Paper Covers

Pets and Scrapbooking

2007-12-05T14:33:00.001-05:00

One of the fun parts about writing about pets is the chance to become immersed in a subject and, at times, go off on wonderful tangents that lead to surprising places. This is what happened when I came across “Pet Pages Unleashed! Fetching ideas for animal-inspired scrapbook pages” From the Editors of Memory Makers Books. (ISBN 978-1-892127-72-3).
This is an inspiring book, 8.5 x 11, paperback with color photographs, that offers readers dozens of ways to incorporate the family pet into memory books or collages that can be framed and displayed on the wall. The book is divided into four chapters: 1) Welcome Home, pages dedicated to new pet additions to the family; 2) Animal Behavior: pages that capture quirky pet antics, habbits, activities, and mannerisms; 3) Pet Personalities: pages that portray the unique characteristics and qualities of pets; and 4) Pets and Their Favorite People: pages that pay tribute to the bond between pets and the people who love them.
I appreciated the variety of pets represented in this book. Beyond cats and dogs, there are lizards, rabbits, turtles and even a beautiful crab. The page / collage examples are large enough to see just how things were put together, plus the book gives the materials used in each collage, the brand name of materials whenever possible, plus there is a resource list at the back of the book with websites of where to get materials.
The “Pet Page Topics” offered to help readers know where to start includes commemorating:
• How your pet joined the family
• adoption day or lineage
• Growth Chart
• Personality traits
• Special talents and tricks
• A day in the life
• House rules according to your pet
• Favorite possessions
• Holidays with your pet
• Pet Birthdays
• Childhood/past pets

I recommend “Pet Pages Unleashed!” to anyone who wants to undertake creative activities that will strengthen the pets bond within the family. This book would also offer ideas for parent/child or classroom activities. And, the samples include old-fashioned cut-and-paste collage along with samples created using the computer and software such as Photoshop.
I came across this book at my local library. You might find it at yours, or on Amazon. There is still time to use the ideas in it to make a great holiday present for the pet lover in your life.... or for you!
--Janice Phelps, Author of “Open Your Heart with Pets: Mastering Life through Love of Animals” 12/5/07

Helping Your Pet Adjust to Change

2007-12-05T14:32:00.000-05:00

Change... Sometimes we look forward to it; sometimes we dread it. But some change is inevitable. The trick is how to integrate change into our lives in the most positive way possible. If it's hard, if it hurts, that's a big order; maybe, you say, an impossible order. We'll save the most difficult-situation-you-can-imagine type of change for another day. Most of us live in the realm of "typical changes most of us encounter at some point." How do we help our pets, who often thrive on routine, cope with change?

Coping with change begins before change is on the horizon. Change (i.e. stress, which can be positive or negative) is easier to deal with when we've already established a foundation of daily activity that gives our pet security and happiness. Good food, enough exercise and attention, an appropriate place to spend time while we are away (i.e., adequate cage space and toys for a bird or kong-type toys and a view out a window for a dog). Weekly habits and activities —going through the drive-through bank and getting a treat (dog), dancing and singing to CDs (parrot), being brushed, playing with an interactive toy (dog/cat)—act as a frame that encircles the being of your pet and gives boundaries and structure to its daily life. When a pet has this structure and feels loved and secure, it is easier to adapt to change.

Recently, my two dogs, Tyler (a 6-year-old Pekingese) and Jackie (a 4-year-old Chihuahua), and my parrot Gracie (a 10-year-old Maximillian Pionus) were asked to adjust to change when I married Mark Williams and we moved into his home with his dog Farley (a 4-year-old whippet/beagle mix). This move involved many changes from our pets' point of view: sharing "mom" and "dad" with another human being, perhaps, the most significant. In the case of my dogs, it also meant moving from a house with a tiny fenced yard and an often noisy downtown neighborhood to a villa where several friendly dogs also walk around the pretty circular street of our neighborhood, a more enclosed area. I mention this because in our former home Tyler could often hear other dogs, but seldom saw them (they were in fenced in backyards as well). He definitely seems happier and less threatened (Pekes are very territorial) in this quieter place.

There was also the presence of another dog to adjust to or, in Farley's case, two more dogs coming into her home. She had never had to adjust to a woman being around. For Tyler and Jackie, different smells, different places to potty, a new walking routine, and a new sleeping routine (a large crate rather than in bed with me).

I'm happy to say that all three dogs have adjusted really well, as has Gracie. The changes were positive ones, but still, when change starts an animal doesn't necessarily know all is going to be well. How can we help them face the unknown?

Mark and I found the following points good to remember in helping our pets cope with transition:

1) Identify what makes your pet happiest and be sure to keep doing these things. Each of our pets has one or more favorite activities, and we made sure they still got to do these things as often as possible. The repeat of these activities, albeit in a different location and with additional participants around, was important:

For Tyler this meant his favorite pink stuffed bird toy and his basket of other toys. Also, it meant being allowed to sit (properly like a little "guy") at the table when we eat. I know this sounds odd, but we are older, there are no kids at home any longer and we like it. Tyler sits on his hind legs and puts his two front paws daintily on the edge of the table, his back a perfect ruler, and watches us while we eat and talk, knowing he, and the other two dogs, will get a small treat when we are done.

For Farley this has meant maintaining "cookie time." Farley gets a large flat rawhide after dinner. That is her joy in life. The other dogs have accepted that this is her thing. They do not need it (Tyler would fight over his and Jackie at 6 lbs doesn't need a lot of rawhide in her tummy). We've decided that fair is not the same as equal and we opt for fair, which is letting Farley keep her tradition. For Farley, this also means "riding in the car with Dad when he goes grocery shopping" (when weather permits). The other dogs join her in this activity, and, being a friendly dog, she is happy to have them along.

For Jackie, her favorite activity is sitting next to either Mark or I in the chair and being "right there." Also, snuggling under the blanket at nap time. So, when an afternoon nap is taken, all the dogs are allowed on the bed and Jackie is allowed to be the one to snuggle under the blanket.

For Gracie, our parrot, shower time is important to her. I have a shower perch that I use for her and once or twice a week she joins me in the shower.

Walks are also important to Tyler and high-energy Farley and we have maintained this for all the dogs.

In addition to keeping these traditions, we've added new activites, so -- from our pets point of view -- we are sure that the change of moving and marriage has been, at the end of the day, a positive experience.

1) Farley no longer has to stay home alone while Dad works. She always has someone here now to play with her and to take her out throughout the day. Also, being a friendly dog, she likes having other dogs in the house. I give credit to Farley's open-heartedness, more than anything, for easing the transition for Tyler and Jackie.

2) Tyler, like the "little boy" that he is, loves having a "daddy." He sits by Mark while he writes, accompanies him and Farley to the store, sits on the porch with him, and takes a position near Farley during TV time. Tyler has also joined Farley at Drummond Island chasing squirrels. And, while there, we found out that Tyler loves the water and loves to swim!

3) Jackie has benefited by having another person to hold her. That is all that matters to her. Being a little dog, she has been slowest to accept sharing me and Mark with Farley. But every day she opens her heart a bit more and they are becoming friends.

There is so much more going on in the activity of a family than there was in a single-person home, and the pets benefit from this as well. Their lives are more interesting. It may not be that way for other singles, but I am a person who spends a lot of the day sitting at the computer writing, and this can't be too much fun for dogs. Now, they have more to do. They have a more interesting neighborhood to take their walks in. They lost a fenced back yard, but gained a screened porch. Gracie went from a room with other parrots (three of our parrots were rescued parrots that homes have been found for) to being right in the center of family life with her cage in the large space that is dining room/living room/kitchen. She loves it.

I thought my dogs would miss our former home, but it seemed that once I said "I do," they said "We do too!" and never really wanted to return to their old home. When I took them with me one time at the end of the moving process, they viewed the house, it seemed to me, about as I did: Well, this was a nice old house, it looks familar, but it's not home any longer. Thanks for the memories—let's go home!

There have been a few bumps. I had tried to adopt an older dog earlier in the year, and this resulted in a serious dog bite for me and three fights for Tyler. But Jackie seemed to suffer the most enduring fear aggression from that experience. I think that's why it's taken longer for her to warm up to Farley. Farley is a talkative dog, and Jackie just can't figure out what that barking means. Also, Jackie personifies that dog-lovers T-shirt that says, "If it was once mine, it's mine. If I like it, it's mine. If it is yours, it's mine!"

If you are facing change, such as a move, the addition of a child or spouse, a change in job hours, an illness or operation that might limit your activities, spend some time identifying the most important habits/routines in the life of your pet so that you can do your best to keep that frame (structure) around their being (existence). There should be about five:

1) When and what does he eat?

2) What is his favorite playtime activity? What is his favorite toy?

3) Who are his favorite people and/or animal friends? Keep them visiting if possible. If not, set up positive situations with new friends.

4) What is his exercise routine? How does he get his energy out?

5) What is his favorite bonding-time or quiet-time routine (i.e. brushing, napping on the bed, sitting on your lap when you watch TV, taking a shower/bath in the case of a bird)?

By establishing a good foundation, noting what makes your pet happy, and then keeping those important things on-going in the midst of change, your pet will continue to be a happy member of your family.

Carpe Diem!

Janice Marie Phelps, Author of "Open Your Heart with Pets"

Alum Creek Dog Park

2007-12-05T14:30:00.000-05:00

Recently, I discovered just how many dog lovers (owners, rescue folks, and people who just like to be around dogs) there are in Northern Columbus (Ohio). Mark (my husband) and I joined Poundhounds Adoption Welfare Society at Alum Creek Dog Park. Poundhounds is only a few years old, but they have done so much for dogs already. They have foster dogs and match them up with good owners; some of the dogs they foster have been rescued from "pounds." They raise money through dog washes, microchipping and nail clipping and, my favorite, taking photos of dogs and their owners with assorted Buckeye novelties, with the beautiful autumn leaves in the background.

I learned that Alum Creek Dog Park was started just two years ago by a woman on a mission. In one half of the summer of 2006, approx. 40,000 cars visited this area of the park, the second most visited section of Alum Creek Park. Still, it is not supported by the government, but by private donations. It was great seeing the constant stream of cars visiting on this October Saturday. By the afternoon the parking lot was full.

There were Newfundlands, Retrievers, Labs, St. Bernards.... in the large area. And Pomeranians, Chihuahuas, and other small dogs in the smaller dog area. Plus a few labs were having a ball in the enclosed dog beach area. As the trees showed some color (finally) and a sailboat went by on the lake, I thought this was a great way to spend a day spreading the word about Poundhounds and Open Your Heart with Pets.

I will be at Poundhounds next fundraiser, put on by the Powell Woman's Assocation. It is "Pictures with Santa" and more info can be found at www.ohiopoundhounds.com.

Open-Hearted Animal Lovers are Everyday Heroes

2007-12-05T14:28:00.000-05:00

Several years ago I wrote a book entitled What Saved Me: A Dozen Ways to Embrace Life. (under the pen name Claire Starr). In it I mentioned the importance of everyday heroes: the veteran next door, the senior citizen on a limited budget who is still able to make a donation to a charity or take the time to help a child learn to love reading, those who volunteer for Special Olympic events, or work to make the lives of others better, without any sense of karmaic rebate, just because it feels like the right thing to do.
There should be another word, just one word, for “everyday hero,” because a hero or a heroic effort should be reserved for those who risk their life for others. But, I don’t know what word or term to insert between selfless/altruistic person and a heroic person. So, “everyday hero” will have to do for today. Perhaps you have a better word?
Which brings me around to the everyday heroes who work on behalf of animals; they are in communities throughout the U.S., and throughout the world, working to help non-human beings who are unable to take things into their own hands or, more accurately, paws, claws, or wings. Creatures unable to speak for themselves depend upon humans to act in their best interest and, thank God, many do.
I recently had the pleasure of working with a new organization, Fairfield County CARES to create a website for them to begin gathering resources for concerned pet lovers in Central Ohio. My efforts were small and not selfless, for FC-CARES gave me a page to promote Open Your Heart with Pets: Mastering Life through Love of Animals. The everyday hero I’m thinking of this afternoon is also named Janice, but she is Janice Kobi—a wife, mother, fundraiser, advocate...a one-woman “energizer bunny” who brings to mind that famous quote “comforting the afflicted and afflicting the comfortable.” Janice doesn’t want us to be comfortable with less-than-compassionate practices in animal control facilities. She doesn’t want us to be comfortable with abuse in our community, whether directed toward humans, old or young, male or female, or animals. In the face of heartache, Janice Kobi continues to do what she can to help others. She is a person who always has an open heart, a heart that says “Yes!” to improvement, to effort, to hope. She is an everyday hero.
The site I mentioned—http://www.fairfieldcountycares.org—will give folks in the Central Ohio area a place to go for all the information they need to responsibly adopt an animal, volunteer for a rescue organization, or keep informed about legislation concerning animals in their area. It’s just a start-up right now, but let’s not despise the day of small beginnings. Everything starts somewhere and when people are propelled to act with limited budget and in the face of political and social speed bumps, well my hat’s off to them.
There are hundreds, if not thousands, of similar efforts going on throughout the world; but all these efforts started with one person saying yes; to opening their heart. Best Friends of Utah, the Humane Association of the United States, the list could fill this blog... efforts are being made, animals are being saved, hearts are being opened.
If you would like to share the story of an everyday hero who works to make life better for animals, email me at OYH.PETS@gmail.com. I hope to write a sequel to Open Your Heart with Pets one day and to include more real-life stories of animal lovers. Also, I'd like to include some of your stories on this blog. Be sure to include your name and address in the email to me, if you want your story considered for the sequel, and understand that submission gives me the write to include your story in my book, with editorial license and credit given to you as is right and ethical and legal. (Your name, address and email will not be given or sold to another company, but are used solely to collect real-life stories for a second book for animal lovers.)
Thank you for bringing the efforts of everyday heroes, open-hearted animal lovers, to light, so that we can be encouraged and inspired by their example!---Janice Marie Phelps 10/28/07

Angel on My Shoulder

2005-09-15T21:46:00.000-04:00

This article was written for AERAS's Newsletter. You can visit AERAS online at: www.aeras-parrot.org.

Angel on My Shoulder
Janice M. Phelps
Tonight, an angel sat upon my shoulder. She was not as "light as a feather," but as light as many feathers, as light as the soft touch of a caring friend. Her feathers brushed against my cheek; her smooth beak nuzzled in my hair...

She doesn’t seem to mind that I’m tired from a long day’s work and sweaty from unusual September humidity. She doesn’t seem to mind that my makeup faded hours ago, I am watching CNN and drinking diet coke while reading the newspaper and gently rubbing her new pin feathers through my thumb and forefinger. She lets me do this; carefully remove the stiff sheath, releasing the small clean feathers that lie flat on her head like a sleek do.

Tonight was the first night she stayed up later than "the others." Tonight was the first night she stayed alone with me, on my shoulder, receiving kisses and loving words, bopping to the voices of Anderson Cooper and Paula Zahn, eyeing our two small dogs with less apprehension than she did six months ago. Yes, it’s been six months since Sugar came to stay. Since I said to AERAS, "I promise..." and Sugar said "Whoonk!"

I didn’t really need another bird. (Okay, is that the most frequently written sentence uttered by bird lovers everywhere?) My clutch included Bailey, a 4-year-old Goffin’s cockatoo, Gracie, a 6-year-old Maximillian Pionus, Pip, a 1-year-old Fisher’s lovebird, Tyler, a 4-year-old Pekingnese, and Jackie, a 2-year-old Chihuahua, and a rather nice aquarium. But, the house is big, I work at home, Goffin’s are relatively easy to care for and I thought a same-species friend would be good for Bailey.

AERAS’s site listed Snuggles, a 20-year-old Goffin’s cockatoo who had spent her life sitting on top of a bird cage and was given up for adoption because her owner didn’t have enough time for her. Time for her? I thought. How much time does it take to let a bird sit on top of her cage all day? I tried not to be judgmental and felt that there must be more to the story. If there was, the fault was not with Snuggles; she has not been one gram of trouble.

