Thoughts and Illy-strations

I have been busy.  Camp is a beast that needs constant feeding.  My time off is spent reading, as opposed to writing.  Which is okay.  I am craving the time I will be able to spend writing more and perhaps staving off the foul beast known as a Real Job.  I don’t like those much, no I do not.

Friday I am to be wed.  It is a simple ceremony at the courthouse, no relatives other than parents, no friends other than two witnesses.  Christofski and his wife, Amanda shall witness it.  It is indeed a shotgun wedding which we are having for financial reasons and personal reasons.  It will be much easier with the baby in the long run, and we are planning on being married anyway.

In October of ‘09 we shall have a vow renewal ceremony, which will be a normal wedding in most respects.  People shall be invited to this one.  It will be fun.

Regular posting is still postponed to Augustish.  Even weekly posting is iffy.  It is so funny how something can consume your life and other things must take a backseat.  My options for other camp things have to be prioritized and Sam comes first.  Writing is far behind right now, but it is okay.  I have more ideas for stories.  The problem is writing them.

I enjoy music.  Not many people do.  This comment will no doubt be the source of much angst.  But I hold that within the realm of this post, I am the only one correct.  My opinion counts for much more with me because it is mine.

The problem:  People say they like music but do not really.  Most people do two things:  They constantly have music playing.  It keeps on going no matter what.  It relegated to the background, ignored.  Occasionally it will be forced to the forefront by an individual who loves a certain song.  We are forced to be quiet so they can hear it, or sing along.

Those people do seem to enjoy music quite a lot.  But the actual music doesn’t seem to matter that much.  It becomes noise all too often.

Other people use music as veneer.  It is so loud that nothing else can be done.  The sound fills in all the cracks of silence and thought and doesn’t allow real appreciation.

Ted Kerasote had a dog and his name was Merle.  And he wrote a book about that dog.  Not just about that particular dog, but other dogs, wolves, elk, and the people he lives with in Wyoming.  And this book made me cry, oh yes it did.

Kerasote gives mostly chronological anecdotes of Merle’s life, interspersed with bits about what is actually good for dogs.  Training wise, that is.  He talks about the intelligence and personality Merle develops being allowed lots of free-roaming time.  The door in the title is an actual doggie door with which Merle receives something few dogs get - total freedom.

Merle and Kerasote do not share the popularized “Alpha -Beta” relationship - which has been found to be seriously missing crucial portions.  Instead, they share the leadership role.  Kerasote respects Merle as he would a human.  The way Merle acts, it’s hard not to acknowledge that dogs certainly can be considered people.

What an excellent read.  I have not cried due to a book since “Where the Red Fern Grows” in fourth grade.  Fittingly, also a book about people-like dogs.  Dogs are great people.  I love my dogs.

I bought this book instead of borrowing.  Sam actually used part of her Christmas present to buy it for me a long time ago.  I have been reading it for a while.  After weeping through most of the final chapter, I set the book aside and gave Grendel a big hug.  He didn’t know why.

He laid down afterwords, sighed, and farted.

Which is what dogs do.

Lifeguard training started today, so I am dog tired.  We swam a lot, pretended to drown, and did general lifeguard stuff.  It was intense.  But all in preparation for the children.
Today, I am planning a trip Up North with Sam at the end of June.  It is hard.  Really, we should have planned it long ago, as we are now searching for hotels.  And we have very specific dates of hotel-stay; we are campers by nature.  For some strange reason, there is no campground on Mackinac Island.  The confuses me greatly, but whatever I suppose.

And I sit and stare at my journal.  It is a fancy Moleskine which I like okay.  My favorite journal was my last one, a black affair that said “Notes” on the front.  It was normal.  Moleskine seems to scream at other people “I am Fancy!  Look at my MOLESKINE?  Hey, Elmore Leonard, did you see I’m writing in a MOLESKINE?

What is the point?

I do like the ribbon and the band.  It is obviously popular for a reason, so poking fun is not needed.  But the last entry?  May 1st.  Two sentences.  Before that?  March 3rd.  Journalling is hard work, I guess.  I do enjoy it, but I wonder why I seem to forget about it so often.  I have filled one journal in my day, a feat I found impressive.  The damn things just seem to float around for days sometimes without my spying it.  But there are things my head would like to put on paper or keyboard that I’m not willing to put here.

They are thoughts that don’t belong here for the world to be bored by, ideas I don’t want taken from my mental coinpurse, and general stress relief.

So, journalling.  Should I not update here with witty observations, I shall keep the written word ongoing in my own handwriting.  Which is also hard.  Handwriting has become a lost skill.  I find myself forgetting the way to write letters.  I spent five minutes trying a cursive “J” the other day.  It kept coming out as an ampersand.

This is somewhat odd as I do write many letters and cards to people.  These are rarely creative endeavors.  My grandparents aren’t interested in visual imagery, just how the family is.  So that is that.

