Saturday, November 23, 2013


           So part of my family is on our way to Orlando for the National Clogging Convention over Thanksgiving weekend. If you don't know what clogging is, it's like tap dancing; but not. I honestly could and would love to go into geeky detail about what it truly is and why it's not tap dancing, but I'll spare you the boredom. :) Anyhow, we had a, uh, nice, long, 12 hour drive last night to my grandparents' house. And from here, we shall launch to Orlando in the morning (another 8 hours *sigh*).

           Here's some of the goings-on.

           I make a clandestine attempt to open the bag of sour LifeSaver gummies without waking any munchkins. The sour ones are the best, by of way.
          "Would you like a gummy LifeSaver?" I ask my mom who sits in the drivers seat.
          "Are you sure? It might help you stay awake."
          "Okay, give me one."
          I put one in her mouth.
          "Eh, eh. Ew! What is this?"
          "Um, it's a sour. I thought I mentioned that." Or not. Hee,hee. Maybe not.
          "No. Give me something to spit it out in! This is so gross!"
          I can't stop laughing. "What? No, be a big girl, Mom, and swallow your food."

           I always knew my grandparents' house had a smell of its own. But when I was younger, I couldn't distinguish the smell apart from my grandparents' house. But now in the early morning, I can tell. Coffee. Mostly coffee. With a hint of maple syrup and Cheerios. That's my grandparent's house.

           Maybe it's an odd way to spend lunch, but really, it's rather calming. To eat raspberries. To watch how Grandma uses her chopsticks with such leisure. To listen to her accent as she tells me of the gecko who always sits on the window screen. And all seems right in the world.

           "We've got to go soon," Mom says.
           I shrug at her.
           "So do something with that." She points to my unruly hair.

            A colorful bouquet of fake flowers is at every grave site. Pretty displays over such a sorrowful thing. Does it makes us feel better? My Uncle Michael's grave site is set with plastic pine branches and pine cones. 1999. I was seven when he die. Maybe that's why I still think of him as my Uncle Michael instead of as my uncle whose name is Michael. My Uncle Michael is always how I identify him for some reason. And now I think about how he was fun and hilarious. How my brother looks like him. How devastating it must be to out live your children. And don't all young children identify other people with the same sense of innocence, simplicity, and ownership?

           Panera Bread. My grandma comes here for coffee often. And I can smell it. The wonderful, you-are-home aroma of coffee. College students sit with their laptops, chatting or isolated. Some people talk over business. A young couple on a date clearly don't want observant writers watching them. My grandma talks to me of what I purchased at the mall, college, and moving away. But at the table across, two ladies talk over papers. Quite a stack of papers. One of them flips from page to page and listens to the other. Hm. Maybe. What if. . . the one in the listening role is an author, and the other an agent? Or maybe even a publisher and an agent? What would that be like? What kind of discussion would that be? I let myself really think about it. That one day it will happen to me. Maybe not the lunch part. But a call. An email. I would never be able to handle a lunch with such a business-like air. Yeah, let's hope a lunch doesn't happen. But one day. . . And now I want so badly to write. I told myself to take a break from Oddball this week. But I miss him and all his book.

           I probably won't be around much since we will be clogging the week away. And I'm not sure I'll have access to a computer. But if you're still curious about clogging:



  1. :) ur awesome at writing! It's definitely a gift from God. :)

  2. It sounds like you are having fun so far, i hope the rest of the trip is nice. (So nice of you to try and help your mum stay away by giving her candy. *Snicker*)

    1. I tend to be very helpful like that. . . or otherwise. Mostly otherwise.


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