It would seem my blog has started to work again after a few months hiatus. Interesting. Although it lists comments as 0 even when there are some.
Gee, I wonder what feats of literary genius I shall deliver unto the world now my window is open again.
We shall see.
Some report of Tokyo belongs here, but time travel creates internal clock malfunctions and my brain refuses to reconcile the time of day with the dark or light outside.
I'm becoming nocturnal. Sleeping all day is jarringly incongruous with daily toddlerdom.
Today I'm filing disputes with the bank over several transactions on my account that are not mine but were made with my debit card number - not the actual card because I have that in my possession. The worst was a $3000 charge to Apple Online. It nearly seems plausible since we buy Apple products, but it still wasn't me.
I have evidently been the victim of identity theft and am now leery of making purchases online thanks to the condescending redundancy of the customer service prick at the bank. I may never get a good deal on a textbook again if my only option is face-to-face purchases at the university book center. Alas, that perceived good deal online might not be so good if several months later I'm being relieved of three grand by some scam artist who stole my credit card number.
In unrelated news, today the mail brought a Playboy clothing (and other naughty products) catalog to my house. It's apparently considered non-offensive since it wasn't shrink-wrapped and hiding in brown paper, but I still don't want my kids accidently flipping through it since there is a page displaying all the covers of the other magazines Playboy has for sale which are definitely inappropriate for, well, just about anyone. Even the thumbnail pictures of the covers were shocking.
I was curious whether this was one of those mass mailings simply addressed to "Resident" and then my address because that seemed the only reasonable explanation why I would get something like this. Of course I laughed when I flipped it over and discovered it's addressed to my brother-in-law.
EDITED: And it's freaking snowing - big fluffy flakes sticking to the yard again. WTF?
There must have been something fundamentally shallow, sparkly, and affected missing from my adolescent pop cultural experience. As a late-twenty-somethings adult, I find myself curiously drawn to the Disney channel, even at 2:30 in the afternoon when my kids are deep in cozy nap time. I become hypnotized by the purples and pinks and glittery makeup and teenage superficial love affairs. Walls painted in unrealistic cartoony colors; vapid characters and dialogue; embarrassing pseudo morality lessons. I mean, you've seen it.
I'm casting about for somewhere to place blame for my jaunt through the airway slums, and I keep snagging the only possible cause: No cable - then or now. The truth is, I simply have no choice. I've methodically worked my way through all the loaner DVDs from friends whose entertainment tastes I envy and am now anxiously awaiting a refresher load. Today, even my backup Netflix disc was a bust, um, literally. Something had sawed it right in half.
I've managed to retain a modicum of self-respect as I haven't tested the worlds of amnesia, demon-possession, resurrected previously unknown siblings, and I don't know what-all kinds of devices á la the Day Time Soaps. Good for me.
In the meantime, Disney is poisoning me.
Anne Lamott was everything I wanted her to be and so much more. Last night I met Anne Lamott and listened to her read an excerpt from her book Grace Eventually and talk about various other bits of her accumulated life's wisdom. She is a wonderful, caring, beautiful person with a great perspective and sense of humor to offer the world.
The most personally evocative comment of the evening was close to the beginning of her talk. In reference to beginning any journey or new project or trek of faith, she listed off a few hypothetical situations that could have applied to anyone in the audience that night, and then finished the statement with this: "...or no matter whether you've left the church of your childhood and are trying to find your way back to faith, we start where we are." We start where we are and journey onward.
And throughout, she compared nearly anything a person could take on to the Fox Trot - she and her boyfriend are learning to dance. The counting for the Fox Trot is "slow slow quick-quick," and it is indeed applicable to just about any new or on-going endeavor. After explaining this, she said, "It is a miracle to be willing to be bad at something." How true; to approach something scary and new and completely outside any realm of normal activity for yourself and realize that you have at least a fifty percent chance of failing and to try it anyway no matter how badly you could flop, is in fact miraculous.
She shared with us another great bit of perspective courtesy a friend of hers (who I can't remember). "Writing is like driving at night with the headlights on; you can only see a little bit in front of you, but you can make the whole journey that way."
