On any given Wednesday

I was going to take the boys on a hike today to Button Rock, but, um, I slept through the alarm.

I love hiking in the morning, when everyone has energy. We postponed it til Saturday or Sunday, depending. Probably Saturday.

Anyone wanna come?

Today, I'm going to finish my coffee, and escape to a coffee shop to write.

Yep. I'm livin' the dream today! In an ideal world, that would be my every day ha, but hey, what can one do?

I'm lucky enough to have a job this year that lets me have time off.

I feel every blog post should have a photo, something that captures and inspires. So here you are:

My morning inspiration:

So I've been doing the creative journal, and have discovered that writing three pages daily helps me write later, because I think, oh, man, I wrote three pages, but none of the words are toward my stories (I have a short story and a novel I'm working on at the moment). So then I have to carve out time to write words toward my stories. I can't stand the thought of having written, but not having any of the words progress. Whatever works!

My artist hour is going to involve finally sewing the binding. Husbear wants his quilt, as does my sister. She doesn't have a name in the blog. I'll have to name her so I can continue writing about her.

Lets call her "Wispy Rain Mist" because she's living in Portland, Or.

So Wispy Rain Mist has been bugging me about her quilt that I'm making. I doubt I'll finish it by Christmas, but I'm going to try to get both her top and Husbear's top done by then.

It really depends on how good I am at managing my me-time.

**Someone, please help me find some me-time.

Oh, and some good book pics:

Raising Happiness - great book, I'll have to write about our first family meeting and failed custard tart dessert maybe... maybe not.

City of Bone, Angels, Glass, CatNip... whatever, I made it through the first two and a half before being annoyed by 17 year olds that are really 60 year olds in 17 year old bodies. Think I may be done with YA for a while. BUT, they are good reads if you're not yet jaded, cynical and raising a teenager the same age as the heroes and heroines because then you'd know how ridiculously fantastical the stories are.

p.s. This post is dedicated to Awesome Aunt, who tells me that she reads my writing, and thinks I'm funny.

Pre-Thanksgiving No-Plans

This week, as in you know, the first day and a morning of the week, we haven't done much. Mostly, I'm taking time to enjoy the not-work I'm at, catch up on some writing, hang with the family and prepare for Turkey Day and the post-turkey-day-black-friday morning.

These shots were taken on Sunday. I totally adore them.

This was taken on a Sunday bike ride with my friend. We had a crazy day of biking and coffee and fun. Turbo loves his bike rides and the coffee shop.
In case there isn't anyone who doesn't know, this guy is a quirky fellow. I took some candid shots while we were conversing at Red Frog. Eight is a very serious age. And giant cookies are very important.

If you're wondering where Bear is, well, once we get Bear on a bike, we can enjoy his company at Red Frog. In the meantime, I'm planning a nice hike with the kids tomorrow, and we'll see some candid Bear shots.

Colorado Fall

This is where I run, bike, and live.

It's so gorgeous!
I didn't have to drive anywhere for any of it. It's just, where I am...

Beauty in the every day places should be appreciated every day.

Upper left, part of my running trail. Upper right, a resting point on my bike trip.
Bottom picture, view of the briddge, part of our bike path. 

Saturday night write - Clack

Clackety clack Husbear reminded me that to do what I need to do, what I want to do, I need to put the time in.

That being said, I believe for Christmas, he's going to buy me a clackety mechanical keyboard that makes a lot less clackety noise than my clackety keyboard that I have now.

I love mechanical keyboards. For me, it's helpful, to have to put some weight on the keys, to feel them clack clack clack...

I've started a writing once a day challenge with me, myself and I, think I might have mentioned that. I count any type of writing if it's with some purpose for form, and the clackety clackness of typing on a mechanical keyboard helps. I love the clack sounds.

Clack clack... it makes me want to type more. I'm a much faster typist with the clackety keyboards. What I'm really hoping for is a ninja keyboard, it has a kinda pure clackety sound, but never mind my geeky obsession with keyboards, back to the point.

