Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots
by Alexandre Dumas
Copyright 1995 (?)
Read by Julie Christie
Abridged
6 hours
I have long been fascinated by Mary, Queen of Scots. Mostly this was because when I was about three years old, I allegedly told my mother that I was born in Scotland and was present at the beheading of the queen. My Baptist-raised mother feared I was reincarnated and forbade me to ever speak of it again. I haven't the slightest recall of this but my mother mentioned it to me several times when I was older. Of course she did not write anything down so I must rely only her memory, which was marred by her puzzlement as to how her baby girl could speak of such things.
In any event, the tragedy of this queen has always struck a chord. Lovely and chilling, Mary Stuart was foiled in love as well as in rule. She could not chose a husband wisely to save her life - and ultimately, it certainly did not.
As told by Dumas, Mary's biggest mistake was trusting that Elizabeth I, her cousin, would harbor her safely. Instead she imprisoned her for nearly 20 years and when she finally could she had the unfortunate woman beheaded.
If only she'd gone to France instead of England, the entire course of history might have changed.
I enjoyed listening to this. Dumas obviously took literary license in the tale, creating scenes and dialogue. It was quite entertaining and I greatly admired Mary for her demeanor as portrayed in this book. Even at the end, as she was led to the executioner, she was a stately presence. Would that we all would meet our demise with such grace.
4 stars
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Sunday, March 02, 2008
Eat, Pray, Love
My book club read this book for the month of February.
We all liked it.
It is the story of a woman's spiritual journey as she heals from a bad divorce and, following that, a failed love affair. She is about 30.
She follows a guru and goes to India. First she goes to Italy where she eats a lot of good food. She is nurturing her physical self. Then it's off to India where she stays in an ashram for four months, learning to meditate and reach her higher self.
Finally she goes to Bali where she falls in love with an ex-pat Brazilian.
Our book club talks generally stray far from the book, and last Tuesday night's meeting was no exception. Our conversation ranged from taking care of mother-in-laws to taking care of ourselves. it is a great book club.
One interesting concept in this book was the idea that every place and every person has a single word that belong to them. In the book, the Vatican was given a word: Power. Other places had words too: sex, money, avarice. The author took a long time finding her word, which, since I gave my book away at the end of the book club meeting I unfortunately can't recall.
I have spent some time trying to come up with my own one word and so far have failed. Several of us made an effort with our neighboring city while we talking - the two that came forth and seemed to stick were "shallow" and "stupid" - apparently we don't have much of an opinion of city leaders at the moment. We attemped our small town and came up with obstinate.
I can easily put a single word on my husband: SOLID. I think that word describes him in all his character.
I think seeking spirtual satisfaction is necessary for peace. I don't think it is done well in the U.S. - it takes time. That's time away from job, from family, from material goods, from the consumer culture. As a nation we frown own that - if you're off praying, after all, you're not contributing to the economy.
I am as guilty of this as the rest - but it is something I hope to rectify. Beginning, maybe, tonight.
Eat, Pray, Love
by Elizabeth Gilbert
about 350 pages
4.5 stars
We all liked it.
It is the story of a woman's spiritual journey as she heals from a bad divorce and, following that, a failed love affair. She is about 30.
She follows a guru and goes to India. First she goes to Italy where she eats a lot of good food. She is nurturing her physical self. Then it's off to India where she stays in an ashram for four months, learning to meditate and reach her higher self.
Finally she goes to Bali where she falls in love with an ex-pat Brazilian.
Our book club talks generally stray far from the book, and last Tuesday night's meeting was no exception. Our conversation ranged from taking care of mother-in-laws to taking care of ourselves. it is a great book club.
One interesting concept in this book was the idea that every place and every person has a single word that belong to them. In the book, the Vatican was given a word: Power. Other places had words too: sex, money, avarice. The author took a long time finding her word, which, since I gave my book away at the end of the book club meeting I unfortunately can't recall.
I have spent some time trying to come up with my own one word and so far have failed. Several of us made an effort with our neighboring city while we talking - the two that came forth and seemed to stick were "shallow" and "stupid" - apparently we don't have much of an opinion of city leaders at the moment. We attemped our small town and came up with obstinate.
I can easily put a single word on my husband: SOLID. I think that word describes him in all his character.
I think seeking spirtual satisfaction is necessary for peace. I don't think it is done well in the U.S. - it takes time. That's time away from job, from family, from material goods, from the consumer culture. As a nation we frown own that - if you're off praying, after all, you're not contributing to the economy.
I am as guilty of this as the rest - but it is something I hope to rectify. Beginning, maybe, tonight.
Eat, Pray, Love
by Elizabeth Gilbert
about 350 pages
4.5 stars
Saturday, March 01, 2008
The Roasting Pan
This morning I ventured to the store and decided chicken would be the meat of the day.
After scanning the selections carefully, I came home with an "organic" bird for which I paid a bit more for the assurance that it was sans drugs and steroids.
This afternoon I prepped the chicken for roasting. As I worked, I couldn't help but think that I was repeating the work of every generation of woman who came before me. Preparing the meat, making ready for the meal.
The differences between me and those many-great grandmothers was methodology - I was using an electric oven, and I didn't have to kill the chicken and pluck its feathers. I suspect they had a harder job.
My imagination went wild with me for a time as I envisioned my caveman grandmother, grunting and struggling to hack at the bird with a knife made from bone. I daresay she did not take the time to remove the fat, if there was indeed any fat on a bird back then. Maybe she simply wrung the bird's neck and cooked it with the head on and didn't need a knife.
The feathers would have been kept for use as something else - a pillow, a headdress, a duster, something. They would not have gone to waste, I am sure.
I created more waste simply getting the wrapping off my chicken than my caveman grandmother ever thought about, I think.
Down through the ages, from caveman to Tudor England to the New World, women have roasted chicken. I think too it was not an everyday meal. The birds would have been precious commodities, valued for laying eggs that provide food every day.
I think about when I watch Survivor on CBS and the winning team gets chickens. Invariably instead of keeping the birds around and eating the eggs every day, the chickens last about two days and are eaten. Usually the rooster goes first and then the chickens are a disappointment in the egg-laying department. Every good country girl knows chickens lay eggs better when there's a rooster around.
I think this is a great metaphor for the impatience of U.S. society. We want our chicken now, gosh darn it, and we haven't the patience to wait for the eggs! So what if we starve tomorrow, today we live like kings!
I think that is pretty much the attitude we have toward sustainability issues - use it up now and worry about tomorrow whenever it gets here. It is not very far-sighted and indeed is very short-sited. How much stronger would those survivor contestants be toward the end if they'd been eating eggs every day? I imagine they would be much better off if they had patience.
I am not sure how I went from roasting chickens to saving the planet, but there you go. Everything's connected somehow.
After scanning the selections carefully, I came home with an "organic" bird for which I paid a bit more for the assurance that it was sans drugs and steroids.
This afternoon I prepped the chicken for roasting. As I worked, I couldn't help but think that I was repeating the work of every generation of woman who came before me. Preparing the meat, making ready for the meal.
The differences between me and those many-great grandmothers was methodology - I was using an electric oven, and I didn't have to kill the chicken and pluck its feathers. I suspect they had a harder job.
My imagination went wild with me for a time as I envisioned my caveman grandmother, grunting and struggling to hack at the bird with a knife made from bone. I daresay she did not take the time to remove the fat, if there was indeed any fat on a bird back then. Maybe she simply wrung the bird's neck and cooked it with the head on and didn't need a knife.
The feathers would have been kept for use as something else - a pillow, a headdress, a duster, something. They would not have gone to waste, I am sure.
I created more waste simply getting the wrapping off my chicken than my caveman grandmother ever thought about, I think.
Down through the ages, from caveman to Tudor England to the New World, women have roasted chicken. I think too it was not an everyday meal. The birds would have been precious commodities, valued for laying eggs that provide food every day.
I think about when I watch Survivor on CBS and the winning team gets chickens. Invariably instead of keeping the birds around and eating the eggs every day, the chickens last about two days and are eaten. Usually the rooster goes first and then the chickens are a disappointment in the egg-laying department. Every good country girl knows chickens lay eggs better when there's a rooster around.
I think this is a great metaphor for the impatience of U.S. society. We want our chicken now, gosh darn it, and we haven't the patience to wait for the eggs! So what if we starve tomorrow, today we live like kings!
I think that is pretty much the attitude we have toward sustainability issues - use it up now and worry about tomorrow whenever it gets here. It is not very far-sighted and indeed is very short-sited. How much stronger would those survivor contestants be toward the end if they'd been eating eggs every day? I imagine they would be much better off if they had patience.
I am not sure how I went from roasting chickens to saving the planet, but there you go. Everything's connected somehow.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Thursday Thirteen
Thirteen great things about being a woman:
1. I can bring home the bacon. And work harder to make less. About 70 cents on the dollar less, actually.
2. I can fry it up in a pan.
3. I can never ever let you forget you're a man.*
4. I can give birth to children.***
5. I can sing alto and soprano. And country and western and pop and opera... heck, I can sing pretty much anything I want to. I can even play the guitar.
6. I can cry if I want to.** And not worry too much about the consequences (unless your name is Hillary).
7. I look good in a skirt. Those kilts are so not in fashion.
8. I have that maternal instinct thing going on.
9. I am soft and don't need to apologize for it.
10. I have brains. And lots of them.
11. I look good in men's clothes. Men don't look so hot in feminine garb.
12. I can take one look at you and read you like a book just by taking in the way you dress and the way you carry yourself.
13. I live longer.
* From an Enjoli perfume commercial in the 1970s, I think.
** From a song in the 1950s or 1960s.
*** I can't personally have children, having had a hysterectomy, but this is an all-inclusive list and not just about me.
1. I can bring home the bacon. And work harder to make less. About 70 cents on the dollar less, actually.
2. I can fry it up in a pan.
3. I can never ever let you forget you're a man.*
4. I can give birth to children.***
5. I can sing alto and soprano. And country and western and pop and opera... heck, I can sing pretty much anything I want to. I can even play the guitar.
6. I can cry if I want to.** And not worry too much about the consequences (unless your name is Hillary).
7. I look good in a skirt. Those kilts are so not in fashion.
8. I have that maternal instinct thing going on.
9. I am soft and don't need to apologize for it.
10. I have brains. And lots of them.
11. I look good in men's clothes. Men don't look so hot in feminine garb.
12. I can take one look at you and read you like a book just by taking in the way you dress and the way you carry yourself.
13. I live longer.
* From an Enjoli perfume commercial in the 1970s, I think.
** From a song in the 1950s or 1960s.
*** I can't personally have children, having had a hysterectomy, but this is an all-inclusive list and not just about me.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Hypochondria
I have lately been experiencing weird sensations about the chest. I am pretty sure this is because I have pulled a chest muscle lifting weights. My acupuncturist has hypothesized that it could be, at least in part, from a problem I have had with my back for several weeks (a slipping rib or disk). A pinched nerve kind of thing, she suggested, because my arm feels a lot like I've bumped my elbow.
But because of the location of the pain, and because the commercials on TV are always advocating various illnesses in the pharmaceutical industry's efforts to sell more drugs, I immediately think I am having a heart attack when it hurts.
This makes me very nervous which makes my heart race, which makes me even more nervous.
I know I am stressed because I have been working hard. I have written 62 articles since January 1; this is the 56th day of the year. That is more than one article a day, or at least 1,000 words a day every day, including weekends.
That's difficult to sustain without some kind of burnout.
So I think I'm in a self-fulfilling prophecy sort of thing. I was exercising to relieve the stress of working too much; the boo-boo from exercising is adding to the stress.
I am 90 percent sure the pain isn't my heart; it's the other 10 percent of me that I am unable to convince.
It is no wonder many people race to the doctor when any little thing goes wrong. We are told to do this with every bottle of aspirin, with every bottle of vitamins, with every exercise video. Do nothing without your doctor's OK. As if this person with the MD is some god who can ordain how we live our life, a being who knows better than ourselves what our body can and cannot do or withstand.
My mother hauled me to the doctor for every little thing. I am not so sure she wasn't one of those mothers who create hysteria and illnesses in their children in order to see the doctor for whatever reason, because I certainly spent a lot of time in the doctor's office. I was given every new drug to come along, or so it seemed.
My body was filled with antibiotics and steroids before the age of 10. I had terrible allergies and problems with my left knee that required cortisone shots. Prednisone was the drug for my poison oak and poison ivy. Keflex was the antibiotic of choice for me for a long time; Benedryl was a constant friend.
I once made for my acupuncturist a list of drugs I could remember having taken at some point in my life. There were 44 different drugs on it. I did not take them all at once, mind you, but at some point all of these poisons (and that is what they are, I now know), were put in my system.
I continued the pattern of doctor visits well until my 30s. It took me that long to realize I was in charge of my body and my health care. I was 40 before I really took control. By that time the damage was tremendous.
Now I try desperately *not* to go to the doctor unless I really must. Doctors scare me with their pill-pushing, invasive X-rays, low-fat diets that don't take my food allergies into consideration, inconsistencies, and their inability to deal with wellness instead of illness.
My husband, who is seldom sick, does not understand my change of mind about the health care system. He blames it on my mother's death, the problems we had with her care, the fact that nothing they did saved her but instead made things worse as terminal cancer slowly ate away at her.
Perhaps that has something to do with it. But I prefer to think I am smarter, more savvy, more interested in being well than in being sick. Less sucked into the system.
I have been healthier in the last three years than at any time in my life. Is it because I see the doctor less? Eat better? Exercise? See an acupuncturist? All of the above?
When I watch TV and the ads come on for various drugs - Ask your Doctor about Liptor, Prilosec, Prevacid, the purple pill, the one for bladder control and the other for restless leg syndrome - I cringe at the list of side effects. May cause bleeding, ulcers, black tongue, dry eyes, confusion, dizziness, irritability, swelling in the hands, and death. Among other things.
And we're supposed to go ask our doctors about this?
