Gilligan's Island

Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip.
That started from this tropic port, aboard this tiny ship.
The mate was a mighty sailin' man, the skipper brave and sure.
Five passengers set sail that day, for a three hour tour, a three hour tour;
The weather started getting rough, the tiny ship was tossed.
If not for the courage of the fearless crew, the Minnow would be lost;
the Minnow would be lost.

The ship took ground on the shore of this uncharted desert isle,
with Gilligan, the Skipper too, the Millionaire, and his Wife, the Movie Star, the Professor and Mary Ann, here on Gilligan's Isle.
So this is the tale of our castaways, they're here for a long, long time.
They'll have to make the best of things, it's an uphill climb.


My friend Pie and I were casual library book sale acquaintances. We ran into each other at book sales & the post office. We'd chat about books , E-Bay and this and that, the sort of things semi strangers talk about when they find themselves waiting in line.

At the last of the Spring sales she mentioned that her shoulder hurt and she was going to have to go to the doctor. I sent her a "how are you doing" e-mail, she fired back that she'd broken it and the doctors suspected bone cancer was the cause. She mentioned she couldn't pack her books so I offered to help out. And I did.

By July she'd broken her leg also, the bone cancer was advancing at a rapid pace and it was apparent that her house was unliveable due to the piles and piles of books heaped in and on every available space. So I started packing. And packing. And packing. 150+ boxes of books later you could see the floor.

And as the books staggered out the door our friendship deepened. She got sicker, I learned more about emergency rooms, home nursing , ambulances, hospice, caregivers than I ever thought I needed to know.

I also learned about humor, courage and that it's possible to face the unspeakable with a smile, a laugh and a joke. And that while one could be dying, one could also being having way to much fun to die. I learned that people who knew each other only through the internet could come together and become a family. And that pink plastic flamingos are as important as pain meds.

I told her that sometimes I felt like one of the passengers on the Good Ship Minnow. I signed up to pack a few books and here, 5 months later I was still on the island.

But now The Minnow is heading toward her final port. Pie is at the hospice in patient care hospital, sedated to almost unconscious because the pain is unbearable.

God Speed my friend, blue skies and fair winds on your final voyage and thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking me along on the ride.

The Texas Trophy Wife

My Beloved won a weekend at La Cantera Golf Resort in San Antonio and since it's our 9th anniversary it seemed like a perfect time to take advantage of it. The golf here is primo and that is where she's spent the day. Me, I went thrifting and came back to hang out at the pools and the lobby and observe the march of the trophy wives.

Men who can afford trophy wives are usually avid golfers (both golf and trophy wives being an expensive habit) so resorts like this are prime places to observe the species in action.

La Cantera has multiple pools, including one that is blessedly adults only and that caused schism of the trophy wives. Those with children were relegated to the kid friendly area, those who hadn't bred yet were soaking up sun in the over 21 section.

However , despite the divide they all still had the "look". Tanned, very thin, high cheekbones (compliments of the best plastic surgeon in town), blond streaked hair pulled into a pony tail, well done boob job and very large diamond engagement ring. Since they were around water they left the tennis bracelet in the room. Designer bag, designer swim suit, designer manicure and pedicure completed the picture.

Many trophy wives feel need to cement their position (or ensure generous child support should they be displaced by a younger model) by quickly producing several slim blond children within a very short time period. Men take up trophy wives to feel "young again" and I guess having children the same age as your grandchildren by wife #1 are yet another way to recapture one's lost youth. The wives were all trailed by an au pair who obviously does the scut work. Trophy Wives never have that frazzled look that so many full time Moms acquire, nor do ever appear in public in anything but the most perfectly coordinated of outfits and full makeup. Full time, hands on Moms also tend to sport comfortable shoes, baggy clothes and hair in need of trim and are doing well to put on lipstick.

The childless ones were stretched out on the chaise loungers acquiring a future case of skin cancer - they never go in the water since it would ruin their hair. They sipped tall, frozen drinks adorned with little parasols and flipped through fashion magazines.

Later they retired to the lobby where they sunk into the overstuffed furniture and drank Cosmopoltians and other chi-chi drinks in the wide mouthed glasses with slender stems. The attire of choice was capri pants in tropical prints, matching shirts, dangleing earrings, a floating diamond necklace and high heeled sandals. Hair was released from the pony tail and worn shoulder length in an expensive tousle.

I've always wondered just how one becomes a trophy wife? Is this a career goal, something one is groomed to do by one's mother or is this a job one just falls into? In these days of feminism and career woman it's always a bit disconcerting to see women totally tieing their identity and their economic security to that of a man.

And just what happens to a trophy wife when she becomes slightly tranished and is put away in the cabinet in favor of newer, shinier version ?

Food shortages!

The grocery stores are starting to reopen so I set forth to replenish the larder. There was plenty of produce, bread , meat, milk and frozen foods (the stores in my part of town did not loose power for any length of time).

Some shelves were still bare, which I expected.
Canned Soup - The Campbells kids went to someone else's house to play
Water - it had rowed to another stream
Coca Cola - everyone decided to give the world (and themselves a coke)
Toilet Paper - well it is one of necessities of life
Batteries - the Energizer Bunny finally fizzled.
sausage - cooks up well on the barbie

Kitty Litter! Yes kitty litter and dry cat food were not to be found. Somehow I don't recall seeing those on any list of essential hurricane supplies.

But then we all who really runs the world don't we!

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig

Woke up this morning to gray skies , light rain and a steady breeze. Cranked up the computer to find an e-mail from from my E-bay bookselling buddy who lives near us. They have power and there isn't any standing water in the streets. She said she's seen more rain during a summer thunderstorm. Hurricane Rita turned east and traveled up the Texas/ Louisiana state line.

My Beloved deems it safe to head home. When she makes up her mind, she is a Woman on a Mission. We load the car, corral the cats and barrel down Hwy 6. It's smooth sailing all the way to Houston. In the rear view mirror we see a constant stream of cars - it's apparent that others have the same idea. Since we were only 100 miles north of Houston we are at the forefront of the returnees.

All along the road we see abandoned cars in the north bound side, mute testament to the gasoline problems of Thursday's mass exodus north. The authorities are asking people to postpone their return but of course nobody is listening. Everyone wants to get home to their own bed. Plus, deep down we all remember what happened in New Orleans and thus feel a deep primeval urge to go home and protect our property.

We pull in and the house is just as we left it, other than some broken tree branches. Unload the cats who make a mad dash for their favorite chairs, turn on the TV and fire up our computers.

We have power, water, cats, intact windows, internet and satellite service. All is well in our little world.

And we are so very grateful.

The Calm Before the Storm

....is an apt phrase indeed. Rita is still churning in the Gulf of Mexico. It has been eerily still for the past 2 days, hot, humid, sticky, not a hint of a breeze. The kind of weather where you break out in a damp sweat just going out the door. It's been overcast and hazy, no clouds and grayish colored sky. Even the birds have been still. Not one drop rain and the plants are parched.

