Singlespace

On the Lack of a Decent Diner

2006-05-19T19:06:00.000-05:00

Memphis is a culturally rich city, full of diverse and vibrant people. We have ~~good~~ ~~decent~~ tolerable weather most of the year, and there are a lot of fun and entertaining things to do. Some of our restaurants are known the world over for their flavorful, masterful cuisine.

What Memphis doesn't have is a good diner. The kind of place you can drop into if you really just want a plain ol' sandwich, and maybe a bowl of soup. Plain soup.

Don't get me wrong--we have sandwich shops galore. The problem is that most of them have gone all modern with ingredients like chipotle mustard and tarragon mayonnaise, applesmoked bacon, and 72 different kinds of exotic cheeses.

What if I just want a good tuna melt?

Perkin's Restaurant (a chain) is probably the closest thing to a real diner we have.

But they don't have a tuna melt.

McAlister's Deli, does have a tuna melt, but it's yellow fin tuna and you have to special order the melt part, which means they wave it near an open flame before they send it out to you. No thanks. They do have a good club sandwich, though, which is my second favorite. Perkin's has a decent club sandwich, too.

So, I'm stuck with deli sandwiches, for the most part. The good news is that there are some pretty decent delis in Memphis.

Fino's on the Hill makes the best deli-style sandwich in Memphis. So small it doesn't even have a website, this little hole-in-the-wall corner store does double duty as an Italian grocery store. They also have some Italian dishes on their menu, and I intend to order one someday. I've tried several times before, but when I open my mouth, "a ham and cheese with special dressing" is what comes out. Fino's is at the corner of Madison and McLean, if you're ever in Memphis. You can eat in their small dining area, or get it to go and skip over a couple of blocks to Overton Park and the Zoo picnic area.

Another little place, closer to my house, is Memphis Pizza Cafe. Yes, pizza. But they sell pretty decent sandwiches, too. My favorite is the half turkey and cheddar or sour dough. It's $2.50, with a smattering of chips alongside, and perfect for lunch. Their pizza's not bad either, and you can buy it by the slice. Another lunchtime plus.

My other two favorite delis are chains: Lenny's Sub Shop and Jersey Mike's. What I like most about Jersey Mike's isn't really a sandwich--it's the "Sub in a Tub". You can order any of their subs without bread. They put it in a long narrow carton instead. You won't be surprised to learn that I order the "Tuna Sub in a Tub with provolone and tomatoes".

But I'm really just looking for a good diner. Someplace casual, with a simple menu, real plates and forks, and good service.

I'll add it to my Lottery List.

Out of the Loop

2006-05-11T08:27:00.000-05:00

I've got that outside-looking-in feeling. This morning, my co-workers were out in the hallway discussing last night's episode of "American Idol". I couldn't participate because I've never seen the show. Ever. Nor can I participate in the discussions about "Survivor", "Big Brother", or any of the other reality shows.

Any show, really.

I haven't watched network television since the third or fourth season of "Will & Grace" and no one wants to talk about that. I have no idea who or what is lost on "Lost", nor would I know a desperate housewife if she walked up an introduced herself. I am clueless as to what exactly it is that has made Paris Hilton famous or why Britney Spears's latest pregnancy was worthy of a Yahoo headline.

Lest you think I live in a cave, I do watch some television. If anyone wanted to gather round the coffee machine and discuss last night's lineup on HGTV (Home and Garden Television, for the unitiated), then I have a good shot at being able to chime in with something worthwhile. Or, if they wanted to talk about Seasons 1 or 2 of "Monk" or any of the first three seasons of "Starsky and Hutch", I can play. I'm watching those while I do my daily treadmill.

I'm feeling decidedly outside the mainstream, and I'm a little surprised to discover that I don't really mind that much. In fact, I think I'm going to sign off now and go watch some HGTV.

Cammy

Monday Morning Blues

2006-05-08T04:54:00.000-05:00

This is one of the gibbons at my local zoo.

She looks like I feel on most Monday mornings.

I'll bet she didn't get any writing done over the weekend either.

Honoring my Father and Mother

2006-05-07T17:25:00.000-05:00

I've come to realize lately how very wise my parents are, and that I'll never, ever be that wise. Sure, I've had more education than they have, but they're a thousand times wiser than I'll ever be. They got that way by having two kids when they were little more than kids themselves, and then pulling out all the stops to see that those kids (unappreciative little brats that they might have been) had everything they needed to reach adulthood in relatively good shape.

They did it by putting aside some of their own dreams and learning how to achieve the others within their very tight budget. They canned their own vegetables and learned how to stretch the grocery budget by using meat as an accompaniment. They passed clothes around among the extended family. They wished for a larger house, so my dad built an addition onto our house on Dardon Avenue using a floorplan he drew on a sheet of notebook paper. With wood scavenged from buildings friends were tearing down, he built a huge den and laundry room, bigger than the living room, dining room and kitchen combined. Years later, he repeated this success in building my grandmother a one-bedroom loft apartment attached to my parents' house. He did let an architect look over the drawing, and he hired out more of the work, but the accomplishment is the same in my eyes.

My mom's wise, too. She worked for a group of pediatricians for 25 years, and she amazes me with her knowledge of health issues. Plus, she understands health insurance and can get an insurance claim straightened out in a matter of minutes. Add to that her ability to squeeze two-week vacations to Florida for four out of a one-salary household income, her astonishing ability to play piano by ear alone, and her unfailing calm in any sort of crisis, and it's easy to see why I think she's a pretty nifty woman.

I have it far too easy to become as wise as they are now. They made sure of that. They also made sure that I have not lived a single day of my life without knowing I was loved. Every. Single. Day. Not many people can say that, and I'm so blessed that I can.

Until next time,
Cammy

Simple Pleasures

2006-04-23T20:12:00.000-05:00

From MaryBishop:

Listing ten simple pleasures...

1. Walking on the beach

2. Reading

3. Watching the sunrise from the windows in my home office (I'll try to remember to take a picture some morning. It's awfully early to be remembering anything, though.)

4. Laughing with my friends

5. Visiting the Memphis Zoo

6. Watermelon

7. Flip-flops

8. Finding something I lost

9. Reading to Wally (a story for another day)

10. A good nap

I can think of at least ten more simple pleasures, but I'll save those for another post.

Tagging anyone who cares to play along...

Cammy

World's Oldest Living Blogger

2006-04-22T22:36:00.000-05:00

I don't usually feel old, and by some standards, I'm not. I mean, to Wally, the 82-year old man I read to every morning, I'm practically a baby. But the 20-somethings call me "Ma'am". Thirty-somethings aren't in my dating pool anymore. Not that they were when I was in my thirties, either, but my point is that the numbers are starting to matter to me.

What brought this on, you ask? Well, I'll tell you.

Last night I finally got around to updating my blogger profile. As in, filling it in. Then I thought it might be neat to find out who else on blogger shares my tastes in movies, music, books, etc.

Big Mistake. Huge. Equal in magnitude to deciding to run to Target in my Saturday a.m. hang-around-the-house outfit because it was too early for anyone I knew to be up and about. Live and learn.

Back to my point: Is there anyone on blogger older than thirty? Actively blogging, that is. Because, I swear, every profile I encountered ended up belonging to people between the ages of 15 and 25. On the rare occasions I did find someone closer to my age, the blog hadn't been updated in years. What happened? Did they all go to that great blogspot in the sky?

