Hannah's Scribblings

They say that the big thing about swine flu is that it goes away and comes back. After I recovered from my bout with it, I swore I wouldn’t get the second round. I mean, come on, I’m a healthy gal! What use do I have of getting the flu twice in two weeks?

I stayed active, I drank tea and consumed foods stuffed with garlic.

Not an hour after I posted that last post, my throat started to hurt. Now I have a fever of 99.1 and those (never mind those adjectives popping up in my mind that are most unwelcome) body aches have returned.

I am not happy. In fact, I am rather cranky.

And this time it’s got MA. “It” being to the flu, that is. Unfortunately, while I was able to escape the high fever, my brother was not.

By the way, the flu combined with asthma–not pretty. He is doing better today, though.

Prayers would still be greatly appreciated.

I found this on Just The Words, a blog I found today. I love both Yo-Yo Ma and Alison Kraus (altough I’d have never thought to put them together), and so just had to post this.

Tyrant of all I survey.

Something tells me that readers of the male gender are going to be inclined to sigh, shake their heads and think to themselves: “Women”.

There are certain genes in my mother’s family that predisposes females to large hips–genes that I have inherited. I also have a tiny waist. This puts me rather firmly in the hourglass-shaped figure.

However much certain artists of the past may have enjoyed hourglass figures, the clothing industry tends to forget us. In particular, it is very hard to find bottoms that fit which do not have a drawstring. If I find a skirt or pants that fit my waist, it takes a great feat of willpower to squeeze the rest of my bottom half in them…and I won’t be caught dead in public wearing something that tight. If I find something that fits my hips comfortably, I end up with a horizontal pleat and an extra inch or two of hem.

This hourglass problem never really used to bother me; but those were also the days when shapeless sacks were my prefered clothing of choice. (And usually the top sack would be something like a purple polka-dot and the bottom sack would be a light blue print…my Aunt Kelly used to try to call the fashion police on me.) Even today my house wear of choice is drawstring capris.

But I have learned to appreciate a good fit for out-in-public wear and I wanted to find some nice, comfortable yet practical pants for my EMT course. The hourglass problem has become one in earnest. LL Bean has this ingenious Curvy fit, especially made for women of my proportions. The trouble is that  LL Bean’s clothes, being of high quality, are somewhat pricey.

We (Mom and I) were going to see if someplace like Dillard’s or Kohl’s had something that would do before we called in the clothing cavalry…and while out with a friend, Mom found some slacks that were exactly the style that I wanted. She called to make sure of the size and returned triumphantly, ordering me to try them on almost before she got in the door. I did and they were absolutely perfect…except that damn waist band. 

Well, I’m going to get off my soap box and go take in the waist-side seams of my almost perfect slacks. My penny jar got renamed: “For LL Bean’s Curvy fit slacks or jeans.”

I absolutely love my little small town church…but sometimes we do things that make me crack up. (Catch the “we”.)

Take today, for instance. There is a young man in our ranks, probably middle to late 20’s. He comes like clockwork every week about 20 minutes before the service starts, sits in the same pew as his mother and grandmother (usually the one right behind my family’s), tithes regularly and is just in general a pleasant, quiet person of the type that forms the backbone of all organizations.

Today he was absent and in our church, if someone is absent the reasons are sought out by most members of the congregation. When the question: “Where’s your son?” was politely put before the mother, she replied: “Oh he’s at a wedding.”

“He’s getting married?!”

Every head in the church whipped around, every mouth dropped, every ear strained to hear the mother’s next words.

Much to everybody’s relief, he had done no such thing as get married without informing us first. It was just a friend’s wedding.

I wonder what we would have done if it had been his wedding. Probably had a few funerals.

Remember Chip, the surviving parakeet of the Chip Peter duo?

He died yesterday. This is his life story.

A picture of Chip and Peter. Chip is the one on the right, in front of his mirror.

When Mom and I got parakeets in late 2006, she chose the one most likely to be a good pet. I chose the one with the most spirit…much to the dismay of the girl who had to catch them.

While Peter devoted himself to a quiet life of the average pet bird, learning to sing for us when we called his name, Chip proved himself to be a crazy bird. (Why is it that most of my pets have temperaments ranging from eccentric to insane? Please, don’t answer that.) He liked to pick up his feed in his mouth, cross his cage and dump it in his water. Then he liked to watch me fuss and change his water. Then he’d start it all over again; and if by some chance I didn’t change his water immediately, he would swear up a storm until I did so. And as I said in Peter’s post, “Chip…doesn’t use English. He doesn’t have to.”

The only time he liked to sing in was in front of his beloved mirror (beloved because it showed him his own reflection–he did not like to see anyone else’s in that thing!)

