Tag: friends

Button Sunday

I think Jim Benton may be one of the busiest artists on the planet, with several creations including “It’s Happy Bunny.” I first became acquainted with It’s Happy Bunny at Crossroads Bookstore back when there was a Crossroads Bookstore. If I’m not mistaken, Tim has some It’s Happy Bunny buttons he got from there.

Since I’m a longtime button collector, It’s Happy Bunny buttons were a natural interest for me. I think images of bunny buttons are some of the first that were e-mailed to me by other people after I launched Button Sunday (which itself began because of an e-mail–from my friend Denece–full of buttons that made me laugh).

A few days ago, I received two packs of It’s Happy Bunny buttons in our post office box. I could dole them out over time, but hey, I got to laugh at them all at once; why shouldn’t you? So today’s six buttons are courtesy of Marika. Thanks, Marika!

Mercury makes me his bitch

Yesterday I was going to post a happy Friday the thirteenth to Todd (I know he thinks those dates are cool), but I didn’t. So happy belated, Todd.

I myself had adamantly stated that I would not be driving anywhere on Friday the thirteenth…not so much because I’m superstitious as because I think people are even crazier than usual during times they think they have permission to be crazy (like, say, during a full moon or on a Friday the thirteenth or when some sports team wins whatever sports teams win or when Project Runway returns). However, being an Aries, I didn’t finish what I started on Thursday, so I found myself having to leave The Compound on Friday–even though a little voice in my head kept hissing, You could put this off until Monday.

Ignoring Little Voice, I fortified myself with a car full of three dogs and a Timothy. And this is when Mercury, Mr. Retrograde himself, began to snicker and say, “Do not doubt my ways, woman, for they are strong, especially during Gemini’s days of joy and joyness.”

At Tim’s bank, I went inside with him. The air conditioner wasn’t working. The employees had fans blowing everywhere, but trust me, a building that relies on air conditioning is not cooled by little fans. The air was sticky, heavy, and I said, “Going back to the air conditioned car with the dogs! See ya!” and left Tim to fend for himself.

Later, we left Tim’s hot bank and went to my bank only to find signs taped in the windows that said, “Temporarily closed. Technical difficulties.”

“Ack,” I said to Tim. “It’s YOUR planet!”

“What?” Tim said, handing over the cigarette I demanded even though I’m “not smoking.”

“Mercury. Gemini’s planet. It’s in retrograde and wreaking havoc on electrical equipment.”

“Huh,” Tim said. “It hasn’t been bothering ME.”

Well, of course not. When their bad boy planet goes retrograde, it’s a great time for Geminis and Virgos to get all introspective and find truths and wisdom within themselves. With that in mind, I had an in-depth conversation with Jim (Virgo) last night. As we talked about the traits of our sun signs in relation to a work situation he’s having, he asked, “If Aries always thinks she’s right, and Virgo knows he is, and we disagree on something, who should be listened to?”

“It depends on the situation,” I said. “If it’s a matter of intellect, a person would do well to heed the analytical Virgo. If it’s a matter of emotion, then it’s wise to listen to Aries’ instincts.”

He seemed satisfied with this answer, and I meant it sincerely. Aries people may be impetuous and rush headlong at life (like the ram in my user picture), but as the babies of the zodiac, though we sometimes survive on sheer instinct, we DO survive. Even thrive.

Unfortunately, all my head-butting games with life have a price. Today I got a migraine just after I woke up. The headache itself wasn’t bad, and once the visual problems subsided, I called another friend I’ve been missing. This is when Mercury decided to make me his bitch again. When Mercury is in retrograde, communication breaks down. I couldn’t find the right words to express myself effectively. Maybe it was the headache. Maybe it was because for the past eight months, my world had to get very small as two things consumed my time and energy. Shifting my focus and my priorities are slow processes. I’ll get there, but in the meantime, a failure with language is daunting to a writer.

A few things make me feel better about all of this. One is that I have an idea for another Coventry novel roiling around inside me. As situations and characters begin to emerge from the muck of my subconscious, I know words can clean them up and make them shiny. Likewise, I’m hearing occasional snorts and mutters from the Timothy James Beck writing team–the sleeping beast is waking up, and I always look forward to seeing what adventures that may lead to.

