So Ms. Crabby pants is back. I’m in one of those moods where I just want to walk up to someone and scream “what if wrong with you people”.
Why am I in this mood? I was in the gym slogging away on the stair stepper and perusing a gossip magazine I came across an article about a plus size model whose photos were digitally altered to make her look very thin. The photographer’s response, “Well I’m paid to make her beautiful’. Evidently anyone over a size two is not beautiful. Now the irony was that this 5’ 9” model weighs 150 lbs and looks pretty darned good in a bikini. 150 lbs on someone that height is considered mildly overweight if one has a small frame and just fine if one’s frame is larger. So this annoyed me but I figured that this was a fluff piece designed to take up space. After all most of us tend to be this woman’s weight if not height and believe it or not don’t consider ourselves to be plus sized.
Then I moved down to the free weight area which, for some reason, has a television set. I should have just done my reps and ignored it but no…. The program that was on was some “so you want to be a model type thing.” Naomi Campbell was holding up an obscenely high pair of heels and saying something about athletes. I foolishly thought she was going to say something along the lines of “athletes don’t wear these things because it destroys their feet’…Nope she was saying that athletes play through their pain and so should these aspiring models. These poor things literally could not hobble across the floor in these shoes and looked absolutely crushed as the panel critiqued their runway skills. I kept waiting for one of them to take the shoes off and scream “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore”. Alas evidently no one had ever seen Network much less thought that perhaps they should inhabit the real world instead of having their self esteem and souls destroyed by a bunch of collagen injected has beens.
Here’s hoping that one day we will all (me included) learn to obsess less over weight and appearance and learn to just live healthy. In the meanwhile I must lift a few more weights to burn off my annoyance.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Welcome to quiltland
My father and his wife came for a visit last week and while they were here I was showing off some of my quilts.
As I continued to show them what i had done I realized that, for them, I was speaking a foreign language. Since I have been in quilter world for so long I had forgotten how alien it must be for people who don't quilt.
First we had to discuss why I had sooo much fabric. Explaining that my stash was kinda small in comparison to some had no effect. Neither did the “its sort of like paints for an artist, you wouldn’t expect an artist to just have two colors of paint” explanation work. I didn’t even attempt to describe the fabulous high garnered from stroking my fabric stash. No sense in them having to feel they needed to stage an intervention.
While everyone recognizes that quilts can indeed be beautiful I could tell that the cutting up of perfectly good fabric into small pieces and then reassembling them was something they would truly never really get. A trip to one of my favorite quilt shops was a little constrained as I knew a large purchase would also be met with confusion; remember I already have all this fabric in the closet. So alas I came away with a one yard cut of fabric for a fall project. While I certainly enjoyed their visit I’ve learned my lesson. Next time I shop and share only with other people living in quiltland.
As I continued to show them what i had done I realized that, for them, I was speaking a foreign language. Since I have been in quilter world for so long I had forgotten how alien it must be for people who don't quilt.
First we had to discuss why I had sooo much fabric. Explaining that my stash was kinda small in comparison to some had no effect. Neither did the “its sort of like paints for an artist, you wouldn’t expect an artist to just have two colors of paint” explanation work. I didn’t even attempt to describe the fabulous high garnered from stroking my fabric stash. No sense in them having to feel they needed to stage an intervention.
While everyone recognizes that quilts can indeed be beautiful I could tell that the cutting up of perfectly good fabric into small pieces and then reassembling them was something they would truly never really get. A trip to one of my favorite quilt shops was a little constrained as I knew a large purchase would also be met with confusion; remember I already have all this fabric in the closet. So alas I came away with a one yard cut of fabric for a fall project. While I certainly enjoyed their visit I’ve learned my lesson. Next time I shop and share only with other people living in quiltland.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Best author you are not reading
A few weeks ago I went into my local public library to the section where the short stories had been housed only to discover that the section had disappeared. When I queried the librarian I was told that no one reads short fiction and that the materials had been moved into the main fiction section.
