A.) Go to musicoutfitters.com
B.) Enter the year you graduated from high school in the search function and get the list of 100 most popular songs of that year
C.) Bold the songs you like, strike through the ones you hate and underline your favorite. Do nothing to the ones you don’t remember (or don’t care about).

I changed the rules just a titch. I'm bolding the ones I liked then and like now, and I'm italicizing the ones I liked then but don't care about now.

Top 100 Hits of 1981

1. Bette Davis Eyes, Kim Carnes
2. Endless Love, Diana Ross and Lionel Richie
3. Lady, Kenny Rogers
4. (Just Like) Starting Over, John Lennon
5. Jessie's Girl, Rick Springfield
6. Celebration, Kool and The Gang
7. Kiss On My List, Daryl Hall and John Oates
8. I Love a Rainy Night, Eddie Rabbitt
9. 9 to 5, Dolly Parton
10. Keep on Loving You, REO Speedwagon
11. Theme from "Greatest American Hero", Joey Scarbury
12. Morning Train (Nine to Five), Sheena Easton
13. Being With You, Smokey Robinson
14. Queen of Hearts, Juice Newton
15. Rapture, Blondie
16. A Woman Needs Love, Ray Parker Jr. and Raydio
17. The Tide is High, Blondie
18. Just the Two of Us, Grover Washington Jr.
19. Slow Hand, Pointer Sisters
20. I Love You, Climax Blues Band
21. Woman, John Lennon
22. Sukiyaki, A Taste of Honey
23. The Winner Takes It All, Abba
24. Medley, Stars on 45
25. Angel of the Morning, Juice Newton
26. Love on the Rocks, Neil Diamond - I can't figure out how to strike through, but I HATE this one!
27. Every Woman in the World, Air Supply
28. The One that You Love, Air Supply
29. Guilty, Barbra Streisand and Barry Gibb - I can't figure out how to strike through, but I HATE this one!
30. The Best of Times, Styx
31. Elvira, Oak Ridge Boys
32. Take it on the Run, REO Speedwagon
33. No Gettin' Over Me, Ronnie Milsap
34. Living Outside Myself, Gino Vannelli
35. Woman in Love, Barbra Streisand - I can't figure out how to strike through, but I HATE this one!
36. Boy from New York City, Manhattan Transfer
37. Urgent, Foreigner
38. Passion, Rod Stewart
39. Lady (You Bring Me Up), Commodores
40. Crying, Don McLean
41. Hearts, Marty Balin
42. It's My Turn, Diana Ross
43. You Make My Dreams, Daryl Hall and John Oates
44. I Don't Need You, Kenny Rogers
45. How 'Bout Us, Champaign
46. Hit Me With Your Best Shot, Pat Benatar. THIS ONE'S PROBABLY MY FAVORITE FROM THIS LIST.
47. The Breakup Song, Greg Kihn Band
48. Time, Alan Parsons Project
49. Hungry Heart, Bruce Springsteen
50. Sweetheart, Frankie and the Knockouts
51. Someone's Knockin', Terri Gibbs
52. More Than I Can Say, Leo Sayer
53. Together, Tierra
54. Too Much Time on My Hands, Styx
55. What Are We Doin' in Love, Dottie West
56. Who's Crying Now, Journey
57. De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da, Police
58. This Little Girl, Gary U.S. Bonds
59. Stop Draggin' My Heart Around, Stevie Nicks with Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
60. Giving It Up for Your Love, Delbert McClinton
61. A Little in Love, Cliff Richard
62. America, Neil Diamond
63. Ain't Even Done with the Night, John Cougar
64. Arthur's Theme, Christopher Cross
65. Another One Bites the Dust, Queen
66. Games People Play, Alan Parsons Project
67. I Can't Stand It, Eric Clapton
68. While You See a Chance, Steve Winwood
69. Master Blaster, Stevie Wonder
70. Hello Again, Neil Diamond
71. Don't Stand So Close to Me, Police
72. Hey Nineteen, Steely Dan
73. I Ain't Gonna Stand for It, Stevie Wonder
74. All Those Years Ago, George Harrison
75. Step by Step, Eddie Rabbitt
76. The Stroke, Billy Squier
77. Feels So Right, Alabama
78. Sweet Baby, Stanley Clarke and George Duke
79. Same Old Lang Syne, Dan Fogelberg
80. Cool Love, Pablo Cruise
81. Hold On Tight, ELO
82. It's Now or Never, John Schneider
83. Treat Me Right, Pat Benatar
84. Winning, Santana
85. What Kind of Fool, Barbra Streisand and Barry Gibb - I can't figure out how to strike through, but I HATE this one!
86. Watching the Wheels, John Lennon
87. Tell It Like It Is, Heart
88. Smoky Mountain Rain, Ronnie Milsap
89. I Made It Through the Rain, Barry Manilow
90. You've Lost that Lovin' Feelin', Daryl Hall and John Oates
91. Suddenly, Olivia Newton-John and Cliff Richard
92. For Your Eyes Only, Sheena Easton
93. The Beach Boys Medley, Beach Boys
94. Whip It, Devo
95. Modern Girl, Sheena Easton
96. Really Wanna Know You, Gary Wright
97. Seven Year Ache, Roseanne Cash
98. I'm Coming Out, Diana Ross
99. Miss Sun, Boz Scaggs
100. Time is Time, Andy Gibb

Unconscious Mutterings

1. Italy :: Rome. I took an awesome class in the history of ancient Rome several years back, as a result of having been fascinated by Rome since I was a kid. I loved it. Still do, and still read up on it every chance I get.


2. Honk :: Geese. Why geese? I'm not sure, except they have the most raucous honk I've ever heard, far less irritating than the honk of the guy behind me because I didn't start driving the second the light turned green despite the fact that the guy in front of me didn't start driving the second the light turned green.


