On-line Love

Some of you may know this about me, others may not: I met my husband on the Internet.

Now, in the 21st century, this is not a source of shame. In the 1990's, when we first met, it was. I still feel a little embarassed admitting it. The Internet was new, it had a seedy air about it for many people, and there was a prevailing feeling that only desperados went looking for love on-line. (We didn't meet in a chat room, but through an on-line dating service called Webpersonals. I think they've gone belly-up now, but at the time they were thriving and thousands of people were signed up.) I joined the day after my divorce was final, not even seeking a long-term relationship (I'd had one of those, after all, and look how it turned out), but just wanting to ease back into the dating scene slowly, get my feet wet, ten years and three kids after my last attempts. Also, I was living in an extremely small one-stoplight town, and all of the eligible men in my age range could be ticked off on one hand. They were also either highly sought after...or...not. Anyway, my preference was to cast a wide net.

For me, it was a very freeing experience--it was suddenly raining men, and as a result, I was able to be myself. By first connecting anonymously, I had no vested interest in succeeding with one over another, and I had no reason to be anything other than exactly who I am. As a result, I found a man who loves me for all the reasons I want to be loved, a man who knew my cranky side before he met me in person, and who knew exactly what sort of woman he was talking to. Rarely in face-to-face introductions do we show our true selves or see into the heart of another. Often it is hormones that guide us in person...and I can't speak for everyone's hormones, but I can tell you mine will lead me astray every time.

It also turned out to be a very old-fashioned way to connect, despite the new-fangled medium. When I "met" my future husband on-line, we emailed for two weeks before I finally gave him my phone number and then it was another two weeks before we met in person. (He flew down from NY for the day--I was in the mountains of VA--and took me out to lunch at a local winery. Very nice.)

Why am I telling you this now? Because for some time, I've been feeling like the agent search is a lot like that relationship search I embarked on in the '90's. There's the initial connection, the cautious feeling out of the other, then, perversely, the gosh-I-hope-he-likes-me, and the why-doesn't-he-call? But all of that anxiety was what I was feeling when I was too caught up in the process. And oddly enough--just like the cliche says--love only came after I quit trying so hard, quit waiting and hoping, and was just myself, that's when everything clicked. So that's my new strategy with agents. Keep looking, but don't hold my breath, don't wait for "the right one" to call, don't work excessively to impress, and don't attach great hopes to any one until that one proves himself (or herself). What I want is just as important as what he or she wants and I need to find the right fit. True love will come when it comes, and that will be the right time. I'm going to trust the process and surrender.

Over the Edge

This is a great book, especially if you are a hiker and have ever considered hiking in the Grand Canyon. It describes all the recorded deaths in the canyon, their causes, how they might have been prevented, and what can be learned from them. It's a fascinating read and I guarantee you will learn something.

I, for instance, had no idea how prone the canyon was to disastrous flash floods--it's how much of it was formed, even. And what's worse, the rain that causes the flood can be happening more than 20 miles away. You can be sitting down in a bone dry culvert, in bright sunshine, when a roar like an approaching freight train begins and you have seconds to scramble to safety before a rolling wall of mud and debris engulfs you.

I also didn't know that some people approach the edge and just fall over into it from vertigo, or from some other sort of mysterious attractive force that makes people flirt with death. Some people have even died in the old cliched picture-taking way: "That's it...one step more, back up, back up..." Boom.

Oh, and that tourist-stop-dead-body-attraction that I mentioned in my previous post? That's a picture of it, there in the lower right of the cover.

Grand Canyon, The

Our trip to the Grand Canyon was amazing. Backpacking in the canyon is a completely different experience from standing at the edge and snapping pictures. As grand as it is from the rim, you still can't imagine the true vastness of the place until you have hiked down inside it...spent the night under an equally vast sky, filled with stars...and then hiked back up and out.