One of the worst parts of the hurricane is the........

Anticipation,
Anticipation
Is making me late
Is keeping me waiting....
lyrics by Carly Simon

It's out there, you know it's out there and you can't do anything about it. You can't make it go away, all you can do is leave, and given the gridlock of the past 3 days that wasn't even an option for many. The TV switches to 24/7 coverage and you are drawn to it like a moth to a flame. There really isn't a great deal of news and the anchor people keep repeating the same thing over and over again. But you just can't turn away - for some reason pictures of reporters in rain slickers being blown about are so compelling. You feel like you are suspended in time, enveloped in jello, stuck in the muck. All you can do is wait for the oncoming train to come barreling down the tracks and hit you upside the head.

You can wait, watch and wait some more. It it truly an exercise in patience and a lesson that no matter what, Mother Nature always holds the trump card.

Trying to Reason...

Trying to Reason with the Hurricane Season by Jimmy Buffett

Squalls out on the gulf stream
Big storms comin soon.....
There's something about this Sunday
It's a most peculiar gray
strolling down the avenue that's known as a1a....
the wind is blowin harder now
Fifty knots or thereabouts
There's white caps on the ocean
And I'm watchin for waterspouts
It's time to close the shutters
It's time to go inside......

And a most unreasonable hurricane season it has been. Houston is about to get the "big one". Alicia was our last Strom of any consequence and she blew in (and blew out every window in downtown Houston on her way out) in 1983.

Rita looks to be big, mean and dangerous - a lady not to be trifled with. The powers that be decided that she shouldn't be and ordered and encouraged a major evacuation. 4+ million residents took to the highways, 4+ million residents came to a total stop.

My beloved started fretting about our 32 windows so we took off too. Her old boss; who lives in a small town about 100 miles north of Houston kindly offered to shelter us and our furry friends. I packed some clothes, my passport, my computer, my great grandmothers pearls ,the cats and off we we went.

The freeways were parking lots so we took the back roads out of town. Once we left the city limits we encountered pockets of gridlock but compared to many we fared very well. I used to be a long distance cyclist and spent many a mile on the north county roads during training rides. My beloved had ridden her motorcycle over them also and we had a County road atlas, which is much more detailed than a road map. We took back roads, patched roads, dirt roads and occasionally dead end roads but we reached our destination. Took us 7 hours to make what is normally a 2 hour trip. The folks on the freeways weren't moving at all so we feel fortunate to be someplace with A/C and wireless internet and confused cats.

And now all we can do is cross our fingers and hope for the best. ET and I both have something in common - we want to go home!

The Melting Pot has Congealed

Disclaimer- this is my opinion not that of my school nor my school district. It's not meant to be a slur on bi-lingual teachers. All bi-lingual teachers I've encountered have been caring, dedicated and go far and above the normal call of duty. One even writes a mean blog. And many are as frustrated by the system and it's results - or lack thereof as I am.

And on that note...let the rant begin......

We, like many schools have many, many students for whom English is not their first language, thus we have a bilingual program. The object is to teach the child in their native language so they can easily transistion to learning in English. Often it works, sometimes it doesn't.

When it doesn't the results are depressing to the extreme. The bulk of the students in the fifth grade bilingual classes are native born Americans. Yet, on the average their writing and reading level in English is that of a 2nd or 3rd grader and their conversational English isn't much better. They have been together since PreK, they are completely inbred and rarely make friends outside their own classroom. There are number of double retainees, meaning they are 2 years older than their peers - 12 going on 13. Many of these kids have multiple strikes against them - terribly dysfuntional home life, undiagnosed learning disabilities, families who don't value education, no motivation,no inner drive, parents who don't speak English and don't think their children need the skill either.

The result is- kids who drop out as soon as they can (if not sooner) and go forth into the world basically illiterate.

I don't know what the solution is, but the present system isn't working.

Hurrah for the Red, White and Blue

Last Saturday was Constitution Day. Bet you didn't know that did you? You would if you worked in a school receiving federal funds. We MUST observe Constitution Day. It's the law. Only school was not in session on Saturday so we were allowed to observe it on Friday. I guess it's a movable day, just like Memorial Day and Washington's Birthday.

It seems very ironic to be ordered to teach about a document stressing Freedom of Speech and the rights of the individual at a specific day, on a specific time. All schools teach "The Constitution" but we usually wait till it fits into the scope and sequence of the curriculum. This time of year, when it comes to Social Studies, Columbus is still sailing the ocean blue.

My principal delegated "The Constitution" to me, since I see all the kids and she could assure the Powers that Be that yes, we were properly observing the day, the event and most importantly the law.

Constitutional law is tricky enough to keep legions of lawyers employed. Try explaining it to Spanish speaking 5 year olds who aren't sure what country they live in , much less how it is governed. After discovering to my shock that even some of the 5th graders were none to sure of the name of their country:
"Houston"?
"Harris"?
"Texas"?

I scaled the lesson back to the basics.
"Your classroom has rules, our country (and again, what is the name of our country?) has rules. We call those rules "The constitution". Then I read The Preamble, stopping to interpret every word. 200 years ago language was ever so formal.

Thus we observed the law, in letter if not in spirit. Whether the kids remember any of this is a totally immaterial question. It's another one of those sound bite government quick fixes that is supposed to solve all the education problems and only results in photo opts.

Old TV...It's Bad, It's So Very Bad....

My girls gave me a DVD set of "Dallas" for my birthday. Back in the late 70s, early 80s I was addicted to that show - right along with most of America.

But oh, it has not stood the test of time. It's more like a bottle of Ripple wine than an aged Merlot. The acting is wooden, the sets cheesy and the dialogue is contrived. And sexist, oh is it sexist - the comments the men make about "pretty girls" and "are you really a secretary" seemed normal at the time. Now they make my jaw clench.

The late 70s were not a high point when it comes to fashion or interior decoration. Plaids, prints and palms appear to have been the standard. Big hair, big purses and high heels at all times. The script supervisor appears to have been in the twilight zone - Pam, wearing a fur coat talks to Lucy who wears a bathing suit. At a formal ball some of the guests are in evening gowns and others in leisure suits (and oh were those ugly!). Artifical was the fabric of choice. Garish green gold and brown the predominant colors. .

In one episode JR sports a "beeper" and everyone marveled at the new technology. In Dallas phones have cords and secretaries type on IBM Selectrics. E-mail, laptops, cell phones, IMs, personal computers, and the internet have yet to make an appearance.

And yet, I'm going to watch it all the way through - just so I can once again find out who shot JR!

And This is America?

Just like much of the rest of America I've been alternately depressed, astounded and ashamed at the debacle in New Orleans. Whenever I think we've reached our nadir we seem to sink a little lower. The Bush administration has egg on their face and dog doo-doo on their shoes. The head of FEMA prior claim to fame is running a horse camp. The Shrub is to busy planning future sitathons on Trent Lott's porch to worry about the citizens of New Orleans. His mother seems to have spent way to much time reading biographies of Marie Antoinette - but then they do share a similar hair color. And Houston's population has just increased by 50,000. All in just one week. What does next week have in store for us?

