A GOOD DISCOURSE CONFERENCE JANUARY 22, 23 and 24th

We began creating this conference as the result of a nag in the heart, over the loss of community that should be and for a multitude of reasons, isn't. Four women met virtually to discuss the ideas, and our goals with the conference. We needed a name and came upon the quote, "A Good Discourse is that from which nothing can be retrenched without cutting into the quick." It was attributed to Saint Francis de Sales, patron saint of Writers and Doctor of the Church. We shortened it to "A Good Discourse," and thought how perfect and carried on. Seeking speakers to delve deeper into how we could forge a "good discourse" amongst the community of Catholic writers, one of our potential speakers researched and found, the quote to be misattributed to the saint. Saint Francis de Sales said plenty of things about governing one's words, and about writing and witnessing, but "a good discourse" wasn't one of them. Now we faced a decision. Change the name or own the error.

Thus the name stuck, but with proper attribution and thanks to Erin Arlinghaus for the research! What will our conference cover? 1) The Call to Universal Witness (there is no off time). 2) Fraternal Correction (what it is and isn't)

3) Gossip/Slander/Calumny 4) Strategies for Talking about Hard Stuff (panel). 5) Humility: How to be a light put on a pedestal and yet humble. 6) Humor 7) Community, remembering always our audience.

The Conference "A Good Discourse," isn't a traditional writers' conference. We won't be discussing pitches or formats or how to improve your writing as a craft or 1,000 writing prompts for when the well runs dry. We will be (hopefully), preparing writers' hearts for the ministry of writing itself.

Think of it as a retreat for writers who are Catholic about being Catholic first, last and always, with the written and spoken word. It means being couragous --when you say something that is hard, it means being willing to bear the cost, it means being humble, when you've said something wrong, it means being truthful, but always with charity. These are hard things, and all of us have memories of when we've done this poorly, and all of us know, when we've done well, it wasn't us, but the Holy Spirit that worked through us.

The goal of this conference, is to see faces, to help foster fellowship and prayer across the spectrum of Catholic writers in all things. Hoping you'll join us at the conference. (It's virtual and it's free). Here's where you can find out more: https://agooddiscourse.wixsite.com/mysite

My Poor Dusty Blog

 I have about fifteen drafts from this week, because this week, like the many weeks before it, despite the absence of outside errands, has been packed.   I figure, it's only fair to give an update.   

1) What am I writing?  Well, I'm writing poems, I'm editing my book. I've thrashed at words but they're repetitive or just don't get where they need to go or they sound too stressed and I don't want to worry my mom.    

2) What am I reading?  Well I'm glad you asked, though you didn't.  We're reading Harry Potter's Order of the Phoenix with my youngest, The Book of Three with Paul --he's into it, and others keep hovering around not really listening you understand, but nearby.  I'm trying to get my next two to listen to A Horse and His Boy.  I'm going to keep trying.  I've also started Our Mutual Friend with my son John...and I'm hoping that one catches more of them too.   

3) Are you Exercising...three times this week I did...then it rained...and I've discovered an inverse theorem...if I dress to exercise, I don't.    

4) Are you praying?   Every day I drop off for school, I drop by the outside adoration chapel near my home for at least five minutes.  So yes.   

5) What else are you doing?  Teaching.  Managing the house...everyone's home now.   I'm also helping to organize a conference for January for writers ---so that counts.   

6) I haven't seen any links lately ...why is that?  Sometimes, you get dry spells.   This is one of them. I'm submitting, sometimes three pieces in a week...but they're getting what I'd call dead cat bounces.  Not to worry, I have a lot more to throw at them.   Visualizing me throwing cats at the editors...it's helpful.  

7) Will you ever be funny again...as a blog?   ---wait, I wasn't?   

My News!

My blog has been here since 2007.  I've tried relocating to Wordpress back when all the cool kids did it, but I couldn't figure out how to export it, so it stayed here.  I longed for someone to see my blog and think, "Hey, she's funny.  We should get her." That didn't happen...

Now, I am being considered as a draft pick for two places --not enough to start a bidding war mind you, but it's flattering to be called upon.  Sort of like being picked in Red Rover...when you're a kid, or finding your name on the list after tryouts.   

The Catholic Conspiracy has asked me to join them. I've been a fan of many of their writers for years. 

 So I found myself surprised and pleased to discover,..the perenial b-teamer, bench warmer has been picked.   

I know in recent years B-teams fell out of favor and out of fashion.  I still have the yellow ribbon from placing fifth (there were seven runners but two quit) and the itty-bitty sports patch from my long and storied history on the sports equivalent of the island of misfit toys from those halcyon days.  I also have the psychological scars that came with it, where my first thougth on being picked is...you must have run out of everybody else. 

