Intelligence in Texas?

Yes, there is. No offense to Texans, of course; I have known many smart people from the Lone Star State. My best friend Constance is living in Texas (though she's not from there) and she's quite smart. On a recent layover through Dallas, though, I looked over to a familiar looking gentleman who was sitting alone, reading a copy of Atlantic Monthly. I didn't want to "out him" as being a celebrity-ish guy in a common area, so instead of loudly asking him if he was THE Ronald Reagan, Jr., I just asked quietly if he was "Ron." After comfirming that he indeed was, we went on to have a great conversation about Prop 8, gay rights and the supreme court before I had mercy on him and let him get back to his reading. An interesting, warm and friendly guy, not the least bit put off by my wanting to give thanks for being a sound, articulate person on the airwaves.

We had a great Thanksgiving, speaking of Thanks. Good food, family and, the next day, lots of holiday lights made their ways up onto the eaves of our house. We dug out all of our blue LED bulbs that we picked up for 1/2 price last year and, after picking up a 13 foot tree for our living room, decked the whole thing out in atomic glare bulbs. If you've never seen LED bulbs, gaze with caution, my friends. Our living room now looks like the inner core of a nuclear power plant and I imagine that the skylights our house can be seen from the space station. We were watching "The Amazing Race" (goodbye Toni and Dallas--I'm sad to see you go. Especially you, Dallas...) and by the end of the hour my eyes were burning. I couldn't tell if it was the long day, the stress of a high-octane tv show or the seared retinas I was suffering due to the lazer lights. Oh well. At least we're using 80% less electricity.

No Trouble Whatsoever

Last night, we coordinated a great babysitter for the boys and headed into the city to see Ray Lamontagne's final show of his tour, at McCaw Hall in Seattle. Simply put, it was an amazing show, and even though his set was shorter than I thought it would be, I have no complaints at all. The numbers were tight, not a lot of filler so even though he was only on stage for about an hour and 15, he probably hit about 20 songs in that time. No doubt about it, the guy's got amazing pipes. Interestingly, the stage set up was pretty non pretentious and simple. One can see that there's not a lot of ego happening with him, since he sets up the stage to put himself off to one side, showing himself as the lead singer of the band, rather than the front man. The sound in the hall was incredible and even the warm up singer, Leona Naess, was remarkable. A great night; I don't even care that I'm dead tired here at work this morning.

Novemeber 5, 2008: The Dawning of a New Era

I see trees of green, red roses too

I see them bloom for me and you

And I think to myself what a wonderful world.

I see skies of blue and clouds of white

The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night

And I think to myself what a wonderful world.

The colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky

Are also on the faces of people going by

I see friends shaking hands saying how do you do

They're really saying I love you.

I hear babies crying, I watch them grow

They'll learn much more than I'll never know

And I think to myself what a wonderful world

Yes I think to myself what a wonderful world.

Goodbye, Yma

Last night, my partner got ahold of the newspaper before me and sadly announced that the Peruvian Songbird, Yma Sumac, had died. For anyone who has heard her sing, it's an unmistakably profound experience. Think Mariah Carey has pipes? Remember that screeching she did with that song "Emotion" way back when? Try listening to a woman whose multi-octave range makes the listener think he or she is listening to a piccolo playing. Incredible. I remember the first time I heard her, I was in a store in the Castro and I thought, "What the *#*& is this??" I was entranced and quickly went to the nearest music store and bought two CDs. Great fun.

Her website http://www.yma-sumac.com/ has a beautiful musical intro, with this announcement:

It is with deep sadness, that we report that Yma Sumac passed away at 11 am on Saturday Nov 1st. It was peaceful. Those closest to her were at her side.

A very, very private funeral will be held at an undisclosed location. Per her and her closest relative's instructions, she will be interred in Hollywood, where she spent 60 years of her life.

Her last year was spent surrounded by people who loved her and looked after her with the very best care possible. It should be a consolation that she was always surrounded by flowers, your beautiful cards, photos of her glory days, and an extraordinary view of Los Angeles' west side. Also, her personal assistant's two
little Chihuahua's, whom she loved dearly.

Although this news is written as "news" we are all devastated here. Indeed, there was plenty of time to prepare, but when that final moment comes, one finds they may not be at all prepared.

"That I made good music and made happy, their hearts" - Yma Sumac, when asked what she wanted to be remembered for.

Colin Powell: The Voice of Reason

I've always admired the man; even when he made the famous "yellow cake" speech of 2003 (not to be confused with Julia Childs' "yellow cake speech of 1969"), I couldn't help but feel as though he was a reluctant participant in something that was much bigger than he--and that he would be resigning soon after, which he did.

What came out in his endorsement of Barak Obama, though, solidified my belief that this is a man who personifies the very definition of integrity and honor. It wasn't his deep disgust over the reigning McCain tactics, nor the disillusionment he shows over the sharp right turn the current republican squall has made. What was it that he said that, to be honest, brought tears to my eyes? It was a statement that I've been trying to articulate for some time and hoped--REALLY hoped--that someone would have the balls to say:

"I'm also troubled by, not what Senator McCain says, but what members of the party say, and it is permitted to be said. Such things as 'Well you know that Mr. Obama is a Muslim.' Well the correct answer is 'He is not a Muslim, he's a Christian, he's always been a Christian.' But the really right answer is 'What if he is? Is there something wrong with being a Muslim in this country?' The answer is 'No. That's not America.' Is there something wrong with some 7-year old Muslim-American kid believing that he or she can be president?"

And then he went on to say:

"I feel strongly about this particular point because of a picture I saw in a magazine. It was a photo-essay about troops who were serving in Iraq and Afghanistan. And one picture at the tail end of this photo essay was of a mother in Arlington Cemetery and she had her head on the headstone of her son's grave. And as the picture focused in you can see the writing on the headstone. And it gave his awards, Purple Heart, Bronze Star, showed that he died in Iraq, gave his date of birth, date of death. He was 20 years old. And then at the very top of the headstone, it didn't have a Christian cross, it didn't have a Star of David. It had a crescent and a star of the Islamic faith. And his name was Karim Rashad Sultan Khan. And he was an American, he was born in New Jersey, he was 14 at the time of 9/11 and he waited until he can go serve his counrty and he gave his life."

Amen.

Now that's one spicy rodent!

Not long after a forest fire burns its way through acreage, the news media comes forth with a possible culprit. Sometimes its lightning (that would mean God did it? Or Electra Woman?), other times its bad cub scouts, or too often a deranged arsonist who likes the idea of a tsunami of flame working its way through the countryside. This time, though, the culprit is none other than a mischevous, kinda stupid and, currently, crisp squirrel. According to the AP, "Redding firefighters say the squirrel set off the blaze when it shorted out a power line, caught fire and dropped into dry vegetation." http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/n/a/2008/10/14/state/n100513D39.DTL

Typing "flaming squirrel" into Google gets me 3,190 hits (granted, most of these are repeat stories, but it's still pretty impressive), which means that apparently squirrels are quite flammable and likely wreak havoc when they are aflame--enough to get notice on the world wide web. Restaurant names and Celtic surf bands aside (http://flamingsquirrel.net/), Flaming Squirrels are quite a hot item. As opposed to, say, flaming rats (834 hits), flaming hamsters (1,290 hits) and flaming gerbils (512). Only flaming queens get more hits, but then we all know they get around so much more than the average queen (8370 hits).

