A few weeks ago I was telling someone that I have been a news reporter of some kind since 1985.
"I bet you have some stories to tell," the person said.
And I do. Only I rarely tell them.
However I thought I might offer up some of the more interesting things that have happened in my work. The stories that have stuck with me.
These are the things that never make print. Not secrets, because I don't tell the secrets, but things I've seen and done and people I have interacted with.
I'm not going to write about anything current, so if I've interviewed you lately, don't worry! I also won't use real names. But this is a small area and it might not take much detail for someone to figure out who someone is.
This first story has recently came to mind, so I am going to relay it.
The Interview with Ms. Rose
Many years ago I went to interview one of the local historians for a story one afternoon. It was a sunny day in March. The birds were singing and daffodils were blooming. Spring was upon us.
Ms. Rose, as I shall call her, had in the past let me know that she did not like me very much. We'd had a falling out many years ago over some historic preservation issues. I once was quite active in historic preservation and similar activities (I am not active in those things now though I remain quite interested in them.). We had disagreed on certain aspects of some things going on at the time which I won't go into in an effort to be vague.
In any event, I had let it be known through various channels that I harbored no hard feelings and hoped she felt the same way. It took a little while but things between us had mended to the point where I was not uncomfortable with the idea of meeting to do a story on her pet project at the time.
Her house in one of our local small towns was a piece of history itself and I stood outside for a few minutes admiring the architecture and enjoying her flowers before knocking on the door. She was waiting. Papers were strewn across the table and books filled with information that she thought I might need for my story were piled on the kitchen counter.
Ms. Rose was a large woman with a powerful voice and keen, piercing eyes. She was never wrong about anything, either. Least ways, not that she would admit to someone like me.
We sat down to talk and as I took notes and asked questions I became aware of a change that came over Ms. Rose.
She started stumbling over her words and she leaned a little to one side. She couldn't complete a sentence and seemed to be having trouble connecting her thoughts.
"Ms. Rose, are you okay?" I said, setting aside my notebook and camera. "Do you feel alright?"
She laughed shakily and asked me why I asked. "You're missing some words," I said. "This isn't like you."
"I think it's my blood sugar," she replied. "I just need some juice."
Visions of Julia Roberts in Steel Magnolias flashed through my mind as I hurried to the refrigerator. I took a glass from the dish drain and poured her juice and hustled it back to her.
She drank it and shortly thereafter she seemed to be better. Not quite her old self, but better.
However, she still was leaning a little to one side, and while the slurring of her words wasn't as pronounced, it was still there.
I could not continue the interview because I was so worried about her. I thought she should go to the doctor or the hospital and said so. I offered to take her myself.
She said she was fine and that she thought maybe she just needed to lie down. She cut me off mid-sentence as I attempted to cajole her into seeing the doctor and told me to leave.
Ms. Rose's forceful personality told me she would broach no more nonsense from me, so I didn't argue perhaps like I should have.
I know I suggested again that she see her doctor before she closed the door behind me.
I was rather shaken myself as I drove home because I knew something wasn't right. I worried about leaving Ms. Rose because she did not have family close. I knew no one would check on her for a long time.
When I arrived home, I decided to call her stepson, since I knew who he was and I thought he was the closest family in the area (this was before I had a cellphone). I left a message for him on his machine. I told him what had happened and asked him to check on his stepmother. I wasn't sure he would; the word on the street indicated strained relations there.
Late that evening, when I'd heard nothing from the stepson (I thought he would at least call, but he never did), I phoned Ms. Rose.
There was no answer, and I feared the worse.
I called back intending to leave a message telling her that I was on my way into town to check on her when she picked up the phone.
I told her I had been worried about her and so was calling to see if she was okay.
"After you left, I thought about what you said and I drove myself to the doctor," she told me (fortunately that was only three blocks away). "He thinks I might have had just a little stroke. Nothing serious, though."
I was stunned. I had never seen someone have a stroke before, and I hope I never do again. To be sure, I had feared that might be the case, but then the juice had seemed to help and I couldn't be sure. I didn't have much experience with blood sugar issues, either so I didn't know the difference.
I wrote the story from the notes I'd taken before she began slurring her words and from a follow-up telephone call, I think.
Ms. Rose did not suffer damage from this small stroke that I was aware of, but not long after that she began losing weight. A year or so later, when she died from a fall, she had dwindled down to next to nothing.
I have often wondered if the stroke affected her appetite.
I also have wished I'd had the fortitude to order her into my car so I could have driven her to the doctor myself. Maybe those few minutes would have made some difference in her life, but I suppose there is no way to know.
Anyway, that's the story of the day I interviewed Ms. Rose and learned that I am not very good in a medical crisis.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Books: The Grand Finale
The Grand Finale
by Janet Evanovich
246 pages
Copyright 1988
Stephanie Plum as pizza shop owner, without mystery and more romance, is the way I would characterize this early Janet Evanovich book.
Berry (what is with the fruit names?) owns a pizza shop. She's young, trying to get through school, just hired three old ladies who moved in with her (think Grandma in the Stephanie Plum books), and has no time to fall in love.
She falls at the feet of Jake when she's rescuing a kitty from a tree.
Lack of communication keeps them apart, etc. etc., follow the formula.
Easy reading, good for a rainy day when you don't want to think but your eyes need to move.
by Janet Evanovich
246 pages
Copyright 1988
Stephanie Plum as pizza shop owner, without mystery and more romance, is the way I would characterize this early Janet Evanovich book.
Berry (what is with the fruit names?) owns a pizza shop. She's young, trying to get through school, just hired three old ladies who moved in with her (think Grandma in the Stephanie Plum books), and has no time to fall in love.
She falls at the feet of Jake when she's rescuing a kitty from a tree.
Lack of communication keeps them apart, etc. etc., follow the formula.
Easy reading, good for a rainy day when you don't want to think but your eyes need to move.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Miscellaneous Monday
I spent the weekend trying to be quiet and relax. I understand that is good for the ol' blood pressure.
This morning, I looked out the window and spied a few does roaming around the backyard in the rain and fog.
So I grabbed the Nikon.
This deer bolted when I opened the door.
These looked at me for a moment before vanishing in the mist themselves.
This is a shot to show the greening grass in the snow. We had a little dusting on Friday and I liked the way the white snow and the grass looked together.
After three different medication changes, I am hopeful that my blood pressure is on the verge of being regulated by medications. This morning I had my best reading yet, though it is still a little high.
I am also cautiously reporting that I have lost a little weight, according to the Wii Fit, anyway. Not anything to brag about but my pants feel loose. After playing on the video game for 80 days, I am glad to have accomplished something productive with it.
This morning, I looked out the window and spied a few does roaming around the backyard in the rain and fog.
So I grabbed the Nikon.
This deer bolted when I opened the door.
These looked at me for a moment before vanishing in the mist themselves.
This is a shot to show the greening grass in the snow. We had a little dusting on Friday and I liked the way the white snow and the grass looked together.
After three different medication changes, I am hopeful that my blood pressure is on the verge of being regulated by medications. This morning I had my best reading yet, though it is still a little high.
I am also cautiously reporting that I have lost a little weight, according to the Wii Fit, anyway. Not anything to brag about but my pants feel loose. After playing on the video game for 80 days, I am glad to have accomplished something productive with it.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Book: On Bear Mountain
On Bear Mountain
By Deborah Smith
Read by Dick Hill & Susie Breck
Copyright 2001
6 hours
This was an interesting romance-type but not novel.
Richard Ricconi is a New York starving artist who gets a break when a wealthy old woman in the Appalachian Mountains commissions a metal sculpture of a bear from him.
His son, Quinten, doesn't understand the allure of his father's art.
Meanwhile, back on Bear Creek, the old woman's family hates the sculpture, which as been placed on the college campus the family formed long ago. Tom Powell, a cousin, doesn't hate the sculpture but loves it, and when the old woman dies he buys it off the college for $200.
That was money that should have gone to the doctor to care for his wife. His daughter, Ursula, grows up with a love/hate relationship for the bear.
Nearly 30 years later, Ursula and Quinten come together under the power of the bear and the legends of the Appalachian lands.
3.5 stars
By Deborah Smith
Read by Dick Hill & Susie Breck
Copyright 2001
6 hours
This was an interesting romance-type but not novel.
Richard Ricconi is a New York starving artist who gets a break when a wealthy old woman in the Appalachian Mountains commissions a metal sculpture of a bear from him.
His son, Quinten, doesn't understand the allure of his father's art.
Meanwhile, back on Bear Creek, the old woman's family hates the sculpture, which as been placed on the college campus the family formed long ago. Tom Powell, a cousin, doesn't hate the sculpture but loves it, and when the old woman dies he buys it off the college for $200.
That was money that should have gone to the doctor to care for his wife. His daughter, Ursula, grows up with a love/hate relationship for the bear.
Nearly 30 years later, Ursula and Quinten come together under the power of the bear and the legends of the Appalachian lands.
3.5 stars
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Thursday Thirteen
What I like about Spring:
1. The colorful parade of blooming things.
2. Cute little baby deer.
3. Tree frogs on my back door singing to the moon.
4. Warm breezes (and then cool breezes when it is hot!)
5. A glowing sun bringing heat and renewal.
6. The green leaves of the forest.
7. The change of light as sun and clouds move across a springtime sky.
8. The smell of grass being cut and of flowers blooming (even if I am highly allergic).
9. The crisp morning air.
10. No need to wear a coat!
11. Cooking out on the grill.
12. Butterflies!
13. The feeling of rebirth, renewal and rejoicing that comes to the heart as the season changes.
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here. This is my 89th one.
**The photos are all from 2006 and 2007.
1. The colorful parade of blooming things.
2. Cute little baby deer.
3. Tree frogs on my back door singing to the moon.
4. Warm breezes (and then cool breezes when it is hot!)
5. A glowing sun bringing heat and renewal.
6. The green leaves of the forest.
7. The change of light as sun and clouds move across a springtime sky.
8. The smell of grass being cut and of flowers blooming (even if I am highly allergic).
9. The crisp morning air.
10. No need to wear a coat!
11. Cooking out on the grill.
12. Butterflies!
13. The feeling of rebirth, renewal and rejoicing that comes to the heart as the season changes.
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here. This is my 89th one.
**The photos are all from 2006 and 2007.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
I'm missing you
When I was three or four years old, I had imaginary friends.
I suppose many youngsters do. It must be fairly common or there would not be a song called Puff the Magic Dragon, which for those who don't know is about Jackie Paper, a little boy who had an imaginary dragon friend until he reaches a certain age.
In any event, I had not one but a series of imaginary playmates.
Davy, for instance, was a troublemaker. If something bad happened and I was assessed the blame, I promptly told my mother that I didn't do it - Davy did. Broken vase? Davy did it. Outside when I was supposed to be in the house? Davy made me go out to play.
Davy was a bad boy.
Jamie was my friend and companion. He played with me on the swings and in the sandbox. He was VERY good.
(My mother later told me, when I married a man named James, that she wondered long ago if I was having visions of my future, but that's another blog entry.)
I had one female playmate, but I seldom mentioned her to anyone. Her name was Sister. I had to hide her because my mother was pregnant about this time with my brother. When I said I wanted a sister, I was reprimanded.
My parents wanted a boy.
So I took Sister into hiding. Sister heard my deepest, darkest secrets. If I was lonely in the night, Sister comforted me. If I was sad, Sister patted me on the shoulder. If I needed to talk, Sister listened.
Sister stood by me when my little brother came home and helped me watch over him. Or so I imagine today, anyway. I really can't recall since I was only three.
There were times when I longed so hard for a real sister, for the confidant that I felt came only with having a sister, that I cried in despair. It was as if I were missing a part of myself.
These days I infrequently feel that same longing, a desperate yearning for . . . something. An indescribable kind of despair and grief that suddenly washes over me in a quiet moment. If someone were to ask me about it, I could only say, "I am missing my sister." But since I've never had a sister, I know that isn't right, though the description rings true.
Sometimes the longing for someone to talk to, someone who would understand everything, is so great that it makes my heart weep, even if my eyes stay dry. It's so intense at times that I have occasionally wondered if there was an unborn twin in my mother's womb with me.
It's a hole that I fill with my husband, my in-laws, my friends - sometimes just words on a blog. Sometimes it seems impossible to fill, but then it's a new day and the longing goes away.
Sometimes I think I must be a little crazy, missing someone who never was and something I never had.
Does it make any sense to you?
