Cool Green Grass

Running in that all or nothing way we did as children.  Running from and running to without a reason to slow down.  I miss the feeling of the speed of light whipping through my hair.  I long to run so fast that I pass myself on the way back.  I learned as I grew up that this only belongs to children, this natural free-ness when we run.  Its not just running, its a statement of life.

When I was  4 or 5,  we were living in Warington Virginia.  The house is thought of and spoken of in our family as the house Dad built.  I do not know how much of the house my father actually built, but he was a carpenter.  The house sits back on its large deep lot away from the traffic on Rt. 17.    Though our family has not lived in this house since I was young, it still looks like the house my Dad built.  I was barely a kid still mostly baby.  Running was already in my heart.

There was a pole light down in the yard we would gather around as night fell.  The bugs attracted the bats, and the bats attracted us.  We would toss little rocks up in the air and watch the bats dive for them.  They would realize fast enough that they were too crunchy and go after the bugs again.  More often than not me being so small, the rocks did little more than a few feet airborne before landing on my head.  There was always teasing about the bats getting into our hair and making a nest, the sneaking up behind and tousling our hair.   We would scream with laughter and run swatting at our heads.   It was fun and we ran around and danced in the evenings dying light.

When the sun is going down, a new world awakens to run with.

The cornfield next to our yard brought out an abundance of life at night, and that included us.   One evening in particular,  the sun hanging low in the sky, I was running through the cornfield with my brothers  chasing mice.  My brothers kept yelling at me to be quiet that I would chase away the mice before they could catch any, but it was warm and getting dark and I was running, how could I contain this joy I felt.  There were a lot of itty bitty mice running through that cornfield.   I just wanted to be part of the chase, and  part of the chase I was.   Shortly after being yelled at to hush and stand still, I went running between two rows of corn heading toward home.   Splat! My tiny bare foot found a tiny mouse and the whole 35lbs of me flatten that poor mouse to death.  I screamed and my brothers and sister came running. I had lifted up my foot and the yuck ran off it, and the mouse’s body twitched to the ground.   “Oh gross look what you did!” they all were saying as they came running up and then were bending over and poking at the dead body of the baby mouse.  You’re in trouble now, they taunted.  They were all mad at me for stepping on this little critter and killing it.  I think it was more because, they did not.  I ran away crying leaving bits of gore along the way, even the cool green grass could not change the fact that it was a run without joy.  I was the only one to catch a mouse – I just had to be a part of the chase.   Lucky me.

I have to wonder why I was barefooted, but that was the way it was.  Shoes often got taken off and thrown aside if ever put on to begin with.  The feel of the grass and earth between the toes is too attractive.

Life got weird for me a few years after the mouse, I started to lose that child’s way of looking at life.  Running was never the same.  There became a purpose and goal behind it as I aged, and fear … fear that  once I started my heart would never allow me  stop until I found that cool green grass again.

I can no longer run like the wind,  and I have no desire to catch mice anymore for fun.  Although…

If I close my eyes and sit real still, I can feel the soft cool grass on my feet as they barely touch the ground…

Ohio Weekend

There is nothing like going somewhere special, then coming home and seeing the hundreds of blogs or columns written about it.  Reliving and savoring the memories with each word.    I went hunting for the words that spoke of a weekend workshop I attended,  I agree with what they say, and more… here is my look on the Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop held April 15-17 2010.

These kind of things don’t just happen when they officially begin.  The excitement and action starts the very moment you decide to go.

This was my first writers workshop.  I chose this one because of my love for Erma’s work, but I had found it quite by accident while surfing the web.   Was it an accident?  I am new to calling myself a writer, so I hemmed and hawed until there were only around 50 spots left.  I am still wondering if it was a twitch or if I actually meant to submit my credit card information.

There is no point of reference for me to compare it to, and I fear now that other workshops and conferences have a lot to live up to.    I was not even sure I should be there… I needed to convince myself that I should be there, since there was a no cancel or return policy… once I hit that submit button it was a done deal. I kept thinking… What Have I Done.

