So here's the "rules" for the hunt

Two teams - Two sets of eggs - Two Ink Pads

Each team will get a list of 8 coords, each will take them to a different location that has some significance to the Tech Team. Once they arrive at the site at that point it becomes a standard easter egg hunt until they find their own egg. Once they retrieve the egg, they'll open it to find a rubber stamp. There are 8 locations, 8 eggs of each color, 8 unique stamps. They'll stamp their logs with the stamp and them move on to the next site. The final site will lead them back to the church where there will be two eggs hidden and also a swag box filled with goodies for them to choose from. Hopefully it won't rain and all will go well.

Plotting: 8 Stage Multi Easter Egg Hunt

My caching buddies usually include my "churchkids" and since very few of them log their finds anyway its truly all about the game for them. I've been wanting to do some kind of personalized hunt, maybe places that are significant to us as a group, but I'm not versed enough at hiding to want to do all the work for permanent placements and I'm not sure if the places I want to do hides aren't already hosting caches I haven't yet found. So I've found these way cool camo easter eggs at Walmart and I'm plotting an Easter Egg Hunt. Nothing that will be posted on Geocaching.com or anything but just something fun for us as a class/crew and give me some practice in placing caches. I'm working on a list of potential places to hide. We may not do the hunt until after easter just to avoid scheduling conflicts. Or we may do the hunt on Good Friday if I get ambitious and get them placed in time.

Taking this a New Direction

I've been wondering what to do with this blog for awhile. I've got too many blogs to keep up and this one seems to get neglected more than the others. I've become addicted to geocaching recently and following the lead of my friend Lisa I think I am going to change the focus of this blog to being more about my geocaching adventures and other random thoughts and musings rather than about writing from prompts. A practice I'm sure has value, but bores me to tears. So stay tuned.

Bashful's Tale -- Part 3

*as one of my new years resolutions I have resolved to write at least every other day. I'm picking up Bashful's Tale where I left it off last year. I hope to finish it before long. Enjoy the next installment.*

After a dinner such as that the boys and I felt festive so we brought the instruments out and played. She seemed so delighted by our pitiful offering. She a princess that had grown up hearing the sweet sounds of a professional orchestra took such delight in our simple music. She danced and clapped and laughed. I got the idea that she should have a partner so I got Dopey on my shoulders and we put on a long coat and danced with her. I could have died a happy man right at that moment.

We decided that the princess should have our room for the night. We all made palettes on the floor and lay awake around the fire discussing what we should do about our guest.

“She cant stay here!” Grumpy grumbled. “Taint safe!”

“What do you mean taint safe? Safe for who? Her or us?” I demanded. The boys looked at me in shock. I rarely ever spoke, that was why they called me Bashful. “Are we such cowards that we’d send the likes of her out into the cold to save our own skins? The queen thinks she’s dead. Let her go on thinking that. She’ll be safe here. She needs a place to stay. She needs to stay here.”

The boys stared at me, jaws agape. It was the longest speech I’d ever made in my life. I half couldn’t believe it myself. My love for her gave me courage I guess for I’d have died rather than let them send her away.

Finally Doc spoke. “Bashful’s making sense. We can’t send the poor child out into the wilderness to fend for herself. Winter’s coming on. She can stay here. We’ll work it out.”

And so it was settled.

Bashful's Tale -- Part 2
The water was cold but I wasn’t thinking about that. I was thinking about her and how incredibly beautiful she was. I didn’t much mind washing up if it meant keeping one as lovely as her happy. I didn’t know about the rest of the boys but I for one didn’t want her to leave.

When we returned to the cabin she had a stew going on the fire. It smelled wonderful, nothing like the vile stuff we cooked for ourselves. She’d found a loaf of bread that hadn’t ruined yet and she’d sliced it and placed it on a tray. While we’d been washing up she’d washed every dish in the place. No small task that. The table was set all nice, with candles even, like we was royalty. A princess that could put a house in order like a scullery maid or cook, will wonders never cease?

“Dinner is almost ready,” she said sweetly, “and you look so much nicer now. Let me see, now that you’re not all covered in dirt, if perhaps I can match each of you with the names on the beds upstairs.”

