Homework

Work.

It’s a dirty word in my house.

This last January, I dove back into public accounting after nearly two years’ reprieve. This time though, I’m back with a purpose. I take online classes through Southern New Hampshire University toward a Master’s of Science in Forensic Accounting, and I work in public accounting for practice and pay. I’ll have my required hours to sit for the CPA exam before I finish the education requirement. With a little bit of luck and planning, when I graduate, I’ll have not three but six letters to tack on to the end of my name. At least one of my professors thinks I ought to continue and pursue my PhD as well. Regardless, I’m a freight train heading for a destination known as alphabet soup.

This comes with quite a lot of work.

During tax season, 50 - 60 hour weeks were the norm for me, and that was just the work I was paid to do. Admittedly, it’s a little bit light - many accountants pull 80 hour weeks for three months out of the year. Several in my office pulled this for a few weeks toward the end. They went home, nibbled on a bit of food, and went to sleep to wake up and do it again the next day.

I went home, ate a cold dinner, and did homework before a short sleep to wake up and do it all again the next day.

January through April this year, there was a lot of me doing work of some form or another. My toddler started protesting.

“Mommy has to go to sleep,” my husband would explain to our night-owl of a child,

“Mommy has to get up and go to work tomorrow,” I said, even on Friday and Saturday night.

“NOOOOOOOOOO!” His protest would start with something recognizable as a word, and quickly devolve into screaming, tears, and spits and raspberries of rage.

Work is a dirty word in my house.

Months later, when I’m home by six and don't go to work on the weekends, that word may still elicit a near-epic breakdown. Especially if we suggested there might not be any cartoons if there wasn’t good behavior.

My toddler is smart. He understands what that means. But he’s not quite mature enough to handle it. Tired of the demands for more “Transformers,” and horrible shows meant to edutain that only hurt my and my husband’s brains, and he hid the TV. He unplugged it and put it in the closet.

It was two nights of bliss.

I’ve been able to sit at the kitchen table and knock out homework, and even put a bit of thought, effort, and research into it to turn out something I consider quality.

What’s even better is that my toddler joins me.

I sit on my little Chromebook and type away and calculate taxes for fake people and prepare fake financial statements and journal entries, and he sits at his place and scribbles on paper, making letter and Earths and BumbleBee and Optimus Prime.

What’s even better is that my husband gets a few minutes of peace to focus on his own work while I split my mind between accounting and our toddler.

And “homework,” apparently, doesn’t have the word “work” anywhere in it.

Words

My writer friends will understand what I mean when I say I haven't found any words in far too long. Though most of my writer friends are far more prolific than I am, they too go for a while without finding words. I could go on for hours about reasons why I can't find words. Tax sea. School. A two year old who refuses to sleep normal hours. A husband who needs and deserves a break, but can't get one because of tax season, school, and a two year old who refuses to sleep.

Unfortunately, my reasons for not finding words are not so glamorous as a difficult emotional scene, a need to research, or wrapping up the final book in a series and thus saying goodbye to a long-loved and life-changing story and process. Nor am I experiencing a bit of writer's block. I find myself surrounded by stories to tell; by characters who want to dance and be heard. It's the reasons above that keep me from finding the words to bring those characters to life. The stare at a screen with hands on keyboard and make a bunch of noise while my fingernails clack out a world that may resemble my own, but is not.

Right now though, I have bus time as a good friend once called it. And I am thankful for bus time, and for the ability to look at story in a whole new light while on my phone. It may be tax season, and I may be a full time student and a mom, but I can still put my thumbs to work.

I'm coming words. Don't leave me now. I'm coming.

The Price of a Burger

I got in to the spirit of New Years a bit last night. I got off work, headed home, picked up the husband and two year old, and headed to a burger joint for dinner. We were all hungry, and the husband and myself had been craving a burger for a couple of days. Sprinkle in a bit of a festive spirit, and you have yourself a bit of a recipe for disaster.

That's right, disaster.

No, my disaster didn't have anything to do with alcohol on New Year's Eve. We were all home, safe and sound, by 730pm, in bed by 9, and I think I was asleep by 10. Early to bed makes it easier to get up early in the morning, and, just like much of the world, I greeted 2014 with a big, fat, whopper of a headache.

