Category: Just Shelley

Categories
Just Shelley

Lost autumn

I lost autumn this year. It was just beginning here in St. Louis when I went to Idaho, and just ending when I got there. When I returned to St. Louis, most of the leaves were gone from the trees. It’s rather interesting how disorienting this can be. If you watch Firefly, it reminds me of my favorite episode, Out of Gas, when Mal wakes after passing out from being shot. In his mind, he’s hearing voices from the past; as he gains consciousness and becomes more aware, they’re overlapped and eventually merge with the quiet conversations of the people in the room.

My hosting company will be upgrading us again to PHP 4.4.1, but I’m prepared. When I learned that the other Wordform sites had no problem, I knew the culprit was the aggregator desktop plugin I was using; I’ve since deactivated it.

While originally unnerving, the incident was helpful in the long run. It reminded me that I need to create a port routine from Wordform back to WordPress for the other users. After all, I may suddenly shuffle off this mortal coil, or move to a tropical island without wireless or something someday. I also have to decide if I want to continue with Wordform or consider a way of building all my various modifications into extensions and plugins that can run on WordPress. I like the independence of my own code base, but things happen and I may not always be around to handle sudden upgrades to PHP. Besides, there are some cool kids using WordPress — how can I deprive them of the fruits of my genius?

I also turned 51 last Friday. I was going to write that I don’t feel it, but realized that yes, right at the moment, I do. Which means now that the weather is cool, and the biting, stinging beasties are in hibernation, and the humidity down, I have to get off my doofus. After all if we, you and me, are going to dance and walk and talk all night and toast the Texas sunrise in the proper manner–with margaritas and brass– at SxSW, I have to get prepared. I’m too young to feel old.

But you knew I’d say that.

I am become rather dull lately.

You knew I’d say that, too.

I have to focus on work, and will be posting lightly.

Yup, yup — you saw that coming, too.

I need to get back out on to the trai–stop, don’t even need to complete that sentence.

You know me too well. The blush is off the bloom, the mystery is gone. We’re like an old married couple you and I–just before the affair.

But at least I didn’t write about Goo…uhp! That did it.

Categories
Writing

Eats, Shoots, and leaves does Ms Manners

Lynn Truss, the author of the acclaimed Eats, Shoots, and Leaves is interviewed in the New York Times about her new book, Talk to the Hand: The Utter Bloody Rudeness of the World Today, or Six Good Reasons to Stay Home and Bolt the Door. The interviewer, Deborah Solomon, does a marvelous job capturing the uniqueness that is Truss, but without fawning all over her. In fact, you come away with the feeling that Ms. Solomon was a bit bewildered by Truss, and after reading the interview you can understand why.

In her new book Truss takes on an impolite society, though she admits she’s focusing more on Britain than all of the English-speaking place as a whole. (Should that have had a comma?) The Times links to the first chapter of both her books, so you can see what wonderful wit she has, though her second book is more in the nature of a humorist essay than a how-to. (Was that dash correct?)

As for the author herself, it’s odd but she strikes me as the type to read this type of book and then toss it aside as so much rubbish. Which, if you think on it, will probably make this a good book. (Should I have used a semi-colon? How about the use of ‘will’–too passive?)

My favorite scene from the interview was when Truss autographs one of her novels for Solomon, who then is walking about Brighton and happens to run into an American author, Michael Cunningham, on tour for his newest book. She chats with him, mentions who she’s interviewing and then shows him the book she’s given including the inscription. It reads:

With all best wishes, Lynne Truss.

What follows is classic literature. The author, Cunningham:

…ripped the page from its spine, crumpled it into a ball and popped it into his mouth. He stood there chewing it, as if it were a piece of tough meat, perhaps realizing for the first time that paper is not easily pulverized.

“I don’t know what came over me,” he said a few moments later, after he had removed the page from his mouth. “The inscription was so bland and generic, all I could think of to do is rip it out. She had just talked to someone for four hours, someone who had come from another continent. Writing is her business. She can come up with something a little more exciting.”

Sometimes I think the price of fame, or an attempt at fame, is that you have to invent yourself as a persona and then lock yourself into it for all time. So from this moment on Truss is the woman who writes on punctuation and manners (and all this invokes in one mentally), which means she must turn on the telly to watch cricket when interviewed and have elderly cats; while Cunningham is the type of rips pages out of books and then attempts to eat them because the writing is so offensive. Before either was well known, I imagine both would think the behaviors daft.

Regardless, it’s an accomplished interview, and the first chapters of both books are a good, fun, and innocuous Sunday read. (Was/were there too many commas in that sentence?) The only quibble I had is Solomon’s classification of the return of the shrew as exemplified by Truss and others, such as Anne Robinson from the BBC. I, for one, have never equated this behavior–blunt, mercilessly witty, irascible, and a scold –with being a woman. In fact, the closest you’ll come to ‘shrew’ in weblogging, in my opinion, is the now long gone Mark Pilgrim; the second closest is Joe Clark–and this is a compliment to both, as I consider ‘shrew’ to a good thing if Truss is considered one. (Too many dashes? Not enough?)

