Having Fun with Stonewall Hinkleman

Welcome to Day Three of the Stonewall Hinkleman Blog Tour. I love spending the day with co-authors Sam Riddleburger and Michael Hemphill whether we're hanging out on the Roanoke River or here on this blog.

Sam, Michael and I worked together back when we were all in newspapers full time. (You remember newspapers, right? Black and white? Used to be read all over?) Before I left the New River Valley, the three of us had conversations like the one you get to eavesdrop on. Only then our conversations were about town politics and how to get sources to call us back and whether we wanted to eat lunch at Triangle Lanes (now a Walgreens) or Dude's Drive In (still there!)

Today we're talking about war -- the Civil War -- as it comes alive in their new book Stonewall Hinkleman and the Battle of Bull Run. Before we begin our conversation, I want to remind you that you are now eligible to win a FABULOUS PRIZE PACK featuring a signed copy of Stonewall. Details at the end of this post.



And now (cue bugle): Let the conversation began!

Me: In your story, Stonewall's parents drag him to war reenactments every weekend. What sorts of things did your parents drag you to when you were kids?

Sam: I sat through a lot of auctions and toured a lot of old houses where I wasn't allowed to touch anything. However, I enjoyed most of the Civil War places we visited, because my father had a lot of knowledge and enthusiasm for the subject -– in a good way.

Michael: My mom is this classical music lover, so we got dragged along to “cultural” events – symphony, ballet, etc. etc. Hated it then … appreciate it now.

Me: I'm one of those people who would, if I didn't already love you guys, be your toughest audience. I've never been a fan of Civil War history. I had a social studies teacher who was big into reenactments and wanted the South to rise again. I'm not sure that helped. Growing up in the South, it's so in-your face. Battlefield markers everywhere. Flags everywhere. Stickers on the backs of cars that say "Heritage, not hate." Could you guys talk a little about your feelings about the Civil War, before and after you finished this book? Did working on this book change your feelings about the war?

Sam: It's amazing how people assume that Stonewall Jackson was “bad” for fighting on the side of slavery, but gladly believe that George Washington and Thomas Jefferson were “good.” It's a messy, messy area and we don't try to solve it all -– just explore it.

Michael: Even though I'm from Alabama, I was never a fan of Civil War history until moving to Virginia in the 1990s. The history is certainly in your face here, but it's sad that some folks tend to appreciate only part of the history while others tend to scorn it all. It's THE defining moment of American history.

Me: When you set out working on this book, did you think: I want to write historical fiction? Or did the characters come out first?

Michael: I wanted to write historical fiction, but the story didn't come alive in any sense of the word until Sam dreamed up Stonewall … Hinkleman, that is.

Me: I was happy to meet him. I especially liked the meetings between Stonewall and Tom. Historical fiction was never my favorite genre, but having just read March (for adults, also about the Civil War; I'm planning to write Geraldine Brooks a very long fan letter), followed by Hattie Big Sky, and STONEWALL HINKLEMAN, I am quickly changing my mind. (If you guys have any favorites in that genre that you want to mention, this is the place.)

Michael: I have become a big fan of Alan Furst's historical novels about Europe during the rise of Hitler and World War II. I find I've learned more history in those books than anything I've read in a textbook.

Sam: As far as kidlit goes, I'm a big fan of the Great Brain series, Queenie Peavey and, of course, Little House.

Me: The Great Brain and Little House! How could I forget them??? (Tangent alert: Did you know a Little House musical will begin touring this fall, with Melissa Gilbert playing Caroline? Could be scary but if it comes anywhere near here, I'm going anyway. The complete tour is supposed to be announced soon.)

Me Again: Is it true Stonewall had more of a potty mouth in an earlier version?
Sam: It was mostly Cyrus, I think, who had to get cleaned up. Michael decided to give him some Shakespearean curses instead of the &*#@ and )%*#.

Michael: Given Sam's proclivity for toilet humor (think Qwikpick) I credit him for the potty mouth. But we wanted to make sure the book got read in classrooms, so the damns became durns.

Me: When Stonewall first came into your mind, did he have ADD? Or was there a more conscious effort to create a character who was dealing with that challenge?

Sam: I do believe in ADD, but I'm skeptical about Stonewall Hinkleman's ADD. I think he was happy to get the diagnosis and use it as an excuse for his bad attitude and sloppy homework. Now Cyrus … he clearly has ADD.

Me: Tell me a little about how you guys collaborated on this story… the process, I mean.

