One true correct

Today on Facebook, a friend of mine posted, "Every religion thinks it's the one true correct religion. Assuming there is one, they can't all be right."

She herself is not religious, and she is not the first person I've heard say this — or the hundredth. I think it's a pretty common perception about religion. I didn't say anything on Facebook, because I'm not interested in shaming people or getting into a battle about it.

But in case I have readers who deeply believe that to be true — it's not.

Some religious people (including a handful I've met) think their religion is the one true correct one. I've met some of those folks.

But I don't.

Almost none of the religious people I know think that.

Most of the religious people I know think their religion is the one that works best for them, right now. Many, many of the religious people I know have shifted religions, embrace folks of other religions or no religion or something in-between.

And there are lots of religions that are pretty explicit that that religion itself does not exclude other religions or religious doctrines, even among its own followers.

Like I said, not looking for a fight on this — just correcting a misperception I see a lot. Be careful of words like "every" and "all."

In other news, it's 35° here. Feels like June.

I'd wave a white flag, but you'd never see it

Sorry I keep talking about the weather.

This winter is KILLING me; it's led to car issues and house issues and travel issues and a weeks-long bug that I am finally over. I have never been so ready for spring.

Temperature when I checked it this morning: 9°.

That is 20 degrees warmer than it was that time yesterday.

We have had one day in February during which the temperature rose above freezing at any point.

And should you dare to walk outside at all, you're walking in a maze: at least butt-high snowbanks on either side, often more like waist-high or higher. There's no "just cutting across" What's underfoot is mostly snow (the consistency of sand or granulated sugar) over ice, with unexpected patches of pavement just to ensure maximum unevenness.

Here's one of the better weather-related jokes making the rounds on Facebook:

And up here, we have it so much better than Boston.

If you sometimes consider donating any money to a shelter in the northeastern U.S., or speaking up when you see someone who is likely homeless being kicked out of your favorite coffee shop or bagel place or art gallery — this seems like a good time for that.

Stay warm, friends.

Cold snap

This morning I brought RI to work because otherwise, he'd have had to walk, and it was -11° outside, and that is unreasonable. But it still meant I was awake and outside at 6:50 in the morning in -11° weather. I am so sick of this winter I could punch it.

Related: Thinking of changing my name to brrrrgrrrl.

How's the weather up there?

Woman leaving a building ahead of me yesterday, brightly: Oh, look! It's snowing! We needed it, really.

Six at one blow

I've already written the last two posts of the month, and have decided to give up on this particular month of gratitude at midnight, so this is the last post I'll write, and it'll just be a bulleted list of things to cover days 23-28.

I am thankful for:

• My family and their support
• Leftovers
• Stories
• Pie for breakfast
• Snow days
• A few days without college students in this college town

Hello Muddah

An old summer camp friend of mine has a friend whose (12-year-old) kid is going to camp for the first time and was looking for advice, both for mom and kid.

I suspect I was asked because I was online at the time she had the question. And because I have worked at or attended about a dozen camps, as camper, counselor, division head, drama specialist, dorm parent, costume designer (OK, that was a theater camp), maintenance person, kitchen crew, arts-and-crafts director (very briefly and in a pinch), office administrator, and director. So I know pretty much everything.

But so do a bunch of you.

Here is some of what I said.

For mom:

• Even if you feel sad or worried about your kid, DO NOT emphasize that. Tell her you'll miss her, but not how much, and then let her go have fun — if she's homesick, let it be on her own terms and not because she's worried about you. 
• Don't  hang around a long time after you drop her off. Get there early so she can get a good bunk, help her settle in quickly and then leave.
• Write. Letters from home are some of the best parts of camp. Do it even if your kid is terrible about writing back. Do it on paper, not email, even if camp lets you email.
• Have fun while she's gone. If she is an only child (or her siblings are also at camp), have grownup fun that it's harder to have without her around, and tell her about the appropriate-to-share but boring-to-her parts, in your letters. ("Edith and I went to the teacup museum and saw seven hundred different kinds of teacups. It was so fascinating.") If not, obviously you will have special fun with your other kids, but encourage them not to brag about it until she's home and can brag back.

