I’m doing some research and I have a survey for you. It’s pretty small, only six little questions. I would appreciate all the help I can get on this one. So if you’re willing, just cut and paste the questions below into an e-mail, add your answers, and send it off to me at betsy@postcardrx.com Thanks, all!
1) Have you ever felt unable to help someone who was in need?
2) Have you ever wanted to help someone, but didn’t because you didn’t know how?
3) Have you ever felt guilty because you didn’t do something?
4) If there was a way to help, would you have wanted to know about it?
5) Would you be likely to help if you thought you could really make a difference?
6) If you thought the information was available, would you turn to books, DVDs, TV programs or other media to learn how to make that difference?
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Saturday, August 8, 2009
From Desert Places to Dessert Places!
I thought I might shift from the relatively serious to the absolutely delicious! I warn you, this recipe is not for the faint of heart, the high in cholesterol, or the blatantly diabetic!
It is quick, it is easy, and it tastes like a cross between a Southern pecan pie and a New York style cheesecake. Here it is!
Nutty Cheese Bars
Crust:
1 box of Duncan Hines Moist Deluxe Butter Recipe Golden Cake Mix
¾ cup chopped pecans
¾ cup butter, melted.
Topping:
2 packages (8 oz each) Philly Cream Cheese, softened
1 cup firmly packed brown sugar
3/4 cup chopped pecans
1) Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.
2) Grease and flour a 9 x 13” pan
3) Combine cake mix, chopped pecans and butter in a large bowl.
Stir until well blended. Press evenly into the bottom of the
prepared pan.
4) In a separate bowl, combine the cream cheese and brown sugar
until well blended. Spread evenly over the crust in the pan.
5) Sprinkle with the remaining pecans.
6) Bake 40-50 minutes until the edges are browned and the cheese
topping seems solid
7) Cool completely. Refrigerate before cutting. Refrigerate leftovers
The original recipe says cut in 24 bars, but they are way too rich. I cut
them 4 wide by 15 long and make 60 small bars. If they want more than one
they won’t hesitate to take them! Enjoy!
It is quick, it is easy, and it tastes like a cross between a Southern pecan pie and a New York style cheesecake. Here it is!
Nutty Cheese Bars
Crust:
1 box of Duncan Hines Moist Deluxe Butter Recipe Golden Cake Mix
¾ cup chopped pecans
¾ cup butter, melted.
Topping:
2 packages (8 oz each) Philly Cream Cheese, softened
1 cup firmly packed brown sugar
3/4 cup chopped pecans
1) Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.
2) Grease and flour a 9 x 13” pan
3) Combine cake mix, chopped pecans and butter in a large bowl.
Stir until well blended. Press evenly into the bottom of the
prepared pan.
4) In a separate bowl, combine the cream cheese and brown sugar
until well blended. Spread evenly over the crust in the pan.
5) Sprinkle with the remaining pecans.
6) Bake 40-50 minutes until the edges are browned and the cheese
topping seems solid
7) Cool completely. Refrigerate before cutting. Refrigerate leftovers
The original recipe says cut in 24 bars, but they are way too rich. I cut
them 4 wide by 15 long and make 60 small bars. If they want more than one
they won’t hesitate to take them! Enjoy!
Friday, August 7, 2009
Searching for my "Desert Place"
In a talk I recently attended, it was suggested that everyone needs to find a “desert place” in which to think, contemplate, and be alone with one’s self. The speaker said all humans needed this “desert place” and compared our need for it to Jesus going off into the desert to be alone. Although that is a nice analogy, I somehow think that if he did go off it was really to get away from all the people who were following, idolizing, and attempting to learn from his every utterance rather than a retreat to think and contemplate!
In the present world, we are so bombarded with noise, people, work, and a million other things that accumulate in the form of stress that we are hardly aware that they are pressing down on us. We’re like the frog in the pot of water that gets cooked because it doesn’t realize that the water is slowly getting hotter. Like the frog, our minds become lethargic with the heat of the stresses we are subjected to, and sometimes those unfortunate enough to be lacking in personal, spiritual or mental strengths succumb.
As a writer, I have an enormous appreciation for anyone who admits the need to find that “desert place” and makes the effort to go there. I find that coming home from work does nothing to relieve stress for me. It is difficult to pursue my writing, when a messy kitchen, a bathroom that needs cleaned, a load of laundry that needs doing, or bills that need my attention are all within my field of vision. The very presence of these things adds to the load of stress. Finding a “desert place” that eliminates those things is a respite of huge proportion.
