Long Live The Book

I was just reading an interesting article from this month's issue of Washington Lawyer, entitled "The Future of Reading," by Bob Kemper, which discusses the doom and gloom pronouncements on the death of the printed book now that e-books are becoming ever more popular. It isn't available online yet, or I would link to it; but I didn't want to wait to write this post lest I forget.

So many people are predicting the end of the printed book, but I'm not so sure. Don't get me wrong, I know there are a lot of benefits to e-books, not the least of which is their portability. You can carry a whole lot o' books around in one little e-reader. And it's an excellent medium for researchers, no doubt about it. And it's true that e-readers are becoming more popular, and are possibly encouraging more people to read, all of which is good. The article says that the number of readers in the U.S. declined by 20 million between 1982 and 2002, according to the NEA. But the article also says that the U.S. alone publishes 275,000 books in a year, which is even more than a true reader could keep up with, so I don't know that we can say that people have stopped reading altogether, or that people have completely forsaken the printed book.

Even with the Internet, I have had a little trouble tracking down exact figures, but the gist of what I have found seems to say that while the publication of printed books has flattened out quite a bit, we are still way ahead of figures from the 1950s. In fact, according to the article, and contrary to it's own doom and gloom prediction, the latest NEA survey, released in 2009, says that the number of readers has risen across the boards for the first time in 25 years, with the biggest increases between the ages of 18 and 24 ... you know, that group that's supposedly too busy texting to read anymore.

They cite the rise in popularity of first the Harry Potter series, and second the Twilight series as reasons; but, honestly, I think it was more likely a natural ebb and flow. And does it really matter why? If people of any age are once hooked by a book, they will eventually read again. It's really just a matter of finding the right book for them. It doesn't matter whether they come, initially, by way of an e-reader. If they are hooked at all, I think the odds are that they will visit a public library, pick up a paperback at the drugstore, or borrow from a friend. Because once you fall in love with reading, it's a love affair for life.

And now I'm going to sneak in another little opinion of mine, a radical idea that has been niggling away at the back of my mind for a few years now. Is it possible that the publishing industry, itself, is to blame for what might appear to be a decline in book sales? Oh, I'm not even talking about the price of a book, which is becoming ridiculous, I admit. No, what I've been pondering is a theory more rebellious than even that. Did it, in a mad rush to ride the wave of reading popularity of a few decades ago, lower its own standards? Because I have to say that while I have always bought and read books, it has become increasingly hard to find really GOOD books over the last few years. So I'm wondering if publishing types, rather than paying attention to the quality of the books they printed, were, perhaps, letting themselves be led by the bean counters.

See, that's the only way I can explain to myself why, every few years, there seems to be a glut of some sub-genre in publishing. To be putting out that many books aimed at one small market and get them all out on the shelves in a fell swoop, I have to believe that publishing has been doing it deliberately, and I simply can't believe that whoever makes these decisions really believes that every single one of those serial killer paranormal romantic suspense chick lit mysteries is the next Tom Clancy or John Grisham offspring. Which means that they have been deliberately glutting the market with inferior reads. And rather than admit that the reading public has gotten disgusted and decided to be more selective and aim for quality over quantity, they are instead shouting that people don't read anymore. Huh.

Okay, I got a bit off topic there, but not too much. Because my point in all that ranting is that people are still reading, and the printed book is not dead or even dieing. It's biding it's time. In the article, Katherine Hayles of Duke University, herself a teacher of electronic literature, agrees with me, pointing out that traditional books have many advantages that digital devices will never have. Face it, you never have to recharge them. And when the apocalypse comes, which another depressing group promises is just around the corner, my hard copies will still work just fine.

This stuff ain't for wimps

I know you all are ever so impressed with my happy Harriet homeimprovementmanship. However, in the interest of full disclosure, I have to tell you this story:

So I bought these big tubs and pots for the deck a few weeks ago. I got a couple of kinds. One doesn't drain very well, I discovered, so I figured I would just drill some extra 'drainage'. I get out the drill and it's cordless so I charge it for a few hours on Saturday while I'm doing something else. Then Saturday afternoon I slip a drill bit in and tighten it up real good using something called, I kid you not, a "chuck key." Mind you, the tub is full of dirt and a few plants at this point so I have to be very careful about tipping the pot in order to get at the bottom. Well, I do this and find a way to prop it while I drill and it's all good, except I'm finding that the bit is only barely marking the plastic tub (did I mention it was plastic? Made to look like wood, but not). So I figure probably there isn't enough power and decide to recharge overnight and try again on Sunday.

Sunday I recreate the tipping of the pot and put the bit back in, use the chuck key to tighten it up, and give it a few experimental whirls.

I try again to drill a hole in this plastic tub and again all I accomplish is to scrape a few curls of plastic off. I'm impressed with how well made this thing is. Maybe I'm using the wrong kind of bit? There are bits for drilling different materials, I know; I don't know how to tell them apart. So I go and look and select one that is, at least, different from the one I'm currently using. Replace the old bit -I'm getting good with the chuck key - and try again. Still nada. And I'm thinking, is this thing made of plastic-coated titanium? My frustration level is rising. I try a different place on the pot, same thing. Maybe I need more pressure? I brace the pot and try putting a little muscle into it. Still no results.

