It’s “Hey Rene J” Today!

This year’s Christmas exchange is a specified dollar amount, but the color of the gift has to be red! Before this claim was staked, red was everywhere. Now, I can’t find it.

My family does a wacky Christmas gift exchange every year. (It is a tradition I omitted in the wedding vows.) Last year the giver could only have the gift be everything acquired “for free“ throughout the year. Thus, we had hotel amenities, ”King Soopers free Friday downloads,” Menard’s offers, rebates, Scholastic Books paraphernalia. It was pretty darn interesting. The year before the exchange was the “As Seen on TV” year. The gift had to be of that particular specification. It was fun because you would never buy most of that for yourself, but somehow getting it as a gift made it kosher. (btw…Wal-Mart and Walgreens have great sections for that exchange.) Before that, it was anything from your storage unit/basement/Goodwill.

As always, you bring a gift, you get a gift. Age is no boundary.

Nobody needs anything. We are blessed. However, we do seem to need fun and a challenge of sorts, because, we are those kind of people. Silly as it may seem, we laugh more with this way of thinking and “gift stealing” than we would if we paid thoughtful attention to our family and sought the perfect gift. Maybe we’re just lazy? It’s entirely possible. Maybe we don’t pay enough thoughtful attention to each other? Highly likely.

Thus, the parameters are limited this year. Red.

My Mom was a 4-H leader. (One of those I asked God to bless last night!) She taught crocheting and knitting. Of course I learned a valuable parenting lesson with that. I knew my children wouldn’t take piano lessons from their mom! How I wish I would have sucked it up and learned to knit or crochet back then. My hands do not want to cooperate in that endeavor anymore.

Many, many years after my first sewing debacle, I decided to whip up my own wedding dress, saving myself thousands of dollars. The bridal magazine had one I wanted for an exorbitant price, so I copied it! This would be fun! Who doesn’t love a monumental challenge?

I beaded the whole thing – it was gorgeous. Then I had to put the pieces together. Obviously, it was a “mermaid” style, with a flared lower tier. I couldn’t get that tier with the yards and yards of fabric gathered properly or even remotely close to being able to pin to the bodice. On the verge of 4-H tears at the age of 30, I drove home. My dear mother stepped in. She told me to go and take a walk. When I returned, lo and behold, she had succeeded in that Herculean effort and had gathered the skirt and pinned it to the bodice.

Remember – don’t quit the project when it seems impossible. Ask for help. And take piano lessons. (Not anything gleaned from this episode, just a really good idea.)

Yesterday provided a snow day here in the Centennial State, so I took to tasks I had put off for a few months in the role of “Seamstress.” Chatting with my Pinterest friend, “Panita,” we were brainstorming today on a related sewing adventure for her. Thus, I was reminded of how I became a seamstress. It is riveting saga.

My mother sewed everything for us growing up – and usually two of everything as she dressed my sister and I alike for many years. I wanted to be able to sew like her. When I could join 4-H, I did so and proceeded to sew my first “quick trick skirt.” It earned me a red ribbon – not a blue or purple, but not the worst – white. Then I graduated to the second year and attempted a more elaborate costume combo of pants and a shirt. I should have made another quick trick skirt.

I cried my way through that adventure. I ripped out seams which were unevenly sewn, I zigzagged raveling edges. I’m surprised the thing held together long enough to be entered in the county fair. For all of my hard work and tears I earned a red ribbon. I was so upset with that stupid ribbon because I had worked “sew” hard on my outfit. I did the only thing I could think of. I quit 4-H. However, I kept sewing! I wasn’t going to let some judges stop me from creating my way.

My seams are not always even, or pretty, but they work just fine. And God bless the 4-H leaders and judges who had to put up with the likes of me.

My career as a blogger has been upended by the true writer in the family! She never would let me see her work when she had a paper due in her studies. Oh sure – her friends had me proof their work, but not my daughter! Now I see why…she always was a great writer anyway.

I must admit, I wanted to head out to Guitar Center today and pick up a new piano book of songs to liven up the “Tipsy Trio,” too. Yes, we do seem to repeat our song list – but I don’t think we make the same mistake twice! We seem to be able to make new ones each week, which keeps us working on the old tunes. Thankfully the Christmas season will bring us a new repertoire – and we’re pretty good at the standards.

Ah, such a refreshing look at life on a Sunday evening back at the ranch. Next Sunday? Haiku writing lessons.

It was nice to have all the family back together for Sunday night dinner tonight. Andy, having just returned as a Rider on a motor-home trip with a friend, monitored the baking of the delicious home-made lasagna, squash (which I LOVE), and “salt with a little bread in it“ (i.e. the saltiest garlic bread ever made) while the other three Jenkins members were playing & singing at the usual Sunday 5pm Mass. The discussion around the dinner table tonight with my lovely family included many things: reminiscing about keeping (or NOT keeping) children’s art projects, famous “Rene sayings” (the most famous is “BUCK UP!”), and most importantly, this blog!

As we were discussing the “Haiku of the Day,” a disagreement was sparked about the “intended topic” for Haikus… which was proven by the woman who is always “right-er” (we’ll call her “Rene”) that Haikus are indeed originally written by the Japanese about nature. However, it was also noted in the discussion about this blog that every member of the Jenkins Household has been published!… all except for one: we’ll call her “Rachel.”