I should warn you that physical “desert places” can be pricey. I try to get away twice a year, in the spring and fall, for a weekend. I pack my computer and drive far enough away to feel the stress fall behind. I still have to sleep, eat, and plug in, so I research my destination before I head out. Other than the comfort of the bed, it doesn’t matter whether I stay in a Motel 6, a Hampton Inn, or a Marriot Resort. I choose what I can afford at the time. As long as the bathroom is clean, it has air conditioning, and Internet access, I’m a happy writer.
Some people out there, rather than make a complete journey to find their “desert place,” resort to other options found closer to home. I know a few writers who spend hours in local libraries. They claim that the quiet atmosphere is enough; and it may be for them. I tend to look up every time there is motion, and all the libraries near me are small enough that there really are no places in them that shield you from the movements of other patrons. The same goes for coffee shops. Sometimes when I need to really get away but can’t leave town, I head out to a local winery. If there is no rowdy crowd, I can have a nice glass of wine and make some writing progress, but usually there's too much noise and movement.
My last resort is to close my office door; put on headphones; listen to soothing, quiet, instrumental music; and pray that the phone doesn’t ring!
Someday, I will find the perfect, affordable writer’s retreat. Perhaps a month in an isolated house on the lakeshore or ocean would do. Many years ago, I spent three of the most productive weeks of my writing life (one week at a time) while house-sitting a ski house in the Green Mountains of Vermont. You couldn’t see the house from the road; there were no neighbors; you couldn’t even hear a car or truck go by on the road below. I even saw a moose! It was marvelous for writing, because the only distraction was my intermittently growling stomach and the physical need for sleep. I would love to have that opportunity again. I’m sure most of the writers I know would wish for the same.
Tonight, I’m resorting to the headphones. You've got to do whatever it takes! I entertain any and all suggestions!
In the present world, we are so bombarded with noise, people, work, and a million other things that accumulate in the form of stress that we are hardly aware that they are pressing down on us. We’re like the frog in the pot of water that gets cooked because it doesn’t realize that the water is slowly getting hotter. Like the frog, our minds become lethargic with the heat of the stresses we are subjected to, and sometimes those unfortunate enough to be lacking in personal, spiritual or mental strengths succumb.
As a writer, I have an enormous appreciation for anyone who admits the need to find that “desert place” and makes the effort to go there. I find that coming home from work does nothing to relieve stress for me. It is difficult to pursue my writing, when a messy kitchen, a bathroom that needs cleaned, a load of laundry that needs doing, or bills that need my attention are all within my field of vision. The very presence of these things adds to the load of stress. Finding a “desert place” that eliminates those things is a respite of huge proportion.
I should warn you that physical “desert places” can be pricey. I try to get away twice a year, in the spring and fall, for a weekend. I pack my computer and drive far enough away to feel the stress fall behind. I still have to sleep, eat, and plug in, so I research my destination before I head out. Other than the comfort of the bed, it doesn’t matter whether I stay in a Motel 6, a Hampton Inn, or a Marriot Resort. I choose what I can afford at the time. As long as the bathroom is clean, it has air conditioning, and Internet access, I’m a happy writer.
Some people out there, rather than make a complete journey to find their “desert place,” resort to other options found closer to home. I know a few writers who spend hours in local libraries. They claim that the quiet atmosphere is enough; and it may be for them. I tend to look up every time there is motion, and all the libraries near me are small enough that there really are no places in them that shield you from the movements of other patrons. The same goes for coffee shops. Sometimes when I need to really get away but can’t leave town, I head out to a local winery. If there is no rowdy crowd, I can have a nice glass of wine and make some writing progress, but usually there's too much noise and movement.
My last resort is to close my office door; put on headphones; listen to soothing, quiet, instrumental music; and pray that the phone doesn’t ring!
Someday, I will find the perfect, affordable writer’s retreat. Perhaps a month in an isolated house on the lakeshore or ocean would do. Many years ago, I spent three of the most productive weeks of my writing life (one week at a time) while house-sitting a ski house in the Green Mountains of Vermont. You couldn’t see the house from the road; there were no neighbors; you couldn’t even hear a car or truck go by on the road below. I even saw a moose! It was marvelous for writing, because the only distraction was my intermittently growling stomach and the physical need for sleep. I would love to have that opportunity again. I’m sure most of the writers I know would wish for the same.
Tonight, I’m resorting to the headphones. You've got to do whatever it takes! I entertain any and all suggestions!
