Deep Breath

Okay, debate time. Who saw the film of the woman in the 1920's walking down the street... talking on a cell phone??

It gives me the creeps. Not one for the most obvious answers - I'm going with time traveling on this one. My sis has it all worked out - it was Charlie Chaplin's crazy mother talking to herself. What's your take? Leave a response and let me know. Meanwhile, enjoy my precious little toddler getting into the spirit of halloween.

You know I've been really hitting the books when it comes to herbs, supplements and such. I've taken it a step further and have been taking a good look at aromatherapy. I believe I'm hooked. I've got cleaning recipes, perfume recipes, massage oil recipes and room spray recipes, just to name a few. I already had a few essential oils on hand, but I've ordered quite a few more. I'll be making all of these recipes and trying them out, and let you know what I thought of them.

Here's one to get you started. I've been using vinegar and water for cleaning, but I found a recipe that steps up the disinfectant power and gives a nicer scent as well. It works really well as a cleaner.

Essential Cleaner:

2 cups vinegar
2 cups water
1/2 cup rubbing alcohol
25 drops lemon essential oil
20 drops rosemary essential oil
15 drops peppermint essential oil

or I tried tea tree and lavender instead of lemon and rosemary and they worked well too.

The only thing to keep in mind with this one is that if you are switching from vinegar water is no longer okay to let your toddler spray it multiple times into her mouth.

Enjoy! And let me know what you think about crazy time traveling woman. My sis is still eagerly trying to paint a scenario that rests safely in the non-paranormal. How boring is that?

OFF # 7 My Soul to Keep

Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. Keep me safe all through the night and wake me with the morning light. Amen.

The mother pressed a kiss against the soft cheek and turned out the light, leaving the room with one final glance at her drowsy toddler.

As the little one softly breathed in and out, in and out, succumbing to the need for rest, a restless stirring began in the deepest, darkest corner of the room.

Before long it emerged, ugly and dark, crouching along the floor toward the bed with nothing but sinister intent. Evil oozed from every depraved pore, leaving a sticky wake of destruction.

It reached the bed, already exulting in the pure malevolence of taking this innocent life before it reached it’s scaly hands to grab the child by the throat.

Light prevented it. The monster cried out in protest as the aura of illumination grabbed its hands and pulled it back with effortless control.

“You can’t stop me!” the monster wheezed with a triumphant laugh. “You aren’t any more powerful than I. You and me? We’re the same. You won’t stop me.”

The man made of light did not speak. Evil cursed and threw the holy warrior against the wall.
They wrestled for quite some time until suddenly there were footsteps in the hall. A mother peaked back into the room, her face unsettled. She stared around the dark space, seeing nothing, but sensing everything. Quickly she fell on her knees next to the bed, and began to pray.

Evil shrunk back, knowing its power was being sucked away with each effective word the woman spoke to the Creator. It sighed, knowing that now the angelic being of goodness was the least of its problems.

There He was again. Always showing up just when those disgusting little humans started talking that way. Never once did He neglect a sincere appeal from a member of His family. Never once had Evil gotten anywhere once his presence was in the room. In the house. In the neighborhood.

And so Evil slunk back, and shuffled away into nothingness.

The angel smiled, and went back to his post at the end of the child’s bed.

And He went to her. Knelt beside her. Comforted her. Gave her peace.

“It’s safe now. I’m here.”

With a smile, she kissed her little one once more and stood to leave.

“Thank you.” She whispered into the darkness.

And He smiled.

OFF #6 - The Fun House Mirror

Tall. Short. Wide. Thin.

She turned, her mind’s eye critically sweeping over the reflection. A wall of mirrors, and none to tell her what the true representation might be.

“That one looks most like you.” Someone pointed at a peculiar looking mirror of waves. She saw her distorted face peer skeptically at the glass.

“No, it’s this one. Come here!” The scoff came from the other side of the odd, dark room. A room of wrong dimensions, of optical illusions. Nothing was real.

And everything was real.

She closed her eyes, unwilling to stare another moment at the images that mocked her from every angle. She didn’t want to know she was that ugly. She didn’t want to see the plain features ridiculed by the proportions of this nether world.

“If only there were a truth.” She closed her eyes tightly, swallowing back the lump of hopeless grief in her throat.

“There is.”

She didn’t dare open her eyes, because the masculine voice was beauty in audible form. The tone he carried was perfection, and now the hand on her shoulder was love defined by touch.

