OK, Deep Breath, Power Down....

Once again, I am boggled by what nice people I know in the blogosphere. Thank you, one and all, for your support and prayers, and your offers to help -- just being here was an enormous help. Thank you.

Jim came home today. His bronchoscopy went well, they were able to biopsy the bit of lung tissue in question, and, as his doctor put it, "It's not an 'Oh my God' matter." (Love that esoteric medical terminology.) However, they still don't know what's causing the clots -- possibly because they only did an ultrasound on half of one leg, not all on both legs -- so he has to go for the gross tests sometime next week.

Of course I am not handling any of this well. Brings back too many memories of last summer. He even has to do the belly shots. He, having been brought up by a nurse, is 100% okay with all of this. I, having been brought up by normal people who only saw doctors for broken bones and DPT boosters, think he's fallen into the hands of ghouls. Oh, to top it all off: the belly shots are costing us around $140.00. And we have a prescription-drug benefit to our health insurance. Jokingly, I said to the pharmacist, "What does it cost without a drug benefit, $5,000?" And she said, "Yes." I hope she was kidding. I thought Jim would have a stroke on the spot.

I'm still trying to figure out what the point is of some hotshot medicine that has to be injected (ewww) into one's gut (EWWWWWWW) by oneself, that costs thousands of dollars. Not to mention the bubbly assurance, "And it doesn't even hurt." Let me tell you -- I had those shots, and I can guarantee you that no one who's prescribing these puppies has ever taken them.

Okay, I'm getting wound up again (ya think?!), so I will just make one further note: the guy I thought was the emergency-room doctor, isn't. He's something called a "hospitallist," and his job is to coordinate all the various medical procedures so that doctors with conflicting agendas don't prescribe conflicting treatments/medications/whatever. I like the idea of a hospitallist. I even somewhat like this particular hospitallist. Great bedside manner, and I'll give him the benefit of the doubt as to knowing his stuff -- he's the one who said the mass in Jim's lung wasn't cancer, and well, holy cow, he was right. What a shock. Okay, okay, for all you medical people, I'll shut up now.

For all you who have read my book, I have a question. I have to break up the two books in order to get the thing published, and I need a title for the first half. I'm kicking around "The Unorthodox Affair" -- does that sound like anything you'd buy? Does it sound like it summarizes the plot? My daughter, who read it faithfully every day when she got home from school (she'd hold out her hand and say, "Give"), thought "An Unorthodox Love" would work. Ideas, suggestions, rotten tomatoes???

Back on the Bicycle

Thanks to all for prayers and responses. They are much appreciated, and much needed.

Today Jim saw the pulmonologist. There appears to be a disagreement between the emergency-room doctor and the pulmonologist. The ER doctor thinks the mass in the right lung is an infarction, that is, dead tissue that has necrotized over a very long period of time. The pulmonologist thinks it's cancer, and wants to do a broncoscopy, as well as an endoscopy and a colonoscopy, because after all, These Blood Clots Must Be Coming from Somewhere, and apparently, Hidden Cancers Can Cause Blood Clots.

The operative word, as far as I'm concerned, is "can." As in, maybe it is and maybe it isn't, but why not go for broke and assume it is until we find out it isn't, at which point, why, we can do more vivisection, what fun!!! The ER doctor's point is, there are absolutely no risk factors for cancer: This guy isn't overweight, doesn't smoke, doesn't live with smokers, doesn't work in a carcinogenic environment, and lung cancer doesn't just show up for the hell of it!

Ya know what scares the living daylights out of me? Of course, all the nurses are pulling out the Sympathy Card that says, "Oh, yes, These Things Are Scary." Yeah, they're scary, all right, but not for the reasons most people find them scary. I find them scary because I can't escape the impression, based on my own rather vast experience, that my husband's life is in the hands of a HATFUL OF INCOMPETENT BOOBS WHO DON'T HAVE THE FAINTEST CLUE WHAT THEY'RE DOING!!!!!

To top it all off, when I walked in this evening, my brother was visiting my husband, and regaling him with his own hospital experience, which involved walking into another hospital's ER with severe pain in his right shoulder, and being kept overnight for cardio observation because he had Risk Factors (i.e., he's fat). The next day, they gave him a stress test and an echo-cardiogram, both of which he passed with flying colors, so he was discharged -- with his right shoulder still killing him. His own doctor diagnosed tendonitis. See, this is what gets me: The docs go into overdrive on their own pet theories, and completely ignore what's actually going on.

As I said to Jim, I can't advise him on how to handle this. I know what my own response would be, but that's not his response. He's inclined to let them do their vivisectionist thing. So all I ask is that he conduct his business with them without me anywhere in the vicinity, because if there's one thing I love for dinner, it's Doctor Stew.