ALSO:  Should you find yourself interested in minutae of Sam and Mine’s life, we have a blogarino:  abelclan.wordpress.com.  It updates rarely now, but come Baby Time, it will rock.

Camp is my life right now.  I think I warned about it earlier.  Even posting once a week may not happen as I will be busy slowly recuperating after a harried week.

Sam was here.  She stayed for a few days and left this morning.  It was nice to have her to go home to and to spend time with.  We have applied for our marriage license for our “fake” wedding.  She wants little pomp occurring with it.  And that is how we are rolling.

I have little time to write in the camp environment.  I am very busy doing other things - and that is okay.  Those other things involve my creative juices and actually see me writing things.  The staff manual, the songbook, notes to counselors and other things.  Once this summer is over, the return to Stillwater will allow me time to work on writing again.

And so I am not so frustrated as I am impatient.

Grandma’s funeral was on Saturday.  It started at eleven and was, as these things often are, a bit too long.  But it was very nice.  Nic and I were pallbearers along with my cousins and the guy who lives across the street from Grandpa.  The casket was not as heavy as I thought it might be.

Among other things, I heard the story of how Grandpa and Grandma met.  It was a nice little story.  They met at a square dance and she caught his eye.  A few weeks later, he saw her at a show at the auditorium and asked to take her home.  He had heard everyone call Great-Grandma “Ma,” so he said “Ma.  Can I take Ruthetta home.”  That was that.

Grandma sat in the middle of the house when we visited.  She was an empress to the family.  You could goof around all you wanted with Grandpa, but to upset Grandma was worse than murder.  I don’t recall anyone ever doing it.  She made sure the house was clean.  More importantly, she made sure the house was welcoming.  There are few places I have been as welcoming as my Grandparent’s house.  Little was off-limits to us growing up, we were free to explore the woods and fields in the back.

Most of my family was there.  The only cousin missing was Gail, and she had just been there a few weeks ago.  She lives in Panama with her husband, so it was a big thing for her to be able to make it up at all.  I know she would love to have seen us all.

I will miss Grandma.  And that’s the end of my feeling.  She died in the best circumstances, having lived a full life.  Grandpa held her hand when she went.  We had all said we loved her.  She is free of pain now, whatever has happened.

I will miss Grandma.

My grandmother has passed away.

This is a bit of a big thing.  I have had the good fortune to reach age twenty-five with all my grandparents in fairly good health.  Grandma Grimm has been in failing health for the past few years, so this comes as no surprise.  Still, it is a shock to have it happen.

Ruthetta Grimm, called Willie by Grandpa Grimm, has always been a mythic figure.  You couldn’t do much in my youth to anger Grandpa, but woe unto he who angered Grandma.  I never did.  All I saw was a sweet woman who made amazing pecan pie.  But there was the imagined Grandma, the one you never wanted to see.

I last saw her a few weeks ago.  I wanted her to meet Sam and know we were getting married.  She held Sam’s hand and mine.  For a long time, I was alone with her.  Grandma held my hand, too weak to sit up.  We just sat in silence.  Grandma and I have never talked much - I was never articulate enough to carry on a conversation when she was in health.  But it was nice to sit with her.  I let her know I loved her and kissed her forehead.

I did all I needed to with Grandma.  Her death is sad, but she is done suffering.  She touched a lot minds and hearts.  My mother learned to cook from her.  Mom taught my sister and me.  She is alive whenever Sarah makes a pie, even just a little.

So, Grandma’s book is closed.  But there’s one Hell of an epilogue to her story.

It has been a while.  I did warn you.  Gone are the wonderful days when I could update everyday, sometimes twice.  My schedule will not allow it.  But I know people read this blog.  There’s only a handful who seem to visit, and most of them are people I already know, but I feel compelled to reward them.  In that vein, it seems I should update regularly.  But when I throw myself into a schedule, chaos reigns.  I cannot say “I will have a new update every Wednesday.”  It doesn’t work.

My promise to you, the reader, is this:  I will update once a week.  It will be an update of substantial material.  An essay, a poem, something new created by me.  Rants may be involved.  Humorous tangents will ensue.  But to make it easier on me (that’s who I really care about) I will not specify a day.  It could be Tuesday.  It could be Friday.  I could do one on Saturday and then on Sunday and that would count as two weeks.

I have never considered myself professional.  This cements it.  We Adventurer-for-Hires cannot be hammered into a schedule.  It doesn’t work.

ANNOUNCEMENT:  And now for the meat, the real thought.   I was unsure if I should say so since anyone can read this, but I feel there’s no reason people shouldn’t know.  I am happy about this announcement.  It is exciting.  It is one of the greatest things ever to happen.

My dearest Samantha is with child.

Yes, Matthew Abel is going to be a father.  Several people will no doubt groan and say “poor kid,” but I will ignore them.  We have known for little over a month and the twelve-week mark is May 25th.  We are registered at Target.  We like the Classic Pooh line.

