Tuesday, August 29, 2006

The Incredible Shrinking Fonts

This is a rant. If it sounds disorganized that’s because it’s reflecting my sense of disorganization and the turmoil of emotions I’m feeling right now. This is something I take personally and something that I’ve been frustrated about for at least two years now. I have avoided writing about it here--at least not more than a few dropped hints--because I felt that it sounded too much like whining. But right now I’m feeling, So what if it is?! And more than that I suspect that it is incorrect for me to feel that talking about this is nothing more than ‘fussy baby’ spluttering. For now I think it is past time to call attention to the trend towards shrinking fonts all over the Internet because they have to be impacting more than just the elderly and those with visual impairments. In fact, I don’t believe it is too much of a reach to believe they could be implicated someday in damage to the eyesight of children those who currently have excellent vision.

I need to clarify that I have a bias here. This whole trend is squelching the hope I had in computer and Internet technology leveling the playing field for those with disabilities. Those like me. I have a visual impairment called RP aka Tunnel Vision. I usually link to something explanatory whenever I mention it but I don’t have time right now to hunt down the links. Besides, I just recently did so in a post not too many below this one. Anyway, RP causes loss of peripheral vision and night vision in the early stages and until the late stages, leaves the central vision fairly intact. The catch is that those stages are different lengths in different people. They can be days, months, years or decades. The strain inherited in my family seems to be the latter. My mother and grandmother both kept their central vision for decades. My mother, in her seventies now, reads the newspaper with a powerful magnifying glass. I can still read 10pt font for short periods if it is high contrast--a high degree in difference of shade between the font and it’s background color--but I prefer 14pt for lengthy encounters. I am content with what used to pass for normal--12pt.

When the trend online for fancy new designer websites featuring the incredible shrinking font began, I wasn’t too alarmed at first because most of them left intact the browser feature that allows you to adjust font size. But lately the trend has been for these designers to override that and I am increasingly finding pages and whole websites that will not allow the fonts to enlarge.

I get why it is happening. Just like in print mediums they need to limit the space the text uses on the screen to accommodate advertisements and/or more headlines. And unlike print mediums they need to give prominent space to site navigation. But in this medium, which could just as easily have used the technology to circumvent the old limitations of physical paper to create a sense of limitless space, is instead heading toward an even narrower definition of what constitutes available space than the average newspaper or magazine. Can you imagine any newspaper surviving for long if it printed all the news and commentary in 8pt font on less than 30% of the page while leaving the rest for a swarm of ads with space devouring photos and fonts the size of headline? And what if they then shrank the size of the page to one-quarter what it is today?

The fear that people won’t stick around long enough to scroll down to see what is there is groundless. Curiosity alone is enough to ensure they will as long as they have been taught to expect there to be something worth seeing and that they won’t be forced to download another page to read beyond the third paragraph. Can you imagine a magazine in which every time you turn the page you have to wait three minutes to see it? And what if then they limited each page to only three paragraphs or worse 100 words? How long would you keep turning the pages?

The current crop of web page designers seem to have decided that the ‘front page’ is defined by the size of the screen and they have to put everything they consider relevant ‘above the fold’ which is the bottom of the screen even though the technology could accommodate a page the size of a bed sheet no matter what size your screen is. Will this trend continue as cell-phones and Blackberries and other shrinking, portable web-accessible devices proliferate and overtake in number the PC and laptops? If so, they will have shut me out of the online community as surely as wheel-chair bound citizens were shut out of active roles in their local communities before the advent of wheel-chair lifts on city-busses, ramps at building entrances and large stalls in public restrooms. The cost of making the web user-friendly for the visually impaired is miniscule compared to the costs of creating wheel-chair accessible public infrastructure.

I wouldn’t mind the development of the crowded page that squeezes the text content into smaller and smaller sections if it wasn’t accompanied by newer trends that are foreclosing all the tricks I learned to finagle around the new limitations. I mentioned already the way they are now preventing you from using the browser’s font adjuster. Another method I’ve used, where it is available, is the printer friendly versions of pages found especially on online newspapers and magazines. These almost always give me a page with a readable font. But lately some of them have started trying to initiate printing either as the page loads or instead of loading a page in the browser window. Now, aside from the fact that I don’t have a printer and trying to make my computer turn it on when it doesn’t exist is likely to cause it to hang and then shut down the browser window and possibly my Internet connection as well, why would I be willing to ‘waste’ ink and paper to print their text before I’ve even read it when I’ve always been too miserly of ink and paper to print hardcopies of my own rough-draft manuscripts?

Another finagle that is being foreclosed on more and more sites is the ability to copy text and paste it into my word processor where I could use zoom. Now, as a writer myself, I do understand the urge to copy-protect one’s ‘intellectual property’ and I don’t really begrudge those that do this but I do wish they would either use a readable font (in both size and color) or else provide an alterative viewing of the content. The developing popularity in some blogs of something called ‘skins’ shows me that this is possible. They seem to be mostly a gimmicky fad that allows the reader of a page to create an ambience to their taste--they let you choose among title banners and graphic décor, text and background color and occasionally layout of the page. But it seems that font size is the last thing on most of their minds for it is the choice least likely to be offered and yet it is the difference that could make the difference for me as to whether I will be a regular visitor.

Well, I’ve gone on too long already and I haven’t even started in on how this problem impacts activities other than reading content on pages. I wanted to talk about online email accounts that make you work with small fonts, blog WYSIWYG platforms that do the same, not to mention the blog comment forms and almost all other forms online that allow input from the user. Even when site designers were still allowing you to adjust font size in the browser for content, the input forms were already limiting font size to 10pt and below. Tell me, who reads 8pt font anyway? Please!

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Saturday, August 26, 2006

Busy, Busy, Busy

I’ve been a busy girl this week. Just not here. I’ve been flitting all over the web on little tasks that purport to help promote your site: rings and registries and rolls etc. I also posted another book review over at Blogcritics. The first one in a year. I had barely signed up with them at about this time last year when my world fell apart and it took me a few months to gather the pieces. The story is in my September thru December archives. I don’t feel like dredging it all up again. The current Katrina headlines are dredging up enough of it already. I wasn’t directly affected by Katrina but I was grieving for the victims and the floodwaters were still high and Rita on the way when I was hit with a personal grief whammy, followed by two more in short order. I must have conflated the emotional contents of one with the other for reminders of one will remind me of the other. Our minds work in mysterious ways.

Anyway, I posted a book review of Jonathan Safran Foer’s Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close here on Joystory last spring that I noticed had been responsible for nearly ten percent of my traffic here all summer. I noticed earlier this week that it was about to drop off the front page of Joystory and I was afraid that would affect its rank in the search engines. And since I was pretty pleased with it for its own sake, I wanted to give it more exposure. I immediately thought of Blogcritics. But it took me several days to find out how to get back onto the posting platform. I was surprised to find that I didn’t have to re-register or something. It took me several hours to get my review posted though as I had to relearn their platform and, as so many of them do, it has the bad habit of not preserving text formatting when you copy/paste across platforms. It also forces me to work with a very tiny font which is not kind to my poor eyes. But I managed to get it done. If you would like to see the result, you can find it here.

I am really pushing the envelope this morning. I’m supposed to be asleep. I have to be awake and alert by two this afternoon to head over to Grandma’s where I spend Saturday nights thru dirt-track racing season so the rest of the family can go enjoy something that would push all my panic-anxiety buttons. I got into a bad habit this week, staying up until late morning and even past noon. It is hard to switch back. Yesterday morning I stayed up to do laundry as the need was dire. Friday was supposed to be my walk to the library day but my husband said before he left that morning that he was anticipating a short day since they wanted him to work Saturday morning. He said not to be in a hurry to leave for the library, especially not to short myself on sleep because if he got home by four he would do it for me and that way my time and energy could be devoted to the laundry without fear of loosing my night computer session. Well he not only got home in time, he woke me at two to ask me to move my books off his side of the bed and to turn off the alarm if it was set as the library books were already taken care of.

I was grateful. And yet, it just doesn’t feel like Friday without the library run. That’s probably why it doesn’t feel like Saturday morning right now either. And because he had no way to know which of the reserve items I had left behind last Friday he didn’t dare leave anything back this time as those items wouldn’t wait for another week. So he brought them all. Problem was I had not been as careful as I thought monitoring the flow of items and my place in line on a number of them and there had been a flood in the last two days. He brought home 29 items, two-thirds of them DVDs, for me plus the nine for himself. Ever since he got the fine paid on his card a month ago I’ve been gradually lowering the number of items checked out to me by making sure to check out fewer than I brought back each week. Now all that progress has been undone in one week. Still, I’m glad I didn’t have to make the walk this week. I’m thinking that maybe I should skip the library altogether next week anyway since I am going to be spending four out of five nights with Grandma because there are a series of big races. Wednesday night and then Friday afternoon thru Monday afternoon next week. Which means I won’t have internet access next weekend. I was planning to get drafts ready that my husband could go up and publish for me each day. I am still hoping to. But that means trying to do double content when just posting once a day is already a challenge.