Our trip started as we hiked down the Grand View Trail (carrying far too much stuff--we'll go lighter next trip, promise) to Horseshoe Mesa, which was itself a daunting, 2,000-foot, downhill hike for two winter-pale northerners fresh out of their cocoons. But from Horseshoe Mesa we still had to hike down another 2,000 feet to Cottonwood Creek where we had been told we could find water and several flat places to pitch a tent (yes, we had a permit).

But somehow we missed the turn-off for the shortcut to Cottonwood Creek. (In the continuing saga of dumb-luck-stories that is my life, this turned out to be a good thing, as a "shortcut" that involves a 2,000 foot altitude change with a 40 pound pack on one's back down a steep gravel path is not a happy shortcut.) But this meant we had to drop three miles down the back side of the Mesa without another human in sight. (How quickly "no one around" can go from inducing a calm, peaceful state to causing out-and-out panic really would be an amazing timeline. Someone should do a study.)

Our water supply was quickly dwindling. Hikers in the canyon must diligently replace body fluids lost from the sweat of exertion, the heat, and even from the low humidity. It is possible to become dangerously dehydrated in the Grand Canyon, even without sweating, and not sweating wasn't an option for us. The canyon's 7% average humidity was responsible for preserving the body of a hapless hiker whose mummified corpse became a tourist stop for more than sixty years before the body suddenly disappeared in the 1970's. And we passed several conspicuous piles of tin cans left over from miners and prospectors who had tried to conquer the canyon in the 1800's (an era when man's dominion over nature was believed to be a biblical imperative). The cans were rusted, but completely intact, with the method of opening obvious to the point of being able to picture the miner cranking away at his stubborn tin with a pocket knife.

Contrary to what most people believe, the temperature at the bottom of the canyon is much hotter than the temperature at the rim. About 40 degrees hotter, on any given day. And three-quarters of the way into our first day of hiking, we started to ration water to make sure we would have enough. Seems reasonable, doesn't it? But we learned later that this is not a good plan. The rule of water in the Grand Canyon: If you save it, you might not make it. It turns out the dividing line between "I've got a powerful thirst" and "I'm speaking gibberish and walking off alone into the desert because I think I've found a good shortcut" is a very fine one, and it can happen much faster than you would think. Never save your water for later. Many a delirious hiker's remains have been found with a half-full water bottle that--if he had but consumed it--would have given him the strength and the presence of mind to locate the water source that was often just over the next rise. As a Park Service Ranger put it to us the following day, "In the Grand Canyon you don't hike to water, you hike from water."

[More tomorrow.]

Doreen Baingana

I met Doreen last year at Bread Loaf and found her to be a delightful conversationist (and beautiful, as well). Her recent book Tropical Fish: Stories Out of Entebbe is a fabulous read and one I highly recommend. The Monitor has a profile of Doreen here.

Laila's a Fulbright Fellow!

Over at moorishgirl.com my good friend Laila Lalami has just learned that a) she's won a Fulbright Fellowship to live and study in Casablanca and b) the new paperback cover art for Hope and Other Dangerous Pursuits is done. Good news all around--the cover is beautiful!!

Abide with Me

Elizabeth Strout's newest book Abide with Me is such a wonderful, redemptive read. When I finished it, I was sad to see my time with the characters end, so real had they become to me. I highly recommend it.

Blue Peninsula

I've just ordered this intriguing book by Madge McKeithen, which I've had recommended to me by too many people to count. I am so looking forward to reading it!!

Orion

I absolutely LOVE Orion Magazine. Every issue is important, with fabulous writing and amazing photographs. Check it out. They are doing good work and telling important timely stories. I can't recommend it highly enough.

Ups and Downs in the Arts

I've been an artist for all of my adult life. For the most part, I am used to feeling naked in front of people who are critically assessing my work. I've completely absorbed the most important maxim an artist / writer can learn: REJECTION ISN'T PERSONAL, or R.I.P. as I like to think of it. I've drawn it in through my pores until I truly believe it. I do.

