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 |   My journey through (and beyond) the valley with Cancer as my companion. |
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Dear Friend: This is not a Blog about writing! (I already have one of those.) This is a blog about a journey I am taking with illness. I have recently been diagnosed with Cancer. My goal is honest therapy as I progress through, and beyond this new reality in my life. I hope that, somewhere along the way you will find some words that will help you too. While this is, in fact, an interactive Blog, I hope that you will scroll slowly down this page. For you see, the front of this Blog IS my journey. The entries are conversations that are held along the journey.Yes, there is a lot on it--before actually getting to the Blog entries. But, I hope that by the objects and words which appear before the Blog itself, you might come to understand just a little bit about me, and my journey, and some truly amazing friends who have agreed to journey with me. I hope that you, too, will choose to accompany me on my walk--through the Valley. I invite you to join me, and discover the wondrous truths, meet some truly amazing people, and share those "memorable" moments this journey will undoubtedly present. Come along, won't you? In His Care, ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Would you like to help me help others? I found this amazing organization, and I am proud to be a sponsor. I hope you will check it out. It's called The Network For Good.  ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "RISUS OMNIA - INCRUMENTUS PER DEDECUS - SAPIENTIA PER DAMNUM" ("Every thing is funny - Growth through humiliation - Wisdom through loss") ~Leunig~ The hilltop hour would not be half so wonderful if there were no dark valleys to traverse. ~Helen Keller~ "If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people." ~Virginia Woolf~ ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "There is strength in truth." ~The Barton Family Crest~ ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** “Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, vision cleared, ambition inspired, and success achieved.” — Helen Keller, American social activist, public speaker and author (1880-1968) I have moved the list of my thanks for those who have helped to make this little Blog so very special. I hope that you will take a moment to read the list, growing every day, and let these fellow travellers along this journey know that you appreciate the contributions they make to our walk together.
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." James 1:2-4 ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Please feel free to click on the Blog Rings icon below to be transported to some of the very best of the Best Bloggers around WDC. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** If you are new to WDC, or to our Blogging community, I highly recommend the monthly edition of "The Blogville News". Feel free to click below, and let scarlett_o_h know that a Blogger sent ya! Hey! We've started a Christian's Blog Ring on WDC. Click on the logo, and join us! ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Budroe
 Ring LeaderI have three publications at the moment. Here is a link to purchase my latest one. Buy a great read, and help a fellow writer out, Okay?  ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| I'm not going to go nuts here. I just happened to notice that, today our President "revealed" that his entire warrantless wire-tapping program (considered by most, including this writer to be not only unconstitutional, but completely illegal--as in, felonious) was initially created because of his disagreement with the "particular narrowness" of the FISA Court's definition of "acceptable intrusion". As in, into our private lives. Because of this charade, municipalities are installing "spy-cams" that, only a couple of years ago, were considered to be unconstitutional because of their "unnecessary invasive nature", as well as the "decided inability to limit" their use and function. What once was license plate scanning for known or suspected terrorists is now being used for outstanding traffic tickets, and unpaid child support payments. This is NOT an application of "better living through technology". This is a continuing ruse of deception to steal away rights which, once taken, can most probably NEVER be returned to a private American citizen. I did not bleed, and my brothers and sisters did not die, for this. There IS an inconvenient barrier very carefully set into place between the prying eyes of a nosy and morally corrupt government, and the private citizens of the country for a very particular reason. If my Civics lessons serve me, it's called the prevention of complete Tyranny. "We fight terrorism to preserve our way of life." By destroying it? By involuntarily sleeping through the unauthorized seizure of those very rights which define us as a nation? This is not a Democratic view. Nor is it a Republican issue. This is an issue of citizenship for all who would call themselves American. It is not sufficient that we have 17 months left (possibly) of this tyrant. He and his cronies must be brought before the people's justice now, and he must be held to account for his ego-maniacal ways! The damage done to this country under his administration has done more to undo our way of life than any foreign invader possibly could. He, and anyone who would hold this most treasured office MUST be told that the tools he has usurped for himself are NOT tools that are his by monarchial "right of ascension". It is still true that no person is above the law--regardless of their percieved willingness and momentary ability to re-shape that law to suit their own vile purposes. And, make no mistake about it. When even the best of intentions lead to the kind of destruction of a people as this man has authored, the outcome can only be called vile. There IS no defense for this meglamania, none. And, if the FISA Court is to be believed, there is no defense FROM it, either. In His Care, and Yours! Budroe |
