tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59904474249792218242024-03-13T23:14:50.862-04:00Small ConceitsThis is my space for musings, navel-gazing, and the occasionally poem or story. It's where I intend to play with words, entertain myself, and (hopefully) engage the occasional fellow-traveller. Not sure what that means? Me neither.Denise Dilworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07330118978845822208noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5990447424979221824.post-68125664806064584602012-10-28T22:16:00.000-04:002013-03-31T14:57:14.995-04:00The vinegar tasters
Frank and I face off. I move quickly toward him, a wooden practice knife -- or, tanto -- gripped firmly in my right hand. At the last moment before I enter Frank's space, I playfully switch the tanto to my left hand and jab him lightly in the ribs, throwing off his defense and forcing him to adapt his technique. Frank laughs and smiles that brilliant, open smile of his. "Thank you!" he Denise Dilworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07330118978845822208noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5990447424979221824.post-34233997478721484342012-10-21T22:22:00.000-04:002013-03-31T14:59:53.134-04:00In the land of giants: Sugar Bowl TrailThe ridge is the only place where I struggle a little to breathe. The altitude is part of it -- I'm approaching 7,000 feet -- but it's mostly the exertion of climbing the switchbacks up to a grove called The Sugar Bowl. The way is sometimes open and rocky, sometimes overhung with twisted, stunted oaks and a few pines of various species. There are overlooks here and there, previewing tomorrow's Denise Dilworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07330118978845822208noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5990447424979221824.post-19690898848890642472012-09-09T14:56:00.001-04:002012-09-09T14:56:14.729-04:00Unblocked: whew!I started noticing it a couple of weeks ago: I'm writing again.
The writing started sneaking up on me in various forms: Facebook posts, a FoldingStory entry or two, comments on others' blogs, emails to friends. Suddenly, there was a blog post for one of my other blogs.
And now this.
I have to admit, I'm relieved. I'm too skeptical to launch into a full-blown celebration, but I am hopeful Denise Dilworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07330118978845822208noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5990447424979221824.post-35722549902509037362012-02-29T21:24:00.001-05:002012-02-29T21:24:25.196-05:00A professional case of writer's blockSo, it's been a while since I've written anything out here. I've prepared my excuses:
I've been sick.
I've been busy.
I've been working a lot.
I had to find a new catalytic converter for my truck.
I went on vacation.
The holidays were crazy.
I suck at being disciplined.
Yeah. That. But the real reason is simply that I've been suffering from writer's block. In a turn of phrase from aDenise Dilworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07330118978845822208noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5990447424979221824.post-77192153545949139982011-05-23T15:59:00.000-04:002012-02-29T20:32:02.285-05:00Night of the Vampire ArmyPark rangers are among my favorite humans, and they are among the few people from whom I take orders. If they tell me to avoid a trail, I avoid it. If they tell me to watch out for rattlesnakes, I keep my eyes and ears peeled. If they tell me a particular trail leads to a spectacular view, you'd better believe I'll be right there with my camera at the time of day they tell me has the best light. Denise Dilworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07330118978845822208noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5990447424979221824.post-32670673494122684192011-05-16T20:50:00.000-04:002012-02-29T20:32:13.648-05:00Small ThingsEarly last week, someone stole the catalytic converter off of my truck, which was parked in the office lot.
For those of you who don't know, the catalytic converter is the part of a vehicle's exhaust system that converts polluting gases into less harmful emissions. It sits between the engine and the muffler. And it also, apparently, contains platinum -- the magnet drawing thieves to cut them Denise Dilworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07330118978845822208noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5990447424979221824.post-16026364768712657362011-04-22T17:50:00.000-04:002012-02-29T20:32:34.177-05:00Nightmare on BobrichI have a dirty little secret: I like horror films.
Not the ones that almost pass into the realm of pornography, but definitely psychological thrillers, some monster movies, a few slashers slashers, and a bunch of zombie flicks. As with most dirty little secrets, mine has its problems. Combined with an already over-active imagination, my appetite for horror can quickly spew yuckiness all Denise Dilworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07330118978845822208noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5990447424979221824.post-74027926590360592242011-04-16T12:41:00.000-04:002012-02-29T20:38:50.930-05:00To be or not to be -- Hamlet and the iPodMy favorite play (and movie) of all time is Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead by Tom Stoppard. One of the best lines in the play deals with the question of being. The two characters find themselves on a boat traveling to England, where they are to deliver a message from the King of Denmark to execute their best friend, Hamlet, as a favor to the Danish crown. They are beginning to have an Denise Dilworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07330118978845822208noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5990447424979221824.post-85686946346380316972010-11-06T15:50:00.000-04:002012-02-29T20:33:24.997-05:00Dowhill skiing in a space suitI've always loved winter. Sledding. Snowmen. Snowball fights. The silence of a snowy woods...