So what I'm wondering is this: Why is it still so painful? I know the agent / editor / publisher isn't looking at me and sizing me up, only to find me unworthy. So what is it? Is it the hope that we've built around a particular chance for publication? (This, in and of itself, is an annoying trait--each new agent expresses an interest and I think, "Could this be the one? Will this be true love?" Blech, but there you go.)

Could it be that not hoping would be better all around? But what are writers, if not a hopeful bunch? I mean, really, why sit alone in a room, cranking out words for a stranger to (perhaps) read at some future time? Why? Our innate storytelling genes? Well, maybe if we were gathered around a campfire after a hunt I'd buy that, but writing is storytelling once removed. It isn't that immediate gather-round-my-children-and-you-shall-hear experience of the stortyteller. It's more of a please-oh-please-oh-pretty-please-
take-this-book-home-with-you-curl-up-with-it-and-love-it experience.

I don't really know where I'm going with these musings, just throwing out questions. Here's one: How do you deal with rejection?

It takes a village? No, it takes a world.

My cousin and her husband are in the process of adopting a son from China. They have two Chinese daughters already, and it is rare to find a boy for adoption, and only if he has health or developmental issues. Pierce is a handsome, wise-looking fellow and his new parents are proving themselves true citizens of the world. Congratulations, Holly and Richard!

Dominica

Well, I'm back from my trip to Dominica. The island was lovely, the people gracious and kind. My youngest daughter went with me, too, and got her first taste of Dominica. It was her first time snorkeling, and although she was nervous, she turned out to be a natural. I would wax poetic more about the island, but somehow it feels wrong to do so. Halfway through our visit there, the beautiful new baby of the couple we were visiting (old friends) was taken gravely ill. It seems more fitting to talk about lovely little Amela instead.

She was born almost two months ago, with lovely cafe mocha skin and deep blue eyes that appear to be very wise. Her hair is the silkiest thing these hands have ever touched; it curls softly all over her head. She is bright-eyed and watches everything around her, often with a knowing, skeptical stare. Occasionally, a corner of the room becomes utterly fascinating and she convinces me to watch it, too.

She likes good conversation, preferring to be spoken to directly; she listens intently, focusing on her companion's mouth and then returning with a comment of her own, moving her mouth and tongue with gentle coos. She will be a great communicator or a beautiful singer, and with her whole body she tells you that she wants to be there already.

She also wants to smile--does so in her sleep--but has yet to form the genuine article, even though it tickles ever so lightly at the corners of her mouth. She is almost there--smiling with her eyes, especially at her parents: her mother who loves her so fiercely and completely, her father who can hardly bear to put her down.

Amela, beautiful girl, loves the palm trees in her yard. The light breezes of the afternoon make her lift her face and turn toward them. She favors the clicking fronds of palms, the beautiful singing of her mother and the heartbeat of her father.

Amela. There are many, many people wishing for your return to health, praying for you, sending you the best of all possible wishes, dreaming of the day we may have the chance to hear you sing and see you smile.

Million Writers Award

It's time to make your nominations. To be eligible, the story must have appeared on-line during 2005, and it must be at least 1,000 words. Make your nominations here.

Puppy Mills Do Not the Best Dogs Make

Don't buy your best friend.

Dogs Like Us
Full Essay here by Ted Kerasote.

Here's an exerpt from the NY Times:

"Of the 180 breeds listed on one popular Web site for choosing purebred puppies, 42 percent have chronic health problems: skin diseases, stomach disorders, a high incidence of cancers, the inability to bear young without Caesareans, shortened life spans. The list is as disturbing as it is long, and poses a question: dazzled by the uniqueness of many of the breeds we've created, have we the dog-owning public turned a blind eye to the development of a host of dysfunctional animals?

...If every dog buyer did research, it would also help shut down the 5,000 puppy mills that, according to the Humane Society, provide most of the half-million purebred dogs sold through pet stores and the Internet. Poorly regulated, unsanitary factories in which females are imprisoned their entire lives, puppy mills survive because people get charmed by that puppy in the window.

