I've always said that when I write my first book it was going to be called A Cat Named Frank - and have nothing to do with cats or even anyone named Frank.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Dog Days of Summer
I'm going through blog post drafts and came across this unfinished bit. The date stamp shows late August of last year. I have no idea where I was headed with it, but I like it.
I was writing about late summer and fall, the lead in to end of days. Know my sense of humor, I think I was going to write the entire post about NOT our then brand new puppy. Perhaps I was going to lead in to my personal struggles with the shortening days and loss of sunlight.
Spring makes me feel alive, but those last days of summer and fall, they remind me why I should be alive, even as I dread the inevitable falling darkness and now. I'm going to hold on to these words below.
It's becoming apparent, on a minute by minute basis, that summer is waning. The wind has started to shift, and with it the first drying breezes of fall. Bright orange flickers in the eye's corner and a second glance reveals a maple starting to dress for the autumn festival. The air is different, summer's oppressive humidity is replaced with hot, but dryer air. An evening walk must be scheduled a little bit earlier. Staying out past sunset leaves one with a welcome chill. Extra blankets are queued up at the end of the bed in anticipation of chilly overnight temperatures. Unlike the month past when the overnights were to be dreaded as slightly less hot, but more humid sleep preventatives, the changing weather tempts the tired to deep sleep trundled into blankets, burrito like, with only finger- and nose-tips exposed to the cool, dry air.
The air feels like the cicadas' drone. Spring is full of the frogs - wet sounds full of potential. Summer is full of the buzz of insects - the slap at mosquitoes, the creak of crickets, the flashes of lightening bugs. These August days are filled with the cicada - a dry rustling sound that is both warning of the pending frost and reminiscent of crunching leaves.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
My apologies . . .
Once upon a job a long time ago I had a coworker who scheduled her whole week around episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. While episodes could always be taped, my coworker wasn't guaranteed to be successful. Then when the show switched networks, it became even more difficult for my coworker to watch the show. In the absence of cable, her TV couldn't be reliably expected to get a good signal without much finagling of bunny ear antennas and aluminum foil.
And I found all this amusing. While I was still a regular watcher of primetime television, I didn't live or die by the broadcast schedule. I certainly didn't understand how a twenty-something scientist could be obsessed with some hokey show about teenagers and vampires. Really, I mean, really? So, I tended to tease her about it. Not maliciously, but certainly with a note of incredulity. Clearly, her need to watch such a show represented some sort of mild, but comical weakness.
Then, several years ago I was introduced to Firefly and to Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog and all that was wise and wonderful about Joss Whedon. Shows were funny, clever, and there were no simpering lady characters. By this time I had also watched every single episode of The Gilmore Girls and Veronica Mars and could see the appeal of watching shows with teenaged leads who were smart and funny. However, I still was leery of Buffy. I was still mocking those who spoke fondly of Buffy. One day I had posted about Nathan Fillion dressing as Malcolm Reynolds in Castle. Something that tickled the very core of my funny bone. A Facebook friend mentioned I should also be looking for Buffy references in Castle. "Meh" was my thoughtful and unwritten response.
So, after rewatching all the recent episodes of Doctor Who (Doctors 9, 10, and 11), for the umpteenth time, my husband and I started to watch Buffy. After all, it was from Joss Whedon. There were likely things that would explode satisfying Jon's primary criteria for show-choosing. One episode. We wouldn't like it and it wouldn't be a big issue.
That, of course, was 130 episodes ago. I'm completely hooked. I absolutely understand why my coworker of all those years aga HAD to watch every week. Why she was heartbroken at the end of season five. Why women and men all over are so fond of the show. It's filled with smart, strong, funny characters - just the sort of people I would want in my world.
So, I just want to say: N, I'm sorry. I had no idea what I was missing. I sorry I forfeited a the potential for bonding and friendship. My bad,
Posted by AmyK at 2:02 PM No comments:
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