Today in Twitters, n'at

I just wrote a "kitchen sink" post (everything but...) that I'd like to polish up, but I want something new up, so I'm looking at what I did today based on my Tweets.

• encouraged our Moderator that he is not alone, I don't watch Lost either. (It's good to know I'm not the only one.)
• I seriously need to read the Conspiracy of something by Dallas Willard. Everybody has read it. One of my twitter friends is about to read it for the 7th time.
• Alyssa and I are both cranky. She's probably crankier than I, though, as I only had myself to care for today, and she always has two kids and a hubbie, and now, two dogs.
  
• Due to my cold/malaise/whatever, I slept from 11 am to 3pm.
• I purged some folks, added some folks, ended up with the exact same number of people I "follow."

I also wrote some emails, answered some emails, and put some on the back burner. Marian the Librarian is under the weather again and I miss her!!

I watched this Hungarian movie again. I watched it yesterday before work. The title is Just Sex and nothing else, (Variety review). The title refers to the fact that Dora, the protagonist, just wants a baby. She doesn't want to have to deal with men anymore, hence the title. Just enough sex to get me pregnant and then goodbye. Which gets her into a mess of comedic relationships. Since it's in Hungarian, you have to watch the entire thing, reading the subtitles. Glad that I watched it a second time, some things made more sense (because if you miss a subtitle, well, you may miss a crucial detail.) It is a luscious movie: Central European architecture, lush interiors, the characters, the actors, it's a fun movie. A visual treat. It makes me want to learn Hungarian, because I can tell there is so much lost in translation. But what IS translated is great. Let's see if I can find another review. It reminded me of SATC, the same themes of what is a 30 something woman to do if she wants to settle down? Here's another review. I love that the librarian that buys movies at our library has a real eye for the odd-ball movies. Another one that I loved recently was Broken English with Parker Posey. But I'm tired now, and it's 10:30. And I have the faint suspicion I already told you about Broken English.

Tomorrow is my ACTUAL day off, as opposed to a sick day. I have 2 dr. appointments, but then the day is mine--maybe I'll catch an afternoon movie...

You'll be sleeping with the television on...

(Billy Joel, Glass Houses)

There are some nights where I cannot make it off the single bed in the back room where I watch TV to the single bed in the front room where I sleep from September to May. (I sleep in the back room from May to August because otherwise the sunlight would wake me at 6 am.) Last night was one of those nights. Fortunately, I did take my bedtime meds at some point, while I was watching ER. (ER is having a fabulous last season, btw. I stopped watching it ages ago, because all my favorite characters from the beginning were gone. Alyssa twittered about it last week and so I thought, ah, I'll see what it is. Now I'm hooked, and happily only until the end of the season which is the end of the series.)

Let's see if I can write that with out all the parentheticals. There are some nights I can't make it off the bed that is in the back room, where the TV is set up, to the bed in the front room, where I sleep most nights. Last night was one of them. I took my bedtime meds at some point while watching ER, and watched the news, watched Leno, sort of, as I was curling into fetal position amidst all the debris that is still on that bed even now as I sit here, morning.

I don't generally watch ER. Alyssa twittered about it last week, and I got hooked, and last night I fretted that sweeping the walk and salting it might make me late to watch it, but I made it upstairs just in time for the closing credits for 30 Rock. I don't generally watch the news. But last night I made sure I was back in the back room in time to watch the (I can't spit out the words) news about the US Air flight that is now being called "The miracle on the Hudson." And I watched all of the news, and then Leno. And I didn't turn off the TV, or make plans to get into my nightgown. I guess I didn't brush my teeth. I curled into fetal position, with the TV on, and fell asleep. So my dreams were peopled with people telling me that I should make sure my car battery was in good health, that I had a blanket and a first aid kit in my car, salt, all those things you should have when you might get stranded because of cold or snow. Which we have, in abundance. No, we are not at -53 degrees F like Schmutzie, or at 7.5 inches of snow like Jim Bonewald, but for Pittsburgh, we have enough. About three inches on the grass and the temp is -7 degrees. Our high, which will come at about 4:00, will be 7 degrees. Right now in my mind I'm going through whether I will attempt to refill my wiper fluid at that time or if I will run by the guys at the quick oil change on my lunch hour.

The TV is off now, after being on all night, and I instinctively want to turn around. The sound is just off, my monkey mind says. No, I didn't mute it, I did turn it off. I don't want to hear about the American in Italy who is about to start a murder trial for killing her roommate. I don't want to hear any more about how cold it is outside. I don't need to see all the places that are closed running on the bottom of the screen. You know it's a lot because yesterday, they stopped in between commercials. The news would go off, the commercial would come on, full screen. Then the news would come back on, framed in blue by the temperature (COLD) on the left and the scrolling schools and day cares scrolling on the bottom. This morning, every school district is closed. As much as I am a proponent for winter, today I will not be foolish and take my morning walk.

I had dreams about going to the Superbowl. It was in Pittsburgh, and it was cold. A friend of mine was waitressing, and she was wearing a uniform with a special red and white long sleeved t-shirt. Was the Superbowl in Pittsburgh the other times we played, my dream mind wondered.

And then I woke up to people talking about Sully, and getting out alive, and I opened my eyes, and sat up and watched. I watched and watched until they stopped talking about it and moved on to what they had probably scheduled at least earlier in the week, the American in Italy. I wonder what features were scheduled for today. People that got calls yesterday or last night--don't come in for your 7 am make-up, we're spending the majority of the show talking to the survivors of Flight 1549. And what a relief--that they were ALL survivors, there weren't any non-survivors, except for the plane, may it rest in peace. Well, pieces, now, and it will have to be brought up, they'll have to get it out of the Hudson to examine it, to retrieve the black box, to study what went wrong and what went right.

Last night I finished listening to Malcolm Gladwell's latest book, Outliers. In it, Gladwell spends an entire chapter on pilots and crashes. He talked about the culture of the pilots and how that affected the way the pilot and the crew interacted. How changing the language that Korean pilots used in the cockpit to English allowed them to retain their culture outside of the cockpit, but that interacting in English made them safer. Blech, this paragraph stinks. But I know that there is a difference of 10,000 hours. Sully, the pilot of the US Air plane, had more than that 10,000 hours of flight. Yes, it was a miracle. But there was more to it than chance. Chance did not make this flight the only successful water landing, I think, EVER. Sully is described as a man who even when he travels in coach with his family, when they do the safety review, pulls the card out of seat pocket in front of him and follows along.

I wonder how many books will be born. I wonder if we will come up with a Dewey number to use for those books, just as we have Dewey numbers we use for books about 9/11. I wonder if there is a number for the Hudson river. Or will it go in aviation? Some of the books will go in Biography...I'm getting tired. I've been tired. It's time to check my email, my Twitter, maybe Facebook, and get a move on. I have to be at work in a little over an hour, and if I want a shower, I should do that now.