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Friday, August 25, 2006

Updates--can't live with em can't live without em

I spent half of this session doing multimple restarts of my laptop both before and after going online. The fist one before because it was time and because during last night's session the HP update manager got hung and would niether finish nor close but continued to use CPU time as tho it were pedel to the metal. Then, within minutes of getting onine, AOL told me my virus updates were ready and to do a restart. I ignored them only to then be accosted by Acrobat Reader telling me that the updates that it had started downloading several sessions ago, were now ready and that to continue it needed permission to reboot. As if once wasn't enough, it had to do it again as soon as I logged onto my desktop. Apparently the first update had to be installed and a restarted done before the following update could be installed. That's what I get I guess for saying no thanks for months each time it offered.

Another portion of my session was taken up with renewing items on both mine and my husband's library accounts. Today--Friday--is library day for me. It still feels like Thursday to me since I haven't slept since I woke up Thursday afternoon. I am tempted to stay up again like I did yesterday morning and get back online after my mother-in-law leaves for work. But what with the facts of a short sleep yesterday, the library walk coming up this afternoon and needing to do laundry tonight before the week-end with Grandma after that--I better not risk it.

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Thursday, August 24, 2006

Promo Chores

I spent this session doing promotional and site management chores. You might have noticed that I've started dabbling with my sidebar in the past week for the first time in nearly a year. No fiascos yet so I am getting braver. I have just signed up for several webrings and registries and am waiting for acceptance. I have been wanting to increase the number of my memberships in these community-building and site promtion services for some time but know it would involve fooling with the code in my sidebar has detered me.

I am also preparing to update the list Blogs I Haunt and the other lists of sites helpful to writers, readers and reseachers. I have been collecting the links for some time. I probably should have just been adding them as I found them like most people do. Ah, well.

I have to get offline now as it's almost time for my mother-in-law to get up but I am not one whit ready to sleep so I think I will be back after she leaves for work. Maybe I will be able to get another post in before noon.

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Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Choice and Opportunity Costs

Wasn’t sure I was going to be able to have an online session tonight. Was afraid of that when I decided to stay up this morning to work on that book review and make another stab at posting. I was so wound up by the projects I’d worked on and others I was planning that I had a hard time winding back down. Sleep was the last thing I wanted to be doing. It was noon before I lay dwon and I made myself lay there without a book too. But I couldn’t sleep. It was after two the last time I looked at the clock. And it was still a good while before I got to sleep after that because I was willing myself to keep my eyes closed and my head and limbs still so I wouldn’t keep startling myself alert again every time I tried to see the clock or my watch.

My husband called me at five-thirty with the news that his mom wanted to go out to dinner. It took me over an hour to get ready to go. I needed a shower and shampoo. I slept-walked through it, several times almost applying the wrong thing to the wrong place--hair gel to my face, shaving gel to my hair, shampoo to my loufa. There isn’t enough light for me in the bathroom and I need to be organized to compensate. Imagine trying to shower by a nightlight or candle. That is about the effect that anything less than a hundred watt bulb has for me because of my RP. (WOW. I had not heard about this. Found that link on the Wikipedia RP article. I may not be doomed to ‘reading’ audio books for the last decades of my life after all.)

When I had my own home and didn’t have to worry about being called to dinner at six every evening, I didn’t even fight times when sleep wouldn‘t come. I went with it. I stayed up and read or wrote or cleaned house or whatever else struck me. I would stay up way past 24 hours on a regular basis. It was quite common for me to stay awake for 30 to 48 hours and there were more than a few times I was awake for over 70 hours. More common still would be for me to cat nap around and around the clock for weeks at a time--fifteen to fifty minutes asleep followed by six to sixteen hours awake. Four hours of sleep would be enough to carry me through another twenty plus awake. When I went on the anti-anxiety and anti-depressant meds in the late nineties my circadian cycles evened out some. There were fewer two plus days awake, I would sleep longer than a couple hours without waking and be able to drop back to sleep when I did wake. But along with the anxiety and the interminable alertness those meds took away the energy and pizzazz that often accompanied those marathon sessions.

I haven’t been on meds for several years now but they must have reset my body’s chemistry in some fashion because it is rare for me to go beyond 24 hours awake while maintaining real productivity. When I started working seriously on my writing again after the two year hiatus that followed the loss of my manuscripts, my computer and its files, my notes, and my personal library in 2001, I was grateful that I was able to maintain a fairly regular 24 hour circadian rhythm because without that I could not have hung onto my graveyard shift at the computer and for the first two years--January 2004 thru September 2005--those were the only hours my computer files were available. Since I got back from Longview following my father’s death last fall, I was still tied to the graveyard shift for Internet access but I had my laptop and all of my files available around the clock. And yet I seem to use them less now than I did when I could use them only between 9pm and 5am.

I know what to blame too. The online pages that I save by synchronizing, leaving them open in browser windows or saving to file each night are one big factor. Another is the DVDs I’ve been checking out of the library. Another is reading books. Yet another is the fact that I feel I need large blocks of time set aside for serious writing. Two hours and up for anything more than a few paragraphs. And when I don’t anticipate such a block of time, I won’t even open the files. Earlier this summer I made a conscious decision to give up TV for the rest of the summer re-run season. This included Dr. Phil and Oprah. I expected to make that block of time in the afternoon available for writing. Instead, I started stretching out my time in the mornings, visiting with my husband until he went to work, going back online, watching DVDs, doing laundry. A number of times in the last month my husband has had to come wake me up for dinner.

I also gave up eleven prime-time TV series that I’d been watching. That amounted to twenty hours a week freed up. You would have thought I would have found a way to apply at least half of that to writing projects. But instead, I’ve been hanging out on the porch with my husband and mother-in-law or in the back yard with my cats and either visiting, reading, or staring into space through those hours. And my husband and I have taken to spending about an hour give or take visiting one-on-one after his mom heads to bed about nine. This shaves off a large chunck of my work session since it then takes me another hour to get my stuff moved out to the living room and set up and my head back into the projects and plans. The new TV season is fast approaching and I find myself dreading it. Because I know that given a choice between a readymade story acted out on a bright screen and one in which I have to struggle to keep bright in my mind as I search for the right words to realize it on the page--I know that the quick fix is very hard to resist for this story addict.

Another major factor preventing me from writing in the afternoons and evenings is the condition of my writing space in the bedroom. It would take another thousand words to explain. The short version is it is messy, too much stuff, not enough light, no desk for spreading out papers and books, no place to sit but the bed which puts my legs to sleep up to my tailbone. Oh, and two cats on leashes who simply must sit on whatever my eyes are trained on. And in their jockeying for position will twine their leashes together and around my toes and ankles and then blame each other when they can’t get where they want to go--one is a screamer the other a boxer. Yikes. Breaking them up is hard to do even without a lap full of computer and cats in a fisticuff. I had hoped to be able to take my laptop out to the lawn chair or pic-nic table in the back yard during the good weather months. But I can’t see the screen when it is on battery power unless there is less than the equivalent of a sixty watt bulb worth of light. So I don’t even bother.

Once I am online, I don’t write on anything that I can’t knock off in about fifteen minutes because if I let the Internet go inactive for longer than that AOL will sign me off and just the anxiety of that makes it hard to focus on serious writing. Sometimes I’ve made myself stay offline until I have something ready to post. Sometimes I get a whole slew of pages set to synchronize and that will give me upwards of thirty minutes free to write.

This past week I’ve learned a new trick. I can start one of those You Tube videos downloading and that will give me upwards of half an hour. Last Saturday morning it was the one with the cat flushing the toilet. I left a link to the blog post where I found it in one of my three posts that morning. Tonight it is this slide show of Orcas with Orca song on Dave Neiwert’s Orcinus. I am doing it as much for my husband who is besotted by Orcas as I am for myself. I found it just before I had to get offline Monday morning and intended to download it Monday night. But I told in my last post what happened to last night’s session. The cat video took half an hour to download. This one has taken nearly two hours. But it is done now so I had better be wrapping this up soon. Or finding something else to keep the wires hot while I write.

I’ve been putting a lot of effort since April in trying to figure out why I’m not getting more accomplished and applying solutions to the problems I identify. I know that I would be envied by many writers whose impediments to finding time to write is a day job or homemaking for a family. They have a lot less flexibility than I do and must think that I’m just a whiny baby and not serious about my writing if I can’t make time available for it when all but about two hours--6-8pm--are mine to do with what I choose. I keep choosing different for whatever reason. Once again I am reminded of the economic principle of opportunity costs.

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Tuesday, August 22, 2006

In the Words of Snoopy: Arrrrrrgh!

Once again, good intentions have proven to be inadequate. I am trying very hard to make regular posts so as to develop trust in my handful of regular readers to increase the amount and variety of content for search engine fodder. My Saturday night away from the web is unavoidable for another couple of months but I am trying to avoid missing more than one day in a row. So I was really, really intent on getting something posted during my Sunday night session. But my niece was once again spending the weekend with her Grandmother--my mother-in-law--and we spent the evening and most of the night chatting about this and that. Mostly about reading and writing. Part of my reason for starting Joystory and her sister sites Joyread and Joywrite (see sidebar for links) was to alleviate my sense of loneliness at not having someone to share my passions for words, story and ideas with. So I guess it is understandable that I found it hard to exchange a face-to-face confab for writing into the mostly unresponsive ether. I had a blast during my Sunday night session showing my niece around my sites, showing her my WYSIWYG so I could show her the HTML that creates the pages she sees online. Basically, just showing off.

