PUGGY'S HILL

 In this busy social season, deliasherman has her heart set on finishing revisions of THE FREEDOM MAZE for Big Mouth House before we leave for Florida on the 26th.  When I mention Cards, she looks perilously close to tears.  This would not be a big deal, except for the fact that in the past two years it was my *ehrm*KLEZMER NUTCRACKER shows & performances that kept us from getting down to it . . . So the oldest people in our lives probably think we've dropped them off our List.  They think we no longer care about them.  Or, worse yet, that we are Rude.  So I am going to try to rectify that by sitting down this weekend with our 150+ List, our antiquated Filemaker Pro program, and maybe a little whiskey (which could also help my stupid cold?) and, well - the last 2 years' of Holiday Letters, which we actually did write but never managed to send?  and were waiting for final edits because Delia thinks my drafts are too long & too personal, while I think hers are too stiff & formal? because her target audience is her school headmistress (who still sends personal notes addressed to each in a fine italic hand) and mine is, oh, I dunno, everyone?  So last year we got as far as deciding that we would make the switch over from mailing dozens of nicely-decorated sheets of updates to just e-mailing them (the coward's way out, as I know that I am mostly too busy around now to open the enclosures that my other friends send me - whereas if they mail me something, it will at least turn up on the breakfast table competing with the pile of New Yorkers & Village Voices....)

Oh god.  Maybe we should just go back to sending out attractive little pictures with pre-stamped greetings of General Good Will.  But then how will anyone know what's become of us?  Am I overthinking this?  The sub-categories are boundless:  1) Cards to elders to show we care. 2) Letters to elders & friends who don't read LJ or Facebook, but who care & should be kept informed & we don't want to lose touch with.  3) The same in foreign countries, but try to figure out who we needs to be updated but we can just send them an e-version instead... Oh no head explosion now.

Moving right along (I did begin this post 12 hours ago):

Thank you, otterdance (née Lynn Flewelling), for your link to (and excerpts from) Chuck Wendig's, um, revised version of The Writer's Prayer - I particularly like:

   Every word journey is a Journey West. I am Lewis, and I am Clark. I am not the Donner Party.
   I recognize that writing a novel is hard. And I don’t give a lemur’s left foot. I don’t give a good goddamn. I don’t give two shits in a wicker basket. The best things in life are hard. Like hunting pterodactyls. Like getting married.


In other news: A review of Troll's Eye View has finally mentioned my story.  Finally.  At last.  Tangentially.  But there it is.  We live for these little triumphs.

I had an MRI of my right foot today (ongoing annoyance, no biggie - anyone else out there suffering from Cuboid Syndrome? and, no, both my eyes are still on either side of my nose, thank you!). I had no idea what this entailed; I thought it would just be a fancy X-ray. Imagine my surprise when I learned I would be immobile in a room where all extraneous metal was banned ("Take off your jewelry," he intoned . . . and then he took my f**ing glasses!) - and the process would take at least half an hour!

I said, "Can I read?" He didn't think so. It would be very loud in there. "Look," I said; "will my head be in the machine?" No. "Will my hands be free?"

- Yes.
- So I can read.
- You can't read.
- Why not?
- It's too loud.

I assured him that I could read no matter what, and that in fact I would go mad with nothing to do for an hour. I ran to the waiting room and fetched a magazine - a light one, with lots of text (unfortunately the only New Yorker they had was the sole issue I've read from cover-to-cover this year, so I had to settle for Newsweek), and beguiled the time with my earplugs & headphone noise-blockers reading up on current events. The hardest part was keeping my arms raised above my nose (supine).

Sheesh.

Some things you just can't believe.

Like the big set of (12?) cheapie French drinking glasses I bought myself at a box store when I moved to Boston for I'm sure less than $25 - now the factory's gone out of biz (after, what, 100 years?) and they've become Collectable! Just when Delia was pointing out that we've broken nearly all the 12-oz glasses over the years..... Amusing details on all this here and here and these folks point out that "the original Picardie glass pattern favored by European bistros was one of our best selling glassware patterns until Bormioli retired it and replaced it with Picardie Bar." Argh! It Will Not Do.

I have found a new set of 6 on eBay for a ridiculous sum, and am about to punch in my PayPal - but right now, must run out to Vital to see a friend's show. Meanwhile, this ray of hope: According to one chat room about 6 months ago, Duralex Picardie glasses are still "at many Cost Plus World Market stores --- but you'll have to go to your local store and check. While there is a picture of them... on their Website, they aren't available on line. However, for the time being they are in stock in the stores at a reasonable price"
I know Saturday is a big shopping day. IF you have a World Market store near you and IF you're heading out there.... Well... We have plenty of the small ones; what I need is the tall ones that holds 12 oz. They are approximately 4. 3/4 inches in height and 3. 1/2 inches in diameter at the drinking rim. ADDED: Oh, boy! They're there, all right: the mighty just_ann_now found me a bunch by her in Virginia. I forgot to explain that NYC has no Cost Plus World Market stores. I'm shameless, but not evil. Anyway, I now officially love her forever. You all should go and see if they have them by you - they're great!

From one site: "According to Wikipedia (French) the word Duralex comes from the Latin maxim dura lex sed lex (The Law is hard but it is The Law)."

Ain't it the truth.