the woods

Ground-clearing started yesterday in the woods, the place where the king and I will hopefully live the rest of our lives, "happily ever after. . . ."

Here's a picture of the cleared driveway, which isn't quite as bad as I'd feared.

favorite books. . . .

I gave the link yesterday, but I'll do it again: My friend Nonessential Equipment posted a list of her favorite 10 books here and I've been meaning to think that through for myself, as well.

One I share with her is Anne of Green Gables (the whole series, actually - with Anne of the Island maybe my favorite - or maybe only my favorite right now, because that's the one I feel like re-reading right now. . . .).

OK. So top 10 in no particular order:

Anne of Green Gables
Canopus in Argos (Doris Lessing)
Razor's Edge (Somerset Maugham)

Austen. . . . ALL of 'em! (or most of them, I'm not that crazy about Northanger Abbey): Pride and Prejudice, Persuasion, Mansfield Park, Sense and Sensibility.

Man - that would be 7 already if I count them all! Ok - just count Austen as 1.

My Name is Asher Lev (Chaim Potok) (and 'Gift of Asher Lev' - but I won't count that as 2, either. . . .)

The Little Prince
Fugitive Pieces (Anne Michaels)
Dune (Frank Herbert)
The Flamenco Club (Sarah - Bird, I think it is)
And speaking of birds, Bird by Bird (Anne Lamott)

For today, anyway.

another day. . . .

Wow. Coming back to life again. Slowly.

I took the weekend 'off'.

Emancipated Son #2 was in from London (arriving the day before D-Day but not dreadfully underfoot until D-day, but after I'd finished printing, which was a good thing). So that meant that Emancipated Son #1 and wife were here Saturday and Sunday - and they're all heading out with the king and my dad for a round of golf this morning.

Meanwhile, construction in the woods kicks off today: the bulldozers arrive. I had to go to the woods on Sunday to discuss if there were any trees in the LOD ("limits of disturbance") that could be spared. . . . I felt like an executioner. I did manage to save like 4, but my favorite beech grove took a big hit. It will be painful to see.

Funny how that works though. That you have to raze what was there, before you can build anew. Not that I'd want to talk too much about Foucault and 'deconstruction' - because that guy just drives me crazy - but even Hannah Arendt notes that human creativity is done in violence. Namely, the violent 'fashioning' of something into something else. Consider the 'making' of a table, for example. It includes within it the chopping down of trees and planing of wood and cutting to size, etc., etc. (redundant 'etc.', I know. But it doesn't sound as good, otherwise).

So, too, to build a house, you have first to score the earth to make a solid - uncluttered - foundation.

I don't have to like it, though. Even though I know it is necessary and will work out for 'good' in the end. . . .

Still trying to figure out what life looks like now, post-dissertation. I'm not completely out of the woods, insofar as I have to get ready for the viva voce. . . . and have to stay sharp. Actually, there's some more reading I need to do on Ricoeur. Magda, bless her heart, told me to take a few days off and enjoy, but then to stay sharp and keep reading. The really cool thing was that she also said that she could really see how the paper came together, at the end. It feels good to think that I may have won her over . . . and if I've won her over, maybe that means all will be well also with the examiners! I hope.

Anyway, I'm not borrowing trouble here. I'll keep reading, and re-read the dissertation several times before the viva, and then go in and pretend it's like an appellate hearing. This, I know how to do.

I also get to read some non-philosophy - what a treat! My friend Nonessential Equipment posted a list of her favorite 10 books here, which got some of her buddies to post 10 of theirs, and there's so many books I've never read that sound so wonderful! Today, I think I'm going to sit down and figure out my favorite 10, but also start a book pile for regular reading again.

What a concept.

In the meantime, there's laundry, ironing (so that's where my 3 favorite shirts are!!!) and thinking about starting to pack for Florida. Wedding. sigh. and I have to hem a gown.

And before I do anything - send email to my Dublin runner to sort out final details of binding & turn-in instructions. It may be off my plate, but it's actually not across the goal yet! That happens tomorrow. Lord willing. . . .

zero. . . .

It's done.

It's on a plane to Dublin.

