You are in the top 6.04% richest people in the world.
There are 5,637,316,176 people poorer than you.

Amazing. As someone on my friends list already noted, that really does put things in perspective.

I’m not going to be able to bitch about being broke for quite a while now.

When you try to call someone and you get the dreaded machine instead of a real, live human voice, do you actually listen to the recording before you leave your message? Or do you just wait for the beep and chatter away?

Because, you know, you really should listen. Especially if you are the person who keeps trying to reach Phillip at our number. See, we are thoughtful enough as to clearly state the names of the people who live here on our machine just so that people like you will know if you’ve reached the right number or not. Since Phillip is most definitely not one of those clearly stated names, it is safe to assume that no such person resides here, and thus you have a wrong number, bonehead.

There are a surprising number of people out there like you. Sometimes it seems that there are more messages on our machine for people who don’t listen here than people who do. Of course, most of them are from collection agencies. We suspect that someone with very bad credit used to have our number, and those collection agencies just don’t quite trying no matter how small the lead or how wrong the names on the machine sound, but still. It gets really annoying.

It is especially annoying when these calls don’t reach the machine but us and occur in the early hours of the morning on a day when I’m trying to reach in late. Which at least is a point in he-who-searches-for-Phillip’s favor; he at least only called in the decent hours of the afternoon.

I did finally call him back to let him know that he had a wrong number, by the by. And I was quite polite and didn’t refer to him as “bonehead” even once because I am just a nice person like that.

But please. Listen.

I’ve been trying not to spend any money I don’t have to lately because, well, debt is not of the fun.

However, since did just treat myself to a new wireless router so that I could have Internet on my lovely new laptop, and then I threw an optical mouse into the deal because the wheel on my old mouse is sticking again, I suppose I better be able to afford to send a matching amount to CARE for tsunami disaster relief. So it is off and my Visa has been charged and my guilt decreased.

Who’s next?

All my L.M. Montgomery books are back in my room in my parents’ house, so I have no hope of finding and quoting the particular bit of which I am thinking. If you’ve read the Emily series, you will probably remember it anyway.

Dear Emily sits by the side of her dying teacher who has continued to serve as a mentor to her writing long after she left his schoolroom. Even as his life fades he doesn’t fail her in this respect; his very last words on this earth are sage advice intended to better her writing. “Beware of italics,” he says. This becomes a bit of a sad joke as an elderly woman who has been serving as a nurse for him mishears his final words as “beware of Italians” and thinks him quite mad.

I didn’t read any of the Emily books while I was down in Portland over the holidays, but I did pull out quite a few of my old books and skim through them. In particular, I pulled out some of the Mercedes Lackey books which I purchased during my early teems.

In the past I’ve never been quite sure just what could be wrong with italics, but now I understand exactly what Emily’s mentor was talking about. I swear that Lackey must run some sort of program to italicize words at random. There’s just no rhyme or reason to it. It was most irritating, but it made me laugh.

How did I not notice this whenever I read those books before?

But I must confess that while I have always found Lackey’s writing to be abysmal, I still enjoy her books. Quite a bit, in fact.

I think somehow that I would enjoy them less if the woman could actually write well. The clumsy handling of language suits the stories. They’re overblown and lacking in subtlety or shades of gray. Everything is done to the utmost level and it all seems rather ridiculous (hello, Mary Sue, nice to meet you again), but somehow the abuse of English tones it down and covers for that quite a bit. Strange how it all works out.

Every time I go back to Yahoo, the headline proclaiming the death toll from the tsunami changes. Earlier it was 24,000 or so. Tonight it has been 55,000 then 58,000 and now 60,000.

I don’t know at what point it becomes just a number. I do know that 60,000 doesn’t mean much more to me than 24,000 did. Both are absolutely horrifying, but both are incomprehensible.

They didn’t even have any warning. No time to say goodbye.

As sad as I am for them, it doesn’t really mean much for me, because it seems to be beyond my ability to comprehend. 60,000 people may be dead, but it is the single family in Florida that my heart is breaking for as they are torn apart because Florida hates children and families. Apparently sticking his thing someplace and jerking it around for a bit then beating the woman while pregnant and not bothering to acknowledge the pregnancy or the birth until months after the adoption has taken place makes someone more deserving of being a parent than three years of actual parenting. So says the Florida judge.

