Today I went to Coastal Carolina Community College in Jacksonville to fill out forms, take a photo for my ID, and get an employee parking pass. I start work on Thursday!Continue reading “I Got A Job. Day 490.”
Category: 543 Day Writing Journey
Currently, I am writing to honor my late husband, Roger L. Adams, Jr. As well as being a prior United States Marine and an Army Soldier, he was a firefighter for three departments in North Carolina. The department we fought fire together at was Half Moon V.F.D. in Jacksonville, NC. There, his badge number was 543, and the number has since been retired.
Important Rule Change. Day 489.
If you are in the real estate or vehicle sales business, you may want to check this out:
Tip in a Haiku. Day 488.
A clean microwave!
Boil large bowl of water
Wipe clean, avoid chems
Kool-Aid and Motrin. Day 487.
“Max threw up again,” Roger said. “We should check his temperature.”
It was still high. So was Sam’s. “I think we should take them to the doctor.”Continue reading “Kool-Aid and Motrin. Day 487.”
Southwestern Quesadillas. Day 486.
Here is a sneak peek at one of my cookbook pages. Enjoy:
A Memoir Section. Day 485.
This is a small piece of a chapter I titled “Ashes and Sweaty Palms” from my memoir. It illuminates the absurdity of days that follow a loss for a widow or widower, absurdity that many refrain from talking about. It goes beyond the pomp and circumstance of the lavish, gold-draped services with generals, carefully pressed uniforms, and good behavior. There are no folded flags in these intimate moments, nor are there people guiding you, holding you by both elbows as they show you the way. In the days and months and years that pass, the glory and grace move along with the masses of mourners, and Americans really should know that:Continue reading “A Memoir Section. Day 485.”
A Dream of Forty Years. Day 484.
Nana’s hands were tiny and delicate, so feminine and simply pretty, but felt strong and protective to me when I was a child. We held hands until she died, and although I was shy about doing that in public when I became a teenager, it was short-lived.Continue reading “A Dream of Forty Years. Day 484.”
Are You a Two Spacer? Day 483.
Today in my post for Maescribes, I speak about spacing. The content is riveting, I know, but it is important.
Are you a one-spacer or a two-spacer? We are all capable of evolving, but this one was difficult for me.
Thanks for reading!
The News. Day 482.
Just don’t watch it.
I clicked on my Google News this morning for the first time in about a week. (It’s the only news I read or see.) My entire day has been dark and down.
There is literally no good news. At least they don’t share any. That’s because nobody wants to read the good news.
What’s happened to us?
Another Year, Another “Pig.” Day 481.
I just peeled the apples and put them on low. Happy New Year!
A Memory Flash. Day 480.
Today’s post is a simple daily mention that does not bother me, but needs to be said.Continue reading “A Memory Flash. Day 480.”
Editors. Day 479.
I edit, right, so why would I need an editor to look over my cookbook? Well, I discovered the answer to that yesterday.Continue reading “Editors. Day 479.”
Property Description. Day 478.
Nestled safely alongside the protection of friendly humans and contained watch dogs, this bright and airy coop with an oversized attached run is shaded in the summer and open for sunlight in the colder months. Shielded from the city lights, you will find one large bedroom, perfect for laying eggs, sleeping, and huddling up with your flock. The home offers an electric door to protect you from the neighborhood racoons and foxes, and the covered run is the most wonderful place to sun yourself, scratch around, and bathe in the fresh, black dirt without worrying about the menacing hawks.Continue reading “Property Description. Day 478.”
Cookbooks, A Maescribes Service. Day 477.
I wrote a cookbook and it’s at the printers! It has over fifty recipes and tons of photos of yummy food.
When it’s back from the printers, I will list it for sale on my Maescribes site.
I’m so excited! Read more about it here:
College Divide. Day 476.
The divide between people who went to college and those who didn’t has become quite, well, dumb, and the worst part is, it was created intentionally.
Why is there such an effort to form a severe division between people? Is it politics? Insecurity? Boredom?
