Party Like It's 1938!

Happy 80th birthday, Dad.
I hope that you're some place where you can celebrate it as you did when you were 9.

XO

Amanda

What's Up With The Catharine Chronicles, I Hear You Ask

Just a misunderstanding in how I wanted to renew my domain name. Hopefully, it will be taken care of by Monday or Tuesday. Don't have much to say there at the moment, so it's good to have an excuse to take a break.

~C~

How On Earth Can I Be Miserable Today?

It's National Banana Bread Day? And no one even thought to mention it? Boy, you guys could have saved yourselves a ton of mopin' and gripin'. At least for a day.

Surely, that's a good omen. ("It is. And don't call me Shirley.")

In honor of today, then, two little outdoor excursions. One, to Bodhi Tree Bookstore, the other the Panera.

Vive le pain de banane! (De préférence avec des noix de pécan, naturellement.)

~C~

Why Sometimes Facebook and My Space Suck

Could anything be more painful than reading the love poems and love words of the girlfriend of the man you love on his Facebook wall? And knowing he's responding in kind on hers? And... for the love of God... can't they send private messages for that? Does it have to be done in open comments on walls in Facebook and My Space?

This is why I cannot go to his page anymore, even just to see how he's doing.

I hate that it matters. I hate I fell in love. I wish we were friends again.

~C~

A Few Quick Thoughts On How It Ought to Feel

It occurs to me... though somewhat belatedly, I'll grant you... that love shouldn't hurt. I'm not saying it should be a walk in the park every minute of every day, especially if two people are living together or seeing each other every day. People get on each other's nerves, a bad day at the office travels home in a person's empty lunch sack, bills and in-laws and kids make patience thin and fragile.

But overall, love - real, genuine, reciprocal love between two people who respect and care for each other - really shouldn't hurt. Love isn't, by nature, painful. We make it that way. Love doesn't break your heart. We do that to ourselves, by choosing the wrong people to love or loving them at the wrong times. Love isn't mournful or melancholy or morose. It isn't spiteful or sad or full of sorrow and unfulfilled dreams.

Love abides with affection and tenderness. It thrives under the watchful eye of dignity and mutual admiration. It doesn't feel imposed upon by the lovers, or feel burdened by them.

And the minute that those other, not-so-very-nice feelings start to creep in, love needs to be reassessed, and perhaps abandoned for something or someone else. But letting go of love, even painful, inadequate, unrequited love, is much harder than I could ever imagine. I have just let it die a natural death in the past, which can take months. But I don't have months. There's a friendship at stake I'd like to salvage, and it's hanging by a thread, and this love that is so toxic and utterly agonizing will kill it sure as anything if it lingers too long.

So how to let go of the love and still keep the friendship intact? Can it be done? Maybe not. I know very few people who can stay friends when one loves and the other does not. Or worse, when the other loves another. If you remove every photograph or visual reminder in front of you, then how to you get the picture out of your brain? How do you reconcile the fact that someone that you could feel so close to, so connected to, so bonded with, so attracted to, could not possibly feel the same way about you? Why is the Universe so cruel as to give me the capacity to love so entirely, to dangle this person who appears, at least on the surface, to be everything I ever asked for, only to then say, "But, here's the bad news, he's already chosen the little blond rocker who (unlike you) is skinny and pretty and very young. But you can be his chubby gal-pal and hear all his laments about how love - even to the skinny, pretty, young rocker girl whom he professes to love most in the world, to the point of being unable to love anyone else - really only gets in the way of his happy single life. Aren't you lucky?"

No. Not so much in love. Or cards either, which is, to me, the ultimate cheat, because shouldn't there be some kind of consolation prize? I mean, if I'm not going to Vegas to run off and get married to the guy who swept me off my feet, shouldn't I at least be able to go there and beat the house at blackjack? I guess my consolation is knowing that I'm not inconvenienced by the burden of love, that my happy single life remains free and unfettered by something so demanding as the love of another human being. I am free. Free to come and go as I please, without anyone caring when or even if I'll be home. I'm free to stay or go, without anyone to share the time either way. I'm free to forgo the comforts of partnership and camaraderie, of intimacy and daily tendernesses. I'm mercifully unencumbered enough not to know how it feels to have someone tell me - and mean it - that I'm their one and only, and they love me the way I am, and they feel so fortunate to have found me.