Despite the differences between them, I think Chip was really fond of his companion, Lord Peter Death Bredon Whimsey. It was many days after his death before Chip raised his voice again, either to swear or to sing. When he did lift his voice, it was to swear and scream at Ellie, whom he detested. This was probably Ellie’s fault as she had once knocked him and his cage off the table.

Even after recovering his swearing, Chip was a different bird after Peter died. He was more subdued, more sane.

I found him yesterday on the cage floor, midway between perch and food bowl. We shall miss him…and his colorful personality.

Sir Percy Blakeney says this in A&E’s The Scarlet Pimpernel. I loved this line and fully subscribed to this view. Figures that my first completed poem does not and will not rhyme! It absolutely refuses to conform to my views of proper poetry.

Just thought I’d mention that. If anybody would like to read and critique said contrary poem, please let me know and I’ll send it to you.

(After that last rather sad post I needed to say something light.)

Jericho Jake (better known as Jake) entered our lives and our home on the day after Thanksgiving, 2008. From the very first minutes we knew we had a different type of dog. Jake was a lively, not so serious and definitely not as interested in training as our Max. That was okay; he was Jake.

A lively personality defined Jake throughout his short, but happy life. He loved nothing more than to deepen mud holes, much to the detriment of the yard and his own appearance. He had a quick intelligence (more often exerted for a piece of toast than a training command, ’tis true). Quite often his exuberant spirits would get him in trouble, either with us human occupants of the house or with Opal, his canine companion. Let’s not even mention how he got along with the resident felines.

Also from the first it was clear that Jake was not a healthy guy. SIBO (small intestine bacterial overgrowth), EPI (inability to digest and metabolize fat), food allergies and hip dysplasia plagued him throughout his life. Nevertheless, nothing slowed him down. Nothing but death.

He died shortly before his first birthday.

Ellie is the cat we’ve had since 2000. She is pretty, snotty, aloof, dislikes physical exercise and disdains to show affection save in the dead of winter. Oh, and she doesn’t like other cats.

Cricket is my kitten, and a resident of this house for 3 weeks. She is lively, active, affectionate.

Ellie is almost 9 years older. Currently she is bigger, stronger, more co-ordinated…by all rights she ought to be top cat.

The interactions between the two cats lead my family to compose this ditty (sung to the tune of “Pop goes the weasel”):

All around the living room

The kitten chased the cat.

The kitten thought it was all in fun:

“Help!!” goes the cat.

One thing I have often noticed in my life is that I am drawn to two different kinds of basically anything that can be defined as a noun: person, place, thing or idea. One is BIG, important sounding, having an air of authority (real or presumed) and possessing great charisma. I like these people, places, things and ideas. I talk about them a lot.

The other, which I ultimately respect more, is quiet and understated. These people, places, things and ideas do not have much–if any–advertising: they speak for themselves and their eloquence is not less powerful for not being repeated elsewhere. These are the stories, ideas, objects and art that I really love; the people I truly want to be like.

One movie that rather defines the second category is Neverwas, my favorite movie of all time.

Neverwas is also the movie that you simply can’t review. The power of this film is being experienced, being lived with no idea what comes next. Further viewings deepen your respect for it, draws your attention to the subtle details (at least, it did for me); but it really needs that first viewing.

If you are going to watch it, my advice is don’t look it up online. Don’t read the reviews or the ratings. Just watch it. It is probably too intense for young children, but there are no scenes you will need to fast-forward on account of skin or violence.

What I will say is that this is a movie that will break your heart and put it back together somewhat wiser than it was before.

“No good deed goes unpunished.”

In general I dislike this phrase. It seems a little too pessimistic and dour. Plus I rather like all the sayings in Proverbs about good being rewarded.

This week, however, that same phrase kept popping into mind. Monday night at about 8:45 I got a call from my neighbor (Mrs. B whom I mentioned once or twice before). Her husband was in the hospital with high blood pressure and a heart rate of 160-170. She was going to spend the night with him in the hospital, could I please come stay with the kids that night?

I said sure.

I said sure both before and after I learned that the family had been exposed to the flu.

To whom it may concern: Leather couches are extremely comfortable to sit on or nap on. They are not so good to sleep on all night. Blankets that you carefully arrange around yourself have a way of slipping down to the floor or of getting so disarranged that you must wake up to straighten them out. (PS: Cell phones set on alarms aren’t so nice to sleep with either.)

The morning came way too soon; the morning came far too slowly. And despite that pesky thing called “logic”, these statements do not contradict each other. I say so.

Somehow I managed to get the kids up, dressed, fed and out the door when their grandfather came to pick them up for school. I even managed to straighten the house, lock the door, cross the drive, enter my own house and crawl into my own bed before I fell back asleep. Cricket, who apparently hadn’t slept well without me, curled up next to my head–taking up a goodly portion of the pillow, I might add.

