An Award, uh, Sort of........

So, uh, okay. I received this "award" from my recently fired press agent, Libby, over at Neas Nuttiness. You will see why I had to let her go when you read her latest press release on me. It is as follows:

"And last for today (and believe me I didn't really want to add her cause she's really smok'n me out with her followers - and she's often a BIG FAT LIAR - oh did I really say that? Uuuummmm - she stretches the truth now and then - yep, that's better.) is Robynn at Robynn's Ravings."

I want to thank you, Libby, from the bottom of my shoe for these warm words! lol! Now I do suggest you pop over and visit her because she is very nice to everyone else and will probably be nice to you, too.

Okay, the rules are as follows:

List 6 things that make you happy. Pass the award on to 6 bloggers for Kreativity. Link to the blogger who gave you the award. Link to the blogs receiving the award. Notify the recipients.Things that make me happy:

1. My family, friends, and pets on a daily basis. Such warmth, joy, blessings, and love.

2. My faith in an all powerful, redeeming God who has seen fit to love EVEN ME.

3. Joy, fun, laughing, humor.

4. Finding meaning - even if it takes years.

5. Kindness - it is always unexpected and I hope I never fail to appreciate it.

6. My new blogging world and the wonderful friends I have met here. I am touched and amazed.

Next: The Nominees are - (oh man, only six? you know how BAD I am at choosing......I don't follow anyone I don't think is fantastic.) But okay....based on creativity......

1. Sharon Linne Faulk is an incredible designer of handmade cards. They are available on Etsy. Sharon's life is filled with challenges and love as she raises two boys with autism, and does so on her own, after having lost her husband. Her story is compelling and I urge all of you to visit her and buy her cards. They really are lovely.

2. Andrea at Finding Sirius. I love her writing and her heart. Both are beautiful. And she has started a new blog called, The Charlie Project in which she features photos of dogs. But it's not just photos. Andrea offers captions that explalin the photos in meaningful and moving ways. She can see something in dogs you might miss as a casual observer. She doesn't miss a thing and you may see dogs differently after viewing her photos. If you are in any way a dog lover your life will be enriched.

3. Gizten Girl is a treasure. She has incredible health challenges that keep her housebound and in pain. But you won't leave her site feeling down. Quite the contrary. She's funny, encouraging, and very talented. Today she is starting to sell her inspirational, and lovely, canvases that she paints. I already ordered one this morning. I want it, dang it! If I wait ten seconds I'll be in line behind the rush. LOTS of us love her. You will, too.

4. Red Pine Mountain is a humanitarian. She focuses on people and the writings of others. She has contests encouraging people to visit other blogs and purchase handmade products. She advocates for and writes about random acts of kindness. Her heart is evident in all she does. Go and be blessed by her graciousness.

5. French with Music is unbelievable. Here's something even more unbelievable: I am her only follower. She is in France and has other blogs but this one, well, you have to have eclectic musical taste (and I DO) but I have found myself enraptured by some of her video posts. Three of my favorites over there are as follows: No Me Quitte Pas, is the real version of a song translated into English. And believe me, something was lost in translation. (This has subtitles.) Absolutely stunning in its emotional grip and poetry. Another is Liberta which will just make you smile. Trust me. You can't help it. (Put on the headphones for the best effect for all of these. You'll feel like you're there.) And finally, don't miss Chocolat Chaud. I have no idea what the words are but I love how she sings them and the tune is something I hummed constantly this last week. It's a live performance and I LOVE it! Please visit and tell me what you think.

6. Finally, Azure Island Designs is a woman who makes jewelry. Yeah, I know. Lots of people make jewelry. But not like this. She is not only richly creative, she infuses her pieces with feeling. I don't know how she does it except that she's an artist and that's what artists do. Check this out especially: Broken Heart Necklace. Scroll down when you go there and just look at that. I don't know why but that necklace makes me feel hopeful and sad, all at the same time. I want it. It says so much.

My deepest appreciation goes out to all of you ladies for enriching my life. I have found my way to you and I am grateful.

Proverbs 3:6 "In all your ways acknowledge Him and he will direct your paths."