I think I am, at age 47, the World's Oldest Living Blogger. Forgive me if I display the banner upside down.

Cammy, WOLB

Simple Truth

2006-04-21T20:28:00.000-05:00

From AMERICAblog: Because a great nation deserves the truth

He'd never take a walk with me either.

In the Words of Women

2006-04-17T07:58:00.000-05:00

Once again motivated by Kimananda...(she's a very good influence).

Listed below are some books written by some very impressive women. As I understand it, this is the markup key:
Bold = I read it
Italics = I've been wanting to read it, or I might like to read it.
Question marks= Titles or authors I've never heard of.
Asterisks = I've read something else by this author.
Plus signs = My own additions

So many I haven't read; so many I hadn't even heard of...this is gonna cost me a fortune.

Allcott, Louisa May–Little Women
Allende, Isabel–The House of the Spirits
Angelou, Maya–I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
Atwood, Margaret–Cat's Eye (She has several titles I would like to read someday.)
Austen, Jane–Emma (I've read everything except Northanger Abbey)
Bambara, Toni Cade–Salt Eaters ??
Bank, Melissa-Girls' Guide To Hunting And Fishing
Bardi, Abby - The Book of Fred ++ Funny, edgy, fresh, real
Barnes, Djuna–Nightwood
Beauvoir, Simone–The Second Sex ??
Blume, Judy–Are You There God? It's Me Margaret (Childhood favorite)
Burnett, Frances–The Secret Garden
Bronte, Charlotte–Jane Eyre
Bronte, Emily–Wuthering Heights
Buck, Pearl S.–The Good Earth
Byatt, A.S.–Possession
Cather, Willa–My Antonia
Chopin, Kate–The Awakening (Has been on my To Be Read shelf for about 5 years)
Christie, Agatha–Murder on the Orient Express (I've read everything of hers.)
Cisneros, Sandra–The House on Mango Street
Clinton, Hillary Rodham–Living History
Cooper, Anna Julia–A Voice From the South (I really need to get this book. I've heard she was a fiercely independent and dynamic woman.)
Danticat, Edwidge–Breath, Eyes, Memory
Davis, Angela–Women, Culture, and Politics
Desai, Anita–Clear Light of Day
Diamant, Anita-The Red Tent
Dickinson, Emily–Collected Poems
Duncan, Lois–I Know What You Did Last Summer
DuMaurier, Daphne–Rebecca
Eliot, George–Middlemarch
Emecheta, Buchi–Second Class Citizen ??
Erdrich, Louise–Tracks
Esquivel, Laura–Like Water for Chocolate
Fielding, Helen-Bridget Jones's Diary
Flagg, Fannie–Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe
Friedan, Betty–The Feminine Mystique
Frank, Anne–Diary of a Young Girl
Gedge, Pauline-Child Of The Morning ??
Gilman, Charlotte Perkins–The Yellow Wallpaper
Gordimer, Nadine–July's People ??
Grafton, Sue–S is for Silence (I've read this entire series. )
Hamilton, Edith–Mythology
Highsmith, Patricia–The Talented Mr. Ripley
hooks, bell–Bone Black
Hurston, Zora Neale–Dust Tracks on the Road ??
Jacobs, Harriet–Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl ??
Jackson, Helen Hunt–Ramona
Jackson, Shirley–The Haunting of Hill House **
Jong, Erica–Fear of Flying
Keene, Carolyn–The Nancy Drew Mysteries (any of them)
Kidd, Sue Monk–The Secret Life of Bees
Kincaid, Jamaica–Lucy
Kingsolver, Barbara–The Poisonwood Bible (* I have The Bean Trees on my TBR shelf.)
Kingston, Maxine Hong–The Woman Warrior
Klein, Naomi-No Logo
Larsen, Nella–Passing
Laurence, Margaret-The Stone Angel
L'Engle, Madeleine–A Wrinkle in Time
Le Guin, Ursula K.–The Left Hand of Darkness
Lee, Harper–To Kill a Mockingbird
Lessing, Doris–The Golden Notebook
Lively, Penelope–Moon Tiger
Lorde, Audre–The Cancer Journals
Martin, Ann M.–The Babysitters Club Series (any of them)
McCullers, Carson–The Member of the Wedding (LOVE her. I also recommend The Heart is a Lonely Hunter)
McMillan, Terry–Disappearing Acts **
Markandaya, Kamala–Nectar in a Sieve ??
Marshall, Paule–Brown Girl, Brownstones ??
Mccullough, Colleen-The Thorn Birds
McDonald, Anne-Marie-Fall On Your Knees
Mirvis, Tovah - The Ladies Auxiliary ++ On being an Orthodox Jew in Memphis
Mitchell, Margaret–Gone with the Wind
Montgomery, Lucy–Anne of Green Gables
Morgan, Joan–When Chickenheads Come Home to Roost ??
Morrison, Toni–Song of Solomon (I tried, I really tried.)
Muller, Marcia - Till the Butchers Cut Him Down ++ (Or any of her excellent mysteries)
Murasaki, Lady Shikibu–The Tale of Genji ??
Munro, Alice–Lives of Girls and Women
Murdoch, Iris–Severed Head
Naylor, Gloria–Mama Day
Niffenegger, Audrey–The Time Traveller's Wife ??
Nin, Anais-Little Birds
Oates, Joyce Carol–We Were the Mulvaneys
O'Connor, Flannery–A Good Man is Hard to Find
Piercy, Marge–Woman on the Edge of Time??
Picoult, Jodi–My Sister's Keeper??
Plath, Sylvia–The Bell Jar
Porter, Katharine Anne–Ship of Fools
Proulx, E. Annie–The Shipping News **
Rand, Ayn–The Fountainhead
Ray, Rachel–365: No Repeats
Rhys, Jean–Wide Sargasso Sea
Rice, Anne-Interview With A Vampire
Robinson, Marilynne–Housekeeping??
Rocha, Sharon–For Laci
Sebold, Alice–The Lovely Bones
Sexton, Anne-Transformations
Shelley, Mary–Frankenstein
Shields, Carol-The Stone Diaries
Smith, Betty–A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
Smith, Zadie–White Teeth
Spark, Muriel–The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie (I should read this again, as a tribute in light of her recent death.)
Spyri, Johanna–Heidi
Strout, Elizabeth–Amy and Isabelle
Steel, Danielle–The House **
Tan, Amy–The Joy Luck Club
Tannen, Deborah–You're Wearing That **
Townsend, Sue - The Adrian Mole Diaries (all of them) ++
Tyler, Anne-The Accidental Tourist
Ulrich, Laurel–A Midwife's Tale??
Urquhart, Jane–Away??
Walker, Alice–The Temple of My Familiar **
Waters, Sarah-Tipping the Velvet
Welty, Eudora–One Writer's Beginnings (Shhh, don't tell anyone. Every woman in the southern U.S. is supposed to read her. I. Just. Can't.)
Wharton, Edith–Age of Innocence (*Her Custom of the Country is on my TBR shelf.)
Wilder, Laura Ingalls–Little House in the Big Woods
Winterson, Jeanette-Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit
Wolf, Naomi-The Beauty Myth
Wollstonecraft, Mary–A Vindication of the Rights of Women
Woolf, Virginia–A Room of One's Own
Banana Yoshimoto-Kitchen??

Well, that was embarrassing.

