I don't stand a chance

I'm so weak.
It's sitting there
on the ottoman I love, tempting me;
smooth, cool touch against my bare foot.

I can't.
It called me
from the shelf I passed, stopping me;
scent of ink and paper reaching my nose.

I mustn't.
It landed squarely
in the cart I pushed, knowing me;
promise of new words whispering in my ear.

I lean in.
It's mocking me
in my line of sight; knowing me;
colorful spine out, drawing my eye.

I wait.
It waits too
for the goal I set,  inviting me;
intentions slipping from my mind.

I don't stand a chance.

Excuses...

Um...hi.

You may have noticed that I haven't sliced for a while.

I could tell you that my ongoing spy fantasy has become a reality and I've been off saving the world from evil-genius types lurking in far-flung corners of the world. Actually, that's sort of true--maybe (there were a lot of spy stories on my summer book stack).

I could tell you that I've become addicted to Words with Friends and cannot tear myself away from my phone in case someone plays and it's my turn and I don't know it. Actually, that one's not quite accurate. I do find myself constantly checking to see if it's my turn when I play...but I only play occasionally.

I could tell you that I fell into the big chest freezer in the basement while bending over the edge as far as I could to see if we were really and truly out of ice cream again. Actually, this one could really happen, so I better not kid around. And maybe I'd better find a basement-ice-cream-check buddy just in case.

I could tell you that Husband, Oldest, Middle, Youngest and I have been on a fabulous family vacation to an exotic location. Actually, this is one I'd love to come true, but since it would require us to do things like get up off the sofa, I just don't see it happening.

I could tell you I've been busy doing things like reorganizing every cupboard and closet in the house or landscaping the yard or remodeling the kitchen. Actually, those are things I wish I'd do. But somehow, none of that happened....sort of like me keeping up with slicing....

As requested--the answers

Last night, I sliced about some good ideas gone bad, with some help from Oldest, Middle, and Youngest. Several commenters got into the spirit, trying to guess which ideas (spectacular in concept; perhaps lacking in execution) were mine, and which belonged to the kids.

Well, here are the requested answers. Below are the ideas from yesterday's slice, followed by the genius who must take credit for each.

Throwing sister's favorite doll out the upstairs bedroom window...mostly because sister really, really thought the doll was alive. Well, until it got thrown out the window.

Um, yeah...that was me.

Riding a tricycle down a very tall, very steep hill. Actually, that part turned out ok. It's the part at the bottom that gets a little rough.

This would be Youngest (don't worry, he's fine).

Playing bongos with a group of friends on the steps of the Staten Island Museum (apparently security guards do not approve).

Oldest sheepishly owned up...this happened on a school trip just last week. 

Helping mom by giving your sister a haircut. A few days before she was going to be in a wedding.

Believe it or not, me again.

Rallying the team by leading a cheer on the bus...("Give me a __")...and then realizing that you have misspelled the name of your school.

Surprising entry from Middle. How embarrassing.

Teaching chickens to fly (they can't--at least not further than you can throw them).

Sigh....me again. But you have to know that they really looked like they wanted to try.

Allowing your brother and his friend to talk you into anything requiring a ladder, a zip line, and tree across the yard with a mat strapped to it.

And Youngest. Again. He wishes he could say that this is the only thing he's been talked into by Oldest.

And there you have it. Good ideas...that just didn't work out.

Good ideas gone bad

Ever have an idea that seemed inspired? One that you just couldn't wait to try?
Me too. So have Oldest, Middle, and Youngest.
And sometimes--maybe more often than we'd like to admit--those ideas go bad.
Here are just a few of ours. Think you know whose is whose? Maybe for some, but I bet you'd be surprised by at least a few!

Throwing sister's favorite doll out the upstairs bedroom window...mostly because sister really, really thought the doll was alive. Well, until it got thrown out the window.

Riding a tricycle down a very tall, very steep hill. Actually, that part turned out ok. It's the part at the bottom that gets a little rough.

Playing bongos with a group of friends on the steps of the Staten Island Museum (apparently security guards do not approve).

Helping mom by giving your sister a haircut. A few days before she was going to be in a wedding.

Rallying the team by leading a cheer on the bus...("Give me a __")...and then realizing that you have misspelled the name of your school.

Teaching chickens to fly (they can't--at least not further than you can throw them).

Allowing your brother and his friend to talk you into anything requiring a ladder, a zip line, and tree across the yard with a mat strapped to it.

