Aquascaping

A few months ago I got interested in water plants. I had a fake plant aquarium. One day a light bulb went off in my head. I thought, "I love plants, why don't I have plants in my aquarium?" So I did a little web surfing and found the beautiful hobby of aquascaping.

 I planted a few plants in my tank. Then I discovered my run of the mill goldfish wouldn't work with plants (they eat plants or if they don't manage to eat them they will uproot them over and over again). Now at this point I could have decide to remain the way I was, sans plants. Unfortunately, I had seen many videos and photos of beautiful aquascaped aquariums. I wanted to have plants in my aquarium, and by golly I was going to get some.

 I got a cheap, old, crude covered big aquarium and cleaned it up. Then I filled it with plants and a few cheap, plant safe fish. Then one of those fish (a guppy) had babies. I wanted to save them from being eaten so I got another used tank. Now I have three aquariums.

 My husband has decided to name them. He calls them: the infirmary, the nursery, and the habitat. The picture above is the nursery (the original tank that started it all). It has ten baby fish in it. The goldfish live in the infirmary and get occasional doses of medicine because I also put the sick fish in there with them until they are well enough to go back to the habitat.

SO…long story short…When you have a light bulb go off in your head, remember it could end up more complicated than turning off the light.

Killdeer

Killdeer are great at disguises. It starts when they are still in their eggs; they look like stones. The parent killdeer protect their eggs by pretending they have a broken wing and they slowly lead you  away from the nest. Just when you think you might catch them they fly off, screeching at you. They will repeat the performance for as long as it takes until you leave completely. Killdeer are one of nature's great con-artists.

I took this picture last summer of a nest of killdeer eggs. The silly bird had laid her eggs on the shore of a busy lake. It was near the parking spaces so people kept disturbing her on their way to and from the cars. All along the lake perimeter I could have picked dozens of better places for a nest. Too bad her cleverness didn't help her pick one.

People often do the same thing, myself included. We protect ourselves from small dangers while missing the big picture. Writers use this big-picture blindness all the time. Often the reader can see what the character needs to do to solve all of their problems, but the hero is entirely blind to using the obvious solution. This holds true for villains as well. The YouTube channel  How it should have ended is full of examples of how seeing the whole picture changes on ending. Here is a simple ending to Lord of the Rings. It's funny how if you make the characters a little smarter the whole story disappears.

Someone could write a desperate story about a killdeer nest in between a beach and a parking lot and all the near crisis moments. It would certainly be more interesting than the killdeer nest safe on the other side of the lake. Maybe we like to feel a little smarter than the people we read about. What do you think?

Over the Moon

There is something gothic about the moon shown near bare branches; even when the picture is taken during the day. It conjures images of graveyards and zombies.

The Need to Share

This is how I feel about my book. I wish, wish, wish I could share it and yet it lies in wait. It sits unseen, like a painting shoved in a closet, and not enjoyed by anyone. Someday.....

Historical Paint

Can a paint have a history? People talk with fondness about homes they once lived in or schools they went too. Do people ever remember paint color with fondness. I painted a room with a historical color this last week. It is used by a historical preservation society for some wonderful period home somewhere. Now it is in one of our bedrooms. Am I demeaning its historical value by putting it on the walls of a child's bedroom? Or will my child someday visit the historical location it came from and remember with fondness the room of his childhood?
My mind has been searching for memories of paint from my past. I think we had a pink painted basement once my mother hated and yet I don't think I would have flashback memories if presented with a swatch of the color. Now if I got a whiff of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, I would be inundated with memories. Is smell stronger via memory than sight?

