Chapter 81.3: A City Not Forsaken

And so this is Christmas, for old and for young. Another year over. A new year just begun. And so happy Christmas, I hope you have fun.

In the background, as you may have guessed, is John Lennon's And So This Is Christmas, a song from the CD that my wife bought me for Christmas. (Yes, Virginia, there are CDs.) Another reason for celebrating this Christmas is because I have finally reinstalled the Internet to the computer, which is now part of the makeshift office/nursery. We have set up the house in preparation not exactly for the Christ child, but for the two little girls who are coming to join us.

When? That's not exactly for us to know, just yet. Suffice it to say, it could be any day now. It could be today. It could be almost three weeks from now. But it won't be any longer than that. Alas, these children will be born within a Bush presidency, but at least they will never truly know it.

But unto us shall be born quite soon two children, who shall know love and joy and music and words — such beautiful words have not yet been spoken.

This morning, as I sat at Christmas mass (during the boring priest's homily) I read the readings that I'd missed because I was late. And in one was a line I'd not remembered; I think it was from the Old Testament. It was about a city not forsaken. I've forgotten much of what was said already (it was 7:30 mass and I was tired), but I suspect that line was not talking about my children. Yet, that's how I took it.

I intend to not say much about my children on this blog. It is too unprivate. Too exposed. Those who I wish to share thoughts with of that nature know where to find me. But on this Christmas day, when all things are possible — even peace on earth — I can't help myself.

These children provide me with a modicum of hope. I long to meet them, to share with them, to feed and nourish them as they will nourish me. I long to feel their hair, to smell their skin, to clean and pamper them. (And Pamper them ... or whatever brand name we end up with.) They find me unforsaken. Brimming with hope. Happy.

Merry Christmas, everyone. May peace be upon you.

Chapter 81.2: Return of the Prodigal Blogger

I have returned. I'm not sure how frequently I'll be able to blog here (or at the Elephant's Bookshelf, for that matter), but I do want to try to get back to writing at least one post per week.

Even today, I'm slipping a quick five minutes in to write here. Most of November's writing time was taken by National Novel Writing Month, which ended up as a productive failure for me. As you can see from the little do-dad to the right, I didn't quite reach 16,000 words. I've added a little since December started, but mostly what I've done with the new novel is organize it better and think about where the story goes from where it is now.

One other reason I haven't blogged lately is because I don't have much that I want to tell the world at large. My brain has been more on things closer to home. While this isn't a wildly traversed plot of cyberspace, I do average 1,500-2,000 hits a month, so I don't need to share everything with everyone. And the things I might share, no one else really wants to hear.

I just dodged a call from a chimney sweep offer ... what else is new?

The Christmas shopping is essentially done, there's still work to do around the house before the big day arrives, and I'm completely swamped at work. I'm sure I'm not alone in those types of situations.

So I say, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to everyone. You'll see me dropping off bloggy presents from time to time before the new year begins, but until then, be well!

Chapter 71: Post-Christmas Wake-Up Call

I hope everyone out there who celebrates Christmas had a wonderful holiday. I know we sure did! I got a bit too comfortable sleeping past 6:15, so this morning was a little difficult. But it's back to the grind for the rest of the week.

The Christmas holiday weekend was quite busy, and I won't bore those five or six readers out there with the gory details. (If you want gory details, read the Charlie Parker books by John Connolly. I'm nearly finished with the first one, published in 1999, and I'm amazed at how well he structures the plot and develops the characters. He's fantastic!) But my legs and mind are tired, so I'll save my deeper thinking for this coming weekend, when my siblings and I will get a head start on a New Year's resolution to write together.

If you've happened upon this site or the Elephant's Bookshelf because you're a fellow writer, feel free to suggest ways to get a group of talented, imaginative people of different levels of writing experience to work together on exercises and develop as a writing group. I'd love to hear from you, because I'm new at the group thing. Writing's usually a pretty solitary task for me.

Chapter 70.6: Holiday Spirits

Though I enjoy reading the New York Times, I don't usually expect to find much that's funny. But I just came across a NYT City room blog entry that left me laughing and wondering whether I could find this party next year: SantaCon NYC.

It took place this past Saturday, but it sounds like an easy thing to put together. Take one part Christmas spirit (full Christmas regalia: a Santa Claus outfit -- not just a hat -- or some associated costume such as sexy elf, horny reindeer, etc.), add a dose of Christmas secrecy, and cap off with copious amounts of alcohol.

