Saturday, October 12, 2019

That time I locked Trey out at 2:00 in the morning

I've been writing nonstop for grad school. This weekend I'm totally caught up and relaxing and I find myself dying to write down this story. You all have my permission to tell me my future carpal tunnel syndrome is my own fault.

We have this annoying and lovable dog named Roxie. She's getting older, and she often needs to go out in the middle of the night. At least that's what Trey tells me because I never hear her when I'm sleeping. (Side note: I'm not good at going to sleep, but once I'm sleeping I am VERY good at staying that way.)

Two nights ago, Roxie needed to go out. Trey let her out the back door and then went to the bathroom. I heard the bathroom door close and then thought to myself how comfy my bed is and how awesome sleep is and my heart was happy and I continued my slumber.

Then, out of nowhere, Roxie started screaming from outside. Not barking. Now howling. Screaming. It was such a terrible sound that I was immediately convinced she had been bitten by a snake. I jumped from the bed and ran to the backdoor, arriving about the same time as Trey.

This is what happened in my head:
"She's been bitten by a snake. We have to help her, but we can't get bitten, too. How do you get a dog from a snake in the dark? If Trey gets bitten I'll have to drive him to the hospital. I'll have to wake up the boys and tell them and it will probably freak them out. If it bites him on his hand it could turn black and fall off and he would be in the hospital for a long time. That would be terrible. Do I sacrifice my dog to save my husband's hand?"

This is what came out of my mouth:
"Don't go out there!"

But he did go out there. He stood outside the door and called the dog as I stood in the open doorway. We heard Roxie's little feet scurrying toward us. We saw her, and in the next instant her pursuer appeared.

A giant mutant attack possum.

Everything froze. The possum froze. Roxie froze. Trey froze. My eyes locked with his.

I slammed the door shut.

Here's what happened in my head:
"It's a possum!  Where's a gun? That thing is bigger than Roxie!  I wonder if it's rabid? Where's a gun? We should keep a pellet gun by the back door. That would at least scare it away. If we shot it with a real gun then Castlegate would go crazy because of gunshots in the neighborhood. The cops would probably come which would wake up the boys and freak them out. Look at it!  It's enormous! That thing absolutely cannot get in my house. How would we get a possum out of the house?"

What did not happen in my head:
"I just locked Trey out of the house with our dog and a mutant rabid possum at 2:00 in the morning."

I'm not sure what happened next. I do know that Trey and Roxie scooted inside through a tiny crack in the door that I opened for them. He turned on the light and checked her for injuries. We were convinced she had been brutally attacked because of the dog-screams. She was not only fine, but she sauntered back into our room to her bed and immediately was fast asleep like nothing. even. happened.

So we went to bed. I don't think I've been in the backyard since then. I wonder if the scary rodent lives in our bushes or was just here for a visit. How does one rid their suburban back patio of giant mutant possums?

Here's what we learned:
1) I have full confidence in Trey's ability to fend off rabid possums in the middle of the night. That must be why I locked him out. Self-preservation had nothing to do with it. I'm certain.
2) My brain works really fast at 2:00 in the morning.
3) Santa should bring the Hickman III's a pellet gun this year.

Friday, December 28, 2018

Wait. What? Is this a blog post? No way.

I blogged one time in 2018. ONE TIME.

Well, now two.

Do the cool kids even blog anymore?

I started this blog to document my kids' hilarity. I wanted to remember the silly little day-to-day things, and keeping a baby book was never really my thing. Then my kids got older and stopped appreciating that I shared personal stories about them with the world. (They should really appreciate their internet fame a little more. You're welcome, Hickman boys.)

Then in 2015 the profile of my job changed, and I felt (and still feel) a vast responsibility to represent myself in a certain way (a way that doesn't include occasional bad words and wine).

These things inhibited me as a writer. But I miss it.  So what follows is probably going to be a rambling, too long post about nothing.

Not Seinfeld nothing. More nothing than that.