A year ago, a flaming squirrel in Bayonne, NJ fell from the sky (another powerline chewer) and managed to find its way into the engine compartment of a Toyota Camry, leading to an explosive ending. http://www.nj.com/hudson/index.ssf/2007/10/flaming_squirrel_ignites_car_i.html

And in July of 2005, a flamer (yes, tightroping on a power line) managed to start a brush fire in Oroville, WA. http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/localnews/2002390256_webpyrosquirrels19.html

My favorite was this news item about a candidate for student government at Princeton. One of the things he had to do (as part of the vetting process, I guess) was to fess up that he'd poured lighter fluid on, and subsequently lit, a dead squirrel in a wacky fraterity (and booze-fueled) prank. http://www.dailyprincetonian.com/archives/2006/12/01/news/16814.shtml Those crazy kids!

A New Blog!

Due to the raging success of my previous entry, "Dear Sarah Palin", I've decided to create a new one, dedicated solely to the column. You can find it at http://helpmesarah.blogspot.com/

Submitted dilemmas are welcome...

Today I did a lesson (non-indoctrination, of course) on the electoral system and I brought the website www.pollster.com up on the screen to show an example of polling, coupled with electoral counting. 24 4th graders broke into cheers when they saw 320 to 163. I played the middle, naturally, explaining how things can change on a dime and that no matter what, the results would be historical: The first African American president or the oldest. No comment on which is the more monumental or positive.

Dear Sarah Palin

As we lead up to the all important election, I'm choosing to post a semi-regular column entitled, "Dear Sarah" So that we can all benefit from the sage advice of our possible, future VP.

Dear Sarah,

I was at a dinner party when the hostess, who was drunk, suddenly launched into an off key (and off color) version of "Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini". The problem is, my former wife was killed by a shark and all that washed up on the shore was the exact thing that the hostess was singing. I chose not to say anything, but as a result, the fondue was more of a "fon-don't" if you know what I mean. What should I do next time?

Bikini waxing nostalgia

Dear BWN,

I hear ya, champ. Back in my hometown of Wasilla, we have a saying: "Drill, Kill, then take a pill." What does that have to do with yer problem? Not a whole heckofa lot! Ya see, we gotta spread demcracy in the world and that's not just limited to our neighbors that we can see from our front porch, ya know. I'd say that bein tolerant of your friend's choice ta drink and sing is important. I have lotsa friends who drink and sing and if that's their choice then I'm not one to judge. Not out loud, anyway, if ya know what I mean and I'm sher ya do. Like that time when Todd and his buddy went fer their monthly snowmachine racing trip and I tied a note onto the handle and when it came back the note was still there and the tank was still full of the colored gas that I tinted before they left. I'm not one to judge, by golly, but I sher woulda felt better if that tank had been empty dontcha know. So, BWN, buck up and go shoot a wolf next time. Believe me, killin things makes life a lot easier sometimes!

Obliviously yours,
Sarah

Cloris--gotta love her!

So I found myself doing the "guilty pleasure" thing last night--watching "Dancing with the Stars." I had initially just wanted to see Cloris Leachman, but I have to admit that I got a kick out of a few of the others (though three or four were just painful to watch--like dealing with your drunk uncle who tries to cut in on the bride during the couple's dance). Still, Cloris was awesome. Who can't be enamoured of her? Nurse Deisel, Frau Blucher (sp?), Phyllis. She's a total riot and just watching her seeming to have the time of her life and being her acidic self was awesome. I hope she sticks around for a long time (on the show, and in life).

We're in full force at school and it's painfully obvious that we're in the thick of fall, too. Rain all weekend, chilly mornings, gray skies. I rather like it, but there is that whole "rebuild the woodrack and start splitting firewood" thing. I have nothing more to say this morning, but close with a quick Haiku:

Irish cream cocoa

smooth jazz on KPLU

Ease into the day

I'm Back!

Okay, so this summer has been one of learning, (light) travel and trying to catch up on projects that can't possibly be caught up on (I know, totally ending that with a preposition).

It's been a good summer, but I am glad to be back at school. I did meet my goal of completing the first draft of my novel. I'm now mired in revisions and hope to have something to send to my reader in the next few weeks. Then, with any luck, I'll be able to have a "final" product to shop around by November.

We did a wine tour in Willamette (awesome), I returned to Missouri for the annual Pennytown reuion (one of the best weekends ever) and, just last weekend, went to Portland to see Antony and the Johnsons in concert, with the Portland Symphony. Amazing; one of the greatest live performances I've ever seen.

I would get into political talk, but frankly, I'm worn out. Speaking of being frank, though, I saw that Al Franken won his primary in Minnesota. Hooray! I had the great fortune of (kind of) meeting him when I was in Minneapolis this past June. He and I were both interviewed on the Twin Cities Public TV program "Alamanac" and we exchanged pleasantries and I handed him his notes when he left the interview desk without them. That was the extent of it. I wish he'd stuck around to hear about my book (which you can learn more about by going to http://www.thelyncherinme.com/ ) But I was impressed with his demeanor and his ability to tackle not-so-soft questions from the interviewers. I can't wait to see Sarah Palin do the same, if it ever happens. Oh, did I get political by mentioning Caribou Barbie? Well, slap my face.

What a Freakin' Week...

It's been one of those weeks (or two) for me. You know, those ones where if things are going to go wrong, they do. I tend to get leery when things go too well for too long; I imagine that the bottom will soon fall out from under me and the house of cards will collapse (a mix of metaphors, I know).

The trials of being a landlord were in high form this month. A leaky toilet and a broken drier. I went to fix both, was unable to do the drier (is it spelled "dryer"?) and was only able to do a half-assed job on the toilet (that figure of speech is quite accurate since, when I replaced the toilet, the new seat was too small and the toilet wobbled). And then, I was to discover a major drain leak emptying all the contents of the washing machine into the basement. To add to all of this, I had just been diagnosed the day before with bursitis in my left shoulder, this "out of the blue" swollen tendon that made even buttoning my pants hell.

And that brings me to the whole "bursitis" thing. With all do respect to people who actually suffer from these things (and are older than I am), but this is the first condition that my brain, which is frequently obsessing about age lately, has attached the label of "old person's diseasae." I'm expecting bunions, gout and osteoporosis next. Bursitis?? All I know is it hurts somethin' fierce and I didn't do anything that I know of to bring it about. I know, get out the tiny violins...

So anyway, I'm repairing (or not) the items in our duplex and, of course, everything that requires an ounce of muscle is on the left side, so I'm pretty much useless. Time to call in the professionals and open the valve on my bank account. And then, in the same week, our hot tub breaks down (I hesitate to even say that since I never dreamed I'd even be able to have a hot tub, much less a really nice bathtub) and our propane tank runs dry. With fuel prices through the roof, it cost us 20% more to fill the thing up.

