Many Things.

Where to begin?? School. School is good. I arrived on campus a half an hour early the other day to get a good parking place, and to get settled into my seat in plenty of time. I was 5 minutes late to class. I had to park in a not-really-a-parking-space, just a mite of unclaimed land next to a fence surrounding a construction site that I could barely squeeze into. The teacher informed us that we'd be using a program called Blackboard. She asked if everyone was familiar with it. I could only assume she didn't mean the kind of blackboard with chalk that is familiar to me. (Did I mention I'm not 18?) I'll figure it out.
I have a whole new respect for full-time college students. The parking is beyond preposterous! The textbook prices are outrageous! The campus itself is intimidating! And on top of it all, life doesn't stop! You still have all the stressful situations you had before school--now you just have less time to deal with them.
Speaking of stressful situations, I was very uncomfortable at home last night, as it appeared I may have gotten myself a stalker. I'm still looking over my shoulder and doing perimeter checks around the house periodically. You see, there was this salesman, and based on the fact that I wasn't entirely rude to him, I think he thought I wanted to use his service. I know this because just a few minutes after I hung up with him, a secretary from his company called to confirm my "appointment." I told her there had never been an appointment. I had not agreed to that at all. A few minutes after hanging up with her, the salesman called me, sounding as if he were on the verge of tears, telling me he was in big trouble, and might loose his job. I told him I did not believe one call would put his job in jeopardy, but I'd be happy to talk to his boss if that were the case. I thought it best not to add that with his theatrical skills, he should have no trouble finding a new job.
The dramatic salesman episode reminded me that the Bible says that the love of money is the root of all evil. This guy had lied to me, lied to the secretary, and then called me again at home, all because he wanted my money. How many friends have I lost by not wanting to buy something from them? I don't see my friends as walking dollar signs, and I don't want to be seen that way. Even some of my family members can't see me without trying to sell me something. I don't like this new world. I don't like a world where people try to manipulate you into buying something you don't want. I don't like that this crazed salesman probably has access to my home address. What I do like is seeing people face to face, and connecting as human beings with no strings attached.

Confessions of a Bibliomaniac

Now that I have your attention, let me clarify that I am not a bibliomaniac--I don't have the room. A bibliophile, I may be, but not a bibliomaniac. A bibliomaniac collects books. A bibliophile just loves them. I don't have enough room to be a bibliomaniac. In fact, when I come across a good book I want to keep, I have to make room on the shelf by getting rid of (i.e. giving to a friend or The Friends of The Library--to throw away a book would sear my conscience forever), another book. My bookshelf is currently thus: the bottom shelf is for my collection of comedic books, the next shelf is for religious books, the next shelf for all my Jane Austen books, The Dickens books, and some other classic (non-perishable and essential) literature. The shelf above that is classic literature overflow plus health books and my Dr. Seuss books. The top shelf is too short to be taken seriously as a shelf for books, so it is mostly decorative, with some tchotchkes and a few short books. This lack of space has helped me to prioritize, and has kept me from living in a house made of books. It is also a good way of forcing me to share, although when I have to choose a book to defenestrate, it can be a day-long, agonizing process.

My newest book is The Book of Hard Words by David Bramwell. That goes on an entirely different book case in a different room, with my collection of dictionaries, thesauri, and English writing and grammar books.

Fact, Faith, and Fiction

Never have I been more of a lover of the truth. My callipygian husband and I watched "Shattered Glass" last night, the true story of a journalist who completely fabricated his pieces. This young man worked for a newspaper covering political issues, but he turned in a lot of fictional work, devoid of facts.
There is also the issue of faith, which sees beyond the facts. The Bible says that Christians live by faith and not sight. That means that we fully believe in things we can't see. That seems especially true when thinking about life after death. We believe, just because the Bible tells us so, that "no eye has seen, no ear has heard, the glories that await us in Heaven." C.S. Lewis really called on his faith to write about that which he had never seen in The Great Divorce.
I like to write about my true feelings and circumstances, but sometimes a little fiction is just what you need . . . like the story of my friend's scarf. I had thought my friends who wear scarves were just whimsical, somewhat vain, even. But I recently found out that scarves serve a very practical purpose. This weekend, my friend (we call her Scarf-Face), and I had plans to roam the nearby forests to pick nuts and berries. Unbeknownst to us, a convict was roaming in the same vicinity, trying to escape the law . . . and the attack dogs following him. Astrid and I knew nothing of the convict's presence, nor that of the sheriffs', nor that of the dogs'. We went on cheerfully picking our nuts and berries, talking about the nice pie we would make. We scrounged around the forest, trying to gather every nut and berry in sight. We messed up our hair, broke our fingernails, and we both lost our hats. Sometime later, we turned to find ourselves being pursued by a pack of mean dogs. In a panic, I threw some berries towards the dogs thinking that I might distract them long enough to make our escape. Astrid had a better idea; she took off her scarf and threw it towards the west, while we ran east. The dogs went after the scarf. Breathless, we were surprised to find policemen at the edge of the forest. Astrid and I explained our predicament to the policemen, who in turn explained to us that the hunting dogs had probably lost the convict's scent, and picked up ours. The dogs were eventually rounded up, and the policemen called it a day. I don't know if they ever found the convict, so you might want to lock your doors tonight.