I've been sitting there on the deck trying to put a *&^%$ hole in the *&^*%* pot for 20 minutes and at this point I'm considering using the &^%$& drill as a blunt instrument and hammering a &^%$& hole in the thing. Then, as I'm looking at the drill bit and giving it a few more experimental whirls, fuming over what should have been a really easy 5 minute project, I notice that the threads on the drill bit appear to be going in the wrong direction, spiraling up into the drill, instead of down into the still nonexistent hole. Huh.

Turns out, the drill has TWO DIRECTIONS. One for drilling in to a surface, and one for extricating the bit from the resulting hole. And if you have it going the wrong way, there ain't no way you're going to make a hole in anything thicker than paper.

I timed it. I put 10 holes in the bottom of that pot in 4 minutes. It only took me two days.

What I've Been Up To

Okay, I've been lax about posting and I apologize. The thing is, there isn't much point in posting highlights when you don't have any. Life has been mostly humming along in a predictably boring fashion, and I'm OKAY WITH THAT. I like boring. But now I finally have a highlight to share with you ...


I'M GETTING A NEW DECK! Why yes, I am a little excited about it. It's not actually a luxury item, though, since my deck is so old and worn that safety will become an issue in another year or so. The cost is making me a little queasy, but it's a necessity. So I did what you're supposed to do and set out to get estimates. I liked the first guy that came out and a lot of what he said sounded reasonable and made sense. Also, his estimate was within the range that I'd figured on. Then the second person came out and that was a trip. These people take decks very seriously. I really loved this one:

And then I realized that I have no water view unless the neighbor's yard floods so, really, what would be the point?

This one is good, too. I'm not sure, though, that my homeowners association would agree. Especially when the neighbors on both sides and behind complained that my deck was taking up rather a lot of their yard. Sometimes people have no vision.

Really, all the designs were amazing and they left me with this nifty folder filled with brochures and testimonials. And then they wanted to come back so that we can discuss the estimate. The thing is, my home is not a McMansion. It's a itty bitty townhouse with a postage stamp back yard. My current deck is 12 x 16, and if it was much bigger it would cover my entire yard. Plus, there's that homeowners association again. So ... what is there to discuss?

I want a deck pretty much like what I have except without the warped and splintered boards. And with stairs. Did I mention that my second story deck has no stairs? The original owners had small children at the time it was built, and I understand that safety was an issue, but it rather severely limits access to the backyard. Or maybe they thought throwing stuff over the deck railing and optimistically hoping it wouldn't break on impact was a fine thing. So stairs down to the yard are like the bright and shiny light at the end of my tunnel.

Fate seems to be smiling on my stair-struck ambition because it turns out that a family member with lots and lots of construction experience and whose work I have actually seen first hand just happens to have nothing better to do with his time this coming week and has offered to build my deck! In fact, I strongly suspect that he would have voluteered to do it for the cost of materials alone. Not that I would have agreed. Pride aside, it's going to be a lot of work and I don't care if he likes to do this stuff, that just wouldn't be right. Would it? *sigh* No, no it wouldn't. We found some middle ground that saves me a lot of money and earns him a good chunk of extra cash. And as it's considerably less than the other estimates, everybody wins.

Why yes, there probably will be photos. Stair-gazing ahead. Stay tuned.

For the Birds

If you have wandered over here because you can't figure out where the CherryBombs have got to, things are in disarray because we seem to have sprung a leak over there, or maybe stopped up the plumbing or something. We don't really know what it is we did. We were rather hard on the old place, what with the pole swinging, guacamole stains and lurkers in the attic. And while our landlord, Bryan, has been quite patient with us, we are considering *gulp* venturing out on our very own, with like a mortgage and everything. Hey, the bail fund is flush at the moment. Anyway, please wander over to our Potential New Home and see what you think.

If you find, when you're there, that your comments aren't popping up immediately, it's because we've left BCB in charge and she gets distracted easily. But be patient and eventually she'll be back to let you in. Unless she doesn't recognize you or thinks you might be a member of the Chipper Spam Monkey band. It's not that she's discriminating, she just likes having that kind of power.

In the meantime, I appear to be the way station for wandering CBs and lurkers so I'll give you something else to look at for now.

Here's an updated picture of my lilac bush which you can see is greening and budding up nicely. Actually, it's even leafier now than when I took this picture, but right now it's raining outside so you'll have to make do with this.

And here we have a picture of Mrs. Mourning Dove in her new place. At least I think that's Mrs. I think she's got eggs now. Stay tuned for updates.

And in other news, here's a picture of me standing in front of this big White House in DC. And I didn't even have to climb the fence or anything, even though they are quite strict about tresspassing there considering the tentants are pretty new to the neighborhood.

Got Buds

My lilac bush is budding! And my daffodils are standing tall, if not yet blooming. Also, I spotted Mr. and Mrs. Mourning Dove while I was out in the yard last weekend, and I do believe they are planning to start a family.

I love these first signs of spring. Although winter is relatively mild in my area, the dreary sameness of the landscape starts to grate on my nerves after a while and I find myself wondering if green grass and leaves on trees is a thing of the past, a story old-timers will sit around boring kids with. "When I was your age, we had real seasons. And there were four of them. Every single year. It was interesting. Not like it is today with all this sameness day after day. You young'ns don't even know what real seasons are like!" So at the first sign that life is, indeed, returning to my corner of the planet, I'm out there buying mulch and prepping the flower beds.