As for Monday night’s session…in the words of Snoopy: Arrrrrrgh! I started out early--before ten--with high energy and ambitions. I spent about an hour on the library site, renewing items on both mine and my husband’s accounts, sending for more items, and other tasks. I was just about to get started on my serious business when AOL decided it was imperative to download and install updates and began to hog the computer’s attention. Although I was allowed to continue working while the download progressed, everything was aggravatingly slow. Nor did I trust that anything I worked on inside an online platform--from blog posting and commenting, sidebar editing, file uploading, to email composing--would be safe, so I did not begin anything that involved them. Good thing too. For when the download finished the first thing the installation wizard did was disconnect me and close AOL. Without warning let alone asking for permission! Whenever this happens I feel like throwing a temper tantrum!!! OK, deep breath. Sigh. I have control issues.

The next thing I knew, the installation wizard was demanding that I close all open applications. This included about a dozen browser windows and several word-processor windows. I am a multi-tasker. Or ADD according to my sister. Take your pick. Anyway, I complied and fully expected that once the installation was complete I would be required to restart. When the command to do so did not come though, I considered the fact that it had been more than five days and so did it anyway so I could hope to have more than a couple days to keep projects open on my taskbar. I keep so many windows open at once both because I am constantly moving from one to another and because I suffer from the ‘out of sight is out of mind’ gene.

So, by the time I got back online it was after three and I was starting to feel the pressure of time. While I tried to settle on what I was going to post about, I continued to chase down the various blog and news and views pages that I frequent. I wasn’t taking the time to read more than a few sentences on any one as I was just collecting them for reading later as is my habit. While on Write Stuff though I saw the blogroll that Karen created and is encouraging other writers to take and use on their sidebars. This reminded me that it was on my agenda for this week to get that installed on Joystory’s sidebar. I decided that it was as good a time as any. I ran into some snags in the process and by the time I had it right my mother-in-law was up and I had to clear off line and out of the living room.

I fully intended to get back online as soon as my husband left for work between seven-thirty and eight. Meanwhile, I would work on the book review for Madeleine Albright’s The Mighty & the Almighty, which my husband was going to be dropping off at the library on his way to work along with the other items that did not renew. This part went according to plan. Except that I continued to work on the book review for another hour after the book had departed with my husband. Then I decided that I was obviously not going to get that prepared for posting in good time so I had better start working on something else and I had better get whatever it was ready before I went back online. So I started working on this in my word processor. About an hour and four paragraphs into it, I was trying to use the control-S key combo to save my work when my fingers slipped and something I did closed the file instead. I lost all but the first paragraph and had to rewrite them from memory. That was more than an hour ago. I have a bit more than an hour left before my mother-in-law is due home. So if I’m going to get this posted this morning I had better get it done.

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Saturday, August 19, 2006

A Home at the End of the World--A Book Review

Reading Michael Cunningham’s prose is like eating an exotic designer ice-cream. The creamy texture of it fills you with a sweet comfort that contains chewy metaphors which release startling bursts of flavor and successive ‘Ahs!’ And all of this is just the delivery mechanism for a story that is full of complex characters in complex relationship with each other, their culture, their environment and their own selves. This is only the second of Cunningham’s novels that I’ve read and I can’t get enough. I read The Hours several months ago after watching the DVD of the movie made from it. (I posted a review of the book here at the time.) I am so glad there are at least two more of his novels in my local library.

In A Home at the End of the World, Cunningham he explores the contours of loss and grief and the individual’s often fumbling self-construction out of the rubble and chaos left by life-events out of one’s control. The distinct voices of four major characters in alternating chapters tell their stories and in the process evoke the changing cultural landscape of America as it morphs through the sixties and into the early nineties. Not one of the four narrators are entirely trustworthy as their already naturally limited vision has been distorted by pain, anger and fear. But the layering of their observations--sometimes confirming, sometime contradicting another’s view--creates a world the reader can inhabit like a dream and come away believing that, not only do they have four new acquaintances whom they know as intimately as themselves, they know their own selves better and see their own world through new eyes. And along with the characters, one comes to understand that the elusive sense of safety, acceptance and well-being encompassed by the concept of ‘home’ is not a place but a state of mind.

It irks me to no end to think that, because this novel (as well as The Hours) deals with the issues of gender-identity, sexual-orientation and so-called alternative life-styles, many would turn from it in disgust, denying themselves the enriching experience of knowing these characters. Yet others would deny me and everyone else the right to choose to be exposed to them and their author the right to tell his truth from his center. Fie on them, I say. Fie!

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Flush With Excess

This is just too funny. I wish I knew how to post one of those You Tubes so I could put it in your face. Please go see it at Echidne. It takes about half an hour to download on dial-up. But it is so worth it. More so if you are a cat person.

While I waited, I finished polishing up and link-hunting for the book review I was working on yesterday so I think I will go ahead and post it before I go lay down. It is the first of several I'm working on and one of the 22 books I read for Bubbles In My Head's Read-a-ton contest which left me in third place. Thank's Zoe for the fun time. Now I need to follow through with the reviews I kept promising and putting off so that I could continue to scarf down the books.

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What Kind of Writer Should You Be?

I took this quiz twice because I couldn't decide between two choices on one of the questions. The first result came back:

You Should Be a Science Fiction Writer

Your ideas are very strange, and people often wonder what planet you're from.
And while you may have some problems being "normal," you'll have no problems writing sci-fi.
Whether it's epic films, important novels, or vivid comics...
Your own little universe could leave an important mark on the world!


The second result came back:


You Should Be A Poet

You craft words well, in creative and unexpected ways.
And you have a great talent for evoking beautiful imagery...
Or describing the most intense heartbreak ever.
You're already naturally a poet, even if you've never written a poem.
I guess you could say that Magic Realism is a blend between poetry and certain kinds of Science Fiction. Not that I expected this quiz to be cognizant of Magic Realism. But I kind of hoped for at least the recognition of 'Literary'. Magic Realism is a subset of Literary fiction and I aspire to it because it most accurately reflects the way the world presents itself to me: quirky, like a dreamscape with events and people chockful of mythic profundity and startling metaphors.
I was working on something else to post this morning but ran out of time to hunt down the links it needed and other polishing so when I found this in Karen's post at Write Stuff, I thought it looked fun and then I thought why not make a quick post out of it. Hope you enjoyed.
So, I'm off to Grandma's for my Saturday overnight with her. Will be back Sunday night--late night.

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Thursday, August 17, 2006

2996

I spent hours this session working on the pre-writing tasks for this post and now I've got only minutes to write it before I have to get offline and clear out of the livingroom. So bear with me if I don't wax as profound as this topic deserves.

I signed up with this project over a month ago and kept putting off announcing so because I wanted to put the links in my sidebar and not just in the post. I haven't revised my sidebar since last fall when a kind reader of Joystory helped me fix it after I'd messed it up the first time I added a java script thingie to it. This timidity for working with HTML again has also kept me for doing the plethora of things that are possible in promoting blogs since most require posting links or scripts in the sidebar. But that is another story. Straying off topic is what I tend to do in rough drafts.

This post is supposed to be about this project to sign up enough volunteer bloggers so that each of the 2996 victims of 9/11 will each have a memorial posted on 2996 blogs on the fifth anniversary this year. As you can see in the sidebar graphic which I finaly got working, I am assigned to write a memorial for Frank Mancini.

The project is only halfway to the total of volunteers they need. Please go sign up and pass the word along.

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Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Sorry

Just dropping in to say sorry for not posting for several days. Last night's session--the first after my week-end with Grandma--was blown out of the water by some problem with the Internet last night. Though I got connected to AOL, for two hours attempts to load pages came back with errors and cannot find server messages. I gave up. I meant to make up for it tonight but I got lost in catching up on nearly a week's worth of news and views reading. I guess I should have been using that Blog this button. Oh, well. I will make this a priority tomorrow night. Or try anyway.

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Monday, August 14, 2006

Just Saying

"Ninety eight percent of the adults in this country are decent, hardworking, honest Americans. It's the other lousy two percent that get all the publicity. But then, we elected them." Lily Tomlin

I'm just too tired to come up with anything original of my own to say right now. As always, after returning from Grandma's on Sunday afternoon I am sleep deprived and on edge from being on high alert for twenty-four hours.

I was surfing for links to go with a review I am preparing of Lilly Tomlin's one-woman Broadway play, The Search for Intelligent Life in The Universe, which I just finished reading. I was reading it because I watched it on DVD a couple of months ago. It simply amazes me that one woman can memorize nearly two-hundred pages of script and then get on stage live and move in and out of twelve or more different characters for over two hours. I bet seeing it live would be an awesome experience.

Credit needs to go also to Jane Wagner who wrote it. I am in awe of her word-craft.

I'm sure this won't be the last you hear from me about this play. Something about it just got to me. I can feel it working on me sub-terrainially. Maybe that's way some have called it subversive?.

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Saturday, August 12, 2006

Manybooks

I had planned to write a post, maybe even two or three, this session. But instead I spent three hours exploring this site:

manybooks.net - Free eBooks for your PDA

I lost track of how many eBooks I downloaded. The one I'm most excited about is James Joyce's Ulyssus. Now I can stop chasing the library copy. It is the 1920 something edition and not the 1986 edition, which was revised to edit typos and such, which I once owned and had to sell. But I can live with that.

I was excited to find they have all of Jane Austen's novels. And Charles Dickens'. I didn't download any of them just bookmarked the pages with the links. As I did for several other classic authors.

I barely scratched the surface of this site. Go explore.