Sam: Write a chapter. Email it off. The other guy writes a chapter and emails back. Repeat until book is done.

Michael: With some editing by the other guy in between. Sam really set the tone of the book. My writing style at the start of this project was more formal … academic. But I quickly realized that Sam's voice was going to make the book, so I tried to mimic what he had established. At some point early on we created an outline that we roughly followed … at least for the first draft.

Me: Any fights?

Michael: Rhetorical or with knives?

Sam: The best fight was in public at a library where we were doing some revisions on a laptop. Very heated. Since it was Michael's laptop, he threatened to change everything back when he got home.

Me: How do you think it would be different if just one of you wrote it?

If it were just Sam's version, for instance?

Sam: Wouldn't have made it.

If it were just Michael's version?

Michael: Would have been much better. (Ed. This is where my blog needs a laugh track.)

Me: I know Sam wrote a blog entry about how you improved on the time travel, hashing out the rules. Were there any other moments like that when either an editor or one or the other of you made a suggestion that set off a huge, manuscript-improving epiphany?

Sam: Michael wanted a female character in the book from early on. I kept saying no. I just couldn't see how she'd fit into the book. Much later – after we had sold the book to Dial – I finally saw the light. Now we have Ashby, who I think is a great character. She's got the bravery Stonewall lacks.

Michael: Sam's kind, but while I may have had some hazy notion of a female character in mind, Sam brought Ashby to light.

Me: Speaking of time travel: Could you talk about some of your time travel inspirations?

Sam: I have to say that Back to the Future was an inspiration and an Uninspiration. We worked very, very hard to make sure this book wasn't Back to The Future IV: The Civil War Years.

Me: Who do you hope to reach with this book?

Sam: The brotherhood of man.

Michael: And their sisters, too.


Me: What are your plans for escaping the toilet-bowl economy and convincing the world they need to buy this book? You may make your pitch now.

Michael: Well, we've got the 150th anniversary of the Civil War starting in 2011, and like I said earlier, I view the war as the pivotal event of American history. Everything before it (Revolutionary War, Declaration of Independence, Constitution, etc.) served as precursor, and everything since (including President Obama's election) has been a resolving of the war's aftermath. And yet it seems all that most kids know about it these days is that the North was “good” and the South was “bad.” I hope Stonewall inspires them to want to learn more.

Me: How much research went into this?

Michael: I knew a fair amount about the battle and have visited the Manassas (Bull Run) battlefield. I also co-own a Civil War battlefield tour company with friend and tour guide Robert Freis. He helped a lot with the background and research and historical personalities in the book.

Sam knew how to spell "Civil War."

Me: The end clearly leaves you wide open for Stonewall Hinkelman and the Battle of Antietam. Have you guys started work on such a thing?

Sam: What we've got in mind is a five-book series, with one book for each year of the war. One book will explain Tom. The final book would end at Appomattox, of course, and could feature Stonewall's dad and his re-enactor pals finally getting a chance to shine. We've also discussed the use of zombies.

(Me: It's working for Jane Austen.)

Michael: Or Stonewall ends up in 1955 playing “Johnny Be Good” with Michael J. Fox at the big high school dance.

Me: Oh: I want to give Michael a chance to talk a bit about his work with Civil War Journey.

Michael: We started the business in 2000 and offer customized Civil War battlefield tours to domestic and international clients. We also offer a schedule of weekend-long tours.

Me: Succinct. Factual. But this is supposed to be self PROMOTION. Try: Michael and Rob have put together a company that makes hearts thump! Clients say they vividly bring the Civil War to life! (Hey -- didn't I see something similar in a review of Stonewall?) You can visit them at civilwarjourney.com.

Me: Some final, scatter-shot questions for both of you:
Favorite battlefield?
Both: Antietam

Me: Favorite Civil War historic figure:
Sam: Turner Ashby
Michael: Joshua Chamberlain

Me: Favorite Civil War food
Sam: Goober peas
Michael: none of the above

Me: Favorite Civil War disease
Both: The vapors

Me: Favorite Civil War accessory
Both: The magic bugle, of course

Me: Thanks so much! And now, a little information about the prizes connected with the Stonewall blog tour:

One (1) lucky winner will receive a Stonewall Hinkleman Prize Pack containing a signed copy of Stonewall Hinkleman & The Battle of Bull Run, a t-shirt just like Stonewall wears on the cover AND advance copies of four other Dial Books for Young Readers titles! To enter, send an email to blogtour (at) stonewallhinkleman.com and put "Stonewall Contest" in the subject line! That's all you have to do to be eligible.

