Flying Like An Eagle and Writing About It

Right, so I dreamed last night that I was writing a post here and it was so important to remember the INCREDIBLY BRILLIANT opening and closing lines, that when I woke up at 2:00am – like I do every night – I wrote them down on the pad of paper I keep on my bedside table for just this reason. To remember my INCREDIBLY BRILLIANT THOUGHTS. What is this stroke of genius, you ask?

Opening: Time keeps on slippin, slippin, slippin…..

Closing: …into the future.

No haters. It was a dream (though I do like the Steve Miller Band).

What isn’t a dream is the repetitive pen-clicking of the receptionist down the hall. It’s making me insane. Or maybe it’s the coffee routine she has: make a pot of coffee. Pour the first cup and shut off the coffee maker. Stir in the sugar, clinkclinkclinkclink goes the spoon. Taptaptap on the side of the mug. Later, she’s back for more. Pour cold coffee in the mug. Stir in sugar clinkclinkclinkclinkclinktaptaptap. Put mug in microwave. Stir in “creamer” clinkclinkclinkclinktaptaptap. Repeat over the course of the day a million billion times.

Back at the ranch, I have now officially hired Dusty to help Red with her math homework because that pre-algebra crap makes absolutely no sense to me. And the instructions in the textbook are meaningless. I get hung up on what exactly is being asked for and then stare at the problems (which is what they are: problems) and then shrug and remember there’s a sink full of dishes that need tending to.

There were other things I was going to talk about but I forgot them. Here’s a few other things I’ve written elsewhere:

At Life In Ten Minutes, there was a prompt about waiting, something I’m really bad at. So I wrote this response.

I wrote about preserving my basil at Scribbletown Gardens (WP won’t add this link so check my Garden page).

I wrote an essay about Red because her Language Arts teacher assigned it to me. The parents were asked to write/brag about their kids so she could get to know them better. Encapsulating Red in a mere few paragraphs is hard. I’ve written a bajillion blog posts about the kid since she was born and I still haven’t gotten it all down.

Red and I have had some misunderstandings recently. Or, rather, I’ve reacted in a knee jerk way to things she’s done and have had to go back and apologize and explain why I did what I did. So, this essay partially allowed me to say, “I love you and I’m sorry and I might be your mom but that doesn’t mean I’m perfect”.

When I told Red I’d written it, and stapled it to the assignment sheet (that I had to SIGN, like every other school paper that enters the house), she was excited. “Can I read it?” Of course you can.

So, here’s what I wrote:

I wish I could attach a photo album to this essay because words do not fully capture the wacky uniqueness that is Red. As a baby, she ate crayons rather than colored with them. Furniture was for climbing on. She was fearless and was known for rushing into oncoming traffic and people except when we went to the beach. And then we discovered that the ocean was too terrifying for her to approach. She spent her first couple beach vacations behind the dune. I have photos – many of them in various stages of undress or overdress (she has style, this kid!) – of her covered in spaghetti sauce, covered in markers, covered in a blanket while she “reclines” on a wobbly stool, laying on a sheet of bubble wrap, sunk in a box of packing peanuts, pouring water over her head in the bath just because, and just being incredibly goofy like only she can be.

She has very particular likes and dislikes – for food, music, clothing, house styles, pretty much everything – and isn’t afraid to let them be known. You always know where you stand with Red; she will tell you.

She’s a dichotomy: both introvert and extrovert. She loves television, popular culture, teen magazines full of current celebrities but also has a passion for old cars (1950’s in particular), old houses (Tudor and Victorian styles) and old music (James Brown, Elton John, disco).

Red is multi-talented. She’s a talented writer (there are about 10 stories being worked on at any given time in my computer), an artist with an eye for color (her mother’s parents are artists so it’s in the genes), and a critic – of movies, tv shows, the comics, everything. She is never without an opinion on things large and small.

Red lives with her mother and older sister (a 9th grader at P-H-H-S-) in Beaverdam. We have three cats (Pokey, Charlie and Franklin) and an elderly but quite spry guinea pig (Cloud). Her father lives in Richmond. As does her bike. She has the best of both worlds: the country and the city. Rolling hills covered in cows and the James River.

Extended family include three aunts and grandparents in Richmond. Her other grandparents live in Salem. There may be as many as 10 cats amongst them. I lose count. No dogs. We’re pretty much cat people. Occasionally Red proclaims that she will be a crazy cat lady when she grows up. I’m trying to dissuade her from this as Plan A. It’s a good fall-back position but I’m hoping she’ll become a famous author first. The crazy cat thing can come after she’s signed the movie rights to her first novel.

Red giggled as she read it. “I like what you wrote.”

That’s all any writer wants to hear, you know?

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