Ties Abinding

My baby cousin is getting married this coming Saturday. J is nine years and eleven months younger than I, and the nearest thing I have to a brother. He is not my only cousin, but he is the one I have the closest ties with. Although my extended family is large, I grew up with only two aunts nearby, and only one had a child. He and my younger sister were especially close as kids, being less than two years apart.

A lot of family are gathering this coming weekend for the wedding. Some of them have never ventured more than 50-100 miles from home, so that tells you that this is a big deal. Partly it's because J is an only child. Most of the rest of them come from families of 5 or 6 kids, and I often think that the younger ones get the short end of the stick because by the time their big moment - be it wedding, graduation, or new babies - comes along their older siblings have already been there and done that and I think the extended family doesn't always make as big a deal out of it.

Probably I should explain what is meant by "extended family." Here's the deal: my mother comes from a family of 8 kids. Her oldest sister had 5 kids; the next oldest sister had 5 kids; the oldest brother had 5 kids; my mom, only two; the four younger siblings are 0, 3, 1, and 0. So that's 19 cousins just on my mom's side.

My dad was the baby of 4, but his sibs did their part to populate the world. His oldest sister had 4, his older brother 4, and his next older sister had 6 kids. That makes 14 cousins on my dad's side, or a whopping total of 33 in my generation alone. And I'm not even going to get into their kids and their kids' kids.

J appears to be the last of my generation to be getting married. Okay, there's me, and one or two other cousins about my age who are holding out; but we're a bit set in our ways at this point and nobody seems to be expecting announcements from us. J is also well liked in the family, and his wedding may be the last really good excuse for a clan gathering on my mom's side; so I think more people than usual are making the effort, even though it means going out into the big, bad suburbs.

I'm anticipating some family stories, and I'm also thinking that this might be a good time to get some of them written down. We'll see. Stay tuned.

Stuff ... and Nonsense?

In my quest to organize my real space in an effort to organize my head space, I've been clearing out drawers and closets. Slowly, to be sure. Baby steps. But little by little I'm making headway.

If asked, I would have said that I'm not a collector. Of anything. No stamps, or pincushions, or thimbles, spoons, china ... nope, not me. I have lots of books, but I'm not collecting them. Collectors worry about first editions and condition and so forth. I'm only concerned that all the pages are present and accounted for, and not stuck together. I also find myself buying lots of yarn, but that's because I intend to use it, not display it.

But for all that I don't deliberately collect anything, I do find that there are things I have an awful lot of. Containers, for instance. Cardboard, tin, ceramic, whatever, I can't seem to get rid of them. And not particularly special ones either. I mean, I'm not oohing and ahing because I have a limited edition pillbox or anything. It's just that once a box with lid comes into my environment, I can't let go of it. I'm sure I'll find the perfect use for it and if I do get rid of it, probably come to regret doing so at some point in the future. They're useful, which gives me a perfectly good excuse for saving them. If, in fact, they actually got used. Mostly they get forgotten about until I need to clean out a closet or drawer and then ...

It could be a kind of metaphor, now that I think about it. I have a need to be organized that conflicts with my inability to avoid clutter. Maybe, subconsciously, I view boxes as a compromise, being things in which I can organize and store the clutter. Except the boxes themselves have become clutter which then needs to be organized. Probably I need a box for my boxes. Oh wait, I have one. It's called a house.

Which brings me back to square one. I'm working on it.

Yes We Can DID

... let it be said by our children's children that when we were tested, we refused to let this journey end, that we did not turn back nor did we falter; and with eyes fixed on the horizon and God's grace upon us, we carried forth that great gift of freedom and delivered it safely to future generations.

President Barack Obama, January 20, 2009.

There were many great moments during the inauguration of President Barack Obama yesterday. But more than anything else he said, what struck me was the way he reminded us that while our cultural, religious and ethnic backgrounds are varied, we as Americans have one common responsibility. The future.

It was an historic day for a lot of reasons, and it's not my intention to diminish any of them. But the truth is that every inauguration is historic, because every time someone takes that oath of office, someone else relinquishes that power. We've done this 43 times now. Barack Obama is the 44th President to take that oath of office, which means that 43 men before him have stepped aside. Over 200 years ago when our founding fathers started this experiment in government, it may not have seemed like much. But yesterday the eyes and ears of the world were upon us as responsibility for leading the most powerful nation on the planet was transferred from one man to another.

Peacefully.

That in itself is a gift we give to the future. Let us never take it for granted.

It's a Classic

As a rule I go quite a long time between movies simply because I'd rather be reading. I honestly don't think most movies are worth giving up my free time for. I'm not anti-cinema, it's just that today's movies tend too much towards gratuitious everything - profanity, nudity, gore - and rely on a sort of potty humor popular among adolescent males. Since I'm neither a male nor an adeolescent, I just find it dumb. There are a handful of exceptions, but I generally prefer old movies. What with less sophisticated special effects and more stringent censorship (no, I'm not advocating censorship), film makers from by-gone times relied a lot more on imagination - theirs and ours, both - and in my opinion that's why so many of the oldies are still goodies. Of course, "old" is relative. I like Bogey and Bacall, Hepburn and Tracey. But I also enjoy Redford and Redgrave. In the last few weeks I've watched The Sting, The Untouchables, The Great Escape, and The Stand. I've watched them all before, but that doesn't matter.

