Christmas Party

There are those who seemingly host parties with their hands behind their back.

Then there's me.

I am not one of those organized, house-always-clean kind of women. So when it comes to parties, I end up needing to clean a little bit more than a normal person. You know the famous dash and stash? Not to mention the other things like: vacuum the mounting dog hair, put away piles of trash--ur, I mean--artwork, clear the clutter, re-organize the kids rooms and my favorite, move furniture!

Move furniture? You ask. Yes. I say. Because graphing out where the furniture should go and moving it is much more fun than actually cleaning. Can anyone say, procrastination?

The trouble with procrastination is that it puts you on a needless frantic schedule to get everything done which can often lead to your head popping off. Or at least feeling as though it could. Translation: Migraine.

The funny thing is that as much as it takes for someone as unorganized as me to put on a party, it is well worth the time. I love the sound of the slow rise of voices as more and more friends enter the room. We had about 45 people in our home (including the kiddos) tettering soup and goodies on their laps talking and laughing.
And the great side effect is that my house will be clean for Christmas.

Well, mostly clean. ;)

The Forest

I am reading a book right now (well, one of many) called, The Forest for the Trees, about writers and the struggles of writing from an editor's viewpoint. While I have only been published one measly time in a small publication, I still consider myself a writer. I figure if you write, then you're a writer. Writing is a passion of mine and though I don't necessarily keep up with writing this blog (hee-hee), I have a very thick file in my word processor of articles, chapters, poems, thoughts, greeting card ideas, outlines and the like.

When I first started reading said book, I felt as if the author could see into my soul. It was freaky. Here are some of my favorite lines from the book:


I know a lot of writers who beat themselves up on a regular basis, either for not writing or for not writing well enough.

The natural writer is the one who is always writing, if only in his head--sizing up a situation for material, collecting impressions. James Thurber confessed, "I never quite know when I'm not writing. Sometimes my wife comes up to me at a party and says, 'Dammit, Thurber, stop writing.' She usually catches me in the middle of a paragraph.

Writers love to worry. By their very nature they are neurotic.


See people? I have an excuse. ;)