“Open your eyes.”

She shook her head stubbornly, capturing her torso with her arms in a gesture of refusal. Even as she did, she mourned the loss she would experience when she could no longer feel his essence close to her.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He answered her silent lament. “And I want you to open your eyes and look at the truth.”

She felt hot tears. “No! I’ve seen it! It’s ugly! It’s not worth looking at! Why should I trust you when I’ve seen the truth for myself?”

“You haven’t.” There was a smile in his words. She wanted to see that smile. More than anything she’d ever wanted. But she couldn’t.

“You haven’t seen the truth. And you should trust me because I love you. As you are. As you look in the mirror I will show you.”

It took several moments for his words to reach her heart and melt her unwillingness. But eventually she allowed her eyes to open slightly. She could see a mirror. And a woman in a beautiful white dress. A beautiful woman.

But it wasn’t the woman that made her open her eyes wide in wonder. Not even when she became orientated enough to realize that the woman was none but herself.

She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. She never wanted to, ever again.

Here was truth.

OFF #5 - A Destiny No Coincidence

The forest loomed dark on the horizon that was quickly relenting to the insistence of night.

Famished and nearly spent, the two skidded to a halt and stared at the eerie shadows of trees reaching gnarled fingers toward their prey.

“I don’t want to go in there.” Julienne said, falling to the ground and pulling her arm away from his clutch. Her hands closed over her throat as if the shadow branches were grasping for her.

“I don’t, either.” Nicholas sighed, out of breath, and kneeled beside her. “But we have no choice. He’s right behind us. If we don’t go in there we have no other way of escape.”

“I’m so tired of running!” Julienne cried. She stood and paced, her arms wrapped around her dress. A beautiful crimson ballgown. Highly inefficient in the matter of keeping one warm. Nicholas also stood and put his arms around her.

“You’re cold.”

She scoffed. “Of course I’m cold. I’m also starving and I need to relieve myself. There never seems to be time for such things. The limits of this… this… succession of events we’re made to engage in… to be – It’s too hard! I can’t do it!”

“You must do it.”

They both whirled around at the sound of his voice. He stood, not a stone’s throw away, with his hands behind his back and a serene smile on his face.

Nicholas tried to hold her back, but Julienne had experienced the worst day of her life and was not to be trifled with. He stepped back in fear and respect of the well dressed gentleman standing confidently with his hands hidden behind his back.

“Why must we do it? Why must we listen to you at all? How is it that you came to be the god of this world? Already today I have watched my entire family burn to death in the untimely and orchestrated fire of our family’s estate. I lost my fiancé to a duel that he neither started nor cared to finish. Somehow this Nicholas fellow saved me from certain doom when a runaway horse and cart became separated on the bridge above where I was standing.”

She dared to take a step closer, though the man didn’t flinch, and his smile remained fixed upon his lips.

“Your horse and cart, was it not?”

“It’s all mine, my dear. Just as you are. You will never be the creator of your own destiny, because I’m the one that created you. So you will mourn your family, pick of the pieces of your heart, and gladly allow Nicholas here to put them back together. I can promise you that in the end, you will live happily ever after.”

She seethed at him as he picked a leaf from her hair. “And how can you possibly promise that?”

He smiled. “Because, my dear heart, I am the writer.”

OFF #4 Flash Nonfiction from the Mind of a Writer

She set her fingers to the keyboard. From the back of her brain only recently freed from the confines of pregnancy hormones came scenes of highest adventure, deepest mystery, purest romance…

Screaming baby.

She ran up the stairs, suddenly reminded of the fact that it had been exactly 10 days since she had last exercised. Formally.

Back to the table. Deep breath. Fingers poised on the keyboard. She checked. Left on ASDF. Right on JKL:. Thumbs ready for action on the space bar.

This took her back to high school typing class. Fun times. And for once a subject had really come in handy on a regular basis for her entire adult life. Go figure.

Toddler crying.

Pause. Will she cry again? Will Husband tend to her? She hears his footsteps. He goes into the kitchen instead.

She checks the clock. 10:32 p.m. There’s still time. She can write her fiction and still have it posted by midnight.

Husband goes silent. What is he doing in the kitchen? He better not be making a mess. I just got it cleaned up.

FOCUS!

Rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat… the dog on the chair next to her shakes and barks in his sleep as he chases some imaginary cat.