I'm jonesing for a better August. My next posting, when I get to it, will be must less ranting and more wise musings, I promise.

Here I Am!

I'm in week two of the Puget Sound Writer's Project, an intense 4 week (with a half dozen Saturdays over the coming school year) of writing, reflecting, learning, sharing, etc. with about 20 other participants. We're all teachers, and we're all writers. It's been great. I've been riding my bike to and from the UW (from the ferry dock--about a 45 minute ride through the city) and it's been wonderful to have a good sweat twice a day that doesn't involve sitting in an overheated car in the middle of traffic. The class runs from 8:30 to 3:30 each day and, even though I'm not lifting bags of cement or scraping paint from the side of a house, I come home exhausted each day. But I love it. The enviroment of the university, academia, shirtless hackysack players...I mean...academia. Yeah, that's it.
:)

I'm glad to have a quick moment to update this blog because I've not had time at a computer, really. This weekend was a productive one for my current novel. I was able to crank out upwards of 30 pages and they're not completely horrible, so that's good. My goal is to have a draft ready for revision by the end of this summer and I think I may make it. Fingers crossed (and typing).

I dreamed the other night that I was lost in Italy, and I wasn't even afraid. In fact, the only thing that stressed me about it was that I was worried I wouldn't catch my plane home and I didn't have a sub to start the first day of school.

Jump In, Jump Out

So, I've been chastised by a couple folks for not having updated my blog in some time. Guilty. I think the end of the school year, transitions, laziness are all the culprits. So, in spite of the fact that I have much to tell, I'll give a brief rundown of highlights and (hopefully) expand on them later.

Al Franken. Yes, Al Franken. On my first night in Minneapolis (for my second mini-book tour), I gave an interview on the program "Almanac" for Twin Cities Public Television and had the great fortune to watch (and follow) Al Franken, who is running (and really, should win) for the U.S. Senate seat representing Minnesota. He was articulate, smart, gracious and even funny (he is a funny guy, for crying out loud--something that for some reason people want to hold against him).

Meeting a descendant of one of the mob participants. At one book signing, I had the honor of meeting a man who came to point out his father in the photo of the lynchings. It was a first for me, and a moment that I savored. We had a wonderful conversation and I could see that my book had a great impact on him. If nothing else, his words will carry me through the rest of this whole author thing. What I'd hoped I'd be able to do with the book, I can see I've managed to do. Very cool.

More later...

There Goes the Gayborhood...

So, 4 out of 7 California Supreme Court justices recommend equality for their citizens who choose marriage. Outstanding. The only negative for me in that little item is that 3 out 7 are fearful that the entire planet will implode when two men or two women have their relationship upheld along with opposite gender couples. Here's a snippet of the report from CNN:

"There can be no doubt that extending the designation of marriage to same-sex couples, rather than denying it to all couples, is the equal protection remedy that is most consistent with our state's general legislative policy and preference," Thursday's ruling read.
Accordingly, the law's language "limiting the designation of marriage to a 'union between a man and a woman' is unconstitutional, and ... the remaining statutory language must be understood as making the designation of marriage available to both opposite-sex and same-sex couples," it read.

For the naysayers, if you don't haul out the old, "Adam and Eve/Adam and Steve" and "What about polygamy and marrying your dog" argument, I won't get into the old, "Look at thrice married Rush Limbaugh" or "Britney Spears models the sanctity of marriage" or "Levitcus also says you should stone to death your disrespectful children" arguments. The term "sanctity of marriage" is a simple term used when the person saying it doesn't really want to deal with the complex issues around relationships, partnerships and his or her own fears. "What about the sanctity of marriage?" they say, upon discovering infidelity. "The sanctity of marraige compels you to obey me!" "Oh dear, now that gays can marry, the sanctity of my marraige is shattered." The reality is, in this day and age, marriage is a legal recognition gifted by the government to protect (and take advantage of) two people's relationship. What it means in the heart, what the partnership is at its very core, can never be defined by a piece of paper--whether it's you and your wife who have it or the two men next door.

My partner and I have been married twice--to one another. Once in Portland, Oregon, again in Canada. Did it make our relationship stronger? Did it make us feel like we were more legitimate? Honestly, it did. At the moment, we had this sense of validation if only because we were finally being awarded the same thing that "normal" (as a co-worker once harmlessly called us) couples receive. For about a day or two, we rode the high of having had our relatioship blessed by an official "relationship blesser" and, of course, having our family there. But once the cake was eaten and everyone had gone home, we were left with what we had before: A pretty stable, loving partnership, one in which each of us often takes care of our own needs first and, occasionally, places our partner's needs before ours. Where we misplace our keys, neglect the dusting, argue, make up, hug our children, cook dinner, disagree over how to load the dishwasher and tell one another "I love you" on a daily basis. The marriage certificate we have framed is a nice symbol for what someone once tried to give us and of the beautful event that was our wedding. But in the reality of daily life, it doesn't form the foundation of who and what we are.

So what am I saying? Do I care that California may allow gay marriage now? Do I want Washington state to do the same? Of course. Will it make me love my partner more? No. Will it cause any of my sons to suddenly broaden their search of potential life partners to include males now? Likely not. What it will do is give me the simple things that anyone wants with the person they love. To exist with him or her, enjoying the same rights that his or her straight neighbors have. The recognition of the agreement to be a partnership, no judgements on their worthiness, stability, prettiness or palatbility. Just an equal support of their desire to be with one another and of the dream that they may grow old as a couple.

A Real Cereal Killer

I came across the website The Imaginary World the other day when I was looking for the name of a cereal that I remembered having once--ONCE--as a kid (we were not the "sugar cereal" kind of family. In fact, we were the anti-sugar cereal family. The bowls of puffed rice and puffed wheat that I most recall could have easily doubled as packing filler). Anyway, as soon as I found the picture of the "Freakies" cereal box, a flood of warm memories washed over me, finding that goulish rubber figure tucked near the bottom of the box. I don't remember what the cereal tasted like, but I'm sure it was sugar-laden and probably really abrasive, like a lot of those cereals were. You know, eat a bowl of Cap'n Crunch or Honeycomb ("Big Big crunch in a big, big bite!") or Cookie Crisp, then swish a dose of orange juice around in your mouth and see what I mean. Anyway, it's a fun site to go through not only to see the toys, foods and ads that you remember (or don't remember) but to get a sense of the absurdities that have passed through Madison Avenue. I like to imagine an ideas meeting where a guy raises his hand and says, "I know...how about a mascot that looks like a lit up, alcoholic Wall Street tycoon who would sooner knife you in the back or kidnap your child than serve you dinner?"

Ahh...good times.