Saturday, while the ground was still soft from recent rains and the sun could get through the bare tree branches, I raked the front yard and put down some grass seed. My yard is patchy yet, but the grass I seeded last year made it through the winter and even stayed reasonably green. I figure if I do this twice a year for a while, I'm going to have a gorgeous yard in a decade or so. Even patchy, it looks better than the neighbors', ha!

Sunday was all about the back yard, and that's when I spotted the lilac buds. And the daffodil stalks; mine bloom a little later than the neighbor's, for some reason. And the doves. The whole time I was clearing out the flower bed, Mrs. Dove was eye-balling me from her perch on the edge of a lawn chair. The chair is stored under the raised deck, hanging from some hooks, and is the same place she made her nest last year so seeing her there again was pretty ... well, ominous, actually. There's no friction on the surface of that chair and last year the nest went tumbling in the first big storm. I'm going to keep an eye on it, and if she is really going to build there again (I did warn her) I'm going to have to jury rig something to make sure it stays in place.

My kingdom is very small, but it's all mine and I try to rule wisely.

I'm Working On It

About a year ago I picked up some paint chips to get ideas for the hallway. No, I still haven't painted, or even definitely decided on the color. It will be some shade of green, probably in the khaki or sage family. I will get to it. Eventually.

I'm still in the process of decluttering drawers and closets. I have started and each small accomplishment gives me a sense of peace that keeps me going. But, you know, there are other things that have to get done, too. Like laundry and cleaning the kitchen floor. And while I could find more time to devote to the decluttering project, it would take away from more fun stuff and there's not enough fun stuff as it is. But I'm getting to it little by little.

There are still some tree branches I didn't get to last fall because I couldn't quite reach them and decided that tree trimming is fine while my feet are planted on the ground, but doing so while up on a ladder without a spotter is stupid. It's on my list of things to do this coming year.

I need to put up a new light fixture in the powder room. There is a fixture in there now, it just doesn't have a proper shade. As long as we aren't, uh, powdering in the dark, I don't see any big hurry for this.

I'm mostly finished with the wrap I intend as a gift for my mother's sister. It's supposed to have pockets, and I've crocheted them, too; but now I need to actually sew them on the wrap itself. That part is boring so I've been putting it off. Maybe by Christmas.

And speaking of crochet projects, I finished the Haru sweater a few weeks ago. There will be a photo up here eventually, because I like having this catalog of finished projects. I just have to remember to have the sweater and my camera in the same room at the same time.

I don't do anything very fast, as you can see. I've tried being one of those "see it through from start to finish" type people and mostly I just stressed myself out so I don't do that anymore. I've learned to pace myself, to prioritize. All the really important stuff is done; I've even finished my taxes and sent them in. I'll get around to everything else a little at a time. But I'm going to do it on my schedule. All of this stuff will happen. There is a plan.

I'm working on it.

I'm considering having those words put on my tombstone someday.

I'm In Love

Okay, I did finish the wrap thing except I have to find some matching thread to sew on the pockets with. Probably I could have tried harder this past weekend, but I was pretty much looking for an excuse to dive into my new yarn.

This is it. And I'm already fighting the temptation to buy more, to horde the stuff against some blah, bleary day when I need a yarn fix. This stuff is WONDERFUL. Really, all caps and italics, too. I feel like crying out "where have you been all my life?!" It's like the dark chocolate of yarn, the good 75% organic cocoa content stuff, the beans harvested by Juan Valdez's distant cousin and hand carried to a delightfully wizened, old-school confection genius in the Swiss Alps who created the world's first truffle. Get it?

It's not just that it's soft. I've handled softer. It's not just that it's pretty, although it is. It's the entire experience of the yarn. The folks at Simply Shetland have created a fiber blend that is the best of both the silk and wool worlds. I know it doesn't look like much to the naked eye; but trust me, this stuff is good. I'm spoiled for all other yarns. I'm giddy. Maybe it's the honeymoon phase, but I'm into the second skein now so I'm feeling pretty confident.

I'm savouring here.

It's Beginning To Look ...

I put up my Christmas lights the other weekend. Just lights on the shrubs and an animated snowman figure but that took me long enough. Had a heck of a time figuring out the power cords, getting the right tab a into the proper slot b, so to speak. At one point the snowman was animating away, but not lighting up. You would think the animation would have been the hard part, but no.

In case you've never done this before, let me explain how it works. A string of lights comes with a female end and a male end. They do, well, what you'd expect. Except not with each other. It's not a moral issue, dear reader. The male does the manly job of connecting to the household current, while the female end has the all important maternal job of keeping the current running for the rest of the family and giving all the baby cords something to feel connected with.

The trick is to make sure you have all the strings running in the right directions or you end up with boys next to boys and girls next to girls. Electrical cords work much the way biology does: you need one of each in order to make a ba - uh, in order to make a complete circuit. So I had the string of lights plugged into the extension cord and the extension cord running into the outlet, with the intention of hooking the business end of the snowman (it's a snowman people, get your minds out of the gutter) up to the lights. There's a whole 'nother set of lights on shrubs to the right side of the door, but that part was fairly simple.

