pink sneakers n'at

"My God, we're going to have to skate home. Hell just froze over."

2012-02-07T09:24:00.001-05:00

(Miranda Hobbes, as played by Cynthia Nixon, Season 4, Episode 13)

So, first off, I am hating this new Blogger interface. I might have to start composing in Word and then importing, the way Babelbabe did in the day.

Secondly, the reason this place has been blank (and previous to that, all about poetry) is that I *have* met a guy. And like Samantha, I'm not kissing and telling.

Samantha: I don't want to talk about it.
Carrie: (sing song) Samantha likes a guy, Samantha likes a guy.
Samantha: I do not.
Charlotte: You do! You do! Or you would tell us all the dirty details.

He is a special guy and I want to be private about it. We've been going out for a month. (I think I'm becoming a grown-up, now that I'm in my forties.) (Wow, that sounds crazy. Me? Forty? I don't feel a day over 29.)

In other news, this is the month of waiting. At the end of February, I will know if I have an INTERVIEW (read: the last hoop to jump through) with the secret Midwestern school. So, because the only thing I can do is pray and ask everyone I know to pray (for God's will, for his purpose to be known), I have given myself a creative project. One collage, every morning before breakfast. 4 magazines, one piece of cardboard, go! It's very freeing, sort of like morning pages from Julia Cameron's book, The Artist's Way. I may take pictures and post some here. At the end of February, I may have nothing, I may have to start my school search all over again, but I will have 28 collages. (I started on the 2nd of the month.) It is also serving as an excellent way to clear out all the old magazines I can't bear to throw out because I need them for collages. I think maybe next month's challenge will be to work with all the pages I've torn out but not done anything with yet. (And I have tons of those. Especially since every day this month I'm tearing through 4 magazines a morning.)

How are things in your world? What projects are you working on? What's the weather like where you are?

I am hearing my first birds of the new year, as I sit in my chair in the front room.

Reminding myself with poetry n'at...

2012-01-18T15:12:00.004-05:00

When I forget where I'm going, poetry (and books) help to remind me. I used to know the following poem by heart. It appeared in an anthology for girls in the mid 90s, when I worked at Barnes & Noble.

The Dare

Come walk the alley fence
Come tight-rope like a clown
Before Dad sees we're up too high
and shouts to get us down.

As confident as cats
We'll glide across the top
Hoping Mom doesn't look outside
And order us to stop.

We'll maybe lose our nerve
We'll maybe crash and fall
They'll probably shake their heads and say
"This doesn't make a bit of sense!
We warned you girls just yesterday!"
And send you home and make me stay.
But still--I dare you anyway,
To walk the alley fence.

--Ann R. Blaksler

********************

When you're feeling low, there's no one like practical Dicey:

“What do you do when there’s nothing you can do,” Gram said. “I dunno, I do something else,” Dicey said. (Dicey's Song by Cynthia Voigt)

********************

Pied Beauty, by Gerard Manley Hopkins

GLORY be to God for dappled things—
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;	5
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:	10
Praise him.

Remember Sister Maureen? I wrote about her last time. In my paper about this poem, I ended on a sour note, about the trod trod trod and her note on my paper was why didn't I end it on an up note, a grace note, as Hopkins did.

I don't have much else today. My brain is bungled, but that is the great thing about the great ones, they can speak for you, remind you of beauty.

Hope is the thing with feathers...reminisces of poetry class

2012-01-16T07:21:00.007-05:00

HOPE is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;	5
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;	10
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

Thanks to the folks at Bartelby.com/verse, I have access to Emily Dickinson. I found her this morning in my Modern Poems anthology (she is a precursor to the moderns, with Walt Whitman, Yeats, Gerard Manley Hopkins...) This poem was not in the poems anthologized, nor the one I was looking for, I don't know what it was. I'd know it when I saw it.

I need to get a copy of Miss Dickinson's poetry in book form, but for now, the Internet will do. My Modern Poetry class was my sophomore year at Carlow, and Sister Maureen was my professor. She never gave A's, but I got them from her. It was about that time that I realized I needed a harder school. I wish I had gone to see her after I'd graduated. She died...I should find out more about that, maybe. Her class was where I became an English major. I loved dissecting the poems, looking for why THAT word. She taught us that in a poem, every word means something. So you might as well look up every word in the dictionary, because it's possible that the poet did. Nothing is a mistake, nothing is wasted. I was a new Christian, and I loved all the footnotes in Eliot, finding the Bible verses he referred to. I was happiest, on my bed on my room on the tenth floor of Frances Warde Hall, my Bible on one side, my Ellman/O'Clair* on the other. I suppose I had the dictionary out too. I would then go, at night, to the library, and use one of their eight computers to pound out my papers.

My windows didn't have screens. So some days, when I was bored, I would make a paper airplane and fly it out my window. I had never lived that high up. It was the top floor of the dorms, and from my window, I could see forever. Across the river, to the last working steel mill. All of the roofs of Oakland lay before me. I loved that scene, and I have many photographs that I would just take out my window. Maybe I'll find some and scan them for here.

***
Writing this, I realize what a different time that was. Students now sit on their beds with their laptops. No need to go to the library for a PC, they have one right here. No need to touch the paper thin pages of the anthology, the dictionary, the Bible, one can find all the poetry one needs (with commentary) online. I hope there are students like me, though, that prefer the feel of paper. For whom writing is partially a workout of the arm, pages of ink across a pad of paper.

__________
*Ellman and O'Clair were the men who wrote Modern Poems. Mine is the Second Edition, from 1989. By the time the second edition went to press, O'Clair was the "Late Professor Emeritus" from Manhattanville College.

Sort of a "guest post"...

2012-01-13T16:36:00.005-05:00

Sara Zarr posted a link to this blog post on Twitter, and it's short enough that I'm posting it here. The writer is describing bipolar disorder.

"Letter to an old friend"

Is it okay if I call you friend? I’ve known you for so long and it is time for you to be a friend. You are with me always. Sometimes you sit in the living room of my house, powerful in your presence. At other times you are like a guest taking a nap in an upstairs bedroom. I used to fight you or plead with you to leave, but I don’t do that anymore. I let you be. I’ve discovered the gifts you bring with friendship. I am grateful for the clarity you allow, for whatever energy you permit, for writing, above all for that, for the daily work of living. Who would have ever thought that we would end up being friends, that even as I do all I can to keep you gentle, I could welcome you? I accept you and limit you all at once. Come on in, there’s a rocking chair for you by the fire, but it is still my house. Now that you’re a friend, I don’t know what to call you. Your medical name sounds too formal and distant. You are more than a condition. You’re not me and yet you are a part of me. The metaphors used to describe you seem too impersonal. Darkness, grayness, the words lack accuracy. You are painfully bright at times. To call you by your symptoms is to treat you like an enemy and I don’t want to do that anymore. I’ll simply call you my old friend. I call you my old friend because I know you, I’ve seen through you. I’ve even seen compassion and hope in you. These are the things that only friends can see. I know you now, so well, and so I call you my old friend.

THESE ARE NOT MY WORDS, they belong to Francisco X. Stork. But they resonate so strongly.

Under construction -- RSS beware

2012-01-11T16:17:00.002-05:00

So...I'm going to be working on labels. Which means that a lot of posts will be republished. Which will mess you up if you get this blog via RSS. So in advance, I apologize, and if you're wondering what's going on, that's what it is.

xo,
SL

Happy Birthday, "Story of a Girl"!

2012-01-10T12:18:00.003-05:00

Five years ago today, Story of a Girl by the first time novelist Sara Zarr, arrived on the scene.

I celebrated by reading it over breakfast. Last month, I read Kathleen Norris' Dakota over breakfast. What a difference between those two books, written by equally talented writers. Congratulations, Sara!

Raindrops on roses and pink satin sashes...

2012-01-09T21:33:00.004-05:00

("My Favorite Things," currently listening to on Carole King's Christmas album)

If I look past the venetian blinds on my windows, I can see the Christmas lights on the big house on the corner.

If I look to my left, Meryl Streep is smiling out at me from the cover of this month's Vogue. I cannot WAIT to see her latest movie, where she plays Margaret Thatcher, I think the movie is simply called "Iron Lady."

If I look down, I see that I still have some Gatorade from this afternoon's stomach ickyness. Yum. It's blue. I have no idea what flavor that's supposed to be.

If I look straight ahead, there are some purple dried flowers that I saved from the birthday bouquet from my dad. (He's a big believer in flowers, as am I.)

If I look to my left, and up, I see a poster with the cover of Barbara Cooney's book Eleanor, about Eleanor Roosevelt's childhood. It's signed, was a gift to the Barnes and Noble I worked at in the mid 90s. Barbara Cooney also wrote Miss Rumphius, one of my favorite picture books. Cooney died in 2000, the year before I entered library school.

On the bookcase to my right, I have an eclectic collection of collectibles, (would they be called curios?) including a plastic figurine of Smurfette wearing a cap and gown. It was made in Hong Kong in 1981, but I think it was given to me on the occasion of my sixth grade graduation in 1983. At the time I lived in Honduras, not everyone went beyond sixth grade in their schooling, so the sixth grade graduation is a big deal. (At the American School, it was assumed that kids would, but it gave parents another excuse for a big party.) I had a new dress made, a pink dress that I wish I still had because it was exquisite. Next to Smurfette, a piece of bleached brain coral, from the Cay Islands that lie off the Caribbean coast of Honduras. Next to it, a pin cushion that was a craft in ?? grade. A Dalmatian puppy Happy Meal toy is next to that. The puppy is perched atop a blue post box and if you spin it, it's a snow globe with an envelope and glitter. I got a lot of Happy Meals the year I was in library school, I drove through for dinner on the way to my evening classes. Next to the Dalmatian puppy, an ornament I made for the staff Christmas tree, the last year we had one at my library. It's a birdhouse with glitter for snow on the roof and a red bird perched on the front. I painted it green. Behind the ornament, a wooden tulip, red, of course. (In my mind, tulips, if they are not living flowers, are red. I always draw red tulips, no other color do I draw.) A tiny blue and white windmill in the Dutch Delft style is perched on a square glass box. Inside the glass box are very old dried rosebuds. Behind that, a colorful memento from Niagara Falls, where I went with my parents as a graduation gift when I got my Master's in Library Science. A Sacred Heart of Jesus candle, a tea cup and saucer that belonged to one of my grandmothers. (I have another one somewhere else, that is from my other grandmother, but I can't tell which one is which.) Inside the tea cup, more dried rose buds, and two spoons from my paternal grandmother's spoon collection. One spoon needs polishing, and badly! It is from Amsterdam, and on the handle, depicts a church that could be a Cathedral. (But I can't tell, because as you may or may not know, a Cathedral is the seat of the Bishop. So even if a church LOOKS like a Cathedral but is not the seat of a Bishop, it's not a Cathedral.) The other spoon seems to be made of stainless steel but has a cameo at the top that looks to be Wedgwood.

And that's only half the items on the top of this particular bookshelf. Maybe a full tour and photos next time?

My things have so many memories. Writing this soothed me...and now it's time for bed.

2011: or the busiest year of my life...

2011-12-29T16:38:00.010-05:00

My friend Kristin Tennant wrote a great "what do you think about 2011, what do you hope for 2012" post, which included these great questions. Since I was thinking of doing something for the end of the year, I stole her questions:

1. What experiences most shaped you in 2011?

2. What is something you learned (or learned to do) in 2011?

3. What is something you want to learn to do in 2012?

4. Is there a hurt, frustration or fear that you’d like to heal/let go of in 2012?

5. What inspired or encouraged you in 2011?

6. What gift could you use to inspire and encourage others in 2012?

7. What do you want to experience more of in your life this next year?

8. What do you want to give/share more of?

9. Is there a word that sums up 2011 for you?

10. Is there a word you want to carry with you through 2012?

[plus one] 11. What book, movie, or show really jazzed your year?

***

1. Most shaped me in 2011:

Working on my PhD application. (It's in, btw. Now we just wait until the end of February when I hear if they want to interview me.) Even as I was working on re-writing the article in January, or working on the presentation in October, or studying for the GREs, all of those were cumulative work to the final December 15 deadline.

2. Learned to do this year:

Work a deadline. Discover that I do my best work in the morning, so work then, and veg in the evening. Keep the laptop in the other room. Separate laptop (work) time from (veg) TV time, but that when it comes down to the last minute, I can keep my tush in my chair until I'm done.

3. Want to learn next year:

Create systems. I started using a 7 day pill box in 2010. It has made my life easier. (I take pills 4 times a day.) I have started to learn (see #2) to break items down into pieces, and would like to create systems for paying bills, doing dishes, doing laundry, cutting clutter. I have learned in the past couple of weeks that just doing dishes for 5 minutes (or while something is cooking in the microwave) makes a big difference. If I only did housework for 5 minutes a day...I have tried all the self-help, reduce clutter books and none of them have worked. I have to figure out my own system, one that works for me.

4. Fear that you want to heal?

Two:

letting go of my sister (she got married!) and learning to love her husband (I do like him a lot. I see how they are a great couple, but I'm not "there" yet.)
Re-learning that I am enough. The PhD process scratched a surface of insecurity...what if I don't get in, what if this isn't the right path, what if, what if. I would like to be able to say, I'm enough. Whatever happens, it's going to be okay. (Not that there's anything wrong with being scared, but I don't want the fear to rule me.)

5. Inspired you this year?

JUST DO IT. When I went to speak to the woman in charge of children's library programs at the Library School here in town, she said, try to get published, try to present. In 2010-2011, I did both (one of each.)

6. Gift to encourage others in 2012?

CUPCAKES, of course!

7. Experience more in 2012?

More time with friends. In person. Face to face.

8. Give/Share more of in 2012?

This one gave me pause...I don't think "writing" is the right answer, but it's what I came up with.

9. Word that sums up 2011?

BUSY.*

10. Word that you want to carry into/with you in 2012?

Acceptance.

11. Movie/Book/Show?

Bones. (Show) I am totally obsessed with Bones, the same way I was totally obsessed with SATC when I first discovered it back in 200?.

____________

*January: Polished my first scholarly publication

February: Sister got engaged

March: I got the flu, I picked out a maid-of-honor dress

April: I gave my sister a bridal shower (big thanks to cousin Kiki and Mom!)

May: prep for Summer Reading, New York for unco11, blasted cold that developed into third sinus infection for 2011.

June/July: Summer Reading

August: learn I have food allergies, prep for the wedding, the wedding

September: family vacation, study for, take the GREs

October: my first professional library presentation, sinus surgery

November: Recover from surgery, research for my PhD application essays, Thanksgiving, my 40th birthday

December: finish my PhD application essays, Christmas.

...talk us down from the ledges...

2011-12-18T11:34:00.004-05:00

(Amy Grant, That's What Love is For)

A girl's gotta have friends.

And this girl has the best ones.

Last week, in the middle of writing my research proposal for the secret Midwestern school application, I found a reference in a bibliography that I hadn't looked up. So I looked it up. And instead of seeing it as a piece of the puzzle, I saw it as the arrow that burst my research, that made my work invalid. Panicking, I picked up the phone and called Sally. Who, I had forgotten, had a house full of guests. She took a moment to assure me that no one was doing work on Third Culture Kids in libraries, that my work was important, and that this was just an application to graduate school, NOT a dissertation. She took five minutes away from her guests to talk me off my ledge.

All week, I have been screaming on Twitter, wanting to throw in the towel, and friends like Deb have been sending me reminders of what I want to do in the form of cupcakes.

Thursday morning, I sat my tush in my chair and filled in the online application. It took me all morning, including a trip to FedExKinkos because the watermarks on one of my transcripts made it impossible to compact it beyond 2000KB. The file needed to be under 500KB. Murphy was alive and well, but I had set aside the entire morning, so I beat him at his game.

Anyways, as I sit here, kind of like a couch potato, stunned that my year of striving is almost over, I want to say thanks. Because your encouragement is what got me through, you talked me off my ledges.

I'm leaving out a big plate of cupcakes.

[Anaiis Nin quote here]

2011-12-07T18:31:00.008-05:00

"And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." (Anaiis Nin)

Well, I'm still working hard on my Midwestern essays. Exhausted, but I am working. Or like we say on twitter, #amwriting #amworking. I took this morning off work to take time to write. And I thought I would have a chance to do so much more. But it has to be enough. I have 7 days. 8 if you include the 15th. In those 7 or 8 days, I have to gather together my research proposal and I have to update my resume. Oh, and show up for work for 5 of those days.

I wrote these bits when I was putting together my "statement of purpose" but I think they fit here more than in an application for "further schooling." (Yes, I have to be secretive.) (Yes, you'll know when I find out, which won't be until late Feb for an interview, and after that, I think March or April.)

A little bit of background, as I sort of start in the middle here: I had been writing about my teen years, reading with sibs, how it kept me interested in picture books as a teen.

...While all of this was happening, something else was happening that would shape my life’s work, though I didn’t recognize it then. My father, a career foreign service officer, was preparing for his next post, in Warsaw, Poland. He and I both had a lot of homework my senior year of high school; while mine was in English with a little bit of Spanish, his was entirely in Polish. My parents and siblings lived in Warsaw, Poland from 1989 to 1992, as communism was being replaced by the private sector.

In college, I was trying to live the normal life of an American teenager, but I couldn’t ignore that my life was markedly different from the lives of my fellow students, most of whom spent Christmas vacation in a place called home. I spent Christmas vacation with people I called home, in a foreign country where I could barely tell cab drivers my parent’s address. In high school in the suburbs of Washington, DC, I was able to pretend I was just another kid. Now, at 17, I was faced yet again with my heritage: of many languages, many houses, and many different “homes.” The concept of the third culture kid was not yet mainstream, and most of the writing is still non-fiction by adults, for adults. As a confused teen, I would have benefited from some books to mirror my experiences. Instead, I took all the “windows” and made some of them into mirrors.

In high school, I could forget that I had lived overseas. I found teens like me in the books of Judy Blume, Cynthia Voigt, and Paula Danziger. I didn’t talk about my childhood abroad, and no one asked me about it, because I blended. I no longer looked for books about kids like me who had lived abroad, because I pretended that I had lived in Maryland my whole life.

There is much more there, but I need to drive home and take in some restorative television. If you are the praying type, please pray. These next 7 days are going to be FULL. Thankfully tomorrow I have two things on my side (which also mean I won't get any writing in): a massage at 8:30, with a guy who is also a third culture kid, so I'll be able to tell him about my project, and a woman at the library school I graduated from, who has agreed to talk to me. She can't help me with the writing, and I was sure I'd be done with it all by now, but she can also be a "bounce ideas off" person.

Setting out a plate of cupcakes for you all,

xo,
SL

a strong but silent culture...TCKs and ATCKs

2011-11-26T00:20:00.006-05:00

I've been working on my essays to go to that Midwestern school, and one of the things I've been working on is how to get TCKs (Third Culture Kids) and libraries in the same box.

And there are no journal articles. And there are anecdotal events on the internet that happened two years ago in international schools in places like Israel. And librarians in international schools don't even know that a grown up TCK is an ATCK (adult third culture kid) not a TCG (third culture grown-up.)

Do you even know what a TCK is? Have I ever even written about this on this blog? Not likely. Why? It's not because (as I thought earlier) that we don't have a strong culture. No, it's because our culture is one of silence and white lies.

Denizen, an online magazine for TCKs, says it best in the article, "White Lies TCKs Tell:"

Within the Third Culture Kid (TCK) community, distaste for the “Where are you from?” strikes a common chord. It’s indicative of the confused identity that comes innately with a TCK status. According to The Washington Post, TCKs make an average of eight major moves before graduating from high school. It’s what separates us from immigrants or casual travelers, because instead of developing our identity and worldview in one locale and then leaving, we develop these characteristics while in constant transit. This is why, according to Pollock and Van Reken’s “Third Culture Kids”, people can be former expats or former foreign service officers, but never a former Third Culture Kid. We take our world with us wherever we go.

But not everyone else understands this. And this is why we do a “little dance” every time we’re asked about our identity. It’s not only because we’re unsure ourselves, but also because we’re unsure of the reactions we’ll get.

I've been reading my way through Dakota by Kathleen Norris. This morning's bit brought me to talking about why there are so few Dakotan writers. Since I have been wondering why there are so few TCK writers, I perked up. And it came to me. No one is telling our stories, so we don't know how to tell them. We are a strong culture, but one of silence. We want to fit in. So we don't tell you that we moved between five different countries before we were 12. We don't tell you we had household help when we lived in developing countries. We don't tell you that we're not sure if we watched TV shows like "Little House on the Prairie" in English or Spanish. Because we don't want to stick out. We just want to fit in, now that we are on native soil.

So we don't start our stories with, well, when I lived in Bonn, the river flooded every spring, because we have been burned. What was it like? Did you learn German while you were there? Did you see the Berlin Wall? We don't say, well, in the second house in Tegucigalpa was really modern. It had a garage on the street level, steps up to a small terrace, and then steps up to a big patio. I remember my grandmother sitting there, reading me from Lad, A Dog, when she came to visit. Then you went in the door, and the living room was on the left. It had a huge cathedral ceiling, and on the side, steps to the dining room. If you went to the right when you came in, you came to the "study" which was really just where the piano and the TV were. Oh, and my loft. The only place where the maid wasn't allowed, although one year I came back from summer vacation and it was clear she'd been up there to straighten. And then I can't finish telling you about the house because I feel the need to explain why we had household help, something that is very rare in middle class America. We had one live-in maid, and one who came occasionally to do other things. In Honduras, you had to boil the water before you drank it. And we often had bomb scares at school. We'd all file out of the school and sit on the front lawn while the building was searched. And we'd sit on the lawn and look at the bumps in the grass. Do you suppose that is a bomb? And some kids bought mango in vinegar with salt in baggies from the man on the other side of the fence. I never did. (I was a real goody two shoes.)

Can you imagine as a seventh grader, explaining all that to your new best friend, whose parents were first generation immigrants from Greece and whose mother was a seamstress and whose father managed a restaurant? You'd sound like a Trump. And that was the last thing you wanted. Blend. Blend. Blend. I didn't have any friends who were TCKs in junior high, high school, or even college. There are TCKs in Pittsburgh, but I only sort of know them, and I don't know if they remember that I am one. All of them are MKs, a subset of the TCK culture: Missionary kids. I'm a diplomat's daughter. So I'm not a military Brat (another subset), or an MK. So what am I? I'm a diplomat's daughter, which is just as explainable as the daughter of an economist. It's not the sort of thing you can explain in ten words or less. A dentist? People know what that is. A seamstress? yep. A teacher? yes. But what the heck does a diplomat do? Well...and then you get into a long convoluted conversation and people's eyes glaze over.

And what I've been finding, is that the writers who ARE TCKs write about either/or. They write about the folk stories of the countries they've lived in, or they write about the country they are from. There is very little fiction about kids who straddle two cultures, trying to figure out who they are as they move from country to country.

I've written enough for now. I need to sleep. But this has been eating me for the past week, and I needed to get it out.

My mother, the theologian

2011-11-09T11:20:00.003-05:00

So. With all the "living" I've been doing, hanging on by the seat of my pants, getting by on the skin of my teeth, my contemplative life has been pretty much nil.

Instead of reading and praying and going for walks, I pick up the phone to call my mom or Sally in Michigan. If they aren't home, I try Emily in Russia, or Lilly in Maryland. I get online. I tweet, or play game upon game of Free Cell. (I did play solitaire with real cards for a while, but the colder weather necessitates a comforter on my bed and it's too bumpy for real cards.) I watch episode upon episode of Bones.

But this morning, when I chatted with my mother, as I tried to dust the sand from my sleepy eyes, she was in the midst of preparing for Bible Study later in the morning, and so she told me all about Psalm 124. They are doing a Eugene Peterson* study, so the translation below is his:

A Pilgrim Song of David

^1-5 If God hadn't been for us —all together now, Israel, sing out!—
If God hadn't been for us
when everyone went against us,
We would have been swallowed alive
by their violent anger,
Swept away by the flood of rage,
drowned in the torrent;
We would have lost our lives
in the wild, raging water.

⁶ Oh, blessed be God!
He didn't go off and leave us.
He didn't abandon us defenseless,
helpless as a rabbit in a pack of snarling dogs.

⁷ We've flown free from their fangs,
free of their traps, free as a bird.
Their grip is broken;
we're free as a bird in flight.

⁸ God's strong name is our help,
the same God who made heaven and earth.

