Bad Cat Land Part Two

The Furniture

Well, the parlor furniture has been thoroughly cleaned. The cushions have been injected with enzymes and are now drying. Every inch of the furniture has been cleansed. The parlor no longer smells like a bad cat lives here.

I have witnessed another miracle, but I am still holding my breath. After the cushions dry, I'll give my final verdict. If you have this problem and live in Berks County, I'll be happy to pass on the name of my miracle worker upholstery cleaners.

The Gate - Update

The gate is working, although Emma has concerns that she will be the person to cause Eliot's demise by not closing the gate properly. She is working on mastering the locking mechanism. Emma is inspiring me, by the way. She can count beautifully, except for the number 13. This is ironic because this is her birthday number, and I consider it our lucky number. Sounds like a story to me. Back to the gate...Eliot has taken to sleeping under the cellar steps when he wants to be alone. Good for him.

Joan

Joan is the number one animal lover in my life, even more than Elena, if you can consider that possible. She is always ready to support Eliot! She has two adopted racing greyhounds...Buddy and Tucker. Why am I mentioning this? Well, Buddy and Tucker don't like my parlor, either...It has hardwood floors and is a bit slippery for long greyhound legs to walk on. They huddled together on a very small rug when they visited in the house. My parlor does not have good karma for my four legged friends, does it?

Bad Cat Land

Eliot is in danger of losing his very life. He is in so much trouble, I can't even begin to tell you...

I will also forgive anyone who laughs at me ahead of time.

I finally bought some beautiful new parlor furniture a year ago. It's covered in microsuede (after all, I have three kids and clumsy relatives). I had my parlor: a place where I could actually invite people to come on in and sit down, a place where toys and books and tools and clothing did not rule, a calm place to read a book or talk.

A few months ago, Eliot, who is 16 years old, had an "accident" on the chair and the upholstered ottoman. I was angry and upset, but cleaned it up and forgave him. Eliot was thoroughly examined by our fabulous vet; I was advised to buy a cleaner with enzymes as the first or second ingredient, and to put mothballs under the cushions. I took the plastic liner out of his litter box and put bubble wrap on the top of the furniture. All was well.

Then another accident. Then another. Each piece of furniture was now marked. Eliot spent some time visiting our furnace, water softener and humidifier in the cellar. He spent some time locked in the washroom. I left aHalloween spider out that made noise when moved. Now there were mothballs ON TOP of the cushions. This seemed to work for a few months.

On Monday, Eliot jumped on to the couch, sat between two cushions, and had a marking fest. I discovered this when I came home from school because the odor, despite the mothballs, is potent. It's really really lucky for Eliot that we don't have guns in our house. I decided that was it and I would put Eliot to sleep. Who would want to have an old tomcat who pees on microsuede?

There was wailing and gnashing of teeth in the house of Calderoni. Begging, pleading, tears...I couldn't take it. The kids convinced me to ask my cousin Mary Jo if she would put Eliot in her barn with her barncats and the cows. Mary Jo reluctantly said that Eliot would be killed by the barn cats...they were quite terrotorial, and Eliot does not have front claws. So much for that. Mary Jo was quite sympathetic, having had a Bad Cat experience of her own.

OK...so I can't put him on the farm, and I can't put him down. Now what?

THE GATE

Since Eliot has no problems except for marking the microsuede furniture, we purchased a gate to put on our steps to pen Eliot in to the den (where we spend most of our time) and where the furniture was not too tempting. I warned the kids that if he just "happens" to get out because they did not close the gate, he would be done. Fini. Kaput.

We'll see what happens.

The furniture will be cleaned Saturday at 9 am. Wish me luck...and Eliot a longer life.

Padre

I ran into Padre today, walking across campus. He's our Catholic priest assigned to this university, and has helped me when I asked him to come into a class where I was teaching Dan Brown's plot driven mega-money maker, The DaVinci Code. Padre faced the students fearlessly, and was quite at home in the classroom. I hope that he spends more time there.

