Sunday, March 25, 2007

More Books, More Questions

I think I'm over the whiplash sustained in the rear-ending of my car last week. Glad that pain is gone. Yesterday was good. I didn't accomplish a damn thing. To make up for it, I ought to get something done today--like washing my car or making some bread... or at least coming up with a new project to work on.

I love books--and my collection attests to that. I'll soon be working on my third floor-to-ceiling bookcase. Yesterday, I popped over to to order a couple comic books. Get Fuzzy and Pearls Before Swine pick me up on bad days, and the books were a decent steal, so I ordered four books (treasury collections, so it's really eight books).

Mostly, I bought the comic books because I have nothing to read right now. I mean... I have tons of books, but none of them are jumping out at me to be read again. I've even cracked open my Norton Anthologies to read Plato and Montaigne. Unfortunately, my hunger for classic literature dies out by the second stanza most of the time. I like to think I'm educated in the classic works, but truthfully, I know very little about it. Give me a Gary Paulsen book, put me on the prairie with Laura Ingalls, or send me to bed with some Shel Silverstein. I can see six books by Stephen E. Ambrose from here, and I know Dad has a couple in one of his bookcases... as much as I love to read about the drama of war and history (and Ambrose knew how to write it), I can't help but be depressed afterward. So I walk away from my own collection. At least I have some comic books on the way. :)

Mom and I visited Grandma last night: she's great, aside from pressuring me to get a boyfriend. I know she'd like to see me married before she goes, and I'd love for her to be at my wedding. The pressure, though... while I understand and appreciate her concern... I can't make a guy like me, and I wouldn't want the one I could.

Mom's parents are doing better. Grandpa went to the hospital just over a month ago, was released to a (poor) facility a couple weeks later, and was finally moved to a permanent facility that deals with Alzheimer's patients. His Parkinson's isn't getting worse, but since the crappy rehab facility wouldn't allow him to move without assistance, his muscles atrophied. The new place is all about helping him move, but also helping him to regain his muscle. Grandpa is sitting pretty in his own recliner not far from his own TV where he can watch AMC all day long if he wants. I'm so glad (relieved) he's in a good place and not Grandma's burden.

I've noticed a fear of poetry among bloggers. There are those who write and read it, those who avoid it entirely, and perhaps a few that write their own but don't read others. What is the big deal? I know if I posted a poem, I'd see no comments. People are afraid to tell someone else anything but "well, that's good...I liked it." People don't like poetry they don't know the meaning to. Limericks and haikus go over better--form and function recognized even if content is shady. I write poetry sometimes. I don't write it for you, and I don't care what you think of it (unless you really like it, in which case, that's cool, but I still didn't write it for you). Seriously. Why do people avoid poetry?

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