To My Seniors...

My seniors. I have so many hopes for you and I want to share some advice that I hope will serve you well over the years.

First from Stephen King’s On Writing, “ Writing isn't about making money, getting famous, getting dates, or making friends.  In the end, it is about enriching the lives of those who will read your work, and enriching your own life, as well. It’s about getting up, getting well, and getting over.  Getting happy, okay? Getting happy. Writing is magic, as much the water of life as any other creative art.  The water is free.  So drink.  Drink and be filled up.”

Words have power. Your words have power.  Use them.

My father is a terse man.He is unlike my mama who could talk the horns off of a billy goat. He is loving and kind, but he is a hugger - not a talker. When he does speak, I remember it. When I graduated from high school, he told me, “In the future, you will sit in many rooms full of people. In these rooms there will sometimes be people smarter than you and people  more creative than you. But by God, don't you ever let anyone in that room work harder than you.”

It is simple, hard work pays off. Don't ever let anyone beat you in that particular race.

When I was little, my mama had a string of pearls I loved to play with. My father gave them to her when they were married.  I would swing them around and around pretending I was a flapper from the 20's. I would have fit right in at a Gatsby party. Invariably the pearls would fly loose from my grip and smack against the wall skittering rogue pearls deep into uncharted crevices of my bedroom. She never fussed at me. She just sent them to Tom's Jewelers to be restrung just shy a pearl or two. When I was an adult I somewhat scolded my mother for letting me get away with such nonsense. She just smiled, looked at me and said, "Leah, you just enjoyed them so much. Playing with them made you so happy. In the end the pearls are just a possession. Possessions do not matter. People matter."

Know what is important and cherish it.

From me. Short and to the point. "You show up and you try." I hope this little piece of advice from me sticks with you. Because, selfishly, I know if you all show up and try, there is a real possibility for a better world, and I want to live in that world.

Lastly, I want to leave you with this. There will be times when people will make you feel less than you are.  It is a cruel reality that people like to knock down those who sparkle hoping some glitter will spill on them. You all sparkle and glitter and shine.  If this thought ever starts to waver in your heart, please remember in this time and in this place a group of fabulous people thought you were pretty fabulous too.

Don't you ever forget it.

Measuring the Immeasurable

Measuring the Immeasurable 

     I sat in a meeting today where my district asked for volunteers to create end- of- course exams for classes not already covered by some type of standardized test.  Stupidly I was surprised when creative writing was one of these courses.  I turned to the teacher next to me and said, “How do you make a standardized test for creative writing?”

     He said, “Seems counterintuitive, doesn't it?”

     Yes, yes it does.  I know that there is good writing and bad writing, but I still hate the thought of standardizing high school creative writing and trying to make it fit in a box. 

     Creative writing is about going through the writing process and learning there is no one way to process writing.  It is about creating a writing community and writing raw emotion.  It is about exploring different genres and finding your best style.  It is about trusting your peers and sharing a piece of humanity with them.  It is about tears and laughter.  It is about fear and courage. It is about writing with your heart and with your head.  It is about putting the pen to the paper and the fingers to the keys.  It is about living for the words because words change things.  They change minds and souls.  They change directions and shapes. They change policy and procedure. They change sight and sound. They change beliefs and ideas.  They change who we are.

     How in the heavens do my students bubble that on a test?

They Are So Done

     I have watched my seniors over the past few days become ornery, cranky, and sassy.  Their senoritis has reached a new higher level.  Most of them have been accepted to their colleges and they just want to go ahead and be college students RIGHT NOW. They have one last nine weeks to put in and they feel like they would rather stick forks in their eyes.  I wish I could make them stop.  Not just because it would make my life more pleasant, but because I was just like them in 1987.  Not savoring my last weeks of high school is one of my biggest regrets, and I wish that I could protect my students from that.  In class tomorrow, I am going to have them write about what they will miss about high school, and it made me think about what I did not realize I would miss when I left behind my childhood home for the masses at the University of Florida.

