When I have a migraine, which seems to be more often lately, there’s little I want to do. Cooking is hard. I can read okay, but it’s hard to concentrate on writing most anything at all, except for e-mails. So I apologize for being remiss and not posting.

My librarian said she’s been to the ER three times with migraines. Mine have never been that bad, fortunately.

I also had a student who rarely made class this last session because of migraines. The best she could do was get to work. I feel for her.

Today I took Excedrin Extra Strength and the migraine is at bay. It’s there, lurking, like a parking meter cop, waiting to swoop down at the first chance it gets. I even said a prayer to St. Jude, the saint of lost causes.

I cannot think of one man who gets migraines. They seem to be a female thing.

What do you do for migraines?

In the New York Times last week, an essay by Ben Schott in which he talked about abusing books*. You know, turning down the corners, leaving them splayed open, marking them up.

I love it when readers of my book tell me their copy is all marked up. I don’t consider it abuse. I consider it love.

Although I did loan a friend a brand new book and it was returned to me, abused. Coffee stains, wrinkled. And it made me unhappy.

But I must admit to you here and now: I am a book abuser. An inadvertant abuser.

I left the book that you see on the table on the back patio last summer. I brought it out to Travis who was on the chair hammock and we never brought it back in. I figured others would look at it, namely Brian’s guitar students or their parents. It seemed, of all the books I own, the one book that should be available to the public, to kids.

Through the searing sun, through the rain, through the Santa Ana winds and the itinerant cats in the neighborhood, and who knows what else, the book has remained on the patio table. Sometimes it’s positioned in such a way that I’m sure someone has been looking at it, maybe even reading it.

I suppose I abused the book, but look how sturdy it is, for a mere paperback.

How are you with your books?

* If you go to the NYT, you probably won’t be able to access Schott’s essay unless you pay. I found it on this blog, unabridged.

I love it when a movie stands up to the book. The Namesake does this. I loved the book and I loved the movie. I read the book a few months ago and found it moving and wonderful. The movie was moving and wonderful, too. I’ve been to India a few times and have had many Indian friends, but even so, even if I’d never been there and had never been immersed in the India community, I think I would have found it all there and not felt that I was missing something. Same thing re: the book. If you haven’t read it, you won’t find you’re at a loss. (Although I would read the book after you see the movie to fill in details.)

I had that experience with Little Children. I loved the book but really didn’t like the movie very much at all–and especially didn’t like the narration.

In The Namesake, the only thing I thought was off a bit was why Ashok wants to name his and Ashima’s child Gogol, but that could be the trouble of my memory and not the movie.

This morning Travis and I came out to find this vignette, created by Lonnie the Leprechan (or Brian….)….

I am a sucker for these sorts of pet stories:

Here a dog and monkey are inseparable.

And here, Nora the cat plays piano.

Okay, back to writing…..