Dream to Make a Change

I don't know about you but I've had up to my eyeballs with all the economic crap going on these days. And I'm especially tired of the law breaking within corporations that takes advantage of the little folk; people of the congress using information not readily available to the general public to make themselves richer; unemployment topping out at 9 point something percent.

It's all just too much to wrap my brain around and I'm damn mad at every single one of the so-and-sos in my above list which led me to a dream to line them all up Three Stooges style then smacking them. Greedy, inconsiderate, lying thugs, every last one of 'em.

When Bank of America announced they were going to add a five dollar monthly fee to accounts using debit cards I came unglued and marched straight to my computer then wrote them a letter telling them if they did charge us for using our debit cards that I was changing banks. Period. Apparently many did change banks and many did write BOA voicing their strong opposition to the charge.

Hurray for us! We effectively dismantled BOA's plan to add more money to their bottom line.

My dream of physically smacking some people didn't come true but I was part of a band of people who - through disgust and action - made a change.

Aspire to make change whether it's a personal cause, correcting a multimillion dollar business or whatever. And don't sit on your hands whining that things suck and there's nothing you can do about it. Some times there is something you can do about it. It's just a matter of taking action.

There. That's my two cents worth.

Repurpose an Old Throw Pillow

What to do with an Old Throw Pillow


Who doesn't like sock monkeys? Am I right?

Here's the scenario: I was at the Goodwill Store looking for odds and ends to repurpose when I remembered I needed stuffing for the bird sculptures I was making. Rather than buying new packaged fiber stuffing, I buy used throw pillows and use the fiber fill from them. Way cheaper - and cost effective - if you sell your crafts. I headed toward the decorative pillow section, found what I needed then headed to the checkout counter.

Weeks later after I'd made my birds sculptures (patterns found on the web), I kept looking at the cover of the pillow that now lay limp and ripped open trying to figure out what I was going to do with it. Goodness knows that I would never trash an item perfectly good for something.

Colorful repurposed throw pillow case

Well, as you can see I finally decided what to do with the pillow case. This sock monkey is absolutely colorful with the orange, lime green, burgundy and blue. I finished him (or her) off with some old buttons I found in my great grandmother's old treadle sewing machine drawers.

Sock monkey patterns can be found anywhere on the web. Just search "sock monkey pattern" and you'll come up with a goo-gaw of patterns. Or if you're brave, come up with your own design like I did.

Visit my Squidoo lens:
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Finished sock monkey

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Another Dream Comes True

Who doesn't enjoy winning a prize and making another aspiration come true? I know I do and was taken by complete surprise when I received an email announcing I had won 2nd place in a writing contest.

Below is my entry for Write that Photo Contest (blog) put on by Kara Stewart, owner of Art in Photography web site and ArtinPhotography Zazzle store. You can read the winning entry at Write that Photo Contest.

Take a look at her blog, photography and Zazzle store. She's an excellent photographer and has wonderful gift items in her store.

I hope you enjoy both short stories. Please note: My story is incomplete and was meant to be an excerpt for the contest entry only.

Gracie and Her Pumpkins

Grace raised herself off her knees then stepped back as she swiped her hands. She pointed her face to the clear Spring sky and hoped rain would soon come to wet the garden soil in which she had planted seven pumpkin seeds. The seeds wold never germinate if they didn't get water soon.

Grace loved Autumn; the colors, the smells and most of all large round pumpkins. She didn't know why she loved pumpkins. She didn't plan on entering them into any contests and she certainly wasn't going to butcher them for pumpkin pie though Lord knows she did love pumpkin pie.

She tilted her head down and stared at the ground to ponder this odd obsession. Her three brothers, mom and dad, aunts, uncles and cousins thought she was a might titched upstairs and didn't bother hiding their opinion of her odd interest in pumpkins from her. In the Spring – the time she planted her seeds – she would begin hearing the comments.

“Mom, are you sure you didn't adopt Gracie? She's so weird about those stupid pumpkin seeds. Yesterday I caught her doing a rain dance around them,” said Jason, the red headed, blue eyed second oldest brother.

