Picture me down in that far corner chair, my feet in wool socks curled underneath me, my pile of manuscript pages open on my lap. My four nights at the Sylvia Beach Hotel start tomorrow. I'll be without internet or phone or tv. I'll be alone except for the characters I bring with me, the poor struggling fuck-ups that they are. They could probably use a week at the beach as much as I could. Though, for them, it will be more like extraordinary rendition. Where are we? Why is this woman torturing us? What have we done wrong?

I've started listening to the Celebrity Lecture Series put on by Michigan State University and posted on their website. Yesterday, I listened to an old lecture by Kurt Vonnegut and he had these wise words:

"Get yourself a gang any way you can and make it grow."

Hope you and your gang had a great Thanksgiving. I know we did.

Xiao Lao Mao (Little old cat) has put our lives into a funny new pattern. Because Sean and I are home a good deal, we frequently announce that we're "going out to see that cat." Our days don't revolve around this activity, but they are punctuated by it in an oddly tender way. Because the cat is old and not all that well, this feels, in some remote way, like the caregiving we will someday have to give to our parents.

Sean has his own cat hospice rituals, but as for me, I rise early, sometimes at the first blue tinge of dawn, and go out through the drizzle to the back studio with containers of cat food and water. I turn on the heaters and the comforting, soft lamp, lie down on the floor and wait for that little old cat to make her rattling cries, stretch, and come crawling onto my chest. Sometimes, while she eats, I read. In this way, we try to give comfort and find a little joy.

Cash Advance Loans

Apparently, my blog is posting at an elementary school reading level which fills me with ebulliance and gratification. My tutelage in journalism at Boston University, though brief, was also arduous and my fine professors often expounded on the necessity of writing in a manner that was both unadorned and comprehensible but at the same time captivated the reading audience. It's not entirely clear that vocabulary alone is the sole determinant in assigning the above reading level or that any one post would be sufficient to skew the rankings, however, I have made a worthwhile effort to reveal the machinations lurking behind this anonymous and largely inexplicable ranking system.

Xylophagous. Frondescent. Barghest. Fooey.

Lulu was the constant companion of my best friend, Joe and one of the only dogs I've ever liked, let alone loved. This morning she moved to California and she will be sorely missed.

Apparently, when Mr. Hooper died on Sesame Street they struggled with whether or not to say he moved to California or to deal directly with his death. They went with the latter but I'm sticking with former.

"I like feeling at home, but I wish I didn't feel it here."
Mary Robison from the story "In Jewel"

These, of course, are not my sentiments about my beloved Portland, but when I was reminded of this quote the other day I realized it is the exact sentiment of one of my characters. Okay, so Mary Robison has already summed up my whole novel in a brilliant five page story. Damn her. Nothing new under the sun.

I spent the weekend across the street from the Virginia Woof Doggy Daycare (really? REALLY?) at Wordstock, a big loud mess of a book fair/literary festival/workshop/fundraiser. For me, it was more like a collision course of old and new bookish friends. Some I called out to, eager for reconnection. Others, I dodged down aisles to avoid. Other than the good connections, the only thing I really learned was, as Steve Almond said, "The path to truth is through shame" at least when it comes to writing a good sex scene.

Read the Times article about the Booker Prize winner Anne Enright.

"Oddly enough, Ms. Enright said, having children — she has two, 4 and 7 — has made her work easier.

“I find that the whole sense of anxiety and largeness, the sense that you’re writing everything, the allness of it, disappears completely,” she said. “You have just three or four hours a day, and you’re going to write a book, and it just shrinks the work into its proper proportion.”

Even though I have no kids and never will, I appreciate how practical and balanced this statement is. It helps that this woman looks almost exactly like my friend if he decided to do frumpy, Irish drag.

Whadya say? I have no doubt that Kucinich's resolution to impeach Cheney will fall flat in the Judiciary Committee, but why not make a little noise about it?

Read up if you need to, click here and sign the petition to impeach the motherscratcherwarmonger.

Wahclella Falls/Latourelle Falls

It's an easy hike into Wahclella Falls and on a late fall afternoon it's easy to lose the sun behind the canyon walls and lose yourself in the perpetually wet blue-brown-green of the place. Definitely a surreal landscape, one that would have convinced me of the existence of otherworldly creatures, both benign and sinister, if I'd seen it when I was six.

Latourelle Falls is an even easier dip off the Columbia Gorge Historic Highway. In the summer, the patch of neon lichen (or is it moss or fungus or something else altogether?) is nowhere to be seen. So go in the fall and marvel at the things that nature can come up with.

