Hats Off to...

Today's heroes are crossing guards.

Now, when I went to school, I was a crossing guard. For my efforts I got a flag and a roller skating party at the end of the year with a damp McDonald's hamburger and a glass of their pseudo-orange drink thrown in. (I also got a kick in the pants but that's another story.) Of course, I also was on patrol at in intersection that had all of 4 cars pass through it on any given school week.

In my town, the crossing guards are adults. They get orange vests with yellow X's on them, a flag and/or stop sign, a whistle and a partner. They are also backed by flashing crossing lights, striped crossing zones painted on the road and a police van that regularly sets a speed trap in the school zone. (Okay, it's not really a trap because they also post a sign well before the school zone telling you they are ahead. So if you get caught, you really do deserve the ticket.)

I am eternally grateful to the crossing guards. They have phoned me when they have concerns about how my children ride their bikes on the very busy thoroughfare between our house and the school. They are out there at 7:15 every morning in rain, shine or chilly weather. They put up with the rude drivers and they still smile and have a joke for anyone willing to exchange pleasantries. They are unsung heroes for the parents like me that want to know our kids are as safe as possible getting to and from school. I owe them big time.

I have to figure out how to show that gratitude with something better than a soggy burger and a dye-loaded drink.

But for today, it's HATS OFF to crossing guards!

I found a head in my fridge

Yesterday I was seized with one of those rare (very rare) urges to clean out my fridge. I don't like to do it but sometimes a trail or a whiff or another alarming sign means its time to get out the protective gear and go in. And I really didn't think that yesterday could be so bad. When the inlaws came, we had obviously done a purge and that was only a few weeks ago, right?

So in I went.

I was cruising along until I reached (cue suspense soundtrack sequence and squeaking door audio) the vegetable drawer. You know - the climate controled area that by some weird fridge science is specifically adapted to pamper your peppers, cushion your cukes and keep your salad savory.

And in my defense, there was no funky odor, no trail of slime, no indication that something wasn't right. So I think my normally-reserved-for-suspected-snakes squeal was understandable when my hand touched something firm but slightly yielding...with black hair...about the size of a human head.

EEEEEEEKK!!!!

As I began to breath again - and to notice the bruise on my elbow from where I'd whacked it against the island when I jumped back - I realized that it was (or at least it used to be) a head of cauliflower. A moldy, black, didn't-know-it-could-ever-do-that cauliflower.

I don't mind cauliflower. In fact, I actually enjoy cauliflower. Add to that the undeniable health benefits of cauliflower and I get a little self-righteous glow every time I eat it. And my sister-in-law makes a fantastic salad that used chopped cauliflower, broccoli, cheese, bacon bits and ranch dressing. (It also makes a really great soup when she gets a little happy with the food processor.)

That must be what prompted me to buy the cauliflower in the first place. No one else in my house will eat it so I don't usually bother. I don't even remember buying this one. Do you suppose it was waiting in there to ambush my mother-in-law? Or to jump out and scare the oxidants out of my children? AAAAAH! MOM!! ZOMBIE VEGETABLES!

So I'm thinking - if you really want to scare kids tomorrow night (I'll be at a football game but you feel free to go ahead) forget the ghoul-faced pumpkins, keep the skeletons in the closet and cut back on the candy eyeballs.

You'll have better luck with the cauliflower.

I laugh every time...

Special Edition!

Since Sunday is our day of rest around here and since I spent the day w-rest-ling a bunch of dead garden plants out of the ground, I'm taking tonight to post a "special edition for writers" message...

I'm part of a fabulous group of writers called InScribe Christian Writer's Fellowship. On the listserve, we often toss around writing ideas and challenges and other prompts. So last week I issued a challenge to come up with the longest univocalic (it means using only one vowel) sentence my fellow writers could produce. And the winner is...

(Cue fanfare and confetti)

Diane Stephenson!

Here's her whopping wonder:

Let's never, ever remember pesky pests, fender benders, pens lent, cents spent, where we've never been; better we remember where we've been, letters we've been sent; better see the best, be the best, whether we've been tested, whether we've been bested, when we're rested let's remember pets we've petted, checker sets, pretty scenes we've seen; then whether we're here, whether we're there, even when needy we'll ever be blessed.

