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l o v e
Saturday, December 5, 2015
Wednesday, November 25, 2015
I CAN Alphabets!
Consider using the I CAN Alphabets as a journal for your classroom.
I is for Invigorated
dynamic characters.
Dynamic characters change and grow throughout our stories. They go from this to that. After completing each story, flip through the pages of Invigorated. Did any of the characters shift from being one word to another? Why? If they didn’t change they were static characters.
Ebenezer Scrooge is a ‘g’. He travels from green to grace. We can write his name on the ‘g’ page of Invigorated. Scrooge was primarily concerned with his riches (green). By the end of Dickens’s A Christmas Carol, Scrooge is full of grace.
Words you are not familiar with, find the definition and record them right on their page.
C is for Character
literary terms.
Record the definitions of writing / literary terms on pages of your pictureless papers above each word. Below the pictureless word, draw or document examples from the assigned text.
A is for Apple
your pictureless pages.
For your reading notes for this class. Paper clip the first page of A is for Apple for easy access. On pages of Apple, take your class notes, make your own notes, ask your questions, scribble on the page, color, record, collage. You may even tear out a page or two and give to a friend. There is a message from me to you on each page. l o v e
N is for Never Night
your Alphabet Book.
From one of our literary selections or all, write your own alphabet book at the bottom of each Night page. Words you love. New words. Words from a few different reads. One or many! Can’t wait to see what you come up with! Share with us on facebook!
fabulous
Sunday, October 25, 2015
p r e t t y ta - tas
Each year I repost this blog for remembrance. A couple of weeks ago my dear friend had a double mastectomy. Thanks to Angelina Jolie, we can all feel more hopeful about reconstruction and selfies
*Goal of the year---- MONTHLY BREAST SELF EXAMINATIONS! Love
It's all pink again!
Last October, I don't remember.
This year, each ribbon follows me and leaves pink traces behind my eyelids. This year- the year of biopsies, the year of lumpectomy, the year my mother had a mastectomy.
Adrea is in the habit of sending by post (that in itself is fabulous). Sometimes the treats from my partner breathe through their packaging, forcing my children to rattle the contents. That time they were pictureless word cards. Each card presented one of the words we claim on post sized cards, business sized cards, or itty bitty cards. They were gorgeous. I traveled with them half across the state to share with my mother during the post chemo / pre-surgery / pre-radiation hospital moments.
Mom twisted them around and palmed them. I saw fear vanishing from her. When the anesthesiologist entered, he began to share the process. First, we will do this, then that, the important thing is to clear your mind.
"We have words for that, Mom, from the 'nothing' series."
The doctor was intrigued. I shared p i c t u r e l e s s with him- Clear Clouds, Memory Music, Invisible Icicles. He deemed them appropriate and darling. He modified my mother's instructions to a p i c t u r e l e s s place.
In a childlike voice my mother asked for surgical tape. When he returned she began praying and taping positive word cards on her body. Then, my fear vanished. This is l i f e and life is b e a u t i f u l.
Each hospital employee, visitor, and friend that witnessed that moment became instantly radiant. The words connected us, protected us, and let us breathe through those moments one moment at a time.
It's all pink again!
BTW, MaRose is doing f a b u l o u s l y!
*Goal of the year---- MONTHLY BREAST SELF EXAMINATIONS! Love
It's all pink again!
Last October, I don't remember.
This year, each ribbon follows me and leaves pink traces behind my eyelids. This year- the year of biopsies, the year of lumpectomy, the year my mother had a mastectomy.
Adrea is in the habit of sending by post (that in itself is fabulous). Sometimes the treats from my partner breathe through their packaging, forcing my children to rattle the contents. That time they were pictureless word cards. Each card presented one of the words we claim on post sized cards, business sized cards, or itty bitty cards. They were gorgeous. I traveled with them half across the state to share with my mother during the post chemo / pre-surgery / pre-radiation hospital moments.
Mom twisted them around and palmed them. I saw fear vanishing from her. When the anesthesiologist entered, he began to share the process. First, we will do this, then that, the important thing is to clear your mind.
"We have words for that, Mom, from the 'nothing' series."
The doctor was intrigued. I shared p i c t u r e l e s s with him- Clear Clouds, Memory Music, Invisible Icicles. He deemed them appropriate and darling. He modified my mother's instructions to a p i c t u r e l e s s place.
