I've often been told I take everything too personally and that is certainly one of my many faults. One of my other faults is being stubborn and that brought results this month. I guess I need to apply that persistence to my writing. But by now you probably wonder what I'm talking about. I'm referring to finally receiving the Guaranteed Income Supplement (GIS), which is added to the Old Age Security payment for Canadian pensioners who are eligible. Ah yes, "eligible" as defined by our dear government and receivable - when they get around to it. Notice that part. I became eligible based on my 2008 taxable income which was minuscule, but I didn't receive any payment until this month (August). Why? Because the government does not look at the income tax reported by pensioners until June and they only consider those tax forms once a year (in June).
While I'm grateful to have the added income, I can't help but wonder why it took so long. After all, Revenue Canada would swiftly track me down if I owed any money. So the government's slow response irks me, but unless I want to start a protest movement there's nothing I can do about it except grumble, and tell you this. Don't let any senior you know (parent, friend, person-in-the-street) take money from their Registered Retirement Savings Account in order to survive until they are eligible for the GIS. 'Tis better to borrow than to use one's savings. You have been warned.
My dear friend, The Viking, often tells the addicts he listens to not to spend too much time alone with their thoughts. "It's scary in there," he says,He's right, but I believe writers have to go into their mental attics often, if they are to produce anything real and lasting.I've been in this world for a lot of years and there's a huge pile of stuff in my attic. Some of it is useful, some of it is gratifying, some of it is boring, some of it is mean-spirited (more on that later) and some of it is terrifying. I could easily get lost in there - I suppose that supports The Vikings point - but I always return. Sometimes what I find distresses me. I was not happy to discover that I resent the success of other writers (I mean the bad ones) or to find out that my perfectionist tendencies are even more pronounced that I had believed. Still, I have to go in there. It's where I find the best stuff for my work. I completely understand why many writers found it necessary to over-drink, or use other substances as a way to 'get in,' 'be in the zone," and cope with/ use what they find. However, for me, the larger problem is returning to the 'real' world. That's probably why if I have only half an hour for work, very little happens. Well, that's my excuse. How do you 'get in' and how do you get out again?On a lighter note, there is laundrygate. My friend (and my responsibility), The Bear, is in a supported-living retirement facility. Nine pieces of his laundry have not been returned. The articles went to the laundry on Wednesday. He has quizzed the staff relentlessly and thinks that they should have to replace his clothes, if the clothes don't return - immediately. I'm glad that was his only complaint today.
My Montreal trip is over and I'm already wondering how I can save enough money to visit again, maybe two years from now. On Monday, the train from Toronto to Montreal was full and I was fortunate to sit next to a young Quebecois woman who was returning home. We chatted and the time on the train passed quickly. Attention: writers of romance - the young woman, who is bilingual and works for the provincial government, said that she doesn't enjoy 'fiction' and only reads romance, because it is 'soft' and relaxing. She also asked if I was gong to visit the Basilica (de Notre Dame) and said I really must see it. I have been there before but planned to see it again. It was after 4 p.m. by the time I reached my hotel (damn the stairs in the Sherbrooke Metro station), so I walked over to Rue St. Denis and found a restaurant for an early dinner, because I was very hungry. Via Rail will sell you a 'snack' but I had not indulged. On Tuesday, I went to the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts and saw some of the permanent exhibitions, plus the Frederic Black exhibition. I admit, I knew nothing about Frederic Black before this. Now, I own a 4 DVD set of his animated films. The Museum is housed in two buildings and when I went outside to cross the street and visit the second building, there was a gorgeous vintage white Bentley at the curb. It was adorned with white bows, but the bride and groom were absent. The driver, who stood beside the car, was happy to answer my questions. He also took a picture of me sitting in the car. Perhaps I should have tipped him, but I was besotted by the car and didn't think of it. Later in the day I visited a shop that sells tablecloths and fabrics from Provence and found present I hope my daughter will enjoy. A good dinner was certainly in order after all my walking and wandering. I found a Bistro that had modest prices, and good food. On