Some things you weren't interested in knowing:
75% of my blog readers use Firefox rather than Internet Explorer or Safari. If you're in the minority there, you might consider finding out what all the hype is about. Funny, none of them use Opera. But then, who does?
Perhaps it is the same 75% using Macs rather than PCs. Clearly my blog is geared toward a Portfolio-type readership. Hmm...
I can also determine the screen resolution of my readers. And the keywords they may have used to find me.
All this, but I do not know their names.
pretty book covers


Oh dear Jesus, the Holocaust is in the hearts of men.
Nathaniel, my DVD keeps skipping! 'The Pickwick Papers', to be specific. On episode three, which is apparently important because the part it will play shows the insidious actor making off with the country gentleman's sister - whom we all know is meant for the portly fellow traveling with Mr. Pickwick! Can you return DVDs to Amazon? I don't know how that works. It's clearly not scratched... I wonder if they just tried to put too much movie on one disc....

Watching the ocean and the bluff, not much is happening today yet. No joggers or waddlers, no remarkable sailboats, no pirates. What a disappointment.
My dad's birthday is tomorrow. What should we do? What should I get him? I dunno.... dad's birthdays are always so difficult!!!


It's so very late at night and I should be fast asleep with all I have planned tomorrow. But closing tonight was pure misery, and I fueled myself with black tea - which is, mysteriously, still in my system.

The last few days have been glorious, what with my recent visitations and watching dolphins leap from the waves in Crystal Cove (Yes, Jenny B, I went back. I had to take them to breakfast somewhere, so why not the best breakfast place I know?), and getting an enormous birthday package from my brother (note to bloggers everywhere: don't be shy; post your b-day wishes for all to see! you just might get something. or everything. like 15 Victorian film adaptations in deluxe boxed sets. yes!! Nathaniel James, you are my favorite brother of them all. but please don't think you need to buy your way into anyone's heart, oh prince amongst men!), and seeing Jenna!!! what a fabulous surprise! and meeting new Coloradans. and old ones.

I hope to be able to steal photos from Jenny and Kathryn, even though Jasper the Camera is somewhere on the other side of Long Beach. Then you will all get to see the beauty of our breakfast, the grey glimmer of the sea, the slothing seaweed, the precision of the bird prints in the sand, and my lame-o attempt to photograph the dolphins in a squealing fervor of desperation (oh where, oh where were my photographers??)

I know the glow of this laptop illuminates my face in the dark of the dining room so all who walk down Ocean at 1:30 in the morning can see me (there are a few such people still strolling the night away. strange.) Time to revoke such a privilege and take the face to bed.


Today I am visited by three ghosts. er... friends. We are going to brunch on the beach. We are going to frolic in the surf. We are going to take pictures (which I will steal from Kathryn to post here, if I can).

But to do all this I need to get out of my pajamas and into a car.


Having recently read Shannon Hale's Bayern series, beginning with The Goose Girl, I might actually consider purchasing a pair of these.
Headed to the desert for the weekend to see long lost friends, suddenly found (thanks to national airlines).
Brother finally discovered my blog; we may see him in the comment box from now on.
Oh, and tomorrow is my birthday. Still in the mid-twenties. I'm noticing more grey hair - but not noticing any new wrinkles.


Just to share the love, I now twitter. Anyone interested in the origin of my twitter address really needs to read The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman.


and God said 'Let there be light' -
and it was good.

and he said 'Let there be land and water' -
and it was good.

and God made all the animals for the earth,
the fish for the sea,
and the birds for the air -
and it was good.

then God made Man in his own image
and Man was very good.
but God was a romantic.
so he let the heart of Man roam free.
all the nights that i confuse
the 76 sign for the moon,
wondering if hours ago you saw the same
and thought of me - unexpectedly.
only to remember yet again:
it's the dimming beacon of the gas station.
do all my sentiments seem like this to you?
the glory made gaudy -
the luminous, ludicrous -
my love song out of tune.

drive down the 605. forget my mistakes.
pull into place beside the curb. sleep like a baby.
wake to the cat in the window. read at the piano.
hem haw and hustle back to the grindstone
till darkness fall, i pull out again,
glance up through the trees into the night sky.
see the 76 sign.


Lent is over, Holy Week is passed, and I think I wasted it all.
I feel like I'm only now, the Monday after, beginning to recall the Lenten spirit,
to remember the ache of penitence, to feel the pressure in my knees as they yearn
to hit the floor.

I mentioned it on facebook, that marvelous forum of spiritual dialogue,
that I am a girl of Good Friday. I don't think I'll really learn to celebrate Easter
till the Resurrection of Us.

Maybe this is a good thing, finding Lent on my own. In my own time.
I don't really think so - I'm mad at myself, actually. It's irresponsible
and unsafe, how much of my faith is walked outside of communion.