She studied us intently. Predictably I began to blush furiously under her gaze. Delighted she exclaimed, “You’re Bashful!” I couldn’t speak without stammering so I just ducked my head and nodded furiously. Grumpy snorted in disgust. “And you’re Grumpy!” she giggled. “And you’re Doc, and you’re Happy, and you’re Sleepy, and Oh my goodness! Bless you!” She exclaimed! “You must be Sneezy.” She laughed, “And that means that you have to be Dopey.” She finished. She’d not missed a one of us. “Well do come to the table, the stew smells like it is ready now.” She said. And she served us. Her. The Princess. Served the likes of us. I think that was when we all became captivated by her grace. She was a different type of girl and a very different type of princess. And we loved her. I loved her.

-- To Be Continued

Assignment #23 -- Part One

Rewrite the fairy tale, Snow White, from the point of view of Bashful, one of the seven dwarves.

Bashful’s Tale

She was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. Her raven hair spilled across my bed like a coverlet as she slept sprawled carelessly across four of our beds. Her long black eyelashes lay like feathers against her flawless white skin. Her blood-red lips were barely parted revealing perfect even white teeth. Grumpy, true to his name, kicked the foot of his bed. Startled, she roused. Her eyes fluttered open and she blinked sleepily at the seven of us standing there.

“Why, you’re not children at all!” She exclaimed in surprise. “You’re little men!”

“’Course we ain’t children!” Grumpy snapped. “Who said we was children?” He sputtered. “Seems to me the more important issue here is WHO are you and WHAT are you doin’ in my bed!”

A scarlet blush stained her cheeks. “I’m so very sorry!” she stammered. “It’s just that I was so very tired and frightened after my escape that I took refuge here without a thought. I shall go on my way at once.” She rose and began to gather her few belongings.

Doc spoke up then. “Oh, don’t mind Grumpy. He’s just well, grumpy. You don’t have to leave right now. Its much to late in the evening for a lady to be in the forest alone” The rest of the boys voiced their agreement. I just blushed.

I look of relief crossed her face, “Thank you! Thank you ever so much.”

“But what’s your name, child?” Doc asked. “And how did you come to end up here?”

A look of profound sadness crossed her face. “My name is Snow White. My step-mother is the queen.” She said. “This morning she sent me into the woods with the royal huntsman. He told me that she’d told him to kill me and bring her my heart in a jeweled box. He couldn’t do it. He freed me instead. He planned to kill a deer and give its heart to the queen so that she would not know I still live.” Tears coursed down her cheeks and she shuddered a bit at the memory.

“I ran for a long time. Some animals found me in the glade and they led me here. I was too weary to go any farther. If you will let me stay I promise I won’t be a moment’s trouble. I can clean and I can cook. I’ll show you! Let me cook you some dinner while you wash up.” She said.

“WASH!” the boys exclaimed in horror. How long had it been since we’d actually washed? I couldn’t recall.

“Why of course.” she said smiling, “Surely you don’t plan to eat with those dirty hands? Doc, haven’t you taught the others about germs?”

For once it was Doc and not me that got caught tongue-tied and blushing. “’Course we’ll wash! Come on boys!” He blustered. He headed out the door and down the hill to the stream. We followed along.

Grumpy grumbled, “Women! She hasn’t been here a day yet and here we are takin’ a bath! It’s not been a year since my last one! No trouble she says. HAH!”

.... To be continued.

Assignment #22 -- In 200 words write about your first toy

Her name was Fussbudget. She was made of washcloths and stuffed. I'm not sure what color she was when I got her, probably white, but I always remember her being dingy gray. There wasn't much to Fussbudget. She was a simple little doll, kind of like an gingerbread man made of cloth, but she went EVERYWHERE with me. She and Brownie Bear were my constant companions and woe to the world if one of them got lost.

Fussbudget slept with me. She kept the monsters away. She went with me to doctors appointments. It wasn't so scary if she was there too. Really GOOD doctors examined her first before even touching me. I cut my teeth chewing on her. She was an ever present part of my infancy and toddlerhood.

Fussbudget lives in the top drawer of my mothers dresser now. She is still a dingy gray. She and Brownie Bear survived as reminders of my baby days and my mother cherishes them. I look at her now and wonder how she managed to do so much, calm my fears, ease my pain, be my friend, when she was nothing more than a washcloth or two sewn together and stuffed. A little scrap of love, named Fussbudget.

