Da Winnah

I think I spend too much time with teenagers seeing as my grammar seems to be subtly changing. Note title. Anyway, I did "win" NaNo, which means I wrote 50K words in a month (or actually less since there were many many days I did not write). I promised Friend Nina that I would edit it and let her read it by 1/31 so I guess I have to do it now. Nina is like that.
We had a lovely Thanksgiving with Aunt Amber and the cousins. Do I have pics? No, not really because The Boy wrecked my camera and the replacement did not come until after they left. I do have a few that I downloaded from Aunt Amber's camera. Maybe I'll get around to uploading them sometime. I don't know how my not having Premium any more will affect my ability to upload pics onto here.
What else? Oh yes, everyone but me was diagnosed with strep last week. Yep, everyone. And they were pretty sick puppies too. Friend Husband missed two days of work and still doesn't feel well at all. I'm just waiting for it to hit me. Resistance is futile. I will be assimilated.
It is cold. That is all.
Mwah!

NaNOOOOOO

I am so very very very far behind. Well, maybe just very very. At any rate, I'm behind and running out of juice. I must now write 2664 words a day to make the deadline. That would be 1000 more than the usual number.

And why does this matter to me so very much? Part of it is my thought of myself as a writer. Although I sincerely doubt that I will ever be a writer (I'm giving up so many of my delusions as I age), I still like thinking that there could be a chance. Plus I generally enjoy writing. But this story has just turned into something very difficult to write.

I also like to think that my stories are interesting. That supposition was recently put to the test when a man at our congregation asked me if he could read what I wrote last year (we've shared all sorts of reading adventures, especially regarding the Spanish Flu epidemic in 1917-1918). He told me yesterday that he had read it. And not much else. So I guess I'm supposing that it was not "all that". Sigh. What can I say to that? Nothing, especially if I lack the guts to ask him what he thought.

And I should be expending all this verbiage in my novel, so at least I don't feel like a serious loser if I don't get 50K words by midnight on the 30th.

Bummer

I realized today that I missed posting Sunday and thus blew my NaBloPoMo. I was a little unhappy but not terribly. I think I'll go write a letter (since I'm even with NaNo words for the day!)

NaNo goes slowly

Well, it usually does anyway, but this year it has been excruciating. Each and every time I sit down and have any time or inclination to write, the twins or Abby or Rachel are on top of me. I am already thousands of words behind. But I do currently have a story idea marinating in my brain, if I can ever get near the computer again!

Busted

Am I the only one who gets totally buzzed out by getting pulled over by police? I attribute it to being a pretty much law-abiding citizen and being freaked out to realize that you are being lumped in as a criminal. Which is sort of what happened just a bit ago.

I should just say that I hate Wednesdays. They are the most draining day of my week. On top of everything else that happened today, my son managed to push his seat back which caused my sewing machine to eject from the back of the car. Aside from breaking the posts that hold the thread on, I don't know what else was damaged. Kind of afraid to find out. I don't remember what else happened. But I am exhausted. I probably should have just stayed home from church and that stuff might not have happened. And I certainly wouldn't have been pulled over by a state trooper.

Apparently I was going over the lines in a non-cool way. Or something like that. So I got stopped and questioned about my state of being. I guess it became clear that I was just a tired woman on her way home. Or he decided to give me a break. Whatever, I was blessed to not receive anything more than a verbal warning. Thank you, God! (And yes, I have, even for something so non-earth-shattering.)

Now I'm going to attempt to crank out some novel words, as I am at least two days behind. And hope for a better day tomorrow.

Nice problem to have

Great. Haven't written a word of the new novel and already have a NaNo-induced headache. Is the feeling of unworthiness inherent in not doing NaNo worse than the frantic feelings incurred by doing it? Anyone with experience want to weigh in here?

That is what I posted as my Facebook status a while ago. And it's a nice problem to have. Obviously we have enough food, power, and time to complain about this. Four months ago I wasn't sure if I'd ever do anything but lie around in a hospital room and hurt. So cowgirl up, Lori Ann! Do or do not. There is no whine.

Done got myself in trouble

I truly have wanted to blog of late. I even started a post, to realize that, when I left it up on the computer, one of my children closed it down. What a waste of time! What I was going to blog about was Sarah's senior pictures. Instead, what I will blog about today is how I got myself into trouble by joining both NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo this year. Yay!

I don't really have a concrete idea of what I will write my NaNo novel about this year. Probably a continuation of the one I started last year. If I can ever get the NaNo site to come up and check that that is within the parameters.

Meanwhile, I will be getting gussied up for the OVQG meeting tonight, where I will be honored as a past president of the quilter's guild. I'll have a lot of progress to report to my therapist next time I see her! Yay me!