So grateful our paths have crossed. :-)

(Now go blame Libby that Part II of "The Winter Ow-lympics isn't up. She'll thank you for it.)

Copyright 2009

The Winter Ow-lympics Part I

My kids have been wanting to learn to ski. It looks simple to them. A board or a couple of sticks, some snow, gravity, what could go wrong?

I used to ski but that was back before my weight warped my velocity and would now cause me to propel down the hill at Mach 1. Since I was never into speed skiing, I view that as a negative.

And not being people of means, I hate to start what I know cannot be supported. Lift tickets, equipment (ever changing), clothing (ever changing), food (never ending), transportation, emergency room visits. It's not a sport for the faint-of-heart or faint-of-wallet.

Nevertheless, we have had a banner year of snow here in the Sierras and I've begun to wonder if the kids shouldn't experience it at least once while they're still able to heal. If they love it then they can get three jobs to support it.

I didn't learn to ski until I was in my early twenties. And I learned about snow and skiing like I had learned everything else in my life. The hard way. My mother exposed us to some poetry and music and the occasional book, but our exposure to common sense was learned on the street. Consequently, life had a propensity for biting us in the rear-end and leaving big parts of our posteriors missing. (If you saw my rear-end now, you would avidly dispute this declaration.) When we ended up burnt, bleeding, broken, or ill we would (sometimes) have epiphanies. I watched and mimicked everything, for good and ill. It was my primary mode of learning. I wasn't a chameleon; I was Silly Putty.

Remember Silly Putty? We loved that stuff when we were kids and would flatten it out like a pancake and press it onto the colored comics in the Sunday paper. When you pulled it off, you could see an exact picture, colors and all, of what it had just touched. That's how I applied myself to everything. Why not to skiing? Seemed good to me.
I had planned to rent my equipment, watch my friend, and ski. Some benevolent soul told me that, at the least, I should take a half-day of ski school. Never one to cast off good advice as worthless, I signed up.

We were informed a rope tow would tug us up to the top of the hill. All you did was sidle up, point your skis forward, grab the rope, go. Let go when you're done. Easy. However, never having six foot tree limbs nailed on to the bottom of my shoes, I had no idea that my legs would follow them and not the other way around. When you split eagle and face plant in the snow, the rope tow stops. And you look around sheepishly as everyone huffs and shifts and waits for you to stop being a dork. (I was able to right myself but I've never been able to stop being a dork.)

Now, skiing seemed like a great idea until I got to the top of the hill and looked down. I wondered what in the world would stop me from propelling straight down the hill, crashing through the restaurant glass, and ending up splayed out like a frozen Thanksgiving turkey on someone's table? I grew petrified with the thought. I was already shaky and my muscles were sore. I had been skiing five minutes.

The instructor put us through our paces and taught us, first and foremost, how to fall. He said falling was a guarantee so learning to fall well was essential. Thank you Mr. Walking Metaphor. I learned to snowplow, traverse, lean to the left or right and plant my rear end smack into the hill to stop acceleration. I gained a little confidence and by the time the lessons were over, I was relaxing. I was ready. I was good.

No one had told me not to wear jeans in the snow, however, and I was soaked. And I had never heard you needed sunscreen in the snow. I never used sunscreen anyway. I just thought faces and bodies always burned into huge blisters, your skin rolled off like wallpaper, you moaned in cold baths, and moved on. And with any luck you turned a darker shade of pale. My face felt tight and swollen. I figured it was cold.

I met up with my girlfriend for lunch. I did my best to look cool and alluring as I walked to the food deck in Frankenstein boots that slipped out from under me on the icy stairs. My skis fell off the rack when I went to grab them and knocked down a few others for good measure. I snapped my goggles over my eyes to disguise myself, locked into my bindings, and skated and hobbled my way to the lift.

A chair lift is an interesting thing. It's supposed to keep things moving and stay in motion. I never knew it could be any different having never been on one before. I didn't know it could stop or that you could let a chair go by if you were having trouble. It completely intimidated me so I determined I would be ready. Not so my friend. She was one of those blissfully, and maddeningly, unaware people who never give a thought to how their existence in the world impacts anyone else. She frequently dawdled, put on make up at red lights, pulled her car into the fast lane and drove 30, etc. She was no different in the lift line.