Wednesday, I visited the Botanical Gardens. It took over an hour just to tour the ten greenhouses. Then there are the many gardens. I could only visit a few of them before my feet protested. It was a very hot day - that's my excuse. I also visited the Insectarium, which was filled with children and quite noisy, but fun. There's a small train that takes you around the whole of the Botanical Gardens, including the huge arboretum area, and it's free, so I went along for the ride. By late afternoon, I had wilted, though the flowers had not, and I bypassed visiting the Olympic tower and returned to my hotel via the Metro. When it was time to go out for dinner, I walked up St. Denis and eventually settled on another Bistro. This time, I was very lucky, the food was fabulous, the service was excellent, and the price was not as high as I had expected, though it certainly wasn't cheap. No matter - it was worth it!Thursday was my last full day and I went to Old Montreal and revisited the Basilica de Notre Dame. After that, I needed a coffee, but not a six dollar coffee. I found a Starbucks. I was walking down toward the Port area when I came upon the Maison de Mere d'Youville. It was not in my guidebook, and it doesn't look as if it is open to the public. Still, I tried the door. It opened into a small office area but I could see antique furniture, and stone floors to one side. The receptionist spoke to me in French and asked if I would like a tour. When I replied 'yes,' she said if I would wait a few minutes she would furnish me with a guide who spoke English. An excited young woman soon arrived and gave me a personal tour. It lasted over an hour and the guide provided fascinating information. The Maison is on the site of the first Montreal Hospital, started by a group of religious 'brothers'. They helped the poor and sick men of Montreal in the 1700's. Eventually, they were unable to maintain the hospital. Then Marguerite d'Youville and a small group of women (they became the grey nuns) took it over, repaired it and helped as many of the poor and suffering people as they could - men, women and children. Would you believe they even took in prostitutes and abandoned babies? There is much more to the history, of course, and I am fascinated by the profound courage of Marguerite and the women who worked with her. After a bit of shopping it was time for dinner and I returned to the Bistro I had enjoyed on Wednesday. It was a wise decision.Friday, I returned home and I'm happy to be here. I missed out on Montreal Smoked Meat and Fairmont bagels; therefore, I'll have to go back, won't I?
I leave for Montreal very early on Monday morning and will return on Friday evening. Before I go, I'll spend time with the Viking. Maybe we will go to some Blues Festival events, if the weather isn't miserable. There are lots of things I'd like to do and places I'd like to visit while I'm in Montreal, but I'm not making a list and will decide on my itinerary based on the weather, and my energy level, and how my knees hold out. (That reminds me - I need to look for a gentle exercise class when I return.) In any event, if it rains on Tuesday, I'll make that my museum visit day. Packing will take place the night before I leave, but I do know what's going into the suitcase.It's wonderful to get out of town, even if it might be 'dangerous'. That's the word a neighbour used when I said I was going to Montreal, alone. She also said, "you're brave." Either I look older and more fragile than I am, or she was worried about Montreal drivers who have a reputation for running into pedestrians. I assured her I would be careful, and indeed, I will. I also plan to enjoy the city and all that it offers. Old Montreal, the museums, the food, the unique atmosphere, the elan of les Quebecois , and did I mention? - the food - seafood, tortiere, bagels, Montreal smoked meat, and whatever else appeals to me. I'd better do a LOT of walking, or I'll return thicker rather than thinner, but if the universe is kind, that won't matter, because I'll have had a marvellous, memorable time. Going on a trip gives me the opportunity to do a 'restart' when I return. That's why I have a two writing lists posted where I can see them. The first one shows all of my short stories, the magazines they've been sent to in the past - and of course the results. The second list, which I composed this morning, shows the stories that need to be sent out again. A while back, in late spring, I made a similar list (stories to send out), posted it up where I could see it and it worked. I sent those stories out. Then there were multiple crises, including some I can't mention in my blog, and I admit, I had great difficulty in focusing on anything but the troubles. But now, ah now, I have a new list and it is posted on my wonderful new-to-me very large, cork bulletin board. It's a double-sided board and notes for my novel are on the other side. I've been thinking a lot about 'Jennie Carriere' and I'm sure my visit to Montreal will help me with that, too.