My problem was, there are 3 variations the average householder will encounter in North America:

1. Two prongs

(a) Both prongs of equal size,
(b) One prong wider than the other; and

2. Three prongs.*

And wouldn't you just know it, Frosty had a 1(b) connector while the lights had a 1(a) receptacle and they don't fit together, no way, no how. You can't even cheat on that one if you wanted to. To make matters more complicated, I discovered that Frosty came with a plethora (okay, 3) of plugs/receptacles and the instructions were, um, vague. *sigh*

One of the new found connectors did fit into the light string and I was quite excited for a whole 10 seconds when Frosty started tipping his hat at me. Then I realized that while he had range and motion, he wasn't exactly glowing. Finally got it all squared away and the figure anchored down which I must have done a pretty fair job of because we had some big winds the next day and it held just fine. What do you think?

In other years there have been those pretty icicle lights hanging from the gutters, but that involves much time on a ladder and even then, for me, it's a reach. And you know, the snowman took long enough.

*If you find yourself with a 3 prong connector but only a 2 prong receptacle on an extension cord, you might be tempted to cheat and jam it in there anyway. DON'T. Just don't. I won't bore you with the technical reasons for the variations, but I will say that they are practical and even safety related. Do it right.

Is It Just Me?

I'll admit that I'm not the most active person. I live by the motto "why walk when you can lay down and take a nap." I know that there are oodles of people out there who are way more productive than I am and are happier for it. But lately it seems to have reached maniacal heights.

These people are tiring me out just listening to them. And it's nearly impossible to not listen since, along with the hyper activity, there also seems to be a need to justify their existence by telling everyone. Hello? I am not in charge of awarding gold stars, keep it to yourself. Am I supposed to be impressed by the person who belongs to three separate running groups? I'm not. I think it's insane. Running with one group could be considered exercise; more than that and I have to wonder what it is they are trying to run from.

If they aren't obsessing about exercise, it's something else. Work two jobs, save the planet and, if there's any time left, raise a back to nature family by growing your own granola. And they want everyone else to join them in jumping on the hamster wheel Squeak, squeak, squeak. Am I the only one noticing that hamsters never actually go anywhere?

I think it's a conspiracy. There's a radical group at work here whose aim is to keep everyone so busy that they never notice that (a) they aren't accomplishing anything other than wearing themselves out, and (b) the planet is being taken over. Probably by a giant rodent species from another planet who think it's amusing to watch humans run around in circles for a change. And we won't be able to fight back because we're all too tired to think straight.

I propose a counter attack. Everyone take a day, once a week, and do nothing. If you really can't do a whole day (some people will need to build up to it slowly) try for an hour. Don't improve yourself, don't join anything, don't start something, don't be productive. Instead, sleep in. Then get up and take a nap. If that gets old, read a book, count raindrops, watch clouds go by or look at the night sky and wonder what drugs the ancients were on when they decided that a group of stars looked just like a bull, fish, goat, whatever.

Slow down. Take a deep breath and relax. Tomorrow will still come, but today won't last forever. Take some time to appreciate it while you can.

For A Limited Time Only

This morning I got an email notice from one of the big chain bookstores. I think I have a discount card for them which is probably why I'm on their email list. Anyway, the email was touting an "online exclusive" that would allow me to get this very nifty messenger bag absolutely free. And it does look like a nice bag; probably it would be great for my daily commute. So I decided to check it out, being aware that its "freeness" was dubious at best. The bag, FYI, is a $17.95 value. And it can be mine absolutely free if I add $100 worth of items I would like to purchase to my cart. All I have to do is put $100 worth of merchandise into my virtual shopping cart, that's all. Then, I can also add the $17.95 bag to my virtual cart and - here's the kicker - when I proceed to checkout, the cost of the bag will be deducted. Notice how they carefully don't say that the bag is free only with a $100 or more purchase? As if I'm not going to notice that I'm paying $100 or more for an $18 bag. No, I did not order it. It isn't that I'm not capable of racking up $100 in books. Hardbacks ain't cheap. But my purchases are sprinkled throughout the year. I've probably purchased that much or more (well, there was the trip to Portland - home of Powell's. 'nuff said) already. See, that's my problem; I buy books when I actually want them. If I had just waited, I could have taken advantage of an exclusive offer. That'll learn me.

It reminded me of the going out of business sale a local furniture store was having years ago. The splashy tv ads made it clear that all their stock had to be liquidated and I should act quickly to take advantage of the amazing savings because at those prices the merchandise was going to go quickly. I think the ad ran for 3-4 years. So glad I rushed right down there ... not.

I resisted, but I don't claim to be immune to temptation. If the minimum order for the free bag had been more reasonable, I'd have given in. But, please, $100 is a lot to ask for a $18 dollar bag. $50, that's my final offer

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.

The Sum Of All Fears

Today I had to do math at work. I had to figure out currency exchange rates which meant percentages were involved. Percentages! I can never, never remember how to do that. Every time I have to start out with something I already know the answer to and then work backwards to figure out how I'm supposed to come to that answer. Yes, folks, not just percentages, but percentages done backwards! Ugh. And it's not like I enjoy doing math at the best of times.

My dislike of math goes way back to childhood. Third grade to be exact. Halfway through the school year we moved and I changed school systems. This would not have been an issue except that at my old school they were heavily into teaching us "new math." New math. What the heck is that? Who came up with the idea of reinventing math? It's numbers, for crying out loud. We've had the same math since the first caveman sat around trying to figure out how many clubs he had, and it worked just fine for a few millenia until some earnest young thing got a bright idea. Geez.

