A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.
Or, you don't have to know much more than other people to be able to fool them.
In my last post I wanted to concoct a literary-sounding term so after a bit of thought I came up with "inconsistent thematic juxtapositions" which I "knew" was so over the top that everyone would know I had made it up.
Wrong.
People took me seriously, and asked if that's something I keep in mind when I'm writing. Even Paul said he figured it was actually something valid. When writers get together they throw around lots of terms he's not familiar with, he said, and he figured this was one of them.
That's kind of scary. Don't take me too seriously, people.
* * * *
The perennial question that writers get asked is "Where do you get your ideas?" For me the answer is, "From desperate scratching and snatching when I'm up against a deadline." Last month I was nearing the end of the month and that Dreadful Deadline, but I knew I was going to be driving a vanload of kids on a field trip and figured if I took notes it would be plenty of fodder for an article.
Well.
We drove down to the airplane museum beside the Eugene airport, with the little girls in the back seat being wild and the juniors and seniors toward the front.
Overheard:
"Is Roy kind of in a slump?"
(pause. Something about graduation invitations)
"Your mom did your invitations??"
"Yeah."
"I had to do all mine!"
"I'm sure it was a growing experience."
Little girls: Can we sing?
Big kids: NO!
"MOM! Kaitlyn needs a kleenex!"
"What are the girls talking about?"
"They're trying to understand how we can be mad at each other and then 15 minutes later not be mad any more."
Then we got to the museum where two elderly men welcomed us. We split into two groups, Paul in charge of one and me with the other, and set off on the tour.
I soon saw this was not going to make a workable column. Our tour guide meant well and obviously knew more about planes than he could share in a whole week, having flown planes and repaired engines in WWII, but he didn't have the slightest idea how to communicate effectively with a pack of squirrelly ten-year-olds whose group cohesion unravelled further and further as the endless minutes ticked on.
He soon saw that I was the only polite listener, and he just loved me for that, judging by his beaming smiles in my direction when I acted impressed. He also apparently thought I was a nun, because he kept calling me Sister, which progressed into Dear Sister and then Oh Dear Sister.
I took notes anyway.
"May I introduce to you the B29, the airplane that dropped the atomic bomb?"
"The Zeke and the Zero are the same plane."
"Sister, you're not gonna believe this."
"This is a Pratten Whitney R4360 engine! Believe it or not, 2500 horsepower and 133 spark plugs! This kind was used in the Spruce Goose."
"Believe it or not I have over 400 hours in this aircraft!"
"The structure of this is the same as the Beechcraft Bonanza."
"Down there, that's the last B17 they built."
"This is a Rolls Royce Merlin engine."
After the other group was finished with their tour and patiently waiting, Paul came to look for us and I hissed in his ear that we needed rescuing. So he cleared his throat and said firmly that we need to leave in five minutes, but it was more like 10 or 15 til we were finally done, and then the tour guide wondered if anyone wants to pose for pictures with him, and the little girls did, and that made him very happy.
So it was interesting, but not exactly material for a local newspaper column. So I pulled out my notes from a recent talk to moms and reworked it, and judging from all the feedback it struck a nerve, so I guess the field trip column really wasn't meant to be.
Quote of the Day:
To Jenny for doing well on all her tests.
Clunk.
To Ben for graduating so well.
Clunk.
To Mom for putting up with our shenanigans.
Clunk.
To Emily even though she can't be here.
Clunk.
To Hansie for getting hair all over my pants.
Clunk.
To the black elephant for holding the clock up.
Clunk.
To this bottle for not breaking when I bump it against yours.
Clunk.
This one too.
Clunk.
To Jenny's white shirt which is now very dirty.
Clunk.
To Twizzlers.
Clunk.
To this bottle cap for bending in half.
Clunk.
To this one for staying whole.
Clunk.
To that dried up pancake. May Hansie enjoy it.
Clunk.
To the bad weather.
Clunk.
Not to Mom who's copying down everything we say.
Clunk.
To our hatred for being copied against our consent.
Clunk.
To that rooster plate for staying unbroken so long.
Clunk.
