Spring in January

We had a little flurry of snow last week. It was cold enough for that then. But now it is gardening weather again. I think it hit 70 degrees here today.

Last night I spied some deer sneaking through the yard. It was 5:15 p.m. in January with overcast skies. I had not tried out my new Canon camera in low-level light. Any other camera would have given me only black that I maybe could have contrasted an image out of in photo software. Aside from cropping this, it is untouched.

I was much further away when I took this shot, and still, aside from a little graininess, the images captured nicely. I am very pleased as the only other camera I've ever had that would do this well at dusk or low light was my 35 mm Nikon FG 50, a very old camera. This is only cropped also.

This is blooming in the garden. A whole bunch of this came up in the mulched soil where we left the ground fallow over winter. I am guessing it is what I have heard the elders call a "dry land cress." Actually, it looks like the "True Watercress" in my field guild but that is only supposed to bloom from April on and should be near or in springs and streams, not in the compost in the garden.

We buried Uncle C.

Yesterday, my husband's aunt came in with his cousins. Uncle C. died on Sunday, in Georgia, where they lived. But he was from Fincastle originally and wanted to be buried in Godwin Cemetery (which is where the above picture was taken).

I only met Uncle C. a few times. He was a pilot for a major airline and the family did not come home to Botetourt often. I like my husband's cousins and his aunts; they all welcomed me most graciously into the family.

Uncle C. was cremated in Georgia, and they held a memorial service there. Then they all came north to us.

Aunt N. had a graveside service for her husband of 52 years. The day was partly cloudy and quite cold. It is always windy and cold up on the hill in Godwin Cemetery, even in July. I bundled up and had on ear muffs, thankfully, or I could not have withstood it. As it was, several of the older folks were visibly shivering and many of us huddled together for warmth.

The preacher came from Georgia with Aunt N. and gave a nice eulogy and the prerequisite sermon to save our souls. Unfortunately, considering the cold of the day, it seemed rather long-winded. But as I told my husband later, we all deserve our last words, however cold it may be when they're said.

Uncle C. had served in the Air Force, so an honor guard attended. A buglar played taps while two other servicemen unfolded a flag and then refolded it. We could not figure out the symbolism of this, but my husband finally decided that because there was no casket and no place to drap the flag, they unfolded and refolded. Perhaps some serviceman reading this knows?

Afterwards, with feet so cold we cold scarcely walk from the hilltop, we trooped down to the meeting room in the church for a luncheon and get-together. There were about 65 of us, a nice number, I thought, considering how long it's been since Uncle C. lived in the area. Many of the folks in town remembered him and came to pay their respects.

Funerals are sad times, but they are also about the only times families get together anymore. The days of cousins twice-removed who know one another are about gone. These days you could be marrying your cousin and not even know it, we're so scattered about.

Farewell, Uncle C. Rest peacefully.

My guitars

This is a Gibson Les Paul. I think it was made in the early 1970s. My parents gave it to me as a Christmas present in the late 1980s. It is an electric guitar, for those who might not know.

This is a Yamaha acoustic guitar. My paternal grandfather gave it to me in 1980. It is rather beat up but is my favorite.

I also have a Takamani classical guitar, an Epiphone electric guitar, and an Alvarez acoustic guitar. I bought the Takamani in the late 1980s, when I was taking lessons. I received the Epiphone as a Christmas present from my parents when I was 14. My mother gave me the Alvarez in June of 2000, just before she died in August.

The Alvarez is a nice guitar but a little big for me.

I actually can play the guitar, and I used to play it very well. I don't play as much as I once did. Actually I play about twice a year and that means, really, that I don't play at all.

Sometimes I really miss playing, but I've no one to make music with, no one to spur me on to move forward with it. When I feel mellow, I pick it up and maybe eek out a few sounds. But of course I am rusty and it doesn't take long for my fingers to start hurting.

Once I thought of going professional, and I used to play in a rock band when I was in high school. At 18 I headed off for a college in Tennessee to major in music at my parents' insistence, but I lasted only two days there before I packed everything up and came back home. I did not want to major in music, I wanted to major in English at Hollins, which is what I eventually did.

The guitars take up a lot of space in the closet. When I am cleaning, I sometimes think I should get rid of three of them. Who needs five guitars?

But I never get beyond thinking about it. It is hard to let go.

Hodge Podge

I'm having a difficult time finishing a story, a phenomenon that generally happens when I really care about the substance of the article and want it to read like the best thing ever written.

Generally I do better when I don't feel like I must write a prize-winner. That's way too much pressure. So I'm taking a little break to regroup before I venture back to the story.

***
Yesterday, I had a gusher of a nose bleed, the worst I believe I've ever had. Having spent the last week sniffling and clearing my throat, I can't say I am surprised. This morning I had extremely dark circles under my eyes. I looked like I'd been hit, which I had not.

My ear is bothering me, too. I am not experiencing vertigo but I am a little out of balance.

***
My evening will be long as I must attend a meeting. I am already cooking dinner and it's only 2:30 p.m., because I will be leaving at 5:30 p.m. I don't expect to get back before midnight, to be honest. The meeting officials told me to bring my pajamas to the meeting, if that says anything. It was a joke, of course.

***
My husband's uncle died Saturday after a bought with lung cancer. Uncle C. generally refused treatment, I have been told (he lives out of state) but he lasted much longer than anyone expected even if he had had conventional therapies. Since my mother died of cancer, I am quite afraid of that Big C word, but I try not to worry about it. My dream is to die in my sleep when I'm very old, but I also know few people really go out that way. My mother was only 56 when she died. But my grandmothers are both still alive, and in their mid-80s. I hope I am more like them than my mother, at any rate.

***
I have not purchased a new video game since this time last year. That was FABLE on XBox, which I never finished. That's because I developed vertigo and found playing the game made me dizzy. I like RPG games where I get to be the first-person character, and I prefer a first person game like MORROWIND to something in third person, like FABLE. (It has to do with how you see the game - in Fable, you see the character running around, in Morrowind, you just see the ground in front of you, as if you were seeing it with your own eyes.)

I really like video games and have lost many hours playing them. At present I am just playing with The Sims 2, because I don't have anything new. I also have told myself I cannot put anything on my computer.

