What do lemons, cerulean, and Jack have in common?

The postcard came in the mail with this month's Alpha writing assignment:

Use these words-- 

Jack, blank, lemon, basket, mold, cerulean
in your writing for this month.

Alpha Writers is a unique group of 10-12 persons, including a retired school secretary, a judge, a factory worker, a student, an editor, a nun that left her convent and more...

I feel their writing

shows the uniqueness

of each individual.

Enjoy...

Ramona wrote:

Jack noticed the basket of fresh flowers hanging from the girl's left arm.
She pulled one from the bunch and handed it to him.
"I've never seen a dandelion this color," he said.
"It's called cerulean blue." She smiled.
He took a whiff. "It smells like mold."
"I dyed it. That's the smell. I'm allergic to anything yellow, like a lemon,"
and added, "or a dandelion."
He gave the girl a blank stare, shook his head, and
ambled down the garden path.
   

++++

Crystal wrote:

 

Cerulean lemons? 
"Cerulean lemons!
 What in the smoky green hell is going on here this morning?
Jack? Jack! Jack, where are you?"

"Here sire, right here.
 Well, sire, you see, the Wizard..."

"I knew it! I knew letting that crazy old mage in
here was a bad idea. Now the fruit basket has wings, my marble staircase 
is covered in mold, and the chef is a bee with three heads!
Where is that Wizard now?...

What's going on in the castle?"

"Well, sire you see...that is the problem."

+++++

Jed wrote:

Jack's cobalt, cerulean eyes stared blankly,
longingly past the lemon tree in Bridget's
back yard. He watched her figure mold into the air mattress;

her tanned limbs languid
in the pool. He was a basket case thinking of
murder. Her lover appeared and dived under her.
Jack, denied his pleasure again,
waited and watch.
  

+++++

Kathy wrote:

In a cerulean world, Jack's mother pulls the sheets from the clothesline and drops them in a plastic-lined bushel basket. She refuses to give in to her peripheral vision. It tugs at her mindset. The shadow is huge and ominous--hard to ignore, but she has not yielded to the temptation for days.

Turning her back to the shadow, she lumbers to the house, a blank look masking her fear. The kitchen smells of lemon. The meringue pie is Jack's favorite and fresh. Although mold blankets the walls in the old cottage, she does her best to keep it homey--a place Jack wants to come home to.

Folding the freshly laundered sheets, she feels a prickly sensation, and goosebumps snake down her spine. The sky grumbles. Her dwelling trembles; a kitchen window cracks, and soon huge shards of glass crash to the floor.

Creeping to the open window, she dares to look between the remaining splinters. The towering beanstalk shudders. As her eyes drift upward, she gasps. The bottoms of two gigantic boots are attached to legs as thick as tree trunks, the rest hidden by an anvil shaped cloud.

 +++++

David* wrote:

Leaving the hen house with nearly a basket full of eggs, I see a rider approaching on a beautiful black horse. The mail is here. I go to meet the rider. My mind drew a blank as to the rider's name. There is still no word from Jack. As I go back to the house, my eyes gaze at the cerulean....

*(David is my husband--not an Alpha writer.

He wanted to give the assignment a try.

David loves horses...)

   

+++++

Joni Eareckson Toda writes:

Each one of us is God's special work of art. Through us, he teaches us and inspires, delights, encourages, informs and uplifts all those who view our lives. God, the master artist, is most concerned about expressing Himself--His thoughts and His intentions--through what he paints in our characters.
 

Although we are each uniquely created, we are all a part of His body...

Now you are all the body of Christ

and individual members of it.

1 Corinthians 12: 14-27

We work together, we encourage each other, we pray for each other, we support each other, we love each other --using our Savior, and Lord as the Supreme Example.

Look around you today and this week.

Notice the uniqueness of those around you.

God must love diversity.

Give thanks.

  

Dear Lord, 
You know me far better than I know myself. 
When you created me, you had a special plan
meant for no one else.
May I appreciate those who are different than me--
in ways they think, in ways they look, in ways they 
feel and express themselves--knowing that you
had a special plan for them, too.
May I be your worthy servant and live according to your commandments.
 ...Let my words, thoughts, and actions be a testimony to You, today and always. 
     Praise be to God.
     Amen
                

Idioms

Idiom Abuse

                                                                  Showing her true colors

With flying colors--

Blushing red

Lips like cherries

Peaches and cream skin

Sky-blue eyes--

Seen through rose-colored glasses

During a golden sunrise

And an orange harvest moon

I had my pot of gold.

BUT

In the black of night

Green with envy

A yellow streak down my back

I left her black and blue.

