Browsing Archives for November 2007

The title of this post is from the web site for author Phillip Pullman. I love this quote. What he actually said is this…

As a passionate believer in the democracy of reading, I don’t think it’s the task of the author of a book to tell the reader what it means. The meaning of a story emerges in the meeting between the words on the page and the thoughts in the reader’s mind. So when people ask me what I meant by this story, or what was the message I was trying to convey in that one, I have to explain that I’m not going to explain. Anyway, I’m not in the message business; I’m in the “Once upon a time” business.

Can I just repeat that last part…

He’s in the Once Upon a Time Business and not the Message Business.

There’s been a lot of stuff floating around cyberspace about this man and his work. I have read all three of the “His Dark Materials” books. They are very good. The first one The Golden Compass is a work of art. The second one The Subtle Knife is a great story. The third one, The Amber Spyglass is very dense and complicated and tricky but also a fascinating read.

We live in a culture of emptiness. We give our kids plastic and Disney and Cartoon Network and McDonald’s happy meals and it is the same as giving them nothing. Because that is what all that stuff is. There is no depth, no merit, and no knowledge to be gained. We put their young minds in tepid water and expect them to grow. Even when we give our kids books!

As a former children’s librarian I can vividly attest to the amount of crappy children’s books that flood our market place EVERY DAY. I know because part of my job was to peruse every single new children’s book that came into our library. I both loved this job and hated it. I hated it because there was so much crap being published that I wondered how on earth it ever reached the market. I loved it because every once in a great while, a volume would come from the “new book cart” to settle in my lap that would shimmer like the stars.

From the first page of these rare books, I would recognize a brilliance, a skill, and an ability – to weave a story together, to hold a child (and an adult) spellbound, to captivate an audience.

I worked at the Manhattan Public Library in Manhattan Kansas for only one year, but during that short time I compiled a mental list of must reads for kids based on the new books that came through as well as a few classics that were new to me. Phillip Pullman was one of those authors.

He does not treat kids like morons – he respects their minds and their imaginations. He is not writing to create a marketable product, he is writing to create a riveting story. A story that I have no doubt, will become a classic.

Due to some of the hype from the upcoming release of the movie, The Golden Compass, there seem to be many people living in paralyzed fear of this brilliant author – I hope you at least read the first book before you make your judgement. It is ridiculous to forward those silly panic stricken e-mails without first reading these books.

I do realize that Phillip Pullman is a self proclaimed atheist. He admits to this on his web site. I myself am not an atheist – but I occasionally have doubts about the existence of a benevolent God. What thinking person does not? It might be easy to believe in a caring God in our nice warm homes with our loaded refrigerators. But perhaps not so easy if you are an Iraqi citizen or a family in India living on the streets, relying on your three year old to generate enough pity for a loaf of bread.

Maybe Phillip Pullman just has a harder time shutting down the part of his mind that us church going Americans so easily turn off. Not that we don’t care and give and try to help, but do we really let it in???

I refuse to demonize a brilliant, creative man for his personal beliefs when they are founded in hard thinking, but I do pray for him. And as a fan of great children’s literature, I celebrate his books. They are worth a read. And they may even deepen your own faith as you gotta think about things a bit after you read them. Which is why I love his books to start with. The thinking part. It is especially good for kids to have to use their brains once in a while.

Oh dear – this was a bit of a heavy handed post for me. But it has been on my mind for a long time. Tomorrow something much lighter – I promise!

How are your Thanksgiving preparations going? Mine are coming together very nicely, now that the Oracle Known as Steve is in his rightful place.

Did I seriously just name this post – “Private Parts” – good grief what the heck is going to show up in my keyword search now!?! Speaking of keyword searches, I have had a few e-mails and comments regarding the ad I placed on Pioneer Woman or “Pie Near Woman” as I like to call her. So I am going to show you all something that no one has EVER seen! A part of myself that should be kept under wraps at all times. Trust me – only the stoutest of souls can face this particular jiggly mass. Cover the eyes of your young’uns. Grab a flashlight and drape a cloth over your head and the computer before you scroll down. I am going to show you something that no eyes other than mine, have ever seen…

My blog stats.

