Progress?

Because my mother may be moving into a nursing home later this year, I have taken to volunteering there one day a week, reading two different novels aloud to two different people. I was assigned these two and while it was at least partly chance (they were in their rooms when the man in charge of activities brought me around), he could hardly have chosen two more different people. But both are alert, funny, cheerful and opinionated, neither is really elderly (one is in her forties, the other I’d estimate to be in her early sixties), and I’m really glad I signed on for this. I’m reading an Elizabeth Peters Egyptology mystery to the older woman because she is just fascinated by ancient Egypt, and a Terry Pratchett fantasy novel about a cat named Maurice to the younger because she loves animal stories.

I’m getting a second chance to read a notated manuscript of Blackwork. By chance, the method changed at Penguin-Putnam between the two times. First time, I got the manuscript back in the mail, with notes scribbled on it and queries written in the margin on Post It notes. This time I get the manuscript electronically with words, phrases, and even a paragraph highlighted in yellow and when I run my cursor over the yellow, I get a box with a question or comment in it from my editor. Other changes are made in sky blue or red by my copy editor or editor – and changes I make are in maroon. The original text has a dotted line run through it with the new text following it in the bright color. Too cool – except my old computer’s antique word processing program isn’t very fond of the attached program to deal with the copy-editing. For one thing, I can’t leave my own replies to the notes and am having to send them separately. For another, having finished with the thing (I just left my computer running the several days it to9k to run through the ms.), I saved it and shut off the computer. When I realized I wanted to do some more work on it and tried to call it up, I got gibberish. I guess this new program is still a work in progress. Fortunately, I had already sent the ms to my home-grown editor, Ellen, who is having fewer problems with it. Sometimes I think I’m up to date on most things, then I get reminded that in many othere I’m a troglodyte.

My eyes continue to improve, but very slowly, and I’m still very bored by it all. At least I don’t have to wear goggles at water aerobics anymore.

Meanwhile, Buttons and Bones seems to have dragged to a stop. I did have a good idea that is causing me to do an extensive re-write of the two chapters that are written, but with a deadline starting to loom a bit (December), I’m getting anxious. The story’s there, it just doesn’t want to come out and play. I think there’s some bit of information I’m missing and as soon as I figure out what it is and go get it, the thing will tumble out like the contents of Fibber McGee’s closet. I sure hope so.

SOMETHING

I know what gave me constipation of the brain this morning. I had two things on my mind. One threatens to become a bore: the ongoing saga of my eyes. My surgeon sure enough clipped a stitch loose from my right eye – but decided the other would probably be troublesome as well and clipped a stitch loose from it, too. Well, in a way he was right. The pressure in the left eye is now way too low; would you believe the pressure in it after the clip was three and a few days later it was down to two? He believes it will come back up on its own so we’re just waiting for that to happen. But like the song from "GiGi," "It’s a bore!" And meanwhile my vision is a little blurry.

The other thing is that I had signed up to come to a political demonstration at our state capitol building this evening and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to talk about it. It was certainly on my mind, to the exclusion of just about everything else. So I've decided to report on what happened.

Ellen and I went over to St. Paul, parked some distance away and took a bus to the site. I was reminded of why city buses are not my favorite mode of transportation. The bus is slow, it's smelly, it’s rattle-trappy. The demonstration started at five, we got there closer to six. There was a good size crowd, noisy but friendly. About six thousand strong at that point, they carried all kinds of signs. It was called a "Tea Party," after the Boston Tea Party and it was one of hundreds taking place all over the country. It was my first political demonstration, and it was fun (though I wish we had brought something to sit on). There were a lot of speakers but they kept their speeches very short. Some got the crows stirred up, chanting "No More Taxes." Signs ranged from professionally printed to hand-made on scraps of cardboard. "Government big enough to give you anything you want is strong enough to take everything you have," was one big sign. Most were shorter than that, and some were humorous: "Next Time Read the Bill" was a favorite. Many were ornamented with tea bags, and someone had turned TEA into an acronym: Taxed Enough Already. The crowd kept growing, within an hour it was up to ten thousand. It was a typical Minnesota crowd, friendly and cheerful, well-leavened with children. At one point, a news helicopter hovered close enough overhead to drown out one speaker and some people were shaking their fists at it. The speaker finally told all of us to turn and wave at it in a friendly way, so we did, and that startled the pilot enough that he pulled up and back. We came away footsore and hungry and wondering if our elected officials will get the message: We're friendly but serious. And I’m going to watch the news tonight to see if that turn-and-wave bit shows up on television.

PROGRESS

I knew the world had changed when I opened a chill box door at my local grocery store and heard music playing in back, where employees load the milk, eggs, juices, and yogurt. Oh, I’ve heard music back there before, but it’s usually something like heavy metal. Today it was a reed instrument playing something Middle Eastern. Have any of you seen signs that the world is changing?

The surgery on my left eye went well. I was less doped up this time and now realize it takes half an hour, not fifteen minutes. The right eye seemed to heal without incident but the surgeon says the pressure still isn’t down enough and so wants me to come back in tomorrow to have one of the stitches holding the opening partly closed removed so more fluid can leak out. I wonder what minimum pressure it takes to keep the human eye from collapsing? (But I worry needlessly about a lot of things.)

With some assistance the piece of counted cross stitch depicting three critters playing in the rain was turned into a small pillow and sent on its way to my agent in New York. I hope she likes it. Meanwhile I have begun another comic piece depicting a flamingo wearing a flower and flip flops under the motto, "Don’t Worry, Be Happy." This is another gift. I’m getting much better at giving my work away. Once upon a time I wouldn’t do a piece unless I wanted it for myself. I find I am more likely to struggle to completion if I’ve promised it to someone else.

My great niece contacted me out of the blue – I don’t think I’ve ever actually met her – to say she wants to be a writer and could I give her some advice. First thing I did was warn her that it’s not always a good idea, that the occupation has as many heart breaks as rewards. Then I offered her a copy of my "How To Write a Play-Fair Mystery" even though I’m not sure what kind of book she wants to write. If she’s like me, I won’t be able to discourage her. I hope she is, and that she’s a success.

Happy Easter, everyone!