Another Human Being Saved

James Lee Woodard is a man experiencing an unexpected, greatly deserved rebirth. Another in a line of embarassing "Oops, we're sorry we stole half of your life away from you" moments in the American justice system, Mr. Woodard was freed after having spent TWENTY SEVEN YEARS of his life in prison for a murder he didn't commit. (Bonus points--guess which state? If you guessed that one that puts out oil and a president who can hardly steer a bicycle along a trail much less steer a country, then you win!) Thanks to the Innoncence Project , Mr. Woodard can somehow start to assemble the rest of his life. At age 55, he certainly still has many years ahead of him, though probably even more behind him that he'd rather forget. Sentenced to life in prison, I imagine the only thing Woodard can be thankful for is that he didn't get the death penalty. In the 27 years he was behind bars, Texas exectuted 406, according to the site TexasExecutions.com. And according to the Innocence Project, 31 individuals in Texas have been exonerated by DNA testing alone. It's not clear how many prisoners have been moved from death row due to overturned cases, but one can only imagine how many still remain to be proven innocent. Feelings about state-sanctioned killing of guilty people aside, the mere fact that there can be one person executed for a crime that he or she didn't commit should wipe the laws from the books with no discussion whatsoever. In the movies (and in real life), there are many unhappy endings where a reactionary mob or angry lover pulls the trigger or cinches the noose, only to walk away dazed when the reality of innocence comes to light. It's the consequence of violent impulse and shortsighted justice. When we have the luxury of time and science, why do we continue to hear about underrepresented prisoners begging to be heard?

**It is often easier to become outraged by injustice half a world away than by oppression and discrimination half a block from home. ~Carl T. Rowan

A Stimulating Thought

When the solution to a failing economy is to sink us deeper into debt, flush the system with money so that we can buy more HD televisions, Crocs and I-phones, I can only imagine that if my grandparents (who lived through the depression) were alive today they'd, well...keel over. I have a thought! How about taking that $168 billion and putting it into the continued (?) efforts to rebuild New Orleans or the failing bridges and roads around the country. Remember the roads projects in the 30's? I think that money spent shoring up our infastructure would be what they call investment in the future. It would get jobs going, income flowing and, in turn, purchases would happen.

I read an interesting blog posting by Aria Fine, who hails from Minneapolis (I was just there on my book tour--funny...). His posting at http://blog.iamnotashamed.net/2008/04/25/if-we-are-just-giving-money-away-why-not-try-reparations/ puts forth some interesting ideas, not just about the conundrum of reparations, but about a more responsible use of those monies. I love it. Think. Be creative. Be proactive. Here are a few of my alternatives to using Walmart as a depository for my "gift" from G.W. Bush that's on its way:

1. Put it all toward your credit card. You're actually taking money away from them that way.

2. Give half to your neighborhood school's PTA/PTO fund.

3. Make a donation to your local library.

4. Put some toward your local food bank.

5. Send it where it's needed even more, where, for many people, basic food, housing and personal safety are lofty goals: http://www.alternativegifts.org/ or http://www.heifer.org/

6. Put it toward your 401K or retirement fund.

7. Visit a local community college or trade school and ask the counseling office if there are needy students who could use help buying text books for the upcoming quarter.

Make a difference that is meaningful.

Family: The Cheer(-y) of Relativity

This weekend I got a birthday card and a phone call from two of my siblings, both pleasant surprises since it's been only recently that we've had more consistent conversations with one another (consistent, meaning, regular time intervals between communication, not in the syntax and semantic sense). My sister explained to me that she had made it about halfway through my book, but has had to pause for a bit to take a breather, that the memories being brought up for her have been a challenge. My brother said essentially the same thing, though he hadn't even started the book yet. His relucatance has come from questions asked by his girlfriend and her mother, both of whom have read the book. He intends to read it and is happy that it's been written and is out there, but it's still a struggle. He really wants to talk more and has promised to call back later in the week. I must admit that there is an element of surprise on my part; I'm clearly ignorant in thinking that with all the baggage we all have from childhood, that there would have been no way NOT to have processed it over the years, as I have done. I guess I'd assumed that they'd have dealt with it, but apparently not. Looking at the struggles they have even today, it makes sense, I suppose. The toxicity of denial is...well, undeniable.

My neighbor had his family in town to visit for a long weekend and was pretty much out of commission the whole time. I think it might have been a stressful time for him since a brief phone call I made to him was exactly that--brief. I was talking to my partner and we were comparing the idea of family living nearby versus far away (my family vs. his family). I think that when family lives nearby it's easy to take one another for granted. Visits are sparse, short but communication is fairly frequent. When your family is far away, visits are sparse, long (when they happen) and communication is less frequent. I think that while having family come to visit is more valued ("It's been TOO long since we've seen each other!"), it can be overly stressful, since there is no getting away anytime soon. Maybe it's just me, but while I absolutely LOVE my family and enjoy the visits we have, I wonder what condition we'd all be in if we forced ourselves to stay in the same place for five days straight. Would this cluster of non or light drinkers, who have alcoholic DNA woven within us like a blanket, come out the other side with a bottle of Thunderbird wine in each hand, lurking outside the front doors of The Rainbow Lounge, tapping on the glass for the bartender to please open five minutes early? I wonder.

My Literary Rock Star Moment

This last Friday, I had the geat honor of hearing and meeting one of my longtime literary role models, Tobias Wolff (pictured with yours truly). I don't want to get all Annie Wilkes ("Misery") about it, so I won't gush. But the reading was wonderful and Mr. Wolff's graciousness and humility was a treat. 20 years of reading his work and to have him remember having read about my own book, showing a geniune interest and willingness to read it, was more than I ever would have imagined in my wildest dreams. I hadn't yet begun reading his new collection--partly because I was finishing Mary Roach's new book, partly because I was holding out since the longer I stretch the reading experience, the longer I'll have it to read--but on the ferry ride home that night, I cracked it open and had to struggle to put it down as we reached the dock.

I also had my final reading (for now) of my own book, "The Lyncher in Me" at our local bookstore here on Bainbridge Island. A great crowd, about 50 or so, including some family members. I admired that they were there, as I know it wasn't a comfortable spot to be in, knowing that all of these strangers around them were privvy to the most intimate of details of our family. The support was wonderful, though, and the feedback was validating. As great as it was, though, there's a certain level of relief to be done for awhile.

When Does a Childhood Joy Become a Childish Joy?

I been reading about a possible "Speed Racer" film for probably a decade or more--sometime ago I'd read a blurb that mentioned Charlie Sheen as a possible Speed. Remember when he was a viable candidate? Like, 1987 or something? I kept wondering what a live action Speed Racer would be like and I knew then that it would have to be done just right or it would be a bust. Man, I LOVED that show as a kid. Inspector Detector. Spritle. Racer X. And the villians were awesomely named. Dr. Femur and his daughter Calcia. Snake Oiler. Cruncher Block. Cheesy, yes, but many an afternoon was spent with my eyes glued to the screen, cheering on Speed (expecting Spritle and Chim to pop from the trunk where they had stowed away yet again) as he battled everyone who not only wanted to steal the race from him, but dominate the world as well. Those car racers--it's never simply about the checkered flag. And even though I was disappointed time after time when the film project got tanked (no pun intented), I think the Wachowskis are the perfect team for it. And judging from the THREE previews now available http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0811080/trailers it looks like the spirit of the show (some cheesiness, action and vibrant, kind of ADD-ish colors and action) shows up. Some may scoff, but I say, "Go, Speed Racer, Go!!"