Off to read something fluffy and unimportant,
Cammy

On This Day in History

2006-04-07T19:55:00.000-05:00

Here's one of those meme thingies making the rounds. If you're so inclined, consider yourself tagged.

Go to Wikipedia and search on your birthday, omitting the year. Then list 3 facts, 2 births and 1 death from that date in history. Here are the ones that jumped out at me:

August 17

FACTS
1807 - Robert Fulton's first American steamboat leaves New York City for Albany, New York on the Hudson River, inaugurating the first commercial steamboat service in the world.

1969 - Category 5 Hurricane Camille hits the Mississippi coast, killing 248 people and causing $1.5 billion in damage. (My name is Camille, and we had just visited the area a couple of months earlier. Coincidence?)

1998 - Monica Lewinsky scandal: US President Bill Clinton admits in taped testimony that he had an "improper physical relationship" with White House intern Monica Lewinsky. On the same day he admits before the nation that he "misled people" about his relationship

BIRTHS

1786 - Davy Crockett, American frontiersman and soldier (d. 1836)
1893 - Mae West, American actress and playwright (d. 1980)

DEATH
1983 - Ira Gershwin, American lyricist (b. 1896

I've Seen It All Now

2006-04-07T19:33:00.000-05:00

Living in Memphis in winter is always challenging, but never more so than when there's the threat of snow or ice. At the first mention of any of the S-words (snow, sleet, slick, shiver, stranded), the grocery stores are overrun with panicked shoppers, desperate to ensure they don't endure the few paltry inches of white stuff we get without a proper stock of bread, milk, Campbell's Soup, and vanilla (for possible snow creme.) The streets are soon thick with traffic, slowed to a crawl by the lack of a staggered quitting time. Children in the area turn off their Playstations to watch the news, flipping the remotes relentlessly, in search of that magic S-phrase: School Closings. The outcome is a lot more predictable than the weather.

But we're past that now. It's April, right? Right. It's 70 degrees outside.

You can imagine my surprise when I got to work this morning, to find the office buzzing with just-reported news that area schools would be closing at noon. For inclement weather. 70 degrees. Thunderstorms predicted.

Surely not.

Surely yep. Our schools closed early today because. . . it might rain.

Granted, we had some very nasty storms north of Memphis last week. Twenty-seven people were killed in surrounding areas when up to 63 tornadoes pounded the area. Nothing to take lightly, but still. Because the storms were predicted to hit around the normal release time, our skittish school board decided to dismiss school at noon. Instead of panicked shoppers, we had panicked parents scouring the city for babysitters, and the streets quickly became a knotted quagmire of metal as lunch hour traffic met panicked parent traffic, and nobody could really move at all.

The irony is that we did have a severe thunderstorm--hail, lightning, a suspected funnel cloud.

When did it strike, you ask?

Noon, of course.

A Day at the Zoo

2006-04-02T20:58:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was a gorgeous spring day, and I spent the morning at the Memphis Zoo.

One word: Wow!

When I was a kid, zoo admission was free, and my parents took my sister and me there at least once a month. It wasn't always a pleasant experience. Smelly, dirty, listless animals. Smelly, dirty, over-amped kids. Not a good combination.

Boy, what time, a little education, and a lot of money will do. This is not the zoo of my childhood.

Few, if any, animals are in cages. Instead, they're in 'holding areas' designed to look and live more like their natural habitats. I'm always aware that they're not in their natural environments, but it's still a step up.

Here are some highlights:

I can't wait to go back.

Cammy

Back in the Saddle

2006-03-19T16:26:00.000-06:00

Many thanks to Kim for the nudge. I didn't intend to disappear so long, but between work, writing, and trying to get my website going, I've been neglectful. I didn't mean to do it.

To get back in the swing of things, I thought I'd accept Kim's meme tag…

1)Why and how did you start your blog? I'd like to eventually explore some freelance writing avenues, and I wanted a place to record my scribblings as I learn. You know, for the business cards. As is my custom, I just jumped in and started doing, without giving a lot of thought to it.
2)If you have a special 'nom de blog', how did you choose it? I don't when I fell in love with the 'singlespace' name, but I knew that I wanted a blog by that name. Unfortunately, when I chose blogger, singlespace was already chosen, so I had to come up with something else. Since I knew I'd be posting on others' blogs, I liked how 'Cammysaid' looked on those posts.
3) How did you come up with the name for your blog? Singlespace is one of those words that encompasses several facets of my life, and I like that about it. 4) What things do you tend to blog about the most, and why? So far, it seems to be everyday events mostly and my reaction to them. I love finding connections with people, and it's through the ordinary that I think we find our most common thoughts.
5) Are there subjects you'd like to blog about, but don't, and if so, what is stopping you? Time! Time! Time! Working full time, running a yahoo! Special interest group, writing, and intermittently cleaning my house all chew up a large part of my time. There are so many things I'd like to blog about, but very little time for it. Kudos to those who blog daily (or more frequently).
6) How do you organize your blogroll/links? I have no idea. LOL I think they're alphabetical.
7) How do you feel about the design of your blog? Are there any changes you'd like to make to it? Last year (or was it the year before?), I bought the domain name, 'singlespace.net'. My goal is to have my blog linked there, but no luck so far. I'm a fan of simple design, without a lot of flashing gizmos. I love photos people post to their blogs, and I'd like to do more of that. ::gazes wistfully at digital camera on desktop::
8) How often do you post new entries on your blog? Would you like to post more (or less) often? Ouch. I'd love to post more often, and I'm going to commit to doing that. My worklife should be easing up over the next week or so, and that should give me a bit more time and energy. Also, I'm going to start some home remodeling, and I know that will give me LOTS to blog about!
9) How often do you read and/or comment on other blogs? How do you find new blogs to read? I haven't been reading much lately, but when I'm able, I read every day. I love to explore the favorite blogs of my favorite bloggers to find new blogs to read.
10) Have you done anything special to get others to read and/or comment on your blog? Not much. I registered with Technorati, and I think that's it.

And now I tag anyone else who wants to share....

Cammy

Half-Assed Rant

2005-12-09T08:28:00.000-06:00

I'm a person who needs constants. I like new ideas and new experiences, but I like some things to stay the same. Like neighborhood restaurants.

One of my favorite lunch spots over the past eighteen years has been this great littly dive-y place called The Bottom Line, so named due to its location across the street from most of the financial firms in the area. High-backed wooden bench booths, pitiful lighting, smoke-thick air, so-so food, friendly, chatty waitresses--it was the perfect place to escape for an hour of lunchtime writing.

Until recently.

A few months ago, The Bottom Line closed for a few weeks for "remodeling". I figured they'd sand some of the grease off the wall, install a few new lights, and get rid of a truly unsightly stain that had been on the ceiling for about fifteen years. Imagine my surprise when they reopened with a whole new look: plasma televisions everywhere, all new cherry tables and chairs, recessed lighting, new menu and a whole new staff.

Okay, I told myself. Life is full of changes. Give it a chance.

I told myself that three times, but with each visit, my heart sank a little lower. The new decor is wide open, no wooden booth cubicle to escape into. Plus, the plasma televisions hanging on the walls mean people are looking in your direction throughout the meal. I can't write while being watched. Oh, and speaking of the meal, the menu no longer includes my favorites: chili, tuna melts, or "traditional" club sandwiches. I can, however, get a BLT with applewood-smoked bacon and garlic mayonnaise. If I wanted to.