Eye-Sock Upgrade and Good Conversation

Hello from my vacation by the sea! My long-time readers will recall the traditional vacation eye-sock, the sock thrown on the floor at the end of the day when Mr. M is done for the day, and ready to relax and watch TV or work on the computer. As I will be wanting to go to bed at this time, I will retrieve the sock from the floor and put it over my sleepy, already-in-bed eyes, to shield them from that techno-glare. This year, I planned ahead and brought a cute little pair of socks to shield my eyes. They are little froggy socks, given to me by someone I don't know in Montana. My eyes are happy to have cute little froggy socks. I can't say the same for my feet. The socks' thinness and lightness are a blessing for my eyes, but a curse for my feet. I went for a 6 mile walk this morning, and my cute little socks didn't prevent me from sustaining what may prove to be a mortal injury to my toe. As unwelcome as the pain is, though, it serves to remind me that I had a really nice walk along the coast.
A number of you may recall my writing about a great little book called The Art of the Handwritten Note by Margaret Shepherd. Today, on a second stroll through town, I found another book by Ms. Shepherd, The Art of Civilized Conversation. This, I feel, was a great find, and I think I will be a better wife, daughter, sister, aunt, friend, because of it. I suspect I will even be a more interesting person to meet on a morning walk. The book also came at just the right time, for I have just recently been considering a vow of silence of sorts. I have noticed with surmounting frequency how bad I am at conversation. I believe (and have been told), I express myself best in writing. I feel more comfortable writing, and always have. However, when it comes to verbal and oral communication, I stink. I greatly benefited from The Art of the Handwritten Note, and my friends will tell you that reading that book resulted in a slew of handwritten notes from me, so I expect this book to have the same kind of influence on my communication. I am inspired by a friend from Louisiana whose sparkling wit turns our every conversation into an event. I am even more excited to go back to school, and practice having good and civilized conversations.

Room for faith

I've been reading The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis. My friend the actress recommended it to me. I'm so glad she did! It's a really great little book. Grandiose and mind-expanding ideas in a short and easy to read book. Faith expanding, I should say. The book is about a field trip to Heaven. Mr. Lewis says he is writing about a dream he had. It is really subjective, but there is little that can be said of Heaven that is not subjective. After all, " . . . no eye has seen, no ear has heard" just what treasures beyond description await God's children in Heaven. We can know some things about God, and what He does, and where He lives. The rest, all the things we cannot know, are more reasons to worship Him. The fact that He is too great to be fully known is in itself a reason to bow before Him in absolute humility and praise. I praise God for the things I know about Him (that He is good, kind, just, loving, powerful, wrathful, merciful), and I praise Him for being beyond human understanding.

Fall's Here, Back to School, Time to Learn Something.

