I saw you talking to Christopher Walken on my TV screen...

Do you ever write a post that you know is lame, but you feel like you should post something because it’s been a few days? That was Monday’s post. Sometimes those meandering ones turn out best of all, but not this one. I apologize profusely for my lameness…and I realize I have read next to nothing for a week. My brain is atrophying.

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Song meme from Peg (Palmyra Sliver) –
List ten songs that you are currently digging. It doesn’t matter what genre they are from, whether they have words, or even if they’re no good, but they must be songs you’re really enjoying right now. Post these instructions, the artists, and the ten songs in your blog. Then tag three other people to see what they're listening to.

Sweet Baby James – James Taylor
Save It for a Rainy Day – The Jayhawks
Hackensack – Fountains of Wayne
North Star – Dar Williams
May the Wind Take Your Troubles Away – Son Volt
Creep – Radiohead, also High and Dry
Said Harold the helicopter – from Thomas the Tank Engine

I know there’s only eight. I don’t do a lot of noise so my music listening is pretty much limited to the car, or whatever songs Dan’s band is learning at the moment (half of this list is courtesy of their practice last night).

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Women should not be afraid to cry. Good thing, since I cry at the drop of a hat. I am apparently physically unable to engage in confrontation without crying, which I always feels weakens my position but what can you do? I cry over my boys and not just always when they are being impossible. I cry when I hear certain songs. I sobbed and sobbed at the end of On Green Dolphin Street last night, then I went back and reread the ending and cried all over again, which led to a spate of me being all emotional about my boys, my marriage, and the song playing on the CD player at that moment. What a thoughtful, well-written book; I want to read Faulks’ France trilogy now, beginning with The Girl at the Lion d’Or.

I don’t know much about Joan Didion but as usual, I see an article that interests me and I decide I have to read the author’s other stuff before tackling their newest work. Of course, after the emotional ending of OGDS last night, I am not entirely sure I am up for reading a book about someone’s husband’s death. My tear ducts need a break.

I know nothing about Jonathan Cott’s On the Sea of Memory other than what I read in the Salon review, and the fact that I really love the title, but as a fellow depressive, I am interested.

I began Sandra Dallas’ Alice’s Tulips last night; I needed something light after the trauma of OGDS. It’s written in the form of letters to the protagonist’s sister – I could see this getting old soon but we’ll see. And I appreciate the historical research that went into this Civil-War era novel.

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What is it with other people’s kids exploring my house? Do my children wander all over other people’s houses? I hope not.
One time a friend was here with her two kids, and I found her (admittedly strange) daughter under the covers of MY bed. My friend explained that her daughter sometimes needs some quiet time – yes, fine, but not in MY bed!
And I watched another friend’s two-year-old who was not in the least interested in the toys in the library, playroom, dining room, or boys’ room. He wanted to wander around my bedroom and play in the bathroom.
And I don’t want to be mean, but c’mon – what’s so fascinating about those rooms?
I know my terror that a small child will fall into the toilet and drown is pretty ridiculous, but hey, we all have our particular bugaboos, and that is one of mine. (This always makes me think of the graphic on the side of the five-gallon joint compound bucket.) There are no toys in either room, and the doors are generally kept closed when there are other people here. My bedroom is sacrosanct, damn it. I don’t want grotty little toddler noses wiped on my pillows and grimy little toddler hands riffling through my closet. We have 12 rooms in this insanely large old house, am I crazy for wanting ONE to be completely off-limits? My boys have learned that toys do not get left in Mama’s bedroom because when she wakes up in the middle of the night for whatever reason and steps on Thomas the Tank Engine, she is not to be held responsible for whatever profanity issues from her mouth.