To whoever can finish ours the fastest.
gulp gulp swig
--Jenny and Ben, who came home with a bottle each of Henry Weinhard's gourmet soda to celebrate the last day of school
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Friday, May 14, 2010
The Critical Review
Writers are very sensitive to criticism. I used to think this was true only of fledgling writers like me, who realize they're only pretending to be writers and are sure the rest of the world will catch on one of these times and it will be really embarrassing.
But no. Recently I read a quote by some stratospheric author like Norman Mailer in which he or she said that they can still quote a critical review from two years ago but have forgotten all the positive reviews in the meantime.
Yesterday my mother-in-law came in the kitchen waving a Critical Letter that her friend Barbara had clipped out of the Mennonite Weekly Review, which has been serializing my books.
The letter was written by Laura H. Weaver from Evansville, Indiana. It read:
Dorcas Smucker, in "Escapes for Mom" ("Upstairs the Peasants are Revolting," April 26) calls a character in L.M. Montgomery's The Blue Castle, an "old maid." I'm astounded to read that term in MWR or anywhere in 2010. The term was, indeed, used in the past, but it never was acceptable; it was always offensive. I'm thankful it was never used in my parental home (and I'm in my 70s); we never called my single aunts by that term, even in the 1930s and '40s.
I've noticed other negative portrayals of singleness in Smucker's writing. Several weeks ago she described a young woman who, after several relationships didn't work out, resigned herself to continual loneliness. Singleness does not mean loneliness. Many kinds of friendships and relationships exist. Let's affirm a more expansive view of life rather than this narrow, provincial one.
I have found myself giggling at this letter ever since. How better to describe How My Life Goes than to receive, not a review in Publishers Weekly taking me to task for something literary like inconsistent thematic juxtapositions, but some lady from Indiana writing to MWR about my using the words, "old maid."
The letter did spark an interesting breakfast-table conversation this morning. I was happy to see the children rise up in my defense, like children tend to do, where they can criticize me all they want but if someone from outside tries it, they all band together in my defense.
Paul said, "You can tell a lot about a person by what they react to." Which led, of course to speculation about why Ms. Weaver reacted to my depiction of singleness, which may be better imagined than described.
I did want to defend myself, briefly, when I first read the letter. I think LMM used the term "old maid" in The Blue Castle, and the part about the young woman resigning herself to loneliness was a direct quote from my SIL Rosie. But the rational part of me knew that most likely Ms. Weaver has a raw spot on her soul that needs compassion rather than logic.
And of course I will be very careful in the future about how I depict singleness.
* * *
Speaking of reviews, I learned a new term recently: piranhas.
Local writer Linda Clare's new book, The Fence My Father Built, was offered free in its Kindle form for a week or two. This led to a bunch of new reviews on Amazon including, Linda said, reviews from the piranhas. These are people who grab free copies of books and then write negative reviews.
There's a new word circulating among Amazon reviewers: "Meh." It means just how it sounds, an arrogant one-word dismissal of the book and everything in it. For some reason I find it really annoying, so you can all have a Paul-style analytical heyday here to figure out why I am reacting to this.
The typical Meh review goes: "Meh. awful writing....boring...so glad it was free...would have been upset to have paid for it... ridiculous main characters never developed. silly plot simply restated again and again. do not waste your time."
One of my books got a Meh review over on Goodreads and that was more painful than fifteen letters to the Mennonite Weekly. If you're going to go to the trouble of reading a book and writing a review, have the decency to write something with substance. True, it says a lot more about the reviewer than the author, but it unfairly lowers the star rating for ever and aye.
But the Mennonite Weekly Review doesn't have star ratings for its serialized stories, so I can still smile about that critical letter.
Quote of the Day:
(Or: how conversations get derailed at the Smuckers)
Me: Emily was at an Iraqi supper on Sunday and an Egyptian supper on Saturday.
Jenny: Did she dress up like Cleopatra?
Ben: Cleopatra was of Greek descent!
Jenny: That was such a Bennish thing to say.
But no. Recently I read a quote by some stratospheric author like Norman Mailer in which he or she said that they can still quote a critical review from two years ago but have forgotten all the positive reviews in the meantime.
