We're into the new year by one whole day and I've already managed to get behind on my sleep. Back to work today and looking forward to the Twelfth night festivities. That's when my son and I visit Oma and I have a wake to attend that day. What can I say? Life and death don't care about arbitrary human means of marking time.
Hoover (one of the young dogs) is just bugging me to feed him. Of course the older dog Rio is playing it cool, just lying under my feet and farting, trusting that I'll notice eventually.
It looks like next week will be the January thaw, with temperatures climing up to 10C.
Yesterday I and and friend went to a New Year's Day party and found their road hadn't been plowed. In was barely okay and to get out it took two hours, a four by and a nylon tow strap. Other than that an excellent party and convivial company.
I went out to dinner after and was so wound up after I didn't sleep till quite late. 3 a.m. actually.
Book recommendations: 'feather boy' by Nicky Singer, a young adult book
All of the "Bloody Jack" books by L.A. Meyer, also young adult. Being the chronicles of Jacky (Mary) Faber, who goes to sea disguised as a boy and among other things comments on the gang just north of them in Cheapside, Fagin and his Dodger, almost gets burned as a witch in Boston, takes a short jaunt with Captain Ahab, and fights with the British fleet at Trafalgar. I most certainly use the term 'fights with' deliberately.
Have a good night everyone.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Going Public
Since I'm no longer living in a thimble and may actually have a heartbeat or two to myself in the near future I'm going to take the plunge and take my journalling into this oh-so-ephemeral space.
It's going to change the way I write because I used to say that writing is the most private of the performing arts and my words could all vanish once the power goes away. Living in the country, that is often an important consideration. Thus, the ephemeral nature of the medium. On the other hand, once I hit send these thoughts could theoretically circulate forever. Horrors. But that's life.
Especially since, on some level, I've chosen to live a public life already so what am I bitching about, hey?
Its weird since I'm having my usual conversation with myself that I actually have the ego to think someone else may be interested in, yet the act is very different, typing instead of writing, and I have much more time to think about what I'm actually pontificating about when I slow down.
Anyway, I'm sure Marshall McLuhan is reving about as fast as my hard drive right about now, given the way the medium is working.
(A side thought... if I have a text file of 'Om Mane Padme Hum' on my hard drive, do I have a 7200 rpm prayer wheel?)
I'm starting this just before '07 ends because this and starting the new book are not going to be New Years Resolutions. (Bleah)
You know, since I am theoretically addressing every human being alive, I suppose I could begin by saying 'Dear God:' -- if you believe that the Divine rests in everything. But the salutation might be seen as offensive so I won't. I'm not writing 'The Color Purple'.
It looks like Winter may be dumping another ten cm of snow on us tonight and I may not make it up the hill tomorrow to get to work. This morning I chose the wrong hill (I live in a valley and there are three choices out, two of which are the most practical). That road hadn't been plowed and my snow tires are on the wrong car (don't ask). I made it three quarters of the way up and lost traction, skating gracelessly backwards down the hill, rearwards. I did manage to not get stuck catter-corner across the road or in a ditch and backed the remaining 500 m to turn around and take the other road. Which has a worse hill but had actually been plowed.
At work today I made 43 steak and Guinness pies of various sizes.
My son Tristan (the eldest) is just asking for computer time, so I'll cut this short and come back later.
Frohe Weinachten Everyone!
It's going to change the way I write because I used to say that writing is the most private of the performing arts and my words could all vanish once the power goes away. Living in the country, that is often an important consideration. Thus, the ephemeral nature of the medium. On the other hand, once I hit send these thoughts could theoretically circulate forever. Horrors. But that's life.
Especially since, on some level, I've chosen to live a public life already so what am I bitching about, hey?
Its weird since I'm having my usual conversation with myself that I actually have the ego to think someone else may be interested in, yet the act is very different, typing instead of writing, and I have much more time to think about what I'm actually pontificating about when I slow down.
Anyway, I'm sure Marshall McLuhan is reving about as fast as my hard drive right about now, given the way the medium is working.
(A side thought... if I have a text file of 'Om Mane Padme Hum' on my hard drive, do I have a 7200 rpm prayer wheel?)
I'm starting this just before '07 ends because this and starting the new book are not going to be New Years Resolutions. (Bleah)
You know, since I am theoretically addressing every human being alive, I suppose I could begin by saying 'Dear God:' -- if you believe that the Divine rests in everything. But the salutation might be seen as offensive so I won't. I'm not writing 'The Color Purple'.
It looks like Winter may be dumping another ten cm of snow on us tonight and I may not make it up the hill tomorrow to get to work. This morning I chose the wrong hill (I live in a valley and there are three choices out, two of which are the most practical). That road hadn't been plowed and my snow tires are on the wrong car (don't ask). I made it three quarters of the way up and lost traction, skating gracelessly backwards down the hill, rearwards. I did manage to not get stuck catter-corner across the road or in a ditch and backed the remaining 500 m to turn around and take the other road. Which has a worse hill but had actually been plowed.
At work today I made 43 steak and Guinness pies of various sizes.
My son Tristan (the eldest) is just asking for computer time, so I'll cut this short and come back later.
Frohe Weinachten Everyone!
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