The Allure of Jane Eyre

What is it about her that has spawned version after version, movie upon television upon theatre adaptation of her story? Is it the "poor girl makes good" theme, the sexy anti-hero or the blackest of black moments that keeps us coming back to Thornfield Hall?

I watched one of the best versions I have ever seen last night. Masterpiece Theatre put out its latest version, starring Ruth Wilson (who? a newcomer who did a fabulous job) as the plucky, proud, rise-above-disaster Jane, and Toby Stephens (best known as the uber-psycho Gilbert Graves in 007's "Die Another Day") as the dark and brooding Edward Rochester. I predict Ruth Wilson will go on to future acting accolades; she has such sincerity and depth; when she was confessing her feelings to Rochester I was crying right along with her. Toby Stephens was the quintessential Edward, brooding and irritable--but he also was witty and sharp and brought new life into Rochester's character. (As an aside, I don't much care for his looks in general. But he made a seriously hubba-hubba Rochester. Be still, my heart.)

Jane Eyre doesn't just pull at your heartstrings; she rips the thing out of your chest, stomps it to mush then stuffs it back in. Ruthless, uncompromising, tear-jerking, heartbreaking... and we'll go back every time with a smile on our face.

In Praise of Robyn and The Thin Woman

First a grateful thanks to Robyn from Snarkling Clean for her recommendation of a new series for me to try. Robyn, you rock! Dorothy Cannell's "The Thin Woman" was a pure pleasure to read!

I finished the first book this morning over my coffee and felt compelled to write about it today. "The Thin Woman" follows Ellie Simons, an overweight single interior designer, to a weekend family reunion at her uncle's estate outside of London. Desperate to take attention from herself, she hires Bentley Haskell, a porn writer who also works as an escort, to pose as her "boyfriend" for the weekend. Enter Ellie's quirky relatives and the weekend slides quickly into disaster and, though she truly likes Ben, she leaves his car upon their return to London determined never to see him again.

But life has other plans. Uncle Merlin dies and leaves the bulk of his estate to Ellie and Ben! But he charges them each with a responsibility: Ellie must lose 63 pounds--no less--and Ben must write a publishable-length book with not one swear word or sexual reference in it. Also, together they must find a treasure related to the house. If they fail to accomplish these things in six months, they'll lose everything.

Well, the six months doesn't go very smoothly for Ellie and Ben. They're both fighting their inner demons while joined together to figure out the mystery of the treasure. Enter a grumpy groundskeeper and a no-bullshit housekeeper and the wit and intrigue only escalates.

The ending was satisfying and I confess I was surprised by the unmasking of the villain. And several other things happened during the course of the story that kept me on my toes and glued to the pages.

"The Thin Woman" was a worthy read and lots of fun. I am checking out the next book in the series today and I hope it will be as entertaining.

And once again, thanks, Robyn!

Last Stop, Imagination Station

It's been a tough week in imagination world. I haven't been inspired to write; the words are poky and plodding and definitely not cooperating at all. My hero and heroine are still standing in the front hall of her mother's house, sizing each other up and every once in a while they reach over and knock-knock on my brain. Like, hello? Remember us? We'd like to get past this First Awkward Meeting if you please!

I painted my kitchen last weekend, a glorious icy blue-gray color that I simply adore. However, after the tape and drop cloths were taken away, I discovered that the wall color clashes horrifically with the countertops. Umm... oops. I truly imagined these two colors were complementary and it turns out they're totally NOT. Well, we were talking about getting new ones anyway. Just may get them sooner than we thought!

And then there is work. Ah, work, where the software crashes during upgrade and shuts down the whole cataloging system. And the train table falls apart and everyone keeps asking why there's no tracks anymore on it. How can you play with trains when there's no tracks? they ask.

Umm... I don't know. Use your imagination, maybe?

Lighting A Fire

Why is it that motivating a child to do necessary things is so damned difficult?

