Blog Manifesto

Blog Manifesto


This blog is dedicated, as the title would suggest, to the qualities of being young. We are young writers. We are playful and sensitive, fluid and changing. We are unashamed with our art. We wonder at the world, puzzle over the meanings of things and twirl in delight at images and ideas that float by, grabbing at them as they pass. We are curious and constantly inquiring and prying concepts open and taking assumptions apart. We are on the ground, close to the earth. We have bare feet and wiggle our toes into nature. We carry our blankies still and wrap up cozy and comfy with each other and tell ghost stories and shiver at creepy things. We laugh and we cry and we take a lot of naps, drained from our outings and exertions.

We write as gifts to each other, tying them up in ribbon and leaving them around for each other to find, hiding and waiting for the person to wake up and read. Surprise! We weave our stories together to create a bond. One writes, then the other. then another again. We have a shared reality that we have crafted, bit by piece by patch, by string. We write simple, honest authentic things, with our unique voices. You can tell each one of us from the other, without knowing who wrote what. Our voices are clear and gentle and original. We whisper and our personalities roar! Like children, our feelings are strong, our passion for what we write shakes us. We are moved and sometimes left breathless, by our own words or the words of each other. We cannonball into each others spaces. We fall backward into each others writing, like into a pile of leaves or a soft bed. We gobble and grin and ask for more. (footnote kudos to JC)

Then we go to bed, wake up to a new day and do it all over again!

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Valentine's Day sucks.

I used to think Mother's Day sucked really bad because I raised other people's kids, and never really felt like a true mother, just left out,  but Valentine's Day sucks for so many people.

The television puts on this big show of solidarity with the card and chocolate companies.  They stuff it down our throats with hired actors who simulate undying passion that is not found in the real world, except rarely.

My hubby remembers Valentine's Day easily. He's sappy and sweet like that.  I'm a gruff bear.   When asked what I want for V-day I kinda grunt and make small talk with him.     Chocolates will be fine, sweetie. I lie,

I want Rose Petals and champagne and toe curling sex, you silly thing,  Don't you watch TV? I want a diamond tiara and the restaurant bought out for the night, with singing waiters.   I want to be blindfolded and led out side to a pink ribboned new car with heated seats.  Really, do spend our retirement savings for one night of fake bliss.

Naw, I like what I get.  Kisses and flowers and the box of chocolates.

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Those companies that make the valentines that you hand out in school are cruel, cruel people.  Why would you include pigs and buckteeth horses inside the box of cute puppies and kitties valentines.  How do you think the hard luck kid that gets given the odd animal feels? 

In our school, some children gave riches, Valentines with a gum stick taped on the card.  We made mailboxes with oatmeal containers cut lengthwise and flags attached with prongs.  Aw so many memories. I will run out of time.  This timed writing jogs old file cabinets in my brain.

When I ran my pre-school in my home, we did holidays up.  I passed my old fashioned child hood on. We had a valentine parade, with homemade tissue flowers on the trikes . and cupcakes and we decorated t-shirts and the hard working moms and dads skipped out of work to video tape us in all our glory as we paraded around the block, on their trikes and riding and waving to the crowd in their adult pulled wagons   Good times.


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