Dinner Doggies

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week 7 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts.

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I didn't have the best childhood. It wasn't easy by any means. There were a lot of drugs, a lot of alcohol, a lot of abuse. We were fairly poor, always struggling, and I had so much anger for so long, so much resentment, that I didn't get to have a "normal" childhood. I didn't get innocence and sleepovers and the warmth of those memories. I couldn't even remember a lot of things beyond a few fuzzy and painful events I'd rather not have retained to be honest. There are entire years that seem missing.

Lots of people have decided for me that those memories are repressed and that I need repressed memory therapy--that 80s craze that took the U.S. by storm right alongside Satanic Panic--but all that has been debunked multiple times over. The truth of the matter is that my brain was in flight or fight mode so often, things often didn't stick. When those parts of your brain are activated to help you process a situation and make quick decisions, memory suffers. Self preservation processes take precedence over making it a memory.

Unless I was actually smiling and enjoying myself away from my parents, I don't remember much, and I'm okay with that. I don't have to remember to be whole. I don't need those memories to work through my shit. I've done so without them. And--MOSTLY--gotten over the resentment.

But boy do I remember the things that got me through. Toys, a few shows, movies, games...anything that helped keep me grounded or let me soar.

One of my best escapes was books because we were in such a rural area that cable was never an option, and we only had a super small collection of movies (most that we did watch were rented). I read a book a day at least more often than not...sometimes while hiding out in my closet or outside under a tree picking ants off my socks. I read to leave home, to be free, to live a better, easier, funnier, whackier, warmer life built by someone else's words in my own imagination. Or sometimes my own words. I started writing my own stories in grade school-- ghost stories scarier than my own life obviously with some cuddly cute cats thrown in the mix. I often went for the dark side. If it was weird or scary, I wanted to read it. I started Dean Koontz (who I never much liked) and Stephen King by 6th grade. There were entire worlds of spooky shit built in my head because it gave me something to be afraid of that I had chosen. It wasn't a ranting and raving high person who was supposed to love me and take care of me making my heart race in fear; it was a make-believe monster not a real one. I had control over it. I could put the book down. I could turn the lights on or hide under the covers or fling the book across the room. I wasn't beholden to that fear the way I had to be at home. The devil you know...

None of those make for good dinner guests though. Stephen King characters? Nah. I mean, I guess some people have a Pennywise fetish since Bill Skarsgard played IT, but that ain't me. We ain't having that man over for dinner and hoping things get freaky...well. freakier.  I have my likes but uh...we're just gonna move on.

One of my favorite set of memories is playing "airplane" with my little brother. We'd drag out these cheap little sleeping bags we had into the middle of his bedroom floor, open them completely, and spread them out. We'd have "seats" set up like they were on the aisles of the plane, and and put some of our toys in to fill up the plane. Then one of us would fly and one would be on the plane ride. We'd go anywhere in the world we wanted certainly away from home and the pain we had there. And our in-flight movie would always be Scooby Doo Meets the Boo Brothers.

By no means was this particular movie relegated to just fake flights. We had it on VHS and literally wore it out. There was one scene in particular where Scooby fell out of Shaggy's jeep (it was just Shaggy, Scooby, and Scrappy in this one not the whole gang and mystery machine) into a puddle and jumps up chewing his nails and freaking out (and makes a noise very much like my Dane now makes when he gets a scare) and we'd howl in giggles until we hurt and rewind it to do it again. It was just our thing. And to be honest, it's still something I run to when I need a pick me up, when I'm really sick, or when I need to decompress. It's been a favorite for nearly all my life.

My great Dane and Scooby would eat and drool and be very much like Scooby-Dum, Scooby's cousin, and Scooby when they had a reunion--two goofballs being absolutely clumsy and full of love. And okay maybe a little bit dumb too but I do have to say great danes are really smart dogs despite how often they trip over their own feet and look like they're completely clueless. Scrappy would probably join in the fun but try to be the Boss like it always is with smaller dogs and giant ones. The new, tiny dog we have now that I wrote about last month is absolutely the Boss of this house.

