The Eve of Christmas

I think perhaps on some subconscious level I wanted to get married on Christmas Eve. I thought it was due to my aim to please and coincidental timing of my family coming to visit, but I'm glad it worked out the way that it did. Growing up, Christmas Eve was always better than Christmas. We were able to open up all of our presents when the clock struck midnight on Christmas morning and we would stay up to do so. Mom would cook dinner, Dad would be shoveling snow and making sure the Christmas lights were in order while we kids cleaned the house, sneaking glimpses of the presents under the tree. Mom would help us wrap each others' presents, hot chocolate and pumpkin pie permeated the house. It was warm and cozy on the inside while outside the snow was falling silently, not a person in sight, I don't remember it ever really raining on Christmas Eve. It was like magic. Everyone doing their part, all the kids playing elves while Mom and Dad portrayed the Clauses coming up with games for us to play, guessing what we had gotten for Christmas.

It felt like the longest joyful day of the year. We'd stay up and watch Charlie Brown's Christmas always laughing at his Christmas tree, anticipating midnight. One Christmas we even got to have a tiny tree that lit up on the dresser, it acted as night light as well, which was awesome since I was super afraid of the dark!

Mom and Dad would sit on the couch, kids around the tree, and Jovanny, my brother, would pass out the presents, reading the tags on the boxes. We know how Mom painstakingly wrapped the gifts so we stifled our excitement just a little to show her how much we appreciated her, she'd then in turn tell us to rip it open. Present after present was opened and we were allowed to play with them until the wee hours of the morning. By late afternoon on Christmas day we'd all be gathered around the kitchen table eating pastries and more hot chocolate.

Christmas Eve lasted forever in our minds and I thank my parents for that awesome tradition, I plan to pass it along to my children. My wedding day was similar to those days, seemed to last forever, magical, loving. Of course there was drama and time constraints and missing pieces but the magic was there as I was surrounded by loved ones. With my hubby waiting for me at the end of the aisle I knew that that Eve of Christmas rivaled them all as I was given the gift of matrimony and the unconditional love that would last forever.

Hmmmm, No!

A typical situation...

"Honey can you take out the trash please?"
"Mmm-hmm"

15 minutes later.

"Honey, the trash."
"Mmm-hmm"

1 hour later.

"Baby, did you take out the trash?"
"Uh-huh."
"Why not?"
"Urrrrr."
"Can you take it out now?"
"Mmm-hmm."

Husband immediately goes to take out the trash.

Wife proceeds to clean up after dinner, washing dishes with hands pruned by the over exposure of dish water, finding bloated food particles at the base of the drain. GROSS. Wife picks up water stopper and makes her way to the trash can...no trash bag!

"HONEY!!!"
"Huh!"
"WHEN YOU TAKE THE TRASH OUT PUT A TRASH BAG BACK IN THE TRASH CAN! WHY IS THIS SO HARD TO REMEMBER?"
"Urrr..."
"Never mind, I got it!"

A few hours later...

They're settled in bed for the night when Husband puts his hand suggestively on Wife's hip.

"Honey do you wanna...?"
"Urrr, hmm, NO!!!

So Blue

Molly held the blue bowl as her momma poured some cereal. It was about eight o'clock at night but she didn't notice that cereal wasn't dinner and that a bare fridge wasn't normal. Passing the blue bowl to her mother so she could pour water on it, Molly scratched the back of her leg with her foot looking for a place to sit. It was Friday so Daddy would be home before the sun came up. Grabbing the bowl she sat down next to the door in good faith that soon her Daddy would walk through it. Her Momma walked by her and out the door to smoke a cigarette with one of her friends. The mobile home community was dusty and rundown but there were plenty neighbors around to keep each other company.
Molly listened to her mother's conversation without really understanding what the ladies were talking about.

