Duly Noted...

This is the first year I haven't been in the States on September 11. While September 11 is not insignificant to our European neighbors, it also isn't memorialized with wall-to-wall coverage in the days leading up to and on the date itself like it is in the States.

While I haven't forgotten the significance of this date or its impact on the lives of thousands of individuals and families, I also didn't miss the coverage and the replay of planes crashing into towers, people jumping from unfathomable stories, or montages of memorial benches outside the Pentagon. My mind this past weekend was focused on how I can get out of my own little world of self-focus and self-absorption and give back to the community and how I can do something positive to counteract one of America's most horrific days.

I'm still working on that, but in the meantime, someone on Facebook mentioned this site built by a young woman who was born on September 11 and was 10 years old on that day in 2001. I love her idea and the belief that the good that was born on that day can counteract the bad that was done.

*****

Switching gears for a bit, my friends Gilahi and L.A. Cochran crack me up and are two of my favorite people. Recently, Gilahi reported on a conversation regarding the origin and chemistry of soap that absolutely cracked me up. Here is In a Land Called Honalee.

I've been catching up a bit on my blog reading, having fallen pathetically behind. There are two things I want for Christmas this year: this ice cube tray and, thanks to my friend NG who brought this must-have to my attention, a Boo Boo Bunny. Don't you think that would be perfect during a migraine? I'm thinking, "Yeah."

*****

Comestibles that make me love living in Europe:

Darbo Jams from Austria

Almdudler, the national soft drink of Austria

Teekanne FixMinze Tea from Germany

President Butter (with large grains of sea salt) from France*

Croissants from Sébastien Brocard in St-Genis, France

Raclette, fondue, and rösti from Switzerland


*****

There you have it. Not sure this restores my blog mojo, but it's a start.


* Before all you foodies and Francophiles go busting my chops about how President Butter is so not good butter, please note this: I know there are better French butters. The best French butters come from family-owned dairies and can be found in the farmers' markets throughout the country. For a commercial brand, though, President Butter with large grains of sea salt is quite good. So is Payson-Breton butter. Let me put it another way: even the suckiest, most commercial French butter is better than almost all other butters. I've heard Swedish butter surpasses them all, but I haven't had Swedish butter yet, so I wouldn't know definitively.

Time for Another Installment of In the BIN

Yes, it's been way too long and there have been so many good entries out there, so I think it's time for another installment of In the BIN.

I'm starting this edition with the best summation of what it's like to be sick and at home for more than two days and how the mind progresses over time. Let's just say, this person starts out thinking--as we all do--that they are completely and totally indispensable and they can't afford to be away from work for even a scintilla of a second or it will all go to hell in a handbasket and by day 13 the same person is nothing but a puddle of mushy simplicity. Here is At a Different RPM.

This next entry is more than a month old, but it is side-splittingly hilarious, because I can totally relate and I'm sure some of you can, too. Read Clay Satan at Recovering Mormon.

I should have highlighted this one week's ago. I have a friend who lives in Switzerland. When you read this story, I guarantee you'll think what many of us thought: "Trippy." Stuff like this only happens in the news or on City Confidential, right? Not so. Apparently, it happens to people only a few degrees removed from my friend. Read Small Town-tales.

Another friend of mine, Phoebe, pointed me to a blog titled A Somewhat Old, But Capacious Handbag. How rad is that?! So, I thought I'd check it out. On the day I did, this was the entry: Bad Week. Have a Bird. I'm totally sold on this blog and who wouldn't be with that image to greet them straight off?

As some of you may know by now, I also have a photography blog, which means I also have a completely different list of bloggers to whom I link all over the U.S. and the world who post photos of the places they live and the things they see. This is a very, very small sample of some photography that is either excellent in its composition or thought-provoking or both: Free2B (be sure to click on the image to enlarge and read the words on the column); London Daily Nature Photo and this series on an oak tree (if you like nature photography, this is an absolute must. NiC's photos are amazing!); and check out the only photographer I've found who actually makes Los Angeles look beautiful--The Jimson Weed Gazette.

There you have it. Another long-overdue installment of In the Blogs I've Noted.

In the BIN: What's Possible? And Does It Matter?