New Orleans has always inspired authors and this week is no different....

Don't You Know Me, I'm Your Native Son...
Notes from Inside New Orleans
By JORDAN FLAHERTY

I just left New Orleans a couple hours ago. I traveled from the apartment I was staying in by boat to a helicopter to a refugee camp. If anyone wants to examine the attitude of federal and state officials towards the victims of hurricane Katrina, I advise you to visit one of the refugee camps. ......

click below to read the rest.

http://www.counterpunch.org/flaherty09032005.html

I told My Beloved that as soon as the city is back on it's feet that we are going back. The coffee and bengits at Cafe du Mond are calling my name.

But It's Twilight on the City of New Orleans

But it's twilight on the city of New Orleans,
talk about a pocket full of friends.
Halfway home and we'll be there by morning.
With no tomorrow waiting 'round the bend.

Singing good night, America, I love you.
Saying, don't you know me, I'm your native son?
I'm the train they call "The City of New Orleans".
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done

City of New Orleans by Steven Goodman

People are dying, people are stranded and people are looting. The Governor has asked everyone to evacuate the city. The city that so many have loved, lived in, visited and written about is drowning. The city that has inspired some of America's greatest literature, music and dance is no more. The city which preserved it's history has no future.

I am heartsick and the only thing I have lost is memories. The people of New Orleans have lost everything.

Flamingos!

The internet commuity is second to none. It's brought people together in ways we never thought possible. My friend "Pie" is a active member of a Question and Answer board on E-bay. When she became ill they rallied round as her personal support group. Cards, cakes, flowers, stuffed animals, phone calls and visits are pouring in - all from people who have known her for years but have never meet her in person.

Last night, with the assistance of some local members her yard was flocked- 30 plastic Flamingos, all adorned with the names of the donors arrived - complete with giant greeting card.

30 plastic pink Flamingos - $150. 1 heart full of joy - Priceless.





Pink Flamingo Kind of Love - Howard Rebecca Lynn c2002

Life is great without the clutter
Pass the apple butter
I can't believe this heat
Ain't it simple,ain't it clever
How good we go together
Like june bugs on a string
If our yard was an ocean
And we were sitting' in our lawn chairs
I wouldn't feel any more emotion
Then I do now,
all I want's a
Sprinkler on the garden hose and
Aim it at the patio
Iced tea,you and me
Pink flamingo (kind of love)
Let the clothesline be our fortress
Gas up the tiki torches
Sun up,sun down,
big dreams,small town
Pink flamingo kind of love

Pink Flamingo Kind of Love - Howard Rebecca Lynn c2002

The Circle Game

There’ll be new dreams, maybe better dreams and plenty
Before the last revolving year is through
And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We’re captive on the carousel of time
We can’t return, we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game

The Circle Game by Joni Mitchell

This song seems to summing my life at the moment. My friend "Pie" who is ill is really, really ill. In fact she's dying. At the same time our next door neighbors just welcomed their first child into the world - a healthy, longed for baby boy.

Thursday night I went to her house to help her with some odds and ends. Then I came home and cuddled a 2 day old baby.

The ending of a life and the beginning of one - all in one night.

They Just Don't Get It

They just don’t get it.

Hospitals are very strange places. They are supposed to be set up to accommodate people who are in pain, immobile, handicapped and not in the best of heath. The elevators are all hung with signs proudly proclaiming their mission. The walls are adorned with pictures of happy, healthy ex-patients. But somehow they always manage to miss the boat.

My friend who is ill was admitted to the emergency room of one of the premier cancer hospitals in the nation. We arrived at 11am and she was not admitted to her room till after 7pm , giving us 8 hours to observe the wheels turning, creaking and frequently stalling.

To set the stage – she has a broken leg, a broken arm and her other arm is very weak and her hand has no strength due to complications from a cancerous tumor. She’s not exactly an ideal candidate for the Susan Koman Race for the Cure.

They plop her a room, drape one of those gowns over her clothing , hook her up to an IV with multiple tubes and then hand her a specimen cup and point her toward the bathroom.
The cup has a lid, she’s tethered to an IV and has extra layers of clothing to contend with.

We decide modesty be dammed and I go in to help her. We get the gown tangled in the IV tubes, I who have 2 good hands can’t get the cap off the wretched cup and there is no pee forthcoming. Time for the old camp trick of sticking your hand into warm water. It works. We break into gales of laughter and make so much noise we alarm the staff. I guess they don’t hear many hysterical giggling fits.

That taken care of she gets back into bed and tries to nap and I read. Hours crawl by. Dinner time arrives. Dinner, which is delivered consists of a turkey wrap, a carton of juice and a bag of baked chips, everything wrapped and sealed in plastic containers. And just how is she supposed to open it, much less eat it? I’d pilfered a couple of straws from the cafeteria so the juice is manageable. I chop the wrap into pieces with the oh so helpful (also hermetically sealed in cellophane) plastic knife and we manage somehow.

Half way through dinner the phone rings. It’s on a table, against the wall, a good 5 feet from the bed. Not only can she not answer it, but I can barely stretch the cord far enough so she can talk. It’s transportation. They will be “right down” to take her to her room. “Right Down” is hospital speak for 2 hours.

Helping someone who is coping with cancer is definitely a reality check in just how inaccessible many “handicapped” facilities really are.

And that no matter how grim it gets there is always something to laugh about.

Even if it’s just a urine specimen cup.

Writing in a Stupor...

Such a 10 days it's been....to wit:

• Our Assistant Principal quit and we got a new one - all within the first week of school.
• School is still in session and summer vacation seems oh so far away.
• My car developed some odd and interesting problems
• My computer keyboard gave up the ghost entirely. Even 3 hours on the phone to India (and all the kings men) couldn't put it together again.
• The school district tech wizards decided everyone needed to change their password to a "strong" password. Which unleashed total chaos.
• My friend who is ill ended up back in the hospital. Emergency rooms are not fun places to while away a Sunday.

Never has a Friday been so eagerly anticipated!

1 Down, 179 to Go...

Today was the first day of school. One thing I like about teaching is that every year really is a new beginning. New kids, new teachers, new lessons, new inititives, new projects. Every 365 days you really do have a chance to experience "the first day of the rest of your life". I think that's one reason many teachers are optimists (you have to be to stay in the biz) - we really do have more opportunities than most people to write on the clean slate of life.

Many of my favorite kids came back (and a few that aren't). All teachers play favorites, anyone who tells you they don't is lying. Hugs and smiles all around. Our students pretty much like school. They get 2 good meals, routines and well expressed expectations. No matter what one reads about the spontaneity of childhood, children are creatures of habit. They like knowing what's going to happen and thrive on routine.