"I swear he has one more week to miss child support before I get the law involved." says momma
"Naw, you don't wanna do a thing like that! He's good to you when he's around aint he?" says momma's friend.
"That's not the point Arlene. I got my baby in there sitting on the floor in the dark and tryna keep the candles out of her reach is hard when there ain't no furniture!"

Molly looked around the room, she liked the candles Momma told her not to touch, they reminded her of the fireflies that would come out at night. She didn't like waking up from her nightmares to utter darkness though, Daddy use to come in from her screaming and hold her. He'd rock her back and forth singing "Blue Skies" reminding her that the sun would come up in the morning, but that was only sometimes. Most of the time she'd just wake up in a cold sweat, wrap herself in her thin sheet and sit next to the window in the living room where light from the street lamp would flood in. When she couldn't fall asleep right away she'd pretend her father was with her singing "Blue Skies", rocking back and forth with her eyes tightly shut.

"I haven't seen him in a month and this trucking job is no excuse to be away from his little girl this long."
"So you haven't heard?"
"Heard what Arlene?"
"Well word round here is that he got another family out in Tennessee."
"You just shut yo mouth about that Arlene! All people ever do around here is gossip bout everybody else business!"
"I'm just saying, Mike and Josh has the same job and they get home every weekend. You gotta at least consider he got other kids out there."

Molly finished her cereal but her stomach still growled, she didn't want to eat any more just in case Daddy wanted some when he came home. Momma and Arlene always ended up fighting, it was almost funny. But what did Arlene mean about Daddy having other kids? She was his one and only baby girl. She walked into the kitchen putting her blue bowl in the sink. Momma came in saying bad words. Uh oh, on nights like these Momma would paint her face and put on clothes that were too small for her and Molly would get mad because she wasn't willing to wait for Daddy.

"Momma's going out for a bit baby, just go in my room and lock the door, only come out if you have to use the bathroom, alright?"

Molly nods her head in agreement and walks to the bedroom in anger. She plays with the dolls Daddy got her until she falls asleep in the corner of the room. Her tummy wakes her up and she contemplates going to get a glass of water but Momma said not too. Her tummy decided for her and she walked into the kitchen overhearing people yelling outside. There were some crackers in the kitchen drawer Momma would usually mash up in her Spaghettio's, she grabbed them and made a dash for the bedroom. Nibbling on her snack she heard the front door open and immediately pretended to be asleep just in case it was her Daddy coming to sing her song.

She smelled sweat and engine oil and new instantly her Daddy was home!

"Hi baby girl. Where's your Momma?"
"Daddy!! Come on! Let's lay down! Can you sing my song?"
"Course I can, but where's your Momma?'
"Look, I even still have the doll you got me for my birthday Daddy, I named her Lilly."
"Molly, now, I'm not gonna ask you again, where's your Momma?"
"She went out with Arlene and them."

Molly could feel a shift in the room, her good surprise was being ruined cause Momma didn't wanna wait for Daddy. He jumped up saying bad words and walked out of the front door slamming it. She let herself fall to the floor, curled into a ball, letting her tears soak her night gown, afraid to fall asleep again knowing a nightmare would soon come. Daddy would come back, she thought. Until then she rocked back and forth humming "Blue Skies" waiting for her Daddy to come sing with her..."Blue skies smiling at me, nothing but blue skies do I see..."

Something..."stolen"

