It's a weird feeling. Somebody asks what's going on in my life and I'm just bursting to respond with all this news, and I suddenly realize it's a very quiet time in my life. All the news, all the drama I'm feeling, is somebody else's.
There's plenty of drama. Steve's moving - today, in fact. My niece and her husband and baby are dealing with the Truman flooding, and I still haven't gotten communication through and back again. Another niece and hubby are vacationing with my brother and catching lots of fish, which was hubby's dream for this trip. My daughter and her husband will be vacationing in Nova Scotia. Daddy got his state ID renewed, registered to vote, and received his absentee ballot. One friend is recovering from surgery but something's still not right, somebody's remission ended, somebody else I know is dealing with head trauma (again, I'm missing an update), somebody else just came out. Somebody just admitted to me an affair with a married partner, and somebody else bragged about activities both unethical and illegal (third hand info).
I'm plodding along, working, reading more books, paying bills on time, writing in bits and pieces, pulling a few major weeds from the garden. My campaign is proceeding, though very low key (I'm told I'll be in a parade Saturday with other women candidates.) I don't want nor need all these other people's drama for myself. I would hate all that drama for myself. (Well, Nova Scotia sounds cool.)
And yet, somehow, I'm just bursting with it.
Weird, huh?
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Friday, September 24, 2010
3-Minute Story #2
The following is not a submission to the contest. For one thing, it breaks the rule about publication anywhere else. Then there's the only-one-submission bit. But the theme stuck with me, and this also popped out.
Night School
"Some people swore the house was haunted." Mr. Miller pointed at the words on the board. "Write this down, verbatim. It's your first sentence for your story. Not only is this going to be your final for this course, it's an actual contest. Any stories getting a "B" or better will be submitted." Pointing again, he continued, "This is the website with all the rules. Read them this weekend, and follow them exactly. Failure to do so affects your grade. And don't forget the writing rules we've been learning."
He looked around at his class. Some he actually had hopes for, beyond getting their high school diplomas. Others, well, he told himself every year they just needed more teaching. Sometimes they surprised you.
"Bring your first draft in Monday night. Then we'll go through each one, making them better stories. Don't worry if you go over 600 words on your first try. We can deal with that next week. By Friday night, the best ones will be submitted, just before contest deadline. Class dismissed."
Monday's class produced the expected results. Most had starting ideas, and could develop into reasonable stories with tough editing. But when Joey finished reading his aloud, it was hopeless. Not that he hadn't tried.
"What did you do, sleep with a thesaurus under your pillow?"
The class, having been impressed by the story’s sheer vocabulary, was startled. Someone laughed, quickly silenced.
"I give you points for trying to be creative. But what you have is word salad. There's no plot, no theme, and obviously no interest in the subject matter. 'Boy meets ghosts, ooooh, scary-in-87-adjectives' does not a story make. You don't even believe in ghosts, do you? This is straight from 20 episodes of bad TV. There's absolutely nothing of you here. Remember the first rule of writing: write what you know. If all that you know is cooking, make this into a cooking story. Now start over, and bring it tomorrow. Give it a plot this time!"
Joey thought it over. Mr. Miller was right about his not believing in ghosts. He'd seen too many dead people, and not once did one ever come back. But cooking? What kind of crap was that? Write what you know? There were few things Joey knew well. "How do I turn that into a story?" he wondered. Hmmm....
Some people swore the house was haunted. "Huh! Some idiots will believe anything," Jesse thought as he surveyed the trashed interior. He'd let himself in past the same broken lock that numerous vandals, junkies, and couples too poor or too cheap for a hotel had used. Perfect, just perfect, he observed in satisfaction. He had a juicy, ripe mark lined up, ready for the plucking, and this was just the location for his scam....
Joey smiled as he wrote, smiled at the class reaction, and smiled as he clicked "submit". And nothing was ever the same again.
Night School
"Some people swore the house was haunted." Mr. Miller pointed at the words on the board. "Write this down, verbatim. It's your first sentence for your story. Not only is this going to be your final for this course, it's an actual contest. Any stories getting a "B" or better will be submitted." Pointing again, he continued, "This is the website with all the rules. Read them this weekend, and follow them exactly. Failure to do so affects your grade. And don't forget the writing rules we've been learning."
He looked around at his class. Some he actually had hopes for, beyond getting their high school diplomas. Others, well, he told himself every year they just needed more teaching. Sometimes they surprised you.