Thanks to Via Rail's temporary price reduction of train tickets, I will be going to Montreal for five days. I can hardly wait to visit one of my favourite cities. There's no doubt that I'll be immediately recognized as a tourist, since my clothing lacks style, I'll have to wear my running shoes, and my smattering of high school French may prove incomprehensible; nevertheless, I know I'll have an excellent time. There are many places I'd like to visit while I'm in the city so I went to the library to get a Montreal Guide. There was only one available - all the others were already on loan to other patrons. Perhaps Montreal is being inundated with les maudits anglais this summer. If so, then I hope Montrealers are still as tolerant as they were on my previous visits.Before this unexpected opportunity arrived, I had been moping and reading, and fretting of course, as I often do when the Muse takes her leave. I recommend Carol Shield's short biography of Jane Austen, published by Penguin (2001) as part of the Penguin Lives series. If you are a writer, you will appreciate Shield's perceptive comments on writing and on the nature of a writer's life even if you don't like, or haven't read Jane Austen's novels. Though if you do know Jane's work, you will get even more from this book. Carol Shields writes clearly and without any academic frou frou. And speaking of books and writers, my friend and fellow writer, Jennifer Ross' story, "The Colonial and the Cottontail" is now available in the Northern Roses, Southern Belles Civil War Anthology published by Wild Rose Press. The book is available through Amazon. I had the pleasure of reading and commenting on earlier versions of this story and am happy it has been published.Now, I need to make a list of things to take on my trip, and of course paper and pens will be at the top, although usually I don't write much when I'm away from my home. Instead, I often get a new perspective on what I need to write, when I return. I hope that happens again, and I'll let you know if it does.
Last night, I had the opportunity to see how the Emergency Department at St. Mary's hospital handles patients who are not bleeding but may be at serious risk. I accompanied The Viking to the hospital because his blood pressure was very high, and had been very high for over two days His bp was checked (still very high) and he was admitted to Emergency. Then we waited, behind curtain number 4, for three hours. There was only one doctor on duty and we did not see him, or her. After three hours of waiting, I asked if The Viking's blood pressure could be checked again. A nurse did that, and fortunately the b/p had come down close to what is normal for The Viking. So, he decided he might as well go home. Of course he had to sign an agreement saying that he was leaving without seeing a doctor.
All is well this morning, but I do wonder about a couple of things. If I hadn't been with the Viking, would they have checked on him sooner? Did staff expect that because someone was with him, that someone would inform them if there was a change that required their attention? I do know the signs of a stroke, but the staff at the hospital knew nothing about me. I am glad The Viking agreed to go to the hospital, though he is not sure he would do it again, given the care he didn't receive.
In other news, my friend Lori Hahnel, will be the Calgary Canadian Author's Association's Writer in Residence starting in September -- and her novel, Love Minus Zero has been nominated for a Calgary Public Library Literary Award. I'm thrilled for her, on both counts.
As for my writing, I had an encounter with the black dog, but have survived it and am doing a bit of work. That is also good.
As some of you know, I am the grandmother of two teenage boys. At times, it is an onerous task, at other times there is joy. Most times, there is confusion, my confusion that is. I'm quite sure that behind the volume of meticulously straightened hair which conceals the faces of F and S (my grandsons) there is a computer interface which automatically selects certain responses to information received from adults.
I can provide proof. A reconstructed conversation with S.
Me: When are you going to cut the lawn?
S: screen shows - No Signal
Me: Are you ever coming out of your room?
S: screen shows - No Signal
Thirty minutes later.
Me: You'd better cut the lawn, or else, when Mom and dad get home they'll be pissed off.
S. screen shows - blah blah blah, or else blah blah blah pissed off. Level 1 response required. Select a) yeah, okay, or b) yeah, in a few minutes.
S. responds Yeah, In a few minutes.
Thirty minutes later.
Me: Do it now, S!
S. screen shows - Now! High voice volume requires immediate response.
S. emerges from room for the first time in 18 hours and cuts the lawn, then returns to room and adjusts his internal computer screen to inactive listening mode.
Two hours pass.
Me: downstairs, in conversation with grandad and a long way from S.'s bedroom. - I hear there might be ice cream cake for Sam's birthday and that his present will be an Ipod touch gadget.
S. screen shows - blah blah blah ice cream cake, blah blah, present, blah blah Ipod. Bingo! Immediate response required!
S. emerges from his bedroom again. Yes, folks, it's a record, and says Hi - is there cake?
Yesterday was my birthday, number 65 plus one, and it was a mostly quiet day. My daughter took me out for lunch, then the Viking came over for tea and hugs after supper. I was quite content to have a low key celebration. partly because my foot was throbbing, and partly because so much has been happening to people I love that I needed some down time. Life has been way too eventful, but not in a good way, over the last few weeks. I may be wild and crazy sometimes, but on weekday mornings, I need - crave my routine. When it's interrupted things go awry, as they did on Wednesday morning.