She, no longer white as the driven snow,

Me, red-handed,

The proverbial black sheep.

*******

What are idioms?

English has thousands of them; however, they appear in every language.

The meaning of the whole group of words (or phrase) has little or nothing to do with the meanings of the words taken one by one. If you determine the meaning of an idiom literally, you will be confused.

For instance, to "let the cat out of the bag" means to reveal a secret.

It has nothing to do with a cat or a bag.

Idioms have many sources: the Bible (birds of a feather flock together, casting the first stone), ancient fables, modern slang, Native-American customs (bury the hatchet), and folk sayings used in particular areas of the country. Some go back as far as the ancient Greeks and Romans.

If an expression is over-used, it is a cliche. 
Many idioms are cliches. 
Writers are encouraged not to use cliches. 
We are to more original with our words.

I came up with the poem, 
"Idiom Abuse," above 
because I wanted to write a poem 
using only idioms and 
thus called it "abuse." 

The irony of it, perhaps, is that the poem turned out to be about abuse...

Hmmmm....

You may be interested in some of the following idioms and how they got started.

*Bring home the bacon
     ..means to support a family by working. At early American county fairs, there typically was a greased pig contest. If you caught the pig, you took it home and more than likely ate it.
*Bug off
      ...get lost. In the later 1800s, there was the expression "bugger off" which meant the same thing. I think I prefer the latter form?
*Bull in a China shop

 ...a clumsy person who deals too roughly with a delicate situation. Aesop, ancient story teller, wrote a fable about a donkey in a potter's shop.
Later, it was changed to "bull"--more damage?
*Burn the candle at both ends
     ...to overwork oneself mentally or physically. This was a French expression. If you literally burned a candle at both ends--what would happen? You get the picture.
*Busy as a beaver
     ...working very hard. For hundreds of years, the beaver has been a symbol for diligent work.

*Butter someone up
     ...to flatter someone. When you slather butter on bread, what happens? 
*Busman's holiday
     ...spending your free time doing the same thing you would if you were working. This started in London in 1800s when buses were pulled by horses. Some drivers loved their horses so much that on their off-days, they would ride their own bus just to make sure that
                                          other driver was taking care of his horse. Talk about loyalty!

As you can see, some of them have become obsolete 

(Busman's holiday?)

--an indication of how our language is constantly changing

--as is society in general.  

I have no doubt that you can think 

of more current expressions for many of the above--

phrases that would reflect the language of today.

The Bible also has its share of idioms. 

Beat your swords into plowshares... Isaiah 2:4

Cast pearls before swine... Matthew 7:6

Feet of clay...Daniel 2:31-32

Handwriting on the wall.....

The King of Babylon had a vision where he saw mysterious handwriting

 on the wall.

We understand "handwriting on the wall," as a sign that something bad is going to happen.
In the Old Testament, Daniel was sent to explain the meaning of these words.
He told the king that his kingdom would be conquered.
The prophecy came true.

The Bible, of course, if full of prophecy.

Many are the plans

in a man's heart--

but it is the Lord's

purpose that prevails.

Proverbs 19:21

 Proverbs 15:11 reads, 

     "A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver."

 Be careful of the words you say

Keep them soft and sweet

Because you never know 

which words you'll have to eat.

    K. McCarthy

Mother's Vanity: Remembering Mom on Mother's Day

Marjorie June (8th grade graduation)

Marjorie June grew up during the depression moving from farm to farm and living sometimes with extended family. She enjoyed the occasional dogs and cats that wandered unto their place and dreamed of getting married, having a family, and living on a farm of her own.

Her father was a seed-corn dealer, and as a young woman it was

Marjorie June (HS graduation)

common for her to help out in the fields as needed.

Vanity?  
I'm not sure she had time for such thoughts, stylish clothes or even a mirror to consider all this.

Vaseline on her eyebrows and lips and a little face powder were her only makeup applications.  

She met my father at a church gathering and fell in love before he left to serve in World War II. Letters were written and a relationship made more precious by the country's circumstances was formed. Mom made a wedding dress out of white wool and waited. Dad returned home with a silver medal and a gold star--perhaps a somewhat changed man. Vows were exchanged in a simple ceremony.

Mr. and Mrs.

After a brief honeymoon, they moved to the family farmstead. Used furniture filled the house; however, a new bedroom set which included a chest of drawers, a bed with head and end boards, and a vanity with a mirror the width of the dressing table were purchased.

She must have felt like a princess--

married to a veteran,

living in the country

with her own dog,

and a new bedroom set

with a vanity to boot

in the old farm house.