"Bring your first draft in Monday night. Then we'll go through each one, making them better stories. Don't worry if you go over 600 words on your first try. We can deal with that next week. By Friday night, the best ones will be submitted, just before contest deadline. Class dismissed."
Monday's class produced the expected results. Most had starting ideas, and could develop into reasonable stories with tough editing. But when Joey finished reading his aloud, it was hopeless. Not that he hadn't tried.
"What did you do, sleep with a thesaurus under your pillow?"
The class, having been impressed by the story’s sheer vocabulary, was startled. Someone laughed, quickly silenced.
"I give you points for trying to be creative. But what you have is word salad. There's no plot, no theme, and obviously no interest in the subject matter. 'Boy meets ghosts, ooooh, scary-in-87-adjectives' does not a story make. You don't even believe in ghosts, do you? This is straight from 20 episodes of bad TV. There's absolutely nothing of you here. Remember the first rule of writing: write what you know. If all that you know is cooking, make this into a cooking story. Now start over, and bring it tomorrow. Give it a plot this time!"
Joey thought it over. Mr. Miller was right about his not believing in ghosts. He'd seen too many dead people, and not once did one ever come back. But cooking? What kind of crap was that? Write what you know? There were few things Joey knew well. "How do I turn that into a story?" he wondered. Hmmm....
Some people swore the house was haunted. "Huh! Some idiots will believe anything," Jesse thought as he surveyed the trashed interior. He'd let himself in past the same broken lock that numerous vandals, junkies, and couples too poor or too cheap for a hotel had used. Perfect, just perfect, he observed in satisfaction. He had a juicy, ripe mark lined up, ready for the plucking, and this was just the location for his scam....
Joey smiled as he wrote, smiled at the class reaction, and smiled as he clicked "submit". And nothing was ever the same again.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Panhandlers
I've gotten used to seeing them at busy corners in the Twin Cities. Often they are scruffy looking, a tattered backpack or duffel on the ground next to them. Always they hold a handmade cardboard sign. Typical messages are "Homeless Vet, Please Help" or "Will Work for Food". About half have "God Bless" on them. Some have gotten adept at appealing to traffic from one direction on a corner, then as soon as the light changes, hitting the other side of the same corner to nail that traffic. I've mostly learned to avoid eye-contact and guilt.
The one appeal that worked was from a homeless Mom at X-mas time. I donated a ten-spot and hoped she was for real, before deciding the donation was really more about me and not her. I could feel good about my actions, and she could settle her own conscience about whether she was going to spend it on kids or her personal demons.
Today a new sign caught my fancy. The fellow was reasonably well-groomed, squatting on his heels curbside in Minneapolis. I have no idea whether it worked for him or not, though I was uninspired to give. It read, "Need Fuel for Lear Jet."
The one appeal that worked was from a homeless Mom at X-mas time. I donated a ten-spot and hoped she was for real, before deciding the donation was really more about me and not her. I could feel good about my actions, and she could settle her own conscience about whether she was going to spend it on kids or her personal demons.
Today a new sign caught my fancy. The fellow was reasonably well-groomed, squatting on his heels curbside in Minneapolis. I have no idea whether it worked for him or not, though I was uninspired to give. It read, "Need Fuel for Lear Jet."
Monday, September 20, 2010
Lazy Weekend
Well, sorta, anyway. I did in fact spend most of it in the recliner, feet up, recovering from the week. I also, in fact, enjoyed several naps in said chair. And I did not take a shower, comb my hair, or tend to any of a number of things that are none of your business.
It's probably a very good thing my dad's nose deserted him years ago. At least he never complained as I fed him, poured coffee, refilled his nebulizer, maneuvered his rolling chair next to the TV so he could enjoy every second of the Vikings pretending they were an actual football team.
I managed to finish off every single book I'd brought home from the library, and the latest - to me - purchased Lucas Davenport novel, without staying up past my bedtime. If, that is, that word has any meaning on weekends including plentiful naps in the recliner. This resulted in my going on-line and finding out that the phone directions I was given for entering my new password in the local library database so I could reserve a new supply of books were completely bogus. It was after library hours, so I had to wait for today. Today when I called the directions were much simpler, though I was told they were "complicated".
Wait, huh?
Last week the gal said to enter my last name, capitalizing the first letter, and adding my first initial, also capitalized. I tried about 18 different permutations of that, well willing to believe I'd missed something insignificant but vital. (It's a talent.) None worked.
