Will Read for Money

I have read the fist 6 books in the Sweep series for a total of 1126 pages since Sunday. It is a teen paranormal series about witches. I have been reading a lot of teen books lately because I had a dream that I was writing a series myself. I love the idea that I dreamed about and decided that research was needed. I wanted to know if the idea had been done all ready so I started Google-ing and reading. So far it looks like it hasn’t. I think I’ll have to get to writing. I do have an awful lot of time on my hands. I may be spending a lot of time at Starbucks then…typing with my headphones on and drinking a chai latte. Well, not so much the latte…those cost money, which means I might be one of “those” people. You know, those people, the ones that take up a table and don’t buy anything. I wonder if it makes a difference that it is inside a Barnes and Noble. Hmmmmm.

Today I decided to keep a list from this point on of the books that I read. Wish I would have started this earlier. I can’t even imagine how long the list would be. It would probably boggle my mind and a few others. It would be so awesome if I could get paid for reading books. I would be happy and rich. I’ve had a secret longing, like forever or pretty much since I was a kid. I would love to own a book store. Not a big one but one that specialized in children’s books or had quirky books in it. I don’t think this is something that could be done nowadays because of box book stores or online bookstores. I always imagined it would be in an old building in a historic district with potted plants outside with window flower boxes and twinkle lights in the windows.

There was a brief period of time when I was a kid that my Dad worked in a book store. At least I think it was a bookstore…I need to confirm that memory but I do remember lots of books, boxes of books, and the smell of books. Anyway, the store was freezing and my Dad would always bring his red plaid thermos filled with coffee to the store. My Dad was a crazy coffee drinker. He used to take the lid cup from the thermos and make me a cup of coffee (mostly milk and sugar). This was Kathi and Dad time and boy did I thing that I was so grown up drinking that coffee with my Dad. The coffee thing never stuck but I still love the smell of it. It reminds me of my Dad. It gives me the warm fuzzies.

I still think it would be brilliant to get paid to read. Or maybe I will write that book series and get paid to do that.

Rite of Passage

In high school I was enrolled in the “academic” track of classes. This meant that the students in these classes were slightly accelerated to give us a boost going into college or if you were like a couple of us you thought that maybe you would get to slack off a little bit your senior year. At Smethport Area Junior Senior High School a rite of passage occurred in your junior year.  This was English with Coach Carl Defilippi aka Del. I was in his English 11A class. One of Del’s famous assignments was writing about an event that changed our lives. Here is my paper…unedited (mostly).  

Dreams Destroyed by Kathi Seymour, English 11A

“My whole outlook on life changed in just five minutes. My world as I knew it came crumbling down and my innocence ended. I was mortified that such a thing could be true. But it was. I could have died the day…the day I found out Santa Claus wasn’t real. From that day on, that whole year was a disaster.

From the time I can remember I was taught that Santa Claus was a jolly old man who liked the color red. He had a laugh that started from somewhere deep inside. When you heard his “HO HO HO”, you couldn’t help but join right in. I was always faithful to Kris Kringle. Every Christmas season I would beg my mom to bundle up my brother and me and take us to the mall. I just had to sit on Santa Claus’s lap. I was so glad to do it but my brother who was still young and at the impressionable age let out blood curdling howls that would freak-out the other “little kids. Me, I just sat back and told Santa everything I wanted. Then before I would leave I would give Santa a little kiss on the cheek and he would look into his stocking that was hanging on the side of his chair. Then to my delight he would pull out a sucker. I would be content the whole way home.

Then one awful Christmas Eve I went to bed after giving my mother a letter and asking her to put out cookies and milk. For the past two months I took great care to be a good kid even though the whole summer I was a royal terror. Mom had told me that Santa doesn’t cater to little girls who are bad. So I promptly turned my reign of terror into a sweet little kid that would do practically everything her parents asked.

After thinking how good I had been I climbed into bed. It didn’t take me very long to fall asleep. Then I was rudely awakened from my dreams of candy and presents by a loud thud that came from my parent’s room. I sleepily crawled out of bed and softly padded across my room. I got down on my hands and knees and looked underneath my door. My parents were carrying a big box. Then they started to go down the stairs, I hopped up and opened my door. I silently crept to the banister and look over the railing.

