Who goes there? Please leave comments so (An Aries Knows)!
…An Aries Knows (everything) to A Possessive Pronoun DOES NOT NEED AN APOSTROPHE.
His. Hers. Theirs. Yours. Ours. Its.
Just needed to vent. Better now. Don’t think I’m talking about YOU. I was reading an AP article which was apostrophe-rich. Clearly, someone couldn’t be bothered to go to English and Journalism classes after staying up all night drinking then going to Krystal before crashing in the dorm room. Not that I have any knowledge of such things.
LJ has been so quiet. Maybe it’s because everyone is on Facebook trying to say twenty-five new things about themselves. If you want to friend me or read my LJ through FB, just let me know. Same with following me on Twitter. Comment here or do the becky(at)beckycochrane.com e-mail thing and we’ll connect.
Speaking of the e-mail thing, in the days before Tim and I set up accounts and web sites for me, I used to get e-mail at his account. I haven’t used that address for so long that I forget to check it. Unfortunately, several people or businesses still use it, and thus did I miss a signing that I really wanted to go to on January 17. More details later when I pick up the actual book I’d planned to buy.
Today, Tom, Tim, and I–no doubt preparing for our upcoming visit from Endora Joan–cleaned all the windows inside and out. They’re not perfect, but they’re much better–they still had a lot of the dust kicked up by Hurricane Ike on them. He just NEVER LEAVES, that Ike.
Then tonight, I asked Tim if he’d color my roots. They are–I don’t know–some color people call gray or something. I can’t be bothered with those details. While he was doing it, he said that thing you never want to hear from your dentist, gynecologist, or hairdresser–WHAT THE HELL IS THAT? After my heart rate dropped back down to 100 or so, he realized the brush he was using had a little of HIS color on it–as in BLUE. I was almost one of the cool kids! But since he caught it, my hair’s a sedate brownish/reddish color again. (Note to Tim: It looks good. Thank you!)
Ah, the Boss just began playing on my iTunes. That’s the only part of the Superbowl I watched, though I did catch a couple of the commercials later. Somehow, I ended up reading people’s comments on the halftime show. You know, I want to know all these critics and naysayers who could kick ass on stage like Bruce or Madonna when they’re in their fifties. Because frankly, I couldn’t have done what they do in my freaking twenties.
This is why I shouldn’t read comments on news and entertainment stories. I told Marika the other night that I think they should just shut down that whole comment function since people are so very, very brave and perfect and superior when they’re sitting at a monitor and no one can see them. I’m betting they don’t have blue hair, either.
When I graduated from college in the Middle Ages or whenever that mythical time was, it took me several months to find a job. Those were months I finally got to read as much as I wanted. If I’d liked a novel by an author I studied, I’d buy every piece of his or her writing I could find and immerse myself in it.
John Updike was one of the Johns from that time in my life: Irving, Cheever, Steinbeck, Knowles. Though some of my classmates took issue with Updike’s portrayal of women, I always felt he was one of those writers who held up a mirror for his readers. If we didn’t like what we saw, the flaw wasn’t Updike’s, but perhaps a reflection a little too precise for comfort.
What I most particularly liked about Updike was that I never felt any story was over. Certainly with his characters Harry Angstrom in the Rabbit books and Henry Bech, there was more story there, and time taught me I could count on Updike to tell it. Even for those stories he didn’t continue into other novels, his characters stuck around, giving me plenty to think about.
Like his novels, his short stories were beautifully crafted, making them not only a pleasure to read but a joy to teach. Though John Updike died on Tuesday from lung cancer at age 76, his work will keep him alive for generations.
If I’m correct, Updike was one of the writers who refused to believe that books are dead. I mean actual physical books that you can buy in a bookstore or check out from a library or keep on a shelf in your home. That which you can hold in your hands and smell its ink and test its binding and run the tips of your fingers over its paper.
