7 of seven

I live in the house I grew up in, the house my grandfather built in the 1930s. My mother, now 83, has lived here for all but 6 years of her life.

5 of seven & my Christmas miracle

First, thanks for the advice and encouragement about my postal travails. (Who knew there were so many postal workers among us?) For the most part, I do admire the service. In general, it gets so much done so well that when things go this wildly awry it's worth noting and, with very few and recent exceptions, the people I've encountered have been smart, helpful, and courteous. There's just something about doing business through 1-inch-thick bulletproof plexi that puts a real damper on things, doncha think?

But it has worked out. I got a parking place this morning directly in front of the building (a major coup in that neighborhood); toddled carefully over the ice to the meter, found that it was broken and so parked for free; had only 20 minutes in line (and used the time to make some notes about a children's story I have in mind*); got my package with no fuss or bother; and left immediately after the person who had double-parked next to me. And was as completely delighted with the moon-leaping bunny when I saw it "live" as I hoped I'd be from the pictures Sara sent. All in all -- some anxiety, but no complaints. A small miracle and a nice way to begin rounding down the year.

[*don't get excited about this -- having roughed out a plot over a grid of 6 pages, I doubt I will go any further. I know how it ends. Hamfisted treacle for everyone.]

Second, the 5/7 part. The only thing I have ever wanted to be is a singer. I have no talent -- as in ABSOLUTELY NO TALENT -- for it, but the yearning for the magic and community of music runs deep and persistents. It's still the only thing I really want to be, everything else is something I can do. Those other skills and talents have their own joys and challenge, but they're not music.

4 of seven

For those of you who speak astrology:

I have 6 planets in Leo, and 8 in the 11th house.

And a bonus fact: My middle name, Diane, was given to me because in the year I was born there was a hurricane named Diane. Those were the days when you could get more than halfway through the hurricane season and still only be up to "d" in the naming convention. I don't think people should name their children after natural catastrophes. And if they do, they should make up a nicer story to explain their choice.

Enjoy the solstice.

3 of seven

When
I was
in sixth grade,
I read at the 12th grade level.

woo-hoo.

(I'm not quite old enough to have posed for Mary Cassatt. [The painting is at the Hirshhorn in D.C.])

2 of seven

When we were kids, my brother and I spent time with our grandparents at their home in Delaware. My brother always favored small furry animals and decided he wanted a rabbit. If he got a rabbit -- he got all the good stuff, of course, and first-- I had to have a rabbit. So on the way back to New York, we stopped at the home of one of the Amish families we knew and we each, naively, picked out a rabbit because we liked their colors. I got a completely white rabbit. He got one that was black and white. He thought my rabbit was trite. I thought his rabbit had to be better because it was, you know, his. Man, it sucks being the little sister.
But I digress. . . oh yes, the rabbits.
Not surprisingly, once we were home, we started having quite a lot of rabbits. So much so, that my parents said we had to give back the rabbits.

Very sad.

Except that -- o! frabjous day! -- we happened to return the rabbits on a day when the Amish boys had been hunting and had killed what turned out to be a mother raccoon. They had tracked back to the nest and taken the kits. Six baby raccoons. So we traded. What a deal. A measly two rabbits for SIX, count 'em SIX, baby raccoons. So adorable they are with their clever hands and those cunning masks. We brought them home in a cardboard box.

Can we keep these? Not in the house, my father said. So we built an enclosure in the yard and kept them there for a while. How long a while I don't quite remember, but long enough for me to take one to school for show-and-tell, and for my mother to make a baseball jacket for another that we took to my brother's Little League games. A friend of one of my aunts adopted one of the raccoons, and the other five eventually made a break for freedom and moved into the park across the street.

A few decades later, there are still raccoons in the park and I can't help wondering -- did I do that?

image from http://www.loomcom.com/raccoons/gallery/jpegs/raccoon1.jpg

mid term slump

My friend Ellen from the book exchange laid down this gauntlet of post-a-day for the month of December and I'm not sure why I took it up. (I'll bet you're wondering as well.) What is my fascination with these one-a-day challenges? In my real life--as opposed to my completely-made-up-in-my-head life -- pretty much the only things I do every day are the things that support metabolism. But every time one of these notions wanders across my sight line I think: "that sounds like fun. maybe I'll try it." And so here I am, up well past midnight during the work week casting about for something to say. And not doing very well.

If I were to take the tagger's "7 fun facts" and spread it over a week, I could begin with: I write, and send, fan letters. Not often, but every now and again. I never expect any kind of reply, although I did once get back an actual letter -- typed on a typewriter that had clearly seen hard use, and signed by hand -- from Eileen Atkins. But collecting is not the point. I enjoy articulating what I appreciate about someone else's contribution to the world, and I send them off with the old-fashioned notion that it's always nice to hear nice things about yourself from strangers. Whether the letters actually find their way to the intended recipient is also not the point, I like the feeling of contributing to well-being. Some of the letters are to everyday folks, others are to famous people. For example, I've sent 2 notes of appreciation to police officers in the local precinct, and I wrote to the now-retired Yankees pitcher Mike Mussina because I was so impressed with the elegance and artistry he brought to his work. This intermittent practice grew out of a New Year's resolution to focus on and acknowledge positive things. New Year's being a good time for reflecting and amending.


[image from http://www.levenger.com/ -- where this handy little pen-holding brownie is For Sale.]

speaking of books

Over at More Idle Thoughts, Dinah has accepted a tag from m.heart to select the book nearest at hand, open to page 56, and find the fifth sentence, transcribe the next 2 to 5 sentences. She (Dinah) declines the "now tag five people to do that same" bit, but invites players to self-select. So, picking up the book nearest to hand, Moby Dick (what else would it be?), on page 56, five sentences in (plus a couple) we have:

"Whilst I was thus closely scanning him, half-pretending meanwhile to be looking out at the storm from the casement, he never heeded my presence, never troubled himself with so much as a single glance; but appeared wholly occupied with counting the pages of the marvellous book. Considering how sociably we had been sleeping together the night previous, and especially considering the affectionate arm I had found thrown over upon waking in the morning, I thought this indifference of his very strange. But savages are very strange beings; at times, you do not know exactly how to take them. "

How cool is that?
And now: Tag, you are, if you choose to be so, it.

By the way, whilst out acquiring provisions for the resident felions, I picked up The Songs of the Kings by Barry Unsworth. His book Sacred Hunger is breathtaking, if this is even half as good, I'm set for the weekend. Still open to recommendations.

...but no thanks

In the previous post, I mentioned tagging. That was a dumb thing to have done. I thought the addendum "I'm not complaining" would have been sufficient to indicate that I was happy in my relative anonymity. Apparently not. I have now been tagged. Twice. In rapid succession.

I considered listing the 7 worst things that have happened in my life -- fully half of which involve A felonies -- but decided that would be too hostile even for me. So let me say that, while I appreciate the enthusiasm, I'm not a willing participant. Also, the few (fewer than 7) people that I might, under very exceptional circumstances, consider tagging in turn, have all already been tagged at least twice. A third time would be, I think, too much of an imposition.

So thank you for considering me; I mean that sincerely, thank you. But no thanks.