We almost lost him a year or two ago. He was stopped at a light near Cabela's when a tractor trailer drove into him. After seeing the car, I couldn't believe anybody survived. Padre had a painful recovery, but somehow made it back to our campus. His survival is one of many miracles I have personally witnessed in my life.

God didn't let him off too easily, though. Today he is walking with a cane because he now fractured his leg or foot. He's supposed to "stay off it" but there he is, walking by the library on a beautiful spring day. He is true to his mission.

What a happy soul, with a gift to read people...we are fortunate to have him here. I am looking forward to our next visit...The DaVinci Code movie and then food at Victor Emmanuel's. He promised to wear his collar to rile things up. We're in for a good time.

God, please bless our Padre...and his fracture.

Loving the Weather

After an overwhelming week and weekend, I happily awoke to the rumblings of thunder. Rainy days are the best days.

Fall is my favorite season, with spring a close second. I guess I like the transitions. This spring has been awesome, although we are officially under a drought watch. My baby Cherokee Red dogwood has bloomed, along with the old white one in the back. I had some monster bushes removed and am looking forward to a tower with swings to be installed there in two weeks or so. I bought some butter leaf lettuce to plant, even though I will have to share them with the rabbits. The tulips and hyacinths are open, and now it's raining. I'm luvin' it.

I need to give myself a rest mentally because it has been push push push for so many months. I'll be able to listen to what God is telling me to do, what my children are REALLY saying, and reconnect with my long neglected friends. I'm going to start the summer off by only agreeing to teach one class (for Reading Hospital School of Nursing) and walk every morning after my first purchase of new sneakers in years. This purchase hasn't even been accomplished yet. This is going to be the most "me" summer I've had in years, and I reach for it hungrily.

I'm almost finished with Harper Lee's To Kill A Mockingbird. If I do get a dog, I think he could be an Atticus.

Here at Kutztown, the rain has stopped, and the sun is shining a bit. I'm off to my 1pm class meeting in the library.

75

Having a rough week. Today is Mom's 75th birthday...

I did get a good idea for another story today. Maybe Mom's giving me a present on her birthday.

My daughter got a great award from AAA last evening...Safety Patroller of the Year for Berks County. Way to go, Elena......

I'm clingin' to my holy chaos today.

22

Today it is the 22nd anniversary of my brother's death. I'm not writing much today.

God,

Please bless the soul of my baby brother, Michael Yanulus Jr., who left this world on Good Friday in 1984. His unfortunate accident still rings in my heart.

Amen

Rejection and Recompense

Rejection

I got a rejection letter via e-mail for my short story today. The editor rightly stated it jumps around a bit too much and may be trying to be longer than it is. She's probably right. I'm still going to send it around to other places and then let it rest for a while. Maybe it will blossom into something else. Who knows? Besides, she asked me to send her other writing when I can, which is encouraging. Don't worry, I've got my chin up and my stiff upper lip on.

Recompense

I wrote a letter to the editor of our local paper today. Here it is....

Editor:

I would like to publicly thank the teachers and staff of St. Ignatius School in West Lawn for all they do for our kids and community. Compared to their Wilson counterparts, the St. Ignatius teachers do their job well, and are not paid close to the average salaries quoted in your recent news articles. In addition, they assist in keeping school district taxes DOWN by choosing to be employed there. I often see these teachers work long hours, tutor students without additional pay, and participate in events on weekends, also without additional pay. Many of them have advanced degrees and could easily seek jobs in the public sector. I am not alone in my great appreciation, admiration, and respect for these fine individuals.

In addition, they will be at work on Thursday and the days following, until the end of the school year, as will all the fine teachers who work in the Diocese of Allentown. Wilson School District teachers won't be there, and have rejected the public meeting offered by the school board, as well as the recommendations made by the State of Pennsylvania. Again, thank you, St. Ignatius folks, for all the sacrifices you make for our kids and community.