Situation: Son has been receiving allowance for "chores" for the past few years. We don't ask him to deliver the moon. What he is responsible for is keeping his bedroom and bathroom clean, taking out the garbage once a week, doing the dishes and vacuuming. As a reference point, he's 12. Perfectly capable of handling this. Capable of doing more, IMO.

Our typical week sounds like this: Did you take out the garbage? Dishes need to be done NOW. Are you going to vacuum sometime today? Uh, there's a pile of clothes in the bathroom bigger than Everest... you get the idea. It's remind, remind, remind, nag, nag, nag. I'm so tired of it, and I wish there was some other way to get him to put his responsibilities at a higher level than his pleasures.

When I was a kid, and a chore needed to be done, I did it--and I didn't get any allowance. I was just as capable of procrastination as the next kid (aren't we all?) but I wanted to get my chores over with so I could have more time to play. Not so with son. He has procrastination down to an art form. "Do It Now" has no meaning to him. His mantra seems to be "play now, pay later". He's a coaster--capable of so much more and totally motivated NOT to get there. And no matter what we say, no matter the issue, he has no problem with that.

My biggest worry is he's setting himself up to fail in the future. I don't want to see that happen, but I'm damned tired of pushing him, too. And then automatically I'm guilty of being a "bad" mother (in my own mind).

Anyone have any strategies that work? Anyone have any ideas on how to light a fire in his pants? Anyone have a shoulder for me to cry on?

Suspending Disbelief

Is anyone else NOT watching the season premiere of "24" tonight besides me?

Okay, okay, don't get me wrong. I watched part of it last season and I argue that the most interesting character of last season was Jean Smart as the president's wife--she had some of the best lines in the whole show. When she was on, the show was worth watching. The rest of the time I was either out of the room or shouting "OH, COME ON!" at the TV set. Son and Sweetheart banished me after the first few episodes.

So yes, I've caught bits and pieces here and there. Some was almost good.

But as a whole? Pass.

I think the main reason "24" has failed as entertainment for me is the whole concept of suspended disbelief. In 24 hours Jack Bauer gets shot, stabbed, blown up, sewn up, put in jail, put in disguise, he steals cars, hijacks planes, kills people, kisses girls, gets drugged, mugged and kidnapped. Among other things. Could anybody survive a factory explosion with only a police car between them and the blast? Where is the mathematical formula that proves that in a shootout with the bad guys, it is possible for Jack to gun down more terrorists than there are bullets in his clip but gets no wounds himself? And how can he get stabbed and drugged and not need any recovery time? No trip to the ER? No follow-ups with his family physician as per his HMO? (As an aside, imagine the insurance bills! Oy!)

I realize Jack Bauer is the epitome of TV tough guy, Mr. Indestructo. But come on, he doesn't eat any meals, shower, sleep, or go to the bathroom! Seriously! I have a strong bladder, but there's no way in hell I can go 24 hours without making a pit stop. And apparently, no one at the CTU control center does any of these "normal" things either. They only use the bathroom for secret cell phone calls or to upload the latest whatever into the newest gadget. They manage to go at 100% all day without so much as a piece of toast to sustain themselves. No one yawns or gets a headache or has children or even a pet. It's amazing. It's astounding.

It's... beyond belief.

Almost eight here. I think I'll go pick up a book.

The End of Lilian Jackson Braun

I discovered the Jim Qwilleran mystery series about four years ago when I was in a total "crash and burn" mentality about romance. I wanted something different, something else. I found it in "The Cat Who" books. Mystery, light comedy, no blood & guts, no swearing, and very limited romantic situations. I greatly enjoyed the books, to the point of making a bulk purchase of about 15 titles through ebay and more still through used book stores so that I could have the entire collection at my beck and call. The books are fun, easy to read, and--a real selling point to my mind--you can read them over again and still enjoy them.