I desperately want to play Morrowind: Oblivion, but I don't have an XBOX 360 and I suspect it would crash my computer. Plus I have told myself I cannot buy a new video game until I've written a book.

So it might be a really long time before I get a new video game.

My first game system was an Atari, and the game on it was Pong, I think, if that tells you how long I've been playing. I was a very weird girl. I can't think of how much money I've spent over the years on video games. Probably as much as on books.

Am I a Stump?

Years ago, I attended a lecture by Sharon McCrumb, a local author who's "made it." This was when she writing her ballad novels, and at the time I had not read a single one (I've since listened to a couple as books on tape). In fact, I had attempted to read her first book and found it so difficult to stay with that I had abandoned it.

But she was published and winning awards, so she must have been doing something right. She once was a columnist for one of the newspapers I was writing for at the time. She went on to bigger and better things. I wanted to see how she did it.

So I went to the lecture at the Blue Ridge Library. She evidently made quite an impression, as I recall much about her talk. For one thing, she believed the Blue Ridge Mountains were part of a larger chain of the mountains of Scotland, separated by the Atlantic by seismic activity or something. Since I'd long heard from my Irish and Scottish ancestors that the area reminded them of home, I had no trouble believing this.

Then the talk turned to writing. She said it takes great dedication to write a novel (I should think so). If I'm remembering this correctly, (and I may not be) she said she sent out a book synopsis and received a positive response. But she had to turn in some number of pages or her first draft, perhaps, and so she had to do all of this writing. I presume she had a deadline to meet.

She said she sat crying and writing one Halloween because she could not be with her child during the trick-or-treat part. She had to work while her family was enjoying themselves. The idea was, then, that if you're not ready to completely deny everything else to meet the deadlines, then you're not ready to write a novel.

Or at least, that is what I took away from that talk.

Over the years, I've wondered if this is why I am very good at shorter things, like news articles (or blog entries) but not so good at sticking with something longer. I don't put the longer works first. I put my husband first, actually. And that means keeping up the house and the laundry and fixing dinner, and trying to have an income to contribute to the household. The income part means writing short little articles, because I know I can pay the bills with those.

So maybe I am not a novelist.

But there is also a part of me that thinks that an hour spent with your child during trick-or-treating would have stopped the flow of tears and wouldn't have made that much difference in any piece of work. How many words can you write in an hour, after all, particularly if you're that upset? Isn't there some line between sacrifice and living?

I have written a novel. I have two completed in the drawer; neither will probably ever see the light of day. And I've started several and not finished them, for whatever reason. Sometimes I lose interest, and if I've lost interest, I suspect my reader will too, so I boot that one out.

I write a lot. I write about 250 articles a year. My blog entries, if you put them in MS Word, run into hundreds of pages. I have journals piled in closets, bits of poetry stashed about. It is not that I don't write.

It is what I am writing. I am searching for something here, some answers, maybe even the questions.

I think I am searching for what it is I really want. I am searching, maybe, for the way to find out how to even begin that search.

My new Canon Camera

At noon today, I ventured outside and found a dandelion growing in my garden. On January 6, 2007. When it should be snowing.

I took this at 7:45 a.m. this morning. I have a thing about light and sky and clouds. . . .

Took this at noon, too. The silo is visible from my office window and I look at it all the time.

This is the cabin, or what's left of it, beside the house. I took this shot with the Canon on automatic.

I took this shot of the same thing with the no-more Kodak in early December, I think. Which do you like best?

Best of all, this morning, I pointed the Canon at the moon, and clicked. And what do you know. I shot the moon.

Bye Bye, Pretty Boy

I came home around 5:15 p.m. to find the pick up truck of one of my husband's friends in the driveway. He was hunting.

Just before dark, there was a shot.

My husband called to alert me that his friend had shot our crippled deer. Pretty Boy was dead.

Don't go outside, he advised.

Unfortunately, I was on my way to town to run an errand that could not wait. As I went out to the car, I could see the truck headlights, next to the fence. Pretty Boy had been close by, near the house (though not too near). I felt a pang as I wondered if he'd been up here where he thought he was safe. The night was heavy with the coming darkness and the hint of rain, and I was sure I could smell the foul metallic scent of blood on the air. I scurried into my car and headed out.

Later, my husband said his friend told him the deer had been shot, "by some dumbass hunter" who went after a young buck. None of our hunters shoot young small antlered deer and we don't allow it, anyway. Bucks have to be a certain size to qualify for a shot, and Pretty Boy wasn't big enough.

Pretty Boy gave me much joy. I loved seeing him in the backyard, nose to the ground as he snarfed up acorns. I enjoyed our "talks" during warm summer nights. He was not a pet, but he was as close to having a pet as I have had in many years.

Farewell Pretty Boy. It'll be a long time before I name another deer.

An update on Pretty Boy

Pretty Boy is a little buck that was running around our house for most of the summer. I named him after seeing him so often and because I would stop the car, roll down the window, and talk to him. He seemed unafraid and curious. I took this photo in late August.

I hadn't seen Pretty Boy much since hunting season in November. It's not unusual, though, for the deer to roam far and wide during the mating season. Plus, well, it was hunting season. And while I knew no one who was hunting our farm had killed Pretty Boy, that didn't mean some of the neighbors had not.

Pretty Boy still lives, but he has been wounded. My husband saw him Wednesday morning for the first time, and he was limping badly. His right front leg is dangling uselessly from his body.

Muzzle-loading season is in until this Saturday. I think if my husband sees Pretty Boy again, he will shoot him to put him out of his misery. The entire shoulder looked swollen when I happened across him in the driveway and saw him by the car lights last night. It was all I could do to keep from crying as I watched him limp away. It broke both our hearts to see this little buck looking so pitiful as he tried to manuever the fields.

We don't know if he was hit by a car or hit with a bullet. Maybe he just misstepped and broke his leg in a hole. But most likely, from the looks of his leg and shoulder, he is full of infection and will die anyway. Mother Nature just generally is not kind to her charges when they've fallen prey to misfortune.