She considered her skis, fixed her hair, adjusted her goggles, applied chapstick, repositioned her pole straps, unzipped and rezipped her jacket, straightened her hat, blew her nose, talked endlessly, and noticed nothing. Flirting with the guy behind us was her main objective when our chair arrived. I had been moving forward with pressure butterflies hatching in my stomach. As soon as my turn arrived I moved out quickly, got into position, and sat down. Alone. And away I went. Alone. My ditz of a girlfriend was clueless and only just managed to catch the next chair.

I jetted into the air and became weightless. It was exhilarating. It was breathtaking. I could see the tops of the trees, the next mountain range, a frozen lake. And just as suddenly, I could see my traction device and bedpan as I realized I knew how to get on the lift but was utterly clueless about how to get off. What was I supposed to do? Stand up? Jump? I yelled back to my girlfriend for instructions. We were too far apart and it was too windy to do me much good. I was on my own and scanning my brain wildly for ideas. Then it hit me.



To be continued........

Copyright 2009

The Pitch - When Will I Turn 100?

I've noticed the followers climbing slowly towards the 100 mark. However,

.....delayed gratification is not my area of giftedness. ("Not my area of giftedness:" Over-exercised excuse that I now like to use everywhere.)

So, because I'm THAT close......may I ask you, dear reader.....if you are reading me regularly and wondering why and when you lost your mind, why not just accept that it is so and join me on this jocular journey? Wow. I always wondered when I'd be able to work "jocular journey" into a sentence. Well, there you have it. I've done it! Ahhhhh. Okay, I'm over it.

Anyway, just click the little "Follow" button to your right and maybe I'll turn triple digits. And it will match my I.Q. (Okay, it will be 40 points higher than my I.Q. - indulge me here.)

Hey! We are a party of 100 now!! But keep signing up if you want to because people on the list might come to their senses and escape! THANKS ALL!

Wild Men Have Birthdays, Too!

A certain person in my life, known as The Wild Man, is turning 14 today.

He is one of the incredible lights of my life. My sunny son. My "point and drive" buddy. (I should post about this - so much fun we've had.) He's a feeler of feelings - you never wonder where you stand. He's a comedian, one-liner delivery man, looks at you and always SEES you. Gives incredibly specific compliments. You never hear just a, "You look nice" from him. It will be tailored to you. He's a chatter box with a million thoughts.

He's the boy I thought was a daughter when I was pregnant. God knew what he was doing! He showed me about men and boys through this wonderful son of mine. I had never known what a healthy, loving, caring male was like from the ground up. He taught me and opened by eyes, and heart, to many more. He loved with beauty and innocence.

He's the one who says, "Come on mom....drive the Jeep up on the median while we're goin' down the street and get around all this traffic....be a FUN mom!" He's a goofball. He can be a bundle of energy and wear you out. He is The Wild Man, after all. He's a tapper of chairs. When he was really little, every morning he would wake up, crawl out of bed, and sneak in my office to tap on the back of my chair and let me know he was there. It was one of our "little things." Then he would climb into my lap for a snuggle. And what a snuggler.

Oh, boy of my heart. Happy Birthday. I love you so very much. I could never have imagined all you would bring. God bless your year. You have blessed my life.

Why The Heck Do You Blog? I Mean REALLY?

I am unstable.

I come from California. I haven't seen many happy cows. Mostly I see them all crowded together and standing on Kilimanjaro size piles of poop. But it's also known as the land of fruits and nuts out here. That I can concur with. I fit right in.

Do you ever find yourself wondering, "What is the MATTER with that idiot?" when encountering someone who does something really stupid or makes absolutely no sense? And then you realize you're having enough trouble just analyzing your own internal landscape? So, how could there possibly be any hope for figuring out another person's issues? And then you go on a long tirade of trying to figure out why you ever did anything you did? And then you give up and eat ice-cream?

Well, I ask myself 13 times a day, "Why do you blog, Robynn?" and I answer with 23 different responses. Because I'm not all there. And I don't do the right ratios in the question-to-answer department. Math was never my best subject.

Lunch and boys were my best subject.

