Category Archives: When Life Doesn’t Fit in a File Folder

Handwritten Letters From Clay Watkins and Other Folks!

Posted on August 8, 2013 | 20 comments

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Guess what everyone? My mailbox has been flooded with letters from readers, so I’m bundling a few together or I’ll end up dragging this summer contest  into the middle of the first academic marking period! Speaking of school, Clay from Making The Days Count is a middle school teacher. We bonded back in 2011 as fellow teachers, and we’ve followed each other’s blogs ever since. A writer and lover of literature and history, Clay attended Boy Scout Camp only once as a kid. He remembers that it rained every day… except the day he had to leave to go home. Despite the fact that he was only there for one week, he still managed to earn merit badges for swimming and marksmanship.

Back in the day, Tech’s camp offered riflery as a hobby. According to former campers, the guns went away when the Vietnam War started.

{I’m guessing kids made out read a lot between 1965 and 1975 .}

I know Tech reads tons while he’s at camp. In his letter, Clay mentioned a book that Tech hasn’t yet read.

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Great handwriting, yes?

Clay knows my son starts high school in September, and he included some helpful advice from his 15-year-old who just finished his freshman year.

• Make new friends. Keep the old ones, but meet new people.
• Get involved. Join a club or clubs, play a sport – get involved in the school – don’t forget the clubs you were in either.
• Don’t procrastinate. Do the work before it’s due. Or your mom and dad will go nuts and take away your phone.
• Remember. You don’t have to like your teachers, just do the work they assign. And do it well.

But that’s not all!

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Seven postcards! Whaaaat?!

Clay included postcards from six different states he visited this summer: from Illinois to Alabama, Arkansas to Tennessee, Mississippi to Michigan!

And he wrote a short note on the back of each postcard! You guys, he basically sent Tech EIGHT letters! Faboosh, right?

Clay believes in making every day count, and I’m grateful to him for helping to make my son’s time at camp even more special! If you’d like to read the words of a wonderful educator filled with positivity, check out Clay’s blog. Or chat with him on Twitter at @makingdayscount. You won’t regret it.

• • •

Ange told Tech about the summer she spent all her free time slaving away over composing long, handwritten letters to her son while he was away at overnight camp – only to learn that he had been turning them over to his counselor to read.

“Because they’re too long,” her son complained.

Luckily, the counselor really liked her letters. And what of that son these days? He hardly writes her… unless he wants something! Check out a little piece of her letter!

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• • •

Liz got her son to write a little letter! That Liz is no fool. Who can resist emerging handwriting? It’s soooo scraggly and cute. Nick packed a lot of punch into his letter, considering it’s only 41 words! In a tiny little space, he managed to reference plenty of things that Tech loves: camp, LEGOs, Robotics and Minecraft! Will the handwriting win Tech’s heart?

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Many thanks to Clay, Ange, Liz and Nick for taking the time to write these gorgeous handwritten letters. They’ve been sent off to the boy in camp.

• • •

To see other posts in this series read letters from:

Maria of BrickHouseChick

Stuart Sheldon

Misty of Misty’s Law’s

Rivki Silver of Life in the Married Lane

Daile of Kiss Me Out of Desire

Naomi Hattoway of Box 53B 

Pleun of La Vida Loca

tweet me @rasjacobson

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Posted in When Life Doesn't Fit in a File Folder

Handwritten Letters From Naomi, Daile and Pleun

Posted on August 1, 2013 | 32 comments

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Three deliciously yummy letters arrived from exotic places last week: entries in this summer’s Write-My-Kid-a-Handwritten-Letter-While-He’s-At Overnight-Camp Contest.

The first letter came from Australia and was authored by Daile of Kiss Me Out Of Desire. At 29-years, Daile told Tech a little bit about herself, like how she started her blog as a place to challenge herself to do 30 things before she turns 30 in December — kind of like a bucket list, without the dying part.

In her letter, Daile explained there aren’t summer camps where she lives.