Maybe I’m a dinosaur, because I still want books in my life. I like knowing I can walk into my living room right now and take out Rabbit, Run or Rabbit is Rich, and for a time, I can not only lose myself in Updike’s world, I can also connect in a tangible way with the girl I was at twenty-two who first turned those pages.
I see how books on tape, online publishing, or electronic devices like Kindle can keep reading a part of people’s busy, busy lives. I can even envision myself using something like Kindle for books I want to read once and don’t want taking up my very limited shelf space.
But… Today’s the birthday of one of my favorite artists, Jackson Pollock. I’m lucky that I can find paintings of his online that I’ll never be able to see in person. I’m even luckier that I own a book full of photographs of his paintings, because I like that book’s heft and its vivid photography. But nothing can compare to actually standing in front of a Pollock painting, seeing it whole and large and vivid, or stepping close and honing in on a one-by-one-inch square if that’s what I want to do. Sharing the same space with that painting is the closest thing I’ll ever have to standing inside a barn and watching the artist reach for cans of paint, and with deliberation and intent, pour them on canvas.
Holding a book in my hand is not only like holding a piece of art, but it makes me feel more connected to those moments when keys clicked or pen scratched paper and the writer created. Those pages, that binding, that ink–they are the tangible connection between the writer and me, and I want that connection with my favorite books.
In honor of my book-loving, dinosaur ways, this little guy is ready to get all wound up and find for you, if you comment with a page number between 1 and 611, and another number between 1 and 25, something to be happy about from this book:
Thanks to codyfrizbeejr for the dinosaur.
There are days when I accomplish so little that I meant to do, and Monday was one of those days.
Those few things I did manage to do somehow went awry.
People reminded me why I interact best with dogs and Barbie dolls. Oh, if you’re reading this, I’m not talking about YOU. Or Peter at GMHC, who’s more than a sweetheart. Just all those other people.
Once again, a retrograded Mercury made me its bitch.
Good luck to y’all who are planning to brave my culinary and firemaking skillz Tuesday night.
Sometime in December, I carelessly broke three of my glasses. Over our twenty years of marriage, Tom and I have naturally lost dishes to breakage, but probably never three at one time. Since the traditional twentieth anniversary gift is china, last June he replaced a half-dozen bowls in our china pattern. I figured it was a year when an appropriate Christmas gift to myself would be bringing our iced tea and claret wine stemware back to a dozen each.
I was pretty sure I could find the glasses online. Fostoria has been around a long time, and mine is a fairly common pattern. I was delighted to find Replacements, Ltd., who not only sells my glasses and more than 300,000 other dinnerware patterns, but they have them at different price levels. If your dinnerware is older (as my glasses are), Replacements, Ltd. often stocks older pieces that will better match yours–and at a reduced price. Perfect!
I was completely pleased when I received my order. After mixing them in with my older glasses, I can’t pick out the new ones.
I’m not getting paid for this endorsement, and normally I wouldn’t bore you with it. Who cares about my dishes, right? BUT–what I do care about, and I hope you do, too, is what kind of companies I do business with. Located in Greensboro, NC, Replacements, Ltd. was founded by Bob Page in 1981 with just fifteen patterns. And today, I found out that Replacements, Ltd. is a Bronze Level National Corporate Sponsor of the Human Rights Campaign. This means a company has shown a commitment to improving the lives of LGBT Americans in the workplace by scoring 85 percent or higher on HRC’s Corporate Equality Index.
The Compound follows a tight budget, and replacing those glasses was a luxury. It makes me feel good to know our dollars went to a company that supports a fair workplace. The names of other companies with a high CEI can be found here.
Cheers!
You might be interested in this if you’re in the Houston area tomorrow (Saturday, January 10):
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From IMPACT HOUSTON
Upcoming Protest
Date: Saturday, January 10, 2009
Time: 12:30pm – 2:30pm
Location: The Sidewalks of West Gray Street
Street: West Gray St., between Shepherd Dr. and Waugh Dr.