Except my headache isn't just a headache. It's a full-blown migraine.

The answer is really quite simple: eat whole foods. No, not the grocery story chain (though I love them for banning all things containing MSG) but simple, real, whole foods. Foods that haven't been adulterated by processing in a factory. Foods that come from a farm and straight to my table.

Foods that I like to eat anyway. It's harder, and takes a bit more planning, but, there's little we go without when we actually try. Including Chocolate Hazelnut Spread. This recipe is great (I don't know just how close I followed it as I'm not so great with the measuring things - I eyeball just about everything, even when baking - but it came out great, and turned me on to coconut sugar). I'm really loving it in just about everything, and can't wait to try another batch with cream. No offense to coconut milk lovers out there, but, my food issues do not disallow cream, and I like the taste of it better. So, next time, ganache with cream, not coconut milk, and don't forget the salt and vanilla extract (maybe vanilla beans?) and a lower ratio of coconut sugar.

I digress. Though my head hurts, I'm excited for the food I have planned out for the day (dhal with yoghurt and jalapenos and coffee for early breakfast, oatmeal with that lovely chocolate hazelnut spread for 2nd breakfast (snack for me, breakfast for the boys), humus and cucumber cupcakes for lunch, and I don't know about dinner just yet.

Meanwhile, I'll be directing the husband to make and do all the things today, as movement magnifies my head by about a billion.

Damn that MSG.

Lookout 2014, Here I Come

I hate making changes at the beginning of a year. The changes never seem to stick. The challenge starts at the beginning of the year, but interest is lost when a goal is reached or it takes too long to reach a goal.

2013 is a testament to that. My employer implemented a challenge to get us all up and moving every day. The challenge came with a reward: walk 10,000 steps a day, every day for a month and a half, and earn Black Friday off. We all started out well. We took walking lunches once or twice a week, ate at Sonic less and less, and were more conscious of moving. I saw a huge difference in myself, and started seeing a difference in my pants. 

The challenge lasted for a month and a half. And, I'm quite happy to report, collectively, we did make it. But, as the weather turned, we walked as a group less. Some stopped walking all together. Others who were more motivated walked and moved more, earning 50k and 70k steps or step equivalents.

Me? I pulled through and marched in place with my two year old and got my 10k a day more often than not. Some days more.

The end of the challenge was the same for me as everyone else: we all dropped off the moving bandwagon. We stayed in our seats more. Walking lunches stopped (though, this probably had as much to do with Boise's weather as it did with no longer having that challenge). We all shoved our noses back in to our work and forgot about walking. Myself included.

A challenge is great. It motivates and pushes, but, when the challenge is over, the motivation goes away. And the pants start fitting again.

In the true spirit of pushing and challenging myself, I've already started making good on the things I'd like to change in 2014. My first term in Graduate school yielded amazing results: straight As. And I hope to repeat that feat this next term. I'm pushing myself to grow and to change, and not playing it safe.

Most importantly, I'm not letting fear get in my way anymore.

Fear has ruled my life for as long as I can remember. Growing up horseback riding on the hunter-jumper circuit in Southern California, I was scared to death to jump. I wanted to do dressage. My trainers had other plans for me. They got me jumping. First over tiny little things, then, the jumps got bigger. I still think there's little more exhilarating than riding an extended trot across a diagonal line. The collection through the corner to create the explosive power across the largest portion of the arena to only be collected and bottled back up in the next corner is truly the most freeing experience I've had. But, it's also controlled. It's safe. Horse and rider are communicating the entire time, and the horse is able to leave decisions up to the rider (not that the horse will always follow those decisions).

Jumping is an entirely different experience. For the entire time the horse and rider are in the air, the rider only has control over her own body. Leading up to the jump, the rider has to relinquish a certain amount of control to the horse; yes, the rider may get to choose the spot, lengthen or shorten the horse's stride to help select the best take-off point, but, it's a small level of control. My trainer used to say, "once you round that corner, the line is done. Look through the jumps and to the next corner."