After reading her last book, "The Cat Who Dropped A Bombshell", I was perplexed by what appeared to be a major shift in LJB's writing. During the course of the story one of the most endearing supporting characters died (granted, he was 100 years old, but still) and another "regular" was killed in an accident. Not unusual; after all people die every day, but odd in her Utopian environment of Moose County. Usually only the bad guys die there.

The book got some scathing "reviews" from fans on Amazon and other book sites; most weren't pleased. I wasn't either, but I told myself she'd do better next time.

I brought home her latest, "The Cat Who Had 60 Whiskers", yesterday and read it through last night. I tried my best to keep my mind open and my spirits up. Alas, disappointment was the word of the day.

I'm disappointed on several fronts, namely that there didn't seem to be any mystery plot unfolding. I mean, a person died, but from a bee sting. Foul play was suspected because the venom kit went missing before the death--but no one was ever blamed. Money was being embezzled from an estate sale, and it seemed pretty obvious who was doing it--but no arrests were made, no confessions confessed.

Qwill's longtime girlfriend Polly quit the scene halfway through the book--she moved to Paris to work in a library. Good for her--but in an earlier book she left the Pickax library to open a bookstore because she didn't want to be a librarian any more! Add to that the fact that Qwill didn't seem to mourn her absence at all--when in an earlier story he told her he loved her--and it equals more disappointment.

Then--oddest of all--Qwill's barn home, the architectural wonder of the county, burned down at the end of the book. Understand, this home has had a central role in the series--the refurbishing of it, the architect hanging himself, the parties, and the antics of Koko and Yum Yum on the ramps. LJB devoted one paragraph to this announcement, and Qwill's only reaction was a bland: "Thank goodness the cats weren't in there." That was it.

Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice would say. The book was paced almost frantically, like she couldn't wait to type The End or something. The plot was scattered and uneven, the story jumped around, went here and there, but never drew me in like her other, older stories.

Reviewers are, again and even more so, aggrieved at this latest title. Speculations are running rampant--maybe she has Alzheimer's, maybe someone else wrote this title, maybe she's just out for money... who knows. But my speculation is this: LJB is an old woman, late 70's I believe. She could be ill, she could be demented, she could just be sick of writing and want to retire. But I think before she does, she wants to wrap up Moose County so tight that no one will be able to pick up the torch again and start writing "Cat Who" mysteries. Hence killing off supporting characters, shipping other ones out of town, and burning down a pivotal "scene spot". She wants Qwill and his friends to retire and enjoy themselves.

So let's raise our glasses of Squunk water in a toast to Jim Qwilleran, Koko and Yum Yum. Thanks for the stories, the mysteries, the memories. Moose County, it was nice knowing you.

School Bus Blues

Since his first, shining days of kindergarten, Son has always ridden the bus to school. I'd watch him out the windows, wave him on, all that good stuff.

Until this year. This year school decreed that Son had to walk because he is within this magical, invisible 1-mile ring around the school. No more school bus for you, kid.

We measured, just for the heck of it, with the mile ticker thingy attached to the bike. Our driveway is on the mile line exactly. For real, if he went and stood on our property line he'd be outside the mile line. But, rules are rules, so he had to walk/ride his bike, etc... across 4 lanes of commercial traffic and through several intersections to get to school. Oh, my gray hairs. Recently, of course, since the weather has gotten cold and miserable we've dropped him off more days than not.

So there I was this morning, minding my own business. I drop him off, pull out to the street and--of course--I get the traffic pileup. I swear, those oncoming drivers KNEW it was me waiting and they slowed down just enough so I would get stuck waiting. And waiting. The minivan behind me starts beeping at me. I'm like, WTF? There's a line of traffic a mile long in either direction and nowhere for me to go!! And the school is on a main thoroughfare so it's not like people stop and wave you in. Oh, no. They've got their coffee in one hand, cigarette in the other, knee against the steering wheel, practically kissing the bumper in front of them.

So I wait, and wait, and see my opportunity--except for this one car. Who--you guessed it--SLOWS DOWN. I'm yelling "Hurry UP!!!" through my windshield, clutching the wheel like it's a lifeline and finally he passes me and I scream out into traffic. I impressed even myself.

