Open Book

Sweet nothings.

Some might say that living well is the best revenge. I prefer a paraphrased, more optimistic and happy version of the old saw, myself.

Living well is its own reward.

I have no idea what it is that I seem to be doing right in this life, but plan to be very intentional about keeping it up, because whatever it is?

It's working.

For the time being, anyway. Even when the other shoes drop, of late, they've been of the soft soled variety, and I can live with that...all day long. Yes, I can.

*knocks on wooden desk until knuckles bleed*

______________________

Just got home from the "real" job after getting some fabulous deadline extension news. These extra couple of hours should enable me to get the house clean enough for company. Which is a good thing, seeing as we plan to entertain a few folks for a little game watching party at our place tomorrow night.

Don't know what I was thinking when I hatched *that* brilliant plan, seeing as I'm working the "dream" job from 12-4 tomorrow and have no idea when I was planning to party prep had the "real" job extension not come through.

But that's all moot now, isn't it?

Because here I sit with time on my hands, music blaring, shades flung open and Swiffer duster flying. Pretty soon, all that will be left to do is the grocery shopping, and party menu grocery shopping is wholly different than every day grocery shopping, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Party menu grocery shopping is a joyful heartsongy thing. Every day grocery shopping is a chore.

HUGE difference.

The menu options for tomorrow: two kinds of chili - white chicken and the standard beef and bean, or shredded beef BBQ sliders. Can't quite make up my mind, although the sliders can cook in the crock pot in my absence, while the chili twins will have to be brewed up post-shift. Decisions, decisions.

At least the beer selection - for my own consumption, at any rate - is a no brainer. It's fall and the seasonals are upon us! Pumpkin ale all around!

______________________

I feel like I've been very boring in a dreadful "Dear Diary" sort of way of late, but I have no idea how to stop it. These are my times, this is my life, and those are the words rattling around my inside my head.

It's funny, in a way. I was just reading a very polite debate on whether depression, anger and all manner of negative emotion enhance a writer's journey or diminish it. One argument held that proof exists demonstrating "most great art in any form is driven from an internal darkness within the creator." Another rebutted, "Virginia Woolf." Who, as you probably know, felt strangled in her craft by the massive depression she suffered, that ultimately took her life.

So, I don't know. Do I think my own blogging is/was more interesting when I was struggling with countless challenges ranging from innocuous ennui to stifling sadness to fitful fear? Quite possibly. But would I choose to re-visit those times voluntarily for the sole benefit of writing better? Absolutely not.

I am more inclined to believe that my own writing - my creative non-fiction, memoir-istic writing - has suffered primarily, and maybe even solely, from lack of practice. It's a skill, like any other. Quit exercising the muscle and its memory fades.

The good news is: muscles do indeed possess memory, and can be gotten back into shape, even improved, with effort.

The stories may indeed be different. In fact, they'd have to be, because I am different, with every passing day, every encounter, every experience. But given a little time, a little grace, and a little trying, who is to say they mightn't also be better?

Anything can happen.

Right now, I just choose to be consumed with the wonder that statement holds rather than to be scared witless by the ominous tones of it I used to hear so frequently.

Right now, I am consumed with being in and of the moments. But somewhere inside, I know my perpetual, life-long obsession with documenting them in full will return.

It always does.

It will again.

For right now, "Dear Diary" will just need to suffice as the practice that may, someday, make perfect. And I am consumed with believing the internal voice that tells me the reward at the end will live up to its promise to validate the means.

Just you wait and see.

The passage from freedom to incarceration is never an easy one.

1. Today's first line title is from a novel by Thomas Trofimuk. It's called Waiting for Columbus, and this description of it alone is enough to make me know it's a book I want to read sooner rather than later: "In the tradition of The Story of Edgar Sawtelle and The Dogs of Babel, this unforgettable novel mines the darkest recesses of loss and the extraordinary capacity of the human spirit."

