Wednesday, November 26, 2014

Happy Thanksgiving

THE NIGHT BEFORE THANKSGIVING


Tis the night before Thanksgiving and all through our house

No turkey is baking; I feel like a louse,

For I am all nestled, so snug in my bed;

I’m not gettin’ up and I’m not bakin’ bread.

No pies in my oven, no cranberry sauce

Cuz I give the orders, and I am the boss.

When out in the kitchen, there arose such a clatter

I almost got up to see what was the matter.

As I drew in my head and was tossing around

To the bed came my husband, he grimaced, he frowned.

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

He scared me to death and I thought, “Here he goes!”

He spoke not a word as he threw back my quilt

And the look that he gave was intended to wilt.

So up to the ceiling my pillows he threw

I knew I had had it, his face had turned blue.

“You prancer, you dodger, you’re lazy, you vixen

Out yonder in kitchen, Thanksgiving you’re fixin.”

But he heard me explain, with my face in a pout:

“I’m just plain too tired and we’re eating out!”


From my buddy over at Mikey’s Funnies, well worth the look to see what else he does.




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Happy Thanksgiving | Thoughts from the Front

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Mac and Cheese in 42 Easy Steps. | Thoughts from the Front

Mac and Cheese in 42 Easy Steps.

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Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Monday, November 24, 2014

Thursday, November 20, 2014

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Monday, November 17, 2014

Friday, November 14, 2014

Thursday, November 13, 2014

Monday, November 10, 2014

Friday, November 7, 2014

Stuck.. again. | Thoughts from the Front

Stuck.. again.

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Stuck.. again.

The feeling of stuck has somehow absorbed me recently. I look at the screen, type a few words, read what I typed then delete it. This has gone on for at least 4 days now. It’s different than when I am just not happy with what I write. This is something where I just can’t seem to put together my thoughts. The mumble jumble of my brain crying out in fifteen different directions.


Sure, the topics help to at least point me in a direction (granted, as of late, the daily post topics have not really been my forte), but as I start to write, something happens. Maybe its the distracted life I live. Always having to go do this or that. Not having the time to really just shut the world out and concentrate on something for a length of time.


Side note... Funny thing is, this last Sunday, in church, I ended up filling up several pages of notes for a story I am working on while the pastor was teaching. I actually do remember what he was talking about, but for some reason, I had some pretty awesome clarity and used it to jot some notes down on a story I have been stuck on for about 2 months…End side note


It’s in these times that I really just feel like a failure. Unable to write, unable to finish something, unable to do something simple like focus. I start to feel defeated. I start to feel lost. Enter, Mr. Internal Critic. He is just waiting for moments like this. Moments where he can add just the right amount of punch to the situation and knock me into full fledged downward spiral.


downward_spiral


He just sits there, waiting. Watching. Like some kind of weird personal stalker. When I type something he says “That’s not good enough. You should delete it.”


Update to today…


Well, the last two days have been somewhat productive. I actually sat and was able to put some of my thoughts down, including the flash story from yesterday (which is based off of the idea that I have for a book I am working on). I’m kind of looking forward to this weekend. Who knows, maybe I will be able to shut off the voice long enough to just write it down (ok, type, whatever) and accept what it is. Still working on just getting it out of my head without judging it. Bad habit, hard to break. Will see.




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Waiting

Death.

That bitter reminder of the preciousness of life.

Waiting in the corners of time, waiting till the race has been run.




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Waiting | Thoughts from the Front

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Thursday, November 6, 2014

Scout the Protector

The room was getting dark in the later afternoon, as the sun’s last rays shone into it. Emily lay on the floor, looking at the cat hiding under the dresser. His black fur absorbing the light, making his outline fade into the shadows. His eyes were aglow, bright green as he stared back. Emily reached out her hand slowly toward him, reaching under the dresser to where he currently hide. He watched, his eyes unblinking as her hand drew closer to him. She stopped as she saw him move his head away from her fingers.