I'm hitting publish. There are other links to add, I know, but I need to decide if I want to get wet before going out into the cold. How grateful am I that I swept and salted last night.

STAY WARM!

My sister's phone: inanimate object? NOT!

My sister's phone, much like the watch in the movie Stranger than Fiction, decides to call me every once in a while. It's done this one other time, and all I heard was jostle jostle and when I called back I got voice mail. I was freaked out and called my mom. Sis just called me but I couldn't hear her! I imagined her trapped somewhere without cell coverage. It was around the time when that guy got out of prison because he twittered one word. When my phone rang this morning, because of the snow, I thought the only person that would be calling me this early would be someone from the library saying that the library was closed, which would be ridiculous, a) because it's not that much snow and we never close, and b) because I don't work until 1 pm, so everything will be clear by then that isn't clear now.

So I called my sister and she thought, who would be calling me? The only person that calls me while I'm waiting for the bus is Mom, and she wouldn't have anything to say to me, I just saw her last night. She picked up, and I told her, "Your phone called me." She was puzzled. "It's supposed to be locked..."
"Well," I said, "It's done this once before." Which is when she said, maybe it's like the watch in the movie Stranger than Fiction. Yes, my sister's phone calls me. I have a stalker. It likes to call me and go jostle jostle. But we had a nice chat. She was freezing, standing at the bus stop.
"Guess how many layers I have on?" she asked me.
"Five!"
"Three. It's so cold today, it's 32."
"Nice try. Yesterday it was 11 here."
"Ouch. I better bring lots of layers for the weekend."
"Yep, cuz it's going to be cold."
So I told her about my newest fun thing--making sure the sidewalk in front of my house is clear. When I get home after work, I sweep the snow and then salt the walk. It takes me about ten minutes. While talking to my mom last night, I said, maybe it's because it's the only thing I can do in about ten minutes that doesn't have a second part. When I do dishes, there are always more, somewhere in my apartment, on a desk, under a coffee table. When I do laundry, I do one load at a time. But the walk, it's done and that's it! Of course, we got another inch or two overnight, so I'll have to go sweep and salt it, but it will be a lot less work than if I hadn't swept and salted it last night.

Somehow we got onto the topic of the inauguration, because of port-a-potties. There's one at the Metro now. "Yeah, that's the thing about Tuesday. It would be so cold that I'd be wearing five layers, and think about it. Five layers and a port-a-potty? No thank you!" She said, "I have friends that are going and they're like, why aren't you going? And I say, 'You must not read the newspaper.'" I would be one of those crazy people, because this election meant more to me than any election ever has, but my sister with her talk of port-a-potties and throngs of people changed my mind over Christmas break.

We chatted some more, until she was about to go into the station at the Metro. "I'm going to lose you." So we'll talk again, later.

False Evidence Appearing Real

I was fascinated to learn this morning while I watched CNN that Osama Bin Laden's tapes inspire his followers. (He has a new tape out.) I remember when I was in Mary Kay, I listened to tapes for inspiration: Rena Tarbet, Zig Ziglar, and Susan Jeffers, who wrote the book Feel the fear and do it anyway. My Mary Kay days are long behind me but I still remember how I listened to those tapes while cooking, driving, whatever. I wonder if my love for audio books began with listening to those tapes, over a decade ago.

So as I started writing this post, about fear, and its false faces, its masks, I refer to some quotes I've culled from an email I opened this afternoon.

I experiment with online devotionals. Some have gone away, some change their style...some get political. The one I like right now is Transformation Garden. In the devotional for January 6, labeled "Handling the future with faith or futility," Dorothy Valcarcel has compiled a group of hymns, quotes, and poems that point that we have a choice, and our choice has to do with how much trust we put in our Savior. I have pretty much lifted all the quotes herein from that devotional, in an effort to encourage myself and hopefully you, dear reader. If you want to receive Dorothy's devotional, you can subscribe by clicking on this link.

Now, I know, dear reader, that you may not trust God or want to. But these quotes do have a wisdom that I hope translates without sounding namby-pamby.

I like this one, from Dorothy Hughes: "Nobody can take away your future. Nobody can take away something you don't have yet." (italics mine.)

I so often forget that the future is this fluid occurrence that hasn't happened yet. My novel-writer's mind has every detail laid out. The story of my life is laid out in my mind: it is so detailed, layered with meaning, that it has me convinced, until it doesn't happen and my confidence crashes once again. I hope this year that I can be more accepting of each moment as it happens, even while I plan for the future that I don't count on a specific outcome.

I recently watched the movie Prince Caspian. It amazed me, the thousands of years of time travel that occurred as the British children were once again taken to the mythical land of Narnia. Here is C.S. Lewis, the author of the Narnia books, talking about the futility of grasping for the future:

"The next moment is as much beyond our grasp, and as much in God's care, as that a hundred years away. Care for the next minute is just as foolish as care for a day in the next thousand years. In neither can we do anything, in both God is doing everything."

Now, dear reader, this next poem could either make you smile and nod or want to throw up. It is not my desire to illicit the second response, I promise, but I really like it, and I do cling to the encouragement it offers. It's by John Greenleaf Whittier, the Quaker poet.

I know not what the future hath
Of marvel or surprise,
Assured alone that life and death
His mercy underlies.

And if my heart and flesh are weak
To bear an untried pain,
The bruised reed He will not break,
But strengthen and sustain.

No offering of my own I have,
Nor works my faith to prove;
I can but give the gifts He gave,
And plead His love for love.

And so beside the silent sea
I wait the muffled oar,
No harm from Him can come to me
On ocean or on shore.

I know not where His islands lift
Their fronded palms in air;
I only know I cannot drift
Beyond His love and care."

That last bit reminds me of Psalm 139:7-12, where the psalmist writes that there is nowhere he can go where God is not also:

7Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy presence?
8If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.
9If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea;
10Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.
11If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me.
12Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee.

Well, the light is gone now. I will be driving home soon. But first, dinner. Because one thing I do know, without a shadow of doubt: if it's snowy and I'm hungry and I have to drive, it is better to EAT FIRST.

on little cat feet...

for C, because I've been thinking about you.

This morning has drifted into the afternoon. So, since I was freezing, lallygagging around in my nightgown, I finally got dressed.

What have you been up to this week, Sarah Louise?

Well, I've been hither and yon, thanks for asking.

The "big snowstorm that wasn't" caused much drama yesterday--I was late to work (10 min.) not because of the roads, but because I kept putting stuff in my "if I have to overnight it" bag. And then mid afternoon the snow turned to rain, the temps went up, and I drove home.

On the way home, I stopped at the State Store for some rum, as I knew I needed a drink (rum and Coke, please!) after an afternoon of working hard and being in the office all by myself. (Alone again, naturally.) (No, it was the snow that made Jane stay home--she lives North, near Zeely, and couldn't get out of her driveway.)

