The Wandering Author Returns

I truly did not plan to be away so long. On New Year's Day, when I'd hoped to post, I discovered my firewall software had auto-updated and was now fighting it out with my anti-virus software. I located and downloaded a new firewall program, only to confront the fact that something, whether the "security wars" or a long-time accumulation of junk in my system, had left my system dangerously unstable. Roughly half the time I booted up, the system froze immediately on reaching my Desktop.

After a few weeks of tweaks, fiddling, removing a few fonts, clearing out junk from the Registry, and all those other fun things that keep Windows systems above water a little longer, I had a bit more luck, but I was still not too confident. So I began trying to go through all my software (yes, you say, that is the problem) so I could restore my system to the condition it was in when I bought it, then reinstall only the programs I need.

In the middle of that, the Brisbane flu paid me a visit, despite the flu shot I got last fall. February passed in a haze of fever, while I've been frantically trying to finish going through my software (I have about 200 CD-ROMs, and much more downloaded freeware), work, catch up with everything else in my life, and fit in a little writing.

Ah, yes, writing. I can discuss it a little more now. My friend Jim, who my wife and I found dead on his kitchen floor last September, wanted to write as well. He was one of the most intelligent people I've ever known, and I always assumed he was a better writer than I was. I never dared show him anything of mine, because I was too much in awe. He always said his stuff was crap, or worse, but we all say that, and since he was embarrassed to show it to me, I didn't press the point.

After he died, we found a few creative writing courses, but not a single word Jim had written. He was so unhappy with it that he destroyed it all at some point. Between the shock of finding him, then finding out he'd destroyed all trace of his writing (and I guarantee you, far worse than anything he ever turned out since the age of ten has been published), I was unable to write at all.

I struggled with attempts to force myself to do writing exercises, or to write a story as a tribute to Jim, but no words would come; anything I got on paper was jumbled and useless. I'm not just being down on my work here; it really wasn't half as good as I know I can do. I decided to sign up for the two year novel writing course at Forward Motion, in hopes that would get me jump started.

I'm happy to say, it worked! I've got a very tiny start on a new novel, and plan to keep going until it's done. I'll be doing other writing as well, of course, now that I can again. Trying to keep up with assignments is one thing that's kept me away; that, and the residual exhaustion from the flu.

I had hoped to make a grand return, and fix all my broken links, clean up the template, and start posting regularly - all at once. That isn't going to happen. I need to start slowly, and I need to consider exactly where I'll go with this blog, and my online presence in general. Everything that has happened has just hardened my determination to be a writer. I will keep at it until I am published, or die trying.

In addition, Jim's cat, Julius, is doing well, which is a good thing - he is one of the sweetest cats I've known. Yet that means continued vet bills to keep him as healthy as possible; bags of IV fluids, medications, visits. So I do need to begin looking for a way to bring in a little more income than I am. I hope to do it in a way that will be fair to all my readers; you won't see a sudden explosion of ads for all kinds of junk.

I'll discuss those plans later, and a few ideas I have for making a bit of money by writing. I just wanted to let you know I was alive; Lehane's efforts to drag me out have had their effect, of course. (The subtle signs are all there, even if he denies it. Lehane is to blame for my return, no matter what he says.) I'd started a humourous story in which Lehane entered cyberspace in an effort to find me and drag me out, but I haven't managed to finish that.

I won't be posting all that regularly right at first. One of the things I've been trying to catch up on, which has kept me exhausted, is helping Jim's son as far as I can with the probate. He has an interest in some land, and I looked up the records on it for him to save him the lawyer's fees. It was a good thing I did! I had to sift through nearly two dozen deeds on the property to get to where I could make any sense of the tangled trades back and forth within the family.

In fact, this isn't much of a post. I simply remembered my blog (I needed the URL, and that got me thinking), missed it, and sat down here to let my thoughts flow out of my fingers in this long, rambling fashion. I do hope to do better soon. I have plans, either for this blog or a new web site, to make it a more useful resource for writers. There are a few areas I'm pretty good at, and I hope I can help some of the rest of you in those areas. I will also be catching up on previous projects that lost ground between my sickness last year and Jim's death. I hope my regular readers will gradually notice that I'm back, and put up with me until I get the hang of writing directly from the keyboard, with little or no editing, once again.

Lessons, and a General Update

Lesson One

The most surprising lesson I've learned over the past few months is this: if you are forced to exhaust yourself, be careful when promising yourself rest. Once you set your mind on a certain date, and allow yourself to fully slow down - your body will rest, and leave you little choice! Although I was functioning normally when we found Jim, I had used up many of my reserves, and had not yet got as far as restoring those reserves.

I worked to the point of utter exhaustion, always promising myself that I would be able to rest once November arrived. Even after I caught bronchitis, I forced myself to keep going, with the same promise. Well, we did finish on time (last junk out of the apartment about 11 pm on the 31st of October, packed and pulling away from the curb about 11:30 pm - how's that for cutting it close?) and November arrived.

I assumed I would rest, but that I'd also begin getting back to normal. Instead, I learned what it must be like to have narcolepsy. I was so exhausted, and I'd primed myself so much to expect that I could now rest, that my body kept forcing me to sleep, no matter what I intended. I could only accomplish anything in snatches; I often fell asleep so quickly that (for example) while reading I'd suddenly wake when the book slipped out of my hand and hit the floor.

I finally caught up with my sleep enough to be able to stay awake, but I can feel I have still not rebuilt all my reserves. If I stay up too late, I can feel exhaustion dragging at me. I'm mostly over the bronchitis (the asthmatic part is always the last to go, so I still get short of breath easily), and there is no reason for anyone to worry about me (although it does warm my heart to know that my readers care about me), but I am really anxious not to wear myself out quite so badly the next time Life drops a surprise in my lap.

Lesson Two

When he died, Jim still had a lot he wanted to do, and a lot of plans he'd never fulfilled. He expected to have years left to do these things; sadly, that was not the case. I can't restore that chance to him, much as I'd like to, but I can try to learn from his death, and to help my readers learn as well. Life is precious, fragile, and fleeting. Always try to live as though you had only a few weeks or months left.

Sure, there are still things you need to do that aren't what you most want to do. Errands, boring tasks, and the like weigh on us all, and some of them really do have to get done. But, insofar as you have the chance, try to take care of the most important things first. Let the lesser things slide. If the next day, you felt yourself dying, what would you most regret having neglected? What would you regret less? Try to live according to that sense of what matters. No matter how long you have to live (and I hope, for all of you, it is a long and a pleasant life), you'll have fewer regrets.

Lesson Three

Many of you may already know this, or it may seem obvious, but when you are in shock you won't always think clearly, so it is good to have this firmly in mind. Whenever someone dies, whoever will be dealing with their possessions will find, among everything else, an appalling lot of stuff that simply has to be disposed of. If that person lived in an apartment, costs of keeping it are much higher, so the job must be finished much more quickly.

At least in Massachusetts, some kinds of trash are hard to dispose of. At once, find out the local rules for trash disposal, and take full advantage of every trash day as it comes. The most costly items to get rid of are: TVs, computer monitors, computers, and the like, appliances, and mattresses. Give away what you can. Throw away any of these things you are allowed to at no cost. And try to find a good, inexpensive "junk man". Paul, the guy we used, charged less than half what the heavily advertised services would have.

