Current Events

Hope y’all had a happy Hallow. Our Saturday was a blur. Carl worked, we went to church for the 5:15, then dashed over to Phil and Cindy’s for pizza and a chance to see the twins dressed up (Snow White and Princess Ariel) and hang while Cindy handed out candy to the trick or treaters.

Carl kept an eye on the clock, and we managed to make it out the door by eight so we could drive up to GR to spend a long Sunday carving pumpkins, eating donuts, and visited the Dear Aged Despot—henceforth to be known as D.a.d.—after his surgery.

Besides looking understandably white around the gills, we were happy to see him up and around so much, quite chattable and ready to be part of the festivities. Apparently, by Monday morning he was recovered enough to also send me an illuminating bit of hatemail about my lack of filial devotion, the abandonment of my “rightful” place in the family.

Not sure.

But, I did extract a promise from Carl that if I ever undergo major surgery he will not allow me to email ANYONE for at least seven days. I’d like to be med-free before I start flogging my nearest and dearest.

I would also like to recommend not being an only daughter. I’d like to think it would’ve spared me a few scattered thundershowers and flash floods of tears over the years… I mean, before common sense kicks in and you realize that if your father isn’t even spelling your husband’s name correctly, there may be something afoot besides sadism.

But, if nothing else, life is a process of shaking it off, and so onward we trudge, putting together our November meal plan, buying storage crates for the newly organized basement unit, making plans for coffee with Em later in the week, tidying the digs, and launching into the new novel.

Today, in point of fact, is a new day. And, I have a lot of menus to put together in the next hour…

Freeday

Hard to believe October’s almost over. Seems like the leaves all dropped in the last day. Carl and I got stuck in traffic for 45 minutes (half an hour in one exit ramp) last night, and, apart from all the gnashing teeth, I found myself noticing the bare trees in surprise. Can’t believe it came so fast!

Anesthetized by the encouragement of my two latest readers (thanks, Em and Moy!), I’ve been plowing into the synopsis writing stage. Far from perfect, but at least it’s something. I have a list of 14 agents who handle the Christian/Historical/Sorta Romantic/Fiction genre, and will start pelting them with queries come November. If that doesn’t work, we’ll try rocks the month after.

Anyway, gives me two days off from my PUNISHING routine of getting out of bed in the morning. Honestly, darling, I don’t know how the proletariats manage. No wonder they coup. ANYONE would. [This from the lost Mitford sister who apparently resides in my head].

Had a fabulous dream last night. Was visiting my parents and happend to wander into the garage which was cluttered as always (whose isn’t?) but—and this is BEST part—also strangely full of adorable little puppies and kittens crawling all over the boxes and junk. Like thirty of them. Little terriers and spaniels and dauschunds and dobes and bulldogs and siamese and tabbies. I died…wandering about saying, “OH, SO cute! What about a pair of terriers too? Don’t you think? And how can we not take THESE!?!?” Carl, poor man, seemed to have no choice in my dream, because I suddenly “woke up” and our bedroom was in the center of this fabulous house with a set of linking swimming pools and a crazy menagerie of dogs and cats, but mostly dogs.

Utter bliss.

In a not unrelated conversation, Carl—who has been hearing horror stories from friends at work—asked me last night with some morbid hesitancy whether I thought I would also go certifiably insane when I hit menopause.

Well, I think the answer, honey pie who reads but never comments, probably ought to be squared to: Pretty sure I’ll be mad as a hatter long before forty-five.

Sorry.

In other news, Carl read an interesting fact to me from some Digg link. Apparently, Obama’s hit the golf course in his 9 months of presidency as many times as Bush did in 2 years. A twistable fact, since maybe Bush hates golfing—who knows—but I kind of thought it was an interesting companion piece to the other fact that Obama’s also appeared on 4 times as many talk shows as Bush did in his last term.

Fabu. I say we cut the crap next time and just elect George Clooney… Give the folks what they want, you know?

I did actually have one genuinely interesting thought today: been puzzling about the problems of prayer. As a Christian person, I believe that prayer is important and that God cares about my life today, yet how do I square that with the fact that God clearly DOESN’T answer a huge percentage—if not majority—of prayers? What about prayers for healing, others’ salvation, world calamities, starving people, etc?? I realize my question is just a branch of the “problem of suffering,” but it bears revisiting every now and then.

How do you resolve the tension between the fact that God cares for us, promises to hear our prayers, and yet doesn’t answer a huge number of them?

You know, in 200 words or less.