There will come a time as I age that I will be on more drugs. I will have no choice but to enter the system again, against my will, while they prop me up with drugs for whatever is ailing me at that time. They will feed me poorly prepared processed food which will slowly kill me, along with the poisonous drugs.
All in the name of saving me, amen.
Until then, I hope I can stand firm against my own fears, against the desires of the very sick health care system that is ruining the citizens of this wonderful country, and against the concerns of my husband who wants me to see a doctor because he's worried.
It is a very hard thing to do.
But because of the location of the pain, and because the commercials on TV are always advocating various illnesses in the pharmaceutical industry's efforts to sell more drugs, I immediately think I am having a heart attack when it hurts.
This makes me very nervous which makes my heart race, which makes me even more nervous.
I know I am stressed because I have been working hard. I have written 62 articles since January 1; this is the 56th day of the year. That is more than one article a day, or at least 1,000 words a day every day, including weekends.
That's difficult to sustain without some kind of burnout.
So I think I'm in a self-fulfilling prophecy sort of thing. I was exercising to relieve the stress of working too much; the boo-boo from exercising is adding to the stress.
I am 90 percent sure the pain isn't my heart; it's the other 10 percent of me that I am unable to convince.
It is no wonder many people race to the doctor when any little thing goes wrong. We are told to do this with every bottle of aspirin, with every bottle of vitamins, with every exercise video. Do nothing without your doctor's OK. As if this person with the MD is some god who can ordain how we live our life, a being who knows better than ourselves what our body can and cannot do or withstand.
My mother hauled me to the doctor for every little thing. I am not so sure she wasn't one of those mothers who create hysteria and illnesses in their children in order to see the doctor for whatever reason, because I certainly spent a lot of time in the doctor's office. I was given every new drug to come along, or so it seemed.
My body was filled with antibiotics and steroids before the age of 10. I had terrible allergies and problems with my left knee that required cortisone shots. Prednisone was the drug for my poison oak and poison ivy. Keflex was the antibiotic of choice for me for a long time; Benedryl was a constant friend.
I once made for my acupuncturist a list of drugs I could remember having taken at some point in my life. There were 44 different drugs on it. I did not take them all at once, mind you, but at some point all of these poisons (and that is what they are, I now know), were put in my system.
I continued the pattern of doctor visits well until my 30s. It took me that long to realize I was in charge of my body and my health care. I was 40 before I really took control. By that time the damage was tremendous.
Now I try desperately *not* to go to the doctor unless I really must. Doctors scare me with their pill-pushing, invasive X-rays, low-fat diets that don't take my food allergies into consideration, inconsistencies, and their inability to deal with wellness instead of illness.
My husband, who is seldom sick, does not understand my change of mind about the health care system. He blames it on my mother's death, the problems we had with her care, the fact that nothing they did saved her but instead made things worse as terminal cancer slowly ate away at her.
Perhaps that has something to do with it. But I prefer to think I am smarter, more savvy, more interested in being well than in being sick. Less sucked into the system.
I have been healthier in the last three years than at any time in my life. Is it because I see the doctor less? Eat better? Exercise? See an acupuncturist? All of the above?
When I watch TV and the ads come on for various drugs - Ask your Doctor about Liptor, Prilosec, Prevacid, the purple pill, the one for bladder control and the other for restless leg syndrome - I cringe at the list of side effects. May cause bleeding, ulcers, black tongue, dry eyes, confusion, dizziness, irritability, swelling in the hands, and death. Among other things.
And we're supposed to go ask our doctors about this?
There will come a time as I age that I will be on more drugs. I will have no choice but to enter the system again, against my will, while they prop me up with drugs for whatever is ailing me at that time. They will feed me poorly prepared processed food which will slowly kill me, along with the poisonous drugs.
All in the name of saving me, amen.
Until then, I hope I can stand firm against my own fears, against the desires of the very sick health care system that is ruining the citizens of this wonderful country, and against the concerns of my husband who wants me to see a doctor because he's worried.
It is a very hard thing to do.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
No Smoking Restaurants
The other day my husband and I set out to have dinner. We could not come up with too many restaurants locally that are entirely smoke-free.
We ended up at K&W Cafeteria for our Valentine's celebration, because I was not in the mood to inhale second hand smoke and we couldn't think of another completely smoke free restaurant in the Hershberger area.
Many restaurants have a smoking section, but let's face it. Those don't work. The smoke wafts over and you smell like you're the one inhaling tar and nicotine regardless of how far away you sit.
I looked for a list of smoke free restaurants in the area on the Internet but could not find one.
So I am making my own list. Please contribute if you know for sure a restaurant is smoke free.
Most that I know about are close to home. I am pretty clueless about restaurants in Roanoke. I do not eat out a lot; smoking sections are the reason why.
Smoke Free
Three Little Pigs (Daleville)
Country Cookin' (Daleville)
Bellacino's (Daleville)
IHOP (Roanoke)
K&W Cafeteria (Roanoke)
Pizza Hut (Daleville)
Harbor Inn Seafood (Roanoke)*
Famous Anthony's (all locations, I think)*
Pizza Hut (Hershberger Road)*
Pete's Deli (Town Squre Blvd)*
Jersey Lilly's (Rt 460, I think is non-smoking)*
Smoking section
Cracker Barrel (Troutville)
Shoney's (Troutville)
O'Charley's (Roanoke)
Shaker's (Roanoke)
Coach & Four (Roanoke)
Shang-Hi (Salem)
Logan's @ Valley View*
Texas Steakhouse @ Valley View*
Everything else?
Others? Recommendations?
* Added after original post*
We ended up at K&W Cafeteria for our Valentine's celebration, because I was not in the mood to inhale second hand smoke and we couldn't think of another completely smoke free restaurant in the Hershberger area.
Many restaurants have a smoking section, but let's face it. Those don't work. The smoke wafts over and you smell like you're the one inhaling tar and nicotine regardless of how far away you sit.
I looked for a list of smoke free restaurants in the area on the Internet but could not find one.
So I am making my own list. Please contribute if you know for sure a restaurant is smoke free.
Most that I know about are close to home. I am pretty clueless about restaurants in Roanoke. I do not eat out a lot; smoking sections are the reason why.
Smoke Free
Three Little Pigs (Daleville)
Country Cookin' (Daleville)
Bellacino's (Daleville)
IHOP (Roanoke)
K&W Cafeteria (Roanoke)
Pizza Hut (Daleville)
Harbor Inn Seafood (Roanoke)*
Famous Anthony's (all locations, I think)*
Pizza Hut (Hershberger Road)*
Pete's Deli (Town Squre Blvd)*
Jersey Lilly's (Rt 460, I think is non-smoking)*
Smoking section
Cracker Barrel (Troutville)
Shoney's (Troutville)
O'Charley's (Roanoke)
Shaker's (Roanoke)
Coach & Four (Roanoke)
Shang-Hi (Salem)
Logan's @ Valley View*
Texas Steakhouse @ Valley View*
Everything else?
Others? Recommendations?
* Added after original post*
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Administrative
I am having problems with Blogger. I lost my spell check for several weeks. That was frustrating.
Upon its return, I find I am having problems accessing the page elements/layout.
When I finally did get it to work briefly this morning, I managed to add Jen's Bike Blog, House on Glade Hill and Going Crunchy to my links listings. And then it stopped being cooperative again.
At any rate, if you'd like to exchange blog links, just let me know and I will be glad to add you to my readers list, once the thing is working properly again.
Upon its return, I find I am having problems accessing the page elements/layout.
When I finally did get it to work briefly this morning, I managed to add Jen's Bike Blog, House on Glade Hill and Going Crunchy to my links listings. And then it stopped being cooperative again.
At any rate, if you'd like to exchange blog links, just let me know and I will be glad to add you to my readers list, once the thing is working properly again.
Books: The Hornet's Next
The Hornet's Next
By Jimmy Carter (yes, the president)
Copyright 2003
Read by Edward Herrmann
Abridged
This historical fiction was a surprise. When I picked it up at the library, my first thought was "how bad is THIS going to be."
I enjoyed listening to it. The reader did a good job. And while the book was short on character and long on events and read a lot like a history book, it was an entertaining account of the American Revolution as it took place in Georgia and the Carolinas.
The book follows characters from both sides; neither are treated with kid gloves or favoritism.
I understand some of the characters are based on Carter's ancestors.
3 stars
By Jimmy Carter (yes, the president)
Copyright 2003
Read by Edward Herrmann
Abridged
This historical fiction was a surprise. When I picked it up at the library, my first thought was "how bad is THIS going to be."
I enjoyed listening to it. The reader did a good job. And while the book was short on character and long on events and read a lot like a history book, it was an entertaining account of the American Revolution as it took place in Georgia and the Carolinas.
The book follows characters from both sides; neither are treated with kid gloves or favoritism.
I understand some of the characters are based on Carter's ancestors.
3 stars
Friday, February 22, 2008
Thanks, June
June over at Spatter last week gave my blog an excellence award, for which I am very thankful.
I am just now acknowledging it because I have been incredibly busy with work. I managed a few blog entries lately because of time constraints, but my mind was full of things I wanted to write.
Finally, I began making a list of potential blog entries, because I couldn't find the time to write the entries.
Today was the first day I've had a chance to visit my blog friends and try to catch up. I missed my near-daily visits to see some of you!
Anyway, I will pass on this honor to Jeff, Ms. E., Kitty at AROO and Becky at Peevish Pen. There are others I read who are worthy; June already tagged many of the blogs I take peeks at and I like to spread the love.
Primary Opinions
Last week when I went to vote in Virginia's primary elections, I could not help but wonder what my mother would have thought of Hillary Clinton's run for the presidency.
While I see it as a historic and momentous time in the history of women, a history that shows how little women matter (even today) simply because of the lack of women in the annals of time, I think my mother would see something else.
My mother was not a "wimmin's libber" and was disdainful of those who fought to progress the status of women. This in spite of the fact that my mother left home every day at 7:15 a.m. and returned around 6 p.m.
She worked for a Salem manufacturing company. She took her first and only job when she was 16.
She was a file clerk.
Mom was one of two women who worked in the company for a long time; the other was an executive secretary. She started out part time. She was working there on the day I was born.
I am not sure when she went full time, but I think it was before I started school. At some point they hired a third woman to work in the office.
Over the years my mother complained bitterly about her job, about the lack of respect that she had from the men in the office, about the lack of respect she had from my father, about her inability to move upward or even out of the place she found herself.
When I was teenager I remember her talking about an opening for a purchaser. She said she could do the job with her eyes shut. I asked her if she had applied for it. "I'm there. They should know to ask me," she snapped.
It was no surprise to me when my mother died at the age of 56, after having been retired for six years, that the information her estate received on an insurance policy still listed her job title as "file clerk." She never once asserted herself in the 34 years she worked there.
But it may be, also, that she couldn't, working as she did in a world where men ruled and women were belittled. I prefer to think she fought hard for promotions, for upward movement, for equality, even though I am pretty sure she didn't.
I tried to remember what my mother may have said when Geraldine Ferraro ran for the office of vice president when Walter Mondale ran against Reagan in 1984. I remember being thrilled by the idea; in my head I hear my mother snarling expletives at the very idea that a woman might aspire to the second-highest office in the land. I might be imagining that, though.
When I was in my early 20s, I did not understand the women's liberation movement. I did not comprehend how bad it is for women, what a glass ceiling was, why it mattered. I had not thought it through.
I am older now. Now I know that woman are routinely discriminated against, routinely put down, routinely belittled and beaten and treated like animals or small children who don't know any better.
The misogyny that has been in the media during Clinton's run for office has been the stuff of horror. It reads like the 1920s, not the year 2008. Hillary sheds a tear and its national news, debated ad nauseum as if crying is some kind of national horror. (Click here to read the February 5 blog entry of my friend Chris on this topic. Also go read AROO for more on the same vein.)
The national horror is the way the media is treating this campaign. The national horror is the lack of debate and the lack of acknowledgement of the true status of women in this country. The national horror is the way women accept, as if it is their due, their second-rate status in a land that is supposed to be leading the way for freedom for all.
My mother, alas, would probably not agree.
While I see it as a historic and momentous time in the history of women, a history that shows how little women matter (even today) simply because of the lack of women in the annals of time, I think my mother would see something else.
My mother was not a "wimmin's libber" and was disdainful of those who fought to progress the status of women. This in spite of the fact that my mother left home every day at 7:15 a.m. and returned around 6 p.m.
She worked for a Salem manufacturing company. She took her first and only job when she was 16.
She was a file clerk.
Mom was one of two women who worked in the company for a long time; the other was an executive secretary. She started out part time. She was working there on the day I was born.
I am not sure when she went full time, but I think it was before I started school. At some point they hired a third woman to work in the office.
Over the years my mother complained bitterly about her job, about the lack of respect that she had from the men in the office, about the lack of respect she had from my father, about her inability to move upward or even out of the place she found herself.
When I was teenager I remember her talking about an opening for a purchaser. She said she could do the job with her eyes shut. I asked her if she had applied for it. "I'm there. They should know to ask me," she snapped.
It was no surprise to me when my mother died at the age of 56, after having been retired for six years, that the information her estate received on an insurance policy still listed her job title as "file clerk." She never once asserted herself in the 34 years she worked there.
But it may be, also, that she couldn't, working as she did in a world where men ruled and women were belittled. I prefer to think she fought hard for promotions, for upward movement, for equality, even though I am pretty sure she didn't.
I tried to remember what my mother may have said when Geraldine Ferraro ran for the office of vice president when Walter Mondale ran against Reagan in 1984. I remember being thrilled by the idea; in my head I hear my mother snarling expletives at the very idea that a woman might aspire to the second-highest office in the land. I might be imagining that, though.
When I was in my early 20s, I did not understand the women's liberation movement. I did not comprehend how bad it is for women, what a glass ceiling was, why it mattered. I had not thought it through.
I am older now. Now I know that woman are routinely discriminated against, routinely put down, routinely belittled and beaten and treated like animals or small children who don't know any better.