When I could push my fear of the large 4' jumps with spreads just as wide and follow her advice, it was easy. I'd come round the corner, two half-halts inside the turn to collect and stead the horse, see the spot, adjust the stride, and count. Three, two, one, jump one. One, two, three, four, jump two. Land, one stride, half-halt, and regain control. Half-halt in the corner. Inside leg to push the shoulder up into the outside rein. And look to the next jump.

I never let go of my fear. It always rode right along side with me, in my back pocket or under my chin strap. But, sometimes, it didn't drive me but shaped me. It allowed me to calculate all the variables and set myself and the horse up for success for that giant leap into the unknown. And, when the leap was over, I could take control again and guide the horse to the next jump.

I've already started taking the reins and using fear to help guide me, even though it's not 2014. I'll never be able to let go of my fear. But, in 2014, I can keep it from controlling my every move. Here's to pushing forward in 2014, to new adventures, taking advantage of all my talents, and setting myself and my family up for the same successes I experienced in the hunter arena.

Short and Sweet

Small things make the world go round. Make the world a little bit better.

Good music about sheep. Mascara. Re-discovering something old anew.

Productivity

Productivity is harder than one might think, especially for a girl who does too much; has her hand in too many pots. Do I work on this project or that one? What happens when I have a bit of inspiration for the project I'm not working on?

Why do I always have inspiration for the project that isn't due right now; that has no technical due date?

I try to give myself little windows of time. I know that I run in sprints of 20 minutes and two hours. Sometimes, satisfying the thing that isn't necessary right this minute for 20 minutes gives me the ability to focus for those two hours and knock something else out with a more pressing time line.

Sometimes it backfires, and I move on to another 20 minute window of something.

Regardless, it all gets done. Everything gets wrapped up in a neat little bow, and the box is ticked as complete. Eventually. 20 minutes and 2 hours at a time.

Making Things

I'm not what my office would call a "doodler."

I suppose I should qualify. I work for a hybrid advertising firm in Nampa, ID. We do everything in house; creative production, media buys, strategy. If it has to do with marketing, we do it in house, all under one roof. That's quite a bit of work, and someone has to do all the invoicing. That's my job. Okay, it's one of my jobs.

My point still stands. I'm not a "doodler."

I am, however, quite creative. I write. Not as much as I want, and I haven't written anything I actually like in quite sometime, but, I do write.

I also put things together. 3-D things. No, not clay or anything else that would be considered a sculpture. I love running fiber through my hands watching it turn in to something. Personally, spinning is my favorite. There's nothing quite like starting out with a bundle of fluff and coaxing it to a workable size and then watching the spindle on my spinning wheel gobble it up and turn it in to something useful. I like knitting too; sweaters and scarves and the like. And toys. Small little knit toys. Even before I had a kid to give them to.

Sewing is pretty great too. It's kind of like spinning; materials run through a machine to turn into something completely different. I have plans to cut and make a dress, a skirt, pants, a jacket, bags, purses, padfolios, tablet cases and covers, and, yes, toys for the little ones. Though, I really do prefer to knit those.

Lately though, I've been returning to one of my first 3-D loves: beads. As a kid, I made so many things from beads it's a bit sickening. My bead collection was one even for professional beaders to envy. I gave it away to someone at some point along the way. Seed beads were my favorite. Tiny beads and toddlers sound counter-intuitive, but, it oddly works out okay. At least, it does with my toddler. Better than spinning or knitting.

Pics or it didn't happen, right?

Soon as I'm happy with 'em. Till then, patience.

Hello, Arcata

Graduating is great. I have a piece of paper that validates me as an adult. I also got to go on a trip; a return to a place I once called home: Arcata, CA.

I left the small city of hills and forest for Boise, ID to be with my now-husband Sam. As much as I love the City of Trees, leaving Arcata left a small hole in my heart. I've missed the giant trees and the salt in the air. Taking the ocean out of my life was difficult. So, graduation gift: travel to the coast.

So, my husband and I packed up the truck full of clothes and toys, gently shoved our two year old in his seat, and embarked on a projected 13 hour long road trip. A potty training 2 year old and 13 hours in the car? Sounds like a great idea, doesn't it?

(Spoiler: we were two hours off on our expected travel time. The trip, however, really was pretty darn great. On the road at 6:30 am and only a half an hour behind schedule.)

