Found a story, found a story, found a story, last night.

Actually, it was this morning.

I rarely watch the news these days, preferring to read the paper, and even that I don't accomplish every day, but for whatever reason, I turned on CNN this morning, to find this.

Then I happened to read the whole front section (back to front -- there's a weird thing about me) and read the paper version of this.

And I remembered that not only did my husband buy peanut butter at the grocery store the other day, but he showed me the two kinds he bought when he got home. And the brands only really stuck out in my mind because I don't normally buy Peter Pan peanut butter. If he hadn't held them up to me for my approval, it would never have even occurred to me to go check our peanut butter lid for the number.

Which begins with "2111."

And get this:

The most cases were reported in New York, Pennsylvania, Virginia, Tennessee and Missouri.

So I watched the news, which I don't normally do, read the paper, which I haven't done lately, and actually paid attention to the peanut butter my husband bought.

Clearly, someone's trying to tell me something. Don't eat the peanut butter. And they're saying it in just the same ominous tone of voice that I use when watching scary movies: Don't open that door! Don't go into the dark woods alone! No! Are you crazy?!

But I will heed the Helpful Voice. Fortunately, he bought two brands, so we still have options. And apparently, we can get a refund if we send the lid to ConAgra foods (but their site's a little, um, busy at the moment). But, see, that means taking the lid off of the possibly contaminated peanut butter. What a dilemma. It's all so exciting.

As of yet.

All righty. Updates.

Number of words in the novel to date: 17,382

How many words I should be writing each day: 2,083.3

How many words I've averaged per day since Feb. 5: 1931.3

How many words I wrote today: 3,621. (It's getting easier.)

How many poems I've read in the last 43 days: 43. Thanks to this book.

How many drawings I've done in the last 43 days: ehhhh, not 43.

How many journal pages I've filled: a decent amount.

How many servings of fruits and vegetables I've been eating every day, on average: 1.27
(I'm making that up, but it feels about right. Hey, I said "more than one." That's more than one.)

How many days I've worked out in the last six days: 2. (And I still can't move.)

How many letters I've written since Jan. 1 to friends, family members, editors or companies: None. Not even thank-you notes for Christmas presents. I'm going to hell. But I will mail the thank-you notes from the handbasket, I swear.

Number of museums I've been to this year to date: None. But lots of people are interested in going with me. So I'll be getting that going very, very soon.

How many things I've baked: I made peanut butter cookies in January. I think it was in January. Honey, was it in January? They were very, um, greasy.

How many classes I'm taking right now: Signed up for more drawing lessons, so that counts. But I'd like to take another one or two, as well.


Honestly? I may only be actually accomplishing about half of the resolutions on a strictly numerical basis, but life has felt pretty good the past month and a half overall. I'm pretty darn pleased with myself.

One more update: Took the digital camera into Best Buy (turns out I bought the 4-year service plan and I thank my 29-year-old self for that wise choice) and they are attempting to fix it. I've never loved my camera, mainly because the flash is so overwhelming that it smashes everything in its reach, but the camera has suited my needs up to this point, and I miss it. I wish I could send it letters, as if it were at summer camp.

Just in time...

... for Valentine's Day.

Talk about romance.

The History of Love

I love getting books as gifts -- and this year, I was given The History of Love, by Nicole Krauss, as a birthday present. I finished it today.

One of the best books I've ever read.*

I find it so easy to review non-fiction books and so difficult to review novels. And I usually find other people's reviews lacking, as well. Having finished the book, I read the reviews at Amazon.com and shook my head over quite a few of them. Most of the complaints were about finding the book difficult to follow, and I can't address that, because I didn't find it difficult to follow at all. One reader complained that it left unanswered questions at the end. I didn't personally have any unanswered questions at the end, but I don't usually think that's a problem, if the questions are the kind of questions that can't really be answered, anyway.

And if I had read the editorial reviews, I'm not sure I would have ever picked the book up on my own. Technically correct, they don't capture any of the magic of this story. They make it sound so ordinary. And it is not.

So what would I want to be told?

I thought the characters were exceedingly human, flawed but real. I slipped into their skins as I read -- I identified with them, with all of them, even though my life is entirely different from theirs. The pacing is excellent: The story moves and doesn't get stuck in itself. I never got bored, but I had time to think. The book is packed with romance -- not sickeningly sweet romance, but varieties of romance -- both the nostalgic romance of long-lost young love and the romance of young love just beginning, with all the awkward elbows and teeth, and without the nostalgia; the romance of mourning; the romance of mysteries being pieced together. And my favorite: the romance of many people's stories coming together, intertwining with their knowledge, or without. One of the things I loved about the Three Colors trilogy, too.

Do you ever stop and wonder, Is this moment significant? Is this a defining moment? Could I point back at this moment and say, 'That one meant something?'

Maybe you don't. Maybe I'm silly that way. But The History of Love is filled with those moments, blended seamlessly together.

My only complaint? That I can't read the book-within-a-book, also called The History of Love, in reality.


* And I have read a lot of them. On average, I'd guess 1-2 a week since I was 10. I wish I had an exact count, though, because that only works out to 1,144 to 2,288, and I actually own about 1,300 books, most of which I've collected in the past 10 years (and I wonder where my money goes). And even though I haven't read every book I own, I know I've read hundreds of books I don't own. So it must be around 2,000, or maybe more. And of that, I'd say 60 percent would be fiction. So, give or take, I've read 1,200 novels. But do I have any way of proving this claim? Of course not. Unless you sit me down with a list of every book ever published, and then I could check them off. But even that wouldn't be totally accurate, because I might have forgotten one or two or fifty, and besides, that would take way too much time. Which I could spend reading more books.

Practical Voyeurism

Like many people, I think, I am fascinated (perhaps even obsessed), with other people's home offices and studios. Call it practical voyeurism. I look for tips and ideas and inspiration.

This morning, I just discovered Boss Lady and her Flickr pool, Women's Workplace Wednesdays (via Make It, a blog for craft entrepreneurs).

I might contribute, someday, when I get a working camera again. Sigh.

I've been soaking up pictures of Alicia Paulson's amazing studio in the February issue of Romantic Homes and the Spring issue of Better Homes and Gardens' Creative Home magazine. And now, there's even more pictures of her home in the next issue of Romantic Homes. Can't wait to pick up a copy.

And then there's my long-time favorite (well, long time in the blog world), On My Desk, which is a gift to the world from Linzie Hunter.

As for me, I've been scouring furniture sites, art supply sites, and office sites for the perfect studio furniture, and honestly? There's not a lot of options out there. At least not in my price range. I suppose furniture is like anything else, though. Follows a trend, and if you don't like the trend, well, tough. And white furniture, which I prefer in a small room like mine, just isn't big these days. But even beyond color, there don't seem to be a lot of super-functional options out there. I want a painting/drafting table and desk set that combine storage with attractiveness, and I really don't want all my supplies be out in the open (so no ladder desk), but I want everything to be close at hand. I also don't want to have to keep moving things out of the way every time I switch projects (Off the desk or table, yes. Out of reach, no).

Perhaps I should become a furniture designer just to get what I want. IN fact, once I get over my irrational fear of cutting my fingers off with the table saw, I might do just that. In the meantime, I am hoping to piece together a mish-mash studio that works.