Thought I would share a few excerpts from my book. They are unedited so there will be lots of mistakes. Don't worry, those will all be fixed. But I just thought I would paste a section in here every week or so and let anyone read it for feed back. I wish I could find the first chapter, it is missing in action somewhere. I hope I don't have to write it over. This is from chapter 3. If it is boring, let me know. If it interests you and causes you to want to read more, let me know that too. It will help me to know if I am on the right track. Just to set this up... Mikey is about 12. He and his friend Paul just found a huge black widow spider at the train yards while playing. He comes home and is summoned by his mom who busts him for throwing rocks at an old ladies sunflower plant (Sound like anything your dad would do?) Read on...
“I’m home Mom!” Mikey yelled as he entered the house. The screen door slammed behind him.
“Mikey, I’m in the family room. Can you come in here for a minute?”
“Just a second Mom.” Mikey ran down the hall to his room to put the jar with the spider away. He was sure his Mom wouldn’t approve. Finding a place on the shelf next to the globe and a model airplane, Mikey pushed the jar toward the back and moved a picture of him and his dad at a baseball game in front of the jar to hide it.
“Mikey!” His mother called.
“Coming Mom.” Mikey didn’t like the way his mom called him. It sounded like trouble.
Mikey’s mom was a tall , pretty lady. The perfect Mom. All this friends liked her and his sisters friends where always over visiting with her, even when his sisters weren’t home. She sat in the chair by the window reading a magazine about planting flowers. Mikey could tell by the wrinkles in her forehead that something was up.
“Hi Mom.” A good hug and a kiss seemed to be in order , maybe minimize the damage.
He leaned over the magazine giving his mom a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Mikey, I just got a call from Mrs. Hudson.”
Oh crap Mikey thought as his stomach knotted.
“She said you and Paul were throwing rocks at her sunflower plants. Is that true?”
Mikey hung his head. It was never good to lie to his mother, especially with a call from an eyewitness. He was simply busted. “Yeh, but..”
“I don’t want to hear any 'yeh buts'. That’s not acceptable. Mrs. Hudson is such a nice lady why would you terrorize her like that?”
We weren’t terrorizing her mom. We only hit one!”
“How many times have we talked about throwing rocks Mikey? I won’t stand for it. I want you and Paul to go over to her tomorrow and apologize to her.”
“Mom….” Mikey protested
“I don’t want to hear it! I’m going to call her right now to tell her you and Paul will stop by on the way home from school tomorrow to apologize and see if there’s anything you can do for her. She’s such a sweet old lady and probably needs help with something. You both owe it to her”
“Mom…can’t we just say we’re sorry? I’ve got plans after school tomorrow.”
“I know,” Mikes mom said, “you have plans at Mrs. Hudson’s house. No more complaints.” Her eyes opened wide to punctuate the statement. “And I don’t want any more rock throwing reports, understood?”
Mikey hung his head. “OK”
His mother folded the paper and put it back into the magazine rack next to the easy chair. She stood up, went to the kitchen, grabbed the phone book out of the a slot above a small desk area next to the refrigerator and began to thumb through the pages to find Mrs. Hudson’s phone number. After a short minute she picked up the phone and began to dial. Mikey started to head for his room.
“Michael, you stay right here.” His mother exclaimed as she sensed his move to escape.
Mikey lowered his head and walked slowly toward his mom.
“Hello, Mrs. Hudson. This is Jane ??? Mikey’s mother. I just had a little talk with Mikey and he and his friend Paul have decided that a good gesture would be to offer you their services this Saturday with some of your chores. They both are very sorry and Mikey wanted to tell you on the phone and make arrangements for Saturday... Yes... He’s standing right here, just a second.” She cupped the phone and raised her eyes in expectation to Mikey who was grimacing in protest. She handed him the phone.
Mikey slowly took the phone out of his mom’s hand and cupped the receiver, “What do I say,” he asked.
His Mother whispered. “You tell her you’re very sorry and that you and Paul would like to go over to her house on Saturday and help her with some chores.”