I'm exhausted.

two o'clock

Conclusion: done.

Introduction: done.

Title: OK - I'm still not happy with it. WAY TOO FIDDLY! Can't we just say something snappy and be done with it?!

Chapter 5 - hope and meaning - hoobuoy. . . . still working. . . .

day one

I almost don't know where to start.

This is like my 100th post and I'm down to the LAST DAY of work on the dissertation. I'm glad I did the postings. It's helped me get a handle on what I was doing and what still had to be done. It also puts 'time' into the equation of getting a big task done. Time transformed into narrative. Which, when all is said and done, is pretty much what 'life' is: time transformed into narrative. (by means of joy, hunger, experience, suffering, beauty, hope. . . .)

sigh.

I'm feeling quite quiet. There is a lot still to be done, but I am very calm about it. I got through all of chapter 5 last night except for the part on "hope and meaning". And that part took me a long time to write, too, as you may recall. . . . Now it looks like much of it will be cut. It's just too much here at the end. Plus (and this is good) I've really already made the point I wanted to make in previous chapters. So I don't need to re-invent the wheel.

More good stuff: Magda really seems to 'get it' now, here at the end. She's not fighting me with where I'm going in the Introduction and Conclusion. I think that may be part of why I was so resistant to writing it: in the past, whenever I've tried to talk about my take on what the problem was, she has moved into her perception of where the problem - and possible solution - is. Although we both admire Paul Ricoeur, we do so for different reasons. It took me some time to figure this one out.

Her final email - returning her comments on the Conclusion - was "Again: well done. Good luck with the printing."

Now let's just hope it flies. I have several large hurdles to go (beyond the physical bit of getting the thing turned in): one, the difficulty of the inter-disciplinary approach wherein my primary academic credentials lie in a discipline other than the one I am submitting in; and two, the American versus Continental issue. And that second one is a bigger problem than many people would think.

But first: finish the task before me. For today:

1. Ruthless edit of 'hope and meaning' section of chapter 5.


2. Incorporate Magda's comments to Intro and Conclusion (actually, I think I'll do this before I do chapter 5, because it'll give me a handle on the really important big-picture points which will help me not care so much about cutting confusing clutter in the more detailed bits. . . .)


3. Check footnotes throughout.


4. Check formatting - titles, etc. - for consistency


5. Adjust pagination start numbers for each chapter


6. Print out one copy (American letter size)


7. Go through and check footnotes with Bibliography entries (and correct)


8. Go through and correct Table of Contents to reflect actual final headings and page numbers


9. Final spelling & grammar correct (to whatever level that's possible)


10. Print out 2 copies on A4-sized paper and package to go to Dublin. (oh - and make cd copy of files to go with him, just in case. . . .)

OK. This was maybe not such a good idea. Figuring even just an hour for each task - which is a pipedream - that's 10 hours right there. sigh.

It's gonna be a LONG DAY. And a LONGER NIGHT. . . .

But no. It's good to know what needs to be done. Now the trick will be to transform it into manageable bits, rather than staring - transfixed - at the HUGE AMOUNT THAT NEEDS TO BE DONE like a mouse hypnotized in front of a cobra.

Run, prophet, run!!!

and get to work.

an' a two. . . . an' away we go!

I slept through the housekeepers' ministrations until the end of the vacuuming which I think has got to be some kind of record. I've been apologizing to them for weeks about the mess I have everywhere, but this is the first time I've required them to work around the wreck that I am, with my butt still in bed! Man. They're the greatest. I have now 3 work sites that I rotate between, although the studio worksite has kind of been out of the loop all summer as it gets too hot in there. But it's still a wreck. It's a wreck just about everywhere, except - mostly - the living room. Oh, and the guest bedroom. And the kitchen and bath are nice again now, too, thanks to our very dear friends the housekeepers. Oh yay!

I've promised them that things will be different next week.

Main work site these days: dining room. Large table covered with papers. Stacks of books on the sideboard. Baby mac manfully soldiering on at the head of the table minus his battery and needing a $900 part.

Amazing.

Chapter 4 re-write: [finally] done.

Intro: done!