If you've read this far, here's a tiny, extra incentive for bloggers willing to help me with a little guerilla marketing. (See "toilet-bowl economy" above; every bit of publicity helps.) The prize is a stamp of this dogwho shares a certain sentiment with Stonewall. To be eligible, just write "Stonewall slept here" and provide a link to blog hq from your own blog. Let me know either in comments or at madelynruth at hotmail (dot) com. I'll draw a name and send that person the stamp. But mostly I'll send the satisfaction of knowing you helped some really great folks.

Thanks to Sam and Michael, the authors. Thanks to you, the readers!

****
In case you missed them, you can go back in time and visit the other stops on Stonewall's blog tour -- no magic bugle necessary. (That's Internet time travel!!)

Monday, May 4 - Just Like the Nut

Tuesday, May 5 - Collecting Children’s Books

Wednesday, May 6 - Poop Deck (That's me.)

Thursday, May 7 - One True Believer

Friday, May 8 - Saints and Spinners

Saurday, May 9 — Little Blog of Stories

Happy Release Day for Stonewall HInkleman

Just wishing Sam and Michael a happy release day for Stonewall Hinkleman and the Battle of Bull Run.

What's the best way to celebrate a new book? With a musical playlist!!! Since I haven't actually gotten to preview the book (something I hope to rectify by this afternoon), my song choices are based on what Sam's told me about it. Maybe I'll update my picks after I've read it.

The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down (The Band).
Shenandoah (Tony Rice's version)
We've Gotta Get Out of this Place (The Animals)
Time Machine (Grand Funk Railroad)
Twilight (ELO) (Kind of appropriate, and I had to throw in an ELO song for Sam.)

Okay, and I just have to add this link to The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down as performed by Joan Baez on the Muppet Show... I love the Band's version the best, but how can you deny Muppets?

National Poetry Month interview with Mary Crockett Hill

In conjunction with National Poetry Month, I offer up this interview with Mary Crockett Hill, whose new book, A Theory of Everything, received the Autumn House Poetry Prize. Her collection was chosen by Naomi Shihab Nye, who calls it "deeply original, magical, and weird in a good way." Yup. That's our Mary.

Mary grew up in Salem, Va. She was a Henry Hoyns Fellow at the University of Virginia, and she received her MFA from that school in 1993. I first met Mary soon after that when a mutual friend asked us to conduct a writing workshop for teens at the YMCA in Salem. Mary was the poet; I was the aspiring fiction writer (emphasis on aspiring). There are only a few things I remember about that hazy semester. One was that it took a lot of work to convince our group that there were more colors on the spectrum than black. Another is that we had a student who had no scars to write about, no blemishes, no sunburn. No zits. Another is that way too many 16-year-olds smoked cigarettes. But they were writers (with the possible exception of the no-scars girl). Maybe that explains it. Anyway, the semester ended. My friendship with Mary did not, and so here she is, talking a little bit about A Theory of Everything, (now available at Amazon.)


Me: For starters, could you talk about where you got your title?

Mary: Well, first I should probably say that I don’t really know what the title means. The Theory of Everything is some idea from physics, and I pretty much respond to physics like a little kid responds to a light show—Oooh, look at the pretty colors!
But as I understand it (which is to say not at all), there’s this notion that all the various physical aspects of the world might be linked together under the umbrella of a single universal theory. And even though I don't have a clue what that truly means, I love thinking about what it might mean in my own pedestrian way.
My poetry is so full of the stuff of the world—the lawnchairs, and the worn rugs, and the need to feed crazy people soup—and I always want to figure out how one piece fits with the next. Thus, a theory of everything. Not the theory, mind you, just one attempt.
An attempt that’s bound to fail, of course. And I’m alright with that.

Me:You have a full-time job and three kids. So when, exactly, do you write?

