Three-thirty this afternoon I told the Goblin I was thinking of going for a walk. ‘You don’t have long,’ he said. ‘The sun is already starting to set.’ I put on two sweaters (and one of my trusty knit hats which make me look like Santa fired me for insubordination) and headed off with my camera hoping there would be enough light filtering through the trees (the sun was already low in the sky when I set off) to take photos of something… [Read more…] about My evening walk…
Tragedy Spring…
I went onto Facebook to check on something and found my baby brother had put some photos of his new baby son up…he’s adorable! If I’m really good I’ll get him a gift before he graduates from high school (that’s before my nephew graduates…my brother graduated some years ago and he’s still waiting for a graduation gift not to mention a wedding gift). I then found a link on my brother’s page to his band, Tragedy Spring’s latest song, ‘Willow Tree’ on MySpace. If you like acoustic/rock you may love this. [Read more…] about Tragedy Spring…
Update…
If you’re wondering how my next novel, Dancing the Maypole, is progressing I’m happy to say this evening I’ve finished chapter 41. The book now has 114,137 words and will probably end up with about 120,000. I’m quite excited to start chapter 42 tomorrow. I can see how it starts and sort of what happens, but anything could happen…though hopefully nothing that demands an extra half dozen chapters because that would be bad for my mental health! Noooooo! As it stands I’m looking at two more chapters and an epilogue. Let that be true!!! [Read more…] about Update…
Remembering Lummox…
Collective memory is such a strange thing. Living in the moment we often take for granted that movie stars, pop stars, world renown authors, earth shattering historical happenings will never be forgotten. Sadly (or gladly depending on one’s point of view) this isn’t the case. The societies we live in whether nations or extended tribes, make choices as to what we will and won’t remember collectively. That which is replayed or repeated most often will be the winner whether it deserves a place in history or not. The English have this saying, ‘Remember, remember, the fifth of November.’ Nearly four hundred years old, this childhood chant (that all English people know) calls the people to remember Guy Fawkes (and his associates) who nearly managed to blow up parliament with kegs of gun powder in 1605. Every November 5th the English build bonfires and burn effigies of Guy Fawkes. This is an excellent example of collective remembering. Whether some individuals getting drunk and setting off fireworks can remember anything specific about Guy Fawkes is irrelevant. They remember collectively! [Read more…] about Remembering Lummox…
The evil eye…
Today I went for an eye check. For a while now I’ve been taking off my glasses (I’m nearsighted) to work at the computer and to read books. The eye doctor’s verdict; my eyes are aging. In a week I’ll own my first pair of reading glasses. At last I have an excuse to treat myself to one of those spectacle-chains worn by librarians (real librarians, the ones who gave you the evil eye if you made the slightest noise). Through my teens and into my early twenties my mother would regularly rant that I should become a librarian. I always rolled my eyes. Just because you think every moldy book should be cherished as treasure, cataloged and kept on a shelf (in alphabetical order with all the other books one can go without food to afford) doesn’t necessarily mean one has the talents to be a librarian! At least not the kind of librarians I grew up with. Those ladies (and gentlemen) had degrees in librarianisms. They probably had fantastical dreams of living the Dewy Decimal System. [Read more…] about The evil eye…
For You…
Today I learned of a birth and a death. The birth was my youngest brother’s first child, a little boy they’ve named Clayton. I haven’t yet seen a photo, but I’ll be surprised if he isn’t totally and utterly adorable. Of course I’m biased, but the boy’s mother is really pretty and his father isn’t bad looking either (he was such a cute kid). I have memories of being twelve and carrying him into stores and people saying to me, “Your baby is sooo cute!” I’d smile and say, “Yes, my BROTHER is really cute.” What I wanted to say was, ‘I’m freaking twelve! Do I look like a slut?’ I guess I did. To illustrate the past I found a family portrait from that time…I look like a mutant, but my brother is cute. [Read more…] about For You…