Update

I learned several other lessons, but I'm not posting those now. They would involve discussing aspects of Jim's life that were personal to him, and I don't want to say anything that would have made him uncomfortable. So, if I post them to this blog at all, it will have to be after more thought.

The length of time I've been away from the blog was partly due to sleep's forceful takeover of my life, but it was also due to a few instances of Murphy's Law. One of the few tasks I attempted, once I saw how things were, was something I thought I could do in short bursts. I changed all my passwords so they would be more secure, and switched to a new password management system. In the process, I managed (and now that I'm awake, I could have predicted this!) to spoil my access to several sites.

In no case was the damage permanent; there are always options. But, having read that many people were having trouble with their G-Mail accounts, I first assumed my failure to open any Google site was due to the same type of problem. Of course, it was obvious that wasn't the case, but until I woke up and calmed down enough to think clearly about it, I didn't see that.

In addition, there was another death in my family; my father's cousin, who was more like an aunt to me. Ruthie was 95, and had spent the last few months in a nursing home trying to recover from pneumonia, so it wasn't totally unexpected, but when she died the day before Thanksgiving, it was still a blow. She was a very sweet woman who always seemed as if she'd outlast everybody else.

Jim's Cat

Some of you will have noted that I ended up keeping one of Jim's cats; the oldest, who he loved more than anything. Julius had kidney disease, a thyroid problem, bad teeth, and a bronchial rasp, in addition to being overweight and seventeen years old. In other words, no one else would adopt him. My tiger kittens have accepted him, mostly, although my son's cat still thinks he's Satan, come to take over his position as "big cat".

Julius, for his part, is a sweet guy who doesn't want to fight any of them. He's tried to make friends, but Mandarin seems to regard this as a cunning plot to buy time. So, for the time being, they must be kept mostly separate. It is not so much that they actually fight, but rather that Mandarin's continual hostility causes Julius too much stress. He won't even eat in Mandarin's presence.

At the time we brought him home, his kidney disease was being treated by nothing more than diet. For those of you lucky enough to have never had a cat suffering from kidney disease, I should explain that this diet is bland and apparently utterly devoid of appeal. Although they are fed separately, Julius knows the other cats get better stuff, and isn't inclined to settle for boring slop. So he wasn't eating much at all. Usually, if you hold out for a few days, a 'starving' cat will give in.

We tried that with Julius, but it didn't seem to work well. Ultimately, it turned out the food issue was camouflaging another problem. One of his bad teeth became abcessed, and was so painful he couldn't eat solids at all. The teeth can't be operated on; he's too old and sick to tolerate the anaesthesia. Penicillin did clear up the infection, for now, and he's eating again.

He lost enough weight, quickly enough, that it led to a condition, common in older cats who lose weight quickly, which could threaten his liver. So he couldn't afford to lose any more weight. Briefly, he was back on "real" food - now, with vet approval, he's on a mixture of "kidney food" and "real" food, with a few very high quality treats thrown in.

The real tragedy in all this is the fact that, due to the stress, infection, loss of weight, or some combination of factors, his kidney disease has worsened to the point where he is now on sub-cutaneous fluids, 200 ml twice a week. Giving them to him is an ordeal. He struggles, but makes no effort to hurt us, but he does stare at us, bewildered, wondering why we are doing this to him.

We, of course, know that he'd suffer far worse without the fluids. We can see the difference in him after each treatment; the surge of interest and energy, then a gradual slowing down as the next treatment nears. It is still a difficult thing to deal with. Although it doesn't cause him any pain, it does create considerable temporary discomfort when the fluid, which is of course always slightly cool even after warming, and thus feels "wrong", bulges up under his skin before being absorbed.

Worst of all, any of you who have dealt with kidney disease will know what is implied. If he's on fluids twice a week now, in a while that will get worse, and it will be every other day, then every day... Even now, multiple vet visits before we got him straightened out, 'runs' to the vet to pick up fluid, and all the other little things involved, played their part in keeping me from blogging sooner.

NaNoWriMo

As I implied earlier, I didn't join NaNo this year with any real hope of success. I simply couldn't bear not to participate. Well, I did participate, a very little, but I was seldom if ever on the boards, and my word count is so laughable I may as well not post a total. I couldn't snatch much time between sleeping, taking care of Julius, and trying to undo the messes I made while too sleepy. Next year, I hope to take part, and again to win, if all goes well.

The Future

I am, of course, paying attention to Lesson Two, above. The most important thing in my life is my cats. After that, there is my writing. Blogging is a part of writing. So I don't intend to give up blogging. However, I am going to be very busy for a while taking care of a very sick cat, and if I want to stay in any shape to write, I need to take time to rest, and also to get more exercise and fresh air so I can build up my health.

What all this means is that I will still be here, but, for the time being, not as often. I'm not going to promise to post with any specific frequency; there are too many uncertainties right now. As I am able, I will try to post here, and to write stories (or post ones already written) for those of you who are waiting. I will also, more slowly than I intended, clean up my template and post about the ideas I had earlier this summer.

But, since I'd rather take it easy now than be forced to quit later, I'm only going to do these things as I can fit them in. I look forward to a time when I can spend more time blogging, but right now I can't say exactly when that will be. I will visit your blogs when I can, enjoy reading them, and try to leave a few comments so you know I'm not ignoring you. But, again, I won't be taking as much time to read the blogs I enjoy as I have in the past, not until I have the time to spare for that.

Take heart in this: by the time I can get back into the full swing of blogging, I'll be longing for it! In fact, I'm longing for it now; I'm just trying to make the best long term decision that I can. I apologise for a long and rambling post; I hope my next one will be much better and more interesting than this.

A Quick Note

I'm sorry I've worried some of you, especially as you are clearly loyal readers if you're still coming back after this long. I have simply been dreadfully busy helping to deal with the remnants of Jim's life. Along the way, I've learned a few lessons I'll pass along to you, as soon as I get some rest.

Jim's apartment will be fully cleared out today, the final day of October, which will allow me a bit more rest after this. However, I'm battling exhaustion, my third case of bronchitis this year, and still have a few items to deliver within the next few days, as well as a lot of work absorbing the fraction of Jim's amazing book collection I brought home.

In fact, I'm currently typing with stacks of plastic "totes" full of books stacked behind me. Also, I have a novel burning to be written, and have signed up, in spite of the obvious folly of this, for NaNo 2007. So, I won't be posting any lessons for a few days at least, and I'm afraid November won't be a busy month for posts (except possibly for NaNo updates). Still, I do hope to manage a few posts next month, and to give the handful of loyal readers who still visit some explanation for my long silence.

When It Rains, It Pours

As my regular readers know, I've been slowly recovering from heat exhaustion. The other week, we went to see a relative (by marriage, but I consider him a relative) and friend. He has been ill for some time, we hadn't seen him in a while, so we wanted to go. We all enjoyed the visit, although it was obvious he wished it could last longer.