This is the what my stat counter typically looked like on the days prior to placing the ad on Pie Near Woman. She was a pretty girl, properly buttoned up, with a cardigan tossed around her shoulders and a matching handbag, but she didn’t exactly stand out you know what I mean??? She lacked that special spark. The pageant committee was not impressed.
Oct 15-Oct 31.
Avg Pageloads – 321
Avg Unique Visitors – 188
Avg returning visitors – 79

The spikes at 523 and 724 page loads are from the days that “Miz Booshay” put a story and a link from her site to mine. Thanks Donna! As a result of that link – my overall traffic took a jump. And my stat counter unbuttoned one button at the top of her blouse and took the pin out of her bun and let her hair swing down all wild and carefree. Ah…much better.

This is the day before and the first day of – the ad on “Pie Near Woman”.

On this day, my stat counter didn’t just unbutton the top button on her blouse. SHE TOOK HER BLOUSE OFF and ran around in a lacy black bustier the rest of the day!!! Who knew?!?!?

While my stat counter was er uh changing her look, I happened to walk by my computer and I noticed that it was actually sweating! The Internet space around my desk was all shimmery and full of sparkles. When I stuck my hand into this sparkly space it disappeared! I almost called the Pope! I almost called Phillip Pullman! If I wasn’t such a pantywaist, I think I could have stepped right into a different dimension. But I stayed here folks. Besides, I wanted to see what would happen next!

Here is the entire seven days on which the “Pie Near Woman” ad was up, including two days prior to the ad, to establish a norm. The last three days were a doozy with over 1300 page loads a day. Both me and my computer were drenched in sweat and all melty from exhaustion from trying to keep my stat counter from running off with Ray Bob Butterbuns, a local yokel who trades in knives down at the local flea mart. I am not EVEN going to tell you what she was wearing at this point. It was so brief and appalling that some of you would faint dead away… and others of you would want to know where she got it – and I don’t want to contribute to the delinquency of any more stat counters.

I eventually did get her to put on something more appropriate. She threw a huge fit when I said NO! to the rhinestone tiara and the matching spiked heels. Right now she is resting – mildly sedated – in a pair of tight jeans and a tube top. Hey I gotta pick my battles! She is also sporting some new tats and she’s got a gold loop in her belly button! She really thinks she is all that and I don’t know how to settle her down, but I am trying. I swear to God – I’ve got a nice cardigan and a pleated plaid skirt laying out for her, but she refuses to put it on!

Here are my stats from the last day of the ad to Wednesday Nov. 15th.

Avg page loads – 542
Avg unique visitors – 355
Avg returning visitors – 189

So there has been a few changes around here. I’ve got a tats on my stats! Welcome to all the new readers and thanks for stopping by!

If anyone is considering buying an ad on “Pioneer Woman”, I would have to recommend it. I may buy another one here in the near future, but first I have to wrestle the scarlet hair dye away from my stat counter! Wish me luck!

PS – It occurred to me after I got the red hair dye away from my stat counter and the Country Doctor came home and gave her a shot of Haldol “stat”…get it “stat” ha ha ha! Anyway – it occurred to me that many of you may wonder why in the world I would buy an ad on “Pie Near Woman” in the first place. What is wrong with her and who in tarnation does she think she is and what is up with her??? I wish I could fully explain it myself. Perhaps it is I who need the Haldol “stat” hardee hardee har har. All I know is that blogging fits me like a glove. I have never had so much fun in my life. I love to write and I especially love to write absurd, bizarre things about me, me, more me and a spriglet of me. I figure if I can get enough readers to stop by on a somewhat regular basis, maybe I can justify the ridiculous amount of time I spend on this thing, by making a little cashola. I am not just some attention seeking weirdo – okay I am an attention seeking weirdo, but I am an attention seeking weirdo that is having a really really good time on this blog. In fact, according to my conservative, protestant, Western Kansas upbringing, I have officially crossed over into the realms of heathen fun-having. I promise to repent. Right after my stat counter reaches uh…uh…ONE…MILLION. Until then – I got some bloggin’ to do.