“But I got soccer on Saturday,” Mikey whined
“I don’t care, you’ll just have to work around it.” His mom folded her arms signaling the end of the protest.
“OK.” Mikey lifted the phone to his mouth. “Hi Mrs. Hudson…”
Mikey’s apology was short and sincere. He agreed that he and Paul would go over to her house right after soccer practice on Saturday morning and help with some yard work. It was a difficult thing for him to do but after hanging up he already felt better.
His mom patted him on the shoulder, and spared him repeating the details of his short conversation with Mrs. Hudson. She hugged him firmly and said. “Now don’t forget to show up on time. She will be expecting you.”
“OK Mom,” Mikey mumbled.
Mikey turned to go outside then remembered the spider in the Jar in his room, and decided to take a closer look.
In the top drawer of his dresser was a magnifying glass his grandmother had given it to him a couple of years ago. He hadn’t found much use for it since he first got it and spent an hour last summer burning up ants in the field down the street. But when you needed to look at something real close, like Mikey wanted to look at this particular spider, a magnifying glass was the perfect thing. He carefully closed and locked the door to his bedroom. No one was gonna make him let this huge spider go.
It was so big! The large black body was then size of an olive at Thanksgiving dinner. The eight black legs were motionless. Mikey couldn’t see any spider eyes but he knew this one had to be staring at him. Spiders were just that way.
“Man, the kids at school aren’t going to believe this,” he whispered to himself. He inspected the spider from every angle. Then put the jar back on the bookshelf behind the picture again to block it from view.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
It doesn't get any better...
It doesn't get any better. The proverbial "stand in front of the tree kids for a Christmas picture" picture! This is 7 of my eight children. (from left to right Emily, Natalie, Cecily, Chris, Keegan, Bryan, and Hilary) Brandon is in Samoa on a Mission for the LDS Church. Marian (mom) must have been off to the side beaming a proud smile. Jacey, Chris' main squeeze was tending to Bruce the dog, the closest thing we have to a grandchild. There isn't a present under the tree that could ever replace the joy these kids have given me. I am sure I will share more about each as time goes on. For now I just wanted to show them off. Each is so unique and occupy their own place in my heart and mind.
Many years ago when all the kids were small someone made the comment to me that, "these are the easy years". I thought they were crazy. But age has once again proven to be the great giver of wisdom. I now realize that back then it was easy and simple and straight forward. Hurties and boo boos could be taken care of with a hug, a band aid or ice cream. Growing and learning and not running into the street were the main concerns. Now as a parent of older children I worry about things that I have no control over. Band aids, hugs and ice cream no longer solve the issues of adult children. Advice is only given when asked for. It can't be dispensed and enforced at will any longer. You still worry but they make their own decisions and you're just a spectator. That's the way it should be. But as a parent it's not easy at times. My children have made good decision, are good citizens and self-sufficient. That's really the best you can ask for. They love each other, and take care of each other. They are generous and loving people. Like I said. "It doesn't get any better".
Many years ago when all the kids were small someone made the comment to me that, "these are the easy years". I thought they were crazy. But age has once again proven to be the great giver of wisdom. I now realize that back then it was easy and simple and straight forward. Hurties and boo boos could be taken care of with a hug, a band aid or ice cream. Growing and learning and not running into the street were the main concerns. Now as a parent of older children I worry about things that I have no control over. Band aids, hugs and ice cream no longer solve the issues of adult children. Advice is only given when asked for. It can't be dispensed and enforced at will any longer. You still worry but they make their own decisions and you're just a spectator. That's the way it should be. But as a parent it's not easy at times. My children have made good decision, are good citizens and self-sufficient. That's really the best you can ask for. They love each other, and take care of each other. They are generous and loving people. Like I said. "It doesn't get any better".
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
The Real Deal....or my version of it.
If I posted a picture it would be of a 54 year old round-faced, shaggy haired man with three days of graying at the chin stubble. My brow and eyes would be squinted, my mouth partially open, portraying an expression of, "what the hell are you looking at?" As a young man I heard a comedian on the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson say that his Dad was so ornery that he had "Whaderyu lookin' at?" chiseled into the headstone at his grave site. I thought that was funny. I also thought it would be a good epithet for my headstone.