So, last Wednesday, we drove up again to see him, and try to cheer him up. I was worried, as he really didn't seem to be doing well. (He had diabetes, and had developed breathing problems after beginning to take one of the medications his doctors put him on.) Still, we enjoyed the visit, and planned to come back soon and often. On Saturday evening my wife called him as she did every night to check on him, and got no answer.

This would happen sometimes, if he was asleep and didn't hear the phone, or if he was out. So she called several times, still getting no answer. We were very worried, and she left a message telling him if she didn't hear from him by the next morning we were coming up to see how he was. Well, when we heard nothing by Sunday morning, we drove up there. He'd given my wife keys in case of emergency some time ago.

We drove up, and his car was there, but he wasn't outside where he liked to sit. We went to his door and knocked and called out but got no answer. So we went in and found him lying on his kitchen floor. We called 911 at once, and the paramedics got there fairly quickly. I was outside to show them which apartment he was in, and I led them in, they came in, took one look at him, and said "He's dead." without even tryint to revive him. He'd just recently turned 66.

When the police came, and the medical examiner determined his medical condition from his doctors, he ruled that no autopsy was necessary, but the police are fairly sure he died instantly, sometime on Saturday. The world is much poorer because he is no longer a part of it, but I can't write about him right now. I'm still too upset, and trying to get used to the idea. He was the closest friend I had. I thought he might wind up in the hospital a while, but I never expected this.

What makes it all so much worse is that he had two cats. They were inside with him when it happened; they are indoor cats. They had enough time to figure out what had happened, and are traumatized. They aren't even eating much, and they are, even for cats, huge eaters. They are grieving as well for the person they loved. We'd promised him we'd see that they were taken care of if anything happened to him.

Now, I wish with all my heart, for a number of reasons, including the fact that I love those cats, and the fact that just because they were Jim's I can't bear never to see them again, that I could take them myself, but I have three cats (two of my own, and one who is my son's). They are also indoor cats; in the part of New England where I live, you keep your cats indoors (or take them out only on a leash) or see them dead in a very short time.

My cats are all young, and are fairly well adjusted, but the space we have is just about enough for them. Two are neutered toms, and each one thinks he is the boss, although their squabbles don't get out of hand. Jim's cats are both old, former strays, and one is a former street fighter, now neutered, but still with the instincts to pick a fight with any rivals. So there is no chance I can take them.

So, I called a no-kill shelter, hoping if they couldn't take them in themselves they might at least be able to offer advice. They were sympathetic, but what they told me was that at their ages, 17 and 10, and as former strays who are problematic or needy, no shelter would consider taking them in, and I'd have a hard time finding anyone else who would, either.

They were kind enough to suggest something that was too late in this case, but that I'm glad to know about: many shelters are beginning to offer programs where you donate a certain amount of money and they guarantee to take your cats if anything happens to you. However, in this case, too late. The cats are living, right now, in the empty apartment, which is about two hours, one way, from us. Morning and evening, they have to be fed...

They are loving and affectionate cats who right now desperately need reassurance and affection. I promised my friend I'd see they were taken care of. I cannot just have them killed because there is no place in the world for them. I thought, once before in my life, that I knew what it was like to be "between a rock and a hard place". I was literally physically sick from the strain. And yet, I wasn't trapped as badly as I thought; I had no idea. This is what it means to be caught between a rock and a hard place.

I can't even think straight tonight, between my grief and my worry over the cats. I'd planned to post over the weekend, but of course that didn't happen. Until I can find an answer for those poor grieving cats (perhaps my greatest weakness is this: I can't stand seeing animals grieve; if I'd seen a pet of Hitler's grieving for him, I'd even have shed a few tears) I'm going to be too busy to blog. When I have an answer, I'm going to have to catch up on work...

There is only one exception: please come back in the next few days, because I will be making the time for one very important post - an update on Red's Book.

Down But Not Out

I see from at least one comment I may have worried some of you by my long absence. I did intend to post much sooner, to clean up my template, and so on. I still plan to do those things, but 'the best laid plans of mice and men...'

During the earlier part of August, we had a number of days with extreme heat and humidity. Summers here are warmer than they used to be, and there isn't a spare circuit to plug an air conditioner into. Besides, I hate canned air and prefer fresh air blowing through the window. Most days, even though I don't like the heat, I can live with it. On the really awful days, I usually at least survive it.

What I didn't count on this summer was a combination of factors. First, usually the really bad days come one or two at a time. Second, usually, I'm not worn down by the flu and then dehydration. Third, I usually take it a bit easier than I did this summer when the heat does hit. So, when a long string of baking, steaming, humid, awful days arrived (and, despite being in the northeast, in our micro region, more than one visitor from Brazil has complained about the heat when it gets like that...) they hit me harder than I expected.

The other thing I wasn't prepared for, and this is something I urge you all to keep in mind: if you begin to suffer too much from heat and dehydration, your judgment suffers. You decide you're too tired to get up and get a drink when that's exactly what you need. Yes, it is stupid, and I feel like a fool admitting this, but you should all be aware of this. Once you start to get really sick, you aren't in a good position to take decent care of yourself.

Of course, the end result of all this, along with nights so hot and humid I couldn't get to sleep for hours (or, sometimes, at all) was a nasty case of heat exhaustion. Which doesn't sound like much. In my case, I was too hot and weary to eat much, I didn't drink enough, I didn't get enough sleep, and I got sick from the heat. And, when it was all over, I was more exhausted than I've ever been in my life.

I haven't even been keeping up with my blog reading. When I'm too exhausted to read, you know I'm worn out! When I was in second grade, I had pneumonia, and during the whole thing, I was going through library books so quickly I drove my parents nuts. But this time, I was too exhausted to read. Foolishly, when I started to get better, I tried to begin catching up on the things I needed to do right away.

Another mistake, although I did catch that one quickly. I've been taking it easy this past week, finally dipping my toes into reading a bit (I haven't got back to my blog reading yet - my computer throws off enough heat that the night in winter that the furnace quit, I sat up surfing and was nicely warm all night...). I still don't have a lot of stamina, but walking in the woods when the weather was cooler, sleeping late, and being lazy whenever I felt I needed it have done wonders for me.

I do hope to post more here, once I'm a bit more caught up on all the things I need to do. Today was another steaming scorcher, but I was forewarned, and consumed enough water, coconut water, root beer, and ice cream to keep me pretty cooled down and hydrated. That, and my trusty battery powered fan and a comfortable chair under the trees got me through it okay, so I really am doing better. I'm sorry I worried any of you.

In the meantime, please spare a thought for the people of Greece who are, quite literally, going through hell right now. I wanted to explain my long absence, but, next to what they're enduring, I've been safe and happy. Whatever explanation you prefer, it is pretty hard to avoid the idea that the Earth's climate is getting hotter than we are used to.

One Year Blogiversary

Please forgive me the awkward word coinage (or perhaps someone else has already used that form; I can't recall if I've seen it elsewhere) in the title. I had hoped to have a more special post up today, but as it happens, I am so sick that I am barely managing to post at all.

