Say What You Want

I've decided that when I get old, I'm going to say whatever I want. I haven't decided exactly when that will be yet -- if it will be a magic age or a particular date... maybe I'll just be at the grocery store one day and my filter will suddenly be gone.

I'll make loud comments about the contents of the shopper's cart behind me. Should you really be buying all of that full fat ice cream? I'll say. And when I see that person's kids running all over the place and climbing on the candy racks, I'll make a public critique of their parenting skills.

Those will be the days. I can't wait.

There's something incredibly freeing about not caring what anyone thinks. Everyone should be like my first graders. They're never worried about the public opinion. They know they're awesome, and they often make grand announcements for all to hear.

One of the girls in my class came back to the reading table. She pulled her chair out, sat down with style and said, "I'm speaking English today. I like English." (I feel the need to point out that English is her first and only language...)

Later on in reading groups, we were reading a story about animals. One of the boys stopped reading and tapped the page with a baby lion. "Baby lions," he said, as if he was making a mental note. "I've gotta get me one of these..."

One of my first grade girls is the third of three sisters who have all been in my class, and they have all had great things to say. As I was passing her desk, I heard her tell her neighbor, "We're not doing math today. It's too distracting." I've decided to use that handy statement whenever I can at home...I'm not making dinner tonight. It's too distracting. I'm not vacuuming anymore. It's too distracting...

One of my all time favorite first grade quotes was from last year. A boy said, "Mrs. Leal, I'm really tired today. I got up at 5:08 a.m.!" Really? I said. That's awfully early. He looked at me like I was missing brain cells and said, "Wizards have to get up early." I passed the same boy a few days ago when he was talking to one of his classmates. He was saying, "I can walk through walls."

The thing is, that kid has so much self confidence, I don't think I would have been surprised to see him do it.

So go ahead. Let your inside voice come out. It'll feel great.

Can't we all just play nice?

I don't usually get too political in my blog posts. Sarcastic? Maybe. But I usually leave the politics to those who are so in the know and passionate about the issues, that they can't help but make their voices known.

Today, however, I just had to say something. President Obama is giving his State of the Union tonight. Nothing unusual. But tonight they're making the Lefties and the Righties sit together...horror upon horrors!

I'm thinking about all of the kids over the years who would have rather sat by their friends in my class, but who were MATURE enough as FIRST GRADERS to sit with someone who was not their closest friend and to--again horror upon horrors--get along quite nicely!

No, they might not like the way the other guy always hoards the cool wheel accessories for the Legos. And they might be disgusted with the way the other girl always picks her nose and wipes it under her desk. But they get along anyway.

Okay, I'm done.

Wait...one more thing...how many of them do you think will show up with notes from their mommies tonight, so they can sit where they want?

Betty Crocker is Politely Making Me Nervous

I inherited my grandma's old Betty Crocker New Picture Cook Book circa 1961.

I love this cook book, because it doesn't make me take out the lard or the sugar or any of the white flour in any of my recipes. Go ahead, it

seems to tell me. Deep fat fry away. And while you're at it, double the portions. You need to put some meat on your bones. (Right now I'm picturing Jillian Michaels, outside my door, ready to whack me over the head with some kettle bells and take a torch to my fabulous book.)

I just realized that in the years that I've had this great collection of recipes, I have grossly neglected the section on page 5, "Kitchen Know Hows: Hints for the Homemaker". All of this time, I could have been starting my day off in a calm and organized manner, as outlined in the section, "Refresh your spirits":

"...Every morning before breakfast, comb hair, apply makeup and a dash of cologne. Does wonders for your morale and your family's, too!"

As I look down at the espresso and and mocha-stained dribble on my bathrobe and my Christmas-themed footies, I realize I could have been looking like this:

When sadly, I have been looking more like:

or this:

I am perking up a bit, because as I read on, I realize there's still time. Betty tells me to "have a hobby. Garden, paint pictures, look through magazines for home planning ideas, read a good book or attend club meetings. Be interested--and you'll be interesting!" But I'm also feeling the anxiety creeping up, because I'm not so sure Betty would approve of what goes on at my book club meetings.

Betty then says, "if you have a spare moment, sit down, close your eyes and just relax." Betty. Really? How can I possibly sit down, when you just told me in the previous section to

"plan ahead". You just told me to "make several cakes, pies, cookies, main dishes or sandwiches at a time and freeze some for future use."

Luckily, I can hear my grandma's voice drowning out Betty. My grandma just hit Betty over the head with one of Jillian's kettle bells. Betty's now knocked out cold next to her deep freeze and my grandma's telling me to put my bathrobe on and get back to my writing. I had always wondered why the spine

was torn off of that cookbook...

When All Else Fails, Write About Star Wars

I might have to start taking writing tips from my first graders. They have no anxiety at all about the writing process. They're not worried about bad reviews, and their stomachs don't get tied up in gassy knots when they have a plot problem.

First graders merely put their little bottoms in their chairs (or hovering in the vicinity) and apply the pencil to the paper. They're not afraid to take chances with their writing and go beyond their comfort zones, because, quite frankly, as long as Mom or Dad has remembered to drop the good fruit snacks into the lunch bag, nothing ever gets that uncomfortable.

If a six-year-old wants to kill off a main character (or laser them to smithereens), he or she just makes it happen. They never have any trouble with story endings, either. When they decide it's time to end the story, they just have everyone go home.

There's no worry there that they'll repeat the plot of another author, either. In fact, if it's good enough to happen to Sponge Bob, it's good enough to happen to their main character.

First graders also have figured out that no character is ever totally bad, or completely good. There's a very blurry line between the heroic status/behavior of Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader.