The biggest change, and the saddest to me, is the new staff. The old waitstaff was made up mostly women of varying ages. There was Elizabeth, who loved mysteries as much as I do, and Carolyn, who sang while she worked and made every song sound like a country song, and young Emily, who had far too many razor marks on her arms but smiled and talked to me on her good days. I liked them.

Now, though the staff is still female, the ages are all the same--low twenties. There is apparently a new rule that the top of one's pants or skirt and the hem of one's shirts must have a gap of at least six inches. Perhaps, also, there's a rule mandating that the skirts may not be longer than eight inches. We're one step away from Hooter's here.

I might be okay with the clothing if any of the staff had any sort of personality for me to focus on. But no, mostly they've been pretty overwhelmed by the stress of keeping up with orders, while catching one another up on the events of their lives.

So that leaves me with the skimpy wear. I have no objection to the attire itself. It's stylish, and if I had the same body as some of these women, I'd wear hip hugging/hip riding skirts every day. But I don't and so I don't, and neither should some of these women, but okay.

For me, the big problem comes in when my waitress leans across my table to replace my salt and pepper shakers and presents me with her butt crack. I like to be friendly with waitresses, but not to that level.

Also, I have a little issue with the tucking of the order pad in the back of the pants. I don't mind it at other restaurants when the back of the pants ride the small of the wait person's back, and the crisp white (or black) shirt protects it from actual touching of skin, but with these new waitresses the order pads are going into Forbidden Territory before being taken to the food prep area and, later, to my table.

It's not surprising that, on my third and final visit this week, the lunchtime crowd was all male. Normally that would perk me right up, but not anymore. Their eyes were all on Butt-Crack Girl.

I want my old dive back. I only have one left and it's always been a distant second to The Bottom Line. Maybe I'll try it out today.

But the first sign of a butt crack, and I'm outta there.

Where I Least Expected It

2005-11-02T20:50:00.000-06:00

I realized recently that the time I've spent in Corporate America hasn't been a total waste of my writing life. In addition to the technical writing I've done, I've also learned lessons there that work really well in the creative writing realm:

You don't get better at something by not doing it.
Richard, one of my favorite managers ever, said that to me when I tried to get out of giving a speech. He was right. The only way to get better at public presentations is to do them. Likewise, the best way to learn how to write is...to sit down and write. Duh.

The only people not making mistakes are the ones not doing anything.
I learned this bit of wisdom from Jim, the manager of the systems development staff responsible for putting back together a system I blew sky-high. The documentation said, "Run Step A, then Step B, then Step C." Easy enough, right? Why, then, did I run step A and then Step C? It wouldn't have been so bad if it hadn't happened during Game 4 of the NBA playoffs--one of those Lakers-Celtics years, no less. The lead computer operator stood outside my door during the entire debacle and glared at me. I cried. But then Jim stopped by, gave me the pep talk, and in the ensuing repair work, the programmer was able to make some improvements that made future recoveries as easy as the click of a button. It's the same with writing, I think. Write and make your mistakes...and then take a step back to learn from them. What you learn will, in all likelihood, make it easier the next time out.

If you can't measure it, you can't manage it.
This probably wouldn't hold true for all writers, but I'm the kind of person who needs markers along the way against which to measure my progress. I can't say, "I think I'll write for one hour per day." If I do, I'll sit down for one hour and write for twelve minutes. The other 48 minutes will be spent adjusting the chair and monitor, finding the right writing music, checking email, using the online dictionary to look for words I have no intention of using, checking voice mail--you get the picture. I need something to measure. For those purposes, I use a measly 300 words per day. It doesn't sound like much--about a page of fiction--but it's achievable on a regular basis, so I like it. I take great pleasure in writing down my daily word count, and when it goes over 300, I highlight it and put a star beside it. And if too many days go by without a star, I have to sit back and ask why. Am I distracted by outside influences? Am I just goofing off? Or am I afraid of what I'm writing? (That happens more than I'd like to admit and is something to be explored another day.) The main thing is that I think about it, and don't just let the blank page days roll by without knowing the why of it.

Don't let best get in the way of better.
Our society rewards excellence and there's nothing at all wrong with that. Excellence should be recognized and rewarded. But sometimes it seems we're so focused on Being The Best that we miss the opportunities for small victories and accomplishments along the way. Or worse, we refuse to accept these stairstep improvements as evidence of our progress simply because they're not The Best.

And that's what Corporate America has taught me about writing and life.

Writer Wrestles Alligators

2005-11-02T19:47:00.000-06:00

I love to write. Almost as much as I love to talk and laugh. And breathe. It's exciting and terrifying and exhilarating and nauseating and life-affirming.

I had a lot of time to think about writing on a recent road trip to Chicago. On the long drive home, I turned the music off and let my mind wander (while still keeping my eye on the road, of course!) I thought about what it feels like to share my dreams and fantasies with people I don't know--an open invitation to have them trampled on or laughed at, or worse perhaps, ignored.

But I do it. I push the Send button with trembling fingers while my heart thunders in my chest and my breath quickens. And then I'm filled with joy. It doesn't even matter if my words were understood. I'm thrilled with the experience itself and the triumph of conquering a fear. Because that's what I discovered on the drive home from Chicago: writing scares me. And that that's precisely why I like it so much.

Some people drive race cars at 200 mph for a thrill. Some people jump out of airplanes with nothing more than an oversized bedsheet to protect them. They think that's "fun". Some people wrestle alligators for excitement. Me? I write.

Catching Up

2005-10-08T18:41:00.000-05:00

Admit it, you thought I died, didn't you?

Well, I didn't, but it sure felt like it sometimes.

In the movie Coal Miner's Daughter, Loretta Lynn (played brilliantly by Sissy Spacek) has a line that perfectly sums up everything:

"I'm not runnin' my life; it's a-runnin' me."

I don't mind so much when life's busy with useful stuff, like shopping or dinner out with friends or blogging, but when it's all about work and home and family obligations, it gets to be a bit tiresome. The obligations, not the family. I love them.

But I'm back now. Mostly. I just got another project handed to me at work, I have a short story due for one of my writing lists, and I'm going to Chicago for a week this month. And don't even get me started on the sad state of my house.

Life is very real sometimes, isn't it?

Good thing I've got a new pair of Avias.

Truth or Consequences

2005-09-06T21:37:00.000-05:00

This post on AMERICAblog says it all. Be sure to check out this link as well.

Laughter Amid The Tears

2005-09-05T22:18:00.000-05:00

I know he was just trying to help, but this article about Sean Penn's rescue efforts made me laugh out loud:

Movie star and political activist Penn, 45, was in the collapsing city to aid stranded victims of flooding sparked by Hurricane Katrina, but the small boat he was piloting to launch a rescue attempt sprang a leak.

The outspoken actor had planned to rescue children waylaid by the deadly waters, but apparently forgot to plug a hole in the bottom of the vessel, which began taking water within seconds of its launch.

When the boat's motor failed to start, those aboard were forced to use paddles to propel themselves down the flooded New Orleans street.

Asked what he had hoped to achieve in the waterlogged city, the actor replied: "Whatever I can do to help."

But with the boat loaded with members of the Oscar-winner's entourage, including his personal photographer, one bystander taunted: "How are you going to get any people in that thing?"

