I took a tour through Nordstrom today, trying to wrap my fashion brain around what I will wear to my new job, which starts August 1. That's a difficult time fashionwise to start a job because on a new job, one must look serious, and summer clothes are not serious.
Sadly, the Nordstrom salesperson was not sure if the Caslon side zips would be re-stocked for fall. I have them in gray and black, but the latter are looking a little like the former, and need to be replaced. Those side zips go with everything, are easy to alter (4 panels on each leg), and are slimming. I am now seeking out a Nordstrom emergency hotline phone number, with grief counselors available if they are needed.
I continue to write a little, but mostly I am reading. I'm reading "The Inheritance of Loss", which won either a Booker or a National this year. It's beautifully written (I'm sure they needed to hear that from me). As I read along, I ask myself why I would consider myself a writer because I don't write like that. My writing is much more stark. But no two writers write the same way anymore than than two painters paint the same way.
We missed the rains in Oklahoma and Texas!
Hats off to Paris Hilton, who will go forth to do good works in the world. Perhaps she would like to take on my ironing.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Monday, June 25, 2007
Checking back in, lest you forget us
Hello everyone: I am unable (yet) to post my last road trip blog but I'll try again this week. But let me assure you that our road trip was so important that we won't stop talking to you about it. Kathy has written some lovely pieces. Her connection to Marc was all there. She's just back from a woodturning symposium and is very excited about all that she learned. I stayed home and cleaned and cleaned, plus acted as a foil for the needs of B.C., our 20 year old cat who runs the place.
My book is at a new stage. The novel is on bake, with me adding very little but thinking about it a lot. I've finished the writing, or at least I think I have, and have a novel-length piece of writing. When I started writing, I had the setting and time - a housing project in the early 1960's. When I was 11, my mother, who was having a very hard time, drove 500 miles away from our middle class neighborhood, taking my two brothers and me to live in a housing project. We were there for one year and it was one of the most interesting years of my life. I was face to face with poverty, oppression, racism and a very ill mother. I fictionalized what happened (it truly is not The True Story) and wrote a novel.
When I was in school and writing, one of my writing teachers talked about the choices that writers make. I have always been extremely curious about the novel writing process. What's the deal about making choices? What problems of writing? A story is a story and then you end it. Only someone who is on the edge of writing one of these things would let herself think that. It has been a complex process, one with lots of deletions. The story as it now stands is not at all the way I started it. So much has dropped out. So much has dropped out that was very useful, including an extremely ironic tone. Gone.
It sounds as though the process to secure a literary agent, should I attempt to publish, is difficult. I'm pretty curious about it. Has anyone out there published a novel?
There are some situations to keep quiet about and there are some situations to make a lot of noise about. My year in the housing project is something to make noise about, and that's what my writing is. There was such oppression in the project, and such depression and remember that these were the days before self-esteem building workshops. There are things I saw that I could not work into the novel, by the way. One of those is my young shock at attending a movie, non-Walt Disney, at the Boy's Club. We each had to pay 10 cents to see it, and that meant a host of children could not go. It was a very hot night (we must have just arrived in the project) and we sat on the floor, one hundred of us or so, watching what I considered an extremely old-fashioned movie. No popcorn or candy available. It opened with a child being kidnapped on a hot summer day, yelling and screaming as he's shoved into a car, while adults walk by and smile and wave. Perhaps the kids watching the movie could relate.
Take a look at this link to see a Seattle housing project, circa early 1960's:
http://www.seattlehousing.org/CommunitySites/newhollycommunity/HistoryofNewHolly/HollyParkBefore.htm
My book is at a new stage. The novel is on bake, with me adding very little but thinking about it a lot. I've finished the writing, or at least I think I have, and have a novel-length piece of writing. When I started writing, I had the setting and time - a housing project in the early 1960's. When I was 11, my mother, who was having a very hard time, drove 500 miles away from our middle class neighborhood, taking my two brothers and me to live in a housing project. We were there for one year and it was one of the most interesting years of my life. I was face to face with poverty, oppression, racism and a very ill mother. I fictionalized what happened (it truly is not The True Story) and wrote a novel.