And who was at the front register at the State Store? A woman I had looked up to most of my short career as a bookseller in Pittsburgh at Fox Books. Her name was Dee. I thought, oh, we'll have that conversation as I purchase my $13 bottle ($1 off!) of Bacardi, where are you working now (she'd ask me), as I would look at her hand to see if there was a ring. But just as I was moving toward the registers, a line had formed, and a manager came out of one of those offices you see in stores, where the floor of the office is about two feet above the floor of the store. I demurred that the people ahead of me should go next, but they weren't budging, so I went to his register, this man with pattern balding and some white hair around the back of his head. So he rung me up, and out I went, back into the cold, the rain. And I thought about it, because in my life, my father, the gregarious, never hesitates to reestablish a relationship. But what good would have come from talking to Dee? We were never friends, just colleagues, sometimes competitors. She didn't look like she was happy, and the grumpiness would have been contagious. At one time, a long time ago, I wanted to be her. Keyholder,* she had been, and then Assistant Manager. And while seeing a woman one time after not having seen her for at least five doesn't give me a clear vision (at all!) into her life, at that moment, it was better to just walk away.

(Oh, look, it's snowing!)

I drove home, listening to Malcolm Gladwell's Outliers, which is amazing, and as soon as I walked in the door of my lovely third floor walk-up, I made a rum & Coke and watched the special features to the movie du jour, Broken English. (Which is wonderful.)

I watched Friends, then did some social-networking a la Twitter, Facebook. And then I went out, to Kelly's house. She was having a party where the main attraction was beer milkshakes. It's from Cannery Row, by John Steinbeck. Chocolate ice cream and Guinness? Oh yeah.

The fog, this I don't know what, is a sort of melancholy that has tied me inside even though I should take a walk and start making something for our church dinner (with Steelers game).

This week I've twice had occasion to talk about my life, and how I lived part of it overseas. I actually got to talk to someone who has been to Warsaw and totally laughed that I see it as the most romantic place in the world. I laughed with her, because I know it's crazy too.

I can't seem to get started on where I want to go, so I'll just dive in. The year was 1989. It was October, a month that seems to always be trouble, and now I know why, as it is a difficult month for depressives, waiting for the light to stabilize from fall to winter. I didn't even know I was depressed then. I just knew I needed out. I was a freshman at a small Catholic women's college in Pittsburgh, where all my fellow students were nursing and education majors. I was an English major, one of three slated to graduate in '93. One wasn't talking to me, and the other was a grandmother (as Carlow had many returning "non-traditional" students, students who had either never gotten their degrees before they got married or had delayed graduation after getting married.) My roommate and I weren't exactly getting along, but we weren't talking about why. She moved out after Thanksgiving. I had started visiting the career center on a regular basis, as the woman who ran it had nice comfortable chairs and she listened to me. She was my first counselor, though I didn't realize it at the time, what our relationship was. I actually was a paying client of hers in my mid-twenties, when I worked at Fox Books.

I was lonely, I was homesick, I wasn't meeting people who "got" me. Most of my peers were from Southwestern Pennsylvania who went home to do laundry on the weekends. I was from suburban Maryland, and my parents were six time zones away in Warsaw, Poland. And try as I might, I could not convince them to let me take a semester off. Eventually, I stuck it out, transferred to a school in Maryland after my sophomore year, and graduated in May of 1993.

It hurt me deeply that my parents were so far away. I felt alone, abandoned, and a bit like a motherless child. (Sometimes I feel so reckless and wild--red is the color that I like the best) And it wasn't until my late twenties, when I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and went to live with my parents for three years, that our relationship was restored.

The myth: some people seem to glide through life, hitting all the stops on the way to adulthood: graduate high school, go to college, get married, have kids, work at a fulfilling job, retire, and become grandparents. (Seem being the operative word, because looks are deceiving.)

I am not one of those gliding people. Am I stuck? No, I don't think so. I'm just taking longer in between stops, and deciding which stops I want to take. Taking a class my freshman year at Carlow on the Four Gospels with women my age and women my mother's age helped me to see that there is not one way to navigate the stops. You miss one? You go back, if you can.

This week I've gone out three nights. I feel an awakening in my heart and mind, a desire to engage in conversations, a desire to be with people, and like a beautiful dream, there are people to be with! It's Winter, but I am finding that there is a Spring happening in my heart.

* * *

Was there ever a time when you took a detour from the linear stops along the way? Was there a time you wanted to but couldn't?*
_______________________
*Keyholder was the next step in the hierarchy at Fox Books: bookseller, then supervisor, then keyholder (who was responsible sometimes for opening the store), then Asst. Mgr, then Manager.

on little cat feet (Carl Sandburg, Fog)
Alone again, naturally (Gilbert O'Sullivan)
Sometimes I feel so reckless and wild (Shawn Colvin, The Story.)

*do you think the questions at the end are dorky? (It's something I'm trying on for size.)

What Sunday is for, n'at

So I woke up at 8:30, turned off the TV which had been broadcasting SATC-TM all night, via my DVD player.

I rolled over, had a dream about being in retail, only I had my current boss, and it was 10:30. Yikes! I so rarely sleep in.

I didn't really have breakfast in the house, so I hemmed and hawed and finally decided to go to Whole Foods, where they make omelets on Sundays. As I pulled up to the light right before WF, the crowd was too much, so I decided to head West? towards Negley. I wasn't sure if I wanted to go to Gullifties...and as I crossed over the East Busway, I decided to turn left on Ellesworth. The Elbow Room, but of course!

I would write more, but I must off to the movies. Doubt is playing at 2:20. If I went to see 7 pounds, I'd be late for church tonight, so it will have to wait.

More to come...I went shopping. Pictures, maybe...

While you were sleeping...and other thoughts about the new year

So, um, I almost slept through the change of 2008 to 2009. Thanks to my parents, I woke up for a few minutes. My fun parents, who had no plans came up with a great plan: dinner at a fun restaurant and then the Bollywood movie, Slumlord Millionaire.

Their daughter came home, after driving almost an hour in snow, driving out of her normal route to avoid hills that she normally drives so that she wouldn't slip slide away. She swept the front walk, salted the steps, and prepared a Trader Joe's microwave dinner. She ate chips and salsa while waiting for the dinner to finish its 5 minute rotation.

She started to watch Frasier, got bored, turned off the TV, read some more of Frank Schaeffer's book Crazy for God, and decided to take a nap.

Um. Well, see, I thought about the parties I'd been to this season. Where I was glad to be invited, where I showed up later on pictures on FaceBook, where I talked to people about their children, their spouses, their engagement rings, and where I wondered how early I could slip away.

And so I decided to not get up from my nap.

Fortunately, Cuileann drank my champagne. And Bruce Reyes-Chow, the moderator of the Presbyterian Church, gave me my first laugh of the morning. Those Californians, gotta love them.