I like to start my morning with coffee. All right then, I can hear the laughter- I need to start my morning with two cups of coffee. One starts the right ventricle and one starts the left. That's the rule. I have a wonderful new coffee maker, and right after I brush my teeth, etc. and turn on the computer, which needs time to load all it's functions, I fill the machine and start it. While the coffee brews, I open or close the windows depending on what the weather looks like. When the coffee is ready I take my cup to my desk, log on to the Internet and check my email. Doesn't everybody who writes do this first thing in the morning? There could be good news just waiting to be found and enjoyed.
But Wednesday morning, before I could pour out my coffee, the phone rang. In my un-coffeed state, I rushed to answer it. I'm not spatially deft before coffee and I failed to get completely around one of the living room chairs. I whacked two of the smallest toes on my right foot and limped over to the phone. Of course it was a wrong number. I promise myself, I won't rush to catch a phone call again. I'd like change other parts of my morning routine, but I'm not sure I can. I might be able to resist checking what's new with my friends who post on facebook, and I might be able to stop reading the morning headlines on the CBC website and the Maclean's magazine blogs. Those are the things I do before I write or revise, if I write or revise anything. But I'm not giving up coffee.
It's time to ice my toes.
I've stayed close to the telephone for what seemed like eons as I waited for news about my brother's health crisis. From the moment I first heard his diagnosis, it's been hard to focus on anything else. I spent lots of time on the Internet, researching his condition, and the options, and the possible outcomes. I also spent lots of time sending him energy, and visualizing better health for him. While all this was going on, (and is going on) three rejections of my work came in. They all arrived on Mondays. That didn't help me at all. But this week, I revised one of the stories that had been rejected and sent it out again. A baby step for sure, but at least I did something. Also, a story continues to ferment in my wee brain and I hope I'll soon be able to work on it.Yesterday afternoon, I received news that my brother has improved after a horrendous Wednesday night . It's a tiny step forward, and a wobbly one, but I'm hugely thankful for any progress. Likely, I will visit him next week , if he is moved from intensive care to regular care. My sister-in-law tells me that given the massive amount of surgery he has undergone other setbacks may occur, but we are all more hopeful now.I plan to visit John next week, if he is moved out of intensive care and into a regular room. At first, I thought I'd take the train, but it only goes to Windsor once a day and doesn't arrive till after 11 p.m., so I'll take the Greyhound bus instead. Thanks to everyone for your positive thoughts and prayers.To end this on a very positive note, I'll mention that my friend, Lori Hahnel, has a short story collection coming out this fall. I highly recommend it and I know what I'm talking about. I've read most of the stories.You can read the blurb and pre-order it here:
http://www.chapters.indigo.ca/books/35/search?sc=Lori+Hahnel&sf=Author&pticket=e2q3w3zcotsmuae4fcildpfiAeysXgNEAsDFD%2fzBSl9kATAQ9HU%3d
On Wednesday my daughter and I visited my brother in Tilbury. His grown children were also home that day. It was good to reconnect after such a long time.This morning, my brother informed me that he will have his very major surgery a week from today, if nothing changes between now and the scheduled date. I'm glad it will be soon because, the sooner it's done the better his chances may be. I hope for the best possible outcome.In the midst of all this, I'm comforted by what I can see through my living room windows. Verdant green tree tops, blue sky today, and part of the bell tower on the lovely stone church just south of here on Queen Street. It's time to go for a walk and think healing thoughts.
This may be the last blog entry for a while. Earlier this week, I learned that my brother is facing a health crisis and now that I have more details, I have plans to make. I hope to visit him very soon, once I find a way to get to his small town which is not on a bus or train route. It will be a short visit, a few hours, but I expect there will be more trips in the near future.There's no writing news, and no writing taking place, for now. I hope to post better news soon.Until then, enjoy the spring and - carpe diem!