Assignment 21 -- Write a Letter to the 10 Year Old Child you had been

Dear Terri Beth,

This is going to be a tough year for you. I wish you could know what I know, looking back as I do from 26 years in the future. Perhaps though, its better that you don't.

You changed schools this year. You met two girls who will remain your friends for decades. Laura and Janet will be your best friends and your worst enemies over the next several years but when you're in your thirties you will still count them among your friends.

Be greatful for your teacher, Ms. Gallaher and for your relationship with Mr. Rascoe, your principal. Next year Mr. Rascoe will be elected superintendant and he'll leave. You'll hate the new principal, you'll also hate your 5th grade homeroom teacher. She's a bigot and she's stupid. Don't believe her when she tells you that you do third grade artwork. Don't believe her when she tells you it's not OK for you and Leon to love one another. She knows nothing. She's not worth your tears.

Speaking of tears...your Pop Honey is going to die in October. He's got lung cancer and he's going to have a heart attack. Your daddy will cry. He'll take his new pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and one by one he'll break them into the toilet and flush them away. He'll never smoke another one. When Stephanie offers you a cigarette years from now...don't take it. You'll not smoke long, less than two weeks, but you'll fight the desire for a decade. It wasn't worth it.

Your faith will be challenged next year. Stick to your convictions...GOD created the heavens and the earth. You'll get an F...but it'll be worth it.

This will be one of the last two years before your daddy leaves. Enjoy it. He'll be gone from the time you're 12 until you're 17. Treasure the times you have now.

One more thing...what B.Y. is doing to you...that's wrong. And it's not your fault. And it's NOT your responsiblity to "be nice to him". He's never going to "pay (them) what he owes" and even if he were...you don't deserve to be prostituted that way. You will eventually gain the courage to stand up to him and make him stop...but what is happening to you isn't your fault. I love you and together we'll heal from this. I promise.

Much love!
Me

Assignment #20 -- Write about the color of hunger

The color of hunger?
What do I know
about the color of hunger?
I have never gone to bed hungry
a night of my life
When it wasn't by choice.
Ask me about the color of love
or even the color of rage
and I might
perhaps
have something to say.
But what do I know
about the color of hunger?

Hunger is a black beast
It stalks the desolate places
Where the poor
Who have nothing
Search through garbage cans
For the scraps people like me cast away.
It is a ravenous gnawing hopelessness
That preys on the weak
In a land of scandalous abundance.
What do I know of hunger?
I who have spent most of my life
Trying to curb my appetites
To avoid excess weight?
Hunger is a stranger to me
I have seen it in the faces of children
And old men on the side of the road
Holding "Will Work for Food" signs.
But it isn't something I know
Not intimately.
So how am I supposed to write
About what color is hunger?

Skipping ahead since the last several prompts weren't applicable or were really boring....

Prompt #19 -- Begin a story with the words, "There once was a chance I didn't take..."

There once was a chance I didn't take, a chance to spend a summer basking in the sun in Greece. A chance to spend three months living in a culture not my own but with the advantage of a friend by my side to help me bridge the gap. I've often wondered what would have happened if I'd gone with him that summer.

It was the summer of 1990. I was a senior in college attending Memphis State University. Sean was my crazy Greek musician friend. My boyfriend and I spent hours at Sean's apartment with a group of friends that gathered most weekends (and many weeknights) around Sean's avacado green upright piano. I remember those nights with fondness even now. Sean would play and those of us that were inclined woulds sing or play along. I remember sitting perched atop the piano like an old time saloon girl belting out "Mack the Knife". It was at the end of one of these lazy spring evenings that Sean asked me to go with him to Greece for the summer.

I remember staring at him in amazement. "It'll all be paid for. All you have to do is come. I do USO stuff all over Europe. Come with me." There was nothing asked of me other than my company. But something would not let me say yes. Even as someone told me he'd support me if I wanted to go. Harold would have let me go. He trusted me that much. He trusted me implicitly and he trusted Sean enough to grant me the freedom to go.

I couldn't imagine dealing with the reaction of the families when I announced I'd be spending the summer in Greece with another man. I couldn't imagine finding words to explain to my mother that Sean and I were "just friends" but that I was going to spend the summer with him in another country. I couldn't imagine Harold having to explain why he "let me go". In the end, I was too afraid to lose everything in life that truly mattered to me, even for the "opportunity of a lifetime." I said no.