• The Sting is wonderful because (a) it's got Robert Redford and Paul Newman, and (b) it's got some great twists in the plot that delight me everytime I watch it. Everything about it says "let's have fun" right from the start.
• The Untouchables is a great cops and robbers flick. It has Costner before he let fame go to his head, and Sean Connery's in fine form as an old-timer beat cop. Also, notably, a very young Andy Garcia and everyone's favorite bad guy, Robert de Niro. I've heard this one mistakenly described as a "gang" movie. pffbbbt. Fugetaboutit. This is not about some turf-happy punks trying to be tough. It was da mob, people.
• The Great Escape. Not a lot of people know that this movie was based on a true story. Not a happy ending, so you don't watch this one if you want happily ever after. Still, it's got that triumph-of-the-human-spirit thing going for it. And what a cast. Steve McQueen, James Garner, and James Coburn just to name a few.
• And The Stand, based on the Stephen King novel. King also wrote the teleplay, which is probably why it was so well done. Don't wait for a network re-airing, though; too much is cut out to make room for commercials and it loses something in the continuity. The original broadcast of the mini series, though, is about as true to the book as any movie could be, and the book is among my all time favorites. Talk about classic good v. evil. And Gary Sinise, too. I think what made this book so perfect, and what held true in the movie version, is that nothing was wasted. Every character, every plot turn, has a purpose. And the big showdown is about as perfect a climactic ending as you could ever ask for.

In retrospect, it's pretty clear that I was in the mood for some good guys v. bad guys stories. And even if these movies don't all come with happy endings, they do have some good guys kicking ass. Sometimes you need that.

Burrowing In

After spending a good part of the last year running to and fro and having a darned good time in the process, I've finally worked it out of my system, I think. One might even say that I achieved Inner Peach. I had a grand time and am looking forward to more grand times yet to come. But I am, by nature, a homebody, a nester.

That seems to be the phase I'm in just now. I'm burrowing in at home, cleaning house and getting more organized. We're not talking about a whirl wind of activity here. Whirl winding is not my natural state, although I can do it for a while when necessary. My natural state is a lot more thoughtful and cautious. My natural state likes being tidy, but also enjoys curling up quietly with a book. My natural state doesn't like to rush. I asked it, and it said, quite clearly, "No hurry, whenever." In fact, my natural state embraces quiet time. I am Getting Things Done, however.

Take, for instance, the closet cleaning the other weekend. I also finally got the ugly, broken old shade on the front window replaced with new blinds. And I've started on the cupboard under the stairs. That's going to be a longer project because it's more about better organizing the space than just clearing out. That's okay, all in good time. And one of these days I'm going to actually get the hallway repainted. I even got some paint chips a while back. Probably it's going to be green. Yes, definitely green. Which particular shade of green requires a little more thought. I don't like to rush into these things.

And the plumbing in the basement toilet needs replacing. A new flapper isn't going to do it this time. Since it is the basement toilet and doesn't get used much, there is no urgency. But it's on my list.

Also, I need a new deck. The old one has suffered the elephants for more than 20 years and it shows. Boards are badly splitered and/or warped. It's not a hazard at the moment but it will be if I don't do something about it. I think that will have to be my priority project for next year. And no, it will not be a DIY project. I don't mind weilding a hammer, but I draw the line at hauling lumber. And, because of the landscaping behind my back fence, probably the lumber will have to be brought in through the house. Oh, that will be fun.

This fall I'm going to prune back the shrubs in front of the house. Those shrubs have not looked good for a long time and, in truth, probably need pulled out and replaced. But (a) replacing will cost money, and (b) I have no idea what to replace them with. If it's taking me forever to choose paint for the hallway, you surely don't think I'm going to rush on landscaping, do you? In the meantime, they need cut back so that some sun can get to the ground in front of the bushes. Then I'll put down more seed and possibly get grass growing there again.

And while I'm at it, I might take care of the tree limbs that are reaching for the gutters. The trimming I did a few months ago focused on the lower branches on the sidewalk side of the yard. For the other branches I'll need to break out the ladder. And probably have someone handy to spot me because reaching overhead with a long pole whilst balanced on a ladder is not something that should be done without assistance. I'll get to it. Eventually. It's on the list.

At least I have a list. It's a good start.

Memories, like the corners of my ... thing up there in the skull, you know what I mean

I used to have a great memory. I used to be able to bring up exactly the right word when I was talking. Heck, I used to be able to recite the entire plot and character arcs for every book I'd ever read. And that's saying something. And it wasn't so long ago either.

There was a time when I could juggle fifty different details. I was On Top Of Things. I was the go-to person for tracking a dozen threads and never got a one tangled. I was good. I'm still good, for that matter; I just have to write every blessed thing down now. No more storing them up in my thingie. And yes, proper nouns were the first to go.

I used to think it was funny, the things that my parents couldn't remember. Like how old they were. Geez, how could you forget something like that? These days I'm doing the math, just like my dad used to do. Good thing it doesn't require long division or I'd never know. Bits of conversation are temporarily misplaced, too. A friend will say "didn't I tell you?" And I'll say "no, I don't think so." But then a week later the entire former conversation will pop up to the front of my brain. The odd thing about that is that it will come out entirely out of context with whatever I'm focused on at the time.