When I was in school and writing, one of my writing teachers talked about the choices that writers make. I have always been extremely curious about the novel writing process. What's the deal about making choices? What problems of writing? A story is a story and then you end it. Only someone who is on the edge of writing one of these things would let herself think that. It has been a complex process, one with lots of deletions. The story as it now stands is not at all the way I started it. So much has dropped out. So much has dropped out that was very useful, including an extremely ironic tone. Gone.
It sounds as though the process to secure a literary agent, should I attempt to publish, is difficult. I'm pretty curious about it. Has anyone out there published a novel?
There are some situations to keep quiet about and there are some situations to make a lot of noise about. My year in the housing project is something to make noise about, and that's what my writing is. There was such oppression in the project, and such depression and remember that these were the days before self-esteem building workshops. There are things I saw that I could not work into the novel, by the way. One of those is my young shock at attending a movie, non-Walt Disney, at the Boy's Club. We each had to pay 10 cents to see it, and that meant a host of children could not go. It was a very hot night (we must have just arrived in the project) and we sat on the floor, one hundred of us or so, watching what I considered an extremely old-fashioned movie. No popcorn or candy available. It opened with a child being kidnapped on a hot summer day, yelling and screaming as he's shoved into a car, while adults walk by and smile and wave. Perhaps the kids watching the movie could relate.
Take a look at this link to see a Seattle housing project, circa early 1960's:
http://www.seattlehousing.org/CommunitySites/newhollycommunity/HistoryofNewHolly/HollyParkBefore.htm
Checking-in
Lest everyone think I've abandoned the blog, I am checking in to say that I am back from the woodturning symposium in the Salt Lake City area and will blog more about it and upcoming plans for the Marcumentory later.
Suffice it to say that I am a bit jealous that Peggy and Rosemary are not yet at work (Peggy is off til Aug 1 and Rosemary is semi-retired). I'll need a vacation just to recouperate from the last 3 adventure packed weeks. It's been a blast!
Kathy
Suffice it to say that I am a bit jealous that Peggy and Rosemary are not yet at work (Peggy is off til Aug 1 and Rosemary is semi-retired). I'll need a vacation just to recouperate from the last 3 adventure packed weeks. It's been a blast!
Kathy
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Hasta la vista, Austin
Well, I still don’t know for sure if Texas is considered the south, the Midwest or the southwest. Everywhere we went, we asked people and got varying opinions on the subject. In northern Texas, people were sure it was the Midwest…well, maybe the West. In Austin we got votes from the locals for the West, Southwest, the Midwest—and just Texas (Texans are very proud and don’t like to be lumped in with other folks). In Galveston, folks were adamant that we were in the South. Perhaps it’s a regional thing and Texas is, indeed Mid-Southwest, West and South all thrown into one.
My friend, Susan Heidke called as we were making our way along Highway 71 about half way between Houston and Austin. Susan, who’s from Austin, had been reading our blog. It made her homesick for the Texas Hill country, ice tea and BBQ. She gave us some great recommendations for food and shopping. She also asked if we made it to Lake Travis and the Oasis for Amber’s birthday. We did—and I totally got caught up in the LBJ library and forgot to talk about what a fun experience it was.
Just below the Oasis is a turn off for Hippie Haven, a beach along the lake that in recent years has become a swimsuit optional beach. I think this area was a high school hang out for Susan (prior to the swimsuit optional designation). Maybe she’ll comment and fill us in. : )
Our last couple of days in Austin have been spent exploring some more of the eateries and shops along South Congress, the open air artisan market near the UT campus on Guadalupe, and a few shops along West Sixth. We ate blackened catfish enchiladas at Z-Tejas on West Sixth. Excellent! Thank you Susan, for the recommendation.
