If you want a "daww" moment for today, watch this:
Ladybug Plays with Sprinkles
Personally, ever since Ball State unleashed thousands of frightening orange ladybugs, the fear of these little ladies has grown. If you didn't know, the orange ones bite. This oddly specific phobia is rooted in the house of Summitville, my childhood home.
It was infested every summer with literally hundreds of ladybugs. They died in our window sills; I had to swipe their corpses in a fuzzy cloth and when I folded it, they would fall on me with the light but chilling touch of a fleck of dried leaf. They floated in our bathtub, toilet, dishpans. Littered our Little Tikes kitchen and car. The vacuum would grumble as it routed their bodies, the consistency of dust, from the carpet.
Ick!
I've always gotten sick when I feel my arm hairs distubed by scratchy insect legs. It may have all started in the Ladybug House in Summitville.
Caution: this video does not redeem ladybugs, but it is cute to watch.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Ode to Big Bob
Soundrack for this post provided by Regina Spektor.
Surviving cruelty is no small feat, even for a human. When left for dead after being hit by a great impact. When stuck with hot metal. When one's life is saved by the severing of a body part. Loss. No man could fight a wince at the mention of such circumstances.
Big Bob, a Russian blue cat, was hit by a car, shot, and left on the waste side of the highway. Brought to the Humane Society by the hands of a cat-advocacy volunteers, Big Bob was discovered to have suffered a gunshot wound, broken leg, and was positive for FIV, a feline form of HIV.
This cat, who, to me seems to have the presence of Bob Dylan, his life was saved by an amputation and he hopes to be (find a) home for Christmas.
I was struck by this feline news story because of the misfortune as well as the fact that I owned a cat that looked exactly like Big Bob. Russian Blues tend to favor each other in appearance. His name was Olly. I haven't seen him since we moved to my grandma's house (near a Long John Silvers.)
Big Bob makes me wonder if cats hope. I've always believed that animals live from one moment to the next with little memory of anything happening before, only the essentials like: that four-year-old pulls my tail or I prefer to drink running water from the faucet.
Is the future a concept that cats perceive? If so, are they hopeful or hopeless?
Animals, I believe, know the Creator. It's funny that animals, without the higher functions of humans, know Who created them yet we are ignorant enough not to. Maybe they simply trust. They don't need to hope, they only trust.
Maybe they know their live for what they are. And no matter what good or bad happens, they know that it will end the exact way it should.
Think about that.
Big Bob impresses me. He will not be as freely friendly as he was, having been hurt that way. And he must live life as a three-legged cat named "bob" which seems more cruel than it needs it to be. But, will he - can he - despair over his future? Or, does he not even need to think about it?
Surviving cruelty is no small feat, even for a human. When left for dead after being hit by a great impact. When stuck with hot metal. When one's life is saved by the severing of a body part. Loss. No man could fight a wince at the mention of such circumstances.
Big Bob, a Russian blue cat, was hit by a car, shot, and left on the waste side of the highway. Brought to the Humane Society by the hands of a cat-advocacy volunteers, Big Bob was discovered to have suffered a gunshot wound, broken leg, and was positive for FIV, a feline form of HIV.
This cat, who, to me seems to have the presence of Bob Dylan, his life was saved by an amputation and he hopes to be (find a) home for Christmas.
I was struck by this feline news story because of the misfortune as well as the fact that I owned a cat that looked exactly like Big Bob. Russian Blues tend to favor each other in appearance. His name was Olly. I haven't seen him since we moved to my grandma's house (near a Long John Silvers.)
Big Bob makes me wonder if cats hope. I've always believed that animals live from one moment to the next with little memory of anything happening before, only the essentials like: that four-year-old pulls my tail or I prefer to drink running water from the faucet.
Is the future a concept that cats perceive? If so, are they hopeful or hopeless?
Animals, I believe, know the Creator. It's funny that animals, without the higher functions of humans, know Who created them yet we are ignorant enough not to. Maybe they simply trust. They don't need to hope, they only trust.
Maybe they know their live for what they are. And no matter what good or bad happens, they know that it will end the exact way it should.
Think about that.
Big Bob impresses me. He will not be as freely friendly as he was, having been hurt that way. And he must live life as a three-legged cat named "bob" which seems more cruel than it needs it to be. But, will he - can he - despair over his future? Or, does he not even need to think about it?
Donations for Big Bob can be made in person at the shelter, 7929 N. Michigan Rd. Indianapolis, IN, online at IndyHumane.org, or by calling 317-872-5650 extension 125.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Ask a Stupid Question
In this exciting post I will provide answers for some of the stupidest, most ignorant or misinformed questions posed in my general proximity, following the maxim: ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer. Yes, most of them I heard at work. Providing the soundtrack for this post are the All New Adventures of Us.
This Edition: From the Theatre
Can I use this coupon more than once?
Yes! It's a magic coupon genie!
What is 3D?
Well... One day 1D and 2D got married and nine months later, 3D was born. (The number of adults who don't know what 3D movies are is unbelievable.)
What does 2D mean?