In a childlike voice my mother asked for surgical tape. When he returned she began praying and taping positive word cards on her body. Then, my fear vanished. This is l i f e and life is b e a u t i f u l.
Each hospital employee, visitor, and friend that witnessed that moment became instantly radiant. The words connected us, protected us, and let us breathe through those moments one moment at a time.
It's all pink again!
BTW, MaRose is doing f a b u l o u s l y!
Friday, September 11, 2015
wearing w h i t e with w a y n e
Wow, what uh week!
I'm going p l a c e s I've never gone, so I'm doing things I've never done.
One should not wear w h i t e after Labor Day. Okayyyyyyyyyy? Why not? Why is that even a thing? It's c o o l if you're attending a white party mid-winter, or getting b e t r o t h e d. Why not in Texas when it is still over a gazillion degrees?
This is a scary thought for me -- wearing white after LD. Would a giant b l a c k Southern m a m a hand of etiquette reach down and s q u i s h me from the sky?
Scary.
When do traditions i n t e r t w i n e with superstitions and then t u m b l e into fear?
I hear Carrie Bradshaw.
Not the fire and brimstone kind, nor the black cat passing. The kind of traditions slash superstitions that your mama, grandma and them i c e onto your eating black eyed peas for the New Year finishing.
I spit on broom straws that b r u s h over my shoes. I edit all over traditions in my forthcoming middle - grade novel, d i r t that is due to my publisher in a couple of weeks.
Egads!!!! Yes, a couple of weeks. Needing a touch of accountability.
Traditions and superstitions, even in my d r e a d e d op-positional defiance, have become like a guiding principle. Merde!
Sweetness and I listen to India Arie and Matched by Ally Condie. Condie creates this Giver-like post-modern world were the shoulds abound. "Everyone in this house does what he or she is supposed to do." We just finished scenes chronicling Grandpa's 'Final Banquet'. Not to justify a spoiler alert, people live until eighty years of age in this world made p e r f e c t with statistics.
Something about this concept makes me want to live, and live more free. So, after a few dissolves of Sedalia, I'm still sitting, but I'm still in the place of wanting to live free.
What if I just did stuff, not all of the stuff I should?
When thinking about such things, I often seek Dyer. W a y n e Dyer one of my long time b e a u t i f u l angels recently left this p l a n e. He has coached me many times through crazylane with his w o r d s.
R I P
I pull my tattered copy of Dyer's Your Erroneous Zones from the shelf next to my bed. The index has a listing for traditions.
"The important thing is to determine for yourself which rules work, and are necessary to preserve order in our culture and which can be broken without harm to yourself or others. There is no percentage in rebelling just for the sake of rebelling, but there are great rewards in being your own person and living your life according to your own standards." - Wayne Dyer
Uh--nouncement!!!
Carry on... Abbybama, Manchild and Sweetness... split the pole if you c h o o s e. #facingfears #911 #facingfearson911
I'm going p l a c e s I've never gone, so I'm doing things I've never done.
One should not wear w h i t e after Labor Day. Okayyyyyyyyyy? Why not? Why is that even a thing? It's c o o l if you're attending a white party mid-winter, or getting b e t r o t h e d. Why not in Texas when it is still over a gazillion degrees?
This is a scary thought for me -- wearing white after LD. Would a giant b l a c k Southern m a m a hand of etiquette reach down and s q u i s h me from the sky?
Scary.
When do traditions i n t e r t w i n e with superstitions and then t u m b l e into fear?
I hear Carrie Bradshaw.
Not the fire and brimstone kind, nor the black cat passing. The kind of traditions slash superstitions that your mama, grandma and them i c e onto your eating black eyed peas for the New Year finishing.
I spit on broom straws that b r u s h over my shoes. I edit all over traditions in my forthcoming middle - grade novel, d i r t that is due to my publisher in a couple of weeks.
Egads!!!! Yes, a couple of weeks. Needing a touch of accountability.
Traditions and superstitions, even in my d r e a d e d op-positional defiance, have become like a guiding principle. Merde!
Sweetness and I listen to India Arie and Matched by Ally Condie. Condie creates this Giver-like post-modern world were the shoulds abound. "Everyone in this house does what he or she is supposed to do." We just finished scenes chronicling Grandpa's 'Final Banquet'. Not to justify a spoiler alert, people live until eighty years of age in this world made p e r f e c t with statistics.
