december

This was my Friday after-work-hike. I hope you're all appropriately jealous.

Idaho, Day 2, Several Weeks Later

The sunset struck so brilliantly into the travelling carriage when it gained the hill-top, that its occupant was steeped in crimson. "It will die out," said Monsieur the Marquis, glancing at this hands, "directly."



...But there remained a broken country, bold and open, a little village at the bottom of the hill, a broad sweep and rise beyond it, a church-tower, a windmill, a forest for the chase, and a crag with a fortress on it used as a prison. Round upon all these darkening objects as the night drew on, the Marquis looked, with the air of one who was coming home.

+ & -

Positive: The Book Bench blog on the New Yorker website.

I have love/hate feelings about The New Yorker. Some of their stuff is just so rad and life-changing and then the rest of it is peddled, over-edited garbage written by people who probably want to be Henry James but haven't quite achieved his level of mind-numbing blandness. Don't worry, though, they're working hard.

The Book Bench, however, is fantastic. I love it. I want to marry it/be it. They find these crazy articles and snippets of web-news and disseminate it to the masses and they give you quick hits about books and publishing and snotty literature gossip.

God knew what he was about when he made you, Book Bench.

Negative: People who make "tsk tsk" noises. The "what a shame" noises. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Positive: Good short and long conversations with various friends who are all involved with different writing projects.

I need peer pressure to function productively as a writer. Deadlines don't cut it -- especially for my personal writing which has no deadline right now except for death which doesn't count as a deadline since I have no idea when it's going to hit. Also, once it happens and I turn in my project and resign my body to the earth, I won't get paid.

Basically, I need to know other people I love/respect are out there accomplishing writerly stuff and if I don't hustle, I'm going to be left behind...know that I, in fact, am already far, far behind and I need to start sprinting seriously or find another life purpose. If I were any good with numbers, I could weave. Unfortunately, numbers and I get on like Hannibal and the Alps: elephants are forever dying in the mountain passes and nobody's very happy.

Negative: Other people.

Positive: At least you'll never have to be them.

I wish you'd just drop dead, Hemingway!

Oh wait...

Hmmm. Nevermind.

the thrilling purchase of wool socks

Coupons. You know how they're evil, right? Like you see the coupon and this warm glowing haze descends. You're going to save money today! And with those savings you'll buy a piece of earth, call it Tara and protect it with your flesh, blood and bone for fifty generations until the troops sweep through and burn your house to the ground, but you know what, the land is still there and as long as you have land you can stand up tall. On BOTH feet, son.

But it's not that simple. At least it isn't for me. There are six things, yea, even seven I cannot abide. One of these things is picking grocery lines. I'm so bad at it. I always pick the line with the coupon lady (the one who has coupons instead of hair and her breath smells like newsprint and her eyes leak CMYK ink schemes instead of tears). You know the one. Or I get behind the repeat felon who tries to pay for everything with pennies and nickles except they're not really pennies and nickles, they're Canadian money and let's not even get started about Canadian money. Or I pick the line where the register breaks suddenly and for no reason, or the line where someone dies suddenly and for no reason. I try to use self-checkout whenever possible. In my opinion the best invention ever was the self-checkout machine. It allows me to shop in a smooth, safe way and avoid all human contact (and thus all human judgment) at the same time.

One of the last times I went through a grocery store line (the "express" line) I got stuck behind, yes, a repeat felon who was drunk when he shouldn't have been drinking (as per his parole agreement) and jingling car keys in one hand when I also knew his driving license had been suspended for life. And we were both stuck behind a guy who was paying entirely in coupons and pennies and didn't have enough of either item. So. Drunk Felon got worked up into this rant (he really just wanted to buy his five cans of pizza sauce and leave the store, I could tell) about how grocery lines are the worst. I nodded sympathetically. Then, he went from that into a rant against self checkout machines.

"They take away jobs!" he told me, leering and lurching and smelling to the stratosphere of cheap, cheap beer.

"Well, it is almost midnight. The store doesn't have very many people working that shift," I pointed out. "How many jobs could the machines possibly be replacing right now?"

"I guess. Anyway. Whenever you pay for stuff you should always have the money ready and you should never pay with a credit card. It makes everything take too d--n long. Only pay with...cash."

"I'm going to pay with a card," I said. This was almost a lie. I had been planning to pay with cash until Drunk Felon butted in. Card all the way now, though, bet your life on it.