    I think of this scene and think, "I'm the magazine."  

Except it's not true. The Blogosphere has fallen out of favor, but those who persist, both love it and are willing to work at improving for the sheer joy of improving --it is the halmark of the hopeful b-teamer, to always seek to try, and to ignore the experts and those who trend, because your heart is there and the rest of you, will grow into it if you just keep at it.   B-teamers persist despite reality. 

 It's one of our most endearing traits...keeps us from becoming tragic. 

The move is being prepped, but I'm not sure yet when it will take place. 
Can't wait for my team jacket.     

In the meantime, I'm feel like dancing.   

Thinking of going as Donna for Halloween even if there is no trick-or-treating.  Why?  Because we'll need the silliness of it all if there isn't.  

 
 

Why My Blog is Sulky.

You might have noticed, the humor is drier, less common. The cheery regular postings of sparkle and fun and amusement come few and far between.  I've done some research.  I'm coming up on the blogiversary of Chocolate for Your Brain.   My blog is now a tween. 

It explains so much.  No wonder it's sleepy, less chirpy, less given to flights of fancy.  It's much more comfortable sitting here not saying anything, putting in the earbuds and pretending no one is reading. 
I've had a talking with my blog and explained that it doesn't matter how you feel, you still have to be civil, funny, clever, kind and consistent.  The blog has agreed to a regular production of three to four posts a week, with the return of Small Success Thursday but only on this blog.   (It's to make sure we generate some news each week, and keep me on my writing toes). 

I'm headed out for a full new stock of emergency chocolate, advil and diet coke, to weather these adolescent years. 

Getting Back Up and Run

Back in 8th grade, I ran track and even competed in a 3/4th of a mile race. To people like my son, such a short distance seems ridiculous, but for me at the time (and even now), it seemed epic.  Midway through the race the first time I raced, I lay down.   I'd run faster than I ever had before and everyone had lapped me and it all seemed so pointless.  I wouldn't win.  What would it matter if I just walked off the field?

But I remember catching my breath and thinking, it would matter to me.   I've run this far, I'll see it through.  That sort of stubborn this is my hill and these are my beans mentality has seen me through a lot of things, not the least of which is having and trying to raise all these people.

The biggest temptation in writing, is to quit.  The second biggest temptation is to restart.  The third biggest temptation is to persist.

I have felt all three temptations to be sure.   I know this week, I felt myself lying down, catching my breath, wondering if there are more words I need to write, more humor to share, more thoughts that just have to spill out onto the page.

My writing schedule includes currently writing for Eat Sleep Write, submitting to the Catholic Standard on a regular basis, writing a weekly column for Catholicmom.com, and trying to crank out a decent thousand words five days a week for the six months writing boot camp.  My son runs long distance.  He hopes to be in a half marathon or a whole one in the next year.  He's a cross country runner.   I'm a cross country writer.

The answer is yes.  I'm sorry the blog has been sort of dull lately.   I'll try to get refocused on giving you slice of life humor and occasional spiritual reflection, rather than just links to where I've recently been published.  

For those who don't know, I finished the race. I came in fifth. Granted only five people finished the race, but eight started it.   I still have the yellow ribbon.   Whenever I feel winded and like stopping something I started, I look at it, take a deep breath and get back to work.  

7 Quick Takes Friday

 

1.  Yesterday I saw a Barred Owl.  It was on the ground, it flew into the tree.  It was nothing short of cool.   We watched it until it grew bored and pumped its great wings and vanished into the trees. Looking at these creatures, it is amazing. 

 

2.  Great News!  My oldest son got a job at his school!

 

Cue the celebration!

 

3.  Wasted words.  I'm giving up the Combox wars.  It happens all the time, I'll read an article, respond, and it turns into High School debate time.  I don't want it. It's not interesting, and it isn't discussion, most of the time, it's agree or go away.  Bleah. Who needs it?  The thing is, I like reading things, I like commenting, I like staying informed.  But I realized it was a means of not being isolated, of making a mark in the broader community, but it was not the mark I wanted. Most people have figured out not to fight the internet, but I had sites I liked visiting if only to know that day, my brain jogged around the park.   It was like grass, here today, burned tomorrow.  To be called conservative by liberals, and a liberal by conservatives, left me feeling like each site considered me the flying monkey of the enemy. 

 

Where's my banana?





 

4.  So what to do now?  Offer my own two cents of course, for a nickel. 

Intellectual club sandwiches served free of charge for special blockheads.