Our local library sponsors a writers' collective and this week, some members of the collective participated in a public reading of their work. The event was promoted in the library's magazine, In Touch, which is available free at all the libraries in the system and online. Most of the people who attended, including me, had some connection with the writers. However, at least some folk attended out of curiosity. You know the kind - what do those fiction writer critters look like in real life, and what do they produce? And, I bet I could do it better, if I had time.I spoke with one such person after the reading, well, really, she accosted me. I guess she needed someone to hear her opinion and I was a slow moving target. "Wasn't (name omitted) awful?" She asked."Some writers have trouble presenting their work," I replied. That didn't satisfy her and she went to to say a few more uncomplimentary things. (I don't personally know the writer she was referring to, but felt I had to defend the writer, even though I partly agreed with the criticism.)"Every one's taste is different," I said. Yeah, that was lame, but it did end the conversation, or else it ended because we were at the front door by then.On the way home, I thought about the encounter a bit more. Not every writer is good at reading aloud in front of a group. It's not an easy thing to do. Some people have a flair for the dramatic and can make prose that wouldn't impress me a great deal if I was reading it on the page, sound more interesting that it truly is. It's good to have that talent because these days, published writers have to do more promotion than ever. The ability to put on a decent dog and pony show helps sales. It's hard for most writers though, or so I imagine. I do know it was difficult for me, and I've only done it once, so far. The audience I spoke to had paid to hear the writers spout off on different topics they claimed to know something about and read from their work. It was more than a little bit terrifying. Would they like my words or hate them? Would they throw things? Would they slink away and say nothing at all? Fortunately, terror helped me do a reasonable job. I'm sure that isn't the case for every writer and I have no idea whether I will be able to do it again, if the opportunity arises.It's often hard to be one of them thar fiction writer critters. We're strange. We have egos that expand and shrink on a regular basis, maybe with the cycles of the moon, maybe not. We know everyone has a story but not everyone has a compulsion to tell stories. One is calling for me now. I'd better go and write it.
When I visit my friend, The Bear, at his retirement residence we often listen to music on compact discs. He has a marvellous CD player with great sound. It's much like the Bose player, but was somewhat less expensive. It also has a remote control. After a year of use, the battery in the remote control died. When I replaced it and tried to use the CD player, it wouldn't work. I couldn't discover what was wrong with it although I read the owner's manual. Have I said I'm technically inept before? Well, I still am. We had to wait until The Viking could arrange to look at it because he couldn't diagnose the problem over the phone. It took all of 10 seconds to fix it. He unplugged it, plugged it in again and hey presto! - it worked. The device had lost its logic, but regained it after it was restarted. If only I could reset my logic so easily.Mostly, I think of myself as a reasonably logical person, but there are times when I'm not. Almost always, those times are connected with critiques of my writing. I can and do, fail to hear the 'good stuff." in fact, very recently I received a critique from ye Canlit star and the list of "the good stuff'' had to be repeated before I could manage to hear it. But, I seldom have a problem hearing and magnifying any faults that are pointed out to me. Maybe I'm like this because praise was only doled out in infrequent and minuscule amounts during my early childhood and when it was meted out, a caveat inevitably appeared in the same sentence. That rule was scrupulously followed in order to ward off something - bad Karma, evil spirits, an inflated ego, or so I assume. It's evident I need a reset button. Luckily, I can imagine I have one. There, I've pressed it. Now it's time to go back to work.
Earlier this month, I posted a list of writing tasks on the large piece of styrofoam that is my cheap alternative to a real bulletin board. I stare at it every morning and finally, about two weeks ago, I started to work on it in earnest. May is almost here and many literary magazines do not accept submissions in the summer time.So, in a burst of energy, and/or desperation, I chose four of the stories on the list, they were ones I had revised again. I gave them a final polish and sent them out. It's good to have things back out on the road.I also drafted and revised an essay and submitted it to my favourite website because it was too long for all the magazines I investigated.If the birds don't wake me up at 5:30, I hope to sleep in tomorrow. I haven't completed the whole list, but there are still a few days left in the month.The round-up will continue in a day or two, if I still have spring writing fever and I hope I will.
I was thinking about writing the other day. Actually, I do quite a lot of thinking about writing, as opposed to actually getting down to work and writing. Anyway, I find that my confidence level is extremely variable.
