750 words. It's 1 o'clock somwhere.

I'm currently reading a book titled A Memoir Project by Marion Roach Smith.  It talks about how to start writing for intent and to not do writing exercises as most books would tell you. I love her advice and there were so many things that I wanted to remember that I needed to get my pen out and highlight a bunch of stuff. Some of the advice that stuck out to me the most would have to be: a time. I usually think to myself - you can not just sit down and write at a certain time every single day. At the same time however, this is a job I want to have, so I do need to get into the habit of writing as a job. Yes it is something I enjoy but why not get paid for it as well? Anyway she says you DO need to sit down at  a DESK preferably at the same time every day and start writing. 2 things about this... 1. I do not write the same time every single day and 2. I do not have a desk of my own to write at. I do most of my writing where ever I am (i.e. behind a bar, in bed, on the bus, on the balcony etc.)

So what does this have to do with 750 words? Well I found out about this website called 750words.com. It encourages you to write 750 words a day. Now sure you can sign up and then not write every single day like you vow to yourself to do (sounds like I'm talking for experience huh?) So they have this 'challenge' which I signed up to do in November. I have to write 750 words a day for 30 days or my name goes up on a wall of shame. Oh the shame. If I do write every day for 30 days I get a reward, one that I have chosen for myself  which is a desk from the Brown Elephant (which is a second hand store here in Chicago).

I am so excited for my desk! I mean yeah I still have 30 days ahead of me that I need to write (gulp) but for a desk, I'll do it! Plus that is a great start to my books! Why  am I so excited for a desk? Well currently our desk is in our living room where everyone gathers. It is a little distracting with animals, humans, and TV to come up with creativity on spot. Plus Stephen needs the desk/computer 90% of time for 'school work'. and his books are all over it ( I know I sound ridiculous right now) but I do want my own space.

So what happens at 1 o'clock? One is the time that I have chosen to sit and write every day. I plan on writing for an hour. It can be for my book, for my blog, or it can even be a letter/email to a friend or family member. I just want to write for an hour with no interruptions. I think it will be interesting. I will keep you updated on how my writing is going over at 750words.com and if I find it good enough I will be happy to share it with you.

One last note, Marion made a statement about first drafts in her book that made me think. She calls first drafts 'Vomit Drafts' mainly because they are messy and everything in you comes out. Ew, what a way to think of it. But it totally makes sense and unfortunately for time purposes my Grandma's book probably should have been titled 'Short Vomit Stories for Grandma' as most of the stories that were in her book were still first or second drafts. Oh well, she loved it, it was good experience so I'll chalk it up to a beginners mistake.

Anyway, I still have 39 minutes left in my first session of writing at 1 o'clock so I think I will go work on a book:)

Writer's Block 1.25

I titled this 'Writer's Block 1.25' b/c 1.) I know I already have a post titled that 2.) I have a strong feeling that this will not be the last 'writer's block' post I will ever post.

So yeah, I gave my Grandma the book and she loved it -misspelled words and all:) I am so glad I did for so many different reasons. The only downfall is that ever since I gave her, her book I really haven't wrote that much. Especially on here. Obv. (which is abbreviated for obviously for all of you over 40 or not with it) I can say that I have been writing, like literally writing. I find that when I take a pen and place it to a piece of paper my mind opens up. The only thing that opens up on my computer when I try to write? New tabs leading to facebook, pinterest , and other bloggers (aka people that actually have something interesting to say and are fun to follow)

I don't know what it is about literally writing but it works for me although I have realized that this means it will take me oh, 45 years longer than I intended to write a book but hey there isn't an age limit on becoming an author right? I just realized I'm only 3 paragraphs into this post and all I see is black, white and red. I might need to start giving myself weekly spelling test b/c damn I am bad.  Ok back to the topic. I also want to say that I am writing more on my other blog which you can find here, seriously click this! Mainly because I wanted to keep this blog for writing only. I guess subconsciously though I had already given up on this blog and decided it was time to start a new one. Again I can't finish anythin...see!

But seriously, I do want to continue with this blog and I WILL (i will i will i will!!!) I just can't make myself write when the ideas aren't coming to me. Well what I should say is the ideas don't come to me when I'm at the computer. I have written in my notebooks but now it's just the task of getting it from the paper to the computer. And honestly I have soooooooooo much TV to watch on Netflix that I don't know where I will find the time to copy my work onto this blog ( I need to get a life, I know)

I am working on so many books. I know I should work on one. Focus on one but my brain does NOT work that way. I have so many different ideas, or life experiences that just can't be wrapped up in one book. Plus ADD is a bitch to control without meds (which turn me into a zombie hence why I do not take them) so I honestly can work on a piece for about 20-40 mins before I become distracted with something else.

Plus the 2 books that I'm focusing on well..I don't know what people will think about them. My fav is about my first job and I hesitate writing about it on here b/c well I don't want anyone from that place to read it....yet. The other book...well I know people will say I shouldn't write it but I'm going to. It feels so good to get it on paper and out of my body and mind. I need to write this to release it. Intrigued? Guess you'll just have to buy the book HA!

So that's where I'm at. I wanted to let all (5) of you know that I'm still here, and writing...just not on here. But I will (i will i will i will!). It's a goal of mine for this month. I do not want this blog to feel like the forgotten step child.

Real Simple Essay 2011

**Ok people, I've edited this some and made a few changes. I'm cutting this close as the deadline is Sept 15th so I need as many pair of eyes to see if there are any grammar or spelling errors before I sent this is. I'm sending this in to enter the magazine 'Real Simple's writing contest. They do this every year but with a different question to answer in your essay. The question this year was 'When did you first know the true meaning of love?'  Please let me know - do you think I did a good job at answering?? Thank you for your support and if I win the top prize of $3,000 in cash and trip to NYC, I'll be happy to send you a postcard:) 

Honoring A Parent's Love

The parent-child relationship is a unique bond and so individually special that no words can truly sum them all into one description. Many Americans are faced with the day when they are no longer the child in that relationship but the parent; not only to their own children but to their parents as well. My mom is  in that category.  She is not only a parent to me, her 26 year old daughter, but also a parent to her 85 year old father, while my 87 year old Grandma is her co-parent.

My grandparents have been married for 65 years, have 6 children, 10 grandchildren and 8 great-grandchildren. They are devote Christians, hard workers, and all around 'good people'. If you were to see them walking down the road you probably would not be able to help but smile. He stands at 6'4, has a permanent farmer's tan from days in the field  and she (rounding up) comes in at 4'11, wobbles more than walks due to an old hip surgery.  The most compelling part of them happens to be on the inside however; I would say as two individuals  and as a couple they are the definition of every romantic, friendship, and faith-based card Hallmark has ever written.

They moved from small town Florida some years ago to Northern Indiana to be closer to family, just in case they needed help in the years to come. My mom is number four out of the six kids, and one of the three that live in the same town as my grandparents. She is the one that Grandma came to when she started noticing a difference in Grandpa.  The signs were small and changes barely noticeable; Grandpa was forgetting things.  He didn't remember if he had brushed his teeth, or how to tie his shoes, he could not remember what he had for breakfast or if he even had breakfast.

 My grandma started taking  care of him, for better or worse and in sickness and in health; she not only spoke those words on the day of their wedding but lives them out as well.  She would remind him to brush his teeth and show him how if he could not remember. She would even dress him in the mornings, but it was becoming too overwhelming.  Grandma couldn't button the tops of his old Levi's with her arthritic hands. She wasn't able to help him slide his feet into the cowboy boots that became his signature. She was taking care of a man twice her size, it was exhausting. The jeans had to be replaced with sweatpants; they were easier to put on and take off.  And the boots? Well they sit in a dark closet under a thin coating of dust like an old photograph album would.   My mom could tell it was becoming overwhelming for her mother and decided it was time someone stepped in to help and she was just the child to do it.

The tasks started off small; running my grandma to the grocery store,  the library, or to their little country Mennonite church in the corn field. She would take her out to lunch and give her a break from the stress of life; if not but for a few hours. This was fine to do until one day they came home to find Grandpa  with a bruise and no memory as to how he got it. She called siblings to see if he could go to their house while Grandma was out and also so they would be able to spend time with their dad before it became a wishful thought.  Mom got answers like 'I'll have to check my calendar' or 'I don't have time' and  bluntly 'I'm too busy!'  The answer she got, for the most part, was that she was on her own.

The day I think it set in, that Grandpa was digressing,  for most of the family was when Mom had to go over to their house to bandage his leg. He had skin  missing and was causing himself to bleed because 'The band-aid wouldn't come off' - there was no band-aid.  Mom called her siblings that lived in other states, miles away from the reality to let them know what was happening to their father.  Denial seemed to be the road taken for those not there instead of the road home to help out where help was needed most.

Grandpa has good and bad days, we all do. The bad days are when he has a hard time remembering what year it is, how many children he has or how long he has been married to his bride. The sad part is that he knows he is fading, he will get frustrated with himself and feel like he is a burden more than a member of the family.  The good days, well they are the ones  we cherish. He will look at my grandma and wink , causing her to blush. We'll ask him if that was something he used to do when they were dating. He'll reply 'I am just so lucky to be married to such a pretty lady.' These are the moments that prove even though his memory may be fading, his love for her is not.

