The Scrawl of the Riled

Fear Factor, Domestic Edition (03/17/11)

2011-09-06T11:44:00.001-07:00

The King of the Realm, ever loyal provider that he be, offers up a morning cup of tepid steeped bean for the pleasure of the Queen of the Realm most mornings, unless the chariot is lagging or the serfs have not prepared a suitable meal for the breaking of the royal fast. Or perhaps, sage Ruler tha he be, he knows that small gift is a preventive measure against the random metamorphosis the Queen undergoes - from delicate flower to raving banshee in three....two....one...

And thus I wrapped my claws round the morning offering, savoring that moment when tepid steeped bean washes my palate with caffeinated delight. Taking a gulp (sippin's fer sissies) I rolled the umber treasure around in my mouth like a liquid Rollo - only to discover something firm...unlike the consistency of errant coffee grounds, my curiousity piqued - and I spat it out into my hand for further examination - only to find.....MOTHRA!

Since I lack the dining sensibilities of most common household arachnids - I was less than sated by this kamikaze winged abomination whos carcass caressed my tastebuds. Tossing both the contents and the cup in the sink - I obtained a fresh cup of morning ambrosia - and stomped off to my privy to scour my mouth with COMET...Sigh. I prefer my intake of protein to be presented in a more bovine form, thank you very much...

Knowing the prefunctory cleaning nature of the serfs, worse things may lurk in the bottom of a coffee cup - but somehow that morning moth put a damper on my chipper day. I found myself suspicious, jumpy...and a bit queasy for the duration of the morning. Today however - my coffee was occupant free, my boxed crossaint almost nuked completely through, the royal garments are on in the correct manner - and most of the ratty stuff adorning my dome is compliant, having succumbed to a healthy dose of Aqua Net, or whatever the stuff is in the happy pink bottle...

And so I face another day at the desk where my regal position in life is not recognised and I must tolerate the injustices of a ringing phone and paper that will not abate. But the weekend beckons and I am finally under a thousand hints on Ancestry. I have decided that once I hit below 500 - I will start back on a novel...any novel....and write something daily until I have a completed work. Two years is enough of a hiatus. Even elephants can produce something every two years.

Peace.

I am the QUEEN of herpderpdom (03/14/11)

2011-09-06T11:34:00.000-07:00

So friday I get up late, rush around my house like a cudless heifer and land in the passenger seat of the car, bleary eyed and wet haired. I look down and realize: "Oh my GOD...my pants are on inside out".....sigh

And that was the highlight of last week. There was the massive hormone induced headache on Saturday...and cramps...now let me explain something to you. The TAM does not DO cramps. (its about to get girly up in here...you mens may want to avert your eyes) Since I was 12 - I've been spoiled. No cramps. (less'n I eat a whole bag o beans and three fried eggs er su-um) So what on God's green earth am I doing now having girlie type cramps? A POX ON PREMENOPAUSE! Pause my ever lovin' backside. There is no "pause" unless your life becoming a train wreck is considered a pause. they should call it sanitypause. How about cessation of all joy. Stamp my forehead with FUBAR and put me in a rubber room. Oh and the palpitations had a lovely weekend - and I had a wonderful side of anxiety drizzled with a nice hot flash to wrap the weekend. I LOVE it.

While I was curled up Sunday evening under my favorite blankie, the hub said something to the effect of "maybe you're allergic to that blanket" I did what any loving spouse would do: I questioned his parentage, his species and his ability to procreate. Seemed fair. Only thing the ticking clock is doing to him is giving him a nice bit of silver hair, whilst I've been put in the spin cycle.

As for reality beyond my four walls, I've been watching the ache unfold in Japan, along with the rest of the planet. I'm not going off on any end of the world discussions nor do I believe that every tragedy has a God stamp on it. (God does not use Satan to test us. If he did, that would negate His Godness. The TRUTH using the KING OF LIES to test us....sigh. Not going there) I do understand a bit about plate techtonics and the fact that our "hard" earth is actually not so hard. And it wasn't so much the shaking of the earth that became the issue - but the tsunamis caused by the earthquake. My biggest prayer is that the Japanese are able to get the nuclear reactors under control. Infrastructure is a powerful thing - until its damaged and then we humans have trouble. It just makes my heart ache to see any devestation...anywhere....because I am a human too...nuff said.

