Archive - January 2004

Word by Word

January 2004

Thursday, January 1, 2004

12:30 pm

Well, it's a new year. I hope it's a fine one.

I just googled myself, and lo and behold, if I limit to Canada, I find this site. I thought I was kind of hidden, as I haven't formally announced myself to any search engines, but there's no privacy on the web. What was I thinking? I've been thinking of my writings as musings, where I only toyed with the idea of public information. Well, there you go, I've gone public, if anyone's reading.

When I search all sites, I find other Shirley Rudolphs, always a bit surprising. I know there's one living a couple blocks from me; sometimes we have books on hold at the library at the same time. Turns out there's also a real estate agent in Port Townsend, with the same name. Wonder if they're named after a certain child star as well. There are others too.

I also found my millenium article posted on a web site set up to celebrate the American Tricentennial in 2076. Talk about time oddity. The links in the article are out-of-date, and the e-mail address they have is also out-of-date, but imagine how old they'll be in 2076. I'll be seriously out-of-date by then.

Seriously, I've spent a fair bit of time today updating the pages I keep here. I think this is a response to realizing I'm really out there. Don't want to look too amateur after all, though that's what this is. The web page that is, not the writng.

I sidetracked into completing the other pages and now it's 4:10 pm. Time, where's it go?

Saturday, January 3, 2004

12:00 pm

This is my year for getting on track. That's a resolution of sorts. I think probably it has some potential as it's phrased positively. The paper had a story about how negative resolutions are more likely to fail. So if I say things like I will quit something (like buying books for instance) then my chances are slim (getting slim is another thing I'm hoping for) but if I rephrase my book resolution to 'I will read from the books I have, before buying more' I might have more chance of success.

Of course I bought a book on Jan 1st at Book Warehouse, because it was open. I'd gone for a walk, to return the videos I watched on New Year's Eve. I thought I'd just slip into the bookstore and check the markdowns, just in case there were some really good deals. I found a memoir of a middle-aged woman who lives alone in New York City, with two diabetic cats (actually, she's younger than I so of course not yet really middle-aged). The book is titled Waiting for My Cats to Die, and is kind of an extended meditation on death and cats, and the meaning of it all. I couldn't resist it, perhaps for the title (though I'm not really waiting for my cats to die) but because she's alone, has cats, and watches a lot of TV. Some parallels there, though she's never married, while I a was, once, and living alone with (virtually) adult children is not the same kind of alone. But the cats. And I admit to some TV addiction.

She mentions Buffy the Vampire Slayer (I'm about halfway through the book so don't know what else she likes to watch) and I have to like someone who knows what a great show Buffy was (now sadly ended—left a big hole on Tuesday nights). Her cats are old and diabetic, and she faithfully injects them with insulin, so is not really waiting for them to die, but actively keeping them alive. She wonders though whether they are her excuse for avoiding change in her life.

It snowed again last night, and added a layer, but not deep. I mean to go out and clear my stairs and sidewalk again. The brightness holds off the post-Christmas gloom, usually quite literal with clouds and rain; somehow the snowy vista cheers me up. I know I won't feel this way if it lasts too long though. It's the rarity of the snow that adds to its appeal here. I've been getting around all right in it as well, though yesterday I finally found time to drag the snow tires out of the garage, and get them put on the car. I was blessed, because I drove up to Big O tires and found an empty service bay. When I left, the line-up was back. I got to pretend I'm not one of the clowns who leaves things to the last minute (or later). But today I am staying home. I've loaned the freshly snow-tired car to my daughter who has gone to play in the snow up on Cypress. Bigger hills.

All this time with snow on the ground and I haven't been into the woods. And they're at their most magical with snow on the ground. Today, though, after I clear the walk. Then I'll come in and start getting on track. It's just that my track often leads me through the woods. Good thing they're close by. Then I think I'll come home and maybe read a good book. There are a few of them lying around here, and into them is another track I like to follow.