2. Capitol Market is bursting with fall color right about now, with stand after stand showing off their abundance of mums, pumpkins, tomatoes and autumn vegetables. Makes for fun shopping and good eats, to be sure. Last night, home alone, my dinner consisted of the biggest bowl of fresh kale you've ever seen, topped with chopped ripe tomatoes and balsamic vinaigrette. Yum, yum and yum.

3. Our neighborhood is having a Halloween decorating contest as part of the community HallowEast celebration. Details of this event have yet to be released in full, but I am already intrigued by the possibilities. How could I not be with a teaser tag line like "October is going out with a fang!" appearing in my inbox?

4. I'm not so sure we'll do anything elaborate with regard to adorning the outside of our abode in scary style, but the idea has got me thinking about Christmas. Yes, already. Our 105-year old Victorian could take on a sentimental Currier & Ives feel for the December holidays, or it could be decorated up to look like the biggest, grandest gingerbread house ever designed. Then again, I might consider myself lucky if my husband hangs a string of lights and there's a wreath on the door. We'll see!

5. Only 98 sleeps, 15 hours and 3 minutes 'til Christmas, by the way. You're welcome.

6. Proposal deadline extensions can either rock my world or depress me. Sometimes, I'd rather just get the thing out the door and over with. But other times, like today, a piece of paper affording us two more weeks to get the job done feels like a gift from the gods of stress-free living.

7. My daughter found her wedding dress! It's beautiful. I can't wait to see her in it. Now if she would just make up her mind about the color scheme, we could get some things done. Her gown is ivory, the boys are wearing tan suits, and the wedding is in April, against the blue and green backdrop of the Blue Ridge Mountains. An amazing array of palettes come to my mind, but she's stuck on the idea of yellow dresses for the bridesmaids. To which I say both "Yuck." and "Whatever makes you happy, darlin'." Poor girl. Ha!

[Update: It's purple! Or, more accurately, wisteria! I'm so happy!]

8. Only 212 sleeps until the big day, by the way. Hold me.

9. I penned a tweet about Fox News last night and subsequently had three visits to this blog from Murdoch's News Corp IP address between 11 p.m. and 3 a.m. No comment.

10. I drove behind a car this morning that had an 'I *heart* Mountains' sticker on its back bumper and a 3-foot long, 6 inch high sticker pasted across its rear window reading, 'The Internet is Powered by Coal.' Only in West Virginia?

11. The Mountaineers take on the vaunted SEC in their own backyard this weekend when they roll into Auburn for a Saturday night game. Atlanta's Peachtree chapter of the Alumni Association is taking 5 busloads of WVU fans from five states to the game, and several of our tailgate regulars are going down, as well. Mountaineers will represent, but that's one big stadium. Should be a great game, I think. Here's hoping we can keep our five game winning streak against the SEC (since 2000) alive for one more year! 

12. This website has the power to consume many minutes (hours? days?) of your life.

13. It occurs to me that finding balance in one area of your life can sometimes dictate imbalance in others. It further occurs to me that imbalance is not always a terrible thing. Zen may be the idyll ideal, but in many respects, a state of perfect Zen sounds somewhat boring, doesn't it? If I'm being honest, I'd have to admit that organized chaos is the key that the opens the door to my happy place. Good thing I'm swimming in it, eh?

Open

Overheard:

Man: "Did you see all the flags at half mast around town?"

Woman: "Yeah. So sad. But I did love Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing."

And there's this exchange, which occurs on a frighteningly frequent basis:

Woman: "There's this book I heard about on the radio. About a cat. It's called something I should remember, but don't right now. Do you have it?"

Oddly enough, I knew exactly what she wanted. And we did.

And lastly, notated in The Notebook kept behind the counter:

"Saw a customer come out of the employee bathroom today. Ewwwwwwww!! Seriously. I mean, how did he find it? Ewwwwwwwwww! Can't we post a sign or something??? I MEAN: EWWWWWWWWWW!!!"

I love my co-workers.