Unfortunately  the months are passing and as they do the good days are not happening as often as they used to be. We are starting to see the toll it's taking on an 87 year old frail body to take care of another human being. Grandma is falling or finding herself on the ground and not knowing how she got there ; she is tired and my  mom is worrying more. She and my uncle have visited homes in the area,  searching for that one place they would be confident to know their parents are getting the same love and care they  provide. These visits end in tears of frustration  and added stress. My mother's 'days off' are never  truly off;  if she has free time she is more than likely with my grandparents.  Of course she wishes there were times where she could do what she pleased and not have to worry but as she has told me on many occasions  'When the day comes where I will not have to take care of them will be the day  I wish I could.'

You see Mom isn't just doing this because she has to but because she wants to.  It is her privilege to provide them with the same loving care that they gave to her as she was growing up . I feel that even though her siblings are not helping out as much as they should; she is gaining something they are missing out on- unconditional love. The love that was there to kiss away the 'boo-boos' and give hugs to remind them they are loved.  The love that kept them safe and out of a nursing home for as long as possible. The kind of love that wiped away Grandma's tears as she watched her one and only slip away.  The most powerful kind of love that showed honor, respect, and dedication to the ones that brought her into the world. She will not have to wish for more days or regret the phone calls never made. She will not have a 'would have, could have, should have', moment because she did.

This story, my mom and grandparents  parent-child relationship, is dedicated to those who are out there being the best parents they know how to be, to their parents. This story is to honor those who honor their parents and the lessons  of love they provided them growing up. This is my way to say thank you to those who love unconditionally.

Thank you for taking care of generations past and for teaching generations of the future what love truly  means. 

Why Me?

The past few days I have been working on my latest book (titled Endorphin High My Ass, it's a working title so please feel free to give suggestions) and I have noticed that the same thought keeps creeping into my head; why me? Why would anyone want to buy, let along read what I have to say? I have to be honest, at first I would let the question sink in and the realize I had either no motivation left or such lack of faith in myself that I would come to a block, a writer's block if you will.

I spend so much time throughout my days thinking about characters, different topics or real life events that I could turn into chapters and how I would word them. I get so excited to sit down at the computer or with my notebook and pen that by the time my 'creative juices' are flowing that damn Negative Nancy comes along and ruins the whole thing.

I've decided to shut the bitch up, once and for all.  Why me, you ask Negative Nancy? Well I'll tell you why; I'm special damn it! I may not have the craziest life or coolest experiences but I do have life experiences and I have been gifted with a talent that let's me turn those said experiences into hilarity for others to read! I also am a creative person and can come up with topics that would make to be excellent stories. I think the most important reason why is the fact I am not going to give up on this dream. There is a difference from me and others that dream of becoming a published author; I believe in myself and will continue to do so no matter what people tell me. I do not care if I have to send in my book ideas 100 times or pass on a night of drunken fun with my 'real' friends to spend the evening with my 'imagitive' friends that are in my stories.  I will not give up on my book.

I look at the rows and rows of books in my personal library and I try to imagine each author sitting at their computer/typewriter for the first time, taking a deep breathing and thinking 'Well, here goes nothing!' They had to start somewhere as well, the same place that I do; a blank screen, an idea for a story, a way with words and the belief that it is good enough to become something great. Every book started with one word, that turned into a sentence, which lead to a paragraph and formed pages that in the end came together to create a finished book. When I think about my story idea in that light, nothing seems impossible.  I know there will be writer's blocks in my future, rejection letters filling my mailbox, and the possibility of never being published. I have made my mind up that I was up for those challenges. I enjoy writing so much that no matter the obstacle I will voyage on.

Why me you ask? Well you'll just have to read my writing to find out.

A book about writing a book

**This is my latest and greatest project let's see if I can actually get past chapter 2:) Although I have to admit I worked on my other book this weekend; you know the one about my first job right out of college and how that was such a living hell experience and totally not what I expected - yeah that one. So obviously I'm setting myself up for failure for one of my books b/c honestly who writes two books at the same time. I'll tell you who, a girl with A.D.D and a bad habit of starting too many things she couldn't possibly finish! So here's the introduction to my book about writing a book; trust me it isn't/won't be as boring as it sounds on the contrary it will be wildly entertain as everything else in my life is; seeing as nothing has gone the way I have planned yet. Enjoy...

I want to write a book plain and simple. I have come up with numerous ideas and have even started a few chapters for most of said ideas. The problem is that usually somewhere after chapter 2 I either get bored with the topic or run out of ideas for the future 268 pages that I had planned on in the beginning of the project. And be honest with me, am I the only one that finds humor in writing a book about writing a book? I'm not talking about a 'How to Become a Writer' type book. I'm talking about the book being all about my adventure to becoming a published author.

This may be a good time to tell you that I have not only wrote a book previously but have also published it. It was titled 'Short Stories for Grandma' and was a present for her 87th birthday, contained 10 stories (all mainly first drafts mind you), 64 pages and filled with misspellings upon misspellings. I do say, I am proud of this little book but at the same time I strive for more. I did not go through a publishing agency, I went through lulu.com (which is a great site by the way!) and published the book myself. I want more. I want to feel the anxiety of mailing my book proposal to numerous agencies in hopes of getting a response.I want a rejection letter damn it! I long to bicker back and forth with my editor about extending deadlines because my creativity decided it was time to go on vacation the week before my first draft was due. I want to see the year in writer's eyes; three stages: First Draft, Revisions, and Final Draft (if I'm lucky after I will be able to add another 'season' to the list after being published: Book Tour!)

I honestly do not need my book on the shelves of Barnes and Noble but I would like to see it on Target's!  I feel the fun, witty, and relatiable (seriously how to do you spell this word!?) authors are sold here. I would love to be on some one's 'Favorite Authors' list on Facebook. I daydream not about a life of less stress and more beach time but of reading segments of my book in bookstores. I want to have 15 minutes of Q&A before heading to a fold out table that is in the 'Self-Help'  isle and sign my name with a sharpie until my hand hurts.

Obviously, when I dream, I dream big. I feel as though becoming an author is just as hard as becoming a movie star or pop star. Anyone can be a writer, actress or singer- anyone. You have to 'make it' to become an author, movie star or pop star! Now I'm not saying everyone wants to be an author but I bet you would be surprised at how many 'Bucket Lists' include writing a book.

So what makes me so special? Why would anyone what to read what I have to say? Trust me I ask myself this every single day and sometimes even hourly. I'm relatiable that's why. I think that in  in today's day and age people want to be connected to others, they want to know that the crazy life they're living isn't crazy at all; but normal.  We all have aspirations and dreams and the type of books I want to write will be the ones that give hope. They will say 'Here is a girl that made her dreams come true, if she can do it so can you!'

I do this myself actually, I read debut novels. I learn about the lawyer-turned- authors as I read their bios and start a rough draft in my mind as to what my first bio will say. I read books by women who I want to be BFF's with. Of course I do not go that far to extend my friendship to someone that has 60,000+  'Likes' on Facebook because that would be just plain creepy and not to mention desperate. No, the way I plan to gain their friendship is to become an author that they would read, laugh out loud with and can relate to.

So with that said, here I go! I'm off to start the beginning of my book about writing a book. And if you're in isle J-37 at your local Target well then that only means one thing; I made it!  And you can to..because as I write this I am just a twenty-something girl in Chicago, sitting on her balcony writing in her journal; but as you read this I am now a published author.

Mary Jane

It's time I confronted you. I know your relationship with him started long before mine did but you have to understand, he's my husband. He told me it was over between the two of you when we got married. All throughout our courtship you never once reared your ugly head. Of course looking back it is so obvious, you were on the run; you couldn't go near him due to his line of work. If they found you , they'd take you away and lock you up. I know you well enough now to know you would have gotten out, found a way to be with him again.

You didn't let it stop you that he found someone new, someone else that did a good job at taking his mind off of his problems. Could you just not stand the fact that maybe, just maybe he didn't need you in his life anymore? Oh, I know, I know it isn't your fault - he came running back to you right? Well you made sure it was easy didn't you? Making sure you were around when he would visit his friends, available at all hours of the night just in case he needed to talk.

I knew, I knew when he started seeing you again, correction using you again, that's all it is to him you know - it's not love, you are a quick fix and in reality he knows you're no good, you are someone who will suck his life dry throughout the years. I didn't have a problem with it at first, I knew you would forever be friends. He was straight forward about that. I guess I just did not realize how 'good' of friends you were.

At first I could just smell you on him but after awhile he got good at hiding how often he would visit you. I could tell you were hanging out more and more. More than necessary if you asked me. I told him you were not welcome in my home, of course you both knew how weak I was and soon your new hang out was our basement. I soon regretted allowing you in - the smell of your perfume makes me gag even now. Even after you were gone there would be traces of you throughout the room.

I knew he was going to you to relax, take the edge off. It bothered me that he was relying on you and not getting the help he needed to deal with his issues. Who are you to make his problems 'go away', you didn't go to school for this, what is your training on helping people with PTSD? Couldn't he see you were not helping solve/resolve his problems? All you do is numb the pain for awhile. Soon he started to rely on you to feel 'normal' everyday. We went from seeing you at a friends house from time to time to you always being in our home. You started moving things in even!

I would come home -there you were with him playing video games, helping him with homework, you would even take naps together! I can tell you what you were NOT doing, not helping him with his responsibilities - helping clean, pick up after himself, take care of himself even. To me you had become a bad influence.