I'm going to start the new year off right, and look to my small students for writing advice. I'm going to relax, eat snacks, hover my butt in the vicinity of my chair, and let the words flow. Because if all else fails, I can write literally pages about my Jedi friends.

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Karen Haney over at Bookin' With "BINGO" has just posted a review and GIVEAWAY of A FINDERS-KEEPERS PLACE. Click HERE to enter! Thanks, Karen!

Isn't that just a story waiting to happen?

Even if you weren't a writer, wouldn't this picture make you want to grab the nearest writing utensil and get down a story? Once again, I was venturing where I really wasn't invited...but there wasn't anyone there to invite me onto the property...or was there??

Luckily, I have a good friend, Doug, who happens to be a horror writer, and who gladly agrees to stop for pictures such as these. It was going to be a quick photo, so he stayed in the car. I realized later, he was just using the time to drum up material to scare me. I got back in the car and he said, "It was just like Rear Window. I think I saw someone looking out of that top window at you..." He said it calmly and matter-of-factly,

which reminded me of one of the reasons he's such a good writer. It was a little tidbit...just enough to get the hair on your arms standing up.

I would like to show a full picture of the house, but then you might see the sign that was un-inviting me onto the property...

When I looked at the picture on my camera later, I realized it was straight out of my friend's newly re-released novel, NEVERLAND. I was right in the middle of reading it, and it was as if part of the setting had popped right out of the book at us.

Here's another picture just begging for me to tell its story.

I love anything that is unlikely, like something inside that should be outside, or vice versa. I am also completely inspired by anything that is broken down and decrepit. It makes me wonder what went on there, who lived there, and what their story was.

Doug and I are going to be talking about story, etc. on Wednesday, November 17 at 7:00 at the Groton Public Library in Groton, Connecticut. If you are in the area, we'd love to have you stop by. We are both going to have some fun give-aways, so I hope to see you there!

Ahead of Her Time

She couldn't carry a tune, but she sang out loudly and proudly. Her singing voice may have been off-key, but I could listen to her talk forever. I can still hear the rhythm of her voice as she recited a poem for me.

My grandma always had all the time in the world for me, and she answered every one of my annoying kid questions, happily and patiently. She was an object of fascination. She would take her false teeth out on command, and she'd hold them out and up close so my brothers and I could get a good look.

I remember waiting for her train to come in. I would stand next to the platform with my mom and my brothers, straining to hear a hint of her arrival. Her arthritis was bad, and the train conductor would have to help her down the clanging metal steps. I can still picture her black t-strap shoes as they appeared on the bottom step.

The pain from her arthritis must have been excruciating at times, but she always smiled through it. It took her several tries to get up from her chair. I would stand next to her, and rock back and forth, encouraging her to make it to a full standing position. Then we'd both cheer when she was upright.

She was born without the fingers on her left hand, but she wore no prosthesis. She used to say she could do anything except pound a nail. I loved how that hand felt in mine. It was just the right size to fit in my little-girl hand.

She was strong when most people would have given up. She taught in a one-room schoolhouse in the late 1920s, early 1930s, and sometimes she would need to stay overnight to keep the coals going through the cold North Dakota winters. Two of her babies died before they reached the age of five, and I can't imagine what that must have been like for her--waiting to bury them until the ground thawed.

My grandpa died when they still had young children at home, but she kept moving forward, raising and protecting her family. She was a hard worker through tough times, and once chased an intruder off her property with a rifle. She took in boarders to help make ends meet, but she was always willing to share what she had. Sometimes the sheriff would deputize her during the holidays so she could take an occupant of the small town jail home for a nice dinner.

The Lutheran church she attended let the men go up first for communion. Grandma went up with the men, and ignored the whispered comments and stares. She had to get to her restaurant job at the Percolator, and she had no time to waste. She had a family to feed.

My grandma was ahead of her time, and I'm sure she was looked down on back then, for some of the decisions she made as a woman. What an example of strength and patience and compassion she set for me and for my brothers. I'd give anything to be waiting to hear the clang of those black, t-strap shoes on that train platform again.

We Were All a Long Way From Home

Moving 3,000 miles away from Seattle was unsettling, to say the least--scary, even. I quit my teaching job and we packed up the Honda, with as much as we could fit around my ten year old daughter and my five-week-old baby girl. The rest of our possessions were busy getting lost and broken in the moving van.

When we got to Connecticut, I found the grocery store and the gas station, but had yet to find the freeway. Two days later, my husband climbed down the hatch of USS San Juan and left the pier.

It was about a million degrees in our tiny rental house and I desperately needed to find an air conditioner. But where was the downtown area? My neighbor was out in her yard. Downtown? She just laughed like I'd told a really good joke. I could try to locate our fan, but I was positive it was busy getting broken in the moving van somewhere between Seattle and Connecticut.

My husband had arrived before me and probably at least knew how to find the freeway, so maybe I could call him. Wait...no underwater phone. I wouldn't be able to see him or talk to him for five months.

Then the phone did ring and it was someone named Meghan. Her husband, she said, was underwater with my husband, and did I need anything? She didn't even wait for me to answer. She came over with pizza and Lee-Hannah, another wife. They were the first to baby-sit my new baby, and the first to help when three months later, our husbands were still underwater and my oldest daughter needed emergency surgery.

Please don't forget to thank a Veteran today. But I've also got to include all those Navy wives and Navy husbands out there!

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Thank you so much for those who entered my A FINDERS-KEEPERS PLACE contest! Winners, your prizes are on their way...

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My TeensReadToo Blog appearance mentioned in a previous post has been postponed until December 4. Please don't forget to stop by!

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Last, but definitely not least, I have to mention former Air Force man, Lionel Haywood. My dad survived a heart attack last week and is looking better than ever. I love you, Dad!