For kid:

• Make friends with as many interesting fun kids as you can and also at least one kid who doesn't seem to have very many other friends. 
• Try as many things as seem fun to you, even the ones you're afraid you won't be good at. 
• Eat as many fruits and veggies as you can, even if they're gross, and at least a little protein at every meal. That will help avoid whatever sickness winds up going around. 
• Write to your parents, at least once every week but no more than once a day.
• Come armed with a couple of legitimately funny jokes, and then don't tell them right when you get to camp. There will be a moment when you will be glad you have them. 
• Bring one nice outfit (not fancy, just, like, clean and makes you feel good) and save it (maybe in one of those big plastic Ziploc bags) for towards the end of camp, when everything else is kind of dirty and cruddy and gray and gross. YOU WILL FEEL SO AMAZING.

So, my many, many other camp-expert friends, including the ones I know from summer camp: What do you say? What's the best advice you've gotten? What's the smartest thing you've seen done?

Striking a hoard

Two possibly relevant pieces of information before we begin our story:

• The expected high today where I live is 43 degrees.
• I am really, really not into hickeys. Don't want to give them, don't want to receive them, never have, for reasons probably both good and less-good. We'll plumb those depths another time.

Now that that's out of the way...

Last night, I was just sitting around, watching Hoarders, maybe a little judgmentally, like everyone who watches Hoarders.

And then, it was time for bed.

So I got up and immediately tripped on a pile of clutter in my own home (because hubris. Or karma. Or both.).

Fortunately, I did not break my laptop, which I was holding at the time.

But I did land both painfully and awkwardly, collarbone first, on the railing to my treadmill.

All of which is to say, thank goodness that it is appropriate to wear this turtleneck (technically, cowlneck), because bruisey:

Stormy weather

Today, my workplace was closed due to snow.

The highlights:

• As I am part of the "emergency communications team" at said workplace, I got up at 5:15 a.m. to share the word. Which mostly went fine.
• At about 6:15 a.m., after attempting to record the outgoing message for the switchboard about one million times, I texted my neighbor and subsequently went to her house in my pajamas to try again on her landline. That went better.
• I watched a few episodes of Dexter. Big revelation: A date that is featured sort of casually but repeatedly on that show is my exact date of birth. So that's fun.
• I videochatted with my sister and niece and nephew, which included tours of both houses, a puppet show, and my nephew's enjoyment of a toy drill for just slightly too short a time for me to come up with "that looks boring" as a clever thing to say. Those kids are very very very amused by seeing me upside down or sideways.
• I ventured out to the convenience store .6 miles away from my house on foot, both because I needed the exercise and because my driveway wasn't plowed yet. It took almost an hour round-trip because of the snow.
• My sweet friends had a temperature-solstice pot luck over the weekend that I was very excited about but then was too sick to attend, with the result that I have an excess of my favorite summer dish, which means peach cobbler, which is seriously summer in a bowl and good for the spirits of the snowbound.
• I watched Breaking Away. Golly, that's a good cast and a beautiful movie.

So, pretty much of a win overall.

How's your day going?

Got a light?

Every year, it seems like I have a hard time wrapping up the month of gratitude on time. December comes too fast. This year, it seemed to come faster.

This year, the beginning of Advent came with the beginning of December — Advent calendars would have you think that's how it always is, but it's only about every seven years, and seems rarer than that.

I keep feeling like I should have been better prepared for Advent this year — should have had an advent wreath together, or an advent calendar, or something.

December's also a dark month here. Last week, I finally remembered to eat lunch because it was starting to get dusky — around 3:30. Twice.

We fill the month with twinkly lights and candles — for Advent, for Hanukkah, for solstice, for Kwanzaa, for St. Lucy's Day, for Christmas. Advent is time to get ready for Christmas. Solstice brings increasingly brighter days — eventually. The first Sunday of advent, I lit candles with old friends while I shared a meal, chased with hot chocolate and laughter. Tonight, the second Sunday of Advent, I am watching the creepy Finnish Santa movie Rare Exports followed by the amazing Elf, with Chinese food and peanut butter cookies, with people who I care about and who respect these gatherings as ritual.

