A whole bunch of doodads have been bustling around in my brain this week. I'm turning them loose for your consideration.
^)(^ Station KCRA of California, in an apparently slow news cycle, polled its listeners? viewers? fans regarding their most hated foods. Of the list of 25, astonishingly, several are actually my favorite foods. And of those remaining, I can honestly say that I would refuse to eat only two (okra and oysters). Three of the most hated were actually on the menu of my childhood pretty much every Monday night during the school year--liver and onions, and lima beans. I am not overly fond of: raisins, tofu, and buttermilk (to drink), but I wouldn't say I hate them. I cook with raisins and buttermilk. Tofu...eh. Not a fan. I almost wept to see avocados on the list, and who could hate mushrooms? And, really, peas? Dear little peas? Do NOT get me started on broccoli. Or sour cream. What is wrong with America?
^)(^ Of course, you all know how I feel about The Facebook. Apparently, however, I am on The Facebook completely against my will and on The Twitter as well. This is thanks to my children, Sam and Jared, who have been so helpfully and kindly posting some of my text message conversations with them on their TwitFace accounts. As you may recall, I am the owner of a Fantasy Basketball Team (and I made the playoffs, too, beating Jared out of a spot). Many times, we discuss trades and do a little "trash talking" via text. You may also recall that I can be rather
^)(^ Speaking of former students, I had an experience with one last week that reaffirmed for me just how privileged I was to have worked with my creative writers. I had Eric in the 80s when I first started the creative writing program at my high school. He swore he wouldn't write any stupid poetry, that all he wanted to do was write Stephen King-type stuff. Long story short, I begged and got him to take my class. He was brilliant, and we went on to continue a writer/editor relationship that developed into a deep friendship. His work has appeared in a myriad of magazines; he has had a novella published as well as a couple of collections of poetry. For years he made time to teach my class, many times for free, for a week. Last week, he invited me to teach his. I presented for a couple of hours on the topic of creative nonfiction using my blogs as examples. Eric also presented me with an artist's copy of his latest book. As usual, I burst into tears. "You didn't even see the best part," he admonished me. Turning to a flyleaf, he held it open, and showed me. It was dedicated to me.
It's become fashionable to have a Life List, an inventory of places to visit or things to experience before Time Is Up. I'm not a fan. I know myself too well. Driven by Crossing Things Off, like so many To Dos or Chores, I'd lose sight of the Spontaneous Wonderfuls, like Having A Book Dedicated To Me, or Not Wearing A Coat In The Winter, or Owning A Fantasy Team, or even Trying Okra One More Time.