I suppose many youngsters do. It must be fairly common or there would not be a song called Puff the Magic Dragon, which for those who don't know is about Jackie Paper, a little boy who had an imaginary dragon friend until he reaches a certain age.
In any event, I had not one but a series of imaginary playmates.
Davy, for instance, was a troublemaker. If something bad happened and I was assessed the blame, I promptly told my mother that I didn't do it - Davy did. Broken vase? Davy did it. Outside when I was supposed to be in the house? Davy made me go out to play.
Davy was a bad boy.
Jamie was my friend and companion. He played with me on the swings and in the sandbox. He was VERY good.
(My mother later told me, when I married a man named James, that she wondered long ago if I was having visions of my future, but that's another blog entry.)
I had one female playmate, but I seldom mentioned her to anyone. Her name was Sister. I had to hide her because my mother was pregnant about this time with my brother. When I said I wanted a sister, I was reprimanded.
My parents wanted a boy.
So I took Sister into hiding. Sister heard my deepest, darkest secrets. If I was lonely in the night, Sister comforted me. If I was sad, Sister patted me on the shoulder. If I needed to talk, Sister listened.
Sister stood by me when my little brother came home and helped me watch over him. Or so I imagine today, anyway. I really can't recall since I was only three.
There were times when I longed so hard for a real sister, for the confidant that I felt came only with having a sister, that I cried in despair. It was as if I were missing a part of myself.
These days I infrequently feel that same longing, a desperate yearning for . . . something. An indescribable kind of despair and grief that suddenly washes over me in a quiet moment. If someone were to ask me about it, I could only say, "I am missing my sister." But since I've never had a sister, I know that isn't right, though the description rings true.
Sometimes the longing for someone to talk to, someone who would understand everything, is so great that it makes my heart weep, even if my eyes stay dry. It's so intense at times that I have occasionally wondered if there was an unborn twin in my mother's womb with me.
It's a hole that I fill with my husband, my in-laws, my friends - sometimes just words on a blog. Sometimes it seems impossible to fill, but then it's a new day and the longing goes away.
Sometimes I think I must be a little crazy, missing someone who never was and something I never had.
Does it make any sense to you?
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Books: The Sharing Knife series
The Sharing Knife: Beguilement
The Sharing Knife: Legacy
The Sharing Knife: Passage
The Sharing Knife: Horizon
By Lois McMaster Bujold
Last book copyright 2009
453 pages
The Sharing Knife series is a set of fantasy stories that I enjoyed very much. The four books make a whole but I hope that the author will revisit this particular world.
I wrote about the first book here. I read it in January and have since completed the other three books.
Dag is a Lakewalker. These folks have a special ability to sense the ground, or maybe the aura, if you're looking for something to compare it to, of other people. This gives them innate abilities and only a Lakewalker sharing knife can kill a bad beastie called a malice.
Dag meets Fawn, a farmer girl. The farmers and the Lakewalkers generally don't care for one other and don't get along. But Dag falls for Fawn and vice verse.
During the four books, they marry and have great adventures. The characters grow and learn and the world grows and learns along with them, which I liked very much. The author skillfully draws this fantasy world, based very much on a primitive era of this world.
The last book brings us an epilogue that assures peace for the main characters, which is always welcome. While I think the author is through with these folks, there is plenty of room for other stories if she wants to return to this place and time.
I recommend these for all readers, but a few mature themes - pregnancy outside of marriage, a lost pregnancy, etc. - may warrant review by a parent for younger readers.
This is some of the best fantasy I have read in a while.
4.5 stars
The Sharing Knife: Legacy
The Sharing Knife: Passage
The Sharing Knife: Horizon
By Lois McMaster Bujold
Last book copyright 2009
453 pages
The Sharing Knife series is a set of fantasy stories that I enjoyed very much. The four books make a whole but I hope that the author will revisit this particular world.
I wrote about the first book here. I read it in January and have since completed the other three books.
Dag is a Lakewalker. These folks have a special ability to sense the ground, or maybe the aura, if you're looking for something to compare it to, of other people. This gives them innate abilities and only a Lakewalker sharing knife can kill a bad beastie called a malice.
Dag meets Fawn, a farmer girl. The farmers and the Lakewalkers generally don't care for one other and don't get along. But Dag falls for Fawn and vice verse.
During the four books, they marry and have great adventures. The characters grow and learn and the world grows and learns along with them, which I liked very much. The author skillfully draws this fantasy world, based very much on a primitive era of this world.
The last book brings us an epilogue that assures peace for the main characters, which is always welcome. While I think the author is through with these folks, there is plenty of room for other stories if she wants to return to this place and time.
I recommend these for all readers, but a few mature themes - pregnancy outside of marriage, a lost pregnancy, etc. - may warrant review by a parent for younger readers.
This is some of the best fantasy I have read in a while.
4.5 stars
Sunday, March 08, 2009
One of those days
This is one of those days when there are millions of things to do, a whole day to do them, and no desire to follow through.
One of those days when the whisper of a March wind beckons, and a romp in the grass seems more urgent than the next telephone call.
It's a day when the sky is blue and the faint tinge of green on the pasture is enough to send a heart singing with words flowing toward heaven.
The kind of day when solitary reading and writing seems like a calling and a passion that can't be denied.
It's that kind of day, this Sunday.
One of those days when the whisper of a March wind beckons, and a romp in the grass seems more urgent than the next telephone call.
It's a day when the sky is blue and the faint tinge of green on the pasture is enough to send a heart singing with words flowing toward heaven.
The kind of day when solitary reading and writing seems like a calling and a passion that can't be denied.
It's that kind of day, this Sunday.
Saturday, March 07, 2009
The Deep Freeze
One of the unfortunate results of being allergic to most of the world, which I have written about before, is that my allergies also include old books.
I love books in all their forms, but new books command my attention mostly because they do not make me sneeze or wheeze.
Old records in courthouses and ancient libraries fascinate me, but I cannot spend much time viewing them. I have even abandoned a major writing project because the library at University of Virginia overwhelmed me with mold and dust.
A dusty book in my house generally goes to the library as a donation. That means my shelves routinely have varying titles. Unless a book has special significance or is something I might use for research, it doesn't hang around here long.
Library books that have been in the inventory for a long time also gather dust and mold.
My book club this month is reading The Women's Room by Marilyn French. I thought I had a copy of the book here but I couldn't find it. So I requested one from the library in inter library loan, since my local branch did not have the book.
The book came in so musty that I could hardly stand to look at it, much less read it. The helpful library assistant offered to order me another from a different place.
When it arrived, it too was musty, but not as bad as the original. I brought it home three weeks ago.
I have not read it because it has been in a zip locked bag in my freezer covered in baking soda.
At some point I discovered that this will kill mold, provided the book is not too far gone to begin with. The trick is to leave it in the freezer a very long time.
Today I pulled the book out and vacuumed off the baking soda. I smelled the book.
No smell!
Now I will leave it out overnight; if the smell returns by morning, then I know this cure will not work for this book. If there is no smell, then I am in for some reading!
I love books in all their forms, but new books command my attention mostly because they do not make me sneeze or wheeze.
Old records in courthouses and ancient libraries fascinate me, but I cannot spend much time viewing them. I have even abandoned a major writing project because the library at University of Virginia overwhelmed me with mold and dust.
A dusty book in my house generally goes to the library as a donation. That means my shelves routinely have varying titles. Unless a book has special significance or is something I might use for research, it doesn't hang around here long.
Library books that have been in the inventory for a long time also gather dust and mold.
My book club this month is reading The Women's Room by Marilyn French. I thought I had a copy of the book here but I couldn't find it. So I requested one from the library in inter library loan, since my local branch did not have the book.
The book came in so musty that I could hardly stand to look at it, much less read it. The helpful library assistant offered to order me another from a different place.
When it arrived, it too was musty, but not as bad as the original. I brought it home three weeks ago.
I have not read it because it has been in a zip locked bag in my freezer covered in baking soda.
At some point I discovered that this will kill mold, provided the book is not too far gone to begin with. The trick is to leave it in the freezer a very long time.
Today I pulled the book out and vacuumed off the baking soda. I smelled the book.
No smell!
Now I will leave it out overnight; if the smell returns by morning, then I know this cure will not work for this book. If there is no smell, then I am in for some reading!
Thursday, March 05, 2009
Thursday Thirteen: On My Desk
Here are few things on my desk:
1. A little stuffed bear that says "Hollins University."
2. A notebook containing an interview. It's a very good interview, too.
3. A wrist brace because I have trouble with both my wrists, from typing and computer mouse use, I guess.
4. A copy of The Fincastle Herald.
5. My water glass. I drink at least one pitcher of water a day.
6. My calendar. I actually have two; one on the wall and another that I print off each week from Outlook.
7. A calculator because sometimes I have to figure out percentages.
8. The computer (duh).
9. A pair of binoculars (for looking at deer, fox, birds, and whoever is driving down the road).
10. A pair of scissors for cutting out articles I want to keep.
11. A printer that I use only for envelopes (HP Deskjet 812C. It is very old.)
12. Twenty-two ink pens.
13. These books: Shorter Oxford Dictionary, The Chicago Manual of Style, Roget's Thesaurus, Oxford American Writer's Thesaurus, National Writer's Union Freelance Writer's Guide, Random House Dictionary, American Heritage Dictionary, Peterson Field Guild, Mammals, Peterson Field Guide, Eastern Trees, National Audubon Society Field Guide to the Southeastern States, and The Book of Dreams.
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here. This is my 88th one.
1. A little stuffed bear that says "Hollins University."
2. A notebook containing an interview. It's a very good interview, too.
3. A wrist brace because I have trouble with both my wrists, from typing and computer mouse use, I guess.
4. A copy of The Fincastle Herald.
5. My water glass. I drink at least one pitcher of water a day.
6. My calendar. I actually have two; one on the wall and another that I print off each week from Outlook.
7. A calculator because sometimes I have to figure out percentages.
8. The computer (duh).
9. A pair of binoculars (for looking at deer, fox, birds, and whoever is driving down the road).
10. A pair of scissors for cutting out articles I want to keep.
11. A printer that I use only for envelopes (HP Deskjet 812C. It is very old.)
12. Twenty-two ink pens.
13. These books: Shorter Oxford Dictionary, The Chicago Manual of Style, Roget's Thesaurus, Oxford American Writer's Thesaurus, National Writer's Union Freelance Writer's Guide, Random House Dictionary, American Heritage Dictionary, Peterson Field Guild, Mammals, Peterson Field Guide, Eastern Trees, National Audubon Society Field Guide to the Southeastern States, and The Book of Dreams.
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here. This is my 88th one.
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
Chasing Dreams
I knew at an early age that I wanted to write.
Maybe it was because I learned to read early, or maybe it was because I could lose myself in a story, but whatever the reason, words drew me as if I were being sucked into a vacuum.
Books saved me on many occasions by giving me an escape. They were also great fountains of knowledge, and I valued this. I even liked my math book, though I have never cared much for math.
I vividly remember the day I looked up from reading the local paper and told my mother that one day I would write for that publication. Only I would do it better, I said. I wouldn't have any of this "a little bird tells us" stuff that was often found in the paper at that time. That was in 1974; I was 11 years old
It was 1985, four years after I graduated high school, before I managed to get a byline in The Herald. My first piece was headlined "Making Shiloh Apple Butter" and it was about a church group using apple butter as a fundraiser.
I was ecstatic. I met my mother at Mike's Market (which used to be in Daleville where Bellacino's is now located) to show her the paper. I had fulfilled that dream, and apparently since I am still writing for the newspaper it became a calling, maybe a passion. I have had something published every year since, even when I was putting myself through college. These days I publish an average of 30 articles a month. I am nothing if not consistent.
But other dreams have not come to me quite so easily. I also want to write books. By this time in my life, as I sit here pondering middle age, I had hoped to have a poetry book of some kind published. Even just a little chapbook would be nice.
I also want to write fiction. I have several fiction novels about half written, another that is finished but it is handwritten and needs to be typed. They sit untouched in my computer or in drawers. They are no worse than some published stories I have read but I've never moved further with them.
I once thought I might write young adult fiction, a la Nancy Drew, perhaps, but alas, I have not. These days I doubt I could.
Or maybe I'd write a mainstream fiction book, like A Thousand Acres by Jane Smiley.
Or maybe I would be another Phyllis Whitney, specializing in Gothic romance, a genre that seems to have completely vanished from the shelves. How I loved those books.