Good News Club was that afternoon. I was tired, but I enjoy being around kids. I also really enjoyed all the helpers.

Coming back home from GNC I saw Mom up by Max’s grave and I knew that something was wrong. She met me in the drive way and told me the news: Jake had broken his back and was dead.

While I was digging the grave, the phone rang. It was Mrs. B. In usual country etiquette, she asked me how I was when I picked up. I asked her if she could get to that part later. And then I said yes, I’d be happy to watch the kids again that night.

I slept better that Tuesday night. Emotional and physical exhaustion negated the slippery qualities of leather couches and blankets on the above. The only time I woke up was at 2:00, when K started crying. I was up and half way across the room when the figure of a little girl appeared before my eyes. I recognized it right away as H (age 10, #2, girl), of course. I recognized her…but I still screamed to wake the dead and freeze little girls to the floor in confused terror. We’ll just say that there was no excitement as great as this before I went home in the morning. And I think that should the need ever arise for H to come get me in the middle of the night again, she’ll be a little more wary.

Mr. B was released from the hospital on Wednesday with a manageable heart rate and blood pressure. Little J (age 5, #4, boy) told me that next time I watched him to make sure it was during the daytime, so we could play.

That was the good deed. What could qualify as a punishment was that on Wednesday, it was painfully obvious that I had caught the flu. Full body aches, fever, little to no appetite, exhaustion, general listlessness and multiple three hour naps were the unwelcome proof. Though I am feeling better this morning, I still couldn’t make it to church.

This has hardly qualified for the best week of 2009. It has come close to qualifying as one of the worst weeks, although humorous hindsight has helped to redeem it.

On the bright side, last Sunday my church gave me a scholarship for my EMT course, this week’s episode of Smallville (Echo) was very, very good, and I have had a nice discussion/debate via PM on NarniaWeb.   

Now I am going to do the dishes, get my spit-fire kitten and take a nap.

I highly recommend Yogi Tea’s Berry Anti-Oxident and Berry DeTox teas for swine flu. The saltwater gargling also helped but was nearly as nice.

On Tuesday, Jake our dear buddy and German Shepherd dog died. I know I usually write the life stories of our dead animals, but I’m going to need just a little bit longer before I can do this one; so here is Mom’s telling of Jake’s passing:

This blog ends as it began.  Me mourning the loss of my dog.  Max had years and years to work his way into our hearts.  Poor Jake only had 10 1/2 months.

Max was serious and hard working.  Jake was a happy-go-lucky dude who was a total goof ball.

We loved them both in their own ways.  We’ll miss them both.

In the end, Jake’s exuberant spirit overcame his fragile body.  He passed on October 13 at 2:30 in the afternoon.  I was home alone and got to spend his final moments stroking his big ole head and chest.  He died looking into my eyes, peaceful, but in pain.  Confused, but trusting.

Here is a final picture to celebrate his life.   I may take the blog down after a bit.

From Gentle Trust/Mom’s dog blog.

Well, I said I was thinking about doing National Novel Writing Month and now I’ve done it. I’ve committed to trying to write 50,000 words in the month of November. My NaNo profile can be found here.

The story I am going to be writing is entitled Clouds Should Stay in the Sky. I’m really happy with the idea I have for it and am eager for November. The characters are all either slightly loony or slightly hassled; either way I shouldn’t have too much difficulty writing them.

Since I’ve been working at a local Good News Club, and other times when I am around children, I have noticed two things. One is that 6 to 10 is about the age when girls start getting very interested in the marital status of those around them. Two is that 19 is about when girls in my area are either married or with a serious boyfriend. The two above facts have made for some very interesting interactions between myself and young girls; interactions I have dubbed ”the three question conversation”. Typically it goes like this:

Random young girl approaches me and inquires as to my age. I’ll look up and smile, then reply: “19.”

“Oh,” they will say (sometimes followed by a “wow” or a “really?”).  “Are you married?”

I can’t help it, I kind of crack up every time that question is posed. “Uh, no,” is my answer.  

“Got a boyfriend?”

I’ll shake my head and give the brief, honest “Nope,” delivered lightly. I’m not pining for a boyfriend, no need to give them that impression! (Neither am I opposed to the general idea, but around little country girls, it’s better to say too little than too much. They are hearers and doers.) Occasionally, there will be a bonus question. If it is asked, I rein in my merriment/amusement. This is a serious question and so I try to answer it accordingly.

“Why not?” is the question. My reply is some kind of variation of “Well, none of the right kind of guys have asked.”

Once these questions have been asked and answered, the girls continue on their way, with satisfied but slightly befuddled expressions. I guess I’m an interesting specimen of 19-year-old American girls. Oh, well.