So there I was the new kid in a new school that was doing math the old way, the way every generation since cave guy had been doing it, and my first math class they might as well have been talking physics. I didn't even have a clue about times tables, that's how bad it was. Mom worked with me and got me up to snuff on all that stuff, because she learned her math the old fashioned way too. But in the meantime I had some self esteem issues because, hey, new kid, new school isn't bad enough I have to look ignorant too? No, my teachers weren't big meanies; we just didn't any of us have clue one where the other was coming from.

And I never really recovered from that. I mean, I went on to do just fine at all the basic math stuff and even took some advanced math classes in junior high. Well, to be honest, that was my counselor's idea. I was considered fairly bright so they kept trying to shove me in AP classes. So there I was this math phobic teen expected to play nice in first algebra and then geometry class. Again I say, ugh. Fortunately for me I had a great teacher, Mr. Mewborn, and was fast friends with another girl in class who suffered similarly.

Here's the biggest problem with math classes. It isn't enough that you know how to do the problems. They want you to do them fast. Why? What kind of instant, life altering decisions do they think you're going to encounter? Only McGuyver was ever in that kind of position. In real life, nobody's life or death hinges on how fast they can figure out the length of one side of a triangle. It just doesn't. So what's the big rush?

Back to Mr. Mewborn, Bob bless him. If it wasn't for him I never would have made it through. Talk about underappreciated teachers. He used to let my friend and I stay after on days when there had been a test. Then he would put a tough problem up on the blackboard and sit there listening while we worked out the answer. If we could prove that we knew how to answer the problem, given enough time, and came up with the correct answer, he would factor that into our test grades. Because he realized that all that really mattered was that we had learned what he was trying to teach us. I don't say it stuck with me, but without him my math phobia would have been much worse.

So thank you, Mr. Mewborn. I still don't give a rat's behind about theorems; but if I'm given enough time and a big enough blackboard, probably it won't kill anyone.

Fa la la la, what?

What is the point of putting waterless hand santizing gel in a bathroom with hot and cold running water and all the hand soap you could ask for?

Actual quote from actual e-mail to my boss recieved from another assistant re her boss: "X gave me his list of gifts for the clients; please let me know if you would like for me to take care of ordering them for him." WTF? What does she think she's supposed to do with it?

I don't eat shellfish so maybe I'm just missing something here. But I saw a sign on a salad bar recently that said "fake crabmeat." If it's not crab, then what is it? And if it's something else why don't they just say so? Although I'll give them points for flat out honesty.

I got this great gift from my bosses this year; an iHome clock radio with tons of bells and whistles. I'm still getting it all figured out, and had a few adventures, but I love it. One thing, though. It's got the possibility for 12 radio station presets if you include a.m. Twelve radio stations? Does anyone really have twelve radio stations that they like enough to have preset on their bedside clock radio? I don't think I can name twelve different music genres, even throwing in talk radio, to use them all. Now I can see it for car radios because you can easily drive in and out of station range so lots of presets is handy. But my clock radio, being attached as it is to the power cord, pretty much stays next to the bed. And my house, unlike Dorothy's, also stays where it's put. So ... twelve?

I was a good girl this year and Santa paid attention. Two favorite gifts received: (1) down-filled pillow top mattress cover. I could roll myself up in this and sleep on the floor if necessary, it's just that comfortable. (2) "Thrones, Dominations" by Dorothy L. Sayers & Jill Paton Walsh, complete and unabridged in CD audiobook. I love love love Lord Peter Wimsey and my excitement at discovering that Ms. Walsh had not only brought him back via story notes left by Ms. Sayers, but she had done such an excellent job of it that, really, I can't tell where Sayers ends and Walsh picks up. I own the hardcopy and it's been reread several times. The audiobook has been much harder to get ahold of. Pretty much a special order from Amazon.com. My sister must have been feeling guilty for something when I mentioned how much I wanted it. Did I mention that it's read by the incomparable Ian Carmichael? It doesn't get much better. I am, as I type this, ripping the CDs so that I can listen to the story at my leisure on my iPod.

You Asked For It

Okay, not all of you, but some of you did. Ask for photos of my new furniture, that is. And if you aren't one of them, well don't look if it bothers you.

Here is one of the new rocker/reliner chairs. No, they didn't charge us extra for the cat. I'm just thankful that she likes laying on the towel which should keep the cat hair on the furniture to a minimum. Please ignore the junk laying around. Oh, what am I talking about? That's not junk, that's BOOKS! The ones on the table to the left are from my J.P. Hailey collection. Sadly he only wrote about 5 under that pen name; you may or may not know him as Parnell Hall who writes one of my favorite mystery series. No, not the Puzzle Lady books. He writes others and IMO they are better. The Hailey's are hard to find and out of print for a long time but if you run across one in the library or your local used book store (under mysteries) grab it. The blue bag on the floor is the stash I scored at RWA NJ last month. Mom and I are still working our way through it. The green bag which you can just barely see contains library books. Since they have due dates, we are naturally working our way through them first. Which explains why we aren't done with the NJ books yet.

This one is the reclining loveseat. Now, I have to mention that the colors in this picture are not true. It's actually a deep wine color but not nearly as dark as it look in the photo. It was night time when I took the pictures, that's why. I relied on the flash which did okay, but the loveseat and the floors both look darker than they really are. The floors are actually a sort of medium tone in slightly varying shades and not red. Yes that's the same cat on the chair. No, I didn't crochet the afghan you see over the back of the loveseat. Mom did that one. No, you can't have it, it's mine. She made it just for me. Because she likes me best, that's why. We just got the last piece of furniture yesterday so there will be some shifting of furniture and wall decorations, i.e. the mirror, to center things better. Eventually.

