12,142 words!
Took Wednesday night off, I was just too exhausted. (Turns out I needed to remove the leveling shims from my bed's frame once I'd rotated and flipped my mattress - that teeny amount of slant was costing me whole nights' sleep! MUCH better now! Make a note: if you're sleeping poorly, check the level of your bed - head to toe and side to side.)
So I needed to write 3334 words last night to catch up. But, I was really tired again and only got 2007 words - which was still a bit above the necessary daily average to "win" NaNo, so I feel somewhat mollified. And, there's a three-day weekend coming up, so I have confidence I'll catch up entirely, and even pull a bit ahead, over the weekend.
Right now this little shrub is growing every whichway but I can go back and prune it later. This gives me lots of potential branches to follow in the next 3 weeks.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Monday, November 05, 2007
Friday, November 02, 2007
Yay, 2,001 words accomplished for NaNoWriMo Day One yesterday! Woo hoo! I'm on my way!
And, yes, I did get to have my week in Paris, the first week in October. And yes, I do have tons of stuff to post, and photos to set up in Kodak Gallery. Things take time. I'm still absorbing much of what occurred in Paris. It'll probably be the only time I ever get to go, so I'm savoring all the memories and poring over the changes that magic city initiated in me.
But right now, It's National Novel Writing Month so don't expect much. (No oftener than I post here, I don't reckon you do anyway.
And, yes, I did get to have my week in Paris, the first week in October. And yes, I do have tons of stuff to post, and photos to set up in Kodak Gallery. Things take time. I'm still absorbing much of what occurred in Paris. It'll probably be the only time I ever get to go, so I'm savoring all the memories and poring over the changes that magic city initiated in me.
But right now, It's National Novel Writing Month so don't expect much. (No oftener than I post here, I don't reckon you do anyway.
Monday, April 09, 2007
Is this what relaxing feels like?
I spent the weekend repeatedly making myself sit down and do nothing - well, sit down and read for pleasure.
In the months since my husband died I've kept a small but steady series of balls up in the air. I have a list of Things to Do, large projects and small ones, long-term and short-term, for myself, for others, about the house, finances, disposal of things of my husband's in appropriate manners...I keep two or three of them going at a time.
It's not Avoidance (of the pain of grief: in evidence I offer the fact that I do feel it daily, write in my diary about it, talk about it, sometimes wallow in it for short bursts), (of loneliness: I have no troubles with being alone, but I do miss my husband terribly. I "get along" fine on my own, otherwise).
It's just that there are a couple of overarching concerns: #1 that I clear out what I don't need as soon as I am able, timewise, financially, or emotionally so that if anything happens to me, my son isn't stuck dealing with all that excess. God knows he'll have enough to deal with just with the stuff I want to keep and will use! #2 that I maintain the house & yard in good condition for future sale, most probably when I die or if I ever have to move elsewhere.
But last weekend I'd gotten to a kind of coasting place. The two or three Current Projects, I have to wait for others' actions or inputs. I know better than to start another one, that way madness lies. I was caught up with my financial info and obligations; the house was clean; I had no outside committments. It was time to practice Relaxing. Loafing. Sitting around. Reading for pleasure for long periods of time.
I've gotten out of that habit. I don't say that bragging about how hard I work (anyone who knows me that working hard is NOT something I would brag about, lol). It's just that for the past several years, while Hubby's mobility decreased, I picked up most of what he did around the house and yard so that by the time he went into the hospital last spring, I had been pretty much doing everything for a couple of years. I felt guilty if I found myself Just Sitting, because there was always something productive I could be doing. Then, when he was in the hospital those horrible four months, I added a daily visit (weekends: two a day) to the hospital on top of all the house stuff and job. And of course the first few months since he passed away, I've had a few business things to take care of, and to begin to try to figure out what my life will be like now, and in the future.
I've been striving so hard to reach certain goals. One was, get the house cleaned thoroughly, upstairs and down, and get caught up with the laundry. OK. That's done. I've got a baseline to re-start a cleaning schedule so that it never has to wear me completely out. I looked around the place Saturday morning and was a little taken aback: There was nothing much to clean! I went down to the laundry room. There was nothing much to launder! I went up to the den and looked at the hosuehold books. There were no payments due, no money stuff to deal with! It was Saturday morning! Whatever would I do all weekend???