I've only run off and on this year. Yesterday I ran three miles. Don't get excited - it was three slow miles accomplished with a 2/1 interval. It was a perfect Texas December day at 60 degrees and sunny with a slight breeze, and it reminded me how much I love to run.

I marveled at how amazing God made people. My knees screamed for the first three or four minutes, and then I settled in and did some serious marveling. I did my best to remember the prayer that Chris Field prayed before the marathon I ran in 2016. All I could really come up with was how he thanked God for our bodies that can run and our lungs that can breathe. I went back to my marathon post, but I didn't write that part down. If anyone knows Chris and he has a copy of that prayer to share, send it my way. It's one of the most memorable prayers of my life.

This caused me to remember the song "Great Are You Lord" by Casting Crowns that God sent to me via Pandora at about mile 23 of the marathon. (Props to Pandora for doing God's work.) It's apparently a pretty well known song, but I had not heard it before then. I pulled it up on my Amazon Music (because Amazon can do God's work, too), and I ran and I sang in my heart and I marveled some more.

Insert segue way here. (In my brain I'm saying, "I sure hope I spelled that right.")

I can be a little anxious. I often worry about things that are ridiculous. For example, a few years ago a teacher wanted to arrange for a helicopter to come to school, and all I could think about was the helicopter chopping off a child's arm. Y'all. This makes no sense. But I saw it happen to Dr. Romano on ER when I was in college, so I guess I just can't let it go.

I suppose I should note that I LOVE to watch Criminal Minds, and I'm not worried at all that someone will murder me and feed my body to pigs and put my shoes in a trash can so that the police can solve the mystery. I guess I'm selective about my crazy.

It's Christmas break, and I'm off work, and my crazy can go, well, crazy when I'm not occupied. Running yesterday reminded me that when I focus on the wrong things, that's when I feel anxious. Then I saw this thing on facebook (that I cannot find again to save my life), and it said something like how you're feeling may indicate whether God is leading you or just following behind carrying your bags. I was all "Oh. That's pretty legit. That is so me." (If one of you finds that quote, hook a girl up.)

Insert another hopefully-spelled-right segue way.

I reflected on the year I learned how to quilt and then made like a hundred of them (2014). The year I decided to become a runner (2015). The year I decided to run a flipping marathon (2016).  The year I read the whole New Testament and Psalms and Proverbs (2017, I think).

Then I thought about 2019. What should be my thing? Do I need a thing? Maybe I should run and blog and quilt and pray more and scroll less. I spend a lot of time scrolling through nothing. It doesn't make me better. I've frequently considered my doctorate lately. Maybe that's the thing. It will likely require a great deal of running and prayer for stress relief!

To Summarize: Blogging. Running. Marveling. Anxiety. Doing big things.

Happy Almost 2019. Let's do it right.

The End.

Wednesday, January 31, 2018

Here you go, Amazon. Take all my money.

We got an Alexa for Christmas. So basically our lives are changed forever.

We set up our new family member pretty quickly after Christmas, but it took us a few days to actually start using her to our advantage. When I learned that Alexa will remind you of things, I immediately set a reminder for Keaton's stupid reading log that's due online by midnight Friday nights and NEVER gets done. Since it's online, if he forgets he is locked out and unable to log anything at all. It's kind of the bane of my 7th grade mom existence. At first we fought about it all the time, and by the end of the semester I gave up and now I'm just happy if someone in this family mentions a reading log ever. Until Alexa. She's like the OCD daughter I never had.

Me: Alexa, set a reminder for Keaton's reading log for Fridays at 8 p.m.
Alexa: I have set a reminder for Kitten's reading log for Fridays at 8 p.m.
Me: Yeah, you did!

Whose winning at life now? This girl.

Then the boys figured out the reminders.

Keaton: Alexa, set a reminder to punch Tucker in five minutes.
Me: Alexa, do not set that reminder!
Alexa: I have set a reminder to punch Tucker in five minutes.
Me: Alexa, cancel reminder.
Alexa: Which reminder would you like me to cancel?
Me: What reminders do you have?
Alexa: Kitten's reading log on Fridays at 8 p.m. Order iPhone X for Tucker at 5 p.m. Punch Tucker in five minutes... (I stopped her because I feared she would go on forever).

