My camera died -- I mean, really died -- on Saturday, so I can't show pictures.
But I had a wonderful birthday party filled with good friends and bright colors, and the conversation was so unstoppable that even though we had music playing, you couldn't hear it. That's what I call a good crowd.
And I had party bags filled with great little toys -- like, get this, miniature Barrels of Monkeys! OH MY GOD. What fun. I can't get over them.
And we had a brightly-colored pinata packed with brightly-colored candy (thanks, Amy) and a house packed with brightly-colored balloons (thanks, Laurie) and walls strung with brightly-colored streamers (thanks, Elizabeth).
And there were tacos (thanks, Honey) and cake and ice cream and, like I said, wonderful, brightly-colored people. I am so lucky.
About the camera, I am pretty sure my extended service plan expires on February 28. So it might have died just in time. Keeping my fingers crossed, because otherwise, it becomes a choice between new, non-tattered clothing and a new, functional camera.
Monday, February 05, 2007
Dah-ling, I'm a writ-ah.
I discovered National Novel Writing Month on October 31 last year, and there was just no way it was going to happen for me in November. So I promised myself I would try writing a novel in one month, starting in a few months. I mean, really promised myself. Granted, I've been promising myself that for years now, but this time I meant it.
I started this morning. I have 24 days left in February (which really isn't even a month, it's a few weeks, but I have decided not to postpone it until March, because I've been postponing already too long).
I'm going to write every morning, starting in the wee hours, for two or three hours, before I stop for coffee and breakfast and get started on my other work.
I'm very excited.
In order to finish by February 28, I have to write 2083.3 words a day every day for the rest of the month, including weekends.
Today's word count: 2177.
I started this morning. I have 24 days left in February (which really isn't even a month, it's a few weeks, but I have decided not to postpone it until March, because I've been postponing already too long).
I'm going to write every morning, starting in the wee hours, for two or three hours, before I stop for coffee and breakfast and get started on my other work.
I'm very excited.
In order to finish by February 28, I have to write 2083.3 words a day every day for the rest of the month, including weekends.
Today's word count: 2177.
Friday, February 02, 2007
Uh-Oh
I've found a new place to spend money.
It's much, much closer to my house than A.C. Moore (which I still love and always will) and has amazing prices. It's almost all art supplies, instead of art and craft supplies mixed together. And it's got that urban warehouse-y feel, which just tickles my inner artistic fancy. It's just what I thought Virginia would never have. And it's only a 5-minute drive away.
It's much, much closer to my house than A.C. Moore (which I still love and always will) and has amazing prices. It's almost all art supplies, instead of art and craft supplies mixed together. And it's got that urban warehouse-y feel, which just tickles my inner artistic fancy. It's just what I thought Virginia would never have. And it's only a 5-minute drive away.
Wooohoooo!
Another birthday present:
J.K. Rowling has finished the seventh book.
Seven years ago, I must admit, I looked at Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone
with scorn.
Yes, scorn.
I've read fantasy books all my life and I could not figure out why people were getting so excited over a book about a normal kid who discovers he has magical powers and goes to a school for wizards/magicians/witches/warlocks. It's not like these ideas hadn't popped up in many variations before, and in books by authors I adored and respected.
I really thought Harry Potter was another dumbed down version of good things that already existed and that people were just jumping on the trendy bandwagon.
It was a year before I caved in and bought the first book.
I bought the second book within a week.
Truly, it doesn't matter if elements of the Harry Potter books have been in other books before. There are many different delicious dishes made out of flour and eggs. The Harry Potter books are good stories. And that, my dears, is why I read voraciously. Because I love good stories.
I can't wait for Book 7.
And while we're on the subject of fantasy, magic and fairy tales, Pan's Labyrinth is a haunting and beautiful movie and, yes, I think it will be one of my lifelong favorites. I first read about it at Inside a Black Apple, and I point you there, as her description is right on point.
J.K. Rowling has finished the seventh book.
Seven years ago, I must admit, I looked at Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone
with scorn.Yes, scorn.
I've read fantasy books all my life and I could not figure out why people were getting so excited over a book about a normal kid who discovers he has magical powers and goes to a school for wizards/magicians/witches/warlocks. It's not like these ideas hadn't popped up in many variations before, and in books by authors I adored and respected.
I really thought Harry Potter was another dumbed down version of good things that already existed and that people were just jumping on the trendy bandwagon.
It was a year before I caved in and bought the first book.
I bought the second book within a week.
Truly, it doesn't matter if elements of the Harry Potter books have been in other books before. There are many different delicious dishes made out of flour and eggs. The Harry Potter books are good stories. And that, my dears, is why I read voraciously. Because I love good stories.
I can't wait for Book 7.
And while we're on the subject of fantasy, magic and fairy tales, Pan's Labyrinth is a haunting and beautiful movie and, yes, I think it will be one of my lifelong favorites. I first read about it at Inside a Black Apple, and I point you there, as her description is right on point.