I changed Snuggle’s name to Sugar because she is the purest white; I have a weakness for sugar and had months earlier been forced to drastically cut back on its consumption. Forty-five pounds less now, adopting Sugar was a good replacement for eating candy.

Since I live alone and work at home I knew I would be able to give Sugar the stable and loving environment a rescued bird needs. I thought the other birds would be good for her to, and she has certainly been good for them. Bailey, at first cautiously timid, now accepts Sugar climbing up on top of Bailey’s big cage each morning, sharing her toys and food with Sugar and even, recently, calling to her from one part of the house to the other: "Ougar!" Sugar, never a talker, has tried to imitate Bailey’s calls, including "Mama!" Mostly though she is a quiet bird; her morning and dusk-time calls last for no more than five minutes, if that, and are not disturbing at all.

Goffin’s are a great species for anyone wanting a medium-sized parrot. They have the cuddle-factor of most cockatoos, but have less dust, smaller beaks, and less lung power. Their faces are very expressive. Bailey’s expressions include: consternation (furrowing of her forehead and a flatting of her crown), curiosity (lifting of her crown), brattiness (squawking for her own way), love (stroking my face with her beak in an up and down motion), bravery (she loves to swing holding onto the end of a dog leash with her beak), friendliness (once she sees a person is accepted into the home), independence (plays well with toys), and domesticity. I don’t know if this is true of all Goffin’s but Bailey loves the dishwasher, washing machine, making pies or cookies, making pancakes, toast, and watching the microwave...also sitting on the faucet and sipping water.

But, back to Sugar... She has been with me for six months now and until recently showed no signs of becoming more comfortable with stepping up or sitting with me. Then, I put a towel over my arm and she stepped right up! Tonight, she didn’t want to go to bed ("go in your house" is the bedtime signal), so after covering the other birds’ cages (just to prevent any jealousy or curiosity as they were to go to sleep), I picked her up and took her downstairs to my chair, and we had our time together.
"This is nice Sugar... we should do this more often," I crooned into her unseen ear. "Let me help with those tiny feathers; they must be itchy. I can help with that... Let’s do this again; this can be your time with Mommy. What a pretty girl. What a good girl you are..."

About two months ago I was in the local department store, the pet aisle, and saw an acrylic bird toy: a spinning mirror that affixed to the cage (approx. $3.00). I brought it home intending it for Bailey. But, Sugar came across her cage top and over to investigate. Since she was so curious, I clasped it on her cage top and soon discovered that she played with it every day. It was her favorite toy. Soon, she was playing with the wood sticks I’d bought at a bird fair and had had sitting around for about two years. At Wal-mart I found small wooden trucks in their craft department (88 cents). She loved her truck and chewed the wheels off with glee. Yeah, Sugar!
Sugar adopted us in March. It’s now September. She spends her days sitting on top of a huge cage looking out the window at the leaves on two giant trees, watching them go from bare, to buds, to leaves and now to orange. She can hear the children in the neighborhood come home from school. She can see my car when it drives away and when it returns. She can hear the mailman clang the mailbox and the newspaper boy plop the newspaper. She hears the phone ring in my office and knows that if she has a need for me, I am only right at the bottom of the steps.

She’s learned that a tiny Chihuahua is really only interested in any peanuts she might drop and the Pekingnese has a bond with avians that is uncanny and deep. They seem to communicate without words, and know just how to interpret the nuances of their respective body movements, no matter how small. During my lunch break, I go into the birds’ room, turn their TV from WOSU to CNN, lie down on the twin bed in there and Bailey, Gracie, Pip and Tyler make their way onto the bed, onto me, and we forget about deadlines, bills, the cost of gas, the war in Iraq, the sad situation in the Gulf states, and other birds without forever homes. We think of all we have, and how the best things don’t cost too much at all. The best thing is having birds who spend their days with their cage doors open, but they don’t want to fly away. They are happy, they are loved, they are home.

Sugar watches from her perch and sees the others interacting with me at lunchtime; I think this has given her the confidence to enjoy spending time sitting with me on her own. It makes me feel so good to know that she needed a home and I was able to provide it; that she is not in danger of mistreatment or neglect; that she found her forever home with me.

Being a guardian to birds is a serious commitment; it’s a long commitment; but I think it makes one a better human. A dog will love most anyone. A bird’s love is a prize that must be earned. Because birds are not as easy for humans to understand, it takes a person being willing to learn, observe, talk with others, try new things, persevere at times, and look for small signs of success. A bird requires that we be our best selves; and that is a blessing. It’s a blessing to be needed, wanted, and loved. To know that your presence is required; and with these rescued birds, it is required. They cannot just fly into a tree and survive. Someone, at some point, decided to hold them captive and to tame them. They cannot go back to the wild. Someone, at some point, let them down, and now they have no one to follow through and care for them until they fly to heaven.

It feels good to restore their faith in humans and to let them know they now have a place to call home, dependable food, and toys to play with.

Like most people, I have a busy life. I run two businesses, a graphic design and editing studio and a publishing company, and have an employee, two grown sons (one of whom is disabled), and hobbies that I don’t always have time for. But I’ve counted how much time the birds take each day, and actually the time they need undivided attention comes out to about an hour a day (and about half of that is for cleaning and food prep). Most of the time we spend together I am doing other things as well (watching TV, straightening up the house, doing my exercises, talking on the phone, working at my computer, reading the newspaper). The birds get up at 7 a.m. and go to bed by 7 p.m. They have their own room and their cages get covered at night. A regular schedule seems to be important to them and to me.

Sugar has been a great addition to our family and I am so glad that AERAS rescued her and made it possible for me to have another angel on my shoulder. She truly has an angelic spirit and caring for her has given me the opportunity to be her angel as well.

Paper Covers

2005-08-18T13:33:00.000-04:00

Paper Covers

Publishing statistics

2005-08-18T13:14:00.000-04:00

The Columbus (OH) Dispatch ran a good article 8/16/05 on "New Chapter in Publishing: Internet bookselling opens door for the little guy." Here are a few snippets:

There are 83,000 publishers in the U.S.
Of those, 70,000 have 10 or fewer titles.
In 2004, 11,500 publishers opened their businesses.
This was a 70% increase over 1995.

195,000 (approx.) new books were published in the U.S. in 2004.
This figure is 114,000 more books than in 1995.

Interesting is that fact that while 114,000 more books were published in the U.S. in 2004 than in 1995, the actual number of books sold annually has remained "relatively flat" in the last decade.

Approx. 2.29 billion books were sold last year.

The Dispatch mentioned Al Greco's book "The Book Publishing Industry" which sounds like a good book to read, for anyone interested in the future of publishing.

Choices Facing Authors...

2005-08-17T11:36:00.000-04:00

Pick a genre:
adult fiction; adult nonfiction; children’s fiction and children’s nonfiction (see list that follows)

Length of manuscript

Short stories: 30 double-spaced manuscript pages
Novellas: 30 to 150 double-spaced manuscript pages
Novels: 250 to 450 double-spaced manuscript pages
Nonfiction: varies

Category/genre/niche:

The Book Industry Study Group publishes what is known as a BISAC list of categories that are standard within the book industry. You can obtain this list (BISAC Subject Headings) from http://www.bisg.org.

Editing:
After writing the book, hiring an editor. This is recommended whether you are self-publishing or seeking an agent or publisher. There are many independent editors (for my qualifications and references, please visit http://www.janicephelps.com). If you sell the rights to your book to a publisher, the manuscript will also be edited in-house. Regardless, you should work with an editor before submitting your book to an agent or publisher.

After the manuscript is in tip-top shape the following must be addressed:
IF YOU ARE GOING TO SELF-PUBLISH:

What will be the name of your publishing company?
You will need to apply for an ISBN log so that you can sell your books through retailers.
How will your books be sold? By you; by a wholesaler; by a distributor?
You must develop a marketing plan to each of your markets: readers; wholesalers; bookstores; etc.
What price will your book be?
What discount will you offer?
How will you physically handle the ordering and shipping process?
What software will you use for bookkeeping and what will the terms be?
Will you accept returns?
Will you sell internationally, nationally, regionally, statewide or locally?
Who will you hire to design your book?
How will the book be printed? Web, sheetfed, digital
How many books will you print?
5,000; 3000; 1500;
under 500 (known as a short run or PQN, print quantity needed)
print on demand (known as POD)
How will you tell your market about your book?
What pub date will you establish for your book?
Will you be publishing books by other authors?
How will you address the issue of self-publication?

IF YOU ARE GOING TO SEEK PUBLICATION
The market for your manuscript will be, at this point, agents and/or publishers. Are you going to seek and agent or a publisher?
You will need to research who the most likely agents or publishers are for your book.
Will you send out multiple submissions?
You will need to assemble your materials for submission. This involves two stages:
Stage 1: A query letter; a synopsis; and, for non-fiction, your qualifications to write the book
Stage 2: after receiving the go-ahead.... a cover letter and the first chapter and two additional chapters, and the information found in the Author’s Marketing Input Sheet in Wham! Bam! Publishing: The Strategic Marketing Plan for Authors and Publishers.
Note: For nonfiction, your manuscript does not need to be completed. For fiction, your manuscript must be completed.

What is manuscript form?

Double–space your work.
It should be typed in 12-pt type, Times Roman typeface with one-inch margins on each side.
There must be a header on each page, with the title and your name in the top lef-hand corner and consecutive and continuous page numbering in the top right-hand corner.
Do not bind or staple your proposal. It is okay to put a rubber band around it.
Do not "typeset" it in MS Word.
Do not design a cover.
Do not send illustrations.
________________________________________________________________
A basic list of genres
FICTION
romance (gothic, traditional, Native American, Western, historical, time travel, futuristic, fantasy, vampire and paranormal)
mysteries and crime novels
thrillers and suspense novels
horror
science fiction and fantasy
historical novels
literary (or mainstream) novels
"The literary novel thrives on the reputation and consummate skill of the writer, on book reviews and blurbs from other more famous writers and on word of mouth." Peter Rubie

NONFICTION
narrative nonfiction (character-driven nonfiction having a structure that echoes fiction)
"A book of nonfiction must contain much information and should not be used as a soapbox for you to spout your pet grievance. Carefully and honestly recount in a strongly written narrative infused with much emotional content what it was like to go through the experience. People must trust you as an informed guide to the topic you’re writing about before they’ll bother to read what you have to say. That’s why most successful nonfiction is written by either journalists or experts of one sort or another." Peter Rubie
biography
memoirs
"commercially successful memoirs are about traumatic events in a writer’s life that a writer of exquisite skill can transform into a universal experience we can all share." Peter Rubie
How-to Books
Reference Books
Cookbooks
Travel Books
Pop Culture
Humor
Children’s Books
Young Adult

Almost a year's worth of progress

2005-08-17T07:25:00.000-04:00

A year ago I rec'd the message heard by many forty-somethings who've sat too long in front of computers, staring at lines of text while their more adventurous peers were "spinning" and kickboxing... the exact wording is forgotten, but the internal translation follows: "you're getting older; you're getting fat; your sugar's elevated; time for some change." Fortunately, the message reached me at the time every year I start thinking about my goals for the coming year; so the most important goal became crystal clear: just figuring out how to discipline myself enough to transform my body into a vessel/carrier/physical manifestation of my spirit/THING that will carry me into the next three and a half decades, which is how long I will need to live to catch up to my fit-and-fabulous mother, who has redefined the eightieth decade for everyone who knows her.

First went the sugar: goodbye morning stops at the Donut House; goodbye sweet teas and sugar-laden coffees; goodbye Miss Meringue; Circus Peanuts; seven-layer cookies; key lime cheesecake; spearmint lozenges. These friends became enemies. (imagine cute drawing of little-shop-of-horror-like candies glowering in a kitchen cabinet)

I pulled out my crochet hooks, bought more yarn than any woman who owns her own thriving business should have and started to crochet. Every evening I picked up that hook, put a parrot on my shoulder and made scarves (everyone in my family got them for Christmas), purses, and the start of what I think is a pretty good idea for a large-scale installation project commemorating big-world tragedies (as yet unfinished; not the tragedies, they keep going on for some reason).

By January I had lost almost 20 lbs.

In March, I received a call from Cathy Moxley of Fitness Insight (www.fitness-insight.com). Cathy was ready to hire a designer and editor for her upcoming book "The Busy Mom's Ultimate Fitness Guide" and we struck a sweet deal. Some of my services would be traded for some of her services and, voila, I had my very own fitness/health coach! Let the games begin.

Cathy is a certified "Wellness Coach" and her organization, encouragement, and practical approach fit my shrinking hips perfectly. We set goals (weekly, monthly, 3-month) and began.

I wrote down everything I ate. Still do.

Hello to snap peas, big salads with all the good stuff like at Olive Garden, Splenda, protein bars, lean meat, skim milk, and a new appreciation of apples. Before I knew it the first 12 weeks was up and the weight was down... down 15 more lbs!

In the meantime, I found someone kind enough to tolerate my amateur attempts at "spending time in the beautiful wooded Hocking Hills" and who introduced me to compasses, backpacks, comfortable tents that fold and compact themselves into tiny, lightweight packages and the incredible amount of water one needs to consume when hiking in 90-degree weather -- I traded my crochet hooks for comfortable hiking shoes and off we went.

In the meantime, the second 12-week session with Cathy began. I discovered how much my Pekingnese loves to walk and how hard our Chihuahua will push herself to keep up. I found out how lovely it is to sit atop the rocks at Mt. Pleasant, look down upon the little town of Lancaster, and read a book that I choose purely for pleasure, not because someone has paid me to read it.

I lost five more pounds.

I discovered that one can really get a lot of exercise in if one's butt moves from the couch a mere foot lower to the floor, onto a matt, and just keeps moving through "Everybody Loves Raymond" and "Two and a Half-Men." I discovered that a cockatoo really likes to perch on your chest while you do crunches and blow her feathers each time you compress your stomach muscles.

I read "The Stone Diaries" (finally), "Good in Bed," and a book by a blind woman who is an artist. I went painting with the Ohio Plein Air Society (OPAS), treated myself to teeth-whitening (more than you wanted to know, right?) and spoke before three groups: The Writer's Bloc at Thurber House; a not-for-profit childrens group at Henry Manor; and at the Fairfield County Library. I overcame my fear of giving speeches. I bought new clothes. Lots. I let my hair grow out. I bought pretty shoes.

I learned that a man who knows everything about being outside also knows a ton about cooking and I found out how good things can taste without sugar, salt, and a lot of other stuff that does me no good. I learned grocery shopping can be interesting and enjoyable instead of a test of willpower.

I lost five more pounds.

Now, 45 lbs less, a year later, the journey continues. I have new goals; I am finding out what works. I am so very very thankful. Thankful to those who by their words, their knowledge, and their patience, pointed me in the right direction and stayed by me to make sure I didn't fall off the path in exhaustion.

I feel the healthiest I've every felt in my life, and that's saying quite a lot really. My mind and my body have shifted and become used to the new "familiar."

Yesterday I returned to my doctor for The Annual Check-up. I sprinted up the six flights of steps to her office. Blood sugar, totally normal. Blood pressure from 140/100 to 120/80.

My family doctor of six years told me she was moving to Kentucky. I would have to see a new doctor. Some day.... for now, I've got to help plan the next big hike, take my dog for a walk, learn a new exercise from Cathy's book, and buy a new dress to wear to my mother's birthday dinner in December.... I wonder what I will learn in the next 12 months? What will you?

Flowers Forty Years Ago

2005-04-14T16:55:00.000-04:00

Spring is sprung and . . . the height of decadence . . . I wandered happily in the local Lowe's touching plants, deciphering labels (full sun, part sun,), consulting the "safe for parrots" list for indoor plants . . . comparing all-purpose bloom booster to rose food.

Here's what I remember, kneeling down in the cool northeastern Ohio (Canfield to be exact) grass next to my "Aunt" Wanda. She was really my cousin, hence the quotations, but I was about five and she was about 45 so to me she was my aunt. I can clearly remember one day, kneeling next to her, putting those bulbs in the ground. Then we went for a walk down the street with my favorite toy, a stuffed monkey I'd named Joe. Wanda holding one of Joe's plastic hands and me the other. I'm sure there was lemonade and cookies along the way.