Summer camp is foreign to me as it’s not something we do in Australia. We love camping and we also have summer, so I’m not exactly sure why we haven’t combined the two…  All I know about American summer camps I learnt from books like Babysitters Club and Sweet Valley High (both of which I’m sure you’ve never heard of because I doubt a 14-year old boy is reading teen girl books from the ‘90s).

Daile claimed her Persian cat, Bixby looks a lot like Garfield. I was skeptical, but she included photographs. Um, put a lasagna in front of that cat and it’s him, right?

Look how grumpy Garfield is?

Look how grumpy he is!

She also introduced Tech to her two rats.

Apparently, they have freakishly long tails.

Apparently, Betty & Veronica have freakishly long tails.

• • •

A second letter came from Naomi Hattaway of Box 53B. After living in India for three years, Naomi and her family relocated to Singapore – and they just returned to the United States!

Naomi sent a cute Opus ‘n Bill card.

You know. This guy.

You know. This guy.

Instead of Telling Tech about herself, she asked a zillion questions.

She was all:

What’s your favorite part of camp? What do you miss most [about home]? Are there girls? Who’s your favorite super hero? My kids love angry birds. Do you get to use electronics at camp? My middle kiddo is 10-years old. What books would you recommend for his summer reading? 

Pssst. Naomi, in case you missed it, Tech recently recommended scads of good books for teens and tweenaged boys. I’m assuming your middle will dig any of the titles on that list.

• • •

Finally, Pleun of La Vida Loca wrote to say hola because she lives in Mexico and that’s how you say hello south of the border!

A sample of Pleun's penmanship.

A sample of Pleun’s penmanship.

I forgot to tell Pleun that Tech has 3 years of espanol under his belt, so she could have peppered her letter with a little Spanish.

Drat!

I totally blew that! She could have written her  letter in Spanish and quizzed Tech to see how well he is retaining his Spanish vocabulary.

But Pleun is nice. She isn’t interested in turning summer vacation into summer school.

And Pleun is smart. Clearly, she knows my boy is picking the winner in this contest and so she sucked up to him showered him with praise. She penned:

I think you are an awesome kid. I realize I can only judge you by the stories you mom writes about you, but even if you take away the “mom bias,” you come out pretty well compared to other kids that I equally don’t know. And I’m going mainly on the story where you gathered and gave away books to kids at another school. Not because you had to, but because you wanted to share the great things that can happen to you when you read.

Let’s be honest, kids. This comment earned bonus points with me, too. I didn’t even know Pleun had been reading my stuff for that long. That post about how Tech donated 1,300 to Rochester schoolchildren is over a year old! Thanks for being a loyal reader, Pleun. Seriously.

Muchas gracias and thank you to Daile, Naomi and Pleun for taking the time to write these gorgeous handwritten letters. I am over the moon smiling, imagining each of you hunched over a table, pen in hand, writing words to bring my boy so much joy.

• • •

To see other posts in this series read letters from:

BrickHouseChick

Stuart Sheldon

Misty’s Law’s

Rivki Silver

tweet me @rasjacobson

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Posted in Summer, When Life Doesn't Fit in a File Folder, Writing Life

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Rivki’s Old Fashioned Letter

Posted on July 25, 2013 | 16 comments

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Y’all, I’ve forwarded another stunning letter to my son in summer camp in the “Write My Kid an Old-Fashioned Letter” Contest!

This one comes from Rivki Silver of Life in the Married Lane.

Rivki blogs about being a mother, a wife, a woman, a musician, a friend, a writer. An observant Jew, Rivki combines the big stuff (religion, ethics, personal development) and the little stuff (laundry, dishes, meal planning). Because that’s the challenge, right? Making meaning amidst the mundanity.

In addition to being a wife and mother, Rivki is also a musician. She plays the piano and the clarinet — maybe other instruments, too.

I’m telling you, that Rivki is so clever!

She integrated her love for music into her letter.

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One side of her letter features the Yiddish folk song “Tumbalaika”; the other side, her handwritten letter to my boychik! Here’s an excerpt:

The song I included here is one of my favorite Yiddish songs. The gist of it is that there’s a boy who asks a girl a number of riddles:

  1. What can grow without rain?
  2. What can burn & never end?
  3. What can yearn, cry without tears?

The girl responds:

“Silly boy! Why do you have to ask?”

