A Thought…

Perhaps the reason I am so very very chipper today is because I dreamt of bookstores and ginger kittens and baby hedgehogs last night?

This Is How Much I Love Woodman’s

I went to Woodman’s on my way home from work tonight, adding a half-hour round trip to my journey home. That may sound like a lot, but consider…

I bought:
2 bags of tortilla chips
1 quart of salsa
2 pounds of chicken breasts
a bunch of fresh cilantro
a pound of tomatoes
8 avocados
a gallon of whole milk
a loaf of bread
and 4 packets of koolaid mix (hey, I had a craving and I haven’t had koolaid in yeeeeears)

for twenty dollars.

Yeah.  At Pick n Save, the avocados alone would have been fourteen bucks.

Mankato

Out of the goodness of their hearts, my brother and parents are letting us use the spare car until we figure out what to do about my Oz. The problem was that this spare car was with my brother at his college in Mankato, MN. So… yesterday right after church I headed north with my mom and youngest brother to pick up a car from six and a half hours away.

It wasn’t until we were halfway to Madison that my mom pointed out a vital piece of information that I’d forgotten: Mankato is where the Betsy-Tacy books are set. I’ve loved these book since I was rather young, and I think it was Coral’s fault I read them in the first place (a lot of things I was introduced to as a kid were her fault). And despite this being Paul’s sophomore year of college, I’d never been to Mankato.

Despite the snow, we took a look at Deep Valley from the window of Bethany’s library…

We also saw the houses themselves.

And I climbed over a huge pile of snow in order to get to the bench where the girls would sit during the summers.  I was giggling with so much girlish glee that I’m surprised my face didn’t crack from smiling in the bitter cold and snow.

Someday, when Simon and I have little girls of our own, I want to take them to the places where my favorite childhood books were set.  I’ve been to Chincoteague, the Little House in the Big Woods, and Mankato.  I think I’m left with Prince Edward Island- so far as reasonable requests go…

Hokay. Breathing.

Last night, at 1am on our way home from gaming, the car died.  My car died.  My pretty little trustworthy Oz rattled horribly and died on the side of the interstate.

It took over two and half hours before we got her towed to the dealership and home.

I cried the whole time.

I love this car.  Almost seven years ago I bought her with my own money that I’d saved up.  I’ve been the one paying for her insurance, her upkeep.  I’ve decorated her with stickers, buttons, stuffed animals.  A little fairy named Aerie lives in the front seat.  Oz has treated me remarkably well.  She’s survived numerous Wisconsin winters.  I know every quirk she has.

She’s thirteen years old, and has 266,000 miles on her odometer.  Other than regular maintenance, all I’ve had to do for her is replace the ignition cylinder a few months back.

The dealership called us now, and there was a crack in the engine… the oil just poured out, apparently, and drained the engine bone-dry.  We need a new engine.  Or a new car.  Whichever is cheaper.

If she’d lasted five more months, it wouldn’t have been an issue.  In five months, Matt would have a job, I could quit mine, and we could get by on one car until we’d saved up money for a new one.  Right now, one car is an impossibility.  We just need to be in two very different places at the same time too often.

I know it’s silly to be upset over a car.  I haven’t cried this much since June last year.  I feel dumb to think that the reason I have a splitting headache and feel like I’ve been punched repeatedly in the face is over my car.

But she’s my car, and I don’t want a different one.  I want my Oz.

Young Adult Books You’ve (Probably) Never Heard Of

Today, I’m joining other bloggers to tell the world about a few Young Adult books that you may never have heard of. This has been organized by Kelly of YAnnabe, whose post for today can be found here. A few of these are some of my favorite books ever, but some are simply books I’ve enjoyed. To make this easier (for me and my book-sorting brain), I’ll arrange the list alphabetically by author.

The Secret Country
by Pamela Dean
If you know Pamela Dean’s work at all, it’s usually because of her novel Tam Lin, which is my absolute favorite book in the entire world (and let’s be honest- most people who read my blog have heard me rhapsodize on my utter adoration of Tam Lin on many an occasion).  Through that, however, I became acquainted with her Secret Country trilogy, a lighter fantastic romp through a not-quite-imaginary land with five not-quite-magical children.  What would you do if your game of make-believe turned out to be quite real and in need of your help?  If your answer is quote great literature and use your knowledge of fantasy to help you impersonate a person you spent nine years “making up…” then you’ll quite enjoy this series.