I rented four movies this week. That’s right FOUR! Two for my boys – so that on Thursday I could send my children down to the bleak basement to watch a movie while I had the girls over for Bunko. Then I rented two more for myself, as a coping device to try and stave off a hideously busy weekend which included a dress rehearsal and the performance of a local fundraiser/variety show. On Sunday, my children’s choir sang and ACH OY! am I dead yet?

I rented the movies under the delusion that I would squeeze them in sometime before they were due back on Sunday night at 8 pm which has come and gone and I still have not watched them. Now I am suffering post traumatic renter’s late fee stress disorder sydrome.

In our small town there are three options for movie rentals. One – drive fifteen miles to Manhattan and rent a movie with little to no worries about retuning them in a timely manner. Two – rent them from what we call “The Other Movie Store” which is a somewhat frightening place with a display case full of knives and lots of other weirdness. If you are a minute late returning the films from “The Other Movie Store” they call and let you know. There is often a small yipping dog on a chain that likes to come ripping around the register whenever a customer comes in at “The Other Movies Store”. But sometimes I go there, because I don’t want to pay the ludicrous fines that so quickly compound at the local grocery store.

Renting from the local grocery store is a very pleasant shopping experience. The store is clean, well organized, no yipping dogs, no knives, but I do have to endure the choking, coughing, gagging, reflex from the teenage cashier every time they bring up our account and tell how much I owe in late fees.

“Uh…um… ma’am…you… uh… owe…ahem…uh…six thousand nine hundred and eighty two dollars and twenty three cents in late fees…ahem… do you wanna pay that now???”

So I have done it again. Rented another movie that I still have not watched and now I have four movies that are past due. Tomorrow I will forget to return them as that is laundry day and I am soooo dedicated to that particular task. Tuesday I help out in Jack’s classroom in the morning and then I spend the afternoon recovering. Wednesday I panic for eight solid hours about my children’s choir and then I have to actually show up to direct it. Thursday…hmmmm…I think Thursday is the day I am scheduled to stare into space and get sidetracked from dusk to dawn. Friday – drive to Manhattan and rent some movies.

So you can see – I am far too productive of a person to bother with movie returns. These late fees are just a by product of a fascinating life and it is a cross that I must bear.

I know I know – Net Flicks. Let’s just all say it together! Net Flicks. I am still contemplating that one. I keep waiting for the ceiling fans to give me the answer. Until then, the local grocery store will continue to make a mint off of me and my late fees. I call it supporting your local business. I am just a never ending font of do-gooderness.

Here we have the young male species of the tribe…second born and thus always trying to overcome his #2 status.

Running faster, jumping higher, punching harder, must read noticeably large volumes, must be the first to answer all questions…

must dig the deepest hole in the shortest amount of time.

Unlike the third born male, or “gooficus ballicus” as they are referred to in scientific circles.

Or the fourth and last male of the tribe known for his unbending, iron clad heart that no amount of a mother’s salty tears can melt. He goes his own way. He is not moved. He does not need to please you.

The second born must please, must impress, must strive. It is what they do. There is no other way.

Except for the occasional…

dirtbath.

Remember that line from My Big Fat Greek Wedding? “The husband is the head, but the wife is the neck…and the neck turns the head.” I am not Greek, and I would like to think that I live outside the constraints of a marriage where one person is the ultimate decision maker. Unfortunately, that would be a lie and I would hate to start telling lies or making gross exaggerations or gesticulating too wildly, just for the sake of a good blog.