Time for the story. Where shall I go? Ancient Greece? The Byzantine Empire? Victorian England? Or perhaps deep into the heart of mid-to-late nineteenth century Texas?

What was it about Westerns? It seemed like no matter who you were and no matter what skill level you possessed as a writer, if you wrote a book that was either a Western or an Amish tale, there was some rule that meant you were to be automatically published.

So why had she been told time and time again in her studies as a writer and at various workshops and conferences that you shouldn’t write westerns or Amish books because they’d never get published?

It was a conspiracy.

Enough! Time to write!

Rats. Twenty words over. Twenty-four words over. Time to quit.

OFF #3 - The Moment After Her Death

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Her fingernail drumming on the side of the earthen wall sounded like the rain that fell outside the window.

The barred window.

The heavy chains of iron that encased her wrists, now swollen and irritated by the constant rubbing of the metal against her sensitive skin, served as a reminder. A reminder that life would never be the same. A reminder that she had lost everything. Her children were the hardest to lose. To know that she would never lay eyes on their precious faces again felt like a knife through her heart.

When the flames leaped up around her tomorrow morning, consuming her flesh until her spirit could no longer reside within it, she knew it would hurt less than losing her babies had wounded her.

She tried to imagine what death might be like. She had heard her entire life that death was punishment for sin. So certainly it could not be pleasant. Even if she had not committed the crimes she was dying for, she had sinned in other ways. As hard as she had always tried to be good, there were those illusive thoughts and actions that were constantly besting her in her struggle to be perfect.

She could not fathom how she had ended up in this dank cell spending her final night awake and alone. One minute she had resisted the advances of a man not her husband, and the next moment she was being dragged before the council and accused of witchcraft. The townspeople, already out of their minds, controlled by the obsession with eradicating the evil, had been easily convinced of her guilt.

No matter that there was no proof. No matter that her husband had piteously pleaded for her life. No matter that she had three small children she was responsible to care for.

She would die. For an offense she would not have thought of committing on her worst day.

And she did not know where the moment after her death might find her.

OFF with you.

I know, I know, I know, I know, I know.

I know.

I said I would write every day. It's been a few more than that.

I'M SORRY.

I had a daughter who was sick. I was sick. Laundry and dishes and housework piled up. My son decided that since he is now cutting teeth he is excused from being a happy, content baby who sleeps all night.

Life got hard. But I've been thinking about all the blog posts I didn't write. I suppose that's something.

I have a really good post about essential oil uses that will be forthcoming. It's my new favorite hobby. But before that I've decided to join the movement called "October Flash Fiction," orchestrated by fellow blogger Jared in order to get us all writing and reading. I know this is a little unbelievable, but this idea was pretty much exactly what I was thinking about a few posts ago when I said I had a dare for you, then I decided not to try it. Well, with the strength of my fellow bloggers, I invite you to join the craze, a little late like me.

I had strep.

So, if you have a blog and would like to try your hand at flash fiction, here are the details. Add your address as a comment on Jared's blog and finish out the week with us. If you don't have a blog or flash fiction (simply just fiction that is under 300 words) isn't appropriate for your blog, you can add it to mine. Just let me know and I'll post it as long as it is reasonably non-evil.

Here's the info: http://thefallingaction.blogspot.com/

Again I apologize that I have not figured out how to make my links clickable. Someday I will figure that out.

So I look forward to hearing from you. Don't be afraid. Just write. With 300 words, you don't have to have a plot or a setting or even much of a character. Just write something down.

Only five days to go.

Garden Improvement Project

I may have spent $30 and given a whole day of my life away to feed the squirrels.

It wouldn't be the first time.

I've never been one to attempt to hide the fact that I do not have much of a green thumb. Our neighbors on all sides have beautiful lawns and shrubbery and flowerbeds. Our next door neighbors have a vegetable garden that should be featured on HGTV. He likes to come over and watch me working in my pitiful little garden. And tell me what I'm doing wrong. Maybe one of these days I'll take his advice and things will turn around for me.

I have officially taken the standpoint that it is because all of these said people are retired and have no children living at home. They have the time necessary to make a yard look nice. I have no time, and four children to make it look even worse than it already does.

But every spring I look around at all the beautiful little crocuses peeking up through the dirt and the tulips and daffodils and I get really, really jealous. I want pretty flowers in my yard in the spring too. So I can try in vain to protect them from toddlers and remote-controlled vehicles and such. Because that sounds like so much fun!