I thought to myself , if no one reads short fiction then why do magazines like the New Yorker continue to publish it?
So, with this fact in mind the best author you are not reading is a gentleman by the name of Paolo Bacigalupi. Yes, I know, perhaps it’s his name that is the problem. If you can’t pronounce it much less spell it, it is pretty hard to ask for him in a bookstore or library.
He has the most fabulous collection of short stories. Most of the time after I’ve read something I tend to forget what I’ve read a few days later. I read this particular collection of short stories about six months ago and at least two of the stories remain vivid in my mind. They are science fiction but please don’t let this stop you. Go ahead try something different. Dive into these works and experience these meticulously crafted stories. Some of them will disturb you but I can guarantee that you won’t be bored.
I thought to myself , if no one reads short fiction then why do magazines like the New Yorker continue to publish it?
So, with this fact in mind the best author you are not reading is a gentleman by the name of Paolo Bacigalupi. Yes, I know, perhaps it’s his name that is the problem. If you can’t pronounce it much less spell it, it is pretty hard to ask for him in a bookstore or library.
He has the most fabulous collection of short stories. Most of the time after I’ve read something I tend to forget what I’ve read a few days later. I read this particular collection of short stories about six months ago and at least two of the stories remain vivid in my mind. They are science fiction but please don’t let this stop you. Go ahead try something different. Dive into these works and experience these meticulously crafted stories. Some of them will disturb you but I can guarantee that you won’t be bored.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Luddite quilter
I am a long time quilter, I started quilting in 1984. Back in the day we used plastic templates and a lot, though not all of us hand pieced our quilts. I was and am a happy hand piecer. I love making quilts and while none of them will ever win a prize most of my quilts look pretty good. I find the quilting process to be soothing and almost zen like. However a friend persuaded me to take a quilting class by machine. I needed to spring forth into the 21sr century, she said. I had too much fabric and would never use even a tenth of it unless I learned to machine piece, she said. It’s easy to learn, she said.
So I signed up for and recently completed a ten week course beginning machine piecing quilt class billed as a “fun” class. All I can say is that I did not have fun. I had nightmares, I broke down into crying jags, my cats hid and my spouse almost divorced me. My only consolation was that another student in the class also had the same symptoms and that we both survived.
Some evenings striving for the elusive perfect ¼ inch seam so that my quilt block would “square up” seemed to me to be akin to being on the front lines in a war zone with no knowledge on how to shoot a gun or, in my case, operate my sewing machine. I lived in a constant state of terror and stress. On a rare occasion I’d get a block right and it was if I’d just come in first in the New York marathon. Most nights were not like this. Most nights were spent sobbing, pleading and bargaining with my machine. Being heartless it ignored me.
The experience has led me to the following conclusions
1. If I use two ply thread I may attempt a machine pieced wall hanging. The fabric I use will be quite ugly so I will not have to sorrow after my beautiful fabrics lost in a bizarre and senseless death under the rotary cutter’s blade.
2. Most of my quilts will continue to be made via hand and anyone worried about my excessive fabric may remain mum on the subject.
3. Zen like states cannot be achieved at the machine though a dangerous rise in blood pressure can. Somehow I think this info could be used in a good murder mystery plot …
So I’m about to begin a queen sized churn dash and a little part of me is thinking…churn dash is pretty straight forward. I could piece this on the machine but then I look at the trusting face of the one cat who finally ventured out from under the couch and think nah…. Somebody has to be the last hand piecer in the world and I’m okay with that.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Book club snob
I have belonged to book clubs off and on for several years and finally found one that fits me. I’ll have to admit it is all women which is quite the change from some of the testosterone book clubs I’ve been in. Book clubs are much like any other group meeting and I’ll be sexist and say it men tend to dominate more than women.