I pledged to myself to Loaf. Read. Snooze. Eat. Loaf Some More. It felt VERY strange. It felt good. I woke up this morning more rested and relaxed than I can ever remember on a Monday morning. And it occurs to me. Life doesn't have to be all stress and pressure. I don't have to constantly feel rushed, obliged, booked, inadequate, behind, tense. Man. That's going to take some getting used to.
I spent the weekend repeatedly making myself sit down and do nothing - well, sit down and read for pleasure.
In the months since my husband died I've kept a small but steady series of balls up in the air. I have a list of Things to Do, large projects and small ones, long-term and short-term, for myself, for others, about the house, finances, disposal of things of my husband's in appropriate manners...I keep two or three of them going at a time.
It's not Avoidance (of the pain of grief: in evidence I offer the fact that I do feel it daily, write in my diary about it, talk about it, sometimes wallow in it for short bursts), (of loneliness: I have no troubles with being alone, but I do miss my husband terribly. I "get along" fine on my own, otherwise).
It's just that there are a couple of overarching concerns: #1 that I clear out what I don't need as soon as I am able, timewise, financially, or emotionally so that if anything happens to me, my son isn't stuck dealing with all that excess. God knows he'll have enough to deal with just with the stuff I want to keep and will use! #2 that I maintain the house & yard in good condition for future sale, most probably when I die or if I ever have to move elsewhere.
But last weekend I'd gotten to a kind of coasting place. The two or three Current Projects, I have to wait for others' actions or inputs. I know better than to start another one, that way madness lies. I was caught up with my financial info and obligations; the house was clean; I had no outside committments. It was time to practice Relaxing. Loafing. Sitting around. Reading for pleasure for long periods of time.
I've gotten out of that habit. I don't say that bragging about how hard I work (anyone who knows me that working hard is NOT something I would brag about, lol). It's just that for the past several years, while Hubby's mobility decreased, I picked up most of what he did around the house and yard so that by the time he went into the hospital last spring, I had been pretty much doing everything for a couple of years. I felt guilty if I found myself Just Sitting, because there was always something productive I could be doing. Then, when he was in the hospital those horrible four months, I added a daily visit (weekends: two a day) to the hospital on top of all the house stuff and job. And of course the first few months since he passed away, I've had a few business things to take care of, and to begin to try to figure out what my life will be like now, and in the future.
I've been striving so hard to reach certain goals. One was, get the house cleaned thoroughly, upstairs and down, and get caught up with the laundry. OK. That's done. I've got a baseline to re-start a cleaning schedule so that it never has to wear me completely out. I looked around the place Saturday morning and was a little taken aback: There was nothing much to clean! I went down to the laundry room. There was nothing much to launder! I went up to the den and looked at the hosuehold books. There were no payments due, no money stuff to deal with! It was Saturday morning! Whatever would I do all weekend???
I pledged to myself to Loaf. Read. Snooze. Eat. Loaf Some More. It felt VERY strange. It felt good. I woke up this morning more rested and relaxed than I can ever remember on a Monday morning. And it occurs to me. Life doesn't have to be all stress and pressure. I don't have to constantly feel rushed, obliged, booked, inadequate, behind, tense. Man. That's going to take some getting used to.
Friday, March 16, 2007
In my 20's, I used to yearn - actively - for perspective. I'd be in the middle of some crisis - personal, employment-related, as a mother, a wife, a girlfriend (the latter two never overlapped, I hasten to add) - and in agony I would recall one particular incident when I was maybe 6, staying overnight with my grandma and grandpa (my dad's folks) when I got sick. Vomiting, diarrhea, the whole bit. And my grandma was so placid and competent and gave me such a golden feeling of being cared for with love - and just knowing what to do and what to expect - that even at that young age, I remember thinking: She's been through this raising four kids and it's no big deal and I will be OK. Perspective was the word didn't know when I was six.
I'm fifty-six now, and I finally do have more perspective. I raised a son - as best I knew how - and he's turned out to be a fine man, for which I give him most of the credit. I've been through a divorce, and now I'm learning about widowhood. All those years and joys and mistakes and learning and striving and agonizing have an accumulated weight that seems to stabilize this little boat bobbing on the waves.
I've learned that divorce brings lots else in addition to freedom - including never-vanishing regrets. What I know now is that there are armies of counselors who would have loved to help us, if only we'd know there were out there, and if only we hadn't been so afraid of self-examination. We may have been able to weather the problems, and even have emerged stronger and better people, if we'd known. Our son paid the price. Regrets.
