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#throwbackthursday

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#ThrowbackThursday: I want to be Eloise

Originally posted January 1, 2010.

i want to run through the halls,
and skip from door to door.
a crayon in hand, a shade of pink
from the ceiling to the floor.

i’ll scribble and scribble
to my heart’s content,
like eloise at the plaza hotel.

and i’ll talk, talk, talk
to whoever i want,
just to feel like a child again.

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#ThrowbackThursday: 10 Things I've Learned Since I Moved to the South

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#ThrowbackThursday: 10 Things I've Learned Since I Moved to the South

Originally published on: September 14, 2010

1. EATING CAN BECOME A HOBBY. 

Call it a hunch, but I’m willing to bet there will be some sort of eating contest at the upcoming state fair. This is the land where everything is fried and BBQ has its own special place on the food pyramid. So it’s easy to understand why Tennessee is the second fattest state in the nation (tied with Alabama), where 31.6 percent of the adults are obese. In the small town where I currently reside, it appears the only thing more popular than Walmart is the dozen or so fast food restaurants that sit off the main highway. & Many of the food items found at Wally World look as if they belong in a Costco or Sam’s Club because of their economy-like size. Let's just say, I miss Fresh & Easy and I’ll stick to having my food grilled, not fried.

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#ThrowbackThursday: Cat bites, "coocks" and bad journalism

Originally posted: December 23, 2010

I took an editing class my junior year of college. I learned about headlines, different newspaper layouts, photojournalism and grammar, grammar, grammar. [Admittedly, rules of which I often break on this blog.] Occasionally we spent a class period looking at newspapers printed throughout the country. Our assignment would be to critic the front page of various publications. My professor advised my peers and I to look at small town newspapers because they usually had the worst layouts, photographs and headlines. The newspaper printed in the small town where I currently reside is no exception.

Truthfully, I refuse to read it 80 percent of the time. This is due to the fact that I can’t pick it up without 1. cringing and 2. wanting to take a red pen and edit the entire thing. Articles are placed in such a way that it’s sometimes difficult to differentiate between two separate news stories. Headline hierarchy is obviously a concept foreign to the editor. There is no font consistency. There is zero balance. And 98 percent of the stories have no significant news value. I wouldn’t consider the last fact to be a problem, considering it is a small town paper. But for the love of all that is journalism please be grammatically accurate. 

Okay, now that I’ve vented on that just a bit, let’s cut to the chase as to why I’ve bothered to address this issue at all.

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#ThrowbackThursday: Catch a Falling Star and Put it in Your Pocket

Originally published December 15, 2009.

Childhood memories sneak up on me, like a shooting star in the night. Mornings spent watching Little Bear and Madeline. Days when brother still lived at home, sharing bunk beds and talking past bedtime. Making tunnels in the sand at the water park, our eyes full of delight as the water flowed through something we created with our own little hands.

Driving with mom and Clint across Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Oklahoma and Arkansas to the wonderland called Tennessee, playing the license plate game, bickering over who would sit shotgun and overdosing on McDonald's greasy fries the whole trip long. The south, with its trees and creeks and lightning bugs that we'd catch and save in a jar. A little night light on the cupboard in our room, near Nan's pretty jewelry boxes and trinkets that I'd stare at with wonder, too delicate to touch. Memories of me in my pink-flowered bikini, no more than five years of age, twirling in the rain on Nan's backyard wooden deck. Each drop of rain planting smiles and laughter on my face. When Nan would bake all day long. Walking through fields of hay. Dressing the bed with new white sheets while Nan and I danced around the room, listening to a cassette of Pocahontas Colors of the Wind. It was our song.

I remember Christmas eve nights, when brother and I would hear a clatter, certain that it was Chris Kringle's reindeer. Days when our imagination was our closest friend. We could be whatever we wanted to be. Family trips to Disneyland or camp grounds in Oregon, admiring the ocean and running along the sand with our family dog Xena running beside me, arms spread out wide, ready to take off and fly at any moment. The vacation where I lived in my Nala Lion King turquoise sweater and peace-flowered hat.

Days when my truest treasures were porcelain dolls and polly pockets. Where a day spent playing catch and jumping on the trampoline were the best days of all. The smell of summertime. Saturday morning cartoons with Peanut Butter Cap'n Crunch. Watching movies, our favorites like The Sandlot, Mighty Ducks and Hook. When we thought those days would never change and we could stay young forever. No one told us Neverland wasn't real. ★

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#ThrowbackThursday: A Wonderland of Madness

I've been blogging off and on for eight years. Seven of those years were spent on Blogger where I posted things that meant a great deal to me. Not always, but sometimes. Little works or words that I never want to throw away. This series is so I never forget them and I can bring back parts of my old self. With that said, here's the second post in the #ThrowbackThursday series. Click the photo for credit.

a dream

the day is young,
the coffee cold
the window is my lookout

and down below i can see
the streets paved with magic,

fairies are spies,
the branches are wands,
up the street, a white rabbit

and i am here,
and i am there

frolicking in a wonderland of madness
xx

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