My Dog Should Have Been a Writer.

Don't be fooled by his cuteness. Tanner the Slobber Dog is a conniving, 90 pound Beelzebub.
But he would have made a great writer!
I decided that yesterday while I was supposed to be listening to someone's spiel about PTA. I was thinking about my favorite pair of shoes (which Tanner ate,) and then I started enumerating all the other crazy things he's ingested over the years. And because I'm hopelessly in love with the rascal, I did what all guilty parents do.
I rationalized his evil nature.
He's just too smart to behave like other dogs.
Or maybe not.
But stick with me here. Tanner may not have published anything (yet,) but he has all the qualities a good writer needs. He just uses them to fill his goat stomach .

Allow me to explain, s'il vous plaît, with a list of his most admirable/dangerous qualities.
Ready?
1. Imagination

Who else would see the jewelry box that my daddy gave me when I was little and decide that it looks delicious? Yes, Tanner ate it. Crunched the tin and the red velvet lining into little metal-y bits and swallowed it all down, leaving behind only a splinter of a leg and a few fibers of velvet.

2. A Talent for Observation

For weeks Tanner would watch us take out the margarine at breakfast, make our toast, then put the tub back in the fridge.
He noticed the impatience of my middle child, how Ben would stand in front of the toaster, waiting for it to finish. A crafty dog could help himself to some tasty spread while Ben's back was turned. Tanner licked the tub clean.
Then he helped himself to this container of goodness.

Yes, it's the spackling paste we'd left on top of the washing machine.
This snack required a call to Poison Control. They wrote down my name and address.

3. Stamina

It takes enough energy to pluck off the eyes of two stuffed animals, but to finish off the eyes of an entire basket of beanie babies, plus those of Buddy Bear, the mascot of Mrs. Hanson's second grade class? That takes stamina.


Aw! There's Puppy Tanner, right before his disemboweled his first stuffed reindeer!

4. Discipline

Snatching the occasional hot dog off of somebody's plate at lunch is for amateurs. It takes real discipline to make oneself run to the kitchen EVERY SINGLE TIME anyone gets a snack, even when it's something unusual like hummus, which might not even be that good.
Apparently he liked it.

5. Curiosity

Photo by carbonated
Tanner sees the ordinary, and the little wheels in his brain start spinning.
"I wonder how those tassels would fee going down?" "What does shoe leather taste like?"

We see a Christmas tree...

He sees a smorgasbord.

6. Persistence

It took Tanner a whole day hiding out behind the grapevines, but he finally managed to unscrew that lid. It's a narrow container. Thank goodness for long doggy tongues.

So you've seen the evidence. What do you think?
If only these paws could hold a pencil.

Have a great weekend, y'all!
Love, Becky

Mercy in Action...and in Art!

Not much jolts my creativity into overdrive like spending time with my friend Deb Richardson-Moore.
Do you know Deb? Let me introduce you.

Deb is the pastor of Triune Mercy Center, a non-denominational mission church to the homeless. It's funny how life changes, isn't it? Deb wrote for The Greenville News for 27 years, found herself covering the church scene, and decided to take some seminary classes to understand it better. Before she knew it, she'd graduated from seminary and had taken on the pastorship of Triune. Life at Triune has been quite a wild ride. When she first got there, her staff consisted of a drug addict, an alcoholic, and the alcoholic's wife. (Watch a fascinating interview with Deb here.)

But now...the worship is joyous and includes quite a crowd, homeless and not.

Besides worship and Sunday school, the church offers four hot meals a week,

a clothes closet,

weekend laundry services,

Wednesday morning distribution of groceries, hygiene products, Narcotics Anonymous meetings, and Backyard Mission Days to educate churches to problems of the homeless.

But this has to be one of my favorite programs...

Photo courtesy of karenlucci.blogspot.com
Yes! An art room!
A local artist named Karen Lucci recognized the fact that most everyone has a need to express themselves in some way. (Hop over here to meet Karen and learn more.)
There are no formal classes, no planned projects. Karen offers the materials and each artist creates whatever he/she wishes.