She said, the point of the psalm is that even when the turkeys tried to get us down, God was with us, and we kept on going. (Those weren't her exact words.) So, as I sat down at the kitchen table with my Grape Nuts and raisins, I got out my Jerusalem Bible, and then my Timothy Botts' book of the Psalms. (Do you know Timothy's** work? Yowsa. His calligraphy is phenomenal.)

And so I sat there, reading Psalm 124, 127*** (if God doesn't build the house)... and ate my breakfast and thought about my mother. Who has been a nurturing force in my life--all of my friends have been. And how finally, I have gotten to the place where I have not one but two scriptures open on my breakfast table.

These are not easy times. I am racing at breakneck to come up with a plausible research project to wow the folks in the Midwest who will determine if I get to start my PhD in the fall. I was pulled off of Mother Goose duty, (where I sing to babies) for the next two weeks, when the session ends, because there were complaints that I seemed not into it, unhappy. And my boss, rather than reprimand me, decided that I have a lot on my plate (oh, did I mention recovery from sinus surgery?) to say, take a break. We'll reevaluate in the new year. Here, I have been off my game, thinking as I look at a sea of young ones and their mothers, grandmothers, fathers, will this be my last fall of singing to them? How they ARE my sunshine. And that sadness came through. And so it's relief, sort of, because yes, I could tell I was off my game, but also, again, sadness, as there is, when you're pulled off the game and someone else is put in.

If God hadn't been with us,

We would have lost our lives
in the wild, raging water.

And I haven't been lost. I haven't been washed away. I'm still here, still plugging, still standing. For now, that is enough.

(I have put the links at the end, in hopes that you will go to them, but to prevent you from leaving the post before finishing reading.)
_____________________
*Eugene Peterson, A long obedience in the same direction.
**Timothy Botts: Online Gallery
***Psalm 127:1-2, from Biblegateway.com

things i will say...

2011-11-03T10:34:00.005-04:00

...when I become a professor at library school.

Raise your hands if you like books. Good, good. Raise your hands if you like people. Good, good.
Now put them down and think about this: do you like people when they are nice to you or do you like grumpy people? Because that's what it is to be a "people person." You like people even when they are not giving you the correct information, when they are acting ignorant, when they need help irrationally. This cannot be taught. If you do not like those people, you might as well decide now to become something else when you grow up. Because even if you become a cataloger and sit in your basement office, you will have to deal with librarians. And sometimes, you will have to sit at the reference desk.

***

I dream about these things, I do. I wake up and create these scenarios, of things I will tell my students. Since I most likely will never have a son or daughter, and won't be taking my nieces for long drives in Pittsburgh, I will probably never be able to explain why you change lanes after the U haul (because people turn in that lane) or why if you get a green light, you keep going and turn at the next intersection, not at Elfinwild. But if I get into grad school, I will get a chance to share my from the front lines info about working in a library.

Yesterday I watched a really awful "customer service" video. It was one of those 17 minute deals, short enough so that you could pause it a few times to talk about things and still not go over a half hour, something you could show before you had a meeting. I sort of remembered that I had watched it before when I saw the accompanying worksheet. This guy was trying to cover every transaction in a library and show the right and wrong ways. I bet this guy has a similar video for cardiac nurses. Since I'm trying to watch these videos and write reviews as a form of comp time (read: work in my PJs) as I recover from the sinus surgery, I decided to research some YouTubes. I found a 6 minute video that gave the same basic information, but gave heart reasons. Because in the end, customer service is not about the 3 P's or remembering mnemonic phrases. It is about the heart. Do you like your job enough to respect the people you work for and with? Will you help the unhelpful? Because if no, then maybe you should make a career change.

***
So yes, I'm recovering from the surgery. I worked 4.5 hours at work and 1 hour at home, which included doing Mother Goose (where I sing with babies and their mothers) twice. This morning, after the most bizarre mix of dreams, I woke up at 9:43. Since I nodded off around 12:30, that would be over 9 hours. Which is about what I've been sleeping, lately. Roughly 9 hours.

I would write more, but I actually have a lot of errands before work today.

Call admissions person.
Go to Pharmacy, ask about a medication
Go to Pscyhiatrist appt, ask about that medication
Drive to work
Lunch (somewhere in there.)
Work at least 4 hours.

And when I come home, a fresh new episode of BONES, the premiere of the seventh season!!

(Bones is what I watched as a part of my recovery. There was one channel I watched, the bones only bones only bones. Somehow it soothed me.)

Playing solitaire on real cards

2011-10-14T22:00:00.004-04:00

So, over the course of the past two days, my solitaire playing has showed me how addictive it can be. I went over to talk to Marian (WHO IS BACK AT WORK!) and she was busy putting out a computer center fire, so I sat down at the extra computer behind the desk, and you guessed it, started a game of solitaire.

While I was on the reference desk today, for one hour instead of the usual two, I played solitaire.

On the way home from work, I bought a pack of cards. They're the pink kind, for October being breast cancer awareness month, but I bought them because everything in my apartment is pink. My laptop is pink, my cell phone is pink, my wireless mouse is pink. Even my Kleenex is pink. (I only buy pink Kleenex.)

And I opened the pack of cards and smelled them. They smelled like cucumbers. I had to laugh. They are not only pink, but they have ribbons on the cards. Like inside the clubs and spades and diamonds...pink ribbons. I thought it was really silly and thought, that will be distracting when I'm playing...there's also a little card inside instead of telling you how to play cards, it gives you tips on how to detect breast cancer, make sure you get your mammograms and do your breast self-exams.

I came home, and called the person in my family who calls playing solitaire "smoking a cigarette," my mother. When she's stressed or bored, she plays solitaire. With real cards, on the kitchen table, or on her side of my parent's bed.

We talked about next week (the sinus surgery upcoming on Wednesday), that she's bringing extra pillows (so I can sleep sitting up), and I told her to bring her cards, we could play Canasta. And while we talked, I shuffled the cards and made piles of the cards on the bed.

In an episode of "The Good Wife" this year, a lawyer said to the lawyers of the Good Wife team (I'm not remembering their names), "things are dead." (well, that was the essence of the quote.) But that ideas, bytes, bits, they are more important than a bowl, a carrot.

And all those commercials for pre-made dinners? That say cutting up food is drudgery? They lie! I like cutting up food. It's relaxing. It's empowering. I'm making something. (In other words, don't buy me a food processor.)

What did I do after I got off the phone with my mother? I figured out how to play solitaire again (I had to use this e-how video) and I dealt cards all evening as I watched Mary Tyler Moore, Dick Van Dyke, Bob Newhart, and The Odd Couple. But here's the thing. It wasn't just playing the game (which I lost more than I won--I'm not sure I even won a single game, to tell you the truth), it was holding the cards in my hands. The sound the cards made when I shuffled them. The feel of the cards in my hands.

I can tell you now, if given the choice, I would rather play solitaire on cards than on the computer. I don't care if I win. I don't care that I got 49 points in 140 seconds. I don't care how many games I've won, and what my highest score is. That is NOT why I play. I play to have something to do with my hands when I'm bored or stressed.

I think I summed up my computer solitaire addiction perfectly today when I said to Marian, this is one of the things that I'm doing because I'm anxious and it's not doing a bit of good.

Playing solitaire on the computer at two thirty in the morning...

2011-10-13T11:52:00.001-04:00

Yeah, so if I play endless games of computer free cell or solitaire, you can guess that I am in anxiety h-e-double hockey sticks.

Called my parent's house this morning as I woke up from bad dreams around 10 a.m. (Thank you God that I work at 1 p.m.)

So, what are you anxious about, my dad asked.

my car
the surgery (for deviated septum -- nose sinus surgery, Wednesday the 19th)
my mother coming to visit; (my apartment is SO NOT READY)
getting into grad school
what if I don't get into grad school
things I'll miss if I do get into grad school, like how well the Penguins are doing.
Sidney Crosby (so you can imagine my GLEE that he has been cleared for contact today!!!)
moving
Mother Goose (where I sing to babies and their mamas)

Yesterday I had 64 folks (babies and adults) in my 10 am session. That's like performance, making sure you are projecting to the folks in the back of the double room. In the 11 am session, I was off (don't know why...) (um, anxiety, um, having 64 folks in session 1) and so were they. It was like doing story time to a wall. I didn't let them know THIS IS PARTICIPATORY and even though we're four weeks in, it was almost all new folks so there weren't people modeling "this is what we do when she reads the book about animal sounds." (You make the animal sounds!!)

My dearest friend, Marian the Librarian, is a ghost that I see once in a blue moon...she can't seem to get healthy!! And she was my sounding board at work for years! So then I started going out with the ladies who lunch (my nickname for them) and then the soy allergy came ker-blow into that, I eat in, and now I've gotten to a point where I just read on my lunch hour, so I try to not go at noon, I go at 12:30 so that I miss the people that sit and talk while eating. Yes, I am going into myself. It's bad.

I need to find out WHAT I can eat at some of the restaurants the ladies go to. B/c I need to spend some lunch money--the way you get to know what's going on, and the way to kvetch about it, at our library, is to go out for lunch.

"Did you go to Duquesne?" (a Pittsburgh conversation)

2011-09-25T10:01:00.006-04:00

My chiropractor is wearing a Duquesne t-shirt. Now, I know that the other chiropractor at the office DID go to Duquesne, but I have never seen any indication that my guy did. So, like a fool, I ask him. "Did you go to Duquesne?" And he says, no. It was as if I was accusing him of wearing the wrong shirt.

"But you did, right?"
"No, I went to Carlow for two years." I pause. "I dated a guy that went to Duquesne"
"Well, there you have it."
"Actually, I dated two guys that went to Duquesne."

(by the way, if you're not from Pittsburgh, you're probably trying hard to pronounce that French word in your mind. It might be one of the few French words that Pittsburghers pronounce correctly. It's Duke-caine. Like Novocaine. You should see the red squiggles from my spell check.)

his monologue: "My two sisters went to Duquesne. I went to a branch of Penn State. I told my dad maybe college wasn't the right decision for me and he said, you're not going to Duquense! I intended to go to the main campus after two years, but that was right about when I discovered I wanted to be a chiropractor."

my monologue: "I just was wondering, because you'd never worn anything before, and well, everyone wears Pitt* t-shirts and you know they didn't all go to Pitt, but no one seems to wear Duquesne t-shirts unless they went there."

We had a laugh.

(By the way, my spell check thinks that I wanted the word Sequence.)

In other news, it's a good thing I'm getting this sinus surgery, because I have yet another sinus infection. The facial pain is unbelievable. On October 19, I'll have a septology, which means a correction of the deviated septum. Spell check doesn't like septology either. It thinks I want to say Egyptology. Um, no.

In other other news, I take the GRE on Tuesday. Be prepared for a decent verbal score and an abysmal math score. Ayyyy. One of the 10 question quizzes I took yesterday? I got 2 out of 10. I usually get 5 out of 10.

So, if you get alerts on your RSS, I'm alive. I know I've basically abandoned blogging, but I'm still here. Really. Say hi in the comments, will ya?

_______
*the University of Pittsburgh, where I got my Master's degree. Pitt is a Division I school in football and both men's and women's basketball.

Cinco de mayo

2011-05-05T11:20:00.006-04:00

High temperature today 63. Meanwhile, I know my heater thumped on sometime in the night. This is a second "reveal" in a set of pictures I took a few weeks ago. (The first one was on FB.)

Even though it is sunny outside, I'm feeling like this picture, murky and cloudy and...

...sitting on my bed at 11:30 a.m. in my nightgown. Surrounded by pink balled up Kleenex.

Yes, I'm sure it's hormonal. And also because I haven't let myself take stock of much of anything these days, just running from one tweet to the next, playing Free Cell, trying to figure out what the "so what" point is of my latest project/article...

I'm so afraid these days.

This too shall pass.

If nothing else, I have the oeuvre of this blog to let me know that it will.

I remember writing in the back of a journal once that I hoped I would always remember happy times when I was sad, and sad times when I was happy, so that I wouldn't get too set on either one.

And the radio gods love me, as Brad Paisley starts it up with "You're not supposed to say the word "cancer" in a song..."

He is risen, He is risen indeed!

2011-04-24T09:08:00.005-04:00

One of my earliest Easter memories is of being tucked in my bed on Calle Guaymura, and my mother coming to my bedside, whispering in my ear, He is risen! I guess I was 9 or 10.

I just got off the phone with my Dad, who answered the phone, "He is risen." I responded with, "He is risen, indeed!" which is a tradition in many reformed tradition churches. It's one of the traditions that holds with Easter, and as a one who doesn't have many traditions to hold on to, I cling to this one for more than one reason.

I'll go to the Open Door for the 11 o'clock service, join some friends from church afterward, and then drive to O'Hara Township to spend some time (and Easter Dinner) with some friends from college. I only see these friends about once a year, but they are dear to me. They were not in college, but in their early thirties, but that is when I knew them. They weren't even dating when I first met them. I met Pat first, and Henry later. They were engaged and married before the end of my freshman year, and theirs was one of the first (if not the first) weddings I ever attended without my family. (And at the church where I want to get married, but BEFORE the renovation, so I remember the gray ceiling with chips of paint peeling off.)

Wow, that's not where I meant this post to go, better get back on track. My dad said that the year my mother was in the hospital, the first person that spoke to her on Easter was the woman coming around for payment for the newspaper. Did she say "Happy Easter"? my dad asked. "Are you kidding?" My father has a great way of telling stories, deepening his voice for effect for that last bit. I'll have to ask my mother more about that story. In some ways, that year is a locked box that is just now becoming opened, as the pain of losing Peter lessens, even for me.

(If you're new here, Peter was an angel baby. Born March 23, 33 years ago, so 1978. Wow. I would have had a 33 year old brother. He lived for about 20 days. It was Maundy Thursday, his birthday, that year.)

My dad and I talked about sunrise services, the ones at my grandmother's church in Washington. We'd meet at a tiny graveyard and the pastor, who was the man who baptized me as a baby and maybe the same man who married my parents, would blow his trumpet. And then we'd have Easter dinner at my grandmother's house and have lamb-shaped cake from her friend...whose name I've forgotten. Later years, we'd go to restaurants so that people didn't have to cook. A restaurant that was NEAR the Wayfarer. The Wayfarer, which is now gone. And no one lives in Washington anymore, even though at one time my great Aunt Margaret, my grandparents, and my Aunt P. and Uncle Klaus and their three kids (yes, right, my cousins.)

The other sunrise service I remember, a picture that I can see in my mind's eye, was across the street from the Union Church in Tegucigalpa. It overlooked the city and like Pittsburgh, the city was hilly, so it was a beautiful view.

I always say that Pittsburgh is the city of my childhood. It has the rivers (like Bonn) and the mountains (like Tegucigalpa.) I remember telling that to a new therapist once and she laughed at me. That was when I knew (though I had suspected) that she was not the therapist for me. I mean, you don't laugh at your clients. Laugh with them, maybe. But not at them.

As per usual, this post is going ALL over the map, and I don't just mean Central America, Europe, New Jersey, and Pittsburgh.

It's funny, I woke up this morning thinking it was Monday and crap, what time is it, I have a chiropractic appointment at 8:30, and I REALLY have to get writing, because my self imposed deadline for a draft of my paper is Saturday. I have written 3 pages front and back, but I have miles to go before I sleep, miles to go before I sleep. It took me a while to realize, um, no, I think it's Easter, and really, I had to check my phone to see if it was Sunday.

I went to a conference on zines yesterday afternoon. I did NOT fit in, in the sense that either I hadn't ever written (or really read) any zines, I didn't have a tattoo, or blue hair, or I hadn't written a book. (Two of the speakers had written books, and while I did bother her in the hall while she was texting, and I was ignorant of her book, I did think she was kind of rude...I mean, isn't one of the points of being at a conference to meet new people that might want to read your book? Or at least to meet with kindred minds? I do NOT want to read her book based on her personality, although I do, based on the subject matter.

(I mean, if you are Alan Rickman walking through a bookstore and someone walks up to you and says, "are you in movies?" I think you have the right to be rude, because, well, he is, a little bit, and I was a COMPLETE naif in that situation. But...I have to let it go.)

Because I've discovered that magazines are one of my "research interests." How lucky that the first bit of mine that will ever be published in a scholarly journal is ON magazines, how I fell into that opportunity. I am astonished at how Providence has lined up things for me. Even that I happened to read the City Paper on Thursday (which I rarely do) because I had left my book on the kitchen table and needed something to read while I ate dinner. And that the zine convention was listed on the front cover...I couldn't go in the morning b/c I had to supervise at work, but I was there for the afternoon, and it was amazing. These were people who cared about Sassy magazine (before it sold out, I mean in terms of publishing quality) and I'd heard the librarian (with blue hair, jello blue, not granny blue) from Barnard speak before...perhaps when I heard Leonard Marcus speak for the first time in Chicago, at the American Library Association conference, that would have been 2005.

Back to the zine conference...there was one amazing moment, when someone asked about cataloging zines and there we were, looking at one of her MARC records, talking about 650s, and 655s (subject headings, genre headings) and I was in librarian HEAVEN.

Afterwards, I still had time before the Pitt Library School Library closed at five, so I browsed the bound periodicals. Found a bunch of cool articles. Which meant that my brain was not dead at five, and so I chose to go to the Sharp Edge for dinner, and after dinner, I sipped my water and composed a grocery list and then WENT grocery shopping.

(This is pretty amazing, folks. By the time Saturday evening comes, I am so brain dead I generally curl in a ball and watch TV)

Well, time to get ready for church. And, um, eat something. Ta!

OH, OH. But first, if you want, visit this link for a trip down mem'ry lane -- Anita Silvey spotlights The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes in her Almanac.

Sarah Louise goes to the cafe

2011-04-11T10:59:00.002-04:00

Apparently, I am not having luck with the e part of cafe. (Alt +0233 doesn't want to do its magic today.)

Learning, learning. I'm not going to fuss over it now, I'm actually writing this from a national chain cafe that has wireless!

Why, you ask, the exclamation point? Don't you do that all the time, SL?

Why no. This may be my first time...I'm pretty sure it is. We are experiencing Pittsburgh spring, which means 75 F by morning, 45 F by evening, showers with hail somewhere in between. It's why Channel 11 calls their weather forecast "Severe Weather." Since I live in a garret (read: third floor walk-up, attic of a 100 year old house with precious little insulation), the heat is abhorrent and today is NOT the day to be in my apartment, washing dishes. So I must find another occupation.

I've been thinking, as per usual. These days, my favorite subject to obsess over is grad school. Will I be in the Midwest, Texas, or the South? (Texas is South, but also a place unto itself.)

I am not naming school names on purpose, so please don't comment on them if you know where I'm talking about. I really really want to go to the Midwest, as the school in question is highly regarded in research...which is what I want to do.

I play a game with myself when I'm at work on the reference desk and it's quiet. What would it be like to live in x town, going to x school? So I've been researching the professors. What have they published lately, what projects are they interested in. Because apparently that is the most important component in getting into a particular school. Do your research interests match theirs.

All along, I was thinking Midwest, and then my main research interest changed. And then I found out how competitive PhD programs are in general, and this one in particular. And then I got scared and opened to the Southern schools (yes, including Texas.) I am not a warm weather lover, and our family is more a Northeast/Midwest family, so I hadn't really thought I wanted to change that. (A creature of habit, I am.)

The thing is, the more I try on other places, the more I want to go to the Midwest, and the more I am valuing the things studied there.

Learning for learning's sake seems somehow frivolous, to a daughter of a diplomat and a early elementary teacher, who are now both retired and advocating for the conservancy of monarch butterflies. Those are noble professions, with results that can be seen, after a few years, or decades. What is the tangible good of studying St. Nicholas magazine, which hasn't been published since the 1940s? But it is what I want to do. Digging, and digging more, makes me happy, as I find bits here, bits there.

And, I think, if I can get that coveted PhD, get an academic post, maybe my students will be the ones that will do the "practical" jobs. Maybe I will do something that will bear fruit in decades.

Following your bliss is scary.

(Oh, look, it's 11:17!)

Um, SL, yes, do you have to be somewhere?

No, not yet. But the home my parents owned for most of my life was 1117 "something" Avenue. And when ever it was 11:17, one of us would exclaim, it's 11:17! It's a silly thing, but it made us happy.

Outside, the clouds are moving across the sky. The rain isn't posted till the evening, but I can't believe it will wait that long, there feels like weather is in the air. To be prepared, I am not wearing my good shoes, they are inside my boots which are in the front seat of my car.

Back to research. While it seems frivolous, there is a reason why libraries exist, above doing preschool storytime. And if research is what makes me putter like a...puttering person, happy as a lark, and there are places I can do this...and my research will make me a scholar, which will in turn make me able to mold young minds...it's a lot to twist your mind around, a girl who saw library school as an opening to a profession, much like going to plumbing school makes you a plumber.

To go to school...to study? That's what undergrads do. That's what my English degree was for. But now I, single and needing to support myself, must find something more practical, which is why I became a librarian. But it turns out that I'd much rather be DOING research than helping others do research (although I enjoy that too.)

I need to bend my brain around the fact that it is possible my dissertation will never be a published book beyond the university library...that it will not aid the cure of Polio, solve an economic crisis, or save an endangered species.

But haven't the women I always admired been women who had doctorates? That's another post...I have somewhere to be, my alarm on my cell phone just went off.

As Kim at All Consuming says, MTC (more to come...)

"If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry."

2011-03-27T22:11:00.004-04:00

(Emily Dickinson)

There was a fire on the street over from mine. I didn't see the fire, just the fire engines, the wet pavement, and the police cars blocking my street.

And it's silly, but I've been just staying in the back room, where I can't see the flashing lights and tiptoeing over to the front room, to check in every so often.

A little bit ago, I tiptoed over. Seeing that all the police cars blocking the street were gone was not as comforting as seeing Max get out of his red Mazda.

I guess ex-boyfriends are good for something.

He'll put the trash cans out on sidewalk, and all will be well with the world.

"Weather forecast for tonight: dark."

2011-03-27T13:50:00.004-04:00

(George Carlin)

Today at church I learned from a physicist that it's important that we are at a dark corner of the Milky Way, which is one of the darkest galaxies. Dark allows us to see stars, and dark is also important for growth. Apparently we are one of the only galaxies still growing stars.

I thought about this, in reference to things I understand (read: not black holes). Tulips grow underneath the dirt before they break ground. Human babies gestate in the dark for hopefully 9 months before they see the light. Often a "dark night of the soul" is needed before someone hits a truth, something that brings them into the light.

Today was a convergence of sorts: not only was Michigan Sally in town (yay!) which took me to Bellefield, but a dear friend was in town for her brother's birthday, as were a couple who has moved to Guatemala. So not only did I get to see regular Bellefield faces that I would see any Sunday I showed up, I also got to see folks that I otherwise never see. During one of the songs, I cried. Did I ever think, that 17 year old me, that saw Bellefield and said, oh, maybe I'll go to church there on Sunday, that at 39 I would be returning to visit, still living in Pittsburgh, single, and contemplating a PhD? I didn't even want to be a *librarian* at 17.

The pastor who spoke has a PhD in physics, and he described a PhD as being tested to the point where there's no point in testing you in that subject again. He compared the Christian life as living under a kind professor who tries to guide you the way you should go.

So, two weeks of church in a row, that's good. (After 4 weeks off, due to first to sickness and then a ideological crisis.) I went to the Open Door last week, and had dinner after with Maddy. I'm taking my therapist's advice to go to the Open Door for a month and see if it's where I want to be. (A year ago, it wasn't, but things change, people change.)

When I showed up at the OD last week, the phrase came to my mind, "We're in the question and question portion of this life. No answers right now, just questions." So when people asked me how I was, that's what I said. And they got it. The OD is peopled with new parents, PhD students, MFA graduates...so they get that the questions sometimes don't go away, for a very long time.

I'm sick this weekend. I caught a virus which has had me "grounded" since Thursday afternoon, when, after a day of Summer Reading training with all my children's librarian peeps, I came home and slept for 3 hours. When I woke up with a sore throat, I thought, I guess this isn't just "daylight savings" tired. I took Friday and Saturday off work. I'd hoped to go in this afternoon, when I'd have the office to myself, but I'm still winded, and the work will wait. Somewhere between last night and this morning at church, I forgave myself. I was mad at myself for getting sick. I was mad at myself for losing my cool earlier this week. I was mad at myself for not knowing which church to go to.

And this weekend surprised me with some delights: I became friends with a twitter friend on FB, and got a friend request from another twitter friend. Then a woman who knew me sort of from Bellefield and later the OD, found me on twitter, and it turns out she knows some of my dearest twitter friends. (She now lives in rural PA, darn it, but she is closer than some of my twitter friends in Illinois, Iowa, and Oklahoma.)

