Book Carnival

There's a funny little bookstore I sometimes go to.  It's in a very low-budget and rather down at the heels looking strip mall in the humble town of Orange.  It labels itself as a shop for "mystery and dark fantasy."  It's smallish, cluttered and dusty, and never seems especially busy.

What's fascinating about Book Carnival is that EVERYBODY, and I mean everybody, who writes mystery novels has book signings there.  The owner, so I've heard, is retired LAPD and great friend of Michael Connelly and many other renowned mystery writers.  The shop was actually featured in one of Connelly's recent Harry Bosch outings.  

I get a card from Book Carnival every month detailing the upcoming month's signings   This month it's Margaret Coel, Stephen Hunter, Michael Connelly; and Dean Koontz.  Recently, I got a chance to visit there with one of my favorites, T. Jefferson Parker (a handsome flirt who had a fairly nervous wife/girlfriend hovering nearby).  I'm hoping to get down to meet Connelly this month, and I'd love to see the head that holds the brain of Dean Koontz.

You can read a little more about it here.

Happy 23rd, Halliekins!

How is it possible that my children are the same age as me?

Today is Lunch Monday

Every Monday since Hallie started at the magazine last November, I pick her up at app. 1:00 and take her to lunch.  We call it Lunch Monday, and we've only missed it 3 times in nine months, all times when I was out of the country.  (In the case of Monday holidays, we have Lunch Tuesday, not as alliterative, but we are seriously committed to this thing.)  Often we take the other Ad Coordinator, Kristin, with us.  Sometimes we take other people from the office, too.

Tuesday is Movie Tuesday.  Dave is out of town every Tuesday and Wednesday, so Hallie picks me up on the way home from work and we see whatever lame chick flick we know Dave would never want to go to.  Last week it was Traveling Pants 2.  Sometimes we don't do Movie Tuesday, because sometimes there's just no movie worth seeing.

But NOTHING stands in the way of Lunch Monday.

Back on the Treadmill Again

No, I'm not referring to my job, which starts again in a week or so.  I'm referring to the actual treadmill.  For reasons which I shall choose not to examine too closely, I just up and quit going to the gym back before my trip to Barcelona in May.  Every Sunday night, I would say to myself "Yeah... this week I'll go back to the gym."  And every week, not only didn't I go, but I didn't really even seriously consider going.  I've been living a land of dreamy, restful denial.

It's not like for all the years I've been going every day, I was ever making great advances toward becoming athletic or anything.  I was just holding my own against the constant weight gain that is the lot of the menopausal.  At this time in the life of the female body, you either live in a constant state of mild hunger or you steadily and slowly edge toward chubbiness.  And that's what I've been doing.  And not really that slowly.  So today when Dave, who is training for a triathlon, mentioned that he was heading down to do some cardio, I said "yeah, me too."  No one was more surprised than I was when I said it.  I guess it was just time.

Next challenge:  making it two in a row.

I'm thinking of ending my relationship.

With Sprint, that is.  After eleven years, the bloom is off the rose.  

Oh, in the old days, it was all love and laughter.  They were the only company that had a tower that provided a signal in the foothills I live in.  I had a plan that gave me 500 minutes a month for only  fifteen bucks.  Then I added two phones for the kids to my plan, plus a LOT more minutes to get Hallie and me through being separated for four years while she was at college.  Things got a lot more complicated.  But I still loved them.

But now when I call them, I get someone in India who doesn't understand a word I'm saying and doesn't care, anyway.  Their phones always break just in time to force me to up my service agreement with them yet again in order to get a deal on a new one.  And their reputation has gone to pot.  

It'd cost me $200 to break up with them, the bastages.  But it might be worth it.

Jury Doody

I have call-in jury duty this week.  I was feeling pretty ok about this, since when Ian had it last summer, he merely called at 5:00 each afternoon to find out if he had to go in the next day.  If he didn't (and he never did), he could go ahead and make plans for the next day.

