his middle school orientation event this morning,  I sought out a fabric store, planning on a bright but very simple quilt that I might be able to put together inexpensively - for the first time.  I found gorgeous fabrics, I got big ideas that grew bigger the more fabrics I fondled. Thankfully, I had no budget to speak of, and Captain Comic interrupted me a millions times, so that I couldn't do a decent job of pricing things out in my head.  I left, considering a more thought-out trip to the store without such a blank canvas to work with as I hoarde all the beautiful Indonesian Batiks in the store.

I am not a seamstress, but when the boys were little and a bit before then, I found myself charging into projects with needles and glue guns.  I sewed a Godzilla out of fleece and polyfill, by hand, without a pattern when Captain Comic was in first grade.  I sewed a Peter Pan tunic and hat with a jaunty yellow feather when Mr. Cynic was three or four - again, no pattern. I even made kangaroo ears and tail for Captain Comic and me for his first Halloween, sewed his ears onto a beanie cap and tail onto the Baby Bjorn, and my ears onto a headband. I reupholstered furniture, haphazardly. 

I used to peg my pants in high school, by hand stitching.  I embellished denim jackets and jeans when I was in college with embroidery and weird materials - all vaguely by the seat of those jeans.  I'm an odd mix of perfectionist inhibition and ah eff it attitude when it comes to most creative projects, which is probably why they largely occur far between.

I have threaded a bobbin maybe three times since my 8th grade Home Ec class. 

But now I want to make a quilt and as excited as I am, I am somewhat intimidated because the boys' late grandmother was an intense Master Quilter and I know a couple of really fabulous fabric artists right now.

I really did just want to make something simple, but my creative juices got flowing, and I don't necessarily feel completely out of depth.

So, last night, with visions of the fabrics in my head, I sketched a couple of ideas. I borrowed some less than great markers from the kids, and this is the result, so far:

I know, my rendering skills, well, aren't exactly skills, but I think it gets the image across.  The idea is after I stripe the fabrics together, and fill the quilt, I will run the whole thing through the machine (har, har, we'll see how well that goes) to make swirly seams because there is no way I will handstitch that aspect anywhere near like my former late mother-in-law.

Now just imagine the blue a bit lighter, closer to a mottled sort of sky blue. and that middle blue stripe is a very crisp clean even rows of nickel sized daisies on a light blue background. I may use that pattern for the border instead of a deeper fuscia than what you see here. 

The purple fabric I have in mind is a really deep watery purple with little coppery gold dots in it. and the green is a batik field of grass.  The yellow has a light scribbly pattern of dragonflies and butterflies in it in white.

What do you think?

Am I not supposed to be spending my creative wellspring on my novel in progress?

Expect Delays Ahead

This was a sign we thankfully only saw blinking on rare occasions as we made our way North to visit my Beloved Boston, friends and family around Massachusetts and Connecticut as well as retrieve Captain Comic and Mr. Cynic from a month with their father. 

However, my head is about as useful as a puddle of cotton candy melting in the rain, so please bear with me as I try to sort out vacation yays and respites along the way.

One beautiful respite happened at Miranda Hersey-Helin's lovely home in MA.  In the late afternoon, kids running around everywhere as a few of the Studio Mother cohorts got together, Toots decided to make a run for it up the grassy slope back toward the house.  Sunlight hit her and the grass just right so Honey snapped a bunch of pictures.  This shot reminds me of Andrew Wyeth's painting, Christina's World - in a good way.  The painting is more heavily wrought with meaning than Toots' climb up the hill is, but I like the contemplative, view from the back resemblance, the long golden grasses, the breeze and sun in her hair.

I know, I said I'd give a full report, but the way I feel after air mattress surfing with Toots between Honey and me for 5 nights running, driving hither and yon, over hill and dale, and walking Boston, etc, then rash watch, I can't do it in one shot.  Not that we didn't appreciate the hosting, we are just still feeling the aftereffects, because we are no longer in our twenties and able to crash on people we love's floors with the same bounceback these days.

So welcome to vacation replay week of highlights. 

Consider it like stop and go traffic on I-95: eventually, progress will be made.

I will also spare you the slide show.

Since we have been back, I have taken Captain Comic to the pediatrician for 2 days running, with two calls in between, for a mystery rash around his mouth.  He is now on a course of prednizone taper with bactroban ointment because between the pediatrician and me, we determined he's having a pretty strong reaction to poison sumac and poison oak from the yard at my big brother's new house.  And Impetigo seems to have joined the party.  They see a lot less cases of sumac and p. oak down here than up north, so first pediatric inspection was a bit un, un, oh I can't think of the word. see?  melting cotton candy brain.

It's actually an old house Big Bro and his significant other are restoring.  There was a lot of brush clearing involved.  And there's still more to go. As we were at a big family picnic for both families, Captain Comic found some solace hovering around the edges of the yard at times, and if he did what he did to my little potted juniper in our driveway last school year while waiting for the bus to come in the morning, then he probably plucked some sumac and poison oak leaves, then touched around his mouth.  Bingo - rash.  Then picked at it, opening a door for an opportunistic bacteria to move in.

Lovely, isn't it?  Glad I spared you the actual visual now, aren't you?

So, please enjoy the shot of Toots. I'll be replaying it in my mind as I find a way to get through the rest of today which includes more laundry and an aspie on prednizone.  That medicine made me insane when I took it for an allergic reaction years ago.  I can only wonder what it'll do to Captain Comic. 

fun prompt: weekword

I'm a new convert to the weekly prompt project that Aimee at artsyville seems to have generated.

Every Monday, she posts winners and who is hosting the prompt among the participants from the previous week.  The blogger posts a word to inspire for the week, then other creative bloggers post on their blogs their own endeavors from the prompt on the following Friday.

At least that's my understanding of how it works.  I hope I'm right. This is my real first go at it.  Last week, Aimee had posted her prompt 'flavor' when I had just posted the perfect shot of Toots eating watermelon on the 4th which happened to fit the prompt well. 

Peggy Fussell is this week's host and her Weekword is Number.  Here's my response, a haiku and photo pairing:

home isn't only

a number to calculate

location, but heart