Torn toenails and sticky spaces

Hey everybody!  The poem for today is taking longer than expected to come together so it will show up tomorrow.
In other news, I spilled Sprite+peach sorbet on my laptop so adding spaces is really hard... need to clean it!
And my mother tore her toenail off so part of today was spent taking her to a Bowenwork appt (which was great because I got to get my headache taken care of).

Day 28 - Jellicles and our other furry friends

August 28 - He called you by your real name

     Coricopat's ears laid flat on his head as his tail bushed and he bared his teeth at the man.
     "He called you by you real name!" he hissed to his sister.  Tantomile simply smiled enigmatically.
     "Yes," she purred, rubbing her head along the outstretched hand.
     *He?  I am offended,* a feminine voice echoed in his head.  *I am glad to know the disguise is effective but really?*
      Cori's eyes crossed as two battling waves hit him.  On one side was his Jellicle self, screaming that this was a human and they were neither telepathic nor able to see their Jellicle forms as he and his sister were in right now.  The other was his animal/cat side telling him that this was a very powerful force that he needed to bow to and love and obey and follow.  Normally his sides dwelt in harmony, the instinctive feral cat and intelligent cerebral Jellicle making up the overall fabric of his being, never before had he felt so torn.  His instincts were trying to tell him something and he quieted his mind to hear the tiny voice.  It came across in bold, capital, bedazzled letters.  GUARDIAN!  This was the being chosen to protect animals, his rational side interpreted, and deserved the obedience of a pack/tribe leader.
     *Very good [             ].*
     Coricopat flinched.  No one ever spoke a Jellicle's Third Name except extremely close mates or siblings.  It was a part of their self-identity, of their soul and it felt like she, for he now knew it was a woman, was poking his life force with a stick.  Only Tantomile knew that name.  It was the only thing he had ever had to consciously share with her, and even then she had never spoken it aloud.
     *Pax child.* Peace brother* came simultaneous messages from his sister and the Guardian.
     *I apologize,* the Guardian sent along with waves of peaceful emotions as his sister twined herself around him.  *Jellicles are on the edge of my jurisdiction so I know less about their society that most creatures I come across.  Know that I would never speak your Third Name/Self-Name aloud or to anyone but you.*
     "Thank you."  His voice was still strangled with emotion but he did his best to convey his appreciation.  Then a thought occurred to him.  "Do you speak Jellicle?"
     The form nodded then replied in the same tongue.  "It requires rearranging my vocal chords a little and I don't think any slang or colloquial terms would translate well but I can understand."

     I wasn't sure where to go with this.  My first thought was Rae but I feel like I am harping on her and not developing her like I should.  My next thought was a Jellicle ... and I really wanted to simply explain why you don't call a Jellicle by their real name, if you should guess it, which you never will.  They don't pull a Rumpelstiltskin and dance around singing it.  I ended up combining them.  For some reason it was always Coricopat saying the prompt, never anyone else in the Tribe or any of my original Jellicle characters, though it did waver between him warning Tantomile or Cantata.  And if I could bedazzle the word Guardian in a sparkly pink-red, I would.


Day 28 - In the Company of Animals

      Ms. Abercrombie discusses various authors who have/had pets, both cats and dogs, as faithful companions, cheerleaders, and muses.  She also briefly discusses the fact that her current furry shadow is a rescue named Nelson.
      I am glad she made the decision to adopt and I think that using a rescue program is an excellent way to go about it.  We have used American Brittany Rescue to adopt our last two dogs and are so happy with our choices. 
     Our first rescue was Sammie, a young male who had been rescued from two different abusive homes (one neglect, the other worse).  When we went to meet him he was already named, well mannered, housebroken and crate trained, and while a little reserved, he got along with us all well.  He was the most nervous around my dad, which broke my father's heart, as he had grown up with Brittanies and even had one named Sam.  We decided one of his previous male owners must have kicked him when he went out the door because he either refused to go outside or was skittish if my dad was standing in/near the door way.  After he had adjusted to the family and warmed up to us all (though he claimed Mom as 'his' person, with me as beta) my dad and sister took an afternoon and slowly taught Sam that Dad wasn't going to hurt him by having Deanna lead him in and out of the house on his leash first with Dad standing next to the doorway, then with Dad petting him as he went though.  Later, from time to time, he would still feel too much pressure if one of us was in the doorway but by and large that was the only residue from his previous life.  Poor thing had terrible genetics and lost several teeth, ended up being mostly blind one eye (which led to several false alarms), and developed arthritis but he enjoyed cuddling and snuggling with everyone and was very glad to meet new people.  He had his preferred spot on the couch and if it was occupied during a party and the person got up, he had no qualms about reclaiming it!  Did I mention Sam's favorite spot during the day was the back of the couch?  He could see the whole neighborhood and get a nap in the sun all at once.