No, it's not dementia or Alzheimer's or any of those other dreaded things that we all fear. A lot of it has to do with time and energy. I don't seem to have as much of either as I used to, and probably my brain is getting sloppy as a result and isn't sorting and filing information as diligently as it used to. The other thing is that I'm older and there are simply more memories for my brain to store than there used to be. I was thinking about that just this past weekend as I was cleaning out a closet. There was so much junk that had migrated to the back of the closet floor, stuff that's totally useless and why wasn't it thrown out in the first place? Old empty hangers that had worked their way to the far left end of the rod, one garment at a time. Empty boxes. A mateless winter glove. A leg warmer - just one. Where the heck did that come from?

The closet got that way because of my own bad habits. I've got clutter issues. I'm always sure that I'm going to find a use for this whateveritis that is still perfectly good. Like one leg warmer? Probably I threw the other one away already thinking, like Romeo, that its mate was already gone when all along she was just sleeping in the back corner of the closet.

So what does all of this have to do with my memory issues? The back of my mind, like my closet, has become the repository for all sorts of things that have long outlived their usefullness. It's interesting the way it works. I find one lost leg warmer in the back of my closet and I wonder what the heck I was thinking. But if I pull out a phone number from childhood, I marvel that I still hold onto it. And what really is the difference? The difference is that I can clear out all that clutter from my closet; what's in my brain will stay there, only surfacing when, as with that lost bit of conversation, I'm looking for something else entirely.

Maybe the trick is to get my real space more organized. Maybe then my brain space will relax and follow along. I'll be able to pull what I want to the surface more readily. First I need to find the time and the energy. And a really big trash bag.

Look Out!

I have control issues. I've talked about this before. It's the reason I don't volunteer and the reason I won't be in charge of anything. Put me in charge and I'll turn into a tyrant, screeching that people are doing it wrong, wrong, wrong. This is not only unpleasant for people around me, it's also not a whole lot of fun for me. My blood pressure skyrockets, steam comes out of my ears, my heart races ... and I don't like feeling that way. So I try to avoid putting myself into those situations. It's best for everyone concerned. What does this have to do with the title of my post?

Sometimes avoiding those situations is very difficult. There are people in my life that I care a great deal about, and it pains me to watch them make bad decisions. My concern for them meets up with my control tendencies and it's like this double whammy hitting me. If I saw someone was about to step into the path of an oncoming bus, I would naturally yell out a warning. When I see people I care about making choices that I know will just create more problems down the road, or that will make their lives more difficult than necessary, that same instinct kicks in and it's all I can do not to jump in front of the speeding bus of their decisions and knock them out of the way. And they wouldn't appreciate it. People never do. I'm pretty sure I would feel the same way. So what am I supposed to do?

One sure-fire solution would be to eliminate the problem by eliminating the people. From my life that is. Okay, not really; but it's a recurring fantasy I have. My other little dream is the one where I just start smacking people upside the head until they stop screwing around and start doing things my way which is the right way IF THEY WOULD ONLY ADMIT IT! Which would probably bring my first fantasy to life.

Again, I ask you, what am I supposed to do? I don't know if it's the right answer, but I have developed a philosophy. All I can do is remind people to look both ways before crossing the street, advise them to take care not to trip and fall, and then back away and hope for the best.

It's a hard-won philosophy and doesn't do much for my peace of mind, really. Sometimes I still need to vent, to talk to someone who will listen and understand that my words are not an expression of criticism but of concern. If you happen to be one of the people I've vented to, thank you for listening. I'm blessed to have a few people like that in my life. And just smart enough to know how lucky I am.

And that's why, inspite of the lure that first fantasy still has for me, I haven't actually resorted to the second. But please, for me, when you go out into the world I would really appreciate it if you would be careful. Look both ways; don't run with scissors, and call and let me know that you have arrived safely.

Desperately Seeking

Lost: Inner Peach. If found, please return to owner.

I had it here somewhere just recently, I know I did. And then I turned around and it was gone. Pfffttt! Just like that. But it's my own fault. I wasn't keeping a close enough eye on it. I got lax and lazy. I got comfortable thinking it would just always be there when I needed it. And now it's gone and I'm not even sure when it happened. I'm hoping this is just a bid for attention. I'm hoping that if I show true remorse and make a real effort to change my ways, that Inner Peach will come back to me.

My new plan is to retrace my steps and see if I can figure out just what went wrong. I can't fix it until I can identify it, yes? I think I see part of the problem already. Too much clutter. I've been letting other people leave their issues in my head, trying to be a helpful, caring person, you know? But they just leave them there! They just dump them and go on about their merry business, leaving me to sort it all out and find someplace to store it all. I don't have that kind of room in my head. I barely have room enough for my own issues. I don't mind helping out, really I don't. But angst and insecurity are like guests and fish ... they start to stink up the place after a while. I mean, most of this is not even my mess, and yet I'm losing sleep over it. No wonder Inner Peach left.

It's even possible that Inner Peach isn't gone, just misplaced temporarily in the mess. So I'm going to spend a little 'quality time' reorganizing. I've got my boxes ready: Box 1 is for stuff that just needs put back in its proper perspective; box 2 is for old stuff that no longer has a place in my life and that I just need to get rid of; lastly, box 3 which is for other people's junk. I should probably alert them to come collect what truly belongs to them; except it occurs to me that in all this time if they haven't noticed that it was missing, its possible that I was placing more importance on this stuff than they were. No, I shall round up all those stray issues and problems from every dusty corner of my psyche and get rid of it all. Maybe I can find someone else to take them on. Someone, there's always someone, who takes pleasure in worrying about other people's problems. One man's trash is another man's treasure?

