PaperGirl Blog by Mary Fons

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18 Oct 2017

Big Rapids, Slight Hiccup

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life, Work | 11

The lovely Comstock Mansion in Big Rapids, Michigan. I don't know what the Comstock Mansion is and I do not have the energy to look it up, but it is very nice. Image: Wikipedia. — The lovely Comstock Mansion in Big Rapids, Michigan. I don’t know what the Comstock Mansion is and I do not have the energy to look it up, but it is very nice. Image: Wikipedia.

Tonight, I sleep in Big Rapids, Michigan — but I’m not supposed to be here.

I’m supposed to be sleeping in Atlanta, Michigan, but it ain’t gonna happen. You see, I have a gig tomorrow in Atlanta, Michigan, and don’t worry: I’ll get to the church/quilting retreat on time. But I had no choice but to stop and sleep.

See, I left Chicago at 4 p.m. with six hours of driving ahead of me. (Trust me, it worked out to be quicker than flying and driving.) I knew it would be a long haul, but I felt good about things when I got the car all packed up. I had a book on tape. I had a falafel sandwich. But things didn’t go well getting out of the city. I didn’t get free of the traffic snarls until it was going on 6:00 p.m. or so and then my toll pass thing didn’t work and I wasted more time at two different toll booths and — ugh!

As I did and redid the math to see when I would finally get to my destination, I watched my good night’s sleep slip, slip away. I started to feel true panic and dread.

When I don’t get at least six hours of sleep, I feel ill. As in nauseated. You know that feeling? Most people do. And to have to be “on” for a day of teaching and lecturing? Heck no. That’s like operating heavy machinery under the influence. People can get hurt out there, including me.

So when I realized I’d be getting to my hotel after one in the morning because of the time change, instead of crying (more) I called a Holiday Inn Express a little over an hour from the McDonald’s parking lot where I had parked for a minute to figure out my life. I got a room. I booked the room.

After I got off the phone, I had one pang of buyer’s remorse: Couldn’t I make it, though? Was I just being a baby? I mean, this $149 + tax is gonna come out of my pocket; the organizers shouldn’t have to pay for this travel snafu, I figure.

But then I thought about safety (my own and others’) on the road. I thought about putting my head on a pillow. The choice to stop and sleep was the right one, that seems clear.

And I know I’m a lucky gal to have such options.

Goodnight, Big Rapids,
Mary

16 Oct 2017

Puttin’ On The Ritz (I Mean The Sweatpants)

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life | 14

I haven't gone for pastel flannel pajamas ... yet. Photo: Erich Ferdinand via Wikipedia. — I haven’t gone for pastel flannel pajamas … yet. Photo: Erich Ferdinand via Wikipedia.

I’m not sure when it happened, but at some point I became the kind of person who comes home from a long day and immediately changes into “comfy clothes.”

My comfy clothes are basically a pair of either tattered navy blue or black sweatpants and a former boyfriend’s white Oxford shirt, which is missing 2.5 buttons and no longer smells like his cologne, which is either good or bad, depending on the day I’ve had. I also have in my Comfy Armoire a sweater that is so ragged and busted, it is literally no longer a sweater. It is some sort of knitted object with sleeves.

No, I won’t win any fashion awards in my comfy getup, but that’s the point. It’s not about impressing anyone. In fact, it’s the privacy that feels so good, the “I don’t care and I don’t have to” thing. This transition — changing from whatever I was wearing “out there” into something more comfortable as I look ahead to an evening full of homework, YouTube, the ol’ PG, and various other tasks — has become one of the most glorious moments of my day.

I was trying to think why the “let me slip into something more comfortable” thing feels so new to me, because it does. It’s grad school.

Because I’ve been working for myself since 2005 as a writer, performer, and quilt person, and while a lot of my work is in front of (a lot of) people, a good deal of my work is done on my own, in my house. I have worked in offices, but not a lot of offices and not for long periods of time. I don’t do well in captivity.

But going to school is like going to work and I like to look presentable, you know? Actually, I like to look better than presentable, since it is my belief that wearing a smart outfit with polished-up shoes will carry a gal through any challenge (or victory!) the day may throw her way. The clothes make the woman, that’s what I say. (The other reason I like to dress up when I go out for the day, which might sound funny, is that putting thought into what I wear “out there” shows respect to the city I love so much. I like to meet Chicago looking my best. Is that cray-cray?)

All this is well and good, but these days, by the time I get home it’s like, “I need to take off these pumps and hang up these trousers now. No, now.”