This is NOT a very exciting post. In fact, it's almost un-publishable. But the point is that 2009 is the year I want to break out of the mediocrity that weighs me down. That doesn't mean I won't have my moments. We all have them, it's just that some people hide them better. (Um, not that hiding them is always the best way to deal with moments.)

My blogroll is alphabetical (which makes me think that I should rename this blog Aaaaaaaaa blog by a girl named Sarah Louise) so one of the first ones I read this morning was Amy, at Eliza Jane. She says it better than I could, as she ponders the beautiful people.

Okay. Painful as it is, I'm going to hit publish. To remind myself of what 2009 is NOT going to be about.

And I'm going to sit here in my pj's and watch the Rose Bowl Parade.

Happy Happy Joy Joy (and other expressions of life, late December)

So life is not perfect, there's a news flash.*

BUT...the good stuff:

• I finally went to the Millennium Stage at the Kennedy Center. We saw Irish dancing. (Sparkly costumes, fiddles, fancy footwork.) Over Thanksgiving, we were in Philly, where the regional dancing contests were, so I learned a lot from talking to folks, but never saw dancing. For instance, did you know that Irish Dancing is one of the best ways to train in the off season if you play soccer? A woman we met in Philly said her son didn't get the same kind of injuries as his friends b/c of his Irish Dancing. We were waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay in the back because it was a popular night for the Millennium, which is free 365 days a year. So I didn't always watch the stage, sometimes I people watched. It was RICH for that. So many different ages, people in dressy, people in jeans, cool shoes, cute children, couples on early dates (you could SO tell they didn't know each other real well yet.) It was fun sitting there trying to figure out people's stories, pointing out neat clothes to my mom, her pointing out neat stuff to me (she was the one that saw the golden colored shoes that were like four inches high).

• Realizing that my siblings are real Washingtonians, whereas I am a tourist. Going to h.s. in Maryland is so different from going to h.s. in VA--(I was the Maryland child, child of the 'burbs) My sibs went to DC so much more even when they were in h.s. and now that my sister lives in her very own apartment with roommate, she goes out all. the. time. I stay in, spend time with the fam, and am happy to go new places when I go with folks. Sigh. I'm a fuddy-duddy, I guess. And I wish I knew DC as well as my sibs. But I'm a Pittsburgher, and that's pretty cool too. Goal for 2008 (don't laugh) is to go shopping at the Strip. I'm hoping Danielle will take me.
  

• My mom gifted me three pairs of pants and a bra! Sweet! And today we went to one of my favorite thrift shops, well, now it is billed as "resale" and they take American Express, but I got a nice sweater for $1 and a sweet twin-set for $16. I worked at Joseph's Coat back in the day--it was a life-saver back when my medical leave pay ran out after my diagnosis in 1998. It was a transition, I worked f/t until I got a holiday job at Fox Books, so I then worked p/t both places and then f/t at Fox Books for the next two years.
  

• I got to watch most of the opening ceremony of the Olympics in Beijing. One of my Twitter friends mentioned it, my dad and sister fiddled with the TV, and voila! I still haven't seen the beginning part, but I'm sure it's online somewheres.
  

• I got my hairs trimmed today. Little known fact: a manicure is cheaper in Pgh than in DC/VA, but a haircut is cheaper here. (About $10 less.) Pgh manicure: $12 before tip. DC/VA manicure: $25. Pgh haircut including shampoo/blow dry: $30 before tip. DC/VA haircut: $21 before tip.
  

In other news, I am still reading. I finished Monsoon Summer by Mitali Perkins, WOW. Longer review to follow. I am about halfway through the Audacity of Hope, and about halfway through Is he Mr. Right? Whoa. I am finding all sorts of stuff, and realizing that I am still sort of hung up on the guy I mentioned I was totally over. (Raise your hand if you're surprised.) Because I keep wanting to make him the guy that is right for me. He's in my circle of friends, sort of. He's just a little older than me. He's an interesting conversationalist. He's cute. He's Christian (that's BIG, folks). He's geeky, which I like. Luckily, my therapist realized that I probably need some time to get over him when I announced to her that I was, so I don't feel like gotta rush through all these emotions but it is SOOO frustrating. Do I want a guy with a stable job? YES. Do I want a guy who pays attention to me? YES.

Then you know, the whole FaceBook thing happens--it's almost worse than the alumni magazine, because there you just read about Jane Smith and her great job and three point five children. Here, you can write on her wall and she can write on yours. A college friend is a librarian in the Bronx (read NEW YORK CITY) and about to buy an apartment b/c the economic downturn makes it a good time to do so. Color me all shades of green, except that I love the community I have in Pittsburgh.

My brother needs the computer. So there you go. Much love n'at.

_______________
*I stayed in bed way too late this morning. And (sorry tmi) the blood and laundry fest is not my favorite game.

Merry Christmas...n'at

So last Christmas, I gave you my heart, the very next day, you gave it away...

No, that's not the sentiment I was going for...but seriously, even though today was a great day, I know that part of why it's great is that I'm feeling better. And I had very low expectations, which were blown out of the water, and high expectations, which were trampled on. C'est la vie!

For Christmas dinner, my cousin and her crazy family came (her two children, one boyfriend, boyfriend's daughter and daughter's daughter, who is 18 mos, and ADORABLE) and my favorite living aunt. (I only have one living aunt, so she's gotta be my favorite living one.)

When I look at the calendar that hangs in my bathroom at home, last week was a hard week for the Louise family. (Yes, when I look at it in my mind's eye, Ms. Inner English Teacher Critic) 32 years ago, Tuesday, we lost my sister Joy, a premie, who lived two weeks. Ten? years ago on Wednesday we lost my Aunt Hilda, my dad's sister. Which really sucks for my dad, who lost a daughter and a sister on back to back days.

So what I'm trying to get at, is that I get it if you are crabby and sobby and it has nothing to do with the great gifts you did or didn't get. This time of year brings out big expectations. The tree has to be big, the wrapping has to be big, everything is supposed to be super-shiny...but in reality, it is just another day. Within hours, all the planning, all the shopping, all the making, that you might have spent half a year on, well, the ownership has shifted from "I gave you this gift" to "you gave this to me." Which can be wonderful, sweet, poignant, or exhausting.

As I sat at the table with people I loved, I realized how lucky I am. I know what I want. And I don't have everything I want, but I never really will, this side of paradise. The best part was being with the fab five, the Louise fam, the we-us. My brother and I shared some words while watching "The Incredibles," after the company had gone home, my sister had gone home, and my folks had gone for a walk. He said something a little on the gossipy side, and although I knew I didn't want to go there, I responded, a little gossipy too. And he said, it's really not my business. And I said, it's really not my business either. And we stopped. Right there. If all I had to show for this day was that moment, it would be enough. Because I can see that the boy that was a screaming baby the year I was 11 (he was born on Dec. 20, 1982) (Yes, you can do the math) is going to be fine. He knows who he is too.