Mary: As counter-intuitive as it sounds, getting a full-time job actually helped me find time to write.
After my twin sons were born, I decided to stay home to care for the babies and my daughter, who was two at the time. Up until then, I had just been taking my daughter with me to the museum where I worked. But I realized that wasn’t going to be possible with a toddler and two babies. I mean, no one has that many hands. So for about four years, I was working as a fulltime mother. It seemed at the time that I wasn’t getting any writing done, but I must have been doing it at some point—maybe while holding a baby on my lap, maybe while drifting to sleep. Then, when I went back to work, I discovered something I had never before fully appreciated: the lunch hour.
Before I had kids, the lunch hour was just a time to eat food. But after kids, it became sixty blissful minutes when no one had a right to expect absolutely anything from me. I realized that I’d gone about four years without having a single minute of uncluttered mental space. So this lunch hour—it was an unbelievable gift. I set aside that time each day to write and organize what I had written. And in about a month, I had a draft of the manuscript that eventually ended up as A Theory of Everything.
I’ve recently changed jobs, and I’m now teaching English at Roanoke College. And really, as hard as teaching college can be, I feel like I’m seriously getting away with something. It’s a great job. I love it. And because of it, I don’t have to squeeze my writing into this little slot between noon and 12:59. There are some weeks that are so busy I can’t even think about scribbling at a poem, but other times, I’m able to sneak it in during the most unexpected moments. Last semester, for example, I wrote a poem while I was proctoring an exam. A few weeks ago, I worked on a chapter while my writing students were doing peer review. I know this teaching gig won't last forever, but I'm really trying to make the most of it while I can.

Me:Do you think motherhood has changed your writing? And if so, how?

Mary: I think motherhood has changed everything about everything. I always tell my oldest that she wasn’t the only one born when she came out. I was too. Having babies altered who I am altogether, and it definitely altered my writing.
The biggest change for me wasn’t necessarily the themes or concerns that I address my writing—though those changed too. Rather it was the fact that I no longer had time to write. So the poems that ultimately got written had to really matter me or I just wouldn’t bother.
In a way, all the poems in this book were somehow necessary, if that makes sense. They were the unavoidable ones, the ones that wouldn’t be quiet. I guess they made more noise than the babies, so I went ahead and wrote them.

Me:How much of your poetry stems from place, from where you live in Southwest Virginia?

Mary: Lots. I’m a child of Southwest Virginia and the way I see the world has everything to do with the place where I stand to see it.


Me:Tell me a little about "Woodbridge." (I ask because there's a Woodbridge by me, and I'm certain there are many unique swaths of land that bear the same fate, which is to say, annihilation by faceless subdivision or strip mall. I was thinking you were referring to farmland in Christiansburg but I wasn't sure …)

Mary: Woodbridge is a development in my hometown, a little suburban slice of pie. And there was this wide and hilly cow pasture at the end of a cul-de-sac. I loved sneaking in there and roaming around and such. I remember one time being surrounded by cows. I guess they thought I’d brought them a treat, and they were all looking at me with these expectant eyes. I was scared, but oddly happy too. I liked hanging out with the cows. But of course when the cow farmer died, the land was sold and developed into street upon street of McMansions. I know people have to live somewhere, but it made me sad that it had to be there. So that poem mourns the passing of the cow pasture.
The Woodbridge of the poem isn’t the Christiansburg Woodbridge or the one in Northern Virginia; it’s just one of the many. One of those places where something natural (or close to natural) is covered up by asphalt and vinyl siding and slapped with some idyllic name—Pheasant Ridge or Willow Acres or Eagle Run.


Me:Explain, please, about your experience as a toilet seat hand model.

Mary: Oh that. Sounds so glamorous, doesn’t it? I worked as a model in New York for a summer when I was about 14, and the toilet seat was my first job. They had hammered a nail into the foamy seat of a toilet and I was supposed to place my index finger over the nail to show how cushy it was. I got paid some ridiculous amount for a milli-second of work, and I thought “How is it possible that people live like this?” There were other, even more glamorous jobs. Japanese eyewear. Fishnet hose. But I wasn’t very happy in New York, so when fall came, I went back home. I probably should have held out for the big bucks, though. Who knows, if I stuck it out, I could be modeling whole septic tanks by now.

Me:And speaking of toilet seats: It seems to me that people who don't read much poetry stereotype it as being about only love or pain. Yet you have a poem in here that Sam Riddleburger posted a few weeks ago about … farts.

Mary: Yep. That’s what happens when you let a girl from Southwest Virginia write poems.

Me:I'm from the school who believes that everything is autobiographical, even if it's fictional. You have a number of poems that seem, at least from my reading, to be about real people, such as family members. So my questions is: are they real people, or characters? And if they're real, than how do people, such as your family members, react to your poems?

