BitchBuzz: Making Small Talk

The light begins its return today: a relief. It was beginning to seem like the sun had gone down before I'd properly gotten up. Then again, that could be due to my lazy schedule. I am getting some good relaxing in :-) and a bit of writing, too, as well as watching Allan battle angry penguins in cars (o_O).

It's Short Story Day, I hear. May I suggest my collection Unikirja? Or if you like something more gruesome how about It's a Curse: Drunk on the Moon 7. Guaranteed quality!

My column today may seem a tad ironic: who's less qualified than me to talk about conversational skills? Ah, but those who can't do, teach or so I'm told. Better than I used to be.

Dos and Don'ts for Holiday Small Talk

By K.A. Laity

Holidays bring the often trying task of making small talk with people you do not really know, whether they are co-workers in distant cubicles, business acquaintances you've never really had a chance to develop a rapport with or relatives you can't actually recall having met before, or at least not since the age of three. While Oscar Wilde maintained that, "Conversation about the weather is the last refuge of the unimaginative," I say any port in a storm when faced with days of chit chat with unfamiliar people.


As a person accustomed to spending the better part of her time alone, I find it taxing to make conversation. Like most introverts, I am stressed by time spent in groups.


While I have been able to develop extrovert abilities for my professional life, the fact remains that I am not a good conversationalist except with a few intimate friends (or online -- the internet is a great gift to introverts). But it can be possible to make small talk without falling into Eliza Doolittle perils...

Read the useful tips over at BBHQ. I guess penguins are the theme of the day :-) Yes, I was pleased to work in that scene from My Fair Lady as well as The Testing of Eric Olthwaite. Black pudding at the ready!

I Have the Most Amazing Friends

Well, you knew that, right? But they continually amaze me anew; I was flabbergasted today with this incredible treat. Thank you, Niamh! I am still speechless. Can you believe it? This cake shows the fae folk of Ireland welcoming me to a little cottage in Galway by the bay. And the pièce de résistance? Chocolate stout cake.

The pictures don't do it justice. The incredible artistry of the waves of the sea, the trees, and the little chocolate woodpile! All the little fairy folk and the roaring fire: absolutely gorgeous. Everyone said it was almost too beautiful to eat -- but we managed to find a way to do it. As Maryann said (or was it Allan?) it's kind of like a Buddhist sand mandala -- painstakingly created but not meant to last. Except chocolate, mmmm.

The perfect capper to a wonderful day; Mary's home is such a sanctuary, although even out in the hills it was in the 90s. I headed out to the cave as usual and there was a good blast of cold air coming out from its depths. It was a relaxing day with people drifting in and out, conversations and quiet. Wonderful to spend a glorious day with some of my favourite people :-) I felt much better than yesterday, when watching the horror unfold in Norway made me want to runaway with Yeats' Stolen Child.

Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

With my Brothers

Buck, the most good-natured dog in the world, supervises the process, while Robert makes the dough, Steve explains why rutabagas are always a bad idea and then the final product appears: mmmm, fresh pasties straight from the oven -- yum!

The Relax and How to Get It

Squeak shows us how it's done: just kick back and let your troubles find their own way home. We've had a hard weekend of watching movies, eating, drinking and talking. Today we're off to the Biltmore; should be interesting.

Now, everybody canteloupe dance!

Carolina with the Cats

Only missing Squeak: in order, this is Hemi, Stinky, Spike and Cassidy.

Into the West

There will be a wrap up of my trip to PCA and the visit to my folks in New Mexico soon. In the meantime, enjoy the quiet.

Contrasts

So, my day started by waking up to this disturbing sight:



because I had stayed at Jenise's after celebrating her birthday with Cary Grant movies and some wine -- and then a little Hennessey. Yum! Of course it was more relaxing to know I didn't have to drive home that night and her guest room is quite comfortable and, as you can see, guests are carefully watched over.

Nonetheless I was up early to join friends for a day's retreat to relax and recharge at Universal Pathways. The lovely Mary Browne has created a gorgeous sanctuary in Berne, NY with acres and acres of countryside and forests, streams and a cave. We all wandered about in various locations then met up at the main building for lunch, then wandered off again, though many of us gravitated toward the cave for a little music.



While wandering through the woods I came across this tree that had been uprooted probably by high winds. There are ravens, turkeys, elk and more in the woods around Mary's. Pheasants too, I guess, though the only one we saw had been hit by a car on the road!



