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Sunday, September 18, 2005
Big, Fat Books
Some people have incredible productivity re. getting words onto the page. An author named Diana Gabaldon has written a series of books about Scottish Highlanders and time travel. I bought one of them just because I'd never read anything by this person. When I got the book home and saw that it runs to 1,500 pp., I wondered how anyone could pour out such a torrent of words and actually say something. Then I began to read and realized that my suspicion was well founded. It's a case of diahrea of the word processor. Blah,blah,blah,blah. Drivelling on and on and on. I'll have to be book-deprived for a while before I develop a strong enough need to read to drive me through all that goo. Yawn. Well...maybe it will get better, but it sure did start like a forty year old car with a dead battery. Pages and pages and pages of breathless personal reflections of a woman waking up in a tent, wondering if she really wants to go outside and go potty or to go outside, build up the fire and make coffee.
Another big, fat book is The Godfather Returns by Mark Winegardner. This one, however, is good. Better, even, than the classic Mario Puzo stories. Extremely entertaining. I buzzed through it yesterday afternoon and evening. It practically read itself.
Third big, fat book...Battle For Corrin, part of the Dune series, this one written by the great man's son and a friend. Huge book with itty-bitty chapters, each jumping to another sector of some galaxy somewhere, now with evil machines intent on destroying all human life, now with humans trying to evade final extermination by the machines and also trying to survive their complex rivalries. Inevitably in a book like this, every character is a cartoon. If not painted with a broad brush, none of them would be sufficiently memorable to make any kind of story line possible. A cast of gazillions in incredibly numerous settings.
Years ago I read all the Dune stories written by the father of this author. Took me a while because between books, I had to work up enough interest to go back to the spice mines. By the end of the final book, I knew that this thing had run out of gas. I was wrong. The author's son and a friend of his went on with the series and are now six books beyond where Dad left off. Seeing the scope of this effort, I wonder how they keep track, how they avoid re-running person/place/plot. By now that task would require specialized software. The WHY is obvious. It's a living. Such a well-loved franchise must be a gold mine. The problem is that Dad was an inventive genius and the current team are not similarly gifted. The most interesting thing about the original series was the weird religions and philosophies. Bits of the goofy thinking were dropped here and there through the stories like clues in a detective novel. You had to read all of it to understand. It was a puzzle of sorts. This story is just a great, big, fat interplanetary shoot-out.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Fabric
My neighbor told me that she feels better when she goes to Atlantic City to gamble. I cringed thinking that she's so otherwise respectable and what a shame that she's a gambler. So likely to just throw money down a rat hole when there are real needs for money in our world right now. Wasn't that pious of me? Uh-huh. Very holier than thou.
Well, today Lydia said, "I want to go to the fabric store to sniff around for Halloween ideas for the kids. Want to come along?"
Ha. That's like asking a person who just crawled across the desert if she'd like to come along to a glass of ice water. So we made the long overland trek to Virginia Beach and the Hancock Fabric store. If I just say that when I came out, I had several hundreds of dollars worth of fabic and other items, you will get the idea. Do I need fabric? Of course not. I just bought those things because I like them and they make me feel better. Gorgeous fabrics, interesting patterns, and a floor lamp and lamp shade that just exactly are right in my dining room. Yes, I know. Money down a rat hole in a world with real needs. OK.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
A Day In The Life Of A Sloth
Today was an exercise morning which means that Lydia and kids pick me up and we all drive downtown to the YMCA. There we go our separate ways, kids to supervised group play and Lydia and I to our exercise choice. Today it was the pool. I swam and counted strokes, trying to make myself go farther each time. Then I held onto the side and did horizontal scissors and back kicks, repeating sets of three hundred. Part of the time I played with Benny. On pool days, Sadie and Benny come with us.
Yesterday it was the nearest FitLinxx stationary bicycle. First I tell the machine how old I am and how much I weigh. Then I grab the hand holds and begin to pedal. On the screen in front of me are sundry encouragements and bits of information like how many miles I've gone so far and how many calories I've used and how fast my heart is beating. All around me are brisk, thin, fit younger-looking people pedaling away ferociously but with such ease that quite a few of them also read the paper or a book, propped up over the bike's tech-screen. Overhead are several large TV's mounted to the ceiling, sound off/picture on. Almost immediately my legs begin to burn. The pain is intense. I can scarcely tolerate it. I feel that if I don't stop pedaling, I'll expire of the misery, but I keep pedaling.
If I happen to sit next to a chatty person, things go better, because the faster I talk, the faster I pedal. Yesterday I sat next to a man who described to me his process for fall yard work right down to stomping over the grass in shoes with long spikes on the bottom to aerate the soil and make things easier on the earthworms. He's retired but his wife still gets up in the morning and goes out to her job, so in order to avoid being lonely, he has to think of crazy time-fillers like aerating the lawn and riding an exercycle although he is as skinny and fit as a kid.