I'll be back Sunday night. I'm off to get some sleep before I head to Grandma's. I've been up for 25 hours and that included the regular Friday library run in which I walked both ways for the first time in four weeks.

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Friday, August 11, 2006

Crash Course

Through no fault of my own, I may have narrowly averted a catastrophic crash of my ten month old laptop Thursday. While I was preparing the previous post in the wee hours of Thursday morning, I was experiencing more of the same irritating slowness of response from pages loading, windows switching etc that I’ve learned to blame on one or both of two issues: two many windows or applications open at once and/or overdue for a restart. But recently there had been a variety of new glitches and restarting or limiting windows had seemed to give little or only very temporary relief. Then several times over the past month my Works word processor froze on me, causing me to loose five to fifty minutes worth of typing. Yeah, I’m bad about remembering to save sometimes when I am in the zone. Well, after loosing an hour’s worth of input into my journal last weekend, I had been more diligent about saving every five minutes or less. Then yesterday morning as I was saving the draft I was preparing to post--in the word processor which where I usually prepare them so that I can use spell check and zoom and keep track of word-count--Works refused to save my work, claiming that either the file was in use by another application or it was corrupted. Luckily it allowed me to copy/paste it into another file and did not just close itself on me. So I was able to salvage what I had written and pasted it into the blogger platform. I had intended to write a paragraph or two more but was getting frustrated by the accumulation of glitches and the slowness of every response so I went ahead an clicked publish. And I’m so glad I did because I no sooner got the Blogger success screen and I got unwillingly kicked offline. The AOL message claimed it was for inactivity. But that hardly applied.

It wasn’t yet three-thirty and I hadn’t yet chased down my news and fav blogs for reading offline later and so I was tempted to go straight back online to do that. But then I thought that maybe I could be do a restart first and still have time to do that before my mother-in-law got up at five. So I commenced the restart and was immediately reminded why I had grown to hate them so much and thus why I avoided them. There seemed to be a plethora of ghost programs that resisted being closed and their numbers had been increasing over the past month or so. They have strange file names that are a mile long. So it took me nearly an hour to get through the restart and back on the desktop. That didn’t leave enough time to go back online and get anything accomplished before five. I decided to wait and do it after my mother-in-law left for work which would also give me a chance to talk to my husband about the issue.

When I described the various glitches I’d been experiencing his first question was, When was the last time you did disk maintenance? I just started at him. I had been accustomed with our past computers for him to take control of system administration. I had made murmurs when I first got this laptop about wanting to learn how to do those things but since we had never gotten together for a tutorial…. Excuses. It just slipped my radar and he, to my surprise has shown little interest in the laptop from the beginning. He performed the first disk maintenance on it the week I got back from Longview last November when it was still less than two months old. I vaguely remember him telling me it needed to be done every four to six weeks. That was the last time I thought about it.

Apparently it is a big deal. And apparently that in combination with my propensity to save my Internet history and temporary files for a month was asking for trouble. Because of my limited time frame for being online I use various methods from synchronizing, to saving to file, to hanging onto temp files so that I can do most of the reading of pages while offline. When I discovered that just opening a page was enough in many cases to make it available while I was offline, I thought that was like a magic trick. I thought it was enough to just adjust the amount of memory set aside and to adjust the settings to give me more time to get to the extra pages. My husband is wordless. I don’t understand the problem but I guess I need to trust him that I just came within a whisker of needing to have my hard drive taken back to factory spec--every application form DOS to Works reinstated from the CD-ROMs that came with the laptop. Which would mean five to ten hours of work for him which he couldn’t do during the work week nor on race day Saturday…. He let me contemplate the implications for a bit. Then he said that if I was unwilling to attempt the maintenance myself, I would have to wait until he got home from work. I asked him to run down the step for me.

First do a full virus scan, then delete Internet history and temporary files, then do a disc cleanup, then a disc scan, then a disc defrag. I proceeded to follow the steps. Only disc scan was not done because I could not find it on the menu. The Virus and Spyware scan took two hours. The deletion of Temporary files took ten minutes. The disc cleanup took fifteen minutes and the defrag took two and a half hours. It finished at fifteen after noon and thus too late for me to go online again before my mother-in-law got off work. Plus I was still awake when my alarm clock went off at eleven after twelve. And thus I was set up to loose my Thursday night online session as well. The three hour nap I got before dinner yesterday was not enough and I thought another two or three hour nap after dinner would help compensate but when I woke up at midnight I could not face staying awake. I tried. I came out and sat on the couch in front of the fan trying to want to be awake but it was no go.

My husband called me when he got up at six and I was still reluctant but I had to get online to renew library books and movies at the very least as Friday was library day. And that is the next step for me this morning which is almost afternoon already. I need to post this and start getting ready for my walk to the library.

Oh, yeah. The laptop seems to be performing much like it did in the first weeks. Fast and smooth and glitchless. Have I learned my lesson? My track record is not good.

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Thursday, August 10, 2006

Play Dates With Story

Once again, I spent so long leaving a comment on another site that I ran out of time to finish the post I had in mind for my own blog. But, I like what I wrote in that comment better anyway and thought I would share it here and use the opportunity to send you over to Write Stuff again and to introduce you to another talented writer and her blog.

Divine is a regular poster on Write Stuff where I have guest posted a few times and she has her own blog called Divine Calm where she showcases her writing and her photography. In her post ‘Blanked Out’ on Write Stuff today, she talks about adjusting to a new job that involves writing and being frustrated to find herself lacking the energy to work on her personal writing goals. She asks: How do I recharge and write when I don’t feel like it because I have been doing it all day at work?

This is the part of my comment I feel is worth sharing here:

Treat it like play. Fiction writing is 90% dreaming of the story. I'm not
belittling that 10% elbow grease that gets the words onto paper or any other
sharable format but true progress isn't measured only by word count.

So my advice is to have a play date with your story. Go on adventures with its
characters, becoming intimate with them like best friends or enemies. Go into
the dream of your story as you would into a novel or movie. Do that regularly
enough and the very thought of joining them will energize you and you will begin
to anticipate rather than dread the writing sessions.


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Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Are You Ready?

Andrew McAllister, Ph.D. from To Love, Honor and Dismay left a comment on my Hoping to be Debugged post yesterday so I moseyed on over to see what his site was about and to return the favor if I was so moved. This fit with two of my goals: To stop being a lurker on other blogs and to start encouraging comments on my posts by at least acknowledging them in some way. Once again I am reminded why I find both so difficult. I spent two hours on Dr. McAllister’s site. Half of it reading posts and comments and the rest in composing a comment that would be more appropriate as a blog post and thus curtailing the time available for composing a new post for Joystory and for the blog reading and research and promotional tasks these precious online hours are dedicated too. There is never enough time.

Which brings me to the theme of the comment I left on
this post of Dr. McAllister’s where he turns the table on his readers and asks them a question instead of answering submitted questions regarding relationships. He asks: Does your spouse ever ask a question that makes you groan? He is referring especially to those questions that are ‘no-win’ because every possible answer is loaded with potential trouble. Well I instantly flashed on a recent event that still makes my face burn because I didn’t handle it at all well. This is the verrry long comment I left for Dr McAllister:

The irksome question for me is some version of: Are you ready? Especially when asked upwards of an hour before the target time. Variations are: Are you packed? How much longer before ____? What do you have left to do?

The worst of all is: When can you be ready? because this is usually asked when an outing is sprung on me and the target time is ASAP. I just want to say Never. I'd rather stay home.

He and his family of origin are sticklers for being on time. Even early. I am as irritated by his need to be at work more than 30 minutes before he has to clock in as he is by my procrastination and the perpetual chaos surrounding my preparations for going somewhere.

My family of origin is notorious for being late. My Dad's attitude was similar to my husband's. It was my Mom who had the poor time sense. We were often fifteen to twenty minutes late to Church. I have improved on their track record with an average that is under ten minutes while my brother has been known to be hours late. My Mom almost made us late for my Dad's funeral last October.

There may be some ADD involved as my sister and her son were diagnosed with it several years ago and she thinks she sees all the signs of it in me and our brother and mother. But I'm skeptical as their diagnoses weren't done with brain imaging, just questionnaires and my research on ADD reveals that many professionals believe it to be waaaay over diagnosed.

The most recent occurrence of the dreaded question was last Saturday afternoon when my husband asked, Are you packed yet? This was made worse by the fact that he asked just minutes after I had asked him to clarify the exact time I was supposed to be ready to leave for his Grandmother's where I spend Saturday nights while he and his folks go to the dirt track races. I had just calculated from his answer that I had 2 hours--plenty of time to take a fifteen minute sit-down break from the chores and preparations--when he asked. I didn't want to arrive at Grandma's exhausted.

I forgot his mother was in earshot and I popped off with: I don’t need you to be my Daddy! My face is still burning over that one. It is hard to conduct a relationship while living in the home of one's in-laws!!!

