June 2004

The astute observer will rightly point out that it has already been June for some while. The astute observer would be correct. Today, to be precise, is June 22nd.

On June 1, I had the pleasure of speaking at the Richmond Public Library, as part of the Richmond Writers Series. We had a fine and lovely time, and just as we were getting to the really good part (refreshments, courtesy the Friends of the Richmond Public Library), the fire alarm went off, and we were unceremoniously disgorged onto the sidewalk and into the summer evening.

The resourceful Kelly Kyle (president of the Friends) had managed somehow to spirit along with us to the sidewalk not only the refreshments but also a stack of my books and the means to sell them to anyone with a yen to buy a copy. So while the fire engines screamed up (false alarm, by the way) and library patrons milled about uncertainly, I was able merrily to carry on.

Fast forward a few days.....

Oh the heck with it, it's so literal to try to cover What I Did in June. Not exactly page-turning breaking news. Our new shrub dogwood suffered leaf-drop. Swim-team practice. My college class's 20th reunion. Gripping stuff. Did I mention the leaf-drop? Also, I did a reading/signing/etc. at the Borders in Saratoga Springs, New York.

What--you missed it again? Once more you have deprived yourself of the incomparable thrill of observing my simple electric motor in operation. I know you're kicking yourself now, aren't you, saying to yourself, "What could possibly have interested me more than a reading/signing/etc. at the Borders in Saratoga Springs, NY where I could have seen Caroline demonstrate her simple electric motor?"

If you've never been there, S. Springs is a lovely town. Between you and me, the actual spring waters taste like extract of carbide and baking soda--or a rotten-egg spritzer. Definitely an acquired taste, and one I feel no pressing need to acquire, though I have blood relations who drink the stuff by the cup-full with slurping relish. Uh, no thanks, really. There's one spring they've tapped where you can stick your nose up to a pipe and take in a snoutfull of only the vapors. Cleared my sinuses through 2008. Felt like someone had run the 7:08 Express through my frontal lobes. Which brings us to the strange but true case of Phineas Gage (click here).

(entertaining photo interlude--me and my sister on my father's Yamaha motorcycle, circa 1969 or 1970. The motorcycle is not actually moving, in case you were thinking that my parents took rather a broad view on the idea of appropriate playthings for young children. Look closely and you will note the flower-power sticker on the side of the 'cycle. Ah, those were the days.

((If I knew two more things about Dreamweaver than I learned from randomly scanning Dreamweaver 4 Weekend Crash Course, I could probably make the text flow around that picture, looking much more elegant. Tune in for future installments of "Caroline wreaks havoc on her Web site." Somewhere, my Web guru is clutching his brow.))

I had a dream last night that I bought an old motorcycle, and the guy who sold it to me insisted I take his great beast of a dog too. I didn't really want the dog. But then again, the guy drove off without taking any money for the motorcycle. Even in the dream, this struck me as odd. )

And now, having nothing whatsoever to do with anything else I've mentioned today, but nevertheless, as far as I'm concerned, news of great pith and moment--Mrs. Chippy gets his due.

(from the BBC, 6.22.04)

Antarctic hero 'reunited' with cat
By Kim Griggs in Wellington

The carpenter on Shackleton's ill-fated Endurance ship, Harry "Chippy" McNeish, and his beloved tabby cat, Mrs Chippy, are about to be "reunited".

Next Sunday, a life-sized bronze statue of Mrs Chippy, who was actually a male, will be placed on McNeish's grave at Karori Cemetery in Wellington, New Zealand.

Don't know the Shackleton/Endurance story? I picked up a paperback copy of Shackleton's South one idling afternoon in a bookstore some five or six years ago (just before a mini-rage for the subject flamed into being) and by the time I'd finished had become a slavering fan of Antarctic literature and lore. South and Apsley Cherry-Garrard's The Worst Journey in the World are grippers of the first order.

May 2004 journal
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Date posted:06.22.04