Why I appreciate other writers

I was beat the other night, and my husband Aaron was playing a computer game (and therefore wouldn’t have noticed if I had burst into flames, shed all my clothes, grown a second head or all of the above), so I picked up a novel for a few minutes of mental vacation. Surprisingly, Aaron asked about it. I started describing it, telling him something like how it was fluid and poetic and was an interwoven story about the lives of several women linked to two central characters, touching on theater, the biblical narrative of King David and an eccentric family life. I got all excited and began telling him about a particular writing strategy she employed that I wanted to try with a current work. In fact, I said, I have to go make some notes – and at this point I bounded out of bed and fired up my computer.

He looked at me as though I had just finished enumerating the merits of cleaning the port-o-heads at the State Fair.

Now I am unimaginably fortunate to have an intelligent, long-suffering husband who is willing to discuss with me (or listen to me discuss) just about any issue under the sun, even when I feel compelled to hold forth on my political passions at 2 a.m. But it’s at times like this that I really appreciate the connections I have to other writers. Who else gets honestly excited about parallels I see between the novel The Hours and tactics I’d like to use in my current nonfiction work? For that matter, who gets so abjectly offended at misuses of grammar, or bemoans tired plot devices, or understands why I had to ask an interview subject what color his coffee cup was or what, exactly, he said to the friend who just betrayed him? I may be overstepping boundaries to put myself in league with some of the writers I know, but I do know it’s darn refreshing to spend time talking shop.

The coffee cup, by the way, was orange with green stripes. He didn’t remember what he said in that life-altering moment, but assures me it was memorable.

Great balls of silicone

Perhaps the Internet knew I needed a little levity today. I was browsing (read: procrastinating) last night and came across an article entitled "Fake dog testicles help pet owners accept neutering." Seriously, who wouldn't be drawn to a headline beginning with the words "Fake dog testicles?"

Apparently the procedure's been around for quite a while -- I did seem to remember something about it from the dredges of memory -- and is gaining some momentum among pet owners who want to neuter their pet dog but feel they are depriving the poor pooch of doggie masculinity, or are making him feel empty, or perhaps they feel guilty endorsing the removal of such a clearly enjoyable licking diversion. I'm not sure. At any rate, the procedure is done after an animal is neutered, and replaces the real deals with silicone lookalikes. They've sold over 250,000 sets since 1995, costing up to $1,800, "for implantation in animals as diverse as a rhesus monkey in Arkansas and a water buffalo in Colorado." Most vets seem slightly bemused, some disapproving but some willing to humor eccentric owners if it encourages the control of pet populations.

The thing that got me the most was the statement that Neuticles are "marketed for their 'real' shape and feel."

Huh? Feel? Assuming dogs aren't too discerning while licking their nether-regions (and I think we can assume this is the case), who is feeling these? I guess I can sort of, kind of, almost see how someone overly concerned with manliness or gender in general would appreciate Neuticles as a sort of showcase for the dog's alleged mettle. But who's conducting tactile examinations? Another guy said he liked the procedure because otherwise it "just wouldn't look right." I don't know; I think I generally engage pets via the other end.

In related news (yes, really) we recently took our new cat in to be neutered (sans Neuticles request). After a cursory examination, the vet called me back to tell me there was nothing left to remove. Something of an animal person and (I thought) pretty observant, I felt fairly stupid to have overlooked this. I asked: "So, uh how can you..."

"Tell? Like this." At this point he received a considerably peeved look from the cat as he demonstrated how he arrived at his conclusion. "It's not receded at all, so you wouldn't really know unless you palpated the scrotal sack. See?" I assured him I did not, in fact, make a habit of palpating such things.

The cat continued to shoot reproachful looks at me the whole way home.

Sad news

For all of you who knew that I was pregnant (which I guess includes everyone who reads this blog), sadly, we lost the baby at about 10 weeks. I began to miscarry Saturday, and finished earlier today. My husband and son as well as I are dealing with it, and we have a great family and surrounding friends and family to lean on during this time, so we're all doing as well as can be expected.

Thanks to everyone who (offline or online) has already offered help, support, thoughts, prayers, kind words or just warm fuzzy vibes. We certainly appreciate it.

I might have more to say about this in the future (as I do about a great many things) but I think at this time I'll just let the reality of it sink in, and take solace in the love of my family and my privilige to love them back. Cheesy, I know, but very true, and very treasured, especially now.

I'm back. And preggers.

Sorry for the long absence ... well, for whoever still might read this, anyway. We had a virus and spy-something that snacked on the computer for a while, and a bunch of non-computerized dramas to deal with lately. But things are looking up -- my husband is off his nightmarish night schedule, which was wreaking all kinds of havoc (as if being newlyweds, with a small child, is a walk in the park to begin with). I'm registering my son for school (!) tomorrow, and he's stoked. After a few redirections, I'm reasonably on track for my book manuscript. We all (my husband, my son and I) just returned from a vacation in San Diego, hampered only slightly by my husband losing his glasses and me evacuating the contents of my stomach during our ocean kayaking adventure -- this latter incident is due, I'm sure, to our biggest news of late: I'm a couple months pregnant. (I actually considered for a moment not posting this for all the virtual world to see until I was a tad further along, but my husband's grandmother, who talks to approximately half the Southwestern United States, informed me she was "making sure I tell everyone I can." So what the hell.)

We're all pretty excited about the new addition: my husband and I about welcoming another child, and my son about being a big brother. His list of things to introduce to the baby grows daily, and he already plans to pass on a love of animals, hiking, music, SpongeBob, astronomy, and probably a few hundred other things.

Actually, my husband was really excited, once he figured out what was going on. I had to tell him during a day he was sleeping (not off nights yet), so our conversation went:

(Me clearing my throat loudly)
Me: Oh, are you awake?
Him: Hmrmph?
Me: Hey, I just wanted to show you something.
Him: Hmph mmmrpx.
Me: Hey, check this out.
Him (prying eyes open) Mmmp; whuss that?
Me: It's a pregnancy test.
Him: What does the plus mean?
Me: Positive.
Him: What?
Me: Plus means the test is positive.
Him: OK.
Me: OK?
Him: Snxxxx...
(Me leaving in slight disgust.)
Him (5 hours later): Did you tell me you were pregnant?