Best gift: audio of Marilynne Robinson's book, Gilead. Well, a piece of paper saying that it's on its way.

Best carbon footprint reducing gifts: an acre of Appalacian mountainland and some trees in Peru (Nature Conservancy and Heifer Project.)

Best gift giving moments: every single one. The thumbs up from my brother when he opened the Bob Dylan Starbucks compilation (not of Bob's songs, but of the songs he likes best.) My dad reading the credits for "It's not easy being green" an audio book compilation of Jim Henson's writings. My sister, wearing the earrings I got for her in Philly, saying, my roommate will be so jealous, and naming them in her top two gifts. I took too many pictures of her, as usual. She's my favorite photographic subject, what can I say. My mom loved the folder I made for her, monarch butterflies being the theme.

Surprise gift, something I never would have bought, but am pleased to have: Sex and the City the Movie soundtrack. (from Bird, my sister, for my birthday)

Cool fun gift: I said I wanted "bath stuff." So my sister got me a group of rubber duckies, including one which is pink! Also, some sizzling bath bead thingys.

Never would have imagined it but super-cool gift: a calendar of Texas, from my brother, who lives there. (He and Badger live in the same town, Austin, though they've never met.)

Expected and totally unwelcome gift (and TMI): my period. Yuk. So nice for you to show up for Thanksgiving and my birthday and a month later at Christmas. Timing. We've got to figure out the timing, here folks.

My mom is asking my brother if he wants to play Scrabble or Canasta. Boy am I glad I'm not an only child. All I want to do is crawl into my bed and continue reading The Audacity of Hope.

Merry Christmas, one and all. If this year sucks, January is right around the corner.

Oh, and Pistachio got her wish. Three villages will get safe water!! But I think she's still hoping for more...why not dream, @wellwishes?

I'm ready to crash. Or at least crash to read something. I can't spell it, but Cuileann can: Chus! (It means ciao in German.) (It's got a Schuss sort of vibe....)

My mom and brother are arguing over "do you accept this word" and my dad is emptying the dishwasher. My legs are cramping and there's a book in the next room with my name (well, actually Obama's) on it.

Ciao for now, later alligator, etc. Smooches and I'm outta here!!!!!!!!!!!

Grumpy grumpy grumpy

Grumpy and grieving start with the same sound. And there's a reason, grrrrrrrrrrrrr.

So, within 48 hours, I lost the dream of a dream job and the dream of a dream boat. He was swell, but never noticed me. (It only took me six months to figure it out this time.) And I love the dear woman who is most definitely qualified for the job that I pined after. (With her in the running, no one else was going to get that particular job.) So.

So, in an effort to not dwell on the losses, but to be the librarian extra-ordinaire that you know me to be:

Books (on relationships) that I would never add to my GoodReads profile that I love and would recommend to girlfriends:

(gotta go check the laundry)

Okay, laundry still spinning. GAH it is soooooo cold. (Like 9 degrees Fahrenheit outside, cold cold in the stairwell.)

Revelations of a single woman: loving the life i didn't expect by Connally Gilliam

Have thought about getting a copy of this and giving to sister for Christmas, but like a Sex and the City calendar, it's not the sort of thing you want to open in front of people. Oh, thanks, a book about being single. Gee, um, thanks. I've written about this book here before.

My most favorite image from Connally's book is that if you are looking for relationships as a single person, you often find that you are splintered, trying to be friends with everyone, drinking from "a thousand little waxy Dixie cups" when you really want some deep wells. (19)

Or this tidbit: "women, oftentimes--for better or worse--seem to invest in and draw more life from their workplace relationships than men do. Hence, a woman's actual job might be a misfit--one that doesn't engage her best abilities--but she'll stay longer at it for the sake of the people." (182)

Or how about this one, single women? "Where can I find community?.... 'I'm on my third set of friends right now,' writes one woman who has cycled through the marriages and moves of numerous friends. " (190)


Is he Mr. Right? Everything you need to know before you commit by Mira Kirshenbaum (author of Too Good To leave, Too bad to stay, another helpful book.

This is the book that inspired this list, as I'm currently making my way through it. After I realized that Mr. "All That" really wasn't, it helped me as I figured out why: (fortunately, I hide books like this under tables and find them at opportune moments) I don't feel safe when I'm with him, and I don't think he's fun. (There are 5 compatibility levels and those are two of them.) I mean, why should I be with a guy that I think is mostly boring, who only pays attention to me at church, and and and (fill in the blank.) I mean, it took me twenty years to get over a guy who only paid attention to me when we were on the phone, so I'd like to think I've grown past the "one venue" kind of guy. But I do still need to grieve, and that's okay.

The main gist of this book is dump him as soon as you figure out he's a dud, which I've never been successful at, but hey, maybe I just did!

I haven't finished this book, but my therapist knew of it, has actually recommended it to folks (though I found it on my own, in the 646.77's (DDC for dating and choice of mate)).

Here's a gem: "Maybe you realized you felt bored or depressed. Bad chemistry." (13) (Sort of like when I was dating the guy who was writing a novel and I thought it was horrible. Um, I'm a writer. So if you are too, and you don't write well, there's going to be a problem.)

It's called a break-up because it's broken: the smart girl's break-up buddy by Greg Behrendt and Amiira Ruotola-Behrendt.

I read a lot of break-up books the summer I was dealing with the loss of my friend Boston (who doesn't live in or near Boston, and is again my friend). This was one I got on audio. While I ABHORRED the first book Greg wrote (He's just not that into you) because it seemed boorish and in your face, I liked this one, because the audio presentation made it funny, and it was true. Why do we waste time on relationships that are O-V-E-R? Maybe it's time for me to check out this audio book again. (Yes, I realize this particular relationship was mostly in my head, but I'm a writer, so I had sub-plots and nuances, it was still a "relationship" albeit imaginary.)

and one that I might add to my GR profile:

The peril of magnificent love by Emma Magenta.

I bought this when I was trying to get rid of the rejection of Tony (yes, the high school guy), Boston, Mr. "All That" (the first time around) and other relationships, all at the same time. I bought a slew of books from Amazon, and this is one of the ones that survived the ever necessary purging. It's a sweet little picture book about what happens when you put that crush on a pedestal, when you become a different person for them, the mind games, and when you finally figure out that all the costumes are pointless. It's a much cuter book than my description, I promise. Here it is on Google Books.

Well, my dears, I better check the laundry again, figure out which items can stay drying in the dryer and which ones should be hung on the line. It's been fun. Shall we meet again soon? Same Bat time, same Bat Channel?

hogs and quiches, SL

What a long strange trip it's been...

No, I'm not doing song lyrics Saturday, that would be Badger. But of course now that I'm thinking about music, I'm reminded of the Traveling Wilburies. D'you remember them? They did an album or two right about the time I was finishing high school, late eighties.