Josephine

This entry is inspired by my fellow blogger, Tom Carten. If you haven't seen his blog yet, it's at http://northfranklin.blogspot.com ...He performs a great service to the Wyoming Valley Community by informing blind radio listeners of local news...including obituaries. I won't say any more because he is a humble guy and might have an urge to hit me over the head with a big stick if I reveal information about him! Anyway, he wrote about a recent decedent who was one of many Rosie the Riveters that kept our nation's war effort going. It made me think about my Aunt Josie.

Wonderful, wise, nervous...that's my Aunt Josie. Many women in our family are/were wonderful, wise, and nervous (including yours truly) so that is not what is outstanding about her. A tall, beautiful woman from a hard working family, she always did the best she could. During the war, she found work at an aircraft plant near Harrisburg. It's amazing to me that she went that far away from her home. Two of her brothers were in the service, and one stayed home to run the family farm. (He had a medical condition, and was therefore exempt from duty.) Only one of her brothers came home from the war. Still, her physical and emotional strength contributed to our country's eventual win over the Axis of Evil.

She still made time for my dad, who was a child at the time. His mother died, and his father was fighting in the European Theater (actually, he was cooking...but you get the idea). My dad escaped the orphanage because of the big heart of his grandmother, Auntie Helen, and Aunt Josie. They took care of him. They were his parents. They stepped in when nobody else would. I love and admire them for that. My dad's grandmother was an orphan, "taken off the altar" in Hazleton somewhere, so she would not want her grandchild in an orphanage.

Aunt Josie married a man named George Eicher, who became my godfather. Loud, strong, and many times outrageous, he probably didn't help her nervousness, but he was a good guy...with the outstanding talents of a mason. He contributed many hours to help with building projects at St. Jude's in Mountaintop. He wasn't the type to darken the door of the church, but he was "good with his hands" and God blessed him for his contributions. His dandelion wine would sit on the kitchen counter in a big bottle. Everybody said the wine tasted great, but I wouldn't know. Overall, Uncle George was quite a character. I loved to hear him talk...he would always talk about the "Amish" (a like in able), and when he got excited his voice went up about three octaves.

They had three boys...Jake, George Jr., and Mark. Mark is the best cousin to me, perhaps because we are closest in age. He provides me with strong emotional support when the chips are down and I love him for that. Jake is a good guy, too. He has a good heart like his mum. Auntie Helen always called George Jr. "Mountain Man" because of his lifestyle and his huge beard. He inherited what I call "the Yanulus temper" which is tough to control. I hope he learns how to handle it and treats his brothers better. Mark, you are still my best buddy...between us we can remember almost everything Auntie Helen said to us.

Aunt Josie was named Josephine after her father (no surprise) and he was named Joseph because he was born on the feast of St. Joseph. Joseph is a good choice because he took care of and provided for his family. It was the number one priority in his life. Aunt Josie was the same way. Family. Family. Family. (Gosh, no wonder I married an Italian!)

What have you done for your family today? What have you done for your country lately, besides complain about it?

Good News

I finished the final draft of short story one (untitled at this point). I'll think of a title someday. Onward to the next mountain to climb.

Random Thoughts for Today

Working in academia is interesting, rewarding, discouraging, and mind-bending. I find different ways to cope during the day, especially when dealing with, shall we say, personalities.

Today I visited EWTN's website and looked at the Mass Readings for today. It seemed to help. If you've never visited this site, it's located at www.ewtn.com and it might give you a boost to your day as well.

"And I will pour upon you clean water, and you shall be cleansed from all your filthiness, and I will cleanse you from all your idols. And I will give you a new heart, and put a new spirit within you: and I will take away the strong heart out of your flesh, and will give you a heart of flesh." Ezechiel xxxvi. 25, 26

What inspires you?

More Random Thoughts

Today we talked about one of my favorite stories of all time, "A Good Man Is Hard to Find" by Flannery O'Connor. The main theme of this story is that all folks are given the option of accepting grace or rejecting it. When grace is rejected, it is very often because of a person's pride. Usually, I talk a lot about the foreshadowing that occurs in the story, and a little bit about how violent the story turns out to be. I probably have to say here that I usually reject violent stories, but hers have such meaning to the violence that I can't turn away from them. (I'm a person that had to be challenged to watch Mel Gibson's Passion, and even then I watched it in two parts, with an afghan my mom made thrown over my head.) The violence in her stories reflects on the death of Christ, if one thinks about it closely.