What I saw changed my life forever. Inside that box were presents. I felt like the weight of the world landed on my shoulders. Tears came to my eyes. My little pug nose started to run. I let out a small sob. I ran back to my room and shut my door. I curled myself up into a little ball. I cried myself to sleep. The next morning when we got up to open our presents I was still depressed. I could hardly open them. I looked at my parents with disgust. My whole life I had looked up to them. Now they had let me down. They had lied to me. I felt betrayed and I wasn’t going to be alone. The next day I told my best friend Diane that Santa wasn’t real. She had a fit and started to bawl. She wouldn’t believe me. When she got home she found out I was right. She was mad for a week.

The world seemed cold and heartless. All those wasted letters. Those prayers to God to let Santa bring me what I asked were all in vain. There was no such thing as little elves that had bells on their shoes. There was no Santa’s work shop. No hammers steadily pounding toys together. Rudolph may have had a red nose but that didn’t really matter since there were no reindeer.

From that Christmas on I was forced to face the cruel fact that fairy tales weren’t true. There were no cupids to shoot their arrows and make everybody fall in love. Leprechauns couldn’t be chased down and be made to tell where they had hidden their gold. The Easter Bunny didn’t hide those beautiful colored eggs. No Great Pumpkin would appear at Halloween. Even the marvelous Superman and Wonder Woman weren’t real.

Somehow I managed not to tell my parents that I knew that Santa was a myth. Gradually my anger wore off. I thought maybe my mom and dad wanted me to believe in him so I had something to aim for. Old Saint Nick brought joy and hope into people’s lives. The spirit of Christmas also manages to make people kind and caring. But when the next Christmas rolled around and my brother begged to go see Santa Claus I got mad. Here was my little brother heading for disaster and disappointment. Someone had to tell him. I, of course, nominated myself. So that night after we got back I visited my brother in his room. I made him sit on the bed while I paced the floor. Suddenly I felt all grown up and important. My innocent little brother had dreams and great expectations. I looked into my brother’s big brown eyes. I couldn’t tell him. Something just stopped me. Here was this little kid who was just as devoted to a man with a white beard as I once used to be. I told him I forgot what I was going to say then walked out. I wasn’t going to ruin his life but someone else could.

I got mad at my parents for doing this to me. I never wanted to grow up and face cold hard reality. Now I had to throw out all my fantasies of a magical world that was located at the end of a rainbow.

I have barely lived through this experience. Sometimes I feel that it might have been good. The fact that there is no Santa Claus makes people try to be kinder. I myself try to spread the joy and happiness that I know Kris Kringle would. Sometimes I try to wish real hard to bring Santa Claus to life for all the children whose hearts belong to him. For this reason alone I know Santa would be proud. Love you Santa. No matter what anyone says.”

Um, dramatic much? Well, it worked. I got an “A” and Del read my paper to the whole class. He said, and I quote, “Your essay is most enjoyable; you project a theme in a most refreshing manner here. Good job.” Later on it was modified slightly and was published in the town paper at Christmas time under the heading “Believing in the Spirit that is Santa Claus.”

Still one of my favorite memories of high school right behind Mr. Porter’s “Your darn tooting, we hate Rasputin.”

Christmas writes happy and sparkly.

So Many Books, So Little Time

I heart books. If, heaven forbid, my house ever caught on fire I quite possible would die because I would be trying to save my books after I saved my animals. During the very early years of my life my family lived two doors away from the public library. The only thing separating me from Valhalla was our neighbor’s yard. Our neighbors name was “Neighbor”. Well, that is what I called them. Family lore is that after hearing my Mom say “Hi neighbor”, I, being a wicked smart kid thought that was their name and dubbed them as such forever more. I couldn’t tell you their real name to save my life. The border between our houses wasn’t a fence but a row of Peony bushes. I would spend endless hours smelling those Peonies and watching the ants crawl all over them. To this day Peonies are still one of my all time favorite flowers. Neighbor had a dog and it was a Lhasa Apso from Tibet. Well not actually from Tibet but that was where the breed originated from and its name was…wait for it…it was named Tibet. They also had a fish tank with a live starfish in it. Totally random and I digress.

