"It's a Wonderful Life"

Yes, it is a wonderful life, even with all its ups and downs. Last post, I was especially despondent, and have still not come to grips with that set-back. However, that has to wait for another time.

It's December and everyone is busy. Fortunately, I don't have the usual baking and shopping stresses that I once had, when my children were little and we had to play Satan Claus and do all that crazy stuff. Now that I've cast off Satan and things that promote greed and unachievable goals, I feel much better. I pity people who still do all that.

For me, Christmas won't come until December 24/25th, and then it will be over as fast as it arrives. Before that, we have Advent--a time of waiting and anticipation of the birth of Jesus. I love the lights and some of the music, and the general feeling of people at least feigning happiness while they grumble about the stress. At least they're trying to find happiness. The smiles are contagious, and the intentions are to appear joyous. For me, it's no more joyous than Lent. In fact, I find Lent more joyous because even though that leads to the crucifixion of Jesus, it ultimately blossoms with the Resurrection at Easter.

Both Christmas and Easter bring better weather, sort of. Christmas is around the winter equinox and so with it the days begin to grow longer and brighter, leading to Lent, which brings Easter springtime and then summer. Both are harbingers of more light in the world. Sort of.

At Advent, I set aside the busy-ness of tasks I've taken on during the year. Maybe I shouldn't, but I do. For example, I've taken on a couple of jobs for Franciscans, and those are on hold for now. At the moment, I have the excuse of the Canadian postal strike--can't trust anything to go through right now, so may as well wait until that settles. That's as good an excuse as any for my procrastination.

This year, like last year, I'm in a play. Last year, I had a couple of bit parts in "A Christmas Carol" and this year I'm playing Ma Bailey in "It's a Wonderful Life" and enjoying it very much. I think this will likely be my last foray onto the stage--I'm getting too old for all the hustle and bustle backstage. On stage, it's fun--even when I'm struggling to recall my next line.

All this means that writing is on hold--except for my autobiography. I've already distributed Decade One to the family. I hope to have Decade Two done and ready for distribution at our Epiphany brunch.

Third attempt at this post!

I have to wonder what's happening to all my posts! This is the third time I've started this one. Most irritating!

Maybe the fact that I'm using this opportunity for my annual anti-Satan Claus rant, and Satan doesn't like it. Too bad. I'm going to try again.

As I was saying, before this stupid computer rudely dumped every previous attempt, I'm all in favour of Advent.
Dead against Satan Claus. (Not a typo)
The "jolly old elf" is NOT a Christian saint, Nicholas, Bishop of Myra. Nor is he "Old Saint Nick" because he is not a saint--doesn't even claim to be one. So, if he's not a saint, then he is "Old Nick" which is another name for the devil.

So, I'll try again to link these words for you to take a closer look.
I'm trying to link Advent
and Bishop of Myra
and Old Nick.

Pray that it works this time!
It looks like it might have worked this time.

a backward step

A backward step to say the least! On the 8th of this month, less than a week ago, I put my thumb-drive in place and called up the novel I've been working on for ...how many years?... And guess what. It's gone. Wiped out. Nothing but computer language, upside down question marks, etc.. Try to call it up based on most recent date--page doesn't exist. "Maybe moved or deleted," says the message. I have a lot of it printed out, but not all of it. A year ago I paid an editor $1600 for an evaluation--I still have that, at least. Now I'm so discouraged, I don't know what to do.  At my age (80), I am not even sure I care to continue. Is it worth it after all?

While I ponder that question, I'll go back to writing my autobiography. I'll let you know my decision about the trilogy I'm halfway through--backward steps notwithstanding--or maybe I should just quit.