| That alone is worthy of a headline! Things are crazy in my world--especially in my WDC world! The Short Shots Contest for July is closed. My work is sitting, waiting for adjudication by some of the best writers on this site. If you have waited with me before, you know that these are not happy times for me. I try to have some sense of decorum, in at least my public persona. I feel relatively sure that, for those of you who know me, you can rest assured I am experiencing some parental angst. I hope it does well. I do know it has served a strong purpose already, and I hope it will touch lives in a very strong and good way. The results will be posted on the 15th. Let us see what we shall see, shall we? Indeed, we shall. I've got a blue month so far! Hey, ya gotta say it while ya can. I feel relatively sure I won't be saying it for long. I hope everyone is doing okay. I'm going to make the rounds soon, and will try to check in on all my bloggin' friends. Nanette's started her second blog. That's just amazing! I'm very glad she is back "live" although I have no idea what that took for her. I am watching the beginning coverage of the bridge span collapse in the Minneapolis / St. Paul area. The bridge on I-35 saw my tires many, many times. The bridge was under construction, and the traffic was extremely heavy at the time of the accident. The curent presumption is that approximately 50 vehicles were involved in the collapse. Current numbers report one confirmed death, and 28 injuries--subject to change. The news channels were quick to state--at the beginning of the story--that terrorism is not suspected. My leg is not cooperating with the medications I have been given. It seems to be getting more red, and more swollen. It is not a rash from the anti-biotics, but rather appears to be more thrombo-phlebitis. I am watching carefully for the expected outbreak of rash which usually appears within four days of my taking any form of anti-biotic. The pain continues, and the pain medicine only serves to force me almost immediately into the bed. Sleep is scarce, the rest fitful. Hopefully, the accumulative effect of the medication will "catch up" to the problem soon. This is not an unexpected turn of events; I was just hoping it wouldn't happen. I could do with a bit of a break at the moment. But, to be fair, I was seen and treated at my hospital. I just do not especially want to have an "extended" visit. In other news, our own WDC's A-1 Writing Academy began the transition, today, to the "quarter" term system. It is an exciting--if slightly confusing time. We are looking forward to a dynamic new Academy year with several new faculty members, some new and exciting courses, and a boatload of students. We are in need of several teachers for both our Department of Poetry and our Department of Prose. I am looking for quality writers with a passion to help their fellow writers. We can train you to teach: that's not so difficult. But, we cannot teach you to care passionately about the work, or the students. I would appreciate any referrals, recommendations, or volunteers you may provide. Approximately 30 teachers are needed for the new Academy year. We will also be publishing our own Newsletter, "The Academy News" before each quarter term begins, with perhaps a couple of special "Holiday" editions in the new Academy year. (6-8 issues/year). If you would like, you have a special invitation from me (personally and everything!) to subscribe to "The Academy News". We do, of course, need content providers for that effort, as well. The project is a primary function of our new group, the Friends of the Academy (FOTA). Our purpose is the financial, and community support of the A-1 Writing Academy. Our first project is the production and publication of the Newsletter. I am pleased to advise you that terrorism is not suspected. Sorry for the shameless plugs, but if not here, where? In His Care and Yours! Budroe |
| Yesterday afternoon, I was invited to have dinner with my friend Tom and his family. It was not only timely, but especially interesting as my friend made what can only be referred to as his "famous" pot roast. Even after cooking my evening meal, and eating same, I was only then invited to sup with my friends. Well, what is a poor, unsuspecting hillbilly to do? I dared not insult the invitation, now did I? So, off for the nether regions of "across the street" I traipsed, bum leg and all. I had not the presence of mind to change out of my working shorts, unfortunately. This would become important later. I got to the table right about the same time the food did. (Good planning; ya just gotta love it!) We enjoyed a fine repast of the very same pot roast that has, for years, earned it's title and reputation. His is not somehow a spectacular divination of the time-tested "rib sticker", but the preparation of it is sublime. I can only share with you that I did, in fact, hold up my end of the bargain. Yus, indeedy! <belch!> While enjoying the Crumb-cake desert, one of those present at the feast, who happened to be sitting beside me at the table, namely a loud-mouthed, nosey mother-in-law who most often goes by the moniker of "Meemaw" happened to look down and see a rather swollen, red-streaked leg attached to my otherwise svelt form. I cannot recall the precise language used, but I dare say it would be less than appropriate to re-configure it herein. The nexus of the conversation was: "WHAT IN THE WORLD IS WRONG WITH YOUR LEG, BUD??" (Yes, she truly must have believed me to be in some other area code as she spoke, but I digress....) "What do you mean?" "TOM, COME HERE AND LOOK AT THIS MAN"S LEG!" One may safely assume the look, and quite questionable glare which immediately proceeded from the general vicinity of my friend's face. Let us merely suggest that it tweren't purty, okay? "I saw it earlier today." Looking in my general direction, while I was attempting in vain to avoid the daggers sent forthwith, my friend indicated to me with silent assurance that there would be recompense required at some unfortunate, yet undetermined date. "Well? Are you going to the Hospital now, or shall we simply wait for the Ambulance?" Okay, you tell ME! How, precisely IS one supposed to respond to such an inquiry? Isn't that just a whole lot like the famous question, "Do you still beat your children?" I was much too guilty....umm, shocked to respond--for some moments. There was much anger displayed, and much animated conversation ensued. Which was, may I add, completely unnecessary. I knew, quite from the initial comment that my Goose, it was pretty much (to use a culinary term) cooked. Resistance was futile. Fortunately, the only "out" for either my friend or myself was the reality that we had discussed my visiting the general facilities of health at the time he called to invite me to dine. Anon. Following my insistence that desert be completed, and a very close and personal assurance to the young master TJ that I would, in fact, be alright, Tom and I proceeded (relatively) forthwith to the Hospital Emergency Room. You know, there are places where common persons should NOT be intantaneously recognized. Court buildings immediately jump to my mind's eye. Prisons are a fine example of this rarity, as well. Let me add the Hospital ER to that list, as well. Yet, barely had I cleared the entrance than two persons on staff welcomed me--by