And so - I've got my little Hints on ancestry down another couple hundred. Ah progress. I almost wrote a poem this weekend....almost. Perhaps it will continue to percolate...

peace.

Weird Stuff My Brain Thinks About

2011-03-10T05:04:00.000-08:00

Yes, I'm back. Yes - I should post something brilliant...but if you know me, you know this is just a warm up blog. The brilliance must be exhumed at some later point to be determined by those who currently slumber in my cortex...

Why did I have a dream about a blue dog the other night? And why did I consider a blue dog completely normal?

Why did I dream I was discussing the absurdity of multiple bladed razors with my spawn. "Introducing the Schick 50 BLADE razor! You'll never need to shave again. Recommended by plastic surgeons everywhere...." And why DO I shave my armpits? Not like anyone ever gets near enough to say - Ooh, Tam - you're gettin' a bit earthy, Sis. Time for a shearin'.

Why is my son flunking German this quarter when he had a B last quarter? Why is he thinking he's allergic to chlorine? Why did I get gypped out of swimming in PE when I was in HS........which takes the brain off on a OH GOOD LORD IF YOU HAD TO HAUL OUT THE SWIMSUIT NOW - fest. There isn't enough spandex on the PLANET! Sigh.

And why when I tell a copeep about the benefits of magnesium minimizing palpitations - no sooner do I say 'I've not had any in weeks" I get them three days running. I want to reach in my chest, grab my errant ticker and say "ARE YOU SERIOUS?"

And finally, why when I secretly commit to getting back on the eating right lifestyle kick, the hub brings home a twelver of Killians.

Sometimes I wonder about all the little voices in my head clamoring for brainbandwidth. Most of them are just....stupid.

Suffice it to say, I'm tired today. Its wednesday and after two days of office stuff, my big girl drawa's are ridin a bit tight. I want to toss them over the clothesline and run through the sprinkler. I want to giggle. I want to sing out loud with the radio...and play air instruments. (now there's a mental picture)

Instead, I'll eat my apple, drink my big honkin' glass of water and attempt to churn out massive paper today. Just what the world needs. Another balanced ledger. Another manifesto on protocols and procedures. Yeah....

Somewhere....there's a beach with pristine sand and gentle surf...floral air and blue skies...(don't tell me to download webshots....seriously?)

Peace.

New year new Beginnings

2010-05-26T12:37:00.000-07:00

“From small beginnings come great things.”

Proverb quotes

New Year, new beginnings

The dawn waits
Blushing scarlet before she steps
Scarlet skirts spilling
Over cool blue mountain crests
Breathless she arrives
Slipping in your window
Your face awash with light and life…
Love wells up in a rush
Spilling from my eyes
Shh…they’re happy tears…

Just yesterday, or maybe the day before
I cupped that fuzzy head of yours
In the palm of one hand
As that first drooly smile bubbled up
And I lost my mind for you…
Now you’re grown
Dreaming of your own
That doe eyed Jewish girl
So high, can you see the curve of the earth
Reflected in her eyes
Does she make your heart race, child?
I’ll hold that first smile for you
Sacred
Give her the rest but this one is mine…
Its just too much
Hush…these happy tears…

Never thought I could love like I love you
Like Diana I got an heir and a spare
Your banshee brother
The terminus of endless screaming nights
How far away they are
Hair like a lion,
Skinny jeans and a fedora,
You’ve never been mine
Oh God, these ragged tears…
I lost my heart on you
An addict craving your arms around me
Without asking
I can’t get enough
The pretty girls, they smile shy
When you aren’t looking
You’ll break their hearts
But this ache is mine.

You stir in your sleep
As I whisper these prayers
Your lives on the wing
Send you off into your future
Don’t wake them yet, these happy tears…
Give them your best
But this moment…is mine.
TL Boehm
01/02/10

© 2010

Wow. That one got me....the husband is in the kitchen, slicing onions...perhaps I could still mask my inane bawling if I went out there and commandeered the knife. Or not.

This morning I rose in time to see this amazing scarlet sky in the east, framed by my boys bedroom window. Suffice it to say, they're still kinda cute when they're asleep. I kept that image when I dropped by SP (poetry group) to check out the challenge...and as I sat here, I don't know. I guess its maternal hormones. Family dynamics have always intrigued me. And I have always known that my time with my boy kids is limited. If I am successful as a parent - they will reach that point of independence. I can't be Britain and gun for them...I will have to let go. And it will suck...