AND at Thursday's training, I met up with a PhD candidate from Pitt, who already has a job after graduation at Simmons, proving that there ARE academic jobs out there. I have her email, and once I feel better, I'll shoot her a note to get together for coffee. She was thrilled to meet me, which is always a good sign.

As I write this, I'm listening to a tied Pens/Panthers hockey game. Tied is the norm, anymore, with the Pens. For ages, we just were losing tie games, but at least we got the point, and all of a sudden, we are winning, so we get two points. We don't have a playoff spot yet. Before the game, the awards were given, and Marc-Andre Fleury got the MVP award. And does he ever deserve it. He got another award, I can't remember what it was. It was strange not hearing Sidney Crosby, the Penguin's captain, get any of the awards, but he's missed so much of the season, hasn't played since January 5th due to a concussion early in the year, possibly from both the Winter Classic against the Washington Capitals on New Year's Day and the January 5th game with the Tampa Bay Lightening.

****

WE WON!! (Shootout, goals by Kovalev and Neal.)

And at 4:00 p.m., having been awake all day, I'm ready for a nap.

Things I'm not writing about...

2011-02-19T06:43:00.003-05:00

In high school, a rival school had a literary magazine called Erehwon. (Nowhere spelled backwards, which is a fancy pants reference to something.) Our literary magazine was called Silver Quill, to match the newspaper, which was Silver Chips, and the yearbook which was Silverlogue. (I had to reach under a pile of books by my bed to get the name of the yearbook.) The one I uncovered is 1987, the year after I joined the literary magazine.

In this magazine, the one from the rival school, I remember making a copy of a poem a girl had written. It went something like this. "I'm sorry that I haven't written any poetry. I've been busy doing homework." It went on, but this is going on twenty years, this memory. And the last line was something like, "I'm sorry that I've been too busy not living."

The gist, of course, being, that for some of us, living = writing.

Well, I've been too busy to write.

Too busy working, and watching Mary Tyler Moore (I'm on season six right now.)

Too busy to write about the fact that almost overnight I became a co-manager of Technical Services with my friend Jane, as our boss Eva left to join her husband in New Jersey, after the sale of their house. I have no more hours in the day, and my pay has stayed static except for the 2% at the beginning of the year which doesn't even cover the fact that our health insurance costs doubled or tripled. (Doctor visits doubled, prescriptions tripled.) And I do still work in the Children's department, which has actually been a saving grace, because when I need some air, I can say, I'm going over to Children's, and oftentimes, Maya, my excellent manager, will be in her office and I can sit and talk to her as I calm down.

Too busy to write about Charlotte Zolotow, an important editor and children's writer, a rewrite of a Master's program paper that I need to get published in a peer reviewed journal so I can impress upon the folks at PhD programs that I'm serious, and they want ME.

Too busy to write about the fact that I'm not studying for the GRE, because of course the year I need to take it, it has changed, AGAIN, and this time, big time. It's an hour longer, and they've taken away analogies, antonyms, and sentence completions. Which just means that the stuff they've kept will be more complex, because why else would they have added an hour AND given you an online calculator? (Yes, it's a computer test now. If you get easy questions right, they give you harder ones in that subject, upping your score. But if you get the easy questions wrong, you'll keep getting easy questions, which will sink your score, and possibly your boat.) The GRE is not as important for my program, the letters I write and the letters my recommenders write is what will get me in, but a good GRE score can be a tool for getting more scholarship money in some cases. And I know, if I went to college, I can pass the GRE, but I do need to prepare, and I do need to go over the math that I haven't done for at least fifteen years.

Too busy to write that all of my friendships are changing, again. It's the changing of the guards...Anna is in Russia now, so if I call her, I have to call her when it's a normal hour there (our time +8 hours) and know that she will keep me on the phone for a while, because, well, not many people call her. She loves it there, though. Sally in Michigan is acclimating to Michigan, so she's home less, she has folks over...so we have missed each other coming and going. But all of a sudden, Sally East End has a project involving taking books to Haiti, so she enlisted me to help her find appropriate kids books, so we're talking more. But I'm so tired these days that I don't want to work on relationships that aren't at least eight years old because I don't want to have to explain how I feel about things. Which means that I pretty much go to work and come home and read or watch Mary Tyler Moore. (Plus the fact that my schedule has always been best suited for friendships with stay at home moms, since I am home during the day a lot, and not available most evenings.)

Too busy to write that my sister is getting married!! Yes, my dear Bird has gotten herself an engagement ring and a mighty fine boy. The wedding is in August. (Yes, 2011.) I'm the maid of honor, so that has added to the stress too, as we try to figure out dresses and things. My sister is not one for chatting, and my mother has had other things on her mind, so I knew WHERE the wedding was five days before I knew WHEN it was. It's a Friday wedding, so I assume in the evening, but I don't actually have that information either. I had to ask my dad. Mom and Dad are in California right now. They spent a week traveling around, spending time with friends (had lunch with their future in-laws) and today they'll meet up with "the butterfly folks." My mother is big into Monarch butterfly conservation, and so after she went to a few workshops, they asked her if she'd help...and so she travels all over the country doing exactly that. Usually in February there is a trip to Mexico, but, well, things are a little dicey in that particular Central American nation, so they're visiting the Muir forests (of the huge redwoods) as that is where some butterflies spend the winter, the ones that don't go to Mexico.

As I go over this post, I realize I've just written the opposite of those Christmas cards that glow: "Our daughter just gave us TWINS! We love being grandparents!! Our son got married in Alaska, it was a beautiful ceremony at sunset, the seals were on the beach. Manny got a promotion this year, so we're moving to Hawaii. We'll miss all our friends in Manhattan, but it's an excellent opportunity for our youngest, who we've decided to home school. Did we mention that our son married a doctor? So while he builds his law firm, she'll be building her private practice..."

And all of a sudden it's quarter to eight and I need to get in the shower so I can get to work before nine. Say hello in the comments, I've missed you!!

Some things bear repeating.

2011-02-07T11:08:00.004-05:00

So this is just a reprise. I hate it when folks post a link with no context, so here's yours. I am in the throes of week 3 (the week before PMS, where your body starts to slow down and life is listless...)

And I get an email from this site, that a dentist from Allentown has spam commented on one of my posts. So I go and read the post, which linked to a previous post. (Yes, it's all about going back.)

And I found this gem, from October, 2006. I don't write like this anymore, I don't allow myself to be this vulnerable, or maybe, I'm just in a hard place where I am slogging through, step, next step, third step.

So I'll let my younger self teach me.

Like the Roach Motel...

2011-01-18T11:20:00.003-05:00

...stink bugs check in, but they never check out. Sans six dead stink bugs that just went into the trash.

A new year's resolution? Walk more, write more.

2010-12-29T14:35:00.002-05:00

Yes, I see how you might think that those are two separate resolutions but they are not. They are my morning ritual, and I miss them dearly.

Via twitter today, found this post about journaling, which breaks the process into levels, such that if you are timid, you can start with Level 1 first and then expand.

Happy Christmas!

2010-12-28T12:05:00.001-05:00

My mother and I spent the day together driving. She drove most of the way, I drove us from Waterworks (where we saw the Voyage of the Dawn Treader) to Trader Joe's. She spent the night, which meant a morning of cleaning and clearing. When she left, I gathered up the magazines I'd gotten out of the library for an article I had to write, and arranged this lovely birthday gift from Lilly.

Also, I learned today that a bloggy friend had a baby ten days ago!! We share a middle name (Louise) but it's because her mother's name is Sarah Louise as well.

Hurry Christmas, Hurry fast...

2010-12-22T16:37:00.003-05:00

(this is the advent devotional I wrote for our church's advent booklet.)

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned. (Read Isaiah 9:2-7)

Every year while on summer vacation, my night owl sister and I share a room. Inevitably I wake up before she wants to even think about morning, and I need to turn on the light to get dressed. So we share my sleep mask. I wear it at night, so my sister can read with a light on late into the night, and in the morning when I want to turn on the light, or open the drapes, I hand the sleep mask over to a groggy form that groans a thanks.

The darkness that Isaiah describes here is not a literal darkness. Sleepy Israelites aren’t waking up to a literal dawn, handing over sleep masks to those too tired to greet the sun. Instead, Isaiah describes people who have been living in the land of the shadow of death. As we read the verses that follow, we see that light is the first of many improvements. Not only can they see, but the light that dawned on their darkness has opened their lives. Each verse describes something better than the next. And in verse 6, a child is born. The poet Carl Sandburg said “a baby is the God’s opinion that the world should go on.” This child is not just ANY child, this is the Messiah, who carries special names: Wonderful Counselor, Prince of Peace. But none of these improvements could have happened in the dark. The light, first, was the catalyst for changes, after.

God of Light, show us the beginning of your wonderful plan, the plan that started with a baby, your son Jesus.

***

As far as Christmas preps go, I am SOOOO grateful there is a hockey game on tonight. First intermission: first load of laundry, drop something at Sally's parents' house. 2nd intermission, check on laundry. All the while, I will be listening to Mike Lange and packing for my mini mini vacation down to Virginia. I still have one person to shop for.

To bare or not to bare, that is the question

2010-12-15T08:45:00.003-05:00

This blog has always had a transparency, because I have a transparency.

Which might be part of why I haven't been writing as much, because I don't want to be that transparent.

I just sat and wrote about some things that happened a long time ago at Christmas. And I think I'll hold them in and ponder them in my heart some more.

But on this cold cold December day, know that I'm writing, and writing, and writing, and thinking of you as I write, as I spin my tales.

Stay warm, and stay in touch. And for heaven's sake, have a cupcake.

Advent(ures)

2010-12-09T15:31:00.004-05:00

Helen just stopped by to say "hello, long time no see." Well, I'll say hello...

Hi! We'll do bullets, b/c life has been CRA-ZEE ovah heah.

I'm writing an article for an academic journal. GAH. It's due Wednesday. I've been spending most spare moments researching/piecing bits of writing
Thanksgiving/Birthday (Forty minus one) was wonderful, the fam plus D, my sister's beau, came to visit me in da Burgh. We had turkey on the Gateway Clipper, which is a boat that takes you on all three Pittsburgh rivers. When dinner was over, there was dancing, I did the Electric Slide. My sister got a picture of my parents dancing to "Unforgettable." (Did I mention that this summer they celebrated 41 years of marriage?) I got pictures which maybe I'll post...
My sister gave me a "grown-up" watch for my birthday. By that I mean, it has the 12 at the top and dots where the rest of the numbers would be. My parents got me a Penguins Jersey (or the financing for one) which I have to pick out. More details forthcoming.
Today was the Children's Department Holiday potluck. There is beautiful snow on the ground everywhere and the way the hostess directed me was just breathtaking, through forests of bare trees with snow, like a picture book.
For the potluck, I made quiche. Yes, I'm cooking and baking again. And washing dishes...I've become kind of domestic again, after a 13 year hiatus!! And I'm losing inches ever so slowly. I haven't weighed myself because I don't want to see that I weigh the same. (I gained 30 pounds last year due to stress, not eating well, and not exercising, due to the departure of North Hills Sally who is now Michigan Sally)
It is winter here, my favorite season of the year.
I LOVE my new church. This past Sunday, we had a U2charist, which is a service that has Eucharist and all the songs are U2 songs. It's our second annual. Here's an article about my church!!
For my birthday, my brother got me Season 1 of Boy Meets World. I LOVE IT!! I watched that show on ABC's Friday night line up "TGIF" for just about the entire 7 year run.

This is the busiest weekend of the year, I think: I skipped Bible Study this morning to work on the article (although I have been back since I last wrote), I made quiche this morning for the potluck this afternoon, tomorrow is a neighborhood party (where you walk from house to house for Christmas food goodies), and Saturday after work, Lilly and I are going to the movies. Sunday it might REALLY snow, and if it does, I'll write at home, and if it doesn't I may spend some time at the graduate school looking at articles. I haven't been to a movie since Thanksgiving. I know! And today was the first day in eons that I watched breakfast television...which included old episodes of the Pink Panther...um, I had no idea it was a cartoon first. (But so very awesome!!)

Hopefully soon I'll have brain cells enough to write something that has wit, but this will get you updated for now.

My car passed inspection and other miracles

2010-10-27T18:47:00.004-04:00

Yes, it's true. For what is possibly the first time in my car-owning life, about sixteen years, my car didn't need ANY work whatsoever for the yearly inspection that PA requires. Woohoo! (I realize woot is cooler, more hip, but woohoo has more of a party in the pronunciation.)

This vile month is almost over, just FOUR MORE DAYS til my cousin's birthday (on November 1.) Her birthday starts the birthday season as far as I'm concerned. I have friends with birthdays in early November, and then mine is at the end of the month. (Thanksgiving Sunday.) Then my brother's, 5 days before Christmas, then my sister's, 2 days after New Years. And then of course, Christmas. I love the holidays. Not something you'd think you'd hear from a gal who worked Fox Books for 7 retail seasons, but I do. Halloween does NOTHING for me. Case in point: our staff Halloween party was Monday. I was baffled as to why the decorations were still up until I realized that Halloween the holiday is still a few days away. Haven't decided what I'm doing yet...I generally do not stay at home because, well, third floor walk-up?

The U2 tickets arrived the other day. I have put them in a "safe place." HaHaHaHa. I should probably put them in my underwear drawer, that's where I keep things like my passport. The concert isn't until JULY.

Lilly and I are going resale shopping on Sunday--half price at the Designer Days, which is run by the National Jewish Women Organization, or some such. They had a thrift shop in Oakland when I was in college, so I got a lot of my early college clothes there. Later, their thrift shop moved Dahntahn, and I got an elegant tea pot for East End Sally's wedding gift. (We used to drink tea all the time, so for a while, I only got her tea related gifts.) Now their thrift shop is in Swissvale and I've never been. But their resale shop is in Shadyside, and I've many a nice piece from there.

(See? Sunday isn't Halloween, it's the day Lilly and I are going shopping.)

Already I can feel the gloom of October unpeeling its wretched fingers from my life. Soon, my dearies, soon.

Today I wrote cards: one for Marian, a hi, I miss you, and one for Michigan Sally's birthday, which was a few weeks ago. (I talked to her on her birthday.)

Lunch was with the ladies that lunch, to celebrate two birthdays in our department. I had lasagna, yum.

Well, off I go...I'm going to a Grease sing-a-long. It's been ages since I've gone out in the evening, and it sounds super-fun. Laundry can wait till tomorrow morning, which probably means I'll skip Bible Study again. We'll get there.

these posts don't write themselves...

2010-10-26T10:03:00.003-04:00

so I have at least 3 posts in "draft." A lot is going on these days. Right now, it's moist outside and sometimes a quick downpour (which I thankfully escaped, by mere moments).

I'm here, I've increased the Zoloft, and I'm spending WAYYYYYYYYYYYYY too much time watching TV, DVDs (SATC, season 4, "My one and only," and bits of CBS last night, even the end of Hawaii 5-0.)

My car is being poked and prodded. Hopefully it passes inspection without any extra work. (Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease).

Update: Anna moves to Moscow tomorrow. (Well, she'll be on a plane for most of tomorrow, with her two children, husband, and cats.) I broke up with Xander via email (yes, I know, despicable, but apparently I cleaned out my colon every time I had a date with this guy.) (Sorry for the TMI.) Talk about bad chemistry.

I will get through this, I ALWAYS ALWAYS do. But if you have any corny jokes or cupcakes, leave them in the comment box.

kisses, SL

How to write a political ad in Pittsburgh

2010-10-18T17:39:00.006-04:00

Note: I am not endorsing or maligning any opponent, but merely pointing out how ads are written here in SW PA.

If your opponent is rich, point that out. If he's a millionaire, even better.

If your opponent has been in Washington, and you haven't, point out how corrupt Washington is, and how we don't want to send your opponent back. Mention Washington and corrupt as many times as possible.

Talk about privatizing social security. Talk about Medicare, grandchildren, taxes, and health care.

Highlight a particular failure that your opponent has made. Get negative quotes from newspapers, government officials, especially if that official is in your opponent's party, and if the failure has cost money, compare it to the cost of "BOTH stadiums" (Mentioning sports always helps anything in Pittsburgh.) (When will library fundraisers learn this??)

Use the phrase "back room deals."

If your opponent says something bad in a clip, play the clip twice.

Get the "average voter" to say, "I usually vote for [insert your opponent's here] party, but this year, I'm voting for [insert your name here], because [insert your opponent's name here] just doesn't get it."

Use the phrase "[insert your opponent's name here] just doesn't get it" as much as possible.

Mention Paris Hilton. Mention China. Mention China again. Mention illegal immigrants.

Point out the unemployment numbers that have gotten worse since we sent so and so to Washington. Use pictures of empty streets.

Make sure you vote on Tuesday, November 2. Start now researching who you can vote for. Talk to people you trust. Don't wait until November 1. Plan when you will hit the polls. Before work? After work? On your lunch break? Even if there is no one you want to vote for, show up. Represent. Write in someone that you think could do the job better.

And above all, remember that the more local the vote, the more that person may have an effect on your daily life. So don't forget city council, school board, and other local officials.

it's like the feet are little psychiatrists...

2010-10-17T21:35:00.005-04:00

(Terri Guillemets)

After a decadent lunch at at the Frick Cafe, Lilly and I walked for almost 3 hours through Frick Park. (We stopped twice to sit.) It was nice to just walk and talk. We solved all the world's problems. (I wish.) But as soon as I dropped Lilly off at her apartment, I panicked. Should I go grocery shopping? Should I go home? Should I take a nap?

Tomorrow I have lunch with Anna, who is leaving for Russia in two weeks. And Friday was Sally's (formerly of the North Hills) birthday. I have been crying. For the loss of my friend to Michigan, where she is thriving. For the loss of my friend to half-way around the world and more than six time zones. She'll be on her own adventure and I'll still be here, with the same old me, in the same old apartment, with the same old job. I'm working on thriving, I can see it ahead of me, but I'm not there yet. I called Sally Friday morning to wish her happy birthday and she was chirping like a happy (thriving) bird.

With Marian still not back at work (although two of us at work had dreams that she had returned) and Pat eating in the kitchen with all the brown-baggers, (not out, like she used to always do), I went out alone to lunch on Friday. I have been doing that, for the past month or so, taking a book. Sitting there, in Sally's favorite Chinese restaurant, I felt more alone than I had in a very long time.

I don't know if I'll see Anna again after tomorrow--she's so busy finishing up getting ready for their move. And I will really miss her.

So I think the panic that I felt after dropping Lilly off was that for a few hours I had had a reprieve. Someone to shorten my journey with a story. I wasn't alone. A day where I wasn't thinking about Anna leaving and although we did talk a little bit about Sally in Michigan, Lilly and I talked about other things. We solved other problems.

I'm working through some BIG things right now: being healthy about my eating, being healthy about my money, being healthy about relationships (men and women), still working through energy issues with the subsiding Shingles. (I'm so sick of going to bed early and STILL sleeping until at least 8 almost every morning.) Getting acclimated to a new church. Figuring out my question for my PhD. (So much closer now.)

And guess what? Even though you might think I shouldn't be, I'm hard on myself. I expect nothing less than perfection. And when I fail at that, I coddle myself with TV, or DVDs, or computer time. And all that coddling means that I don't have time to do simple things around the house like dishes, bills, and laundry. It's a vicious, vicious cycle, one that brings on endless shame. (I have kept three geraniums alive since early summer.)

My therapist can't see me tomorrow (she's taking an all day class), and disc 3 of season 6 of SATC is unbalanced, causing whirring noises and sometimes stoppage of play. It's funny what can derail an otherwise wonderful day. Oh, and Catherine is sick, so I haven't stopped by to see her and the twins all week. Writing it down does help to see where I've been unbalanced.

This too shall pass. This too shall pass. This too shall pass. And inside my head, a voice screams, "But WHEN?"

And then I feel ashamed, because I had a really nice day. And the cycle repeats until I'm tired enough to go to bed.

Well, I think I've done enough work here, probably more than I would have in tomorrow's therapy session. Lilly has recommended G. Roth's book, Appetites, and I think I'll get my hands on a copy tomorrow if I can.

mtc.

A counter community...

2010-10-14T09:17:00.007-04:00

It's one of those days where I have many thoughts swirling, and seeing as this is the place I am right now, I'm going to share the swirl with you.

The title comes from a quote from Inward/outward, which so many of my friends have followed for years and I only recently hooked into. It's a cool quote/passage every day, run by a church in DC.

But they were talking about counter as in opposite, and because words are fun and can be used to mean many things (don't you love that?) I read it differently, because I know of a counter community. A real one.

The place where Marian and I eat lunch (and where I eat often in her absence, which has added up to months now) is a counter community. It is a lunch counter, in the shape of a U, sort of, and we all are aware of each other. It's pretty much the same crowd every day, although, come to think of it, John hasn't been there the past couple of times I've been there, and the other John didn't go for lunch yesterday, just to pick up a newspaper. The cashier saved one for him, she often does that when that day's paper is selling quickly--it was a big day in da Burgh yesterday, 50 years since Maz hit one out of the ballpark. (The Pirates won the pennant in 1960, and people show up every year at the place where there is a tiny piece of the former wall of the former ball field, because it's a very Pittsburgh thing to do.)

Anyways, sometimes the guy who is sometimes my mechanic is there, and sometimes this guy who is the spitting image of John McCain, and there's a loud guy named John, and while Marian knows all of the waitresses names, I know Andrea. And sometimes Doc realizes that there are "library girls" eating, and he gets Andrea to take our bills, so we leave tips for our waitresses but get a free lunch. There are varying degrees of "how we feel about that" from "that's Doc" to "free lunch!" to "how embarrassing." But all this to say, we are a community. A loose one, but a community nonetheless.

**********

The thought I had as I went from my kitchen sink with my breakfast to my bed which is also my couch, my dining area, my computer "table," my TV chair...I know, I need to diversify my life, my furniture, but right now I'm just in "get by until things improve" mode. Anyways, I was thinking about the councilman in Texas who did a "it gets better" speech. (It gets better is now code for if you are a gay teen, don't kill yourself, there's so much life ahead of you.) And I watched it, and cried. And the thing of it is this: I'm not a gay teen, but there was so much that spoke to me. About how we are each different somehow and often teased or feel alone for that different piece and sometimes it feels like an insurmountable mountain, to get past whatever it is. But what this guy was saying was, LIFE is worth it. And I think that's something that everyone can hold onto.

It's been a pretty dark week in Sarah Louise Land. One of my friends has been unreachable for months, one of my friends is moving to Moscow (yes back in the former USSR), and Sally is still in Michigan. Xander is either really clueless or doesn't like me and doesn't know how to tell me, and I haven't seen Lilly in weeks (save for a hi/bye at a conference we both attended last Friday.) I did dream last night that Marian was back at work. She was wearing a zippered hoodie, blue, and there she was, back at work. Almost as if she'd never gone, but the truth is, she's been gone for months. She doesn't even know about Xander! (Who, the next time he contacts me, I'm either sending him a "dear John" email or telling him in person the next time I see him.) I still like him, but I can't be with someone who has no mechanism for telling me he likes me. So, one of two things could happen: he'll back off and that will be the end, or he'll scratch his head and say, oh, that's not what I meant to convey. Then there's always that third option, option x. But if I've learned ANYTHING from SATC, it's that people are so often in different quadrants and then they aren't. And some people move on and some people keep coming back.

I'm just meandering through this...and also playing hooky to Bible Study this morning. I need some hooky time. I work from 1-9, and I need to get some ducks in a row. Instead of laundry last night, I finished the book about Mark Zuckerberg and the creation of Facebook. Instead of doing my pills, I watched the shows I normally watch, Modern Family and Cougar Town. Cougar Town surprised me...I thought it was going to be this dumb show where formerly Monica from Friends sleeps around after her divorce. Which I think it might have been. But by the time I started watching it, middle of last season, it was much more. There's some real depth there. If I try to explain it, it will sound frivolous, but it isn't. So there. This is my blog...and I'll write what I want to.

And when I called my momma this morning, she talked. Which is rare, my mother doesn't just go on and on and tell me about her life. I wanted to tell her about my life, but that's okay, I was glad to listen. Have I mentioned lately how much I love my momma? She's the best. She really really is.

Well, in a minute, the clock will strike ten (literally--the seminary down the street has one of those clocks that rings on the hour) and I need to get some laundry in and find some prescriptions and take them to the drug store. There's the bell now.

mtc, SL

oh, and I didn't even mention the miners. What joy there was watching 20/20 last night, the coverage of the miners being released from the earth.