Grumble, grumble, grouse, curses, kick the cat...

The Best-Laid Plans of Mice and Writers....

As readers of my book blog know, things are reaching a climax, at least in this first draft, and I had planned to finish off a chapter today. Hah.

Over the weekend, my husband started spitting up blood -- why do these things always start on weekends?! -- so this morning, he called our family physician, who told him to get to the emergency room. We got there around 9:30 a.m., and proceeded to spend the rest of the day there, while we dealt with x-rays and blood draws and CAT scans and heaven alone knows what else. But the bottom line is: dh has a pulmonary embolism, or blood clots in his lungs. We have no idea where they came from, how they got there, where they may have migrated from, how they came to lodge in his lungs -- we only know that breathing has become steadily more difficult for him since November, when he began not to be able to run his usual five miles/8 km, without having to stop for breath every so often, and that over the past week, he has had trouble breathing while walking the one mile to work. Then this business of spitting up blood.

It all "sux," but OTOH, maybe it will get him to think a little more seriously about his church relationships, or lack thereof -- when we got to the hospital, and he was asked his religion, he hemmed and hawed and finally said, "More Orthodox than anything else." So I hope there's hope.

Meanwhile, I intend to escape for a little while, if not to Moscow, at least to Brighton Beach. ;-)

The Saint Meme

Cribbed from Elizabeth:

The task is to name four of your favourite Saints, one who was well on the way to sanctity, is widely venerated already and very likely to be made a Saint in due course, and one who isn't yet publicly declared a saint but probably should be made a Saint.

My votes:

St. John of Shanghai and San Francisco
St. Sergius of Radonezh
St. Xenia of St. Petersburg
The Holy Royal Martyrs (that's seven saints, actually, but I love 'em all): Nicholas II, Alexandra, Olga, Tatiana, Maria, Anastasia, and Alexei

Blessed:
Fr Seraphim Rose

Should be made a Saint :
Elder Paisios of the Holy Mountain. One anecdote: He and his disciple Athanasios were standing in their cell praying, when suddenly the lamps started to sway as if stirred by a strong breeze, only there was no breeze. When they were done praying, Athanasios asked Paisios what that was all about. Paisios said, "Oh, the Holy Virgin likes to visit people on the Mountain [ie, Mount Athos] and see what they're up to." "And what did she see when she visited us?" "Why, she saw two idiots praying!" Anybody who can call himself an "idiot" when visited by the Holy Virgin gets my vote for sanctity. ;-)

Who would you choose ?

I tag Mimi, Philippa, and Catherine......... and anyone else who wants to play.

(And I must confess that I left in Fr. Seraphim, who was mentioned on Elizabeth's blog, only because I don't know of anyone else who's as widely venerated but not yet a saint. I'd appreciate hearing other people's nominations.)

Barking Mad

A very dear internet crony, who has been feeding my ego by reading my books ;-) came up with the phrase "barking mad" to describe one of my characters, who is indeed slightly batty. A crank. Just at the moment, that's a bit how I feel.

I live next door to a Catholic church. Regardless of what we are all supposed to think about Catholicism (namely, that God Loves Them Too and that we should Pray That We May One Day All Be One, etc.), the fact remains that after Vatican II, they became horribly Protestant in their entire tone and structure. Their substance remains Catholic (and therefore, by Orthodox understanding, flawed), but the form has radically changed.

This particular church is about typical of most Catholic parishes I've seen in action: lots of emphasis on Peace and Justice Issues, lots of Programs, and lots of congregational singing of mostly Protestant hymns. Now, some Protestant hymns are gems--I'm thinking in particular of the hymns written during the Reformation, and those by the great J. S. Bach--but post-Bach, there came to be a movement known as the Quietist Movement, or maybe it was the Pietist Movement. Anyway, those marvellous old Reformation hymns were all transformed into 4/4 meter and rhythm, referred to by one Orthodox musician as the Plod of God, and so help me, he was right.

This place next door has an electronic carillon, and they play a lot of Plod-of-God hymns. Most of the year, I have to put up with, "Immac-u-LATE Mary, THY praises we-he sing," which gets old when you hear it twice a day, every day. At Paschaltide, however, they change the record, so now I listen to a variety of Plod-of-God hymns. This evening's was "The Church's One Foundation is Jesus Christ, Her Lord," which at least doesn't repeat the same dratted thing over and over.

My particular pet peeve, though, is, "Jesus Christ is risen today." As in, "A-a-a-a-ahhh-lay-hay-loo-hoo-ya." You know the one:
"Are try-umph-ant ho-ly- day-hay, a-a-a-a-ahhh-lay-hay-loo-hoo-ya."