Call me exhausted

Novel snippet

After not writing for a few days, I finally kicked it into high gear and got caught up tonight. I really do like this novel. It's fun to write.

This is very rough, from tonight's writing.

Genevieve had packed Edward's dressing gown with her belongings when she prepared her trunk for Washington. She kept it a secret from her maid and from Mrs. Mayes because she correctly assumed that they would not understand her need to keep his scent with her. It helped her to sleep.

When she dressed for bed, she pulled Edward's dressing gown around her and folded its lapels firmly around her shoulders, breathing deeply of Edward's own scent. Just this evening she would allow herself to sleep in his dressing gown. It would almost be as if he were there, with his arms around her once more, warming her with his body. It would not be long now before that dream was reality, as Edward had cabled her that he was on his way home.

In the far watches of the night, Genevieve received a vision. It was a vision which would haunt her for the remainder of her days, and one which could send her into instant loss of self-control for years. She had a vision of Edward.

In the vision, her bedroom door opened and he crept in softly. When she looked up at him from her bed, he lifted a finger to his lips and silently closed her door. Genevieve smiled up at him and whispered, "Edward, darling! I did not think you would be here yet. Did you board another ship?"

Edward smiled but did not answer. In the moonlight made soft by her gauzy curtains, he sat on the edge of her bed and smiled down at her. Genevieve could smell his own scent, fresh from his own body and she smiled to know that he was back and she would no longer need to sleep with his clothing. She felt the bed move when his body rested there. She reached out for his hand but it was so cold that she pulled hers away.

"Darling, you are frozen! You must warm up. Here, come in here with me and get warm," she offered, raising up part of the bedcovering to let him in. He shook his head slowly, seemingly with amusement, and patted her hand through the blanket. "Well, if you're sure, sweetheart," she murmured sleepily. "I am so glad to see you. Skipper and I missed you," she ended with a shocking yawn. "I am so sorry, dear, it has been a long day."

When she felt his body leave the bed and the springs decompress, she opened her eyes once more. He stood next to her bed, looking down at her, in his gray suit with the white shirt she had specially packed for him to wear while he was in England. She smiled sleepily up at him and he smiled in return, stroking her shoulder. He took out his watch, looked at the face of it and then pulled out the photograph he had placed inside. Her eyes were so heavy, filled with sand but she kept them open as long as she could and saw him replace the photo into the watch case, close it, and put it back into his pocket before they closed. One last time she opened them, to smile and laugh at her inability to stay awake. His blue eyes studied her sadly. She was so very warm and tired but his eyes almost woke her up. Almost. Finally, her eyes closed and stayed closed. She did not see him leave.

The next day dawned a bit brisk but sunny. She stretched as she sat up in bed and looked around for evidence of where Edward had disappeared. There were not that many rooms in the house, where had he spent the night?

Genevieve got up, washed her face in the chilly water in the basin, and rubbed a rosy glow into her cheeks. Still wrapped in her husband's dressing gown, she wandered the second floor of the house, listening at closed doors for a snore or the sound of conversation. Her mother burst from her own room, then caught at her chest when she saw Genevieve in the hallway. "What on earth, child!" she exclaimed. "You will catch your death, parading around in that dressing gown! What are you doing?"

"Looking for Edward," she said, simply.

"Edward is not due to arrive here before the weekend, isn't that correct?" was her mother's confused question.

"But I thought he arrived last night," was Genevieve's equally confused assertion.

"I don't believe so, dear, but I will check with Mrs. Sanker and see. It would be delightful to see him earlier than we had hoped. Now run along and put your clothes on. The very idea! Motherhood has made you rather indolent."

Genevieve smiled and returned to her room to dress. Surely the day would warm up some, perhaps they could go for a walk. Walking downstairs, she saw Mrs. Sanker walking away from her mother, who awaited her at the bottom of the staircase. "Mrs. Sanker says that Edward did not come in last night, Genevieve. You must have dreamt it in your keen desire to see him again."

"It was surely a powerful dream, then. I felt him sit on my bed and take my hand. His hand was freezing." She smiled at the memory and blushed a bit. "I tried to get him to come to bed and warm up but he did not. I thought he had gone to sleep elsewhere so as to not waken me further."

"No, dear, I'm sorry. He is not in the house," was her mother's firm response.

"Oh well, I guess it was just a dream. It was surely realistic!"

"Ah yes, darling, that happens when you are in the family way. Everything is so vivid! Why I remember when I was expecting you..." and Jane Lodge escorted Genevieve to the dining room for a bite of breakfast.

Novel, novel, who's got the novel?