We've been having high heat and humidity, and a combination of unwise but not immediately catastrophic decisions have left me exhausted from the heat and severely dehydrated. I tend to have a problem with dehydration anyway; I simply seem to need a lot of liquids. This isn't your garden variety dehydration, though, with a massive headache that will go away once you drink enough.

So I couldn't quite forget to post on the one year anniversary of my blog, but all I can really manage to say is that I'm weak and exhausted and unable to manage much tonight. (In fact, Monday evening is the first time I've logged onto my computer since very early Friday morning - really late Thursday night - when the problem began.)

I will be posting more about the changes I plan, in the near future, just as soon as I am feeling slightly better. Thanks for your patience and your feedback on my earlier post.

Technical Difficulties

I am posting this to let my faithful readers know there may or may not be a huge gap in posts. I am able to access Blogger at the moment, but I have had various problems. The trouble does not seem to be with Blogger, but with my own computer. For example, I just rebooted. The previous time I started up my computer, when I opened Firefox, each tab would not refresh. I finally worked around this and got in my e-mail inbox; when I deleted some messages, even after I refreshed the tab, they continued to appear, but if I opened my inbox in a new tab, they were gone.

I have had other strange things happen lately, and I have no idea what the trouble is. It is possible it will clear up on its own, or that I'll figure it out quickly. But, while I am able to leave this post, I thought I should explain what is happening, in case I involuntarily 'disappear' for some unknown length of time.

Bumps in the Road

I promised I'd try to give all my loyal readers some explanation of where I've been, so here it is. Near the end of May, I let myself grow a bit more overheated and dehydrated on a very hot, humid day than was really good for me. I was only sick for two or three days, then an urgent project came along for work. I worked hard, and late, giving it everything I had, fully expecting a chance to rest at the end.

After a few days, totally exhausted by my work, I was ready to drop, but it turned out the work I'd done needed some revision. So, I stretched my resources a little bit thinner in an attempt to get this done. I was still hoping to slow down, rest, and be back to "normal life" before the middle of June. Then, the real bomb hit!

I don't feel right going into too much detail here, as other people are involved, but a family member had married a citizen of another country. This was a real marriage, but the United States insists on determining the validity of any such marriage, lest an immigrant somehow manage to stay here. Well, as I say, it was a real marriage, so no serious obstacles were expected. The family member in question hired a lawyer, just to get advice through a complex and annoying bureaucratic process.

Well, nine days before the hearing, the lawyer finally decided to do his job. He reviewed the records they had, what they'd done, etc., including items he'd refused to provide advice on earlier. Then, he told them that they had not handled things well from a bureaucratic standpoint, they didn't have all the records they needed, etc.

So, at the very moment when I was desperately needing to slow down and relax, I was faced with a need to help this family member collect records from another country, find specialised help that they needed, and so on. Each day offered up a new, unpleasant surprise. For example, the lawyer had told them to just find their own translator for translated copies of legal documents.

He had never mentioned the need to find a translator specifically skilled in translating legal documents! You can waste untold amounts of time trying to find someone with such a specific skill who is available at the spur of the moment. And, with everything that needed to be shipped back and forth, faxed back and forth, copied, etc. more hours were spent just running errands.

I got little sleep and a lot of stress over the next nine days. Even when I could sleep, I was too upset to do so easily. The possibility existed that the United States would, at the hearing, decide against the validity of the marriage, take my relation by marriage directly to detention, and then deport them, leaving their spouse to appeal later. (Yes, this is legal here in the "land of the free".) Due to the short notice, we felt that the best outcome possible was that they might be granted a ninety day, one time extension to collect any additional documentation they might need.

For those of you who wonder how this all turned out, I can give you a slight summary. The couple were not allowed to bring anyone else with them to their hearing, but I heard the story as soon as they were done. They found that the hearing officer was none other than the one person their lawyer had warned them against: someone who hated immigrants, tried to seek excuses to deport them, and took even an offer to shake hands as a personal insult.

Now, in addition, the lawyer had already told them that actually, fake marriages usually had an easier time being approved. The reason? They knew in advance what they wanted to do, knew all the rules, and followed them carefully. People who honestly fall in love don't plan things like that, so the record is less 'perfect'. So, naturally, they were very tense. In spite of that, the truth for once did come out: after interviewing them for a while, the hearing officer stated they had never seen a couple so obviously in love, and granted my relation by marriage permanent resident status! There is some possibility a superior could decide to review the decision, but we'll deal with that if it comes up.

Now, with nothing more I needed to do, I collapsed and could do nothing at all. I even found myself, the next day, falling asleep while standing up! I caught myself just as I started to topple... So I spent a few days doing almost nothing but sleeping. You might think that was the end of the story. No, there was one more blow to come. The family member in question also had to work, for one of the nastiest bosses I've ever heard of. He forced another employee to come to work even though they had the flu.

Well, that family member caught the flu, an easy target since they were exhausted, and since I was as well, I caught it just about the time I began to catch up on my rest. I'm slowly getting better, but this is a nasty flu, and the flu and I don't get along well at the best of times. So, I will slowly be returning to posting and visiting your blogs, but progress is likely to be slow. I need to stay rested so I don't get any setbacks. I've got a lot of things piled up I need to do at this point, anyway, and I can't afford to fall any further behind.

Please, take one moral from this story. Never trust a lawyer completely. I don't mean there aren't good lawyers; there are some. But, if you aren't a lawyer, you won't be able to tell the difference, and even a good lawyer can make a mistake. It is your life. If you need a lawyer, learn as much as you can on your own, and do what you can on your own, so if your lawyer decides to wait until nine days before your life hangs in the balance to offer good advice, you'll have just that little bit less left to do.

As for writers, there are legal issues to do with writing that could have a major impact on you and your rights. Learn as much as you can about them, and seek a lawyer who specialises in those issues, if you can possibly afford to do so, so that you can reduce your chances of being crushed by an uncaring system.

WA Lives - Details to Follow

I'm sorry I've worried some of you with my long absence. The story is much too long and I am still too sick (only part of the story) to relate it now, but I just wanted to let you know that I am still alive, still intend to keep this blog active, and have just been sidelined with a couple of nasty hits one after the other. When I'm feeling better, hopefully in a few days at most, I'll fill you all in on the gory details.

I'll also try to get around to answering those of you who commented soon, again, as soon as I have energy to do so.

How Many Years, How Many Tears

The 15th of May has always been a terrible day for me, ever since I was seventeen. I gradually grew used to it, then a phrase in the news about Princess Diana's accident triggered flashbacks. The two poems below were written when I was younger, and I apologise to my readers, since they aren't very good. They both refer to the same incident, from very different perspectives, with a very small amount of poetic license thrown in.

I won't give his name here, since I have no desire to cause his family any pain if they ever find my blog. But at 12:05 am on the 15th of May in a year now long past, I was awake and reading H.M.S. Ulysses by Alistair MacLean. I had quarreled with my best friend that day (technically, the day before). He'd come late in the year into my chemistry class, and was assigned a lab station on his own in the back row.

He hated to be alone, so he asked me to move back beside him and work with him. I did that, and the arrangement worked out well, from November into mid-May. Then, that Friday, when I walked back there, Michael barely had time to tell me he really needed to talk to me, when the teacher suddenly roared in my face, looking like a madman, telling me to move back to my assigned place or go to the office.