Why do kids have to learn technology? What are schools these days teaching them anyway? They should really stop bullying their robot sister.

Alexa will also set timers, which is super easy when cooking. The shopping list feature is fantastic. We simply ask her to put items on the shopping list when we notice we're running low, and they show up in the app so I always have the list if I stop at the store. She loves lists just like me!

I did have to translate a bit when I was at H-E-B and saw "fun size eminems" on the list. I pictured tiny angry rappers in my head as I walked down the candy aisle, so that was fun.

My family came to celebrate Christmas over the New Year, and we were showing off our new toy. We did the question of the day and played Jeopardy. Great fun was had by all. The best part was when my dad called her "Alexis" and she didn't respond. I don't think he's even seen this SNL skit which made it all the more hilarious.

[Dad, I'm not implying that you are old. Don't get your dentures in a bunch :)]

Finally, the ultimate, life-changing gift that Alexa has given our family is Amazon Music.

Listen carefully. This is important.

Amazon Music has ALL OF THE MUSIC. Yes. All of it. Every song in the world. I am not exaggerating. I asked Alexa to play some Russian polka from 1937 played on a xylophone, and she did it!

Not really. But, ALL OF THE MUSIC!

The boys and I were listening to some top 40 popular music over Christmas, and one of them quickly realized she was playing the "explicit" version of a song.

Tucker: Alexa, skip.
She moved on to the next song.
Keaton: Alexa, skip.
A few notes of the next song plays.
Tucker: Alexa, skip.

This went on for a bit, and then we decided to choose another station. It wasn't until the next day that I wondered how my sons both know after the first few notes that a song is explicit. Exactly what do they listen to when they aren't with their fine, upstanding mother?

It didn't take me long to decide to spend the $9.99 a month on Amazon Music Unlimited. I can listen to ALL OF THE MUSIC in my car, outside on a speaker, and when I'm running. I even started making playlists - one with Ray LaMontagne, Norah Jones, The Lumineers; one with James Taylor, Elton John, John Denver; one with The Killers, Fall Out Boy, Panic at the Disco, Coldplay. Want to hear a random song you haven't thought of in years?  Hang on - I've got it here on my phone.

I'll finish my Alexa post with a quick story:

Apparently Ed Sheeran's song "Perfect" has two versions - one with just Ed and one that's a duet with Beyonce. Every time it comes on the radio in my car Tucker sings along to the first verse, interjecting "please, please, please be the right one!" When Beyonce doesn't start singing on the second verse, he yells, "Where is Beyonce?!?!?!"

I know what you're thinking. Tucker? Belting out a song and begging for Beyonce? But I'm telling you this has happened on multiple occasions.

Today when he cried out to the windshield for Queen Bey once again, I smiled and changed the radio to the duet version from Amazon Music.

Beyonce is here in the car with us. Alexa introduced us, and we will never be without her again.

We love you, Beyonce. Thanks, Alexa.

Saturday, August 5, 2017

August. College Station, Texas.

August. College Station, Texas.

The students are back.

Those of us non-students who live here often lament the good ol' days of summer when all of the students went home to their moms and dads and summer jobs. We then had full use of restaurants with no wait. Grocery stores never ran completely out of anything. Aisles of stores weren't clogged with moms and dads and grandmas and grandpas and younger siblings all searching together for the perfect breakfast cereal to fuel their college student's mornings. During the glorious summer we had all of the amenities of a city with only a fraction of the people.

Those days are mostly gone, with A&M's enrollment in the neighborhood of 60,000 and more and more people pushing through college by taking summer classes. Nonetheless, the first weekend of August brings with it the newness of little baby adults leaving home for the first time. As a result, traffic is crazy, stores are packed, and those of us who live here full time make an effort to avoid peak student times and locations as much as possible for a few weeks.

