Security

This morning I found myself pondering the meaning of security. It's an interesting word.

Security can be had in many different ways. There is security of your surroundings, such as when you're locked up in your home. You feel safe because no one can harm you.

There is security in a crowd, perhaps. With many people around, you might feel safe because you are not alone. Someone else, though, might not feel so secure because there are so many people around. Depends on the crowd and your frame of mind, I guess.

Maybe you need to see a policeman in the crowd to feel secure. I think some people would like it if the army patrolled the lands - that might make them feel secure, although it would make me feel afraid.

That brings us to national security, doesn't it. Apparently many people are willing to lose their freedoms in order to feel that they are secure when they fly or otherwise move about. These folks applaud when their pocketbooks are searched at the civic center, when teenagers are stopped and questioned simply because they look suspicious, or when someone who is "other" is profiled on the highway. I guess these people think the bad guys are everywhere and you're guilty until proven otherwise. Our last president established an office of Homeland Security to keep the "mother land" safe. That kind of talk gives me the willies but apparently it makes other people feel more secure.

There is financial security that might come from knowing you have $20 in your pocket - or having $20 million in the bank (don't know the feeling of that one). If you don't feel financially secure, and these days I don't know many people who do, then I suspect you feel quite anxious much of the time. Securities are also things one might purchase in the financial world, a type of investment policy, maybe something like a life insurance policy. Social Security is a program that was put in place to keep people who are older or who might be a little different from the norm from eating dogfood and sleeping in a box under the overpass. Some people don't like for others to have this type of security.

Computer security might come from having a good virus program. Or maybe never plugging the thing into the Internet. That would certainly work!

It important to keep all of your personal data safe these days - it must be secure so that no one can steal your identity or get into your accounts and abscam with your money. This can be kind of tough in a world where evildoers are always trying to hack into things.

Job security, I think, is a thing of the past. Historically, a person could obtain a decent job that they did well and liked, and stay at it for 30 years. Now, people move from place to place and no job is secure. Companies let people go for no reason at all. Just like that, you're out the door.

You might feel secure in your love for your spouse and children, or your god. That might bring a feeling of spiritual security, which I think is something one might strive for. Maybe that is all love security? Perhaps if we have this we don't need the other kinds of security.

I wonder how many people feel secure these days in all parts of their lives. I am betting not too many. How about you? Are you secure, or is there something lacking in some parts of your life?

In the Year . . .

The other day I was out and about and a person I was speaking to informed me that next year begins the Age of Aquarius.

This was a new one for me. I had heard about the doomsday scenarios for 2012 but not this.

In case you are wondering what I am talking about, apparently next year will be one of great change. The main reason for this is because the Mayan calendar ends on December 21, 2012. According to some, the world is going to end on this day. Other believe it will be greatly changed.

At least one fellow begs to differ and he says it is going to end on May 21 around 6 p.m. That's this year - not quite two months away. Are you ready?

Anyway, whenever the world is going to end, apparently a lot of people believe it might be happening soon.  Apparently at least a few of what I call Rapture Christians believe they will be lifted up to heaven, bodies intact, and their clothing left behind.  That's because this will be the Apocalypse, the coming of Christ.

A lot of other people simply think the world will end. Maybe a big asteroid will hit the planet, or the sun will explode, or something. Maybe the magnetic poles will reverse and the earth will rotate backwards. Or perhaps the moon will blow up.

Others think the aliens will finally put in an appearance.

In the Age of Aquarius, according to the person I was speaking with, there will be peace, love, and harmony. The age is already upon us and people who aren't filled with peace, love, and harmony are dying in droves, I was told. Sort of The Celestine Prophecy type of thing, I think. Except not.

Of course earthquakes, hurricanes, floods, and nuclear radiation are all precursors to the main event.

A great many people are ignoring all of this, of course, because they are too busy trying to eek out a living, feeding and clothing their families, to pay much attention to this hullabaloo. It's not like anyone can do anything about it anyway, if it is going to happen.

What I see as the problem with this sort of prognosticating and prophecy is that generally, it can be perceived however someone wants to perceive it. However, some people get pretty upset about it and they do weird things. As far as I am concerned, that means that something will happen in 2012 because it will become a self-fulfilling prophecy. People will expect something to happen, so it will. They will take actions, even unwitting ones, that will bring about the result they expect.

