Lost in a Book

Once upon a time, when I had a two hour metro commute every day, I tended to want to avoid interacting with my fellow commuters, so I took to reading and I got a great chance to delve into those classic books I had always wanted to try, but never had the time. I thoroughly enjoyed myself and actually miss my commute just a little (not the smell, though... I don't miss that at all.)

Unfortunately, a recent edition of the Today Show and the "just in" rack at Borders have caused me to notice that the splashy descriptions on the front of literary entertainment marketed mainly to females is made up mostly of words such as "sizzeling, sexy, biting, and scandalous." In short, the must-read of the summer is most likely going to burn you, give you an STD, or get you arrested. What happened to the type of great novels I discovered deep beneath the streets of Washington DC? I am tired of the only thing rolling off the presses being ANOTHER story about a downtown working girl or updown socialite caught up in the world of gossip, fashion, and inappropriate behavior at the office. Two words... self destruction.

I propose that if you are really interested in a great summer read, you dive into one of the books listed on my Girly Book List (which is always taking additional suggestions) and get to know some of the real heroines of literature. These are characters you can really get behind and when the story is over you feel uplifted and inspired, instead of wishing you could take a shower.

There are antagonists who would argue that the great books I describe were actually the smut of yesteryear, and that they closely compare to the brainless drivel recently spread across your local book store shelves, but I defy that conjecture. Once any reader has experienced the wit of Elizabeth Bennett or the courage of Jane Eyre she will realize that these timeless classics will always stand out over the insipid novels of the here and now. Women of the metro, stand up and be counted as readers of real literature!

Back In Time

So, I was at the supermarket today (I say supermarket because it is a word my grandma would have used) shopping for ingredients to invite my family over for a pancake dinner tomorrow and, as fate would have it, blueberries were on for a dollar a carton and there were only two perfectly tiny plastic containers left. What luck!

I finished my shopping and it was while I was in the checkout line unloading my cart that tragedy struck. Both of the poorly protected containers of beautiful blue berries slipped stealthily through a gap in the cart and landed in a quiet pile on my shoe. I felt it before I saw it (blueberries are softer than I had anticipated) and was almost afraid to look down at the little bits of juicy goodness rolling away from me forever across the grimy floor.

Time stood still as I looked from the cashier (who I happened to know personally) to the bagger and back again. "Do you want to get another one?" The bagger urged like I was hard of hearing. Yes! Another one... I snapped out of my trance. That is precisely what I need. I dodged displays of easter candy and salad dressing as I franticly speed-walked to the produce section. I spotted a worker stocking nectarines an zeroed in. "Do you have any more?" I implored pointing to the "Blueberries 99 cents!" sign as a little tear began to well in my right eye.

"We're out." He said with what I thought was a little less sympathy than what the situation required. Crestfallen, I turned and slowly dragged my feet back to the check out line, now vacant of any stray berries, and solemnly paid for my groceries. Oh, if only the force of my mind could will time to reverse the few precious seconds it would have required to change the destiny of those ill fated berries.

The drive home strung my mind to other times when, with all the force I could muster, I had willed time to reverse for only a few moments. I am sure you, dear reader, can remember the feeling of the moment directly after you flung out an insult that should have been withheld, or the silent seconds following the crunch of a fender bender after you backed up without looking. I suppose those times have happened to us all, and will probably happen a few more times before we die (maybe even as we die), but the important thing is to learn from them. I know that I vow next time to be a little more careful as to the placement of precious produce in my shopping cart... and think before I speak... and look before I back up... and point the mustard away before I squeeze... and wait to step on a bus until I've read where it's going...and...

Crazy Yellow

I am not the kind of person prone to skitsophrenia or craziness, but I was christmas shopping two months ago when I saw a bright yellow grossgrain ribbon belt with a sparkely buckle hanging on a rack and something inside me awakened and said quite clearly "You would love that belt."

To which I immediately replied "it looks like an impulse buy to me that would end up forgotten and un-worn in the back of the closet."

"No," insisted the voice, "I promise you would wear it."

"Voice," I continued, "I know me. I have avoided yellow all my life for the washed-out, unflattering look it lends to my blonde hair and fair skin."

"Even so" the voice coerced, "it would look great on you." I held firm, but fortunately the voice had other methods and to my surprise I found the belt in my stocking on Christmas morning. Insane as it may sound, I LOVE IT. I never knew what I was missing by resigning myself to blues and pinks and greens all my life, which, I am happy to say, can now fulfill their potential when paired with the yellow.

Don't be alarmed; I still don't wear yellow pants or shirts etc. (I haven't gone THAT crazy) but I have found a happy medium of yellow accessories and I urge anyone reading this to take stock of the things you've been denying yourself just because you are used to it not working out. Now the yellow and I enjoy a symbiotic relationship that all started with the sparkely belt.

Speling Disklaymer...

I can't spell. I know it, and even though these convenient text windows are equipped with a spell check button, sometimes I am too preoccupied to use it, or I just enjoy the colloquial asymmetry created by the look of my misspelled words too much to correct them. In any case, I am issuing a warning here and now that you will encounter poorly spelled words on this page, so if that type of flagrant disregard for proper literature (not to mention blatent over-use of commas) offends you I would suggest periodically averting your eyes. Safe journey.

Snow Night

It was dark, it was late, it was cold. In short, it was just the kind of night an early-to-bed-home-body like me would have loved to stay inside. A heavy snowstorm was flopping fatty flakes onto anything that would stand still and, contrary to my hibernative nature, I was longing to be out in it. I forced my husband into his coat and boots and I donned my mittens and wellies and we headed out. We hiked through the drifts to the lawn of the nearby hospital. (Being appartment dwellers we are, sadly, without a yard.) The following is what eventually overcame us.

In the beginning...

Here it is. It has begun. I always knew it would happen, and yet tried to stave off the inevitable for a reason unbeknownst to me. Maybe I thought I would ignore it and it would become obsolete... maybe I thought I'd love it and become an addict (a vice I abhore and try to avoid if I can help it)... or maybe I was just afraid of the term itself, but whatever the reason and however I overcame it I am, henceforth and officially, a blogger. Hmmm.