On a lighter note. I'm back at Examiner again after a self imposed hiatus...so if you want to read some "Christian" stuff....click here - otherwise...peace.

Go hug 'em if you got em.

Ascendency 2010

2010-01-01T16:07:00.000-08:00

I have been a victim
Spattered by the saline spray
Of tears
Breakers crashing
The roaring surf
Blood in my ears rushing
Unable to fill the chasm
When dreams hit reality
Frail hope shatters
Scattered like gulls in the wake
Of a squall line
That dichotomy of sand and sky
Boundaries blur
Jetties endure the burden
Of the coming storm
This relentless tide hammers fragile shores
Limited ability to absorb the fallout
I find myself washed out to sea
Carried away
Forever swimming parallel to safety
Facetious hope a contagion
So acceptable to take on water
The annealing of complacency and stubborn faith
Simply a tonic for fools
I will be a victim
No more
My eyes are dry
I am weathered but unbroken
No more dredging the bottom for broken bones
And abandoned dreams
My reality waits
For me to stop treading turbulent water
And simply ascend
TL Boehm
01/01/10
© 2010

OH YES! So lets just cut to the chase, shall we? The poem above isn't the greatest but I promised Sharon I was going to make it my first post of the year...and so there it is. Thank you, Sassy. You are a constant inspiration.

And now for the first randomized blog of the decade...

I got home last night a tad early. The boys were out shopping for movies and I found myself with time to burn. So I added 25 songs to my project playlist, had a couple of beers, and the last cry of the year. Sometimes, when we drop out of hyperspace, we are met by our grief, our regret, our loss and we simply have to deal with it until we can jump again. I will always miss my dad. I will always open Christmas cards from friends and see them a little older, and I must come to terms with it. But I don't have to be tormented.

So I am done with mourning over all I lost in 2009. I am purposed. Focused. I am loaded for bear. I won't list the resolutions. I'll just put 'em all into action and see if anyone notices.

Today, I am celebrating with my family. The slipper clad, tie dyed shirt sportin' man is grillin' cow parts, the boys are poning each other on the XBox, the cat hasn't dropped a kitteh suhpryz on anything, I have a cold beer and a keyboard...Oh yeah. Life is good.

For those of you who put up with me this past year, I cannot articulate how much I appreciate you. Thank you for weathering the storm. Thank you for speaking light into my life. You have no idea how much you mean to me.

Yes, I'll be cloggin up the bandwidth with bad poetry and Jesuscheez and all kinds of stuff this next year. Its who I am. Its what I do. But one thing will definitely change and that is, I will be spending time on YOUR page too.

Peace and blessings for 2010! (Its gonna be an AMAZING year)

life on tilt

2009-12-06T17:39:00.000-08:00

And so we’ve sunk another week into the backwater swirls and eddies, fodder for a rainy day or perhaps a remnant dendrite misfire a decade or two removed from the moment. I’ve got a bubbling crock of anglicized red chile and burger enchiladas aging on the counter, the husband is still conscious and the spawn? Well I don’t see appendages flailing from the back of the batcave, so I guess we can chalk up a filial ceasefire. Since the great Boehm castle disaster of 2009, the PC is now relocated to a spot where I cannot comfortably zone in on the screen and my favorite cyber addiction – the blog. I suppose that means I’ll either spend more time with my ample hindquarters creating a happy groove in my couch, or I’ll inundate the bandwidth with quasipentacostal faithlite cheese. Today I choose the latter. Yesterday, I suppose the former would have been the more viable option.

Not sure what it is, that toxic mix of hormone induced disphoria and epic career stress that makes us rightbrainers occassionally fink out but we do. Depending on our proximity to either a sharp object, a loving relative, or a delete key – often there’s messiness, culling and bloodletting. I make no other excuse for my presence now at wordpress as I considered cybercide of at least two other blogsites I frequent. Instead, I did the really stupid thing and opened another site. You see? I’m a writer by passion and lately it seems I’m writing for the dustbunnies under the desk as much as anything. All the mindless bandwidth emos have clogged the creative sieve at my favorite writers site, gumming up the updates with woetry and pornems and even my little blog haven seems more like a library or a dental office waiting room than my happy place. Suffice it to say, I’m restless, irritable, ornery. I need chocolate. I need a full body message. I need anejo tequila in a crystal snifter. Well, maybe not. I just need to write “me” again. After all, blogging is the equivalent of talking to oneself in the mirror (without the reality check of catching that bit of spinach in one’s bicuspid.)