But since me and Shaggy go way back, I imagine we'd get a little high (y'all know Shaggy be smoking weed), snack, and listen to some of my vinyl records while he was super awkward. I say that like I wouldn't be. I'm always super awkward.

Sounds like a perfect evening. And very possible we wouldn't even have to have a monster-free night given my company. There's always some rich guy in a Creeper mask waiting to steal a fortune right?

Oh how much that applies.

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Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts.  Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:

Baking In A Tornado                  https://www.bakinginatornado.com/2020/03/remember-when-secret-subject-swap.html

Spatulas on Parade                    https://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com

Wandering Web Designer             https://wanderingwebdesigner.com/blog

Part-time Working Hockey Mom    https://thethreegerbers.blogspot.com/2020/03/secret-subject-swap-ireland.html

A ‘lil HooHaa                             https://hoohaa.com/?p=14739

Southern Belle Charm                     https://www.southernbellecharm.com

Wizardry and Passion

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

My words are: labor, mercy, why, Harry Potter, captain, and crunch. They were submitted by: http://notthatsarahmichelle.blogspot.com

This might be a bit rambly, but I did a loose format letting the words take me wherever. 

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For my entire existence, I’ve been into books. My mom has told me stories about being able to read

me books from memory because I would request certain ones over and over. Even now, when I see the cover of Wings on Things by Marc Brown (my favorite back then), I smile and feel a few warm fuzzies and can’t help wanting to slowly turn the pages even though I’m probably 30 years above the suggested reading level. Books, for me, were life. There was nothing better than being the captain of my own adventure through someone else’s vessel (me being the reader and the author being the owner of the vessel). It was the only way I made it through my childhood. That escape—the ability to live a life that wasn’t mine even for a short time while I devoured a novel—quite literally kept me sane.

I still read with the same fervor now as an almost 35 year old, but it isn’t exactly the same need as I had when I was young. As an adult, my life isn’t quite so tragic or so hectic. I mean adulting is an exercise of frustration and futility for the most point, and the escape into someone else’s world helps, but it’s not as necessary now as it used to be. I can go a whole week without reading anything much at all besides the occasional blog or article and not think about it, but that would have been torture for little-me.

Reading hasn’t been the same for my son which, admittedly, was a bit of a disappointment for me for awhile. I wanted him to love reading as much as I did when I was his age, and I really kind of pushed it on him from the time he started being able to read. It took some reflecting to realize he didn’t need it like I did, and when he does need an escape he is just as likely to pick up a video game as he is a book. And that’s okay. Along the way, though, when I backed off, he started finding things he really loved to read (which tickled me to no end), and once I started homeschooling him, we picked out books we could read simultaneously to discuss and reflect on.

That’s how we ended up reading the Harry Potter series last summer. I hadn’t ever gotten into it when I was younger. By the time the books came out, I was already 16 and too old for that sort of thing because of my snobbish teenage apathetic angst (yes I realize the oxymoron there). The books were a brand new world for both of us to explore while crunching through chapters and laboring on through the tears. I wasn’t at all prepared for the amount of tears I would shed nor for the profound effect that series would have on me. I read all 7 books in less than 3 weeks, but I’m still sitting here over a year later near tears and screaming “WHYYYYY????” whenever I think about Sirius. I fell a little in love with that character partially because I like troubled, dark, and handsome dudes but also because he reminded me a little of someone I used to love so profoundly that HIS death still haunts me after 14 years. Every death in that series, honestly, hit me no holds barred. No mercy was spared. I seriously cried through half the last book sitting in the floor of my bedroom being careful not to wake anyone in the house even the dogs knowing I would never be the same.

And I’m not.

I don’t know that it would have affected me so deeply in my youth without the same sort of understanding of the world that I have now (however limited it is). It certainly didn’t affect Evan the same way. He cried. On some level, I know he related to a few of the characters, but I also hope that he reads the series again in his teens and with his own children again in the future after he’s had time to experience the ups and downs that life continuously offers. And maybe just maybe, he’ll have to pick himself up off the floor at 8 a.m. and dry his face and know that part of him would always be a little different for having gone back to it. I also hope he calls me regardless of knowing that 8 a.m. is a time I wish didn’t exist so we can talk about all the things he missed when he was younger.