Sean had a seizure in Greece that summer. In the midst of the seizure he walked out of the post exchange with something in his hand that he hadn't yet paid for. They didn't believe him when he tried to explain about the epilepsy. I've often wondered if that would have happened if I had been there with him. I've often thought that if that hadn't happened he would never have had the surgery that left him a shell of himself, robbed of his short term memory and suffering grand mal seizures instead of the petit mal ones he'd had in the past. I've often looked at that summer and wondered, if I had gone with him would everything be different.

"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that made all the difference." The wisom of Robert Frost. We cannot predict the outcomes of roads not taken. Regret is an exercise in futility. And so I will never know what could have been. My life is good and I am happy. But there once was a chance I did not take.

Assignment #11

Here are three sets of words. Use all the words in each set to write mini-stories in 300 words or less.

Set 1
Paper clips, principle, lunchbox, swing, girl with a pink ribbon

It’s 8:30 in the morning and already it’s been the worst day of my life. See, I have a bad habit of swinging my lunchbox as I walk. Swing, swing, swing, swing back and forth in rhythm with my steps. I’ve never paid much attention to it actually until today. I was hurrying along, running a bit late, so I was swinging it harder and faster than usual. Hard enough that when the handle broke it flew probably twenty feet through the air before it hit the little girl with the pink ribbon in the head.

It knocked her clean out. The ambulance came and she had to go to the hospital. They said something about a concussion. So here I sit. Counting the paper clips spilling from the container on Principle Hale’s desk. He’ll be here soon demanding an explanation. It was an accident, though they’ll never believe it. I don’t even know her and they’re convinced I tried to decapitate her with my lunchbox. Is it MY fault the handle broke? The stupid lunchbox maker should have made it stronger than that. Maybe I can use that as my defense. Yeah. Works in court.

There are 23 paperclips on Principle Hale’s desk. Life stinks.

Set 2 -- Biology, class card, foreign student, leaf, blood sample

She looked at her class card again. Biology 101, Jones Hall, Room 314, 11:00 am, yes, this was the right place. “How odd,” She thought, “No one is here.” She checked her watch again. 11:05 am. She was late actually and somehow she was still the first one there. “Something must be wrong,” she muttered to herself as she turned to leave. As a foreign student sometimes she still had problems with the language and she wanted to be sure she hadn’t misunderstood the schedule.

“Pardon me,” she said to the young woman behind the desk. “Can you tell me what happened to the 11 o’clock Biology 101 class that is supposed to be meeting in Jones Hall?” She brushed at a leaf that had somehow landed in her hair and waited for an answer. None came. “Excuse me.” She said a bit more forcefully. The startled young woman behind the desk removed the ear buds of her iPod from her ears. “I’m so sorry. Did you ask me something?” Sighing, she repeated her question and finally discovered that her biology class had been cancelled and she would have to register for another section.

Frustrated, she strode purposefully away to the registrars office and found a spot in the long line. After giving the registrar what seemed like everything but a blood sample she finally got the class she needed. She laughed a bit at her own frustration. How quickly she’d become accustomed to getting what she wanted. How different a future this was than the one she’d have had if Saddam hadn’t been overthrown. She smiled at the flag flying over the quad. God bless America.

Set 3 -- typewriter, filing cabinet, puncher, clerk, carbon paper, janitor

She looked around the dilapidated office that the janitor had just unlocked for her. It looked as if it were a museum from the 70’s. An olive green army surplus desk dominated the room and a matching filing cabinet stood in the corner. On the desk was a massive IBM Selectric typewriter. She hadn’t seen one of those in twenty years. “What next,” she wondered, “carbon paper?”

She’d slaved for years as a card puncher. She’d been a retail clerk. She’d been a factory worker. She’d worked in a lawyer’s office. She’d punched one time clock after another in a series of dead end jobs until she’d scrimped and saved enough to try to make a go of it own her own as a writer. She’d rented this little office sight unseen. A fact she was now beginning to regret. Oh well.

She thanked the janitor, asked him about the cleaning schedule and closed the door behind him when he left. This was it. She was on her own. Taking a set of stencils and a bottle of gold paint from her briefcase she carefully stenciled on the glass of the door. “Tara Scott, Author.” She opened the door again and admired her handiwork. Looking around the office again she smiled. With a banker’s lamp on the desk it would look exactly the way a stereotypical writers office should look. She’d be happy here. Hopefully she’d be successful too. Time would tell.