This is just "one of those things" and part of life, but it still tugs at my heart. I should never have named him and singled him out. Doing so just makes it feel very personal.

The old and the new

I met this morning with a former client, who is, for a little while, a client again. He called before the holidays, saying he needed some assistance.

I'd helped him for several years with his project, which officially ended last spring. He has written a book, which he calls a textbook. It's filled with facts and stats and I know a lot more about a particular war than I ever dreamed I would know.

The book is not exactly dreadful but neither does it offer up much new information, which I suppose is primary for a nonfiction book. Of course there is little new information because my client used mostly secondary sources. I think he has about four footnotes in the entire 550+ page tome that are primary sources.

The kicker is my client is in his 80s. He is a kindly old gentleman, very much the southerner with polite manners and a pleasing drawl. Without giving too much away, not because he knows anything about the Internet but his children or grandchildren might, he was once a leader of grand proportion in this area of the country. And I suppose in some circles he still is a leader. He has a commanding presence and an indomitable spirit, and I imagine in his younger days he was a very handsome man. I am truly honored to have been a helper to him and I have learned a great deal from my time with him.

However, the work was downright painful for me. For years - yes, really, years - our twice-weekly work sessions went like this: he sat on the sofa while I sat, pen poised over a legal pad, in a wing-backed chair that killed my back. He would not use a tape recorder, nor could I use a laptop or anything else because it created a barrier between us that he did not like. He wanted my full attention.

He sat, thinking, for long interminable minutes, sometimes as much as a quarter hour. Many times I dozed, waking with a start as my head lolled. Sometimes I wrote scraps of poetry, but I could not get too far off in my thoughts because at any moment he would erupt into dictation. Occasionally it would be such a long time that I would fear he had stopped breathing, and I would begin peering at him. I would be greatly relieved when I could see his nose hairs twitching, a sure sign that he had inhaled.

I was not his first "secretary," but when I picked up this task (thinking it would be more editorial work than personal secretary, I assure you) I think he had about 250 pages of words. He added (he very seldom subtracts) much more information. Every time he found a new book, he would find new facts to place in his story. Over the years, he sent the thing off to one publisher, who turned him down, and then another, who also turned him down, and yet another, who did the same.

In our last year of working, that is to say, 2005, my patience lapsed, not in the least because I was bored out of my skull. I also had many other things on my mind, as I was working on my Master's (which I have not completed) and freelancing, and when he called me back in early 2006 for some wrap-up work (like we're doing now) I was ill. I was - and still am - certain that his house, which is musty and moldy because it is an older home, under the trees, was a contributing factor to the allergies that flared up so badly last year that I thought I might die from them.

I never told him I was miserable but I suppose he could sense it and our time together petered out, because I lost interest totally and the book was, as best I could tell, as finished as it was going to be. Having decided that the book was never going to sell, and that he would never turn his attention to another more exciting project (I do wish he'd write his memoirs), I found the work even more difficult, and I did not feel it ended well. I was, however, glad it ended.

Of course, a large part of what he was paying me for was my company, because I can carry on a decent conversation, and could match him with observations about the political climate in the valley, or most anything else, for that matter. But that eventually became a chore too, because I wasn't feeling well.

I kept in touch with him last year, calling him twice just to see how he was getting along. I don't dislike him, after all, and he has been kind to me. His call asking me for assistance wasn't completely unexpected, as he'd hinted at it the last time we spoke, in September.

I thought he had given up, with the submission last spring, but he now has yet another publisher's name. He told me this morning that he wants to make minor corrections and send it out yet again. About 12 hours work, all told, perhaps.

I can do this.

Things were a little different this morning. He was prepared for me, with notes in hand, and we sat at the kitchen table (thank goodness) instead of on the sofa and the wing back chair. The house still smells musty and old, but hopefully my (very expensive) allergy medication will keep whatever that might stir up at bay. And while I had some moments of utter silence whilst I stared out the window and watched two squirrels go at it on a branch while he thought about something, it was, for the most part, work.

And I much prefer to work, but honestly, I'd probably help the old guy out just because.

Year of Wonders

Last night I finished reading Year of Wonders, by Geraldine Brooks. This is a book about the bubonic plague in 1666 and the residents of one town who chose, for the most part, to cut itself off the rest of the world.

My book club is reading this book. I would never have chosen it on my own, thinking the subject matter too dreary and depressing. That would have been a mistake, for this is a great book.

The narrator is Anna Frith. She's a servant to the rector and his wife. She comes into her own during this time of crisis and learns a great deal about herself and humanity. Brooks brings us the best and worst of people.

Even though this is set in 1666, I had no trouble seeing the characterizations. During any time of severe strain and trauma, there are heroes, and there are those who would take advantage of the situation. Brooks minces no words, yet there is always hope.

Great writing. Good story. Highly recommended reading.

2007

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Homeownership Part II

So last night Husband, at 9:30 p.m., said he thought he had the sink fixed. He started working on it at 11 a.m., and with only breaks to run to the hardware store for parts and dinner, he thought he had it licked.

I was most relieved, as he had been angry the entire day with a most foul temper because he could not wrangle the wayward plumbing into doing his bidding.

So last night we stared at the plumbing under the sink a while. No leaks. He shut the hot water off anyway (that was the line that was leaking) and we trundled off to bed.

Snore. Snore.

This morning, still no leaks. He went off to work on the old house he is restoring. I ran the dishwasher and took my time about things, it being Sunday. Not to mention I still have a really bad sore throat and a fever.

Around 11, I stood talking on the phone to a friend. The doors to the sink cabinet were still open, and I glanced down.

A dark spot.

I grabbed up the flashlight and looked.

Drip.

. . .

Drip.

. . .

I put a little shallow pan under it and closed the doors.

Homeownership

For some reason, husband decided today to fix the leak under the sink.

The sink has leaked for years. Really. I just kept dumping a little pan.

But I forgot about it over the holidays and it overflowed and he was reminded that he'd never fixed this.

So today was the day to fix it.

He's been in there since 11 a.m. (it's 2 p.m. now) and he's cussed and fussed and . . . there is still a leak.

Actually, now there are two of them.