I should stipulate, I've always identified with Lucy Van Pelt.  My brother Joe can testify to this truth.

5.  So what started this? 

I read an article over at an online magazine, and I commented.  The tribe at the site had deemed a popular Catholic writer a heretic for declaring as excessive either dismissal of the value of the state in serving the poor, or the absolute virtue of the state in providing charity.  They felt otherwise.  They declared him the uncharitable heretic for pointing out that faith in the state created utopia is as heretical as putting full faith in the idea of sola rugged individual.

I found myself in agreement with the targeted scapegoat.   The state may serve, but cannot fully substitute for the charity of the human person to human person.  It may compliment, supplement and augment.   I'm not sure what they wanted as an alternative, only that this writer humbly submit to their scorn, acknowledge their favored ideology as pure, himself to be a heretic and take the subsequent much deserved in their opinion, lumps.  

I wondered, how spending mental and written energy ferreting out bloggers to take down, helped deal with the inequalities they felt this blogger failed to properly acknowledge by not agreeing with their non articulated orthodoxy.   This was an echo chamber, deeply committed to reminding everyone, only to repeat the echo.   Catholicism is not an echo chamber, it goes out, it goes into people's hearts, it imitates the universe, being universal, it ever expands. 

6.  So here's what I wrote: 

The reality is that we must in our own lives, to a person, to a people, to the world, be charitable; the Calcuttas of our world, the poor are everywhere. They will always be with us, but that by no means eliminates the charge upon all of us who have, to be generous.

 

It is a hard truth, one we've forgotten in the comfort of our capitalist Catholicism, which is not a demand we become socialist or confiscate wealth. We are called, to "sell what we have" and build up treasure in heaven. Being lazy, we like easy answers. I'll be the first to say, my initial reaction to that is, "You first." because I have a nice home, I have ten kids, I have bills. Surely someone else should take care of this.
Government to the rescue! Taxes and state redistribution seems like an easy answer. But I'm then reminded of the words of Christmas Present, the stinging rebuke to my comfort, "Are there no work houses? Are there no prisons?"
Merely confiscating the wealth of those we don't know, to give benefits to people we don't know, brings us only irritation, envy, resentment and inefficiency. Only true generosity, rendering to the poor the good we have to share, will bring about the true spiritual benefits of charity.

 

Poverty is never just money, it is the feeling of being isolated, alone, without recourse, without hope, without help, without someone who cares if you exist, without the ability to somehow, get out of the pain. If we would really change the world by how we live, we must recognize, it won't be without sacrifice, and it won't be if we do not freely begin to serve. Not easy medicine for any of us.

7.  I won't link to the place to give it traffic, since that is what the site wanted.  Plus, I now have the hard consequence of having begun this thinking in the first place, it can't just stay words.  

Here's what I didn't write on the site: 

It is discomfiting and inconvenient to our sensibilities to recognize the world and our lives do not live out the faith we profess, not fully.  Knowing this, we face two choices, prayer & service, serious study and sacrifice, a call to do something more than we are doing, starting with serious prayer for all those we scorn, or doubling down on what we already do, i.e. continuing to be as comfortable with our reasonable understandings of things, comfortable with our lives and sedated as possible in our current existence. 

If we are honest, most of us hope we can eek out a last minute deal with the Almighty by being okay, gambling we can slip into purgatory because we weren't ax murderers who ate puppies and gouged customers with cheap imports made on the back of child labor while underpaying anyone we had to hire. We weren't cartoon villains and pure evil.  We were comfortably bath water warm. 

Except we aren't called to be good or to win, or to be right in the comboxes.  We're called to be saints.



I'm so doomed. 

 

 







Pssst.....really not dead....I promise.

Okay, so this past week blogging has been at the bottom of the to do list, somewhere between organizing the back basement, folding socks, gardening and filing.    Why?

Well, it's not because I've been organizing the back basement, folding socks, gardening or filing.

I've been adjusting to having three teenagers home.  Three toddlers are easier...but I have both.

Getting up.

Toddlers: Easy.  You get them up. They are up. You get them dressed.  You feed them. They eat what you serve.  It is straight forward.
Teens: They are not up.  You can set alarms. You can go in and wake them yourselves.  You can tell them they cannot sleep all day and what do they have to be tired from?  They do not get up until after noon. They then present themselves to you and say, "I'm hungry."  You offer food. They reject it in favor of different food.  They fix their food.  They leave to go get dressed and you will not see them again until around 4, when they will again say, "I'm hungry" and refuse the food you offer. 