Having finished 26,000 words in this puppy, I am excited about the novel itself. Unfortunately, I like to read those epic novels that could double as doorstops when they are not being read and my writing reflects that, I recently read Pale Horse, Pale Rider, by Katherine Anne Porter, which is a book composed of three tangentially related short novels. The sort of short novel that you are writing in NaNo. I can't write like that, at least yet. So I've got chunks of novel that make sense in my head but probably only in my head because that's where the characters are living. Here's another chunk for your perusal, but don't feel bad if you don't understand it in context of the rest of the snippets.

I hope it is as beautiful at your place as it is at mine...November has been so lovely!



Although they would not normally have been long-term friends or even friends in the moment, the girls of Gall High School were close. Perhaps it was the utter impossibility that they would be educated, being women in the Edwardian age. Perhaps it was an exploit long forgotten by the group of them but which served to cement them for longer than just their high school years. Perhaps it was part and parcel of the mores of another time, where people kept closer contact than we do today. Whatever it was, the Round Robin Letter served a purpose both social and historical for the women who contributed to it.

The way it came together was this: a group of them were sitting around the Ladies' Lounge during Finals Week, discussing their plans for the future. One of them, no one could later remember who, suggested that they keep up with one another via letters after Commencement. This sounded like a marvelous idea to some of the others but the problem remained that if they wrote one another one by one, the news would probably not reach the others. It was then that Catherine mentioned something that some of her cousins would do. They called it a Round Robin Letter. Each would contribute an update, then pass it around to the others, in order. That way each would find out what was going on with the other women in the group and without writing tens of letters.

It was Genevieve who had the brilliant idea of putting the letters into a leather-bound journal, so that they would not become separated over time and mailing. She put in the first letter, then gave it to Catherine, who filled it out and gave it to Ruth. Ruth elaborated and gave it to Sarah. Sarah passed it on to Sophia after filling it in and thus it began. Though miles and life circumstances began to separate them, they knew what was going on in their lives and in the lives of some of their other classmates.

May 5th, 1910

Washington

Dear girls,

I scarcely know what to put into this volume, as we are not yet out of school! But it does seem important to put down a few things and get into the habit of correspondence prior to leaving the "hallowed halls". So here it is.

In a few weeks, I plan to leave school and go to Europe, at least for the summer months. My parents believe that it will serve a dual purpose: to lend me some polish which is sorely lacking and to keep me out of trouble. It is difficult to know now if they will achieve their hoped for purpose. I should be back to the United States by the beginning of September, so don't leave me out of the Round-Robin! I shall be very put out if you do.

It is now time for me to lay aside this volume in order to study for Fishbein's chemistry exam. How I long for the day when I no longer have to mix smelly chemicals to satisfy old Fishy! It won't be long now, for any of us.

Ever yours,

Genevieve Lodge

May 7, 1910

Washington, D.C.

Dear friends,

I will follow Genevieve's sterling example by putting down a few words before we go our separate ways. At this moment, I am supposed to be working on my Latin declensions for the Commencement ceremony but I will lay them aside for the moment. Why do you suppose it is of interest for the parents and visitors coming to see Commencement to see young ladies doing Latin? I feel rather like an animal in the Zoo.

At any rate, here is my excitement for the immediate future...did any of you get a copy of the picture that Mr. Hannigan took of us about six weeks ago? If you did, and you look at me in the picture, you may get an idea of my news. If you don't (or even if you do), here it is: I am engaged to be married! Please try to keep it as much a secret as you can. I have, for these six weeks now, but I have been fairly bursting to tell you all. That was the only day I wore my ring to school. You know how nastily the teachers discuss our futures. I did not want to hear about how I was wasting my education by becoming affianced so soon after (or before!) Commencement. Let them shake their heads afterward, the harmless old bachelors. I am getting married!

Thus far, our plans are for a Christmas wedding, so that we can take advantage of the holiday and take a trip. Gene would like to go to Mexico to an archeological dig and I shall accompany him. Between now and then, my Latin will be getting a run for its money with my trying to learn some Spanish. I suppose I should have taken that instead of French!

That is my news and as I am determined to not befoul my reputation any more than I already have, I must dig back into my dusty old Latin. As Genevieve said, it will not be long until we bid adieu to the halls of Gall High School.

Adios!

Catherine

May 10, 1910

Good day ladies!

I trust that we are all getting our pretty speeches prepared for our Commencement? I will take this opportunity to scrawl into our communal book, although I do not have any news nearly so exciting as that of Gennie or Cathy (and if you two call me 'Ruthie', I will see to it that toads find their way into your book bags!). How exciting...Genevieve and her European tour and Catherine and hers of Mexico. Oh, and the wedding of course. You two did get all the breaks, did you not?

