Budget

 

Is that a four letter word? A word that makes us cringe or feel overwhelming guilt? I usually face my monthly chore of working out my budget with the same gusto I have for going to the doctor for a colonoscopy! But the financial budget is just as important to the health of my pocketbook as that other thing is to my personal health, so I do it.

That is altogether the wrong attitude.

In the effort to improve my feelings toward the topic, I shall attempt to redefine it. A budget is a plan. But, I don’t like that word very much either. If you want to hear God laugh, tell Him your plan. How about a map? I love, love, love maps. I grew up traveling and I could read a map before I could read a book. You have a start point, and end point, and a series of necessary stops in the middle. Love it, on my way to a new attitude.

Ok, now to apply it.

How is my lovely map like my unlovely monthly budget? I have a start point, X dollars. I have my end point, nothing in the red. Oooooh better yet, let’s have something in the savings account. We have all the necessary stops, the bills, the groceries, the discretionary fund, and whatever else I forgot to list. Make it fit and even take a picture of it for posterity. (And I have discovered that it is easier to cut out the junk that isn’t healthy for me or my financial budget.) That feels better already.

Can I apply this concept to the rest of my life and most especially to my writing? If I am to make a business of writing with any hope what so ever of putting a dollar or two in the bank, then I had better figure out how to apply this budget concept to my ‘list of things I gotta do’. I have my allotted hours to spend, and I know where I want to be at the end of the day. I also know where I want to be in a year. Here’s how I prepare my ‘Time Budget’:

1.       Make a list and prioritize it, be honest and thorough.

2.       Allow enough time for each event on your list.

3.       If you have to, assign a day of the week, or a day of the month, to accomplish each event, especially if it is a reoccurring event like paying bills.

4.       Absolutely must earmark a proper amount of time every day for these personal items:

a.       Meditation or prayer

b.      Personal hygiene

c.       Your significant other

5.       Select some new technology to learn.

6.       Take time to smell the roses, take a break, go on a picnic – rain or shine.

Now, make sure that everything fits in your time budget. How much time did you allow for your writing? Remember what your college English teacher told you? Two hours of homework for every hour of class. Write it all on a big desk calendar and stick to it.

Does this sound like preparing a schedule for work? That is exactly what it is. If I wish to be successful in writing, I must budget my time and stick to it.

Can I get quality writing done in two hours a day? How about four hours every other day?

 

How do you manage your time budget? How much time do you allow for your writing? Feel free to tap that little button down there and leave me a comment.

Too Stubborn to Change Strategy?

I have been told, and it is true: A good story will stick to you. A great story will change your way of thinking about life. It will change you. This is my story of the day.

I am a Trekkie from way back. I don’t go to all the conferences, nor do I dress up in costume, although I have perfected the Spok salute and I believe in ‘Live long and prosper.’ And I have watched and re-watched and totally enjoyed every episode of all the seasons since its inception.

I once watched a Star Trek Next Generation episode which featured Data, the one and only android in the Galaxy, attempting to solve a problem in one of the narrow ducts in the Enterprise. Either a hostile alien was ensconced in the ductwork, or a toxic leak had occurred there, but something was wrong.

Data programmed a robotic probe to investigate. Now, like Data, the probe was a super computer. Unlike Data, the probe did not possess evolutionary problem solving skills. It could not learn and adapt to new situations. Data’s attempt to correct the malfunctioning duct on the Enterprise soon degraded into an investigation on just how many times he could send that probe into the dangerous situation with the exact same results. The last morsel of that scene that I remember had Data reporting that he had sent in that probe hundreds of times with no variation of the results. It was a baffling issue to the poor android.

That particular scene has stuck with me over the years (decades). Now, first off, don’t get all worried about me. I know this is just a story in a Sci-Fi series. I also know it is well crafted in every sense of the word. But my wonderment is this – How long does it take us, as thinking and problem solving human beings, to change our strategy when we do not reach our goals?

And how much like that probe of Data’s am I? I have been writing stories and submitting them to various publications since I was eleven years old. The reject letters flood past me in a torrent and I move not. I am never discouraged. I write and rewrite, submit, and toss the reject letters into my ever growing pile.

Does that make me strong, or just stubborn? Does that give me character, or simply show that I am not smart enough to adapt and achieve victory, the goal of becoming published?