City/Town: Houston, TX
Participants will line up on the sidewalk on West Gray Street, between Shepherd Drive and Waugh Drive, starting at Shepherd. This will be a more or less silent demonstration, focused on DOMA, federal marriage rights, and same-sex marriage (or a lack thereof) in Texas.
IMPACT encourages people to make signs listing the different legal rights and responsibilities of marriage, none of which are available to same-sex couples in Texas following the 2005 passing of the constitutional ban on same-sex marriage.
IMPACT suggests that everyone wear black so that participants stand out and have a uniform appearance. It’s important to note that this is a peaceful protest and those participating must stay on the sidewalks.
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I read with interest what Bob Barr, former Republican representative from Georgia who co-authored the Defense of Marriage Act, says now about DOMA:
In effect, DOMA’s language reflects one-way federalism: It protects only those states that don’t want to accept a same-sex marriage granted by another state. Moreover, the heterosexual definition of marriage for purposes of federal laws — including, immigration, Social Security survivor rights and veteran[s’] benefits — has become a de facto club used to limit, if not thwart, the ability of a state to choose to recognize same-sex unions.
Even more so now than in 1996, I believe we need to reduce federal power over the lives of the citizenry and over the prerogatives of the states. It truly is time to get the federal government out of the marriage business. In law and policy, such decisions should be left to the people themselves.
Call me skeptical, but I suspect that Barr is less interested in “the people themselves” than another run at the presidency as a Libertarian. I agree with him that DOMA is just bad federal law, but U.S. history has taught me, a descendant of people who fought on the losing side of that war in the 1860s, that when it comes to protecting a minority from the ill will of the majority, “states rights” is code for “stay out of my cotton-pickin’ business.”
I’m not sure what ambition is driving attorney Ken Starr, who not only wants the rest of us and a significant number of Californians to stay out of California’s cotton-pickin’ business, but would also like to take away the freedom previously granted to 18,000 California couples–a number that wouldn’t fill even half of LA’s Memorial Coliseum–because they just went MAD with their desire to have a shot at more than 1,400 equal rights and protections including:
Status as “next-of-kin” for hospital visits and medical decisions
Right to make a decision about the disposal of loved one’s remains
Crime victims’ recovery benefits
Domestic violence protection orders
Judicial protections and immunity
Automatic inheritance in the absence of a will
Joint filing of tax returns
Wrongful death benefits for surviving partner and children
Bereavement or sick leave to care for partner or children
Public safety officer’s death benefits
Joint parental rights of children
Joint adoption
Spousal veterans’ benefits
Social Security
Medicare
Immigration and residency for partners from other countries
Child support
Joint insurance plans
Tax credits including: Child tax credit, Hope and lifetime learning credits
Deferred compensation for pension and IRAs
Estate and gift tax benefits
Welfare and public assistance
Joint housing for elderly
Credit protection
Medical care for survivors and dependents of certain veterans
After doing a bunch of math that I won’t inflict on you, I estimate that the number of gays and lesbians living in the U.S. who may want to marry is about the same as the population of Phoenix. That doesn’t sound like a large voting block, which may be why some people think it’s okay to deny them equal rights. Am I the only one who thinks it’s crazy to spend billions of dollars to incite mob rule against about 0.005 percent of the total U.S. population?
However, it’s the very smallness of their number that makes it so vital that we accord and protect their equal rights. So I reckon I’ll be standing on a West Gray sidewalk tomorrow to demonstrate for everyone to have those 1,400-plus rights and the opportunity to get three deviled egg plates as wedding gifts.
OMG, I’m so happy to be back at The Compound. The dogs are glad to see us, but not hysterical about it, which just shows how secure and happy Tim keeps them when we’re away.
Tons of stuff to post over the next few days, but first I have to say two things.
1. The trees of the Gulf Coast have had the hell beaten out of them by Katrina, Rita, Gustav, and Ike, and I saw more of that on this trip than on any other I’ve taken since 2005.
