Tag Archives: arbitrary thoughts

May 25, 2014 · 9:06 pm

Send it Snail Mail

Not too long ago I celebrated a birthday. Before you ask, I’m not saying how old I turned, but suffice it to say that I remember watching the Vietnam War on television and seeing Father Knows Best in black and white. I also remember the day when birthday cards would come through the mail and each one was a gift in of itself.

Whenever I got a card or letter in the mail I would get a charge of excitement. The return address was the first thing to check and then see the postmark and stamp. Anything from overseas was the best (my brother served in Korea and he sent me several letters from there), but mail from anywhere was plain grand. After learning the distance the letter or card had come I would turn it over to carefully open the envelope.  I never ripped into a letter, and I would either get a knife to cut a neat slice across the top, or very carefully lift the paper along the glued edge.

Anticipation was the best part to opening a card or letter that came in the mail, actually it was the best part about going to the mailbox everyday. As I celebrated another step toward being ancient I made my daily trip to the mailbox and was pleased that I actually got two (count them, one, two) cards in the mail. There was a time that ten was more the normal, but now it is two. I did receive several e-cards, along with a slew of Facebook one liners, “Happy Birthday.”

On the one hand I was thrilled that anyone remembered my birthday at all (usually everyone forgets). I had a wonderful time going to lunch with friends and my family took me to dinner as well. On the other hand, it bothered me that I only received two cards in the mail. I miss the old days. I miss that anticipation. I miss going to mailbox everyday. Don’t you? When was the last time you received a nice letter from your Aunt who lives in New Jersey? Did you get very many cards in the mail for your birthday this year? Wouldn’t it be nice to get one?

I work for a greeting card company and I hear a lot of stories from customers who’s day was brightened just by receiving a real card made out of paper tucked in an envelope and sealed with a kiss. These are the things that make our world a better place and I, for one, will be sending more cards out this year. Let’s spread some cheer around and send a card, a note, a letter. Better yet, maybe some sand from the beach you live on, or a pressed flower from your garden. Be creative. Just send it snail mail and make someone smile.

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April 28, 2014 · 3:08 pm

Give It Back

I recently took a writing class (yes, I do claim to be a writer and sometimes I actually write good stuff), and during the class the facilitator asked for volunteers. I am usually the first one to send my hand to the sky like a blazing rocket and this day was no different. I answered the question with my usual blondness (no, I’m not blond and I do know that blondness does not define smartness) and was so off track that a search plane was sent out to find my brain.

After I crawled back under my rock and let the rest of the class go on without me, I was pleasantly surprised that our lovely facilitator was giving 7 books to the 7 participants and would these be passed to the rightful winners. Mine never came. WHAT? I was pointed to as person #5 and should have received a book.

OK, so my answer to the question really sucked, but I did stick my neck out, and I did suffer the consequences of being squashed under a rock, so after all that, I really would have enjoyed the last pick of all the books that went around. You know the book…the one that is really stupid that no one wants because it was written in 1972 and is about the soft puffy cotton balls of ancient Egypt. Hey, I don’t care. I deserve the worst book in the pile for the worst contribution of the class.

I at least deserved a book. Alas, that would not come to pass. I, once again, stuck my neck out (I do love to get my head lobbed off) and asked if the books had made it around yet. After all, there could have been a single book lost between people in a state of panic. It could be just laying there wondering if it would be claimed by some sorry soul or find itself in the pile for the closest donation center. The attendees all looked about, milled about, or studied their books, not admitting to having a book they didn’t deserve.

There is one person out there, and you know who you are, that has my book. I was looking forward to reading about the cotton balls of Egypt, and may have found my life complete by it, but it just wasn’t meant to be so. I will remain diligent knowing one day, sometime in the future, you, the stealer of my book, will peacefully move on and that book will find its way into my library where it will rest peacefully between “Blonds are for Better or Worse” and “Thieves Suck”.

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April 28, 2014 · 5:19 am

The Cup

The cup sat on the empty table

Air spilling over the edge.

Four legs reached down that held the plain above,

I breathed in the emptiness and fell through the floor.

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October 21, 2013 · 7:13 am

The Carnival

I couldn’t sleep.  I laid in bed for at least 2 hours with a constant stream of nothing rolling across my brain.  Then a childhood dream popped into my mind. It was the strangest dream I have ever had in my life.

My father was a spy. Not just any spy, but THE elite spy who ranked number one on most wanted list world wide. My kidnappers had been looking for him for the better part of five years and they planned to get to him through me, his daughter.  They hauled me into a cave filled with light, music, and people. There were two ferris wheels, a merry-go-round, and dizzying roller coasters that defied gravity. People were everywhere laughing and shouting with glee. The three black clad men towered above me as I was dragged screaming through the crowd.  We rushed by parents and their children holding cotton candy without being noticed. I thought we must be invisible. I cried and thrashed trying to get someone’s attention. Anyone’s. The carnival just went on.