In sheer defense of my own sanity, I have had to compose my own lyrics:
"Cheerless on the path we've trod, a-a-a-a-ahhh-lay-hay-loo-hoo-ya,
Marching to the Plod of God, a-a-a-a-a-a-lay-hay-loo-hoo-ya!"

Please, PLEASE, somebody tell me you have heard a version of this hymn that actually SOUNDS triumphant and glorious?!?!? Otherwise, I shall shortly join my (very peripheral) character in the Barking Mad category. Thank you.

Into the Dark

I noted, a few posts back, that I had returned to writing, and that this latest book in a series was dark. It just got darker, in ways I had not anticipated.

I began the series by wanting to write just one book, a simple romance about an American cop and a Russian cop. (I should note that I have a lot of cops in my family -- as the joke goes around here, there are more cops in our family than some of the local forces have cops.) And then I got curious about their life in Happy-Ever-After-Land, and wrote a second book that had some dark elements, but conquered them all. And there it ended, for fifteen years, while I focused on becoming Orthodox, not just by chrismation, but in mind and heart, as well.

Smack in the middle of Great Lent, the third book in the series presented itself almost fully written -- at least fully outlined, in terms of what happened to this young family after Trouble descended on it -- and I have been churning that out, consistently writing at least one-third of a chapter every day. When it started, I just wanted to bring "people" (namely, me!) up to date on how things resolved in their lives, and bring them to the next level of Life After Police Work. There would be a lot of stuff about interrogation -- not making it too ugly, since it seems that even the KGB has caught on to the idea that police work is a profession -- and setting the stage for the head of my little household to decide that Police Work Is for the Young, i.e., retirement therefrom and entry into the next level of his life. That's all.

And then, looking for quotes about treason -- I like to start my chapters with quotes -- I found a good one by Aldrich Ames, the American who fed the KGB an enormous amount of intelligence about its people who were spying for the US. And, to my shock, I realized that I was writing about real people without having been aware that that's what I was doing. There really was a KGB general who spied for the US. There really was a list of names to be conveyed from one "side" to the other -- admittedly, in my story the names were to be conveyed from the KGB to the FBI, and not, as in actual fact, the other way around, but still.

And I found that my youthful and idealistic KGB officer was physically revolted by his father's treason. In other words, this tale is going far beyond any place I had ever intended to take it, and has begun to explore the human toll of treason, the people it affects far beyond the actual players in the international chess game known as espionage.

Where is this coming from?! When I started, I knew who Aldrich Ames was, and that was all. I never read any aspect of his story; beyond a mild "Oh, for crying out loud," I wasn't even especially affected by his arrest. Now....

Well, as I wrote in the initial post about my latest literary effort, your characters take you over and make you tell their story. All you are, is a chronicler. The KGB officer Sergei Makarov doesn't exist, I don't think, though there is a hockey player by that name (and evidently a darned good hockey player, too). His vivacious American wife doesn't exist, either -- well, she does, because she's patterned after my sister Anne, but my sister Anne is married to a very solid son of New Hampshire, and besides, she's Polish. But somehow, people who don't exist have a story to tell, and they intend to see it told, and they are co-opting other lives in order to tell it. And that story is about...betrayal. Treason. And a love that overcomes the darkest corners of the human heart.

I just wish I understood why I'm the one telling it.

The Lit Nerd

Cribbed from Elizabeth's blog. Disappointing that this code apparently doesn't show how you scored on other types of Nerddom, because the actual test did: I scored about 80% as a Music Nerd, maybe 60% Drama Nerd, 50% Artistic Nerd, 30% Gamer/Computer Nerd (probably because I spend upwards of six hours a day online!), 20% Science/Math Nerd, 10% Social Nerd, and 0% Anime Nerd (what is anime, anyway????). Ah, well, back to "litting." ;-)

What Be Your Nerd Type? Your Result: Literature Nerd Does sitting by a nice cozy fire, with a cup of hot tea/chocolate, and a book you can read for hours even when your eyes grow red and dry and you look sort of scary sitting there with your insomniac appearance? Then you fit this category perfectly! You love the power of the written word and its eloquence; and you may like to read/write poetry or novels. You contribute to the smart people of today's society, however you can probably be overly-critical of works. It's okay. I understand.
Musician
Drama Nerd
Artistic Nerd
Gamer/Computer Nerd
Science/Math Nerd
Social Nerd
Anime Nerd
What Be Your Nerd Type? Quizzes for MySpace

Affirmation!

I have mentioned in a number of places that my current favorite TV show is NCIS, which is on on Tuesday evenings. The medical details of autopsy gross me out, but I absolutely love the interplay among all the characters, especially the Mark Harmon and David McCallum characters (i.e., my generation) with their four much younger colleagues.