Summary: oh yeah! done. . . .

Conclusion: right. need one of those. check.

Title: sort of done. First half done. Fiddly bits after the colon still being rearranged. I did get up last night before I fell asleep and wrote down something that sounded good at the time. . . . Must go into the studio and see what it was. Maybe we have a title.

And Magda wrote this morning (I sent her intro and summary last night, hoping she'd have a chance to disembowel it within a day or so) saying she was relieved to get it, and would have it to me by tomorow morning my time. Which is as good a turn around as I could hope for!

Confession time: I have no idea what I wrote. It sounded all very good as it came gushing out through my fingertips and I intoned the words as they appeared on the screen.

Actually, I think I do that most times. . . . now that I think about it! [talk out loud as I write and type, that is]

By the way, thanks Nee and Lee Anne for the 'go-get-em's, it really does help! I can't quite figure it, but it does.

Time for a bit of tea and then it's. . . . hm. Conclusion, I think first (so I might be able to slide that past Magda as well) and then the chapter 5 re-write. I have the luxury of being able to cut up to 7,000 words!

I do feel decent today. It's a gray day, with a bit of a chill hidden around the edges. A squirrel outside has taken alarm over the cat and is doing the wierd squeeze box cough and squeeze-toy sound. Meanwhile, Puss is at my elbow, complaining at the insults.

Emancipated Son no. 2 arrives from London this afternoon - impeccable timing - for a wedding this weekend. I should probably set up shop upstairs at the second work site in the bedroom. That's actually a favorite place to work: it's on a beautiful round table the king bought years ago, sitting at what looks like a big throne chair. An old trunk is next to me in a little window alcove, and that's where my pot of tea can go, together with papers I need to be able to lay my hands on.

Anyway, father and son will undoubtedly have much catching up to do, so I'll try to positioned up there as of, say, 3 this afternoon. But then I have to move down here again once everyone goes to bed. (Just in case you were thinking: 'why doesn't she pick a spot and stay there?!)

So - enough of the trivial details, I think. I can feel tension in my shoulders - perhaps a bit of a stretch through the garden before I really get to work. It looks like it's going to rain soon, anyway, so this would be my last chance today.

Bother, the hiss in the tree leaves tells me it just started to rain. . . . oh well.

more music. helps.

Bryan Adams - heaven - love this song!

3 - three - drei - tres - trois - help

three days left.

the headache is FINALLY gone - for now.

I have: intro & conclusion to write, chapter 4 re-write to finish, chapter 5 re-write, title selection, and then fun and games with pagination, table of contents, and printing.

Then personal hand-off to friend leaving for Dublin on Friday - including taking him to airport.

Then: collapse.

I predict: serious fall in standards ensuing almost immediately.

Second: loss of extra four pounds plus another 4 as my throat closed yesterday.

Finally: serious sleep deprivation (as if I could sleep!), but I just hope that my mind stays with me. More important than the mind is my source. . . . Father please don't leave me. You got me into this! I know you will sustain me. The part of the 'acknowledgements' that made me cry yesterday was when I realized I had not acknowledged God. . . . and the words of Jude came to mind, which is how I was able to incorporate thanks to God in a way that I hoped would not make the academics nervous:

To Him who is able to keep me from falling and to present me before His glorious presence without fault and with great joy - to the only God our Savior be glory, majesty, power and authority, through Jesus Christ our Lord, before all ages, now and forevermore! Amen.

Although it undoubtedly will still make them nervous, in spite of the fact that this is theology. . . .and - hey! - Scripture. That shouldn't be too scary, eh?

Facing the intro/conclusion again today. Oh help.

four - meltdown. . . .

computer wouldn't turn on. Migraine set in. Nausea. Followed shortly by tears. I spent the day in bed. Till 3 - then to the Mac shop. They gave me a new battery, which I can't use until they replace some sort of board they've ordered that costs almost $900. (Luckily, I THINK it's under warranty; no one's said anything about me paying that and I think they would have mentioned that before they ordered it. . . .)

It appears that I can continue on the Mac so long as I don't put the battery in. There's something wrong with the battery and the power circuits that connect that in to the computer. So: there you have it.

