Rebekah Speaks

"Mother," I said. "I just have to shake out some cobwebs. I'm going for a run. See ya later." With that, I jumped into my running clothes and headed into the night. Earlier today, Mother and I arrived at the Montrose Writers Conference. The opening session was inspiring with the promise of a strong conference. But still, my travel over the last two days had plucked my last nerve and infringed on my run time. The evening was beautiful, the quaint village streets quiet, the open road begging me to come. It felt good. Really good. There is something special about night running. It caresses and cradles. It offers a false, but pleasant, sensation of speed. It lures you down the lane, up the next hill, around the curve, soaking in the smell of freshly cut grass, the fragrance of wildflowers, and the crunch of gravel beneath your feet. But, sometimes it's really dark. Yes, at 10:30 pm one expects darkness. But often, a glimmer of a streetlight or even the m

Let's assume you are a "normal" person. You get up around 6:30 or 7, grab a bowl of cereal and savor your favorite joe. Off to work you go. Or, perhaps you have errands to run, kids to cart, and groceries to fetch. Sometime mid-day, you grab something for lunch as the afternoon bids more activity. You might even get in a run. "Ah..." Now, doesn't that make you feel accomplished? With dinner time approaching, preparations are made, food consumed and as the sun lowers into the horizon, you relax with an after-dinner coffee and some TV or light reading. Soon enough, you glance at the clock and realize that you need to do the going-to-bed dance: wash up, brush teeth and hair (if you have any), put on your jammies. . .all while making mental note about the coming day. In between the covers you slip, clean and content after all the busyness. zzz's come quickly. Now, pretend you are Jennifer Pharr-Davis. At the young age of 26, you are already an accomplish

So many of you seem to be interested in projects done around my house; from giant dandelions painted on the wall and carpets painted on the floor, to massive sunroom do-overs and new fishponds. I am hoping to add a section to this blog to share some creativity and ideas for projects on-the-cheap. Stay tuned...it's coming soon.

Statistics are interesting tidbits. Some say that you can make statistics say anything you want. That might be true. I've been interested in a few stats of my own. Thank goodness for software developers who make compiling stats easy for knuckleheads like me. A click of a button on this blog tells me all kinds of things; how many page views, the most popular stories (and which ones were miserable fails), the URL sources that guide readers to the site, and where those readers are from geographically, among other things. Not sure these numbers are life changers but they are interesting. Within spitting distance of 9000 blog views, it's hard to believe that so many are reading what I have to say. It's humbling to know that. Most of the readers are from the USA. But who could have guessed that the country with the second most views is Russia. Yes, Russia. That seems strange but strange is sometimes true. I am thankful to those who are faithful readers and commentators. T

With the rain last night and high humidity, the morning was slow in awakening, holding at bay the summer sun that beats down mercilessly. The misty morning held dew drops in suspended animation while the wet grass relished the moisture. It was a silent, still world. A world that seemed to be quiet and content. And then I saw them. Spiderwebs. Huge, complex spiderwebs. At least seven of them spread between some trees in the yard. With the wind gently blowing, they looked like ethereal garden ornaments floating in mid-air. I marveled at their strength to hold together despite the breeze. Even more so, I couldn't believe how some of the webs, suspended gracefully between trees perhaps thirty feet apart, were anchored by single strands of filament to key points on the ground or among the branches. "Was one spider responsible for all this work?" I wondered. Each of the webs seemed to be connected, spanning about 150 feet all together. Impressive. I wish I would have taken