Every event in 2012 will be weighted with these prophecies, which are now in the mainstream in some fashion. My guess is that doomsday plays better than peace and love; hence, we have movies about the world ending, TV shows about history and other prophecies, etc. This means that the self-fulfilling prophecy likely will not be the peace and love one but rather the destructive one. Maybe not end-of-the world destructive, but something unfortunate.

I fear this is going to impact everyone, regardless of what one believes, whether its through additional economic hardships, hardball politics, or plain stupidity. So I must ask again: are you ready?

I Am Me ... And I Am Okay

A very long time ago, a young girl ran across a poster. It looked exactly like this: Click Here.

It featured a short little epistle by Virginia Satir. Now, the young girl had no idea who Virginia Satir was, but she liked the words on the poster very much.

So she bought the poster and hung it in her room.

She read the words on the poster frequently because they resonated so with her.

I am not sure what made me think of this today; perhaps a copy of a desiderata plastered on the wall of a health care provider this morning.

What happened to that young girl, who stared so hard and long at the poster from so very long ago? Where did she go?

I have no idea. I guess she grew up to be me.

Virginia Satir (1916-1988), the author of the saying above, was a American psychologist, author, and educator. She was keenly interested in self-esteem issues. She was key in the development of family therapy.

She was born in Wisconsin, the daughter of a farmer. She received one of her several degrees from the University of Chicago School of Social Service. She went through two divorces, and adopted two children, both of whom were adults or nearly adults at the time she took them in.

Thursday Thirteen

Today, I thought I'd share with you some Guidelines to Good Writing.

1. Verbs HAS to agree with their subjects.

2. And don't start a sentence with a conjunction.

3. Avoid cliches like the plague. (They're old hat!)

4. Be more or less specific.

5. Do not be redundant; do not use more words than necessary; it's highly superfluous.

6. Don't use no double negatives.

7. One-word sentences? Eliminate.

8. The passive voice is to be ignored.

9. Never use a big word when a diminuitive one would suffice.

10. Kill all exclamation points!!!!

11. Understatement is always the absolute best way to put forth earth shaking ideas.

12. If you're heard it once, you've heard it a thousand times: resist hyperbole; not one writer in a million can use it correctly.

13. Proofread carefully to see if you any words out.



Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; there is a list here.  I've been playing for a while and this is my 184th time to do a list of 13 on a Thursday.

Spring Snow

We had a little snow last night and this morning. I don't think it will last long. I took these photos around 8 a.m. today (3/27/2011).

The view out my front door.

My rose bush.

My forsythia bush!

Forsythia, again.

The view out my back door.

The Mulberry Tree

My post yesterday about the scar on my lip reminded me of several other little stories and scars from my childhood.

I have a nice scar on my left thumb. It's about 1/2" long and is located in the knuckle. I received this scar at my grandmother's house.

I am not sure how old I was - 10, maybe? My grandfather decided to cut down a big mulberry tree in the backyard. The thing was always full of berries which attracted birds, and he had placed a small building in the backyard near the tree. The result was the birds constantly pooed on his building. No one likes bird poo on a building.

I am not sure how I ended up helping him cut down this tree. Perhaps I asked or maybe I was drafted. Perhaps I was competing with my two uncles, who I am sure were helping him, too. (My uncles are four years older and one year younger, respectively.) If I were writing this up as a story, I'd have to add all of this detail, I suppose. And I'd have to make it up as I don't remember.

In any event, I had a saw. I was sawing away at small limbs. I sawed at a wrong angle and ended up sawing my thumb.

It bled, my goodness, it bled. I ran crying inside to my grandmother, who put my hand in the sink to run the thumb under water to see how bad it was. As the blood cleared and I could see the cut, I started feeling woozy.

Everything grew dark. Plop! I passed out and ended up on the floor.

My poor grandmother. I wonder what she thought, having me there bleeding all over her kitchen. I remember awakening to find her looming over me, wiping my face with a cold, wet towel. She helped me into a chair and then made me lean over and put my head down, eyes closed, while she bandaged my thumb.