He's off to the hardware store for some parts. Whew. But he has all the water turned off so I can't finish the laundry. Or the dishes. Rats.

It's one of the great things about owning a home. You have all of this stuff to fix. You could work on it 24/7 and never be done.

I spent the morning tracking down a source of mildew. I can smell mildew (which apparently is not common, no one else seems able to smell it) and I smelled it this morning. I finally found some mildew around the caulking in a window. I cleaned that up with bleach and then put some bathtub mildew-proof caulking around the window. This window never gets sunlight so I am not surprised it has a little mildew on the caulking. I will have to keep an eye on it, though.

My throat was sore this morning when I woke and I am running a little fever. I think now it might be time for me to take a break and try to rest, since I seem to be catching something.

The shape of 2007

Sunset, December 28, 2006

So, here is how 2007 is shaping up:

1) We have to complete renovations on the old house my mother left me and find a new tenant. Most of this is falling on my husband. The stress of it reverbrates off our relationship, however.

2) One of my old clients, an elderly man writing a WWII book, has contacted me about assistance. I will see what he wants early in the year. I don't expect it to be a lengthy assignment but whatever it is, he generally pays well.

3) My fiction writing is suffering terribly. I would really like to finish writing a book of some kind before the end of the year. Or a short story. Anything would be welcome at this point.

4) I so far have no plans to return to Hollins University to continue working on my Master's Degree. I need four classes and a thesis to finish. I also need thousands of dollars. Perhaps by summer. Or maybe the fall. What's another year in a lot of years, anyway?

5) Aside from not biting my nails, my other resolutions include weight loss (who does not have that as a resolution?), eating healthy, and building on my exercise program. The eating healthy includes not eating wheat, oats or milk products, all of which contribute to my allergy issues, and adding more root-type vegetables to my diet. The exercise includes the 20-40 minutes I do every morning and adding another 15-20 minutes (or more) in the evening. Of course, all of this hopefully will contribute to the weight loss.

6) I have so far not set goals for my career this year. I need to do this so I will have something to aim for. It could be writing more articles, adding markets, or focusing on something else, like the novel. But whatever it is, I need to take it seriously and not let it slide by me. So I am giving this one a lot of thought. Maybe I should take an online writer's course with a goal of having a completed something or another when I'm done.

7) The bathroom needs to be painted in our house. Also, in the kitchen, wallpaper needs to be removed and then some painting done on two walls. If I can get that accomplished, our house should not need much attention for a few years, as far as such things go, unless another Dr. Pepper bottle explodes in the kitchen.

8) I would like to plant a bigger garden. I'm not sure I want to can or put up pickles, but it would be nice to have the option because of an abundance of vegetables.

9) I also want to plant fruit trees and start an orchard. I think that has to wait until next fall, now, though. This is something I need to look into.

10) I am building a website for my husband, called Septic Tank Advisor. He installs septic tanks as his third job. I need to finish this as quickly as I can. It is very much a work in progress.

11) If I do okay with the septic website, I want to see about building a website for myself.

12) I would like to find a way to ease some of my husband's burdens. Aside from magically making more money to help out with the bills, I don't know of any thing else to do. Of course, most of what I see as a burden, in particular the farm work, are the things he loves to do so he doesn't seem them in the same light. I just wish he wouldn't work so hard.

My present: Nail Biting

I'm sorry to say that these hands belong to me.

I am a nail biter.

I have at times managed to stop for over a year or more at a time. I started biting them again this summer, reason unknown. I wasn't particularly stressed or anything. I have been unable to stop.

The only way I have been able to control this in the past is constant attention to my nails. Lots of buffing and filing and an all-out effort to keep them smooth. But the tools I was using, something I bought at a women's show about 15 years ago, have worn out and they don't smooth and work like they once did.

I have been unable to find anything similar to replace them. Nothing I can buy in the stores works as well.

I am fairly sure that nail-biting adds to my susceptibility to germs and viruses and other bad little creepy crawly things.

One of my resolutions for the new year is to stop biting my nails - again. I know I will never have beautiful hands but there is no need for them to look as bad as they do. Maybe these pictures will give me pause, and help me to stop chewing on my hands.

The Past

This ad came from an old Fincastle Herald, 1949, the beginning of the year. It is an advertisement for my husband's grandfather's store. Check out the prices.

25 POUNDS of sugar for $2.19.

Salad Dressing, $0.39 a quart.

Coffee $0.64 a pound.

Imagine if stuff cost that today, and you still earned what you earned today. Of course back then a dollar went a lot further than it does today. I can drop $100 in Walmart without blinking if I'm not careful.

The Evil Squirrel

I call this my "evil squirrel" picture. This squirrel has black on the places other squirrels have white sometimes. And then I have another squirrel that is piebald, with much white and only a little darker coloring. That one is hard to get a photo of, though.

It's been a quiet day. Husband is at the firehouse. I was at Lowe's before 9 a.m. this morning to purchase materials for the rental house renovation. We have an old home I inherited that we are fixing up. There was a good sale going on for some things we required so I was off to make this big purchase. Husband will have to pick up the materials in his pick up tomorrow.

Then to Wally World, right next door. Here I found Xmas things 50 percent off, so I spent the prerequisite $100 in there. Not just on wrapping paper and cards, but mostly. It certainly seemed to come to $100 much more quickly than I had anticipated, anyway.

Back home to unload. The remainder of the afternoon was pittered away with putting up decorations, cleaning, and tearing the tickets off clothes so I could put them in the wash.

I have been content and peaceful. It is a good day.

December 25

Prayer for Peace

Today's Headlines

Drunken driver takes five lives
Sanctions on Iran
A baby dies, a mother cries
another government ban.

Higher bills to heat the house
A child left in the street
A new class war, man killed a whore,
There's not enough to eat.

The union strikes, a man's on fire
Thoughts on the Middle East
Shooting victims, drug addictions
birth of the Prince of Peace.
****

Today we begin our celebrations of the birth of the lord we call The Prince of Peace.

One day without pain, suffering, heartache. It seems like not much to ask, that for only a day the toils and troubles cease, that we all have respite from the suffering.

All around us, we have every indication of a world gone mad, of things fatally and painfully wrong. Who among us can read the paper without flinching?