I did it! I am now, once again, a college student. History of Photography. I will also be registering soon for a class through the city parks and rec., Acting for Adults. I sure felt young and cool walking around the college campus with my green parking permit! I spent some time in the bookstore, and realized how much I want a thesaurus. I feel a constant need to confuse-I mean, add to the vocabularies of-my readers. I have some strict qualifications for a thesaurus. It must have the words "sesquipedalian", "superfluous", "quixotic" and "wag." My man has been reading about blogging, so I have found a renewed inspiration. Like Mark Twain said in his preface to Roughing It, I'll either implode or explode if I try to bottle up the factual information I know--like an overinflated balloon. One of my favorite facts is that Pat Benatar has the widest vocal range in pop music, as she was operatically trained. Also, I never miss a chance to tell somebody that Henry Winkler and I share the same birthday. I think it's fair to say that I enjoy learning. I love books and words, but I also enjoy learning by living; by just being out in the world and seeing other people interact. Yesterday, I learned at the grocery store just how manipulative kids can be. I was looking at cookies, and a little girl excitedly ran over and asked her mom if she could get some. Mom said no. She said they already had some at home. The cute little girl didn't know that I heard her mom deny her request, so, reaching for the cookies, she tugged on my shorts, and said very cutely and politely, "Excuse me, could you . . .?" Mom interrupted and told the little girl that I would not get the cookies for her, since I had heard her mom say, "No." Sneaky, sneaky little girl!
For those interested, I am currently reading Roughing It by Mark Twain, and I am loving it, especially his vivid descriptions of his frontier travels, which I'm sure will influence my own writing. In fact, here's an example: I have an organ-pipe cactus that is currently in bloom. The flowers are huge, and grow perpendicular to the cactus on long, strong, hollow stems that are attached to the cactus at the base of the stems. The stems appear to be perforated at the base, so when the flowers die, they don't fall to the ground, they just break mostly off the base and dangle there. What I've found fascinating is that there is a life-line, an umbilical cord if you will, that comes out through the cactus itself and goes through the flower's hollow stem. This may be the stamen of the flower, I don't know. But you pull the dead flower off the cactus, and this cord is left dangling. You can see the photos on my Flickr page.
Back to my reading, I am also currently reading Village School by Miss Read. This is about a small country school in damp England, so I read it mostly during the day when the heat is full blast here in SoCal, and pretend I'm among the cool mists and rolling hills of England. Roughing It is a good evening read, as I sit out on the patio enjoying my cactus/desert landscape as Mark Twain describes his travels through the desert.
I am also studying Italian and brushing up on Spanish at the same time, and I've been studying the human brain by coloring its many parts and functions.
I am just reading Roughing It and Village School as I wait anxiously for my copy of The Great Divorce to come in the mail. That is a book by C.S. Lewis about a bus tour through Heaven and Hell. I'll tell you all about it once it comes and I start reading it.

Praise be to our good God, my dear friend had a scan that detected no cancer! God is so good to have answered this prayer.

Hurt feelings, Good feelings, and Friends Who Save the Day.

So many scattered thoughts in my mind. I wanted to write about feelings, and not so much about facts. I know I've written about both, and my gentle readers know by now that, like someone said about Mark Twain, I am a "person of extraordinary contrasts." The objective of my blog is, like the objective of Roughing It, "to help the resting reader while away an idle hour . . . " There is a good deal of factual information in this blog, and for that I apologize. (Not really, but I thought that was very funny.)
I got a phone call from a police charity, and the solicitor was nice to me, so I was nice to him. When I politely said that I couldn't give anything to his charity, he grumbled something about, "More money for us!" before abruptly hanging up. That made me mad . . . and sad . . . but mostly mad. I mean, I was really nice to this guy. That kind of thing happens all the time, I know, to others and to me, but you never get used to it. People being jerks. As I stared at the phone with my jaw dropped and steam coming out of my ears, the thought of that mean man and the hurt feelings he gave me made me think of a very nice girl and the good feelings she gave me. Years ago, I was verbally assaulted by an enraged co-worker. I was speechless to answer her barrage of words. I may have cried, or just stared in stupefaction. A few minutes later, a good friend told me that that unwarranted verbal attack had made her mad, and she had talked to the assailant about the injustice of her craziness towards me, and she had come to my defense. That was a good friend, and she made me feel very good.

I am planning to rewrite my profile after so many moons, and I will probably not use so many big words . . . but I will miss them; especially "quixotic." Oh, well, I guess that just comes with the territory when you are a sesquipedalian.

I will end this post with a funny and lighthearted anecdote.

Jos came out to see me-she lives close. We had dinner here, and then went to Buca di Beppo for dessert. I had a $10 gift certificate. They have gelato. They have big portions. So, Jos and I got two orders of gelato (chocolate and pistachio), and waited for our HUGE desserts to come. This is what came: a cone the size of a large finger with a tablespoon of gelato on top. Jos and I both bit our tongues and avoided eye contact at all costs, knowing we would burst forth in an uproar of laughter. And we were successful . . . for a while. It was not long before the ridiculousness of the situation caught up with us, and the uproarious laughter came. The waitress asked us if we wanted anything else. I had to spend the $10, and I doubted these sample sized desserts would add up to that, so I asked how much they were, and then informed the waitress that we'd be needing two or three more . . . each. That evening was a whirlwind of laughter.