And finally, today I saw a package on my lawn just inside the gate. I knew what I desperately wanted it to be, but I was so sure it wasn’t that I refused to go out and pick it up. Instead, I took my headache back to bed. When Tom came home later, he brought the oversized envelope to me and said, “THIS looks interesting!”

And it was what I’d hoped for.

Wanna see?

the charm of a book that apologizes for itself

When enjoying David Puterbaugh’s last post about summer reading as part of his MFA program, I started thinking about my current yearning for escapist reading.

I’m not a snob when it comes to novels–I will forgive authors much if they give me engaging characters–but when I need to escape, I’m less inclined to turn to light reading than to that hotly debated term: literary writing. I want language to cast its spell. I want to fall for words and how they’re put together. Most popular fiction–my own included–often neglects language for story.

Some of you may remember Greg’s mentioning that during one of his visits to The Compound, he had a chance to pick up some books from a personal library. That was my mother’s collection, and I was grateful for Greg’s discretion, in fact, the discretion of all my friends who respected my family’s privacy over the past few months. During that visit, along with making me laugh and continuing our ongoing conversation about writing, Greg also helped move furniture. He didn’t do it for any reason but friendship; nonetheless, I wish we’d had more books for him to choose from. Over the years, my mother had already given her children most of the novels we wanted and held on mainly to her comfort reads. There were a few literary classics left which I used to replace some of my college paperbacks, and some old first editions of books that she wanted my brother to have.

Somewhere in the sorting, I found a book I’d never noticed before. Here’s the order in which I examined it.

as if you were there

Hump Day Happy

It seems like a thousand days since Sunday.

I just took my sister to the airport, and my brother is traveling and will come back through town this weekend. Yesterday, we went through a footlocker that my mother left in my garage several years ago. I thought I knew what was in it. I have vivid memories of looking inside it once before. But I was wrong, because things I thought were there were not, yet there were lots of good and funny surprises, some of which I’m sure will become part of LJ posts in the coming months.

Mostly it was just comfortable and comforting to sit on the floor with my siblings and see some of the sentimental things that my parents thought were worth saving over the decades, even though they moved so much that they were constant purgers. From the time I was little, my mother used to say to me on special occasions, “I want to build memories.” As her own memory began to fade, we found that the trick for veering her away from frustration was to ask something like, “What was the name of David’s dog when he got out of the Air Force?” or “How did you and Daddy meet?” or “Who was your oldest sister?” She could look back twenty, fifty, seventy years and answer, which was like a little victory for her every time. Alzheimer’s is a cruel disease, and it’s a weird feeling to be grateful that cancer took her body before dementia could take everything else.

Last night I finished reading Armisted Maupin’s Michael Tolliver Lives, which turns out to have been the right book at the right time (thanks, Tim). I was struck by Michael’s perspective of our “logical” family, that family we create from our friends, as filling gaps very often created by a biological family. I’ve been blessed with great people in all of my families.

I wasn’t sure whether to do this post today, then I realized that my hesitation was because I worried people might think being silly was inappropriate. Yet I’m the first person to tell someone else, “Who gives a shit what other people think? As individuals, each of us manages our joys and our sorrows in whatever way and time works for us, not as others think we should.”

So I have fended off a headache with some pain medication, I’m enjoying my Starbucks mocha frappuccino, and I invite each of you to give me a page number from 1 to 612 and another number between 1 and 30, and I will tell you something to be happy about from this book:

Please celebrate with us

I haven’t talked about this on my LiveJournal, but a few of you know that my mother has been challenged by Alzheimer’s the last few years and was diagnosed with lung cancer in January. My brother David, sister Debby, Tom, Tim, and I were all with her when she died peacefully at VistaCare Hospice at 1:30 a.m. Sunday, June 1.

Mother always said that what she most wanted after she died was for her family and friends to celebrate her life. She loved to dance and laugh and especially loved to be the center of attention at a party. The last meal I took her that she really enjoyed was fried catfish, so Lynne is here at The Compound putting together a catfish feast for us all that includes many Southern favorites–cole slaw, fresh corn on the cob, french fries from red potatoes, and HUSHPUPPIES!

It’s possible that Rhonda, Lindsey, Sugar, and Kathy will be by later to help all of us–and more than a half-dozen dogs–laugh and talk and reminisce and celebrate the life of this true Southern belle–born in Tupelo, Mississippi, the fourteenth and youngest child, who later tied her destiny to a soldier just home from World War II, adapting herself and her three children to a life on the move. She’s finally home.


