He's tired. I'm tired. It's been that way since about mid-November.
But dang if we didn't manage to get the first bound copies
of the edition to their destination by Black Friday.
That's why we took the photo. We were so relieved.
But we're still not getting enough sleep.
Self-employment is not for the faint of heart.
It's for insomniacs. Insomniacs who get along.
So, I've got our press's web page updated again, finally. Please tell all your pals. Especially your pals who like to spend money on nice letterpress. And even if you're broke, please go and have a look so your friends the printers don't get lonesome. Got feedback?
My next item of busines is this. I subscribe to This American Life's weekly podcast, and tonight while I was doing some bookbinding work I listened to the babysitting episode, #175 (you can listen to it for free--just search the archives). It's a great one all around, but I was moved by the second "act," a personal story told by Susan Burton about a time in 1988 when she and her little sister and a large number of other "unaccompanied minors" (or as she calls them, "divorced kids") were stranded in the Chicago O'Hare airport on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day during a terrible blizzard. It was a really insightful piece, and at the end Ira Glass announced that a film had been made based on this experience. Yeah! Sounds like one Rob and I would really enjoy! I looked up the movie title and watched two different trailers. What. A. Dog. Can I say it again? WHAT! A! DOG! After the great radio work I'd just heard I was completely bugged to see that the story had been so utterly and predictably dumbed down. I want to scream. Not because the junior high set gets to eat popcorn while wasting their brain cells on yet another insipid, ridiculously sterotypical piece of parasitic holiday schlock, but because dumbbody wasted a perfect opportunity to tell a real, good story. Phlllbbbttt!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And now, we return you to "Peace on Earth, Good Will toward Men," already in progress.
Alright, so I'm way behind in replying to comments on the blog. I'll just hit a few points here, in case those of you who were asking about Gary's tiaras and other things don't feel like going back to the original posts again to see if I ever answered.
The tiaras: Gary sells them; he doesn't wear them. At least not that I know of. Gary . . . want to back me up on this? He graciously allowed me to borrow them from his shop to help decorate for a Young Women event I helped with. It had a princess theme. Not my idea, but being the supporter of causes that I am, I supplied the tiaras. Thanks to Gary. But honest, I've never caught Gary wearing one. I know you're all disappointed. Is it any consolation to you that the first tiara I touched broke in my hands? Gary's not a princess, and I'm not either.
The spiritual experience at Beto's will have to wait for another day. Sorry, compulsive writer. But I will eventually tell.
Liz, I think you hit on a great point about when you talked about spending years first of all learning to identify the manipulators in your life, before you ever started being able to say no to them. It's funny how almost addicting the feeling of freedom can be once you get some of these things figured out. I read a good book a friend loaned to me called Controlling People and it really helped to open my eyes to the dynamics of such interactions and what's at the heart of them. Maybe you'd find it useful too. I also read a great book on sociopaths at the beginning of the year. Overall, I do better than I used to in the bully battle.
Lorien, I will certainly add "circumventing circumcision" to my gratitude lists. I am absolutely thankful I've been able to do that.
Azúcar, you and I have another connecting point in Andi, don't we?
Elizabeth (you're Liz to me always), are you writing your own lists now?
Chemical Billy, let's dance together on cocktail wieners next time you're in town.
B., Unlike you, I can't say I've outgrown much in my life. Maybe acrylic sweaters, but that's about all. I'm working on it.
Liz, Billy, Azúcar, and Julie, I like your at-home date input. Why would we ever want to leave our house again?
Last thing is this. As per the instructions my sister-in-law gave in a sacrament meeting talk a week and a half ago, I'm still rather diligently writing gratitude lists every night. Well, I missed one night, but that's because it was after 2:00am when I quit working and I was too tired to do anything but drag myself to bed, so I wrote that list in my head till the next day. I'm telling you, the regular exercise of remembering and recording things I'm thankful for makes a huge difference in my overall emotions and experience. I find myself noticing more good things, eager to remember (and share) them. The practice often has power to help lighten heavy and dark feelings and it even lifts fatigue, at least a little. Any time I've ever done this I've felt immediately rewarded and have wanted to go on doing it forever. It's amazing what sweet things can be wrung out of even the toughest kind of day. For instance:
#11
•the gorgeous, plump, perfect, mouse-glossy brown seed that fell out of the apple I cut for lunch
•The Ancestor getting the chance to go out and party with her visiting teachers (two senior citizens of the able-bodied variety) FOR FIVE HOURS
•finding a home for a lot of practically new socks I recently replaced with some that stay up
•good radio storytelling
•seeing a few more sales now that our website is updated
•hemp seed
•Miss Mary's unexpected turnaround after her near-death experience (Miss Mary is my Methuselah cat)
•getting an email from an old friend who admitted: "Whenever I spell your name I pronounce it in my head, Geeyourjeea, just so I can spell it right."
•hearing about other people's dreams
•a telephone headset that saves me from a crink in my neck
•having gratitude lists to read over again
•getting rid of a headache
•realizing it wasn't the flu after all, but just the bad gingerbread cookies