_______________________

Opening is my favorite shift at the bookstore. Even the waking up at 5:30 a.m. is starting to grow on me. The house makes all those dead of night sounds it's becoming famous for, and getting ready becomes a sort of game as I try not to wake up my husband. I pause to wonder how he's managed to do it nearly every day for these past thousand years or so, but then I know: it's not a random act of kindness on his part near as much as it is my ability to sleep through anything without missing a single REM blink.

It's gray as I make my way through town, and early morning fog hugs the empty streets like a cozy afghan. It's still quiet at 6:30 in the morning, or as quiet as a city rousing itself to life can be. The walk down Capitol Street toward the store takes me past darkened offices and vacant parking lots; 'CLOSED' signs adorn shop and restaurant windows.

Unlocking the front door, I'm greeted by Mr. C - short for Mr. Cat - and he walks with me to the back room, where he'll spend his day contentedly lounging among the stored books, assorted boxes and miscellaneous stuff. I lug the day's papers inside and stock the waiting racks, knowing the regulars expect them to be brimming with news upon their arrival.

I'm never the first one there. The cafe' openers start even earlier than I do, brewing up their various caffeinated elixirs, putting out the freshly baked scones and muffins, no-bakes and bagels, and bracing for the onslaught. No matter who is on duty there on any given day, they're always happy to see me. Happy enough, anyway, for the company, for the satellite radio I'll turn on, for the shared sense of urgency as 7 o'clock draws close to put up with my pilfering breakfast and a hot cup of coffee as a matter of routine.

I run through the checklist, open the register and take a quick tour around the place before yelling out, "Ready?" And when she is, my cafe' cohort fires back, "You betcha! Thanks for asking!" I unlock the door to a mini-stampede of regular Joes who could not care less about me and my bookish wares. In an hour or two, the bookstore and art annex will be relevant again, and my own day will settle into a steady hum of activity. But at first light, all they want is coffee and the only person they care about is the barista, and I, for one, can appreciate that sentiment completely.

I take my own hot cuppa and sit behind the counter, perusing notes left from the day before, checking to see what's on the task list for the day ahead, nodding a greeting to those in the snaking line, waiting.

And I try not to be too obvious in the pleasure I'm taking at having a front row seat to the finest people watching venue in town.

I love my job.

Full

Today has been filled with small moments, each one less than grand alone, scarcely worthy of a thought or comment, and yet as luminous as a thousand tiny treasures when joined together and appreciated whole.

I love these kinds of days. When the simple things prove to be among the finer in life and the hours roll gently past, unencumbered by the weight of the world. When there is air enough to breathe, and room enough to grow, and time enough to notice. When morning passes in the company of the final chapters of a good book, the afternoon is spent in pursuit of a job well done, and the evening lays spread out before you like a promise, waiting to be kept. 

Sometimes I think the secret to everything is so obvious as to render us oblivious.

Sometimes I think the secret to everything is taking a step back, observing your world and your place in it through the prism of awe it deserves.

I am not perfect, but I am loved.

I am not yet everything I want to be, but I am free to keep trying.

I am not finished, but I have come far.

I am not rich, but I am so very blessed.

I am not complacent, but I am happily content.

I am not always worthy of the gifts this life presents.

But I never fail to be awed by them.

I think I'd do well to remember that, every single day of my life.

The Neverending Story

In nearly six years of blogging, I think it's safe to say I've written dozens of posts where I bitch and moan about my struggle with my weight, dozens more where I wax, perhaps in-eloquently, about my grand love affair with food, and still dozens more where I whine about my body's lack of cooperation with my good intentions.

In that same time frame, I figure I've written one post - maybe...maybe...two - celebrating healthy diet success.

Why is this a mathematical equation I cannot get my head around? Why, for the love of everything holy, does a smart, intelligent, not stupid girl like myself allow herself to succumb to her every bad habit only to then wallow in the consequences of same?

It's a mystery of enormous proportion.