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
I’m not particularly superstitious, but…
A few months back, I was invited to the house of a recently deceased woman by the heirs (her sister-in-law and niece) to the estate. I was absolutely flabbergasted by the sheer volume of “stuff” that was in this house. It was a three bedroom, two bath house with a full basement and attic. It was packed from the foundation footers to the roof peak with “stuff.” I was even more surprised when I was informed that the mother lode I was looking at had a twin mother lode in Florida. This woman evidently had spent her waning years splitting her time between the two climates.
Her sister-in-law and niece inherited because the woman was a widow with no children. She herself had been an only child. She was well into her 80’s when she died, and it was obvious she had kept every last piece of furniture, clothing and household item her parents had ever owned, not to mention the stuff she and her late husband had accumulated.
In the basement of the house, there was a strange variety of very old imported items from Mexico, South and Central America. I was told that the elderly woman’s father had been an importer back in the day. Since she was in her 80’s, I can only assume he was in his heyday starting around the time of the WWI. At any rate, the basement was loaded with old dusty pots, strange looking furniture and odd stuff hanging on the walls.
In one far, dark, web-filled corner, there were several tribal masks hanging on the wall. I mentioned to my hostess that I thought they were old and fascinating.
“You like them?” she asked as she grabbed a large bag. “They’re yours! I have no idea what to do with all this “stuff” and if you take these, that’s less I have to deal with!”
She filled the bag with the masks, eight in all. When I got home, I took out the masks and contemplated them. They would make an interesting focal point in my relatively bare office on the second floor, next to my bedroom. I took the masks upstairs, back in the bag, and set them in a corner. It was several weeks before I looked at them again.
Then one day I took out the masks and arranged them on the floor, moving them about until I found an arrangement that was suitable to the eye. I brought in a step ladder and proceeded to hang the masks on the wall.
Six of the eight masks were definitely made for the decorating market…there was no way to actually wear them. But the two creepiest looking masks, the ones that gave me the willies, were definitely meant to be worn; and I’m not talking Halloween, here. I took pictures of my wonderful wall arrangement and headed off to bed.
Then the disasters started.
The week from hell began the next day, when I went to the dentist for a simple examination of my bridgework and ended up with no bridge, a painful and drawn out tooth extraction and needing 5-6K in dental implant work. Next, the dishwasher died, then the dryer died. A few days later, a friend died. Then we had a layoff at work. When my husband called me desperate because all the smoke alarms in the house were going off intermittently for no reason, I decided a change should be made.
I went home and removed the two creepiest, meant-to-be-worn masks from the wall, placed them in a black plastic bag and put them in a dark closet.
The disasters stopped. In retrospect, I placed two items of unknown origin in the highest point of my house…perhaps putting them in a position of power? I don’t normally believe in superstition, but in this case, the disasters started and stopped with the placement and removal of the masks from that wall.
So, was it simple coincidence or was it something of the supernatural? You decide!
Her sister-in-law and niece inherited because the woman was a widow with no children. She herself had been an only child. She was well into her 80’s when she died, and it was obvious she had kept every last piece of furniture, clothing and household item her parents had ever owned, not to mention the stuff she and her late husband had accumulated.
In the basement of the house, there was a strange variety of very old imported items from Mexico, South and Central America. I was told that the elderly woman’s father had been an importer back in the day. Since she was in her 80’s, I can only assume he was in his heyday starting around the time of the WWI. At any rate, the basement was loaded with old dusty pots, strange looking furniture and odd stuff hanging on the walls.
In one far, dark, web-filled corner, there were several tribal masks hanging on the wall. I mentioned to my hostess that I thought they were old and fascinating.
“You like them?” she asked as she grabbed a large bag. “They’re yours! I have no idea what to do with all this “stuff” and if you take these, that’s less I have to deal with!”
She filled the bag with the masks, eight in all. When I got home, I took out the masks and contemplated them. They would make an interesting focal point in my relatively bare office on the second floor, next to my bedroom. I took the masks upstairs, back in the bag, and set them in a corner. It was several weeks before I looked at them again.
Then one day I took out the masks and arranged them on the floor, moving them about until I found an arrangement that was suitable to the eye. I brought in a step ladder and proceeded to hang the masks on the wall.
Six of the eight masks were definitely made for the decorating market…there was no way to actually wear them. But the two creepiest looking masks, the ones that gave me the willies, were definitely meant to be worn; and I’m not talking Halloween, here. I took pictures of my wonderful wall arrangement and headed off to bed.
