Cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice, ginger

These are the things I put in my coffee filter this morning.  I was dreaming, the other day, of pumpkin spice creamer and decided, screw that, I'll make pumpkin spice COFFEE.

I have one of those awesome grind & brew coffee makers that take a couple minutes to clean properly before you make a fresh pot (FRESH POTS!) ...  but they make some of the best coffee.  I love that I can set it up the night before and still have just-ground beans in my coffee in the morning when the alarm time hits.

Freshly ground is the only way to go.  If you pre-grind your beans, shame on you!

Also, if you have a burner constantly going under your coffee carafe, shame on you!  Burn your poor innocent coffee?!  I...  I don't know if I can talk to you anymore.  It's much more humane to warm the (thermal) carafe and have the burner turn off, like my lovely machine, or if you have a glass carafe, move into a pre-warmed thermal one.

Your coffee deserves better than to be burned.  No, YOU deserve better than burnt coffee.

Nothing is worse.  Now, go make a pot.  And do it right.  Make me proud.  <3

Nine-Eleven

I'm admittedly not a change-your-facebook-profile-pic-to-a-flag kind of  person, but it doesn't mean I don't care...  It means I don't buy into the hype that if someone REALLY cares, they'll follow these abstract social protocols.  No, no.

When the planes hit the towers, I was in bed, with my new husband.  It was our one month anniversary from our wedding and we were probably on the naked side more than the clothed side, so when my mother called me, (much earlier than I'd usually be awake, as I worked late) I was irritated.  She sounded odd, told me to turn on my tv.  I asked what station, she said it wouldn't matter.

We got up and moved to the living room, and turned the tv to CNN once we saw what was going on.  They seemed to have the least repetitive view, with constant view of the tower that was smoking while someone reported.  We were watching when the second plane hit, when the second tower fell, followed by the first.  We were watching when the pentagon was hit.  When the plane crashed in Pennsylvania.

We both had to work that night, but nobody was in the stores.  Nobody was out to eat.  I worked at Target, back then, in the little Starbucks area, and my husband was a server at Chiles, I think?  Feels like ages ago.

What I remember is knowing I didn't know anyone there, but not being able to imagine the pain of those who did.  The pain of those who saw it happen.  Saw the bodies falling from the broken windows.  Saw their city in ruin.

As much as it pained me, however, it angered me to see this was being used as an excuse to go to war.  To cause more pain, more hurt for more families.  An excuse.  It was clear then as it is now.  Then to discover we were all lied to.  The powers that be DID know there were threats, and did nothing.  They knew this was coming, they knew it could happen, and they sat idly by.  To go to war?  For that excuse?  I speculate, but I don't know.


And here we are, 10 years later, having the same conversations.  My children (8 and 6) learned about 9-11 at school on Friday.  My son was home sick, actually...  my daughter went, and came home with a full sized flag.  She wants to hang it in her bedroom.  But she didn't understand what they were saying happened, so I pulled up some of those youtube tribute videos set to music for the kids to watch.  I didn't want the ones with the screaming people and close-up views of the jumpers...  I wanted the ones that showed the towers, the pentagon, the scorched mark upon the earth where the plane landed.

They stood behind me at my computer, watching, eyes big.  They weren't born yet, but I remember it, and that was a big thing to them.  Like the JFK assassination was for me, knowing my parents were there.  Like the moon landing.  You can feel the history in certain moments.

In any case, I remember, and I still am sad for the families affected.  But I, for one, will not allow this to take over my life.  We were attacked once, and it was bad.  But how many times have other countries dealt with similar attacks?  How many families did we rend with our bombs?  Our guns?

An eye for an eye, that's what it feels like.  And the world?  It's going blind.

Flash fiction challenge: 1000 words, "Don't cry over spilled milk."

The phrase was uttered at work today, and it stuck with me.  The connotations are many, this could be literal or figurative, after all.  So!  Let's let the phrase sink in and inspire us!  1000 words or less, inspired by the phrase, "Don't cry over spilled milk."  Story, not essay.  We'll start today, September 8th, and you'll have one week to get them to me.  So as long as they're in by midnight (MST) 9-15, they count.

Let's make this first one just a fun self-challenge, and see how that goes!

Let's see...  how to submit.  I think having huge stories in the comments area would take over a bit, so please post on your own blog and link the posting in the comments.  If you don't have a blog or your own site, go ahead and post here!

Happy writing, and calm down, now.  It will be alright.

Today can kiss my shiny white ass.

This morning was a bit of a clusterfuck.  Woke up at 8:35.  Kids should be out the door for school at 8:30.  FAIL!  But, I suppose, the first bell doesn't ring until 8:40, and second is 8:45, so I had time.  10 minutes to get them out the door and down to their classrooms before second bell, when they'd be officially late.