It was my first year as a 3rd grader in a new elementary school. Since it was mid year my sisters and I were placed in a class with Ms. Sagan and made up the five girls of a majority boy environment. It was the year I learned cursive and I remember my teacher laughing at me because I would write some funky "F"s, I 've felt insecure about them ever since.
My favorite part of the school day was reading. My hand was always up to read aloud and I supposed my teacher liked me enough to keep on picking me and after reading came writing. This my friends was the first time I fell in love with writing. The class had to come up with stories about spring and I wrote about flowers who spoke to the sun about rain. My teacher was so impressed with my story she called my mother to tell her how, intelligent and incredibly perceptive my writing was at such a young age. I don't know why I didn't cherish that churning it into an awesome foundation for an impeccable craft, but sometimes life gets the better of you and I now know the danger of forgetting who I am.
That one story fueled me for the rest of the year and I found myself in another creative project in which the class had to draw what we thought was Easter. I had the the biggest white construction paper ever and I drew a large Easter basket with about 20 eggs. In my diligence, as children often do, with my tongue lapping the corner of my mouth and my face inches away from my project, I was sure to make every egg different! There would be a winner to this drawing contest and I didn't care about winning as much as I cared about doing my best. The winner would be announced after lunch and the drawing would be hung outside the classroom for people to view in the hall.
As my class was walking single file back to the classroom we passed by the main office where my assistant teacher announced Margo as the winner, I was a little disappointed because the second part of the prize was a jar full of candy! But I let it pass looking forward to the end of the school day. When we arrived to our classroom I saw my picture hanging in the hall...no one else's. I walked through the doorway with my Ms. Sagan congratulating me on winning while Margo and I exchanged faces. There was somehow a mix up and the wrong student was declared the winner! I jumped up and down in excitement but it was short lived as Margo's face bursted into an ugly cry, loud and obnoxious. Her picture wasn't even up to my caliber but it wasn't her fault an adult told her she had won.
I slowly walked to her desk and scooped up the candy being careful not to step on her as she continued her tantrum. In an attempt to calm her down the mistaken assistant teacher told Margo, "Vanessa is gonna share her candy with you. Aren't you Vanessa?". Ummm no, I thought to myself, my diligence and creative genius earned me a bucket of candy why should I HAVE to share when my kind personality already insisted that I share the candy with my classmates. I didn't like being told what to do just to pacify a belligerent child. Margo's face perked up and the class waited for me to agree with the assistant teacher's demanding question. I felt completely robbed!!! I earned it! It was my candy! I had won a contest fair and square but could have lost some friendships if I didn't oblige...so I did. I walked around the classroom passing out the gummy orange slices to my classmates and felt proud to do it, AFTER Margo had dug her hand in the jar taking a huge handful for herself. Not cool man.
But I learned something that day, peer pressure can allow others to rob you of what's rightfully yours, sure in this case it was just candy but from 3rd grade on I'd continuously fight a losing battle of giving in to my peers.
STOLEN! I should've dialed 911 and reported it.

The Long Lost Roomate

My first roommates were at St. Peter's College in Jersey City. EOF summer program at an apartment like dorm with three other girls. It was a blast. For some reason I had the biggest room all to myself. We developed a sisterhood over the summer and I remember crying on the last day as if I would never see them again. I miss it even now. I use to take a taxi to the train station, train to the Path, and the Path dropped me off at Journal Square where I'd walk a half a mile to my dorm. I remember waking up to the sunrise, sleeping on the bottom bunk in my spacious room, my clothes set out for the next school day. I'd say my prayers before heading off to brush my teeth and wash my face. I can't for the life of me remember what the bathroom looks like!!!
With my second roommate I had some difficulties. She was an only child and definitely acted like one. I was raised with 4 other siblings and was constantly surrounded by a family of seven. Discounts, budgets, family sized everything, hand me downs etc.My roommate had a sock draw that was in meticulously order, parents that showered her with gifts and boys chasing her from every direction. I recall one late night where she had a male visitor and up to that point we had stopped talking to each other due to our personality clashes. They were making out and I could hear every annoying sound so in an act of boldness that I didn't know I had, I got out of bed, turned on the room's light and said "I wonder what your boyfriend would think if he saw you right now?". She jumped out of her bed in embarrassment and rage telling me to mind my business, the boy on the other hand stayed in bed, I guess hoping it would all boil over and maybe get some action. We argued and shouted and even got the RA involved. My roommate packed some things and went to the boys room only to come back an hour later saying that she wasn't going to be uncomfortable in someone else's room when her parents were paying for her to be accommodated in her own. While she was gone I had invited one of my good guy friends to my room to calm me down and the boy toy from that night got some of his goons to run by my room door and kick it! What a night!!!
 I remember being rude to her after that...I would make sure the door slammed when she was napping, ignore her when she spoke to me, sneak some of her Capri Suns from her mini fridge and when I had guests over I would talk loudly pretending she wasn't in the room. It was awful! Something shifted. I don't remember if we just got tired of the tension in the room or an even transpired in our personal lives that humbled us but one day we just became nice to each other. I miss her even today...weird how that can happen. She even received Christ in her life one night as me and my twin sister prayed for her, that was so awesome! I stay in contact with her via social media and we still long to reunite one of these days.
Wow...so contrary to today's title she's no longer lost, in the biblical sense, and who's to say that's exactly where I belonged, confrontations and all.