In losing my second husband and in the months of his suffering before he died, I learned that all those things I'd agonized over for so long - all those points of stress and subjects of discord, all the resentments and power struggles - they were nothing - nothing, compared to the depth and strength of our love. They burned away and disappeared like toilet paper in the blast of concern, then fear, then horror when at last it became clear that he wouldn't be coming home. I consider myself so lucky to have been able to let him know in those months, by my actions and words, how much I loved him. I have no regrets on that count. He knew.
In addition to the many things I've learned through this experience, about my husband, myself, and us - I've learned that we have - I have - the best family and friends on Earth. They supported and loved us every step of that cruel path, and continue to do so. I lost my dear husband, but because of family and friends, I count myself among the luckiest of human beings.
Gratitude is the great antidote to so many habits of thinking and feeling that could twist and stain and cripple my life. Resentment, envy, feelings of inadequacy, fear - all of these are parts of my personality and - [checking...] - yes, daily I grapple with every one of them. But thanks to my husband and years of honest effort on my part, I have the tools that help me work through them. I cannot ever take it for granted that I'll succeed. Every rearing of one of those ugly heads requires my serious and honest confrontation. I don't imagine that I am always - or ever - 100% successful. But this blessed perspective helps me keep both my successes and failures to a human - not an overwhelming -scale. I have learned to judge when it's appropriate to forgive myself, and when I need to work harder.
It's funny - I had no idea what I was doing, in my 20's, in the thrashings of emotion and usually self-inflicted crisis - but in yearning for perspective, I was wishing for exactly the right thing.
I am so, so lucky.
I'm fifty-six now, and I finally do have more perspective. I raised a son - as best I knew how - and he's turned out to be a fine man, for which I give him most of the credit. I've been through a divorce, and now I'm learning about widowhood. All those years and joys and mistakes and learning and striving and agonizing have an accumulated weight that seems to stabilize this little boat bobbing on the waves.
I've learned that divorce brings lots else in addition to freedom - including never-vanishing regrets. What I know now is that there are armies of counselors who would have loved to help us, if only we'd know there were out there, and if only we hadn't been so afraid of self-examination. We may have been able to weather the problems, and even have emerged stronger and better people, if we'd known. Our son paid the price. Regrets.
In losing my second husband and in the months of his suffering before he died, I learned that all those things I'd agonized over for so long - all those points of stress and subjects of discord, all the resentments and power struggles - they were nothing - nothing, compared to the depth and strength of our love. They burned away and disappeared like toilet paper in the blast of concern, then fear, then horror when at last it became clear that he wouldn't be coming home. I consider myself so lucky to have been able to let him know in those months, by my actions and words, how much I loved him. I have no regrets on that count. He knew.
In addition to the many things I've learned through this experience, about my husband, myself, and us - I've learned that we have - I have - the best family and friends on Earth. They supported and loved us every step of that cruel path, and continue to do so. I lost my dear husband, but because of family and friends, I count myself among the luckiest of human beings.
Gratitude is the great antidote to so many habits of thinking and feeling that could twist and stain and cripple my life. Resentment, envy, feelings of inadequacy, fear - all of these are parts of my personality and - [checking...] - yes, daily I grapple with every one of them. But thanks to my husband and years of honest effort on my part, I have the tools that help me work through them. I cannot ever take it for granted that I'll succeed. Every rearing of one of those ugly heads requires my serious and honest confrontation. I don't imagine that I am always - or ever - 100% successful. But this blessed perspective helps me keep both my successes and failures to a human - not an overwhelming -scale. I have learned to judge when it's appropriate to forgive myself, and when I need to work harder.
It's funny - I had no idea what I was doing, in my 20's, in the thrashings of emotion and usually self-inflicted crisis - but in yearning for perspective, I was wishing for exactly the right thing.
I am so, so lucky.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
I didn't realize it'd been so long since I posted. Some "daily" blog, eh? Oh, well.
I haven't kept up with the 1667 words/day required to finish NaNoWriMo at 50,000 words at the stroke of midnight, November 30th, but I've kept my hand in; I can still do it if I write 2,000 a day until then. Will I? I hope so. I could if I really set my mind to it. But even if I don't, it will have been well worth doing. It's reminded me what fun, and what solace, writing daily can be. Fiction, I mean. I keep at least one, currently two, daily journals going always, but fiction is different. I have to make up the incidents and characters in fiction; not so my journals. Fiction writing challenges me to dig deeper into my imagination, throw myself curves and fling myself aloft to catch them. Working at NaNo this year has also reminded me that I CAN write daily. Why not? What a loaded question, inviting scattershot of excuses. But now I'm reminded not only that I can do it, but also why I'd want to. Time well spent!