Pride is an ever invasive element of our culture. Why? Why are we all so proud of ourselves? The other day I read a disturbing news story about two young women who started a modeling agency. Not unusual, but this one was. The ladies decided that people would rather see "beautiful" people at special events. One of the founder's comments was something about how she went to a party and everything was "beautiful" except for the serving staff. This ruined the party for her. She thought those servers needed to be models to make the experience more satsfying. This is why she started her modeling agency. Whew...I wonder if she ever thought about her pride in her own physical beauty, which, by the way, God gave her. Interesting.

I have to remember that it's okay to be proud sometimes, but don't take it to extremes. For example, I am proud when my children accomplish something. I'm proud when my students do well. Does this get in the way of my grace? No, I think it makes me more aware of it.

I'll have to write more about dear Flannery O'Connor another time.

I wish you grace.

Millions

Millions

If you haven't seen this wonderful film yet, take some time to watch it, especially if you remember a book called Six O'Clock Saints.

Two elementary school aged boys have recently dealt with the trauma of their mother dying at an early age. The father does the best he can in coping with the loss. They move into a new development, away from their old home and memories, and buy plenty of new "stuff" to change their environment. Damien, the younger of the boys, takes all the boxes into a field behind the house and creates a fort. Damien knows statistics about saints from the aforementioned book and spouts these facts off to anybody who will listen.

Saints start visiting Damien. This is the best part of the movie, and much like magic realism. Soon, Damien "finds" a whole pile of money, and the plot quickens. I won't tell you any more...see the movie. I will say this, though. The overall theme of the movie is the question "Is anyone truly good?" which is a fascinating topic to explore.

If you found millions of dollars, or even a couple grand, what would you do with it? That's a tough question. Would you somehow correct the Darfur problem? Would you help AIDS orphans or AIDS patients in Africa by getting them the medication and material goods they need? Would you adopt a bunch of kids or build a school? Would you "help out" all your relatives and friends? Maybe you'd go on a shopping spree. Perhaps you'd fund medical research that would actually help somebody...rather than finding a way to grow hair on a bald person's head. Maybe you'd fund college educations for a certain group of people. Would you save the whales or the turtles? How about flying to the moon or backing a Broadway play or buying a remote island?

Just think about how many people would be at your door, on the phone, sending you mail and e-mail...all with their hands out. Think about the alarm system you'd have to install. Would you quit your job?

I dunno. I sure would like to have conversations with saints, though. Maybe I already do.

Bunny Salad

Yesterday, my kids and their cousins dyed Easter eggs and made bunny salads. What are bunny salads?

Take half a canned pear and put it on a piece of lettuce or directly on a plate. Use almonds for the ears, raisins or jellybeans for the eyes, and a maraschino cherry for the nose. Add a fun whipped cream bunny tail...and...tada! You have a bunny salad. The best part is that the kids gobbled them up, even the picky eaters.

Hop to it!

Lucky Chinchilla


We love our silly chinchilla
He gives us a constant thrilla.
When he gets a prune,
It keeps him in tune,
Much better than any vanilla.

Okay, so now I'm officially in a silly silly mood. Lucky is a First Holy Communion gift to my son from an awesome friend named Adam. Adam tried to raise chinchillas with little to no luck. His first chinchilla, named Chinchi, needed a mate, so Adam bought Lucky. The pet store folks stated that Lucky was female, without a doubt. Wrong. Apparently they weren't looking too closely. When Adam put Lucky in Chinchi's cage, he expected love and kisses. He got a chinchilla war between two territorial males. Poor Lucky, being smaller, got the worst of it. After Lucky (whose original name was Angel), healed, Adam found him a new home with us. He truly is Lucky. He has his own TV to watch in the playroom, and watches it every chance he gets. He loves to perch and chews on anything within tooth range. We are lucky to have our Lucky.

"An apple a day keeps the doctor away."