I did not get stitches for that cut, though perhaps I should have. That is probably why it is such a nice thick scar now.

So how about you, dear reader? How are your scars today?

The Gate

We all have those little marks on our bodies that show we've been around. A cut on a finger, a skinned knee. Tell-tale scars that remind us of incidents and accidents that maybe we'd rather forget.

I have a tiny little scar on my upper lip. Most of the time I do not notice it but occasionally it suddenly pops out at me. The scar is in that place where you have that little "u"shape on your lips. It is about 1/4" long, if that.

It happened this way:

When I was 11 or so, I lived on a farm. Part of being a farm kid is riding around on tractors and opening gates.

My father had a trailer that he pulled behind the tractor. Its sides were wooden and covered with flaking paint. My brother and I would ride in the trailer, or we would walk behind or beside it while we picked up rocks and sticks.

One day, my father was heading somewhere with the tractor and trailer. I am thinking maybe we were going to our new homesite but my recollection is not sure. My parents built themselves a nice ranch in 1976, and it was way off the road and on the other end of the farm, so it is the right time frame.

An old lane that lead up that way required the opening of several gates in order to pass through.

I hopped off the trailer and trotted around the tractor and opened the gate. The gate, being made of wood, was heavy and hard to handle when you're a skinny little girl. It also tended to drag in the road. However, I had done this many times.

I pulled it open and stood behind it so my father could drive the tractor through. I would then close the gate behind him and jump back on the trailer. But either I didn't open the gate wide enough or he misjudged, for one minute I was watching the tractor go through the gate and the next I was on my back with blood all over me.

The trailer had hit the gate, and the wooden slates of the gate had splintered.

One of the slates hit me in the face, and a splinter of the wood pierced my lip. It went all the way through.

I know this because I could poke my tongue through it, or could until the doctor put a tiny little stitch in there.

I went to school with a swollen face - two black eyes and a fat lip. I remember telling everyone what had happened.

After that, I never opened a gate for a tractor again.

Thursday Thirteen



Forsythia

 It is spring. So here are quotes about this particular season, stolen from this site and this site:


1. O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?  - Percy Bysshe Shelley

2. Spring has returned. The Earth is like a child that knows poems. - Rainer Maria Rilke

3. The year's at the spring/ And day's at the morn;/ Morning's at seven;/ The hillside's dew-pearled;/ The lark's on the wing;/ The snail's on the thorn;/ God's in His heaven/ - All's right with the world! - Robert Browning

4. It's spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you've got it, you want - oh, you don't quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so! - Mark Twain

5. April hath put a spirit of youth in everything. - William Shakespeare


From Spring 2007

6. Now every field is clothed with grass, and every tree with leaves; now the woods put forth their blossoms, and the year assumes its gay attire. - Virgil

7. If I had my life to live over, I would start barefoot earlier in the spring and stay that way later in the fall. - Nadine Stair

8. In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt. - Margaret Atwood

Daffodils

9. He that is in a towne in May loseth his spring. - George Herbert

10. Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night. - Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters of Rainer Maria Rilke

11. Autumn arrives in early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day. -Elizabeth Bowen

12. Every spring is the only spring, a perpetual astonishment. - Ellis Peters

Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; there is a list here.  I've been playing for a while and this is my 183rd time to do a list of 13 on a Thursday.

Ode to the Stinkbug

O little critter, from I know not where
why are you smelling up my air?

When the sun shines and temps grow warm
you gather on windows as if in a swarm.

You're creepy, you're crawly, you make me cry
And I can't find a pesticide to make you die.

You're in my kitchen, the bedroom, the den,
The only way to kill you is to make you swim.

If I squash you, your odor means wrinkling of noses
You smell worse than my shoes and my toesies!

I wrap you in tissues and drown you and then,
I find I must do it again and again!

Go away, stinkbug! You smell, you're a fright
I fear I will eat you, a mistake in the night!


No kiddin', these things are atrocious. I am hearing stories from everyone about how they are waking up to find them in bed. They are slapping them and then dealing with their horrid smell on hands and other body parts, and otherwise finding these things difficult to deal with. We haven't found any pesticides that will take care of them or keep them away.

