Shantaram

I'm about putting my eyes out reading this book. But it's so good, I can't stop. Which is not altogether a good thing. With many a good book, after reading the last page, I wish I hadn't read it so fast, wish I were back in the middle of it.

A word of encouragement about the names and foreign words. I believe that in India, words and names are pronounced almost exactly as we would pronounce them in English. What you see is what you say. Maybe with a somewhat broader A in some words.

The man spent nearly 20 years writing this book, so I shouldn't swallow it all at one long gulp. But I'll read it again, Lord willing. Glad I bought it.

Just remembered--poetry reading is tonight at the Arts Council, at 7:00. I haven't been to a meeting in several months, and don't have any new poems, but will try to print out one or two old ones that might be of interest.

A Merry Unbirthday

Look what the mail man just brought me! Why do I always feel I have to justify buying myself something pretty? At least when I go to Alaska, I'll have something to keep warm in.

I slept late, got to the post office with minutes to spare. The doll cost about seven dollars to mail priority so it wouldn't get squashed, so I did make some profit.

To look at me, you'd think I've never been hungry a day in my life. But now I am.

The Art and Aggravation of Boxmaking

When I turned on the computer this morning, I had an order for a Barbie doll (I sell a few non-book items). I bought it new when the Wild Berry Tea Room gift shop went out of business. The box has never been opened, and it's about 14 inches long by 6 wide, with a crushable plastic covering.

I found a box big enough to ship it in, the box that the TV stand came in. But I've been trying to construct an inner box to protect the plastic "dome" over the thing.

Goodness knows how much it's going to cost to ship it. It'll have to go parcel post, I guess. If I end up making five bucks, I'll consider it lucky.

This morning, off and on between working on the boxes, I started reading Shantaram, by Gregory David Roberts. It surely starts off fascinating; hope it continues thus. I thought I had read the beginning of it and didn't like it, but I was mistaken. It was some other book that I abandoned back before Christmas.

The easy part's over...now the hard part begins.

This picture was posted last night on the Amazon soapbox.

Dreamcatcher Working Overtime

How boring, listening to other people's dreams! Right?

On rare occasions I'll dream one thing that I remember, but last night, wow! I dreamed about Barak Obama (puzzling), Sandra Hurst Busby and a school play (tiring), Daddy and a traffic jam and getting fueled up at a service station (happy), Vann's brothers (good), and Robert Dyer (funny).

*

When I turned on the computer this morning, I had an email from India, forwarding reports of Robert's rehab and good progress.

*

Yesterday, I made sort of a New Year's resolution. Apropos of being old, from now on I'm using my best china, silver and glassware. I'm having breakfast at 8:00 a.m., lunch with dessert at 1:00, "tea" at 5:00 p.m., and a light supper at 8:00. Every day, hot or cold, rain or shine, I'm going to walk outside for at least 20 minutes. Lord willing.

*

This afternoon I'm going to watch TV/inauguration pictures. I hope Martin's spirit is watching Barak getting sworn in, more of his Dream coming true.

*

Now, I'm running late on going to the post office. (Finally sold a book, the third sale this month.) I'm thinking about getting out of the book business. It's not as much fun as it used to be.


Curiouser and Curiouser (added at 1:56 p.m.):
Three of my dreams centered around this play that Sandra and I went to, where I couldn't understand a word spoken onstage. As we were leaving, three men whom I took to be Vann's brothers were discussing the play and making brief remarks like, "Good!" "All right!" etc.
*
I just took a look at Susan's blog, and she said that one of Vann's brothers had chest pains, that turned out NOT to be a heart attack.
*
In the dream about President Obama, Michelle was fussing at him because he told one of the children to quit climbing on him, because he was busy. Actually, she was really laying it onto him, saying he paid more attention to his work than to his family.
*
P.S. This morning I saw the hawk flying over, a yellowhammer on the tree nearest the house, a red bird that was smaller than a cardinal, and a little blue painted bunting.

MLK Day

In Two Words, Im Possible

I don't know why it won't copy correctly. In my album, it's horizontal, but here it won't go that way. Sometimes I hate computers--all but this one. This is a good computer. Gooooood computer...



(The title is a quote--Otto Preminger, I think, one of those big bald movie producers.)

Forgot to list a book in '08.

While working on my Impossible Jigsaw Puzzle this morning, I saw Angela and the Baby Jesus, by Frank McCourt, lying on my art room table. Pat gave it to me for Christmas, and I read it right away, but forgot to list it. I just love Frank McCourt. This picture is on the back of the book's dust cover. He looks so sweet and Irish.

His brother Malachy is cute, too. They look so much older than I thought they'd be. I read Angela's Ashes, but if I read Malachy's book, I don't remember it. I wonder if Angela, who "stole" the creche figure, was their mother (don't know what gives me that idea).