I never thought that at 45 I would be writing only newspaper articles. Or that I would be doing so many that I don't have time for anything else. Or that as I head toward my 46th birthday I would be wondering if I am burned out.
I never thought I'd have 875 posts on a blog, either, but here I am, making my 875th blog post. It's a lot of writing and I am greatly thankful for the relationships I have made through my blog. I am grateful for my loyal readers who seem to have found something here they like.
However, a blog is not a book.
Since my scare on February 20, which greatly highlighted my fear of dying at what is these days a relatively young age, I have been rethinking what I am doing.
I really *like* writing articles. I enjoy writing for the newspaper. I see it as a teaching position. It's a way for me to impart knowledge, to share what I have learned. It is for me a civic duty, a way to give back to the county and the nation that has done so much for me.
Plus, I do okay with it, and isn't it my responsibility to use my talent where it works?
What I don't know is when you stop. Even the Army lets you retire after some many years, and with a full pension. If I retire I will have no pension or no income. There is no safety net when you're an independent contractor, which is what I am.
I also am concerned that I have some innate issue with sticking with a long-term project. It's kind of like weight loss. I can see where I want to be but darned if I can figure out how to get there. I fear it is the same with something like a book. I can see the beginning and the end but can't slog my way through the middle.
Life is a long and interesting journey. I firmly believe it is not the end that matters, but the way we get there. I hope to make some changes in my life this year. I don't know yet what they will be. Maybe it will simply be an hour a day trying to write a piece of fiction. Maybe it will be weight loss and better health.
I am still thinking, still pondering, still wondering. My life is not a bad one - I can stay home and write in my jammies if I want. My husband loves me, and I love him and our marriage is sound and strong. I have a nice house and food to eat. I have much for which to be thankful, and so I am.
But I smell change on my horizon. I wonder where it will lead?
Maybe it was because I learned to read early, or maybe it was because I could lose myself in a story, but whatever the reason, words drew me as if I were being sucked into a vacuum.
Books saved me on many occasions by giving me an escape. They were also great fountains of knowledge, and I valued this. I even liked my math book, though I have never cared much for math.
I vividly remember the day I looked up from reading the local paper and told my mother that one day I would write for that publication. Only I would do it better, I said. I wouldn't have any of this "a little bird tells us" stuff that was often found in the paper at that time. That was in 1974; I was 11 years old
It was 1985, four years after I graduated high school, before I managed to get a byline in The Herald. My first piece was headlined "Making Shiloh Apple Butter" and it was about a church group using apple butter as a fundraiser.
I was ecstatic. I met my mother at Mike's Market (which used to be in Daleville where Bellacino's is now located) to show her the paper. I had fulfilled that dream, and apparently since I am still writing for the newspaper it became a calling, maybe a passion. I have had something published every year since, even when I was putting myself through college. These days I publish an average of 30 articles a month. I am nothing if not consistent.
But other dreams have not come to me quite so easily. I also want to write books. By this time in my life, as I sit here pondering middle age, I had hoped to have a poetry book of some kind published. Even just a little chapbook would be nice.
I also want to write fiction. I have several fiction novels about half written, another that is finished but it is handwritten and needs to be typed. They sit untouched in my computer or in drawers. They are no worse than some published stories I have read but I've never moved further with them.
I once thought I might write young adult fiction, a la Nancy Drew, perhaps, but alas, I have not. These days I doubt I could.
Or maybe I'd write a mainstream fiction book, like A Thousand Acres by Jane Smiley.
Or maybe I would be another Phyllis Whitney, specializing in Gothic romance, a genre that seems to have completely vanished from the shelves. How I loved those books.
I never thought that at 45 I would be writing only newspaper articles. Or that I would be doing so many that I don't have time for anything else. Or that as I head toward my 46th birthday I would be wondering if I am burned out.
I never thought I'd have 875 posts on a blog, either, but here I am, making my 875th blog post. It's a lot of writing and I am greatly thankful for the relationships I have made through my blog. I am grateful for my loyal readers who seem to have found something here they like.
However, a blog is not a book.
Since my scare on February 20, which greatly highlighted my fear of dying at what is these days a relatively young age, I have been rethinking what I am doing.
I really *like* writing articles. I enjoy writing for the newspaper. I see it as a teaching position. It's a way for me to impart knowledge, to share what I have learned. It is for me a civic duty, a way to give back to the county and the nation that has done so much for me.
Plus, I do okay with it, and isn't it my responsibility to use my talent where it works?
What I don't know is when you stop. Even the Army lets you retire after some many years, and with a full pension. If I retire I will have no pension or no income. There is no safety net when you're an independent contractor, which is what I am.
I also am concerned that I have some innate issue with sticking with a long-term project. It's kind of like weight loss. I can see where I want to be but darned if I can figure out how to get there. I fear it is the same with something like a book. I can see the beginning and the end but can't slog my way through the middle.
Life is a long and interesting journey. I firmly believe it is not the end that matters, but the way we get there. I hope to make some changes in my life this year. I don't know yet what they will be. Maybe it will simply be an hour a day trying to write a piece of fiction. Maybe it will be weight loss and better health.
I am still thinking, still pondering, still wondering. My life is not a bad one - I can stay home and write in my jammies if I want. My husband loves me, and I love him and our marriage is sound and strong. I have a nice house and food to eat. I have much for which to be thankful, and so I am.
But I smell change on my horizon. I wonder where it will lead?
Monday, March 02, 2009
Like a Postcard
What a difference 24 hours makes. First the world looked dreary and brown and now it's all white and glistening.
Snow totals ranged from 4 to 9 inches. I guessed 6 to 8 at our house, but never measured.
This is the first good snow we've had in about eight years. It was much needed and quite welcome. My husband was very happy. Free nitrogen for the fields, he says. Not to mention some much-needed moisture.
Sunday, March 01, 2009
What's this stuff?
We woke this morning to an unfamiliar site!
About two inches of very wet snow blankets the ground.
I went outside twice before 8 a.m. to take a few photos so that in my older age I can remember what snow looked like.
The birds were chirping their morning greeting. The air was very still, waiting, I think, on more wintry weather. The bird noises echoed off the house. The sounds were quite lovely.
The roads are uncovered. This is a good kind of snow, when you can still travel but the ground gets the benefit of the moisture. From a farming point of view, this was much needed and will be a big help.
About two inches of very wet snow blankets the ground.
I went outside twice before 8 a.m. to take a few photos so that in my older age I can remember what snow looked like.
The birds were chirping their morning greeting. The air was very still, waiting, I think, on more wintry weather. The bird noises echoed off the house. The sounds were quite lovely.
The roads are uncovered. This is a good kind of snow, when you can still travel but the ground gets the benefit of the moisture. From a farming point of view, this was much needed and will be a big help.
You like me, you really like me!
Kristen at Hello Sweet World gave me this award a few days ago; in the excitement of thinking I was having a heart attack and having a busy work week, I misplaced it but I did find it again!
I have a hard time deciding who to pass these things on to, because if I read your blog, I like it and I think it's cool. I read a lot of blogs.
But I will follow Kristen's example and give this to three people: June, Blue Ridge Gal (who I know doesn't do awards, but it's yours anyway and I hope it gives you a warm fuzzy), and Tanya.
Thanks for the kudos.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
. . . - A note on grammar
*Note: I accidentally hit the publish button on this blog entry before I was ready. If you're read it without this note, it's changed. My apologies.
Ellipses
From The Chicago Manual of Style, 15th edition, which is the style book writers should be using (unless you're a journalist using the Associated Press Style Book or writing thesis for college or something like that):
11.45 Faltering or interrupted speech. Ellipsis points may be used to suggest faltering or fragmented speech accompanied by confusion or insecurity.
11.51 An ellipsis - the omission of a word, phrase, line, paragraph or more from a quoted passage - is indicated by ellipsis points (or dots), not by asterisks. Ellipsis points are three spaced periods (emphasis mine) (. . . ), sometimes preceded or followed by other punctuation.
11.59 Deliberately incomplete sentence. Three dots are used at the end of a quoted sentence that is deliberately left grammatically incomplete.
Like all punctuation, an ellipsis has its place. However, I find them annoying if over used.
See also: Ellipsis, this article.
En or em Dash, or just a dash
6.83 An en dash is used to signify "up to an including (or through)."
6.85 The en dash is used in place of a hyphen in a compound adjective when one of its elements is an open compound or when two or more of its elements are open compounds or hyphenated compounds.
6.87 The em dash, often simply called the dash, is the mostly commonly used and most versatile of the dashes. To avoid confusion, no sentence should contain more than two em dashes; if more than two elements need to be set off, use parentheses.
6.88 Amplifying or explaining. An em dash or a pair of em dashes sets off an amplifying or explanatory element. (Commas, parentheses, or a colon may perform a similar function.)
6.89 Separating subject from pronoun. An em dash may be used to separate a subject, or a series of subjects, from a pronoun that introduces the main clause.
6.90 Indicating sudden breaks. An em dash or a pair of em dashes may indicate a sudden break in though or sentence structure or an interruption in dialogue. (Ellipsis points may also serve this purpose.)
6.91 Used in place of, or with, a comma.
As with the ellipsis, I think dashes should be used sparingly. The punctuation calls attention to whatever is inside the dash, and those words should be of extreme significance.
Of course grammar use such as these is dependent upon the author's wishes. However, I do not believe I am the only reader who is irritated by a frequent number of ellipses and dashes on a page. When the grammar takes away from the story, I firmly believe there is editing to be done.
Ellipses
From The Chicago Manual of Style, 15th edition, which is the style book writers should be using (unless you're a journalist using the Associated Press Style Book or writing thesis for college or something like that):
11.45 Faltering or interrupted speech. Ellipsis points may be used to suggest faltering or fragmented speech accompanied by confusion or insecurity.
11.51 An ellipsis - the omission of a word, phrase, line, paragraph or more from a quoted passage - is indicated by ellipsis points (or dots), not by asterisks. Ellipsis points are three spaced periods (emphasis mine) (. . . ), sometimes preceded or followed by other punctuation.
11.59 Deliberately incomplete sentence. Three dots are used at the end of a quoted sentence that is deliberately left grammatically incomplete.
Like all punctuation, an ellipsis has its place. However, I find them annoying if over used.
See also: Ellipsis, this article.
En or em Dash, or just a dash
6.83 An en dash is used to signify "up to an including (or through)."
6.85 The en dash is used in place of a hyphen in a compound adjective when one of its elements is an open compound or when two or more of its elements are open compounds or hyphenated compounds.
6.87 The em dash, often simply called the dash, is the mostly commonly used and most versatile of the dashes. To avoid confusion, no sentence should contain more than two em dashes; if more than two elements need to be set off, use parentheses.
6.88 Amplifying or explaining. An em dash or a pair of em dashes sets off an amplifying or explanatory element. (Commas, parentheses, or a colon may perform a similar function.)
6.89 Separating subject from pronoun. An em dash may be used to separate a subject, or a series of subjects, from a pronoun that introduces the main clause.
6.90 Indicating sudden breaks. An em dash or a pair of em dashes may indicate a sudden break in though or sentence structure or an interruption in dialogue. (Ellipsis points may also serve this purpose.)
6.91 Used in place of, or with, a comma.
As with the ellipsis, I think dashes should be used sparingly. The punctuation calls attention to whatever is inside the dash, and those words should be of extreme significance.
Of course grammar use such as these is dependent upon the author's wishes. However, I do not believe I am the only reader who is irritated by a frequent number of ellipses and dashes on a page. When the grammar takes away from the story, I firmly believe there is editing to be done.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Thursday Thirteen: Heart
1. February is American Heart Month, and not just because of Valentine’s Day. *
2. Heart disease is the leading cause of death in the United States. In 2005, 652,091 people died of heart disease (50.5% of them women). That means that 222 out of every 100,000 people annually. The age-adjusted death rates for diseases of the heart was 211.1 deaths per 100,000 for all Americans. The age-adjusted death rate for whites was 207.8, and 271.3 for African Americans, according to the Center for Disease Control website.
3. My grandfather on January 2, 1976, at the young age of 56, died when his heart gave out. I was 12 years old and had spent the night with him and my grandmother. I watched in horror as rescue personnel wheeled him out of the house. The next morning my mother came in to tell me and her brothers that her daddy was dead. He left my grandmother with two young sons still at home. I was the oldest of his grandchildren, and I am sorry to say that I don’t remember much about him. But looking back on that event, I do recall that he hadn’t felt well for several weeks prior to his death. He was thin and strong, but he smoked two packs of cigarettes a day. He ignored whatever his warning signs were. He was not a man to go to the doctor; I’m not sure he even had a doctor. Maybe if he had paid more attention, he would have lived to dance at my wedding; it was only nine years later, after all.
