People would still buy it, though

If the automobile had followed the same development cycle as the computer,
a Rolls-Royce would today cost $100,
get a million miles per gallon,
and explode once a year, killing everyone inside.

Robert Cringely, InfoWorld magazine

Sometimes it's icky to be loved

When the girl went away from the hearth and home of her parental units, she left behind this delightfully round and rotten animal.
This animal loves us. That's why she brings us these:
And these seem to be especially fat and particularly plentiful this year, and the place of choice for these gifts is right outside the bedrooms, at the top of the stairs. I just know, one of these nights, my husband is going to get up in the middle of the night, in the dark, without his glasses, and tread upon one of these little dainties, and then bring the results back into our bed on his feet.

Do you supposed the US Army would object if I sent that girl her cat?

Reset all statistics

Do you ever play Spider Solitaire on your computer? I would not want to see the total number of games I've played - but the number of hours that many games would represent are almost all Thinking Hours. It's a kind of mental white noise - often I'm not zoned out. Honest.

If I lose too many games, I clear all statistics and start the average over.

Game --- Statistics --- Reset --- "Are you sure you want to reset all game statistics?"

Yes.

2008 is supposed to be the year of writing and sending out A Submission a Month. I did it in January. But I missed February. Today I reset all statistics. I sent in some of my work to a contest. For the year, the stats are 66.6%. For March, it's a 100% -- now that I reset all statistics.

Addendum: This does not mean blogging once a month -- it means sending things out to publishers and contests and things. Just so we're clear.

Just because

"Why?"

When you're digging and shoveling lime or sand or green manure into your garden, that's a legitimate question. You should know why and it should be specific.

But when you're plowing up the ground in order to be able to plant a garden? Well, that's a silly time to say Why? unless it's the dead of frozen winter and you're trying to plow permafrost. One does not ask, Why garden? -- it's too silly to deserve an answer.

"Why?"

When you're choosing a doctor or a midwife and a birthing place for the impending arrival, then Why? is the question to answer. Why that one? Why not this other one? Makes sense. Conscious choice of particulars in the midst of a given reality - this makes sense.

When you're happily married, asking Why do I want children? is slightly odd. Couples couple, and coupling makes babies. We have to choose to stop the forward momentum, if we want it stopped. It's called being normal and ordinary, and so normal and ordinary that anything else is an exception. Exceptions there may be, but, Why am I normal? isn't a normal question.

"Why?"

It's not, Why do you want to hug and kiss and wrestle and swing that child up into the air? That's a silly question for normal folk.

It's not, Why do you lift that flower to your nose and sniff?

Or, Why do you blink when someone tosses something at your face?

Or, Why does the earth spin in only one direction?

If you're still three years old, you can ask those questions. But after awhile, you figure out that life is what it is. Humans are what they are. Why? Just because. That's why.

I'm a little amused at myself today. I've spent so much time in three-year-old brain (a generally good place to be since so much of the grown up world can't answer the question Why? when they ought to know the answer) that I forgot that sometimes, "Just because" is the answer.

Why do you smile when you're happy? Just because.

Why do you cry when you're happy? Just because.

Why do all the puppies sleep in a pile like that? Just because.

Why is the grass green?

Why is it sunny only in the daytime?

Why is grandma old?

Why must you stomp in the puddles?

Just because just because just because.

The particulars have answers.

But some things are the way they are just because.

And why do I want to go to school? At my age? For a degree that has no obvious practical application? Just because. Grownup brain can tell you all the particulars, but the particulars answer a different question. The answer to, How? is in the particulars. The answer to, Why? is just because.

The boy with the jabbing pencil

That middle aged woman in the classroom in my head? I figured out how to make her drop the class. She'll probably show up again. She'll probably register for nearly every class I ever take. She'll bring her pinched face and telltale style, and she'll bring the questions she uses to accuse me. What are you doing here? Didn't you read the books? Don't you have the reading list? What are you doing here?

But now I can make her go away!

I learned a trick a couple of days ago. (Don't tell most of my memories about this trick. The Teacher's Pet I once was will not be happy about this.) I learned a trick from one of the boys. He sits behind me sometimes, and he fights boredom by poking me in the back with a pencil. Drives me nuts.

A couple of days ago, every time that wretched woman in front of me turned to face me and accuse me with her look of contempt, every time she asked one of her hammering, hammering, yammering questions, that boy jabbed me in the back with his pencil. And every time I turned around to make him quit, he mimicked that nasty woman.

Now, usually, I just turn around enough to make him quit without really paying any attention to him. But I finally couldn't take it any more. I turned full around in my seat - and then I saw his face! The pest was smiling! He thought it was funny to ape the absurdity - he was on my side! (Boys are so dumb! They can't ever seem to find a way to get your attention without doing something like poking you in the back with a pencil.) I looked him full in the face, and he did it again. He did a perfect imitation of the front row bitch, and he said, "What are you doing here?" But coming from him, it was a whole different question. Coming from the boy with the pencil, the question was one that made me laugh!

(I thought I was going to get in trouble - but the teacher didn't hear me - he was keeping the front row scornwitch busy.)

So I turned back to him, and I asked that boy the same drumming question.

What are you doing here? Hmmm? Why are you sitting in this class?

And he said, "I want to."

Well, slap me silly and sound the horns! My word, my gosh, my golly. THAT's the answer! What am I doing here? Why do I want to go to school? At my age? Knowing full well that there are a thousand reasons for its being utterly impractical? Why?

Hey, lady. Turn around. Go ahead. Ask me again.

(She's so nasty - acts like I just interrupted someone far far out of my league.)

Why do you want to be in school? She asks me again. Right on cue.

This time I don't falter.

Because I can. That's why. There are people who can sing, and there are people who can weld, or sew, or garden, or do accounting, or paint. When these people are women who've reached middle age, and found that their world is settled enough to bear the weight of building a broader, deeper, higher life, then those are the people who can do it. They should do it. Because they can. I want to go to school and get that degree from that school because I can.

She dropped the class. Now maybe I can get on with it.