Allen’s Boots is an honest-to-goodness western boot and clothing store. Peggy was on the hunt for a pair of Ariat boots to replace her current pair. Hers aren’t western boots, though, so she didn’t find exactly what she was looking for. I saw lots of cool boots that I’d have worn in a heartbeat if I lived in Austin. Rosemary said the most expensive pair she saw was $1,000. I missed those, but no doubt they’d have been on my top 10 list. Marc had a great pair of Justin boots that I bought him a few years back. He’s been to the boot stores in Austin, and as I wandered through this particular store, I couldn’t help but think of him doing the same. Damn. I would have liked to hear his commentary on their impressive display of boots. Peggy and Rosemary both missed one of the sales women. She was dressed in a very short white cotton dress with a full ruffled skirt, and a pair of riding boots with a little dyed leather turquoise trim. Earlier Rosemary and I had been debating whether one could wear riding boots with crop pants and still be considered fashionable. I’m sure you know what I said. But then I saw this young woman and decided that you could probably wear whatever you want and call it good!
Last night Peggy hung out at the hotel while Rosemary and I drove out to Georgetown to see Richard, Amber and Arleen again. Rich is quite an artisan. He’s a journeyman gunsmith and loves making custom pieces for people. It’s quite an art…and I must say, one I know very little about. I understand it more now after he showed me many pieces that he’s made, how they fit together, what they’re used for (competition, police forces). It’s so different than anything in my life. It’s good to stretch my brain.
For those of you who know me well, you know I am less than fond of snakes. Turns out that Amber has 2 ball boa constrictors. Yuck. She says they get about 3 feet long only, and they’re very docile. Yuck. Rosemary held one. I can barely look at them without having nightmares. Yuck. She used to have a monitor. I could handle that…but not the snakes. Yuck. Did I mention that I am not fond of snakes?
Arleen just bought a new computer so Rich and I set up her virus scanner, showed her the blog, and played around with the new Windows Vista.
We put about 2300 miles on our rental car, so even though we flew in and out of Austin, we got in some road miles! I’m not quite done, though.
And now we are at cruising altitude somewhere over Colorado I imagine. We got up around 5:30 after going to bed somewhere around 12:30. I am happy to be heading home to think about it all. I miss my kitties. We’ve got pictures, a little video, and lots of stories and impressions to weave together. I think we’ll have to go back before we finish our Marcumentory project.
Tuesday morning, dark and early, I board a plane for Salt Lake for the annual international woodturning symposium. Salt Lake City was Marc’s last road trip, so I’ll check out a few of the places clubs Hank Williams III and JB Beverly and the Wayward Drifters played then. Stay tuned . . .
My friend, Susan Heidke called as we were making our way along Highway 71 about half way between Houston and Austin. Susan, who’s from Austin, had been reading our blog. It made her homesick for the Texas Hill country, ice tea and BBQ. She gave us some great recommendations for food and shopping. She also asked if we made it to Lake Travis and the Oasis for Amber’s birthday. We did—and I totally got caught up in the LBJ library and forgot to talk about what a fun experience it was.
Just below the Oasis is a turn off for Hippie Haven, a beach along the lake that in recent years has become a swimsuit optional beach. I think this area was a high school hang out for Susan (prior to the swimsuit optional designation). Maybe she’ll comment and fill us in. : )
Our last couple of days in Austin have been spent exploring some more of the eateries and shops along South Congress, the open air artisan market near the UT campus on Guadalupe, and a few shops along West Sixth. We ate blackened catfish enchiladas at Z-Tejas on West Sixth. Excellent! Thank you Susan, for the recommendation.
Allen’s Boots is an honest-to-goodness western boot and clothing store. Peggy was on the hunt for a pair of Ariat boots to replace her current pair. Hers aren’t western boots, though, so she didn’t find exactly what she was looking for. I saw lots of cool boots that I’d have worn in a heartbeat if I lived in Austin. Rosemary said the most expensive pair she saw was $1,000. I missed those, but no doubt they’d have been on my top 10 list. Marc had a great pair of Justin boots that I bought him a few years back. He’s been to the boot stores in Austin, and as I wandered through this particular store, I couldn’t help but think of him doing the same. Damn. I would have liked to hear his commentary on their impressive display of boots. Peggy and Rosemary both missed one of the sales women. She was dressed in a very short white cotton dress with a full ruffled skirt, and a pair of riding boots with a little dyed leather turquoise trim. Earlier Rosemary and I had been debating whether one could wear riding boots with crop pants and still be considered fashionable. I’m sure you know what I said. But then I saw this young woman and decided that you could probably wear whatever you want and call it good!