My group number, however, has to call at 11:30 every morning to find out if we must report at 1:00 that same day.  It sucks.  You can't plan anything until you know, but by the time you do, it's too late to really plan anything or get much done.  I don't like it.

Hallie uses her brand new school supplies

And Speaking of Songs

I found this list of Spinner.com's take on the 25 saddest songs.  I don't know that I agree.  Any list that doesn't have "He Stopped Loving Her Today" at the top has to be wrong.

But I did find a place where you can listen to the very beautiful "Mad World," from my list of favorite songs.  If you don't know it, take a listen.  It'll make you want lock yourself in the bathroom and weep.

So what do you think is the saddest song ever?

Words to Live By

I have a real problem with fretting and stewing about things.  I do it so much it's like a hobby.  It didn't arise out of nothing, mind you.  I learned it at the feet of the master--my mother.  And she learned it at the feet of an even greater master, her mother.  It's some sort of horrible family legacy.  All in all, I'd rather inherit the sterling.

I think it's a trait that goes hand in hand with being ultra-sensitive and whether I like it or not, picking up on every tiny nuance of mood from every person in the room with me.  I don't want to notice that Dave is seeming brooding and distant or that Hallie looks a little sad or that Ian's voice sounds tight on the phone, but I do.  And then from there it can ramp into full color, horrifying fantasies about what might happen someday.  Or sometimes I drift into the past and dredge up what I might have done to be at fault if someone I care for isn't completely happy all the time.

Not everyone does this, I know.  I know people who sail blissfully through the world without really picking up on the vibes of anyone but themselves.  These are people who have let yesterday go and don't really have time to think about tomorrow because they're busy experiencing today.  I hate them.  I want to be them.

I've been actively working on not doing this any more.  The terrible part of being a worrier is that it keeps you from being in the moment.  It robs you of the simple pleasure of a sunny afternoon, a delicious meal, a great song on the radio, a joke shared with a friend.  So I have a few mantras, and I remind myself every few hours throughout the day, "live in the NOW."  If I catch myself starting up a big fat stewing session, I repeat the words from the sermon on the mount, "Sufficient unto the day are the troubles therein."  There's really no need to borrow some troubles from tomorrow, or drag some forward from yesterday.

I really do this.  And it really helps.  Got any words you live by?

Some songs that I like

Levon

The Superman Song

If I Loved You

Let Him Fly

Mad World (Donnie Darko theme)

Pie Jesu (Faure Requiem)  (although I like that Lloyd Weber one, too)

Tecumseh Valley

I Still Miss Someone

Hallelujah

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans

That's just a start.

Bubsy likes ice cream

A Question for ElizaSand

OK, so you know how I slavishly mimic everything you do and stuff...and I think I told you I was going to get a voice recorder for my iPod so I could record my choirs like you do.  And I did, and they sound precious and I practically cry every time I listen to it.   But is there a way for me to upload their singing to my computer?  It would be cool if I could email recordings of our practices to them so they could work on the hard stuff at home.  Or maybe even put their adorable singing on my blog?

Or is that completely impossible?

Fried Worms

Last night, we had worms for dinner.  At least that's what Hallie calls it.  We thinly sliced 3 huge, sweet onions, slowly caramelized them in olive oil and butter for about a half hour, and then gave them a good dousing with balsamic vinegar.  The results tastes heavenly, but looks surprisingly like a pan of earthworms.  Yum.

I think I'm turning into Alex

I have conceived a late-in-life passion for ironing.  Several months ago, I bought a new ironing board, a pretty blue and white ironing board cover and a big, fancy Rowenta iron.  It generates so much steam that I'm always a little scared when I'm using it.  It's heavy, too, and between the steam and the weight of it, very little actually effort has to go into the ironing process.  I bought four pairs of linen pants for summer, and every week, I wash them, hang them to dry, and look forward to ironing them into amazing wrinkle-less-ness.  It's shockingly satisfying.

(Thanks for pointing me toward the Rowenta, Alex!)

Trying Again

I didn't succeed, but I'm an optimist, so here I go again!