Today I was told to enter my last name, capitalizing the first letter. Just that. No first initial, lower or upper case, first or last position, or anything else I'd tried. Just that last name.
That's complicated? Hey, if you can't explain that over the phone.....
I spent some more time online checking out the rules for that latest 3 Minute Story contest sponsored by NPR. They give you a first and last sentence and a 600-word limit. I liked the topic and decided to give it a try.
Do you know how much of a bother it is to have to count words for all 7 drafts of a 600-word story? But technically, most of that counting happened today, after the story was written and revised a few times. My next-to-last draft came to 604 words. Oops. Carve out 6. I'm actually pretty pleased with it, and just finished sending it in. I'd post it here, but their rules say I can't.
Maybe if they hate it, I can post it. If they love it, I'll post a link. The results get posted on their site in late November. Maybe I can remember to look for it after that long.
Next weekend won't be so lazy. There's an auction, and this one is outdoors, non-computerized, old-fashioned paper trail. Daddy says I can borrow his scooter so I can be as mobile as I need to be, since I won't be tethered to a computer. I just have to hope there's space between the concrete fountains, gnomes, gargoyles, dragons and what-nots to maneuver.
Crunch!
It's probably a very good thing my dad's nose deserted him years ago. At least he never complained as I fed him, poured coffee, refilled his nebulizer, maneuvered his rolling chair next to the TV so he could enjoy every second of the Vikings pretending they were an actual football team.
I managed to finish off every single book I'd brought home from the library, and the latest - to me - purchased Lucas Davenport novel, without staying up past my bedtime. If, that is, that word has any meaning on weekends including plentiful naps in the recliner. This resulted in my going on-line and finding out that the phone directions I was given for entering my new password in the local library database so I could reserve a new supply of books were completely bogus. It was after library hours, so I had to wait for today. Today when I called the directions were much simpler, though I was told they were "complicated".
Wait, huh?
Last week the gal said to enter my last name, capitalizing the first letter, and adding my first initial, also capitalized. I tried about 18 different permutations of that, well willing to believe I'd missed something insignificant but vital. (It's a talent.) None worked.
Today I was told to enter my last name, capitalizing the first letter. Just that. No first initial, lower or upper case, first or last position, or anything else I'd tried. Just that last name.
That's complicated? Hey, if you can't explain that over the phone.....
I spent some more time online checking out the rules for that latest 3 Minute Story contest sponsored by NPR. They give you a first and last sentence and a 600-word limit. I liked the topic and decided to give it a try.
Do you know how much of a bother it is to have to count words for all 7 drafts of a 600-word story? But technically, most of that counting happened today, after the story was written and revised a few times. My next-to-last draft came to 604 words. Oops. Carve out 6. I'm actually pretty pleased with it, and just finished sending it in. I'd post it here, but their rules say I can't.
Maybe if they hate it, I can post it. If they love it, I'll post a link. The results get posted on their site in late November. Maybe I can remember to look for it after that long.
Next weekend won't be so lazy. There's an auction, and this one is outdoors, non-computerized, old-fashioned paper trail. Daddy says I can borrow his scooter so I can be as mobile as I need to be, since I won't be tethered to a computer. I just have to hope there's space between the concrete fountains, gnomes, gargoyles, dragons and what-nots to maneuver.
Crunch!
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Paying It Forward
It's only taken me about twenty-two years to do it, but I've finally managed to pay something forward. I don't mean ever, just this one specific thing.
When I was forty, I needed surgery. My best friend offered to come to the hospital if I wanted, and stay in my room until I woke from the anesthetic so I wouldn't wake alone. She explained that for a previous surgery, someone had stayed with her to keep her from waking alone and how much it had meant. Frankly, being single and independent (as she herself was at the time), it hadn't even occurred to me before. Upon reflection, I wanted. And I was very touched. And she did.
Today I was able to take a friend to the hospital for surgery, stay with her as much as the hospital allowed, and bring her home again. It meant taking a day off work, driving into Minneapolis, sitting in those uniquely un-wonderful waiting room chairs, putting up with the dodos who wanted FOX on the TV (loud), being the one the doctor came and talked to after the surgery to make sure somebody coherent knew the results and the instructions, and navigating home again in a thunderstorm.
It was never far from my mind that this was a debt I owed, and I was happy to pay. Since I couldn't pay it back, I had a chance to pay it forward. And I was honored.