A fairly grueling 5.5 hours to Winnemucca, and we stopped for lunch. There's a lovely park by a museum that we've stopped at on road trips before the kid. We thought it would be a pretty good place to stop with. The park was empty when we arrived, but quickly populated by a family with a van and children of all ages and an old man with a dog and cigarettes. We ate our lunch accompanied by the perfume of nicotine and the screams of children other than our own, took the kid to the playground, loaded up, and got back on the road.

Next stop: Fernley, just before heading north again to Susanville. Jack-in-the-Box treated us fairly well with clean restrooms, hot food, and data service. We downloaded more music. The middle of nowhere had gotten awfully dull with only three play lists. There's the naivete of the modern world: you expect cell service and data, but, it just doesn't always happen.

More gas in Susanville, a quick stretch of the legs, and back on the road. It wasn't until here that the two year old started getting fed up with the drive. Toys and cows and nori snacks satiated him though. And we pushed on.

Subway in Redding and then back on the road. The husband had driven the entire time thus far. His shoulder was done for and his mind shot. I took the wheel to go up and over the last four hills.

Okay, they're not hills so much as they are mountains. An older, narrow mountain road with switchbacks and steep grades. I'd driven it countless times when I was younger and going to HSU. Day, night, sleet, snow, rain, and even sun. Never in a car as nice as my husband's Dodge Dakota. I had a '78 Volkswagon Westfalia (mine was brown and much more beat up) and an '87 Honda Civic when I drove the 299 before. Up and over Buckhorn, the biggest hill, and the dirt started to change a bit. It lost some of the red and started gaining the darker, more familiar color of Humboldt County. Whiskeytown is a slow drive. Though the miles are few, they last forever. Oregon Mountain is smaller and much more manageable than the notorious Buckhorn. And here the scent hit me. Pine resin started disappearing and the earth started taking over. I looked at my husband and said, "It smells like home."

Berry Summit is next to nothing. It's Lord Ellis that I hate. That last climb up is completed with a peak at the ocean and the full earth, ocean, and mold Humboldt County perfume, and followed by a slope down with switch back and hard turns that curve around the mountain every which way. A bit much for this coastal girl, but with a huge reward at the end. A place where limits are stretched and comfort is found. A place with fog-ripened tomatoes and home grown cheese around every corner. A place where the trees are taller than the sky and the people say hello.

Hello, Arcata. It's been a while.

Gamification

Gamification is all the rage. We all did it back in school. Teachers had giant plastic things they'd hang on a white board with pockets that held cards and we played Jeopardy! (or something like it) as a study aid. The entire class got involved all at once, we all helped each other out and reviewed material, and, somehow, it stuck a little bit better.

Now that I've grown up, not much has changed.

Okay, quite a bit has changed. I'm now the one charged with creating the game. And the object is no longer trying to get material to sink in for the purpose of passing a test. Most recently, it was all about highlighting how actions in business have direct consequences.

It all comes back to time entry. Time isn't entered, expenses aren't entered, but money still flows out the door and expenses have to be paid. I was charged with creating a game to show this. Enter 1,000 blank white cards. Or, as I like to call it, 10,000 blank white cards because we start out with all the blank white cards when starting a round of this game.

The last time I played this game was back in 2009. It was just a few nights before my wedding. And we had all had a bit too much tequila. The game was less focused on generating something fun to play later and more focused on stupid things you can get drunk people to do. Eventually, we all needed burritos and gave up on the game.

This gamification at the office would have to go much differently.

So, I went to my best friend, the spread sheet. I set up situations that let to consequences and rewards. A deck of 150 or so cards, a pile of fake money (yes, I cut out 1,000 fake $100 bills with a paper cutter on the weekend following the Fourth of July this year), and a few test plays later, and the game was born.

I have to admit, the game was a bit of a flop. It ran longer than I had wanted, and game play worked much different with a large group of people than it did for my husband and I. But, it all stuck. Money flew off the table on to the floor and was no longer available in the game. Actions had consequences, and my co-workers learned. I think. I hope.

More importantly, I learned. Test play has to happen with the number of people the game is intended for for it to work. Game play has to be let go and allowed to happen rather than discussing every point of the game itself. Sure, I'll try it again in a heart beat. I never knew the nerdy side of me that plays games might enjoy making one up from scratch. Next time, more play testing, and pre-made widgets.