"Oh." He lurched again. "I guess...cash. Card. Or check. Nothing else."

I decided not to ask what else anyone could possibly pay with. Food stamps, I guess. Or coupons. Which brings us back to the topic at hand.

I try to avoid coupons because they confuse me and usually snag me into more purchase than I want to purchase. You think you only have to buy one something to get another something half off or free and then you get to the register and you had to buy two somethings to get a third half off. Who needs three somethings? I only wanted two. Or coupons expire unexpectedly. Or marginally do or don't apply in confusing ways to what you thought you could buy with them. It's too much for me to untangle and life is short enough.

However. Last night, I used a coupon to buy wool socks. I wanted wool socks because two years ago I got frost bite and versions of frostbite have followed me ever since and it's been super cold here. My feet have suffered. My feet need wool socks.

With a coupon, I purchased one pair of socks and another (of equal or lesser value) half off. A-mazing. Totally navigated that coupon-aided purchase like a champ. It gives me courage, but I'm also afraid to press my luck. Despite this success, I think I'll still avoid coupons in the future. Seems safer to me.

idaho, day 1

(Andrew blurrily drinking something from Bucers)

There were a lot of questions on the way up to Moscow last night, the biggest one being: Will we ever get there?

I heard a woman encourage a pregnant woman once. She said, "I know. It's so rough in the last two months. Just remember, it's impossible to be pregnant forever." For the last two hours of the drive to Moscow, I kept telling myself that and then I wondered, "But what if it is possible?" Specifically: "What if it's possible to drive and drive and drive and die before you ever get to Moscow?"

But we made it. We're here. Laura's off gadding, something to do with school or responsibilities. Andrew was napping on the living room floor and I was having a writing crisis and feeling the weight of my exhaustion. The WOME (weight of my exhaustion) currently feels like two twin beds plus a great dane piled on top of an insubstantial plastic chair.

So far it's been a lovely trip, though I do have a few concerns. The top concern goes under the heading of "Traveling with Teenage Boys" and that concern is called "What do you feed them? And how often?" Laura ruled breakfast and I have successfully delivered lunch, but dinner is looming and I don't know what to do. Living alone means I don't really do those things called meals. I eat toast and salad and apples and I eat at weird times of the day or I don't eat at all and I just drink a lot of water because it seems like a smart thing to do or I drink coffee. Meals? What the....? I bake bread, totally an adult that way, but bread doesn't qualify as a real meal, I think, unless you're French and poor and starving and a character in a Victor Hugo novel.

break

photo by Alex Pajunas

Gonna see the sister this week because I have myself a new (ish) car and two days off of work. Brother #2's coming with me. There will be extensive documentation and lots of coffee. I need this break so badly.

I finished up the domestic violence series and Friend C. (not to be mistaken for C., who is also my friend but who doesn't live here anymore) was a kind and intelligent person and made sure I was scrambling all over jetties and beaches right after work on Friday morning so I couldn't obsess over the story and make myself crazy. I was so physically exhausted by the time he dropped me off back at home later that afternoon that all I could do was crawl into bed and watch "Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were Rabbit" and go to sleep. Hmmmm...sleep. I'd had barely any since Wednesday.

Here's that last story. I got a text from one of the women I interviewed after she read the story. It was so encouraging and kind. I was nervous about getting everything right, telling things truthfully...not just accurately, but getting the heart right.

Saturday, I finally crashed. Mumsy and Dan (Brother #3) delivered my new car to me and took away ZF. After they left, I just sat around, baked some cookies, read some books. Then came evening and the night of too much emotionality. Which is all kind of hilarious now. Especially when I remember a conversation I had with another friend earlier this week, before I'd finished the story but after I'd just wrapped up two very intense interviews with victims. I was sitting in my car and talking on the phone and telling him that it was a little disturbing to me that all the interviews hadn't really seemed to touch my emotional core. I just listened and wrote notes. I didn't get that sick feeling in my stomach like I used to (and still do) when I'm in court. Well, it all came down on Saturday. Technically, it started when I re-listened to my taped interviews with victims, but I still had a story to write so I was able to stay focused. Once the external prop (i.e. deadlines and writing to accomplish) was out of the way, though, the focus flew away and just left me feeling so unhappy about the world. I can't believe I so blithely proposed this project two months ago.

Anyway. I'm glad I have some time off. I'm going to use it well.