name! *sigh* I either got to get a better travel agent, or a much better PR guy. Some five hours later, a wonderful (new) Doctor by the incredibly mal-suited name of Latino (he definitely wasn't!) informed me that the Ultra-Sound showed no active bloodclots in the affected left leg, although he found three that were skulking furtively (trust me, I know furtive!) in the shadows of my upper leg and groin. His diagnosis was extreme cellulitis and thrombo-phlebitis (common occurrences for my particular condition). He administered some purley exquisite drugs into my person, whereupon I was summarily discharged--home. I was admonished against sitting for more than five minutes at a time (uh huh, yeah. Okay, Doc!), to apply hot compresses to my entire leg at least five times per day, and given anti-biotics (Keflex: you know it so well!) and some really entertaining pain medicine of national repute. (I have no desire to become an oxy-moron, okay?) Upon my return to Chateau de Budroe, I went to the bed-chamber, and retired. Some fourteen (yeah, so?) hours later, I awoke to what seemed to be, for all intents and purposes, a raging nuclear war somewhere in the general vicinity of all things below my left knee. Now that it had a name, the malady had evidently decided to make itself fully known to yours truly. It needn't have bothered. Ye, verily. Lo, and many cattle! I have, since the middle of this afternoon, now imbibed in said medication twice, and am writing this entry not only to fulfill the blue requirement, but to extend my waking hours long enough to take the third of four daily (Sheesh, them's some hubungous pills, y'all!) doses of the wunder-pharma. So far, about twenty minutes after taking the first dose, I did feel some significant comfort. Being me, however, I decided to go for distance, and stood up. Needless to say, any obligations of said comfort to remain in the vicinity immediately vanished. Bad choice--not even an interesting choice. Just a very bad choice. I have had cellulitis one time prior to this. It wasn't fun. In fact, it very nearly led to my demise. That word has a special meaning in my world, and I must tell you I take it seriously. Wouldn't it just be a hoot.... So, for the foreseeable future, I am relegated to a mostly supine existence. I am watching my leg--moment by moment--for any signs of my determination that this illness be done! So far, I am, perhaps predictably, being quite totally ignored by said insult to my person. So what else is new!? The drugs are severely limiting my ability to scribe worthily, and all things in my world are currently being addressed in a very abbreviated mode. I am being quite generous with the pain meds, and merely within regulation on the anti-biotics. I have a nasty history with anti-biotics, and they do not generally tend to agree with my system--at all. We shall see what we shall see, but I'm thinkin' there's one mean lady across the street just laughin' herself silly right about now. I gotta tell ya, I'm not quite certain even "that" pot roast was worth all this. In His Care, and Yours! Budroe |
| I have figured out that, when you open up your email and find 26 messages in the span of 12 hours, something's up. Well, where do you begin? Sometimes (and usually) I begin with the oldest message first, and work my way up to the most recent. Every once in a while, I'll go in reverse order, just to stay completely inscrutible. As you may know, I recently wrote a piece for the Short Shots Contest for July's Picture Prompt titled "Message In A Bottle". It has, generally (85%) received great reviews, and that has been gratifying. The contest closes in the 31st of July, and the winners will be announced on August 15th. This morning, however, the piece won a prize from the Heavenly Roses group. That group, led by Rose Praying for Peace  has awarded "Message In a Bottle" it's top prize for the third week in July, 2007, "The Heavenly Roses". Lookie! ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** And, if you click on the pretty flowers, it will take you directly to my story! How cool is that, huh? Wow! That's pretty awesome, dontcha think? Surely ta goodness, you guys know me well enough to know I'm not braggin' up on me. I just think that's so very kewl! Way ta Go, Dad! I love You, too. In His Care, and Yours! Budroe |
| I got some amazing food in the mail. Now, you KNOW that is not something you'd hear in the average daily conversation, right? Okay, so now the entire world knows that I sometimes create beginnings to preserve dates!! Tis true, tis entirely and utterly true. I am neither ashamed nor stolid, having made this dire revelation. Anyway, about the news!! My friend gardengirl sent me, quite unannounced I might add, some of the MOST wonderful jars of tomatoes, green beans, and Spiced Peach Jam one could possibly imagine! I immediately broke out the Chicken Breasts, and commenced ta cookin' one of my Nanny's famous "Sunday" dinners. (Okay, it was a Wednesday. But, the food didn't know that, y'all!) I even made homemade biscuits for the occasion! I was surprised to discover that my hands DO still remember the process, all these decades removed from the learning! It may never happen again, but it certainly did happen for THIS meal! Oh, Children! <Shakes head> You just don't know what happened at Chateau de Budroe! Oh, my! Glory, glory GLORY! Ummm, ummt, umnht. <sucks air through teeth> "Goodness gracious it's good!" (Anybody feel like winnin' 1,000 GP can tell me, before the next blog post, who's ad line that is and who was made famous for saying it!) Suddenly, here I am, a 5 year-old child. I'm sitting in my Nanny's kitchen, way up high on a stool so I can see the stove. Nanny's moving from stove to table, and back to stove. "Bilin' down" vegetables, parafin, preserves, jams, and jellies. Corn chowder, "Chow Chow", Corn Relish... tomatoes, green beans, potatoes, onions, and peppers. Cucumbers to pickles, Oh, my. Case after case of Mason Jars of every description, size, and color. Reused time after time, some of these jars were (I was convinced) from the original batch run at the factory. Nanny singin' under her breath, smiling the smile of the contented. Lemon Verbena passing to and fro (yes for real--it was her choice of scents) in front of my young body. Watching, and "helping" put up the food that would grace my dining room table for months into the future, my Nanny and I doing "chores". Her apron, fashioned (as were her bonnets) from feed bags, adorned the simple dress which contained this 80-pound stack of gentle goodness (with just a twinge of Dynamite, when occasioned!). And, for a moment, that is precisely were I was. Dramatic? Yes, it was. Simplicity has a definite air of the dramatic about it, don't you think? I will admit, tears accompanied the feast, but they were most assuredly tears of the utmost joy, and thanksgiving. I could, once again, see and smell my Nanny. I could hear her humming under her breath as her twinkling eyes laughed into mine, knowing we were sharing a "forever" moment, long before I would ever understand the term. Oh, what a moment. And, OH! What a gift! Thank you, gardengirl, for your overwhelming gesture of generosity. Oh, my! I've only just got a bit of the Jam left, now. But, you know, having those Mason Jars handy makes me think of other times, and other days. You know, I did used to know all about "bilin' down"...hmmmm. Well, naw. The Fire Department, and all...you know. Besides, I just want to enjoy the memory a moment more. Thank you for that most of all, my dear beloved friend. In His Care, and Yours! Budroe |