Civic Duty

This morning, Frank and I went to City Hall and voted. Election Day isn't actually until the 20th, but as George Burns once said, at our age you don't go out and buy green bananas. Besides, it's nice to get it done. Today was the first Advance Polling Day, and we were there about noon. First, we had to register because we've been in Penticton for only two and a half years. Then, because Frank can't see well enough to read and mark a ballot, I had to be sworn in as his assistant. The two of us went into the polling booth together. We'd already gone over the list of all the candidates before leaving the house, and I had a written list of our choices.
It was mostly my input because, although he'd been to the School Board and Mayoral candidates' sessions put on at the Lakeside Resort by the Penticton Herald, he had not been able to attend the session for the city councillors. I went to all of the sessions, plus last night (4pm to 9pm), to chat one-on-one with the candidates before the mayoral debate. So I'm feeling pretty familiar with them all and their abilities, experience, and their interests. When Frank and I discussed it, we came to a consensus about our choices and that's how we both voted.
It'll be interesting to see if our choices get in.

Almost October

My own birthday kept me busy in September, but on top of that I had to prepare for a Franciscan Retreat.
My husband, Frank, and I are both third order Franciscans, and as such we are obliged to follow our Rule of Life. Chapter (i.e,. the governing body of the Order) have been working on a fresh way of looking at our Rule. So, Frank and I decided that we should put on a Franciscan Retreat with the focus on reviewing and refreshing our Rule. I called it "Living a Rule of Life" and invited our congregation of St. Saviour's Anglican Church and the Fellowship that we used to belong to in Vancouver, as well as our Brothers and Sisters in neighbouring fellowships in the state of Washington. I guess, not counting the local congregation, I invited by name about thirty people. Guess what? No one showed up. :(
Nevertheless, Frank and I feel that we had a successful retreat.
First of all, we began on Wednesday, October 3rd at 5pm with a beautiful eucharist in Ellis Chapel, adjacent to the church. Father Nick Pang, our new priest, set it up. Candlelight. A little Lady Chapel in the corner. Full vestments. All in white. We sang and prayed. It was lovely. The congregation had been invited, but no one was there except the priest and my husband and me. We were so grateful to Nick for this. His selections of readings and the service itself was 99% from our own Franciscan Devotional Companion. The little bit that was not, came from For All the Saints, a companion book to usual prayer book used in Anglican churches in Canada, known as the BAS.
Thursday morning, Frank and I were admitted into the church for our Quiet Day, to which I'd invited everyone plus the thirty Franciscans. No one came. We weren't surprised. Several had responded saying that if we do the same thing next year, they'll try to come. So of course, I hope we can do that. But, on our own, and because Frank can't see to read and make notes, the two of us worked on revising our Rules. His and mine are based on the same template, of course, but in the past we had not known exactly what the other's Rule required. This time, we have our individuality but I typed his up in large print so he can use his magnifier to amplify it enough to be able to read it for himself. Even though he participated in discussing each aspect of the 9 parts of the Rule, he needs to discuss it with his own spiritual director before we approach our regional chaplain to have it sanctified.
Friday morning, Nick came again for the Eucharist that we'd asked for to conclude our Retreat. This time, we were joined by another couple, so it was not just us. We ended with Centering Prayer in the church with others who usually attend on Friday mornings.
We were not disappointed with the no-shows, in fact we really would have been surprised if anyone had come. After all, Wednesday and Thursday and Friday, the days just before Canadian Thanksgiving weekend, were not the best time for the Retreat. However, we didn't choose the date of St. Francis' Transitus and St. Francis Day. October 3rd is Transitus, and October 4th is St. Francis Day.

missed posting in September

I like to post at least once a month. I realized that to keep followers following, I should be more consistent. So, I apologize for not doing that.
So, what happened in September? For one thing, my birthday came up. My 80th, so that meant that we had to have a big celebration--Who knew I'd last so long? Not so old nowadays as it once was. But, because my dear husband is legally blind, partially deaf, and not too good with walking, etc., (although he claims that he is a good doorstop), I had to arrange my birthday bash. Just dinner in a very nice restaurant in Summerland. Zia's  Stonehouse Restaurant. I recommend it. And, because my children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren are asking questions about ancient history--i.e., my childhood and when I was young, I've been working on my autobiography. Instead of chapters, it's in decades. So, when everyone was gathered for the dinner, I was able to hand out five copies of Decade 1, the first ten years of my life. It came with the promise that Decade 2 would be ready soon. Of course, there will be a total of eight decades, so I'd better get busy.
That was most of what occupied me for September: putting together all the notes I'd been scribbling down on bits of paper all over the place. Rather than have it as a straight narrative, the really boring bits are interrupted with Vignettes--random memories that sort of fit in. I don't promise to have it strictly chronological, and I warned the family that there might be some overlaps. But I've tried to keep it as close to the truth as I remember it and believe it to be. It's not a tell-all, just as much as I care to divulge to my family. It isn't for publication.
My novel (novels?) must take a back seat for a while, because I do want to finish the eight decades while I can. If I don't get to publish a novel, it will certainly be one of my regrets, but I think family history being passed on to the next generation or two or three is more important than my satisfying an ambition.

