Goodbye Yellow and Green...So Long You Quack of a Duck...

boulder craigslist>for sale/wanted>miscellaneous items

UNIVERSITY OF OREGON STUFF - $0 (NORTH BOULDER)

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For all you local University of Oregon students and alums and anyone else for that matter who loves yellow, green, ducks or any of these three things in combination:

Yours for whoever wants it. Heck, it's for anyone or ones who are willing to come by and dig through four large boxes of University of Oregon stuff on short notice. The cost: FREE. Yours for the taking. Please, take it. Just do it by midnight tomorrow because The Hubby comes home the following day from a business trip. Oooh...Sorry, a little TMI.

We've got flags with big Os; pom-poms in yellow and green, green or just plain yellow; old game season tickets (laminated so they can be used as bookmarks); baseball caps for almost every one of the Division I sports that the University of Oregon has - reads something like "Oregon ______" - you fill in the blank (i.e. baseball, football, track), we got it; headbands; buffs - like the ones they wear on the TV show "Survivor" except the word "Oregon" is spelled out all over them in a shade of highlighter yellow; license plate frames; T-shirts - long-sleeved, short-sleeved, no-sleeved, with words and pictures, words only, pictures only or just one letter - you guessed it: "O"; hoodies and sweatshirts along the same lines of those T-Shirts; golf balls; Christmas ornaments and even cuff links! Really, cufflinks in the shape of the big green "O". Can go with whatever white (or highlighter yellow) dress shirt that you or your Significant Other owns.

All must go. Our home is beginning to look like an episode of the A & E show: Hoarders, except our stuff is all yellow and green with the letter O sprinkled all over it. It's spilling from our closets, our cabinets, our bookshelves and from behind our couches. I'm tripping over green and yellow things..oh gosh, there I go again - TMI - sorry!

An added plus: the stuff is vintage, dating back to the early 90's, when The Hubby first started at said esteemed University. You will find every last bit of anything wearable, stickable, postable, storable and hangable that has the Oregon logo, mascot and colors (dark green and highlighter yellow).

All must go. And fast. No, really fast, like by tomorrow night. Did I mention this already? These items must go because I would like to live in a home where the main theme is not a big O or Puddles the Duck (really, that truly is the name of the school's mascot - I kid you not).

I will set the boxes out on the porch. I've even thrown in about 15 of those stuffed duck mascots in various sizes that the kids have received from their grandparents from the time they were each born into this world. Trust me, they don't need them. They've been significantly brainwashed and more than likely, could stitch up another stuffed duck from memory while sleeping.

Interested parties, please respond via email at "sufferingwifeoforegonduckfan@yahoo.com"

Free me of the yellow and green. Please. Please. I beg of you.

Disclaimer (for the Oregon duck fans in my life): This post does not express the views of the writer. It's a writing prompt for goodness sakes, brought to you by Red Writing Hood in which we were asked to imagine you’ve just had a fight with a friend, a co-worker, husband, significant other, child – you get the picture. You’re mad. It’s time for revenge.

What would you sell?
Write a humorous listing for eBay or Craig’s List. Talk about the history of the items, why they must go.

A Burst of Freedom...

The following piece is in response to a memoir writing prompt at the Red Dress Club.

We were in a two story house on the second floor. It was me, age 7 years old, and a few other kids, younger than me, between the ages of 3-5. Then there was Monique, tall, dark-skinned girl with cornrows in her hair. She was twelve years old and was our babysitter's daughter. She was watching us even though her older sister was the one who was left in charge, while their mother - the official babysitter - was out.

We were gathered in a living room. There carpet spread across the floor was a dingy forest green. The furniture that sat on it was made up of shades of brown fabric the color of caramel. There was one long couch by a window and then one big chair sitting off to one side. An old black colored television was on and the animated cartoon show of The Jackson 5 played on t.v.

Monique had gone into the adjoining bedroom for a few moments while we kids were left outside. Then she called us in one by one. I was the oldest and I was first. I walked in and saw her standing there with a silver wire in her hand that was as wide as a tree branch. She waved it and commanded me to do things to our bodies that included inappropriate touching. It lasted about ten minutes, though it felt much longer. Then she asked me to leave and she called in the next kid.

