Two in one day even! I'm compiling a list of 1,000 posts to read before you die and I already posted one today - but here's another, as recommended by TC (traveling chica in Wisconsin). This one's by Melissa Westemeier, called Our Town.
I give you - Our Town.
Hint - think Garrison Keillor.
Well, I don't believe I could've said it better myself. Read the Complaint here - filed by young woman's lawyer against DC lawyer who was never her lawyer.
Actually, I might've fixed some typos here and there - but the allegations are pretty spot on and totally in line with what I've been saying all along.
Either be a lawyer or don't. But, at least say you aren't when you aren't and don't act like you are when you're not.
My money's still on the lady.
Linked to this video at Blisschick. So glad I did. I am now in a state of bliss.
Many of you know by now, I'm compiling a list of 1,000 posts to read before you die. They're not my posts - they're yours. And I'm picky. Read them all here. I don't have a thousand yet, but they are adding up, so get some coffee, relax, and of course - read.
Here's the latest one of a thousand to read. It's from the Charleston City Paper about novelist Bret Lott, a professor of English at the College of Charleston.
Here's an intriguing quote from him:
"At Gettysburg," . . . "Robert E. Lee said, 'It's all my fault.' In one simple, declarative sentence, he took on himself full responsibility for all those deaths.
Along comes Richard Nixon. What does he say? 'Mistakes were made.'
And then there's Bill Clinton — 'It depends on what the definition of "is" is.' Those statements create distance between actions and consequences."
Lott defines his turf as a novelist this way: "I think the writer is somebody who has chosen to really pay attention to the world and to see what is going on and discover the way the world works, rather than telling readers — 'I really know how the world works, and here's how it works.'"
by Rudyard Kipling:
When Earth's last picture is painted and the tubes are twisted and dried,
When the oldest colours have faded, and the youngest critic has died,
We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it -- lie down for an aeon or two,
Till the Master of All Good Workmen shall put us to work anew.
And those that were good shall be happy; they shall sit in a golden chair;
They shall splash at a ten-league canvas with brushes of comets' hair.
They shall find real saints to draw from -- Magdalene, Peter, and Paul;
They shall work for an age at a sitting and never be tired at all!
And only The Master shall praise us, and only The Master shall blame;
And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame,
But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of Things as They are!
An attorney for owner of alleged fraud mess, Mr. D - said his client “is devastated and feels very, very badly for all the people who have been hurt” by the alleged fraud at the firm and that he will cooperate fully.
Well, if it's true - I'm glad he finally decided to cooperate. Because he's been saying for weeks that he's not going to say anything. As a matter of fact, he has completely refused to cooperate.
His Dallas lawyer said he's been working with him a whole week (isn't that special) and is helping investigators with the feds.
He didn’t say whether a plea agreement is in the works. I can easily speculate on that - given the history of how he's been acting except for the past whole week when he suddenly decided to be cooperative.
Meanwhile, the criminal lawyer for young woman who was arrested while fully cooperating - and has been fully cooperating since the beginning (the women who isn't an owner in the company), said his client hasn't spoken with Mr. D or the other boss/owner for many weeks.
“That having been said, as long as [suddenly cooperative owner] tells the truth, we are happy to have the truth come out."
Yes, please - Mr. owner - please do tell the truth now that you feel so badly for everyone and now that you suddenly feel so cooperative.
I'm happy to hear it too, as long as it is actually the truth.
It is no secret of my passion for books - the older the better, usually. As such, that passion also is for sellers and shops of books.
A used book store or thrift shop with books is absolutely one of my greatest delights to be lost in. I need no watch. I need no food (but coffee is a must). I need only a chair, the quiet and a new favorite book.
I know that I am not alone in this passion of mine. There are many out there who share and know of what I speak.
Thus, I've decided to start compiling a list - a list of book shops. Some I will go to one day. Some I dare say I won't (not because of lack of desire). Nevertheless, the list begins.
Abraxus Books in Seattle.
Ophelia's Books in Seattle.
Ravenna Third Place in Seattle.
Queen Anne Books in Seattle.
Baker Street Books in Black Diamond, Washington.
Auntie's Books in Spokane.
Elliott Bay Book Company in Seattle.
Of course, Powell's Books, Portland, Oregon.
Secret Garden Books, Ballard, Washington (Seattle).
Open Books A Poem Emporium in Seattle.
Arundel Books in Seattle.
Island Books in Mercer Island, Washington.
