nonsensical text

Saturday, March 31, 2007

conversationally speaking

The hubster and I try very hard to instill in our children a sense of the absurd. This is to ensure that therapists will have certain employment many years into the future. Here is a snippet of conversation I overheard last evening as the hub-man was putting Happy Feet into the DVD player.

Pink(excitedly): Dad, dat Happy Feet?

Dad: No, this is Sad Feet. They take the penguins' little feet and chop them all off right about there (indicating ankle height).

Pink (still in good humor): Oh, den dey go like dis.

Here she exhibited a rather comical rendition of a crippled Happy Feet tap dance - I wish the video camera had been near at hand.

On a side note, I have been pondering the idea of giving super secret screen names to each member of the brat household (in the somewhat overly optimistic view that it might aid people outside of the family circle in actually keeping track of them all. But who am I kidding? I can't even remember their real names! Yes, I am kidding - pretty much). Any suggestions will be considered (or at least enjoyed for their amusemesnt factor).


Friday, March 30, 2007

interview with a toothless vampire

Yes, I have given in to the interview meme which is currently making the rounds of the internet. Having great curiosity about the unrevealed Oddities of the Oddmix, and interested to discover what manner of questions might burst forth from his fingers, I threw myself into the mix (oooh, I made a funny…har har). Here follow the results:

1. Have you home schooled all of your kids from the start? Yes, I have, though it was a much simpler operation when only one child was involved.

2. Did you experience resistance to the idea of homeschooling from family, friends, or your kids? Well, this is a rather loaded question. I have been doing the homeschooling thing for twelve years. This means that when I started, the whole idea of it was a lot less well known. I never encountered resistance from my mother. My father questioned the decision at first, but has since decided it is for the best. My sister was a teacher at the time (as was her husband). I believe she found the idea tasteless in some ways, but times have changed in that regard. My mother-in-law did not like it in the beginning, but since she has discovered that it is one more bragging point she can add to the “MY daughter-in-law…” list, she has been quite happy about it.

The chief arguing point from most people who have a negative comment usually concerns socialization. I tend to counter that with the argument that they get plenty of peer socialization through church and rec sports, and they are a lot less likely to develop an inability to communicate effectively with people who are outside of their peer group.

I have never met with negative feedback from my kids about being home schooled as opposed to public schooled, but they do resist in the typical way of young boys who feel that they have much better things to do with their time than to actually use it for learning something. I guess you could also count N’s initial school reaction as resistance:

Me: This is the letter ‘A’.

N: No it isn’t.

3. What did you do before you took up the mantle of Mom/Teacher/Domestic Engineer?
I guess the best answer to this would be that I tried to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up. After high school, I went to a respected university for a year and a few months with a Writing Seminars major and a minor in physics. I dropped out for love and a career (ha) in midnight shift fast food management.

I later went into banking while taking college courses in accounting. I continued writing poetry in my spare time. I dropped out of college a second time when I became too pregnant to fit in those attached chair desks they have. I’ve never gone back, but occasionally think about it (though, other than a mother, I still haven’t figured out what I want to be, so I don’t know what I would concentrate on).

4. With all of those brothers, is Pink a tomboy or a girly-girl? Do you encourage or discourage her in this? The answer to the first question would be yes and yes. She, like her mother before her, is very much a tomboy, but she is also extremely aware of the power of her femininity. She is girl through and through. I encourage her to become who she is, whether that entails auto mechanics, fashion design, or rodeo clownship. I have tried very hard not to regulate toys for either sex based upon gender dynamics. As of right now, she has a desire to play rec football next year when she is old enough. All of that said, boys and girls are very different creatures, aren’t they?

5. What is a “poochie tree”? When they first sang the song, I just assumed poochies were dogs, though I can’t say I have ever seen them growing on trees. Upon questioning, however, I was informed that a poochie is a made-up lego character inhabiting the imagination of my eight year old. I wonder if their droppings are those tiny specialty lego parts.