Post Groceries, Pre Dinner

Do you what is an amazing lunch? Well, second lunch, if we want to be all technical?

This avacado. Lightly salted. Fresh from the store. Fabulous.

Pretty sure that when the woman said it was time to be healthy/eat more fruits and veggies, she probably didn’t mean sit down and eat an entire avacado by yourself. But, these are good fats, right? Also: Carl won’t touch them, so I knew I’d be eating it by myself anyway…

I did finally go to the gym this morning after zipping Carl to work. It’s about time. I’m not pregs nor have I been, so there’s really no excuse for these 10 pounds. Besides, the little happy cocktail of endorphins and seretonins and I don’t really know what I’m talking about but supposedly they frolic about and procreate after exercising… yeah, I think they work. Anyway, I had a good mood and energy for tackling the rest of my to do list of banking and shopping and tidying up (and eating left over pizza while correcting the nov, let’s not omit).

The only thing I didn’t get done today that I meant to was to get my hair lopped. Shall reschedge for tomorrow or Friday.

Was browsing at Barnes and Noble the other day and found 2 books I really want to read: At the Root of This Longing by Carol Lee Flinders and Does God Hate Women? by Benson and Stangroom, both dealing with the problematic relationship of spirituality/religion and feminism.

Am super curious and interested… though not expecting to be particularly converted to any specific point of view. But, I think that’s the heart of where feminism becomes the most significant for me, as a Christian. I know lots of women don’t think twice about it, but for me it matters what the Bible actually says about women—and how that may or may not be different from how the Church (universal) and culture thinks.

I don’t remember the context—I’m sure I had asked some sort of loaded question—but I remember when I was young my mom answering a question by saying that if she could have been born anything, she would have chosen to be born a Jewish man (runner up, she would have married a Jewish man). Because, no matter what the Bible says about there being no more male or female, Jew or Gentile, the truth is that we can all count. And, we know that for every reference to equality there’s 100 about how God loves the Jews and (wince), if air time counts for anything, seems like God likes men a lot too.

Anywho, I have no interest in a “feminist” Bible or being all mad at God, but I DO continue to find the subject interesting, and the book by Benson and Stangroom looks like it does a good overview of other major religious traditions and their handling of women’s issues, which would fab. I can’t tell you how often I’ve heard in Christianity’s defence that “at least we’re not as oppressive as the Muslims” or whatever scapegoat of the month we’re on, but it would be interesting to see if historically there’s been much actual difference.

… sigh. So many hills, so few worth dying on.

Friday, Oct 18th

Got a text from Carl yesterday afternoon informing me that he’d scored some VERY nice tickets for the Red Wings game last night courtesy a job connection, so after he played a quick game with his own for fun team (which seems to result in a high volume of bruises for something so “fun”) early in the evening, we made the mad dash into Detroit to catch the last half of the Wings game.

I’d never been to the Joe Louis or… yeah, to be honest, any major game of any real sport anywhere. I don’t think anybody could accuse me of being a “sporty” person, and I have very little idea of the rules of any particular game, but there’s something super fun about the energy in a big arena like that. And our seats were nice and close, and I’ve been watching a fair amount of hockey lately and can sort of kind of figure it all out.

I think it’s also true that the associations of something are almost as important to me as the actual thing. My grandpa used to help coach a little community hockey team; my dad and brothers played all growing up. Hockey is an excuse to be together, to eat snacks, and be excited about an outcome I don’t have any control over and therefore cannot possibly be responsible for bringing to pass! So, yay hockey! It’s a win-win!

Good times…

I’ve also got 90% done on a first chapter for the mystery novel as of today. Now just trying to sort out whether or not the tone is right. Maybe needs more action. Not sure.

For some reason (I blame the gray skies) I just feel a little egh today. Mentally restless I think. Or maybe just a headache. Because those are the same thing.

Clearly, whatever else is affected, my decision-making sprocket is also down.

No Place like Home!

Well, it was a fab weekend with the nephs in Connecticut—lots of Kipper videos, goldfish crackers, Dr. Suess, Beatrix Potter, and axes. (“I AXE it,” Reuben said, thwacking whatever was handy with his miniature hockey stick. “YES,” I said, “you are very strong. But, how about you axe the pile of laundry and not the chair? Or your brother. NO.”)

Gideon has always been a little more clingy with Carlie, so I was a little worried about how he’d do without her for 2 days, but he was quite the toothy-grinning trooper. At night, both boys were understandably more anxious, but not inconsolable by any means.