I sat down on the couch feeling tense - like something inside me was stretched tight. This wasn't the first time Monique had made me do things like this. Under her mother's care, I had endured things that I hadn't even shared with my mother. With that feeling of tension, a rage started within me and continued to build as she called in each kid individually. I found myself staring at the Jackson 5 cartoon in silence but not really seeing it. She then called me in again. When we were done, she walked out of the bedroom with me and began swinging the silver wire at us, threatening us. She did that for a few minutes and then went back into the bedroom.

Something inside me shifted then. With a steely determination, I turned and walked down the stairs, out of the front door and into bright sunshine. I was leaving - totally out of there. I was done with Monique and I was done with this. I wasn't going to take it anymore. I was walking away from that girl and from her abuse.

I walked up the sidewalk, barely noticing the rows of brownstones on either side of the street. I didn't know where I was going and I didn't care. All I knew was that it was away. I barely heard the sounds of the cars passing by or the people talking and laughing as they hung outside their houses on their stoops. My eyes focused on the sidewalk ahead of me and I was following it.

Suddenly I heard my name being called. Repeatedly.

A shiny red car came up beside me and stopped. I looked up. I saw my mother's face leaning over her friend, who was in the driver's seat. My mother's forehead was furrowed and her eyes were questioning.

"Melanie! What are you doing out here?"

I looked at her, silent for a moment, and then just shook my head. I don't remember what I said. My mom then gestured for me to come to the car as her friend reached over and unlocked the passenger door behind the driver's seat. I got in and closed the door and sat quietly as the car pulled away from the sidewalk. I said things but I don't remember what they were. I felt a huge sense of relief. Relief to see my mother, who just happened to be riding in a car on her way to another destination with a co-worker (she was planning on returning to get me when her work day was done) and relief to be away from Monique. It was truly done. Over. I felt proud of myself for finally standing up and refusing to take the abuse anymore.

Additonal Note: I was truly trying to recall happier memories. I know I have some - a good bunch in fact, but my sharpest memories from my childhood I've discovered, are the ones that were centered around my abuse and those times when I was freed from it. The above memory was one of those times.

One Saturday...

9:44a

I sit in the car, sipping on a white mocha and listening to classical music and I feel like this is the best thing ever. My shoulders are relaxed and I’m feeling good. I need to remember to give The Husband a hug when I get home for agreeing to let me have this time.

This is officially my writing time - I have set up a weekly schedule and I am beginning to put it into practice. Though, today, I ran behind for couple of reasons - late start, hubby needed to take a shower, a grocery errand run. It becomes very obvious to me that I need to plan better: have the breakfast groceries set the night before; get up earlier and leave the house earlier…

So this week the alloted 2 hours for writing will become 45 minutes. But I live and learn.

What this time alone is causing me to realize too is how important “me” time is. Just the difference an hour to myself makes - I’m a more alert and better Mama. I’ll need to talk to the husband about this. Set up a schedule. I believe he needs some “me” time to. It would make him a happier man and he deserves it. He does an amazing job taking care of his family.

8:56p

Almost twelve hours and one classmate’s birthday party later, the highlights being that my 5 year old became excited over Skee-Ball. It reminded him of bowling and he couldn’t help but play it over and over, and the 3 year old burying his head in my husband’s jacket because he feared Chuck E. Cheese, the Mouse. He was looking over his shoulder the entire time we were at Chuck E Cheese, keeping an eye out for the giant mouse.

Now I sit here listening to the baby cry. It’s painful, moreso because I know he’s not feeling well. He’s congested, has a fever and most likely is finding it hard to sleep because it’s hard to breathe. Usually we let him cry it out but I’m not sure if I will hold to that tonight, as much as I want him to sleep on his own.

He just quieted down somewhat.

The hubby is on his iPad. We’re watching the history channel to his delight. I’m a little preoccupied with my birthday gift that my amazing mother bought me. I just opened the box she sent today. The Nook. What gets me giddy is all the discounted books I can download and have at my fingertips. The bookworm within me shouts for joy. Though, of course, the Nook will never take the place of an actual book in my mind and heart, I do love the convenience of being able to get a book almost instantly.

Nice.

It was a good day. The older boys are sleeping soundly, exhausted. Here’s wishing the same for my sick little one. I think I’m going to go check on him now.