4. A lot of older folks live in my county. Fourteen percent of our population is over the age of 65; almost 80 percent are over the age of 18. Our median age is 42.7 years; we’re not spring chickens.
5. So it’s important that we all combat heart disease by watching what we eat, maintaining a healthy weight and exercising.
6. Take the time to learn about nutrition. Understanding fats, for example, can be important in weight loss and overall health. If you’re like me and can’t figure out the difference between a good fat and bad fat, this is probably a needed lesson. Some fats raise cholesterol; others don’t. The really bad ones are saturated fats (animal meats) and hydrogenated fats (margarine and butter). Fats found in fish and nuts are better for you, but all fat should be limited to less than a third of your caloric intake.
7. A Mediterranean type diet is thought to be heart healthy, so think of Greece when you’re shopping.
8. If you’re overweight, losing the pounds can be exceedingly difficult. It is important to keep trying, though. You never know what will work for you. Maybe you just need a weight loss buddy.
8. As for exercise, finding the time for that can be difficult, but experts now say 10 minute spurts three times a day is as helpful as a 30 minute walk. All physical activity adds up to a healthier heart.
9. My efforts at exercise lately have taken the form of the Wii Fit video game for 30 minutes a day on top of 20 to 30 minutes of bicycling or walking. It is not the end-all to my weight woes, but hopefully it is making me fitter while I’m having fun. And it’s certainly better than nothing.
10. A heart attack can be sudden or it can build up. Sometimes it happens just like in the movies, but often there are warning signs. Chest discomfort is typical and should not be ignored. It feels like an uncomfortable pressure, squeezing, fullness or pain.
11. Other signs are:
• Discomfort in other areas of the upper body. Symptoms can include pain or discomfort in one or both arms, the back, neck, jaw or stomach.
• Shortness of breath with or without chest discomfort.
• Breaking out in a cold sweat, nausea or lightheadedness
12. Call 911 immediately if you suspect a heart problem. Do not drive yourself to the doctor unless that is a last resort.
13. It is estimated that about 47% of cardiac deaths occur before emergency services or transport to a hospital, so don’t hesitate to call. The American Heart Association website, from where much of my information came, has calculators and knowledge tests available. Increase your heart knowledge and check it out at americanheart.org.
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here. This is my 87th one.
*A version of this appeared under my column in The Fincastle Herald, February 25, 2009 edition.
2. Heart disease is the leading cause of death in the United States. In 2005, 652,091 people died of heart disease (50.5% of them women). That means that 222 out of every 100,000 people annually. The age-adjusted death rates for diseases of the heart was 211.1 deaths per 100,000 for all Americans. The age-adjusted death rate for whites was 207.8, and 271.3 for African Americans, according to the Center for Disease Control website.
3. My grandfather on January 2, 1976, at the young age of 56, died when his heart gave out. I was 12 years old and had spent the night with him and my grandmother. I watched in horror as rescue personnel wheeled him out of the house. The next morning my mother came in to tell me and her brothers that her daddy was dead. He left my grandmother with two young sons still at home. I was the oldest of his grandchildren, and I am sorry to say that I don’t remember much about him. But looking back on that event, I do recall that he hadn’t felt well for several weeks prior to his death. He was thin and strong, but he smoked two packs of cigarettes a day. He ignored whatever his warning signs were. He was not a man to go to the doctor; I’m not sure he even had a doctor. Maybe if he had paid more attention, he would have lived to dance at my wedding; it was only nine years later, after all.
4. A lot of older folks live in my county. Fourteen percent of our population is over the age of 65; almost 80 percent are over the age of 18. Our median age is 42.7 years; we’re not spring chickens.
5. So it’s important that we all combat heart disease by watching what we eat, maintaining a healthy weight and exercising.
6. Take the time to learn about nutrition. Understanding fats, for example, can be important in weight loss and overall health. If you’re like me and can’t figure out the difference between a good fat and bad fat, this is probably a needed lesson. Some fats raise cholesterol; others don’t. The really bad ones are saturated fats (animal meats) and hydrogenated fats (margarine and butter). Fats found in fish and nuts are better for you, but all fat should be limited to less than a third of your caloric intake.
7. A Mediterranean type diet is thought to be heart healthy, so think of Greece when you’re shopping.
8. If you’re overweight, losing the pounds can be exceedingly difficult. It is important to keep trying, though. You never know what will work for you. Maybe you just need a weight loss buddy.
8. As for exercise, finding the time for that can be difficult, but experts now say 10 minute spurts three times a day is as helpful as a 30 minute walk. All physical activity adds up to a healthier heart.
9. My efforts at exercise lately have taken the form of the Wii Fit video game for 30 minutes a day on top of 20 to 30 minutes of bicycling or walking. It is not the end-all to my weight woes, but hopefully it is making me fitter while I’m having fun. And it’s certainly better than nothing.
10. A heart attack can be sudden or it can build up. Sometimes it happens just like in the movies, but often there are warning signs. Chest discomfort is typical and should not be ignored. It feels like an uncomfortable pressure, squeezing, fullness or pain.
11. Other signs are:
• Discomfort in other areas of the upper body. Symptoms can include pain or discomfort in one or both arms, the back, neck, jaw or stomach.
• Shortness of breath with or without chest discomfort.
• Breaking out in a cold sweat, nausea or lightheadedness
12. Call 911 immediately if you suspect a heart problem. Do not drive yourself to the doctor unless that is a last resort.
13. It is estimated that about 47% of cardiac deaths occur before emergency services or transport to a hospital, so don’t hesitate to call. The American Heart Association website, from where much of my information came, has calculators and knowledge tests available. Increase your heart knowledge and check it out at americanheart.org.
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here. This is my 87th one.
*A version of this appeared under my column in The Fincastle Herald, February 25, 2009 edition.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
The Water Tower
This is the Town of Troutville's water tower.
These things always fascinate me because they should be obtrusive but half the time I simply don't see them.
They also always make me think of War of the Worlds.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
The Homeless Woman
The chest pain area of the emergency room at RMH, where I spent Friday night, is away from the rest of the ER. It is quieter there.
The rooms are single beds, very small, divided from the hall with a curtain.
I could hear everything said in the two rooms across from me as if I were standing right next to the bed. I couldn't hear anything said in the room beside me.
In one of the rooms across from me was a woman who was homeless. I know this because sometime before 8 p.m. Friday night the nurse helped her call her sister.
She told her sister that she was the ER with chest pains; she has spent the previous night in one of Roanoke's homeless shelters. She had lived in an apartment but her boyfriend beat her and she left. She had recently been released from a rehab unit somewhere.
I heard her tell her sister this story and I felt very sorry for her.
She needed somewhere to go. It would be late when she received her test results, too late to go to the homeless shelter because it closes it doors at a certain hour, apparently.
Her sister would not come get her. It appeared to me that the nursing staff took it upon themselves to keep her test results in limbo somewhere so that a social worker could see her early the next morning. I am not sure that is the case but the nurses did not want to let the woman go out into the very cold night with no place to go.
During the night the woman woke up upset. She wanted to leave. The nurse told her she could go if she wanted but reminded her that she had no shelter.
After much discussion, some of which included a story about a dream wherein the Lord told the homeless woman she should never go back to the homeless shelter, the nurse gave the woman a sleeping pill and she went back to sleep.
The next morning the social worker was next to useless; she did not offer the woman hardly any assistance from what I heard. The hospital or Social Services gave her a voucher for a ride in a cab to a homeless shelter.
Her test results showed she did have some kind of heart problem. Unlike me, she really did need to be tested since they actually found something. She needed some kind of medication that she told the nurse she could not afford.
All I could think was "there but for the grace of God." I have no idea of this woman's particular circumstances. I know there will be people who will judge her as having made poor choices and perhaps brought this upon herself; my impression was she was just one of those unfortunate souls who do not have much intelligence or common sense but I don't know that to be true. People will tell me that the money I expect to be paying out because of what my insurance won't cover will go to pay for this woman's care.
I know that. I still feel sorry for her. There has to be a better way to take care of people who are down on their luck, whether through poor choices, low IQ or whatever. Maybe this woman's family has some responsibility for her - I know if my brother called me, whatever the time of day, and told me he was in the hospital and needed me, I would drop everything I was doing and go to him. I would do the same thing for pretty much everyone, friends and family alike. But that is just me.
In any event, this woman's circumstances has preyed on my mind for a few days.
We are a mighty nation. Why can't we take care of those among us who really need it? What are we doing wrong?
The rooms are single beds, very small, divided from the hall with a curtain.
I could hear everything said in the two rooms across from me as if I were standing right next to the bed. I couldn't hear anything said in the room beside me.
In one of the rooms across from me was a woman who was homeless. I know this because sometime before 8 p.m. Friday night the nurse helped her call her sister.
She told her sister that she was the ER with chest pains; she has spent the previous night in one of Roanoke's homeless shelters. She had lived in an apartment but her boyfriend beat her and she left. She had recently been released from a rehab unit somewhere.
I heard her tell her sister this story and I felt very sorry for her.
She needed somewhere to go. It would be late when she received her test results, too late to go to the homeless shelter because it closes it doors at a certain hour, apparently.
Her sister would not come get her. It appeared to me that the nursing staff took it upon themselves to keep her test results in limbo somewhere so that a social worker could see her early the next morning. I am not sure that is the case but the nurses did not want to let the woman go out into the very cold night with no place to go.
During the night the woman woke up upset. She wanted to leave. The nurse told her she could go if she wanted but reminded her that she had no shelter.
After much discussion, some of which included a story about a dream wherein the Lord told the homeless woman she should never go back to the homeless shelter, the nurse gave the woman a sleeping pill and she went back to sleep.
The next morning the social worker was next to useless; she did not offer the woman hardly any assistance from what I heard. The hospital or Social Services gave her a voucher for a ride in a cab to a homeless shelter.
Her test results showed she did have some kind of heart problem. Unlike me, she really did need to be tested since they actually found something. She needed some kind of medication that she told the nurse she could not afford.
All I could think was "there but for the grace of God." I have no idea of this woman's particular circumstances. I know there will be people who will judge her as having made poor choices and perhaps brought this upon herself; my impression was she was just one of those unfortunate souls who do not have much intelligence or common sense but I don't know that to be true. People will tell me that the money I expect to be paying out because of what my insurance won't cover will go to pay for this woman's care.
I know that. I still feel sorry for her. There has to be a better way to take care of people who are down on their luck, whether through poor choices, low IQ or whatever. Maybe this woman's family has some responsibility for her - I know if my brother called me, whatever the time of day, and told me he was in the hospital and needed me, I would drop everything I was doing and go to him. I would do the same thing for pretty much everyone, friends and family alike. But that is just me.
In any event, this woman's circumstances has preyed on my mind for a few days.
We are a mighty nation. Why can't we take care of those among us who really need it? What are we doing wrong?
Sunday, February 22, 2009
An Unexpected Journey Part II
Part I is here.
The ambulance arrived at RMH without incident. I hoped to see my husband waiting there for me, but he had not yet arrived.
He is an EMT himself but he was on duty with the City. He was also in a training class and I had asked a nurse at my doctor's office to contact the EMS dispatch and have him tracked down.
They whisked me into Room 10 in the ER and then transferred EKG lines and oxygen lines and other things onto the hospital equipment.
A nurse came in and asked relevant questions. They ran another EKG and asked me how I was feeling.
My chest was still hurting, I said. But not like it was.
I looked up to see my husband standing at the door. He came in while the EMTS were still hooking me up. He thanked them for their service.
He looked shaken to see me there with wires protruding everywhere.
Once things calmed down a bit, I asked if I could go to the restroom. This meant unhooking me but it couldn't be helped.
When I returned, I found my friend whom I was supposed to have met earlier in the hallway with my husband. She had offered to take me to the doctor but I had declined.
She stayed for several hours and then left, still not knowing what was wrong with me.
The doctor entered and said he wanted to do a stress test. This would be a nuclear stress test that involved injecting isotopes into the body while resting and then again while it was under stress. It would take several hours and meant an overnight stay in the Chest Pain Center of the E.R.