And so, I’ve promised myself to return to my daily blogging. I’ve lost so much this year between the passing of my dad, the unbelievable schedule at work and the total tanking of my first novel “Bethany’s Crossing” (because I had no time to promote the thing)I am tired of sacrificing the part of my identity that brings me personal peace. Last weekend when I sat down at my keyboard, realizing I was 30 thousand words away from my nanowrimo goal and only had four more days to achieve it before missing the mark for a third year running, something snapped. When my dear but often clueless spouse raised his hackles about car maintenance, it occured to me that unless I am prepared to fight dirty for my craft, the world, the job, the kids and rush hour traffic will simply snuff the muse for good.

And so, the Tam ain’t playin. I will write. Poetry, blogs, the rest of my novels and whatever else I think of. I”m back and nothing is taboo.

Nuff said.

Peace.

TO THE BATCAVE

2009-10-18T15:05:00.001-07:00

Yes MA'AM! Tam's been standin' knee deep in the guano again. It all started yesterday morning. An innocent lapse of reason, a slip into domesticity, an innocuous moment of trimming a half dead plant...and it happened. Several hours later, a hot meal had been prepared, several loads of laundry were washed and folded, the curtains were clean and rehung, generations of dustbunnies were maimed and Arachnids Local 457 were picketing for better web spinning conditions...entire regiments of their leggy friends sucked up whole by my vacuum cleaner. I even wiped down the plant leaves....

This morning, still suffering from residual lunacy (I must have ingested a snoutful of clorox/windex/ajax/pledge...yeah...) I mounted an attack on several paper blobs residing in the vicinity of my computer...(who keeps Christmas cards from 2002?) only a gastric mutiny thwarted my pending advance on the hubs last bastion of living room chaos. ( a pox on red chile, potatoes and eggs on the same plate. I need ice cream now....any flavor will do. I'm going to sit in it.) His desk - or "extreme Jenga - stack the CD's and paid bills edition"

I remember when my dear hub worked every saturday and I would get up and clean my home in a couple of hours before putting on 80's LP's and succumbing on the couch to a hops and barley induced semi napping state. Life was good back then. Yesterday, it was a vendetta. I WILL HAVE ORDER IN MY LIFE! And that means no slugs under my computer, no spiders chilling on my printer, and no mounds of male debris scattered about my batcave.

The only problem now is: I have no excuse. I can actually sit down at my PC, put my funky feet on the floor underneath, and write. This may be a problem. I've been hiding behind my dad's death...my day job (which by the way, my copeep emailed me five times and called me once with 'emergencies' - so much for a day off. Good thing I don't go for the hops and barley induced napping anymore.) and the shipwreck my home has become. Of course, there are still small areas to reclaim...the mantle...the bathroom floor...but I have leverage. The men are bringing home an XBox. And we have a signed agreement with housecleaning clauses...(git the mop son, there's a spot there by the potty...)

And so. I spent a few hours catching up at WC...posting a few things. NaNoWriMo is in a couple of weeks....I should just go for it. I think I will. (pass me that battery cable. We're gonna zap this muse till she sizzles, boys!)

Peace.

Religion, Politics and Hairballs

2009-02-07T16:50:00.000-08:00

So the corporate portion of prayer and fasting ended a night early for me as the Bigspawn had to be taxied from AllState choir practice to church and I was still at work - the HOH left the mutated one at home for a "Bleach" (some inane anime japinimation eye candy found on line) fest and I hunkered down on my sofa after the trek home and watched mindless reruns of Friends and Supernatural. I shoulda gone to church. It was awesome....sigh.

All it means is all it ever means and that means that I can now do some of the things I'd been meaning to do if only I had the means, meaning: back to my life in overdrive. While not the prime directive I at least have the recurrent thought that blogging, while purposeless and sometimes incendiary is a distraction I currently crave enough that I feel the pull to post a plethora of posturing and pleasantries on my personal page. And so I shall in three, two, one...