| I was outside a while ago, watching the rain. I had a lot of thoughts going through my mind at the time. Watching the rain coming down in a gentle, steady shower made me think of all the farmers that have been begging for a dousin' for some time now. This particular front is supposed to last for the weekend, off and on. They say about 30% chance of showers each day. Boy, she sho kno how to wreck a weekend, don't she? I was thinking of Elvis' "Cool Kentucky Rain". That used to be one of my favorite songs. I liked the style, and the tempo, and especially the story. We used to (have to) sit on our front porch when it rained during the summertime. Games galore, there were. Distraction abounded. Yet, we knew it was raining. It is hard for a youngster to appreciate the rain when a major-league neighborhood Wiffle Ball-all Inter-Galactic Championship game is nearly over--only to get delayed by a summer shower. You just never knew whether the rain would stop before you "had to go in"--a very strange concept when you think about it. We weren't out! I was a good player of that particular game. It was one of the few "social" games I played decently. I looked forward more to the "being picked" than the game itself. I was a little guy, but the big kids always wanted me on their team. That just didn't happen real often in my world. It was a great diversion from the hours of practicing the keyboard. We had the biggest yard, so the games always took place at our house. We didn't mind. How can you get in trouble in your own yard!! I found ways. Even when I din even DOO NUFFIN', it seemed that playing Wiffle Ball or Badminton could easily get me sent, a hot-roasted butt of a boyee, to my room. Well, I couldn't help it. I had the rare ability to send a Wiffle Ball over the bank. That would invariably elicit the moans and groans of everyone. We only had the one ball, you see. Games would be called "time out" while some poor sap on the other team went on a riverbank adventure. That's where the trouble always started! Someone would find a Copperhead sunning himself, or some amazing discarded auto part to explore on the way to retrieve the recently smashed round plastic sphere. And, I did love sending my friends on those adventures. Truly, I did. When it would rain, we'd have to all congregate on my front porch and wait it out. Some of the big kids would then proceed towards practicin' their dugout activities. Scratchin' n spittin' would ensue with wreckless abandon. Unless of course, "you-know-who" showed up. I've seen full-grown men swallow chewin' tobacco in my Mother's presence. You think a kid was gonna get off any easier? Oh, my goodness. NOOOOO. One of my friends sat and waited on a shower to end so long he went from "Swallow it!", all the way to "ghostly green". He had to go home right after that. And, that was really a shame. He was the star player on the other team. If he hadn't have gotten sick, he would have been up to bat next. Lookit. All I did was to go inside, and ask my Mother if we had any cookies, 'cause some of the kids were so hungry they were actin' like they was chewin' something. How was I supposed ta know? I mean, I was just a little kid! The big kids had been tellin' me so for a hour! "Squirt!" "Runt!" "Half-pint!" Laughin, and playin' and havin' fun pickin' on me, when I din even DOO Nuffin'! The rain stopped. We won the game. We, as the victorious team, didn't even care so much about the braggin' rights on the Universe. We knew we'd play again soon. All we cared about was the watermelon the winners got to eat! Well, everybody got to eat (if they wanted to); the winners just got to go first. I used ta always like to get the end of the watermelon. You always got more that way. But some big kid always beat me to i.....Oh, never mind. He had to go home. Gentle showers hold promise today, just like they did then. Rain helps things (and, sometimes little kids) survive, and grow. There is a definite smell, this time of year, that I call "the Corn smell". It's definitely NOT the "Flood" smell. Cool, gentle showers coming in on the breeze from my Nanny's corn crop (just over the riverbank) could put me to sleep. Especially after eating a big ole hunk of watermelon that just tasted like victory! Funny, through the years, I can't even think about a gentle rain shower without thinking of Wiffle Ball. And, the worst part of the watermelon. And, how sometimes difficult it is just to survive when you are a little kid. But, we learn. We adjust. And, every once in a while, we get the piece of the victory we really wanted all along. In His Care, and Yours! Budroe |
| Soooo.... Here's how it all happened. Settle back, grab a cuppa, and remember with me, won't ya? Since coming to WDC, I have been a part of an educational community. First as a student, I did a ridiculous thing, and signed up for the most advanced writing course on this (or perhaps any other) writing site. At the time, the course was being taught by David E. Navarro . It was a superb course, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. The course was offered, for a nominal fee, by the A-1 Writing Academy. That's a very busy place, friends. No, REALLY! As I got to know some of the staff and faculty of the Academy a little bit, I became quite interested in the whole idea of what they were trying to do. Originally established by two friends as a group offering "How - To" Tip Sheets, these two individuals were suddenly an answer to a very widely-held question among the members of WDC: "How do I...?" No subject was off-limits, and no idea was too far afield for these two go-getters. People responded...in droves. At the time I became a paying member of the A-1 Writing Academy, I was healthy, employed, and a full-time student working to finish a degree program. The Academy had (I believe) a total of eight "courses" available: 4 in Poetry, and 4 in Prose. I flipped a coin: prose won. I fully