Anyway, so I went to Lowe's and made my selections. I came home with around 60-80 bulbs to hide away beneath the soil until spring rolls around. I tried to forget what happened every other time I so lovingly placed these precious little seeds of life into the ground with high hopes for winter's end.

Those stupid squirrels. Rats. I hate them. I hate them with such a vengeance that I don't mind using the word I constantly tell my children not to say. (I think we can see why they constantly say it...)

They dig up my flowers, eat the bulbs as if it were a rat buffet, and then go on their merry little annoying way.

I did my homework, and I had a couple weapons in my arsenal this time. I'm hoping maybe one of them will convince the little varmints to keep their creepy little paws off. I doused all my bulbs in baking soda, because apparently this inhibits the squirrels ability to smell them. Then I put a thick layer of cayenne pepper over the top. Surely that will deter them. I wouldn't want to dig in dirt covered in cayenne pepper.

Hopefully they won't either.

It's ten and my children are quiet. The house is clean. I have nothing to do for the rest of my wakefulness tonight but write. So I'm signing off to go work on my book.

Goodnight!

Look at Me Writing My Novel

I was writing my novel. Until I realized I had no idea what a "drill press operator" at a train station in 1940 would have done and so I had to head online to do a yahoo search. And what catches my eye on the news but this.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20101007/ap_on_re/us_rel_southern_baptists_yoga

I had a mixed reaction when I read this article. My first was probably a reverting to my childhood in Christian school where I continually heard about all the sins I was unknowingly offending God over that He was going to remember and hold against me. The second thought was more welcome. A God who would become like me and die for me and conquer death on top of it JUST SO he could be my Savior and friend - does not care if I wear yoga pants and breathe deeply. In fact, in those rare, quiet moments of meditation it's Jesus that comes to mind, so I'm pretty sure He's cool with it.

If you honestly can't do yoga without worshipping idols or chanting Buddha's name - well then maybe you should stay away from it. I've done yoga or yoga-inspired exercise before, and never once was I ever encouraged to renounce Christ and follow Satan.

Okay. I'm going back to writing my story now. Feel free to comment, whether your response is "He's right - we all must repent of our yoga-practicing!" or "Good grief, do you think you're overreacting to this a little bit, Blogger?" or "Amen, sister, preach it!"

I prefer the last one, just so you know.

I think there's going to be quite a few saints in glory looking down over this world after they've made their exit scratching their heads and marveling that Christianity has actually gone on fine without them. If Jesus doesn't return first, that is.

And no discussing what I meant by "looking down over this world" either.

Pumping it Up

I had a revolutionary idea this week. Perhaps you might think it was just an excuse to escape exercise but I really think it worked out well.

I took my recent idea for an internet "fast" and applied it to exercise. I didn't exercise all last week. And you would not believe the amount of "when I get the time" jobs I was able to complete. Well, maybe you would believe it. But still. I was astounded.

You are asking me to justify abstaining from exercise as a healthy and acceptable choice? For one thing, it gave me a much needed break from something I feel compelled to do every day but I really don't enjoy very much. I was getting to the point where it was just overwhelming and that is what led to this, but now that I've had a few days reprieve, I feel like I can start doing it again.

I'm thinking of doing this every 7th week. If you think that's weird feel free to tell me so. But I'm pretty sure I'll do it anyway.

Also - a quick herb update. I have been reading - I'm afraid I'm going to have to take back all the nasty things I suggested about nonfiction - and I'm finding that I really enjoy learning about herbal remedies. And I don't want to go into details out of respect for the person that required it but there was a certain herbal remedy that pretty much changed life in our house. Wonderfully effective. No side effects.

I've also done some reading about homeopathy. (Before this I thought that homeopathy was just a general term for anything not considered part of modern medicine.) Actually, homeopathy is a very specific idea that everything can be cured by plants or other natural substances that cause the same symptoms as the disease when they are given to healthy people. I like the philosophy, and I think it could have some value. What concerns me is that it seems like you must be "all in." This may just be my perspective as someone who is just learning the basics, because it is true that the book I was reading said over and over again that these remedies may be used alongside other medicines or procedures and only strengthen the value of other methods. I buy that. But I don't know if I buy that every person can be lumped into the few categories that they posed. I could see how I might fit into 2 or 3 of them.

All this to say is that I think so far I'm finding myself to be very interested in naturopathy but not so much homeopathy. If you can find just cause for me to revisit this conclusion I invite your (courteous) replies.