For a Season

Hello Faithful Followers,

Wow. Summer has really re-arranged my priorities. not only the BuNoWriMo challenge, but my blog life in general. Silly me, I had imagined the summers when I was a single teacher. Lying out by the pool (this was before skin cancer was everywhere), working out, hot tub, popcorn for dinner, sappy chick-flicks into the night. Sleep in. With that schedule, I could have fit writing and blogging into any of the mentioned time slots. Well, not really. There was no internet back then. I am NOT kidding.

It doesn't go that way now. It goes like this: “Mom, get UP! You promised you'd make bacon today!” Make bacon. Feed children. Go garden until fused wrist and needing-to-be-replaced hip protest loud enough for me to hear. Shower. Oh look, it's lunch time. Lunch. Wow, I'm so totally tired from that gardening, I need a nap. Nap. Wow, it's dinner time already??? Make dinner. Dishes. Family sci-fi event du jour. We're currently watched all the old Star Trek episodes. 


 Kinda hard to fit blogging into that schedule. No nap you say? Blasphemy. I'm a napper, always have been, always will. Greatest luxury on the planet. Besides, it's like a re-charge for the evening ahead.

Yes, I could of course fit what I want to do into what I'm currently doing. I've always said that you have time for what you want to have time for. Lately the urge to write hasn't overtaken my urge to spend time with my kids. So instead of them grabbing a granola bar and heading out on their bikes, we sit down for breakfast. They help with the gardening. Fourteen-year-old boys are mighty strong and that's what you need when that pesky root just won't give up. My particular eleven-year-old boy like to cook, so we make lunch together frequently. Another time to sit down and connect. By the time I'm napping, their neighborhood friends have been freed from their chores and homework. Oh, and did I mention that both boys are still in school? That's what happens when Mom says, “Oh, it's fine if you don't want to do that now. We have access to the online school all summer long!” I didn't really think they were going to take me up on it. But dammit, they did.

Yes, I want to write. Yes, I'm co-hosting a challenge. I am out there visiting a lot of blogs, but I'm not writing so much. I realized earlier in the month that this wasn't the month for me to do 50k words. A month for that will come. But for now, I'm sitting here smelling of chlorine and sunscreen from a day at the pool with my boys and their two closest cousins. It was a good day. Life is Good.

If you're here visiting from the AZ Challenge, the linky list is first in my sidebar.  If you're new and not familiar with the AZ, there's a button for that too.  Happy visiting!

Deep Cover, Shallow Graves

2065

The dark clad man hiding behind the dumpster doesn't see the other dark clad figure approaching, or notice the “drunk” undercover operative stumbling down the sidewalk. The streets are slick with icy drizzle. His muscles are cramped from crouching, the burn becoming almost unbearable. The teen years of biathlon training which have helped him on other assignments is of no use in this gravity. Lungs searing from the decreased oxygen on this God-forsaken planet, he tries to gasp for air inaudibly. Silently cursing himself for failing, for losing his edge, for ending up in this hazardous position, he sends one more thought to her. “I'm so sorry, Leah. So sorry.”

It's over in a few seconds. The operative slumps all the way to the ground as the assailant calmly walks away from the scene, nods to the “drunk”. Mission accomplished.

@@@

When the body of the European terrorist hits the humble cop's car, Leah jolts to attention. John has been trying to convince the police that he isn't an insane pranker, and the only one who believes him is Abe Lincoln. But not until that body crunches the hood do others believe. Leah's been trying to convince the whole world that she's a trained soldier whose mission is to serve and protect colony residents, and the only one who knows the truth is Ian. Is he really the only one? Now that she's gotten her groove on, she starts humming. It's a nameless tune, and she's mostly unaware of this habit. Only one person ever asked about it.

“What song is that? You hum that when you're thinking hard.”

“I do? What are you talking about?”

Lon hums the tune. She smiles.