Tony loved Jimi Hendrix. And he loved the Traveling Wilburies. And he loved a lot of things I never understood. He paid attention to me when I was with him, but if I wasn't, he was paying attention to everyone and everything else. Case in point, the girl who warned me about him was the girl who ended up going to the prom with him. "He'll forget about you." Yeah. Well.

So, I'm over him, but I still have scads of Tony stories. Maybe now is ripe time to start working on my novella again...which isn't about him, but is about the sheer confusion of relationships.

End of the Line (Traveling Wilburys)

Well it's all right, riding around in the breeze
Well it's all right, if you live the life you please
Well it's all right, doing the best you can
Well it's all right, as long as you lend a hand

You can sit around and wait for the phone to ring (End of the Line)
Waiting for someone to tell you everything (End of the Line)
Sit around and wonder what tomorrow will bring (End of the Line)
Maybe a diamond ring

Well it's all right, even if they say you're wrong
Well it's all right, sometimes you gotta be strong
Well it's all right, As long as you got somewhere to lay
Well it's all right, everyday is Judgment Day

Maybe somewhere down the road aways (End of the Line)
You'll think of me, wonder where I am these days (End of the Line)
Maybe somewhere down the road when somebody plays (End of the Line)
Purple haze

Well it's all right, even when push comes to shove
Well it's all right, if you got someone to love
Well it's all right, everything'll work out fine
Well it's all right, we're going to the end of the line

Don't have to be ashamed of the car I drive (End of the Line)
I'm glad to be here, happy to be alive (End of the Line)
It don't matter if you're by my side (End of the Line)
I'm satisfied

Well it's all right, even if you're old and gray
Well it's all right, you still got something to say
Well it's all right, remember to live and let live
Well it's all right, the best you can do is forgive

Well it's all right, riding around in the breeze
Well it's all right, if you live the life you please
Well it's all right, even if the sun don't shine
Well it's all right, we're going to the end of the line



I forgot this was about Roy Orbison. Well, it's all of ours, as soon as it hits the radio. But that reminds me of a Roy song, probably his last one. But I gotta go.

Thanks, Badger, for letting me borrow your style.

Kisses, everyone, I'm off to be a librarian.

and now for something completely odd...

So there's this guy. (You knew there was, right?) And for a while I had a monstrous (a little out of control) (well, let's call it way out of control) crush on him. He went away for about two years. He returned, sort of, and I felt sort of like, hmmm, yes. But not like oh wow.

Right now I have the opportunity to see him on a regular basis and all of a sudden, he is just a guy who isn't paying that much attention to me. He is not the guy I am obsessed with that isn't paying attention to me. It's sort of like I figured it out, okay, he's not into me, I'm not into him. I mean, I'd like to get to know him better, but how does that work? Chemistry? And we like people that like us? There is NOTHING. I feel NOTHING. Well, not nothing, because obviously I'm confused enough to come blog about it.

It's very bizarre, at least to me. Cuz I thought I was really into him. And now, I'm not.

(This SL is a little crazy, no? First she tells us to twitter about water, then she tells us stories about water, and then she goes all crazy over the fact that she's NO LONGER crazy about some fella.)

(I live in my head, folks. And all my girlfriends are busy or out of town, and I needed to process this. Lucky you, right?)

But the thing is, I love the thing that I'm going to where he's hanging out, and so now I'll be seeing him twice a month for the next whenever.

And part of me is like, um, God, is this really what you had in mind? But then again, it's a good thing to not be obsessed with someone who hardly notices you. I spent way too much of my teens obsessed with guys that I gave code names like Green Jacket, Green Car, and well, there was the guy whose last name really was Greenfield. I analyzed every little look they sent my way, and it was meant to be if they wore a sweater the same color as the one I was wearing. (I know, right?) So maybe this is like, yay, look, SL can be involved in a group where a fairly cute really smart guy is in charge and that's not the reason she's going.

Of course, my monkey mind goes like this: maybe I'm supposed to invite a friend, and then they'll fall in love and then I'll watch one more perfectly good Christian man get married to someone else, NOT ME.

Or maybe I'll just get ready for bed and figure that this is something I don't understand or need to.

Yeah, that sounds like a really good idea.

A personal story on water

After I wrote a post on this topic for a different blog, wherein I shared my experiences with water, I thought, geesh, I at least owe you a story.

As a child growing up in the foreign service, I lived in Honduras, Poland, and Brazil. In none of these countries did potable (drinking) water come from the tap. In Honduras, water had to be boiled first. In Poland, it had to be boiled (distilled, we had a distiller) and then filtered, to take out heavy metals such as cadmium that lived in the tap water. I was fortunate to live in situations where the water was treated, and I didn’t get sick. I don't remember how water was treated in Brazil, but I'm pretty sure we didn't drink what came from the tap.

Please consider donating. And consider blogging about it, if you have a blog. Let's pass this on. It's important. See post below for all the particulars, or click on this link to Laura's blog.

water water everywhere, and not a drop to drink

This is from Pistachio, the Twitter nom of Laura Fitton, a Boston mom and consultant:

I want to make a big difference. To save kids lives. It’s a tough year though. I don’t want to ask much of any one person. I realized just $2 from each of my Twitter readers would be $25,000. If everyone who reads this - YOU - gives just $2, Charity: Water can build an entire water project for a school or hospital in Africa.

Read her entire post here.

It's a pretty easy set-up. You sign up for TipJoy, you can access your paypal funds and donate as small as 25 cents ($2 per person is our goal) but of course, as big as your dreams and budget allow.

Three easy steps from Laura's blog:

1. Sign up for tipjoy at: http://tipjoy.com/createaccount/platform/twitter/. You have the option to sign up using only your twitter credentials.
2. Copy and paste this Tweet: p$2 @wellwishes to build wells and save children’s lives (via @tipjoy)
3. Be sure you have funded your Tipjoy account. Start with as little as $5 and tip it to whomever you wish.

Direct: You can donate ANY amount via credit card or PayPal right at the Charity: Water site. (they ask for a minimum $10 donation.)

This is from a Washington Post article on clean water. Read the entire article if you have a chance, it's written by Jan Eliasson, former Swedish ambassador to the United States, the president of the United Nations General Assembly and Retired Rear Admiral Susan Blumenthal, a physician, who served as assistant surgeon general of the United States.

Water is essential to all aspects of life, yet 99 percent of water on Earth is unsafe or unavailable to drink. About 1.2 billion people globally lack safe water to consume and 2.6 billion do not have access to adequate sanitation. There are also stark comparisons: Just one flush of a toilet in the West uses more water than most Africans have to perform an entire day's washing, cleaning, cooking and drinking.

What Laura wants to do is within the realms of possibility, if each of her Twitter followers step up with $2. Will you join us in this dream, for something so simple as water, something most of us take so much for granted every single day?

Waiting and other games

This morning, after I lumbered to the loo, my first thought was, I am tired of waiting!!

