I think it would be leaf. Long ago a friend named me Leaf because when he met me I had a leaf in my hair. One of the few half way decent poems I ever wrote was about leaves, and I think of myself as a person changing and light hearted like a leaf.
But I would need two names. For some reason hippies have two names.
I will stick with just the one for now.
I named one of my cats Felina, after the girl the cowboy falls in love with in the song. He sings, “Nighttime would find me in Rosa’s Cantina. Music would play and Felina would whirl… My love was deep for the Mexican maiden.”
I love story songs, and I thought about the cowboy, Felina, the handsome young stranger, and Rosa.
Writing prompt: Take a story song, and write a short story about one of the characters?
For instance:
Get crazy. What if my calico cat Felina, is the Felina from the song reincarnated. Perhaps two of my other cats, Lancelot and Dodger were the cowboys who in another lifetime loved her. Now they all live together as a spayed and two neutered cats in a household.
How would each of these cats tell their “El Paso” story?
Too silly? That is okay because when we are writing we can get silly. Make up incredible stories. Have fun.
“Good morning,” I called to the roofers. “It’s beautiful, and redder than I thought it would be.”
The foreman said the color would change at different times of the day, and in different seasons.
I imagine our roof shining up at the heavens, imitating the sun.
A new roof will keep the attic cool even when the temperature outside blazes. I wonder what it will look like under street lights at night.
I never thought much about roofs before. I can’t tell you much about the old roof except that it was grey asphalt. I don’t remember roofs of houses from when I was growing up.
But I like this roof. It has a 200 plus watt smile. I smile back at it.
Everyone dislikes bullies, but we all bully sometimes. Some people are easy victims. We can yell at the store clerk for mixing up our order; we can yell at the waitress when the kitchen burned our steak. We justify our bullying. He did something stupid. She should have known better. Bullying is often misdirected anger.
We are frustrated when things go wrong. We need to take it out on somebody. Kick the dog; scream at the kids; pull a trembling woman from her automobile and label it resisting arrest.
We all have power over someone, and when we misuse that power, the technical term is bullying.
Let’s find find other ways to deal with our frustrations.
Otherwise we might end up on candid camera like that policeman and the beautiful and eloquent Sandra Bland.
Sandy, we need you back to stand up for what is right. We need you to be our spokesperson again. You stood up for what was wrong. You died showing us what was wrong.
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Lancelot, a huge grey cat about ten year old, hurries over to the chair and climbs up to the back where he hangs on like the chair is a bucking bronco about to throw him. The old chair was a rocker, and I used to sometimes forget he was there. Lancelot learned that he has to hang on, but I don’t want him hanging on. I hope he will cling to the beach towels and not to the new chair.
Kira, a younger cat is a climber too. The chair is in front of the book case, and it is part of her daily climb. I didn’t mind the climbing or the clinging with the old chair. It had some of its stuffing pulled out by cat paws, and I used the beach towels to hide the damage to the chair.
I hesitated to get a new office chair. I thought the cats would quickly destroy it. They’re working on it.
I have cats. so fancy furniture is not on my want list. Even the floor and walls get some mistreatment. We need to paint, but this year we are putting on a new steel roof and solar panels.
We have all indoor cats so the roof should be safe. My new office chair, however, is in danger from cat claws.
But this chair is new. I want it to last for awhile. I scold Kira. I pull Lancelot off when his claws are sunk deep into the chair.
I have taken Lancelot off the chair several times, and he seems to be okay on the desk. For now.
Cats seem to think new furniture needs to be clawed up, so it looks more cat friendly.
Friday was shopping day. I live within walking distance of stores, and order many items on Amazon or eBay so I don’t need a shopping day.
Saturday was a cooking day. The little cooking I do is usually making a pasta salad or heating up a veggie burger.
Then comes Sunday, and don’t we all need a day of rest. Except there are always chores that need doing even on a Sunday.
Nowadays most women have workdays. Several days out of each week, we must be busy doing someone else’s work. I admit that when I worked outside the home, lots of housework didn’t get done.
I would leave my classroom with piles of essays to correct, and wishes that I had become a math instructor instead of a writing teacher. Math tests can be corrected in minutes using a Scantron. I had to read each essay, sometimes more than once and make comments. I had to get grades in. I ignored the dirty floor, messy litter pans and the dirty dishes. Housework got done eventually, but it had little priority.
I retired at the end of 2013, and cleaned house. I went through all the rooms, sweeping, mopping, dusting and rearranging. It left me so exhausted, I didn’t do anymore housework for awhile unless it was necessary like cleaning litter pans.
Things quickly got dirty again.
I wanted to learn American Sign language, write a blog about learning better, and write a novel. I began writing the novel, and volunteering at an animal rescue group. Occasionally I would go to Youtube for an ASL lesson. I decided I would not be a slave to the household.
Now that I was home more, housework seemed to nag me. The dirty floors stared at me. Even my computer screen had smudges I hadn’t noticed before.
The months went by. The house didn’t look any cleaner, and I hadn’t learned much ASL. My novel was coming together, but the blog was a drain of my energy. I volunteered sometimes as many as five days a week for the animal rescue group, but that was just two hours in the morning.
It was also an excuse. Why wasn’t housework getting done. I was too busy.
This is really about time management, not chores.
The old Monday is washday schedule doesn’t work any more and not because I don’t iron, mend or cook. So many things like litter pans need to be done everyday need. Daily shores take up chunks of time, that I want to invest elsewhere.
I read everyday, write everyday, eat and sleep everyday. These are core activities for me. Eating and sleeping already had times carved out for them. Litter pans, another core activity, were done first thing every morning. I read in the evenings, after I am too tired to clean or even write.
Over the first year of my retirement a schedule evolved.
I put in time everyday for writing. I finished the novel, and now I can’t stop revising it. I started a second novel and a memoir. Occasionally I have a day where the best I can do is squeeze in fifteen minutes writing time, but it is an important fifteen minutes.
Housework is like that. I plan a chore, but something else comes up. My husband and I and Cinco, one of the cats have all had emergency room visits this year. We just contracted to have a steel roof put on our house. Solar panels will follow. These will mean interruptions, and I can’t always plan the day or time when the interruption will occur.
I have divided cleaning chores up. I clean the kitchen on Monday; utility room on Tuesday, office/living room on Wednesday. I have a room for each day. Sometimes I double up and do two rooms in one day.
What I need is reading time. I get depressed if I don’t read 70-100 pages a day. I am a reading addict. And the reading feeds the writing. I learn from good writers. So around five each evening I curl up with a book. This is my reward for cleaning, writing, shopping and volunteering.