The world is changing. I have whole heartedly resented the surge into the computer age and I worked for Radio Shack when they were the only ones producing home computers for the masses.I was right there at the birth of the cell phone phenomenon – taking notes. But I cling to my old fashioned ways like a boulder in a stream of raging waters while a flood of technology washes past me. And here I sit like a great block of granite while the strength of the world carves graffiti in my soul and lichens grown in my crevasses, eroding into sand.

I know I can weave a thought into a readable passage. My words have brought knowledge, tears, laughter, and sighs of delight to hundreds of faithful followers over the decades.

So WHY can’t I find a way around that one last hurdle and get a bound copy of my book on a shelf? It is time to change my strategy. But how to uproot that tree that’s standing by the water and will not be moved? How to roll that boulder from in front of my cold, silent life so I can grow in the sunshine of this new world?

Methinks it will take more than faith.

Any helpful suggestions or encouragements? Just click that little comment button down there and pour out your own words.

Slaying Dragons

There is a dragon that follows me, dogs my footsteps, haunts my dreams, threatens my very existence. It is not by any shred of imagination a pet dragon, though sometimes I am driven to taunt it. And I have shamefully been known to drag it out of its lair and stroke it almost tenderly. It is a sinister creature.

Most often this hideous entity lurks in the shadows of my life. It waits and it rumbles. It is not patient.

I hate this creature. I despise it with every fiber of my being and I vow to destroy it from my life, once and for all. It becomes smaller. It avoids my wrath. I am free.

But am I truly free? In fear I look into the shadows of my life. What is my life without this battle, this thing to fight me? With whom, or with what, shall I fight if not this hated thing? What is the direction of my life if I am not herded by its presence? But, still it hides, so I will wait for it, and I know that I am indeed, not free.

It slithers into the small places. Its cold, unmoving eyes have found me. Its tongue stings the perfume of my joy and my footstep falters. I can kick this thing from my feet and stomp it away. I can move away from it. I can run. Slowly it wraps its constricting body around my legs until I can barely move, but it cannot touch my heart, it cannot stop my song. I will live; I will shout the praises of the One Most High.

But the thing becomes heavy. Where is my strength, where is my weapon of choice. I will slay this hated beast. With my own brute strength I will master this thing while it is still small. I am proud. I am -- I am -- I am

I am alone.

The dragon leaps out, morphed from the slithering, suffocating python wrapped around my soul. I feel its hot, stinking breath on my face. The dragon entangles me tighter in its scaly grip and I can feel its claws rip the pleasure from my throat. Pain is the only way of life, pain is a comfort. I find a fetid sense of peace in the stench of its flames. I will sleep in its arms and I will never have to fight again. It is the way it must be. I look one last time into its dead eyes to find my reflection. I am part of it now.

Another reflection can be seen. I have a child. I have a mate. I have a friend.  I know my friend will grieve for me and I find no pleasure in that. I know my mate will learn to live without me, and that does not hurt me. I see the terror in the eyes of my child and I know that this thing cannot take me away. I must protect my child from anything that will cause harm or fear. I know that I can never hurt my child and I will not let this dragon take me.

I am not alone; I have a child who must see me strong.

I have no strength, I have no secret weapon. I slip from the deceitful trap of the dragon that I hate. I am tired, but I live. I will one day find a way to slay this dragon.

Bake-O-Mania!

 I really could do a better job with this blog, but it’s November and I am participating in National Novel Writing Month, Nanowrimo.org and I am attempting to get an entire book written in just 30 days. Hey, I am having trouble keeping up with my regular routine, add in this contest thing and I am just goofy. But I promised myself that I would keep up with this little blog. And I am trying to spruce up my little garden by talking about more than just one topic, so…..

 

It's Time To Bake!

 

It’s fall, getting close to Thanks Giving and all that cool baking. If you are anything like me it’s going to be a bake fest until sometime after the first of the year when we will all be sadly looking at our bathroom scales and wondering what ever made us eat so much!

Well, face it, nothing anyone can say is going to change that little fact, we, like bears going into hibernation, engage in hyperphagia during the holidays, even if we think we are just eating a little bit at a time. But, here is the cool thing: I’m not going to say a thing to try to talk you or me out of it. That is what the Holidays are for, munching down with the fam.

In fact, I’m going to offer a cool recipe that I love and have used for years and years, even used it in a summer school program. Yeah, you know me, madam Do-It-Myself, I make my own bisquick mix. Why is this actually better for you? Less salt, whole wheat flour.