Photo courtesy of karenlucci.blogspot.com
Isn't it beautiful?
Their creations are too.


Have a wonder-full Wednesday, y'all!
Love, Becky
PS. For local folks, mark your calendars. Triune's Art Room is having an art sale on November 12, 2009. I can't wait!

A Little Quiet

Ever feel you need a little weekend after your weekend?
We had a wonderful time celebrating my in-laws' 50th wedding anniversary. (Hurray for Mary and Kerry, my favorite couple with rhyming names!)
But between the big party Saturday and Friday's book thing at the Upstate Women's Show (where I made two new author buddies--Hey John and Bobbie!) I'm wishing I was less I and more E. (Confused? See the previous post.)

I'm feeling a little zonked. Care to join me in watching the fishes?
Have a wonderful Monday, y'all!
Love, Becky

Am I Your Type?

Are you familiar with Myers Briggs?

Before I start preaching like a Myers Briggs missionary, I must get something off my chest.
Myers Briggs People out there, you need a new logo. That circle thing looks like an old fashioned pack of birth control pills.
Sorry, but it's the truth.

Now, on to the evangelism...

I'm in love with the Myers Briggs Personality Assessment because it helps my world make sense. It explains why my husband is ready to tango after eating dinner with a table full of strangers, while I require three hours of quiet time in a dark room.

Do you have kids? It can make your parenting be more effective.
Do you have difficult people in your life? It can help you not throttle them.
Are you a writer? It can add depth to your characters.
And it can even tell you which Harry Potter character you are!

According to the Myers Briggs Personality Assessment, there are 16 different personality types, and each type is comprised of 4 different characteristics: extroverted vs. introverted, sensing vs. intuitive, thinking vs feeling, and judging vs perceiving. So each personality type has a four letter code.

Let's use Homer Simpson as an example, shall we?
He's an ESFP, extroverted, sensing, feeling, perceiver
ESFP's are cooperative, here and now people persons that enjoy excitement and love new adventures. Because of their highly social nature, they are especially lively when they're at the center of attention and hate being alone... The Simpsons Myers Briggs Test

Lisa Simpson is an INFJ, my type, an introverted, intuitive, feeling, judger. (I always could relate to that girl!)
Here's what The Simpsons Myers Briggs Test says about her,
INFJ's are introspective, caring, sensitive, gentle and complex people that strive for peace and derive satisfaction from helping people. They are highly intuitive, empathetic, and dedicated listeners . These traits tend to act as a "tell me what's wrong" sign on their forehead, hence the name "Confidant" or "Counselor." They are intensely private and deeply dedicated to their beliefs.
I guess that explains the nightmares the months before my memoir hit the bookstores.

There are some great books on all this type talk. Here are two I recommend.

This one is very detailed. Great for writers trying to flesh out their characters or anyone trying to understand their mate/boss/self.

And here's a great one for parents.

There's a chapter on how to best parent each personality type, from babyhood to teen years.
So do you know which type you are? Want to share? Extrovert or introvert?

Have a great weekend, y'all.
Enjoy this trailer of Breakfast at Tiffany's, in which introvert Audrey Hepburn plays the role of quite the extrovert!
Love, Becky
PS. If you'd like a more in depth explanation of the Myers Briggs Personality Assessment, hop over here.

Venturing into the Rat Race...First Jobs, Anyone?

http://www.flickr.com/photos/ariesandrea/ / CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Yes, I know that's not a rat. Hold tight, friend. I'm about to make sense.

I might be a former chemistry teacher, but I like to think that people aren't just composed of oxygen, hydrogen, carbon, and a few random minerals. No, they're also made of the stories they've lived. So I get all excited when my friends open their mouths and stories fall out. It helps me understand who they really are and why.

So I hate to be nosy, (actually I love it...hope you don't mind,) but I've got a question for you. Would you tell me, pretty please, about your first job? Not the professional kind. The kid kind. It'd be fun to know more about what makes you tick.

I'll go first.