When I was forty, I needed surgery. My best friend offered to come to the hospital if I wanted, and stay in my room until I woke from the anesthetic so I wouldn't wake alone. She explained that for a previous surgery, someone had stayed with her to keep her from waking alone and how much it had meant. Frankly, being single and independent (as she herself was at the time), it hadn't even occurred to me before. Upon reflection, I wanted. And I was very touched. And she did.
Today I was able to take a friend to the hospital for surgery, stay with her as much as the hospital allowed, and bring her home again. It meant taking a day off work, driving into Minneapolis, sitting in those uniquely un-wonderful waiting room chairs, putting up with the dodos who wanted FOX on the TV (loud), being the one the doctor came and talked to after the surgery to make sure somebody coherent knew the results and the instructions, and navigating home again in a thunderstorm.
It was never far from my mind that this was a debt I owed, and I was happy to pay. Since I couldn't pay it back, I had a chance to pay it forward. And I was honored.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Checks Unlimited Rip-Off
Hard as it may be to believe, considering how much I spout off here, I do try not to swear at those frustrating folks on the phone. I'll let the voice level rise, put that edge in it, get sarcastic, but I do try not to swear.
Today was an exception. Well deserved, I believe.
I got this coupon in the mail from Checks Unlimited a while ago. It's been kicking around in my lunch cooler for weeks, waiting for me to call them and cash in on the offer, good thru July 15, 2011. Now, I used to like them. I've been ordering checks from them for a lot of years. I like their check style called "Earth Echoes", printed on recycled paper, showing whales, wolves, polar bears, and eagles, all in soft colors that let me read what's on the check after I've finished writing. Too many designs these days are in strong colors that hide whatever is written. Not too useful on a financial document.
Today was the day. I'm down to two checks left, one of which will be written tomorrow, and one at month end, both for bills that don't have internet bill pay. Yet. The offer was for one box at $8.50. Keep that in mind. One box, $8.50. Free printing, free shipping and handling, free address labels. And one box will keep me, at the rate I write checks these days, until long after I may get around to changing my name. So, one box, $8.50.
The call started nicely enough. He got the name, address, phone number, routing number, account number, starting check number, style. Sounds promising, right? Then he told me if I ordered 4 boxes, I'd get free address labels.
No, I can only use one box, and I explained why. Besides, every charity in the world sends me address labels and I'm drowning in them, even using them for X-mas cards and mailing out my dad's bills. Besides, the coupon says I already get free address labels. But, hey, let's just not send them since I don't need them until I change my name.
OK, he can not send the address labels, and just order two boxes for me.
"No, I don't want two boxes, only one."
"But you have to order two."
"No I don't, the coupon has a box showing the price of an order for a single box. That's what I want."
"Wait, you have a coupon?" This he asks after I've referred to it at least three times. Then he gets the numbers from the bottom of it, and again tells me I have to get two boxes. We "discuss" the issue a few minutes, and I finally give in. Bad move. Encouraged, he goes back to the "if I order 4 boxes I get free address labels" routine. No, I don't want four, can't use four, would have to burn them, and still don't want the address labels.
With four boxes I can order a stamp or some other doo-dad free, so which do I want?
"None!"
"Your order will be there in two to three weeks. How about ordering the UPS tracking for just an extra few dollars?"
(Is he serious? I've never ever ever been charged for that, just gotten it free with an order of whatever.) "Nope, don't want it. " (And what's this two to three weeks crap?)
"With four boxes you can order ______ (list of other accessory items) at just $______ apiece, and which would you like today?"
(Really really slow learning curve here, buddy.) "None! Let's pretend you asked me all this stuff and I said, 'No.' Let's just get on with it."
"OK, then your order today comes to $34....."
"WHOA! How on earth did we get that high?"
"Well, two boxes of checks at $17.something. plus the EZ Shield protection for $17.something..."
"Wait, I never ordered that."
"But you have to have that on your checks."
"No! This is so DAMN far from the $8.50 that is on your coupon, you can just forget the order!"
And I hung up on him.
Then I called my credit union, spent about a minute ordering a box of checks from them with absolutely no hassles, not quite as cheaply as the "offer" from Checks Unlimited coupon, and expect to see them in about ten days.
At the start of the fiasco, there was a recorded voice informing me that call might be recorded. I hope it was. I hope they learned something. If they didn't, here it is: as far as I'm concerned, get greedy, get gone!
Today was an exception. Well deserved, I believe.
