Archive for June, 2008

Unreconstructed Busybodiness

Tuesday, June 24th, 2008

I was cruising e-bay earlier today, seeing how much people were asking for assorted moderately odd items like a small Viking-style utility knife.  I noticed several things, one of which is that as a matter of style, modern Scandinavian knives are pretty hard to distinguish from those made a thousand years ago.  I guess there’s not much point messing with a functional design.  But there was one small knife posted that was mis-labeled, and had no bids.  I thought about it, then clicked “contact seller” and instead of asking a question, told them what they had, and what it would cost new including shipping.  (About $2.00 more than they were asking.)  I got back a “thanks for the information” note.  I don’t know what they’ll do with it, of course, but now they’ve got it.  That’s not the first time I’ve done something like that, either.  I found a sewing tool posted by someone who thought “bodkin” might be the brand name, rather than simply the name of the tool.  So I e-mailed to tell her what it was and what it was used for.  That one added the information to her posting.

I don’t know why I can’t just leave such things alone.  I’m quite certain other people are; I can’t be the only one in the world who knows these things.  I guess when you come right down to it I’m a confirmed, unabashed, unreconstructed busybody.  At least it’s a harmless quirk.  Everyone needs a hobby, right?

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Pot, Meet Kettle

Saturday, June 21st, 2008

I was about to e-mail a friend of mine to point out that it’s been three weeks since she posted anything to her blog. I know what’s going on in her life because we’ve talked, but what she puts in her blog is different. Then I checked and realized that it’s been very nearly as long since I’ve written anything. So before I say anything to her, it behooves me to attend to my own behavior. In other words, I’ll acknowledge that pot and kettle are equally carbonized before she points it out to me.

So what has our intrepid reporter been doing? A few things. Last weekend we went to an s.f. convention, which had a writer’s workshop as part of its available activities. It was taught by professional writers whose work I very much like, and I decided that I had put enough effort and energy into my writing skills that I might actually get something out of it now. So I signed myself up, and away I went.

My only comment is that I want to do it again. Soon. Often. It was great. There’s an incredible rush in reading the single page you’ve managed to write between the session that ended at 8:00 pm one night and the one the next morning at 10:00 and having the instructor say “that’s a first draft?” Then one gets to hear the comments and suggestions of the others there, about half of whom are published authors and all of whom are creative, intelligent, articulate people. Hearing what they’ve written and getting both to comment on it and to ask them why they chose one method of presenting something over another left me with enough food for thought that I’m still chewing it over a week later. I enjoyed the con; I got to see some people I haven’t seen in a good while, and got to hear some wonderful music and actually share a quiet dinner with a single friend who joined my family. I picked up some marvelous CDs, too, which I have been blithely listening to. I went for a swim with my son, and talked jewelry making with one merchant and costuming with another. But the thing that stands out most for me is that writer’s workshop. I’ll be doing that again. Who knows; maybe I’ll even gather the nerve to submit something to be published? Stranger things have happened.

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As It Should Be

Tuesday, June 3rd, 2008

Late in May 2007, I found myself sitting in the living room of my friends L. and M., giggling as he teased her about various ways he might choose to propose to her. I remember getting on the PA system at Target being suggested, as well as a few other equally public and potentially embarrassing options. Finally one of them turned to me and said “Aren’t you going to help me out here?”

My response was “What do you want me to do, offer to officiate?” The wisecrack turned out to be fateful. This past Saturday afternoon found me standing on the porch steps at Morris-Butler House in Indianapolis, judge pro temp appointment duly obtained, with two of the people who are dearest to me standing in front of me in formal wear listening to the wedding ceremony that was my gift to them. Both of them were glowing, so full of delight that I half expected at least one of them to float away like a balloon. The band, also friends of mine, had equipped me with a headset microphone so I could be heard over the noise of the nearby interstate. (That was a first; I don’t usually require artificial amplification.) I gather I did a reasonable job of it, judging by the compliments I got afterwards, but I suspect I could have simply asked them if they wished to be married and pronounced them so and they would have been happy. The weather was perfect, with rain holding off until not only the reception but most of the cleanup was complete. Everything was as lovely as one could wish for them.

The spring before we moved, I introduced them to each other, just because I thought they’d be great friends. I can claim credit for that, but not for anything else. What is between them they have built themselves. Now I’ve had the honor and privilege of performing their wedding ceremony, a development no one had any idea of in Spring of 2005. I’m delighted, but it’s they whose happiness lit up the day, and that is exactly as it should be.

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