Last night's episode was about one of the younger characters who leads a shadow life as a writer. He has already published one novel, and is working on a second; and someone was going around bumping off real-life people who were the models for characters in his second book. What was unnerving to him was that no one, he thought, had yet seen any drafts for the second book -- it turned out he had an obsessed fan who was going through his trash and reading his typewriter ribbons to get an idea of what the second book would be about, and was trying to "protect" the main character, based on Agent McGee, from anyone he thought was trying to "off" him. (Slight anomaly here: The character, McGee, creates his books on a manual typewriter. Anyone who has used manual typewriters, which is what I learned on, knows that those ribbons were used over and over and over -- there's no way you could read anything off those puppies. Apparently the scriptwriters were thinking of old electric typewriters that used to have single-use ribbons!)

Anyway, what was so interesting to me was listening to McGee describe his creative process, the way the characters took over his life, the way he couldn't predict the end of his novel because he didn't know what it was yet, the way the characters tell their own story, and he just writes it down. Then there were the little quirks, the manual typewriter, the jazz he uses to jump-start his writing (I have to write by hand in a certain size notebook, for crying out loud). I found myself nodding like a bobble-head at everything McGee was saying, and I thought: Yes, that's exactly what happens to me! I guess I am a writer, after all! :D

Different Profile Pic

Having seen other folks' nifty cartoon characters, I thought I'd look into getting my own, and came up with a Yahoo avatar. I hope this works:

Updates on Various Matters

Many of you have been kind enough to e-mail me privately, asking about Chris, so I thought I'd satisfy everyone's questions with a public blog: He's fine. Now that the first shock has worn off, he's had a chance to evaluate and to realize how "lucky" (read: blessed!) he was, that things weren't much worse.

At the time, he thought he was without auto insurance, which is not mandatory in NH. He had had auto insurance when living here, which he transferred to PA when living there, but when he called to change his insurance back to a NH policy, he was told he would have to cancel the PA policy and then re-apply for a NH policy. So he went ahead and cancelled the PA policy, then found himself working day shift and was unable to apply for a NH policy.

We have dealt with this insurance company for 25 years, and I find that they are the best company out there (Amica), so last Sunday (after the accident), I said, "Let's give them a call and see if there's a grace period." Well -- I still don't know if there's a grace period, but his PA insurance is in effect until he gets his NH insurance! So they are covering the accident under the old policy, and then he can get NH insurance. This time, I'm sure he'll make a point of it.

As for the rest of Life -- it's pretty much the same as everyone else's, at least everyone who reads this blog. Getting ready for Pascha. I read everywhere about what a rough Lent it's been for everyone, and as you know, it's been rough for me, too -- not just in dealing with the sudden taking over of my mind by about 15 fictional characters, but also in the ongoing struggle to get my father-in-law's financial affairs in order. So much of this involves pensions from the City of NY, and New York bureaucrats could teach classes in stonewalling to those boobs down in Washington -- I've never seen so many hoops to jump through, and it's Jim who has to jump through them all, because he has the Power of Attorney. Just when his bosses are pressuring him to step up his production, too. I have been handling the other Money Stuff, taxes and stock holdings and trying to get his address changed -- I've lost track of the number of changes of address I've submitted, and I've come to the conclusion that no one in New Jersey knows how to read.

And all this when you're supposed to be focussing on your spiritual life, and on improving your relationship with God, not with your stockbroker. Then there's the usual Church Tension between dh and me. Jim just does not understand the "draw" of church. I mentioned that I would be attending a 6:00 a.m. Holy Thursday Liturgy, and he about flipped out: "That means you have to leave home at 5:00!!!" "Yeah, well, I've been doing it for the past I forget how many years, three or four." And he starts on a rant about Insensitive Priests who schedule services at Ridiculous Hours. I pointed out that this particular priest, whom I love dearly, has services this early so that people who work can still get there, and that it means that that priest, who lives a lot closer than I do, has to get up at 4:00 a.m. to do this for his flock; it falls on deaf ears.

But I know you will all understand what I'm saying when I write: If you love something or someone, there is no such thing as exigency. Love doesn't say, I'll do this, but only so far. When you love greatly, there is no such thing as "too much." (If you have kids, I don't need to say another word!) I can get up for a 6:00 a.m. Liturgy at 4:30 a.m., drive the 40 miles/70 km to get there, and wish I could do even more. I'll be in church every night this week, except last night -- I do try to accommodate dh when I can -- but I wish I could just live at church during Holy Week. As my priest said this past Sunday, "Lent was about us. Holy Week is about Him."

It's not about Obligation. It's about Love.