The cold weather didn't even kill them. Anytime the temps rose above 67 degrees, there they were. I kept the house at 66 degrees all winter long just to keep them away. Better to freeze than to deal with these bugs.

Just so you know, this is called a brown marmorated stink bug. It was first found in the US in 1998 in Pennsylvania and now it has spread through the Mid-Atlantic states. The bug is causing widespread problems with crops, including fruits. It is thought to be native to China, Japan, Korea, and Taiwan.

As the weather warms up, I am afraid these things are going to take over my life.

Spring at Hollins

My alma mater and current university as I pursue my master's degree is one of the prettiest campuses. I love the blend of nature and older buildings. Even newer structures have class. My favorite times on campus are spring and fall - both are absolutely lovely.

The willow trees along the campus drive near Eastnor.

 

The Wyndham Robertson Library

 

The chapel.

The Quad, showing the backside of East and the front of West.

I took this shot from the third floor of Pleasants.

A group of visiting young women took delight in the writings on the chalk kiosk outside of Pleasants.

The creek that runs between the Theater building and the library.

The Set of the Super Moon

I had to be different, of course, and shoot video of the super moon setting this morning instead of taking pictures of it rising last night.

Books: The Walk

The Walk
By Richard Paul Evans
Read by the Author
Unabridged
Copyright 2010

This was a short read - only four disks, so about four hours or so - and I surmise it is a short book. Alan Christofferson is 28 years old and has it all. Then his cherished wife has a horse riding accident and things quickly fall apart.

Funny how one little incident changes an entire path of a life.

Alan decides to talk a long walk, all the way from Seattle, Washington to Key West, Florida, in a journey that will traverse most of the United States and cover about 3,000 miles. This book is the first installment of his adventure, covering about the first two weeks of his journey once we are past the introduction of his wife's accident and other ill fortunes.

Along the way he meets many people, not all good. Life isn't all good, though, now is it?

The book felt complete in itself to me and it wasn't until I looked it up in order to obtain the Amazon picture that I realized it is the first in a series. Apparently this walk will cover many pages of multiple volumes.

Evans writes "inspirational" books, a genre placement which means "not entirely Christian but heading there," I guess. His characters generally are searching for meaning, in the midst of change, that type of thing, and Alan Christofferson is no different. I am fairly sure that the character's last name is not a happenstance, after all.

Apparently the second book, called Miles to Go, comes out in April. When it is available in the library, I will probably look for it.

The Day I Saw Faeries

It was  a recent warmish day in early March. A breeze tossed the branches on the trees that were still bare from winter. The grass was trying to green up but still held a brownish tinge.

As I drove across Country Club Road, I spied movement to my left.

They stood in the field. Three girl faeries, in stair-step height. They wore shin-length dresses, and their long hair flowed.

All were barefoot.

And they were dancing.

The smallest held a scarf and it blew about her in the wind. The other two held hands as they rejoiced in the warmth and the breeze.

I could scarcely believe what I was seeing, for the sight was so beautiful - so wonderful and carefree - that I thought I must have imagined it. And then I thought how fantastic that those three could step out and enjoy the day, let themselves go with such joy and delight.

They must have been faeries. I have not seen them since.

Early March faeries, dancing to celebrate a queer, fey day.

Thursday Thirteen

March is National Women's History Month.

Last week I offered up some facts about women. This week, in honor of the many women who have influenced my life in one way or another, I thought I'd list 13 of those wonderful ladies. Some I knew or have known, others not so much.

These are not in any particular order.

Mom

1. My mother. I suppose this would be on many women's list. Your mom teaches you how to do your hair, put on make up, walk, talk, flirt, cook, make the bed, and so many other things. Many of these things you learn simply because she has modeled the actions for you. My mother taught me to never go out in public looking "unmade" regardless of what was going on in your life.


2. My grandmother. She gave me unconditional love and all the hugs I needed. Everyone needs that kind of support in her life.





3. My teachers - all of them. I could list 13 teachers, I think, and might have to do that for another Thursday. My teachers and professors have all impacted me one way or another. They have taught me how to think, how to meet deadlines, how to write, how to communicate, and how to play well with others. Very important lessons, don't you think?

