Tuesday morning

Life...is bigger, bigger than you and you are not me--that's me in the corner, that's me in the spotlight, losing my religion... --REM song

In college, I had a friend, we'll call her Reina. At pauses in conversation, we'd say, "Life..." and the other one would burst into song, with the above. I suppose it's a grown-up version of this ditty:

A: That's life!
B: What's life?
A: A magazine?
B: Where do you get it?
A: At the corner store.
B: How much does it cost?
A: 25 cents.
B: I don't have that!
A: That's life!
B: What's life?

ad nauseaum.

Or....

So so suck your toe, all the way to Mexico, while you're there, kiss a bear, don't forget your underwear! My mother says to pick the very best one and you are not it!

I took a long walk in the park this morning. It might have been over an hour. My legs are twitching, the sweat is dripping down my back, and a cool bath is drawing as I write these words. Hang on, let me see how full the tub is...

Yeah, I'll catch up with you in a bit. Bubbles call me...

************

So I check my email this morning. Comments, you guys! Can I say how it makes my heart go pit a pat to see "pink sneakers (5)" in my Yahoo! Mail in-box? Plus, Suse hardly ever comments here, so a big thanks from whatever the opposite of down under is. Where was I? Oh yes, checking my email. I get a lot of "newsletters" from Christianity Today. Today was the "Books and Culture" newsletter, with an article on the last movie I saw, Superman Returns.

Ya gotta love the American public. Lordy. You take "...the American Way" out of Superman's motto and the crowd goes WILD! (Truth, justice, and the American Way was transformed to Truth, justice, and all that stuff for the latest flick.) Now, being that I am not a comic book junkie nor do I remember watching any of the Superman movies except for the first one (and Supergirl, of course) I didn't notice that tidbit when I watched. But a whole heck of a lotta people did, and they're stomping mad! So, Jeffrey Lott writes a wonderful article about how you gotta look at the CONTEXT. As my bro Terzo would say, RELAX! How I love reading people that think, that make me think, and let me write about their thoughts...where was I?

And Hallelujah, CT is getting better at catering to bloggers. It's okay to link to their site now. (It might have been okay before, but it wasn't in their reprint policy--it is now.)

*******

So--today is Tuesday. I was gifted a swimming pool tag yesterday, which is very cool. However, our local pool is only open 1pm til 5:45. (I work during most of that time.) I walked all over the park today, past the tennis courts (not the abandoned one--there were actually folks getting ready for a game!) past the community gardens (and longing so much to be in Warsaw) past Carnegie Lake (yes, it is a pond, but that is its actual name) where the lily pads are growing back. I didn't go past the pool, but someone I know in a minivan was dropping off kids for swim lessons (I can only surmise) because they yelled "Sarah Louise!" and I looked around for where the voice was coming from and ahead saw a waving arm out of a minivan headed away from me. I wonder who it was? I walked up the stone stairs where I say prayers for families. (It started when my pastor was in the middle of a divorce and I was walking daily in the park. I always prayed for him and his wife as I trudged up those stairs. So now when I trudge, I just pray for families in general, or families in specific. It takes a lot of work to keep them together.) I was very grateful for the water fountains along the way.

My mind is full of thoughts--so much so that I burnt the first round of toaster waffles and I still have dishes waiting to me rinsed in the sink. There's no real place to sit in my "kitchen" so I retreated to this room to eat my waffles and applesauce and continued blogging.

Here's yesterday's Fabulous Babes Page-a-Day Calendar quote: "Family is just accident. They don't mean to get on your nerves. They don't even mean to be your family, they just are."
--playwright Marsha Norman.

Oh, but how I do long to be in Warsaw. Never mind that when I was there, at 17, 18, 19, 20, I was lonely in the summers and wishing to be elsewhere a lot of the time. I remember fondly walking around, taking the trams, going to the museums to see a traveling Andy Warhol exhibit (SHOES!) and going to the Sculpture museum. In my twenties, I joked (not so jokingly) that I wanted to honeymoon in Poland. That yearning has returned. I mean, yes, Italy is gorgeous. France is divine. But Poland has a grittiness and a loveliness--it's got under my skin. Listen to me, homesick for Eastern Europe.

And I'm meeting Marian for lunch at noon--crap! Off to the phones...because I'll be 15 minutes late.

So nice, we posted twice!!

Um. So Blogger, in its infinite wisdom, told me there was an error when I posted earlier today. No prob, I just published it again. But um, as you can see, if you scroll down, it published twice! And I have comments on both posts! Um...

Technology...it's...um...

So, I'm going to bed now. Ah, air conditioning. Ah, sofa.

Sarah Louise at your service!

This is wierd. I remember when email first started, and the web was still new to me, I thought how cool it would be to have a newsletter that I sent out on a regular basis. Y'know, cuz I'm this fount of wisdom. (No, cause I like to write and I like an audience!)

So last night, as I was brushing my teeth (yes!! and flossing!!) I thought--hey, that's what my blog is! And all of a sudden, I'm getting emails from people who have googled me for info on tailbones (yes, I broke mine in November, read here if you're new.) I'm doing this for me, and all of a sudden it's helping others. Which is the best feeling in the world, let me tell you. So I need to shout out to a few bloggers who have been helps to me lately (and if you're not listed, give yourself a kudo, because just by reading this, you're helping this woman--me--in On and On Anon.)

• Babs--my inspiration for even ever starting a blog and a dear friend who makes great blueberry pies. She has taught me a lot about friendship on and offline. I am so priveleged that I get to know her and her boys.
• Lazy Cow--she always says the nicest things and I love both of her blogs. If only Australia weren't so far away...she also loves Trixie Belden.
• Telfair--who I discovered through Babs. She's moving in a week, from Australia to Michigan (think happy thoughts) and I've been able to share my moving experiences with her and she just connected me with the blog of JoAnna Harris, (see yesterday's post.)
• Joke--who is a great e-pal. He's going to Disney Land soon, so traveling mercies to him and his fam.

And truly, this is the shortest short version of thank yous. (If you're not on here and you think you should be, it may be because you recently went on vacation and I'm feeling a little snarky. Or it may be that oops, Babs called and there is banana bread coming out of the oven...) So just add yourself in. You know you want to.

Thank you for just reading, for indulging me. Mwah!

Sarah Louise at your service!

This is wierd. I remember when email first started, and the web was still new to me, I thought how cool it would be to have a newsletter that I sent out on a regular basis. Y'know, cuz I'm this fount of wisdom. (No, cause I like to write and I like an audience!)

So last night, as I was brushing my teeth (yes!! and flossing!!) I thought--hey, that's what my blog is! And all of a sudden, I'm getting emails from people who have googled me for info on tailbones (yes, I broke mine in November, read here if you're new.) I'm doing this for me, and all of a sudden it's helping others. Which is the best feeling in the world, let me tell you. So I need to shout out to a few bloggers who have been helps to me lately (and if you're not listed, give yourself a kudo, because just by reading this, you're helping this woman--me--in On and On Anon.)

• Babs--my inspiration for even ever starting a blog and a dear friend who makes great blueberry pies. She has taught me a lot about friendship on and offline. I am so priveleged that I get to know her and her boys.
• Lazy Cow--she always says the nicest things and I love both of her blogs. If only Australia weren't so far away...she also loves Trixie Belden.
• Telfair--who I discovered through Babs. She's moving in a week, from Australia to Michigan (think happy thoughts) and I've been able to share my moving experiences with her and she just connected me with the blog of JoAnna Harris, (see yesterday's post.)
• Joke--who is a great e-pal. He's going to Disney Land soon, so traveling mercies to him and his fam.

And truly, this is the shortest short version of thank yous. (If you're not on here and you think you should be, it may be because you recently went on vacation and I'm feeling a little snarky. Or it may be that oops, Babs called and there is banana bread coming out of the oven...) So just add yourself in. You know you want to.

Thank you for just reading, for indulging me. Mwah!

A few good books

It's that time again--when SL, the librarian, tells you what she's been reading. Gather up, it's book time!

For Mother Goose (my storytime of 6-24 mos and their moms, grandmas and dads): Hands Can. My favorite part is "Peekaboo!"

For a dinner date: "Because of Winn Dixie" by Kate DiCamillo. It's her best book. I don't like her newer stuff as well. But this was a gem. Candy that makes you remember sad times, a dog that helps the girl (I've already returned the book to the library and I'm too lazy to Google it) find friends. When I finished it, I cried. But they were happy tears. Babs cracked me up when she said, "They should make a movie." Hon, they did. (Not that I've seen it.)

For mending that broken heart: "You didn't complete me: when 'The One' turns out to be 'just someone'" by JoAnna Harris. I've been reading a lot of this type of book lately, as I try to process through the pain of being human. But this is the first book that takes a Christian perspective. She actually does the online dating thing--for research-- and finds it to be the crock that I found it to be (I'm not crazy, yay!) She talks about imaginary relationships: this is huge folks, never have I found any other writings on this, but I am so there: he looks at you a certain way and you have written the story all the way to the ring and the white dress. It's sad but TRUE. Also, I love her "Thanks" at the end: "Jack and Ross--For breaking my heart. Otherwise I'd be forced to make this stuff up." It's funny, it's sad, it's great. I think my married friends should read it to understand what we singletons go through...