intended to complete every course (and, still do!) but I had to go one way or the other first. Why? Well, friends, that there's a grand question! Way back when, in the olden days of September, 2006, I came to WDC because I wanted to be among really great writers. I wanted to learn how to be, if not one of the great writers of WDC, at least a better writer, period. I have varied interests in my writing life, and hoped to explore both sides of the "other than non-fiction" writing world. I knew such a place existed, and I was looking for a tour guide. I found one. Actually, I found about 10. And, they each had a special subject that while unique to each one of them, showed a shared passion, commitment, and dedication which was shared between all of them. One persons Poetic Patterns was anothers "Dynamic Non-Fiction"! It was incredible. About this time, I got sick. Major bummer, in the "This is NOT in my current plans!" Dept. As things developed, and I found out that some folks seemed to be expecting me to shuffle on off this mortal coil relatively soon, there was a great personal identity crisis goin' on right here at Chateau de Budroe. Well, how DO one get ready for that journey, anyway? Because of friends like Kenzie  and debsey urging me on, I took a leap and began writing this very ptome. Soon, friends like David McClain , and scarlett_o_h, and PlannerDan , and pretty much everyone you see on this list just to the left, here were stopping by on a daily basis. They would respond to my writing with a comment every once in a while. That is, of course, because that is just about how often I wrote in this Blog. Once in a while. What identity crisis, you say? Glad you asked. If you hadn't, this post would end here, and you would have no clue as to the purpose (or the answer) of the title. That would just itch unbearably bad, now wouldn't it? So, I'm hangin' around The Academy, and I'm writing my stuff. I enter a couple (but, only a couple) of contests around WDC. I truly don't much believe I'm gonna compare to the power around this place. But, I want to say I did at least create new words that had a chance to be seen by members of WDC who, because of their status (Participants), could give me some constructive feedback. It was the gutsy move of a fool, I tell ya. I'm still not much on this whole notion of "Throw it out there, and see who stomps on it!" I still hadn't found the public review page yet, or the Shameless Plug page. Yes, I was a Newbie, lost in the swirling depths of the spaghetti bowl that IS WDC. Well, as luck would have it, right about the time I was trying to remember my name, one of my pieces won a Contest. It wasn't a big one, per se. It was a daily prompt for "The Writer's Cramp", actually. (If I had known what that was, way back then, I can promise you I would NEVER have put my words there. It was a total fluke; please forgive me, The Milkman  .  Man, did that feel good! It was truly an amazing thing to see your work in the Winner's Circle! I loved the writing of the story, too. It took me back into the safe, and happy days of an early childhood, and into the smiling face of one of the gentlest, kindest men I have ever known. It does still remain, today, as one of my favorite pieces. "First Apples" was a fun piece to write, and the Judges liked the way I combined three items into a story. They liked it enough that my piece won that day's contest. AND! I even won GPs, too. They PAID me! Okay, if you don't know the feelin' I just described--yer dead. You may consider this an official Notification! You don't need to be wastin' time hauntin' this here epistle. I got sick. The one thing I could do was sit at a computer, and type my fingers stupid. (And, Lord knows, we have definitively PROVEN that!) The Academy was there, in the background. I was writing now about a very personal journey through the valley. It was not just a passion any more. Writing was a therapy, ordained in November, 2004--in preparation for October 28th, 2006. Go ahead and doubt, deny, and debunk all you wish. Just make sure you pack a lunch and bring plenty of help before you attempt to dis-abuse me of THAT notion: I know better. And, dangit, you should, too! Let's skip ahead a bit, shall we? "Indeed, we shall." (The first person who can tell me where THAT line comes from wins 1,000 GP. Do it before the next Blog post, though!) MarysTears was runnin' a contest, and my pal Kenzie pointed me to it. "Heaven in 2007" wasn't just another contest; it was the largest contest I had ever seen on WDC. I was intimidated by the title, by the prompt, by the prizes, and by the amazing writers who had already contributed entries. I had absolutely no business being anywhere NEAR that kind of power, I assured myself. Then, I entered anyway. (True to form, 'ey? )"The Confession" took on a life of its own. I just took down the dictation. Dad did truly show up, and "Boy, Howdy!", did He ever show off. In a much longer waiting time than it takes the average Leviathon to give birth, the contest suddenly mattered to me a very great deal. I was lurking around the Academy, making friends here and there, but not studying much. Shortly before I had pulled the few remaining strands violently from my pate, the CEO of the Academy, Deborah Owen contacted me, and asked me to teach a class. Now, you must understand that I was still full-tilt-boogie in the previously-referenced dilemma. But, it wasn't until Deb and I began talking that I truly began to understand the dilemma itself. It really was quite simple, and boiled down to "How can I still contribute?"My dear friend Deb's answer: TEACH! I'd been doing that, off and on, for over 40 years. It wasn't a completely foreign universe to me. I knew my way around the topography pretty well, and had even created some of it my very own self a couple forevers ago. The idea of teaching writing, to writers? Now, that's a concept just insanely stupid enough for ME to buy into. I began teaching. It tweren't purty, Virginia. Brutal is what it was. (And, it's not a shining jewel even now!) But, I began teaching. Then, I won the contest for Dad. Then, a few other good things began sliding toward my dark little corner. And, I realized a most amazing thing: I was alive again. Yep, I was a puny pup, to be sure. I still am. But I had something I could do. I could contribute. I could be relevant--not important, just identified as a contributor. Okay, maybe not much, and maybe not much worth anything. But, who cares? I was alive! Sick, but alive is just a whole gang better than its natural alternative, I tell ya. One of my friends at the Academy, cnoto, got sick. She had been a mentor, and a true friend to this here hillbilly for a good spell. Seems she took up with Multiple Sclerosis. Now, that is