The library opened up first thing, we had full slate of classes and checked out 270 books. After many renditions of Alistar in Outer Space I have a sore throat and a sore back.

I think a hot bath is in order.

Why Teachers Dread In-Services

For parents, the school year begins with a trip to the mall for clothes and school supplies, for teachers it begins with a round of in-services. Sometimes they are very, very good, but when they are bad they are horrid.

I suffered through one today and I now have the perfect recipe for "a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad in-service".

Neglect to inform point people at the site what will be required in terms of equipment and logistics.

Stuff 100+ people into a small room. Do not add the presenters who are running late.

Require the 100+ people stand in a long line to sign in because you haven't enough sign in sheets.

Waste 50 minutes while the presenters try and figure which groups need to move to another room because there aren't enough chairs or tables.

Sort out the groups and discover you haven't enough handouts, journals and other essential supplies. Some people will have to do without. Which makes it impossible for them to participate.

Finally begin presentation. Pretend your audience is 7 years old, the same age as their students.

Assume your audience knows nothing about the topic. Do not change your assumption, even when it becomes very apparent that this is an incorrect assumption.

End the presentation early but inform the audience they must stay for another 45 minutes because it's supposed to be 4 hours long.

At that point all the teachers in the room got up to go to the bathroom and forget to return.

It was a total waste of a morning.

Hurts..

Feet hurt.
Knees hurt.
Back hurts.
Shoulders hurt.
Throat hurts.
Head hurts.
Brain hurts.

9 hours on your feet teaching an in-service will do that to a body!

Galloping Through the Day

Up at 5:30,dress, feed cats, tend to cat litter boxes, zip through Starbucks, at work by 7am. Hang flags, unpack stuffed animals and puppets (I have hundreds), set up new books, tinker with Accelerated Reader, catalog Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, try to help new teachers feel less confused, shuffle 2 months worth of mail and muse on math manipulatives, schedule classes, answer questions, questions and more questions. Lesson plans still await me. Set Outlook profiles, fiddle other teacher's computers - it's amazing what happens when you plug the thing in!

Leave work, duck in and out of the rain drops and zip in and out of the post office, office supply store, grocery store and dollar store.

Home to unload, opt for bread, cheese and fruit for dinner. Answer e-mails, list books, tend to auctions.

Head upstairs - I have books to pack before I sleep.

Can you tell summer break is OVER?

I expect to spend the next week in an exhausted stupor.

It's Over..........

If you ever read any teacher blogs, you'll note that in April they get cranky. By May they are permeated by a certain giddy excitement. During June and July they become very eclectic. But by August they should all be bordered in black. Our summer days are ticking away, today is my last.

I really do enjoy my job. I feel lucky that I get up every morning to spend my time with congenial staff and a principal I like and admire. When I think of people who spend 8 hours day trapped in a cube doing something repetitive, meaningless and boring I realize that I am fortunate indeed.

But it's the structure that I dread. During the summer my days are like custard, sweet, slippery and willing to take any form or format I wish. During the school year they resemble crackers - neatly divided into tight little squares with no wiggle room. Like crackers, if something unexpected comes up (broken car, illness, friend in town) the day falls apart and crumbles beyond repair.

No rolling over one more time after the alarm goes off, no lingering over coffee, reading an extra chapter in my book, lingering in the store, having a leisurely lunch with a friend.

Nope, it's back to split second timing, dumping in a load of laundry on my way out the door, hitting the grocery store during the 5 o'clock rush, flinging dinner together and dashing upstairs to pack the E-bay books. Always watching the clock and trying to grab the minutes as they slip way. And never, ever quite being all caught up.

Oh well, it's only 4 months till the Winter break!

Back in the Saddle Again...

Vacation is over... not officially, as in "the contract says we have to be there" , but as in "off the clock in-services so I can get my flex days and my required non contract hours" . Most professions require continuing education but doctors always seem to be jetting off to exotic locations to learn the latest tricks of the trade. Lawyers get sent to seminars during the work day, ditto accountants. Teachers not only have continuing education on the clock, we have to get additional hours off the clock on our own time. Oh well, nobody ever said life was fair.

The 4 day class I'm taking is quite interesting, I'm learning a great deal but I'm also having to sit a great deal. I'm not used to sitting. In the library I'm on my feet most of the time and during the summer I'm not one to sit around and eat bon-bons.

You know, sitting around all day is very tiring!

Becoming Invisible

My friend who is ill has a broken leg and a broken arm and can't drive so I've been her chauffeur. Kroger offers electric go carts so we headed there to replenish her pantry and larder.

She got herself situated and off we went, she did the steering and me following with my own cart. My job was to get the groceries from the high and low shelves - grocery stores aren't made for people who shop sitting down.

They also aren't made for people who aren't ambulatory, but for some reason they are made for people who can't see. I don't see how anyone can ignore a go-cart but my friend (who is not the shy, mousy type) suddenly became invisible. We chanted "excuse me" , "please move", "Beg pardon" , "I'm sorry", "No, you need to move your cart too" (Texans are very polite) while traversing aisles 1-6.

By aisle 7 we cut to the chase "move".

By aisle 8 I wondered if Kroger carried bazoka horns - the kind the clowns use in the circus - we could have used one.

By aisle 9 friend contemplated rapping people on the ankles with her cane.

The kicker came as we left. Car was in the handicapped section. Standing there, blocking the way to the car and the door were 2 woman with their carts gossiping. One of them had a toddler which both of them were ignoring. We approached and it was pretty obvious we needed access to the car they were blocking. They ignored us.

We tried the loud cough approach. Didn't work.

"Excuse me" Didn't work either".

Finally resorted to "You have to move, you are blocking our car".

They moved - all of 2 feet and blocked the trunk. Toddler continued to run up and down the rectangle created by our car, an adjoining car, us and the gossip monglers. My friend couldn't maneuver the cart down the ramp for fear of running over him. I couldn't bring the groceries down. The ladies kept talking, the kid kept rambling about and we kept staring at them.

Finally we snapped out "Get your kid and move. We need to get into the car you are blocking."

They looked mildly put out that we dare disturb them and went on into the parking lot. Where they continued to stand. And talk. And ignore the child. I fully expected to the see story on the evening news "Child run over in grocery parking lot, film at 11".

Houston Never Ceases to Surprise

In many ways, Houston is a very tiresome city. The weather is ghastly - right now going outside is akin to walking directly into a 6 foot high damp and moldy sponge. The traffic is worse. There appears to be a little known law that makes it illegal to ever complete a freeway. It's about the only traffic law Houstonians adhere to. And then there is a our complete and total lack of zoning which has resulted in an "anything goes" form of city planning. In Houston you'll find a gas station next to a McMansion with a convenience store round the corner.

This lack of zoning results in a constant tearing up and redoing of buildings, parks, streets (hence the freeway law) with nothing ever staying the same. Much of the time this is very depressing, with historic buildings disappearing right and left. But sometimes the changes are exciting.