Judgy-wudgy wuzz a bear...

2010-10-10T22:21:00.007-04:00

(Stanford to Carrie, SATC Season #5)

This is the post I wrote in my morning shower...and forgot by the time I got to the laptop.

In my early 20s, I made bad choices. I also had bad boundaries, and this led to friendships where people judged me. So now that I am in my late 30s, making better choices, I am afraid that I'm still going to get judged. And all of a sudden, I have people who are saying, "I see what you're saying and I feel the same way," or, "why don't you look at it this way?" NOT "You are making a huge mistake."

But it takes a long time for that voice, that "You are making a HUGE mistake," to go away. Before I open certain emails, I take a deep breath. I have a guy friend who is good at giving advice. He says it's in his Y chromosome. And because I have chosen well, my friends and my boundaries, the advice he's giving me is the same advice I'm giving myself. (But isn't it nice to have someone else tell you that you're on the right road?) Years ago, my mother said to me, "you are making good decisions." I wrote it down and put it up on my fridge. Maybe I need to find that paper or write up a new one.

Had coffee with Xander. I think we were having an off day. I didn't like him that much. And there was a lot of us not talking. But he is a great listener, and he knows his books and his hockey. And I may have stepped on his toes. Because he may have stepped on mine. But I still think he's cute. When I got to Borders, he was sitting there, reading, wearing a Sidney Crosby #87 t-shirt. I walked up to him and said, "Hey, Crosby."

And the beat goes on.

ten ten ten OR diez diez diez OR zehn zehn zehn

2010-10-10T09:46:00.003-04:00

I'm feeling playful this morning. Is it because I woke up and the clock that at first look read 10 a.m. actually read 7:57? (How I adore my old fashioned analog clocks.)

Is it because I showered before I watched CBS Sunday morning? (Which means I have a chance to be on time to church)

Is it because the Chilean miners are almost free? Maybe Wednesday!!

Is it because last night I had the chance to see a movie in a dark room, the chance to laugh and cry with strangers? (Life as we know it, the movie, not the TV show.)

Is it because after the movie, I talked to my mom in the car in the dark parking lot? Like a lot of mother daughter conversations, this one had to do with food and poop.

And after all this, I went to the grocery store, bought myself some flowers from Ecuador, raced to the other grocery store to buy almond milk (which by the way, yuk) and got home in time to putz around online until the first skit for SNL.

Yesterday was one of those days...a morning of too many pink Kleenexes being thrown off the cliff called my bed. Coffee and peppermint patties. A morning of self-medicating with Google searches. In the afternoon, I buckled down and worked on catalog errors. (This is even less and more fun than it sounds, believe me. And requires a lot of gray matter.) And by 4:30, I realized that if I didn't have a movie to go see, bad things might happen. And having spent the morning with too many pink Kleenexes and Google, I decided to search Yahoo movies.

I am grateful, that on the brink of my 39th birthday (a month and a half away) I am remembering what I can do to make me happy. Which includes CBS Sunday morning, chick flicks, feeding myself real food, talking to my mom, and blogging. I get to see Xander at 3 this afternoon. Still working out if we are friends or something more...but he's a great guy and I want to take the time to figure it out.

So...if I want to be on time to church, I better figure out what I'm wearing. Tootles. Enjoy this day, it won't come around for another 100 years. And it won't be on a Sunday for even longer than that.

"guest starring Chris Noth"

2010-09-27T19:18:00.002-04:00

--my favorite opening credit for either SATC or The Good Wife.

Seeing as SATC is my comfort candy TV, I often crave a particular episode. One time, I needed to cry and so I watched the episode where Miranda's mom dies and Samantha can't cry.

Today I craved the one where Carrie meets Big at the restaurant by the lake and he tries to kiss her and she steps away and they both fall in the lake instead.

For future reference, it's the one called "Cock a doodle do!" where Carrie has "roof chickens," aka roosters.

*****

I was away for the weekend. Somehow the topic of immigrants came up, and my brother said that in a paper he was reading about Honduras, immigrants don't want to let on that they aren't doing so great in the U.S. So they lie. Which perpetuates the myth that everything is great here, and so people emigrate with misconceptions.

Are you away if you go home? And where is home? I leave Pittsburgh to go to Northern Virginia where my parents and siblings live. So I often say I'm going home (to Northern Virginia) and then I'm going home, to Pittsburgh.) I have a fortune from a fortune cookie that says "Home is where the heart is." So, I have two homes; my home with all my stuff, near my job and my friends, my church, and my home where my parents live and I get to see my siblings and attend my parent's church.

I had dinner with Kristina, a woman I knew 28 years ago, when we were girls in Honduras. Her dad was with the Justice Dept, mine was with State. It was not a time when the U.S. was well liked, and we reminisced about things like, remember when terrorists bombed the power plant on July 4th? It's a part of my life that I never really talk about, because there's no one my age to talk to about it. But all of a sudden, I was sitting across from someone who knew who I meant when I said, "I had such a crush on . . ." And I could say things like, "they lived on the street the school was on, do you remember them?"

I spent today mostly sleeping. I have been trying to keep food in...the spicy Thai food I had Saturday night didn't mix well with the minor dehydration I got from being in 95 degree weather on Saturday at the book festival (at least that's my theory.) Then I tried to have raspberry (with seeds) jam on my toast today and I think that was the kicker. I've been eating toast and rice cereal (lunch and dinner).

Oh, look at the time...well anyways, it's been nice chatting with you.

I turn on my computer. I wait patiently as it connects. I go online. My breath catches in my chest until I hear 3 little words, "You've got mail."

2010-09-22T17:02:00.008-04:00

(Meg Ryan in the 1998 film, You've Got Mail.)

I've been involved in an email relationship since the early part of August. It's not quite like the movie You've Got Mail, because I know the guy's name, what he looks like (cute) and I've actually been out in fresh air with him twice. (Also, we do not work in sparring bookstores.) But most of our interaction is via email.

How did I meet this guy, you ask? Through an online dating service. Yes, I went on a second date with a guy with whom I had zero chemistry and thought, well, maybe he's a "nice guy," I hear that happens sometimes. (I know of at least two women who slogged through at least 3 bad dates with the men they ended up marrying.) So I Googled "dating a nice guy" and a quiz came up, "Could you date a nice guy?" Well, yes, it turned out that I could, but in order to find that out, I had to join the dating service that sponsored the quiz. I created a user name and a password and I got my results. I was a "sweetheart" and compatible with "nice guys."

And a few days later, I got an automated email from one of the founders saying you should add a picture, answer some questions. It was a boring Sunday afternoon, so I uploaded the picture of me next to the Stanley Cup and answered some questions. I even looked at the profiles of some guys that the site thought I might match up with.

And a few days after that, I got matched with Xander (not his real name.) We emailed for about a week and then he asked me out for coffee. We share an interest in the author Malcolm Gladwell, the Harry Potter books, and movies. Finally, I have found someone who watches the movie before reading the book.

It's kind of fun and kind of scary. I do not have a lot of great dating experience under my belt, so my neurotic side comes out to taunt me a lot. Fortunately, I have amazing friends who remind me that I'm not dating those men right now, I'm dating THIS one. Who seems incredibly laid back, nice, respectful.

(I probably will not be blogging too much about this because of respect, privacy, and boundaries.)

What I'm discovering is that my encyclopedic knowledge of SATC comes in handy. Anything that could ever happen to me has happened either to one of the girls (Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, or Miranda) or one of the writers. I'm not alone, this is not new, this has happened to someone else!!

So that's what's new in the life of Sarah Louise. What's new for you?

Ugly Betty therapy...

2010-09-02T09:26:00.003-04:00

So...I'm in the week where I bump into things and I'm grumpy and I'm at work but not necessarily getting a lot done. Yes, it's Week 4. (Gabrielle, I love you!!)

Day 23 to the end of cycle
Today’s hormonescope: Week 1 and Week 2 was full of energy and motivation. This week? Not so much. As estrogen and testosterone plunge, they bring down pep and momentum, making it harder to find the inspiration to work, clean or study. You will, however, be able to shop, eat ice cream and watch TV with the greatest of ease.

Today is Thursday, the day I work from 1-9, so I am allowing myself to watch the last two episodes of Ugly Betty.

I'm crying because it's all dramatic, but it's giving me an outlet, I'm getting some catharsis.

(excuse me, I'm having a moment...)

I have a post brewing, but I wanted to write this short bit. I am proud of all of you, dear readers, and I hope you have a moment to take care of yourself too, because you deserve it.

****
In other news, the house we stayed in on vacation was completely uninspiring, everything was from Ross or TJ Maxx so I hardly have a single photo. (The lake was the same, so even though it was be-gorgeous, I didn't take any new pix.) I'll be relying heavily on FB photos from my dad and siblings.

I have a new phone that I'm going to return. It is too heavy, it doesn't get all my messages, I cannot figure out how to use it, and it's uncomfortable for talking. I have half a mind to return it, get the latest Nokia for show and continue using my pink phone that I adore for the next two years. Yes, texting will still be a bear, but at least I'll have more than 100 characters per message.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have the rest of the last episode of Ugly Betty to watch. Where are my pink Kleenex?

As Kim would say, MTC (more to come)

"Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection..."

2010-07-31T20:11:00.004-04:00

Yesterday I went to visit Marian the Librarian. I took her a green pen that I'd purchased at our favorite lunch counter at the local pharmacy. (Yes, just like out of the fifties, we adore it.) This was not just any green pen, it was a green pen with a moppet top and when you jiggled a lever, the moppet top sprung off the end of the pen, tethered by a thin green elastic.

She loved it. As we sat there on her sofa, talking, she played with it, like I knew she would, wondering at the sheer silliness of the mechanics. I love that about Marian, that she has a childlike love for silly things. This is a woman, I recall, who bought clothes for her many WebKinz, back in the day.

I spent almost two hours with her, and she was animated, she talked, I talked, it was like old times. But when I left, I knew it wasn't like old times, she still has far to go, and so do I. She has a lot of crap to work on, and I do too. And she's not coming back to work tomorrow. And Sally isn't moving back from Michigan. I need more people in my life.

Summer is an especially hard time--folks taking vacations, spending time with their families, and oh, yeah, there was that bout of SHINGLES.

This week I peaked on Wednesday. I saw a million Cadillacs everywhere (my secret good luck charm) and I was going out to dinner with the French teacher for the second time, this time to a neighborhood Thai restaurant.

What was it like, Sarah Louise?

It was a bit like having dinner with Larry King on steroids. If I talked about the library, he wanted to know every detail about weeding books. And damaged books. And what? Classics get weeded too? I have no idea if we'll go out again, but I know this: he is a nice guy. And I've never dated one of those. So we're in uncharted territory...

How did I determine he was a nice guy? I used my deductive skills, realized he might be, and then Googled "dating a nice guy." (Ever the librarian.)

This is what I tweeted that night: no clue. not a clue. not a single solitary clue. Well, let's say I've heard stories. #cryptictweet

(The stories are of women who weren't really sure about the guy until at least a month in. One stuck around because the guy had season tickets to the Steelers. Which is not a shallow reason, if you're from Pittsburgh. She's now married and owns a home with said guy.)

And my mother? It took eight years for her to warm up to my dad. Marian said, and you're worrying about two dates?

So who knows? Well, I know one thing. I have laundry that is probably ready to be flipped down in the basement. I need clean clothes BADLY.

Ta!

Tomorrow, I love you tomorrow, you're always a day away....

2010-07-28T23:07:00.003-04:00

My heart melted when they showed an archival black and white clip of Paul McCartney singing "Yesterday" a song I knew by heart before I knew what it meant--I was 7.

My therapist has goaded me to get to bed at night, and though I have much to write about and process, I want health more.

So, until the morrow,

Sarah Louise

(who will tell you about this bizarre thing called the non-date with low chemistry.)

Anger management and pieces of magazines, scotch tape and contact paper

2010-07-27T12:02:00.007-04:00

I don't want to admit that I'm angry.

At Shingles for screwing up my summer.
At Sally for moving away (although I'm pretty much over that.)
At my body, for getting sick and gaining weight (two separate events.)
At myself, for so many things.

I don't want to admit that this anger caused my back to spasm yesterday while I was creating floor space in my bedroom.

I don't want to admit that this morning I sobbed (keened?) on the phone to Sally, blew my nose loudly, and somehow my back felt better. Not perfect, but better than "I must lie down with my legs elevated for the rest of the morning" or take large doses of narcotics.

But all these things are true.

What else is true? I am so artistically blocked that I wasn't able to start a collage, after discussing how much I loved making them with Sally and deciding that's what I would spend my morning doing.

I don't want to admit that the only collaging I did today was finding old collages and attaching them to my walls, but I will admit that I like the effect. And maybe, just maybe, seeing old collages will inspire me to do more.

I think I'm having Thai with the French/Russian teacher tomorrow night. Confirmation has not been established. MEN!!! (And seriously, a man at his age, who has never been married? Probably not looking for a relationship. But then again, am I looking for one? I'm looking for a friend, I know that much.)

So much for a Tuesday morning. Enjoy the pictures.

I remember being sad/mad when I made this one.

I think this one looks like Cuileann, though I didn't know her when I made it.

I made this one a few weeks or months ago.

The final effect on my white white wall. I like it.

Toe stubbing and other events of the day...

2010-07-19T20:48:00.002-04:00

When I was in college, the week before graduation, I broke my toe by falling out of bed.

Which meant I had to have two of my toes wrapped around each other so that the broken one could heal, since you can't get a cast for a broken toe any more than you can get a cast when you break your tailbone. (Interesting--I seem to have only broken bones that don't require casts...)

I had to buy slip-on shoes at Roses, the local version of Walmart, a size bigger than my feet. I think I paid five dollars for them. And so in my graduation picture, the one where the Dean of the College hands me my diploma, you also see my feet, wearing hideous white canvas slip-on shoes a size too big. Therefore, I hate my graduation picture. (This was before digital cameras and easy cropping.)

Today I stubbed my toes twice. Both times were while I was a patron at the Edgewood Library, so I couldn't scream, just mutter obscenities under my breath. Right now, I have two ice cubes in a tiny bag sitting on the little toe of my right foot. Something tells me Tylenol would be a good idea too. And I wonder if my toe is broken again.

(After examination, I think probably not, but it is swollen, and the toenail portion HURTS.) Thank God for ice.

But if stubbing my toe was the worst thing that happened to me today, I'd say I'm doing pretty well.

Here are some of the good things:

My psychiatrist actually remembered who I was and informed me that one reason why I might have missed the pain portion of Shingles is that I'm currently taking one of the drugs they give people who suffer from Shingles-related pain. Woot! Score one for psych drugs!!
I went to Ritters and had fried green tomatoes and a tuna melt. I read On Writing Well, my current "restaurant book" but also eavesdropped. Did you know that the Mortuary school here in Pittsburgh is the best one in the nation? One of the waitresses at Ritters goes there. To describe a Ritter's waitress: a dash of spunk, a dash of grump, and a healthy portion of sweetheart. Sort of like hard candy with goo in its core.
After my early bird special, I called my parent's house and got my dad. We talked for a while. How I love that man. He mostly listened. (Sometimes, though, he starts to talk and you cannot get off the phone. It's kind of cute...)
I got an email! From a guy I had coffee with a few months ago! He wants to try that Thai place I told him about! That's all I'm saying! But if I wasn't nursing my toe and it wasn't hot hot hot in here, I might dance a jig!

(You realize the exclamations are only because I hardly know the guy so he doesn't really have any flaws yet, any annoying qualities. He's just this cute guy!)

I went to the Edgewood Library, one of my favorite libraries (toe stubbing aside). I met Rachel, who graduates from library school next week, and I read magazines, something I always say I'm going to do. It was so nice to BROWSE. Also, Rachel put a book about the steps of Pittsburgh on hold for me, because I was wearing my StepTrek* shirt.

On the way home (sorry, the bullets were getting to me), I thought, I need blueberries for tomorrow's breakfast and a microwave dinner for tomorrow's dinner. I had two options, the Co-op or Trader Joe's. I knew TJ's would have what I needed, and probably cheaper than the Co-op, but it was about to storm so I turned onto Meade Street. Of course a tiny box of organic local blueberries costs a small fortune and the microwave dinner is almost double what I'd pay at TJ's. But as I'm paying, I hear my name, and it's Sheila, a woman I work with at the polls 2x a year. I hadn't seen her in forever, so we sat and talked, waiting out the storm. (Sheets of rain. Buckets of water on the sidewalks.)

She's doing census work, so as I sit down, she collates papers into envelopes. I tell her about Shingles, she tells me about her new car (a used Toyota Corolla). She's going to England for two weeks. (Her husband, after 10 years of marriage, is still a subject of the Queen.) I imagine they'll be there to visit family.

The storm stops, we walk outside to our respective cars, I drive home, take the garbage cans from the curb back to the side of the house, and move my car a little forward so that I can open my passenger's side door. And who pulls up behind me? Max, the man on the first floor (who I dated, eons ago.) Guess where he was for those two weeks we brought in his mail? England and France with the chorus he does accompanying work for.

As I went upstairs, sorted laundry to do a load, I thought, my evening was so well-timed. (Well-timed seems like such a boring word, I want a word like kairos.**) If I hadn't left the library right when I did because of my stubbed toe, if I hadn't turned onto Meade St., if I hadn't taken the time to move the trash cans from the curb, I would have missed talking to Sheila, I would have missed talking to Max.

My English teachers always said I needed help with the conclusions to my essays. I guess not much has changed in twenty years...

________________
*StepTrek is this really cool urban hike that happens in October on the South Side Slopes, which is covered with steps. There's a whole history of steps in Pittsburgh, which, there would have to be, there are so many hills. I've done the StepTrek three times, and today I was wearing the t-shirt for 2006.

**kairos is a Greek word for time. Whereas chronos is chronological time, kairos is a word meaning the opportune time, or the acceptable time. It was a word loved by Madeleine L'Engle so much that she named one of her books An Acceptable Time. She talks about chronos and kairos a lot in her book on art called Walking on Water.

the one where Sarah Louise goes to Goodwill...

2010-07-17T22:14:00.004-04:00

It is a truth universally accepted that if one increases eating and reduces exercise, one will no longer fit in one's favorite clothes.

(It could happen to you...) Yes, it happened to me. I gained approximately 30 lbs this year. It crept up on me, as I wear a lot of dresses (no waist) low cut jeans (doesn't hit the waist) and don't have a reliable full length mirror.

But with summer on the scene, and no shorts that fit, and both jeans that do fit are in dire need of laundering (and I don't really like the one pair that fits) I decided a trip to Goodwill was in order.

It took me three trips to the dressing room, but I came home with some clothes that look nice on me and make me feel pretty. I know I will lose the weight as I get back into my walking routine, but for now, to have something that fits who I am this moment, well, I feel pretty.

What I got:

a green plastic bowl to replace the blue plastic bowl I broke trying to break an ice chunk earlier this summer, 99 cents.
a diorama of sorts with two blue roses, just pretty, a dollar fifty.
a jewelery box, to replace the one I re-purposed when I re-did my bathroom, leaving some of my jewelery in decorative stationery boxes, two dollars.
a Melodie Beattie book, two dollars
Two pairs of shorts, six dollars
a pair of capris (a capri?), three dollars
a Liz Claiborne golf shirt, four dollars
a pair of jeans that doesn't make me look like a cow, six dollars
a dress that made me take my hair down from my hair barrette and admire that girl in the mirror, priceless.

And knowing that I had the energy to work 5 hours and then shop for forty five minutes after driving for almost an hour (I prefer the Cheswick Goodwill), that was worth it, to know that I have energy. My schedule for working next week is more back to normal, but I'm trying to not over load my circuits, so to speak.

Wondering if I have any readers. I need to get a page counter again.

Tomorrow evening, it's off to a free concert with Roseanne Cash. I'm going with a guy from work...I think he's more excited about the prospect of going with me, whereas I'm excited to have someone to go with to the concert. I consulted my father and brother. My brother: you have nothing to worry about. My dad: laughed, knowingly. It was a good excuse to call my brother, though.

Sounds like heat thunder outside my window. I'm getting hungry, time for the evening popcorn fix.

One of these days, I'm going to have to see if the bathing suit still fits...but not tonight.

Calling it a night...

2010-07-14T23:28:00.003-04:00

Listening to The Carrie Diaries by Candace Bushnell in the car these days. It is bringing up old wounds from high school, but also helping me to look at them objectively, knowing that someone else (Carrie!) went through some of the same crap (or similar) and lived to tell the tale. I like to think we would have been friends.

Tonight I am melancholy--La Shingles is moving away and what we seem to have left is ennui and a lack of enthusiasm for living life outside my apartment. I want to nest, I want to organize, I want to read, I want to watch Ugly Betty (or the Wednesday ABC line-up). I do not want to face work, where Marian is not (she's on leave), where my one boss is not (husband having surgery), where my other boss is (her house hasn't sold yet.)

This was supposed to be the summer of flea markets and yard sales and farmer's markets. Of changes at work. Instead, it has been the summer of Ugly Betty, Trader Joe's, and sleeping. Now that I'm back at work, I'm working a little every day and yes, even on Saturdays and Sundays so that I don't use up all my vacation time. And I don't have any weekend plans, anyways.

(Listen to me. I am a regular 38-year-old cry baby.) (Or rather, don't listen...there's got to be someone blogging something more positive than this.) I feel like all the Psalms where David cries out to God and says, my flesh is like ashes! (Except that by the end of 18 or 118 verses, he comes out and says, but through it all, I praise the Lord.) I'm not there yet. I trust God that I will be, that somewhere, someday, over the rainbow, there will be lemon drops and I will feel like Sarah Louise again, the one who goes to work 35 hours a week and does fun things too. (So i guess I can do a bit of David coming around at the end of 118 verses.)

Soundtrack for this post:

I won't last a day without you (The Carpenters) "when there's no getting over that rainbow, when my smallest of dreams won't come true...I won't last a day without you."
Somewhere over the rainbow "if bluebirds can fly over the rainbow, why oh why can't I"
Deliver Me: (the David Crowder version) All of my life
I've been in hiding
Wishing there was someone just like You
Now that You're here
Now that I've found You
I know that You're the One to pull me through

"We need to share our stories to discover..."

2010-07-13T07:49:00.003-04:00

(Patrice Vecchione, quoted in Inward/Outward)

How wonderful it is to listen and to be listened to. I had dinner last night with a friend, and through cocktails, soup, main dish, dessert, we fed each other with our stories.

William Zissner--great name, great writer

2010-07-11T19:54:00.003-04:00

So I'm working my way through William Zissner's book, On Writing Well. I'm on the chapter where he talks about memoir, which I think is the closest literary style to blogging--taking a corner of one's life, not the whole of it (which would be biography or autobiography) and writing about it.

And once again, I think, that is the kind of writing I want to do. Why am I pursuing this Ph.D. in library science? Especially now that my focus has gone from a literature study of Third Culture Kids to a more sociological study of how school librarians can affect the lives of children.

It's the "gift" of Shingles. I've had time to not move forward on the Ph.D, since getting to work has been the main goal. I do have a GRE prep book on my desk, but I haven't really cracked the binding yet.

I don't know! I feel like I'm going around in circles, AGAIN. But, I have to know that these circles will end up somewhere interesting.

And yes, (as Helen asked a few weeks ago) I am looking into getting a Spiritual Director. The thing is, I have to sell it to my therapist as a good idea. She bristled the last time I discussed it, I'm not sure why, and with everything else, I haven't brought it up. (And I know waiting for the best time is not the best way to go.)

One step. One step. One step.

Bossy bosses

2010-07-10T10:31:00.002-04:00

So I'm still sleeping AT least a full eight hours every night, twelve if you really tire me out. And I'm not working full days at work yet.

But my boss needs me, so I'm working a full day on Wednesday. Yes, 10-6, which includes the manager's meeting (thrill! I've never been to one!) (yes, I am a geek.)

She didn't say in as many words, but I think Weds might be the day her husband has his heart surgery.

I had a beer last night with dinner, partially b/c I didn't want iced tea (to keep me awake) and partially b/c it was happy hour and so it was half off. I came home and dozed and woke up for my dad's phone call (they are on their way to a family wedding). I fell back asleep, so I guess total sleep for last night is in the 12 hour range.

I work at 1.