Glory to God for All Things

Well, yes. I should have posted about this as early as Sunday. But I was offline all weekend, so spent most of yesterday catching up, and on Sunday, this was still too raw to write about:

Chris had an accident at 2:00 a.m. on Sunday.

I hasten to add that he is completely all right, other than being shaken up. This could have been so much worse.

He had been at a party in Concord, NH, about an hour away from both his home and ours, and finally left at 12:45 a.m. The weather was not good; it had been sleeting for most of the evening, and although the snow wasn't sticking to the roads, there was, of course, ice. He was almost home -- maybe about five miles away from home -- when his truck hit a patch of black ice that was covered over by snow and fishtailed. He fought the skid, lost control of his truck, and it spun completely around, went into the westbound lane of the road, flipped over onto its side and righted itself, before coming to rest up against a stone wall.

We were the first people he called -- he wanted us to get him a tow truck -- we told him to call American Automobile Association (figuring he wasn't thinking straight at that point, which he wasn't!), and after we hung up, we debated whether or not he should call the cops. In a one-vehicle accident with no injuries, that's not a requirement in this state; I thought he should, in case the insurance needed a police report, and Jim thought he shouldn't, because the cops would automatically assume he'd been drinking. Just as I called to bring all this up to Chris (thank God for cell phones!), he told us that a cop had just passed him and was turning around to come give him a hand. Well, he didn't even have to take a sobriety test, so I guess he was pretty sober!! (No guessing, actually -- I had asked him that question, and he said he'd had a couple of beers early on, but hadn't had anything to drink for about seven or eight hours. So what did he do for all that time?! This was a science-fiction fan club -- "what do you think, Mom?!" They sat around watching episodes of Firefly, the show they are all so hooked on, and reading their fan fiction to one another!!!)

So, why "Glory to God for all things"? For a number of reasons:

First, of course, is that he is completely unhurt. Spin-outs can end up anyplace, and he said he landed not two feet away from a tree.

Second, that he was smart enough to wear his seat belt. If he hadn't been, he could have been killed when that truck rolled over.

Third, that the thing righted itself. How, I still don't understand, other, of course, than the "obvious to an Orthodox Christian" explanation of his patron saint and/or guardian angel -- and considering that his patron saint is St. Christopher, who was by all accounts a pretty big bruiser of a guy, I'd say St. Christopher had a hand in that!

Fourth, that he was smart enough to stop drinking so early on. That's one thing he's always been fanatic about, drinking and driving; it stood him in good stead this time.

Fifth, that he was going under the speed limit. Considering everything that happened to that truck, the damage was surprisingly minimal; the driver's side door is a little banged up, and a small portion of the truck bed next to the door is dented, but that's all. I was describing the damage to our priest's wife the next day, and she said, "That shows he wasn't going fast." I hadn't thought of that, but it must be one of the things that convinced the cop that he really had spun out on black ice.

And sixth, that he had Amica insurance. You'll never believe this: He had just cancelled his insurance policy two weeks earlier. He'd tried to keep the policy he had in PA, but was told he'd have to cancel that policy and apply for another one, and due to his hours, he hadn't been able to apply for another one. I called Amica on Sunday morning, explained the situation to them, and asked if they couldn't extend some kind of grace period; yesterday, Chris got a call from them asking where the truck was, so an adjuster could come out and look at it. Looks like they're going to do that!!! (Everybody get Amica auto insurance!) ;-)

Well -- he's pretty glum and morose, kicking himself for not staying put in Concord overnight, for ever going in the first place, and a variety of other things. As Jim says, that truck is his pride and joy, and this first accident was probably akin to beating your horse because he doesn't go fast enough. But all things considered -- it could have been so much worse. Glory to God for all things!

The Fruits of My Labors

It's been awhile since I posted about my son -- almost a month -- so I thought it was time for an update.

He and I went furniture shopping this morning. Ever since he moved to Enfield, he's been sleeping on an old futon mattress we had lying around in the cellar, on the off chance we ever had company that had to stay the night. (Very off chance.) We actually hadn't planned to wait so long on the furniture purchase, but the weather wasn't exactly conducive to shopping, so that put rather a crimp in our plans. However, today, with sunny skies and temperatures into the 40s and 50s -- 10c to 15c, for my European readers -- today we drove north to Ossipee, NH, to a place called Green Mountain Furniture. (I have yet to figure out why Green Mountain, since the Green Mountains are in Vermont, and this shop sits firmly established in the foothills of NH's own White Mountains.)

And there we found it, a replacement for the futon he had to leave behind in PA. There were, actually, quite a few futons, and I would have preferred that he buy one that was a little more expensive -- it was our housewarming gift to him -- but he really liked one that was a little less money, with a firmer mattress. (My only problem with it is that I thought the other frame was sturdier. But it's his furniture.) Now the only other thing he needs is some kind of easy chair for his living room, and he's all set for furnishings -- more or less -- I mean, that living room is really only big enough for an easy chair and a couple of tables! But a sofa-bed, an easy chair, and a few occasional tables are hardly "furniture." Frankly, it strikes me as an austere lifestyle.