Spring Has Sprung--Then She's Gone Into Hiding Again

What a glorious day Saturday was! My neice contacted me to share her tickets to see the Dalai Lama in the afternoon, which was a hard thing to turn down. Why would I turn down this rare opportunity to witness such greatness? My unselfish nature, I guess. My partner Shayne has been a follower (and reader) with much more fervor than I've been and so I thought it only fitting to pass the offer on to him. A lame analogy would be to use my old REM standard. When REM became all the rage with their Automatic For the People CD, I had to fight an element of bitterness at all the pruported "fans" suddenly turning out in droves for them. After all, I'd been a fan since way back in their college radio days, back in the days of "Radio Free Europe" and "Murmur" (back when no one could understand a word that Michael Stipe was...well, murmuring). And so out of recognition that "he who hath loved longest should receive the love most purely", I gave up my seat way in the back of Quest Field. Instead, I basked in the sun and pulled weeds, planted starts and listened to Verve jazz remix all afternoon (oh, there was a little league game in there and a late arrival to a birthday party).

On Sunday, I nearly had an aneurism reading the paper. I read a review of Tobias Wolff's new collection of short stories, (picture above) a book that I had pre-ordered months before its release and have been coveting ever since receiving it, putting off opening it until I finish my new Mary Roach book. I look at Wolff's book like Charlie Bucket opening that final Wonka bar, peeling it just slightly, savoring the wonder and excitement of a one-of-kind treasure. There are very few writers that I re-read, whose writing I take in like rolling fine wine over my tongue. Steinbeck, Hemingway Edward P. Jones, Tobias Wolff (and I wouldn't even place them in that order). I e-mailed Mr. Wolff some months ago, as I was mired in the final editorial revisions of my own book. I wanted to thank him for being such an inspiration to me as a writer (and for providing such joy as a reader) and he was gracious enough to send a very thoughtful reply. And now I see that he is coming to Seattle for a reading and I will be able to meet him at long last. It's hard to put into words without sounding like a crazed stalker-fan, but I remember the incredible impact his book, "This Boy's Life" had on me at first reading--a fellow northewesterner, a young boy dealing with a maniacal stepfather--it was incredibly moving. From then I discovered his sublime, complex fiction storytelling and can recall specific moments (backpacking through Thailand while reading "In Pharoh's Army", camping in Costa Rica with "The Night in Question", sharing "The Barracks Thief" with my newly teenaged son) when his writing carried me away. Even this last week, when I was in Minnesota for my own book tour and I was caught in a horizonal driving snow, I couldn't help but think of the cold that enveloped me when I read his dark, frustrating, are the guys completely clueless? short story, "Hunters in the Snow."

Can't wait.

Teenagers and Free Time

So, I was just pulling into the parking lot of the ballfield to watch my middle son's first game of the season. It had been one of those, "schedule's full, everything has to happen like clockwork" kind of days--my partner had dropped him off early for last minute practice, then dropped our oldest (15) at home (who was then supposed to hop on his bike and head to piano lessons). My partner was then off to a scheduled consultation for the remainder of the evening. I then picked up my youngest and was to get to the game. Anyway, I pull into the lot and the cell rings--it's my partner telling me that our oldest had called him from home, saying cryptically, "Uh...you need to come home." (WHY?) "Uh...just come home." Details emerge like molasses pouring in Fairbanks in January. Upshot: bored, our son decided to continue on an art project in his room which apparently involved breaking bottles (something we'd told him already not to do--because apparently we had to tell him not to break bottles in his bedroom). Glass breaks, is unpredicatble and cuts skin on one's right forearm quite nicely. A great neighbor is on hand to come over and bandage the suddenly humbled child. I had time to watch my middle son get one hit, then I was off to the house which, by the time I arrived, looked like a crime scene. After thanking, thanking, thanking my wonderful neighbor, I advised my son to check "serial killer" from his future goals since clean up after carnage seems to have escaped him. The reminder of the term, "natural consequences" chased away my impulse to say "I told you so, you..." Six stitches (and a missed piano lesson) later, we have learned a valuable lesson in our household. One would hope.

Oh, and my middle son's team won their game, 9-0. Wish I could have seen it.

Ah, the Great Northwest

After a week in Minnesota, it was a relief to touch down in Seattle Sunday evening. This is no slight to Minnesota--the people I met there, those folks who shepherded me from place to place, the scenery and the food--were all wonderful. Old friends (and new ones) helped make me feel like their home was my home and I could feel the slightest sense of roots finding their ways down. Not in a sense of Minnesota being a home to me in any way, but a place that I can imagine returning and, in one way or another, feeling welcome.

The pictures above are from a couple moments along my tour. The spot at the microphone was during my interview at MPR, in the American Public Media building. What an amazing place. It was a great interview and I felt pretty on top of things, even though in the picture I look like I've had one pause too many with the traveling Pepsi can (some of you may not be able to make heads or tails of that reference, but my memories of high school Saturday nights at Harborview Park Beach brings the image to mind). I was in complete possession of my faculties; my eyes were just a little slow on the take.

The other picture is that of me and Don Claret, the grandson of Elmer Jackson's cousin. He came to two of my readings, and we were able to have dinner together both times. What a great guy. Who'd have thought we'd have become good friends? Full circle.

Running on Fumes!

Man, oh man. Yesterday I was able to tape a short segment at KARE tv in Minneapolis, a 5 minute piece on a morning show called "Showcase Minnesota". It went well, but was very assembly line oriented, perfect for the ADD viewer. I shared time with Jodie Foster (via tape), some circus performers, baby farm animals, Ms. Senior Minnesota and a couple cast members from "High School Musical". In the afternoon, I talked to a classroom of nursing students at the College of St. Catherine.

Today, I taped a segment for "All Things Considered" at the MPR studios. I think it was local, but it may get picked up for the national show sometime. Perhaps. I just heard it on the radio and it came off pretty good; I didn't sound too boring or clueless.

My favorite one was this afternoon, talking live with Lori and Brian at FM107.1 with the "Drivetime Divas" show (Brian isn't one of the divas, but was sitting in for one). The conversation was really engaging, friendly and both announcers really worked to put me at ease. We had a great conversation, about 15 minutes long.

I just got an e-mail and talked to a person from the local public tv station who wants a short interview before I leave town. This basically leaves tomorrow morning, before I head to the airport. She's willing to pick me up here at the hotel at about 7:00 am, tape a quick 10 minute piece, then jet me to the airport. I really didn't want to schedule it, but I suppose that's what I'm supposed to do if I can, so be it.

In about an hour and a half, I'm off to my last reading here before heading to Duluth, then I need to talk over the phone with a Duluth reporter. I can't wait to get back to work on Monday so I can relax....

Sunday in St. Paul

Yesterday's read at the Swedenborgian Church went well, though the turnout wasn't what the organizers from Common Good Books had hoped for. It was a sunny day, the kind of day that St. Paulians wait months for (we do the same in Seattle). So it was understandable that less people wanted to spend a Sunday afternoon indoors. Still, it went well. The staff from Common Good were wonderful and made the talk go so smoothly. The only disappointment was that Garrison Keillor was not able to make it in due to a delayed flight, but he more than made up for it by passing on to Sue (the bookstore rep) that he LOVED the book, thought it was a personal, moving story. That's all I need!