Pleeeeeease will you feed me?

     Our second rescue (whom we have right now) is Charlie.  Charlie is a purebreed, owner surrender, meaning his owner contacted ABR and asked them to come take him away, in this case because the wife and kids weren't happy with the dog the hubby got and wanted a pug.  They had the gall to brag about it to the person who picked him up.  Makes me sooooo mad.  The two major issues we've had to deal with on Charlie were socialization and his hunting drive.  His first family kept him outside, on a chain, so he was very happy outside, with very little interest in people or affection.  Now he gets jealous if we kids are snuggling with Dad on the loveseat, that's his spot!  lol!  We noticed a definite change after our latest camping trip, our first with him.  After dark he would curl up in people's lap or on a camp chair around the fire and since then he has staked out Dad's lap as his, which is really funny because Charlie is on the long side for a Brittany, not really 'lap' size!  For his hunt drive we ended up taking him to a dog trainer and worked with her, getting him to focus on us and learning how to calm him down when he starts racing from window to window, 'hunting' squirrels and birds and moving leaves.  Initially it involved putting him in his crate when he wouldn't stop, but now a firm 'Down' and 'Stay' works very well.  He'll complain a bit at first but then he'll settle down for a nap.  Phew.
     I could write pages and pages and pages about our beloved Brittanies, their similarities and differences and quirks and adventures (and not even start on our gerbils or my favorite cats) but sufficed to say, writer or not, pets are very important, to love and to snuggle with, with no judgement or malice or ulterior motive (unless it's dinnertime).

Day 27 - Catastrophies and fruitcakes

August 27 - In anticipation of catastrophe

     Two things sprang to mind immediately, from two different phases/parts/ages of my life.

     The first is a scene from Eight Cousins by Louisa May Alcott is which Rose, the main character, her seven male cousins*, along with an assortment of friends and aunts are putting on a series of short skits, the theme of which is a part of a word.  The answer is catastrophe which they break into "Cat" (one of them makes a fetching little kitty), "ass" (as in Baalam's donkey), and "trophy" (the early bird gets the worm).  At the end they reenact a train wreck (it's before the time of motorcars).
     The second thing that sprang to mind is a wonderful fanfiction: Apocalypse Week by Eternal Contradiction.  EC writes excellent Shenny fanfics.  Shenny, for the Big Bang Theory fanfiction uninitiated stands for a Sheldon and Penny relationship, usually as a couple but sometimes as friends.  In Apocalypse Week Penny is introduced to a yearly tradition Sheldon drags the boys into, a week spent trying to train the boys to survive the end of the world through paintball (need to know how to shoot), sessions spent reviewing different forms of world ending events (zombies, aliens, natural disasters, etc), bomb-making, -throwing and -aiming practice, running (gotta keep ahead of whomever is out to get you), proper survival clothing (no leather but denim is good).

*  I remembered after I wrote this that it is only Rose, her cousin Mac, cousin Jamie, and the young people they are staying with that perform this.  They have gone into the mountains after Mac has had his terrible fever and nearly ruined his eyes.  Cautionary tale for anyone who reads with only a little light!  I know it certainly scared me as a child!
     I love Eight Cousins and it's sequel Rose in Bloom and have reread them many, many, many times.  It was a long time before I realized they were written by the same author as Little Women, which I adore because of Jo, a tomboyish writer with younger siblings.  Rose is such a sweet, kind and lively child who grows into a beautiful, benevolent, and wise woman under the tutelage of her many aunts and two dear uncles.  I have always wanted to be her or be like her, ever since I discovered her when I was very young.
     I had forgotten how much Apocalypse Week focuses on Penny's feelings!  Most of what I remember from it is how well Penny and Sheldon work together and the fact that, together, they could take over the world.