We all need each other, so why not try a little harder to realize that and stop putting down others because they are on the opposite end of the spectrum that was created out of unkind and unsensible intentions?
Imagine a world where we all worked together, even just a little.
They Still Play. Day 475.
Spring chickens no more
In years and bodies and souls
And yet they still play!
Merry Christmas. Day 474.
Merry Christmas to you!
My special Christmas wishes go out to my Auntie Sue and Uncle Lee this year. I love you both!
My Town. Day 473.
Cabbage Patch Kid. Day 472.
I was one of those 80’s kids who got a Cabbage Patch Doll. She was mine on Christmas morning.Continue reading “Cabbage Patch Kid. Day 472.”
We Wrapped Presents. Day 471.
Today’s repost is about wrapping presents with Roger. Trust me, it’s not what you think it is.
For T2T Newsletter. Day 470.
Although we can say Merry Christmas again, it didn’t happen overnight. With time, Tunnel to Towers, and a tiny village, we found a way.Continue reading “For T2T Newsletter. Day 470.”
ISO Plans. Day 469.
I want to build a greenhouse and have a vision. It’s especially heavy on my mind right now because we’ve had our first frost, and the herbs are limp.
There are many kits online, and I’ve seen plans to build. I imagine, on cold days like these, it would be nice to sit in the greenhouse and inhale the warmth and scents of mint and fresh basil.
So that is my next project, because I’m not busy or anything.
My Cookbook. Day 468.
I just sent my cookbook to the printers so I can have a hard copy to scrutinize. This project took me longer than any other I’ve done before, and although it’s imperfect, I am proud of it.Continue reading “My Cookbook. Day 468.”
A Repost. Day 467.
This cold weather makes me think of when they were little. I do miss those feetie PJs.
My Very Own Business. Day 466.
“Mom, you have to take breaks,” Max said.
“I know, I will.”Continue reading “My Very Own Business. Day 466.”
Our Anniversary. Day 465.
I remember feeling warm in my sleeveless, rented white gown while standing in the twilight December snow. He was across the street watching me. His Dress Blues wrapped his body like liquid, gold buttons mirroring the Christmas lights that surrounded us, waist trim and tight, patent leather shoes like melting black on the white crystals.Continue reading “Our Anniversary. Day 465.”
On This Day. Day 464.
Twenty-seven years ago today I was single. The day after that, I was not.Continue reading “On This Day. Day 464.”
Seven Episodes. Day 463.
Wrapped desk, teal teapot
Hair fire, Holly party
Belsnickel, Bear Man!
Ventilation. Day 462.
I try to keep this blog a cheery one. Actually, maybe I don’t, but I do attempt to keep it free of venting, but today, I need to, and it’s a bulleted list:Continue reading “Ventilation. Day 462.”
WordPress Prompt. Day 461.
WordPress, the venue where my blog lives, offers their writers a word prompt every day. I believe it’s a new thing, but it’s possible I’ve been so spacey to not notice it before. Today’s prompt is “Who[m] do you envy?”
Merriam Webster defines envy as “painful or resentful awareness of an advantage enjoyed by another joined with a desire to possess the same advantage.” Well, dang!
I have no resentment toward another because of their advantage. I never looked at the literal definition before and did not realize it was hovered above by such a deep and negative aura.
Leaky Sink. Day 460.
Water kept puddling on the floor in the kitchen this morning, but I thought nothing of it. Between my four dogs and Tyler and Deaven’s two dogs, a few puddles of water are not unusual.Continue reading “Leaky Sink. Day 460.”
A Bra Repost. Day 459.
Support. Day 458.
Social media, although we loathe it at times, is truly vital for businesses, especially new ones.
Many of my Facebook friends have started new businesses! It’s a sign of the times, and their true leap into the abyss of this scary business world is cool to watch, but we’re all doing it, and we’re not doing it alone.
I love to see the support that people are offering each other. The shares, likes, and kind words of encouragement that people publicly declare for other small business owners, even the competition, warms my heart. I hope it goes on forever.
