The first half of my recent interview with Laurel is now posted for your listening pleasure. Her reading of selections from Well-Behaved Women Seldom Make History is a joy (I just love hearing authors read their own words). She also discusses the challenge of writing a synthetic book of women’s history.
This wee bunny statue is a favorite in my garden. We found it churned up during the rototilling of an adjacent empty garden plot. I suspect that this little critter has observed many growing seasons.
I am attracted to the weathered, the vintage, and all that is chipped and worn with age. A new bunny statue would hardly catch my eye. But this one…I can stare at it for hours.
I blog regularly (meaning daily or semi-monthly) at five different blogs. One of these days I’ll tally my wordcount and see how many books I’ve written since the birth of enivri.com. I doubt I’m anywhere near the book every three weeks rate of this blogger. But I’ll bet I do have a few books under my belt by now. Leitch claims that blogging is the hardest job ever. I’m going to guess that he’s never been a mother of a toilet-training 2 year-old or a maid (and neither of them have great tans either). Really.
Much has been written about the relative lack of sales success for books written by bloggers, as if bloggers were an ethnic group, or some sort of easily charted genre. Every blogger is different from the others; I can’t think of a single shared characteristic among bloggers, save for lack of a tan. The one thing we do do, however, is write. A lot. I’ve worked for newspapers, magazines, television stations, doctor’s offices, you name it, and no job requires more daily effort than being a professional blogger. If people have a slow day at the office and do a little less work than usual, hardly anyone notices. If I have a slow day, every commenter on my site lets me know immediately.
and no more papercuts, either…
This has got to be the best-ever article about blogging. An excerpt:
“It’s the flying. It’s the suspension of punctuation and good manners and even identity. Bloggers at their computers are Supermen in flight. They break the rules. They go into their virtual phone booths, put on their costumes, bring down their personal villains, and save the world. Anonymous or not, they inhabit that source of power and hope. Then they come back to their jobs, their dogs, and their lives…
Blog writing is id writing—grandiose, dreamy, private, free-associative, infantile, sexy, petty, dirty. Whether bloggers tell the truth or really are who they claim to be is another matter, but WTF. They are what they write. And you can’t fake that. ;-)”
For those of you who love red (and you know who you are), you really must take look through the website featuring portraits painted of women in red dresses. It’s quite gorgeous.
I love every one of these pictures for a different reason–in some it’s the detail, or the unique pose, or the way the painter captures a specific emotion.
Though artist Minerva Teichert isn’t included in this site, she very well could be. She understood the power of RED. She loved Eugene Field’s poem “Red”:
Any color, so long as it’s red,
Is the color that suits me best,
Though I will allow there is much to be said
For yellow and green and the rest;
But the feeble tints which some affect
In the things they make or buy
Have never–I say it with all respect–
Appealed to my critical eye…
And here are some links for those of you who prefer pink and blue and dragonflies. :)
I’ve got a big meeting today with my dissertation committee. Can you keep your fingers crossed for me and send me some good calm energy?
Thanks! :)
It’s raining again today, a welcome respite from the dry winters of the past few years.
This morning we awoke to find the tree in front of our home lying down on the ground. Just having missed crashing into our bedroom window or smashing the cars parked in front of our place
I suspect more trees will be down before this rain and wind is done.
The pic above is from another rainy day–more than a year ago–when our family visited the Japanese Garden in Portland.
8:30 Wake to John snapping pics of me as I’m sleeping. Roll over and contemplate morning. Consider picking up book on nightstand. Doze instead (went to bed after 1 last night. tired.)
8:45 Roll out of bed and realize that my shoulder is all tight and knotted again Head to John’s office (read: closet cave) for a quick backrub
8:50 Make latte, toast and pop 4 motrin for shoulder pain
Kitchen conversation includes:
I want to see a movie today–Atonement or There Will Be Blood
John is headed to LA tomorrow, who wants to go with him?
We’re almost out of milk
Is chunky peanut butter okay?