Any hoo…back to books. On the other side of Neighbor was our town’s public library. Whenever I would go to the library I didn’t go out the front door and walk down the side walk to the library. We lived on a busy four lane highway. Much too dangerous for Mom to even contemplate letting me do. So, I would go out the back door and cross through our and Neighbor’s backyard, “Hi Neighbor”, on my way to the back door of the library. A lot of times the librarian would be on the back steps as I walked over. To this day I suspect that my Mom probably called to tell them I was on my way over. So the librarian would be keeping an eye out for me.

Walking into the building was magical. It was an older, kind of historical building that was dimly lit, nothing like the libraries of today. It wasn’t bright or sleek and certainly didn’t have computers…well, ok, in all fairness it was the 70’s. When the light shined through the older upper windows, the dust motes would float and play in the rays of sunshine. There were cubbies or sitting areas to sit in while you read. The chairs were old and had cracks in the leather but so comfy. In the children’s section, there were beat up, well used bean bags. Sometimes, while I was reading, I would lie on those bean bags with my legs up and my feet resting on the shelves or the wall or I would sit in the chairs with my back on one arm and my legs dangling over the other one. The building smelled musty and the books even more so. I love that smell. I should since my nose was always in a book.

One of the very first books I ever checked out of the library was “Harold and the Purple Crayon” by Crocket Johnson. Harold could create his adventures by drawing them. He created other worlds. From this book I realized that I could have adventures too…by reading them. I was hooked. My love affair began. I became a pioneer who traveled by wagon with my family out to the prairie. I walked through a wardrobe into a land with talking animals. I moved into a giant peach pit after leaving my evil aunties behind. I put on my emerald colored glasses and followed a yellow brick road. I rode sideways, long ways, and short ways in a glass elevator.  I lamented having a younger brother because it is hard being a fourth grade nothing. I contemplated what a Tesseract was and who the three Mrs. W’s really were. Books were and continue to be my passport to far off places.

I like the weight of a book. I love the feeling of older books that have fabric like covers. I like the sound the spine of a brand new book makes when you open it for the first time. I love the smell of books. I love the feel of the paper. I like the sound the pages make when you turn them or flip through them. I have stayed up all night for books. Books have caused me to lose track of time so losing myself in one is an easy thing to do. I have been late to events because I need to read just one more chapter.

I love spending time in bookstores. I have received gift cards to bookstores and have been known to take several hours picking out the books I want to get with that gift card. I want to make sure it has been spent on the right books. My friends will walk around the mall for a couple of hours and know that they can come back and find me still perusing the selection or copping a squat on the floor reading. I have one friend who won’t go with me because they know it could be a while. When I buy books I like them to match. What I mean by that is that if I buy the first book in a series and it is a paperback the rest of the series has to be paperback and vice versa. I am a weirdo. I know this and I am ok with it.

I heart books, they are people too.

Writing myself happy.

Songs about Rainbows

I love The Muppets. I grew up in a world filled with fuzzy, wide mouthed, protruding eyed Muppets. Sesame Street and The Muppets ruled the day. They pretty much were my childhood. The first Muppet TV show aired when I was 6 years old and continued until I was 11. Like a lot of kids I thought they were real and I am a better person for it.

Kermit was just the coolest. He was the reluctant hero (antihero if you will) and the main protagonist in The Muppets. Kermit is also the only Muppet to be prominently featured in both shows. I thought he was patient (not so much with Miss Piggy), kind, funny, handsome (for a frog), and had subtle wit.