Limerick for Today

or, For Oxnard

There once was a gray cat from Whitfield,
Who lived in a virtual pitfield.
The hamster got loose,
And was turned into mousse,
Now there's no hamster from Whitfield.

Hmmm...

My kids have had three hamsters: Oxnard, then Penelope, now Darth Vader. They also have the aforementioned cat, named Eliot, and a wonderful chinchilla named Lucky. As you can see from my limerick, Oxnard met an untimely demise at the paws of Eliot. The jury of three children declared Eliot innocent of the charges. I called the cat "Killer" for about a week. Penelope was luckier, and lived a good long hamster life. Darth Vader is the newest acquisition...he's all black with a white spot under his chin. He's also a big hamster... oxymoron?...while the other two were dwarf hamsters.

Say "cheese"!!!!!

The Osterhout Library on Airy Street



One of the best places to go to during my childhood was this branch of the public library in Wilkes-Barre. It's where I first discovered the width and breadth of "books" in a childlike way. This small branch of the library was on the corner of Stanton and Airy streets, up the hill from where I lived. I discovered Beverly Cleary and the delightful Henry Huggins there. Jenny the Cat with her beautiful red scarf. Miss Tiggywinkle the hedgehog and silly Peter Rabbit. It was perfectly quiet, cool, calm, a little dark. My dad used to take me there once a week when I started reading, and soon after that I was able to walk up there by myself, which could be considered slightly dangerous because my nose would be in a book before I got out the door. I actually used to walk and read at the same time...I'd be there, any season, just for more good books to read. I marvel at what a little bookworm I was.

I remember going there alone one Good Friday, during one of my elementary school years. I was forbidden to watch TV or listen to the radio between 12 and 3, and I needed another book, so off I went. I ran out of the green gate on Huber St. and turned right at the corner bar. Up Stanton St., past another corner bar one block away, past Zedock's Cleaners, across the street from a car dealer... Luckily, there was a light at the corner where I had to cross Hazle St., which I thought was a really really busy street at the time. I crossed Stanton St. there, too. Up the steeper part of the hill, I noticed that some black rainclouds had blocked the sun. Uh-oh. I got into the library just in time. I picked out some books, checked them out with my own library card, and decided to wait it out. The thunder shook the big glass window in the front of the place, so I hunkered down on the floor near Beverly Cleary. The librarian smiled, but really didn't say anything much.

After the storm passed, I walked out into the clean spring air, crossed Stanton St. and entered the penny candy store. I loved getting the Red Swedish Fish...I usually only got a few, but they were so fresh and good, and lasted the whole way home. Now Good Friday was truly good...a new book to read, some forbidden lenten candy, fresh air, and a sense of freedom. The experience was a great prelude to Easter.

One summer, I even read the most books of any neighborhood kid during their summer reading program. Best of all, that was before libraries gave out prizes or little trinkets for reading so many books. That library's gift to me was the books themselves. Thanks, Osterhout on Airy, from the little girl on Huber St. who lived in the house with the big chestnut tree in front.

My Eulogy for Mom

I gave this incredibly insufficient eulogy at my mom's funeral in November, and since her birthday is coming up, I want to put it on my blog.
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What is heaven like? Many people have attempted to answer this question over the course of mankind's history. Recently, a poet wrote "Just Imagine," a song about what it might be like to finally meet Jesus: Would we fall down on our knees? Would we be overwhelmed? Would we be comfortable enough to thank Him? I am more moved by the thought of angels dancing or beautiful celestial music of a perfect orchestra and chorus. Sometimes I imagine a formal, white robed God saying "Well done, my good and faithful servant." Other times I can see bright beautiful colors and loved ones' faces. It's all so personal, isn't it? I mean, don't you think it might be different for everyone?

My mom suffered increasing pain over many years, culminating in the final weeks and days. How much can one person bear? We are, after all, only human. How strong are we supposed to be?

The most amazing thing she is feeling right now is the freedom from pain. She is without that constant companion on her journey.