I can comprehend this single loss as I can’t the large numbers, though I don’t understand how anyone, Florida judge or not, could think that it is right or just or in the best interests of the child.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it the day after Christmas when the handover was supposed to take place. There I was gathered together with my loving family and that poor little boy was losing his and his poor parents will probably never see him ever again.

The world is just plain fucked up.

Hold your children tight tonight. Don’t ever let anyone take them away.

Oh, did I ever make out like a bandit.

The Evil Laptop of Death and Lost Papers, which died a rather unfortunate death by means of drowning a not quite month or so ago, has been replaced by my parents for Christmas. I’m in love with this computer. I’ve gone from 133 Mhz to 2.4 Ghz and from 1.2 GB hard drive to thirty. I have a CD-RW/DVD drive instead of just a normal CD drive and floppy, and I have a batter that actually works. It by no means stands out compared to today’s laptops, but it is quite a step up.

For a bit, I thought I was going to have a long wait for it. It was supposed to arrive well before Christmas (not that I knew about it then), but then there was all that mess with the weather in the Midwest, and so Monday morning as we prepared to leave, it still hadn’t come. Then we called in about ten minutes before we absolutely had to leave and found out that it was on the truck on it’s way to be delivered. D’oh! By some miracle though, FedEx agreed to let us meet the truck at another business that it was delivering to that just happened to be on the way to the airport, and so I got my computer and all was well in my world.

I am feeling a little guilty for my disloyalty though. Despite its moniker, I did love the old Evil Laptop of Death and Lost Papers. It served me well for many years, and I still find myself missing it from time to time.

But I can write again and I have been doing so. Now I just need to get Word on it. I do prefer Word Perfect, which it has, in many ways, but I’ve become quite dependent on track changes and Word’s reviewing toolbar, and WP just doesn’t have anything that compares. Sad, that.

I am in computer heaven.

I soon also will be in new sewing machine heaven. That’s what M got me for Christmas. I think he was concerned about the amount of swearing emitted from my normally clean mouth whenever I dealt with the old monster. The new machine is beautiful. It’s sitting here all pretty just waiting for me to sew something on it, but I haven’t tried it out yet. Tomorrow will do for that.

I wended my way out to the barn again earlier this fine evening. This time I was able to ride in my own saddle which C had dug up from the depths of wherever it was stored. I am now firmly convinced that demons from the third realm of the seventh dimension are possessing the saddle in which I rode last Thursday. It’s the only reasonable explanation for the evil that exudes from it.

I had an absolutely wonderful ride. I rode much longer than I had planned as it turns out that I haven’t quite forgotten how to ride after all. I’m not any good anymore, but the evil saddle seems to have been even more to blame for my problems than I expected.

I was on for a good hour and fifteen minutes, and she was absolutely wonderful. I don’t expect that I will be able to walk tomorrow, but that will just be the normal result of overusing muscles that haven’t had to really do anything in two years. I’m pleased to say that this ride in a good saddle did not leave me with any bruises in unmentionable places. In fact, as the bruises from last time seem to have healed, I no longer require any pitying. Please cease and desist.

Ah - life is good. I knew that I’d missed my horse, but I hadn’t realized just how much I missed the act of riding. I’ll probably only make it out once more before I go home. Who knows how long it will be before I get another chance after that, but I’m trying not to think too hard about it.

So. Does anyone know a good exorcism ritual that would work on a saddle?

So I think I shocked my best friend a little today when I mentioned that Munchkin girl was still nursing.

This was in order to explain why Munchkin kept asking “na na?” and I kept replying “later.”

It’s not a big deal. She didn’t even really say anything, but I could tell that she was shocked. care about her and value her opinion in most matters, but regarding this issue, I really don’t care what she thinks.

I just think that it is silly how people react such things, and I think it is a little sad just how far removed we are from our nature and our heritage. Babies are supposed to still be nursing at this age; it’s in their nature to do so. While they no longer need to nurse, it is still good for them, and it still helps to keep their immature immune systems from being overwhelmed and helps to prevent food allergies from developing.

It’s the way things always were, and yet now it is so close to being unheard of that people are shocked to find out about nursing toddlers.

Why are we in such a hurry to push our children away? Why are we so obsessed with forcing them to be independent before they are actually capable of doing things for themselves? Am I the only one who sees a connection with this - not just on the nursing issue, but in so many aspects of parenting today - and all the parents who are completely out of touch with their older children, with the teens who don’t trust their parents, and with kids in general who are out of control?

It’s like we’re pushing them away when we should be holding on and then clinging when we should be starting to let go. It’s all backwards and upside down.