  1. A stone can grow without rain
  2. Love can burn and never end
  3. A heart can yearn, cry without tears.

Now I don’t know about the whole “growing stone” thing. If you have insight into that, I’d welcome your input. Also, I don’t know why the girl was so sassy in her response; they seem like reasonable riddles to me. My suspicion is that the girl has a crush on the boy & that’s why she was being a little rude. I don’t know if you’ve discovered that yet. Girls don’t always make the most sense (even to ourselves, sometimes) buit we’re great anyways! Keeps life interesting, right?

In her letter, Rivki not only teaches my son about the balalaika (a traditional Russian instrument with 13 strings), she also gives him some cool lyrics to think about and she aplies them to his life as a teenager!

And just when you think it can’t get any better, it does. Rivki included artwork from her children! Oh yes, this letter is a treat for anyone who loves the arts! Check out piece #1.

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I call this “Ladybug, Stars, Scribble Scrabble People”

Somehow Rivki remembered Tech will be celebrating his birthday in August, while he is away at camp, and she got her little guy to make my son a birthday card in advance! Look how hard her little guy worked to make all those 14’s! That’s a labor of love.

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I call this one “Fantastic 14 & Falling Bananas.”

So you’re probably thinking, that has to be everything, right?

But it’s not.

Rivki included another letter.

This one was written to me.

I won’t share her words here, but I will say that I pressed the pretty lavender card against my cheek before I ever read it. And I sighed aloud — several times — alone, to myself, in the room as I read her words, and I promise I felt a bit of Rivki’s spirit being transmitted right through the ink.

Because that’s the way it’s been.

Reading everyone’s handwritten words has been a profoundly personal experience for me. I’m sure I’ll have more to say about this eventually.

For now, I’ll just express my gratitude to Rivki by adding these few sentences. If you’re trying to get organized, trying to figure out what to feed your children, if you’re a lover of music, or if if you’ve someone interested in reading one woman’s views about Orthodox Judaism, consider subscribing to Rivki’s blog. Her posts are so beautifully crafted.

Just like her letter to my son.

• • •

To see other posts in this series read letters from:

BrickHouseChick

Stuart Sheldon

Misty’s Law’s

tweet me @rasjacobson

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Posted in Summer, When Life Doesn't Fit in a File Folder, Writing Life

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Misty’s Old Fashioned Letter

Posted on July 17, 2013 | 16 comments

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Y’all, another bloggy friend submitted a beautiful letter to my son in summer camp in the “Write My Kid an Old-Fashioned Letter” Contest!

This one comes from Misty of Misty’s Laws.

Here’s the thing you have to know about Misty. The girl loves to send cards. This isn’t the first card that’s shown up via snail mail from Misty. She sent me a birthday card when I turned 45, and I got a little verklempt. Besides my mother and my husband, I don’t think anyone else gave me a handwritten card. Oh, I received plenty of Facebook comments on my timeline. And I got a bunch of texts. But the electronic stuff can never replace the joy of receiving and opening a personal letter.

In her letter to my son…

Misty writes as if she is a former bunkmate who didn’t return to camp this year.

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Click HERE to see Misty’s letter bigger-er!

Here’s an excerpt:

I remember all of our previous camp experiences, don’t you? Like that time we all went hiking & silly Mikey walked through all of that poison ivy. He was itchy for days! Ha. And do you remember when we went canoeing & our boat got stuck in those marshy reeds? It took forever to get out of there! And who knew mosquitoes really liked marshy reeds? Talk about itchy. Yikes. Ah, good times.

Misty “remembers” singing John Jacob Jingleheimerschmidt, roasting marshmallows, and canoeing out to the marshy reeds where the itchy mosquitoes live. She hopes my son isn’t living with He Who Shall Not Be Named — which is perfect. Because everyone who ever went to camp knows there’s always one kid in the bunk you’d like to paddle out to the marshy reeds and leave with the mosquitoes.

Misty’s postscript is going to destroy my boy.