Now, I will steal the Odd one’s twist, instead of following the traditional format of the meme. Should you wish to be interviewed, let me know; or (the twist) ask me some more questions in the comment section and I will answer them in my best imitation of a timely fashion. I will also post at least an equal number of questions to you here on my blog. Then, you can grab ‘em and run off to your own place with the answers. Just let me know when you have those answers up so I can link you (and read them, for that matter).

I have also asked Mary to interview me, so that should be popping up in the next few days.


Thursday, March 29, 2007

the tangential nature of the brat

I am rejoicing because I have just placed each of the kidlets into their own bed for a night which will, with any luck, be consumed by sleeping. This means, dear reader, I may actually get to sleep in a bed tonight myself – the first time in almost a week.

As I made my way down the stairs, containing my jubilance to prevent the accompanying sounds of leapage from rousing the newly bedded beasties, I allowed my brain to consider the possibility of attempting school tomorrow. I think I have given myself permission to take the day off even if they are all back to form. At least two of them really need an additional day to just recover from the exhaustive nature of ailing. Besides, it is Friday, and what is the sense of having a one day school week when all would be much more pleasantly served by having a brief respite before the complete immersion of Monday morning? But then, no matter which decision I make, it will leave me with guilt. I am good at second-guessing my decisions, so I should be used to the resulting guilt by now, but acclimation to the discomforts of the psyche is not my strong suit.

Strangely, this very topic of guilt (and my ability to peruse a few blogs I only get to visit occasionally due to increased sit-down time this evening) led me on another tangent. As a teacher, I am alternately amused and frustrated by my children’s inability to write about any subject for more than the minimum number of words. The amusement comes from their tendency to cover the integral point of the assignment in such short order. The frustration comes from knowing that this brevity will not serve them well on SATs and in a college setting.

Pursuing this thought, I pondered the beautifully written and lengthy blog entries I admire from so many. Part of me envies that ability. Me? I am prone to long-windedness or silence in conversation (virtual or otherwise), but when I write - be it poetry, blog entries, or little thoughts to myself - I tend toward minimalism. I say what I say using few words. Granted, I regularly use more words than I actually need, because it is often fun to do so, but I tend to skip the connective thought tissue. Part of me recognizes this as a potential strength. Anyway, the point here is that the very habit which frustrates me in my children’s writing is the defining particle of my own.

The tangent continues. Isn’t it often the case that the very trait which draws us to someone else is also the source of our greatest irritation in them? My oldest son is very inventive of spirit. This is a wonderful thing. And yet, when my husband brought home the MBTI description of his “work personality,” it contained a line that brought this son’s image to mind so clearly. To paraphrase: When asking a child of this temperament type to take out the garbage, he is likely to spend hours designing a new and better way of getting garbage to the curb that does not involve human intervention, but never actually doing the chore. Yeah, the irritant bares its fangs – same trait, different angle.

This then leads me to a memory of that very child’s 3rd or 4th birthday on which my mother gifted him with pulleys and levers per my request (after he had used an enormous ball of yarn, a tricycle, and several dining room chairs to create a complex alarm system for the lower level of our house). Have I created the monster or merely given him room to realize his potential? When did I stop allowing that kind of latitude? Was it when the population density increased, thus decreasing the square footage available for abstract thought? Was it when my body started getting older and less able to avoid the unexpected chaos? Have I truly stopped allowing it at all?

This then leads into thoughts of crackers; after all, cracker crumbs do get everywhere. Crackers bring the thoughts neatly back to the stomach bug, and I don’t even remember seeing Kevin Bacon anywhere along the way.

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ego strokes

So, the pink one is still ill, but she started acting human again around four this afternoon. Sitting on my lap this evening, the following conversation took place:

Pink: Mom, you girl wike me?

Me: Yes, I'm a girl like you.

Pink: You buttercup like me too!

You see, her father calls her buttercup from time to time.

