Mother Nature is messing with my head

Okay, first I have to tell you if you are easily offended, or if you are at work or you have small children about, then this is not the post for you.

Don't say I didn't warn you. (And I apologize for the quality of the photos. I don't have my trusty Nikon with me, so I had to use my Canon Sureshot.)

Remember, I am only reporting what I found lurking in my yard, so don't be hatin'. I didn't create this thing, Mother Nature did, and I think she is must be going through some kind of existential crisis and chose my backyard to express her angst. I don't think it's an exaggeration to say this thing is freaky. It also explains why my lawn-care guys were giggling and calling their buddies parked out front in the truck to come have a look.

My morning started out innocently enough. I was picking up "Buddy bombs" in the yard, and I saw Henry peeking through the fence. I love photographing Henry because he's a big goofy retriever with a wise old face.

Here is Henry at the fence:

But what is that white thing on the ground in the shade of the forsythia, down in the left corner? I moved in for a closer look, as did Buddy. He seemed a tad wary.

Now, I'm no fungi expert, but Holy Mother of all Mushrooms....this is what I saw growing at my feet:

Seriously. It looks like Sir Walter Raleigh on his way to a fetish party, his manhood embellished with an Elizabethan ruffle which is clearly tied too tight.

And if the sight of this thing wasn't bad enough, it had a smell that could knock you over from twenty feet away. How to describe the stench? I guess if you took a dead body, stuffed it with moldy mushrooms and unwashed gym socks, let it stew for a few weeks in warm sea water then sprinkled it with acetone you might come close. Buddy then whacked it over with his tail.

To avoid any accidental poisoning, I stuck the thing up in my flower box. The next day, the stench was worse than ever, and it was coated in giant flies which had already devoured the brown coating on the....head, I guess you could say. I placed a ruler beside it, and as you can see, this thing is a full eight inches. (I'm not touching that one, I'm not going there, I will not make a joke, I will not.)

If anyone could tell me exactly what this is, and if it's poisonous, I'd really appreciate it. I tried Googling it, but the entries that popped up when I put "mushroom + penis shape" are probably best left to your imagination.

On the craft of writing

Here is a wonderful link (courtesy of Susan Adrian) to Jennifer Lynn Barnes who writes about finding and keeping the joy of writing. Most of it (okay, ALL of it) rang true, especially:

"Give yourself permission to suck." I've heard this before. It's a variation on the Shitty First Draft theory, but this is a really hard habit for me to break. I began writing in the pre-Whiteout pre-Spellcheck prehistoric days so if I made a mistake, I had to start all over again. Uninhibited, free-flow expression took a backseat to slow, careful, accurate prose (although in my case, free expression was screaming out the window and mooning innocent bystanders while plotting for her turn at the wheel.)

"Don't stop reading as a reader." Ah, another bad habit of mine and one I'm trying to correct. I also carry this one over to the movie theatre where I find myself thinking things like, "oh, there's the inciting incident, a little late and I would have done it this way," However, when I am lucky enough to find a really great story with characters I believe in and care about, I will be completely immersed in that world and forget who wrote it, or even that I'm sitting there reading. And a great story isn't necessarily a well-written story. THE DA VINCI CODE comes to mind as a book savaged by critics as poorly written and yet, I kept turning the pages to see what happened next. Which makes me wonder what Brown's S.F.D. looked like.

I also realized I have to stick to what I'm good at, and write what I enjoy. I am asked frequently if I'm going to write a novel, and while I have a number of ideas outlined and chunks written, I find that short essays are fun, and they're what I've been able to publish, so I guess if it ain't broke....

If you write, have a look at Jennifer's blog and see if you recognize yourself. I know I did.

How I spent my summer vacation

In the boat looking back at these two goofballs.

Four Old Ladies in an Impala

I was asked by a friend and fellow writer to contribute an anecdote about getting out of a traffic ticket. I told her about the time I ran a yellow light and realized, too late, that there was a police officer waiting for the light to change. I panicked and slammed on the brakes, tires screaming, and landed smack in the middle of the intersection, directly in front of the squad car. I had no choice but to clear the intersection, tailpipe between my legs, and drive slowly through what was by then a red light.

Yes, I was promptly pulled over.

No, I did not get a ticket. But that's another story.

Then I remembered this gem from Youtube. I know this has been around for a long time, but it never gets old.

Enjoy!

What is art?

The brilliant team at Creature Comforts have invaded America!

Creature Comforts began in the UK about twenty years ago with Nick Park (Wallace and Gromit, Chicken Run) at the helm. He would interview average people on a variety of topics, then take the unscripted conversations and animate them using claymation. They are low-key and ridiculously funny.

Here is a taste of the British one:



And here is the new offering, from the U.S.:

Vote for Pedro. I mean, PAMELA!

The lovely ladies over at Smart Bitches Trashy Books are holding a contest for Best Worst First Lines in a romance novel so of course, given my Bulwer-Lytton rep, I had to enter.

Go to the link below and through your support behind me. Look for three entries by Pamela, and although I'm partial to the last one, any votes for me will be gratefully accepted. You only have 24 hours so get crackin'! And if you really, really like one of the others more than mine, go ahead and vote for that one. I won't mind. Much.

I can't get in to Compuserve to pass the word around, so if anyone is so inclined....

http://www.smartbitchestrashybooks.com/

A Brave and Modest Nation

I've been watching the summer Olympics and despite our lack of medals, I'm so proud of our Canadian athletes and all they've accomplished. Most of them have little or no government assistance. In fact, years ago, the young man who mowed my lawn and cleared snow from my driveway was an Olympic athlete, and confessed he was forced to work two jobs just to keep up. This is time he could have, and should have, spent training. We're so close, but just like the game of horseshoes, close just doesn't count in the Olympics. Just think what our men and women could do with a little financial help. Hello, Mr. Harper, are you listening?

While I was pondering Canadian athletes and their grace under pressure during countless interviews, I remembered I had this piece in my files and so, I share it with you today.

This is a wonderful tribute by Kevin Myers, an Irish journalist and commentator, about Canada's record of quiet valour in wartime. This article first appeared in the Sunday Telegraph on April 21st, 2002 and in the National Post.

A Salute to a Brave and Modest Nation

LONDON - Until the deaths last week of four Canadian soldiers accidentally killed by a U.S. warplane in Afghanistan, probably almost no one outside their home country had been aware that Canadian troops were deployed in the region. And as always, Canada will now bury its dead, just as the rest of the world as always will forget its sacrifice, just as it always forgets nearly everything Canada ever does.

It seems that Canada's historic mission READ THE REST HERE