I haven't kept up with the 1667 words/day required to finish NaNoWriMo at 50,000 words at the stroke of midnight, November 30th, but I've kept my hand in; I can still do it if I write 2,000 a day until then. Will I? I hope so. I could if I really set my mind to it. But even if I don't, it will have been well worth doing. It's reminded me what fun, and what solace, writing daily can be. Fiction, I mean. I keep at least one, currently two, daily journals going always, but fiction is different. I have to make up the incidents and characters in fiction; not so my journals. Fiction writing challenges me to dig deeper into my imagination, throw myself curves and fling myself aloft to catch them. Working at NaNo this year has also reminded me that I CAN write daily. Why not? What a loaded question, inviting scattershot of excuses. But now I'm reminded not only that I can do it, but also why I'd want to. Time well spent!
Monday, November 06, 2006
Feh. Only wrote 860 NaNo words today. On the other hand, I got quite a bit done at work. You know, where they pay me my salary. I know, I should have better priorities, but truth be told, I've been gone a LOT lately, unavoidably, and I feel like I owe them big-time. So, I just have to hammer out 2500 words tomorrow and I'm back on track.
(i'm okay, i'm on track, gone too far and i can't go back...)
(i'm okay, i'm on track, gone too far and i can't go back...)
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Got today's quota of NaNo words in and it's just now noon. Yippee! Maybe I'll get some more done tonight, but in the meantime I have groceries to buy, a comic book to buy, and some art to do.
I sat down and wrote & wrote and got to a stopping point and quit, did the word count, and realized I was only about 350 words short of the whole day's quota, so I went back and wrote some more. It is SO NICE to be able to do that! I've had this suffocating writer's block (yah, yah, don't tell me there is no such thing - if you're thinking that it's because you've been lucky enough not to suffer it yet) for years now, and by gosh, they're right about NaNo - it does make writing fun again!
I sat down and wrote & wrote and got to a stopping point and quit, did the word count, and realized I was only about 350 words short of the whole day's quota, so I went back and wrote some more. It is SO NICE to be able to do that! I've had this suffocating writer's block (yah, yah, don't tell me there is no such thing - if you're thinking that it's because you've been lucky enough not to suffer it yet) for years now, and by gosh, they're right about NaNo - it does make writing fun again!
Saturday, November 04, 2006
I did even less than I'd thought yesterday; I only got about 470 words written. However, I have made up for it today! Up to 6,704 words now! And it's humming along pretty well. It's got more of a YA adventure, maybe YA horror feel to it, or it could be a mystery (I'm looking from the reader's point of view here), than I intended. I'm going for something a bit dark, but with a little comic relief and lots of supsense and then pathos. lol - ambition is a lovely thing, God wot.
I figure I can make it darker and creepier in the rewrite. mwahahahaha!
I figure I can make it darker and creepier in the rewrite. mwahahahaha!
Friday, November 03, 2006
I only got some 560 NaNo-words or so written this morning because I got to a spot where I have to draw a house plan. Quite a lot of the action will take place in this house and it needs certain attributes, so I have to draw floor plans. Then I can get the other 1200 or so words done tonight. Wish me luck.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Day Two of NaNoWriMo and I'm at 2,996 words so far with the whole evening ahead in which to work on it more. I'm pleased with it so far!
Kudos to everyone else in NaNo! Go forth and WRITE!
....Friday Nov. 3rd Addendum for last night: final day's total: 3566.
(That's the whole manuscript total.)
So far, so good. And it's fun again, which is why I signed on for this insanity.
Kudos to everyone else in NaNo! Go forth and WRITE!
....Friday Nov. 3rd Addendum for last night: final day's total: 3566.
(That's the whole manuscript total.)
So far, so good. And it's fun again, which is why I signed on for this insanity.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
I can truly say this year has been the best of times and the worst of times, with absolutely no exaggeration.
But in a few hours the 2006 National Novel Writing Month commences, and once again, I've signed up! This time I'm really committed and I'm gonna do it. I shall try to blog about it daily and if nothing else maybe I'll post a photo of the chaos of my home office.