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Debugging

Am continuing to improve in energy and ambition as the after effects of that bug wear off. Now I am hoping the after effects of the avalanche of books etc. that hit my arms and head and laptop Sunday night do not get any worse than they are now. I was surprised to discover my right arm was hurting worse than the left one on which the box of books fell because I didn't remember my right arm being involved. But apparently I had time to throw my right arm over my face after the books hit my left arm and before the big sewing bag hit my head because the worst pain is when I raise my right arm over my head. Which I keep having to do to brush off this darn fly that is dive-bombing my face as I am typing this. If it's not one bug it's another! :)

Sustained typing is also uncomfortable but that is nothing new. And I am so grateful that I was able to fix my 'b' key Monday morning that I am not willing to jinx my luck by whineing about it. At least not overmuch. :)

I am probably overmuch pleased with myself for fixing that key. When I showed the detached key cap to my husband after he woke up, he agreed with me that it didn't appear broken but he would not have time to try to reattach it until after he got home from work. So I hibernated my laptop and with a magnifying glass and halogen lamp to help I examined the naked mechanism of the key and the underside of its cap and saw what looked like the slots that the tabs needed to snap into. I tried but failed half a dozen times and getting discouraged I thought to test the rest of the keys for evidence of trouble before I woke up my laptop to do my daily journal with the ailing b key. I administered several light taps to each key and found no problems. As I tapped along the bottom row, I went ahead and tapped on the loose cap of the b key which I had left laying atop its mechanism. And lo if I didn't feel a 'click' under my finger and then find that it was no longer loose. But nor was it flush with the rest of the keys. So i tapped it again and felt another faint 'click' and now I could not feel or see any difference between it and the rest of the keys.

I was nervous as I powered up the computer again but soon ecstatic as I called up my journal and started typing and found no bugs in the b key. But this whole experience has given me a scare which I probably needed. I am taking my writing tools and resources for granted again and that never augers well. This is a lesson I seem to have to relearn over and over and over and over ad infinitum. I have yet to follow through on many of the insights gleaned from the learning experiences depicted in those essays. Maintaining current backups of my files in multiple locations and formats is probably the most important of the lessons that I continue to flout. I have trouble just remembering to save my work frequently as I type and repeatedly loose an hour or more worth of typing when my word processor or blogger platform take pratfalls on me.

The inconvenience of typing without a cap on the b key reminded me once again how fragile my connection is to my files. Everything that I've done since September 21st last year that isn't posted online is on the hard-drive of my laptop. I have a copy of all my files as they existed on my in-law's computer as of September 20th burned onto a CD which is how I transferred them to the laptop. And they still exist on my in-law's computer. And I still have the hundred or so pages of hard-copy manuscripts that was all I was able to rescue during our sudden move from the Silicon Valley five years ago this month. Contemplating this makes me very very anxious.

Years ago my Dad sent me a clipping about a man who was buried under an avalanche of books in his room and had to be rescued by firemen. He didn't even have cardboard boxes but had stacked the books up the wall of his room. I shudder to think what would have happened if one of those books had hit the monitor and sliced it's fragile skin. Or if one of the larger boxes had fallen on my head! It is the third time that bag has fallen on my head! It is the second time books have fallen but the first time they hit me with enough force to leave a bruise. So on my near-term agenda now must be a reorganizing of my 'office' --that 3x5 foot corner on my side of the bed where all my reading, writing and sewing materials are.

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Monday, August 07, 2006

Hoping to be Debugged

Just checking in. Have plenty to say but not enough time or energy to get it written. That bug I had has left me in a fugue. Low energy. Easy fatigue. It doesn't help that the smoke from a forest fire across the border in Northren California is creating a haze here in the Rogue Valley and degrading air quality. It didn't help that my first walk home from the library in three weeks Friday left me so exhausted I had to skip my night session which through me off my graveyard shift schedule. It doesn't help that just before my online session tonight a shoebox full of books from my rickety cardboard box shelving system next to my bed fell on my left arm just below the wrist leaving a knot and bruise and aching pain exasperated by typing. It really really doesn't help that one of the books hit the keyboard of my open laptop and apparently knocked loose the cap of the 'b' key. I'm panicing about that. I can't afford a repair bill right now. There isn't any obvious sign of breakage so I'm hoping it can be snapped back on. I'm currently typing without it by carefully pressing the tiny button the size of the head of a sewing pen each time I need the 'b' but I'm guessing this can't be good for the long term health of that key. It doesn't help that lack of upkeep in my room while I was sick has left chaos where most of my thinking and writing are done.

Here's hoping that bug has truely decamped and my energy and ambition return soon. Here's hoping my b key is working by tomorrow after my husband takes a look at it. And here's hoping I can find the time and energy to do something about that corner of my room by the bed which I call my office. It is out of control. Large boxes full of books are bending and tilting. The mini collapse last night was triggered by my husband turning over in bed which jostled a box pressed agaist the mattress which was supporting another box which was touching yet another. My very large sewing bag kept on the very top of the stack of boxes , up near the cieling, fell on my head when the books fell on my arm and keyboard. Thank goodness it was full of mostly yarn and cloth as the projects on frames or hoops are being kept at Grandma's over the summer because that is pretty much the only place I work on them. But getting hit on the head by something analogious to a couple of king sized pillows with small hard objects buried in them can still put a kink in ones neck--not to mention ones ambitions.

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Thursday, August 03, 2006

Trending Toward the Mend

It's been almost two weeks now since the first sign of a sore throat and I'm still fighting whatever it is though the trend seems to be toward the mend. I don't think it was 'just' a silly cold anymore. But I can't give a more definitive name either. My Mom always called it a cold as long as your fever stayed below 100 and there was no vomiting. If either of those occured then she called it the Flu. You could hear the capital F in her voice. But then a couple of years ago when I went to a doctor, thinking I had the Flu because my fever went a nudge over 101 and nausea and vomiting had been the opening salvo, he said no it was 'just' a summer cold. Whatever.

My temp seemed to be trying to match the Valley temps last week. On two of the days the temperature here climbed above 100, my fever did also. At least to 101 on two days in a row. I suspect also on the third day--Friday--but couldn't take it because I had broke my themoteter on my cat's head Thursday. She climbed on my lap just as I was shaking it down. I suspect I am still occasionally running low grade fevers in the evenings but can't verify it. The worst of the symptoms left is a wearying cough and fatigue. That is why I've not done much here in over a week.

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Wednesday, August 02, 2006

Surfing and Beachcombing

Have been pleasure surfing for most of this session. Had so much fun, I may have to do it more often. Did some beachcombing along the way and want to share a few of my finds here.

Google Book Search I got lost on here for awhile. And they have a blog too: Inside Google Booksearch. Hat tip to one of their posters for pointing me towards these literary baubles:

The Memoirists Collective
The Litblog Co-op
Cory Doctorow

I would probably have a lot to say about each one of these, if I'd left myself enough time. I hope you'll give each one a look--see anyway.

These links will probably make it into my sidebar if I ever get the courage up to do another update. The first and last time I tried, last summer, I botched it and that was when I was still working semi-regularly with the HTML.

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Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Story Binge

I've been on a fiction binge and have finished 7 novels in the last two weeks: Son of a Witch by Gregory MaGuire; The Year They Burned the Book by Nancy Garden; The Wig my Father Wore by Anne Enright; Friends, Lovers, Chocolate by Alexander McCall Smith; and the first three volumes of Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events: Bad Beginnings,The Reptile Room, and The Wide Window.

My twelve-year-old niece loaned me the first six volumes of the Lemony Snicket series, passing them on to me as fast as she finishes them herself this summer. I finaly picked them up last week during the heat wave while I was sick and in need of something fun and easy to read to take my mind off my own feelings that life was picking on me. They are addictive and I am having to resist the temptation to read straight through but I brought home Madeleine Albright's The Mighty and the Almighty from the library Monday which I've been in queue for a couple months and I'll be briniging home Crashing the Gates on Friday and I've been waiting my turn for that one for half a year or more. My neice will be dissappointed in me. She is trying to wean me off of politics and war. She thinks I waaaaaay overdo it. And when I look at the dozens of books on my shelfs through her eyes, I almost agree.

She wants me to read more fiction because she wants me to write more fiction. I let her read one of my stories a couple weeks ago and she enthused over it so much I was almost embarrassed. She said things like: I can't believe I know the person who wrote this! You have to write more because I have to read them!! She stopped short of saying that I didn't have the right not to write more stories if I could write like that. But I think that was what she was groping towards trying to express. I spent a lot of the time while fever-scorched eyes made reading impossible, contemplating her assessment and I think there may be more wisdom than middle-school whimsy in what she said. It fits with the advice of Joseph Campbell to 'follow your bliss' and I've know for decades that my bliss lies in the realm of story.

I'm going to have more to say about this soon I'm sure as I've done so much thinking about it lately. I'll also have more to say about the books I finished recently too, book reviews are in the works.

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Bubbles in my Head: a literature and writing resource

I keep forgetting to mention it here, but I've been participating in the Read-a-ton contest on Bubbles in my Head: a literature and writing resource for over a month now. Mostly for fun since I don't expect to win the grand prize of 2000 BE credits by finishing the most books by the end, which is now just two weeks away.

I didn't forget on purpose in order to increase my chances either as I really wanted to send you over to check out Zoe's cool resource for readers and writers. No, really. I wouldn't do that. I was just absent-minded. And too busy reading.

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Run Bill Moyers For President, Seriously

In this her essay, Run Bill Moyers For President, Seriously, Molly Ivins is for once not cracking wise but she just might have hit on the solution for creating a crack in the hard, cynical nut which the Democratic Party has become through which integrity and wisdom can be injected.