Aunt Wanda passed away several years ago, but I glanced at her photo today -- it hangs in my living room, she's smiling, with my son's arm around her on one holiday or another -- and I thought of her. And I thought of that spring day forty-odd years ago.

Hooray for extended family members, cool Ohio grass (I lived in Florida long enough to appreciate that), spring that is a separate month (Florida again) and the fresh air, the boy next door cutting the grass, the bees buzzing around the flowering shrubs the burst of yellow color I saw yesterday in a gorgeous forsythia bush growing alongside a creek, seeming to laugh at me as I sped by, tax returns on my mind.

Yeah for lemonade, ice tea, all the family birthdays in May and June. Mother's Day, the end of my youngest son's first year of college.

Pansies sit now on my back deck waiting for their honored place. I put up the new flag I won in a raffle; it's cloth and sewn and not that cheap kind I had last year that ended up looking like a relic from World War II.

I'm sorry Terry Shiavo died. I'm sorry the Pope died. I'm sorry for the missing girls in Florida and California, the young Ohio soldier missing in Iraq. I'm sorry, but I can't be sad anymore. Sadness has to end. Spring has to come. Nature knows this. I know it too. It's a bit cruel but human nature, I suppose.

Yes, I have spring fever. I caught it from Aunt Wanda years ago.

Things I Found Not To Be True

2005-04-12T20:56:00.000-04:00

Way back, decades ago ... how can that be? I was facing a panel of "Real Life Working Artists" also known as my professors, waiting for their verdict on my Senior Project. The project consisted of a one-person art show in the university. Unfortunately, I'd failed my first one. The renderings were accurate enough, but they were too illustrative for my avant garde, non-representational loving mentors who, I realize now, did me a favor. They thought so at the time, because when I returned months later with my second show, I passed hands down, grabbed my BFA and, having honed that starving artists, dark-eyed appearance down pat, promptly started . . . planning a wedding.

"We know you are getting married," they'd said. "Don't you get busy and forget about your art. Don't you forget to paint, or you'll lose your talent," they warned.

I nodded, "Of course, I won't stop painting."

But I did.

I fell into someone else's life, and before I knew it all I wanted to be able to do was keep the house clean enough and raise children unscathed by a difficult marriage.

Slowly though, like tiny plants under the snow in winter, ideas, images, colors, sounds, rumbled around quietly in the depths of my personality. A book idea here . . . a sculptured figure there . . . a life drawing class . . . a painting trip to North Carolina . . . a box of pastels . . . a watercolor of nothing but water. I started to keep notebooks: "Drawings," "Dolls," "Writings." I registered copyrights and started to learn piano.

Weaving in and out of the day-to-day life of a mother, I pulled along a ribbon of creativity and it lightly swished past my face and through the memories of my children. I held onto it after my divorce, and wiped my tears with it more than once.

I didn't forget and I didn't lose my talent. They were wrong. Everything I experienced as a young wife and mother fell into the pockets of my invisible painting smock and waited there, patiently, for me to gain the wisdom to view them anew. When I did, creation turned out to be so much easier than it had been in my twenties. I only had to please myself, and I became free to try anything. I also was free to fail. Free not to be "the best." Free to enjoy the process. Free of the fear that I would never be an Artist.

Today, I was in the grocery store. "Put that down, now!" exclaimed the young mother behind me in line, in that tired mother voice that is so often heard in grocery stores. My first impulse was to be critical. Does she know how angry she sounds? I thought. Then I turned around. She had a baby in the front of the cart and a young boy of about three was trying his best not to touch the brightly colored impulse items hanging at his eye level. My heart softened.

"They are the same age difference as my boys are," I said, smiling. She replied in a much kinder voice as well, and stated her son was usually well behaved.

"It's hard not to touch these things, they are irresistable." I told her that my children were now in their twenties, and how fast it went. I also said I remembered what it was like to be so tired and have so many demands as a mother of young kids.

I paid for my groceries, wished her a good day and moved along. Home. Home to my business where I draw, paint, design, write, edit and make a living doing what I love. And, being a mother. How great is that?

The professors were wrong. The talent doesn't leave. The creativity doesn't leave. There is time in life for each phase of life and there are ways to keep creativity alive during the fallow years. I wish they had told me that instead. I would have had more hope in the future.

Happy New Year 2005

2005-01-01T18:21:00.000-05:00

I took some time off during the Thanksgiving-Christmas holiday period to concentrate on family, painting, and business. And now, here it is, a brand new year. I love New Year's Day! The year stretches in front of me like a wonderful, mysterious present waiting to unfold.

My New Year's Day activities, just now, did fall into the slightly absurd. I seldom "surf the net" because spending so much time at a desk and computer as is required to put together books, tends to make me want to stretch my legs and arms and look into the distance when I can, rather than spend even more time online. But, this gray Ohio day, well-rested, sons now returned to their homes, all signs of leftover holiday food gone...the Christmas tree giving one last hurrah as it gives a sideways glance at the empty ornament box on the dining room floor... I decided to look up statistics on the Internet. Yes, my friends, this is what curious minds do when they have too much time on their hands...

Having overdosed on CNN/Fox News Asian Tsunami coverage this week (I learned on 9/11 how many times I can watch videotaped tragedy without breaking down into a useless mess)... I started thinking about my recent fear of flying (in the literal sense, no sexual allusions, or illusions, intended, honestly), and I also started thinking about how one can comprehend approximately 150,000 people dying in Asia the day after Christmas. How to get a real handle on that number....

When I was a college student, one of the art instructors had us do an assignment where we were required to depict 1000 of something, anything. The concept of 1000. At that time I thought it was a big number.

This holiday season I took up crochet, again. Carpel-tunnel syndrome healed, I grabbed a hook, some yarn and proceeded to make scarf after scarf for friends and family. One stitch at a time; thousands of stiches...

How many is 150,000? How does that compare? What is the real risk of death by plane crash?

These questions were also precipitated by the retirement of Tom Brokaw. Just watch while I connect Tsunami, crocheting, my college art class, and the retirement of Brokaw...

When Brokaw's retirement was announced there was a TV special recapping his career highlights. It read like a brief history of world events during my lifetime: Civil Rights movement, women's movement, deaths at Kent State, Vietnam, Challenger Accident, space shuttle accident, 9/11, AIDS, Gulf War, IRaq War, Lockerbie jet crash, etc. etc... So, I decided to look up the statistics on "big things that have scared the hell out of me."

Here's what I found:
AIDS related deaths, worldwide (1982 - 2000) 21,800,000
Annual deaths due to HUNGER: 8,000,000
Annual deaths attributed to smoking (2000): 5,000,000
Deaths in Rwanda from 1994 - 1995: 937,000
Deaths in the Civil War: 620,000
Annual cancer deaths in the US: 556,500
Deaths attributed to Idi Amin in Uganda: 300,000
Estimated Asian Tsunami deaths: 150,000
Annual deaths due to car accidents (1999): 41,6111
Annual drunk-driving related deaths (2002) 17,419
Annual US deaths by murder (2000): 15,517
Deaths due to the troubles in Northern Ireland (1969 - 1994) 3,225
Deaths on 9/11/2001: 2,996
Deaths by plane crash (1/82-3/01): 2,301
Annual deaths by women from childbirth (2001): 399
Pan Am Flight 103, Lockerbie: 270
Deaths in Oklahoma City bombing: 168

I've found there is no correlation between number of deaths and amount of fear and distress I feel when considering my personal risk. There are way more deaths per year from auto accidents than all deaths since 1982 from plane crashes. So, why am I more afraid to fly to Florida than to drive to Columbus? And what does it say about human beings that 8 MILLION people die every year from hunger...? And 5 MILLION from smoking related causes?

Perhaps my New Year's Resolution will be to more accurately count my blessings, face my fears, and compassionately remember those folks who might seem like "just a number" but really are so much more...

Rosie, the Goffins Cockatoo

2004-10-29T20:34:00.000-04:00

I just came across a photo of a beautiful Goffins, the same species as "my" Bailey. The image is at www.cari-bird.org/ veterinarians/vets.html

Not Subtraction, Addition without Permission

2004-10-29T17:38:00.000-04:00

I've heard a lot of talk on the news these days, living in a "battle state" as they say. . . Ohio. . . about folks stealing political signs from the yards of their neighbors. Or maybe not their neighbors, who knows?

Today I ran into the reverse. Today, mid-morning, an older man who looked like someone's grandpa who should know better and who probably assumed no one was home, climbed up the steps to my small within-the-city-limits front yard and inserted a Lupher for Commissioner sign in my front yard. I never asked for the sign. No one else in my home asked for the sign. I have a presidential election sign in my front yard and the sign-sneaker placed his right next to it, wrongfully assuming that more is, well, okay by me. It's not.

While my property is so small as to barely be visible from the top of Mt. Pleasant, let alone an airplane, a jet, or outer space, it is my little piece of the earth (well, mine and the mortgage company's) and I get to choose what signs go on it (well, within the confines of the zoning department).

I'm ready for this election to be over. I have listened to CNN, Fox, ABC, NBC, CBS, NPR, John Stewart, Larry King, the White House spokesman, Karen Hughes, the debates, the Kerry campaign chairman, the Guardian letter-writers and today bin Laden, from whom I narrowly escaped harm on Sept. 11, 2001, had to put in his two cents. I subscribed to the Columbus Dispatch, read the local Lancaster Eagle Gazette, and get Time, Newsweek, Atlantic Monthly, Readers Digest, Good Housekeeping, and Bird Talk. Not to mention Publishers Weekly, Writers Digest, National Geographic and The Sun. I'm on information overload, or, more precisely, superficial information overload.

I don't understand the Middle East, Alan Greenspan's economic policies, how to save Social Security, or how outsourcing can be good for America. I'm tired of calling Dell and other companies and talking to someone whose speech I cannot understand regarding technical terms that I already find difficult.

But, let's hear it for our system. In our system, an informed citizen, or uninformed citizen can vote for president. That vote will, hopefully be counted. If not on Nov. 2, then ten days later when the provisional ballots are accepted. And, hopefully then, unless the electoral votes go the other way. And unless one votes absentee ballots and they are lost in the mail. If all that doesn't mess up, then the one vote counts.

My vote is actually cancelled out by my mother's vote. I feel badly about voting the opposite of my mother as I've found she usually turns out to be right about most things.

It's disconcerting to know that the MRDD folk I visit weekly in a nursing home here in Southern Ohio are casting their ballots, with no permission by their guardians needed. Folks not allowed on the elevator, folks who cannot read, are casting their vote. If Advertising Age wants to know the most effective ad in this presidential election among twenty-something males with mental challenges, I can tell them it is the one where Kerry says everyone deserves healthcare. That's the one that they point to as being the reason to vote for Kerry. But, as one resident stated, "It doesn't really matter who gets elected; I mean they don't come here and tell me what to do."

We've got some other important issues on the ballot, like controversial Issue 1. No, I'm not saying what I think about that, but like the sign-switching situation (say that nine times fast) I found it disappointing that one of the nursing home residents knew what he thought about the Issue, but couldn't read the ballot. He asked a staff person or poll worker which way to mark the ballot consistent with his beliefs. When he told me the direction he was given and upon which he acted, I realized they had directed him to do the opposite of the outcome he wanted...

Thinking of all the people in nursing homes who are not mentally competent; all the people who are considered mentally competent but probably shouldn't be; all the folks who just don't care; or folks like me who know a bit about quite a few things but don't really have a deep understanding of many things... it's really amazing our country continues on as well as it does. Politicians, for all their faults, must deserve some credit. Yep, they have to advertise. They have to hire consultants and bow to their party's wishes. But, I don't think the pay is all that great, the traveling must get old, there are family separation issues, and the career path isn't that well respected. But, I say, thank you to those willing to run for public office. It is admirable. It is commendable. I couldn't do it; wouldn't do it; so I salute you and may the best candidate win!

A Note from Robert Kurkela

2004-10-21T07:46:00.000-04:00

October 20, 2004:

October is writing time for me. Changes in nature and Yankee baseball tend to occupy my thoughts for the duration of October and my mind goes into overdrive. This October I find myself contemplating not only stranded base runners and colorful vistas, but also a Presidential election and the death of a friend.

For the second straight year, I attended Game 6 of the American League Championship Series at Yankee Stadium. Again, Boston and the Yankees. Again, the Yankees lost. A rivalry only people from New York and Boston can understand. We supposedly hate each other because we have passion for our teams. But the term hate is too strong. We are all just rooting for our team to win. Obscene chants erupt from both Fenway Park and Yankee Stadium directed at players and opposing fans alike. It’s a part of the fun of experiencing the drama, the theatre that unfolds in front of our eyes.

Last night the fans took it to a new level. A justifiable reversed call by the umpires led to throwing of objects including full beers from the stands onto the field. Interestingly, I did not see anything thrown from the bleachers where I was sitting, the home of the most fervent of Yankee fans. Just goes to show that you can’t judge a whole crowd by a spiteful few.

A young child was seated two rows behind me last night with her parents. I thought that had she been sitting in the stands that a full beer could have landed on her from the upper deck. What an injury that would have been. Then, the riot police invade the bleachers and the field itself as if we’re 56,000 out of control insurgents in a war zone. How sad it had to come to this. I spoke openly with Boston fans around me and we were in agreement that this was unnecessary. In addition to this overreaction, I think now about the FDNY trucks parked outside the stadium. My best friend is in the FDNY and he told me they are there in case of a terrorist attack. The firemen’s job would be to spray the people coming out of the stadium to help decontaminate them. Yankee games ain’t what they used to be.

During the game, I wore a pair of beads that my friend Simon had made for me on a past trip to the New Orleans Jazz Fest. I brought them for good luck. They didn’t bring any for my team, but I don’t care about the team as much as I do my friend Simon. You see, he died a couple of weeks ago. He was in need of a kidney transplant but couldn’t get one in time because his system wasn’t strong enough to accept one. A fund was even established and he was able to return to his native Lebanon to try to obtain a kidney, even if he had to get it on the black market. But there his system wasn’t up to the challenge.

I recall an e-mail conversation I had with Simon while he was in Lebanon and how he couldn’t wait to get back to the United States. He said that we have no idea how free we are compared to a country like Lebanon and its political system and instability. He could have stayed in Lebanon to wait for that kidney and maybe his system would have revived itself for a transfer, but he chose to come back to the home he loved, good old Albany, NY, USA. I lost a friend, but not before he had the opportunity to hold my baby daughter Rachel one last time in August. She took a bottle in his arms and then she napped. I have pictures from that day that I will cherish forever. I somehow knew that this would be the last time I’d ever see him.

In the midst of all this excitement and depression, I have also been heavily involved with on-line chats on the Presidential election. The candidates remind me of over paid baseball players. The difference is that the outcome of this election is far greater than the outcome of Game 7 tonight in Yankee Stadium. Our country is divided. I’ve posted spiteful comments and I’ve been attacked likewise on-line. Not much different than chanting: “Boston sucks.” My political dilemma seems to focus on one issue entirely: the safety of my family and my country. Who is best for America? Who will lead our country forward with courage and grace in a world forever changed by events three years ago?

Thinking of Simon, he’s right. There is no better place to live. Now we are faced with a dead heat in the election and a 3-3 series with the winner taking all tonight. I will cheer for my home team, but I know all the superstitious rituals I perform in my house will not affect the outcome of the game. There will be a final score and I’ll live with it. It’s trivial considering I’m able to watch the excitement while a friend is not here to share it with his friends.

Our country may be polarized, but we are all citizens of a democracy. We may be Republicans, Democrats, Libertarians, Greens, whatever…but that is a reflection of the melting pot of our ancestors and their ideologies and the ideas passed down to us through generations. This is what makes our country so fascinating. We argue, but we are always there for our brothers and sisters in times of need, even if they don’t necessarily agree with our views on various topics. A Yankee fan started berating a Sox fan last night and I told him to let go of it, he was a great guy that flew in from Canada for the game. That to me is dedication to a team. And he wasn’t even an American! It may reflect on the dedication of the man to other causes as well.