Then the disasters started.
The week from hell began the next day, when I went to the dentist for a simple examination of my bridgework and ended up with no bridge, a painful and drawn out tooth extraction and needing 5-6K in dental implant work. Next, the dishwasher died, then the dryer died. A few days later, a friend died. Then we had a layoff at work. When my husband called me desperate because all the smoke alarms in the house were going off intermittently for no reason, I decided a change should be made.
I went home and removed the two creepiest, meant-to-be-worn masks from the wall, placed them in a black plastic bag and put them in a dark closet.
The disasters stopped. In retrospect, I placed two items of unknown origin in the highest point of my house…perhaps putting them in a position of power? I don’t normally believe in superstition, but in this case, the disasters started and stopped with the placement and removal of the masks from that wall.
So, was it simple coincidence or was it something of the supernatural? You decide!
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Ho, Ho, Ho Sleep Deprivation
"One of the possible side effects of a continued lack of sleep is death"…Serendip/brynmawr.edu
Aside from all the other bad habits in my life, I’m hoping my continual aversion to hitting the sack doesn’t do me in! I fell asleep three times today, once sitting in the living room after dinner, and twice at this computer screen. I think this says something profound about my sleep habits or, more appropriately, my lack of sleep habit.
I suppose I haven’t been taking my own symptoms to heart very well. I stumbled across this little story I wrote up after a funny “sleep deprivation” moment many years back…when I was still wrapping up Christmas presents after the kids went to bed. I called the story “Ho, Ho, Ho Sleep Deprivation.” Enjoy!
Ho Ho Ho Sleep Deprivation
I’m not sure about you, but I seem to run 24/7 even at uneventful times of the year. Trying to squeeze all the things I need to do for the holidays into my already crowded schedule is extremely stressful. Keeping this in mind, I will share with you a recent happening for your amusement.
On Tuesday, after an extended day at work, I came home, ate some dinner and headed off to church for choir practice. I was already dragging when I got there, and due to all the extra songs for the upcoming Christmas services, choir practice ran particularly late. But regardless of how tired I was, I had a task that needed to be done when I got home come hell or high water. I had to wrap all the gifts. This needed to be done on Tuesday because the rest of my time for the week was already spoken for…cooking, baking, caroling, etc.
I sat down in my office with a card table to my side and began wrapping. It was already 11:00 and, by most sane thinking, I should have been in bed or headed that way. After all, I had to get up for work in the morning at 6:30. But I was determined, so box after box became a glittering jewel to place under the tree. I pressed on into the wee hours; 1 a.m., then 2 a.m. passed me by. By 2:30 I was about finished, but I was at that point of hitting the wall. When I began dozing off as I wrapped, I admitted the insanity of the situation, turned off the lights and headed to bed, making a last bathroom stop on the way.
I took my place on the throne as we women are pretty much required to do. Then being forward thinking, and not wanting to disturb Jim at that late hour by turning on a light in the bedroom, I leaned over and untied my hiking boots. What I didn’t realize was how VERY tired I was, and soon I dozed off perched atop the throne. I’m not sure how long I was out of it, perhaps a minute, perhaps more, but it was at least long enough to have that moment of complete stupor that often precedes full recognition of one’s surroundings on waking.
I woke with a start, and in that moment, glanced toward the floor. There, between my feet, and moving, was a striped snake, half blended into the gray-beige throw rug!!! In one tremendous movement, I leaped from the throne to the bathroom door while emitting a sound that can only be described as the shriek of the banshee!!
I turned around, shaking like a leaf, to see where the snake had gone. I could not see it! I was panic stricken! My heart was in my throat. My eyes scoured the floor. I couldn’t see the snake! Where was it? This was very bad. It meant the snake was hiding, waiting to come out and scare or bite the unwary (most likely me) on some other occasion!
Then I looked down and was startled to see the snake, still at my feet! The light bulb in my head snapped on at about 1000 lumens, and I dissolved into a heap on the bathroom floor, laughing hysterically, as I realized I had just scared myself half to death with my own brown and beige striped shoe laces!
Jim, awakened by the noise, was pounding at the bathroom door, wanting to know what in bloody hell I was screaming about. Needless to say he was not amused at being rousted from bed because of a demon shoe lace.
The real irony, however, is that after getting the rest of the house settled back in, I tossed and turned, awake, unable to sleep as the adrenaline that had surged into my system slowly ebbed away, adding to my ever-growing case of HHHSD (Ho Ho Ho Sleep Deprivation).