Something about this concept makes me want to live, and live more free. So, after a few dissolves of Sedalia, I'm still sitting, but I'm still in the place of wanting to live free.
What if I just did stuff, not all of the stuff I should?
When thinking about such things, I often seek Dyer. W a y n e Dyer one of my long time b e a u t i f u l angels recently left this p l a n e. He has coached me many times through crazylane with his w o r d s.
R I P
I pull my tattered copy of Dyer's Your Erroneous Zones from the shelf next to my bed. The index has a listing for traditions.
"The important thing is to determine for yourself which rules work, and are necessary to preserve order in our culture and which can be broken without harm to yourself or others. There is no percentage in rebelling just for the sake of rebelling, but there are great rewards in being your own person and living your life according to your own standards." - Wayne Dyer
Uh--nouncement!!!
On the day that Farmer Guy started his new big time g r o w e r gig, I wore white.
Yesterday -- after Labor Day. Work!
l o v e
Sunday, August 9, 2015
Chris von Halle on #iwriteYA
Check out the a u t h o r of The Fourth Generation, Chris von Halle over on free cotton.
http://freecottonclub.blogspot.com
Title:
The
Fourth Generation
It's c u r i o u s! You can purchase The Fourth Generation!
http://freecottonclub.blogspot.com
Author:
Chris
von Halle /@ChrisvonHalle
In the future, no
adults exist. Ever since the plague swept the world 100 years ago, no one has
lived past seventeen.
Sixteen-year-old
Gorin, a collector of curious artifacts left over from the pre-plague
civilization, is on the verge of perishing from that deadly epidemic. And his
last wish is to find a way to visit the rulers’ reputedly magnificent,
off-limits mansion.
Up against the clock, he
and his friend Stausha steal into the mansion and discover a secret more
horrifying than they ever could’ve imagined—a secret that holds the key to the
survival of the whole human race. It's c u r i o u s! You can purchase The Fourth Generation!
Sunday, July 26, 2015
the age of m i r a c l e s
I found it interesting that a b e a t i f u l lady's post prior to her teenaged son's funeral stated that she expected a m i r a c l e. That seemed to be the sort of thing one asked for prior to a death, not prior to a funeral. I guessed Mary could have expected the same.
See, I met this charming lady in a charming b o u t i q u e, during a magnificent Toms sale. Or so I thought. We chatted a bit, then realized that on an occasion we stood next to each other during a yoga Saturday at the Y. I remembered her toes. H a p p e n s t a n c e our same aged children were students when Carver commenced all day every day GT school year. Those p e s k y intelligent six graders.
We talked for about an hour on those couches at Alter'd State about: marriage, e d u c a t i o n, divorce, about being single parents, artists we both knew around town, dating, y o g a and shoes, specifically, Toms.
Of course we became fb f r i e n d s right then and there. Where had she been all of my Midland life?
Sometimes people just get into your spirit. It's a s u b t l e thing.
Our same aged children, I digress. Heavy s i g h...
S w e e t n e s s rushed from her room during one of the last mornings before the end of school and announced, "Something is wrong with a boy!"
"Dear, what are you talking about?"
Her response reminded me to d e c i p h e r it later since it was chock full of... and on Ig, and then on Snapchat, and then someone texted.
WTH was she talking about?
The day continued. That night I caught the news that Farmer Guy watched. I intentionally NEVER c a u g h t the news. There it was, and there it was.
She. She and him. He laid in a hospital bed, while his mother raised praying, praising hands at his side.
The she that I never saw off line again. The she that I thought a couple of weeks earlier to ask if she wanted to blog on pictureless, but didn't.
All of the s u d d e n I felt it. I hadn't even known this person existed in my s p i r i t until that very moment. I don't know when it happened, but in the moment I felt that pain, I knew she was there.
I wanted her m i r a c l e for her.
Even at the funeral I wanted her miracle for her. I didn't attend the funeral, but I did. With a Harry Potter book in hand and a cup a tea, I sat outside of the services across the street at the GMFL football field on the aluminum b l e a c h e r s top row. Yes, I lovingly stalked a funeral. I waited for the miracle.
White butterflies danced over grasses. The clouds made intricate figurines, none that spelled his name.
Nothing much to see here. Keep it m o v i n g.