Time passed, and I was off doing laundry. The hubster called me into the room to update me on the continuation of this conversation.

Dad: Are you my little buttercup?

Pink: No!

Dad: You're not my little buttercup?

Pink: No! Mom's you buttercup first, then me buttercup!

The man says, "See she's got the pecking order straight." We will here let our ego inflate ignoring the fact that he did follow up with, "Even if it doesn't seem that way most of the time."

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Tuesday, March 27, 2007

updating the masses

Well, the three youngest have been down for the count today. Although I would love to post something fun and interesting sometime soon, my ability to think clearly on two hours' sleep is somewhat limited.

Therefore, I will just go over into the corner and mope (while still counting my blessings).

On a parting note, here are the lyrics to the most recent serenade (sung in rousing chorus by almost every one of the little imps).

Oh poochie tree, oh poochie tree,
How lovely are thy droppings!

The hubster says they get it from my side of the family. I'm so proud!



sleeping with bread
Years ago, when N was just a babe, we rarely got the opportunity to eat out. On one special day, we did get to go out. I remember having a chicken sandwich and a salad. My picky child, he ate the croutons and the roll - two for the price of one. The days of cheap eating are long gone, but I have tried hard to always hold close the memory.

The stomach virus has hit our abode. And I find myself thankful for the small things. S was the first to fall victim. At 14, he is largely self-sufficient when ill. Today, it has been nipping at my ankles, but I rejoice. My intestinal fortitude remained intact as I expunged the explosive evidence of an 8 year-old who didn’t quite make it in time.

And now, while I type, I cling desperately to the remnants of gratitude as that selfsame child peppers me with wakeful questions and comments – at midnight, for this is an indication of slightly improved health.

What gives me the least gratitude tonight? Well, I don’t think anyone enjoys cleaning up after unintentional bodily emissions (especially when feeling a bit on the queasy side).

And for what am I most grateful right now? I am the most grateful for the fact that everyone isn’t sick at once. I am most grateful for the hope that some might sidestep this illness altogether. I am eternally grateful for the God of small favors.


Saturday, March 24, 2007

through the years

Tagged by virtue of suggestion from Mary, I will hereby meme-ificate.

1. Go to Wikipedia and type in your Birthday Month and day only.

January 31

2. List 3 Events that occurred that day.

1606 - Gunpowder Plot: Guy Fawkes is executed for his plotting against Parliament and James I of England.
- because I love my British friends (and watching fireworks when they are far enough away that the booming doesn’t hurt, and the sparks can’t hit me).

1930 - 3M markets Scotch Tape.
- because it is just about as far as you can get from the first event (unless you want to go in for stupid puns like, “Sticking it to them.”).

2004 - Mystery Science Theater 3000 ends its run on the Sci-Fi Channel.
- because I liked MST3K when I stumbled past it, and because I am eclectic, and because most of the entries had to do with war, death, and betrayal. We’ve had enough of that going on with the kids this week. I don’t need any more.

3. List 2 important Birth days.

1543 - Tokugawa Ieyasu, Shogun of Japan (d. 1616)
- just because that is cool.

1872 - Zane Grey, American Western writer (d. 1939)
- because my wonderful grandfather (who died when I was 13) loved to read his books

4. List 1 Death.

1956 - A. A. Milne, English author (b. 1882)
- I always made up stories and voices for my stuffed friends – so it is only fitting.

5. List a Holiday or Observance. (if any)

Catholicism - Feast day of St. John Bosco, patron saint of Christian apprentices, editors, and publishers
- Well, I’m not Catholic, but sounds like a good saint to share a feast day with.

6. Tag 5 other bloggers.

I suppose I will take the easy way out here and say, "If you read this, consider yourself tagged."


Thursday, March 22, 2007

a blog’s life

The title of my blog, “Nonsensical Text,” is actually taken from the name of a file on my computer. Many years ago, my closest friend was living in another state. At around that time, the hubster was trying to ease my fear of technology by introducing me to the more people-friendly aspects of computers. He did this by signing me up for an email list of stay-home moms (and one dad), and by finding a new network on IRC where we could go to “chat” with our dear friend.