     I missed having a teacher care if I succeeded or not.  For my first two years of college I was a social security number on a scantron or a "young lady in the pink shirt." No professor cared whether I showed up to class to answer questions (if they were even asked) and no professor cared if I failed the course or not.  On some level I enjoyed anonymity, but back then I performed better if I was held accountable by someone who knew my first name and by someone who knew to "conviently" run into my mama at the grocery store.

     I missed seeing my very best friend every day.  Several times a day. The phone and a weekend visits were not the same as laughing together in English, laughing together in government, and getting yelled at for laughing together in band.  In college, you do not walk into a classroom and slide into the desk next to your best friend.  Instead, you scan the 600 person auditorium and curse yourself for not bringing a book to read like everyone else trying to avoid eye contact.

    I missed dancing four nights a week at the dance studio where I took lessons since I was four years old.  Almost every night, ballet, jazz, tap.  Goofing around the barre with girls who did not go to my school, but who I knew more intimately than most of my classmates.  Most of my nights  freshman year were spent studying or awkwardly getting to know my sorority sisters who would eventually become a family of sorts.

     I missed having drawers full of clean clothes and a refrigerator full of food, drinks, and snacks.  I usually found myself wearing ratty sweatpants up to the public laundry room to watch my one load tumble through the dryer because you learn very quickly to not leave your laundry unattended.  People are gross.  That is all you need to know about that.  And, I cannot tell you how many times I counted pennies out of my car ashtray to scrap together a $1.29 that would buy me a two liter of Diet Coke and five packages of Ramen Noodles from the Suwanee Swifty.  A feast for a two and half days!

     I missed going to the beach whenever I wanted.  Drive my car down the beach during lunch.  Pop down right after school for a quick swim.  Read for hours sitting in the waterline.  Smell the ocean from my house.  Hear the waves from the second story at school.  At UF I had to either drive an hour to Crescent City or two hours home to enjoy the beach.  When something is always there, you don't realize how much a part of you it becomes until it is no longer there.

     By far, college was the most fun I ever had.  I learned a lot about myself and my academics went far beyond the classroom.  And, of course, college is where I met the love of my life.  By no means do I really want to go back and do high school all over again, or make time stop when I was seventeen (kissed a lot of frogs that never became princes), but I do wish that I had appreciated all of those little things a little more.  Instead of being hell bent on getting out of Daytona and kicking all of the sand out of my shoes I would have enjoyed my last weeks just a bit more. I would have laughed a a little longer, listened to my first name more carefully, and hugged my parents more fiercely.

     The future is coming.  There is no stopping it.  Please don't wish away the present.

The Rescue

The Rescue

     This is my in-laws' new dog.  They think she looks like a fox, so they gave her the very original name, Foxy.  She had been a stray hanging around my father-in-law's office the last couple of weeks.  He officially retired last week, and on his last day, he brought Foxy home. This is surprising because my father-in-law is not known for his sweet side.  He is a kind man, but he is not affectionate to people much less a dog.

     Here is the thing, she is such a sweet little creature, that she has brought out the sweetness in him.  She is a mutt, but she definitely has a lot of basenji in her.  She doesn't bark and she is house broken.  She lies on his chest when he reclines in his chair in front of the television, and she sleeps all night in their bed.  He spends his days puttering around the garage and she stays right next to him.  wherever he goes, she goes.  And, this is a man who would not let his wife eat french fries in the car, but now foxy sits next to him in the passenger's seat.  This just goes to show what a dog (particularly a rescue) will do to someone's heart.  

Perfect Grilled Cheese

Perfect Grilled Cheese

     My husband makes the perfect grilled cheese.  It is always the perfect golden brown, a little salty, and the cheese to bread ratio is perfect.  He says the secret is Pepperidge Farms bread, salted butter, and two slices of cheese.  I am a decent cook, but my grilled cheeses are never as good as his.  One side is always too brown and if I use two slices of cheese, I end up with a gooey mess.
     I tell you, you just cannot beat the perfect grilled cheese and a ginger ale for the quick comfort dinner.