Last night Peggy hung out at the hotel while Rosemary and I drove out to Georgetown to see Richard, Amber and Arleen again. Rich is quite an artisan. He’s a journeyman gunsmith and loves making custom pieces for people. It’s quite an art…and I must say, one I know very little about. I understand it more now after he showed me many pieces that he’s made, how they fit together, what they’re used for (competition, police forces). It’s so different than anything in my life. It’s good to stretch my brain.
For those of you who know me well, you know I am less than fond of snakes. Turns out that Amber has 2 ball boa constrictors. Yuck. She says they get about 3 feet long only, and they’re very docile. Yuck. Rosemary held one. I can barely look at them without having nightmares. Yuck. She used to have a monitor. I could handle that…but not the snakes. Yuck. Did I mention that I am not fond of snakes?
Arleen just bought a new computer so Rich and I set up her virus scanner, showed her the blog, and played around with the new Windows Vista.
We put about 2300 miles on our rental car, so even though we flew in and out of Austin, we got in some road miles! I’m not quite done, though.
And now we are at cruising altitude somewhere over Colorado I imagine. We got up around 5:30 after going to bed somewhere around 12:30. I am happy to be heading home to think about it all. I miss my kitties. We’ve got pictures, a little video, and lots of stories and impressions to weave together. I think we’ll have to go back before we finish our Marcumentory project.
Tuesday morning, dark and early, I board a plane for Salt Lake for the annual international woodturning symposium. Salt Lake City was Marc’s last road trip, so I’ll check out a few of the places clubs Hank Williams III and JB Beverly and the Wayward Drifters played then. Stay tuned . . .
Did I find wood. . . ?
Well, of course I found wood…and lots of it! Did I bring any home with me? No. Central Texas is full of the most beautiful old Live Oaks I’ve ever seen in my life. There are lots of pecan trees, some kinds of pine, mesquite, persimmon, sego palms, coconut palms, you name it, I saw it. Rosemary and I saw some downed trees and thought about harvesting a few small pieces. But the reality of dragging it around for days on end, and then through the airport set in and I decided it wouldn’t be worth it. Plus, I didn’t want to end up in a Texas jail for pilfering perfectly good firewood. I hear those Texas jails aren’t much fun.
In Galveston, we toured an historic home called The Bishop’s Palace. It was originally built between 1886-93 by a former Confederate colonel and US Congressman, Walter Gresham. It’s build from native Texas granite, white limestone and red sandstone all cut and shaped on the premises. Steel framing no doubt contributed to the abilitly of the mansion to weather the 1900 Storm when many thousands of other buildings were swept into the Gulf of Mexico. But I am drifting away from my topic—finding wood. Much of the hand carved woodwork inside the house made from rare species of wood such as rosewood, white mahogany, satinwood, and curly pine. Black oak, various maple species and straight grain pine were also used to build and decorate this beautiful house. The home was constructed at a cost of $250,000, and was one of the first homes to have electricity and running water.
By the way, the 1900 Galveston Storm is considered to be the deadliest natural history in U. S. history. Six to eight thousand people lost their lives from the storm surge that followed the 140 mph hurricane, and more than 3600 buildings were totally destroyed. In 1900, the highest elevation on Galveston island was 8.7 feet. The height of the storm surge was 15.7 feet. After the storm, a seawall was constructed to protect the island from future storm surges.
The Galveston relief effort was the last for 78 year old Clara Barton, founder of the American Red Cross. She and other volunteers traveled from Washington D.C. to Galveston to provide relief to storm victims. The 19-year old Red Cross organization built an orphanage and raised money selling photos of the disaster to rebuild homes.