I do not have any firm plans for the time following Commencement. I only plan to relax and enjoy as much of the summer as one can when one is trapped in the environs of Washington for the dull summer months. Perhaps I will have the opportunity to visit one of my many relations in another (and I hope cooler) city.

Best wishes to all from

Ruth

May 11, 1910

Washington (as if we would be elsewhere!)

Ladies of the Round-Robin Society,

As you all know, my sojourn in academia continues past our sacred Commencement ceremony. I am thrilled and relieved to announce that I have been accepted to the Philadelphia Women's School of Medicine. I will need to get special tutoring in chemistry and physiology (no such luck for me as you Genevieve!) prior to my moving to Pennsylvania but you all know that I will not mind. I can not tell you how utterly delighted I am to have the opportunity to do exactly what I have wanted to do for so many years now--study to be a physician! I am not idiotic enough to believe that the work will be easy for me, but I think I have the brains enough and I know that I have the heart enough to make a good physician. So, off I go to more schooling! I know that you all are green with envy!

Keep me in the loop. This Round Robin may be the only opportunity I have to know what normal life is like, once I disappear into the halls of the Medical College.

Best wishes to all,

Sarah (not Sissy!)

15 May 1910

Washington, D.C.

My dear classmates,

Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to join you in your special Round letter. You all have always been so kind to me, even when I arrived, as green as a stick, and did not know enough English to get by outside of school hours. I will delight in reading your exploits and will attempt to dress up my own so that they will not bore you when I write in my turn.

I do not have big plans of success following our Commencement. I mean only to gain employment somewhere so as to assist my parents in educating the remainder of my brothers and sisters. If any of you hear of a good job where they don't mind my Swedish accent, kindly let me know what it is. I thank you in advance, both for the job hints and the gift of your continuing friendship.

Yours,

Sophia Admundsen

Genevieve



Catherine



Sarah



Sophia and Ruth

Genevieve

Another novel snippet, this time in a new direction.

You seldom know when you are about to meet your destiny. Usually you don't think about it until later, much later, and you realize that your life turned around the random (or not so random) event at that very time. Sometimes you have a sense of magic and electricity that helps you to look for something to happen, but that is unusual in the extreme.

Genevieve Lodge was no exception to this rule. She was merely hoping to not be bored stiff all evening. She spent much of her life bored stiff. It seemed the thing to do for women of her class, with her brains. Unable to use them sufficiently within the constraints of society, they were either bored, troubled, or in trouble. Seeing as Genevieve was young, she was merely bored.

The ballroom was lit by gaslight, which lent an odd shimmery green cast to the room. Genevieve missed candlelight. It was beautiful in the extreme to dance in the light given by hundreds of tapers. Of course, it was much safer and more ala mode to use gaslight. She understood that. But in the back of her mind there was just the niggling that doing things because it was "the thing" to do was idiotic. It was not yet voiced, it had not even peeked its head out from where it was hiding, but the aroma was there. She was poised to begin questioning, which would probably alleviate the boredom.

In the light of day, the ballroom was merely an enormous room, rather plain, with windows set at regular intervals in the wall. Decorated in a dull ivory satin, she thought that it was supposed to be attractive and rich-looking, but mainly it was just ordinary. Genevieve had not really experienced "ordinary" in her life but for her station in life, the Doringer's ballroom was ordinary.

It was scarcely better in the gaslight. All the ladies had greenish skin, all the gleaming shirt fronts of the men were a sickly green. Genevieve scarcely wished to know how she looked in this hideous light. She would find somewhere else to hide out as quickly as she could, if only to relieve herself of the smell and sight of those wretched modern gaslights.

Banks of hothouse flowers were placed between the windows, predictably. There were lilies and roses, and plenty of those cheap frowsy white flowers whose name Genevieve could never recall. They lent a funereal cast to the already depressing ballroom as well as a sweet, almost cloying scent. Many of the young of the society class were already present, chatting along the walls, waiting for the small band to warm up and begin playing. Dowagers were already seated in their plush thrones, keeping a beady eye on the doings. Genevieve sighed and resigned herself to an utterly dull few hours until she could safely absent herself and do something, anything that was more interesting, even if it was merely to go to sleep.

Another short one

Here's another excerpt. I think I'm getting steadily worse, but I'm pressing on nonetheless. If nothing else, at least I'll have achieved some manner of discipline regarding plowing through something that I don't want to do.