“I guess it's my thinking song. My Grandma used to hum when she worked. It made me feel safe. Even when I couldn't see her, I could hear her in the apartment, and I wasn't so scared.”

Why is she telling him? She never reveals personal information. She's been undercover so long it's an ingrained habit. This bit about the tune just slipped out. She has to be careful. Instead of going back to her work, she heads to the kitchen.

“Need anything?”

“Nah, I'm fine.”

Leah isn't fine. As she did then, she needs a shot. Grabbing the soy sauce bottle out of the fridge door, she guzzles some smuggled in Jack Daniel's. Surveying the meager inventory available, she also grabs the tub of cheese product and the imitation wheat crackers from the cabinet above the cook top. Tomorrow, supplies.

She moves to the floor between the coffee table and the couch, downs several snack packs. Cracker-cheese goop-cracker. Shot. Cracker-cheese goop-cracker. Shot. As the familiar warmth slithers into her system, she grabs the timeline.

If someone else did find out the truth, when could that have happened?

@@@

Ian is worried. More worried than he's been since Leah left for Spartan, and that's saying a lot. They “met” just briefly, over closed chat, way back when she first began her undercover work.

“So I hear you're my new ward.”

“Yeah. Just so you know, I don't like this. I don't like the daily reporting requirement. At all. I can take care of myself. How 'bout I contact you when I need you? Wouldn't that save everyone a lot of hassle not to mention budget credits? Don't you have more important things to do than babysit me?”

“Your mission is of high importance. And since you're new, and in a level 4 OP, you get daily. SOP. Nothing personal.”

“Nothing personal is just fine by me.”

“Ok then, I'll either hear, “I'd like a beer” or “I'd like a shot.” You do remember which is which, right?”

“Don't appreciate the sarcasm, your supreme highness, but yes I do remember. Beer means trouble. Shot means fine. I'm not stupid you know. Many cadets drink during training camp. It ought to be allowed. Would save the agency a hell of a lot of money in enforcement.”

“Well believe it or not, the agency values human life over regulations. We'd prefer that all personnel have self-discipline. It was a one-time blunder, right?”

“How many times do I need to grovel? I've lost count. You'd think no one around here went to school, got stupid, puked on someone important, and embarrassed themselves.”

“Point taken. Good luck, Leah. You'll need it.”

“Ok, Ian.”

She'd have to get used to the Leah.

@@@

She knows Ian is worried, but that's nothing new. She doesn't understand how he can hold this job and be such a worry-wart at the same time. Throughout her training, she never came across a man who cared. Sure, there were men who cared about the mission, or the expensive equipment, or their covers, but that's not the same as caring for a person as, well, a person. A person who can get hurt or killed at any time during the OP. With whom they're going after, she's lucky to have gotten this far in one piece. Well, a put back together piece. She rubs her shin where the titanium tibia aches, despite it's lack of nerves. Stupid phantom pain. The irritation gets her back on track, though. She was lucky to have made it out of there alive. Aches and pains can be tolerated. Failure cannot.

@@@

Some of you might recognize the characters of Leah and Ian.  For BuNoWriMo, I'm working on the sci-fi piece I started in February.  If you care to go back and read, it starts here.  I'm finding this challenge quite challenging.  But the way I figure it, even if I don't make it to 50,000 words, I'll at least be further along then I was in May.  Oh, and keep in mind, this is me spitting out words, no editing done yet.  I hesitate to put raw stuff in Bloggyville, so I keep reminding myself of my purpose.  It's in the header: Wanna be writer seeks place to vent, practice, and share.

Back to Reality

Prologue:

My idea was to jot down events and such as triggers so that once I had the chance, I could pull them together into cohesive posts which captured our vacation. This is how I started:

Vacation is:

Road trip part 1:

(and here would go those pieces)

Ocean City, Part 1, Part 2

late night “watch just one more” on YouTube

swollen feet, with ice-cubes and arnica therapy

Star Wars, the real ones, made before the digital age

cousins n cousins

cousins tolerating cousins

cousins helping cousins

cousins ENJOYING their cousins

popcorn (but it's pretty much the all-popcorn all-the-time channel if I'm along)

sand

sweat

sunscreen

sunburn

people watching

sand

Thrasherfriesfunnelcakespopcornpepsicottoncandydeepfriedoreos (I kid you not on the oreos)

sharing drinks

realizing that we're getting old. They all look like kids

Did I mention sand?