Where I Live

Where I Live

this is where I live

in the sun, on the sand, by the water

it is winter

a balmy February

the locals stay on the beach

in their shoes

on their bikes

by their cars

the snowbirds

frolic in the waves

turning blue

no wet suits

tiny swimsuits instead

I shudder

and ride my bike 

on the hard packed crystal sand

back to my house

leaving my home

Love Your Job

Love Your Job

I have been away for a few days due to illness, but I am back now!

     Friday night, we stopped for dinner at the Five Guys in Jacksonville.  I was very impressed how much everyone there seemed to love their job. Some of them were high school students, but the majority of employees were older and working at Five Guys.  They were all happy to work at Five Guys.  More than happy, they all genuinely seemed excited to serve me my burger and fries. 

     As well, they seemed to enjoy each other.  They were laughing and joking and dancing with each other.  Yes, dancing.  It made me happy.  Here are people working at seven o'clock at night at a fast food joint and they were happy.  Slinging burgers is not the most glamorous job in the world, and heaven knows it cannot pay a whole lot, but the employees were happy.  They were choosing to be happy.

     It made me think about a world where everyone chooses to be happy at their job.  Imagine the DMV, the car wash, and municipal offices filled with people choosing to be happy at the job.  What a delightful thought.  More importantly, I wondered if my students always know that I am happy at my job.  I love my job, but do I always choose to express my happiness?  I think I could work on this. Maybe I should dance in class every once in awhile. 

Sleepy Puppy

Sleepy Puppy

     I was home sick yesterday, and Cleo, the Great Dane, kept me company in bed all day.  She takes up the entire foot of the bed, and she has her own pillow.  As tall as she is, she always hesitates jumping into bed.  I think right after she jumps up and is standing on the bed, she actually becomes frightened of her own height.  After she settles down, though she is difficult to get out of the bed.  Sometimes my husband gives up and sleeps in the guest room.  Regardless, she was an excellent bed mate yesterday as I sneezed through the afternoon.  

Before Lunch

Before Lunch

The Spring that I was sixteen

sitting in Spanish

before lunch and anxious to see my friends

instead of conjugating "to run"

I looked out the window 

at the Florida sky.

No one planned to take us

outside anymore.

Shuttle launches were

no big deal anymore.

But I looked  just in time to see

the straight line of smoke pop

and turn into a lopsided upsilon. 

In my youthful naivety

I thought surely

there was an escape pod

like in I Dream of Jeannie.

Surely. There had to be.

I could not have just watched

those astronauts die 

just before lunch while avoiding

conjugating verbs in Spanish.  

Trading Here Since 1972

     The Publix that I shop at is going through a remodel   Because of this remodel, the items have been moved all over the store.  It is driving me a little crazy.  Particularly because it seems to not make sense.  Candy on the same aisle as "I Love Daytona Beach" shirts?  I feel like I am at Wal-Mart where the mushrooms are next to the motor oil.
     But, the changing of aisles is really driving my 81 year-old father over the edge.  "My seltzer water has always been in the same spot and now I can't find it," he complains.  Which is not entirely true because the Publix used to be on the other side of the shopping center, so it could not have ALWAYS been in the same spot.  My favorite is when he bellows, "I have been tradin' here since 1972 and I now I can't find a darn thing!"  Tradin', he actually uses the tern tradin' as if he secured his horse to the post when he went to Publix in 1972. But the really funny thing about that comment is he never set foot in Publix when I was a kid.  My mother and the housekeeper did all of the shopping.  I guess he considers it a personal affront that Publix dared to changer things without consulting him since so much of his paycheck over the years has landed in its cash register.

Coca Cola

Coca Cola

I don't drink

coffee in the morning.

I prefer Coca Cola 

cold out of the bottle.

I am a southerner

whose mamma 

probably put it in her 

baby bottle.

I even drank it

during the New Coke

disastrous phase. 

I can tell you which restaurants

have the best fountain Coke. 

I am a Coca Cola Connoisseur.

So when you ask with a smile,

"Is Pepsi okay?"

I glare at you.