For heart healthiness: "Heart of the Matter: how to find love, how to make it work" by Linda Austin. I'm trying to steer away from the "How to find a man to marry" books, but I do want information and I do seek most of that from books. This is such a low key book that anyone, whether they are in a relationship or seeking to be in one can benefit from. It is so NOT self-help-y. (Well, as much as a book could be in the 306.7 --relations between men and women-- area could be.) This book does not tell you which lists to make or which changes to garner first. It gently guides you through thinking about where you are and where you could be going. She gets at the heart of issues and makes me think about oh, is that why I do that? Some of the best advice is stuff I've heard from my wise friend Babs: (but I'll be quoting Linda A, here) "One can provide sun, water, and soil for a plant, but the plant has to do its own growing. Likewise, when you 're responding to a friend or lover who has a problem you'd like to fix for them, remember that it's impossible to help another more than he is able to help himself. It's just not in your power to "make it all better."...Our goal [as therapists] is to enable our clients to give themselves good advice. On the other hand, communicating the simple thought I believe in you empowers them to greet their problems with energy and confidence." (and I've lost the page #) Anyways, it's a good book, very non-confrontational.

Yes, it's time for the good stuff: the latest in Chick Lit!!

"The Queen of Babble" by Meg Cabot. I will read just about anything by MC. She is wonderful at mistaken identitites, light mysteries, not so light mysteries (she's just started a mystery series) and her books are just FUN. Queen of B is about a girl who goes to England and discovers that her boyfriend is a jerk. So she goes to France, where her girlfriend is hanging out in a villa. (Yes, this is why I do not write book reviews for the New Yorker...) Anyways, it's funny and readable. And already back at the library or I'd give you more meat.

"Literacy and Longing in L.A." by Jennifer Kaufman and Karen Mack. A little darker than the usual fluff that I take as my dinner dates, but a good read. When the going gets tough, Dora does not buy shoes, she binges on books. This leads to an affair with a bookseller at a local bookstore and all sorts of adventures. (Especially since Dora, who lives in the land of the freeway, hates driving on the freeway.) This book is peopled by people you've met: bittter, cynical, yet trying to make it through life unscathed. And there is healing, which made it worth reading the depressing parts.

Books I'm in the middle of:

"Reaching for the Invisible God" by Phillip Yancey. I have read this one already more than once. I pretty much read anything by PY because he is cynical and doubtful in his faith and that is refreshing to me. It's not all roses and miracles--it's about broken hearts, broken dreams, and how the heck do you have a relationship with an invisible God? PY is also very well read, so there are tons of quotes from the writers he's read. I love that in a book!

A few gems:

• Ultimately I saw that a constant emphasis on God's power may lead to the fatalism of extreme Muslims or Hindus, who conclude that humans need do nothing because the will of God works itself out regardless. Far more impressive is the miracle of God's condescension, his humble willingness to share power and offer us full partnership in the mission of transforming the world. (p. 182)

(well, if I gave you more, I'd be here all morning--you know that on and on Anon thing.)

"Leaving Church: a memoir of faith" by Barbara Brown Taylor. A woman who is a full-time priest in the Episcopal church, through her journey leaves her position. It's the story of a real woman discovering that what she thought was a lifetime job may have just been "for a season" and how her faith weathers the changes. It's very good, but it has a ton of holds so I might have to return it before I'm done. I think in the end, though, it's a book I'd like to own. Her candor is refreshing and her writing is clear.

That is all. I think it's time to get dressed and think about what I'm doing today...

My one regret--calendars I didn't buy

Watching, at the moment, Calendar Girls, which is based on a true story of Yorkshire women who bared their breasts to raise money for a decent sofa in the "relatives room" at the local hospital where one of the women had lost her husband to cancer.

In 1998, when the calendar came out, I was working at Fox Books and I was watching the pennies. So I didn't buy the calendar. And I don't even know how to do the e-Bay thing, but if any of you do, I really would like to get a copy.

My first year as a librarian, some librarians in England did the same thing. I was in email contact with someone but never was able to get one in the end.

One review likened it to another Brit flick, The Full Monty.

I am too tired to write a treastise or a compare contrast. I have cramps and I'm grumpy and I'd really like a nice rum and coke. Which I have half a mind to drive to the Holiday Inn to get.

The other half is writing this post.

I matriculated from Washington College, which resides on the Chester River in Kent County. We are famous for many things, including the Sophie Kerr award, a cash prize to the most promising senior writer. The prize last year was $53K.

One of the other things WC (or WAC as we call it affectionationetlly--and I'm sorry but I can't spell tonight.) is famous or infamous for is May Day. May Day is a tradition that was started by now retired professor Emeritus Bennett LaMond. Um, the tradition is to take your clothes off. The first year I was there, I did it only in the shower, thank you very much. The second year, I went to the Literary House party and later hung out with a few friends in the drama building. There are no pictures to memorialize this evening, only the ones I see in my mind. It takes quite a bit to get naked before someone you like, much less a bunch of people you see in classes every day. I never slid down the hills--they would hose down the hills and people slide down, naked as jaybirds.

I miss my friends from college. We didn't keep in touch for very long. I miss my friends from high school--I really only kept in touch with two of them and now they live far far away.

But tonight, I went to "Game Night" and all three of Sally's bridesmaids (myself included) were there. So we took a picture. Zack, Sally's husband, said we all looked younger than we did ten years ago. Whatever. He's a smooth talker...

Go hug someone. I'd give a dollar if I had someone to hug right now. Instead, I think I'll go spend my hard earned cash on a rum and Coke at the Holiday Inn. If I'm lucky, they'll be playing jazz.

Why I love the OD (again, another in a series…)

Okay, so I love the fact that the initials of my church can be mistaken for Over Dose. I’m a little twisted, but if you’ve been reading here for any length, this is not news.

We have art tables. So if the sermon is a little wacky or you’re feeling a little restless, you can draw pictures to your heart’s delight. Some people journal, but I draw pages and pages of simple line drawings: a garment of praise (?) I think it’s from Isaiah. There are pages and pages of simple line drawings by moi. (If you're looking, they're the ones marked sw and a date)

We are not perfectionists (well, most of the time). On Father’s Day, Dustin was heading up the worship music and he wanted to honor his grandfather by playing his favorite hymn, (which I’ve now forgotten). Anyways, he was doing great, but he’d never played it before and so he asked for help. Nathan came up and gave him a hand on the vocals. It was just great to see the two men up there, cooperating in song. (Of course, kudos to the rest of the band, too, lest they read this and feel left out…)

This summer (well, June and July) we have all “guest preachers,” as BJ is taking an intense Hebrew class. So you know what the scripture will be, (we’re doing the book of Mark, one chapter per week) but you don’t know what the format will be…for instance, Krista did a “community sermon” for The Union Project, the owners of the building, decided that instead of paying $1 million to have someone else fix the windows, they’d hire a stained glass teacher and charge folks $200 for the privilege of learning how to do stained glass and the materials would be the windows for the Union Project. (A little Sharp Edge afterwards, most Sundays. I recommend the Mystery Beer (just $3) and the Mediterranean nachos--yum! (Oh did I mention we meet at 6 pm, which means I have the day of Sunday to really rest?) (Or go to other people’s churches in the morning.)

We take art seriously. Our offering urn was made by one of our in house artisans, Garret. We do an art installation of the Stations of the Cross every Lent, two years running now. (Each artist takes a station, creates something that represents that station.)

Oh, about the building again—the Union Project has a café now and it has the best sandwiches. And the best staff. And you never know what the music will be—BOB-FM, or WYEP, or someone’s Ipod.

I could go on and on and on. But I won’t. Have you heard about the new Twelve Step program for incessant talkers? It’s called On and On Anon.

Random tidbits from the Library world

Do you know your Dewey numbers? There is an actual number for "Advertising by electric signs." It's 659.136. The eiNetwork (our library system in the greater Pittsburgh area) does not own any books in this category.

A Wisconsin mayor should go straight to sainthood, do not stop go, or collect $200. Charles Damaske, mayor of Muskego, Wisconsin, is reducing his salary by half and removing himself from the city's health insurance policy to fund Sunday hours during the school year for Muskego Public Library. From American Libraries Online.

There's an ALA 2006 New Orleans Wiki Site which has blogs and links.

Occasionally the Wall Street Journal online has something interesting. Here's an article about LibraryThing.com.

The ALA website has a page called "Parade of Bookmobiles."

And in other news, I got a haircut. Everyone tells me it looks "youthful" and that I should wear it down instead of putting it up. I don't listen. I don't like hair on my neck. I bet I'll have it bob length or shorter by Christmas. We'll see.

This isn't the movies--if we die, we're doing it for free--or Sarah Louise and the Elevator story

So the other day, I go to Bellefield Clinic, which is where I pick up some of my psych drugs (I'm in a study, and the study pays for two of the drugs I'm on.) I always take the elevator b/c the stairwell closest to the lobby requires a key.

(I didn't know about the side stairway...)

(But now I do, and will use it, often!)

So. I get there, and there's a Schindler guy in the one elevator, doing stuff. (Inspection day, the security guard tells me.) I go up to the eighth floor, b/c I wanted to get a phone number off a bulliten board for a study I might qualify for. (Right handed and bipolar--yep, c'est moi!) The elevators are full, what with only one in use.

So when I get to the ground floor, I stay in the elevator, even though it will now be going back up, and then I'll go to the lower level where the pharmacy is. Are you still with me? I rode up to 8, came to G, stayed on, went up to 4, picked up two guys, the elevator went up to 8 again. Not sure why it went to 8 again, but when we got there, the Schindler guy (inspector dude) was there, and he talked loudly into his walkie talkie.

We go back down. We get to G and the doors won't open.

Let's pause a moment. There were three of us in the elevator. Myself and two young men: a tall gangly man who could be of Lebanese descent and a short African American man. They were buddies and seemed to be in their early twenties. The gangly one was high strung and the short one was copasetic. I tend to become more calm the crazier others become. Oh, and by crazy I mean: "I'm claustrophobic," bellows high string gangly man. "I'm gonna sue them!" "I can't breathe!" and "This isn't the movies! This isn't f****ing Speed! If we die, we're doing it for free!"

