November 28, 2002

Retro and CD update

Update: The Fragments monologue CD is limping along. The Radio Shack microphone is a big improvement over Mr. Dell's. And, following kind comments from readers, I will not be making any attempts to put too high a polish on this, leaving in the hiss and crackle of the woodstove, puppydog noises, and the not infrequent gaffs where I lose my place or try to be extemporaneous, and end up falling all over myself. Everything goes. Got to get this one ready to be a stocking stuffer.

Did I mention that I printed out everything Fragmented since June? It gives me easy pickings when deciding what to include on the CD, not to mention providing a hard copy archive for when the entire Internet implodes, which my hypervigilant and mildly paranoid little helpmate warns me about. More than that, I now have a tangible work I can hold in my hands, a tactile proof of the life I have poured into words over the past months. The heft of it is reassuring, the quality is, well, like real life. There are more than a few stinkers in the bunch.

But: since I expect the blogosphere to be seasonally diverted toward football, family and food for the next several days, I will save the longish posts that pick up some old threads until next week. Meanwhile, I will point you back to a couple of the June entries I read this past week that made me smile. They may be fresh reads to you new or occasional visitors.

  • First, a family heirloom picture of my dear daughter caught in a Kodak Moment that I call Digital Exploration. Daughter was in a bad accident on an icy Wyoming highway this week, and came away with nothing more than a mildly sore neck. We continue to be thankful for her guardian angels, who we now owe hazard pay and overtime.
  • You don't bring me flowers, anymore... is a cautionary tale to husbands and wives: Mind the calendar, and keep a bottle of wine chilled, just in case.
  • And finally, a lament written early during my self-imposed 'free time' away from work. I struggle with the freedom from versus the absence of 'work' during this transitional period in a piece I called Early June in the Summer of our Discontent. This essay was supposed to be read as my first on-air essay, but the radio station person in charge left the station and the reading fell through the cracks. I like it because it elicits the memory of the feel of sweet, fragrant summer air as I sit here in a thick warm bathrobe by the crackling woodstove.

Y'all have a safe and wonderful time with family. Take a walk in the woods. Hug a tree. Be well.

Posted by fred1st at November 28, 2002 06:29 AM

May your blessings be too numerous to count!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Posted by: Da Goddess at November 28, 2002 06:46 AM

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