I saw her on the down escalator at HMV. . .

January 19, 2011


I received an email from my publisher yesterday. . .the kind that makes me think they're happy with the editing and have moved into production.

Jesus wept.

When I saw said email in my inbox, I stared at it for a full five minutes, wondering what they could possibly want now, and if it was going to set me back another six months.

Or longer.

Finally mustering the courage to open it, relief flooded through my being followed by the realization that what they wanted would take about 30 seconds to complete and send off my reply.

But you can't blame me for being shell shocked.

Not after the editing-from-hell I endured last term.

To say nothing of the proofreader.

Lovely person.

I genuinely liked my proofreader.

But liking someone and being able to communicate what you want done, as opposed to what the proofreader thinks you should do, including perhaps going back to the beginning and interviewing people all over again, is an entirely different thing.

Entirely.






Luckily, I had some time at HMV late yesterday afternoon, acting as a protective shield of happiness, and providing the muster for the courage.

I love HMV.

And any other outlet that provides dvds for sale.

Even if its just a bin on the floor.

A special order had arrived, providing the impetus for going in.

Typically, I'm not supposed to be in there on my own.

Keith was at work.

As was Mer, who frankly would have encouraged me to buy more.

Stephen, the head chaperon was teaching a class.

And Em was far to interested in her own shopping to chaperon her 43 year old mother who should have more common sense and restraint anyway, and further more I'm not her responsibility.

So, I was on. my. own.

[Insert content sigh here]

No one to sit in the mall, on  a bench directly in front of the store and death stare me down while I attempt to wander through the store boring his eyes into my skull using the marital psychic link similar to an electric cattle prod.

And just as effective if you ask me.

No pleading kids wandering in and out, "are you done yet? can we go?" 

Just me.

And a reasonable time restriction. . .at least an hour.

Oh the rapture and joy I experienced browsing through the store, looking at movies, reading the back of them, the ping of regret that many of the movies on sale were ones I already owned, but the ecstasy when finding new treasures. Conversing with the employees, one in particular, about how he should see Sidney Poitier in In the Heat of the Night and a former student-cum-employee about which treasures were in and how she was faring this term.

Bliss.

Given the conditions under which I was shopping, I feel I was remarkably restrained.

Only four films purchased.

But what films they are!

Inglorious Basterds.

Keith has his own copy, a gift from a couple of Christmases ago, but I so wanted my own. It is SUCH a great film, and I'd consider marrying Christoph Waltz if he and Stephen could agree to share me.

Sherlock Holmes

Not really a fan until I saw this film of the English detective and his sidekick Watson. But the story was so well done, and Robert Downey Jr. was brilliant. I was even able to stomach Jude Law.

Interestingly, BBC One, I believe, has introduced a new Sherlock Holmes, simply titled Sherlock. I love it. And it's impossible to find. Only three episodes so far, but each two hours long, and brilliant.

Sometimes I can catch them on Masterpiece Theater. Maine PBS. After Antiques Roadshow and Creatures, of course.

The Birdman of Alcatraz

Burt Lancaster. One of the best prison films ever made, and that includes Shawshank Redemption.

Audition

This was the special order. The reason for my entree into the land of dvd delights. An Asian film. Young girl, widower, meet at an audition. . . and then she. . . .

You'll have to watch the film.

With strong resolves and an even stronger stomach.

And as if the unfettered browsing and purchasing of films was not enough, I was then able to retreat to Starbucks for a venti mild.

A rare treat indeed as I typically limit myself to one coffee a day, first thing in the morning, usually while I write my blog.

Any more than one and I risk not being able to control myself, and one in a day, could lead to several in a day.

Excess and balance.

My two biggest foes.

I was very tired, however, it was only 4.50 and it would be at least another hour before I found myself at home with my canine compadres, and I figured the coffee increased the likelihood that I would not fall asleep on the drive to the university to get Stephen after his class.

Of course it worked.

Too well.

I was tired last evening and could not get to sleep.

When I did sleep, I had weird dreams.

May have to rethink the whole coffee after 4.00 pm thing.

May being the operative word.






And things just keep getting better.

Nothing makes a morning brighter than having the radio turn on and hearing the dulcet tones of Trevor Doyle informing the populace that "schools in District 17 and 18 are closed for the day."

Freezing rain, rain, snow will be our companions for the the day.

A brief reprieve tomorrow and then Friday. . .

. . .a prediction of 20 cms.

Better than yesterday, when the Weather Network was predicting 20-30 cms.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves.

A freezing rain-rain-snow day means no fighting with Em to get out of bed.

Or the usual morning discussion regarding all the reasons she needs to go to school and not stay home, on the couch, under a blanket with Reilley all day.

No getting Stephen out of bed earlier than he thinks he should.

He gets an extra hours sleep.

7.30 instead of 6.30.

We both teach at 9.00 am.

The university almost never closes.

So I'm not worried it will today.

But, it means that we don't have to engage in the mayhem of dropping kids off to school and racing to the university to get to class on time.

All we have to do is get in the car and drive to work.

Six minutes.

No sibling brawling.

No kevtching Stephen about my hair trigger driving instincts through early morning traffic.

Just a nice, pleasant drive down one hill to go back up another hill to the parking lot of our building.

Now if Keith could just recover from the dry-barking-to-the-point-where-I-think-he's-going-to-bring-up-a-lung-cough, and I had a sense of just how red Mer's new red hair is, life would be almost perfect.

For a few short seconds anyway.

Because there's always something lurking around the next corner.

Always.


Title Lyric: The Girl on the Escalator at HMV by Songdog