My phone was the only one that had network, which we discovered when Babs calls me to let me know that at 10:30, she's going for her run now, so can we meet at 11?
"I'm stuck in an elevator," I say.
"Oh, what's that like?"
"I'll tell you later."

Gangly guy uses my phone to call his therapist to say he won't be able to make his appointment, he's stuck in the elevator. Then he uses my phone to call his dad, in case we're in here long enough that he'll be late picking up his son from day care.

"I'm stuck in an elevator. No, Father, I can't go up a floor. We're stuck!" He hung up after a few more minutes of this. But the father now had my cell number and so he called twice once we got out. "Sir, we are out of the elevator now, I'm sure your son's phone has network. Yes, we were really stuck in an elevator. For about twenty minutes, yes."

We talked to maintenance on the elevator phone--gangly guy hung up when he got put on hold. After 10 minutes, I pick up the elevator phone, and the chick that answers says, "Don't hang up, I'm going to put you throught to maintenance." I sat calmly on the elevator floor, while on hold, and all they could tell me when they got on was "We're working on it." Gangly guy kicked the doors, rang the alarm. Oh, it was a barrel of monkeys. I calmed him down a little by asking his son's name. Proud papa whipped out his wallet and I got to see a picture. Shortly after this, the elevator jolted, we went up a floor and got out on 2. So glad to be out, out, out!

The whole ordeal lasted about twenty minutes. That was enough drama for the day, so after I climbed the STAIRS down to the Lower Level to get my drugs, I drove over to Phipps Conservatory and walked in the free gardens outside and took some pictures. Then I drove to Tazza and met Babs and the boys and the babysitter for coffee. Too soon, it was time to go to work.

*********

Parking at Pitt RA metered lot for 15 minutes: 25 cents
Not getting a ticket after being inside Bellefield Clinic over 30 minutes: priceless.

Meds at Bellefield Clinic: free
Parking at Phipps, meter: 25 cents
Pictures at the Phipps outside garden: free
Lunch at Tazza (eggplant sandwich and green salad): about 7 bucks.
Being out of the elevator and in the open air: priceless.

It ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with bonfires, and illuminations, from one end of this continent to the other.

(John Adams)

Well, it's a rainy day in da Burgh. So far I know two parents that have/are taking their children to see the movie Cars. I think I'll go see Superman. Gina liked it. And what with the weather today, I imagine the theatre will be packed, so I won't be missing "the fam" as much. I haven't talked to Bird (my dearest sister) for like a week!

My dad sent me a very cool article on 10 days that changed American history. I have to figure out how the NYT treats blogging--in terms of copyright, etc.

****

Elapsed time: 30 minutes. What did I come up with? Nada! Well, two things. I emailed a guy at the NYT who seems to be aggregating blogs and also found this is on the page of "Most Blogged Articles": "Articles most frequently linked to by bloggers on the Web." So I think I can link to the article.

Except now I'm exhausted from all that web-searching that I need a nap...

Up to three meme, thanks to Bookhart! (with corrections)

Bookhart's meme (tweaked by Sarah Louise) (and it's not named for the time of morning you might find yourself up to if you try this in one sitting.) (I could keep adding categories forever...)

Name up to three:
(and I added and subtracted categories to suit my tastes...)
(and I peeked on everyone's that I could find)
(and I used Wikipedia)

Song(s) That I Loathe to the Core of My Being
I shot the sheriff
Unchained Melody
You're so beautiful (James Blunt)

Musical Artist(s) That I Loathe to the Core of My Being
Sarah Brightman*
Beastie Boys
Eminem

Rolling Stones Song(s) I Love
19th Nervous Breakdown
Satisfaction
Jumping Jack Flash

Beatles Song(s) I Love**
I wanna hold your hand
Help
In my life

Madonna Song(s) I Love
True Blue
Like a Prayer
Love don't live here anymore

Reggae Song(s) I Love
Red Red Wine

Country Song(s) I Love**
I hope you dance (Leanne Womack)
Redneck Woman (Gretchen Wilson)
I want to talk about me (Toby Keith)

Movie Soundtrack(s) I Love**
Pretty In Pink
The Committments
Drive Me Crazy

Musical Soundtrack(s) I Love**
Annie
Carnival
Fiddler on the Roof (the musical, not the movie)

Cover Song(s) I Love
Shawn Colvin's "Everything He does is magic" (Sting)
10,000 Maniacs "Because the Night" (Bruce Springsteen)
Sarah Brightman's "Deliver Me" (The Beloved)

Simon & Garfunkel Song(s) that I Love
I am a rock
Homeward Bound
Bridge over troubled water

U2 song(s) that I love
Vertigo
She moves in mysterious ways
Yahweh

Song(s) I remember from college, circa 1991-93:
Right here, right now (Jesus Jones)
Closer to fine (Indigo Girls)
Losing my religion (REM)

Classical Composer(s) I Love
Chopin
Bach
Beethoven

70s Disco Song(s) I Love
Stayin' Alive (Bee Gees)
Funky Town (Lipps Inc.)
Last Dance (Donna Summers)

70s Supergroup Song(s) I Love (like Abba?)
Dancing Queen (Abba)

Metal Song(s) I Love
Enter Sandman (Metallica)

New Wave Song(s) I Love
And She Was (Talking Heads)
Once in a lifetime (Talking Heads)
Always (Erasure)

Soul/R&B Song(s) I Love
Pink Cadillac (Aretha Franklin)
You make me feel like a natural woman (the Carole King version, on Tapestry)
I just called to say I love you (Stevie Wonder)

Power Ballad(s) I Love***
Keep on Loving You (Reo Speedwagon, although I like the version covered in the movie "Drive Me Crazy" by The Donnas)
I'll be there for You (Bon Jovi)
Is this Love (Whitesnake)

Pre and 1950s Song(s) I Love**
Someone to watch over me (1926)
It had to be you (1924)
In the cool cool of the evening (1951)

Punk Song(s) I Love
Rock the Casbah (The Clash)
Should I stay or should I go (The Clash)

Singer/Songwriter Song(s) I Love**
Coming Around Again (Carly Simon)
I walk the line (Johnny Cash)
Ring of Fire (J. Cash)

MTV Video(s) I Love
She's so high above me (Lit) (Fastball)
Time and Tide (Basia)
Boulevard of Broken Dreams (Green Day)

Pre-MTV Video(s) I love (they played on Midnight Special)
Don't stand so close (The Police)
Refugee (Tom Petty)

Queen songs(s) I Love
We are the champions
We will rock you
Bohemian Rhapsody

Guilty Pleasures
Mmmbop (Hanson)
Walk Like an Egyptian (The Bangles)
Love Shack (The B-52s)

None of the Above Song(s) I Love
96 Tears
Birdhouse In Your Soul (They Might Be Giants)
The Remedy (Jason Mraz)

Up to three more song(s) I Love
Walking on the Sun (Smash Mouth)
You sexy thing (Hot Chocolate)
Low rider (War)

TV theme songs**
WKRP in Cinncinati
Friends (I'll be there for you)
That 70s show

Bands I like that only one or two people reading this have likely heard of
The Affordable Floors
This Side of Eve
Good Brother Earl

Foreign language songs or songs about foreign places:
The Girl from Impanema
Bésame
Sto Lat (link from Polish American Center)

Roller Skating Songs circa 1981-ish
I love Rock and Roll (Joan Jett)
Africa (Toto)

Song(s) I love that I lifted from other people's lists:
One Night in Bangkok (from the Chess soundtrack) (from amamgets)
___________________

*except for the one song
**I had the hardest time with these categories
***I used Wikipedia exclusively to find out what these were, then discovered I liked loved a few.

At last, Patricia gets her post (Patricia MacLachlan, writer phenom!)

So, a bit about me, first. (It is *my* blog.) I saw Patricia MacLachlan in May. It's now, um, July. So I could find the notebook with notes from PLA in March, but could I find the notebook from May? Non! Ah well, c'est la vie! So the quotes are for effect, not direct, although her words do still resonate in my brain...

I wrote her a letter once. It was after I read Baby, which so touched me because it dealt with a family that had lost a child and our family lost two. (But we got two more, so we are very blessed.)

And one of the main themes in the book was a game of "rock paper scissors," a game you play with your hands. My father and I have a rhyme that we sometimes mime to each other:

"In a cabin (make a roof with two hands together)
in the woods (hold two hands out, fingers wide)
little man by the window stood (hand at your forehead, as if you are looking at something far away)
saw a rabbit hopping by (you know this one!)
knocking on his door (a fist knocking)
Help me help me help he said (two hands, raise them up and down)
for the hunter shoot me dead (you know this one!)
Little rabbit, come inside, (beckon with your hand)
safely to abide." (use one hand to caress the other)

Um, yes, at 34 and 64, we still sometimes mime this. It drives my mother crazy, which of course makes it more fun.

Baby is also written using a lot of flashbacks and italics. "I love italics" says PM. "I wish I could write an entire book using italics, because italics say, 'I'm important, read me!'"

I sat in the front row. No one else did. It was a lame conference. I mean, c'mon, this woman is phenomenal! And when she was done and asked for questions, I got up and said, "I feel like you've written my life, because in Baby there were lost babies and we lost two. And in Unclaimed Treasures, the twins were ten when they got a new baby--well, I was ten when we got the first one of a set of Irish twins. I couldn't find my copy of Unclaimed Treasures for you to autograph, besides, it's just a tattered paperback." PM replied, "I love tattered paperbacks."