The misogyny that has been in the media during Clinton's run for office has been the stuff of horror. It reads like the 1920s, not the year 2008. Hillary sheds a tear and its national news, debated ad nauseum as if crying is some kind of national horror. (Click here to read the February 5 blog entry of my friend Chris on this topic. Also go read AROO for more on the same vein.)
The national horror is the way the media is treating this campaign. The national horror is the lack of debate and the lack of acknowledgement of the true status of women in this country. The national horror is the way women accept, as if it is their due, their second-rate status in a land that is supposed to be leading the way for freedom for all.
My mother, alas, would probably not agree.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Total Eclipse of the Moon
Last night was a total eclipse of the moon. I understand there will not be another until 2010.
I thought with the cloud cover that all would be lost, but just after the event began, things began looking up.
I put my Nikon D40 on a tripod and then, not knowing exactly what I was doing (moon pictures have always eluded me), I snapped a few pictures, changed the settings, snapped again.
I didn't get shots that were worthy of hanging on the wall, but I had a good time.
After the shadow was about halfway across the moon's face, the clouds rolled back in and I saw no more of the eclipse.
This morning I saw the moon sitting fat on the horizon, so I grabbed my camera, which was still on the tripod, and hustled out to the front porch in my nightgown and robe.
P.S. There are some really nice shots of the eclipse and the moon at CastleRuins, a new blog I found today from June's blog, Spatter.
I thought with the cloud cover that all would be lost, but just after the event began, things began looking up.
I put my Nikon D40 on a tripod and then, not knowing exactly what I was doing (moon pictures have always eluded me), I snapped a few pictures, changed the settings, snapped again.
I didn't get shots that were worthy of hanging on the wall, but I had a good time.
After the shadow was about halfway across the moon's face, the clouds rolled back in and I saw no more of the eclipse.
This morning I saw the moon sitting fat on the horizon, so I grabbed my camera, which was still on the tripod, and hustled out to the front porch in my nightgown and robe.
P.S. There are some really nice shots of the eclipse and the moon at CastleRuins, a new blog I found today from June's blog, Spatter.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Guitar Guy
Sunday we visited my sister-in-law and checked on the nephew. He had surgery in January and we've been keeping tabs on him.
E. turned 17 at the end of last month. He is 6' 4" tall, weighs 175 pounds, and wears size 16 shoes. He plays sports and his surgery cost him the baseball season this year. He is a high school junior.
He is also a very polite young man who says, "Yes ma'am" to me and always has. He is courteous and holds open doors and kisses me hello and goodbye.
I relate to him and his younger brother via video games, moreso than anyone else in the family, because I have always been the only one with any computer knowledge. I also am the only adult who plays video games with any regularity. I have been playing video games since the days of "Pong" but that is another blog entry.
Sunday E. showed off his new Guitar Hero III, complete with the guitar-shaped control. His mother said he'd been playing a lot - I watched as he blazed through an Aerosmith song with relative ease. He was equally good using the normal controller, too. It was rather amazing to watch because this young man has fingers that are as long as my entire hand.
He would have been some pianoist.
But he has never had an interest in music, only sports.
He showed me how to use the guitar controller and set me to "playing" on "Slow Ride" and the "Hit Me With Your Best Shot." In just two songs I went from hitting about 60 percent of the notes to 92 percent; a few hours and I'd have been decent at the game I suppose.
"I wonder which is harder, this or playing a real guitar," E commented as he watched me.
"A real guitar," I replied, without even thinking about it. I began playing the guitar when I was 11. I spent hours practicing on it, playing until my fingers ached. Sometimes they even bled.
"I wish there were more songs, this is sort of limited," E later said, after I'd played my two songs and handed him back the controller.
"If you put the time into learning to play a real guitar instead of this game, you'd be unlimited. There is no end to music when you are the one making it, not dependent on someone else to do it," I replied.
He just looked at me funny. And then this good boy, who is being invited by Princeton and Yale to submit college applications, smiled indulgently at the crazy aunt and went back to his video game.
E. turned 17 at the end of last month. He is 6' 4" tall, weighs 175 pounds, and wears size 16 shoes. He plays sports and his surgery cost him the baseball season this year. He is a high school junior.
He is also a very polite young man who says, "Yes ma'am" to me and always has. He is courteous and holds open doors and kisses me hello and goodbye.
I relate to him and his younger brother via video games, moreso than anyone else in the family, because I have always been the only one with any computer knowledge. I also am the only adult who plays video games with any regularity. I have been playing video games since the days of "Pong" but that is another blog entry.
Sunday E. showed off his new Guitar Hero III, complete with the guitar-shaped control. His mother said he'd been playing a lot - I watched as he blazed through an Aerosmith song with relative ease. He was equally good using the normal controller, too. It was rather amazing to watch because this young man has fingers that are as long as my entire hand.
He would have been some pianoist.
But he has never had an interest in music, only sports.
He showed me how to use the guitar controller and set me to "playing" on "Slow Ride" and the "Hit Me With Your Best Shot." In just two songs I went from hitting about 60 percent of the notes to 92 percent; a few hours and I'd have been decent at the game I suppose.
"I wonder which is harder, this or playing a real guitar," E commented as he watched me.
"A real guitar," I replied, without even thinking about it. I began playing the guitar when I was 11. I spent hours practicing on it, playing until my fingers ached. Sometimes they even bled.
"I wish there were more songs, this is sort of limited," E later said, after I'd played my two songs and handed him back the controller.
"If you put the time into learning to play a real guitar instead of this game, you'd be unlimited. There is no end to music when you are the one making it, not dependent on someone else to do it," I replied.
He just looked at me funny. And then this good boy, who is being invited by Princeton and Yale to submit college applications, smiled indulgently at the crazy aunt and went back to his video game.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
For the Locals
Here's something to do in March: go to the Green Valley Book Fair.
These are remainder books, and many of them. The book fair is north of Staunton. Be prepared to spend the day. And your money.
Since you're up that way, drive a little further north to the Dayton Farmer's Market. This is an Amish market full of lots of goodies - sitty around stuff, candy, fresh meats, all kinds of things. Definitely worth checking out while you're there.
If you're coming from Roanoke, either on the way up or on the way back, check out The Cheese Shop in Stuarts Draft (some of these goodies are available at the Dayton Farmer's Market, too). I go here to buy some of the best cinnamon you've ever tasted, along with other spices. The prices are unbeatable.
I plan to make this trip in either March or May. Enjoy!
These are remainder books, and many of them. The book fair is north of Staunton. Be prepared to spend the day. And your money.
Since you're up that way, drive a little further north to the Dayton Farmer's Market. This is an Amish market full of lots of goodies - sitty around stuff, candy, fresh meats, all kinds of things. Definitely worth checking out while you're there.
If you're coming from Roanoke, either on the way up or on the way back, check out The Cheese Shop in Stuarts Draft (some of these goodies are available at the Dayton Farmer's Market, too). I go here to buy some of the best cinnamon you've ever tasted, along with other spices. The prices are unbeatable.
I plan to make this trip in either March or May. Enjoy!
Saturday, February 16, 2008
TV: Celine Dion
Last night I went to bed with a book and the TV on for background noise, like I generally do when my husband is working.
CBS had a special - Celine Dion. I like her music but own none of her work.
From the first song, the book soon lay forgotten beside me. I had no idea Celine Dion was such a compelling performer. I was impressed.
What I liked about it was she was so personable and comfortable on the stage. It was like watching an old friend. I really enjoyed her song with Will. I. Am; I thought that was exceptional, and her rendition of the Beatle's "Something" with Joe Walsh was extraordinary.
The hour went by very quickly. We need more shows like this, and less reality TV.
CBS had a special - Celine Dion. I like her music but own none of her work.
From the first song, the book soon lay forgotten beside me. I had no idea Celine Dion was such a compelling performer. I was impressed.
What I liked about it was she was so personable and comfortable on the stage. It was like watching an old friend. I really enjoyed her song with Will. I. Am; I thought that was exceptional, and her rendition of the Beatle's "Something" with Joe Walsh was extraordinary.
The hour went by very quickly. We need more shows like this, and less reality TV.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Valentine's 13
I could do 13 reasons why I love my husband, but I have several entries about why I love him. Today I thought I'd celebrate my friends.
So, 13 reasons why I love my friends (not necessarily in order of importance)...
1. They enrich my life. They do this by making me think, my making me love, by making me care.
2. They make me laugh. Laughter is really the best way to spend an hour, I have to say. I love making my friends laugh, too. What can be better than bringing a little fun into someone's heart?
3. They hear me out. When you've got a problem or a worry, then it's friends to the rescue. Your husband can only listen to it so much, after all.
4. Who else would I eat lunch with?
5. They give me their honest opinions. Thankfully, if I am messing up big time, they care enough to tell me. When my friends say, "You'd better stop and think about that," I try to heed that as the warning it is.
6. They give good advice. From what doctor to see to what I should do about a specific incident, I can count on hearing good words from my friends.
7. They will sit with me when I cry. My friends will not leave me to drown in my own tears. Thankfully I don't have to ask them to pull me from the waters very often.
8. They make me feel needed. I am always happy to help out if a friend needs a hand. Usually I just listen or sit with them if they cry (which again does not happen very often). I think it is very necessary for someone to feel needed in a relationship, to feel like they're giving back. I mean, isn't that point?
9. They give good hugs. There are few things as warming as the hug of a good friend. Hugs are about the best things ever.
10. They are patient with me. I know I have whined about the same thing a thousand times. And every time they listen.
11. My friends don't need explanations. If I do something really stupid, they simply accept it for what it is, and we move on.
12. My friends honor me by letting me be their friend and granting me time in their lives. Their time for me is indeed a most valuable gift.
13. Here are some quotes about friendship:
Friendship make prosperity more shining and lessens adversity by dividing and sharing it.
Cicero (106 BC - 43 BC), On Friendship, 44 B.C.
A true friend is the greatest of all blessings, and that which we take the least care of all to acquire.
Francois de La Rochefoucauld (1613 - 1680)
Anybody can sympathise with the sufferings of a friend, but it requires a very fine nature to sympathise with a friend's success.
Oscar Wilde (1854 - 1900), The Soul of Man under Socialism (1881)
The holy passion of Friendship is of so sweet and steady and loyal and enduring a nature that it will last through a whole lifetime, if not asked to lend money.
Mark Twain (1835 - 1910), Pudd'nhead Wilson
The only thing that lasts longer than a friend's love is the stupidity that keeps us from knowing any better.
Randy K. Milholland, Something Positive Comic, 09-07-06
Consult your friend on all things, especially on those which respect yourself. His counsel may then be useful where your own self-love might impair your judgment.
Seneca (5 BC - 65 AD)
So, 13 reasons why I love my friends (not necessarily in order of importance)...
1. They enrich my life. They do this by making me think, my making me love, by making me care.
2. They make me laugh. Laughter is really the best way to spend an hour, I have to say. I love making my friends laugh, too. What can be better than bringing a little fun into someone's heart?
3. They hear me out. When you've got a problem or a worry, then it's friends to the rescue. Your husband can only listen to it so much, after all.
4. Who else would I eat lunch with?
5. They give me their honest opinions. Thankfully, if I am messing up big time, they care enough to tell me. When my friends say, "You'd better stop and think about that," I try to heed that as the warning it is.
6. They give good advice. From what doctor to see to what I should do about a specific incident, I can count on hearing good words from my friends.
7. They will sit with me when I cry. My friends will not leave me to drown in my own tears. Thankfully I don't have to ask them to pull me from the waters very often.
8. They make me feel needed. I am always happy to help out if a friend needs a hand. Usually I just listen or sit with them if they cry (which again does not happen very often). I think it is very necessary for someone to feel needed in a relationship, to feel like they're giving back. I mean, isn't that point?
9. They give good hugs. There are few things as warming as the hug of a good friend. Hugs are about the best things ever.
10. They are patient with me. I know I have whined about the same thing a thousand times. And every time they listen.
11. My friends don't need explanations. If I do something really stupid, they simply accept it for what it is, and we move on.
12. My friends honor me by letting me be their friend and granting me time in their lives. Their time for me is indeed a most valuable gift.
13. Here are some quotes about friendship:
Friendship make prosperity more shining and lessens adversity by dividing and sharing it.
Cicero (106 BC - 43 BC), On Friendship, 44 B.C.
A true friend is the greatest of all blessings, and that which we take the least care of all to acquire.
Francois de La Rochefoucauld (1613 - 1680)
Anybody can sympathise with the sufferings of a friend, but it requires a very fine nature to sympathise with a friend's success.
Oscar Wilde (1854 - 1900), The Soul of Man under Socialism (1881)
The holy passion of Friendship is of so sweet and steady and loyal and enduring a nature that it will last through a whole lifetime, if not asked to lend money.
Mark Twain (1835 - 1910), Pudd'nhead Wilson
The only thing that lasts longer than a friend's love is the stupidity that keeps us from knowing any better.
Randy K. Milholland, Something Positive Comic, 09-07-06
Consult your friend on all things, especially on those which respect yourself. His counsel may then be useful where your own self-love might impair your judgment.
Seneca (5 BC - 65 AD)
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Seated Dancer
Seated Dancer
(From: "Seated Dancer" charcoal & pastel on paper by Edgar Degas, late 1870's.)
Something about her hand
highlights her defiance.
This woman sits with pale orange arms,
smiles cool while green shadowed
ghosts of confusion
skirt disproportional eyes
painted seductively dark.
Her fault, the performance.
Though she uses her body proudly
her reactions are over-rehearsed.
A quivering voice forces
nervous naysayers to leave
her arena not knowing
her finish met great applause.
Her box of jewels enthralls her
improperly conceals sweltering ice
and her sunglasses make light
much harder to see.
She'd had jewels, had rights,
knew where to stop at a just agreement
but surprise, her gambling,
compulsive as granite clinging
to ground, systematically
sought the unfamiliar.
Leads on wealth added costs
to fame, warmed her desire
for dollars and dimes.
Once the city thought her cold
ignored her foggy looks, the miles riding
and days in boats when the time was right.
