The title of this post is also the title of a YA book by Terry Pratchett. It's been on my mind this week because it's been an especially busy week at work.
It's a matter of pride for me to do the best I can in return for a regular paycheck. I sometimes grouse because I know there are people who do decidedly less and get away with it. But I guess it's just how I'm wired ... I know what I'm capable of and I can't lie to myself and justify doing less than that. My boss has gotten used to the idea that I am capable and efficient and she can safely put matters in my hands, knowing it will get done. She's gotten a little too used to it. Her immediate response whenever there is a project that needs doing is "McB can do that." I don't think she even considers whether I have the background or training for whatever, the words just come out. I can see it now: aliens invading, nuclear holocaust imminent, volcanic activity under our office building. And what will her reaction be? "McB can handle it." Next job I'm going to start screwing up right from the beginning and save myself some stress and anxiety.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go save the universe. And then do my filing.
Wednesday, January 30
Sunday, January 27
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.
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.
Sunday, January 20
She's Gonna Blow!
I have PMS today. Oh shut up.
It's been coming on for a few days, but I realized in the grocery store today that it was here, big time and in living color. There was this little kid behaving the way little kids to when forced to endure really boring grown up stuff like grocery shopping. He was a normal kid behaving normally. So why was part of my brain convinced he was the spawn of satan? PMS.
I'm the only one who is allowed to say it. That's the rule. If it is "that time of the month" and anyone other than the woman affected dares to mention it, they get their faced ripped off and fed to the neighbor's schnauzer. I think it's a schnauzer, anyway. It's some kind of annoying little .... deep breath .... better.
PMS makes me feel schizo. Even while I'm envisioning grabbing the neighbor's yipping little fur ball and doing my version of an Olymic discus throw right over the rooftops, I know that what I'm feeling isn't logical. I like dogs, really. And the little &&^% was just expressing his perky little personality. I know this. And next week I will be at peace with the little *&^). But that's next week. Next week I might run into that same kid in the grocery store and realize that his eyes aren't actually glowing red and, no, those aren't horns he's sprouting.
But this week it's best if you don't look at me the wrong way. In fact, just don't look at me. No matter what expression you are wearing, I'm going to take offense. No matter what you say it will be the wrong thing. And even while I'm envisioning just how to go about feeding you to Fifi, or Fido or Frank or whatever the little &^%#'s name is, I'll know that you don't really deserve that. And I'll feel guilty as all heck about it. Next week. This week, not so much.
Thursday, January 17
The Laugh Line Revolution
I'm supposed to be working right now. I've even got a list of Things To Do. I'll get to, really. I just need to work up a little enthusiasm first, get my head together and aimed in the right direction. So I don't really consider this procrastinating so much as a kind of stretching exercise before getting serious about my list.
I'm in my 40s. Like anyone else my age when I look in the mirror I notice that there are things about me that just aren't quite the same as they used to be. Overall I have been very lucky in the genetics department. I have no grey yet. As my mother, at 67, has very little grey herself, so little in fact that's it's barely noticeable, I feel fairly confident that I won't need to worry about covering my roots for a while yet. My jaw line is ever so slightly softer than it used to be, the skin on my face, in general, not as tight as it was perhaps 10 or 15 years ago. But I comfort myself with the thought that these things might not be so apparent to other people.
I do have a few faint lines. The ones that bother me are by my upper lip and make me look like I've spent my life with my lips puckered around a cigarette. I don't smoke and never have. In my case it's the result of 40-some years of scrunching my face up in my sleep. They used to disappear when I'd been awake for a bit. Then it was okay because a little face powder covered them. Now, well now they're just there. But like the softening of the jaw line, I tell myself that nobody else notices. Really it wouldn't bother me at all if they didn't look like the result of a 20 year, 2 pack a day habit. I hate it that, to someone who doesn't know me, they might give that impression. Otherwise I really would be okay about it.
If that sounds like I'm protesting too much, please take note that I also have those little crinkles at the corner of each eye. Slight yet and perhaps not obvious to anyone else, I know that over the next few years they'll slowly become as much a part of my face as the shape of my nose.
Those little crinkles are laugh lines. When you laugh, if you really put your whole heart into it, your face sort of spreads out and causes the skin to crease, usually up by your eyes where there's less 'give' in your face. Don't believe me? Go head, take a piece of cloth, pinch on either side and then pull apart. See how the fabric between your fingers creases up? That's what happens to your face when you smile really big. If you smile a lot, especially as an adult, they become more obvious and even take up permanent residence.