But in a few hours the 2006 National Novel Writing Month commences, and once again, I've signed up! This time I'm really committed and I'm gonna do it. I shall try to blog about it daily and if nothing else maybe I'll post a photo of the chaos of my home office.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
I've actually made a study of efficient packing for travel. I've made it a goal to never have to check a bag at the airport. I'm getting pretty good at it, for short (fewer than four days) trips. I'm going to keep practicing. Packing light makes traveling so much simpler and easier.
I toy, from time to time, with the idea of trying my hand at travel writing. It's kind of a silly idea, because compared to many of the travel writers whose web sites I've seen, whose books I've read, whose articles I've read - I haven't traveled.
Oh, my job has taken me all over my home state of Nebraska many times. And it's sent me to conferences in many cities I otherwise would never have been able to visit. Let me count the cities: Chicago, San Antonio, St. Louis, Flagstaff, Albuquerque, Madison WI, Annapolis, Atlantic City, Kansas City (many times, and I can always go there anyway), Nashua NH...seems like there were more but I can't summon them up right now.
Oh yeah, that's another thing: my lace-like memory. And my brilliant powers of observation. (sarcasm) Those are both things that will serve me well in travel writing (/sarcasm). What town was I in? *scowls, straining to remember*
Well, it just occurred to me I might try a rapid memory exercise here. How about if I try to list the one thing that stands out most about each of those cities in my memory? Stream of unconsciousness...
Chicago: architecture. Love it!
San Antonio: the Alamo
St. Louis: how gray the downtown is
Flagstaff: those mountains
Albuquerque: the giant Native American-style pots in the highway medians
Madison WI: State Street!!!!
Annapolis: the sailboats in the marina
Atlantic City: the boardwalk, of course
Kansas City: Oh, I've been there too many times to pick one thing. The BBQ, I guess.
Nashua NH: my friend Chriss. Oh all right, and the fall foliage. But mostly Chriss.
It's discouraging, looking at that list, how mundane and cliche my Main Memory Things are. The Alamo??? The Boardwalk??? Yeeesh. I'm going to have to do better than THAT. Well, okay, I'll dig out all my photos and my trip diaries and for the next month I'm going to try to write *real* travel articles, the kind I like to read.
I'll include places I've been that weren't for my job too: Sunnyvale CA, Tucson AZ, Lake Andrusia, MN (obviously a vacation spot), Cheyenne Crossing SD...
This should be fun for *me*. Maybe some readers will enjoy it, too.
Monday, September 26, 2005
About the Battlestar Galactica 9/23/05 episode:
That rape scene from Friday night's Battlestar Galactica kept bugging me. It didn't harrow me, or "disturb" me – it provoked a lot of questions.
"She" is a machine – though capable of emotions, thought, and getting pregnant (this copy of Boomer IS pregnant by a human soldier, Helo). So what if they rape her? Especially since her kind is hell-bent on annihilating the human species? Why is any method of extracting useful information from her, wrong? Isn't it like torturing your car, or your lawn mower?
Ahh…that gets us closer to the answer.
Let's say that all the apparently human responses she showed during the rape (screaming, fighting, crying) really are just pre-programmed computer behaviors.
If you torture your lawn mower, it's not a crime. There's no law, legal or moral, against torturing your lawn mower. But what kind of person tortures their lawn mower?
And even if that asshole viewed the Boomer/Caprica copy as a machine, when it was giving off all those human-like signals of terror and horror and revulsion and pain, what kind of person wouldn't have an instinctive sympathetic response to that? Either a total sociopath, or a psychotic. Either actually evil, or helplessly sick. Or – if not one of those, then someone who knows perfectly well right from wrong but who has thrown all moral framework away in favor of indulging his fantasies of hatred and revenge.
But, say he's raping a machine. Isn't it a victimless non-crime?
Maybe a non-crime, but not victimless. He's distancing himself from the best parts of himself. He's crossing a line that he may not be able to cross back to regain his own humanity. And when (in the BG universe) there are only a few tens of thousands of human beings left, and they are threatened with extinction by millions of machines – isn't he really, by opting out of humanity, committing a crime against humanity?
And doesn't this resonate interestingly with the real USA right now?
That rape scene from Friday night's Battlestar Galactica kept bugging me. It didn't harrow me, or "disturb" me – it provoked a lot of questions.
"She" is a machine – though capable of emotions, thought, and getting pregnant (this copy of Boomer IS pregnant by a human soldier, Helo). So what if they rape her? Especially since her kind is hell-bent on annihilating the human species? Why is any method of extracting useful information from her, wrong? Isn't it like torturing your car, or your lawn mower?