This news is a big reason I have started writing so much lately.  It is why I have been taking it seriously.  I want my child to have a daddy who is a writer.  I don’t want them to have a daddy who is miserable at his job.  So I try harder on the behalf of a son or daughter I have not met yet.

And after this?  We will be adopting.  I do not feel it socially responsible to have more than one child.  Samantha is having amazing bouts of morning sickness, so she doesn’t really think she’ll ever want to go through it again.  Her mind may change. 

Names?  If it is a girl she shall be Gabriella.  We have no middle name.  Boy’s names we like are Quentin, Gibson, and Lando.  Well, I like Lando.  Sam thinks it’s a terrible name, but I am fairly certain if I keep trying she will crack eventually.

To end, the due date is December 20 - My sister’s birthday.  She is thrilled, let me tell you.

Finally.  I finally arrived home.  Awaiting me was the latest volume of the Percy Jackson series:  The Battle of the Labyrinth.  I have talked before about this series, but here is a recap:  Percy Jackson is the demi-god son of Poseidon and has to save the world.  His friends are other demigods, a centaur, and a satyr.  That’s it in a nutshell.

The Battle of the Labyrinth was enjoyable, but the “new car” smell of the series is wearing away.  I must admit to being a bit disappointed.  This feels a bit like Rick Riordan just wanted to get the book done and raced through it.  It feels rushed as there were more than a few typos in the text as well - which makes me feel it got rushed through the publishing house.

As a Percy Jackson fan, I was happy.  As an aspiring writer, not so much.

THE LIGHT SIDE:  The action starts right away, which it usually does.  Things always seem to mess up Percy’s life, and in this book he meets a new romantic interest.  This complicates things since he has one already at camp.  The character of Nico (a demi-god) is more fleshed out and gains some closure from the death of his sister.  Percy’s half-brother, Tyson (a cyclops) has a strong role, which is fun.  We get to see more of Percy’s dad, and we see Percy’s god-powers show up big time.
The characters continue to grow.  They do so slowly, but the Percy in this book is somewhat different than in The Lightning Thief.  The other characters have changed a bit as well.

THE DARK SIDE:  The book seems rushed.  Many younger age books I read race through their story, but do so in a way that you don’t really mind the lack of fleshing out.  This book reads like a well-polished skeleton.  Part of the problem may be Riordan usually writes for adults, but I think he’s selling the youth short on bulk.
Also upsetting is the lack of innovation.  I was really hoping for a departure from the Percy Formula with this book, but it is rapidly becoming as predictable as the A-Team.  So far, each book goes a little something like this:  Percy gets attacked, Percy meets up with his friends, Percy and friends go on a quest, Percy and friends meet a Greek God, Percy gets sidetracked for a chapter in a parallel to a Greek Myth (The Lotus Casino in book one, Calypso’s island in this one), Percy escapes, Percy’s friends continue the quest, they sort of accomplish the quest but learn more bad things are on the way.
I think what really drives me crazy is the “sidetracked” part of each book.  It’s an extra chapter in each book and doesn’t always do much to move the story along. 

I had originally been very excited going into this series.  It seemed like it would encompass five books - just like my favorite series, The Prydain Chronicles - and would really be quite a lot of fun.  It is a lot of fun, but it is becoming repetitive.  I enjoy it, and will keep reading it, but I wonder if I will ever want to reread it.

(I had this same problem with Harry Potter - I couldn’t put the books down.  But I don’t really feel I’ll every have much urge to read them again.)

Whenever book five comes out, I will read it.  I certainly hope it is better than the fourth.  I would like to see a departure from the formula I have described.  I would still recommend this series to any lover of young fiction, so I guess that’s a good thing.  I am such an expert in it and all that

Well, here’s hoping all of this works.  I am at my parent’s house using their creaky Internet, which amazes me.  People have talked long enough about how quickly we have come to rely on the Internet, so why should I?

Sam and I left Stillwater yesterday afternoon and drove.  And drove.  It was a long drive.  We camped and froze and we drove more today.  Which brings us here.

I could enlighten you as to the happenings in the car, but there weren’t many.  Much of the conversation consisted of Sam asking me what on earth I was listening to and myself replying “NPR.”  She would then change the station and go back to sleep.  Kona the Kitten roamed the car with a mouthy meow unless we held her.  The dogs slept.

It feels good to be home for a while.  I truly love it here.  But this is the center of my complacency in years past, so it is good to move on.  Tomorrow, we travel to Sam’s Mom’s house for a few days.  We might see my brother this weekend.  Next Monday I return to Camp for the summer.  I am both excited and nervous for this.  I am nervous about the attachment I feel to camp and how sad I will truly be to leave at the end of the season.

Posting for the summer will be sporadic as I will be working all the time.  I will be thinking of wordpress during the summer and what I want my blog to “be.”  In the Fall, it starts again.