Happy gaming!

Learning

It's kind if silly, but I feel I must start this by saying that I hate gerunds, or verbs made nouns by adding -ing to them. They always feel lost. Never-the-less, this post is indeed about learning. Not education, but learning.

Rather, he doesn't ever slow down until he's so tired he just has to stop. I'm constantly amazed by his energy levels. And he's not the first kid to have shown me energy output of epic proportions. What truly amazes me though is he never has this urge that many adults do; an urge to get away from everyone and everything for a while just for the purpose of resting. 

He's also always learning. Whether it's about how he can move and twist and run and climb or it's about the specific properties of chalk and what happen when it's thrown on the concrete with some amount of force, the gears in his head are always turning. Everything is till so new to him that even repeated experiences are learning experiences.

I imagine those gears don't stop when he goes to sleep either.

A while back, on a day when I was feeling particularly exhausted, a post from Ron Shaich, CEO and founder of Panera, popped up in my LinkedIn news feed. The title, If You're Learning, You'll Never Need to Recharge, was intriguing, and I needed a break for a minute. I put aside the numbers I was inputting in to a database and read the article. It was something of a life changing moment for me; one of those moments when everything just falls in to place. The title of the article says everything. The gist of it: he goes on to say that despite running around the country constantly, he doesn't ever feel the need to re-charge; to stop and escape from everything for a time. He suggests it's because he constantly learns new lessons and takes on new challenges.

I think he must have taken a lesson from a child.

I also think he's right.

I'm always happiest when I have a new puzzle in front of me, especially if it's a puzzle I've never solved before, but even if it's similar, but not a carbon-copy to, one that I've already mastered, I'm a pretty darn happy girl. Learning keeps me going. Trying more, better, bigger things recharges my batteries and keeps me doing what I love and what I have to do well.

Charge forth, I say, and take over the world one new challenge at a time. Do what I did yesterday, but do it better today. Do something new today, so that I can learn and do it better tomorrow. I can never know too much. 

What's for Dinner?

Tonight I was in the kitchen for the second night in a row. This is a rare treat I made a lovely alfredo sauce with Italian sausage from the Boise Coop. I added in a cheese rind for extra creaminess. The whole dinner cost maybe 10 bucks. And there's delicious delicious leftovers.

A note on cheese rinds: these little pieces of wonder are amazing. I find them in packs of two, usually from Parmesan, for about 2 bucks a bundle. Add them to cream sauces, soups, risotto, anything creamy and savory that needs to simmer on direct heat for a while, and your food immediately becomes richer, for almost no money.

On the menu this week:
Several stir frys, some vegetarian, some with leftover chicken (thank you Bountiful Baskets for the Asian veggie pack)
Skirt steak, probably with a chimichurri sauce
Salad before the husband goes to Kung Fu
Popcorn. With nutritional yeast. The husband is making it now.
Pineapple upside down cake for the little one's birthday.

Stats

I'm a writer, yes. I like to manipulate words. But, I also manipulate numbers. More often than not, I'm paid for my ability to manipulate numbers, not words. Thus, I find things like statics very interesting, and get distracted by them.

I have more Germans reading this than anyone else. Not that that says much as not very many people read this, and it doesn't help that I was on hiatus for two years. All of which are interesting, at least to me.

What will the stats look like tomorrow?

Who am I?

Graduation season has come and gone. Recent graduates either have jobs or have settled back in to their parents’ basements. Regardless, they’re ready to go out in to the real world.

This year, I’ve joined those graduates. After eleven long years, I’m fully validated as an individual ready to conquer life.

Stop. Look left. Look right. But there’s not a street to cross. There’s nothing there. There’s no cars, no trees, no dogs peeing on fire hydrants. Just two tunnels with big, open possibilities on either side. Or maybe they converge at the end.

I spent my eleven year long journey to holding a Bachelors of Arts in English developing an identity in offices across two states. The only time I didn’t hold a “real” job was my first semester as a college freshman. After that, it was classic skirts and pinstripe pants and cardigans and casual Fridays. It’s a life so many college graduates just can’t figure out how to slip in to after four years of pajamas and band t-shirts being acceptable every day. Not to mention the work ethic and inability to always just make it up later.