Having developed a tradition of relay-writing when my friend lived in another country (that entailed actual pens, paper, stamps, and patience), we decided that we should continue this trend online. When other people started joining us in our little IRC chat room, we would make up silly limericks, one line at a time - awarding kudos for creative input from any and all. We also began the silly story.

Now, one of the primary goals of these little stories was to be as random and ridiculous as possible while still maintaining some semblance of a plotline. A few of them were deemed worthy of the old “cut, paste, and save.” My favorite of those was entitled “Nonsensical.” It was saved as a text file, thus “Nonsensical Text.” When I made the decision to start blogging, it seemed like such an obvious choice for a title.

I have always been a kaleidoscope with flakes and shards of inanity and profundity dancing a complicated rhythm to a rapid beat – sometimes colliding forcefully with comedic or brutal results.

At some point in the past few months, I seem to have misplaced my nonsense.

So, in an attempt to jump start my silly, I am hereby posting the original “Nonsensical.” Parts in italics were played by me, the others played by my friend. Please keep in mind, it WAS very late at night.


Whilst walking through the jungle, one particularly steamy day, backpack on head, I came across a.... (your turn)
slathering Siberian tiger, ready to give birth. I had a medical kit with me, so put on my gloves and
my boots, put up my umbrella in case it rained, and opened my dictionary under Siberian. Unfortunately
the dictionary was in Portuguese, which I do not read. So I went to the nearest...
snowball stand and bought a chocolate marshmallow blueberry lima bean snowball for the tiger, as I had heard it gives energy during labour. But
the tiger began to choke on the lima beans, causing me to jump up and down on her chest, while trying to appear unobtrusive. The cubs splurted out with each jump, but alas, the lima bean remained lodged, until...
an earthquake hit the scene. The tiger tumbled down the gap between the plates, and got stuck in the dishwashing liquid

At this point I remembered my jungle quake survival guide. Pulling it out, I found the solution to the problem. But where to get a half dozen African elephants in heat??
I called a friend of mine in Norway, on my cellular, as he had said he had connections. He promised to fly them out on the next boomerang (he was stationed in Australia) Just then I remembered
the aeronautical improbability of catching a boomerang big enough to hold the expected parcel. So I set about building a high powered electronic baseball mitt. Unfortunately, the cubs were crying for milk. Becoming distracted, I accidentally...
knocked my chest with the hammer I was using, and triggered a let down. The cubs clambered all over me, 15 of them, and I could scarcely locate my
pillows. After all the cubs were satisfied, I dropped in a dead faint from the exertion. A passing bookmobile collected me and deposited me on the steps of the local library
where a janitor picked me up and dropped me in the trash can. I suppose I did look rather disheveled. Well, as luck would have it, I had a bag of M&S chocolate buttons tucked in the back of my bra, so I tried to reach it, but
an alley cat was busily fiddling with my bra strap, in an attempt to steal my precious cargo. In the fury of the natural chocolate protection instinct, I inadvertently
ate the cat by mistake. oh what a disaster. All that came to mind in my frenzied paranoid vegetarian hypocritical state was
spit or swallow? (original text)
how to cover up the unmistakable odor of partially digested cat from my breath. So I reached around, rapidly this time before more harm should befall me, and gobbled the whole bag of buttons (edit)

