Digging Out

A recent post had me on the brink of being buried in my piles of unread newspapers. I not only managed to dig my way out, but I also took the paper beast by the neck and looked all the way down its throat to see what was inside. And my goodness, what a full monster it was!

What did I find? All sorts of things! The New York Times is an amazing newspaper, particularly The New York Times Magazine, which comes with the Sunday paper. You never know what you might find on any given day, though. Here is just of sampling of the sorts of things that I’ve found so far.

  • There was a wonderful piece by Sam Anderson about the power of the comma. My favorite part: “Never underestimate a comma. . . . A sentence with a missing comma is a horse trailer coming unhitched on a highway at 70 miles per hour. A sentence with an extra comma is a boulder in your swimming pool.”
  • An interview with Fran Lebowitz, in which she said, “In my lifetime, I’ve read one zillion mysteries. That is not because I care about who did it. I don’t care. And I almost never figure it out. . . . I have reread mysteries numerous times and I don’t even remember who did it. I’ve read all the Agatha Christies. I’ve read all the Nero Wolfe books by Rex Stout. He wrote many of them, but not enough for Fran. I’m always hoping to find one I’ve never read. . . . One thing I like about mysteries is that they end. Which is true of so little else.” This is how I feel about mysteries, too!
  • A disturbing poem called “March” by Laura Kasischke. It begins like this: “It’s the murderer who got away with it, sitting / on a park bench thinking about snow / and how it’s over. Little flower-faces peeking out of dirt to shriek Hello!” I had never heard of this poet, but she has at least two collections of poetry and several novels to her name. I am interested to read more of her work.
  • A great quote on the difference between the class system in England and the class system in the U.S.: “At least posh people in England have the decency to feel guilty.” (Richard V. Reeves, author of “Dream Hoarders”). Like a lot of people in this country, I have been getting more and more concerned about how wealth is distributed in this country.
  • This great proverb by Saadi, a 13th-century Persian poet: “Empty words disgrace the one who speaks them, like serving a walnut shell without the nut.” Imagine how you’d feel if someone said they were going to feed you but then gave you just an empty nutshell. That’s outrage, in a nutshell!
  • Speaking of nuts, there was a great article by Michael D. Shear that mentioned how Obama ate only one snack at night and that it was was always exactly seven almonds. Obama said later in an interview that he doesn’t actually count the number of almonds, and that this was just a joke between his wife and his chef about how he needed to loosen up. I enjoyed both the original article and the follow-up. These days, I enjoy anything that gives a glimpse into Obama’s personal life. I’m nostalgic for the president who ate nuts in moderation, now that we’re saddled with a president who is nuts and doesn’t understand the meaning of “moderation.”
  • A tip by Malia Wollan on how to break down a door, which said (among other things) this: “Do not hit a locked door with any body part other than your foot. You will be tempted to use your shoulder. Don’t.” Good to know! The Tip is a regular feature of the Sunday magazine, and the subjects are varied (“How to Build an Igloo,” “How to Avoid Icebergs,” “How to Tell a Ghost Story,” etc.). Most of the tips are useless to your average person on your average day, but that’s part of their charm.

I took all these wonderful gems (and many more), cut them out, and pasted them in a scrapbook that I call “My Inspiration Book.” If I were ever to run out of things to write about, I know my scrapbook would give me inspiration. Without this scrapbook to hold the best parts of what I’ve read in the newspaper (and magazines, and the Internet), I don’t know how I could have avoided being buried in it all!

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Ick!

I just happened to glance in the mirror as I was washing my hands this evening. I saw what I assumed to be a tiny piece of food on my neck (I’m not a neat eater, so that happens sometimes). I scraped at it. It didn’t come off, so I scraped harder until I finally got it onto my finger. Normally I would have simply flicked the speck toward the trash, but since I couldn’t remember having eaten anything dark and flaky, I looked at it first. That’s when I realized it was actually a nymphal tick. Ick!

This was really upsetting, because I didn’t spend that much time outside today, and I was fairly careful. I wasn’t careful enough, though, and that’s bad. Most nymphs are infected with Lyme. Our children’s doctor told us that the rates are so high in our area that they just assume every tick has it. If I hadn’t looked in the mirror just when I did, that tiny little thing would have gotten in my hair. It would have sucked my blood and infected me, and I never would have known.