But I've never understood the allure of strapping boards to one's feet and hurling oneself off of a mountain. That is to say, downhill skiing.
Please understand, it's not for lack of trying. It might, however, be a lack of coordination on my part. And, perhaps, some scars I acquired on my first attemptDenise Dilworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07330118978845822208noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5990447424979221824.post-90309875336873850692010-10-06T23:17:00.000-04:002012-02-29T20:33:42.393-05:00Have you...uh...At one point in my long and illustrious college career, I thought I wanted to be a sign language interpreter. My very first American Sign Language class in college was taught by a Deaf man, Dennis -- who also happened to be gorgeous. New language. New culture. Distracting professor. Perfect.
As with any language, small nuances are all that separate one word or sign from another. A slight change Denise Dilworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07330118978845822208noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5990447424979221824.post-57935862827099826322010-10-03T16:43:00.000-04:002012-02-29T20:34:15.180-05:00Mr. NieceIn my early 20s, after working for 6 years for Coca-Cola, I decided to go back to school and finish the bachelor's degree I'd barely started. I had it in my head that I should be an elementary school teacher. I loved kids, right? And I compulsively taught people things, right? (Read: bossy, annoying know-it-all who liked to play on jungle-gyms.)
Handily, I'd become good friends with a Denise Dilworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07330118978845822208noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5990447424979221824.post-23452490965709262012010-09-30T22:30:00.000-04:002012-02-29T20:34:31.228-05:00Sleep depravedMy friends Jerry and Dan were hanging out in my cube at work one day a couple of weeks ago, and Dan's major contribution to the conversation was some aimless babbling, followed by a yawn. Jerry's major contribution?:
"Dan, you seem sleep-depraved."
That cracked me right up. I knew he meant "sleep depr-I-ved," but the flub was too good to go unremarked. It held a hallowed place onDenise Dilworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07330118978845822208noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5990447424979221824.post-80140130791608503832010-09-29T22:30:00.000-04:002012-02-29T20:34:52.051-05:00Masters of understatementI have a friend whose last words on this earth will likely be "uh" and "oh." No expletive or gasp or shriek. Just "uh-oh."
Nothing freezes my heart like those two syllables falling out of Rob's mouth. "Uh-oh" is the harbinger of impending doom. Death. Dismemberment. Something that's really going to sting.
I've personally never mastered the art of understatement. I'm no hysteric, Denise Dilworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07330118978845822208noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5990447424979221824.post-49640362623168286912010-09-25T13:16:00.000-04:002011-05-16T20:58:41.298-04:00Hot chocolate -- and moreby Charles L. Dilworth
I served as a Marine in my early twenties. While at Camp Lejuene I was assigned as a Duty NCO one weekend. The Duty NCO's responsibility was to keep a watchful eye on the barracks and make sure the Marines returning from a night on the town got into their bunks without doing any harm to themselves or to others. The biggest challenge was that of trying to Denise Dilworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07330118978845822208noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5990447424979221824.post-30244764152346133242010-09-22T20:53:00.000-04:002011-05-16T20:55:53.994-04:00Thrift store miracleby Mary Beth Hetrick
It was fifty percent off day at the Salvation army. As a sociologist, watching the people shopping was facinating...after all school starts tomorrow and not all children can go to the mall, or even Kmart. Money is tight.
One family was there with a crisp 10 bill for each child, and the kids were entertained for over an hour shopping for a back to school pair of pants and Denise Dilworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07330118978845822208noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5990447424979221824.post-44717328253669944292010-09-18T17:18:00.000-04:002012-02-29T20:35:37.616-05:00What is that buzzing sound?by Charles L. Dilworth
I guess I was always fascinated by nearly everything in the natural world. As a young boy, hardly an insect, bird, butterfly or animal was ignored by my inquiring mind. Those were the times before, DDT when the fields were practically alive with butterflies of all shapes, sizes and colors. At night, thousands of little yellow lanterns of the “lightning bugs” blinked at us.Denise Dilworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07330118978845822208noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5990447424979221824.post-19597487012730754662010-09-12T15:27:00.000-04:002010-09-12T15:27:22.781-04:00Guest bloggers are coming!Over the years I've had the pleasure of knowing folks who are able to take tiny glimpses of their lives and turn them into wonderful stories. Some of these stories are about direct experiences. Some are observations of the people and events around them.