P.S: As I know you are suffering without your beloved Minecraft, in your honor, I have vowed to play an extra 2 hours of video games every day to make up for it. You’re welcome. It’s really nothing. I’m a giver.

The thing is Misty really is a giver.

If you read her blog, you know Misty goes all out to celebrate birthdays and anniversaries and takes care to make everyone feel special. She buys silly stuff she knows readers of her blog will enjoy and hosts fun giveaways on her blog from time to time — just because. And she gifted me with a most delicious guest post when she shared her #SoWrong moment not long ago.

Thanks to Misty for making my kid’s summer camp experience even funner-er.

Whaaat? It’s summer. I can break a few grammar rules.

• • •

To see other posts in this series read letters from:

BrickHouseChick

Stuart Sheldon

If you’d like information about how you can win a $25 gift card by writing my son while he’s at summer camp, click HERE.

tweet me @rasjacobson

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Posted in Summer, When Life Doesn't Fit in a File Folder, Writing Life

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Stuart Sheldon’s Old-Fashioned Letter

Posted on July 11, 2013 | 41 comments

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Guess what, everyone? I just shipped off another letter to Tech as another bloggy friend has submitted an entry in the  “Write My Kid an Old-Fashioned Letter” Contest! 

This one traveled all the way from Miami.

When I tore open the envelope, I found a miniature piece of art because this little card? It’s hand-painted on one side.

Remember that guy who was following me on Twitter? @Stuart_Sheldon? I wrote about him HERE? Well, Stu wrote a letter for my kid. How cool is that?

I call this one “For a Bro.”

Because Stu penned “For a Bro” in ink on the front of the card.

See?

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Letter 2 – From Stuart Sheldon

Stu’s letter contains some profound advice.

On the surface, Stu’s advice may appear to be for the heterosexual male.

But.

If you look deeper, you’ll understand that his words are really a life metaphor for anyone of any sexual orientation.

In fact, Stu’s letter is so profound, the counselors at Tech’s camp should read it to all the campers in the village and then launch a 3-day mass program based on his words of wisdom.

Check it out.

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Click to make Stu’s words bigger-er!

In case you can’t read Stu’s words, I’ve translated here:

So Tech, here’s the thing about camp –

Talk to that girl you think is ALL THAT. You know the one! She makes you feel all shy cuz she’s so pretty and nice and natural and smiley. And maybe you think, “I could never talk to her; she’d never like me. She’s out of my league.” WRONG! She will like you and think you are kind and a gentleman…BECAUSE YOU ARE. Worst case, she will be your friend. Best case…who knows.

But life is about marching up to what you desire most and introducing yourself.

Trust me, little brother. I got your back.

Stu. 

Are you crying? I kinda teared up a little when I read Stu’s words.

The tone found in the letter is a lot like the one in Stu’s blog where he writes beautiful, heartfelt pieces about being a father to two young sons. About being a husband and a father, a writer and an artist, a thinker and a dreamer, finding his way in the world.

I know it’s easier to type or text these days, but typed letters don’t feel the way a real letter feels in your hands. I don’t care how many emoticons you use.

There is intimacy in the ink.

I love Stu’s loopy letters, the lightness of his hand in some places, and the places where he chose to linger and make things dark. 

For emphasis.

And I love Stu’s message, too. And I assume Tech will, too. Once a counselor reads the letter to him. You know, because he can’t read cursive since they don’t teach it in school anymore.

Read Stu’s latest piece HERE, and poke around a bit. He likes that.

Who sent you the last handwritten letter you received? Do you feel the difference between typed and handwritten letters the way I do? 

tweet me @rasjacobson

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Posted in Summer, When Life Doesn't Fit in a File Folder, Writing Life

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When Flying Was Fun

Posted on July 8, 2013 | 252 comments
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Photo by KONTROLLHAMSTER

After being cooped up inside the airplane for thirty minutes, a cabin filled with passengers learned we would not be taking off.

“We can’t seem to locate the pilot,” the flight attendant announced over the loudspeaker.

Everyone groaned.

“We’re doing our best to remedy the situation. In the meantime, sit tight.”

Sit tight.