Ahh…that gets us closer to the answer.
Let's say that all the apparently human responses she showed during the rape (screaming, fighting, crying) really are just pre-programmed computer behaviors.
If you torture your lawn mower, it's not a crime. There's no law, legal or moral, against torturing your lawn mower. But what kind of person tortures their lawn mower?
And even if that asshole viewed the Boomer/Caprica copy as a machine, when it was giving off all those human-like signals of terror and horror and revulsion and pain, what kind of person wouldn't have an instinctive sympathetic response to that? Either a total sociopath, or a psychotic. Either actually evil, or helplessly sick. Or – if not one of those, then someone who knows perfectly well right from wrong but who has thrown all moral framework away in favor of indulging his fantasies of hatred and revenge.
But, say he's raping a machine. Isn't it a victimless non-crime?
Maybe a non-crime, but not victimless. He's distancing himself from the best parts of himself. He's crossing a line that he may not be able to cross back to regain his own humanity. And when (in the BG universe) there are only a few tens of thousands of human beings left, and they are threatened with extinction by millions of machines – isn't he really, by opting out of humanity, committing a crime against humanity?
And doesn't this resonate interestingly with the real USA right now?
Friday, August 12, 2005
I'm one with the notion that we immortalize loved "ones" in our memories of them, whether they're people, animals, places or events.
Reading the poem "The Rain Poured Down" by Dan Gerber (http://articles.poetryx.com/89/), a new thought struck me. In my memory there lives, will always live, a single tear: the first one I ever saw my father cry.
I can see him now, crouching forward on a living room hassock, elbows on knees, eyeglasses dangling from one hand. I don't remember for sure, but I think he'd just learned that his dad's cancer was inoperable.
He turned his face toward the open front screendoor so I wouldn't see, but it only threw that narrow quarter-face view of him into silvery light relief against the shadowed interior wall. And with a thrill of shock and dismay, I saw that tear run down the very border between his silvered cheek and the darkness beyond. That moment is frozen in my mind.
I knew as much how to comfort him then, when I was 12, as I do now, when he himself has been dead 11 years.
A single tear sinking like acid down through the softness of my broken heart.
Reading the poem "The Rain Poured Down" by Dan Gerber (http://articles.poetryx.com/89/), a new thought struck me. In my memory there lives, will always live, a single tear: the first one I ever saw my father cry.
I can see him now, crouching forward on a living room hassock, elbows on knees, eyeglasses dangling from one hand. I don't remember for sure, but I think he'd just learned that his dad's cancer was inoperable.
He turned his face toward the open front screendoor so I wouldn't see, but it only threw that narrow quarter-face view of him into silvery light relief against the shadowed interior wall. And with a thrill of shock and dismay, I saw that tear run down the very border between his silvered cheek and the darkness beyond. That moment is frozen in my mind.
I knew as much how to comfort him then, when I was 12, as I do now, when he himself has been dead 11 years.
A single tear sinking like acid down through the softness of my broken heart.
Saturday, July 02, 2005
"What'd you do over the weekend?"
I had to empty the trunk to hold the regular tires. I took out the pair of drapes with hardware that are supposed to get dumped at a Goodwill somewhere, the cardboard box holding my snowmobile boots, my hip waders and my irrigation boots, the three-legged stool that's broken, the "reacher-grabber" I take to the grocery store so I can get at things on the top shelves, the soft old Indian-print blanket, the half-jug of windshield wiper fluid and the dirty rag I use to check the oil, and put them in the garage. My emergency overnight duffel bag I brought into the house suspecting it needed refreshing and updating.
I went through the back porch and got the key to the padlock on the toolshed. I went out to the toolshed and got out the wheelbarrow, loaded the regular tires onto it, and hauled them out to the driveway and shoved them into the trunk. I left the wheelbarrow in the garage, and went back and locked up the toolshed. We took the car to the tires place and ordered an oil change and a tire swap.
Back home, I went down to the basement to start the laundry. The cat box needed cleaning, so I did that, and took the bag of dirty litter out to the garbage cans. I loaded and started the washer. I went back upstairs and brought the duffel bag up to the bedroom. I wanted to lay out its contents on the bed, but the linens are overdue for a change. So, I stripped the bed, tossed the linens down the chute, and put clean sheets & pillowcases on the bed.