I'll start by saying this once and only once - unless I exercise that right hardwired in the DNA of every female creature on the planet usually reserved to spurn the amorous advances of every male creature on the planet and that is - iffin I was to change my mind - I just put it out like so much wrinkled Christmas wrap and turkey carcasses....I don't like Obama. Don't care how smooth, how educated, and how deserving he may be. Don't care how ready or how over due or how amazing it may be that he will be in less than two weeks our officially elected official - I don't like him. Just like I don't like Wheaties, reality TV and the late John Lennon. I don't like a lot of things, but in true Tamster fashion - I flatly refuse to get my nylons in a knot over it. You see, and here I can only profess my personal position with the understanding that many of you see the human condition as equivalent to meatsacks with lips and that spark of semi intelligence emanating from our orifices is only the transient manifestation of chemical residue - I believe we are more than bologna, turkey and steak on a stick. We are spirit, we have a soul, and we live in a body. (hang on, I'm gittin' to ya.) Our souls, composed of our will, our intellect and our emotions - while often in the drivers' seat when the body is sated, simply weren't designed to rule the meatsack. Our spirit, our divine spark - our groundwire to the Creator - that is the designated driver...but we while in our skins - engage in this continual tug of war for SUPREME control....letting our emotions run the happy mess right off the road. If I - with my capricious emotions and even my limited intellect let my soul lead - putting the emotional girl out front - while the ride might be wild -eventually I'd be single, repeatedly pregnant, drunk, beat up, and possibly even dead by now....many times over. Emotions, while wonderful were never meant to determine our destiny. Intellect and will, while formidable are equally limited...it is only the source that can provide uninterrupted power...meat spoils....Spirits don't. That being said. It doesn't matter one rip of intestinal air who a Tam likes or dislikes. Am I a Spirit with a soul, in a body - or a walking chub of bologna?

The fact is, Obama will soon be Mr. President - a title to which I will defer the respect, the honor and the prayer to which it deserves - because I am more than a meatsack. I'll check my emotions at the door. I'll consider my intellect. I'll use my will to speak life, and not death. It won't be easy - but it is completely doable. And thus concludes the religion and politics portion of my ponderings.

Suffice it to say, anyone who has known me more than five moments knows I'd much rather barbeque my kids and bemoan my status as maligned, bean countin', hebrew slave than wander off into the deep end of the politics/religion pool....unfortunately, that's where all the cool kids are lately - so I feel compelled, follower that I am, to flail around miserably until I swallow enough ool (hoping there's no p in the ool) to leave me spitting and coughing and dragging my weary self back over to the mushroom waterfall, and the happy orange tortoise family. Admittedly, my recurrent issues of life as I know it aren't going to change the world - but I write what I know and what I know lately is - I seem to be sprouting more fuzz on my face than on my....um...well...I suppose some things even I shouldn't approach in a blog, now should I? I guess I'm just grateful that my hubby likes both peaches....and nectarines. And thus concludes the TMI portion of my blog. Speaking strictly - one meatsack to another - aging is a cruel master with a sick sense of humor. I'll adjust...it's only my pride.

Peace. I hope to start back on Ephesus Offense...and for those of you who might be curious, I finally recieved notification that my book order has been shipped. (I guess authors don't get equal treatment as customers who pay full price...aint that a trip)

I'll be back tomorrow...and I won't talk politics...I promise. Hairballs tho....they may come up...no pun intended

Send Them Love

2009-02-07T16:39:00.000-08:00

Scribbled epithets
Pressed wet with tears
Sacred spaces carried by hallowed hands
Whispered winds that hover
Can't cover this fragile soul
Fractured by the passage of years
Each stone a death remembered
Casual depravity
Swarming queenless
Cyclonic before the storm
The walls we build
Never strong enough to stop the tide
Empty breath
Bubbles up to a silent sky
Potential of a life unlived
Slips beneath the surface
Swirling backwater memories
Heavy with fresh earth and leaves
Surrender the imprint
Of your body to oblivion
I can only wish you peace
I know will not come
Forever beyond
My aching grasp
If I could pull you
Warm inside
Some secret place
An open heart
Rubbed smooth
Sweet balm for your weary soul
I’ve lost you to the droning insanities
Shipwrecks and effigies
Cast up on the shore
You are forever dragging chains
No ascension
No freedom
Fruit plucked
Before the ripening
Bitter offering
For barren ground
Always hungry for more
I scribble an epithet
Pressed wet with tears
Plastered prayers to fill the cracks
In my fractured soul
Surrender your memory
To the silent sky
Send them love....
Good bye...