And right away, the inner censor/harsh editor chimed in. "You have no idea what waiting is." Of course the first story he brought to mind that I can remember now (I've been twittering, FaceBooking, and G-mailing) is the story of Sarah and Abraham, and their wait for Isaac. Oh. Well. If you're going to compare me and my waitings to the story of Genesis, well, that's not fair.

But seriously, my waits are not serious. I'm a pretty happy single woman who gets to write for fun and mostly enjoys her job. There are people who are unhappily single (or worse, unhappily married), have no time to write even for fun, and don't have jobs. And then I hear my pastor's wife, "Comparison is the thief of all joy."

And this Saturday, at a party that tried the soul, I had a kitchen conversation with Garrett, who allowed that it was frustrating to be at a job where your soul wasn't in it. Bless you. And a few weeks ago, a friend emailed me that she couldn't imagine wanting to be in a relationship and not being in one. Bless you. I'm sure there's someone out there that would have the conversation with me that looks like, "It's okay to be where you are, play writing." Drat, there go the waterworks.

We should have taken a picture at the party. One couple, with their foster baby, would be at one end. Next would be the next momma, who looks (respectfully) like she swallowed a prize winning watermelon, and last would be the baby bumps, in order of size and due date. Maybe I would be at the other end of the spectrum, saying "Happy that I have no baby of any size, color, or persuasion on the way!"

Hmmm. A baby is nine months, if you're a human. Maybe that's what's driving me nuts, I have no timetable. There's no time table saying, in three months, you'll make a catch that's a matchless match. In two, you'll hold a job you'll crow about to all who will listen, and in a year and a half, you'll have enough control and wiggle in your life to work on writing.

Cuileann, dear heart, has as a quote on her blog and as a quote on Twitter, "It is not true that life is one damn thing after another. It is one damn thing over and over." To which I replied, I think it's three damn things over and over. My three things (not my three sons): career, soul mate, passion.

***pause while I go to find Come a stranger, where Mina's mom says that history is her passion, nursing is her job, and her husband is her (something less romantic than passion but still very nice.) Drat. Can't find it. It's a really good quote. And I realize that I need a new copy, this one is really yellowed. I wonder if you can still get Come a stranger in hardcover. I'll have to report back. Now is NOT the time to go internet window shopping.

I have cast aside my walk and some piecework for work to sit here and write. I got my cholesterol back--207! WOOT! I'll make an appointment to go over it after Christmas, since I'm interested in knowing my LDLs and all that. Is it crazy that I'm scared that I jinxed it by walking every day the week before and eating right? (Now that I'm in high party season where I'm not eating right and I haven't been walking?)

I have to say, I'm pretty excited when I think about the possibility of the latest interview I had. And I'm thrilled to pieces when I think of the films I get to see as a part of the film discussion group I've joined. In May, we'll watch "Cool Hand Luke" a movie I've been meaning to see for ages but didn't think I could watch by myself. And the fact that I don't have to be anywhere for at least an hour, I can sit here and dither with this post or go off and comment on friend's posts, well, maybe life ain't so bad. And my harsh critic says, you just had a good cry and now have Zoloft streaming through your system, of course life ain't so bad.

Thanks. Thanks for that.

Yesterday on the way to work I was thinking about Anne. You know, Anne! (It baffles me to think that someone might not know who Anne is, but who I mean is Anne Shirley, Miss Anne with an E, if you please.) One of my friends had "Anne's theme" as her processional at her wedding. Even though I'm pretty stuck on "Fairest Lord Jesus," I still think she had a pretty great idea, and am still tempted to steal (borrow) it from her. But anyways, talk about star-crossed lovers. I mean, Gil was engaged to someone else for crying out loud! And then he got sick, and broke off the engagement, and (swell the music) he and Anne lived in happiness forever more.

Okay, that was an interesting sidetrip. There is a wealth of Anne videos with contemporary songs, here's one I like, Miss Independent. Look at the time, I gotta go find out if lunch starts at 11, cuz if it does, I gotta go!

I have a little bit of time, I have to get to where lunch is at 11:30. But it still means I gotta go. Thanks for playing with me a little bit. It is crazy that there are people who read this that I've never met online or off, who occasionally de-lurk when I write a particularly touching or well written post. Thanks. Really. I'd write anyways, but it's nice to know you're out there, dear reader.

Oh drat, just realized I was going to do some laundry this morning. Oh well...

Vocal Warm-ups On A Cloudy Day

What is blogging if not stealing content so more people can enjoy a chortle? My cuz Kiki emailed this to me and also posted it on her blog. I was over there commenting this morning, and the title to this post grabbed me so much. It is now one of my favorite movies, me, who resists seeing old movies. I have now seen The Philadelphia Story, The Women (so much better in b&w than the recent re-do), and title movie. I always loved Roman Holiday because it was one of my mother's favorites. My mother who will leave nothing behind because she truly is one of the most private people I know, sometimes shares tidbits. And generally if she says it's good, I like it just because she did (see earlier story about why I like Reuben samwiches.)

So without further ado, the Woot.com guess which Musical this is.

1. Kate, We Haven’t Been Introduced
2. Bar Mitzvah of La Mancha
3. Sand And Primer Your Wagon
4. A Chorus Dot
5. Fiddler Borrows A Ladder
6. Little Business Plan of Horrors
7. A Star's Mom Allows A Handsome Stranger To Buy Her A Drink
8. Indian Territory!
9. The Guy Who Is A Little Intense But Keeps To Himself And Isn’t Really Bothering Anyone Of The Opera
10. Annie There’s A Waiting Period
11. Kittens
12. Brand New Acquaintance Joey
13. Handshake Of The Spider Woman
14. Jesus Christ Waiter
15. Starlight Right-of-Way Allocation And Environmental Impact Study
16. Vocal Warm-ups On A Cloudy Day
17. West Side Backstory

Go to their site, the comments have a cheat sheet, plus made up ones by readers. Much fun was had by all, pass it on!

If I didn't have to rush off to work, I'd link this up, but y'all know how to use Google, so go to it.

“A friend knows the song in my heart and sings it to me when my memory fails.

(Donna Roberts)

Today I had to see EE Sally. I needed an old friend whose history I knew and who knew mine. We went to Walmart (because sometimes the only way to hang out with your busy momma friends is to go on errands with them.)

So I told her stuff, and I said, I feel like some of the stuff I'm doing doesn't make sense in a linear way. And she said (bless her heart), "When has anything in your life been linear?" And it was so true.

If you have a true blue friend like that, one that has seen you at your best and at your absolute worst, hold on tight. And find ways to be in their lives, even if it's a morning trip to Walmart. (Which btw, was super fun, as she was getting supplies for a star costume she's making for a Christmas pageant.)

The rest of the day, I hibernated. In the true sense. I was under the covers and asleep for a long time. And I just yawned, so I don't sense that insomnia will be a problem. I'm thinking it's because little miss introvert was out all night Saturday (from 7:30 to 1 a.m.), then a party Sunday morning for some twins first birthday, and then church which was dinner. Yep, that's a lot of being around people.

