recently finished the english patient.
one of those books that makes you die every three seconds while reading and say to yourself: i wish i had written this.
currently reading another book that makes me feel the same way.
wonder if i'll ever shake out the mothballs and write a novel of my own.
one that makes me die every three seconds while writing it.
hp7 currently sitting on the kitchen table.
it came in the mail today.
b and i read 1st chapter out loud on the way to the airport.
now i am stuck with an oath not to read it until she gets back from denver.
on friday.
talk about eternity.
don't even try to tell me what happens. better yet, don't talk to me at all because you'll feel compelled to let something slip.
wait until saturday next, when i'll have finished.
so. went to hp5. saw about the first half or so.
then little n woke up and decided he was hungry.
well, the first half of the movie was okay.
when i see the rest i'll let you know what i think.
In case you haven't been watching the counter in the sidebar, there are only two days until harry potter 7 comes out.
1. Hunch your shoulders over the wheel as you cruise in. This is crucial, since your profile in the window of the vehicle instantly telegraphs the condition of the driver to the viewing public (in this case, the other patrons of the lot). An upright posture indicates a vibrant, healthy body.
2. Since you are so obviously young, make an attempt to tone down some of your youthful showiness through watching what you wear. Shorts that show just a hint of buttock are out, as are tight miniskirts. Stick with pants for the most part, and try to avoid flashing that perfect tan you baked for in 16 minute increments over the past month.
3. Feign a limp. This can easily be overdone, so don’t drag your leg along the pavement or anything ridiculous like that. A slight hitch in your gait will do. Just pretend like one leg is heavier than the other, and it will come naturally. Watch that you don’t stop limping when you are just inside the store; turning a corner before doing so is more discreet.
4. He is your grandfather, after all. Which makes you a granddaughter and therefore entitled to the privileges of parking front and center by right of blood. Inheritance of the parking permit, you might say. Note that this argument really only holds up in front of people who already agree with you; in other words, keep it in the family.
5. Wigs are reserved only for really desperate times. This includes not wanting to be seen in public when a cute boy you happen to know is walking by. Try to select a wig with just a tinge of grey. Hair is an age indicator, and if your get-up puts you just this side of senile, your driving will attract impatience more than forbearance. Remember, wigs are usually dowdy and skewed a little, so don’t be too meticulous when arranging it in the rearview.
6. Back into the space, and do it slowly. Nothing seems more incongruous than a driver that slides the car into a handicapped space with careless ease. When backing in, make several corrections, even to the point of delaying other cars from parking. The drivers will only feel guilty if they are impatient or upset at your driving skills when they see the little hanger in the windshield.
7. When exiting the car, always ask for assistance. Though this puts at least one person in close enough proximity to discover your secret, (who you can either draw in to the joke with a well-timed wink, or wither with indignant outrage), the heart-rending spectacle will melt any suspicious parkers in the lot. After all, misfortune can strike at any age.
Nash Aaron Woodward was born on June 12 at 7:04 pm.
He weighed 8 lbs. 13 oz. and measured 20 1/2 inches long.
He is the most adorable kid I have ever seen. This has nothing to do with the fact that he looks like me. Well, maybe it does. A little.
Though B and I are a little sleep deprived, we wouldn't trade our little guy for anything in the world.
Posts may get a little infrequent from now on. You only have to look at this picture once to understand why. Nash pretty much trumps everything else in my life right now, and I am glad of it.
a/c up and running daily.
writing eddying along.
garden flourishing.
no baby yet.
what else is new?
so my computer goes down again for the umpteenth time and the extended warranty is finally up. this time it is the most petty of reasons -- a combination of short battery life and a short somewhere in the power socket. but what it comes down to is whether to fix the beast on my own dime or just buy one that works.
buy one that works.
then the problem is, which one? the introduction of windows vista complicates things, since you can't get a new pc without it, and since it is bound to be full of bugs since it is new. so a mac, perhaps? perhaps.
if only it wasn't so hard to spend a thousand plus dollars. anyway, wish me luck on the hunt for a suitable, portable, uncomplicated machine. that works.
it's the scent of a new story hitting the mail for the first time. it reminds you of hope, doubt, overconfidence, deep despair, elation, and sadness all at the same time. but then, if feelings weren't complex, they wouldn't be worth experiencing, and neither would the smells that so often bring them back to life.
but aside from all the associational gibberish, the perfume picture will make a whole lot more sense to someone who reads my new story. (which is my usual these days, it seems. post a picture that has something to do with a recent story and hope it brings good luck). let's hope that some editor out there reads it and loves it.
in other news: we are gardening like mad. peppers, tomatoes, and more. a post on this later.
really. i can feel it. because i received another almost-acceptance today, this time from Story Quarterly.
yes, it was a rejection, but so nice and complimentary (read: they said it was seriously considered). and no, i did not detect any sarcasm. to close, they said that they thought that the story was so well done that while they finally decided not to use it, they think another editor will pick it up in fairly short order.
so not really a letdown. because this is the nicest rejection note to date. and because i think it means that i am getting close to publication.
next time, or a time soon to come, the letter will say yes, not no.
because i passed my language test. no summer chinese. no 3 hr a day class. no daily quizzes. no homework. no temporary insanity when i can't read the characters. no mind-blank when all i can think of is chinese phrases but can't remember what they are supposed to mean. no deposits, fees paid for creditless class.
but best of all--time with barb. time with the little dude. time to write. time to actually have a summer.
only five weeks till the due date. buckle your seatbelts.
moving season is upon us. which means that i'll be hauling the furniture of neighbors and friends for the next few days/weeks. interestingly enough, all the moves mean a lot of furniture is being unloaded for little or no money. our house has benefited to the tune of a dresser or two, a nice side table, and a small shelf--not to mention a few other upcoming items. well, i won't complain. now if only the rain can hold off for a while so everyone doesn't get wet while hauling boxes...
which i intend to spin a plenty over the summer. and which i am already spinning. one of which features a thread-obsessed person. as in the following passage:
Time spooling outward. Over the years, the house has become a repository for all things that represent longevity. Skeins of thread are stacked in pyramids of threes on every surfaces. String, yarn, other thickstuffs wound into balls that collect under chairs, couches. He has one in his pocket at all times, a work in progress. When out walking, he adds to it, knotting stray plastic strips, dry-rot suffering rubber bands, abandoned shoelaces together, winding them into small balls. Has heard of the presence of the world’s largest ball of twine somewhere in the state, but thinks the idea ridiculous: a largest ball? How can you put an upper limit on infinity? Who is it, exactly, that has evaluated all possible balls of twine, held them to a stiff standard of measurement, an even stricter one of material components (twine only, composition wound hemp or manila—he knows on such grounds his composite balls would be disqualified) and declared one single ball sole heir to the title? He wonders if they unroll the thing to measure it lengthwise, or just estimate from the circumference. Again: how to measure a thing with no end?oh summer. oh last time brief window of time before my life changes forever, as i become a father.
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