never before!

I've never done this before. A couple of nights ago, I took the book I was reading aloud to my husband (he's legally blind) and walked over to the garbage can and tossed it in. I threw out a book in perfectly good physical condition. I can't believe I did that. But I just couldn't bring myself to read another word. The book is called The Bishop and the Three Kings, (Blackie Ryan #10) by Andrew M. Greeley. on goodreads it is rated 4 out of 5, so there's obviously something wrong with me. I just could not tolerate the writing. First, there are pages and pages of info-dump--stuff about the history of Cologne, and about the Three Magi (3 kings in the Nativity story in the Gospel of Matthew). That was bad enough, then there was that 1st person chapter told by Peter, Blackie's "nefoo"--more about that in a moment. That chapter, a young man/boy/whatever who has to finish writing his term paper, but is ogling a girl, wondering what she's like without her shirt on. Did we really need that? It's supposed to be a story about a Roman Catholic bishop visiting Germany to solve a mystery. It's written by Andrew M. Greeley, Father Andrew, a Roman Catholic priest.
Now about that "nefoo". Greeley goes on and on in his preface or foreword or whatever it is he felt the need to write before actually starting the story, about Appalachian English. I won't say it isn't a viable study for linguistics students (my B.A. is in linguistics, but I wouldn't waste my time on Appalachian English--for one thing, I didn't see much that was actually original. Many of the expressions are in common usage.) My complaint is the need to call decent people "no-count varmints"--no, it isn't funny, imho). But one of the characters is a "hill-billy" (is that PC?) and she talks like that most of the time.  Okay. If that's her way of speaking, but Greeley has the other characters--Blackie and Peter (the nefoo) dropping into it.  Everyone is a no-count varmint and all questions are answered "shonuff".  I absolutely could not read the book.
Into the garbage it went, and I picked up a much superior book to read, also rated 4 out of 5 on goodreads, Monday the Rabbi Took Off (The Rabbi Small Mysteries #4) by Harry Kemelman, swapping a bishop for a rabbi. (I'm Christian, by the way, but love Jewish culture.)

I'm so disappointed!

I just found out that the Surrey International Writers' Conference 2018 is sold out. All except the Sunday Only package. Well, I'm not going to travel all the way to the Coast for a solitary day. Especially since Greyhound is cancelling all but one Western Canadian routes. (The exception, unfortunately, is not the route I need.)
Serves me right, I guess. I should have known. This conference is probably the best in the world (so I've been told by some internationally famous authors who are presenters on a regular basis).  There are people like Anne Perry, Diana Gabaldon, Elizabeth George, and so on. (Men too, but these are the ones I always like to see when they're here.) These aren't here every time, but this is the calibre of speaker we are used to at the Surrey Conference. I've been to several, and volunteered at a few. Never a waste of time or money, even though it is rather expensive. Especially if you stay in the hotel, but there are several other hotels to choose from.
So, for 2019, I have to start watching for early registrations and get my name in quickly. No procrastinating.
No bus next year, of course. I'll have to fly. I hate airports but absolutely will not drive. I wish that a train was a possibility, but no such luck.
I'm just plain disappointed.

another grammar abomination

Just when I think I've seen it all, another one pops into view. Yesterday I was looking at Pinterest hints on packing. Okay, I do think I know it all on that topic, and I don't have any pressing need to review the latest tips, still I like to see what people have to say about packing.
This one particular set of hints had nothing earth-shatteringly new, but I found one sentence or part of a sentence that I just can't get out of my head.
The lady is explaining how she packs differently for just herself or with her husband or with the whole family. Then she says, "I just pack Jason and I's stuff into...." I couldn't get past that. I stopped right there. I's?????? Did me get I's coffee this morning? I's? Really? Seriously? I's?
I can't get it out of my head! I's.

