Way too early Saturday morning: 7:43 a.m. 07:55:03

Wide awake

I am not wide awake, but I'm TOO awake and my mind has a million thoughts spilling around so I'm going to let some slosh out here and see if I can go back to bed in a bit.

I didn't write when I got in earlier because the D-boy was on checking eBay. He lives for that site. I went to bed and read on the Gram Parson's biography that I'm reading.

I also finished the Sarah Bird short fiction that the Austin American Statesman published Thursday. I got to Austin just in time to get to read that. What a thrill. I am an admirer or Sarah Bird, heck, I idolize the woman. She's only written four books but they are great: Alamo House, the Boyfriend School, the Mommy Club and Virgin or the Rodeo. (her characters in this short fiction piece would have a problem with my serial commas) The piece in the paper was a sequel to Alamo House with its three main characters fifteen years later. It disappointed me to see that Mary Jo and Tommy ("little Lyndon") hadn't stayed together but I have a feeling they will get back together if she continues this sequel. It left many things up in the air.

When I took my first writing course in 1991 I was deathly afraid of bringing anything I'd written to class. I still have a huge fear of self-disclosure but it's gotten better. After the first class that we were supposed to write something and I didn't, I went home and wrote a chapter and mailed it to my teacher. She called and left me the sweetest message. I wrote it down and I'm sure I have it somewhere. In it she said how wonderful the writing was and that it sounded very much like Sarah Bird but she didn't know if I knew who that was. That was the highest praise someone could pay me!

Reading Sarah's piece makes me want to write again. I love her and her characters, but, let me say conceitedly, there are some ways I could do better. Of course, that is like me sitting here on my fat ass and saying the Michelle Pfeiffer is beginning to look old. I'd better put up or shut up.

Update on my grandfather, for posterity and my diary as well as you. Thanks for your concerns about him. They quickly did surgery on him and took all of us at a distance by surprise. My folks packed their bags and headed that way yesterday. He had been in I.C.U. some after surgery but is now in guarded condition. He's quite drugged and unconscious I'm sure. I understand my cousin was miffed that more of his children (my mom and aunts) hadn't come for the surgery. There was no time! The surgery was done before anyone even knew it was scheduled. And, believe me, the children of a 100-year-old man aren't able to jump up and run like they once could. Even his GRANDCHILDREN can't jump and run like they once could. I appreciate the concern you've shown, but you should know my family. It drives my husband crazy that we have "death humor." My grandfather has been an old man for thirty years and we've been expecting to go to his funeral for those entire thirty years. We never go on a vacation without taking a "funeral dress" which, of course, assures us that the funeral will not happen. My sister goes to Europe every year with the expectation that Papa will die while she is gone and we always discuss whether she will want to be told or not, knowing she won't be able to come home for the funeral. Of course, our grandmother DID die while they were in Europe so it is worth discussing. I have many more examples of our "death humor" but it has become so much a topic of our "secure in our Baptist beliefs" family that his death will certainly be rather anti-climactic and an afterthought. We are certainly ready for it, and so is he, poor man. I know he never wanted to be this old, physically, at least. I was thinking a lot about euthanasia and our own choices about our life while I was lying in bed earlier but I'll not go into that now. No easy answers.

On a brighter note, I got my hair highlighted yesterday. I sure hated getting up as that wonderful rain was coming down but I managed to drag myself up Guadalupe to get a great color job and cut. It, to me, is drastically different but most people haven't noticed it at all.

Back in the early 1970s, wigs were quite popular. It's one of those pieces of American history that you never see on "That Seventies Show" or on other reflections of the time. My junior high school aged sister had a short black wig that she wore to school to have different hair from her beautiful long black hair. It was a completely different, and really cute, look, but, can you imagine---junior high school? I was a little young for the fad so I never wore a wig out in public. I just experimented at home. She also had a short pageboy cut but I don't remember her wearing it as much. Mom had a short curly "frosted" wig. It's the color that I consider my hair to be today, which is rather frightening. I told the hairdresser that it had been so long since I've had my hair highlighted that we called it frosting then. She looked at me like I was speaking Chinese. Not Chinese, just ancient pop culture.

I've been rewriting an Ogden Nash poem in my head while lying in bed this morning too (see why I had to get up and put some of this stuff down!!??). It's the poem about the "one L lama". I can't remember the whole thing so I'll have to find it on the internet to make mine have the same rhythms.

I ought to get dressed and go to work and finish some of what needs to be done. I will have to go in sometime today and do it, but I don't have quite what it takes to get there right now, I'm afraid. I worked about nine hours yesterday with a break for dinner at Earl Campbell's and thirty minutes of watching hubby's band.

Man, am I rambling all over the page or what? If there was a way to put three trains of thought down on the page at one time, I'd be doing it. Julia Cameron encourages you to write three pages first thing every morning just to clear your head of all the mishmash in it. I think that is what I'm doing with this diary.

Great new discovery at Starbucks (I wish it weren't a national chain in my building but it's easy and convenient and I don't have to walk through the rain to get there). Last night after I walked back in the rain from Earl Campbell's I was freezing cold. Didn't really want the latte. The counter man was the same cute kid that gave me the eggnog earlier this week. I got the tea drink---now I can't think of the name--Tazo Chai? maybe? Tea and hot steamed milk. Man, this is my new drink. I am going to have to ask what all is in it this week. It may have a half of cup of sugar or something that makes it so extra good. If the lo-fat version of it is nearly as good and it isn't full of sugar, I am set. Really hit the spot on this cold night anyway.

When I go every different direction like this I have trouble "titling" (that can't be right---"putting a title to") each entry. I'm just going to have to name them Revolution #10 and go from there or something.

Happy birthday to Elvis. I highly recommend Peter Guralnick's "Last Train to Memphis" and "Careless Whispers." Sad stories. Avid fans wouldn't like the two books but just fans and others interested in the phenomenon of a superstar's life would.

Okay, I'm going to go heat up my corn sack and put some lavender oil on it and curl up and try to get a few more hours sleep before this day has to begin. I'll give it an hour and then I'll be up and a slug all day.

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Older Entries
Book Club - Tuesday, Jan. 28, 2014
A Good Saturday Ahead - Saturday, Jan. 18, 2014
Back to Work - Monday, Jan. 06, 2014
The New Year Arrives - Wednesday, Jan. 01, 2014
Engaged - Monday, Dec. 30, 2013
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