It seems to me that peace must start within each of us, within our own souls. We alone can find the solitude and quiet we must nurture within, for hearts at peace do not find ways to force suffering upon others.

If we tend to our own lives first, care for our selves, then our ability to reach out to others manifests into a greater good. We can extend love and help someone else find the way, once we have the way found ourselves.

My prayer for peace is for peace within us all, so that we may all rest and be quiet.

God Bless and Amen.

Christmas Eve

So this is it, 2006 Christmas. And another year nearly gone.

I will spend my Christmas Eve without my husband, who today is acting battalion chief at the firehouse in the city. Apparently among the men this means there will be some action, as it seems a legend that whenever he rides the car, there's smoke showing. I hope that this proves untrue for once.

My aunt C., my grandmother, my cousin M. and his wife and newborn child, and possibly my uncle J., with or without his wife and children, will be down around 1 p.m. They will, presumably, visit my mother's grave and then come here to visit me. I have planned cheese and crackers, beans & franks, pig in the blanket, and lots of cookies, to feed them all.

Another friend, C. from the paper, has said she will stop by after 3 p.m. I expect no one else though harbor some slight and painful hope that my brother may decide to peer down from his mansion on the hill long enough to visit. That is doubtful, however.

But enough of that. It is Christmas Eve. A magical day. A special night. A time for the spells of wonderous designs to shape themselves and work their particular enchantments.

Go forth, be enchanted.

Blogging for Peace

On December 24, Christmas Eve, there will be another round of bloggers holding up Peace Globes in an effort to bring about peace. You can find out more about it at Mimi Writes. I plan to participate. Hope you will too.

All is Bright

I've been cleaning all day. Well, since 10 a.m. I stopped to have lunch with a friend, who came to visit, eat, and bring me a present. Then I raced off to Kroger for toothpicks for the little cheese squares and wiener's I plan to have for a get-together Sunday. And as soon as I write this, it'll be back to cleaning. I want my house spic-n-span for the holiday.

We have lots of rain today and that makes it dreary. I am tired of the holiday music on Q99 so I found a satellite station with lots of good 1970s music on it. Hurrah for my growing up years. We knew how to rock and roll. And disco, too.

I ran into several people I knew at Kroger and I was glad to see them all. I walked around the store singing a Christmas song. The place was packed; we were like little sardines bouncing off the edges of the cans. I just smiled and went on. There is never any point in being in a hurry in the grocery store.

Better get back to that vacuum.

All is calm

Finally. Time to rest. Or play. Or clean the house.

The freelancing is over with for a week. I have some time to chill, or work on other projects (like my long forgotten novel) or do whatever. I have obligations - a dinner tonight, a luncheon tomorrow. Christmas Eve doings with my family, Christmas Day with husband's.

But the presents are wrapped. Whatever food I intend to take has at least been planned. Trimmings are up. The house needs a cleaning but that will take care of itself eventually, with some help from me, of course.

So I am calm. Prepared. Not letting things get to me. Not worrying about what others think of what I've done. Doing my best, and I'm sorry if that's not good enough. No doubt everyone fails someone every minute of the day.

Last night's meeting of a town council was frustrating, but they always are. I think these people try hard but they are attempting to do work with generalized knowledge when the thing requires someone with some know-how. They're going to get themselves in much trouble. I watch with trepidation, 20 years of news reporting behind me. But I can't save the world.

The day has turned dreary; we are expecting rain. I've heard rumors of snow in the mountains Christmas Day. That would be lovely, unless you live in the mountains. Which we don't exactly but we're close enough to maybe get a skiff or a dusting or something.

Husband is not getting anything spectacular for Christmas. It's a lean year, but we've lots of other projects going on. Besides, we have everything we need. Shelter, food, one another. Who cares if we don't have an ipod or a zune or the newest playstation?

It's a mellow afternoon. Hurray.

The Botetourt County Courthouse

Tuesday

On Sunday, as I headed out for breakfast with a friend, I spied a hot air balloon crossing a corner of the farm.

The cows were all huddled in the barn. Hot air balloons scare them. Sometimes it makes them stampede.

I did not call the law - it doesn't do much good, anyway - but it is a frustration. After all, if the cows run, scared, and break a leg, I'm the one with the loss. I did call my father-in-law, because it is his land, after all, because I thought the balloon might land in the field. The balloonist has no permission to do that.

But he landed elsewhere.

Unbenownst to me, Santa Claus was in the balloon, along with a TV crew.

****

My brother called me today. He is out of the hospital and his tests did not reveal any problems with his heart. Stress or reflux or both seems to be the diagnosis. He said he has a bad headache because they gave him nitro.

****

I spent part of the morning in jail. Well, not really. I toured the new jail under construction in Fincastle. It is a huge structure.

I went in one of the cell spaces. The cells are about 12 feet by 7 feet and very dark. There are no windows in this place, aside from some skylights. Each cell will hold two people and a toilet when it is done.

I would not want to spend much time in such a place. To never see the daylight, the grass, the fields, the trees. My gosh. I don't think I could stand it. It was bad enough when I had an inside office with no windows when I worked in a lawfirm in Roanoke so very long ago.

The United States puts more people behind bars than any other nation. You can read about this here. This is big business and I suppose an economy-builder. After all, our county is spending $20 million to build this jail; I saw what looked like 100 men on the construction site.

But I am not sure what it says about us as a country, that we put so many people in prison. Something like one person out of every 32 people has a criminal record of some kind. Which averages out to about one child per every classroom, more or less. It's rather mind-boggling.

I think it's sad that people can't behave themselves and thus end up in the court system, but I also think this kind of thing is a telling sign that we as a society are not doing something quite right. I don't know what it is we're not doing, though.

Tired now. I must be thinking too much.

Prayers For

I don't know what is in the air, but:

My dear friend L's dog died; she is heart broken.

My brother is in the hospital with heart problems (I just found out).

My grandmother fell yesterday in the nursing home and injured her leg (I just found this out, too).

My dear friend B. has so many problems with her shoulder she can hardly move.

My aunt has an abscessed tooth and the infection has gone into her sinuses and eye (I just found this out, also).