The Country Doctor is not a fist pounding, my way or the highway type of guy. He does not order us around and make outrageous demands, but he is very good at digging his heels in. He digs his heels in so hard that there are holes in the floors all over our house. He is very difficult to sway, persuade or convince, ultimately preferring to wait and see for about seventy twillion years.

I of course, am the exact opposite. In fact, I have made all of the most vital and important decisions in my life in a matter of nanoseconds. I have a unique, steadfast and uncompromising ability to believe that things will work themselves out. I do not spend time worrying about what could go wrong.

In stark contrast, the Country Doctor spends pretty much all of his time worrying about what could go wrong. He can take years to decide whether or not to go to the bathroom. He can’t just grab a magazine and head to the little room down the hall. First he must consider ALL THE OPTIONS. Second, he must pelt whomever is within pelting distance, with one thousand questions regarding ALL THE OPTIONS. Third, he must rapidly wear out his wife with questions about ALL THE OPTIONS (that takes about twenty three seconds) and seek someone else to pelt. Thus, he must call his brother, “The Oracle” known as Steve.

Here is a picture of “The Oracle” known as Steve

Steve, Steve, Steve, where would we be without “The Oracle” known as Steve? Steve has counseled the Country Doctor on everything from marriage, kids, car buying, house buying, job searches, furniture arranging, paint colors, and if we should go ahead and spring for that new can opener or just live with the old one a while longer. There were a few years that I wasn’t sure if I was married to the Country Doctor or if I was married to Steve. It seemed like we were unable to change our children’s diapers without first consulting him.

Over the course of my marriage to the Country Doctor and strangely to his brother “The Oracle” known as Steve as well, I have learned a few techniques to manage this situation and get my way more quickly, but it took a while to figure it out. I wasted a lot of energy trying tantrums, tears, angrily flinging clothes into a suitcase, long stony silences, tirades, ranting, raving, looks of pure hatred, more stony silences, more tears, more flinging clothes into a suitcase. After a while I got tired…very, very tired. Exhausted, limp, with blotchy skin and a dry scratchy throat, I had to find a better way. A way to stop the Country Doctor from constantly consulting his brother, Steve and as a result throwing gigantic wrenches into all my plans.

Then one day a miracle happened. The Country Doctor and I were walking around a car lot having a tremulous conversation about buying a car. He pointed out a vehicle that I did not like.

“I think that car is pretentious.” I said.

The Country Doctor backed away from it as if it were on fire. I took a sharp gulp of air and wondered if I had just discovered the Holy Grail of husband management. I again tested my fledgling theory while we drove home past some big Kansas City mansions.

Pointing out a beautiful stone villa I said, “Nice – but kind of pretentious don’t ya think?”

The Country Doctor veered into the other lane on two wheels, drove over several beautifully manicured lawns to a back alley and finally found a much less “pretentious” route for our drive home.

In order to completely satisfy my curiosity that this was not just a strange two-time anomaly, but in fact a sturdy, set in stone behavioral pattern that I could abuse for the rest of my married life, I went home and made some dinner. A very special dinner, beef stroganoff, the Country Doctor’s favorite meal. I carefully waited until he placed the first bite in his mouth. Then I said, “You know honey, I always kind of thought that people who liked beef stroganoff were just a tad pretentious.”

He turned green, spit out his food, got up from the table, gargled salt water, and bathed his tongue in boiling water. He hasn’t touched beef stroganoff since.

From then on, whenever I sensed that I was not going to get my way, I started peppering the discussion with words like fake, false, hoity toity, ostentatious, pompous, arrogant, showy and the big gun – pretentious. Any haughty word was a naughty word that caused the Country Doctor to run panicking, his hands covering his ears in a different direction… my direction… towards me… and exactly what I wanted.

A few years ago we had a conversation something like this…

Me – I would like to build a house.

CD – Never in a million trillion years. You are insane. You are a crazy woman. This will never happen.