A Wish or a Bucket? Day 457.
Bucket lists are fun because they’re unrealistic at times, leaving us with the gift of true intention with no pressure of actually having to do the work. A trip to Iceland is on my bucket list, for example, but I am not expected to purchase tickets and plan my chilly, raw venture. Also, adding alpacas to my beautifully wild and lively family is on my bucket list, but I have not started building the barn, and nobody is calling me out on it.
I have an ever-evolving rusty bucket list that is not on cheap white paper in leaky blue ink, nor does it take up multiple bytes in an electronic document. Bucket lists are possible, though, so you have to remain within some parameters. You can’t say, for example, I want to take a time machine to 1955 or walk dogs with Billie Holiday. Either way, it’s fun to play the game, but not as much fun as it is to declare your items on a wish list.Continue reading “A Wish or a Bucket? Day 457.”
Today. Day 456.
My son, my little boy, the only one who knew me as a child, turned 31 today. I went to see him and brought a chocolate cake and some bourbon. The two of us with three canines were able to sit and chat while dolphins played in the ocean, and we had tacos. I’d say today was a really great day, and I am grateful.
My Next Project? Day 455.
I have 88 days left and then this blog project will be complete, and I’m facing it through a cloud of gray melancholy .Continue reading “My Next Project? Day 455.”
Blue Lights. Day 454.
When we recall Christmas memories we tend to think about what and whom we miss, robbing ourselves of the opportunity to close our eyes and absorb a good memory. There are many people I miss from my paternal grandparents’ duplex in Easthampton, MA, but for now, I close my eyes and I am a child whose room is clean because Santa is on his way.Continue reading “Blue Lights. Day 454.”
Freedom. Day 453.
” . . . is just another word for nothin’ left to lose.”
Christmas Chain. Day 452.
Each year we make a Christmas chain. It consists of alternating red and green (if we have it) construction paper that’s either stapled or taped. Mild content, yes, but this is truly a sacred item I speak of, so please bear with me.Continue reading “Christmas Chain. Day 452.”
Guest Writer. Day 451.
Baylee has been toying with the idea of becoming a sports writer one day. (I promise I had nothing to do with this.) For his English assignment, he was to write a column piece, so he decided to write about the Celtics. I know nothing about the numbers and stats, so please offer him some kind words if you wish.Continue reading “Guest Writer. Day 451.”
Ursus Americanus. Day 450.
Bear. Round, black bear. Your coat is deep, heavy. It ripples when you run. Thick, liquid waves. Maybe while you sleep in your den, my friend, black bear. May I come inside to nap? May I call you friend? Will you wrap your protective arm around me? Shield me from January, black bear? Warm me until the sun rises? Auburn rays peek over the pines and into your den, black bear, and they kiss your silky sleepy face. Rainbow colors from the sun, lavender luster, an oil slick on black water. While you dream, I hide my face in your coat, black bear. All of my face, after I wash it with Ivory soap and dry it with a crunchy sun-dried towel. My fresh right cheek, nestled into your chest, black bear. You smell like winter’s air and peeling birch bark. I inhale you, breathe in your clean, wild fur. Your baby’s waking, black bear. It is almost time. but I linger still, ready myself, dawdle and postpone my leave. You begin to stir so I have to go, back to the cold, human Earth. I leave the simplicity of you. The protection of you, my friend, my black bear.Read more: Ursus Americanus. Day 450. Continue reading “Ursus Americanus. Day 450.”
Maescribes Edits and Proofreads! Day 449.
Editor and proofreader at your service!
Because it Can Happen. Day 448.
My cat, Gary, isn’t feeling well and has been in and out of the vet’s office this week. Of course, we fear the worst, but in our family, we have reason to assume the worst about each trial we face.
Although we are worriers by nature and genetics, we’ve also been dealt the “worst case scenario” so we know the possibilities of life.
We’ve tried all the tricks and some do work, but the fact is, we will always worry. It is debilitating, tiring, and it threatens our forward ever, but we do it together, and that helps.