So, as I prepare for the Yankees tonight, I will build a fire and cuddle up with my two daughters and wife. I’ll wear Simon’s beads and hope that he’s out of pain now. His life ended short, but his spirit will live on with his friends and family forever. I’ll also think of the election and how I’ll probably sit in front of my television on election night much like I will be tonight, watching history unfold in front of me. The best thing I can do to honor Simon is to simply vote. It is our greatest right as a United States citizen. I can also cheer my team on. In several weeks I’ll know who will be World Champions and who will be President of the United States.

However, in the grand scheme of things, nothing is more sacred than life itself. Simon lived his fully right up until his last day. When I find myself losing sight of what’s really important, I’ll simply return my thoughts to him and how he has made the journey that we all will take someday. Root for your team. Root for your candidate. Root for life. Live it fully yet live it wise. Live it selflessly, not selfishly. If you do, surely love will emanate from you and it will be contagious, passed on from one person to another. Do your part to leave this place better than it was before you were born unto it. This is my wish for all of you. My friend Simon accomplished this task in 38 short years. May all your lives be as blessed as his and may you come to understand your purpose on this planet.

With Love,
Robert W. Kurkela
Author of Lilies on the Moon

Time for the Sapone al Melograno

2004-10-19T21:25:00.000-04:00

October 18, 2004: Three years and one week. That's how long it took.

On September 10, 2001, I was in Manhattan and wandered into Takashimaya New York. I loved it! Especially the section with soaps, colognes and wonderfully scented powders. The woman who waited on me was so helpful, making such a precious event out of my less-than-$50 purchase. I bought some powder for my mother; and for me a nice large bar of "Sapone al Melograno," made from a hundreds-of-years-old formula by ... nuns in Italy! "Officina Profumo Farmaceutica."

One more reason to love New York. I can't find a bar of soap like this at Bath and Body Works.

The soap traveled in its simple white Italian wrapper, all the way across PA and back to Ohio, the sounds of NPR droning on that September 12th morning. I was supposed to have been in the WTC on 9/11, but I slept in. The next day I returned home.

I put the soap in my dresser drawer. It stayed there for two years. I moved it to the bathroom counter. It stayed there for one year. I thought I would keep it until I was an old lady and then one day open it up.

At some point in three years a parrot explored the wrapper. Indignant, I put it out of parrot's reach.

Yesterday, as I was preparing my bag to go to the Y swimming, I looked at that bar of soap and all the need for mystery, for drama, was gone. Time to use the good soap.

It smelled great. I smelled great. Life is good!

Color, Wonderful Color

2004-10-13T10:26:00.000-04:00

Since painting down in Nelsonville with the Ohio Plein Air Society recently, I've been enjoying a rebirth, a resurgence, a revival ... holy smokes a renewal of the joy of ... paint and color and the feel of the canvas. The splash of the brush as it swishes in the water bowl. The bits of veridian and colbalt stuck to the edge of my hand and working its way under my fingernails.

The loss of a sense of time, and the beautiful beautiful autumn colors that perhaps only someone religated to Florida's nonstop tropical light for 17 years can fully appreciate. What is the name of the colors in the tree outside my office window? It's not orange, not yellow-red, not red-yellow... it looks like a cross between a pumpkin and an electric apple. I can't capture it! Darn. Maybe next time.

Yeah for the horses that I saw yesterday galloping down a hillside and around a path-encircled pond. Yeah for the purple, maroon, orange, yellow, red. Yeah to be living in such a beautiful place. Yeah for temperatures that are falling.

I like everything about this season, even the rainy days like today. The sounds (there's a quieting down, like autumn is the "getting ready for bed" time before snow starts).

I learned that the founder of OPAS passed away recently. He left behind a present for me, someone he didn't even know. For me and many others. A great organization that lit a match under my middleaged bottom and propelled me into this wonderful time of creativity.

At night, no "must see tv" c an entice me. I've taken to painting abstract rememberances; there's my feelings about being in NY on 9/11, there's one for my son, there are colors in the wings of my parrot that I wonder if I will ever capture.

Well, I may sound a bit over the top, but I assure you my enthusiasm is genuine. Here's to finding, or refinding, wonderful pasttimes, new friends, and that gorgeous vibrant color in the tree outside my window.

The Return of Bailey

2004-09-30T11:41:00.000-04:00

September 11, 2004, saw the return of Bailey to my home in Lancaster. A loving three-year-old Goffin's cockatoo, Bailey had spent the first two years of her life in my home, but had moved with her primary caretaker to Maine the summer of 2003. Due to the needs of hospice patients living in the Maine hospice house, CEDARS, Bailey has returned to her first home and we are so glad to have her back!

So, on Sept. 9, my son, Bryce, and I made a nice, though long, drive to Nashua, New Hampshire for the custody transfer. On the way, we stopped in Niagara Falls; Bryce's first time there. It was gorgeous weather, and both little dogs (Tyler and Jackie) along for the ride enjoyed the park. We stayed overnight in Albany at Red Roof Inn (all hotels in this line take dogs!) and had a great scenic drive Saturday morning through Vermont. Wish I'd had time to stop and paint! After a quick, hello, bird and assorted toys/food/carriers were loaded up and off we went back to Ohio. A whirlwind trip, but I hesitate to book an airline flight for myself, let alone a sensitive bird.

I will only briefly mention the e-bay fiasco with buying her a new cage (if you are in the market for a new cage, query the Yahoo.com african grey parrot group for recommendations and follow their advice, which I unfortunately did not do).

Bailey's best friend, Tyler the Pekingese is happy to have her home and they have resumed their trans-species relationship and the language only they can understand.

Ohio Plein Air Society

2004-09-30T10:45:00.000-04:00

This past weekend found me in heaven! High on a hillside, overlooking rolling meadows, a sweet little pond, and a wealth of plant life in gorgeous colors: lavender, deep violet, burgundy, greens of all sort, gold, white... I was in Nelsonville,Ohio, painting with the Ohio Plein Air Society's (OPAS) 1st Annual Competition.

A month previous, I was walking around "downtown" Nelsonville... had lunch at a great little deli called Fullbrooks, and saw a couple working on a retail space, painting, etc. Asked them what was on the way and soon discovered Gallery 4, owned by Gayla Parks of Athens, OH, and a member of OPAS. She told me about the competition and once I visited their website, saw the quality of members' work, and that they would take the prodigal painter, moi, had to join. I haven't painted outdoors for about 15 years! What fun it was.

And, I was a lucky winner. On the Saturday, they had a wine and cheese party for the artists and sponsors. I picked the winning raffle ticket and came home with a larger than life-size book on Andrew Wyeth, 1968 version now out of print.

On Sunday, the 53 participants gathered in the town square on a beautiful sunny day, and with work on easels waited expectantly for the juror, David Mueller. If you have time, visit his site, DavidMuellerfinart.com and see his extraordinary work. I had a great talk with David and his wife, Lori, on Saturday night and it was inspiring to hear his story of artistic growth. Congratulations to David as he has recently added a NYC gallery to his resume and they will be showing his work in the coming year.

Finally, anyone interested in beautiful Ohio, might want to check out the work of the OPAS artists in The Land We Call Ohio painting project. Also, OPAS artists' work is online at the gallery page.

I spent Saturday and part of Sunday painting the beautiful rolling hills and pond of Fullbrooks Lodge. Check out their website for photographs and info on having a stay there.

My Mid-Summer Night's Dream

2004-07-25T18:50:00.000-04:00

This past Saturday night found me walking across a green hillside...a long row of trees, good friend at my side, in the midst of other footsteps. We all gathered at this wide open space, surrounded by hills, hedged against a stream, far from the main road. The pavillion, a wonderful half-shell of fabric and steel, flanked by the two largest video screens I'd seen, was soon lit from within, while musicians from all over the country, and a few beyond, donned white jackets lifted arms and instruments and the magic began!

What a great concert to start off the week-long Lancaster Music Festival. The two main female performers were stunning. The men, less so; but nevermind. Yeah! for beaded sequin spaghetti-strap dresses, beautiful arms that opened wide to circle pure voices. Let's hear it for "On the Street Where You Live," sung under Midwestern stars, a coolness in the air and stars twinkling next to a half-moon. My friend could tell me all about the real Broadway shows, the famous original cast members... but I was content with this.

The last song accompanied by fabulous fireworks...I'm running out of adjectives. You get the drift. It was great! A great time in a small town with exceptionally talented folk who graced Ohio University-Lancaster's lawn for one special night. A dreamy night to me...

ISBN-Agency Deafness

2004-07-23T15:15:00.000-04:00

Dear ISBN:
The week of July 5th, I called and requested a form to obtain additional ISBNs. They did not come. I phone again. They did not come. I phoned again and was told they would be faxed. They were not faxed. I phoned again. They were not faxed. I e-mailed and was told to apply for ISBN numbers online. I responded by saying I want ADDITIONAL NUMBERS and online it says NOT TO fill out the online form for ADDITIONAL numbers. I called again. They said they would fax. The fax has not come. It has now been THREE WEEKS.

This morning I asked how long after applying would it be to receive the add'l ISBNs. I was told I could pay for Express processing. Yeah, right.

Let's start a new publishing world where there are no returns, no distributors, no reserves held, and no ISBN agency that charges $325.00 and takes 10 days. Shouldn't you be able to get ISBN numbers with the ease one obtains URLs? What's with that?

Contrasting History

2004-07-23T09:47:00.000-04:00

I am no student of history — when drawn to a particular book, I'm always a bit surprised at just how interesting learning about the past can be. Last night, unable to sleep, I picked up Hidden Power: Presidential Marriages That Shaped Our History by Kati Marton. It was amazing how much I learned just in the first 50 pages. What I found most interesting, in that short section, was comparing Marton's description of Woodrow Wilson's efforts for peace during WWI with current events. (My father was named after Wilson and my son carries his name as well. So, I admit to some partiality.)

Here's what I found so interesting:

"From their Paris-bound train the Wilsons glimpsed men, women and small children solemnly saluting as the train sped by. Two million Parisians thronged the streets of the capital to hail the president. Deafening cheers of 'Vive Vil-son' and bouquets of violets rained on Woodrow and Edith's open carriage. ...

"The British repeated this ecstatic welcome. . . . In Rome, the Wilsons' reception had an almost religious ferver. Woodrow was hailed as 'the god of peace,' bells rang out and people lit candles next to his photograph in churches and in shops.

"All Wilson wanted from the conference was a 'just peace' and a world organization to maintain it.

"An ocean away, the political currents were shifting. When Wilson returned [three months later] he found a changed capital. The war was over, and the Republicans were on the attack. Senator Henry Cabot Lodge . . . declared the League of Nations unacceptable. ... The battle between Lodge and Wilson turned intensely personal, polarizing Congress and, soon, the country. ...

"'If Wilson gets his League," [Lodge said] "the Republican Party will be done for fifty years.'

"Wilson's unyielding position on the League pushed his supporters on the Hill into a corner. The choice was between democracy and imperialism, Wilson insisted.

"On March 19, 1920, the treaty meant to end the war that would end all future wars was rejected by the Senate. . .

"America retreated into isolationism. One by one, the vanquished and the victorious mocked Wilson's vision of a just peace. Without the support of the most powerful country, the League of Nations was powerless to stop Germany, Italy and Japan as they moved toward another world war."

I hope Ms. Marton will forgive me for quoting so extensively from her book, Hidden Power. Please buy it, if this subject interests you. She so expertly informs and draws the reader into various periods in our history... and for me this was very eye-opening. What will the future say about the 2001 - 2004 period of history and the American president's place in world affairs?

Little "Pip"

2004-07-22T09:35:00.000-04:00

Update on our new Fisher's Lovebird.
Pip (short for Pip-sqweek, yes I know it's spelled wrong) is doing great! Thank you to Heather's Feathers (hthrsfeathers@yahoo.com) for raising such a healthy, happy creature. Pip exhibits wonderful personality traits: brave, independent, curious, friendly, and acrobatic. He has fallen in love with Gracie, our Pionus, and longs to end the 30-day quarantine and get a bit closer to her, with supervision of course.
How can one bird, who probably weighs all of an ounce or two, pack so much life under those feathers?

That Time of Year -- Hooray!

2004-07-22T09:22:00.000-04:00

(Poster above created by Keith Sklar for "The Lancaster Festival 2004" See www.lanfest.org for info.)

It's that wonderful time of year again! Time for the Lancaster Festival. This year, I am committed to enjoying even more of this wonderful festival . . . after all, my residence is located smack downtown in the center of one of the countries best music festivals . . . and I've got time, a front porch, a summer-music sort of spirit and I'm ready to tap my feet. Highlights I'm looking forward to? Well, The ArtWalk tomorrow night (hope it doesn't rain), A Midsummer Night's Dream, A Salute to Broadway with Tony Roberts (and fireworks) and the season finale with Kathy Mattea (and more fireworks). There will also be Arnett Howard's Diva night!

Hooray for small town life with big town talent! If you are anywhere near Southeastern Ohio over the next week, stop in. You'll probably hear me humming away...out of tune but happy.

Ohio Bird Fair

2004-07-18T18:56:00.000-04:00

Attended the Ohio Bird Fair in Columbus today and it was nice to see a wide selection of birds, most seemed to be healthy, with knowledgable breeders (some more than others). It would be interesting to see how much information they give about respective birds (do you really want that Umbrella Cockatoo Mildred?) when the cash is flashed.

There was a really nice couple there from Indiana. Their birds looked fabulous, clean and I wasn't surprised to learn, with documentation, that all had been vet-checked the previous day and given the A-Okay. Anyway, I bought a sweet little Fisher's lovebird. (This photo link is not my bird, but a twin.) I couldn't resist as I've been drawn to lovebirds for a few years now, have been reading up on them, and the price was right. Little Ruby is beautiful and will be a nice addition to our little family.

She already has her own curtain rod in the kitchen window and will hopefully spend many happy minutes there. She's already claimed the back of the office chair as her domain, so, like a little good-luck charm, she sits there in glorious green, orange and red splendor.

"Bibliophile's Wonderland"

2004-07-17T09:14:00.000-04:00

Bill Eichenberger, of the Columbus Dispatch, wrote an interesting article which appeared last Sunday. Collector's handmade volumes combine art, literature. The article featured Columbus area resident Marcia Preston and showed several b/w photos of the beautiful handmade books from her collection. I've not seen many handmade books, but the subject is becoming more appealing to me . . . in fact, it's becoming so directly proportional to the speed at which I'm producing books (print on demand and all that) for clients, though most folks do prefer excellence over fast.

Ms. Preston's home is described as a "Bibliophile's Wonderland"! Oh, that sounds heavenly. Eichenberger goes on to quote the head of rare books and manuscripts for Ohio State University libraries' Geoffrey Smith (there's a neat job) as attributing Ms. Preston's good collection to her "good taste."

Well, you can read the article for yourself, but I was so excited when I did a search online for the work of an artist recently shown at the Columbus Museum of Art, Nancy Rexworth. (The link is to another gallery, but shows examples of her work.) Well, when I did the search I found out that there is a book of her Diana-camera photos. Now, I know it's not the same thing; it's a rare book, a LE, but not an art book in the sense that Ms. Preston collects... but it was just one more beautiful button in the sweater that creates the sort of bookshelf Mr. Eichenberger quotes Cyril Connolly as preferring -- "a mass of guady variety." (How's that for using poor analogy for tying a whole line of thought together.)

To sum up: On a rainy Saturday; with good coffee, a bowl of fresh raspberries, and a sweet-smelling parrot on my shoulder . . . searching around for beautiful books is a nice respite from listening to the news.

Concert 7-14-04

2004-07-15T08:27:00.000-04:00

Last night we went to see Barenaked Ladies in concert at Polaris. Nellie McKay did a few songs before, as well. I first heard her on NPR and ordered her CD the same day; that's how much I loved her unique voice.