Oh, and by the way, I have never had the three question conversation with boys in the same age range. They seem bent on doing their utmost to ignore my affiliation with the female gender.

One of the best ideas I’ve had is to set aside a notebook for thoughts about writing, working out plots, story summaries, and the like. The following is some of the more…coherent bits of it.

A rant against literary “heroes” considering themselves above the commoners and real life people who consider themselves “above” the average folk: 

I prefer to have my heroes look out for and respect the average Joe Blow and Sally Simple; and to respect them for their simplicity and ordinariness…for your heroes to consider themselves above the affairs of the “common” folk–isn’t that to consider themselves above a hero’s function? God gave us great people to inspire us, not to ignore us. What is that verse in the Bible (Jeremiah, I think?) about the shepherds neglecting the flocks? In the Bible’s terms, that’s bad news. And not just for the flocks…

Elitist thinking is dangerous, especially when the person thinking that way isn’t aware of the nature of their thoughts. Wars have been fought, atrocities committed when people adopt a sneering approach to those who know less than themselves. Ordinary people can be boring, dull, narrow–but people who think this way tend to ignore the beauty of the everyday. They ignore all the wonderful things out of the dull, ordinary world. As I’ve said before: the simple and ignorant often do not lack for Christian charity or wisdom.

At one point, I decided to tally up all my story ideas and decide which I should concentrate on. This was the result. I laughed myself silly when I re-read it.

Story A–other world; lots of words, multiple middles; in serious need of hammering into shape…assuming I can ever decide what that “shape” should be. Great. <am I trying to make myself go crazy? This story makes my yarn balls look neat.

And no, I am NOT posting a picture of my yarn. I do have some self respect.

Story B– modern world. Toss out everything after chapter 5 and go for it! Oh wait, this is the story I can only write when I’m curled up in front of the wood stove in the winter time. That is REALLY wierd. Seems to be working, though. [This is the second story I referenced in my very first blog post.]

Story C- Love this story! It has been in so many different shapes and worlds; the main characters are absolutely certifiable…I love it! [This is what I will be writing for the National Novel Writers Month in November]

Story D–Revolves around a farmers’ market. 6 different versions of the same first page, one half sketched exact middle and one clear end. Typical.

E: Intended book of short stories–Short stories for children based (loosely or not) on my more interesting dreams. Three started, three finished. Got to love that trend!

Scraps ‘O Stories–about 8 to 10 story ideas, some of which could fit rather neatly in other stories. As for the rest…just ideas! Don’t even think about starting any. Try finishing something else first! <Try listening to yourself and you might be surprised by your own wisdom.

Some brief thoughts of mine on fan fiction:

In some respects, it is what good fiction writing is for: to allow the reader to step into the characters’ shoes, to make a situation real enough to be lived in. Good story telling always relies somewhat on the story listener.

And yet.

Good stories should fire the reader’s imaginations with stories of their own. Most likely, probably, we will never be as good as those who inspire us. That doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t try.

Already created characters and circumstances do allow for some powerful introspective pieces of writing. After reading a lot of different kinds of fan fiction this summer, about the only kind I read any more are Star Wars ones that are introspective and deal with Luke or Vader.

Praising Paperblanks:

Paperblanks are the best! They have pretty covers, are hard back, have book marks, come in all different sizes and have a cool momento pouch that is just great for storing sticky notes in. And, they are printed on acid free, sustainable forest paper; which is a bonus. Though, they are just a tad expensive.

The disjointed bits:

When all you do is watch from the shadows, it can be very easy to lose perspective on life. You begin to see the world in black and white outlines, forgetting the glory of the colors that fill in the lines.

On a 8.5 inch by 6.5 page, I usually write 170 words.

Am I a writer of words or a teller of stories?

Well, there you are: a look inside my head. I won’t take it personally if you run away pretty darn quick.

I’ve always been fascinated with Arthur. As a little girl–and still today–my favorite stories were those about the Celtic king or those similar to it. So one day last week, when I was bored, I looked up Arthur on Wikipedia. The article was extremely lengthy; detailing the different scholarly theories about him. It was a very interesting read…but the real treasure chest was all the links at the bottom of it.

Blaenau-Gwent

Llyfrgell Genedlaethol Cymru: National Library of Wales: The Black Book of Carmarthen

Llyfrgell Genedlaethol Cymru: National Library of Wales: The Book of Taliesin

Celtic Literature Collective: The Black Book of Carmarthen

Celtic Literature Collective: The Book of Aneirin 

Culhwch and Olwen

Preiddeu Annwn

Arthurian Resources

Arthurian Articles

Wikiquote-Taliesin

As for me, I’m inclined to believe there was a real man behind the legends.