Glad Tidings

And they'll lay you down low in the easy
And the lips that you kiss will say christmas.
And the miles that you traveled the distance

So believe no lies, dry your eyes and realize
That surprise
La, la, la, la la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la...
And the businessmen will shake hands and talk in numbers
And the princess will wake up from her slumber
Then all the knights will step forth with their arm bands
And every stranger you meet in the street will make demands
So believe no lies, then dry your eyes and realize
That surprise
La, la, la...

And we'll send you glad tidings from new york
Open up your eyes so you may see
Ask you not to read between the lines
Hope that you will come in right on time
And they'll talk to you while you're in trances
And you'll visualize not taking any chances
But meet them halfway with love, peace and persuasion
And expect them to rise for the occasion
Don't it gratify when you see it materialize
Right in front of your eyes
That surprise

College Bound?

I applied to college a week or so ago. This being the second time in my life to do so.

The first time, when I was in high school, there was no internet and CDs were still way too expensive. The best personal computer you could get was a TRS-80 with a whopping 250K memory. Shazam!

I applied back then to Abilene Christian University, a large college in west Texas affiliated with a dyed-in-the-wool, non-denominational, fundamentalist christian church.

I should never have gone.

I was an average high school student, and did enough to graduate. Talk about lazy. College was high school without my parents telling me to get out of bed every morning.

So I didn't. And I left after one year with a 1.2 GPA.

So, 22 years later, I'm applying again. This time to the University of Maine.

I've sent them everything I need to: transcripts, fees, writing samples, essays, and of course the application itself. Now I must wait for a response.

So why try it again? Well, honestly, I wouldn't if they didn't have the degree in Creative Writing.

I happened to do a random search one day for creative writing classes and discovered that UMaine's Farmington college has an actual degree. Classes in creative writing are common at most liberal arts schools. A degree is not, so I jumped at the chance.

I've always been a student of writing. I've purchased so many books on the craft that the bulk of my six-level, wall-to-wall library is nearly filled.

I love reading what other writers have to say about the business of writing. Now, this gives a chance to get a degree in it. If for nothing more than to deepen my understanding and to be among fellow (miserable, anxious, depressed, desperate) writers.

Of course, college means taking all the classes that gave me high anxiety back in the day. Primarily the maths and sciences. My older kids are in high school and they bring home math homework that I can't even stomach to look at.

This is going to be a real challenge. A difficulty that I need to get through. I have something to prove to myself, at the age of 41. When I was 18, I had no motive for doing well at all. There was no incentive. I was there on my parent's dime. I was 18. I didn't even want to be there.

This is different.

Giddy About Mud

I love mud.

Today, I love it. Tomorrow, I will love it too.

I look out my window and can actually see the snow melting. Our driveway slopes away from the house and therefore, the snow melt runs in streams away from the house and it's a pleasing sight.

The snow dinosaur the child care kids built just a month ago is now merely two humps. (insert giddy laughter)

The kids come in from their play time outside caked with dirt and mud (insert maniacal snort)

The dog comes in from doing his thing, and his paws are slick with mud (insert girl-like tittering)

Spring is sprung soon and the death of snow is my favorite snuff story. I want to film it and market it. Call it "White Death" or "Gone With The Mud" or "Puddles, A Love Story."

I once wrote in a recent blog how March 4th, my birthday, was always a turning point of the year for me, because it marked the end of winter. Even though we almost always got dumped on a few times afterward, the snowstorms lacked luster. The snow would accumulate, but then nearly as quickly shrink.

Scrubby, dead grass spots would appear on the lawn here and there. Twigs fallen from the trees during the winter began to appear like the bones of excavated prehistoric reptiles. The blinding whiteness of days was turning into dirty, muddy blandness.

And I love it.

I went for a walk for the first time since last fall, and was hit with the smell of melting snow, the change in the direction of the sun. The very air itself held promise.

I love mud. Mud is great. I worship mud.

It means a trip to Jack's Greenhouse is not far away. And raking and mowing. Tilling and planting the vegetable garden. Drinking a beer on the deck while grilling burgers.

Ahhhhhhhhhh.

I love mud.

Back to It

After a few weeks of pouting, I decided to return to the blogosphere.