I guess I must have pretty much hit the emotional jackpot. Lucky me.

So, I'm moving on, as best I can. If I'm free to stay or go, then I choose go. At least love-wise. Pack up my "in-love" self and go far away from someone -- yet another someone -- who is incapable of loving me in the here and now. I need someone present and accounted for, and there's a tiny part of me, amidst the dark void of "no such thing" that knows he's out there. I've taken a little break from the online places I've frequented, in order to try and make myself available for someone who must certainly be looking for me the way I'm looking for him (or will be, once I can wash this current, painful love away).

And the next time, I'll know it's love because it makes me happy. I'll know because the person that I love will love me back, and not be afraid of that. I'll know because I will be valued as an asset, rather than an inconvenience or an imposition. I'll know because he'll be there, right in the room with me, and life will be what it always is -- messy and complicated and occasionally unpleasant -- but he won't blame that on me. He'll know that's just what life is, and we'll get through it together.

And I'll know, first and foremost, because love won't hurt.

~C~

We Interrupt This Blog

For a message from me in Maui.

Aloha.

~C~

The Non-List List of 2009

I was supposed to be posting all my grand plans for 2009, but it appears... I have none.

Well, that's not exactly true. I do, but I'm having a hard time shedding this really heavy cloak of mental chaos enough to articulate it. I've started this post about six or seven times, and seem never be able to finish. Everything I write seems either trite, or inauthentic or just plain daffy.

I think the problem is the part about making plans. Plans are a big lie, because they imply that somehow you have control over anything, when truly, we have control over very, very little. It's that "LifeWithACapitalL" that keeps throwing a monkey wrench into the whole affair. You make a plan, you figure out how to achieve it, then Life comes in in the most capricious, arbitrary way and screws things up royal. People get old and die. People die without getting old. People you love don't love you back. People you love that love you have to go lead lives you can't lead with them and so, leave you. Hearts break and mend. Jobs end. New ones begin. And you are left with your plans, especially the ones that included the people and the jobs and the now-broken hearts, dangling by a thread, with no hope that they will ever be implemented. So, it seems to me that making plans is definitely so "last year."

This year it isn't going to be about what I'm going to do, but what I want. What do I really, really want? And the answer, it seems, falls into two categories: Short term and long term.

Okay, in the short term... I want to be ready to leave for the Flyaway terminal, so I can catch my bus to LAX, and my plane to Hawaii. I want to have a great time, take some fabulous pictures, see a couple of really spectacular sunsets, and visit with some folks I really care about. Then I want to come home, unpack, and have the first serious workout with my trainer. Then, a few days after that, I want to take the train to Carpinteria, see Pacifica, talk to some faculty, and decide if I really, really want to apply for a five-year program that would end with me having a PhD. ("Dr. Sowards. Paging Dr. Sowards.")

Long term wants include wanting to be healthy and comfortable in my own skin again. I want to look in the mirror and recognize me, the way I did in the spring of 2003. I want to be strong. I want to be able to dance again. I want to sing something wonderful again, and not think for a moment about how I look in whatever I'm wearing. I want to really accept myself, and not think for a second about what others thinks about me. I want to stop making friends with people who are incredibly high-maintenance and make me feel wrong all the time.

I want to finally figure out whether I'm alone because I like it, or because the alternative is "sleeping with the enemy". In the past, living with another adult in the house was tantamount to to extending an invitation to someone to come on in and treat you badly. "Please, call me names." "By all means, feel free to let me know how disappointing I am to you." "Oh, and while you're at it, why don't you toss in a couple of adjectives like 'worthless' and 'useless', just so no stone is left unturned." And yet, I'm pretty sure that everyone doesn't have that experience. I'm pretty sure that most of my married friends have lovely husbands, girlfriends, boyfriends and life partners who don't make them feel that way. I'm pretty sure that, while not entirely unique, my experience in this area is limited to a handful of experiences that don't necessarily apply to most other experiences. Other experiences are possible. That being said, am I prepared to risk it? Do I want that experience with enough vigor that I'm prepared to do what's required to allow it to happen?

