Tags: frank capra

talks to wolves

So Many Birds

And here it is, another Christmas Eve. It's sunny, but cooler than yesterday, currently 50˚F.

There was an annoying trip to the post office earlier, and then a less annoying trip to Winn-Dixie. Oh, and I finished The Golden Compass today. And now we are home until tomorrow afternoon.

Last night, It's a Wonderful Life.

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays,
CRK




12:41 a.m. (this morning)
Roy Batty

"Wait for dawn, and dawn shall come."

There was a chance we'd get snow tonight, but it's been downgraded to something more like sleet. Currently, it's partly sunny and cold, 38˚F, with the windchill at 32˚F. We had one of those weird, weird coastal Rhode Island weather days yesterday. After morning temperatures below freezing, there was an afternoon temperature spike and in one hour (between 16:51 and 17:51) we went from 36˚F to 54˚F. By late morning, before dawn, we were back down to 26˚F. That's Rhode Island. Over the next week, we have some brutal cold inbound.

This morning we were up and out early, to the market for Christmas Eve dinner makings. Spooky's still sick, so I'm doing the cooking. Special Xmas Eve spicy hot spaghetti and meatballs. And I'm gonna bake some gingerbread. I think half of Providence was doing last minute shopping at Eastside Market and Whole Foods. Oh, and I got clementines and madeleines. My teeth can't handle pecan pie, but dammit, I can eat some madeleines.

Last night, we watched Bob Clark's A Christmas Story (1983) and Frank Capra's It's a Wonderful Life (1946). I think a lot of people might fail to appreciate what that It's a Wonderful Life is darkly beautiful film. And if you clip off the ending, it's pretty much a template for half the episodes of The Twilight Zone ever filmed.

Okay, now I gotta wash some dishes.

TTFN,
Aunt Beast




12:08 a.m. (this morning)
Bowie1

A blond belief beyond beyond beyond

Despite a headache that's dogged me for days, I wrote 1,690 words yesterday. Not better than Friday, but good enough.

I slept later than intended, and so I'm running behind. I should be finishing this entry right about now, not beginning it. I'm sleeping much too much, which is a new problem for me.

I will quote this next bit from yesterday's entry, as I'm far too groggy to manage all the HTML and such:

I've decided to extend the offer of a FREE signed copy of the trade paperback of Silk to new Sirenia Digest subscribers. The offer is now good until midnight on January 31st, as it seems to be attracting new subscribers, and new subscribers are always welcome. Also, new subscribers need to e-mail Spooky (crk_books(at) yahoo(dot) com) their snail mail addresses. Otherwise, we cannot send the FREE book. [END OF QUOTE]

Look for the new issue of Sirenia Digest tomorrow. It'll go to Gordon this evening to be PDFed, then Spooky will get it out ASAP.

What else about yesterday? I didn't leave the house. Spooky made fettuccine alfredo for dinner, with broiled asparagus and a wonderful roasted red pepper and provolone pork sausage on the side. Thank goodness for Whole Foods. Last night, we watched Frank Capra's Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936), because both Frank Capra and Gary Cooper are comforts to me. I tried to start reading Oliver Morton's Mapping Mars (Picador USA, 2002), but got too sleepy, so Spooky read me two by Virginia Lee Burton (another comfort) — The Little House (1942) and Katy and the Big Snow (1943). I can think of nothing else of the day or night worth mentioning here.

Daughter of Hounds has been out, officially, for 26 days, almost a whole month. I've hardly even paused to appreciate the accomplishment. There has been no celebration, no signings, no readings, no book tour. It's just out there in the world. It seems wrong that I have been so busy with the writing that must be done every day to appreciate the fruits of that very long and difficult labour. It's a weird, weird life, this writing gig.