Writing this novel

I thought I'd finished it. But that was almost a year ago. Then, after several non-responses from prospective agents, I decided to get it professionally evaluated. Not edited. I think I can do that myself. With a degree in linguistics and another degree in education, plus nearly forty years experience teaching English, I think I can do my own editing. I'm not perfect. I can make mistakes as easily as the next person. And I know that I'm the worst person to do my own fault-finding when reading my own work. That is why I truly crave a critique group. Some people with similar goals and interests as myself. But an evaluation would be helpful.
Now, my master's degree in education was in curriculum and instruction, and included a lot of work on what curriculum and instruction evaluation looked like. But it seems that none of that applied to this manuscript evaluation. At the very least, I'd hoped the editor I paid to do the job would tell me if the story was worth rewriting or if I should just abandon it. But she said nothing about that.
She was, however, extremely helpful in other ways. She couldn't resist editing, though. Most of which I ignored because I didn't agree with her. Also, she didn't understand one of my main characters--the mother of the protagonist. That character happens to have serious personal flaws. Mainly, she is not a good mother. She doesn't listen to her daughter's concerns. She doesn't always remember to provide for her daughter's needs. She puts her job ahead of her parenting, and so on. That's who she is. That's one of the problems that my protagonist has to deal with. But my editor is a good mother. I can tell by the criticisms she has of "Fiona." So I have to seriously think about each comment she makes about the relationship between Fiona and her daughter in the story. It's most irritating, because I know my characters and how they have to interact.
Back to the helpful bits, though. My editor has a daughter in a wheelchair, and my main character is a teenaged girl in a wheelchair. So, although I've had a son in a wheelchair, and I've had a close friend in a wheelchair, and I've worked in a rehabilitation centre where most of the patients I dealt with were in wheelchairs, there's still a lot I don't know about life in a wheelchair. My editor gave me a lot of advice that was extremely helpful.
So now what? I'm still working on editing and rewriting this novel. I've been at it for about ten months now, and I'm only half way through the rewrites. I'm feeling totally lost, and very discouraged at this moment.
The other problem with this slow progress is that before I sent House of Secrets away for evaluation, I was already halfway through the first draft of the sequel! And I want to write a third novel with these characters to make it a trilogy.  If these books are going to take as much time as H of S, then I'll have to live well into my hundreds!!

still more about "I'm back"

It's been a few weeks now since I got back from that trip to the UK.
After Dalgellau, we spent a couple of nights in Porthmadog, still in North Wales. I don't remember much about that place. I wasn't keen on the "bed and breakfast" we were in. Nothing wrong with it, but I just wasn't very comfortable there. The name of the place was, if I remember correctly, translated as "The Old Bakehouse" but I can't remember the Welsh name. Breakfast was served in the "restaurant" attached next door--more like a pub that just closed down to give us breakfast before we left for the day.
We had a good trip down to Aberystwyth, which was really funny for me. I was there almost exactly sixteen months before. I stood on the same spot where I had photographed my son and husband in January 2017. And there I was with my daughter on June 3rd or 4th, whichever it was, in 2018. Aberystwyth is a very nice town. It has a beautiful beach--but not really good in January or even June. Kind of chilly in the Irish Sea.
We went to a historic mansion for tea. That's not a drink in the UK, it's more of an institution. Sometimes it's sandwiches and cakes, sometimes it's a full dinner. This time it was mostly cakes. And we had it outdoors, looking at the mansion. The mansion was chosen as a place to visit because some of our group wanted to visit a haunted house, and this one is said to be haunted. No ghosts for us, though.
The next day, we went to a slate museum. I found it very interesting, but the other three females just wandered around and didn't go. Too bad, because the slate museum had a few good ghost stories. Much better than the mansion.
Next day, Catherine and I took the train back to Gatwick airport, which pretends to be in London. We spent a night in a hotel, the Crown Plaza, which I don't recommend. Then, next morning, I flew home while my daughter flew to Scotland to spend a week there.