What words in print describe
jukebox joints, an annual stop
in her only routine?
With taxes to pay, brandy, a cold river,
bring welcome relief.
Angels on pins
greet her with true
quotes, explain
that however wronged she feels
she still reached the wrong finale.
Note: This poem was written about 10 years ago.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
When the Mountains Burn
View of a forest fire in Craig County, as seen from my front yard. Photo taken about 6:30 p.m. with a Nikon D40.
Windstorm
I have never seen such wind. I understand there are downed trees every where, lots of power outages. Worst of all, there are forest fires.
The wind is gusting at 60 mph and is expected to last into early tomorrow morning.
We have fence down, but that is nothing in the big picture. One of our neighbors has lost half of his roof - and his house is brand new!
My brother is without power and has been told he will be for DAYS.
Above: Leaves dance across the grass, moving faster than a cheetah.
Above: This is what my view of oak trees looked like yesterday morning.
Above: This is what it looked like at 3 p.m. Note the new addition of cedar where there used to be only grass...
Above: My little well house that covers my well pump has been blown over.
Above: Smoke rises from a forest fire out my front window. I believe that to be in Craig County.
The wind is gusting at 60 mph and is expected to last into early tomorrow morning.
We have fence down, but that is nothing in the big picture. One of our neighbors has lost half of his roof - and his house is brand new!
My brother is without power and has been told he will be for DAYS.
Above: Leaves dance across the grass, moving faster than a cheetah.
Above: This is what my view of oak trees looked like yesterday morning.
Above: This is what it looked like at 3 p.m. Note the new addition of cedar where there used to be only grass...
Above: My little well house that covers my well pump has been blown over.
Above: Smoke rises from a forest fire out my front window. I believe that to be in Craig County.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
Books: The Vineyard
The Vineyard
By Barbara Delinsky
Copyright 2000
Audiobook
Abridged
Read by Lauren Mufson
This is the story of Olivia Jones, only it starts out as the story of Natalie Seebring. If I had one quarrel with this, it is the point of view. The story would have been just fine if it had stayed with Olivia instead of hopping around at the beginning. It stayed with Olivia through most of the rest of the book, though it occasionally broke into omniscient point of view.
Anyway, Olivia repairs old photos for a living. She had a rough childhood. She has a daughter, Tess, who has dyslexia. She falls for the Seebring family via old photos she is restoring. When Natalie Seebring decides she wants to write a memoir, Olivia takes the job and moves to the vineyard in Rhode Island.
Natalie is 76 and is marrying a second time to 80-year-old Carl, the former manager of the vineyard. Her two children disapprove; hence, the memoir. We learn about Natalie's upbringing and life in snippets; we learn a lot of Olivia's heartbreaks and then watch her fall in love with Simon, the current vineyard manager and Carl's son.
No mystery, really, just good sentences telling a nice story. A nice little romance.
2.5 stars
By Barbara Delinsky
Copyright 2000
Audiobook
Abridged
Read by Lauren Mufson
This is the story of Olivia Jones, only it starts out as the story of Natalie Seebring. If I had one quarrel with this, it is the point of view. The story would have been just fine if it had stayed with Olivia instead of hopping around at the beginning. It stayed with Olivia through most of the rest of the book, though it occasionally broke into omniscient point of view.
Anyway, Olivia repairs old photos for a living. She had a rough childhood. She has a daughter, Tess, who has dyslexia. She falls for the Seebring family via old photos she is restoring. When Natalie Seebring decides she wants to write a memoir, Olivia takes the job and moves to the vineyard in Rhode Island.
Natalie is 76 and is marrying a second time to 80-year-old Carl, the former manager of the vineyard. Her two children disapprove; hence, the memoir. We learn about Natalie's upbringing and life in snippets; we learn a lot of Olivia's heartbreaks and then watch her fall in love with Simon, the current vineyard manager and Carl's son.
No mystery, really, just good sentences telling a nice story. A nice little romance.
2.5 stars
Friday, February 08, 2008
Books: Pen Pals
Pen Pals
By Olivia Goldsmith
Read by Joyce Bean
Abridged
Martha Stewart goes to jail. Well, not really. Jennifer, a major player on Wall Street, goes to jail for insider trading that she didn't do - she is taking the fall for the firm.
She was supposed to get off with a slap on the wrist but instead pulled jail time.
The jail is going private. Jennifer gets wind of it and manages to end up owning the company that now runs the jail.
Lots of interesting characters. The book is told in multiple points of view, mostly via the warden and numerous prisoners.
3 stars
By Olivia Goldsmith
Read by Joyce Bean
Abridged
Martha Stewart goes to jail. Well, not really. Jennifer, a major player on Wall Street, goes to jail for insider trading that she didn't do - she is taking the fall for the firm.
She was supposed to get off with a slap on the wrist but instead pulled jail time.
The jail is going private. Jennifer gets wind of it and manages to end up owning the company that now runs the jail.
Lots of interesting characters. The book is told in multiple points of view, mostly via the warden and numerous prisoners.
3 stars
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Thursday Thirteen
1. Time slips away.
2. When I get up every morning, I have a cup of tea. I put the microwave on for 2 minutes, 15 seconds, to heat the water.
3. In that short time, I can empty and load the dishwasher.
4. Or I can put on my shoes and socks.
5. It seems to me that those two activities should not take the same amount of time, but they do. Emptying the dishwasher sounds like it should take 5 or 10 minutes.
6. It takes me 4 minutes to get in my car and drive to the end of my (very long) driveway for the mail.
7. In 4 minutes I can have a microwave dinner ready if I'm eating something I really should not be eating.
8. It takes me 20 minutes to walk what I can drive in 4. That's because I have to stop halfway up the hill and rest.
9. Some days I can write an entire article in a half hour.
10. Yesterday I spend all day trying to write an article and accomplished next to nothing. Not even the first sentence (which is always the hardest).
11. I have a clock with an alligator face on it above my desk; my closest friend gave it to me for Christmas one year. It actually goes "tick tock."
12. I also have the clock on the computer, a watch on my wrist, two clocks in the bedroom, and five in the kitchen (if you count the clocks on the microwave and stove).
13. Time really is relative, fleeting and all the other stuff people say about it. Mostly there just isn't enough of it.
2. When I get up every morning, I have a cup of tea. I put the microwave on for 2 minutes, 15 seconds, to heat the water.
3. In that short time, I can empty and load the dishwasher.
4. Or I can put on my shoes and socks.
5. It seems to me that those two activities should not take the same amount of time, but they do. Emptying the dishwasher sounds like it should take 5 or 10 minutes.
6. It takes me 4 minutes to get in my car and drive to the end of my (very long) driveway for the mail.
7. In 4 minutes I can have a microwave dinner ready if I'm eating something I really should not be eating.
8. It takes me 20 minutes to walk what I can drive in 4. That's because I have to stop halfway up the hill and rest.
9. Some days I can write an entire article in a half hour.
10. Yesterday I spend all day trying to write an article and accomplished next to nothing. Not even the first sentence (which is always the hardest).
11. I have a clock with an alligator face on it above my desk; my closest friend gave it to me for Christmas one year. It actually goes "tick tock."
12. I also have the clock on the computer, a watch on my wrist, two clocks in the bedroom, and five in the kitchen (if you count the clocks on the microwave and stove).
13. Time really is relative, fleeting and all the other stuff people say about it. Mostly there just isn't enough of it.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
The Funnies
I learned to read when I was three years old.
My parents used to tell me this, and my earliest memories of books and stories indicate I was quite young indeed. I remember my uncle, who was five years older, telling me I could not read. I may have been four or five.
You just memorized the book, he declared. I challenged him to bring me something I had never read. He brought home The Cat in the Hat from his school library. I sat and read it to him.
No one questioned my ability to read from that day on.
Long before I started elementary school, I was reading the Roanoke Times. I started with the comics. I remember sitting on my grandmother's lap and sounding out the words as I read Blondie, Snuffy Smith, and Prince Valiant. Yes, I have been reading Prince Valiant for as long as I can remember. I still read it every Sunday.
I don't know how much I actually comprehended, but I must have enjoyed it. I still do. I have missed maybe 30 days of comic-reading in my lifetime.
Before I was 9, I was reading comic books. My grandfather, who lived in Salem, would pay the four of us (my two young uncles and my brother and me) to help him mow the lawn, and every Saturday we'd trek to the Orange Market for a soda, a candy bar, and a comic book, all of which cost about 50 cents (or less).
I was a Marvel Comics reader and I devoured Daredevil, the Fantastic Four, The Black Widow, Spiderman, and Captain America. I read DC Comics, too, but with not as much gusto. In DC Comics I read mostly Wonder Woman, Batman and Justice League comics.
I also read Richie Rich occasionally. He was not a favorite but I'd read him when I was bored.
We tossed our comics into a huge box (it once contained a washing machine, I think) in my grandparent's basement. We must have had thousands of them, because the four of us bought different comics every week and swapped them around. The box went out in the flood waters of 1972 or 1979; I'm not sure which year. It was a small fortune in paper at that time.
I do not read comic books anymore, although I went through a spell of reading them about eight years ago. But I'd been away from them for so long I found it hard to rekindle my interest in those characters.
I still read the comic strips in the newpaper every day. I turn to them every morning before redirecting my attention to the rest of the paper. I don't read every strip - I always try a new comic for several months but if it doesn't grow on me, I stop reading it. Presently there are four of the daily comic strips being printed in The Times that I do not read.
Funky Winkerbean has long been a staple. This comic has undergone several transformations, the most recent last fall. The characters have aged 20 years now.
I am having trouble figuring out who is who in this new version of FW. I don't look forward to this comic strip like I once did. I may have to stop reading it even though I've read it for at least 20 years (or however long it's been carried by the paper).
Things change, I guess. Maybe I've grown older too and that's why Funky Winkerbean no longer makes me smile.
My parents used to tell me this, and my earliest memories of books and stories indicate I was quite young indeed. I remember my uncle, who was five years older, telling me I could not read. I may have been four or five.
You just memorized the book, he declared. I challenged him to bring me something I had never read. He brought home The Cat in the Hat from his school library. I sat and read it to him.
No one questioned my ability to read from that day on.
Long before I started elementary school, I was reading the Roanoke Times. I started with the comics. I remember sitting on my grandmother's lap and sounding out the words as I read Blondie, Snuffy Smith, and Prince Valiant. Yes, I have been reading Prince Valiant for as long as I can remember. I still read it every Sunday.
I don't know how much I actually comprehended, but I must have enjoyed it. I still do. I have missed maybe 30 days of comic-reading in my lifetime.
Before I was 9, I was reading comic books. My grandfather, who lived in Salem, would pay the four of us (my two young uncles and my brother and me) to help him mow the lawn, and every Saturday we'd trek to the Orange Market for a soda, a candy bar, and a comic book, all of which cost about 50 cents (or less).
I was a Marvel Comics reader and I devoured Daredevil, the Fantastic Four, The Black Widow, Spiderman, and Captain America. I read DC Comics, too, but with not as much gusto. In DC Comics I read mostly Wonder Woman, Batman and Justice League comics.
I also read Richie Rich occasionally. He was not a favorite but I'd read him when I was bored.
We tossed our comics into a huge box (it once contained a washing machine, I think) in my grandparent's basement. We must have had thousands of them, because the four of us bought different comics every week and swapped them around. The box went out in the flood waters of 1972 or 1979; I'm not sure which year. It was a small fortune in paper at that time.
I do not read comic books anymore, although I went through a spell of reading them about eight years ago. But I'd been away from them for so long I found it hard to rekindle my interest in those characters.
I still read the comic strips in the newpaper every day. I turn to them every morning before redirecting my attention to the rest of the paper. I don't read every strip - I always try a new comic for several months but if it doesn't grow on me, I stop reading it. Presently there are four of the daily comic strips being printed in The Times that I do not read.
Funky Winkerbean has long been a staple. This comic has undergone several transformations, the most recent last fall. The characters have aged 20 years now.
I am having trouble figuring out who is who in this new version of FW. I don't look forward to this comic strip like I once did. I may have to stop reading it even though I've read it for at least 20 years (or however long it's been carried by the paper).
Things change, I guess. Maybe I've grown older too and that's why Funky Winkerbean no longer makes me smile.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
The Hill
Last week I drove to a dirt road that I once traveled on every day by bus. I had not been on this particular road in more than 25 years.
During my travels as a child on the bus, this particular stretch of what was then an hour and a half ride brought me joy. This was because my dinosaur lived down this way.
The dinosaur was a fallen log trapped in a fence beside the road, and to my mind it looked like a dinosaur. The monster greeted me up until about the seventh grade, when my imagination failed and I couldn't find him anymore.
The last time I traveled this road was in 1983; my husband and I parked at the dead end one night for a long chat about our pending nuptials.
The road is no longer dirt; it's been hard surfaced. Houses have sprung up along the road, decapitating what used to be farmland.
There certainly was no dinosaur. Just a lot of houses.
I came to the dead end, which was at the foot of a steep hill. My destination was the house beyond. I drove a long way on a gravel driveway, winding around and then up and up a rather stiffly inclined path.
I rounded the corner to the house and the view opened up. The first thing I saw to my left was this:
To the casual observer it's a mountain with a grassy spot.
To me, it was the place I grew up. Yes, I rounded the corner and there was one of the fields my father owns. If you look closely you'll see the corner of the house he built in 1976 nestled in the woods.
I had never seen the hill from that angle, but I knew exactly where that grassy spot was. I confirmed it with the homeowner when I gestured toward the view and nonchalantly asked if that field wasn't over on a particular road.
This is the field where my brother and I played. We chased cows, picked wild strawberries, ran up and down like wild things until we collapsed panting in chairs on the back deck. I once lay alone on top of that hill and watched the sky all night, waiting for shooting stars.
I have not been back since July 2000. My mother died a month later.
My father and I have been estranged since that time. I do not regret it. But sometimes it is a steep hill to climb.
During my travels as a child on the bus, this particular stretch of what was then an hour and a half ride brought me joy. This was because my dinosaur lived down this way.