Going out.

Toddlers: Not easy.  You get them to the car. They kick off their shoes and socks. You strap them into their seats.  You debate furiously in your head whether it is worth it to re sod said children or wait until you get to where you are going to re sod children. 

Teens: Easy...but terrifying.  They are ready, already ready, really ready, can we go already ready to get in the car.  They're driving.

Chores:

Toddlers: Want to help. It is not terribly effective but it is sweet.
Teens: You want them to help.  It is also not terribly effective. 

Bedtime.

Toddlers: Bath, brush teeth, story, kisses, tuck in...play Whakamole with children until they give up while you camp outside the room on the floor with the laptop. 

Teens:  After dinner, you don't see them again until the next day.  Unless you are obnoxious like me and turn off the internet at 10 p.m and hang out near the switch with said laptop to let them know, you have lots of practice with Whakamole.

So I'm back....why today?  Because Dad got tickets for said three teens to go to a baseball game and it's the second to last day of school, so the house with only toddlers, is oddly much more manageable.  

Though once school lets out, this blog may have to post only monthly.  :)

Until Easter

Taking a brief break from blogging. I'll still do Small Success Thursdays, but there's just too much going on right now that requires all of my attention.  I'd considered giving up blogging for Lent and it seems, life will ensure it by being simply more than will allow for good writing.  So I'll still be around, answer email, and work on Helen, but the blog will be allowed to take a break until Easter other than for Small Success Thursday.  Thanks for understanding. So I guess I'm giving up Chocolate for Lent. :)

So What Does Algonquin Canoeing Have that I don't?

One of the things that gives a blogger a bit of a lift is to click on the counter to view recent traffic as a result of the breathtakingly deathless prose that one posits for all of history in a regular post.  Today, I happened to do a bit of investigating and curiosity got the better of me, I was ranked 1,704, down 66 from my highest point of this month.   I wondered what was number 1 and so I scanned through the ratings.   A four way tie went to the top four, including damncoolpics, pengunman, zahipedia and algonquincanoeing. 

Now while I did not have any interest in perusing what someone else might deem cool in photography, and felt a bit gun shy about investigating what the heck pengunman or zahipedia might mean or be, I admit I had to wonder, how paddling in the very cold waters of a province of Canada might be so popular as to beat out blogs on knitting, Nascar, safe car seats, Justin Beiber blogs and many others on the 36 pages of names whose titles were just plain scary.  

I clicked on the blog, it was named Proppe's Paddles and it was a normal looking place with time lapse film of the sky and the weather (worth seeing though the cityscape and car building/deconstruction strikes a false note with the rest of the grandeur pictured), notes about children and animals and camping and a moving piece about a boating contest that was to raise money in honor of a child who died from a congenital heart condition. The guy posts once a month if that and he gets 300-600 hits a day.  I can't argue with the numbers but I still can't explain it.  That being said, one tag I'm putting in today's post, just to test the theory?  Algonquin.  I just want to beat out the safe car seats and Justin Beiber blogs.

Shoeless Joe and Blog Action

When I was a mere junior in high school, I went to prom with a guy who wore polished white shoes with gold buckles and a powder blue tux. My brother Joe opened the door, took one look and said, "Nice shoes."

If it hadn't been for my desire to simultaneously bust a gut laughing and bust his chops for insulting my date, I'd have asked him to change into a tux and brought my brother instead.

Ever since then, the word "Nice" has been...a loaded term for me, fraught with meaning because of it's vagueness.

Today I got an email saying...Nice blog. The email author disclosed that he would like to link my site to his in return for his being linked on mine.

I clicked on the site. It sells athletic sneakers.

Most of the free world spends many a sleepless night in wonder of what an online shoe salesman likes to read during the sports void that takes place after the Superbowl and before Opening day. Now, the mystery will be solved.

CHOCOLATE FOR YOUR BRAIN would be one of a mere fifty listed sites considered link worthy in the "Other" category, along with 15 other categories with fifty blogs each listed. The email assured me that thousands of people visit this site daily, and it would increase my traffic.  My guess is they're the saps that link to the guy's blog in hopes of driving traffic to their own, coming to see if the links have been put up and if they actually work.

Since I can't find a counter on the site, I cannot know the verasity of this claim. The "About Us" section of the website indicates it's been in business since 2003 but the write up on the decision to provide extrodinary customer service to those needing to find out the finer points about buying a sneaker (think Air Jordan), posted in December of 2007.