I knew nothing about the Barenaked Ladies, that's how much of a cave I live in, but was so pleasantly surprised. The were fantastic. I had heard them on the radio, and not thought much about them. They sounded much better in concert, which might seem obvious, but not when you consider what I'm about to write in the next paragraph.

Oh yes, Alanis Morrisette was there, too. Sang mostly all songs that I heard in 1995. I'm determined to find the two notes on my piano that she focused on most of the night... It was nice of Barenaked Ladies to invite her along on their tour. gulp. ...

Advice from '73

2004-07-14T08:11:00.000-04:00

(Here I am in what I thought was a rather cute plaid cap, with braids, in front of a barn. No paints in sight, but I promise you, I did paint.)
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One of the most unusual snippets of advice I've received came from a painting instructor, William Gerhold of Davis, West Virginia. Mr. Gerhold (and I call him "Mr" because at the time I was 17 and he was probably mid-forties) was a watercolorist living and working in West Virginia. I found his name in an issue of American Artist magazine, the only and first magazine that I subscribed to while in high school.

Every spring, early in the spring, the magazine would run various ads on painting workshops and getaways being held in the upcoming summer. Mr. Gerhold's sounded wonderful! His workshop was held in Cannan Valley State Park. I showed the ad to my parents, and they gave their consent (and $).

Paper, paints, and various supplies were purchased. Including a heavy wooden drawing board. I also had a smaller, lighter board that my dad must have made for me. I made a strap for it out of macrame. A popular activity for girls in 1973.

The camp was two weeks long. I'd never been away from home that long. My mother, I learned years later, struggled a bit with letting me go.

Well, to speed this story up, one day Dad and I piled into the family car and started on a seven-hour journey. This in itself was remarkable.

I wasn't what one would call "close" to my father. He scared me a bit, because I didn't understand him. I longed, at times, for him to be smiley, handsome, strong and happy. He was not though, not in the way I expected he should be. But, here he was, supporting the "girls-can-do-anything-boys-can-do" mentality. We eventually arrived in WV; I don't know anything about Dad's trip home.

There followed two weeks of living in a cabin with five others, one of two cabins. Painting every day. Critiques at night. An 18-year-old girl and I were the youngest attendees, by far.

Mr. Gerhold had a Jeep. He was the only person I'd known with a Jeep. All his painting things were in the back, he'd open the back and set up to paint. I think I've judged all vehicles owned as an adult against what I thought was the practicality of Mr. Gerhold's Jeep. Anyway, he drove us miles down a dirt road to an abandoned farm. Years later, the horrible wasp sting I received in the middle of nowhere (I'm allergic) has pretty much faded and I remember the sounds and smell and feel of that place.

I'm sure you're wondering about that helpful advice from Mr. Gerhold. The watercolor paper (D'Arches of course) was expensive -- just like now. It was intimidating looking at a big sheet of it; all white and perfect. The teachers advice was to deliberately dirty it up -- step on it, throw dirt on it -- splash paint on it. Get past the fear of screwing up -- then you can move on to create free of anxiety.

I have not thought of that advice for 31 years! But woke up yesterday morning thinking of it...

Summer Breeze.....

2004-07-08T08:07:00.000-04:00

Some days are bumpier than others; yesterday was a bumpy day ... a Monday sort of Wednesday; minor annoyances punctuated by true concerns such as learning a friend is ill. But how fortunate some of us are here in Central Ohio, that at the end of a bumpy day we can relax in a comfortable house, with a full stomach, a phone to call friends and family, the knowledge of a job the next day, the peace of children in good health. A dog, or two, to pet. Enough possessions to wonder where to put things. Enough of a yard to wonder when to weed things. Enough food to wonder when to cut back. In other words, a truly blessed life; a good life. A life for which to give thanks.

This morning, I opened the back door and I didn't notice the deck needing painting, the garden needing weeding, the neighbors' noisy windchimes, garage band, and young-teenage son who makes screeching noises from his front porch most mid-afternoons. I notice the most wonderful, cool, refreshing breeze. All windows thrown open, ceiling fans whirring, fresh air to breath. A nice cup of coffee. A new day. I am thankful for it all.

Little Brown Redemption

2004-07-06T06:58:00.000-04:00

About a week ago I was driving along at a good clip on Rt. 22 between Lancaster and Washington Court House; the usual trip to visit my son. The sky was blue, the temperature gorgeous, the two dogs loving the ride . . . Car Talk was on NPR. It was great.

Ahead, a few birds gathered in the right lane, hovering over an unfortunate mammal. There was no time to swerve, and I'm not a swerver anyway. Not in a Chevy Venture Van. One small bird valiantly beat his wings to gain altitude, but his little body smacked into the front of my car faster than you can say "Click and Clack." If there's a word between "mortified" and "crestfallen" -- that's how I felt.

Yesterday was my chance for redemption.

My home is a two-story, 100-year-old house with a few really tall, towering trees right outside the windows. I thought, perhaps, a nest was nearby when at about 9 a.m. I went upstairs and heard loud cheeping coming from the direction of the bathroom. Keep in mind the upstairs bedroom a/c was on, all bedroom doors were closed, and a long narrow hallway leads to the bathroom.

With Gracie, my parrot, in hand, we approached the noise to investigate. As soon as we reached the bathroom . . . nothing. I looked at the floor, the sink, the top of the cabinet, the top of the counter in front of the window. Nothing. I opened the wooden shutters and looked at the tree outside the window. Nothing.

About noon, the above scenario repeated itself. "That is one loud birdie," I thought.

In the afternoon, Tyler (my Pekingese) and I went to the vet to discover that what he truly needed was 25 mg of Benadryl, which I had suspected all along. Not knowing the proper dose as I haven't had time to obtain my veterinary license, I hesitated to guesstimate. Anyway, he needed his nails done, a look-see by the vet and we got to meet a nice bulldog who had been rescued the day earlier. This poor dog, Darth Vadar, had claws so long that one had grown into its foot. Tyler was counting his blessings.

Anyway, upon returning home I went upstairs to freshen up and there it was again. I sneaked every so carefully to the bathroom and there on the bath mat was a little baby sparrow! All brown and downy and covered still with some nest-gunk. Oh boy!

How did that happen? The window has been closed for five days. Prior to that, it was opened with a screen in place. There is no access to the attic from the bathroom. There are no other rooms/doors near the bathroom and the bird cannot fly nor walk. There are no nests outside the window and there have been no big gusts of wind lately. There have been no eggs lying on my bathroom floor, ready to hatch.

Fast forward: I put him in a little cage . . . read up on the Internet (don't ask about the photo of people eating sparrows, whole, in some foreign country...I am providing NO link to that!). . . called Wild Birds Unlimited in Columbus, and was referred to the Ohio Wildlife Center . . . fed him fine canned dog food (birdie baby food does not have enough protein, I learned) with a syringe . . . tried not to bond with him . . . and made plans to take him to Dublin in the morning. I fed him about six times and he seemed to be doing well. Having had baby parakeets and a baby Goffin's cockatoo, I knew how to syringe feed a baby bird.

Alas, this morning when I approached the cage, no little cheep to greet me. The sweet creature was dead . . . his little feet pointing heavenward.

How can this be? I'd done the best I could. I'd tried really hard and he'd been doing so well the night before. He was my chance to make up for every little animal I'd never been able to save . . . the squirrel I ran over when my kids were little. I was too tired and harried to turn around and see if I could help him, and my son has never forgotten my behavior that day. The little bird on the side of our house a month ago who fell out of a nest and was near where the neighbor's cat hangs out. I tried to catch him to put him in a safer place, but he ran under the house, probably right into the cat's mouth. The children listed online who need homes! The dogs and cats and birds and small furry things at Petfinder! The old people! The Hospice Patients! Somehow, by keeping one little bird alive and transporting it to specialists at the Wildlife Rescue Center, I was going to prove that I had tuned into my inner Pocohontas and cast off the difference between other species and me. I would be the sparrow whisperer! It's all about me, isn't it?

Well, no, of course it's not. There's a bigger picture here and I have trouble seeing it. Birds live, but some don't. People live, but some don't. Everything dies and as an artist and editor, I don't have much power to save a life.

I want to though. I want to save those girls being raped in Sudan, the people in Rwanda, the estimated 1.5 million Iraqi orphans, the Afghanistan teenage girls, the people exported as slaves. How can I do anything when I can't even save a little sparrow? It seems like a tall order, and yet once again I find myself getting in the way of the bigger picture.

Perhaps the really impressive thing about people who do save lives, the Mother Theresas of the world, is not that they do it, but that they have figured out how to get themselves out of the way. Celia Taylor reports: "Mother Theresa once said, "We can do no great things; just small things with great love."

Perhaps that's the lesson for me here... But the mystery remains... How did that sparrow end up on my bath mat?

4th of July

2004-07-02T09:02:00.000-04:00

Happy Fourth of July! We're spending today with all manner of zoo creatures at the Columbus Zoo and Aquarium. Haven't been there for many many many years and am really looking forward to it. Especially the African Grey Parrots in the African Forest and the Tropical Aviary and Lorikeets in the Australian section. If only the Pionus were featured somewhere in the zoo (perhaps they are!), it would be perfect.

Going to be 87 today in Columbus... But I'll try not to notice.

Tomorrow, will celebrate living in the best country in the world (well, one of the best... I think Canada is pretty swell and the UK is right up there as well and France and Italy sound nice...)... well, as Bridget Jones would say, "one of the top thirty..." It's been the best for me, and looking at the other possible places fate could have landed me a life in, I will be forever thankful.

So, tomorrow, in this small Ohio town, there will be a parade down Main Street and fireworks set off of the cliffs of standing stone... The smell of lighter fluid will permeate our neighborhood; dogs will bark; kids will be riding their bikes with red-white-and-blue streamers woven through the spokes of small tires. I'll be wearing red earrings and drinking coca cola.

Have a great holiday weekend!

Remembering Lisa Steinberg

2004-06-30T11:33:00.000-04:00

I remember Lisa Steinberg, and so do many people. 1987 wasn't that long ago. My children were 6 and 4 years old when this NYC lawyer's abuse of his 6-year-old adopted daughter resulted in her death, propelling child abuse to the forefront of media attention. Who can forget the battered face of Steinberg's wife (a book editor)?

Now, after serving 16 years, he is being released. So, that's what the life of a child is worth now? Oh, you say things are better now; sentences are harsher for child killers? No, they aren't. Last week in Central Ohio, this article appeared:
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MOM PLEADS GUILTY IN SCALDING DEATH OF ADOPTED BOY
Saturday, June 19, 2004
THE COLUMBUS DISPATCHA nurse's assistant who pleaded guilty yesterday to helping kill her adopted son wrote in her diary that she and her husband discussed getting rid of their two adopted children "like dogs in a pound.''

Amy Thompson wrote in her computer journal that just seeing the 2-year-old Russian boy and her 3-year-old adopted daughter, also from Russia, sickened her.
----------------------------------

After locking her son alone in the basement for five days, barricading the door with furniture and boxes while his burned and injured body made its way toward death, this "mother" was sentenced to -- what do you think? Death? Life in prison? NO, 15 years! I'm not sure of her age, but I believe she's approximately 30. That means that she will be out of prison in her mid-forties and will likely live another 30 - 40 years free before the average age of women at death.

If she had killed a famous celebrity, a politician, a police officer, the sentence would have been different. Why does our society value the life of a child as being less than that of adults? What kind of a person can know their child is dying in their basement and do nothing to help? How did these people get the money and the access to adopting two children? I just do not understand.

Lisa Steinberg would have been 22 years old now, had she been adopted into a family who loved and cared for her. Lisa, we remember you.

Obituaries #3 and Dangerous Potatoes

2004-06-28T09:45:00.000-04:00

O'Rea O. Block died Friday at age 106. She was the ninth of 15 children.

Amy Sue (Uber) Brackbill, age 36, passed away on Saturday. She will be missed by her husband and five children. FairHoPe Hospice is thanked.

Dorothy M. Phelps died at 90 yesterday. She is not a relative that I know of. Every week when I drive from Lancaster to Washington Court House (OH) I pass a rather decrepit-looking farmhouse on Rt. 22. An old, crooked sign is out front noting the "Wardell Party Home." I've always thought that was pretty comical. The yard had a lot of "stuff" in it and I couldn't imagine what kind of parties were held there or the history behind the sign. I wondered about it. Well, it seems Ms. Phelps not only had "a great concern for homeless animals" but she was the "operator of the Wardell Party Home for many years."

Robert E. Grimes, age 32 died Friday. William Scheckermann, age 24, died Thursday "at home." He attended Franlin University. Amy Grimm Hagen, age 45, died Saturday. She was a geologist. Nathan Michael Kleeh, age 13 months, died Saturday of cancer. "Baby Trumayne Armon Smith . . . went home with the angels Wednesday."

A potato-gun explosion killed 1 and injured 3 others in Ohio on Saturday night. Klyle R. Thompson, age 21, died at the scene. "Excessive gunpowder and possibly a stuck potato made the pipe explode" perhaps driving pieces of metal into his torso. With him at the time was his brother-in-law (31) who was "hosting the potato shooting" another man age 22, and Robert Kiser, age 48, who was injured. I don't know any 48-year-old men who spend Sat. night launching potatoes from pipes. I have a feeling this sort of thing will give Midwesterners a bad reputation.

The County Coroner said "he had never heard of a potato shooting before." Have you?

Conventional Blogging

2004-06-28T09:42:00.000-04:00

The AP reports that "The Democrats are holding true to their 'party of inclusion' billing" and offering convention access to "a handful of bloggers."

"The Republicans say they've yet to decide what to do about them. . . . some analysts think the party is wary of bloggers, who tend to be less predictable than mainstream journalists."

"Frivolous Guests"

2004-06-28T09:20:00.000-04:00

In today's Columbus Dispatch,Tim Feran, TV-radio critic notes the media blitz enjoyed this week by Bill Clinton. He has been on 60 Minutes (Dan Rather's discussion on Larry King about the Clinton interview was more interesting than the actual interview), Oprah Winfrey, Today (saw it), GMA, Larry King Live (saw it), Charlie Rose and Fresh Air with Terry Gross. I see he is going to be on NPR's Tavis Smiley this evening (like that show!).

Apparently, though, he is not going to be on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. Feran says Stewart's show is booked with "frivolous guests such as Sen. John McCain and Ralph Nader." I don't consider McCain a frivolous guest and what Nader lacks in widespread appeal he makes up for in earnest tenancity, an good quality regardless of what one thinks of his being in the race.

I've seen Clinton on several programs and his book is being sold in the local grocery at 40% off and I sense the marketplace is getting enough. But, I think it might have been the one interview really worth watching.

"My Experimental Phase"

2004-06-27T09:10:00.000-04:00

Saturday, as I was driving along Rt. 22, enjoying the sight of freshly-cut fields of hay and rapidly-growing cornstocks, I listened to WCBE - NPR's "This American Life." The program this week was on "My Experimental Phase." It will be available via RealAudio online next week.

Anyway, the segment that caught my interest was on "The Life of an Underground Hasidic Gam Rock Star." Yikes! In this segment, Washington Post music critic David Segal talks with Billy, aka Vic Thrill and "Chaim" (last name kept secret) about Hym's brief foray into rock music as singer "Curly Oxide."

It was fascinating to hear how Billy is the kind of person who greets and knows his neighbors by name; all the neighbors, that is, except those in the closeknit Hasidic community. He's aware of this, so when neighbor Chaim ventures to a bar and for the first time encounters Vic Thrill's music they eventually become friends and a great "Experimental Phase" results.

Segal has Chaim describe how he learned about English and television and how coming to those cultural components "fresh" as it were, laid the groundwork for intriguing lyrics. Billy recalls Chaim's prolific lyric-writing, irritatingly left on Billy's answering machine, because that was the only way Chaim knew to get it down. When faced with the option of sending the irrepresible Chaim (who was spending 6 hours a day at Billy's watching TV) away, Billy agreed to give collaboration a try and the result was Curly Oxide, glam rock star. The snippet of the song "Welcome to the Millenium" sounded great.