Even in our nice “little ladies who sew “book club though there will always be one or two opinionated individuals who speak more than others, and, I admit, sometimes that person is me. (Okay it is frequently me and I know I annoy others….)There is going to be the person who just wants everyone to get along and who only wants to hear nice things about the book and, a bit more socializing than perhaps would be tolerated in other book clubs also occurs.
Our books tend to fall into "Oprah" inspirational, you should be getting a message from this book"; women's fiction; or theme books of some sort. World War II seems to be a recurring theme. I don’t know if this is because there are just a lot of WWII books out there or if we tend to gravitate more to that type of historical fiction. Rarely though are the books going to be ones that will survive the test of time, that will continue to be read and discussed into the next century and I’m afraid this is where my snobbishness shows. You may legitimately shake a finger at the self professed genre reader ( I know zombie books, how can I be a snob?) but I always feel a little like I’m slumming with the Jody Picoult and the Jennifer Chiaverini type books.
However, I have a confession to make, sometimes even though we aren’t reading Dostoyevsky or James Joyce I still find one or two of the books that really move me. I forget to be a snobby little snot and simply become engrossed in a story. One of those was the Book Thief and another was last month’s selection The Help. I know this book will be forgotten in 20 years but the author made the characters seem so alive I didn’t want the book to end, I wanted to continue to peer into their lives until I knew everything about them, what they’d be like in 10 years, if they would survive the changes they were undergoing. The story is basically about three women, two black and one white in a small Southern town in the early 1960s. The two women are maids and the white woman persuades these women to tell stories about their working life and by doing so exposing the cruelties done to other human beings based solely on the color of their skin. Some of the things done are so difficult to believe that you think “well this is fiction” and yet the author forces you to understand that these horrible things did happen just through the use of simple narrative on the part of the characters.
I guess what I’m trying to say is read this book, don’t be like me and be a little snot and think that just because a book is a best seller does not mean that it is merit-less. You may very well find a diamond in amongst the rhinestones. Even if you don't maybe you'll still just have a good read and sometimes that's enough.
Even in our nice “little ladies who sew “book club though there will always be one or two opinionated individuals who speak more than others, and, I admit, sometimes that person is me. (Okay it is frequently me and I know I annoy others….)There is going to be the person who just wants everyone to get along and who only wants to hear nice things about the book and, a bit more socializing than perhaps would be tolerated in other book clubs also occurs.
Our books tend to fall into "Oprah" inspirational, you should be getting a message from this book"; women's fiction; or theme books of some sort. World War II seems to be a recurring theme. I don’t know if this is because there are just a lot of WWII books out there or if we tend to gravitate more to that type of historical fiction. Rarely though are the books going to be ones that will survive the test of time, that will continue to be read and discussed into the next century and I’m afraid this is where my snobbishness shows. You may legitimately shake a finger at the self professed genre reader ( I know zombie books, how can I be a snob?) but I always feel a little like I’m slumming with the Jody Picoult and the Jennifer Chiaverini type books.
However, I have a confession to make, sometimes even though we aren’t reading Dostoyevsky or James Joyce I still find one or two of the books that really move me. I forget to be a snobby little snot and simply become engrossed in a story. One of those was the Book Thief and another was last month’s selection The Help. I know this book will be forgotten in 20 years but the author made the characters seem so alive I didn’t want the book to end, I wanted to continue to peer into their lives until I knew everything about them, what they’d be like in 10 years, if they would survive the changes they were undergoing. The story is basically about three women, two black and one white in a small Southern town in the early 1960s. The two women are maids and the white woman persuades these women to tell stories about their working life and by doing so exposing the cruelties done to other human beings based solely on the color of their skin. Some of the things done are so difficult to believe that you think “well this is fiction” and yet the author forces you to understand that these horrible things did happen just through the use of simple narrative on the part of the characters.
I guess what I’m trying to say is read this book, don’t be like me and be a little snot and think that just because a book is a best seller does not mean that it is merit-less. You may very well find a diamond in amongst the rhinestones. Even if you don't maybe you'll still just have a good read and sometimes that's enough.