My grandmother in California apparently has Alzheimer's (I found this out today, too).

My Uncle K. wrenched his back today and can hardly move.

There is probably more but for the moment, that is enough.

The Other Side

Today, I had occasion to drive down Williamson Road.

This day was a shopping day. Hopefully my last shopping day for the upcoming holiday. I am not much of a shopper and having to get out amongst the crowds wears on me.

But I was off about 10:30 a.m. this morning. Out of Botetourt, where I try to do my shopping, and into Roanoke.

The major event of my day, I had hoped, was to meet a fellow blogger and purchase a book he'd written after getting it signed for my husband. But that wasn't to happen until after lunch.

First stop, the bank. Next, the gas station. Then on to Dollar General on Williamson Road (Hollins end), where I bought gift boxes for the clothing I've purchased to give away. I don't like to buy wrapping items, because I try to recycle and be conservative in that way, but after not buying new things for several years, it seemed a necessity. Particularly since the items left over from previous years have developed a musty smell that makes me sneeze. I discovered this last night while trying to wrap my husband's presents. I wrapped with my eyes watering, and this morning when I walked by the Christmas tree I could smell the "mustiness". I immediately unwrapped everything and threw the wrapping in the trash. My allergies are atrocious, aren't they?

So gift boxes were a must-have on the buying list today. The store was most obliging and hopefully I have everything I need for hours and hours of wrapping fun.

From the Dollar General, I headed to Sam's. Chewing tobacco for husband was the major purchase here. Then off to Books-A-Million for a large print calendar for my grandmother in the nursing home.

And then it was off to Roanoke Antique Mall for the book signing. I left the mall area and went down Williamson Road all the way to Orange Avenue.

Driving down this old road, stopping at the numerous (and long) stop lights, I realized what an antiseptic life I lead now.

I don't visit places like Williamson Road. Many businesses reside there, but none that I frequent. Oh, sure, I've been in Schewel's Furniture a couple of times, but since Sears left from down there, which was 20 years ago, I don't venture down Williamson Road.

A lot of folks are like me, I think. We go to the grocer and hop on the interstate. Head to the mall, return home.

You don't see what's going on that way. You don't see the unshaven old man doddering along Williamson Road with a shopping cart. The decaying old buildings. The spruced-up buildings where someone is trying to make a go of it. The light slanting off the rooftops.

The Williamson Road Pawn Shop. I haven't been in a pawn shop in 15 years. The bowling alley. The car dealership (I don't shop there, I don't buy Chevrolet). Fire Station 2. The history of a community, growing, falling, coming back up again.

If I lived in that end of town, maybe I would visit more. But I think I would visit more regardless if I wasn't so worried about moving out of my safety zone. I also don't do bars, bowling alleys, tattoo parlors, or other places where I might find cigarette smoke and things that give me the willies.

However, I grew up in that environment, though I don't remember much of it. My father used to take me with him to the bars. He'd sit me on the pinball machines and he and his friends would plunk in quarters while I watched the balls. Supposedly this went on for hours (and today I blame my video game addictions on this).

As a news writer I sometimes visit places that are not my normal element. But I go then as a watcher, not as a participant. It is one thing to write about a game a pool, it is quite another to hold the stick, run it over your finger, and pocket the eight ball.

I drove through Williamson Road, I did not experience it. I could never do that without getting out of the car.

Whew!

Good news!

Had my return visit for a second mammogram to check out those "changes" they found in November on my regular yearly screening.

It's a cyst. Nothing to worry about.

My husband is relieved, I'm relieved, we're all relieved. After the year we've had, we needed a break and I am very glad we got one with this kind of good news.

Thanks everyone for your good wishes.

Now, let's go party and have a good holiday!

O Christmas Tree

We lost our Christmas tree.

Nevermind that it was a seven-foot artificial tree and much too heavy for me to move. It isn't where it's supposed to be, and hasn't been for two years.

Last year we made do with a three-foot tree when we discovered the big one was missing.

A year later, we still can't find the Christmas tree. So we bought another. But we don't know what happened to the old one.

You see, we kept it in the bathtub. It was encased in a rather expensive plastic container, with a lid that closed tightly. I have terrible allergies and there's nothing like the dust from stored Christmas decorations to get the nasals dripping. The plastic crate helped a lot.

We kept the entire thing in the bathtub because we had no other place to store it. The tub is in the second bathroom and it goes unused. I thought I might as well do something with the space.

So last year we went to put up the tree. But the tree was gone. Husband doesn't remember what he did with it. Wife doesn't remember, either.

We checked everywhere we might have put it. The attic. The storage shed. The garage.

No artificial tree. No big plastic container, either.

We must have given it away, but we don't remember to whom. Or maybe we decided it was getting thin and needed to be thrown out. But surely we'd have kept the plastic crate.

It's a head scratcher all right.

Our saga with artificial trees began in 1984. This was our second Christmas together, the first happening not long after we married. We were in a new little house and Husband brought in a pretty little real tree.

Ah, the smell of pine!

Ah, the sneezes. The watery eyes. The wheezing.

Yes, it was time to acknowledge that Anita is allergic to pine trees, and has been all her life. My mother told me a few years before she died that she took ill during the Christmas she was pregnant with me. She broke out in hives after an adventure in the woods to find and bring in a tree. An act, she was sure, that cursed me with a propensity toward allergies whenever I was in the presence of pine. Or so she thought, anyway.

I grew up with live Christmas trees, and while I was generally sick during the holiday, I never made the connection between the tree and my sneezes. Neither, apparently, did anyone else.

Following the tree-trimming, my allergies were woefully and painfully obvious in 1984. So we undecorated the tree and we tossed it out.

We got another live pine from somewhere and we scarcely got it in the house before my wheezing made it readily apparent that this wasn't going to work. It wasn't just that particular pine tree, it was any pine tree.

So that tree left the premises, too. We went to Sears and bought our first artificial tree. Not so nice, but less detrimental. That was the year of three trees.

Over the years we've had nice artificial trees. In 1993 Husband gave me a lovely florist tree for an anniversary present. It eventually lost its needles and we replaced it with another.