The dinosaur was a fallen log trapped in a fence beside the road, and to my mind it looked like a dinosaur. The monster greeted me up until about the seventh grade, when my imagination failed and I couldn't find him anymore.
The last time I traveled this road was in 1983; my husband and I parked at the dead end one night for a long chat about our pending nuptials.
The road is no longer dirt; it's been hard surfaced. Houses have sprung up along the road, decapitating what used to be farmland.
There certainly was no dinosaur. Just a lot of houses.
I came to the dead end, which was at the foot of a steep hill. My destination was the house beyond. I drove a long way on a gravel driveway, winding around and then up and up a rather stiffly inclined path.
I rounded the corner to the house and the view opened up. The first thing I saw to my left was this:
To the casual observer it's a mountain with a grassy spot.
To me, it was the place I grew up. Yes, I rounded the corner and there was one of the fields my father owns. If you look closely you'll see the corner of the house he built in 1976 nestled in the woods.
I had never seen the hill from that angle, but I knew exactly where that grassy spot was. I confirmed it with the homeowner when I gestured toward the view and nonchalantly asked if that field wasn't over on a particular road.
This is the field where my brother and I played. We chased cows, picked wild strawberries, ran up and down like wild things until we collapsed panting in chairs on the back deck. I once lay alone on top of that hill and watched the sky all night, waiting for shooting stars.
I have not been back since July 2000. My mother died a month later.
My father and I have been estranged since that time. I do not regret it. But sometimes it is a steep hill to climb.
Monday, February 04, 2008
Changing of the Guard
After you've watched out a certain window for as long as I have, you eventually begin to notice patterns.
Turkeys, for instance, only visit the oak trees when it is going to rain or has rained. I have no idea why.
So they came this afternoon.
Deer are out at all hours; it's a myth that they only eat at night. If they are hungry they will eat in the middle of the day.
They will even join the turkeys and not shy away when the flash on the camera accidentally goes off.
The deer is my birth totem; I relate well to the curious and shy creature. They are keen observers; they see me long before I think they should.
Turkeys? Do I relate to them? Not so much in my youth but now that I am older, maybe a little wiser, I think I relate better. Turkeys relate to the Mother Earth, the third eye, the harvest and to sacrifice. I used to never see turkeys; now I see them all the time. I think there is a message there for me in that.
Maybe I am a mix? My shadow self, my older self exhibiting perhaps the strength and abilities of the turkey, without sacrificing the courage and gentleness of the deer?
Turkeys, for instance, only visit the oak trees when it is going to rain or has rained. I have no idea why.
So they came this afternoon.
Deer are out at all hours; it's a myth that they only eat at night. If they are hungry they will eat in the middle of the day.
They will even join the turkeys and not shy away when the flash on the camera accidentally goes off.
The deer is my birth totem; I relate well to the curious and shy creature. They are keen observers; they see me long before I think they should.
Turkeys? Do I relate to them? Not so much in my youth but now that I am older, maybe a little wiser, I think I relate better. Turkeys relate to the Mother Earth, the third eye, the harvest and to sacrifice. I used to never see turkeys; now I see them all the time. I think there is a message there for me in that.
Maybe I am a mix? My shadow self, my older self exhibiting perhaps the strength and abilities of the turkey, without sacrificing the courage and gentleness of the deer?
Saturday, February 02, 2008
Too Much Stuff
I want to direct you to The Story of Stuff. This is a 20 minute film about ... all the junk we acquire.
It's about all of the stuff you have around you. It's about my computer and your chair and the books I read. It's about your house and my clothes and the cars we drive.
We have too much stuff, I think. I have spent a bit of time in recent years attempting to rid myself of some of the stuff I have thoughtlessly accumulated. Most of it I was sorry I bought; some of it I don't even know how I obtained. Or why, for that matter.
Stuff collects dirt, wastes money that might be put to better use, wastes time, energy, and resources. Sometimes I look at all the "sitty-around" stuff I have in my house and wonder why I need it. I really *don't* need to collect Department 56 figures and houses. Would my life be incomplete without that collection? Probably not.
I have no idea what resources are wasted in making such things. All of this stuff ... we can live without it. Can't we? If we're not careful one day we might have to.
You can read an article about The Story of Stuff and how it came to be here if you want.
Also, I had a bit of trouble with the video loading; I'm on a DSL connection. In case it takes a long time for you, too.
It's about all of the stuff you have around you. It's about my computer and your chair and the books I read. It's about your house and my clothes and the cars we drive.
We have too much stuff, I think. I have spent a bit of time in recent years attempting to rid myself of some of the stuff I have thoughtlessly accumulated. Most of it I was sorry I bought; some of it I don't even know how I obtained. Or why, for that matter.
Stuff collects dirt, wastes money that might be put to better use, wastes time, energy, and resources. Sometimes I look at all the "sitty-around" stuff I have in my house and wonder why I need it. I really *don't* need to collect Department 56 figures and houses. Would my life be incomplete without that collection? Probably not.
I have no idea what resources are wasted in making such things. All of this stuff ... we can live without it. Can't we? If we're not careful one day we might have to.
You can read an article about The Story of Stuff and how it came to be here if you want.
Also, I had a bit of trouble with the video loading; I'm on a DSL connection. In case it takes a long time for you, too.
Friday, February 01, 2008
After the Storm
About 3 p.m., sun broke out and sky turned blue.
Ice began to melt and fog danced across the hayfield.
I grabbed the camera. Amazingly it felt quite warm to me as I stood in my yard surrounded by ice. All around it sounded like a downpour as the water dripped from trees and pine needles.
The reflections were such that I could scarcely see. I raised the camera and started shooting, first into the fog, then into the sun, trying to hit the blue sky as the light danced a wiley jig across the frozen limbs of oak, pine and maple.
I am pretty sure that somewhere in that majesty, there were fairies.
Ice began to melt and fog danced across the hayfield.
I grabbed the camera. Amazingly it felt quite warm to me as I stood in my yard surrounded by ice. All around it sounded like a downpour as the water dripped from trees and pine needles.
The reflections were such that I could scarcely see. I raised the camera and started shooting, first into the fog, then into the sun, trying to hit the blue sky as the light danced a wiley jig across the frozen limbs of oak, pine and maple.
I am pretty sure that somewhere in that majesty, there were fairies.
Books: Child of the Prophecy
Child of the Prophecy
by Juliet Marillier
Copyright 2002
596 pages
I can't recall the last time a book brought tears to my eyes.
This one did.
This is the last book in a the Sevenwaters trilogy. The first was Daughter of the Forest; the second was Son of the Shadows.
This last book features Fainne, a lost daughter of Sevenwaters. Of the three heroines of these three books, I disliked Fainne the most. She did not have the will or the strength of character of the first two books.
Yet her redemption at the end was strong enough that when she received her "punishment" I was quite moved. She did not deserve what lay on those two pages, although the ending made it much more palatable.
It was a suitable and satisfactory ending to this series of books.
These books delve into Celtic lore; they are full of myth, magic and mystery. They are set in a time when humanity actually cared about the earth and understood how central the world was to the art of being human. Humans were of the earth and not separate from it, and I love this series for setting that out.
4 stars
by Juliet Marillier
Copyright 2002
596 pages
I can't recall the last time a book brought tears to my eyes.
This one did.
This is the last book in a the Sevenwaters trilogy. The first was Daughter of the Forest; the second was Son of the Shadows.
This last book features Fainne, a lost daughter of Sevenwaters. Of the three heroines of these three books, I disliked Fainne the most. She did not have the will or the strength of character of the first two books.
Yet her redemption at the end was strong enough that when she received her "punishment" I was quite moved. She did not deserve what lay on those two pages, although the ending made it much more palatable.
It was a suitable and satisfactory ending to this series of books.
These books delve into Celtic lore; they are full of myth, magic and mystery. They are set in a time when humanity actually cared about the earth and understood how central the world was to the art of being human. Humans were of the earth and not separate from it, and I love this series for setting that out.
4 stars
Ice Storm
As promised, I woke to ice and rain this morning. Fortunately yesterday I had enough sense to cancel several things I had scheduled today. I am not a drive-in-the-ice kind of girl anymore. I even have been too skittish to attempt to get the newspaper from the box. But then my driveway is about 1/4 mile long.
The above is my rose bush, taken with a flash in the wee hours. Note how green the branches are. I don't think the plant has ever really gone dormant for the season.
This is a cedar in my front yard. I took the photo from the front porch, where I was safe from the rain and falling icicles.
This is the tree in the back yard. The power has blinked only once so far. I am quite glad and a little amazed.
This is the forest out the back door. It is a very dreary day, with no sun bouncing off the ice diamonds to make things sparkling.
The above is my rose bush, taken with a flash in the wee hours. Note how green the branches are. I don't think the plant has ever really gone dormant for the season.
This is a cedar in my front yard. I took the photo from the front porch, where I was safe from the rain and falling icicles.
This is the tree in the back yard. The power has blinked only once so far. I am quite glad and a little amazed.
This is the forest out the back door. It is a very dreary day, with no sun bouncing off the ice diamonds to make things sparkling.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Love, Love Me Do
Colleen at Loose Leaf Notes tagged me for this meme. Hers is, as usual, very heartfelt and comforting. Check it out.
So here are some things I love and hate. I tried not to think about them too much.
I love to eat: chocolate. I love the creamy texture of it, the taste of it, and the way it makes me feel. I love it when it melts in my mouth and makes me tingle. A good chocolate bar on a bad day can cure pretty much anything. Chocolate makes me want to dance around the room with every bite.
I hate to eat: my fingers. I have always been a nail biter and it's a habit that I have managed to stop for a year. However, when I read I sometimes chew the skin around my nails. I do this unconsciously and am generally surprised by it.
I hate to go: to the city. Any time I have to drive into Roanoke I grow nervous. There is too much traffic, too much noise and too many people. I also am not a shopping fan, mostly, I think, for the same reasons. It's simply a much faster pace than the pace I live at, even if it is just 30 miles down the road.
I love to go: to the woods. Solitude, quiet, the whisper of the wind, the touch of the breeze, the dash of a deer, the chit of a squirrel. Is there anything at all to compare to sitting on a stump and watching an ant try to cart a leaf back to its hill? Can anything be better than watching ducks on the pond as they squawk and dive beneath water? Hearing a hawk scream as it catches a mouse? Smelling the earthy smell of loam and decay and new growth?
I love it when: my husband comes home from work. The house suddenly swells with the smell and sound of him. I hear his voice and melt all over. He grabs me in a huge hug; there is nowhere safer. He kisses me "hello" and "I missed you" and his eyes say, "I love you" and there we are, nearly 25 years later, still crazy in love.
I hate it when: my computer has hiccups, my car doesn't work, the can opener electric cord melts because it's too close to the toaster oven, the curling iron stays on instead of cutting off automatically, and the batteries die on my camera when I'm in the middle of taking the greatest shot in the world.
I love to see: blog comments in my e-mail and on my blog. It's like having a message on the answering machine - somebody was thinking of me. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy to know that someone was reading my work and cared enough to leave a note. Blogging has given me a whole new set of friends and acquaintances and I'm thankful for every one.
I hate to see: horror shows, movies full of blood and guts, and R (or X) -rated comedy. I am a P&Qs kind of girl - I like good clean fun, wholesome and hearty and at least slightly sanitized.
I love to hear: the telephone ring, a Melissa Etheridge or Sheryl Crow song on the radio, my husband's laughter, the silence of the forest, and my name on the lips of my closest friends.
I hate to hear: a forecast for strong winds. I don't mind cold and I don't mind heat, but I do mind wind. It tugs at your hair and gets in your ears and blows trash can lids across the field. A strong cold wind cuts straight into your bones, completely bypassing your skin, and you feel it all the way through. It also makes my ears hurt!
All done! Please leave a comment about what you love or don't love, if you're so inclined. If you do this meme, let me know and I'll drop by. I don't usually tag anyone, but I hope June, Ms. E., Jeff, or Becky will take a gander at this one if they like.
So here are some things I love and hate. I tried not to think about them too much.
I love to eat: chocolate. I love the creamy texture of it, the taste of it, and the way it makes me feel. I love it when it melts in my mouth and makes me tingle. A good chocolate bar on a bad day can cure pretty much anything. Chocolate makes me want to dance around the room with every bite.
I hate to eat: my fingers. I have always been a nail biter and it's a habit that I have managed to stop for a year. However, when I read I sometimes chew the skin around my nails. I do this unconsciously and am generally surprised by it.
I hate to go: to the city. Any time I have to drive into Roanoke I grow nervous. There is too much traffic, too much noise and too many people. I also am not a shopping fan, mostly, I think, for the same reasons. It's simply a much faster pace than the pace I live at, even if it is just 30 miles down the road.
I love to go: to the woods. Solitude, quiet, the whisper of the wind, the touch of the breeze, the dash of a deer, the chit of a squirrel. Is there anything at all to compare to sitting on a stump and watching an ant try to cart a leaf back to its hill? Can anything be better than watching ducks on the pond as they squawk and dive beneath water? Hearing a hawk scream as it catches a mouse? Smelling the earthy smell of loam and decay and new growth?
I love it when: my husband comes home from work. The house suddenly swells with the smell and sound of him. I hear his voice and melt all over. He grabs me in a huge hug; there is nowhere safer. He kisses me "hello" and "I missed you" and his eyes say, "I love you" and there we are, nearly 25 years later, still crazy in love.
I hate it when: my computer has hiccups, my car doesn't work, the can opener electric cord melts because it's too close to the toaster oven, the curling iron stays on instead of cutting off automatically, and the batteries die on my camera when I'm in the middle of taking the greatest shot in the world.
I love to see: blog comments in my e-mail and on my blog. It's like having a message on the answering machine - somebody was thinking of me. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy to know that someone was reading my work and cared enough to leave a note. Blogging has given me a whole new set of friends and acquaintances and I'm thankful for every one.