Thankfully we decided to move. A fresh start, miles away from you! Little did I know as we were packing our bags you were too. Correction, as I was packing up our house; you , he and his brother though it would be a great time for a road trip to Colorado! He left me to do the work while he spend the week with you.

You both crossed the line.

Chicago started off ok. I knew you had found our new place but then again it probably wasn't hard to find when he was welcoming you in from day one.

We started fighting about you, how much time he was spending with you, how you were taking him away from reality more and more, and don't even get me started on the money issue! How can he defend giving you so much money?! You don't even pay us back! How is it fair that I go away to work for 8 hours all while you are in my home with him telling him to give you more and more!? My question is this, you guys don't even DO anything, how can you cost so much?

Lately I feel at a loss. I've lost my drive to even fight over you because all he does is defend you. It's not worth it to me anymore, you have become more important than our marriage. He's suppose to be on my side, my partner. Yes, I have issues that have caused problems in our marriage that may have even caused him to run to you even more. Do you know what that shows me? He would rather run to you for a fix than work on our problems. He does not see how much you truly bother me. You are ruining our marriage, he has become addicted to you. And to that I say - You win Mary Jane, you have gotten what you wanted, he is all yours.


**People laugh and joke about the 'Above the Influence' commercials and to be honest they are kind of cheesy. I have never smoked pot - she is not the kind of friend I want. I seriously had no issue with her and I, myself, thought the commercials were funny too; until I found out they are true. I do feel if people only smoke once in awhile then no they are not like the commercials, but if they are with Mary Jane every single (pardon me) fucking day then yes they are just like the commercials.



She is an enemy to me. She's his mistress. He lies for her, takes time away from us to be with her, spends our money on her, etc. She is a bitch is what she is and I can't even face her like a real person because she isn't real! At least that is what people will tell you. Well I'm here to tell you how real she is; being a pothead is not glamours. She steals from you, lies to you, makes you think everything will be ok as long as you stick with her. She makes things worse but sadly the ones viewing from the outside are usually the only ones that can see this; the truth.

Open your eyes.

I hate you Mary Jane. I hate you.

Ducktales, I mean tape.

This is 'story' I wrote during high school about an experience I had with ducktape. Don't try it at home, trust me.

I have used duck tape in a very unique way. I am sure there are other women out there that have done this before, too, but I am probably one of the few that would ever admit it. To put it bluntly, I taped my bra to my skin so it wouldn't fall off. Before you think I'm a nut case, hear me out.

It was for a Christmas dance two years ago; the dress I bought would only look nice with a strapless bra. Now if you're a woman you know that strapless bras are a pain in the butt. And I wasn't about to spend my evening pulling it up every five minutes. I don't know how I got the idea but I thought I would try.

The evening came around and my mom had to help with the duct take. Actually all she had to do was walk around me in a circle until I felt like it would hold up.  Before my date and I were about to leave we had to do the traditional 'picture in front of the tree,' and as we were doing that my mom noticed that my dress came to a point right in the middle of my dress! We went upstairs to see what was the problem and what had happened was the tpe had bunched up and had come to a point. We ended up having to take it off (which by the way is a very painful process) and reapply new.

To make a long story short, I had a wonderful time at the dance. To quote the MasterCard commercials 'Drress: $150 Dinner:$40 Tickets: $20 Coming to the realization that you have duck tape wrapped around you to hold up your bra: Priceless'

And to the women out there that are actually thinking about doing this, I wouldn't if I were you. My skin was sticky for a whole week becauseof the tape. And to everyone else who thinks I'm crazy, maybe you're right, but there's a first for everything, right?

And if you were wondering, yes I am a blonde.

Writer's Block

E stared at the blank screen. The screen stared back as if to say 'Hey don't look at me. I'm just the canvas not the paint.' She signed heavily; why was it that when she had time to write nothing came to her? And yet when she stepped foot into the office ideas would pour into her mind so quickly she barely had time to jot them down. They would keep her up when it was time for bed and then wake her up around 3 am again to say hi. Why had she decided that writing was what she wanted to do when she didn't think was that good anyway?

E started writing probably soon after she learned to read and spell; then again her spelling has never been perfected but supposedly most writers are horrible at spelling. Thank goodness for spell check on the computer. She received her first diary (with a lock and key and everything!)  when she was seven. Thus started her writing about her favorite topic; herself. She would write about her friends, cat and boys she had crushes on (yes at seven, yikes!) Of course these were not stories but this was a small step to a future of writing and very entertaining to go back and reread the misspellings, narcissistic comments, and the naivety of the world.

Writing was not something E thought about growing up but she did love to read. The books she read would open up a whole new world to her and broaden her imagination. She continued her diaries throughout high school and still on the same topic; herself.

It wasn't until 10th grade writing class that it was brought to her attention that she had a talent for writing. Mrs. Gum-Hales, her teacher, put pictures of various things up on the blackboard and told the class to pick one, create a story describing what was going on and then share it with the class.
E choose a picture of an elderly black man sitting on his bed with his coat and hat in hand. He had his suitcase behind him filled with clothing and what appeared to be a wedding picture. She started to story with the death of his wife and how lonely he was.  In the picture he was waiting for his children to come and take him to his new home. He was sitting there going through the memories of the house that he shared with his wife for the past 45 years. The story went into detail about his feelings and memories but was vague on the names and ages of the characters and yet it was a very emotional story.

Mrs Gum-Hales asked who would like to go first and E jumped at the chance; when she was finished the room was silent until Mrs. Gum-Hales said 'Wow. Now who would like to follow that up?' She asked E to stay after class and proceeded to tell her that she had a talent for creative writing. She wondered if E had thought about joining the school newspaper and even suggested it to her. She joined the following trimester.

E enjoyed writing for the high school paper but seemed be less enthusiastic about writing articles that did not ask for her opinion. She came to the conclusion that newspaper writing wasn't what she was into but thankful for the opportunity to write more and in a different way than she was used to. The same year her town's local newspaper asked for stories of unique ways people had used duck take. E wrote of the Christmas Dance where she had actually duck taped her strapless bra to make sure it stayed in play (word of advice, just get a new bra next time, ouch!). Her story not only made it in the paper but was on the first page of that section.

She did enjoy writing but changed directions with her creativity; scrap booking. She began telling her stories through pictures instead of words. She continued this throughout high school and into her early college years.
As she entered college the new thing to do was to 'blog' or an online diary. She kept up with this for quite a while but soon it turned into a writing war with an ex-boyfriend's new girlfriend. E was no longer writing for the greater good.

As she great and finally matured (no more blog wars!) she turned her attention on being creative in writing cards to her boyfriend who was overseas. Again these were not stories but still enlisted her creativity to work hard at making each card/letter special and not all sound the same. The one thing that remained true through her life was her love for reading. She had fell in love with authors like Jodi Poicult, Nicholas Sparks and Jane Green. By chance while she was at a second hand bookstore she spotted a book by Jen Lancaster. She devoured it and the first thought that came to mind was 'I want to write like that!' she began hunting books that were debut novels and to see how other writers were doing it. She then started writing books that talked about writing. They all pretty much said the same thing 'To be a writer, you must write'. Well, she thought, it can't be that hard.

E created a blog called 'Author's Note' and debated as to what her first book should be about. She realized that through her life her best stories were about what she knew best; herself. Who would want to read about me though? Mainstream books that were all the rage during this time were memoirs; perfect! She would write about her first job after graduating college and what a nightmare that had turned out to be. She started it but found herself avoiding it. Writer's needed a deadline and yet at the time she wasn't a 'real writer' yet so how could she give herself a deadline? Of course she could just pick a date and say that was her deadline but realistically that date would come and go without another word put on page. She needed a date that was important, one that would keep her writing and yet not be dreaded.

August 10th became her deadline, her grandma's birthday. E's grandma was a driving force as to why she wanted to write. Her grandma seemed to genuinely enjoy her stories which answered her question as to who would want to read her stories; then again it was her grandma so she may have been a little biased. This deadline was kept a secret from her grandma however, she wanted it to be a surprise. She found a website where she could self publish her book; yes a real book! It was ok with her that it may never hit the shelves of Barnes and Noble this a book that would mean not only much to her but to others in her life as well. This was a perfect way to practice writing, learn, and get into the habit of doing it more than once or twice a week.

So Grandma, there you have it. You are currently holding (and reading) my 'Writer's Block'. The funny thing is I am not a fan of short stories and yet my first book is full of them! I decided to write this book in April, so that did not give me much time to write. Of course I went back to what I knew best; myself. Most of the stories are true, some have had elements added or subtracted and even twisted for a more entertaining value. Pardon the typo's, spelling and grammar errors; my editor (Mom) and I worked hard at finding them all but I know there will probably be a few still in here. You are also getting, mostly, first drafts. There are a few stories in here that I worked on more than once but I have found I do not like editing my stories. They are my 'babies' and I find them perfect as they are. I totally understand why writing a book can take up to six months because I know other authors do not enjoy editing their books.

I hope you enjoy it and it should go without saying but this book is dedicated to you. Thank you for cheering me on, not only in my writing but life in general. Oh, and Happy Birthday!

