And none contented

Things I've learned/rediscovered during my pseudo vacation from the internet. And other things I'm just dying to tell you.

1. My "spare" time is easily filled up by the people I love. I've never been in such demand, not even when I had one hanging off my leg and another hanging off my breast.

2. What "spare" time isn't devoted to staring meaningfully at my children as gems drop from their lips is quickly eaten up by my need to keep things just so.

3. Upon attempting to not give a flying fig about the squalor that doubles as the children's bedrooms, I think I may have pulled something. Or lost something. They'd say my sense of humor is missing. I'd say (in descending order) you're on your own now so no more money, get a job, and how does military school sound?

4.  Nate is like me when it comes to emotional films. He, Sophie and I watched Of Mice and Men with Gary Sinise and John Malkovich, but then Nate refused to watch the end because he's read the book.

I get this. I once became furious with MathMan for renting Jack the Bear from Blockbuster. A kid so traumatized by the death of his mother that he goes mute! Fantastic! Areyououtofyoureverlovingmind? Whatwereyouthinking? !!!

If I'm alone, fine. I snivel. Sob. Wipe snot on my sleeve. Dab at the corner of my eyes with a tissue.

But when I'm with the family, none of whom seem moved by the same things that move me? They can't help themselves. They have to look at me to see if I'm getting misty-eyed. They know it embarrasses me and they make a joke of it to cover their own embarrassment.

Also - Sophie loves the movie Harold and Maude. When did you watch Harold and Maude? I wanted to know.

One night when I couldn't sleep. I watched it on Netflix.

Interesting. When I had seventh grade insomnia, I watched the numbers flip over on my sister's clock/radio while counting to sixty. The trick was to time it just right so I got to sixty as the number flipped.

How times have changed.




5. MathMan's sister sent him some information about the family's last name (Golden is the assimilated name).  Suddenly his family's history has a name. A place. Birthdays. Immigration dates. A million thanks to his cousin who tracked this information down.

I only wish we'd had this information sooner because I can guarantee you that one of Nate's middle names would be Leyzer.

6. People surf the internet more during the traditional working hours than at any other time of the day. Not that it's particularly significant. I'm just glad they do.

7. I've been online off and on, most especially looking at classic car websites. If I had the resources, I could become a gearhead pretty easily. More on that is coming. I know - you're thrilled.

7.a. The Chick Fil A mess was enough to drive me offline. What a disturbing clustertug. Some of my coworkers chipped in and had CFA for lunch last Wednesday. Not surprisingly, I didn't participate. I maintain personal, petty reasons for not eating that dreck (caveat - I'd climb over dead bodies to get at one of their chocolate milkshakes), predating this current fight. For the record, I no longer drink their milkshakes either. Great for my waistline and my conscience.

Knowing my coworkers went out of their way to support that company for any number of reasons made me feel a little less sparkly happy about my job. I'd gotten a bit too comfy pretending that this could be a tiny liberal haven because it's a labor union. I'm so tired of being an ideological minority. I've bitten my tongue so many times that it's mostly numb.

8.  I'm listening to the audiobook of In One Person by John Irving. I haven't read any of his work since Garp. I wasn't sure I'd like this novel, but I do. Very much. I've laughed out loud alone in my car several times. That's a bit awkward at stoplights, but I'd rather a stranger see me laugh than my family see me cry.

9.  The In-Betweeners. It's just another example of how I'm really a 12 year old boy trapped in a pair of Fanx (faux Spanx).

10. Your turn. Epiphanies, random bits of knowledge, book reviews, disappointments, pet peeves, potential hobbies and/or name changes?

You wander around on your own little cloud

Wild strawberries galorious.

Last night, the girls and I watched part three of South Riding on PBS in the living room while MathMan and Nate interacted with the Bulls game in the bedroom I share with MathMan and his growing collection of Calculus books. When the program ended, we got sucked into a special on Petula Clark. None of us could explain why we continued to watch, but there we were - watching until the very end. Inertia is a powerful force especially on a Sunday night.

I knew so little about Petula Clark, this woman who sang the song I heard every time I sat waiting for my orthodontist to get off the phone (he was usually discussing his boat) so he could peek into my mouth and issue directives to his posse of hot babes with bitchin' wedge hair cuts, clad in uniforms the color of Necco Wafers. Adjust that, remove this, tighten this wire..... They carried out his bidding with painful precision while I winced, tried to fight the tears that sprang to my eyes and reminded myself that a dazzling, straight smile was worth it. Plus my mother always took me to Skyline Chili afterward. So worth it.

I always left with either Downtown or Georgie Girl stuck in my head for the remainder of the day. This didn't make being thirteen years old any easier.

While we watched, we discussed the songs (Chloe correctly noted that Ms. Clark had about six hits that she sang over and over on those funky TV specials), the hairstyles, the costumes and the background dancers. I decided that Ms. Clark would have done well to fire her stylist. I don't care if it was the sixties.

Petula Clark was quite the outlier. During the British Invasion, she was the PTA Mother to the hippies and mods. I mean, what in the hell was Donovan on? But there was Petula in her Paul Revere ponytail and flowery gown singing about where we can go to forget all our troubles, forget all our cares. Exception to the rule that she was, Petula Clark gave the world a song that, even forty years later, is guaranteed to worm its way into your brain and stay there. I can't think of a single song that Donovan sang despite the fact that he had a better hairstyle and cooler clothes.

