Pulling out a plum

The question here is: can this post be written by thumb upon my mobile phone.
The answer, clearly, is: yes.
Which only leads to this: now what do I write about?

It was something I hadn’t quite considered when I opened the browser. But, let’s be honest, when have I ever been a loss for something to say?

My day has been packed. I am working to exercise my brain in new ways, using long untouched synapse relationships in the attempt to utilize that organ that offers higher level thought. I would prefer to be eating chocolates, but that doesn’t seem to be on offer.

At this moment in time, I am watching my youngest, Andrew, cavort and tumble around the mats in his Little Gym class. Nearly 14-year old Emma is sitting by my side reading Goldman’s The Princess Bride. I left the teen taller than me, Ian, at home raking the leaves. In the Missouri autumn, this is a job for the likes of Paul Bunyan. Just so long as he carries a proper sized rake.

And all of this leads me to what? Nothing, exactly.

Or everything, if contentment is the goal.

Signature Item

Shot on Sunday

S’s R Us

A small note for information purposes.

Featured here on Sundays, (yes, I blog on weekends, why do you ask?) will be my latest brain-child for creative discipline. I call it SHOT ON SUNDAY, partly because I love the alliteration and partly because I was looking for a fun new challenge.

As to make any point I have redundant, the idea is that  ON SUNDAY I publish a photo SHOT, a photo which I take ON SUNDAY, not just any SUNDAY but the SUNDAY when I post the SHOT. Get it? It’s a photo that was SHOT ON SUNDAY. By me, of course.

My intention is simple, it’s a concious search on at least one day of the week, every week, to photograph something that catches my eye. Preferrably it’s a shot begging to be captured. Those are the ones I like best anyway, the shots that call me hither. It may not be amazing or stunning or beautiful but to me it will be a story that was waiting to be told.

Without words.

In a  SHOT ON SUNDAY.

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Anyone who wants to could play along.
If you do, be sure to comment and tell me so.
I will love knowing you’re looking too. And if you’re a blogger, 
there will be some link love action shot right back at ya.   

Feelin’ it

Thankful.

 

 

Singular Saturday has returned. Want to know more? Read this.

Come and play if you like.  Links after comments. It’s how I do.

Thank me? No, thank you.

THANKS FOR PLAYING:

Soccer Mom in Denial

On youth and jubilance

giggles punctuate
each bounce of the yellow bus
as the wheels go round

 Hey, are we there yet?
I think I need the toilet.
5-year old madness!

 Addicted to joy
a Kindergarten field trip
is chaos I love.

Table it

“So, Mom, you got a delivery.”

“Yah, I saw that! I’m excited.”

“Why did you order a massage table?”

“It’s gonna be my Reiki table.”

“Serious?”

Totally.

“Are you starting a Reiki business or something?”

Yup. That’s what I’m thinking.

“Oh, cool. Can I be your first customer?”

Absolutely.

“I’m going to tell all my friends. ‘you think 8th grade stresses you out, come see my mom’“

“Excellent. I like that.”

“Oh, yeah, we are such hippies. It’s awesome.”

 

State of Affairs

Red Flyer

 

Wordless

Song in my heart

You may have heard me say it before: I walk to the beat of my own fully outfitted percussion section. I am rather proud of the fact that the rhythm in my head leads me in life. I feel I can trust the steady boom-boom-boom that echoes behind decisions for me.  Maybe that’s the beat of my heart which races with the thrill of new adventure or accompanies personal discovery. I wouldn’t know how to otherwise define it.

In recent months, there have been several of those decisions, thrills and discoveries. I don’t suppose any of that will be ending anytime soon. But for all the wild caucauphony that has been the orchestration of relocation for this family of five, we find ourselves now stepping to a steady, comfortable beat, in its own right the soothing sound of settling in.

Andrew is thriving in Kindergarten.

Emma dramatically steps into her place in Middle School.

Ian meets and beats the challenges of American High School curriculum.

Don holds his place and his prestige at this new position with grace and strength.

Me, I just keep making plans.

But the sound of this music can best be summed up with the lyric that follows.

The rhythm of my heart is beating like a drum
with the words  ’I love you’  rolling off my tongue
Never will I roam for I know my place is home
where the ocean meets the sky
I’ll be sailing

Rhythm of My Heart, Rod Stewart 1991

MUSIC MONDAY 

And so it begins

It’s the first day of November.

Around here that means two things.  The first, once written, may cause you to shake your head in disbelief, but trust me when I say to you, this is how it’s going to be. I’m going to be here all month. All month, my friends and readers. Ill say it again because it just feels that good.

 I’m going to be here all month.

Yes, it’s that time of year again. The month that traditionally the gauntlet is thrown for lazy and vigilant bloggers alike to put a little something up on their pages Every. Dang. Day.  You can call it NaBloPoMo and as point of fact you should,  as tha is the name of the fun.  National Blog Posting Month began as a November operation and though it has expanded some to accomodate those crazies bloggers who want to try it all the time, November remains the month of tradition. And so it shall be here. I’ve done it before. I’ll do it again.

SPEAKING OF TRADITION

Here’s thing two.

November is the month wherein this family attempts to look at the big and little things to be thankful for. And not just on that wonderful day of gluttony but in all the days preceeding it. And, because we have a kindergartener in the house we like to do that with a little visual fun as we exercise our thankful minds.

The way it plays out is like this.

There’s a turkey, see, and he’s got no feathers on his backside. His picture hangs on the wall next to an (as of this moment) empty paper. Next to that is a bag full of feathers (this year we’re using paper feathers, but if you were really motivated you could grab a bag of craft feathers at your local craft store).  The action goes something like this:

1. Consider carefully the things [read as: nouns] for which you feel thankful.

2. Write something down on the sheet (can’t stay empty for long).

3. Add a feather to Turkey’s derriere.

4. Feel awful darn good about life because you’ve stopped to notice its goodness.

5. Do it all again tomorrow.

By Thanksgiving Day, Turkey ought to be looking proud as a peacock with all his bling in the back.  And everyone ought to be feeling ultimately grateful for what we’ve got.

Because in the end, that’s a lot.