Category Archives: writer’s challenge

mama kat, writer's challenge

Baby, It’s Cold Outside …

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Time once more for Mama Kat’s Writers Challenge. This week I like

2.) Describe your worst winter weather story.
(inspired by Alisha from A Day In The Life Of Okie Rednecks)
3.) Tell us about that scar.
(inspired by Katie from Rooftop Harmonies)

 as the prompts to follow in my writing for the nonce.

#2 – The worst weather story is a toss up because the prompt could be taken in several ways: the worst weather experienced in winter, the worst story involving winter weather in some way, or the worst story heard during winter weather. So after 3 microseconds of deliberation, I settled on this one:

Part of my research work when I was at Argonne National Laboratory involved giving academic seminars at universities. One fine February I was scheduled to give a Friday seminar at Iowa State University in Ames. What followed was a real nightmare.

I caught a flight out of O’Hare mid-day on Thursday. The weather called for snow later in the day at Ames, but it was not supposed to cause problems. Now at this point you need to know that I am one of those fortunate people who had two complete sets of wisdom teeth grow completely in. As the last pair rose to full height, I started not being able to close my jaw fully and so the extra teeth were scheduled for removal.

(Have you figure our where this is going?) Mid way to Ames, I hear a crack and suddenly have a mouth full of what feels like gravel. When I examine the detritus, I have a sneaking suspicion that one of my extra teeth had broken. A few cursive probes of the tongue quickly confirmed that I suddenly had a really jagged stump in the back of my jaw.

My first thought was the standard “How long before this bugger really starts to hurt?” That was followed by “What else could go wrong?” I should never have asked that second question. At that point the pilot comes on the intercom and explains that Ames is in the midst of a blizzard, but we may still be able to make it in. So we all are ordered to strap in and the pilot guns it to try and beat the closure of the airport.

We come barreling in for a landing, bobbing and weaving in the winds like a leaf in the autumn winds. It is snowing so hard I can’t even see the wing out the window to my right. The pilot comes on back on the intercom and announces that they have closed the airport just as our wheels touched down. We are the last plane that will make it in or out that day. But wait, there is further good news. The Ames airport is connected to the rest of civilization by a number of miles of isolated road. Guess what is also closed – you guessed it, the road to/from the airport.

So let us recap. I have a tooth that has shattered and which I deeply fear will begin to hurt shortly. I am trapped in a closed airport for an unknown length of time in a huge blizzard miles away from the nearest dentist. A few hours of stewing and pacing insures an increasing state of anxiety.

Finally, after eight hours of stewing and fretting and pacing and dreading, the snow plows finally got the road to/from the airport opened enough for a caravan from the airport to town to follow then. At about 1am I get to the hotel and collapse. I have decided that it the tooth hasn’t started hurting by now, it might not start until I can get back to Chicago. At least I sure hope so.

Bright and early I had breakfast with some of the faculty from ISU, with fewer in attendance than planned because guess what – there is a blizzard still blowing and snowing out there and they can’t make it to campus. Throughout the day several people asked me if I was distracted about something. If only they knew.

Scars? What scars? Just because I have scars from head to toe doesn’t mean they are special. I know where my scars are because I suffer from a condition where my scar tissue will not stop growing. When I have surgery, the scar usually has to be irradiated to stop the excess tissue growth.  So I’m going to talk about one of my non-surgical scars.

Many years ago when I was a pre-schooler, my brother and I shared a bedroom and set of bunk-beds. Being the older brother, I had the upper bunk. One day as I climbed the wooden ladder up to my bunk, the ladder broke. The sharp end of the bottom half of the ladder hit and skewered the side of my head, barely missing my eye.

A lot of crying and bleeding followed. There was enough blood that mom couldn’t see where the cut was at first. I knew it was serious because it was one of the few times I ever saw my mom even slightly rattled. A lot of wet cold towels and ice later it quit bleeding. A nurse friend of mom’s came over to look at it to see if we needed to journey the miles to the hospital. The nurse said that it might not hurt to get stitches, but that since the bleeding had stopped, etc. they’d just dress it and see how it was the next day.

That is how I got the scar to the side of my left eye. Yeah, the scar that becomes more and more obvious the older I get and the further my hairline sprints from it. That scar.

mama kat, music, writer's challenge

Ahhh, I Don’t Hardly Know Her …

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Once more dear friends, into the breech we go. Time for Mama Kat’s Writer’s Challenge. This week I have choosen to do only one topic:

1.) A song you can’t escape.
(inspired by Stefanie from I’m not much into health food, I am into champagne)

My take is a bit different than the standard lyrics rattling around the skull driving me to distraction. The other night I was listening to music as I finished working on some work work. What to my wondering ears should appear but

followed by

I was struck, in that off-hand stunning way that coincidence slaps you up side the head, by the fact that these songs are associated in my mind with two milestones in the journey to adulthood.