It was not a hospital admittance, though. I presume this is for insurance purposes.
At any rate, after that, it was all hurry up and wait. My husband finally left to go collect my car at the doctor's office and to eat lunch/dinner. It was 4 p.m. before I left Room 10 for the Nuclear Lab for my first injection.
Then I went into a small dinky room that would be my new home for the night.
After an hour there, they rolled me back to the Nuclear Lab. I lay on a huge machine that crawled over the heart area, taking pictures. That meant lying perfectly still for about 16 minutes (four songs on the radio plus commercials).
Then it was back to the room. My husband found me and comforted me until I begged him to go home and get some rest. There was no where for him to stay in that room; it was just too small.
He left me reluctantly, with kisses and promises.
The night was long, with much racket and little sleep. I'd been told I would be the first stress test and would start at 6 a.m, but that time came and went.
My husband arrived at 7:45 to find me frustrated because I still hadn't had my stress test.
It would be 11 a.m. before that happened.
The stress test involved climbing on a treadmill and bringing my heart rate up to a certain level. My blood pressure was already up so I knew it wouldn't take much to raise it.
After about nine minutes, they injected more dye. I walked for another minute. They stopped the treadmill and moved me back to the large X-ray machine. Another 16 minutes of being still.
About an hour later, a physicians assistant told me they found nothing. Nothing heart related, anyway.
That was the good news.
The bad news was they still didn't know exactly what was causing my pain, but a previous history of problems with my esophagus and reflux made that seem a likely culprit. However, that was a different doctor and a mystery to be solved on a different day.
And I came home to my bed and my shower, relieved and embarrassed by my fears.
The ambulance arrived at RMH without incident. I hoped to see my husband waiting there for me, but he had not yet arrived.
He is an EMT himself but he was on duty with the City. He was also in a training class and I had asked a nurse at my doctor's office to contact the EMS dispatch and have him tracked down.
They whisked me into Room 10 in the ER and then transferred EKG lines and oxygen lines and other things onto the hospital equipment.
A nurse came in and asked relevant questions. They ran another EKG and asked me how I was feeling.
My chest was still hurting, I said. But not like it was.
I looked up to see my husband standing at the door. He came in while the EMTS were still hooking me up. He thanked them for their service.
He looked shaken to see me there with wires protruding everywhere.
Once things calmed down a bit, I asked if I could go to the restroom. This meant unhooking me but it couldn't be helped.
When I returned, I found my friend whom I was supposed to have met earlier in the hallway with my husband. She had offered to take me to the doctor but I had declined.
She stayed for several hours and then left, still not knowing what was wrong with me.
The doctor entered and said he wanted to do a stress test. This would be a nuclear stress test that involved injecting isotopes into the body while resting and then again while it was under stress. It would take several hours and meant an overnight stay in the Chest Pain Center of the E.R.
It was not a hospital admittance, though. I presume this is for insurance purposes.
At any rate, after that, it was all hurry up and wait. My husband finally left to go collect my car at the doctor's office and to eat lunch/dinner. It was 4 p.m. before I left Room 10 for the Nuclear Lab for my first injection.
Then I went into a small dinky room that would be my new home for the night.
After an hour there, they rolled me back to the Nuclear Lab. I lay on a huge machine that crawled over the heart area, taking pictures. That meant lying perfectly still for about 16 minutes (four songs on the radio plus commercials).
Then it was back to the room. My husband found me and comforted me until I begged him to go home and get some rest. There was no where for him to stay in that room; it was just too small.
He left me reluctantly, with kisses and promises.
The night was long, with much racket and little sleep. I'd been told I would be the first stress test and would start at 6 a.m, but that time came and went.
My husband arrived at 7:45 to find me frustrated because I still hadn't had my stress test.
It would be 11 a.m. before that happened.
The stress test involved climbing on a treadmill and bringing my heart rate up to a certain level. My blood pressure was already up so I knew it wouldn't take much to raise it.
After about nine minutes, they injected more dye. I walked for another minute. They stopped the treadmill and moved me back to the large X-ray machine. Another 16 minutes of being still.
About an hour later, a physicians assistant told me they found nothing. Nothing heart related, anyway.
That was the good news.
The bad news was they still didn't know exactly what was causing my pain, but a previous history of problems with my esophagus and reflux made that seem a likely culprit. However, that was a different doctor and a mystery to be solved on a different day.
And I came home to my bed and my shower, relieved and embarrassed by my fears.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
An Unexpected Journey
It was the ambulance ride that really made me raise my eyebrows.
I had never ridden in one before and there I was, watching I-81 go beneath me while I watched where I'd been instead of where I was going. It was kind of dizzying.
The stretcher was uncomfortable and the truck swayed and hit every bump.
An oxygen line was stuck up my nose. Tubes extended from my body. Things beeped.
The EMT stuck an IV in me and drew blood as we entered Roanoke City. I was headed for RMH.
How did I get in this predicament?
I woke up at 4 a.m. Friday morning having chest pains. Indigestion, I thought. Then I started sweating. A hot flash, I thought.
My jaw hurt. My TMJ, I thought.
My left shoulder hurt. That's from where I pulled it lifting groceries.
I couldn't go back to sleep so I rose and sat at the computer. I felt a little better. My husband left for work.
However, I still wasn't feeling well so I opted out of exercising. I dressed. I tried to eat breakfast but I was queasy and didn't want anything.
I left for my appointment. My chest still hurt. As I drove toward town, I felt lightheaded.
This was no good. I started sweating again. Anxiety, I thought. Stop worrying.
I had an appointment and several places to go. I made the first stop. A friend at the courthouse offered to take me to the doctor when I mentioned I was feeling unwell.
After some discussion and much hemming and hawing on my part, I called and cancelled a meeting with another friend. She offered to come and get me and drive me to the doctor when I told her why I couldn't meet her.
I declined both invitations from my friends and drove myself.
Apparently when you walk in to a medical clinic and say "I'm one of Dr. so-and-so's patients and I'm having chest pains," that is an immediate call to action.
The receptionist sent out an "I need a nurse at the front desk" call and before I knew it five nurses descended upon the waiting area. I was whisked to a triage room where they began hooking me up to monitors.
My doctor came in within two minutes and started checking me out. "Nitro and two aspirin," she said. "Has 911 been called?"
"On their way," someone said.
"No, no," I said. I tried to get up. "I just wanted you to look at me and pat me on the head and tell me I'm okay."
"That's not happening today," my doctor told me as she pushed me back into the reclining thing they'd placed me in.
She asked for my symptoms and I gave them out pretty much as I've written above.
"Why did you wait so long to have this checked?" she asked, stethoscope on my chest, when I said the pain had started at 4 a.m.
"I think it's just indigestion," I replied. By now I was somewhat alarmed.
"It may be but we're not taking a chance," she said.
The EMTs soon arrived. All of this took place in mere moments, certainly not more than 10 minutes. The doctor handed off my information and left the room. That was the last I saw of her.
They loaded me into the truck. And there I was, rolling backwards down the highway.
TO BE CONTINUED....
(Don't worry. I make a comeback in the end.)
I had never ridden in one before and there I was, watching I-81 go beneath me while I watched where I'd been instead of where I was going. It was kind of dizzying.
The stretcher was uncomfortable and the truck swayed and hit every bump.
An oxygen line was stuck up my nose. Tubes extended from my body. Things beeped.
The EMT stuck an IV in me and drew blood as we entered Roanoke City. I was headed for RMH.
How did I get in this predicament?
I woke up at 4 a.m. Friday morning having chest pains. Indigestion, I thought. Then I started sweating. A hot flash, I thought.
My jaw hurt. My TMJ, I thought.
My left shoulder hurt. That's from where I pulled it lifting groceries.
I couldn't go back to sleep so I rose and sat at the computer. I felt a little better. My husband left for work.
However, I still wasn't feeling well so I opted out of exercising. I dressed. I tried to eat breakfast but I was queasy and didn't want anything.
I left for my appointment. My chest still hurt. As I drove toward town, I felt lightheaded.
This was no good. I started sweating again. Anxiety, I thought. Stop worrying.
I had an appointment and several places to go. I made the first stop. A friend at the courthouse offered to take me to the doctor when I mentioned I was feeling unwell.
After some discussion and much hemming and hawing on my part, I called and cancelled a meeting with another friend. She offered to come and get me and drive me to the doctor when I told her why I couldn't meet her.
I declined both invitations from my friends and drove myself.
Apparently when you walk in to a medical clinic and say "I'm one of Dr. so-and-so's patients and I'm having chest pains," that is an immediate call to action.
The receptionist sent out an "I need a nurse at the front desk" call and before I knew it five nurses descended upon the waiting area. I was whisked to a triage room where they began hooking me up to monitors.
My doctor came in within two minutes and started checking me out. "Nitro and two aspirin," she said. "Has 911 been called?"
"On their way," someone said.
"No, no," I said. I tried to get up. "I just wanted you to look at me and pat me on the head and tell me I'm okay."
"That's not happening today," my doctor told me as she pushed me back into the reclining thing they'd placed me in.
She asked for my symptoms and I gave them out pretty much as I've written above.
"Why did you wait so long to have this checked?" she asked, stethoscope on my chest, when I said the pain had started at 4 a.m.
"I think it's just indigestion," I replied. By now I was somewhat alarmed.
"It may be but we're not taking a chance," she said.
The EMTs soon arrived. All of this took place in mere moments, certainly not more than 10 minutes. The doctor handed off my information and left the room. That was the last I saw of her.
They loaded me into the truck. And there I was, rolling backwards down the highway.
TO BE CONTINUED....
(Don't worry. I make a comeback in the end.)
Friday, February 20, 2009
Light a Penny Candle
Light a Penny Candle
By Maeve Binchey
582 pages
Copyright 1982; 2007
This is a reissue of a book that I am pretty sure I read when it first came out.
For some reason the title always stuck with me, anyway. But when I picked it up at the remainder bin at the book store a few weeks ago, I couldn't recall a word of the story, so I decided to reread the book.
Elizabeth White is a child when bombs start falling on England during WWII. Her mother, an agitated and anxiety-ridden sort, sends her to Ireland to stay so she will be safe.
The family that takes in Elizabeth is not kin but instead the mother, Eileen, was Elizabeth's mother's friend in school.
Elizabeth meets Aisling there, Eileen's daughter who is Elizabeth's age.
The story follows their friendship and their lives as the two grow up. Elizabeth returns home to her parents much older and wiser and the intervening years have left quite a void. Her mother leaves her father shortly after she returns home; her father is a helpless soul who is not capable of much love.
Together the two friends take on the world.
The book is an interesting glimpse at life during and after WWII in England and in Ireland. The characters were well-drawn and the heroines both grew exponentially over the course of the book.
4 stars
By Maeve Binchey
582 pages
Copyright 1982; 2007
This is a reissue of a book that I am pretty sure I read when it first came out.
For some reason the title always stuck with me, anyway. But when I picked it up at the remainder bin at the book store a few weeks ago, I couldn't recall a word of the story, so I decided to reread the book.
Elizabeth White is a child when bombs start falling on England during WWII. Her mother, an agitated and anxiety-ridden sort, sends her to Ireland to stay so she will be safe.
The family that takes in Elizabeth is not kin but instead the mother, Eileen, was Elizabeth's mother's friend in school.
Elizabeth meets Aisling there, Eileen's daughter who is Elizabeth's age.
The story follows their friendship and their lives as the two grow up. Elizabeth returns home to her parents much older and wiser and the intervening years have left quite a void. Her mother leaves her father shortly after she returns home; her father is a helpless soul who is not capable of much love.
Together the two friends take on the world.
The book is an interesting glimpse at life during and after WWII in England and in Ireland. The characters were well-drawn and the heroines both grew exponentially over the course of the book.
4 stars
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Thursday Thirteen: Allergies
1. I am allergic to well, practically everything. I don't get just a little sick with an allergy, either. I have asthma, which is bad enough, and when my allergies flare I also develop a sore throat, bronchitis, laryngitis, sinusitis, and a lot of other -itises. It pretty much sends me to bed and can keep me there for weeks because it takes a long time to clear up.
2. Pets are a problem. I am allergic to dogs and cats and will lose my voice just being in a room where those lovely animals live, even if they're not there at the time. We had to keep our dog outside when we had her and I hated doing that to her. I love dogs in particular and sure do miss having one.
