The Siblings M
I didn't put our last name in the title--guess I'm paranoid or something. We all started out as M's of course, and until about ten years ago, three of us remained with our last name beginning with an M. Sue went from a maiden M to a married M. Warren naturally has always been an M. I went from a maiden M to a married M and then remarried a P. Lynn, however, gave up her M right from the start, although she had one briefly after two H's. Now she's an O. I guess that makes her water because she's H2O. ha ha ha
The Picture of the Four of Us
Blogging is sort of new for me. Okay, I have blogged a bit on St. Louis Writers Guild’s Eliot Blog, which you can check out at www.stlwritersguild.org and then click on Eliot blog. There’s an archive section and you’ll probably have to do some searching.
One important thing I have learned in the way of blogging is to make sure what you have to say is something you want the entire public to read. I like to ask myself a few questions before I post: Is it true? Is it necessary? Is it kind? I guess that’s another way of saying, don’t gossip and don’t be mean and don’t make up something unless you’re writing fiction.
My siblings, Suzanne, Warren and Ruth (I listed them in chronological order) are all great writers. They write better than I do and that’s why they all need to join St. Louis Writers Guild (SLWG). Smiley face. And then they can be really cool, like me. Another smiley face.
I wanted to share about the picture that is posted of the four of us on our last Sibling Day. This was in August. HOT HOT HOT (not the picture, the weather). We shopped and browsed around old St. Charles on Main Street nervous that one of us (Warren, Lynn or Ruth) would slip, as little did our older sister (Suzanne) know, that in the evening we were going to be surprising her with a birthday party for her 60th birthday. She shouldn’t be upset that I’m spreading her age because she looks fabulous and I can only hope I look half as good in another nine years. One of the highlights (although there were many) of this party where some 100+ people attended was her gifts. Younger sister, Ruth had the bright and brainy idea (wish I had thought of it) to have each guest, if they wanted to give a gift, to bring a pair of shoes since Suzanne is a shoe-aholic. They could bring any kind, new or old, so long as they were her size. That night, all night long, Shoozy tried on shoes of all sorts from boots to slippers to high heels to flip flops to tennies. Some were created by hand like Ruth’s husband, Bud who welded and sculpted a pair of metal high heels. Suzanne got up and danced with the person who gave the pair of shoes she just opened and you could tell she was having the time of her life. Unfortunately the night didn’t last long enough for her to go through all the shoes, but I had the pleasure of loading up my car with all the shoes. Shoes filled the trunk, the entire back seat, and the front seat of my car. I drove to her house late that night wondering, If I were stopped by the police would they think I just robbed a shoe store?
One important thing I have learned in the way of blogging is to make sure what you have to say is something you want the entire public to read. I like to ask myself a few questions before I post: Is it true? Is it necessary? Is it kind? I guess that’s another way of saying, don’t gossip and don’t be mean and don’t make up something unless you’re writing fiction.
My siblings, Suzanne, Warren and Ruth (I listed them in chronological order) are all great writers. They write better than I do and that’s why they all need to join St. Louis Writers Guild (SLWG). Smiley face. And then they can be really cool, like me. Another smiley face.
I wanted to share about the picture that is posted of the four of us on our last Sibling Day. This was in August. HOT HOT HOT (not the picture, the weather). We shopped and browsed around old St. Charles on Main Street nervous that one of us (Warren, Lynn or Ruth) would slip, as little did our older sister (Suzanne) know, that in the evening we were going to be surprising her with a birthday party for her 60th birthday. She shouldn’t be upset that I’m spreading her age because she looks fabulous and I can only hope I look half as good in another nine years. One of the highlights (although there were many) of this party where some 100+ people attended was her gifts. Younger sister, Ruth had the bright and brainy idea (wish I had thought of it) to have each guest, if they wanted to give a gift, to bring a pair of shoes since Suzanne is a shoe-aholic. They could bring any kind, new or old, so long as they were her size. That night, all night long, Shoozy tried on shoes of all sorts from boots to slippers to high heels to flip flops to tennies. Some were created by hand like Ruth’s husband, Bud who welded and sculpted a pair of metal high heels. Suzanne got up and danced with the person who gave the pair of shoes she just opened and you could tell she was having the time of her life. Unfortunately the night didn’t last long enough for her to go through all the shoes, but I had the pleasure of loading up my car with all the shoes. Shoes filled the trunk, the entire back seat, and the front seat of my car. I drove to her house late that night wondering, If I were stopped by the police would they think I just robbed a shoe store?
Quarter to Ten
Blasted from my dream to dogs barking and a pounding on the door. What time is it? I struggled to focus on the clock. Eight eleven. You’ve got to be kidding me. Grab a robe. Corral the dogs. Don’t open the door. The dogs are still loose. We have a door dasher and I’m not prepared to run through the neighborhood in my robe after a speeding wiener. Wave timidly at the neighbor, let her daughter in. My son, running after me in all directions, realizing his failure to watch the clock and wake me up–on time–tries to help with the dogs, the door, the disaster unfolding. I realize now he was waiting for the eruption that never came. I didn’t have time to have a fit. Get breakfast. Half day. No lunch to pack. Here’s your clothes. Do they match? Who cares, it’s clothes. Find your shoes. Comb your hair. Drink your milk. Big yellow forty-four rolls up the street. We have four minutes. Got your bookbag? Heavy coat; it’s cold outside. Down the sidewalk. Chat with neighbor who laughs at my morning.
Coffee. No. Couch. Yes. Nap. Finish my dream. What dream? Dogs want out. Dogs want in. Television is so stupid in the morning. Phone rings. This better be good. It is. Nine six five number. This won’t be short. Turn off television. Coffee it is. No nap. Chat. Chat. Chat. It’s good to talk. To connect. Problems and solutions. Questions and answers. Observations. Laughter. Writing. Poetry. Challenges. Chat, chat, chat. Oh jeez, it’s quarter to ten. What can I get done in two hours? And yet we chat some more. Oh hell, it’s quarter til eleven now. Really gotta go. Where? Nowhere. Get something done. I’ll check my mail. Drain the coffee pot. Eat chocolate donuts, the little ones. First I’ll play a game. Don’t get sucked in.
Wait. There’s a story to be told. It must get out. Write. Write. Write. Yeah. I should start a blog. The world would love me. The world does love me. But I have a very small world. Maybe this should be a poem. Don’t know how. How ‘bout real sentences? Nah. Choppy thoughts deserve choppy. Words.
Eleven fifteen. That was pretty quick. Damn I’m good.
Thu 3/12
Coffee. No. Couch. Yes. Nap. Finish my dream. What dream? Dogs want out. Dogs want in. Television is so stupid in the morning. Phone rings. This better be good. It is. Nine six five number. This won’t be short. Turn off television. Coffee it is. No nap. Chat. Chat. Chat. It’s good to talk. To connect. Problems and solutions. Questions and answers. Observations. Laughter. Writing. Poetry. Challenges. Chat, chat, chat. Oh jeez, it’s quarter to ten. What can I get done in two hours? And yet we chat some more. Oh hell, it’s quarter til eleven now. Really gotta go. Where? Nowhere. Get something done. I’ll check my mail. Drain the coffee pot. Eat chocolate donuts, the little ones. First I’ll play a game. Don’t get sucked in.
Wait. There’s a story to be told. It must get out. Write. Write. Write. Yeah. I should start a blog. The world would love me. The world does love me. But I have a very small world. Maybe this should be a poem. Don’t know how. How ‘bout real sentences? Nah. Choppy thoughts deserve choppy. Words.
Eleven fifteen. That was pretty quick. Damn I’m good.
Thu 3/12
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