Hawk

Saw the hawk exiting the back yard again. I guess to get a picture of it, I'll have to sit on the deck or the ground with my camera at the ready. But I've tried that, and it hasn't worked before. Times that I've seen it before, it looked something like this:

Of course I don't know that it's the same hawk all the time.

Jed is coming by here this evening on his way to work in Mississippi. Matter of fact, he just phoned and said he's crossing from Georgia into Alabama right now. When I've been out of Alabama and cross the border coming back, I always get a lump in my throat.

Poem for the New Year

The Chambered Nautilus

This is the ship of pearl which, poets feign,

sails the unshadowed main--

the venturous bark that flings

on the sweet summer wind its purpled wings

in gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings

and coral reefs lie bare,

where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.

Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl;

wrecked is the ship of pearl!

And every chambered cell

where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell,

as the frail tenant shaped his growing shell,

before thee lies revealed--

its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed!

Year after year beheld the silent toil
that spread his lustrous coil.

Still, as the spiral grew,

he left the past year's dwelling for the new,

stole with soft step its shining archway through,

built up its idle door,

stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.

Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee,

child of the wandering sea,

cast from her lap forlorn!

From thy dead lips a clearer note is born

than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn!

While on mine ear it rings,

through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:--

Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,

as the swift seasons roll!

Leave thy low-vaulted past!

Let each new temple, nobler than the last,

shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,

till thou at length art free,

leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea!

Oliver Wendell Holmes

"What is so rare..."

. . . as a day in January?

"Then, if ever, come perfect days;

Then Heaven tries the Earth if it be in tune,

And over it softly her warm ear lays;

And whither we look, and whither we listen,
We see Earth sparkle, and hear it glisten."

The sun is shining, come on, get happy! I woke up happy, with almost clear sinuses, able to hum a tune and speak without croaking. And the sun is shining with all his might. Makes you want to write a psalm of praise, or go back and read the ones that have already been written.

A Bite To Eat

For lunch I made barbecued chicken and a big salad. Ate a barbecue sandwich on a whole-wheat bun, yum. Then couldn't eat any more, but I'll have the salad later. This cold seems to have pared down my appetite, at least.

Book Club meets Friday at the library. The book is Atonement, which I've already read. Jean Mock is the hostess and she chose the book. I need to look over it again.

When you read nonfiction, presumably you're reading about someone or something that you already care about, to one degree or another. But when I read a novel, I want to find myself beginning to care what happens to at least one character, beyond the general well-wishing to humanity. To care deeply, if not passionately. I can't help it if I didn't find such a character in Atonement. And that's why I can't remember anything about Mable's book Matters of Chance. That's nothing against Jean or Mable, two of my favorite people in all the world. It's just the way I read books.

Even in the ghost story, The Beckoning Fair One, although you couldn't love the ghost or the protagonist, I could almost cry for Elsie Bengough.

That's one reason I liked The Shining, and read it more than once. More than twice. I cared about the little boy and the black man. While I read The Stand one-and-a-half times, I don't remember anything much about it, except an old black woman sitting on the porch and people all over the country trying to get to her. I'm sure she was OK, but I don't remember having much of an opinion of her or anyone else in that book. I don't even remember anyone else in that book.

That's not saying that Atonement, Matters of Chance and The Stand are no good. It just means they didn't push my buttons.

Albeit

I used that word in my post yesterday. "Albeit" is a word I've always hated, because al-bee-it sounds so silly it makes me squirm. But during the presidential campaign, I saw/heard David Gergen say it apropos of something, and changed my mind. He said "all-bay-it," which sounds downright educated. I still doubt that I'll ever say it out loud.

Many times in my life I have said, or thought, "Lord, let it rain!" But not for 40 days and 40 nights, please. We've had at least six days and nights of it, and it's beginning to get on my nerves.

The antibiotic is working fine, my head feels so much better today, I woke up this morning not groaning, not mute. Long live the science/art of medicine!

Happy New Year, I guess.

I slept from 7:30 last night until 7:30 this morning. When I woke up and tried to speak to Mo, nothing happened. So I dialed the doctor's office and managed to croak and whisper till I made Marie understand my plight, then went to the pharm and picked up my Z-pack. It's strange, all the rest of me feels fine except my nose and sinuses, and I don't have a fever. But when you stop my voice, it's a ___ serious business.

My TV, phone and internet all depend on the cable, and it all crashed last Wednesday. I finally got Jed to coax them into sending someone out here yesterday. On Sunday morning, this nice man came out and attached the cable, which was lying in the yard, back to the utility pole, and everything came back up, albeit nervously and intermittently. The computer still every once in a while says it's not connected to the internet, but sometimes it is.

Yesterday I re-read The Beckoning Fair One by Oliver Onions. That is one scary little book or big story. That and The Willows, by Algernon Blackwood, are the scariest things I've ever read--except The Exorcist.