Of course, I'm still singing Downtown today. The cats are providing backup. I love it when they're willing to play along. And they look smashing in their Mondrian outfits.

********

Speaking of orthodontists, you should see the hate mail from Nate's orthodontist. They want their entire payment before they'll do any more work on the kid's teeth. Well, yes. That's practical and realistic. I can't make the $155 payment most months and they expect me to yank $3,000 from somewhere. It pains me greatly to send them dribbles of dosh, but I am not going without a place to live, electricity, water, gasoline, the phone, food, and natural gas in order to pay the orthodontist bill. I've offered to work as an indentured servant until the bill is paid in full, but so far no dice. Anyway, the hate mail contains colorful threats. They're going to ruin our non-existent credit or worse. What's worse? Jail? I hear it's being done.

This is frustrating, of course, because we're contrite non-payers who didn't include the orthodontist's bill in our bankruptcy because we intend to pay when we have money and who, when we agreed to put the braces on Nate's teeth, had twice as much income and always fully intended to make those payments. As much as I don't want to stiff a small business person, I really don't appreciate being threatened.

Meanwhile, Nate may wear these braces until the glue holding them on finally dissolves over time. I can't imagine the adhesive is meant to last more than twenty years or so. The brackets will fall off sometime in his early thirties, I suppose.

He's thrilled about getting a spot in the Guinness Book of World Records for being the person who wore his braces the longest ever.

He's such a sunny side of the issue kinda guy, that Nate.

********

The revisions on my manuscript continue, although operations have moved indoors. Funny, when we lived in the Midwest, this temporary weather setback would have sent me into a chill-induced Blue Period. Here I welcome the break from last week's searing heat. Oh, perspective, how I love you.

While I work on the story, I'm thinking about movies. I've been watching more than usual. Most of them aren't of the blockbuster genre. The Boys Are Back with Clive Owen. Summer in Genoa with Colin Firth and Catherine Keener. Please Give, another movie featuring Catherine Keener with Oliver Platt and cameos with Sarah Vowell and the guy I always think is Oliver Platt, but isn't. He's the guy who was in Grounded for Life, not Oliver Platt. Sometimes my brain connects two people and it's hard to sever those connecting threads once they entwine.

None of these movies are neat and tidy at the end. They illustrate the complex and often heartbreaking act of being human. Ugly and beautiful. Empty and full. Something to celebrate, something to smother.

What does this have to do with writing? Buckets. Buckets and buckets and piles.

********

From the mailbag, I want to share with you some treats we received from Summer. Such sweet goodness. And tea. Delectable tea named after one of my favorite cities. I guess share with you isn't quite accurate. It's a photo. If you want some of these, you'd better get here quick. We are not big on moderation.

Thank you, Summer. We're grateful for your kindness.

Seize the moment.  Remember all those women on the Titanic who waved off the dessert cart.  ~Erma Bombeck

What's been your biggest surprise lately?

And Now for Something Completely Different

Because I'm busy coughing up a lung, reading books that are due at the library today and beyond any ability to renew, slathering my feet with Vick's Vapor Rub and contemplating the fact that draft one of my novel (I still feel incredibly self-conscious calling it that) may be complete, I'm going to take the easy way out and do something crassly commercial (as if that's something completely different) .

You see, I don't get out much and so, when I do, I make damn sure that it's for something I'm glad on which to spend my time and money. For example, I don't just go see any movie. I go see the movies that, when I see the trailer, I say something like "I HAVE to see that movie." The ones I think might be interesting can wait until they are on Pay Per View or On Demand or Turner Classic Movies, for that matter. Yeah - it may take me that long.

So on Christmas day, we saw the new movie Sherlock Holmes. Now I love Jeremy Brett's portrayal of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's creation so I wondered how I would feel about Robert Downey, Jr. in the role. It was not lost on me that one addict playing another might make Downey's portrayal richer somehow, but I wasn't sure it that would be enough.

Well, let me tell you that I was not disappointed. I loved this movie. I loved it so much so that I want to see it again. It was rich and lush and fun and action-packed and slightly campy and humorous and witty and even had eye candy for anyone's tastes (midget, giant, Mrs. Hudson, shirtless men, beautiful women, officers in uniform, shipyard workers, butchered swine, gamblers, people with funny teeth). Something for everyone!

I don't do this often, but for good entertainment, I recommend Sherlock Holmes. Mind you, I am one who enjoys movies as entertainment and escapism, not so much as social commentary. I could never sit through Slum Dog Millionaire, for example. When it's too real and too depressing, it's too real and too depressing. Thank you, no. That's why I call my mother once a month, okay?

So there we were all ready to watch the movie. The theater darkened and the previews came on (yay!). Wouldn't you know it? Another movie trailer for one in which I exclaimed "I have to see that!"

Oh, no, wait, that's not it. I've seen that one several times. Here's the right one...



See you at the movies. I'll be the chickadee with the purse weighted down with smuggled in candy.