My very first job was the summer after my 5th or 6th grade year, babysitting an only child. I don't remember much about it except that as the little girl's mama was driving me to my very first day on the job, I saw my friend Paige Perry up a tree in her yard, and I rolled down my window and yelled, "Paige! Guess what? I'm babysitting!"
Very professional.
Oh, and during my very first week, I accidentally killed her new gerbil. (He took a suicide run off a card table. I still feel bad about that.)

And then there's the job I had after my junior year in high school, working for the Soil Science department of NCSU. My job basically consisted of going to cornfields all over eastern NC to dig hundreds of 18 inch deep holes with a hand auger. It was the first time in my life I ever wore a hat packed with ice, the first time I discovered that corn leaves will give your eyelids paper cuts, and the first time I almost wrecked a state owned car. And it was also the first time anyone ever cussed at me for 15 whole minutes, after I tripped carrying 120 tins full of dirt, thereby forcing us to start all over again.
Good times.

So I'm not sure what that tells you about who I really am and why, (a gerbil killing, slightly clumsy, enthusiastic soul whose arms used to be in incredible shape) but there you go.
Now, what about you?

Love, Becky
PS. Be sure to take a listen to this fabulous song by one of my favorites, Dar Williams. It's quite a story in itself. The singing starts around the 30 sec mark.
Have a great Wednesday, y'all!

A Snapshot in Time

Happy Monday!
Have you been taking any photos lately?
A snapshot in time can be beautiful and full of meaning, or it can be weird and terribly unflattering. Like this one.

Wow. I must love you guys an awful lot to send this photo into the universe.
Let's further embarrass me by examining it, shall we?
A snapshot can tell quite a story, even several stories all at once.
See the look on Sarah's face?
What? It's too hard to see it? Here, let me make it bigger.

That's Story #1. That is the look of a 19 year old happy to be on her own again. One who's thrilled to have a teensy weensy dorm room all to herself. To share a bathroom with two girly neatniks instead of a pair of grubby brothers who leave the toilet seat up and their dirties on the floor.
Now, back to the photo.
What about Story #2?

That is the leaping form of a ten year old who just spent two hours restrained in a seatbelt, reading The Encyclopedia of Immaturity, his new favorite work of literature. The book has apparently called forth his inner ape, and he must move in leaps and bounces or he'll spontaneously burst into flames.
How about Story #3?

This is a frustrated mother, who would like to shout at the 17 year old camera boy, Would you stop taking dumb pictures and help us move her stuff before this drizzle turns to a downpour, but is afflicted with an attack of Inappropriate Laughter anytime that child makes faces at her.

That snapshot reminded me of another photo, a mental picture my dad shared with me a year ago as I prepared to move Sarah to college for her freshman year. I think it shows the power of story, and how a snapshot in time can reveal surprising things about people. Want to hear it?

Back in the days before my Granddaddy Skaggs mellowed into a teddy bear, he could be pretty intimidating. He was a big, barrel chested farmer who forced crops of tobacco out of the hollers of eastern Kentucky, and once offered my mom a quarter to quit dating his son. Though neither he nor my grandma had gone to college, (nobody had the money for that back then,) he was known for being a wise, intelligent man. My dad planned to leave Sandy Hook for the University of Kentucky, and the day finally came for Granddaddy to move him into his dorm. Daddy had been to UK plenty of times for 4H competitions and thought he knew his way around, but soon after they arrived, they got completely turned around. After a few minutes of wandering around campus, trying to get their bearings, Granddaddy looked at my dad and said, "Son, do you want to just go on back home? You don't need to do this."
This story stuns me. My big tough granddaddy was afraid for his little boy.

Do you carry around mental snapshots that won't let you go? I find these frozen moments of time to be powerful fuel for my writing, but I write memoir, so that's probably not a big surprise. How do you save these snapshots for posterity?
And how about you, artists and fiction writers out there? How often do you recycle these snapshots into your work? I heard a quote by a famous writer's ex wife (Pat Conroy's, maybe?) that he never wrote a word of fiction in his life. I find that fascinating!

Have a wonderful Monday, y'all!
And just so you know, all that stuff finally did make it into Sarah's room.