I love when art, in whatever form, leaves you changed the way Harry Potter did for me even as a 30-something who had previously baulked at the idea of a YA novel about wizards. But I’ve also grown to appreciate the fact that I don’t have to be reading to experience that. I used to be one of those people who didn’t watch television—a snob. And judged people for not reading. I shared memes about it, made statuses about it on social media, and proudly discussed what book I had just finished. After shows like Transparent, One Mississippi, Parks and Rec, Stranger Things, Grace and Frankie, and Love made me laugh and cry and get so incredibly immersed in a digital world, I started to see the art for what it was and not as automatically tainted based on what format it was in. The same is true for video games. The Witcher 3, Tell Tale’s Walking Dead, The Last of Us…those games are masters of human experience in a vivid world that may be fictional but still utterly relatable. Writing might be my preferred art—both for consumption and crafting—but it surely isn’t the be all, end all I’ve always made it out to be simply because it was the only anchor I ever knew. 

Whatever you love, find something that makes you feel, that makes you see a new perspective, that leaves you shaken to your core and trying to put back the pieces of everything you thought you knew. Watch it, play it, read it, write it, act in it, who the fuck cares…just do it. Life’s too short to live without passion, too fleeting to live without the sucker punch of a quote that robs all the air from your lungs because someone, somewhere gets you exactly the way you are.

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Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:

Baking In A Tornado http://www.bakinginatornado.com/2016/09/use-your-words-because-hope-rules.html

Southern Belle Charm http://www.southernbellecharm.com

Not That Sarah Michelle http://notthatsarahmichelle.blogspot.com

Spatulas on Parade http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/

The Bergham Chronicles http://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com

The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver http://www.thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/blog.html

Dinosaur Superhero Mommy http://dinoheromommy.com/

On the Border http://dlt-lifeontheranch.blogspot.com/2016/09/baby-painting.html

Confessions of a part time working mom http://thethreegerbers.blogspot.com/2016/09/use-your-words-day-in-ancient-rome.html

Never Ever Give Up Hope http://batteredhope.blogspot.com

Page After Page

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week 13 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts.

My “Secret Subject” is:

If you ever had an imaginary friend, tell us about them. If not, make one up right now and tell us what they'd be like.

It was submitted by: http://www.angrivatedmom.wordpress.com/

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I never had an imaginary friend in the truest sense though having a Drop Dead Fred in my life wouldn’t have been all that bad all things considered. Childhood wasn’t exactly an easy time, and I found myself living in books, escaping the world I lived in with its darkness and chaos and taking up residence in the creative constructs of others rebuilt in my own mind with any tweaks I saw fit.

The characters from Louis Sachar’s Wayside School series were regular guests along with the kitties from Snot Stew (Bill Wallace). Ramona Quimby made me want to be a little sassier with all the times she made me laugh. Amelia Bedelia first made me wonder what it might be like to have a maid working for me that made me think about my words more carefully, but I stopped having to wonder so much when I had silly conversations with her in my own world spun so carefully out of pieces of others’ imaginations.

I had adventures with Milo from The Phantom Tollbooth wondering through the Doldrums because that’s a place I was most familiar with and I wanted someone to be there with me. I never cared much for spiders in real life, but Charlotte’s Web ensured I had an immortal one that crawled onto my shoulder whenever I needed a friend of the most understanding variety.

I made up mysteries to solve with Nancy Drew and turned my parents shed into a boxcar with The Boxcar Children and shrunk myself to just a couple inches tall to hang out with The Borrowers.

The older I got the fewer real friends I had and the more I lived in books, in the imaginary worlds I constructed and demolished and changed. The more alone I felt the darker my tastes became. I picked up Dean Koontz (who I never really liked) and Stephen King. Characters like the little kid from Firestarter and Carrie started showing up which sounds morbid, and it absolutely is. But, these were dark times in my life. An abusive addict of a parent, my parents divorcing, death threats from my dad against my mom, mom’s new boyfriend beating the absolute shit out of my dad, sexual assault… I mean, it’s a bit more than a 13/14 year old can handle. Not to mention I started drinking and smoking pot which, at that age, probably didn’t help the depths of my gloom.