Herman Park is our equivalent of Central Park. Over the years it had gotten scruffy and down at the heels from over use. Houston has a habit of building grand public spaces but never budgeting enough money to maintain them properly.

I was a bit early for an appointment near the park and since it was early and not yet to steamy I took a walk. I hadn't been there in years, not since my girls outgrew the going to the zoo stage.

It had recently been redone and the changes were amazing. New plantings, new paths, some areas were wildscaped, others landscaped. The lake had new borders and benches and some very happy ducks. The trash was gone and grass green and lush - nice change from the hard brown, trampled vistas of old. The old statue of Sam Houston astride his horse now frames a stunning vista of relection pool from one side and the city skyline from the other.

The view

That's what makes Houston bearable, you turn the corner and discover something new and suprising.


Sam on His Horse

Laughter is the Best Medicine

Drove my friend, who is very ill to the Cingular store so she could get a new phone. Ernest young salesman carefully explained the differences between the one year and two year plans. Simultaneously we look at each other and burst into gales of laughter. The salesman looked most perplexed.

She explained the reason- she'll be lucky to have another year, much less two.

The salesman took in stride and was most helpful, a distinct pleasure after some of my previous encounters with folks in the service business.

Sometimes you just gotta laugh, even it's not really appropriate. It beats the alternative.

Warning - Rant Ahead...

When did the service industry decide to ignore the word "service"? There seems to be an epidemic of "the customer be dammed" lately.

Last week, lunch at one of my favorite restaurants, the server ignores us in favor of the adjoining table which is 100% male. Once we do get her attention she bungles our order and then manages to further ignore us and avoid all eye contact , while being most attentive to the table next to us. The hostess is to busy flirting with yet another man to address my complaint. Letter of complaint in the mail within 24 hours.

This evening I stop at a Starbucks, lots of folks at the tables but there is no line. 2 Baristas argue loudly over who is going to wait on me. I like feel like an intruder and does not give me a warm, fuzzy welcome feeling. E-mail fired off to corporate within 24 hours. And isn't Barista the most pretentious word in the world? No matter how you slice it and dice it, Starbucks is a coffee shop!

I'm in the service biz myself - a good school librarian is at the beck and call of every teacher in the school since our job is to support theirs. I have very high standards for myself and consequently expect the same when I'm on the receiving end.

Perhaps they are to high?

I'm Not Wild About Harry

Will everyone else who is NOT reading Harry Potter #6 please sign in? I tried love the books, but I wasn't able to get through the first one or the second one and when it came to the third one I didn't even try. I just don't like fantasy. Never have, never will. The list of fantasy books I've never been able to finish reads like a who's who of the genre. The Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, The Narnia Series, The Redwall books, The Chronicles of Merlin, The Robert Jordan books. Nobody can say I haven't tired.

I buy them for my school library, I recommend them wholeheartly to the kids and I'm delighted that J.R. Rawling has made reading "cool". I think there way to much hype and that some parents have turned the books into the Cabbage Patch Dolls for the new millennium. "See what a good parent I am, I stood in line at midnight to be sure little Madison (who is all of 4 years old and really prefers GoodNight Moon) had a copy on the first day". But such is life.

But every now and then a child returns Harry and when I ask what they thought of it whispers "I didn't like it". And I whisper back "I didn't either". And both of feel like we are no longer "the only ones".

All Grown Up

In May both my girls graduated college. It was a strange feeling, knowing they were really done with childhood and were now "young women on their own". The younger is going to graduate school so she still has one foot in childhood and the other in adulthood. Though not entirely, since she's financing her own higher education.

The elder leapt into adulthood feet first and landed safely. Within 3 weeks of graduation she'd moved to Los Angeles, found an apartment and a job that is somewhat connected to her degree. With benefits no less. Mom, who has been paying very high health insurance premiums for years is delighted.

And she's off to London and Hamburg for 2 weeks - on business. She's always wanted to travel and she's over the moon with excitement.

All grown up and flying high. Mom's so proud of you!

Bigger isn't Always Better

This is Texas, which prides itself on having the biggest everything. We had an Ikea, it was big but it wasn't BIG ENOUGH. So they acquired the adjacent lot, built a bigger one and tore the old one down for a parking lot (and no, they didn't pave paradise in the process).

Went there today to help a friend bring a chair home home. Early in the morning, not especially crowded but I swear it took us 30 min. to find it , haul it to the cash register and leave. Friend knew exactly what chair she wanted. The 30 minutes were spent following their rabbit trail from entrance to exit. One cannot nip in and out of Ikea, one must stroll / meander/ power walk/ through the entire store.

I like Ikea, I really do. I appreciate the fact that they produce well designed furniture & household items for a reasonable price. They don't feel the need to add tacky plastic "carvings" to their headboards or make fake Louis XVth chairs. It's all clean lines, muted colors, and blond wood. Hip, stylish, trendy but not passe by years end.

But it's overwhelming. I think I'll confine my Ikea shopping to their catalog, call ahead and have it waiting for me!

Rare Venture into Politics

Not being a political animal, I rarely comment on current events but the bombings in London cry out for a comment. Everything that can be said, has been said by those who are more elequent than I.

This website says it all. If we give in to the terrorists then they will indeed win.

Time abhors a Vacuum

Ever notice that just when you think you might have nothing to do LIFE rushes in and ensures that your cup once again overflows? It's summer, I'm not working the girls are living on their respective coasts and I should be a lady who lunches. Right? Wrong!

My summer is fast disappearing. Of course I did put in a week of my own time cataloging the math manipulatives. I don't think there is an elementary school librarian in the country who cares for Marilyn Burns. She may be a great math teacher but a pox on her base ten blocks, pattern blocks and tangrams.

Redid the E-Bay office, since the books were spilling out into the hall. We have kittens again, so I'll put in a day trying to trap them so I can get them spayed. Devoted a couple of days to serious thrifting and 2 days to library sales that proved to be not worth the trip. But you don't know that till you try. Stuffed books into my auction program in the hopes they will sell once the Holiday buying season starts again.

All teachers schedule their doctor appointments during the summer, as well as any 8-5 sort of things that normal folks can do on their lunch hours (teachers don't get lunch hours, we get a lunch break). A friend is very ill and I've been helping her out by taking her meals and running her errands.

Our first "official" day back is August 1, but the last week of July will be taken up with semi mandatory inservices, so that leaves me just 2 weeks.

And once again, another summer slips away................

The Events Continue

Whatever planet it is that governs how well things work is most definitely retrograde at the moment. Not only did we have a Series of Unfortunate Events at our B& B we have also have an equally Series of Unfortunate Events with our car. The back window got stuck in the “down” position. In true Southern fashion we Gerry rigged a fix of sorts using a cardboard box and duct tape. My sister in law informed us that the car has now found “its inner mullet”. It made quite an impression on valets at the Grove Park Inn, since not many of their guests drive cars held together with duct tape. At least the cardboard box once held 12 very nice bottles of wine, which gave it a bit more class than say, a Moon Pie carton.