Ok. Yesterday's assignment took me forever to come up with an object. I told you I didn't like that assignment. Hopefully the result will be ok though.

My Life as A Switchboard

Until very recently
I've spent my life
As A human Switchboard
The point of contact
Between a diverse group of people
That found it more convenient
To pass messages through me
Than to deal directly with one another
I had been a switchboard for so long
That I didn't realize
There was anything else to be
Or that there could possibly
Be anything wrong
With being a switchboard
I was a very reliable switchboard
Only passing along messages given me
Not adding my own spin on them
Yet it seemed I was constantly
In the middle of someone else's conflicts
And genuinely puzzled as to how I got there.
C had an issue with D but came to me
Because I knew how to handle D
So why then is D mad at me?
It was a puzzlement.
Many fights
Many talks
Many tears
Before finally I understood
A switchboard is an object.
You use objects.
You love people.
And I was being USED.
So I ceased to allow myself
To be an object
And when I was no longer
Living my life as a switchboard
Peace came.
And the people who really loved me
Remain.
Sometimes old users
Still try and plug in
But now they get
"All circuits are busy
Please contact the party you wish to deal with directly
The switchboard is closed."
And I am happy.

Assignment #10

Write a poem about an object that describes you. First choose an object. Next list the reasons that this object describes you. Which is the most powerful? Which conveys the strongest image of you? Once your main image is chosen list supporting ideas. Build your poem from there.

Once again, I'm not wild about this assignment. I shall think on it awhile and be back.

Assignment #9

Write about how you feel right now using your sense of smell. If you feel frustrated, write about what your frustration smells like. Use lots of adjectives.

Can I just say I don't like this assignment.

PMS Smells like Chocolate

I woke up this morning with that feeling,
ladies you know the one.
When nothing is right
and everything hurts
and ain't nothing gonna get done.
The name of the mess is PMS
and when it comes ain't no place to run.
And PMS smells like chocolate
Bittersweet
Dark
Almost biting
It's all I want and nothing I need.
I smell it in my dreams.
The soothing aroma of cocoa beans
Only a man would have written of life
In terms of lemons and lemonaid
Cause women all know
When the going gets tough
That's the reason that chocolate was made.
And PMS smells like chocolate.

Assignment #8

Make a list of 40 things that have happened to you in the last month. They can be funny, embarassing, happy or infuriating. Pick one and write about it.

Ok I did this a bit differently I didn't write about a single incident because as I was listing a pattern showed up...so I wrote what I hope will be an article for our homeschool newsletter about learning as a homeschool mom. Enjoy.

Never Stop Learning

One thing I find interesting about being a homeschooling mom, particularly one who leans toward “unschooling” as a philosophy is that I am ALWAYS learning new things. I sat down and made a list of forty things that happened to me this month.
In the last thirty days alone, I have learned over a dozen new things. That’s quite an accomplishment for a fairly well educated thirty-something.

Since I took on teaching my child, teaching myself something no longer intimidates me. I started teaching myself to knit recently. I have a book and I’m working on a scarf. I’ve taught myself how to “cast on” and how to knit a “stockenette” stitch. When the time comes I’ll teach myself how to “cast off” and finish my project. Is it perfect? No. But its good enough and once I know if I enjoy it or not I’ll find someone to show me what I don’t know so that I can become truly proficient at it.

That’s something I’ve learned from homeschooling. Half the game is finding the right resources. For example, I wanted to learn to dance. I have videos but I just wasn’t getting it from watching the videos. I needed to find someone to teach me. So Jessica and I are taking a line dancing class at the local YMCA. Our teacher is an 82-year-old dynamo named Juanita Joyner. So far we’ve mastered 6 different dances and are working on several more. We’ve got “the Roller Coaster”, “The Little Black Book”, “The Hank”, “The Honky Tonk Stomp”, “The Line Waltz” and “The Ten Step Polka” fairly well mastered. We’re working on “The Catfish”, “The Cowboy Cha Cha”, “The Boot Scootin’ Boogie” and a few others that I don’t yet recall the name of. A month ago I couldn’t say with confidence that I could dance ANYTHING except “The Macarena” and it went out of style 5 years ago. I love this class. Wanna dance?