And I am the antagonist of the story, in danger of swelling to enormous proportions myself.

It's time to turn this story on its heels. It's time for the villain to turn heroine, and for the protagonist to defeat the excuses, the shrugs, the "tomorrow is another day" attitudes.

It's time to take control.

Again.

Yes, again. Again. Frustratingly, again.

But also, Gotta Start Somewhere again.

The exercise is there - the bike, the walking, the eight hour shifts on my feet. It's the diet that needs a swift kick in the ass. It's putting what I know into practice. It's letting the little voices in my head telling me "Don't eat that!" overrule the little chubby girl inside me when she stomps her foot, pouts and says, "But I want to!"

I'm really sick and tired of four sizes of clothes in the closet and nothing to wear. I'm really sick and tired of hating every picture taken of me because IT "makes me" look fat. I'm really sick and tired of feeling ugly. Guilty. Less than. Too much of. I'm really sick and tired of the lip service, the bitching and moaning, the "woe is me." I'm really sick and tired of the battle that isn't well and truly joined.  I'm really sick and tired of playing the victim to something that is - should be - well and truly within my control.

I'm really sick and tired of being sick and tired of my body.

It's time to get back to what works. For me.

I'm turning to Weight Watchers. Again. For me.

Challenge: accepted. 

Commitment: made.

One day down.

A lifetime to go.

Scenes from a Life: How I Spent My Summer Vacation Edition.

It's been a year full of movement, change and adventure 'round these parts. With all of the life upheaval that's been going on, we didn't do the traditional summer vacation thing. But that's not to say we didn't vacate and recreate, in our own way and on our own terms, as often as possible.

For starters...

...we celebrated my husband's 50th birthday with a trip to the Indy 500. It was an all-around awesome weekend, from start to finish, and Indianapolis is one town I certainly won't mind visiting again. We ate, we laughed, we drank, we got our fill of race cars and drivers, all up close and personal-like. And it was good to the very last drop.

And then...

...we celebrated my son's 21st birthday with a trip to Cincinnati, where we cheered on his favorite team against Alfonso Soriano and the Chicago Cubbies. The teams split the two games we attended (winning an extra-innings thriller on Saturday night, losing an extra-innings snoozer on Sunday afternoon), but over-priced souvenirs, legal beer and good company were the stars of the show at any rate.

For our next adventure...

...we didn't go far, but we did travel every square inch of our fair city to take in the wonders of FestivALL, a week-long celebration of the arts. There were gallery walks and one-woman shows, plays and screenings of regional films. There were Blues, Brews and BBQ. There was Wine and All that Jazz. There were local artisans galore and street performers of every stripe. There was a 100th birthday party for our local library. In short, there was a little something for everyone and we squeezed every last ounce of fun out of the event we could. The organizers should be proud. I know *I* was. 

Just in case you haven't been able to tell...

...there was a bit of a theme running through our summer travels: celebration. And the short day trip to Douthat State Park in Virginia was no different. We were invited to a family reunion hosted by our future in-laws to celebrate the lovely couple's engagement. Against this park's breathtaking backdrop, we met and mingled with the people who created and helped shape the young man who is the love of our daughter's life. It was a wonderful day, in every way.

And finally...

...we kicked off the 2009 WVU Mountaineer football season in Morgantown. Can I just say how excited we are to be in a position again to go to every home game? For the sixteen years we were away, we tried to make at least one game a season. But it was always tough. Now? The hardest part is deciding what to pack for the tailgate. We are so happy to be back in the blue and gold fold, all serious and for real-like.

So, a couple of observations:

Yes, we are sports fanatics. And yes, I am as guilty as the more testosterone laden members of my family in this regard. Born with it. Raised with it. Lived it. Am it. Love it. What can I say? It's who I am.

Yes, the summer is (almost) officially gone. But the travel part is far from over. What can I say? It's who we are. 

And you know?

I wouldn't have it any other way.