I AM THE REAL DEAL! I am sure Bono and Dave Matthews think they are the real deal. There are women that would agree with that. Including my daughter Hilary (her students at work call her "Hi Larry" which I think is HILARRYIOUS!) Another subject, so back to the blog. Maybe Clint Eastwood, Jack Nicholson or Viggo Mortensen are the real deal. (What is a Viggo? - a Virgo Vegan?) Men might consider Sandra Bullock, Cheryl Crow, or Diane Lane the real deal. And we can't forget about the athletic side of the real deal; Tom Brady, Phil Mikelson, LeBron.
Why do we gravitate to the cover girls and boys? Why do we give them more credit because their faces appear on the cover of magazines? My face should be on the freakin' cover of a magazine! - The Real Deal Magazine that hasn't hit newsstands yet. It might not sell but it would get your attention. In fact, I bet if you were standing in the checkout line in Albertsons waiting for the lady in front of you to finally start getting her checkbook out of her purse right after the checker processed $200 of groceries and had to send Shawn the bagger down Aisle 4 to replace a box of Tuna Helper that was leaking a funny white powdery substance, and then Shawn had to run to the produce department because Alice, the lady buying the groceries... (you and the seven people behind you in line know her name and the name of her 9 grandchildren by now) ...said the avocados were marked half off. I-N-H-A-L-E (Sorry another blog on another day) Anyway, if you saw my face on the cover of The Real Deal Magazine with my "whaderyu lookin' at?" expression, you would pick it up. If nothing else just to see who that guy was on the cover. Your initial reaction would be that it's probably the Bus Driver from DesMoines Iowa that just won $350 freakin' million dollars in the Powerball Lottery that you read about. WRONG! It's me, The Real Deal! You'd pick it up, wouldn't you? Am I right? My face is on the mag cover. I must be important. My political views are vindicated and should be listened to. You should vacation where I vacation. You should wear the shirts, pants and shoes I wear. You should drive the car I drive and douse yourself in the cologne I use. And maybe, just maybe, you might want to consider my hair style. That 2000 watt, full bore dryer blown, finger teased hair style that you think looks kind of sexy that wastes 2 minutes of my valuable time every morning. But I'll bet I could can it, market it and sell my hairstyle to some idiots in LA with more money than brains and an IQ of a hockey score for $150! All I would have to do is get an endorsement from another face on a magazine cover. Label it Haute Couture and coin it "The New Look to Snag a Mate in 08' " (Oh, I make myself laugh sometimes) LOL LOL LOL LOL - in my day it was HAHAHAHA (another blog for another day). Because I know that when I actually laugh the sound it creates is more like "lololololol", than "hahahaha". Make sense to you?
I am the Real Deal! The Real Deal is loosely based on the premise of an enlightening moment I had as a teenager. I was at breakfast in a Denny's in Las Vegas in the summer of 1968 on the way to a baseball tournament in Salt Lake (we will go there too) I was the catcher-16 and was sitting in a red naugahyde corner booth with the center fielder-16, the 3rd baseman-17 and the shortstop-16. The chaperons were our two coaches that had reached the ripe and wise old age of 25 and 28 respectively. The shortstop went on and on about some girl we all knew that he liked at school and how cute she was. How pretty her hair was, her eyes, her tan skin....on and on. We were paying more attention to pouring catsup (or is it ketchup?- another blog) on our omelettes until the older and wiser of the coaches made the comment, "she sounds pretty, does she grunt when she S#*ts?" There was about 4 seconds of total silence at the table until the catcher, the center fielder the third baseman and the younger of the two coaches laughed so hard that they blew chocolate milk and scrambled eggs out of their noses! The shortstop looked truly confused and hurt. Which made it all the funnier. I never looked at that girl the same for the rest of high school. The fact of the matter is: we are all pretty simple people with simple needs. We all grunt when we S#*t. Even the faces on magazine covers do. ...More on the Real Deal and other mysteries of the universe next time.