“It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.” Emily spoke out to him. “Come here kitty.” Her 12 year old voice soft and cooing, like her grandmother Rose had taught her. Emily could hear Rose saying, “You have to be gentle, calm and slow. Earning an animal’s trust is no quick matter.” It made Emily smile a bit to think back to that time when her grandmother would place her on her lap and they would talk about the animals.


Emily was brought back to the moment at hand when she felt the soft tickle of a whisker on one of her fingers. She looked at the cat and saw him slowly start moving toward her outstretched hand, taking cursory sniffs at her. “That’s right. Come here kitty, I won’t hurt you.”


The cat stopped moving altogether, tilted his head at her then said, “I know.”


Emily froze in shock as she heard the cat speak, his voice like a long purr, gruff but soft. She pulled her hand back from under the dresser and scurried back as quick as she could, only stopping when she hit the bed behind her, causing her to sit up and pull her legs back, wrapping her arms around them and hugging them.


The cat moved forward, poking his head out from under the dresser. “Don’t be alarmed. I won’t hurt you either.” His green eyes staring at her.


“You.. you..you can talk?” Emily’s mind was beyond confused. Even at 12, she knew animals couldn’t talk.


“As can you.” the cat replied, fully emerging from under the dresser and sitting down next to it.


“But… but cats can’t talk.” Emily pulled her legs tighter to her.


“True. However, I am no ordinary cat. Well, I am, but I’m not. It’s all a bit confusing and quite a long story. I’d be happy to share with you at some later time.” He paused for a moment, stood on all four legs and walked toward the door. “But, for now, I need you to follow me. It soon won’t be safe in here and I won’t be able to protect you from what is coming.”


Emily blinked, her mind not sure of what was going on. She reached up and began to fiddle with her necklace and the golden heart pendant on it. “I.. I.. I just…” She froze again, this time as she noticed a long shadow cast on the floor from the window that moved toward her.


“Emily, I need you to move to the door, now!” The cat’s voice was higher, almost like it was screeching as it leapt between Emily and the growing shadow. “You can’t have her.” The cat raised it’s back hair, flattened his ears and got low on the floor, ready to pounce.


“Scout.” A sinister voice sounded from the shadow, as the leading edge took on an almost corporeal form of a disembodied wolf. “You can’t save her from me.” Scout started to move backwards a bit, still remaining between Emily and the shadow.


“I won’t let you hurt her.” Scout hissed out, his teeth barred. Just then, the wolf head snapped toward Scout as the cat leapt backwards, landing against Emily’s leg. “Emily, go to the door. Now!” Emily looked around the room, saw the wolf head moving toward her, heard Scout’s voice and, mustering her wit and strength, scrambled toward the door.


“You will lose.” Scout started to back up toward the door, the bed on his left, the dresser on his right. He quickly looked around, assessed the situation and his current position and told Emily, “Open it. Get out. I will take care of this.”


The shadow slithered further into the room, “Oh, Scout, what will you do to stop me from having her? Without your friends, you are just a weak, pathetic cat. What chance do you stand against us?” Out of the shadow three more heads formed, followed by front legs as the shadows took form into full fledged gray wolves. Teeth showing, low growls, tongues licking at the prospect of feeding their hunger. “Time for you to die, Scout.”


The space between the bed and dresser only allowed two of the wolves to come at him at a time, and Scout noticed a third had gotten up on the bed, their growls growing in intensity. Scout, not waiting for them to attack, mustered his strength, pounced onto the side of the dresser, using it as a spring board to leap over the closest wolf and bringing his claws down on the second’s face, scratching across its eye. The wolf let out a cry as the first one snapped toward Scout, barely missing him as he slid under the bed.


The wolf on the bed looked at Emily. Fear had frozen her in place, her hand on the doorknob, unable to move. The wolf moved toward her, growls emitting from his throat.


“Emily! GO!” It was Scout’s voice. Emily pulled on the door, in her fear not remembering to turn the knob. She couldn’t take her eyes off of the oncoming wolf as it bent low then took a leap at her. Emily thrashed around to cover her head, as she did, hitting the light switch in the room and turning on lamp on the overhead ceiling fan. She heard a loud howl, almost in pain, and then she shrieked out in fear, waiting for the wolf to hit her.


