I accidentally tripped my burglar alarm this morning. It's very reassuring that they can just talk to me on some kind of radio wave and ask me if I'm OK. "I wouldn't say no to a big glass of ice water," I playfully rejoin. Not really. But I do have an alarm (so don't try anything) and it did go off this morning. It reminded of a time just after I had Ellen. Christian left early in the morning and accidentally set off the alarm. I had been up with her and gone back to sleep. I finally woke up when police knocked at my door. The alarm went off. The alarm company had called and called (this was before radio waves). The police came, circled the house, and were ready to check things out. I slept through all of that. What's wrong with me! I don't know.
When I started blogging I started a notebook with writing ideas in it. I cross the ideas off when I use them. There are still lots of ideas in it. The first thing I wrote in it is, "Oregon Boot--mental patients wore." This idea is still untenable as a lengthy blog post. But sometimes blogs can simply be informative:
"Nathaniel Hawthorn warned that fire being imprisoned in its iron cage would lead to the unraveling of the family when open fires changed to stoves in kitchens." I got this from Steven Gdula's book called The Warmest Room in the House. There's always a hater against new technology. How could stoves be bad for families? That's like saying the internet is bad for families! Oh heaven forbid we put a scarlet letter on a woman but let's make her bend over an open flame to cook dinner in the name of family cohesion.
Have you heard of Salonpas? If not, what do you think it is? Cat pedicure, peaceful foot soak, Faux pas you make at a salon? No. It's a topical pain patch. That does not make any sense. I hate it. Talk about a jarring discrepancy between the name of a thing and the function of a thing. Salonpas.
Another thing I wrote in my notebook is this: The Frightening Marble. What could that mean? So, not everything in the notebook is "gold."
Good night. I'm done here, but I'll be on Facebook for six more hours. And Nathaniel Hawthorn thinks the internet is bad for families . . .