I had the biggest crush on Mike Karastathis when I was in the 5th grade. He was this cute Greek boy. I think he knew I was alive but I'm not sure he cared why. However, Galen (or something like that I can't recall due to extreme horror) knew why. It was so he could fawn over me and gaze at me on his 18th trip to the pencil sharpener. Him and his three teeth and his butch haircut. And his loud personality. And his "won't take no for an answer" pesky ways of following me around and declaring his love for me on an every-minute basis.

I don't write the blog for him.

Where the heck was I? What am I talking about?

On any given moment during the day I will give one of the following answers as to why I blog:

I love to write.

I love to make people laugh.

I love to make people feel.

Because people seem to like it.

Wait, there are only 2 comments. No one seems to like it.

I'm desperate.

I'm the scribe of the family writing down the good, the bad, and the utterly repulsive.

It's for my kids.

Maybe I'll make money someday. It's the beginning of a business.

It's been 3 months and you've made $7.48, Robynn. You're a mogul. Or a mongrel. Give up.

I'll put all these stories together one day and shove 'em in a book.

I love to stay connected with people.

It gives me happy motivation.

It gives me stress....I'll never write anything entertaining again. What was I thinking.

I'm building a writing discipline. Good writers write regularly.

I write for the naysayers. Those who hint to me that I must have a LOT of time on my hands.

I write for the yaysayers. Those who make me feel I have added something to their lives.

I like to share how I'm a mere mortal, stumbling and falling my way forward.

Because I like to connect with people and we connect with people in our humanity, our mistakes, and our weaknesses. Those who are reluctant, or loathe, to reveal their weaknesses can make you feel "less than." Perfectionism isn't that attracting. And we don't really believe it anyway, just so you know, you perfectionists you.

I am a perfectionist. I'm trying to be a good-enoughist. I am in conflict with myself. Where was I? Oh yeah.

Because maybe someone will see that without God's grace in my life, I wouldn't be here.

Maybe someone will realize their need for God's grace in their life and grasp that hope.

I love to write. Did I say that?

If you love to do something and you do it, is it automatically a weakness?

Do you see my struggle with paralysis of analysis?

I am unstable.

So, why do YOU write? I would REALLY love to know. Would you tell me? Then I can obsess about your reasons, too.

Copyright 2009

Observational Twitter 13

Adage:

"When the going gets tough, the tough get going." Joseph P. Kennedy

Epigram:

"When the going gets tough, the weenies accept that they are weak-minded, give up, and go to bed. Goodnight." The Queenie Weenie, Robynn Reilly



Copyright 2009

A Bear Market - Epilogue

To read all the previous chapters of "A Bear Market," click here: Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 and Chapter 3
Hello there. Jojo here. Your canine correspondent. My motto: I will dig as deep as I have to for the truth or a moldy rotten bone - whichever comes first.

It has been on my heart, and weighin' heavy, that lately some things in the truth department have been twisted and bent, or left out altogether and frankly, I'm disgusted. Nice people like you outta be told when they're havin' their chains yanked. There are heroes livin' here who aren't appreciated or even recognized. I'm not namin' names but I think you'll recognize a hero when you see one. I'll let you in on what's REALLY goin' on behind the scenes and set the record straight.

You all probably know my mom's been laid up. What you probably DON'T know is I've been the one keepin' it all together for her. And I'm doin' it in spite of the fact that she has completely ignored the dog's-honest-truth about those bears and the role certain parties played. But abuse has never allowed me to shirk my duty. So first, here's what's goin' on around the house.

I think it's plain to see by this hopeless look on my face that I have my hands full. And let the record show that I am only layin' on the couch to keep that hooligan, Minky, off of it. Dogs aren't supposed to be on the couch around here and I will lay here as long as I need to, to keep her off.

Because not only is she gettin' her out-of-control self up ON the couch, she's stealin' my dad's coffee cup right out of his work bag. The fool dog likes coffee. No one can leave a cup of it sittin' around anywhere but that she's got her fat schnoz stuck right in there and drinkin' it. If I hadn't caught the culprit right in the action, my dad woulda grabbed this out in the mornin' never knowin' she had drug her lollin' tongue all over it. And she tries to pull off this real innocent look while she's in the middle of the crime!