Unlike the wrong computer or an automobile, however, faulty dogs can't be readily exchanged or resold. They can be "given up" to an animal shelter, and they are, at the rate of about four million dogs each year, this soothing phrase disguising the end of 50 percent of them a gas chamber or a lethal injection.

We owe our dogs more than this. After all, it is we who have shaped them. Even when we err, they continue to put their trust and their lives in our hands."

--Ted Kerasote is the author of the forthcoming "Merle's Door: How Dogs
Might Live if They Were Free."

BASS 2006

My friend, the most excellent writer Paul Yoon, just learned that his story "Once the Shore" was selected by Ann Patchett for inclusion in BASS 2006! This is fabulous. You can read an excerpt from this story and an interview with Paul at the One Story website. Go Paul!!

Quote

"Humans -- who enslave, castrate, experiment on, and fillet other animals -- have had an understandable penchant for pretending animals do not feel pain. A sharp distinction between humans and "animals" is essential if we are to bend them to our will, wear them, eat them -- without any disquieting tinges of guilt or regret."

-Carl Sagan, astronomer and author (1934-1996)
& Ann Druyan, author (1949- )

Winter again

If you were reading my blog last winter, you know how much I usually gripe and complain about winter, snow, etc. I live near Buffalo, NY and get a lot of the stuff, for a long time. Except for this year. We had a short stint of snowy weather in December, but had a green Christmas and no appreciable snow since then. Until today. We still only got about three or four inches, but it was enough to require shoveling and it made the world beautiful again. I know, I know, "Who am I and what have I done with Mary-the-winter-hater?" Well, maybe I'm feeling so optimistic because I'm going to the ITME field station in Dominica on the 15th. I can't wait to see the Caribbean in February. I'd always been going down in July--what was I thinking??

And my middle daughter is going with me this year. Each child gets a chance to make the trip with me when he or she turns 13. This year is Cady's turn. We're getting very excited. :)

Okay, I'm tagged

I've been resisting this for several reasons, mostly because I can't think of ten interesting things about myself that I want to share. But thanks to Cliff I'll try:

1. I am always hungry. I love food. It's one of my great pleasures. I will eat virtually anything... so long as it isn't flavored with licorice. I hate licorice. Can't bear it, even the smell of it. Fried baby eels? Yum. Brussel sprouts? You bet! Alligator? Sure! Licorice? Gag-a-maggot.

2. I am a funny person when you talk to me. I love to laugh and joke and I do--lots. But I write dark stuff, depressing stuff, occasionally twisted stuff. So don't use my writing to judge whether or not you want to hang out.

3. I love my children more than I can ever convey. Having said that, I am NOT afraid to be the parent and play the bad cop. Hate to be the bad guy...have to be the bad guy. It's my job. I really hope they understand this and we can be pals someday.

4. I plan to spoil my grandchildren so much it isn't even funny. I want to be called "Nana" and wear an apron and cook myself silly and read books until I'm blue in the face. Then I want to send them home and get on with my life of (whoo-hoo!) freedom.

5. I believe I will be a published author. I can see myself giving readings, answering questions. I can almost touch it. I will not be denied. (That doesn't mean I picture throngs of people hanging on my every word...maybe scads, but not throngs.)

6. I believe I have a purpose to fulfill in this life. Still trying to figure out what it is, but I really feel like there's something important I am meant to do before I die.

7. I believe that my grandmother and my father (both deceased) are still looking out for me in their own ways.

8. Animals in my house are very well treated. Adored, even. Held to normal standards of etiquette (get off that table!) but adored, nonetheless. I believe animals are capable of so much more than we give them credit for. They have talents and abilities that we will never understand.

9. I am a manly girl. I love to fix things, cook outdoors, get dirty, be tough. I am also a terrible softy. I cry at the drop of a hat over silly things like Hallmark commercials and touchy-feely notes from my kids and It's a Wonderful Life.