Day 27 - Fruitcakes and Discipline

     OK, what is everyone's problem with fruitcake?  Admittedly I've never had the traditional fruitcake soaked in rum w. gummy fruit (yay no Christmas?) but our family makes what could be classified as a fruitcake with canned fruit cocktail and an evaporated milk and sugar glaze that is not only heavenly but you can get away with eating it for breakfast because it has fruit!  </rant>
     Now that that is out of my system.  The point Ms. Abercrombie was making regarded her mother's self discipline, yearly making fruitcake as gifts and daily practicing piano.  This is a quality I greatly envy.  Follow-through is something I have struggled with my entire life (and is something I was discussing with my father just yesterday).  In school struggled to complete homework, not because the work was difficult usually, but because it was boring, repetitive, and/or I allowed myself to get distracted (A/N- this started in first grade).  Long term projects are/were deeply loathed and always completed two days (or less) before they were due (unless the teacher required some sort of proof of progress, which was rare).  And I usually got A's so I feel completely justified.  Neyah.
     Obviously I also struggle with goal follow-through/self discipline, such as in writing (sorry), exercise, tooth brushing (honestly, yes, I am 23 and I struggle with it), responding to important emails (the pressure!), talk writing (last minute anyone?), and service time (which makes the goal of pioneering really scary and seem completely unattainable without a Red-Sea-parting amount of holy spirit).
     Unless I am answerable to someone else I have a hard time completing a task, no matter how much I want to!  It is so very frustrating!

Eight Cousins image from GoodReads.com
Fruitcake image from Neopets.com

Random rants + My brain won't shut up

     I love writing at the public library but, unfortunately, there often aren't enough tables to work at.  I desperately hope that when they finish construction there will be enough room for all.  I know they are increasing the amount of reading space, which is exciting.  I've had to resort to using the quiet reading area to do some of my writing, which I feel guilty about when I start typing it into the computer.  On Tuesdays the tables fill up right at noon, which is when I get off of my shift.  I watch them fill up as I shelve and despair.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

     Last night I was randomly inspired to work on a character I roughed out eons ago, the only problem?  It was 1:45 AM.  Suddenly I was way too hyped up to even consider sleeping, my brain was going a million miles a minute and I was giddy with joy.  GAH!  I discovered things she had done as a child (like get lost in a cave and be rescued by the richest man in town), the delightful character the piano teacher is, her favorite color, special jewelry she owns, her hopes and dreams.  I love it!
     Robyn, as that is her name, was originally created as a fictionalized self-ish-insert into a friend's Jonas brothers story (friend of the MC) but I've used her in other projects, including my CATS story, where she gets turned into a Jellicle!  She is the calmest of my characters and the first to not list yellow as a least favorite color (she's actually wearing it in the reference picture I use).  She also has both parents living and not separated, a first and quite the accomplishment.  Do you know how hard it is to write a story with both parents around?  Maybe it's from growing up watching Disney.  Who knows.  I will introduce her to you in the next few days (when I can either finish filling out her 'profile' or simplify it without sacrificing too much character development).