Good question. If you figure it out, let me know, because frankly, I'm stumped.

Another long-term want is travel. I want to go places. Maui is nice, but I'm talking real travel. I want to go to Italy in 2010, and take travel writing seminar for two weeks in Tuscany. I want to see my English friends again (though I guess I should ask them whether they're really that anxious to see me---I'm only assuming that my charm and allure is irresistible to them). I think I might want to live in England some day, which is why the PhD might come in handy (higher degrees make getting categorized as a "specialized worker" easier). I might want to own another horse.

I want to find a new place to live, so I can be with my kid under the same roof again. I want to get a dog. I want to figure out how to accept myself completely, without feeling that I ought to be comforting, nurturing, counseling, coddling in order to be useful and indispensable. That's not anyone else's doing but mine. I want to never find myself in a situation again where I love someone who clearly could never love me back. I'm pretty sure there is at least one worthy man out there who isn't only interested in the twenty-two year old, size 4, eye-candy trophy girls; I just haven't met him yet. (This may require moving out of Los Angeles county, as even men who aren't in the industry are infected with this particular virus.)

I want to be happy being me, exactly as I am, without once thinking that, if I were only someone else, I'd be enough. This one is tough, because I'm not sure really what it feels like. I think this particular want is at the heart of my chaos. After all, if all you're used to is life on Mars, the newness of the Earth's gravity can really throw you for a loop. I'm Valentine Michael Smith, just landed from Mars, thinking entirely like a Martian, and having to learn what it means to be human. There is much to grok about your strange ways, Earthlings. Much to grok, indeed.

So, thought it is not a list, but rather a non-list, it is all I have to offer for 2009. Perhaps I should have written it after I returned from Hawaii. My mind might have been clearer. My thoughts sharper and more cogent. But I doubt it. This is what I am today, and today, it's enough. More than enough really. It's pretty good.

Happy Rest-of-the-New-Year. See you all when I get back.

~C~

P.S. The artwork is a fractal I did a couple of weeks ago, entitled "Mixed Blessings."

Saucy Review of Things to Do, 2008, Before Posting Things to Do, 2009

Last year, in the hopes of avoiding the annoying Resolution phenom, I made a List of Things to Do in 2008. Before I move on and make my '09 list, I thought I'd review and see what I can cross off the list from this past year.

1. New job: No joke. Really need to get me a new one of these. I need to start teaching for a living, or working for a publishing company, or actually supporting myself as a writer (or any combination thereof) sometime this year, because working in the legal department of a major motion picture studio is the opposite of being creative, and it's sucking my creative energy. Done. Quit Fox, went freelance, am trying to work out a more flexible part-time gig. (Mustn't discuss details, lest I jinx it.)
   
   
2. Finish losing the weight I put on during Daddy-Palooza 2006-2007. That's about -- gulp! -- forty-five pounds. On someone who's not even 5'4", that's a whole lotta weight. Uh... yeah... well, this needs to go on '09's list as well. Nuff said there.
   


3. Turn fifty. Okay, this one doesn't really need to go on the list, because, hey, it's happening in November. But I want to do it in style -- a party, or an exciting trip somewhere, and I want to have No. 2 accomplished by then, so I look completely hot for whatever I'm doing to celebrate. I plan on buying a very expensive, chic little dress and some very tall, impractical shoes. Check. Fifty successfully turned, birthday party complete success, shoes exceedingly impractical, by God.