I hate to see: horror shows, movies full of blood and guts, and R (or X) -rated comedy. I am a P&Qs kind of girl - I like good clean fun, wholesome and hearty and at least slightly sanitized.
I love to hear: the telephone ring, a Melissa Etheridge or Sheryl Crow song on the radio, my husband's laughter, the silence of the forest, and my name on the lips of my closest friends.
I hate to hear: a forecast for strong winds. I don't mind cold and I don't mind heat, but I do mind wind. It tugs at your hair and gets in your ears and blows trash can lids across the field. A strong cold wind cuts straight into your bones, completely bypassing your skin, and you feel it all the way through. It also makes my ears hurt!
All done! Please leave a comment about what you love or don't love, if you're so inclined. If you do this meme, let me know and I'll drop by. I don't usually tag anyone, but I hope June, Ms. E., Jeff, or Becky will take a gander at this one if they like.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Manuscript Submissions
In a comment on this entry about a writer's conference I was asked about manuscript submissions.
I noted that there was no discussion at the conference about proper formatting. I said in my previous entry that manuscripts should be double spaced, have 1" margins all the way around, use good white clean crisp paper, and have boring fonts (Times Roman or Courier or Arial, generally) and use only one side of the paper.
That is for hard copy submissions. Many publications still request submissions by mail. Others ask for a hard copy along with the article (and/or digital photos) on a disk such as a CD. Some might ask you to e-mail the document and follow with a hard copy. There are as many ways of doing it as there are publications.
Even if a publisher will take a document over the Internet, it still must be formatted properly. That can take some finesse because every e-mail reader pulls things up differently.
The most important thing is to follow the directions in the writer's guidelines for the publication you are working with. If they say hard copy, send them hard copy. If they don't go into detail about margins in the document, then follow the standard above. If they say send a disk, send a disk. If they say submit by e-mail, do that. If they want something in .pdf or .rtf or .doc format, be sure that is what you send them.
By all means, be professional in what you do. These are business people and they are operating a business.
In Nonfiction Book Proposals Anybody Can Write, Elizabeth Lyon states:
She also notes that there is no longer two spaces after a period. This has been a difficult thing for me to overcome, because I was taught to use two spaces (I learned on a typewriter - remember those?). I think a lot of older folks (that makes me sound ancient, doesn't it) have trouble with this.
Moria Anderson Allen in her book Starting Your Career as a Freelance Writer has an entire chapter on formatting your manuscript.
For print manuscripts, she says:
She goes into great detail on formatting; it's probably the best chapter on this that I've ever read. She also goes into fonts and electronic submissions (which have their own set of rules).
I mention all of this because it is an important detail. It would be awful to have created a great work that never sees print simply because in the final phase of creation the writer is sloppy.
Lyon also says, "If you're rather be writing your book than editing for format, hire a perfectionist to edit it for you."
I think that might be me.
I noted that there was no discussion at the conference about proper formatting. I said in my previous entry that manuscripts should be double spaced, have 1" margins all the way around, use good white clean crisp paper, and have boring fonts (Times Roman or Courier or Arial, generally) and use only one side of the paper.
That is for hard copy submissions. Many publications still request submissions by mail. Others ask for a hard copy along with the article (and/or digital photos) on a disk such as a CD. Some might ask you to e-mail the document and follow with a hard copy. There are as many ways of doing it as there are publications.
Even if a publisher will take a document over the Internet, it still must be formatted properly. That can take some finesse because every e-mail reader pulls things up differently.
The most important thing is to follow the directions in the writer's guidelines for the publication you are working with. If they say hard copy, send them hard copy. If they don't go into detail about margins in the document, then follow the standard above. If they say send a disk, send a disk. If they say submit by e-mail, do that. If they want something in .pdf or .rtf or .doc format, be sure that is what you send them.
By all means, be professional in what you do. These are business people and they are operating a business.
In Nonfiction Book Proposals Anybody Can Write, Elizabeth Lyon states:
Be generous with your margins. ... Use 1" to 1.25" margin for all sides. It's standard to drop down six line spaces (or half an inch) before you begin your header.
She also notes that there is no longer two spaces after a period. This has been a difficult thing for me to overcome, because I was taught to use two spaces (I learned on a typewriter - remember those?). I think a lot of older folks (that makes me sound ancient, doesn't it) have trouble with this.
Moria Anderson Allen in her book Starting Your Career as a Freelance Writer has an entire chapter on formatting your manuscript.
For print manuscripts, she says:
Good paper (20-pound bond minimum, never erasable
Double spacing
1-inch margins all around (at least)
A clear, readable font
Paragraphs indicated by indents, not by an extra line space
She goes into great detail on formatting; it's probably the best chapter on this that I've ever read. She also goes into fonts and electronic submissions (which have their own set of rules).
I mention all of this because it is an important detail. It would be awful to have created a great work that never sees print simply because in the final phase of creation the writer is sloppy.
Lyon also says, "If you're rather be writing your book than editing for format, hire a perfectionist to edit it for you."
I think that might be me.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Self Publishing
June from Spatter commented on my last entry about the writer's conference and asked thusly:
Good comment. I have lots to say in response so I thought I'd do an entry about it.
I don't know who sponsored this conference, but it did lean toward traditional publishing. I was surprised at the lack of reference to self-publishing myself.
I have never self-published for myself, although I have helped local historical organizations with special self-published projects. I know many "traditional" writers who eschew self-publishing.
But I know a number of people who have self-published and been very happy with the results and with their sales efforts. I think self-publishing really depends on what you're writing and what you're doing it for. I see self-publishing as a trend that will continue and grow as traditional publishing (i.e., somebody pays you upfront for your efforts) continues to decline.
My main concern with the trend toward self-publishing is that I think it takes story away from the masses and hands it over to those who have the money to print a book. I realize it is not all that expensive to have a small first run, but even so it is more than many people can afford. I have seen prices and quotes ranging from $400 and up, by the way.
I am concerned about that aspect of it, because that takes story away from the people who need it most. It continues class division, too. So I hope that we always have a mixture of traditional publishing along with self-publishing, so that everyone at least has an opportunity.
By the same token, self-publishing gives life to works that otherwise would only see the inside of a drawer. Sometimes that isn't a good thing - some things don't deserve to be published. But many times good works are simply overlooked by the traditional publishing industry.
As a chapter in The ASJA Guide to Freelance Writing notes, the work of Mark Twain, Virginia Woolf and Ben Franklin saw the light of day because it was self-published.
Personally, I would self-publish if I thought I had something worthwhile. I have a bunch of poems I've considered self-publishing but I've never gotten beyond the "yikes, this would cost me $$$" phase in my research.
I also think very good things to self-publish are local histories, family genealogies, family memory books, regional photo books, etc. Not everything pertains to the entire nation, after all.
So those are my thoughts on self-publishing. Comments about the process, particularly from anyone who has actually done it for themselves, are welcome.
June also asked about manuscript submission formats. I'll address that in my next entry.
But I am surprised that self publishing, etc wasn't discussed more. Was
this conference sponsored by traditional publishers?
Good comment. I have lots to say in response so I thought I'd do an entry about it.
I don't know who sponsored this conference, but it did lean toward traditional publishing. I was surprised at the lack of reference to self-publishing myself.
I have never self-published for myself, although I have helped local historical organizations with special self-published projects. I know many "traditional" writers who eschew self-publishing.
But I know a number of people who have self-published and been very happy with the results and with their sales efforts. I think self-publishing really depends on what you're writing and what you're doing it for. I see self-publishing as a trend that will continue and grow as traditional publishing (i.e., somebody pays you upfront for your efforts) continues to decline.
My main concern with the trend toward self-publishing is that I think it takes story away from the masses and hands it over to those who have the money to print a book. I realize it is not all that expensive to have a small first run, but even so it is more than many people can afford. I have seen prices and quotes ranging from $400 and up, by the way.
I am concerned about that aspect of it, because that takes story away from the people who need it most. It continues class division, too. So I hope that we always have a mixture of traditional publishing along with self-publishing, so that everyone at least has an opportunity.
By the same token, self-publishing gives life to works that otherwise would only see the inside of a drawer. Sometimes that isn't a good thing - some things don't deserve to be published. But many times good works are simply overlooked by the traditional publishing industry.
As a chapter in The ASJA Guide to Freelance Writing notes, the work of Mark Twain, Virginia Woolf and Ben Franklin saw the light of day because it was self-published.
Personally, I would self-publish if I thought I had something worthwhile. I have a bunch of poems I've considered self-publishing but I've never gotten beyond the "yikes, this would cost me $$$" phase in my research.
I also think very good things to self-publish are local histories, family genealogies, family memory books, regional photo books, etc. Not everything pertains to the entire nation, after all.
So those are my thoughts on self-publishing. Comments about the process, particularly from anyone who has actually done it for themselves, are welcome.
June also asked about manuscript submission formats. I'll address that in my next entry.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Roanoke Regional Writers Conference, Part II
Today was the writers conference. It lasted from 9 a.m. to 5:30 p.m.; I left at 4:15 p.m. I was (and am) very tired.
I greeted a lot of people I knew but hadn't seen in a long time. I was pleased about that. I saw again two fellow bloggers, Becky and Ms.E. Becky introduced me to a blogger at Smith Mountain Lake but unfortunately I didn't write down either the name of the person or the blog.
I knew five of the presenters - K.R., D.S., K.A., S.C., G.C. I also saw L. Adkins, who has published several books about hiking the Appalachian Trail. I interviewed him for an article about two years ago. He could have been a presenter himself.
A few other people I hadn't seen in a while were G.J., who is another freelance newspaper writer, and B.C. Also E.G., whom I knew from college.
A new person I met was Keith, who is a former editor of Omni magazine. Keith gave the lecture on blogging, which I unfortunately did not attend. At lunch he was very kind to my friend G.J., who is in her 60s and a little lacking in knowledgeable about things like blogs. She is, however, always willing to learn. I admire her for that.
I estimated the crowd at less than 100 but could be wrong. They had four classrooms going so I never saw everyone all together except for in the hallway, coming and going.
I haven't been to many writer's conferences lately so I don't have much to compare. The last one I attended was the Blue Ridge Writer's Conference at Roanoke College in about 1992. I have attended the Hollins Literary Festival since then, several times over, but since they don't call it a conference I don't think it counts.
Anyway, the good things about today's conference:
Networking
Seeing old friends and making new acquaintances
Hearing a few good talks. Sharon McCrumb's talk, which was the very last thing I attended, was worth the admission price all by itself, even if she did have a head cold.
A renewed determination to do something else with my work. In my spare time. Whenever that is.
The bad things:
There was a lot of noise bleed over from room to room; it was very distracting.
The lectures were only offered one time, so if there were two you wanted to go to at the same time, you were out of luck and had no chance to make it up.
The lectures were very much "old school" publishing. Aside from the blogging lecture, these talks were about publishing as it has been. I would have liked to have seen something about marketing yourself and your work and something about using the Internet to your advantage. I also would have liked to have seen something about research on the Internet, or maybe even "maximizing your Blackberry." Hearing about John Garner's book On Becoming a Novelist is certainly worthwhile, but then so is knowing how to find you what you want in a database.
And everyone takes for granted that people know how to format a manuscript. They talk about doing all the right things for a submission and neglect the very fine details - double space, 1" margins all the way around, use good white clean crisp paper, boring fonts (Times Roman or Courier or Arial, generally) and only one side of the paper. The old pros do this in their sleep, but I have seen manuscripts using both sides of the paper, single spaced, etc., etc. It's not that this is a hard thing; people just don't seem to know, and I suppose the lecturers just forget to mention it.
Lunch consisted of a wheat bread sandwich with cheese, lettuce, cucumber and sprouts. One of my lunch mates complained a lot about the sprouts. I didn't mind them but it was a lot of carbs.
I did not learn anything I didn't already know, but then I have been freelancing a long time. I am sure for many people much of the information was new.
All in all not a bad day, but it certainly made me tired!
I greeted a lot of people I knew but hadn't seen in a long time. I was pleased about that. I saw again two fellow bloggers, Becky and Ms.E. Becky introduced me to a blogger at Smith Mountain Lake but unfortunately I didn't write down either the name of the person or the blog.
I knew five of the presenters - K.R., D.S., K.A., S.C., G.C. I also saw L. Adkins, who has published several books about hiking the Appalachian Trail. I interviewed him for an article about two years ago. He could have been a presenter himself.
A few other people I hadn't seen in a while were G.J., who is another freelance newspaper writer, and B.C. Also E.G., whom I knew from college.
A new person I met was Keith, who is a former editor of Omni magazine. Keith gave the lecture on blogging, which I unfortunately did not attend. At lunch he was very kind to my friend G.J., who is in her 60s and a little lacking in knowledgeable about things like blogs. She is, however, always willing to learn. I admire her for that.
I estimated the crowd at less than 100 but could be wrong. They had four classrooms going so I never saw everyone all together except for in the hallway, coming and going.
I haven't been to many writer's conferences lately so I don't have much to compare. The last one I attended was the Blue Ridge Writer's Conference at Roanoke College in about 1992. I have attended the Hollins Literary Festival since then, several times over, but since they don't call it a conference I don't think it counts.
Anyway, the good things about today's conference:
Networking
Seeing old friends and making new acquaintances
Hearing a few good talks. Sharon McCrumb's talk, which was the very last thing I attended, was worth the admission price all by itself, even if she did have a head cold.
A renewed determination to do something else with my work. In my spare time. Whenever that is.
The bad things:
There was a lot of noise bleed over from room to room; it was very distracting.
The lectures were only offered one time, so if there were two you wanted to go to at the same time, you were out of luck and had no chance to make it up.
The lectures were very much "old school" publishing. Aside from the blogging lecture, these talks were about publishing as it has been. I would have liked to have seen something about marketing yourself and your work and something about using the Internet to your advantage. I also would have liked to have seen something about research on the Internet, or maybe even "maximizing your Blackberry." Hearing about John Garner's book On Becoming a Novelist is certainly worthwhile, but then so is knowing how to find you what you want in a database.