I ran about, screaming like a banshee, trying to get things ready.  Anna had made lunches already, Aaron was still getting dressed (not telling anybody he did not HAVE pants to change into because he's a very modest little boy and would not come out of his room wearing just underwear and a shirt)...  We managed to get out the door, homework folders WITH homework (win!), lunches prepared (win!), and down to the school with 2 minutes to spare before the second bell.

I think they made it.  99.9% sure.  If not, there will be a tardy for the day, but I hope not.  I really hate being late, and I hate my kids being late even more than that.  Phew!  OK, crisis averted.

So here I am, after all that fun, hanging out with my coffee, staring at the computer.  In a feat of miraculous something or other, my husband is actually out of bed before noon (he doesn't start work until 2:30), and is being distracting.

He will never read this, so it's all good!  LOL  He always gets up and puts on some distracting tv show or something on his computer, and I can't focus, and therefore cannot write.  I had big plans this morning, people.  BIG PLANS!  And he goes and wakes up early and ruins them.  Sigh.

Yeah, yeah, I could put headphones on and try and make my music louder than his speakers, but who wants that, really?  I have spent half my writing existence like that, and I'm a grown woman, this is my house, and if I don't want to have to put headphones on to be able to write, I shouldn't have to.  /nod vehemently.

So yeah, foiled again.  Clusterfuck morning.  Maybe I'll be able to get something done later.  Heh.  Yeah right.  Kids get out of school early today, right around the time the hubband leaves for work.  (yes, I said hubband.  Husband, hubby, hubband!)

And thus, my day is filled with coffee, and hopes and dreams that will be thoroughly crushed.

So...  what (always) foils your best intentions?

If I started hosting flash fiction challenges...

would you be game?  I have people viewing but not many commenting, and that's fine!  I view a lot more than I comment too...  but if I put up some challenges for people to try their hand at, to challenge themselves, would that be something you'd be interested in doing?

I could give copies of my work as prizes, or offer to help edit something for you, or it could simply be a self-challenge thing like NaNoWriMo.

What do you think?  It is a lot more fun than I thought, and I'd be challenging myself as well.  I, of course, would not be up to win anything at all, duh...  but if I'm going to challenge YOU, I may as well step up to the plate myself, eh?  :)

So!  Yes, no, maybe so?  (starting to sound like a country song!)  And would you like editing help on some other work, a copy of something of mine, or would you not need anything for incentive?  :)  I'd be down with whatever!  Or if you have other thoughts for prizes, I'd be interested to hear!

This is a first cup of coffee thought, today.

Bony Fingered Limbs, what it really means...

So I bet a few of you are all confuzzled about my bloggy name goodness!  It's something I came up with ages ago, and was used in some poetry to describe the tree in my parent's front yard.  I still lived at home, might even have been in high school still (since I lived there maybe a total of one year past that, split into three different time frames...  before Chicago, after Chicago, and after my lease with friends was up, but before I got married.) ~


Anyway, I was talking about the tree, a Cottonwood that was planted there when the house was built, and grew up with me.  The tree was only a few months older than I was.  We climbed up it happily, and spent many hours in its branches, reading books.  We devised a bucket/basket on a rope to carry our things up and down the branches, since we couldn't really climb up with a backpack on or with things in our hands.  We sat in its branches and watched little blue eggs turn to baby robins, and brought up little water droppers to "help" the mama bird feed them.  Mama didn't even seem to mind much.


The poem that inspired the name isn't my favorite, but here it is:

February Rainstorm

Cold-kissed droplets
pelting down
leaning to the left
flying through
bony fingered limbs.
Flash of lightening
streaks the sky
in bursts of camera bulbs
taking pictures of our
"cruel cold world".
Peering through the
paint-clouded window panes
feeling the damp cold air soak in,
smiles rise from troubled skin
while music in the air,
proclaims loudly,

and 'tis true
"I'm only happy
when it rains.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I've been looking for a picture of the tree in question, but may have to dig into the old hard copy photograph box to find one.  It died and was replaced by a red leafed maple a few years ago.  Color me sad.

Ah well...  The branches always looked like fingers to me, reaching out to the sky.  My favorite was when it was raining, and the branches were reaching for the drops, streaking in the light of the streetlamp, glistening happily. 

Flash fiction challenge.

Wrote this little disturbing blip tonight, quickly, as part of a flash fiction challenge.  100 words or less, subject:  revenge.  http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2011/09/02/flash-fiction-challenge-100-words-on-the-subject-of-revenge/

So, here goes!  A little dark for my usual style, but it works.
  
     *          *          *          *          *

Test

     She hid the plastic stick in the bathroom trash bin and stepped into the darkness, floor creaking, threatening to give her away. 
      Dazed, she walked to the kitchen for water and retreated back down the hall toward the bedrooms, but she stepped into his room, not her own.

     She stood over his bed, moonlight glinting off the steel she did not realize was in her hand. She stared blankly, plunged it into his sleeping throat, and redness spread. He gasped and gurgled until, at last, he lay still. “It's all your fault,” she stared down at him.

      Two pink lines.