Florida teen finds rocks in Nintendo DS box - plugged in - Yahoo! Games

 

Florida teen finds rocks in Nintendo DS box - plugged in - Yahoo! Games

Why am I posting this? Because I can sympathize with the poor kid. But in my case it was a coffee maker and it was substituted with old sneakers and a towel. And yes, they do look at you funny when you bring it back and tell them that it bought that way.

Picture of the day: For Dad

I spent some time yesterday in Rockland, Maine. Very nice little place. Lots of museums and a wonderful Coffee/Bookshop called Rock City Coffee Roasters. The wind was howling and the rain slashing down, but I had an enjoyable time with my laptop in their coffee area. After that I rode around the waterfront area. It's one of the largest working waterfronts still left virtually intact in Maine. I love it. It's also home to the Lobster Festival every summer. I think, if I had to live somewhere else in Maine... it'd be Rockland.


Anyway, this picture is for my Dad... who, when times get rough and he feels the need to go to camp would usually say that he was headed for "parts unknown". So, here you go, Dad. Here's your boat to take you there....

Totally off Topic: The Holiday


Never mind that I was mostly asleep when I saw this movie, my apprehension had nothing to do with my lack of sleep or the fact that I was waiting for my daughter to arrive back from her trip to New York and the midnight hour was fast approaching... My apprehension had to do more with the confluence of info I'd seen about the movie when it first came onto the screen. I had dismissed it as jus another chic flick. Another attempt to make a feel good movie that had little to do with lasting impression and more to do with showcasing some of the most noteable faces of the time.

I was wrong. I was going on preconceived notions.

Let me say, I loved the movie. I laughed more than I had in a very long time. It wasn't a breathtaking movie that stirred me to tears. More a quiet upheaval of ideas that twisted me into a deep contemplation of the movie. You see... I never just sit and watch anything. I'm always doing something else. Whether it's writing. Knitting. Making jewelry. I'm never just watching the TV. But I watched it last night. I was interested to see how they were going to take six well-known actors and mix them up and come out with a happy ending. And then, there's Jack Black. I'm a HUGE Jack Black fan. But I'd never thought of him as a romantic lead. He proved my preconceived ideas wrong. Very wrong. He was strong, and funny and real. A real hero in my book. As for Cameron Diaz, I've seen her do quite a few roles that left her loking like an emotional ditz. This one started out that way, but she was so much more. There was real growth in her character and Ms. Diaz showed it wonderfully! The same for Jude Law. I considered his character to be a reflection of as I saw him. When he introduced his two wonderful daughters and their magical tent... I melted. And lastly, Kate Winslet. The last time I watched a movie with her in it was Titanic. I loved her character. I loved her heart, her growth and the way she takes Arthur into her life. This was so much more than you see in other movies.
So, my preconceived notions disappeared like a pumpkin coach at midnight. And I'm looking for a DVD of the movie so I can watch it as much as I want. All is good.

The Offshore Islands by Ruth Moore

The offshore islands belong to themselves
They stand in their own sea.
They do not inherit; they leave no heirs.
They are no man’s legacy.

Blazing volcanos, cooled and dead,
Marked nowhere a boundary line.
The rise and fall of oceans left
Not one no trespassing sign.

The money was never minted,
The clutch of its greed so strong
It could honor a deed: TO HAVE AND TO HOLD,
And keep these wild lands long.
The first cummer people were Indians.
For some five thousand years
They built up shore-line shell heaps before
They lost to the pioneers.

The white man took what he wanted.
He had privilege, laws, and guns.
He made fast his own boundary lines
And his property went to his sons.

From the west they sailed in Chebacco boats,
And the high-sterned pinkys, Essex-made.
In harbors where water was deep enough,
Their schooners carried a coast-wise trade.

The homesteads they made were study,
But those who built near the shores
Had to dig, if they didn’t want Indian shells
All over their cellar floors.

Then time slipped by, as inheritance does.
They felt the mainland’s pull.
They abandoned their homes to rot away,
And their cemetaries full.
Theirs was the time of history
And written records show
That their hold on the offshore islands began
Less than four hundred years ago.

Now comes the era of real estate,
Of the hundred thousand dollar lots,
Of the condominiums, side by side,
Along the shoreline choicest spots.
What follows the time of developers
No human voice can tell.
But the silent offshore islands know,
And they handle their mysteries well.

They speak with a voice that is all their own,
And this is what they say:
That they talk in terms of a billion years
That their now is not today.
And the ghosts they brought along with them
Have never gone away.

High Clouds Soaring, Storms Driving Low


I went home the other day. It's really not that far for me. An extended trip from the everyday. By home, I mean less the actual building where I grew up, but the area that I love so much. We, and I still to this day consider myself part of it, are those that live on an island, connected to the mainland by a thin bridge that skips over vast, troubled, rushing waters. If you want a euphemism for life then this one is very apt in description. You see... when I cross that thin bridge... I take a deep breathe, my heart rate slows, and a wealth of long dormant emotions filter through every cell of my body. It's a quiet hum that reverberates long after I've trudged back across the bridge. Sometimes, for days the feelings continue, making me feel like a boat tethered with a finite rope to the shore.

The title from this blog is the title from the compilation of letters of Ruth Moore, put together and edited by Sanford Phippen. I claim a distant relationship to her, since originally we hail off the same small Gott's Island, Maine. Her's was a direct line. Mine took generations and miles to get to me.

At her height, she was a New York Times Bestselling author, whose book Spoonhandle (published in 1946 by William Morrow & Co) was made into a movie. She was a steady writer, and prolific. She would take as long as it took to write a book. A contrast to today's "need it now" urge to feed the populace. And she wrote about the places and people she loved. She understood them to the point that they became so real it was as if we were gossiping about a relative. And the places so loved that we felt as if we were coming home.

I've spent some time on my current book, looking for just the feeling that I want to put into it. I didn't have that emotion that would make the reader understand the choices of the characters. I think I do now. Perhaps, it's in that finite rope tethering to shore that will hold them, the readers, til the end.

I can't believe I missed it...

My DD pointed out that I missed a prime opportunity yesterday with KISA terminal illness blog. She said it should have been called... Knight-in-Shining-Armour-Syndrome. Or... KISAS... think about it people... got it?

Me, too!

My Heroes Have a Terminal Illness...

I found out quite by accident. I had set up a Google Alert for my book The Three Truths of Katie Talmadge. When it came through my email there was a quip from the posting that included the title. It said... “Don’t make me into some sort of knight-in-shining-armor, Katie. Believe me, I’m not any closer to ..."
I froze. Naturally, I knew it was from my own book. But what surprised me was that something very similar had been in the book I just finished. My first thought was that I had plagiarized myself. I went back to the recently finished book and did a search & find on "knight". Sure enough, there were three references to it. The wording wasn't exactly the same as in Three Truths. Most of the references in the latest book were internalized thought designed to torture my hero. But I soon came to the realization that I had saddled all my heroes with the same terminal illness... KISA. Every single hero that I'd had over the years had been fighting to be anything but a knight-in-shining-armour, and every single one of them had been failing in their resolve to cure their KISA ailment. I didn't set out to be a repeater. I didn't set out give my heroes a terminal illness, but as I look back at all the books that I've loved over the years... the ones that were shelf keepers, I realized that all of them were KISA terminalists. Even the partials that I have going right now are the same. (But I think I'll leave the KISA words out next time.) In the meantime, who are your favorite KISA terminalists?

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