I went out to the barn last night. It’s the first time I’ve seen my horse in almost exactly two years. It was good to see her, and I’ve missed having a horse terribly, and I wish that I had her closer and the time (babysitter) to ride frequently the way I used to. Just for a bit though, I felt like I was all young and free again. And have I mentioned that she is the sweetest horse on the face of the planet?

I’ve forgotten how to ride though.

Ouch.

To make matters worse, I wasn’t even in my own comfortable saddle. Another girl has been riding her from time to time, and she rode right before I did, so I was using her saddle. Her saddle is teh true EVIL. I only rode for about fifteen minutes, and I didn’t do much besides walk around during those fifteen minutes, but any exposure to that saddle is too much. I am bruised in unmentionable places. Pity me.

No new pictures as I didn’t have my camera last night, but for the curious who haven’t been around very long, here is an old entry with pictures.

So I’m here.

Traveling alone with a very small child is interesting, to say the least. Really it went a lot better than I expected. I have a lot more to say on the matter than that, of course, because I am nothing if not verbose, but I’ll leave it to a different entry.

One thing though: why does changing planes in Seattle require going up and down so many stairs? It has never bothered me in the past, but I’ve never been pushing a stroller and carrying a huge carseat in the past. This time I had to get them to let me use the elevators which are in restricted areas and require the use of a key card to gain access. I’m sure that this annoyed the airport employee stuck escorting me around just as much as it annoyed me.

Flying down from Seattle though, I so wished that I had my camera out and ready and a chance of taking a decent picture in the twilight through the window. I was reading an article in the in-flight magazine - actually quite interesting for once - when someone yelled. This is never a good thing in an airplane.

I looked up in panic and saw the flight attendant looking just as startled as she tried to figure out who had yelled and what was wrong. Nothing was wrong though. Things were just a bit exciting, and I looked out the window just in time.

I usually get a good view of the mountains if I happen to be looking at the right time, but I’ve never been on a flight that passed so close to Mt. St. Helen’s before. We were just right there. It was by far the best view of the crater that I have ever had, and I really wish that I could share it with all of you.

Of course I’ve seen it in pictures before and from all angles below when we’ve visited. This was different. This was amazing.

And we’re gone…

It’s entirely possible that I won’t update the entire time we are down visiting in the States, so if I don’t get on here to say it before then, happy hollidays, everyone.

Have I even once flown when I wasn’t half asleep/dead from being an idiot and staying up to late the night before? There is something about impending travel of any sort that just isn’t conducive to sleep.

Oh, and I owe email. Sorry about that. It’s not that I don’t love each and every one of you to whom I owe email. It’s just that I’m lazy and thoughtless at times. I’m afraid I won’t be able to pay my email debt until I’m back either.

See you all in the new year.

Oh sizzle and damn

So it’s all my own fault, really, as much as I’d like to blame my husband.

Last night I went to get Munchkin out of her highchair and set the tray down on the kitchen counter right next to the laptop – I do most of my writing there these days. I left it there. Later that evening, I sat at the bar in the kitchen reading over something on the computer, and M, who was cleaning things up a bit, came over and picked up the highchair tray to clean it off.

It held quite a bit of water that Munchkin had spilled from her glass. He managed to pick it up so that it all poured right on to the keyboard.

Snap crackle pop and fizz. One quick beep – a mechanic death rattle of sorts, I guess - and the screen went black.

Damn it. I am so mad I just can’t believe it. I’m not just mad, I’m in mourning. I need that thing. I can’t afford to get a new one.

I’m afraid that the Evil Laptop of Death and Lost Papers has died an untimely death of its own.

It wouldn’t turn on again last night. I’d hoped that if I left it to dry out, it might start working on its own, but I may have made things worse by trying to soon. When I plugged it back in this morning and tried to turn it on, it started to boot up then made a strange noise and died again and since then, nothing. I guess something shorted out good and proper. I should have waited a few more days before trying to plug it in again just to make sure it was completely dry inside.

This is not good.

Of course, now that I really can’t write (it’s hard to get sufficient time in the office to accomplish anything since this room is most definitely not childproofed), I am struck by an overwhelming urge to get back to my nano novel.

Someone shoot me now. Please.

Oh how I long for yesterday…

Or rather, last Friday or so. Yes, last Friday would be good because last Friday was warm. Please note that my definition of “warm” has changed considerably since moving to Canada, but we were still barely in the plus last week, and we could go outside in just light coats.