Is there really any other way to sit on an airplane these days?

Can you tell this guy is in my space?

Can you tell this guy is in my space?

The man next to me had claimed the armrest and, as he began to snore, his legs relaxed into a wide stance, his knees encroaching into my tight space.

I thought about the Good Ole Days.

Before we had to take off our shoes. Before we had to be patted down and swabbed. Before we had to be x-rayed and scanned and probed.

Once upon a time, people loved to travel by air. Folks even dressed up to look nice in the airport because air travel was for the elite. Cheerful clerks gave us our boarding passes, tagged our bags, and placed them gently on the conveyer belt. So long as our suitcases didn’t weigh over eleventy-seven tons, we were allowed to check two bags through without any additional charges.

(It’s true.)

In the good ole days, security was minimal. A man could carry a whole case of rubbing alcohol onto the plane if he wanted; no one would have thought a thing about it. No one had to remove his shoes or belts or jacket. We did not have to be x-rayed or scanned or swabbed or probed. Our gels and liquids did not have to be segregated into quart-sized baggies.

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Click to see other uniforms from the past!

Once upon a time, air travel was sexy. Flight attendants were women. We called them stewardesses. They liked their jobs and seemed interested in passengers’ comfort.

In the 1970s, stewardesses had names like Kimberly, Debbie, Julie and Susie. They wore starched uniforms and easy smiles. Tall and tan and leggy, stewardesses looked like life-sized Barbie Dolls.

Appearing quickly at the touch of a button, stewardesses wore starched uniforms and easy smiles, prepared to offer an extra blanket.

But back then, everyone had blankets. And pillows. And if you got on the plane early enough, there were even magazines to borrow. Good ones.

(It’s true.)

People rarely needed anything. After all, our bags had been checked and were out of the way, so we read books or napped. No one walked around admonishing passengers to turn off their electric devices because those things hadn’t been invented yet.

Once passengers buckled up, they started to think about the meal they were going to receive because for a time, every major airline served 4-course meals. And these meals were gourmet.

(It’s true.)

The Transportation Library archival collections at Northwestern University lists scores of old airline menus. United Airlines’ coach class meals included salads, desserts, sandwiches and beverages, with menu items such as “Broiled Tenderloin Tips a la Deutsch” (1973, Chicago – San Francisco) and Continental boasted ” Breast of Chicken Vodkaliano” (1979, Washington to Denver).

My husband remembers United Airline’s Sunshine Flight that departed daily from Rochester, New York to Florida in the 1970s. “Everyone got crab legs and a slice of key-lime pie,” he says with a faraway look in his eye.

I remember airline meals coming on silver trays with cloth napkins and real cutlery. Everyone was given knives. And no one worried about getting stabbed.

On my recent trip to Florida, I felt fortunate to have received my tiny pouch of pretzels and half can of soda.

While we waited for the pilot to be located, the woman on my right read over my shoulder as as I typed my words. “I see you’re writing about the way air travel used to be.” She crossed and uncrossed her ankles. “There used to be a lot more legroom.”

She’s right.

Once upon a time, there was more legroom.

And more space between seats, too.

And they never misplaced the pilots.

What do you remember about flying in the Good Old Days?

tweet me @rasjacobson

I’m hooking up with the wonderful people from Yeah Write again this week. Click on the badge to be transported to the grid & consider joining us!

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Posted in Florida, Freshly Pressed, When Life Doesn't Fit in a File Folder

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BrickHouseChick’s Old-Fashioned Letter

Posted on July 5, 2013 | 52 comments

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As my regular readers know, my son decided to go to overnight camp for 7 weeks this summer. Before the school year ended, I asked folks to consider sending him a letter. You know, to supplement mine.

To sweeten the pot, I promised that the author of the best letter would win a $25 gift card to somewhere, to be negotiated later with the winner.

I’ve already received a few letters, and today marks the first of the entries in the “Write My Kid an Old-Fashioned Letter” Contest.

Before we get to that, let me tell you about the postcard I received from my son the other day. A simple form letter, the no-nonsense blue postcard features a bunch of check boxes to let parents know our kids have arrived, been assigned to cabins, and unpacked a bit. Yadda yadda yadda.