I tried to argue, but the teacher, usually a dry but pretty good natured guy, was acting like he had rabies. I have never, before or after that one day, seen him act that way, and I have no idea why he did. I moved, we mixed orange and yellow paints, and by the time the lab was over, everyone got into a sponge fight (which the teacher didn't say a word about). I tried talking to my friend then, but he was upset and tossed a few sponges my way.

I figured he'd cool down and we could talk Monday; everybody gets upset when they really need something and it doesn't work out. So I went home and by that night I was absorbed in my book, when a dull boom made me jump. Those of you who are rational may not believe this part, but an icy cold voice inside my mind said, "This is the worst thing that has ever happened to you." I thought the sound was an explosion, and ran to look out the window. I couldn't see flames in the sky, so I decided I was wrong.

I went back to reading. A short while later, I heard sirens, then chain saws. Now, I lived just a short distance from a very bad curve where there were accidents nearly every week. The sound I'd heard didn't sound like a car accident, but I figured there must have been one later, and so I ignored the sirens. As for the 'voice' I'd 'heard' - that was so crazy I shoved it out of my head.

The next morning, we were headed out to my grandfather's, and I saw a huge oak on the curve ripped out of the ground. I remembered the sirens, and figured there had been a bad accident. I still didn't think about what I'd heard, or the voice in my mind. At my grandfather's, we went to visit a "ham" operator friend of his, and talked about this ancient radio tube I was trying to find, so I could build a Tesla Coil.

I had fun, then we came home late that afternoon. My mother had stayed home, and heard news she didn't know how to tell me, so she left me a note. It read "There was a crash. The driver died. It was Michael [best friend's last name]." I was too stunned to think of much, but I did remember the voice, since it was the worst thing that had ever happened to me.

The next few days included a lot of hurtful and humiliating details; I'll only recount the worst one here. I had been on the yearbook staff for three years; this was my junior year. I was slated to be an editor of the yearbook my senior year, then another teacher began a vicious campaign to snatch the job of advisor. I talked with my yearbook advisor, and we agreed, for the sake of the yearbook, I should stay on the staff, even though I wouldn't be an editor, and do what I could to make it good.

I was willing to do that, and prepared for a series of crucial meetings we had scheduled for that week, but of course I went to Michael's wake instead on Monday. I went to his funeral Tuesday, where a full third of students and teachers attended, then went to school and showed up at the yearbook meeting that afternoon. The advisor asked why I wasn't at the meeting the day before, and I told him I went to my best friend's wake. He told me I "wasn't dedicated enough" to be on the yearbook staff.

In the midst of all this, I had to listen to a guy I knew who lived on the curve tell me about the 'crazy kid' who got killed outside his house the night before (he didn't know who it was yet). And the rumours. I pieced together a few things. The sound I heard was from the fact that Michael was driving a new car, and it was moving pretty fast. When the car hit the tree, the air inside compressed and blew the doors off, and blew Michael out onto the ground.

Essentially, I'd heard the car blowing apart like a giant paper bag full of air. I finally heard about one guy who actually saw it happen, and he said it sounded like a giant bucket of nails being dropped from a huge height. Different descriptions, but the same noise. And I got very vivid pictures in my mind, of being inside the car beside Michael as it raced towards the tree. I also found out he was alive when the police got there.

They had to put a pressure suit on him to lift him, because he was like a jellyfish, but he lived long enough to make it to the hospital, where he died. He was always very alive, and looking at him in his casket, dead, he looked so very strange. For a while, I tried to believe he'd just fallen asleep; I even wrote one poem from that perspective (not one of the two below).

But there were a lot of reasons to wonder if he might have killed himself, and I started to wonder if the fact I hadn't talked to him when he'd needed it was the reason he might have driven his car into a tree. Something like that happens, you get pretty obsessed with it, and I thought about it over and over, until except for the details I've given you here, I couldn't figure out what was what.

Every year was still terrible, but I was starting to get over it, a little, six years later when one evening I was sitting in the church I went to then. This was in a town a little distance from where I lived; I knew almost no one there. In the middle of the service, I heard sirens. An icy cold voice in my mind said "You know who that is; this is just to let you know that I can still touch you."

The chances that I'd know who was in an accident in that area were very small, so I figured I was nuts, and I tried to shrug it off. Then, about half an hour later, a couple I knew and liked walked in and told everyone they'd just been in an accident down the street...

I certainly don't pretend to know what the voice I 'heard' was, and I don't "believe" in it, or "listen" to it - I hope I never hear the cursed thing again, and while I might not be able to shrug it off so easily if I ever do, I'm convinced it means me no good, so I wouldn't do what it told me to under any circumstances.

Still, probably many of you reading this now think I'm crazy. And, I will admit, if you ever have something like that happen to you, you do lose your mind a bit, or even more than a bit. I was years recovering from the wounds of all this. When Princess Diana died, the news mentioned that the car hitting the tunnel wall sounded like an explosion - that phrase was enough to trigger flashbacks.

Again, I struggled to recover, to push it all to the back of my mind - you don't exactly forget something like that. I've done pretty well, but tonight I realised what day it was, and I couldn't keep from posting two of the poems I wrote about the accident, long ago. I'm sorry they aren't very good poems, and I'm sorry this is one of the most badly written posts I've done. It was just something I needed to do.

This is not an attempt at fiction. It really happened; I don't know what the explanation for the 'voice' is, but I didn't imagine it. I've imagined a lot of things in my life; once or twice, I've let my imagination run away with me. I've learned to tell the difference.

(Note: I will try to post a story later, if I can pull together enough to manage that).

One Hundred Posts

I just noticed this is my hundredth post, but I'm not in any state to celebrate. I'm posting to let those of you who read my blog know I somehow managed to become severely dehydrated during the sudden heat we're having. I have worked on stories both days, but cannot manage to finish them with a headache that feels like a rusty axe is being slammed into my skull.

So, for those of you expecting to find stories, I'm sorry. I'll make up any stories I miss, either by posting several a day in May, or continuing on into June. So I will still write 31 stories, and as quickly as I can. I just need to take a day or two off to let the headache go away.

Brenda Starr's Interview with WA: Transcript

Beth, over at A Cup of Coffey, sent me these questions, at my invitation, last Friday, and I apologise for not answering them sooner. I don't know how she'd do as an investigative reporter, but as an interviewer she clearly has what it takes.

If you'd like me to interview you, just send me an e-mail at thewanderingauthor at yahoo dot com or leave your e-mail, suitably disguised, in the comments to this post, and I'll e-mail you the interview questions within a few days. If anyone has already read this, and notices the changes; I'm sorry. I meant to click Save Draft but clicked Publish instead when my cats needed urgent attention. So yes, I have edited it.

My desire to leave up my warning to pet owners (and, for those who haven't heard, contamination has also been traced, now, to food intended for humans; pork, poultry, and granola bars are all affected as far as I've heard), followed by the Day of Silence, then my need to clear up a backlog of posts, all added to the delay. I intended to post this yesterday, but after hauling out barrels of milk and honey to reward the Fair Folk, I was just too exhausted to finish.

