Quiet in the Snow

I haven't written much here because, well, I find I don't have anything much to say. Now there's a change... What could it be? Age? Hmmm. Yes, probably. Wisdom? No, probably not.

I think of stuff sometimes that I might write about here, in the middle of the night usually, then day comes and chases whatever it was away. Must not have been very important. So, I guess I'll just shut up for the time being.

We got a regular pounding of snow the other day, first time in a while, so I ran out with my camera and snapped a few.



Where Have You Gone Projectivist?

I am still reading, if not much writing, and I have been distressed in recent weeks to try to click through to my favorire Aussie Blogger, the Projectivist. One day, her lovely Blog was just gone. Removed. No more. I have been a bit worried. Proj., if you're out there, drop a line.

The Woolfoot Decade?

I've just had a look at the Cluster Map, the little widget at the bottom of this page, that shows, roughly, the location of visitors to this blog. You know, it's that teeny world map with the little dots showing that makes the world look like it has measles.

I saw a Cluster Map on someone else's blog a couple of years ago and decided I needed one too if I was going to keep track of the global location of the 5-10 people a day who typically stumble in here.

Anyway, I had a gander at my Cluster Map today, and I find I need to have a word with you people from central Asia, Africa and most of South America. You are really not holding up your end when it comes to visiting my blog. I'm not happy about it.

Vast tracts of planet Earth, populated by hundreds of millions of human beings, and not one of you could be arsed to stop in here in the last few months? I am getting the idea that unimaginably broad swathes of humanity are not interested in reading about my trips to the dentist, or reports on the latest cracked plate I have acquired, or the funny things my kid said.

So I am here today to ask, just once then I will let it drop, what is wrong with you people of central Asia, Africa and South America? How do you think this ostentatious absence of yours makes ME feel?

Before you start composing your responses, be advised that I don't want to hear (and won't publish) a lot of lame excuses like, "oh, but I do not speak English," or "my village has electricty only two hours a day," or "there is a civil war here" or "the authorities will not allow it," or "I have river blindness" or, worst of all, "I am not interested in anything you have to say."

I'll bet whereever you are on the aforementioned continents that you managed to procure cooking oil and some form of starch today. So??? How much harder would it be to have a look at a few posts at this web address?

The cold fact is that I, like all writers of this sort of material, require validation. The more the better. Being ignored is hurtful. Even if you Asians, Africans and South Americans would just zip in here and zip back out again I would get a new pock mark on my world Cluster Map.

Let's see what you can do.

I'll be watching.

How do you say: "don't let me down" in Kazak?

Family Fun for a Sunday

Is everybody on vacation? I have been hopping around the old bloggish neighborhood and hardly anyone is home. We are home but busy, mostly setting up this NEW COMPUTER. In an uncharacteristic splurge, Whusband acquired a snazzy Dell Laptop that does everything. I think it will even regrout the tub. I don't know yet how to make it do any of its tricks, but that's OK. Having a keyboard with all the letters still attached is a luxury.

Soon the aforementioned husband will come back in here and wrest control of the laptop away from me so time today only for a quick hello. I have also been wanting to post, since I saw it months ago at Belgian Waffling (see the sidebar) this amazing little YouTube video. Suitable for family viewing and guaranteed to cheer you up if you need cheering.

Seven Wonders of Me

Once, I won a "New York Quebec Scholars Award" (or something like that, it was a long time ago). My friend Eugene won it too, actually, I think he won it first and then when he left the program, they gave it to me. Anyway, Gene told me that when he opened the envelope announcing his prize, he read the first line, which said, 'although there is no monetary aspect to this award..." and never finished reading it.

Well, that's where Gene and I differed. I left that crap award on my resume FOR YEARS. And still today, I am happy to win ANYTHING so thanks Deborah, the Muse in Kansas, for picking me as one of those to whom she is passing on the "Kreativ Blogger" award (not to be confused with the "fonetic speller" blogger award). I am supposed to tell seven interesting things about myself and then pass the award onto 7 others. I suppose if these things circulate long enough, everyone will get one but, no matter. As I say I am happy to be singled out for any bit of praise; "I like your bracelet" practically makes my day, so I am running with this.