I love you! You know who you are!!

Ransom Note

Jodi increased the incline of the treadmill at her home gym and with extreme ease accelerated her heart rate. It’s been the same routine for the last three years since the birth of her son Jordan; five mile run in the morning followed by a bowl of granola and English tea.  She’d rise at dawn, look in on Jordan as he slept, checked emails, let out the dogs and grab the morning paper. Jodi enjoyed her habitual nature. As long as she was in control of her life she was as pleasant as pie but woe to any situation or anyone she couldn't apply her compulsive disorder. Even on this Sunday morning, as she gracefully ran in her matching track suit, her blond ponytail tightly brushed against her scalp, her top of the line gym equipment surrounded by a panoramic view of Central Park there was nothing out of place with the exception of a ransom note clenched in her hand.

One more mile to go and she’d be finished. She thought of tomorrow’s obligations and picked up her speed without breaking a sweat.

1.      Fire the maid

2.      Bake cupcakes for Jordan’s bake sale

3.      Remind other maid to pick up gown from cleaners

4.      Give speech to high school students

5.      Women’s luncheon for breast cancer

6.      Hire referred makeup artist for Saturday night’s  Hungry Kids benefit

7.      Figure out if she could live a new life without her husband

Jodi exhaled sharply.

After her scalding hot shower she went into her plush three room closet to pick an outfit that proposed a state of calm and confidence. The police would be here any minute. She decided on a cool blue pencil skirt and a cream ruffled blouse, flats instead of heels. Jodi preferred sharp angles and stark colors that she could apply to her rigid spine, “soft” was never really her thing unless she was at the summer house in East Hampton. But it was Sunday for crying out loud and she wanted to appeal to the police as a “good” wife, a wife in need. She needed to disarm them and damsel in distress wasn’t her strong point so this outfit seemed useful.  She dressed quickly and efficiently, nothing out of place. Pearl earrings, wedding ring and a light sprits of her clean fragrance finished the look.

Leaving her closet to enter the master bathroom she noticed her husband’s tie hanging on the door knob. She winced, totally disgusted by his lack of upkeep and called for the maid.

“Lorena! Can you come in here for a minute?” Jodi says into the intercom connected to the maids’ quarters on the second floor.

“Yes madam.” Lorena said.

As Jodi waited she sat on her chaise in the corner of the bathroom going over her and her husband’s last conversation about his third mistress. She frowned as her eyes shifted in the direction of the master bedroom where she’d caught him with some Colombian whore who was as voluptuous and brown as Jodi was pale and thin. That’s why she had to fire the maid who’s first day was tomorrow, she was the spitting image of the previous maid her husband slept with…yes, the maid. She should call the agency and have the maid not come in at all but then what satisfaction would that be?  Jodi vividly remembered his awful excuse, “Everyone in New York knows you my darling. I just figured it’d be easier on you if I kept this ‘one’ in-house.” Jodi thought she’d surely vomit but her clothes were just too expensive to ruin and she’d never ever let him see her sweat. Her husband was partner at a well known law firm and traveled often so she was never fully exposed to his philandering but the idiot scoundrel had the nerve to bring his hobbies to her bedroom! She had the whole bedroom redesigned…naturally. Since that day Jodi had taken upon herself the task of making her new bed, doing it just so that if anyone so much as brushed it with a limb she would know.