It's snowing right now, dampening my plans to use today for a walking tour of downtown St. Paul (my only completely free day). It sure is pretty, though. Had a great dinner with Don, the grandson of Elmer Jackson's cousin, last night. It's so surreal to me, that not only would I be able to connect with the family of one of the lynched men, but that we would be become friends. Who'd have thought? Crazy world.

Dodging Stars

So I'd gotten notice from my publicist that I was to be scheduled on a program called "Showcase Minnesota" in Minneapolis to discuss my book this coming Tuesday. That in and of itself is exciting for all the right reasons. The added bonus, was that I was to be sharing time with Aaron Eckhart, the dashing star of "Thank You for Smoking", and new film called "Bill" and the upcoming "Dark Knight". Added to the bonus, today I looked at the show's site and saw that as well as Mr. Eckhart, George Clooney and Rene Zelleweger were also appearing. I nearly fell out of my seat. Beside the whole starstruck, whiplash reaction, I'm completely in awe of Mr. Clooney as a social activist and would have loved to have shared a few like-minded thoughts on his work related to Darfur (not to say that I'd have even had the opportunity). Alas--as I had feared--I'd been bumped, from Tuesday to Wednesday. Man. Opportunity to meet a person you truly admire, that one person that you only dream that one day you'll shake his hand, yanked away like a prize you never really won. The plus side: If I DO appear on Wednesday as planned, I'll be sharing the time with Jodie Foster and Abigail Breslin, so that could also be very cool. And it's probably better all around since I may have been a complete mess knowing that I was in the same building as George.

Every Time You Hear a Bell...

An angel has to adjust his halo, polish it, check in the mirror to see that it's facing the front...and then he can get his wings.

Actually, the picture is a Shiba Inu (not me, I'm human, but I do own 2 Shibas and even though they are far from angelic, they're pretty sweet). I'm beginning to grow concerned about a few mentions regarding my book and the perception that I might have written about my experiences in a self-focused sort of way. Did I already blog about this? Maybe. At any rate, it's disconcerting to me that my desire to describe my emotions in detail throughout the search for Elmer Jackson's descendants, my meeting with them, and so forth would be anything other than what it was: elation at the prospect of healing and a vision of reconcilation coming to fruition. I don't think that I'm anyone's hero, but I will allow myself the gift of a slight pat on the back for following through with this journey that was far from easy. My hope, in writing about it, was to show that confronting one's demons, seeking closure and sharing the fascinating story of a man whose identity had been cast in a horrible postcard of his murder was a worthwhile path. I write in metaphors and am (perhaps, too often) blunt in my assessment of lessons in life's experiences. I'm a teacher, so maybe that's a natural tendency.

I have no halo to polish, I don't congratulate myself too often unless I'm reaching closer to my goal weight, I've made a great cheesecake (maybe those two things contrast too much with one another) or my sons show another sign that they're on pathways to becoming healthy, functional, happy young men. In cases like those, I think I'm entitled.

Blech!

These mushrooms were growing outside my classroom some weeks ago and when I saw them, I thought they looked so "fairy talish" that I had to snap a photo of them. A friend later told me that if I'd taken bite out of one, I'd have lived my own fairy tale for a couple hours. As if.

I'm mired in such a nasty cold right now, I have zero energy. I forced myself to go to the gym the other day and spent more time in the sauna than on the weights, which was probably best. Skipped yesterday and will try and get in today, even though I feel like my head is underwater. I annouced to my students that they should keep anti-bacterialized and there was a near stampede to the germ-killing-gel dispenser on the wall. I only wish I could just go home and sleep, but Shayne has entered a booth in the Home and Garden show (locally); we need to set it up tonight and staff it tomorrow. So, I have to pretend to know all about the plants that he's selling and smile and gladhand everyone, which is fine because I assume I'll know some folks.

The office assistant here at school told me she just finished my book last night, then looked at me in a wistful, sympathetic way. She said she loved the book, thought was timely and important and only when I explained to her that I was "okay", that I have come through all those stories just fine, did she exhale. It's hard to explain to people. When I write about the angst in those chapters, the emotions and reactions are real, but they are through the eyes of my childhood self (or what I remember I was feeling at that time). I have the safety of looking back through adult eyes now, and the fact that I know I could lay out flat the men who hurt me in my youth (both if I met them today and if I were to magically transport my adult self to 1980--wouldn't that be great?) helps immensely. Feels safe.

10 Days and Counting

In just over a week I'll be off to Minnesota to begin what is, essentially, my book tour. It's exciting, the best news being that Garrison Keillor is flying in to host the event for his store, Common Good Books. I'm still soaking that one in. Amazing.

I'm coming down with a cold and feel like my body's been drained of its blood and replenished with tar. My head is in a fog and I have no energy and the worst thing is that there is no way for me to take a day off or crawl into bed and sleep it off. Open house tonight at school, prepping for travel (not to mention we're still having a kitchen remodel going, so I can't very well sleep with construction going on in the house). My friend just got back from Cancun and two other friends are off to Puerto Vallarta, so my jealousy is raging. I'm confident that my turn in the tropics will come...

Hooray For Literate Friends!

I had a wonderful friend (and amazing writer) come to my defense after having read a particularly acidic review of my book. "I hate that she mocked your efforts to atone for your great-grandfather's crime," she said. "What would she have you do? Do the research and then say, 'That was then and this is now'?" She also noted that the reviewer (whose own writing, according to several people who contacted me, was clunky) just didn't seem to "get" the prose. I'm understanding that not even all reviewers liked "No Country for Old Men" (not to compare my writing to the genius of that film by any means) and I'm learning to toughen my skin. I think that the most difficult bit of negativity I've read is in the questioning of my motives for searching for the descendants of the lynchings and, consequently, writing about that experience. I've heard on a couple of occasions that it all sounds self-serving and stemming from a need to put the spotlight on myself. I guess I have to just say that sure, I have benefitted--emotionally, spritually--from the experience. But who would relish putting the spotlight on the things I've discussed? It's not been easy, nor does it continue to be. When I write about my search, I try to be honest, descriptive about my feelings, both good and bad so that the reader can understand what's happening. It's not to pat myself on the back (though, it is the worst thing in the world to proud of one's accomplishments?). And the complaints about my "need to show my writing skills": That's a strange one. I guess I should take that as a compliment. I don't feel the need to "dumb down" language in writing. If it's truly unclear, I'd definitely rework it. If it causes the reader to think, to imagine, the make connections that aren't completely spelled out, I think it's great.

Ramblings aside--I put the handles on our new cabinets yesterday. Beautiful. Handles on doors are great!

Jumbalaya Amid Autographs

This past Saturday I had my very first reading for my book, "The Lyncher in Me" at Elliott Bay Book Company in Pioneer Square. I used to spend entire afternoons browsing the shelves of Elliott Bay, back in the days when I lived in the city. Even before that time, I would trek from the suburbs, downtown to spend the day shopping and sightseeing and would inevitably end up there. What a wonderful bookstore. Never in all my life would I ever have imagined that I'd be there talking about a book of my own.

