these heels were made for walkin'

A walk in the woods

A sunset...

A splash of color in the snow...
A piece of wood... A good day.

Tenacity

"Success seems to be largely a matter of hanging on after others have let go." -William Feather

Great Rules of Writing

Do not put statements in the negative form.
And don't start sentences with a conjunction.
If you reread your work, you will find on rereading that a
great deal of repetition can be avoided by rereading and editing.
Never use a long word when a diminutive one will do.
Unqualified superlatives are the worst of all.
De-accession euphemisms.
If any word is improper at the end of a sentence, a linking verb is.
Avoid trendy locutions that sound flaky.
Last, but not least, avoid cliches like the plague.

~William Safire

My Baby

The day before Christmas it arrived. I drove down the driveway in our big blue suburban fighting the impulse to put the pedal to the metal. It was in the Long Barn which is by the road, an easier place for the UPS man to drop it off. I jumped out of the car into a foot of snow and pulled open the garage door. Then I just stood there looking at the small brown box. It didn't have a ribbon. It didn't have a bow. (and it said it was to Jeff) But it was all mine, and I couldn't have imagined a better brown box. Okay, maybe it wasn't just the box. I reverently placed the package in my lap, but since Mom told me I couldn't drive like that, I gave it to her. (I mean, come on Mom) Up the driveway I went, then did a jig to the house. I cut the tape, opened the box and beheld...my Nikon D60. It's not the best Nikon camera on the market, in fact they don't make them new anymore, but my heart filled with pride at sight of my baby. Creepy, but true. We're becoming fast friends, and I feel that our future together will be a bright one.

The Snow-Woman's Tale

There once was a snow-woman who was really quite small

Around the size of an over-stuffed doll

She hadn't a friend to call her own

And she lived in a spot where the sun rarely shown She began to wonder if anyone cared

No one came by to see how she fared

But this all changed one fine cloudy day

When she saw a kind man coming her way

He knelt before her in the cold, white snow

Why he was there she didn't quite know

But then she saw them, the weeds in his hand

They were brown and old and not at all grand

---

But her heart nearly melted, which would have been bad

For she would have dissolved into something sad
So she merely smiled and took them from him
And her little cold heart was full to the brim.

So next time you see someone without a friend
Just remember our story and the happy end
For a weed or a smile or just a "hello"
Can warm even those made from cold snow.

The J-Bar and Me

I have never ridden a j-bar before, that is, until yesterday. If you were born after the 1970's, you may not know what that is unless your parents used to ride them, like mine did. They are chairlifts, but I use the term loosely. Emily, Anna, and I went to a small mountain last night that still had one of these contraptions, and we had to go on it just to say we did. I must say I should have had the upper hand because I was the only skier, and riding the j-bar as a boarder is...interesting. Emily went first, and nearly ran into the "lift" attendant. Anna went next and did the same. But now it was my turn. I was going to do this like a pro, with grace, and ease. I pushed myself over to the right place and waited nonchalantly for the strange pole thing to come and whisk me up the hill. I grabbed the pole and promptly sat on the horizontal bar. I fell. In a vision I saw my mother in the distance, instructing her children how to ride the j-bar: "Remember, you can't sit! You will fall. Just let it take you." Ah, yes, now I remember! I struggled up, with the help of the unfortunate assistant boy, and regained my footing just in time to be pulled up the hill.

We decided that we would rather not see the lift people on the j-bar hill ever again, so got in line for the real chairlift. This was common ground, home sweet home, our level of professionality. I was feeling pretty good until we were about 2 people away from getting on the lift. For no reason at all, I fell. Standing in line. It was that pathetic.

Next we tried the 3 chair. It sounded perfect. 3 people, 3 spots on the chair. There was a mass of people waiting in line, so we picked a likely spot and slowly inched forward. It wasn't until 10 minutes later when we got closer that we realized the ropes were really close together. There was no way for 3 people over the age of 5 to get through together. It was then that we noticed the sign: Singles Only. Things began making sense. There were 3 lines, one for triples, one for doubles, and one for singles. All three of us were in the singles line but were not about to go to the back and start all over again. So instead of riding up together, we all went separately with those in the doubles line. Riding up with high school sweethearts who met a week ago and hearing all of their high school gossip isn't my idea of fun. But that's what I did. When we all got to the top of the hill we decided we didn't like that chair lift, or the mountain for that matter. It made us look bad.

My one consolation is that even if we saw the people from that mountain again, they wouldn't be able to recognize us. How I love goggles.