The truth is, we love the students. We love their eagerness, the excitement of becoming a part of our town and beloved school. We love their silliness and youth. They keep College Station young and vibrant, I suppose. Because of that, I always make an extra effort to have patience this time of year. If someone drives like they have no idea where they're going, it's probably because they don't. Most service staff - from waiters to cashiers - are new to their jobs. They look twelve years old and nervous, and I feel obliged to smile and be okay with the few extra minutes added to all of my errands. We tip well and give grace. We remember that we used to be them.

But today I made a mistake. A big mistake. I forgot that it is the first weekend of August in College Station, Texas. And I went to Hobby Lobby.

The place had been overtaken by the students and their families attempting to decorate their new apartments. People were swarming, I tell you. I had three things on my list: a metal art piece for the master bathroom, a 12 x 12 frame for the hall bath, and some Wonder Under for my niece's quilt (Sidebar: The quilt is a graduation present. She graduated around three months ago and moves into her apartment next week here at A&M. I probably should have done this already. My tardiness is the real reason I found myself at Hobby Lobby on August 5th.)

I put on my patience and looked for the joy in their adventures.

I giggled at the two young men trying to purchase wall art. They wandered aimlessly from aisle to aisle, finally stopping in front of some decorative wooden arrows. Baby Adult #1 picked up an arrow. Baby Adult #2 shrugged. Baby Adult #1 said, "Let's just get a whole bunch of these," and Baby Adult #2 nodded.

I can't stop picturing their apartment walls covered in stolen hometown street signs, beer posters, an Aggie flag, and a plethora of Kacey Musgrave-esque arrows. Follow your arrow, boys. Follow your arrow.

Dads. Lots of dads. Most of them far, far away from the people they came shopping with. One stood alone checking his teeth in one of the 72 mirrors on the mirror aisle. One popped wheelies with the cart on the only aisle that didn't have hoards of people. I stood nearby as a dad climbed up onto the display platform that held a fully decorated room and planted himself firmly on the wrought iron bench with a sigh. The dads entertained me.

I realized immediately that I would save time and sanity if I ordered a frame online (Praise the Lord for Amazon Prime). I quickly selected a wood and iron piece for the bathroom, telling myself I can return it if it doesn't work. I picked up the Wonder Under and then saw the line to have fabric cut, and decided once again that Prime would be a better choice.

I happily, patiently went to the check out. There I was pleasantly surprised because ALL of the checkouts were open. I don't think this has ever happened in the history of HobLob. I'm not totally convinced the people who run the place know that everyone who buys things has to check out because there is consistently a line of ten to twenty people waiting for one stressed out checker. But not today!  Today I walked up and was second in line!

That's when things went south.

Random College Girl was talking loudly on her phone while the checker held her one item. The register phone rang, the checker got some needed information (presumably the price), and then quickly hung up. The checker looked on while Random College Girl whined into her phone, "Oh my God! I swear I got the only piece of posterboard here without a price thingy on it!" Then it went like this:

Checker (who was probably in her first day on the job): Excuse me. Will that be all?
Random College Girl: Wait. Huh? (to phone) Hold on.
Checker:Will that be all?
Random College Girl (waving Mommy's American Express): Yeah

At this point, I felt my patience seeping away. See, when I first moved out I used checks that connected to a bank account that had money in it because I put it there. I had a ninety-nine cent loaded baked potato from Wendy's for lunch every single day for a whole year. And I was nice to people. 

(Yes, I'm generalizing about Random College Girl and her American Express. For purposes of this blog post, I don't care. Judge me.)

The conversation continued...

Checker: That will be $16.49.
Random College Girl: (snippy) What did you say? How much? (then, to phone) Oh my God! I must have gotten the most expensive piece of posterboard in the store. (back to checker) What is the price again?
Checker: $16.49

I need to add here that the checker was holding something that was not poster board. It was about four feet by four feet and covered in some kind of backing that seemed cardboard-like.  In my head I wondered what planet this chick was from that she thought this was poster board. And then I wondered why on earth she would come to HobLob to purchase one piece of posterboard. Here in College Station, America, we get that at H-E-B for forty-seven cents like civilized people. My patience level reached an all-time low.