In my earliest memories of the vanity,

I see a matching hand mirror,

brush and comb--

all placed on a doily

which covered the

always shining surface.

And, nothing else.

The front drawers held personal  items--
a bundle of letters from her husband written
while he was over-seas, nightgowns, and socks.

Only dressing-up on Sunday mornings, I see her checking her reflection in the large mirror. Was the vertical line on her hosiery straight? Was her slip showing? And, her hat, was it at the right angle; should she pull the netting over her face or shift it back over the hat?

As a soon-to-be-mom, I picture her in the early morning--
after her husband has gone out to chores--
looking in the vanity mirror and studying
the changes in her young body as her pregnancy progressed.

Months later, 

I visualize her sitting on the bed 

holding a new born 

and staring at this 

new image of herself.  

A mother with a miracle.

A two year old and a three year old.

A year, then another, and yet another slipped by. A nicely framed picture of the family children settled in one spot on her vanity along with products from the Watkins man, socks needing darning, and a pattern or two. A cluttered surface that no longer needed dusting. 

My brother and I with a new brother!

The surface items evolved as one year lapsed into another to include a stack of diapers neatly folded, Sunday School lessons, and an updated picture or two of what was happening in the family.

When Mom was busy with the cleaning, baking, and meal preparation in the kitchen, the important papers were shuffled into their bedroom and unto the vanity. I wonder if she ever took time to ponder her image and wonder what she had gotten herself into.

And, then, there were four... surrounding Grandpa Harry.

The only time the clutter disappeared occurred when Aunt Gladys visited from California. In my eyes, Aunt Gladys, my mother's only sister, was a woman of the world. Within an hour of her arrival, her suitcase would be plopped on the bed in my parent's bedroom with her seated on one side and me on the other and the question, "Want to see my shoes?"

I'd slip on her shoes, drape her colorful outfits across my shoulders and dream of growing up and owning fancy outfits of  my own. I remember studying the two of us--our reflections--as we shared the suitcase contents.

As I grew older, I would ask my mother, "Can I use the mirror?"  It was the only full length mirror in the house. Entering the bedroom, I would close the door part way not wanting to draw the attention of any of my five brothers.

Was my slip showing?  

Did my hair look right? 

 Did this blouse and skirt really match?  

Standing on my tip-toes,

 I wished my legs were longer.

A Sunday morning picture, another brother, and a new baby.

The vanity stayed cluttered, but the contents continued to change over the years. The Watkins man stopped coming to our house; the Avon lady took his place. Tubes of hand lotion (buy one/get one free), miscellaneous birthday and anniversary cards, pages torn from magazines with articles worth keeping blanketed the matching brush, comb, and mirror set along with a smattering of the boys' school pictures and a stack of cloth diapers--always neatly folded.






One year folded into another.
The family picture changed.

My parents moved off the farm and into town.
The furniture went with them--
including the bedroom set they bought as newly weds.







The most recent family picture was moved to a new spot--a bookshelf in the living room--along with numerous pictures of the grandchildren.

The vanity surface now supported a box of tissues, miscellaneous items bought on sale from the local dollar stores, new books ordered through the mail, and a prescription or two.

The yearly Thanksgiving and Christmas gatherings passed--with a houseful of conversation, food, and energy for a couple of days and then quiet again in my parents' home. Decades passed. The family grew. We had to sit on the floor amongst the grandchildren's blocks and books. The only quiet place was Mom and Dad's room with the visiting coats stacked high on their bed.

Mom was diagnosed with a rare cancer in her eighties.  

Who did she see now when she looked in her vanity mirror?  

What did she remember?  

What were her thoughts?
Did she even take the time to look?

She said little. 

I came to stay for a week before her death.

Her appearance no longer mattered.

Daily, she wore the same clothes and shoes
and shrugged her shoulders when asked
a question.

After helping her into bed one night,
I scanned their bedroom. As usual,
my mom was a "stacker," and clutter reigned
--except for the top of the vanity.

One picture remained--
my college graduation picture.

Although filled with furniture, her wedding dishes and silverware, her many books and magazines, the house felt empty after her death. Months later, Dad decided to try assistive living and told us to take what we wanted. Although there were a few antiques of value, I wanted only the vanity with the large mirror that had witnessed so much of life.

Now taking residence in my home, my mom's vanity holds my pajamas, my socks, and my favorite CD's.  The surface displays a picture of my husband and me and is often dusty.

And,
whenever I take time
to look into that large mirror,
I
see
me
and
remember
her.

Man is like to vanity; his days are as a shadow that passeth away.