Then heading home, down I-59 from Tuscaloosa, directly into the path of Tropical Depression Cindy the windshield wipers gave up the ghost. At least there was a dealership in Tuscaloosa, the cell phones worked and best of all the dealership has wireless internet to keep us amused while the car was fixed.

At this point we are holed up in a motel in Louisiana, where I am musing on stealing the shower curtain so we can upgrade to plastic.

A Series of Unfortunate Events

This weekend is my family reunion - it's not a big wing ding, being there are 3 of us, our respective SOs, my mother, her twin sister and 3 grandchildren. But we live all over and every 5 years my mothers calls in the chips and we all trek to North Carolina.

This year, we were to convene on a B&B in Tryon, a small & charming town on the NC/SC border. My mother and brother (I come from a family of compulsive planners) checked the place out but somehow between then and now it went through not 1 but 2 new owners.

Our first inkling that something wasn't quite right was when we couldn't find the B&B , despite having printed the map from their web site. Seems 2 highways converge through Tryon, and they got a tad confused as to which highway they were on. Rather odd that they managed to do that since they smack dab in downtown Tryon and only one highway runs through the strip of stores and coffee shops.

Second inkling - We ty to call the inn and and can only get an answering machine.

Third inking - we finally find it, no proprietor is to be found. Assorted loud coughs, "hellos", knocks and ringing of a bell finally produced a barely legal to work teenager who doesn't know the Goth look is passe. Her attire goes with the rather dim and gloomy lighting - I swear there isn' a light bulb stronger than 20 watts anywhere on the premises. We understand why later.

Fourth inkling - the door knob comes off the door to our room as we try to open it. We learn this is a regular occurrence as they drop off every other door in the place over the course of the weekend. We are told the building is "very old". That becomes the catch phrase for every other problem we incounter.

Fifth inkling - the room odor is something between wet dog and musty closet. My beloved points this out to Miss. Goth, 2005. "Oh yea" she responds, it usually doesn't smell to bad, but it's been so hot lately. Turn on the AC and it should go away".

We go to lunch with the family and pick up a few candles just in case. 2 hours later candles & AC have lost the battle and wet dog is triumphant. My Beloved's allergies are out in full force (they love this place) and it's very apparent we can't stay there. Tryon is not large and it's 4th of July weekend. Not a lot of options. We call the Minosa Inn, a B&B we'd passed in our fruitless search and they graciously take us in. Place is clean, door knobs know their place and it smells like warm cookies and hot coffee.

All is well, My Beloved plays golf and I hang out with my family at the B&B, AKA the summer home of the Addams Family where we start a football pool as to whose doorknob will drop off next. The entire family goes out to dinner in a near by town. Much food, much, much wine, it's late, it's dark and it's raining and we head back.

Only to find that the electricity is out in half of the Addams Family Manse, they don't know why (so that's why all the lamps were only 20 watt). No lights, no AC, no flashlights, no candles and no clue as to when an electrician can come out and fix the problem.

And we have 2 ladies in their 80s who need a place to sleep without worrying about falling and tripping in the dark. We call the Mimosa and not only do they answer their phone, they graciously drop everything and prepare beds for the weary travelers.

We then face to task of packing suitcases sans light. We discover that, in a pinch, cell phones can double as flashlights. Luckily, we have 3 teenagers in the group so we have cell phones aplenty. We grope our way about the rooms aiming the phones at bureau tops, bathroom counters and closets while we try to gather everything up.

My girls go spend the night with my brother, my brother and nephew opt to rough it at the B&B since their room is the half of the building that does have lights - and door knobs. We stuff the family matriarchs in our car and head for Minosa.

We arrive to find the lights on, the beds turned down and all's well that ends well. And we know where we are holding our next reunion!

Delicious Irony

We're on a road trip..while .driving through Hattiesburg, Mississippi we pass a Blue Bell Ice Cream truck. The featured flavor, proudly displayed on the back panel? "The Great Divide". Half Chocolate, Half Vanilla, divided down the middle so that never the twain shall meet. Not, rippled, not swirled, but divided.

Urban Renovation

Our neighborhood is changing before our very eyes. We live in the west end of the Houston Heights, a area that is currently "hot" since it's close to downtown. Since Houston traffic is what it is (at a total standstill) many people are willing to pay a premium to escape gridlock. Our section, which in the days of segregation was the only section of of the Heights where African Americans were allowed to live is last to experience a building boom. Most of the homes are very small and range from needing a coat of paint to needing to be torn down. Years and years of absentee landlords and benign neglect have taken their toll.

We bought our lot 7 years ago. This was and still is the view from our front porch.

7 years ago all the houses on the street were in similar if not worse condition. Now our street looks like this.


There is still lots of substandard housing

but more and more blocks are looking like this:





But the neighborhood still hasn't totally flipped, the stores within walking distance cater to the original inhabitants.


And shopping carts are still abandoned beside the bus stops, as carless residents shuffle their groceries homeward.

Houston We Have Kittens - Again

Last fall we had a kitten explosion when several semi- feral cats had litters under the house. We ended up keeoing one Mama and her sole surviving baby, which pushed our inside population up to six. Then, thanks to S.N.A.P & their Free Feral Cat Neutering program we went on a kitty tube tying spree. I've been monitoring the back porch rabble and I thought our colony had stabilized.

But, always expect the unexpected when it comes to cats. A wild as a hare long hair calico showed up every now and then to eat. He/She ran whenever we saw her/him and I thought it was just passing through.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

This morning it was lying on the table on our patio accompanied by 2 white and tabby kittens. And it is definitely a she. The kittens are shy and skitty and run when I open the door. They are beginning to eat solid food and I think they are about 2 months old. They are big - Mama has been eating well on our back porch and look healthy. And of course cute, but what kitten isn't?

I've already called S.N.A.P and reserved traps for their next Feral Cat Spay/Neuter weekend.

Some jobs just never end.

Where's the Lysol?

Normally I love comments - who doesn't since it means something one wrote connected with another soul out there in cyberspace. But I got an odd one yesterday. The poster alluded that we'd meet at a convention (rather odd since I avoid conventions at all costs). I clicked on his name & discovered the guy blogged so he could troll for folks to swap and swing with. Not my cup of tea at all, never has been, never will. Yuck!

Made me want to spray my blog with Lysol but I had to settle for deleting his comment instead.

Well Deserved Slugdom

My Beloved had an 8am T-Time (only golf would willingly get her out of bed at such an early hour). Of course, I was the appointed the snooze hitter and chief prodder so I got up too and followed her to the driving range. Hit a bucket of balls - felt good, it's been way to long, what with being sick and it being so hot. Put in 20 minutes of putting practice. I was thoroughly hot so I decided to get my walk in too. Put in 35 minutes of walking round the jogging/ walking track.