Monday, April 05, 2010
Anticipation
The past week has been a rainy blustery sort of week which, for this time of year, is not all that unusual.
There was something about this past week though that reminded me of my childhood Marchs spent in Colorado. Perhaps it was the high wind or the sly promises of sun.
When I was little I looked forward to spring the way many small children looked forward to Christmas. I hated being cold. I also hated the lack of any discernable color. Winters in Colorado are ugly. Don't let anyone sell you a picture postcard full of gentle white mounds of snow and lacy snowflakes floating down. The reality is that we have thin dry snow, so no pretty lacy snowflakes, which melts quickly once the sun does come out. It also means slushy dirty streets, bare patches of dried dun colored grasses and bare spindly trees. Everywhere there is that ugly, nasty dun color, not a spot of color to be seen.
Every year though I knew that at the end of March, the beginning of April there would be a warm spell. I'd watch for it, my whole body quivering with the promise of warmth. When that warm spell hit (a warm spell being anything over 45 degrees) I'd run outside, sit on my front stoop and watch our Ash tree in the front yard start to bud with that wonderful chartreuse green that all young growth seems to have. I’d scour the ground in my mother’s flower bed to get the first glimpse of grape hyacinth. I'd sit there until my mother hollered at me to come in and put on a jacket before I caught my death of a cold but still I'd sit until the stoop began to cool as the sun moved on its way.
As an adult, living in Northern California, I don't get to have that heightened sense of anticipation, that sense that something is going to change , that there is going to be a little magic in the air. There is always color here even on the greyest day. Like the child who knows Santa isn't real, the exquisiteness of the anticipation is gone. Don't get me wrong, I still tear into my present of sunshine as I watch the daffodils and freesia come up but with just a hint of jadedness as I sit on my front stoop and that's too bad.
There was something about this past week though that reminded me of my childhood Marchs spent in Colorado. Perhaps it was the high wind or the sly promises of sun.
When I was little I looked forward to spring the way many small children looked forward to Christmas. I hated being cold. I also hated the lack of any discernable color. Winters in Colorado are ugly. Don't let anyone sell you a picture postcard full of gentle white mounds of snow and lacy snowflakes floating down. The reality is that we have thin dry snow, so no pretty lacy snowflakes, which melts quickly once the sun does come out. It also means slushy dirty streets, bare patches of dried dun colored grasses and bare spindly trees. Everywhere there is that ugly, nasty dun color, not a spot of color to be seen.
Every year though I knew that at the end of March, the beginning of April there would be a warm spell. I'd watch for it, my whole body quivering with the promise of warmth. When that warm spell hit (a warm spell being anything over 45 degrees) I'd run outside, sit on my front stoop and watch our Ash tree in the front yard start to bud with that wonderful chartreuse green that all young growth seems to have. I’d scour the ground in my mother’s flower bed to get the first glimpse of grape hyacinth. I'd sit there until my mother hollered at me to come in and put on a jacket before I caught my death of a cold but still I'd sit until the stoop began to cool as the sun moved on its way.
As an adult, living in Northern California, I don't get to have that heightened sense of anticipation, that sense that something is going to change , that there is going to be a little magic in the air. There is always color here even on the greyest day. Like the child who knows Santa isn't real, the exquisiteness of the anticipation is gone. Don't get me wrong, I still tear into my present of sunshine as I watch the daffodils and freesia come up but with just a hint of jadedness as I sit on my front stoop and that's too bad.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
The formula novel
The cranky one has a bone to pick with …silly book reviewers. First repeat after me "it is okay to read formula novels". The literature police will not come for you. Even they realize that formula novels can be great entertainment and lots of fun.