Day 26 - Highwaymen and Trampolines

August 26 - The stranger at the crossroads

     It wasn't the first time Anne had felt eyes on her as she made her way to the bakers to retrieve their order of rolls for the dinner crowd.  Trevaine Road was the straightest shot out of town and
     Here the story tried getting away from me, adding more people than I wanted and changing the geography of the town.  The hashed out part is what I wrote before I redirected it.
the shortest route from her father's inn to the bakers was down Absthem, the road that ran the breadth of the town.  Where the two major pathways met was understandably busy and gossips enjoyed lingering to people watch , but the gaze Anne felt on the back of her neck was too intense for a mere gossip.  Surreptitiously she tried to catch a glimpse of whomever found her so fascinating but the milling masses shifted so quickly, no one staying in one place very long.
lined with inns and shoppes on one side, taverns and stables interspersed with forest on the other, bisected here and there by smaller roads leading to more homesteaded parts of town.  In other words, it was populated by those who had ... an interest in others. Forcing herself to merely glide, a lady doesn't run, she still reached Tevya's yeasty shop in record time.  If the kindly old man noticed her twitchy and rushed behavior he made no mention of it as she paid their weekly tab and scurried back into the street.  She was nearly home free, past the worst of the taverns when she heard a drunken hail from behind her.  It sounded like Jacob Fitch, a young man recently gone into business for himself and feeling every inch the man.
     Refusing to acknowledge him, despite the fact she was the only one on the street in earshot to hail, unless her mysterious watcher had shown himself.  That thought nearly made her turn and the hesitation hurried Jacob's steps until he was sweeping her up from behind.  Her basket of rolls flew down the road as she was swung by the waist in a dizzying circle, a shout dying as the air was knocked from her lungs.
     "Anne!  Sweet, dear Anne!  Ever so good to schee you!  Pretty Anne with the pretty green eyes.  Eyes like a cat," Jacob rambled setting her back down but keeping a firm hold in her.  "When are you going to marry me my little cat?  I've a business of my own now.  I can buy you pretty ribbons my little cat."
      She could smell the whiskey on his breath as nuzzled her hair  Enraged, Anne's spine straightened and she struggled against the blacksmith's vice like grip and iron arms.  "Jacob, let go of me.  I have no wish to marry you, you know that.  Let go!"
     "Don't wanna.  Wanna get married," Jacob said petulantly, his face still buried in her brown locks.  He sounded like the small child he had been when they first met.
     "If you're looking to marry, Anabelle has been making eyes at you," Anne replied, still struggling.
     "I don't want Anabelle," Jacob snarled, whirling Anne around to face him, his goofy, childlike attitude suddenly gone.  I want you, Anne Reeves!"
     "Jacob, you're drunk and you're hurting me," Anne said, stilling her movements and doing her best to speak placatingly despite the anger and fear burning through her veins.  The bright mild day suddenly turned dark and cold as Jacob gripped her tighter, hissing again in her face.
     "I am going to marry you Anne."
     At once his lips her pressed her hers and Anne went wild.  Flailing, she scratched and clawed what she could reach while in his painful grip.  She managed to wrest one fist free and raked her nails across his face.  Then, as suddenly as Jacob's attack  had begun, she was wrenched from his grip and a blade point was above his heart.
     "One more move," the blade owner spoke and the rest was a bit of a blur to Anne, who finally succumbed to her nerves a bit.  There were impressions of the blade biting Jacob's flesh, his fear and anger.  A brief scuffle and then it was only she and her rescuer.
     "Are you alright?"  She could scarcely believe that it was the same voice that had told Jacob off.  The tone was suddenly quiet and calming.

     This story wanted so badly to become an epic beyond what I have the time or abilities currently to write, which is why it has taken me so long to post it.  Wrestling a highwayman is a difficult task!
     This was inspired by "The Highwayman" as sung by Loreen McKennitt (from the poem by Alfred Noyes) and The Scarlet Pimpernel movie starring Jane Seymour, Anthony Andrews, and Ian McKellen(!).  Unfortunately when I wrote most of this I didn't have access to either one so it was written to "The Highwayman" by Celtic Thunder and the Trial of Lancelot CD by Heather Dale.
     Anne here has definite flavors of Belle a la Beauty and the Beast and Once Upon a Time.  The highwayman (who is the rescuer considering I don't think I made that clear) is part Scarlett Pimpernel, part rogue, part local boy gone big, and completely in love with Anne.  Interesting fact, I realized that this is not the first story I've written where a man/boy falls in love with a girl, watches her from afar and then swoops in to save her and the things dear to her.  In middle school we had to write a newspaper from the perspective of the people living in Roanoke before they vanished, and come up with a theory for why they left.  In a side story I started writing (which I abandoned when I realized it was going to turn into a romance novel), an Indian boy falls in love with a settler, meets her on the beach as White leave, gets wind that a rival tribe is going to raze Roanoke, and warns the settlement, saving her dear brother in the process.  I gave an edited version (they were only friends and it was much shorter) to my group.

     Anne succumbed to nerves because I have no idea what her swashbuckling hero says and I don't know how to write sword fight scenes.  What do you say beyond thrust and parry?  I can write cat fights (as in the actual felines) but not human fights.  That's what I get for roleplaying cats when I was younger.