This is a day I had about two weeks ago. It is recorded in my 365 blog journal - a daily journal that I have been keeping to record those daily moments, thoughts and happenings. Feel free to visit.

Found - A Handkerchief

I walked into a huge room - the master bedroom. More browns and beiges, dark woods made up the dresser and tall wardrobe standing across from the bed.

I made every effort to be quiet as I walked past the king size bed towards the closet. Though I knew there was no one else in the house, I still didn't want to take the chance of being caught. The closet stretched the length of half the room. It had two dark mahagony wood panelled doors, each with a square shaped knob on it. I opened both doors to the elaborate closet. Beautiful, expensive suits in browns and blacks hung neatly, one behind the other. Above on the shelf, boxes were arranged in a row. I figured they held ties, tie pins, cuff links and the such. I grabbed the first box and began my search. I was right. The tie pins, the cuff links were arranged neatly in this box - ornate items, all in metallic shades of bronze and gold. Nothing out of the ordinary.

I put the first box back and grabbed the second. In it were more ties, neatly folded of various striped, paisley and criss-cross patterns. Digging through, once again, nothing out of the ordinary. I went through two more boxes with the same result.

I put the last box back on the shelf and found it wouldn't go all the way in. It was hitting against something. I pulled it off and reached my hand up, putting it on the shelf, feeling around. I felt another box - a little smaller than the others and pulled it down.

I put the larger box I had in my hand back and focused in on this one. I pulled off the lid and noticed the usual that I had been finding. I rifled through, my mind half on the task at hand and half on what I should concentrate on next in this investigation when I touched on a white handkerchief with gold trim. There were initials embroidered on one corner: SK. SK?

Things suddenly became crystal clear. I pored eagerly through the rest of the contents of the box - two gold cuff links with the same initials of SK engraved on them, a silk tie, and lastly a gold watch. I looked it over on the outside, then on the inside. Engraved on the inside were the words: "To my youngest son, Solomon Keith...". A shot of adrenaline went through me. I was still clutching the handkerchief.

Solomon Keith Guthrie. The latest victim of the Crescent City serial killer.

I had finally hit the jackpot. My hunch had been right and the house I now stood in belonged to a killer. I shook my head, a huge grin spreading across my face.

I had the proof I needed. Now to cinch this case.

This post is in response to a prompt at Red Writing Hood that asks to write about finding a lost article of clothing in the back of a drawer or closet including information on how the item was found, what it is, and why it's so meaningful to you or your character.

"Just Because I Love You" Day

On this Valentine's day or as our family likes to call it "Just Because I Love You" Day (borrowed from an episode of 'Team Umizoomi' - a Nick Jr. television show), because we remember and are grateful for the love that we have for each other.

A previous conversation:

The 5 year old, "Do you love me, Mommy?"

Me: "Yes, I love you."

The 5 year old, "Do you love me, Rhys?"

The 3 year old, "Yes, I love you, Noah. Do you love me, Daddy?"

The Dad: "Yes, I love you, Rhys. And I love Noah and Owen and Mommy..."

The 5 year old turns to the baby: "Awww...you love me, Owen?" The baby just grins.

Me: "I think he does love you..."

The 3 year old, "And I love Chelsea the Cat..."

Me (to the cat) : "Hear that, Chelsea. Someone loves you. Aren't you lucky?" Of course, we all love her...but it's just that the 3 year old seems to always remember his love for her, in opposed to the rest of the family, who either is too preoccupied to remember we love her or doesn't quite know what loving his cat is all about yet (that would be the baby).

But that's one thing, hubby and I feel like we can do as people and as parents, love often and love well. If we're not successful at giving our kids anything else, it's the thing we want them to get from us. We want them to know that they are loved - just because, and for no other talent, quality or reason. That's one skill we would love to get the gold medal for. The one thing, if they have to choose one thing their parents did for them growing up that was successful, it was this - that we loved them well.

Which with our kiddos (and with each other), it's not that hard. Okay, most times it's not...

Here's wishing you the best "Just Because I Love You" Day ever.

I Could Never Have Imagined...

I could never have imagined that I would be driving in a car with the son of the man I loved. That I would be dating a man with a child. Children were a deal breaker for me but then love does things to your mind, to your resolve.