Another thing I have learned as a homeschooling mom is the importance of having the right tools. We spent hundreds of dollars on reading programs for Jessica before finding the one that fit her. Once we did, she learned to read in a matter of days. How does this apply to me? I’m learning to play the bass. I have a great bassist living here with me and I’d be a fool not to take advantage of that knowledge. Yet I haven’t had a lesson in 6 months. Why? My bass didn’t fit me. I have a beautiful white Fender P-bass that I bought when I started trying to learn. It wasn’t until I started playing it that I realized that it was too big for me. The neck stock was too wide for my small hands. I struggled along trying to learn and fighting the instrument. Finally I quit. But I still wanted to learn the bass. So I’ve been trying basses everywhere we went. I bought a new bass this month, a bright red, heart-shaped, daisy-rock bass. A bass designed by a female guitarist for female guitarists. It’s 30 inches long and half an inch narrower at the neck than my Fender was. It is the right tool for me and it is a joy to play. I’m on my way to mastering “Green Eyed Lady”.

Opportunities to learn are all around us. We just have to have our eyes open to them. We need to be willing to take risks and try new things, to find the right teachers and resources to help when we get stuck, to make sure we have the right tools for the job. But most of all NEVER stop learning. Life is too interesting to stagnate.

Assignment #7

No, I didn't "quit"...the prompt site has been down.

OK...today's prompt. "Electricity is a recent invention. Think of 12 things to do when the power is off." Hmmmm...don't care for this one very much but let's see what I can do with it.

I know! I need practice with outlines. I'll work on outlining.

Twelve Things to Do When the Power Is Off

Family
1. Calm
2. Cuddle
3. Chat

Food
1. Grill
2. Glow
3. Gourmet

Fun
1. Games
2. Giggles
3. Gab

Faith
1. Scripture
2. Songs
3. Silence

Ok...now to write.

Storm Survival Guide

The storm howls and blows outside. Weatherbug alerts again that there is a severe storm warning in the area. Suddenly, zzzot! The power fails and the neighborhood goes black. Now what? With no computer, no TV, none of our modern conveniences available to us, what do we do until the power is restored? How will we cope? Today I offer twelve suggestions of things to do when the power is off. After all, our great-grandparents got along without it quite nicely. Surely we can too.

Family first. At our house there is a little girl and a little dog who are both afraid of storms. So the first thing that happens at our house when the power goes off is that we find the child and make sure that she is calm. Often that means that we spend some time cuddling together in the downstairs hallway while listening to the weather radio to make sure we're safe. We chat about how lightening is made and that God is watering the plants and flowers.

Once that is settled and it becomes obvious that we're in for the long haul with this power thing its time to start thinking about food. We get gourmet when the power is off. If the rain has stopped we get out the grill, which we keep supplied with gas year around after having been one of the only families in our section of the apartment complex to have the ability to cook during the ice storm of 1994. Since we know we can trust the freezer for at least a day or two we eat anything that remains in the fridge first. This has lead to some interesting combinations, but in the glow of the candlelight anything looks wonderful.

With a seven year old in the house, keeping the fun going is important. We play games by candlelight. Candyland is a favorite still around here but we've been known to get into some marathon rounds of Monopoly Jr. and Uno. We also share clean jokes and giggle together about silly things that only we find funny. Power failures can be fun. With nothing else to distract us we find time to gab about life, the universe and everything. Sometimes profound stuff comes up in the quiet. Sometimes not. But always we find something new about the people we love.

For me personally, I find the enforced quiet of a power failure is good for my faith life. I take a Kerosene lamp and find a quiet corner and spend time in my bible and prayer. I sing. Usually starting with the old southern gospel song "Til the Storm Passes By" (I was a little girl afraid of storms once too.) and moving on to contemporary praise and worship choruses that make me aware that God is in control even in the storms of life. Then I am simply silent. Quiet is hard to carve out of a normal day surrounded by the distractions and business of life. In the absence of my electronic hum, I find solitude and time to "be still and know that he is God."

A power failure can be a positive thing. A time for spending with Family, enjoying good Food and Fun and renewing my Faith. Twelve simple ideas make a time that could be a waste a joy and a memory for us all.