Day 26 - The Trampoline as a Metaphor

     The author discusses her fear of jumping on a trampoline.  Perhaps it is because I am still very much a child, but I love the trampoline and don't find it scary at all.  Boring maybe, but not "impossible to feel safe on".
     She also discusses the freedom of just letting go on said plaything, in which she has a point.  If you don't care how you look it is a lot of fun.  Also, if you have something to do beyond just jumping in one place.
    As metaphors go it isn't the best one I've ever heard but is is a case of knowing your audience.  Thank you Ministry School for my public speaking and human interaction and teaching skills.

No One Mortal

A bit of bleak, emo poetry written back in high school, that matches my currently black, bleak mood.  I struggle with my self worth and have moments that are worse than others.  I am better able to recognize and handle these moods now than I was when I wrote this, but it does not lessen the reality.  Thankfully I also have the help referred to in the second half of the poem (after 'Can one really love me?').  I rely on the thought that even if I don't see myself in a positive light at the moment, Jehovah does and with his help I can break free from the darkness.

No one Mortal

I feel a weight,
heavy cumbersome,
throttling my life away
I feel a dullness
a cloud
hanging over all I do
Grey and bleak is the sky
Through the gloom
I see my family
is breaking away,
dissolving, eaten by acid
When I look to the source
I see nothing, but wait
into the pool of stinging liquid
I see . . . ME
The cause is my tears
NO! I am a stone, a rock,
Untouchable, Unaffected, Unscathed,
Unlovable
Oh how hated is a pebble,
an irritant in your shoe
something to be stepped on, discarded
thrown away, despised
Can one really love dirt?
Can one really love me?
No, no mortal has the patience
to find that the pebble
can make tools
is sharp
can make fire
is bright
has emotions
can carry your worries
can see your pain, your acid
you erode it
wear it to nothing
No one mortal sees how the
pebble is worried
pressured, kicked
tossed about
No one mortal
can support the
pebble in the current sweeping it
Only one can make it float
spark, sharp, be seen,
very few can love a pebble
but they can see
They are not mortal
Only one can lift
the weight
One immortal

Not gonna talk to you, but I'm going to marry you

The funniest thing happened on Sunday and I just had to share with those of you who don't go on Facebook!
My sister, one of our friends, and I went to meeting in Sandy on Sunday so that we could go to a movie with our friends there afterward.  After meeting I was standing in a circle of friends when I felt a soft patting on my lower back.   When I turned around a cute little blonde boy was standing there, staring at me.  As soon as he saw he had my attention he looked up at me seriously and said, "I don't know your name."
"My name is Leandra," I told him, but it was loud so he repeated that he didn't know my name and I repeated what mine was.  Afraid of it continuing, I asked him what his name was.  He rattled off something long in that not exactly clear English way kids have, but I had heard him comment during meeting so I clarified. "Your name is Izzy?"

He nodded and studied me for another moment, looking me up and down. "Are you a Jehovah's Witness?"
I replied that yes, I was and he gave me a VERY disbelieving look!  I'll admit I felt a little self conscious at this.  My dress wasn't short or revealing or tight, but I have a figure so sometimes I do worry about the message my clothes may be sending unintentionally.  After several more long moments of staring he informed me, "I'm not going to talk to you."
And with that parting shot he walked away into my group of friends.  I found this absolutely hilarious so I buried my head in Deanna's shoulder to keep from laughing and she was having a hard time keeping it contained too.   When I looked up he was looking at me but then turned and wandered away.
A few minutes later he walked up behind me again.   He told Rebecca and I, "You girls are very pretty. I'm going to marry you."
Playing along I said that he was a little young and I was too old so maybe we'd have to wait but he wasn't put off.   He said that since he was six and I was fourteen we could work things out!!
At this point it was time for us to leave so after a quick "see you later", another friend hustled me across the Kingdom Hall to get my bags.  He met us there and invited me out to lunch, Chinese, and after hearing that my friends and I were going to a movie (Wreck-It Ralph), he informed me that he had Madagascar 3 and 2 at home and that they were very good movies.  I agreed that they were very good movies, then Caitlin told him firmly that we needed to leave.  We said good bye and I just about died of laughter in the car on the way home, especially when Rebecca told me that she loved me too, but she had no desire to be a sister-wife with me, thank-you-very-much.

From "I'm not going to talk to you" to "Let's get married" in a matter of five minutes!  No wonder he has a reputation as a ladies man!  His poor parents and his poor twin!  XD