To be honest, I'm too old to party like that for eighteen hours. I don't even do that on St. Patrick's Day anymore. So I probably won't be joining the party, but it sounds like a lot of fun. Lots of Ho Ho Ho-ing, although there may also have been too many scenes that would remind folks of Dan Aykroyd in Trading Places.

But if anyone cares to share what they did this past weekend while partying in New York or anywhere, feel free to do so here. Photos requested but not mandatory.

Chapter 53.5: A Child's Christmas As a Cat

With all the travel we'll have over the next couple of days, we decided to celebrate Christmas at home this morning. Though the cat usually wakes us up early, he seems to have started to understand Saturday means the humans stay in bed. So he wasn't as concerned as he often is, making sure that I get to my train on time. But he did seem curious about the presents under the tree -- some of which were for him.

I got out of bed around 9 or so and fed him and started some coffee, but his petulant mewing told me he wanted more. So I started to toss mice around. He loves this. It's his time to run and pounce and play. I enjoy it too -- as long as he's not gnawing on my heels. Seeing him zip from room to room, bounce the mice around like a basketball or swat at them like soccer balls makes me long for coaching sports.

Though he's a housecat, Riley loves the great outdoors -- the backyard is as far as we let him roam, and always on a leash. But during the winter (even as mild as this one has begun), he doesn't have the same number of visual stimuli as the spring or summer. Fewer birds, the squirrels are preoccupied, and the grass isn't as tasty as new spring shoots. Once the wife was up and I'd scrambled the eggs, it was time to open the presents -- including those for the cat. I got him a DVD of Swan Lake -- rather swans on a pond. There's birdsong and trilling insects in the background. It will entertain him while my wife works or if we're out for a couple hours -- as will the new mice we gave him and the stuffed cat that mews like it needs to be fed.

So Merry Cat Christmas, Riley. I hope you enjoyed it. Now if you could only learn how to clean your box by yourself.

Chapter 53.33: Earworms

This morning I woke up with an odd earworm digging through my brain. You know what an earworm is: that song that keeps playing in your mind. You can't shake it easily, and like the old fable about ridding the city of mice, anything you use to change songs immediately becomes a new problem.

This morning, I awoke with a song by Tom Lehrer -- the 1960s musical satirist and math professor -- called "The Folk Song Army." Only, it wasn't the entire song; I could only remember lines. It was bad enough to have a song in my head, but worse still to not remember it properly. So I tried to push it out with Christmas tunes. Bad idea! I soon was whistling "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" and "It's Beginning to Look Like Christmas." It wouldn't stop.

Of course, now that I've brought this topic back up, I have songs running through my head. This is not what I intended.

Chapter 53.3: Bah Humbug!

No, that's too strong, 'cause it is my favorite holiday.

It is beginning to feel a smidgen like Christmas. Perhaps it's the chill in the air or the news that Santa got waylaid somewhere over Denver and had to stop his time bending trip preparations with a layover in Cheyenne, Wyoming. Or maybe it's because I saw a small flake flash before my wandering eyes this morning as I got out of the PATH train station. Maybe it wasn't snow. Maybe it was a piece of windblown crud.

Or maybe it's because I'm about to get my Christmas wish: a couple hours off from work -- well, a few days, actually. But with the travel to see my loved ones and rip open a few presents and toss back a few beers, it'll feel almost like work. Almost. I'll have Tuesday.

No, what I'm looking forward to doing is mapping out a week of winter vacation to do whatever I want to do. At home. Cooking breakfast for my wife after making her late to her office (which is just a room away). Jogging more than 20 miles in a week -- in sunlight. And working on the novel. If I can finish the revisions in a week, it could be the second best vacation of my life -- after the one where I proposed to my wife, of course. At least I'd have an idea of how much work is needed. Then I could use my train commute to sketch out the next book or evaluate literary agents. That's work too, but it's future-focused work.

I'm reading Book Doctor on the train this week, by Esther Cohen. Funny. Some wonderful scenes and playful characters. Not as good as Ward Just's An Unfinished Season, which I finished earlier this week, but it moves along at a comfortable pace. I find myself wishing I knew someone like Arlette Rosen, the lead character in Book Doctor, who devises clever exercises to help writers see their characters and the focus of their books more clearly. I know what I'm writing; making it compelling seems to be my battle.

So I need another vacation. That's what I'm asking Santa for Christmas. Oh yeah, and an iPod.