At the far corner of the cave I was thrown onto a slab that mimicked a bed.  The largest of the three men loomed over me and spitting his words asked, “Where is he? Where is your father?” Shaking my head I told them that I didn’t know.  He had left three days ago and didn’t tell me where he was going. “You know where he is. Quit lying child. Tell us where he is!” His hot breath burned my face and he grabbed my neck and began choking me, “Tell us where he is or you will die.” My head began to throb as the blood and oxygen was robbed from it. My eyes felt as if they would burst from their sockets.

With a jerk I woke from my dream  with both my hands wrapped around my own neck choking.

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September 19, 2013 · 8:27 pm

Kind Of….

The catastrophe here in Colorado is something that I would expect to see in a movie. It is beyond a catastrophe and the floods are still surging into Nebraska.  My post today is actually not about the strife of the flooding, loss of life, nor the property lost to the poor people who have suffered.  These stories are already written and have the event well covered. This post is about the live news coverage and the on the spot reporters who, in their vast array of word knowledge, could only KIND OF put their words together.  Don’t get me wrong, the reporters are brave souls who venture out and face dangers in every type of disaster and l, for one am glad that they were out there and not me.  What they do is quite heroic in its own way.

A news report came from one of the many flooded areas. The reporter told her listeners that there was water kind of everywhere. Really?! The camera shot most certainly showed water all over the place. Do rivers and streams only kind of go over their banks?  Throughout this report, and others, I heard the newscasters say, “kind of” more times than I could count.  The water kind of went through the house behind me….  This car kind of came down stream…. Raw sewage is kind of leaking into the flood waters….  The water WENT through that house and destroyed it, there IS raw sewage in the flood waters, and vehicles of every kind DID float into houses, and pile up everywhere.  There is, and was, no kind of about it.

These two little words are a non-commitment that gives everyone an excuse out.  A person should commit to the situation, “the car floated down stream.” This simple statement commits the speaker to the fact that the car did indeed float down the stream, but what if it was already there?  What if there was no floating involved?  This lack of confidence, in terms of speaking, has permeated our culture.  Are we so afraid of saying that something IS?  Have we lost the confidence in the use of the word “is” that we now have to fall back on “kind of”?  Take these famous quotes (Shelley, Einstein, Buddha), and how they are completely deflated when there is that added piece of uncertainty.

Go forth and kind of prosper.

Imagination is kind of more important  than knowledge.

The tongue like a sharp knife kind of kills without drawing blood.

The rivers in Colorado didn’t kind of overflow their banks, they did. Let’s take those two words and put them to better use.  Colorado is a proud state and will be a stronger community.  The flood waters are receding but the mud remains everywhere.  Are the people kind of taking care of it?  No, they are tackling it.  They have shovels, buckets, and strong backs that will scrub every nook and cranny where the mud is.  I hope that the media does more than kind of follow the clean up.

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September 10, 2013 · 2:58 pm

Do Not Mock Me

There you are, sitting in front of me, mocking me.  Do you not understand what it takes to decorate your face with just black ink?  How am I to write upon you when you are not giving me any expression or meaning?  I have needs too you know? Are you amused when I wince uncomfortably searching for just the right word, sentence, or structure?  I am a writer who crafts words to put on you while you laugh each day that I struggle to fill you.  Be wary my white friend.  The day will come when you laugh too much, or taunt me into a cruel corner.  I will crumple, shred, and send you into oblivion without a thought then turn my back on your pitiful pulverized mess and pull a clean sheet from the stack.  This new paper will not disrespect me, and  I will continue to write whether you are a clean slate or a small mount of powder in my waste bin.  I am a writer and I will fill your face with my words, and laugh at your weak attempts at ridicule.  Now, step aside, I have a story to write.

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July 2, 2013 · 3:02 pm

A Work in Progress

I recently completed editing my Great Grandfather’s book that was about his life as a railroad man in the early 1900’s.  It was inspirational to read his words and be a part of something he started to write when he was 70 years old.  Grandpop was 70 while he was writing his book and is now long dead. It is only now, in 2013 that his book is nearly ready to publish.  As I sit to write my own book I wonder about his time writing. He wrote everything in longhand and then my Great Aunt would put the words to the typewriter.  Correspondence was by snail mail so each leg of the writing was done over months rather than the minutes.

Today, we have spell check, auto correct, email, blogs, tweets, friends, and a plethora of other outlets.  The overwhelming variety can be blissfully tiring.

The railroad business was mixed with brutality and bliss and he had a unique perspective as he was one of the builders who found the lay of the land and supervised the workers who laid the track.  It had rainbows of color that are perfect for story writing.  His detailed descriptions of the mundane brings his time on the railroad to life.  He loved this work and it took him through hostile lands both here and abroad.  He fought swamps and deserts, along with rebels and farmers.  He went so far as to be a founding father of a small town just so a railroad station could be built there.  He had moxsey.

Here’s to my Great Grandfather.  I will dedicate my book to you.  It will be done before I’m 70.

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