“Lorena please place this where it properly belongs and be sure to have the head of security inform you about the guests that will be arriving shortly. Coffee and pastries in the receiving room, all dogs in their rooms and please tell Lilly to keep Jordan occupied on the third floor as he’s sure to be bothered by this morning’s guests.” Jodi left the bathroom without a backward glance.

“Yes madam.” Lorena humbly said.

Jodi walked into Jordan’s room to make sure all was in order. It was clean and quiet. She walked over to the window thanking God that the rain clouds would sullen her mood, she would need it today. Rain, tears, both had the same effect of gloomy sadness, so if she didn't shed a tear hopefully the wet weather could cover up her dry face. She shifted her stance and felt the ransom note wrinkle in her pocket. She should really give it over to security by now as evidence but it brought her solace and an unimaginable amount of comfort. Jodi hadn't read it but knew exactly what it said…she wrote it.  By now her husband’s body would be chilling under the Brooklyn Bridge, and even though she was a woman of eloquent words a popular phrase rang in her head like church bells, “Three strikes, you’re out.”

Jodi heard the doorbell ring just as she was coming down the staircase into the marble floored foyer when entered the Chief of Police.

“Madam Senator.  Please rest assure that we will find him and bring him back home.” He said.

“Show time.” She whispered.

An Astronauts Perfect Day

OK...so I tried to do a little research on astronauts via the web but I got lost in the technical terminologies. Basically today anyone who travels to space in a spaceship is considered an astronaut. You have to take classes, be exposed to space-like situations before you go but, anyone can go.

My first introduction to space was the concept of God, looking into the sky and wondering what He's doing up there. I remember feeling so small and so insignificant, kind of like an ant under a magnifying glass. It wasn't until my teens that I realized He was a lot closer than I thought. The Bible told me that God formed Adam with His own hands and breathed life into him, taking that personally it would seem that the very air that I breathe IS God. And if that's true than perhaps His proximity to me can be re-positioned from outer space to my very next breath. 

I was 13 years old and completely smitten by Him, falling in love for the first time and it felt overwhelmingly glorious. So my thoughts and understanding of Him through our relationship became more personal and a lot more radical. I began to think that if God was in my next breathe than what could He see and hear and feel concerning me? If He had given me the power to breath and sustain me to live, so closely, then what power did I possess to affect Him? Kind of like when you're on a date and you’ve decided your wardrobe and shoes based on the location and even whether to bring some mints in your back pocket just in case during the movie you want to lean in and whisper something...clever. I felt that God was being so personal with me that it gave me the permission to be personal with Him. I'd want to brush my teeth before I whispered Him a sweet nothing. I'd want to excuse myself after a belch knowing that even if no tangible body was in the room, He'd hear it and I'd owe Him a polite gesture of apology. 

So how do I relate this to an Astronauts perfect day?

Astronauts have the privilege of exploring space, a world that seemed so out of reach until the 1950s, with a front row view of God's front lawn. They suit up and take classes and experience no gravity atmospheres and are usually brilliant in math and science. They train, they build, they eat, breath, and sleep their studies to prepare for this one moment of strapping themselves in a spaceship, that's connected to a rocket (yikes), and launched into the unknown. Hearts beating at 100 beats per second, an overwhelming feeling of elation and success and accomplishment as their eyes feast on a world yet to be conquered or fully explored. WOW! That's so cool! That would be a perfect day; breaking past the Earth's atmosphere into a starry heaven with endless beauty. I suppose I count myself lucky to know Him, that He can take to sights unseen and galaxies untouched by human ambition and that I can count on this Creator of the universe rather than all the other stuff I'd need to do before getting on a spaceship...plus I'm super bad at math! 