The other day, a friend of mine who blogs privately wrote about receiving a letter from her grandmother's best friend. Despite her grandmother having long passed away, her friend continues to write encouraging, uplifting, "I'm proud of you" kind of notes to my friend. In describing this for those of us who read her blog, my friend wrote, "It sort of chokes me up; it feels so nice when I often don't feel like anything I do is right by anyone anymore." I'll come back to this in a moment.

I think it's important to stay on top of what's going on in the world and to read or watch as many news and information sources as possible in an effort to get the whole story, but in truth, the news often depresses me. I tire of reading about human cruelty, government sponsored despotism, the degradation of democracy, murder and mayhem, child abuse, and the like. Like my friend who blogs privately, I, too, want to crawl under the covers, shutter all the windows, make like Howard Hughes in the desert (only without the crazy element), and just hide.

I often think, "Does any of it matter? Do I matter?" I often feel like regardless of what I do--whether it's help my next door neighbor carry in his groceries, spend a day putting up rooms full of wallboard with my dad, tutor an inner city kid, pick up litter, donate to a cause, or whatever--it doesn't make a difference in the overall scheme of humanity and decency and helpfulness. And even though I've advocated for greener living--I want to believe that recycling and using energy saving appliances and transportation really makes a difference for the earth and its inhabitants--I'm not as certain as a citizen of the most consumerist nation in the world that it's going to stick or be sustainable.

And that leads me back to my friend who blogs privately and the sentiments we share. Were it not for a few well-placed people in our lives, we might succumb to the despair, climb under the covers, shutter the windows, and make like Howard Hughes (without the crazy.) In other words, we might resign ourselves to the belief that the world really is going to hell in a handbasket and none of us--including me, myself, and I--can make a difference.

But then, things like notes from the lifelong friend of a grandmother restore my faith in humanity. Or, yesterday, the email I had from a friend telling a group of us that his mother's cancer has come back and she is dying. He wrote, "I don't know why I'm writing this exactly... but I thought I would... I dunno... share or something like that." This is a big, burly, manly man of a friend with the soul of a lion and the heart of a child. In his time of sadness he was being vulnerable and saying, "I can't bear this burden alone" and in reaching out to us, he asked us to make a difference. To feel like we matter. Because to him, we do.

You'll note that this entry's title begins with "In the BIN." As many of you know, when I title an entry like that, I'm usually highlighting a variety of really notable blog entries I've read or websites I've found recently. Not this time. This time, I want to highlight one website only. If you feel like nothing you do matters to anyone anymore or you have ideas about how to make a difference, but you need some inspiration to realize them, or you want to know that the world isn't just all bad news, don't waste another minute here. Go here and realize what's possible.

There's a new story every day, so even if you feel like you can't achieve what today's noted person is doing, there are stories to inspire you. This is one of my favorites.

In the BIN: The Video Edition

So, enough whining and moaning about my flu-y state of affairs. It's been a while since I've done an In the BIN entry. I thought I'd shake it up a bit, though, and do a video version.

Saw this on YouTube and decided to post it. I'm sure you've all seen these numbers in one form or another, but they bear recalling. And, as I'm, well, you know... sick... it also reminds me that despite all the inequities surrounding healthcare in this country, the point is, I do have healthcare.



I admit, I'm a total Pink Martini junkie. I'm seeing them at the Kennedy Center on the 29th with my sister. Here's their latest hit, "Hey Eugene!"



I've been listening to the Harry Potter collection on CD lately and then watching the movies. This video combines J.K. Rowlings' characters with Jane Austen's beloved Miss Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy of Price & Prejudice in this spoof. (There was also a lovely spoof on Harry Potter and Brokeback Mountain called Harry Potter and the Brokeback Goblet, but I opted for this one in honor of PBS's six weeks of Jane Austen.)



Finally, I haven't followed a presidential race with as much enthusiasm and interest as I am this one. And no one in the race excites or inspires me more than Barack Obama. A brilliant musician, will.i.am, created this video. Again, I'm sure you've seen it already, but it's worth watching again. Yes, we can.

In the BIN: It's Never Too Late for Goodness

Some of these are a bit dated, but well worth the reading time. Most of the blogs I'm highlighting in this inconsistent round of In the BIN are new to my reading lists.

I'll start with Angie (aka: Abgue in these parts) who writes a blog called Touch of the Phoenix. In this entry, she writes about her brother's dog who has been trained to ring a bell when he "needs to powder his nose." If I ever have dogs (see aforementioned Frieda and her refusal to "go toward the light"), I want to train them to do this.