So I should sleep better tonight, right? I might have, if I hadn't seen this interview with Barbara Bush and heard these words come out of her imperial mouth:

"And so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway, so this -- this [she chuckles slightly] is working very well for them."

Yep, these people are so much better off now. Pity we couldn't flood their homes, starve and dehydrate them, and then move them helter skelter all over the country before now. The parents and children who were separated are all getting a big kick out of it all.

God help us all.

Me, Getting Angrier

2005-09-02T04:43:00.000-05:00

President Bush gives a speech telling Amercians not to buy gas if they don't have need it and to conserve energy. Okay, some of us have been doing that for a while now, but his point is well taken. 'E' for effort.

So why are he and Mrs. Bush flying to Louisiana? He already did the aerial tour thing on his way home from his month-long vacation. And how is it that they can get there today, but security and sustenance can't get there for days yet? Wouldn't it make more sense to pack Airforce One with supplies and soldiers and send them down there instead? The Bushes can go later, after the people have had their basic human needs seen to.

Oh, and look what Bush did while we were watching CNN and Congress was attempting to reconvene to pass relief legislation. At least the Bush Administration didn't have to manufacture the smoke and mirrors this time. Nature handed them the opportunity.

On the bright side, Congress approved over $10 billion in relief funding. That's a good start.

Katrina

2005-08-30T09:14:00.000-05:00

Over the past couple of years, almost all of my favorite vacations spots have been torn apart by hurricanes. Southeast Louisiana, Biloxi, Mobile, Gulf Shores, Destin--they're all great travel destinations with some of the friendliest people you'd ever want to meet. And more than a few kooks, which is why I like the area so much.

My heart breaks today when I see so much devastation. So my entry today is a simple request to help where you can. Here are some possibilities:

American Red Cross

Catholic Charities USA

Salvation Army

The Humane Society of Southern Mississippi

Southern Louisiana SPCA
Noah's Wish

Forgive Us Our Trespasses

2005-08-23T21:29:00.000-05:00

I hope Venezeulans know most U.S. citizens find yesterday's remarks by Pat Robertson reprehensible among other things. I can only hope most Christians disagree with him as well.

El no habla para mí.
He does not speak for me.

Short Words

2005-08-22T08:49:00.000-05:00

I was scrounging around my hard drive over the weekend, and I found this quote from Richard Lederer's The Miracle of Language:

When you speak and write, there is no law that says you have to use big words. Short words are as good as long ones, and short, old words--like sun and grass and home--are best of all. A lot of small words, more than you might think, can meet your needs with a strength, grace, and charm that large words do not have...

Short words are bright like sparks that glow in the night, prompt like the dawn that greets the day, sharp like the blade of a knife, hot like salt tears that scald the cheek, quick like moths that flit from flame to flame, and terse like the dart and sting of a bee.

All one syllable words that prove his point in grand style, I think. Whenever I'm feeling inhibited by my lack of vocabulary, I return to this quote, for it reminds me that it's not the words you know, but how you use those words that counts.

Since reading this quote several months ago, I've been collecting one syllable words. My favorite, so far, is the word strange. Such a short little word, but it packs a big punch. Punch, there's another great short word.And then there's quick, flex, rain, lunge, gray, cool, snap, grip, whim, snort...oh, sorry, I get carried away. There are also a lot of great X-rated short words, but I'll let someone else have those. My mother might read this someday.

While I will continue to build my vocabulary, I no longer fret over the words I don't know. Instead, I'll try to do something wonderful with the words I do know. Perhaps something strange.

What are your favorite short words?

A Good Lunch Ruined

2005-08-13T19:32:00.000-05:00

Before I get tuned up, let me assure you, Dear Reader(s), that I like children. I really do. They're fun, energetic, entertaining and refreshingly honest. I like being around them--hang on for the caveat--in their natural environment. This would be anywhere they could be themselves--a playground, the zoo, a park, McDonald's--and make as much noise as they wanted with less risk of bothering other people. I'm all in favor of letting kids be as kidlike as they can be while they have the chance.

What I'm not in favor of is taking kids to my favorite Mexican restaurant and letting them act as if they were at McDonald's. No whining, no screaming, no running around among, atop, or beneath the tables, no arguing at the top of their little lungs with the parental unit (when did that get to be so prevalent?), and above all, no asking neighboring diners what they're writing. No more than once, anyway.

Kids are entitled to be kids. They're entitled to have bad days. They should be taught how to act in a real restaurant, and the best way to do that is to take them to restaurants. However, when the bad days they're entitled to and the restaurant visits occur on the same day, diners everywhere would really, really appreciate it if the parents would reschedule one or the other.

Wait staff would appreciate it also. As I was leaving Molly's LaCasita (shown above), one of the waitresses murmured to me, "It's waaaay too early for this shit."

My sentiments exactly.

Love Affair

2005-08-11T07:21:00.000-05:00

Have I mentioned how much I love my flip-flops? I don't even have to have them on my feet. My flip-flops bring a smile to my face just by being there. They hug my feet and provide the support I need, and yet, they aren't smothering or restrictive. They're everything I could ask for in a sole mate.

Much to my dismay, my company has a no flip-flop rule as part of its dress code. We can wear sandals, just not thong sandals. It seems silly to me to make the distinction based on whether or not the strap of leather goes across your toes or between them, but what do I know. Maybe they're afraid people will spend too much time thinking about other types of thongs.

So every morning, I wear my flip-flops until I get in the parking lot, and then I switch to my "office shoes", which are usually just other sandals with directionally appropriate straps. And at the end of the work day, I return to my beloved flip-flops and the world spins normally again.

I wish more people could experience the joys of flip-flopping, and that makes me wonder: is there any compelling reason we can't have the flip-flop designated as The National Shoe? It could do wonders for our national mood.

Trapped in Singlespace

2005-08-07T21:06:00.000-05:00

I'm having one of those moments when I regret being single. No, it's not the usual moment, which is when I want something at the store, only I don't want to get dressed again to go out. Or the one where I get my period and realize (too late) that I don't have the necessary supplies on hand. Or any of the other random moments that pop up from time to time.

This is a different one, a new one. Tonight, I'd like to be sitting across the table from my LifeMate, nibbling on cheese and crackers and sipping tall glasses of Cakebread Chardonnay, while exchanging meaningful looks as we discuss the feasibility of me quitting my job.

Me: Can we make it on your income alone for a while?

LM: It doesn't matter. If I have to get a second job, or even a third, I'll do whatever it takes so that you don't have to endure one more day of pain.

Me: What did I ever do to deserve you?

LM touches my cheek tenderly: You smiled at me. That's all it took to know that you were The One and Only Woman I would ever want or need. I would do anything for you.

Me: Anything?

LM: Anything. What is it you need, my love?

Me: Well, I haven't gotten around to that last load of laundry yet...

Okay, so I don't really want a LifeMate who calls me "my love", but you get the picture.

All I really want are some options here. Many, if not most, married couples can at least discuss the possibility of going single income. I don't have any choice. If I don't bring home the bacon, no one does. No one's going to fry it up in a pan, either, but that's a post for another day. On most days, I'm proud of my independence, satifisfied with what I've accomplished on one income.

Today is not that day.

Dog Days of Summer

2005-08-06T16:21:00.000-05:00

We've reached that part of summer we Southerners don't like to talk about. Well, except to each other, that is.