TL Boehm
010809

For "May"
Inspired by the Book "The Secret Life of Bees"

What did you do on friday night?

2009-01-03T09:21:00.000-08:00

So Dave and I were sitting there watching reruns of something too bland to register in my cortex, and he did what he does...switched over to the local Christian Station...Sigh...but WAIT! As I listened I heard the most amazing guitarist: Benny Prasad. I was totally blown away by this man's music and the instrument he designed, called a "bentar" - basically it is a guitar with two bongos and a 14 string harp added....he plays all over the guitar and it's amazingly beautiful.

This morning I rambled around on his website www.bennyprasad.com to find out a little bit more about him and through his YouTube links, I found him paired up with another guitar great: Phil Keaggy....OH MY LORD! So....here is my sampling for you...peace.

Benny studied in Santa Fe, NM (right up the road) and I had the pleasure two years ago of hearing Phil Keaggy in person. Peace.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fx7OKdBKVyM

Random Blog Generator 101

2009-01-02T10:46:00.000-08:00

Funny Videos

Yes, the above photo was edited using whatever generator the budding comic had at his or her disposal. It really is of no consequence to me. I only posted it because it makes me smile. Sometimes the silliest differences in POV spark the greatest divisiveness between individuals...groups...governments...but I'm not in the mood to prostelytize today.

(Tam drops serious convo like it's hot)

So I slept in again this morning until almost dawn and let the spawn snore and drool as long as they desired which automatically gave me time to completely catch up on my marketing for Bethany's Crossing. (Tam pauses for a moment to break into spontaneous gratuitous singing and dancing ala Fame....What a feeling....) Focus, coupled with time is a powerful thing. I have begun to form a legitimate "writer specific" page on blogspot. If you got it, you may as well use it to its fullest capabilities, right? I'm still a tad undecided about multiply. Not sure what I'm doing there these days, maybe I don't have to be "doing" anything...IMAGINE how THAT rubs an anal chick like me. Writers Cafe is another outlier. I'll get to that in a moment.

So after scarfing a few cold pork ribs and a paper bowl of leftover green bean casserole, I've been pondering the complexities of things like why does my refrigerator sound like a deranged cricket on a sleepless summer night, how can the feline sleep with her tongue hanging out and her head twisted at least 240 degrees on her neck, and how come writers cafe ditched their journal option last year - leaving me to feed my blog addictions on multiple sites - yes, focus coupled with time is a powerful thing...

Suffice it to say I've been a bit blocked on the writing front since September of 2008. I can't remember the last poem I wrote or even the last couplet that danced through my dendrites. All the characters in my head are oddly silent and even the urge to purge has disappated like scant dew on sundrenched high desert chamisa. Perhaps it was the toxic blend of politics and anti christian sentiment on multiply. Perhaps it was an odd decline in reader comments at Writers Cafe...perhaps it was hormonal. I really don't know. But only I and my Creator can fix it and that is my intent.

Let's face it. I'm a blogger and blogging is as much a form of writing as anything else one might spill across the flickering screen. This amalgamation of verbs and nouns and random punctuation marks sometimes actually provides fodder for that stuff some of you consider "real writing" By giving up my daily "diversion" I've managed to cap the creative flow.

So...The Tamsters back and that includes ye old Writers' Cafe. I WILL be posting something daily and I'm not concerned whether its AMAZING and PROFOUND. There are plenty of prophets and preachers and politcal pundits out there...I'm just PEOPLE. Real, raw sometimes lacking in couth. Sometimes a bit naive. Sometimes just plain ole school stoopid. But I am. You know, if not for my little "blogging diversion" Bethany's Crossing would not exist. I never would have finished it...so....I'm picking up my keyboard for my daily dumping. You've been warned.
Peace.