There was a great turnout, helped in part by a terrific article in the Seattle Times the day before, I'm sure. For the most part, though, I benefitted from a great many friends (and family) who gave me their time and attention. Incredible. It didn't really hit me until afterward just how cool that was, that people would give up their Saturday night to come and hear me read from a book that I sometimes feel they've heard about ad nauseum for so long. True friends.

A moment of potential embarassment for my mother--when I was reading a passage and had forgotten a very sensitive section about her (a funny one, I think) that I stopped me so quickly when I got to it you could practically hear tire screechings. I juggled through it, everyone got a big laugh (sympathetic, I think) and she managed to see the humor in it, too, however mortified she was.

I got wind of an LA Times review that is supposedly coming out this week. My stomach is in knots again. The Star Tribune of Minneapolis gave a very complimentary review in advance of my tour and, again, I was so humbled to read what a stranger thought of the book and, I guess, my life.

A Face For Radio

So, I had my first radio interview on KUOW, the Seattle NPR affiliate. It was great--the host, Megan Sukys, was wonderful about making me feel comfortable (as much as I could in a studio, with a microphone practically against my teeth). I'd had a bit of an idea of how the interview would go. We'd discuss my book, my experience with the journey of discovery, how it's impacted me in my life, etc. I made some notes, but in the end I was worried about being too attached to them. I stumbled here and there and the wonder of editing in the end managed to piece it altogether in coherent way. And that blemish that managed to spring up just a day or two before the interview didn't matter at all.

I spoke with the representative for readings at Elliott Bay Books about this Saturday's reading. She was very excited about having me there and was so complimentary of the book. I'm a bit nervous, of course, but am pumped for a great evening talking about the story. Having friends and family will certainly help a lot.

The best thing about yesterday though was reconnecting with an old friend. Throughout this, I managed to hook up with a buddy of mine who I'd known way back in 6th grade. It's been nearly 30 years since we'd seen each other. As it turns out, he and his wife are looking into adoption--something I know quite a bit about. He's a great guy and we both and are looking forward to staying in touch.

A Life Not Lived At All

So, in the last week, I've read about 2 memoirs--one published years ago, another just about to hit shelves--in which the writers have apparently fabricated the entire stories. I'm not talking about a little pinch here and there, embellishing a detail or two, I'm talking entire lives fictionalized and sold as fact. More than "A Million Little Pieces", the first one, "Misha: A Memoire of the Holocaust Years" was pure fantasy, as was the almost released, "Love and Consequences", in which the autor wrote of a life growing up white in a black foster home, selling drugs for gangs in East LA. As I think about all the efforts I took in making sure my facts were verifiable or, if memories, accruate to the point that they could be recalled by others or at least reasonable, it makes me wonder how these writers ever imagined they could get away with it? Besides just duping the reading public, they've really lied to themselves. In the case of Misha Defonseca, over time, the years of lying began to seep into her own understanding of reality. In her advancing years, she actually began to have a hard time separating fact from fiction, however outrageous it was. Having been through the publishing process, I feel for the publisher to an extent. My editor was very clear with me about my responsibilities as a memoirist, making sure my facts were just that and, if they were sensitive, making sure that there was nothing that could be actionable in court. In the case of my father's criminal past, I know that at least that much is verifiable. For my personal stories, they have to go on faith in most cases, as many things really aren't verifiable. In the case of family memories, I can only imagine if an editor got into the mess of interviewing dozens of people, trying to get a clear story that matched the one their author wrote. My copyeditor did a great deal of fact checking on my final manuscript, but it was more about checking dates, quotes, business and geographical names, etc. I think that's where their responsibility ends, really. It's bad business for memoir writers!

Today could very well be the end of the race for the democratic ticket. In so many ways, I hope it is. I adore and respect both candidates and the last thing I want is for either one of them to embarrass themselves any further than has already been done. There is so much admiration in bowing out gracefully when the rewards of a brighter future neccessitate it.

Timberland

This weekend, we have several trees felled on our property. We're in the process of "thinning" out some alders, fir and whatever else seems to choke the sun from our house. We're trying to be selective, I think. My partner is the one who really wants them gone--I like them, but then I'm not the one with the eye for landscape aesthetics. It is nice to see some clarity, but shocking all the same.

As the "tree guy" cut up the logs and stacked them into piles of eight foot sections, my mind went back to an old picture that had been my grandfather's. It was a postcard from Bennett, Wisconsin, of the old family homestead some time around 1920 (or before). All around were stacks and stacks of logs, waiting to be hauled to the sawmill and cut into lumber. That was it, nothing deeper than that. No comtemplation or reflection, just a quick flash memory of that picture. Oh, and I had a beer, too, so maby that remided me of my grandfather, too. Maybe not.

It's raining (again), though I believe it's just an interruption in some wonderful, pre-spring sunny weather we've been having lately. We're due for some more sun tomorrow. Yee ha!

Everyone's a critic

Wow. This past weekend, I got the first two reviews of my book, "The Lyncher in Me." What a strange experience, to read what complete, unbiased critics think of one's work. I have to keep in mind that these reviewers read a ton of books, they don't have to write a full article on my book, and the fact that they chose to--and had so many complimentary things to say ("hauntingly beautiful", "riveting", "unflinching") is quite amazing. Even those few areas in which one writer was more critical were okay. It took me some time to be settled with it, but I understand it's one person's opinion, and one person might value what another person finds unnecessary. It's good. Really! And the great thing is, the review is all over the country, so I can't argue with that.

Back on the homefront: We're mired in a kitchen remodel, in limbo. Our carpenter was gone for a week on vacation, leaving us with a sink and a stove and not much else. I keep thinking back to an older "Amazing Race" episode in which the contestants were to put together a desk from Ikea. After a dozen cabinets, I could do it blindfolded, drunk on a shrimp boat during a hurricane.

Ode to Fashion

A Farah suit can be devine
When standing patiently in line

One hand fumbles with one's keys

The other drums the counter, he's

wishing he had a suit that was made
sometime this past decade

But green is now the new charcoal

and fabrics from plants is a worthy goal

petroluem should stay beneath the earth
mixed with memories of dinosaur girth

Flip the lapel, flash a peace sign

A Farah suit can be divine

Hot Off the Presses!

So I got the "official" copy of my book last night. Very cool--stunning actually. The photo of the rope in in a matte finish, backed by stark, glossy white. On the spine, the title "The Lyncher in Me" stands alone with the faint shadow of a noose underneath. Looking inside the book, it's funny and a bit embarassing to see the photo of myself and Virginia Huston seated together (in summer of 2006), then comparing it to the author photo on the back flap (taken a year later). It's like a voting off episode of The Biggest Loser. What a difference 25 pounds makes. I sure could have done without that weight in that 104 degree Missouri heat, that's for sure. It's all exciting and scary as hell. But I'm so proud of the way the book has turned out--the endorsement quotes really lend an air of authenticity (Rebecca Walker's quote is wisely placed on the front cover, verically running adjacent the spine).