After wandering through the woods I came out into a wide field, still green, though the leaves have begun to change. I could see where the elk or deer had lain in the field, so with the midday sun shining bright I decided to do the same. There was hardly a cloud in the sky anywhere as I gazed up, and though the wind was cold, the sun was quite warm. It was like being ten again. Big smiles. Good day.

Girls' Night Out

Friday night I went out with pals Jenise and Angela. Our first stop was the oh so sophisticated Wine Bar on Lark, but then Angela thought we should go play pool at the Hollywood down the street. Much larking on Lark -- for a long time we had the room upstairs to ourselves. The youthful patrons were afraid to face us at the pool table and waited until we went out to the patio.

Angela poses...

Frank glows...

...Jenise drinks!

Independence Day

Robert invited me down to see the place he was house-sitting for a VP at his college. Here he is poolside with Buzz, AKA Busby Berkeley, the dog who required the sitting. Buzz is a really friendly dog and very happy. He lives in a rather large house set among the trees some few miles from the campus itself. Swank, eh? Not a bad gig. The weather was cooperating, although it had tried to sprinkle off and on, there was never much in the way of rain really.

So we sat poolside, played with the dog, watched the birds coming to the feeders and sipped some G-n-Ts. Mmmm, doesn't that look refreshing? Something about a summer day and the flavour of a good gin and tonic -- although, Liz, I must say I miss the addition of Elderflower cordial! You have not had the very finest g-n-t until you've had one with some elderflower cordial in it as well. Yum! All in all a good way to spend a lazy day. Later that night we could see the fireworks in Rhinebeck through the trees, so that was nice.

I suppose enjoying the privileges of the privileged without actually being one of them has its perks, too. After all, who wants to have to clean a house that big, spend all that time walking around from one room to the next, looking through all the drawers in the gigantic kitchen to find your lemon zester (to be fair, they had labeled most of the cupboards that contained likely use items like glasses, mugs, plates, etc). I would doubtless get bored sitting by a pool for more than a day or two, anyway. But it provides a good excuse to wear a fancy hat or two.

London so far

BT Openinternet is CRAP! Warhol, Rothko, Terry Jones Q&A, Bacon, and more, cold! Thames... The usual and the unusual, but always a great time. Very relaxed and that's the aim, right? Head full of art, ears full of music, face full of smiles. Home with the Brookses, so feet up and well-fed.

Rothko

My love she speaks like silence,
Without ideals or violence,
She doesn't have to say she's faithful,
Yet she's true, like ice, like fire.

-- Bob Dylan, "Love Minus Zero/No Limit"

There's a story I posted on Facebook from The Guardian about the Rothko Chapel, an oasis of magnificence in the middle of Houston. Typically (for a British journalist), Jonathan Jones gives in without much of a struggle to the stereotype of Americans as crazy religious fanatics -- was there no one in the chapel who came to see the art? I bet there was, but why spoil a perfectly simple cliché? That's the whole point of visiting on a Sunday, too, I'm sure.

It's a remarkable sight, nonetheless. A colleague's memorial was held there just before we moved back north. I found it impossible to listen to what people were saying because my eyes were mesmerized by the paintings. It's a much more sombre setting than the Rothko room at the Tate Modern, but there's a similar sense of complete immersion in the colors. When in London, I always manage to make a visit or two to the room. I wrote a flash fiction story sitting in front of those rich rubious paintings about someone who has a complete breakdown in the very same spot. While some people seem to equate Rothko's work (and self-selected death) with depression, I actually saw the character's obsession with the paintings as a last ditch attempt at survival, finding some peace in their restorative silence. Rothko may put despair on the canvas, but recognizing and sharing that feeling brings comfort.

There's a big exhibition of Rothko's work coming to the Tate Mod; an excuse to get to London before February 1st.

North Carolina Redux

Susan's got her pictures on-line from the Three Mothers reunion in North Carolina back in July. Stop by and see all the lovely fun we had. Yes, there's even a picture or two of me (recognizably so in two of them, not so much in a third because I'm perched far out on the rocks enjoying the ocean spray -- and only one with rude gestures). There's lots of lovely images of the island's shore, which was really beautiful, as well as pictures of the wildlife in the aquarium. Thanks, Susan!