Square One Books in Seattle.
Jackson Street Books in Seattle.
Please do list more for me - and for you.
Steve Skinner adds Godfathers Books in Astoria, Oregon.
Ever on the prowl for humor and mooses (or is it meese) . . . I give you - Bone funnies (bone is a fellow Bama blogger of "NA" fame - Alabama of the northern reaches):
[from my archives/comments]
A customer is complaining to this barber about the price of haircuts.
"I just got back from London and over there I got a good haircut for five dollars.
"The barber says, "Yeah, but look at the airfare."
A string walks into a bar. "I'm sorry," says the bartender. "We don't serve strings in here."
So the string leaves, finds a man on the street and says, "Excuse me, sir. Could you please tie me in a knot and fray my edges a bit?
The string walks back into the bar. "Hey, aren't you that string that was just in here?" asks the bartender.
"No," the string replies. "I'm a frayed knot."
Don't believe me? Try it. Just try it. Then tell me.
If you live in Seattle or thereabouts, you have no excuse for boredom or being down in the doldrums. Go to one of these places, pick up a book - sit yourself down and read a while.
Sheryl Wiser at nwsource.com provides at least three spectacular sounding shops of books (and chairs too I'm sure). Go.
Oh the places you'll go!
A book is a relatively inexpensive treat, and Seattle is filled with new and used bookstores that provide both a great selection and a peaceful ambiance.
Curmudgeon and his missus recently had a driving mishap - thanks to an overindulged twyper - is it tweeter?
For goodness sakes folks - don't tweet and drive. Get help. Get a designated tweeter.
Stacey recently spotted a sign urging 'No Naked People' in their establishment in the Pacific Northwest - and also spotted were, well, clothing items flung far and wide.
This is what Ray Stevens' wrote a song about - The Streak.
Pardon me sir, did you see what happened? . . . Say it isn't so Ethel!
I've been away again unexpectedly in Mississippi. Remember last fall when my dad had the scare with blood clots . . . call in the middle of the night . . . "Dad's in the hospital."
Those midnight rings are the worst.
Well, we had another midnight ring Monday night . . . this time - "Mom's in the hospital, in ICU."
She fell. At the Church gymnasium. While herding a group of young children. It was an accident. Nobody's to blame - but nevertheless, she was knocked unsteady and she hit the floor - her head hit the floor like a basketball. She was out of it for a while.
Ambulance took her to the ER. CT scans showed a brain bleed in the front of her head. Seems the impact from the back of her head sloshed the brain so hard to the front it cracked her skull in the front. She also cracked several vertebrae.
So, I took a drive to the neighboring state and have been visiting her.
She's in pain. Lots of pain.
But she's doing so much better. The bleed is no worse. It could have been so much worse. She's fortunate. Long road ahead.
Man I'm tired.
Drove home last night late just in time to go to bed to get up this morning for work. I do not know if today is going to happen.
Maybe tomorrow would be better.
Associated Press reports that Alaska's Mount Redoubt volcano began erupting late last night and this morning.
The volcano erupted three times late Sunday and early Monday.
Geologists at the Alaska Volcano Observatory say the volcano erupted three times late Sunday and early Monday, with the largest eruption sending a plume of smoke some 50,000 feet above sea level . . . this is a fairly large eruption, close to the larger cities in Alaska . . . no cities have yet reported any ash fall from the volcano, but noted that it's still early . . . Geologists say seismic activity around the volcano had been intense in recent days, and expected that the volcano would blow soon.
She's up. She's Down. She's up. She's down. She's up again today as Patricia Phillips tells us at the Space News Examiner.
Level Orange again today for Volcano Redbout up in Alaska. Tomorrow, I don't know (or should I say - doubt - or is it redoubt).
Reminds me of "Yes, we have no bananas."
And now, a recap of goings on near my own house:
1. My office manager held a meeting for all the staff (me in the crowd) - says, "we're fine." Small raises this year. When she said small, she meant small.
2. The trial I helped with went well (I had previously started to blog about several posts back).
3. Same office manager told us we should not be blogging about work. What I can tell you (I think) is that I work at a law firm. I can't tell you the name of it (not that I would). I can't tell you what I do (but I bet you can guess that part - work at a high level of energy and come home exausted - get paid at not the comparable level for said work).
4. Watched some good movies lately. One was The Calendar Girls. Hoo haw funny. Old ladies in England shedding their shirts for charity. Quite hilarious.
Here's the trailer.