Dorothy Jean Baggett Cochrane
March 4, 1926 to June 1, 2008

For those of you who are e-mailing and calling to ask for more information, we will be having a private graveside ceremony at a later date when her cremated remains will be buried with my father at a military cemetery in Alabama. We would love it if you would make any donations in her memory to VistaCare Hospice Foundation, 701 N. Post Oak, Ste. 101, Houston, TX, 77024, who took such compassionate care of my mother, or to her favorite organization, St. Joseph’s Indian School, Chamberlain, SD, 57326.

Hump Day Happy–and some New Orleans photos

I won’t be able to scurry around town snapping photos today, but if you want one of 14,000 things to be happy about from this book:

 

 

just comment with a page number from 1 to 612 and another number between 1 and 30.

While you’re waiting for me to consult the book, you might enjoy some more New Orleans photos.

Last year, David and Shannon were walking through the Quarter when David noticed the Place d’Armes Hotel. David thought it looked like a promising place to stay. When everyone got back home, Shannon called and got information about the hotel and arranged a block of rooms with special rates. Although it ended up that Shannon wasn’t able to go to Saints and Sinners this year, David, ‘Nathan, and Lisa booked rooms at the Place d’Armes. Since all their rooms are non-smoking, Mark, Timothy, Rob, and I figured we’d stay in smoking rooms at the festival’s host hotel, the Bourbon Orleans. Unfortunately for the smokers among us, without warning, the Bourbon Orleans went all non-smoking on May 1.

Both places have plenty of features to recommend them. Both are in great locations. The Bourbon Orleans is convenient for the festival, has nice rooms, and has a gorgeous courtyard with a sparkling pool. I only saw Lisa’s room at the Place d’Armes, but it was spacious and charming. The Place d’Armes pool didn’t seem as clean, but the courtyards are lush. Especially good for us was that the courtyards didn’t close at ten p.m. as the courtyard does at the Bourbon Orleans. So Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights, after meetings and parties and meals, a few of us gathered around the pool area at the Place d’Armes and talked (and smoked, because that’s okay outside), and enjoyed our sport of the weekend: Tormenting David Puterbaugh.

these are some of those late-night photos

The post with nudity!


Wagon O’ Dogs. Margot, Sparky, Rex, Guinness, and Minute

On the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend, Lynne came over and worked herself, Tom, and Tim to exhaustion on The Compound grounds. In addition to photographing dogs in Lynne’s gardening wagon (which I like so much that I put it in A COVENTRY WEDDING), I baked a couple of cakes that Lynne needed to decorate for some graduates, visited my mother, and dashed into Michael’s for paper to cover Lynne’s cake boards. (In other words, I shirked anything that would make me get dirty, sweat, or strain my back.)

Whenever I’m in the Wilton cake decorating section, I can’t resist looking at cake pans. This time, I spotted one that I knew I had to have for Edward Ladybughands. This is what the cake looked like after I finished it.

cakes, friends, and food fights

And on that Friday evening in New Orleans…

The Saints and Sinners kickoff party was at the W Hotel courtyard on Friday evening. That afternoon, I had to run some errands, including buying a hairbrush or two at Wal-Mart, since that was something I forgot to pack. Thanks to Greg’s excellent directions, I got to Wal-Mart with no problem. I think ALL cities should have roads that dead-end into the parking lots of mega stores like Wal-Mart, Costco, etc. It’s very handy. Cities, take note: My personal preferences would be Target, the Container Store, and Michael’s. Oh, and Walgreen’s, since I spend half my life there anyway.

But back to New Orleans. Since gallivanting through the city on foot wasn’t in the cards this trip, I decided to drive to the W Hotel from Wal-Mart. Of course, I’d failed to get directions back, but Mark G. Harris led me to the hotel by cell phone. Or he tried. I was being very stressed out and uncooperative. Yet he managed not to click his phone shut and blow me off. See why I say the G is for Galahad?

Once in the courtyard, I flopped down on a comfy bench and did very little mingling. Between MGH and FARB, liquid refreshment was kept in front of me (Coca Cola, because I was high enough on pain meds all weekend–‘Nathan, did I really meet you, or just hallucinate it?).

I didn’t get a swag bag, but I did get some photos, and I offer them to you now.

crazy woman with Nikon alert