You have walked into my Diary. Welcome! Hopefully, my musings will touch you. Check out my novel "The One That Got Away" on amazon http://tinyurl.com/ljcj8xh

Archive for September, 2011

My Sweet Spot

Dear Diary,

I paused in mid-step. I carefully set my extended foot onto the pavement. The stray gravel crunched softly under my worn sneaker. I noticed that my shoelace had become untied. I would deal with that later, not now. I stilled myself and bent cautiously to peer more closely. A lone blue jay called and a puff of wind startled my long wispy hair. I watched intently, trying to sense when to make my move. He did not seem to be aware of me, though his eyes swiveled suspiciously surveying his surroundings. Maybe he was pretending not to notice me. That would be rather tricky of him. I did not expect him to play dead. I had never heard of or seen one play dead before. I watched his pale pouch-like chin breathe rhythmically. They could be such noisy creatures, but I had yet to actually observe one croaking. Perhaps I caused them to be shy. I imagined the feel of his textured, pliable skin in my hand. I prepared myself to spring. Now! I darted forward and swiftly enclosed the chubby toad in my grip. As I straightened to a standing position, I was mindful to point his tail end downward and away from my body before he defecated. I had learned this procedure the hard way. I didn’t know if they pooped when caught because they were scared or if they thought it would thwart their enemy. But I wasn’t really his enemy. He halfheartedly tried to flail his legs and wriggle free once, but quickly seemed to realize that this action was futile. I held him for a minute or two and gazed into his bulgy eyes while his legs dangled helplessly in my grasp. He stared back at me blankly, breathing rapidly. I set him down in the scrubby grass and watched him flee as fast as a toad is able. He seemed a bit far from home. I hoped he made it back to the creek before he dried up.

I brushed my hands on my jeans and ventured into the world that was the vacant lot next to the Wasserman’s house. I batted at the tall spiny grass as I waded deeper. I picked a spot that was laced with a multitude of honeysuckles and sat on the dry ground. The grass almost reached the top of my head and swayed lightly in the breeze. I closed my eyes and let the sun and the solitude sink into my being before I went about the  business of sucking the tiny fragments of sweetness from the honeysuckle petals. I then occupied myself by popping open fuchsia flowers and chasing grasshoppers. I caught and released five of them before moving onto my planned project. I collected various stones and set them in a pile. I settled myself back into the dusty dirt and pulled out a canister of Liquid Gold furniture polish from my bag. I hoped that my mom did not notice that it was gone. I planned to safely return it to its’ proper place under the kitchen sink. I began my task. I polished the stones, marveled at passing butterflies and sang off-key until it was time to be home. As I walked out of my sanctuary, I thought of the toad I had met today. I vowed to check on his whereabouts at the stream tomorrow. Surely I would be able to recognize him. Perhaps I would also bring a jar to collect some polliwogs to bring home as well. I had to be more careful this time, however. The last time I brought polliwogs home they had morphed into very tiny toads and jumped out of the jar. My mother was not happy to find miniature toad carcasses in random spots in our house. Yes, next time I would need a lid.

Category:

Uncategorized

Inspirations

Today I am Guest Blogging over at Ashley Nixon’s place about what inspires me. Come on over and take a peek at my post and some of Ashley’s enchanted writings. Thank you!  http://ashley-nixon.blogspot.com/2011/09/guest-blog-kellianne-sweeney.html

Category:

Uncategorized

The Demise of My Eyes

 

Dear Diary,

I have always been proud of my stellar eyesight. My hazel orbs rendered me perfect vision up until about three years ago. At that juncture I was in quite a state of consternation to realize that I had begun squinting whilst reading. These eye gymnastics caused reading to become annoying. I could not allow reading to become annoying, so I reluctantly plodded over to the nearest  eyesight superstore to have my eyes checked out. Indeed, I did require reading glasses.  I dutifully selected a pair of red rimmed rectangular glasses and incorporated this tool into my existence. This solution was successful until recently. To my increasing displeasure I found that squinting was now required even as I wore my glasses. Additionally, distance vision was also becoming a challenge. I went back to the eyesight superstore. At the conclusion of this eye exam I was horrified to hear the doctor utter the “B” word. Bifocals. What? And wear them all of the time? The pouty child within me was throwing her small body in an unprecedented tantrum, complete with staccato foot stomping. The doctor explained my options:

1- I could use two different pairs of glasses. One pair for reading and one pair for looking at far away things. I could play the Switcheroo Glasses game all day long to my endless enjoyment.