What milestones you ask? Well, Louie, Louie was the first rock song I ever heard performed by a live band. Granted it was a group of fellow junior high classmates playing at the first school dance of my seventh grade career, but it is cemented forever in my mind as the epitome of live and music. To this day more than 40 years later I cannot hear Louie, Louie (or Sitting On The Dock In The Bay by Otis Redding) without casting my mind back to the excitement and sheer joy the live sound brought me. The body throbbing bass, the impact of the drums, the crisp drone of the electric guitars – there is nothing better in the world.

A couple of years later it was 1969 and Crimson & Clover was dominating the AM airwaves. It coincided with the time when I was first seriously entranced by the idea of feminine companionship. Yup, that was when I suffered my first crush on a {*gasp*} girl. Heck, it was the first time I even seriously thought of girls as truly desirable to hang out with for reasons different than guys. Every time I hear Crimson & Clover, I am immediately back in the heady brew of feelings and desires and hormones and melancholy thoughts from that time. Not to mention all the drugs and hallucinogens that were rampant in the world as the 60’s came to a close.

The powerful associations formed by music with our emotional and mental state when we first heard it is spooky and wonderful. Hearing the music brings the memories flooding back. But I wonder if the additional social element of community commonality that my generation had continues today. (Stick with me here – you’ll soon understand what I’m blithering about!) When I was going through adolescence, we all heard the same songs at the same times on the AM and then FM radio. You and all your cohorts heard the same music at the same time, sharing the same music with a common set of experiences. It was only in college that non-synchronous introduction of different music via {*gasp*} vinyl records began to separate out tastes and preferences.

Contrast that experience with kids of the same age today. Each of them tends to listen to their own collection based more on the intesection of exposure and their social networking. Even a group as small as two is likely to have two separate iPods in their individual ears, listening to different sounds. Thus, I suspect that the common music/experience phenomenon is lost in the generations of today. The commonality is no longer in the experience of and while listening, it is the selection of what to add to the collection and to play. A very different set of memories.

What do you think?

advice, mama kat, writer's challenge

Advice For The Lovelorn

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OK, so I lied. But the title go you to read didn’t it. It’s that time of the week – time for Mama Kat’s Writer’s Challenge. This week featured a number of prompts that didn’t enthuse me to the point of taking quill in hand (or finger to keyboard as the case may be). But at least number one came through and spoke to me:

1.) Share one piece of great advice you’ve received from someone who knows stuff…

Rather than one piece of advice, I thought I’d share several.

  • Water flows toward money. (From my grandfather, in reference to the fact that money can abrogate water rights quicker than a lightning flash.)
  • If a simple physical model can’t explain it, you have the wrong idea. (Richard P. Feynman on why complex mathematical models of reality are often wrong.)
  • There will be many people you can love and who can love you in your life. The one you marry will be the one you are in love with at the same time you both want to get married. (A paraphrase of a discussion with my mother.)
  • Don’t tease the sow. (My uncle, warning us to stay away from the vicious man-eater that was the old breding pig.)

So what is your good advice?

BTW, here are some tidbits of advice I found floating around Google:

Which one do you think is better?

houses, mama kat, synopsis, writer's challenge

Writer’s Challenge A Go Go

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It’s that time of the week – time for Mama Kat’s Writer’s Challenge. So here are this weeks topics:

1.) I recently read all about the importance of us bloggers developing an “Elevator Pitch” via one of my new favorite blogs. According Wikipedia and Elevator Pitch is “an overview of an idea for a product, service, or project. The name reflects the fact that an elevator pitch can be delivered in the time span of an elevator ride (for example, thirty seconds or 100-150 words).” Create one short (a sentence long) and one longer (100 – 150 words) Elevator Pitch describing what your blog is about.
(inspired by Darren from Problogger)

2.) The strangest dream ever…
(inspired by Amo from Where A Woman Shakes Her Tablecloth.)

3.) Write a list of 10 things that can be done to stave off boredom.
(inspired by Lourie from CA Girl).

4.) “How many homes have you had? Write a journal entry about ALL the places you’ve called ‘home’ in your life.”
(inspired by writingfix.com).

5.) “Why wouldn’t they just start over? Write a story where a character refuses to go back to square one.”
(inpired by writingfix.com).