I've been hibernating in my bedroom, watching Ugly Betty, instead of moving forward with this day. And I just got the "low battery" balloon, which means I need to finish this quickly, since the power cord is now over by the desk (instead of the bed.) It is better to have my laptop live on my desk than by my bed. It is no longer first thing in the morning, last thing at night. Which feels good.

Oh, and the DVD player just went off, which means I'll have to fast-forward to get back to the scene where Hilda tells Tony that she can't see him anymore, he's married. WOO HOO!

So, on goes life. One step, one step, one step.

Blogging n'at

2010-07-08T11:37:00.002-04:00

So I have been following the 5x week, it's just for the past two days I've been over at my health blog: sarah louise, in the pink.

Books that have stayed with me...

2010-07-06T19:49:00.003-04:00

...about libraries and education. (I think I'm changing the focus of my dissertation question.)

In the car these days, I'm listening to Malcolm Gladwell's book Outliers, and realizing that the types of books I like are about education, about how to get from good to great (ah, yes, a book by Jim Collins), how to improve situations and give opportunities to those who may not otherwise get them.

So, I hightailed it over to my librarything.com account, in the hopes that I can unearth some books whose titles I've forgotten.

Small Victories has stayed with me even though I read it ONCE, 20 years ago.

Leaving Microsoft to Change the World: An Entrepreneur's Odyssey to Educate the World's Children by John Wood. Got to hear him speak at a conference in Minneapolis. WOW. This guy started a program for school libraries all over the world, mostly in South Asia.

Sahara Special by Esme. The author was a teacher who now is an author and advocate for kids reading. In the book, the kid is labeled "special" and the new teacher changes things.

Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell (my hero!)

Work Hard, Be Nice. by Jay Mathews. This book really made me think differently about education and creating opportunities for kids that might not otherwise get them. KIPP schools (Knowledge is power program) were started initially by two Teach for America teachers.

********
Books I think I should read: Stones into Schools by the Three Cups of Tea guy.

Random book I found while looking: The Lady Tasting Tea (about statistics, but it looks really good.)

Random book in my librarything.com account, tbr (to be read): Stop being your symptoms. Sounds good to me! It's upstairs in Large Print, so I'll have to find it tomorrow. Time to check the kid's section for disasters, we close in 10 minutes.

Buh Bye!

(Wow, three posts in one day? But we're not going for number of posts. We're going for posting 5 days a week.)

Grooving tools...

2010-07-06T19:18:00.002-04:00

So, I'm going to pack my bag for getting my groove back. And since this is a blog, my bag is going to be full of inspiring posts by other bloggers.

First up: 10 ways to infuse your work with your personality (it's much more fun than the title sounds) by Keri Smith, who blogs at wish jar journal, a blog I started following as soon as I started blogging, but don't go back to often enough. In this post, Keri talks about a presentation she gave and the first thing she did was take off her shoes! (My kind of gal.) And then she invited others to take off their shoes. Some of her tips are ones we've all heard (but need to hear again: keep a journal, go back to what you loved as a kid.) This one really struck me, though, and is one of those "when the student is ready, the teacher comes."

“Pay no attention to the man behind that curtain.” Ignore what other people are doing. It has no bearing on your existence or vision of the world. The times we feel the most discouraged are usually due to the fact we are comparing ourselves to others. Most times reading awards annuals, and industry mags only serves to make us feel inadequate. Try cutting it out entirely. Designer Bruce Mau recommends not entering awards competitions. His reasoning, “Just don’t do it, it’s not good for you.”

WOW. YES!! A friend of mine has a saying: "comparison is the thief of all joy." I always feel worse about my life after reading the alumni section of my college magazine. (Which may be why I haven't read any part of the magazine for ages.) And one of the blocks for this blog was jealousy that other bloggers got more comments. Well, I don't care anymore. I am writing this blog for me. You get to read it, you lucky dog, but I'm still going to write it even if I don't get a single comment.

Gotta get my groove back...

2010-07-06T10:29:00.004-04:00

I've been miserable.

And one thing I can see is that if I look at my blog entries per year, the first year was 174, well, I started in May, so that's almost half a year lost. The second year, 504, which is more that 1 per day. The third year, 424, which is still more than 1 per day. (It's also the year I dated and got dumped by Max.) The fourth year, (2008) I wrote 235, also the year I discovered Twitter. Today is my 800th day on Twitter! The fifth year, can this be right? I wrote 37 posts. And so far in 2010, I've written 21 posts.

And as I've been trying to figure out why in the h-e-double hockey sticks that I cannot stop getting boils, (recovering from Shingles at home has given me a lot of extra time to THINK) and I think about Malcolm Gladwell's Outliers, the folks that lived in the Pennsylvania town but were eating lard, more sedentary than their European forbears, but still only dying of old age. And I've been thinking about Sonny Rollins, (link to a previous post about this topic) who said

You know, if I don't play my horn for a while, I actually get sick. I wonder, "Well, gee, what's the matter with me?" And I realize that I haven't played my horn for a few days.

And I have not been writing, or walking, or taking pictures. I don't think I have the energy for a walk, and I have to show up and work tonight, so I don't want to tire myself, but I can sit and write. Blogging isn't necessarily the most art-y of writing, but darn it, it gets the words out, and I need to do that. Because if there's anything I've learned, infections happen b/c you have toxins that need to get out. And I think some of my toxins are words, molding, decaying, inside my blood veins. So until I figure out something else, I need to make a goal to blog 5x a week. Please, readers, hold me to it.

And now I'm going to take a shower. Because I am gross. I was so down (damn PMS is worse if you are fighting infection) that I didn't take one. And since I forgot to wash my hair Sunday when I *did* shower, my hair looks like dirty greasy shoelaces, a wig worn by a mechanic named Gene for Halloween.

I love you guys. And more, I love writing here. I need this blog. And I need you, dear reader. After my shower, i will be in your blogs reading and commenting. Oh, that makes me want to move forward. Gotta go so I can come BACK.

Ta.

"Ten bucks says there's a coat in there made of Dalmatian puppies!"

2010-07-03T09:29:00.003-04:00

(Christina to Betty, when they break into Wilhemina's apartment, s.2)

I have a new guilty pleasure.

Hint: it's a show that went off the air earlier this year about a girl from Queens who conquers Manhattan.

You guessed! It's Ugly Betty, starring America Ferrara, who was also beautiful in the Sisterhood of the Traveling Jeans movies.

I just bought season 3 yesterday. My other options were: join Netflix, which might have been cheaper, or wait for the library, which who knows how long that will take? But somehow I knew that I'd want to have these for my home collection, and how right I was!

and...if I had more energy, I'd tell you all about it, but wikipedia does a much better job, of course. And finally, a show that's socially acceptable to like (aka, I can ask for DVDs of Seasons 1 & 2 for birthday and or Christmas) (Good thing I got my full set of SATC when it was half off, and good thing it was only 6 seasons).

I really should go eat breakfast. I woke up exhausted, again. I keep hoping today is the day I want to get up and take a walk and think I actually could do it. Maybe if there were benches all the way around...like at the reservoir! There's a thought!)

Take it from me...you don't want to get shingles. It's for the birds.

But hey, at least I am catching up on years of Ugly Betty...

Pretend that every single person you meet has a sign around his or her neck that says, "Make me feel important."

2010-06-20T18:58:00.003-04:00

(Mary Kay Ash)

While I sit here, feeling sorry for myself, there is a ceramic box on my desk. The top has a poppy with a bee drinking its pollen. Inside the box it says "Today is your day to bloom!"

Sounds like something you'd give to someone to encourage them, right? Confession: I bought it for myself, to encourage me.

There's a book, it's called The Five Love Languages. And in it, it talks about what different ways we receive and give love. Well, gifts are one of my love languages. A card in the mail? A flower? A book I already own (my copy, actually) wrapped and put in a gift bag? I love these things.

My sister's love language (from what I can tell) is time. And when we spend time on the phone, or dinner when she's home, it's great. Another one of her love languages is encouragement.

And all this information is good--but if you don't use it for anything but to say, "My family doesn't understand me, my mother didn't buy me the right wireless mouse" it becomes this grouchy selfish cry at my own tea party. I can't change my mom. I wouldn't want anyone but her. But I can't get everything I need from her. Or from my sister. Or my dad. I need other people in my life.

Now turn that around. Switch it up...and it becomes, other people need me in their lives. Switch it to this: I like encouragement, but I love encouraging others. I like getting gifts but I also love giving things to other people.

This morning I decided not to go to church, because even though I know that you can't get my shingles unless you lick me, shingles is a big word and I'm new at my church and I don't want to have to explain all that. It might have been a mistake...because now I'm feeling incredibly isolated, which is what I've been a lot of this week since I was diagnosed on Monday.

Yesterday I ate breakfast in my special chair. It's a black faux leather chair that I rescued from the curb in Greenfield a few years ago. It faces my bookcases. And on the top shelf of one of the bookcases, I have three devotional books: My Utmost for His Highest, God Calling, and Meditations for Women Who Do Too Much. (Is there one for Women who watch too much Ugly Betty?)

Yesterday, and again today, I read from My Utmost. Yesterday's devo was about how Jesus' first obedience was to the Father, not the needs of man. That if we only worry about humanity, we will get exhausted. "If I am devoted to the cause of humanity only, I will soon get exhausted and come to the place where my love will falter; but if I love Jesus Christ personally and passionately, I can serve humanity though men treat me as a door-mat." (Chambers, 171)

Today's message was stronger. Or maybe just hit me that way. The scripture is "And the Lord turned the captivity of Job when he prayed for his friends." (Job 42:10) The rest of the verse is that then God restored and doubled what Job lost.

But you know what, I just want restoration! I want my captivity turned! But more than that, I want to love my friends. I want to stop this me me me sickness. And so this morning, for the first time in way too long, I prayed for my friends. I've been spending so much time saying, there's not enough for me, I need, I need, I am broken, fix ME.

I'm a work in progress. So is this thought. What do you think? I really want to know. I do.

finding my voice...part deux

2010-06-07T22:34:00.002-04:00

So I had a conversation with a friend this afternoon and she kept saying, WHY, Sarah Louise, does it bother you so much? This external validation? That you felt better when the ladies at work all came back from SATC and said, oh, wasn't it so funny?

And I told her about how SATC has fed me in many ways. It is no, not the way I would live my life, but I have made many of the mistakes those four have made, and I have learned more about relationships from the six seasons of SATC than I have from almost 20 years of dating and not dating.

And I told her how the Christian writer I used to follow on Twitter that could only focus on how SATC-TM-2 (Sex and the City, the Movie, 2) was disrespectful of Muslim ways of living. And how I thought maybe the director/writer was trying to say, "look, it's ridiculous that a woman has to lift a veil just to eat a french fry." But if you're only going to look at that part of the movie, it's not a critique of a movie, it's a lambaste, it's not fair.

And again, my friend pushed. But why do you care so much?

Because they are my girls. And I hate for someone to say bad things about them. It's like someone insulting my little sister. I can say, oh, she's a little this or that, but if you say it, I will come after you in your SLEEP. It's the Mama Bear adrenaline rush.

And, yes, it is hard to be a Christian woman who says, my favorite TV show is Sex and the City. That the theme to the show is the ringtone for my cellphone. But here's the thing. I don't think that liking SATC or not liking SATC is a point of salvation. I know enough about the world and about God to know the difference between a good world view and a corrupt one. I know that SATC is built on a corrupt one. But so is just about every other form of entertainment. THIS world is corrupt, and corroding more and more each day. For that matter, I am corrupt. I say one thing and do another. Like Paul in his letter to the Romans,

I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good. As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me. I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it. (Romans 7:15-20)

I told my friend about how when I worked at Fox Books, a man at my church made it his mission to let me know what books James Dobson thought should be removed. Or that no Christian could ever read/watch Silence of the Lambs. (I enjoyed both the book and the movie, though with all the lights on and taking my time.) That Harry Potter, if written by a Presbyterian woman, should mention that Harry went to church on Sunday. This man hearkened back to the Ford administration, where apparently the press always noted, "and Ford went to church on Sunday." I am no longer friends with a woman who thought that the Narnia books were Satan's work and Harry Potter no better. (Yes, she knew C.S. Lewis professed to be a Christian, and I disagree with foppish beliefs that the Narnia books are allegories...I do not look for a Christ figure in every book I read, he's alive enough in the Bible.) I am no longer friends with that woman, and fortunately only see that man on occasion. But we each in our lives have those people that get under our skin, for whatever reason, can, in my mother's apt words "have power over you." Sally is always getting me on that one. "Why are you letting that person get in your mind, have power over you?"

And I can only reply, when I think to, that I am a work in progress, and I have soft spots. I bruise easily, and I forget that I am beloved.

My father's response to this whole brouhaha was the best. "It's okay to be a fan. People ask me why I'm a Redskin's fan, I guess I like the drama." And in those few words, I got acceptance. That it is okay for me to like the color pink and to like SATC, and I don't have to explain my irrational self to anyone. I am enough. Which at the end of the day, is great to say. (And at the end of many days, impossible to say, true or not.)

I went in to work today, I had to work on some Summer Reading stuff. Yes, today was my day off, but the website goes live on Sunday, and if I don't work the kinks out now, they won't get worked out. "The show must go on" etc.

The great thing, though, about going in to work, was that my one boss, the one who sees me, believes in me, is firm with me, but knows I am capable of great things, encourages me, listened to me whine before I went off to my cubicle to work on the Summer Reading stuff. And then she was there when I'd fixed something or had an idea. And the constant doing something, seeing results there on the screen, followed by my boss saying, oh yes, that looks great, did something for me. And I realized that it's going to be okay, it really is.

So what I won't make Pittsburgh's "Forty under Forty" list. So what, I don't think I'll be presenting at the State Library conference in October. So what, I'm not making anyone a grandmother any time soon or probably ever. So what? I add a lot to a lot of people's lives, personally and professionally. And if I'm a late bloomer, so what?

I got a letter in the mail today. A real on stationery not a bill letter. From my high school friend L. I wrote her one, and she wrote me back. Neither my letter to her or her to mine will ever be published in "Dear Sarah Louise" or "Dear L," thick tomes of letters describing our discovery of the latest children's illustrator, but the letter I wrote mattered to her. And the letter she wrote mattered to me.

And at the end of the day, mattering, one person at a time, that is what makes a life.

finding my voice...

2010-06-07T10:35:00.003-04:00

tap, tap...is this on?

so, if you've found me here today, you've found me on day 2 of Week 4, which is high season for PMS depression.

but here's the thing. there are two thoughts that have been going around in my mind and if i'm not going to go for a walk, i should at least exercise my fingers.

thought 1: Jeanne Ray's book, Eat Cake, is my cake. (In the book, Ruth, the main character imagines she's inside a cake when she's stressed. When I'm stressed, I read her book. I have a hardcover that lives in my "reading room.") I need to write Jeanne Ray a letter.

thought 2: the sex and the city movie backlash. All the "it's not as good as the show" and by saying that saying that the movie is BAD is the SAME argument that I hate hate hate: "but the book was better." NO. Hollywood is a different game. If you don't like the Hollywood brand, then don't GO to the movies. Stick with your foreign flicks on Netflix. American movies, i.e. Hollywood, is a particular style. And that style is of course going to be DIFFERENT from your favorite book or your favorite HBO TV show.

I love movies. I am in love with the Hollywood brand. I also like art house movies and foreign flicks. But here's the thing. If Hollywood (and let's face it, most things that get re-made get re-made by Hollywood) takes and make a movie out of my favorite book (or favorite show), I'm going to analyze that movie. Okay, why did they change things? What is the worldview of the director? How does this reflect on our society today? I will go back and read the book/watch the show again. I will watch the movie again.

(Which brings me to ask: why do I trust people who have watched the movie they didn't like ONE time? When I like it or it intrigues me, I will watch it at least twice if not 3 times.)

Different does NOT equal WRONG. Different may mean you don't like it. But if you don't, what was that your momma taught you? If you ain't got something nice to say, DON'T SAY IT.

That's all she wrote today.

Books I didn't finish, May 2010

2010-05-06T19:03:00.003-04:00

Emily of Deep Valley by Maud Hart Lovelace (yes, the Betsy-Tacy lady). Took out b/c Mitali Perkins writes the forward to the new edition. But I couldn't get past the first half of the book where Emily is just so depressed that she isn't going to college with all her friends. Sorry, I don't do books where folks are depressed when I'm barely holding on myself. (Sorry Mitali! The second half looks great, but I can't do it right now.)

Which takes me right into Ranganathan's Library Bill of rights.

Dr. Shiyali Ramamrita Ranganathan (1892–1972) of India was an inventor, educator, librarian, and a philosopher.

These laws are:

Books are for use.
Every reader his [or her] book.
Every book its reader.
Save the time of the reader.
The library is a growing organism.

(from Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Five_laws_of_library_science, viewed 5/6/10)

So, while someone may LOVE a book, it's perfectly okay that someone else doesn't. I know this, as Babelbabe and I have completely different likes--I cannot read dystopias, for instance. I had a conversation about this with LA, one of my new library friends, who admonished me after I told her I couldn't finish

Living Oprah by Robyn Okrant. Robyn set out to do everything Oprah said to do for one year. At the end of the year, she got a book contract, I guess, because the blog is now a book. When I saw how much money this woman spent each month (it was listed at the start of each chapter) I balked. I don't have that much money to spend on a side project, and I think she was in school when she wrote the book as a blog and her husband was finishing a novel...after a chapter, I ditched it.

All I did was ask by Terry Gross. This one is just really overdue. I hope to procure my own copy, that's how much I loved this book. I read it during the three months (yes, see, overdue!) that I was in the Artist's Way group, and it really educated me on how artists think. One of my favorite quotes from the book is from Sonny Rollins.

Terry Gross: You're a virtuoso performer, but you're known for practicing every day.

Sonny Rollins: Monk said to me one time that if it wasn't for music, life wouldn't be worth living. You know, if I don't play my horn for a while, I actually begin to get sick. I wonder, "well, gee. What's the matter with me?" Then I realize I haven't played my horn for a few days.

WOW. That hit me. As one who has been struggling with all kinds of infections on and off this fall/winter/spring, and as a very blocked writer, I thought, that is something I can take to the bank. That is something that comes to me when I sit down and think, doing my morning pages is so silly. [Morning pages are Julia Cameron's answer to getting the junk out. Artists that are not writers find them very helpful. Artists that are writers find them frustrating. Why do I need to just write, with no purpose in mind?]

the last time i saw you by Elizabeth Berg. GAG ME WITH A SPOON, this book is horrible. It's about a quartet of octogenarians getting ready for their fortieth high school reunion. I remember, this morning, as I sat doing my M.P.s, that I don't trust a writer that doesn't have one bad book, it means they are not trusting to explore. And I love most of what Eliz. Berg writes. But not this one.

Jane's Fame by Claire Harman. I thought maybe this would be about the effect Jane has had on us all, even now, in the year 2010. I haven't actually read any Austen bios, so this was moderately interesting. But not enough to keep me listening for 9.5 hrs. I think I listened to disc 1.

And the audio book I would consider purchasing as audio AND in hardcover: When you reach me, the Newbery Award winning novel by Rebecca Stead.

At first blush, this book seemed too creepy for me, told in first person to an unknown "you." So I couldn't get into the book, even though Marian the Librarian had said I would like it, and the at least 9 librarians on the Newbery committee liked it, and Sara Zarr liked it...so I got the audio. Which is wonderfully read by Cynthia Holloway. This book is written in an experimental style, reminding me of Slumdog Millionaire, A Wrinkle in Time (which is mentioned in the book many times) and The Time Traveler's Wife. The book is not told in chronological time, the chapter headings are "things that..." and the writing is amazing, the timing wonderful. As I listened to the first disc, I thought, how could I have not wanted to read this book? But as things got a little scary (I am, above all, a reading wimp) I wrote a note to one of my Twitter friends, merely plaintively asking, "but does it end well?" She assured me that it did, and that got me through the hard times, kept me listening. I listened to most of it for a second time. Which is helpful to do, and I recommend, as some things become clearer after you know the ending. You note I say most of it I listened to a second time, not all, and here is why: my car CD-player has this horrible quality of gumming up when the heat/humidity changes. In the winter, I can fix it by restarting the car. In the summer, I have to wait for the car to cool down, so I can listen to audio books on the way to work, (in the morning, when it is cool) maybe. On the way home, maybe. When I'm a little more solvent financially, I'll get a new radio/CD player installed.

What books are you reading/not reading this month?

It's a great day for...a marathon, graduation, AND Hockey

2010-05-02T09:41:00.003-04:00

okay, so apparently my "print screen" of the fact that the Pittsburgh marathon is currently the #5 search "medium hotness" isn't working.

I'll mess with it later.

Agenda for today:

Get out of bed (darn laptop)
Eat something
Get on something rain gearish
find umbrella
go find a really cool place to cheer on the Marathoners!!

get some lunch

find a good place to cheer on the Penguins (probably my bed/sofa)

probably go to church at the Open Door (since, see list, church isn't listed. yes, the problems with morning church, a lot of fun things happen on Sunday morning.)

Maybe I'll post more. Maybe I'll write about the marathon. Last year I had high hopes and well...nothing.

Kisses and hugs!! Catch ya later!!

Whoever said April was the cruelest month never met June/July 2010...

2010-04-19T16:06:00.005-04:00

This is a post I wrote back in April, for blogger Kristin Tennant, (@ktwrites on Twitter) who started the idea of a Love List on her blog a while back. She asked for interviews, and I agreed. This is the post I wrote. I thought I'd publish it now to inject some joie de vivre back into these pink walls.

Kristen: So, Sarah Louise, you're going through a lot of changes these days. New church, new career goals, new friends. How is your life different today than it was a year ago?

Sarah Louise: Well, Kristen, I'm so glad you asked. It is amazing how life can change in such a short time. Last year, this time, I was beginning to mourn the loss of my best friend Sally, who would be moving soon to Michigan (She moved last July.) I was still attending the Open Door Presbyterian Church, a church plant where I was a charter member, and I was seriously considering a Master's of Fine Art in Creative Writing. My life has changed in so many ways since then--instead of talking to Sally once a day, I talk to her once a week. I'm getting to know people at my new church, forming new relationships. Instead of dreaming about an MFA in writing, I'm getting ready to start the application process for a Ph.d in Library Science (with an emphasis in Children's Literature.) I'm excited about growing professionally.

Kristen: How is your life today different than say, ten years ago?

Sarah Louise: Ten years ago, I was 28, living in Northern Virginia, finishing up my stint as a bookseller at Big Box Books. My main focus every day was to make sure my departments were correctly shelved, alphabetized, and well displayed. My "baby" was the cookbook table, which I changed up daily, highlighting the big glossy cookbooks by celebrities and celebrity chefs. I lived with my parents, and I had a monthly subscription to Harper's, which I read, cover to cover. I facilitated a book group that met once a month. I had a wide range of single friends. We often went to lunch or the movies. And I ate dinner with my family almost every night. Writing all that, it sounds like heaven. I had time to read, time for friends, and time for family. But it was a life that had an end in sight--I wasn't moving forward professionally, so I applied and got in to library school, which meant a move back to Pittsburgh.

The past ten years have been really hard. Creating new relationships can be like pulling teeth in a town like Pittsburgh, where everyone knows everybody since before kindergarten. Families stay put, and it is not uncommon to meet people in their early twenties who are married and already starting their families. So, as a single woman in her early to mid to late thirties with no family nearby, I have been swimming against a very strong current. Even though I had lived in Pittsburgh twice before, moving back this time was one of the hardest things I've ever done, though I didn't know it at the time. Only now do I feel that I'm beginning to realize some of the benefits of that golden place where I resided ten years ago.

Kristen: What kinds of things have been showing up on your love list these days?

Sarah Louise: My new church. I've been going there for about two months. The people there have embraced me, and I just want to get to know them better. My new friends. I have been making lunch, dinner and coffee dates in an effort to repopulate my social life. So far, I don't have a movie buddy, but I'm working on it. The Pittsburgh Penguins. We're in playoff season, and I love the energy. All of a sudden, everyone is a hockey fan.

Kristen: Do you have any wisdom or advice to share with others?

Sarah Louise: It is never to late to dream a new dream.

Pictures and more pictures...

2010-03-29T18:20:00.003-04:00

Parking chairs, circa WINTER 2010.

Valentimes flowers from Dad, circa WINTER 2010.

Sunset, circa, WINTER 2010
Crocuses, circa the lawn is melted, can it be spring? 2010
More crocuses, circa, YES, SPRING HAS SPRUNG, 2010.

I have actually done some weeding on the lawn. The crocuses are long gone, but now we have weeds intermixed with the grass and tulips.