And I guess if I'd done this sooner, the part would have been in by now and my computer would have been humming right along, rather than limping. Although you just know something like this is going to happen at the end like this!

The tension is nigh unbearable and I can't shut myself down. I'm hating life just now. At least these next few days.

Oh - and we signed the contract to build the house today - having gotten building permits [finally!] last week.

I'll think about that later.

For now: I don't know whether to re-write chapter 4 or try again to write the intro and conclusion. And I still don't have a title.

I did draft the 'statement of my own work' that was required, as well as the "Acknowledgements" - and managed to print that out on the A4 paper. And that made me cry some more.

The king is worried.

I'm exhausted.

I know I'll get through this, but I've never felt quite so stretched thin before. What's most worrying is the betrayal of my body. It's not possible to think when you want to take your head off, it hurts so.

five - countdown resumed

"Really, now you ask me," said Alice, very much confused, "I don't think ..." "Then you shouldn't talk," said the Hatter.

Good one.

Reminds me of something I read (and wrote about here) that

It's a mistake to think that writing is about putting words on paper. Writing is about thinking.

So I've been showing a lot of evidence of thinking lately, insofar as putting words on paper is concerned. . . . Meaning: there's more and more words on paper. Even though I've been also cutting a lot of words I had formerly put on paper. After thinking about it.

Not doing too much talking, though. There are not too many people ready to engage on the issue of morality as a system of rules, or as a matter of identity, or is it, instead, an issue of character a la in a virtue ethic system? And is Kant's morality of duty and obligation really as bad a thing as it sounds these days? (and my answer there would be "no" - after many, many years of a knee-jerk "Get him away from me! reaction).

Basically, Kant is pretty tough to get a handle on. If you think he's about a simple dry "duty" to be gutted out, you've probably misunderstood him. There's a whole lot more to him than that.

But that's the other problem with Kant: he's so complicated, no one really does understand him - so what's the use? You can have the best solution in the world, but if it's incomprehensible, it's not doing anybody any good.

But enough of that.

I read an interesting post at 60MinuteArtist's place yesterday, catchy title: "Improve Your Tonal Control". (Sorry, Six-oh. . . . grin.)

What got me thinking is how his thoughts on tone applies to so much of life beyond questions of art. We can focus so much on colour that we lose all sense of the light and dark. And one of the first things I learned playing with colours is that if you put too many of them together, they turn into a horrid sort of gloomy putrid brownish gray.

Value judgments are needed. White/black decisions. Shadows noted: because not all is white and black. There's a whole lot of gray out there, too. Different shades of gray. Some almost black; some almost white. Some pink! (but you might want to get a handle first on the value issues because a little colour goes a long way. . . .)

Our lives take on the putrid brown tone of too much colour (and not enough tonal control) when we don't make those kinds of value judgments. My paper was taking on that dreadful colour because I'd tried to put too much in, without discrimination.

It can be a little scary to discriminate, though. To realize that in the saying - or chosing - of this, I must say "no" to that. That life is about choosing - and I must choose well, because the colour, form, and definition of my life is at stake.

That "You can have it all" IS A LIE.

It's an invitation to turn your life putrid brown.

(Thanks Six-oh, for the art lesson!)

minus 6 - and holding

OK - we're still at minus 6, but the countdown has resumed. Today is the proper minus 6.

I'm worried about my MacBook. . . . It's still not well after the incident with the cat and the water. I don't have time to take it in for a check up and battery replacement.

But today it conked out - no warning. And now the screen periodically fades at bit - kind of like an electrical brown-out.

Please, please, please hold on! You can take a break on Friday. I'll take you to the Mac store and they will tend to you and lavish lovely Mac-ey things upon you! Oh please stay with me here. . . . .

Meanwhile, the Navy game is in full swing. I can hear the crowd cheering and the public address system when the wind is just right. Also, the band. . . . and I know, for example, that they started the game with a recording of Top Gun's Highway to the Danger Zone - right after we got strafed by the Blue Angels.

Excitement city, eh?

It's homecoming.