"My father loves you, you know," Cameron says. Cameron is the thirteen year old son of my current boyfriend, Alex. We are driving home from a movie. It was good bonding time for Cameron and me. At Cameron's words, I grip the steering wheel as my heart does a little flip. I focus on the road in front of me.

"He loved Amber, too," I say. Amber was Alex's ex-girlfriend of 5 years.

"True."

"Your father loves easily."

"Is that so bad?"

I shrug. "I guess not, if you look at it in a certain light." It is what makes Alex such a natural romantic - I think.

"Love is good," Cameron says.

"It is. You're lucky to have a Dad who adores you."

"I know. Though he can get a little crazy sometimes. All nervous and sensitive over nothing, you know?"

"Well, you know those actor types," I joke. Alex is an actor.

Cameron laughs. We often joke about his Dad's profession.

"Or should I say those Dad types," I added.

Cameron chuckles and I smile. Suddenly the image of my father - tall, brown-skinned in his long, black wool coat appears before me. Sadness pools in my chest. Suddenly I am seeing my mother with her long, straight hair with the golden brown highlights standing next to him. They are dressed in their Sunday finest. Tears threaten to spill from my eyes. Funny, how clearly I remember them, fifteen years after they died.

They had loved me just as much as Cameron's dad loved him - with that fierce, fierce love. And I loved them back just as fiercely. I was their only child.


Suddenly, I realize in the moment that I love Alex just that strongly and that I am truly beginning to love Cameron in that way, too. I haven't felt a love like that for anyone since my parents. I smile at my Mom's gentle face as she smiles back at me. I could hear a voice.

"Kayla! Kayla!" It is Cameron.

"Kayla, watch out! That guy's driving right towards us!"

The vision of my parents clears and I see a white Ferrari speeding towards us in our lane. He is going the wrong way.

What? I turn the steering wheel, causing the car to swerve to the right, off the road and onto hard dirt. The car jumps a little, then hits something hard. I feel a vibration through the steering wheel and the car begins to flip over. I think of Alex.

Then the whole world shifted.

This is in response to a writing prompt at Red Writing Hood : to write a piece using no more than 600 words, beginning with the words, "I could never have imagined" and end it with the words "Then the whole world shifted."

Constructive criticism welcomed.

Feels A Little Like High School...An Update

Well, I have to say...I am overwhelmed...with bloggy love and encouragement. I didn't realize my post of two days ago would generate so much feedback. I'm still a bit stunned.


Sorry this not coming to you sooner. Real life got in the way - a sick baby, a sick preschooler, a sick hubby, school projects, etc. I'm sure you can all relate. Life gets in the way. You know it's funny what happens when you get what you wish for. I just wanted to be read by fellow bloggers and to get comments when they do and here I received about 75+ of your gorgeous comments in one day! Now comes finding the time to respond through all the other things that pop up in one's day. There in lies the reality. But it's a cool reality (though a bit stressful in moments) and I can't wait to pop by and visit with you soon.

I have to say a wonderful "thank you" to The Empress...for her gentle heart and her desire to encourage this newbie. She is definitely "cool" people. Also, thanks to all of you who responded for all your lovely comments and advice and for wrapping your virtual arms around me. The advice - So helpful. I'm feeling a bit more equipped now. Have a little game plan going...will be picking your brains for more advice as I continue to navigate through these blog waters...

More importantly, thanks for all your honesty and vulnerability when it came to sharing. I have to say more than ever, I really do feel like I'm part of new-found community. To be able to share like this, and have what I've expressed be understood and not shot down. It's encouraging to know that I am not the only one who can feel this way at times. The empathy means so much - more so than even the advice - which I am taking and will gladly take, by the way. :-))

Like in high school - in rare moments - when I found that group of friends, I had the sense that I belonged - that it was a good fit. Thanks to your comments, I'm feeling this way again - having found a group of new blog friends. I feel we're just clicking which leaves me excited because I get to visit you on your blogs and build on our blog friendship.

Thanks again for stopping by and putting in your 2 cents. This girl appreciates it. And look for me, because I definitely will be popping by to visit with you soon, because as I mentioned two days ago, reading new blogs and making new blog friends just makes me giddy.


I can't wait to come knocking at your "door".