Resident #1: Man, it's hotter than hell out there.

Resident #2: You ain't lyin'. And did you get a taste of that air? Yechh!

Resident #1: Did I ever! I hadda take a shower just to get the first layer off. I'm up to three showers a day now.

Resident #2: Whew! I hate to think what your water bill's gonna be.

Resident #1 (groans): Tell me about it. The electric's prob'ly gonna be over a thousand, easy.

That's what we say to each other. To outsiders and other potential sources of real estate commissions and new tax revenue, we say, "Why, no. I'm quite comfortable."

I don't know whether or not this is true, but I once heard that our local Chamber of Commerce has two fundamental rules for dealing with potential new residents: 1) Don't let them see us drive on snow and ice, and (2) never mention August. Ever. If anyone asks, lie and say you usually spend the month of August traveling. You don't know anything about flies, mosquitoes, air you can feel, or thunderstorms so sudden and severe they'll give you nightmares.

I'm old enough to have experienced life before air conditioning. Oh, it had been invented when I was young. My family just didn't have one in my early years, and my memories of that time are of sweaty skin that stuck to the sheets, the cool spot that revealed itself when the pillow was flipped over (I still love that even to this day), and the pallets in the living room floor my parents made so that we could catch the cross-ventilation from the open doors. Back then, we didn't have to worry that the only thing separating us from the axe murderers was a thin layer of door screen.

Somehow, we survived in tact until the year we did get an air conditioner. Yes, you read that right—an air conditioner, as in one. It was big, used, and ugly. My Dad put it in the dining room window, and it blew cold air into the living room. Unfortunately, our bedrooms were nowhere near the living room. Still, it kept us from roasting, and I'm profoundly grateful to my parents for giving up whatever they gave up in order for us to have it.

With age comes not only an increasing intolerance of heat, but also the wisdom to know better than to complain about it. To wish it past is to wish away part of my personal 'dog days of summer'. No, the time is better spent appreciating a cool breeze that sneaks in every now and then, enjoying the light show Nature plays during a late afternoon thunderstorm, and savoring the joys of ice cream without a single word from my conscience.

A Minor Epiphany

2005-08-02T20:26:00.000-05:00

Remember a few days back when I was yakking about becoming a more organized person? Well, I'm happy to report that I'm making a little progress. A very little, but try to stay focused on the word progress. So far, I've managed to centralize and sort my CDs. In addition to weeding out about fifteen discs for the reseller, I also found a spot for the remaining CDs in a built-in storage cabinet, thus freeing myself of one piece of furniture. :: pats self on back ::

I've sorted out some other stuff, too, but along the way I had a minor epiphany. As I was standing in the foyer, looking at the gigantic mess I've created in the living room/sorting zone, I was getting Very Angsty about the enormity of my project, wondering how I would ever finish, when seemingly out of the absolute blue, I remembered Anne Lamott's beautiful story from Bird by Bird:

"Thirty years ago my older brother, who was ten years old at the time, was trying to get a report on birds written that he'd had three months to write. [It] was due the next day. We were out at our family cabin in Bolinas, and he was at the kitchen table close to tears, surrounded by binder, paper and pencils and unopened books on birds, immobilized by the hugeness of the task ahead. Then my father sat down beside him, put his arm around my brother's shoulder, and said, 'Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird.'"
- Anne Lamott

Life is just that simple sometimes. "Making mountains out of molehills" is a cliché for a reason. If we would just slow down and take things as they come, our lives and the lives of the people around us would be so much more peaceful.

So that's the approach I'll take with becoming more organized--I'll simply take it bird by bird. Today, CDs and videos--tomorrow, the top of my desk.

As an aside, if you haven't read Bird by Bird, I heartily recommend it. I bought it on the recommendation of a friend long before I had given serious thought to pursuing writing as a hobby. Oh, I tried to write something a few times, but the first couple of pages didn't turn out so well so I gave it up. But then I bought this book and one passage leapt out at me:

"For me, and most of the other writers I know, writing is not rapturous. In fact, the only way I can get anything written at all is to write really, really shitty first drafts."

Here was a bona fide, published author admitting her first drafts were shitty!! The light bulb went on: I could do shitty. Pages and pages of it. Whole notebooks even. Anne (I met her briefly this year, so I feel comfortable with the first name) also went on to say that not only was it okay if I wrote badly, but that I was expected to do so! There's all kinds of other neat stuff in there about perfectionism (she's against it) and using writing to find our truths and--oh, just get the book. You'll love it.

Thus endeth the Anne Lamott commercial. I'll return you to your regularly scheduled program: Me.

Wouldn't you know it? Just in time to see the final credits roll.

One of Those Meme Thingies

2005-08-01T04:57:00.000-05:00

This circulated at work last week. Since I hadn't yet done one of these thingies, I grabbed it.

1. List three things on your desk:
- monitor (duh)
- eight pads of paper (Have I mentioned I've been doing a lot of writing lately?)
- glass of Diet Coke

2. List three things you are wearing
- nightgown (give me a break; it's early yet)
- glasses (but I'm headed for the contact lensese as soon as I post this)
- Autumn Leaves nail polish

3. List the last 3 things you ate:
- cheetos (dinner last night)
- bacon, cheese and tomato sandwich(lunch yesterday)
- hashbrowns

4. List the last 3 people you touched:
- John
- Frieda
- George

5. List three things you'd love to own:
- my house
- a condo on the Gulf Coast
- a crystal ball, in working order

Well now, wasn't that exciting.

Where I Am Now

2005-07-31T08:54:00.000-05:00

As a follow up to yesterday's post, I thought I'd give you a peek at where I am now, which is different from where I belong. Not bad different exactly, just not where I want to be.

No palm trees, no sea gulls, no waves, no sand. Instead, there are leaves and squirrels and chipmunks. A few neighborhood cats, too. It's strange how you never see cats at the beach. The world's largest litter box right there in front of them, and they give it a pass. Go figure.

As neighborhoods go, this is a pretty good one. I've lived here two years now with nary an incident. I think it's because the median age of the residents is about ten years older than me. They don't get up to a lot of mischief on my cove. The flight attendant four houses down rides a Harley, but she drives it at or below the speed limit, so it kind of cancels out the novelty.

My neighbors are a mostly conservative group. There's one couple who are Democrats (boy, were they glad to see me move in!), but the rest are staunch Republicans--the worst kind: they contribute to campaign funds. Ah well, they're fine people otherwise. They welcomed me kindly and enthusiastically to their world, and for that, I'm thankful.

The house itself is nice. Built in 1971, it's solid as a rock. When I was preparingto convert the carport on the back of the house to a garage, the contractor commented on how solid and level everything was. Every time he took a measurement, he'd laugh and shake his head. "Damn, they don't build houses like this now."

The downside of having a house built in 1971 is if it was last decorated in 1971. It would be different if the house had been built in one of the earlier, more interesting, decades. The 70s were all about velvet and mirrors and paneling. Lots of work ahead of me.

So this is where I am. No, it's not where I belong, but for now, I think I can handle the gap by continuing to make pilgrimages to the coast. My family is here, and my work is here. I'm going to try to focus on following Anne Lamott's advice and just be where my butt is.

But you'll understand if I dream a little now and then, won't you?