She was so self-effacing, humble. When she talked about 9/11, she said, I thought I should go out and get training to be a paramedic. I mean, I felt so useless. And then a boy from Georgia called her and said, "You're still going to write, aren't you? Even after what happened?" Another boy left a message on her machine that said something about how he liked what she wrote and what she left out. Which she found wonderful--that a child could figure out how hard it is to know what to keep in or leave out. She said, "Jane Yolen always asks the kids if their parents know they're calling, but I don't care, I just love talking to them."

She talked about her father, who is an existentialist (I think he's still living.) He used to talk to her as a child, saying, "Are you bored, anxious?" (So wishing I had my notes right now!!!) As an adult, they argue about things, and one time, they'd been arguing and she dropped him off at his apartment. When he got to the streetlight, he did a little jig, which she interpreted as "Oh, let's not fight, let's have fun."

I just googled PM and I'm #4 "(Using italics reminds me I still haven't blogged about Patricia Machlachlan. I also have a post on the letter P in the works.)" (How humbling!!!) (until I spell it right--MacLachlan!)

She lived in Wyoming as a child and still carries a bag of prairie dirt with her.

She writes in between games of Solitaire. She had this conversation with Natalie Babbitt, who said, yes, but my fingers hurt. (Natalie was still using cards!) (Patricia plays on the computer.)

She is adamant that a family is the people who love you--it doesn't have to be mom and dad, it can be grandma and grandpa, or whoever it is that takes care of you.

One of my favorite picture books by PM is like many things, lost in my apartment.

Here's a great link (believe me, there are some duds out there):

Transcript from Reading Rockets (Reading Rockets is a national multimedia project that offers research-based and best-practice information on teaching kids to read and helping those who struggle. It is an educational service of public television station WETA in Washington, D.C.)

I'll let you know when I find my notes!!!

The kind of conversations we have...

So I didn't go downtown to sing "It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood." I didn't go to see Good Brother Earl, or the Violent Femmes.

And it's okay.

I've been having a crappy week, emotionally speaking. I'm dealing with the loss of a friend who I considered my best friend for the past seventeen years. That's half my life span. I'm dealing with the reality of a prince coming off a pedestal, someone I've admired from afar and up close for over a year.

The moments of my week were wonderful. But the emotional weather has been bleak. In the car, to and from work, I've been listening to the audio of How to Survive the Loss of a Love. I recommend it heartily. It's at moments very funny. The book is a colaboration of three writers, who read their respective parts of the book. They admit at the start of the audio that they are not professional readers. One of the writers is a poet, whose poems are extremely cheesy, like "The poem on this page is upside down, because my life has been turned upside down." But it's meant to be cheesy, so it works as comic relief. "There is no poem on this page. The poet has taken a nap." (Right after one of the other reader/writers gives a chapter on the importance of rest and naps.)

For the first time in almost 10 years, I won't be with my family for the Fourth of July. Which really sucks. My parents generally stay at a hotel downtown that has a pool, so we get to swim, and we go to a movie as a family. (Superman would be a shoe-in for this year's--in the past we've seen Eraser, Spiderman Two, among others.) One year, my sibs and I went to Sandcastle for the day. On the fourth (or in the Sophie Maslov days on the third) we'd walk from the hotel to the fireworks.

But I'm getting ahead of myself--this post is about my wonderful mom. And how excited she was that I'd have a chance to sing for the movie. And how, this evening, while sitting on the stairs in my garret, I told her I didn't go and she immediately said, "That's all right." I told her I need to protect myself--this is a hard weekend. She didn't know what agoraphobia was (fear of the marketplace) and said, "Oh, that's what so-and-so has. He doesn't want to go anywhere." I don't really have agoraphobia, but it's the easiest way to describe it: I didn't want to go out!

I finally told her about the last conversation I had with my friend, how she told me she didn't see any reason for us to be friends. "Oh honey," she said. Then we talked about friends and how right now my mom is feeling trapped, since she's not really the "girlfriend" type and there's a woman who seems to really want my mom as a "girlfriend." Fiercely independent, that's my mom. She doesn't go on "girlfriend getaways" or have a "girl's night out."

I just felt like my mom was meant to be *my* mom after we hung up. Neither of us were ever extremely popular, although I'm more of a social butterfly than she is. But she understands the pain of having lost friends over the years. And she understands how far I have come. And how bipolar can ravage my life, with swings of great and wretched times. She is realistic and encouraging. She gets me. She knows why I'm afraid. She knows I will get over my fears.

I told her I'm probably going to see The Devil wears Prada tomorrow. She said, "What is Prada?" I smiled, and said, "very expensive shoes."

25 She is clothed with strength and dignity;
she can laugh at the days to come.
26 She speaks with wisdom,
and faithful instruction is on her tongue.
27 She watches over the affairs of her household
and does not eat the bread of idleness.
28 Her children arise and call her blessed... (Proverbs 31:25-28a, NIV)

Catch up (not Heinz 57)

Coming soon: Born on the Fourth of July—List Friday (To be Posted later)

In this post and to be posted on later: Random thoughts on Friday: N’Orleans, Elevators, and Humming Hymns.

One morning this week, upon waking, I started humming “Here I raise my Ebenezer” which is the second verse of “Come Thou Fount…” Last night at the Sharp Edge, Babs and I were discussing what posts we had on the back burner. I said, a shoe post, of course (here’s hers), and the up to three meme from Bookhart. And a paragraph so far on this old hymn, “Come thou Fount.” Oh, she says, I have that Easter one in my head right now, the one that goes “A-hhh-le-luia.” So then we both try to hum, “Come thou Fount” and fail miserably. I finally get it going. Yes, so get the mental image of two tired librarians, with our Yuenglings, hungry as ever, humming hymns at the Sharp Edge.

I like the idea of an Ebenezer, a rock that one places because “God has helped us.” In the Old Testament, the Patriarchs (Abraham and his dudes) were forever placing rocks and calling a place “Beth-el” or “Ebenezer” or what have you, after God did some amazing thing. It was a visible reminder to them, and I guess to anyone who stopped by. I guess the modern equivalent would be memorials—like the Vietnam Memorial, or the Civil Rights Memorial which my dad visited after he was done conventioneering with the Presbyterians in Birmingham last week. Except that those all seem to be memorials to deaths or cataclysmic events. I’m just rambling here…

So today is the first day back for my boss, the Storytelling Lady. She went to N’Orleans for the mother of all Library conferences. She is full of stories of how Bourbon Street was so packed that in order to stay with her husband she had to either hold his hand or his belt loops.

******

Yes, it is now Saturday. I could write more (and aren't YOU curious why I'd be writing about elevators--how do you keep a turkey in suspense? I'll tell you tomorrow.)

But I just wanted to get something up--it's my one compulsion, post daily! (Not that I expect others to, it's just that I sometimes feel like I have so much to say and y'all are my captive audience.) And I'm addicted to comments. Hi, I'm Sarah Louise, and I'm a comment-aholic....

(Thanks for sharing, Sarah Louise.)

That said, I may or may not post tomorrow. I'm PLANNING a quiet Sunday (movie, lunch out) but my plans don't always come to fruition...

And I'm still not sure what Monday looks like--I generally have a therapy session in the North Hills (and then I sometimes go into work for an hour or so, to catchup) but my therapist is on vackay...so I may go to the pool with Babs & Co...who knows. This is the first year in ages that the 'rents haven't come up for the Fourth and there's a SLIGHT possibility that they still might come but my mom didn't have full details when we spoke last night. I miss my momma! Anywho, I'm starved (as here on the East Coast or Mid-Atlantic or Southwestern Pennsylvania time zone it is 24 past the meridian) so I'll sign off.


Going dahntahn to sing, and see two bands at the Regatta...
***this portion of the blog has been pre-empted by a small case of agoraphobia.***

Over and out, time for lunch!!

more small moments (a very short and rather pedestrian post)

Life is hard, but good.

Walking from work to my car (parked in the shade), talking to my mom on the cell. (She won't let me drive and talk, so I sat in the parking lot for a bit.)

Going to dinner with some OD folk (that would be Open Door, not overdosed). One beer was all I needed...I left at 8:30 and was asleep by 9:30pm. The food was paella and divine!

Thinking about how I could make a mini-trip home...since the mountain can't come to Mohammed...(the 'rents usually come up for July 4th but can't, and I have a window of time where I *could* go down there for a few days...next weekend.)

And this weekend will be full of fun, egads!

This was the quote that hit me today, as I continue to read Phillip Yancey:

"To live in the past and the future is easy. To live in the present is like threading a needle." (Walker Percy)

Which, threading a needle isn't so hard if you're paying attention. Unless, of course, you happen to be Tom Sawyer...

I'm listening to Hoot on audio again. Oh, I highly recommend it! Chad Lowe is an amazing reader!

And soon, I promise, I'll write on Patricia MacLachlan. Pinky swear.

Today's challenge: to see if I want to do some Japanese story thing with my Mother Goose crowd or just find a copy of When the Relatives Came (by C. Rylant.) Joke thinks I should challenge myself--I'm feeling stretched beyond belief, but WE'LL SEE. Stay tuned.

Oh, and Joke also recommends Veggie Tales. That's some advice I will most certainly be taking!!!

The Point (and further ramblings)

Well, this is Pittsburgh, after all. The city that will buy up all the brown shirts you'll sell it. (Honest injun, a friend of mine used to be a buyer in the men's department for Kaufmanns. Whenever she was in NYC looking for stuff and saw brown shirts, she bought them all, because apparently, Pittsburgh men will buy them, hand over fist.)

Yesterday I posted on an event happening at the Point. Singing a song from the Mr. Rogers' show with one of the former stars, Mr. McFeely.