as the sweet nectar reached my esophagus I drifted on into a state of blissful nothingness. But, like all good things,
there was a negative side. My esophagus was apparently having a very bad day, and tried to horde all the chocolate, allowing none to pass beyond it. As a result, my throat swelled to the size of the Goodyear blimp, and my face started to look like
a maggot infested basketball. I began to fear that no one would ever recognise me, when I remembered the tiger cubs. It occurred to me that I had left them behind, with a dozen horny elephants (I think?). I thought I
would take advantage of my current proportions, and bounce back to my prior locale. However, the directional course finder that I had previously installed in my earlobes had been knocked askew by the bookmobile driver, so I
pulled an inflatable motorcycle out of the locket I always wear. By the time I had finished blowing it up, it was very late in the day and I began to crave some
piping hot lentil bean soup. So I set up camp in a nearby tree, reconstituted some soup out of the pills in my survival kit, and deflated my throat with a knitting needle (pre sterilized). I settled down to get some rest only to find
I had sat on a slug. Figuring that this day was just not going to get better by itself, I decided to go buy a keg of beer. I had money tucked inside my sock, so I set off for the liquor store.

On the way, however,
I was affronted by a passing missionary who mistook me for a member of the goola goola tribe. He shoved a goolanese bible into my hands and began to loudly sing "Blest Be the Tie that Binds". Feeling a bit powerless, I found myself
kneeling down before him and mumbling goolanese prayers to the goolabong in the sky. When I arose, the missionary slapped me on the back in a congratulatory fashion, but he opened the knitting needle hole in my neck with the force, and all the chocolate buttons squirted out on him. He thought it was a miracle, and started
to dance around speaking in tongues. Unfortunately the language uttered was the mating call for the goolanese wild boar. He was quite unprepared for their affection. Taking this as an opportunity for escape, I
donned my clown suit, which was hanging on a nearby tree, and leaped into the pouch of a kangaroo. Steering, by the reins I found inside (which later turned out to be
a bungee cord left there when the previous occupant vacated), I made my way quickly back to the deserted cubs where I found
that they had built a log cabin out of gopher wood. I went inside, and there on the table was a
patented acme soap sucking device. I assembled it quickly after disregarding the instructions and ran from the cabin.
I was expecting the cubs to follow me, I'm not sure to this day why I ran from the cabin, but some inner force made me do it. Alas, the cubs did not follow. I returned cautiously, peeked through the window, and found that the soap sucking device was actually the mother tiger reincarnated!

I must say, to all the children who hear my tale, that I have never been so satisfied that my pain led to another's gain. Just think, had I not had a knitting needle with me, those cubs may never have got their real mother back. The end.

the moral is, never leave home without a knitting needle


Tuesday, March 20, 2007

gathering crumbs from under the table

I missed bread last week. Actually, I have missed being on the computer at all for most of the past week or so. However, even though I am late, I don’t feel comfortable letting the bread pass by for another entire week.

Although computer time was severely limited this weekend, I did find myself entertaining various bloggable thoughts. Through the passage of my second-born’s birthday, assorted family issues, and the daylight savings time associated jet lag, my mind has been awhirl with ponderings. I can’t really separate these thoughts into the respective good and bad columns, since the alternate sides are so tightly wound – forming a single braid.

When I was younger, I was much more emotionally intense than I have been in recent years. Strong passion was a hallmark of almost every moment. Raw patches developed from the constant exposure forced upon open wounds. Instability was ever threatening to take the dominant role. Other people’s hardships often acted as a rudder at least as powerful as personal experience. This constant battleground of emotional upheaval gave rise to a need for spiritual balm.

I learned through the years to deal with the intensity. Like ground cover wards off erosion, placing a small patch of apathy on the rawest of spaces limits the extent to which I am affected by my own and other people’s hurt - the sharp edges of those griefs are less likely to cut deeply. But apathy is emotional kudzu. Planted to keep the nutritious soil and tender green plants from washing away by pounding wind and rains, it soon covers patches and weaves a net of protection.

It doesn’t stop growing. Before long, it sends creeping vines onto bordering soil. The whole garden is overwhelmed by their intrusion. Flowers and shrubs…walkways, benches – places of beauty and comfort – soon disappear under a sea of green. Apathy may creep more slowly, but if not guarded, it too will overtake all that is good and strong. Even when kept in check, some of the more intense emotions are dulled.