Wedding

um, yeah, never put anything here

Briarpatch

memories

countless memories

same view, bigger trees

a new generation of crabbers

a new generation of crab pickers

teaching the next gen how to pick be the next generation of crab pickers

policing them while picking the crab so as not to waste a single morsel of Maryland Blue Crab goodness

eating crab, hour four

showering at night, not in the morning

kids old enough to shower themselves, thank God and at last!

though those kids still haven't quit mastered the arts of wet clothes rinsing and then hanging up those clothes AND the towel

sigh of contentment

this gentle breeze through this perfect view, I'm alone, and my man is busy catching me my dinner for a second night

looking forward to seeing a long lost friend (not so much lost-lost, just as in we lost touch through the marriage-family-kid thing, aided by the 1700 miles of separation, but through the magic of facebook, have “found” each other again)

And that's all the further I got. Silly me, once again I thought that while on vacation I'd be able to catch up on all things: reading, knitting, writing, journaling. Every year I forget that even though it's vacation, I'm still the mom who needs to cook, launder, referee and do dishes, all in unfamiliar environments, and also while trying to keep track of four people's possessions in 8 different overnight places. Kinda funny (but not!) that the most important thing lost was MY iPhone charger. Grrr. That's a whole post by itself, in that it illustrates not only what sleep deprivation can cause, but also the consequences of bad training, so that customer service employees understand neither customers nor service...another sigh.

We've been back three days now, and I'm still hopelessly behind in every aspect of life, motherhood, and all those assorted associated tasks. To top it all off, I have gone insane and not only created that challenge where I visit 1282 blogs over the summer, but also am participating in BuNoWriMo. Yup, gonna finally write that book. First draft. Just spit it out. That's what they said...and my competitive nature cannot back away from a challenge. Wish me luck and stop by to see my word count.  If I can get that gadget started...having issues.

On the Road Again

We're heading out in about an hour for our family vacation. I'm so grateful that school is over. (Well, officially at least. Some students made some poor choices during the school year which will necessitate work throughout the summer. A research paper needs to be written, and the failing grade in spelling (due, not to lack of ability, but lack of completion) will need to be revisited.) Sigh. But first, the beach!

We will be driving to Waterford, VA to visit DataBoy and YogaGirl. Then it's on to Ocean City, MD and our aunt's oceanfront condo. Then to Annapolis, MD for our cousin's wedding on my family's waterfront property. My mother and her two siblings own this legacy. It's named The Briarpatch, and if you plug that into my search thingie-ma-bob you'll find stories about the place.

My internet access will be sporadic, but I will throw a few posts up there from the road. We'll be back June 5, and I'll have stories to tell. Hoping that one of them isn't involving a kayak, like last year.

Embarrassing Story du Jour

We all have embarrassing stories we'd rather not tell. However, I'm pretty used to embarrassing myself frequently, so in some sort of self-defense, I've learned how to tell those stories in full, gory detail. For the entertainment of others. I'm generous that way. My amazing Aunt Risky taught me how. You've heard about the kayak, the prayer chain, and the bar stool.  I think it's about time for me to tell another.

My late, beloved Grandma had some strange ideas. You know about the jello obsession, and about her teaching me to drink and gamble. Do you know that she used to set me up on dates? She was terrible at it, but this didn't deter her in the slightest. One of the more memorable date fiascos occurred at THE National Theatre. We're talking downtown Washington D.C. (we lived in the suburb of Silver Spring), senators and other politicians and famous people in attendance. We went there to see Evita. I was almost 16.