I got this coupon in the mail from Checks Unlimited a while ago. It's been kicking around in my lunch cooler for weeks, waiting for me to call them and cash in on the offer, good thru July 15, 2011. Now, I used to like them. I've been ordering checks from them for a lot of years. I like their check style called "Earth Echoes", printed on recycled paper, showing whales, wolves, polar bears, and eagles, all in soft colors that let me read what's on the check after I've finished writing. Too many designs these days are in strong colors that hide whatever is written. Not too useful on a financial document.
Today was the day. I'm down to two checks left, one of which will be written tomorrow, and one at month end, both for bills that don't have internet bill pay. Yet. The offer was for one box at $8.50. Keep that in mind. One box, $8.50. Free printing, free shipping and handling, free address labels. And one box will keep me, at the rate I write checks these days, until long after I may get around to changing my name. So, one box, $8.50.
The call started nicely enough. He got the name, address, phone number, routing number, account number, starting check number, style. Sounds promising, right? Then he told me if I ordered 4 boxes, I'd get free address labels.
No, I can only use one box, and I explained why. Besides, every charity in the world sends me address labels and I'm drowning in them, even using them for X-mas cards and mailing out my dad's bills. Besides, the coupon says I already get free address labels. But, hey, let's just not send them since I don't need them until I change my name.
OK, he can not send the address labels, and just order two boxes for me.
"No, I don't want two boxes, only one."
"But you have to order two."
"No I don't, the coupon has a box showing the price of an order for a single box. That's what I want."
"Wait, you have a coupon?" This he asks after I've referred to it at least three times. Then he gets the numbers from the bottom of it, and again tells me I have to get two boxes. We "discuss" the issue a few minutes, and I finally give in. Bad move. Encouraged, he goes back to the "if I order 4 boxes I get free address labels" routine. No, I don't want four, can't use four, would have to burn them, and still don't want the address labels.
With four boxes I can order a stamp or some other doo-dad free, so which do I want?
"None!"
"Your order will be there in two to three weeks. How about ordering the UPS tracking for just an extra few dollars?"
(Is he serious? I've never ever ever been charged for that, just gotten it free with an order of whatever.) "Nope, don't want it. " (And what's this two to three weeks crap?)
"With four boxes you can order ______ (list of other accessory items) at just $______ apiece, and which would you like today?"
(Really really slow learning curve here, buddy.) "None! Let's pretend you asked me all this stuff and I said, 'No.' Let's just get on with it."
"OK, then your order today comes to $34....."
"WHOA! How on earth did we get that high?"
"Well, two boxes of checks at $17.something. plus the EZ Shield protection for $17.something..."
"Wait, I never ordered that."
"But you have to have that on your checks."
"No! This is so DAMN far from the $8.50 that is on your coupon, you can just forget the order!"
And I hung up on him.
Then I called my credit union, spent about a minute ordering a box of checks from them with absolutely no hassles, not quite as cheaply as the "offer" from Checks Unlimited coupon, and expect to see them in about ten days.
At the start of the fiasco, there was a recorded voice informing me that call might be recorded. I hope it was. I hope they learned something. If they didn't, here it is: as far as I'm concerned, get greedy, get gone!
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Counter-Demonstration Idea
I am again enraged by something in the news. Some "church" in Florida insists on holding a demonstration on 9/11 by burning Korans in their front yard. Even though it's been widely publicised that it will spark unrest in the Muslim world and result in endangering our troops. Even though it's the perfect recruitment tool for Al Qaida and other terrorist groups: we're doing their work for them. The pastor has been informed and insists on going ahead. His own agenda is more important, may he rot in....
Well, you get it.
Here's an idea: How about if folks gather around in a multi-layer circle, blocking out those with cameras and cell phones, and when the idiocy starts, all as one turn their backs on these nuts and refuse to witness? More, every one could wear a shirt printed on the back with "Shame on you!' or "All people of the same book", or similar sentiments. Let the world know that those few idiots are scorned by the rest of us, rather than represent us. Anyone who does manage to sneak a camera in would have to capture the rest of the story, right?
Well, you get it.
Here's an idea: How about if folks gather around in a multi-layer circle, blocking out those with cameras and cell phones, and when the idiocy starts, all as one turn their backs on these nuts and refuse to witness? More, every one could wear a shirt printed on the back with "Shame on you!' or "All people of the same book", or similar sentiments. Let the world know that those few idiots are scorned by the rest of us, rather than represent us. Anyone who does manage to sneak a camera in would have to capture the rest of the story, right?
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