The trick will be to take it step by step and not let myself get overwhelmed by the size of the job. I can break it down into zones, maybe. First this relative, then that friend. Or maybe I'll start by sweeping out all those current events droppings left all over the floor. There are people who are paid to think about this stuff, why don't I just leave them to it?

Okay, I've got a plan. You know, I feel better already.

The Revolution That Isn't

There was an article today in the Washington Post about an invention called the Book Ripper. Apparently if you have lots of money and nothing else to do with your time, you can buy this device and use it to copy your home library into a digital format. Pointing to the Napster hullaballoo of a few years ago, the author of the article questioned whether the publishing industry was worried about wide-spread pirating. The answer from the publishing industry is: not so much.

And really, why should they? There is a market for digital book readers, but that market is fairly small. Although publishing has been offering books in digital format for years, readers have been fairly slow to jump on the bandwagon. The reasons are many. In the past reading a book digitally has meant dealing with eletronic scrolling, awkward font sizes, screen glare and so on. But the electronics industry keeps trying. Amazon.com recently joined in with its much ballyhooed Kindle which it markets as (and I kid you not) a "New Wireless Reading Device." Um, not exactly a new idea. I think they call those things BOOKS.

And therein lies the reason that the publishing industry is not worried about pirating. Books might not have whiz-bang gimicry to entice techno-geeks, but that's about all they lack. Think about it. The Kindle measures 7.5" x 5.3", or roughly the size of a paperback novel. So it's not going to win over readers based on size. It's supposed to weigh only 10.3 ounces. I don't have a scale handy for my latest read, but I feel fairly confident that the weight of the average paperback is comparable. Unlike an electronic reader of any kind, a book doesn't require batteries or a power adapter. You don't need to tinker with a scroll setting because you turn the pages when you're ready. And most books are remarkably sturdy, even the paperback versions. I have quite a collection of my own and they've held up through several rereads over more than 20 years ... heck some are probably twice that old. How long, you have to wonder, will that nifty $400 electronic thingie last you?

When you really think about it, the only upside of digital readers is that they can hold the contents of several books. Perhaps helpful for academics and researchers; but personally I'm usually only reading one book at any given moment. I may be in the middle of several books, but I usually keep them where I am mostly likely to reading them: the paperback in my totebag for reading on the subway, a hardback next to the livingroom chair, and something of a nonfiction nature at my bedside. The nice thing is, they stay right where I need them. That's another downside to e-readers that I can see: you would have to cart the thing around with you from room to room; you can't leave it at the bedside when you leave for work in the morning or you won't have anything to read on the subway.

And just try to use that button covered plastic thingie to even up table legs, or press flowers. I bet you can't tuck a photo or recipe inside for safekeeping, either.

Listening to the voices in my head

I have a good life. I have good people in my life and I've made some good decisions in the past. From the outside I think it sometimes appears to other people as if I've just been lucky. I think we make our own luck. And I think most people could be 'lucky' if they listened less to their ego and more to their inner voice.

So much of life is timing. Too many people are in a hurry, as if having everything now will bring them happiness. Nuts. Happiness has little to do with what you have or don't have, it's all about appreciating the now. Having a new car is fun; it has nothing to do with happiness. And if you rush out and buy that new car with no patience or planning, you could come to regret that rash purchase down the road. Where would that leave you? Decidedly less happy.

I've been there. I've jumped on bandwagons and rushed into decisions that ultimately were not in my best interests. Chalk that up to life experience. And from those bad decisions I've learned a few things. I've learned that it's okay to want those nice new things as long as I'm willing to be patient. If I listen when that inner voice says "not yet" instead of listening to my ego say "oooh, shiny" I might wait longer for what I want, but I'll be happier with it in the long run. Because eventually that inner voice will reward me by saying "now." The ego might get me into trouble, but the inner voice hasn't steered me wrong yet.

The ego is tricky and tempting. It will always be pushing you towards the quick fix, the easy way out, the immediate gratification. Ego is the serpent in the garden, seductively waving that apple in front of Eve's nose and hissing "why not?" It's been a few, what, millenia? And you'd think we would have learned something from that, and all the other snakes and apples that have come along. I've always wondered about that story. I've wondered what would have happened if Eve hadn't listened to the serpent and in turn tempted Adam. I think it's possible that, if they had resisted, God would have let them have the apples eventually without punishment. Maybe, if they had just been willing to wait, they could have had the apples and been able to stay in the garden too. We'll never know, but you have to wonder.

Or maybe I'm the only who hears that voice. I hope not.

The Big Brouhaha

You've heard, I'm sure of the big storm over the books of Cassie Edwards who allegedly - although there doesn't seem to be much doubt - committed plagiarism. If you haven't heard about it you are probably a member of an obscure tribe on an obscure island in an obscure ocean ... and possibly living in an obscure cave. As I said, there doesn't seem to be too much doubt about it, but I'm not going into all that because, to paraphrase Honest Abe and the Gettysburg Address, it's been discussed far beyond my poor powers to add or detract. Plagiarism is bad. It is theft of someone else's work, their words and their research, their efforts. So it's just wrong. But I think there is a larger issue here that everyone seems to be missing.