I'm Back Part Three

Still in North Wales, Dalgallau was of particular interest for a couple of reasons. First, it's the town where our host was born. Not only that, but the house that is now the B&B where we stayed, was once the maternity hospital. Taff was born in the very room my daughter and I stayed in. It sounds phony, but the host and hostess of the B&B assured us it was the truth. And in a town as small as Dalgallau everyone knows everything about everyone.
The B&B was very quaint. Each room had a particular character connected with a story. Our room was called "Secret Garden" and was decorated with flowers and animals. The room across from us was "Narnia" and another room was "Alice in Wonderland". Taff's room in the attic was called "Number Six"--which apparently has something to do with "The Prisoner", or maybe it's the other way around. I'm not familiar with that book.
This village was more accessible for me. I was able to walk around, have lunch in a tea house, and so on, while my daughter climbed mountains and followed streams to the sea.

Then we moved on to Porthmadog.

I'm back--Part Two

The second part of this year's trip to the UK was the Wild Wales Walking Tour. My daughter booked it, and I think she thought I'd be able to do some of the hikes. I hoped I might do one or two, but as it turned out, they were either too long or too difficult for this old lady. Nevertheless, I thoroughly enjoyed the trip. Taff Roberts, the leader, was knowledgeable and always ready to share stories related to the places we visited.
I've been to Wales a couple of times before. When I was about twelve or thirteen, I visited my aunt and uncle and cousins in Swansea, staying with them for about a month, I think. Then, many years later, my husband and I drove through parts of the countryside, and another time travelled there by train. Just last year, February 2017, my husband and son and I took the train from London to Aberystwyth and had a couple of days there en route to Liverpool and beyond.
But this trip, was different. Catherine, my daughter, and I were in the company of Taff Roberts and two couples who actually knew him from their home town of Winona, Minnesota, where Taff now resides.
Our first stop was in Aberdaron. A little town on the tip of a peninsula way up north--but not quite in Anglesey. There we stayed in a modern styled bed and breakfast, and Taff's brother and sister-in-law joined us for a meal. We stayed there three nights. Unfortunately, I couldn't get into the town by myself because the road was long, steep and windy. So I mostly stayed in the B&B and read the book I'd brought along for just such an eventuality. (The book, THE GIRL ON THE TRAIN, set in London, England--movie notwithstanding--an excellent read). One day, however, Taff arranged for a taxi to take me into town so I could attend a church service. Anglican. I felt right at home. Then, while there, before the taxi came to take me home to the B&B, I visited the local museum.

Our next village was Dalgellau, (pronounced dal-gell-ai, the double L doesn't occur in English, but it's not difficult. Just put your tongue for the letter L, but don't use your voice, just blow around your tongue. Try it!)

I'm back (from the UK) Part One

Left on May 23rd and returned June 7th, 2018. Only two weeks away from home. Almost not worth going! I've never had such a short overseas trip. I would have liked to stay longer, and go other places, but that was not practical at this time. As a result, I'm warning everyone that I'm half dreaming/planning to go back to the UK next year. By myself. No hiking trips, but maybe a bus tour.

The first part of this trip was five days in London. Strange, because I was just there 16 months ago. (January 2017) My English cousins are going to be tired of seeing me. I almost never see my Canadian cousins--it's been decades! Nevertheless, I'd still like to visit each of them--London, Oxford, Devon, and some place called S...something Coal Mines, or something (Sutton, maybe).
While in London, I had a chance to introduce my friend Genevieve to my daughter. I'd seen Genevieve last time, January 2017, the first opportunity to meet since I'd taken her for pram rides in Battersea Park, when I was about 13 years old.
Last visit with Genevieve, we went to the Tower of London, but I didn't really see as much as I'd hoped. I need more information on the Bloody Tower for a middle-grade book I'm researching. So, my daughter and I went back again this trip (just last month, but it seems like ages ago.) Unfortunately, this time the Bloody Tower was closed for preparations for a display. Drat! But, to make up for it, and even better, there was a dramatic performance of the last days of Anne Boleyn--very relevant to the research I'm doing on the Tower.

