17 February 1999: Samoas

The hellish book is at the printers and I do hope no one finds anything wrong with it now. The editor gave me a box of Samoas. The author's department paid for my time, but the editor was grateful, too, for my marvelous efficiency and proficiency and arcane understanding of Microsoft Word's multiplous quirks. She had about eight boxes of Girl Scout Cookies in her office, and I said that Samoas are my favorite, whereupon she gave me one entire box. <drooling>

In college once I bought, from some spawn of a WCB employee, my two regular boxes: one Thin Mints, one Samoas. I bought a quart of milk and a magazine at the Co-op on the way home. I brought the Thin Mints to dinner, where my friends and I polished them off. That night, alone in my single, scraping away toward the lowest possible depravity, I ate the entire box of Samoas (14: 2 per "serving," containing gobs of hydrogenated oil and about 21 times the RDA of fat), guzzling whole milk, and reading Mademoiselle. Bliss.

Which reminds me of once junior fall when I was depressed for some reason--why is "having a black dog on your shoulder" supposed to connote depression? What more could anyone want from life than a dog so close and cuddly, especially a black one?--and scarpered questing for comfort food. From the short-lived Wawa, Fig Newtons and apple juice and, instead of the chick magazine that is my usual rut, a new book by Colleen McCullough, The Ladies of Missalonghi.

I haven't read her books about ancient Rome but I think I would like them. I think the profits from The Thorn Birds have allowed McCullough to research and write what she likes. And Ladies must have been a romp for her, the way The Djinn in the Nightingale's Eye was for Byatt. Ladies is a quite short novel and thoroughly delightful. Good for what ailed me, that was. If you turn your nose up at Cinderella tales, avoid it; if you might enjoy an enchanting diversion with a strong heroine and a happy ending, indulge.

Last night we bought the couch, chair, and ottoman we looked at last Saturday and scheduled delivery for Saturday the 27th. Also DMB called and said she was sending us a housewarming gift, and I have my new Fractured Proverbs. The new place will be entirely different, I think. Certainly the fridge will look different. Anyway, after dinner we drove to GargantuanMart and put the furniture on my credit card. I staggered as we left: the single biggest thing I've ever put on my card. Even when I bought Veronica in the fall of 1990, I had to write a check since my credit limit was--then--below her sticker price of $1600.

RDC protested: what about renting the van to move here, what about the G3 and car repairs and airfare? Okay, the G3 was more, but it didn't go on my credit card, and the others cost less and also weren't on my account. "Our credit cards," my husband reminded me. Right.

Before we left, I packed another box of nubbins, half of which were Northern Exposure tapes. These usually live behind books (Marge Piercy through Mary Shelley). I found myself rearranging books to accommodate Jane Smiley on the next shelf, and so also my other two new books. Or at least one. Corelli's Mandolin will rest atop other Ds (DeLillo) until we move. A.S. Byatt does not belong amongst regular fiction but in a favorite authors shelf. Possession, Jackaroo, The Handmaid's Tale, The Temple of My Familiar, and A Wrinkle in Time all are on my favorites shelf, but the rest of Margaret Atwood, Byatt, Madeleine L'Engle, Cynthia Voigt, and Alice Walker go on their own shelf. The arrival of Djinn threw this off.

Moving report: Packed another box, for a grand total of two. Countdown: 10 days.

*Veronica was my first computer, my beloved Mac SE.