kellementology

life according to me

Tag: blogs

  • Summertime Plate-twirling and Writing

    My weekend started yesterday. We went to the county fair. So what, you say? Well, I haven’t been in probably ten years. Think about it: Universal Studios last weekend; the county fair this weekend. All that food, and all those people. Yet I survived both experiences—in tact and smiling. I actually had fun. Go figure. It had to be the food. I should have paid more attention to the whale on the side of the building, letting me know that I’d be as big as he, once the day was over.

    I am not one to endure crowds. It’s strange when you consider that’s exactly what I did for a living for many, many years. Maybe it’s because I have finally calmed down. I’m alone much of the time, get to choose when I’m around people, and so don’t mind an occasional crush now and then. I guess that being around nearly 1,000 people daily meant that on weekends and vacations, being part of a herd of humans wasn’t something that sounded like fun. So I’m cured. Voila. I am going to have to stop eating the food that accompanies these excursions, however. Have you ever had a deep fried Twinkie? No, neither have I, but the my husband tried one. I only eyed it, sitting in all its greasy splendor while I savored my chocolate-vanilla soft serve cone. Of course, that was only a while after I helped demolish the pile of fresh fried potato chips and onion rings smothered with bacon-cheddar sauce and jalapenos. And that green-chilie burger. With mustard.

    I can’t tell you the last time I saw pigs race for Oreo cookies, or souped up beach cars speed over a small dirt course in an arena. Or monster trucks. Well, I haven’t seen any of that before, now that I think of it. But it was fun. It was also fun watching people whirl and twirl on the rides, wondering whether they’d had food before their ride, and whether they had an inclination to hurl in the course of all that spinning. No, no whirling for me. The ferris wheel was more in order for the beautiful day, and the scene spread out below full of raucous color and brilliant motion on one side, the vast Pacific and cloud speckled sky on the other. Warm breezes. Beauty.

    The rest of the weekend? The Resident Teen’s 15th birthday has finally arrived. Family is coming over to eat. What else? I like to cook, remember? Plus my mother is getting ready to head for VA, so we’re sort of combining the birthday with a launching. We’re going to launch her into her new life. It’s a story that has hovered near saga length that I’ve avoided writing about at this point. I’ll get around to it later, because there’s much to ponder on with respect to the whole process of her thinking about, wanting to, threatening not to, and deciding to go. To leave Paradise where she’s lived since 1968. To leave for good. I’ll get back to you on that one.

    And then my husband is taking some time off. A day here, and a day there. Just enough to break up my routine of sitting in front of the computer all day every day. Just enough to make me wonder where I’m going to find the time to write, and begin to feel a bit of anguish about not writing. But it’s definitely not his fault. He’s just one of those people who has a bit of “get up and go.” Or maybe wanderlust.

    How can I not write? I have to write. It’s a habit now. A great habit. One I’m quite fond of and would like to insist on time for. Don’t get me wrong, because my husband isn’t the type of person who would ever expect that I stop doing something I enjoy. Out of respect for one another, we never would do that. It’s more my problem to solve.

    Writing comes very easily to me. The way I write may not appeal to all, and the topics—if you can call them that—may not be something for everyone, but that isn’t the point. I usually know what I’m going to write well in advance of sitting here and getting it down. Once I sit down and begin, the rest flows. There is little time for organization or planning in a concrete fashion. That usually happens as I mull over the idea once I’ve thought about it the day before. I no longer write in a notebook like I used to. Instead I keep stickies. They’re everywhere. It’s a bit annoying, because I don’t often look at them. It seems that once I’ve committed an idea to a stickie, it stays in my memory until used. Unfortunately, the stickies stay on my desk and in other places in the house. It’s ridiculous.

    In other news, this blog is messed up again. Evidently, much of the difficulty lies for those of you who are still using Internet Explorer. Those who use Firefox have a better view. I know this for certain now, because I downloaded Firefox onto my husband’s computer. The old blog looks the way it’s supposed to. No fat, blob like font squeezed together in the center. No blank middle with the text 20 clicks down the page. Perfect. Thanks again to Phil at Thought Sparks who lends a hand when it’s most needed. He’s truly a kind soul.

    But I’ve been shopping for a new theme again, and it’s fairly tedious and time consuming. Taking care of the blog takes writing time away. I still have difficulty mediating that. I do enjoy the idea of planning what it all may eventually look like, and want to learn to do the designing myself. For those of you who know what this involves—don’t tell me. I usually get where I want to go in life by the seat of my stubbornly tenacious pants. I enjoy learning, but I am not always completely efficient in the process, so as long as you’re willing to stick by my side as I figure this all out, I’ll be pleased. Of course, you do know you’re welcome to complain that you’re sick of the changes, and to stop the audience abuse. There are other aspects of life far more painful.

    And then, there is my food blog,  Sass & Veracity. Although I have the cooking down most of the time, I’m still struggling with my writing voice there. I speak to a completely different kind of community, so that affects the way I write. I’m working on it, though. In fact, I have to complete a huge post today to conclude a food blog event I co-sponsored with a food blogger who’s got more experience than I do. It should be up on Sunday. Make sure you take a peek.

