Has it really been five days since I’ve written? Hmm. It feels strange…that it doesn’t feel strange. You see, I’ve had a bit on my plate the last two weeks. In the course of fourteen days, my youngest daughter first came down with the rotavirus, had two days of relative good health, then got another stomach bug for 24 hours, and then to top it all off, is now fighting RSV. Ooph. Throw in the typical Christmas hustle and bustle, plus a sick husband, and another sick child in the mix, and you start to see why I’ve been kept away from the laptop.
Now I guess that’s not completely true. I’ve had time to write. Small chunks of time, but time nonetheless. So, then, what kept me from sharing my usual once-a-day posts? I just …
The first time I met author Malena Lott (at a Buzz Books retreat), there was something so….familiar about her. Not her appearance, not her name. It was her spirit. She was charming, and poised, and dare I say, a lady. But her social graces were not pretentious, as she was warm, friendly and completely approachable. Just like two other ladies I know, my Great Aunts Nora and Mozelle. Both Oklahoma mavens, they held their gracious heads high no matter what life’s circumstances held. And then I found out something about Malena that tied all the pieces together. She is obsessed with Mid-Century design, the type of home goods and apparel my dear great aunts would have been using on a daily basis. It all makes so much sense now.
Not only …
Me and my Advertising Campaigns classmates senior year of college (many of us are still friends today). I thought I was on top of the world then. I had no idea. (I also have no idea why I struck some Peter Pan pose in the back.)
Me, in baggy jeans and cotton jacket, shuffling across the scuffed-up kitchen floor, singing, dancing, feeling more alive than I have in a long time. I scraped dried strawberry yogurt off the Little Tikes picnic table, and grumbled when I got some under my thumb nail (I hate that feeling), but still, I sang. I boiled a glass of water in the microwave, steaming off the splattered food particles that clung to the top and sides. Still, I sang. I sprayed, and wiped and swept…and sang. And danced. My …
See? Mommy used the f-bomb three times! Let’s just hope grandma doesn’t see! (image from: grandparents.com)
I’m not going to lie. I sure like logging into my dashboard and seeing triple digits not long after I make a post. (Quadruple digits would be nice, someday, but I’m not there yet.) But there are some things I just won’t do for views. After all, I care more about (way more about) quality than quantity.
No-oooh…I won’t do that:
1. Drop the Bomb: You know the one. The salty language used by some bloggers may draw “tsk-tsks” finger wagging, but it also draws attention. And attention means more page views. And while I would love to see my work circulate online faster than a LOL Cat meme, it’s just not worth it to me. Yes, I’m very candid and …
He’s pouring his heart out. But will you empty your pockets out? (image from nodepression.com)
When you stop to watch a street performer, whether it be a woman with a guitar, man with a harmonica, or group of teenagers doing beat box, are you offended if they have a tip jar? Or do you simply drop in a few coins if you’re entertained? Do you feel pressured? Do you find value in their performance? Do you find inspiration in their words?
Recently, I’ve seen a few “donation” or “tip” jar buttons on fellow blogger’s sites. My initial reaction? “Well, that’s strange.” But then, I began to think of my own blog. The stories I’ve told. The lives I’ve touched through my words. Yes, I do it for personal satisfaction and fulfillment, but it’s also a way …
There it is. My pride and shame. (But mostly, my pride.)
It’s funny how things work out. I’ve long dreamed of seeing my name in print. And I mean real print. The kind that comes hot off the press, and leaves a pulp and ink smell on your fingers. The good stuff.
Today, that happened. I received a package in the mail from MennoMedia. Inside, were two issues of the February 2013 issue of Purpose, a monthly periodical used for worship and personal devotions. Opening up the cover, I saw my name. In the table of contents. Even though I was well aware I’d submitted an article, and that it had been accepted, it still took awhile to process. Was this for real? Yes. Yes it was.
And while my heart swelled with pride, my head …