I make up a double batch every time because I use it that much. I put in a link to the website, too, because I can’t possibly add in all the cool recipes that come with this mix. No kidding, not just biscuits and pancakes, they have cookies, cakes, dumplings, even pie crust. I made an apple cobbler just today with this cool stuff.

Do yourself a favor and give this a look.

Smaller batch of Missouri Mix

• 8 cups flour (all-purpose, whole wheat or any combination)

                            (3 c whole wheat, 5 c unbleached works well for me)

• 1/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon baking powder
• 2 teaspoons salt
• 1 cup nonfat dry milk powder
• 1-1/2 cups shortening

Makes 11 cups mix.

Combine dry ingredients in large bowl. Sift to assure even distribution of ingredients. Using a pastry blender, cut in shortening until mix is the consistency of cornmeal. I make it easy on myself and I use my pretty Kitchen aid Mixer.

For the rest of the marvelous recipes and ideas please look at the website, it is the University of Missouri Extension Office, the 4-H people.  http://extension.missouri.edu/p/GH1055

 

 

Hand Washing on A Rub Board, A Blessing

   




You gotta love a washboard on a sunny day. What? You say you think there is something wrong with me on more than one level? Nay, on many levels.

   
  
   First, a rub board is green. Face it, no electricity, same water is used for the entire week’s worth of clothes, in order of course - whites to darks - and three tubs; wash, rinse, final rinse. You just use less water. You hang the clothes on a line, no electricity, and you really figure out what ‘fresh’ smells like.

    That’s a good reason, a fashionable and popular reason to hand wash, but that is not the real reason, not what motivates me.I am not the only one in the world who hand washes clothing. It is part of entire cultures right here in the great Midwest, remember the Amish? There are plenty of people who still hand wash, all for different reasons.

    As I scrub each piece of clothing I have time to think about the one who wears it, and I can say a prayer for that one. I can relive a memory and share a forgotten laugh. For me, it’s also back to nature, it’s time to reflect, time to be thankful for what I have, and time to dream and plan.
  
    As I settle down to really scrubbing the gunk out of the white socks I recall the most spiritual Easter weekend I ever spent with my children. We did not go to church, we became church. We went camping and escaped this worldly realm to experience life as pilgrims in Jerusalem on the very week that Jesus returned, triumphant but riding on a donkey. I wash my socks as we washed our socks in the waters of the Jordan river (the lake) and recalled these stories as if we were there, watching them, from the man carrying the water and directing the disciples to the upper room, to the devastating after noon of torture and death, to the morning when the women returned to the tomb only to find it empty. I recall my daughter’s innocent voice “Mommy, they have taken our eggs and we know not where they have laid them.” And we went out searching for eggs. I am blessed that I have this time to hand wash my clothes.

    Washing a week’s worth of dirty clothes, sheets, and towels can bring a family closer, too. You disagree? Picture this: 5 tubs of water, the first with soap, the rest to rinse, and when the wash water gets too dirty, it gets dumped and fresh water is added, it becomes the final rinse and soap is added to the next tub, the one that was first rinse. You sit at the first tub, the wash tub with the rub board, your young son sits next to you, first rinse. You can show him the fine art of sloshing while you discuss other important things, like being scared the first time you rode the school bus. Next comes young daughter, rinsing and looking for missed stains. She gets to check details and return imperfect work to ‘the scrubber’ a fun precursor to the health profession. Last rinse falls to older daughter. She is the final judge, then Dad wrings and hangs. And through out the event, we are able to talk, really talk. I am blessed to have this memory and this time to relive it. I miss my children.

    I am in a long line of hand washers, sometimes there was no choice, sometimes it was convenience, but it is the chore that binds us together and makes us stronger.

    Hey, but all that aside, I get time to sort out my stressors and take my ‘grrr’ out on something that can’t say ‘ouch!’ And, just between you and me, right now, I do it out of stubbornness. The hubby said I spend too much money! Yea, right.


    Now, if someone happens to remember any of this in a different light, please feel free to click on that comment button and share your experiences.