I recently read a novel that I felt was a very good example within its genre which happens to be the thriller novel. I began to read some other readers reviews and many of them criticized the novel for being formulaic. Well duh, Of course it is formulaic, many novels within genres are. (BTW don't spam me for this comment, yes I know that there are novelists who do bring originality to their work within various genres)
Mystery novels generally have a murder, a sleuth, and the resolution to the murder; romance novels have two protagonists who may initially hate one another but initially fall in love and then have a happily ever after. Many people read the same author because they know there will be familiar motifs with the works of the aforesaid author.
I myself enjoy Robert Crais because I know Elvis is going to be conflicted, Pike is going to be enigmatic and that there will be at least one really good shootout.
If you are going to review a novel within a formula then critique writing, character development ete. Formula authors can fall flat and its perfectly fine to point out problems, just don’t trash the book because it is exactly what it purports to be.
I recently read a novel that I felt was a very good example within its genre which happens to be the thriller novel. I began to read some other readers reviews and many of them criticized the novel for being formulaic. Well duh, Of course it is formulaic, many novels within genres are. (BTW don't spam me for this comment, yes I know that there are novelists who do bring originality to their work within various genres)
Mystery novels generally have a murder, a sleuth, and the resolution to the murder; romance novels have two protagonists who may initially hate one another but initially fall in love and then have a happily ever after. Many people read the same author because they know there will be familiar motifs with the works of the aforesaid author.
I myself enjoy Robert Crais because I know Elvis is going to be conflicted, Pike is going to be enigmatic and that there will be at least one really good shootout.
If you are going to review a novel within a formula then critique writing, character development ete. Formula authors can fall flat and its perfectly fine to point out problems, just don’t trash the book because it is exactly what it purports to be.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
nostalgia
This past weekend I indulged in two separate yet entertaining types of activities that brought back a wave of nostalgia.
On Saturday my husband and I took my mother in law to the Monterey Bay aquarium as she had not been there before. The current exhibits of the seahorses are awesome by the way! Joe Bob says check it out. We then took seventeen mile drive over to Carmel and it was this combination that made me nostalgic. I’ve taken both my parents and a wide variety of friends to these spots over the years and it was fun to try and remember who I was with when we saw the tide pools, where that little shop was where they used to sell folk art rugs, where my ten year old nephew (now in his thirties yikes!) swam for hours etc.
Then today we went and saw the new Star Trek movie. I had a lot of trepidation going in as I’m a hardcore trekker from way back. I remember watching it when I was probably no older than six or seven initially. I had some of the lines memorized and to this day one of my college roommates still does. Yes I am and was a geek and used to get pounded regularly for it. Funny how those folks who used to make fun of Star Trek now also remember it fondly.
In any case I didn’t think I was going to enjoy a reimagining of the myth but it turns out for the most part I did. I loved Simon Pegg as Scotty and wished that he had been introduced sooner, Anton Yelchin was fun as Chekov and I think I now have a crush on Karl Urban’s McCoy (Sorry Deforest). I wasn’t so excited with Chris Pine as Kirk nor with the underlying relationship of Spock and Uhura. The movie did lots of little references back to the original and overall it was a fun way to sort of revisit a past favorite. Do go in with a totally open mind and just go with the reimagining, trying to get this movie to mesh with the other treks my cause a headache. Oh, and as I told my friend who actually lives in Iowa just laugh and ignore the fact that they didn’t get it right.
On Saturday my husband and I took my mother in law to the Monterey Bay aquarium as she had not been there before. The current exhibits of the seahorses are awesome by the way! Joe Bob says check it out. We then took seventeen mile drive over to Carmel and it was this combination that made me nostalgic. I’ve taken both my parents and a wide variety of friends to these spots over the years and it was fun to try and remember who I was with when we saw the tide pools, where that little shop was where they used to sell folk art rugs, where my ten year old nephew (now in his thirties yikes!) swam for hours etc.