Looking at Ruth, Tillie realized that she would be staggering no where, any time soon, because she was unconscious. Whether she had fainted or fallen asleep suddenly, Tillie could not say, but she was relieved just the same. Laying her down on her sitting room divan, Tillie gave Ruth a cursory scrub with the now cool water. She, Tillie, would go out and start digging the grave so they could lay this little one to rest. When Bill showed up, if Bill showed up, Tillie would be giving him more than a piece of her mind. With that, she arose from her position on the floor and realized for the first time that her bread was ready to come out of the oven. Sometimes the way that life went on in the face of tragedy was bracing, sometimes it was cruel. Tillie was not at all certain which one this was, but she thought she would have herself a good private cry while she was out digging the grave for the little boy who had been her son's friend.

After laying the bread on the table to cool, Tillie left the house, securely fastening the screen door to prevent incursions by the farm animals. She had found evidence of at least one hen in the house. Tillie walked the short distance to the barn to look for a shovel. Or did the Walkers have a tool shed? She stopped just short of the barn doors to look around. There it was, a little tool shed. Tillie headed in that direction and shook her head. She was going to have to work hard. That poor little one had to be put in the ground soon. The smell was beginning to permeate the yard.

Tillie was a sturdy woman and well accustomed to hard work. She did not, therefore, slack in her endeavor to dig that grave. She dug until it was almost too dark to see, and then finally determined that it was deep enough. Scrambling out of the earthy-smelling hole, she grabbed the shovel in hands that were almost numb with the digging. She didn't have the wherewithal to build a coffin, she just didn't. And Bill had not shown up either, so she couldn't send him after help or the preacher, one. The boy would just have to be laid to rest in a winding sheet, as they had done in the very old days of the frontier. She would just have to show Ruth that it had to be done that way, and soon. Tillie began her walk back to the house with the dark windows reflecting the last rays of the sun. The house looked as if it were deserted, burning and Tillie shuddered once before continuing on, this time unable to square her shoulders against her load.

Nuther piece o' novel goodness

From today's word weaving:

His wife smiled as he walked into his own kitchen. He hung his hat on the peg on the wall as she questioned him about the Walkers but did not answer. He turned to her and she put down the casserole dish she held when she saw his face. He was white beneath the sweat that covered his face. “Bill? What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

“The Walkers…”

“The Walkers are sick? Is that why you were there so long?” she queried anxiously.

He nodded heavily, then sat in his own chair. Looking over at the casserole and then at his own place setting, he pushed his plate away. After wiping his face with his hand, he said, “They have some kind of bad sickness over there, Tillie. Everyone’s sick abed, except for Hiram.” There he paused.

“So Hiram’s trying to take care of them all? Poor man! Poor Ruth!” she joked as she turned back to the kitchen to gather up the rest of their lunch.

“No,” he began slowly. “Hiram’s not there. Not that I could see, leastways.”

“Hiram’s not there? Where is he?” Matilda’s forehead creased with the questions.

“I don’t know. Never saw him. Just Miz Walker and the children. Oh,” he began and gulped hard.

Matilda sat down and waited for him to clear his throat. “One of the boys passed. That friend of Samuel’s, Simmons.”

Matilda gasped. “Passed! What do they have?”

“I don’t know Tillie, but it’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

NaNo 2009

NaNo has me firmly in its clutches. I am still not feeling the rushes of wonderful writing periods that I did when I first did NaNo but it seems like it's not going to be the "character building experience" that it was last year. For that I am thankful. Here is a tidbit from the 2300+ words I've written so far...

Susan glared into the camera. She hated being photographed. She never came out looking like she felt inside. Of course, with her irritation clearly visible, this time she would.

Maud ventured a tiny smile. Surely she could pull it off this time. Her image burned onto the film at that time was a memoir of her escapade forever more.

Delia acquiesced to sit on the steps with the other young women of the class. She was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep peacefully in a soft bed for days, weeks maybe. She merely hoped that she would remain awake long enough to make it safely home tonight.

Genevieve snatched the hats off two of the boys immediately before the photographer asked them all to please be still for a couple of minutes. One she perched atop her impeccable hairdo, slightly smashing it down. The other she popped atop the head of the perpetually gloomy girl sitting on her right. Millie accepted the hat with resignation. Genevieve rested her elbow on her knee and assumed a combative contemplative pose. Hiram and Eldred attempted to wipe the snarls of irritation from their faces before the art, the magic, the sorcery of photography recorded them there forevermore.

Julia and Frances, ever the sisters of the heart, tilted their heads together at the same moment, and wrapped their arms around the waist of the other. Julia smiled slightly, sweetly as she imagined showing the finished product to her grandmother. Grandmother Rachel did not understand how she could be friends with a Gentile, after all that the family had been through. Perhaps when she saw the transparent love and goodness of Frances’ face, she could understand how the bonds were so easily formed. Perhaps she could approve of the friendships that Julia found so stimulating amongst the girls of the school.

