Category: Creativity

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Scrabble Tile Name Word Poems – Stafford Challenge Day 4

Photo by Steven Hylands on Pexels.com

Take a prompt from Anna Roseboro at Ethical ELA (go over there and read it – it’s amazing) and spin it with Scrabble tiles using the letters in a book character’s name, add a current event, and show the perspective that the character would have on the real event today, and this is something like what you might get:

DR. BARRY LAVERTY Laments Chancellor Departing NUI

Dr. Barry Laverty
of Ballybucklebo
would find it quite
A TEARY DAY
to see that chancellor go

He himself from Belfast,
a young BRAVE new M.D.,
found a job
in lush, green hills
in Irish country, see?

As Dr. Manning
hangs his gown
this YEAR at NUI
his more than DREARY
stepping down
grieves those lamenting
his good-bye

My poem is based on the character Dr. Barry Laverty from An Irish Country Doctor by Patrick Taylor, my current read, and the news out of Ireland about the current chancellor, Dr. Maurice Manning, stepping down from the National University of Ireland (NUI), hanging his ceremonial gown for the last time. 

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Melatonin Dreams – Stafford Challenge Day 2

Photo by Vladimir Gladkov on Pexels.com

melatonin dreams

sweet sleep or nightmares?

milligrams matter

It’s always a coin toss. Do I want to get some sleep even with disturbing dreams, or do I want to wake up at 2 a.m. and try to suffer through the day?

I chose the sleep with dreams last night. Ten milligrams brings nightmares, but a five milligram dream is not all that terrible – usually.

In my 5 mg dream, I had been on a cruise ship with my husband’s side of the family, and we’d just returned home when some of us fell ill. And by family, I mean all of the Thursday night dinner crowd: Briar, his dad, his brother and sister-in-law, his son, and me. When two of them tested positive for the flu, some guys in white coats showed up at our door and put us in a van and took us to a medical testing lab to see if we had it, too.

We did. 

They took us into a hall, where everyone was lying on the floor waiting on a bed. All the cruise baggage was still there, and each person was lying next to the luggage they brought. I took a picture of this, because I wanted proof they were making us get on the floor.

One by one, each person was taken down the hall when a bed became available.

I pointed to the copy machine I’d brought. Our office really did get a new one recently, and we’d all had to attend the 15-minute training on how the new one works and what not to do to break it. So it seemed logical that I’d taken the new copy machine on the cruise and now had it with me, rolling it around everywhere, even here in the medical facility.

The doctor came to tell me I’d tested positive and that I was being admitted to the hospital, and he had a little laptop that had my entire history on it. ”Well, if I’d seen that you’d taken pain pills when you had your children, I’d have never prescribed them for you. You’re probably only here for the prescription pain meds,” he accused.

This sent me into a fiery rage, and I unleashed on him. I screamed and caused a scene, right next to my copy machine I was pulling around.

“You %@$&@%^,” I yelled, pointing my finger an inch from his nose, making sure everyone in the building could hear me. “Yeah, you in your professional lab coat. I am not here by choice. Your people came and got me and accused me of being sick, and now you’re falsifying documents to say that I am and you’re forcing me into the hospital against my will when I have to go to work tomorrow. I am NOT taking your medicine.” 

I find myself so satisfyingly bold in dreams, yet never enough like this in real life. 

With that, he motioned to a nurse to come start an IV on me, and I started kicking and flailing my arms. 

“What exactly do you do?” he asked.

“I make sure people can read so they have sense. Something you skipped in school. You have no sense. You did not ever get the help you need, and all these people in this facility think you’re a real doctor, but you’re not. You’re here to try to trick us, and you’re sending us to another planet.” 

Everyone was staring at me, dumbfounded, and my family was all in a deep sleep, too deep to care. They’d already gotten their IV medicine and were being taken away, one by one.

I moved over behind my copy machine, but suddenly it sprang a handle and wheels and started looking more like a wagon, and one of the male nurses pulled it off to the side where I couldn’t get behind it. I was scared my school was going to charge me for it, and I threatened to sue the nurse for damaging this high dollar equipment.

The nurse didn’t care. No one cared.

They put me on a bed and wheeled me to a chamber.

They made us all get into hyperbaric pods so they could monitor us to be sure we were sleeping the fevers off. The chambers slept 4, with beds all around the edges of a capsule shape. Two kids’ beds were at both short ends, and regular twins were on the edges. You had to step up into the chamber on a little step that dropped down, and it looked a lot like a cross between an Airstream camper and a silver space ship. There were even lights on the thing.

They tried to put me in one with an old lady and a young child, and I saw them asleep and started screaming to wake them up. I screamed in the child’s ear, directly in the ear, thinking the child would cry, but she didn’t. 

The door sealed shut like on an airplane, and an engine started revving, and I was beside myself with fear, knowing I was headed to Mars and that no one on this ship knew how to fly it. 

I woke up in a sweat at 5 a.m., more ready than ever to go to work.

I didn’t have a copy machine to lug back to the office, and I was not headed to Mars.

