Pwobly a waccoon

A couple unconnected things. First, a weather report from Montana. Last weekend my parents (Nye) & my sister & brother-in-law (Red Lodge) had between 30 & 40 inches of snow. Yeesh. My sister & brother-in-law at Hysham had 125 acres of hay cut, with oh, only 8 inches or so of snow. I haven't checked with them to see if things melted off & dried up enough to actually bale it...

Plus I had a fun experience in a grocery store a few days ago. My purchases included a bottle of wine & I got carded! It took me a moment to register what was happening, because the clerk sounded as if she was saying "Ah day." (That's southern for I.D.) I happily whipped out my driver's license, which shows that I am 49&1/2.

The weather here? Cloudy. Sporadic drizzle. Turning leaves. In other words, perfect.

Blog alternative:
150. Reread a favorite childhood book. (For me, today, that was Rascal, by Sterling North. A lovely book. Plus, since the title character is a raccoon, it reminds me a family story, my niece Heidi, when she was very young, was riding up to Nye with my parents. Whenever they passed roadkill, even if it was a deer, she would nod sagely & say "Pwably a waccoon.")

Tell me a story--& make it a good one

You.
Questioner.
Questions.
Answers.

I don't think I've really talked to you since my return from the International Storytelling Festival in Jonesborough. Having too much fun! It's funny, my friend Cathy (see her blog at Yaypigeons) worries that people will worry if she doesn't post much. I, on the very other hand, worry that you'll worry if I'm posting a lot. What's the matter? you will think. She must not be having enough fun. Grin. Well, October's been a blast, & I have a paucity of posts to prove it. (Say the end of that sentence 3 time fast--I dare ya.)

The festival was great. The weather, the drive, the hotel (does anyone else think Red Roof Inn has a GREAT designer?), the storytellers, the Omigosh food! There's a restaurant on historic Main Street in Jonesborough (The Bistro? that might be the name...) that had the bestest breakfast ever. The owner is the chef & he knows what he's doing. To give you a clue--even the honeydew melon (that typically honey-don't hard tasteless pale green stuff) was sweet & succulent. Sheesh. I had the seafood frittata & my friend had the low country breakfast, which was eggs & grits & shrimp & fried green tomatoes. Also the coffee was great--after liberal application of cream.

Jonesborough was very interesting, historically, as well. It was the first place abolitionist publications were printed & was briefly one of the 3 capitols of the State of Franklin, a tiny bit of North Carolina that broke away & then, after unsuccessfully petitioning for admission to the union, became part of Tennessee instead.

I'll end with a quote from Kevin Kling. Should you ever get a chance to hear him speak, avail yourself of it. (He's from Minnesota, & you know they've got great people there. Grin.) He was born with a handicapped arm & in 2000 had a motorcycle accident that cost him the use of his other arm, so now the little arm is the "good" one. His quote: "There's the trip you plan, & the trip you take. Sooner or later you must give in to the journey."

Blog alternative:
149. Tell the story of your today exactly as you would like it to be. If there are "realities" that are getting in the way of your living the life you would like it to be, don't let them get in the way of the story.

News flash: The future passed before us

Blog alternative:
148. Do something backwards. Eat dessert first, for example. Or write "The End" & start your story from there.

Goodbye. It's been lovely talking with you. E-see you soon.

They say life is lived forward & understood backwards. A friend of mine says, if you want to predict the future, invent it.

Time to put the laundry away & sundry & various otherthings, so

Hello!

Helvetica on my Mind

Habit of Thought
House in Order

I wanted to post this in Helvetica, in honor of the documentary of that name that I just saw, but alas, Helvetica is not an option. I could use Arial, Helvetica's cousin, but that's not close enough.

However--& I find this exciting--the guy who designed Georgia was in the documentary & Georgia is my font of choice for this blog. How cool to meet (in the most distant of ways) the designer. Anyway, if you're into typeface or design or societal impacts of media or quirky people, you may want to see Helvetica.

Another fun watch was Kenny, an Australian flick about porta-potties. But it is so much more... Also seen: the strangely wonderful Lars & the Real Girl. Would you elect a life-sized doll to the school board?

After several years of not having or using a calendar, I bought one today, a little moleskine monthly organizer/notebook for 2009. I have the feeling I am going to be scheduling a few more activities. Author in the school visits. Science fiction conventions. Deadlines for furniture design contests. International story-telling festivals. (Because I'm going to the one in Jonesboro, Tennessee, this weekend!)

Blog alternative:
147. Write down 3 strange & wonderful things you might enter in a future calendar. Trip to (my favorite moon) Titan. Paint mural on back of garage. Lunch with the Dalai Lama.

Pablo Neruda & I

Congratulations!


You've been elected to the government!

I received something exciting--& HEAVY--in an envelope the other day.

McDougal Littell's 9th grade Literature textbook.

Why? you might ask. No, I am not back in the 9th grade. (thank whomever!)

On page 703 is my photograph--right beneath one of Pablo Neruda!--& on pages 710 & 711 is "egg horror poem." I am so excited, my brain is scrambled. (ah, the horror, say the eggs.)

Whee.

I think I'll see if some classrooms want to have me do some author-in-the-schools presentations. Should be fun.

Blog alternative:
146. Education means to draw forth. The thing we currently call "education" would be more properly termed schooling or training. Draw something essential from yourself. From a child. From a lover. From a friend. From a stranger. Don't "pour in" something from outside. Draw forth.

Eating coleslaw with my fingers

Gas in Asheville isn't expensive--it's unavailable. At least yesterday. (I'm lying, I heard reports of at least one station open, with long lines at the pumps, but that wasn't my experience, so I'll just say what I saw: plastic or paper bags on ALL the pump handles of the 5 gas stations I drove through or past.)