I am from books

I am from stories read from books and
told around big tables
filled with too many arms and legs and not enough chairs,
but plenty of laps.
I am from books stacked on bricks and boards
behind the chair by the fireplace and stashed
in a small green suitcase.
I am from books carried on trips,
and into trees,
making anywhere I went seem like home and home
feel like a place far, far away.
I am from book lovers
who bought, borrowed, and shared favorites,
never thinking that a story was beyond
the reach of my eager eyes.
I am from fingers running gently and reverently
over new covers,
of inhaling the scent of pages opened for the first time
or the 2nd, the 10th, the 100th time.
I am from poems of childhood remembered
and wonders found in the pages
of yellow-bordered magazines
on the table by grandpa's chair.
I am from books and stories and magazines and newspapers,
surrounded by words and worlds,
filling me up
but never so full

that there wasn't room for more.

You mean you can catch it?

I think that it's entirely possible that Husband and I have succumbed to some sort of infectious...something. I blame Oldest, Middle, and Youngest. Two teens and a pre-teen.

For the most part, The Three are easy-going, polite, and even-keeled. In fact, they are a lot of fun. But they are also victims. They have been unable to completely escape the grasp of hormones and random moodiness and the occasional bout of surly almost-but-not-quite-over-the-line bad attitude. Thankfully it's not frequent or even even common.

But I'm afraid it might be catching.

I came home to find Husband in a funk. He couldn't quite put his finger on why, but he was definitely not himself. He was quiet and almost withdrawn. He couldn't make a decision and wasn't really interested in being cajoled out of whatever state he was in.

And now I find myself sitting here, sighing. Not quiet, relaxed sighing. Nope; the over the top, I-can't-believe-I-have-so-much-to-do, why-me kind of sighs. You know the one. Especially if you have a teenaged daughter.

So Husband and I find ourselves pondering what on earth is happening to us. The Three did not come with a manual, and up to this point, we feel that our on the job training has gone fairly well, with only a few bumps along the way. But no one told us that the moods and feelings and angst of adolescence might be catching.

Writing Group Part 1: The BONS are coming!

I'm part of a writing group started by Ruth Ayres.
There are 5 us; we call ourselves the BONS.


We met and bonded and continue to meet and bond and write.
BONS stands for what we write; Bits Of Nothing or Something.

Today after school I checked the clock every 3 minutes during a meeting.
Writing group is tonight; he BONS are coming to my house!


I hurried through errands and rushed home to start cooking.
I hope I have everything I need; the BONS like to eat!


Windows open, door too--quick sweep to hide the dust bunnies.
I know I don't have to; the BONS always promise to not to look.


The colorful plates and bowls come out; stacked and ready for dinner and dessert.
The BONS love to pick their favorite color; or argue over who got there first.


Dinner is ready, and I settle into the rocking chair by the window to watch.
I'm ready; how much longer until the BONS get here?


To see part 2, look below to read Tammy's slice; she'll tell you how to find part 3.
The BONS think they are really clever; what do you think?


Writing Group Part 2: Please Bring the Pie!
(a secret slice from a non-public blog)
The night before I read the message. Bring what you want; we will eat whatever you bring. Taco Salad is the main dish.
Well, I knew already I was going to take the girls pie. Later in the morning I checked my phone. Message...from Mary Helen.
Maybe you would stop and pick me up a pie.
Well, that was like we had ESP. For sure I was going to get pie no matter what. 
One my way to our meeting place in Goshen, I stopped by the Essenhaus in Middlebury and went up to the counter and ordered 5 red raspberry cream pie. The lady said, "5?"
I said, "yes. I'm meeting my friends and we will eat one and I wil give them one to take home to share with their families."
"How nice," she said.
After our delicious supper and laughs about Ruth's son and tears following Mary Helen's story, we had our pie. Tam and I were making mmmm--mmmm sounds as we were eating each bite. The moaning continued until each slice was devoured. We then went into the sitting room to write. If you have read Ruth's blog slices from the sofa, then you know where we sat.
My hope is that these friends, who actually think I'm funny (that's why I buy them treats...unlike my daughters!) will think of the fun we had at our BONS meeting tomorrow as they are eating a slice of that pie. 

Now...on to the living room and the giggles to continue...go to Tam's slice at http://clayfragments.blogspot.com/2012/03/writing-group-part-3-slicers.html  to continue.