I opened up the bag. A couple of books; a dirty toothbrush, a dried-up miniature tube of toothpaste; a hotel shampoo bottle whose contents looked like old amber; old contact lens solutions and cases, a box of granola bars and a sealed packet of beef jerky; a pair of underpants; a sweater so small for me now that I couldn't get it on if my life depended on it - ditto for a tee shirt; the two halves of a little plastic case I gleaned from the research lab I worked in years ago, and one of two cheap faux-pearl earrings I'd kept in it. I searched and searched for its mate, but it wasn't in the bag. I turned to the big jewelry box my father-in-law made me years ago. It broke recently; the lid's back rim stayed with the box's hinge and the top, with its mirror inside now loose, had come off. I laid all that lid stuff on the bed and started looking for the faux-pearl earring.
My jewelry box was a disaster. It looked like I'd thrown everything into the air and plopped random wads of earrings, buttons, belts, dead watches and God knows what else, back into its nine little velvet-lined compartments. It had been bugging me for months. No time like the present.
I pulled out all the buttons and put them in a pile. I emptied one compartment's contents into another, and put all the watches into the empty one. I went through every compartment and put all the "singleton" earrings into the center compartment, and all the earrings that were broken - with their mates, if they had them - into another one. All the loose earring-backs have their own "room." At the same time I matched up all the pairs and put them into the other four rooms.
Then I went through the mated pairs and put the cheap tacky ones into one compartment, and sorted the really good ones - which make up most of my collection, actually, my hubby has great taste - into the remaining four compartments. Voila! A long-needed task complete. I put the box lid, mirror and hardware in a place where hubby will be reminded he needs to fix it.
But no faux-pearl earring. I picked out a couple of cheap pairs I don't use much, and put them in the little plastic box. I tossed all the old toiletries and replenished them from my (recently-organized!) Travel Supplies box. The contact lens stuff I tossed; I only wear them at rock concerts any more. I re-packed the duffle with a new tee shirt that fits and a pair of socks. It's ready to go back into my trunk.
It's 1 p.m. So I went down and made three sandwiches and two glasses of Crystal Lite lemonade, and we're each eating lunch at our computers. When we're done, we'll go get my car.
And I can cross one To Do item off today's list.
"Oh, I got the snow tires swapped off my car."
I had to empty the trunk to hold the regular tires. I took out the pair of drapes with hardware that are supposed to get dumped at a Goodwill somewhere, the cardboard box holding my snowmobile boots, my hip waders and my irrigation boots, the three-legged stool that's broken, the "reacher-grabber" I take to the grocery store so I can get at things on the top shelves, the soft old Indian-print blanket, the half-jug of windshield wiper fluid and the dirty rag I use to check the oil, and put them in the garage. My emergency overnight duffel bag I brought into the house suspecting it needed refreshing and updating.
I went through the back porch and got the key to the padlock on the toolshed. I went out to the toolshed and got out the wheelbarrow, loaded the regular tires onto it, and hauled them out to the driveway and shoved them into the trunk. I left the wheelbarrow in the garage, and went back and locked up the toolshed. We took the car to the tires place and ordered an oil change and a tire swap.
Back home, I went down to the basement to start the laundry. The cat box needed cleaning, so I did that, and took the bag of dirty litter out to the garbage cans. I loaded and started the washer. I went back upstairs and brought the duffel bag up to the bedroom. I wanted to lay out its contents on the bed, but the linens are overdue for a change. So, I stripped the bed, tossed the linens down the chute, and put clean sheets & pillowcases on the bed.
I opened up the bag. A couple of books; a dirty toothbrush, a dried-up miniature tube of toothpaste; a hotel shampoo bottle whose contents looked like old amber; old contact lens solutions and cases, a box of granola bars and a sealed packet of beef jerky; a pair of underpants; a sweater so small for me now that I couldn't get it on if my life depended on it - ditto for a tee shirt; the two halves of a little plastic case I gleaned from the research lab I worked in years ago, and one of two cheap faux-pearl earrings I'd kept in it. I searched and searched for its mate, but it wasn't in the bag. I turned to the big jewelry box my father-in-law made me years ago. It broke recently; the lid's back rim stayed with the box's hinge and the top, with its mirror inside now loose, had come off. I laid all that lid stuff on the bed and started looking for the faux-pearl earring.