Interesting people watching. People who jog are focused with a capital F. No eye contact with others, no looking around, just grim jawed running and sweating. The walkers are a little more mellow and willing to nod and smile. The thinner the person, the less clothing. . Short shorts and crop tops went with washboard tummies and bouncy pony tails. The older, more overweight folks wore way to many clothes for the 90+ temperatures. Long sleeves, long pants, I saw a couple of women in sweats. I guess they aren't comfortable bearing their knees and thighs to the eyes of the world. Very sad, to be that uncomfortable with one's body. Especially on a public park jogging park, which is a pretty nonjudgemental place.

It was 9:30 and I'd practiced by golf and gotten some exercise. I felt virtuous. I rewarded myself with a latte and a leisurely perusal of the morning paper at Starbucks. If you are a fellow Starbucks junkie, check out ExpressoNinja .

The most delightful part of summer break (which is half over!) is not having to watch the clock and being able to linger.

Then homeward bound to hole up in the air conditioning and continue the never ending project of culling the dogs from my E-bay and Amazon inventory.

45 Minutes of Golf Practice - sore muscles
35 Minutes of Brisk Walking - sweat dripping in your eyes
Being a slug without feeling guilty - priceless

Uptown Girls

Yesterday evening we dined among the thin, well dressed and chi-chi. Past 4 -5 months I've mostly grabbed a bite in Tex-Mex restaurants or fast food places. Both places tend to attract the hefty hiefers, the broad of beam and the fashion challenged. Toss in the fact that I spend most of time at an elementary school -visualize schoolteacher embroidered denim jumper frump and thrift stores - visualize stretch pants, gold lame heels and a crop top in size 24x. About the only time I see high fashion is when I watch the L Word and reruns of Sex in the City.

So, friends suggested we meet for dinner at Uptown Sushi -yeap that's really the name of the place!

Uptown Sushi

Mother of pearl sushi bar, tri-level seating so you could see and be seen. They don't take reservations and the bar / waiting area has little seating since they want to create a "buzz" -plus make sure you can see all their multiple martinis in multiple colors. Excess yards of cloth covered the walls, , high ceilings, dramatic low level lighting, elegant lamps, striking art. The food was equally elegant. Presentation is always a big part of sushi but this place took it to new heights.

Not being part of the chi-chi set, we arrived early for dinner and the place was only about half full. We were seated promptly and concentrated on food and conversation since it had been some time since we'd seen each other. Service was very slow, which didn't bother us a bit (this is not the sort of place you dine at if you are in a hurry). Food was excellent & innovative and they went beyond the tired and true when it came to the sushi rolls.

By the time we left the place was full to overflowing. Trim young woman, with $200 highlights, pouty lips (was it nature or was it collagen?), perfectly made up eyes, flirty, summer dress with short skirts and high heels to show off long, tanned legs. Many were there with girl friends, enjoying the food and scanning the crowd with a predatory look. Most of the men; who all had that up and coming accountant or lawyer look to them were there with dates. Freshly dry cleaned and starched Ralph Lauren shirts, chinos, Cole-Hahn shoes. Why there were so many single girls on the prowl baffled me since the single guys were more likely to be at the very expensive steak house next door.

But then both places shared valet parking so perhaps they were hoping to score while waiting for their car!

VIB - Very Important Books

Garnet passed this meme on to me – anyone ever noticed how many of the blog memes center around books?

Total number of books I've owned: To many to count. Right now I think I own less than I ever have. I’ve been in a paring down of things mode. I only keep books that I know I’ll re-read. One time books get passed on. I’d say I have about 500 in my personal collection and 1000+ in my Amazon / E-Bay inventory.

Last book I bought: I buy books almost every day (always looking to add inventory). Last single book I bought for me was The Romanov Prophecy by Steve Berry. I bought it at the Duluth airport when it became apparent we’d be sitting around waiting for our plane. This is another “history and ficiton” mixed book, the sort of thing the DaVinci Code has popularized, very readable and lots of fun.

Last book I read: Back From The Land: How Young American Went to Nature in the 1970s and Why They Came Back by Eleanor Agnew. History but reads like a novel. Much to my amazement I found some quotes attributed to someone I once worked with, some 25 years ago!

Five books that mean a lot to me: Hard to narrow this down. And books mean different things to me at different points in my life.

The Betsy Tacy series by Maud Hart Lovelace. I read these as a child, have re-read them on a yearly basis ever since. Betsy and The Great World went to Europe with me last summer. No matter what stage of life I’m at, these books always speak to me. And through them I’ve made friends, been places and started my book business.

The Feminine Mystique by Betty Friedan. Read this when I was in high school and haven’t read it in years. But it’s the book that made me realize that I could have a career and didn’t need to aspire to a “Leave It to Beaver” sort of life when I grew up.

Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith – I identified with Francie from the first chapter onward. Yet another book I read on a yearly basis. Made me realize I wasn't the only lonely, bookworm out there.

Katherine by Anya Seton. This one, a historical novel set in Plantagenet England awakened my lifelong passion for history.

A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett (and another of her books, The Secret Garden). I wanted to be Sara Crewe. And it was the beginning of my love affair with all things English.

Which Blogger am I passing this on to? Not sure, it’s made the rounds and I’ve seen it on many of the blogs I frequent. I think I will send it to the first 5 people who post a comment and indicate they are willing to adopt it!

To Laugh or to Cry?

Saw a back to the 60's bumper sticker today - "Love Mother Earth".
The irony? It was attached to the bumper of a Lexus LX SUV. V-8 engine. 13 MPG in the city. Starting price - $67,895.

I think the owner loves Conspicuous Consumption more than Mother Earth.

Stranger in a Strange Land

I had to go to the Mall today. Not a place I frequent, given that I normally buy most everything I need at thrift stores, the internet and occasional forays to Target. However, my mother adores James Avery jewelry so off I went. James Avery is very popular with the Junior League / Soccer Mom set and their shops are located in upscale malls. So off I went to Memorial City Mall , Houston's #2 mall in the mall pecking order. Hadn't been there in over a year, not since My Beloved finished remodeling the place.

A mall on on summer Tuesday afternoon is a busy place. This one is frequented by Mall Walkers - easy to spot by their white, lace up walking shoes, gray hair and determined expressions. There were soccer moms in training, pushing baby strollers as big as the SUVS they drive. Complete with cup holders and ample carrying room for all their packages. And there were multitudes of teenage girls, looking like what I would call "Valley Girls". Only I think Valley Girls as passe but I don't know the current venacular.

Their faces were as blank as diner dinner plates & totally devoid of any expression. Identical noses. Hair streaked just so, arms adorned with those multicolored plastic bands that are so popular. Colored toenails peeking out from very expensive flip flops (I still find it amazing that 39 cent flip flops have now morphed into a "fashion item". Tight little baby tees, flirty skirts. Hands weighted down with shopping bags from Victoria's Secret , The Gap and Bath and Body Works.

