I say… And you think…
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I’ve been reading this amazing book, A Writer’s Paris: a guided journey for the creative soul. It suggests taking a trip to Paris, and spending a month or three or six just writing. Actually, it says, you should write in three different sessions each day and spend the rest of the time exploring the literary culture and history of the city.
I am, of course, fantasizing, nay, pre-planning, a trip to Paris next May. Why May? Why not. I like Spring weather, I guess. I’ve gone so far as to browse vacation home rental sites on the ‘net, something I’ve done before.
In 2002, my parents, Fuzzy, and I rented The Tall House – a vacation home in St. Thibery, France (near Bezier) – and spent Christmas there. In the morning we strolled to the outdoor market and bought chestnut pastries, and in the evening we would brew tea and carry it up the steep steps to the second-floor lounge (the house was very tall, but only two rooms wide) and eat pastries while we watched the lights in the sleepy village click on and off, or read aloud to each other, or watched video tapes of Brit-coms.
We all had the flu, we broke the funky thread-spool toilet-flushing mechanism, and it was raining a lot.
And I’d never felt more like I belonged somewhere in my entire life.
I don’t remember my first diary. I remember having one that was red and had sort of a smooshy fake-leather cover and gilt-edged pages and a lock with an impossibly tiny key, but I don’t know if that was actually the first.
I do know that until I started blogging, I was the world’s worst diarist. I’d start them, write a few pages, and then end up doodling in them, or writing short stories. I didn’t write down my deepest secrets because I didn’t really HAVE that many secrets. I mean, even when I was little, “Dear Diary, I had an extra cookie at lunch today, and Brad Gillespie is kind of cute,” seemed like a stupid thing to write down.
I have strong memories of reading about journals and diaries. Probably the most famous was Anne Frank – The Diary of a Young Girl – which I devoured. Looking back, I think part of what made it so special is that Anne treated Kitty (the diary) as if she was a person, not just a book full of empty pages.
I have never named a diary.
But I did once write a series of letters to Pavel Chekov (the character) from TOS, as if time travel was possible and we’d met. Hey, I was eleven. We all do stupid things when we’re eleven. At least mine were just pages in a book, and not actual, you know, LETTERS. (Of course, now if I did such a thing, I’d call it fanfic and there’d be no embarrassment.)
I like pen and ink, and there are times when in order to get a passage “right” I have to actually write it, but I don’t generally use a journal for stuff like that. I use a moleskine, or I use a plain old spiral notebook. I really like those. Especially when they have green lines and are college ruled.
I still don’t keep a diary as a diary. I have this amazing book that a friend gave me, and I don’t use it as a diary, but as one of my “magic notebooks” – part commonplace, part collection of quotes, part fragments of stories, or notes. To me, a diary implies structure, and my notebooks have none. I lead a rather unordered life.
(Hey, that’d be a great domain name. Unordered Life DOT Com. Wonder if it’s available…)
See what I mean about distractions?
It’s been almost a year since I left the world of real estate finance, and today the subject of whether I have any regrets came up not once, but twice.
First, one of my oldest friends called from Arizona to wish me a happy birthday, and we were talking about what I’m doing now. “A year ago,” I told him, “I was coming home in tears every night, not writing anything, and my dogs barely knew who I was. Now, I’m not making as much, but I’m really happy.”
He told me that he was really glad he’d chosen to leave is position at a major university and concentrate on spending time with his two-year-old son, and finally finish the dissertation he began in 1999. (I really wish he and his family lived closer. His wife is smart, funny, and snarky, and I’d love to get to know her better than I do.)
Then, in the car, Fuzzy asked if I’d heard about a certain major lender that is in serious financial trouble.
I looked at him and said, “You know, I really respect my Realtor and Mortgage Broker friends, but I think I left the industry at the right time.”
It’s strangely appropriate that these two conversations came up at the same time as my “almost anniversary” of leaving.
It’s 12:39 AM on Saturday the 18th of August.