I know some women are bothered by this, although I've never understood that. Our faces, over time, reveal to others who we really are inside. And even with botox and plastic surgery, you can't escape reality completely. Something about you, the look in your eyes or the set of your shoulders, will give you away. Personally, if I have to carry some symbol of my life around for all to see, I don't want the first impression I give to be one of bitterness and fear of aging or, almost worse, a complete lack of emotion. This is why those little creases by the corners of my eyes don't bother me at all. In order to achieve those, in order to have them be a permanent part of my features, I have had to laugh and smile a lot in my lifetime. Hell, those lines are a badge of honor ... I've earned them. I only hope that, as I put another decade behind me, people will see them for what they are. Signs that I've laughed a lot my life.
As I said, I know that some women fear those first tell-tale lines. This is just so wrong. We should celebrate those little clues that ours has been a life well lived and filled with joy and humor. Rather than pouring money into magic potions and creams to delay or hide that evidence, we should be emphasizing it. If the world was more logical, young women in their 20s would be devouring magazine articles on the art of creating laugh lines. They would be penciling in fake crinkles in an effort to convince the world that they, too, have laughed and enjoyed life. And then the rest of us could sit back, smugly superior, because we have the real thing.
Wednesday, January 16
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.
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.
Friday, January 4
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 2
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?):
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.
Sunday, December 30
Fa la la la, what?
Sunday, December 23
Oh look! Company!
Hope you didn't have any trouble finding the place.
Are ya'll hungry? Thirsty? You have to try this great recipe I found for hot buttered rum. 
This will warm you right up.
Oh yes, this one's for you.
Gosh I hope you don't already have one.
And there's some more
over this this other pile ... if you wouldn't mind passing them around? Thanks.
Are ya'll hungry? Thirsty? You have to try this great recipe I found for hot buttered rum. 
This will warm you right up. Oh yes, this one's for you.
Gosh I hope you don't already have one.And there's some more
over this this other pile ... if you wouldn't mind passing them around? Thanks.
Tuesday, December 18
Itchy Fingers
I've been keeping my crochet hook busy. My latest finished project has taken me several months, and is my most ambitious project by far. I've never made a garment before, other than the odd baby sweater. And they don't count because babies don't really care if a sleeve isn't perfect or a seam is a bit off. But I had run out of people to make afghans for and my fingers were itching to start something new so I poked around on-line at various websites devoted to yarns and patterns. Most of the best patterns are for knitters, and someday I'll have to brush up on my needlework and try a few. It's been a lot of years and I never did feel as comfortable with knitting needles as I do a crochet hook. That was then and this is now, as the saying goes, and maybe I'll feel differently now.
I did find this one pattern for a bolero which looked simple enough. Ha. The stitches themselves were simple, just a lot of double crochets. My problem was two-fold: first, with a garment you must pay attention to gauge (stitches/rows per inch) and you must get it right otherwise the pieces won't match up when it comes time to stitch them together. Second, I used a different kind of yarn for the very first time and until I adjusted it was very tricky to work with.
I know, this isn't what you think of when you hear the word
"yarn." It's really more of a ribbon, and more specifically what they call a "ladder" or "trellis" ribbon. It's a bit like stitching together cobwebs, but is also amazingly strong and has a beautiful drape. I really shouldn't have done my first major project with this, but how could I pass up those colors? 
And I'm really pleased with how it turned out. Well worth all the tearing out and restitching.
My next project should be much simpler, but I'm still pretty excited about it. I have new furniture in solid colors and it needs some jazzing up with pillows. So I found this pattern:
I liked the way the stripes reverse, and I liked
that the pattern calls for different textures of yarn. To me texture is even more important than color in the things I crochet because they are meant to be felt, whether it's an afghan or anything else. It's all about how it feels. In this case it's all done in Homespun (a nubby yarn) and chenille. I'm planning to use a combo
of the chenille in a few different jewel tones and some faux suede yarn with just a little Homespun for accent. It should result in a nice, soft pillow. We'll see.
I did find this one pattern for a bolero which looked simple enough. Ha. The stitches themselves were simple, just a lot of double crochets. My problem was two-fold: first, with a garment you must pay attention to gauge (stitches/rows per inch) and you must get it right otherwise the pieces won't match up when it comes time to stitch them together. Second, I used a different kind of yarn for the very first time and until I adjusted it was very tricky to work with.
I know, this isn't what you think of when you hear the word
"yarn." It's really more of a ribbon, and more specifically what they call a "ladder" or "trellis" ribbon. It's a bit like stitching together cobwebs, but is also amazingly strong and has a beautiful drape. I really shouldn't have done my first major project with this, but how could I pass up those colors? 