5. Still reading my book, River Horse - about a guy (and a copilot and a photographer and an occasional professor and the occasional other person or two) who boated across the United States from New York Harbor, up the Hudson, over the Erie Canal, clipped a bit of Lake Erie, down the Allegheny, on down the Ohio, up the Mississippi, up the Big Muddy - "The Missouri" - and I've currently got the boys just across the line from North Dakota over into the state named for the mountain. Montana. This has been one terrific book.
6. Walked three miles yesterday whilst listening to my audio book The Guernsey Literary Potato Peel Society. Yes, it's another really terrific book, while of course, altogether different than the prior book mentioned above. It's read by English speaking actors, so it's perfectly perfect while walking in the sunny treed walking path. What could be more natural, than to be in nature with a modern day Jane Austenesque voice speaking of funny ordinary and interesting life happening whatknots. It is about the most perfect thing.
7. My husband ran the 3 miles. I collapsed in the bed as soon as we returned home.
E x h a u s t e d.
8. This morning, we have planned to visit a new class at a Church nearby (to save gas and time and make new friends while saving gas and time). We've visited the Church before and "shopped" a few classes - y'know, it's important to get the right fit. Perhaps today will be the one. My husband went to this particular class before a couple weeks ago (I did not go that particular day because I was once before, e x h a u s t e d - no doubt, because of all the small work I've been doing at the firm where I am told "we're doing fine").
And who is We exactly?
Natasha Richardson's tragedy has been all over the news so much these past couple of days and in no way do I wish to make light of her family's grief. I feel so badly for them - and any family - who is forced to undergo such incomprehensible grief, especially on such a public scale. It is so very painful, I know.
This morning as I began reading the news of the day, I first was drawn to something a Canadian physician said, and it will not leave my thoughts - it simply will not leave.
This is what I read (linked to from here):
Montreal’s top head trauma doctor said Friday that the lack of medical helicopters in the province of Quebec may have played a role in Richardson’s death.
“It’s impossible for me to comment specifically about her case, but what I could say is … driving to Mont Tremblant from the city (Montreal) is a 2 1/2-hour trip, and the closest trauma center is in the city.
Our system isn’t set up for traumas and doesn’t match what’s available in other Canadian cities, let alone in the States,” said Tarek Razek, director of trauma services for the McGill University Health Centre, which represents six of Montreal’s hospitals.
Being driven by ambulance to two separate hospitals rather than airlifted by helicopter directly to a trauma center could have cost Richardson crucial moments, he said.“A helicopter is obviously the fastest way to get from Point A to Point B."
The More mans religion is, of course, about the man, more of them.
They don't have logic.
Let's push aside what is felt about them (weird, sexist, perverted, crime-ridden, mafiaesque) and look at what they say about themselves - or rather, what they don't (refuse to) say.
Take for example this ditty written by one of their mans about Jon Krakaeur's book, Under the Banner of Heaven. Now, if you haven't read the book, I suggest that you do. Read it for yourself. Seriously, I do not believe that mans (author of the ditty) read it. I do not believe that he read it because what he says the book is about - is not what the book is about.
Most book critics read the books they write about - like 'em or not like 'em. They do read them. Dwight Gardner - critic - writes for the New York Times (reads what he talks about). Another critic, Janet Maslin - writes for the New York Times (again - reads what she talks about).
But this mans is different. He's not an objective literary critic or academician. He is a voice of the mans religion. And as such a voice of the so called saints of latter, his job is not to read or try to comprehend any truths in Krakauer's book - his purpose is to condemn it.
And he does condemn it.
He says (and I loosely quote and emphasize - trying to not out and out plagiarize):
The book . . . tells the story of two . . . fundamentalists who brutally murdered Brenda Lafferty and her infant daughter, claiming they acted on divine revelation. Krakauer attempts to prove that such behavior has roots in the history of . . . [more mans religion], and compares faithful [more mans] to extreme muslim terrorists.Mans is absolutely correct that in Krakauer's book, he does tell the factual account of two mans of the saints of latter who did brutally murder Ms. Lafferty and her innocent infant daughter. The murderers did in fact claim they acted on divine revelation. They were in fact rooted in the more mans religion. The murderers were compared to faithful extreme muslim terrorists.
Part 1 and 2 are in the archives.
Here's a joke 'o the day:
A man from North Carolina goes into a bar in New England.
He asks the bartender, "Did you go to Harvard?"
The bartender says, "Yale."