Kermit was my hero. He was different and he owned it. He was green and that was just fine with him. He could have seen that has a hindrance but instead he saw the bright side of his greenness. I mean, you know that green is the color of spring and could be cool and friendly-like, right? He used his uniqueness to propel himself to stardom. He is an advocate for misfits. I mean if you don’t understand anything but this about The Muppets…they are a merry band of misfits. They are comrades in their misfitedness. They were the original Emo without the black attire and heavy eyeliner. Kermit is also a supporter of the “being and going green” movement. He has been involved with Earth Day and has been a spokesfrog for the Ford Hybrid. He was a tree hugger starting way back in his swamp days.

I saw the new Muppet movie today and I loved it. As expected, the tried and true Muppet cheesiness and whimsy was front and center. I liked the new songs and getting to hear a fresh version of “The Rainbow Connection”. I loved seeing the misfits overcome adversity. I enjoyed seeing the bully get schooled and learn his lesson even if he suffered a bump on the head. I may also now be a little in love with Jason Segel. He was one of the writers for the new movie and he was once quoted as saying “They’re not puppets. We never use the word puppet because Kermit is a frog, Piggy is a pig. They exist in the world, like we do.”

Life lessons I learned from Kermit the Frog and a The Muppets: 

1. It is ok to be different. You should embrace your uniqueness. It’s who you are and the people that matter will love you all the more for it.

2. You will accomplish so much more together as a group, be it friends or family, than you ever will on your own. Many important people have said. “We’re stronger together than we are on our own.” Who am I to argue with such stellar wisdom?

3. Look at your world with child like wonder.

4. Laugh.

Jim Henson once said “There’s not a word yet for old friends who’ve just met.” I think because of him there is a word for it and it is Muppet.

Landing on the write side of happy.

Landing on the Right Side of Happy

Like too many Americans I lost my job. “Lost my job”…what is that anyway? How does one “lose” a job? I didn’t misplace it. It isn’t like my sunglasses that I am forever looking for, swearing that I left them in a “safe place”. I didn’t let go of its hand and it wandered off. I didn’t make a losing bet with my job as the stakes. I didn’t go into the store, come out and forget where I parked it. So, actually…more clearly stated…I didn’t lose my job, it was taken from me. To quote my former employer “We are sorry but your position has been eliminated.” OH, BULLOCKS!

Like those other hundreds of thousands of jobless Americans I am struggling. I am struggling to hold onto my self-esteem, the roof over my head, the food on my table, my sanity, and my happiness which is teetering on the precipice of an abyss.

Self-esteem is a precarious thing. Who knew that it would take such a huge hit when my job was taken from me? I sure didn’t. I would have hugged it more and given it more positive feedback had I known. I would have given it a cookie, preferable one freshly out of the oven…all gooey and warm. I guess I kind of knew that I was proud of what I did. That feeling of pride, of a job well done, of being a productive member of the human race, of HAVING a job, was the key to my self-esteem. My identity was wrapped up with my job. Who am I now? “Oh, that is Kathi…she doesn’t have a job.” “How sad.” You feel like “who would want me?” I’m not good enough. I’m the stuff my cat Ophelia hacks up and leaves me as a pressie in the middle of my bed.

The roof over my head and the food on my table are now provided by Unemployment. Wow, I can’t even begin to describe the rollercoaster of feelings you go through when you have to apply for unemployment for the first time…like ever. I felt like a criminal…like gum…stuck to the underneath of a table. They don’t care that I have ALWAYS had a job. They don’t care that I never had been fired or laid off. I felt like I had done something horrible…like this was my fault. Which is complete and total bullpoop…I KNOW that…but it is how I feel.

My sanity…well, it comes and it goes.

Happiness is a fickle bitch. It can be fleeting. I am trying to teach myself that my happiness isn’t wrapped up in my job. It’s bigger than that. I’m happy my dog, Angus, is napping beside me right now and snoring. I’m unhappy because the Buffalo Bills have broken my heart yet again. I’m happy that I live in a house with a tub and that I have a place to live in general. I’m unhappy that I am hungry right now and don’t know what to cook myself. I’m happy that I have food. I’d be happier if I had those cookies I wrote about earlier. I’m happy that I am finally writing this blog.

So, I am going to write myself to the right side of happy.