I decided today that there aren't enough random, unrelated musings on my blog, those little things that flit through one's mind on any given day, and so I'm beginning a weekly tradition. Let's call it Random Wednesday. Though you know full well that it'll either skip around days or go the way of the Edsel, but hey...

Random Wednesday

• Not all of Georgia O'Keefe's paintings look like a woman's genitals.

• At the gym today it hit me, gazing about at the plenitude of young things...I am in my thirties! Holy Shit. Do you know what that means for a woman like me who is not hefty of breast or long of tresses? Men don't notice you. Not that I, a happily married woman, am casting about to be looked at...but it's interesting to notice. However, teenage boys do occasionally look at me, and that scares me. I'm too young to be an older woman.

• PB and ...crackers? I am over the moon for Trader Joe's peanut butter pretzels. And if you think this is not a literary post, you're quite wrong, for how many words have been delivered out of the ether while my hand foists their crackery goodness into my mouth, my teeth penetrating cracker body, giving way first to salt, then to the sweet paste of peanut butter? Hundreds.

• Show me the money! How is it possible that I am owed so much money? It's cool one one hand to look at all those little outstanding invoices and think: I'm worth X dollars, but the fact is, it never comes in all at once, often late and I'm always wringing my hands just a little waiting wondering. In fact, the best words I received today were from the editor at Writer's Digest who I worked with on my first-ever assignment for them. After telling me "nice job" she said, "now send me your invoice so I can get you paid." Oh bless you! I want more people walking around with clipboards and executive looking suits saying, "let's get you paid." Doesn't that sound great?

• Late Bloomer. I used to hate it when in movies, or even just Bugs Bunny cartoons, a woman would jump onto a chair screaming when a mice scurried into the room. I mean, geezus, mice are cute. An armadillo, possum or gila monster might have that effect on me, but a mouse? Lady, loosen up! However, my nearly 10 year-old cat, who we have teased mercilessly for his inability to catch anything more animate than string (but he's a fierce string-catcher!) has suddenly become a mouser this summer. He's caught about five that we've seen (mice and rats) and who knows how many others. Well...he brought one in the other day--you know how they do it, they rush past you so fast you can't tell what's different about your cat's behavior until you notice its bloody entrails have just decorated your carpet--yeah, well he brought in his disemboweled rat and I started to scream! What I learned was that the screaming did not come from a place of fear. It was revulsion. It was not "ooh, ooh, I'm a wimpy little lady" but rather "do not get those dead rat germs anywhere near me!" It was primal disgust. However, he did it again just yesterday!! This time, he ran off when I opened the door, because I guess I had my Attila-the-owner expression on, having been disturbed no less than about six times that morning already, and when he saw my face he bolted. I came back out later to discover that he'd left for me two perfectly shaped rat paws, a tail and a little tiny stomach. They were in such good condition I felt as though I should glue them to a sock and make a rat puppet. I soldiered on this time and, using about sixteen plastic bags, threw away the items and hosed down the steps.

Now. Don't forget to listen to my show tonight! See post below for link to the Word by Word blog.

JPR