Spiritually, I have to believe that God has a better way to deal with emotional overload than apathy – a way which holds no danger to the blessed giftings which are enshrouded in an emotional heart. The question is, am I able to trust Him enough to hand Him the garden shears?


Wednesday, March 14, 2007

analyzing the written word

Since I have been missing in action for some time, it is only fitting that I re-emerge with all of the seriousness and hefty content typical to my nature, right?

So, Saturday I had to go to a wedding shower followed by a funeral (while lamenting the fact that I was missing out on hours of birthday party prep time). I stopped at a grocery store between the two places in order to get a drink. Upon getting back to my vehicle, I discovered the presence of an advertising flier beneath my windshield wiper.

"Tomorrow's Future Learning Center"

Just a few things struck me as odd about this.

Considering the only difference between "the future" and "tomorrow's future" is the rest of today, is it really worth spending the extra money on ink for the printer just to make that distinction?

Does this mean that this place will not be a learning center until tomorrow's future?

Is this a place in which you merely sit and wait until the future comes along, granting with it the premission for you to join the ranks of those who learn?

Is this a place where you only learn about tomorrow's future? And if so, how do they know what to put in the text books since the events needed to fill the pages of the tome have yet to occur?

I do have to give these guys credit for their drive and determination, though. I was only in the store for three minutes, after all. Maybe they put it on in yesterday's past and were just waiting for the invisibility spell to wear off.


Tuesday, March 06, 2007

sing a new song

My mother gave us a bag of bunny shaped marshmallows. We all know the importance of doing your research, and this is integral background information.

Mr. T (a.k.a. SpongeBob):

Three little bunnies jumping on the bed
One fell off and landed in my mouth.

Two little bunnies jumping on the bed
One flew off and bounced off my nose
So I ate him.

Lots of little bunnies jumped in the pool
And then they had to go wee-wee.

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recipe for comfort

sleeping with bread

stale bread: It’s the same old cry of sorrow. Being home for years on end leads to a perpetual cycle of battles with a similar series of issues. I battle my own motivation (or lack thereof). I battle six strong-willed children who constantly push the boundaries because they know, sooner or later, exhaustion, inattention, or mercy will grant them a one time reprieve. Sometimes, I just get so sick of the battleground. It is the sheer volume of days that makes it seem more intolerable. I let myself slip into an attitude of resigned tolerance. The guilt over succumbing to the familiar patterns threatens to cause a downward spiral.

fresh bread: Like the spark of newborn love, I long to feel passion – even amid the daily routines. I see the joy in a kindergartener’s discoveries, the elation of the simple, and a smile plays at the corners of my mouth.

french toast: Stale bread is good for something. When making French toast, the best bread for the job is a thick, crusty sort with just a bit of staleness teasing at the surface. If it weren’t for the monotonous routines, I would miss the milestones of maturation playing out before me. Time goes by in a heartbeat. Before long, I will look back on even the most mundane of days with a wistful sigh. Lord, help me remember that in the well-worn trenches of the front lines.

As R sits in the living room, enjoying a popcorn snack, help me to see past the crumbs and spills to take joy in the interpersonal relationships she is learning to foster by “sharing” with her doll. Popcorn with a naked Barbie! There’s nothing else quite like it.


Monday, March 05, 2007

in the secret....

My best friend is pregnant. As she talks to me about the cuteness of the children writing cards for their unborn baby sister, I smile with the vision that is brought to mind. But there is a quieter vision – the form of my inner self on bended knee crying out to God, “Please, Lord, don’t let these children lose their innocence!”

As I calendar watch, I feel a sense of relief as the 20 week mark passes – the invisible line drawn to distinguish between miscarriage and stillbirth should the unthinkable occur. I pray that is a demarcation that will have no bearing on her life. I know it is a very small statistical possibility. I am not consumed with fear, but the unwitting acknowledgement of the possibility is ever present with me, and will likely always be.

I look at the beautiful sonogram pictures – one so preciously framing the delicate, long fingers of a little girl in the making. I am in awe of the handiwork of God; I am grateful for this life.