Aside from all the other bad habits in my life, I’m hoping my continual aversion to hitting the sack doesn’t do me in! I fell asleep three times today, once sitting in the living room after dinner, and twice at this computer screen. I think this says something profound about my sleep habits or, more appropriately, my lack of sleep habit.
I suppose I haven’t been taking my own symptoms to heart very well. I stumbled across this little story I wrote up after a funny “sleep deprivation” moment many years back…when I was still wrapping up Christmas presents after the kids went to bed. I called the story “Ho, Ho, Ho Sleep Deprivation.” Enjoy!
Ho Ho Ho Sleep Deprivation
I’m not sure about you, but I seem to run 24/7 even at uneventful times of the year. Trying to squeeze all the things I need to do for the holidays into my already crowded schedule is extremely stressful. Keeping this in mind, I will share with you a recent happening for your amusement.
On Tuesday, after an extended day at work, I came home, ate some dinner and headed off to church for choir practice. I was already dragging when I got there, and due to all the extra songs for the upcoming Christmas services, choir practice ran particularly late. But regardless of how tired I was, I had a task that needed to be done when I got home come hell or high water. I had to wrap all the gifts. This needed to be done on Tuesday because the rest of my time for the week was already spoken for…cooking, baking, caroling, etc.
I sat down in my office with a card table to my side and began wrapping. It was already 11:00 and, by most sane thinking, I should have been in bed or headed that way. After all, I had to get up for work in the morning at 6:30. But I was determined, so box after box became a glittering jewel to place under the tree. I pressed on into the wee hours; 1 a.m., then 2 a.m. passed me by. By 2:30 I was about finished, but I was at that point of hitting the wall. When I began dozing off as I wrapped, I admitted the insanity of the situation, turned off the lights and headed to bed, making a last bathroom stop on the way.
I took my place on the throne as we women are pretty much required to do. Then being forward thinking, and not wanting to disturb Jim at that late hour by turning on a light in the bedroom, I leaned over and untied my hiking boots. What I didn’t realize was how VERY tired I was, and soon I dozed off perched atop the throne. I’m not sure how long I was out of it, perhaps a minute, perhaps more, but it was at least long enough to have that moment of complete stupor that often precedes full recognition of one’s surroundings on waking.
I woke with a start, and in that moment, glanced toward the floor. There, between my feet, and moving, was a striped snake, half blended into the gray-beige throw rug!!! In one tremendous movement, I leaped from the throne to the bathroom door while emitting a sound that can only be described as the shriek of the banshee!!
I turned around, shaking like a leaf, to see where the snake had gone. I could not see it! I was panic stricken! My heart was in my throat. My eyes scoured the floor. I couldn’t see the snake! Where was it? This was very bad. It meant the snake was hiding, waiting to come out and scare or bite the unwary (most likely me) on some other occasion!
Then I looked down and was startled to see the snake, still at my feet! The light bulb in my head snapped on at about 1000 lumens, and I dissolved into a heap on the bathroom floor, laughing hysterically, as I realized I had just scared myself half to death with my own brown and beige striped shoe laces!
Jim, awakened by the noise, was pounding at the bathroom door, wanting to know what in bloody hell I was screaming about. Needless to say he was not amused at being rousted from bed because of a demon shoe lace.
The real irony, however, is that after getting the rest of the house settled back in, I tossed and turned, awake, unable to sleep as the adrenaline that had surged into my system slowly ebbed away, adding to my ever-growing case of HHHSD (Ho Ho Ho Sleep Deprivation).
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Old Dogs, New Tricks!
I’ve always been a proponent of the saying “I learn something new every day.” Up to a certain point, I actually believed that I was learning something new every day. After giving it considerable thought, I decided that, in truth, I was not learning something new every day. As a matter of fact, I think my learning curve had become, well, a flat line! I love to read, but I tend to avoid reading when I’m busy writing. When one is busy writing one’s own thoughts and ideas, there’s not a lot of room for the thoughts and ideas of others.
When I was a child, I remember my mother ordering records for the blind for my grandmother to listen to. She wasn’t totally blind, but she loved her stories and could no longer read for any length of time. I used to think, in a child’s way, that I would never want to get to the point of not being able to read for myself. But this old dog has learned something new, and has put away the ideas of that child all those years ago.