Story of my life

Last night I tried to leave
cried so much I could not believe
she was the same girl I fell in love
with long ago
She went in the back to get high
I sat down on my couch and cried
yellin' "Oh mama, please help me!
Won't you hold my hand?"

- 'Let Her Cry' Hootie and the Blowfish

Thirty Years in Questions

Thirty years has come and gone, three times over to be exact. So much has happened over 90 years; wars are fought and won, fads come and go, ball games are played, movies are made, and most importantly babies are born. We start our story in the 'Roaring Twenties' and meet a baby who will create a life who in turn will create another; me. This story is not only mine but my mother's and grandmother's as well.

The 20's are mainly known for 'the Crash' but for the Steider family the 20's brought little baby Katherine; the last of their eleven children. Wait, eleven children? ELEVEN CHILDREN!? Obviously my great-grandfather Henry, thought my great-grandmother Katherine, was the cat's meow. No, they were not big city dwellers so she may not have been a flapper but she caught his attention. They may not have been effected by the prohibition, but then again maybe they were. They welcomed their baby girl while Calvin Coolidge was president. Harry Houdini was making magic happen. Hollywood decided it was time to honor the actors for their work and thus started 'the Oscars' in 1927. The world seemed to be picking up steam after WW1; they didn't know what was coming. The era ended on a bad note. The New York Stock Exchange crashed in Oct 1929, Katherine was only 5 years old. America started a new era, with little to no hope and a 'Great Depression'

I have found when asking about the Depression many of the generation that lived during it do not really want to talk about it. The title sums it up;it was depressing. I wonder if Roosevelt's  fireside chats brought comfort to families that hadn't ate in days, or families that wondered if they would have to ship their children off to other relatives because they could not afford to support them. Did my great-grandparents have this problem? Did they have the time to pick up John Steinbeck's new book titled 'The Grapes of Wrath' or were they too busy living it out? Did their younger children learn to read with the popular 'Dick and Jane' books that came out in 1931? Maybe Katherine, did indeed, see. spot. run.

Unemployment was up to 25%, how many of my family members were affected by this? I imagine many forming the lines at shelters whistling the tune to 'Brother can you spare a dime' and wondering if that question would ever be answered with 'Yes'. I hope that even in a time of despair the small things may have brightened days. Zipper's became popular during the thirties, I daydream about ten year old Katherine zipping up a dress to go play in and think 'Wow that was so much faster than buttoning 20 buttons.' Was she as impressed with them as I would have been? A year later money was brought into the home again! Monopoly gave new hope to families even if it was only during the quiet evening after a hard day in the field, or on the streets in search of work. Had word traveled from the World's Fair about the box that played pictures and brought the stories from the radio to life?

It would seem to me that growing up in such a dark time would be hard, especially when WW2 broke out. I want to know if all hope was lost or did the light at the end of the tunnel still shine bright enough to encourage those at the end of their rope to not give up?

I know that even with the horror's of war still going on in the world the forties brought new hope for a teen aged Katherine; a job that would lead to the man she would marry! She started working for Maude and George Shetler in 1940 as a live-in housekeeper for $3 a week. Boy, did she earn her keep! She had to deal with their punk kid Merle who was 2 years younger than her all the while trying to keep house and make sure an older Shetler boy might take notice of her. She was with them for only two weeks. Since the gas rationing was still going on their youth group at church would have to meet at people's houses. She was warming herself by the potbelly stove with Merle (yeah she might have thought of him to be punk kid but he was starting to grow on her) asked her for a date. She said yes; seeing as the older Shetler boy she had her eye on hadn't asked once during the 3 years she was there.

The movies have it wrong when they show young couples driving around town on first dates during the 1940's. There was a war going on which mean there was gas rationing. Young couple's were not able to cruise around town without a destination in mind or alone for that matter. If they were going somewhere they would take as many people as possible that would want to go! Katherine and Merle decided to go for ice cream  at Isley's Ice Cream Shop one Sunday night after church and instead of bringing flowers and chocolates Merle brought two younger brothers. 



I have to say I am thankful my grandpa did not go off to war; even though my grandma was a 'working woman' she was not a working woman that took her out of the home.She had no need for the latest innovations of the kitchen. She was home to cook fresh meals at night and did not need the new frozen dinners or Tupperware to save leftovers. This was a couple that lived through the Depression; there were no leftovers!

In 1948 their family started to grow with the addition for another baby boy; Charles. I wonder if my uncles knew of the children's films from earlier in the decade; Bambi and Dumbo? Was it the talk of the kindergarten class or was that only in the big cities?

The 1950's were all shook up with Rock-n-Roll! I imagine a young wife, expecting baby number three listening to the radio and covering her ears when Jerry Lee Lewis came on and saying 'Why does he have to play the piano so loud?' Did she enjoy Elvis pre or post war?  1953 brought a baby girl into the Shetler household; Janet. Did she keep her mother company in the kitchen, entertain her as she mothered her baby dolls? Did she place her hand on her mom's tummy to feel the next sibling in line kick?

1955 brought a second daughter to the Shelter household; Theresa! As she enters the world we leave Katherine and follow her latest and greatest daughter into the next thirty years. Dwight Eisenhower was president. Barbie just made her appearance on the toy shelves; and to think 40 years later Theresa's daughter would have an ever growing collection of them. 'A Streetcar Named Desire' wasn't a big hit but ended up being an epic film. Lassie was faithfully following Timmy and letting the family know when trouble was near.

As Theresa grows; was she always pestering her older brothers and sister? Did she realize she was going to be a big sister and the young age of two? The 1960's seemed to be a decade that brought so much soon to be unforgotten history that little Theresa probably did not realize what laid ahead at age 5.

There were 70 million post war baby boomers that were headed into their teen years; my uncles included. No wonder the 60's had so much emotion running through the years, all the talk about love and sex. 70 million people were going through puberty! Luckily for Theresa her biggest worry was probably if she would be able to fit a book in between chores and homework Did she pick up 'To Kill a Mockingbird' and realize it was classic before it was even called a classic? Would she listen to the Righteous Brothers on the radio and think they were groovy?

She was at ages during the 60's that seemed to exclude her in the events going on in the world. She was either to young to understand the start of Vietnam and then too young to join the hippies and protests later on in the decade. I wonder what it was like to watch TV for the first time in 1965; did she and all of her siblings sit within 2 inches of the screen as I did as a child? Did they think the TV show, Hazel, was funny or just an old lady show that their Grandma Shelter liked to watch?  A major event happened without her even knowing it; a pregnant woman was allowed not only to continue to work as a teacher during her pregnancy but she was photographed as well! This may not really seem to be a significant detail but to think 18 years later Theresa would start a job dealing with pregnant woman is semi-fascinating.

Plus we all already know about the obvious details of the decade, war, hippies, drugs, Black Panthers, Malcom X, Martin Luther King, and the space race. I can see her imagination running wild as the family gathered around the radio to listen to broadcasts and new reports of the first shuttle launch and listening to Neil Armstrong say 'This is one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind.' 

In 1970 my mom would have been 15, awkward and hating her teen years like everyone else without even realizing they were hating them because they were too busy hating their parents and other authorities. I can see her in her earth toned clothes and mood rings on her fingers. Did they celebrate the first Earth Day on April 22, 1970 or did it pass without much mention? During her junior year the family got their first television set, they would watch it just to watch it because it was something new and exciting.  


Did they watch the '72 Olympics and cheer on Mark Spitz or did they stick to 'The Brady Bunch'? I wonder on her trip to Indiana all by herself at the age of 17 was she singing along to Three Dog Night or the Carpenters? If anyone would have told her she would be back to Florida to go to junior college for nursing; would she have believed them? 


She decided to move back to Indiana after she finished junior college. My uncle Stan and aunt Janet were in a town called Elkhart so that is where she headed. She ended up at a NYE party in 1977 with my aunt Janet because there was a guy there, Ed, that Janet thought Theresa would be good with. They hit it off well enough for her to give him her number, she never heard from him. He would ask my aunt and her friend all the time if they had seen my mom that day/week and how shew as doing; they encouraged him to call her. You'd have to ask my dad if it was fate that he ended up spraining his ankle in a pick-up basketball game. My grandma taught my mother well - the way to a man's heart was through his stomach! She ended up baking him a variety of cookies, including his favorite (she didn't know this at the time) peanut butter. She took them to his house, rang the bell; he didn't answer. Mom didn't realize Dad had sprained his ankle and that is why he didn't make it to the door. Lucky for her, she makes a mean peanut butter cookie. To quote my father 'Anyone that makes a peanut butter cookie that good; I have to get to know. He ended up calling her in August of '78. 


My mom not only hit it off with my dad, but his young son, Greg, as well. He would enjoy sitting on her lap and say 'I like you. You're not like my dad's other girlfriends; you have nice big legs to sit on!'  Thank goodness the first thing Ed ate was Theresa's cookies and not the cold spaghetti that she had planned one night for dinner. She wanted it to be 'fancy like a restaurant' and kept the pasta separate from the sauce. Ed ran late and they ended up having to reheat the meal; needless to say you should always mix the pasta with the sauce before you reheat it. 