Mary:A lot of the details are made-up, and I steal other people’s stories and pass them off as my own. Or as my brother’s, for that matter. (You should watch what you say around me; it might end up in a poem.) But yeah, a good bit of the stuff in A Theory of Everything is at least partially true. At least true as I see it. In some twisted universe kind of way. I used to write “persona” poems and la-la-la, but since having kids, I just didn’t have time for that. I mean, why bother?
Of course, now that I’ve made that big statement, I should say that about 95% of the poetry I’ve written since A Theory of Everything is totally imaginative. Nothing about it at all is real. I mean, it’s hardly even from the human perspective. Seriously out there. Oh well.
As for family members, I just try not to talk with them about the poems. If there’s something that’s excessively revealing about a named friend or family member in a poem, sometimes I’ll check it out with that person before I try to publish the poem. But for the most part, brer fox, she lay low.

Me:Does it take a certain amount of bravery to do that?

Mary: Bravery, no. Stupidity, probably so.

Me:I love Your Sister the Buddhist, who is mentioned in a couple of poems here.
Mary: Me too. She’s a real sweetheart. It cracks me up, though, to keep labeling her “My Sister the Buddhist.” It’s such a wiseacre little-sister thing to do.

Me:Likewise, the daily news seems to play a role. (As a journalist I am fortified by this.)

Mary: I hadn’t really thought of the connection with the daily news and this book, but you just made me remember: one of the very first poems I ever got published years and years ago was called “6:00 News.” I have no clue what it was about (I suppose the 6:00 news?) but I must be secretly obsessed with the news. I think it has something to do with having these intimate details from the lives of people you don’t even really know.

Me:Will the demise of newspapers (which I see too much evidence of, but which I hope will still somehow be avoidable) have an effect on your writing?

Mary: Yes.


Me:I know you do other kinds of writing. How do you decide what idea will become poem, what will become an essay, what will become a novel for teens?

Mary: The poems have everything to do with language. Sometimes when the idea in the poem is bigger than the language, it will turn into an essay. Ideas for teen novels only come to me when I’m in church about to take communion. It’s some kind of rule.
** Editors note: Mary is currently working on two such novels.

Me:Some of your poems can be quite disturbing, yet you come across as calm, well-adjusted, and, of course, funny. Is there a side we're missing?

Mary: Last year, when I asked my daughter why she was so well-behaved at school and so difficult at home, she wailed, “Where am I supposed to get my bad out?”
That’s pretty much how I feel about poetry. Gotta get my bad out somewhere.

Tangent Alert! Me: I'm going to take this opportunity to link to my friend Sarah Petruziello's art work. Sarah's another person who comes off as even-tempered and funny in person (because she is) but when you look at her art you get another picture entirely. Back to Mary:


Me:Do you have a favorite poem in here?
Mary: Is that a trick question? Isn’t this when King Solomon stands up and says, “She’s not the real poet, because any real poet would never let her poems be so divided!”
So, yeah, they’re all my babies. Even the bad ones.

Me:How did you decide what was a "collection?"

Mary: Hard question. Stupid answer: I tried to put things where they fit and take out what didn’t fit. That, and I had to have an even number of poems in each section.
I really try not to be compulsive, and for the most part I succeed.

Me: Can you remember the first poem you ever loved?

Mary: I remember loving e.e. cumming when I was pretty young. "anyone lived in a pretty how town" and "somewhere i have never travelled." I liked how those poems flew in the face of what I'd been taught poetry was supposed to be--which was basically those shape poems made up of adjectives in a triangle. I also remember reading from my dad's copy of Wallace Stevens a poem called "The Creations of Sound" that just blew me away. I didn't understand it, but the words had their own power, beyond understanding. It starts "If the poetry of X was music, / So that it came to him of its own, /Without understanding, out of the wall...." I mean, how can you not love something that starts like that? And this from a gal who generally doesn't care for ars poetica.

Me:Can you remember the first poem you ever wrote?

Mary: I probably wrote stuff before this, but the first poem I remember writing was this epic in rhymed couplets about a little girl named Amy who worked with the ants of the world to save everyone from a nuclear catastrophe of some sort. I think I was eight, and I remember working and working on that poem--I think it was called "Amy and the Ants"--but I don't think I ever actually finished it. It was just too dang big.


Me:Who are some of your favorite poets, contemporary or ... not?
Mary:There are so many. The old great ones are usually great for a reason. I love W.B. Yeats, William Blake, Emily Dickinson, Walt Whitman, John Donne, Shakespeare (how surprising!). Then there’s Adrienne Rich, Elizabeth Bishop, Wallace Stevens, Wislawa Szymborska, Anna Akhmatova, Dorianne Laux, Li-Young Lee, Albert Goldbarth, Lee Upton, Russell Edson, Bob Hicok…. I could go on forever. But I won’t, I promise. I will however, put in a plug for some friends with books: Melanie Almeder, Adrian Blevins, Carol Guerrero-Murphy, Katherine Soniat, Adrienne Su, Cynthia Atkins and Mary Szybist are all fantastic. And thanks to amazon, they’re just a click away….