I have suggestions on how to deal with this, & global warming, & teenage pregnancy:

1. Eat coleslaw with your fingers.
2. Purchase & use art supplies (see coleslaw in the previous line for an example) even if--especially if--you don't think of yourself as an artist.
3. Take a long bath or luxurious shower. Don't just shampoo--give yourself a scalp massage. Worship your body with soap & water. (Plus you just might need a good washing up after suggestions 1 & 2.)

I am really not joking. The things one might do to directly combat diminished gas supplies caused by a hurricane & anything that starts with "global" & anything that starts with "teenage" are likely to be miniscule, a drop in the Mediterranean Sea, & also extremely likely to make you feel inadequate because you can't solve the problem and/or pissed off because you are made to believe you ought to (whether you actually do or not) park your Rambo 9000 that gets 7 mpg/highway or give condoms to kids that you think ought to keep it in their (or at least out of her) pants or quit taking long baths & luxurious showers.

What do my three suggestions do for the environment & global & moral climates? Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. I don't care. What I care is what they do for you. Make you feel creative. Make you feel cherished. Make you feel bold, daring, childish.

Please do NOT knock these until you have tried them. All of them. It needn't be specifically coleslaw, of course. Mashed potatoes will do as well--even better with lots of gravy. I picked coleslaw because I had some the other night, with barbecued ribs & sauteed vegetables. Now, it's perfectly common--even de rigeur--to eat ribs with ones fingers. Coleslaw? Not so much. It's not that I didn't have a fork. There was one on the table beside my plate, courtesy of my dining companion, who was NOT eating coleslaw with his fingers. (But I will not hold that against him. Grin.) It was a whim, a barbarian child whim, which caused great pleasure on the execution of impulse. So I continued, fingers dripping white stuff (what is that white stuff anyway?) & a big silly grin on my already-barbecue-stained face.

So what.

Who's more effective? More likely to come up with big ideas & creative solutions & have fun doing it--or at least to enjoy life to the max no matter what's happening?

Someone who's smiling, messy-fingered, creative-brained, no-limiting-factors-need-apply?
Or someone who's fearful, whiny, rigid, I-can't-do-that-&-I-doubt-if-anyone-else-can?

I have my opinion; I'll let you have yours.

P.S.
I just read the BEST book, which was recommended by my brilliant son Nick, he of Skritter fame.

(Another best book, you sigh. But you know Superlative is my middle name. (Oh, & also Parenthetical.))

This one is Made to Stick: Why Some Ideas Survive and Others Die, by brothers Chip & Dan Heath. This book rocks, expanding the concept of the sticky idea first introduced in one of my other best books, The Tipping Point, by Malcolm Gladwell.)

(Oh, & Dan Heath lives in Raleigh, a mere few hours away. I think I'll invite him to lunch. Ribs & coleslaw, perhaps. After I can buy gas again...)

Blog alternative:
145. Eat coleslaw with your fingers. Bonus if you use that white stuff to draw on the (I hope it's plastic) tablecloth.

Disappoint Olaf

evolution of each & every femtosecond:
peace
to love
to awareness & preference

to flower & fruit

My parents' 50th was a splendid celebration. Get 200+ of your dearest & best together & you get--well, tired. Many other things as well, but by the end of it you're ready for a nap. Or hibernation, at least for a few days.

At the beautiful gathering, one dear friend, Olaf, who we used to buy potatoes from (hundreds of pounds of potatoes, for us & our friends & relatives--we'd go to Big Timber in the pickup & hang out with Olaf & Gladys & their kids & then drive home with the pickup bed loaded with burlap sacks, each containing 100 pounds of potatoes. & who was lying in the back of the pickup, on top of those lumpy sacks, barely fitting between the spuds & the topper? me, & my sisters. & then we had to peel them & sprout them... at least we got to eat them. mashed. fried. boiled & smushed with a fork & covered with butter & salt. baked. mmm. oh yeah, I was telling a story that wasn't about potatoes, but rather about being true to ones self. & so I return to it) one dear friend, Olaf, invited my folks & my uncle Bud to come over to Big Timber the following Friday, a mere 5 days from the spectacular gathering that was occurring at that moment. Olaf had a busload of 45 Norwegians coming & there was to be a party & he'd dearly love it if Mom & Dad & Uncle Bud would attend.

Now my parents have nothing against Norwegians (if they did, they wouldn't be nearly as fond of themselves & their children as they are, for we are all lousy with Norsky genes) but you could hear the sighs as they spoke of this possibility. The weekend before the anniversary they had hosted their annual corn party, for the seed corn customers. Now the anniversary, which lasted for some 7 hours, & of course there were post-party-parties & visiting & dear friends from out of town sticking around for a few days yet, & this daughter from North Carolina hanging out for another week-&-a-half. & yet--

& yet, they were seriously considering going off to see the Norwegians. "Olaf would be disappointed," they said. I got all mouthy & eldest-child-ish on them. "So. If you don't go, Olaf will be disappointed. If you do go, you will be disappointed. If somebody has to be disappointed, I vote Olaf!" I don't know whether my plea for selfishness tipped the scales or not, but they did indeed call the next morning & talk to Uncle Bud, who was kinda sorta feeling the same way, & then let Olaf know that they would let him welcome the Norwegians without them. Yee-haw! This is big for my parents. They frequently try to be all things to all people & that can be a bit tiring. So, congratulations, dear Mom, dear Dad. I'm proud of you. Way to look out for your own best interests.

Blog alternative:
144. Disappoint Olaf. Well, not specifically Olaf, but someone who would like you to do something that you would just as soon not do.