Finally, after the program, I waited in line for about 40 minutes to meet her and have her sign my book. It was well worth it. She asked me how I was, and I was just so grateful for the chance to hear her speak and meet her, that I sort of had a little tear and she said, "Are you sad or just overwhelmed?" I said, "Not sure; maybe both?" She stood up. "You look like you could use a hug." And she hugged me. I told her I hoped she felt better soon - she's had a cold all week. She handed me my signed copy of Bird by Bird, smiled, and that was it. A lovely and gratifying encounter all around.
I hope I have the pleasure of meeting her again in the future.
Following are two bits of advice Tony Soltis (writer of Saved By the Bell) received regarding writing.
"You already know the deepest truths to human stories, it's in your heart. You just need a benign organizing presence to encourage it."
-David Milch
"Writing is hard work. That's why in school it's given out as punishment."
-Unknown
Then below are his own thoughts on writing and writers. I'm hoping some of this will provide inspiration for my own pursuits - writing or otherwise.
"How to tell if you're a writer... If your normal state of mind is kind of a feeling of dread, a constant dull sadness, a haunting sense of inadequacy, and when you're writing this goes away because you get this innate sense of understanding God, you're probably one of us." - Tony Soltis
In fact, I inhabit feelings of dread, constant dull sadness, and a haunting sense of inadequacy, oh at least hourly. There's hope for me yet!
Moon.
Read about the lunar eclipse.
New haircut
New glasses
AND
New and FREE yarn (two boxes, complete with Kool-Aid dyeing kit)
Too much new fun stuff to be bothered with the Dark Ages.
Bush is pulling the funding for RIF. RIF is our country's largest children's literacy organization. From the website, "Unless Congress reinstates funding for this program, RIF would be unable to distribute 16 million books annually to the nation's youngest and most at-risk children."
AND
I can not describe my disgust.
My first encounter with RIF was in first grade, I believe. My heart just ached that day because there was a massive table full of books and all the other kids filed to the back of the room in turns to make their selections. When my row was called I didn't go and just stared at my desk trying to blink back tears. I didn't want to see everyone else's treasures and I certainly didn't want them to know I couldn't buy any. At some point, my teacher came over and said I should go back with my row and choose some books. I couldn't hold back any longer; tears flooded my face and I whispered that I hadn't brought any money. She hugged me and smiled and said that the books were gifts which meant that we didn't have to give money for them. I was so relieved and grateful I cried again. She took my hand, walking me to the gleaming mountain of FREE books, and we picked two that became my treasures.
After that, all through elementary school, I lived for the RIF days. Who were these magical people that brought in folding tables, erected them in the back of the classroom, and then decorated them with more beautiful books than I could dream of owning? It didn't matter to me then who they were; it only mattered that they were my vehicle through Imagination. Usually we were allowed to choose two books. It was almost too much for me to cope. Deliberation lasted ages while I methodically picked up each book, read its back cover and first few pages. Most of the time I'd select the fattest books that seemed appealing just to prolong the enjoyment of TWO new books.
In sixth grade I picked The Great Gilly Hopkins and Bridge to Terabithia, both by Katherine Paterson. Bridge to Terabithia is on my short list of most moving books and certainly at that point in my life, it was the top - perhaps it still is. That is the book I recognize as a threshold across my timeline; before Terabithia - babyhood, after Terabithia worlds opened and enlarged, pure enlightenment.
Indirectly, I'd say RIF helped establish the course for my life. I've always loved books, but books are expensive and I was poor. RIF bridged the chasm making my love available and attainable. As an adult, I'm formally studying literature and aspiring to become an expert. Ultimately, simply to inspire the same heart-poundings, giggles, and dry mouths that so many of my favorites evoked in me.
And now I cry for the kids who won't share this memory.
"Your time of day has a split personality -- sometimes it's sweat-streaked and loud, and you're on the dance floor, getting your third wind, and shouting lyrics like you'll never run out of energy. You are the time of night that carves itself into your memory forever, because you'll never forget how much you love these people and this moment and this song. It's not always about unforgettable parties, though. Sometimes your late night (err… early morning) burst of energy happens when you're home alone. Those are the times when you say, "I flat out refuse to go to sleep until I finish reading this book, or typing this page, or reorganizing my entire closet." In either case, you are the time of night when it feels sort of forbidden to be awake, but you love accomplishing something special long after everyone else went to bed. And hey -- you can always catch up on sleep tomorrow, right?"
But this is something I've known all along. So I'm not an insomniac after all; I just shouldn't have to be awake according to the collective internal clocks of the rest of the world (or, you know, the rotation of the earth).