3. This allergy issue can and does interfere with my work. I interview people and write stories about them. The best place to do this is in their home, so you can see if they collect plastic roosters or have posters of Harry Potter splashed in the living room. It makes for a better story, I think.
4. I work around it by asking people I don't know to meet me in neutral places. Non-smoking restaurants and the local library are favorite meeting places. It's not ideal but it will do.
5. I have not yet found a polite way to say to a stranger: "I want to interview you, but I need to know if you have dogs or cats in your house, smoke or wear heavy perfume, because if you do any of that, let's meet someplace besides your house." Sometimes if I really want the story I am just blunt about it.
6. When I last tested for allergies, I was positive for 34 of the 35 things they tested me for. The only thing I wasn't allergic to was some kind of ornamental Asian grass.
7. Other things I am allergic to includes oak trees, pine trees, elm trees, roses, all grasses except apparently that Asian one, golden rod, wheat and pepper.
8. I once bought some local unpasteurized honey because I read that if allergy sufferers ate a little bit of it, it would help build immunity to the things they were allergic to.
9. I put a dab of the honey on my finger and put it in my mouth. My throat began to swell immediately. Thankfully we keep a lot of Benedryl and an Epipen on hand at all times.
10. I do not frequent smoking restaurants at all. I sometimes eat in restaurants that are supposedly sectioned off, but that doesn't work. The smoke goes everywhere regardless of how good the ventilation system is. So I don't eat in those unless I have to.
11. Lots of smokers stand in front of doors to non-smoking establishments. This angers me because I have to walk through it. I hold my breath and dash inside.
12. I do the same thing if I find myself having to walk through the perfume section in a department store. Heavy scents will set off my asthma, so I hold my breath and move quickly away. So I don't shop in a lot of large department stores if the only way to the women's clothes is through the perfume.
13. Fortunately most of my friends understand my problem and know that the reason I don't visit them is not because I don't like them or their dog but because I want to be able to get up and breathe and work and be normal the next day.
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here. This is my 86th one.
2. Pets are a problem. I am allergic to dogs and cats and will lose my voice just being in a room where those lovely animals live, even if they're not there at the time. We had to keep our dog outside when we had her and I hated doing that to her. I love dogs in particular and sure do miss having one.
3. This allergy issue can and does interfere with my work. I interview people and write stories about them. The best place to do this is in their home, so you can see if they collect plastic roosters or have posters of Harry Potter splashed in the living room. It makes for a better story, I think.
4. I work around it by asking people I don't know to meet me in neutral places. Non-smoking restaurants and the local library are favorite meeting places. It's not ideal but it will do.
5. I have not yet found a polite way to say to a stranger: "I want to interview you, but I need to know if you have dogs or cats in your house, smoke or wear heavy perfume, because if you do any of that, let's meet someplace besides your house." Sometimes if I really want the story I am just blunt about it.
6. When I last tested for allergies, I was positive for 34 of the 35 things they tested me for. The only thing I wasn't allergic to was some kind of ornamental Asian grass.
7. Other things I am allergic to includes oak trees, pine trees, elm trees, roses, all grasses except apparently that Asian one, golden rod, wheat and pepper.
8. I once bought some local unpasteurized honey because I read that if allergy sufferers ate a little bit of it, it would help build immunity to the things they were allergic to.
9. I put a dab of the honey on my finger and put it in my mouth. My throat began to swell immediately. Thankfully we keep a lot of Benedryl and an Epipen on hand at all times.
10. I do not frequent smoking restaurants at all. I sometimes eat in restaurants that are supposedly sectioned off, but that doesn't work. The smoke goes everywhere regardless of how good the ventilation system is. So I don't eat in those unless I have to.
11. Lots of smokers stand in front of doors to non-smoking establishments. This angers me because I have to walk through it. I hold my breath and dash inside.
12. I do the same thing if I find myself having to walk through the perfume section in a department store. Heavy scents will set off my asthma, so I hold my breath and move quickly away. So I don't shop in a lot of large department stores if the only way to the women's clothes is through the perfume.
13. Fortunately most of my friends understand my problem and know that the reason I don't visit them is not because I don't like them or their dog but because I want to be able to get up and breathe and work and be normal the next day.
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here. This is my 86th one.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Historic Church
This is the Fincastle Methodist Church in Fincastle. It has a neat old graveyard around it.
The Botetourt County Courthouse is in the background to the left.
My husband has family buried here.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Book: Valley of Silence
Valley of Silence
By Nora Roberts
Read by Dick Hill
Copyright 2006
10 hours
Audio book
Valley of Silence concludes a trilogy that I started last year. The second book was Dance of the Gods and the first was Morrigan's Cross.
The entire story is about a circle of six who have been called by the gods to stop a vampire queen in her quest to rule not one but all worlds.
The first book dealt with the two sorcerers; the second with a vampire slayer and a shape shifter.
The third book deals with the last two in the circle, a good vampire and a scholar/archer/queen.
There seemed to be much more love story and less set-up for the final battle between good and evil in this third book.
Still, this was interesting enough and certainly worth listening to in the car.
Dick Hill as always did a great job of reading. He can make even a mediocre story sound good.
3 stars
By Nora Roberts
Read by Dick Hill
Copyright 2006
10 hours
Audio book
Valley of Silence concludes a trilogy that I started last year. The second book was Dance of the Gods and the first was Morrigan's Cross.
The entire story is about a circle of six who have been called by the gods to stop a vampire queen in her quest to rule not one but all worlds.
The first book dealt with the two sorcerers; the second with a vampire slayer and a shape shifter.
The third book deals with the last two in the circle, a good vampire and a scholar/archer/queen.
There seemed to be much more love story and less set-up for the final battle between good and evil in this third book.
Still, this was interesting enough and certainly worth listening to in the car.
Dick Hill as always did a great job of reading. He can make even a mediocre story sound good.
3 stars
Monday, February 16, 2009
Sicko
Last night I watched the Michael Moore documentary Sicko.
It made me cry.
I am not going to review it really; you can read a decent review at The Nation here if you want.
I am going to tell you why it made me cry.
The state of health care in this country is abysmal and I can't understand how we as a people can sit back and watch our neighbors lose their homes and everything they own simply because they are sick.
Do we think it isn't going to happen to us? Do we think we won't age and need care? Are we really that stupid?
I cried when I saw old ladies getting tossed from cabs into the streets. Kicked out by hospitals because they can't pay their bills. They were left in bare feet and in open hospital gowns, shuffling along looking for help.
It was enough to make me want to vomit.
I cried when I saw a 911 rescue worker learn she could receive an inhaler in Cuba for FIVE cents. The exact same thing cost her $120 in the USA.
I felt disgust at insurance agencies and at Congressional "leaders" who have let companies like the insurance and pharmaceutical industries run and ruin this country. This is not a democracy, not if we're letting the least of us suffer like this.
And don't tell me this is not the norm - I am in the health care system. I have my own horror stories. I've watched people I love suffer for lack of money. I watched my mother who had health insurance get sucked in and drowned beneath the cacophony of insurance calls and doctor bills. I watched the system fail her as well as her family as she was dying.
And I did the same with my grandmother and my great aunt.
Our health care sucks.
Statistically we should be alarmed that we're the 37th healthiest country. Or that our infant mortality rate is higher than that of some third world nations. Or that people in other countries live longer than we do.
Doesn't that scare you?
Supposedly this is the greatest and wealthiest nation. So why do people have to lose their homes? Or lose their jobs when they can't work? Why do people HAVE to work while they're taking chemo, when they should be home taking care of themselves?
I have never had a problem with "universal health care" or even socialist medicine. I'm already paying thousands to the insurance company; I doubt that it would take much more off the top for my share if I were paying it in taxes instead. Last year we spent $8000 in insurance costs; it's money out of my pocket anyway.
Since I am already out of that money, I would much rather give it to a system where you and you and my grandmother and my aunt and everyone else I know and love will be assured of some kind of care that doesn't leave them wandering the streets with an IV in their arm.
We are fools.
It made me cry.
I am not going to review it really; you can read a decent review at The Nation here if you want.
I am going to tell you why it made me cry.
The state of health care in this country is abysmal and I can't understand how we as a people can sit back and watch our neighbors lose their homes and everything they own simply because they are sick.
Do we think it isn't going to happen to us? Do we think we won't age and need care? Are we really that stupid?
I cried when I saw old ladies getting tossed from cabs into the streets. Kicked out by hospitals because they can't pay their bills. They were left in bare feet and in open hospital gowns, shuffling along looking for help.
It was enough to make me want to vomit.
I cried when I saw a 911 rescue worker learn she could receive an inhaler in Cuba for FIVE cents. The exact same thing cost her $120 in the USA.
I felt disgust at insurance agencies and at Congressional "leaders" who have let companies like the insurance and pharmaceutical industries run and ruin this country. This is not a democracy, not if we're letting the least of us suffer like this.
And don't tell me this is not the norm - I am in the health care system. I have my own horror stories. I've watched people I love suffer for lack of money. I watched my mother who had health insurance get sucked in and drowned beneath the cacophony of insurance calls and doctor bills. I watched the system fail her as well as her family as she was dying.
And I did the same with my grandmother and my great aunt.
Our health care sucks.
Statistically we should be alarmed that we're the 37th healthiest country. Or that our infant mortality rate is higher than that of some third world nations. Or that people in other countries live longer than we do.
Doesn't that scare you?
Supposedly this is the greatest and wealthiest nation. So why do people have to lose their homes? Or lose their jobs when they can't work? Why do people HAVE to work while they're taking chemo, when they should be home taking care of themselves?
I have never had a problem with "universal health care" or even socialist medicine. I'm already paying thousands to the insurance company; I doubt that it would take much more off the top for my share if I were paying it in taxes instead. Last year we spent $8000 in insurance costs; it's money out of my pocket anyway.
Since I am already out of that money, I would much rather give it to a system where you and you and my grandmother and my aunt and everyone else I know and love will be assured of some kind of care that doesn't leave them wandering the streets with an IV in their arm.
We are fools.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Sunday
This morning as the skies lightened to reveal a grey and overcast day, I saw shadows creeping along the ridge through the glen.
Five deer moved softly and swiftly through the opening, leaving the darkness of the pines for the hardwoods on the other side.
I stood savoring my cup of piping hot tea, watching the animals glide along without a glance toward the house.
Darkness was all around, for I had left the lights off so I could see outside.
It was too dim for photos, so I listened to the silence of the house, sounds undiminished by traffic or human voices. The sound of a dwelling in the forest, where only the sighs of the breeze dashing along the vinyl siding can be heard.
Deer are curious creatures, and one stopped to investigate something I could not see. It lingered to eat, and I imagined it felt safe and secure in the open. I have never given the deer reason to fear me, and so they don't.
The doe moved onward and I cast my eyes toward heaven. Another day. I could see streaks of blue cutting through the clouds, a hope that maybe the clouds would lift and brightness would return.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Thursday Thirteen
1. This morning I used for the first time a monostick for my camera. My husband bought it for me for Christmas.
2. I thought I might need it to keep the camera from blowing out of my hands when I tried to take a picture of the wind this morning.
3.
4.
5.
6. Did I catch the wind?
7. Also this morning my computer suddenly shut itself down and then booted back up. It said it recovered from a fatal error.
8. It advised me to look at the last thing installed because that would be the likely problem.
9. That would be a MICROSOFT UPDATE to your brain, computer! That just happened last night without my say-so or design.
10. Of course the computer doesn't recognize that its brain malfunctioned; it wants to blame some outside source.
11. Doesn't that sound very human?
12. And I don't understand why when you add a picture in the "compose" mode of blogger you have to go back and edit out the HTML for the lines or you end up with no line breaks.
13. And then the stupid code comes back again if you move out of the "edit html" portion of the program. You'd think they could fix this.
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here. This is my 85th one.
2. I thought I might need it to keep the camera from blowing out of my hands when I tried to take a picture of the wind this morning.
3.
4.
5.
6. Did I catch the wind?
7. Also this morning my computer suddenly shut itself down and then booted back up. It said it recovered from a fatal error.
8. It advised me to look at the last thing installed because that would be the likely problem.
9. That would be a MICROSOFT UPDATE to your brain, computer! That just happened last night without my say-so or design.
10. Of course the computer doesn't recognize that its brain malfunctioned; it wants to blame some outside source.
11. Doesn't that sound very human?
12. And I don't understand why when you add a picture in the "compose" mode of blogger you have to go back and edit out the HTML for the lines or you end up with no line breaks.