Yesterday my mother-in-law came in the kitchen waving a Critical Letter that her friend Barbara had clipped out of the Mennonite Weekly Review, which has been serializing my books.
The letter was written by Laura H. Weaver from Evansville, Indiana. It read:
Dorcas Smucker, in "Escapes for Mom" ("Upstairs the Peasants are Revolting," April 26) calls a character in L.M. Montgomery's The Blue Castle, an "old maid." I'm astounded to read that term in MWR or anywhere in 2010. The term was, indeed, used in the past, but it never was acceptable; it was always offensive. I'm thankful it was never used in my parental home (and I'm in my 70s); we never called my single aunts by that term, even in the 1930s and '40s.
I've noticed other negative portrayals of singleness in Smucker's writing. Several weeks ago she described a young woman who, after several relationships didn't work out, resigned herself to continual loneliness. Singleness does not mean loneliness. Many kinds of friendships and relationships exist. Let's affirm a more expansive view of life rather than this narrow, provincial one.
I have found myself giggling at this letter ever since. How better to describe How My Life Goes than to receive, not a review in Publishers Weekly taking me to task for something literary like inconsistent thematic juxtapositions, but some lady from Indiana writing to MWR about my using the words, "old maid."
The letter did spark an interesting breakfast-table conversation this morning. I was happy to see the children rise up in my defense, like children tend to do, where they can criticize me all they want but if someone from outside tries it, they all band together in my defense.
Paul said, "You can tell a lot about a person by what they react to." Which led, of course to speculation about why Ms. Weaver reacted to my depiction of singleness, which may be better imagined than described.
I did want to defend myself, briefly, when I first read the letter. I think LMM used the term "old maid" in The Blue Castle, and the part about the young woman resigning herself to loneliness was a direct quote from my SIL Rosie. But the rational part of me knew that most likely Ms. Weaver has a raw spot on her soul that needs compassion rather than logic.
And of course I will be very careful in the future about how I depict singleness.
* * *
Speaking of reviews, I learned a new term recently: piranhas.
Local writer Linda Clare's new book, The Fence My Father Built, was offered free in its Kindle form for a week or two. This led to a bunch of new reviews on Amazon including, Linda said, reviews from the piranhas. These are people who grab free copies of books and then write negative reviews.
There's a new word circulating among Amazon reviewers: "Meh." It means just how it sounds, an arrogant one-word dismissal of the book and everything in it. For some reason I find it really annoying, so you can all have a Paul-style analytical heyday here to figure out why I am reacting to this.
The typical Meh review goes: "Meh. awful writing....boring...so glad it was free...would have been upset to have paid for it... ridiculous main characters never developed. silly plot simply restated again and again. do not waste your time."
One of my books got a Meh review over on Goodreads and that was more painful than fifteen letters to the Mennonite Weekly. If you're going to go to the trouble of reading a book and writing a review, have the decency to write something with substance. True, it says a lot more about the reviewer than the author, but it unfairly lowers the star rating for ever and aye.
But the Mennonite Weekly Review doesn't have star ratings for its serialized stories, so I can still smile about that critical letter.
Quote of the Day:
(Or: how conversations get derailed at the Smuckers)
Me: Emily was at an Iraqi supper on Sunday and an Egyptian supper on Saturday.
Jenny: Did she dress up like Cleopatra?
Ben: Cleopatra was of Greek descent!
Jenny: That was such a Bennish thing to say.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Absentminded
There comes a point where you just have to learn to laugh at yourself.
I've always had a reputation of being a bit spacey and totally unaware of what's going on around me if I'm really thinking about something.
Yesterday I drove Emily up to Portland to catch her plane back to Virginia.
And then I bummed around a few secondhand stores for a while.
And then I headed home, down I-5. I briefly thought about visiting my brother Phil and his family near Canby but decided they're too far off the freeway and I'm too tired. I also thought about pulling off to sleep for a while, but decided not to.
Shortly after I came home I got a message from my sister-in-law Geneva: "Let me guess where you were at about 4 today. Wilsonville I-5. Am I good or what?!"
I was flummoxed. How did she know?