4. Mary Johnston. This author lived from 1870 - 1936, so obviously I did not know her. But she was a Botetourt County author and a suffragist. Because of her, I have a role model to follow and the right to vote. How cool is that?

5. Carolyn Keene aka Mildred Wirt. Keene is the pen name of the author of the Nancy Drew mystery series, and Mildred Wirt was the author who wrote the first books under that name. I loved the Nancy Drew books and I feel sure they are one of the reasons I wanted to become a writer. I have never wanted to write the Great American Novel. No. I would be quite happy if I could write something akin to Nancy Drew.

6. My BFFs. Over the years I have had a number of friends. Some have passed away. Many have moved on to other places and we aren't in touch. Some I have recently reconnected with on Facebook. At least one friend has stood by me for almost 30 years. Another has held my hand for about 15 years. Still another has been my daily "email pal" for over 10 years. I am so very thankful for these wonderful women.

7. Kate Jackson. Yeah, the actress. When I was growing up, I thought she was the bomb, man. I became a fan early in her career, even before she starred in Charlie's Angels. I actually watched her in a Gothic soap opera Dark Shadows, which I wasn't supposed to be watching but did. That was in the early 1970s, so I have been a fan for a very long time. Jackson went on to battle breast cancer and to have open heart surgery later in life. She's now a spokesperson for the American Heart Association.

8. Chrissie Hynde. As a young woman, I picked up the guitar not to play classical music, but to play rock and roll. Chrissie Hynde, lead singer and guitarist for The Pretenders, was a female rock and roller long before anyone else thought about it. Though at the time I really didn't pay much attention to her, as I grew older I became an admirer of her work in all of its stages.

9. Ellen Goodman. This Pulitzer Prize winning columnist writes well and puts it out there. She has chronicled changes in society for years, and has been a strong advocate for women for as long as I could read her column. She writes with courage and with dedication and I have long admired that.

10. Leslie Stahl. Her work on 60 Minutes has always been impressive. She was a White House correspondent for a number of years. I have always admired her ability to ask hard questions and move an interview along.

11. Laura Ingalls Wilder. I believe Ms. Wilder was writing creative nonfiction before anyone even knew what that was. Her Little House books enchanted me as a youth and as an adult I appreciate the details in her work.

12. Mary Queen of Scots. I am not sure why this historic figure has always fascinated me. Perhaps it is my Scots-Irish blood. Mary lived in the 1500s and must have been quite a character. She led armies, married royalty, and pissed off an English queen to the point of being beheaded. England's Elizabeth 1, who was also Mary's cousin, had her arrested and jailed for 19 years and then lopped off her head. I have read a number of historic accounts about this imposing woman and have found them all amazing.

13. Joan of Arc. This historic woman lived in the 1400s. She led the French army to a number of victories before being burned at the stake at the tender of age of 19. Known as the Maid of Orleans, Joan had visions which led the peasant girl to her ruin at the hands of the English.


There you have it. Women to admire. Take a moment to be grateful for the women in your life, won't you? Where would you be without them?



Thursday Thirteen is played by lots of people; there is a list here.  I've been playing for a while and this is my 182nd time to do a list of 13 on a Thursday.

Yippee! Almost Spring!

Yellow, apparently, is the color of spring in my yard.

My big ol' forsythia bush dominates the landscape.

This is the only daffodil in my yard. I wonder if it is lonesome?

Come on, Spring!

I Can See Clearly Now

I'm very glad to say that after spending a year fighting with my eye glasses and my prescription, I have resolved this problem.

I went a few weeks ago for an eye exam with a different doctor and received a different prescription - my fifth eye glass prescription in a year. I purchased a new pair of progressive lenses with a different optical shop, and lo, I could see.

Lesson? Be persistent. If you have a problem and you're sure there is a solution, chase after it until you find it. Had I given up, I'd still be struggling to see and still finding it hard to use my camera and do other things that are no longer a problem. I might even get brave and try to thread a needle.

Kudos to my new doctor, who has sorted out the problem.

And though I am not mentioning names, I must commend the optical shops, both of them. The folks at the first shop went out of their way to accommodate me. They even replaced my sunglasses and reading glasses free of charge with this new prescription after I spoke with them again. They did not have to do it, as the year warranty on those specs had just ended, but they chose to help me out. I am grateful to them for that.