2. I’m not one to criticize people for how they mourn. However, in case I haven’t mentioned this before, if I ever die on or near a road in some vehicular mishap, if anyone puts up a cross or heart or other marker on that spot emblazoned with my name or plastic flowers or anything else, I will haunt that person.
More later…
I found two mistakes in A Coventry Wedding. That doesn’t mean there are only two, but they are the two I saw. Bless the copy editor who caught some of the ones I made in my original submission, but these two aren’t mine.
Error 1. I used the surname Fields. Each time I had to make it possessive, I made it Fields’. When I got the galleys, the first two times, it had been changed to Fields’s, and the third time, remained Fields’. I noted that I didn’t care which way it was made possessive, but it should be consistent. They left it Fields’s, Fields’s, and Fields’. I don’t know why.
Error 2 annoys me a lot more. Perhaps you may remember this 1980s iconic T-shirt:
One of my characters makes a reference to the T-shirt. Tim made sure I quoted it right in my original, and we both checked the galleys to confirm that it still said “Frankie Say Relax.” After I approved the galleys, someone changed it to “Frankie Says Relax.”
I know there are worse problems in the world, but still, it’s my work, and I want it to be right. Plus I can promise you, I WILL get an e-mail from a Frankie Goes to Hollywood fan to let me know I’m ignorant.
I got a call from a friend this week who was in London a couple of days after our election. When people found out he was from the U.S., they cautiously asked, “What did you think about the election?” When he told them he was ecstatic about the outcome, their reserve turned to enthusiasm for Obama in particular and the States in general. He was surrounded by goodwill and optimism during his entire visit, and he said it felt wonderful.
Contrast that to an early post-election article I recently read by a British columnist who thinks Obama’s election means we have now begun our relentless slide into decay and our eventual demise. Apparently the mixture of hope and skepticism are not confined to our side of the Atlantic.
Timmy noted in a post the other day something that I’ve noticed, too: His errand-running and such have presented to him a public that is hurting financially and unsure what’s next, yet they’re smiling, shopping (maybe for bargains or with a more practical eye), and talking to one another with an attitude of “We’ll be fine. We’ll figure it out.” That’s what some people call our arrogance, and maybe it is. But it’s also the determination, strength, and sheer refusal to be not fine that we’ve brought with us from many other shores and lands and drawn on for several hundred years. It’s not surprising when we bicker and separate and distrust, because we bring our differences from everywhere and always have.
But we also get together. We get together in our stores and our churches and our workplaces. We get together in our schools and our election polls and our restaurants. We get together in our bars and our sporting arenas and our museums. And in person, we very rarely talk to each other the way anonymous people insult each other in comments to any article or story on the Internet (and I highly advise not reading those, or you’ll lose all faith in humanity’s decency and literacy). Oh, you can see us on youtube and in the news behaving very badly, but there’s no excitement in watching people behave well, so that perspective is skewed.
I know many of the differences between me and the people I spent my day with yesterday, and I also know those differences don’t matter. I don’t think there was a person in the house who hasn’t reached out in kindness to help others and who wouldn’t do it again. Our views on politics and religion and government and some of the big hot-button issues are widely divergent. And most of us have been hurt by the economy in our jobs and our savings. We have things to worry about…and so what? There will always be things to worry about.
There will also be days like this:
But if all any of us had to bring was bread and water, we’d still be there laughing and reminiscing and brushing away the occasional tear for the ones who won’t be there again. And if we sometimes disagree on the best course for the future, at least we all know what we’re working toward:
All the trusting faces and beautiful eyes, and the soft little feet that will wear the coolest shoes as they learn to walk through a world that we’re determined to make better for them.
I hope your Thanksgiving had good moments like that, too.
I know I’m early to talk about Christmas. However, holiday music has been playing in stores since before Halloween, so I see no reason for restraint.
First, this is Harley.