And that's the one we've lost, and it was well before it was time for it to go. So if you should see an artificial tree looking lonely and undorned by the side of the road, maybe thumbing a ride, give us a call.

It might be the one that, all on its own, disappeared from our bathtub.

Fincastle lights

These are lights in Fincastle.



As you can see, I could not stand still long enough in the chill.



I was waiting on a meeting to begin.

The first picture, the last on this page, taken when my hands were still warm from the car heater, turned out the best.

If I wrote a Christmas Letter . . .

(Snow 2005)

I don't send out a Christmas letter. I do handwrite in most of my cards, offering up some memory or tidbit that I think is relevant to the recipient. When my husband helps, he generally just signs our names and moves on, which is okay too

The thought is what counts, I suppose.

We have had a stressful year. And I thought, if I were to do a Christmas letter, what would it say? And then of course I decided to share this pretend Christmas letter here on my blog:

Howdy Good Friends and Neighbors!

This year, 2006, is fast coming to an end and boy are we ever glad! We can't wave bye-bye to this one quick enough.

The husband has had a tumultuous year that began and ended with truck wrecks. First in January a bail of hay rolled off a trailer and crashed in the side of his truck, and just this month (Sunday, actually), he hit a deer and smashed in the front end.

Won't we be pleased when we get those premium increases from the insurance company! We're certainly looking forward to that.

Career-wise, husband has held steady though he did have a mishap with a bush. This turned out to be a snafu of major proportions that should have been absolutely nothing. Fortunately husband held fast and we have our fingers crossed that the long-term damage was minimal. The bush ultimately lost whatever battle this was.

Husband also put in a lot of shitters, buried two calves, and spent a lot of time looking at the sky praying for rain. The hay crop was a real bummer this year. Oh, and the bull went lame, too. We bought another one; he likes donuts.

As for me, I developed vertigo in February and still struggle with that, though it's much better and at least I can stand up and drive again. In September I thought I was having a heart attack but I I guess I wasn't, and now we're all standing by waiting for me to get a second mammogram because the doctors didn't like the one I did in November! Boy howdy, it just doesn't get more funner than this, does it?

I also lost two of my freelance clients, not through anything I did but just because it was time for those projects to end. This left a big hole in my pocket that I've yet to fill, in part because my health has been so wishy washy. Better luck next year and all that.

Also, the folks who rented from us decided to vacate six months earlier than we'd anticipated, nevermind the contract. Nothing like an unexpected renovation to liven things up! Did you know that green crayon won't come off the shower walls? Neither did we until now!

As for next year, we're looking forward to working every single day of the week (unless we're sick) just like this past one. Maybe it'll rain and the hay crop will be better, whatcha think?

That's all for now, I gotta go catch a possum and boil 'em for dinner. Ya'll come!

********
Of course, none of that, absolutely none of it, made it into a single Christmas card. . . .

Christmas: Getting to Know You

Welcome to the 2006 Holiday Edition of Getting to Know Your Friends! You know the drill. Read it if you want, do it yourself if you like. Happy Ho Ho.

1. Egg Nog or Hot Chocolate? Hot Chocolate (is there anything else?)

2. Does Santa wrap presents or just sit them under the tree? Wraps them.

(Don’t know what happened to Number 3)

4. Do you hang mistletoe? Not in a very long time. I used to shoot it from a tree. For real. With a real gun and everything. I was a good shot.

5. When do you put your decorations up? After Thanksgiving. I don't decorate a lot.

6. What is your favorite holiday dish (excluding dessert)? Fudge. Without nuts. Yes, that's candy but it is my favorite. I can make a meal of fudge.

7. Favorite Holiday memory as a child? I don't have one. That's kind of sad, isn't it.

8. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa? I figured it out when I was no older than six. I had broken a tooth and the tooth fairy left me a 50 cent piece. I found a bowl of 50 cent pieces on a shelf and somehow made the connection. And from there I knew Santa wasn't real either, if the tooth fairy was just a myth.

9. Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve? I used to. My brother and I would open our present from one another.

10. How do you decorate your Christmas Tree? Lights, garland, ornaments, tinsel. Only this year we forgot the garland. Which is nothing, since last year we lost the tree completely.

11. Snow! Love it or Dread it? Mixed emotions.

12. Can you ice skate? I did as a kid but wouldn't dare now

13. Do you remember your favorite gift? I remember some gifts in particular, like a rocking chair, but I wouldn't call it a favorite.

14.What's the most important thing about the Holidays for you? Spending time with my family and friends (and having a little down time).

15. What is your favorite Holiday Dessert? Fudge! Fudge! Fudge!

16. What is your favorite holiday tradition? Having my aunt and grandmother down to my house on Christmas Eve.

17. What tops your tree? An angel.

18. Which do you prefer giving or Receiving? Both. I like the giving part but I don't mind the getting, either. (I'm honest about it, what can I say?)

19. What is your favorite Christmas Song? Little Drummer Boy

20. Candy Canes! Yuck or Yum? Yum, but not often.

You have changes

So I just moments ago answered the ringing telephone.

"Yes, Ms. F.? This is so-and-so, and you had your mammogram on the 21st of November, remember?

Well, the doctor's found some changes in your right breast and we'd like you to come back in for some more pictures."

Wow.

That's not exactly what I was expecting to hear when I picked up the telephone.

Changes doesn't mean anything's wrong, said the voice. The doctor just wants another look.

Really, I am not all that surprised. Honest. I stopped drinking caffeine completely in March and I thought that might make some difference. Changes, you know.

A difference, you know.

Nothing's wrong, and all that.

First available appointment's not until Friday afternoon, of course. So you have five days to not worry. But I'll know something before I leave there.

Friday afternoon.

1:30 p.m.

Changes. Different.

Gulp.

Freelancing

I have been freelancing since 1994. You'd think after all that time I would be good at it.

But mostly I have worked for only a few select companies, with odd jobs thrown in for good measure. Those jobs have included editing, acting as a glorified secretary for an old man (in his 80s) who wanted to write a World War II textbook, newspaper writing, magazine writing, substitute teaching, post-closer for a real estate attorney, and tutoring (which only lasted a month, I am so not a tutor).