The folks at the second optical shop, after hearing my story and my concerns, took their time with me and gave me their very best lenses. And I can see! I can even see through the viewfinder on the camera again, and I cannot tell you what a relief that is.

Hopefully I will soon be taking more pictures for my blog!

When I Am Old (or Apocolypse: Now)

The sides of my house will say Frigidaire
my cathedral ceiling, the color of cement and pigeon poo,
will run across four lanes.
My TV set will be the ever-changing sides of delivery trucks
whizzing past at light speed
their tires mere inches from my uncovered toes.
I will peer at the colors, unable to read.
My broken glasses, slapped from my face by a crazy man
over an ice cream cone, will rest useless against my breast.
I slip them on when I remember.

Each afternoon I will totter on swollen legs
to the dumpster behind the Micky D's.
I will carefully peel away the hamburger
and eat the buns. No e-coli for me from
old meat, dontcha know?

On Tuesdays the young women from the mission
will pass among me and my friends
(old women, all, toothless and gray)
offer up toothpaste (but no brush),
and the peppermint taste will bring smiles
to gummy mouths. But we only taste when
we hear The Word, a babble of Psalms that
eases their hearts, not mine.

On Saturday nights we will leave the exit,
moving in twos against the wind from the tractor trailers,
our coughs from the unfiltered exhausts
slowing us. Holding hands, me and my old friend
will find our way to the parking lot of Pizza Hut,
where we will feast on crusts.

Or maybe

Pizza Hut will be shuttered and Micky D's demolished,
because no one can buy fast food anymore.
The masses huddled at the exit will sit in silence
and no one will come.

Either way, we will die
one by one by one.

The Writer's Notebook

Many of my stories never see paper. An unfortunate habit of mine is to think about a story, write it in my head, and then commit it to memory. I think that one day I will actually write it down.

I do not know if this is laziness, procrastination, or stupidity, but at any rate, it is what I sometimes do. And they are seldom written down. Now that I am aging, and probably having memory loss even if I don't remember having memory loss, I figure if I don't start writing them down soon, they will never be more than flights of fancy.

Every writing class I have ever been in advocates the use of a writer's notebook or journal. Write down those ideas, I'm told. Make notes of bits of conversation, signs, images - anything that captures your attention.

Over the years I have headed this advice but in various formats. Up until about 1995 I wrote in a spiral bound journal almost every day. My writing thoughts went in there too, and those are all now hidden amidst a rather large stack of words that I might one day sift through.

Long about 1995, I started journaling at the keyboard. It too was an almost daily record and included some writing ideas.

In 2001, my journaling took a turn and became more, shall we say, politically focused. I opposed the war in Iraq from the start, but living as I do in the midst of a Republican stronghold there wasn't much of a place to say that. So my journal turned into a place of refuge as I tried to understand what my country was doing. The words were less introspective and more of a query of what was going on around me.

In 2004 I began a blog on AOL, which has long since disappeared. I moved to this blog in August 2006, and this has been one of my main places to write stuff down. I do not do major "introspection" on this blog, because I know you, dear gentle reader, are out there. And you don't need to read about my inner boogie men. It's a different style of writing.

Sometimes my ideas have also been written down on scraps of paper and tossed into files, or written down in the task list on MS Outlook (only to be lost in computer crashes, of course).  I've also had notebooks dedicated solely to writing ideas. They're around here somewhere.

In January I had an idea for a story that I liked. I mulled it over in my head and named my characters and moved through the plot line, finding holes and making changes. In a spiral bound journal that I sometimes keep (no longer do I write in such a thing daily, mostly because my handwriting, to be frank, is nearly illegible even to me), I wrote a few lines about the character.

Then I returned to college. And promptly forgot the story and gave it no thought whatsoever.

The other day I remembered that I had been thinking about  a story. A good story. And I couldn't remember a thing about it, not even the character's name. I tried to remember the story for two days and could not. I had forgotten I had written it down in my journal.

Thankfully I picked up my notebook and found a few little sentences. I read them and the whole story came rushing back like a cloud caught in a huge wind. There it was ... whoosh! there it goes. But I had the memory again and while I'd lost a lot of the construction, I could begin anew if I chose. (And I had to wonder, was it such a good story, if I'd forgotten it so readily? Hmm.)

