Archive for September, 2007
Have you seen this story in the news? A woman claims to have been a victim of the World Trade Center bombing on 9/11. Alleges she lost her fiance, was rescued by an unidentified man, suffered burns, and found an inscribed wedding band she later returned to its owner. This story netted her a position as director of a non-profit organization for 9/11 and speaking engagements everywhere. Nothing about her story checks out. The family of her “fiance” have never heard of her. The employer she said she had has no listing of her as an employee… there is enough fact disputing her story to identify her as a fake.
What’s your first reaction to this? Does it make any difference if I tell you that she didn’t get paid for her work with the non-profit organization or for the speaking engagements?
I personally can’t judge her too harshly. Like everyone else, I was horrified and saddened by the tragedy of 9/11. But after hours, weeks and days of coverage…the novelist in me took over and I couldn’t help thinking of possible scenarios. Like a man unhappy in his marriage who drops his monogrammed watch in the burning stairwell and slips unnoticed through rescue crews to a new life.
This unfortunate woman used the worst tragedy to befall America in its history as a means to gain attention. She might as well spend the remainder of her life with a big red L sewed to the front of all her shirts, or a perpetual suit of tar and feathers. There’s no recovering from this kind of deception.
Lately, I’ve found that the best cure for writer’s block is News of the Weird. Once you’ve read through a daily dose of the truly strange things that happen in real life, your incongruous plot twist suddenly looks perfectly rational. Then there’s the odd shoe story.
Yesterday I came across this picture in Weird News as the latest offering from designer Marc Jacobs. Yes, unretouched, that is a heel in front shoe. I realize that it must be awfully taxing to continue to try and bring something new to the fashion industry. Let’s face it, there are only so many ways you can manipulate fabric. But this is totally illogical to me. The largest part of my anatomy would be hanging right over the back of that shoe, which is supported by…air? I think not.
There are many reasons I didn’t grow up and become a hooker: morals, a good sense of self-worth, the whole seedy aspect…and the shoes. These are just creepy and obvious. Poor girl wearing them has no chance of even standing up, much less walking a beat or working her corner.
Growing up in California we were frequently cautioned that the San Andreas fault would someday cause our sunny state to fall straight off into the ocean. As kids we’d alternately have nightmares from this news or poo-poo it, depending on how many little earthquakes we’d had in the preceeding weeks.
Today scientists are telling us that the effects of global warming will cause the oceans to rise 39 inches. It isn’t a matter of “will” it happen, but “when”. Some say 50 years, some say 150 and there are plenty of estimations inbetween. Since science also says there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it at this point, we need only think about how a rise of 39 inches changes the face of America. Louisiana could become the new lost city of Atlantis, the silicon valley would be underwater and anyone working on Wall Street will most likely need to boat in to work every morning. Who knew that my home in the heart of the midwest could someday become beach front property?
Attention all Members of the Shameless Lions Writing Circle – Seamus has announced a new writing project, very cool. Click on over there and read up. Ecanus and I are looking forward to playing and I hope you will too.
While its true that I’m the queen of dorks, suffer from terminal clumsiness and occasionally spaz out and do some incredibly stupid things…most of the time I’m Chief Fiscal Officer of the second largest town in our county, Managing Editor of a publishing company and chairman of the largest writing group in two counties. I am a dignified and respected public figure. Now will somebody tell that to these tiny cretins?
I should have known something was up when I found Ayla dressed in her girlie prison garb today. Not yet reacclimated to life outside the slammer, she puked and pooped on me within the first hour. But I’m no stranger to delinquent behavior, I countered her aggressive acts so she pulled out two fistfuls of my hair. When her fiendish plan to snatch me bald didn’t work, she called in reinforcements. Look at them plotting their escape. Not even in kindergarten yet, and they think they can take on an old mom like me. Ha…I laughed at their feeble attempts. They tried everything: pretending to be cute and cuddly, blowing bubbles, the big one even tried blowing kisses and doing a raspberry on my leg. But these two are still wet behind the ears. They forgot one thing in their wicked plot….. only one of them knows how to walk.
With just 41 days until Halloween it was time to break out the scary decorations. It just so happens that this witch is exactly the same height as the baby, Brendolyn. She spent several days standing in front of her saying “up” or “nana”, but the old hag refused to answer. She tried the rest of her vocabulary on her… “mama”…nothing from the witch. She smiled at her, made fish faces, blew kisses…darn witch still wouldn’t answer. This baffled our baby, everyone talks to her! In sheer frustration she chucked her Papaw’s shoe at the silent witch hard enough to knock her off her crock. “Uh-Oh” she said to the witch on the floor. “Up?”
Plans for the Grandgirl’s annual Halloween Spooktacular are in full swing. Pop-Up Invitations this year. It should be interesting pulling this off. Last year we had the big house, this year we have their mother’s small apartment…hmmm…they have 60 invitations ready to send (two classrooms of kids and assorted cousins). We should perhaps be wishing they are aren’t popular so very few will come.
P.S. to my dear friend Gawpo: While the laws in Oregon are much better than mine here in Ohio, you gave us the keys we needed to make law enforcement know we were serious and watching them. Thank you.
This will be my 301st post. Luckily we don’t have to discard those posts from the count in which we say nothing, it would probably be only my 103rd if that was the case. But a worthy time for reflection none-the-less. There is only one thing that’s surprised me more about blogging than the fact that I’ve stuck with it…even haphazardly…and that is how much I miss hearing what the folks on my blogroll are up to when I’m not able to get around and visit everybody. The internet has redefined what constitutes the parameters of friendship. In many cases, those that come here to share what I write know things that I haven’t even shared with family. I think that’s cool.
We recently celebrated my mother-in-law’s 70th birthday. If you were looking at her calendar and had to guess her age you’d probably say 37…the woman is a dynamo. She runs the fabric and crafts department of her local Walmart, works in the garden, is an active member of the arts council. Crazy busy little lady. But at 70, she’s definately past the middle age peak and sliding down the side of the mountain of life.
I’m hovering around on the peak yet, middle aged but just barely. Half way through my one and only life. I have a few regrets, especially when we’re scrambling around trying to pay the car insurance, but mostly I wouldn’t change anything at the front end of my life. I’ve read enough science fiction to know that even a tiny change would result in the loss of my treasures…my kids.
What about you? If you had the ability to change anything about your past, what would it be?
Thank you for all your prayers and thoughts blogger buddies! As always, things have settled down a little (or I’ve learned to cope with the new chaos) and the silver lining of my recent cloud of nonsense is showing.
Apparently jail had more impact on my lost daughter than all the words and actions we’d thrown at her over the last five years. She may not recognize her TRUE worth, but she knows she’s better than jail. The grandgirls are back with her, and with me on the weekends while she works. She goes to court on the 24th, we have high hopes that the case will be thrown out the window. Aside from the fact that it’s a little tougher writing a novel with the sounds of three little girls enthusiastically counting out dance steps to Bella Dance and one baby pounding on the door saying “nana” or “up” (that’s the only two words she knows)…life goes on.