We carry them with us.

here is the deepest secret nobody knows,
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;
which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart
(i carry it in my heart)
~ ee cummings

London in 1887. Cobblestones and narrow, twisting streets.

1. It occurs to me some of you may wonder about these odd little Thursday lists of thirteen. I have no idea if the original Thursday Thirteen still exists, but I adopted the habit nearly four years ago ( !!!!!!!! ) and have been a devoted fan of the opportunity to do a weekly brain dump of all the small things that aren't quite posts, but want to be posted nonetheless.

2. A couple of years ago, I started titling these TT posts with random first lines from various and sundry books. Today, I'm taking that same idea in a slightly different direction and will be choosing my first line titles from random and sundry books I come across in my little bookstore. This serves two purposes: 1) it affords me a place to keep tabs on those titles I've stumbled upon and want to read, and 2) maybe it will introduce you to some new and interesting titles for your own prospective reading lists. Who knows, right?

3. SOOOO. All of that said...today's first line title is from The Science of Sherlock Holmes. Confession: I used part of my first bookstore paycheck to purchase this and The Man Who Created Sherlock Holmes: The Life and Times of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, a biography of a man who was an intriguing character of Sherlockian proportion in his own right. I also pre-ordered this one and am very much looking forward to reading it. All three tomes fit nicely in my Holmes collection, thankyouverymuch.

4. And that's the last time I'll be explaining all of THAT for a while. Sheesh. What is it they say? If you have to explain, it never made sense in the first place? Oh well. What do the ubiquitous THEYs of the world really know, anyway?

5. Did you know there is a website out there designed to tell you the most opportune times during any given movie to leave your seat for a potty break without having to ask, "what did I miss?" upon your return? It's true, and it's called RunPee.com. And also? Now, apparently - THERE'S AN APP FOR THAT.

6. Working two jobs is proving to be a character building exercise in stamina. But? I'm loving every minute of it. One job is intellectually stimulating, creatively challenging, stressfully demanding and, frankly, bill paying. But the other is a dream come true that actually invigorates my ability to do the aforementioned with more focus, confidence and even pleasure. They are - for the moment - an ideal yin and yang, offering a balance that is welcome and appreciated.

7. The bookstore is hosting two controversial figures within six days of each other - Lynndie England (she's suing the author, actually, and the case goes to court shortly after her scheduled visit with us) and Dr. Susan Wicklund. I'll be working both events, and while there is a certain bit of curiosity / trepidation over what to expect in terms of reaction, there is a greater sense of pride and excitement over being an integral part of a community forum offering disparate views and opinions in the best idealistic spirit of the First Amendment.

8. In case you had any doubts, I'll be here again this coming Saturday. Am in need of some good tailgate recipes that travel well (it's a 2-1/2 hour trek to get there). The wraps were a huge hit last weekend, but I certainly don't want to become PREDICTABLE, if you know what I mean. Any ideas?

9. The judges' panel chemistry is going to be something to watch this season on American Idol. Something tells me there is a very good chance Ellen DeGeneres could steal the show away from Simon. Should be interesting, at least!

10. As usual, there are two shows I'm impatiently waiting for among those offered during the Fall television season. One is House, which starts, as a good little television show should, on September 21st with a powerhouse two-hour episode. The other is my beloved Friday Night Lights, which is at the mercy of the arrangement designed to keep it alive for at least two more seasons. This one airs its season opener on October 28th - but only for those lucky enough to subscribe to Direct TV. The rest of us peons? We have to live with NBC's decision to hold new episodes until the summer of 2010, instead of airing them in January as they could (SHOULD), in deference to the Winter Olympic Games. I AM VERKLEMPT. I am grateful the show has been given a second (third) chance at life, but still. I AM VERKLEMPT.

11. I'm wearing a sweater today. This, counter punching the verklemptness in #10, makes me inordinately happy. 

12. We've booked all of our arrangements for our October weekend in Vermont. One night in Burlington, followed by three nights at an inn in Stowe. I am aquiver.