3. Shades :: Cool. "My future's so bright I've got to wear shades." And isn't it funny how that song gets associated with coolness, bright outlooks, etc., when it's really about the world suffering a holocaust meltdown of Biblical proportions?


4. Tool :: Screwdriver. So what does this mean? I don't get enough sex? I don't, but that's another story and one that's far too private to share here.


5. Modern :: Art. I love modern art. I have postcard sized Picasso prints hanging up around my cube at work. I'm trying to find a postcard book of Kandinsky as well. And yet my calendar at work is of Pre-Raphaelite works, which I also love. Go figure.


6. Tension :: Stress. I don't like stress. I can feel it knotting up in my shoulders, making my head pound, until I just want to scream until everyone around me shuts up and stops talking about money and war and hatred and murder and child abuse.


7. Conservative :: Bush. I used to be a Conservative, politically. But I have too many questions that they don't answer satisfactorily. I'm not a Liberal either. I just think for myself. Makes voting difficult, but there you have it. And by the way, if you're in Texas, just know that I have decided to vote for Kinky Friedman for governor. Go Kinky!


8. Weight :: Losing. How mundane is that? And yet this morning when I got dressed, I realized that I am getting smaller. It's not enough yet that anyone else would notice, but I notice, and it feels good.


9. Insurance :: Ripoff. I get irate to think of how much money we have paid out in auto insurance over the years. We've filed only two claims on our own insurance. One was for towing, and one was for a minor fender-bender that ended up getting dropped because the other party ended up not pursuing the issue. So why is it that legally you are required to have insurance, yet if you use it, presumably for the purposes for which you are required to have it, you can then either get charged ever higher rates or else you can get dropped? That's reprehensible. And why do you have to pay higher rates if your credit sucks? That's reprehensible as well. My need for insurance has nothing to do with my credit score.


10. Political :: Tool. Too many people in public office seem to be tools of their political parties and care too little in reality for the people who voted them in. Well, let me be more specific. They care too little for the powerless people who voted them in. The people with the money and the power get kowtowed to as always. In the words of the Kingston Trio, "what nature doesn't do to us will be done by our fellow man."

My Pirate Name

Introducing:

Mad Charity Read!

Every pirate is a little bit crazy. You, though, are more than just a little bit. Even through many pirates have a reputation for not being the brightest souls on earth, you defy the sterotypes. You've got taste and education. Arr!


Okay, yeah, lame, I know, but hey! It's Friday and I'm tired. I'm planning a VeronicaMarsithon to finish up season 1. And I've already got season 2 on my Netflix queue, and hope to get it quickly once it's released. Why did no one tell me about Veronica Mars????

Meaningful Mix CD

What songs would you have on your personal "meaningful mix" CD? Here are the questions (along with my answers).

1) A favorite political track.
The Man Who Never Returned - by the Kingston Trio

2) One of those tracks that make you dance on the dancefloor no matter what.
This is embarrassing, but Pump Up the Jam - Technotronic

3) The song you’d use to tell someone you love them.
I Will Be Right Here Waiting for You - Richard Marx

4) A song that has made you sit down and analyze its lyrics.
Biko - Peter Gabriel

5) A song that you like, that a two year old would like as well.
The Rubber Duckie Song - Ernie (Sesame Street)

6) A song that gives you an energy boost.
Ballroom Blitz - Sweet

7) A song that you and your grandparents (would probably) like.
Mambo Italiano - Bette Midler

8) A song that you really liked when you were 14-16, and still really like now.
You're in My Heart - Rod Stewart. I melt every time I hear this one!

9) A sad song that would be in the soundtrack of the movie about your life.
Don't Give Up - Peter Gabriel

10) A peppy song that would start the opening credits of the movie about your life.
Break My Stride - Matthew Wilder

11) A good song from a genre of music that no one would guess that you liked.
Fibre de Verre - Paris Combo

12) A song that you think should have been playing when you were born.
Hey, Good-Lookin' - Hank Williams

13) A favorite artist duo collaboration.
Roxanne '97 - Puff Daddy, Sting

14) A favorite song that you completely disagree with (politically, morally, commonsenically,
religiously etc.)
I Won't Tell No One Your Name - GooGoo Dolls. I disagree with this from a grammatical standpoint. Yes, I'm pedantic. Deal with it!

15) The song that you like despite the fact your IQ level drops several points every time you listen to it.
Fat Bottom Girls - Queen

16) Your smooth song, for relaxing.
Stormy Weather - Joe Sample

17) A song you would send to someone you hate or are mad at.
Run, Shithead, Run - Mudhoney

18) A favorite track from an outfit considered a “super-group.”
Paperback Writer - Beatles

19) A song that makes you reminsce about good times with a family member.
Wild Thing - The Troggs.

20) Your favorite song at this moment in time.
It's a tie, both songs by the Dandy Warhols. We Used to be Friends and Bohemian Like You.

For me, this was a little tougher than I thought it would be, but fun. I think I'm going to have to make this mix CD! And I'm tagging you, Trista and Clover!

"Are You More?"

Are you more...

01) Banjo for the fun, danceable sound or violin for the soulful, spirit-lifting sound? Of the two, I prefer the violin to the banjo.

02) Bus/subway for cheapness and ecological responsibility or cab for door to door convenience? When I lived in Salt Lake City, I didn't have a car until after I was married, so this question I dealt with back then. I preferred the bus for cheapness the majority of the time. Of course, after I lugged home several bags full of groceries, including a heavy frozen turkey, only to have the bags split open and spill their contents over the grass as I exited the bus, I quickly learned to either walk or ride the bus to the grocery store, and take a taxi home.