An astronaut’s perfect day...knowing the Master of the universe and simply...inhaling.

FB post of 2017

As I look at the blinking cursor on my Facebook page that proceeded grayed out words "write something" I smirk at the irony of being distracted to view friends posts in the middle of writing my second book series. To put down my writing in order to peruse FB and then am reminded to get back to it, like a fortune cookie. But that's the way of the universe when you're in tuned to the Creator of it. It's 2017 and I have published 3 books, a trilogy, about a teenage warrior princess living in this earthly realm while trying to access a heavenly realm. All three have been successfully acknowledged on the New York Best Seller's list and have been shopped around for movie rights.
Personally, my husband and I are about to celebrate our son's 3rd birthday who is obsessed with books and nature and longs to have his birthday party at the Georgia Aquarium in Atlanta. "Mama! Fish!" he says which astounds me that he knows "fish" is already plural but I do miss the way children place "ies" at the end of everything. My Hubby has helped and inspected another hotel opening in Puerto Rico and with all the traveling it'll be nice to be together for Junior's birthday party.
I've become a professional swimmer, in my own humble opinion, to which late night writing and research has demanded of me. Blue pool, cool water, vigorous laps, and soothing respites in between have attributed to my steady writing.
My Bestie Bree has decided to do a destination wedding in St. Thomas which I'm ecstatic about.
My Twinkie has opened her own salon in Los Angeles.
My brother Jovanny is expecting his second child while enjoying flying helicopters for tycoons and celebrities.
My sister Jadi has become an awesome talent scout for a major fashion magazine to which my niece Anira has graced the cover.
My sister Dee lives in Italy with my niece Lia studying how to become the world's most feared and loved pastry chef.
My Mother is happily in love and that's the greatest gift she could ever give me.
4 years have passed since I've embarked on this journey of self discovery and I am full to the brim of God's love and grace and power and presence in my life. I've asked Him to use me in this world and he has shown me the epitome of Philippians 4:13 "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."

A Mushy Feast

First Thanksgiving in our home…still renting…and everyone came over because there was so much room for everyone. Giant 1920s colonial home with ample space for an extra table in the sitting room where everyone can commune and eat and talk about what they're so grateful for. Didn't exactly happen that way…rushed to put up Christmas decorations that we only lit once, pine-sol the heck out of the floors, broke out the serving trays and the table cloths, company began to trickle in, setting trays and pots of food on any available surface in the kitchen. Smells of collard greens and turkey, sweet potato pie and Watergate salad with sounds of laughter and the pitter patter of mini schnauzers running after the children. The mood swelling with anticipation of the feast and the annual football game on the big screen. In approximately 30 minutes: grace is said, mouths are chewing, and all the boys end up in the den watching the game while the women eat around the beautifully decorated table rolling their eyes at them. Worst dish among the spread of traditional food is the worst thanksgiving dish I've ever had! Watery, tasteless, spongy stuffing. I had made my own stuffing that came out a little to salty but still very edible…this stuffing was doughy and yet wet! It was weird! You couldn't decipher one taste or texture from the other. You could tell there were veggies from sight but not from bite, it all felt like mush in your mouth, almost like a sponge bloated with dish water. At least my most horrible dishes encountered were describable, and I knew what i didn't like about it immediately but when something is disgusting and then hard to explain it makes it all the more frustrating! Worst thanksgiving dish ever!!

House Plant

       I met this awesome woman from England, Dr. Ligia Szumoski, 87 and still vibrant, still so fully alive. She has dual citizenship in the US and in England, she speaks 7 different languages fluently, and has retired for the United Nations as a correspondent. She married a man who loved her fully. He passed away 10 years ago leaving her with giant jewels wrapped around her fingers marking the length of time they'd been married…50 plus years. He studied in South Africa as an anthropologist surrounded by women with beautiful high breasts, sharp cheekbones, full lips, "cocoa people" she said, as she gently rubbed my left hand to emphasize the color of my skin and the beautiful correlation  between it and these bizarre but enchanting people. I was flattered. She had lived 3 lifetimes and still had a cool fire behind her icy blue eyes. Her accent was as warm as hot chocolate and it felt like she hugged me every time she called me "darling". 