No doubt by my fellow toilers I am viewed as a mental case from a home, brought in to work off potentially homicidal sprees. This because I yell out the five minute intervals of my work-out, groan and moan loudly and say that I'm dying. I yell out that I hate the bicycle in particular and the YMCA in general. I mop my brow, drink caffeinated diet soda, and pretty much fail to suffer in silence. Likely Lydia is seen as my keeper from the home due to the way she yells out encouragement to me.
After the cool-down, I get up, staggering and reeling like a drunk. I lurch over to the dispenser of antibacterial goop and towels, assemble the necessary, and disinfect my recent site of suffering. Then I go downstairs hanging onto the railing for dear life...with both hands. I wait on a nice soft leather sofa until Lydia and the kids show up and we all go home. They drop me off and then proceed to Woodrow Street. Frequently at this point, Benny says that if he can't stay at my house he's going to be very sad, and I say that in that case, he'd better come along in. Today Lydia told him that he had to go home and practise his violin.
As I come in the door, Porque rushes forward to tell me that she has to go potty so badly that she's going to die. I get the leash and slowly, carefully edge down the stairs off my porch, up the street, around the dog park, and back home. Safely indoors, I give Porque a little bit of dog kibble, check her water. Then it's time for a long, hot, lavender bubble bath with the bubbles up to my ears. Afterward I fix myself a long, cold drink or a cup of tea. Usually this is the time of day when I read whatever magazines, mail, or newspapers have appeared on the porch. Sometimes I drop the reading matter and have a little nap on the sofa. Porque is snuggled up to me asleep so it seems the thing to do...take a nap.
After a while I wake up and think about lunch, mentally reviewing the choices. If I'm so sore that I can hardly stand, the choice will likely be something out of a can and into the microwave. Otherwise, it's likely to be a salad or a fresh vegetable mixture popped into the microwave with a dollop of salsa on top. Usually I clean up the kitchen and downstairs about then, tidy things away, wipe the tile floors, vacuum the carpeted areas.
Then I sit down at the computer with a cup of tea. Right away Porque demands to be where she is now, on my lap. I type over the little dog. Occasionally I'll finish e-mail/blog with a session of a computer game, my favorites being Chuzzle Deluxe and Rocket Mania.
About then Porque wants to go out and about, so I load the washing machine/dryer and we hit the sidewalk for a trip around our neighborhood. This takes quite a while because Porque Choppe stops to bark at/sniff/investigate every small thing in her path. Also, every time someone comes along, I have to pick up the little mutt so she won't bite a passing ankle. Most of the time, I also get into conversation with passersby. This is a very friendly neighborhood.
Eventually we wander back home and I go upstairs to tidy and do this and that. Right now I have eight different projects in the work room, all of them semi-finished. Additionally I have projects to prepare for the next time Benny spends the day with me.
Then if I have chores out and around at stores, library, etc., I get into the car, turn around in the driveway so that I'm coming out nose first, and go do whatever the chores are. Coming home, I carry in my purchases, walk Porque again briefly, and then begin to think about what I'd like for dinner. A few times/week I make a fairly elaborate meal, enough for Lydia's family and me, too, with a container to put in the fridge for another day. If it's one of the elaborate meal days, I spend at least an hour in prep and then read while the cooking gets done.
Lydia stops by to pick up the food and to show/tell whatever happened at karate which she and Benny do three afternoons/week. When they leave, I walk Porque again and then put on a cozy long flannel nightgown, and organize my share of dinner. If I'm in mid-book, I read while eating. If not, I watch TV.
Then I tuck myself into one of my three possible sleeping spots and either read or watch TV until I fall asleep.
Variations on this program take the shape of mediations, volunteer mornings at Williams School, church on Sunday, excursions with Lydia/kids, and sometimes Dan, too, shopping trips beyond the immediate neighborhood. As you can see, I essentially do nothing; busy, but getting nothing accomplished. It's a selfish, lazy life and frequently I feel ashamed.
Suzanna Update II
A nice feature of life here is that this neighborhood has an internet network, all people who have volunteered to put their e-mail addresses together. Each day a digest of submissions is sent to all e-mail addresses. People who have noticed suspiciously criminal activity, people who need to know the name of a good yard man or tree trimmer, etc. Throughout the year the list also publicizes community activities like the upcoming Art Walk and a picnic and ice cream social during the summer. The other day I mentioned Suzanna's plight on this network, listing Lydia's e-mail address and phone number. Since then the phone has rung early and often with offers of furniture and household items and with suggestions for jobs.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
Suzanna Update
Success re. her housing situation. She found a very nice apartment for a $500/month rental in the best part of Norfolk, close to Lydia's house. The owners did not require a background check or a credit check. No security deposit was required. This is all-around a miracle. Nice. The apartment will be available Oct. 1. Hopefully by then she can accumulate the furniture she needs.