Then on Saturday the temperature dropped and it snowed. Then this morning M called me from work to suggest that perhaps I should plug the car in so that it would start tonight. It’s twenty-two degrees below zero now (or eight below on the F scale).

Why haven’t I moved back down to the states yet?

- Looks at news, sees that Bush is still president and will be for four more years.
- Considers case of close friend currently without health insurance as she looks for a new job after the company she put in sixty-hour weeks without paid overtime for during the several years she worked there was bought out and the buyer closed her office and laid everyone off
- Considers cases of all the many women who have to go back to work six weeks or sooner after having a baby because maternity leave is both short and unpaid

Oh yeah. That’s why. You know, the cold really isn’t that bad.

Poor Munchkin had an inexplicable fever today. I’ve been told that these sorts of things are a normal part of childhood, but I’m still trying to find a reason for it.

We went to playgroup this morning (probably getting all the other kiddies sick) and she seemed a little cranky, but I blamed that on having gotten her up a little earlier than usual and thought she was just plain tired.

Not so. Poor little girl.

I noticed she was burning up just after we got home when I was trying to put her down for an early nap. She had the highest temperature that she has ever had. A dose of Tylenol brought it down from the scary place very quickly though it still wasn’t normal. I think it’s gone now, but if not, I suppose it is off to the doctor tomorrow.

Even after the Tylenol, she still was quite the miserable little girl. She didn’t want to play, she didn’t want to lie about, she didn’t want to eat (I think she ate all of a small handful of cheerios and half an orange all day today), and she didn’t want to read her books.

Can you guess what the one thing she did want to do was?

I don’t think I’ve ever heard “na na” quite so many times in one day.

But it did bring her comfort and make her feel better, and that is worth being stuck in a chair watching TV for, oh, eight hours or so cumulative. It’s quite strange to think that just one year ago days like this were the norm and I didn’t mind in the least. Today I didn’t actually mind, but I was quite anxious to get up and get stuff done, so that was a bit frustrating.

I’m just glad that she isn’t weaned yet because I hate seeing her so miserable.

Yahoo! News - Bush Praises Canadians for Post-9/11 Aid

“Two years ago, we disagreed about the best course in Iraq,” the president said, acknowledging a rift with Canada. But he said both Canada and the United States know what’s at stake now.

Am I the only one who finds this to be a horribly insulting thing to say when you are on a mission to heal a gap?

He talks about agreement as to where to go from here, which is well and fine, but this bit and several others make it seem that he is saying “see, I told you so” as if his present course of action had been vindicated. Where is the evidence to support that?

In other news, I saw something on TV last night about Bush thanking everyone who showed up to wave at him with “all five fingers.” Heh.

Not that I approve of the one finger salute because, well, manners, people. But still. Heh.

It’s strange. Mostly I still feel very American and I cling to that heritage no matter where I may be. These past few days though, when the hate-filled and terrifying leader who I voted against twice has been visiting the country I’ve adopted, I’m feeling very Canadian.

60,493 / 50,000 (120.0%)

At approximately 11:55 PM on Nov 30, after writing 6,715 words in a day to bring my total to 60,493, I typed the last sentence of my novel.

We’ll just pretend that there isn’t a huge chunk missing out of the middle. I just really wanted to write the ending, so when I started today, I picked up pretty close to the final scene. It took me quite a few more words than I’d intended to write the ending - hence the largest daily count so far – but it’s done.

I am so happy it is done. Now comes the dreaded (or not so dreaded; I am looking forward to it in a sick and twisted sort of way) rewrite. In addition to filling in the middle and making edits here and there, I have to pretty much re-write first 20,000 words or so because I made some major changes to my plot line. Still, I am very happy with the story that I am telling now, and I wasn’t when I started, so this is a good thing.

I wrote an average of 2016 words per day which put me just above my goal of 2000. I only actually wrote on twenty-two of the thirty days though, so my average word count for those days was 2750. If only I’d done that every day; I might have finished the book without skipping the middle. Ah well.

This is my brain high on statistics.

For the record, I reached 50,000 on the twenty-fifth. Right on track by my 2000 wpd goal.

My novel only encompasses half of its original scope. Perhaps the second half will come into being as a sequel next November.

I can’t believe that it is over. I can’t believe that I finished.

Oh joy and rapture. Now I can start blogging about something else. I didn’t mean to let this take over so.