   Psalm 144:4

Micah, a book in the Old Testament with only seven chapters, asks a significant question in Chapter 6,
 verse 8: . . . what does the Lord require of you?  

To act justly 

and to love mercy

and to walk

humbly

with your God.

Thank you, God, for Moms.

  

 

Cafeteria FOODIE...

A FOODIE is someone who enjoys good food. The word didn't exist until 1981 when two food enthusiasts used it in their Official Foodie Handbook. I first heard the term at Tres Amigoes, a Mexican restaurant in our small town (Osage, population: 3622) and used by a lady from Riceville (population: 785)--who shopped at a food outlet in Rochester, MN (population: 107,890) to satisfy her unique taste buds.

The term stuck with me because

I enjoy experimenting with new foods--considering taste, texture and nutrients.

Does this make me a FOODIE? 

You won't find FOODIE in Webster's dictionary, 1969 era; however, if the word would have existed, its place would be between food-cycle and foodless. Insightful?

Growing up on a farm near Greenville, (population: 75)
we had breakfast, dinner and supper.
I caught myself referring to "supper" as "dinner"
recently and knew times had changed.
We grew up with a hearty breakfast of eggs,
white-bread toast slathered with real butter,
and bacon. In the cold of winter,
there would be hot cream of wheat on the table.
Mom and Dad always drank their coffee black
and served froman old tin pot that made
its home on the stove 24/7.


My most memorable dinners were on Sundays. Before church, Mom would stick a pork or beef roast in the oven and place a kettle of pealed potatoes on the stove. A fruit jello (of the Lutheran variety)

had been assembled and placed in the refrigerator the night before. Arriving home from church, she would flip the stove dial on high for the potatoes while everyone changed their clothes and set the table. A jar of home-grown green beans or corn was brought up from the basement to be boiled along with the potatoes. Home-made white bread was always on the table along with the butter. Chocolate cake was a constant--served for dessert at every meal.

Supper usually met a casserole (like goolash or Spanish rice) or more than likely--leftovers, served exactly as they had been served the first time around. Except for hash--which was a combination of left-over potatoes and roast beef, fried, and mixed together. Pizza was not known to us. Cheese was Velveeta or cottage, and words like brie, feta, ricotta were foreign. Yogurt was unheard of in our family. We ate lots of ice cream. Lobster was something that lived in the water and not known as edible.



Dessert? A repeat of chocolate cake-- blanketed with fudge frosting and always served out of a 9 x 13 pan. It's no wonder that I have this thing for chocolate.

What is interesting is that I have evolved from 

simply chocolate cake to black-bean brownies 

made with dark cocoa and dark chocolate chips.

                                                Does this make me a FOODIE?

We took a cruise to Alaska several years ago, which put my personal FOODIE movement into high gear. When we arrived home, I missed the more exotic fruits and vegetables, the wild salmon for breakfast, the sumptious entree choices for dinner. Sorry, Mom. In addition to that experience, our children attended college, traveled places I had not and came home with new recipes and new experiences regarding food and shared their enthusiasm for them.


Formerly, they were each picky in a variety of ways;
however, they now cook with and eat chick peas, 
pine nuts, flax, wheat germ, humus and bulgur. 
How did this happen?


Recently, during our long week in Rochester, I visited the hospital cafeteria and encountered items such as chipotle chicken, seared chicken and farfalle, spring herbed pork loin, tilapia, jalapeno basil pizza, potato relenas, caldo gallego, chicken vindaloo, quinoa turnkey stuffed pepper, need-I-say-more? I can not pronounce this stuff; however, I will eat it!

Does this make me a FOODIE?

Okay, I know, this is nothing Andrew Zimmern 

would be raving about on his television show.

Is it any wonder that I like cafeteria food when others were trying to get out of the building to the McDonalds or Kenturcky Fried across the street?

                                      I must be a FOODIE--or, at least, a CAFETERIA FOODIE. 

God created the Earth and all that grows on it for our pleasure and use. 
When we pray today before breakfast, lunch, and supper (or dinner?),
truly give thanks for all the good things He provides for us,  
and also consider all that some do not have--
sometimes those who live right in our own communities. 

Come Lord Jesus

Be our guest

                                                                   And let these gifts
                                                                  To us be blessed. . .

To us be blessed!

It's a big jump from FOODIE to the book signing event...
   more on that in a forth-coming blog; however, you
   may want to check out the "talk" given, "The Story
   Behind the Story" concerning the latest book--
   Thou Shalt not. Just google--

   www.mitchellcountyhistoricalsociety.org

   and...

   click on "kathy stauffer's book signing"

We ARE blessed!