Mom never had it easy. She had many difficult days: her father's alcoholism and absence and sudden short return; her brother's untimely, but brave, death serving his and our country; her struggle to have children; the loss of her dear mother; her home and possessions being destroyed; her only son meeting an accidental death at nineteen; and her unfruitful visit to the Mayo Clinic.

She had the gift of God's grace, though. Yes, all these terrible events affected her outlook on the world. I understand that. I, too, feel that lack of control, that careening feeling of the other shoe dropping too often.

God gave her His grace. He allowed her a holy suffering and a right to His Kingdom. She believed!

Because of this, she is now hugging Michael and telling Auntie Helen what's been on her mind. She is celebrating her arrival in heaven, and gathering all our loved ones into the glorious dance with the Lord.

I will miss her presence. Her sense of humor, which she seemed to pass on to my children somehow. The love that blazed out of those bright blue eyes will be with me until I no longer walk this earth.

I don't want to leave the impression that her life was all sadness and tears. It was not! I remember the joy she had for each of her grandchildren. Her joy at Elena's birth was without limits. I believe she never thought she'd have a grandchild at all...and here was her little precious one. Tony was a special joy, too. Not only was he a boy, but at the time of his birth she was not sure she'd live to see him. And Emma...Emma's her bonus round--her icing on the cake.

My husband, Anthony, was great source of amusement for her. Somehow, he always made her laugh and she loved him the very first second she saw him.

Helen understood mom the best and recognized her strength the most. Perhaps it went back to when Helen was born...such a colickly baby that 40 years later I can still hear her fussing. Mom spent many hours just walking with this baby that never seemed to stop yelling. Finally, Auntie Helen or the doctor told her to give the baby Coca-Cola. It was MAGIC...and Helen never forgot.

And then there's Atlantic City...what a great distraction from everything. She loved all of her trips there, even the difficult ones. And of course, Dad dragged her all over the country when she was younger. It must have been something to have your first baby in New Mexico with your family in Pennsylvania.

Dad...the wind beneath everyone's wings. Her rock...her best friend...the love of her life. The other day, Elena looked at a picture of Dad when he was in the service and stated that "Gee, Pop-Pop--you're buff!" I know Mom thought the same thing. They are an example of everlasting love. Corinthians tells us that love never fails. I know this to be true from watching them.

God, You've held her in the palm of Your hand, You've given her Your grace, You've sent Mary Your Mother to keep her company. I thank you for this. Now take her into Your Kingdom--where all is sweetness, light and joy and where Catherine Ann Clocker Yanulus, good and faithful servant, can live forever.

Good News and Bad News, or Both



Today is Palm Sunday, and Msgr. Treston announced that one of our Deacons, Deacon John Coffin, had died earlier this morning. A profound sense of loss, commonly felt, passed over the assembled congregation. Deacon John helped us to understand how to serve others. He died while we were all climbing the mountain to Easter, so I know he will be greatly rewarded in heaven. I shall always think of him when I hear the words to a Godspell tune: "Prepare ye the way of the Lord." He helped us prepare ourselves to meet God in a holy and worthwhile way. My children cried as Msgr. announced the sad news. Their response made me realize what an impact Deacon John had on our young people, too. Sweet dreams, Deacon John.

Yesterday we celebrated the 50th wedding anniversary of Tony's Aunt Julie and Uncle Joe. I don't think I have ever seen such a good-looking couple...inside and out. Their four daughters invited 110 people to the Towne House in Media. It's a place where they often gather, and it has the best crab cakes around.
This family is so strong, so tight. They welcomed me into it warmly, which I am grateful for...I like to watch them together because the connection between all the individuals is amazing. We are special because we are the "Reading cousins" and are not always able to be with them. One cousin, Sharon, who lives in Charlotte, has even farther to go, but her tale was extraordinary yesterday. She spent two weeks in Italy, returned on Friday, got on a plane for Philly Saturday morning and was going to fly home Saturday night. Plus, she was out on the dance floor doing the Electric Slide with the best of 'em. Her brother also came a long way...he drove in from Rhode Island. I guess Reading isn't that far after all...or maybe we're just wimpy.