Chaim's experimental phase came to an end. He left it up to God as to which would come first, a record contract or an arranged marriage. His mother found him a wife, he was married shortly thereafter and now lives the Hasidic life with his wife and two children. The only place you could hear his performance, Segal reports, was on a jukebox (was it at Joe's Pub in the East Village?) that no longer exists. Thanks NPR and Segal for an interesting show as I drove through the Ohio farmland and was transported to another place, another culture, another phase.

Al Hirschfeld at the NYT

2004-06-27T08:30:00.000-04:00

Last night I visited a great little gallery in New York without ever leaving my Ohio home. The New York Times is running a multi-media article on Al Hirschfeld, and just to show you how not-young I am, I still get excited to see video on my computer monitor. My favorite points in this show were a photo of Hirschfeld in his studio, reviewing in detail his wonderful use of line, learning he had tea brought in at 4 pm everyday (when I am famous and 99 years old, I will have that too) and seeing just how wonderfully he captured the essence of some of the 20th century's top performers. I liked it so much, I ordered a book . . . and THIS is why books will not be made extinct by the Internet. The Internet is like the hook. The book is the prize!

Parrot Aroma Reserach

2004-06-27T08:02:00.000-04:00

Last week, I received an e-mail from an organization doing research on Parrot Aroma. I didn't realize until now how difficult it is to describe scent. Maximilian Pionus are known for their unique smell and now I was challenged to convey it with mere words!

Here's what I wrote:

"Maximilian Pionus: a wonderful smell. Like old roses and wood, not heavy, light, if wood was sweet and rubbed with rose oil and then warmed and set next to a lilac bush, that would be the closest I could think of!"

(Note: Painting is copyrighted. Click here for more information.

Soap, Mr. Cheney?

2004-06-26T18:19:00.000-04:00

The Associated Press reported today that V. P. Dick Cheney "used an obscenity beginning with 'F' in an exchange [with Sen. Leahy] on the Senate floor where members had gathered for a group photo." Yuck.

I don't think I'm the only forty-something person who grew up in a household where swearing was nonexistent. I don't think I ever heard my father swear. I'm sure he must have, but I never heard it. By the time I ever heard the word "damn" come out of my wonderful mother's mouth (I think she'd stubbed her toe or something), I was already an adult myself. Though completely human nature when a person is suddenly afflicted with pain, her utterance shocked me.

I remember the first time as a teenager that I said the word "shit." It didn't feel as cool as I thought it would and I hardly ever use it even now. Last year I was struggling with a box that had been taped together by someone who must have worked for the military. There was no getting into it, and I didn't have a boxcutter handy. Tired and frustrated, I said the "F" word. Under my breath, but all the same it was immediately heard by my hearing impaired son whose face registered the expected my-mother-the-pedestal-what-happened? look. Later, I apologized to him for what I felt was a lack of self-control on my part. I didn't offer excuses. I said it was wrong and I felt badly about it. He said, "I never heard you say that before."

I'm not really a goody-two-shoes ... I just have always believed that swearing was the inclination of folks too lazy or stupid to really come up with just the right zinger to get their point across. Let's hear it for the person who can cut to the quick and shock with their insight rather than using words that can be taught to a parakeet.

I'm not against all use of foul language; after all I did go to art school, am a Democrat, and read quite a lot. Today, for instance, on "This American Life" on wosu FM, a girl was reading from her diary, written when she was 13. The "F" word was frequently uttered (though beeped out) and it was entirely appropriate and hilarious in the context.

I may be one of the few middle-aged women who took their son to see the movie 8-Mile and thought it was worthwhile and well-done. I don't have a problem with saucy language, per se, and if I did, well who gives a...

The thing is, I don't want the Vice Pres., be he (or she) Democrat or Republican bandying about obscentities like playground bullies. This is someone one successful assassination attempt from becoming president, with access to "the big red button." Shouldn't he have a bit more self control in the anger area? Doesn't a Vice President have some other way of making life difficult for his enemies?

A long time ago I had to deal with an individual prone to angry outbursts. To defuse the situation I did two things: imagined him a tiny cartoon baby in underpants and realized that the louder he yelled, the closer I might have been getting to the truth.

Sen. Leahy might find that technique helpful in his next photo op.

Obits Part Deux - Sat. June 26, Cols. Dispatch

2004-06-26T17:54:00.000-04:00

Leonard Alexander, 35, died this past week. He was a senior network administrator with Net Jets. Darrick Angle, age 27, died on the same day, Wed., "riding the bike that he loved." "...many internet friends who know him as derklee" will miss him.

Elmer J. Carpenter, age 86, also died. He was preceded in death by 6 brothers and 4 sisters. He leaves behind one brother and two sisters. That was a big family.

Vicki Mentel also died this week. She worked for 21 years "in surgery offering compassion and care to her patients. ... She enjoyed Irish culture and was known for her knowledge of all things Irish." I have always wanted to go to Ireland...I wonder if she ever traveled there.

Ralston Steele, age 41, died in a nursing home. He is survived by his wife, three children and mother. His children's names are Tijuha, Talia, and Jacque. Neat names.

Thirty folks are listed in today's obituaries. Three "passed away peacefully."

"Loving father and grandpa" Danny Wayne Howard, age 53, passed away at home on Wednesday. Viet Nam Vet Robert Leroy Rhyan, age 57, also died on Wed.

Thomas Bernard Englehart died on Thursday. He was "preceded in death by his wife of 71 years." (That's seven-one. No typo.)

Donna L. Darst died on Thursday. She was retired from the State of Ohio Columbus Developmental Center. Developmental Centers care for the mentally and physically disabled; two of them are closing due to budget cuts. (This was not mentioned, however, in Ms. Dart's obituary, but it is important in the lives of many disabled here in Ohio. As they are moved from the only homes with which they are familiar.)

Finally, consider the life of Ronald Mauller, age 69, who was in the Columbus Public School System for 30 years. He was a Veteran of Foreign Wars and was preceded in death by his son Bradley. (I am preceded in death by my brother, Bradley.) I find it sad that at 69 Mr. Mauller was also preceded in death by two of his sons-in-law. His wife and two daughters are still living.

This month marks the fourteenth anniversary of my father's death. I hope the families of the people who died this week feel the ongoing presence of their loved one every day. And find strength in the family surrounding them.

Pets and Language

2004-06-26T07:29:00.000-04:00

The media is all abuzz about new science findings regarding dogs who "are much smarter than scientists have thought." Thousands of dollars of research might have been saved, had they spent anytime at my home, or observing the lives of many of my friends who also have dogs. In the past thirteen years, I have been guardian to five dogs, three of whom died during the Dec 03 to Dec 04 period and two new pups now with me. Here's what I could have told scientists:

1) Dogs know when you are happy, sad, busy, angry, worried, ill, and in love.
2) They know when you mean it, don't mean it, aren't sure if you mean it, and are consulting dog behavior books to find out if you should mean it.
3) Dogs know that exercise is good for you.
4) Dogs know that high-protein diets make them happier.
5) They can find their way around the neighborhood and communicate with the neighbors.
6) They understand that mail comes six days a week and sometimes what's in the mail is worth yelling about it.
7) Dogs realize that fashion isn't important.
8) Dogs are comfortable with all their body parts and the body parts of those they love.
9) Dogs are not afraid of other dogs bigger than themselves. In fact, the smaller the dog, I've found, the more emphatic they are to express their bravery.
10) Dogs can tell who is naughty and who is nice.

I don't think the problem is that they can't talk with us. Think about it, there are a gadzillion species of animals. Anyone with pet birds has learned the importance of body language and how tuned in a parrot can be just to the way you hold your shoulders. My hearing-impaired son has always had a sixth sense about the expressions, moods and body carriage of those around him. So, back to animals, if there are way more species of animals than the one species of humans, maybe we should be learning more about their language instead of studying whether or not they know ours.

I have to go now...my dog is outside barking at the neighbor's garage sale visitors. He knows these are people who do not belong on our street, and he wants them to know this house is well-protected. Or, perhaps he has his eye on some of the merchandise.

Reading the Obituaries

2004-06-25T11:25:00.000-04:00

I have now officially reached middle age: I read the obituaries of people I do not know. Perhaps there is a name for this condition... I find it helps me be thankful -- thankful my name's not there. And humble -- a lot of people who sound like really great folks I would like to have known, die. The following listings were just a small part of the notices on June 23rd in the Columbus Dispatch...

Jessie Elizabeth Rowlands, only 66 years old... Beautiful blonde hair and sunny smile, her photo shows. She attended Columbus College of Art and design. She was an amateur artist who sold floral paintings to boutiques in LA. She did koi paintings and was a "wonderful mother. Her humanity, energy, and wit will be sorely missed." I don't know her, but I feel sad.

Jesika Renee Smith, age 18, "landed in the arms of the angels" recently. We are told nothing about her. James David "JD" Mansfield, just two years older than my eldest son, died suddenly ... "as a result of an accident at home." He "loved sports, hunting and fishing, but most of all his 2-year-old daughter." It sounds like he had a big family and I imagine every holiday and hunting trip and fishing expedition... every time that family gets together, he will be very missed.

Steve R. O'Donnell, age 69, also "passed away suddenly as a result of an accident." He founded Goal Systems Computer Software Co.

Fred Rubeck lived at Walnut Grove Campground. He died last Monday due to an accident there.

I'm going to be much more careful around the house.

Lester Bosco Roberts died at age 97 after "a short illness." "Lester was a part of a research team that studied the extreme longevity of residents in the country Hunza in the 1950's." I didn't know about that. "He conducted research in areas as diverse as why rocking calms babies and keeping sterile environments in space travel." He had no children and lived on his own until six weeks before his death. It seems to me that Mr. Roberts knew a thing or two and I would have loved to have known him.

John A. Webb, age 31, died also. He is survived by his wife and his former wife and his children: Trinity, Katrina, John Jr., Jacob, Kassandra, Kara, Chad, Little John and Katie King. I really hope Mr. Webb carried sufficient life insurance. Nine children will miss him.

Cahi Lee Wong died at age 89. She was associated with the Tai Wan Restaurant in Columbus and along with the many surviving family members, her obituary lists "great-grand dogs, Bella, Romeo, Sidney and Shadow." I hope when my time comes, my family lists my pets in the obituary.

This ten minutes spent each day reading about the ending of strangers' lives might seem a little odd to some. But I think it gives me a good perspective. Life is short, temporary, unpredictable and death happens to everyone in ways and at times that don't make sense. It's a good thing to keep in mind when faced with the ups and downs of life here in Middle America.

Update on SBC

2004-06-25T11:22:00.000-04:00

Well, perhaps all my problems with SBC were due to the strike situation. At least, the last three people I've talked with this week about various issues have been pleasant and helpful. Perhaps my SBC nightmare was just a branch of their nightmare. But, the automated phone services companies use... ugh! Does anyone have anything good to say about them?

This Shopper is No Mystery

2004-06-24T13:28:00.000-04:00

In my list of "interesting occupations I might like to do for a month or so, independent of how much they pay" I've got "Mystery Shopper." I will likely never be a Mystery Shopper, but I may be able to be the next best thing: a person who puts their complaints on the Internet for the entire world to read. Well, providing that they find my discourse.

Today, is the day my consumer-fury will rain down on the corporations that often for reasons that have nothing to do with personal choice, have wormed their way into my everyday life. Here is a synopsis (because I do care about your mental health and wouldn't wish the full, word-by-word account on anyone) of a recent "problem resolution." I will put these under the proper corporation heading, so you can scroll down to your personal favorite.

SBC Ameritech: Despite the fancy-dancy television commercials that constantly interrupt some of my favorite TV shows, this company almost (I've got to build some suspense) tops the list of "Corporations that Drive Me Crazy."

1) A few months ago, I call SBC Ameritech to remove "unlimited residential service" from a spare phone line used only occassionally to send faxes. This smart move is aimed at saving me less than ten dollars a month. The lady is nice and says she will set it all up. At the same time I order "unlimited long distance" for $30 a month on my phone line.

2) I receive a phone bill and the service was not reduced on my fax line. I also find that the "unlimited long distance" on my lines does not include faxes to England, which I previously received with my long distance carrier, ZoneLD, for about 6 cents a minute. I decide SBC's unlimited long distance is not a good idea for me, and choose to return to ZoneLD. I think this will be easy. I am an optimist.

3) I call SBC and reach a person who cannot understand anything to do with my order, cannot pull up the info on the computer screen, sounds like she's 10 years old, has a supervisor standing by that isn't helping, and finally puts me on hold for 15 minutes while she searches for a fax number, which I have requested in a desperate attempt to just submit my complaint in writing. I hang up and call another SBC customer service number. The same thing happens. Later that day, I learn that SBC workers are on strike and "this may affect customer service." I take a nice drive in the countryside and thank God I don't work for SBC.

4) A few days later, I call back. Everything in #3 is repeated. WHILE ON HOLD, I go online and submit the request there using their customer service form. I hope for the best.

5)I call SBC, again, to make sure they received my form. I review everything in #1, #2, and #3. Keep in mind that getting to the part where "I review everything..." requires entering into the key pad my phone number, ZIP code, and then verifying my address and declining participating in their stupid customer service survey. I repeat all this same information to the person who answers the phone. I am re-routed to another department, and, to a young man who takes my information and promises to call me back. He calls back and gets my voice mail. I call him back and get his voice mail. He calls me back and gets my voice mail. I call back and talk to someone else. Finally, it seems my fax line service is changed as I like and I am saving about $9 a month.

6) My unlimited long distance service is also removed. They will not, however, refund the one month of "unlimited residential service" on my fax line that I had asked a month earlier to be removed. They have no record of my removing it. They tell me I should have kept the e-mail. I point out to them that I didn't send an e-mail, I filled out their customer service form on their Website, and didn't have a copy of it. I asked them why they have that form there, if you can't submit information there pertaining to your account. They seem not to understand what is on their website.

7) I receive a letter from SBC verifying the reduction in charges for my fax line, yet there is a new charge for "Individual Message Residence: $2.21". I have no idea what this is. I call in, they explain it to me. Don't ask me what it is as I do not remember.

8) I sign up online to renew my long distance services with ZoneLD, but am unable to add in my fax line: "there is a problem with the line." I send two e-mails. I decide to call. Their phone number, as shown online ends with "ZoneLD." I look at my phone, there is no "Z" showing on the keypad. I am debating if the "9/WXY" would be the one to press or the "0." I decide to send an e-mail.

9) I receive an e-mail from ZoneLD confirming my e-mail to them. I receive no further e-mails resolving the problem. My fax will not dial long distance.

10) I call SBC Ameritech and they explain that as they have removed themselves as my LD carrier, there is no LD provider, but for $3 a month they will put their name back on as my LD provider. I decline.

11) I go to ZoneLD's site again, and this time am holding the cordless handset of a different phone in the house. Eureka! It has "Z" on the keypad, next to the "9/WXY". I now know what number to call. I call the number and get voice mail. But, hooray, they actually call me back and promise to resolve the problem and get my fax line signed up, but it will take a few days.

12) In the meantime, when I want to make faxes, I switch the phone cord between my voice phone and my fax line. Keeping up?

13) This morning, I received a call from SBC asking me if I would like to purchase their long distance plan for $30 a month. I said no.

ZoneLD: This is a nice company, their LD service is $0.039 per minute, and they seem to be easy to deal with...I have no complaints about them.

Sprint PCS: Oh my God! Where to start... They are my number one least favorite company. I haven't had to talk with them for ten months, but I am not yet over the trauma of dealing with this company. Let's just say, Nothing is free or clear. When my plan expires in September I am running from them like a bad case of shingles. Every person on earth I talk to has had the same negative experience. Again, their innovative marketing campaign has nothing to do with the reality of dealing with their customer service, which almost caused me to throw my cell phone out the window, or perhaps to my small dog to use as a chew toy. I've always felt it's not healthy to have hatred toward another person, but might I make an exception for a corporate identity?

infoseek: Beware the company that operates with automatic renewals. When a charge for $146 appeared on my bank statement, I discovered my marketing plan had automatically renewed, though I never sign up for that service and was not forewarned. I e-mailed the company, and a nice guy e-mailed me back, sent a fax and agreed to refund the entire amount. I submitted the proper paperwork. Nothing happened. I sent nice guy an e-mail, then another. Then another fax. And, hooray, days later, a refund. Since infoseek refunded my money with less than 10 e-mails, with no phone calls and in a matter of two weeks time, they are on my "okay to do business with" list.