Although, sleeping about 4.5 hours per night isn’t exactly awesome for one’s own pluck and courage. When I turned on Skype the last evening and saw Carl, my eyes started to automatically well up. One would not make a very good single parent… But, really, would anyone?

Am home now, howev. Had a blissful Monday off with no goals beyond the lofty ones of sleeping, eating, and being together. Does separation get easier or harder the longer you’re together? Because I absolutely loathe it. A day is just ok, two makes me question why I agreed to go, and 3 is seriously depressive. It’s not even anything easy like talking or sex. We can talk on the phone, and when we were still dating we used to do 5 day stretches of not seeing each other, and the feeling was equally wretched.

Funny how quickly needs are created.

And he is extremely fabulous, this husband of mine. A couple of people commented on how nice it was of Carl to let me go and leave him for a long weekend like that. Truth is, that’s not even half. I got home and he’d alphabetized our DVD collection, done the dishes, picked up my script from the pharmacy, and, later that eve,  gave my tense little shoulders and arms and back the most spifftacular rub-down ever because I’d had such a “hard weekend.”

One does not deserve.

But one does very much love.

Here are a few snaps of the weekend!

Reuben’s into making faces these days. I gave him the camera and he kept asking me to make a funny face, so when I took some of him, I asked for the same.

Ru took this one of G and I in the back yard.

And this one of the flowers too! One might, in fact, call it a budding talent. If one was into stupid puns, of c.

Must dash and make din, but a final quick note on some books I’m reading lately. Feel like I always complain here about the books or movies I’m reading that are wretched, so I thought I’d compensate by giving you three that I’m finding fabulous:

1. One Year to an Organized Life by Regina Leeds. I’m not saying you should drop everything and read it, but, unless you’re God or Martha Stewart, you probably should. Inspirational, practical, and just good fun (if you’re a compulsive improve-o-manic anyway).
2. Finding Your Own North Star by Martha Beck. Actually, I’ve never read the book and don’t particularly recommend it—but there’s a companion workbook that was awesome. It won’t tell you the meaning of life (which is fine by me, because Beck and I probably wouldn’t see eye to eye on that anyway), but it WILL get you thinking about the purpose of YOUR life and how to achieve the things you truly want to achieve. Love it and didn’t find it to be sacchirine or annoying like most “self-help-y” books.
3. Every Thought Captive by Jerusha Clark. This is the most (only) Christian and the least practical of the three, but still q good so far. My small group is doing it together, and while I find myself agreeing with all the principles and feeling reminded of true reality… there’s not a lot of practical advice for how to move beyond a mental agreement with the truth and a real, life-changing acceptance of it.

I’m also reading What the Butler Winked At, which is the memoir of a butler (published in 1924) who was in service to the gentry for 50+ years in Merry Olde. Funny, interesting, and eye-opening. Shall definitely be using for my mystery nov.

And, now the stew.

Challenged

So, I finally memorized my husband’s phone number. That makes me awesome, right? Now, even separated from my handy speed dial button, I can make contact.

Except that, driving to the bank the other day, I said, Oops! I can’t deposit my check after all. I didn’t bring my wallet.

“Why would you need your wallet?”

Oh, I explained, I prefer to let my avoidant behavior ring loud and clear by never actually going INTO the bank. I usually just deposit in the ATM drive up thingy.

Carl, it seems, deposits in person. Not only that, but he doesn’t need his bank card anyway because he has his account number, as well as the number on the front of his card, memorized.

I considered this and finally offered, “I know a poem. By Wordsworth. About a cloud” and proceed to quote a few lines in defense of my sadly impugned memory.

… When the truth is that you existed perfectly well, in sound health and good credit scores, on your own system, there really is no reason to feel badly about yourself, right? I mean, not that Carl makes fun of me about it—just sometimes I feel badly when I realize I’m not “as good” as somebody else at something. Yeah, but I’m over it now. My quality of life isn’t challenged by stuff like that. So, bring it on, O universe full of mathematical geniuses with huge incomes and athletic prowess to spare. Can you quote Byron?

I DIDN’T THINK SO.

Ha! Touche, PHILISTINE.

My Magnificent October

Having finished my revisions on the Little Wescott novel—which is not so much finished as stuffed into a small box and ignored for the time being (basically a boarding school for poorly-behaved fiction)—I am spending the month of October researching and outlining the mystery novel.

Which amounts to reading books and drinking tea all day every day. Kind of an ideal existence, if you ask me. Although, I guess I have also promised myself that I will locate my next batch of potential agents and start writing query letters this month. Have promptly planned to put that off for as long as possible while still getting it done “this month.”