I am reading a book about writing that says that writers should write about two years in a journal, then go back and read it...face it...to become a better writer. I guess I have quite a long way to go to meet that particular requirement, but this blog is a beginning. We'll see how far it goes.

"Prepare ye the way of the Lord. Prepare ye the way of the Lord."

I am delighted to see that my friend, Tom Carten, has taken off into the blogosphere with a tiny prompt from me. He has been one of the many angels in my life, and I am sure he has been an angel to many more people than I have.

I was talking with a class the other day about "A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. It's a short story that's been much anthologized, but that doesn't decrease its power. I questioned the young'uns under my charge (I wanted to say "wing" here, but that would be too punny...groan)how the reader would know that this old man was an angel. They replied that he had wings (duh)....but when I prompted them further, I got a good discussion going. We decided that this old man with enormous wings was NOT an angel of death, but a deliverer...an empath in a way. He took on the illness and sickness of the family's child in order that the child would have a healthy life. The people he was trying to help treated him poorly, throwing him into a chicken coop. (Have you ever really smelled a chicken coop? Take it from me ...it's not pleasant.) Still, this old man helped the child anyhow. When the child became old enough to go to school, the angel took off for parts unknown. This empath idea is an excellent one.

How many times have you acted in the capacity of an angel?

One of my "office mates" at school keeps asking me why I'm always smiling. I don't always smile...but I do smile often because I am blessed with many things. I try not to focus on what I don't have, but what I do have...which is abundant. This kind of thinking isn't easy to do, but try it sometime. It's an attitude of gratitude.

I saw a cento in the NY Times Book Review this past Sunday, and it intrigued me. A cento is a poem, 100 lines long, that takes lines from other poems and mixes them all up to create a new one. I'm going to put that on my summer list of fun stuff to do. Speaking of fun stuff to do, I am going to sign off and head to my pilates session.

I worked on my short story a bit yesterday, and I am making progress. I am hoping to finish the final draft prior to my original deadline. This gives me hope. I discovered a contest today that I may pursue. The topic is a positive view of Italian American life portrayed in a short piece. I am NOT of Italian lineage, BUT my husband is, and being sucked into his really large family was quite an experience....a positive one, but an experience nonetheless.

According to my nine year old son, Wednesday is LUMP day. In his very conservative school, I guess that "hump" or "bump" or even "slump" might be considered inappropriate. His school is a good one, and I admire all who teach there, so I will go with LUMP day. That makes me think of another idea, too...which is why I am writing it here.

The first twig of this tree has arrived.

April is the cruelest month, according to T.S. Eliot. It seems especially cruel this year, as I am now a motherless child. Grief isn't new to me, but this particular brand cuts deep. Strangely, a book called A Gracious Plenty by Sheri Reynolds has helped me in my journey of grieving. I recently met Ms. Reynolds at a Writers' Conference, and was not even aware that one of her books had been selected by Oprah for her Book Club. She is enthusiastic and inspiring to me. I even think of her as wearing a modern mantle of Faulkner.

Anyway, I am keeping this blog as a journal of sorts of my path towards becoming a writer. I don't want to be a dabbler; I want to write and teach others how to write ...creatively. With soul. With passion. With truth.

I mentioned one of the first steps of my journey above...attending the Writers at the Beach Writing Conference in Rehoboth Delaware. I'm glad that I went because it made me realize a few things. The first is that I have put off writing my own stories for so long...as if I had no limit to my time. Well, I realize now that I do have a limit, something like women talking about their biological clocks ticking. My writing clock is ticking, so I better get to it. I have more to offer now because I've lived more and thought/analyzed/experienced/traveled more than when I was 20.

Another one of my first steps is that I attempted to write a short story. After showing it to a few esteemed personages of my choosing, I have discovered the value of conflicted/conflicting advice. I am going to give it a final restructuring and focus after the semester ends, and then put it to bed and tuck it in and begin yet another story. If I gather some courage together, I may even post it on this blog.

"I cannot live without books." - Thomas Jefferson