Tires screeched, and I saw two ginormous cutie pie dogs, one a chocolate lab puppy, jaunting around all unsupervised all Homeward Bound like. A young couple out for their mid morning outing stopped their truck on a rescue mission of pets that clearly did not belong to them. P u p s went one way, and so did the couple. P u p s ran into the field, so did the couple. This went on and on and on. They spent the entirety of the service trying to c o r r a l the playful two into the back of their truck bed. Success.
I watched them calling the numbers on the tags, and utilizing the help of two boys passing through to complete the task. I became m e s m e r i z e d by the unfolding drama, and the lengths average people really will go to save the day.
Well NO miracles happened... I really expected to see, h e a r or feel something. I wanted to report to this beautiful grieving mother that a miracle did happen, but I sent her well wishes from aclose. Started for my car and ran into a lady I see every now and then. We chatted it up about k i s m e t.
Later that day while perusing the obituary for this young teen, it noted that he had a strong affection for saving stray animals. Tickled, I s m i l ed a bit and softened. I can say that the miracle, not grandiose restoring sight in nature, did in fact take place - a fifteen year old's miracle.
Love
See, I met this charming lady in a charming b o u t i q u e, during a magnificent Toms sale. Or so I thought. We chatted a bit, then realized that on an occasion we stood next to each other during a yoga Saturday at the Y. I remembered her toes. H a p p e n s t a n c e our same aged children were students when Carver commenced all day every day GT school year. Those p e s k y intelligent six graders.
We talked for about an hour on those couches at Alter'd State about: marriage, e d u c a t i o n, divorce, about being single parents, artists we both knew around town, dating, y o g a and shoes, specifically, Toms.
Of course we became fb f r i e n d s right then and there. Where had she been all of my Midland life?
Sometimes people just get into your spirit. It's a s u b t l e thing.
Our same aged children, I digress. Heavy s i g h...
S w e e t n e s s rushed from her room during one of the last mornings before the end of school and announced, "Something is wrong with a boy!"
"Dear, what are you talking about?"
Her response reminded me to d e c i p h e r it later since it was chock full of... and on Ig, and then on Snapchat, and then someone texted.
WTH was she talking about?
The day continued. That night I caught the news that Farmer Guy watched. I intentionally NEVER c a u g h t the news. There it was, and there it was.
She. She and him. He laid in a hospital bed, while his mother raised praying, praising hands at his side.
The she that I never saw off line again. The she that I thought a couple of weeks earlier to ask if she wanted to blog on pictureless, but didn't.
All of the s u d d e n I felt it. I hadn't even known this person existed in my s p i r i t until that very moment. I don't know when it happened, but in the moment I felt that pain, I knew she was there.
I wanted her m i r a c l e for her.
Even at the funeral I wanted her miracle for her. I didn't attend the funeral, but I did. With a Harry Potter book in hand and a cup a tea, I sat outside of the services across the street at the GMFL football field on the aluminum b l e a c h e r s top row. Yes, I lovingly stalked a funeral. I waited for the miracle.
White butterflies danced over grasses. The clouds made intricate figurines, none that spelled his name.
Nothing much to see here. Keep it m o v i n g.
Tires screeched, and I saw two ginormous cutie pie dogs, one a chocolate lab puppy, jaunting around all unsupervised all Homeward Bound like. A young couple out for their mid morning outing stopped their truck on a rescue mission of pets that clearly did not belong to them. P u p s went one way, and so did the couple. P u p s ran into the field, so did the couple. This went on and on and on. They spent the entirety of the service trying to c o r r a l the playful two into the back of their truck bed. Success.
I watched them calling the numbers on the tags, and utilizing the help of two boys passing through to complete the task. I became m e s m e r i z e d by the unfolding drama, and the lengths average people really will go to save the day.
Well NO miracles happened... I really expected to see, h e a r or feel something. I wanted to report to this beautiful grieving mother that a miracle did happen, but I sent her well wishes from aclose. Started for my car and ran into a lady I see every now and then. We chatted it up about k i s m e t.
Later that day while perusing the obituary for this young teen, it noted that he had a strong affection for saving stray animals. Tickled, I s m i l ed a bit and softened. I can say that the miracle, not grandiose restoring sight in nature, did in fact take place - a fifteen year old's miracle.
Love
Friday, June 26, 2015
After the Nothing, #LoveWins
'Bout a week ago.
It has been one week since THE collision. We are physically f i n e... we all walked away, but we had to lose some things at the scene. Bruises, aches and scrapes quickly fade.