So maybe they're just updating the website and have found me to be an up and commer. My gut says to let this opportunity pass but I'm still a newbie, only providing quality blog entertainment since October of 2007 with a mere 19 visiting on a good day, so I just don't know. It's just a link and I'm pleased that someone noticed, but given the fact that there's never an indication of what the reader actually liked in my blog, I'm left to wonder.

Still, the email said "Nice blog."

So I'll return the favor.

"Nice" shoes.

Today I....

Pulled back the bed, put all the stuff I hid under it on top, vacuumed with both the Dirt Devil and the Shop Vac, put the shoes in the closet and cleaned out the paperwork.

Why?

Was I hit by the cleaning fairy during the night causing me to think that it was time for a serious deep down clean?

No.

Was I preparing for Thanksgiving and Christmas by getting the house de-cluttered and debris free?

No.

Did I finally channel my inner house cleaning goddess that demanded the home be sans miscellaneous piles of unidentifiable but crucial papers stacked in every corner?

I'd like to say yes, but it would be untrue.

So why have I been pitching and cleaning and clearing like a maniac?

We have an unwanted pet; a mensa mouse that has defied multiple traps stationed around the vents.

My husband has threatened to get a cat.

Given the seriousness of the proposed solution, blogging will be light until the critter gets caught.

50 Things to Save the World...and let me blog again.

50 ways to Save the World Today.

This piece was inspired by a fellow writer who created a thread asking how we could save the world and if the world needed saving.

It was not a religious forum but it asked a big question, what can we do to make the world better.

My personal belief is that the world cannot be saved except one person, one moment at a time. What we hope to save the world from, is despair, hopelessness, pain, rage, wrath, waste, sloth, isolation, neglect, carelessness and indifference.

What we hope is to create a world filled with people who act with charitable intent, careful forethought and great kindness, energy and generosity. What we hope is to reflect Christ to others through our actions, thoughts and words.

How do we do this? One moment, one person, one act of will at a time.

50) Exercise today. Don't look at the scale tomorrow.
49) Learn to play an instrument even if it's Wii Drums.
48) Volunteer with a charity of your choice.
47) Keep informed on the news.
46) Smile at someone.
45) Exercise the benefit of doubt towards someone else
44) Read to a kid.
43) Go outside.
42) Play.
41) Meet your neighbors.
40) Write a letter.
39) Remember birthdays.
38) Thank the custodian at your workplace, or the person in the fastfood restaurant.
37) Pick up one piece of litter on the side of the road.
36) Turn off the computer, the radio, the televison, blackberry, cellphone and talk.
35) Fix a dinner that takes time.
34) Write your Senator/representative
33) Schedule a dental appointment and a physical check up. Go.
32) Give away something to charity.
31) Write something beautiful.
30) Call your Mom, or remember her. Same with Dad.
29) Forgive someone in your heart, if you can't in person. Mean it.
28) Put fresh flowers on the table.
27) Pray often for others.
26) Root for the home team.
25) Dance with your children
24) Fix something in your house you've been meaning to get to.
23) Open a savings account.
22) Invite a family or friend over to dinner.
21) Plan a reunion.
20) Thank a teacher that made a difference to you.
19) Read a book you've never read but should have.
18) Plant a garden or weed one.
17) Schedule a date night, plan it.
16) Rescue a dog or cat.
15) Go to bed early.
14) Swallow a criticism
13) Go for a walk.
12) Ask someone else how you can help.
11) Be unafraid to speak your mind.
10) Learn your family tree and history.
9) When no one else is willing to volunteer, stand up.
8) Give someone talking your full attention rather than formulating your own clever response or multi-tasking.
7) Keep the promises you make.
6) Visit the sick.
5) Feed the hungry.
4) Banish smugness from your own mind and heart.
3) Appreciate beauty in all its forms.
2) Become one of those people others want to be like and be near, that makes people laugh, that gets things done, that listens well and cares.

1) Don't quit.

As a Catholic, I would add stay close to the sacraments and read the scripture daily. So I fired this off and now I want to restart the blog, because I want to still contribute and it's a good filter and story keeper for my family. But I have to limit myself and I admit, I'm not good at that. I'll keep it to the three times only and hope you'll bear with me.

Now I have to turn off the computer and start doing.

A Full Plate

When I hear the same phrase from multiple people, I pay attention, or at least try. The words, "She has a full plate." have been dropped recently and that got me to thinking about the fullness. Nine children and a house and writing and all the relationships I should strengthen, nurture and establish did feel overwhelming. Virtually everything I look at could use more presence than I sometimes can give. The fullness of life and of what life demands or should have, saturated my brain and the whole thing felt like too much.