2- I could wear bifocal glasses. When reading, I would have to look down through the bottom part of the glasses. When I wanted to look at other things I would have to aim my vision upwards. I was kind of wondering if I’d appear to have a tick trying to look up and down like that. I suppose after time and practice I could work it into a graceful and effortless move. However, there was that whole thing about having to have glasses perched on my nose all day long. I am sure many of you do this and I am proud of you and give you many kudos for this. My biggest problem with it is that I have made it thus far in my life without having to lug glasses around on my face constantly. Surely, they would get in my way at times? Maybe not.  Anyway, as the doctor was explaining this option, my inner pouty child was screaming in my ear that there must be another way, so I politely asked about the third option.

3- Contacts. The doctor assured me that bifocal contacts were a viable option. It sounded kind of wild to me that your eye can figure out which way to look through, but I decided not to pester the man with these sort of questions. He suggested that I schedule a future appointment to try the insertion process. He said to allow three hours because some people have trouble doing this on their own. Three hours? I was flabbergasted. Could it really take this long? How long would one have to allow to get ready for work if  it took so much time to insert contacts? The scenarios rolled through my head as I laughed shortly and calmly scheduled my date for the Contact Lens Wars.

When I returned the next day ready to battle this unusual foe, I was determined that I would be victorious in a mere ten minutes. I actually did perform rather well within the walls of the tiny Contact Lens War Room. I do believe that I would have completed my mission within my desired time limit had my teenage daughter not been repeatedly calling my cell phone during the process. Didn’t she know that I was engaged in time sensitive warfare? The pressure was on. I did not buckle. I persevered and completed my task in fifteen minutes.

It seems weird to me that it was so much easier and quicker the first time I put my contacts in. Scenes in my bathroom trying to recreate this action were comical. How many places do you think my contacts could end up besides my eyeball? The most common place was my finger. The blasted thing would not get off of my finger! It did not want to make the jump to my eye. It would cling to my finger in a wet, desperate embrace. The second most favorite spot for my contact to be was in the sink. Every time it would leap into the sink it would cause me a momentary stab of panic due to visions of it continuing its path down the drain. Occasionally it would make a dash onto the marble counter top and hide there, blending in skillfully within the  randomly patterned,abstract design. Once, it lodged itself in my hair. Once, it fled inside my shirt. To top it all off, my four year old daughter loves to watch all of this. She will climb up and sit on the counter next to the sink and watch intently. She’s actually the perfect cheerleader. She is always ready with a rousing: “Good job, Mommy,” when a contact is successfully wrestled into place. She shares in my woe when a contact goes awry and offers condolences and words of encouragement. Sometimes her seven year old brother appears on the scene as well. This, however, creates bedlam. He is usually touting his nerf gun and targets his unsuspecting prey while they are otherwise engaged. My cheerleader will then vault from her perch and a merry chase will ensue in my bathroom. This will not do.I require quiet and peace to be able to concentrate on my difficult task. I am then forced to morph into ‘Mean Mommy’. I contribute loud, threatening words and dramatic hand gestures to the chaotic mix.

Happily, I am getting better at inserting my contacts, but I admit that there are some days that I am not willing to play this game.On those days, I contentedly pad around my house wearing a pair of magnifying lens type glasses that I bought at Walgreens for ten bucks. It’s all good.

Category:

Uncategorized

Tagged with:

Tiny, Glittering, Stones

Dear Diary,

I was not intending to write about 9/11. I was going to leave that to so many other eloquent writers and to those who had grave and triumphant stories about that day to share. What more could I add to so many heart wrenching tributes? I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to watch any of the tenth year documentaries on the subject. I have a tendency to want to avoid things that I know will make me sad. But I did watch. And it made me cry again to remember so many people’s pain and loss. It also made me remember something that I learned about myself that day.

In September 2001, I lived in in a Virginia suburb of the Washington D.C. area. I was working as the Assistant Director of a Preschool/Daycare. Our school was directly across the street from the FAA (Federal Aviation Administration) building. I was at an appointment when the news about the twin towers hit. Upon hearing of this tragedy and the confusion surrounding it, I rushed back to the school. By the time I entered the parking lot there were snipers stationed on the roof of the FAA building. This seemed bizarre and disconcerting to say the least. My school was in lock-down mode by the time I arrived. All of the children and teachers were moved into the basement classrooms, doors and windows locked, blinds closed. I must say that the teachers did an excellent job of keeping the children and themselves calm and occupied throughout that tense day. The Director and I stayed upstairs to keep apprised of further instructions from our main office, manning the phones and assisting frantic parents who came to pick up their children. As the day unfolded we learned of the attack on the Pentagon, which was not too far away, the heroic crash of flight 93 and the fears of further attacks. This is when I realized that I would do it. I would put myself in harm’s way for the safety of the children in my charge if I had to. I was determined to be ready if the situation presented itself. I would not have known this about myself had I not been put in that position. I did not end up having to test my resolve in this matter, but I’m glad that I know this about myself. If I was ever in a similar situation (God forbid) I know that my brain would loop back to that day and grab that same resolve. Even as I sit here writing about it I can feel the determination welling inside.