I’m cutting back to 2.5 milligrams of Melatonin tonight. I’ll cut the gummy in half and see if I can get to a more manageable and more normal nightmare.

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Stafford Challenge Kickoff – Day 1

I accepted the challenge thrown at my feet. And by thrown at my feet, I mean the Facebook post stopped my scroll. I clicked on Learn More and read the details. A poem a day for a year, starting January 17. They call it the Stafford Challenge, and registration ends today.

Sounds like my kind of adventure.

I signed up, and my backpack is ready for the year ahead. My computer is charged, my coffee is hot, and my momentum is high. I’m looking around – – where is the inspiration in any writing time? Never farther than a foot away. I see my coffee cup, white with a black butterfly etched in the surface. Me. I see myself – caffeine for the long journey ahead, and the freedom to make it. 

I have a Zoom tonight to see what it’s all about, but for today, all I need is my poem. 

Ready

wings spread, eyes open

every moment, a story

becomes a poem

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Cast Iron Awakenings

Nightstand Before
  • Cast Iron Awakenings

still flipping old things ~

hotcakes in cast iron griddles

old wood awakens

a new lease on life

repurposed for the future

strong memories past

I’ve joined The Stafford Challenge to write a poem every day starting tomorrow for the remainder of the year. It’s free, and it looks like a great way to connect and encourage other writers, according to their website. If you’re participating in the challenge, I hope to see you there! I’ll still be regularly participating in all the writing groups I have grown to love – and adding one more! I deeply appreciate all of the writing groups and those who share their ideas and slices of their lives with me.

Nightstand After

Heartfelt thanks to Two Writing Teachers for hosting the weekly Slice of Life , giving writers inspiration and space to share.

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A Sparkling Sage Face Lift

Fifteen years ago, after we’d just moved into the house we designed during dinnertimes on napkins while we dated, I scoured thrift shops for inexpensive furniture and was surprised to find a little end table in amazing condition for ten dollars. It had a lot of scratches on it, but I figured it would mostly be covered with books and other things, so I scooped it up for my reading room, to sit beside the chair with a lamp – to hold my To Be Read pile and my coffee. 

As I looked at pieces of furniture needing a face lift at the beginning of 2024, this little table made the short list. I moved all of the things it was holding and dusted it off, getting it ready for a couple of coats of paint and a good polishing. 

Table before the refinish, turned with the brass-handled drawer facing the bookshelves

I sanded the top to find a much lighter wood – pine, stained in a rich chestnut color originally. Since I sit in the reading room to watch birds and enjoy the southeasterly views of the farm, I decided on a Sparkling Sage (Valspar) chalk paint for the bottom of the table, keeping the color of grass and life close at hand. Once I discovered the wood was a lighter color, I resisted the urge to whitewash the top and instead keep the natural wood under a coat of clear satin water-based polyurethane. I also decided to do something I haven’t done before – I kept the original hardware and painted it, too. 

Upcycled table iin the morning stream of sunlight

With a few touches of coordinating colors in decor accents, I’m pleased with the way it turned out. Now I’m ready for a new foot pouf to throw up my feet as I read and watch for birds to come to the feeders. 

And I’ve already got my eye on the next project that I want to accomplish as I look to paint and re-create before the annual cycle of deep spring cleaning begins in March. 

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Thread Nonet and Craft Room Dreams

I’ve been cleaning out my sewing notions that I’ve collected over the years. When Mom died, I inherited many of her notions and her magical Bernina sewing machine. Mom sewed all the way through high school, making most of her formal gowns (and mine, later). She made us matching dresses when I was young enough to still think that was cool, on the before side of life for being able to appreciate those sweet memories. When I was nine or ten, I made my first pair of bright green Terry cloth shorts, crying in frustration at having to rip seams and all less than perfect stitches in between, and I’m certain that the thread spool that witnessed my fits is among these in the picture. I’m also fairly certain that my crying fits of sewing are the deciding factor that I’m a 1 on the enneagram and not a 3 or 5. 

My goal today is to cut my supply of thread by at least half, keeping variations of the shades that I will use for rag quilting and mending and hemming clothes. As I look at this photo, one thing stands out to me that I may not have seen if I hadn’t organized by color. Mom wore bright pinks, reds, and bright blues – and to see this photo is to see her in all her handiwork right here on my kitchen counter. She’s urging me to take some lovely photos of the spools and then share the rest with others who sew so that others can squeeze more life out of items that would otherwise end up in a landfill. 

On, now, to buttons, rick rack, and other notions. I’m thinking of converting our office into a sewing room……I much prefer being creative to paying bills and sorting paperwork that piles up and has nowhere to live. 

Thinking………..

Inherited Thread Nonet

a bit of useless information:

I own one hundred sixty four

spools and seven empty spools

sorted by ROY G BIV

rainbow color groups

I should never

need to buy

more new

thread…….

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Haint Blue

As a Christmas present in 1985, my parents gave me an antique chest of drawers that has needed a facelift for at least two decades now. The date on the back is stamped 1926, and it is made of a dark hardwood. Some of the original knobs fell off, and one drawer needs to be repaired at the bottom. It’s a lovely piece, and the feet resemble the posts on my twin beds that I slept on as a child and that are now pushed together to form a King Size bed. Believe it or not, I still sleep in these beds today with my husband and our three schnoodles.