4. Get a literary agent. I'm tired of being told how impossible this is, how hard, how it's nearly futile, how it happens to only the luckiest few budding writers.... Yeah. I get it. Now shut up about it. I don't want to hear that kind of naysaying bullshit from another breathing soul (if they want to go on breathing). It's happening, it's happening this year, and you can either help or get the hell out of my way. (If there's anything ambivalent or confusing about No. 4, please feel free to write me and ask for clarification. I dare you.) This is another carry-over---spent too much time on my book design classes and photography lessons to get much of this done.
   


5. Finish the triathlon. In one piece. Undrowned, unscraped, un-shin-splinty. So there. Nope. Not this one either. Had to give it up because I was busy finishing up at Fox. But I'm still thinking of going it freelance, either in La Quinta or Carpinteria this next year.
   


6. Get a home. Not just another crappy apartment. A home. As in house. As in, with a yard. With a space to plant bare-root roses (yellow in memory of my godmother, Linny). And room for a boxer (the dog, not the prizefighter). I am through asking permission about what colors I can paint my walls and how many pets I get to have and what kind of showerhead I can have. I'm a grown-ass woman, and it's time I exercised all rights and privileges therein. Well, at least we've decided the general area where we want to move---and rents are a lot more reasonable out there. Wish us luck---moving this item to '09.
   


7. Be more patient. Stop the foot-tapping, steering-wheel-pounding, standing-in-line sighing. Enough ahready. This isn't a conspiracy against me. I need to just grow up and get over myself. Likewise, to be more tolerant of people's oddities and peculiarities. You know what, if you want to eat sardine-and-peanut butter sandwiches, as long as you're downwind of me, that's fine. I'll go on loving you all the same. Yes, by Golly. I think I can safely say that, for the most part, I have become much more zen about things. I'm not entirely devoid of passion, mind you, but I am learning to take this in better stride, without the road rage and the queue meltdowns. Mechanical malfunction still makes steam come out of my ears. I'm working on it.


8. Stop apologizing for being me. It occured to me during the whole ordeal of the past eighteen months that I have spent the better part of my life apologizing to somebody for being me. To my mother, for being born at a time when she wasn't prepared financially or emotionally to have a child. To my father for not being... well... Christie Brinkley. To my ex-husband for not being his mother. To various men* that I've dated for not being, alternately, too virginal, not virginal enough, too opinionated, not decisive enough, too headstrong, too sensitive, too young, too old, too fat, too short, too blonde, too redheaded, too... Well.... shit.... just too "too," really. My new motto when it comes to people in my life, particularly male-type people, is this: "I'm not sorry. I don't apologize. Please don't forgive me. Please don't 'fix' me. Please don't deconstruct, reconstruct, rescue or repair me. This is the package, and if it's not what you want, this town is chock full of 'Acting for Commercials' classes that are chock full of plastic-titted bikini models just waiting for you. The door's thataway. And it locks from the inside."Happy to say, well and truly done. Not sure exactly what it means, except that it might mean I'm single forever and ever. But I think, for the first time, I'm really happy with that arrangement. It gets lonely, but it never gets hurtful and abusive. A definite improvement, for sure. For a deeper explanation of this, stay tuned to 2009's list, when I will further elaborate.
   


9. Travel. I want to go to Maui (with Kim) for fun this summer, and I want to go to Prague sometime before the end of the year. I want to see Prague before they start using the Euro, and my weak-assed American dollar isn't worth the paper it's printed on. Unfortunately, due to rising oil prices and airfares, Kim and I never made it to Maui. But we did have a splendid trip to North Carolina's GORGEOUS Outer Banks, staying in Kill Devil Hills (where the Wright Brothers made one of their first historic flights) and seeing the sites on the East Coast. Beautiful. Lovely. It was a fortuitous turn of events that led us on a fabulously unexpected adventure. Travel? Check!
   


10. Finish "Vision," the collection of linked short stories about a half-dozen people who see (or think they see) an image of Virgin Mary on a freeway support at the corner of Pico and Sawtelle. An item for 2009's list. Next!
    


11. Finish a first draft of "Death of the American Western," the novel I started in the MFA program. It can (and mostly likely will) be, in the words of Ann Lamott, a "shitty first draft," but it has to be finished and ready for revision by December 31, 2008. Ditto. Next!
    