Normally, my kid just checks things off and signs his name at the bottom.

This year, he had demands.

I can’t find my clipboard. Did I leave it at home? Also, I need a white collared shirt and long socks. Thanks.

{Note: Next year? The boy is  packing himself so we avoid moments like this.}

I hunted down a white shirt, found several pairs of tall socks, and tossed everything into a tiny pile on my son’s bedroom floor.

And then I went to find the clipboard.

My old clipboard.

I was sure I knew exactly where it was.

Except I didn’t.

I must have spent an hour ripping apart the house. I searched the main closet, the basement, my car — where I discovered the remains of a green salad I’d brought to a friend’s house a few nights before. The bowl was slimy and covered in mold.

But no clipboard.

I looked in my son’s bedroom, in his closet, in his dresser.

I was all: Did he take it to school? Did he leave it somewhere?

Then I got pouty.

My father’s gave me that clipboard when I became a counselor three decades ago. Over the next six years, I covered every square inch of it with stickers.

Most people throw away stuff like that, but I’ve held onto it.

Since 1983. 

Annoyed, I walked into my closet. It was the only place I hadn’t looked.

And, there it was.

I have no idea why my old clipboard was in my closet, but it was.

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My clipboard, circa 1983-1989.

Yesterday, I learned my niece would be home for her first day off. She agreed to deliver the goods to the boy, so I bundled everything up and brought the bag of odds and ends to her.

He’s probably got the package in his hot little hands right now.

In fact, he’s probably reading the note I stuck inside the bag right about now.

Dear Tech:

Here’s the stuff you asked for.  Are you impressed I found a way to get everything to you just 3 days after receiving your requests? You should be.

About the clipboard. PLEASE don’t lose it. I know it’s just a clipboard, but I kind of love it.

Plus, it’s just a wicked good clipboard.

Also, you’ll notice I threw in a raincoat for you. Dude. The rain? Holy torrential downpour. Do you think it’s going to rain every day this summer? I’m guessing you don’t think you need a raincoat. Just take it. I’ll feel better knowing you have it and that you could be dry. If you wanted to.

xo Mom

See how lame my letters are?

Thank goodness BrickHouseChick wrote him an awesome letter, which I forwarded to him a few days ago!

Look at it? All orange and filled with cut-outs and swirly handwriting! Now that’s what I call a fabulous old-fashioned letter.

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Entry 1: From BrickHouseChick! Click on the image to super-size it!

I’m grateful to BrickHouseChick for sending a fun letter to my kid. After six years of sending him faboosh letters, I so appreciate the assistance. If you haven’t met Maria yet, you should. She’s a wonderful blogging buddy, and I’m hoping she’ll submit a #SoWrong moment here sometime in the future! *hint hint*

If you’re interested in writing TechSupport a letter, it’s not too late. And you could win a $25 gift card if he thinks the letter you’ve sent is the best! Details about this contest are found HERE.

What are the odds that I’ll ever see my old clipboard again? Do you think he’ll wear that raincoat? What’s your favorite part of Maria’s letter?

tweet me @rasjacobson

 

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Posted in Summer, When Life Doesn't Fit in a File Folder

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Where She’s From

Posted on June 21, 2013 | 49 comments

Tomorrow, my eldest niece will graduate from high school. And in August, she’ll head off to college. Unlike her brothers who chose campuses closer to home, Miss Thang will be flying further away from the nest.

Today, I’m sharing one of the essays Audrey authored during her college application process. Because tomorrow, we’ll celebrate her: the person she is and the person she’s becoming. My niece knows who she is. Tenacious, kind, funny and smart: I’m excited for her to strap on her invisible wings and take them for a spin. Can’t wait to see where she lands.

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Photo by Florian Komorowski

Where I’m From by Audrey Jacobson

I am from ballet shoes and muddy sneakers.

From two older brothers, playing on the driveway.

I am from high expectations and never giving up. From surging on the canal path and running in circles.

From a box of Nike spikes, sweaty locker rooms, a blue and gold uniform and eleven varsity letters.