Although Ms. Edwards sin seems to include several of her books, it first came to light when someone read a passage in her book Shadow Bear and noticed a discrepancy in the narrative tone. A little sleuthing was done and it turns out that she took whole passages from a story (nonfiction) by nature writer Paul Tolme on the plight of ferrets. Yeah, you read that correctly. Now, Mr. Tolme had every right to be angry over this issue. It was his words, the results of his research, that she took and used as her own. That's bad. But as I said, there is a larger issue here that has yet to be addressed.

As Mr. Tolme himself said, "Wow, that is some bad dialogue. It stands out as clunky and awkward even by the standards of romance novels. " And that, my friends, is the problem. As a result of this tempest millions of people who have never read a romance novel before ... well, okay hundreds ... a lot? Somebody, anyway, somebody who has never read a romance novel before, is going to take a look at Ms. Edwards' book to see what all the noise is about and will assume her work to be an example of the entire genre. In other words, they'll skim a few pages and decide that they were right all along to avoid them.

*Sigh* The genre has come such a very long way towards legitimacy that this kind of bad publicity is almost physically painful. However will we get serious readers of serious books to take it seriously now? We shall have to choose, oh so carefully, a few authors whose books truly do shine as an example of the progress the genre has made and do our utmost to move their names and their books to the forefront. How to accomplish this? Fight fire with fire. We should launch a counter-scandal that will have academia scrambling to research the issue, thus forcing them to read and, hopefully, become fans of romance fiction. It will have to be something big though, something that can top the ferret story and steal the limelight from it.

I can only appeal to big names in romance fiction to put aside their personal concerns and do their duty to their genre. Go forth and sin. And make it a big one, huh? Time's a-wastin' and we need to catch this wave before it moves on.

Something To Look Forward To

The year is only a week old. This means the 51 weeks to come are still a clean slate. That's the thing with beginnings; the possibilities are still out there. I'm not one for resolutions, but I like the idea of a fresh start. I don't have a list of things to attempt, I have no specific goals. Instead I'm going to focus on simplifying, decluttering, streamlining. Life got overwhelming and I am so ready to ditch all that stress. This, I hope, will be the year of finding some peace of mind, some inner peach.

I'm going to put some of what I've learned from Fly Lady to good use. I'm going to try to declutter my life, get rid of stuff that's just taking up space and making my life more complicated. I'll hopefully get some drawers and closets cleared out, and maybe do something more useful with the finished basement. Um, that last one might be overly ambitious.

I'm going to bring more color and texture into my life and I started this past weekend with a visit to a local yarn shop, WoolWinders. I was very wary of visiting this store because I know how dangerous it can be. This is not yarn you find at your local craft store or Walmart. To be fair, it wasn't all exotic stuff either. But there was a wealth of color and texture that just made my fingers itch for my hook. Imagine for a moment that you have just come upon a conference table covered in one long sheet of pristine white paper. And in the center of that table is a brand, spanking new box Crayolas, the big 64 colors box. You can't resist, you just have to draw something. That's what it felt like when I walked into this store. Overall I behaved, indulging in just one skein of a lovely cotton/wool blend in eye-popping magenta. Gorgeous. It's just one skein because I have two more projects lined up before I get to this stuff, and I figure in the meantime I can play with it a little and figure out what the possibilities might be. It's nearly 200 yards, so I can have a lot of fun with it before I get down to a serious project.

I'm taking my youngest nephew to Disney World. His older sister and brother have already been, and now it's his turn. It will be just me and him and the exciting thing about this is that for a few days I'll be living in his 10yo world. Hey you, over there, sitting in your corner and scoffing at the idea. You don't know what you are missing. I've been to Disney World numerous times, but not for a few years now, and I can tell you that it doesn't matter what your age is, there truly is something there for everyone; and if you come away from a visit still jaded, there's clearly no hope for you. And maybe I'm alone in this, but I rather enjoy an excuse for acting like a kid again.

There's been talk of a biggish CB meet this summer. There's also been some debate over exotic locales to hold it in. The issue is Moot, really because we tend to spend so much time talking we probably wouldn't get around to seeing or doing anything other than eating, drinking, talking and buying books. My people. :sniff: I love my people. :~) Wherever we end up, I really hope we can make this work. Where there are CBs there is love and laughter.

So, no goals or lists. But maybe some good times, some small pleasures, some fun. Something to look forward to.

10? I dunno.

Happy New Year.

This is a time for reflection and for looking ahead, for making lists. Lists of things accomplished or goals to achieve. I got through the year; that's what I accomplished, and it was such a big accomplishment that it's the whole list as far as I'm concerned.

For some reason 10 seems to be the default number for lists. Why is that? Why do we have to struggle to come up with ten of anything? If you can't think of ten does it make you a loser? If you've got more than that, should you be embarrassed? This doesn't seem right to me. It's like setting the bar too high, you're pretty much planning to fall short. So I'm not going to set a number, I'm just going list a few of last year's highpoints (no need to list the low ones, is there?):

• I met a lot of CBs. Not all, but a good chunk. And I adored each of them just as much in person as I have online. I'd like to say here that CherryBombs are strong, intelligent, responsible people ... I'd like to say that, but it would ruin a hard earned reputation so I won't. What I will say is that behind the zaniness, the snarky humor, and the bad puns is an incredible group of people who probably could TOTW if they put their minds to it, and the world would be better off for it.