The conversation continued...

Random College Girl: (to phone) Look, I'm going to have to rethink my project if poster board is this expensive. Hmmm... (presumably thinking, then to checker) Can I just leave that here with you? I don't think I want it anymore?
Checker: Yes ma'am.

Random College Girl walked away chattering loudly into her phone. I must not have lost all of my patience because I did not at any time yell, "GET OFF THE DAMN PHONE!"

The sweet first-day-on-the-job checker did an excellent job ringing up my purchase and processing my payment. I wish I could have tipped her.

On my way to the car it occurred to me that although Random College Girl had absolutely no manners and clearly did not know what poster board is, she did know not to put $16.49 on her parents' American Express for it. That's a start, I suppose. I bets she grows up a lot here.

And so we welcome the students. We ask that you have some manners, clean up after yourselves, work hard, have fun, and make yourself and your parents proud. We will continue to do our level best to give you patience, tip well, smile, and make you feel at home in this place that will be part of you forever.

Welcome to Aggieland.

Thursday, July 20, 2017

Cheers to Best Friends

A colleague passed away suddenly and unexpectedly this week. She has two young children and a husband and co-workers and friends who will miss her terribly. It's such a tragic, sad situation. It's clear that she left an indelible mark on so many lives, both as an educator and a  regular human person.

I can't stop thinking about her inner circle, her best friends. My heart breaks for them.

15 years ago I met my people. Four women who have become the greatest friends I've ever known. To honor the beautiful friendships that were lost this week, I thought I'd write a little list of the ways my people make life better.

1) We give each other grace, always. Sometimes I need to be whiny or feel sorry for myself, and I have friends who will listen and comfort and encourage; then they tell me that it's time to put my big girl britches on and get it together.

2) We call each other on our crap. "Why do you want to do that?" or "Why are you so upset about that?" are always acceptable questions.

3) We encourage each other. There is always someone just a a text away to remind me that I am strong and smart and capable and kind and badass (whether I feel that way or not).

4) We celebrate together. There is no competition or jealousy. We all truly want the best for each other and rejoice in one another's successes. When you have an inner circle, you can always brag to them without bragging.

5) We have a secret language. We've been friends long enough that certain words, phrases, (even emojis!) have their own meaning. Sometimes we don't have to say anything and the other four just know.

6) We laugh. Good grief, do we laugh! At ourselves, at each other, at life, at the world. We giggle and belly laugh. My people are funny. I think I'm going to live an extra ten years because of the laughter.

7) We listen. No matter what is going on, big or small, we share and listen to tiny details or big picture concerns. We hear each other.

8) I'm pretty sure we only  have one rule: If you wouldn't say something to one of us, you can't say it to yourself. No negative self-talk allowed. That's a big, valuable, important rule.

9) Group text. You know that thing you're tempted to tweet or Facebook that's probably not appropriate for social media? Find some friends you can text that to. Nothing is too embarrassing, gross, silly, or neurotic with my people.

10) Time and distance can't keep us apart. Traveling the world (or moving to the other side of it) doesn't make our friendship less. Moving a few cities over or to the backwoods can't stop us. It may not be as often as it used to be, but we make time to see each other in real life when we can.

So, at the risk of sounding fourteen, cheers to best friends. Treasure every moment you have with them.

Sunday, July 16, 2017

That time Trey tried to kill me in Cabo

We love vacation. More recently, Trey and I love vacation, and our boys have flashes of fun in the midst of being grumpy teenagers. This summer we made our second trip to Cabo San Lucas, and it was even better than the first time we went. 

In case you weren't aware, I enjoy eating and drinking and food and drinks probably a little more than a normal person. So naturally we had to go back to The Office, my favorite restaurant from our trip three years ago. I had chilaquiles for the first time there, along with a Bloody Mary to write home about. I've made chilaquiles several times since then, but going back to the original seemed like a great way to perfect my technique. 