I, however, am upstairs on the bed, windows open and the laptop on my lap. I have discovered two things: one, legal logic is not the same thing as philosophical logic and two, there's a small but developing dialogue going on about legal logic and artificial intelligence. (I'm sure they don't mean thereby to impugn the intelligence of judges or lawyers. . . .)

There is no time to go into this, but I wish I had known about it. What I think is funny is that I've actually read Fuzzy Logic and material on game theory and Nash's Equilibrium, so I've been working this mathematical connection independently, somehow, altho I was not sure how it fit.

It's a beautiful day. Wonderful cool breeze. I feel like I'm in prison. I'm wearing down. I can't wait for this to be over. I can't stand that there's not more time. It's a strange, strange time for me. It's coming together, but it feels like it's coming apart. I finally feel like I'm getting the hang of this, but almost too late.

Well - I don't want to talk about it any more. We're almost done here, and I'll keep posting, but I don't expect I'll be much fun these days.

setting prayer to music. . . .

Loreena - speaking of prayer. Dante's Prayer

recalculating countdown. . . . standby

You know how I love details - but I'll spare you the thought process of realizing I have a COUPLE EXTRA DAYS here! So it's not actually minus five today. . . . . more's the pity. It's more like minus 7 - unless you count the handoff day as a day, in which case it's minus eight. And do you count today as one of the days?

Why am I like this?!

Anyway - I'm not going to worry about it now. It's the recalculating day, and perhaps I'll have worked out the math by tomorrow, if I get another 6 hours sleep in between now and then.

I know where this picture is from, although I didn't take it. I know this because I have one similiar to it, but without the bird. And this was handier than scrolling through my pictures of Paris - because that's where this was from - and the Paris pictures would take too long to go through because I'd be drooling over them. And maybe crying. Good crying. . . .

Oh, remember when, indeed. . . .

I was there for a conference; the king joined me after a week or so. We spent two weeks in student lodgings in a walled city chateau. Le Foyer We lived in the clocktower - clock right above our bedroom window. Bath down the hall. Wine and baguettes every night overlooking the courtyard. The menu made a big impression on us - it's still a staple part of our diet!

Walks through the Jardin du Luxembourg every day. . . . boules. . . . the little boys and their toy sailboats on the lake. . . . the flowers. . . .

OK - stop it!

Back to work.

sigh.

Two things before I start today: one, I told the king about the prophet. . . . two, I'm thinking through freedom versus obligation.

It's so funny how these things play out in my life, so that I can actually SEE what it is that I mean! Einstein is supposed to have said that "coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous".

So I told the king last night that I'd been writing here. He took it well, I think, perhaps taken aback by the 'secret' aspect of not having told him this. He also - as suspected - brought up the problematic of writing non-work stuff when I have so much work stuff to do. This is a major difference between us. He's a get-it-done-first-then-relax sort of person; I'm an enjoy-it-while-you-can sort of one. Also a I-can't-work-all-the-time sort, and as the dissertation would take up every waking hour, there has been a grave necessity to allow for some pleasurable distractions along the way. Of which I count him my major pleasure - and distraction - but there's other stuff as well. My garden. The occasional knitting or sewing. God - I've given up so much already. . . . I haven't played music in 2 years. I haven't sung. I haven't started a new quilt. I haven't sewn a dress since my wedding dress. I've felt guilty reading anything but law or philsophy.

But the thing is - life is built on freedom. For me, anyway.

It's not unlimited freedom - if you don't work, it won't get done! Yet there is also freedom in the working. I don't work well under the weight of duty, or the"ought". It robs me of the freedom to work joyously. And this is why I think I have needed also to write just for fun. Saying what I like, with no foundational requirements, no format requirements, and no judging looming over me second-guessing what I perhaps should have been doing, instead. It's like saying that anything short of a masterpiece isn't worth working on as an artist, let's say. So forget those sketches; those little cartoons. Don't take that walk or stop in that cafe for a hot whiskey. Keep your eyes on your work.

Big sigh.