    When you wonder where I am and why things don’t happen daily here like they used to, it’s because I’m plate twirling. It’s free plate twirling, mind you.

    And I’m doing it gleefully, of course. It’s summertime.

    You should be plate twirling, too.

  • Thinking About Dog Turds, Dead Birds & Report Cards

     

     

     

     

     

     

    Sometimes, life leaves you little packages. Some are pleasant, and others require thought. A few are earned, and the rest may be deposited with you whether you want them or not. They make you wince, hold your breath, shake your head in disgust, or shed tears of remorse. Yesterday was one of those days. A thinking type of day.

    Thinking about things like:

    • What that thing was on the third riser from the top on the staircase. That rounded, dark-looking, too big to be one of the RT’s mishmash of military paraphernalia. That…glob…leaning up against the wall. Did the doggo drop a piece of her load on the rug? No. Can’t be. But there it was in all its glory, a turdlett, most likely left accidentally on her way out the door first thing in the morning. She just couldn’t make it. Somehow she knew that I had found it, and avoided making eye contact as I carried it to the trash, her eyes flicking up and away, knowing she had been caught and was embarrassed.
    • Or the sweet little yellow-headed bird Blaxter brought up to me like he was awarding me a bouquet of roses — his mouth full of feathers after laying the no longer breathing feathered beauty softly at my side on the rug. His green eyes searching my face for a response for his deed of gift-giving. What possessed him after eight years to catch a bird? I patted him on the head, gave him a few scratches and rubs, and carefully scooped up the poor bird to take it somewhere a bit more respectful for a while. No little boys at home any more to coo over the loss, and with whom to hold a ceremony. And just a patio with no land or space of dirt to dig a hole and bury it.
    • Or the report card. The RT’s. One last stretch until the end of the semester. Until the end of his first year in high school. A decent report card– excellent in some areas (Biology), definite work needed in others (The Geometry Teacher’s Class). The report card felt more mine than his. What can I have done to support him more? How do we instill in him the need to engage? To connect the dots. To join the world of the practical. Maybe he has it right, and everyone else has it wrong. “RT, I really need you to hop up and down, pull your hair out, look generally miserable about school and stress out about everything that’s going on. You know?” It’s funny that when I remember being in ninth grade–and I do clearly–homework was insignificant, the assignments required little thought, and my classes were less than inspiring. I went every day, did what was expected of me, and spent almost no energy on any of it–but not consciously. So what am I complaining about?

    My ultimate report card?

    Today was weigh-in day for progress on my diet. I’m not feeling very svelte this morning, and it isn’t because of the wrecked hamstring in my left leg. There’s nothing to celebrate, that is unless I consider my health, and all that kind of good stuff often taken for granted. I’m back up about a pound. It must be Thursday night’s very reasonable portion of Chocolate Mousse–Banana Split Style which was so delicious I could have eaten all of it myself, but didn’t. Or pasta a couple of different ways over a couple of different days, or the pizza on Saturday when we were working like dogs, or the Eggs Baked in Cream yesterday morning…Whoa. Oh, and the wine. And the beer. Looks like I’ll have to pop that celery out of the veggie bin. Dinner needs to be on a smaller plate. And I probably don’t need sugar in my coffee.

    On the brighter side of things, a few weeks back, I received a very pleasant review of my blog which I believe I neglected to share. In his review, Billy Mac said, “New kid on the block Kellementology is on the path to stardom. She has all the right who…what…where…and whens in order, her format is set up nicely and she posts on a regular basis. What else can you ask for from a blogger.  Now it’s the waiting game to watch the blog blossom. Keep up the good work…keep the content as good a s it is…and good luck.”  I swear I blushed when I read it.

    Then,  Confessions of a Former Bookworm anointed me with a Thinking Bloggers Award, and in very good company, as well.  Perhaps it makes sense that I gave you all my pensive  thoughts above to consider  while I was thinking about it. Just sharing the thinking one post at a time, whomever, and where ever you are out there.

    It’s a pretty diverse list, but the following people give me pause in their various regions of the blog world, sometimes like a cold splash of water, or others like the brush of tall grass in a gentle breeze. I discovered Wonderland or Not fairly recently. I like her edgy, witty point of view and general voice in whatever she writes–even though I have to scratch my head occasionally, and stew over it. And Dave, of course, at Wandering the Ether, who never fails to make me feel guilty for writing about American Idol, or the RT’s messy bedroom instead of societal issues that are perpetually swept under the rug. Or like Writing Under a Pseudonym whose writing on life and its trials is hauntingly beautiful at times, and so achingly sad others, that I feel as if I’m an intruder as I read, and don’t know how she makes it from one day to the next. I don’t read these blogs the same way, for the same length of time, or for the same reasons. I respond to one, and hover around the other two. They simply make me think each time I check on each of them. They coerce me into a world more serious than the one I’ve wanted to be a part of recently and I appreciate that.

    So, in the spirit of thought, I’m off for my walk early today, to think. Free as a bird, listing to the left a bit, weighing more than I want, but ready to pound the streets in search of anything a bit less serious in Paradise. Because a bit of levity is good for the soul. Would you put this on your house? Really? Shhhhhh…..I’m thinking.