All's Quiet on New Year's Day...NOT

2009-01-01T19:46:00.001-08:00

I think I slept in longer than I have in years today, after staying up last night long enough to welcome the new year with a few friends and family. What was left of the morning was spent slurping corned beef hash and oohing and ahhing at the Rose Parade floats. I then spent most of the afternoon rambling about on the bandwidth doing my "free marketing" of Bethany's Crossing. I've posted the link for the book in over a hundred different blog pages over the past few weeks. It's a tad tedious but my publisher highly recommends it and since its a Joint Venture, I'm expected to do my part.
I've thought about posting the kitschy, lofty, unattainable list of resolutions. Like so many of you I endeavor to read the whole Bible forty times, memorizing a bazillion elements of key scripture (directly from the Hebrew and Greek texts, after I learn to read Hebrew and Greek) there's the committment to fasting and prayer which will last about twenty minutes on Sunday morning before my stomach EATS my spine and my mind wanders off on a tangent. Oh and that size twelve pair of jeans in the bottom of my closet...and the green suede mini that hasn't graced my hindparts (not even ONE THIGH) since 1994...I'm gonna own that look again....by March, right? And let's top it by being nice to my family, my boss, other drivers on the road, not cursing (I'll start that one tomorrow) and totally squelching the creeping insanity hormonal changes are bringing into my life. Oh yes, I almost forgot. In my spare time, since I'm totally giving up TV, I'll finish my second book, write at least fifty poems and get 12 poems published. Yeah.
Funny thing is, when I woke up to this new year, with this new list....in my bathroom mirror was the same old double chinned, graying chick, whose heart has been skittering in her chest all day....the weariness palpable, and that gnaw in my soul - I'm tired of symptoms. I'm tired of obligations. I'm tired the struggle. All the external lists and plans and goals mean nothing if the girl inside can't get a grip. And that is the real resolution this year. I want myself back. My faith, my courage...my sense of humor....my hope...I want that all back. It's mine. and now more than ever as the world spins faster and faster....I need it.
I wish the same for you.
peace.

Bethany's Crossing - Extreme makeover Cover Edition

2008-12-18T11:21:00.000-08:00

It has occurred to me while rambling about on blogger this morning that while I am politely attempting to promote positive patronage (sorry, I'm a bad poet) of my firstborn literary child, Bethany's Crossing - I haven't actually developed my blogger account to the point of anything readworthy. Sigh. I've been wasting my virtual clicks and whistles on multiply.com, and Christiannation.com and even writerscafe.org while this page gathers cyberdust. I suppose there are only so many places to which in internet butterfly like me can flit...

But if I'm going to circulate, I may as well toss up something besides that unpalatable dollop of rolled oats and aged grapes sitting like stones in the pit of my stomach. I am after all a real girl with a real dream and Bethany is the center of my known literary universe, for now. Until my second born is - well - born.

The cover above....there's a story there but it will have to wait is actually cover number two sigh....I've had more cover art than sales...but I'll spin it and say, that if anyone has purchased Bethany the BLUE edition...its a collectors item. (falls off chair. Scrapes chins on desk...)
peace.
I'll try to come back and keep the page a bit more active. No promises....

InFATuATE-it - A preponderance of Portliness

2008-05-19T12:14:00.001-07:00

This weekend, somewhere sandwiched between a freshly discovered crop of oddities known by overpriced dermatologists as 'cherries' sprouting in tiny red abandon on both arms - and the stark reptilian wrinkly veneer gracing my once lithe hands my maligned spirit reared up on tissue wings and whispered in my ears: "Tammy, clutch, brake, reverse...." I scratched that expanse of ever expanding petal pink scalp where slivers of silver bristle in place of rich titian locks of my youth...Ok it was a scraggly rat brown mess of incorrigible hair - but at least it wasn't gray, and thinning...and I wondered what my spirit meant.

After much cogitation and the inhalation of a Quizno's Dip - generously slathered with artery hardening onion sauce I concluded in my frontal lobe that my winsome spirit's plaintive warning was only confirmation of what I already knew: The Tamster is not aging well. And it shows. Perhaps I cannot stem the encroaching warts, wrinkles and age spots and maybe I should wear my silver coiffed like the crown of experience it conveys, but I simply cannot stand idle as my once svelte figure balloons from desert tadpole to southern BULLFROG, one moment longer. I must reverse the expansion of my girth...