And everyone takes for granted that people know how to format a manuscript. They talk about doing all the right things for a submission and neglect the very fine details - double space, 1" margins all the way around, use good white clean crisp paper, boring fonts (Times Roman or Courier or Arial, generally) and only one side of the paper. The old pros do this in their sleep, but I have seen manuscripts using both sides of the paper, single spaced, etc., etc. It's not that this is a hard thing; people just don't seem to know, and I suppose the lecturers just forget to mention it.
Lunch consisted of a wheat bread sandwich with cheese, lettuce, cucumber and sprouts. One of my lunch mates complained a lot about the sprouts. I didn't mind them but it was a lot of carbs.
I did not learn anything I didn't already know, but then I have been freelancing a long time. I am sure for many people much of the information was new.
All in all not a bad day, but it certainly made me tired!
Friday, January 25, 2008
Tax Cuts
I truly wonder what world the politicians live in.
It isn't one recognizable to any of my friends.
When I ask them, "Will this tax rebate help you?" the answer is a resounding no.
Offering a tax rebate implies that paying taxes are the reason we're in a recession.
It is not the reason.
This article (a version was in The Roanoke Times today; this one is from MSNBC) notes that:
It isn't just retirees who are driving less, eating out less, and staying in more. It's practically everyone who makes less than $100,000 a year. And that is most people I know.
It is the economy, stupid. And the economy is in distress because of the focus on "letting the market rule," i.e., capitalism, and because of deregulation. Because we focus on businesses and money, not people.
It is uncapped rising costs of electricity, gasoline, milk, bread, hamburger, etc. that is the problem, combined with no increase in wages for the majority of people. And those wages that are adjusted are not keeping up with the rate of the rising costs.
It is the lack of unity among the workers and the inability of people to do anything more than think for themselves because they are so scared that they will lose what little bit they have.
When you start messing with the basics, you hurt people. People are hurting.
Our elected rulers are over their heads, every last one of them, from the federal government down. They are so out of touch with the America I live in, anyway, that they may as well live on Mars.
Locally, the General Assembly had a fracas and Salem's lead elected ruler made this comment:
Democrats "are leading us to unionization, strikes of public employees, abolishment of the right-to-work law and, ultimately, the demise of Virginia as one of the best states in the union in which to do business."
Having a great state "in which to do business" is all well and good, but frankly I would rather live in a great state - and a great nation - that is a good place for people to live.
It isn't one recognizable to any of my friends.
When I ask them, "Will this tax rebate help you?" the answer is a resounding no.
Offering a tax rebate implies that paying taxes are the reason we're in a recession.
It is not the reason.
This article (a version was in The Roanoke Times today; this one is from MSNBC) notes that:
Rising food and fuel prices, falling interest rates and screeching declines in
worldwide stock markets have ... thousands of other retirees paring spending to
levels some haven't seen in decades, forgoing dinners out, cutting back on
groceries and canceling plans to visit grandchildren.
It isn't just retirees who are driving less, eating out less, and staying in more. It's practically everyone who makes less than $100,000 a year. And that is most people I know.
It is the economy, stupid. And the economy is in distress because of the focus on "letting the market rule," i.e., capitalism, and because of deregulation. Because we focus on businesses and money, not people.
It is uncapped rising costs of electricity, gasoline, milk, bread, hamburger, etc. that is the problem, combined with no increase in wages for the majority of people. And those wages that are adjusted are not keeping up with the rate of the rising costs.
It is the lack of unity among the workers and the inability of people to do anything more than think for themselves because they are so scared that they will lose what little bit they have.
When you start messing with the basics, you hurt people. People are hurting.
Our elected rulers are over their heads, every last one of them, from the federal government down. They are so out of touch with the America I live in, anyway, that they may as well live on Mars.
Locally, the General Assembly had a fracas and Salem's lead elected ruler made this comment:
Democrats "are leading us to unionization, strikes of public employees, abolishment of the right-to-work law and, ultimately, the demise of Virginia as one of the best states in the union in which to do business."
Having a great state "in which to do business" is all well and good, but frankly I would rather live in a great state - and a great nation - that is a good place for people to live.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Thursday Thirteen
The 13 things I want to do before I am 50:
1. Hike to McAfee's Knob. This isn't as easy as it sounds; I am out of shape in spite of my hour-long exercise in the morning. Plus I have a problem with my balance and can get motion sickness when I am in high places, like atop mountains. And mountains make my ears hurt. Another problem is I don't have anyone to walk with me and I will not go alone.
2. Take a two or three week vacation and drive to California and back. I did this with my parents when I was 12. My husband has never seen the Grand Canyon and I would like for us to make this trip one day.
3. Visit Canada. Just because I've never been. That requires a passport now, doesn't it?
4. Write (and hopefully publish) a novel. This means applying bottom to seat and getting to work.
5. Write (and hopefully publish) a nonfiction book. See #4.
6. Self-publish a book of poetry. I have poems and could probably do this now, except I am afraid to.
7. Create a photo book about my county.
8. Learn how to eat properly.
9. Lose weight and be the healthiest I've ever been. I'd like to do that *this* year.
10. Build an addition on to the house. We could use just one more room. Maybe a nice sun room where I could put the treadmill and the exercise bike and get them out of the living room.
11. Buy a hybrid car. This one may have to wait longer but I think it will depend on what happens with the gas prices and if the government ever smartens up and offers financial incentives for people to really "go green." Right now I can't afford a new car. I suppose if I write and sell those books...
12. Move my office from home to ... someplace else. Working from home is not a bad thing, and I don't want to work for someone else, but I think an office away from home has the potential to make me more productive in some ways. Plus I wouldn't have a refrigerator there. Or washing machines. Or any of the other million things that can distract me while I work from home. Of course, I have to be making enough money to warrant paying rent someplace.
13. Write my 2,000th blog entry. Which may or may not be a Thursday Thirteen.
1. Hike to McAfee's Knob. This isn't as easy as it sounds; I am out of shape in spite of my hour-long exercise in the morning. Plus I have a problem with my balance and can get motion sickness when I am in high places, like atop mountains. And mountains make my ears hurt. Another problem is I don't have anyone to walk with me and I will not go alone.
2. Take a two or three week vacation and drive to California and back. I did this with my parents when I was 12. My husband has never seen the Grand Canyon and I would like for us to make this trip one day.
3. Visit Canada. Just because I've never been. That requires a passport now, doesn't it?
4. Write (and hopefully publish) a novel. This means applying bottom to seat and getting to work.
5. Write (and hopefully publish) a nonfiction book. See #4.
6. Self-publish a book of poetry. I have poems and could probably do this now, except I am afraid to.
7. Create a photo book about my county.
8. Learn how to eat properly.
9. Lose weight and be the healthiest I've ever been. I'd like to do that *this* year.
10. Build an addition on to the house. We could use just one more room. Maybe a nice sun room where I could put the treadmill and the exercise bike and get them out of the living room.
11. Buy a hybrid car. This one may have to wait longer but I think it will depend on what happens with the gas prices and if the government ever smartens up and offers financial incentives for people to really "go green." Right now I can't afford a new car. I suppose if I write and sell those books...
12. Move my office from home to ... someplace else. Working from home is not a bad thing, and I don't want to work for someone else, but I think an office away from home has the potential to make me more productive in some ways. Plus I wouldn't have a refrigerator there. Or washing machines. Or any of the other million things that can distract me while I work from home. Of course, I have to be making enough money to warrant paying rent someplace.
13. Write my 2,000th blog entry. Which may or may not be a Thursday Thirteen.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Roanoke Writer's Conference
There is a writer's conference this Saturday at the Jefferson Center.
I am going. Will I see any of my fellow bloggers there?
It actually begins Friday night with a speech by Sharon McCrumb, but I do not plan to attend that at present.
Saturday is when the lectures and classes and things are happening.
The schedule has a line up of local writers besides Sharon McCrumb - Dan Smith, Kurt Rheinheimer, Ralph Barrier, Sarah Cox and others. Many are affiliated with the Blue Ridge Business Journal, I note.
The classes are:
The Short Essay, Writing Local Histories, Blogging, Short Fiction, Writing for the Theater, What Magazine Editors Want, Using Children’s Stories to Make Your Point, Writing What You Know, The Radio Essay, Writing About Country People, [as opposed to what? People are people... aren't they? I'm just sayin'... this will probably be one of the classes I attend].
Also, Writing About Your Family, Freelance Writing in This Region, The Memoir, Writing Persuasively and Getting Feedback, Emphasizing Your Point with Stories, Writing for Children, Finding Stories in Your Back Yard, Writing About Sports and Selling It,How a Book Store Works, Tell it Slant; Using Historical Events in Fictional Works, The Basics of Poetry, Writing Opinion, and Using the Internet for Research.
I am a little sorry to see that none of the courses will be repeated. If you miss it the first go-round, you're out of luck. Obviously you can't be everywhere at once.
I am a excited about going and I am hoping to see some people I haven't in a while. I also hope to meet new people. Who knows, maybe I will make a good connection for my freelancing. Or renew a connection I've lost or forgotten.
If you're going and want to meet up or at least say hello in the hallway, drop me a note. I'd sure like to shake your hand.
I am going. Will I see any of my fellow bloggers there?
It actually begins Friday night with a speech by Sharon McCrumb, but I do not plan to attend that at present.
Saturday is when the lectures and classes and things are happening.
The schedule has a line up of local writers besides Sharon McCrumb - Dan Smith, Kurt Rheinheimer, Ralph Barrier, Sarah Cox and others. Many are affiliated with the Blue Ridge Business Journal, I note.
The classes are:
The Short Essay, Writing Local Histories, Blogging, Short Fiction, Writing for the Theater, What Magazine Editors Want, Using Children’s Stories to Make Your Point, Writing What You Know, The Radio Essay, Writing About Country People, [as opposed to what? People are people... aren't they? I'm just sayin'... this will probably be one of the classes I attend].
Also, Writing About Your Family, Freelance Writing in This Region, The Memoir, Writing Persuasively and Getting Feedback, Emphasizing Your Point with Stories, Writing for Children, Finding Stories in Your Back Yard, Writing About Sports and Selling It,How a Book Store Works, Tell it Slant; Using Historical Events in Fictional Works, The Basics of Poetry, Writing Opinion, and Using the Internet for Research.
I am a little sorry to see that none of the courses will be repeated. If you miss it the first go-round, you're out of luck. Obviously you can't be everywhere at once.
I am a excited about going and I am hoping to see some people I haven't in a while. I also hope to meet new people. Who knows, maybe I will make a good connection for my freelancing. Or renew a connection I've lost or forgotten.
If you're going and want to meet up or at least say hello in the hallway, drop me a note. I'd sure like to shake your hand.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Wishes
Some days when I am having trouble thinking, I take a break by playing Mahjong at shockwave.com. I find the rhythm of seeking out the matching tiles soothing enough to give my mind a chance to refocus.
When I return to my work, I usually resolve whatever the problem was, whether that was a lead to a story, some way to end it, or whether or not it needed a sidebar.
The game has a fortune aspect to it. When you open it up, it gives you a little rhyme.
This is what it said to me on December 30, 2007:
Daily Fortune
If you would use the talent
Fate has given you to write
You'd win success in prose or verse
in serious themes or light.
A long delayed package of value will shortly come to you.
You'll get your wish, sure.
I kept it because it was so close to the end of the year and I was doing much soul-searching about my life and particularly my writing career. And because I knew at some point I would write this particular blog entry.
Today it says:
Appearances to you seem good
and fortune more than kind
but you could win both wealth and fame
if you were not so blind.
You will receive unjust treatment from a near relative.
You may get your wish later on.
I do not pay particular attention to things like this. It is like reading your horoscope - it is what it is and it's what you make of it. But I sometimes fear such ditties can become subconscious self-fulfilling prophesies.
Take today's comment about the relative thing. I have been busy and haven't even thought about my relatives, aside from my husband. But I read that and thought, I should call my brother.
And of course if I were to do so, which I am not, I could end up feeling slighted or hurt because he tends to have that effect on me.
So I would have made that come true.
The last line always has something about a wish. You might get it, you won't get it, you will get it.
The trouble is, I never know what it is I have wished for. There are days when I look at those lines and I think, what DO I wish for?
Apparently the answer is nothing concrete. I do not wish for specifics. Instead I have vague notions of things I'd like to correct.
So I am wondering, what is it people wish for? What do you wish for? Are your wishes specific? Do they ever come true?
If I make a wish, can I make it come true?
When I return to my work, I usually resolve whatever the problem was, whether that was a lead to a story, some way to end it, or whether or not it needed a sidebar.
The game has a fortune aspect to it. When you open it up, it gives you a little rhyme.
This is what it said to me on December 30, 2007:
Daily Fortune
If you would use the talent
Fate has given you to write
You'd win success in prose or verse
in serious themes or light.
A long delayed package of value will shortly come to you.
You'll get your wish, sure.
I kept it because it was so close to the end of the year and I was doing much soul-searching about my life and particularly my writing career. And because I knew at some point I would write this particular blog entry.
Today it says:
Appearances to you seem good
and fortune more than kind
but you could win both wealth and fame
if you were not so blind.
You will receive unjust treatment from a near relative.
You may get your wish later on.
I do not pay particular attention to things like this. It is like reading your horoscope - it is what it is and it's what you make of it. But I sometimes fear such ditties can become subconscious self-fulfilling prophesies.
Take today's comment about the relative thing. I have been busy and haven't even thought about my relatives, aside from my husband. But I read that and thought, I should call my brother.
And of course if I were to do so, which I am not, I could end up feeling slighted or hurt because he tends to have that effect on me.
So I would have made that come true.
The last line always has something about a wish. You might get it, you won't get it, you will get it.
The trouble is, I never know what it is I have wished for. There are days when I look at those lines and I think, what DO I wish for?
Apparently the answer is nothing concrete. I do not wish for specifics. Instead I have vague notions of things I'd like to correct.
So I am wondering, what is it people wish for? What do you wish for? Are your wishes specific? Do they ever come true?