Even as an adult, I can’t give up on those characters. Some have remained through time, and I have added more with every character I connected with in a major way. Rob Gordon from High Fidelity was, for the better part of 2 decades, the love of my life, though more and more these days I see glimpses of him when I look in the mirror more than anything. The narrating voices of Chuck Palahnuik, Minty Fresh from one of Christopher Moore’s series, so many of Tom Robbins’ characters, Hunter Thompson’s inner voice (sans his love for guns and every illicit substance known to man) all influence who I am the same way an intimate friendship changes you in some way.

In no way do the books I read really replace human intimacy, to real connection, like any imaginary friendship would be, but I honestly wouldn’t be the woman I am today without those friends and those loves.

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And that, my friends, is my swap. Hope you will check out the rest of the submissions. 

Baking In A Tornado http://www.bakinginatornado.com/2016/05/secret-subject-swap-i-take-village.html
Southern Belle Charm http://www.southernbellecharm.com

Not That Sarah Michelle http://notthatsarahmichelle.blogspot.com

Spatulas on Parade http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com

The Bergham Chronicles http://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com/

The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver http://www.thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/

Dinosaur Superhero Mommy http://dinoheromommy.com/2016/05/06/read-if-you-dare/

My Brain on Kids http://mybrainonkids.net

The Lieber Family Blog http://thelieberfamily.com

Never Ever Give Up Hope http://batteredhope.blogspot.com

Climaxed http://climaxedtheblog.blogspot.com

Confessions of a part time working mom http://thethreegerbers.blogspot.com/2016/04/april-secret-subject-swap-exchange.html

The Angrivated Mom http://www.angrivatedmom.wordpress.com/

No Time for the Classics

There’s some mild to insanely heated debate (depending on where you’re looking) about what makes a novel a classic. Some contend that quality of writing is a major factor. The language should be forceful, expressive, and colorful. There’s also the issue of morality. Classics often come with a lesson, an overarching theme intended to teach readers, guide them. To Kill a Mockingbird, for example, discusses the existence of good and evil and how it coincides within one person rather than people being either purely good or purely evil. Then there’s the idea of universality—for the novel, the story, and the characters to be relatable across time periods. These stories are timeless. Like pencil skirts with sensible hemlines. With universality also comes truthfulness. No matter the fantastical nature of the story involved, like with Frankenstein, the storyline and ending seem inevitable--believable for those characters and those situations. Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy belong together and it seems all too obvious that they’ll end in love as Pride and Prejudice goes on.

With that status of “classic,” there comes a pressure for a regular, avid reader to digest these novels, to take them down like a pint of Ben and Jerry’s after a bad date and relish them at least twice as much.

Ben and Jerry’s Americone Dream. Vanilla ice cream. Fudge covered waffle cone bits. Caramel

swirls.

CARAMEL SWIRLS.

FUDGE-COVERED. WAFFLE CONE. BITS.

So, you know, most of the classics that I’m supposed to be enjoying so much, avid reader that I am, don’t even compare to fudge covered waffle pieces, man.

I can’t help it. I tried. I tried to read War and Peace. I’ve tried to get through Dickens’ works, and every time I ever had to read Death of a Salesman for a class report, I had to fake it. For fuck’s sake, I have nearly lost my will to live just reading the fucking thing which is a tad ironic given the ending of that tale. I did enjoy To Kill a Mockingbird and at least most of Frankenstein. Pride and Prejudice was decent, but when I read it, I just didn’t see what the big fuss was about. Honestly, you couldn’t pay me to read it again.

