Random musings on a writer's life & times, with occasional input from acquaintances


Sunday, August 28, 2005

You’re about to read a Sunday 7. You lucky dog (or dogette, as the case may be).

1) What are you wearing?

Bare feet, blue shorts with maroon piping, white t-shirt with drawing of three hiking potatoes who say, sequentially, “I,” “Da,” “Ho.”

2) What are you reading?

“Until I Find You,” a new novel by John Irving. I just finished Harry Potter 6 (aka “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince”), so I thought perhaps it was time for something racier. Hard to imagine anything much racier than Harry snogging Ginny, though.

3) What’s for dinner?

Some kind of rabbit food. I went along to carry the wallet when my wife/chef, Cookie Jean, raided the Hillsdale Farmer’s Market this morning. She made off with several forms of vegetation.

4) What’s the best thing that happened this week?

Cookie Jean participated in the Hood to Coast Relay with a neighborhood team (the founders are pillars of the local Catholic church, so the team is called The Cardinal Sinners) Friday and Saturday, and she thought that was way cool. I guess, by extension, I think so, too. I’m too far out of shape to run three five-mile or so relay legs in 24 hours, so I stayed home and worked on expanding my collection of rejection slips. Maybe next year. Ha!

5) What’s bugging you?

Technology has defeated me again. My house has a computer-controlled, in-ground irrigation system for the lawn. Over the long, wet winter (which didn’t end in Oregon until July) I forgot how to operate it. Now drought has set in and my grass is dying. I run around the yard all day hauling hose and re-positioning a dinky sprinkler disguised as a ceramic frog. Said frog has two broken legs, alas, which causes the sprinkler to lean hard left and sometimes, if agitated by fluctuating water pressure, to flip over on its back. This is not an efficient way to water a lawn. I’m thinking about sneaking outside tonight with a can of green spray paint to touch up the large brown patches until rain resumes in October.

6) Where in the world is Carmen San Diego?

Zolfo Springs, Florida. It’s tropical, so lawns find it easy being green.

7) What’s it all about, Dave?

Pronoun problems aside, novelist-travelwriter Paul Theroux hit the nail on the head -- or at least on the side of the neck -- when he said:

"A person becomes a writer because they're deficient. They have problems. They're crazy. They have unhappy families. They're eccentric. And not because they've read a lot of books necessarily, but on the contrary -- maybe they haven't read enough books. There's a strong irrationality about the writing life. Often a writer writes just to maintain their sanity."

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