18 October 2004
Yesterday morning, Mark and I went to a new member class at the church we've been attending. (I suppose I should say "our church," just to get in practice. I'm not really entirely ready for that, though.) To introduce ourselves, we were to give our names, where we live, and our dream vacation. And people, I was disappointed. So many people said, "Oh, I took my dream vacation last year!" Which seems like a good thing, doing what you dream of doing! But then I wanted to ask them: you only had one dream? In the whole entire world, there was only one place you dreamed of going? What's wrong with you people?
What I think I don't understand is dreams with clear endpoints.
Then there were other people who said they wanted to go to "Europe." I heard this from people at college, too -- mostly girls on the Lucia Court -- and I didn't understand it then, either. Europe is not a place! Athens is not Oslo. Rome is not Kiev. Lisbon is not Madrid. Even Paris is not Lyon. I can understand people who want to see each of them, but the concept of "going to Europe" makes no sense to me. One of my friends has parents who have time, money, and inclination to do a thorough tour of much of the continent over the course of several months. Other than that, though...yeah. "Europe." No.
(For some reason this reminds me of my mom talking to one of my old classmates at the grocery store when I was in college: "We just got back from a trip to New England." "Really, Mrs. Lingen? Wow! How many languages do you speak?")
Anyway, for mine I said hiking across Iceland, one of those where they start you at the north shore and send you down all the way to the south shore. I think that would have much nift. But if I'd already done that, I'd still have dozens of things I'd love to do.
I like doing stuff, is the thing.
And today what I like doing is working on books! It's Monday, so I'm allowed to start revisions on Thermionic Night and Sampo, and I'm also allowed to start new work on Zodiac House. I've already been poking at ZH this morning. It's outlined. It's brief. It's a children's book. So nobody should get all fussy with me if I write it quickly, because in adult terms it's likely to be a novella, and nobody fusses when you write novellas quickly, do they?
I finished reading The Language of Power yesterday and started Dorothy Dunnett's The Game of Kings. I had high hopes for this series, as many people I like seem to like it, and so far it's not disappointing me. There's banter, but it's the kind of banter people do when they're pretty serious, if that makes any sense. It doesn't set the expectation that all will be giggles. It understands the difference between fun and silly. I think this is going to be a good series for me, many books to revel in.
We're having lunch with Rachel at Panera (mmmm, bread), and then I have my eye appointment. It no longer appears to be sleeting, so I may walk back from the optometrist's office, because it's not that far away, and how much lovely fall will there be? Not enough, is the answer. But I'll bring the cell in case it starts sleeting again. Be Prepared and all that.
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