03) Paper grocery bags for the capacity and biodegradableness or plastic grocery bags for the convenience and reusability? I like the paper grocery bags for the capacity, biodegradableness (is that even a word), AND the convenience and reusability. I loathe the plastic bags.

04) Liking fruit that you peel (bananas, oranges, etc.) or fruit that you don't peel (apples, pears, etc.)? I like both equally. I tend to eat at least one apple and one banana every day, as well as any other good fruit I can get my hands on. I LOVE cherries, even though I have to spit out the pits, and I LOVE canteloupe, even though I have to peel and cut it up.

05) Expensive 3-ply kleenex or discount 2-ply kleenex? I like the expensive 3-ply tissue with the lotion.

06) Super soft toilet paper to be cushy on your widdle bum or rough, no-nonsense toilet paper to be sure to get your dirty asshole clean? My house is more than 50 years old, which means my pipes are more than 50 years old. Give me the rough, no-nonsense toilet paper that doesn't clog the pipes!

07) Watching fake wrestling (WWE, for example) for the kitchy drama or watching real fighting (boxing, UFC, etc.) for the realness? Neither. Thanks.

08) Coy about telling people what you want when asked ("Oh I don't need anything.") or upfront about telling people what you want when asked ("I would LOVE a new watch.")? It depends upon who's doing the asking.

09) Believing NASA is amazing for inventing the Space Pen (works in no gravity) or believing NASA is stupid for not doing like the Russians who just use pencils? I believe NASA is amazing for all kinds of things, although the Space Pen isn't the feat I rank most highly.

10) A Spanky fan or an Alfalfa fan? Spanky, all the way. Although Alfalfa is cute!

The Scheherazade Project

Collard Greens and the Boston Monkey

"Oh, my gosh! Would you look at this?" Lisa giggled as she handed the book to me.

"The Boston Monkey?" The old black-and-white photograph showed a group of teenagers contorting themselves in a most unnatural fashion. I started laughing.

"What's so funny?"

"What do you think about when you think of Boston?"

"I dunno. Something really prim and prissy, I guess."

"Uh-huh. And what do you think about when you think of Henry Jacobs?"

Lisa started making that snorting noise that always comes out when she's trying not to laugh too loud, and we both exploded into furious laughter. She grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the library before the ancient librarian got a chance to tell us off for making so much noise.

It was 1976. Albany, Georgia. Henry Jacobs was the prim and prissy son of a local undertaker, and I found him utterly irresistible. Okay, so maybe he wasn't all that prim and prissy, but he always walked like he had a rod up his butt that extended to his head, holding his body in perfect alignment. I pretended to hate him hoping that no one would know how I felt, but I wasn't particularly successful.

For the rest of that year, Lisa and I whispered and giggled about the "Boston Monkey" whenever we talked about Henry, or whenever he was near.

Henry retaliated in his own unique fashion.

"Okay, I'll call Carey, and he'll call Henry," Lisa planned.

"And I'll call Tony and he'll call Bubba."

You probably remember how that went. Get a friend to get a friend to call the object of your crush. Said F-O-A-F would casually drop your name into the conversation to find out if you had any chance with your crush. Why do kids do that? It never ends well.

I called Tony, who called Bubba, who did indeed have the hots for Lisa. I eagerly called her to spread the good news. "Lise, it's me."

She said hello, but sounded subdued. My stomach sank to my toes. "What did he say?"

"Well, I guess Carey wasn't the best choice. He didn't hint around. He just called Henry and and asked what he thought of you."

"And he hates me," I said dully. Why did I do this? I'm so stupid!

"Well, he didn't say that." Lisa hesitated, obviously trying to find the most delicate way to tell me Henry's true feelings.

Oh no! Henry likes Lisa, and Lisa doesn't want to tell me! That's not fair! Lisa already has Bubba! What does she need with Henry? She's the worst friend ever! I'm never talking to her again! "So what did he say?"

"Well, he said that you smell like--" Lisa's voice trailed off.

"What? I smell like shit? Just tell me already!" I was relieved that at least Henry wasn't drooling over Lisa.

"Collard greens."

I sat there completely stunned. If I had known the expression back then, it would have been a WTF moment. "Collard greens?"

"Yeah."

"Guys suck, don't they?"

"Yeah, they sure do," Lisa sympathized.

I didn't want to tell her about Bubba, but I decided that would be mean of me. "Well, at least Bubba likes you."

"He does?" Lisa yelped. "You're kidding! Tell me you're kidding!"

"Nope. Not kidding. Honest injun." We could say stuff like that, in the days before political correctness.

Lisa didn't say anything for a minute. "You know, I saw Bubba picking his nose in history class yesterday. He had his head behind a book, and didn't think anybody saw him."

I laughed. "Really?"

"Really. Guys stink."

"They sure do," I agreed. I realized again what a good friend Lisa was.

"Wanna go look at that book again tomorrow? I bet we can find a good name for Bubba."

Girlfriends. There's nothing like 'em.

What's new?

Well, that's what's new, first of all. Yep, I did it. Went back to Weight Watchers. Love 'em or hate 'em, it's the only program that works for me. Somehow I'm just in the zone right now, and I have had no problems whatsoever. I've been exercising 3-6 times a week, losing weight, feeling good, moving on.

What else? I still haven't been hired by the company I'm temping at. The VP has told me that he's gotten approval to reclassify my job position, has told me how much money I'll be making, and has turned the paperwork in to HR. That was almost 3 weeks ago. I learned last Friday that HR is waiting on the president of the company to sign off on the offer before I can get hired. It astounds me that something as relatively insignificant as reclassifying a position has to go all the way to the president of the company. But work's going reasonably well, and it will be nice when I'm once again making something much more closely approximating a living wage.