The Eighties would end up being a great decade! They were known for the generation of status seekers and the 'Me!Me!Me! attitude. (No wonder my generation is so into themselves! The saying 'Shop Til You Drop' seemed to roll off tongues more often than their credit cards had rest. My parents generation, baby boomers, were soon labeled the splurge generation. Minivans and camcorders were the must haves for young parents; and for their young children, such as my older brother, video games were 'totally awesome!'  Before I came along did my parents go on date nights to see 'The Big Chill' or 'Tootsie'? Was my mom reading Alice Walker, Toni Morrison, or Tom Wolfe? Who would have thought 40 years after being written 'The Grapes of Wrath' would be banned from schools; and why? For telling the truth about an era, did the future really not want to remember the past? 

In 1985 my mom and dad had ME! Ronald Regan was president ('The actor? Yes the actor!) 'Back to the Future' came out, Rock Hudson died of AIDS, and Nancy Regan was 'Just Saying No to Drugs'  I remember watching Alf on TV and mothering my Cabbage Patch kids. We have the pictures to prove how much of an 80's child I truly was. My mom dressed me in neon outfits and cut my hair into a mullet. I. Was. Rad. already at the age of four. 


I remember 1990 because of my love for the New Kids on the Block and my princess Disney movies like The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast. I do not remember much about the Gulf War but I do remember the '92 election between Bill Clinton and President Bush. I drew a picture in second grade with Clinton's name in a circle and a big red line going through it; who knew I would be so political at the age of seven! Fourth grade brought many memories; the OJ Simpson trial and the Oklahoma City bombing. It was also the year that I would cry myself to sleep and dread going to school because of my teacher and my inability to be learn long division.  Did my mom and Grandma have subjects that brought them to tears? Teachers they would dread seeing? The 90's were a time where obesity at a record high, roller blades were very cool and the cell phone was the same size as a brick. Beanie Babies were the craze, seriously people were going crazy for them!

I am a product of the 90's. I have ADD and the first medicine I was put on was Ritalin. I got my first WWJD bracelet when I was in 7th grade.I loved N'SYNC, Britney Spears and all things cliche that a teen would love. High school was a fun time for me, I played sports, was in the choir, and had some great friends. During History class we would talk about the Great Depression and 'The Crash' I should have realized I could have gotten a first hand lesson from the person that lived through it; my grandma. I experienced my own major event that I would be asked about; September 11, 2001 by my children. I didn't even know what was going on because my first teacher of the day decided to skip morning announcements so we could study for a test. I was in the hallway wondering why everyone was so somber until a friend of mine told me what happened. I don't think 16 is old enough to truly comprehend what was going on in the world. I just knew I was scared and I didn't know what this would mean for me, my family, boyfriend and country. 


I fell in love at 16 thinking he was the one I would marry; like every other girl that falls in love for the first time. I went off to college, something that people my age take for granted now. I learned things from books, professors, charts and graphs; when I would come home Grandma and Grandpa would ask how life was going - fine, thanks. Why did I not bother to ask them about their life or give them more information about mine? I met my future husband in 2006 in the big city of Chicago where we would end up living four years later. We did everything that was fun; went to see movies, listen to our ipods. We would talk through email and text messages. I would write 'real' letters to be romance, like they did 'back in the old days'. 

We were married in 2008,  a presidential first was about to happen and our country was still at war. I think about what I've seen in the movies about the 30-40's and realize our war is nothing like WW2. I think it effected people more back then. Funny how that is, they were not as technologically connected as we are in the current day and yet I feel back then people were more connected. We have skype, cell phones that can reach all over the world, email, text, facebook - if anything we should be the ones that feel so connected and yet the more 'plugged in' we are then less connected we are with people. 


The world is moving fast and it probably was back then as well. I have not reached my 30's year so I can not tell you what the next four years hold for me. The one thing that I hope I will do before time runs out it to get to know my grandma and mom better. They were here before me, they are the ones I can learn from the most. I want the questions in this story to be answered. I want to connect better with the women that mean so much to me. This is our story a story I want to pass on to my children. I want to be able answer their questions when they as about their great-grandma and grandma. The problem is I only know bits and pieces; even though this is a story I share with them I only know one-third of it the most. 

You see 90 years has come and gone and another 90 years will come ahead. Wars will be fought, movies will be made, ballgames will be played, and most importantly babies will be born. Babies need bedtime stories and what better story to share over and over through the years than the story of us; Katherine, Theresa and Emily. 

Lyrics

You always hurt the one you love,
The one you shouldn't hurt at all.
You always take the sweetest rose,
And crush it till the petals fall.

You always break the kindest heart,
With a hasty word you can't recall.
So, if I broke your heart last night,
It's because I love you most of all.

Real Simple Essay 2011 - A Parent's Love

So last year I entered the Real Simple Essay and didn't win. I really enjoyed the experience though because that was the time that I decided to start writing. So I decided to write for the Essay again, this time I am revising it more than once, lol. The question for the essay was 'When did you know the true meaning of love.' I think I have a good chance b/c I doubt many other people have thought of this topic (ha! That's what I said about 'Still Alice') Anyway, so this is my essay please feel free to give me feed back and let me know if there anything I should change....and also, to my family members; this honestly is just my point of view it wasn't written to be hurtful or cause problems so please take it for the story that it is...

Real Simple Essay 2011

 The parent-child relationship is a unique bond and so individually special that no words can truly sum them all into one description. Many Americans are faced with the day when they are no longer the child in that relationship but the parent; not only to their own children but to their parents as well. My mom is one of those people. I cannot tell you the day or time that it happened but she is now the parent to my 85 year old Grandpa and her co-parent is my 87 year old Grandma.

My grandparents have been married for 65 years, have 6 children, 10 grandchildren, and 8 great-grandchildren. They are devote Christians, hard workers, and all around 'good people'. They are that adorable couple you see walking hand in hand down the sidewalk and you smile to yourself because of their drastic difference in height. He stand at 6/4 and she (rounding up) comes in at 4'11. They would be prime candidates to be the picture perfect Hallmark card for love, faith, and friendship.

They moved from small town Florida some years ago to Northern Indiana for the very reason to be close to family, just in case they needed help in the years to come. My mom is number four out of six kids, and one of the three that live in the same town as my grandparents. She is the one that Grandma came to when she started noticing a difference in Grandpa. The signs were small and the changes barely noticeable; Grandpa was forgetting things. He didn't remember if he had brushed his teeth, or how to tie his shoes; he couldn't even remember what he had for breakfast or if he even had breakfast. My grandma started taking care of him, for better or worse and in sickness and in health. She would remind him to brush his teeth and show him how if he couldn't remember. She would even dress him in the mornings, but it was becoming too much. She was taking care of a man twice her size, it was exhausting. Someone had to step in and help; and that someone was my mom.

The tasks started off small; running my grandma to the grocery store, the library, to their little country Mennonite church in the corn field. She would take her out to lunch and give her a break from the stress if not but for a few hours. This was fine to do until one day they came home to find Grandpa with a bruise and no memory as to how he got it. She called siblings to see if he could go to their house while Grandma was out. Mom got answers like 'I'll have to check my calender' or 'I don't have time'. The answer she got, for the most part, was that she was on her own.

The day I think it set in, that Grandpa was digressing, for most of the family was when Mom had to go over to their house and bandage his leg. He had skin missing and caused himself to bleed because 'The band-aid wouldn't come off' - there was no band-aid. Mom called her siblings that lived in other states, miles away from the reality to let them know what was happening to their father. Denial seemed to be the road taken for those not there instead of the road home to help out where help was needed most.

Grandpa has good and bad days, we all do. The bad days are when he has a hard time remembering what year it is, how many children he has or how long he has been married to his bride. The sad part is that he knows he is fading, he will get frustrated with himself and feel like he is a burden more than the 'head of house' let alone a member of the family. The good days, well they are the ones we cherish. He will look at my grandma and wink causing her to blush. We'll ask him if that was something he used to do when they were dating. He'll reply 'I am just so lucky to be married to such a pretty lady.' These are the moments that prove even though his memory may be fading, his love for her is not.

Things are starting to worsen. Grandma is falling or finding herself on the ground and not knowing how she got there. She is tired and Mom is worrying more. She and my uncle have visited homes in the area, searching for that one place they would be confident to know their parents are getting the same love and care they would provide. These visits end in tears of frustration and added stress. My mother's 'days off' are never truly off. Of course she wishes there were times where she could do nothing and just be but as she has told me on many occasions 'When the day comes where I will not have to take care of them will be the day I wish I could.'

You see Mom isn't just doing this because she has to but because she wants to. It is her privilege to provide them with the same loving care that they gave to her as she was growing up. I feel that even though her siblings may not be helping out as much as they should; she is gaining something they are missing out on - unconditional love. The love that was there to kiss away the 'boo-boos' and 'ouchies' The love that kept them safe and out of a nursing home for as long as possible. The love that wiped away Grandma's tears as she watched her one and only slip away. The most powerful kind of love that showed honor, respect, and dedication to the ones that brought her into the world. She will not have to wish for more days or regret the phone calls never made. She will not have a 'would have, could have, should have' moment, because she did.

This story about my mom and grandparent's parent-child relationship is dedicated to those who are out there being the best parents they know how to be, to their parents. It is to honor those who honor their parents and the lessons of love they provided them growing up. This story is to thank those who love unconditionally.

Thank you for taking care of generations past and for teaching generations of the future what love truly means.