1. What was your first written piece?

This is actually a tough question. I wanted to write, and did write, as far back as I can remember. The first piece I remember specifically was a story I wrote in fourth grade. We had elective "clubs"; I'm sure my readers will be shocked to learn that I chose Creative Writing. We had a contest, which I won. (No doubt that's the reason it sticks in my mind.) I'm not sure if a copy survives, buried somewhere, but all I can recall about it is the fact it was a mystery.

In fifth grade, the first piece I specifically recall writing with no outside prompting at all (there were earlier ones, but I don't remember anything about them) was a poem titled The River. The main reason I remember this is that I spent hours revising it numerous times over the next few years, but never could elevate it above the level of a trite little verse. I'm sure I destroyed the original draft many years ago, but fear at least one later draft survives, securely hidden, safe from prying reporters.

2. What's your desert island book?

You see, this is how reporters force their sources to talk. They threaten them with truly terrible tortures, such as being forced to live with a single book for company. Humane treatment would dictate several thousand, at least.

[whimpers] One book? How can I choose just one book? Oh, if you insist. But how can I leave behind... Oh, all right! The Lord of the Rings - wait! That means I can't have... Oh, the cruelty! My imagination is seared, just picturing such a fate.

For what it's worth, I've changed this answer several times; if it is to be one book, it must be one I can make last. But how could I possibly live without... Oh, it's useless! Whittling it down to a list of a hundred books would leave me mourning the titles left behind. What can I say? Other people shoot heroin into their veins; I mainline books into my brain instead.

3. Who would sit at your Algonquin Roundtable?

Well, at least since membership was never formal, there is no fixed number. I'm afraid my table would get a bit crowded, though. (In alphabetical order):

Sholem Asch, Gillian Bradshaw, C. J. Cherryh, G. K. Chesterton, Winston Churchill, Lindsey Davis, L. Sprague deCamp, Anne Frank, Robert Graves, C. S. Lewis, Archibald MacLeish, Christine de Pisan, Dorothy L. Sayers, Nevil Shute, Judith Tarr, Dylan Thomas, Harry Turtledove, Kurt Vonnegut, Leonard Wibberley, Elie Wiesel, Charles Williams

4. What makes you deliriously happy?

My cats, and writing, especially when I'm able to sit outdoors with my cats and write in a Moleskine with a Pelikan fountain pen using Noodlers Ink.

5. Where would you like your journey to end?

I would sail across the ocean to the Great Library Beyond the Sea, where I'd find all the cats I've ever loved waiting, and a library filled with every book imaginable, including all those I've ever wanted to write, where other authors and all the people I love and admire stroll the aisles, pick out books, sit down to read, converse in the courtyard or on the shores of the island... and, of course, all those books would just give me inspiration to write still more, which I could publish on the letterpresses in the Library's basement. (I hope it goes without saying that the Great Library is supernaturally well stocked with Moleskines, Pelikan pens, and Noodlers Ink.)

Apologies

I want to apologise to everyone for the long delay in posting. Originally, I wanted to leave the previous post on top for a while, to get exposure. I intended to announce the winner of the Wandering Author Longer Fiction Contest on the first of April. But, before I did that, I wanted to create a nice, visible button to link to the most recent post in my efforts to help Anna's son, Red.

Naturally, I got sick. A sinus infection with an absolutely overwhelming headache morphed into a fever and bronchitis. I'd visit a few blogs, comment, trying to work up to writing a post here, but every time I was too worn out to manage much. I will be announcing the winner of my fiction contest shortly, and I will be posting again on the "A Child Without A Voice" project. I just wanted to get this quick update up to let everyone know the reason for my long silence.

I will also replace the button I created with another, equally visible but hopefully of better quality. Please, if you want to leave comments on the project, go to the most recent post (which the button will always link to, even if that post is still on top) and leave your comment there. I am considering creating a short post, dated prior to the start of this blog, just to hold links to all the posts related to this project. Or creating a special section in the sidebar.

Sorry for the Hiatus

I had intended to post more frequently than this. First, I finally met my grandson for the first time; he was only visiting for a few days, and I wasn't about to spend time posting while he was here. Then, while he was still here, I had some very urgent work come up, which kept me quite busy.

I ended up staying up so late, I completely exhausted myself, and came down with something nasty which is still, slowly, clearing up. My attention has also been taken up with the pet food recall - my son's cat ate Science Diet Savory Cuts when he came to us. The kittens sampled it, and decided they liked it better than their own food.

So, we ended up feeding all the cats mostly better pet food, but with some of the Savory Cuts mixed in for taste. Thanks to the efforts of the companies involved to limit the recall rather than admitting they didn't even know which batches might have been contaminated, we kept giving it to them up to the blanket recall. So now we have an appointment on Wednesday to bring three cats to the vet's for bloodwork to have their kidney function checked.

Why are we doing this when they aren't showing obvious symptoms? There is always the possibility of damage that won't show up immediately. And, as we learned when my last cat died of kidney disease, the earlier any damage to the kidneys is caught the better. They can be fed a special diet to limit stress on their kidneys, and so on. So I'd appreciate your prayers, until we get the results. I'll let you know, either way - I'm desperately hoping the whole thing will prove to be unnecessary, of course, but I can't take that chance...

Fifty Questions

I got this over at Anna's blog, and decided it looked interesting. I wanted to head this post with the VisualDNA thing I've seen on some other blogs, but whenever I click on Get Your Own... it just takes me to a blank, black page, so I guess you'll have to settle for this.

1. Name one thing you could not live without:

I have chosen to define pen, ink, and paper as "one thing", since none of them is any use without the others.

2. Name something you'd love to never see again:

Hate propaganda of any type.

3. What color is your bathroom rug?

Orange.

4. Did you ever wear braces?

Never. Probably should have, though...

5. Extrovert or introverted?

Introverted

6. What do you make of all this Anna Nicole Smith saga?

It's sad when anyone dies (well, almost anyone) but I really don't think she was significant enough to make this much fuss over.

7. What's the population of the city you live in?

30,000+ and growing. shudder

8. Have you told a lie today?

Not yet; if I just said "no" that would be a lie, since the day isn't over so how can I be sure...

9. Name something you're good at doing:

Writing. I hope so, anyway.

10. Now, something you do badly:

Modesty. See above. Also, singing. Very badly.

11. Who do you share your secrets with?

Whatever page I'm writing on.

12. Who's your best friend?

Tristan Brighteyes, Hero. (My tiger cat.)

13. Do you lie about your age?

Why bother?

14. Confrontation or avoidance?

If it's over an important issue, confrontation. But I'd rather avoid battling over silly stuff.

15. What's the last film you watched?

Fifty First Dates, on DVD. At least, I think that's the last one. I don't watch too many films, so it's been a while...

16. What about books?

Beyond the Gap by Harry Turtledove

17. Do you enjoy eating sushi?

To me, that's the reverse of the question "Is the Pope Catholic?", or the question about bears and their habits - something you use to indicate an obvious, loud, and resounding, "No!". Example: "Would you like me to break your kneecaps?" "Do I enjoy eating sushi?"