And I'm really pleased with how it turned out. Well worth all the tearing out and restitching.My next project should be much simpler, but I'm still pretty excited about it. I have new furniture in solid colors and it needs some jazzing up with pillows. So I found this pattern:
I liked the way the stripes reverse, and I liked
that the pattern calls for different textures of yarn. To me texture is even more important than color in the things I crochet because they are meant to be felt, whether it's an afghan or anything else. It's all about how it feels. In this case it's all done in Homespun (a nubby yarn) and chenille. I'm planning to use a combo
of the chenille in a few different jewel tones and some faux suede yarn with just a little Homespun for accent. It should result in a nice, soft pillow. We'll see.
Friday, December 14
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.
Wednesday, December 5
The Commute That Wasn't
We've got elephants. White elephants to be exact. Frankly, these elephants are pretty small potatoes, if you don't mind me mixing my metaphors. The roads are wet and there's some accumulation on grass and so forth, but otherwise the weather is not all that noteworthy. Except that this is our first snowfall of the season and the mildness of it lured a lot of people into a false sense of security driving safety wise. When I left my community this morning I could see that the road to get on the main route I take to the subway station was ridiculously backed up so I went with my alternate route. It is normally much longer as it includes going through a main commercial area, lots of stop lights, etc. But it is an option.
Well this morning my second choice wasn't moving any better. I was slugging along, slow but at least moving, when suddenly my radio died and my windshield wiper went into slow motion. A quick look at the dash indicated a battery problem. Everything came right back on again, but dare I trust it? I don't think so. I start to moan and then I realize that the traffic snafu might have been a blessing in disguise because this route will take me right past the dealership. So I make my way there eventually and I'm actually in and out, complete with loaner car, in about 10 minutes. Just to get back into traffic again. I eventually make my way to some side streets which will eventually wind around to the vicinity of the subway station, so at least I'm moving but it goes a little out of the way first so quite a bit more time passes before I get to the station. And find NO PARKING PLACES!
This is bad. We have 2 parking garages and 3 lots. Normally plenty of parking even if latecomers might have to hike a ways. I check two of the lots, driving past a garage marked "full" and can find no place to park! So I pulled into an illegal space to think about this. Okay, I could work my way around to the other remaining parking lot, but that's on the other side of the station and would add easily 20 minutes (there's no direct way to get there). And no guarantee of a space there either. I could go back to the dealership and get a ride back to the subway, but that's 20 minutes to get there if I'm lucky, a wait for someone to drive me and then we go through the whole traffic thing again, so I don't see that option taking less than 45 minutes. And then I still have a 40 minute subway ride.
At this point it's after 10:30 and just trying to get to work is going to cost me a half day leave. I didn't have to ponder problem too long. If I'm going to lose 1/2 day's leave, I might as well take a full day and relax at home. So that's where I am. At home, waiting for the dealership to call and say my car is ready. Oh yeah, there is a battery problem and the guy confirmed that there was a good chance my car wouldn't have started tonight, or tomorrow morning, or sometime soon, potentially stranding me somewhere without transp. So God really does work in mysterious ways.
Now you'll have to excuse me, because my cat is waiting for a cuddle.
Well this morning my second choice wasn't moving any better. I was slugging along, slow but at least moving, when suddenly my radio died and my windshield wiper went into slow motion. A quick look at the dash indicated a battery problem. Everything came right back on again, but dare I trust it? I don't think so. I start to moan and then I realize that the traffic snafu might have been a blessing in disguise because this route will take me right past the dealership. So I make my way there eventually and I'm actually in and out, complete with loaner car, in about 10 minutes. Just to get back into traffic again. I eventually make my way to some side streets which will eventually wind around to the vicinity of the subway station, so at least I'm moving but it goes a little out of the way first so quite a bit more time passes before I get to the station. And find NO PARKING PLACES!
This is bad. We have 2 parking garages and 3 lots. Normally plenty of parking even if latecomers might have to hike a ways. I check two of the lots, driving past a garage marked "full" and can find no place to park! So I pulled into an illegal space to think about this. Okay, I could work my way around to the other remaining parking lot, but that's on the other side of the station and would add easily 20 minutes (there's no direct way to get there). And no guarantee of a space there either. I could go back to the dealership and get a ride back to the subway, but that's 20 minutes to get there if I'm lucky, a wait for someone to drive me and then we go through the whole traffic thing again, so I don't see that option taking less than 45 minutes. And then I still have a 40 minute subway ride.