She even tried to steal his cup and drag it away where she could have coffee all by herself. And you know once you start drinkin' alone it's really all over with. I believe she has all the makins of a bonafide juvenile delinquent. But nobody cares much for what I have to say. Even about bringin' her home. They even tried to tell me she was for me, a present of sorts, to keep me young. Wow. Some kinda present. Apparently, makin' a list is pointless. But movin' along.....

While all this was goin' on, I was tryin' to take care of my mom. She was just layin' around lookin' all dejected and miserable. And though she hasn't been fair with me about some things I'm gettin' ready to tell you, I can't help but treat her honorably 'cause that's just who I am. I went to her bed and took her this:


Now if that's not one fine specimen of a good, broken-in bone that anyone in her right mind would love, I don't know what is. But did she chew it? No, she just said, "Ew! Get that disgusting thing off of my blanket!" and threw it on the floor. I took this abuse and turned the other cheek. I just knew my next idea would do the trick.

The doc always tells you to have a lot of water when you're sick so, I led her to the toilet and told her to get a drink. She just looked at me and then sat down on my water bowl. Nice.

I racked my brain and came up with the suggestion we go to the park and told her she could roll around in that nice poop I found over there the other day. I did. It was great. But with her? No sale. She's even still mad at me for jumpin' in. The woman canNOT be comforted. And frankly, I'm outta ideas. So, I figured, I'd post for her and give her a break and, in so doing, I would tell you the truth about the bears and my sleepin' habits.

I read the bad press I got about not waking up when I'm called or when things are going on. This is ridiculous. You need to know that I slept through her calling me when I was in bed with The Wild Man that night, because it is good for her to practice not gettin' so hysterical. I knew she wanted me but she needs to relax and learn to handle her panic better. I wasn't gone. I hadn't run away or been dognapped. And when I heard all that caterwallin' I decided then and there: that is NOT healthy. So I just kept my eyes closed and played dumb. I'm sure you can see my good work and motivation here.

And as far as sleeping through the bear, that was exaggerated, too. I knew the bear was out there! If I had growled or barked, these people of mine would have gotten up and tangled with them. I was trying to keep it quiet. What's a little car damage when your family is at risk? No one gives me any credit for having good sense.

And not only did they not give me credit, they put me in the minivan and went back to bed! I was NOT afraid. I WAS afraid that pitiful excuse for Yogi and her bratty kids wouldn't come back and let me tear a souvenir out of their backsides. That's the look my family saw on my face. It had nothing to do with the smell of bear in there. In fact, I was able to stand on the door handle, open the door, and head out to hunt those mangy maulers the rest of the night. We had a few serious tangles and I left them bloody and horrified. When I was satisfied they wouldn't come back for the night, I got back in the van and conked out. These people will never know what I did for them because I'm not one to brag on myself.

The next night it was me leading the charge in the bear hunt. I tried to drag Grizzly the right way but you can't tell him anything. He's got a gun and a flashlight. Apparently, that trumps guts, a nose, and pure brawn. I don't need a gun. I hate guns. I bark and try to tell him they're dangerous. I've hated them ever since he and The Wild Man got Nerf guns for Christmas when I was only a couple of years old. How I got caught in the cross-fire I'll never know but I had to take a bullet for both of them. And they want me to be excited about this craziness.

I got drug in all the wrong directions the whole night. And all the while Yogi was stalking my mother. I know it was a vendetta for my activities the night before. That she-bear knew I was out looking for her in all the wrong places and she had plans to digest my mother figure. Thank goodness my mom heard that wicked thing behind her and I was able to bark and charge forward. It was my sheer ferocity that saved her but, you didn't hear it from me.

Anyway, I'll get back to figuring out how to help her out around here. I thought about saving her some of my dog food this morning but that seriously challenges all I know to be sacred. I had one piece left....I even took a picture of it and sat for a long time givin' it some serious thought......


And then I remembered how she spun this story against me. She'll just have to do without MY dog food. That'll show her. I'll keep you posted if I see any more flagrant lying.




And don't worry. You'll ALWAYS get the straight story from me.

From Jojo - The HONEST one.