"IT'S A BEAUTIFUL DAY IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD
"BE PART OF A FILM SHOOT SATURDAY JULY 1, 2006 5:00 PM AT THE POINT
On Saturday July 1st at 5 p.m., Pittsburghers, past and present, near and far, are invited to join Mr. McFeely (David Newell) to sing "It's ABeautiful Day In the Neighborhood" at The Point.This once-in-a-lifetime event is part of the grand finale of "A TALE OFTWO CITIES", a movie we are making about Pittsburgh-- the city which builtAmerica with its steel, cured polio and invented everything from aluminumto the Big Mac which now is being challenged to reinvent itself.

I found out about it from an email forwarded from someone my boss knows, who forwarded it to me. I dutifully sent it out to my entire address book. My two tried and true Pittsburgh friends replied thusly:

1. "How do I know this isn't a hoax?" and then later, "I checked it out, it's not a hoax."
2. "Well, it's not Rick Sebak. Pittsburghers are constantly reinventing the city. It's not really a matter of 'two' cities over time."

Oh for crying out loud. My parents, normal people, replied thusly: (well, my mom)

"It looks to me like a MUST Do. You would just have to leave work early, not not go at all right?

Love you, Mom"

So that's one Point, Point State Park, the place where three rivers meet.

This post is also about another kind of point, a point in time. It's called, Sarah Louise cannot stand her hair on her neck anymore so she MUST put her hair up. It's the Ponytail Point. Then there's the point at which Sarah Louise must take off her ring (sometime from getting home from work to at least 15 minutes before bedtime) and the point in the morning at which she must put her ring back on. It's the Ring Point. Then, there's the Shoe Point. This one can be easily determined: the minute Sarah Louise enters her garret (which is wall to wall carpeted in entirety.)

On the way to Target Monday, Babs and I discussed blogging. How it can sometimes be cliquish and high school. Well, yeah! I loved high school. (Ninth grade was horrible, but that's normal.) But then again, my high school wasn't cliquish. We had groups that morphed. I was a part of the courtyard group (the folks that ate lunch in the courtyard.) Our group was anywhere between 8 and 20 folks. I was in a similar group in college. My college was a little cliquey. However, the worst cliquishness I experienced: at the youth group at my church. I came in at 7th grade and they'd been together for years and I was never "one of them." Finally I stopped going my senior year of high school.

And I have never heard of a "pop-up" thunderstorm, but that's the forecast for this afternoon.

rain rain go away, little Susie wants to play...

It's raining. If you're anywhere on the Right coast-ish (East Coast, USA) (as opposed to the Left, or West, Coast) you know of that which I speak.

Actually, I think it did stop for a moment. But never fear, the skies are still gray. Ugh!

It's the sort of day you want to just go to the mall or curl up with a book. I may actually go into work early, so that I can leave early on Saturday and do this.

I think I'll copy-cat Babs soon and do my own "shoe" post. I even already have pictures of her shoes!

I added a few folks to the right--to "Shoe Shopping": PJ, Carolyn, who are just great ladies, and fun to read! They have every right to be mad that it took me so long, but knowing them, they'll just say something sweet. To "Church Shoes" I've added Semicolon (who I only realized today is mother to eight!!!) and What I see, the blog of the Rich Ufford-Chase, who was moderator for the Presybterian Church (USA) for the past year or so. And I don't know if I mentioned it when I added it, this crazy Catholic guy I know, Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam.

I'll probably add a few library links to "Work Shoes" later this week. I am so grateful for the blogosphere for opening my eyes to so many new things. I wrestle to keep my blog up to date, I wrestle with what I read from others, I wrestle on what to comment or what others commented. I even did get a new name (I love it that some people call me Sarah Louise when they see me "in real life.")

It's raining again. I'm listening to WJAS, the nation's top rated nostalgia station. I love the fact that folks like Sting and Rod Stewart (yes!) have taken up singing the Standards. Sting just sang "What are you doing the rest of your life." Listening to you crooning, I think.

Oh, and reading. Last week I ordered up a ton of books from the library. Since I work there, books show up on my desk, or in my mailbox (maybe.) I have two desks, two mailboxes, and there are at least two other places my books might show up. An intriguing read for those of us thirty and fortysomething singles (and a book I'd like to recommend anonymously to a few folks): Unhooked Generation. One of the things it talks about is how our culture prevents us from committed relationships. Match.com is described in detail--I was apalled! I did the eHarmony.com thing awhile back and luckily got every penny back. Part of my problem (and the author's) with these online sites is the "check-list" mentality. Let's see, I want a blond 6' lacrosse player who has been to Europe, wears wingtips, and will dance the Macarena at our wedding. Um, from what I've heard from my married friends, it doesn't work that way. And from my own experience, what looks great on paper, on-line, on the phone, doesn't always translate to everyday life.

In fiction, I just finished Romantically Challenged (which features a protagonist who does the dating agency thing and gets burned when the company goes belly-up).

...and I'll leave you with this quote from Julia Roberts, from my "Fabulous Broads" page-a-day calendar "I'm too tall to be a girl. I'm between a chick and a broad."

Ciao!

Oh, and in case you care, this week's 6:00 Friends is the whole "Ross and Rachel break up" and at 7:00, Ross just had a baby son. I'm waiting for the library to cough up the next 6 episodes so that I can continue with the Complete Fourth Season of Sex and the City.

Over time, I have become more comfortable with mystery rather than certainty. (Phillip Yancey)

This was one of those wrestling with God weeks. A friend said to me, well, Jacob didn't give up (refererring to the dream where Jacob wrestled with God and got a new name, Israel, and a limp.)

Literature on bi-polar says that a regular schedule is what will keep you in check (read: healthy, out of the hospital, etc.). Literature on first borns (me) and only borns (I was an only until 10) say that I should be organized, using a Palm Pilot, and spoiled. Well, guess what, I'm un-boxable. I have seasons where I keep a regular schedule (if you can call it that) but I am pretty free-form and my doctors are always pleased at how healthy I am. I have a Palm Pilot (or is it a Pocket PC) that I used to play the games. I'll probably sell it, as soon as I locate it in my garret and get my ducks in a row. Literature on Global Nomads says that we either wander for the rest of our lives or find a place and stay put. Yes, I have found my stay put. I do not ever want to leave my garret. (Well, not never, but I do not want to have to move!) I love Pittsburgh and am forever discovering new things to do, new people to befriend.

And I love the old (make new friends, but keep the old, one is silver and the other gold.) I mourn the loss of old friends but work hard at making my new ones into faux and real antiques. Change has been the currency of my life, and I want stability! I've done my globe trotting--I want to go back to the places I've been before and see them again. Yesterday I found a picture of Old Town Warsaw, Poland (Stare Miasto) which was rebuilt after WWII. (So it's really new, based on the old.) I put it on the wall by my desk at work, so I can look at it. Places sometimes mean more to me than people--I wonder if Le Petit Trianon is still there, a French restaurant where my mother and I would go for crepes in the middle of the afternoon. I long to re-visit the sculpture museum, where they had a sculpture of three pregnant women. Oh, and a Rodin.

There are places I'll remember, all my life, though some have changed... I think of Paul McCartney, now 64, and not having someone to love him like in the song (will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm 64?).

Right now I'm in that sweet place. It comes and goes, but it's that place where I have a smile lightly dancing on my lips. This week, contributing to the sweet place:

• Grocery shopping with Babs and Terzo. She knows I rarely say no. And she found individual yogurts--6 oz! (They used to be 8 oz, at the same price but this is about sweet moments...)
• Marzipan with chocolate for breakfast (due to Babs recommendation.)
• Second dinner and beer at the Sharp Edge with Babs, last night. Oh, it is so good to have friends!
• Listening to Back when we were grownups (Anne Tyler), read by Blair Brown. (need I say more?)
• Reading blogs: Telfair is moving, bb is traveling, and Babs is reading more books than humanly possible. Oh, and Erin is finding Play Doh in her car!

This was the verse that hit me this morning (Yes, I've gotten back to reading the Bible, mornings.)

Proverbs 25:2 It is the glory of God to conceal a matter; to search out a matter is the glory of [queens].

(I changed kings to queens. It's my blog, I get to do that!)

Because God is clearly concealing a whole heck of a lot from me these days. But he is also reavealing to me that I am such a broken vessel, in need of grace and glue. I thank all y'all who have donated your Elmer's moments to me, whether you knew it or not.

Everyone's going to conferences...

Already, as a professional, I've learned a few things.

Some people love conferences.

Others, hate them.

I fall in the middle. A conference is generally 4-5 days in a city far away and it really screws up my routine. I love visiting new places, but I get homesick very easily. Yes, this from the world traveler, but most of my world traveling was actually with my family.

Right now, Terry I (as opposed to Terry II--some of us actually call them that, Terry One and Terry Two) is talking about the ho-hum-ness of General Assembly. My boss, we'll call her the Storytelling Lady, is on her way to N'Orleans for the American Library Association, where she will participate in committees and such (she was at least once on the selection committee for the Newbery Award.) My father is actually AT the General Assembly, in Birmingham, and having a grand old time.

And I'm loving the fact that I can keep in step with the General Assembly online, via the PC (USA) blog and the GA website. I'm reading about Milton Meija, who my dad met when he was in Colombia learning about the (growing) Presbyterian Church there. I'm reading about Alice Winters, who I think both of my parents have met, who has been a missionary in Colombia for 30 years. I'm reading about Rich Ulford-Chase (who looks so young in that picture...and dapper, I might add.) who visited the OD and said that we are the life-blood of the Presybterian Church. That we should keep doing what we're doing. Until a few days ago, he was the Moderator of the Presbyterian Church (USA) until they elected a woman, the Rev. Joan Gray.