I haven’t read Eats, Shoots, and Leaves and should check it out at the library. I’ll have to hold on Talk to the Hand… for a time afterwards, as I have a feeling a little Truss goes a long way.

Categories
Weblogging Writing

Mundane

am eating an apple.

I am eating a red apple.

I am eating a red Fuji apple.

I am eating a juicy sweet, red and green Fuji apple.

I am eating a juicy, barely blushed Fuji apple, which leaves a tart-sweet taste across my tongue.

I am eating the apple, and the taste takes me back to a time when all I had to worry about was whether I would still be hungry after one apple, or whether I should go for two.

I eat the apple! I, woman, eat the apple! No man peels it for me, and no ring of flesh will be tossed over my shoulder to see who will be my captor and hold the keys of my cage. Because I am woman, hear me eat!

I linger over the next bite into the fresh flesh of the ruby dusted globe of pure sweet nectar–just oh so tart enough to make my lips pucker…making me think of you and that night; you know which night.

I am eating the omega of a world hell bent on self-destruction since the first, the alpha was plucked from the reluctant tree by innocent Woman and bit by gullible Man; led out of gardens of joy by Corporations, who slither here and there whispering words of want, breathing fumes of greed.

I bite the apple and become the apple and the apple becomes me. Therefore, bite me.

I hold the apple to the sun and admire the play of light across it’s shiny surface and think there has never been an apple as perfect as this, and how can I eat it; but I must–the perfection of the apple exists within its core and I must carve away the outer to discover it.

No, I did not have sex with this apple! But if it is left unchecked, I have no doubts that its seeds would proliferate and someday take over the world–forcing you and me into a continuous round of shopping at Wal-Mart because it is WMD: a Wal-Mart Delectable.

What the f**k is an apple suckling tree and is this apple I suck from it?

If apples weblogged they would….wait, that sounds strange.

Categories
Just Shelley Photography Places

Nostalgia: Reversed

Nostalgia doesn’t fit a reverse chronological format, so I’ll refrain from indulging in sweet stories of pig-tailed cherubs wearing gingham, skipping about in the late afternoon sun. I did enjoy my trip to my hometown after these many years, but it didn’t seem all that much different than the towns I visited in Missouri, or Vermont, or Arizona, or any other of the states in which I’ve lived. My mom enjoyed the photos I brought back, though, so that’s a goodness.

Kettle Falls hasn’t changed much. Any new development tends to be along the highway rather than through main street. The only change was the addition of a median with trees down the street. Oh, and to shame big city libraries, this little town’s tiny little library offers free wireless.

library

The old grocery store was still standing but, like most of the businesses, closed. I spent many a penny on candy in that store during its time. When I was about a year old, my mother had gone into the store leaving my brother and me in the car outside. My brother released the brake on the car and managed to hit another car before we stopped.

Hodgkiss Grocery Store

The old Assembly of God church I attended is now painted a bright blue and is a union hall; I imagine the union workers are timber company employees. Timber is still the big trade item in the area, though the old saw mills are gone and the new ones burn ‘cleaner’. Not so clean, though; I saw too many dead fir trees, most likely killed by acid rain.

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When I lived in town, I and a friend used to climb Gold Hill, which formed one side of the main bypass highway. In my mind, I remembered it as steep and rather expected it to be less rather than more. However, my childhood memories do not lead me false–it is a steep hill, and a tough climb. Yesterday, I could barely climb the road much less the hill.

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And Ralph’s is still Ralph’s. Every town has a Ralph’s, and while Ralph’s lives, the town still exists. If you grew up in a town like my hometown, you know what I mean.

ralphs

In the country outside of town, the road to my old house hasn’t changed much. A few more homes, but the area is part of the Colville National Forest system, which has kept growth down. I stopped at the old bridge crossing the Colville river as it made it’s way to the Roosevelt. This is about two miles from my old home, and hasn’t changed even a little in 40 years.

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I followed the old dirt road below our old house, where I spent most of my time growing up. How odd to see the land more wild than when I was a kid. Along the sandy shore next to the Roosevelt lake, I noted footprints: skunk, deer, and dog. It was the dog that sent me back to my car: dog prints without a matching human are never a good sign.

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I almost passed the house I lived in until I was nine. My old science teacher bought it from us, and his widow still lives there. Sometime in the last few decades, they moved the driveway from the right side of the house to the left, took out the fruit trees, and cleared the forest behind the garage. It’s the same garage I almost burned down when I played with matches as a kid. I’d post a photo, but it’s a garage and posting a photo of a garage exceeds acceptable sentimentality. So I’ll just post a photo of the house, instead.