My Favorite Day
I woke up this morning more excited than I did on Christmas...
because it's my BIRTHDAY! My favorite day of the year! And I'll tell anybody and everybody! I have no shame! It's my birthday! Hooray, hooray!
And I could finally open the package that came almost a week ago from my Mom:
I am thrilled with these; I've been skimming them and they look so wonderful. I am very excited. Thanks, Mama.
This next present I actually got to open when it arrived, because Al was so excited that it had come:
This is no ordinary birthday gift. I was once the proud owner of a beautiful blue ceramic drum, which I purchased directly from the man who made it at an SCA event (His name escapes me, but he was a member of Rolling Thunder, and he looked like Inigo Montoya).
I treasured that drum. I took it with me to all sorts of places. I gave it a place of honor wherever I lived. My mother and I banged on it at the turn of the millennium while drinking Veuve Clicquot. I was devoted.
(I knew this is a terrible picture, but I thought we had so many more years together.)
But on the day I moved to Virginia, it fell out of the moving truck, onto Chestnut Street in Philadelphia, and shattered into a pile of ceramic chunks, and a piece of hide. I was quite distraught. I let out a wail that reverberated off the brick buildings around me. People for five blocks around turned to see what that terrible mourning sound was.
And I'm no rhythmical genius, but banging on a drum is quite therapeutic, and I've missed it these 18 months.
So for my birthday this year, I, who am usually against asking for specific things, asked Al for a new drum. I knew it was coming, but he found it. Isn't it beautiful? He deliberately chose it for the woman on the side. The glaze on my old drum had, I suppose in the firing, formed a vague shape of a woman flying through the clouds. So Al thought this would be a proper homage to my old friend.
It already feels like part of the family. And this time, it has a padded case.
And just now, while I wrote this, the doorbell rang yet again (the phone and the doorbell have been ringing like crazy, and I feel so loved), and this arrived from my 3-month-old sister Olivia.
Oh, she my be just a wee thing, but she and I are already kindred spirits.
I love my birthday. I'm neither happy nor unhappy about my age, which is 32 today. Thirty-two used to sound so, not old, but adult. I think I once envisioned myself in my 30s as being all-knowing, all-wise, grown-up. But in all my 32 years, what I've truly learned is that the older I get, the less I know. I really don't know anything. And that's okay. Because it makes life more of an adventure.
But I love that I get a day every year to surround myself with bright colors and cheerfulness and indulge. Even if I have to share it with this guy, who finally had good news this year.
because it's my BIRTHDAY! My favorite day of the year! And I'll tell anybody and everybody! I have no shame! It's my birthday! Hooray, hooray!
And I could finally open the package that came almost a week ago from my Mom:
I am thrilled with these; I've been skimming them and they look so wonderful. I am very excited. Thanks, Mama.
This next present I actually got to open when it arrived, because Al was so excited that it had come:
This is no ordinary birthday gift. I was once the proud owner of a beautiful blue ceramic drum, which I purchased directly from the man who made it at an SCA event (His name escapes me, but he was a member of Rolling Thunder, and he looked like Inigo Montoya).
I treasured that drum. I took it with me to all sorts of places. I gave it a place of honor wherever I lived. My mother and I banged on it at the turn of the millennium while drinking Veuve Clicquot. I was devoted.
(I knew this is a terrible picture, but I thought we had so many more years together.)
But on the day I moved to Virginia, it fell out of the moving truck, onto Chestnut Street in Philadelphia, and shattered into a pile of ceramic chunks, and a piece of hide. I was quite distraught. I let out a wail that reverberated off the brick buildings around me. People for five blocks around turned to see what that terrible mourning sound was.
And I'm no rhythmical genius, but banging on a drum is quite therapeutic, and I've missed it these 18 months.
So for my birthday this year, I, who am usually against asking for specific things, asked Al for a new drum. I knew it was coming, but he found it. Isn't it beautiful? He deliberately chose it for the woman on the side. The glaze on my old drum had, I suppose in the firing, formed a vague shape of a woman flying through the clouds. So Al thought this would be a proper homage to my old friend.
It already feels like part of the family. And this time, it has a padded case.
And just now, while I wrote this, the doorbell rang yet again (the phone and the doorbell have been ringing like crazy, and I feel so loved), and this arrived from my 3-month-old sister Olivia.
Oh, she my be just a wee thing, but she and I are already kindred spirits.
I love my birthday. I'm neither happy nor unhappy about my age, which is 32 today. Thirty-two used to sound so, not old, but adult. I think I once envisioned myself in my 30s as being all-knowing, all-wise, grown-up. But in all my 32 years, what I've truly learned is that the older I get, the less I know. I really don't know anything. And that's okay. Because it makes life more of an adventure.
But I love that I get a day every year to surround myself with bright colors and cheerfulness and indulge. Even if I have to share it with this guy, who finally had good news this year.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)