Chicken Soup



No, this one will not go to the stewpot

      

     Mmmmmm. A fine day’s work today. And it’s early enough to do more if the spirit moves. I have a couple of chickens in the freezer and one in the stewpot. Yep, Chicken Soup tonight!
      Yes, Chicken soup is good for the soul. Good for the heart, mind, and any friend or loved one who may be feeling under the weather. Chicken soup is a great dish to impress the mother in law, or to have waiting for you in the slow cooker after a long hard day at work. Chicken soup is more than comfort food, and a good series of books, it is a spiritual teacher.
    

     I will share my recipe, of course, but then my children, and my cousins, already know my recipe…..throw in everything but the kitchen sink. It’s a family recipe, handed down from mother to daughter. The grandfather’s contributed, too, they usually brought in the cleaned and plucked chicken, and often times they grew the veggies that helped to fill the pot!

• 1 fresh chicken, I use half these days since I only feed 2 now, and it is always the first one off the butchering table. Do not, I repeat, do not use a de-boned chicken! Those bones are important, cook ‘em down, crack ‘em and get that goodie out of them. Yeah, you can take the skin and fat off, but leave those bones in!

The rest of the ingredients are ‘to your taste’

• Potatoes, carrots, onions, celery, cut to your favorite size
• Turnips, rutabagas, parsnips, flavored with a bit of ginger and maybe some curry if you like
• You can add some greens about an hour before it’s ready to serve, ever thought of chopping up a handful of Swiss Chard in your soup? Yum!
• Season your soup with just about anything, I put several cloves of garlic, cut into chunks, for the great flavor and nutrition.
• I will almost always add a jar of home canned tomatoes (not going to plagiarize my special recipe with canned tomatoes!)
• I also like a variety of summer squashes in my soup.
• Fresh herbs, as many as you like, parsley is good for the heart, sage and rosemary give it a holiday flair, chili seasonings or hot sauce will give it a kick, Hey fix it to suit you
• I will almost always add a handful, or two, of barley, give it a couple of hours if it is in the slow cooker
• Noodles are a must, if this soup is to be a gift for a sick friend.
• At the end, you can thicken it a bit if you wish, a tablespoon of cornstarch mixed into a half cup of water to keep your soup gluten free.

Oh, you say you like dumplings? Or fresh egg noodles? Well, that is a different blog altogether, so before you are ready to serve your soup, add the dumplings and cook as directed.

     But, there is another step, it is one of the most important steps in good cooking! You gotta taste it from time to time to make sure the seasonings are just right. You will need a tasting spoon, it will be sitting near your stirring spoon. I still have the wooden spoon that I got from my Aunt, and she got it from my Gramma. You will taste your soup from time to time and add a spice or a bit more water if you think it needs it. But, you will not be the final judge, and you know it. Before you set your soup on the table or take it to the neighbor or the Church potluck, you will have at least one other person taste it, just to make sure. Then, if it passes all the taste tests, it will be ready to serve.
     Now, isn’t that the same as writing? We put in our best skills, stringing words together, then grooming them to perfection. But give it that last taste test, take it to the critique group before trying to publish!

     Did I leave out your favorite veggie or seasoning? Or did I miss a great writing tip? Please click on that button down there and leave your comment. I’m still learning this blog stuff, so have some patience with me. Thanks!

And So I Write

If a tree falls in a forest and there is no one nearby to hear it, does it still make a sound?

I seem to remember that debate from some class I had years ago, and although I cannot remember most of what was said that day, I remember the way it makes me feel, still today.



If I say a word and my children do not listen to me, have I lost my word? Or did I just not make a sound to begin with? And if I write a word, and no one bothers to read it, does that word even exist?
　
Well, as time has proven, my words did have a bit of impact. My children grew and prospered. I have succeeded. And so I take hope.

Consider the stars. They are many and they fill the universe as we know it. They are tiny beacons twinkling silently, often unnoticed. But they stand through time and offer themselves, a guide to any lost soul searching for direction. And we learn from the stars. We learn about great distances and how we, our tiny and insignificant selves, possibly came into existence. And we learn about eternity.

As I admire the twinkling of a far distant ball of energy and ponder how many, many eons it may have taken for that pinpoint of light to grace my eyes and fill my heart, I know. My words will not fade. The words I write came from an energy in my mind, sculpted into form by my soul and set free by my voice or pen, and they float into this vast eternity again. One day, my words, like the light of this star, will grace the eyes and possibly guide the soul of another.

And so I write.

Share what motivates you to complete a task when there is very little to encourage you, and we will all be uplifted.