Another way I get to connect internationally and yet not have to leave my garret (Thank you, God!) is by visiting the blog put up by the Bellefield team that is currently in Honduras. Someday soon (2007, 2008?) the Louise family (yes, all 5 of us, my parents and sibs) are going to go with Bellefield (the parent church of the OD) to Honduras. But for now, by the magic of fiber optics and DSL, we can connect online.

Oh, and look at the time! But I got to visit Birmingham and Honduras, and think about N'Orleans, sitting here in my jammies.

Sarah Louise breaks this run of doldrums...with blog things!

So as you can see, I'm feeling better. I hit traffic and laughed, because my Anne Tyler audio book was hysterical at that moment. (Back when we were grownups, read by Blair Brown, whom I adore.)

(Aside: can you believe that my 24 year old sister doesn't know who Blair Brown is? This new generation, I tell you.)

One of my co-workers made Rice Krispy treats (yes, another Sally!) and we are all eating them...and wondering why we don't make them more often. My excuse: I don't have marshmellows at home. Hmm. Now that I have both peanut butter AND jelly, marshmallows (what is the correct spelling?) seems next on the pantry list...

I feel like writing a letter to Anne Tyler. She is truly one of my top favorite adult writers. (I think she is #1, followed by (is it a list???)

Top 5 Adult Writers, as rated by Sarah Louise

1. Anne Tyler
2. Jane Austen (I own four copies of Persuasion...)
3. Sue Miller
4. Jane Smiley
5. Meg Cabot

Also-rans: Elinor Lipman (vintage), Emily Giffin (I have a feeling Baby Proof is not going to be as stellar as the Something books), Elizabeth Berg (who has a hit or miss style), Jill Davis (has she written anything besides Girl's Poker Night??) and I'm sure there's someone I've left off...oh, Jay McInerney, for Bright Lights, Big City. I don't think I've read his others...

TTFN (I had to explain this one to my 23 year old brother: Ta Ta For Now.) (Those kids these days...)

Clearly, they haven't met me...

Your Band Name is:

The Above Average Housewives

Band Name Generator

I mean, I am above average, but not a house (apartment!) or wife (you see any rings on the left hand?)

I’m going crazy, wanna come?

My mother said this a lot when I was growing up. That, and “Stop this world, I want to get off” which I later learned was the name of a musical. My mother also sang wonderful songs like “Old King Cole was a merry old soul, and a merry old soul was he, he called for his pipe, he called for his bowl, he called for his fiddlers three. And we threw him out the window, the window, the second story window! Old King Cole was a merry old soul and we threw him out the window."

My cousin Art, bless his heart, was fond of the nothing song. “I do nothing nothing nothing, I do nothing all day long, I do absolutely nothing, how do you like my nothing song? Second verse, same as the first, a little bit louder and a little bit worse…”

This is the state of one’s mind, I’ve discovered, when one has to work with children all the time. And I’m not even working with them, just near them. They are here in the library with their parents, nannies, and grandparents, signing up for summer reading club. Or we’re calling them on the phone and they are sometimes calling us back because we need to know what school the kids are attending in the fall. (They get letters sent to the school saying Junior participated in the SRC program at X library.) (I’ve heard it gets you a lollipop and a certificate at the elementary school down the road.)

We are the largest one building library in our area, possibly in our state. We already (at the middle of the second week of registration) have over 1000 kids registered. Which is barely the tip of the iceberg—if we had full registration, it would exceed the 2000 we generally get by the end of each summer.

“Stay on the sunny side, always on the sunny side, stay on the sunny side of life…”

Oh help!

The kind of conversations we have...

My father is a born storyteller. I don't suppose it's a trait all PK's have, but I imagine it must have something to do with sitting there in the pews, week in, week out, listening to your dad preach.

So he's told me a bunch of Condi Rice stories this week, being that he's in Birmingham, where her daddy's church was. (He went there on Sunday, and talked to the minister, telling stories, making connections, as he always does.)

I just got off the phone, wishing him Happy Birthday. We played a short game of telephone tag.

This is the Condi Rice story he told me today: (and as much verbatim from my dad as I could remember) she was not going to church for awhile, when she was teaching at Stanford. She was in the grocery store in Palo Alto. Now, you have to figure, there aren't a lot of African Americans in Palo Alto. A man comes up to her and says, "Do you know how to play piano?" She's so struck by the directness of the question that she stutters, "why why yes." He says, "Our tiny church really needs a piano player." So she goes to the church, and realizes she was never taught to play gospel music. She phones her mother and her mother says, "Just play everything in the key of C." Well, apparently what happens in a lot of African American churches is the song leader starts the choir in a capella and the piano comes in right afterwards.

Sunday he told me the story about something else. I can't remember. But I'm starved. I *am* going to lunch with Heather at 11, so I probably shouldn't spoil my appetite. I'm so tempted to go to Pamela's though, since the message from my father on my voice mail is how five years ago on his birthday he went with me to Pamela's for the first time.

It is so good to have someone else for remembering the things you've forgot.

The book Terzo gave him (not Bab's Terzo, pay attention!) was by John something Gattis, a historian. It came out of a conversation that Terzo and Dad had about history and how it's hard to make it objective. My dad was so pleased that the gift was the fruit of a conversation they'd had. That's just the kind of guy he is.

As we got ready to hang up, he said, "I've heard from all my girls today."

And as I write this, there's one girl I wish was still around, his mom, my Granny.

June 20, 1942: Happy Birthday, Daddy!

My dad's birthday often falls on Father's Day, but always is very close to it. So on Sunday, when we spoke, he in Birmingham for the PCUSA General Assembly meeting, me under a tree standing next to my car at the Pittsburgh Seminary, he reminded me that I'm the reason he's a daddy. I love him dearly.

Happy Birthday!

Whose am I? And what is Jesus doing? (Thoughts for a rainy Pittsburgh morning)

This morning, as I sat in my car, looking at the abandoned tennis court, rain pitter patting and then pouring down and then pitter patting and then pouring...I discovered that I had left my walkman at home. So I read about the eighth mark of New Monasticism: Communities of Celibates and Marrieds--that community is a family, whether it is made up of blood ties or not.

And it occurred to me that right now, the main relationships I'm in are without confusion of face, at this blessed moment. I know whose I am. I am God's child. I am Jesus' follower. I am my daddy's #1 daughter. I am friend of Babs, Joke, and Erin (among others). Emily loves me. So does Pete. I'm not anyone's girlfriend, wife, or mother. And that's okay. Although, when I wrote words to that effect in the journal I found in my bag, I wept.

And it reminded me of Gerard Manley Hopkins' words: "Margaret, are you grieving/Over Goldengrove unleaving?" and the last verse: "It is the blight man was born for,/It is Margaret you mourn for." Because I wasn't weeping for Darfur, or the lack of good leadership in our nation's high offices. I wasn't weeping for my abandoned tennis court. I wasn't weeping for anyone but ME. Me, the one that doesn't have a ring. Me, the one who doesn't have a child. Me, the one who shares her bed with Marvin, the teddy bear, who ends up on the floor every morning.

The sermon at church last night was on Mark 6 and looking deeply at our Christology. Do we believe that Jesus is here, now? Or are we looking at him as a good teacher to emulate, someone who lived 2000 years ago (What would Jesus Do?). Instead, we should be asking, what is Jesus doing, now. That Jesus is saying to us, "Get out of the way, FOLLOW MY LEAD." We are not Jesus' hands, feet, body. We are his FOLLOWERS. I know it will take probably all week for this concept to sink into my thick head...and so, yes, we need to examine what defines us as followers. But we must rely on HIM. He is the one that starts the change in us. HE chose US.

The call to worship was verses from various psalms and included this one: Lead me to a rock that is higher than myself. Oh the humanity. Because some moments I'd rather just settle in the valley with a nice man and have a few bambinos of my own. But as Lauren Winner says, "If you are single, then you're called to be single." (I might have paraphrased her words a little.)

I feel like I'm taking dance lessons, or preparing for an elaborate trip. Both work with the analogy of one step forward, two steps back.

John talked about how in Mark 6, when Jesus told the disciples to go, he told them to go unprepared. Take your shoes. Take the shirt on your back. (The words written between the lines are these: rely on the people you will be meeting and ministering to. Rely on THEIR hospitality.) I wasn't able to sit still--the chairs my friends chose were uncomfortable, so I spent the second half of the sermon pacing back and forth in the back of the Great Hall. John said, Jesus did not say, fill up your truck with 2 by 4s. Max out your account at Home Depot, because these people need what you can offer. Nope. Jesus went against the Boy and Girl Scout oaths: Be prepared.

Which speaks to me in volumes. I am a ragamuffin of the nth degree. I could write a volume on this. But here's the thing: here's what puts Christianity in a corner, away from the other thoughts of Life: We are supposed to be broken! In our brokenness, we participate in His ministry. I am very unschooled in other thoughts, but I think Buddhism talks a lot about suffering. But I don't think it has the joy in suffering that Christianity does. 2 Corinthians 4:7 says: "But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us." (NIV) Our suffering points us back to Him, the one who made us, the one who suffered far beyond what we will ever suffer or comprehend.

It is my brokenness that allows me to be a friend, because I can participate in brokenness--I (have) experience(d) great loss, depression, bipolar disorder, etc.

Change is the life of the pilgrim.

Pray that there will be more workers for the harvest, NOT work the harvest. In returning and rest you will be saved, NOT in doing. Of course, I need to practice what I preach, nothing new there.

On my wall is something I try to attain and forever fall short: Pray More, Do less. I am not there yet.