Saturday, September 10, 2005
You Don't Want To Work At The Red Cross
We have our own New Orleans refugee, here. Lydia's friend, Suzanna, has been with us since Saturday last week. She literally lost every single possession except for the clothes on her back and what she could carry in a small purse. At first she just needed to sleep and rest. In the last few days, though, she's begun to think about relocating here. Lydia has been driving her around to look at apartments. Yesterday she had an appointment to talk with a counsellor at the Red Cross about getting a debit card and some other benefits to tide her over until she finds work. Lydia was going to wait for her and was sitting outside in the van. After a while, Suzanna came out and told Lydia to go on home. She said that in the waiting area, there were more than 100 people crammed in. All the counsellors were running late and she expected to have to wait several hours. She said that the waiting room was kind of a disaster area of its own. A number of children were crying and screaming. Two kids threw up. Several adults were screaming and hysterical. One woman fainted. One person went into 'stress shock', whatever that is. One person was throwing herself around so wildly that she had to be restrained. Clearly, these people had no more resources of personal dignity. They'd been pushed too far and could no longer handle their emotions. Along with losing their earthly goods, they lost their pride. Horrible thing to see. These were not people talking to a counsellor, they were just sitting on the floor waiting to see counsellors and telling each other their awful stories. I must say that it would be tough to work at the Red Cross right now. A lot of New Orleans refugees have come here to Norfolk, staying with friends or family. I'm sure it's that way everywhere as needy people spread out around the country to places where someone might give them a bit of help. According to this morning's paper, the Houston Astrodome is nearly empty of refugees. They've been so quickly dispersed around the USA to homes willing to take them in. Suzanna would be more than welcome to stay with either me or Lydia for as long as she liked, but she wants to start geting herself together, which is understandable. The effort, however, requires that she use these helping agencies like Red Cross and FEMA. That first appointment sure was an ugly experience.
Friday, September 9, 2005
Secret Fat
Lydia, one of those force-of-nature individuals, has at last managed to weasel me into signing myself up for an exercise program. On Wednesday I came home the stunned owner of a YMCA membership for a year...and I had already done my first work-out, so rigorous that I needed to be helped down the stairs afterward, staggering and panting. Then yesterday I came home signed up for a winter of Weight Watchers. That was comical. I particularly enjoyed the part of the enrollment form where we clients were offered absolute confidentiality. HAHAHAHAHA!!!! Secret fat. "Psssst. Don't tell anybody, but I'm fat."
Anybody Wants To Shoot Porque Choppe, Has To Shoot Me First
This morning the big controversy is the rule that the press may no longer show anything on the ground in New Orleaans. The spin on that sounds compassionate, that it's all about not showing dead bodies to families who still hope that Uncle Bubba made it out alive. I don't buy it. See, this is where police go through the city and forceably evict survivors. They don't want TV cameras to record horribly poignant scenes of diehard pet owners compelled to leave their little friends, dragged away screaming and crying. It will be unimaginably ugly. Uh-huh. Then what about all those abandoned and starving dogs? Yep. So many thousands of them. If only to protect clean-up workers, someone will have to go through New Orleans and shoot all the desperately hungry dogs. I don't really believe that the camera black-out is about Uncle Bubba. It's to protect the government from the reaction of citizens to the sight of good old Rover abandoned and then shot...thousands and thousands of times, over and over, again and again, shooting poor little old Rover all over the city of New Orleans. Makes you mad, doesn't it? I have absolutely got to stop watching the news. I can't fix this and it is really getting me upset. I do know that if I were in New Orleans today, hiding out in my house, in order to make me abandon my little dog to starve or be shot, the police would first have to shoot me. 
Tuesday, September 6, 2005
All Feddy Uppy
Ordinarily I have little interest in those TV shows where a pundit and a round table talk to death some aspect of the daily news. This last week, with the horror of the hurricane response, I listened to a lot of that stuff. Result...I've come to the opinion that if, next year, the Democrats fail to capture a majority in Congress, they just aren't trying. November of 2006 is the middle of President Bush's second term, time for mid-term elections. While the President himself could only be thrown out through impeachment, his party are vulnerable. This administration has brought us so much...
1) Unwinnable war,
2) Crippling chaos in our public educational system,
3) Terrible public debt,
4) Worldwide disrespect,
5) Gasoline prices previously only seen overseas,
6) Critical erosion of our democratic rights and values,
7) An endless bear market on Wall Street,
8) Out-of-control government corruption,
9) Hopeless mismanagement/misallocation of tax dollars,
10) A military stretched so thin that they would not be able to defend us if we faced attack here at home.
As a natural conservative, I should be one of President Bush's supporters. However, I don't think that this president is actually conservative. He's an activist with a radical agenda of democracy jihadism. In service to this goal, he's prepared on our behalf, to waive some of our most cherished rights and traditions. Think of the huge number of individuals who sit in prison without acess to representation and who have never even been advised of the nature of the charges against them. Secret imprisonments. Torture. Massive wiretapping. And NONE OF IT IS DOING ANY GOOD. There are more terrorists now than when we set out on the road to ruin.
Seems to me that this administration has turned America into a crazy guy who wants to beat down an opponent so he picks up a big stick and starts to hit himself, meanwhile yelling, "HA! There! Got you that time, didn't I? Ho, ho, ho. You're crying now, aren't you?" as he hammers and bruises and bloodies himself.
Sunday, September 4, 2005
Website
The website for my neighborhood is at http://cprv.org From the community garden to the neighborhood oyster-raising project, it's all cheery, I think.
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