I'm seldom happy with a first draft but by the time I finish a third draft, or somewhere in that vicinity, I think what I have is really good. If I'm feeling brave, I send it out. Yay for me and all that. By the time I get the rejection - which might be six months later - and look at the piece again, all I can see are the flaws, and there are always lots to see. I'll sneak in a music reference here. I might see the third or fourth draft as a symphony, or, at the very least, a good sonata, when I send it out. Then later (after those six months pass) when I have to look at again, it appears to be a very trite and unsaleable pop song.
It's hard to deal with these fluctuations in confidence. I hope I'm learning to be somewhat more objective. In some ways, I think I've progressed as a writer. I have learned its a long process and I have gained at least a little objectivity about my work. That's a continuing struggle though - as it probably is for everyone else who writes.
Perhaps a bit of early success temporarily spoiled me. It's all a balancing act. Nothing I write will ever be anywhere near perfect. I'm extremely aware of that but I also have to maintain a reasonable amount of belief in what I do, and be able to hear criticism and not cringe, and be able to sort out the just criticism from the less-than-just criticism. I'm working on that. I'll probably always have to work on that.
And speaking of work, I better get back to the fourth draft of one of my short stories.
A
number of things are almost done, or almost ready to be started. The renovation of my daughter's kitchen is almost finished and probably will be complete sometime next week. That means it's almost time for the cat to go home. The Viking is almost ready for the movers and they will arrive on Tuesday. It's almost time for school spring break. And finally, it's almost time to go back to work on the novel.
The other things -
My daughter and son-in-law's company participates a number of good things and this is one of them.
http://re-nourish.blogspot.com/2009/03/update-from-team-3-week-2.html
The mysterious appearance and disappearance of a large picture,which hung in the corridor outside my apartment has not been solved. A smaller painting is now sitting on the floor in the corridor and no one knows where it came from. It is a mild and unobjectionable painting so perhaps in due course, it will hang on the wall somewhere. Either that, or it too will disappear.
And speaking of mysterious disappearances, I may have mentioned that my hairdresser disappeared. I really hate having to find another one. Soon it will be too warm to wear a hat so I must take action and risk trying someone new.
And last, but definitely far from least, I must mention the mystery novelist I enjoyed. Jane Haddam has written 17 Gregor Demarkian novels. I've read two of the later ones in the series -Somebody Else's Music and Glass Houses (St. Martin's Press) - and enjoyed them. Gregor, the protagonist used to head the FBI Behavioural Services Unit, but don't let that put you off. He's fascinating and so is the woman in his life, Bennis. I could read a whole novel about them without the mystery element, though I'm quite glad to have that as well. Jane Haddam is not afraid to write long paragraphs that contain reflections, observations, and detailed place descriptions and she's able to do that without detracting from the plot. Maybe I admire that a lot because it's something I need to work on in my own writing. I plan to read more of them and hope that the library has all the books in the series.
Oh, and one more almost. It's almost spring.
Things get stranger by the day.. My struggle with the Canada Revenue Agency continues and I will spare you the ugly details. I'm behoodled. That word isn't in my Canadian Oxford Dictionary and I had never heard it until a couple of days ago when The Viking used it. I think it's probably a localism (if that's a word) and according to The Viking, his mother used it to describe being confused or befuddled.
The word would also apply to my daughter's lawn care company's situation - and all the other lawn care companies in Ontario. The new rules governing pesticide use come into force on Earth Day, but were not published until late yesterday. Of course lawn care businesses had to order their supplies well before the information came out so it was like playing roulette, only the odds were even worse than spinning the wheel. The most confusing thing is that golf courses CAN use pesticides. They must have lobbied pretty hard to achieve that.
While I'm on the subject of words, I'll mention befuzzed. I haven't found it in my dictionary, though it could exist somewhere. Anyway, I rather like it. My carpet is befuzzed - it catches Dopeycat's very fine, almost invisible hairs and holds them. Even the bathtub is befuzzed in the morning because Dopey goes in there when I'm asleep. My clothes are befuzzed and my mind is too. At least everything matches.
