Literary Projectile Vomit

Having spent the better part of my day writing a critical literary analysis of "The Tale of Despereaux" I feel completely confident that I am an expert on literary projectile vomit. I'm not talking about Despereaux, who of course is the winner of the Newberry award, but of my own writing about said book. The assignment is for my Resources and Services for Children class. Much to my dismay, I realized (after the add/drop period) that I am NOT a fan of children's literature. Sure I read it myself when I was very young (I move to the YA section fairly young) and I read books to Danielle before we started our Trixie Belden tradition, but overall this is not my area, and I am NOT enjoying this class.

I understand the concept of narrative elements. I recognize a theme when I see one. I can discuss plot and setting and tone and point of view. I read the book. I took notes. I recognized each of these literary elements as a came across them and dutifully noted the page number in order to appropriately cite examples. In went into my brain in courses, the actual book, the required reviews, yet today as I tried to organize my paper into a cohesive analysis of Kate DiCamillo's novel, the information spread itself across the screen as "literary projectile vomit!"

What a horrible image, I know. But it feels appropriate. And the more I tried to clean up the mess the more atrocious the problem became. And then I realized my problem. It wasn't that I didn't understand the concept. The problem is that my brain processor is broken. My ability to take in multiple pieces of information and put them into a cohesive concept is gone. And I know what is to blame...Facebook. This is the fault of Facebook. Social networking has contaminated by over sized brain (medically not intellectually) with so much random stimuli that I have lost the ability to process things logically.

Every day I go in and check my energy levels, and view pictures of friends, and post any prophetic thoughts. Then I check the library's page, and return in messages, and go check my stamina, then click "like" for "People for Puppies" then upload a new profile pick, then go check plant some seeds, then go accept a gift, and on and on and on! There is no rhyme or reason to it. There is no need to sort through and synthesize the information in a consistent way. It jumps at you with red tags and notifications, and you can't focus on one thing without being interrupted by another.

So three lagging thoughts remain. 1) Is this really how I feel or am I just brain dead from Despereaux? and 2) Do I really believe this or is it just an excuse for crappy writing and 3) If 1 & 2 are correct, what am I going to do about it?

I'm not ready to give up my Facebook, but I do recognize that it is the biggest time sucker of my day! How I will deal with that remains to be seen. Regardless, I will end this post as I need to go check my crops, refill my energy, and find out what people REALLY think about me on "Get Revealed".

What's Blooming - The October Rose

In October 2009, I went outside and much to my suprise, there was a lone rose on the rosebush at the corner of my house. Now this rosebush and I have had a contentious relationship at best. It was a gift from a gentleman on our first date many years ago. And I put it into the ground with little hope that it would survive. (I'm not very good with plants. I actually managed to "kill" a plastic plant once!) But survive it did! It flourished! The more I did to try to discourage it, the more vigorous it became. I had friends refer to it as the plant that ate the house as it continued to creep up my railings and then my roof.

I sawed it off at the very base hoping to dissuade it's aggressive nature. But months later when any logical plant with sense would have given up the fight against the impending winter, this bush, the bane of my horticultural existance, insisted on sassing me, by producing one lone, pink, beautiful, yet mocking, rose.

I thought about that rose a lot that day. And I likened it to a person; a woman, who is past her prime, but yet continues with dignity. Here is a poem that I wrote in honor of that stubborn beautiful rose. After you finish, take a moment to think of all of the strong "October Roses" in your life; the women who have suffered sickness and pain and loss, but yet continue to survive against the metaphorical winds in their lives. I can only hope that as my birthdays continue to pass throughout the years, I will one day be considered an October Rose.

October Rose
The harvest of her life has begun.
But the desire to bloom and be revered
Does not wane with the loss of fertility
It does not wane with the passing of the rich season.

Cold nights and autmn winds
Blow and press against the October Rose
Pressing her to give in
And let her season pass.
To relinquish her glory days.

Days of bright sun and warm rain
And soft breezes that gently wafted across her petals
Urging her to forget that she was once destined
For the center of the bouquet.
The frost against her skin
Urging her to gracefully let go
Of everything but the memory
Of what she was.

But the nature of the rose is to bloom
Against all of natures recommendations.
She fights against the coming winter
Bravely yearning for one final flowering
For the admirers of her garden.

For the beauty of the October Rose
Is not in the shade of her pink hue.
It is not in the softness of her petals
It is not in the scent of her perfume.

Her beauty comes from her determined existence
From her hardy nature that ensures she will continue
To bloom
Against the harshness of a cold October wind.