   
     Tonight was the Volusia County Teacher of the Year Announcement, and a dear colleague of mine won.  I am so proud and so happy that the powers that be chose someone worthy.  The picture I have posted is very blurry because I was very far away; but if you know her, you can see her ears turning red.
     I loved her acceptance speech.  I loved that it was a little sassy,  taking a few digs at our new evaluation model and standardized testing.  My favorite line of her speech went something like...teach with your heart and the rest will follow.  I know that is how Emily teaches.  Her students know she loves them and she teaches them to love learning.  People like Emily remind me of the joys of teaching and why we do what we do.
     Please Lord send our children more teachers like Emily Edwards.
   

Chicken Salad

Chicken Salad

I will never

understand

how adding

globs 

of mayonnaise

makes a salad.

But I do 

love

egg

ham

tuna

and

chicken

slopped together 

with mayonnaise.

Never 

ever 

Miracle Whip.

What is the 

big miracle 

anyway?

I wish 

I had

known there were

grapes

in this

batch.

I would

never have

added

pickles.

Enter to Learn

Enter to Learn

     As a second job I am an adjunct English teacher at Bethune-Cookman University.  When you walk into any building on campus, it says, "Enter to Learn."  It is a Methodist college, so on your way out of every building it says, "Depart to Serve" over the door.  I like both sentiments.  I particularly like the enter to learn reminder   It says, "Hey, we mean business, no fooling around, you have paid your tuition now get busy." Of course, I probably notice this sign more than the students. 

The Laundry

The Laundry

    I do not mind washing the clothes.  In fact I like pulling out fresh towels from the dryer and folding them while they are still warm.  I like making the grungy clean, and the smell of Tide detergent reminds me of my childhood.  

     I do not mind sorting the dirty laundry to be washed.  Darks in this basket, lights in this one, all whites in this one so that they get bleached.  For someone whose closet is organized by color and sleeve length, this sorting gives me peace.

     Years ago, my husband enclosed a portion of the garage and ran air condition to it so that I do not have to lug my baskets into the sweltering Florida heat. Which I used to have to do for years.  I would sit inside looking at the sorting baskets until finally I got up the energy to lug one of them to the garage heat.  So, now, I do not mind lugging the baskets to the laundry room.

     However, for some unfathomable reason, I hate putting laundry away.  I will have it all folded neatly in the baskets and just dig through it during the week.  You would think that not having laundry put away would drive me insane.  And, to some point it does.  My week is much more peaceful when all the laundry is tucked away or hanging in its color coordinated spot.  But sometimes I cannot summon the strength to put it away.  I don't know why, but sometimes I hate putting the laundry away.  When I do this,  my smart aleck husband reminds me that I have simply washed the clothes and I have not done the laundry.  

A Day Off From School

A Day Off From School

She stayed in my lap most of the day

while I was 

reading

writing

grading papers

She shot up when I made a sandwich

and crawled in the bed while I ironed

otherwise she stayed warm in my lap

like a huge house cat

I might have heard her purr

She stayed there while a president made an oath 

and while I reached for a tissue 

while a lark sang

My Country Tis of Thee

and while a poet

wrote his words to a nation

while a pop star and her husband

made strange bedfellows

with a Republican and his iPhone

She ignored it all and sighed and snuggled

her long nose under the blanket

in my lap

Stained Glass

Stained Glass

          I was visiting Tallahassee this weekend, so I visited a Methodist church down the street from my friend's house.  I thought their stained glass behind the Cross was stunning.  It had a weaving vine up the middle and all of the other images were pictorials of land and water.  It was heavy on blue and greens, and reiterated the church's message of "we are the vine." 

     Above the alter in my church is a simple wooden Cross and two small windows close to ceiling.  The view is usually a blue sky and the tip of a tree waving in the breeze.  To me, this view is just as stunning as the stained glass I through today.  

Nugget

Nugget

After watching a post-apocalypse movie

your husband panicked, 

planted a survivor's garden

built a chicken coop

and filled it with a clucking chicken.

The garden bloomed one spring

then shriveled  under the 

blazing Florida sun.

The remains blew away with 

the pine needles of the fall.

But, the chicken coop still stands

and your children love to sprinkle

corn like confetti on the lawn.

Your oldest daughter 

who has the same sense of humor

as her father, named him Nugget.