• I got hooked again on crocheting and accomplished a number of projects, most of which I've shared with you here. I need to continue doing this, continue putting aside the time to just quietly sit and ply my hook, perhaps listening to some music or an audio book, but nothing more stressful to the mind than that. It would be easy, in the bustle of things needing to be done, to let it slide. But I know that I need that quiet time and I need the soothing methodicalness of handwork. So I'm going to let other things slide here and there, and make sure I do this for myself.


• I tackled a few small chores around the house and confirmed to myself that I am capable, and can still learn a few new things. Anything needing strength and size might require assistance; but for the most part I know I can do pretty much anything I put my mind to.


• I did read a few good books this year. Mostly I did a lot of rereading, needing the comfort of old friends. But here and there were a few new ones that proved up to the task. Books and friends - new or old you can never have too many good ones.

As lists go this one may not seem very long, but sometimes it really is more about the quality than the quantity. And as to goals for the coming year, that's another list for another blog. Stay tuned.

Wordsmith

From Dictionary.com
word·smith –noun
1. an expert in the use of words.
2. a person, as a journalist or novelist, whose vocation is writing.
[Origin: 1895–1900]

Actually I think the above definition might be too simple. In my opinion a wordsmith is a craftsman in the same way that a potter or cabinetmaker is. Much of the craft might be learned, but they have an innate talent that puts them several levels above the mere dabbler. Anyone can use words; but putting them together in such a way that the product inspires, amuses or intriques others is an artform.

I was thinking about this last night as I lay in bed unable to sleep. Usually if I can't sleep it is because I can't turn my mind off and a sometimes effective aid is to plug in my iPod and listen to an audiobook. If I can become lost in a story my mind will be sufficiently distracted to let go. It has to be something engaging, though, a story that pulls me into the author's make believe world. In this case it was Terry Pratchett's Going Postal that I turned to. I'm telling you, the man is an artist with words. I've read the hardcopy twice and am on my third listen and it never gets stale. He weaves elements together, puns and wordplays, cultural phenomena and current events, in such a way as to keep the reader in a constant state of anticipation. You just know there's something wonderful waiting around the turn of the page.

Take this line from Going Postal. In the story our reluctant hero needs help and turns to Miss Dearheart, his romantic interest and the only person who sees him for what he really is. She's a no-nonsense dame and exactly what Moist (yeah, that's the hero's name) needs. Her advice?

Get yourself a little bit closer to heaven. And then get down on your knees and pray. You know how to pray, don't you? You just put your hands together -- and hope.

Maybe it's just because I'm an old movie buff - that is, a fan of old movies, not an old fan of movies - but that line just tickles me every time I read it, or hear the narrator read it. Even without backstory and character description, you get an instant picture of Miss Dearheart. You know she's standing there arching an eyebrow and looking the hero straight in the eye as she delivers that line. You know it because the line is iconic. Lauren Bacall said it to Bogey in the 1944 movie To Have and Have Not. Actually what she said was, "You know how to whistle, don’t you, Steve? You just put your lips together and...blow." So Pratchett didn't invent the line, but he used it deftly, tailoring it to his character while preserving the flavor. It's just that bit different and yet that much more amusing for its famliarity.

I have favorite Pratchett books, and this is one of them. But every one that I have read has included a few gems in the way of word pictures and great dialogue. The man's a genius.

In Them Thar Hills

Every so often the subject of my parents' home town in Pennsylvania comes up. People ask me what it's near, because naturally they are trying to get their bearings and place it. It is at this point that it gets complicated because, you see, it isn't near anything. It's not even on the way to someplace. It's up IN the mountains ... not along side, or at the base of, or with a mountain in the distance. God spread some of the Alleghenies apart and plopped the town down right there. Well it's old enough that it could have been done that way. It is a wide spot between mountains, with only 2-lane mountain roads to access it.

Exhibit 1 ... a 2-lane mountain road. The mountain has actually been carved away some in this spot, otherwise it would likely be a 1-line mountain road. And that would be fine until some fool came around the curve in said mountain road going the wrong way.

And to your right ... we'll call this Exhibit 2, alongside a 2-lane mountain road. Please forgive me the power lines. Would that I had the PhotoShop skills to get rid of them. It's a picture, isn't it? This is a small slice of the West Branch of the Susquehanna River which eons and millenia ago forged its way between the mountains and likely helped create the wide spot that became the town.



These two, above, were taken from my aunt's house. Now, this is not the town proper. This is what in more urban areas would be referred to as the 'burbs. See the stone bridge in the left hand picture? It crosses one of many cricks (we don't call them creeks in these parts, that's flatlander talk) that trickle down from the mountains. Up in the hills these little communities are referred to as "runs." This one is known as Brewery Run, and my mother assures me that way back in history there was in fact a brewery somewhere up the road. Back in those same eons and millenia that created the river these various cricks were likely much deeper and wider. Deep and wide enough to carve out enough flat land for a few houses and a road.