Assignment 6

Write down all the cliche's you can think of. Pick the one you are most familiar with, or the one that strikes your fancy, and write a poem with it.

If The Good Lord's Willing, And the Creek Don't Rise...
by Terri Wilson Weaver

If the Good Lord's willing and the creek don't rise
I'll accomplish marvelous things
I'll clean my house
Write a book
Compose new songs to sing

If the Good Lord's willing and the creek don't rise
I'll visit far and wide
I'll see my best friend
My mom and dad
My Grandma in Georgia
That baby you had.

If the Good Lord's willing and the creek don't rise
I'll learn so many new things
How to knit
How to quilt
How to build a barn
How to make music on these here bass strings

There's so many things I'll see and do
So many things I'll try
And you can take that as a promise too
If the Good Lord's willing and the creek don't rise.

Assignment # 5

Choose a poem you like. Take the last line and use it as the first line of your own poem.

I chose "Never Give Up" by Vincent Godfrey Burns. The last line reads... "When hope returns with the morning light."

Start Over

When hope returns with the morning light
And a spark of Joy in my soul ignites
All praise to the Lord
Who gives me life
And bids me
Child, start over.

As long as the morning brings the sun
Nothing in life cannot be undone
God works them for good
Every one
And bids me
Child, start over.

Its not what you do
That defines who you are
No matter how deep the stain
Or scar
The Lord of love
Reaches where you are
And bids you
Child, start over.

If you find yourself in the pit of despair
Know that God will meet you there
And lift you from the mire with care
And bid you
Child, start over.

When hope returns with the morning light
And you're weary of the struggle and fight
And your heart longs to again be right
God bids you
Child, start over.

Assignment #4

Fairytales have happy endings. All of us know what happened in that mushy fairytale, Cinderella. Yeah, its romantic, the prince actually finding Cinderella. They lived happily ever after. But happy endings can be, well...boring. No zing. So predictable. So...happy. What if the shoe fit one of the sisters? What happens then? Play with your imagination here. Be funny if you like. Or serious if you feel like it. Or be an Alfred Hitchcock. Whatever you are into, write your ending to the Cinderella story -- but this time make it so the shoe fits one of the icky sisters. What does Prince Charming do? How does Cinderella cope with it? And what about the Fairy Godmother? Start your story here.

Ok this assignment is evolved into a nine page skit for a short play "The Trial of The Fairy Godmother". It is way too long to post here. If you want to see it shoot me a comment with your e-mail address and I'll be happy to share it with you.

Writing this way is stretching me. I've never done anything like this before and I'm really enjoying it. If you are interested in using the writing prompts I'm working from the site is www.creativewritingprompts.com

Ooooo FUN!

I like today's assignment.

Randomly pick 10 words from the dictionary. DON'T look at their meanings. Write them down on a sheet of paper. Now you're going to have fun. Create meanings for those words.

So, without further ado, I give you...

Teribear's Ten Word Dictionary of Hick

Cryptanalysis (crip - t - an - alice - iss) -- What a grave robber does before entering King Tut's tomb. "My cryptanalysis shows the treasure room should be right about here.

Epiblast (Epy - blast) -- A contraction of Epic and Blast meaning one hell of a big explosion. "That bomb we dropped on He-roe-she-ma must have made one more epiblast"

Mahound (ma - hound) -- a singular possesive for a prize hunting dog. "Mahound over there is the best damn coon dog in three counties."

Marduk (mar - duk) -- a unit of measure used by duck hunters "Mahound got marduk than any other hound in the whole dang hunt."

Parasang (paris ang) -- A resident of Paris "She's a Parasang, lives on the champ lease a with a view of the eyeful tar."

Selma (sell me) -- A feminine name. "My great aunt Selma makes the best pickled okra in town."

Subgenus (Sub gene us) -- A lack of smarts. "He ain't too smart, he's one of them Subgenus."

Tottenham (tot ten ham) -- an accomplishment at the smokehouse. "He's so strong he can tottenham by hisself without droppin' any of 'em."

Vittle (Vi tul) -- Food. Usually used in the plural. "Can I carry you to the church pickneck on Sunday Selma? They're gonna have some mighty fine vittles."

Whitleather (whit leather) -- A measure of strength. "She may only be 4'1" but you don't wanna mess with her. She's tough as whitleather."