Mom-1, Girl-0 8)

Girl and I have the ongoing battle of the radio in my car. I prefer listening to NPR in the mornings and Girl prefers “the ATL’s number one source for hip-hop.” I can deal with hip-hop, but not first thing in the morning. shudder

I turn onto the street that runs by her school and she tunes into “We was out clubbin’”. In a moment of brilliance, I start my interpretive hip-hop dance behind the wheel of the car.

“Mom! Stop!! What are you doing?”

“I’m gettin’ my groove on.”

We’re fast approaching the left turn into her school, where cars, with her friends in them, are waiting in line to turn.

“Mom! This is my school!”

“Can’t help it, baby! I’m feelin’ the hip-hop and I just gotta move.”

Just like magic…no more hip-hop.:p

A minute or so later I pull up to the curb to drop her off, “You want me to dance one more time before you go? I can turn on some hip-hop.”

She grins. “NO!”

Rolled out of bed this morning to go for a jog. It was still dark at 6:45 but I knew it’d be light enough soon. So, I start down the big hill and I happened to glance up and the stars were absolutely breathtaking. They were spectacular against the still-dark inky sky. Wthin three minutes they’d already faded as dawn crept in.

Part of my delight stemmed from the unexpected factor — I wasn’t looking for stars or anything in particular, I just happened to look up. I’ll carry the beauty of that starry sky with me all day.

Here’s hoping a bit of serendipity happens your way today.(g)

I think I haven’t done such a stellar job of teaching Girl the fine art of cleaning (please, those of you who know me well and know the general state of my house can keep your wise-ass comments to yourself).

I’m in the laundry room folding underwear or towels or something clean that just finished up in the dryer and Girl pops her head in the door.

“Mom, I cleaned the bathroom, come look.” (Anything clean in this house is a remarkable state and as such should be admired while it’s in that state.)

I walk over to the half-bath that’s downstairs with the t.v. room and the laundry room. She’s tidied up and the sink and toilet top are clean but something doesn’t smell quite right.

“Looks good, baby, but what…um, exactly did you clean it with?”

“This.”

She holds up a can of Behold Furniture Polish.

I’ve spent the last two weekends getting my yard under control. We are talking seriously overgrown. Call me the pruning queen. I have cut shrubs down to mere sticks. I have loped, sawed, and hauled debris til my arms ached.

The DH eyed the stumps where laurels used to be in front of the porch. “Do you think those will even come back?”

“I think so. I don’t even care if they don’t. It looks better this way.”

While I was working in the yard, I had an epiphany. I’ve always resisted pruning for two reasons. I prefer the slightly wild, unkempt to the right-dress-right manicured look and I was always intimidated by pruning — what if it was the wrong time of year, what if I didn’t do it right? I’ve gotten over myself. I still prefer the slightly wild, unkempt garden, but one has to draw the line between wild/unkempt and chaos. And as for doing it wrong — what the hell? What’s the worse that can happen?

So, here’s my big epiphany. It takes structure to allow something organic to flourish whether it’s the creative endeavor of writing or the matter of gardening. (i)

Structure used to be to me what the silver cross was to the vampire. I considered it the antithesis of creativity. But I’ve realized structure actually nourishes creativity by providing a framework, whether it’s the structure of writing on a schedule or the structure within the book/scene that saves it from being nothing more than chaos on the page. Editing/revision are the pruning that lend shape and make the work stronger and ultimately healthier.

Yesterday I saw the heart of a true hero. He didn’t thwart a robbery or pull anyone from a flaming car, instead he buried his two-month old daughter.

Two weeks after he buried his father under sudden, tragic cicumstances his wife gave birth to their third child — a beautiful, perfect little sister for their two sons at home, except Khylee was born with seizures and the inability to breathe on her own. For two months teams of doctors and nurses studied and consorted with other top physicians around the country. In the meantime, this young father who is self-employed, got up and went to work every day and at the end of his day he drove across the city to the children’s hospital to see his daughter. On Friday, Khylee died in her father’s arms with her mother by his side.

Yesterday after the preachers and other family members had spoken this young man of twenty-four stood and said the final words at his daughter’s funeral. With grace and dignity he stood and told us that he was blessed. He said he’d never loved anyone the way he’d loved his daughter, but he would see her again one day and for now he was blessed with two beautiful sons, a beautiful wife, and family and friends. I sat amazed and touched at the heart and depth of a man who could recount his blessings in the midst of such sorrow.

It was the heart of a true hero.

It’s here! Fall has finally arrived. On the drive to school this morning leaves fluttered down and danced across the road. That’s always my first sign.(y)

It makes me want to bake an apple crisp and pumpkin bread and settle on the upstairs porch with a good book and a warm throw.(c)

Instead I suppose I’d better content myself with sniffing a cinnamon stick and parking my butt at the computer since this book, yet once again, isn’t writing itself — damn, I hate when that happens.:[

Have a fabulous week-end and I hope wherever you are you’re enjoying a great fall day!

This is my cow Patty. She was a birthday present to myelf a few years ago. I spotted her in a life-size fiberglass herd at my local feedstore, came home and had the ensuing discussion with my DH.

“I know what I want for my birthday.”

“Okay. What?”

“There were these fiberglass cows at the feedstore — ”

“You want a cow? A cow?”

“It’s not a real cow. It just looks like a real cow and it’s the same size as a real cow.”

“But…I didn’t know you liked cows.”

“I’m not crazy about real cows — well, as long as they’re at a distance but I don’t want to touch them or anything, but I love those Cows on Parade and if I had my own cow, I could artistically interpret her.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Perfectly fine. But I want that cow.”

The DH had her trailered over for me.

Poor Patty. I have yet to artistically interpret her.;( Well, except for the eyes (red with purple swirls), and these days Patty’s a mad cow.:p Regardless, she’s like a member of the family. I suppose I take her for granted until a new kid comes over to play with Girl and the kid always stops short and says, “Why’s there a cow in your back yard?” Girl just looks at them and says, “Oh, that’s my mom’s.”

My mind is a mighty sieve these days. Yesterday I thought of something that was amusing and I thought, Oh, I’ll blog that tomorrow. Maybe I should jot myself a note. Nah. I’ll remember.

Not. Gone. Vamoose. Flushed down the mind-drain. Can’t recall even a smidgen of it.

So, the bottom line is I forgot what I was going to tell you. Except it was really funny….