But that's Chris, the original "I have all I want" man (his standard response to, "What would you like for Christmas, Sweetheart?"). Once he finds a chair he likes, he will have everything he wants: A good job, a place to sleep, a place to sit, and a place to eat, since his kitchen comes equipped with a "bar" arrangement for eating. A true minimalist, and his furniture style reflects that: Craftsman. Simple, rugged, masculine, uncomplicated.

Now (whispers Mom), if only he could find a simple, uncomplicated, outdoorsy, but totally feminine girl.... ;-)

The Book Meme

I would prefer not to make such an obvious pun, but there's no way around it: I get all my memes lately from, well, Mimi. (Sorry.) Considering that my husband and I met in a library, there's no way I could resist this one.

1. Hardback or trade paperback or mass market paperback? Hardback, if I can afford it. I figure, at my age it's time I had an adult-looking library. After that, mass-market paperbacks. To me, trade paperbacks are just hardback wannabes.

2. Amazon or brick and mortar? If I could find brick and mortar locally, that would be my preference. But as it is, I actually buy most of my books through Amazon.

3. Barnes & Noble or Borders? Borders isn't anywhere close by, though my son tells me there's one near him. Yet another excuse to visit him. ;-)

4. Bookmark or dogear? I use bookmarks for where I am reading -- I was taught never to fold down the corners of pages. However, if it is my book, I will do that if I've found something I'll want to reference at a later date, or a passage that really "speaks" to me.

5. Alphabetize by author or alphabetize by title or random? I'd prefer to catalogue them with a modified Dewey decimal system -- that's how many books we have! I really need to go through them again and come up with some sort of system for keeping them organized. I used to be so good at that, when I was younger.

6. Keep, throw away, or sell? We keep the favorites and share them back and forth (well -- I read his faves, he doesn't read mine). If I realize that the book has "outworn its welcome," I'll give it to the public library.

7. Keep dust jacket or toss it? I always keep it, having discovered from personal experience how tatty hardbacks get if you toss the jacket.

8. Read with dust jacket or remove it? I always leave it on -- the side flaps make useful bookmarks.

9. Short story or novel? Novel novel novel!! Can't STAND short stories!

10. Collection (short stories by same author) or anthology (short stories by different authors)? See previous answer.

11. Harry Potter or Lemony Snicket? Who???

12. Stop reading when tired or at chapter breaks? I usually shoot for the chapter breaks, but if I'm reading at night, I'll stop when I feel myself nodding out.

13. “It was a dark and stormy night” or “Once upon a time”? Once upon a time.

14. Buy or Borrow? Buy, preferably. But only if I know I really like the author.

15. New or used? New, especially if it's a paperback.

16.Buying choice: book reviews, recommendation or browse? Come to think of it, probably browsing. One of my favorite authors was a chance pickup from a library table of new arrivals -- I saw the jacket, wondered if that was an English village I was looking at, and checked it out, and that's how I discovered Miss Read.

17. Tidy ending or cliffhanger? Tidy ending, preferably happy. That said -- one of my own books ends with a real cliffhanger (but it's resolved in the next book).

18. Morning reading, afternoon reading or nighttime reading? My very favorite time to read is at lunch. I like to take myself out to a local (and cheap) eatery with a paperback stashed in my handbag, and read and munch at the same time.

19. Stand-alone or series? Either way. I do prefer series, but if a stand-alone book is by a favorite author, I'll go for it.

20. Favorite series? Miss Read. Her books have either "Thrush Green" or "Village" in the title.

21. Favorite children’s book? Oh, another series! Graham Greene's "The Church Mice" series! The only children's books I've ever read that don't wear thin by the hundredth reading, mostly because of the clever artwork and the hilarious puns. Who could resist, "J. Dowdy, Clothiers," or "Fleece and Guyle, Solicitors"?! (Edit note: Do I feel stupid. The author of the Church Mice books was Graham OAKLEY, not Graham Greene!)

22. Favorite book of which nobody else has heard? My own?? I don't read too many books of which no one else has heard. Oh, wait a minute: There was a series by Evelyn Anthony about 20 years ago. The first title was, "The Defector," and there were three more books after that. I just recently re-read the entire series, and it was as enthralling now as it was back before the Soviet Union collapsed.