I am uneasy about the pay if forward aspect, however, because 1.) I would probably offend someone whom I admire by leaving them out (all the blogs I visit are under "favored ones" on the sidebar and all have wonderful aspects; 2.) I know some people, probably strange, successful people who win things all the time, don't want to receive such honors and 3.) I am worried that if I picked out seven bloggers whom I admire, several of them might not be willing descend here to pick up their graphic - and then I would feel like a loser, even though I just "won". So, thanks Deborah. You would be one of my seven if I were willing to name them. All you other bloggers, if I have ever left more than one comment on your blog, you may also regard yourself as a winner in my book. So write seven things on your space if you feel so moved and I will come read them and comment.

Here are the seven things about me. You tell me if they are interesting.

1.) I just asked my 11-year-old daughter, the Understudy, if she could think of seven interesting things about me - even one interesting thing - and she could not.

2.) My dad is a science genius, isn't that interesting? When I was nine, although he already had his PhD in physics, he became intrigued by human physiology and went back to medical school. He got his MD while continuing to work part-time as a research scientist. He worked as an ER doc for some time after he finished his internship without ever having left his day job. He is one of the guys who figured out Magnetic Resonance Imaging back in the 70s. He also got divorced from my mother (Quel surprise, as they say in France and Quebec, more on that at number 4 below).

3.) My husband (much older than me) is an arch conservative economist who appears frequently on Canadian television and radio. He can be counted on to say things about free markets, Sarah Palin etc. that send most, normal, nice, liberal pink-blooded Canadians into fantods. He is very nice to his friends. Don't ask about his enemies (please).

4.) I spent most of my 20s living in Montreal with the plan that I would learn French. It didn't work.

5.) I went to law school in Montreal because I wanted to go back to Montreal (where I went to college) and I was no good at math or science (despite my parentage) and so was unfit for any form of additional education. And, yes, if you study the common law, even in Montreal, you may be allowed to sit for the bar exams of New York and Vermont, which I did waaaaay back when I had a lot more energy. (I couldn't have stayed and worked in Quebec because of aforesaid inability to actually speak French).

6.) I have an unaccountable interest in England and things English. But you knew that already.

7.) There's a book I am supposed to be writing.

Oh. I feel cheap. Am I bragging or overexposed? Yes and yes. But that was fun.

A Quick Hello; Puggles, Pygmy Jerboim and David Sedaris

The weekend draws to a close at the Last House and I couldn't rest easy tonight without saying something here. Do I have a syndrome? Probably. Am I making it worse by indulging a little hit of blogging? Probably, but there you have it.

Our friend Annmarie,an architectural historian from Quebec, came by with her daughter who is a little younger than the Understudy,and their new "Puggle", "Snoopy." Snoopy may be the cutest creature since the Pygmy Jerboa ( q.v.).



We had lunch outside. The girls choreographed a dance to a Jonas Brothers song and and danced it for us all. Annmarie and I sat outside on the breezeway drinking Diet Dr. Peppers and complaining about not having enough money while Whusband led the kids and two dogs to the river at the back of our property. As I write, Whusband is trying to watch Madama Butterfly on PBS and getting irritated at us all for making up our own arias and singing along, e.g., "Now my life is going badlyyyyyy". And, "O why is my son is a plaaaastic puuuuuppettt!" (Which is true in this production). The kids asked why Madama's child is a plastic puppet and I said it was because his father was plastic.

Whusband did not approve of the Jonas Bros. as the soundtrack for the lives of our children.

All in all, a fine sort of Sunday.


Puggle puppies are difficult to photograph, as evidenced by the little photo essay above.

Woolfoot Recommends....

David Sedaris hardly needs any publicity from the likes of me, but
On Friday evening I rode home listening to him read essays from his collection "Dress Your Family in Corduroy Denim." I laughed so hard at the first essay that I almost wet myself (sorry, but true). I checked the New Yorker website and that essay is available only in abstract unless you subscribe, but here's another Sedaris gem for your reading pleasure. I hope it may finish your weekend the way it started mine (the laughing, that is, not the near-peeing).

Back Again

Sorry.