The point isn't whether he could win but rather to get him into the primary debates where he could stand as a role model for the other contenders, showing them how to take a stand with intact spines; how to speak truth with grace but without waffling for fear of offending; and most importantly how to foreswear their addiction to their crack PR teams whose emphasis on appearence over content has created the party's current contengent of waffle-footed, sinuous-spined candidates.

Bill Moyers has been on my wish-list of potential candidates for several years--ever since I started following his op-ed pieces and transcripts of his speeches in the year or two preceeding the last presidential election. Of course I was familiar with his journalism for decades prior to that. I credit Moyers with introducing me to Joseph Campbell, Houston Smith and Karen Armstrong--three of those whose writings helped me make the transition out of fundamentalism--through the interviews he conducted with them.

I contemplated several times over the last two years mentioning Moyers here as a potential presidential candidate that progressives could get behind. I don't know whether I just lacked the courage of my convictions or was simply unable to articulate why. But now that Molly Ivins has done such a cracking good job of it, I want to be one of the many (though miniscule) ripples her suggestion makes in the Progressive's pond. For, like Molly, I dread another primary in which the primary consideration is about who has the best chance of winning instead of who will stand most solidly with and unapologetically for our progressive values--primary among them, integrity.

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Monday, July 24, 2006

Mugged by the Heat and the Cold

As in the muggy heat wave hovering over the Rogue Valley and the virus that is making my mug feel like a helium balloon in the washer’s spin cycle. Fluids are pouring out my nose and my pores as fast as I pour them in. I think my vocabulary is hitching a ride. It feels as though my brain matter is a stew on simmer. My whole face is chapped--my nose by the cheep tissues and my forehead, cheeks and eyelids by my shirtsleeves as I try to sop up the sweat before it pools in my eyes or ears.

I'm sure that is TMI*, as my nephew is so fond of saying when he's grossed out by something.

I’m supposed to sit with Grandma again this afternoon. Nobody has suggested that I shouldn’t for fear of exposing her to my cold. It’s probably too late for that anyway as my sore throat started Friday and I spent an hour over there that afternoon. Plus my mother-in-law has it too and has been over there more than I have in the past week. We both got it from my husband who brought it home from work. He works on the shipping docks of a major mail-order company so he is frequently bringing home bugs picked up from co-workers and truckers. His mom works the coffee-bar at a motel so she is often the one bringing it home to pass around.

Anyway. The races were not held Saturday because of the big-deal race they are holding Monday night instead. Everyone--my husband and both his parents--are excited and I don’t have the heart to disappoint them by wimping out over a silly cold. And at least we get to use the cooler all day at Grandma’s because of her susceptibility to bad effects from the heat. We have one here but my mother-in-law waits until it is well over ninety in the house before she turns it on.

*TMI=Too Much Information

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Saturday, July 22, 2006

Clothed in a Cloud

The heat is all encompassing. I can’t think coherently so I resist trying to write. Even reading is a chore. So I’ve taken to watching hour after hour of DVDs. I’m also coming down with a cold. As if I needed that!

Here in the Rogue Valley we were ‘spared’ the brunt of the high temps the rest of Oregon and most of Washington got yesterday. We were ‘gifted’ with a cloud cover that kept our temps ten to fifteen degrees below the higher ones recorded Friday. But it was only better if you consider it better to have to wear a wet wool coat while breathing a steamy mixture of human and auto exhalations. Walking out in it, I was instantly wet as though slipping the cloud on like a garment.

My husband and I ate ice cream for dinner last night. It was the only thing that appealed.

It was still over eighty indoors after my mother-in-law went to bed and the heat combined with sleep depravation to discourage me from trying to have a work session last night. There was also the necessity of having to do laundry and since there are no races tonight I won’t be spending the night with Grandma so I decided to get up and do laundry while trying to catch up on my online reading during the cooler hours of the morning. I am hoping to have the last load out of the dryer by noon. It just went in the washer at shortly after ten.

The cloud cover is burning off and it is already in the mid eighties outside. It is almost ninety indoors and the humidity is still high in here because of running the washer and dryer. I also still need to wash up yesterday’s dishes. Ugh! I forgot about them when I decided to go to bed instead of go online last night. So I’m going to have to cut my time online short and get busy. I’ve already got two loads of clothes to fold and put away with two more on the way. And the dishes. But all I want to do is go back to bed.

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Thursday, July 20, 2006

The Discipline of Devotion

I am guest posting on Write Stuff again today. I would send you over to check it out except that it is just a recycle of a recent post from here because I couldn’t get my act together to get Harpy Shampoo II ready in time. So instead I encourage you to go on over to check out the other guest writers posting there this week. I have found something useful, entertaining or insightful about each one so far. I was especially moved by Caryn’s musings about the dilemma of distractions for a writer--something that has been much on my mind lately.

Oh those distractions! It's one of my worst bugaboos. But it isn't just things, people and tasks in the physical world that take me out of the creative flow, it is thoughts, memories, images popping into my mind that inspire ideas for new projects and tempt me to jot notes for them instead of remaining focused on the project at hand. But those same free-floating thoughts have so often been the source of the thing that my project needed that I didn't know it needed, I can't just shake a stick at them and chase them off or at myself to whip the eyes of my mind front and center.

As with everything else, it seems to be about balance and boundaries. I don’t claim to have the answers. My musings this past few months have been all about the questions and the testing of potential solutions that give mixed results. Life keeps butting in. But then, life is the raw material with which we weave our magical mysteries so we can’t fence ourselves off from it.

I recycled Discipline is Love in Practice partly because my groping in it seems to have grasped what feels like the key: Nurture the love for the practice and product of your art and everything else will fall into place. I can’t prove that. Not yet anyway. But I have clear memories from past successes, memories I have purposely cultivated to harvest their secrets, that all have one thing in common: Devotion.

It was love for my vision of the finished story that grounded me so that distractions just flowed through and around me either adding their energy to the effort or dissipating due to inattention. These occasions were rare and the last one was nearly a decade ago. I have been seriously distracted for that long! But I am starting to remember just what it was that attracted me to this avocation and kept me plugging away even when all the hope and joy (and yes the Joy too) seemed to have seeped out of it.

The discipline of devotion does not need the tactics of a taskmaster to keep us on task. Nor does it require of us to sacrifice anything that is truly precious to us. It will, though, focus our attentions on the heart of the matter so that how we define precious is constantly re-evaluated, and it will grow organically the boundaries that keep frivolous distractions at bay. What is left are those distractions that arise from dueling devotions: other loves like family, community, friends, work, the Sacred by whatever name you hold it dear. Only the discipline of devotion in each of those areas can create the conditions in which all of them are thriving but none at the expense of any other.

I confess that these insights are coming to me as I write this. I must now devote myself to applying them for the proof will be in the practice.

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Saturday, July 15, 2006

When Library Due Dates Rule

Just dropping in as I have about five minutes before I have to get offline and go pack my bags for my Saturday overnight with Grandma. I'm writing this directly in the Blogger platform so you'll have to forgive typos and misspellings. Combonations of the heat, the exertion of the trek to the library in 95 degrees and spending time with books and movies due Friday, made getting a serious post prepared impossible. I am holding hanging onto one book and several movies that were due Friday over the weekend. When items are from one of the branches that are not open on Saturday I can get away with keeping them until Monday morning. The problem with this is that then I feel obligated to devote as much time as possible to them. Another problem is that the books due the following Friday don't start getting their turn until Monday afternoon. I feel like Im on a treadmill to nowhere. Another problem is that finishing up with a book or movie just hours before it has to go back leave no time to do a review of it.

Another issue affecting me is the situation in the Middle East. But that is a can of worms I can barely stand to contemplate. With my fundamentalist background it pushes all kinds of buttons. My heart is breaking for our world.

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Friday, July 14, 2006

Preparing to Sing (Tuning into the Sound of My Own Voice)

I spent hours Thursday afternoon skimming through a word document in which I keep drafts of all the old posts to Joystory, drafts of potential posts and a series of one or two line concepts for potential posts. The file is 148 pages long with a word count of over 70,000 and all but three pages represents posts that were published and not counting those posts that were of the ‘Blog this’ variety (commentaries or reviews of things read or saw somewhere online) as those are kept in a separate document also over a hundred pages though less than half of them were ever actually posted because they were time sensitive and I fiddled with them too long..

My purpose was to mine Joystory for themes that could be returned to in future posts and for posts that either already were or could easily be turned into polished essays or book reviews for one of my other two websites, Joywrite or Joyread. I found quite a few and I’m hoping this will encourage me to start working on those sites again. The sticking point that is hard to get past is the need to re-familiarize myself with HTML and with Selida, the free WYSIWYG that I used to create the sites. Actually the version I downloaded onto my new laptop last November was an updated version of the one I am familiar with so that has increased my proclivity to procrastinate. But I shouldn't be so leery. I learned my way around the first version I had quite easily as it has good help files and good online support. For freeware you can't ask for better. This is going to be a challenge as I have let the sites lay fallow for over a year now, ever since things started falling apart in my personal life about this time last year. And at that time I had only been working with the sites again for a few weeks after letting them sit for several months after the events following the tsunami threw me off track. So my fledgling HTML skills have all but crawled back into their egg.