(Here's a recipe in case you're interested. FYI - You've got to have verde sauce, chicken, and an over easy egg or you're just not doing it right. Make your own tortilla chips for extra credit.)

Our first trip to The Office three years ago includes one of those vacation stories of misery that we all have. We could see it from our resort. It didn't look that far. We decided to walk. It was hot, and we were hungry. But it was far. I'm pretty sure it ended up being twenty-seven miles. The only saving grace is that we didn't kill each other on the way. That walk was so, so terrible. We may not have spoken to each other again until we got back home. 

This year we knew better, and Praise the Lord for taxis. We had the good sense to let someone drive us. I ordered my favorite dish and we relished the cool Baja morning together. We laughed and smiled and basically lived in the happy ending of a Hallmark movie for the whole meal. I even have pictures to prove it. 

Wait. The only picture we have is of just me. And my food. Isn't that a beautiful plate? It's possible that I ate it all. Don't judge. 

I promise everyone else was happy, too. 

The Office is as on the beach as a restaurant can be. Your feet are in the sand, and on one of our trips they had to move a neighboring table because the waves were rushing under it. So after our idyllic breakfast we walked out a little closer to the water. Trey looked down the beach toward our hotel and said the words that changed our lives forever. Or maybe just for the morning, but whatever. 

"You know, last time we walked it was so hot and we were all hungry. Now there's a nice breeze and we're full and happy. Let's just walk back and enjoy the morning." 

And, like suckers, we agreed. 

Basking in the joy of our full bellies and happy family time, entranced by the waves crashing along the Sea of Cortez, we set out along that brutal journey. 

For a while we were happy. We strolled. The boys walked close to the water where the sand was packed down, and then they ran from the larger waves as they came close. There was laughter and frivolity for a short while. 

And in an instant it was over. My feet began to sink ankle-deep in sand with every step. Keaton started complaining about his knee. (Sidebar: The pediatrician suggested an MRI the week before we left, but we had plane tickets and decided he would probably be fine to wait until after Cabo as long as he took it easy. Because we're parent rock stars.) Tucker kept repeating, "We should have taken a cab...We should have taken a cab."

I thought, "No kidding, genius. But it's too late now and we're screwed." But I didn't say that out loud because parent rock stars

Trey had that look on his face that he gets when he thinks he might be in trouble. When telling my parents this story later he said, "I don't get in trouble very often, but I always know when I am." 


He was trying to be positive. "Look at the progress we're making! It looks so close now!" And I said many, many bad words in my head. 

At one point about halfway there I stopped. I looked around and appreciated the beauty of the beach, the mountains, the ocean. I remembered how much I love this place and how peaceful it makes me feel. Trey noticed that I stopped and asked if I was okay.

"Yep. I just decided to lay down on this beach right here and die. It's a happy place. I'm headed to Jesus. See y'all later."

He didn't think that was a good idea. We pressed on. 

In his defense, we did keep getting closer. I completely tuned out my suffering children (they are old enough - this was an "every man for himself" situation). I felt hope rising in my chest. I could do this! We were almost there! And as we approached our hotel, I stopped again to revel in our victory. 

That's when I looked up and realized it wasn't our hotel. Our hotel was still eleventy billion miles down the beach. More bad words in my head. Many, many more.

At that moment, the largest wave we had seen all morning came crashing to the beach. It was a sight! I was stopped at the back of the pack, Tucker and Keaton were ahead of me a bit higher up the beach, and Trey was a little ahead of all of us, closest to the water. 

And the wave attacked him. 

I saw it all like slow motion. As the wave crashed up the beach, it knocked Trey to his left to his knees. Tucker rushed toward him - it was a hero moment for the kid even though he never could have gotten there in time to help. Keaton yelled something like "Look out!," truly concerned for Trey's safety. 

Being the kind and helpful wife I am, I yelled, "Make sure your phone isn't in your pocket!" I sort of mimed it, too, with hand motions and everything. Because that's just how helpful I am. 