When the horsemen come riding through town

she will be the first to heat the oil 

in the fryer. 

Road Trip

Road Trip

     I cannot take a road trip by myself without some books on CD.  I spent a good hour last night picking out books for my trip to Tallahassee.

    Part of the reason it took me so long was that not every book is meant to be listened to. I have to be able to flip back in the story when I read a mystery because I am constantly trying to figure it out.  No good on CD.

     I find that Young Adult Literature and nonfiction are good choices.  Hence my A.J. Jacobs and Jerry Spinelli selections.  So far the Spinelli is a fun choice.  I will finish it on my way home, start another, and then purposely drive around in my car so that I can finish.     If I try and listen at home, I start doing little mundane activities while I am listening and then end up not paying attention to the story,  So, I spend gas money on a free book I got from the library.  It is a mini-local road trip!

A Favorite Place

I love the library. If I had to be stranded anywhere, it would be in the library. When I was little, there was a library in town that was built in an old Spanish home. The floors were dark stained wood and there were three floors. In the children's section there was an old claw footed iron bathtub filled with red velvet pillows. I would curl up with a favorite book snug in that bathtub and read for hours while my mother trudged between the card catalogue and the upstairs reference section.
The home for this library is still standing, and I believe the city of Daytona Beach owns it. I am a little sad that I never made it back by the Cornelia Young Memorial Library before it closed. But, then I think maybe the pure memory of it is sweeter.

Mmmmm Gelati

Mmmmm Gelati

     My husband and I split a gelati tonight after dinner.  It was delicious.  If you have never had a gelati, it is a layers of Italian ice and soft serve ice cream.  The one here is town is pretty good, and we like the mango ice layered with vanilla ice cream.  But, there is a place in Orlando called Jeremiah's and their gelati is fantastic!  They have many more flavors of ice to choose from.  My favorite is the peanut butter ice with chocolate ice cream.  Also at Jeremiah's the layers of ice cream and ice are thinner so that you get a mix of ice and ice cream in every bite.

     At first, I thought a gelati sounded gross, but it is really delightful.  It is refreshing and smooth and creamy.  Who knew?  By the way, do  you appreciate the irony of our bicycles in the background? I don't think we bicycled more calories than the we ate in gelati, but it was a sweet little treat to ride our bikes up to a local ice cream shop in January.

English Teachers at a Soccer Game

English Teachers at a Soccer Game

between the three of us we know some of the rules

doesn't matter

we came to watch our girls play

the game is a blowout

grossly unfair

the chatter clacks between us

from 

soccer

our students

latest read

to 

best lesson

while keeping 

our eyes

on

our girls

who are trying very hard to win with grace

when the score is

18-0

The Catch All Table

The Catch All Table

     Do you think it is time to clean off the dining room table?  I cannot remember when we last ate at the table instead of the counter.  Generally the table serves as my desk during the school year and is covered with stacks of essays that glare at me as I walk by.  But, this time it is covered with my husband's stuff.  His work stuff, his school stuff, and, some of his miscellaneous gear. 

    Seriously, though, where does this smoke alarm go?  I can't find a missing one around the house, and he can't remember.  He swears he did not replace one in the house.  It is a conundrum.  I guess worse things could just appear on my dining room table.  Mystery dirty socks would definitely be worse.  Yet the enigma of a rogue smoke alarm has finally motivated the hubby to clean off this catch all table.  

Boys and Their Toys

Boys and Their Toys

Really?  A Compound Bow?

It is fun.

I don't get it.

It is a stress reliever.

So is a manicure.

I don't get that. 

Little Flag Football

Little Flag Football

     I went today to watch my nephew play flag football.  It was the final game and his team was in the winner's bracket.  The Super Bowl of pee wee football if you will.  They lost by one touchdown, and it was a heart breaker   But, the kids soon remembered that they had cake and root beer waiting for them, so the crush of defeat did not last long.
     This morning before he played football, he had baseball tryouts, and next week basketball season starts.  While I sometimes worry that he is a little too busy, I also know that he is ten and discovering his talents.  I also know that the busier kids are they less trouble they are likely to get into.
     My brother can afford to enroll his children in anything they want to try. In fact, I even drove over to Orlando last year to catch a pee wee lacrosse game.  Who knew there was even a kids' lacrosse league anywhere in Florida? My niece and nephew are lucky.  My brothers and I were lucky.  Our parents pushed us to find our talents and try different sports, music, and arts.  How many kids go through life without ever discovering their talents because they are not as lucky as we?