I couldn’t get rid of the beds. They came out of an old house on Sea Island Georgia, a smaller island off of St. Simons Island, where I lived as a child. The undersides are painted Haint Blue, a common practice on coastal islands in the southeastern United States, rooted in the belief that this color wards off evil spirits and ghosts. Sherwin Williams even has a paint color named Haint Blue. In addition to painting this color under beds, people also paint it onto porch ceilings as well. 

Example of a Haint Blue porch ceiling (not mine)

I’ve had paint sample colors, paint stripping paste, and all sorts of brushes and tools ready to give some of our furniture a new life for six months now, and I’m finally getting around to the actual work. That Christmas gift from 1985 was at the top of my list, even though my grandmother’s kitchen table started the big avalanche of projects.

This week, I’ve watched about a half dozen YouTube videos and talked with my furniture flipping daughter on how to use chalk paint and all the variations and ideas for using it. I started simple – – with a can of Greige (a Behr paint color cross between grey and beige) and some new black knobs for the chest of drawers. I learned that a quick sanding is all that is needed, and that chalk paint dries in about 30 minutes, allowing a few coats and a complete project finish in an afternoon except for the wax wait time to cure. I used a small furniture roller and got to work.

Before:

Chest of drawers with trial replacement knobs attached

After:

Finished, waiting for wax to dry and cure (applied in a circular motion, which will show for a week or two) between buffings

I’m lining the drawers with contact paper to give it a fresher look, and moving on to my next project – – a small end table that I use in my reading room for my coffee by my reading chair.

I’ve chosen Sparkling Sage for the table and will finish the top with a white wash.

Let’s get sanding. 

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Flipping My Grandmother’s Kitchen Table

One of my daughters flips furniture and has garnered a social media following, sharing what she does in time lapsed videos as she breathes new life into pieces that need a fresh start. I’m always amazed by her before and after photos of the projects she envisions and creates. So when I finally worked up the courage to flip my grandmother’s kitchen table that I’ve had for many years but was scared to refinish for fear I’d mess it all up, I picked up the phone. 

My grandmother’s table (leaves in) with paint samples spread across the top, before refinishing

“What do I do?” I asked her. My (almost) sister-in-law had suggested chalk paint, and I loved the idea of a modern farmhouse look.

Ansley told me, and I set out to get the things I’d need: an orbital sander with 80 and 220 grit sanding pads, a 180 grit sanding sponge or paper, a can of Behr chalk paint in Farmhouse White, a good name brand chalk paint brush and wax brush, a tub of chalk paint wax and a lint-free rag, a quality 2-inch stain brush that wouldn’t shed bristles, a drop cloth or other floor covering, and a can of stain mixed with polyurethane in a satin finish. I chose a warm pecan color. 

I wore a mask and sanded the dark finish off the top with the 80 grit paper outdoors, then wiped it all down and lightly sanded the bottom with a 180 sanding sponge. Back indoors, I lined the floor with paper in case of spills (I’m so glad I did) and painted the bottom part of the table with 3 coats of chalk paint and the top with 3 coats of the pecan stain/poly mix, sanding with the 220 grit in between coats. Although I paid the price of bending down all weekend with a Monday morning backache, I completed the project in two days and now have a whole different kitchen table. 

My grandmother’s table refinished with my daughter’s vision in my kitchen (leaves are out for drying)

We normally don’t have the table situated with the leaves out, but in the picture above, they’re open for drying and the table is pulled apart into its different sections.  I’m letting the table dry for a couple of extra days since the leaves will fold in half and rest with tops touching once I roll them back inside the table and lock it shut.

I can hear my grandmother, Georgia Lee Haynes, cheering her granddaughter Ansley’s skills and choices from Heaven as I stand here in my rural Georgia kitchen between the two of them, one in Heaven and one in Kentucky. I’m the one holding a dripping paintbrush with a splotch of white paint in my hair, standing next to the table that will bridge generations from long ago to many years in the future. 

Pull up a chair and let’s have a cup of tea and play a game of dominoes – – and feel free to grab a paintbrush and stay awhile…..the chairs are next. 

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Body Aches

My arms and legs don’t want to go to work today. The rest of me is dressed and ready, and my mindset is already thinking about the day ahead. My lower back will clock in at some point once I get moving, but my body is protesting Monday with tired, sore muscles after we refinished the kitchen table and a couple of chairs over the weekend. I can’t wait to share some before and after photos once the project is complete, but for today, I’m keeping my One Little Word front and center (pray) and my diopter word of the day is stand. I’m praying I can stand up and step out and struggle through the woes of an aging body trying to do what my younger body did without all the grief and agony the next day.

Why Old People Walk Bent

                 refinishing chairs

              sanding, painting, staining slats

              bending, straining backs

Photo by Mike Bird on Pexels.com – Photo for topic only – this is not my chair.