2D = 1D + 1D
(This is slightly more understandable but still sad. Obviously these people were playing hooky that day in 5th grade science.)
Some of my favorite questions are a form of what I call "permission questions." Coming from adults, these can be hilarious.
"Can I go to the bathroom and come back and buy a bag of popcorn?"
"My movie doesn't start for an hour; can I leave and come back if I keep my ticket?"
"Do I need to pay for my baby? I know she'll watch the movie, but..."
Or, after their movie: "Can I still get a refill?"
This Edition: From the Theatre
Can I use this coupon more than once?
Yes! It's a magic coupon genie!
What is 3D?
Well... One day 1D and 2D got married and nine months later, 3D was born. (The number of adults who don't know what 3D movies are is unbelievable.)
What does 2D mean?
2D = 1D + 1D
(This is slightly more understandable but still sad. Obviously these people were playing hooky that day in 5th grade science.)
Some of my favorite questions are a form of what I call "permission questions." Coming from adults, these can be hilarious.
"Can I go to the bathroom and come back and buy a bag of popcorn?"
"My movie doesn't start for an hour; can I leave and come back if I keep my ticket?"
"Do I need to pay for my baby? I know she'll watch the movie, but..."
Or, after their movie: "Can I still get a refill?"
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Three Artist Challenge Chapter Two: Iron and Wine
My second step in the snowy footprints of a greater artist is in the steel-toed boots (speculation) of Iron and Wine. Here's a song to listen to during this post.
This was not my plan. To be honest, my second artist was going to be the great John K. Samson who was the first indie musician other than my David to entrall my little jelly heart. And yet, the track spinning in my head the day I sat down to write my newest song "Small Planes" was not "My Favorite Chords" or "New Name for Everything" or even "Elegy for Elsabet".
It was "Jesus the Mexican Boy" by Iron and Wine.
Recently, David and I came home on one of our days together and David just wilted. We'd been out in the snow, running to the church so David could practice with the music directors for two pieces they were to perform that Sunday. He had a fever.
Not wanting to go home, wanting to stay with me, he rested the remainder of the day while I gave him some fever reducer, a cool washcloth for his neck, and checked his temperature every so often. I loved taking care of him and I feel badly about saying that because he was so sick.
While he rested, I watched his face.
That was the beginning of this song.
"Small Planes"
Half-Hearted Elephant
Ezra’s fever is spiking.
Sees hanging paper planes over his bed.
His face like pennies he rubs with ketchup to burnish
In pain, but he finds solace,
Like small planes find love in the angel tread
Because the Carmex on his nose smells like Mommy’s purse.
On the small paper airplane away he goes.
And the wind that blows him is warm and smooth.
No snow angels gave him this sickness, he knows.
In the wind’s hands… “If anything, I love you!”
Ezra’s mommy is smoking
Over a bowl of soggy Fruit Loops. Lets
The embers douse in the milk but Ezra fears ashes
Will burn baby sister’s lashes,
Car seat on the table where all day she‘s left.
For their health, her yo-yo promise to quit rehashes.
When the carton of Camels
Is dumped out the window, there’s hope, and yet,
The next withdrawal comes before they’re happy again
A half-hour later she says
“Fish them from the snow. Don’t care if they’re wet.
Don’t care if it’s cold, and death draws plans on your skin.”
On the small paper airplane away he goes.
And the wind that blows him is warm and smooth.
No snow angels gave him this sickness, he knows.
In the wind’s hands… “If anything, I love you!”
Ezra’s fever is growing.
Stands on his bed, picks the plane, broken string.
His room falls away as the paper plane takes wing
Glorious red Exit sign
“Mistreatment you’ve known, but!” the Father sings:
“If anything, I love you! I love you, if anything!”
This was not my plan. To be honest, my second artist was going to be the great John K. Samson who was the first indie musician other than my David to entrall my little jelly heart. And yet, the track spinning in my head the day I sat down to write my newest song "Small Planes" was not "My Favorite Chords" or "New Name for Everything" or even "Elegy for Elsabet".
It was "Jesus the Mexican Boy" by Iron and Wine.
Recently, David and I came home on one of our days together and David just wilted. We'd been out in the snow, running to the church so David could practice with the music directors for two pieces they were to perform that Sunday. He had a fever.
Not wanting to go home, wanting to stay with me, he rested the remainder of the day while I gave him some fever reducer, a cool washcloth for his neck, and checked his temperature every so often. I loved taking care of him and I feel badly about saying that because he was so sick.
While he rested, I watched his face.
That was the beginning of this song.
"Small Planes"
Half-Hearted Elephant
Ezra’s fever is spiking.
Sees hanging paper planes over his bed.
His face like pennies he rubs with ketchup to burnish
In pain, but he finds solace,
Like small planes find love in the angel tread
Because the Carmex on his nose smells like Mommy’s purse.
On the small paper airplane away he goes.
And the wind that blows him is warm and smooth.
No snow angels gave him this sickness, he knows.
In the wind’s hands… “If anything, I love you!”