Fun Friday Shoes

Fun Friday Shoes

Red for my allegiance

Converse for my comfort

Every Friday

Tradition

Like your Chucks, Mrs. Paul

My Writing Family

     I had a NWP meeting tonight, and it was so good to reconnect with my writing family.  As always, we started with an invitation to write.  Tonight's invitation was about skill versus talent in writing.  My thoughts on this are pretty simple.  A talented writer needs to learn the skills so that she may convey her message to the outside world.  A so-called untalented writer's talent will only have a chance to emerge once she learns the skills.  And, nurturing all of that is an English teacher's job.  As Sir Ken Robinson says, "Even Shakespeare had an English teacher."

Loaner

      I love when students lend me books.  Right now, I am reading the Divergent series because one of my sweet students lent two books to me.  There is no better way to keep up with good young adult literature than to go to the young adults themselves.
     To me lending someone a book is a complete leap of trust.  I am giving you my baby, take care of her.  Don't bend her binding, don't dog-ear her pages, and for goodness sake give her back to me in a timely manner!  And, I had to smile when this young lady lent me the hardback without the paper cover.  I would do the same thing.  In fact I take the paper cover off of all of my hard cover books when I read them.  Readers- we are protective of our children.

Cleopatra

     Our Great Dane, Cleo.  She is the prettiest dog we have ever owned.  When we take her for walks people always stop us on the street to admire her.  She attracts attention because not only is she gorgeous, but she is huge.  For a Great Dane, she is not actually that big, but the top of her head easily reaches my rib cage.  Her problem is she knows she is pretty and sometimes acts like a "pretty girl."  Often times when I am calling her to come inside, she looks at me and I swear her interior monologue is I am pretty. I don't have to do that.

Back from Break

     Pulled the good old teaching bag out today.  It was time to head back into the classroom after a nice relaxing winter break.  When the alarm went off at 5:15, it was plain awful. Getting dressed for work was almost painful.  I had to keep walking back in to the house because I kept forgetting necessities.  My husband leaning out the garage door, "Hey!  You planning on eating lunch today?"  I completely forgot to grab my frozen cardboard delight and my iPad and my cell phone and my seventy five cents for a Coke at the Circle K.  I completely got out of my routine.
     By the time I pulled into the Circle K, I was completely cranky.  Then as I left (with a 44 ounce Diet coke in hand), the little woman who is always behind the counter at 6:50 a.m. and knows I am a teacher told me to have fun with my kids today.  And that was it.  I remembered that my job is not a job, but a fun place to be with my students.  While I would have loved to sleep in again today, it was so nice to see them (even though many of them had the back from break blues) safe and sound and ready to enjoy their last semester of this year.

Mr. Fix-It

     I grew up in a family where when something broke, we either bought a new one or paid a handyman to fix it.  My father's philosophy was always to throw money at the problem.  He simply did not know how to fix anything, thus we never learned either.  As a matter of fact, I did not know it was possible to fix things myself.
     When I was a kid, we had one hardware store downtown, Dunn Brothers.  While I was fascinated with the huge rolling ladder that swung between vats of nails and screws, I really thought people only bought their new lunchboxes and P. E. uniforms at Dunn Brothers.
     My husband, however, grew up in a more frugal family, and he knows how to swing a hammer and put sweat equity into a home.  I discovered this soon after we were married and moved into our first home.  He decided our living room fan needed a light on it.  I groused that we really could not afford a new fan with a light fixture and installation so soon after the expense of moving.  He looked at me like I had three heads and preceded to tell he was going to install a ten dollar light kit from Home Depot. I was amazed.  And, when he went to turn the light on, I still hid behind the couch sure the light was going to explode when he turned it on.
     Because of my husband's talent for fixing the broken, my father thinks Ken hung the moon.  And, that is why, today, I made three trips to Ace Hardware so that Ken could install a new kitchen faucet for my Father. My father who no longer throws money at the problem but my husband instead.