The whirlpool of tasks needed to organize my home would trump reading, would trump playing, would trump writing, would trump physical and psychological and emotional and spiritual maintenance of everyone. The whole of the world with all of its unloving demands, the tyranny of time and tasks, threatened to suck all the joy out of living and leave me paralyzed where nothing gets done and no one gets nourished.

Now I confess I want to write. I want sometimes to write so much it aches. There are countless rabbit holes this Alice wants to fall down and explore on a daily basis. They all begin with following the white rabbit that is real. They end with me typing on a computer, creating just a bunch of cards that get lost in the breeze and have an odd uncirculated permanence. They will live forever, but be read and remembered by only a few.

But the lives that are here, deserve more than my down time from writing, and more than when I feel inspired by motherhood or the spirit to give my all to them. They need me to put on the joyful mask and parent whether I like it or not, whether I wish at the moment or not. They need me to love mothering so much it aches when I'm not. I have served two masters, and that is never good.

So effective immediately, and with some sadness but a full heart and plate besides, I'm suspending my blog. Sherry is this necessary? Trust me, it is. I check regularly to see if someone has posted. I check regularly to see how many visits have come. I post more often to try and get traction. I know this is not what I'm supposed to do with my time, only what I want.

What I want is almost always not what is good for me or anyone else. What God wants matters. What God wants is for me to accept that this gift of words should not be used as a shield or escape from parenting or living or anything else, and that I need to model for my children the moderation in habits that are everyday, that I want them to embrace themselves. It's a kick to write and to be read. It's even addicting. So I have to make this promise to myself. I also promise not to let that gift fester, but gestate and develop and be used in other forms and formats, just not ones that consume all my mind, energies and time.

I'd let you know how I'm doing with it but that would be cheating. I'll keep a journal by my bed so the writing I do is on my time only.

Thanks for reading. Thanks for following.

You've been great.

Lock Out

I didn’t intend to cause a screen free experience. I’d just meant to limit children’s exposure to television by locking every channel. I couldn't compete with the 27 channels we got using an antenea, so I knew cable and its 275 flavors of crude would be too much. "If you want to watch something, just ask." I explained.
"But you might say no." they wailed.
"Exactly."

“But Mommmmm….what are we going to do?” Pointing to the bin of unread library books brought howls of derision. “But that’s boring…..” they echoed like a Greek Chorus.

Now I have a stock pile of standard responses to that charge, usually involving the allocation of a dreaded chore. “There are socks to be folded, dishes to wash, floors to mop and carpets to vacuum.” I say to such words. Oddly enough, no one ever takes me up on my offer to fill their free time with valuable domestic duties.

So it came to pass that both remotes to the television got lost somewhere in the home. One child when so far as to remove all books from the floor in an attempt to locate the magic controllers that govern the two TV’s.

I’d also had my daughter create a password I didn’t know to my own computer so I wouldn’t spend too much time surfing the net or blogging, when I should be exercising, getting kids to do their summer projects, preparing meals and enjoying books during the unscheduled hours that define in my opinion, the best part of summer. I’d locked the kiddos out of the net free machine as well when a fight broke out over who could play Miss Spider or I Spy between the five, seven and three year old.

After an hour of unsolicited cleaning, the kids despaired of finding the controllers and resorted to old fashioned entertainment. THEY WENT OUTSIDE. Six children, ages 11-2 were playing zoo, coming in only to grab a cup of water. From 4-6, it was blissful. I cooked pancakes and bacon without worrying about people underfoot or resolving a single fight. The oldest two grabbed their respective assigned books and MP-3 players, plugged in and tuned out. By the end of the evening, two had practiced their musical instruments. Two others had done their math work books. Five had read to themselves and four had helped with sorting socks.

In the spirit of solidarity, I turned on the classical station and stayed off the computer even though my daughter logged me on that evening. Over dishes, the children were talking about what they would do tomorrow using legos and about playing capture the flag and maybe making a cake.

Don’t tell them but, I found the remotes. I’m keeping them an undisclosed location in my room until further notice.

The Way Back Machine

Peabody here, with my boy Sherman.

Hi ya folks! Gee Mr. Peabody, what are we going to do today?

Today? puffs a few rings out of his pipe. Today my boy, we are going to travel back in time to see...Interrupting, waving his arms excitedly,"To see the beginnings of the American revolution in 1776?"

"No." Peabody looks placid but annoyed.

"To visit Paris, France at the time of the building of the Lourve?"

"No." Raises eyebrows, feeling fatigued.

"To ancient China to watch as they invented gun powder?"
"No." sighs deeply and puffs a few times on pipe.

