Clover Autrey

It's Sunday Morning. I'm teaching the young womens group about Testimony today and I just don't want to go. I will, just like I went last week and the week before and every week for the past year and a half when all I've wanted to do is fade away and never set foot in that building again.

I didn't realize when we held Chase's funeral there because it was so much bigger and nicer than the funeral home, that every time I walked into the chapel I would still see the flowers and his coffin there. I didn't know I'd never be able to sit in the RS room without thinking about how his viewing was right there in the spot rows of folding chairs are now set out. Women chat among themselves in the same spot where my dead child's body was laid out. It's surreal. I see my children look at their brother for the last time, afraid to approach too close. I see too many things.

Church is painful. Even with the time that has passed, it's painful. Guess you can't put a time limit on grief. I don't want to go. I don't want to teach. But I will and hope for the day that we move and I can walk into a different church building without any memories...

I'm on a throw-out-unnecessary junk phase. I love doing this. Anti-clutter me. (How I want to be. The reality: I live with 4 males.)  So I'm in my closet, going through clothes, and I look at the rainbow. Yes, my closet is color-coded. Blacks and browns together. Whites alone. Pinks & purples, then blues and greens. Not a hint of yellow because I don't care for it. Reminds me of puke and snot and makes me look sallow.

Geez, you'd think I'm trying to be charmingCharlies. 

But anyway, it dawns on me that I am a tad up-tight in some things. Even in my writing. I am a Plotter. I have to have all my details and scenes lined up in pretty little color-coded rows, and will stare at a blank pad of paper, twiddling my pen if I don't know beforehand where my scene is going. Free-writing-spirit I am not.   

Though sometimes I'd like to just let my story go where it's going to go. I do envy writers with that Pantser's Spirit. (A Pantser: a writer with the ability to write by the seat of her pants.)

Ah, well, plotting works for me so I'm going to stick with it. Just like I'm going to keep my closet system. It makes me happy.

So what does your closet look like?

Note: So as I'm writing this, Pat goes and puts a red shirt right in the middle of my whites and strolls by my desk, grinning.

I'll admit chick-flicky types of books aren't the first books I reach for. I can count on one hand, minus the thumb, how many I've read, but I adored Ella so dove into her book right away.

And fell in love with her Brit living in Texas character Josie Jenkins. At first Josie is a bit of a mess, but she's hilarious and muddles through until some experiences, some tragic and heartfelt, she discovers herself.

It didn't make me fall in love with chick-flicks or want to start seeking them out, but I'm really glad I read this one and will definitely read anything else Ella writes.

And as a bonus, I learned a bunch of new English words and phrases. Some, I'm still guessing at the meaning.

Snogged
Pinny
Shiving off (sluffing, I think)
Charty (bad aftertaste)
Dodgy
Beavered (worked hard)
A bit full on (over the top)
Flumped (flopped? as in flopped onto the sofa)
Chuttering (muttering)
Hoiked up (hiked up her skirt?)
Tip (mess)
Trollied (drunk)
Cor
Faffed about
Was glutted
Plonker
In Queue (standing in line)
Knackered (tired)
Well-turned-out  (looks nice?)
Windscreen (windshield)
Motorway (highway)
Gob-smacked
Nipped (went)
Sniggered
Fob off (don't BS me)
Crumpets
Barmy (crazy?)
Hire care (rental car)
Long slog
Gawping (oogling?)
Prat
Naff
Naff
Bit of a waller (screw-up)