rajafacesbothways

Lifestyle

Am beginning to feel like a character in a Dickens's novel sitting at the computer wrapped in a robe over my clothes and wearing gloves that have had their tips cut off so I can feel the keys. All the trappings of a struggling writer.

All is not lost, however. Received a $1.45 royalty check for my novel, HOME FRONT PATRIOTS. Art probably pays better than robbing banks in this economy.

It's That Time Again

It happened again!  Another birthday for Steve Jobs and me.

I can't speak for him--anyway he has lots of others to do that for him--but for myself I'm beginning to view it as an accomplishment.
I've lost my blossoms, scattered my seeds but fortunately the sap is still running and my leaves are just barely beginning to shed.

We're Number One!

  Kentucky is ranked as one of the worst states in poverty, lung cancer, education, dentistry, women's health--the list goes on. However there is a bright spot. It has 85 Book Mobiles, more than any other state. Another plus? Many of them are equipped with computers.

As a kid, I recall pulling a wagon to the end of my gravel road to load up with books from the Book Mobile.  Despite all the new wonderful technology, none can top the satisfaction of good books.

Drips of Drivel

Everything is blanketed in snow again, with continuing falling fat flakes. We're having a Chicago winter without Chicago's finesse in dealing with it. With the downstairs  space vacant, my loft is like heating a pulpwood box; I've become the stereotyped writer wrapped in blankets, sitting in a cold garret, staring at a blank screen. The final blow:  I'm about out of wine in a dry county.

More drivel. There is a fine article in the Feb. 23 New Yorker on the writer, Ian McEwan; I recently reviewed one of his novels on this blog.

Still more drivel. Went to Favas for breakfast and local color. Interesting. People here have endowed my existence with a non-existing plot. It's always fascinating to hear about my life--present and past--that has no connection to my reality.

First Friday Treats

Our last First Friday, held on Tuesday, had special treats--huge muffins bought with Republican money to go with our Chicago Metropolis coffee. One member referred to them as  size D cup muffins.
And Steve Hockensmith announced he has his second book about ready to go to press; it's on the mustang horses of the west, filled with photos and history of that horse. Glimpses of the work confirms that it will be excellent. His first book was on  Gypsy Horses and the Travelers' Way, based on photos and research in England.

First Friday has been held here for a couple of years now. Four members plus an almost permanent guest makes it the most stimulating group in town.

Membership is closed with no applications accepted. I'm the Decider.

Amsterdam--a review

Amsterdam (1998) by Ian McEwan is the first novel I've read by this noted British author. It involves  quadruple lovers gathered together at the crematorium chapel; one is the dead Molly, the others her three live lovers--a politician, a noted composer and a newspaper editor. Molly had rapidly disintegrated from  being an active bright woman into unexpected mental madness and death.

 Friends for years,  two of the men, the  composer, Clive, and editor, Vernon, decide to make a pact that if one ever should show signs of the onset of mental decay, the other would cut short his life. That set the stage for surprise revenge and a double murder. All the characters are basically petty, self-absorbed, and ruthlessly ambitious. Despite this and the absurd plot, the novel abounds with dark British humor and lethal wit. The sparse writing (193 pp) made for a quick, enjoyable read.

Amsterdam won the Booker Prize, although it is not considered Ian McEwans best work. I enjoyed the writing and will seek out more of his novels.

It's the Weather, Stupid

 Hope has arrived. No--am not talking about the stimulus package and the economy--I'm much more self-centered than that.
Though KY's weather has grabbed a lot of headlines lately.
Finally the ice has melted, the sun has brought temps up into the low fifties and I'm down to 3 layers of warm clothes. Walked to the post office for the first time in weeks and am considering a swim. Paring down to a bathing suit should make me 5 pounds lighter, hope, hope, hope.

Saw geese flying north in formation and an acquaintance located 14 bluebirds on her property. And a squirrel was dragging a hand towel off my deck--maybe to spread it on the roof to sunbathe?!

What really annoys me is that, after living most of my life shrugging off the cold in the frigid north, I've either turned into a wimp or a delicate southern (hummm) beauty.

Cooking of the Past

While perusing some old cookbooks to figure out what to do with that can of salmon, bought on impulse, I came across the cookbook compiled by the PTA in the old suburban neighborhood. Seems over 75 per cent of the recipes involved jello, cream cheese, mayonnaise and/or canned soup to glue the ingredients together.

I was appalled to discover this was the alternative to the fast food generation now being served. Did I really serve some of those concoctions to my family?

Oh well. At least the peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwiches never faced a government recall.

Prairie Doggin' Time

Finally. Weather showed a huge improvement this weekend; the outside has been warmer than the inside of my loft. Yesterday had some Prairies Doggin' Time--rooftop sitting, facing  the sun until it sets, a habit instigated by prairie dogs, except they lack the added benefit of sipping wine.

And today after dance, I walked on dry pavement to a photo exhibit at Georgetown College by Darrell Kincer, now teaching there. We shared space in the 2006 exhibit at the Lexington Library Gallery.
He gave me a personal tour and explained all the techniques he can do digitally with photo shop.  There is so much in photography that I'll never live long enough to master.

It's kind of a relief.

Budget Woes

I've been watching with horrid fascination the state of the deteriorating economy, including my own, and the blase approach by greedy bankers and (mostly) Republican leaders in addressing the realities of the problems. Since the Minority Speaker of the Senate comes from Kentucky, I am all too familiar with his blundering. Besides, how can I take anyone seriously who looks like a groundhog?

Trying to wrap my brain around gazillions of dollars was helped by an article in The New Yorker which put it in a concept I could grasp. "A million seconds is less than 12 days; a billion seconds is almost 32 years."
It gives me a grasp on what the numbers actually mean.

Translated. We are in deep doo-doo. Instead of chopping wood on his ranch, Bush should have been grabbing a shovel in Washington.