My jewelry box was a disaster. It looked like I'd thrown everything into the air and plopped random wads of earrings, buttons, belts, dead watches and God knows what else, back into its nine little velvet-lined compartments. It had been bugging me for months. No time like the present.
I pulled out all the buttons and put them in a pile. I emptied one compartment's contents into another, and put all the watches into the empty one. I went through every compartment and put all the "singleton" earrings into the center compartment, and all the earrings that were broken - with their mates, if they had them - into another one. All the loose earring-backs have their own "room." At the same time I matched up all the pairs and put them into the other four rooms.
Then I went through the mated pairs and put the cheap tacky ones into one compartment, and sorted the really good ones - which make up most of my collection, actually, my hubby has great taste - into the remaining four compartments. Voila! A long-needed task complete. I put the box lid, mirror and hardware in a place where hubby will be reminded he needs to fix it.
But no faux-pearl earring. I picked out a couple of cheap pairs I don't use much, and put them in the little plastic box. I tossed all the old toiletries and replenished them from my (recently-organized!) Travel Supplies box. The contact lens stuff I tossed; I only wear them at rock concerts any more. I re-packed the duffle with a new tee shirt that fits and a pair of socks. It's ready to go back into my trunk.
It's 1 p.m. So I went down and made three sandwiches and two glasses of Crystal Lite lemonade, and we're each eating lunch at our computers. When we're done, we'll go get my car.
And I can cross one To Do item off today's list.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
As usual, nothing turns out the way you plan it. At least, it doesn't for me. I did okay with the writing for the first couple of days, then came down with a horrendous head cold and crapped out the rest of the week...it's better today, good Lord, it should be, with the zinc lozenges and cold medicines and orange juice I've been guzzling, and all the naps! What a way to spend a vacation. Oh well, it's just a cold. And it should be gone by the time I have to go back to work Tuesday. Hubby called, said they'll be getting back to town that day, too, so I have something to look forward to when I get home from work! He says Manitoba is gorgeous, so maybe we'll go back up there sometime for a getaway.
The writing went well when it was going, and I've gotten my plan logged so now I'll just chip away at it a little each day - more when inspiration hits. I will be SO glad when this monster is finished! I don't even care if it sells (though of course I'd rather it did than not)! I just want it off my back!
I feel just good enough to not want to nap any more, but not good enough to really desire to do anything, specific. Usually when I'm in this gray fog I go do housekeeping chores and that makes me feel at least somewhat productive. When I get tired out, I take a break with a book -- I'm re-reading Jack McDevitt's Eternity Road right now. He's a joy.
So it's down to the kitchen for some busy work. Maybe I'll get more writing in this afternoon.
The writing went well when it was going, and I've gotten my plan logged so now I'll just chip away at it a little each day - more when inspiration hits. I will be SO glad when this monster is finished! I don't even care if it sells (though of course I'd rather it did than not)! I just want it off my back!
I feel just good enough to not want to nap any more, but not good enough to really desire to do anything, specific. Usually when I'm in this gray fog I go do housekeeping chores and that makes me feel at least somewhat productive. When I get tired out, I take a break with a book -- I'm re-reading Jack McDevitt's Eternity Road right now. He's a joy.
So it's down to the kitchen for some busy work. Maybe I'll get more writing in this afternoon.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
So now I have EIGHT DAYS all to myself. I've launched a final desparate grab at finishing this demmed novel that's been sitting for like, five years, bugging me from afar. I love the first two-thirds, so now it's Step Up to the Plate Day. And I have been; all morning I worked on edits and re-acquainting myself with the "voice," and all that. I'm not giving myself time to get scared (what the effing BLOCK has been all about, though beyond that I haven't figured it out), I'm just TYPING. I'm always better at the re-writes, though I don't do what you'd call a *re-write* so much as multiple comb-throughs.
Anyway, this is a wonderful opportunity for me to immerse myself in this story, this world, and see how well I can do justice to it. The story's been in my head since about 1970. That's NOT kidding. 35 years. Wow. It deserves finishing, and publishing, and going out into the world to make its way. Been under Mommy's thumb for far, far too long.
Love ya, hubby. Have a great time! :)
Anyway, this is a wonderful opportunity for me to immerse myself in this story, this world, and see how well I can do justice to it. The story's been in my head since about 1970. That's NOT kidding. 35 years. Wow. It deserves finishing, and publishing, and going out into the world to make its way. Been under Mommy's thumb for far, far too long.
Love ya, hubby. Have a great time! :)
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