I'm not sure where she'll sleep, though.
Love, Becky

Time for a Change

Today's Wonder of the World is...Change.

Happy First Day of School! At least at our house.
We've got new backpacks, packs of paper galore, and pencils and glue sticks coming out of our ears. It's a brand new year, and change is in the air.
For me too.

I've been thinking about making a few changes to this blog. After posting over 290 Wonders of the World, it thrills me that wonders keep presenting themselves (just like the Montana bunny rabbit) but I'm thinking it might be fun to change things up a bit. Maybe along with the wonders, we could discuss other topics of interest- writing and memoir, how you nurture the creative spark, that sort of stuff. Oh, and Krispy Kreme doughnuts, too, and anything else of likewise spiritual importance. What do you think? I ask because this involves you too. When I say we could discuss, I'm not using the royal We. I hope you'll stay with me and share your thoughts. I love you guys dearly and enjoy your comments so much.

So I'm taking a miniature blog break to think things over. Ben and Todd had their mancation, so it's time for a womancation of my own! I'm afraid they used up all the frequent flier miles so there's no Rome or Athens or Paris for me. No problem. I'll sit right here and mull things over at my desk with a nice cup of coffee. And maybe a Krispy Kreme.

Have a wonder-ful week, y'all! Before you leave, I'd love to hear your thoughts. What do you think?
Love, Becky
PS. Hope to see you back on Monday!

Tanner the Slobber Dog Goes Out for Ice Cream

Tanner Fan, don't say I never did anything for you!

Tanner, enjoying the annual night before the first day of school trip to Dairy Queen.
(He likes vanilla soft serve in a cup, in case you're curious.)

A Montana Mancation

Today's Wonder of the World is...a Mancation on the Missouri River.

Don't you love this photo of my Ben's bony, size 14 feet? The pic was taken as my very own Lewis and Clark spent a week canoeing down the Missouri River, eating Beanie Weenies, and reliving the Corps of Discovery, as the famed explorers called their adventures.

And to think that it all started from a footnote in a book!
Back in 1997, Stephen Ambrose's book Undaunted Courage turned my mild mannered husband into a raging Lewis and Clark evangelist. "I must see this for myself," he said, and showed me Ambrose's footnote on page 228.

It is today as Lewis saw it. The White Cliffs can be seen only from small boat or canoe. Put in at Fort Benton and take out three or four days later at Judith Landing. Missouri River Outfitters at Fort Benton, Montana, rents canoes or provides a guided tour by pontoon boat. Of all the historic and /or scenic sights we have visited in the world, this is number one. We (his family) have made the trip ten times.

"That's nice, honey," I said. "Maybe you can use some of those frequent flier miles and make the trip one of these days."
Little did I know that he was a man obsessed.
A few months later, he packed up his tent and vanished into the wilderness with his crazy friend Butch. I was six months pregnant with Sam at the time, but I didn't worry too much. After all, he was with Butch, the original Marlboro Man. The man who flies a World War II biplane for fun, who's flown water bombers into forest fires, who worked for years spraying coca plants in South America while people were shooting at him. Butch is there, I'd repeat to myself. Everything will be fine.

But this time Butch and Todd were taking my middle baby Ben.

And then Butch canceled!
I worried just a little.
Okay, I worried a lot.
They were going to be out of cell phone coverage, just the two of them, in complete wilderness.
Well, almost. To their surprise, park rangers had installed port-a-potties at various spots along the river route since Todd's last trip. They wouldn't have to dig holes after all. Aw, too bad, guys.

They had a fabulous time together.
Ben learned how to canoe without turning the boat over.


And how to pull over and set up camp.

They did about twenty miles a day and spent the rest of the time eating, sleeping, reading, and enjoying whatever fun presented itself. One day an extroverted bunny rabbit presented itself, and Ben got in touch with his inner four year old, hopping after it, making it his friend. A few hours later after Ben and Todd had zipped themselves in the tent for the night, Ben heard the bunny rabbit being attacked and eaten by a wolverine. Perhaps extroversion is not a good quality in a bunny rabbit.
Ah, the wonders of nature.