Not sure anybody noticed but I've been away from my crumbling keyboard and out doing stuff in the real world, namely traveling to old New York to see my Dad turn 70 in the company of many far flung relatives. We gathered under a tent in the side yard at Dad's and caught up on the last five years or so. It was interesting that this was made more challenging by my deaf ear. Really, it's gettting to be a problem. Perhaps something must be done, like a hearing aid or surgery. In other family news, my brother (41, long divorced) brought along the girlfriend he has been dating for about four and a half years (Russian, smart) and announced they were getting married. So, that was fun. I also got sick (with a cold) on party day, which gave all the shouted conversations under the tent a fevered haze. I am still hacking and sniffling so you can be glad for this reason, among many possible others, that you aren't actually anywhere near me.

Finally, although no one seems much to have liked my foray into fiction (except that most intelligent, perceptive and kind, not to mention polite, bloggging genius, Mme Defarge), I am think, think, thinking about a bigger writing project. This thinking has taken some of the starch out of my need to write here. (This blog, like many others, is partly the product of the mild OCD and ADD from which I suffer [the attention deficit in my case is that I don't get enough attention]. So the obsession and compulsion being otherwised channeled, well, I guess that's enough said. I'll go read a few blogs now.

Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Go, Go, Go!

The Itty Bitty Tower of London

Just a quick post tonight to give a nod and some thanks to my favorite blogger in the antipodes, The Projectivist.

I stumbled over her blog while reading comments on my favorite Continental blog, Earwig Sandwich. I commend both to anybody.

The Proj. is full of surprises and is a constant source of great images, fun things to watch, and interesting things to read. Tonight, I zapped down to Australia to see what she had on offer and found, among other things, this great (free) website where you can upload photos to have them instantly manipulated by some magical computer process so they appear to have been miniaturized. Here's what it did to a scan I had of an old postcard of Lincoln Cathedral:



And here's Lincoln Castle: (You kind of have to look at it for a minute to get the mininess of it).



Here's the link to Tiltshift so you can try miniaturizing a few of your own photos. I found it helps to have a subject that already looks like it could have been part of a model railroad set. Naturally, the Projectivist also has the link on her site.

One day a few weeks ago the Proj. posted a music video from the Flight of the Conchords. I am a huge fan of the show and watching that video sent me into a happy half hour on YouTube checking out more F of the C videos. They were all funny, but this one had me singing the chorus all evening. If you remember the 1970s at all, well, go see.
So, thanks Projectivist. Have a good evening all.

More About Me

I have just been flitting around the blogosphere, like I do some Monday nights, stopping in at some of my favorites. Odd, but a few of them tonight had a theme of physical misfortune. These kind of posts are always very affecting, and they really seem to bring the commenters out to care and to share. You go girls!

So, I have decided to tell a little of my own story.

A story I haven't told here before.

I was born a healthy child into a prosperous, gracious household. My father was a distiguished military veteran. My mother hailed from a long line of Virginia planters. No child in the history of mankind, not a princess in a royal house, had a future brighter than mine - until just before my second birthday, that is.

I was struck then with a terrible, burning fever; it was probably meningitis but it was never properly diagnosed. Of course, I don't remember it, young as I was. It should have killed me. Sometimes, later, and more than once, I wished that it had. I survived (if surviving is what you could call it), but when I recovered (if recovery is what you could call it), the world as I had known it was gone forever. I was deaf, and I was blind.

From that point on, on my world began and ended at our dooryard. I knew my cicrumscribed domain by touch, and by smell, and by the changes in temperature, but each place I went was equally dark - dark as midnight in a coal mine - and silent as a stone.

In this oblivion during my early years I ran wild, unchecked by those who loved and pitied me. My parents, of course, did all that they could. My mother never gave up hope of freeing me from the dungeon into which I had been cast. She sought out the leading experts to help me. In New York she found, at last, an ear nose and throat expert, Dr. Julian, who put her in touch with Mr. Alexander Graham Bell. Mr. Bell was doing wonderful things then for the deaf. He advised her to go the Perkins Institute for the Blind in Boston and seek a teacher for me there.

And there, my mother found me a teacher, a young woman with weak vision and a will of iron. Her name was Annie Sullivan. She was 20.

Annie came to live with us. While my parents had spoiled me, not correcting my terrible behavior and indulging me at every turning, Annie insisted that I be held to standards of the great world around me. She corrected my misdeeds. She challenged my tantrums. I felt she had set out to subdue me and I fought her.