cookies

Turning on this blog, in order to get it up to date, I was confronted with a big yellow notice telling me that I'm supposed to warn followers or readers of this blog that Google collects cookies here. The yellow notice lists also Blogger, Google Analytics, "and other data collected by Google."  I don't know what I'm supposed to do about this. I don't want to know anything more about my readers than they care to post in the comment sections. I don't know what the cookies are for, exactly. But if they worry you, I suggest you give my blog a miss. Otherwise, if you are like me and have nothing special to hide, let's just "keep calm and carry on." That's what I intend to do.
So, I'm supposed to notify you of cookie gathering.
Consider yourself notified.

packing

Catherine, my darling daughter, has been working on the best way to pack for this trip to the UK. I've done a lot of  travelling, but I've never bothered about having to take everything on board the plane with me. I've always tried to pack light, but not take much to stow above or below the seat. I carry with me a handbag that has everything I need on the plane, and let the baggage crew take care of the rest. However, Catherine has other ideas. She came with me to buy a new suitcase that is supposed to hold everything I'll need for the two weeks I'll be there. (She's staying an extra week to visit cousins in Scotland--I saw them last year.) But her suitcase is the same size as mine. Hmmm. I always knew she was smarter than me.
My way of packing my big suitcase (for my husband and myself together) is to use two pillowcases. One for him, and the other--a different colour--for me. Inside the pillow cases, I have plastic bags to pack shoes, and net laundry bags for underwear and for cosmetics.
Catherine wants cubes. So I went with her and got what she recommended. They're a pretty blue, all matching, with labels on them saying "shoes" or "underwear" and so on. Bigger ones for sweaters and pants. Solid plastic ones for shoes or dirty laundry. I have to wonder what the difference is, besides the pretty blue plastic. I'll use them all, of course, but I still plan to put it all in a pillowcase. Just for the sake of tradition, I guess. I'm not going with my husband this time, so the colour of the pillowcase won't matter.
How do you pack?

on the road again

Well, not exactly the road. But traveling again. This time, no travel agents! (Why would I ever use one of them again? I'm not that stupid.) Nope, this time my dear daughter made all the arrangements. So, in just 12 more sleeps, she and I will board a plane for the UK. I guess we have to change planes in Calgary before we'll actually be doing that. Then we'll be in London for six sleeps and head off for North Wales. There, supposedly, I'm to go hiking. Well, I think I'll be strolling in the villages while she goes hiking. Once upon a time, not so very long ago, I would have enjoyed the hikes. Now pushing eighty, I'm not so keen anymore. I've been studying the Welsh language, though, and I hope to have some opportunities to see how well I've progressed in that area.
I'll be sure to let you know how it turns out.

not ideal

Definitely not an ideal world! Monday, it became clear that Mona was not doing well, she could not keep her food down, and it was a huge battle getting the insulin shot into her without jabbing myself or my husband or maybe getting Mona in the eye. Not a good scenario in any way. So, I had to call the vet and arrange to take the cat in at the end of the day and have her put to sleep. Definitely not an ideal world, or ideal anything. A very teary day for all of us who loved her.
I want to thank Dr. David Kopp and all the techs at Lindsay Veterinary Hospital for their kindness, understanding, and support.

in an ideal world

A few days ago, someone told me that my cat needed to have her insulin shot at exactly 9am, because "ideally, we like to have her here exactly six hours after her shot" but I could not get to the vet's office at exactly 3pm. Life--real life, not ideal life--made that impossible. Could I give her the shot a half hour later? No, because "ideally we like to keep it consistent." Well, newsflash! this is not an ideal world. Sometimes my husband or I have a doctor's appointment that makes EXACTLY nine o'clock cat insulin time impossible. So she gets it half an hour earlier, so we can get to OUR appointments. We do not live in a hospital with nursing staff, doctors, techs, etc., running around keeping IDEAL schedules. 