In Galveston, we toured an historic home called The Bishop’s Palace. It was originally built between 1886-93 by a former Confederate colonel and US Congressman, Walter Gresham. It’s build from native Texas granite, white limestone and red sandstone all cut and shaped on the premises. Steel framing no doubt contributed to the abilitly of the mansion to weather the 1900 Storm when many thousands of other buildings were swept into the Gulf of Mexico. But I am drifting away from my topic—finding wood. Much of the hand carved woodwork inside the house made from rare species of wood such as rosewood, white mahogany, satinwood, and curly pine. Black oak, various maple species and straight grain pine were also used to build and decorate this beautiful house. The home was constructed at a cost of $250,000, and was one of the first homes to have electricity and running water.
By the way, the 1900 Galveston Storm is considered to be the deadliest natural history in U. S. history. Six to eight thousand people lost their lives from the storm surge that followed the 140 mph hurricane, and more than 3600 buildings were totally destroyed. In 1900, the highest elevation on Galveston island was 8.7 feet. The height of the storm surge was 15.7 feet. After the storm, a seawall was constructed to protect the island from future storm surges.
The Galveston relief effort was the last for 78 year old Clara Barton, founder of the American Red Cross. She and other volunteers traveled from Washington D.C. to Galveston to provide relief to storm victims. The 19-year old Red Cross organization built an orphanage and raised money selling photos of the disaster to rebuild homes.
Galveston: Last Tidbits
I liked the weather in Galveston, and I liked seeing my brother. There are some very cool old Victorian homes that survived the hurricane in 1900, a great historic area called The Strand, complete with a railroad museum, and a few mansions. The beach—well, there isn’t much of it compared to the beaches in Hawaii or the West coast—or even the east coast for that matter. The seawall took most of it out. And the waves are little.—more like wavettes. But all-in-all, it was okay. The poverty, though, got to me. Lots of what were probably nice areas have fallen into disrepair, businesses abandoned, yards long neglected, abandoned cars.
Along the seawall, lots of people vacation with their kids and seem to have a ball. There’s a huge water park near the Moody Gardens, and lots of conveniently located kiosks along the skinny stretch of beach where, for a fee, you can borrow chairs, umbrellas and surf boards.
The beds at our hotel were the best of the entire trip, and a welcome relief after leaving the Extended Stay Deluxe in Austin. Terrible beds, a great mid-day manager named Heather. Unfortunately, Heather couldn’t do anything about the sucky beds, but she provided lots of helpful information and some entertainment as well.
On our final evening in Galveston, we met Dennis for dinner. He came alone as his wife wasn’t up to going out. Truth be told, she doesn’t like me, but that’s okay. We live many miles apart and don’t have to communicate much. Denny was married before to Arleen, mother of Richard, my only nephew. Arleen and I are still very close, so I suspect that only contributes to Barbara’s animosity.
For a guy with only 23% of his heart function, I’d say Denny is doing pretty well. He entertained us with southern style wild west Texas stories about his life. I saw that Ringwood twinkle in his eye a couple of times as he told us of his adventures. I was glad to see that twinkle. That says to me he’s doing okay. Although he’s no longer able to work, he says he still rides his motorcycle when things get to chaotic at home. Barbara’s daughter and her 4 children live with them most of the year (along with a host of others who find themselves in need of a place to stay). Den says he doesn’t have a lot of patience for kids, so going for a ride helps to keep his sanity.
I had hoped to get him to tell us a tale or two about Marc, but Denny didn’t have much to say about him. I think he’s too sad about it. About 10 years ago Marc stayed with them for about 6 months when he was thinking about a move to Texas. Wish I’d have gotten to hear some of those stories, but perhaps in time I will.
After dinner and a long visit, Denny hugged us all goodbye, and as he did, I decided that this may not be the last time I ever see him. I hope not.
Along the seawall, lots of people vacation with their kids and seem to have a ball. There’s a huge water park near the Moody Gardens, and lots of conveniently located kiosks along the skinny stretch of beach where, for a fee, you can borrow chairs, umbrellas and surf boards.