a nasty dancin' partner, friend. She struggles with it today, and will for the rest of her life. We have something in common, me and Char. We both know how to pick great support groups, and lousy dance partners. Yippee! Char also happened to be, at the time, the Administrator of the A-1 Writing Academy: only the second person to hold that position since the Academy was created. Now, in one moment, two of my friends were in deep donkey doo-doo. Unbeknownst to either, both asked me to help. It's a huge job, but really simple when you figure I get to help out two friends with every action. I agreed to help out for 90 days. I became the third Administrator of the A-1 Writing Academy. Why the History lesson, Bud? We know all of this! We've been here through every single bit of it. What's the deal? That IS the deal. It's been one amazing journey so far, hasn't it? Here we are, 190 entries down the path together. You have been a dear and beloved friend along this journey. You have shown me a level of friendship, and a level of understanding friendship, that has consistently amazed me. I have been, and remain, overwhelmed and humbled by the unfailing and steadfast love poured into this little Blog by folks I will, most likely, never meet. Although, to be accurate, I have met many of the friends along this journey. Every one is a valued friend. Some I just haven't looked in the eye, yet. Why does that matter? Simple, really. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** The A-1 Writing Academy now has some 15 courses available to the WDC Community, with some 40 more in some form or other of development, or planning, or some such. We are in a time of active transition at the Academy. We are not a "How to..." step sheet provider any more. Almost 600 students attend class each and every week. Think about that for a moment. Most of these students attend an average of three classes per week. Different classes, mind you. In October of this year, the A-1 Academy will change the way it does business. We will be going to a "Quarter" system, much like the more traditional writing academy of old. We will have only limited numbers of seats available (1,000) for each quarter. Students will pay tuition, and course fees. Twelve weeks after they begin, the Courses will be completed. After a week or so off, we'll do it again! Four times in the next Academy Year, we will seat, instruct, and graduate 1,000 students. We have a lot to do, before the change can be effective. We need help--a lot of help. We have to raise a sufficient amount of GP to guarantee the 250% payraise just authorized for our faculty and staff. We have some 40 programs that each need one dedicated heart to teach. We have started a group to help us do just that. And, that's what FOTA is. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Friends of the Academy. I'm hoping it will be just like friends along this journey. You have taught me what friends can do, when they are about the important business of being a friend. I've got a page full of proof at the top of this little blog. (Just in case you missed it, or forgot where on that page YOU are! ROFL) Now, I'm recruiting friends for the Academy. This is a group that will, among other things, provide the funds to support the phenomenal growth of our Academy. (And, yes, it IS our Academy. It belongs to the entire WDC Community. It just happens NOT to have the Blogger's Memorial Wing--YET!) These Friends will be the public mouthpiece OF the Academy, singing it's high praises at every possible moment. And, the Friends have determined that communication (interesting idea for such a site as this, dontcha think?) should be the first mission. Friends talk. Friends share of themselves, and sometimes in a very deep (or, possibly disturbing) way. The Friends of the Academy have created a Newsletter for the Academy. "The Academy News!" is THE official Newsletter of the A-1 Writing Academy. Friends of the Academy. FOTA. Ya know, it's really funny how it seems to have gotten all the important information right here, in this little blog, on this journey through the valley. I can contribute. I can participate. Friends taught me how to live, and how to contribute again, even if only a little, for a little while. It mattered then, and it still matters. Now, another group of friends is gathering to help out a much more worthy cause. Their help will become stuff of which legends are made. New and aspiring writers, as well as the pros, will have a place where they can learn, or sharpen, the craft of writing. The Friends of the Academy will help make that a sure bet. So can you. I hope you will. We need writers with passion to become teachers at The Academy--desperately. Poetry and Prose are two Departments that are holding available courses in the dark because writers with passion will not dare think of themselves as teachers. Have you ever suffered through a really great teacher without passion? Or, perhaps a totally inept teacher who sparked your dream in spite of themself? Which would you rather be? Before the end of this year, 1,000 WDC Community members will pass through the halls of the A-1 Writing Academy. We have 15 courses, in two Departments. In January of 2008, I want to have 55 courses in three Departments, adding a Department of Graphic Arts. I can teach anyone to teach: I've been doing it for a while now. I cannot teach anyone to be passionate about teaching. If you always wanted to, but didn't know how--come see me. If you always knew you had the heart of a teacher, but no one would give you a shot because...come see me. If you are willing to elevate the needs of others above your own busy schedule, just because...come see me. If you haven't even thought to ask how much it pays yet...PLEASE come see me!  If you want to "pay it forward", but aren't certain how to do that, come see me. If you know someone who immediately leaps into your mind as you read these words, please tell them to come see me, and tell me that you sent them to see me. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** (Thanks for the ubercool Masthead, kiyasama!) FOTA also has developed a Newsletter. It's going to be a huge production. We need page editors, and reporters. Everyone here knows what that's all about. Before you drop your head, groaning in sadness for the difficult days I have ahead of me as a Newsletter Publisher--come see me. If you want to subscribe to the largest Newsletter ON WDC, you can. "The Academy News" has 15 SECTIONS as we speak. You can find out all the latest news, or read some of the best writers on WDC within its pages. And, you could be one of those writers, too. You could edit, or report one of our many pages. Believe me, we need you. Come see me. Or do a search, and see what FOTA has to offer. (Or, if you are totally lazy, just click on the purty picture gifted to FOTA by Lala , as the result of a prize I won in wolffe's contest recently. It's really just another opportunity to be a friend to someone that deserves it. The only difference is, this friend is 600+ members strong. It needs a little friendship, and a little looking after. Ya know? I have long said that I have been blessed, to be a blessing. I have, and I'm tryin'. That's what FOTA is, and that's what FOTA does. I hope you'll come see me. In His Care, and Yours! Budroe |