23. Favorite books read last year? The Mountain of Silence, by Kyriacos C. Markides.

24. Favorite books of all time? That's cruel. You can only list a few, and there are so, so many!
1. Anna Karenina, by Leo Tolstoy
2. Father Arseny, translated by Vera Bouteneff
3. The Brother Cadfael series, by Ellis Peters
4. The Thrush Green and Village series, both by Miss Read
5. Anything by Agatha Christie

Personally, I think that was a very clever way to work in lots and lots and lots of books. ;-)

25. Least favorite book you finished last year? There wasn't really one last year, but this year, I just bought a book, "The Friday Night Knitting Club," and I'm already regretting it. Bor-ing.

26. What are you reading right now? As noted, "The Friday Night Knitting Club." "Gifts of the Desert," by Kyriacos C. Markides. "An Unorthodox Spy" and "Unorthodox Truths," by yours truly. Of course I read my own stuff!!

27. What are you reading next? Depends on where my tastes take me. I hope I will get on with my series, but who knows -- last time the desire to write hit, was 15 years ago. I thought it had disappeared forever, and suddenly, WHAM -- here I am, at it again.

Not Sure What's Going On Here, But....

For those of you who depend on BlogLines to let you know when new posts are up -- I have seven posts on my Other Blog (the Book Blog). For some reason, BlogLines isn't notifying me when new posts are up, and I'm not sure why; but since I'm basically blogging an old book that was completed 15 years ago, and is the background for the book I'm currently writing, I've been posting updates to that blog nearly every day.

Does anyone know if maybe I need to change my settings so that BlogLines notifies subscribers of new posts?

Modifications

Have received four very nice comments on my literary effort, An Unorthodox Spy -- and have discovered that anybody at all can read it by looking up KGB on the internet!! Don't want that. So I have taken it off public viewing, and being able to read it is now by invitation only. If you haven't received an invite, please contact me at skovranok at verizon dot net with your e-mail address, and if I know you, I'll send you an invite.

Sorry about this, but I can think of a few folks who would be most upset with me for writing the stuff I do, and I don't intend to leave myself open to hate mail. Thanks for understanding.

I Am a Snapdragon

Cribbed from Mimi's blog:

I am a Snapdragon What Flower Are You?

"Mischief is your middle name, but your first is friend. You are quite the prankster that loves to make other people laugh."

Hm! While I like snapdragons very much, I would never have seen myself as a prankster! However, I do love to make other people laugh. Oh, well.

It's Up

/takes deep breath/ A couple of people have asked about my Other Two Books, so I looked up how to publish a novel on Blogspot, and have a new website:

www.anunorthodoxspy.blogspot.com

Not the whole thing, I just put up the Prologue and the first chapter. I'll be interested to know if people think I should keep it comin', or scrap the whole thing right now. ;-)

Possession

Not demonic. I hope. This past week, I was bitten rather badly by the writing bug.

About 15 years ago, I wrote two books, back to back, about a KGB officer who became an Orthodox Christian. I haven't especially tried to market them, because I sensed that I really didn't know enough about Orthodoxy to be sure my information was accurate; and it's a good thing I kept them to myself, because as it turned out, my characters decided to take a completely different tack from what I had envisioned then, and I've had to revise both books rather extensively.

Over the past 3 or 4 years, I've been trying to write about that different tack, but something has always stopped me. I figured my muse had deserted me, and frankly, that was fine with me -- writing is a difficult business. (More later.) Then, just this past week, I got bitten again, in the form of a possible direction to go in that would clear up the cliffhanger ending I had in the second book. I knew it was right to go with this one, and since then, I've been writing at my old speed.

It isn't the writing itself that's difficult. It's the physical reaction that you have between when an idea bites, and when you can actually put pen to paper. (I still write longhand, since I can take my notebook with me anywhere.) I'm serious. I can feel my pulse pounding, my head fills up with fluid of some kind, and my nerves are strung out taut until I can start writing, getting all this stuff, whatever it is, out of my system. Then I settle down, till the next day's work.

And there's the possession factor. Your characters take you over. You cannot tell your characters what to do, what to say, or where to go. They tell you, and the infamous "writer's block" is what occurs when a writer tries to dictate to his characters. They just shut down, and leave you with the pounding pulse and the head full of fluid and the strung-out nerves, until you back down and let them tell their story. Once you have it all on paper, then you can start the revision process on the computer or the typewriter, but while the thing is in rough form, it's rough in all senses of the word.

And my writing is so dark. I don't know where that comes from, either, unless it's a perception that a world that functions around the KGB is bound to be dark, and the only thing that can bring it light is Orthodox Christianity. But I don't like the dark part.

Pray for me.