My father grew up in a neighboring community, in fact just up the main road, one creek over from this one, called Drury's Run. I have no idea who Drury was. Dad's community was slightly larger (read wider) and boasted a small general store when I was a kid. It was complete with a front porch and glass fronted counter for storing penny candy. Considering how many kids pressed their hands and noses up against that glass, it amazes me that they were able to keep it clean. It's gone now. Some years back, when I was still a kid, Hurricane Agnes hit these mountains pretty hard, flooding the river and the creekbeds. Some of the houses were high enough or far enough back from the flow to survive. The store - and the owners lived above it - was I think too close to the mountain and, already really old and run down, suffered too much damage to remain livable. But I've still got the memory of creaky old floor boards and lighting just not quite bright enough. And penny candy.

I took all these pictures on a recent weekend trip when mom and I went up to "visit" family. And it feels, oddly, much like a visit. My uncle, my mom's older brother (that's both of them to your left) kept referring to the lanes between as roads and alleys. As in, "Now so and so is just up this road. Go past here and make a left at this alley."

Now the whole idea of visiting cemeteries can sound a bit morbid, I admit. But you have to admit that if you have to have a final resting place, you can't beat these views.

Comfort Reads

I've felt a bit out of it just lately. It started about a month ago when I had this really nasty cold. I got over it, mostly, pretty quickly; but what followed was a bad cough and some sinus issues which left me feeling tired. Coughing is exhausting, plus it's hard to get a good night's sleep. And the sinus thing had me feeling dizzy which wasn't pleasant. I got my butt over to the doctor and got some prescription grade decongestant which helped a lot. No infection or anything so that was good news. I'm on the mend finally, but for a while I had trouble concentrating. This meant I was falling behind on my reading "GASP!"

When this happens, if you are a reader, the only thing to do is to turn to your comfort reads. Whether they are old favorites or new books by dependable authors, they are books that you turn to time and again because they give you exactly what you need. You know the plot will hold your attention. The fact that you have probably read it before just means that you know what to look forward to: that scene that had you laughing out loud, the character that lived in your head long after you closed the cover on the book, that moment when the hero triumphs and you just want to shout "Yes!" because you've lived through it with him/her and now you feel vicariously triumphant.

Not everyone understands the allure of a re-read. To some, once they've read that story it's done. They already know what's going to happen and so they have no interest in returning to the story. That's a good point and I can understand where they are coming from. But for me, a re-read is a comfort read. There are times when I don't want to try something new; I don't want to use my brain that much. I want something that I know will satisfy me, a bowl of favorite soup on a bad weather day. I want characters that I'll enjoy spending time with because they feel like old friends. My collection of comfort reads includes several authors and various genres, because what I want will depend on my mood. Like that bowl of soup, I might want something cozy and comfortable. Or maybe I'll be in the mood for spicy.

Of course there is a danger inherent in this practice. It's very easy to become complacent in your reading, to stick with what's safe rather than risk disappointment. That would a shame because you never know when a great new book may cross your path. So I indulge for a while, feeding my face with humor and mystery and closing myself away with characters that I know will be there for me. But not for long. Because the only thing better than an old comfortable read is discovering a new comfortable read. And you can't have too many good books, or good friends.

First Crush

Sparks will fly, but this catch of the day could be the dish of a lifetime!

First Date a la Maggie
Take one lovelorn diner owner (me)
A generous helping of nosy local gossips
A dollop of envy at married sister's perfect life
A splash of divine intervention (my matchmaking priest)
Combine ingredients and add one strong-but-silent lobsterman with a hidden heart of gold.

Over at Dee and Dee Dish they love to read just like I do, and they do book reviews as well. In this particular instance, they have a review of CATCH OF THE DAY by Kristan Higgins and give it rave reviews. Go check it out.

According to their review, the character in this book has a big-time crush. I think most of us had a crush when we were young, didn't we? A pop star or someone's older brother, maybe? I had my share. One that comes to mind is my 7th grade science teacher. Yes I had my share of pop star crushes, but I guess this one was my first on a "real" person. To be fair, I think all of his female students had a crush on him. He was young with dark, curly hair and the nicest smile. And we were all doomed because we were sure that he was having a romance with another science teacher. Since she was really nice and lots of fun we didn't mind too awfully much. I guess that counts as a fairly harmless obsession, huh? I never found out if their relationship was real or a product of our over-active, hormone-driven imaginations. I'd like to think that we got it right and that they went on to live happily ever after.

What's In A Book?

Below is an excerpt; well two excerpts, but from the same page, from Bradbury's Farenheit 451. The last time I read it was probably when I was a teenager. A long time ago anyway. Certainly before I could really appreciate it. This book is one of many that have been challenged in schools and communities. Challenged, but not technically banned because we don't do that in this country. But what is it about this book that makes people worry? I think this one page explains it best.

***

“And the second?”
“Leisure.”
“Oh, but we’ve plenty of off-hours.”
“Off-hours, yes. But time to think?”

***

“It tells you what to think and blasts it in. It must be right. It seems so right. It rushes you on so quickly to its own conclusions your mind hasn’t time to protest, 'What nonsense!’”
“Only the ‘family’ is ‘people.’”
“I beg pardon?”
“My wife says books aren’t ‘real.’”
“Thank God for that. You can shut them, say, ‘Hold on a moment.’ You play God to it. But who has ever torn himself from the claw that encloses you when you drop a seed in a TV parlor? It grows you any shape it wishes! It is an environment as real as the world. It becomes and is the truth. Books can be beaten down with reason."