This is a big piece for me. This IS my work! I'm still learning how to call the shots in my own life. It's not about what the king says - or even thinks - this really is about my own motivation. What I think, and why. NOT in an it's-all-about-me mode, but in the how-I-live-life mode! And is it free? Is it authentic? Or is it in response to what I perceive others want, without them even asking? Which was always my default.

The good thing is that this has nothing to do with how others respond, or whether others allow me this kind of freedom. I have it. The question is, will I live in it? The king has really helped me here. He expects he married an autonomous grown-up. SURPRISE! grin. . . .

But here's how this fits: I've been looking at assertions of "human rights" as arguments in disputed moral issues. I've always been a bit leery of human rights as 'sources' for entitlements because they don't deal with who provides all these things, to whom, and who gets the bill. So perhaps you have the right to control the autonomy of your body, for example, in connection with terminating pregnancy - but if we term it AS a right, does that not imply that someone will have the obligation to provide the means by which to do so?

In other words, what good is a "right" to exercise control over one's body if there is no viable means provided of doing so?

As a lawyer, I don't like to hear talk of rights unless there's talk of corresponding means - the enabling legislation that puts a shape on the other side of rights: who provides them, to whom, how, and at what cost to whom.

As a person, however, I don't particularly like being importuned on the obligation side. I prefer the free and easy gift, without thought of the underlying side of duty. I don't like to do things because it's my duty - I want to do them because it's my delight.

I love this quote from Onora O'Neill:

I was once publicly admonished for asking who holds the obligations that correspond to an alleged right to health (not merely to a right to health care!) on the grounds that health is too important to human beings not to be the object of a right.

God is still anonymous, eh? Maybe that's how we can work in the idea of prayer.

minus 6 - return to the garden

It's 70 degrees out, and I'm finally up after 6 hours of sleep. The garden is doing its Eden impression, with a squirrel grooming atop the stump, a juvenile black & white woodpecker practicing his skills on our river birch, and a flaming cardinal swooping through the lot, calling to his mate. The yellow finches, meanwhile, have sent reminders that their thistle feeder is getting low.

I'm thinking that perhaps the cold weather could hold off another month or two with no complaint from me.

But a bit of rain would be nice. All the flowers are dying as I have simply not taken the time to water.

Now here's a dilemma for you: to water and allow them to die of the cold, or to not water and allow them to slip away in the dry heat?

Right. There's just no answer here, is there? sort of like my dissertation. (you just knew I was going to work that in, didn't you?! . . . . laughing, here. . . . .)

Hoo buoy. . . .

Chapter one is mostly done, although there is SO much more I could do.

I'm afraid to take up chapter two. But will do so immediately upon finishing up here. And actually, I'm shooting for finishing chapters two AND three today. That just might get me enough momentum built up to be able to dash off the introduction and conclusion, so that I can re-write chapters 4 and 5 with the 'big picture' in mind. Tweaking as necessary. (and going back to chapters 1 through 3 as necessary by what was 'dashed off' by way of the final structure).

Oh God. . . . help me. Because there's still the Bibliography to do; still the table of contents; still the acknowledgments, statement of 'exclusively my work', summary, abstract and title page - all of which have to be put in order, some of which numbered and then the whole thing put in order and somehow printed out and you just know that's going to be a treat!

It's time for a feather to appear. A large corvid one, if you please, Father. Just to reassure me. Again.

Sorry. . . . back again. A feather like this one would be nice, too. All polka-dotty. It looks like it might have come from the woodpecker.

You don't know yet about me and feathers. They are a small message to me of reassurance. Or of warning like: "Hey! Look over here! You're missing something."

Many times they are like a post-it "I love you" note.

I need one today.

Please.

I guess that means I'll have to go for a walk! Probably not a bad idea.

Oh. And yesterday? The king came home with the building permit. Things are picking up around here!

and a bit of music. . . .

a little Sarah. . . . Who says it so well. And yet, there is redemption.

"seven, eight - lay 'em straight. . . ."

Thought for the day:

Fall down seven times, get up eight.

Dōgen

minus 7 - 'come on lucky 7!'

No. . . . not a gambler. . . . really!

But I guess I am betting that I will finish this dissertation by the end of the 7th day.