Many of you asked where I went, and I gave an honest answer. Blogging was becoming a hindrance to my "real" writing. That is, the writing I invent and hope to someday make into a published novel that makes me a millionaire. Or at least solvent enough to replace our bathroom.

What i have come to realize, though, is that the blog was not the problem. My brain was. If I had a dime for every time my brain got in the way ...

Sounds like a Broadway lyric, doesn't it?

So I'm back, after reading a quote I pasted on my wall a long time ago so that I would be inspired never to give up, but apparently forgot I had posted there:

Talent is a long patience. It is a matter of considering long and attentively what you want to express, so that you may discover an aspect of it that has never before been reported.

That's part of it. It goes on to talk about how everything common should be rendered unique by the writer if he is to be successful. That "Even the slightest thing contains a little that is unknown."

To stop blogging is to deny myself an important creative outlet. It was not a hindrance after all, but a way to write when I couldn't seem to write. I forgot that the reason I love writing is because it lets me look for the unknown.

So I've returned. I don't need a parade or fanfare. I'm just grateful to those of you who came looking for me. It made me feel good. Like I was at least relevant to some degree. And isn't that why writers write in the first place?

All the World's Her Stage

I met Alyssa for the first time on a stage.

A fitting place if you know my step-daughter.

I don't mean it pejoratively when I describe Alyssa as being "naturally dramatic."

She is 15 in May and a standout freshman in the state's largest high school. Which is to say, of the roughly 300 other freshmen in the school, she towers both literally and figuratively.

I say these things knowing I risk a bit of incredulity since she is my step-daughter. But I'm not going to try to hide my bias. I never do when it comes to my children. I am unabashedly their greatest cheerleader. Well, second-greatest next to Corrine anyway.

The truth is, I have four teens, and even though legally with two of them I must employ the word "step", each of them is equally beautiful to me in his or her own way. And I'm proud of each for different reasons. Fallon for her imagination and natural beauty; Harrison for his intellect and quiet love; and Ty for his innocence and wonder.

Alyssa, about whom this post is written, I would say is lovely.

A word I like because it speaks of a different kind of beauty to me, one that includes a strength inside of a person.

Outwardly, she is gorgeous. There's no doubt about it. Statuesque, a fantastic smile, a wonderfully balanced figure for a girl not even a woman yet. I'm not ashamed or embarrassed to say that I think both of my daughters are attractive and appealing to look at. I'm their father. What am I supposed to say? That I think they're "cool"? "Awesome"? "Nice"?

How ... insincere.

Just as I would say that Harrison is turning into a handsome young man and always catches the eyes of the girls. And that Ty, who will be tall like his father (over six feet!) has that innocent, doe-eyed look that will snag some girl someday.

But I digress.

Alyssa.

I met her, as I started to say, on a stage. I tried out for a show called The Nerd. I was cast as the title character, believe it or not. And Alyssa and her mother were cast as mother-daughter characters.

I was taller than Alyssa then, but other than that she has not changed. She still commands the attention of those watching. She has a solid presence when she "treads the boards", that is the stage. She's got it.

She was on stage this past weekend in Augusta when her school's one-act performance went up against four other schools in a regional competition. This happens every year in Maine. High school drama clubs put on 30-minute one-act shows as part of a competition.

This is, for most of these kids - including Alyssa - their "team sport", their chance to share camaraderie with others, to bask together in the glow of achievement and enjoy something that transcends individuality. Some play baseball or basketball or soccer. They know what I mean.

Alyssa's club did not win, but their performance got high marks from the judges, as it should have. The club saw some fantastic performances that they can now take back with them and learn from. But more importantly, they did it together and they enjoyed themselves.

I have not seen Alyssa more in her element, happier, more comfortable than I did this weekend.

Which brings me to why I'm writing this today.

My wife is a tigress - like most mothers - when it comes to their children. She gets her back up when she perceives that her child is the victim of an injustice. Picked on, left out, laughed at, injured emotionally by another. She had to be restrained at a wrestling match Ty was competing in when the mother of his opponent shouted "Make his nose bleed!"

So, when others refer to Alyssa lightheartedly as being "loud and obnoxious" I have to restrain her because she knows deep down they are really being insulting.

I know for a fact Corrine's greatest fear is that her daughter will go through her life disliked, disregarded, disrespected because of Alyssa's strong, dramatic personality. We've spoken of it in private many times. Alyssa is head strong. She is opinionated. She is no shrinking violet. Add to that her academic standing: honors or high honors. Add to that her talents - singing and acting.