So, the new dining table. See through the door all that dark? Told you it was night time. We got this table to replace the longer retangular one, even though there was nothing wrong with the old one, really, because it's slightly smaller and oval and works much better in the very small dining room. The plants are my mom's babies. If you are nice I might include a photo of the flowering Christmas cactus in the right hand corner one of these days. It's huge and has gorgeous peach-colored flowers just now. Ignore that junk in the lower right corner. It's a recently bought stash of yarn with which I plan to crochet pillows as soon as I finish the other project I'm currently working on. More on that later.

I Whistled And I Gave My All ...

Bonus points for the person who can tell me (a) what song that line is from, and (b) who sang it. Here's a hint, it's someone you have heard of. Yes, you have, trust me.

I like to learn new things. Anything really. Except bad news, you can keep that. But I enjoy learning something I didn't know before. I like that aha moment when I find myself thinking "well, wadaya know." Sadly a lot of people seem to think that learning is best left to those still in school. Then there are those people who can only be bothered to learn something useful. No, really. Statement overheard a few years ago on the grounds of a winery that offered a tour ... "I'm never going to need to know that." Huh? That isn't the point. I firmly believe that every new thing we learn adds something to the person we are as a whole. Like travel, education is broadening. And those of us who enjoy learning anything new, even some small, trivial, entirely useless thing, are never bored. There's an aha moment waiting around every corner.

Which brings me to the subject of something I've really wanted to learn for a long time. Pretty much my whole life, in fact. And there don't seem to be classes available in my area. This is disturbing because I just know that were the subject offered, and were it made known that such a class was available, I think the turnout would be really amazing. So if you know of anyone who'd be willing to teach me ... huh? Oh. Uh. Hehe. Well ...

I want to learn how to whistle through my teeth or, barring that, between my fingers.

They didn't cover this at Viers Mill Elementary School. At least not while I was there. And I really want to be able to do this. I really really do. It's like my lifelong ambition (okay, as ambitions go this would make me pretty lazy, I admit). I've tried to teach myself but it comes out as something less than the desired ear-piercing tone. It's more of a pffffflllllttt. This is so not useful for summoning a cab. Also which, people standing nearby object to flying spit.

All I Have To Do Is Dream ...

I got home from running errands today, which included yarn shopping but that's another story. Got home and it was a lovely Sunday afternoon so of course I decided to take a nap. I woke up from my nap and immediately came to the computer to tell you about it, because I had a dream, folks, and it was a lulu.

First of all, I'm not entirely sure that I'm awake even now because I woke up at least twice in my dream so I could conceivably still be there. Except in the other two occasions when I woke up it was to come downstairs to my grandparents' house. The house that hasn't existed for over 20 years. Yeah. However as I write this I am in my own house so possibly I'm really awake this time.

And in this dream some friends of mine where there. I have no idea why but it's all good because I have great friends and if they want to hang out in my dreams, that's fine with me. One of my friends, oh, we'll just call her friend D, was writing her blog and commenting that when one receives a bag of books from a friend, one should take care to confirm that said books are as advertised. I have no idea what that was about. Really. I asked D, in the dream, what was wrong with the books I had given her but I never got a straight answer. And speaking of books, there was one book (we're still in the dream) which I first mistook for a Nora Roberts but which was really Gena Showalter. At least that's what it said. I have no idea if the back cover photo was really Ms. Showalter. Sadly I don't recall the title of the book. But apparently it reminded me of one of NR's.

And then the dream shifted and we're outside somewhere, possibly up in my parents' home town which would fit the apparent theme, and we're out in a field or something and I'm trying to explain about the reason my grandparents' house isn't there anymore (which must have come as a surprise to the friends in the dream since they were just there, but they didn't mention it). It had to do with the town being located alongside a river and between two mountains and my grandparents house being on low ground and so had a tendency to flood.

FYI, this part is true and the reason my grandparents house isn't there anymore. Waaaay back in the 1970s when Hurricane Agnes struck the east coast my grandparents' house got flooded up to the first floor ceiling. They dried everything out afterwards and it was livable, but the governmental powers that be decided that it would be cheaper to give them a new house on higher ground than to keep paying for flood damage on the old one. So the last years of my grandparents' lives were spent in a nice, new, single story home which my grandmother just loved. Mind you it didn't have near the charm and character of the old house which is probably why I didn't feature it in my dreams. My grandparents passed away many years ago, but in my dream they were still with us ... somewhere in the house. In a neat twist, one of my much younger cousins is now raising her family in it. No, I didn't dream that part, that's true.

But back to the dream. While we're standing there out in a field somewhere "D" (you know who you are) was complaining to the other friend, whom we'll call "R" (you know who you are, too), that she looked and looked for what I wanted (huh?) but couldn't find anything called kneelers. I did not then nor do I now have any idea what she was talking about.

So I spent a little time with good friends in pretty part of the country in a place which held a lot of happy memories for me. And my one wish for you is that as you nod off into slumberland tonight, that your dreams will be just as nice.