13. And then the stupid code comes back again if you move out of the "edit html" portion of the program. You'd think they could fix this.
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here. This is my 85th one.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Not Writer's Block
I never say I have writer's block, because I never think I do.
However, sometimes, like right now, I certainly do find writing to be more work than fun.
Recently I have been working on a series of articles for an upcoming special edition. This has been going on for the past month.
I thought I would enjoy working on these stories but they have turned out not to be, well, inspired. I think the stories are flat and lifeless.
I am not happy with a single one of them. (I haven't heard from the editor to know how he feels.)
I have felt like I've been writing these stories with skill only, and very little if any creativity. No zip, no zing. No bang.
It's a good thing I can string a sentence together or I'd be in trouble.
I have sat at my desk with my notes and stared at the computer for over an hour before writing a first sentence. I have performed "notebook dumps" (where I just type up all of my notes in the shear hope that some sentence in there will spark a great idea) and found them wanting.
I have, in desperation and with deadlines looming, started articles with blase and boring leads and hoped the editor would be helpful.
I do not feel I am doing my best work at this time. However, I do feel like it is the best I can do at the moment, if that makes any sense.
I don't think it is necessarily the subject matter (except for maybe one of the stories; they are not all exciting), but my own anxieties that are the cause of the problem.
Looking back at my private journal I see that I have been feeling angst over my health more so than usual. My high blood pressure has worried me, mostly because the medications haven't controlled it yet. It's taking a while.
I don't want to have a stroke or heart attack. I don't want to burden my husband with taking care of me, or paying for my health care bills.
But I can't figure out how to fix myself.
The economy has also loomed large. Like most people, our retirement accounts are much smaller than they were a year ago.
Gas prices are creeping back up.
Food prices never dropped back down.
Our electric bill, like everyone else who is served by APCO, increased by 25 percent. For us that means we're paying a $100 more a month than we did in October.
I have friends and family who are having financial problems. I pray for them.
I have young relatives who are growing up and venturing out into this world. I am scared for them.
It feels like walking on a treadmill that jerks and throws you off. You land on your arm and break your wrist! That is what my health, the economy and the world feels like to me right now. A broken wrist.
So no, I don't have writer's block. I am still writing.
It's just some days ... I have a broken wrist.*
*I don't really have a broken wrist.
However, sometimes, like right now, I certainly do find writing to be more work than fun.
Recently I have been working on a series of articles for an upcoming special edition. This has been going on for the past month.
I thought I would enjoy working on these stories but they have turned out not to be, well, inspired. I think the stories are flat and lifeless.
I am not happy with a single one of them. (I haven't heard from the editor to know how he feels.)
I have felt like I've been writing these stories with skill only, and very little if any creativity. No zip, no zing. No bang.
It's a good thing I can string a sentence together or I'd be in trouble.
I have sat at my desk with my notes and stared at the computer for over an hour before writing a first sentence. I have performed "notebook dumps" (where I just type up all of my notes in the shear hope that some sentence in there will spark a great idea) and found them wanting.
I have, in desperation and with deadlines looming, started articles with blase and boring leads and hoped the editor would be helpful.
I do not feel I am doing my best work at this time. However, I do feel like it is the best I can do at the moment, if that makes any sense.
I don't think it is necessarily the subject matter (except for maybe one of the stories; they are not all exciting), but my own anxieties that are the cause of the problem.
Looking back at my private journal I see that I have been feeling angst over my health more so than usual. My high blood pressure has worried me, mostly because the medications haven't controlled it yet. It's taking a while.
I don't want to have a stroke or heart attack. I don't want to burden my husband with taking care of me, or paying for my health care bills.
But I can't figure out how to fix myself.
The economy has also loomed large. Like most people, our retirement accounts are much smaller than they were a year ago.
Gas prices are creeping back up.
Food prices never dropped back down.
Our electric bill, like everyone else who is served by APCO, increased by 25 percent. For us that means we're paying a $100 more a month than we did in October.
I have friends and family who are having financial problems. I pray for them.
I have young relatives who are growing up and venturing out into this world. I am scared for them.
It feels like walking on a treadmill that jerks and throws you off. You land on your arm and break your wrist! That is what my health, the economy and the world feels like to me right now. A broken wrist.
So no, I don't have writer's block. I am still writing.
It's just some days ... I have a broken wrist.*
*I don't really have a broken wrist.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Monday, February 09, 2009
Twenty-one Questions
I pulled this meme from over at Sweetfluttersby's. Help yourself if like me you need something to put on your blog!
1. Do you like bleu cheese? It's okay.
2. Have you ever smoked? When I was a teenager I tried it but it didn't stick.
3. Do you own a gun? If I tell you I will have to kill you.
4. What flavor Kool Aid was your favorite? Lemonade.
5. What do you think of hot dogs? I choked on one in 1999 and had to have it surgically removed. What do you think I think of them after that?
6. Favorite Christmas movie? It's a Wonderful Life
7. What do you prefer to drink in the morning? I have a cup of hot tea every morning.
8. Can you do push ups? I doubt it.
9. What's your favorite piece of jewelry? My wedding band.
10. Favorite hobby? Reading.
11. Do you wear glasses/contacts? Yes. And probably will soon need bifocals. Can you see me now?
12. Middle name? I only give that out on a need-to-know basis.
13. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink. Unsweetened tea and water. I sometimes have hot coco or juice but that isn't regularly.
14. Current worry? My blood pressure, which does not seem to be responding to new medication
15. Current hate right now? The economy which is hurting people I know.
16. Favorite place to be? Right where I am.
17. Do you own slippers? Yes
18. Do you like sleeping on satin sheets? I don't think I ever have.
19. Can you whistle? Yes. Once I was whistling in the store and a shop clerk came hurrying around the corner. She spied me and stopped. "I thought you were a man," she said, and whirled on her heel and away from me. I was greatly amused.
20. What songs do you sing in the shower? I sing along to whatever is playing on the radio.
21. Last thing that made you laugh? I must be pathetic since I have to stop and think about this and can't come up with an answer, but I laugh nearly every day over something.
1. Do you like bleu cheese? It's okay.
2. Have you ever smoked? When I was a teenager I tried it but it didn't stick.
3. Do you own a gun? If I tell you I will have to kill you.
4. What flavor Kool Aid was your favorite? Lemonade.
5. What do you think of hot dogs? I choked on one in 1999 and had to have it surgically removed. What do you think I think of them after that?
6. Favorite Christmas movie? It's a Wonderful Life
7. What do you prefer to drink in the morning? I have a cup of hot tea every morning.
8. Can you do push ups? I doubt it.
9. What's your favorite piece of jewelry? My wedding band.
10. Favorite hobby? Reading.
11. Do you wear glasses/contacts? Yes. And probably will soon need bifocals. Can you see me now?
12. Middle name? I only give that out on a need-to-know basis.
13. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink. Unsweetened tea and water. I sometimes have hot coco or juice but that isn't regularly.
14. Current worry? My blood pressure, which does not seem to be responding to new medication
15. Current hate right now? The economy which is hurting people I know.
16. Favorite place to be? Right where I am.
17. Do you own slippers? Yes
18. Do you like sleeping on satin sheets? I don't think I ever have.
19. Can you whistle? Yes. Once I was whistling in the store and a shop clerk came hurrying around the corner. She spied me and stopped. "I thought you were a man," she said, and whirled on her heel and away from me. I was greatly amused.
20. What songs do you sing in the shower? I sing along to whatever is playing on the radio.
21. Last thing that made you laugh? I must be pathetic since I have to stop and think about this and can't come up with an answer, but I laugh nearly every day over something.
Sunday, February 08, 2009
Remembering 1970s music
Yesterday as I cleaned house I listened to the 1970s station on satellite.
At noon, The American Top 40 with Casey Kasem. The show counted down the Top 40 records in the United States.
During the first 20 minutes of this rerun from sometime in the 1970s, Kasem gave a shout-out to "great radio stations like WFIR in Roanoke, VA".
Ah, yes. WFIR was the top music station in those days. It was not talk radio like it is now. It was an AM station back then too.
It rocked.
Here's a history of the station; it's the second oldest in the area.
On Sundays I sat in my room and listened to the American Top 40 on WFIR. Often I had a tape recorder running and I would tape my favorite songs to listen to at night.
The radio reception where we lived was pitiful when the sun went down, so this was a necessity if I wanted to hear these new tunes before I could get the vinyl. I suppose nowadays I'd have the copyright police after me. Definitely a different time.
Anyway, listening to those songs eventually led to buying the vinyl.
In the late 1970s the station changed its format. FM stations became the thing; K92 and Q99 became the stations to listen to. I still listen to Q99; I guess I have been listening to that station now for almost 30 years.
And of course I bought record albums.
In those long ago olden days, vinyl was king. You wanted big speakers and loud bass. If the record skipped on the player, you fixed it by placing a penny atop the needle so the arm would stay down.
There were many a night I spent in front of my record player trying to learn a song on the guitar, jumping the song back to whatever lick of rhythm I was trying to conquer.
Nowadays I don't hear a current American Top 40; I couldn't tell you what the "number one song in America" is today.
I listened to a mix of everything but mostly bought pop music albums. And disco.
My husband is an straight rock and roll kind of guy; when we married we merged our album collection. His was full of The Rolling Stones and my was full of one-hit wonders and southern rock.
Now we have all of these record albums and nothing to play them on, so I am always glad to listen to the songs of my youth on the satellite.
Nothing makes me clean like a good strong beat and a little rock-n-roll.
At noon, The American Top 40 with Casey Kasem. The show counted down the Top 40 records in the United States.
During the first 20 minutes of this rerun from sometime in the 1970s, Kasem gave a shout-out to "great radio stations like WFIR in Roanoke, VA".
Ah, yes. WFIR was the top music station in those days. It was not talk radio like it is now. It was an AM station back then too.
It rocked.
Here's a history of the station; it's the second oldest in the area.
On Sundays I sat in my room and listened to the American Top 40 on WFIR. Often I had a tape recorder running and I would tape my favorite songs to listen to at night.
The radio reception where we lived was pitiful when the sun went down, so this was a necessity if I wanted to hear these new tunes before I could get the vinyl. I suppose nowadays I'd have the copyright police after me. Definitely a different time.
Anyway, listening to those songs eventually led to buying the vinyl.
In the late 1970s the station changed its format. FM stations became the thing; K92 and Q99 became the stations to listen to. I still listen to Q99; I guess I have been listening to that station now for almost 30 years.
And of course I bought record albums.
In those long ago olden days, vinyl was king. You wanted big speakers and loud bass. If the record skipped on the player, you fixed it by placing a penny atop the needle so the arm would stay down.
There were many a night I spent in front of my record player trying to learn a song on the guitar, jumping the song back to whatever lick of rhythm I was trying to conquer.
Nowadays I don't hear a current American Top 40; I couldn't tell you what the "number one song in America" is today.
I listened to a mix of everything but mostly bought pop music albums. And disco.
My husband is an straight rock and roll kind of guy; when we married we merged our album collection. His was full of The Rolling Stones and my was full of one-hit wonders and southern rock.
Now we have all of these record albums and nothing to play them on, so I am always glad to listen to the songs of my youth on the satellite.
Nothing makes me clean like a good strong beat and a little rock-n-roll.
Friday, February 06, 2009
Thursday, February 05, 2009
Thursday Thirteen
1. The ground outside my window is speckled. It's a southern hill and still snow-covered, with clumps of grass rising through it.
2. The wind has a frigid feeling about it today.
3. The sunshine is an illusion, because it brings no warmth this afternoon.
4. An animal streaked across my front yard at daybreak, so fast and quick that I could not tell what it was, only that something ran before my eyes.
5. Off in the distance I see a silo glimmering and reflecting light. It almost looks like a lighthouse set amongst the mountains.
6. I have not been to the sea in two years.
7. Some days, like today, my work does not flow well and the strain of writing becomes like the weight of a hundred horses trampling on me, all of them stepping on my heart.
8. My heart sometimes is so breezy that I think it might float from my chest and up into the atmosphere, moving like a hot air balloon on a beautiful crisp fall morning.
9. It has been 30 years since I took a trip out of the United States. Sometimes I think I would like to take another. I would like to see Ireland, England and Scotland, for three.
10. My ancestors hail from Scotland, Ireland and Germany. They were planters, gunsmiths, farmers and millers. At least one fought in the American Revolution; he is buried about four miles down the road in the cemetery at the Fincastle Presbyterian Church.