12. Get the publication arts certificate. This will hopefully provide me with certain skills that will allow me to accomplish No. 1 and (spoiler alert!) No. 13. Can't cross this off yet, because I'm still in the middle of the program, but I'm on track for it. Will be completed in June of 09.
    


13. Be financially secure. Need I elaborate? I thought not. Ironically (or because the Universe has a twisted sense of humor), my inability to make a decision about investing my finances, and thus turning to temporary solutions to stash my nest egg, like Certificates of Deposit and money market accounts, has all but ensured that I will come through this current financial crisis relatively intact. Had I invested the money in bonds or mutual funds, I'd be royally screwed. (We won't even discuss the sad and sorry state of my 401K.)
    


14. Get more sleep. Done.



15. Eat less crap. Done.



16. Take less crap. Done.



17. Have more fun. Definitely done.

Not so bad. Ten out of seventeen accomplished. I'd say it was a pretty productive year. It was a big year, in all respects. In many ways, it sucked, in a few really brilliant ways, it rocked the heavens. But here I am, for better or worse, trying---still, in spite of the wisdom that fifty brings (ahem!), trying to figure it out. That means answering a few really big questions for myself. Like, what do I want to be when I grow up? Like, I am alone, but am I lonely? Like, is it really possible for me to spend the rest of my life only taking jobs I want and like? (No. Seriously.)

At least I'm asking the questions, though many answers remain as yet undiscovered.

Stay tuned for the List of Things To Do, 2009, in which we shall ask these and many more earth-shattering questions. For now, though, I'm ready to put the past to bed and say good-bye to the list for 2008.

~C~

Sadly, The Search Is Over

The remains found in the marshy area a mile or so from Casey Anthony's parents' home have been positively identified through DNA as being those of Anthony's missing three-year-old, Caylee Anthony. I wish I could at least feign shock and surprise, but it is the outcome we all suspected was coming.

Casey, who was charged with first-degree murder back in October and has been in jail ever since, has been refused the right to attend memorial services for the child whose absence she neglected to tell anyone about for one month, and then whose abduction she blamed on a Hispanic woman who lived in her apartment complex (the woman has been cleared of all charges when the FBI established her solid alibi).

During the 31 days between the time Casey says Caylee went missing and the day her "abduction" was reported to authorities (by Casey's mother, mind you, who also reports in the same 911 call that Casey's car smells "like a dead body in the damn car"*), Casey was spotted and (courtesy of CCTV security cameras) photographed shopping and partying as if nothing were amiss. She also put her time without Caylee to good use by stealing and forging her mother's checks and committing petty theft.

The marsh where the little girl's remains were found was apparently a favorite burial ground for Casey Anthony for her childhood pets. Searchers say they had been previously unable to search the area because the rainy season from the previous spring had put the whole area under water.

My heart bleeds for Casey's parents who have lost a grandchild and a child to this mess. I dread the day they suddenly come to the realization that somehow, in spite of what I'm sure were good intentions, they managed to raise a monster.

~C~

* Cadaver dogs later gave a "positive" on the trunk of Casey's car for the presence of human decomposition. Further tests of the air in the car confirmed this finding.

CORALINE -- Coming in February

Neil Gaiman's novella, Coraline, is coming to the screen in February. It is a strange amalgam of traditional stop-action model 3D, and digital 3D, and it looks really fun. Since I first was exposed to the story through the audiobook (read by Gaiman), it'll take a little getting used to to hear Coraline talking with an American accent.

Still... here's the trailer.



~C~

It's Beginning to Smell A Lot Like Christmas, 2008 Edition

I decided today that it was time to let go of the summery colors decorating my little one-room apartment, and move this sucker toward winter. Don't laugh. No sooner had we here in SoCal decided to put our fans away and take down the window sun reflectors, ninety-five degree weather would return and we'd be sweltering. (But global warning is a myth, and Sarah Palin would like you to know that.)

But I think we're safe now.

I changed my sofa decor and set about to making this place smell---if not look, exactly---like Christmas.