Thank you to all who visited, shared favorite birthdays, and left sweet comments. If I haven’t returned your visit yet, don’t worry; I will before the weekend is over. My personal celebration goes on through Sunday, with the agenda tomorrow including a mani/pedi and brow shaping appointment, followed by miniature golf and sushi, and breakfast with a good friend on Sunday morning.
I now pass the birthday torch to Sky and Michele, who are also celebrating their birthdays this weekend, as well as to my troupemates Evan and Jeremy. Who knew this weekend saw the birth of so many Leos. Isn’t it grand?
Fuzzy and I just got back from Stardust at the Studio Movie Grill, where I had fries for the first time in a month. They were good, but first I was wired, and now I’m crashing, from that much grease, and that many carbs. Tomorrow, I will be back on healthy food, but for a slice of cake, and possibly an iced mocha. The movie was exactly what I’d hoped, a somewhat frothy, but still completely engaging, fairy tale. I enjoyed the book. I enjoyed the movie. I had fun.
And now, I have to stay up just long enough to change laundry loads so that my sweet husband has pants to wear tomorrow, and then it’s dreamtime for me.
G’night, all.
Today – Friday the 17th of August – is my 37th birthday. Can you still have pink hair and wear sneakers or Tevas most of the time when you’re 37? Well, *I* can, so apparently it’s possible.
A few years ago, I spent my birthday visiting friend’s blogs and leaving virtual gifts for them. I had a lot of fun, and they seemed to enjoy it as well.
And so this year I’d like to do it again.
Here’s the catch:
You have to tell me you want a visit.
I’m enabling Mr. Linkies on this post. If you want a visit from the Birthday Faerie, leave your link. (If you’re reading this at LJ or OD, leave a comment / note, please.)
And if you want to help make MY birthday deliriously happy, leave a comment sharing a favorite birthday memory of your own.
(And if you’re looking for my Thursday 13, it’s the next post down.)
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13 things that begin with N
The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted! |
Cool:
Various weather folk were warning of temps around 103 today, but the weather.com indicator in my system tray never made it beyond 101, and when I stepped outside just a bit ago, to supervise the dogs’ post-dinner elimination excursion, the wind had picked up and the sky was veiled in mackerel scales. Weather.com warns of thundershowers tomorrow and a very rainy Friday (My birthday! Yeah!) and it’s as if even Nature is gifting me this year.
Crunchy:
Today on our morning walk, Miss Cleo the Ever Talented managed to ensnare a small dead tree-branch with her tail. It made a satisfying crunching sound when we finally untangled it from fur and leash, and I stepped on it to prove to her that it was really and truly dead.
Crumple:
There’s something really satisfying about crumpling used aluminum foil and pitching toward the recycling bin. It’s not quite as amazing as crumpling an aluminum can, mind you, but in terms of cheap pleasures, it’s at least on the list.
Cool:
Fudgcicles are small plastic-wrapped frozen miracles on sticks. 40 calories, less than a whole gram of fat, and they satisfy the need for ice cream AND the craving for chocolate.
Crunchy:
I’ve never been a fan of lettuce on sandwiches. Lettuce is great for wrapping tuna salad, or making a salad, but on sandwiches I prefer a bit more crunch. Proof it’s really my birthday this week? For the first time since we’ve been here, the neighborhood grocery store actually had alfalfa sprouts when I had Fuzzy stop for groceries on the way home last night. My turkey and muenster on multi-grain bread was so much better with the addition of sprouts and tomato slices. Yes, that was lunch.
Crumple
If you have not visited Crumpler‘s website to look at their groovous array of funky laptop messenger bags, you should. I don’t actually own one (I want the The Dreadful Embarrassment in red or olive very badly), but my good friend Rana turned me onto them. Aside from the actual product though, there’s this option for PLAY CATALOGUE, and what ensues is the Crumpler ABC’s, and it’s hilarious. Go. Look.