18. Name a place you long to visit:

Most places I could possibly go, and many impossible ones, too. (Hy Bresail, the legendary Celtic land beyond the sea... the past...)

19. Now tell me somewhere you would refuse to go?

North Korea.

20. Do you believe in life after death?

Yes.

21. Do you talk to God?

Not as much as I ought to.

22. Any regrets?

Oh, yes. Too many.

23. If you could be anyone else in the world for just one day, who would you pick?

There's nothing I could do that would really change the world in one day as anyone else, so why bother? Whoever you were, they'd just change things right back the very next day. I think that would be even more frustrating than leaving them the way they are.

24. Who would you never want to be?

Anyone else.

25. Why wouldn't you want to be that person?

I'd rather be myself.

26. Tell me something that makes you uncomfortable:

Performing in public.

27. Now, something you are completely comfortable doing?

Writing.

28. Do you have a favorite childhood memory?

Reading The Hobbit while eating vanilla filled chocolate Pop Tarts.

29. Worst one?

If 17 counts as 'childhood', 15 May 1976, otherwise, second grade.

30. Think of a song that describes how you feel at this point in your life

I Got A Name - Jim Croce

31. What was the last social function you attended?

My son's wedding. In 2003. I don't do social functions often.

32. Is your life what you thought it would be at this point?

In some ways yes, and in some ways, not at all.

33. You can change one thing about your life right now. What would it be?

Without losing any of the cats I have now, my old cat, Sir Andrew Bugbane, would still be alive.

34. Is there anyone who knows everything about you? All of your secrets?

I'm not sure I know all of them myself; who ever understands themselves perfectly?

35. Is there anyone that you trust completely?

That would be God.

36. How did you find your way to your profession?

I didn't 'find my way' to it, it was a part of me since I was born, or at least as far back as I can remember.

37. Do you believe in life long monogamy?

I believe it's a good ideal, that some people are able to achieve, while some aren't. I don't believe in persecuting anyone, or pointing fingers, because they can't live up to an ideal.

38. What's your favorite food?

There are a lot of possibilities here: ham and eggs, at the moment.

39. Favorite alcoholic bevarage?

I don't drink; too afraid I'd turn out an alcoholic. My favourite non-alcoholic beverage is Virgil's root beer.

40. If you could talk to anyone in the world, who would it be?

Anne Frank.

41. What would you say to that person?

I'd tell her how sorry I was that the human race failed her so badly, and how much I admire the little writing she had time to do, and how very badly I wish I knew how to build a time machine so I could go back and get her out before she died. I'd let her know she was famous; that the Nazis didn't destroy her writing, her spirit, or her impact on the world. I'd tell her I hoped that made all she went through just a little bit easier. And then I'd tell her I knew just how little all that I said was, in the face of what she was dealing with...

42. What was the first concert you went to?

Olivia Newton-John (Making a Good Thing Better tour)

43. The last?

Gloria Estefan (I forget the tour; she did too many hits from too many albums...)

44. Are you a gadget guru? What kinds do you rock, if any?

Not in the high tech sense; I rely on my Pelikan piston fill fountain pens and my Moleskines... I'm pretty good with a letterpress, too.

45. What is the ringtone on your cell phone?

Just a basic ring tone; "Euro Phone", I think it's called.

46. Tell me 3 things you are afraid of:

Height, radiation / anything nuclear, and totalitarianism in any form.

47. Give me the names of your 3 favorite television programs:

Dempsey and Makepeace (British, from the '80s), Quantum Leap, Early Edition

48. What do you think is worse: having your heart broken by the one you love or breaking the heart of the one you love?

Breaking the heart of the one you love. Much worse. Having your own heart broken heals much faster.

49. Name a behavior of other people that you don't understand:

The whole mob hatred thing. It is just stupid, senseless....

50. What is something about you that you think others would not understand?

Why I've made some of the stupid choices I have, in the past.

Courage or Cowardice?

How should a writer respond to outrages such as the one I wrote about below? I don't ask this question in order to put anyone else on the spot. It is my belief each of us must make the best of our lives in our own fashion. I don't know anyone else's heart, or the deeds they do in secret. So if you've settled this question to your own satisfaction, I have no right to say your answer is the wrong one.

Even if you pursue a different course than I believe is wise, you may be right and I may be wrong, or each of us may be, in different ways, right. You may do more to make the world a better place than I ever manage to do. I ask the question because it is one I wrestle with. I am not satisfied that I have found the best answer.

When I learn of suffering and injustice, should I set aside the writing I'd like to be doing, and write endless articles in the hope someone will take notice? Or, should I learn about these things, absorb them, and then write whatever I am inclined to, trusting that my sensibilities will come through and influence my readers? One way, I am unhappy and it seems that no one ever listens.

The other way seems so inadequate, so selfish, even if there are examples of authors whose fiction has helped to shape the opinions of a society. I understand one of the reasons the media won't cover these stories; most people are tired of hearing about them, worn out with learning of tragedies it seems they can do nothing to prevent. I, too, am tired of hearing about them.

I'd like nothing more than to know that the outrages were ended, there was no need to hear of them or think of them any more. But that isn't the way the world works. So, as a writer, I have to ask myself the question, "What should I do? How can I best help?" Writing is my greatest talent, however limited that talent may be. And those who are weary of thinking about such things are more likely to read my thoughts if they're slipped into a work of fiction.

Yet, as any fiction writer knows, you can't write a thinly disguised tract and have it entertain anyone. Yes, I could churn out a melodrama within a few weeks, complete with sympathetic victims and posturing, horribly evil villains. And no one would want to read it, and even if they did, it would not do justice to the complexity of the subject.

You can't force fiction. I have to write the ideas that come to me. Will the right idea ever arrive? I have no way of knowing. Which way lies courage, and which way cowardice? I will probably continue to do as I have so far, writing fiction, and occasionally howling out in words of grief and rage when I learn of some more unbearable tragedy.

What does that make me? Am I a coward for not confronting these issues head on? Or would I simply be wasting my effort, doing nothing but easing my own conscience? The final decision is mine, I bear the responsibility, but I welcome the opinions of any of my readers who feel they have any answers. And I fear, whatever decision I make, I will never be wholly at peace with it as long as hatred takes its awful toll on the innocent.

Murphy's Visit - Or - Somebody Get That Guy Murphy!

The lawyer Murphy, famous for his Law, "anything that can go wrong, will go wrong", has decided to visit the Wandering Author. On the 30th, I had a very sore right shoulder, and could barely type. I put Tiger Balm on the shoulder to ease the pain, and discovered the fumes aggravated my sinuses, since I'm still battling a sinus infection.

That night, I found my shoulder would not allow me to lay down. Rather, when I did lay down, it was impossible to find a single position that did not make the shoulder much worse. After trying every possible position, all I accomplished was to hurt my shoulder so badly I could not lift my arm from my side even half an inch.

I tried sleeping in a chair, which allowed me to snatch a tiny bit of fitful rest. Murphy must have been distracted, because although my shoulder was stiff and would not work at all the next morning, gradual attempts to use it loosened it up until I can again use it for some things, with pain only if I lift my hand above my shoulder, hold my arm in certain positions, or put any weight in that hand.

