Category Archives: writing

2014 y’all

Clearly I got kittens. I only say that because my last post was that my catalogical clock was ticking and then you never heard from me again. Well, I got kittens. Two to be exact (Hushpuppy and Otis) and they have managed to suck the time and life right out of me. OK..OK. Alright already… I’m not going to sit here and blame my slackdom on two (not very) innocent creatures. No, they don’t like me to type. No, they don’t like me to sit quietly without them on me or biting me or cattacking me. But this is the year of NO EXCUSES in my world. So no excuses. The problem is me.

I’ve not written because I’m really happy and in a good place and even though I’ve been traveling and having blog worthy adventures — well, I’ve just not put it down on the screen and shared it beyond the cryptic impulses of Facebook. But today a long time friend of mine began blogging (for the first time I think) and it unhinged something in me. So here I am, saying way too late to you all “Happy New Year”.

Help me cling to the NO EXCUSES rule! I need some support. Oh! Maybe I’ll bore you all with kitty pictures soon!

April is the cruelest month

Not really good people — April is lovely. In all actuality this has been one of the best so far. However, I am a bit peeved at the moment because I was trying to post some HTML code to this blog and for some reason WordPress has made that difficult now?? Sometimes change makes us look stiff and awkward — like now when I would like everyone to know that internet freedom is at stake and a bunch of other little things. But I can’t do it the simple way, so here— check out this: and see what kind of crazy rules are brewing.

Change can also make you stiff by physically making you stiff. I have been more  active than ever and considering my age, I go to sleep at night as stiff as an old oak tree. Still, it’s a good outlet. Another personal change has been me giving up most of my cable options to save money—sadly I think Game of Thrones got lumped into things lost — but I appreciate the extra cash and really don’t need too much this time of year in the way of TV. Oh, and speaking of other change, if I’ve not talked about 750 words before — any of you who are creative types that used to do Morning Pages (a concept fleshed out in The Artist’s Way) should go to 750 words and start purging those mental cobwebs. It’s not a blog but just a space where  you can flush out or develop some thoughts  and it is secure and private. I use it and though you guys do not see me often here — please know that I’m writing more than I have in a decade and that is a good thing.

Other changes that I should mention are the Upton brothers doing right for the Braves (yes, baseball season is upon us and therefore “I’m busy” should read as code for “I’m watching the Braves”).

So please disregard the title. Turns out that April is doing just fine. Send me word and let me know how it is treating you.


Happy March everyone! It’s overcast and cold as the dickens, but that is OK because it’s March, it’s Friday and all of that must be good.

So far 2013 has been less the year of the snake and more of the year of work. I’ve been kept busy in the library. The normal bits, of course, APA help, research, book ordering, answering life’s mysteries — you know — being a librarian. But the things that have kept me hopping the most are my additional duties of being the “champion” of the online students and tutorial. (Side note: Have I told you that I literally do have the title of “Flex Champion” that indicates nothing about muscle, but really lets the ground students who take online classes know that I’m their go-to-gal. The title is hysterical and does warrant some raised eyebrows. I find myself letting the students know that I will not flex for them — no, not ever.) Those two roles rolled onto my main gig are keeping me off the streets (or the net) and busy.

Beyond work, what can I say? Life is beautiful. Like I said, it’s March, it’s Friday . . . what more do you want? This month I am in a writing challange that I am a bit nervous about (it’s about quantity and not quality though, so I have that going for me). I’m back to trying to run — should be fun to move as soon as I see the sun again. And, there is a small amount of me trying to learn the guitar. (Hope you all have the cliche of old dogs and new tricks going through your head. Music ability at my age is tough people!)Tonight may find me involved with puppets of the Edgar Allen Poe kind. Let’s hope that is some weird magic and not just awkward pauses.

Happy weekend and 2013 everyone!

March (and missing this)

It’s been too long. On the upside, I’ve been writing privately. But still . . .
Let me ramble on.
I turned 40, ya’ll saw the pics. Have had some redemptive type moments with old friends. That’s always nice and strange. Ebbed and flowed. Yep, and here I am, still. No matter what, it’s the best thing. Life is beautiful.
What I really want to talk about is the last book I read (Truth and Beauty by Ann Patchett). Have you read it? Anyway, I can’t go into it because I have a few friends reading it and we are all going to get there. But, needless to say, read it; if it’s plaguing me during the Spring Forward hours than it is worth the effort.
There’s a lot I’m not saying–deal with the ambiguity and keep rolling.
Oh, but I do want to say that I revisited my childhood today. Darryl convinced Zoë, Lori and I to go see the Harlem Globetrotters. OMG! I had forgotten. One of the most rewarding moments came when they did a fart joke and hearing all of the kids laughing. There is so much joy in that noise. Crude pleasures — maybe it’s not just a childhood thing.
Hope that the weather is turning towards golden for everyone.

Where to begin?

Weather: August and sticky — normal for this time of year.

Work: busy and noisy — also normal for this time of year.

Personal: quiet with showers of socialization.

Life: exceptionally good — for reasons I still can’t figure out.

Sorry it’s such spotty posts. I do know there are some of you out there still. I want to inspire and create and enrage — but all I can do is be what I’m right now and that is comfortable, happy, sort of empty and thoroughly overwhelmed with work, play, Braves, August, friends and family.

My dad wrote a poem though. I keep re-reading it. Not sure what to say about it. It’s different for him. On a personal level it brought up a ton of memories from childhood–mainly good ones. You know the type I mean. The ones that sort live in a golden bubble — yet they still have the honest red clay and ants on brick walls. Something like that. Anyway, what can I say — at least someone is writing in my family and it’s good.

I’ll get there though. The competitive streak in me will not let dad win.


That’s funny, I was going to write about something else, but as soon as I typed that I remembered my Aunt Karen always keeping Celestial Seasons tea and Sleepytime tea was one of them and then I remembered her piano and my girl cousins and all their toys and then the new house they moved into when they left the farm and how the pool reflected a blue watery light in Janet’s bedroom. And divorce wrecked all that.

Anyway, I miss my cousins. And I’m just now really aware of that about 30 years later.

One of them lives in Arizona now. Which is really odd. Because I was going to begin this initially by making fun of myself for being sleepy. Much like one of my friends used to make fun of me for always being sleepy before he moved to Arizona. (which I’ve type Arizone twice now— well 3 times but the last intentionally to prove a point which is what is up with all the connections and coincidence and links and tangled webs that stick to your hair?)

Which is to say, I’m sleepy.
And I miss you all — the old connections and the new connections.

little gray cells

To my right there are rectangle patches of the foggy Atlanta skyline. It’s the last week of classes for January term, and APA is in the air — wafting in a blend of anxiety, procrastination and the unbearable lightness that stems from turning in a final project (regardless of the upcoming grade, turning something in, letting it go and getting it out of your control is akin to rapture — take it from a former student and constant witness).

Whenever I drive past my building, I always look to see if the lights are on in my corner. It’s a habit; born of curiosity or control I’d rather not ask. Today, I imagine what they’d look like against all the gray — small cells of light, just above the power grid. I wonder who looks up as they flow past? If they have any concept of the reams of paper representing students’ work? Maybe they eat coconut cream pie yogurt at their desk like I am now? Who are these people? Who am I?

What is my relationship to this place?

Regardless, papers are being completed. Things are turned in. We all let go a little. The lights are on.