I am from “suicide sprints” and layup lines. From dropping balls and picking them up again.

From “Eat the hills for breakfast!” and “Keep your head up!”

I am from going out of my way, from hard work. From camaraderie, spirit, and supporting my teammates.

I am from ten summers at sleep-away camp. From fearlessly leaving home, a wee thing toting a humongous duffel bag.

I am from broadening my world, from making new friends, from unplugging from technology, and connecting with nature. From waterskiing and tetherball.

I am from giving back. In song and dance and conversation. I am from conflict resolution, positivity, and motivation. I am a hand, a shoulder, and an ear.

I am from bell-ringing on winter nights, from lugging boxes of books to children who have none, from making bracelets with broken souls.

I am from long nights of studying at my kitchen island. From Multiplication Fast Facts in 3rd grade to Logs and Limits. From Phospholipids and Buffers and Titrations.

I am from High Honor Roll. From parents with great genes. From brothers who showed me the way.

After seeing my name in the newspaper for academics and sports, people have told me, “You’re the whole package.”

Whatever that means, I’m not sure.

What I know is that I am from tutus and jazz shoes.

From getting dirty and meeting new people.

From the love of learning and the love of the game.

From playing hard and winning trophies, but not being afraid to lose.

I am from taking risks.

I know where I am from.

These are my roots.

What no one knows is that I have this box of wings that I’m ready to try.

tweet us @rasjacobson & @audjacobson

What’s essays do you remember being assigned to write? Where are you from?

NOTE: I helped Audrey back in October by providing her with the “Where I’m From” meme when she was in the throes of essay writing, but all the words are her own. Thanks to Jenny Hansen for sharing her piece and to Sharla Lovelace for inspiring Jenny. If you go HERE, you will see this exercise is based on a poem by George Ella Lyon called “Where I’m From,” and if you’d like to try it yourself, the original link is there.

Click HERE for details on how you can enter to win a $25 gift card. 

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Posted in Education, Guest Writers, Relationships, When Life Doesn't Fit in a File Folder, Writing Life

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Don’t Lick the Minivan Prizewinner Announced

Posted on May 27, 2013 | 21 comments

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To be eligible to win Leanne Shirtliffe’s book Don’t Lick the Minivan, I asked people to share a naughty childhood memory (or something naughty their children did) that nearly drove them batty.

In all my years of blogging, the confessional comments that people left here (including Leanne’s responses) kept me laughing for days!

Random Number Generator picked #9.

Don Of All Trades wrote this:

Screen shot 2013-05-23 at 1.25.58 PM

Y’all, Don set his friend’s sister’s dolls on fire and his friend singed his eyebrows and eyelashes off!

He was a very bad boy!

I fee like Don should share this victory with his old friend.

Is that guy still talking to you, Don?

Congratulations to Don Of All Trades! And seriously, if you laughed at Don’s comment, check out his blog HERE, because he writes some hilarious stuff.

Ahhhhh. I love May.

I like giving a little something back to my readers each year during my blogoversary month.

That said, I’m not done.

I have a few more giveaways that have seeped into June, so if you like winning, stay tuned.

And if you hate it, it’ll be over soon.

tweet me @rasjacobson

Don, you have 48-hours to contact me; otherwise, I will pick another winner! Don’t make me get the lighter fluid!

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On Lilacs and Lilly Bag Prizewinner Announced

Posted on May 20, 2013 | 30 comments

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Each May, Rochester holds a Lilac Festival that runs over two weekends.

Some years, the weather is perfect, but the lilac trees have passed their peak. So, you know, everyone traipses around looking at slightly brown buds.

Other years, it’s freezing cold.

Still other years, it freakin’ rains the whole dang time.

Sometimes, it’s mad hot and everyone is sweaty and complaining.

What I’m getting at is that it’s a tough month to hold a festival.

This year, we caught more than our fair share of solidly beautiful days, so I made the mistake of signing up to run a 5K with my son. One of us took 41:00 minutes to come in 900th place, and then puked my way down there to get a few photos.

