Happy thirty-seventh anniversary to my wonderful mum and dad, who have persevered through tears and laughter, challenge and triumph, and a thirty-three year old daughter who has had her nose in a book most of her life.
I love you both immensely.
Category Archives: Words Words Words
Buried in Books
I’ve just finished my fifth book since arriving here. I feel like I’m catching up on reading fun stuff. I enjoy research, of course, but it’s truly relaxing to read a book for pure pleasure, without a pencil in my hand and a notebook by my side.
I read a third of Undead and Unwed by MaryJanice Davidson on the plane, then finished it here Thursday night. Not as solid as I’d hoped it would be; I guess the reviews denoting it as a summer beach book were more accurate than the ones touting the comedic value. It felt like a giant set-up, as it ends on an obvious tune-in-next-time note.
Once here, I had access to my mother’s mystery library, so I read the third Indigo Tea Shop mystery by Laura Childs, Shades of Earl Grey. I like the author’s characters, and the setting of Charleston, so I still read them, despite the author’s heavy-handed habit of obviously teaching the reader about something new every book. Educational tea references embedded in the text are fine, as that’s what the series revolves around. But the fourth book, The English Breakfast Murders, opens with volunteers baysitting a turtle hatching on the beach, and the author Educates You About Turtles. Apart from this habit which makes me roll my eyes, the copy-editing drives me mad. Two books in a row had a character taking a “peak” at something, one of the spelling errors that drives me mad. (The other really bad one is ladies wearing “broaches.” You broach a wall or a subject. Ladies wear brooches. A successful computer spellcheck does not mean that you’re using the correct spelling for the context of the word.)
Last night in bed I read Joanne Dobson’s The Maltese Manuscript from cover to cover. This is the latest in a literature-themed series based in a fictional New England college, around an English professor. It’s been about two years since the last book in this series, and I’d forgotten how truly above-average Dobson’s work is. I almost wish I’d never read her before so that I’d have the pleasure of reading all five now.
And half an hour ago I finsihed Victoria Thompson’s latest in the Gaslight series, Murder on Mulberry Bend. Set in Victorian New York, this series foucuses on a midwife and a police officer as they uncover murder in both the lower and upper classes. They’re nothing to write home about, but I’d read one recently, and I needed something new to read, so I pulled it out of the bookcase.
Next is a fictional story of Elizabeth I, another of my mum’s favourite topics. But now, it’s dinner, which I think is grilled German sausages. And I think I’ll have a cider.
Shrek 2
Just as good, but different, and much fun. Having seen MI2 only a couple of weeks ago meant that I was the one laughing louder than anyone else in the theatre at the scene with Pinocchio descending into the dungeon from the roof of the tower. And Puss is my newest fave Antonio Banderas part. I kept hoping it was his voice. I love trying to figure out voice actors in any animated film, and although my guess was Banderas for Puss, and my mum picked out Rupert Everett as Charming right away, I missed John Cleese as well as Julie Andrews of all people. All in all, great pacing, nice new designs, and a solid story that doesn’t rehash or cheapen the first.
Oh, and I saw a full-length preview for The Incredibles. What a riot. But then, superhero humour amuses me.
From the Wilds of Southern Ontario
So here I am in lovely Oakville, enjoying moderate temperatures which force me inside at about five-thirty PM because it’s too chilly. I also have to put socks on inside because the tile floor is too cold.
I ain’t complaining. Love it.
Those who are familiar with my mum’s culinary abilities will sigh when I tell you that I’ve already had mussels, grilled salmon marinated in maple syrup and orange juice, baby spinach and mushroom salad with a wonderful cream dressing, almond pound cake, those fabulous Spice Cookies Which Emphatically Fail to Suck, and last night’s delicate bolognese sauce on pasta. Plus my dad’s homemade Sauvignon Blanc.
It’s good to be fed by the parental units. Oh, yes. And I’ve only been here a day and a half.
I’ve also already read two books, a pile of magazines, visited old family friends, and dropped two rings off to be sized. Today, all three of us are going to see Shrek 2, because taking your thirty-three year old child to an animated feature still counts.
Even More Joy
Last night was my early birthday thing at Hurley’s, our favourite pub for this sort of thing. There were so many people that we had to move from our regular fireside spot into the big room on the other side. And that was before everyone had arrived.