My part in the tragic play of 911 is tiny and insignificant. So many people had tremendous and harrowing roles in this unfortunate Act. However, I do believe that anyone who shed tears for the losses or tried to make things even a little bit better are all glittering stones in the amazing mosaic of the Human Spirit. One shiny pebble of kindness or care is beautiful, but put all together it is a piece of artwork that is stunning to behold. It is always startling to remember that tragedy and adversity bring out our shining best. We will not forget.

Category:

Uncategorized

Technodorkism

Dear Diary,

I am a Technodork. This is not a taunt that was assigned to me by Technogenius Bullies. This is a self inflicted designation that I have applied to my own self. It is a mildly endearing term to indicate that technology is rather terrifying to me. This does not apply to all things technological, however. I am all for having my food swiftly zapped hot in the microwave. I absolutely adore my GPS (Where would I be without that cute little device? Truth is, I wouldn’t know.) And those machines that they plug into your car to tell you what is ailing it? I find that amazing and cool. My technodorkism is mostly applied to computer oriented activities and has been recently extended to my phone because I have now made the leap to a Smart Phone. I am leery and suspicious of them because I am sure they must be smarter than me. I don’t mind people that are smarter than me because  I am always up for hearing more wisdom, but objects that act like they are smarter than me are downright annoying and cannot be trusted. Don’t get me wrong, I am no dummy, but one of my favorite phrases associated with computers used to be: “My talents lie elsewhere.” It used to work out okay to avoid computers (Yes, I’m that old), but one can only hide one’s head in the sand for so long. Computer technology looms ever larger. It would be different concerning a skill like, let’s say, whistling. This is something that I am not able to do, but I could probably slide through the rest of my life without this ability. The only instances I have wished that I had taken the time to cultivate this loud lip pursing technique have been when my kids were frolicking out in the waves at the beach oblivious to the fact that they were drifting deeper and further away from their increasingly frantic mother. It would be desirable to be able to throw out a nice loud whistle to gain their distracted attention instead of yelling into the voice swallowing waves and then have to hoof it in after them, wincing each time my unaccustomed skin would get slapped with heightening sea water. I don’t know about you, but I like to tippy-toe into the ocean gradually to acclimate to temperature and dampness rather than march swiftly in.

Anyway, back to technology looming…

I don’t have to tell you how important it is these days to have a caring and dynamic relationship with your computer (and your Smart phone). Each step that I have taken in this rocky relationship with my computer would include feet dragging and whining. But I would do it. I have taken the steps each time I was faced with inability to accomplish a goal unless I did. My technodorkiness was no longer cute, it became a mental obstacle. And mental obstacles are to be overcome. You can walk around them sometimes, but dammit, if you do, they will most likely pop up again later on down the road. You may not be able to just shove it out of your way in The Hulk like manner. Most of the time you will have to chip at it until it is small enough that it no longer blocks your Path of Greatness. Determination and repeated attempts are what chips it away. It is frustrating, but the goal must be firmly kept in mind.  My technodorkiness was causing me to hesitate to start a blog. I love writing. I have written stories, poems and journals since I was a child. But blogging? That sounded a bit too techno to me. I’d have to be able to figure out all of that posting and linking and tag clouds and widgets and all of that sort of stuff. But that was a mental obstacle. Something to be overcome. Should I not share my writing because I am afraid that I will get frustrated and might fail at my first attempts to figure it out? No. In order to be taken seriously as a writer, one must blog. So I will blog.

Yes, failure is real. It happens to everyone. However, the greatest success is not to let failure win. The greatest success is to get back off your butt and try again. Failure is not the end, it just shows you that adjustment is required. I have been a teacher for many years. If I have a student who doesn’t understand how to add the first way I teach it, do I give up? Do I say: “Oh well, I guess Johnny doesn’t get it and he just won’t ever understand how to add.”? No way!  I try a different technique for teaching Johnny how to add. Why? It is because adding is a crucial skill that he will need in his life. I cannot stand by and let his mental obstacle keep him from this important goal. Treat yourself in this way. Perhaps you need to approach your mental obstacle from a different angle, or find some additional information, or ask someone who knows more about it. The bottom line is a mental obstacle that is in the way of an important goal needs to GO.  As Rudyard Kipling says: “Of all the liars in the world, sometimes the worst are your own fears.”

Now, if someone could teach me how to whistle, I’d be much obliged.

Category:

Uncategorized