Showing posts from February, 2008

Duma Key

Some time ago, I likened good horror to good sex . Which means that in the past two weeks while I've been reading Stephen King's latest book Duma Key , I've been having the shag of my life. Edgar Freemantle is a wounded man, both physically and emotionally. A horrific jobsite accident has left him one armed, with a busted hip and a busted memory. The complications of life following the accident and his long, difficult recovery causes the disintegration of his marriage and after the divorce, he rents a house on Duma Key in Florida to recover and to see if he wants to continue living. Here he meets his landlady, Elizabeth Eastlake, who’s descending into the dark mists of Alzheimers and Jerome Wireman, her factotum, caretaker and friend. On Duma, Edgar begins to draw, then paint and he's good. Really good. So good that he paints the truth, even when his paintings are surreal, which most of them are. The more he paints, the better he gets and the better he

Snowy Round Things

I sense a theme developing...

Random February

I've changed my method of night time illumination - i.e., bedside lamp - as my arm currently refuses to make the movement required to turn on my usual lamp. Got myself a book light (something like this ) and it works fine. In fact, it's added some new entertainment, as when positioned right on my chest, it illuminates the wall next to my bed and the ceiling, perfect for making shadow forms. I have discovered that I can make my hand look like a camel, even at masticating camel, a dog of the Rottweiler-ish persuasion or a toothless T-Rex. And you know how sharing your house with a cat can alternately convince you that they are as smart as people or, in the very next moment, be reminded that they have a brain the size of a walnut? Our new night time ritual of Mojo trying to catch the shadows on the wall is a premium example of the latter. I haven't been exceptionally fond of the latest trend of big handbags. Not just because it's a little unnerving being at a s

A Smattering of Reality Shows

A little while ago, Allyson left a comment inquiring about when I was not going to post about reality shows. Well, ask and ye shall receive! One of the reasons I've waited this long with this type of post is that I'm not watching a lot of TV these days, including reality shows. After the trainwreck (and not in an enjoyable way) that was last season of American Idol, I promised myself I wouldn't allow my life to be sucked into the black hole that is the Idol machine again and am so far sticking to it. However, on Allyson’s recommendation, I tuned in to Rock of Love last night. It sounds horrendous, yet compelling. Survivor. It's Fans vs. Favorites and although I enjoy seeing some of the previous contestants back (Ozzy, Yauman, Jonathan and Cirie, in particular), in a situation like this, I tend to root for the people who haven't done this before. Except the tribe consisting of fans are a bunch of idiots. How many times must we say this: whi



Thoughts of Pain & What Comes with It

I’ve been thinking about pain lately. Because I can’t do much (still) and there it is, handily settled into my right arm, offering itself up for introspection. Or to be more accurate, I’ve been thinking about pain and stupidity, because there’s been quite a bit of that, too. Pain ripples. It starts out localized in your right elbow (say), you start using your body differently to ease the strain and quickly, the rest of your body starts bitching about it. It took my left elbow 24 hours to start registering complaints and three days for my right shoulder to get loud. By this time, the original injury wasn't too bad anymore, provided I was careful and that's when the stupidity happened. Because that's when I started living my life again. For which I have since experienced a fairly constant punishment, because after reining myself back in a little bit and get better, I then start the whole process over again. Hence the stupidity. Chronic pain teaches you that pa


Snow yesterday: 20cm Snow total in February '08: 80 85cm* Average snowfall in the entire month of February: 28cm. Snow to date this winter: 148 160cm* (to compare: I am 155cm/5'1". Much shorter when sitting down) Sob. * corrected based on this

Make My Day

In my almost 3 years of blogging (wow, has it really been three years?), I've never been meme'd. Until now, when both Carrie and Helen told me that I Made Their Day and now it's my turn. Naturally, being me, I have been twisting myself into a pretzel about having to choose only 10 blogs that make my day, because what about the others? Won't their feelings be hurt if they are not on the list? Because all the blogs I read repeatedly making my day. It's why I read them. So choosing only 10 has been rather agonizing for me and yes, I know that it is quite likely that I'm taking this way too seriously... Anyway. Before I lose my mind entirely, let's get the show on the road. And p.s. I have no idera why I can't fix the font so everything looks the way it's supposed to, but I've decided to move on with my day. Just Noodlin’ . This is a no-brainer - it's my brother-in-law's blog and regularly gives me what I need: pictures and

Dear Winter

Dear Winter, We need to talk. I realize you're busy with the snow production, as well as the freezing rain and blustery winds, but if you wouldn't mind taking a break for a moment? Thanks much. You and I have always had a somewhat testy relationship, but I'd like to believe that I've learned to roll with most of what you throw at me. I can cope with getting wet. The cold doesn't bother me so much anymore, but I appreciate that you try to keep it above -20, which makes things a lot easier for me. Remembering to stay closer to the street than the buildings to avoid falling ice took awhile to set in, but I think I've got it now. I've learned to add at least 10 minutes to any outing so I can sit in the lobby and melt the snow off my tires before I go upstairs to my apartment and the fact that you consistently make it snow just around the day I have my housekeeping and ruin my clean floors even makes me laugh. Sometimes. I even like the blizzards, e


The other day, as I was doing preliminary research for how I was going to spend my two allotted monthly credits at Audible, I came across a new release called Strong at the Broken Places , which looks pretty interesting. I haven't fully made up my mind yet, but it's on my wish list and I suspect it’ll be making its way into my library in the near future. However, today is not about that book. Today is about the description of the book (which I swear I found on, but now only appears on . Strange). And I quote from the Book Descriptions. "In 2003 Cohen published Blindsided , a bestselling memoir of illness. The outpouring of support revealed to him that not only does the public want to hear from people who overcome the challenges of illness, but that in the isolated world of illness, there are people who want their voices to be heard. Strong at the Broken Places was born of the desire of many to share their stories in the hope that the sick

Thomas Traherne

I’d almost forgotten about the Bloggers’ Silent Poetry Reading that has happened for three years now on the Feast of St. Brigid, but I think I can get in under the wire. This year, I'm going to be posting part of a poem by Thomas Traherne , who entered my life in a completely sneaky and innocuous way when I read Wine of Angels a little while back. Traherne (1637-1674) was a minister and is called the last of the metaphysical poets. Much of his poetry expresses an almost delirious love of nature and based on what I heard in line of Angels, I need to get my hands on a collection called The Poems of Felicity, as well as his Meditations. Or anything, really. His writing positively sings. Walking To walk abroad is, not with eyes, But thoughts, the fields to see and prize; Else may the silent feet, Like logs of wood, Move up and down, and see no good Nor joy nor glory meet. E v'n carts and wheels their place do change, But cannot see, though very strange The glory that is


The Tech God came over last night to change the battery in my iPod and I am eternally grateful, because for every four hours of charge time, it gave me 2 1/2 hours of play and who can read books like that? So, after he's finished his dinner, he gets out the tools and starts taking it apart and it was at this time that I realized just how much this iPod has come to mean to me. It is not merely a tool for reading, a technological doodad, it is my baby and I love it with a fierce, unholy passion (am I the only person who thinks that Steve Jobs may be in league with the devil, what with the degree of devotion his products inspire?). It did not matter that it was Ken, a man I trust completely, who was applying screwdrivers to the wee silver body, removing the innards. No, despite it being Ken, the room started spinning a little for me and the anxiety levels went through the roof. So I did what I do when I'm anxious in a situation in which I have little control and attempte