One day, I got into a carriage with Annie. She drove me someplace I didn't know. (I found out later that the ride that preceded our arrival was a sham designed only to disorient me. We had made a big circle from the house to a disused gardner's cottage in my own backyard). There, we stayed together and alone.

In that place, Annie was tireless, endlessly repeating strange motions on the palm of my hand. I raged, uncomprehending, not knowing wny I had been abandoned to this cruel taskmistress, why the kind, gentle treatment I had always known from my parents and the household servants had been snatched away. Annie and I grappled and contended. For days and days we were locked in a combat of wills and sometimes in physical combat as well until, in a moment of utter exhaustion, during one of our tearing struggles, she took me out to the pump and filled my hand with water while signing into my palm: W-A-T-E-R.

Well, then I understood. The code had been unlocked. In that moment, thanks to Annie, her tireless efforts, her enduring, uncompromising belief in me, I rejoined the world from which I had been snatched by a fever before I was two. She had done it.

And so now you have the blogger whose words you see before you now. One who has been rendered able to reach out to the wide world; to write, to travel, to guide others along the way.

Ohhhhhh.

Wait.

OOOPS. Sorry. My bad.

That's Helen Keller's story - not mine! Darn it. I keep getting mixed up about my biography and actual accomplishments and those of internationally famous historical figures. I hope I didn't confuse you too much! Now it's coming back to me.

I didn't actually overcome deaf-blindness and write and best sellers and inspire multiple generations to great achievement or anything like that. Well, I am half deaf. Also, I did break a tooth, part of one, tonight. It just came off in a poppy seed bagel at dinner. And I have had over the years a bunch of dental work - fillings, two root canals, and a crown.

And so, tomorrow, I will call the dentist. I will make an appointment. I will go down to the drill once again - and to the little spinny thing that they put that pumicey toothpaste on and that grinds your teeth in way that seems like it can't be good for them and sounds like a thousand bees have been loosed on your brain. And I will face the little cone shaped paper cup that makes you drool when you try to spit out the little pieces of tooth and filling that have been dislodged by all of that.

Then, I will come back here and tell you all about it.

Typing the Letters Off My Keyboard

Our foremothers read the covers off their Bibles. I have typed the "p" and the "h" off my keyboard. Hmmm. "HelP!?"

It is a cheapo Ebay bargain laptop. I bought a warranty that is probably still good but I would be both worried and embarrassed to send this off to be repaired: worried that I would lose all the files, especially the pictures that are stored here, and embarrassed about the manky swill that lurks beneath (as I can now see). Has the science fiction story "It Came from the Keyboard" been written yet?

Who Cares What You Think?

This is a question I ask myself frequently. I have a history of being all too ready to tell people what I think. I still do that too much though, I really should have learned by now. We're not 16 anymore, are we? If you're writing a blog, it's also a question you had better be able to answer. Now, was that said like a true bore?

Winston Churchill once said, "If you would be remembered, do something worth writing about or write something worth reading." I am not particularly concerned with "being remembered" as per WC(I always think of Ozymandias when people start talking about immortality)but if we're going to write anything, even a blog post, shouldn't it be worth reading? That's a rhetorical question and the correct answer is "Yes."

In touring the blogiverse, linking usually from a blog I like to one that has been recommended by that writer, I have been surprised at the amount of good writing that is out there, for free, being written by people who are not getting paid to write it. (See e.g., the blog roll on the right). I seem to gravitate to people who write well and amusingly and who take good pictures. The medium of the blog seems to lend itself best to that kind of thing. A few are a little more serious. Some are a little clubby. None are bores. I know I have a capacity to be a bore - and not a small one. I need to keep my "who cares" filter running. It's on now and I have just barely squeezed through. So, I'll shut up now.

Admit It; A Blogger's Fantasy

Hello, is that KSV Woolfoot?

Uh, yes…well, uh, this is Kim.

Can I call you Kim, or would you prefer Ms. Velk or Woolfoot or something else? Say the word.

Uh, Kim is fine…

Well, Kim, I’m Sloane Abramson, from CAA?

OK. Hi. How are you?

Hi Kim. Fine. I’m fine. The question I really have is how are you today? I am so happy finally to have a chance to speak with you, Kim. Is it snowing up there yet?