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There was an nice looking, sightly older man mowing the lawn when I pulled up, and I asked him if I could take photos of the house, as I used to live there once. I identified myself and he offered to get his mom, but I didn’t want to disturb her. When he said ‘mother’, I asked him if he was my brother’s friend Mike, astonished to see the mature man where last I’d seen a teenager. He was visiting from his home in Hawaii, of all places. He was one of the many Mikes that were all of an age (it was an uncommonly popular name). Odd thing is, all the Mikes that moved away, lived, all the Mikes that stayed, died before 25.

I missed getting a picture of the sign leading into the town– Kettle Falls: 1255 friendly people and one grouch. Oh, in case you’re wondering, yes, I’m sure I’m related to the grouch.

It was interesting seeing the place, but I felt no connection with the area. As they say, you can’t go home again.

kettle6

Categories
Just Shelley Photography

From a Train Window

Spending two days on a train is an interesting experience, one that could be improved by spending the extra money for a sleeper. No matter how comfortable the coach chairs are, they are not conducive to sleep.

I had a chance to see Illinois’ fall colors on the trip from St. Louis to Chicago. It was a lovely day and the view was wonderful. It was during this portion of the trip that I found out train personnel are very strict regarding baggage. One mentioned weighing my pullman bag until he hefted and then said it would be fine. Note: if you travel by train, don’t fudge your baggage; not when fuel is so costly and the railroads are barely scraping by. If the bag was overweight, I don’t know if the attendant would have started chucking my clothes out the window.

I spent four hours in Chicago waiting my next train. A red cap at Union Station helped me get my bags to lockers, and then retrieved me and the baggage for the next trip. If you ever need a red cap at Union Station in Chicago, I recommend Phil.

Baggage checked, I had three hours to look around, and it was a perfect fall day: cool, sunny, colorful. I had a marvelous time walking up and down canal street. At one point I passed a bunch of trailers for a movie, but I couldn’t see anyone about.

Back at the train station, I decided to go into the large, open room called the Great Room, but it was blocked off. The Clint Eastwood WWII movie, Flags of our Fathers, was being filmed in Chicago, including scenes at the train station. The Great Room had been re-decorated until it resembled its 1940’s self. The security guards were very nice, answering my questions, and letting me take photos from the doorway. I didn’t see anyone in period clothing, so assumed they were probably on break. Too bad—I would have liked to have seen Eastwood.

High, and not so high, lights of the trip:

Good: Having a chance to spend a few hours with the friendly folk in Chicago–not to mention seeing that great downtown.

Good: Spending 1/2 hour waiting for a train with about 30 Amish people, as one group of Amish ran into another group of Amish and exchanged details of their lives. Some English was used.

Bad: Finding out that the Amish are suspicious of outsiders and not particularly friendly.

Good: Train was half empty so I had my two seats to myself.

Bad: When you’re a tad over 5’11”, you cannot fold yourself into two train seats. No, not even when you do that.

Good: The homemade beef pot pie in the dining room was excellent.

Bad: Being seated with three complete strangers in close quarters in the dining car. More, three strangers who look aghast at you when you order a beer for dinner.

Good: The old cars dumped down hills here and there. You wouldn’t think junk could be beautiful, but it is. Especially the rusted out Model T laying on the hillside in North Dakota.

Bad: Seeing so many small, deserted towns along the way, as corporations buy out small farmers and ranchers. One town was completely empty, but strikingly preserved except for the grass growing along the street and a couple of range cows grazing on it.

Bad: Not having enough time to get the camera ready when an exceptionally fascinating view comes along, such as the abandoned town, the Model T, and a wolf in Montana.

Good: Having a chance to see the abandoned town, the Model T, and the wolf, regardless of getting a picture or not.

Good: Being able to walk about, stretch, gaze out the window.

Bad: Trying to sleep sitting up.

Good: The sound, the motion, the feel of being on a train. It is unique.

Bad: One train attendant who was rather offensive with the pretty, young women.

Good: The train conductor who helped me off with my bags at Sandpoint. He answered all my train questions with enthusiasm and delight. It is rare to meet someone so completely and absolutely in love with their work.

Good: Having so much to see that you never get bored.

Best moment: The pass coming from Glacier, Montana to Sandpoint.

The pass is normally completely dark. I was half asleep and reading when I noticed a ghostly blue light around the track ahead of us. Through the fog, a phosphorescent glow silhouetted several train cars lying scattered about—up the hill, down a cliff—in a scene that looked straight out of The Shining.

I asked the conductor about the lights and he said the cars were from a derailed train carrying grain and hadn’t been recovered yet. The lights placed around the cars were to keep away the bears who were attracted to the wet and fermenting corn. The bears would eat the corn, and then pass out on the tracks.

Flags of our Fathers

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