| I got this from a friend today. I really enjoyed it. There will be another post later today, but I hope you will let this one bless your hearts. A minister decided to do something a little different one Sunday morning. He said "Today, in church, I am going to say a single word and you are going to help me preach. Whatever single word I say, I want you to sing whatever hymn that comes to your mind." The pastor shouted out "CROSS." Immediately the congregation started singing in unison, "THE OLD RUGGED CROSS." The pastor hollered out "GRACE." The congregation began to sing "AMAZING GRACE, how sweet the sound." The pastor said "POWER." The congregation sang "THERE IS POWER IN THE BLOOD." The Pastor said "SEX" The congregation fell into total silence. Everyone was in shock. They all nervously began to look around at each other afraid to say anything. Then all of a sudden, way from in the back of the church, A little old 87 year old grandmother stood up and began to sing "PRECIOUS MEMORIES." Pass this along and make someone smile today. Gotta Love Little Old Ladies. In His Care, and Yours! Budroe |
| You know, sometimes I actually come up with some really grand ideas. Yes, I know. Let it bless yer heart! During the month of July (so far), I've worked on several of them. I've come to some conclusions. Enterpreneurs are visionaries. Writers are creative in nature. Put those two together, and you get creative visionaries. That's what I am. I have long said that I have my feet firmly planted--in the clouds. *sigh* As anyone who has ever attempted to bring a dream to reality can (and, usually readily will) tell you, there is an inherent problem with creative visionaries. We get bad press. People don't trust creative visionaries. I suppose one need look no further than the used car scammer to begin to understand. To their own credit, howver, most of those particular types have moved off the lot, and into the F&I office. Now, they are the Finance Managers of the wild contract, and heart-stopping interest. Now that we have a truly global community, there are scammers, and spammers, and spimmes galore. They even openly admit it, saying it is "capital enterprise". I read an article that one such individual was PAID to be interviewed for today. His final take on his "craft"? "Yeah, I know. I'm going straight to Hell." How's that for remorse? Another problem we creative visionaries have is a definite intent, but sometimes not a really good plan. We tend to have the attitude that says something like, "Hey! I came up with the idea. YOU work out the details!". That really drives our approval ratings right through the bottom of the basement. These days, it seems as though people believe that creative thinking is either simply beneath them, or not worth their own "sweat equity". I see that a lot. Even around this safe harbor for those creative, the impression tends to persist that "I'll be happy to come to the feast, but I'm not much on cooking, or preparing, or setting the table--or planting and watering the seeds." Teamwork is sometimes THE magic ingredient that clearly defines the difference between what "could be" and what "will be". Team-building is something I used to be pretty good at. I am somewhat shocked (being honest) to discover that these skills which once trembled at my merest gaze now seem to taunt me. Creative visionaries need believers for their sensitive natures to feel validated. They need those who are willing to, as Hannibal declared, "burn their bridges" when landing on hostile and unknown territory. No matter how much you sell the dream, without believers willing to put a hand to the plow, it is a mostly useless enterprise. For us creative visionaries, sometimes it's the great novel, or the beautiful collection of poems. Perhaps it is a company, a product, a service, or a mission that is bigger than life. All great ideas begin by being larger than one person. Did you know that? There can be a definite risk in believing in the dreams of someone else. No matter how long, or how well you know them, they certainly can let you down. And, it must be said that there are those who would expend 20 times the energy to stifle your dreams rather than expend the 5% necessary to realize them as a team. I must confess, these people simply confound me. The mindset eludes me. I don't know how to talk to people like this. My only result is frustration which is, usually, mutual. What, I wonder, does it take in our world today for a grand idea to survive? While I readily admit that my grand ideas are best understood by myself, I always thought I had the ability to explain them, understand them, and "sell" them successfully to others. My greatest single skill in business has always been "putting square pegs in square holes." I think that my greatest disappointment has been, with these latest grand ideas, in the realization that, even selling the grand idea to those who SHOULD be the very first believers are not the first believers at all. They are, generally, not believers in the message, nor in the messenger. I still believe that consistency of performance will provide them the proof they relentlessly require to know that the grand idea IS larger than anyone, or any group. It (the idea) is bigger, and better than they could possibly imagine, yet that may well be the single reason they refuse to accept it. They dare not dream that large. People seem to be comfortable with small dreams. But, grand ideas cause grumbling. When did that happen, and where was I when it did? Could I possibly have been doing something so profound that I missed the obituary of the grand idea? I don't know, but I feel really out of the loop at the moment. I must decide whether or not one more moment of my time is worth the effort. I have laid down grand ideas before, but I never felt good about it. I have never much liked the notion that any grand idea was so good it could not exist. I guess I am one of those Liberal Democrats who see something that isn't, and say, "Why not?" It's been an interesting week at Chateau de Budroe. It promises to get very much more interesting in a very, very short time. I hope you will keep good thoughts for me. I surely do keep them for you. That's just one grand idea I refuse to lay down, no matter what. In His Care, and Yours! Budroe |