Because Husbear is right, it's about the time. I know how to write, how to put words together, I'm clever with some of my words, funny with others. I've been told my words make people laugh. A few times, I've been told, my words made people cry. I can evoke emotion. I have succeeded, then, for the words I write cause people to react, to feel, to gain something from the thoughts I express in the form of written expression. It's been too long, too long since I focused on a single project and wrote, daily. The last time I wrote daily, I wrote a book. Clackety clack every day, and I turned out a novel. No, it's not published, or been sent out, for various reasons. Mainly, for me, it was a rough draft of the process of writing. No, that one is not meant for the world. Maybe some day. But not now.

My brilliant goal, my brilliant idea, my highest achieving self, says, get up early at 5 a.m. and use that hour and a half you usually waste away in sleep! Why sleep! You can get so much done if you just dont' sleep, as Turbo and Bear explained to me when I found them at 4 a.m. playing on their computer...

The problem is I like sleep. It's a good thing there are other hours in the day.

I typed that last line, and this one, JUST because my keyboard is so clackety. It's why the desktop is better for writing for me. MacTops don't have clackety keyboards.

It irritates Husbear that I call my Mac ProBook a MacTop, but really, that's what it is.

Admittedly, this post is a bit clack clack clack, clackety clackish.

Originally, I was going to write about the mediation cushions for Turbo I've been compelled to purchase. Maybe I'll save that one for another day.

Happy 16th

She's 16 today.

Sixteen years ago, she, my first daughter, was born. Her.

This one. The one above, in the photo. That one.

Her daddy came home just in time for her to be born. He left later, and came home six months later. We met him at the airport, late at night. She laughed.

We moved to England, and tried to figure out the whole parenting thing.

She doesn't remember, but there were walks in British parks. Trips to the market in Bury St. Edmunds. Strolls through Cambridge's cobbled streets. I went mad with British child fashion for a while. She can't remember.

We moved and spent a winter in North Dakota. I took her for a walk on a sunny cold day where the snow glittered - we slipped and slided on the ice. I wrote a lovely story in a loft there, and she went to preschool for the first time. She didn't like it.

 We moved to Virginia and she played with our friends'  ferrets and hung out at work while we made games and hung out with other kids who's parents made games.

We moved to Washington, where she was a big sister, and, as a sort of consolation for being forced to be the big sister of two babies, got her a kitten, Ariel, who is still around: her cat and no one else's.

Somewhere, through it all, she kept growing. Now, here we are, five years in Colorado, and she's 16.

Six. Teen.

We took her to Outback Steakhouse - our family tradition is to go out to eat to the kids' favorite restaurant on their birthdays (we're crap at parties). She had a nice steak, because she's 16.

I had two glasses of wine. Because she's 16.

Seriously.

How did 16 happen? All those years, 16 years. Oh dear, dear.

So, happy 16th to my 16 year old. Happy 16th to me.

I may just have another glass of wine.

It's November NaNoWriMo

I'm not doing NaNoWriMo, but I am doing everyday writing.

I've sort of done the NaNo writing, but I decided it's best to get into the practice of writing, more than it is to eek out something amazing. Though, I am sure some of the works do become amazing. If you're purely writing something, it will come across as pure, unless, of course, you can't write.

In which case, drawing or painting is always an option.

Although, the truth is, if you love doing something, but do it poorly, it's okay. As long as you're income isn't dependent on it. For instance, I love drawing and painting. I love pretending my drawing and paintings are good, too, however, I'm awful at it. The random studies on chairs and my kitchen will never see any light, ever. I'm not an artist, though, I'm a writer.  The daily writing is why I'm blogging at 7 a.m. instead of getting ready for work. I find I'll write more throughout the day if I write a bit in the morning.

Plus, it's hard to get ready for work when Husbear is hogging the bathroom. The myth about women taking longer showers is debunked by this singularly, excessively scrubbed and groomed red bear.

Normally, I'll attach a picture that goes along with the theme of the post. Today, all I have is this:

Husbear, modeling the quilt my friend made for me.