Dingo
by Charles deLint
Charles deLint is one of the few authors whose books I will buy strictly because he wrote them and thus they must be mine.  Before reading one of his Newford books, I hadn’t realized that this amazing genre of Urban Fantasy existed, let alone that it could be as lyrical as a fairy tale.  In Dingo, one of his more recent books set in the Canadian city of Newford, a boy meets a girl and her dog, and another boy meets another girl and her dog… there is magic in those connections, and while it becomes obvious fairly early on that the book can only go one way, the journey is still a satisfying one.

Waifs and Strays
by Charles deLint
A collection of various short stories from the different worlds that the author writes in- Bordertown, Newford, and a few others.  Sometimes the magic is obvious- sometimes it’s in the subtle connection between friends… but the magic is always there.  I love the way that the stories transport me from our solid reality into a more fluid dream- just the way a fantasy should.

The Silenced
by Jim Devita
Dystopian literature was never an addiction of mine (that would be more my friend Coral’s area of expertise), but I picked up this book anyway, based strictly on the fact that it was written by one of my favorite actors from a local theater company I adore.  The story, like most of its genre, is a fairly straightforward one- the oppressed begin to learn who they are and to rise against the totalitarian regime- but was inspired by The White Rose, a German resistance group formed against the Nazis during 1942.  The knowledge of that inspiration made the whole book more interesting to me.  In addition, the characters were well-formed, and the story is paced well, leading you to the (rather predictable) ending while maintaining suspense.

Cybele’s Secret
by Juliet Marillier
This author’s prose is lush, like silks and sandalwood, and she uses it well to describe the Ottoman Empire in which this adventure takes place.  There is a search for an ancient artifact, subtle negotiations, kidnappings, and romance.  Although the plot can feel rushed at times, the sheer joy with which the author uses language entirely makes up for the parts that are lacking.  Her dialogue is witty without being too shallow, and I cannot stress enough how well she paints pictures with her words.  (Can you tell I love love love this author?)

Mara, Daughter of the Nile
by Eloise Jarvis McGraw
Thutmose and Hatshepsut are vying for the throne of Egypt, and Mara- a slave girl- is caught up in the machinations of the nobility and their followers.  Her gift with languages very nearly wins her freedom until she’s swept into being a double agent.  She can’t tell anyone without her life being in danger- so who will she choose?  And will she even be given the chance to make that choice herself?  This book has everything I love- romance, adventure, court intrigue… I’m on my second, very battered copy, of the book, as I find myself re-reading it at least once a year.  At least.

The Sherwood Ring
by Elizabeth Marie Pope
Ghosts, spies, cyphers, underhanded dealings, Tories, Patriots, and a bit of romance tossed in for good measure.  It’s a bit fluffy, but well-written, and another one of my favorites.  Really, who can object to a charming young redcoat named Peaceable Sherwood?

Changeling
by Delia Sherman
I am a huge sucker for fantasy, and especially the stories of changelings- the human children taken by the fairies.  This was a light and fluffy little tale about a girl who lives happily with the the fairies in New York City until she breaks a rule she’d never known existed… as always happens in fairy tales.

The Safe-Keeper’s Secret
by Sharon Shinn
The safe-keepers will never break a confidence.  It is never their choice which secrets to keep and which to tell, and so when a baby is brought to Damiana, she raises him alongside her own daughter.  There are more secrets than just that one, and Reed and Fiona must learn who they are and what they themselves need to do about it.

Calico Captive
by Elizabeth George Speare
While most people know this author best for her book The Witch of Blackbird Pond, I’ve always liked this one of hers best.  Based on the true story of English settlers captured by the Abenakis and sold to the French as prisoners of war, it is told from the perspective of Miriam, a young woman who is a little too spunky for her own good, as she learns how best to survive as both a prisoner and a foreign seamstress in Montreal.

This Is Really Too Much

Wandering the interwebs, I found this, much to my  horror:

Now, I am not a Bronte fan, but the gasp of shock was enough to scare a cat off my lap.

Imagine my appalled stare when I then found this and THIS.

Really?  Really?  They feel the need to sell classic lit to teenage girls in the guise of Twilight novels?

My literature-loving soul wants to crawl in a corner and weep for the future of humanity before dying in agony.

(Yes, I know it looks Photoshopped, but that’s just the way the cover is.  The only thing I did was paste blown-up sections of the cover together so I’d have something that wasn’t teeny-tiny…)

On Milk

Does whole milk go bad faster than other milks, or is it just that not as many people buy the whole milk, thus leading the stores to restock at a slower pace?