Am leaving on Thursday to hang out with my nephs while their fabulous parents abscond to New Hampshire for the weekend. Unlike ignorance, I actually find low expectations to be bliss—there is a part of me that fully expects them to consider me the devil in human flesh, to hate everything I cook, and to cry all night every night. When they DON’T (and part of me knows they won’t, because they’re first class little men), how absolutely brilliant it will all seem.

Nothing like knowing how to live cheerfully with your own pessimism!

The weather has definitely turned autumnal here; lots of rainy days and gray thunderclouds. Daylight after supper is getting to be a smaller and smaller window for tennis and walks, but at least the cool temps make activity more fun. Not a huge fan of the whole grit and sweat angle… My views on life are a bit cozier than that.

I still feel only minimal satisfaction with my comprehension of The Meaning of Life.

Alternately, I continue to find happiness in cooking.

I am also puzzled, skeptical, and mildly discouraged by the feedback I get from my brave test-readers. Clearly, I have not begotten a bestseller, which (apart from brief moments in the car when I catch myself answering interviewer questions) wasn’t the point really, but I guess what throws me is the variety of opinion. It’s easy to rewrite when everybody agrees that if a tax was levied on raised eyebrows the economy would be nine tenths in the black, but it’s the buckshot feedback that stumps me. Things that are obvious to the point of boredom in one reader are a total surprise to someone else. Things that seem dull to one are “informative” to other My style is easy to read and peachy to one and disappointing to another because it’s not “me.”

Hmm. What is “me”? Also: if there are only six Oreos left in the package, does it REALLY make sense to leave one or two alone in that giant container?

Perpetual trauma is really the hallmark of my existences these days. As you can see.

As a final question: do you not feel a bit irritated by the reverse sexism of society that portrays all men as doofuses? (Would that be doofusi?). Doofusical, ego-centric, sex fiends? A sort of premanent self-allowance system that explains away all unacceptable behavior in men while ALSO belittling them.

Awesome. Now I feel a rant coming on. Shall spare.

Seriously?

Pretty sure that unless I do something that is also a bona fide CRIME, I cannot have committed a HATE crime. Hate crime meaning a crime that is motivated by hate. As in, I burned down your business because your skin is not the same color as mine or I gunned down your child because you are not of my religious persuasion or I threatened your life because you are not of my nationality.

This is not a difficult concept.

Something that is not a crime, therefore, cannot be a “hate CRIME.” I pick my nose in your direction because you are Irish is not a hate crime. It is disgusting, but it is not a hate crime. Saying God hates fags is rude and untrue, if we’re talking about most any of the gods I’m aware of, but it is not a crime. (Picketing and screaming at people probably IS a crime, but you’d have to check your regs on that).

So, frankly, I’m kind of at a loss to understand how advocacy groups can use be all fired up about “stopping hate crimes” like… elected government officials who are appealing court decisions through accepted legal channels. Or religious teachers who are expressing the doctrines of their beliefs. Or random people who are voicing their personal opinions on a subject in a calm, non-violent manner.

For real, people. I’m all for stopping hate crimes and using the full extent of the law against folks who have willfully committed criminal acts against people for WHATEVER reason, but it’s kind of hard to feel a lot of confidence about a movement that has to change the definition of words in order to get a rally warmed up.

It’s like saying we want to stamp out world hunger by giving free pizza to schoolchildren, ages 4-6 in the southern half of Iowa whose parents have an income not above $45,000.

I’m just saying.

Sunday in the burrow

Got to love a good Sunday at home together. Slept in, had a big western omelet breakfast, tackled some cleaning projects together (Carl cleaning out his half of the closet, me trying to bring some order to the desk and my, um, large black hole of crap). Carl’s heading across the parking lot in a few minutes to help a friend move, I need to put together my October to-do list… and then we’re off to the mall to wander and eat high-fat things together.

I almost never go to the mall anymore. For me it was always just a big, commercial, idea-generator—a chance to see not only the hundreds of colors and patterns and scents, but what people are wearing, what people are doing, maybe even (it must be admitted) what people talk about.

It’s only a 15 minute drive, but I’m busy and I don’t have (or want) the car most days… anyway, I’m looking forward to it today. Planning to use it mostly to start plotting out some good Christmas/birthday gifts for the fam and maybe a good fall-ish scented candle. Am a big fan of those.

We watched The Constant Gardener a couple of nights ago.

And hated it.

I know a lot of people have told me it’s clever and ends up being all romantic because, although you THINK the female character is an ambitious whore, turns out she actually LOVED HER HUSBAND THE WHOLE TIME and was just trying to save the world because she is a MARTYR and a SAINT.

