Sunday, October 19, 2008
At the end of the Cowboys game, I started walking around the house singing, "How big is that L on your forehead?" to the tune of "How much is that doggie in the window?."
If you "valley-girl" the "L" it works.
Something has to change in Dallas, and soon. This is ridiculous.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Things were very quiet when I arrived, but I set to work cooking the bacon and pancakes.
As the bacon started cooking, that most distinctive salty-smokey aroma began to fill the kitchen and fellowship hall, my mind was drawn back to Saturday mornings when we often had bacon and eggs.
Waiting for breakfast after the bacon aroma has already filled the room qualifies as torture. Even as I was cooking the breakfast the wait to finish the bacon and pancakes, my hunger pangs grew even as the youth started making their way into the kitchen, snagging pieces of bacon on each pass.
Maybe the next administration will consider cooking bacon as a replacement to waterboarding and the other illegal techniques that have been employed against al Qaeda. Surely a morning of smelling bacon and only being fed gruel will break the toughest character.
Friday, October 10, 2008
As I was making a quick run-through of my local grocery store (H-E-B) the other day, I passed down the aisle with the room sprays and remembered that the one in my restroom was getting a bit low. The store did not happen to have the fragrance I usually use handy, but had one that sounded rather nice, and light, and all together appealing: Powder Soft.
This morning as I was putting it in my bathroom, I made a couple quick sprays to see what it smelled like.
It did not take long to realize that it smelled like grandma.
Grandmas have two smells.
There is fresh-baked cookie grandma who is gonna love and spoil you until you can't take it anymore. This is a good grandma smell.
Then there is grandma-farts-in-a-nursing home grandma smell. This is not a good grandma smell.
H-E-B Powder Soft Room Spray is grandma-farts-in-a-nursing home smell.
Thursday, October 09, 2008
The first step was getting four bookcases out of the room. I still have the books, but finally gone mine put away in somewhat of a logical order. On one wall, I put in a track shelving system and it made a world of difference. Being able to adjust the shelves gives me so much more usable space than the standard wall-unit bookcase – and it looks so much more orderly perched up above my new desk.
The desk made another huge difference. Despite eating up a chunk of space, it is a real desk and fits nicely in one corner with a writing and a computer space. Since I still like to compose most of what I write by hand rather than by typing, that space is so important to me. The writing space looks out a window to my front lawn – usually at the damn grackles, but still it is some kind of wildlife beside the college-age boys renting the house across the street.
I also moved in my 55 gallon aquarium and the comfy recliner that never matched any of my other furniture. So now I have soothing sounds to go along with a favorite reading space.
I have a couple boxes of books to put away somewhere yet and some scrapbook boxes to file. I make scrapfiles, not scrapbooks. It is much more exciting to open one of the boxes and rediscover a memory than to have it neatly organized in a scrapbook where you know exactly what you are going to find.
All in all, though, my reading, writing, and quiet place is back. With just a bit more organization (stuffing things in the closet), it will be the perfect place for my evenings, and maybe I’ll be able to get to the short stories I kept threatening to rework and publish.
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
Since I rarely dream – or recall my dreams rather – I looked forward to this new experience in my life.
I did not expect that experience to turn into, “Hell no! I’m not going to sleep!” or more accurately, “I’m not going to lay down.”
So far I do not recall any vivid dreams, but the images that pass through my mind as soon as I lie down and begin to drift off are nothing short of horrifying. They are all violent images of death and torture of only the kind Jack Bauer could survive. I simply do not want to close my eyes.
Given the choice, I do not watch those kinds of movies and do not even pay close attention to the trailers in movies or on television; it simply does not interest me in the least. In the case of 24, I simply am unable to suspend my disbelief long enough for the story, no matter how compelling, to come alive for me.
Call me unpatriotic – I still do not like the show.
Let me be clear – in the pre-sleep visions, I am neither the protagonist nor the victim. I am a completely removed person as though watching a movie or television show. The option to intervene or somehow change the course of action is out of my control. My option to change the channel, so far, is also out of my control.
I need to find the right reading material to change my frame of reference before going to bed. I usually watch The Simpsons, but clearly Homer and crew are not doing it for me.
I say all this and find myself up at 3:30 a.m. listening to one of my all-time favorite classical works – “Danse Macabre” by Saint-Saens.