Next message: Check your facebook!
There I read: "Phil has been snickering since walking in the door! Dorcas was deep in thought and oblivious to the pranks he played on her today!"
I called Geneva. She could hardly tell me the story for laughing. Phil was driving home from work and there I was, toodling down I-5. He drove along beside me and waved and tried to get my attention, but to absolutely no avail. (I don't think he has a cell phone, so he couldn't call.)
Arrgghh. Embarrassing. And disappointing. It would have been fun to stop and have coffee together.
"What should he have done to get your attention?" Geneva wondered.
I said, "Well, it's a good thing he didn't honk, because I would have screamed and driven off the road."
"Yeah, that's what Phil said too." I could just see Geneva rocking forward and back, hand over her mouth, bubbling with mirthful giggles.
You know, there comes a point where you might as well laugh with everyone else because you are on the dark side of 40 and there's no way you'll ever change.
Quote of the Day:
"Jason is my favorite Yoder cousin. I like him because he's so tolerant of me."
--Jenny. Anyone who has seen her persecuting Jason will understand.
I've always had a reputation of being a bit spacey and totally unaware of what's going on around me if I'm really thinking about something.
Yesterday I drove Emily up to Portland to catch her plane back to Virginia.
And then I bummed around a few secondhand stores for a while.
And then I headed home, down I-5. I briefly thought about visiting my brother Phil and his family near Canby but decided they're too far off the freeway and I'm too tired. I also thought about pulling off to sleep for a while, but decided not to.
Shortly after I came home I got a message from my sister-in-law Geneva: "Let me guess where you were at about 4 today. Wilsonville I-5. Am I good or what?!"
I was flummoxed. How did she know?
Next message: Check your facebook!
There I read: "Phil has been snickering since walking in the door! Dorcas was deep in thought and oblivious to the pranks he played on her today!"
I called Geneva. She could hardly tell me the story for laughing. Phil was driving home from work and there I was, toodling down I-5. He drove along beside me and waved and tried to get my attention, but to absolutely no avail. (I don't think he has a cell phone, so he couldn't call.)
Arrgghh. Embarrassing. And disappointing. It would have been fun to stop and have coffee together.
"What should he have done to get your attention?" Geneva wondered.
I said, "Well, it's a good thing he didn't honk, because I would have screamed and driven off the road."
"Yeah, that's what Phil said too." I could just see Geneva rocking forward and back, hand over her mouth, bubbling with mirthful giggles.
You know, there comes a point where you might as well laugh with everyone else because you are on the dark side of 40 and there's no way you'll ever change.
Quote of the Day:
"Jason is my favorite Yoder cousin. I like him because he's so tolerant of me."
--Jenny. Anyone who has seen her persecuting Jason will understand.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Mothers Day
I couldn't have asked for a better Mother's Day.
All of my children were home, which always makes me feel the world is finally orbiting as it should.
I didn't have any trouble waking up at 3:30 to put the turkey in the oven.
Dinner, with all of us plus Paul's mom plus a friend of Matt's, came together without me coming apart, always something to celebrate, and afterwards I was shooed into the living room while the dishes magically got done.
Jenny gave me a small pillow for when I travel, that she made herself.
Emily gave me a cool plate and cup set featuring a large rooster that just "goes" with my kitchen.
Amy, Steven, and Ben gave me a new planter that looks like an oversized teapot and is just cute.
Matt's gift to me is shopping on ebay for a new-used camera, since I really need one and kept putting it off because I dreaded the shopping thereof.
And Paul gave me a letter with lots of nice words in it.
I felt very blessed.
Quote of the Day I:
". . . warn them that are unruly, comfort the feebleminded, support the weak, be patient toward all men."
--the Bible verse I quoted when Paul, preparing for a sermon, asked me what verses tell me how to be a mom
Quote of the Day II:
"You missed a verse--'Thou shalt not kill.'"
--a mysterious note that was dropped over my shoulder during the sermon
All of my children were home, which always makes me feel the world is finally orbiting as it should.
I didn't have any trouble waking up at 3:30 to put the turkey in the oven.