But if I can say this to others, I can say it to myself, "Don't try to get ahead of Him. It's basically how people burn out."

I'm posting this now, because I have to go meet Babs and Terzo for coffee. And because these thoughts are as unfinished in my mind as they will appear on the screen. I welcome your thoughts.

This Post brought to you by the letter P...

I've been tagged by Carolyn! And the letter she gave me is P.

P as in Pink and Pink Sneakers. Pink has been my favorite color since kindergarten. Julianna and I were going to go to New York and be famous ballerinas. I have always wanted a pink car since I saw a pink punch-buggy (no punch-backs) when I was in five or six in Germany. Hence the whole Mary Kay career...hello, can you say Pink Cadillac?

P is for Pop (what they call soda in Pittsburgh) and also another name for Dad, and after all, today is Father's Day. My dad's name also starts with a P. So does Paul McCarthy's. (Who is now 64.)

P as in Pittsburgh, the city of my soul. I could write a novel on this, but all of a sudden, I'm shy. The link is so old I had to go to the way back machine (internet archive) for it.

P as in Pete. Pete is a friend who is younger than my sister, older than my brother (he's 24ish) and who "gets" me. The other night I was starting to tell a story and he totally got what I was trying to say before I got the words out. Friends like that are precious.

P as in Pittsburgh Penguins. Today in the coffee shop we had a conversation about Ben R. (not the Seattle Seahawks QB!) and we started talking about our favorite hockey players. Babs and I are going to a game next season, as long as they don't get sold and move...We all love Sidney Crosby.

P as in Pittsburgh Steelers. The World Champions at the Superbowl FIVE TIMES!! I don't get into football except when it gets into Playoffs for the home team.

P as in Pandora. I put in Annie Lennox, hoping for "Walking on Broken Glass," but they haven't played it yet. Right now it's playing Pat Benetar, "We Belong."

P is the 16th letter in the alphabet. I would never use this sign, but it always cracks me up "welcome to our ool--what's missing? P!"

Playful, play, playing, as in what I'd like to be doing 90% of the time. For me, if it's not fun, why do it? (Although my version of fun may not be yours: I like doing dishes, most of the time, and I like checking Dewey Decimal numbers to see if they match the book in hand.)

P as in Pennsylvania, the state I live in.

P as in palindrome, like madam, or nurses run.

P as in pansy, a flower I do not like. I do like: geraniums (red only), tulips (any color), roses (any color).

P as in Poland, the one place I would go at the drop of a hat. My parents lived there for three years while I was in college and I visited them seven times.

pelican, piano, paper, Presbyterian, percussion (other p words I like.)

Printed in books CIP data: "printed in China, not at government expense" (note in book Masters of Movement) and "Design by compisotor name here." (note in a book about Chinese/American foreign relations.)

I could go on, but I want to post this.

the one where Sarah Louise loves the one where...

So I came home and to my delight, baseball wasn't on, Sex and the City was! And now that I've seen the HBO goodbye montage, I knew that Berger was going to break up with Carrie on a Post-It, so today I got to see the episode where it happened and the episode where she got over it.

THEN, when things couldn't have been getting any better (five points if you do the Chandler voice), Friends was "The one with all the Wedding Dresses." Probably one of my top five favorite episodes. I haven't laughed like that and clapped my hands and laughed and clapped for a long time.

Oh it feels good to laugh.

I'm going to a charity event tonight. The tickets (plural) (two) are comps because I volunteered last year. I remember thinking then, this is cool, but I'd rather be with someone. Yeah. I wish that tonight too, but everyone (and I mean everyone) had other plans. Yeah, them too. Yep, asked her. Yes, asked him.

I generally do not mind going alone.

I go to movies alone. I go out to dinner alone. I go to First Fridays alone. I go to parties alone. But this is an event where I will probably know no one. And while watching a movie is something that doesn't really involve someone in the seat next to you (which is why I do not advocate it for first or second dates), and sitting in a restaurant alone can be fixed nicely with a book, going to a charity function where most people have paid the entry fee can be a little daunting. Especially when you have cajoled your single male friends almost to the point of embarassment and know you will have to face them at some point in the future. (Ugh.) Especially since last year I only saw one person I knew. (I'll have you know I just deleted three extremely catty but hysterically funny sentences.)

(You never know who reads this, and besides, I wouldn't want people talking about me that way...am I too nice to be comic?)

So I'll get dolled up and I'll have fun. It is, after all, the event of the year. And I'm getting in FREE! It starts at 9, so I even actually have time to watch Murderball, which is overdue at the library, with 18 holds. If you're one of those people waiting, I'll return it Monday, I promise!

Oh, and if you're looking for a great chick-lit mystery, Size Twelve isn't Fat is a wonderful choice. Meg Cabot is a writing genius. I hope she never stops writing. (Wasn't it only seven years ago I was saying that about Elinor Lipman?)

Anyways, Happy Father's Day, everyone.

Make new friends...

This part I wrote the weekend Babs and Blackbird went to Bethlehem:

Last night I finished reading Eat Cake. I may start reading it again tonight. Two books I ordered at the library came in for me today, books I'm not sure I'm really ready to read:

• What Did I Do Wrong?: When women don't tell each other the friendship is over
• The Friend who got away: Twenty women's true-life tales of friendships that blew up, burned out, or faded away.

It's a subject that I've been working on emotionally since Sally Brown (not her real name) told Tray I liked him and then flew away to China the very same day. That was in the fourth grade. For two years, books were my only friends. Friendship-ending is a subject that women don't talk about. Here's a quote from WDIDW: "Yet I could positively say that this subject had never come up. I had never asked a woman, 'How are you?' and heard the response, 'Not so great, I'm in the process of being dumped by a very close friend and I'm feeling so sad and kind of ashamed about it.' No, I'd never heard anything even close to that." (Pryor, 5)

Pryor tells her story through conversations with us, the reader, and with other women. How we get tons of sympathy from all corners when a guy dumps us, but there doesn't seem to be a category for "friend grief." I think back to Maya, who helped me with my yard sale a couple years ago. I think back to Tara, who was my roommate for a few months in college. I think of Lorelei, who fell off the face of my earth for a few years. I think of...and the list goes on. It was my fault, it was her fault, it was geography, it was time, it was marital status... Pryor talks with her friends at a baby shower. Phoebe gives us this: "I go back and forth daily. I hate her, I miss her, I'm pissed, I'm sad. I can't get over the fact that she sees me as so replaceable. We have so much history, and for the life of me, I can't imagine what happened to outweigh all of that. She was the only one I never had to go back and explain things to. She was there for all of it..." (Pryor, 14)

A few years ago, I was really depressed. It was summer, and I'd been friends with Maya since winter. Life, junk, and the co-dependency of our friendship was pulling me into an abyss so low that I finally had to take some time off work. I went home to stay with my parents for five weeks and when I came back, I didn't work for months. I couldn't face her. I cut her out. She'd call, and I'd let the phone ring. I couldn't tell her. Because with a guy, you know you probably won't be with him forever unless you're both wearing rings. But when you meet a girlfriend, we all have this fantasy that we'll be friends forever, have houses next door to each other, and raise our children side by side. It's the girlfriend version of the American Dream. So when stuff pisses us off, we put it aside. We don't talk about it. And it builds. And it builds. And it builds. Until the thought of that person makes you want to vomit.

Men don't seem to have this issue. In an earlier post (back in March), I wrote about the book Why Men Hate Church. In there, I read about testosterone and its role in relationships. Here's me, from Still reading that book called "Why men hate church" (March 11, 2006)

... For instance, I knew (who didn't?) that men have more testosterone. In conflict solving, this allows men to fight it out quickly, sometimes mano a mano, and then shake hands and be friends again. What I did not realize was that women have more seratonin. (Which explains why women "are naturally more self-controlled, less aggressive, and less prone to violence than women. Women get angry, but seratonin allows them to handle conflict differently...Seratonin lets women suppress their anger, allowing it to smolder while they plot their revenge. Men get mad; women get even." p. 83)

Lily and I haven't been talking--I've been too tired to get back in touch. But we chatted briefly on Friday and she told me she'd run into Maya, who wanted to get together for dinner sometime. I didn't say a word. I'm stronger now than I was two summers ago. Maybe I could be friendly with Maya.

Make new friends, but keep the old, some are silver and the other gold. A circle is round, it has no end, that's how long I want to be your friend. (Traditional song.)

This part is tonight, at 11:42, as Kenny Rogers sings "The Gambler" and my air conditioning whirrs and makes the room cool.

What is a true friend? It changes every day. And yet, it is the same. One soul in two bodies. I woke Emily up because I was angsty about something I did earlier today. And she didn't judge me. She didn't offer advice. She said, SL, those things are things that only God can reveal to you. And that, my friends, is golden. Because that was what I needed to hear. I don't understand why my life is what it is, but He does.

A bruised reed he will not break, a dimly burning wick he will not quench....Isaiah 42:3

This has been a heck of a week. But it's almost over! One more day of being a Children's Librarian, a charity function, and then it's Sunday! I actually have just about 24 hours before it is a new week. Hallelujah!

Tomorrow is a brand new day--with no mistakes in it.

--L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables.

But you must have wondered about the mysterious way small objects seem to disappear.

Nothing of great value--small things, like pencil stumps, safety pins, stamps, corks, pillboxes, needles, cotton spools--all sorts of things?" Mary Norton, The Borrowers Avenged, p. 9

List Friday--Lost and never regained items. Sponsored by Mrs. Pom. (forgive the crazy formatting...I'm losing my patience...)