The Housekeepers were early this morning. The king was trying to entice me out of bed with a cup of coffee and warnings that I would otherwise have to face the Housekeepers still in my jammies when we heard the water running downstairs. . . . They were here already, and he had yet to put his own clothes on, himself!

Fastest shower I've taken in a while.

I'm still not feeling well. "Women's complaints", you know, not to indulge in too much information. I feel flattened, lethargic, and very, very, heavy. It's hard to lift my hands. And I sigh a lot. Yes, pain.

I got almost through the chapter one re-write yesterday, though, and was terrified to hear the ping of an email that turned out to be from Magda. . . . Chapter 5 was back. I think I'm getting used to her language. Or maybe I'm just so worn down nothing bothers me anymore? Anyway, I felt vaguely reassured by her email, which - although it did say things like the chapter "fizzles out", doesn't have a "tight enough structure", and needs to be "ruthlessly chopped", it also said things like "good in a lot of points" (and there's at least one "very good" in the comments themselves), and it concludes with "you've certainly read a lot and worked hard, and there are only a few more overviews needed to tell the reader what you are trying to show in what follows."

Oh, and she says she'll be "glad" to get whatever else needs to be reviewed - and good luck during this last week.

My interpretation of that - after these last months - is: "good stuff. I can see you've worked hard. Here's what will make it better. Don't bother with this, this, and this - you don't need it - here's how you might pull it together. I'm here for the final stuff, too, go get 'em!"

Although she would never say words like that.

[so, while I was typing this post, I got a response from Magda to my response - with loads more info, a suggested title that's good! and yet another article, with the comment "not that you have time to read. . . ." funny.]

The king is off doing battle with the bureaucrats. The Housekeepers expect that I should chill a bottle of something for a celebratory dinner. Right. Celebrations are on hold. But I'll be happy if the king comes home with the building permit. Otherwise, he's likely to come home with an unsavory attitude. . . . and I hate it when he's frustrated. We really have run up against every possible obstacle you can think of - and several you probably never would think of - to building this house. We had hoped to be in the house by now; we haven't even broken ground. We haven't even gotten the building permit!

What the hell is going on here?!

So we do think things like: Is this really what we're supposed to be doing? Maybe there's something else out there for us, and all these stumbling blocks are trying to point the way to that.

At the same time, we remember that we started out on a certain course of action, and nothing has really intervened to make us think that we should change that. The only thing that's happened is that we've come up against obstacles. OK. So we overcome the obstacles. And that's what we've been doing. For quite a while, now!

But I have to get back to re-writes. I'm glad I've taken some time every day to chronicle this slog. . . . but I need to make sure that the chronicling doesn't get in the way of the slogging. Whoooopah! [crack that whip] Back to work.

minus 8

and again, I don't really want to talk about set-backs or hell-week or month, but. . . .

I'm not well.

It makes a big difference.

So I don't really want to talk about being 'behind the 8-ball', but. . . . Not much got done yesterday from the perspective of getting re-writes done, although I did find all sorts of NEW MATERIAL, which I'm imagining I will have to stop considering, at some point.

In bed by midnight last night; rough night; but I got to spend the morning with the king, who pampered me a bit, and reminded me that I would be better after a while, so not to worry. "Feeling puny" - he calls it. That's it, precisely. Feeling puny. (and now that word just looks wrong. I've looked at it too long.)

Well, the minutiae of my last few days of dissertation ditherings: we had a home-made pot pie last night, which did wonders for my sense of well-being! There wasn't really enough of the mushroom, steak, potato, veg soup for another meal, and we still had some roast chicken left over from having company over this weekend and some Pepperidge Farm frozen puff pastry dough in the freezer. . . . So I cut up the chicken, rolled out the dough and lined a casserole with it, put in chicken, ladled in the now-very-thick soup/stew, grated chipotle cheddar on top, and then topped the casserole with the other piece of the pastry dough & crimped the edges and pricked the top of the pie. Into a 400 degree oven for about 40 minutes and it was gorgeous! And yummy. . . . With a lovely Beaujolais.

The other half is in our future for this evening.