Trey got his bearings quickly and stood back up just in time for the wave to attack him again on its return to the ocean. Down he went once more, this time flat on his butt. He was completely and unequivocally soaked. 

And then we laughed. A lot. Trey said, "I guess I'm not in trouble anymore?" I agreed that the universe had punished him enough for his bad decision. 

So we kept walking. 

The boys decided it was easier to walk in another person's footprints, so Trey went first and we all tried to walk right in his steps. This helped with our misery a tiny bit. 

A man came by on a horse, and I'm pretty sure he offered to give me a ride back to the resort. I'm also pretty sure I declined. It's also possible he was trying to sell me the horse. Or some drugs. I must have looked pretty bad. 

Finally we made it back to the hotel. We all survived, and now we have the vacation story of 2017 that can be shared over Thanksgiving dinner for years to come. 

Where did we go for breakfast the next morning? The Office. We took a taxi both ways. 

Saturday, July 1, 2017

On Writing...

I would like to write more. I really would. I've mentioned before that I used to always write about my kids, but they're now at an age where it seems disrespectful to share every detail of their lives. I also take my job really seriously, and I feel some kind of pressure to be Mrs. Hickman even when I'm just Stormy. Sometimes my non-school persona has a bit of a potty mouth and/or enjoys tequila, and I don't ever want that to be an issue in my professional life.

Now seems like a good time to mention that anything and everything on this blog is personal and in no way represents my employer (even though just regular Stormy is really not scandalous at all).

I've been thinking a lot this summer about things that make me want to write. Here's a non-all-inclusive list:

  • gospel music
  • Ray LaMontagne's voice (if it doesn't move you, you might want to check and be sure your soul is still there)
  • clever lyrics (such as "she reflects the world in happiness and echoes all the pain")
  • Tucker's smile (How did Trey and I make that person with that smile? It shines.)
  • sitting on the patio with Trey
  • flowers that open up in the sunlight and close at night
  • Keaton's laugh (It's like the sky opens and the angels laugh along)
  • Jesus (and the way he feels so close even when I feel far away)
  • Rice, Texas
  • thinking about my grandparents
  • steel guitars and waltzes
  • the ocean
  • words in books like Jeffrey Lent's A Slant of Light 

 Obviously, there are a lot more.

It has occurred to me that perhaps I should try my hand at writing some fiction, but it's something I've never done before. Mostly what I've written are hyperbolical accounts of real life events. (Yes, I looked up "hyperbolical" to be sure I was using it correctly.) I'm not even sure how to start writing fiction. So I bought this book.

I open it up and read the prompts almost daily, but haven't written a thing from it. The prompt that came up tonight is this:
"Write a letter to the reader of a novel you haven't written yet."

This could be fun.

Dear Reader, 
Thank you so much for agreeing to read my novel!  I assure you that it's going to be great - nothing less than the best from me! I'm thinking it's probably going to be set in a small town in Texas. The characters will be third or fourth generation in the town, and they will have lots of drama. Only there will be one central character who is female and strong and smart and will have been hurt really big in life but it's made her a better person so she doesn't have time for any small town drama. I know it totally sounds like Hope Floats, but it's not. I promise. 

I'll probably write a beautiful passage about an ordinary object and people will be talking about my words for years. Like hay. Or a pond. Or hay growing near a pond. I'll use lots of big, fancy words, and it will be awesome. 

But I might change my mind, and the main character might be a stoic old man who seems gruff on the outside but takes in a hurting young person. Wait. I might have stolen that from Kent Haruf. Scratch that. 

Speaking of...have you read any of Kent Haruf's novels? You should totally do that before you read mine. Besides, mine's not done yet anyway. Or started. 

There will also be humor. I like to laugh when I read, so it only seems right to make my readers laugh, too. And maybe something very serious. You'll probably cry, so make sure to have tissues handy when you read my beautiful, funny, sad novel.

Anyway, you're going to love it. I promise. When you get a minute, go ahead and let me know your address so I can send you a copy as soon as it's done. Are you planning on moving soon? Or ever? You should probably also include that information.

Thanks a bunch!