| I have been watching ants today. Believe me when I tell you, friend, that this is NOT a voluntary activity. It seems the ants are back with a passion! No, not because I do not keep a clean home! It is merely an infestation, somewhere under my floor. I have found one major entryway for them, and have done my best with the relentless use of chemical technology to deter their seeming determination to crawl all over my home, my furniture, and my person. Last evening, I was surprised to see what appeared to be a Queen walking casually across my desk, quite as if she owned the place! She was, umm, summarily dispatched. As I completed the task, there were a few ants close by her. I watched them for a few moments, and I made some observations. The shockwave delivering the Queen's demise had an immediate effect on every ant that I saw. They first stopped still. Then, as if of one mind, they RAN! As fast, and as far away from their Queen as they could. Some message had been delivered in eulogy, and every ant got the message! After about 30 minutes, I started seeing ants approaching the body of the recently passed Monarch. They seemed to recognize the form, but were not willing to feel, sense, or touch her. It was ants showing respect, I think. I found that amazing. There's more. Little ants playfully scampering across my desk had an immediate reaction to my (purposely) bad aim. When I tried to smush them into eternity, they ran--fast. Do ants know fear? Was this merely survival instinct playing itself out at my hand? Further noting, a single drop of soda found its way onto my desk. Before I could remove it, several ants were swimming in the drop. These are very small ants, folks. And, may I say they do quite the impressive backstroke with all their legs. From other corners of the desk, ants came at the gallop to lap up the sweet nectar of the "secret formula". Were they announcing the pool to be open? This was not, to my observation, a casual determination by blind creatures accidentally finding the soda. They were told, and they responded. My desk, shortly thereafter, was treated to a chemical bath. Gagillions of ants were dispensed to their forever reward! Today, they are back. This tells me something about ants, and perhaps even about us belly buttton kids, too. Ants are a society. So are we. They do seem to feel pain (trust me), and fear. They communicate one to the other with some form of understandable dialogue, I think. I know of the "chemical trail", but this experience tells me that the ants were communicating current events, things important to their group. They were not mindlessly bounding to and fro in the hopes of finding the motherlode (a nearly empty soda can). They had a purpose, and they were about it. They were, in all effect, BEING ants. I have many fears in my life. I do not worry, but I spend many hours wondering. It is terribly difficult for me to express those things which keep my mind moving in wonderment, sometimes past the speed of light. I have great difficulty accepting the giving of others. This is a part of life that has, thus far, remained mostly out of my sphere of existence, yet with each passing day I depend on it more. It makes me feel uncomfortable to know that, for the greater part, I cannot supply my own needs. It's not pride, at this particular point. It is as simple as the acknowledgement of a fact. I judge myself based upon some pretty silly things, if you ask an ant. They do have some really incredible traits. So do we belly button kids. But, ants don't measure their worth by their ability to provide their own needs. They either provide their own needs, avoid the big thumb--or they die. Ants know death, as I observed yesterday. They seem to (or, at least these ants did) respect, acknowledge it, and go back to the one thing that matters to them: being ants. For the ants I observed, even a death as tragic to their entire colony as the pulverization of their Matriarch had only a moment of significance. They were still ants, and they went back to the task of being the ants they were created to be. They acknowledged the event, but were not transformed by it. I don't think there was the first ant therapy session involved back at the colony. No, I truly don't. There was no wake. When I came to my desk this morning, the body of the Queen was precisely where she had fallen (or been driven). Life in the Ant world went along. We communicate so many things to each other. For us belly button kids, the need to communicate is right up there on the Hierarchy. It is not merely sufficient to communicate. We must communicate effectively, and spend a lot of time doing it. Even here, where communication is not a skill, but the first requirement, our community exists for the PURPOSE of communication. In this, our small corner of the community, we bloggers communicate with gusto. While we say it doesn't matter, we all feel the need to have acknowledgement by our peers, and those to whom we communicate. We must know that our communication has been received, as sent; that it has been understood. But, further, we have a deep and abiding passion within us that, I believe, makes us bloggers in the first place. We have a deep need to be responded to. The comments left are first measured by their number. "How many comments did my post get today?" High numbers generate within us a feeling of satisfaction, and accomplishment. Low numbers bring us into a death-spiral of disillusionment. But you see, that is one of those very special characteristics that make us bloggers in the first place! It's not such a bad thing to admit to a stranger that you are a blogger. In fact, I believe this would be a much less inviting place if we could not communicate together in this way. Ants, on the other hand, have no such concerns. They spend 100% of their lives doing what they were created to do. What that is, precisely, I have not the first notion. They are, however, painfully (at times) aware of their circumstance, and their surroundings from what I noticed in the past day. They have a sense of relationship to their environment, and to each other. They have different roles to play, and they play them without debate, or justification. They accept their existence as necessary, because they are being what they were created to be. Do they know it? Do they care? Do they deny it? Do they debate, rationalize, justify their rebellion about it? Nope. We do though, don't we. We must "understand, acknowledge, and accept" our creation before we submit to the living of it. And, we thought ants were silly. In His Care, and Yours! Budroe |
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