Over the last two weeks, I read Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert Heinlein . If you can set aside your prejudices toward science fiction and can appreciate theories even if you don't agree with them, this book is a must read. I thoroughly enjoyed the characters and the plot. (When I told my father last night that I read the book, he said, "Oooohh, I remember that book. My high school French teacher recommended it.) One idea that has stuck with me is the fact that the "Man from Mars" withdraws into himself after he experiences any great emotion or struggles to learn a new concept. He has to have time alone away from the world to process what's happening around him. Once he does this, he's able to move on. I get that. Right now there's nothing I want to do more than crawl under a blanket and sleep. Or run across the country ala Forrest Gump. A remote cabin in northern Canada sounds divine. So much has happened lately. So many ideas are flooding my brain

I'm having some trouble stringing together a coherent thought tonight, but I will try to finish this post and not relegate it to the graveyard of drafts I've saved for the last few weeks. I have lots of ideas to share. I also have a very slow dial up system at home and very little free time right now. So much has happened and not much has happened, and like usual, I'm not entirely sure what to share and what to tuck away into my memory. I haven't even journaled much to record at least a sketch of the thoughts and feelings roaming within me. The month of July has been a whirlwind of travel for me: a week in South Carolina with one side of the family, a week in Ohio with the other, and a very long weekend in the Bahamas and West Palm Beach with my dear friend. My sweet husband deserves some props for keeping together our bustling homestead and the animals who share it with us. Tonight we're dealing with our puppy who was spayed today. I hear her stirring, and my heart

I think that had my darling husband realized that my innocent visit to South Carolina would lead to my renewed addictions to anime and sci-fi fiction and a severe reduction in his spare time, he might not have been so quick to agree to my little vacation. Then again, he has known me 9 years now, during which he's held my hand and rolled his eyes and tossed me a few verbal barbs about my various obsessions with Robert Downey, Jr., The Matrix, medieval literature, and Mexican culture. And those were just the ones that made the most sense to him. This trip was an adventure for me because it was the first time I have ever ridden on a train (except for the Metro in D.C., but I don't count that). Let's just say that I am now a walking Amtrak commercial. The ride was comfortable. The crew was a delight. The food was better than a school cafeteria. The price was unbeatable. I thoroughly enjoyed my time with my family, and I am still processing each moment as they become part of my

Last Thursday I made a special visit to see the burial site of my paternal grandfather. Since he died before I was born I never had the chance to know him in this life. Yet I have carried his eyes and mouth and head shape and name my entire life, physical proof that we all leave something behind when we leave this world. It was a beautiful moment as I stood looking at the copper plate bearing his name and birth and death years. Here I was as face to face as I could possibly be with him for the first time in my life. I was acutely aware of how much I wish I could have known this church pastor and father and friend. I even whispered, "Hi Grandpa. It took me 31 years, but I'm here now" and couldn't help but wonder if there's a protocol for spirits meeting the living. My hopes were high before we reached the cemetary, although I didn't know exactly what I expected from a plot of skeletons. Just before we left, though, I stood and took one last look at the length

Right now, I'm feverishly trying to meet a writing deadline for today. I've known about it all week, but the diversions of life (like a trip to the only pharmacy in the county that will fill my dog's prescription, a successful search for a new computer bag, and an irritated piriformis) have a way of sapping my inspiration. This magazine article is about a fascinating real estate company in Tuscany. In fact, if I had the money, I would buy one of their properties tomorrow just so I could go out for myself and wander the ancient cobblestone streets of Italian villages. And that's just what I'm trying to convey in this article. So far, I have 162 of 1000 words finished. Thinking that some wine might push along the creative process, I opened the closest thing I had to an Italian wine. It's a German auslese: very, very sweet, and it's from a region far closer to Italy than the Argentine wines on my shelf. So here I am molding the words in my head like modeling cl