Funk Shui played the big, bouncy Crystal Ballroom last night. They get in the door there by being the chosen opening band for Super Diamond, a Neil Diamond tribute band. Don't question how this happened. Nobody in their audience has.

Here's Funk Shui playing Boss Bossa at their last Crystal show where a wide stage, bright lights and a giddy audience served them far better than the microphone on the video camera.

I'm sorry I missed last night's show, too tired to push myself downtown, too fixated on getting some writing done to be a good band girlfriend. This meager blog entry is my penance.

This picturesque scene, repeated throughout New England, does nothing but fill me with a sick, creepy feeling. My early Sundays were spent inside the squat stone walls of the Episcopal Church so the slender white towers of Methodists and Lutherans have no particular connotations for me other than a general sign that I'm back in the land of dread and loathing. I keep expecting to be over it, that I'll roll into town and feel sweetly nostalgic or at the very least, neutral, but my gut refuses to let go. No matter how pleasant my stay is, the old hate lingers.

The good thing about going back east, of course, is that it never fails to refresh my love for all things HOME, where I've got a cat and a couch and a few final days of sun.

Weddings are weird. While my friend's celebration was loverly and all, it was best not to dwell too long or look too closely at anything we were doing for fear of the whole day collapsing under all the absurdity. At least, it was best if I didn't look too closely.

Do these rituals change you, regardless of how deeply you believe in them? No, I think they have to mean something to you first, otherwise my friend's sweet, heartfelt ceremony would be on par with Britney's 24hr. Vegas marriage. And if you never partake in the shared ritual at all, then what?

This Halloween I'm going as a bridesmaid and the Halloween party is my oldest friend's wedding. Instead of shouting Trick or Treat at my neighbor's doors, I will be reciting an e.e. cummings poem at a romantic Newport inn. Instead of candy corn I will be eating fancy cake. Well, let's get this party started.

Too rarely, I step out into the woods after the rains have really started. Now, I know better. These are just a few pics from the Wildwood Recreation Area, a beautiful spot along the Salmon River out towards Mt. Hood. Here are some more pics.

Fantasy as a genre has never held much interest for me. I have a hard time getting worked up about creatures who don't actually exist. Fairies, elves, trolls and the like enter my consciousness only on rare occasion. One is when a movie like Lord of the Rings becomes nearly impossible to ignore or a movie like Pan's Labyrinth delights despite (or maybe even because of)its fauns and monsters. The only other time I think of fantastic woodland creatures are when I walk around in the wood land. I poke my nose down close to the mushrooms and moss and squint my way down a path of shiny evergreens and I can't help but imagine that I'm intruding on a landscape not really meant for my eyes. Of course, the world's forests would be better off now if we'd all believed a little more deeply in the fantasy and left them alone.

Less TV. More books. More writing. More staring dreamily out the window. The choice seems obvious, doesn't it? And yet sometimes at night, the lazy in me takes over. My butt fills with lead and I'm on that couch, dammit, leave me alone. This is going to have to change. Law & Order: SVU is a really horrific show. I watch it because it's on Saturday nights and I'm awake, sleepy but still awake. It's not just a waste of time, I think it's bad for me. The fact that Ice-T is on it is no longer amusing. I'm done. And now I'm going out to stare at gold leaves and hazy skies.

The cat is back. We negotiated the return of Xiao Lao Mao (little old cat) and have her set up in the garage while she adjusts to her new surroundings and her new name. Fluffalumps? No wonder she was an unhappy animal.

Sean and I now hover on the edge of being crazy cat people. We go visit the cat, lying down on the dirty floor in order to let her climb onto our chests. We feel badly when we leave her alone for too long. We bring her fish secreted away in napkins from our own expensive restaurant meals. Okay, so maybe hover is too generous a description. We have set foot, at east one firm foot, in the land of crazy.

More beach. It's always good to have more beach.

I have great beach luck. Almost every time I go to Manzanita the weather is wonderful. We had 65 degree sunshine and very little wind. Our houseful of people coexisted beautifully with beach walks and hot tub soaks and lots of trash magazine reading (the above pic was a rare moment of book-reading). We ate well and drank even better.

As I said before, this was a trip to celebrate where we are now before things start to change (once again and always). And as it turned out, the changes are already underway. Our friend announced her pregnancy. Next fall, if we can manage another outing, there will be at least one infant in tow. On we go. . .

Off to Manzanita for a belated birthday celebration. This will be the first time I'm at my usual beach spot with a full house of friends. There was the sudden realization that things might be really different this time next year. Friends who are married might have babies. Friends who are in relationships might be married. Single friends might be in relationships. I predict that Sean and I will be in about the same place, but the world swirls around us, things change, and we're going to take a moment this weekend to hang out and enjoy where we are right now.