But it is dark, dark, dark up here, sometimes in more ways than one, and it's really important to make a point of finding that light where we can, and sharing it whenever possible, I think.

A belated day 30 of our month of gratitude: I am thankful for literal and metaphoric light in the darkness, and for the people that shine both with me.

...and apple cider doughnuts

This weekend has been full of many little blessings, like those of us who are lucky enough to live in New England in the fall and have good people around us get.

Here's a partial list of things for which I am thankful as I wind down on this Sunday evening:

• Fireplaces
• Birthday parties
• Humor
• My sister's family and friends
• Crossword puzzles
• The Office on DVD
• Newly discovered local doughnut shops
• Discount grocery stores
• NPR
• Phone calls with friends and family
• Brussels sprouts
• Drives in the bleak rural November
• Future plans
• Leftovers
• Shared kitchen time
• Windblown outsides that make inside cozier
• So, so much love

Day 10 of our month of gratitude: I am thankful for nearly perfect weekends that don't have to end on Sunday night.

Moral: No good comes of candlepin

Last night, I went to a birthday party for a stranger who was turning 30.

Her boyfriend is a friend and former temporary coworker of RI's. He'd arranged a party for a few dozen people at a local candlepin bowling alley.* It's a cute little small-town place with a bar in the entry and eight lanes of very old-timey-looking candlepin lanes; they don't serve food, so people brought cupcakes and snacks, and standard practice is that you leave your shoes and coats on or around the unguarded coat rack by the door, and then cross the bar to get your bowling shoes by the lanes themselves.

So we ditched our coats and shoes and then got into a conversation in the bar, standing around in our sock feet, which was clearly no big deal. At one point, my nose started to itch, so I went back to my coat to grab a tissue.

I should back up a little.

I have over the last few years owned a bunch of jeans that ranged widely in quality and in time bought, but the universe has colluded so that all of them became unwearable in roughly the same six-week period. I was out of jeans, which, bummer, because I wear jeans all the time. So last weekend I stopped by my favorite TJ Maxx and found one pair of nearly perfect jeans.

They fit great.

They look great.

They were very cheap.

But... the front pockets were fake. Like, there's stitching where the pockets should be to look like pockets, but they are not pockets. The back pockets are regular, and real.

And I bought them anyway, because they fit and look good and were cheap and I was entirely out of jeans, but, well, if there are any aspiring jeans designers out there who think maybe women don't want to use front pockets: It is way easier to just not use pockets that are there than it is to use pockets that are not there. Jackasses.

All of which is by way of explaining why my phone, car keys, and tissues were in my coat pocket. My wallet was in my back jeans pocket, which would horrify my chiropractor, but whatever. I went back to my coat to get a tissue — except my coat wasn't there. My plain black winter coat was just gone from the rack. I assumed someone had taken it thinking it was theirs, and my first concern was whether they'd left the party completely or just gone outside to smoke — because the phone would be easy enough to retrieve, since our host knew everyone and was nearby, and I could use bar napkins as tissues, but without the car keys, we weren't going home.

And as I was trying to decide exactly how much to freak out, I saw, out the window, the birthday girl, wearing my coat, complete with the pin my grandmother made. Now, that was mostly good news. She was unlikely just to take off and not return to her own party, and even if she did, her boyfriend was still in the bowling alley.

So I turned my mind to the matter of worrying about whether when I did get it back, it'd smell like smoke and make my whole car smell like smoke.

Meanwhile, through my internal meltdown, RI was deep in one of those conversations where there's not really a break to interrupt. Eventually, after probably ten minutes that felt like years, I explained what was going on, and the person we'd been talking to was very concerned. But what was I going to do? "Happy 30th birthday, please don't steal my coat"?

I was just going to have to wait it out.

And wait it out I did, until she returned. I didn't actually notice her, but RI's conversation buddy did, and nudged me, and I scurried back to the coat rack to move my coat to a less visible location, where it remained until I retrieved it.