One of the blogs I read every day is written and features the photography of West Texas phenom, Debi Cates. Her recent story and photos of an 83-year old barber is one of the best human interest photo essays I've read in a long time. Read Black & White #1 or #2 or #3 or #4.

Meanwhile, despite the spat of tropical weather we're having in these parts, if you like chili, my friend, Merujo, has resurrected her other blog, Merujo's Kitchen. She's looking for contributors. I'm still looking for a recipe or two to contribute, but check her out here.

In another nod to a photographer with a blog, I'm calling out Rich Legg of Salt Lake City. He recently ran a couple of posts on using wide angle lenses to create distortion. Here is his first example--a perfect contribution to his growing stock photography collection and an excellent illustration about how to employ this technique successfully. It was the next day's post that was really special, though. He posted this, which made me LOL! Hope you do, too.

I've mentioned before that I'm totally deaf in my left ear, but when I talk to doctors and ear specialists about the possibility of a cochlear implant for my left side, I'm turned down flat because I hear well-enough in my right ear to not be considered "profoundly deaf." I won't pretend to know all the ins-and-outs of the debates in the deaf community regarding what constitutes deafness. My point here is to highlight Abbie, who writes the blog Chronicles of a Bionic Woman and is a recent recipient of a cochlear implant. In this entry, she writes about finding and identifying sound.

And finally, in a bit of self-indulgent navel gazing, I'm proposing a Photowalk DC. Most photowalks feature seasoned professionals with the equipment to match their ability. Some of us have just blind, dumb luck with our little pocket point-and-shoots. Regardless of your skill level, if you live in DC or its surrounding suburbs and you'd like to get out with a group and take pictures of our storied town, leave a comment and we'll find a date and time to capture our Nation's Capital in picture.

The Danger of Tediousness

More news on the butternut squash front. Apparently, not only is it tedious, it's also dangerous.

Lame, I Know

Okay, I know it's lame to point out when I'm mentioned on DC Blogs. It smacks of blatant self-indulgence and maybe even a smackerel of insecurity. Whatever. I'm having a happy moment today because one of my pictures from my photo blog is being used as the banner photo on DC Blogs! Yeah photo! See. Looky!



P.S. My friend, Tickle the Pear, was with me the day I took this picture.

Stockpiling

No doubt, some bloggers have been anticipating National Blog Posting Month for, well, months and have been writing outlines and drafts of material to post on their blogs during November. They are the early Christmas shoppers of blogging. The ones who have their stuff bought, wrapped, and hidden by late July, early August. They've been stockpiling.

I don't know any bloggers like that, personally, though I do know a few early Christmas shoppers. It wouldn't be inaccurate to say I envy both--assuming the former exists and knowing the latter does. I wish I could be one of those people, but I'm not.

Instead, I've been sitting in front of my computer for the last hour crying for inspiration and getting nothing. I did have two short pieces written--one for Guy Fawkes Day and one for Veteran's Day, but those hardly constitute stockpiling or inspired.

I sat down the other day and made a list of possible topics I could blog about this month. Here's what I came up with:






Okay. That's not entirely true. But what I did come up with convinces me that blogging has acquired taboos akin to the three topics you never discuss in polite company or at family dinners: sex, politics, and religion. In the blog world, the taboo topics have become work, work, and work.

Work. You can't write about work because you might get Dooce'd and your company will fire you. In the case of some bloggers and the stuff they write about work, they deserve to be fired. In the case of other bloggers and the companies they work for, the companies deserve to be outed. But still, it's best not to write about work. Period.

Work. You can't write about work under your real name because that's a sure recipe for a Googlefind and even though you'd like to think the people you work with couldn't possibly be that interested in you and your thoughts, I promise you, they will Google you and they will find you. They may not mention that they've found you, but they will find you. And, you may find yourself in the unfortunate position mentioned previously. Not a good thing. If you're smart, you'll come up with a nom de plume.

And work. If you do write a blog and you're smart enough to do it under a pseudonym and you're even smarter to only allow a select group of friends read it, you're not very smart if you tell the people you work with about it or you trust one of them enough to add them to your list of select friends. Believe me, it won't stay a secret for long. And even if the people at work can't access it because you've limited who can read your blog, they'll still talk about it and eye you suspiciously. Also not a good position to be in. That's not to say you can't have a public blog. You just can't entrust it to anyone you work with until you're at least three jobs removed.