Monday, January 5, 2004

2:08 pm

I slept through much of yesterday. I'm not sure what puts me into mood slumps but something did yesterday. Maybe it was just being cold. I did have my walk through the woods on Saturday, and was out there long enough to get really chilled. Stupid. I know, anyone who experiences winter every year will laugh at how soft we are here in Vancouver, but I'm not used to walking around inside a freezer. A warm shower helped, but I think I should have filled the bathtub and soaked my bones warmer. So then on Sunday I went all gloomy. I really don't understand myself.

Today I feel fine. I've sorted out the problems with the magazine, and it should get printed tonight. That takes care of urgent obligations. Outside myself that is. I'm still loathe to wander outside in the deep freeze, but may do so anyway, so as not to go stir crazy. I know, I'll bundle up better this time. And not go so far. I was right though; the woods are magical with snow. But while I was tramping through them, I did think that spring time would be even more magical. I'm hard to please, aren't I?

Inside, I have lots of chores, and think I should attack some of them soon. Mundane things. The cats had a brawl outside my bedroom door a couple nights ago (I think I forgot to feed them, and they got cranky) and I've been trying not to notice the clumps of fur floating around the floor since then, but I'm afraid it's not working. So I need to haul out the vacuum cleaner and restore us to respectability. Today's probably a better day to do that, because tomorrow there's supposed to be more snow to shovel. Which suggests it will be warming up outside and the cats can take their fights out there soon. I did spot a neighbour's cat walking past my office window yesterday, which means he was wandering about on my roof. But he's a youngster, so much more adventurous than my two beasts. My daughter's cat is also young, but unused to the outdoors, so more tentative in her forays, though she was starting to roam farther before the snow fell. The neighbour cat is Tiger, and his "owners" on the corner tell me he is an indoor cat. They said this once when I took the cat back to them, because he likes to hang out in our kitchen. But Tiger has other ideas and squirmed away from me, trotting off down the road. He looks like a thin version of my fat cat, Squeak. But really, I have enough cats.

I used to have conflict with these neighbours when my son was a few years younger, and he and his friends were at their most noisy and rambuctious (this happens in grade 9; ask any teacher). I wonder whether Tiger is a sign of things to come (you know how sometimes cats seem like the people they live with)—that these neighbours will have their own entertaining time with their son when he gets to grade 9. I may still live here then; perhaps I can complain to them in my turn. I am very glad to be the parent of virtual adults. I wasn't ever cut out for crowd control. Even the cats have me beat sometimes.

Tuesday, January 6, 2004

11:00 am and ing

More snow. And here I thought we lived in a temperate zone. I object to extremes of temperature, I admit it. I suffered last summer in France, sweltering under ungodly hot temperatures, and now I wonder who ever thought Canada was a viable concept given the fact it disappears under a blanket of snow so regularly. Thank goodness I'm not a pioneer. My toes would have frozen off long ago.

That bit of grumbling over with, I have to admit it's very pretty outside my window. I have a hawthorn tree in front of my house, and it is full of red berries right now, a nice contrast to the white stuff lining its branches. It's on and off full of chickadees and the occasional robin, which like to eat the berries. The snow is keeping the berry-filled birdshit from splatting all over my car too. There is always a bright side.

I didn't vacuum yesterday. I really am incorrigible. But I will try today. I need to remind myself that a lot of the friend's houses I go into sparkle the way they do because of hired help. So maybe I'm just cheap? Nah, frugal. Or selective about where the cash goes. My ex never saw me as frugal; rather the opposite. One of the big squabbles of married life is money. Sex is the other one, but I don't think I'll go there. And in-laws. Mind you a person can have plenty of problems with their own family without bringing in anyone else's relatives. Think I won't go there either.

I am catching a cold. This is really irritating, as it's such a cliché. "Don't get chilled or you'll catch a cold." You've heard that, I'm sure. Well on Saturday I got chilled, and on Sunday I felt crappy, and thought I was depressed (I probably was) but today I'm sneezing, my nose runs, and there's the hint of a sore throat starting. Pass the echinacea. Whine.

I guess it's as good an excuse as any to stay in. Though I plan to shovel away in due course. I look forward to the rain. Never thought I'd say that. And just wait. I'll be squawking about the rain in a few days—will it ever end? (Preemptive whining.)