For this we refer to the "Christmasification List." It lists the following steps be taken:

1. Replace summery, beach umbrella--colored slipcover and bedspread replace on sofa and bed with more neutral, deeper shades. I found a dark brown microsuede quilt on sale at Target, and complimented it with some lovely throw pillows. My existing red throw goes nicely.

2. Buy real pine wreath from Trader Joes, which can be cheaply replaced once it dies, sometime in the next two weeks.

3. Bring out Christmas decorations. I have gone with a lit ceramic Victorian street scene, and a Jack Sparrow-like pirate nutcracker. A ceramic Christmas tree is to follow, but Target was out of them until next week.

4. Cinnamon-soaked pine cones. Lots of them. As potpourri. Yum.

5. One Glade apple-cinnamon scented oil candle for the kitchen to complete the effect.

Things the list has barred this year? Real or fake plastic Christmas trees. As those of you who have been reading for a while already know, this is a cat zone, and therefore, sacrifices must be made. In 2006, the horror of a real Christmas tree with the many decorations from my and Savannah's childhoods, and the many shattered glass shards swept off the tile floor, convinced me that a fake tree would go over better in 2007. In 2007, I went with a tiny fake tree, the real pine wreath, and tiny ornaments I was sure the cats couldn't get off the tree.

I was wrong. Sweeping up tiny shards of tiny glass ornanents.

This year, it's all good. Ceramics and plants. I'm not going as far as George Bush did when he encouraged terrorists to "bring it on." But I'm pretty sure I've hit on a winning combination.

Happy December, people.

~C~

(cross-posted at MySpace)

Damn That Cable Company, Anyway.

I'm having intermittent problems with my cable internet reception, and no one at the cable company can figure out what the problem is.

Let's see if we can take a look and diagnose the trouble ourselves, shall we?


Oh. Dear. Yes. Well. That might be the problem, I suppose.

~C~

Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade

Rick Astley? Really?



I can't bear it. I missed the parade, but I'd like to stop now and give thanks for YouTube for preserving this moment forever.

"I like Rickrolling!!!"

No. Stop. You're killin' me.

~C~

Getting Organized

In an attempt to break the oppressive malaise (or is it ennui?) that has kept me from writing creatively for the past several months, I have taken to cleaning and reorganizing my apartment. I am taking stuff to storage, rearranging where things are put, attempting to create clean, open spaces in a tiny single apartment, and making things work more efficiently and with less drama.

This has involved packing and scrubbing, calling the Sears repairman to come and fix my broken fridge, go shopping for a replacement for the sporadically working television, trying to redesign my living areas into more functional zones of operation. I used my Target gift cards (given me by the friends who know and love me best) to purchase several things that will help me organize my shelves and storage spaces.

Here is the beginning of organizing the bookshelves, which will store my photography and printing supplies, important papers and collections of writing.

And here are the two bins purchased to help organize the chest of drawers into socks and undies and bras.

And here is the cat bin. Hey. Wait. What?

Apparently, I have a cat bin. It wasn't purchased as a cat bin. It was purchased as a place to store all my notebooks for my writing and residency notes. It seems Inuyasha didn't get the memo. She's thinking it's the cat bin.

Hmmm... The question now is, how to convince her she's sadly mistaken. Unless of course, I'm the one who is sadly mistaken.

Another trip to the other Target is in order tomorrow for more bins and magazine boxes, so that I can rearrange my living area and make it a more reasonable space.

And to get more cat bins.

Oh, dear.

~C~

Where There's Life, There's Hope. And Vice Versa.

This book is information that EVERYONE needs to have in order to save their own life.



This is simple, it's easy, and it's the right way to live, whether you have cancer or not. Dr. Servan-Schreiber has lived for fourteen years after his diagnosis of brain cancer. There's no reason not to live this way every day.

The human brain and the human heart are the two biggest weapons in our fight against terminal disease. What a revelation!

~C~

A Non-Partison, Non-Political Story of Selflessness and Compassion.

