Ah, the elementary school field trip. A daring excursion into the world unknown. As time marches on, and technology changes the world, it is a comfort to know that some things are left untouched. The school field trip is the same today as it was thirty-some years ago.
The only thing that's changed, is...Word. Being a parent chaperone on a field trip is a far different experience than being a first grader on a field trip. It's better to be a first grader.
Upon boarding the bus, you will be instructed by the bus driver that you are to sit three to a seat. She'll sound like this. "Three-to-a-seat kids. Three-to-a-seat." You'll look at her. Look at the seats. Look at her again. She can't possibly expect an adult sized butt to sit with two child sized butts on the same seat can she? Let me assure you. She does.
So you do. You will be able to accomodate one of your butt cheeks on the seat. The other will be in the aisle. Unless you are the size of a first grader. Which I am not.
The bus takes off. Bump bump bump bump bump. Were busses this bumpy when you were a kid? Yeah, they were. It just wasn't as bad because your entire butt was seated. Now you have to somehow balance while carrying on a game of rock - paper - scissors with your seat mates.
After the first five minutes of enduring the blessed lack of shock absorbtion, you will suddenly wish you had not had that morning cup of coffee. What were you thinking? Oh, yeah, you were thinking proactively right? You're going to need that little extra boost of caffeinated energy to keep up with your charges. What you didn't think about how your bladder just aint what it used to be after two pregnancies.
Suddenly, you're shouting along with the kids - "Are we there yet? How much longer? Are we there yet?" Sorry - forty five minutes to go. What are you going to do? When in Rome, as they say. For me, I became a first grader. Heck, I was already half way there. I had to pee within the first five minutes of going on a trip. I wasn't driving. I was squirming like a banschee. Might as well dive all the way in.
In becoming a first grader there are a three simple rules to which you must adhere.
Number One - You are loud. Loud is good. Louder is better. Loudest is best. It's very simple really.
Number Two - A good joke will immediately catapult you in popularity. A good joke involves the word butt and or makes mention of something you do with your butt. Or, if not directly related to a butt, is related to something near a butt. Butts are very very funny.
For example - The following joke "rocks".
First grader - "How do you spell 'I cup'?
Mrs. Word - "I - C - U - P"
First grader - "AAAAHHHHHAAAAAAAAA. Get it?
I see you pee!
Of course you're thinking - You don't know the half of it kid because if I don't get off this bus pretty soon everyone is going to see me pee.
Number Three - Never ever sit or stand still. NEVER! This is simply unacceptable behavior by any standard. Bodies are made to move, therefore you must move them. Bounce up and down on those bus seat. Kneel on those bus seats. Check out the accomodations on the floor. Knock the lady sitting on one butt cheek into the aisle. Whatever you do - don't sit still.
Seriously though. Field trips are a blast. It's so fun to get into the excitement of the kids. When the kids in your group fight over who gets to hold your hand while walking around the park, zoo, circus, or wherever you happen to be - well - it's all worth it.
But - all things considered - when the teacher tells her students to use the bathroom before they get on the bus - she knows what she's talking about. USE IT!
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What the h - e - double hockey sticks is a cam bolt? And who the flip is Alan? Let him know I have his wrench, will ya. You can also let him know what he can do with his stinkin' wrench!
Word spent the last three hours trying to put together one of those stupid put-together computer desks. It broke. Or rather, I broke it. Putrid thing. Eighty bucks and three hours of work for zip, nadda, zilch.
So I blog.
Today I read an article in the newspaper. I'm not talking about the advice columns. Although, I read those too. No, this was a real honest to goodness news story that hit a home run with me.
It involved a game of softball. A simple game between two college teams. An amazing game in which a young woman hit her first ever home run over the fence. As she began her trot around the bases, she missed touching first base. Realizing her mistake, she turned back to tap first but her knew buckled and she fell to the ground. Torn ACL. Couldn't move. Probably will never play another game in her college career. And, unless she goes around the bases, her homerun will go in the record books as a single.....Unless.......the opposing team helps her. They do. They carry this woman to second, third, and finally home. That's softball. Those are the kind of people that play the game. Did both teams want to win the game? You bet they did. Did both teams play their hardest in hopes of winning the game? You bet they did. Did both teams want to win a fair game? You bet they did. Would either team have been able to hold their head up and say they won fair and square if they stood by and said "tough noogies" to someone who had just blasted one out of the park only to crumble at first base with an injured knee? No they would not have.
There are days that I wish life was like softball.
Discuss...life...softball....putrid put-together-desks...
Word
Hmmmm. What should we talk about today? Oh, I know! How about Mary Cunningham's latest book, Curse of the Bayou? Better yet, why don't we let Mary talk about it? Hold on a sec. I better check with her first. Whew, Mary says, "Fuh Sho!" So away we go!