I've asked two of my favorites to contribute to this blog. You'll soon be reading stories written by my best friend and my father. These are Denise Dilworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07330118978845822208noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5990447424979221824.post-71159210512511018592010-09-11T21:31:00.000-04:002011-05-16T20:58:41.299-04:00Warning: woman hiking aloneGetting out into nature has always been an important part of my mental, emotional, and spiritual well-being. It's where I go to disconnect from my day-to-day life and re-connect with those parts of me that I hold dear. Hiking and backpacking are spiritual pursuits for me, my version of a "walk-about" or a vision quest. I learn a lot about myself while I'm pushing my body, paying Denise Dilworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07330118978845822208noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5990447424979221824.post-34354790854966727912010-09-04T19:47:00.000-04:002011-05-16T20:58:41.300-04:00Farewell to August -- and good riddance!
I've watered
and staked
and pruned
and pulled
and mulched
and still...
I can't stop
the relentless spread
of August
------
I recently told a friend, "I don't know what made me think I could live in Indiana." It's not that the state doesn't have its charms. Indianapolis has theater, big and small: the Indiana Repertory Theater, The Phoenix, and Theater on the Square (or TOTS, as it's Denise Dilworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07330118978845822208noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5990447424979221824.post-59889851640207823632010-08-20T21:00:00.000-04:002012-02-29T20:36:15.100-05:00Out-running bison in North DakotaA few years ago, my friend, Mary, and I took off on an adventure to follow the part of the Lewis and Clark Trail starting in Bismark North Dakota and extending to the North Dakota Badlands.
At the end of our trip, we did some hiking in the Theodore Roosevelt National Park. I'd been to the Badlands of South Dakota -- had even done some solo backpacking and camping there -- but I'd never seen Denise Dilworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07330118978845822208noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5990447424979221824.post-17986194889254812022010-08-19T21:00:00.000-04:002012-02-29T20:36:38.239-05:00Karma and the ride homeI have a Golden Retriever, Sachi. Like all Goldens, Sachi's a happy, energetic dog, and I love her for those reasons. One of the things I love best is watching her run. She's beautiful -- her long, silky hair rippling, her lean body low to the ground... I take her off-leash as often as possible so I can watch her flow around trees, leap over rocks, and stop just long enough to sniff something Denise Dilworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07330118978845822208noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5990447424979221824.post-90512038580256401612010-08-18T21:00:00.000-04:002012-02-29T20:37:07.688-05:00Sometimes, I'm invisibleI'm out for dinner, drinking a couple of beers with a friend. I excuse myself to use the restroom, do what I need to do, wash my hands, and approach the paper towel dispenser to dry them.
Crap! It's one of those motion-detector dispensers.
I wave my hand in front of it. Nothing.
I move closer and wave again. Nothing.
I wave harder. I back up and wave. I move my hand toward, then away Denise Dilworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07330118978845822208noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5990447424979221824.post-59171066302103998792010-08-17T20:29:00.000-04:002012-02-29T20:37:46.472-05:00My first cell phone...and white slaveryI remember my first cell phone... No, it's not something I wax sentimental about. In fact, I got it under duress in preparation for a solo backpacking and camping trip in South Dakota's Black Hills and Badlands.
Friends were already concerned about my choice to "go it alone" in the harsh environment of the Badlands, but when Jenni noted that my trip coincided with the end of the yearly Denise Dilworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07330118978845822208noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5990447424979221824.post-80230121745580986032010-08-16T21:00:00.000-04:002010-08-16T21:00:00.176-04:00Creating a brandOne of the first mistakes I plan to make out here in the Blogosphere is one involving branding.
"Branding" refers to how one distinguishes oneself, how we present ourselves to the world and what meaning we make of that representation. Think "trademarking." Think Nike and Gatorade and Disney. Think Mother Jones and The Onion and The Economist.
Branding also refers to burning a mark Denise Dilworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07330118978845822208noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5990447424979221824.post-16990370511718344482010-08-15T19:46:00.000-04:002010-08-15T19:46:57.800-04:00For my first conceit...Pardon me while I publicly figure this blogging thing out.
I'm a Luddite Lite. It's not that I believe technology has no place in our lives; it's just that I try to limit its place in mine. I was TV-free for five years, until a frustrated friend gave me the 1999 model he was replacing with a flat-screened modern marvel -- along with the little card that would allow me to purchase a hi-def Denise Dilworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07330118978845822208noreply@blogger.com1