Mitch Albom had a piece published on freep.com on my fiftieth birthday (Sunday, Nov. 2) about one Marilyn Mock, a 50-year-old Texas rock yard owner who committed what could be termed the Granddaddy of all Random Acts of Kindness in history. While attending a foreclosure auction with her son, who was buying a house, she met a young woman named Tracey Orr, who was most definitely not there to buy a house. Tracey was there to say good-bye to her own beloved house, which she lost after she'd lost her job and had fallen behind on the payments. The mortgage company foreclosed. Touched by Orr's story, Mock found herself bidding on the $80,000 home. She won the bidding at $30K. She and Orr have worked out payment arrangements. The long and the short of it was that Mock made it possible for Orr to get her beloved home back, to the tune of $30,000. For a woman Mock had never met. Just because her heart had been touched by Orr's story.

People, I've made no secret of my choice for president. But make no mistake. No matter who wins tomorrow, the road ahead is going to be long and bumpy, more for some of us than for others. The economic crisis we face are not going away tomorrow or next months or on January 21, 2009, when we inaugurate the man we select tomorrow.

We are going to need to be good to each other, and kind to each other. We are going to need to cut each other some slack and give each other a break. We are going to have to come together and create a grassroots support system for those among us who struggle the most.

Apparently, Marilyn Mock doesn't see the country as a "have/have not" affair, but rather a place where we share what we have with those that have not. I like Marilyn Mock's view of America, and frankly, I think we all need to think about buying into it. I think if we make that effort, we'll come through this mess okay.

~C~

Hope On Hudson

Hope Edelman, who used to teach creative non-fiction at my alma mater, Antioch, gave an interview on our local CBS Channel 2 news about Jennifer Hudson's loss of her family this past weekend, particularly her mother. Edelman is the author of Motherless Daughters: The Legacy of Loss, a collection of stories, including her own, of women who hve lost their mothers.

I had hoped to study with Edelman during my creative non-fiction semester, but she left Antioch before the opportunity arose. (I'm not taking it personally, though.)

My heart goes out to Jennifer Hudson and her sister for their loss. I'm hoping they can find their way out of a pain so deep as to be unimaginable.

~C~

Where I Was (and Why Nothing Can Phase Me Now)

~C~

Gone Two Bunchin'!

Yep, I'm going to be gone for a few days, starting Sunday. I'm going to the spa to indulge in treatments and long, loooooongggg soaks in the lithium-laden water of natural desert hot springs. I'm planning on reading, sleeping, eating amazing food and maybe taking an early morning walk in the desert.

I am taking my computer, but the odds are good I won't be blogging. I've decided to relax and put my election neurosis on hold for a few days, while I indulge in a cranial-sacral massage and a lovely mud bath. I'll be back and available to blog probably by Saturday.

Be good. Behave. Drink responsibly. Stay in school. Don't do drugs.

And, since I'm away relaxing, why don't you guys take a little break, too, by flipping through the Christian Science Monitor's Autumn Foliage photo page. If this doesn't lighten your heart, you don't have one, by golly.

~C~

Just When You Thought People Were Kind of Useless

Cook County Sheriff Thomas Dart just won the first annual Naked Voodoo Chicken Dance Award (hereby nicknamed... uh.... the "Voodie"... yeah.... that's it) for being an absolute, undeniable mensch.



Today, Sheriff Dart declared a moritorium on evictions in Cook County unless and until financial institutions start proving they've fulfilled their responsibilities regarding giving occupants -- whether owners or tenants -- sufficient notice. Sick and tired of hearing about his deputies serving papers on renters who had been paying their rent on time, only to be screwed over by unscrupulous landlords, Dart said today, "We're not going to do their jobs for them anymore. We're just not going to evict innocent tenants. It stops today." And it did.

At the end of the video, several deputies are seen attempting to complete an eviction, only to discover an elderly ill woman in the apartment. The eviction was suspended, and Social Services was called in to provide the woman with aid.

So, here's to you, Sheriff Dart, for finally putting the brakes on unjust evictions.

~C~