Given that I am running a bit short of time, I am going to only do #s 1, 2, 3, and 4. You’ll have to visit Mama Kat to see about those who tackled #5.

#1 – First the short version:

The random ramblings of an over-observant obsessive.

Then the longer version:

My day to day rants, raves, observations, and punish humor. Originally started to get my writing muscles back in tone, but now continuing because it is fun. One of the few blogs with absolutely no commercial interest. No solicited reviews, giveaways, ads, or pushes to go see the ring of connected commercialism that is much of blogging.

#2 -  I already brushed on this topic in this post. The full version runs thus.

I had a very vivid dream. As I was strolling down the path, I was accosted by a group of pygmies chanting and dancing. Since they spoke no English and I spoke no Pygmy, communication was difficult. Eventually it became somewhat clear that the pygmies had formed a company to commercialize and market their rib sauce that had been passed down from elder to younger since the dawn of time. Their claim was that it was the world’s best rib sauce. Suddenly I was buried under a mass of pygmies who were all chanting

Bar Be Que
Bar Be Que
We Eat You!

And then I woke up.

#3 – Some quick time wasters:

  • Read Google’s News Headlines
  • Conduct random web searches
  • Add up the numbers of your social security number, your date of birth, and your telephone number to see if the total is divisible by eleven
  • Chew the end of a ballpoint pen
  • Practice levitating 
  • Write your obituary 
  • Visit Ask500People.com  
  • Visit AwkwardFamilyPhotos.com
  • Send and read twits via Twitter
  • Write on your blog

 

#4 – I have lived in 13 places since birth. It starts with the little house on the left side in this aerial picture:

I spent from age 0 to ~3 living there.

Next we moved into town to a house that I remember primarily because it had wagon wheels painted green and white for a fence. The wheels were taller than I was and fascinated me greatly.  We were there a year or so. (The house still stands today, but the wagon wheels disappeared sometime in the 80’s)

From there we moved to a small stucco house with a large picture window on the edge of dry land field. I talked about this house here. It was in an unincorporated oil field exploration community of maybe 30 houses and not much else.

Then we moved to a town of about 350 in Nebraska. That was where I attended kindergarten through third grade. I remember that house because it has a big back yard and grape vines. Perfect for my brother and I and the neighborhood kids to play army and cowboys and indians. One of the adjacent houses was built underground since the area got hit with tornadoes year after year and they got tired of rebuilding. I suffered my first crush on an older woman when the neighbor’s daughter gave me an old pair of her roller skates.

We moved back here to this town in time for me to start fourth grade. It is the house that mom still lives in today. What I remember from the early years is that the house had been built in the first quarter of the century by a local craftsman who used no milled lumber. Every piece of the frame was hand adzed to size and shape and no two were the same. So when we remodeled it was an interesting type of do-it-your-self project. It was also full of mysterious things like a family bible from the old country in German, etc. Fortunately the next door neighbor knew a bit about the history and the family who had lived there.

Then I went away to college and lived in a dorm and then a frat house. On the way from college to graduate school, L and I got married and arrived in California to find no housing available for us due to a snafu. We eventually found an apartment in a complex after spending some time on a fellow grad students spare bunk bed set. The complex stands out for being painted in brown, brown, and more brown as was typical in California at the time. After a couple of years we rented a nice little duplex that had a private patio and a fireplace. It sat less than half a block from the green belt through the town and was a gorgeous place.

After graduate school, we moved to the suburbs of Chicago and a ground floor apartment in Naperville. It was all white and had shag carpeting. We lived there for three years and experienced some real firsts there. The first time we had a car stolen, the first time with -50F temperatures causing ice to form on the inside walls even with the heat on, and the first time living near an abusive couple. Needless to say, we were ready to move on from the Chicago area.

Then it was off to Manhattan Beach, CA. We rented a house for the first year and it was a typical beach community bungalow, with a full size swimming pool in the back yard. It had roses in the front yard and a huge hedge along one side of the lot. It also had termites.

The next year, L and I bought our first place – a unit in a triplex in Redondo Beach – just up the road a ways. Our unit was gray stucco and 3 stories tall with an underground garage. It was during our years there that we found out we were going to have the Son.

Finally, we moved back here where we have lived for the last 20+ years. The Son was born and grew up here. You can see what the interior of the house looks like here. It is a big ranch style house with a brick exterior and attached garage. It was built in the 60’s and the only other owner is the the doctor that is my eye specialist. I went to school with some of his kids, including a younger one named Dan, so you might say it has come full circle.