Time for Fresh Ink

Yes, yes -- finished the novel last night. Huzzah and trumpet's blat. Sure, it's only a first draft, but that's the hard part. Revision is a puzzle with parameters set; one needs only patience. The first draft requires using both hands to dig in the grey matter, squish the stuff through your fingers, poke around for the right words and then hope it all settles back to normalcy after that rummaging (although at this point, I'm not sure I could define that).

After the long haul of the novel, I may concentrate on shorter works for a bit. Yes, there are a bunch crowding the hopper, champing the bit, etc. There are always more tales to be written, always ideas knocking at the forehead wanting out. But it's worth taking a moment to enjoy the rare feeling of satisfaction, not with the work itself (never that) but with completing the milestone. That sense of accomplishment doesn't last long -- it quickly gives way to realising that the end was rushed and to recalling an important detail neglected or character insufficiently rounded -- but I want to grasp hold of that chimera before it evaporates.

And yes, time for some new ink -- more on that later.

With luck (and the grace of Fay), the Crispinus clan return tonight and I will relinquish this sanctuary, grateful for its welcoming solitude.

Not a bit like The Shining

No, no, not at all -- sure, I'll be spending a week in the "Snowshoe Capital of the World" in a rambling country farmhouse, writing and confusing the cat, Hamilton. There's no reason to connect this to the tragic events in the Overlook. It's going to be a scream -- of laughter! And there's nothing wrong with my plan to take along a bunch of scary movies to watch alone in the dark as the house creaks around me... Hey, when did they get a topiary garden?

Here's why I get to do this: our pals Crispinus and his long-suffering uxor, Krista, have whisked off their 13 year old daughter Kaitlin for a surprise birthday trip to Disneyland (Happy Birthday!). This was a surprise that they've been planning for months; she didn't know until they put the boarding pass in her hands, pretending they were just there to see off a friend. Don't you wish you had parents that cool?

I'm just finishing my tea before I pack up my things and get on the road. I look forward to concentrating on writing, but also relaxing (yes, really). Besides, I won't be as isolated as the Torrances, because there's internet access -- yes, I may even post here if I have something to say other than "Ahhh."

Home Again

Here's Squeak and Stinky in a typical pose at Susan's in front of the gigantor tv screen. But I'm back home again to the rain and the warm weather that seems to be constant across the Eastern seaboard. When we were on the beach at Fort Macon Thursday, a big storm blew up -- enhancing the already giant waves in advance of Bertha and resulting in a lightning strike a little too close for comfort. Well, not for me as I had wandered over to the ocean side of the beach and missed it all. Waah! But I enjoyed sitting on the rocks as the spray broke over them and walking along the almost completely deserted sands (who else is foolish enough to be out in a thunderstorm?). Black headed gulls, sandpipers and even a few pelicans cruised by. Later we headed over to the hotel bar that had a happy hour featuring free hot hors d'œuvre -- yum. Even though it started raining, we sat out on the pier for a while, then jumped in puddles in the parking lot pretending to be either five year olds or Gene Kelly as the mood struck.

I had a great time on the trip, not just walking along the deserted beach, but watching movies with my pals and talking as we do and, of course -- since we were at Susan's -- feasting on all kinds of delicious foods and indulging far too much. It's sad that spending quality time with good friends is so rare as to be remarkable. I should fix that. But friends are so far flung and I can't spend all my time traveling (unless someone knows about a no-fail method for winning the lottery), so I'll need to work some more. It's been a tough summer what with moving and all, so I feel as if I've got very little done and it's time to get cracking.

I didn't take a camera (since moving I have no idea where it might be), but Susan and Mildred did, so with luck they'll post their pictures from the house, the aquarium, the museums and the beach soon. I even hear there might be one or two pictures I didn't manage to slip out of, so there's that. In the mean time, miss you all! Wish we were still lounging lazily at Susan's.

It's a Robot! Playing Guitar!

The Tornadoes' "The Robot" -- another gem from the great folks at Bedazzled, where they feature brilliant things like early Gen X video and a gazillion Harry Nilsson videos and music. Beautiful!

Off to the library tonight -- it should be fun.