11. I am at least the seventh generation of my family to live in my county. That's 200 years of my bloodline looking at the same mountains I see, feeling the same winds, smelling the same smells. Two hundred years of loving the same land.
12. I am Appalachian through and through; it is deep in my bones.
13. This is my home.
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here. This is my 84th one.
2. The wind has a frigid feeling about it today.
3. The sunshine is an illusion, because it brings no warmth this afternoon.
4. An animal streaked across my front yard at daybreak, so fast and quick that I could not tell what it was, only that something ran before my eyes.
5. Off in the distance I see a silo glimmering and reflecting light. It almost looks like a lighthouse set amongst the mountains.
6. I have not been to the sea in two years.
7. Some days, like today, my work does not flow well and the strain of writing becomes like the weight of a hundred horses trampling on me, all of them stepping on my heart.
8. My heart sometimes is so breezy that I think it might float from my chest and up into the atmosphere, moving like a hot air balloon on a beautiful crisp fall morning.
9. It has been 30 years since I took a trip out of the United States. Sometimes I think I would like to take another. I would like to see Ireland, England and Scotland, for three.
10. My ancestors hail from Scotland, Ireland and Germany. They were planters, gunsmiths, farmers and millers. At least one fought in the American Revolution; he is buried about four miles down the road in the cemetery at the Fincastle Presbyterian Church.
11. I am at least the seventh generation of my family to live in my county. That's 200 years of my bloodline looking at the same mountains I see, feeling the same winds, smelling the same smells. Two hundred years of loving the same land.
12. I am Appalachian through and through; it is deep in my bones.
13. This is my home.
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here. This is my 84th one.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
If wishes were dimes
There are 305 million people in the United States.
Let's say there are about 150 million households (I think it is a smaller number than that - more like 130 million - but I didn't feel like sifting through the Census Bureau website.).
It seems to me that if the government is giving away money, it would be easier, faster and cleaner just to send it to the households.
Let's skip the banks and all of this other stuff and let the people manage their own money.
If the government handed out $100,000 to 150 million households, that would $15 with 12 zeros after it. I think (hope?) that is $15 trillion.
Okay, that's a lot. And it's out of the $800 billion range, so let's make it $10,000. That's $15 with 11 zeros after it, and I think that is $150 billion dollars. That would leave $650 billion out of the $800 billion stimulus fiasco which I think should go toward building infrastructure and doing only things that are job related. It should not go to banks and financial institutions, even though my bank is one of the banks apparently gaining windfalls from tax dollars these days.
A lot of people are going to save that $10,000, you know. That's money in the bank. Some will spend it, but others will pay off credit cards, maybe catch up on those delinquent mortgages. The banks would get their share that way. Good banks would benefit the most, if the market theories are correct.
If necessary, somebody correct my math if it is in error, please, because I majored in English and not math.
My point is, whatever the numbers, couldn't the populace do a lot of economic stimulating itself if we had the money? If you're going to throw away dollars, why not give it to the people who actually need it?
Couldn't every household use $10,000?
I don't have a problem with the government stepping in to help. Government should do that. I just wish it would step in and help the people who really could use the help, and not the high rollers and the folks who created the problem in the first place.
Let's say there are about 150 million households (I think it is a smaller number than that - more like 130 million - but I didn't feel like sifting through the Census Bureau website.).
It seems to me that if the government is giving away money, it would be easier, faster and cleaner just to send it to the households.
Let's skip the banks and all of this other stuff and let the people manage their own money.
If the government handed out $100,000 to 150 million households, that would $15 with 12 zeros after it. I think (hope?) that is $15 trillion.
Okay, that's a lot. And it's out of the $800 billion range, so let's make it $10,000. That's $15 with 11 zeros after it, and I think that is $150 billion dollars. That would leave $650 billion out of the $800 billion stimulus fiasco which I think should go toward building infrastructure and doing only things that are job related. It should not go to banks and financial institutions, even though my bank is one of the banks apparently gaining windfalls from tax dollars these days.
A lot of people are going to save that $10,000, you know. That's money in the bank. Some will spend it, but others will pay off credit cards, maybe catch up on those delinquent mortgages. The banks would get their share that way. Good banks would benefit the most, if the market theories are correct.
If necessary, somebody correct my math if it is in error, please, because I majored in English and not math.
My point is, whatever the numbers, couldn't the populace do a lot of economic stimulating itself if we had the money? If you're going to throw away dollars, why not give it to the people who actually need it?
Couldn't every household use $10,000?
I don't have a problem with the government stepping in to help. Government should do that. I just wish it would step in and help the people who really could use the help, and not the high rollers and the folks who created the problem in the first place.
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
A little snow
Monday night we had a little snow.
The first thing I noticed when I looked outside at 6 a.m. this morning was footy prints. I'd had a visitor on my front porch.
I think those paw prints belong to a rabbit.
Most of the snow vanished today; however, there is a chance of a little more tonight. I am not expecting much.
We have been in a drought here for quite a while, and the moisture was welcome. Snow also adds nitrogen to the soil. We were glad to see it.
Sunday it was almost 65 degrees here. Yesterday it was warm too.
And the temperature dropped. And the snow fell.
Weird weather!
The first thing I noticed when I looked outside at 6 a.m. this morning was footy prints. I'd had a visitor on my front porch.
I think those paw prints belong to a rabbit.
Most of the snow vanished today; however, there is a chance of a little more tonight. I am not expecting much.
We have been in a drought here for quite a while, and the moisture was welcome. Snow also adds nitrogen to the soil. We were glad to see it.
Sunday it was almost 65 degrees here. Yesterday it was warm too.
And the temperature dropped. And the snow fell.
Weird weather!
Monday, February 02, 2009
GroundHog Day
Yesterday was such an incredibly warm day that it was hard to believe that not long ago the land was coated in ice.
I stepped outside in my shirt sleeves and moved cautiously around the yard. My roses looked like they were surviving in spite of the frigid temperatures we experienced in January. I could smell change in the air even though we're not out of winter yet.
Today the ol' groundhog pops out and sees his shadow (or not). This day always makes me sad because it reminds me of the one time I actually shot and killed an animal (I also once shot a snake but I didn't feel too badly about that.).
It was a warm spring day and the dog, who was on a chain because she tended to wander at this point in her life, started barking.
Ginger was a small black dog, part terrier, part Eskimo Spitz, mostly mutt. She was facing down a groundhog that was as big as she was.
My dog was at a disadvantage because of the chain. She kept hopping and moving around and the groundhog kept chasing her, moving forward, then sometimes backward.
I couldn't tell if the groundhog had bitten the dog, but it seemed imminent if it hadn't already happened.
This continued long enough for me to call my husband (who was of course at work) and ask him how to chase the groundhog off.
The fact that the groundhog was after the dog meant the animal likely was sick, my husband said. He feared it might attack me.
I know how to shoot a rifle and I have my own .22 caliber gun. I loaded it and opened the back door. I raised the gun and in one shot I felled the groundhog. It dropped without a twitch.
The dog was very excited and had a scratch across her nose that went near her eye but otherwise seemed fine. I called the vet and he checked her shots and advised that my Ginger would be okay because her shots were all up to date. The wound did not seem to need stitches.
However, I felt very bad about killing the groundhog, even though it seemed I had no other choice if I wanted to save my dog. Even now, 20 years later, I still wish I had found some other way to go about it.
And every groundhog day, I am reminded.
P.S. Ginger came to us in 1984 and she died in 2001. I haven't had the heart to get another dog.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
My Week in Review
Last week in spite of the snow and ice and general bad weather, I had a lot of work to do.
Monday I wrote articles for the newspaper.
Tuesday I attended a supervisors' meeting. When I go to meetings, I sit through them and then write about them. The meeting lasted from 2 p.m. to 7 p.m. with a break around 5 p.m. for the supervisors to eat dinner. I came home and had dinner, too.
Wednesday I interviewed for articles for the newspaper. I also prepared my invoices for the month for my work.
Thursday wrote up the meeting and worked on a few other articles. I had lunch with my friend whom I had not seen since Christmas. She was looking great and I was pleased to see her feeling so chipper.
Thursday night my husband and I took our nephew a birthday card. He turned 18. I can't believe he is that old now. Seems like just yesterday...
Thursday night I was up most of the night with my husband, who somehow wrenched his back. He was in a lot of pain and sleep was out of the question for both of us.
Friday morning I visited the beauty parlor (it did not improve my looks, I'm sorry to say) and then it was back to writing more articles.
Friday evening I hovered over my husband and alternated heat and ice on his back in an attempt to get the muscles to loosen up.
Today I cleaned the house this morning and then went to the book store with my friend. I just love Books-A-Million. I walk in and there is the smell of coffee and new books. There is not a better fragrance in the world some days.
I did buy a couple of books. I didn't need anymore but I like to support the arts.
My husband just a few moments ago said his back feels better. Thank goodness.
Monday I wrote articles for the newspaper.
Tuesday I attended a supervisors' meeting. When I go to meetings, I sit through them and then write about them. The meeting lasted from 2 p.m. to 7 p.m. with a break around 5 p.m. for the supervisors to eat dinner. I came home and had dinner, too.
Wednesday I interviewed for articles for the newspaper. I also prepared my invoices for the month for my work.
Thursday wrote up the meeting and worked on a few other articles. I had lunch with my friend whom I had not seen since Christmas. She was looking great and I was pleased to see her feeling so chipper.
Thursday night my husband and I took our nephew a birthday card. He turned 18. I can't believe he is that old now. Seems like just yesterday...
Thursday night I was up most of the night with my husband, who somehow wrenched his back. He was in a lot of pain and sleep was out of the question for both of us.
Friday morning I visited the beauty parlor (it did not improve my looks, I'm sorry to say) and then it was back to writing more articles.
Friday evening I hovered over my husband and alternated heat and ice on his back in an attempt to get the muscles to loosen up.
Today I cleaned the house this morning and then went to the book store with my friend. I just love Books-A-Million. I walk in and there is the smell of coffee and new books. There is not a better fragrance in the world some days.
I did buy a couple of books. I didn't need anymore but I like to support the arts.
My husband just a few moments ago said his back feels better. Thank goodness.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Thursday Thirteen
1. We had an ice storm here Tuesday and Wednesday
2. This is my forsythia bush.
3. Winter can be very hard on the animals.
4. This is the deer behind the forsythia bush.
5. When I was taking pictures of this deer and others you can't see, one or two of them began making a high-pitched mewling sound.
6. It was something I'd never heard before. I've heard them snort or blow air but never mew.
7. On the other side of the house, I spied turkeys. If you enlarge the picture by clicking on it, you'll see that the closest turkey has very pretty eyes!
8. As you can see, at one point they were dotting the hillside.
9. They moved up along the fence. I took the photos through the window screen so they aren't very good.
10. They look to be a young flock; probably hatched this spring.
11. We were fortunate in that we did not lose our power or have trees fall over the driveway.
12. Wednesday the ice melted; then the wind began to blow.
13. I dream of warmer weather.
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here.
2. This is my forsythia bush.
3. Winter can be very hard on the animals.
4. This is the deer behind the forsythia bush.
5. When I was taking pictures of this deer and others you can't see, one or two of them began making a high-pitched mewling sound.
6. It was something I'd never heard before. I've heard them snort or blow air but never mew.
7. On the other side of the house, I spied turkeys. If you enlarge the picture by clicking on it, you'll see that the closest turkey has very pretty eyes!
8. As you can see, at one point they were dotting the hillside.
9. They moved up along the fence. I took the photos through the window screen so they aren't very good.
10. They look to be a young flock; probably hatched this spring.
11. We were fortunate in that we did not lose our power or have trees fall over the driveway.
12. Wednesday the ice melted; then the wind began to blow.
13. I dream of warmer weather.
Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; you can learn more about it here. My other Thursday Thirteens are here.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Untitled
No snow.
Schools closed.
Rain falls.
Business calls.
Day slows.
Cattle low.
House cold.
Feeling old.
Husband sleeps.
Spirits weep.
Turkeys dance.
Deer prance.
Ice builds.
Feet chilled.
Fingers type.
Brain writes.
Cold day.
Let's play.
Schools closed.
Rain falls.
Business calls.
Day slows.
Cattle low.
House cold.
Feeling old.
Husband sleeps.
Spirits weep.
Turkeys dance.
Deer prance.
Ice builds.
Feet chilled.
Fingers type.
Brain writes.
Cold day.
Let's play.
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