The North Carolinan says, "DID YOU GO TO HARVARD?"
- - -
did ya get it (it took me a couple times)
Aye i Geee.
Just the letters A I and G together conjure up the phrase, "ya gotta be kiddin' me." Bonuses schmonuses - what were they thinking?
Some in Congress have some awfully sharp (razor) things to say about the bonuses - after those very same people in Congress willingly gave the money in the first place.
Who is idioting who here?
Now, Lloyds of the great London place- premier old insurance company, appears to be avoiding a valid policy holder. Problem Lloyds? Surely not Lloyds? Not you too!?
But yet, Lloyds has refused to respond to a simple request (ok, many requests) to pay up as promised.
Respond, simply respond.
We'll see if they will. Well, actually they kind of have to respond now - 'cause they got sued by young woman who needs what they promised her. Her bosses sure haven't done anything to help her. The feds have taken all her money and arrested her - and have entirely left her bosses alone. Yep, they're just picking on her - a woman, the non-partner, non-owner of the company.
Owners, men - still pleading the Fifth (still). She remains tied to the stake while insurers and bosses and press fan the flames.
When will insurance companies simply do as they promised - without having to be sued?
Seems like insurers are taking over the stigma lawyers once had, "The only good lawyer is a dead lawyer."
Insert the word insurer according to the general public anywhere in small or big town America.
Frieda supplied a quenching of my thirst for spectacular soothing music this evening - here is a Persian song . . . virtually unknown to me until a moment ago.
So lovely.
Frieda's words,
"She is the most well-known Persian artist. Can you enjoy this song without understanding the words? It's Persian version of TO BE or NOT TO BE ! Well, kind of."Introducing, Googoosh.
. . . He traded 3.6 million for the Army Rangers and a new machine gun. He was brave and true. No one asked him to - make that sacrifice . . .
- lyrics from a deeply moving song written by David Douglas Wright.
Today.
"Mount Redoubt released a plume of steam and ash that rose three miles high Sunday afternoon, and geologists at the Alaska Volcano Observatory immediately upgraded volcano's aviation color code status to orange and its alert status to "watch." - from GEORGE BRYSON at the Anchorage Daily News.
Immediately huh.
Sounds like a good idea.
I so smiled this morning as I read words of books and titles of books at the blog of Inland Empire Girl at Gathering Around the Table. She's in Washington - the state. You know the state, the one above Oregon, the one under British Columbia, the one next to Idaho and the one with the Pacific Ocean on the other side . . . mountains, rivers, streams, mist, gardens, nature, lovers of books, coffee, Birkenstock shoes, flip flops - the place in our country where all things lovely seem to co-exist so magically.
While there, I read the last lines of one of her favorite books, which is titled Cultivating Delight, A Natural History of My Garden, by Diane Ackerman. The title of the book is enough to inspire . . . cultivating delight . . . a simply delightful idea indeed. Oh, to be able to cultivate delight!
Here's the last line of that delightedly titled book (I'm sure the insides of the book are are also equally delightful, but alas - I've only read the last lines so far).
"Spring is unlatching its heavy doors, rousting old dusty hibernators from their sleep, and beginning a quiet fumbling with buttons, knots, and nubbins, and the bolting ribbons of time, light, and gore.
As I walk down to the mailbox, enveloped in mist, birds snitch on twitchy feet in the aspens, morning ghosts between the houses, and the air tastes green at last. "
Now, go and be delighted - and cultivate that delight in others.
Cheers. And, of course - I wish you the happiest of an early spring Friday!
This time, I found a place (I virtually found it here) in Pennsylvania - in downtown Chambersburg.
If I were literally there, I would be in heaven. Heaven is a place like an undiscovered used book store filled with books and the people who appreciate them.
"A warm and inviting Victorian-designed shop with book-themed decor, the used bookstore at 59 N. Main St. is comfortable, like home, with several cozy rooms filled with more than 60,000 used, rare, classic, collectible and new books. After this month's expansion, the store will house 100,000 volumes."
This post is one to read before you die. Many know by now, I'm compiling a list of 1,000 posts to read before you die. They're not my posts - they're yours. And I'm picky. Read them all here (I don't have a thousand yet, but they are adding up to not quite fifty), so get some coffee. relax, and of course - read).
In today's online edition of the Los Angeles Times, there is a story about a man named Bruce Lindsey, who died last month and left his entire fortune to Vanguard, a small college in California - because . . . well, you should read it. It will warm your heart.