But Grace wasn't bothered by his opinions. If anyone looked or acted like they were adopted, it was Jason. Grace looked most like her mother with dark hair, long legs and neck, and trim features although she had her father's dark eyes. The remaining two brothers looked like their father who also had dark hair but he was short in stature and brawny about the shoulders and arms as though he had worked at bending metal upon an anvil like the old time guys in westerns.

Yes, as far as she was concerned it was Jason who was the adopted one not her.

When she looked up at the clear sky again she felt a small twitch of worry in her stomach. This wasn't uncommon. She always felt a bit worried the seeds would die from thirst, and their suffering touched her plenty; touched her as though they were small babies left on their own to survive; and like babies, the seeds could not defend themselves or feed themselves. They were left in the arms of Mother Nature.

The days turned into weeks that turned into months until it was finally fall. Grace had watched the progress of the seeds from the moment they broke ground throughout their growth of leaves then blossoms then fruit. Small pumpkins, wee things no larger than a marble appeared one after another. All seven of her plants produced ; she didn't loose one plant. While watching their progress during the summer months she often talked to them, did her rain dance and suffered ridicule from her family members. But eventually the day came when the pumpkins looked like pumpkins;solid, orange, large and round nestled upon the ground in contact with the soil. Grace was certain the soil and pumpkins talked to one another throughout the day and night when one or the other was interested in conversation.

What the two would say to one another Grace wasn't sure except for knowing without so much as a doubt the pumpkins were grateful to the soil for ensuring nutrition. Water and soil; put the two together and you can create life.

On a morning late in September when Grace was headed to the end of the driveway where the school bus would stop to pick her up along with her brothers, Grace strolled through the garden and brushed each pumpkin softly with her hand as she had done since the pumpkins were large enough to touch. But this day, this cloudy, misty, cool day she thought the pumpkins trembled beneath her touch. Shaking her head in disbelief she continued to the end of the driveway to wait.

Her day couldn't pass quickly enough for her. She thought about and wondered about the reaction the pumpkins had to her touch. She wanted to get back home, run her fingers over the pumpkins again to see if they really trembled or if she imagined they trembled. Finally, the school bus stopped at the end of her driveway. Her brothers rushed ahead of her after shoving her down in her seat. Nonplussed, she quickly scrambled up and rushed after them then ran the whole way to the garden where her pumpkins waited for her.

She stood at the garden's edge breathing hard from the run. She wanted to wait until she had caught her breath; she didn't want anything to contaminate her test of the pumpkins. Once her breathing had slowed, she walked up to the first pumpkin and held out her free hand, grasping her books in the other, and prepared to walk between the enormous fruit. Slowly she walked along one side then down the other while brushing each pumpkin with her fingertips. Just as they had done in the morning before school, each one trembled and vibrated or she thought, “shivered” as her fingers glided along the smooth skins. After she had finished, she remained at the end of the rows and stared at the group, heart pounding at the base of her throat, wondering if she should make a report to her mother of what she had discovered.

Instead, she directed questions toward the two rows.

“Are you trying to tell me something? Am I hurting you when I touch your skin? Are you uncomfortable?

But she got no answer. Not one pumpkin reacted to her questions. For a moment after she finished asking the pumpkins her questions, she thought – for only a moment, mind you – they would somehow communicate with her and put to rest what she was now going to be dreaming about in her sleep and while awake: Are the pumpkins conscious?

Half disappointed and half disgusted, she made her way over the muddy path to the old farm house. She entered the back porch allowing the screen door to slam behind her then shoved open the old door that separated the porch from the kitchen.

“Did you have a good day, Hon?” her mother said while peeling a large potato to put into a pot of stew.

“It was okay,” said Grace. She continued walking, avoiding her mother's concerned gaze and climbed the stairs to her room she fortunately didn't have to share with any of her brothers allowing her privacy to brood over the days event with the pumpkins.

“Why are they doing that?” she wondered. “I must be obsessing to much. Maybe I'm crazy.”

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