Grandma's best friend since kindergarden had a 20 year old grandson and the grandmas cooked up this idea that I would go on a date with him while he was visiting from Kansas City, MO. Now why they thought that cultivating a relationship with that age difference, a situation that should it get “out of control", was also illegal, I'll never know. And that's not even considering the geographical difference, should things go well. But she was determined. I was to go with him “to the theater.” I wasn't interested. I had a boyfriend (of course, the fact that my parents didn't know about him kinda complicated the situation.) And I didn't have a dress.

I was a jeans and t-shirt girl back then, too. Oh, I had a few embarrassing dresses picked out by others, but I didn't wear them. I did have an amazing Aunt Risky (yes, I'll probably always use amazing to describe her, perhaps I should capitalize it and incorporate it into her nickname...) so Amazing Aunt Risky was also compassionate Aunt Risky. She had a great dress to let me borrow. (You need to understand that my jeans and t-shirt persona was a direct result of weekly time spent with her. That's another post, though.) This was a soft, drapy jersey dress, very simple, but very elegant. I actually liked it, and I felt OK wearing it because it was hers. All that was needed was shoes. Oh how I wish I'd bought a different pair.

Don't get me wrong, I loved the shoes. They were sexy, black, strappy, high-heeled sandals. Gorgeous. Wrong. Don't ever put a person who breaks her ankle on the take-off for a split leap (another post, you keep track of what stories I owe you) in high heels. You're just inviting what eventually happened. I did practice walking in them, but apparently not long enough.

It's intermission. He takes me to the refreshment stand. (I guess I should throw in that he was a very nice man, and had from when he picked me up made me feel at ease and joked about how happy we were making our grandmothers) “What would you like?” said the bartender. There were beers on tap, wine, and mixed drinks. Drinking age at this time was 18, and I did look the part. However, I hadn't had a drink before, so I was a bit flustered. He ordered. Two cokes. Sigh of relief. I can drink coke. (I didn't think this was the time to mention that what I really wanted was a diet pepsi. I was just so glad he took care of it.)

I decided that a restroom break would be appropriate at this time and proceeded up the Tara style winding staircase to the upper floor. Carpeted, winding staircase with lots of people going up and down. He said he'd be at the bottom waiting for me. When I returned I saw him at the bottom and smiled. And then proceeded to trip, somersault, and roll down the stairs. Head over heels in it's literal sense. Dress flapping, panties and hose showing, spectacular fall down the stairs. Gasps from the onlookers, snickers from the not so polite onlookers. Me wanting to just be swallowed by the floor never to have to show my face again.

It turned out OK though. He was truly classy because he lightened the mood and made everyone laugh. “I thought I told you not to fall head over heels for me!”

Throwing Down the Gauntlet

Throwing Down the Gauntlet

One of the blogger buddies I met while completing the April AZ Challenge is the amazing Shannon Lawrence of The Warrior Muse.  We've joined forces to encourage each other and keep the momentum of the challenge going. Our goal is to visit each of the 1282 participants by the end of the summer. If you're looking at 100 days, that means 12.82 blogs a day. I'm the math nerd, so I don't like weird decimals like that and will be aiming for 13 new blogs a day.

If you were a challenge participant, we'd love to have you join us. We've asked for permission from the challenge hosts at Tossing it Out to help advertise what we're proposing, and are looking forward to seeing what they say.  We are also looking for someone with the talent and time to design a badge for displaying on our blogs, something along the lines of “Not only did I survive, but I visited everyone else!” to be earned for completing the challenge-challenge ;-)

My personal attack plan is to first visit each of the bloggers who wrote a reflections post which was to summarize the experience they had during the challenge. Then I will move onto the rest of the list. Wanna play? Hop on board.  The linky list is on the right in my sidebar.

P.S Can't leave until I introduce you to another friend of mine.  Her fantastically talented family is Amber Waves Band.  She just started a new blog called Parenting From the Stage.  Her writing style is highly enjoyable, and I love learning all that goes on behind stage.