And more good news; Clover sent a query to an agent, and was requested to send in more info and 30 pages of her manuscript. So keep your fingers crossed for her. Clover is a fantastic writer, who has consistently worked at her craft and who has some amazing stories to tell. She's also--outside of family--the best friend I've ever had in my life. If you know what a cool person she was, you'd be totally jealous of me. Neener-neener!

On the Sophie front, it turns out it's just as well that things turned out the way they did. My brother and his former-gf have split up, so even if the gf's daughter had been pregnant, I doubt that they would still be wanting us to adopt. Joe and I are trying to look at things positively, and just keep on with our lifelong honeymoon. It's still depressing at times, though, I must admit.

Some fun personality tests

I know, I know--I've been totally lame about updating. I'll try to do better. In the meantime, here are some glimpses into my personality!

What Your Soul Really Looks Like

You are quite expressive and thoughtful. You see the world in a way that others are blind to. You are a grounded person, but you also leave room for imagination and dreams. You feet may be on the ground, but you're head is in the clouds. You believe that people see you as larger than life and important. While this is true, they also think you're a bit full of yourself. Your near future is still unknown, and a little scary. You'll get through wild times - and you'll textually enjoy it. For you, falling in love is all about the adventure and uncertainty. You can only fall in love with someone who keeps you guessing.

Inside the Room of Your Soul

Your Brain's Pattern

Your mind is a firestorm - full of intensity and drama.Your thoughts may seem scattered to you most of the time...But they often seem strong and passionate to those around you.You are a natural influencer. The thoughts you share are very powerful and persuading.

What Pattern Is Your Brain?

Emptiness

The phone call, so unexpected. "My daughter's pregnant. Would you and your husband be interested in adopting the baby?"

I think I stammered out that we'd talk it over and call her back. I hung up the phone and turned to my husband. I'd barely gotten the words out of my mouth when he was saying, "Yes! Yes!"

In a curious little twist of fate, we were in the car, on our way to Carrabbas, where we were to meet family. It was Father's Day. We barely gave Dad time to sit down before we asked if he wanted to be a grandfather. It was one of those "duh" questions, even though he and the Monster expressed their concerns about the situation.

By the time I went to bed on Sunday night, I knew it was a girl, had picked out her name (Sophie Helene), and had begun thinking about how to decorate her room. By noon on Monday I'd allowed myself to blissfully browse the baby sections at several online stores. By the time I left work that afternoon, I'd decided on the theme (Secret Garden) and had a general idea of what we needed to pull together for the adoption.

Tuesday night Joe was panicking because we still have so much work to do on the house to get it presentable, we're still so much in debt, how can we possibly manage to pull off this adoption in three months--and do we even know she's pregnant?

Well, no, but all indications point to her being about 5 months along, and I couldn't live with myself if we didn't at least try.

I cried myself to sleep that night, praying that if we were going to be unable to make this miracle happen, that we'd find out right away.

Wednesday I was trying to breathe amidst the worries that Joe had brought up the night before. I called my sister. "I need you." She took a long lunch and drove out from Arlington and we went to Don Pablos and talked about babies and adoption over cheese enchiladas and hot sauce.

About half an hour after I returned to the office from that lunch break, my phone rang again. The pregnancy test was negative, and there's no baby.

I was surprisingly upbeat as I notified the few people I'd talked to about it. It's better this way; we're older, set in our ways, have too much debt and too many things to pull together to try to adopt right now.

And that night I cried myself to sleep. And the next day any time anyone looked at me, I cried. And every time I saw the books on adoption that I'd optimistically checked out from the library on Tuesday, I cried.

Sophie was only in my head the whole time, but she was so real, and now she's gone. Every day as I wander through my office, passing out credit reports to the collectors, I see the pictures of their children taped up in their cubes and I feel so empty. The only pictures I have of my twins are photocopied photos of the fertilized embryos that were transferred to my womb a few days before they died. And the only picture I have of Sophie is a mental image of a misty green bedroom with pink and green bedding, white lattice around the walls with ivy and flowers woven in, and quaint Kate Greenaway pictures on the wall, and a tiny brown-skinned girl with enormous brown eyes and her small brown fingers tightly clasping my finger.

The Scheherazade Project

This week's assignment was to write about someone who stole something she didn't need. I wandered off into the melodramatic here. Bear in mind that writing short stories is not my forte, and be merciful!

Jana looked furtively around her, checking to be sure no one was watching as she slipped the can of formula into the Winnie-the-Pooh diaper bag she was carrying. She meandered slowly down the aisle of the grocery store, ostentatiously checking the prices of the various baby bottles and binkies or reading the list of ingredients in the jarred baby food. Every now and then her hand would surreptitiously slide another item into the capacious diaper bag while Jana checked her grocery list.

After leaving the baby aisle, Jana briskly completed the rest of her grocery shopping, crossing the dog food, ground round, eggplant, and Swiss cheese off her list. She stood in line, tapped her foot in time with the music, and blushed whenever anyone smiled at her when she was caught singing along to the song.

The cashier wore a bright red name tag that proclaimed her to be Maria. She chatted cheerfully with Jana about the brand of detergent she preferred (All) and the outrageous cost of bottled water ($6.98 for a 12-pack). She hit the button to get the total, and asked if Jana had her frequent shopper card with her.

Jana shook her head, and forked over $78.64 cash for her groceries. Casting one last bright smile at Maria, she thanked the bagger and then headed out the front door. Just as she was about to go down the curbside ramp that led to the parking lot, she was stopped.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but I'm afraid I have to ask you to come with me."

Jana looked quizzically at the speaker. "I don't understand."

"I will explain inside. Please come with me."