While browsing those posts though, I was struck by how often the ‘gobstopper’ theme recurred in various ways in both the current events of my life and in my reflections on my past. Since I didn’t get anything else prepared and need to devote most of tonight’s session to preparations for Friday’s library trek, I thought I would direct you to one of those early posts that introduce that theme--the stifling of voice. I had tried in a very clunky way to retell the story related in Conscience vs. Consensus in an early version of Gobstoppers (see below) before I had to slice and dice it to bring the word count down from 3000 to under 1000. I must warn you that this was also a lengthy essay but if you are interested in hearing about the event that catapulted me irrevocably out of the fundamentalist mind-set, this is where I told it shortly after I started Joystory.


Teaser: It involved witnessing the disciplining of an infant for crying via a hand over the mouth on the exhales to deprive him of the ‘reward’ of hearing the sound of his own voice.

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Thursday, July 13, 2006

When it’s Hot, I’m Not

We have enjoyed several days with temps in the mid eighties which ranged from tolerable to pleasant. I was able to get quite a bit of reading and writing done, some of which is reflected here. That is about to change. We are heading into the high nineties and some predict triple digits over the week-end. I don’t know how I am going to fare. Heat zaps me of IQ points, energy and ambition.

My regularly scheduled Friday library trek is coming up and I am way behind with the books and movies due this week. Keeping American Theocracy over the weekend in order to finish didn’t help in that regard as I didn’t pick up any of the books coming due this Friday until Monday afternoon. Currently I am twenty-some pages from finishing Chris Mooney’s The Republican War on Science. I haven’t even started any of the others due this week. One of them, is a high-demand novel which I won’t get another crack at for months so I am going to start it as soon as I finish the Mooney. That is Son of a Witch by Gregory Maguire. The sequel to Wicked. A re-visioning of Oz with the Wicked Witch of the East as the sympathetic character and Dorothy as a simpering Barbie. I read Wicked around the first of the year and got in queue for the sequel at that time. It is so frustrating that I’ve had the book for three weeks and haven’t started it yet. As usual I save desert for last and when I run out of time I don’t get the reward. But if I can start it by Thursday afternoon I have a good chance of finishing it in time to return it Friday afternoon. If, that is, I neglect just about everything else. But if the heat zaps me too much to read even a novel I am highly motivated over, I will watch DVDs that are coming due Friday instead.

Unless I choose to let myself be overcome by the soporific heat and sleep through it, inviting more of those insightful nightmares like the one I described yesterday. I say this not completely in jest as I continue to muse on that one and continue to reap new insights from it. The theme of self-censorship is just one that I’ve found in it and what I said in Gobstoppers just scratched the surface of that.

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Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Gobstoppers

I woke from a heat-induced, involuntary nap one day last week haunted by the shreds of images, emotions and tactile sensations of a dream. A group of young women of high school or college age were gathered around a large table laughing and talking and I overheard one of them make a comment that shocked me by its ignorance and mean-spiritedness. The others were eating her words like candy and I was overcome by the need to speak. That girl was obviously irritated at my interruption and yet I kept talking. I do not remember what I said, just the passion with which I spoke and the sense that I was marshaling a rebuttal of her comment with facts and reason. As I continued to speak her expression morphed through anger and defensiveness to surprise to thoughtful to engaged. I now had her and her group eating up my words and I must admit that I was loving it. It irks me to not remember the issue that set me off nor any of what was said and yet have all the emotions and physical sensations remain so vivid. But since that is the case, I must assume that the point I am to take from it is to be found elsewhere. If the storyline of the dream had ended there, I might think it was about the fact that I was moved to interject and did so. But there was more.

One girl named someone she wished could hear what I was telling them and the rest chimed in with names of their own and suddenly I am agreeing to share my thoughts with their friends and family. Segue to a hallway outside the room I am to speak in. I had thought it was to be another informal setting with a couple dozen people invited by the half dozen girls I’d wowed with my words earlier. I was nervous but not really anxious. And then the door opened onto a huge auditorium with a stage and podium. The room buzzed with the voices of hundreds of people. All the elements that tend to trigger my panic attacks were there--the chaos of light, motion, noise and the crowd of people. My mouth went dry and I said, I can’t do this, and a man handed me a stick of gum, saying, Here this will help. As I chewed, the gum turned into a wad the size of a golf ball. I wanted to spit it out but there was nowhere to put it and then it started to change from a thick bubble-gum like consistency to a soft, stringy mass that clung to my teeth and tongue as it tried to slide down my throat. It was like choking on a Koosh ball coated with melted marshmallow and string cheese. It was gagging me. I had to get it out! I grabbed hold of it and pulled and now it was sticking to my fingers and coating my hands to the wrists and the more I pulled out the faster it filled my mouth and throat. It tasted like chalk and ash and charcoal. It was then that I woke.

Over the next several days I experienced waking events through the filter of the emotions and images of that dream as I mused on the associations of each of its elements. Those girls and the table they sat at were reminiscent of several similar situations--a high school cafeteria table, a library or study-hall table, a college seminar table and the table around which my Panic, Anxiety and Depression support group once met. Those were places in my past where I had had a voice and not been too shy to use it, where I had gotten positive feedback from peers who found what I had to say entertaining or informative or persuasive. Yes, persuasive. And there was the rub.

Persuasion is the tool of proselytizers which I once was and which I had repudiated along with the fundamentalist worldview I once pushed like a narcotic. When I swore never again to subject my mind to the authority of another human mind, I also swore never again to be the authority attempting to impose itself upon another mind. Memories of my past efforts gagged me as surely as that gob of gluey, stringy gum in the dream. I began to see proselytizing as one of the evils of civilization. It seemed to me that any attempt to persuade another person to change their mind was fraught with all the elements of assault. Like a rape of one’s soul. I could not figure out whether that was intrinsic to the act of persuasion itself or depended on the motives of the persuader and the informed consent of their audience. Either way, at that time, I could trust neither my mind nor my motives. So, as I set out to learn how thinking works and what makes ideas viable, I declared a moratorium on attempts to persuade others.

What I had not quite grasped then was that all rhetoric was intended to persuade. It was its raison d’etre. From recipes to romantic comedies, from tech manuals to Greek tragedies, from sermons to sonnets, from news reports to novels--it is all about persuasion. Maybe the moratorium was wise at the time, given my sudden realization of how little I understood about anything and what I had witnessed of the damage done with the power of words. Now I am wondering if this dream is telling me that it is time to lift it. It could just as well be chiding me for violating it. Either way, this rule that I enjoined on myself in 1992 has been one of the most effective gobstoppers ever imposed on me. If I can’t spit it out, how will I ever ‘Sing the secret from my center?’

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Monday, July 10, 2006

Gotta Say!

I began writing the previous post within fifteen minutes of the conversation between me and my husband that inspired it. I spent eight hours composing it under the influence of the emotional agitation of our confrontation which was still strong enough when the time came to click ‘publish’ that I barely hesitated. After posting, I was left with only two hours for sleep before my 24 hour stayover at Grandma’s. I began to regret that post immediately upon awaking but I had only twenty minutes to prepare to leave and no access to the Internet at Grandma’s. My feelings about the post swung back and forth uncountable times between then and the first chance I had to get online again late Sunday night.

I’ve chosen to let it stand. For the time being anyway.

This is because of the high contrast between the feelings that are associated with the urge to delete it and those associated with the desire to let it stand. The need to delete is prompted by guilt and shame and embarrassment but the price of giving into it seems to be a feeling of helplessness and isolation and a sensation like gagging or suffocation. Meanwhile, the urge to let it stand promises (and for long minutes at a time now) delivers a sense of relief, freedom and even dignity. It might me ugly but it is true and it is my truth. It just so happened that I was involved in preparing a post about my propensity to self-censor and the roots of that in my upbringing so I was primed to ‘pull the trigger’ when my husband handed my the weapon of his permission to blog about his less than admirable behaviors even tho I knew he was not sober at the time.

So now you know. Along with all the other challenges I’ve confessed here, I am married to an alcoholic.

I do still feel the need to apologize for the saltiness of some of the language in that last paragraph. There had been more which I took out. I ended up mostly paraphrasing the sense of what he said as he was not nearly as articulate as my rendition implies. Nor as ’pretty’ shall we say. He’s an ex-Marine after all and had been sipping his suds for seven hours or so. I’ll leave it to your imagination.

I’m still working on that post about self-censoring. It seems to be a theme my consciousness is working with both waking and dreaming in the last several weeks. My husband may not have been sober but he was amazingly insightful and told me the truth when he said that I make too many rules about what I can and can’t write about.

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Saturday, July 08, 2006

New Rules of Engagement


I woke Friday morning with such high expectations for the day. Such energy and such ambition. As I prepared for my Friday library trek, I was busy composing the post that I hoped to write for that night about the books and movies going back and coming home, about the ideas encountered and the impact stories had made on me. That post didn’t get written. Nothing got written. Because I returned home to the news from my mother-in-law that my husband had returned home from work and then left again to go cash his check. I told her that if he didn’t get back by the time she was ready to eat to not worry about fixing for me either. And then I went to my room to unpack the books and movies and reorganize the shelves. I was no longer composing in my head the post about the books and movies or the round trip to the library. I was already obsessing on the subtext of that little exchange between me and my mother-in-law. What had not been said was so much bigger than what had been and all of that bigness was sticking in my craw like a balloon being steadily inflated.

What we were both thinking and not saying was that the chances were slim to none that he would be back in time for dinner and little better that he would be back before she went to bed. And until he did get back we would both be stewing and fretting about what shape he would be in when he did show up and whether he would have the money he owed her. He doesn’t have a bank account so he cashes his checks in one of three places--the grocery store, a lotto shop or the bar. It is de ja vu for his mother who lived her own version of this story while raising four kids.