Loretta already knows that I have great fun with List Friday. It just so happens that I'm trying to come up with a list for parents and children of good audiobooks for the summer (you know, for those long car rides.) AVOID Ben and Me. It's by Recorded Books and the reader is dull as a doorknob (are doorknobs dull?). But as soon as I put in The Borrowers, I listened all the way home and part of my morning commute. Which put me in mind of lost things, of course.

1. Two rings. One was a Christmas gift that year and the other I bought at a Renaissance Festival while in college. I took them off for a nap and I swear the Borrowers got them, because they were nowhere to be found later on. My mother has now gotten in the habit of giving me rings for Christmas and I need to tell her to stop. I only need one for my right hand and I have one, with three amber stones.

2. A teardrop earring. Probably on my first movie date with Daniel. We went to see Jerry Maguire and I lost my earring. I found the other one a few months ago and am glad that I lost that one, because the teardrop earrings I now own are much more stylish.

3. My watch! It's a men's watch I got at Target while in grad school. It's a men's watch b/c men's watches tend to have a second hand that is a different color from the hour and minute hands. The second hand on this watch was red. I love that watch. It's been lost since Christmas, when I got a new watch from my mom. (You don't think she got rid of my old watch...)

4. An earring that I know is under my couch, but I probably won't find it until the next time I move the couch...it's from Brazil and it has an opalescent sheen.

5. A lot of money in Internet scams. Ugh.

6. A bracelet that I bought at the Highland Park yard sale just a few weeks ago!! It is beautiful, with glass beads of multicolors.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster

(Elizabeth Bishop, "One Art")

7. Marla Kuhn. She was my friend in 5th grade, I think. She moved, or I moved. I think of looking her up every once and awhile. She was the first friend I fought with. We played Barbies by making elaborate houses "Borrower" style. A bowl was a swimming pool, books became floors or walls...

8. Sally Brown. We were best friends in fourth grade. Then, right before she moved to China, she told Troy Zepeda I liked him. We reunited in the seventh grade, when we were both living in the DC Metropolis, but after that I lost her. I'd run into her mom occasionally, who volunteered at a thrift shop I liked in Falls Church.

9. Sally Himmens. I think she wigged out when I went manic. I did get better. It's such a shame that people are so afraid of madness, however temporary.

10. Tanya Dill. I went to her wedding shower, I went to her wedding. But after that, I lost her. She never answered calls, or emails, or letters.

11. Boston...in the process of losing. I talked to her every day when she had her chemo treatments for ovarian cancer (the kind she should not have survived.) We've called each other on our birthdays every year for 17 years. There are things I wouldn't tell anyone but her.

But I can't bear to think of this beautiful day (It is GORGEOUS here in da Burgh) to only be thought of with lost things. So a few found ones...

"I once was lost, but now am found..." (John Newton, "Amazing Grace")

1. My commonplace book. It was lost for months and months in the wreck of my apartment. It has all my favorite quotes and poems, including some that I've written.
2. The earrings I'm wearing today. They are clear Brazilian crystals. I tend to take earrings off before bed and sometimes that means they get caught in the carpet. I've lost and found them about 5 times.
3. my friend Lorelei. We had a few years where we completely did not talk and then somehow one of us started back up again.
4. my other friend Sally--she was totally into the kids for a few years there, but now we talk occasionally and even go to the movies! (Yes, I attract Sallys like moths to the flame)
5. Stamps. You know, they aren't as many cents as the new ones.
6. Contact solution--two bottles. I knew I bought some.
7. Kleenex--pink. (I only buy pink.) I now have three extra boxes.

Show and tell--hats!

(Didn't we do this in January?) (That's a rhetorical question, because I have the proof!)

So I'm posting an old picture.



It's one of my favorite hats, my souvenir Union Project hard hat.

Show and Tell, courtesy of that fabulous babe Blackbird at Say-La-Vee.

And now I feel like a heel, because it was the fabulous Vickee that asked for hats. Check the archives, it's around January 19 or 20.

The update post and some thoughts about friendship (it's the perfect blendship)

The title's clickable. I haven't figured out the code (Babs?) on that yet. You might get a lovely pop-up, and for that I'm sorry, but hey, it's the Internet, folks. It's a html-java jungle out there.

I woke up this morning after having the same dream twice. It was the cinematic ending of a book (in my dream, cuz in real life I've never read him) by Don DeLillo, called The Road. Oh, it was a dream, it would be too complex to explain. Anyways, that's not what got me off the sofa and to the keyboard right away.

Oh, you want the update?

Wait a second, or scroll down.

My friends are the most important thing to me. Why? Because, honey, they were all I had for a long time. I went off to college and my folks went to Poland. Hello? As in six time zones away, phone calls that cost a dollar a minute, and me, sitting in the hall at the phone booth (the room phones didn't work for international calls) praying I'd get through. We're talking I'd get the message, "I'm sorry, all circuits are full. Please try your call later." Before and after I became a Christian, I just prayed. "Please God, this time!" I didn't pay attention to the polite lady with her "I'm sorry"'s. I dialed again. And again. And again. And sometimes, after dialing eighteen times, I'd get through. I talked to my folks once a week with a short laundry list of business items. So my friends, through the magic of the phone in my room or the postal service (Lorelei and I wrote so often that we had to number our letters--sometimes we'd send 3 in one day) were my lifeline. For the first semester at least, I had mail EVERY SINGLE DAY. God bless Sir Roland Hill (my ancestor, the one who thought up the penny postage stamp.)

I didn't have a boyfriend. I didn't have college friends until my second semester freshman year. I couldn't go home for laundry. My high school friends were it. They kept me afloat, literally. Both of them are married now, and with one or two children. We write less frequently, and for a while, used the phone only for birthdays. Then I got a cell phone. You know, free long distance? Oh, baby! I was talking to Boston on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.... and of course, as with all my married-with-children friends, the phone calls were full of "Come inside" or "Can you see I'm on the phone?" etc. Which I'm totally fine with. Because if the kids come with that package, I'd rather have that than have no package.

I'm still single (and pretty happy with it, for the moment). But I still need my friends, although my parents and I are closer now (we talk at least four times a week). Because in the meantime, I developed this mental health issue that is sometimes scary. And it helps to talk about life. (Enter friends.) But in the meantime, most of my girlfriends are married. I had a conversation with one of them yesterday, another Sally (how can I keep them all straight?). She said, "You know, I don't have any high school friends anymore. I mean, they live near here, but we don't keep in touch. And our college friends have reunions every once in a while, but Joe and I rarely go." Which is why I woke up with this urge to write. It's no sense calling up Sally and saying, "Hello, you got married right out of college, so you've always had Joe, plus the kids, and you live your marriage out in the same neighborhood where you went to high school."

Hey, that is wonderful. But I'm Carrie. (The single part, the girlfriends part. I haven't had a kissing boyfriend in eight years, so don't get me started.) I don't have the house, the husband, the 2.5 children. I respect the h-e-double hockey sticks out of anyone that does. I just haven't met anyone yet that I wanted to spend my life with, besides my girlfriends.

In my frantic search on Sunday to find the poem (do a search on my blog search for List Friday--it's not up anymore b/c it was tres personal), I found an old card from Lorelei. It said, "I'm glad you're a forever friend." We haven't spoken since I got back from my trip to New England. I've sent her a few emails, but that's our speed right now. I think she sometimes reads this. Maybe I'll email it to her. It is always a red letter day in the Sarah Louise household when I get a letter in her penmanship that has LKM in the return address area. (Yes, she uses her initials.)

In the meantime, I'm mourning the loss of Boston. I had no idea I would be so homesick while at the PLA conference, translating into probably one of the worst weeks I've ever had, and it had to happen while I was visiting my other high school friend. Somethings you can't control. I refuse to live in the "well, if only I had..." because that week was drenched in prayer. It was also drenched in my own brokenness. Which was the straw that broke the friendship. Which I'm mourning the loss. (Did I split an infinitive there?)

It's gonna take some time. Carole King can sure write some songs: "It's gonna take some time, this time/To get myself in shape/I really fell out of line this time/I really missed the gate/The birds on the telephone line (next time)/Are crying out to me (next time)/And I won't be so blind next time/And I'll find some harmony." (Using italics reminds me I still haven't blogged about Patricia Machlachlan. I also have a post on the letter P in the works.)

Oh, you want the update? Okay, so my gyn. called me yesterday and said I have a small cyst (2 cm), which probably will resolve itself. (We're so cyst-y, women are!) If I want to go ahead right away with the lacroscopic deal, I can. Or I can wait 6-8 weeks and get another sonogram (my bladder is giving me the silent treatment) and THEN decide if I want to do the lacroscopic deal. Oh yes. I like that. If we have the luxury to take this slow, let's take it slow. Meantime, I can find out how much the lacroscopic deal costs and if my insurance covers it. Oh, and I can stop taking the contraceptives. YAY! Because frankly, I am sick and tired of breakthrough bleeding. (Of course, I would have liked to have had that conversation BEFORE I spent $35 on the Seasonale pack, but hey, it upped my Fuel Perks.) I've started taking fish oil again (it's good for so many things, one of them being cramps) and I'm incorporating more veggies into my life. Yes, it's time that Sarah Louise takes control of what goes in her mouth--less Wendy's, more Whole Foods.

And because when I googled Fuel Perks, this wikipedia article came up, a little Giant Iggle history.

Because it takes a giant to make life simple...

I'll be here all week. Oh, and I'll be commenting on that post that says you don't have to post every day. No, I do. I'm a writer. Some day I'll be working on the novel and maybe I'll stop blogging or blog less frequently, but right now, yes, I have to post every day. I don't care if I'm clogging the blogosphere. (More on that later. My bladder gave up on the silent treatment.)