How, then, is it that I’m sitting here with a degree in my hand and yet I’m still lost? I have the validation from an institution coupled with the experience and work ethic of an accomplished professional. This should be easy, right?

Of course it’s not. It’s hard. And, it’s harder for me because I’ve spent the last eleven years developing two identities.

School let me develop one identity alongside a passion: reading and writing and writing about reading and writing. Classes taught me to develop characters on paper and analyze their actions to discover a deeper meaning about the world. It taught me why i comes before e except after c and the difference between using and not using the Oxford comma. I learned to navigate bureaucracy and to not stop asking for help until I received the help that I needed, not just the help others wanted to give. I learned perseverance and that work can indeed be fun.

But school wasn’t the only part of my eleven year long excursion to receiving a diploma. I worked the entire time to support myself and my family. I worked in a position completely unrelated to  my degree (accounting) and put numbers in columns and told people how much money to pay the government and when they needed to do it. I moved to the private sector and did the same thing, this time in my industry, at a bookstore, for a year and a half before being laid off. Six months later, I found myself once again keeping books, this time for an advertising agency in Nampa, Idaho.

But, while my job title has always indicated a deep level of familiarity with which numbers should go in which columns, my duties have always encompassed more. My attention to detail and my understanding of the English language has lead to me doing quite a bit of copyediting and even some copywriting. Everything from advertising copy and press releases to emails to the boss have been scrutinized by my eye for not just periods and commas but also for subtler meaning and understanding, and ensuring the message conveys the totality of the writer’s intent. I’ve spent hours preparing and executing trainings of all varieties, from learning a system and becoming an expert to sharing my knowledge and expertise with numbers and words and everything in between. I’ve done the mundane: answer phones and order supplies and make copies. I’ve done the complex: build and re-build manuals and instructions to stand the test of time.

My title, either work or school, doesn’t even begin to touch on my abilities.

I’ve one one battle: I’ve earned my degree. There’s pictures of it on the internet. Now, it’s time to win the next, and reconcile my two identities fully. Here I go.

What's for Dinner?

A few weeks ago I started posted what was for dinner on Thursday. Why Thursday? Mostly, it was because that night I had made ham pucks and Sam was really excited for them. Now, I figure, why not?

So, tonight is a night for leftovers. We've been eating some really great food all week, and now we need to re-eat some of it. It's hard to cook for two.

To quick-recap the meals we're noshing on: we've recently had a chili and corn bread, a cream of brocolli soup (broccoli +milk +seasoning +chicken stock +slow cooker = awesomeness), and chicken smothered in the last of the mole sauce I made a while ago.

Writing Prompt

I can't put this up on the BNO blog. But, what a fantastic writing prompt: be naked when I get home via 9kik. There's a story in that. At least one.

Also, I have another follower :). And, more importantly, I DON'T KNOW HER! Hi new follower. I hope you find something interesting here.

When it Flows

I've had an idea for a little while now for a story that needs to be written. It's a simple, funny, somewhat nostalgic story. It's strange for me though - I'm not starting with characters. I'm starting with a world and I'm starting with glue.

This is new territory for me. Usually I start with a character, and let the character decide what will happen next, until the character does something stupid or otherwise shows me where my sadistic side needs to come out. But not here. Here, there's a bus, and some people, and races. No specific people, just generic people who drive and ride in the bus.

And then Friday I saw the food necklaces. These are exactly as they sound: necklaces made of cord with food strung on them in place of beads. I've been telling just about everyone I see about these things. Sam's friend subsequently dubbed them "snacklaces."

The snacklaces needed to meet the bus derbies.

But how would the two meet up? How could the marry? Sure, the two concepts go together better than peanut butter and jam, but how exactly do they do it? I've been trying to force this to happen since Friday, and have had no success. I know that's not all that long, but, in Megan-time, three days trying to get this all to be happy together might as well be 30 years.

Tonight though, I did it! I went back to my character first way of writing. I made someone say something and react. And then the other person react. And now the bus derbies are coming to live. The derbies have rules and special people in them. And some of them wear snacklaces. And all because I forced some people to talk.