And so it must commence before Cirque De Soleil sends another clown with a velvet rope for my neck - mistaking me again for their missing pachyderm. I hand back the red flag from my pocket. I remove the yellow "Wide Load" banner from my ample backside and I set off in pursuit of diminishing digits on my scale. I seek the Holy Grail of "buying size 12 straight from the rack." I desire nodding with no extra chins echoing my sentiment. I want the line between my breasts to in no way resemble the line between my buttocks. And while I am discussing those items that contribute to my feminine silohuette, I want them above my knees and bigger than my stomach.

Why now you might ask, between snickers and revulsion, am I easing my corpulent self ever so carefully on the already stressed fatwagon that seems to be lurching round Writers Cafe? I can tell you without hesitation that for once this shallow gal is considering something outside of her self, and judging by the size of the inside of her self, that doesn't happen often. His name is Fred. His senior year of High School starts in August. When he turns that tassle, and I wipe tears of joy from my face, I want those Kodak moments captured without the aid of a wide angle lens.

So today I revel in an ooey gooey styrofoam container of random chicken parts, lard laced tortillas and happy melty orange cheesy chicken enchilada casserole hot and fresh from the local 'roach coach' while I map out my plan for corpulence conquest and cellulite domination. The stomach does not know yet, and the brain is only beginning to sense the pending events....oh the horror of leafy naked salad. Spare me please the sweaty anguish found in the repetitive motion of that tortuous device called a "Gazelle" (notice the slick marketing technique...its a Gazelle people. Not a rhino, or hippo...or even wart hog...but Gazelle) and finally the nightmare of seeing Mari Winsor before the sun trickles in the living room window. (Squeeze your tushy....Get ready to roll like a ball. - uh, duh. That's why I bought your tape of torment. Because I already DO roll like a ball. A POX on Pilates!)

I have not stepped on the scale yet. Its hiding under the end table...daring me to actually bend over and reach for it. In due time I will wrest it from its lair, set it on a flat surface, strip, and place one toe on it carefully before I burst into tears. And I will share the fatness with you. Perhaps public humiliation will spur me on. But today its enough shock to the system just considering the mammoth undertaking. Wondering what my feet really look like...imagining buying a belt....a fitted shirt...jiggling only in specific places when I walk...and never reminding anyone in the house of any scenes from Jurassic Park if I break into a run....

Its gonna be a long sweaty summer.

Peace.

A special thank you to my dear friends: Siobhan MacIntyre and Fantasy Fairy. I support you in your efforts and I thank you for the inspiration to write about it. I'm posting the links to your stories below....because you were first:

http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/SiobhanMacintyre/219037/">Chubby Bunny

http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/Fantasyfairy/248371/">The Diet Diary

On Virtual Domination

2008-05-10T08:07:00.000-07:00

I suppose I could tell you "once upon a time" and the time being October 2005, I was a generic girl with tissue paper wings, flitting through life oblivious to the sucking vortices known as blog sights. Ah the bliss of scribbling the random small poem in twilight, dropping paper in a box, letting deep thoughts ripen yellow in the darkness of spaces under my bed and in the closet. My inner banshee appeased by an occassional toxic spill - appropriately offset by rich word.doc text and a graphic from my HP software - I was almost a non writer...I was almost free.

Then a dear, disturbed friend invited me to a wonderland called Y360 (now pretty much defunct - a myspace lite if you will) and the dysfunction reared its ugly head. At first it was nothing. Just a lonely spot to journal, to post dusty lyric poetry from my teen years, to share an ejoke. Perhaps I could have controlled it in those weeks before a stranger chanced upon my page. Yes, I could have locked it down. But soon I had 11 friends. Then 34. Then 150. I found myself constantly checking for new comments, reading other blogs, peering into the virtual worlds of other junkies like me. I became an "interesting blogger." I joined other sites. The virtual dragon of blogging wrapped her scaly hide around my soul....engulfing me.

In retrospect, blogtopia is the perfect lure for the writer - becoming either a Shangri - la of accolade bearing readers - or wasteland in which we wannabes wander (tam likes alliteration) forever searching for an oasis...wandering the bandwidth villages in search of home.

And that brings me here. My 360 and myspace pages abandoned, my Livejournal only a private archive, I have taken great care to manage my addiction, keeping only one active blog on multiply - and a writing spot on writers cafe - until now.

I am told this place is full of those like me - and those who support those like me. I am tentative, but that may not last. My tissue paper wings long shredded, I already feel my claws curling around this new opportunity...

And so - let the virtual domination continue....