I love the Lilac Fest. The purple flowers on the trees speak to me.

No, I don’t hear voices.

But I hear a reassuring voice that reminds me summer is on the way.

I also hear another voice. It’s slightly louder. It says:

GIRL, PUT AWAY YOUR SLEEPING BAG COAT! IT’S SAFE NOW. PROBABLY. I MEAN IT MAY NOT BE, BUT THE LIKELIHOOD OF THE TEMPERATURE DROPPING BELOW FREEZING IS DECREASING DAILY. SO TAKE A LEAP OF FAITH AND MOVE THAT PUFFY BLACK COAT FROM THE HOOK IN THE HALL TO THE CLOSET. HIDE IT. DO IT!

And I do.

Because when you see things like this?

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Well, how can you not have faith?

And speaking of faith, I know some of you are here because you have faith.

You believe.

And now you just want to know.

Who won the dang Lilly Pulitzer bag?

I know. Not the smoothest segue way.

Be cool.

I have to show you something first.

A couple of people sent me photographs to boost their odds of winning the Lilly bag. Each photo earned folks five points in addition to any points they might have accrued for leaving me comments, tweet and Facebook shares.

And now I have to share them with you!

Aimee Broussard is kind of like the Martha Stewart of the South. Except she’s younger. And perkier. And wicked nice. I met Aimee at BlissDom, and I developed an instant crush on her. She crafts. She bakes. She makes and sells fabulous aprons. If you want to see a gorgeous blog, look HERE. Y’all, Aimee cyber-pummeled me with pictures of all her Lilly-wear. She sent me this photo of herself and some hot plantation owner in Louisiana.

Aimee

Scarf, duly noted.

As if THAT wasn’t enough, she tweeted my post and sent this picture of her current handbag.

Aimee Handbag

More points

With her comments, her tweets, her Facebook shares and her photo submissions, Aimee earned twenty-eleventy-two and 1/2 bazillion points. If the contest had not been left up to Random Generator, I think it is fair to say, she would have been the clear winner.

And yet, Random Number Generator was running this show.

Because I knew I could never have been impartial on this one.

Also, I was scared. I didn’t know how out of control this thing was going to get.

~• • •~

Sheri Burns is not a blogger, but she often leaves kind words on my Facebook Page. She told me to be on the lookout because she was sending me a picture of her current handbag. She warned me not to laugh. I assured her I wouldn’t.

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Booty shot: 5 points

What can I say?

I laughed.

~• • •~

Misty of Misty’s Laws just wrote a faboosh guest post for me as part of my #SoWrong series.  (Check out “To Bra or Not to Bra” if you missed it.) Anyhoo, Misty submitted two photos of her purse. The second photo features a close-up of the “shreddedness” of her handbag, but I’m only posting the first one. You’ll have to believe me when I tell you there are puncture wounds in her purse.

Picture 8910

Another entry came from Maria of brickhousechick. I recently pressured  her into revealing her first name, which she did. She wrote a post about it HERE! Maria sent this pic:

Maria

And this paragraph:

Hello Renee:
Reasons  I would like to win the bag:

  1. I don’t own one
  2. I love everything  pink (as you can see by my sweater and lipstick), and her stuff always has pink in it!
  3. I need to replace the sad aluminum foil bag I have 
  4. I, too, have frizzy hair and iron it flat every day.
  5. I am nice
  6. I commented on your 1,101st Day in Blogosphere Blog 
  7. I commented on your Lilly Pulitzer Dress Post 
  8. I  enclosed a photo of myself holding something Lilly (kinda)
  9. I emailed an image of my sad aluminum foil bag. 
  10. I tweeted your post and am now following you
  11. I shared your post on Facebook 
  12. My name is Maria (hee hee)

I counted up all the entries as we went along, putting names on the appropriate number of lines in one Excel document. Then I let Random Number Generator do the work.

Sheri Burns was attached to #73. And how can we begrudge her, right? I mean she deserves a little Lilly, yes? So I’ve got your email already Sheri. I’ll email you to get your home address! Congratulations! And thank you to everyone who entered! I loved reading your words!

tweet me @rasjacobson

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