More later, I promise.

Birds in the sky, you know how I feel...

2010-03-27T09:41:00.002-04:00

(Standard)

(and by Standard, I mean everyone, from Michael Buble to Stevie Wonder have covered it...)

My mom gave me a CD a while back. It was free from Ann Taylor and it's pink, so I'm sure it has something to do with curing breast cancer.

I always skip over the first song, some depressing Dido song. The third song is "You can't take that away from me."

Which I always thought was a horrible song. Why would I want to remember things about someone I was no longer with? It's taken me at least ten years and many listens to finally figure it out. "We may never meet again on this bumpy road of love." We may not. But I will always remember seeing you come to work in your suit on Saturdays, crossing Grant St. as I sat eating my lunch at Bruegger's Bagels. I will always remember the fun we had just flicking a rubber band at each other at my kitchen table. I will always remember that first kiss.

My mother and my father are such different people--my father will occasionally tell me about girls he dated. My mother has told me three such stories in the 38 years I've known her, and they've all been negative. My parents didn't exactly "date," they were friends over the course of nine years, with patches of "going out." My mother "broke up" with my father at least five times. My father remembers washing dishes over Christmas break and thinking that he missed my mom more than he missed the girl he was dating at the time. Now that's an image you can't take away from me.

But from my mother, I learned that dating was horrible, and I had to make sure I married a Christian man. Since my father was often at work, when I was young and impressionable (17), I haven't learned until the past 12 years of my life that my dad enjoyed dating. That he was in a lot of weddings, so had a lot of garter belts on his rear view mirror. My dad? My mom knows how to have fun, she does. But in the realm of dating, my mother is the killjoy and my father is out there, having fun.

The title of this post? Sometimes you have to listen to a CD many times before you hear all the songs. And I mean that in the sense that some songs go out into the air until your heart and ears are ready for them. That is how it has been with this CD. At first, I needed the message of the first song "Rome wasn't built in a day." And then I really really got the message of "You can't take that away from me." And yesterday, as if for the first time, I heard the words to "Birds in the sky, you know how I feel."

Fish in the sea you know how I feel
River running free you know how I feel
Blossom in the trees you know how I feel

It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me
And I'm feeling good

(I just realized I'm doing a song lyrics Saturday. Hi, Badger!!)

So of course, I have to embed it... (and hey, it's Nina Simone, which is the version I have on my CD)

And the freedom...I am getting there. My staycation starts today after 2pm. Not a lot got done yesterday what with getting pansies from our favorite volunteer, talking for a long time with E about books about Germany...

But I am getting up and writing. And I am coming back here. (GRIN.)

I don't know why I stopped, I love this bully pulpit/soap box. Doing my "morning pages" is different, but this too, this writing for you, writing for an audience, I love it. I eat it up. And I need more things to love in this life.

Pictures this week, I promise.

A blocked artist isn't lazy.

2010-03-26T08:56:00.004-04:00

(Julia Cameron, The Artist's Way.)

So all this time, I've been motivated by two things: the fear of dying, and"is it fun?"

And my married with children friends (some of them) have looked at my single life and its somewhat aimless path and said, you are lazy. What are you doing with your life? Because no, I'm not raising children so they can go off to school and eat paste. I'm not doing loads of laundry for four or six hundred people. I'm not cooking dinner every night for people that want to feed the floor or the family pet.

So it looks, pretty much, like I'm lazy. I watch a lot of TV, I procrastinate, I go to work, I come home, and watch more TV. I live in an apartment of unfinished projects, piles of laundry, piles of dishes.

But if I had remembered what I learned in Black Women Writers, my senior year of college, I would have remembered Remita Weems, who said, "Madness is never just madness. It is a way of coping when sanity will no longer do." (Home Girls, 103)

Madness. Yes. A 38 year old woman in Pittsburgh that is single? That is madness. This city? Where everyone has nieces and nephews out the wazoo? Where early marriage is the norm? It wants to make you run into the woods. (Or put your heads under the cover and watch those four ladies in New York walk around in their Manolo Blahniks and talk about how hard it is to find a good man.)

And then, well, it looks like she's lazy. But maybe she's just SCARED.

I remember sitting on the steps of the porch, waiting for the airport shuttle, talking with a man I thought I was going to marry, and saying, "Are we nuts? Is this going to work?" And me saying, as I had said time and time before, "scared is just sacred with the words in the wrong order." But somewhere between THAT heartbreak and the rest, I forgot. This is the year of remembering. And it is the year of healing.

to be continued...

What I'm learning these days about health...

2010-03-25T11:48:00.003-04:00

This is from a book I've been devouring, All I did was ask, by the host of NPR's Fresh Air, Terry Gross. It's from Sonny Rollins.

Terry Gross: You're a virtuoso performer, but you're known for practicing nearly every day.

Sonny Rollins: Monk said to me one time that if it wasn't for music, life wouldn't be worth living. You know, if I don't play my horn for a while, I actually get sick. I wonder, "Well, gee, what's the matter with me?" And I realize that I haven't played my horn for a few days.

I haven't been blogging so much, so you don't know that I have been catching every kind of infection known to man (or woman.) I will not bore (or gross you out) with the details, but I spend a lot of time on the internet looking for home remedies, or talking to friends, or actually at the doctor or pharmacy. Right now I have a nasty cold. It's Day-Quil resistant. I mean I'm taking Day-Quil, but whereas that usually takes care of the symptoms, I still have them. They're just WORSE when the four hours is up. Yesterday I was supposed to doctor up at 4:30 and at 5:30 I had the worse sneeze attack.

But here's the thing: in the past year (or two) I have not been walking daily, or taking pictures daily, or blogging daily. And my health has suffered.

I've never read Dr. Zviago, because those Russian novels, I cannot keep track of all the characters with all the nicknames...I wonder if it's on audio!! But somewhere along the road, I found a quote that was attributed to that book (or the movie). If you wake up every morning and go to a job you hate, you will get sick.

Well, I don't hate my job. But there are difficult people that I have to deal with (yes, bullies) on a fairly daily basis, and for a lot of reasons it is time to move on.

More later. I'm hitting publish even though this isn't nearly done because blogging is a time-driven medium. We'll come back to it.

So get used to it--your RSS feeds are going to be getting more from Sarah Louise on a more daily basis.

Mwah!

"Do you think you look like Colin Farrell?"

2010-03-24T21:58:00.004-04:00

(Charlotte, to Anthony Marentino, in the last episode of Sex and the City)

In this moment, Charlotte has gone into Chanel to find something to wear to meet the biological parents of the baby she and Harry are intending to adopt. And Anthony says, it's so "TV movie," because the parents are from, guess where? Charlotte! And in the movie, he would be played by Colin Farrell. Charlotte pauses, and says kindly, "Do you think you look like Colin Farrell?"

I had one of those moments today. (Or I think it was today.) (Sorry, the cold is making me all fuzzy.) I was g-chatting with someone and shared that I have a crush. And I shared the age of that crush. And there was a HUGE pause. And finally she said, "Do you think he's interested in you in that way?" And, um, NO. There is no indication that he sees me as anything but this older woman that he is friends with in a class that will be ending in five weeks. Which is why it is a crush. (The thing is, there are no available men in my life that are my age.) (Currently.) (Hoping that will change.) But what I said to g-chat friend was this: the fact that I have a crush (and baby lust? moi?) is letting me know that I am still alive, there is still some kick left.

*********

I realized something today. I used to use blogging as conversation. Instead of talking to people in my life, I blogged for people "living in" computers. Today, instead of blogging about the crazy weekend that included a family wedding, I emailed my sister and told her what really upset me. And she responded with what really upset her. And you know what? Instead of us both stewing, we shared our equally valid strong opinions with each other. We're communicating!! And life is good. She said she liked that I had opinions, it was very Elizabeth Bennett of me. Which, coming from my sister, is a high compliment.

So...it's an adventure, discovering what this blog is going to become, now that I'm back occasionally. I want to go back and read what I wrote, but I want to move forward too.

Time to go to bed.

these are the days of miracle and wonder, don't cry, baby don't cry....

2010-03-16T11:31:00.002-04:00

So.

You know how spring happens? You've trudged through every gray day of this solid snowy winter, a winter that tied you down to parking chairs, to boots every day, to hot tea, to wet woolen socks and double comforters and flannel sheets. Bad driving, near accidents as you slide down (or up) One Wild Way, the street the Zoo is on. Ice on your gutters. Ice on your steps. Too much rock salt, and your landlord will have to fix steps again this spring, as he has to every spring.

And then one day, one day. You happen to look over at the lawn and see out of the corner of your eye something...color? Yes, it is the first crocuses of spring, and you take pictures and your friends at work, who live in the suburbs where there are trees and colder temperatures and snow still covering their lawns and they are jealous. You take pictures every day, marking the new ones that appear, the tulip leaves that are coming up, defiantly, saying, "na na na na, na na na na, hey hey, winter, goodbye!"

And all at once it is like that in your life. Boom boom boom, the changes in your life are like a box of March Madness basketballs let loose in an empty gym. Ph.d in Children's library work? That makes SO much more sense than the MFA in fiction or non-fiction. It is relief. Your friends say, you are more animated when you talk about it, that's good. And the funny thing is that it took from last spring's crocuses through summer, fall, winter, for the ideas to come back to the first idea you had, last February, last March, when North Hills Sally's husband was thinking to take a job far away.

Some changes are like that--you plant the tulips in late October, or at the latest, early November, and you forget about them. You go on with your life, go to work, get your coffee, start up the computer, shut off the computer, drive to work, drive home. And then, one day, the flowers come up. You go to a new church and you realize it is time to switch churches...which means leaving one. And the changes roll and roll and roll, like the runaway basketballs, blooming, like the early crocuses and the defiant tulips.

And all at once, you want your feet in the sand, you want to see the sun rise and set on the sea, you want to kayak in the marsh. And you are determined, you think, I'm gonna do this, if it costs me my entire income tax refund. (Which it won't, by the way.)

But all of a sudden, you are extravagant, and you want to buy the world a Coke, and you want to hug everyone and in an instant, you want to cry, for the five years, the people you are leaving behind when you get that letter of transfer from the Presbytery. And all of a sudden, it's not scary, it's matter of fact. I'm doing this. You can't stop me, you wouldn't want to. Let's sit and have some tea, and mourn the time we had. I won't forget the way you wear your hat. I won't forget the way you hold your knife. And if I forget your birthday, you'll forgive me, because it is still too painful to embrace you.

of audiobooks and read-alouds...

2010-03-03T16:35:00.003-05:00

So...I'm sitting at work reading the first in color edition of Horn Book magazine. WOW! And at once, I'm entranced, drawn in to read a magazine I've loved since I discovered it, who knows when. Any children's librarian worth her mettle knows about Horn Book, but just in case you haven't, it's like the New Yorker. For children's books. It is all about children's books. A lot of its real estate is taken up by reviews, but there are also scholar-level essays about (in this issue) why color is important. Or comparing Anita Curtis Klause's vampire novel, The Silver Kiss, to the Stephenie Meyer Twilight series.

And then I'm sucked into an article called, "What makes a good read-aloud for middle graders?" in the "What makes a good...?" series. And all at once, I'm taken back to fourth grade, when Mrs. Medina read us Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing. Which was the real accelerator to my reading career. I had to read everything Judy Blume had written. It was 1980, and I was living overseas, in Tegucigalpa, Honduras. I had one bookstore that had English language books, and a library with a not so current collection. Judy Blume hadn't even written Tiger Eyes yet. Or Super Fudge. But she had written Starring Sally J. Freedman as herself,* and Deenie, and Then Again, Maybe I won't, and of course, Are you there God, it's me, Margaret. My friends and I gobbled each one, whole. We didn't get all the stuff that parents balk at, because generally, if we didn't understand a bit, we skipped over it. I actually did a research paper on Judy Blume in high school, had to get special permission, because she was a children's author, everyone else was writing about Hemingway, or Dickens. I never got to most of adult reading. I've been stuck in the children's section ever since. (My love for chick lit aside.)

But I've gotten ahead of myself.

I adore audio books. Adore. Sometimes I prefer the audio to the printed copy of the book.

And what is an audio book, but a book read aloud, sometimes by the author?

I must think about this more. But for now, I'll leave you with that. I am dumbfounded that I never made the connection before.

A quote from the Horn Book article:

"Reading picture books aloud to younger children is common practice--teachers during the school day, parents at bedtime. But reading aloud in the middle grades is less widespread. Once children start reading on their own, the demands of curriculum, testing, and the ever more splintered schedule cause teachers to abandon the practice. What a loss! At every age, listening to someone reading aloud is a gift." (66)

____________
*I remember having an argument with a friend about the pronunciation of that title. It's pronounced "staring," I insisted. My friend was from the South, and I said only stuck up people would pronounce it with a long a sound. (This is what comes from NOT reading aloud to your children, people.)

McDonnell, Christine, "What makes a good read-aloud for middle grades," Horn Book Magazine, Jan/Feb 2010: 66-72. Print.

Note (a day later, after this was initially posted): when I shared my epiphany with my boss, a children's librarian of many decades, and a bonified storyteller, she almost but not quite said, well, doy! Which made me realize that it's been FOREVER since someone besides Jim Collins or Malcolm Gladwell or any number of amazing audio book readers have read aloud to me. My favorite audio book as a child was "Mouse Soup" by Arnold Lobel. My dad read many fairy tales to me (my favorite being, no surprise here, Cinderella.) But as I do not have a husband/boyfriend in my life to read to me, and no children to read to (aside from the Mother Goose crowd), for me, it was an epiphany. I said to her, "it's been a long time since someone has read aloud to me." And she said, "That makes me sad." (or similar words.) (Memoir writing--where we don't always remember the words, but the sense of them.)

Le sigh. But we move on.

A man cannot serve two masters...or root for two teams.

2010-03-01T12:27:00.003-05:00

Yesterday was a day of mixed allegiances. I went to morning church so I could watch the Gold Medal Hockey team. I cheered for both teams, secretly hoping for Canada to win.

I am a realist, and a traitor. Realistic in that I knew the game would go past the 5 o'clock start of my church. Realistic in that I knew in my heart of hearts that I wanted the other team, the one not called Team USA, to win.

How do we sort out this life? I went to morning church, at a quiet Presbyterian church that I have "a crush" on. Since I'm often tired of my own church, with the people ten to twenty years younger than me, all the babies, all the new couples...it was nice to go to a place where people sat in pews, not chairs, and not everyone sat together, and the music was nice and predictable and I was able to worship because it was familiar. (I often think that our pastors experiment too much.) They had a honest to goodness coffee hour, instead of a "take down the chairs" half hour. People stood around and talked, and some people figured out I was a stranger and talked to me. Does loving W church mean I love the Open Door less? I am invested at the OD, I do visuals once every 5th or 6th Sunday. There are people there that I have relationships with, some going back more than the five years we've been a church. But I tire of it. I guess we all tire of home at some time, that's why we have to go on vacation? So was going to W church a vacation? And like the beaches, the warm air that we know we can't take home, I was tapping into some parts of the service that I miss?

And, by liking W church, was I cheating on the Open Door? Which leads right into why I went to morning church--USA vs. Canada in Olympic hockey. Now, as sports go, I am a Penguins fan first. I did not grow up thinking that the US was a hockey powerhouse, and while I want the American skaters to win, I also want the best skaters to win. So I cheered for Kim Yu-Na, who was amazing and graceful in both the short and free programs in figure skating.

So...if I don't expect USA to be a hockey powerhouse, and it was the miracle of the goalie, Ryan Miller, that got the US team to the Gold medal game, and I am a Penguins fan first, well...I have to say, those things said, I felt a little bit like Benedict Arnold. Traitor. How could I root for the Canadians? But I didn't know the Americans. The Canadian team was full of names I recognized, and two that I loved. Eric Staal, Marc Andre Fleury, and yes, Sidney "Sid the Kid" Crosby. So, faced with rooting for players I didn't know and love vs. rooting for players I did know and love? I was rooting for Canada. But, not outwardly. So it was the most boring hockey game I'd ever watched, because I didn't care who won. When we went to overtime, I flipped a coin and determined that for the OT I would root for the US team. And I did. But when Crosby got that goal, I was dancing in my seat. I could not have been prouder of the 22-year-old Canadian who has skated his way into my heart.

Does that make me a bad person? To some, it does. On FaceBook, a college classmate came out and said that she was rooting for the Canadians. And she was reprimanded again and again, in the comments. I said, hey, you're still fine in my boat, and I'm secretly hoping for O Canada to be sung at the end of the game. Then I sunk my boat. I said, "It's not as if we're playing Russia." To which another friend of my friend (but a stranger to me) wrote, SL, move north, and if we were playing Russia, I'd root for them because of Ovechkin, (the Russian player for the Washington Capitols who has captured so many hearts in and outside of the Beltway.) Which to me pointed out the irony--it was not okay for T to root for Canada, outright, but this person would root for Russia because of Ovechkin, which is essentially why I was rooting for Canada.

Confused yet?

It's easy for me to say, "buck up, it's just a game." I am not a Japanese skater who lives and breathes the rivalry between the countries of Korea and Japan. I am not an American skater who against all odds got to the medal game and lost to the captain of the reigning Stanley Cup team, lost again to Canada, as we have in games before. There are roots that go deeper than one game, or even as many games as it takes to get to the Gold Medal game.

I like a church with a coffee hour. I like a church with a small vocal ensemble. I like sermons that tell a story, so beautifully written that I can't take notes, but the images stay in my head for days after. We are a collection of our experiences, of our childhood memories. And my childhood memory is of coffee hour. My childhood memory is not of hockey--I only became a fan in 1997, and it was automatically the Penguin nation that I adhered to, not the American city where it's played, the American country where it resides.

I grew up all over. I rooted for Honduras in the World Cup in 1982. My personality is not one of severe traditional jealousy for the home team. What is the home team? If you were to take it literally, my home team would be the Washington Capitols. But I wasn't a hockey fan when I lived in the DC area as a teen. And there is a strange phenomenon in geographic allegiance: once a Pittsburgher, always a Pittsburgher. If you've lived here long enough to pass the Pittsburghese quiz, use a parking chair in a major snowstorm, see the Pens go for the Stanley Cup and win, see the Steelers go for the Heisman trophy and win, you may move, but Pittsburgh will always be a part of you. I bleed black and gold.

I don't know. This is convoluted thinking that I'm not going to try to fully sort out here.

and the days go by...

2010-02-26T20:57:00.005-05:00

These are strange days, strange days indeed.

We are driving strangely in Pittsburgh these days.

We have gotten used to passing stopped cars, as long as we can get past them. They wait for us to drive by so they can back into their dug out parking spot, the one that has been saved by a "parking chair" all day.

We are driving below the speed limit, especially when white stuff is falling from the sky, and coating the road. In defense of our cars' transmissions, we drive to avoid potholes, even if that means crossing the median line for a minute.

And speaking of potholes, where does the macadam go? The road gets a hole, but surely the macadam has to go somewhere...

****

I drove into Oakland today, and driving out, I hoped to take the Crosstown Blvd. on my way to the North Hills. Instead, I was in the wrong lane at the wrong time and ended up driving through town. At one point I followed a car up a street I'd never been up before (because there was traffic stoppage ahead that I didn't want to contribute to.)

It was the first time in what felt like months that I crossed the river on the Veteran's Bridge instead of the RD Fleming or the Highland Park Bridges.

Driving to work wasn't that bad. I was in a foul mood, but beyond that, the roads were decent. Driving home was another story. The parking lot was a few inches deep of soupy slush, and my boots were soaked through before I had even finished clearing the snow off my car. I got drive-thru McD's, ate it in the Staples parking lot (the McD's parking lot was too treacherous, as it had not been well plowed from previous snows.) I ate every last golden fry, licked the ketchup off my fingers, and got back on the road, driving at 20 in a 25 zone, where drivers generally drive 30, 35 mph. It took me an hour, crawling through the snow, not caring if SUV's passed me by (though few did.)

When I got home, I forgot that I hadn't moved my parking chair into my space, so I parked my car in the middle of the road and went to remove...oh, it's still on the sidewalk. I got back in the car, parked it, and greeted Max, who has taken to shoveling and salting our walks as if he owned the house we live in.

Me: "Thank you for doing that."
Max: "Sure." (I know he takes a masculine pride in it.)

We have such bittersweet history, and my heart pounded as I walked up the stairs to my apartment and put my key in the lock, going over the sentences we'd spoken:

Me: "It took me an hour to get home."
Max: "I'm glad you're home"
Me: "Yeah, me too." (I was already out of visual sight by the time the last two sentences were spoken, we spoke them as if we were characters in a play, these were the words we should say to to each other.)

If you didn't know better, you'd say it sounded like a conversation amongst intimates, not repartee between two people who live on different floors, people who rarely if ever pass each other in the hall. And yet we were intimates two years ago for about six months. I was his first girl, and I know the weight of that, since my first boy, more than twenty years ago, still impacts how I see men, and that ain't good.

Two years have passed, and only now am I realizing that part of me died in the last embers of our days as boy and girl. And though I am back, I'm me, there are parts of me that never regenerated, parts of me that I have survived these two years without, that only now I realize I miss, and I want them back. And I have no idea where they are, where to look for them.

It wasn't just him--it was the end of an era. I finally realized that this was the last boy I would ever date who didn't share my values. I had always dated attractive, fun, somewhat pompous boys who thought it was cute that I went to church, but had no desire to join me, or if they joined me, it was merely to support me, not for any spiritual reason of their own. And while dating Max, I realized that I needed someone who had their own spiritual reasons. So as Max and I were dating, I was coming to conclusions about all the boys I had dated in my twenties. Just as I was Max's first girl, Max was my last boy. The next date I go on will be with a man. Which is a really scary thought, since I am still very much girl.

I don't know where I'm going. But I know I can't stay here. And so I travel on.

Books I didn't read as of January

2010-02-18T15:01:00.006-05:00

...that need to go back to their respective libraries:

Today I will: a year of quotes, notes, and promises to myself by Eileen & Jerry Spinelli
(found that it was more of a "literary devotional" than what I wanted, with a quote, a homily, and an affirmation.)

Girl Group Confidential: the ultimate guide to starting, running, and enjoying your own women's group by Jennifer Worick. (I find that I want to be that person that starts something but in the end, right now, for better or for worse, I prefer to just show up.) But it looks like a good book. Not sure I even opened it...

the amazing adventures of working girl: real life career advice you can actually use by Karen Burns
I wish this book had been available to me sixteen years ago, and it's the sort of book I would recommend to my sister, who is ten years behind me in her journeys, though her journey at work is so different from mine. the hold slip in this book is in the chapter called, "boss from hell." Let's not go there.

Biggest Loser simple swaps: 100 easy changes to start living a healthier lifestyle by Cheryl Forberg et al. This is the sort of book I would buy if I wanted to admit that I'm not crazy about the fact that I've gone up two jeans sizes. But I never ever opened it, and it is now the item on my library record that would block me from taking anything else out if I didn't know how to override that. The library that owns it wants it back or wants my $28.00. (This is the book that started this exercise.)

You're so money: live rich even when you're not by Farnoosh Torabi. Another book that I would buy if I bought books right now. I started reading it, but I'm still pretty much in denial. Oh, the tax refund will take care of...etc. BLECH!! I got as far as p. 16.

Cooking with all things Trader Joes by Deanna Gunn and Wona Miniati. If I read cook books...This book still has the hold slip in it, which means I never even cracked the spine.

Writing and Publishing: the librarian's handbook. Edited by Carol Smallwood. This is the book I would read if I believed that I could read it at work. (I guess I'm not a committed enough librarian that I want to take my work home...) And since it's an ALA guide, it probably retails at $50. It's the one book I would buy tomorrow if I had an extra $50.

*I apologize to all my Indy book lovers that all my links are Amazon. Unfortunately, it is the easiest way to link to book titles, and give folks the option of reading reviews beyond the tiny ones I'm giving here.

I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.

2010-02-06T19:30:00.005-05:00

So, here we are. The 4th biggest snow fall in Pittsburgh weather history. Breaking all the records for February snowfall.

To commemorate this momentous occasion, I constructed this photo essay...for you!

This is the view from my street at 7 am, taken through the glass door.

Seriously, that is a lot of snow.

Wow, there's a bit of car under there!

Oh, and we can see by its markings that it is a Chevy.

The back window...

It must be my car, it has a "Got Milkweed?" bumper sticker.

It's beginning to look like a car under there...

Across the street, you can see what my car looked like before it looked like THIS.