***

Farenheit 451, Ray Bradbury, pg. 84, MM Paperback

This is the real reason that some people object to books. Books are ideas and ideas are dangerous.

On First Impression Worth a Second Look

A few things have happened recently that have me wondering about the value of first impressions. I am not by any means saying they have no value. If something looks like a duck, walks like a duck and quacks like a duck it's just conceivable that it might be an ugly swan. On the otherhand, it just might be a duck. There are people who rail against the unfairness of judging on first impression. Phooey. If you don't know someone or something, then first impressions are all you have to go by. And they should not be ignored entirely even if you find yourself unable to justify the impressions. While I'd never be intentionally rude, I'd rather trust my instincts and impressions than ignore them and pay a price.

That said, I want to tell you about something I witnessed at my home subway stop the other evening. Picture some guy, a big guy, in oversized, baggy trousers nearly falling off his hips, bandana wrapped around his head, dark sunglasses, head jerking to a rythym only he can hear. This guy just screamed 'urban cool.' He looked like a real bad ass who spent his grandmother's social security checks. Fifteen years ago he would have been carrying a boombox on his shoulder (think about that the next time you see someone hooked up to an iPod). Got the picture?

So there we stand waiting for the elevator to come. Normally I take the escalator but it was mobbed and I'd rather wait than feel claustrophobic in the crowd. So this guy is standing there too, right next to the elevator doors. A few other people walk up. The elevator comes and the doors open. This guy grabs the edge of the open door right away ... and then stands back to let in someone pulling a suitcase on wheels. He also lets me and everyone else get on before he does. So. Clearly not the bad ass of my first impression.

That came to mind yesterday as I was rereading Agnes and The Hitman. At the start of the book Agnes idealizes Brenda. Brenda is who she wanted to grow up to be, to the extent that she bought Two Rivers, Brenda's house. She even argues with Lisa Livia who, really, ought to know her mother better than Anges. And when Brenda does something even Agnes can't ignore, Agnes makes excuses for her until finally she sees Brenda for what she really is. Brenda, of course, went off the deep end at the end of the story; but what she was at the core really wasn't any different. What Agnes had really envied all those years was the mask that Brenda wore. Brenda knew how to say and do the right things to ... wait for it ... create an impression. And thinking about it, I've known a few Brendas, and you probably have too. Okay, maybe they didn't sabotage a wedding dress and try to kill you; but I'm betting you know someone who turned out to not be as great as you thought they were. And looking back, you can usually see all the signs you ignored early on. Just like Agnes did. So a first impression can conceal the bad as well as the good.

I was actually thinking about impressions before this, though. I have had the privilege of meeting several CBs now, and it's been amazing just how well we all click in person. A CB meet is just like hanging out at the Bar&Grill, except you probably laugh even longer and harder. I think many of us have marvelled at this. But is it so surprising really? We got to know each other long before we ever met, dispensing with that whole awkward first impressions thing.

And you know, I'd rather have the duck than the swan anyway. I've heard those big, fancy birds can be pretty viscious.

I don't knit

I crochet. It's different, sort of. Okay, same basic idea ... long piece of string and lots of fancy knots. But knitting uses two long pointy needles. You work your stitches onto one of the needles until you have a long row of them hanging there. As you work your second row, you pass the stitches from that first needle onto the second needle, and back to the first needle for the 3rd row, and so on. Crochet is like the orphaned stepchild of sewing: there's a ton of info on knitting, but very little on crochet. But I think that's starting to change, largely thanks to the Internet.

Crochet (silent "t" folks, French style pronunciation) uses only a hook, and only one of them. You add on to your work by using the hook to grab the yarn, thread, or whatever and pull a loop of yarn - or series of loops - into the next stitch. But as a general rule, you only have one stitch at a time on your hook.

The exception to this rule is the afghan stitch, also called the Tunisian stitch. It's a cross between knitting and crocheting. Here is an example:



Notice that each row looks woven. With this stitch, each row is actually worked twice: once forward and once backward. The "posts" you see in the above picture are the row of loops formed on the hook as you work forward. The yarn that appears to be threaded under them was then pulled through, a little at a time, during the second, backward, pass. Confused yet? It's easier than it sounds and leaves you with the nifty grid pattern you see. Here's what the finished product looked like:

I just love this blend of colors. It was a wedding gift for friends of mine. Since it was a gift for two people, neither of whom is the fussy type, I wanted something colorful yet gender neutral. I think the woven look of the stitches also keeps it from looking too feminine. I don't think a guy would shy away from using it, do you? As you can see, the stitches are very close and tight, not lacy at all. So it's also a very warm afghan. Of course they live in Florida, and it's July, so they probably won't get much use out of it for a few months.

My next project is a baby afghan for the neighbors who are expecting their new little one in a matter of days. Yikes! I guess I'd better get cracking on this.

This is being worked in 3 very basic stitches: single crochet, double crochet, and chains. Do you see they way the colors seem to fade into each other? I'm working each row with two strands of yarn at the same time. It's a baby, or sport, weight yarn so the strands are finer, more slim, than in a typical afghan. With a heavier weight of yarn it's a little more tricky to keep two strands on your hook at the same time. As I go from one color to the next, I do two rows inbetween using one strand of each color. This way there is no clear line between one color and the next and they just sort of blend together, rainbow fashion. I hope Baby will approve.