Last night, I sat down with my eldest son and showed it to him and it was great watching him beam as he looked at it. The parent of a teenager looks for those moments when their child allows a bit of admiration to escape the stoic, "whatever" demeanor...

A Swirling Mass of Activity

Sounds more interesting than it really is. If I was in the midst of anything swirling, I'm not sure whether I'd swat at it or crouch to the ground, close my eyes, and wait for it all to be over.

This last week was that kind of storm. Two separate school activities (concerts), piano lessons, an evening meeting for each parent and school conferences. This was all between Tuesday and Thursday. Friday was a church teen overnight (with the teen sex ed program). Yes, it always sounds way more salacious than it is--the teen sex ed group is having a co-ed overnight! Is it like that final jumping out of the plane after hours of rolling on the grass, practicing pulling the ripcord and hoping that the parachute opens? No, but it is a great program. My favorite story? The one in which the teacher demonstrates use of a condom by rolling it over the hose attachement of a vacuum cleaner. I felt compelled to clarify to my son that he need not aspire to such garganutan proportions, lest be be sorely disappointed.

The weekend concluded with my partner and the kids at a dinner party while I volunteered for the local schools foundation wine auction. A great time and always a wonderful reminder of how lucky I am to work with a community that supports its public education so wholeheartedly.

I talked with my editor today and she was excited to tell me that the "official" copies of my book, "The Lyncher in Me", are being released today. I'll be getting them soon. The public must still wait until March 15th, but I'll have a few to show off before then. She says it's stunning, a combination of glossy and matte finish that really brings out the artwork nicely. Apparently, the book received a lot of attention at a recent trade show she attended. I can feel the storm kicking up again...

A Hazy Shade of Winter

I have to say that the death of Heath Ledger has really thrown me. Certainly it has a lot to do with the whole "Brokeback Mountain" connection; when you're moved not only by a film's characters that seem so real, seem to resonate so clearly, it's easy to be tricked into imagining that you know the person. Also, I know that there's a level of respect given to an actor willing to step up and portray a "risky" role, knowing the richness and honesty is what's most important. Judging from the outpouring from fans and colleagues, it seems that others felt the same. He'll truly be missed.

I had my first "review" of my book appear in a local newspaper the other day. It was wonderful to read kudos, to have a positive acknowledement of the hard work I put into it. At the same time, the article did include some inaccuracies, some benign, others a bit more important. There's not much to do about it now. For anyone who's read it: I teach 4th grade, not 3rd. There has been no definitive explanation for why the rape accusations were made by Irene Tusken and Jimmie Sullivan (only speculation) and, while my family was certainly messed up in a lot of ways, the one thing I know they did right for me was to instill a sense of tolerance of differences--I make that point unequivocally in the book. That being said, it was a flattering article that I hope will peak interest to read more. www.thelyncherinme.com is the place to do that...

Boys, What Have You Done?

It's the one line I remember from the movie, "A River Runs Through It." When the sons, played by Brad Pitt and Craig Scheffer, put the boat over the falls, the father (the wonderful Tom Skerritt) looks at them wearily and asks, "Boys, what have you done?" It's a thought that enters my mind often with my three sons (cue 50's sitcom music). Constantly active, fearless, exploring without foresight, my boys will be lucky if they reach adulthood without looking as if they've been pieced together, ala Frankenstein's monster, scars marking their faces and arms like the landscape of the Los Angeles freeway system. This week alone, my eldest, now 15, called his father to tell him that he'd "shot super glue into (his) eye." The details don't matter. He wasn't where he was supposed to be, not doing what he was supposed to be doing. Oh, and a helpful future tip? When opening a package that is liquid in nature: unless it's marked as "Visine", it's not a good idea to hold it close to your eye, squeezing at the same time you're prying open the top. My youngest, age 9, the next day, came home with a bruise on his face. He'd been playing with a friend on the playground and, according to him, "The sun was too bright (I don't remember sun yesterday) and I had my eyes closed." Continued to run, ran right into a pole. Just like my middle son did last year, running to catch a football, slicing open his brow where he has a scar to this day.

Health insurance is a good thing.

A Surreal Thing

Seeing my book on bookseller sites is something completely unreal to me. The whole process has been something unusual: working through revisions, having complete strangers read the intimate details of my life, hearing praise for the writing that over which I labored so much. And then, to see both the cover of my book, along with my name, for sale is both a dream and an unsettling...something (I know that "nightmare" is the opposite of "dream", but I wouldn't classify it as something so negative. Whatever is in between, I suppose). The next couple months will really be the test. I got a phone call from a reporter with our local paper and I imagine there will be more of the same. My publicist is working on the book tour, which will happen in early April and I know some reviews are around the corner. I think I'm prepared for it, but then who knows?

I've been able to touch base with a couple family members and friends from many years back who have gotten wind of the book. It's really been great, getting advance support and understanding from those who I feared might be put off by my stories. It's also been great to hear of their own memories--of my family, of me...of moments that I'd completly forgotten or had been unaware of. Life continues to surprise.

Now THAT'S a Road Trip

The last (nearly) two weeks have been something just short of a Chevy Chase movie. We left our home in the wee hours of December 26th with the sole purpose of getting somewhere warmer and drier than the Puget Sound. Actually, we'd planned to visit some friends and family along the way. Suffice to say, we covered a lot of ground in our minivan and have (so far) emerged relatively sane and alive.

In a nutshell: We went from the Seattle area to just outside of Sacramento in one haul. The next day, it was off to Pasadena to visit a friend, and jump off from there to make an appearance at a dear friend's 50th wedding anniversary in Palm Desert. While stopping off at a Starbuck's in Palm Springs, a rather large man with an equally large burst of grayed beard entered, only to be stopped by a very excited little boy who was eager to thank him for the bicycle that had been left under the tree.

The next day, we surprised the boys with a trip to Disneyland, where we squeezed the most out of the day--opening (8 am) to nearly closing (11 pm). From there, it was off to Vegas for New Year's Eve, then through Death Valley on our way to Reno to see my partner's grandmother. Next day, we headed back to Sacramento, where I sit right now, not so eager to make the drive back to the northwest in two days. My youngest is overwhelmed at all the things he wants to put into his journal to share with his class on Monday.

Saw "Sweeney Todd" last night with Johnny Depp (I didn't see it WITH him, just that he was in it). Amazing film. I've decided that there's probably nothing the man can't do as an actor. While I was startled and a bit put off by the amount of gore, I don't think the film could have been done in any other way. I needed to be darkly humorous and the character was, after all, "the demon barber". I suppose it would have been hard to make him completely demonic if you couldn't get the audience to gasp. Helena Bonham Carter, while her singing wasn't particularly strong, is spot-on in the role of his accomplice. Sublime. I think that Depp and Burton are the John Wayne and John Ford of today's generation. Or Frank Capra and Jimmy Stewart. Just a director and actor who truly "get" one another.

The rest of the family is playing conasta while I type this. I've never been much for card games. I can play them, and usually have fun when I can be roped into them, but in the end, I'd rather read a good book or play something that relies on creativity rather than strategy. I'm selfish that way.