I stayed in my room for over an hour before venturing out to fix myself an iced-coffee and then taking that along with a book and both my cats out to the back yard where, after staking their leashes in the middle of the yard, I sat in a lawn chair just out of their reach trying to read. But between the noise of the dozen or so neighbors in the pool about six yards behind me and my continued obsessing about where my husband was and what he was doing, I didn’t get very many pages read. And as for comprehension and retention--I doubt I could pass a quiz on the content of those pages. I think I was out there for nearly two hours when my mother-in-law came out to turn the hose on to water the front yard. The cats were discombobulated by the sound of the hissing in the hose that passed by them and started straining their leashes toward the back door so I took them in. I decided that since I was having such a hard time concentrating on reading maybe I should watch a movie instead. I popped a DVD with two old James Stewart movies on it into my laptop’s DVD drive. I put earphones in and turned out the light. The movie was Pot ‘O Gold. This was good for eighty some minutes of distraction. By the time it was over my mother-in-law had gone to bed. Still no sign of my husband.

I then decided to take the book and go sit on the front porch to read. The book I have been referring to is Kevin Phillips’ American Theocracy. I was in the middle of the section that discusses the religious right’s agenda and how they have turned a number of state’s GOP platforms into theocratic manifestos. Where he relates their view of the role of women in the family I suddenly found myself living in multiple states of mind simultaneously. I was continuing to read and continuing to worry about where my husband was while I was remembering when I still fervently believed much of those fundamentalist tenets, remembering when I dreamed through my teens of the home I would one day have, when the role of Christian wife, mother and homemaker was my highest aspiration. Not that I thought then that that represented a limitation on my options. I believed then as I believe even now that I’ve shed the fundamentalist view point that the role of homemaker is the most important one in this or any other society. But I digress, as usual.

So there I was waiting on the whims of a wayward husband while sitting on the front porch of his mother’s house as it closed in on midnight, comparing my teenage fancy of marriage and home to what I have now, comparing that fundamentalist ideal of marriage and family to the ideal that has grown out of my own heart as I shed fundamentalism--a co-equal partnership of mutual respect and integrity of body, mind and spirit; trusting and trustworthy; nurturing and submission running both ways. With that vision juxtaposed over the current reality which was but an iteration in the triple digits of similar events spread out over 28 years, all these thoughts and memories, feelings and expectations converged, I felt a momentary wave of dizziness and a sense of falling or sinking into a vast stinking ooze. Misery. My comfort zone.

Then like a bouquet of exploding fireworks there was light--a cleansing white-hot light that evaporated the ooze instantly. That light was anger aka righteous indignation. How dare he! He has no right to abandon me to these endless hours of worry and shame here where I have no role other than to come to the table when I‘m called and keep my room cleaned! No better than a teenager at two years shy of fifty! And how dare they have taught me that I have no right to insist on better from him, that I have no leverage other than prayer, just because he has a certain dangly appendage which bestows on him the title of Mister. He knows that I worry and by that I mean he knows that when I worry I am subject to anxiety attacks when under the kind of stress his disappearances put me. He knows that my work session starts at nine and that I can not focus on my work as long as I am worried. He knows that I can’t go online as long as there is the remote possibility that he or someone else might be trying to call.

I was really working myself up. My heart was doing the Macarena and my mind was doing the tarantella. Or visa versa. I needed to journal. I headed back to my room but before I could get started, he came home. His story was that he had come looking for me at the library after cashing his check but before he got there he ran into a friend who had an ailing computer that he thought he knew how to heal and that it wouldn’t take long. And I know how he gets when he is in problem-solving mode--single minded, can’t bother to look at a clock or pick up a phone, can’t quit until its fixed or finished--kinda like me when I’m writing a story. Yes, he deigns to compare his hanging with his beer buds to my hanging with my fictional creations. Unavailable is unavailable is how he figures it I guess. And I don’t refuse to credit the analogy, yet neither can I give it equal footing and I’m not sure if that doesn’t make me an elitist snob to elevate my ‘art’ over his male-bonding rituals. Sometimes his framing it this way will shut me up. He knows exactly where my buttons are. One of them is my high value of fairness. But this time it doesn’t work. He happened to walk in while I was revved at gazillion rpms at a standstill having not yet released the clutch via a word-purge of my rage into my journal. The sight--and smell--of him set me off, tires spinning and flinging gravel before they gripped the road and gave me the traction I needed to get where I needed to go at a speed which would give him no time to take aim at another of my off buttons.

I ‘yelled’ in a whisper that would not wake his mother nor the neighbor lady, whose window was actually closer than his mother‘s. I told him that as long as his mother was our landlady he had no right to go hang with his buddies before the rent was paid. Nor did he have the right to abandon me to the hours of anxiety that being stuck here--with his mom as witness to my shame--worrying about him and about whether he would be coming home in one piece with enough funds to cover the week. Nor did he have the right to not come home to a dinner that he knew was being prepared for him. Nor did he have the right to have both Saturday for going to the races--made possible by my sitting with Grandma, let’s not forget--and Friday for hanging with his beer buds. This was acceptable behavior only of a bachelor with a landlord other than a parent. Nor did he have the right to keep sabotaging my work sessions. I already lose Saturday night by staying with Grandma which also makes Sunday night iffy due to sleep deprivation--for not only could I not go online, I could not prepare content for posting since I could neither think nor write about anything except how worried and angry I was which was good for nothing but journaling. And that is when he found a pause button.

What is a blog? He asked in a tone that made clear its rhetorical character. It took me several beats to get his point. I started shaking my head. He said, Why not? I said you know I have a strong ethical disdain for gossip and tattling. I will often confess things on Joystory that will tend to shame me but I try very hard not to share things that would tend to shame someone else. You make too many rules, he said. You are never going to build an audience if you don’t get more dependable about posting but it is no wonder you can’t do that when you rule out ninety per cent of the viable topics before you even start. If you can’t write on ‘safe’ topics while obsessing about one of the taboo topics but won’t let yourself write about the taboo… It’s no wonder you average two posts per week. So get this straight. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. Except you. I care what you think. But not what a few dozen strangers who don’t know me think. But, I blurted, I don’t blog anonymously. Sure I don’t use my last name as I want to establish Joy Renee as my pen name but I haven’t hidden the connection between Joy Renee and Joy Renee Davis. I’ve never spoken of you by name on Joystory but I have reported our marriage on both Classmates and Classreports and I do get occasional traffic from them. So? He asked again. Why should I care? Your blog is about writing among other things. When stuff happens that impacts your writing that makes it fair game. When I screw up, I’m fair game. Tear me to shreds. Rip me a new @hole.

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Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Reading Etc.

Life events--Grandma’s hospitalization and the heat wave among the--have prevented regular posting this past week. I’m hoping that’s about to change. Meanwhile, since my online reading has also been limited, I’ve been reading books. You know, those square, solid things that you hold in your hand and turn the pages? Have also watched a number of videos.

Finished five books in the last week:

From Where You Dream by Robert Olen Butler--a Pulitzer Prize winning novelist explains his method for creating literary fiction. I hope to do a comprehensive review of this one soon as Butler’s advice may have a huge impact on my approach to my own writing going forward.

Media Control: The Spectacular Achievements of Propaganda by Noam Chomsky--my already jaundiced news-watching eye has gone a deeper shade of orange.

Destroying World Order: US Imperialism in the Middle East before and after September 11 by
Francis A. Boyle--a specialist in international law examines US foreign policy over the last half century.

Night by Elie Wiesel--moving memoir of surviving the Nazi concentration camps. I was especially struck by his story of the years leading up to actual incarceration in which his community and his family ignored the signs of the coming holocaust, even scoffed at those who tried to warn them and how easily they adapted as one by one their basic citizenship rights were taken from them until the day they docilely formed ranks in the streets in front of their homes and then marched into the cattle cars. Equally disturbing is the acquiescence of all those who watched from the sidelines.

Solstice Wood by Patricia McKillip--an enchanting fantasy novel which was a welcome relieve from all the heavy stuff I’ve been reading in the last year. I think I need to treat myself to more of this just-for-fun reading. I’m forgetting my own Joyreader’s Manifesto.

Meanwhile, I’m pushing hard to get as far as I can in Kevin Phillip’s American Theocracy which has to go back to the library this Friday and which I will have to wait in queue for another three or more months for my next turn. I advanced my bookmark a hundred pages in one day yesterday.

Some of the videos I watched in the last week:

Because of Winn-Dixie--watched this with Grandma Saturday

Back When We Were Grownups--watched this with Grandma Sunday. Now I want to read the Anne Tyler novel it was based on.

Twisted--Watched this by myself Monday morning. It isn’t easy to surprise me anymore but this one did. It was a well put together psychological thriller that kept you guessing until the scene--even the protagonist herself was a suspect who wasn’t sure she wasn’t guilty.

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Tuesday, July 04, 2006

Happy Fourth of July

Happy 4th of July

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Saturday, July 01, 2006

Grandma is on her way home

Grandma is on her way home and I'm on my way over for the usual Saturday stayover with her. We are all so relieved. I hope to be back with substantial posting by Monday night at the latest. Might possibly have something ready by tomorrow night but my schedule has been thrown off by the family upheaval this week.

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