Dinner, with all of us plus Paul's mom plus a friend of Matt's, came together without me coming apart, always something to celebrate, and afterwards I was shooed into the living room while the dishes magically got done.
Jenny gave me a small pillow for when I travel, that she made herself.
Emily gave me a cool plate and cup set featuring a large rooster that just "goes" with my kitchen.
Amy, Steven, and Ben gave me a new planter that looks like an oversized teapot and is just cute.
Matt's gift to me is shopping on ebay for a new-used camera, since I really need one and kept putting it off because I dreaded the shopping thereof.
And Paul gave me a letter with lots of nice words in it.
I felt very blessed.
Quote of the Day I:
". . . warn them that are unruly, comfort the feebleminded, support the weak, be patient toward all men."
--the Bible verse I quoted when Paul, preparing for a sermon, asked me what verses tell me how to be a mom
Quote of the Day II:
"You missed a verse--'Thou shalt not kill.'"
--a mysterious note that was dropped over my shoulder during the sermon
Sunday, May 09, 2010
Saturday, May 08, 2010
Like and Dislike
I like: piano recitals, especially when the kids play short pieces, so you can truly appreciate their cuteness and skill without getting bored, with just enough longer pieces at the end to give you a good taste of amazing skill and practice on display. I also like recitals where Jenny plays well, which she did today.
I dislike: when people say "PIN number," "SAT test," and "NYM ministries."
[Ooops. Just realized I wrote "SAT test" two posts back. Argh.]
Quote of the Day:
"Traffic is moving slowly on Belt Line near River Road. We're efforting to find out exactly what's wrong."
--the guy on KUGN
I dislike: when people say "PIN number," "SAT test," and "NYM ministries."
[Ooops. Just realized I wrote "SAT test" two posts back. Argh.]
Quote of the Day:
"Traffic is moving slowly on Belt Line near River Road. We're efforting to find out exactly what's wrong."
--the guy on KUGN
Monday, May 03, 2010
How Cool is That?
1. Years ago when we invested in our Bosch mixer we debated about buying the stainless steel bread-dough bowl since I baked our own bread, but decided not to because of the cost. Saturday I was in Halsey with two of my lovely daughters hitting as many garage sales as possible, and there I found an old but still good Bosch mixer with a blender and, yes, a stainless steel bowl with the special dough hook and all the right lids. That looked almost new. For $10. I am baking a batch of bread and feeling smug as we speak.
2. Yesterday I got an email from a guy in South Carolina. Along with his book order he wrote
I enjoy traveling as a single person and have been to 47 states and quite a number of countries. Twice I have visited in your lovely state and would like to again visitFt. Klamath and Klamath Falls Eugene South Carolina Eugene
3. Emily took her SAT test on Saturday. One paragraph in the English section was a quote from a book and greatly intrigued her, but she didn't have time to jot down the title or author. Afterwards she was wishing she could remember the details so she could find the book and read it. Yesterday she flew to Denver, [headed home for a week for Ben's graduation] where Paul and Ben picked her up in the van and then went on to Canon City and picked up her houseful of stuff that has been in storage since November. She happened to see the book Paul brought along to read, and here it was The Moonstone, the exact book she had been wishing for.
4. This morning I finished my column for May. It's supposed to be 1000 words long but is usually at least 1200 and I leave it to my editor to chop if there's not enough space. Today I finished the article, clicked on the word count, and behold, exactly 1000 words.
Quote of the Day:
"Is there anything better than a Mennonite discount grocery store?"
--Ben, after I made a trip to Grocery Depot and rhapsodized about all my bargains
2. Yesterday I got an email from a guy in South Carolina. Along with his book order he wrote
I enjoy traveling as a single person and have been to 47 states and quite a number of countries. Twice I have visited in your lovely state and would like to again visit
3. Emily took her SAT test on Saturday. One paragraph in the English section was a quote from a book and greatly intrigued her, but she didn't have time to jot down the title or author. Afterwards she was wishing she could remember the details so she could find the book and read it. Yesterday she flew to Denver, [headed home for a week for Ben's graduation] where Paul and Ben picked her up in the van and then went on to Canon City and picked up her houseful of stuff that has been in storage since November. She happened to see the book Paul brought along to read, and here it was The Moonstone, the exact book she had been wishing for.