I am a staunch supporter of journaling, blogging, writing down things on scraps of paper - whatever it takes to free up your brain. I have tried many different types of planners and notebooks and journal processes. I have pretty journals that I won't write in because they are too nice to mess up (give me a $1.99 Mead notebook and I'm fine), and I have tried journaling software such as Livejournal. I have awakened in the mornings and stumbled to pencil and paper (or to the computer) to try doing Morning Pages as advocated in the Artist's Way.

This is not only for writers. I think everyone should keep a journal or diary. Not only will they help you collect your thoughts, they are important footnotes in the annals of history. How else will the domestic life of the little people be acknowledged 200 years from now?

So today I hope that you will find your outlet. Maybe it's a blog, a notebook, a sketchpad, or a journal. Maybe it's a diary with a tiny little key, or a daily planner, or a clean new page in MS Word with the cursor blinking at you before you start.  Whatever it is, and no matter how good or bad you think it is, please cherish it as something that is uniquely you. No one else has your thoughts or your ideas.

So let's please write them down.

Women Writers: Annie Marion MacLean

Annie Marion MacLean (ca. 1870 - 1934) was a sociologist and writer who lived at the turn of the century.

She was the first woman to ever earn a master's degree in sociology and the second woman to earn her Ph.D. in sociology.


MacLean was employed by the University of Chicago, where she worked in the Home Study Department as a professor of correspondence courses. Her subjects included Rural Life, Introduction to Social Problems of Industry, Social Technology, Modern Immigration, and History of the Social Reform Movement.

Her work was hampered by her gender, as the universities did not support her work as they might have had she been male. She favored suffrage, was active in philanthropic undertakings, and was a member of numerous committees working for social and civic betterment. She also gave public lectures on sociological subjects.

She believed that democracy was failing because it did not reign in capitalism.

Her work, most of which is available for free reading on google books, are highly accessible. She was a participant observer in that she actually took jobs in department stores and factories in order to experience exactly what workers were undergoing. Her work significantly contributed to many of the safety laws that are in place for workers today.
 
Some of her publications:
Women Workers and Society (1916)
Wage Earning Women (1910)
Our Neighbors (122)
 
There are many others if you google her name.
 
This type of social research is not done today, though I contend that it is necessary. We are so busy sweeping issues under the rug and not dealing with them that things are going unchallenged and unnoticed.
 
The closest thing I have seen in my lifetime to compare to MacLean's work would be Nickel and Dimed, by Barbara Ehrenreich. I recall when this book came out several years ago that there was a massive outcry of "foul" from the right, simply because the book pointed out that no one can live on minimum wage (or less). 
 
Truth is truth. I am sorry it hurts. But we have a massive underclass of impoverished people in this country, and many of them are female. And there is a small group of wealthy who want to keep it this way, or even make it worse.
 
We need more writers like MacLean and Ehrenreich to point out the inequities and to offer solutions that work.
 
 
 
 

Books: Wicked Appetite

Wicked Appetite
By Janet Evanovich
Read by Loreli King
Abridged 4 hours
Copyright 2010

This is Stephanie Plum with a little magic. This is apparently a new series line for Evanovich, featuring Diesel. Diesel has been in the Stephanie Plum books a time or two.

He's an unmentionable, which is to say, he has some sort of extraordinary power. He teams up with cupcake queen Lizzie, a displaced Virginian who lives in Salem, MA. She's also an unmentionable, only she didn't know it.

This book offers up a few spells, a crazy monkey, a one-eyed cat, and a villain named Wulf. The heroine is not Stephanie Plum, exactly, but she is not far off. After all, why stray from the formula?

If you like Evanovich, then for sure pick this book up. If you are a little tired of her, move on. I suggest this book for a fast rainy day read.

A note on the reader, since this is an audio book. I enjoy Loreli King's readings of the Stephanie Plum books. She has a great reading voice and does nice characterizations. However, I was unimpressed with her attempts at a Virginia accent. Maybe that is because I have a solid and noticeable Virginia accent. At any rate, I think a different reader, one who did not bring to mind the Stephanie Plum series, would have better served the book.