SF/PCA Recap Redux

Things appear out of order, as memory dictates. Let me backtrack to lunch with the Comics Area folks before I jump back to Saturday. The lunch is always equal parts fun and irritation, as all events involving large groups are. The Hatfields -- after many trials -- arrived in time for lunch, but ended up sat at the far end of a very long table, so we caught up later. We ate in the hotel which proved convenient if expensive. I got to argue about politics with Stanford, in between his showing off pictures of his little girl Kira and his little iPhone (Vivian, wish you were there!). We chatted with grad student Jacque Nodell, who was presenting on monsters in comics and was a delight to meet. We were surprised to find out in the course of conversation that she was the grand-daughter of Martin Nodell (co-creator of Green Lantern) and had just had dinner a few days before with pal Pete Coogan. What a small world comics are.

Saturday allowed some of us to sleep in -- I had to be up for the 7am Area Chair's meeting. At least they have a nice breakfast spread. I looted a couple of baked goods to take back to the slumbering pals. Gene was getting ready to head off to the Schulz museum with the Hatfields and José, while Wendy and I headed over to the Asian Art Museum. It was an absolutely gorgeous day! Every time I'm in San Francisco, it seems to be gorgeous. My roommate at USC always got irritated with me, swearing that it was always foggy and cold, but so far my luck has held.

The featured exhibition was "Drama and Desire: Japanese Paintings from the Floating World 1690-1850" which oozed languorous beauty. I felt relaxed seeing all these people indulging in various pleasurable pursuits across the four seasons on scrolls and screens. The Kabuki theatre always fascinates me and it was really cool to see ephemera like lanterns and posters for plays. So fragile! So fascinating -- I loved the courtesan in the spider web, all the actors in costumes. We also visited the Zhan Wang sculpture exhibit, which included a depiction of San Francisco constructed of steel rocks, silverware and stainless steel posts and pans. We had a delicious lunch in the museum cafe (mmm! Thai coconut milk soup), then wandered through the Indian exhibit on the third floor, making an offering to Ganesha at the entryway. We gazed in awe until we were seeing double, then took a leisurely walk back to the hotel.

We were sipping drinks at the rooftop bar when Gene returned from his trip (it was the first time I finally thought about earthquakes -- eek). After hearing his adventures, we made plans for dinner. Jill had recommended a sushi restaurant across town, but after the crazy busyness of the conference, we decided to find one we could walk to in order to enjoy the great weather (considering the snow this week, I'm glad we did). On the advice of the concierge, we settled on Sakana (the kanji above, originally meant a meal to go with alcohol, like tapas, but has come to be the pronunciation for the "fish" kanji as well). Delicious! and not as expensive as some of the other sushi restaurants we saw. There was an older Japanese couple next to us, who finally gave in to the curiosity to ask if we really did like Japanese food (you bet!) and complimented us on our chopstick use. Afterward, Wendy was in the mood to walk down to Chinatown, but I had to admit I was just too tired to do so. We went back to the room and chatted for a good while and watched movies.

Up early the next morning to head home by way of Chicago -- long day, another early morning and scrambling to catch up (still trying to catch up, sigh).

Something in the Eyre

During my week of solitude, I re-read Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre in the handsome illustrated version beautifully rendered by Dame Darcy. It's been ages since I last read it and months since a friend went off on a long rant about how he hated Jane. I found myself instantly captivated by the iconoclastic rebel, Jane. There were several words that made me want to reach for my dictionary and it was odd to be without both a dictionary and dictionary.com. Most could be figured out from context (e.g. "vicinage" as an analogue to "vicinity") but many were simply out of fashion (like negus and bashaw). And speaking of fashion I ought to have known what a pelisse was, but it didn't matter too much. Brontë's habit of using painters to flavor her descriptions led me to several unfamiliar artists, like Cuyp. While watching Krapp's Last Tape, a Beckett play I thought I had read before (but hadn't) starring the wonderful John Hurt and a tape recorder (it's mesmerizing!), he uses the word "viduity" and I thought, argh, where's that dictionary. But Krapp has to look up the word he used 30 years ago on the tape, so I guess I ought not feel bad about looking words up that I thought I knew at one time.



Trying to hold on to the feeling of peace that permeated last week. That's always the hard part. As Larry Darrell says in The Razor's Edge, it's very easy to be a holy man on the top of a mountain; the challenge is holding on to a sense of tranquility when you're back in the noisy whirl of daily life. It pays to keep that sense of quiet in mind and to make some more concrete changes to that daily life. One endeavors.