I finished the book I was reading (Waiting for My Cats to Die) and only one of them does die in the time she keeps the memoir. I have mixed feelings about the intensity of the author's feelings for her cats (well, really, I think she's a bit crazy) but she has affected me just enough that I have been nicer to my fat cat Squeak. I started brushing him again, something he needs, and it just might help keep down the carpet of fur that spreads around the house (noticeable because there's a dearth of vacuuming).

I do not have a favourite child, honest kids, I love you all, but I do have a favourite cat. They know it too, the cats, that is. I don't want to anthropomorphize here, but it's true. Sometimes I see Squeak stalking Minx on my bed, his intention clearly to do damage. Minx gets the 'best' spot, closest to my head. This bugs Squeak. But in my defence, he's more than twice as big as Minx, and just too hot. If I had a different metabolism, I'd prefer him. Unfortunately I can't explain this to him, but at least I can brush him more often, right? He is great for warming up my feet though. Minx, with her awareness of Princess status, won't stand for such nonsense, and doesn't have the body mass anyway. I suppose if I had a lover I could warm my feet on him, but come to think of it, cats demand a lot less. Pathetic.

Thursday, January 8, 2004

6:54 pm

Yesterday I started to take apart my office, with a mind to putting it back together in a more useful way. There's an awful lot of stuff in here, and I need to get rid of it. The extraneous stuff. George Carlin does a routine about stuff, about how little of it we have when we start out, and how eventually there's enough stuff to fill several trucks. I hope to get myself back down to one truckload before I have to test the theory.

I had just begun when my daughter called looking for a lunch date, so I set the rubble aside. An easy choice. When I came home I managed to sort away a pile of papers, but that doesn't make much of a dent in the pile.

One of the kinds of stuff I have in here is fabric. I used to sew a lot, and have kept a lot of fabric that I always meant to make into clothing. I think perhaps I'm not going to, and should just clear the fabric out. With it goes a couple of pieces of furniture, that have outlived their usefulness. So out they must go too.

When we first moved into this house, no when it was renovated, it felt like there was all kinds of room. But it's become overstuffed with belongings, and the challenge is to make these objects unbelong. It's an extraordinarily time-consuming task, dealing with possessions. The fewer the better really.

I haven't made any progress today. I woke up feeling lousy, physically this time. I've spent the day in bed, trying to chase a cold away. And so I confess I read all day. I picked up a book at the library, Revenge of the Middle-Aged Woman, by Elizabeth Buchan. Not great, but I was snagged by the title, wonder why. There really isn't any revenge that happens, just someone who rolls with the punches. Actually I was kind of disappointed, but at the same time it kept me interested all day. It's a predictable story. Middle-aged woman gets dumped for a younger one, loses her job, but manages to pull herself together, lots of life left in her, independence, yada, yada. But I read it right through, as it's reasonably well told.

Saturday, January 10, 2004

2:44 pm

Well, the cold has got me. It's interesting feeling its progress in my body. A hint in my throat one day, excessive sneezing, then more in the throat, then a headache, then a little coughing. How boring, eh? I am missing a potluck gathering today in Robert's Creek, and feel bad about it, but figured out that I would feel worse if I went, not to mention guilty every time I sneezed. Such is life. But, as though to reward me for my decision, two other friends phoned me this morning (yes, I was sleeping both times) to invite me to festivities later this month and next month.

I feel better today though, in spite of the coughing. Tomorrow morning is writing morning with the Plums, and I hate to miss that, as it gets me out of my torpor re: writing. Which I seem to be in right now, but I guess I could lighten up. Being sick is not an excuse, it just is.

Sunday, January 11, 2004

9:16 pm

Today I woke up feeling human again. Residual stuffed nose, so I can still whine if I need to, but much better. If tomorrow is the same, then I would say that diving into bed when you feel a cold coming on, actually works. (Plus extra Vitamin C and echinacea.) This morning I got up to go and meet the Plums, where we wrote up a storm. Every two weeks I remind myself, in this diverse company, that the words can flow. We start from the same point, thought, idea, first line, and all come up with such different things. It's just great.

So how is it that I can write with them, but by myself I am distracted by the least interruption? Peculiar (neurotic). Anyway, I will continue to make my office space an oasis this week, and work at working better in it. I filled two garbage bags last night with fabric and clothing I really don't need/want. I feel quite the resolve to make 2004 a real year empty of clutter and full of the written word.