Whatever. Seems to me if you’re going to sacrifice your life for an humanitarian cause—no matter how great the cause—you should probably, you know, discuss your plans to be martyred with your life partner. You should also probably have the consideration to inform your partner that the man you are constantly being seen in hotels with is a gay coworker and not your lover—rather than assuming that his jealousy is just punishment for Not Trusting You Enough.

(And, can we be frank here for a minute, O imaginary person I am talking to who is apparently responsible for making this film? Just because the supporting male character is suddenly revealed to be gay doesn’t really salvage the situation for me, restoring Super Awesome Equilibrium to your galaxy.  Here are some topics for future research: the term “bisexual,” the concept “emotional affair,” and the slang phrase “married to her job.”)

Also, when is it ever ok to offer sex to… well, ANYONE in order to get your hands on secret documents? I’m sorry, but having no intention of keeping your word isn’t really swaying me over. Maybe I’m just really irritable today.

OR MAYBE YOU SUCK.

Tough call.

Although Carl disliked the movie (“I’m still not sorry she’s dead,” he volunteered from time to time as the story progressed), he didn’t quite share my vitriol. I guess maybe it depends on what sort of category you’re trying to slot this film. If you’re viewing the movie as a “thriller” and most interested in the pharmaceutical scandal aspect, then maybe the suspension of belief would include a clause rendering human marital decency null and void for the next 2 hours. But, I sort of thought the movie was going for a “suspenseful love story dramatic philosophical SAYING DEEP THINGS about human nature” thing. In which case, F would be an appropriate grade for this heroine’s internal character.

Although: the cinematography is great. It is a pretty film, and it is a well-acted film. (Believably for her performance and unbelievably for her character, she won the Oscar, after all). My only problems are with the people.

Also, that was way more of a rant than I meant it to be. I should start a separate blog just for my movie reviews. Not because there are people out there who want to read opinionated diatribes over lunch, but because it would keep said diatribes from hi-jacking my posts here, leaving me wondering what in the world I was even talking about before The Constant Gardener spread the last paragraphs so thick with its, um, fertilizer…

Marriage Advice from the 1840s

I love research. Writing historical fiction is sometimes just an excuse for research, to be honest. Anyway, one of the books I was skimming recently is a book called Wives of England by Sarah Stickney Ellis, and if you want to find the full text and read for yourself, it’s all free, handy, and searchable at GoogleBooks. (If the book references sex, it’s in such a convoluted way that no obvious search pulled it up. And, no, I’m not a perv, but it’s kind of a basic life subject and it’s hard for me to believe that no one EVER mentioned it, and if they did, I’d really like to know how they talked about it).

Anyway, in lieu of a real post, I give you a sampling of snippets from the early chapters. The book really runs the gamut from surprisingly modern and positive to the positively weird and sad. I wish I had more of the good quotes to offer, but here are a few… In case you ever wondered what sort of self-help books our great-great-great-grandmothers read in their spare time.

Although I am one of the last persons who could wish to introduce in any plausible form, to an upright and honorable mind, the bare idea of the possibility of breaking an engagement; yet as there are cases in which an engagement of marriage, if literally kept, must necessarily be violated in spirit, I cannot help thinking, that of two evils, it is, in this case, especially desirable to choose the least; and to prefer inflicting a temporary pain, and enduring an inevitable disgrace, to being the means of destroying the happiness of a lifetime, with the self-imposed accompaniment of endless remorse.

Woman’s love may grow after marriage—men’s, never.

It is unquestionably the inalienable right of all men, whether ill or well, rich or poor, wise or foolish, to be treated with deference, and made much of in their own houses.

Again, it is of little use that you esteem and reverence your husband in the secret of your heart, if you do not by your manners, both at home and abroad, evince this proper deference and regard.

It must ever be borne in mind, that man’s love, even in its happiest exercise, is not like woman’s; for while she employs herself through every hour, in fondly weaving one beloved image into all her thoughts; he gives to her comparatively few of his and of these perhaps neither the loftiest nor the best. His highest hopes and brightest energies, must ever be expected to expend themselves upon the promotion of some favorite scheme, or the advancement of some public measure, and if with untiring satisfaction he turns to her after the efforts of the day… she will have little cause to think herself neglected.

Silence in general, and smooth speech when language must be used, are ranked by most men amongst the highest excellences of the female character.

The love of woman appears to have been created solely to minister; that of man, to be ministered unto.

Thoughts to ponder!