Pandora's Bandage

My wrist is wrapped in bandages right now and it is funny how my children keep looking at it with concerned expressions. “Mom what did you do to your arm?”
“I burned it right here,” I tell them, showing them the spot with my finger.
“Does it hurt?”
“Only when I brush it against something. That is why I am wearing this bandage,” I say.
“Oh, is it big?”
“No not really but the bandage is, huh?”
“Yes. How long will you have to wear it?”
“Till it feels better?” I tell them.
“How long will that take?”
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“Can you get it wet?”
“Yes, but I would prefer not to.”
“Oh.” Then they look at it really close and shrug their shoulders and go away to play.
My bandage is like Pandora’s Box. It hides something and they want so badly to see what is under it. They can imagine it is horrible and they feel very bad for me but at the same time they wish to see what lies beneath.

Lines and laundry

I have been doing laundry and lines all day. Words flee from my fingertips and laundry baskets empty. Productive days are the best; unlike yesterday. Yesterday was a do-nothing-mope-day. Do-nothing-mope-days should always be followed by productive days. It helps.

Between the Aisles and the Salmonella

Grocery shopping always has a little risk inherent in it. First, there is the threat of microbes lurking on the carts themselves, ready to infect your body. Then as you are walking the aisles piled high with heavy cans there is the danger of one falling upon you. Believe me it happens. And as if you haven't put your future on the line enough there is the danger within the products you purchase. You read the labels furtively watching out for high fructose corn syrup and trans fat. And if you have an allergy you have to watch to see if it was manufactured in a facility that uses peanuts.
I hate grocery shopping but each week I look at my nearly empty shelves and either convince Bradley to do it or lose paper, scissors, rock. Today I lost. With my son by my side I walked the produce aisle picking out fruit and veggies and thinking about salmonella. Suddenly the noise volume increased significantly. I looked up to discover a wall of people filing into the store. They were coming towards the produce section and I started to look around for a quick exit.
Then a nice gentlemen turned to me and told me they had come to check out the local college. I wasn't trampled. They even moved out of my way as I pushed my cart out of the produce and into the cereal aisle.
I survived this trip to get my fix of spinach and honey dew. However I am going to ask Bradley to take his turn next time.

The Cemetery

Yesterday, our pet lizard Sherbet died. After dinner we had a solemn tear-filled burial in the backyard. It made me think of the many pets I buried as a child on the hill behind my parents’ home. Sometimes when we visit and I am outside I walk back to my pet cemetery and think about the tiny bodies beneath the ground. The headstones I drew painstakingly with marker on rounded stones and placed with great care have been erased by time. Now beneath the trees that mark the spot there is a covering of moss and only a few headstones remain in view. I see a scattered vestige of what it was and know it bears significance to only me. No random traveler walking passed the spot would recognize it for what it is; a place of reverence and memory.

Fly, Bird, Fly!

Last week was spring break for us. We decided, amongst other things, to take the kids roller skating for the first time. Here is the scenario: four young kids, two parents and a bunch of wheeled shoes. Nothing could go wrong, right?
They hated it. Yep, hated.
Okay, Isaac said it was, “Not that fun” so maybe hate is a strong word.
Now in hindsight I remember I hated skating the first time…and the second time… and maybe now I know why we don’t skate very often.
We will probably take them a second time soon, and a third time after that, until they decide it is fun. We do things like this because as parents it is our job to push our kids a little out of their comfort zone. Have you ever heard what birds do to their young? This is much better than pushing them out of the nest.

A New Story

A new story is playing out in my mind lately. I love writing but sometimes it seems so much slower than my imagination. I know what is going to happen next but I have to get the characters there on paper. It is like getting all of my children into the car to go somewhere; full of tricky moments. First you have to find all of the socks and then the shoes. If it is winter you have the added steps of hat and coat. Finally, when they are dressed you have to physically lead each one to the car. Sometimes one will wander down the hall after a toy or downstairs to get something. The process is repeated every time but never gets easier.

Patience and Wonder

My child has returned to me. The changeling has gone back to the trolls. The evidence has spoken. I needed to clean out my flower beds so I set the baby on the grass, expecting chaos and mayhem. Thirty blissful minutes passed of uninterrupted work as he patiently sat and watched the world around him in wonder. Only then did he crawl slowly around the grass without causing an ounce of trouble. How heavenly to have him back.