This afternoon I joined my Dad and watched the Philadelphia Eagles play the Green Bay Packers. We were both cheering for the Packers, and it was close, so close; 10 seconds left (which is longer than you'd think) and the Eagles tied the game, so it went into sudden death overtime. A heartbreaker. (Green Bay lost.)

Which seems kind of melodramatic for a bunch of guys chasing an oddly shaped ball around the field, but I start to see a lot of passion in this game (in team sports in general); hope and dismay, personal and team triumph and awful blunders, all crammed into an hour long game (theoretically—it takes two or three hours with breaks, timeouts etc.). It's a form of "reality tv" that's been around for a long time, as orchestrated and rulebound as any episode of Survivor, but with more depth, I blush to say. (Of course that's not saying too much.) There's lots of drama though.

Come to think of it, it's not much different than a lot of Hollywood guy flicks, with the occasional (gratuitous) glimpse of female flesh, in the form of cheerleaders or token sportscasters. But it's fun to settle into a fantasy about heroes every now and then, if you don't mind an overdose of beefcake.

Tuesday, January 13, 2004

4:34 pm

Yesterday I got started. I took a carload of paper, cardboard, bottles and cans to respective recycling depots; then met up with daughter number two for coffee and visit. Then I came home and started moving stuff around in my office. This is not really a big room, but I managed to haul out quite a bit of fabric, and now have a sewing corner that is of reasonable proportions. I emptied and moved two bookcases, and the filing cabinet now seems much less massive, as it's tucked in a corner instead of looming in the room. These things are important, the placement of the objects, stuff. It's not that I buy into the idea of feng shui. I just believe in good design, and I had badly designed my workspace. Opening up the space lightens me when I come in here. Or maybe it's even more simple. Change is good.

I have one more bookcase to pull back into the room, and that will get all the flotsam off the floor in here. Then after a bit I will do another sort, to lighten the shelves. But finding the floor is by itself a wondrous thing.

There must have been something about yesterday, because the gardener I hired came by, and did a big cleanup of my front yard. I do enjoy working in the yard from time to time, but it weighs on me, like housework (must do, must do) so in December I decided to pay for help. As a result I think my yard will achieve some respectability by the springtime. I think I might even give some thought to what to put in the ground this year. Most years the best I can do is fight back the morning glory, aka bindweed (appropriate name, considering it's affect on me) and never seem to get much farther. Though in all fairness to myself, I could see ground showing between the plants this year, and the sidewalk reappeared. Kind of like finding the floor in here. But gardening isn't where my heart is really. Not yet anyway, though with the gruntwork done, I may just get a bit more attentive. I should apply Anne Lamott's idea of Bird by Bird. Weed by weed. Only now, with someone else digging them out, I can think plant by plant.

Or chore by chore. Pulling the weeds from the front of the house exposes more of the siding, miscoloured and faded and needing painting. I'll have to give that some thought for the coming summer. Of course that will make the inside look more drab… But I'm working on that by clearing out the indoor weeds, so I guess progress is being made.

One of the nice things about rearranging your clutter, is remembering. Even if you finish by getting rid of the stuff. Or maybe it's remembering to get rid of the stuff that's the nice thing.

I also finished another book, The Lost Garden by Helen Humphreys. (Maybe I should read a novel about clutter. Maybe I should write one!) It's set in wartime in England, and not surprisingly, is a sad story. I'd give it a thumbs up though. I read too late last night. Today I'm much more slothful, and sneezing again. Got to go dig out the echinacea, sigh. I cut a gigantic crossword puzzle out of the paper a couple weeks ago (1500 clues or so) and my son and I have been on and off working on it. I don't think of myself as very good at these things, but it's surprisingly entertaining with company. We complement each other when figuring out answers.

Thursday, January 15, 2004

7 pm

My personal cold front is back. I've been sneezing up a storm again; so tiresome. It drove me back to bed for a nap today. I think I'll reinstate coddling myself for another day or so.