13. Verklempt, inordinately happy, aquiver ... I am all these things and many more - aghast, bemused, enthralled, tormented, optimistic, disgusted, tickled, livid, giddy - at any given moment of any given day. Sometimes, I am all of these at once, and then some. Thus, and as you might imagine, I'm quite certain I can be an exhausting human being to know and love. But I can promise you this much in return: I am rarely boring bored.

Mwahahahaha!    :-)

Turn, turn, turn.

I am a big fan of living in a place with four distinct seasons held neatly in the loose container of a year. A quarter of spring, followed by summer; three months of fall, with winter nipping at its heels. The changes of the earth rife with symbolism of the cycle of life, from birth to death and back again.

Spring. When the world gets reborn, sprouting new growth and curiosity. Subtle warmth nudging its way in, breathing expectation into cold, tired weariness, until all that was old is suddenly new again.

Summer. When the beauty and vigor of youthful exuberance fills the air. Days are longer, and busier, and full of the enthusiasm of wide-eyed optimism, promising that anything is possible.

Winter. When the passing of a year begins to show in the aging of the trees and the ensuing barren landscape. The quietest time of year, and slow; the peaceful respite it affords settling around us like a fleece blanket against the fierceness of the climate. The intimate, cozy wisdom of acceptance replacing anticipation as we understand that to everything, there is a season.

And Fall.

Every time the calendar flips a page and a new season emerges, I claim it to be my favorite, in the heat of the moment.

But Fall.

I love Fall. I identify with this season like no other. There is a maturity, a comforting coming of age feeling to this time of year, when the white hot spontaneity of summer passes into a more serene intentionality. There is a deep, abiding appreciation of where we've been, what we've done, accompanied by the time to pause for breath and note it. Frivolity evolves into the more intensely felt joy; wild abandon gives way to a more settled sense of purpose.

Fall is a time of reflection. Of translating experience into knowledge, and trading the ambivalence of youth for certitude that comes only with the tests of time. It's the season we give thanks, for family and friends, for sustenance and life. It's the season of abundance.

Soon enough, the nights will begin to shift, and the subtle, bitter chill of winter will send the briefest shiver of a reminder through our bones. The rich hues of autumn will begin to fade; the days will grow shorter still, darker and colder. The season will turn again, and so will we.

For today, though, Fall is here.

I can feel it in my soul.

Ramble on.

It's Friday morning, the first in a long while not requiring me to give it my full and undivided attention before my feet even hit the floor. My heart is TGIF-in' like a crazy lady. My head is not so quietly lecturing me on the many things I should be doing to catch up/get ready/BE PREPARED. And my hands? Well, they are sitting here at the computer desk, stroking random words into a little white box on this blog's dashboard in determined avoidance of the conflicting messages being sent from said heart and head.

This is likely to be a rambler. A come-and-go, type every thought as it pops into my head, self-perpetuating distraction as procrastination type post. It is what it is, because I yam what I yam, and that's all I've got to say about that.

_____________________

The son is taking a film class this semester. Yesterday evening's assignment was to watch and discuss the Charlie Chaplin classic 'Modern Times.' I gotta say, at the risk of sounding obtuse, I didn't get it. I didn't see the humor. I wasn't overcome with the sense of watching a classic unfurl before my eyes. I didn't walk away from the screen with a new-found appreciation for the greatness that was Mr. Chaplin.

I did walk away feeling like I'd just lost 87 minutes of my life I'd never get back.

Does this make me a horrible person? I suspect so. Oh well.

_____________________

My house is an absolute wreck, the victim of a whirlwind week and abject neglect. Working my way through the job jar is proving disheartening, if only because the slips are multiplying faster than I can subtract them. The good news is...if I finish all this stuff today, I can enjoy the next three days the way nature intended. Which is to say, empty of mind, happy of heart and open to anything that might come up. So. There's the incentive.

Funny, alas. Said incentive is not actually inspiring me to get off my ass and actually ACCOMPLISH anything.