"But I have to get home." Jana appeared to be calm, but her voice rose slightly.

"Ma'am, you don't want to do this on the curb. Please. Come inside."

She yielded, and allowed the burly man to usher her back into the store past dozens of curious faces with a few knowing glances interspersed among them.

The man opened a door, and showed Jana to a chair.

She sank into the chair, and looked up at him. "Now will you please tell me what this is all about?"

"May I see that diaper bag, please, ma'am?"

She handed it to him. "There's nothing in it but my baby's things."

He nodded. "Now may I see your receipt, please?"

She handed him the receipt.

He carefully compared the receipt with the items in her grocery bags. "You didn't pay for the items in the diaper bag."

"Well, of course not, silly!" Her brittle laugh tinkled and then smashed on the floor. "Those things were already in my diaper bag. Why would I pay for them again?"

"Where is your baby?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Where is your baby? Why did you bring the diaper bag to the store with you when you don't have the baby with you."

Jana stared at him. "I brought the diaper bag because my wallet is in it. Now may I please leave?"

"No, ma'am. A store employee saw you put these things into your bag, and they do not appear on your receipt. I'm afraid we have no choice but to call the police."

"There must be some mistake," Jana said. "I already told you, I always carry a spare can of formula, a package of diapers, some bottles, and some baby food with me. I don't understand what the problem is."

He picked up the phone. "Send Ted in, please. Thank you."

A moment later a knock sounded on the door. "Come in."

A gawky teenage boy opened the door. His acne-scarred face was hot with embarrassment, and he carefully avoided looking at Jana.

"This is Ted. Ted, tell this woman what you saw."

Ted snuck a look at Jana. "She put some formula, some diapers, bottles, and baby food in that diaper bag."

"Are you sure it was this woman?"

Ted looked at Jana again and then nodded awkwardly.

"Thank you. You may go back to work." Ted exited the room, and the man leaned back in his chair and looked appraisingly at Jana. "Ma'am, I hate to call the police. You seem like a nice lady and all, but unless you open up with me and tell me what's going on, you leave me with no choice."

"How many times do I have to tell you? I didn't steal anything, and there's nothing going on. Call the police. And call my husband, too. He'll straighten things out. His number is—aren't you going to write it down?—817-555-5283. Tell him what you told me. He'll explain everything. You'll see. It's okay."

The man sighed heavily. "Fine. I'll call your husband. And then I'm calling the police. You stay here." He got up and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Jana put the items back into her diaper bag, and loaded her groceries back into the cart. Humming a lullaby, she opened the door and began walking toward the front door.

"Lady, where the hell do you think you're going!"

"I have to go home and feed my baby!" she insisted, twisting away from him. "Let me go!"

"Your baby's home, alone?"

"It was only going to be for a minute. Please! I have to go!"

"I'm calling the cops," he warned.

"Fine. Just let me go now, okay?"

"Let me see your driver's license first."

She took her wallet out of the diaper bag, and slipped her license out of its protective plastic sleeve and handed it to him.

He scribbled down her name and address, and then handed her license back. "Let me tell you, lady, if it weren't for your kid being home by itself, you would be sitting back in that office in handcuffs! And don't think you're out of this thing!"

"I know, I know, but I have to go now." She shoved her license into the bag and turned to go.

"One last thing, lady. What's your baby's name?"

She stared at him mutely.

"Your baby? The one that's home by itself? What's its name?"

"Her name—" she faltered.

"What is her name?" he asked again.

"Her name was Stella," she said as she began sobbing hysterically. "Her name was Stella."

Message in a Bottle

If you’ve found this, probably the first thing you’ll want to know is why I resorted to sending a message in this fashion. The people around me don’t see me, don’t hear me, don’t notice me. I get a passing hello from people I see every day. I get lectures on finances over the phone from my husband. I check my e-mail 30 times a day to see if there is anything real there; usually there are only e-mails from people I’ve never met before asking for tips on housebreaking a dog or spam from people like Delicious Activation, who want to sell me V!@gra or V@l!um. So in a sense, it makes just as much sense to write this note, stuff it into a bottle that I will then seal and toss into the river. You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. Just like Delicious Activation and the friendish person who’s trying to housebreak her new dachshund.

And maybe the next thing you want to know about me is who I am. That’s a good question. I’m not really sure how to answer it. I can tell you what I am—a wife, a sister, a daughter, a pianist, a writer, a reader, an observer. I can tell you how I feel—sleepy, headachy, depressed, lonely, empty, hungry, despairing. I think, though, that the only way you can know who I am is to study me. Watch me, observe me, hear me, listen to me, ask me, capture me.

James Barrie, in Peter Pan, wrote of the secret kiss that lay in one corner of Mrs. Darling’s mouth, the kiss that no one could claim, the kiss that maddeningly remained aloof. That kiss was there for only one person, and if he did not claim it, it would remain unclaimed. Mr. Darling kissed his wife. Wendy, Michael, and John kissed their mother. There were kisses aplenty, and she gave them liberally to those she loved. But there was always that one kiss that remained untouched. There is something deep within me, like unto that kiss, that no one has touched yet. No one has discovered it. I cannot name it—only when it is filled can I understand and define it. And it’s that thing within me that impels me to write this letter, to make this desperate attempt to touch one other person. Perhaps you have such a place deep within your soul that is calling out for contact. Maybe you are the one person who can fill my emptiness; maybe I am the one person who can fill your emptiness; maybe somehow the randomness of our meeting will actually help make us whole.

But how will you know me? I can describe myself—round, pale-skinned, heavy dark hair, round green eyes and a too-small full-lipped mouth. Has that told you anything? I could tell you where I live, and how to find me, but that still tells you nothing. Unless you know me, you cannot know me.