But the reclaiming of space goes on in and outside my house. I sorted and removed stuff yesterday. Took down the Christmas lights from the front porch. Piled all the fabrics, plus several boxes of flotsam that had made its way to the garage, onto the front porch for pickup this morning. Very satisfying to see a truck role up and take stuff away. Stuff. It's a great sounding word. I'm getting some of the stuffing taken out of my house. Which is overstuffed. Anyway, I have this plan to say yes, each time I get a call from Developmental Disabilities, or Canadian Diabetes, or any of the other charities that collect extra stuff as donations. And then, I will pull out boxes from the garage, and pass the stuff on. It's all leftover from other purges that didn't go far enough; garage sales where stock is left over; moments of indecision. Stuff. I will get rid of it.

Today the gardener (Randy) was here. I've given him leave to apply some creativity, so he's dug out a patch of so-called lawn in the front yard, and added some more garden area. He used some plants from another of his 'clients' and also planted some plants that I had in pots on my back porch. I had plucked some branches from a bush I liked in one of my walks in the forest, and it had rooted. I like the idea of moving the forest out this way. The yard tries to reforest each year anyway, with seeds that float in on the wind, or arrive by squirrel. Randy is going to power wash my house too, as it's looking particularly scruffy. We'll discuss painting where needed later in the spring. So he'll cost me some money, but save some by saving me having to paint the whole place.

I went humidor shopping today with my son. He and one of my daughters bought cigars in Cuba just before Christmas, and it seems that cigars require care and attention. This has opened a whole area to me that I hadn't thought about before. For one thing, I had no idea how much a fine cigar costs locally. So I agreed they need to be stored properly. (I expect payback in my old age.)

The cigar store we went to has a smoking lounge, where some people were sitting about smoking cigars, not surprisingly. The saleswoman had an accent; both of us failed to ask her where she was from but realised later were both very curious. (I fancy that she too comes from Cuba.) She set up the box for us (getting the humidifier going, placing the gauge, which registers humidity). At home my son added a tiny thermometer so he can ensure optimum storage.

I am a non-smoker, will not start. I will not worry about my children smoking (I do think this is very different from the three pack a day habit my mother used to have). I can see the appeal of an occasional really good cigar. Like not drinking, but once in a while having a snifter of some fine brandy or cognac (I only imagine this, as I can't claim to be a non-drinker). But perhaps I'll get a bottle of single malt, which I can sip as they puff.

Thursday, January 16, 2004

7 pm

My yard is being transformed. It's amazing what someone who knows what they are doing can do. You'd think I'd have figured this out long ago, but some things take a while.

I bought the book Wishcraft this week, and have just started to work my way into it. I know what I want to do, write, but figure I could use the help in planning. The two things kind of go together, planning my life's path, instead of waiting to see how it turns out, and finding someone else to take care of some of the necessary stuff that doesn't really engage me. Because one of the things I want to work into my life is meaningful activity. Of course, there's also the trick of making what you do meaningful by paying attention to it. I'm not going to suddenly start hiring people to do my chores, not all of them anyway. Lately I've been washing dishes by hand. I like the sounds better than the dishwasher. And the feel of water and soap. Am I weird? Probably.

Today I packed my journal, the book Wishcraft, and a printout of a story into my bag and drove off to West Van to work in a coffee shop far from home (not that far, but crossing two bridges gives that sense). I revised the story (and just now have completed typing in the revisions—I've got it bundled up and am going to mail it tomorrow). A good beginning. Then I worked a bit in my journal, and then in the book Wishcraft. It has lots of exercises, and I decided that I will do them, for the thought provoking.

I made up a fiction for myself that I had given Yvonne enough notice to join me, but when she didn't, because I didn't, I still got a bunch of work done. Interesting little exercise, though perhaps not fair to my friend. I will go back next week and meet her for coffee for real. I have other stories I want to work on.

Monday, January 19, 2004

Noon

So where'd the last three days go? Well, I know that yesterday went to football. Fortunately (for me) the season is almost over. Next week a hiatus and the week after that, the Super Bowl. I have been enjoying this stint of watching the game with my father, but am puzzled at his being enthralled for, what, forty? fifty? sixty? years by this sport. I will have to check at 82, and see if there's anything that has held my interest that long. Will I be watching the Super Bowl with grandchildren? Will I care? We'll see. Yesterday's games were disappointing. (I watched both, one with my dad, and one at home with my son. Dad can't sustain company for the duration of two games. I resist saying my company.) Family dynamics aside, the games didn't work because in each, one of the teams fell apart, so that the feeling of watching contests of equal contenders was gone. The games are like good stories. If you can guess the outcome before you get to the end, why bother?