Hi Mary!
First of all, congrats on the publication of your third book, Curse of the Bayou, in the Cynthia’s Attic Series. I understand a fourth book is on the way! We’re all looking forward to seeing what precarious situation you put poor Cynthia and Gus in.
Thanks, Donna. I'm so happy to be your first interview! Yep, I'm a whole 2 chapters into Book Four, and still don't have a working title. That's a first for me, but I'm very excited about the direction of this one.
Speaking of precarious situations, Curse of the Bayou is full of them! Somehow Cynthia and Gus always seem to get themselves out of some pretty tight spots, though. Were there any situations you put them in, where you weren’t immediately sure how you would get them out?
Oh, several! Although, the girls always seemed to manage to escape, and rather creatively, so I have to give them most of the credit. For instance, I thought they were goners when they were captured by the evil pirates. The same when they were left stranded in the bayou after their guide, Mud Bug, and his canoe, Peaches, "disappeared."
In Curse of the Bayou, our heroines, Cynthia and Gus must find Cynthia’s missing Great Grandfather, Beau Conner and his watch which holds the best kept secret of the Bayou. Is there a story behind the story of Beau Conner and his watch? What was your inspiration for this fabulous tale?
The story is loosely based on the true disappearance of my great-great-grandfather. He was taking a load of produce down the Mississippi River in 1860 when he, and his boat, vanished without a trace. His neighbor, Walter Q. Gresham (U. S. Supreme Court Justice, and Secretary of State under Grover Cleveland), formed a search party, but the only evidence they turned up was a few items from the stolen cargo. Although the watch was a big part of the story, it had no special family significance.
*An interesting little tidbit: I have a picture hanging in my dining room that came out of the home of Walter Q.!
All of your books have such a colorful cast of characters. In Curse of the Bayou, I think Mud Bug and his mother, Jasmine are the most intriguing. They both have fabulous Bayou accents. Did you have to spend some time in New Orleans to nail down those awesome voices?
I lived just west of New Orleans for a year, and fell in love with the accents and the culture. That was the closest I'll ever come to living in a foreign country. And, the food was fabulous! (evidenced by my 7 pound weight gain that year!) So, I tried to incorporate special dishes into the story, especially for Gus's benefit. I also did some research on the Internet to get an idea of the dialect. I tried to be careful not to overload the reader, while giving a vivid image of Mud Bug and his mother, Jasmine. Mud Bug is a mixture of Cajun and Creole.
I always look forward to the evil villain in your books. COTB’s villain, Capt Jack La Buse, is one nasty pirate. Did you toy around with different options for his final demise?
That was tough! I had to think of an interesting way to plan his demise that didn't read like the ending of Peter Pan! I also didn't want it to be gory or violent since I've tried to keep that out of the books. Jasmine pretty much told me how to get rid of him. I think she'd been planning it for years!
If I had to pick the one thing that I liked best about Curse of the Bayou, it would be how you tied the mysterious gator, puma and eagle together. In earlier chapters, these characters show themselves but we don’t know what an important role they play. Did you have this all plotted out prior to writing the book, or did these character’s roles develop as the story unfolded on paper?
I don't plot. I don't outline. I just write, and wherever the characters take me, that's where I go. SuRana was added into the story as an additional character. I have no idea where her voice patterns came from, but I thought she was an intriguing character who brought another dimension to the climax.
If you had to pick one thing that you like best about COTB, what would it be? And you CAN’T say, "It’s finally done."
My favorite aspect of COTB is that it was based on my real relatives. As I mentioned above, Beau is based on my g.g. grandfather, Augustus. Also, Jay (John Joseph) was my great-grandfather and Samantha was my great-grandmother! I love including real ancestors in the stories. I also enjoyed writing the the New Orleans setting. It was fun remembering the time spent exploring Jackson Square, The French Quarter, and the Riverfront.
Gus loves to eat and you always have her enjoying the most delectable dishes. I always find myself getting hungry when I read your books! When are we going to see a Cynthia and Gus cookbook? I simply must have a taste of those New Orleans beignets!
Some of Gus's favorite foods and recipes just may end up on my website! As you know, she loves her peanut butter cookies, bologna sandwiches (she prefers them thick-sliced, fried with melted cheese), pan fried catfish, and especially the beignets. Hmmmm...now, I'm getting hungry. If you've never had a true New Orleans beignet, you don't know what you're missing. They must be combined with a cup of café au lait, though. I seriously doubt, however, that Gus or Cynthia are going to be too excited about eating any more mud bugs.
Thanks for the interview Mary! Fuh sho!
I'm honored, Donna, to be your first guest author! One of these days, I'm going to be interviewing you.