I AM THE REAL DEAL! I am sure Bono and Dave Matthews think they are the real deal. There are women that would agree with that. Including my daughter Hilary (her students at work call her "Hi Larry" which I think is HILARRYIOUS!) Another subject, so back to the blog. Maybe Clint Eastwood, Jack Nicholson or Viggo Mortensen are the real deal. (What is a Viggo? - a Virgo Vegan?) Men might consider Sandra Bullock, Cheryl Crow, or Diane Lane the real deal. And we can't forget about the athletic side of the real deal; Tom Brady, Phil Mikelson, LeBron.
Why do we gravitate to the cover girls and boys? Why do we give them more credit because their faces appear on the cover of magazines? My face should be on the freakin' cover of a magazine! - The Real Deal Magazine that hasn't hit newsstands yet. It might not sell but it would get your attention. In fact, I bet if you were standing in the checkout line in Albertsons waiting for the lady in front of you to finally start getting her checkbook out of her purse right after the checker processed $200 of groceries and had to send Shawn the bagger down Aisle 4 to replace a box of Tuna Helper that was leaking a funny white powdery substance, and then Shawn had to run to the produce department because Alice, the lady buying the groceries... (you and the seven people behind you in line know her name and the name of her 9 grandchildren by now) ...said the avocados were marked half off. I-N-H-A-L-E (Sorry another blog on another day) Anyway, if you saw my face on the cover of The Real Deal Magazine with my "whaderyu lookin' at?" expression, you would pick it up. If nothing else just to see who that guy was on the cover. Your initial reaction would be that it's probably the Bus Driver from DesMoines Iowa that just won $350 freakin' million dollars in the Powerball Lottery that you read about. WRONG! It's me, The Real Deal! You'd pick it up, wouldn't you? Am I right? My face is on the mag cover. I must be important. My political views are vindicated and should be listened to. You should vacation where I vacation. You should wear the shirts, pants and shoes I wear. You should drive the car I drive and douse yourself in the cologne I use. And maybe, just maybe, you might want to consider my hair style. That 2000 watt, full bore dryer blown, finger teased hair style that you think looks kind of sexy that wastes 2 minutes of my valuable time every morning. But I'll bet I could can it, market it and sell my hairstyle to some idiots in LA with more money than brains and an IQ of a hockey score for $150! All I would have to do is get an endorsement from another face on a magazine cover. Label it Haute Couture and coin it "The New Look to Snag a Mate in 08' " (Oh, I make myself laugh sometimes) LOL LOL LOL LOL - in my day it was HAHAHAHA (another blog for another day). Because I know that when I actually laugh the sound it creates is more like "lololololol", than "hahahaha". Make sense to you?
I am the Real Deal! The Real Deal is loosely based on the premise of an enlightening moment I had as a teenager. I was at breakfast in a Denny's in Las Vegas in the summer of 1968 on the way to a baseball tournament in Salt Lake (we will go there too) I was the catcher-16 and was sitting in a red naugahyde corner booth with the center fielder-16, the 3rd baseman-17 and the shortstop-16. The chaperons were our two coaches that had reached the ripe and wise old age of 25 and 28 respectively. The shortstop went on and on about some girl we all knew that he liked at school and how cute she was. How pretty her hair was, her eyes, her tan skin....on and on. We were paying more attention to pouring catsup (or is it ketchup?- another blog) on our omelettes until the older and wiser of the coaches made the comment, "she sounds pretty, does she grunt when she S#*ts?" There was about 4 seconds of total silence at the table until the catcher, the center fielder the third baseman and the younger of the two coaches laughed so hard that they blew chocolate milk and scrambled eggs out of their noses! The shortstop looked truly confused and hurt. Which made it all the funnier. I never looked at that girl the same for the rest of high school. The fact of the matter is: we are all pretty simple people with simple needs. We all grunt when we S#*t. Even the faces on magazine covers do. ...More on the Real Deal and other mysteries of the universe next time.
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