Frances, for her part, was grateful that she had worn her best shirtwaist to school that day. Although her skirt was nothing remarkable and certainly not the match of Sarah’s or even Molly’s, it was clean and it was what was available that morning when she woke late to get ready for school. First, of course, she had to do her chores for her Aunt Sylvia, who was yet again “in the family way” and found it difficult to get breakfast on for the huddled masses of her little brood. She stacked the dirty dishes in the dishpan and promised the green and heaving Sylvia that she would do them when she came back this afternoon from school. Avoiding any other encroaching tentacles of duty, she scampered out of the house to walk the brisk streets for two miles before reaching the hallowed halls of Gall High School, Washington, D.C.

Catherine surreptitiously pulled her hand out of hiding from her voluminous white skirt. The ring that George had placed upon it last evening peeked from its alcove between her skirt and her neighbor’s. By the time the photograph had been processed and distributed, her secret would long be out, but for now, she shared it with the photographer, a thin, harried man who had no idea that she was trusting him with her deepest secret to date.

“Young lady!” the photographer wheedled, “You can’t have that animal on your lap in this photograph.” The young woman slowly ran her hand down the spine of the cat resting comfortably in her lap. She then raised her eyes to challenge the photographer’s assertion. After a short time, he backed down and Sarah’s pet cat, Tom Thumb, was a part of the class photograph forever.

As the photographer harangued her neighbor, Bonny’s arms raised to her hips in a note of challenge to him. At that point, his attention shifted from the nefarious cat to the extensive work on her leg o’ mutton sleeves. “Kindly retain your position, Miss,” the photographer wheedled. Bonny acceded, mostly because she had no idea why in the world he said this and Mr. Hannigan disappeared beneath his dark cover and snapped his photograph.

Waiting patiently in the warm sun, Ruth and Sophia were resigned to missing yet another course of Greek. They muttered to each other through lips pressed as closed as possible while the fussy little photographer uttered useless imprecations to Sarah. Knowing Sarah as they did, they knew that that cat would be on her lap until the Lord came again, so the photography man had better just take his photo and move on. Who would see such a little thing in the mass of humanity that they represented anyway? When Bonny was cajoled to keep her hands on her hips, they knew that the time was here. No more whispers, no more murmuring. Although both girls attempted to keep still so the exposure would be clear, Ruth was unable to control her impatience for enough time. She was here to study, not to take silly photos.

The scene was blurry to Maudine’s eyes. She squinted just a bit to bring the photographer into focus. “Oh no!” she thought, too late. “He’s under the cloth covering!” The photograph captured her forever in the squint of near-sightedness. While her classmates would remember her as a warm and loving friend, she was forever captured by one group photo as looking stern and stiff. It was no consolation to her that Consuela, beside her, suffered the same unjust fate. None of the girls save Hazel wore glasses. And no one wanted to be Hazel.

The photographer came out from under the scratchy woolen cover and announced that he was finished. He handed his business card to the principal, a corpulent, sweating man who had been waiting to his left while the students fussed and fluttered. “The sample photograph will be ready in a week. I will take orders then. The copies are generally a dollar per, if the students or their parents are interested.” The principal nodded, thanked him, and began the process of shooing the students into the building. He did not have to work hard at it, for which he was truly grateful. The warming sun in which picture had been taken for maximum clarity had driven them all back in much more quickly than he could have anticipated. He spared not a glance for the photographer, who was busily putting away his equipment. He walked in the cool but slightly odiferous halls of Gall High School.

Once inside the building, Hiram stopped beside Genevieve and silently held out his hand. Millie hurriedly placed a hat into it and Hiram passed it on to Eldred who took it and walked on to his class in geometry. “Miss Lodge, if I may?” he quietly asked. Genevieve raised one delicate eyebrow, then plucked the object from her mounds of fair hair and dropped it into his hand from about six inches, as if the object as well as Hiram himself were beneath her ability to acknowledge. She turned with a swish of her skirts. Hiram glared toward her retreating form. Genevieve walked, back straight, almost saucily compared to the other girls, particularly long-suffering Millie who looked as though the starch had been removed from her bones long ago. Clapping the hat to his head, Hiram stalked heavily toward the staircase which would transport him to his ancient history class. His figure attracted the attention of Principal Harriman, who whipped the hat from his head and gave him a punishment of five demerits for wearing a hat inside the building. Hiram nodded swiftly, acknowledging the reprimand and silently swearing an oath that would have earned him ten more had it been heard by Mr. Harriman. Now he would have to miss practice this afternoon and do some inane bit of work for the office staff. Genevieve Lodge was a thorn in his side, to be sure.