Yawn. Time to head back to bed.

From now on for a while

You're going to have to assume that some of what I write is fiction. I had a convo with a fellow Tweeter, and she said, I like seeing what music you're listening to. (I often tweet the lyrics if I'm listening to Pandora whilst cataloging. It keeps me sane.) I said, I started doing it b/c of Pistachio (another Tweeter) who often tweets lyrics, phrases from books, one word. I said it's useful because sometimes it's the lyric of a song I'm listening to right then and sometimes it's a way to say something indirectly. That's not fair! she cried at me. Oh, but it is. I am a creator of stories, and sometimes my stories actually happened, and sometimes they are very real but very made up.

I offer you a story about a party, and a girl. The names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Sarah Louise wasn't sure she wanted to go. She had been to this party twice before (it was a yearly event.) Once she went with a man she was dating, and once she drove a man home, someone she was severely crushing on. He waited around to ask her if she'd give him a ride. She saw this as hopeful. She has since given up on this man, because he could remind her of that Lee Ann Womack song, "I'm always your last call." Thankfully, he disappeared, about three years ago.

Another man, who looked just like him, showed up last August. He knew her friend Emily who had moved to Queens. This man could have been that man's twin. He'd been around a couple of times, always said hello, polite and all. But Sarah Louise wasn't sure. She'd been hurt before, and she'd read "He's just not that into you." She'd HATED reading it, not so sure that it allowed for shy men. But this twin, who happened to be at the party Sarah Louise didn't want to go to, tipped his hat and that was it. Clearly he had no problems talking to women, as he stood there talking to the woman with the bob cut for hours.

Sarah Louise flounced onto the couch where Kathy was waiting. (Sarah Louise was also waiting, she had to use the john, which was occupied. They were about to go visit some other houses in the party circuit.) "He's soooo not that into me!" And with Kathy's response, "Move on, etc." Sarah Louise realized who Kathy was. Kathy is Miranda. Lawyers are logical. It is not logical to hold feelings for someone who clearly snubs you. But Sarah Louise is a storyteller, a Carrie, and she goes back for more, until the story is completely run out. (Which by the way, often ends badly.) Sarah Louise is no fool. She knows this.

Someone got engaged yesterday. Grin. It added to the party atmosphere, all those pregnant ladies, one foster baby, and a shiny new ring with proud fiancé.

We all have our own stories. In playwriting class in college, Sarah Louise learned that each character has their motive. And in a good play, their motive will be visible in every move they make, every word that comes out of their mouth.

So...what motivates a Carrie is different from what motivates a Miranda. No one is going to say, yes, Sarah Louise, jump after a sinking ship, fawn over the man who stands around talking to another woman. But a Carrie might say, watch it. As in, keep up the detective work, until it runs out.

And other people would say, that is SICK. Your brain is making connections because you see the story you want to see, so pieces fit in, everything fits the pattern because you've set the pattern.

And Sarah Louise doesn't know what to do. Except to take one step, the next step, and the next one.

I have accepted fear as a part of life--specifically the fear of change. I have gone ahead despite the pounding in the heart that says: turn back. --Erica Jong.

When I grow tired of my students, as I always do--
staring at their faces till my sockets burn,
I remember one girl told me
how she followed a boyfriend home--
found him in tears--
He rocked on the bed
screamed at her to Get away
So she turned off his light
and closed the door,
and sat on his floor till morning.

When I think of this girl speaking
in her gentle voice with its rough edges
I think how teaching is like crouching sleepless
in a darkened room refusing to get up
knowing nothing will come of this,
--or only a story, maybe.

(Anon., found in Small Victories, by Samuel G. Freedman.)

This part is true: Yesterday, Max and I were both set to leave the house at 8:30. We both work every Saturday. When I was looking for my earrings and heard the front door slam at 8:28, I thought, meanly, "show off." I soon was out there, scraping my car. We exchanged a hi and a bye. As soon as he sped off, I decided I was done scraping too, and I sped off. It was maddening, he was taking MY route. He is a much better, more responsible driver than I, so we went the speed limit going past the cemetery. At the top of the hill, we got the red light. And since he was the car in front of me, well, what else could I do but look? I could see his ear. The ear that I loved, over a year ago. I guess I never understood that part about "I will always love you a little." But I understood it yesterday, looking at his ear in his side mirror. And it is wonderful to have loved that ear, and to know that he is not my guy anymore.

After he turned off and it was just me and the road, I ran a couple reds. Partially because I was running late, but I'm sure there was an unspoken emotion in there too.

Hmmm. I thought I had more, but they are all amorphous thoughts that refuse to put themselves into words. This will probably be the last post where I talk about Max as a former beau. I think he is now relegated to that guy I dated once that lives on the first floor.

And that was the post that wasn't...

I hit something and just published...wait for it...a blank post. Sorry!

So I'm working on "what am I doing online?"

Now that I'm on FaceBook, and Twitter, and Delicious.com (oh, and Flick r, but I don't have any pictures up, and GoodReads) and and and and and... I've kind of hit some sort of tipping point. When I started blogging, it and email were pretty much the only online things I participated in.

Then there was a lull, when blogging changed, and it was less the community, partially because things changed, shifted, but also because there were so many more blogs. Which is not a bad thing, but just harder to keep up the "community feel."

And I've gotten to the point where I want more face to face, or at least voice to voice, the "repopulation" of my life, as it were.

So I took a bunch of links off my blog roll today. I can't get into the "Blogrolling" one, they're having issues. Interesting, as I did housekeeping, how some of the links were gone, or password protected now.

Through Twitter, I have started following Rosa Say. She just finished a 90 day experiment of spending less time online. I think I'd like to try something like that. But I sort of feel like St. Augustin saying he'd like to try celibacy, but not yet.

Writing about it is a first step, as was taking some of the glut on my blog rolls. Even though I can get most blogs via my Google Reader, I really prefer to click on the blog's link on my blog. I miss so much color when I just read the posts on a white background, and I don't get the feel of the blog...and then if I don't read that day's post, they stack up like weeks of unread newspapers. I don't want to be a pack rat online too!

So, since I only have 4 people to shop for, and most of that shopping is done, and I don't have to do much holiday prep (it's the single life--don't envy me unless you want to hand over your life of children and husbands) maybe this will be my advent project.

Well, it's 12:58 and my replacement should be here shortly. LUNCH!!

Honestly...

I always hated the game "truth or dare." Because it seemed to me it wasn't truth they were going after, but something to titillate. So the whole time I was writing that list you see below, I was thinking, ooh, what if you knew this about me, what would you think? And that's not honesty. That's shock value. That's "you'd be surprised to know that..."

I just had to get that out, first thought of the morning n'at. It was my last thought as I fell asleep, too. The dreams I had in between? Bizarre.

Okay, as you were. This day can go on now.