Then today we went and saw the new Star Trek movie. I had a lot of trepidation going in as I’m a hardcore trekker from way back. I remember watching it when I was probably no older than six or seven initially. I had some of the lines memorized and to this day one of my college roommates still does. Yes I am and was a geek and used to get pounded regularly for it. Funny how those folks who used to make fun of Star Trek now also remember it fondly.
In any case I didn’t think I was going to enjoy a reimagining of the myth but it turns out for the most part I did. I loved Simon Pegg as Scotty and wished that he had been introduced sooner, Anton Yelchin was fun as Chekov and I think I now have a crush on Karl Urban’s McCoy (Sorry Deforest). I wasn’t so excited with Chris Pine as Kirk nor with the underlying relationship of Spock and Uhura. The movie did lots of little references back to the original and overall it was a fun way to sort of revisit a past favorite. Do go in with a totally open mind and just go with the reimagining, trying to get this movie to mesh with the other treks my cause a headache. Oh, and as I told my friend who actually lives in Iowa just laugh and ignore the fact that they didn’t get it right.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
ETSY
Discovering a new way to spend money in these hard financial times is wrong, correct? What if, by spending your money, you would be helping small local artists?
I love handmade things, especially those things that are a little folk arty and or have an originality to them.
Unfortunately for my wallet, I have discovered Etsy and... there are a whole lot of talented folks on this website. I got sucked into the art section and haven't been able to find my way out. For those of you not so interested in art check out the other categories. Yes, there is some amateurish stuff but, overall, I've found some very nice, authentic pieces and frequently reasonably priced. Who knows, maybe one day my stuff will be up there and you can then support another local artist!
I love handmade things, especially those things that are a little folk arty and or have an originality to them.
Unfortunately for my wallet, I have discovered Etsy and... there are a whole lot of talented folks on this website. I got sucked into the art section and haven't been able to find my way out. For those of you not so interested in art check out the other categories. Yes, there is some amateurish stuff but, overall, I've found some very nice, authentic pieces and frequently reasonably priced. Who knows, maybe one day my stuff will be up there and you can then support another local artist!
Thursday, March 19, 2009
zombies as love interests, really?
Alright first of all I've got a bone to pick. I like being scared so badly my hair practically turns white so I am not real excited at the way things have gone for some of my favorite horror archetypes..
In the past several years romance writers have taken the horrific out of a variety of horrific and/or mythical figures (vampires, werewolves, demons etc) and turned them into fluffy harmless objects e.e.angels. This begs the questions as to why the angels had to tell the shepherds “be not afraid” if they are so cute and cuddly…
In some cases it's not all fluff, a little bit of the cruelty remains but then a tortured soul is added so that our heroine can “save” the love object or, if they are the being in question, be saved. Hollywood had a lot to do with the shift in image and writers followed suit and began to change the mythos to make these beings more palatable.
Some of the changes are kind of ooky. In a lot of these stories there is also an underlying wife beater element to them. He bit too hard or he crushed my ribs turning into a werewolf but he didn’t really mean it. Let's ignore this aspect for the time being as that could turn into a disseration for some enterprising English major. So way do these reformed archetypes appeal? As a general rule there is not only the tortured being angle but there are the good looks, charm and in many case wealth that goes along with these types. So if you are fifteen (or fifteen in spirit which many adult women seem to be)you develop a little crush.
However, zombies are well zombies. To start with they are dead and not just dead but rotting, meat falling off the bones dead. They generally have no other thought processes other than to eat you. They don’t have any higher brain function left. No time for romance when there is always a primordial hunger to eat flesh. Even with some of the conventions being bent in modern movie making – they are fast, they have basic reasoning skills etc it is still a huge stretch to understand how they can be made into love objects. I could actually read one of these books but…
I’m not sure I can take the plunge and have the whole zombie allure thing ruined for me. I like being scared silly and just don’t want the thrill of being scared to death ruined with thoughts of zombies sucking face not to eat someone but to lurve them, bleech! Puleeze people leave my zombies be!