Day 9 of our month of gratitude: I am thankful to have my coat back, smelling surprisingly unlike smoke. Further, I am thankful to have a warm winter coat at all.


*Yes, that is a real thing up here. No, that is not the kind of bowling RI and I normally do.

My Yankee Doodle

I tried to say this on my own Facebook page, but it just sounded scoldy and soapboxy, so it felt like I should maybe take it over here, where I actually have a soapbox.

There's a nuclear power plant in our region that has been bad news for lots of very real reasons, and people have been protesting its existence for a long time.

And now it's slated to shut down.

 And a lot of folks are celebrating, and I get it, but — I grew up near a nuclear power plant that employed a lot of people, and this is not all good news.

In a town of about 2,200 people, 630 jobs were just lost. Obviously, not everyone who works at Vermont Yankee lives in Vernon — which means we'll feel the effects regionwide. And 630 people either lost their jobs or will be relocated to other areas. That's hard for many of them.
And also:

• For those who benefited from those individuals' presence in the community
• For those who made money selling them goods and services
• For those who are served by the nonprofits they donated to or volunteered for
• For those who were already looking for jobs who will now have to compete with a whole new pool of skilled labor
• For really, probably, everyone in the region, whether they understand it or not.

Other people have also already acknowledged that (there's a really great editorial out there that I suddenly can't find; if you know the one, please feel free to link to it in the comments), but my own circle seems much more inclined to rejoice first, ask questions later. And I do not mean to diminish the role of people who've spent countless hours working to stop something that has been (and will continue to be for decades, actually) a real danger. I know I sound scoldy. I don't mean to sound scoldy.

But I'm seeing this as a mixed blessing, for sure. There are people I like having around who will not be as a result of this, and it makes me sad.

Several thousand words on the state of my deck

Note: On the Facebook page, I mentioned a little while back that I had a folder full of drafts I never finished: More than 60 of 'em, in fact. I'm going through that folder now, deleting what's not worth it, posting what might entertain you. This gem dates back to February 2011; I'm skipping around some, chronologically. 

Notes from 2013: That was the winter the ice fell off the roof and smashed the deck furniture, which I'd foolishly left out before the first snowfall, and then had never had little enough snow or ice to retrieve it.
And that pretty pyramid in the middle picture? That's my grill. Note the depth of the snow.

Ramblin', man

Friday night, I went to the Amos Fortune Forum with my folks. I think I've talked about this cool little lecture series here before, but in case not: Once a week in the summer, there's a lecture on some topic of interest, often by a renowned scholar or author, for which the speaker is compensated one jug of maple syrup. It happens in the meeting house of my parents' tiny town, about half an hour east of where I live. It's amazing. You should go, if you're in the area on a summer Friday.

Last night's talk was by a woman whose dad was a spy, about what it's like when your dad's a spy. It was cool, if a little strange that more of the talk was dedicated to bowling in her bathrobe than to spy stuff, but still, you know I'm a sucker for a good bowling story. And this was a good one. It's in her book.

Afterward, I decided I'd rather sleep on my parents' sleeping porch than drive home, even knowing that I don't usually sleep well there, and even knowing that I had a hair appointment at 9 in the morning about half an hour west of where I live, which is to say an hour west of where I spent Friday night.

But I got up in plenty of time and rolled up my sleeping bag and drove home to have a few minutes to putter around before I continued on to my hair appointment.

And once I got there, I realized I'd left my purse at my parents' house.

It's an easy mistake to make, because I almost never carry a purse.

But still, my purse had both my wallet and my checkbook in it, so I was not going to a) have means to pay for this haircut without making an extra hourlong roundtrip to my parents' place, or b) have time to make said roundtrip and still get to the hair appointment.

SO, I called my parents and then called the hairdresser to reschedule for later in the afternoon, and crashed on the couch for a bit (not having slept well the night before) and drove to my parents' house, grabbed my purse, drove back to my town, ran a few errands, went to the hairdresser, got a lovely new haircut which I paid for by check, and then drove another half hour south to cook dinner for RI (gazpacho and salmon, if you were wondering). We had a very nice time.