But...the (first pot of) coffee is down to the dregs, I just got texted about a mandatory 4 o'clock meeting at my "real" job, and the window of opportunity in which to complete the dirty work of household domesticity is closing fast.

I'm gonna get off my duff, like it or not.

Here I go.

Really.

Honest.

Toilet brush and Swiffer vac, here I come.

(Just as soon as I Google up some good recipes to prepare for tomorrow morning's tailgate in Morgantown.)

(Like this one. And this one. And - oooo! - maybe even this one!)

(Oh look! Something blue and gold and shiny!)

In a small town, the opening of a new store is big news.

1. First line title from Needful Things by Richard Bachman, better known as Stephen King. I used to love a good King scare. Still consider The Stand one of my top twenty favorite books. Haven't read one by him in years. Wonder why?

2. It's true, you know. In a small town, the opening of a new store is indeed big news. I remember a trip home to West Virginia once, about two years after we'd moved away, when the grand opening of a bagel shop in downtown Charleston consumed three pages in the local newspaper. No exaggeration. Said bagel shop closed a few months ago, just in time for our move home. Go figure.

3. This has been the most work related stress-filled week since I left my old company and its daily dose of hair pulling routines. I'm hoping - sincerely wishing and praying - that this is merely a glitch in the system and not the beginning of some warped reality, vastly different than the one I've enjoyed since being here. I have no use for such a reality, thank you very much. Every now and then? I get it. But go back permanently to constant levels of angst and stomach pains and sleepless nights? Nope. Not gonna do it.

4. Have I mentioned that I'm really, really, really, really looking forward to this long weekend coming up? No? Oh, people, puh-leeze. I am REALLY, REALLY, REALLY, REALLY looking forward to this long weekend coming up.

5. But...enough with the whining. Let's think happy happy joy joy type thoughts, shall we? Like, for example...I would pay them to let me work at the bookstore. Being there, as an insider, is of the happiest happiest joyful joyful things in my world at the moment.

6. I am trying to make a plan to get to the 2009 National Book Festival in DC on September 26th. (Click the pic of the event poster over there in the sidebar for more info.) I've wanted to go for eons, but just never made it happen. This year, I am determined. The line up of authors includes one of my all-time favorites: John Irving. Everything else aside - and that's a pretty impressive list of "elses" to set aside so nonchalantly - it would be worth the trip just to see him.

7. Amtrak runs betwixt here and there. Tickets are only $50, although the trip takes nine hours. When you figure someone else is doing the driving and that's nine hours to catch up on sleep and reading, it's really not so bad. I could buzz up on Friday, attend the festivities on Saturday, and wind my way home on Sunday. I think it would be a nice little trip, all in all. Don't you?

8. I set my parents up with their own Facebook pages a while ago. My dad, in particular, has really enjoyed connecting with all sorts of people. Dozens of his former players from his years as a high school church league women's basketball coach brighten his day regularly. One of them called him recently and he told her about a nasty skin cancer he was having looked at on the top of his head. Fast forward a few hours. See me log in to FB. Watch my jaw drop as I see this message posted on several pages: "Call coach or send him a message. He's having brain cancer surgery tomorrow." Um, whaaa? No, not exactly. A patch of skin cancer on the top of the head is not QUITE the same as brain cancer. In case you were wondering. It took some doing, but we finally got it all sorted out. Still. HOW does a thing get so twisted around and jumbled up? Was crazy, crazy. The lovely lady who misunderstood in the first place and passed on the bad info felt horrible about it. After the fact, though, it really was sorta funny, in a queasy-making sorta way.

9. COLLEGE FOOTBALL SEASON OPENS TONIGHT! Can I get a HELL YEAH!?!? Four games between ranked opponents to kick things off opening weekend? When is the last time *that* happened? Maybe never? Let the games begin!