Last night we drove down to make birthday tacos for Robert. They turned out pretty good, as did the nice chocolate cake from Hannaford's. We even had a chance to chat with the folks and Steve thanks to the speakerphone, then watched some SCTV. Around midnight we heard a crash outside -- it was the Possum of Unusual Size. The size of a schnauzer it was! Yikes. Robert's fattening it for slaughter, I think. How do possums taste?

Back to work on the last syllabus -- argh! Choices to make; decisions, decisions. Writing to do, too; I don't want to lose the momentum of last week.

Into the Woods

I'm off today to Still Point where I have reserved a cabin in the woods to do some writing and recharging. I am allowing myself the possibility of writing nothing at all; I know I wasted a lot of time at the beginning of my first writers colony experience worrying about writing -- and consequently, not writing. I may just walk in the snowy woods, or lay on the bed and read. Writing will come. It's not an end in itself, just a chance to jump start creativity for the coming semester.

I am not bringing a Necronomicon; I am bringing a Kalevala and Kanteletar in hopes of getting the last few things done for Unikirja.

Just a reminder that I will be without internet access during this time and, as Joey pointed out, it would not be the optimal time to send me gigantic files. Also, there will not be a new episode of the serial (perfect time to catch up on your reading of it). Instead, why not email Gene and keep him entertained? If you need something entertaining, acquaint yourself with the amazing Deborah Henson-Conant, hip harpist (thanks, Gene!).

Back soon --

A Fine Day Out

I went on a retreat yesterday with a bunch of friends to nearby sanctuary called Universal Pathways, run by a fabulous woman named Mary Browne. Mary and her husband had lived on a sheep farm for over forty years; but in recent years they have sold the sheep and converted the land (and a few surrounding parcels, too) into a restful place to wander the meadows and forests, walk the labyrinth or peace garden, or settle down by the river and listen to the water's laughter.

The house that serves as the center for the retreat space (or, as Mary calls it "my office") is filled with books, statues and art from every possible spiritual tradition (even Yoda!). Each room is a new place to explore and we made the most of it as we waited for everyone to arrive. One of the upstairs rooms has been turned into a beautiful temple with trompe l'oeil stone walls and marvelous decorations. I sat on one of the meditation cushions and looked out the window at the colorful leaves -- autumn is truly here at last! -- and watched a hawk spiral in the sky. It was lovely to have a quiet moment before the rest of the gang got there.

Once we got a tour of the grounds and set a time to meet for lunch, off we went. I went off through the woods then climbed toward the highest point I could find. All around the valley was a riot of color. I found a spot between the meadows where the trees separated them and a pile of rocks and sat down to play my drum for a while (the Remo doumbek as it had looked like rain might be possible). I was hoping I was far enough away that I wouldn't disturb the peace of others and later folks told me that they had enjoyed the drumming. There was a squirrel who seemed not to share that opinion, chattering at me for a while. I wandered around the fields looking at plants (I don't think I've seen milkweed for years; I forgot how silky it feels) and enjoying what turned out to be a beautiful day.

We all squeezed around the dining room table for a big potluck lunch and shared the things we had seen or done. As always the varieties of food and conversation left us with a great feeling of satisfaction and plenty. The day was proving a rare gift in our over-booked, stressful lives, and everyone was making the most of it.

No one had found the cave, but I had made sure to ask directions from Mary, as she appeared from their house with steaming mugs of freshly made grape juice (oh, was that good!). I followed the river as she had advised and soon found myself before the imposing rocks from which issued forth the stream. After exploring a little (I didn't actually go inside the cave as the opening would require crawling and I would have needed waterproof shoes) I sat down to check out the acoustics, drumming softly. A few people came by, drawn by the rhythms and joined the gurgle of the river with some friendly conversation.

I remember walking in the woods in Connecticut and always being worried about hunters -- for a time it seemed like someone was accidentally shot every other week. While we could hear the guns from the rifle range down the valley from time to time, on Mary's land we had no fear of that happening. Perhaps the strangest thing was hearing the loud call of the donkey over on the next farm. There's a voice that carries! Mary had mentioned there being ravens nearby, but I was not lucky enough to catch sight of them.

The rain held off until we were chatting with Mary at the end of the day, telling her about our favorite places and our eagerness to return. The sudden shower had stopped before we went out to our cars, vowing that we would take some of the peace and tranquility of the day back to our busy lives. I can't wait to go back!