Life Begins at 27

Up until yesterday, when Chris would spend weekends with us, he would sleep the last night at our house, get up at 3:30 a.m. (in military-speak, oh-too-early), and leave between 4:00 and 4:30 so he could be on the job by 7:00. Yesterday, he left at 3:30 in the afternoon, with the last of his belongings in tow. Since these did not fill up the bed of his truck, I was a little nervous about his driving along at 60 mph/100 kmph, but he assured me that he planned to take another, slower route -- turns out Route 4 stretches all the way from Dover, NH right up to Lebanon.

He called at 7:30 yesterday evening to let us know he'd made it in one piece -- took about three hours, as opposed to two -- but that included a detour to the Concord Dept. of Motor Vehicles, to see if he could get a NH license. (They were closed already. He must have gotten there five minutes too late.) He also said the road was full of "frost heaves" -- now, I've never seen frost heaves anywhere else in the country, so I'd better explain this. When the ground freezes at the start of winter, all the moisture in the earth under the road freezes, too. (Duh.) When the January Thaw comes, and all that moisture unfreezes, the roadbed temporarily swells, and the asphalt covering the road develops cracks. Now, when this happens in the spring, eventually the roadbed settles back down, the asphalt goes back down, and the cracks are repaired. But when it happens during the winter, and the roadbed re-freezes, the swellings stay in place, and you get humps in the road that are frozen into place. That is a "frost heave." And Route 4 is full of them. Must have been interesting, with his computer chair and a couple of bookcases rattling around in the back.

His computer, fortunately, was on the seat next to him, resting securely on top of the seat and on top of a duffle bag full of his clothes -- he had so many clothes that the bag came up level with the seat! And he had wrapped it in an afghan I gave him, that I had made back before I was married, so it was secure not only from falling, but from prying eyes. I was a little nervous about his driving along with a computer in the front seat; if he'd been stopped for, say, having a taillight out, a cop could have gotten mighty curious about someone from PA driving along with a computer in the front seat! (He still has his PA license and plates, a situation I hope is remedied in the coming week.) But he made it to Enfield in one piece, and had spent the hour prior to calling us moving all his stuff up the stairs to his new place.

Now all he needs is a bed to sleep on, and an easy chair or two, probably also a couple more bookcases. Being his parents' son, he has a lot of books. On the other hand, with the library two doors down, maybe he won't have to buy so many books now. In any case, his life is finally starting -- life on his own, with no encumbrances from the past, in a job he loves, in an apartment he chose, not the first one he had to grab so he could get out of a bad situation.

Many, many years, Chris!

On the Move

Yesterday, we helped our son move into his new apartment.

It was a two-hour drive, one way, half of it along an interstate highway with high cross-winds, and skiers blasting past us at warp speed. We did all right until Chris pulled over -- in an area with no shelter -- and started tugging at stuff in the back of his truck. I kept waiting for him to be blown over the railing and off the side of the cliff. (I have a lurid imagination.) Turned out that the lid on one of his totes was about to blow off (how he knew that from the cab, I have no idea), and he wanted us to load it into our car. My husband persuaded him to drive up to the next exit, where we found a pull-out and completed the transfer in a lot more safety than we would have at the top of a mountain.

For that's where we were: In the mountains. Climbing steadily. I had always thought the White Mountains were just in the eastern part of the state, but nope -- they're all over the North Country. And Chris, as we found out, will be living in the middle of them. Enfield, pop. 5,000, is about halfway up one mountain, right on Lake Mascoma, which means nothing at this time of year, but I bet he'll be grateful for that proximity come next summer. And Chris's new apartment is on the second floor of a carriage house, right on Main Street. Two doors down from the library, right across the street from the police station, with a convenience market on the corner and a laundromat down the end of the block. He had a lot of conveniences in Lansdale, but Lansdale wasn't rural. This is.

It took us just half an hour to unpack most of his worldly possessions: a couple of tables, his towels, sheets and blankets, a bookcase, dishes, pots and pans, and a futon mattress that we lent him so he'd have something to sleep on. Pretty meager to start with. But the place gets wonderful sunshine and has good cross-ventilation. All his utilities are included in the rent. It's also a very masculine apartment, with a lot of wood trim and a neutral off-white paint on the walls. He says the landlord will allow him to hang "pictures" -- in Chris's case, this means icons, and he already has the perfect spot picked out for them on his bedroom wall, which is the only part of the apartment that faces east.

Before we left, I sprinkled the place with holy water. He has yet to settle into a parish, though there's one about 25 miles away, and considering that he'll probably visit us at least half the time, I'm not sure how established he will become in that parish, so I'm not sure if the priest will come out and do a house blessing this far into Lent. But that is one of his plans, once he gets a fairly stable schedule -- last week he worked nights, this week he's working days. I hope to heaven he can make that 10-mile drive up the mountain without falling asleep at the wheel on his night shifts.

Meanwhile, it's so good to see him smiling again.