After several seconds of nothing happening, she dared to look from between her arms.


“There gone.” Scout said, more out of shock and surprise then as a statement. He moved over toward her, coming out from the bed. Emily lost her feet, and slowly slide down to the floor, tears starting to flow from her eyes.


“What was that?” Emily said through soft sobs.


“That was the shadows. They are why I am here.” Scout moved next to Emily, running his body against her leg, attempting to comfort her.


“I don’t understand. Any of this.” Her mind still racing to catch up to everything that had just happened, causing her tears to flow even more.


Scout stopped, placed his front paws on her knee and looked at her. “My name is Scout and I am a Protector. It’s my job to keep you safe.”


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Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Songing | Thoughts from the Front

Songing

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Songing

I’ve been writing poetry for a very long time. Mind you, none of it is really all that good, at least not in my opinion. Add to that fact that I have this really weird way of creating songs out of nothing (a trait my wife calls ‘songing’ (yeah, I don’t get it either)), and you end up with this weird mish-mash of strange songs that get song (way out of tune) to the melodies I hear on the radio or tv.


Except for this one time.


I’m not sure when it happened, but it was sometime around my daughter being about 3 years old. She was a ball of fire, always on the go, always quietly planning to do something. That was one of her scary traits. With our son, we always knew he was doing something wrong because he would make a ton of noise doing it. Our daughter however, when she got quiet… you could almost guarantee she had some nefarious plot she had cooked up and was in the midst of trying to take over the world.


Sleep, sleep was something I am sure she deemed for the weak. We could always tell when she was tired because she would wind up, get very chatty, then take a breath and pass out. But I digress into the memories.


As I was saying about the badly tuned singing, I would periodically come up with some stupid silly song and it would just become the song for the moment. I once rewrote the Barney song when my son decided that crying was how he was going to accomplish getting sympathy. It went something like this:


I’m okay, you’re okay


Lets all have a happy day


No more crying, no more fuss,


Lets not be a grumpy gus.


Okay, it went exactly like that (I was trying to save my own dignity, at least what little I think I have left), and as I said, not the greatest (but what do you expect, I seriously made this up on the spot that day). To this day, when one of our children decides that pouting is the answer, it is not uncommon for my wife (or I) to break out in this song just to torment them. Parenting privileges, am I right?


The reason I say all that is because there is one song that has stuck with me since my daughter was about 3 (yep, I’m finally getting back to that part of the story.. rabbit trail much?). She was dressed up in a cute little jean dress, she had her hair up in a ponytail, white sandals and she was just raring to go. For some reason, that just hit me as inspiration, and I imagined her all grown up, and I came up with a little song. No, I won’t record myself singing it, as I do believe that would classify me as a distributor of a weapon of mass eardrum destruction, so for now, the world is safe. However, it has a country feel to the tune and the lyrics go like this:


Blue jean dress and her sandals on,


Hair up in a ponytail and she was gone,


Turning heads all around,


Breaking hearts across the town.


With hair of gold and eyes like the sea,


I just wish that she could be,


If only for just one more day,


Daddy’s little girl.


Needless to say, I was singing that in my head as I typed it up. I’d give you the tune, but unfortunately I am not gifted with such ability (my children however probably could). Years later (or maybe months, it’s all timey-whimey) I wrote a few more verses or chorus or… I don’t know.. lines? I don’t recall them, but they are written down somewhere in one of the many books I started using to write my stuff down.


So, I think I am done embarrassing myself today… but rest assured, there have been many other songs I have made up, none of which you will most likely ever hear (be thankful), and I’m sure as I grow older and grandchildren become part of my life, there will be many more silly songs with Lar… Todd.


Oh, the torture those children will suffer from my voice.


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Tuesday, November 4, 2014

The Taste of Life

Success.


Failure.


One makes the other better.


The other makes the one worse.


Without one, you can’t have the other.


If everything was a success, nothing would be a success.


The deeper the valley, the higher the peaks.


The higher the peaks, the deeper the valleys.


And one last thing…


Failure always feels like it last longer then success, so.. savor the success as long as you can.


failure


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