Love is a Battlefield

The Beatles lied. So did Disney. 'All you need is love' No, all you need is armor and enough ammo to make sure you can survive this crazy thing called marriage. Love is war. We start relationships showing the other person or nation our best qualities and to be honest when we're just getting to know someone who we find interesting, intriguing, and totally worth our time we do not want to see their faults. At least not just yet; we hope that as we grow closer to signing a peace treaty that those 'Top Secret' files will emerge and there will be no secrets. We all have secrets and most of us do not share these secrets, even to the ones we're closest to. This can cause problems, break trusts, and start a war.

War is a dreadful awful thing, and no I'm not talking about the war that is overseas, I'm talking about the war that is raging on in most households across the country. We wake up wondering it today will be the day the enemy surrenders or if we will see that white flag be raised on our side of the battle front. No one wants to surrender, their nation is right, their views, options, ideas, future goals are the only things that matter. For many couples this thinking is ok; especially if their spouse or ally has the same thinking. Unfortunately for many marriages this is not the case. They walked into their homes at night with their ammo strapped on their shoulder, dressed in camo to, hopefully, blend into the surrounding enough that the enemy will not be able to find them and attack. These little battles may not seem like much, but if they are not fought over (talked over) then they will just led to a much bigger and bloodier war.

The war rages on.

For most allying nations secrets can be a damning thing. They keep them locked away in top secret files and with heavily guarded rooms. These secrets are the atomic bombs, when an allying nation finds the secrets, bombs go off, the treaty is broken and HW2 (Household War 2) is on. In some cases a cold war can occur. Nations begin to plot, stockpiling weapons all while keeping a watchful eye on the enemy to make sure they are not doing the same. Cold wars are almost worse; they appear to be friends who are 'trying' to work out their problems but in most cases they are talking with other nations about the downfall that is soon to come.

In times like this it would be suggested to go and speak with the United Nations. Read reports of other countries that went through the same things as you are going through. We study history so we can help prevent it from happening again and yet it continues to happen again and again. The same fight is being fought over and over. Money, drugs, religion, and lies all reasons as to why the war rages on.

My war is raging on.

I walked into the battle field without cover and was soon being fired upon with bullets that I could not dodge. I was hit with hurtful words, hurt feelings and broken promises. Instead of falling back I stood my ground and fired back; words I would regret, things I didn't mean. The heat of war does not come from bullets but from the tears that fall. I carried my body, bloody and battered back to my camp.  I speak with the generals and others in charge as to what the next plan of action should be. Surrender? Night Attack? Blitz? I am tired and feel like I age five years after every battle. I am one of the lucky ones, I have survived yet another fight. Some of the unlucky ones include Trust, Faith, Compassion, and Self Esteem. They didn't even see it coming. How can I forget them now that they are gone? I must fight for them, for their memory in hopes that will be enough to end the awfulness.

We spend our lives searching for 'the one'. We find them, marry them and then what? We marry our best friends, the person we want to share our lives promising our best and then only showing them our worst. Why is it that we feel we can be our worst around the ones that we love the most? Is it because we know they will love us no matter what?  Instead of looking into the future together we stand there head to head fighting for what we want for ourselves. What happened to being on the same side, same team?

I will fight this war, only because I know that what is waiting at the end, the finish is worth the fight. Yes we come out with battle scars, wounds that will take time to heal; but they are worth it when you decided, together as allying nations, to sign a treaty of peace and work on making it work! There will be a day when the war is over. I hope that day brings peace by bringing the two nations together and not parting for good. I do say though, how many lives have to be lost in a war before people realize it is such a waste. There is a time when you have to say enough is enough. No one ever wins the war of 'love' but you can win together. I hope that couples out there realize when they are battling for a good ending and when they are not. I want them to know the difference between a war that can be won and one that can not. When you realize it is a war that can not be won; put your weapon down and raise your white flag. You will find peace because the war is over.

God's Hugs

God hugged me today. It was awesome and just what I needed at the time. I started calling these moments 'hugs' in November 2005. I was in a deep depression and alone in my college studio apartment, feeling so far away from God, and not knowing what do with my life. I was sobbing and literally went down to my knees and prayed 'God I am so alone, I need You right now. I need to feel that You are with me. Please let me know I am not alone.' Within seconds of finishing my prayer I felt as though I was getting the biggest bear hug I've ever had; which of course made me cry harder because God was with me and let me know He was there for me. From that moment on I recommitted my life to God and began a new look on life and how God interacts with me daily.

Many people think I am silly when I talk about my 'God hugs' I on the other hand feel lucky to notice them; I think many people go throughout their day and do not even notice when God is speaking to them or letting them know He is there. I view beautiful days as a sign from God, birds chirping, people calling to say hi when you need it the most. I use to bar tend in downtown Chicago and I honestly believe my 'big' tips were coming from God. I know that when you ask you shall receive; when I was younger if I actually remembered to pray I was selfish with them . I would be broad in my prayers for my family, the world and so on. I honestly thought that was enough. After my hug in 2005 I viewed the world differently. I now ask, in my prayers, to be a better Christian FOR God. This would mean if I woke up having a bad day and didn't want to go to work I would pray 'Lord, I pray that I work for YOU today, I want everything I do today at work to be for you.'  This would not only impact the way I worked but by the end of the day I would realize my day had actually turned out pretty well. It makes me smile when I realize asking God to be a better Christian for Him actually makes me feel better about life and the way I live it.

I feel many of my hugs come when I am running late and can not find my keys or the other shoe, and so on. I will say a quick prayer 'Lord I could really use some help finding (insert what I lost)' sometimes I will find it right away and other times I will find it in a day or two which is ok with me because I view Him still helping me find it! I believe that these are moments when God lets me know that even though there are bigger problems in the world, billions praying to him at the same time; He's still there for me and listening. I do not pray in a way that tests God. I know He is there; I do not need Him to prove it. I just want to have conversations with Him. I hope He enjoys them as much as I do and I think He does because when we talk, I feel His love.

God loves us and wants us to talk to Him. I do just that, I don't save my prayers for the end or beginning of my days. Sometimes my prayers are short, sweet and to the point! Of course there are times in our faith where God will distance Himself, we all go through them. I fail these moments horribly. I would say most of the time I do not realize how far I have gone off path or how long it's been since I've had an intimate conversation with the Lord until I am so far into the forest that it is completely dark and I do not know which way to go to get back onto my path. I end up getting depressed and praying to God for comfort again. I know these are moments where I can grow as a stronger Christian and honestly I really need to remember these moments when they are occurring!

I recall a moment when I was at another low. I had been praying to God for days and felt alone. I had just adopted two cats for our local shelter so we were still in the early stages of getting to know each other. My grandma had just died, I was getting married in two weeks and starting to have cold feet, I didn't feel as though I could talk to my family or friends. To put it bluntly I was feeling very sorry for myself. Again I was sobbing and praying to God to comfort me. My cat, Jerry, who had become my therapist in the few short weeks he was with me was laying on my chest. I was alone in bed crying so hard that my pillow case was drenched. I was calling out to God over and over when Jerry meowed, turned and cradled my face between his front paws. I sobbed uncontrollably. God gave me a hug through Jerry. At that moment I not only knew God loved me but my cat did as well. He knew I was hurting and was comforting me. God. Is. Amazing.

I know that I will have lows and highs throughout my life but I also know God loves me; He is there for me and He will never give me more than I can handle in life. Sometimes, I wonder how strong He thinks I am! I pray daily that God helps me be childlike in my faith and I feel as though my 'hugs' are very childlike. People need to stop and realize the answer is simple. Life is simple. Love God. Live for God. Let God.

Try to remember the simplicity of God's love for you, for all of us. If you're having a bad day look to the positive; there's God. He's talking to you, you just have to listen. Try to have a conversation with Him everyday; even if it's to say 'Love ya!' I'm pretty sure He loves those messages.

Snail Mail

So this past week I was able to spend some time with my mom's side of the family. My uncle is back from Afgan (don't know how to spell the rest:) and my cousin just graduated high school. I don't get to see my other aunt and uncle that much either so when family comes to town it's a good chance to see everyone. I was lucky enough to have 5 days off before my new job started so I didn't need to take any time off. I really enjoyed the time with them. I look back at my teens and childhood and have to shake my head. I did not appreciate the time I had with them (then again who does at that age?) I am just glad I came to this realization now and not when it was too late...anyway! I decided to let my Grandma know how I felt about this past week so I thought I would share the letter I am sending her in the mail on a very pretty card I must add...I've decided not to put it in the book b/c this is just a preview of the OTHER letter I'm planning on writing her, plus everyone loves getting mail; so why wait until her birthday to say these things??

Dear Grandma,

I just wanted to let you know that I really enjoyed spending time with you and Grandpa this past week. It was wonderful to look at the old pictures with you and learn more about our family. I really enjoyed seeing you and Grandpa around my age (sometimes it is hard  to image you both at that age so the pictures helped!) I wish God gave people the knowledge of how important family truly is at a much younger age, but I guess I should be thankful it hit me now at least. I know others who are old and 'wiser' who still do not realize what they are missing out on...

Thank you for being such a wonderful grandma, I look back on my life and see your influence and have to smile. I am very lucky to be able to call you mine. I love you both so much and am so blessed to be able to call you family.

Love,
Emily


Seriously people, love your family. I don't care how much they drive you nuts or how crazy you may think they are..b/c when they're gone you are going to miss it.