Sunday morning, RI had to be at work at 7, so we got up together and had the breakfast casserole I'd put in the Crock Pot the night before, and I slept for about three more hours, got up, did the dishes, and headed out for the hourlong drive home.

And once I got there, I realized I'd left my laptop at RI's. And rather than burst into tears, I crashed on the couch for about five more hours before deciding I just couldn't bear driving another hour back down there, only to have to drive an hour back, either last night or this morning before work.

All by way of explaining why you didn't get a blog post Sunday.

How was your weekend?

(Oh, and then I woke up this morning sick. You know how I love being sick.)

My vote matters more than your vote

Note: On the Facebook page, I mentioned a little while back that I had a folder full of drafts I never finished: More than 60 of 'em, in fact. I'm going through that folder now, deleting what's not worth it, posting what might entertain you. This gem dates back to December 2007. 

So, I'm a New Hampshire voter now. Which means, having tried so hard to ignore the presidential race until some folks drop out, I now have to make an actual choice, from all of the candidates. Like everyone else here, I am registered as "undeclared," which means I can vote in either primary. Probably, I'll vote in the Democratic one, but who knows?

Luckily, the ridiculousness around the New Hampshire primary means I have plenty of opportunity to check out the candidates. With very little effort on my part, I have managed to see Bill Clinton on behalf of his wife, Michelle Obama on behalf of her husband, Bill Richardson on behalf of himself, and now, The John Edwards Show.

Gotta admit, I went because Bonnie Raitt was going to be there. She was, and so was Jackson Browne, and they were awesome. Before them, Peter Coyote got up and had a few things to say-- he's a "hey, it's that guy!" I remember best from E.T. and Erin Brockovich. And then Granny D showed up, apparently unexpected by all, including the Edwards campaign, and she was outstanding. Elizabeth Edwards had a few words to say, the candidate finally spoke, as he was answering questions, Catie Edwards jumped in with some of her own thoughts on the Supreme Court. It was all very exciting, yadda yadda, yes, I'll consider voting for Edwards.

But it was also New Hampshire. So there were little kids running around and making a ruckus. I was in the second row of a small room [Note from 2013: I don't remember what I was going to say, don't remember what happened at that event, but wow, how things have changed since 2013. I did not vote for Edwards, in case you wonder, though I did vote in the Democratic primary. Just thought this one was worth sharing for the blast-for-the-pastness, even if you don't get the end of the story. Rest in peace, Elizabeth Edwards and Granny D.]

More on snow

Note: On the Facebook page, I mentioned a little while back that I had a folder full of drafts I never finished: More than 60 of 'em, in fact. I'm going through that folder now, deleting what's not worth it, posting what might entertain you. This gem dates back to December 2007.

Since some of you asked, yes, that snow that's hitting the Northeast has hit Keene. And it is very nice that I got some of the happy pretty snow before I had to contend with any of the pain-in-the-neck snow. This snow isn't even such a pain in the neck, really, but since I know you southern folk want to hear all about the weather, here you have it.

Last night, I drove a trip that is normally about an hour and a half in two hours. When I left, it had snowed, but was not really snowing, and there wasn't much on the ground. Most of the rest of the trip, it was really snowing, especially as I had to drive through a little semi-mountainy stretch. Some of you may recall that my air conditioner didn't really work over the summer. Bummer, but no big deal; I can roll down the windows. Turns out, my heat doesn't really work. Again, it's OK, I'm wearing a coat anyway. Oh, until it's snowing and the snow is freezing on the windshield and part of the heat not working is that the defrost doesn't really work either and it's almost midnight. Ugh. There was also one little skidding episode, which made me glad, as I so often am, that I learned to drive in New England.*

*If you have already heard about the very first time I drove, you can skip this asterisk. If not, bonus story! I was in a driver's ed car with an instructor and two friends, doing back-to-back-to-back lessons. I had literally never been behind the wheel of a car. and the instructor, who was a young woman and also in retrospect a genius, took us to an empty high school parking lot, waited until I was comfortable-ish driving slowly in circles, and, without warning, jerked up on the emergency brake, sending us into a skid so I could get used to the experience of turning into the skid. She did it a bunch more heart-stopping times, but I don't panic when I skid on ice, lo these many years later.

