Hi-Ho Webbies!

So another year with basically no post. I’m sorry! But hey at least I got in one, right?

Over the past year Kitlet #1 has started kindergarten, which is a mixed bag. He’s doing just fine, better then fine at his reading, but is having a harder time maturity-wise. Sitting still and keeping quiet are poison evidently. We’re working on it though.

A big thing for the whole family was a Christmas trip to Disneyland. It was crowded, but wonderful. Kitlet #2 loved the fireworks and snow, and ‘Da Fox loved the turkey legs. 🙂 The trip was made even more wonderful by our rental condo owned by the fabulous Britta Wagner. It is highly recommended!

I’ve started to go more by Zenbry, and less by Stara over the last year. Just an FYI for everyone. The other handle is just taken too often.

So the writing prompt I pulled this week was “Every Sunday”. I liked this one. It’s short (295 words), but I made myself smile.

Every Sunday I end up covered in sweat.

I mean I try, I really do to listen to those long, long, loooooooong sermons telling me what I need to do. Who I need to be. The tenants I need to hold fast to. But I’m fifteen. I’m a young man filled with life, and energy, and passion. Not some dried up, centuries old creature. I’ve read that “Good Book”. I know this stuff down pat at this point. So I start to fidget.

It generally starts out with my foot tapping. Because the soles of my feet really want to be out dancing, so instead I tap them. A simple beat. Basic and regular. Nothing to attract my mama’s ire. This leads to tapping my fingers on my thigh in a counterpoint rhythm.

You have to understand… The simple rhythm of one foot is almost as boring as the sermon. I need to add in the counterpoint to make things interesting. To make things flow. It’s really hard to do this though. At least it is for me. My foot starts wanting to follow the more complex patterns of my one, quiet little finger. In order to stop that from happening, I have to close my eyes and bob my head in time to the tapping foot.

This let’s me concentrate you see.

Except I get too into the beating, pulsing bass line in my head. The percussive music coming from my soul overwhelms me. I start slapping my hand on my thigh, pounding my feet in the ground, living my dance.

Then my mama slaps my arm and tells me to stop embarrassing her. To go run laps until they get out of church.

And so every Sunday I end up covered in sweat.

So that’s it my darlings. I’ll try to update a little more frequently.

Keep surfing Webbies, and may all your imaginings be fertile!

— Zenbry