A Bloggie note

One thing I've meant to mention -- otherwise it's tax time, FAFSA form time, writing time (I am trying to get real writing-type work, and it is fun, though sometimes trying).

Anyway, Erin Julian's ultra-exceptional blog, Lylium, has been chosen as a finalist for the Bloggie awards (teen category). If you didn't know this, there's still time to go vote.

Sure, look at other finalists, goof around in other categories, if you want. No pressure to vote for a certain person. Just go there before seven p.m. on Friday, and see what you think.

I think Erin's a winner.

Quotable

I rarely save what I find on other blogs, even though of course I only choose the best ones to read and recommend.

Yesterday’s post by Cherie expresses words my heart’s been seeking.

Here’s a taste:

God is more serious than I am about what's going on in my life. Reality IS deeper than the nonsense that captures my awareness. But I want to be serious! So… I fight for it, fight to know the truth, and fight to drink the cup of truth rather than have it sit on my table in a clean lovely glass, undisturbed. For it is not enough to know, it is everything to experience, to partake, to engage - to believe. Drink.

Thirsty is very okay.

Stellar shows

A New Zealand longing takes hold when we learn there is a display not quite like any seen before in their skies.



Comet McNaught sashayed past our northern realm while Oregon’s cloud blanket covered. We blinked and it skipped town. Now Kiwis and Aussies view and shutter-snap. I forecast a PBS special will illuminate more of McNaught.


A Lane County display of eco-friendly products and art happens, whatever the weather, this weekend. Our friend Geoff (Laura's husband) will inspire and invite new ideas in furniture use and design with his Koerner Creations.



Go, Geoff!

Some January thoughts

I like days bright with snow.

Sun-bursts at a dark cloud’s edge, glancing light off a swollen river and warmer breezes in my hair make the snow’s disappearance bearable.

A blackish little dog’s gray, upturned face proclaims the message I am trusted, loved.

Battlestar Galactica does have more substance to it than melodrama and tight-tempo music (I finally watched Tim’s dvd of the inagural episode – this century's version).

Emotions expressed while jogging on a treadmill make my knees sore.

I think the church in which my parents grew up has, in many ways, strayed from historical Christianity (I’m empathetic with two men from an Episcopal background who wrote this).

I’d really like to avoid conflict with loved ones over the previous conclusion.

I will almost certainly be the instigator of such conflict, anyway.

Consider This

“Your Dad’s sick,” Mom told me last Thursday. “You want to preach for him Sunday?”

She was joking. At least halfway, I’m sure. A day or two later she found a ministerial student from the local Christian college to fill in. And today Dad is doing better.

But, okay. Now I can’t prevent exhorting-type insights from filling my brain. And so I’m working on a sermon. Not to worry, though; it won’t show up on this site.

Sometime in the near future I’ll mention a link to another (!) blog page, where I plan to publish longer pieces (lots of text; few, if any, pictures) regarding life, faith, philosophy, etc. I may make this new weblog available only to interested readers, rather than having it open to the entire Internet.

Your job, my dear, thinking readers, is to consider whether you’d like to join me. Write your own sermons, essays, points-to-ponder, even poetry. I can take submissions, or you can sign up with Blogger to be one of my “team members,” then create your own posts whenever you want.

Men are welcome, and yet I think, if anyone’s interested, this may turn into a patchwork of mainly women’s colorful ideas. Give some thought, female friends, to crafting your viewpoint into words and let me know what you think.

Women, for You

So. It’s a new year, and I’ve been telling myself I’d tell you about something I tried six months ago and am still happily using. You’ll find the details here. Even if you’re post-menopausal (or a guy), you might pass the information on to a younger female of our species. It’s environmentally friendly, meaning to the outside world and the inside of me.

Waiting for Word

Once there was a young mother who liked to write. She scribbled in spiral notebooks. Sometimes she typed up her prose, erasing mistakes with a white, rubbery implement.

One day, while visiting her parents-in-law, she was treated to a new form of technology: they owned a computer word processor. She scarcely believed its wonders. Type a sentence. Misspelled word? No problem. Go backwards, retype. Need to rearrange sentences? Hit CUT, PASTE. It was MAGIC. The young mother nearly swooned.

Came the day her husband brought home an IBM, model 8088, with its OWN word processor. The woman checked it several times a day to see whether it truly continued to save her edits in different attempted stories.

It did.

There followed a series of computers. One, a gift from the woman’s parents-in-law (savvy Mac buffs they), included a wonderful processing program, Microsoft Word. The woman studied its tutorial and learned such terms as TEMPLATE and SAVE AS. She practiced her words in Word often and eventually sold some prose to magazines and newspapers.

But, alas, the Mac went the way of all things, and the woman found herself a PC-owner. Her PC’s word processsor bore the name Microsoft Works.

The woman soon found it did not.

She has since struggled with the deficiencies of Works. She sighs whenever an email arrives from writer-friends with an attachment ending in .doc, because no way in heck can she open it. And emailing or submitting manuscripts online, while possible with a rich text program she once downloaded, still makes her feel second-rung, to say the least, as a still-trying-to-be-professional writer.

After this Christmas, however, the woman (a mother still but no longer young) found an exciting use for her gift-money. A low, low price appeared on an older version of -- happiness, yippidee -- Microsoft Word. A few clicks of her mouse has sent the promise of documents in WORD winging her way via USPS.

Tomorrow you may spot a less-than-youngish woman waiting near her mailbox, sappy grin and hug ready for the postal carrier in case he delivers a MAGICAL disc embossed with the elegant title, MS Word 2000.