Ezra’s mommy is smoking
Over a bowl of soggy Fruit Loops. Lets
The embers douse in the milk but Ezra fears ashes
Will burn baby sister’s lashes,
Car seat on the table where all day she‘s left.
For their health, her yo-yo promise to quit rehashes.
When the carton of Camels
Is dumped out the window, there’s hope, and yet,
The next withdrawal comes before they’re happy again
A half-hour later she says
“Fish them from the snow. Don’t care if they’re wet.
Don’t care if it’s cold, and death draws plans on your skin.”
On the small paper airplane away he goes.
And the wind that blows him is warm and smooth.
No snow angels gave him this sickness, he knows.
In the wind’s hands… “If anything, I love you!”
Ezra’s fever is growing.
Stands on his bed, picks the plane, broken string.
His room falls away as the paper plane takes wing
Glorious red Exit sign
“Mistreatment you’ve known, but!” the Father sings:
“If anything, I love you! I love you, if anything!”
Girl vs. Kangaroo
Almost four years ago I began assembling ideas and words around the image of a girl fighting a boxing kangaroo. I've edited it countless times since then and have sent it out only for it to boomerang back.
But! After two or three years of submitting to magazines, my story "Little Coping Skill" has been accepted for publication!
By Hawk and Handsaw, if you're wondering.
Praise Jesus, I'm living the way I've always wanted!
But! After two or three years of submitting to magazines, my story "Little Coping Skill" has been accepted for publication!
By Hawk and Handsaw, if you're wondering.
Praise Jesus, I'm living the way I've always wanted!
Friday, December 3, 2010
Disappointment in Aliens
Yay!
Yesterday a drabble of mine was published in Luna Station Quarterly's newest issue.
Please, read it:
Different Planet, Same Apple
Yesterday a drabble of mine was published in Luna Station Quarterly's newest issue.
Please, read it:
Different Planet, Same Apple
Three Artist Challenge Chapter One: Emmy the Great
As I've blogged before, David aspires to be a professional musician and composer. Following my desire to be involved in such an important part of his life, I want to write lyrics for his music. So, I wrote "The Ground Never Quite Touches the Sky" ... but, it was so difficult for David to compose music because it had no meter. I hate meter.
David suggested that I study my favorite songwriters to learn how to write to a beat. Thus the Three Artist Songwriting Challenge was born.
I'm to choose three songwriters I admire and imitate their style. With any craft, imitation is the best way for beginners to learn. In my creative writing classes we did this often. For example, I once wrote a poem based on Ted Kooser's "Selecting an Reader." (Read it! I love this poem.)
The first artist in my challenge is Emmy the Great! I love her frank and vivid language. She's my favorite artist of all, so she was garunteed to be the first. I chose "Absentee" because it was stuck in my head, found the lyrics (edited them... stupid hard of hearing fans), counted the syllables in each line, and marked the rhyme scheme. I didn't bother with scansion because I will never understand those cups and strikes.
I took the blog post I wrote "Surprise Paper Bag" and now it's a song. (I changed the skeleton of the song near the end to suit my own purposes. When imitating, don't be afraid to go off on your own ideas. Duh.) David was so happy! And I was brimful of joy!
David suggested that I study my favorite songwriters to learn how to write to a beat. Thus the Three Artist Songwriting Challenge was born.
I'm to choose three songwriters I admire and imitate their style. With any craft, imitation is the best way for beginners to learn. In my creative writing classes we did this often. For example, I once wrote a poem based on Ted Kooser's "Selecting an Reader." (Read it! I love this poem.)
The first artist in my challenge is Emmy the Great! I love her frank and vivid language. She's my favorite artist of all, so she was garunteed to be the first. I chose "Absentee" because it was stuck in my head, found the lyrics (edited them... stupid hard of hearing fans), counted the syllables in each line, and marked the rhyme scheme. I didn't bother with scansion because I will never understand those cups and strikes.
I took the blog post I wrote "Surprise Paper Bag" and now it's a song. (I changed the skeleton of the song near the end to suit my own purposes. When imitating, don't be afraid to go off on your own ideas. Duh.) David was so happy! And I was brimful of joy!
Surprise Paper Bag
Half-Hearted Elephant
Don’t know who I really am
Staring, in Daddy’s T-shirt, bangs with one curl,
At a surprise paper bag, the one marked “girl”
Dull ribbons
The dollar store will be closing soon
Crumpled dollar bill in my fist waits to hear
The verdict. Wheels grind in my ear
What’s in it?
Yo-yo? Squirt gun? Doll whose paint runs?
I am a surprise paper bag
What will I be if I break inside?
And who would like the things that I find?
If I shared them.
I see a small bright face, a boy
Standing down the aisle. How long has he been?
Blue juice from a gumball dribbles down his chin
Smiles at me.
Shy he finds beautiful, loneliness, too
He picks the bag though sullied and bruised
Pulls out things I thought I was born without
Says don’t pout
Glow in the dark stars
“You’re beautiful and I love you”
Pearl studded hair bow
“You’re you and I want to be with you”
Gold foil glitter glue
“It’s all there and I want to be there, too”
And a pinwheel made of spoons.
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