Friday and Saturday went to household maintenance and shopping. I still have some sorting and shelving to do in my workspace (the floor has slipped out of sight again), but the structure is in place, and the room feels bigger. I got a little sidetracked by my bedroom, and have improved it as well. I noticed that the floor there seemed to disappear regularly (books and papers mostly) so I've added in some shelves and a bedside stand that are pulling things into a semblance of order.

I've rearranged stuff in my house many times. It's a peculiar behaviour I suppose, or indicative of eternal disatisfaction, or just evidence that I procrastinate, and things pile up. But particulars of life change, and what suited one year can become extraneous or even annoying in another. Kids grow. I grow older.

Reading in the book Wishcraft, it asks early on the question 'Who are you?'. Not whether you are a middle-aged* mother of three, but what engages you. The question gets you to look back at childhood and remember what enthralled then, because chances are that back then was the last time it happened without an awareness of self in relation to the world around you. This was an exercise for me in remembering what I played at, before "society" made itself felt. I'm hard pressed to dredge that sort of memory up. I remember running and laughing with neighbour kids; exploring the neighbourhood with them, absolutely enthralled at the age of 3 or 4 to find Garden Park, which seemed a very long way from home. The route involved cutting down an alley. I had no sense at that age of the grid that streets made. (Garden Park was about four blocks from home.) I remember walking down to 1st Avenue (we lived at 5th) and watching the traffic whiz by (not anything like now, but still a busy street). It was akin to watching a raging river; I marveled at it.

I remember wandering into the bush at the foot of the hill from our house, where 5th ran into Victoria Drive. Now there is a glossy green park there, but when I was a kid, it was swamp and bush. I remember skunk cabbage. Eeew. I've found skunk cabbage in the woods near my home now; it's not eeew, it's beautiful. Mind you I don't sniff it now.

I remember when I didn't question my membership as part of the gang, and I remember when I bumped into social niceties. It's almost my first memory of being wrong. Not doing something wrong, but being wrong, and it involved the girl next door and some candy she didn't want me to have. She was two years older—5 to my 3—and had learned something of being nice. She corrected me in my clamouring for some of what she had, and I felt shame. It boiled down to learning early that what I wanted was not to be voiced. Early lesson, typical I'll bet, of most women. In one way or another we all learn it; you first.

So even forty-eight years later, figuring out who I am is tough, because it involves me first. But I'm on it.

*Isn't middle-aged a lovely non-specific descriptor?

Wednesday, January 21, 2004

12:23 pm

So what's it all about (shirley)?

I puzzle my way through my days figuring out, still, after more than half a century of life, what I'm about. A few things have sparked this (latest) revery. One of them yesterday; the gardener asked me, do I work. This is a variation on what do you do? So what do I do? What is it all about?

Now the answer to my question of what do I do, is I write. Not enough, I distract myself from it all the time, but that's what I do. (I write, therefore I am. Not the same as I talk to myself, therefore I am crazy, or at least I hope not.)

I also wash dishes and buy groceries and pay bills and clean the house from time to time. And read books and walk and hike, and visit with friends... I'm not sure it's what I am. I am a human being. The doing reflects on the being, I guess, gives clues to who the being is by what she's doing. (The gardener is much more than just gardener, too, but the occupation does give clues.)

I'm also a member of a family, and it's an odd one. Dysfunctional is a cliché; everyone can claim to be part of a dysfunctional family, so where does that leave me? Like everyone else I guess. (This is tricky, because though this blog is a personal record, I am sensitive to blabbing away about other folks.) So I'm trying to puzzle this out in a sort of circumspect way. Make sense?