Then--it was inevitable, I guess--I get someone else in another minivan who has to pull in front of me because going the speed limit was just too slow for him/her and stops in front of me at the light. The very intersection I needed to turn at, and he's just sitting up there like a bump on a log.

So I'm grinding all the enamel off my teeth and what should go by but a school bus. A 2/3 EMPTY school bus. A school bus that could very easily have picked up my son on the way up my street which I can't get down because of the lunkhead in front of me.

I'm considering switching lots with one of our retired neighbors. It would take a lot of time, money and aggravation to move two houses around, but in the end the retired neighbor would be closer to the senior citizen's center in the park.

And we'd be outside the 1-mile line.

The Bain of Boone

Yep. I'm here at work, waffling between a headache and a buzz from too much marker use in too short a time. Gad. All I can smell is Boone Pro Dry Erase.

But on the up side, the little buzz makes all the yelling and crying and dirty diapers--and boy, today was a record for #2, I'll tell you what--just kind of fade away. That's not so bad.

In other news, I went to a writer's meeting this weekend and got some recharge in the old battery pack. On the way home I had an epiphany about my novel--the one I almost finished last year until that crisis of conflict in September knocked me over--that is putting me down another path. Of course we all know what that means: rewrites! But I think this plot direction is better, and the conflict was immediate and strong, so I think that's good.

Keep your fingers crossed. Oh, and don't sniff too many Boone's.

The Other Shoe Dropped


I was hoping it wouldn't, but fate, or karma, or Murphy's Law--whatever you want to call it--would not be denied.

Here's the story: we took a chance this year and got son a big ticket item, a Sony PSP. Expensive? Yes. Fragile? You bet!

So between Christmas and New Year, sweetheart and I get more calls from son than we ever have. The PSP isn't working. Son tried upgrading a game without being attached to the internet and, surprise surprise, the system shut down. Permanently.

So after a week of drama, he returns home, the PSP is exchanged on Wednesday and things look brighter. Until this morning when he returned home from spending the night at a friend's house and informed us that the PSP is broken.

That's right, folks, he only had the second one for FOUR DAYS and managed to break it. And it didn't just stop working. Oh, no. It fell off a dresser, hit an amp, the protective polymer screen I special ordered from Amazon cracked and flew off and then that so-fragile game screen--the one that gamers the world over praise and lament at the same time for its superior graphics and extreme sensitivity--cracked as well.

Goodbye, PSP. Goodbye, $250. It was nice knowin' ya.

I'd strangle him, but he's my only shot at grandkids.

Someday My Prince Will Come

I don't know about you, but I live with a song in my mind every day, 24/7. It's not the same song all the time. Sometimes I'll go through several a day. Sometimes one song will stick around and keep replaying over and over. And then there are the standbys: the songs that are always lurking in the background, ready to take over whenever there is a lull.

When I am at work I usually "hear" children's songs. This afternoon the song of the hour is the theme from "Sound of Music." A person back in the circulation room mentioned they were looking for the tape, and bam! There it was. The other day it was "Pure Imagination" from Willy Wonka. And of course, as mentioned in the beginning of this article, Snow White's ballad of love is the eternal standby. It's in my mind right now.

Contrarily, the songs at home usually come from whatever was on the radio before I turned the car off. Sometimes it's nice songs--like Johnny Cash or The Beatles or something. Sometimes, it's --gag-- crappy songs that I'd happily give myself a lobotomy to stop "hearing". Like, say, "Missing You" by John Waits or one of those super-sappy Celine Dion songs. Ack. Cough. Someone put me out of my misery.

Someone asked me once if it drives me nuts to always "hear" music in my head. No, I'm pretty used to it--either that, or I'm insane and in denial.

Does anyone else have this constant song-itis? What songs get in your mind? What's the worst song that you couldn't get out of your mind?

Crap. There she goes again.

"...someday my prince will come..."