For you Type As out there, Diane honorable admitted there are two "y"s included but she also cut 10 words from this monster before submitting it. You can find out more about Diane on Facebook or on the Ryze network.

And my personal choice for an honorable mention is by another great writer, Mary Haskett. Perhaps not as long as some but beautiful nonetheless:

Meet me 'ere the glen,
Where the sleek tree bends,
Where the tree's evergreen
Never felt better.

Great job to all!! I can't even think of an appropriately univocalic accolade for you...

Don't forget to REset your clocks...

I have a new-fangled bell-and-whistles sort of clock.

Actually my husband has a new-fangled bells-and-whistles sort of clock. It has dual alarm settings, a static-prone radio and/or a beep guaranteed to skewer your cerebellum as it slumbers in REM sleep, big buttons and little buttons so you can randomly flail at it when your cerebellum convulses in primal self-preservation, huge numbers that are bright enough to guide in aircraft and even on the "dimmer" setting give the entire room an NVG-sort of hue, AND (here's where I think my husband got suckered by the marketing language on the box) it automatically adjusts in the spring and the fall for Daylight Savings Time. So no more sleeping in or wandering the house with an hour to spare when you forget to set the clock.

EXCEPT that the clock is above such things as governmental whims like changing the weekend that DST begins. Pshaw - says our clock - Fall is here, "Fall back" time it is. Kind of like the automatic house in the short story that keeps vacuuming and serving meals even after the nuclear bomb goes off, our clock disdains the changes ordained from above and sticks to its schedule.

Which means, of course, that we can't stick to ours.

Yesterday morning, I got up thinking it was 7 o'clock and thinking I had an hour to spare. I was just getting ready to hop into the shower when my husband came flying in. "It's 8:02!" he cries. "The clock got us again!"

Now my cousin has a clock. And she brags about her clock. It's reliable, she says. It hasn't let us down for over 20 years, she says. And as I frantically dressed and threw my hair into a braid, I planned the covert operation that would avoid her crazy cat, defeat the hazards of her sometimes party-littered floors and claim her clock as my DST loot.

Anyways, by 8:12 we were at our Sunday morning posts (DH, admittedly, looked much fresher than I did). It was another hour before I got to have that shower and actually start my day.

And we get to do it all again next weekend...

Lock the doors, cuz. I may be coming.

A Christmas sketch

No, no, it's not a script for a short dramatic scene. But between an art exhibit and a drama, I am caught (tangled, snarled, twisted, swamped) in Christmas. I listened to carols today while seamstresses worked their magic, framed some Christmas art, and even carried bags of fake snow around. All this on a gorgeous fall day!

So to finish the day I finally got inspired. (Took long enough.) There's a canvas that's been sitting in my studio, waiting patiently to become something fun and fabulous. I painted a border on last year sometime and then stalled there. Big time.

But I think I finally got it and tonight I drummed up a sketch of what I want.

Inspiring, isn't it?

Okay, maybe not yet but stay tuned and let's see if it becomes everything I want it to be. I'm actually irrationally excited about this candy cane.

Of course, that might have something to do with the combo of hot chocolate and Swiss chocolate that DH just brought me...

Hats off to...

As a freelance writer, I have to make a lot of phone calls. And often, the first person I talk to is a receptionist or secretary. Let's face it, we all know these are the people with the power. And they can make your day or break it.

There's one in particular, Lynn, that is my hero and angel. She's always pleasant, always helpful and just all in all a treasure trove of time and talent. Quick responses, helpful hints and all sort of visual and administrative talents. I haven't been able to stump her yet. She makes my job so much easier every time I talk to her and I'm sure she does the same for anyone that calls or comes through her office. So today it's hats off to...Lynn!!


(Okay, that's not quite what her hair looks like...and I strongly suspect she wears a halo at the office...but you get the idea.)

(Clipart courtesy of www.freeclipartnow.com)