I am covered in snow, just as dusk is falling. Time to go in and make some dinner.

______________________
*Michelangelo

Girl date!

2010-01-25T10:34:00.002-05:00

So...I'm meeting someone for lunch today. A librarian that I "met" through at least two mutual friends. We've been twittering and facebooking and emailing and finally today we're having lunch!

And we're doing brown bag. So I had to go to the grocery store for some things to go with my PB&J and it was like shopping for a date...shall I get pretzels, and what kind? Oh, and I should get some fruit, so I'm all balanced. I ended up getting yogurt, because I actually eat that...

And I got quarters, just in case my usual jammed parking meter is a) not available b) finally fixed.

In other news, my back sprain is probably not just muscle but also ligament. Which takes longer to heal because less blood flows near/around/through them. (Will have to do a Google/Bing/WebMD search.) So 2x weekly chiro visits for a while.

What else? Listening to A long way down (Nick Hornby) for the umpteenth time. I've decided I'm buying the audio soon, as it's one that I get out on a regular basis. It's grumpy enough to be okay when you're having a bad day but funny enough that you might laugh as you whiz through the intersection in Morningside before the Rite Aid.

Speaking of Rite Aid, the price of Epsom Salt has gone up. I bought two boxes for $2/each, but that was the sale price. The regular price seems to be anywhere from 3.39 to 3.99. And it looks like the norm is going away from the milk carton packaging to plastic bags, ick. But, bonus, I got some more tickets for the Life game they are playing/promoting.

See you next time!!

To blog or not to blog, that is the question...

2010-01-23T13:42:00.004-05:00

You have surely noticed that I'm barely pretending to keep up this blog. And that I supposedly off working on studying for my GREs, preparing my portfolio for my MFA application, and other "important" work.

Yeah, right.

So I've been contemplating coming back, a bit a week...maybe.

But I couldn't not share this beautiful book with you, it reminds me of Paula's blog. Blogging for Bliss: crafting your own online journal. This is the book I'd read if I had time to really craft and really blog. It's by Tara Frey and features what seems like a hundred blogger profiles. So much of it is the stuff we all learned by trial and error, but it is a beautiful book, one that I would recommend if you are really hoping to make it blogging, for reals, not just piecemeal like yours truly.

It talks about HTML, manners, ads vs. no ads. And at $14.95, it's a bargain.

The best part are the almost 100 blogger profiles. The other stuff is mostly on the job training. (Unless you are a beginner. Then, it is doubly great.)

Tara's blog, typing out loud, is stunning. It is a place I would go every day, (if I trolled the blogosphere daily, which I don't anymore.)

Up up in the air, in my beautiful, my beautiful balloon...

2010-01-11T23:25:00.004-05:00

(in which Sarah Louise plays film critic, poorly, and scours Rotten Tomatoes site to find proof that she is correct.)

Someone tell Hollywood that they need better storytellers. Two weeks in a row I've gone to the movies, expecting laughter and a good story. I got the first (I even got tears with today's dish) but story was lacking.

When I was just a girl (to the tune of "Loves me like a Rock" by Paul Simon) in English, we learned about the up and down of a plot. You have the beginning, the climax, and the rest. Sometimes you can get away with having the climax at the very end. But sometimes you can't. Especially if your story isn't strong.

That is what happened with the two vapid movies I saw the past two weeks.

(Spoiler alert: the two movies were "It's Complicated" and "Up in the Air.")

To preface, both had great trailers. And UITA had six actual people that I converse with online or in person tell me, "oh, good movie."

Um.

If you consider a movie that has good acting and makes you laugh enough, okay. But I don't. I want good story, and I will take bad acting if you give me good story.

Both of these movies were headed in one direction story wise, and then climaxed, and went in the opposite direction (or, in both cases, took the main character exactly to where they were when the movie started, just with a few more experiences under their belts.)

In "It's Complicated," Meryl Streep's ex-husband Alec Baldwin wants to get back together b/c his current marriage is failing. It sure looks like they're having fun and that this is where the movie is going. But no, we are not given all the information, and Meryl comes to the conclusion that they've been apart too long and it would never work. Now, yes, that is a good story. IF you fill it out with Meryl really wrestling with it. And you show not tell us how it's totally NOT going to work. But no, Nancy Meyers decided that she could just tell us that Meryl would be better off with her architect Steve Martin, who seemed entirely milque toast. Blech.

In "Up in the Air," George Clooney loves his life lived in airports and airplanes. He fires people for a living, he, the man who is kind of married to his job. Two women come into his life, one as a protege, one as a love interest. Wow, maybe George is going to have a chance to see what life is really about, relationships...and then WHAM! We find out that Alex (George's on the road lover) is married, with kids. That she was playing George, and figured George was playing along. OUCH! Now, yes, that is good storytelling. If you give us some foreshadowing. If you show us some character growth. However, if you then don't show George changing at all, and you then put George back up in the air (did I mention he was going to be grounded, the job was changing) and he's back where he was at the beginning. Nothing has changed, not really, except that now George realizes he's lonely. And then the movie ENDS.

Now, I like other work by these directors. Nancy Meyer's movie The Holiday is sheer chick flick smaltz and I eat it up. Yes, we have no idea if these transatlantic romances will work, but we don't care. They dance the night away and tomorrow will take care of itself.

I liked Thank you for not smoking and I adored Juno (Jason Reitman's other two films.)

Some other folks that agree with me on
:

From Dan Jardin's Cinemania: Jardin talks about the contrast of the folks that have lost their jobs (interesting, vibrant) to the boredom of the business travelers (Clooney, Farmigia, and Kendrick)

...these moments of honesty that hover around the fringes of the film serve mainly to highlight the banality of the main plot line and the superciliousness of the lives of the characters we are supposed to care about. I wanted to learn more about the real folks whose lives had been ruined, and would have been quite content had I never met [Clooney, Farmigia, or Kendrick.]

Jay Antani at Cinemawriter.com talks about the depth that could have happened in Reitman's movie:

It’s a movie of missed opportunities, wherein Reitman could have plumbed the dark depths of the betrayal, loneliness, and denial that make up the core of Bingham’s wounded self. He could, thereby, have made the moral payoff of his conclusion feel well-earned and satisfying. As it is, he’s got the right actor for the job, but his movie lacks the guts.

I could go on. But it's late, and this blogger is out of practice writing using other people's words...

I just think that if I'm going to spend good money on popcorn and a movie ticket that I should get a good story along with good acting. Because I care the most about story. I will forgive bad acting for good story, but NOT the other way around.

At least my plate has penguins on it...

2010-01-01T13:55:00.003-05:00

Watching the Winter Classic. Learning that I really don't care about hockey if I don't know who is playing. Off to check movie times...

singing...

2009-11-11T09:57:00.001-05:00

to babies in 3 minutes. I posted about allergies on the SL gets better blog.

it was better in my mind...

2009-11-06T08:54:00.002-05:00

So, in the bath (eureka) this morning, I was thinking about my favorite show of late, The Good Wife. And everybody's dreamboat, Chris Noth. How, if at almost 38, I had a locker, his picture would be up there.

This is such the perfect role for him, and at a perfect time. He's had all this time to be the good guy/bad guy on SATC, and so women are used to him being a cad, but coming out good in the end, and now he's in this role where he is in JAIL and still, looking oh so cute, and...

this is not coming out word perfect like when I was in the bath. Darn. It was all beautiful and it was going to convince you to watch The Good Wife, if you aren't already doing so, Tuesdays at ten, CBS.

Oh, and there's my timer. Gotta get the quiche out of the oven, yum.

Well, I posted. And posting, this month at least, means just that, even if it is warmed over and not so tasty.

I woke up thinking about 8+7

2009-11-02T07:51:00.003-05:00

The trouble about this kind of blogging (which is not mommy bloggging, since I have no child, but not niche blogging since I don't blog about old cars or poker) is that I tend to write about myself. Ah, that favorite subject. But since I write about myself, and my ideas, I get personal. And so I forget that this is a computer and I want someone to answer me back. Which happens, sometimes. But not all the times. So my search for approval and friendship on the interwebs brings me right back to the fact that I need more face to face time with people. Which I am working on. Also, writing morning pages (3 pages every morning, a la Julie Cameron and TAW) helps, because instead of blurting out all my ideas to a computer and expecting approval, expecting conversation, I know that I'm writing on a page and that no one will read it until I want them to, and that I'm more having conversations with myself.

Last night, after church, I spent about an hour finishing transcribing the first story that I'm putting in my MFA portfolio. (A fiction portfolio should have 2 stories and equal a total of 20-30 pages.) So I rewarded myself with what I thought was the last 20 minutes of Cold Case. Nope, it was 3 Rivers. Well, I'm not going to start with another show (I already am loyal to The Good Wife and Numb3rs) so I turned the TV off. Moved some furniture around. I got rid of a desk and a bookcase this weekend, and to pull of the getting rid of part, I had to move furniture. I used to have a tiny bookcase at the top of my staircase, where I put my keys, etc. But it was a little tight manuevering. But I never thought about putting it somewhere else...until I got rid of the bookcase that was on the landing. And so all weekend, the landing was NAKED. (The horrors!) So I thought, why don't I put the keys bookcase on the landing? So I did, angled it, and I think it looks lovelier than it did in its original home. Maybe I'll start using it for mail, instead of piling mail on the floor of the landing...

Oh, so where was that train going? Oh, Cold Case. So after I'd done some apartment improvement, I turned on Cold Case, which was 10 minutes in. And soon realized that while it is a cool show and I love seeing the flashbacks, it is not on the same par as The Good Wife and Numb3rs, so maybe I would finish my book instead. Which I did.

Books last week:

The Year of the Rat by Grace Lin, sequel to The Year of the Dog. A nice middle grade book about a first generation Taiwanese-American girl (her parents are immigrants) who lives in upstate New York. It's also illustrated by the author, little whimsical drawings, which won my heart over. A little confusing, since the author says it's fiction, yet she uses her own home names, Pacy (for home, with family) and Grace (for school). So I kept wondering...is this a memoir? Apparently not, according to the author's note at the end, though the part about a friend moving away was true. But why use your own name in a novel? Other than that bizarro twist, I would recommend it, ages 8+

The Grace Livingston Hill Story. Hi, I'm Sarah Louise and I'm a GLH-aholic. I'm better than I was, but I used to tear through her romances like crazy. The first one I read was White Orchids. In a flurry of I'm getting rid of stuff because I'm/we're moving, I got rid of it at the end of high school. I missed it, and now have another copy. Phew! That actually happened with another book, Sparrow Lake, too, which is out of print, so more it's more of a story that I have another copy, just happened upon it one day and said, yes, this is that book that I thought was too sad to ever read again but I want to read it again and be sad. Where was I? Oh yes. I really liked the Grace Livingston Hill bio, because her books can be a little sugary and we're so poor and honest and godly. Her first husband was a morphine addict! At the time when they didn't know morphine was addictive and there were no rehab centers. He was a pastor, so all the more shocking. And her second husband was a musician who was very childish, who she finally told, leave, and don't come back. No word of an actual divorce, since, you know, not godly. While I love her novels, they are sheer escapism and now I understand a little more about why. SHE needed the escape. And I never knew that the books were her bread and butter, since her first husband died at 35, leaving her with two young daughters to raise. So, of course they were a little formulaic, she was pounding them out, 2 or 3 a year.

Oh, and the title. I have always had trouble with 8+7. How in the heck do they make 15? But I was talking to my mother (retired schoolteacher) about it yesterday, and she said they are now teaching about the "doubles" in math. 6+6=12, so go up or down one for 13 or 11. Same with 7+7. It is so much clearer!! My mother goes back to teaching Wednesday. Her former colleague is having a scheduled C-section Tuesday and my mother will teach for the duration of her maternity leave, which is til the end of the quarter, some time in February.

Well, my dearies, off to take a picture, the one you see up there. Ciao for now.

This is it ...(no, really, really not.)

2009-11-01T17:05:00.003-05:00

I had completely forgotten about NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo. I have decided to participate in the latter.

Stay tuned, I have a post about Nick Hornby's new book, Juliet, Naked, and how I thought about it a lot while watching the movie made from Michael Jackson's rehearsals for his once and no longer future last concerts. But if you want to go see This is it, don't wait for my review, it needs to simmer. And if you're on the fence, go see Amelia. (Next on my list.)

I bet you're wondering where I've been and why I'm not blogging as much anymore...it's that I'm trying to work on a portfolio and it's hard to keep up with daily blogging, Twitter, Facebook, oh, and that pesky thing that pays my bills, work.

I'm also trying to get away from the approval curve. A lot of why I blogged in the beginning was because I thought it was something cool people did and I wanted to be cool. And when I lucked into a sweet community and started getting comments, I felt like I had hit the cool pot of gold. The other night the president of Drew, the first African American and first woman president etc, etc. was on Tavis Smiley. And Tavis asked her about approval. And she said (paraphrased from memory, folks), I work hard to excel, not for approval. This is the way I would do it anyways.

I am SO not there. I want people to like my eggplant spaghetti sauce. I want people to re-tweet my tweets. I want to be a Newbery author. I want to be like Sally Fields and stand up there on stage, "You like me! You really like me!"

And folks, nothing like approval seeking to kill the lust for hard work. Approval seeking wants glitter and glamor and recognition.

So I've been working on very non-glamorous Morning Pages, as a part of my "artist in recovery" work with Julia Cameron's book, The Artist's Way. If you can do it, get some friends to do it with you, it's hard to stay honest if it's just you. I'm in a closed blog with some Twitter friends, and boy is it good to be able to say, no, I did not write today, and for that to be okay, because other people didn't either. Of course, we seek excellence, but we are human, and we will always always always fail.

So, I hereby promise to write most days this month, right here. I do not promise to write every day or to only give you fresh writing every day. But I'll be here, and if you show up, I hope you take a minute to say hi. It's the only way I'll know you stopped by, because I don't have a thing-y that catches visits. See? It's been so long I can't remember the name of that silly thing-a-ma-jig-y, because it was tied in with my own personal am I good enough approval rating.

with x's and o's,
me.

...and it was still warm...

2009-09-18T15:20:00.005-04:00

So, when one names ex-boyfriends after favorite book characters, it can backfire...

...but I think we'll survive.

Banners from /Film, where you can find out more info about this "Coming SOON!" movie.

I ching?

2009-09-09T09:11:00.003-04:00

So, when I was working for Fox books, my friend Tim told me about the I Ching. It's the same book, but when you look at it every day, the message changes. I used to feel that way about Eat Cake. Now, Sex and the City re-runs are my I Ching. (I suppose as a Christian, the Bible should be, but I'd rather not say the Bible is my Buddhist answer book.)

I used to have Eat Cake sitting on top of the CD player in the loo, so I read bits every day. And it always spoke to me. Then I dated a struggling musician and had intimacy issues and money problems and Eat Cake was no longer removed enough from my life. I haven't touched it in a long time. (Soon, I think, I'll be ready to re-read.)

But now, when I have a vile day, I know exactly which episode to turn to: when I can't cry because something horrible happened, I go to the one where Miranda's mother dies and Sam can't get a release until the funeral. Or yesterday, I went for the one where Carrie rebounds with the new Yankee and then cries in his mouth after seeing Big in a bar. She dials the pay phone and you don't know who she's talking to, and you don't know who she's meeting "at our place" until the camera pans to Miranda.

I gotta go. It's this thing called work. They pay me to correct catalog records and help pubescent boys find the next great sci fi series, preferably one he has never heard of. (He's tired of vampires, when I recommend a Westerfeld.) (Me too.)

Writing vs. Blogging Part Deux

2009-09-06T20:57:00.002-04:00

So, ironically, here I am, again, less than an hour later.

I'm trying to build an arsenal of writing prompts. There are a lot of websites, and it's super easy to open my google documents and open a window with writing prompts.

This is the one I found today: Creative Writing Prompts.

I find that I'm a lot better with the prompts that are like "write about an empty glass" (which I did) than write "I remember..."

Okay, I did today's writing, back to Season Six Part One. Miranda has figured out she loves Steve, Berger's book option got dropped, Samantha is helping Smith with his acting career, and Charlotte is sad because she lost Harry, after she converted to Judaism so they could get married.

Blogging vs. Writing...

2009-09-06T20:30:00.002-04:00

This is an interesting development.

I never knew Jose Saramago was blogging, but hey, he's stopped to finish his novel.

I have been trying to post to this, while trying to work on writing.

Not saying that I'm stopping, but I'm wondering.

Even though I went walking this morning, and was thinking of blogging. But I came home, and nothing.

Except some pictures (which I will try to remember to post) and this great quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson.

“Few people know how to take a walk. The qualifications are endurance, plain clothes, old shoes, an eye for nature, good humor, vast curiosity, good speech, good silence and nothing too much.”

Lint Gate continues...

2009-09-05T16:31:00.002-04:00

Except now, it's not about the lint.

So...I waited all week to do laundry, knowing that I didn't want to have to deal with it on a night that I worked til 9pm. So last night, I put a load in around 6:30 p.m. I moved around some books for an hour, went back downstairs at 7:30. Well, it was still going, but at least it was in the "Final Spin."

I did a bunch of other stuff, including getting a Popsicle, calling my parents (line busy), calling Michigan Sally, and gabbing away. While we were talking, I thought, let me just see where the load is, maybe I can transfer stuff to dryer. Um. Still in "Final Spin," a half hour later.

My clothes were almost dry! Who needs a dryer? So I unplugged the washer (there may be a shut off switch, but this is a laundromat style coin-op and so there aren't really dials to work with.) Upstairs again, I wrote an email to the landlord.

Luckily, I washed towels and underwear last night, so I'm set for a week. I have enough shirts to last me a while, since my mom and I did 4 loads of laundry when she came to visit a few weeks ago.

On the depression front--my body is doing bizarre things that feel like "not depression":

I couldn't sleep last night (which feels like hypomania).
I am eating everything in sight (including opening a can of tuna with a church key b/c my can opener is broken) (And yes, I know hunger is a depression symptom, but when I lick the plate clean, that seems hypomanic to me.)
Today in the morning, I was Ms. Motormouth, and at lunch, too.

But this afternoon, at work on the Children's reference desk, I retreated inward and in between helping patrons, I transferred my Twitter favorites into Delicious. I grunted at patrons, and told them we didn't have books, (but then I found myself wrong, and delighted them.) So, I can still do my job, and well, but I am like dead wood inside. Argh.

Insomnia, thy name is...

2009-08-22T00:28:00.003-04:00

So I'm getting ready to take some time off work. So of course, all things go wrong, and by all things, I mean, my washing machine, which had issues a few weeks ago and I alerted my landlord, who cleaned out a ton of lint. Max, Mr. First Floor, did a load after "lint-gate" and had no problem. My mom was in town last weekend, so we went to a laundromat since I had more laundry than one load. But in preparation for stuff n'at, I wanted to do a load tonight.

I checked on it at 9pm, before I left for Whole Foods. I checked on it at 10, after I returned from Whole Foods. (After I put a phone call into my car friend to say, why would there be water dripping from my passenger side foot area? Oh, condensation from my a/c? Oh, okay.) My mom assured me that we could do laundry tomorrow. I assured her, oh, I'm sure it will spin out soon, and promptly forgot about it, went upstairs to watch Numb3rs and finish packing my meds. At a quarter to midnight, after I had done enough of my own spinning, I figured my laundry should be too.

And I was sorely disappointed.

So I unplugged the stupid vile machine (I think it must be a faulty pump) and took my laundry out, put it in the sink to drain overnight. In the morning, I'll take my trash bag out of my kitchen trash can and use the trash can to transport the drained out laundry.

I discovered this unhappy laundry debacle after I had put my laptop to bed but since I'm so wired I brought it back up, wrote an email to my landlord, and started this post.

ARGH.

North Hills Sally, now Michigan Sally, has discovered her local library and has finally taken out Gilead, one of my favorite books. I told her, it's a love letter from a father to a son, do not expect a plot and know that it meanders.

I am so exhausted. Maybe I'll find an online game to play.

mtc (more to come)

xo,
SL

"No more sadness, I kiss it good-bye/The sun is bursting right out of the sky..."

2009-08-18T19:29:00.005-04:00

In 1986, M-tv still showed music videos, Madonna's album True Blue had been released, and I was in 8th and 9th grades.

What do I remember? That True Blue was one of the first cassettes I bought (as opposed to vinyl records) and that there was a contest on M-tv for best video for the title track when it was released as a single. I remember spending afternoon(s) watching the entries, some of which used blue casting as part of the visual effects.

So when the song came on the radio the other day, the memories flooded back. I had just arrived at work, but I stayed in the car until the song was over. Funny how memories flood back: I remember the record shop where I bought the tape, in Wheaton Plaza. It was sort of but not really near the Gap store. I remember strolling my siblings along, in their double stroller, and people asking me if they were my kids and me being offended. (They are ten and eleven years younger than me.)

In our split level house in suburban Silver Spring, Maryland, we had bean bag chairs on the floor, that's what we sat on to watch TV. Much more comfortable than my current set-up at home, a bed on top of a box spring, no headboard. I miss my sofa!! Not that there is really room for another piece of furniture, but even sitting against a husband pillow** doesn't quite replicate the comfort of watching TV from a couch.

****************

So you may have noticed that I've been blogging less--that's about to stop, because (drum roll please) my laptop HAS arrived, all shiny and pink. She came on Friday, I opened her on Sunday morning, and we're still getting acquainted. I have yet to install AVG (the computer came with McAffee, yuk, but we'll deal.) Today I installed Firefox, Adobe Flash, and other sundry things. I have a router, but haven't hooked it up, and I still need to get a wireless mouse. And I need to name her.

In the time that I've not been blogging, I've been tweeting more, especially since I can tweet from my non-internet enabled cell phone. And I've been trying to think what I want to do with this blog--what is it for, who is it for, and what should I write here? And I still don't know. So I'll keep writing bits here and there. I hope you'll come back to see what I've written.

In other writing news, I'm now in a women's writing group with some women from church, which is thrilling. We meet every three weeks and have met twice so far. Now, if only I could get started on something to submit...my goal is to work really hard for the next two years so that I can be in an MFA Creative Writing program by August 2011. (Eek!) My boss in Children's let out a celebratory whoop when I told her my plans--previous to this, my plans had been plain vanilla: to go back for a doctorate in Library Science. This goal is far more audacious but closer to what I really really want: to write more.

It is super scary, since the dual goals of spending less to reduce debt and writing more so I have a portfolio to submit are both things I have not been successful at since my college years. But then again, I haven't had a goal like this since those years.

STAY TUNED!!

_____________________
*True Blue, Madonna, 1986.
**in 1986, I was a Redskins fan.

"Shopping is my cardio."

2009-08-02T21:32:00.004-04:00

Carrie Bradshaw, on why she doesn't think she'll get into online shopping now that she has Internet. (Baby, Talk is Cheap, Episode 54, Season 4)

I spent 50 minutes in a grocery store today. That is 50 minutes too many, but at least when my therapist asks me tomorrow did I walk this week, I can answer truthfully. I walked from my car to the movie theatre to find out movie times. I walked from the movie theatre to Panera, where I had corn chowder with my sandwich, yum. I walked from Panera to Bed Bath and Beyond. I walked around the kitchen area of Bed Bath and Beyond long enough to find some food storage containers that will come in handy now that I'm determined to cook more and eat out less, which includes taking food to work that isn't in a cardboard box that has plastic wrap around frozen food.

I then walked to Bath and Bodyworks, where I discovered they don't have bath bombs either. NO ONE DOES. They suggested I look online. Shopping online never occurs to me. (I hate paying for shipping.) (And I like stores better.) But I really want some bath bombs.

['Scuse me while I look for them, and the first ones I find are $9 a piece! WHAT? The last one I bought was $1 at Giant Eagle and I didn't have to pay shipping!!!!!!!]

[The next two places are $4 and $5, but look, you can MAKE THEM HERE.] Now I'll be looking to procure a "dome shaped mold." Yes, I think that means more shopping. Unless I could use Styrofoam egg cartons...I digress.

So back to my afternoon exercise routine. (Are you tired yet?) I walk from Bath and Bodyworks (where I bought a compact that has one side regular mirror and one side magnified, for $4, and it's PINK) back to the movie theatre. During the previews I try to finish the Red Dress Ink book that I've been working on for the past day or so, because I've invested too much time to not finish it, and I know she gets the guy because I cheated, but I just want it to be DONE, and at this point, it seems really confusing why she would want the guy or why, for that matter, he would want her. Be forewarned: Loves me, Loves me not, is not a lovable book. Though the graphic design for the chapter headings is clever--a Gerber daisy that loses more petals as you work through the book. (You know, like pulling the petals out, "he loves me, he loves me not." Cute. But you don't need to read the book to enjoy that detail.)