Interview Magazine For some reason this magazine comes to my house every month. I don't read it. I don't have time. I look on it to see when the subscription expires. January 2005. I think "Ah ha! Someone has automatically renewed something and I'm going to catch them at it!" I call the magazine. They have nothing to do with the subscription, it is handled by another company. I call them. They tell me, yes, it's true, the subscription was renewed last December. "How much was charged to me for that?" I ask, ready to do battle.

"Well, it was free, there was no charge. A special promotion..."
"And there will be no automatic renewal?"
"No automatic renewal."

Ah well, I live to mystery shop another day....

Spice, Life and All that Jazz

2004-06-17T19:43:00.000-04:00

Ah, what a full day. The jazzy sounds of the local NPR station are a soothing ending to a day filled with variety. A day that started with finishing up a book on fishing, postponing a book on Afghanistan, and completing an earnest book by a ninety-year-old ex-foreign service person who now writes books to encourage peace. All this interspersed with talks with a client who has created the greatest childrens book, which is now in a prototype using a cool program called Flip Publisher.

We had a nice summer thunderstorm . . . the rain threw itself against the big evergreen sideways, while my Chihauhua sat on a cushion on the desk, a parrot perched near her on the stem of my clip-on bendable desk light, and Tyler, the Pekingese, stretched out on the floor dreaming of who knows what. Within half an hour the sun was shining again as if it had never left. And it hadn't . . . it was simply hard to see.

"Blackbird singing in the dead of night..."

What a great song.

"You were always waiting for this moment to arrive..."

Hmmm... What moments in our life are we waiting to arrive? Looking back, it wasn't really the big moments at all. Not the weddings, graduations, or births.

The moments were the feel of fresh air on my cheek as I rode my bike next to my eldest son, when he was only a small boy. Relaxing on the couch with my youngest son as we laughed at "Everybody Loves Raymond" and watched our dear old dog, Buster (who died last year -- he's the one in the photo with me), snore and move his paws in a dreamy prance.

Moments like sitting on the front porch with my mother as she comments on how beautiful the flowering shrubs are around my house, just like the ones around her grandmother's house. Moments like handing out candy to trick or treaters my first year in Lancaster. Families filled the streets, we had to make an emergency run to the grocery, and I felt like I'd moved to the most wonderful town in America. Nice neighbors even gave out treats to Buster!

Moments like sneaking a little Chihauhua in my handbag into the nursing home where my eldest son lives to surprise him at Christmas. A dozen moments sharing experiences with a sister closer than any best friend could be.

The second it took for my youngest son, visiting from Philadelphia this past Mother's Day, dropping a beautiful pair of silver earrings into my hand and wishing me a happy birthday. The moment it takes to hear "I love you."

Life: a collage of memorable moments -- images, scents, sounds, feelings. On a busy day like today, filled with "bus-i-ness" that I won't even remember next year (the frustrating on-hold recorded voice at a business, the unauthorized automatic withdrawal by an online company that is hard to reach, the scanner acting funky), it's good to recall the moments for which I was always waiting. They did. They do. Wow!

Weird Government Titles #1

2004-06-16T18:57:00.000-04:00

Trivial pursuit of weird terms...

The Patriot Act is actually an anacronym for:
Uniting and Strengthening America by Providing Appropriate Tools Required to Intercept and Obstruct Terrorism Act of 2001.

Who knew? I discovered this when browsing the "Best Seller" list of the NTIS (National Technical Information Service) website. My curiousity was piqued at the term "DEATH MASTER FILE." Wow! Is that ominous sounding or what?

"The SSA Death Master File is used by leading government, financial, investigative, credit reporting organization, medical research and other industries to verify identity as well as to prevent fraud and comply with the USA Patriot Act."

Mathematical Methods in Combating Terrorism. Otherwise known as "Einstein's revenge" "This document is a preliminary report on the role that mathematical and statistical methods might play in the defense against terrorist attacks. In no way does this replace the efforts of law enforcement agencies or intelligence activities." Good, glad to hear it!

Fred and the Voice of Food Safety. Yummy!

Not a gov't term, but what the heck... The term "gray literature" was found at this government news site. I was not familiar with this term, but found a good site explaining it (Librarians are so helpful!):
"Gray or grey literature has long been considered the proverbial needle in the haystack. It is commonly defined as any documentary material that is not commercially published and is typically composed of technical reports, working papers, business documents, and conference proceedings."

"...books no longer imprisoned for life..."

2004-06-16T15:35:00.000-04:00

In "Book Business: Publishing Past Present and Future" Jason Epstein writes:
The best advertising for any book is word of mouth. For this the global village green offers limitless scope. . . . With books no longer imprisoned for life within fixed bindings the opportunities are endless for the creation of new, useful, and profitable products by Internet publishers.

"Among the many tyrannies to be overcome by the World Wide Web will be the turnover requirements of retail booksellers. . . .

"The obstacles imposed between readers and writers by traditional publishing practices . . . will wither away. The global village green will not be paradise. It will be undisciplined, polymorphous, and polyglot . . . The critical faculty that selects meaning from chaos is part of our instinctual equipment . . . Human beings have a genius for finding their way.

"... publishers' tasks can be reduced to an essential handful: editorial support, publicity, design, digitizing, and financing. For these functions, size confers no advantage and at a certain magnitude becomes a nuisance."

Epstein's book is must reading for anyone involved in the business of book publishing, even with some of its now out-dated statements (copyright 2001). But, if you want to appreciate where mainstream publishing has been and how an experienced mind evaluates the future of it, then spend a few hours listening to what this author has to say. Developing a strategic and polymorphic approach to writing and building an author's fan base using all up-to-date methods is crucial to success in publishing.

What I think we're seeing at this point is size (of a publishing house) conferring no advantage and even becoming a nuisance. A nuisance because most creativity undertaken by committee is fraught with complications. In fact, compared to the ease with which a blog, a website, or a print-on-demand book can be created today, it's somewhat amazing there have been so many books that survived the production process over the last few hundred years.

Let's look at the life cycle of an "Average Book" (circa 1900 - 2004, I'm not going to pretend to know anything about the 19th century). For our example, this will be a book you read once and like enough to give away but not enough to hold on to.

Step One:
Against all odds, the pressing obligations and superficial interests of life . . . the demands of lovers and guilt-trips of spouses and parents . . . the business of earning a living and sitting one's arse in a chair for a prolonged period of time ("shutting the door" as Stephen King advises) . . . against the intimidation of the classics, the skepticism of the less hard-working, the threat of addiction and a million other things that distract people from their goals (or give them excuses, depending on your level of sympathy with this process) A MANUSCRIPT IS WRITTEN!

Step Two:
Now, after three revisions and four go get 'ums by friends and family, research begins for an appropriate agent or publisher. Packages go out, packages come back. Go out. Come back. Go out. Come back. Go out. Come back. A few holidays pass and work begins in earnest on Book Two.

Step Three:
Saints be praised, Book One has been accepted for publication.

Step Four:
We'll skip the editorial meetings, sales meetings, proofs going back and forth and go right to the fun part -- printing. The book is printed and arrives on Author's doorstep. Champagne is opened. Mother is proud. Children (if there was time to bear them) are impressed. Life is good. Is it time to give notice at the place of employment yet?

Step Five:
The publisher receives faxed, phoned, or electronic orders for the book. Tons of orders come in. Tons of books are printed. The book costs $20. retail. The publisher sells the book for $10. It costs $3. to produce, plus $1 for marketing, plus $1 to finance all the books that the publisher currently publishes that don't sell at all and are financed by the more successful books (or that sell really well at such a discount they don't make any money, so their "success" is financed by less-popular but better margined titles). So, let's say there is $5 left over to make the publisher money. And, the author hopes to get a bit of that.

Step Six:
The books ship out in smart-looking trucks to their retail destinations. Mother looks for it on the shelf in Miami Beach and the Author's college roommate asks for it in San Diego. Meanwhile, new copies start showing up on Amazon for $4.

Step Seven:
The Author does a few book signings, appears on the radio, and waits for the first sales report. The bookstores leave the books on the shelf, spine out, next to the other 20,000 or so new titles published every year.

Step Eight:
The economy is going south, the bookstore has a slow month and now has an invoice for the books ordered for the holidays due to the wholesalers. It doesn't want to pay said bill, so it has bookstore staff comb the shelves (or pull up on the computer) all books that have been "sitting around" for, how could they?, three months. Our dear Author's book is in that category, so all copies at the chain get pulled from the shelf and back they go to the wholesaler, then the distributor, then the publisher.

Step Nine:
They are returned. They are resold. They are returned. They sit. The copyright date gets older. The bookstores will not order copyright dates older than two years. The publisher turns to the "next new thing." The Author's mother complains that none of her friends in Arizona can find the book in bookstores. The Author furiously finishes Book Two.

Step Ten:
Time passes. Book One may break even, or be a loss. It might even, yes it's true I've seen it happen, be a bestseller but make no profit for Author, Publisher or store owner.

This, dear reader, is why the face of publishing is eager to change, Insisting on change and ready for all the new opportunities technology can bring its way.

Stephen King, in "On Writing" states "If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot." He's right, of course, who am I to argue with Stephen King? But to be a successful publisher . . . well, that's a bit trickier!

Thank you Tim Berners-Lee

2004-06-16T09:00:00.000-04:00

Tim Berners-Lee received the first Millennium Technology Prize reported AP's Mans Hulden, for "creating the World Wide Web." The recipient remains modest about his work, the article states, while the prize committee took special note of his decision to never commercialize or patent his contributions. Wow! Thank you Tim Berners-Lee!

A good article on Berners-Lee. Here are some highlights:

"He envisioned a global information space where information stored on computers everywhere was linked and available to anyone anywhere. There were two technologies already developed that would allow his vision to become reality."

"Initially, his proposal received no reply, but he began working on his idea anyway..."

"bureaucracy . . . was slow in acknowledging his efforts."

Secondhand piercing danger!

2004-06-16T08:35:00.000-04:00

Kelly Carnahan of Delaware, Ohio, had her letter printed in today's Columbus (OH) Dispatch. "Government wants to think for smokers" is the headline, and Ms. Carnahan states she resents the government making smoke-free public places because after all we are "thinking human beings who are just plain old fed up with being told we are third-class citizens and not worthy of socializing in a public place just because we choose to smoke." She suggests "we also ban people with tattoos and piercings or just about any other differences that people have, because to me it's pretty much the same thing."

Dear Kelly: You are not demonstrating yourself as a "thinking human being" and tattoos and piercings are NOT the "same thing" . . . not even "pretty much" the same thing.

No one, to my knowledge has become ill or died due to their family member, co-worker, or customers (as in the case of waitstaff in restaurants) having tattoos or piercings. My eldest son has two tattoos and I am not, I repeat NOT, in any danger of the long list of illnesses associated with air heavy-laden with whatever it is contained in cigarette smoke. What an idiotic comparison. Would you take your six-month-old baby, Kelly Carnahan, and place her next to a chain-smoking nanny eight hours a day? Perhaps you already have. I'd put my baby next to the "tattooed lady" over the "smokestake lady" any day.

If adults want to smoke on their property and in private clubs, then go at it. Don't expect me to pay for your doctor bills ten years down the road. Don't expect me to be willing to have my offspring wait on you in a restaurant and don't expect me to sit next to you on an airplane.

My son-with-the-tattoos is disabled and lives in a nursing home. Beginning at 7 am and until 9 pm, every day, seven days a week, the residents, the majority of the residents, smoke. The nurse's aides hold the cigarettes to their lips, if they are unable to do so themselves. I heard the nursing home spends $3000 a month purchasing cigarettes.

The window in the common room where the smoking occurs only opens eight inches and the air filter that sits on the TV looks like the small one in my house that filters air to help my parrot stay healthy. In other words, it's not enough to clean the air of 10 to 20 men smoking 14 times a day. That's 140 to 280 cigarettes being smoked every day in the presence of my 23-year-old MRDD, hearing-impaired child whom I have spent decades telling "don't take up smoking, don't take drugs, eat your vegetables." I asked the state ombudsman to check it out and the nursing home, according to the investigator, is conforming to current law. The law stinks, literally.

Kelly Carnahan of Deleware, Ohio, may you live long enough to regret the "thinking" opinion you hold today.

UPDATE to this article: Today, June 29, 2004, Columbus, OH, passed into law a smoking ban at bars, restuarants and bowling alleys in Columbus. Might common areas of nursing homes be next?

Confederate Math: Part Two

2004-06-16T08:32:00.000-04:00

The United Daughters of the Confederacy have recognized Maudie Celia Hopkins as a surviving Civil War soldier's widow . . . Her husband was 86 when he married the then-19-year-old in 1934. The UDC say "there might be others like her still alive." I just don't get it...

Wi-Fi, Hi-Fi, Bu-bye

2004-06-14T13:04:00.000-04:00

Hang on . . . this may not make sense. In fact, if it does make sense you are way ahead of me!

Last night, I finally got around to reading Newsweek's June 7th issue on "Way Cool Phones." As a person who believes I should know the meaning of every word I read, or take time to find it out, I was immediately put off by "Wi-Fi." What has happened to me?

Last week, I was talking with my friend, David, about his album collection. His "albums" are CDs. My albums are, well albums. When I was a kid, we listened to our albums on "Hi-Fi's." When did Wi-Fi's come about? The article never did identify the term, but I was heartened to see in the Letters to the Editor section of the following week's Newsweek that arrived today, that many readers wrote in to ask "What's a Wi-Fi?" Whew! "Wireless-Fidelity" was the answer . . . okay . . .

Continuing on with this great article on all the things my cell phone will one day be able to do for me (or could now if I bought a new one) (TV shows, GPS, Internet, games, e-mail, video, etc. etc)... I quickly encountered more and more words (even phrases) with which I, an Editor!, was completely unfamiliar and could not decipher:

"...then some geeks came up with a new communications standard exploiting an unlicensed part of the spectrum (which the wonks at the FCC called "junk band," stuff designated for techno-flotsam like microwave ovens and cordless phones). It was called 802.11 and only later sexed up with the Wi-Fi moniker."

WHAT?

Here are some new terms:
"bandwidth liberator" "WiMax" "cyberaction"

How about this:
"Consider the MIT Media Lab project to install Wi-Fi base stations on intervillage buses in India: when the vehicles stop to pick up passengers, computer users within range can use the signal to download files or send e-mail."

I can hear it now... "Teacher, my term paper isn't done because the bus was not on schedule."

More terms in Newsweek:
"Bluetooth" "RFID" "Zig-Bee (a way to network appliances)" The author of this article defines photography (the traditional kind like I have in a shoebox) as "flat illustrative artifact[s]."

In the same issue, there is an article entitled "Making the Ultimate Map." Steven Levy states:
"...just over the azimuth [now there's a good word!] is the holy grail of mapping, where every imaginable form of location-based information is layered onto an aggregate construct that mirrors the whole world." [Yowzah!] "Eventually, between the databases, the parsing and the geo-hackers, millions of places will be digitally annotated, and the experience of traveling the world will be akin to visiting a museum with an exquisitely informed guide."

Yes, but will it be any easier to bring my dog along?

Just when I thought all was lost, as far as my keeping up, I received the June 21st issue of TIME Magazine. In "10 Questions for David Sedaris" (author of "Me Talk Pretty One Day") Sedaris is asked about his familiarity with the Internet:
"I've never seen the Internet. I don't have e-mail. I just enjoy lying on the couch and reading a magazine. When people say, 'You should visit my Web page,' I'm always perplexed by it. Why? What do you do there?"