They gave me a sewing machine. It has a cover. I love it. I wonder if Debra knew about this before she agreed to lend me hers. If so, she must have been snickering up her sleeve. (Debra, your machine will be dropped off at the store by HRH sometime this coming week, seeing as how I really don’t need two here, particularly when I’m not present to use either of them.) I’m looking forward to making ritual dresses, robes, a banner, doll clothes, and a handfasting dress with it. And those are only the currently scheduled projects. Who knows what else I’ll come up with? I love you all for enabling my sewing addiction.
We had a blast, as we always do. I made a mushy speech about how everyone has supported me over the past six months and toasted them, but thanks must be given again: Thank you, thank you, thank you, everyone, for making it such a wonderful evening! (Even Tal, who made snarky comments about HRH and I walking in ten minutes after I said I’d be there. (HRH had a long day at the office.) I pointed out that I wasn’t late, I was five days early for my actual birthday. He yielded.)
This afternoon I’m flying out to spend a week and a half with my parents, so updates will be less frequent. Apparently Scott and HRH are already planning while-the-cat’s-away activities, since Ceri will be gone too. Whatever happens, it will probably involve bottles of Keith’s and an Xbox.
More Joy — And From the Bank, Of All Places!
I love Francois Mercier.
I heaved a deep sigh when I brought my cheque into my bank at 10.06 this morning only to find out that my financial rep is on vacation. Regular readers will remember that she told me to bring my next cheque in to her before depositso that she and the manager could see it and officially flag these cheques as “ok in the past, speed up processing.” When I heard she was on holiday I thought that I was out of luck. But the receptionist assured me that they could at least get it going so that all she’d have to do when she returned was approve it.
They sent me to Frank, who listened with a slightly furrowed brow as I explained the whole situation yet again. I stressed the fact that my account had been noted as having this sort of thing happen the last time I had to deposit the American cheque. He said, “Do you have the new cheque with you?” I handed it to him. He said, “Let me bring this to my manager.” He vanished for a couple of minutes, I practiced Meditation Under Irritating Circumstances, and he came back. “Are all these cheques going to be from the same company, drawn from the same bank?” he asked. “Yes,” I said. “Same amount?” “Well,” I said, “this one’s nice and big, because it’s the advance fee for a book, but most will be about a third of that, coming in every three months or so.” “Okay,” said Frank, and he sat down, typed stuff in, and asked me what account I wanted the money to go to. I gave him all the info, and he worked out the conversion, named me a delightfully high number of Canadian dollars in exchange for the American ones indicated on the cheque, and handed me the deposit slip. “So when will this be available, then?” I asked, sliding my purse strap up my arm as I prepared to stand up. He blinked. “It’s there now,” he said.
I stared at him.
Oh, gods. I want to kiss a stranger.
“It’s there now?” I repeated.
“Yeah. And hey, I see you’ve been with our bank for twenty years. Your release amount should be over twice what it is. You know, when you deposit a cheque in the ATM, you can only access a couple hundred dollars rigt away? It really ought to be higher. If you like, I’ll prepare everything and make sure Kelley gets it when she returns; if she needs you she’ll call, but I’m fairly certain that she can do it and she’ll send you an update in the mail.”
Frank, you are a beautiful, beautiful man.
I left in a daze, transferred money to two other accounts, and paid down a lot of Visa.
All it takes is patience after initiating the correct process. That and telling the right people the right things.
Joy in the Mailbox
My advance cheque came in! My advance cheque came in!
Yes, I know I’ve already submitted the manuscript. But my advance cheque came in!
Now I’ll deposit it tomorrow morning, wait four weeks, and then magically have money once again. I know I’ve worked damned hard for it, but it feels like a gift. Knowing there’s another hefty cheque in a couple of months to complete the manuscript payment is even more delicious. Plus the two cheques paying me for the two books I’ve edited due out this fall… yes, indeed, I’m feeling much more financially with it.
Even more awe-inspiring to me is the knowledge that I’m actually being paid for doing work in the field I studied (both fields I’ve studied, actually).
No, the money’s still more impressive. I’m thankful for the working in my field thing, impressed at the fact that someone is paying me for it.