These things make a girl a target. More than a boy. Much more. An aggressive, outspoken, talented woman is a bitch. That's just the sad truth. And Corrine fears she is responsible for turning Alyssa into the girl who will sit alone at lunch for the rest of her life.

She raised Alyssa to make herself heard. She whispered into Alyssa's ear as a child "You can do that" rather than what most girls hear, which is "Are you sure you want to try that?"

The difference is subtle, but it's there. One says "There's nothing you cannot do," the other implies "I'm worried you'll fail, so try this instead..."

The latter is laced with good intentions, but it ultimately fails children - girls more than boys - in my opinion, by teaching them the path of least resistance, and therefore making them stools for others to perch themselves upon on their way to greatness.

Corrine fears she created a monster.

I don't.

She's raised a girl who will put forth her greatest effort, the withering opinions of others be damned.

I will be the first to admit that Alyssa can get on my last nerve sometimes. Sometimes her drama and cheeky contrariness seem aimed to achieve only one thing: to annoy the hell out of Corrine.

And it breaks Corrine down, forcing her to analyze her decision, way back when, to raise a girl to be an individual instead of a doormat.

"Do you think they hate her?" Corrine asks me.

The truth is, I think it's classic jealousy born of an age-old mindset that women are to be demure and accommodating. Even in the 21st century. Men are intimidated by this. And girls are strangely resentful. It leaves these types of girls outside the circle a lot.

So it was good for Corrine to see Alyssa among her friends in drama this weekend. Among kids who appreciate her loudness. Her obnoxiousness. Her talent for drama. Corrine got to see that her work as a mother was and is not in vain. That Alyssa will be just fine. And that if she ever is left alone at lunch, that it will truly be their loss, not her daughter's.

I can't wait to see what she does with her life as an adult.

Because Corrine raised a smart, strong, opinionated, talented, lovely girl.

Cool Stuff

So I got presents yesterday, for my 41st.

I'm a strong believer in giving me gifts. Always have been.

Here's what my loved-ones showered upon me. I am SO psyched.

In no particular order, of course:

Shelby Foote is considered to be one of America's greatest historians. He wrote a small series called The Civil War.

Actually, it's three thick volumes that starts with the South's departure from the Union and ends with the last battle of the war. Hundreds of thousands of words devoted to the war. WAY cool. I've wanted this for awhile.


So, I'm a collector of sorts. I collect books about writing. Inspirational, instructive, short, long, from Stephen King to writers I don't even think actually write fiction.

I love to read how others approach the craft.

Corrine bought me "The 3 a.m. Epiphany" a book of writing exercises.

Again, way cool. She knows me. She really really knows me.





I also got a Columbia jacket. Not a winter coat but a fleece zip-up, to replace the pullover that, to quote Corrine, "Is for shit."

Apparently I've worn the beloved pullover for too long.

I've always been a fan of fleece. And pullovers. And, well, anything that keeps me warm.

I will wear this year-round, don't you know. I mean, if you've been to my house, you know in July we warm the kitchen by leaving the refrigerator door open.

True story.




Civilization IV is a role-playing game for your PC. It's a thinking-man's game, which means I suck at it.

Actually, it's not like the games most kids are playing. You don't hunt down vampires or gargoyles or aliens. No laser guns or WWII scenarios.

Civ IV is the latest edition of a game in which you build your own civilization (America, Germany, France, etc.) from the ground up. From, like, 10,000 B.C. to today.

I like it because you can start and stop any time, and you really have to think about how to mature your civilization over time, taking into consideration food, finances, your military, etc.

Ok. I'm a geek.

Like you didn't know that already.

Okay, last but not least, Harrison and Fallon got me an iTunes card, and I spent the better part of the morning picking out songs I love.

I used to have thousands. On CDs. But that's a blog for another day.

Suffice it to say (I've never known what that means, but I love saying it) I made out like a bandit yesterday.

I have the best family, like, EVER.

:-)

*41

It's not easy to express
in 41 words, no less

About a girl I know
Who's life to whom I owe

41 years to this day
In a hospital bed she lay

Birthed a skinny tot
And named him Andrew Scott

* thanks for having me ...