Tom Robbins, Christopher Moore, Cormac McCarthy, Chuck P., Chuck K., King, Hunter Thompson… Those are my classics. I return to those authors and those books time and time and time again. I devour them, relate, underline passages and write in margins and dog-ear pages going back again and again to quote them in letters or conversations. The political statements and commentary on humanity is so good in those novels, modern as they are. I used to kind of beat myself up about not having the taste that I “should”—not reading things that everyone else says is so fucking necessary for everyone who really loves books. I worried that I “should” be more cultured. That I “should” experience those novels and force myself to finish them because of the classic status they have. But,what’s a “should” anyway? Why should I force myself to get through things I absolutely don’t enjoy.

Life’s too short, man…as cliché as that sounds.

Life’s just too short not to do what you enjoy.

As soon as I’m done confessing, I’m going to finish Revival. It’s King’s latest novel. Then I’m reading the next installment (the SECOND book) of the Veronica Mars series which picked up where the Kickstarter funded movie left off.

And I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks of that.

This has been another Sunday Confession with More Than Cheese and Beer. Go on over to her blog to check out all the other link ups and maybe check the Facebook page for anonymous confessions. Let me know in the comments how much I suck for not liking the things I "should." ha. Thanks again for reading. 

Top 5

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week, 14 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts. Links to everyone's blog will be included at the end. 

My Secret Subject prompt is: What are your 5 dream jobs, if you could get any job you wanted? It was submitted by: http://dinoheromommy.com

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One of my favorite novels (and films) is High Fidelity. There’s something about the bitter mediocrity of a record store owner that really makes a girl’s heart swell with desire. Or something like that. Maybe it’s just Rob Gordon’s vulnerability, his weirdness, his obsession with lists and music that really hits the spot for me. And maybe, just maybe, I’ve spent entirely too much time fixating on a figment of someone else’s imagination to the point no real man will ever hold up to his image.

The story is transformative. Rob Gordon starts out completely unhappy with himself--a miserable shell of a man with no real dreams, no goals, no mobility, and a lot of vices and issues. He has lost his live-in girlfriend through most of the film and takes a journey through his history of break-ups. It’s not really about the break-ups though. It’s about himself and not really knowing who he is. Taking that journey teaches him a lot about who he is and who he wants to be. There’s a moment, whether you’ve seen it or read it, where his ex, Laura, is getting some things from their flat and finds a list he’s made of dream jobs. Here’s the scene:

Laura: “Top 5 dream jobs.”

Rob: “Hey—that's private!”

Laura: “Number 1: Journalist for Rolling Stone magazine, 1976 to 1979. Get to meet The Clash, Chrissy Hines, Sex Pistols, David Byrne. Get tons of free records. Number 2: Producer at Atlantic Records, 1964 to 1971. Get to meet Aretha, Wilson Pickett, Solomon Birk. More free records and a shitload of money. Number 3: Any kind of musician.”

Rob: “Besides classical or rap.”

Laura: “Settle for being one of the Memphis Horns or something. Not asking to be Jagger or Hendrix or Otis Redding. Number 4: Film director.”

Rob: “Any kind except German or silent.”

Laura: “And Number 5 ... we have architect.”

Rob: “Yeah.”

Laura: “Seven years' training.”

Rob: “I'm not sure I even want to be an architect.”

Laura: “So you got a list here of five things you'd do if qualification and time and history and salary were no object ... one of them you don't really want to do anyway.”

Rob: “Well, I did put it at Number 5.”

Laura: “Wouldn't you rather own your own record store than be an architect?”

Rob: “Yeah.”

Laura: “And you wouldn't want to be a 16th-century explorer or the king of France or—”

Rob: “God, no.”

Laura: “All right, there you go then. Dream job Number 5: record store owner.”


This is one of the biggest moments of Rob’s transformation. In this list, he’s chosen some arbitrary career that really means nothing to him and with one little question Laura makes him realize that perhaps he’s doing what he wants in life, that maybe things aren’t as bad as he makes out in his own mind. You can see it on Cusack’s face in the film, but in the novel, there’s just this sense that this moment is a breakthrough for him. His change throughout the film/novel hinges on this conversation.