For the past year or so, I’ve been listening to books on CD or books on mp3 in an effort to expand my mind set a bit. I tell people I listen to CDs of books in my car, and they generally respond that they are not in their cars long enough to listen to an entire book. I have a 15-minute drive to work, and although I listen to a book from beginning to end in 15-minute increments, I don’t lose my place or forget what I’ve heard. At the same time, I have a different book downloaded on my mp3 player that I listen to if I don’t care for background television noise or when using one of my various pieces of exercise equipment. In spite of the fact that this is never the same book that I’m listening to in the car, I don’t seem to have a problem keeping it straight, nor do I confuse the stories.
I’m citing this fact as proof to myself (and to everyone else) that dementia has not yet set in!
I’ve listened to hundreds of books and find that the only limiting factor for me is the voice of the reader. There are books I truly wanted to listen to, but once the playback started, I turned it off for sheer auditory annoyance. For example, I picked up a copy of A Thousand Splendid Suns, by Khaled Hosseini (author of The Kite Runner), but I didn’t make it through a single disc. The reader, (whose name escapes me) had a voice that was flat, with no intonation, not even to indicate emotion. It was like listening to a monotone, droning speaker at some fund-raising event you are required to attend; only in this case, you’re subjecting yourself to the monotony. There are some great readers out there. One that comes to mind is Barbara Rosenblatt, who makes a book leap to life. You hear every nuance and feel every emotion. Another is Joe Montagna (yes, the actor, presently starring on Criminal Minds). Readers like Barbara and Joe make the listening a pleasure.
Audio books make any commute, short or long, go by in a faster, more pleasurable way. I love climbing behind the wheel and hitting the road as long as I have a book with me to pop into the CD player. Long solo road trips are my favorites. Sometimes I can listen to two books, one in each direction! They also help keep the mind focused, and keep you awake at the wheel.
Now, all you old dogs, get out there and listen to the books you always wanted to read but haven't gotten around to yet.
And you young things out there, you don’t have to be old to do it. Even high school and college students, especially the ones who “hate” reading, can probably pick up the assigned reading list on CDs or mp3s. Trust me when I say it takes the pain out of it. You may even find yourself becoming addicted to the audible written word!
When I was a child, I remember my mother ordering records for the blind for my grandmother to listen to. She wasn’t totally blind, but she loved her stories and could no longer read for any length of time. I used to think, in a child’s way, that I would never want to get to the point of not being able to read for myself. But this old dog has learned something new, and has put away the ideas of that child all those years ago.
For the past year or so, I’ve been listening to books on CD or books on mp3 in an effort to expand my mind set a bit. I tell people I listen to CDs of books in my car, and they generally respond that they are not in their cars long enough to listen to an entire book. I have a 15-minute drive to work, and although I listen to a book from beginning to end in 15-minute increments, I don’t lose my place or forget what I’ve heard. At the same time, I have a different book downloaded on my mp3 player that I listen to if I don’t care for background television noise or when using one of my various pieces of exercise equipment. In spite of the fact that this is never the same book that I’m listening to in the car, I don’t seem to have a problem keeping it straight, nor do I confuse the stories.
I’m citing this fact as proof to myself (and to everyone else) that dementia has not yet set in!
I’ve listened to hundreds of books and find that the only limiting factor for me is the voice of the reader. There are books I truly wanted to listen to, but once the playback started, I turned it off for sheer auditory annoyance. For example, I picked up a copy of A Thousand Splendid Suns, by Khaled Hosseini (author of The Kite Runner), but I didn’t make it through a single disc. The reader, (whose name escapes me) had a voice that was flat, with no intonation, not even to indicate emotion. It was like listening to a monotone, droning speaker at some fund-raising event you are required to attend; only in this case, you’re subjecting yourself to the monotony. There are some great readers out there. One that comes to mind is Barbara Rosenblatt, who makes a book leap to life. You hear every nuance and feel every emotion. Another is Joe Montagna (yes, the actor, presently starring on Criminal Minds). Readers like Barbara and Joe make the listening a pleasure.
Audio books make any commute, short or long, go by in a faster, more pleasurable way. I love climbing behind the wheel and hitting the road as long as I have a book with me to pop into the CD player. Long solo road trips are my favorites. Sometimes I can listen to two books, one in each direction! They also help keep the mind focused, and keep you awake at the wheel.
Now, all you old dogs, get out there and listen to the books you always wanted to read but haven't gotten around to yet.
And you young things out there, you don’t have to be old to do it. Even high school and college students, especially the ones who “hate” reading, can probably pick up the assigned reading list on CDs or mp3s. Trust me when I say it takes the pain out of it. You may even find yourself becoming addicted to the audible written word!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