Freelancing for me has been a one-woman adventure. I am the writer, the purchaser of equipment, the cleaning lady, the accountant, the receptionist - everything. It all rests on my graying head.

Of course it is this way for most sole proprietors, so I am not alone. It would be nice if, at some point, I made such vast amounts of money that I could afford an assistant, especially for the filing, but I don't see that in my future. Most of the time I don't mind doing everything. I have my own little system worked out, I can find my paperwork, and things flow smoothly.

Until, that is, I have to be the Bill Collector.

Occasionally I work for someone who deems it okay to pay me late, or not at all. This becomes a major issue with me, particularly if it is a goodly sum of money. And particularly at this time of year, when I need my cash.

As it is, I am today the Bill Collector and suffice it to say, I don't like it much. This is the part of being a sole proprietor that I truly dislike. I am still working for this particular client and I don't want to lose the business (not yet, anyway), so I tread lightly. But I think treading lightly allows me to be abused.

I don't like confrontation so it is hard for me to say "pay up". And then of course the only "or else" I have is to say I won't work for them anymore. And they don't really care because, although I do wonderful, even award-winning work, for them, I am completely replaceable.

I know this, so I tip-toe around the payment issue.

Tip-toe.

Tip-toe.

Even though I am, technically, a free spirit doing my own thing, I am just as much caged as the worker in the cubicle who answers "yes sir" to the big man. The big man always gets his way, I think.

Tip-toe.

Tip-toe.

(The bird in the picture is not in a cage; it is behind a roll of fence. It is much freer to fly than I will ever be.)

Friday turkeys

These turkeys showed up Wednesday, I guess it was. I grabbed the Kodak Z710 and headed outside to see what I could come up with in daylight.

I think the digital zoom is useless and will have to remember to try not to use it. Look at how it blurs the background in the last shot.

It's enough to make me think I've not been taking pictures for the last 20 years.

The turkeys, at least, seemed very happy. Probably because they escaped being someone's Thanksgiving dinner. Although they may make into someone's Christmas pie, traipsing about like that.

New Version of Blogger

I was very pleased to find I could switch over to the new version of Blogger today. If there are any problems, please let me know!

The Quilt

My Great-Aunt Susie gave me this quilt last week.

It was an early Christmas present, and, she said, a thank-you for my monthly trips to visit and take her apples.

I feel very much like a heel who doesn't deserve a thing for my efforts. She lives about 30 miles away from me, but in this day and age such a distance really isn't an excuse not to visit more often.

I would call frequently but she doesn't hear well and I end up just yelling into the phone. "It's --. It's Melba's granddaughter." Or something. Many times I call and she hangs up without knowing it was me. I, at least, know then that she is okay.

Taking the quilt seemed the polite thing to do, but the truth is I haven't a place for it or a need of it. But, isn't it lovely? So colorful, hardy, yet delicate.

It is handmade. She stitched it in the 1970s and placed it in a trunk. It never saw the light of day again until she decided last month that it should be mine.

I should mention that my great-aunt is 86 years old, I suppose. I can only hope to live that long, but my grandmother is also living and she is 83.

Quilts are things of beauty and they hold pieces of people. I will hold this one as dear as I do the others, even if all it does is sit in the dark in my closet. It was made with care and given with love, and what more could you ask of any object?

Shooting the moon II

Last night I went out about 7 p.m. with the Kodak Z710 and a tripod.

Prior to venturing out, the Kodak tripod, brand new out of the box, and a gift from my husband last Christmas that I'd never opened, fell apart when I took it out of the bag.

Undaunted, I snapped off an e-mail to Kodak complaining about their product, then grabbed the duct tape.

Outside with the camera, it was about 25 degrees and very cold. I steadied the camera on the flimsy tripod, careful to wrap the camera leash around my wrist in case the tripod collapsed. Then I moved from setting to setting, snapping pictures.


I was shooting through the trees, partially in the hopes of getting something in the picture that looked interesting. I love moon shots but I love moon shots with things of the earth in them even more.

This is with the digital zoom, not the optical zoom, and it appears that using the digital zoom is what I need to do. Alas, the Kodak Z710 has no image stabilizer and even with a tripod, things apparently shake.





Playing with the settings gave me this ghostly shot, which I then brightened up a tad in MS Picture It.




Below is a collage of several of the nearly 50 pictures I took. Still learning am I.


I think I will one day shoot the moon, but maybe not this month.

Shooting the moon

Lo! the moon ascending!
Up from the East, the silvery round moon;
Beautiful over the house-tops, ghastly, phantom moon;
Immense and silent moon.

-- Walt Whitman (1819–1892)


I have an affinity for the moon. She has always drawn me and I have always loved looking at her (in some pagan religions, the moon is feminine, no "man in the moon" there).

But I have never been able to take a good picture of the moon. Usually I end up with a big white blotch, like this:

I was hoping with my new digital point and shoot, I would do better. Last night and this morning I tried, I really did. This is better because you can see the moon's oceans, to some degree:



But it is not that great. The picture below has more personality but the camera focused on the tree, not the moon, so the orb is blurred:

I have tried a number of settings on the new camera, trying to make it happen. I have never been that great a photographer, though. I do okay but I would never profess to make a living at it. It is a hobby that I am lucky enough to occasionally get paid for, if I can send in decent enough shots with an article.

This turned out the best, this big ol' moon, but the colors are not that deep and I am not that happy with it.






Somehow, the first day I got the camera, I was playing around and I pointed at the moon and got this shot. You can even see the craters. But I have no idea what setting I was using and I can't just make it happen.

All of these shots were freehand. Tonight, if the sky stays clear, I hope to try again with a tripod. Maybe between now and then, I can figure out how to shoot the moon.

Monday Miscellaneous

1. The deer is my animal totem.

2. I am disillusioned with Google as a search engine these days.

3. I think Jim Webb was rude to the president for no good reason. And I voted for him. Just because you disagree with someone doesn't mean you have to be impolite. Save that stuff for when it really counts, you know?

4. I much prefer the warmer weather.

5. Being busy at my news reporting makes me very happy. I have been chasing a couple of stories for three days and I found myself remarkably content as I went about my work.