I’m not at that point in my life where I needed to answer this question and come to some sudden revelation about what I’m doing with my life. I’m doing exactly what I want to do right now, this year. Maybe that will change, but I still find the question fascinating in the way Rob answered it… history, education, and time traveling constraints be damned. Given those conditions, here are my answers in no particular order…

1. Novelist, present day. I think right now is a fantastic time to write. We’re living in the most socially forward time in our history. Sure we have a long way to go, but we’ve also come pretty far since this country began, so I think it would be awesome to write now rather than any other time in history. I could write about much more as a woman without getting completely overlooked, but there’s also still room to create controversy. It’s the perfect time for it.

2. Music Journalist, mid-60s through early 70s (at least), maybe Rolling Stone but the mag doesn’t matter as much as the job. These years were instrumental in the evolution of music. Rock changed in the 60s to something grungier and darker. Punk and hip hop began as answers to the culture of the times. There’s no other time period so important to the foundation of various music styles. Plus, so many of the artists I love were active during this period. This was the time of Woodstock, for fuck’s sake. Janis, Jimi, The Allman Brothers, The Clash, Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, The Ramones were together in ’74…

3. Bass player, c. 1993, all girl grunge band. Forever, there will always be a part of me blanketed in flannel wishing she could be a rock star. The 90s were a weird time for me, but music got me through. STP, Nirvana, Alice in Chains, Deftones… I still kind of want to be in a NOFX cover band with all women called NO-DX (no dicks). It’s not grunge, but it would still work.

4. Used bookstore owner (or record store or geek paradise or coffee shop). I love books. I don’t know if I would have made it through my childhood without being able to escape in books. Used books just have a certain appeal (though I love the smell of new ones better), and e-readers are the devil. I also can’t live without coffee. I’m pretty sure that my blood is at least 64.258% coffee. And of course I love my records. Any of these would be great. I also love film, video games, and some role playing type games/card games so a geek haven would also work. Either way, I would own a business surrounding something I love which would make my job pretty much heaven.

5. Screenwriter/director, 1980s. I hate 80s music, but I’m addicted to the movies. John Hughes, Molly Ringwald, Weird Science, Ghostbusters, National Lampoon’s Vacation, Beetlejuice, Pee Wee’s Big Adventure… The 80s might not have been as advanced as now technologically but what some great fucking scripts, man. The fact that so many movies are being remade from that era in film is evidence enough of their greatness. I want to be in on that shit!

There’s a reason obviously that I became so fixated on Rob Gordon which may be apparent from similarities in our lists. Ever seen that movie Practical Magic with Sandra Bullock where they conjure up basically the perfect man thinking that the combination was so impossible he couldn't exist? Yeah, it’s kind of like Nick Hornby picked a man that embodies so many things I would want in a partner straight from my brain, an impossible combination, and threw it into a novel. It’s funny how a book can make you feel like you know someone intimately or that you’re someone else entirely or live in another, completely different world. Books are unique that way. A book made me feel like I was in love with someone that doesn’t really exist outside of an author’s imagination. I kind of dig the powerful magic in that. And perhaps the magic in an unconditional dream jobs list just goes along with that perfectly.

Thanks for tuning in. Here are the links to the other blog posts. Be sure to check them out! 

http://www.BakingInATornado.com                          Baking In A Tornado

http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/                          Spatulas on Parade

http://stacysewsandschools.blogspot.com/                        Stacy Sews and Schools

http://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com                      The Bergham’s Life Chronicles

http://dinoheromommy.com/                            Dinosaur Superhero Mommy

http://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch/               Confessions of a part-time working mom

http://www.JuiceboxConfession.com                    Juicebox Confession

http://www.someoneelsesgenius.com                  Someone Else’s Genius

http://themomisodes.com                                          The Momisodes

http://climaxedtheblog.blogspot.com                                 Climaxed

http://sparklyjenn.blogspot.com/                           Sparkly Poetic Weirdo

http://www.clutteredgenius.com                                Cluttered Genius

http://www.southernbellecharm.com                  Southern Belle Charm

http://www.eviljoyspeaks.wordpress.com               Evil Joy Speaks