(Some places you can find Cynthia's Attic)
http://www.marycunninghambooks.com/
http://www.cynthiasattic.blogspot.com/
Amazon
Fictionwise
If you put Evil Editor in a ring with Church Lady, who would win? Would Evil Editor woo Church Lady into a life of debauchery? Or would Church Lady convince Evil Editor that a vow of chastity is in fact something he's always been meaning to embrace?
We'll all get a chance to find out on January 24, 2008!
In corner number one - Weighing in at a svelte 120 pounds - Sporting sensible shoes and her Sunday best -
- The Picture of Piety
- Beauty with Beattitude
- Maven of Morals
- Creator of Tator Tot Casserole
- and Inventor of Support Hose........CHURCH LADY!
- King of the Underworld
- Slasher of Sentences
- Dasher of Dreams
- That jerk who eats the last slice of pizza
- and Inventor of the RED PEN.......EVIL EDITOR!
To find out more about the contender - Evil Editor ((EE to his evil minions)) check out this hellish site:
http://www.evileditor.net/
What his devilish site will not tell you is - HIS REAL IDENTITY! I recently went on an investigative journey that lasted approximately 10 minutes. That's all it took before I was able to put two and two together. It was so obvious!
And so the story goes. It was a dark and stormy night. The words haunted him then and continue to do so to this day. After years and years of submitting his untitled 250,000 word novel without any offers of publication, he decided to throw his old life away, and start anew.
His life pretty much sucked anyway. He always felt as though he was in the dog house. The people in his immediate circle were losers who couldn't kick a football much less see his obvious potential.
Evil Editor is of course:
Snoopy
Are you smarter than a 5th grader? Let's discuss.
I, Word, am not smarter than a 5th grader. When I was in 5th grade, I was smarter than a lot of other 5th graders, maybe even a few 6th and 7th graders. But somehow, over the years, I became stupider. Like just now. Is stupider even a word? I don't know. I'd have to look it up, but I don't want to.
So what the heck happened is what I want to know. When did all of those fabulous facts fade away into obscurity?
Name all the oceans.
Name all the continents.
What is the capital of New Hampshire?
Who was the 6th president?
Is the Tropic of Capricorn in the northern or southern hemisphere?
What is a hemisphere?
And those are just the tip of the iceberg. By the way, how much of an iceberg is above the water versus below? Do you remember the percentage? I don't.
I've decided that brains are only capable of retaining "x" amount. There is probably an algebraic equation that relates the inverse relationship of "x" to your age and number of children you have sucking any remaining intelligence out of your brain. Not sure about what that equation is though. I think there might be some numbers, and possibly a noun or verb in there someplace.
I think it works like this:
Locating lost keys = loss of one third grade spelling test.
Locating 12 year old's gym shorts = loss of the definition of "preposition".
Training new employee = loss of any and all geographic facts concerning Greenland.
Hearing the word "Mom" followed by....well, just about anything = loss of one historical fact concerning the early explorers of the 1500's.
Grocery Shopping = loss of the multiplication table for 6's.
Sleep interruptions = loss of ability to find keys.
No, I am by no means even close to being as smart as a fifth grader. I guess that's a good thing. When I help the kids with their homework, I am genuinely astounded at how doggone smart they are AND I get to learn something new. Well, not new - old - but hey, perception is everything right?
Will someone please come up with a game show named: Are you smarter than my mom? I'd like to play that game.
Christmas and traditions. Can't have one without the other, right? Or can you? What are your traditions or are you among the mortals who "gasp" don't have any? Let's discuss......
It's okay. THE big holiday is over. We've made it through another one. Now we can sit back and be honest about it. I'll start...(deep breath)...
Word's Christmas traditions are boring. There's no carroling by the fire. There's no horse drawn sled ride through the snowy winterscape. There's no fabulously unique, original, write home to grandma about, tradition of grandeur at our house. There's just us, a tree with a hodge podge of ornaments and mismatched lights, a wreath for the door, and about a thousand or so Christmas Cookies (give or take).
I remember the first Christmas my husband and I shared as a married couple. I desperately wanted to establish something unique and special that could be passed down for years to come by our yet unborn children. I made a list of all the wonderful Christmassy things we'd do. It would be magic. UHG! It felt like I was role playing. Where was the magic of my youth?
Because it takes Word a couple of times of getting hit in the head with a brick before she finally gets it - this went on for at least three or four years. Finally, finally, I got it. Traditions are not planned or contrived. They happen when you least expect them.....if you let them. The best Christmas traditions are born out of laughter. Out of just being ourselves.
I'm 40 this year. AND finally there is a tradition that has attached itself to my family. It wasn't planned. It isn't even something I would necessarily choose to be remembered for. But there it is - (another deep breath) - drum roll please!