At this point it's after 10:30 and just trying to get to work is going to cost me a half day leave. I didn't have to ponder problem too long. If I'm going to lose 1/2 day's leave, I might as well take a full day and relax at home. So that's where I am. At home, waiting for the dealership to call and say my car is ready. Oh yeah, there is a battery problem and the guy confirmed that there was a good chance my car wouldn't have started tonight, or tomorrow morning, or sometime soon, potentially stranding me somewhere without transp. So God really does work in mysterious ways.
Now you'll have to excuse me, because my cat is waiting for a cuddle.
Sunday, December 2
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 28
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.
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.
Sunday, November 18
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 13
The Conquering Heroine
thank you, Theresa!
You've waited and you've wondered.
Would she? Could she? WILL she?
The waiting is over. (cue Rocky Theme Song "Gonna Fly Now")
Behold ...
*
*
*
*
THE NON-DRIPPING FAUCETT
And the crowd goes wild!
Sunday, November 11
In Flanders Fields
In Flanders Fields
Written by John McCrae
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Some of the bloodiest battles of World War I took place in the areas of northern France and southwest Belgium known as Flanders and Picardy. The British front line was determined to keep the Germans from traversing Flanders and the Ypres river valley to reach the port of Calais. Troops from both sides were holed up in the Ypres salient, an outward projection of the battle line. Defending British troops were vulnerable on three sides; therefore this was a bloody and dangerous place for a soldier to be. The destruction from the battles in this area reached beyond the battlefield to the towns and roads of the area, and led to the demolition of buildings, roads, and all plant life, leaving only mud.
John McCrae's "In Flanders Fields" remains to this day one of the most memorable war poems ever written. It is a lasting legacy of the terrible battle in the Ypres salient in the spring of 1915. One of the most asked questions is: why poppies? The answer is simple: poppies are the only flower when everything else in the neighbourhood is dead. Poppy seeds can lie on the ground for years and years until there are no more competing flowers or shrubs in the vicinity, or until the ground becomes uprooted.
There was enough rooted up soil on the battlefield of the Western Front; in fact the whole front consisted of churned up soil. So in May 1915, when McCrae wrote his poem, around him poppies blossomed like no one had ever seen before. In Flanders Fields is also the name of an American War Cemetery in Flanders. This burial place, near the village of Waregem, has taken its name from McCrae's (Canadian) poem. The bronze foot of the flag-staff is decorated with daisies and poppies.
November 11, observed in the United States in honor of veterans of the armed services and in commemoration of the armistice that ended World War I in 1918. In 1954 it was renamed from Armistice Day and given the added significance of honoring veterans.
Take some time this year to honor all the soldiers who have died on the ground, in the air, and at sea and show your patriotism to those who have fought or are still fighting for our freedom today.
Some Gave All
Written by John McCrae
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Some of the bloodiest battles of World War I took place in the areas of northern France and southwest Belgium known as Flanders and Picardy. The British front line was determined to keep the Germans from traversing Flanders and the Ypres river valley to reach the port of Calais. Troops from both sides were holed up in the Ypres salient, an outward projection of the battle line. Defending British troops were vulnerable on three sides; therefore this was a bloody and dangerous place for a soldier to be. The destruction from the battles in this area reached beyond the battlefield to the towns and roads of the area, and led to the demolition of buildings, roads, and all plant life, leaving only mud.
John McCrae's "In Flanders Fields" remains to this day one of the most memorable war poems ever written. It is a lasting legacy of the terrible battle in the Ypres salient in the spring of 1915. One of the most asked questions is: why poppies? The answer is simple: poppies are the only flower when everything else in the neighbourhood is dead. Poppy seeds can lie on the ground for years and years until there are no more competing flowers or shrubs in the vicinity, or until the ground becomes uprooted.
There was enough rooted up soil on the battlefield of the Western Front; in fact the whole front consisted of churned up soil. So in May 1915, when McCrae wrote his poem, around him poppies blossomed like no one had ever seen before. In Flanders Fields is also the name of an American War Cemetery in Flanders. This burial place, near the village of Waregem, has taken its name from McCrae's (Canadian) poem. The bronze foot of the flag-staff is decorated with daisies and poppies.
November 11, observed in the United States in honor of veterans of the armed services and in commemoration of the armistice that ended World War I in 1918. In 1954 it was renamed from Armistice Day and given the added significance of honoring veterans.
Take some time this year to honor all the soldiers who have died on the ground, in the air, and at sea and show your patriotism to those who have fought or are still fighting for our freedom today.
Some Gave All
Friday, November 9
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.
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.
Sunday, November 4
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.
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.
Friday, November 2
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