If I make a wish, can I make it come true?
Monday, January 21, 2008
Books: The Schwarzbein Principle
The Schwarzbein Principle
By Diana Schwarzbein, MD & Nancy Deville
Copyright 1999
350 pages
I read this book on a recommendation from Colleen at Loose Leaf Notes in one of my comments and on a recommendation from a non-blogging friend.
I received a gift certificate to Barnes & Noble for Christmas and used it to buy this book and a follow-up to it called The Program. I have not yet read that book.
This book makes a lot of sense, more than most I have read, and I actually understood it. I generally cannot comprehend diet books - some brain defect or something has them leaving me going huh? every time I read one.
But I understood this one. The diet involved is very similar to Atkins ... but not. The focus is on fewer carbs and more protein. Women should have 60 grams of protein, which I thought was a lot.
I don't eat a lot of meat so I suspect this is part of my problem. I went on a low-fat diet this summer at the behest of my doctor and gained 10 pounds. It was like an all-carb diet. The weight gain halted when I stopped dieting and just started eating whatever I wanted, but now I need to lose that weight plus the rest I was trying to lose to begin with.
I will continue to read The Program and in the meantime I will make changes to my diet and see what happens. I am pretty sure if I'd just stop drinking soda it would make a difference, and many days I don't drink soda, but some days I drink as a many as three. Those are not often, though, and generally indicative of a *really* bad day. And they're caffeine free sodas, at that. Just not sugar free.
I have already recommended this book to several people. Even if I don't follow the diet, and I hope to, this is a good book to read if you're interested in your health.
4.5 stars
By Diana Schwarzbein, MD & Nancy Deville
Copyright 1999
350 pages
I read this book on a recommendation from Colleen at Loose Leaf Notes in one of my comments and on a recommendation from a non-blogging friend.
I received a gift certificate to Barnes & Noble for Christmas and used it to buy this book and a follow-up to it called The Program. I have not yet read that book.
This book makes a lot of sense, more than most I have read, and I actually understood it. I generally cannot comprehend diet books - some brain defect or something has them leaving me going huh? every time I read one.
But I understood this one. The diet involved is very similar to Atkins ... but not. The focus is on fewer carbs and more protein. Women should have 60 grams of protein, which I thought was a lot.
I don't eat a lot of meat so I suspect this is part of my problem. I went on a low-fat diet this summer at the behest of my doctor and gained 10 pounds. It was like an all-carb diet. The weight gain halted when I stopped dieting and just started eating whatever I wanted, but now I need to lose that weight plus the rest I was trying to lose to begin with.
I will continue to read The Program and in the meantime I will make changes to my diet and see what happens. I am pretty sure if I'd just stop drinking soda it would make a difference, and many days I don't drink soda, but some days I drink as a many as three. Those are not often, though, and generally indicative of a *really* bad day. And they're caffeine free sodas, at that. Just not sugar free.
I have already recommended this book to several people. Even if I don't follow the diet, and I hope to, this is a good book to read if you're interested in your health.
4.5 stars
Sunday, January 20, 2008
In the Spotlight
I thought I'd mention some of the bloggers I enjoy reading.
Check them out!
Ms. Eleneaous has returned after nearly a month's absence. Today she writes about her experience with a new computer that only had a two-month life span. A few days ago she had a brilliant entry about freelance writing.
Becky at Peevish Pen writes often about writing, poetry, farm life, etc. She and Ms. E. are two of four bloggers I have met in person.
The other two are Tom at Creativity blog, who also recently started posting again, and Fleitz at the Roanoke Firefighters blog. Tom writes about life, spirituality and takes good pictures and poetry; Firefleitz writes about the fire department. I met Tom at a council meeting; he may not even remember. I met Firefleitz when I picked up a copy of his book, Firefighting in Roanoke, as a present for my husband. He probably doesn't remember that either.
Jeff at Jefferson Street Realist posts about life in Roanoke. Today it looks like he's burning up the airwaves (blogwaves?) with words about music.
When I started seeking out the work of other area bloggers, one of the first I found was Colleen's wit and poetry over at Loose Leaf Notes. She has such enthusiasm about life that I always leave her site with a smile on my face.
Some newcomers to my must-read list (well, in the last six months or so, so they're not that new) are June at Spatter, and Beth at Blue Ridge Blue Collar Girl.
June, as best I can tell, lives in both Floyd County and in Florida. She writes great entries about a myriad of things - check our her January 19 entry about Huckabee for intriguing thoughts on that political candidate. She also does something she calls a Friday Fact. They are always interesting reading. Beth has been absent for a while but her January 14 entry explains that she is in the process of moving/buying/selling, etc., and all that entails.
If I had an award thingy I would offer it to each of these bloggers, but I don't. I hope you enjoy them all as much as I.
The others on my list on the right are also worthy of a mention - unfortunately, I've run out of time! Do take a look at their work sometime.
Check them out!
Ms. Eleneaous has returned after nearly a month's absence. Today she writes about her experience with a new computer that only had a two-month life span. A few days ago she had a brilliant entry about freelance writing.
Becky at Peevish Pen writes often about writing, poetry, farm life, etc. She and Ms. E. are two of four bloggers I have met in person.
The other two are Tom at Creativity blog, who also recently started posting again, and Fleitz at the Roanoke Firefighters blog. Tom writes about life, spirituality and takes good pictures and poetry; Firefleitz writes about the fire department. I met Tom at a council meeting; he may not even remember. I met Firefleitz when I picked up a copy of his book, Firefighting in Roanoke, as a present for my husband. He probably doesn't remember that either.
Jeff at Jefferson Street Realist posts about life in Roanoke. Today it looks like he's burning up the airwaves (blogwaves?) with words about music.
When I started seeking out the work of other area bloggers, one of the first I found was Colleen's wit and poetry over at Loose Leaf Notes. She has such enthusiasm about life that I always leave her site with a smile on my face.
Some newcomers to my must-read list (well, in the last six months or so, so they're not that new) are June at Spatter, and Beth at Blue Ridge Blue Collar Girl.
June, as best I can tell, lives in both Floyd County and in Florida. She writes great entries about a myriad of things - check our her January 19 entry about Huckabee for intriguing thoughts on that political candidate. She also does something she calls a Friday Fact. They are always interesting reading. Beth has been absent for a while but her January 14 entry explains that she is in the process of moving/buying/selling, etc., and all that entails.
If I had an award thingy I would offer it to each of these bloggers, but I don't. I hope you enjoy them all as much as I.
The others on my list on the right are also worthy of a mention - unfortunately, I've run out of time! Do take a look at their work sometime.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Face to Face
Yesterday my nephew, who is 16, had major surgery.
The family waited in the waiting room. Parents bit their nails, grandparents paced, the aunt and uncle (that's me and my husband) did our best to fetch waters and ease tension.
About an hour before the boy was expected to awaken in the recovery room, the waiting room suddenly swelled with an influx of teenagers. School was out Friday for teacher's workday and these youth were my nephew's friends.
There were seven of them. The boys were lanky and tall; my nephew's best friend towered over me as he stood there fresh-faced with a curly mop of red hair. Two gum-smacking girls, each looking pretty much like they had recently woke up, trailed along. Another boy had a buzz cut and proclaimed the loss of his long hair the best thing he'd ever had happen as he tousled the hair of the youngest nephew (that one sat with the earphones to his iPod firmly in place).
The young people greeted the family with perfunctory nods, except for the best friend who very politely made conversation and even shook hands. The aunt and uncle, whom they did not know, and the grandparents, were basically ignored after every one nodded and said hello. At least they spoke.
The noise level in the waiting room rose exponentially with their entrance, and it wasn't long before the grandparents retreated to the safety and relative quiet of a restaurant. (They had their cellphones; we could call them when they could see the boy.)
And so it was that I, a woman with no children who does not spend a lot of time around youth in gaggles or large numbers, found out that young people do not talk to one another anymore.
To my amazement, these youth carried on conversations with one another ... through their cellphones. Even though they were sitting together, side by side, thighs practically touching. They were talking and chattering like birds awaiting dinner, and the entire time their thumbs were flying across the face of their phones. Occasionally the verbiage was interrupted by a song as someone received a call.
But they were not speaking to one another in person. Or so it seemed. They were talking into their phones and texting and occasionally slapping their neighbor on the shoulder, but I witnessed no real conversation between any of the young people who were actually standing in the same room.
For the entire hour, this was the way it was. They communicated through devices. Sometimes they took pictures of one another, showed them around, and laughed.
Finally my sister-in-law went back to check on her son, having been told he was awake. Shortly thereafter, his best friend answered a little "tweedle dee dee" noise on his phone. "E. says for us to go to lunch; he can't have us all in there yet because he is not in his room," the boy announced.
My husband and I looked at each other, astonished.
My sister-in-law returned. "E. wants his cell phone," she said, reaching into her bag. "He grabbed mine as soon as I entered the room."
I am pretty sure his cell phone has not left his hands since.
I am wondering what these young people do when they actually have to speak to a person... in person. Do they put their hands in their pockets and have their fingers moving the entire time as they talk, as if using those phones?
Cellphones, it seems, have turned into mini-computers, allowing the young people to communicate in this rather different way. Is this bad? Is this good?
Beats me. I just use my cellphone to call home to see if I need to buy bread. I still use it... as a phone.
The family waited in the waiting room. Parents bit their nails, grandparents paced, the aunt and uncle (that's me and my husband) did our best to fetch waters and ease tension.
About an hour before the boy was expected to awaken in the recovery room, the waiting room suddenly swelled with an influx of teenagers. School was out Friday for teacher's workday and these youth were my nephew's friends.
There were seven of them. The boys were lanky and tall; my nephew's best friend towered over me as he stood there fresh-faced with a curly mop of red hair. Two gum-smacking girls, each looking pretty much like they had recently woke up, trailed along. Another boy had a buzz cut and proclaimed the loss of his long hair the best thing he'd ever had happen as he tousled the hair of the youngest nephew (that one sat with the earphones to his iPod firmly in place).
The young people greeted the family with perfunctory nods, except for the best friend who very politely made conversation and even shook hands. The aunt and uncle, whom they did not know, and the grandparents, were basically ignored after every one nodded and said hello. At least they spoke.
The noise level in the waiting room rose exponentially with their entrance, and it wasn't long before the grandparents retreated to the safety and relative quiet of a restaurant. (They had their cellphones; we could call them when they could see the boy.)
And so it was that I, a woman with no children who does not spend a lot of time around youth in gaggles or large numbers, found out that young people do not talk to one another anymore.
To my amazement, these youth carried on conversations with one another ... through their cellphones. Even though they were sitting together, side by side, thighs practically touching. They were talking and chattering like birds awaiting dinner, and the entire time their thumbs were flying across the face of their phones. Occasionally the verbiage was interrupted by a song as someone received a call.
But they were not speaking to one another in person. Or so it seemed. They were talking into their phones and texting and occasionally slapping their neighbor on the shoulder, but I witnessed no real conversation between any of the young people who were actually standing in the same room.
For the entire hour, this was the way it was. They communicated through devices. Sometimes they took pictures of one another, showed them around, and laughed.
Finally my sister-in-law went back to check on her son, having been told he was awake. Shortly thereafter, his best friend answered a little "tweedle dee dee" noise on his phone. "E. says for us to go to lunch; he can't have us all in there yet because he is not in his room," the boy announced.
My husband and I looked at each other, astonished.
My sister-in-law returned. "E. wants his cell phone," she said, reaching into her bag. "He grabbed mine as soon as I entered the room."
I am pretty sure his cell phone has not left his hands since.
I am wondering what these young people do when they actually have to speak to a person... in person. Do they put their hands in their pockets and have their fingers moving the entire time as they talk, as if using those phones?
Cellphones, it seems, have turned into mini-computers, allowing the young people to communicate in this rather different way. Is this bad? Is this good?
Beats me. I just use my cellphone to call home to see if I need to buy bread. I still use it... as a phone.
Friday, January 18, 2008
The Past in Pictures
If you're interested in history, check out shots of life in the early 1900s at http://flickr.com/photos/library_of_congress/
A friend pointed those out to me. Thanks!
If you look, there are over 170 pages of pictures; be prepared to spend some time looking at them. They are fascinating.
A friend pointed those out to me. Thanks!
If you look, there are over 170 pages of pictures; be prepared to spend some time looking at them. They are fascinating.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Thursday Thirteen: Snow
1. 
2. We have several inches of snow. Not the first snow of this winter, which spans the man-made calendar, and not really the first snow of 2008 (because a squall earlier in the week actually covered the ground), but definitely the nicest snow so far.
3.
4. The best thing about snow is it's like a free day. It means staying home from work (for some folks, anyway), and drinking hot chocolate while you read a book or play with the kids
5.
6. It could mean snuggling with your sugar pie, too, if you're lucky enough to have one!
7.
8. Snow has lots of nutrients in it; it is very good for the grass and fields. My husband says it is like getting a free load of nitrogen for the soil.
9. Snow always makes me feel like the world has changed, and for the better.
10. We could get four or more inches of snow before it ends.
11. I keep looking out the window instead of working; I love to watch snow fall.
12. The snow will help a lot with the drought.
13. My favorite poem about snow is Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost.
2. We have several inches of snow. Not the first snow of this winter, which spans the man-made calendar, and not really the first snow of 2008 (because a squall earlier in the week actually covered the ground), but definitely the nicest snow so far.
3.
4. The best thing about snow is it's like a free day. It means staying home from work (for some folks, anyway), and drinking hot chocolate while you read a book or play with the kids
5.
6. It could mean snuggling with your sugar pie, too, if you're lucky enough to have one!
7.
8. Snow has lots of nutrients in it; it is very good for the grass and fields. My husband says it is like getting a free load of nitrogen for the soil.
9. Snow always makes me feel like the world has changed, and for the better.
10. We could get four or more inches of snow before it ends.
11. I keep looking out the window instead of working; I love to watch snow fall.
12. The snow will help a lot with the drought.
13. My favorite poem about snow is Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
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