In my almost 80 years in THIS world, I cannot remember a single solitary ideal day. There have always been wars or famines or hurricanes or earthquakes or starving people, or cats missing their precise insulin times. 

This is not an ideal world, unfortunately. The cat got her shot fifteen minutes late and got to the vet fifteen minutes early. Somehow she survived.

this spring

Spring is my favourite season. The sun has finally started shining. The snow is all gone, except for a beautiful showing on the mountains that flank this small city. Penticton is in the South Okanagan district in British Columbia, Canada. Sunny Okanagan, they call it. Usually it is. But like most places in the world these days, usual does not seem to be the norm anymore. So, we enjoy the sunshine while we have it, and hope that this year it will stick around for a while.
I really should have a photo to post here to show how beautiful this place is. I'll see if I can find one. Here's the official website.

joy?

Today, I have no feeling of joy. Usually, I look forward to my time at Cowork, at my desk, working on editing my "completed" novel, or writing new material on one I have on the go. But not today.

For one thing, I have a few people who owe me money, and I really hate to ask for it. But the amounts are quite substantial, and I could certainly use it right now.

But that's not the main thing. What is really bothering me is this computer. Have I mentioned it before? It's a Microsoft product called "Surface" and is the worst piece of junk I've ever worked on. It totally has a mind of its own. Sometimes, that's just irritating, and I can rein it in and do what I wanted it to do in the first place--write my novel, or compose an email, etc.--before it took off in another direction altogether. This time it's more serious, and is really making me wonder if I shouldn't just quit the whole idea of creative writing. I don't love it anymore. Not on this contraption.

What happened? Recently I paid an editor about $1600 for an evaluation. So, of course, I took her comments on the document very seriously. I don't hand over $1600 for nothing, you know. So, since about last November (about three months ago) I've been editing and rewriting the novel I had considered to be finished. I'm very grateful to Karen Autio for all her work.

So now: Surface has decided that all my edits should be written in red--the parts I'd deleted are in red, but with strikethroughs. And I can't delete anything at all. It's locked in.

Sure, I can get someone to come and help me get rid of it all, but why should I have to do that? What on earth made the damn thing do that? I didn't have the cursor where it didn't belong. I didn't click on anything other than the keys I needed to type my edits.

OH LOOK! It's about to do it again! I just got a "heads up" notice that it's going to give me a whole lot of updates I didn't ask for and don't need and don't want. But this is Microsoft, and I apparently don't own the piece of junk I bought at Best Buy in October 2015.  (It had to be in the shop for repairs FOUR times before April 2016. Four times in six months.) DON'T BUY A SURFACE COMPUTER!

saying yes

Everyone knows that a two-year-old child's favourite word is "no." Later in life, we seem to find that word more difficult. At least I do.
Yesterday in church, our priest said, half joking I think, that he's "wired to say yes."  Me too.
In the past couple of weeks, I've been asked to take on three jobs, and I've said "yes" to all three. They seem to me to be related. First, I was asked to let my name stand for "Church Committee" as it's called at St. Saviour's. At St. Thomas, it was called "Parish Council" and at St. James, I was a warden. This job will take just a few hours once a month, so not terribly onerous.
The second job request/offer came from Brother Willy, TSSF. He and some other Third Order Franciscans are starting a programme called "Emmaus Travelers"--a method for TSSF members to connect with one another. Actually, we each have directories with addresses and phone numbers, etc., and are encouraged to find a pen-pal, or someone to connect with. I guess that's not happening, so we have this new method. I've been asked to be the Canadian contact, to match people up in some prayerful way. I'm hoping to get some direction with this.
The third job request/offer is similar, but on a diocesan level--to be on a Spiritual Direction team or committee--I'm not sure what it's called. The woman who was asking me to do it was interrupted and promised to get back to me with more details. I'm waiting for that. Meanwhile, I'm sure I heard myself telling her "yes" I would do that.

more of "Yourguyses'"

Is it becoming part of the language? Yesterday, a taxi driver referred to our home as "Yourguyses' place". Really? Three people, not connected to one another at all, have all said this word in the last few months. I can't believe it!