Every time I buy milk I have a difficult time finding a gallon with a sell-by date more than a week away, whereas the other kinds will have dates out to about a month!  I’d prefer to buy milk when the sell-by is two weeks away, but that is nearly impossible…

I Should Have Known Better

Last night we played 7th Sea until nearly 5am (this is not the part I regret) (also, we means everyone but Simon, as he went to bed at a reasonable time).

I slept until just before noon, got up, drank a decaf vanilla latte, and tried to write- failing miserably.

Then I gave up, looked at the new pictures of my niece on Facebook, at which point Simon came home early.

He sat down to read until dinnertime (Christmas money taking us to all-you-can-eat sushi with friends), and I curled up next to him and promptly fell back asleep, waking just in time to brush my teeth and try to rub the sleepy-fabric-wrinkles off my face before heading out to the restaurant…

…where I promptly drank about eight cups of the hugely delicious green tea that they serve at this place (it’s the only tea I don’t sweeten!).

I am so very caffeinated right now.  I need to try and write again…

No, Seriously, This Is A New Rule

In case you were remaining under the delusion that corporate offices and general managers (specifically, mine) were sane… I give you the newest decree, received at my meeting on Monday.

(And by the way, I left the meeting early, as I actually wanted to see Simon that day.  I stayed for an hour- the length the meeting was meant to be.  It went for over another hour after I left.)

Over the holiday season, we sold out- or came close to selling out- many evening shows during the weekend.  All of the cashiers got into the habit of warning people when there were fewer than 20% of the seats left that the seating available is limited, and that we were not able to guarantee that an entire party could sit together.  It was a courtesy, so that people understood what they were getting into and could choose a different showtime or movie if they preferred.  The line actually used was-

“Just so you’re aware, there are only 27 seats left in Sherlock Holmes.  The seat will most likely be in the first few rows, and while we do have an usher in the auditorium assisting in finding seats, we cannot guarantee seats together.  Will that be all right?”

-leaving people to refuse or accept based on the information at hand.

However.

We are no longer allowed to say that.

Apparently it “sounds condescending,” and we shouldn’t assume that customers don’t know they’re coming to a busy show.

Is it just me, or is this just begging for people to start screaming at us?

For Your Entertainment

For future reference, please note: I hate hate hate it when something is different about my skin.  A scab, a bug bite, a bit of dry skin, a cold sore, a mole, a scrape, a pimple- if it interferes with the normalcy of my skin, I am constantly irritated and worry at it.  I’m reasonably sure this is why I scar so badly… it takes a great deal of conscious effort to be able to Leave Things Alone.

Yes, this matters.

After dinner today (Hey, did I mention we went to Woodman’s last night and spent an absurd amount of money on staples because the loan check came in and it was time to restock?  I should take pictures of my full cupboards because I’m overwhelmed with choices now…) Simon and I were sitting on the couch, chatting away the time until I needed to leave for work (oddly enough, I was only at work for a half hour before being sent home again because it was slow), and he was playing with my hair.

Just as I was beginning to notice that he was running his fingers over my left temple rather a lot, he said, “Hey, did you know you have a little bump here?”

I thought he was joking, and reached up to touch my hairline and found…

a little bump- slightly bigger than a mosquito bite, that felt a great deal like a bug bite.

So I did the only logical thing that occurred to me at the time.

I freaked out.

I asked Simon what he thought it was, but he didn’t know.  I poked at it a lot.  Looked at it in the mirror.  Poked it more.  Tried to stop poking it.  Failed.  Became utterly convinced that I’d been bitten by a centipede while I was asleep and nearly started to cry at the thought that there might be centipedes in our bed.  Poked some more.  Found out that the bump was not even close to looking like a centipede bite.  Got relieved, but then became convinced that the lump was growing and was going to be visible from space.  Had Simon poke it to make sure, but he said it was tiny and not to worry.  I knew that he was just being nice, like husbands are supposed to be.  He also said he should have known better than to mention it to me, but I was already off again, inspecting it in the bathroom where the light was better.  More poking.  Attempted again to control the poking, and failed again.  Described myself as “a lopsided unicorn,” forcing Simon to unsuccessfully suppress laughter.  Wondered aloud if I could get in to see the doctor on Monday to Have Something Done about it.  Poked more.  Worried that it was indicative of a brain tumor.  Wondered if it was a spider bite.  Poked more.  Felt something pop, like a water balloon… and the lump was gone.

Felt much better.

There was no visible sign, either while the bump was there or afterward, of what it was.  But it’s gone now, so I don’t care.  My temple is a little sore and feeling a bit bruised from all the worrying at it that I did…

Yes, I’m crazy.  It’s okay, I admit it.