Grandma Story #2 - The Farmer

I come from a long line of farmers, well, on one side of my family anyway. My mom grew up on a farm, she had horses, fields to play in, and I'm pretty sure she knows how to milk a cow. She had every little city girl's dream of what owning a pony would be like. I guess I would call myself a city girl, I mean nothing like NYC or Chicago. I didn't know how to hail a cab, use public transportation, or encounter bums daily growing up. On the other hand I didn't know how to milk a cow, saddle a horse, or de-feather a chicken so by all means I wasn't your typical small town girl either. I am just your average not-so-small-or-big-city girl.

I grew up in Indiana; when people hear this they automatically picture me in overalls and in a cornfield. This not only makes me laugh but could be nothing further from the truth. I lived in a subdivision, had air conditioning and no one in my family was  my brother and cousin at the same time. If you asked me growing up I would have told you I was a small town girl, you ask my mom, and she'd tell you I was a city girl. I do not know why but this bothered me to no end. I was out to prove to her that I was a small town girl!

This story is about the day I found out Mom was right. (You have no idea how hard that was to type!) I guess it should have been a sign to myself that she might be right when I actually considered mowing the yard to be a type of 'farming'. I mean it's a little like plowing a field right?  I was headed over to my grandparents house to mow their yard for them. My grandma was the one that use to do the mowing but the task had just become too tiring in her old age (no offense grandma) She stands at maybe 4'll and has more of a waddle than walk thanks to a hip surgery (I think it is absolutely adorable and is something that comes to mind when I think of her)

Anyway! She greeted me at the door and led me out back to the shed where the mower was. Before you start judging my chore list as child, yes, I did mow my parents yard but they had a push mower, my grandparents had a riding mower. In my mind what was titled a chore in  my home seemed to be a piece of cake at grandma's. She said she would get the mower out for me and then show me how to use it. She disappeared and came out with, what I think, was the original first riding lawnmower. Ok maybe it wasn't that old but it wasn't the John Deer that I was expecting to see either. She killed the motor and showed me the shift stick thing, the gas petal and what everything did. After she was done she wanted to know if I had any questions. Only one grandma, when did you pick up Chinese as your second language because I didn't understand a word of what you were talking about. I smiled and shook my head yes, I mean if my 82 year old grandmother can handle this thing I'm pretty sure I can figure it out. In my mind it was like a car with a blade and no radio.

I hopped on and turned the key. Nothing. Grandma reminds me to do something with the stick thing and the break. I do it and VAROOM!  I give her a thumbs up and a big I-totally-know-what-I'm-doing smile. The fear in her eyes says it all but I just assume her allergies are bothering her. I decide to head to the front yard because there are less trees and I can practice before I get to the backyard which is full of twists and turns, four trees, their garden, and the shed. It was like the Mowing Olympics if you asked me!

As I'm riding along I decide to call my mower 'Bessy' I mean she is like a trusty stead in the field so why not give her a name that honors that. Bessy has a little kick to her, this ol' girl can move! We're flying up and down the yard and I'm thankful that I decided to wear an old t-shirt and shorts because to steer Bessy took a lot of muscle and I could feel the sweat drip down my forehead as we made our way back toward the house. I start to daydream a little about the sweet tea and cookies that will be waiting for me at the end of my hard day in the field. I can picture Grandma ringing a dinner bell to let me know it's ready (in reality she could just waved me in from the kitchen window)

Just as I think 'There's nothing to this farming thing, it must be in my blood' I feel something in my shirt. I sit erect, Bessy can sense my fear and gives a little shudder. It's ok girl, I pat her on the head (steering wheel) it's just sweat, this summer sun is obviously getting to me next time I'll have to remember my straw hat. We turn and head back to the house and there it is again. Ok now I know it isn't sweat because I can feel it's legs. THERE IS A BUG IN MY SHIRT!!! Get it off! Get it off!!! GET IT OFF! I panic and steer Bessy  this way and that leaving crooked mowing lines in my wake. Somewhere in the craziness my shirt flies off (no worries, the story is still PG I have a sports bra on thank you very much) I hit the stick thingy and we take off towards the house. There are a row of bushes and plants that my grandparents have worked hours on end right in my path and I can't seem to find the brake! Woo girl, WOO GIRL! Oh yeah, Bessy isn't really a horse and I'm not really a farmer! What the heck am I doing? We crash into the bush and I can hear the blade hack away at it (it didn't have a chance) Grandma comes flying out of the house with a look I've never seen before from her (so THAT'S where my mom got it) She comes up to Bessy and I, grabs the keys and kills the engine. I sit there for a second dazed and confused as to what just happened.

I look up to see my Grandma standing there looking at me like I'm crazy (at this point she might be right though) Why didn't you hit the brake, or kill the engine, or at least bring up the blade? Wait, what? I didn't even know I could bring the blade up, what does that even mean!?  Thankfully for me, my Grandma is a lady and does not lay into me with a string of profanity that I probably deserve. I pulled Bessy from the bush, poor little thing barely has any limbs anymore. Thinking I would just put the mower back in the shed and wait until one of my male, more farmer like, cousins could come and mow for them I was surprised when Grandma told me to finish. Is she nuts? I was thrown from my horse, Bessy can sense my fear and now doesn't trust me as her rider.

I reminded myself I was here to prove a point to my own mother and if I gave up now I would be proving her right (I wish I would have known it shouldn't have mattered because by running over the bush I had already proved her right!) I picked up my shirt, inspecting every inch for the bug that caused this horrible scene in the first place. I couldn't find him, I'm sure he was already in the next pasture over. Thankfully the rest of my 'plowing' went without incident.

I was still invited in for sweet tea and cookies at the end of my day. I was covered in sweat, grass and dirt. I may have looked like a farmer but that's as close to one as I would ever be. I was embarrassed and defeated. That little bug with the six legs proved my mom was right, I am a city girl. I don't like the outdoors, I still freak out when I think a bug is touching me and I wouldn't be caught dead in overalls. I am pretty sure that 'farming gene' skipped my generation and that is ok with me becuase my 'farming' days are over!

An 8th month old kicked my butt

So remember all that writing I was going to get done today while Sidney entertained herself? Yeah, that didn't happen, in fact the only thing that happned was me taking a nap with her, feeding her, changing her. Holy cow I'm not ready to be a mother yet...she was such a good baby but I'm pooped! To try to be creative while watching a baby, making sure she's happy, not hurting herself or anything like that...not happening, didn't happen. My 'creativity' was my metal to-do list that I wanted to accomplish when I got home...I don't even have enough energy to cross anything off, let alone do anything on the list. Thankfully I have tomorrow off so I can do my to-do list.  I have to say though, our pets are totally children.  Since I just smacked my head on the keyboard after dozing off...I'm off to recharge my 'creative' batteries

It's Offical

It's offical. I have writer's block. Is it possible to have writer's block if I'm not a real writer? lol. I have set a deadline for myself, July 15th. I feel that will be enough time to get my stories done, edited and published before my Grandma's birthday. Plus if I have a deadline, there will be pressure (like a REAL writer!) I'm hoping this Thursday my brain will finally give me something like my 'Target' story, I mean that story literally just poured out of me! Thursday I am babysitting for a friend of ours so I figured I will have the entire day to write! I'm going to be making outlines until then to help my creative juices flowing! Ok, I just wanted you all out there (hi mom) to know what's up...plus I will probably post my book that I have two chapters done sometime soon as well:)

Grandma Story #1

So I'm slowly thinking of and starting my book for my Grandma's birthday in August, I still haven't decided on how many there will be; but I guess it will depend on the length of the stories. So, here's the first one!:)


She looked up from the latest spelling test she had been grading; this was her favorite time of the day, 'The Reading Club' she gave her second grade class 30 mins out of the day on Tuesdays and Thursdays so they could pick any book, and anywhere in the room to read. She prided herself in giving her little 7 and 8 year olds the freedom to take what they had been larning in class and let their mind grow and learn on their own for an hour a week. Many of the other teachers did not give their classes so much time to do this and seemed to always give her a questioning eye as they walked past and noticed silent students spread throughout the room with a book in hand. As she scanned the room to find the gigglers or daydreamers that needed to be brought back at the task at hand she stopped on Elizabeth. This precious little girl was wiping the sweat from her brow and concentrating so hard, Sue could almost hear her sounding out the story in her mind.

Elizabeth, now here was a student Sue hadn't had in a long time. The type of student that so desperately wanted to read but what having such a hard time learning to. Lizzy was the first one in line to the library, the one that had a pile so high she could barely carry them, and the one that was having the hardest time sounding out the words. Sue had students in the past with such problems but they were usually diagnosed with a learning disorder and sooner or later they were able to read. She knew Mrs. Clark had done everything a parent could do, she took her to see doctors, practiced with her daughter every night, she talked to specialist but no one seemed to have the answer. She heard everything from 'She is probably just a late bloomer, she will get there just give her time.' to other person not-so-postive people saying 'Maybe she's just dumb.'

***Writers Block, friend came over so I will continue to work on this later:)

Chapter 8ish, 3030

I feel like my heart is going to explode. Holy crap; why did I let myself get so out of shape? A better question might be why the hell did I think running a marathon would be a good thing to add to my list? I mean I haven't even gone 2 miles and my legs are heavy and the peson at the fitness desk is charging up the AED; eyeing me as he does. Let's be honest for a second, I'm really not a runner. I mean yeah I have the running clothes, shoes, heart rate monitor and subscription to Runner's World; phssh but please that doesn't make me a runner. And to be COMPLETELY honest, I don't even like running that much, it's the way I feel AFTER the fact and sometimes I have to wonderful if it's even worth it.