May Day! May Day!

Somehow, it seems we have not discussed morris dancing here much.

Morris dancing is a form of English folk dancing blah blah hankies, sticks, swords, etc., yadda yadda Langstaff something bells something go read Wikipedia.

I first learned of morris dancing through my cousins, who dance or have danced with teams in the D.C. area (Foggy Bottom Morris Men) (Rock Creek Morris Women). One of my early exposures was through their annual May Day dance, which happens at dawn, and which I have dragooned a few other people into attending with me over the years. It's a neat tradition.

Now, the last time I attempted to write much about morris dancing, particularly in my current area, I sort of started an incident. The internet was younger and I was more foolish in 1998.

I will attempt not to start any incidents this time, but I will say, one of my good friends up in these northern parts is also a morris dancer, and so I saw her team and one other dance this morning at dawn (which necessitated me getting up before 4, I'll have you know) on a mountaintop, and it was lovely. Great dancing, great company, stunning weather. Here are my (I hope) noncontroversial observations, based on years of morris spectating, followed by some pictures.

• Drinking 32 ounces of Pepsi on an empty stomach at 4:15 in the morning may keep you awake for your drive and subsequent hike, but is it worth it? Really?
• Nothing ensures that you will not need a flashlight on a sunrise hike like having a flashlight on a sunrise hike.
• A group of people outside and up earlier than should be true are often in pretty good spirits.
• Putney may be the Takoma Park of the north, or vice versa.
• Morris dancing is one of those things that makes a slow shutter response really infuriating. Whatever fun morris thing you are trying to get a picture of, the thing you will get a picture of happened after it.
• I may go to mountaintop or National Mall, to the rural reaches of New Englande or the bustling Parke of Takoma, to the north or the mid-Atlantic, and no matter how often or deliberately I move, wherever there be dancers with funny costumes and songs of whimsy, there will be someone prepared to stand directly between me and these dancers.

Putney Mountain Morris Women dance in very little light.

It worked! The sun's coming up.

Now there is cake, impaled on a sword. 

Really good cake, that I accept from a stranger and eat without even thinking about it.

Putney Morris Men dance in somewhat more light.

...and so do PMMW.

Giving Up: First Sunday of Lent

You would not believe the number of half-baked Lenten puns I had to dismiss for the title of this post. Maybe I'll try to work 'em in as we progress through the series.

Day 1: Pray for your enemies. I literally woke up thinking about this one, about two hours before I actually needed to be awake, so I lay in bed and thought about it.

Who, exactly, are my "enemies"? I thought immediately of one person who seems to be vying for the title, so I prayed for her, and then I was sort of stumped. I drifted in and out of sleep for a while, waking periodically to pray for people who'd irritated me recently, for things I didn't like, for myself (which is either very sad or very deep, or both, and I am still unclear which). The day before Day 1 (Day 0?) was a rough one, filled with frustrations, though ended with a really nice in-person conversation with a friend, and a couple of differently nice online chats with other friends. The roughness of the day before was still very fresh in my mind in those early morning hours, and my prayers were a little jumbled and desperate. I prayed for all kinds of things. Eventually, I decided Westboro Baptist "Church" was a reasonable enemy to pray for, and I prayed that they might find some peace in their hearts.

Then I spent the rest of the day thinking about it. Who are my enemies? For whom should I still pray? Anyone who gets in my way? Anyone who gets in my way on purpose?

I did not come to clear conclusions, but I did pray for a lot of people.

Also, thinking about who your enemies are is a weird way to spend a day.

Day 2: Don’t turn on the car radio. This was actually supposed to be Day 3's task, but it was impractical to "walk, carpool, bike or bus it" this particular day, so I swapped them around. The huge advantage to this is that I spent the day without all the sap or whininess of Valentine's Day — at least on the radio (Facebook is another story).