What gets you writing?

Dinner Tonight

Among the many things the husband and I do, we eat. We eat at home, and we eat out. And eating at home means cooking.

Somehow, I came out okay in that wifely-duty department. My parents graced me with good food (real food, not that stuff people call "food") as a child, made me eat things I didn't want to try (most of the time they were really good, though I'm sure my mother will tell you I thought otherwise (still an adverb there) at the time), and cooked. And they cooked from scratch. Some of it was basic, every day things. Spaghetti with shake cheese, meatloaf, corn salad. And sometimes meals would get more creative. Skinny noodle salad is a concoction of red cabbage and raw crunched up ramen noodles. It has got to be one of the cheapest, best salads on the planet that could quite literally feed an army.

Today though, the husband and I visited a different childhood classic, one my dad hated. My mom would make it when he was out of town. Its made of vile things, including mayonnaise, and I love it. A few years ago I decided I really wanted this for dinner. I came home from the grocery store with a handful of ingredients. The husband thought I was crazy. I made dinner, and he ate one of these oven-toasted open-faced sandwiches, and fell in love. Now he dances around and makes squealing noises when I suggest we should maybe have this for dinner.

What is this dish that not only includes but features mayonnaise that I'm willing to consume and enjoy doing so?

Ham pucks.

They're really quite simple. Make a ham salad, it on an English muffin, top it with some Swiss cheese, and throw it in the oven until the cheese is melted goodness.

I really can't comment more than that on the recipe. Ham salad means so many things. To me it means ham, mayonnaise, pickles, and onions all diced nice and fine. (Throw it all into a food processor for an easy, consistent almost pate-consistency). Want celery in yours? Add it? Feeding fifty people? Make more. Feeding only two? Make less. I find a half to three-fourths of a ham steak makes a reasonable amount for two. (Two normal people - I make more for the husband. He inhales these things).

I modify it a bit by using a home made mayonnaise. The stuff out of a jar really makes me want to hurl, so I make my own. Yes, this does involve using raw egg. But, I know where my eggs come from, and I know the birds are healthy. I wash the eggs myself. It's not for everyone, but, I prefer it.

This really is an easy dinner that can be thrown together in a half an hour or less, while half-dead. And at least in this household, it produces squeals of delight. Give it a try. Warm mayonnaise never tasted so good.

Trying Harder

Chad Smith, guest blogger for BNO this month, says we all should blog, writers especially. He suggests that blogging is more than just catharsisim (is that a word? the spell checker doesn't think so) in action; it is a way to practice craft, push yourself as a writer, and expand writing skills.

I happen to agree.

So, I'm trying harder. There's no reason to not. And, though I won't post any of my fiction work here (I'd rather see it in print than randomly up on my blog), I can still push myself to communicate more effectively. And maybe even try not to use adverbs on occasion. :)

And really, it is better than just 140 characters at a time.

Editing

I'm working with writing deadlines lately. I'm quite amazed at what a deadline will do. So far, here's what my upcoming deadline has done:

1. Ripped out any sort of inspiration, especially to come up with my own idea or "finish" one of several stories I have started.

2. Forced me to edit. More importantly, forced me to commit my edits.
a. Started the heinous "I hate my writing," cycle.
b. This then led to "Oh, that's not so bad after all" after making edits.
c. Committing the edits has led back to a. It's a vicious cycle. It won't ever end.

3. Forced me to figure out how to end. Ending is hard. Beginning is easy.

Will this all make sense? I certainly hope so. I'm definately working against the clock here. And I can find about a thousand more interesting things to do. Also, I really want to knit. Knitting is productive. And it doesn't involve the computer.

However, I'm going back to my edits now.

Slacking

I've been slacking for about a month now.

Okay, not slacking so much as not writing my 500. It's amazing how many distractions there are, and how often I give in to them. Discipline is hard to come by, and I won't be encountering any tonight. Sleep sounds much more exciting.

We started this 500 as a challenge. I knew it wouldn't be easy, though it sounds like it's not so hard at first. I must say though, I've really got to respect Phil over at Tin Can Goat. He's got a post every day with 500.

Tomorrow. Time to get back at it. 500 words before I go to bed. I can do this.