I fling everything off and change into my lounge getup. I get out my laptop. I grab the chips and the salsa. I collapse on the couch. In my fantasy, of course, little Philip Larkin jumps up into my lap. (I’ll have an update on Philip soon, by the way.) And there, home at last, I can relax and unwind and drip salsa on my shirt.

Which I assure you will happen again. Because it happened just now.

15 Oct 2017

The Scout is IN! ‘On Proust, Procrastination, and Piecing’

by Mary | posted in: School, The Quilt Scout | 1

Ol' French Fry himself. Image: Wikipedia. — Ol’ French Fry himself. Image: Wikipedia.

What in the world does Marcel “Ol’ French-Fry” Proust have to do with patchwork? You’d be surprised. Find out all about it on my latest Quilt Scout column for my friends over at Quilts, Inc.

Also: I have 348 pages of Remembrance left to read before Tuesday night. See ya!

xo
Mary “The Quilt Scout” Fons

13 Oct 2017

Conversation With a Spambot No. 82261

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life | 5

I get spam.

A few months ago, I got so much emailed spam that it shut down my inbox and it was horrible. The only thing worse than having an avalanche of email is having no email at all. That’s some spooky Halloween stuff, let me tell you. Usually, though, I have a manageable-but-still-life-depleting amount of spam and, like everyone else, I just have to delete it.

My blog gets enough traffic that now I get spam comments, too. Not that many; WordPress has pretty solid spam filters. But when a couple came over the transom the other day I thought I’d have some fun with them. Not the same kind of fun I had with this internet-age S.O.B. (a bit of mischief I’m still quite proud of, honestly.) No, I thought it would be amusing to have a conversation with one of these comments, just between me and “him,” right here, so as to highlight their absurd nature and to get my mind off the stabby feelings.

I’ve taken the spam comment verbatim from the source. It’s not a long spam comment, so the conversation will be brief — this time. I’ve got a few other spambot comments stockpiled for a special occasion. Next time, I might not be so nice.

CONVERSATION WITH A SPAMBOT
by Mary Fons and Unidentified Spambot

SPAMBOT: I see you don’t monetize your blog

MARY: Do you actually see things? Or are you just chains of code trash written by some sorry soul for reasons few of us shall ever understand?

SPAMBOT: don’t waste your traffic

MARY: If by “traffic” you are referring to my readers I object. Are you suggesting I plunder my readers’ trust and time for my own gain? And what sort of gain are you suggesting I’m wasting? A pox on you, sir!

SPAMBOT: you can earn extra bucks every month because you’ve got hi-quality content.

MARY: You legit just said “hi-quality.” With an “h-i.” At least you’re right about the quality — or are you “rite” about it?

SPAMBOT: If you want to know how to make extra bucks,

MARY: I’m listening.

SPAMBOT: search for: Mrdalekjd methods for $$$!!!!!!

MARY: Wow! You are like, super legit and not sketchy at all. I’ll be in touch!

SPAMBOT: Really??? It worked???

MARY: Nope.

12 Oct 2017

A Tale of Three Desks

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life | 12

Hey, I like that desk, too! Image: Wikipedia. — Hey, I like that desk, too. Image: Wikipedia.

I have three desks!

One of my desks is really just a lap desk. Claus gave it to me when he left for Berlin last year, and I suppose this thing is not really a desk. It’s a tiny beanbag with a piece of wood stuck on it. But it does the job. I’m using right now, in fact. Yes, I think it counts as a desk, so let’s call this beanbag thing from a man who broke my heart Desk No. 1.*

Desk No. 2 is a for-real-real desk that lives in the hallway. There’s a wide hallway in my condo between the entryway and the main room. When I moved in, I knew I had to do something with the space, but it took some thought. The hallway isn’t wide enough to like, make into a third bedroom, but I soon realized it would makes a terrific workspace if shelves could be built-in. So that’s what I did, thus, Desk No. 2 is part of a custom-built wall of bookshelves and workspace. Groovy.

Desk No. 3 is a table by the window. With a lamp. And a tray for bills and things.

What in the world does a girl need with three desks? Variety! Yes, I use all my desks because I have needs. Sometimes, I find I write schoolwork better at Desk No. 3, there at the window. I never write blog posts there, though; it’s just never seemed like the place where I should be for this part of my day. I do a good deal of writing for Quiltfolk at Desk No. 2 — but I whipped most of the piece about Joan Flasch sitting right here with the beanbag.

If you count my space at the F Newsmagazine office, I have four desks. If you count how sometimes I eat chips and do stuff at the table where I eat chips, I have five desks.

Is it too many? I don’t think it is, but it strange to find oneself saying, “I have three desks!” It could be worse. What if I said I had five recliners? Five blenders? Five beds?

*What??

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