In the past several years romance writers have taken the horrific out of a variety of horrific and/or mythical figures (vampires, werewolves, demons etc) and turned them into fluffy harmless objects e.e.angels. This begs the questions as to why the angels had to tell the shepherds “be not afraid” if they are so cute and cuddly…
In some cases it's not all fluff, a little bit of the cruelty remains but then a tortured soul is added so that our heroine can “save” the love object or, if they are the being in question, be saved. Hollywood had a lot to do with the shift in image and writers followed suit and began to change the mythos to make these beings more palatable.
Some of the changes are kind of ooky. In a lot of these stories there is also an underlying wife beater element to them. He bit too hard or he crushed my ribs turning into a werewolf but he didn’t really mean it. Let's ignore this aspect for the time being as that could turn into a disseration for some enterprising English major. So way do these reformed archetypes appeal? As a general rule there is not only the tortured being angle but there are the good looks, charm and in many case wealth that goes along with these types. So if you are fifteen (or fifteen in spirit which many adult women seem to be)you develop a little crush.
However, zombies are well zombies. To start with they are dead and not just dead but rotting, meat falling off the bones dead. They generally have no other thought processes other than to eat you. They don’t have any higher brain function left. No time for romance when there is always a primordial hunger to eat flesh. Even with some of the conventions being bent in modern movie making – they are fast, they have basic reasoning skills etc it is still a huge stretch to understand how they can be made into love objects. I could actually read one of these books but…
I’m not sure I can take the plunge and have the whole zombie allure thing ruined for me. I like being scared silly and just don’t want the thrill of being scared to death ruined with thoughts of zombies sucking face not to eat someone but to lurve them, bleech! Puleeze people leave my zombies be!
I see dead people
Quite a few of my work associates, friends etc have dropped dead in the last couple of years. For some reason I've been dreaming about them alot lately. If it isn't my poor dead cat, it is my co-worker who died of complications from Alzheimer's and Parkinson's. I know this sounds odd but I think I can lay at least part of the blame on oct-mom. See I used to have this friend at work and we'd eat stories up like octo-mom. We'd relentlessly pursue any news, dissect her life, state how we could do things so much better and so on. Since this woman is still in the news I get the urge frequently to send an e-mail to my friend so we can dish. Problem is she too died earlier this year and I still haven't processed it. She wasn't that much older than me so that is always freaky. After all we never think of ourselves as old do we? When we hit 30 we think that's not so old, then 40 hits and then...can't wait until I'm in my fifties and still think I'm a young thing. We'd lost touch over the past few years but the thing is I can hear in my head almost exactly what she would have said. I miss her and I wish I'd kept more in touch.
Friday, March 02, 2007
Its been a long, long time
When I originally decided to create a blog I was going to use it as a sort of stress releasing device. My mother had gone in for heart surgery and I assumed she would be back to her normal self. Regretfully that was not to be and almost everything fell away except for caring for a very ill parent.
Almost one year later I can now resume a form of normal routine and hopefully can begin exploring books and blogs once again.
Almost one year later I can now resume a form of normal routine and hopefully can begin exploring books and blogs once again.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
what's in a name
I few, very few, individuals have asked the meaning behind the name
According to Websters third unabridged dictionary
eclectic "composed of elements drawn from various sources"
frump "a dowdy, unattractive, or generally uninteresting girl or woman"
Frump superficially describes what you would think of me if you saw me on the street and I tend to suffer from a short attention span. Many different and unrelated things catch my attention. So when I decided to add one more insignificant blog to the universe I decided it might as well have a silly yet catchy name.
According to Websters third unabridged dictionary
eclectic "composed of elements drawn from various sources"
frump "a dowdy, unattractive, or generally uninteresting girl or woman"
Frump superficially describes what you would think of me if you saw me on the street and I tend to suffer from a short attention span. Many different and unrelated things catch my attention. So when I decided to add one more insignificant blog to the universe I decided it might as well have a silly yet catchy name.
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