I could turn to my elders for some guidance on this, but there's only my dad left among the immediate elders. (Maybe I need to adopt some parents or grandparents.) I've been watching football with my dad, as anyone who's been reading this knows, but I'm not sure there's a lot of wisdom to be extracted from that. My dad is grieving, and uses football basically to take his mind off his sadness. His wife of forty-four years, my step-mother, died last February, almost a year. (She fulfilled the category of wise elder, and I miss her.) The Super Bowl marks the end of football for this season, but he looks forward to hockey playoffs, which last much longer.

You can get this same effect, of oblivion, from a lot of television, but do you want to? I've been watching football as some kind of hero's journey story, just for fun. But is the secret to being obsessed with something like this year after year, football, or a never-ending soap opera, just a way of not noticing life? Or avoiding it?

It's not that I'm going into another gloomfest here. Just puzzling. I know that people find religions that answer these sort of questions, but my need is to answer them for myself. A panacea is not what I'm after. Is there a purpose? Does it matter? On good days, I figure the answer to be that life itself is the purpose, and so doing the best at it that I can is the answer. That's what led me to drop the office job and embark on an attempt at self-direction. It's not just that I'm a misfit.

Last thought: My mother and my step-mother both had wise-elder potential. So why did they smoke?

Thursday, January 22, 2004

2:30 pm

Today is Chinese New Year; it's also my father's birthday. I hope that's a happy confluence of events. Dad is 83. I've baked him some chocolate cupcakes, which I will deliver as soon as they are cool enough to ice. My dad doesn't like us to make any fuss over his birthday. When he turned 80, we dragged him out, protesting, for dinner. So today I will just drop by with a card and the cupcakes.

I have book club tonight, so look forward to good conversation, good food and good wine this evening. All good things.

But last night, after resolving to myself to turn on the tv less often, I watched anyway. I was by myself, so watching the news while I ate dinner. The Nature of Things came on after, and it was a story about Stephen Lewis traipsing about Africa despairing about ever getting help to all the people dying of aids. I didn't want to watch this, but did anyway; the automatic response is to turn away, as the reality in Africa is so appallingly awful. But I watched it anyway. The continent is going to be full of orphans soon.

I was humbled by my own concerns, though they are real enough. I will keep on sorting out my own junk, and trying to write something worthwhile. But I also don't want to turn my back on this sort of horror in our world. There's so much of it, I don't quite know how to respond.

Governments, like any committee, move very slowly, but there are outlets for individuals. Check out: the Stephen Lewis Foundation and Medecins Sans Frontieres/Doctors without Borders. I'm going to. Maybe Amnesty International in BC, too. Aw, why not add in the WISH drop-in centre helping out sex trade workers in the Downtown Eastside. That covers a good slew of the things that make me feel really bad, reading the news. Which I will continue to do.

Monday, January 26, 2004

12:47 pm

I have let a few more people know that this blog exists, and now I find myself not writing in it as often. Interesting that. I could blame my disjointed life. I could blame me. But then blame is one of those things that's as useful as should. Or hindsight. Foresight's not bad.

I wrote on Saturday with the plums. We managed to spark a lot of ideas, and a goodly pile of pages written. In the next little while I need to spend some time sorting through what at this point is practice writing. There is a lot of it, bits and pieces of stories.

8:30 pm

Well, it's certainly easy to be interrupted when you write at home. When you write anywhere I expect.

I've had a pleasant day today; good long walk through the woods, which gave me lots of thinking time. It was a dreary rainy day, but it doesn't seem that way in among the trees. Darkish, but lots of green in there. Today I spent the time thinking, planning ways that my house could be remodeled to suit me now and in the next few years. Other days I think about where I might move to, once the kids have flown. I won't decide until that time comes, but it did occur to me that fixing things to suit me will make the place more sellable when I get around to it, if I do, but it will also make it more pleasant for me now (duh). Or, in other words, this is my home, I live here now. Why fret about the future, when the present is the reality? We forget to do this a lot. Put stuff off because something future might happen. (This is not the same as putting stuff out, because you have too much of it.) So I must stop putting stuff off, and start, or continue (really, I have been working on this) enjoying my days right now. Walking in the woods is a pretty good way to go at it. And I'll keep putting stuff out. And not forget the future completely, so I can protect myself from too many more bouts of hindsight.