Grocery Store Murder

I saw a murder at the grocery store a few months back. A few weeks after it, I saw another. It has made me think about how it would make such an interesting scene for a dystopian book.

Pregnancy cravings aside, Jim wished he didn’t have to go to the SuperMart right now. He pulled his Jetta into an available parking space and got out. His eyes took in the blackness of the sky and he found himself hunching in automatic reaction to the crows. They were spinning through the air, filling it with darkness. He couldn’t count them, but he guessed over a thousand strong were in this murder. Their loud voices were rending the air and the noise pierced his ears like a knife. Images of Alfred Hitchcock’s Birds filled his brain. Panic lent urgency to his feet and he ran to the doors of the store, but his feet must have been too swift for the sensor. He smashed into the automatic door and slid to the ground. After the impact, the door slid open jerkily. Gathering his scattered keys and wallet, Jim dashed inside.
“Peggy better be grateful for her pickles,” he thought.

The Changeling

The stories are true. I never thought much of them. Why would trolls replace babies in the night with changelings?
The evidence is undeniable. First, I noticed the dog food. He must have placed it into the water and let it soak for awhile. When I found it, he had smeared it all over the kitchen floor, in a stinky, brown, gooey mess. Then there was the smashed and broken aloe vera plant. Whether it will ever recover is unlikely. Now, I have found crayon lines on the bathroom floor; hieroglyphics of his race. He is playing with said crayon in the toilet and the splash of water sounds so musical. What have they done with my calm and sweet baby and how do I exchange them back?

Isn't Butter Divinity?

Butter is interesting and confusing to children. It is a solid and like non-candy wrapped chocolate it melts in your mouth and in your hand. My children complain if I give them buttered toast that has unnoticeable butter (i.e. melted butter) on it.

“I want butter on mine!” they complain.

“You have butter on yours.”

“No. Look.”

Of course on close inspection their bread just looks wet. Who wants wet toast? I don’t blame them.

"Have faith and try it," I tell them.

We all need a little more faith in life. Faith is to hope for things which you can't see, which are true.

The Sticker

The inside of my dryer has a sticker. It is small and round and gives short and sweet information to the reader. This sticker gives an insight into my life.

From these small clues you could make a number of assumptions.

Is the sticker a set of instructions on dryer care put on by the manufacturer? No.

Does it indicate the existence of a secret laboratory behind my dryer? Unfortunately not, I really would enjoy a secret laboratory.

Does it indicate my name or address like the stickers they give you to update your driver’s license? No, though I do need to do that.

Does it have a cartoon character’s visage smiling as it turns around and around through each cycle? No, though my kids do like stickers.

Is it a bandage indicating some horrible wound of the past? Nope.

Is it a produce sticker indicating I like to eat peaches? No, though a sticky, sweet peach sounds divine right now.

Have you given up? It says 2T. I imagine it will be there for the life of my dyer. Each time I reach in to empty the dryer I see it. I think of the child who wore the shirt (or pants) and I watch them grow. Someday there will be no more 2T clothes in my laundry, but (if my dryer doesn’t die on me) the sticker will remain, like a tiny fingerprint showing the past.


Her irritation grew as she cleaned out the lint trap. Why was it that every time she needed to get into her laboratory the dyer was full of clothes? She tugged the soft, dry linens out and placed them into the basket. Now that the path was clear she gingerly crawled into the dryer and pushed the 2T sticker. It sunk into the metal side of the tumbler and she heard the mechanism click.

The back wall of the dryer swung open and she moved through. Stretching to ease the strain on her cramped muscles, she surveyed the area. The liquid in the glass canister was still bubbling and she could smell the harsh scent of ammonia. Her lips curled into a huge smile. She was so excited to begin her next great discovery.