Just when I thought I was finished

How did those little gremlins weave themselves into my WIP? Mine has been a work in progress for several years. There are many reasons for that, but now that I am confident that my novel is ready to be pitched I find a few little stinkers that need to be removed. ACK!

I am doing a short synospis of each chapter. And that takes me back to the original story and makes me laugh, shudder, gasp. I'm tired of tweaking, but such is a writer's life.

Writing a book is like parenting, your work is never finished.

Forms of communication

There's a cute You Tube video of two babies having an unintelligible conversation. They seem to have their own language and understand one another. Maybe. It appears to me that one is telling the other he wants his sock back and then they mimic one anothers' babbling. All things are possible, perhaps this is a true language.

The first conversation is between mother and newborn. Infants identify their mother's smell and voice. Mothers can detect their baby's wail out of a dozen other newborns in the nursery.

Communication is two-way, even if it is non-verbal, and can be as simple as a smile, frown, nod, raised or knitted eyebrows, a caress, a posture, a smack. You get the picture.

I try not to overtalk in the classroom. After I state an instruction and repeat it once, I then use non-verbal communication. If I need a distracted child to sit, I will point to the chair, and if I have to say a name, I will. But no more. If I need children to be quiet, I look at the child, dramatically fold my hands and PLOP my hands in my lap, until I get a like response. It works! Children need to read non-verbal cues. It is difficult for children on the autism spectrum to understand non-verbal communication, but I use it just the same, and they eventually respond.

When I was a little girl my parents learned that they couldn't spell in front of me, so they spoke pig latin, that silly 'language' where you move the first letter of a word (or syllable) to the end and add the long "A" sound. My name would sound like Indalay. I caught on and responded fluently to their conversations.

My dad thought he could out-smart me, so he developed Chicken-Latin. Same principle but he added ca-hae-ckle instead of the long A sound. Cat would sound like "at-ca-haekle". I mastered that in a New York minute. Too bad I didn't do as well in French when I was in high school.

So my brother and I, at about age 9-10, developed what we considered our own language and we called it OP. We spelled words and added OP to every consonant and spoke the vowels. My name would be "Lop-I-Nop-Dop-A" We became proficient spellers and drove our parents crazy.

I think the most profound form of communication existed between my late mom and me, and also between me and my late friend. My husband and I have the knack. To be able to speak with our eyes, head movements and grunts and to be understood ... it's incredible when the other person GETS IT!

A nudge in the side or a gentle kick in the shin under the table usually garners the response, "Hey! What'd you do that for?" But not with Mom, Rose or Bill. We understood each another.

I've been out with some people who are brilliant but very literal instead of interpretive and intuitive. If I whisper, "Over there," and shift my eyes in the direction of a suspicious person or just a freak, they will flip their head around and loudly say, "Who? What? Where?" and then I must smile deflated and say, "Huh? Nothing. Nevermind."

I think you either have it or you don't. What do you think?

What a difference a day makes

Last weekend the tepmperature of 84 degrees broke all records, and then this week we had thundersnow which dumped 4-6 inches of heavy white stuff. We took these photos at Bee Tree Park last week.


Nature knits and purls maroon buds to every branch; the loamy earth awakens .

In a crook of the rippled lake still water cradles debris. Autumn’s discarded foliage clings to spring algae propagating in sunshine

golden as the finch that flew this nest, confused by four inches of unexpected snow.

Button floral bouquet

My granddaughter is considering favors/table decorations for her wedding next year. She mentioned button bouquets. I have no idea what she's talking about, but I did what any good preschool teacher and grandma would do. I rushed to my school closet to sift through recyclable materials and buttons. This is made from pipe cleaners, buttons, address label floral stickers and a liquid laundry detergent lid.

So, what do you think?

I'll tell you what my former vice principal used to think. When Princella would walk into the lunch room where I supervised a school age summer day camp, she'd look around, (she was a dead ringer for Whoopi Goldbergh) and she'd laugh and say, "Girl, you are the white Sanford and Son of this school. You have all kinds of junk!"

Had the best summer camp in the inner city too! Eventually I took my recycled show on the road and did presentations at teacher workshops and for YMCA's.

I know something you don't know!

Old-fashioned, hands-on learning beats pencil and paper or battery-operated anyday! I took a soda bottle and inserted the mouth through a hole cut into the rabbit's mouth and taped the entire bunny to the bottle and glued it to a cardboard circle base so it wouldn't tip. (Cut a hole near the top of the back of the bottle to easily remove the jelly beans when the bottle is full.) I filled a box with jelly beans and gave the students spoons and encouraged them to feed the bunny.

This activity is fun, keeps their interest, encourages cooperation and turn taking. It develops hand-eye coordination and fine motor skills. When two or more children are invovled, this activity generates spontaneous conversation, increases vocbulary and enhances language development.

My funny for the week: two little girls, age four were taking turns feeding the bunny.

"I know something about chickens and rabbits."

"So do I."

"Yeah, I bet I know something you don't know!"

"What?"

"At Easter, chickens poop the eggs out, and rabbits poop the jelly beans."

Book Blurb Friday

I am linking up with Lisa at Writing in the Buff. See if you can write a back of the book blurb in 140 words using this picture as a prompt.


Unleashed Wrath

Mason High was no more or less out of control than any other public school.
When the intruder alarm sounded and the secretary’s voice screeched a high pitched code word, teachers rushed to deadbolt their classroom doors and flip off light switches. Unruly students huddled in corners and speculated in hushed tones. As teachers tried to maintain order, a male voice bombarded the airwaves.

“You are now under my control. Principal Perkins has no authority whatsoever. Do you Perkins? Speak directly into the mic.”

Robert Anderson had always been a bit of a rebel, but usually the administrators could quell his minor disturbances. Robert was on an unstoppable rampage.

“If my demands aren’t met, everyone in this building will choke on their prayers and swears. Listen up!”

As Anderson makes his demands known, Kyle Horstman decides to play hero.
139 words

Nothing like a trial run.

It happened at this time of the year about fifteen years ago. I remember the Bradford pear trees were flowering; dogwoods and magnolias hung heavy with pink blossoms, and lilac scented the neighborhood.

I called for my routine mammogram appointment and the receptionist asked if I would be willing to visit the mobile mammogrophy unit. She rattled off a list of locations where it would be that month. I chose a date and location.

She said, "Five minutes late and your appointment will be cancelled; so be on time."

I left school after lunch and darted to the location. Hmmm, I couldn't remember exactly what the address was, but I knew it was by Dierberg's, a large chain grocery store.

I questioned myself all the way there. Was it the Dierberg's at 2900 or the one at 4300? I drove like I had a hot date, got off at the nearest location and spied the huge mobile unit, four minutes to expiration of my boob smoosh.

I parked the car, ran up the metal stairs, flung open the door, dug in my purse for my insurance card while the woman waited patiently.

"I'm here for my 12:30 appointment."

"Pardon?"

"My mammogram!"

"Ma'am, this is the Book Mobile."

I grimaced, groaned, screeched out of the parking lot with Mopsy and Flopsy in full swing and made it across the street to the upper end of Dierberg's parking lot where the girls met their fate, with one minute to spare.

"Hold your breath now, honey."

Hold my breath? I could hardly catch my breath. That mammy was a whammy!

Thereafter, I arranged to be compressed at the hospital.

Schedule yours if you haven't already!