10. I don't know myself as well as I thought I did...or maybe I know myself better than I thought, because here I've come up with ten things in no time.

I'll tag Chris Duncan.

Drought, flood, drought, flood

I sent work out during all of 2005 and got nothing in return for my efforts. No love, no ink, no shred of interest, and rejection after rejection after rejection. A year's worth of it. Hard to imagine going a year with next to nothing in the way of positive strokes, but it's the writer's life I'm afraid. Needless to say, I was getting bummed and wondering if I should just quit trying to get published in journals. The whole lit journal publishing racket leaves SO MUCH to be desired.

Then, on Saturday, I opened my email to a lovely acceptance from Xavier Review for the short story that is essentially the first chapter of my novel. This acceptance was especially sweet because Xavier Review publishes work about the southern US and Caribbean, and wants work that explores racial themes. Perfect fit! Yay, life is good.

Then, the mail arrived. In the stack was a letter from Primavera accepting another story of mine that was first submitted in 2004! (In 2005 they requested a revision to the ending, which I did, and they have now agreed to publish it in 2007. A long way off, one might think, but in this crazy publishing business I've learned that it really isn't so far away.) This is another excellent fit, as Primavera is a journal that showcases work by and about women and the story is about two very different women who come together and the assumptions that each makes about the other. The editors were wonderful and really considered and discussed the work before deciding to publish it.

My faith in the system has been restored. Although, in a perfect world, I would have preferred to space my acceptances out just a bit more--two in one day may be more excitement than this poor fragile writer can handle, and it mostly left me shaking my head in disbelief. But I've decided to stockpile the excited feelings--store them away so that I will have a stash of fortitude to get me through the possibility of another long acceptanceless year.

Green-glowing pigs

Am I the only one that finds this horrible??

Glowing, green pigs

Generous Crows?

Clickety

EVEN ANIMALS ARE CELEBRATING THE SEASON OF SHARING

BREWSTER, NY -- (December 22, 2005) -- Why would a full-grown raven, living in a flight cage at Green Chimneys' Wildlife Rehabilitation Center, voluntarily feed his own food ration to a group of wild black vultures through the wires of his enclosure? That's the question perplexing staff and students at Green Chimneys.

I couldn't believe my eyes, said farm psychologist Dr. Suz Brooks. I was watching the raven pluck little pieces of meat we had just fed him, walk over to the wire of his enclosure and push the food toward the waiting vultures on the outside. The vultures gobbled up the morsels, as the raven kept getting more.

For many years, it was thought that concepts such as sharing, altruism and generosity were strictly human traits, and subject of animal emotions still is hotly debated among scientists. Yet, the work of ethologists like Jane Goodall, Mark Bekoff and others interested in the study of animals continues to reveal amazing abilities some species have to demonstrate complex behaviors indicating a much higher level of emotional and intellectual functioning.

Based on the science, ravens and crows are known to be extremely intelligent, said Michael Kaufmann, Green Chimneys' Farm and Wildlife director. But we really don't know why our raven has decided that feeding his food to the vultures outside his cage is something he wants to do. We need to be careful not to jump to conclusions based on human emotions when we are looking at explanations of animal behavior. But then again, sometimes things really are what they appear to be. Regardless why the raven is doing this, the students at Green Chimneys are seeing firsthand that even a bird can share his food, and wouldn't it be amazing if that were exactly the reason why the raven is doing it?

"Green Chimneys is dedicated to the preservation and rehabilitation of wildlife, said Paul Kupchok, founder of wildlife programs at Green Chimneys. The one thing we must remember is that wild animals belong in the wild and no matter how intelligent they are, they do not make good pets.

Green Chimneys restores possibilities and creates futures for children with emotional, behavioral, social and learning challenges. The organization operates a residential treatment center for children, a special education school, a farm, and a variety of programs in New York and Connecticut.