I suppose I am, then, sending this message into the world with as much vain hope as a shipwrecked man. Hope is everything, because it is hope that keeps me alive, keeps me moving, keeps the blood running through my longing body, keeps the dreams filling my nights and haunting my days, keeps the guilt from destroying me, keeps the emptiness from consuming me. When the hope is gone then I am gone and there is nothing left. All there is is hope.

I love my ipod!!

My sweet husband bought me an iPod shuffle last night. I've been wanting one for when I go work out--my old CD player is so clunky. So today after work, I got it all hooked up, and put some music on it. I've been totally jamming out ever since!

I love those commercials of the shadow dancing zanily down the street while the person is tamely walking along. I've been dancing up and down the halls of my house, and singing at the top of my lungs, probably freaking my dog out. It's a pretty painless way to get active.

I hope Joe doesn't end up regretting this. He won't regret it from the standpoint that more activity is good, and helps me lose weight. He will regret it from the standpoint of having to listen to me sing when he can't hear the music. Let's just say that I make William Hung sound good!

Interview

I agreed to be interviewed by Trista. Here you go:


1) How long did it take you to write your first book?

My sister and I wrote it together. We actually came up with the idea of a book about two sisters who had gotten married about the same time shortly after we were both married. We talked a little about it, but didn't do much on it. About a year before my sister and her husband divorced, our characters told us that they wanted us to start their story before they got married. So we tried moving it to their college years. But they said, "No, you need to go back further." We finally ended up setting it in their high school years. Once we figured out which story they wanted us to tell, the actual writing went reasonably quickly. I'd say it took us about 2 or 3 years (not actively working on it) to get to where we knew what story to tell and make an outline. Then it only took about 3 months to do the rest of the writing.

2) "Wonder is what sets us apart from other life forms. No other species wonders about the meaning of existence or the complexity of the universe or themselves."--Herbert W. Boyer. What do you find yourself wondering about on a consistent basis? Do you ever wonder if, when animals seemingly stare into nothing, they are really wondering about these things, too, but just can't tell us?

I wonder what my dog would say if she could talk to me. I mean, she does talk to me, but I mean the kind of talking where we would sit down and have a conversation. I wonder what the people in portraits would tell me about things they've seen since their portrait was captured. I wonder about all kinds of things.

3) You mentioned once that Faith is your chosen name. How did you choose it, when and why?

My husband and I got married in 1991. Much to my shock, I didn't immediately get pregnant. Well, I did once, but miscarried early on. Months, and then years went by, without children coming. I had severe pain with my periods for years and years and years, and heard all kinds of stupid crap when I went to the doctors about it. Finally I got Joe to agree to go to an infertility specialist in late '99. I had laparoscopy done in March of '99 to clean out the adhesions the other doctors swore were all in my head. Much to my horror and dismay, the endometriosis had gotten to such a severe stage that they couldn't clean out the adhesions without doing a hysterectomy. So we did IVF with ICSI. I never had any doubt that the IVF would work. I had perfect faith. But it didn't work.

A few months after that, I was sitting in church one Sunday, idly not paying attention to the speaker. I had spent much of the morning looking enviously at the mothers with their hordes of children, and wondering if it would ever happen for me. Then I had this surge of inspiration that I should quit worrying about something that was out of my control. I remember frantically pulling a pen and paper out of my purse and writing down a list of the things that I had always wanted to do, but had put off "because I'm going to get pregnant and won't be able to finish." The list included such things as go back to school, go to Egypt, travel, etc. When I got home from church that morning, I looked at my whole house with a different perspective. I started realizing that for years I had been trying to mold myself into the perfect Mormon woman, and in so doing had crushed what made me the unique person I am.

Over the next several months, I got rid of all kinds of stuff. All the crafty cutesy things I had spent hours laboring over or money I didn't really have to buy went out the door. I sold my scroll saw (that I never even used) and all the paints and brushes and glue and everything. It dawned on me as I was making some Christmas gifts that if I really enjoyed tole painting, I wouldn't put it off until the last minute and then complain the whole time I was doing it. I bought a Picasso print and hung it in my bathroom. I changed my wardrobe. I changed every artificial thing about myself, and tried to strip down to the essence of myself.

My mother came to visit that year just after Christmas. While she was here, she and I had the usual conversation about my name. I have always hated my birth name. Virginia. Yes, objectively I know that it is a beautiful name. But when I got to the teen years, I heard all the bad jokes you can imagine. And I tried every nickname that could possibly logically be extracted fVirginiagina. For a long time I went by Ginny. No one ever spelled it correctly, even if I were standing there spelling it out loud. And there were some people from church that I had once longingly wanted to be like who said my name with what I can only describe as a painfully condescending tone of voice. So I just had all kinds of negative associations with my name. My mother airily told me to just change it.

Wow! I was floored. It had honestly never occurred to me to just change my name. I tried out a name I had liked since girlhood, but it didn't fit me. So while Joe and I were driving home from visiting some friends, I asked him what he would name me if the choice were his. He said, "Faith." And I tried it out, and it fit, and I like it. His family still don't know, and they all call me Ginny. I haven't told them because they already think I'm a freak, and I don't want to give them more ammunition. Half of my family faithfully call me by my chosen name, and the others still call me Ginny. I don't get offended by that; I realize that changing one's name at the age of 37 can be hard for people to get used to. But I like it, and that's what I go by. I haven't changed it legally, and probably won't. I don't have to. I know who I am.

4) Have you ever thought of something you wanted to change in your life, something that could be changed, and then did so?