In addition to work, the other group you should never share your blog with is your family. At least, in my case, that's been my experience. Because what will happen is, while you're careful not to talk about sex, politics, and religion during Sunday dinner, you'll talk about it on your blog. And it will upset your mother or your cousin or a nephew. And you'll hear about it, most likely from your mother. And she'll cry and wonder how you could put yourself and your life and your job and your happiness at risk. And then she'll tell you how she knows you mean well, but others don't. And no one loves you like she does. And, and, and... And, well, you get the picture. It will make your life a living, teary hell.

So, boys and girls, as a refresher, what are the three rules about blogs?

1. Always stockpile for events like NaBloPoMo.
2. The taboo subjects never to write about are: work, work, and work.
3. Never tell your family about your blog, no matter how much you love them and they love you and your talent for writing.

Everybody clear? Good! Now where's my Christmas list, dammit!

Ten Minute Thoughts

Wide Water Gap, C&O Canal

Only ten minutes left in my lunch hour. Here are five thoughts:

1. It's rainy and overcast and cold here today. I love that, because it reminds me of winter in the Bay Area.

2. Taking a day off in the middle of the week is a special treat and when it involves a walk on the C&O Canal in the rain, it's even better.

3. Last night, I saw Into the Wild with Bee and a friend. I'm sorry that kid died, but what a selfish little prick. And boy could that film use some editing. Way too long. I think I need to read the book.

4. I just finished reading Open Secrets about Stella Rimington, the first woman director of Britain's MI5. Fascinating book. Not as revealing as I'd like, but interesting nonetheless given the ground this woman broke. There's also a fabulous quote in there about leadership that was thought-provoking and I'll post later.

5. I love getting packages in the mail. A shout out to my friend, Aitch Em, for the arrival of her fabulous book by Richard Attenborough--the title of which completely escapes me at the moment. As it's at home and I'm not, I'll have to post it later.

That wraps up my quick thoughts in ten minutes. Enjoy the picture. I took it yesterday at Wide Water Gap on the C&O Canal. It's the same shot as my blog header, only in the fall. The one in my header was taken this spring. To see a couple more pictures, go here.

Photo copyright: D.C. Confidential.

Gaelic Dreams: A Reprint

Today's post--a solo "In the BIN"--is brought to you by a friend of mine who blogs in the Mountain West. She prefers to remain anonymous, so I won't link her from here, but she was gracious enough to let me feature her writing on my blog. She recently returned from a vacation in Nova Scotia and has been sharing lovely stories with us. I love writing that is evocative and this piece is certainly all that and more. Thank you, friend, for letting me pass this along.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Oh, Peggy Gordon, you are my darlin’
Come sit ye down upon my knee
And tell to me the very reason
Why I am slighted so by thee.

Cyril McPhee’s voice lilted across the tourist- filled lounge of the Keltic Lodge in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia the night I was there. His Scottish accent was entrancing, and I couldn’t help jiggle a foot in time with his strumming on the guitar. One of his feet kept the rhythm with a quick bounce and a kick as if he were pedaling an invisible tricycle. Most endearing of all is when he lifted his head up to scan the audience and let his gaze rest on me, his eyebrows in that happy, comical arch over his sparkling eyes. I smiled back, pretending I was the one he sang to.

I know, I know – musicians flirt with their audience so they can sell more CDs. In fact, I heard him call out to a woman in the audience right before I came into the lounge,

“When your husband falls asleep, give me a call!”

I’m usually a boring realist, but sometimes I allow myself a fantasy or two. If you can’t fall in love with a fantasy, when would you ever fall in love?

I know, I know – I’m already married to a beautiful, funny, responsible man whom I fell in love with 25 years ago. I intend to remain married to him. To be fair, I told my husband I thought Cyril McPhee was the cutest thing this side of the border, bald head and all. That way, my husband would still hold the title of Cutest Thing In the U.S.A. And that way, I could imagine a parallel universe where I live in Cape Breton, am of Scottish ascendance, and am destined to meet up with Cyril McPhee, the famous Nova Scotia folk singer and member of the band, “Brakin’ Tradition.”