I can do this, it's only 3 miles. I've run 3 miles plenty of times before; if I could do it then I can do it now. Who cares if I haven't laced up the 'ole running shoes in oh 8 months? (Who am I kidding it's been a freaking year) I move the towel to see how far I've gotten on this God forsaken thing, WHAT?! 1.75 miles? You have got to be kidding me, I still have over a mile to go? I will never make it; if anything the treadmill will keep going and my body will be laying at the end when my head repeadly hitting the tread. This was a bad idea, I should have signed up for a half marathon. Oh wait, I did that too. What kind of crazy you-can-do-anything (even though you haven't done much in the past 6 months) drugs am I on when I sign up for these events? What am I trying to prove to people, let alone myself? I mean am I a disappointment if I don't run 26.2 miles? Will people be able to look at me and think 'Oh there's no way she's ever done a marathon.' Better yet, what will people think when I tell them I have done a marathon. I'll tell you what they'll think, that I'm out of mind stupid and obviously enjoy torturing myself.

My towel slides off the treadmill tripping me on the way down. I catch myself but the whole process is watched by every single person in the cardio room. It's like they've never seen a girl run on a treadmill before. Wait, they have and yet they would have never thought someone that looks like they're so in shape could possibly be THAT out of shape that she can barely keep up with the 6.2 pace, breath (wheez) as if she were 250 lbs, or land so loud that you would have thought it was her first time running. It might be a good time to tell you that yes, I do look like I'm in shape but it is all a lie and I have depended on that lie long enough. I'm tired of people thinking I could do a plank for 2 mins when actually I can barely hold one for 30 seconds.

Ok Emily, enough with the Negative Nancy, tell her to shut up and focus. You CAN do this,  the question is do you want to? I mean no one will have to know that you changed your list a few times. Well your family will know because you already told them you were running it, and everyone at work, the girl behind the counter at the running store, your husband, the cab driver from 2 weeks ago and of course don't forget your dog trainer. Damnit, why do I have such a big mouth, don't I know by now that my failures are less embarrassing when no one knows about them. Correction, it's almost worse beacause I know, and knowing that I have failed or quit yet another goal or dream is worse than anything. I'm tired of letting myself down. I do want to do this; so many people have talked about what an experience running a marathon is. I mean I'll be pushing myself to my body's limits. Wouldn't it be nice to know what my limits are, or better yet find out that something I once thought was a limit isn't anymore?

I smile to myself, crank up my Chevelle song on my ipod and hop back on the treadmill. I decide not to replace the towel. I don't need to keep this a secret and I don't need to hide any of the information that's on the treadmill from me or anyone else in the room for that matter. I pick up the pace to 6.3 and give the thumbs up to the trainer behind the desk (no life saving needed today my man) As I feel the sweat drip down my back, feel my leg musles flex and relax as they carry my body in the forward motion and see my reflection in the mirror I realize; yes, yes I do enjoy torturing myself.

30by30

**So most of you know that I have a little 'to-do' list called 30by30 and one of the goals on the list actually to write a book, I have like 4 books in the works, ha! So I think I have that goal covered. But I wanted to share in this entry my 30by30 ....

1. Build my character
2. Eat naturally for one month
3. Live anywhere but Elkhart
4. Do something that scares me every year
5. Write a book
6. Get rid of cable
7. Plant a garden
8. Run a Marathon
9. Inspire someone
10. Nude model for an art class
11. start our blanket
12. stop drinking pop
13. Go braless for a day
14. Do an olympic tri
15. Give up my cell phone for a month
16. Start a book club
17. Volunteer
18. Learn to meditate and stick with it
19. be able to do a bodyweight pull up
20. Be able to do a pistol squat
21. Be my natural hair color for a year
22. Read the entire Bible
23. Take a class (i.e. language, photo, art)
24. Do a bikini or figure competition
25. Reduce, Reuse, Recycle
26. Become CSCS certified
27. Become financially sound
28. Give up materialistic things (i.e. crap in my closet)
29. Go commando for a day
30. Become a mom.

Untitled Chapter 1-ish

I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry! They come anyway. I can feel them fall around my apple shaped cheeks and their heat radiate against my skin. I hope they can feel me radiate my hatred right back at them. This is the third night in a row that I've cried once I've gotten into bed.  Why can't they just leave me alone? Isn't it bad enough that I'm fat; do I really have to pity myself to the point of tears? Oh, I should probably introduce myself, I'm pathetic, wait wait I mean I'm Casey. I know this is probably not the greatest first  impression but I feel it is important for you to know what rock bottom looked like for me. What? You imagined rock bottom  being me with a pint of Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream watching yet another trashy reality show hating myself? Oh no, that was just me hitting a few bumps on the fall down. Rock bottom was when I actually thought about ending it all,over something that I actually had control over. I use the word control very loosely in that sentence by the way.

So there I was laying in my bed, in the dark and in tears. Now I've been in this situation before. The first time my heart was broken, the time my mom told me she was disappointed in me, the first time I heard someone call me fat. This night was different though, I had lost my hope. I didn't see a point to trying another diet or exercise routine when I knew I would just fail and probably have another 10 lbs added on instead of lost. As I wiped the tears away I was making  a mental to-do list for the next day; most people would think of a to-do list to go something like this:

1. Pick up dry cleaning.
2. Workout
3. Call Mom

Etc, etc. My to-do list looked a little something like this:

1. put plastic down on bathroom floor
2. type up suicide letter.
3. pay bills! must not stress mom more than needed
4. Find a home for Arthur...

Arthur. How could I not think of Arthur? It was as if he could read my mind because my furry child hopped up onto the bed and began licking my cheeks. Now I know the scientific reasoning is probably because the cat probably just wanted the salt, whatever, I took it as a sign of love and as if he was saying 'Don't be sad Mommy, I love you no matter what you weigh.' If you are thinking about a nice white room with soft padded walls to put me in right now because of my human-like relationship I have with my cat, no worries, my mom reminds me quite frequently that she has one on speed dial for the moment I crack. Gee, thanks mom.

Anyway, I'm getting off track, back to Arthur. He was my rebound love right after my divorce; which to be honest he turned into my one and only love. I decided after Scott left me (oh you'll hear about him later, because lets be honest he had a LOT to do with this extra 50 I'm carrying now) that I needed a companion. I went to the local humane society and as I walked in they were taking this charcoal gray cat out of an animal carrier. He looked quite sad to be honest; his sea green eyes were dark and  I'm sure if there were a mirror around I could have seen we had the same expression on our faces. The lady that was holding him looked up and saw me. 'His family just left him here, they said they were more 'dog people'. Poor fella, not wanted and unloved. I hope we have can find a home for him soon' I had to remind myself as I fought back the tears that she wasn't talking about me, she was talking about the cat. I told her that she could just put him back in the carrier because he was coming home with me.

Now honestly I couldn't leave Arthur to think he was unwanted again, not needed, or worse not loved! So yes folks this is my rock bottom. I'm fat but seeing as I can barely say the 'F' word we'll just call me 'out of shape', divorced, and the crazy cat lady. There's no where to go from here but up.

Queen Once Said..

Under Pressure.  So I want to write, right? And yet I'm putting pressure on myself as to what I'm going to write about. How STUPID is that?! I haven't written because I've thought of a few short stories but I didn't want to post them not knowing how people would respond to them. What in the world would I expect to do if I actually had a deadline of some sort for a writing piece? Wishful thinking, but still I can dream right? I just am doubting myself and I feel silly because, I mean, have I even tried? No, I mean I don't even know how to begin to start to think about sending into magazines or papers. Once again, I'm a dreamer, I have great ideas but my follow through is horrible.

So here are some random thoughts I've had in recent weeks:

Who would want to read what I have to say?

I can't even spell, really? REALLY?

I'm not as good as I think I am and people will think I'm full of myself when they read what I actually do write.

I will start 4 books and not finish any of them.

If I actually DO finish a book I won't be able to handle the rejection I get from publishers.

Who can think of 300 + pages of fiction to write?

I'm still haven't finished my letter I've been writing to my Grandma, how am I suppose to make it through my whole family!?

I think I'll write a book about becoming a writer and the frustration it brings.

My book will never get to the Target bookshelves.

Ok, those are just a FEW of the thoughts I've had lately, obviously I am crazy. Wait! Writer's are usually crazy so this is perfect, or is it poets that are crazy? I need a goal. Writing is just like exercise to me right now. I'm not going to do it if there isn't a goal/end in sight. So a goal of mine is my grandmother's birthday, Aug 10 (right mom?) she'll be 87. I want to be able to give her a real book (even if it is a book of short stories) for her birthday. She has inspired me to go after writing and I want to show her my appreciation. :) I'm excited about but I need every one's help. (Especially family!) I need ideas for stories; even if I just know some of her favorite things, moments, holidays, etc etc, then I think I'll get enough for a book.

Anyway, this post was mainly a way for me to vent my frustration about the pressure I've been putting on myself no less. My goal is to write a short story tomorrow before I head off to work.