Here's a snippet of the article written by My-Thuan Tran:
"The beloved penny-pincher never married and had no children, and the university is his sole beneficiary. Lindsay, who ate his last meal at the cafeteria just days before he died, was a product of the Great Depression.
He scrimped and saved wherever he could. Despite his wealth, he lived modestly. He drove a Prius in his later years to save gas money and relished a good cheap meal -- which is what brought him to the student commons on the 70-year-old Vanguard campus.
'It was a great meal at a great price,' a friend recalled him saying. Over the years, the gray-haired man in the short-sleeved plaid shirt became a legend at the 2,200-student university, where -- over a plate of Swedish meatballs and a large bowl of soft-serve ice cream -- he would hold court in the crowded dining hall.
Lindsay befriended students and dispensed Depression-era advice to anyone who would listen: Respect your parents, never drink or smoke, be frugal, save money."
Looking for a place to go this weekend near New Jersey? If I were near there - I'd go here. I'd go to a book sale Sunday at the Temple Ner Tamid, in Bloomfield - that's where I would go.
Baristanet.com suggested it. The opening post today grabbed my attention:
Love used book sales! Last summer in the Adirondacks, I spent hours combing through dusty stacks to stock my home library with titles I forgot to read, fell off my radar, or might have some obscure future use on a rainy day.
Two shopping bags full later, I left $7 for the municipal library.
From Kansas City.Com's entertainment section today, I read of Robert Beattie's newest true crime book, Language of Evil.
I was interested particularly in a little snippet of Beattie's interview with the Kansas City reporter on sort of where his inspiration comes from for a subject or book - or why he writes of certain things or people as opposed to others. His response touched a chord with me, for it is something that I too, often think about when writing.
Beattie's quote was, "Here’s my rule of thumb for writing a book: Is this a story that deserves to be told about people who deserve to be remembered?"
Yes, of course.
Why write just because. I mean, if I'm writing, I want it to have purpose, meaning. I want it to mean something to somebody else, usually. I say usually because of course there are times when I write simply to flesh out ideas or to put it quite simply - to vent, or blather on because I feel better afterwards.
But truly, the underlying reason for my writing is that I wish to communicate. It is my desire to communicate facts, ideas, thoughts and etcetera, so that expressions are not left out in life that need to be told - that nobody else perhaps could share, or would share.
Maybe it is that perhaps others don't know how to share whatever it is that deserves to be remembered, and that by reading something I write, or reading something I hint at, perhaps it would inspire someone to search for their own inspiration. To inspire, or even just trigger a thought, I guess, is my goal.
To not remain stagnant and selfish with whatever it is that I might possess that could possibly help someone else.
Yes.
Write what deserves to be remembered.
If it's not written, how will it then be remembered? Memories fade, but the written word is forever alive. It is the exhalation of breath - that part of our breath that remains, that part that is not once again inhaled.
Words are the outward and permanent expression of us.
Share something deserving with someone. It will always remain.
. . . and not gonna take it anymore.
"Even clients and advisors without a penny invested in CDs with [insert name here -a name I will not promote] Bank, the source of the alleged $8 [kazillion] fraaauuuud, have been frozen out of their funds — the vast majority of which are custodied at [a different bank]."
The government overreaching?
The question - 'Is the Pope Catholic' - seems to fit.
One of my latest used book shop finds is titled River-Horse - A Voyage Across America, by William Least Heat-Moon.
As I read and travel along with him beginning in New York Harbor (with his sights on Astoria, Oregon), and up the Hudson River - on to the Erie Canal, over to Lake Erie and beyond with much adventure, I shall take any along with me that will.
The boat is about twenty two feet long, seventeen hundred pounds and is called a C-Dory. She's equipped with a radio, compass, a depth finder, tachometers and various gauges, and a Honda engine.
On the forward bulkhead, near the helm, I attached a wooden plaque, a proverb from the Quakers:
Proceed as the way opens. . . above the welldeck and motors, I put up another . . .
Avoid irritation.
[Why by boat and inland rivers from this shore to that?]
Twenty years ago I had been down enough miles of American road that I couldThis will be a grand book and promises great adventures.
visualize the impending end of new territory to light out for - as my fellow Missourian, river traveler Huck Finn, has it - and that's when I notice the web
of faint azure lines, a varicose scribing of my atlas.
They were rivers.
I began tracing a finger over those twistings in search of a way to cross America in a boat.