I don't know what happened, and you can keep asking me. I was asleep in the passenger's seat. I heard Farmer Guy exclaim, "Oh, no!"
While the surround s o u n d air-bags inflate the mix-tape stops in the space of complete s i l e n c e.
And then n o t h i n g.
Nothing about my elation that Minister Robert Muhammad retweeted my t w e e t about seeing him at l o v e airport. Nothing about the Minnesota Pho restaurant not having vegetarian offerings. Nothing about un-social media. Nothing about bills. Nothing about bickering. Nothing about f l a g s (loving Bree Newsome, btw). Nothing about posers. Nothing about terrorists. Nothing about politics. Nothing about work. Nothing about who can m a r r y whom. Nothing about the Meyer's amazing Cress and Lunar Chronicles. Nothing about smoke and mirrors.
Nuhting about Nuhting.
Maybe a lot, not all, but a lot of life is exactly that... Much a d o about nothing.
The only thought that I can sort of remember in the v a c u u m...
So, this is it.
Ase! So it was.
Sound f l o w e d once again into too much.
"Is everyone okay? Is everyone okay?" The level headed Sweetness questioned.
While the Manchild sprung into Power Ranger a c t i o n.
M o m e n t s into smoked fumes and jammed doors, we exited.
After the nothing, love b l e w through, above, and around the entire perimeter. #lovewins
Love
#lovewins #iamexcitedformygrandchildren #lovewins #freebree
Oh, and #freemindsfreepeople (#fmfp2015)!
It has been one week since THE collision. We are physically f i n e... we all walked away, but we had to lose some things at the scene. Bruises, aches and scrapes quickly fade.
I don't know what happened, and you can keep asking me. I was asleep in the passenger's seat. I heard Farmer Guy exclaim, "Oh, no!"
While the surround s o u n d air-bags inflate the mix-tape stops in the space of complete s i l e n c e.
And then n o t h i n g.
Nothing about my elation that Minister Robert Muhammad retweeted my t w e e t about seeing him at l o v e airport. Nothing about the Minnesota Pho restaurant not having vegetarian offerings. Nothing about un-social media. Nothing about bills. Nothing about bickering. Nothing about f l a g s (loving Bree Newsome, btw). Nothing about posers. Nothing about terrorists. Nothing about politics. Nothing about work. Nothing about who can m a r r y whom. Nothing about the Meyer's amazing Cress and Lunar Chronicles. Nothing about smoke and mirrors.
Nuhting about Nuhting.
Maybe a lot, not all, but a lot of life is exactly that... Much a d o about nothing.
The only thought that I can sort of remember in the v a c u u m...
So, this is it.
Ase! So it was.
Sound f l o w e d once again into too much.
"Is everyone okay? Is everyone okay?" The level headed Sweetness questioned.
While the Manchild sprung into Power Ranger a c t i o n.
M o m e n t s into smoked fumes and jammed doors, we exited.
After the nothing, love b l e w through, above, and around the entire perimeter. #lovewins
Love
#lovewins #iamexcitedformygrandchildren #lovewins #freebree
Oh, and #freemindsfreepeople (#fmfp2015)!
Sunday, February 22, 2015
what's your d a w n wall?
On this chilly and blustery West Texas day, I happen to be a few degrees of separation from f a b u l o u s.
Soooo a little over a month ago, my mentor and hoop mama, fabulous Jacqui Becker's fabulous s i g n i f i c a n t, Kevin Jorgeson, and his fabulous f r i e n d, Tommy Caldwell, became the first to free-climb Dawn Wall, the world's largest granite monolith.
Uh....fabulous!
Committing to d r e a m.
Committing to w o r k.
Committing to s u c c e s s.
Committing to c e l e b r a t i o n.
We s a l u t e you all! Thank you for sharing this journey.
#whatsyourdawnwall
Soooo a little over a month ago, my mentor and hoop mama, fabulous Jacqui Becker's fabulous s i g n i f i c a n t, Kevin Jorgeson, and his fabulous f r i e n d, Tommy Caldwell, became the first to free-climb Dawn Wall, the world's largest granite monolith.
Uh....fabulous!
Committing to d r e a m.
Committing to w o r k.
Committing to s u c c e s s.
Committing to c e l e b r a t i o n.
We s a l u t e you all! Thank you for sharing this journey.
#whatsyourdawnwall