Wine (Whine?) Club

Last month my Wine Club met in our camper. We really should have thought of it long ago, because it turned out to be one of our favorite nights. Not that there's ever been a bad Wine Club, because c'mon, wine, friends and fancy food, what could be wrong with that? I think the difference was that we could really let loose, with no eavesdroppers.

What's a wine club, you ask? It's like a book club, only the focus is WINE, not books. Best and I started it a few years ago when we returned from our wine country trip. We had so much fun tasting all the different varieties and styles, but our budgets go more in the wino direction as opposed to wineaux. How could we keep trying new wines without breaking the bank? Best and I each chose a friend who wasn't a mutual friend to join us and Wine Club was born.

We took this fun seriously. Matching t-shirts.

Little notebooks for, you know, notes.

We take turns hosting this monthly gathering. What's wonderful is that three of us live within a half block of each other. Really convenient because driving home after wine club is not usually a good choice. The fourth is about a mile and half away, and teaches Jazzercise at 8 am. She's usually the most restrained, and leaves first anyway.

The hostess picks the theme. We each choose a wine which follows the theme, and then bring a dish that pairs with the wine. Some previous themes have been summer, anger, Italian, decadent. When I hosted in my camper, the theme was, “You are stuck camping for a day longer than expected, what will you eat and drink?”

Regardless of theme, we approach our tasting the same way. We number the bottles #1 to #4. Each of us has four mini-glasses (these are my late grandmother's cordial glasses, meant for an after dinner sherry, port, or some sort of luscious libation, perfect for a taste)

Once we've debated the merits of each, laughed at the ridiculous label descriptions, then we pick a wine for our big glass. I should say first big glass. We try to stick to wines we could actually afford for a special occasion, as opposed to going nuts and buying something we could probably not buy again. In my notebook, I keep track of what I think it tastes like, what the price was, and where it places among the four in ranking. This works for the most part, but how do you compare one evening's #2 with another evening's #3? That is hard. Sometimes we really like all four, and some nights we actually don't finish one of the bottles. Believe me, wine has to be pretty stinkin' bad for me to leave an open bottle. We consider that alcohol abuse ;-)

We really have fun with the food. Three of us still have picky kids in the house, so getting to cook something fancy that people will actually appreciate is a treat. We don't usually plan out our menu ahead of time, at all. Makes it truly potluck. However, we must have some 6^th wine-sense, because we have never ended up with more than one dessert, and we've never been salad-less. One night we ended up with a full, four course meal. Appetizer, salad, entree, dessert. YUM!

On camper night, I didn't set the table as above. Instead, it was paper plates, plastic silverware, ceramic coffee mugs for wine, and dixie cups for the tasting glasses. We had a blast! I sorta cheated on the food, though. I'd been to a bridal shower the week before and had a fabulous appetizer. I made a croissant roll crust veggie pizza. (Bake the crust according to roll directions, then top with flavored cream cheese and assorted veggies.)

Our Jazzercize member, however, really stuck with the theme and brought cold fried chicken. I have this thing about fried chicken. I'll eat it like green eggs and ham: anywhere, anytime, any style. My neighbor across the street came in her bathrobe and husband's slippers and told stories of childhood camping trips where she'd steal her brother's shoes and robe, not bothering to look for her own. Best got in the spirit by bringing two 1.5 L bottles, “When you're camping, you don't want to run out!”

You saw the “group therapy” shirts, and probably snickered, but it truly is group therapy. After three years, we are so comfortable with each other that everything gets said. We have a confidentiality agreement, too. It's been tremendously helpful for me to have listeners as I've fought my way through the last year of challenges. I know I'm not the only one who feels this way.

I started this with, “it's all  about the wine” but what it's really about is friendship. Whatever form it takes, true friendship is something we all need and can all provide. It just takes some figuring out what's going to work for you. As for me, I'll take my friendship with a glass of wine and good conversation.