10. We're heading to Morgantown Saturday morning for the Mountaineer season opener against Liberty. I'm looking forward to packing up a tailgate, hooking up with The Faithful and cheering our brand new team on to victory. We'll miss Pat White, no question. But I've got a good feeling about JB and the boys, as long as our O-line can gel. And can you say DE - FENSE!? I know I can, all the way until my voice gives out, usually sometime mid third quarter.

11. I'm having a blast jibber jabbering with several of the Mountaineer players, coaches and sportswriters via Twitter. It's nice to get to know a little more personal off the field side to these guys we cheer so hard for on the field.

12. And...keeping with the football theme for one minute longer...today is the 29th anniversary of Coach Vince Lombardi's passing at age fifty-seven. We will now observe silent moment of respect: <         >

13. Forgot to lay something out for dinner. That thought just randomly appeared in my head out of nowhere, but leads me to wonder if it's a good enough excuse to get my husband to take me out somewhere tonight. I could really go for a big ol' salad, prepared by somebody who is not me. Then again, I'm so tired, I could also go for falling into my bed early for a long dog days of summer nap on an empty stomach.

13. (Edited to add:) DUH. Wings. Wings and beer. Wings and beer and COLLEGE FOOTBALL. It's what's for dinner.

Every now and then I fall apart.

Once upon a time, my mother and I were visiting our local library*, something we did at least weekly, and often even more frequently than that. But I remember this particular visit with distinction and clarity, and have relived the moments of it many times in my mind. 

I was standing in the middle of the children's section, looking down at the small blue table in front of me, piled high with titles I'd collected and accumulated for further perusal, trying to decide which four books I would pick to take home with me that day. I remember the feeling that came over me, the acute sensation of being overwhelmed by the task of choosing. Of being forced to choose. Of having to pare the stack of twenty or so books I'd selected down to such an arbitrary number as four.

Four was not enough.

I looked at the shelves around me, packed tightly with story after story, written by author after author; thousands of exciting adventures and promises of escape and limitless possibilities lined up spine to spine, shoulder to shoulder, as far as my eyes could see.

Four books would never be enough.

Four books multiplied by 52 weeks multiplied by 100 or 200 or 2000 years I'd never live to see...it would never be enough.

I began to cry. The tears came softly and silently at first, but eventually, I cried the big tears of sadness with the heaving sobs of sorrow and the running, snot filled nose of overwhelming grief.

The librarian tried to figure out what could possibly be wrong, but I wasn't able to speak the words to help her understand. Finally, my mother rounded the corner, knelt down beside me and swept me in her arms, patting me on the back and murmuring, "Shhhh. Shhhhhh. Take a deep breath."

I took several deep gulps of air, until eventually my tiny body shuddered and the tears began to wane. With my head still laying on my mother's shoulder, I whispered in her ear. "There are too many books. I don't think I'll ever get to read them all."

She hugged me tight to her for several minutes. Then she kissed my forehead, stood up, gathered every last book off of the little blue table, and led me by the hand to the front desk. I watched with wide eyes as the librarian stamped a due date on the card in the back of each one of them. When she finished, she tucked a bookmark into the pages of the book on top of the pile - I even remember that it was The Boxcar Children, by Gertrude Chandler - and smiled.

I must have been seven or eight years old at the time.

But today, walking around the bookstore with its thousands of titles and boxes of new releases waiting to be shelved, I felt a tug of empathy in my heart for that little girl on that long ago day. And I feel her angst with more compassion than ever.

Four really *isn't* enough.

Four books multiplied by 52 weeks multiplied by 100 or 200 or 2000 years I will never live to see?

It will only ever be enough to break a reader's heart.

__________________

* Last I checked, which was not all that long ago, I still held the summer reading record for 9-10 year-olds at this very same library. Nearly 100 books (I was huge into Nancy Drew at the time, and Lois Lenski, and Narnia) in three summer months filled with swimming pools, Little League and who can remember what else. And in all honesty, it's one of the things I most proud of still, all these years later. Ha! How goofy is that?