"Well Gosh Mr. Peabody, what are we going to see?"

"We are going back just to the year 1999."

"The year 1999? But I was born then. There will be a time cross inconsistency. You might erase me from existence if I'm at two places in one time."

"Sherman. Come here."

"Yes Mr. Peabody?"

"I don't know if anyone has broken the news to you, but you are a cartoon figure. You were born around 1966 and you haven't been any age but ten ever since."

"Really?"

"Really."

"So what are we doing in the year 1999? Watching the Y2K that wasn't?"

"No."

"Investing in Enron, Ebay or Google?"

"No, that would be securities fraud. Time travel monitors frown on that sort of thing."

"Partying like it's 1999 and telling Prince not to bother changing his name?"

"No. Today we are going to see what life was like for a struggling writer when she only had four children."

"You mean she's got writer's block and she couldn't think of anything orriginal to say today for her blog?"

"How very perceptive you are Sherman. Have a cookie." Pats Sherman on the head. Sherman eats cookie, "Where'd you get that?"

Peabody narrating.

Operating the Way back machine is simple enough. I adjusted the controls and we were off, to a townhome in Derwood, Maryland, where a woman with four children, sat staring at her computer, waiting for inspiration.

Me: "How did you get in here? I didn't open the door."

Peabody: "We have traveled from the future."

Sheman: "2008 to be precise."

Me: "You have a time machine and you only go back nine years? and why?"

Peabody: "Because your future self is stuck and can't think of anything to write, we thought you might be able to help."

Me: "She does huh? She's still writing?"
Sherman pipes up. "Yes, she's got a bl---"Peabody grabs Sherman, covering his mouth, whispering "We can't reveal too much about the future my boy, the consequences could be disasterous. Either she can or she can't help."
Sherman: "Right! By the way, you have dog breath."

Me: "You know I'm right here in the same room. I can hear everything you're saying in that solliloquy Shakespeare."

Peabody, producing an atomizer and puffing his mouth to freshen up. "Then you know we simply need your help."

Sherman: "How did you do that?"

Peabody: "Hmm? Oh. I'm a cartoon character, I can produce anything, except an actual thing."

Sherman: "Oh." doing some hard thinking.

Me: "Well, you're in luck, I have a piece here, I just finished it. I think it's pretty funny."

Peabody narrating again, "Grabbing the disc, we hightailed it out of the year 1999 and back to our own comfortable living room of 2008."

Sherman: "I don't get it Mr. Peabody. I mean, we did that trip and I don't see any new entry from the year 1999."

Peabody, looking frustrated, "That's because the technology of today is too advanced to read this primitive floppy. We'll have to dig through her records and find a paper copy. Back to the Wayback machine my boy!"

Setting the controls, I decided to avoid another visit with our would be authoress and head straight to her basement of her then new home, there stacked five boxes up and three boxeds deep and ten rows wide, were papers.

Sherman: "My goodness. Doesn't she throw anything out?"

Peabody: "She will tomorrow Sherman, that's why we're here today. She's called 1800 Got Junk and we have 24 hours to find that story or it's lost for the ages."

Sifting through the papers and not a few paper cuts, we found copies of old high school programs for Dracula, The Skin of Our Teeth and Hello Dolly. We also found diaries dating back to 4th grade, every spiral notebook from college and an entire six boxes of lesson plans from three years of teaching.

Sherman: "We'll never find it."

Peabody, "We've got to...and it would help if you kept going through boxes instead of stopping everytime you find a comic book." snatching one out of his hands.

Sherman: "But that's the Xmen one where Storm gets a Mohawk. It's a collector's item."

Peabody: "Be that as it may Sherman, we are here..."

Me: "Hey? What are you two doing here again?"

Peabody: "My apologies, you see, the disc you gave us isn't readable by modern standard equipment."

Me: "You can travel through time and you can't read a floppy?"

Peabody:"I admit, it is a bit ironic. Anyway, we need a hard copy of a story about your children that's funny for tomorrow's blog entry. Do you have one?"Me: "Sure."

Opening the second to last box, Sherry rifled through the papers quickly, producing a three page story and a spiral notebook.

Me: "These should last for a few entrees anyway. Have fun."

Returning home once again, we handed the papers off to the real time Sherry and went back to our home for a well earned rest.

Sherman: "In all that running around, I didn't even get to see the story."
Peabody: "All in good time Sherman my boy, all in good time."
Sherman: "But why run it now?"

Peabody: "Because as any officinado of Sherry knows, the best Sherry is always allowed to age, before it's consumed." pouring himself a glass. Sputtering, "Sherman, what are you doing?"