It always amazes me how much the past affects the ways we perceive and deal with emotions and fear. There is no moving on. There just isn’t.
ISO Christmas Spirit. Day 447.
Maybe it’s the weather, or the flying time, or the lack of purchased gifts, or the fact that the decorations are still in the shed, but I’m still waiting, anticipating, being patient for the arrival of the Christmas spirit. My Christmas spirit. I flex my heart and squeeze my eyes shut but it stays away. Hopefully it will find me soon.
How to Address an Envelope. Day 446.
For one of Baylee’s assignments for poetry class, he was to write a poem and send it in the mail to me. The regular, plain old snail mail.Continue reading “How to Address an Envelope. Day 446.”
Thanksgiving. Day 445.
Hopefully your Thanksgiving was lovely and peaceful, and you were warmly surrounded by people and creatures who contribute to your contentment. Ours was lovely, and we were surrounded by people and creatures who contribute to our contentment, but not necessarily peaceful, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.Continue reading “Thanksgiving. Day 445.”
Reset. Day 444.
I’ve never been one to shop the day after Thanksgiving. It makes no sense to me quite honestly. Instead, I use the day to refresh and reset and ready for the rest of the holiday season, and that’s what I’ll be doing today.
The Warren Snack. Day 443.
Happy Thanksgiving. An oldie of mine:
His fluorescent orange hat was menacing against the warm yellows and browns that autumn offered the eye as he hunted for his Thanksgiving feast. Rules never mattered to Warren, and he just loved baby turkey meat. His shotgun rested heavily on his fat-cushioned shoulder as he waited for a chance to shoot it. The tall man walked carefully and tried not to create a cacophony of cracking with the crispy twigs, Mother Nature’s warning. Off to Warren’s side, Tom sang a ballad to his ladies, and produced a feathered rainbow of tans and browns, grabbing Warren’s attention. Using only the balls of his feet, he turned his boots like the Black Swan. They made a little crunch on the tiny pebbles as he progressed towards the flock. His yellowed eyes saw them in the sunny field, dust bathing in the sand and familiarity. He maneuvered his lazy body their way, catching drool on the corner of his ashy lips. He must have stepped on a dry stick that blew his cover because the bony birds sped to the woods and over the shallow brook. They mimicked mannequins and stayed the color of the forest, then spread amongst the downed trees and dancing orange tape. Warren jumped over the brook and his size fourteen boot caught on a willow root, disrupting its drink. He landed hard on his right foot and knew instantly it was broken. He heard his gun crack as it fell from his reach, and watched the filtered water carry it close to its sand. Instantly, the feathered figurines began making their way towards him, smirking and slowly tilting their heads like tiny velociraptors. Back and forth. Back and forth. They were accompanied by friends who brought friends. Their lemon-sized heads swayed to the left. Then to the right, in perfect syncopation with The Blues on a cloudy Monday. The downy babies jumped on him first as he shooed them away with his meaty hand. They plucked at his orange vest with their sharp beaks, removing the down. The wild poultry snickered, and more friends came along. A female came from behind and chomped on his ear, rolling her beady eyes and shaking her head until half of it was in her mouth. She tilted back and quaked until it slid down to nourish her, then reapplied her red lipstick. Another Tom showed up with his girlfriend and the Ocean Spray cranberry sauce. They drank white zinfandel and choked down green bean casserole with extra dry onions while they continued to nibble on him. They made their way through his too-tight LL Bean vest and portly white belly, seeking out his intestines to make a nice sage gravy.
Cranberry Sauce with Lime. Day 442.
“Oh no! I don’t have any orange. I need the zest to make the cranberry sauce and I do not want to go to the store again,” I said aloud. The room cleared.Continue reading “Cranberry Sauce with Lime. Day 442.”
Dog Ears. Day 441.
When you’re about to finish reading your book for the day, do you use a bookmark or do you turn down a small triangle at of the top of the page? (Yes, some of us still read books.)Continue reading “Dog Ears. Day 441.”