Me – Well, I think the house we live in right now is kind of …pretentious…

CD – What?

Me – Yes, and I would like to live in something a little …less pretentious…

CD – Like what

Me – Oh…I don’t know… maybe a simple little farmhouse something like that.

CD – A Farmhouse??

Me – Well…yes… farmhouses are never, ever, ever, ever, not even the teeniest bit, pretentious – or showy or fake or ostentatious. They are just simple and natural and honest and scrub faced and very, very, very, very real. Just like the people that live inside of them.

CD – Maybe you’re right…But let me call Steve.

Me – You mean “The Oracle” known as Steve?

CD – Yes

Me – Well…okay…but if you ask me… “The Oracle” known as Steve has a few opinions that are just a wee bit…hoity toity..

CD – They are?

Me – And he doesn’t live in a simple little farmhouse…does he…?

CD – uh…no

Me – In fact, you might even say that his house is well…kind of…ostentatious.

CD – Gosh – you’re right. Maybe we should think about building…but only a very simple farmhouse. One that is not even a tiny bit pretentious.

Me – I absolutely agree, but didn’t you want to talk to your brother Steve?

CD – Uh no…I don’t think that is a good idea.

Me – Okay…if you’re sure

CD – I am.

And that is how I took control of my life and started to get what I wanted out of it. It worked for me and now my only hope is to help others. If on the off chance you need even more help, I can get you in touch with my brother-in-law and former quasi-husband, “The Oracle” known as Steve.

A few years ago, Dewey, my third son cut his head open while jumping on the neighbor’s trampoline. It was a pretty decent gash, but I am the mother of four boys and deep gashes mean very little to me. Unless the child is missing a limb, drowning in a pool of blood, or unconscious, I don’t get too worried. So Drew was upset and I had him lay down for a nap.

Later that evening, we had “Back to School Night” in the city park. This is an evening of games, hot dogs, train rides, etc…where the kids get to run wild one last time before the dreaded end of summer.

When Drew woke up from his nap, his head had stopped bleeding, but during all the running around at the park, it started to bleed again. In fact, as were were waiting in line to ride the train, a lady behind me said…

“Uh ma’am – your son’s head is bleeding”.

Me – “Yes, I know”

Lady in Park – “Um…there is blood dripping on his shirt…”

Me – “Yes, I see thanks..”

Lady in Park – Looks at me strangely

Me – Thinking to myself – hmmm – maybe I should do something…

But Drew was fine – he was running around, playing, clearly not in danger of death, and yet the lady in the park had done her job and I started to feel ever so slight tremors of unfit motherhood. So after another couple of hours of playing I loaded the boys up and we headed home.

The country doctor was on call that night. I called him when we got home and said,

“Honey I think you better come home and look at Dewey – he has a severe head wound.”

I have to use shocking terminology like severe head wound, hemorrhage, car crash, paralyzed, seizure or guts sticking out – to get the Country Doctor to take action. He is 17 trillion times worse at under-reacting to our children’s health conditions than I am.

The Country Doctor came home and had Drew lay face down on the couch. He poked around on his head for a while, as the rest of us sat in the living room and watched.

Suddenly – out of nowhere – the Country Doctor pulled a medical staple gun out of his lab coat pocket and shot three staples into the back of Drew’s head! Ca Chunk!, Ca Chunk!, Ca Chunk! – followed by piercing screams of protest from Drew.

The rest of the family sat motionless in utter silence, our eyes as big as grapefruits.

The Country Doctor stated calmly that he wished he could do all of his E.R. visits the same way – stealth stapling.

“It is so much easier and saves so much time,” he explained, “No wheedling, no empty this isn’t going to hurt promises, no pain meds, no parents questioning the treatment, no panicky mothers making their children freak out.”

We stared at him in horror – while he calmly applied an icepack to Drew’s head.

Drew started first grade with three shiny staples in his head to brag about. He recovered quickly, but I am still a little shaky.