This morning I worked on a couple of paying jobs, so don't feel too bad about the writing, except for being interrupted here, mid-thought. But perhaps tomorrow I'll get started at sorting the bits and pieces of stories that have accrued over the past couple of years. There's really quite a pile of paper here with words written on it. Last week I finally mailed a story to a magazine, in the hope that they'll like it and buy it. Two hopes. But I have read enough about the process to know that the most important thing is that I finished the story and sent it out.

So, confused ramble today, but I'm feeling pretty good.

Thursday, January 28, 2004

1:43 pm

I've been trying to help a neighbour with her computer. I am staggered by how much there is to know with computers. It's all tucked into my head, but it's taken me years to get it in there. I would really miss having this machine here, now, but I'm glad I started when I did figuring it all out. My neighbour's husband has moved out, and she's suddenly having to figure out how to do things for herself. It's a good advertisement for why you should always do things for yourself, even if you've got someone in the house who knows how to do them. Learned helplessness or something; really messes you up.

I'm trying to think when the first computer crept in the door here. It might actually pre-date my son. My ex got an Atari to use with his music studio. Then we bought a Commodore 64, which the kids used to play games. They were all pretty little. I felt a bit hostile toward the Commodore, and the games, because my ex would play on it, and zone out pretty completely. A symptom that something was wrong. At that point it hadn't occurred to me that we might split up, but it wasn't really too long after, and then it all seemed inevitable to me.

I tried reading the manual for the Commodore, but it made no sense to me. I did not have the big picture at all.

Not too long after we did split up, I bought an IBM 260. Quantum leap from the 64. I was motivated by frustration writing papers for a class I took. A writing class, interestingly enough. I had heard about cut and paste. That was what I did, but it was messy with a typewriter, handwritten notes, and scotch tape.

The IBM sat in its boxes for maybe six months till I had time to take it out and put it together. (I was pretty busy in those days with finding the floor. The kids hid it a lot.) Then I didn't know what to do with the computer, so I went and took a class in understanding DOS. After that I loaded on Wordperfect (for DOS) and started using what was essentially my fancy new typewriter. Figuring out the printer, which had a spectacularly obscure manual, took a while. It was a dot matrix printer, which is almost as ancient a concept as rotary telephones, and a lot harder to get to work. Two fonts, I think, though I could only ever get one to work. When I wanted to add Windows (early version, 3?) because I thought I needed more RAM, I went shopping. Service guys looked so eager, I knew I was a mark, so I ordered my RAM from IBM direct, and installed it myself. Not as complicated as I was led to believe. Eventually I took a Windows class, because I didn't understand what was going on, and like to have the big picture. (I don't feel this way about my car, for some reason, but maybe that's because they have been around long enough that they really are user friendly.) Computers are still somewhere in the 20s maybe. Not quite Model Ts anymore, that was the Commodore 64, but a ways to go before the average chump can use them without screwing things up cluelessly.

My next computer was a 386. Then I got a job at UBC and met my first Mac (love) but bought another for home (Pentium 3?, practical). So now I know how to use both, but do most of my work on a Mac I bought second-hand. I love them until they have problems, then I hate them. How can a life be simplified by these things? Well, after the huge learning curve, they make some things simpler; I do a lot of stuff on-line. Like this. I don't know if it's better than before. Just different.

I think the car analogy is reasonably good. I would not have gone out drivng if someone (my Dad) had not taught me how (and thank goodness I was young, and learned fast). Maybe you should have to take lessons before you drive a computer too. Maybe before you buy one. And then you could decide whether you were going to drive standard (pc) or automatic (apple) with the differing difficulty levels, and also different expense. No, not a bad analogy. But both need regular maintenance; neither macs or pcs are user friendly yet, not without a steep learning curve. So sitting down with someone who has no computer background, and is really not interested, whew, it's not easy. Or I'm a lousy teacher. Or some people should just ride the bus. (This is not a comment on the neighbour. We haven't gotten very far yet, and her computer is not behaving either.)

My pc is limping along too. I need to get in under the hood, and bring it up to speed. After all, it's about three years old now too, ancient. This is a kind of uncluttering activity that is all virtual, and really frustrating. But a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

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