Summary:
I feel about a hundred and three years old. My 21-year-old knows more than I do. I think I'm "cyber-savy" because I can view my bank account online and create a business website. . . . All this high-faluting techno-babble drives me to the simple pleasures of a chocolate chip cookie, a glass of milk and the Columbus Dispatch newspaper. It costs fifty cents, doesn't require typing to navigate, and I can use it to line the bird cage. I'm sure one day it may be obsolete, but until then I'll shake the tech confusion from my brain every morning, grab a cup of coffee and stare at the front porch, looking for information delivered the old-fashioned way: by a kid on a bike.

Confederate Math

2004-06-14T13:03:00.000-04:00

Now, I understand the Internet brings together people from a wide variety of locations, religions, backgrounds, political leanings and world views. And having lived in Florida for 17 years is probably not enough to put me on the good side of proud Southerners . . . so perhaps only Yankees will understand my befuddlement over the death of Alberta Martin making national news, in a week filled with the death of a president, a continuing war, Venus & the Sun, high school graduations, the 60th Anniversary of D-Day, the G8 summit, and the much anticipated premieres of summer movies.

As I was stumbling to do the math in my head (when did the Civil War end? what's the youngest a soldier could have been?), wondering how Alberta could even have still been alive... the anchor explained how Mrs. Martin was a mere 21 at her marriage in 1927, to the former Confederate soldier who was . . . ahem! . . . 81. Now I learn from Margaret Dickson that 10 months after the lucky Confederate and love-is-blind bride married, their child was born. Not one to take the conventional path, Alberta eventually married her husband's grandson and they, in time, celebrated a golden wedding anniversary. Wow, and all this before Viagra, Hugh Hefner, and The Sun tabloid.

Since we're celebrating the 60th Anniversary of D-Day, I wonder if the news will report something about a 21-year-old MAN marrying an 81-year-old World War II WASP, celebrating the nuptials, perhaps, on the grounds of the new memorial, before taking off in a small plane for a South Florida honeymoon. Now that would be newsworthy!

The Desire to Publish

2004-06-12T16:34:00.000-04:00

Since 1997, I have been involved with folks whose purpose in contacting me is to turn their manuscripts into books. They want to be not only writers, but Authors. Published authors and, dare they dream, self-supporting published authors.

Most of them want book tours, autographing parties, their book on a shelf at Barnes & Noble (preferrably an endcap with no competitors), their book in the "Literary Guild" catalog (or maybe Quality Paperback Book Club's...). They want to get e-mails from people whose lives were changed by reading what they wrote. I confess to a bit of that desire myself...

The desire to be published is a societal step-up from the desire to be heard. Writers just want to be heard by as many people as possible and for as many generations as possible. In some folks it is attached to the desire for wealth and fame, but not for as many as one might think.

It is great to read a manuscript that needs little editing ... that takes on a life of its own and demands to be a book, earning that right simply by the arrangement of letters on a page. An arrangement that creates an alternate world with characters, scenery, and action. Magic!

Other manuscripts, like a sturdy house, need construction work. Sometimes things get messier before they get better. In all cases trust and patience are key. Hope helps too...

I once read an article by Erma Bombeck years ago on the natural optimism of dogs. Writers have that as well, I've found. They are optimistic about the chances of their work being published, being sold, being considered worthwhile. It is difficult when the truth is otherwise and one could never delight in being right in such a situation.

Technology has changed the way books are produced, the economics and business set-up of publishing and a host of other things. Technology can never change the magic of words well written.

Hopelessly Devoted: The Reagans

2004-06-11T08:43:00.000-04:00

Amid the many pages of eulogy, analysis, commentary, and photographs . . . between the computer-generated graphic cutaway of the Capitol and the black-and-white photo of a young Reagan with his football buddies . . . beyond the words of Tim Russert, Larry King, Katie Couric, Peter Jennings, et. al . . . there is one photograph of Ronald and Nancy Reagan that I absolutely love. You may have seen it. Taken at the "Western White House" it shows the couple standing face to face, embracing and (of course) gazing and smiling into each other's eyes. Cowboy hats, jeans, a gingham shirt for her, and denim one for him, they are at the pond on their property, a canoe christened "TRULUV" nearby. What a great picture. Obviously, posed for the camera, but I am just sentimental enough to like it anyway.

I'm not a Reagan afficionado; I'm not even a Republican. When Reagan was president, I was a stay-at-home mom with two active pre-school children and a host of pressing worries. My memories of world news at that time are few: the assassination attempt on Reagan, the Challenger disintegrating before my eyes on the television screen as I ironed (every word in that phrase is important!), and "Ollie" North's testimony before Congress, well, just his swearing in part and a few highlights. So, I'll leave the analysis to the more knowledegable and the sophisticated.

But, as the song goes "I know something about love!" and every picture of this first couple is embedded with devotion, with links going back to a thousand public and private moments the public could never truly understand. Unless, perhaps, they were fortunate to share a similar coupling. (It's hard not to contrast that with the famous shot of President Clinton, Hillary, and Chelsea walking across the lawn after his on-air confession, or the often-noted habit of President Nixon to treat his wife as if she did not exist.)

Seeing photos of the Reagans reminds me of the myth of popular sentiments, phrases I have heard and (forgive me) even used a few times in my 30 years of adult life. Here they are, not in any particular order:

* It's not true that "men cannot communicate." Reagan's letters to his wife clearly demonstrated that he knew how to share his deepest feelings. Any person would be blessed to have such a partner.

* It's not true that "second marriages don't work out." Theirs did.

* It's not true that "nice guys finish last." By all accounts it seems that Reagan was a kind person, with an ability to hold a strong opinion but allow that others might understandably differ. He was able to be decisive yet agreeable, a helpful quality in life and a good time to use the adjective "disarming." His manner and charisma were dis-arming. Worth thinking about at this time in history . . .

*It's not true that "love doesn't last." Love does last. It lasts between parents, friends, partners, and children and their parents. It lasts beyond death, beyond war, beyond politics, beyond poverty, and sometimes, beyond wealth, power and success.

"TRULUV" is not Brittany Spears, J. Lo, or applicable to any other celebrity in PEOPLE magazine under the age of 35, as far as I'm concerned. Judgmental? Yes. I happen to believe it is okay to make judgments. People use the word judgmental when they don't agree with your opinions. I've fought being wishy-washy my whole life and now embrace being older, wearing purple and being willing to create discomfort.

TRULUV is Ronald and Nancy Reagan, Christopher and Dana Reeves, and Greg and Lauren Manning. It's the couple together for fifty-plus years, or 20 for that matter. It's commitment, romance, sparks, and shared secrets. Sex and family and work and illness. War and peace and presents and beauty. Death cannot take it away. When they see it, others want it, too. It's something worth having.

I guess the surprising thing is the amount of attention being given to the Reagans love affair. As if it were so rare. Not so! All across the world, in towns and cities and farmland and desert and rainforest and island ... there are people who love each other, who gaze into each other's eyes, who mourn the loss of each other. But we don't hear about them much.

Today, while others commemorate President Reagan's life, I'm going to remember my parents, married for 49 years when Dad died; my mother and Joe (in their eighties and in love for almost a decade now) and the other kinds of love as well that weaves its gentle and comforting way through my life.

Take heart. There is love "out there." It's worth hoping for and worth having. Nancy and Ronald Reagan remind us of that.

It's Summer

2004-06-10T14:26:00.000-04:00

It's summer... I live in Ohio now, but until 1999, I was in Florida for 17 years. Summer there was nothing to write about, as far as I was concerned. Oppressive heat, water restrictions, fire ants, sunburn, and humidity that wrecked havoc with hairstyles and makeup. My main impression of Florida in the summer was getting that first shock -- God it's hot! -- when exiting an over-air-conditioned movie theater. But, now summer means something different...

In Ohio now summer is not a thing to fear. Yes, there are some hot days, but the end is always in sight and my big front porch offers enough relief. There's just enough heat to make summer worthwhile but not discouraging.

School's out now. I know this not because I have children at home. That circle game of educational calendars ended in 2001. No, the elementary age children next store sit in the backyard and sing group songs, clapping their hands in time. The junior high kids on the opposite side of the street spent a good portion of today imitating squeaking tires to the consternation of folks pulling out of the four-way stop. This continued for quite a while and drove my dog crazy as this human boy-child made the sound of a dog suffering serious injury.

On the third side of my house is the garage band teenagers who played dodgeball at midnight. They don't have jobs for the summer, and while at first I felt badly for them, I've decided they ought to enjoy freetime while they have it, life will change for them soon enough.

Summer's here and I haven't yet learned how to make mint juleps, or even tasted one. But, yesterday we had a whopper of a thunderstorm and it was great fun. I took the little dogs with me onto the wicker chair on the front porch and we watched as rain pelted (yes, that's exactly what it did) the roof, shook up all the trees, put my hanging plants at a 45 degree angle, and caused a young woman to laugh with excitement as she hurried to roll up the window of her rusty car, but not quite all the way -- she didn't have air conditioning.

The thunder was so loud I could feel it through the red planks of the porch floor. I watched the 100-or-so-year-old tree sway 10 feet from me and hoped that it would hold out. It was a great storm!

Summer's here... plants completely forgotten have propelled themselves out of the ground as if to say, "I told you I'd come back!" And, like every year I stare at the new growth trying to remember what is best defined as perennial and what as weed... what I lack in knowledge, I make up for in enthusiasm.

It's summer... green, lush, wet, hot, loud ... like a woman who loves life and loves herself, summer runs laughing to those eager to take off their shoes.

A Year with Gracie

2004-06-09T09:23:00.000-04:00

One year ago, the most marvelous creature flew into my life ... Gracie, beautiful Maximilian's Parrot, a Pionus with an aerodynamically-designed body covered with vibrant green feathers that bring to mind one word -- resplendent! Her small head is decorated with gray feathers, the ends of which are tipped in green. Her breast is a dusty lavendar, but her real glory lies in the vermillion feathers underneath her tail. Few man-made objects look as striking as the red feathers on her bottom against the green feathers of her tail, the green feathers also tinged with the most beautiful royal blue.

As a painter, I am delighted every morning to find this happy-go-lucky sprite sharing her beauty with me so freely. She puts her head down to be petted and my awkward fingers enjoy the softest down as she coos like a tiny winged baby.

At age five, Gracie left a home with many other birds, a mom and dad and two children... the only family she had known since hatching in an incubator ... and traveled hundreds of miles in a shakey old truck to dwell with a single, middle-aged woman with dogs. She left the country to live "in town" and being a quiet parrot, my neighbors still speak to me.

Gracie's most-happy-it-must-be-my-birthday! moment occurs anytime she sits on her PVC-pipe perch in the shower and, bottom up, head down, wings spread, eyes closed she enters her "rain forest" and calls back, somehow, to the bird-parents of inherited memory. Eventually, feathers heavy with droplets, she sits straight up, shakes her head, and allows her favorite transportation system, me, to take her to her "home." There, she perches and preens the hot summer afternoon away, nibbling on vegetables and playing with the newspaper, like a health-conscious female at the local spa. She emerges at suppertime ready to sit at the kitchen window and chirp to the sparrows who congregate at the bird bath and feeder there. When they look up to the window and see this beautiful creature, five times their size, with lavendar-brown-grey eyes surrounded by pure white circles that meet the green feathers of her head ... I wonder if they think she is a goddess. Perhaps they have created birdy-lore about the "mysterious one in the window who joins our song each morning and evening."

An early bird, the sound of Peter Jennings at 6:30 is her signal that bedtime approaches. A little cooing in my ear and sitting with me on the couch, and then it's off to sleep under a brown sheet on a perch that is supposed to feel like a tree branch under her reptilian toes. A four-lb. Chihauhua sleeping closeby, ready to alert at any cat that might dare to step on the far side of our kitchen door ... Gracie sleeps in safety, peace and comfort ... one leg up, one leg down.

She will be 6 on July 4th this year. Happy Birthday, Gracie!

Columbus Arts Festival

2004-06-08T13:10:00.000-04:00

Wow! What a great time I had on Saturday at the Columbus (OH) Arts Festival along the beautiful Scioto River. Six hundred thousand people attended (luckily not all on Saturday morning)... the weather was perfect the work on display so inspiring.

Favorites: Karen Eyara Naylor: Glass Sculpture. Also High Fidelity Photo and Belleau Art Glass .

Confession #1

2004-06-08T12:53:00.001-04:00

Yes, I'll admit it... I buy Reader's Digest Condensed books (fiction and nonfiction) at secondhand sales and read them in the dark of night... I know, I know... I'm an editor, a publisher... a writer for heaven's sake... how can I stand to have the author's work condensed just so I can find the time to read it?

But, that's the thing... last night the young folks who live next door (well, they don't really live there, they are using the house for their garage band, which is really playing in the basement while someone's father remodels the house), anyway, as they played dodgeball in the street next to my new car at midnight, mohawks waving back and forth like the crest of a purple cockatoo... the chains on their jeans jangling and my Chihauhau--all four pounds of her--barking incessantly... well, it's a summer night like that when it's just the thing to pick up a condensed book. There's even the hope I can finish it in one setting without altering my sleep pattern too significantly.

Last night I read Lesley Stahl's biography. Sorry Lesley, not only do I not remember whether it's "--ley" or "--lie" I don't remember the title. This is what happens when there is no discernible book cover.

More importantly though, it was a "great read" as they say. And, lo and behold, I was reading the chapters on her time as a White House Correspondent for CBS during the Reagan years, just after watching the first of a week of services for Ronald Reagan. I particularly liked Stahl's paragraph about a convention held for mayors. Reagan went up to one gentleman (his housing secretary it turned out) and asked "Mr. Mayor, what city do you represent?" or something similar. Hmmmm....

Stahl shares the story of her covering a political convention in 1974, the first female to do so for the network. She was a bit nervous, and her boss walked her to the place where the chairs for the network's anchors were arranged in a semi-circle... "Cronkite" was written on one chair; "Mudd" on another; "Rather" on another... on Lesley's: "female." Her boss had the good sense to blush...

Books: The Initial Spark

2004-06-03T12:17:00.000-04:00

There is nothing more powerful than the words we use as individuals and as a society . . . words to challenge, inform, motivate, subdue, intimidate, entertain, threaten, instruct, sell, change, or comfort. When our words are put on paper and bound between covers they become a fixed entity that, in a way, takes on a life of its own. Our thoughts become words and our words become books.

Until age thirteen I lived a very physical life: dance lessons, hiking in the woods near our home, and skating on a nearby pond. But I was set back with a prolonged illness at the start of high school, and it was then I began to discover the magic of books. The library in the small Ohio town where I lived with my parents was a pleasant summer’s walk away, holding ideas and stories that took me beyond the limitations of an insecure adolescence. I checked out as many books as I could carry the mile or so back home. I didn’t learn about other ideas, religions, governments, and centuries at my local school. School was the place I had to go to before I could go to the library. When I was able to work in the school library, well, that helped quite a bit.

I remember one afternoon when my father came to pick me up outside a secondhand book sale and was astonished to find me standing on the sidewalk with three large cardboard boxes full of books. My mother kindly made room in the hall closet for the complete set of twenty or so antique, embossed, oversize hardcover books on classical music and voice training. One treasured find was a book that opened to reveal fold-out newspaper articles written as if at the time of the Old Testament: “Moses Parts the Red Sea, Enemy Dies by the 1000s!” “ ‘I Respect My Father’s Judgment,’ Isaac States, as He Returns from Mountain Trip.” “ ‘I Never Looked Back,’ Lot Assured this Reporter.”

One of my clearest memories is the arrival of several boxes to the home of my high school English teacher who lived in the same apartment complex as my family. I don’t remember her name, but I remember her encouragement of my interest in books and art, and it was my good luck that she put me on the team publishing our school’s first literary magazine.

When the boxes of printed and bound magazines arrived, it was quite an occasion. I remember vividly how they smelled of ink and how the paper felt. That sense of delight hasn’t diminished for me: decades and hundreds of books on a wide variety of subjects later, I still feel happy anticipation cutting through the packing tape, and pulling out the first printed copy of a new book.