No summer jobs for these girls, they are preparing for careers as Texas Trophy wives and learning how to shop.

I bought my jewelry and left. Quickly. Hopefully I won't have to go back for another year or two!

No Lifejacket required

Traveled south to Dickinson, Texas yesterday for a library sale. Library sale proved to be a bust, hundreds of romances and bodice rippers and not much else. We've a friend, compliments of the Betsy Tacy list who lives there so we meet up afterwards for lunch.

She took us out into the back country to the hamlet (it's not big enough to be a town or village) of San Leon. San Leon, located on Galveston Bay was supposed to a summer retreat for Houstonians in the those days pre air conditioning. The area is sans beaches so it never quite caught on and now it's home to shrimp boats and folks who make a living in ways that don't bear looking into very closely.

It does have a couple of marinas and dockside restaurants. We ended up at The Topwater Grill, which was right out of a Jimmy Buffet song.


TopWater Grill

Normally the place is pretty quiet, since it wasn't quite lunch time but not this morning. We'd wandered into the annual TOPPS Poker Run.

Never did quite figure out what TOPPS stood for, but it had something to do with Texas and Power Boats. No sedate cabin cruisers these, these were the sort of powerboats that used to go zipping across the screen in the opening credits of Miami Vice. The boats are designed for 2 purposes only - to go very fast and to make as much noise as possible. They are the Hummers of the sea. And there were 65 of them.



Waterfront Dining


The owners were men in their 50s and 60s, deepwater tans, expensive casual clothes, with an air of success and money and being in charge in a blustery sort of way.

A few had their original wives, but most had shed them for a newer model. Behold, the Texas Trophy Wife, complete with $200 streaks and foils, spray on tan, tucked tummies and breast implants. Tight little halter tops barely contained all the artificial mammary glands. They spilled out the edges and almost burst out the top - and occasionally crept out from underneath. They sported dangling earrings and the most amazing collection of hats. Leopard print cowboy hats, zebra print cowboy hats and an especialy fectching hot pink and black stripped number. It was obvious that trophy wives, send their time, when they aren't recovering from their nips and tucks shopping. Shopping with a capital S and multiple credit cards.

They all milled about,drinking tall drinks and talking loudly. Then at the secret signal they all leapt into their boats and roared away, heading for Freeport. Complete with helicopter escort.

The food was divine and the people watching and conversation excellent. A most enjoyable summer afternoon.

Do They Take in Boarders?

Booklust posted this on her blog. It's a booklovers dream house!

Maybe it's a B&B! 

Goldilocks or Heidi?
One lovely side effect of blogging is all the new friends you make and all the wonderful things they share with you.

Books, Books, Books, Everywhere Books

There are books are piled everywhere. Our local newspaper sold off their review copies and Advance Reader Copies (ARCs) and I came home with 4 boxes of books. The proceeds go toward the paper's Christmas charity project.

A stack of science fiction ARCs went to a fan I've meet via BookThink. Another pile of hardback with dust jacket/ stated first edition/ not ex library (the holy grail of bookselling) Tor Press fantasy titles are listed on Amazon. Found a ignored copy of "How I turned $1000 into a Million in Real Estate. It's one of those "books that looks like nothing" but sells for a pretty penny on Amazon. Best of all, the ScoutPal only folks skipped right by it - it's to old to have an ISBN. I use a combination of Scout Pal and prior knowledge when selecting books and love it when my intuition triumphs over technology. Appeals to my "so there" nature.

School is out so I have time to read so I've a stack for myself also . A book about Edwardian England. A biography about Queen Victoria, another about Henry VIII, and thick tome on the daughter's of George III.

George III He had 15 children, most of whom lived, yet many never married or had children, which resulted in Queen Victoria ascending the throne. She had 9, all of which married and had mulitple children of their own. History is so often nothing but fateful accidents and events.

I also have Read it and Eat -a bookgroup cookbook. I love cookbooks you can "read".

Cooking & Books

A "Mommy Lit" book - The Ivy Chronicles. It's takes up where the Nanny Diaries left off.

Mommy Lit 
John Dunning's newest - Sign of the Book and another book on book collecting : A Pound of Paper: Confessions of a Book Addict. Back From the Land: How the Young Americans Went to Nature in the 1970s. In that book I encountered a woman I worked with 25 years ago. We carpooled to work and I never knew she once lived on a commune. It's such a small world.

The car goes in for repair work on Monday and for once I'm not going to begrudge the time spent waiting - I have lots and lots and lots to read!

And tomorrow is a library book sale. Lets hope the riches continue to pour in.

Most Bought/ Least Read

Oprah has gone high brow on us. Her suggestion for our summer reading pleasure? William Faulkner. She has a web site up, complete with reading suggestions, commentaries, critiques and all manner of things to aid in the understanding of Faulkner. Her avid fans (many of whom I doubt will become William's avid fans) can buy a special boxed set, complete with commentary by Oprah (or her ghost writer). It's charging up the Amazon best seller list.

Even Kroger is carrying the books - saw a woman buying a set yesterday - and my neighborhood Kroger is not the gathering place for lovers of higher level literature.

I'm glad Oprah is continuing to promote reading and books but I'm very surprised by her current selection. I read some Faulkner back in college and he's not the sort of writer I'd tuck into my beach bag or bring along to while away a long airplane flight. He writes literature with a capital L.

Maybe I am underestimating the stick to it power of Oprah's fans but right now Faulkner gets my vote for the most bought / least read author of 2005. Multiple copies of his books will soon be appearing at a thrift store near you.

Elegant Walking 

This Town Was Made for Walking......

This is my second trip to Minnesota. I really do like this state - of course this view might be influenced by the fact that both my visits have been in the summer. Duluth is a walkers paradise. There is a lovely, long path along the lake, there are skywalks that allow you walk over the freeways, the freeways are routed through tunnels so as to not destroy the rose garden and there are sidewalks everywhere. Downtown actually has people living in it.

Northshore Lake Walk

Most of the people I've seen look tall, healthy and vaguely Nordic. There aren't nearly as any "bellies" as there in Houston (which has the dubious distinction of being one of the fattest cities in the country). Given that in Houston the car takes precedence over the people that's not surprising.

The town has an amazing number of bookstores, given its size. And a symphony, a ballet company. Many of the buildings have been adapted to other uses, rather than being torn down.

Adaptive ReUse

Of course it also has a winter that won't quit but it's June so that's not an issue.

Lakes Don't Look Like This in Houston

We’re visiting with friends we meet on last year’s motorcycle trip.
We left flat, hot, humid 95 degrees + Houston and arrived in hilly, cool,62 degree Duluth, MN. Our friends are urban living pioneers and have an apartment on the 10th floor overlooking Lake Superior.

My first time to see the Great Lakes (or at least one of them). They are aptly named.

Tomorrow will be spent doing my favorite kind of touristing – bookstores, historic buildings, funky little shops, all on foot.

View from the Apartment