4. This morning I finished my column for May. It's supposed to be 1000 words long but is usually at least 1200 and I leave it to my editor to chop if there's not enough space. Today I finished the article, clicked on the word count, and behold, exactly 1000 words.
Quote of the Day:
"Is there anything better than a Mennonite discount grocery store?"
--Ben, after I made a trip to Grocery Depot and rhapsodized about all my bargains
Friday, April 30, 2010
The OAJWL Returns!
Yes, the One-Armed Jehovah's Witness Lady came back today! We recall that her friend had come in her stead on Saturday to discuss the Jesus booklet with me, and Paul had asked her to ask the OAJWL not to return.
But today she returned, with another friend who was obviously not in training but a very persuasive Witness. They hinted that they knew which way the wind was blowing but came anyhow, probably wanting to reach out to this poor abused woman whose big harsh husband tries to isolate her from outside influences.
One-Arm reached in her purse for her trusty little booklet and started in on her gentle hypnotic spiel, but I, mentally strapping on my sword and shield, interrupted her. I'm afraid we need to part ways, I said. I don't mean to be unkind or to disparage them, but the booklet about Jesus was very troubling. It made it sound like Jesus wasn't much more than a nice guy, and I am not going to participate in anything that minimizes who he was. Someday every knee will bow and every tongue confess that he is Lord.
Doesn't that sound brave and articulate?
Well. She gently opened the spigot and flowed forth with lots of things about Jesus that we agree on, that he was the Son of God, that God spoke audibly and said This is my beloved Son when he was baptized.
But, I said, he was not Michael the archangel in human form. Jesus accepted worship, and the angels never did.
More gentle flowing words that I couldn't rebut.
When it comes down to it, who of us can explain how God can have a son who is not a created being, why Jesus always submitted to the Father's will and yet was Deity, how things actually work in heavenly realms? I am terrible at arguing theology as we all know, but I told her that I had a bad feeling in my spirit about the booklet, [and you can't argue about a bad feeling], and Jesus is the rock we split on.
So we parted on friendly but firm terms and she said they wouldn't be back, and after they were gone I realized I had completely forgotten to ask her what happened to her arm.
You know, in spite of our differences, I would have been her friend if she would have let me.
Quote of the Day:
As it is written:
"See, I lay in Zion a stone that causes men to stumble
and a rock that makes them fall,
and the one who trusts in him will never be put to shame."
--Romans 9:33 (NIV)
But today she returned, with another friend who was obviously not in training but a very persuasive Witness. They hinted that they knew which way the wind was blowing but came anyhow, probably wanting to reach out to this poor abused woman whose big harsh husband tries to isolate her from outside influences.
One-Arm reached in her purse for her trusty little booklet and started in on her gentle hypnotic spiel, but I, mentally strapping on my sword and shield, interrupted her. I'm afraid we need to part ways, I said. I don't mean to be unkind or to disparage them, but the booklet about Jesus was very troubling. It made it sound like Jesus wasn't much more than a nice guy, and I am not going to participate in anything that minimizes who he was. Someday every knee will bow and every tongue confess that he is Lord.
Doesn't that sound brave and articulate?
Well. She gently opened the spigot and flowed forth with lots of things about Jesus that we agree on, that he was the Son of God, that God spoke audibly and said This is my beloved Son when he was baptized.
But, I said, he was not Michael the archangel in human form. Jesus accepted worship, and the angels never did.
More gentle flowing words that I couldn't rebut.
When it comes down to it, who of us can explain how God can have a son who is not a created being, why Jesus always submitted to the Father's will and yet was Deity, how things actually work in heavenly realms? I am terrible at arguing theology as we all know, but I told her that I had a bad feeling in my spirit about the booklet, [and you can't argue about a bad feeling], and Jesus is the rock we split on.
So we parted on friendly but firm terms and she said they wouldn't be back, and after they were gone I realized I had completely forgotten to ask her what happened to her arm.
You know, in spite of our differences, I would have been her friend if she would have let me.
