Friday, July 27, 2012

Random Journaling

Wow, has it really been since the 12th that I posted here?  Life happens and time seems like it's moving faster than normal. 
So, I'm supposed to be getting ready for vacation and I'm distracted by what I'm bringing.  I know I want a journal, but what do I bring?  My small one?  The one that's almost filled?  My Netbook? 

Then I started thinking about how and what I journal.  What goes in them? 
I looked on the Internet and there are as many journals as there are interests.  Personal journals.  Poetry journals.  Gardening journals.  Zombie journals.  Knitting journals.  Pirate Journals.  And a lot of other kinds. 
I looked around my Creative Room and there are many many journals and notebooks.  Each started as one type and then ended as another. 

I put different things in my journal.  In one I have a leaf from Valley Forge.  In another I have a napkin from the donut shop in the airport at Sao Paulo, Brazil. Along with the leaf I have a penant from the Toronto Blue Jays game.   I have poems, notes, stories, ideas for stories, frustrations, sadness, excitements.  Some people separate different journals: one for creative writing, one for poetry, etc.  Not me.  As I said, I start with good intentions, but they get all jumbled up. 

I like seeing what others have written in their journals as well.  That's why one of my favorite books is the Journals fo Sylvia Plath.  She was an amazing writer, but also creative in documenting her thoughts.  Even though she committed suicide, it's a fascinating read.  The only real sadness in it is that the story doesn't feel like it finished. 

So, why do we keep journals?
I'm sure there's as many answer's to that question as there is journals. I know I like mine because I can't help but write. My journaling is pen and paper and tangible objects, but often they get translated into things like blog posts.
How about you?  What's your journaling style?   
I was going to write about types of journals and all that, but I found two sites that have a better discussion than mine regarding it:
**Writing Forward--Melissa Donovan:

Thursday, July 12, 2012

My Magic Mike Experience

Matt Bomer White Collar
photo from
A few of my girlfriends and I went to see Magic Mike. Of course they were all oooh, Matthew McConaughey  or Channing Tatum.  Yeah, whatever.  Matt Bomer's who I wanted to see. 
We're going to the cashier to get our tickets, still debating on the whole going to see strippers dilemma.  On the one hand, it's strippers. On the other, it's the prospect of Matt Bomer in a G-string.
Seeing the little old ladies with their walkers going in makes me waiver a bit, though. 
I'm the first in line and I ask "are we going to do this?"
The answer is "you decide and we'll see what you see."
Thanks.  Put it all on me.  Then I get blamed for their guilt at paying ten bucks for strippers.  
Did I mention piercing blue eyes, perfectly smooth skin, silky raven tresses...?
So, I'm opening my mouth to say "Yes, I want to be the bad girl.  I want to yell and scream 'Take it all off, Mattie!"
What comes out is "One for Spiderman, please."
That got a big laugh and I'm still being mocked a week later.  I'm a prude, a good girl, chicken--all sorts of names.  And I don't mind. 
You see, the choice is still mine.  I can always go see it.  Or I could continue to let the Holy Spirit guide me. I mean, do they really think it was me that chose a man in tights over Matt Bomer in much less? 
Once you do something, you can't take it back.  I can't take back that I chose Superhero over Stripper.  The question is, Do I want to?
Two of the girls went and saw Magic Mike later and reported back that we didn't miss anything.  It was all porn, no plot.  It takes a lot of faith to trust they're right. 
Because, did I mention Matt Bomer?

Sunday, July 8, 2012

Living the Dream

I've been busy these past few weeks living the American Dream: home repair and improvement.  I mowed my grass on July 4th.  I look at it now and it already needs mowing again.  (audible sigh)  I needed to clean the drain in my bathroom and when I went to unscrew the joint the pipe broke.  It had rusted out.  My house was built in the 1950's and I think that's the last time anybody did something with the pipes.  And, if you've read any of my previous posts, you'll also know that I've had to build a new storage shed and patio area.  It finally is almost finished.  Home ownership is a responsibility.  I certainly could complain, but I'm not. 
This week we celebrated America's 236th birthday.  Now, 236 is young for a country.  We're older than our friends to the north, but across the Pond they have a few years on us. 
I'm actually sitting on the swing right now
typing and watching the sunset.   
236 years is plenty of time for thousands to have died so I could get in my truck, run to the hardware store for parts and gas station for fuel, fix my pipe and mow my grass and then take a nap in my hammock.  And I don't have to worry about the authority coming onto my property and arresting me or taking things without either my permission or a good reason written in a warrant. 
I'm grateful for those who fought to give me these freedoms. 
Doesn't leave much room for complaining. 
And yet people do. 
That's another good thing about America.  We have the freedom to complain. 
I have to say I'm happy with my little piece of America. 
I will leave here with my homework poem for Tuesday night.  This week has made me patriotic.

Self-Portrait of an American Woman
My hair is red, my skin is white, my eyes are blue.
My appearance is Irish, my name French
My people came from both those places and many more
 They came by ship, they came by wagon
They came voluntarily and by force.
They fought to form a country
where people could be free.

By birthright I am an American.

My parents were born in Texas.
Their parents were born in Texas, Louisiana, and Illinois.
I was born in Texas, as were my brothers.
I went to grade school in Texas,
 graduated from high school in Louisiana.
I went to McNeese State University
and the University of Texas.

I was made in America.

I went to college compliments of the state of Louisiana
 and repaid her by caring for her children.
I own my home, mow my grass, pay my bills.
I complain about how much a single person is taxed
and pay it gladly for the right to complain.
I protest tyranny, injustice, and the lunacy of the government,
then exercise my right to vote against it.

I earn my right to be an American.

I don’t know the depth of sacrifice
American soldiers pay daily for me to live free,
but I do everything I can to live worthy of it.
I will forever proudly say
I am not Irish-American, nor French-American,
nor African-American nor Japanese-American,
nor any other nationality that exists.

I am simply American.