On Family, Furniture and Herb

Our old furniture was looking pretty funky. The cat has never been declawed - is any further explanation necessary? Also we use our living room to, well, live in. This means that beverages have been consumed there, and sometimes spilled. Rumps have been cozied into corners nearest the best reading lamp and said corners are now permanently rump-imprinted. Our chairs and love seat were napped in, cried in, laughed in, snuggled in, lounged in, stood on and generally abused for 11 years. And it showed.

Mom and I had mentioned the future shopping trip to relatives and friends. Friends were very encouraging. Relatives were critical. Friend asked "What color are you looking for?" "What store are you going to?" Relatives said "You have such a small room, don't get such big furniture!" "You don't need all recliners in that little room." "And get rid of that big tv stand while you're at it, it's much too big for that room." Sigh. Family. Gotta love 'em. It's like a rule or something.

So Mom and I went out to a well known store and found a great salesman named Herb. Yes, there are still Herbs out there in the world and they look exactly like you expect them to. I'm pretty sure they're all salesmen too. We explained to Herb what we were looking for, that we had just a small room, that my mom's back is a mess so comfort and easy access for her are priority.

For Mom at least one piece had to be reclining. In X-rays, Mom's lower back looks like a suspension bridge and it's only through the skill of a fabulous neurosurgeon that she can walk at all. The most comfortable position for her is semi-reclining so that no one spot on her spine receives all her weight. So comfort was our main priority, as explained to Herb. And I must say, when you next go furniture shopping, or shopping for anything, ask for Herb. I am convinced that the Herb's of this world make the best salesmen. He was great, steering us away from the more formal, for-looks-only, stuff and mentioning which brands, in his opinion, had the better reclining mechanisms. Then after pointing us in the right direction, Herb left us to ourselves for a few minutes. This is the hallmark of a good salesman: knowing when to back off, to give the customer a little time. Nobody likes to feel rushed, and if you are rushed you may come to regret the purchase.

We fell in love with this one chair, a rocker/recliner, and a reclining loveseat. Yes, all reclining and all overstuffed as well. They had smaller pieces, but once you sat on this stuff you just didn't look any further. Or at least we didn't. And we loved the colors too. Deep wine for the loveseat and pebble gray for the chairs. So that's what we got and on the way home we giggled at each other because we knew we were going to get harrassed by the relatives. It needs to be said, though, that it's not BIG furniture. Its simply that our living room is so very small. And sure enough when Mom was telling my aunt about the stuff we bought, my aunt questioned the size. My aunt even asked, get this, if my feet touched the floor. When my mother related the conversation to me I just stared at her and asked if this was the same aunt or some other long lost relative who had never met me, because my feet NEVER touch the floor unless I'm standing on it. I'm seriously short and I have no idea what my aunt was thinking.

The big day arrived this weekend, and so did our furniture. Well one piece is back ordered but we should have it next week so that's okay. The delivery guys were very timely and organized and had everything set up and in place quite promptly. Mom and I sat on our new furniture, petting it (it's microfiber, but feels just like suede), and giggling to each other because it really is too big ...

AND WE DON'T CARE.

It's so pretty and so comfortable regardless of what position you choose. Mom says it feels wonderful to her, and it's easy for her to get in and out of too. We're happy.

So thank you Herb and my friends are welcome to come over and check it out any time. As to those relatives .... ppffflltttt! Don't sit on it if it bothers you so much.

Simplify, Simplify

Those are the words I am chanting under my breath these days. I'm trying to simplify my life, to relax a bit more. To take the time to do things that give me pleasure without stressing over how to fit it in. My problem is that I have a very organized soul trapped inside a very lazy body. My soul demands that things be done right and that life operate efficiently. My body thinks it should wait until later. Then later gets here and my soul stresses because it doesn't have the time to do the job properly. At which point my body points out that I might as well skip it then which causes my soul to have a hissy fit. And so the battle rages with first one side and then the other winning minor battles but neither emerging completely victorious. Clearly a little détente is needed here. Time to head for Geneva and begin negotiations.

Last month in her blog, Argh Ink, NYT Bestselling author Jennifer Crusie took her fans through 12 days of office cleaning/organizing. No, I'm not going to do that here. But in some of the comments there was mention of a website called Fly Lady which sounded interesting enough that I decided to check it out. According to Fly Lady, we become overwhelmed by day to day tasks because we set the bar too high. This results in what she refers to as CHAOS (Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome). Sound familiar? Fly Lady's answer to the problem is to break up all the things that need doing into smaller, more manageable chunks. Don't try to clean the whole house at once, just concentrate on the desk. Or even just the desk drawer. And limit it to 15 minutes at a time. You do this until you've eliminated the worst of your clutter and disorganization and then you create and stick with a daily routine of small tasks to maintain order. And apparently Fly Lady has encountered perfectionist souls before because she also suggests that it's better to do something half way than not at all.

I think she has a point. I'm not going to sign up for the program, even though you can follow along for free, because I am not much of a joiner. But I've been browsing the site and I can see a lot of stuff that I can start incorporating into my own life. For instance, instead of putting off dusting until I have time to move objects and wield a can of Lemon Pledge with enthusiasm, I could focus on keeping the majority of the dust off the easy to reach surfaces. Instead of devoting a day I don't have to reorganizing my paperwork, I could work on just one stack at a time. And so on to include my closet in which I am sure the lost treasure of the Aztecs is hidden somewhere. And setting a time limit is a good idea too, because once you start blazing trails it's really easy to wander down side paths and end up lost. The beauty of this system, in theory, is that by nibbling away at the edges of all those chores they will eventually become smaller and more easily managed. Then the idea of breaking out the Pledge won't seem so daunting.