Where I Belong

2005-07-30T09:41:00.000-05:00

Have you ever found yourself in a place other than where you live and realized you were Home, that this one place was where you were meant to be forever? This is it for me: the gulf coast of Alabama. On sunny days, the water sparkles like jewels, alternating between emerald and, farther out, sapphire and onyx. And when the day is overcast, the water turns gray and forbidding, a mysterious keeper of secrets. The beach is wide and white like sugar, soft against the soles of my feet. The vastness of it makes me feel so alone, and yet I feel more connected to the universe than anywhere else I've ever been. It's where I belong.

Where do you belong?

photo e-card courtesy of www.gulfshores.com

Disorganized Me

2005-07-27T19:39:00.000-05:00

You'd think a single woman living alone and without a significant number of obligations could maintain a neat and organized home. No kids to pick up after. No husband leaving bits and pieces of his day scattered around the house. No roommate, no pets, no out-of-town guests--not one single soul to account for the stacks of books, the piles of magazines, the mounds of laundry, and the unmade bed.

I'm beginning to think the problem might be me.

It's not like I don't want to be organized. I just haven't figured out an organized way to get there from here. I bought some books on the subject; they're stacked on the floor by the bookcase. They'd be on the bookcase, but it's too cluttered. They all say the same thing anyway: to get organized, you have to be organized. And I'm just...not.

Another tool I've used is the making of lists. I've made lots of lists. Lots and lots of lists. When I face another Monday and an untouched list...I simply make another list. When pressed for time, I have been known to simply scratch out the date at the top of the previous list and reuse. Hey! That's a time saver right there! ::pats self on back::

Part of me accepts that I'm a cluttery person by nature. I can deal with that. What I can't deal with is the inability to find things when I need them.

My purpose in admitting to the world at large that I'm a messy person is to motivate myself to Be A More Organized Person in 30 Days. Stay tuned for progress reports. Meanwhile, I'll be checking out this website. It looks promising!

Coming Soon to a Theater Near You

2005-07-23T18:20:00.000-05:00

I'm reading David Sedaris's Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim (a funny and poignant book, by the way), and I just reached a passage where he talks about who might play him in a movie adaptation of his life. You see where this is headed?

I wanted to suggest Ashely Judd for the role of Me in the movie version of my life, but the only thing we really have in common is that we both like to read. I'm more Wynonna than Ashley, to tell you the truth, and I'm really quite okay with that. Wy's funny. And real. Besides, I'm guessing any movie about me would be of the Made for TV variety.

Now that I think about it, I'm not sure the actress who could most accurately portray me has been discovered yet. She's a combination Delta Burke-Roseanne Barr, I think. Delta would capture my unique Southern charm, and Roseanne could pick up everything else. I never grabbed my crotch while singing the National Anthem, but I am kind of loud and much more attuned to a blue collar world than the one I'm currently living in. I love to laugh, too.

If I ever do anything important and a studio wants to splurge on a big screen adaptation of my life, I'd choose Kathy Bates for the role. She's older than me (only slightly, though) and she's from Memphis. It doesn't matter that our resemblance is mostly physical--Kathy Bates can be anyone she wants to be. (See At Play in the Fields of the Lord, if you don't believe me.)

What about you? Who would you choose to play YOU in the movie of your life? C'mon now, be honest....

The Rest of Us

2005-07-20T22:50:00.000-05:00

Some people make it really difficult for me to be a Christian. Other Christians, usually. Not all Christians, of course. Many of us are quite normal.

The source of my most recent irritation is a local news story—now gone national—that tells the sad tale of Zach, a gay teenager whose parents placed him in a Conservative Christian "restoration program" designed to de-gay him. Now, I can understand wanting to get young Zach some counseling, but I'm thinking more along the lines of a trained professional to help him sort out and understand his feelings, someone who will help him discover and accept who he is, not destroy who he is.

This article comes on the heels of my growing fatigue with the whole anti-gay marriage hysteria that has the Christian Right so mesmerized these days. I just don't get it. Why do they care? No one's mandating gay marriage! The desire is to ensure that gay couples receive the same legal protections and are saddled with the same legal responsibilities as straight couples. Unless you're one half of a gay partnership, it really won't affect you. Honest.

It's not just the gay-centric issues that have me out of sorts. Gun control, reproductive rights, prayer in public schools, censorship, the teaching of evolutionary theory, the death penalty—take your pick. I can easily accept that my fellow Believer in the next pew might read the same scripture and develop different understandings. In fact, I think that's pretty healthy. Matthew, Mark, Luke and John didn't see everything the same exact way either.

What I'm having problems with is the politicization of these issues from the pulpit. Being told that Candidate A is "God's Choice" by a guy with a too-perfect smile and a bad toupee doesn't set too well with me. Neither does the implication (or outright assertion!) that taking a certain position on any of the aforementioned issues makes me a lesser Christian, that I'm not helping to fulfill "God's Will."

God's Will. I've been a Christian for 30+ years, and I haven't completely figured out exactly what God's will is. I know I'm supposed to love my neighbor as I love myself. Tricky, as it requires me to first love myself. Then, I'm required to turn the other cheek and do good to those who hate me. (I'm going out on a limb and assuming that those who merely disagree with me should be afforded the same courtesy.) There's also a mention somewhere that God already knows I'm not perfect, so any posturing or pretending on my part won't impress Him. And that pretty much sums up what I do know, which leaves an awful lot I don't know.

For starters, I don't know which candidate God would vote for in an election, although I'm pretty sure He wouldn't have picked David Dukes. Or when He went from "Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's"* to endorsing the bombing of federal office buildings. And when did He choose America as His favorite nation, anyway? Or why He would want me to declare His hatred of homosexuals when He told me "Hatred stirs up strife, But love covers all sins."**

The list goes on, as does my disenchantment with this burgeoning breed of Christian bullies and thugs. They're giving the rest of us a bad name.

But I'm not tired of God, nor of trying to understand and live the teachings of Jesus. They are part of me and who I want to be. And I have hope, new hope, because every day I'm seeing other people like me, only more eloquent, gain public voices and Christians everywhere are listening and joining in. I think they're hopeful, too.

*Mark 12:13-17,Matthew 22:15-22 and Luke 20:20-26.
**Proverbs 10:12

Someone Else's Wisdom

2005-07-19T07:33:00.000-05:00

"Treat people as if they were what they ought to be, and you help them become what they are capable of becoming."

- Goethe

Million Dollar Maybe

2005-07-17T17:43:00.000-05:00

Just so you'll know, I'm probably going to be winning the lottery this week. Right now, the Powerball jackpot is about $38 million. After taxes and such, I'd probably wind up with about $10 million. Nothing to sneeze at, but I won't be driving down the street throwing hundred dollar bills out the window either.

I've read stories about lottery winners who were penniless a few years down the road. How does that happen? How can you have $20 million dollars one year and be broke the next? Poor planning, to say the least. That's why I have it all laid out. Here's what I'll do if I wake up $10 million richer on Thursday morning:

Give $2.5 million to charity right off the top. No, I'm not just saying that to get in the good graces of the Higher Powers. It just seems like the right thing to do. I even have the charities all picked out already.
Quit my job. Isn't that what everyone says? I'd still work, but I might look for something part time. It's not that I hate my current job; I'd just like to try different things. Plus, wouldn't it be great to apply for a job and not have to even ask about the salary? Or care whether or not it offers health insurance?
Pay off my mortgage. Ahhhh.
Finish the remodeling projects lined up for my house. All at once, not staggered out over a period of time.
Do some nice things for friends and family. Pay off my sister's mortgage. Buy my parents new cars. Buy my friend in Tampa a new laptop. And help her find a safer apartment. Create a college fund for the children of all my friends and family.
Hire a personal trainer.
Try to build a 'professional' writing career.
Hire a housekeeper.
And a landscaper.
Go on extended road trips.