Does it ever slow down?

Over the summer I thought that it would surely slow down soon. I was wrong. And that begs the question, doesn't it slow down sometime? When you are sick in bed perhaps.

So, I've been wanting to blog but have been without time when I have material and without material when I have time. Mostly without time. With all the leaves coming down, I've had to be up on the roof cleaning out gutters once this week (and it needs to be done again). I've also been mowing/mulching them and raking and moving the rest of them. Such is fall in the midwest, especially at our house with our old giant trees.



Friend Husband got the ok from the surgeon this week to start weaning off his crutches. He is allowed to do his stretching exercises in the evenings again. By tomorrow, he should be crutch-free! I think he may still use them when it's wet outside but by and large he should be finished with them. He starts physical therapy sometime soon, to rebuild the muscle and other stuff in that leg.

NaNo is right around the corner. I had a smidgen of an idea, but it has largely escaped me. I have a picture that intrigued me and brought up all sorts of characters in my head but that was a month ago and now that impending doom (I mean, "the fun of writing") is staring me in the face, I'm panicking a little. My plan is to get projects out of the way tomorrow and plan plan plan. We're having lunch with some people between church services on Sunday, so I don't know when I'll be able to sit down and beat out my first 1667 words...we'll see. I am happy to announce that Friend Cynthia and Friend Alyssa are both NaNo Newbies this year. They are so full of vim and vigor. I know they will have an excellent experience. I think that Friend Hollie is also doing it again this year. Here is the picture that inspired my musings:



It's more interesting in a larger size, truly.

Well, as if I needed yet another excuse to shirk my housewifely duties, NaNo will certainly be occupying my time. So I should go to the grocery store and get ready. I hope y'all have a lovely weekend!

Various and sundry

It has been a while since I blogged something substantial.  As I think I may have mentioned, Sarah and I were writing novels last month.  I ended up having to write the final 10,000 words on the final day.  That taught me something, and no, it wouldn't be the obvious.  It taught me that, properly motivated and with the right tools, I can really write.  I haven't looked over it since Sunday because I want to give it a rest and see what it's really like when I go back to edit.  I still think that last year's novel is better than this one.  This one was way too painful to write.

Tuesday afternoon, Neighbor Lady called me and said, "I think that Son #1 broke Son #2's arm.  Could you come over?"  (I am making them sort of anonymous, if that isn't perfectly clear.)  After audibly gasping and telling the children to "STAY HERE!" I ran next door.  The arm wasn't as bad as I had feared (compound fractures were going through my head) but it was clear that he was hurt in some way so I wrapped his arm to his side in an Ace Bandage and Neighbor Lady took him to the doctor.  I stayed in her house with her babysitting girl and Son #1 who was mortified that he had done that to his brother (especially since he did it trying to drag said brother out of the bedroom of Son #1).  I called the house and told the twins to come over.  Eventually everyone but Abby drifted over for one thing or another.  The good news was that the arm of Son # 2 was not broken.  The elbow had been pulled apart and they needed to put them back into place.  Which took 2 tries (that was the bad news).  In the mean time, Son # 1 introduced me to the wonder of Wii.  And it was very fun.  And I had a sore arm and shoulder for two days as a result of playing Wii Tennis over and over.  And then Son # 1 got in trouble with Mom because he apparently wasn't supposed to have the Wii on during the week.  Ooops.  Gotta remember and obey those rules (which he has had trouble with a lot, especially with regard to stuff he does with us).

We had a fabulous Thanksgiving with my brother and his family.  I haven't seen him since Thanksgiving two years ago.  The two older girls have new puppies and we got to enjoy them.  And even better, they don't run away like Lucy the Wonder Dog, who was insanely jealous of her new cousins.  I got some pictures, but none of the food (we had a more traditional Thanksgiving this year because I love my sil and she's not much on ethnic foods) and few of groups of people.

The day after Thanksgiving we played board games.  I had bought 2 new copies of old favorites because the twins had destroyed the others (Yahtzee & Scrabble) and a new one that I'd seen recommended all around (Apples to Apples).  While I couldn't tempt anyone to play Scrabble with me until a couple of days after the family left, when Friend Husband finally threw me a bone and played with  me, we had big fun playing Apples to Apples & Yahtzee. 

Oh, and I almost forgot the morning!  Abby and Aunt Amber have a tradition of making us monkey bread to eat for breakfast, so they did that.  It was too yummy!  And since Friend Husband didn't wake up early enough to suit my tastes, I put another female in bed with him to convince him to wake up.