No hasenpfeffer for them. But they did enjoy some blueberry cheesecake, a goodbye gift from Sam.


They also enjoyed breathtaking sunrises.


And lots and lots of cows.


And even a surprise rope swing, in the middle of nowhere!



Doesn't my man look happy?

Scruffy, but very happy.
Who wouldn't be happy in such a beautiful place?

Have a wonder-full Monday, y'all!
And tell me, does the wilderness call your name, or do you prefer the wilds of the Holiday Inn?
Love, Becky

Saving Home Sweet Tiny Home

Today's Wonder of the World is... Little Bitty Houses that I Find Doing Research and Want to Rescue and Live in Forever

Like this one. Except it doesn't look like it needs rescuing. Still, I would dust it and caress it and love it with all my heart.
Maybe I've got little houses on the brain because I'm trying to distract myself from the fact that we move my sweet Sarah back to college this afternoon and that girl has tricked me into getting used to having her around again. I'm going to seriously miss her, but let's not talk about that. No, let's swallow the lump in our throats and move right along...

I've spent several days this summer driving around the Upstate of South Carolina, lurking in textile mill villages of old, falling in love with the houses and doing research for a book I want to write one of these days. I know I've blogged about my obsession with mill villages before and probably sound like your Great Aunt Mabel droning on and on about how wonderful the party line on her rotary phone used to be, but I haven't shown you many pictures yet, so sit tight, bub.

First, a little background, if you please. If you've heard this before, feel free to talk amongst yourselves. It'll only take a sec.
From the late 1800's to the mid 1900's, my corner of South Carolina was known as the Textile Jewel of the South. Everywhere you found a textile mill, you'd also find the village the mill owners built for its workers.
Many of the mills look like this now.

Dilapidated shells of what used to be the center of daily life for hundreds of families.
But not all mills are broken down.
Some lucky ones look like this.

That's The Lofts at Mills Mill near downtown Greenville. Very fancy.
It's very trendy now to refurbish an old mill into condos. People love the high ceilings, exposed brick, and the chance to live in a place steeped in history. I wouldn't mind living there myself one day, though I must say that the villages attract me more.
Some villages are in considerable disrepair...

like these on my Meals on Wheels route,
or like this mill store half a mile from my house.

Others look pretty good for their age. I like the broken down ones best. Whenever I start telling Todd my dreams of rescuing a mill house and nursing it back to health, he furrows his brow and starts spouting off about muscadine grapes or how he needs to give our dog a haircut. Then he turns on the radio.
I can't explain it, but those old houses call to me.


Maybe they remind me of my Granny Farley's house, one of the places in my life where I've felt the most loved. By this pretty lady.

There she is on the patio, holding my college sophomore. How I miss her!
There aren't any mill villages in Sandy Hook, Kentucky, but her house was about the same size as one. Until my uncles added on a back room, it had only a small galley kitchen, one finished bathroom, two bedrooms, and a living room. I loved how close people always were to each other in that house. They had to be!

We're lucky to live where the cost of housing is relatively low, so our house is fairly roomy--not huge, but big enough for us. The neighborhood is safe for bike riding, and there's a neighborhood pool and yards big enough for kickball games. But once my kids are grown, I'd really like to adopt one of those mill houses and nurse it back to health. If I can find another husband, that is.
Just kidding, sweetheart!

I know it's entirely possible that once I move into my mini dream house, I might be overcome with claustrophobia and run screaming out, begging Todd to take me back to a house where I could turn around without bumping into something. (In which case I'd have to start wearing a blond wig and dressing like Marilyn Monroe just to keep him from unloading all the I told you so's he'd have saved up. But I doubt that would happen. At least I hope not.

Cute, huh? And no repair needed. Probably. Maybe.

So what do you think? Does a house rescue appeal to you? Or do you dream of spreading out in a mcmansion with a suite for just your shoes? No judgment here. Everyone has a right to their dreams!
Have a wonder-full weekend, y'all!
Love, Becky
PS. Look at this. I found a kindred soul!