      She was the Phoenix in front of my rainy Tuesday backdrop and so I spoke to her for longer than needed but I couldn't turn her away, I couldn't regard her with such low or even average attention. Her experiences seem to follow her and I couldn't  help but to get caught up in her train of life. Lessons etched in each wrinkle on her face and I wanted to know them all, learn them all just so I could sit and nod and confirm that I knew exactly what she was talking about. 

I gotta get out more! 

     I soaked in her essence like I was as thirsty as a house plants' roots. Parts of me brown and dimmed, close to death but living on the solar power of hope and quenching inspiration. She says she'll be back to see me bringing with her pictures of her Africa and I can't help but anticipate her icy blue eyes and wise wrinkles and bejeweled hands and comforting voice and ageless experiences. I imagine her having a house plant, keeping her company, fully alive and cared for. The mutual respect they have for each other, the evident equality of their present situation. Both with memories, both with a rooted will to live, both knowing that the inevitable "end" will consume their lives but the air of the their existence will permeate this realm. I'd inhale. LIFE. Maybe I'd have a train of life's experiences following me, filling rooms and lives and realms. 

Hey you house plant, don't die…life is worth living. Now I'm off to water my roots.

One Second

One second ago the donut was in my mouth...now my thighs hate me.
One second ago we were in love...now I can't stand to look at her.
One second ago I had beautiful pageant hair...now I'm staring at the fried bleach pieces going down the bathtub drain.
One second ago I had a shot of tequila with a stranger...now you're 13 years old wanting to know who your father is.
One second ago I was driving when I got a text...now I can't try out for the lacrosse team.
One second ago I was scurrying after my umbrella in the storm...now I'm going on my first date in a year.
One second ago our dog was giving puppies...now we're burying her in the yard next to 17 years of bones she's buried here.
One second ago your mother and I were married...now I can't wait until you move out of my house so we can start dating again.

A lot can happen in a second.

It's hard to take it literally when its applied to just about every situation as a reference of regret or shock or luck. I don't think I can apply it to its specific definition; one second.
So if the popular use of "one second", in which the use of time is based on an individual and not any scientific constrictions then when my husband says "Gimme a second." Why do I still want to throttle him like a turkey on Thanksgiving?!!!

Today's entry says, "What can happen in a second?"

Well literally...

You can blink, type, sneeze, microwave something, think, speak, decide, snap, kiss...

Yea the non-technical definition is more fun.

One second ago I was sitting at the kitchen table wondering what to write...now day one of my blog is complete!!!

HERE I GO AGAIN!!!

Hello vast and unyielding universe! It's me again! The crazy lady with the dream of being a professional writer without the drive to see it through. If only my imagination that's located in my mind that's snug in my head, that's on top of my shoulders could possibly get credit just for thinking. But alas I have to yield it to some artistic form of expression, so here I go again! Attempting a blog based on the awesome book "642 Things to Write About" by the San Francisco Writers' Grotto. I received this little gem for Christmas from my Bestie Bree and I've written a few entries but I haven't taken "it" in, the journey this book has to offer that is. So, I'll be posting each entry in the form of a short story or photo or debate or journal entry, either way I'm gonna walk with this book and hopefully inspire others to do the same with whatever artistic deficiency they may be having or just life!!! I'm not gonna rush it but since my biggest issue is consistency I've challenged myself to avoid long periods of absence from posting...let's say 2 day gaps at the most, that means writing every day but posting every other day! I can do this...come on universe, in all your cosmic glory at least meet me half way!