9 November 2003
Here's what I don't like about ribbed shirts and dresses: the ribbing never stays fitted. It always kind of falls out, and then the dress that used to fit perfectly is kind of a sack around the waist. Bleh. I don't know why this is a problem with ribbing. Some other kinds of stretchy cotton knit don't do this to me. But rib knits, every time. It's enough to drive a body mad.
I have a bit more of my bottom range back for singing, thinly, though, and softly. Bleh. Enough to sing some of "I've Got a Golden Ticket," which is intermittently in my head as I think about the Eighth Floor Auditorium. (Timprov wants to teach Robin to say "Golden Ticket!" I think "Charleeeeee" is a better thing to teach a little little who's just now combining words. Or else "Wonka." "Wonka" is a good word for a sprout to know.) Or maybe "Dr. Worm" will replace it. I've been wandering around asking the empty house to call me Dr. Worm; and I am after all, interested in things.
I don't like sounding all whispery when I sing. I am not an all whispery kind of person. I am Viking woman, hear me roar! Rrahh!
Now I am Viking woman hear me cough a little bit. Ah well. I swear I am getting better.
Do you know what I started reading last night? Salman Rushdie's Step Across This Line. And do you know what that means? It means I'm done with the library books related to my contract work. Not with the articles, not by a long shot; and I still have one or two more books I own to read or reread for this. But still, there will be a stack of children's books heading back to the library, because I am done with them; rah. (I didn't have to go out to the library yesterday because I managed to get a PIN from here. Rah for that, too.) I read Phyllis Reynolds Naylor's Witch Water, which I found unsatisfying, and also Shiloh, in which Bad Things Happen to the dog. I don't like books in which Bad Things Happen to the dog. I just don't and you can't make me. So there. I also read Vivian Vande Velde's Never Trust a Dead Man and Curses, Inc., and from this I discovered that I like Vande Velde better in short story form, and also that the first of her novels I read was the worst I've read so far. Which is, I suppose, something of a relief.
In addition to all that, I worked on The True Tale of Carter Hall for awhile, and then when Timprov got up, he worked on it with me. This is going to rule. Some of the bits of it make me laugh with how we're fiddling with them -- "ye maidens all that wear gold in your hair," for example, and "those that would their true love win, by Miles Cross they must bide." I really like what we're doing with Miles Cross. Also there are several characters who are coming out just right, and I get to write about a big, quiet, crazy Finn as a supporting character. I think the problem with the Finns in the Not The Moose Book is that they're too sane; or rather, that the world is turned sideways enough so that their normally crazy-looking behavior looks perfectly sane.
Well, not all of them look perfectly sane. But more so than they otherwise would, I assure you.
I forgot I hadn't posted this yet. Hmm. Ah well. I talked to Aunt Ellen and also to the folks, and now I am on my way to handle the hostas before I have to figure out dinner etc. Have a good Sunday evening.
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