Quote of the Day:
As it is written:
"See, I lay in Zion a stone that causes men to stumble
and a rock that makes them fall,
and the one who trusts in him will never be put to shame."
--Romans 9:33 (NIV)
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Rain
I was just over at Baileyandme2's blog where she showed pictures of her redone kitchen in an old house similar to mine. Our styles are very different, as she is all about leaf green, pink, mismatched plates and silverware, and all kinds of cool little antiquey touches I like to see but would never think to do myself.
So while our giftings and styles are very different, she inspires me to make things beautiful in my setting.
But that's not what I'm writing about. Among other things, she wrote:
So while our giftings and styles are very different, she inspires me to make things beautiful in my setting.
But that's not what I'm writing about. Among other things, she wrote:
It was rainy when I took most of these pics.
When it rains- I feel happy like people do on a high.
I`m serious. I love rain.
I read that and thought Wait. She loves rain? It makes her happy? There really are people like that?
Apparently so.
I think she should come to Oregon and be deliriously happy all winter.
We've had 18.47 inches of rain since January 1st, which is about 5 inches below normal, not that I've noticed any drought going on. In this "rain-year," since October 1st, we've had 31.88 inches, 12 inches below normal.
Most of this rain has fallen in intermittent showers or a steady drizzle rather than snow or thunderstorms followed by three days of sunshine like they have in the Midwest.
Here, we say things like, "When the sun came out accidentally today I noticed the cobwebs in the window." And we don't use umbrellas. And, like I read on a you-know-you're-from-Oregon-if site the other day, we think it's normal for our grandparents to drive 65 mph in rain without giving it a second thought.
I remember flying out of Eugene one time and when we popped through the clouds the sun was shining brightly of course and I realized I had forgotten that the sun keeps shining on the other side of the clouds.
When the weather happens to be sunny and warm for a couple of days, as it was last week I think, we all head outside like wasps out of a nest and weed flower beds like crazy and go on walks and tilt our heads back and look at how blue the sky is.
And we get very tired of the rain, and many of us fight a dreadful winter depression with strange glowing lamps and mad-scientist vitamin concoctions.
Well, me and a lot of others, but not quite everyone. Come to think of it, my very own daughters love rain, and lying in bed at night listening to it spatter on the windows. One of the sad things about Emily's illness has been that what she loved made her sick. And Amy, when she was living in the dry-bones desert in the United Arab Emirates and it finally finally rained, went out and danced in it and let it pour down on her face.
Oh wait, I think I've told you all this before, like once or twice a year for the last 5 years. Well, it's April, and it's raining, and it doesn't make me happy, and I'm absolutely longing for some good, genuine, warm, bright, steady sunshine.
Quote of the Day:"Just admit that you don't know much about it."
--Jenny, when I was asked to talk about raising adolescents
To Matt-like Guys
Mothers Day is coming up on May 9th. If you are the sort of guy who comes up with creative Mothers Day gift ideas a month before the big day, go sand the gazebo you're building in the garage, and never mind.
However, if you put these things off, here's a gift idea for you--one or more of my books which are full of mommish stories. Here's how it works:
You send me an email at dorcassmucker@gmail.com stating which book(s) you want:
Ordinary Days
Upstairs the Peasants are Revolting
Downstairs the Queen is Knitting
Also give me your mom's mailing address.
I send your mom the book(s), signed of course, and I can even add a note such as "Happy Mothers Day from your loving son."
You mail me a check, or cash if it's legal, for $12 per book, which includes postage, at 31148 Substation Drive, Harrisburg, OR 97446
That's it!
However, if you put these things off, here's a gift idea for you--one or more of my books which are full of mommish stories. Here's how it works:
You send me an email at dorcassmucker@gmail.com stating which book(s) you want:
Ordinary Days
Upstairs the Peasants are Revolting
Downstairs the Queen is Knitting
Also give me your mom's mailing address.
I send your mom the book(s), signed of course, and I can even add a note such as "Happy Mothers Day from your loving son."
You mail me a check, or cash if it's legal, for $12 per book, which includes postage, at 31148 Substation Drive, Harrisburg, OR 97446
That's it!
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