Come nightfall, with a shoulder once more in need of rest, and still incapable of sleeping like a normal human, I settled into my chair. Over time, I became aware tht the furnace which had run that evening was not coming on. It is in the 20s (F) here (well below 0 C) and it really needed to come on. Brief investigations proved it was not working, but no repairmen are available until morning.

So, tired from lack of sleep the night before, with my only heat source my trusty computer, I sit up at the computer, hunched over it, trying to balance my need to rest my shoulder with my need to keep the cold seeping through the walls out of it. So, if any of you see Murphy about, please shoot him, or bludgeon him, or otherwise put an end to his miserable career of making things go wrong.

Just please make sure you have the right Murphy; they are a big family, and most of them are perfectly decent people. Oh, wait, that's another thing Murphy's sure to do. If you try to hunt him down, he'll make sure you get one of his innocent namesakes instead. I'm sure many of my readers will find this post absurd. I agree, it is very much so, but there are times when the only way to stay sane is to poke fun at Murphy and hope that will make him hide for a while.

Tragic News From Holland

I hate to post about such a sad subject during the Christmas season, but I just learned the news today. The chestnut tree which Anne Frank loved and wrote about in her diary can no longer be saved, and a permit to cut it down has already been applied for.

For anyone who ever read Anne's diary, this must be sad news. I knew the chestnut tree was ill, but the last I had heard it was still considered possible to save it. It was one of the few signs of the outside world she could see from her window, and one that gave her comfort. So another link with the life of a wonderful, talented girl whose life was so tragically, maliciously, and senselessly cut short will be lost.

I was at least pleased to read that there are plans to plant a descendant of this tree. I suppose this is all that can be done, sad as that thought may be. I believe that the webcam will be showing the tree's removal live once the permit has been granted. Personally, I doubt I will be able to bear to watch, although another part of me would like to be witness to its last moments.

When I was young, there was a chestnut tree on my way to school. It was always a wonderful, magical time when the chestnuts, many still wrapped in their prickly green outer casings, would begin to fall. I'd spend as many minutes as I could each morning gathering as many as I could, then I'd admire the beautiful, mahogany coloured nuts inside.

One of my teachers took an exceptional dislike to me, and did all in her power to make my life miserable. The situation became so terrible, the school superintendent even advised my parents on how much time they could legally have me excused from school without (quite) violating the law. While not an ordeal half so bad as Anne's, and certainly one with a much happier ending, a chestnut tree provided its comfort to me during a difficult time as well. Perhaps this is why I'm taking the news so hard.

They say there are no plans to reuse the wood from the felled tree. While I regret the death of the tree, if there is nothing else to be done, it would be nice if some good could come of it. Personally, I would think the would should be auctioned off in an online charity auction. The proceeds, of course, would go to perpetuating the memory of Anne Frank.

I know, if I had enough money I thought I had the slightest hope of winning the bidding, I'd spend every penny I could afford. Imagine being able to have a desk or chair made from the wood of that wonderful tree! Or, if a commercial buyer won the bidding, they could manufacture custom fountain pens with wooden barrels to sell - I'd happily pay an outrageous price for one of those.

I think Anne would have liked the idea, if her beloved tree were to die, of every possible bit of good being derived from it. It would raise money to honour her memory, and to combat the kind of hatred that took her life. It would also preserve some tiny bit of memory, some additional souvenir of her life. I hope my suggestion may reach the right ears in time to do some good.

A Brief Status Update

I will be writing another post on the issue of chain bookstores. Before I do, I want to assure you, yes, I do take this seriously, but I will not blame anyone for disagreeing with me. You have a right to your opinions, and it is not the kind of issue I'd start a quarrel over. But some comments did make me realise I didn't explain the issue as well as I would have liked to. I hope those of you who do disagree won't be offended by that.

I will also try to write a post soon listing some of the books, and authors, I've found worth reading over the years. It won't be the "100 best books ever" sort of post. It is just too hard to remember every book, then decide which of them was better than another. But I will list books I think are interesting, and I hope some of you will enjoy them if I tempt you to read them.

However, in the meantime, it's late, and I'm not sure when I'll get to writing either post, or when I'll get to editing my NaNo novel. Earlier this week, I discovered that I'd lost some of my bookmarks from my main collection. These are links I need, for my work and for my writing. I do have backup files, but each of these is missing some of the bookmarks (one is earlier, another was edited, and so on).

They are also in formats which will not import well in any central place, such as my browser or a bookmarking service. So, the only solution I have is to manually go through these files, figure out which links are duplicates, and assemble all of the links by hand. Some of you, who only have a few hundred bookmarks, no doubt think that sounds easy. In my case, I have a few thousand... and five partial files to sort through. I fear all my "spare time" for months will be spent recovering from this.

For those of you who think that is a bit drastic, I can only say that, in the past few days, not having these links conveniently to hand has cost me roughly an extra couple of hours per day digging out the resources I need. As I get more of them in one place, accessible, I hope that time will decrease, but there are other links I don't need right now, but will soon. Thus, the need to salvage all that I can.

the Wandering Author's Thanks This Year

On Thanksgiving Day, it seems appropriate to pause and give thanks, at least briefly, for those things we may not always appreciate as fully as we should. First, of course, I am thankful simply to be here on this earth. Most of us take it for granted, but life is a precious gift, and one without which we could not enjoy any other. I am thankful for Zachary Michael, my grandson, who was only recently granted this gift.

I am thankful for Andre, my son-in-law, who joined our family this year. I am thankful for Carol, a cousin who lives in Ireland and who I met for the first time this autumn, and for the rest of my family, those I'm close to, those I've met, those I've only written to, and those I've never had the chance to meet. I'm thankful for all the wonderful cats I've had the pleasure to know and love over the years, and especially for those who are sharing my life now.

I'm thankful no one lost their life, or was even seriously injured, in yesterday's explosion in Danversport, a result that seems miraculous. I'm thankful for all the writers and bloggers I've met this past year, as I began my own blog. I'm thankful for a wonderful new job, doing something I believe in. I'm thankful that it seems there may be a slight chance I will be able to finish NaNoWriMo after all, and that the novel I'm working on, although it will require extensive editing, does seem to have the potential to be an interesting book.

Finally, I'm thankful for so many little things it is impossible to list them all, tiny little bright spots. There are so many things in our lives that we enjoy but seldom stop to give thanks for. For various reasons, I'd given up using fountain pens a few years back, and just bought new bottles of ink and filled a few of my old pens so I could use them again a month or so ago. I'm thankful for fountain pens, and especially for my brand new, beautiful transparent amber Pelikan M250 fountain pen which arrived on Tuesday.

It may not seem like much, and there certainly are greater things to be thankful for, but whatever your "fountain pens" are, whatever holds that place in your life, don't forget to be thankful even for the small things, for the birds chirping in the bushes as you stroll outside, for the taste of a chocolate eclair, for a bottle of root beer, for whatever little things make each day a joy. Take the time to notice them, to enjoy them, and to be thankful for them.