Here's a taste:

"Fingers pause above piano keys for the chord/that will not form. Slam them down/I say. Make music of what you can." 

Yes!

For sale? What?!? And with a big sign and phone number, meaning I, one Amy Timberlake, could make an inquiry. Hey, maybe next week they'll have an open house.

Then I had another thought: do everyday, normal people EVER stroll by cathedrals thinking 'Just imagine -- my own sacristy'?

But it's true. I found this in "Chicago Real Estate Daily":  

Colliers tapped to sell Scottish Rite Cathedral

Colliers Bennett & Kahnweiler Inc. has been hired to market the historic Scottish Rite Cathedral, one of few buildings that predate the Great Chicago Fire of 1871. An official asking price hasn’t been set, but the property, at 929 N. Dearborn St. in the landmark Washington Square District, is projected to draw bids around $4 million, says Mike Senner, a senior vice-president with the Rosemont brokerage. The property is part of Walton on the Park, a mixed-use project developed as a joint venture by two Chicago-based companies, Enterprise Cos. and Mesirow Financial Real Estate. The 30,600-square-foot cathedral, constructed between 1869 and 1873, was known as the UnityChurch until the Scottish Rite fraternal organization acquired it in 1911. Likely buyers include religious organizations and performing arts groups, which would benefit from the stage area and stadium seating for 700, Mr. Senner says.

Evidence?

And this:

Anyway, the instructor Lance Brown said something that I've been thinking about: He said if you wanted to take your songwriting up a notch, you needed to think of songwriting as "a practice."And he meant "a practice" in a spiritual sense (or at least that's how I took it). My understanding was that you needed to do it in a disciplined way and, like you would in any sort of spiritual practice, with an eye to the fact that the repetition of actions will be transformative for the person who engages in it. The focus being more on the person than the product.  

I've been thinking a lot about routine and discipline and the good in those things for my own writing, so this was one of those underlining life moments for me. Yes, I thought. 

[Photo: Found these old spools of thread in my grandmothers' sewing box. Aren't they beautiful?]

Did you guys see this study on this Botox side-effect?  Here's what it said in The Week magazine (Feb 26):

Botox injections that eliminate frown lines may interfere with people's ability to perceive sadness and anger, a new study says. University of Wisconsin researchers studied 40 people who had received Botox treatments that paralyzed muscles that produce frowns. Both before the injections and afterward, the subjects were asked to read statements designed to evoke strong feelings ("the pushy telemarketer won't let you return to your dinner""), and then to push a button to indicate whether they understood them. After the Botox injections, patients had trouble processing and understanding sentences about anger, irritation, and sadness. This phenomenon apparently relates to the "facial feedback" effect, in which the muscles used in smiling, frowning and other emotional expressions send signals back to the brain, strengthening and making us aware of these emotions.

Good gravy!

Everybody is talking about writing for this new fangled, plugged-in generation, but what about the Botoxed? What kind of books are people going to write for them? Apparently, they can't read sad sentences and understand them . . .

SO. Whew. I guess I've strengthened my resolve to let my face go Georgia O'Keefe one-hundred percent. (I can't find the photo online of her weathered face, but it is something to behold.)

Yes, I'm beginning the fight again. Trying to talk myself into it. I blame it on Alan Weisman's book The World Without Us. His descriptions of the state of the oceans reminded me again of why I want to do this. (Search Google using the terms "Polymers Are Forever" + "Orion" for the article that led to the chapter.) I just can't deal with it. So I'm back on the band-wagon. Here's a photo of the plastic I have personally used  in a week (does not include Phil): 

I am NOT going to eliminate all of it -- only a small portion of this pile. I want to quit using plastic ziplock bags (oh how I love thee!) and plastic wrap (is anything more convenient?!?) and I want to start carrying reusable thermos for coffee at coffee shops, and also my metal lunch boxes for leftovers from restaurants.

The thing that stymied me for a long time was trying to figure out how to keep vegetables fresh in the refrigerator without plastic, but I found this from the Berkeley Farmer's Market. 

We'll see how I do. 

Do you have any mottos or adages you live by?

"As a rule a man's a fool. When it's hot, he wants it cool. When it's cool he wants it hot, always wanting what is not." 

-- American Theatre, January 2010

This is why I don't put art on the same walls as windows. (Hope the photo shows up.) This is the view from the living room this morning -- lots of lake effect snow tracing tree limbs that somehow seem to vine along the windows. The house in the background reminds me of Edward Hopper. 

Who could ask for a better triptych for their walls? 

I can walk in a city for hours and not feel it. 

It seems a lot of writers walk as part of their writing process. (Or ride bikes. See this article about a Toronto writer.) Some writers unsnarl plots, or find their characters, or hear city-rhythms that they replicate in language, all while walking. I wish I could say that had happened for me. It hasn't. (Maybe I've tried to hard to make it happen.) But even without these advantages to my writing, walking does clear my head. It reconnects me with the wind against my cheek; the world pressing on, pressing forward, just outside my doorstep; and surprisingly, the beauty found in the most unlikely places. There? Really? Yes.  Back inside, I write from a much more peaceful place.