He woke up much quicker after Daisy visited him.



A duty well done.





Two of the cousins are the same age, as they were both born in 1999.  Cass is about 5 months younger than Abby but at least 2 inches taller.  I also thought their feet looked fun together (both were running around barefooted, naturally).



One finished monkey bread.



This is Cass and sweet Dolly (well, Dolly is the dog)



This is sweet Daisy and Autumn.

Friend Gina brought it to my attention quite inadvertently that teachers generally receive gifts this time of year.  Yeep!  I've not done it before!  So I worked hard to get some cardamon bread baked as teacher gifts yesterday.  Here are a few pics of that, without the finished product, sadly.



I thought this looked interesting.  You braid the bread from the center out.  Abby wanted to know why it was that I was posting pictures of bread dough.



Twisty braid and finished braid.



All the loaves during the final rise.

Well, I've been messing around with this for a while and need to get moving on my laundry debt and housecleaning.  Bleah.  I hope I haven't totally lost you all.  I've been trying to revisit blogs but I also have a major blog debt so that's a little difficult too.  :-)

Hey look! It's more NaNo news!

Because I have no life anymore. Actually, my life consists of taking care of puking children and rapidly typing things into the computer, hoping they make sense, and hoping that I am not puking tomorrow myself.

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As she made her way up to the front row of chairs, Affinity congratulated herself on finding a location that was not only beautiful but airy. As silly as it seemed, she thought she would have better fortune keeping her wits about her with fresh air involved. Plus it would give her more to look at when her mind started wandering, not that she wanted it to necessarily, but she felt that it would probably happen. Affinity would much rather have the beauties of nature to contemplate than the shiny and squeaky clean interior of a funeral home. And just maybe people wouldn't be staring at her to see how she was holding up when there was the gorgeous sparkling "lake" (really a largish pond) or the autumn hung trees to contemplate. Affinity shook her head at herself, telling herself that it was not a good plan to be attempting to divert attention from herself today. In the next instant, she recognized that anything that got her through the day intact was going to be just fine, in her new frame of mind. She refused to question whether that was a good thing.

More NaNo (because you can just never get enough)

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Ruthie was next. Ruth was the child who most closely resembled Affinity

and pain arose fresh and searing in her chest as she peered at her

daughter. For a moment, her image was blurred until the tears made their

tracks down her cheeks, dropping with an audible plop onto the hideous

stainless steel table that held her child.

Ruth was a funny child. Upon her birth, she was placed on Affinity's soft belly.

She looked for all the world like a furry Buddha and the disappointed look

she gave her mother both amused and pained Affinity. Affinity teased Ruth

about it from time to time but Ruth had not yet reached the age where she

could appreciate the irony of a newly born babe with such a disgruntled

response to her mother.

NaNo Nightmares

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NaNo, NaNo

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My novel is making me cry.  If it isn't my inability to get it done, it's the subject matter.  It's changed itself from [CUT-TAG="More Here..."] a lighthearted story to a very deep dark one.  I just finished a part and now need to walk away from it.  If you want to see a snippet of what I wrote today, here's the link.

Sarah is way ahead of me and is doing swimmingly.  If she weren't so cute, I'd be down in the dumps about that too.  But, hey, I'm big enough to want the best for her too, even if it means that she beats the stuffings out of me, right?  Right.  Here's her NaNo and her blog, if you want to likewise encourage her.

I thought I wouldn't blog again until the end of November, so I was storing up things to say.  But today, I wanted to post my very fun results with a writing program and I figured it would be rude to just post that, so here's the bullet post on what's been going on here.

• Got very very sick this week.  Picture one and a half days in bed, not moving very much.  Picture not even wanting to eat.  Yes, it was that serious.  I'm feeling better now.  If that wasn't really the flu, I don't ever want to get it.
• Also received the Cutco Knives that I ordered from the neighbor-girl-trying-to-do-something-with-her-life.  Still can't believe I paid that much for knives, but they are awesome.  I used the trimmer last night to cut up onions and almost swooned with how easily they chopped it up.  This is the set I ordered (in the classic black) and I got a vegetable peeler as well.  Years ago, I had the trimmer as a part of the set that Friend Husband brought into our marriage but lost it somewhere.  I have mourned that knife on and off ever since.  So here it is.  Next step?  To send back the turning fork I mistakenly melted at Thanksgiving ten years ago to be replaced.  Oh, and to get the rest of the knives we own sharpened.  I can't wait.
• Seems like there was something else, but I can't remember now.  Oh well, I guess I should have written it all down.  Y'all be good while Mama's gone, ya hear?