Since I've already seen Harry Potter and the HBP once, I'm so bored the first 15 minutes (and I want to finish the blasted stupid RDI book) I almost walk out. But I don't, and I finally settle in and enjoy myself, catch a lot of the little things I missed the first time I watched it, but generally wish I was with someone. Chick flicks, I can see alone. But for me, Harry Potter movies are about my sister and where the heck was she?? In DC, as usual. (Well, she lives there, so that's no big surprise.)

After the movie ends, I walk back to the car, deposit my book and walk to the grocery store. And I proceed to walk around the store for the next 50 minutes, without a list, and though I used to shop at this Giant Eagle back in the day, I'm somewhat unfamiliar and did I mention no list? I don't get out under $50, which I'm sure my mom readers are saying what, that's a bargain, but remember, I'm feeding one person, not three to five. If I spent $50 for what should turn out to be 30 meals (including breakfast cereal), how much is that per meal? About $1.66, so not so bad. I need to keep shopping. Eat out less.

The thing is awareness. I'm actually spending less than I was a year ago. But I'm more aware of my financial situation and I actually REALLY THIS TIME DO want to get out AND STAY OUT of debt and I've given up the dream of getting a higher paying job and I'm looking at grad school in two years, so...the awareness makes my anxiety level higher and by the time I get $60 fast cash out of the ATM and see my balance, which has gone significantly down since payday, (was that only four days ago?) I am on High Anxiety.

So from the grocery store, I walk back to the car (thankfully I didn't buy any heavy things like, say, a whole turkey or a case of canned beets) and drive home. At which point, I walk downstairs one flight to the basement, put my laundry in the dryer (walk up one flight to the foyer) and walk the three flights to my garret apartment with my groceries. I put away my food, immediately open a 100 calorie Pringles container, and make myself a rum and Coke. Anxiety levels drop as I chow on a second 100 calorie Pringles container, fix a Lean Cuisine (I can't cook every day!) and finish the RDI book. And immediately turn the TV on as I work my way through Season Three of SATC.

Today would have been a great day to have worn my pedometer. I may not have walked to church (it's a goal) but please observe that I didn't move my car from 1:30 pm to 7pm while I did all that walking around the Waterworks Shopping Center.

When I finally am at a low enough anxiety level that I can actually call my mother, she confesses that although she doesn't like getting her hair cut on Sundays, she did today. It makes sense, they're leaving tomorrow for a road trip that culminates next weekend in a wedding. And it hits me WHY my grocery/money/ shopping anxiety was so high! I don't actually hit my hand on my forehead, but it's that kind of a moment. We're "no shopping on Sunday" people! We do movies, we do restaurants, but we do not do laundry or shopping unless absolutely necessary. As I have developed from a wee Louise to an almost 40 year old Louise, Sunday has become my day to zone out, my day to FORGET that I even have a checking account. The money anxiety? Was only part of the fact that I hate grocery shopping and a lot of the part that I feel it is my God-given gift to NOT GROCERY SHOP on Sunday. That's what Monday is for. (Monday is also wash day...) Sunday is for movies. Sunday is for chillin' in the crib. Sunday is for church. Sunday is NOT for worrying about bank balances.

And finally, this particular Sunday is for Sarah Louise to spend ten minutes turning her computer on and off, hitting F8 till finally she gets the "do you want to try safe mode with networking" screen. It is 11 pm and I have spent the past hour WRITING A BLOG POST. Life, my friends, is good. Dear reader, there is joy in Mudville. And I didn't have to turn on my air conditioning at all.

And so, as I realize I should probably start to get ready for bed so that I can greet tomorrow with at least a half-hearted desire to find laundry detergent,* I bid thee adieu.

________________________________________________
*did Wisk go off the market? And why are there so many different kinds of Tide? And is it really worth it to spend $8 for the kind that is good for the environment and and and... this is why I didn't buy laundry detergent. Which is also why my groceries were light and easy to carry back to the car, parked by the movie theatre.

...he normally would have said no, would normally have said no that it looked too hokey to have a hatchet on your belt.

2009-07-29T10:16:00.004-04:00

Gary Paulsen, Hatchet, p. 9

I'd never met him before. Or knew he existed. The boy who started reading Hatchet and got bored near the end. Gary Paulsen's adventure tale is like the holy grail of books you hand towards "reluctant readers." Once they've read that, you can branch out into the sequels, the rest of Gary Paulsen's books, and then My side of the mountain...its sequels, and voila! you have a reader.

True confessions? I've never actually read Hatchet. Like Bunnicula in my bookselling days, it is a book that I know is a winner, so I hand sell it by plot. (It's about a bunny who is a vegetarian vampire.) Or, in the case of Hatchet, it's about a boy who gets stranded and all he has to survive is his hatchet.

So I seriously need to bone up on my books for reluctant sixth grade boys. He wouldn't take Hiassen's Hoot, and I forgot about Lupica. (Heat is an amazing book, fun, so much that you wonder why it's in with all the angsty YA books.)

And about that. Why aren't there more fun books for boys going into 6th grade? Must it all be Crutcher (his Chinese Handcuffs was the most requested to be banned book of its era) or Christopher Pike (king of horror). And honestly, would you hand sell Christopher Pike to a kid whose mom is hovering, saying "We have to find a book so we can tell her what you're reading." Her. I wonder if it's a teacher, or just a nosy aunt. Probably a teacher. There is so much more I could have recommended if I could have gotten the boy to shed his tough guy exterior, which with hovering mama there, wasn't going to happen. So I gave him Crutcher's Athletic Shorts. Saw the red dot (our code for more mature YA books) too late. WHY didn't I remember Lupica???

He wanted a book about hockey. But I couldn't hand him Matt Christopher, not after I found out he was going into sixth grade. Bruce Brooks wrote that series back in the late 90s, but the books are short (91 pages!) and most libraries don't carry paperback series that are ten years old. (We don't.) (Oh, unless it's R.L. Stine, Christopher Pike, or the Boxcar Children.) None of which I would have gotten away with recommending to this tough guy almost 6th grader and his hovering mama.

Which is not to say that hovering mamas are evil--if it weren't for her, I doubt he would have stepped foot into the library yesterday.

But it's frustrating. So off I go, to find the Notables list and the Reluctant Readers lists, bone up on my "what you recommend to a tough guy 6th grader who got bored at the end of Hatchet."

Oh, and I have a copy of Hatchet on my desk. I think it's about time I read it.

"My job is to choreograph chaos"

2009-07-27T10:39:00.002-04:00

Mira Nair, director of Monsoon Wedding (Spoilers, beware)

Movies move me. If you are a long-time reader of this blog, you know that I will spend money to go see a movie in the theatre, more than once if I really like it.

Often I will watch a movie many times over, to get to the essence of it, or to get again that feeling of aaaaaah! one gets from watching a wonderful Cinderella, told again and again, on the big screen. Last weekend, it was Confessions of a Shopaholic. Fluff, to be sure, but good fluff. It was colorful, it made me laugh, it taught me about shopping. It would be a stretch to say it taught me about personal finance, but it did, a little bit.

Monsoon Wedding, on the other hand, is a movie I've seen once and will probably watch again, but I could only watch it that one time, there was so much chaos that you needed a break. It was not something I could pick up and rewind, watch again right away (although DVDs have taken away the need to rewind...)

Our church has had somewhat of a baby boom. We have had seven babies since January, and one is about to pop, and one is wearing her "bump." That's a lot for any church, but especially one with about 75 adults in attendance each week. (It's a 10% population increase!) I have been for the past two (at least) years wondering why people want babies, or more importantly, why I don't. Yesterday sitting in church, I saw kids running around and I thought, ack! Why would someone want to carry one of those for nine months and then have to discipline it for 18 years? (You see how I have separated love out, as if that part, which is usually the impetus to having children, making a family, doesn't exist.)

In the movie Monsoon Wedding, Ria Verma, the brides's cousin, is jaded. She doesn't want to get married, she wants to go to the U.S. and study Creative Writing. She reminds me of myself, she reminds me of Carrie, who's not sure she's the marrying kind. (I just recently re-watched The Baby Shower, where Carrie is seven days late and wondering if she could be a mother.) I don't see myself as a nun, or a monk, a person that has the "gift" of singleness. And yet, why do I not want children? Why is finding a husband before 40 not at the tip top of my goals?

Some of it, of course, is that the longer you are single, the more comfortable you get in that role. I mean, why bother? Then there is the alternate, what happens after you stop being single: people couple up, family trumps friends. Unless of course you are a couple and/or have kids too. This is a gross overstatement of what happens, of course. Of course your friend has less time, she now has a child to rear. And that is important. But it is hard for the one "left behind." No more long talks, no more coffee every week, instead it is phone conversations peppered with, "Mary, stop that!" or "John, I'm talking to my friend on the phone right now." (What is it about kids, they glom onto you as soon as you turn your attention to the telephone?)

I still have friends that are single and in their late twenties, early thirties, who say things like "well, my husband will be like x" or "when I have kids..." And listening to them, I wonder what has happened to me. That I have lost that dream, that I really only want to get my M.F.A in Creative Writing?

Some of it may stretch from heroine worship--Madeleine L'Engle had her first book published before she got married. But most of it is callouses on my heart. I've been hurt before and I don't believe that there could be a man out there that I could stand to spend longer than six months with. It's easier to go to work, go home, watch re-runs of SATC, and live vicariously through movies like Confessions of a Shopaholic.

But every once in a while, I watch a movie that cracks that callous a little bit, revealing to me a tiny nugget of truth. Monsoon Wedding is one of those movies. Ria Verma, we eventually learn, doesn't want to get married because she had been sexually molested as a child by a relative. And in the movie, she sees this relative, an uncle, begin the cycle again, with one of her younger cousins. In an amazing moment, the father of the bride shuns this uncle, sends him packing, saying, you are no longer welcome here. And by the end of the movie, Ria is making flirtatious eyes with one of the wedding guests. Ah. Of course healing from childhood abuse doesn't happen in the course of 15 minutes of screen time, but we get the point. Ria is on her way to healing, because her uncle stood up for her, because she was seen as valuable and worthy of protection, and because she helped to protect the next generation.

I am also on my way to healing. What a long road it is... When I was seventeen, I dated a man who was dangerous. A man who didn't pack guns or ammunition, but who numbed my heart, took away my innocence and made me distrust men. Twenty years later, I am still numb. My dating life has been a graveyard of spending time with men who weren't good for me, men that I wouldn't recommend to anyone. There was maybe the one who got away, but it seems that in the end he was just in the closet.

So I'm 37, and there has been no great love. And why not? Because when I was 17, I let a boy kiss me, and it started something that I'm still untangling today.

****************

More movies to un-numb your heart:

The quiet ones that make you think:
Broken English with Parker Posey. (Watch all the "making of" bits too, this is the director's first movie.)
Before Sunset (sequel to Before Sunrise, which is NOT a first date movie, nevertheless I did see it on a first date on Valentine's Day. ICK. I imagine my view of it now would be different.)

Fun movies that are a little more than fluff:
Just Sex and nothing else (Hungarian--you have to be willing to do subtitles)
Once (Dublin!) (and the music is amazing)
The Family Stone
Wedding Bell Blues (which I just noticed came out on DVD! Woot!)
Caramel (more subtitles, it takes place in Lebanon)

Total fluff (but we all need that sometimes):
While you were sleeping
You've got mail
Confessions of a shopaholic
How to lose a guy in ten days
Failure to Launch

(if I linked everything I'd be here forever, and you know how to use Google.)

As a movie lover, I always wonder why there are so many book sites, like Goodreads or Shelfari or Library Thing, where one can talk about the books they love, and not so many where you can talk about the movies you love.

(So, Cuileann, I blogged. Without my laptop. We writers just need a little encouragement, non?)

I wanted the poem electric...

2009-05-30T09:02:00.004-04:00

(mismatched lines from a poem in Writer's Digest, eons ago.)

Two friends asked this week if their RSS was broken or if I had merely stopped blogging. Neither is the case, I've just taken a long break. Life broke in, my computer is breaking down, and excuses abound.

But driving to work this morning, I was determined that if I arrived before 9 am (I DID) I would spend the first few minutes composing a little something bloggy.

So readers, if you're out there, a big HIIIIIIIIIIIII from Sarah Louise.

So much has happened while we've been apart. And this summer will be full full full.

What has happened:

I went to Austin and didn't see Badger. (Please forgive me--it was familyfamilyfamily) I did, however, see the Bat Bridge (pictures forthcoming) and eat lots of great food. I was having my lady troubles, so I spent two days in pain and napped every single day but overall it was a great trip and I'm sad that my brother no longer lives there. (He and my dad are driving back to Virginia as we speak.)

I have jury duty on Monday. Which meant I had to cancel all my Monday dr. appointments. FUN. (not.) This is our busiest time at work as we prep for the kids to get out of school, so I really hope I don't get assigned to a case or however that works.

I've read lots, of course. For my Austin-cation, I read two of the Dailsy Dalrymple mysteries, which are fun "cosy" mysteries that take place in 1924, in between the wars in Britain. I'm returning the third one today since they really are vacation reads and I'm back at brass tacks. Currently listening to Leif Enger's latest, So brave, young, and handsome. (Going to airport bookstores helped me to see what is in vogue.)

Twitter takes up a lot of my online time. I like the 140 characters, the fact that at a glance I can see how all my librarian, Presybterian, Pittsburgh, hockey friends are up to.

What else? Well, this summer, NH Sally moves to Michigan, probably for keeps. Her DH got a job as a professor at Calvin College (the arch rival of the college my parents, grandparents, and brother went to, Hope College.) So a 30 minute from home, 5 minutes from work drive to see her will be a 8 hour drive or a trip on the airplane.

I might be moving in the fall, into a community house. I feel that right now I need community, since Sally is moving, I'm not finding enough of a community at the OD where all the babies are popping or have popped. (Childless, single woman here.) This will be an adventure in its own right, woman who has lived in a garrett for about ten years on her own, moving into a house with about nine other folks.

Well, my time to blog is up, I gotta go get my tea or coffee and start working.

Oh, and tonight I'm going to an NHL Tweet-up for the first game of the Stanley Cup Finals. Go Pens! (and pencils.)

let it snow...

2009-04-07T23:07:00.003-04:00

Well, okay, I'm not saying snow should pile up in April, but it sure gave Pittsburghers something else to talk about today.

Especially after the past coupla days: 3 police officers killed on Saturday, a house invasion in East Liberty on Monday, a wife shoots a ex-husband on Monday, oh, and there was the guy that drove into the Subaru dealership. Literally.

Calling all angels??

So, yes, I'm glad we had something else to talk about today. And I'm glad the Penguins WON! Woo hoo!

I'm in and out and around (it's called vackay) !!

To bed so I can wake at the crack of dawn...later I'll tell you about egg decorating and the day SL thought her vackay was a goner b/c of jury duty.

Keep smiling...

mental health: it's not for wimps

2009-03-27T07:44:00.005-04:00

This was one of my tweets this morning: "a mental health tip: if you've been morose for weeks and all of a sudden you are giggly, watch out. (tired of monitoring moods) #moods.diva"

Yep, I flipped. (It's a my non-medical terminology for I was grumpy/depressed and now I'm not.)

I can feel my skin. It's time for a bath. (I thought I wanted a walk, but that would be WAY too stimulating.)

So, movies to see if you've had the WORST day ever: I love you man. It is highly inappropriate from minute 5, so don't go with ANYONE you don't know real well/aren't comfortable with. But it was hysterical, exactly what I needed.

okay, got to go monitor the bath. Be healthy!!

another tweet: Apparently the pea soup fog is so bad that 1 car hit utility pole, another went into a creek. Blech. #glad.i.work.@.10.a.m.

finding things...

2009-03-25T09:12:00.002-04:00

You never know what you'll find when you're not looking for it. Today, looking for my favorite poem (I need to get a hard copy) I typed "love pitched tent excrement" into Google and got this manifesto for a theatre in North Carolina. Wow.

Here's the poem, found when I put "crazy jane and the bishop" into my own search of this blog:

Crazy Jane Talks with the Bishop

I met the Bishop on the road
And much said he and I.
‘Those breasts are flat and fallen now,
Those veins must soon be dry;
Live in a heavenly mansion,
Not in some foul sty.’

‘Fair and foul are near of kin,
And fair needs foul,’ I cried.
‘My friends are gone, but that’s a truth
Nor grave nor bed denied,
Learned in bodily lowliness
And in the heart’s pride.

‘A woman can be proud and stiff
When on love intent;
But Love has pitched his mansion in
The place of excrement;
For nothing can be sole or whole
That has not been rent.

After it, on a former post, I wrote: "I love that bit. Love has pitched his mansion in the place of excrement. Love, not flowers or candy on Valentine's, but Love that holds the bucket while you wretch."

I have to go now, or suffer being late to work.

Spring has sprung! (some random thoughts)

2009-03-22T22:04:00.004-04:00

So Friday was the first day of Spring, and it cracked me up that the Today show had an actual "countdown" with Vivaldi's Spring playing in the background AND that it was snowing in NYC, where the show is recorded.

Today I took a walk to the Seminary and there was literally a herd of red breasted robins. At least twenty, just poking around on the main lawn which is really just dirt, no grass.

Earlier in the afternoon today, I went to see Duplicity, with Julia Roberts and Clive somebody. Very good, spy stuff. You have to pay attention, not a chick flick, but very fun.

Elliot (my car) likes to tell me when there is ICE POSSIBLE. So it cracked me up, on the way to the movies, when it was 53 outside (that's Fahrenheit) that Elliot reminded me ICE POSSIBLE and didn't think it was above 35 until I was already in Aspinwall (close to 5 miles from my house.) The temperature thing is the least important working part of my car (in my mind), but if it's not working and it's attached to the whole computerized thing...I fretted. And then it went up to 38, 41, and kept going until it was at 54. (Whew!)

I guess that's it for now. I wanted to just move on from the last two posts which were a little drama queen-ish. I'm adjusting to the fact that Sally NH is moving, and I plan to go visit Sally EE and baby tomorrow. (Plan being the operative word since I still need to call her.)

In the meantime, I'm still humming that Jason Mraz song.

Oh, and here's something that someone you might know is working on--it's a Mother's Day bookbuying holiday here in da Burgh. That Suzi W. is a good friend of mine, if you live in da Burgh, it will be a fun event. Stay tuned.

"It is so nice when you can sit with someone and not have to talk."

2009-03-19T15:35:00.003-04:00

Sally NH might be moving two states over. Need I even say more?

Oh, and Sally EE just had a baby girl, YAY. I haven't been over to visit, or even called to congratulate. (Bad friend.) I facebooked her husband, does that count?

_______________________
Harry in "When Harry Met Sally"

it's our godforsaken right to be loved loved loved loved

2009-03-10T11:04:00.003-04:00

So if you've been here, you are right with me that life is just AWFUL.

But.

A big ol' Butt.

I have never had the universe open up so wide to want to make me smile. First, I finished watching "How to lose a guy in ten days" which is so chick flicky you never should watch it with anyone that isn't female, but it's great. (See link for the ten chick flick cliches.) (You really should go, I promise it's NOT a Rickroll. It is hysterical.)

Then I realized (tmi) that yep, I have a yeast infection. Ick. THE END.

Then I got two great funny emails from dear friends. One was from a dear college friend and we agreed to quit our day jobs for the day and "meet" at a beach near our alma mater. (If only.)

Then my cousin sent me a new theme she created for iGoogle. This is a talented lady, I'm telling you.

Then, while I'm uploading my new theme, my phone vibrates and it's a text from aintskeered, who I follow on twitter. "There is no fear in love." (Well, check the link, it's from 1John4:18)

This is all in the span of maybe 20 minutes.

So you know that joke, the one about the man who is on the roof waiting for God to save him and a helicopter comes, and a boat, and all these things and he gets to heaven and says, um, why am I here? and God says, um, didn't you see the helicopter and the boat and all those things?

I hear you!!

Oh, and the title is from Dani, who posted this Jason Mraz song to blip.fm. (Yes, she was also a part of the 20 minutes of love.)

It's my blog and I'll sap if I want to. I don't need to be poetic to say, love is all around.

I gotta go eat something. Catch ya later.

(I'm not saying life is perfect, just that it's worth it, n'at.)

Songs to sing

2009-03-09T22:28:00.002-04:00

I know, I just posted. But this thought seemed incongruous with the (I can't believe I spelled that long word correctly) post below.

from Annie: "Just thinking about tomorrow....I love ya tomorrow, you're always a day away."

and the Mr. Roger's song: "And you'll have things you'll want to talk about, and I will too."

"You're so far away..."

2009-03-09T21:56:00.005-04:00

I've been sick. And I'm sick of being sick, but my body still has a little bit of flu. THE END.

But what happens to "little miss introvert" is that all that time alone (sleeping, watching DVDs, sleeping) backfires. You get used to being alone. You don't call people, people don't call you. And it becomes easier to stay home and do that Google search you've been meaning to do all week.

(Yes, Sarah Jessica Parker had a nudity clause in her contract with HBO, that's why you never see her bra-less.)

So then the re-entry to life is harder, because if your social construct isn't strong, folks forget about you (or you think they have). And you internalize even more. And the longer you stay at home, the harder it is to get out there with people, because as an introvert, you long to spend time with people that really "get" who you are and if you've been gone so long...it's a really bad cycle.

I spent a few hours in tears (well, maybe it was 45 minutes) part of the time chatting online and when I realized I was creating more drama, I said, I gotta go.

This is the year of the bad smell in the hall. This is the year of the bait and switch raise. Yes, I got a raise. And then I had to buy tires. Which basically ate the entire raise. And then, because I make more, the membership to my professional organization went up. AND because we're in a downturn, the library isn't paying for national conferences, in this year where Twitter has connected me to some people professionally that I want to meet face to face in Chicago.

I do my taxes on Thursday. Hoping for a nice refund. Wondering, if I do get a nice refund, if I need to rearrange my withholding. Ay ay ay. Drama.

And yet, I keep a piece of paper in my calendar that puts things in perspective, big time: "If you have food in the fridge, clothes on your back, a roof overhead and a place to sleep, you are richer than 75% of the world."

This is not the year to purchase a laptop. Oh well. My digital camera is on its last legs.

HOWEVER.

I have dirty clothes, which means I have more clothes than I can wear in a week. I have clean towels. When my mother (maybe!!) comes to visit this weekend, I have a bed where she can sleep.

I feel like this is one of those Psalms of Lament, where David starts out, oh, my bones are broken, everybody hates me, no one likes me, I guess I'll go eat worms, and ends with "Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God."

What's the bait and switch situation in your life right now? What makes you want to sit on the front step (which is crumbling by the way) and cry? Or are you pretty content with things?

May you find a piece of peace today, tonight, tomorrow.

_________
*Carole King

Seasons change...

2009-03-08T12:21:00.003-04:00

Some people mark seasons with the fulfillment of dreams. Some people read all the Narnia books every year. Some people open all their windows at the first sign of spring. And some people (Me!) know that there's a change in the air as she watches the last two episodes of Sex and the City.

I have finally come to "An American Girl in Paris" parts 1 et deux.

I thought I would have a lot to write, but maybe I used it all up in my mind and then the picture positioning, and the collage...enjoy.

As for Daylight Savings--I didn't set an alarm, because it's Sunday. I woke up at 10:30! I am going to have a rude awakening when I have to wake up for an 8:45 chiro appointment tomorrow, and Wednesday I have to BE at work at 9, which means...

But I'm feeling better. I worked 5.5 hours yesterday, had dinner with a friend (where the mahi-mahi made my elbows have hives...isn't learning what your allergies are fun?) and came home.

Spring is in the air. This winter girl hopes it cools down a little, I'm not ready for spring...yet. But I am interested to find out when my crocuses are going to pop.

More later. Carrie Bradshaw awaits...

I will say this: you can tell that the SATC cast, staff, etc. love what they do. That it's not about "churning out another piece." Talking to Bird Friday night she said I should start a SATC fan page. I get so much out of watching it. And the commentaries. Well, first a trip to the WC, then I'll un-mute the TV and watch "An American Girl in Paris, Part Deux." oooh, I can't wait!!

Pink...dolphin!

2009-03-04T15:45:00.001-05:00

Wow, this is so cool. And this is called microblogging on one's own blog. Kaithxbai!