So I'm down to about $6.5 million now, and I have everything I want. I can conservatively invest the remainder and live a nice, comfortable little life. Sounds nice, doesn't it?

I have to wonder, though, what's next? What would I be moving toward? How would I define accomplishment and achievement? Who would my friends be while my real friends were at work? And would I lose the ability to tell the difference between real friends and pretenders?

Another thing I wonder is why I'm not doing most of the things on my list today. Okay, I don't exactly have $2.5 million on me right now, so I'd have to cut way back on the charitable donation. But I'll bet if I looked things over, I could find more to contribute than I do now.

And, no, I can't quit my job, because I need those benefits, but I'll bet I could keep an eye open for new and different things to do at work.

I can work harder to pay off my mortgage, and if I try, I'll bet I can organize those remodeling projects so that they're completed before the next millennium. I can't do the same things for my friends and family that I could do if I had $10 million, but I can do nice things for them.

Everything else on the list? I could do it today, if I wanted. So why am I making a list and hinging the possibility of having 'everything I want' on a million dollar maybe? I've got the sure thing right in front of me.

Repulsion

2005-07-17T17:42:00.000-05:00

I read this the other day on one of my Yahoo groups:

I've never, EVER, thought of kissing someone of the same sex. The idea repulses me.

Huh. Repulse. Such a strong, ugly word.

I don't believe I've ever thought of kissing another woman either, but I don't find the idea repulsive. I haven't even thought about it really, and I don't need to. I can think of a lot more things more repulsive:

Finding out my friend of twenty years will likely be dead by this time next year from pancreatic cancer. Something like 29,000 people will be diagnosed with pancreatic cancer this year...and all but 100 of them are expected to die within twelve months. That's repulsive, among other things.

Seeing a pregnant woman come out of the liquor store, laughing and yelling to her friends that, "I got me some peach schnapps." From the way she danced and weaved her way to the car, it didn't appear to be a new thing. That's repulsive to me.

Reading about the horrors that have gone on in Africa while I wasn't paying attention. How many millions died while I worked and played? I'm repulsed by that and more than a little shamed.

Hearing President Bush...say anything. Repulsive, these days. Maybe always.

No, there are a lot of things that repulse me, but two people loving each other--same gender or different-- isn't one of them.

Until next time...

Basic White

2005-07-11T20:34:00.000-05:00

This is a short short piece I wrote as an assignment for an online class. The task was to pretend I was a color and write about myself in first person. I didn't think I could do it; in fact, I struggled with the mere concept for several days. During that time, I watched as my classmates posted their pieces. One guy wrote a fabulously wicked short piece in which he was "pink with an attitude." A woman whose writing I loved wrote a beautifully soothing piece entitled "Cool Blue." One by one, all the interesting colors were taken. By the eve of the final submission date, I was frantic.

And then a single thought flitted through my tired mind. I'm just a basic white kind of person. As I explored that idea, I realized there wasn't anything 'basic' about the color white...or me.

Basic White

I am a color that most people don't even see. When they do notice me, people write me off as plain or simple -- basic white. Do they not realize my true power? If even a single drop of my essence touches another color, its power and energy are dissipated. Black becomes gray; red becomes pink; purple becomes lavender.

But I must be careful. If another color invades me, I cease to exist. It is only when I stand alone that I can wield my power. For in my solitary state, I am a color of intricacy and opposition, teeming with contradiction.

I am the taste of bitter, dusty chalk and smooth, velvety cream.

I am icy stinging sleet on a frigid winter day and the gently falling ash of a raging volcano.

I envelop a newborn child when he is pulled from the womb and light the path to eternity as man draws his last breath.

I am the neon moon that gives shadow to the night sky and the blinding noonday sun from which there is no respite.

In theology, I clothe the angels; in reality, I costume the hate-mongering Klansman.

My skin is one man’s privilege and another man’s burden.

In many cultures I stand for innocence, purity and peace; yet I embellish the crosses on the graves of men slain in battle.

I am basic white and rarely as simple as my surface appears.

Walking in Greener Grass

2005-07-11T07:30:00.000-05:00

Some Mondays are hard. Rainy Mondays are almost impossible. I lay in bed after the alarm goes off (something I rarely do on other days) and catalog my health, hoping for a sore throat, a muscle outage, a minor infection, or, in my most desperate moments, malaria. So far all I've uncovered during these examinations is a huge guilt complex for trying to avoid going to a job millions of people would gladly sacrifice more than a few hours sleep for. Unfortunately, the guilt doesn't present any physical symptoms, so I eventually give in to the inevitable and get out of bed.

It's not that I don't like my job, because I do. I even like almost all the people I work with. My salary and benefits are good, the office is five minutes from my house, the attire is business casual, and my hours are fairly static. You see now why I feel so guilty.

Sometimes I think I'd like to change careers. I have no strong passion for any one job in particular, just that elusive "something different." Make that "something different that pays a living wage." I don't know what that is yet, but I'm open to suggestions. I do know there are some jobs I'm definitely not cut out for:

Waitress - I think I'd last about...two hours as a waitress. I have this thing about table manners. The first bozo who reached for food from his plate before I'd finished setting it on the table would likely wind up with a lap full of lunch. He probably wouldn't tip so good after that. I also have this thing for earning a decent living without putting up with a bunch of crap. No, waitressing is not for me.

Grocery Store Cashier - One thing I know is groceries, so you'd think this might be a natural fit. I'd be really good at keeping people out of the express lane when they had too many items. I'd also make shoppers declare their method of payment at the beginning of the check out routine and if they were paying by check, I'd require that they get to work on filling it out while I processed their groceries. No last minute diggin' for the checkbook in my line. There'd also be no gum popping, cell phone talking, or leaving your basket unattended for more than fifteen seconds. Okay, so maybe this one has possibilities.

Hotel Housekeeper - I don't think I need to spend a lot of time on this one. People are especially gross when they don't have to do the cleaning up.

Police Officer - Now, this one might seem a bit farfetched, but there are some aspects of police work I'd be pretty good at, I think. While at the police academy, I'd probably get an 'A' in Asking People Intensely Personal Questions, but the firearms and bloody stuff might be a wee bit of a problem. Ditto for the running and driving fast parts. I wonder if you can go straight to detective. I'd probably do better going in after most of the dangerous moments were over.

Lawyer - You're expecting me to make fun of lawyers here, right? Well, I'm not. There are some scummy lawyers out there, to be sure, but there are also some fine upstanding citizens in the profession. Or so I've been told. The problem with lawyers is that they're required to provide a defense for their clients--even the guilty ones. I mean, you can get in Big Trouble if you don't. If I make a mistake in my current job, the most that could happen is someone has to rerun a report.

I think I see a pattern here. For now, maybe I'll luxuriate in running my bare feet in the lush green grass on this side of the fence and leave the tough jobs to the more qualified.

Getting a late start

2005-07-08T20:59:00.000-05:00

As usual, I'm the last one to arrive. I'm not sure how long I'll stay, but I plan to have fun while I'm here.