The building permit is probably going to issue today. The king has really been having to go around and around to get this done, and it's finally almost there. . . . In which case next up is actually signing a contract with the builder and they have to clear part of the forest. I'm going to hate that part of this. . . . I know it's necessary, but I don't have to like it.

Well, I don't seem to have anything to say here today, so I might as well go say nothing in front of the chapter 1 re-write screen. . . . At least I'll feel like I'm trying to work.

I haven't heard back from Magda on the last chapter and the proposed title. Undoubtedly it's a good thing. I still have plenty to do, and it usually takes me a day or two to recover from her 'ministrations'. . . . Although if I were going to be shot down, today would be the day to do it. I don't feel well anyway, might as well get both things behind me at the same time! I really feel like getting back under the covers and not coming out. All. Day. Long.

I've said it before - and I know it's true (however much it doesn't feel like it just now): This, too, shall pass.

Jesus and Miller

Well, it appears that Miller beer is sponsoring a street fair in San Francisco that features - surprise! - people of a homosexual persuasion.

Some guy by the name of Brent Bozell, III has started a bit of a ruckus by pointing out that how offensive Christians might find a depiction the 'last supper' featuring leather-clad sadomasochistic entrepreneurs of both genders, posturing with a variety of sex toys in the company of one "Jeebus". This 'adaptation' was the promotional poster of the Folsum Street Fair that Miller sponsored. Bozell III's Yahoo-picked-up article is here, and a Google search reveals quite a lot of other articles, many also by him, or quoting him.

The local 'bay area' news put out this, also indicating that Nancy Pelosi said:

"It's a Constitutional question. It's a religious question. It's about as global a question as you could ask," the House leader said. "I'm a big believer in the First Amendment. I do not believe Christianity has been harmed by the Folsom Street Fair.

That's helpful, Nancy. Thank you. It's a 'big, global question.' Right.

Moving right along. . . . What's interesting to me is that neither Yahoo nor Bozell has highlighted the fact that this street fair has already taken place. It happened the weekend of September 30, 2007.

OK - that doesn't mean that we are no longer interested in [the 'big, global question' of] Miller's sponsorship, but it does mean that we don't need to get all activist about it. It's over. And I guess that's what I wanted to write about.

Bozell seems to be trying to stir up the "Christians". And there's quite a few Christian groups out there that are taking the bait. The Evangelicals, the Catholics, the conservative interest groups. Some of the homosexual groups seem to be spear-rattling as well, although I've seen at least one individual asking: "and just why do we feel the need to try and piss off this eminently piss-offable group? Is there a point, here?"

Good question!

But apparently they did, and now my question is: Now what?

I can tell you what we did at our house, but that's not to try and organize for boycotts or demands for apologies or anything like that. I simply don't want to associate with that kind of imagery, and so I will excercise my freedoms under the first amendment to sever any such association. I think a little more action will go a lot further than a lot of talking and inciting. Although I must say I do agree: why is it that if this had been about almost any other group, it would have been all over the news? Why did Brian Williams have nothing to say about it?

Maybe it's because if it had been against another group, there may have been violence over it already. Certainly there would have been demonstrations and protestations of "I'm offended! Take it back! Make him take it back!!!"

Which we really haven't gotten so far.

I do appreciate having been made aware of this. But I don't want to see a cause célèbre made out of it and - please God - NO apology games!

How's about this for a rule? If you have to DEMAND an apology, it doesn't count.

So don't ask. And Brent? Here's hope you're not angling for the Christian equivalent of a Jesse Jackson/Al Sharpton job. (not that Jesse and Al either are - or are not - Christians, that's just not their usual issue of choice). And surely there's a strident woman out there I'm overlooking. All of which I hope doesn't offend anyone. And if so, may I say please how very sorry I am right up front?

I took the bottles out this morning - not that we drink the stuff - but somebody must have brought some over at some point. I just hope the Germans don't piss me off, because I really like their beer. . . . (and - oh dear - I have just seen that "PaddyPower" has made fast and loose with the 'last supper' imagery as well. . . . Luckily, I don't gamble. I just hope it doesn't spread to Guinness. Maybe we do need Bozell the third to get on the stick before this gets out of hand).