We flew into Dayton International Airport on a Continental Express out of Newark.  I love sitting in the back seats, more often than not I get to stretch out my legs and put my purse on the seat next to me.  Seat belt fastened, waiting for take off, the Captain comes on the P.A.   “Would someone kindly agree to change seats, we need someone to move to the back of the plane.”  My husband looks at me and we both get big eyed – Twilight Zone Movie flashbacks surface- and then we laugh, what else can you do when the plane you chose is nose heavy – we say its the Early curse, cross our fingers, and make plane crash jokes.  The flight attendant continued to repeat the captains request until a generous sized man move to the seat in front of me.  Whew!
Sweat starts to roll down my back as the plane lurches and takes off, and the thought that maybe I should not have lost those 10lbs before the trip sneaks in with my fear. All in all the trip was beautiful, the landing smooth and the flight home was not front heavy but full.
When I walked into the Marriott the crowd was already large, with name tag bouncing from a chain clutched in my hand, the voices roaring over each other I walk into the crowd with my own voice screaming in my head,  Oh my gosh, what am I doing.   I am there alone, unsure, and equally afraid of people.   I sat down next to a pleasant woman, the only available seat and just started chatting like I knew what I was talking about.  I think I scared her… she kept saying something about her friend is showing up soon, and scooting to the other side of her chair. That’s alright I thought, I don’t like everybody I meet either.  So I focused my attention on the lovely woman across from me. Her book is about to be published she was saying… Her tag said she was Crystal Allen.   She is a writer.   How Lamar’s Bad Prank Won A Bubba-Sized Trophy will be available March 2011. 
She did not try to run when I spoke up.  She was stuck with me now…

Once we got to the campus I followed the bulk of the crowd to the main hall we were to meet in.  I was afraid I would get lost.I was concerned about finding my way around, but there were signs everywhere with bright red arrows pointing the way.  Not to forget to mention the hundreds of people holding tight to their Erma bags looking happy and eager with each step.

The sessions I chose were great.  The speakers were fantastic.  The ones I could not attend I look forward to listening to on mp3′s.  I was learning a lot about not only writing mechanics, but how to be around writing.   I found how important it is to gather with others and talk about writing.  I did not know just how much I needed that until I had it before me.  It is a simple idea, discussing your work with others who do the same.  For a while there I thought everybody’s eyes turned white like my husbands when discussing writing.  So I was enlightened with pupils of many colors.

What can I say about the food that would do it justice.  It was good, I loved it, makes feel guilty that I do not eat more salads here at home.  I even took this picture to share with you.  Oh it was delicious. I would like to return to the next Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop in 2012.  It will be grand I know.  But I won’t be walking in with the same eyes.  There is nothing like a first time experience and I think I got a great start.  Thanks to everyone involved for the time and efforts they offered, I had one of the most rewarding times of my life.

One last thought.  I was heading back to the airport for the express flight home.  I took this picture.

From this angle of the Dayton Daily News, it gives me the idea that this writing thing is going to be a uphill battle, but thanks to all the work Erma did, this one is worth the effort.

Ohio Travels

Tomorrow I will fly to Dayton Ohio where I will attend the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop. I remember watching her as a kid, and reading her books. It sounded like so much fun to me when I read about it. I want to seriously understand and learn all I can, and it sounds like a good place to begin. I am nervous because I am fairly new to this public writing idea. I will be posting my impressions of the workshop and what my stay was like. There might be a picture or two. There is practice to be done here. Learning to grow and better myself in my presentation of thoughts. It will be fun to take you on a tour of my explorations, and I hope I will be able to take you there.

Greetings!

I think the first few words are the hardest.  This is my first time blogging.  The whole idea behind it is to let others know about my visits to various places.  I like to take short trips to nearby towns or neighboring states usually no more than 2 hours away.  I enjoy staying in bed and breakfast’s but in a separate cabin from the main house.  I find this to be the most private and still with the charm of the breakfast.  When I find the desire to soak in a jacuzzi and swim in a heated pool I will then book a room at a hotel.  Now I find it upsetting that my rights have been limited by many hotels.  I smoke.  But at least I don’t try to drown myself with perfume and then get in an elevator with you.  Same damage if you ask me.  Most of my stays have been at Hiltons.  They allow smoking in a limited number of rooms.  Hotels boast how they care about your comfort.  Apparently they forgot about a very large minority of us out there and our comfort.   I will occasionally stay in a smokeless hotel, but only if there is a patio or balcony attached to the room.  But really it’s all about the jacuzzi and pool…