Good Friday: Holy Week

'Were you there when they crucified my Lord? Yes, we were there when we crucified our Lord. Recognizing the line that runs through every human heart, no longer do we try to draw the line between "them" and "us." Who can look long and honestly at the victims and perpetrators of history's horrors and say that this has nothing to do with me?... Knowing myself and fearing God, knowing a thousand big and little things that I have done and failed to do, I cannot deny that I was there. In ways I do not fully understand, I know that I, too, did the deed, wielded the whip, drove the nails, thrust the spear.
'About chief of sinners I don't know, but what I know about sinners I know chiefly about me. We did not mean to do the deed, of course. The things we have done wrong seemed, or mostly seemed, small at the time. The word of encouragement withheld, the touch of kindness not given, the visit not made, the trust betrayed, the cutting remark so clever and cruel, the illicit sexual desire so generously entertained, the angry answer, the surge of resentment at being slighted, the lie we thought would do no harm. It is such a long and tedious list of little things. Surely not too much should be made of it, we thought to ourselves. But now it has come to this. It has come to the cross. All the trespasses of all the people of all time have gravitated here, to the killing grounds of Calvary.
'Not only about our entanglement in the loss of each but also in the consequence of our deeds, John Donne was right: "No man is an Island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main." It was not only for our sins, but surely for our sins too. What a complex web of complicity is woven by our lives. Send not to know by whom the nails were driven; they were driven by you, by me.'

- from Richard John Neuhaus's Death on a Friday Afternoon


Precise o'clock, waiting at the window for me to arrive,
knowing I'll not wander to another room,
but with my coat over my shoulder scooping the stuff
to silence the wail and the wiggle round my ankle,
then scratch, then leave you be.

An hour later watching from the window,
another cat shivers in the road
having borne the truck
over its dashing body.

Quick as a wink,
still it lost the game.

Kept the cat on my lap as long as I could -
unfriendly thing squirming beneath my hands.
Be still!
I saw you die beneath the wheel!
Be still.

She wiggles her way out of my grip
making her own choices.

Fool. Foolish fool of an idiot, fool.

He kneels on the dinner floor,
wrapping the towel around his wrinkled tunic.
Not me, what? Unless you wash,
I'll not be part? Then clean the whole
and let me drink in all of you.
Sweet sentiments. But watch me squirm,
run, and feel the weight
of my mistake
pin me to the floor.
Be clean! Be still!

Gather my parts to be present here.
Set me down in one piece -
breathe into the center till my heart swells,
I watch you washing me.
still between your hands.


birthday wishlist

Enough people have asked me what I want for my birthday, that I have decided to post a wishlist on this blog. I know that twenty-six is long past the age of getting significant presents, but I also know that there are some people who will buy me things anyway. So I might as well.

DVDs and music seem to be the fallback for me. It's difficult to get me something I don't like in this arena - but a list might be helpful. I guess.

So I need to replace my copy of The Village, allegedly stolen by druggies. This is a must. I keep forgetting, and then regretting that I don't have it.
I don't have any film adaptations of Dickens novels - and no, I don't want Nicholas Nickleby. I like Our Mutual Friend and David Copperfield best.
I would love some classic Hitchcock films. I'm not interested in any of the ones with Carey Grant. But I like all of the others. Except maybe the Birds.
And I simply love How to Steal a Million with Audrey Hepburn and Peter O'Toole. I don't know why I don't own it already.
Big Fish
Whale Rider
Bandits (I only have the VHS. Difficult to watch without a VHS player.)
oh! Oh!oh!! Dear Frankie. Possibly one of the most gently beautiful films ever. And I don't own it, why?
and A Room with a View. It's just absurd that I don't own that thing. I want to watch it at least once a month:
'Truth! Beauty!'
'He's saying his creed...'

All the Joanna Newsom music I own from her album Milk Eyed Mender was stolen brazenly from music blogs. I would feel better about my eternal destiny if I owned the album outright.
The same goes for Regina Spektor, only I'm not particularly interested in Soviet Kitzch. It's fun and all, but I keep wondering, 'why, Regina, are you singing about socks? what is the point?' and I grow tired of taming my own criticism. but dear sweet beloved Jesus, is Samson not one of the most beautiful songs in the biosphere?
I don't have the newest Coldplay album.
and I'd like some Bach and Puccini and Schubert.

though really, if you're gonna buy me all that music, we might as well just get tickets to something.

On second thought, forget about presents. Take me out to lunch and I'll buy my own music. and Netflix the movies.

or - here's a better thought - donate a dollar to the send-Molly-to-Israel-this-summer fund. I've got a hankering to go, and a pretty good reason, too.
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