There came a time in my subsequent pregnancies in which I surrendered to loving the child fiercely. If that had been the only time I had with those children, I didn’t want to feel that I had cheated them. This child, growing so strong in the womb of my closer-than-sister, this child I surround with my prayers and know that, no matter what, she will be held in the loving arms of God.


Friday, March 02, 2007

deep thought

I have been thinking about a lot over the past several years of my life: stoichiometry, the exceptions to phonics rules, emerging maturity in my progeny, politics, religion, the manifestations of faith. My mind is a constant whirl of thoughts on subjects profound and inane. Even so, very rarely do my thoughts make it to print. Imagine my amazement, then, when my friend Mary graced me with a thinking blogger award.


That single word very tidily sums up my initial response. So many writers who I stumble across on the internet inspire me to think. I am humbled by their talents and the depth of their thoughts. I am not of their caliber. My musings tend toward little snippets of random thought, but thoughts they are. I acknowledge that often the items which spew forth from my fingers cause me to think long and hard (other times the babble just causes me to roll my eyes in dismay, but that’s another story). Perhaps, then, I should also let myself feel comfortable in the possibility that they do the same for someone else.

This is all a very long-winded way of trying to just say, “Thank you, Mary,” but I have never been good at graciously accepting a compliment.

Part two of my “eekedness” involved choosing five bloggers who make me think (to whom I pay forward this honor). There are many out there – some I have happened upon quite by accident once or twice, and never located again. Those are obviously out of the running. I immediately eliminated anyone who (to my knowledge) recently received this honor from another source. A few of my choices are people I do not really know at all. One of them doesn’t even know I exist. That said, I will move on.

My first honoree is one who has no clue of my presence. I found his blog quite by mistake one day, but happy accident it was. Fortunately I bookmarked the blog. A few months ago, the link suddenly stopped working. How grateful I was when a recent google search yielded results. Some noteworthy stuff can be found in his attic (the resting place of some material from his old blog – before the great disappearance). Lee Kennedy of A Curate's Egg is a former chemist turned psychology student who lives in Australia. Though I am not always in agreement with his conclusions about every matter, I can honestly say that even his snippets make me think. I give him this honor knowing full well it may go no further. I have never even posted a comment on his blog. I promise to get over my paralyzing introversion long enough to at least pass a comment on to him.

My second choice is for a mom with whom I have only the most cursory of connections. I lurk on her blog regularly, and have commented once. Nonetheless, Omegamom is someone who never fails to get me thinking. There have been a few times where her holding forth on a subject has caused me to view it in a way I never had before. Some examples of this include thoughts on adoption or infertility.

The thought provoking nature of these blogs is overt. My other choices make me think in a completely different way. Most of the time, they make me think because they make me feel. Or they make me think from the simple phrasing of a sentence. The nuance is the catalyst of thought.

Heather at Many Pieces of Me is one of those thinking bloggers. Her quick wit and fine-tuned appreciation of the ironic never cease to inspire reflection. One example from January shows how a few words can say so much. Even when she is talking about the little nothings that make up day to day life Heather has a way of making me think deeply – often about the things left unsaid.

My spidery friend is someone else whose emotional writing tends to touch a space in my soul-matter. When waxing poetic about her artistic heart, or sharing the simple joy of our mutual friend’s healthy born baby, she reaches a part of me that feels more intensely and cares about things more passionately. She inspires the kind of thought that makes me know I am alive.

And then there is jouette. I believe I can blame her for the fact that I ever got into blogging in the first place. When her heart moves with thought on the precious nature of life, or she reaches into the tenderness that comprises her in order to rhapsodize about the love of her life, I am touched. That touching of the heart provokes pondering into the nature of human relationship.

So there you have it. And now all I have to do is remain strong under the pressure of this honor and post only weighty and profound essays of unquestionable merit. Does anyone know a good ghost writer?

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