Sheman is sporting Tom Cruise sunglasses, a mohawk, a motorcycle, guzzling a beer and smoking a huge cigar, "I'm taking a vacation and going cross country!" Wonderwoman is riding on the back of his bike. She giggles. He cranks the AC-DC CD on his sweet ride and vrooms out the door. "Asta La Veesta Baby!"

Tune in tomorrow for the actual episode, the uncovered story on a very old floppy.

In loving tribute to all things Moose and Squirrel related, for more humor, puns and assorted mayhem that hasn't been tossed in the landfills of history, try http://www.humor-blogs.com/!

To Blog or Not to Blog

If blogs are this new century’s version of the old fashioned diary, I will stick to the ludite version of things for one very distinct reason. I can destroy the evidence. When my family moved this past February, a seismic shifting of books from their old dusty book shelves to built-in bookcases that have yet to suffer from neglect took place. Ultimately, the move resulted in the discovery of some long abandoned journals; mine.

These private tomes have jumps that can be measured in eons of life experience: newly engaged, a color sketch of the ring is provided. Next entry: Newly married, most every sentence is exclamatory! Several practice signatures of new full name with various flourishes are also available for viewing. I winced at my own over the top enthusiasm, it all seemed so superflous and high schooly. Next entry: Moved to new city, working a new job, pregnant. Multiple pages detailed my neurotic worrying about being pregnant and then nothing. Next entry was placed strategicly in the middle of the journal to indicate a desperately crazy notion of filling in the unwritten pages and back dating them.

By my best estimation, that next entry was two babies later and focused on weight. One entry on the next page is recorded half a year later and talks about taking up guitar. (I took about six lessons in the summer). Next entry: A New Year’s Resolution. Three days of vapid entrees in a row chronicling the fact that I went to the gym. Four years later, “Just found this! Lost 2 pounds!” chronicled with explanation points. One year later, “just found this. Gained fifteen.” no explanations given.

I could have tolerated most of my children eventually finding this, and then there was a poem; a really bad poem; a what-was-I-thinking-kind-of-shoot-me-now poem. Another lost journal holds thoughts from when I was dating my now husband of nineteen years. It also has my high school locker code and a long screed about how unfair it was to have to sell candy bars during lunch on the Friday of Homecoming. I have secured both items in the laundry basket that holds socks, certain they will remain undisturbed by any of my children for at least three decades, by which time I should have gotten around to having a good book burning.

Part of the reason for the writes-like-she-drives-a-stick-shift style entrees was the dawn of computer use in my daily life. The journal would move from room to room, meaning sometimes I’d forget where I left it. The computer could not move, so it became an easy place to pour out the thoughts of the day. I liked writing a daily log just for myself as a teacher; I even printed it up for the next day, to remind myself of what had worked or not the day before.

The journals would occasionally turn up like an old friend from out of town, but the computer became a cozier companion for my personal memories and ideas. These were the days of a more innocent time of the internet, before I discovered that Emails and blogs and computer journals never die. They are stored somewhere, even if you turn the ancient monitor into a fish tank and strip the old computer for parts; some teckie somewhere like my brother can wire it, juice the sucker and discover every rough draft of a thought ever written. At this point, there are three old computers, not counting the Texas Instruments one we had when I was a kid, holding enough intellectual compost from my past to make the five o’clock news or at least the Drudge Report if I ever run for elected office.

The crinkled pages of my old books do not illustrate every nuanced thought that popped into my brain. There was something of a natural editing process, I wrote when I needed to write. I had to find the book. I had to find the pen. I scratched out stuff. I edited my own work. It was private. Blogs on the other hand, while infinitely editable, are also retrievable. Do I really want my children to know how innane I could be? No. If they were going to think I was stupid, it would have to come from their own memories and not my memoirs!

When I proposed the diaries be destroyed, objections were raised.

One day in the far off future, my children could happen upon the uncensored unplugged thoughts of their mother in her youth and find solace. I considered this possibity, that some child that felt estranged in life will find sympatico feelings with me post mortem through my own words. It could happen but I doubt it. The journals are more likely to confirm to even the most gentle and loving offspring of mine that their mother wrote in a Jackson Pollack style at best, and made a gulash casserole journal of her life most of the time. Plus it seems all she ever wrote about was how much weight she either gained or lost.

I've decided I would prefer their memory of their mother in the edited and in some cases, even mythic version. In the mean time, I’ve started a new hand written journal. I’m keeping it in the computer room in the sock basket, just in case.