(As is Mary's book, of course!)

Thanks to Mary for her time. Thanks to you for yours!

More from Mary

Oh, and what the heck. Here's one more.
"This is the World" first appeared in Juked before becoming a part of the Autumn House book, "a theory of everything."


This is the World

This is also the world
A small boy drops
a maple leaf down a well.
A girl, slightly larger, does likewise --
peering over the stone lip to guess
the leaf's curled and wayward descent.

Across the yard, behind a stardust bush,
the housecat is toying with something still alive.
It flits through the grass, now here now there,
delighting the cat with its antic struggle for flight.

I am in the world too, wondering:
Do I kill the bird for mercy? Do I take it inside?
What would Dickon from The Secret Garden do?
The book-animals loved him so, showing their mildest
bellies beneath satisfied, glinting eyes.

I might think we all want such love,
even from a half-dead bird -- except
my brother was once chased down a walking trail
by a man who'd just killed his first turkey
and to celebrate, downed three six-packs
and started firing at hikers. He hounded after
my brother, hollering for all the world
like Yosemite Sam, "I'm gonna get you, I'll get you!"

The man later told the police, "It seemed at the time
like the thing to do."

This is the world,
and where we spit,
where we stomp, where we fuck and crap,
and all that jack built, and whatever's next
and whether we forgive our father
or trust strangers to take zoloft,
and why the trees on one side of the hill
bud green before the others,
and if we make our way to Egypt,
and who there holds a broom, and who a gun,
and once we finally lie down at the end of the day
on our mattress or hammock or stone slab,
how the moon just keeps throbbing
so we sense loss too keenly,
and what finally is the thing to do --
and if we carry our children
inside our own bodies, and where
we plant our pumpkin seeds,
and why we fear caves
and dark
underwater places,
the dark under water,
the dark
-- someone please stop me,
I could go on forever, it is
after all, the world.

Poetry from Mary Crockett Hill

Mary Crockett Hill's A Theory of Everything was released this month by Autumn House Press. I'll post an interview with her next week in honor of National Poetry Month, but for now please allow this poem, which appeared in Pank before it became a part of the Autumn House collection, to serve as an introduction. (It's not exactly for the kids, so I'm not linking up with the Poetry Friday crew...)

Why I Gave Up on Astral Projection

My body, when was it
I realized you are so full
of shit? Literally. Shit.

The food and the churnings
-- all the blood-heavy
mass of you. The old binding

between us, now fixed.
There was a time I did not know
I even had a body.

I was all in my head,
nouns vibrating
like tiny harps.

It seemed inevitable to float
above those organs, that skin
so likely at any moment to slip

from my supine shell
and surge into the universe.
(I dreamed I could leave

then come back.
Will such faith also return?
The whiskered self

shaved clean again
by the cutting ache
for flight.) There is a blue cord

holding me back. And more --
the children, the child in me
who now knows what she eats,

my neighbor's dying lover, his rickety
lawn chair, the bend of my mouth saying no,
the waiting, the laundry, the need

to spoon and stir in a room
that will not be the moon
no matter, no matter how I worship it.

Thought for the day

It would be easier to be environmentally conscientious if all of my good ideas didn't come to me in the shower.

more generics

Sorry, I'm still on a Harris Teeter kick:

Product: Harris Teeter Instant Oatmeal
Review: I can't tell the difference between this and Quaker. Will definitely buy again.

Harris Teeter Spaghetti Sauce: Leads me to the question: Why am I buying spaghetti sauce in a jar at all? Should I really be weighing this stuff against Ragu? No. I should be making my own. When my friend Heidi and I were visiting the Czech Republic too many years back, we made it just about every night (when we weren't making potatoes). Just some garlic, onion, tomato paste, salt, maybe a little cream. It took about five minutes, was way cheaper than jarred spaghetti sauce (which I'm not sure they even had) and tasted better.

Haven't used my credit card yet in 2009. Wonder how long I can keep that up?
I have a friend who's been keeping hers in the freezer. (She read this online or in the paper, I forget where.) You take your card, stick it in a small plastic container, and fill the bottom with water. Freeze. Your card is surrounded by a block of ice. If you really need to use it, thaw under water. The ice makes you think about it twice. I haven't tried this yet, but it may come to that.