The beds at our hotel were the best of the entire trip, and a welcome relief after leaving the Extended Stay Deluxe in Austin. Terrible beds, a great mid-day manager named Heather. Unfortunately, Heather couldn’t do anything about the sucky beds, but she provided lots of helpful information and some entertainment as well.
On our final evening in Galveston, we met Dennis for dinner. He came alone as his wife wasn’t up to going out. Truth be told, she doesn’t like me, but that’s okay. We live many miles apart and don’t have to communicate much. Denny was married before to Arleen, mother of Richard, my only nephew. Arleen and I are still very close, so I suspect that only contributes to Barbara’s animosity.
For a guy with only 23% of his heart function, I’d say Denny is doing pretty well. He entertained us with southern style wild west Texas stories about his life. I saw that Ringwood twinkle in his eye a couple of times as he told us of his adventures. I was glad to see that twinkle. That says to me he’s doing okay. Although he’s no longer able to work, he says he still rides his motorcycle when things get to chaotic at home. Barbara’s daughter and her 4 children live with them most of the year (along with a host of others who find themselves in need of a place to stay). Den says he doesn’t have a lot of patience for kids, so going for a ride helps to keep his sanity.
I had hoped to get him to tell us a tale or two about Marc, but Denny didn’t have much to say about him. I think he’s too sad about it. About 10 years ago Marc stayed with them for about 6 months when he was thinking about a move to Texas. Wish I’d have gotten to hear some of those stories, but perhaps in time I will.
After dinner and a long visit, Denny hugged us all goodbye, and as he did, I decided that this may not be the last time I ever see him. I hope not.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Our Final Day in Austin
This is such a beautiful city, with the Colorado River and lovely architecture. Rosemary and Kathy have navigated with maps and good intuition. The weather has held out and we were treated to cooler weather today. We shopped for local art, hoping to bring back earrings and we didn't find anything particularly affordable. We checked out a couple of boot stores and I didn't find the boots that I was looking for. I am looking for Ariats, low heeled, ankle boots. I have a pair from a couple of years ago but Ariat does not make that style any longer. They are cool looking and very stable.
We had lunch at a place with a name that I cannot remember, but I had a great piece of vegetable quiche and my weekly treat - a diet Coke. We had yummy cookies, too, very chewy cookies, which can be hard to find. None of those sugar wafer things that all taste the same and are so flat you can hardly tell them from the wax paper they're sold with. Rosemary and I think we'll open up a cookie and coffee place. She has a bang-up recipe for chocolate chip cookiest. Oh, cinnamon rolls, too. Claudia makes the best cinnamon rolls so we'll beg for that recipe.
I am on my own this evening while Kathy and Rosemary visit Arleen. I'm ordering room service, watching t.v., and packing because we take off early in the morning.
I look forward to going home, especially seeing the cats, who are not following the blog. Being away from writing has given me ideas about how to re-organize my book and helped steer me in a direction that I know will be good for my book. I'm heading home to face the heavy stuff, to find the words for the experience.
We had lunch at a place with a name that I cannot remember, but I had a great piece of vegetable quiche and my weekly treat - a diet Coke. We had yummy cookies, too, very chewy cookies, which can be hard to find. None of those sugar wafer things that all taste the same and are so flat you can hardly tell them from the wax paper they're sold with. Rosemary and I think we'll open up a cookie and coffee place. She has a bang-up recipe for chocolate chip cookiest. Oh, cinnamon rolls, too. Claudia makes the best cinnamon rolls so we'll beg for that recipe.
I am on my own this evening while Kathy and Rosemary visit Arleen. I'm ordering room service, watching t.v., and packing because we take off early in the morning.
I look forward to going home, especially seeing the cats, who are not following the blog. Being away from writing has given me ideas about how to re-organize my book and helped steer me in a direction that I know will be good for my book. I'm heading home to face the heavy stuff, to find the words for the experience.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