I've discovered some new-to-me ways to deal with questions I don't want to answer. This may or may not be useful information for anyone else, but it works for me.There are a only few people who know that I am working on a novel. Unfortunately, two of those people are neighbours of mine. One is a very sweet teacher who happened to notice me at a writers' workshop a couple of years ago and asks about my work every time she sees me. The second person is a retired man who only asks me about my progress after he has imbibed fortifying liquids in large quantities. When they ask 'how's it going?" I used to mumble and stumble through an explanation. I've given that up and have decided use - "can't say" or "no comment." I think the no comment thing could add mystery so I'll try that one out. The other pesky question I encounter with some frequency is "why not?" As in: Why not buy a subscription to this magazine for only $15.95? Why not donate to this charity again? Why not have your carpets cleaned? - We'll give you a discount. I used to reply "no thanks" but they would keep on talking unless I hung up. So, now I take a different approach. When the "why not" question arises, I say, "I'm broke." I'm happy to report that this works quite well. I've even received apologies, though I assume they are only offered by callers who are new at telemarketing. I wonder if it works because it's different, or because hardly anyone wants to use those words. So far, no one has asked me what I mean by broke, but I do have a personal definition.Broke means that by the end of the month I have spent all the money received in the previous month, and sometimes a bit more. It's not a technically correct definition, but so what.And speaking of 'so what,' that might be a handy phrase to use when I visit my always grumpy friend this afternoon. He tends to raise minor complaints to major heights. I likely won't do it, but I know I will be tempted.
It's good to be back in fiction writing mode. I began to wonder if it would ever happen again. In any event, a story came to mind a few days ago. I wasn't sure how to end it but the ending came to me out of the blue yesterday afternoon. I'd had one idea but then a second idea took over more or less in spite of me. I forgot to eat supper until about 7:30, normally I try to eat between 5 and 6:30, but I'm sure it didn't hurt to wait. I hope I'll still like the story after a few days have passed.My feline editor has stopped trying to retype every word for me. He's been distracted by the smells that come through the window. The grass is emerging from under its snow blanket and the birds and squirrels are busy. I'm pleased that I can see some green, but of course, N. is not. She is super-stressed at the moment. It's always that way as spring approaches. This year there are added complications, what with renovations underway, the need to get ready to go to Mexico on Monday, and the continuing uncertainty about the pesticide laws and issues. I hope it all works out. In other news, the Viking and I will have the pleasure of attending a birthday party in Toronto on Sunday afternoon . It's for a close friend who will be celebrating the end of one decade and the beginning of another. I'll l also see friends I haven't seen in eons. It's also been good to see my words online. Okay, so it's not a huge deal , but it's something and I needed the boost. It gave me some energy. Looking at this link also sometimes cheers me. I usually check it every other week or so to see if there is new addition. http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/series/writersrooms
The guest cat is now ensconced at my place and has taken over. Dopey is very dog-like. He follows me wherever I go and demands to be petted. He also likes to supervise everything. I had cat assistance whilst writing a letter to the editor and so it took twice as long to complete. But never mind - I wrote it this morning and The Record called before noon. So, they may publish it, after they chop it. (I hope they don't take out the reference to the evils committed by the Harris government, but I'm not betting money on that, or on the letter seeing print either.)
I thought I'd take a nap this afternoon, but apparently, only the cat is allowed to take naps in the afternoon - and the evening - and the late morning. The naps are required so that he can wake me in the middle of the night by pouncing on my feet. I had forgotten that cats love to do that.
I have a talent which can be loaned out for a price. I kill appliances and I can manage to do it quickly. I was given two humidifiers at Christmas time. One lasted three days. I'm told that my water caused it to die, but I used filtered water so I must have jinxed it just by looking at it. The second one is so noisy that I can't sleep when it's on. It's not supposed to be so loud and probably it wouldn't be, if it was owned by someone else. I've returned to using my old vaporizer. There is also a problem with my coffee maker. I cracked the carafe (which was made of thin glass, honest). Then I bought a replacement carafe which was supposed to fit all coffee makers of the same brand. It doesn't. My computer printer had a conniption the other day and only agreed to operate properly after it was turned on and off several times. Perhaps I've neglected it and, like the cat, it needed constant attention. There has been a persistent rumour that I might receive a flat screen television sometime this year. I'm afraid that if I do, something strange will happen to it.
I am happy to report that my twenty-five year old stereo still works. Maybe I should acquire only used appliances. I'll have to think about that.
Meanwhile, at my daughter's house, all the appliances have been removed from her kitchen and she reports that there's nothing like the smell of cupboards being sawed apart in the early morning. I agree with that.