I had more than two hours of driving on windy country roads in the dark in silence — I felt inclined to turn on the radio several times, but managed not to succumb. Hey, alone in the wild.

Day 3: Walk, carpool, bike or bus it. I walked to work this Day 3 morning, and here's the thing: sidewalks in small-town New England a few days after a major snowstorm are sometimes snowy, which is good, because, traction. This particular morning? Slick, slick ice. I walked out for lunch on slightly less slick ice, and took advantage of the opportunity to catch a ride home with a friend I have not seen enough of lately.

Day 4: Give $20 to a non-profit of your choosing. I did. I spent the weekend with dear friends, and had a conversation that decided for me between two nonprofit concerns.

Is there harm in contributing to a worthy cause partly out of spite? Does it make a difference if I was going to give to one of these two organizations anyway, and just decided which one based on someone saying something that irritated me?

Aw, criminy. Of course there is. I'm off to give $20 to the other nonprofit, too.

The Moviewatcher's Guide to My Weekend

Sometimes, when I don't post for a while, it's because there's too little going on.

And sometimes, it's because there's too much.

This time, both. Sorry 'bout that.

But you may have heard there was a huge snowstorm up here. I have been mostly (though not entirely) homebound since Friday afternoon, and have taken advantage of the opportunity to do a little cleaning up and a lot of catching up on my Netflix queue. In lieu of a real post, then, some thoughts on the movies I've seen in the last few days.

Movies I do not recommend, especially if you're a woman in your 30s or 40s who lives alone and has an overactive imagination:

• Dreams of a Life (2011)

Movies I do recommend, especially if you are a queer woman who has suffered through a lot of horrible lesbian movies and just wants one sweet story that is not so terrible:

• Leading Ladies (2010)

Movies that I also watched, with a few words about each:

• Swimming with Sharks (1994) (People are complicated, and bosses are awful.)
• Heartburn (1986) (Wonderful cast. Virtually no plot.)
• The Man in the Net (1959)* (Kids help a fugitive, who is wanted for killing Morticia Addams.)
• Come Blow Your Horn (1963) (Womanizing never pays, except when it does.)
• Killer Klowns from Outer Space (1988)** (The title — and year — pretty much say it all.)
• Walking and Talking (1996) (Catherine Keener is pretty, but she and Anne Heche are both boring.)

Movie I will likely watch next, because when Netflix recommends something Korean, I tend to take it seriously:

• I'm a Cyborg, but that's OK (2006)

Movies I wanted to watch because someone mentioned it yesterday, but couldn't legally without paying Amazon for the privilege, and I didn't want to watch it that much:

• Overboard (1987)

Questions? Comments? What are you watching that I should add to the list?

* This one came closest of the also-rans to getting a recommendation from me. There was something just a little weird about both Alan Ladd and Morticia Jones — and maybe all the adult actors.

** Observe that this one did not make that first category. That is how awful-feeling Dreams of a Life was. It's not a bad documentary, I just wish I hadn't watched it. It's actually pretty good.

Friendster

Aside from making me all gushy about love, the wedding had the side benefit of introducing me to some fantastic new people, which, naturally, has me thinking about how many people-meeting situations I've been in in the last few (five) years.

In D.C., most of my social circle was directly or indirectly:

• from college, or
• from one of my two jobs.

Of my close D.C. friends, I can literally think of only one exception.

In New Hampshire, I like my colleagues, for sure, and have gotten close to a couple of them, but it is less of a family, which has both pros and cons. And there's only one college friend close by (plus two more a little further afield) with whom I interact regularly.

So, where do my friends here come from?

So far, I've found them:

• in bars
• in class
• in my bowling league
• when they started dating my existing friends
• working on that play I still need to tell you about
• at summer camp
• through online dating*
• and, yes, at work.

Day 17 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for people who wander into my life and make it richer — and for each new opportunity to find them.

*I should add that online dating has so far yielded few amazing friends but close to no romantic prospects over years of doing it. I am told that "through friends" is also a good way to meet romantic prospects; so far, the yield by that method has been similar to online dating.