I decided to put this to the test this past weekend. A friend (hi Dee!) and her DH came by Thurs. evening to take away some old furniture in order to make room for our new stuff. With all that empty floor space it seemed like a good time to tackle a little fall cleaning. So I got out the dust mop and Swifter Wet Jet. But rather than mobilizing like a crazed Russian general, I broke the job down into sections. Dining room, living room, hallway. I worked one section and then took a break for a cup of coffee. I worked another section and then spent a few minutes on the deck brushing my cat. And so it went. Okay, my remaining furniture is still pretty dusty, but my floor now looks really good. AND I still had time to go to the library that day and to work on my latest crochet project that evening. So this may be working.

On Sunday I decided to implement my new simplicity system a little further. While at the grocery store I stocked up on those wipes you can get for counter top surfaces and those little disposable duster things. My theory is that I can keep the counters in bathroom and kitchen looking nicer if it's a simple matter of swiping over the surface with an already treated cloth. And likewise if all I have to do is flash the duster thingy over and around tabletops and shelves the dust shouldn't build up so badly.

Of course this is all theory so far, and will require my sticking to some kind of schedule in any case. We'll see. Stay tuned.

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.

Apropo of many things

I am seriously sleep deprived. I'm saying that right up front so you'll understand if this blog sorta bounces off the walls. Why am I sleep deprived? Several reasons, not the least of which is my trip to Dayton. Dayton, OH. Who knew it was such a fun place? Or at least it is when the Cherrybombs are in town. Come to think of it, we weren't actually in Dayton but rather in Beavercreek, OH, a suburb of Dayton. Beavercreek ... it's Ohio so they have towns named after the local fauna. There's probably a Possumcreek too. I do know this much about Ohio, they've borrowed a lot of town/city names from other cities. Shows a distinct lack of creativity on their party. Which I would worry about except Jennifer Crusie lives there so maybe they are plenty creative in Ohio, they just didn't bother making the effort for place names. Seriously, I was looking at an Ohio map on the drive back and they've got, just to name a few, Newark, Philadelphia, Washington, Ottawa and I believe Richmond. That could be confusing, don't you think?

The people in Beavercreek were really great. The CherryBombs descended like ... I can't think of an appropriate simile. But we never encountered one glare or frown. Bemusement, amusement and astonishment, yes; but no negative reactions, so we're talking about a pretty laid back population. I liked it that they just went with our flow. I could be happy there I think. Also they have good shopping. That's important.

However, during the drive back, somewhere around Columbus I think it was, we had the radio on and there was a report of a murder. Not that Ohio can't have murderers, too. Equal opportunity for all, I say. It's okay, though, because they got the guy who did it. They found him not far from an abandoned car which contained several knives and an arm. Ohio. Nice place, but don't pick up hitch hikers.

What else? Oh, it took me two hours to get home last night. An undefined 'incident' at one of the stations on my subway line. And I was trying to get home early too. See it was my mom's birthday. That morning I had scattered around the house 3 packages and 2 birthday cards. Not hidden, mind you, just placed strategically so that she would encounter them during her daily routine. One gift by the stairs, one next to her chair and one on the bathroom sink. One card was inside the microwave and one next to the milk in the fridge. Apparently she was in and out of both her chair and the bathroom a few times before she noticed the gift bags. And this morning I discovered that the card was still next to the milk in the fridge. The milk she would have used in her coffee yesterday. Coffee I know she had at least two cups of. I wonder if she found it this morning?

Anyway, as I said, it was Mom's birthday and I was taking her out to dinner. My best friend went with us and we had a really nice evening. We laughed a lot and drank wine and ate really good food. I had the chicken Marsala. Oh my Bob was that good. It made me feel like Min in Bet Me.

And on the subject of books, one of mom's gifts was a bag of books, two of which I got signed while in Dayton - excuse me, Beavercreek. One was Bones to Ashes by Kathy Reichs, and one was Hard Row by Margaret Maron. Both are favorite authors of mine, but because it was her birthday I'm letting Mom read them first. Aren't I nice? The other two, however, the ones I got signed, were Agnes and the Hitman by Jennifer Crusie and Bob Mayer, and Lost Girls by Robert Doherty who is actually Bob Mayer. These two I did read because I was going to the signing and I wanted to sound intelligent about the books.

And Mom invited the Aunts over for dinner tomorrow night. We're having what Mom and I call Jasper's Pasta because that's the restaurant where we used to get it. They closed though. A crying shame because it was a good restaurant, and popular. Now it's a sports bar. Anyway the dish includes hot capellini tossed with roasted garlic, zucchini, onions, tomatoes, basil, sun-dried tomatoes and grated parmesan cheese. Served with marinara and pesto sauces. Fabulous.

I don't think I'll be doing any more shoe posts this year. Well, never say never; but I do think I've probably shot my shoe budget all to heck for the year. But I do love my shoes. Sigh. I also have a fabulous new purse which I picked up in Da..., uh, Beavercreek. I told you they had great shopping.

And my friend, the one who joined us for dinner last night, might come over tonight to return/borrow some books.

So I've got great shoes, a fab new purse, a stack of books by fav authors waiting to be read, good memories, a tummy full of yummy food, and time spent with great people.

Life is good.