Home is where....

I must take some pics and somehow say goodbye to my childhood home.

I know there's a good story/storybook in here someplace, but how often do you take pictures of the outside of your house?

If you didn't have the ideal childhood, how do you contain the simultaneous desire to stock up on explosives...with the desire to chain yourself in "your room," throw a tantrum, and not let them take it away.

How do you separate a house from a home, and again from a home-town? What happens to all the memories of place...?

How far...How Fast?

10:58 PM

A friend's (new) husband is writing an SF novel, and she announced proudly today that he wrote 1800 words yesterday (about 600 words an hour, he modestly, but factually, stated).  Which made me think: Okay, so I like to write, and I often write about strange things, but how many words do I write - and how fast?

Forgoing any concerns about spelling, accuracy and the fact that I am not writing ABOUT anything - not telling a story or actively working on our novel (though I certainly could, and perhaps shall in a moment or so), I was curious: how many words do I write?  How fast do I write them?

So I have my start time at the top of the page, and I am just going to work for about 15 minutes, or however long it takes to say a little bit about today's fun, and see how many words it ends up being.

Today was fun, probably mostly because of a lot of Diet Coke: Caffeine, fake sugar, and a fun project with lots of folks around.

"I can't remember the last time you were this punchy, " A. said.  Hmm...it didn't feel that strange to me.  Yes, maybe I was a bit manic, but I was working with a big group of folks on a silly costume idea...and I liked the folks I was in close quarters with, and I thought the silly costume idea was brilliant and fun.

What idea, you ask?  Well, I'm glad you did!  You should see my friend K's LJ page for the full story, but my part is just this:  I really like groups of silly people, and since this project was entirely silly...if anyone was going to participate, they were by definition, pretty much self-selecting.

Anyway, we were measuring, cutting, edging and ironing a lot of tabards with symbols on them so that we could all be the knights of the Log Table at the opening night of Spamalot in San Jose.  The tabards all have mathematical symbols on the fronts, and on the backs have the symbols for K's 49th Birthday - similar to the Jersey's on a sports team.  

(taking a moment to do the math to see how long 15 minutes is - 3 minutes to go)

It was fun to think through the problem of making them; Fun to take care of a big group - order pizza, etc.  and fun to just be sewing in a big group too.  The day was quite mild - overcast, warm, and a little humid.  Occasional flashes of sunlight that make it too hot to stand in the sun, but perfectly comfy in the shade.  I enjoyed cutting with the rotary, and sewing teenie, quarter inch bias tape in along the sides of the tabards.  I very much like the smell of hot plastic adhesive from the iron on symbols.  They take 5, long seconds, and at about 4 you can actually smell when they are sufficiently melting and fusing with the fabric.

Ha, ha! Done!  

11:15 PM - 510 words in 17 minutes.  So I am okay on quantity, if not quality....

Lights on at My Neighbor's house

Every evening the lights twinkle at Pixie's house.  Every time I use the toilet, I see through the open bathroom window, and I'm drawn to the constant, sparkling lights through the trees.  

The pragmatic me says that she must not have to worry about her electric bill, since she leaves pretty, sparkly lights on all night. 

The romantic part wonders what is making that particular quality of light: lanterns? mini christmas lights?  are they reflecting through the windows of her house?  I want to know....

Pixie's lights are the mythological creatures that lured travelers into the bogs where they drowned...what are they called?  Grrrr.  They're in a Piers anthony book, but I can't remember right now.

Anyway, I think about my neighbor's lights a lot.  Every time I have to pee.  They are just over the back fence, between the big oak trees, and they are always friendly, welcoming and jovial - like Pixie herself.