9:00 Latte in hand (ha! got the good mug before John because I hid it well in the dish drainer) and checking on blogs. Leave a few comments, check my comments from yesterday for replies
9:10 check Freecycle for messages to moderate (none so far–slow day)
9:20 stretch shoulder and gingerly massage huge knot. Wonder if exercise would be a good or a bad thing.
9:30 contemplate shower
9:39 head to shower, interrupted as John chides me for not having my W-2 yet. He’s working on taxes already and has his info. Sigh.
9:41 heading to shower again
9:53 John joins me in shower to rub the knot in my back. I giggle when I look down and see that he has a pair of underpants stuck to his foot
10:00 blow drying, contemplating what to wear
Thoughts:
Had planned on not wearing leg today due to sores. Can’t imagine a day on crutches with sore shoulder. Weigh my options. Crawl under covers and read a few chapters of my latest book
11:02 Get dressed, deciding to wear leg
11:18 Check email, blogs, post youtube clip from Mom on soloblog. Eat granola cereal in favorite green bowl.
11:43 CatGirl shares a TicTac with me that’s supposed to be some kind of lemon mint. Tastes like floor polish.
11:47 heading to kitchen for more motrin
11:53 stretch and relax and yoga. For shoulder. But leg hurts too much to relax.
12:32 decide that leg is far too painful, take it off, get into bed
12:33 nibble a corner off of a muscle relaxant pill. Hoping that it can take the edge off of shoulder pain w/o making me drowsy
12:35 GamBoy brings me a sandwich in bed. Tuna sandwich with four large spear pickles. He knows I like my pickles. The bread so pickle soggy that I am licking it off my fingers. Drift off into pickly-happy drug-induced sleep.
4:28 wake to horrible pounding noise. Pound pound pound crash. Realize it is coming from the front door. Get scared. Can’t move body. Start moaning.
GameBoy emerges from the back bedroom, I mumble for him to check the noise. John and Catgirl are there at the door, having returned from errands w/o keys. They bring in groceries as I try to return life to my sodden limbs.
4:33 check email and write on blog. Typing not easy with flailing sausage fingers. Hungry, but not sure if I can chew.
I am one with the couch pillows. TobyJoy is pacing back and forth on the coffee table. Looking at me.
4:43 Head to kitchen for more motrin. Afternoon tea.
4:45-8 Reading and more yoga. Stretching on my fitball to open up my tight shoulders
8:03 John makes pizza dinner. Yum. Especially the mushrooms…mushrooms=tasty. I make an attempt at burping the national anthem, but don’t make it past the first line (I blame muscle relaxant). GameBoy composes spontaneous satirical version of said anthem. CatGirl reads at table.
8:20 checking email, google reader, freecycle queue, petting Tobykitty
9:44 will take more motrin, then head to the bedroom where I will watch a bit of a movie, read, and go to sleep
What was your day like?
I love ballet, but this piece is a bit too overly-sentimental for me. Still, it’s interesting to see how the leg amputee uses his crutch and his body to move around the stage. What do you think?
John’s still sweeping me off my feet. Even after all these years…
You know what bugs me? When my kids and/or spouse start hovering around the kitchen at about 4pm saying things like:
What’s that I smell cooking?
Have you thought about dinner yet?
I’m hungry.
Will dinner be soon?
I don’t know why these questions drive me batty, but I suppose it has something to do with the look in some people’s eyes when I tell them we’re having Turnip Toss for dinner and, of course, turnips are their very least favorite food. Or maybe it’s because at 4pm on many days I’m still not sure what’s for dinner and it’s like squirting lemon juice into my “I suck at motherhood” wounds every time I hear that question and I have no answer.
I feel perpetually overwhelmed by the demands of prepping food for two strapping young teens and a verra hungry man-spouse. Adding to that, the late afternoon is probably my grumpiest time of day and so I’m already not on the mood to be reminded of my shortcomings. Yah.