A small group of people seated on the couch behind me sang along with some of Cyril’s Celtic songs of fishing and romance, giving themselves away as fellow Cape Bretoners.

“Ah, it’s so good to hear ya,” Cyril said after one song. “Ya know, if someone from Cape Breton likes you, he’ll say, ‘Ya fuggin’ fuggers, I could puck you in the eye!”

I laughed hard, but the couple that my husband and I were traveling with only smiled weakly. Our friends are strictly religious. Their religion testifies that their country is the center of the universe, where the original Garden of Eden was, and where Joseph Smith’s teetotaling followers are building the kingdom of God for everyone else’s benefit. These friends of ours are nice company, but sometimes I don’t want nice. I want laughter, profanity and drinks.

A waitress from the lounge bar stopped by our couch and asked if we wanted anything. “No,” I lied. “Yes,” I thought to myself, “ – a nice Merlot.”

Having gone through the first 45 years of my life without having a glass of wine, I’ve spent the last five years trying to make up ground by getting to know the subtleties between the various red wines. I am no lush; I hardly ever drink. About once every other month I get together with a girlfriend and enjoy intimate conversation, pointless laughter, and a feeling of complete relaxation. One glass of wine makes me hear – really feel – the music. It makes me love the one I’m with. It makes me let go of the anxieties I stubbornly grasp between my cold, nearly dead fingers. A glass a day, news articles claim, keeps the heart attacks away.

One glass of wine makes the room spin for me, however. I elect not to drink it in front of religious people who equate drinking as one of the seven deadly sins.

After Cyril’s performance was over, he began packing up his guitar and speakers. My husband and friends bade good-night and headed for their rooms. I hung behind in hopes I could get a chance at the one publicly accessible computer in the lodge. A whole week off of work made me nervous that I would miss something important that only I could take care of. I figured somebody from the office would point out any catastrophes to me via email.

There was a woman on the computer, and it looked like she was going to be there a long time. I headed for my room, making sure to walk past the hotel lounge one last time. Inside the lounge I saw Cyril McPhee join the group of fellow patriots. One of them held a drink out to Cyril, and he accepted it with a grateful laugh. They all sat down in a comfy couch huddle. Oh, the stories gilded with Scottish accents, and the beer-enhanced laughter that would ensue. Ah, spontaneous kinship. The night was young for them, and for me in my parallel universe.

The night for my friends was at its end. They would spend the next 15 minutes complaining about their lodgings and the dinner we had that night. They will complain about aches and pains. They will say their prayers and thank God that they are the chosen ones. And they will turn the lights out.

Whence PostSecret?

My Sunday ritual, the only church I go to on this day of the week--the reading of PostSecret--is nowhere to be found.

This begs the question, whence PostSecret?

Update: Don't know how accurate this is, but someone included this link to Daily Kos in a comment. That said, though, I just clicked on the PostSecret link again and it's back up and running. Bizarre, though.

In the BIN

In the BIN (Blogs I've Noted) is a feature I had over on the Old Blog Account and one I've decided to carry over onto the New Blog Account, because there are so many fabulous things to read out there.

I'm going to stay mostly local today, though, and go with entries from bloggers who are in my linkie-links on the lefty-left.

We'll start with my very good friend, Merujo, who was featured last week on WAMU's Metro Connection talking about a squirrel that attacked her in the parking lot of a Wendy's this summer. This entry, though, is about her dog. Total tear jerker, as well as an excellent reminder of why dogs are so great. Here's Termite.

Although she posted this more than a couple of weeks ago, it 'bares' sharing as it will have you in stitches. All I can say is, Miss Understood's son, Dan, is one cheeky bloke. Here is Fight or Flight.

Meanwhile, Angry Pregnant Lawyer shares a priceless moment of conversation with her oldest son, Angry Boy. Apparently, Superman is less, er, manly than we've been led to believe all these years. (Or maybe he's "more super" than we've long thought... Your call!) Here is No Offense to Christopher Reeve or Brandon Routh.

Finally, I was hoping to highlight one of my favorite D.C. bloggers, Beauty and the Beltway. It seems the author was poised for a comeback, after shutting down her original blog, Big Sky Girl, but rumor has it we'll have to wait a little longer. Note to BatB: We're cheering for you and hoping all is well!

So, there's the first In the BIN here at COT.