And that brings us to the current time, where this Writer has agreed to script tonight’s blog post… mostly in order to avoid singing the same 5 songs in the Tipsy Trio Playlist coming from the front room… but nonetheless, I (Rachel) can now say that I am published!

And thus ends this blog post… with a Rider, a “Right-er,” and (now) a Writer! But we mustn’t leave out the fourth member of the Jenkins Household… therefore, please see the “Haiku Of the Day” for his contribution to this post. Or rather, I would direct you to it if I could in any way figure out how to edit it, but I can’t, so here it is instead:

Haikus can be weird,

Sometimes they do not make sense.

Refrigerator.

How I get these emails sent to my inbox is unknown. I have two daily emails which I do not believe I subscribed to, but I rather enjoy them. So I keep them and once-in-awhile I actually pay attention to them. The first is “Word Genius.”

Now this is interesting! The word that popped up yesterday – or the day before – was “picaresque.” I didn’t know it. It refers to a novel about a roguish hero-type. Today’s NYTimes puzzle – 56 across – ”like a novel with a roguish, adventuring hero.” I knew it! But I wouldn’t have known it two days ago? Are these two ventures in cahoots?

The second daily email is “Travel Trivia.” Today’s question was so easy I laughed and didn’t even bother to open for the answer. “Which state has the highest average IQ?”

Well, “Nebraska,” obviously!

A mere month later and the comparison finally pops into my head after a circuitous mental route. Our tour guide to Montepulciano in Italy reminded me of the Artful Dodger in “Oliver!” He looked like an adult version of him, and his eyes were always darting about.

How did I get here? My job placed me in a school with an Hispanic concentration and many parents who spoke no English. My Spanish is on par with my Italian, by the way. Nary a polyglot am I. So I’m trying to decipher some of the conversation my partner is having with parents, getting my mind squished with the Spanish/Italian lexicons. Thus, I was then thinking about the regions of Italy and how different and fiercely independent each one is, language included. By the way, the modern Italy is only about 160 years old. They jokingly say that the only thing that makes them come together as one country is soccer. Then, they are all Italians! Otherwise, they are regional in their thinking and economies. It probably was a 20-second route, but the thoughts all brought me to the tour guide.

I learned this information from the Artful Dodger. Even though I’m convinced he truly is a pickpocket on the side (we saw him the following week in a highly populated tourist area while we were on public transport and he was “dodging” in and out of crowds….) he did know a thing or two about his history.

It’s nice to know some things will return to my memory at some point in some indirect way.

My son assured me it was not a “pity” game. He took up the gauntlet and challenged me to a Scrabble game on his only free night this week. What ensued was a collaborative poem after the fun. It is to be read as a script, with “R” as me, and “B” as he. We took turns issuing the “finish-the-rhyme” challenge. It was pretty short-lived.

R: I’m going to place my “Q” right here.
B: Time to grab another beer.
If I could only draw an “E.”
R: Please do before you have to pee!
My word is only 20 points.
B: I can feel victory in my joints.
If only this board weren’t so darn crowded!
R: Are you trying to keep your talent shrouded?
B: In the end it’s just a game.
R: and I won – just the same.

Look for more Nobel-award-winning works.

I wonder if there is a market for selling titles? Phrases and ideas that might be overlooked by a normal individual could give somebody inspiration, right? I’ve often thought of good book titles – without any idea of the novel that should accompany them. And everything needs a title, right? A person doesn’t browse the library or bookstore looking through the “untitled” section.

The law of “titling” happens between the ages of six and 18, when every paper, poem and paragraph needs a title. When I was part of that regimen, I protested and groaned and tried to use “Untitled” as often as possible. And you know why? Because I wrote the work first, then found a title for it! College wasn’t much better.

My mid-term paper on John Stuart Mill, the Victorian poet and essayist, was titled, “John Stuart Mill: Victorian Poet and Essayist.” I became slightly more imaginative with my Marxism research. “Marxism.” It left the mind to ponder the broad expanses on which I might possibly be reporting!

Thus, I come to my point. The first thing I do when I sit down to write is plunk down a title. The rest seems to follow. Here are a few titles I’ve come up with that you might like to use for your future novel. I won’t be needing them.

• When the Termites Ignore Your Wood
• The Pink Curler Mystery (I think this could be a series!)
• Chapter 97: The Birthday Party
• The Cell Phone in the Hall
• Cedar Chest Hopes (obviously a romance)
• Clinging to a Closet (subtitle: True Tales of a Hoarder)
• She Married a Taxidermist

Happy writing!

Lots of driving time today, so I was able to marvel at how dull and lifeless the autumnal colors are this year. Thus – I had to perk up my spirits by seeking out one of my favorite poems. I’d like to say I wrote it, but hey, the Haiku is challenging enough!

This poem was introduced to me 40-some years ago by my Antarctica Cindy. It’s by Bliss Carmen. I have it memorized, but I wanted to write it properly with the punctuation, so I had to research it! What a delightful venture. I learned the name of the poem is “A Vagabond Song.” I’m going to be a vagabond tomorrow!

A VAGABOND SONG by Bliss Carmen

There is something in the Autumn that is native to my blood –
Touch of manner, hint of mood;
And my heart is like a rhyme,
With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time.

The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry
Of bugles going by.
And my lonely spirit thrills
To see the frosty asters like smoke upon the hills.

There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir;
We must rise and follow her,
When from every hill of flame
She calls and calls each vagabond by name.