All the time. All the time. I was painfully shy as I was growing up, and learned when I was in my early 20's that people mistook my shyness for snobbery. So I forced myself to be less shy. I've already mentioned a major change I did in the question above. And right now I am learning to cope with my fear of large crowds. I have missed events that I desperately wanted to see because I am afraid of crowds. I won free tickets to see one of my favorite bands (Barenaked Ladies), and at the last minute chickened out. I sent my husband with his best friend. So now when my husband wants me to go to a concert with him, I go. It's uncomfortable, but I hope that eventually I'll get used to it.

5) If you had a grody wound on your wrist, one that you had given yourself in an act of supreme stupidity, would you show it to everyone and tell them how stupid you are, or would you keep it discretely hidden and/or make up a story that showed your intelligence and valor to explain how you got it?

I'd probably show it to everyone and tell them how stupid I am. I went through a brief episode of cutting myself when I was living in Minneapolis (long ugly painful story). I didn't go out of my way to hide it, but didn't go out of my way to show anyone either. But now I'm a lot more comfortable with myself, and also more judgmental of myself, at the same time. So I'd be comfortable enough to show it around, and pissed enough to tell everyone what an idiot I am.

It's been hard. Part of the depression involves frequent suicidal thoughts. There are times when I feel so completely worthless that I think I should not exist. But I think of what it would do to the people I would leave behind. In the times when I don't love myself enough, thank heavens that I love them enough to refrain from doing it. The antidepressants I'm taking now have really reduced those feelings, and I'm glad. I hate feeling that way and knowing there's nothing I can do about it.

My Favorite Flowers

(In case you're wondering why the bombardment of favorites lists--I'm cleaning out my e-mail, and want to delete some things from e-mail, but want to keep them for myself!)

I love roses, and I noticed yesterday that I have two roses on the bush by my front door. The flowers are a lovely yellow, with a pinkish tinge along the fringes of the petals.

And I love iris--they remind me of my Grannie, who had a huge garden full of iris.

I love daffodils, because they're so yellow and cheerful.

I love tulips, because they're so graceful and lovely.

I love lilies, because they are so graceful and beautiful. They remind me of the Savior.

I like to see lilacs blooming, with their drooping heads laden with purple flowers. And they smell so sweet.

I love lavender, for the color and the aroma.

We have a catalpa tree in our front yard, and it has huge leaves as big as dinner plates. In the spring, it blooms with these beautiful delicate flowers that look a little like orchids. They smell so sweet, and our front yard smells divine while the tree is in bloom.

I love to see magnolia blooms on the trees. The huge waxy flowers against the dark green leaves is exquisite to behold.

I love the trees that bloom with the pinky flowers. I know what they are, but I am having total brain cramps this morning, and can't remember their names. But I love to see them!

And here in Texas, I especially enjoy the wildflowers that grow along the roadways. Bluebonnets (the state flower), Indian paintbrush, and buttercups--they are so beautiful!!!

My Favorite Smells

I love the smell of cinnamon, pine, holly--those wonderful Christmas scents--probably because I love Christmas so.

I like the smell of onions and garlic sizzling in hot olive oil. So many of the main dishes I cook start out that way, and it's such a savory odor.

I like the smell of clean laundry. It's like the reward for my labors, after I've spent the time to wash, dry, and put the laundry away.

I love the smell of bread baking. And it's not as good when I use a bread machine instead of making it myself, so I know part of it is the reward for my labors.

I love the smell of rain. It's so tantalizing, particularly when it's the first rain in a long while.

I love the way my husband smells. When we were first dating, he used to wear Stetson cologne, and it smelled so good on him. He went out of town for a week, and I bought a small bottle of Stetson so I could keep smelling him. Now he uses more expensive colognes, but they just smell wonderful on him.

I love the way a new book smells, one that has never before been opened or read. And I love the way an old book smells.

I like the way herbs smell--particularly sage and mint.

Back spasms

Did I mention nearly slipping in the bathtub a few weeks ago? I was taking a shower and suddenly felt my feet sliding backwards. The way I was headed, I would have cracked my skull wide open on the tile. I was terrified, although I didn't quite see my life flashing before me, and somehow managed to save myself from falling. In the process, I twisted my back pretty badly. It hurt for a few days, and then let up.

Well, it started hurting again Friday or Saturday. Today it was bad enough that I took off work a few hours early and went to the doctor. He said that I pulled some muscles back there, and gave me some anti inflammatories and some muscle relaxers. I'm about to drowse off now, as they're kicking in.

And may I just say, I won! I don't have to take Molly to the vet after all! I've got to reschedule it for Saturday morning, and Joe gets to take her!!!

Okay, I'd rather NOT have the back spasms and have to take her to the vet, but still, one looks for the silver lining, right?

It always works out this way

No matter how hard I try to plan it so that Joe takes Molly to the vet at least every other visit, I keep end up getting stuck with the task. I think he's taken her a total of twice, and we've had her for 6 years now! She gets to go tomorrow afternoon for her yearly shots, as well as her rabies shot. She's sitting by my knee giving me kisses. She's not going to be so happy with me at 5 p.m. tomorrow afternoon when she realizes we're on our way to the vet. Yes, she knows the way to the vet, and as soon as I start heading that direction, she starts crying. She cries all the way to the vet. Once we're in the waiting room, she tries to sniff all the other dogs and eat the cats. And when we're in the little patient room, she cowers under my knees and pees on the floor. Poor baby. Last time she went she peed on the scale as well.

I got some more writing done on my Chaucer book today. I've got to do some more research, so I'll try to remember to take the pertinent books to work tomorrow.

Other than that, not much happening around here.

Let There Be Rain

We've needed rain so desperately. We've been told that we're in for a long, hot summer. When we get long, hot summers, we need lots o' water. And we weren't getting it.