Uh, Fine. No. To the snow I mean. It doesn’t generally snow in September, even here. Did you say Creative Artists Agency – like CAA?

Right, the LA office. Not Canadian Automobile Insurance Association. (Laughter). Kim, you might think that - living up on the Canadian border and all.

Well. I guess you must actually have dialed the right number.

Oh. Right. Well, sorry, Kim. Didn’t mean in the least to freak you out. It’s just, before we make these calls we do a little, hmm, light kind of background checking. Usually just stuff we can Google or get from your blog – no actual physical stalking or anything.

Oh. Well, that’s good to know.

Well and, Kim, it’s because of your blog that I am calling today.

Really?

Oh, we just love it here. Capital “L” L-0-V-E it. I was talking about it with Helen Mirren when she was in here the other day. You know, she was really taken with your post on her book. In fact, she was the one who put us onto you.

(beat)

I’m sorry. I dropped the phone.

Right, well, I am guessing that was a joke because you are so funny. Really, I read a lot of blogs and I have to say I have never seen one that shows more genuine talent, strength of personality, depth of knowledge and just plain interest than yours.

Wow. Well, that’s so nice and really, no offense, but impossible and untrue.

Really, Kim. No joke I am a Hollywood Agent and I want to represent you! You know we represent writers too, not just movie stars. Right?

(beat)

Well, Sloane, this is a joke right? You’re recording this, right? Give me your number and I’ll call you back.

(Laughter). I guess that’s the lawyer in you, Kim. No. Not joking. I guess you didn’t get my package?

Hmm. Nope, no package.

Damn, I mean, darn. I read your post on your two posts on St. Andrew and St. Paul’s and your Protestant churchgoing Grandma and everything - but then I saw you posted the Will Farrell video. I agreed that was a riot. Don't tell anyone but we're trying to get Will Ferrell to sign with us too. Not sure where you stand on the cursing issue – one of the things I just love about your blog. So hard to pin you down.

Oh I can curse like a drunken sailor. But the kids.

Right, Catholic school and all.

Let me call you back.

They said it would be there by 10. It’s 10 your time now, isn’t it, Kim?

Just about. Yeah. Oh. Wait. There’s the Fed Ex guy. Hold on. Hold on.

[…]

I have a box here, Sloane. A very big and heavy box.

Oh, great! Super! What timing. I think it’s a good omen. Frankly, I wasn’t sure if Fed Ex went up that far. It’s great. I had a friend from college from Vermont. But she was from Manchester. I guess that’s another world from North Troy, isn’t it Kim? I was going to visit her one summer but we went to Nantucket instead, where their summer place is.

Well, yes and no. North Troy is like Manchester minus rich people, restaurants, outlet shopping and prep schools. I am thinking of starting a Yacht Club here, though.

Funny, again.

I can’t get the, wait, this isn’t some Unabomber item is it?

Funny! No, Kim. See the Century City postmark. It’s from me. Open it up. I am so pleased to be on the line with you when you got this. I picked it out myself and really I am dying to know what you think.

Let me get a knife. Hold on. I, the tape...

Well….?

There’s lots of bubble wrap. I recycle this so I am trying not to rip it. Wait.

Been in Vermont a long time, then? The recycling, I mean. Since about 1993?

Oh my God.

(beat)

Where did you get all this?

You like it?

Well, yeah. I mean, it’s all MINTON in the PINK COCKATRICE pattern! AND , is it, yes, the Coffee Pot! Sure, how many place settings – like,

Only six; that’s all we could find. And believe me, my assistant tried everywhere on about three continents at least to get this. That pattern hasn’t been made in about 80 years. The woman we got this from said hers wasn’t for sale, at first anyway.

Oh my God!

Yes! It’s amazing isn’t it?

(beat)

F*** How did you guys know about this?

Well, that “light bit of checking” I mentioned. We managed to track down that porcelain dealer on Portobelllo Road that you met in London this spring? He said the nicest things about you, and your daughter, “The Understudy,” I love that name by the way. I agree, way better than “Kid 1” and not so derivative of Dr. Seuss.

Sloane.

Yes, Kim?

What is this all about, really?

Well, Kim; I think I know the answer to this but I am not taking anything for granted. Have you ever thought about doing any screenwriting? Of course you’re not in the guild yet but we can take care of that…