Trying to look on the bright side:

  1. It’s not the ticks you find on you that are the problem, but rather the ones you don’t find. Finding this one was not a bad thing. It was a very good thing.
  2. I got to use the word “fomes.” That’s how I mentally referred to my clothing as I was throwing it into the washing machine. “Fomes” (pronounced “foe-meeze,” pl. “fomites”) is any item or material that could have disease-causing agents on it. I like knowing weird words. Weird words are good.
  3. I looked the word up to make sure that I was using it correctly. I couldn’t find it in many dictionaries. It seems to have been replaced with “fomite” (pronounced “foe-mite,” pl. “fomites”). That doesn’t surprise me, because nobody likes a singular noun that sounds plural, especially if it has an irregular plural. Now I know to use the more modern and totally hip “fomite.” I learned something new, and that’s a good thing, too.
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Blast from the Past

I found this tiny piece of paper on the floor in my office while I was vacuuming today. The New Haven Register is a newspaper that I used to deliver, and this piece of paper is a receipt that ought to have been given to a customer as proof of payment. Sadly, my customers didn’t always pay me, so I sometimes had receipts left over. I thought I had thrown them all away, though. I can’t believe this thing followed me all the way from my hometown in CT and the year 1985!

I’m beginning to think that the past is trying to speak to me. First there was the note from 2009 that I found, then the note from 1992 that my friend Sprite found, and now this. But, if the past is indeed trying to speak to me, I have no idea what it’s trying to say! My husband has an alternative theory. He says this is a message reminding me to tip my newspaper delivery person.

What do you think?

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Less Talk, More Hugs

Heard around the house:

Husbands should be hugged, not heard.

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Bloggadee

Silly thing about me:

I organize my digital photos by year, with a subfolder for each month. Sometimes when I have a lot of photos that could (or ought to) go on the blog for that month, I create a special subfolder for them. I name it differently every time, but always something with “blog” in it. Among those I’ve used are Bloggy, Bloggyblog, Blogadiddle, Blogadee, Bloguh, Blogeuh, Blogggga, Bloggeda, and Bloggation.

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33 Weeks Revisited

I found a handwritten note in my office today. I must have written in back in 2009 when I was pregnant with Marshall. I probably intended to include it in my 33 Weeks post, but I didn’t. So here it is now.

33 Weeks

Baby kicks while I’m talking to other people. They don’t know, so it’s like I’m living in my own little universe. Baby is already demanding his mother’s attention.

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Ambitious

Livia has been learning about tools and woodworking at school. Here is a conversation that we had one day after she got home.

Livia: I got to use a drill at school today. A real live drill!

Mommy: That’s great. Maybe someday you can be a builder or a furniture maker.

Livia: That would be great, because then I could build my own house. I could have more than one house. I could have a guest house. I could have a house for me. And I could have a house for my children!

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Improper Attire

Heard around the house:

Hey, hey, hey! Cups are not shoes!

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Memorability

If you want to live a memorable life you have to be the kind of person who remembers to remember.

— Joshua Foer

This quote showed up in my random quotes today, and it seemed so fitting that I had to mention it. I haven’t been writing much on my blog lately. In part it’s because my laptop died. It took weeks to get everything back up and running. In part it’s been because I was sick, and then I hurt my back, so I’ve spent a lot of time in bed.

Primarily, though, it’s because I just haven’t been writing. That’s bad, because my memory is absolutely terrible. It fails me so consistently that I no longer trust it. I do trust what I’ve written down, though, so I use my blog to back up my memory. It’s a great backup, but only if I take the time to write things down.

To some degree, our personalities are the product of our collected memories. If I have nothing to remember, then I will be no one. That’s a terrifying thought, an unacceptable thought. I want a memorable life, but if I’m going to be a person who “remembers to remember,” then I must remember to write!

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The Irony

There is more treasure in books than all the pirate’s loot on treasure island.–Walt Disney

I found that quote on a RIF post on Facebook. The irony is that now people watch Disney movies rather than read the books on which they were based. My husband and kids watched The Jungle Book recently. It was a good movie. The book was also very good, though, and the odds of most kids ever reading it are low. My kids might, because I own the book and treasure it, but maybe not. The screen is so much flashier and hard to ignore. It’s easier to watch a story than to read it, and everything’s on screen now, thanks in large part to Walt Disney. So I agree with the quote, and I want to like it, but I can hardly bear the irony.

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