But we have been having awesome storms this week! Our grass is growing like weeds--oops, wait, that green stuff is weeds! My dog's spent many hours hiding under the bed. I have been awakened at unbelievable hours of night by spectacular lightning shows and loud rumbling thunder. And it has rained. I hope the rain continues.

On other subjects, I have finally decided what I'm doing career-wise. I'm staying at my office job. I've been having so many nightmares about CPS, and I've been truly concerned that teaching would take over my life as much as CPS did. Plus, it is working out at my office job for me to basically work those two hours a day and then spend the rest of the day writing. They are trying to get me as much money as possible; the problem is that the salary range for the job classification is pretty pathetic. However, the VP in our office is going to approach the corporate office about reclassifying my job so they can pay me more money. Believe me, I'm worth it. And they are able to recognize that.

I have started working on my Chaucer book, and it is going so well!!! Have I mentioned it here before? Well, as you could guess by my screenname, I am a Chaucer freak. I have long dreamed of writing a book relating to some of Chaucer's works. I'm not going to say anything else about it here and now, just that it's underway and is going to be an incredible book.

I had already decided that after we get out of debt, I'm starting grad school. Another benefit of getting paid to sit in an office for 8 hours a day with only 2 hours of work is that I will also have time to study and read and write papers. Joe called me last night (he was working late) to tell me that he really thinks I need to get my Ph.D. I was happy to tell him that once again we are on the same page, as I had already come to that same decision. I'm having an insane fantasy of finding a way to afford to go to SMU for my master's degree--they have a master's program in Medieval Studies. Hey--if my Chaucer book is as successful as I confidently tell myself it will be, that may not even be an issue. SMU could come knocking at my door. I like feeling this way. I like being confident and stopping just short of arrogant. I like working on projects that bring me joy. I like it when Joe and I are in harmony.

Changing tacks now: Since my sister was killed back in January, I have not watched the news. I tried to once, and there were two or three stories about homicides and police chases that ended up in shootouts. So I gave up. The other secretary in my office (yes, not only do they pay me to sit there 8 hours a day for 2 hours of work; corporate has decreed that they need 2 clerks in the office, so they keep getting temps in until they can find one who's willing to stay. I like this one. I want her to stay. She's intelligent and hard-working. Not, of course, that we have much work. But I digress.) told me yesterday about a 19-year-old man who had been sexually abused by his stepfather from ages 7 until 11. He ended up getting HIV, and in anger sodomized his younger half-brother (the son of his stepfather and his mother). That little boy now is HIV positive, and the man is in prison. His stepfather is also in prison. I started crying when she told me that. WTF are people thinking when they mistreat their children?

From that point on yesterday, I found that I was just very tender-hearted. She started asking me about the beliefs of my religion. I had hard work to keep from tearing up as I told her. Our office had won the first quarter's competition, and as the collectors were being recognized for their accomplishments and people were winning prizes, yeah, I found myself tearing up. I watched the movie "Bewitched" last night, and outright sobbed. Not because the movie was bad--I actually liked it a lot--but I just wasn't able to regain my self-composure after hearing about that news.

Faith and the Beast

If any of you are interested in my weight loss blog, you might want to check it out. I've chucked the OA stuff (although I didn't delete the previous entries), and am taking a much more sane approach.

I like it. I like it a lot.

Fear

Trista asked for scary stories for the trial run of the Scheherazade Project.

My grandparents' house in LaMarque was haunted. The downstairs portion of the house was innocuous. The way the house was laid out, when you walked in the front door, there was a room to the left, a room to the right, and a staircase right in the middle. If you walked up the stairs, you found a landing with a bathroom directly in front of you, and a bedroom to the left and a bedroom to the right. The bedroom to the right (as you faced the bathroom) was mostly innocuous. The bedroom to the left was bad. The closets in both of those bedrooms wrapped around, so that you could walk into the closet of one room and crawl through to the closet of the other room. The closets were horrible.

Whatever was in there did not like girls. It didn't matter if they were five months, five years, or fifty years old. It did not like girls. I remember one night when my brother and sister and I were visiting my grandparents. One of my cousins--I'll call him 007 1/2--, who was a little younger than my brother, was living with my grandparents. The four of us kids were sleeping in the bad room. My sister and I kept feeling that malevolence pushing at us, and it was really, really unpleasant. The guys thought we were pulling their legs, but it was real.

Later on, after my grandmother had died, my parents were divorced, and I had grown up, my mother moved in with my grandfather. I later moved to LaMarque, and moved in with them for several months, until I got an apartment with a friend. The bad thing was still there. And, natch, that was the room I slept in. I learned to live with the thing that was there, but never did feel completely at ease in the room.

One night I got the insane idea to write a short story for the "Twilight Zone" magazine. It was an extremely unoriginal plot with a doll who came to life when no one was around. Despite the banal idea, it was actually a pretty good story. I got a few pages into it before I was through writing for the night. I put the notebook down and went to bed and tried in vain to go to sleep.

I could not sleep for anything. The malevolence of the thing in the room combined with the intensely evil story I had started writing just made the room unbearable. I had to get up, rip the story to shreds and throw it away. There was no chance I was going to be able to sleep in the bedroom that night, so I took a pillow downstairs and crashed on the couch.

I don't remember when we learned what the thing in the room was. A neighbor, who had lived there for years and years, told us that the people who owned the house before my grandparents bought it had a son who was mentally ill. His mother was apparently (reading between the lines of the neighbor's story) pretty abusive, and locked him into the room quite a bit. My personal guess is that she went a step further, and locked him into that closet area.

No wonder the poor guy hated women.

As I read back over this, it sounds pathetic and lame. Trust me--it wasn't. If the thing could have been made corporeal, it would have been hot oozing black tar bubbling with hate, and would have coated every surface in the room. It was real. And it was frightening.