Word's super wonderful fabulous unique Christmas Tradition is - cookies. Now wait - you know me. There must be more to it than just cookies, right? Well there is. It's not the cookies so much as it is the way they are packaged. Let me explain. A few years ago, I was looking for a way to honor family and special people in my life with a gift. Now since we have long since decided not to exchange gifts among the adults in our big family Christmas get-togethers, I was stumped about how to let my parents, brothers and sisters know how much they are appreciated as well as how much my children appreciate the abundance of gifts they get from them.
Cookies were my answer. The kids and I would make cookies. Enough for everyone. Enough to feed all the starving children in China. Cookies galore! But when? We'd have to get started early. Right after Thanksgiving. But how would I keep all these cookies fresh and tasty. No freezer burn allowed for these cookies. They had to be perfect.
I'd individually wrap them in that self sticking saran wrap stuff....then double bag them in air tight ziplock freezer bags and stick them in the freezer.
Are you getting the picture yet? I'll wrap it up...pun intended. I, of course, take the cookies out of the freezer bags and put them in gift bags, but they stay wrapped up tight in that saran wrap stuff. Basically they are IMPENETRABLE. It takes an hour to get even one unwrapped before you can eat it. Oh it's fresh and tasty all right. Just nearly impossible to get to.
So - yes - I finally have my Christmas Tradition. Word's family is known as the giver of the impossible to eat Christmas Cookies. I'm so proud!
Hope you all had a Merry Christmas and I'm wishing you much happiness in 2008
Hi all! Welcome back. Sit down, kick back, and let's dicuss! This weeks topic -
There is a new phenomenon sweeping the nation, ladies. One that must be controlled and directed, lest it get out of control. This phenomenon is, of course, THE MAN CRUSH. Many of you will nod your heads knowingly, as your significant other has experienced said crush. For those of you that are scratching your heads, I will define.
THE MAN CRUSH: n. An intense infatuation usually exhibited by a man reaching the "Yeah, I know, I’m workin’ on it," age. The object of infatuation is generally red, made of metal and has lots of nifty buttons, at least two wheels, and is capable of making lots of noise. Symptoms include but are not limited to:
1. A sudden drop of checking account assets or....
2. A sudden increase in credit card debt or....
3. A sudden urge to imitate the object’s language. i.e "Vrrrroooooooooommmm chugga chugga vrooooom chugga chugga"
4. Personification of inanimate object. i.e. "Be right in hun, just gotta give Milly her rub down."
Word’s house was recently visited by THE MAN CRUSH. Now, I’ll admit, I wondered how I would ever be able to compete. I mean come on, she was everything my husband ever dreamed of -bright red, sleek, powerful, and loud. She even had a name. Mildred. And she could blow with gusto...snow that is. Mildred is his brand spankin’ new Toro snow-blower.
But yanno, THE MAN CRUSH, turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me. My driveway is clear. My sidewalks are clear. Our backs and shoulders don’t ache. My husband is smiling again. The other morning, he even cheffed up a breakfast normally reserved for Mother’s Day - after he had his testosterone fix ridding driveway of the 6 inch accumulation.
He loves Mildred. I kinda like her too. ;-)
In the grand tradition of Church Lady - I bring you Cawfee Talk. Cawfee Talk is a place for all of you WIPs out there to stop in - have a cup-o-joe - and chat about whetver the heck I decide we will be talking about. Because, well, I am Word. And I always have the last one....word that is....the last word....I get it....not you. Humph.
Today's discussion: Laughing at inappropriate times. Ever done it? Word has. Let's discuss.
If there ever was a time not to laugh, this was it. The preist's monotone voice chanted, "Hail Mary. Full of grace...." over and over and over again. I stood in the back of the room packed with relatives I knew and relatives I didn't. Most were old. Except for in the back of the room. That's where I stood along with my sister, brothers, and cousins.
Grandma was in the casket. Mom and my aunt and uncle were kneeling before her - rosaries in hand. I'd never seen such anguish rest itself on my mother's face before. The tears I cried that day were for my mother first, grandma second.
I moved my thumb and forefinger over the next bead on my pink rosary. "Hail Mary. Full of grace...." A familiar sound trupeted over the prayer. Did somebody turn a television on someplace? I looked at my cousin. His angelic face turned a harsh shade of red. He began to frantically tug at his watch. Pushing buttons. Nope. The theme song to The Dukes of Hazard was going full throttle. He shoved his hand in his pocket to muffle the sound his watch was making. It didn't work.
I felt it then. The grin. It was coming. Oh no. My uncle gave my cousin "the look". Uncanny how my uncle's "look" was the exact male version of my mother's "look". It did me in. I couldn't stop. I was in full out laughter that would not stop.
"Hail Mary. ((snort laugh)) Full of Grace."