I’m excited because this is my new nephew. My sister met Harley on Thursday, the day he was neutered, and was allowed to pick him up from his adoption agency on Friday. He’s almost two years old. He came with all his toys, bowls, and bed from his previous home (where he was loved, but was reportedly a little too much dog for them).
Debby said that last night, Harley brought his toys upstairs one by one and put them in her bed. I think he knows he’s home. They’ve already enjoyed walks together, nap snuggle time, and–not really by invitation–Harley joined Debby in the bathtub. She says he’s sweet, energetic, funny, and has a ferocious bark–all qualities she wants.
It makes me happy that Harley has found a good home; his story could have been different.
I’ve been involved in no less than five conversations lately in which people have wondered why the media are focusing on the Obama family’s search for a dog. Frankly, I’m glad for the media attention, particularly since Michelle Obama has announced their intention to search for and adopt a rescued puppy. There are many challenges and stories involved in a new administration, and this one could easily be lost among them. But if one quality of leadership is setting an example, this is a good one to set. And actually, this isn’t an unusual interest; stories and information about White House animals have always appealed to people, particularly when they involve children. In honor of today’s date, I’ll mention Caroline Kennedy’s pony, Macaroni, a gift from VP Lyndon Johnson. In return for being a good companion to Caroline and a great photo opportunity, Macaroni had unlimited access to the White House grounds and received tons of mail from besotted Americans.
There’s a Presidential Pet Museum in Williamsburg with items, photos, and stories to preserve this facet of presidential lore. Thanks to them, I now know that:
• Millard Fillmore was a founding member and president of the Buffalo chapter of the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, and
• Andrew Johnson left flour out at night for a family of mice playing in his room during his dark days of impeachment.
I also learned that the gift of a dog to the Trumans caused controversy during his presidency. It’s rarely a good idea to give a puppy as a surprise gift. Many dogs and cats given at Christmas end up in shelters and pounds that don’t have no-kill policies. Black dogs in particular have a hard time finding new homes.
If you’re thinking of getting a dog or cat for yourself, please check local animal control facilities as well as rescue groups. Consider taking an older animal who seems well-suited to your environment, schedule, living situation, and temperament.
Avoid commercial breeders and puppy mills. Breeding is an activity best left to experts, who breed for optimal health and performance. Irresponsible breeding to make money is another reason animal shelters are full.
Some grim statistics from animalworldnetwork.com:
• For every human born, seven puppies and kittens are born.
• One female cat and her offspring can produce 420,000 cats in seven years.
• One female dog and her offspring can produce 67,000 puppies in six years.
• More than 12 million dogs and cats are euthanized in shelters each year. Millions more are abandoned in rural and urban areas.
• Approximately 61 percent of all dogs entering shelters are killed.
• Approximately 75 percent of all cats entering shelters are killed.
• As many as 25 percent of dogs entering shelters each year are purebreds.
If you want a certain breed, check for breed-specific rescue organizations. People should research the qualities of any dog’s breed(s) before getting one: their adult size, their most likely temperament, diseases to which they are susceptible. No matter where you get a dog or cat, if it’s unaltered, please, please get it spayed or neutered at the earliest opportunity. If cost is an issue, check into low- and no-cost clinics in your area.
I know Tim and I talk about our dogs (and his cats) a lot on our LiveJournals, but we’ve tried to be responsible about balancing our fun stories with the more serious ones: River’s astronomical vet bills, Margot’s traumatic incident with rat poison, the stitches near Rex’s eye after an altercation with EZ, EZ’s story of mistreatment, rescue, and medical challenges, Guinness’s and Rex’s clever ability to get into things they shouldn’t, like ham, Halloween candy, and coconut cake. Being a responsible companion to an animal requires thought, time, energy, and financial and emotional commitment. I applaud all the organizations and people who work tirelessly as animal advocates and caregivers. Many of my friends are among them.
Welcome to the family, Harley.