Fire Bells

hang and sway, but never ring
blazing to the eye, but not the touch
you are drying in the winter wind,
and I wonder why I used to run
when my brother chased me
swinging you like fire

Brazilian Pepper

     This Brazilian pepper tree is the center of my backyard.  On a gloomy, rainy, windy day like today, the pepper tree sways with the beauty of a ballet dancer with the small glossy leaves twirling on the branches.  It is a beautiful tree.  It grows easily and survives the roasting heat and the occasional Florida freezes.  Unfortunately, that is what makes this tree evil.  It is not ingeniousness to Florida, and it overtakes everything in your yard if you let it. Vines from its roots show up in my front yard.  I know it is going to cause problems with our pipes at some point.  My husband begs me to let him chop it down, but I just can't.  It is too beautiful no matter how dangerous it is.   

Vacation

Sniffle, snarffle, sneeze

in the night he whispered his cold to me

masked as a snore.

In the morning

I awoke 

 tight and a tickled in the throat..

By noon two boxes of Puffs 

were sacrificed like

wet clouds to the trash.

The Boat

     This is Annie. Also known as Anna Banana, Banana Boat, and The Boat.  She came into our lives two years ago.  She crawled out of the woods, near death, and landed on my in-laws' porch.  It was the day after Christmas, and they were headed to the mountains.  My tender-hearted husband could not handle the thought of a poor dog left to fend for herself on a night when it was supposed to be in the 20's.  He drove the two hours north and picked up this poor flea covered creature.  It was late in the evening, so we had to take her to the emergency vet.  Between a two week long "hospital" stay at our vet and the emergency vet, Annie ended up costing more than buying a purebred from a fine breeder.
     She has been worth every penny.  She is fiercely protective and has become our Great Dane's playmate. She does not like many people, and we figure that because of all of the scars on her, she had to fight for everything since she was a puppy.  But, she is one of the most loving dogs I have ever had.  She likes to snuggle up under me whether I am reading, sleeping, or working.  She follows me wherever I go, and if she had her choice, she would get in the car with me every time I leave the house.
     My brother gave her the name Annie as in Little Orphan Annie, and we are happily her Daddy Warbucks.

My Southern New Year Dinner 

     Have to have hoppin' john which is basically black-eyed peas and and rice.   It is a requirement to eat black-eyed peas on New Year's day for good luck throughout the year. Often, I have thought of opening a can to eat in July for a refresher of good luck.  Next, we always have my husband's favorite meat, ham.  We do not do the sugary spiral ham.  We do the salty country ham. I pretty much overcook it on a low temperature and it comes out perfectly every time.  Plus the whole house smells like ham all day!
     The cornbread is a staple, but I make mine moist with a good splash of rosemary.  My grandmother's cornbread was always crisp with cracklins of bacon speckling the outside crust.  She had a special cast iron pan for making cornbread sticks.  She would put the pan in the oven and let it get super hot.  Then, she would pour in bacon grease and then the batter.  It would all delightfully sizzle and almost bake on the spot.  My rosemary cornbread is completely different, but it still reminds me of her.  It makes me think how this is the first year I will be completely without her.  Funny how a simple dinner can do that to a person.

January 1, 2013

     So, I have decided to statr out the new year by starting to blog.  My plan is to post a picture and write every day.  Sometimes the writing will be related to the photo, and sometimes it will not.  The photos are more of a photographic diary of 2013 for me.  The genres of my writing will probably range depending on my mood and the weather.  I do not want a lot of rules here.  I just want to try and write every day like I used to in my younger days.  But, I am not going to beat myself up if I do not make it every day.  While writing is a disciplined event, it is also something I enjoy that I do not want to be a chore.  Also, be prepared.  I am a terrible typist and may not always have time for a good proofread.  And, be prepared for many pictures of my dogs, food, and the beach. Well, here goes...