Signs, signs, everywhere signs

My little GeminiRaise your hand if you're worried about the astrological sign under which your grandchild was born. Okay, since not everyone who visits Grandma's Briefs is a grandparent, what about those of you with children ... does your child's astrological sign make any difference to you?

By the lack of hands I see waving in the air, I'll have to assume I'm weird. I'm weird because when Megan was pregnant, I did worry about the sign under which Bubby would be born.

Well, I suppose worry isn't the correct word. I wouldn't put it in the category of my worries about his and Megan's health and welfare during and after the pregnancy. It's more like I was concerned ... and a little bummed ... and a little hopeful that Bubby would arrive a few days late just to bump him into the next sign.

Because, you see, Bubby's a Gemini and -- I apologize if this offends anyone -- I've never gotten along well with Geminis. I'm a Cancer, the sign right next door to Gemini, the one I was hoping Bubby would hold out for.

Long, long ago, for my 16th birthday to be exact, my mom bought me Linda Goodman's "Sun Signs." Like most teen girls, I was quite interested in astrological signs and how well my friends, enemies and potential beaus matched up with the traits ascribed to their signs. Most of the time, Ms. Goodman was correct -- and seemingly continues to be correct -- in her assertions. Jim (Pisces), Brianna (Leo), Megan (Sagittarius) and Andrea (Cancer) fit the descriptions to a T.

And I, a Cancer, completely and totally fit the description: I'm quiet, moody, retreat to my shell when I sense danger, artistic (in writing, nothing else really), fiercely dedicated to hearth and home.

Then there's the Geminis, of which I've met plenty: talkative, active, impulsive, fleeting, and -- the one trait I've seen quite often in the Geminis I know -- someone who lies about anything and everything embellishes their tales, usually for no clear reason at all.

Suffice it to say, I didn't want Bubby to be a Gemini. But he is. So I recently reviewed -- in the very same copy my mom gifted me decades ago -- the traits under Ms. Goodman's title "The Gemini Child" and found a few interesting tidbits. Right off the bat was a mention that parents should seriously consider using one of those animal-like harnesses for their Gemini child because he'll be all over the place in public and difficult to keep safe. Funny thing is that when Megan was planning the recent trip she and Bubby made to visit us in the mountains, she actually mentioned considering getting one, just to be safe. She ended up not getting one, mostly because Bubby's quite timid and stays right by her side no matter where they go. (Bonus point for Bubby as that's a Cancer trait.)

Another trait Ms. Goodman mentions is that Geminis often are ambidextrous. This is interesting because Bubby favors using his left hand for nearly everything, always has. But there's no one else in his immediate family that's left-handed. The closest leftie is Nick, my nephew and Megan's cousin (is that Bubby's second cousin?). Get this: Nick is a Gemini! Like Nick, Bubby uses his right hand occasionally, but chooses the left nine times out of 10.

Another trait of the Gemini child is "there's usually a marked ability to mimic others." This I find amusing because for a while there I worried that Bubby would never speak normal words -- only because he was mimicking the gibberish in which his mom and dad spoke to him. For some unknown reason, Megan and Preston related to their little one by making him grin and giggle in response to their wacky sounds (which usually sounded much like the "ca-CAAH" goofiness from the goofy guy in the movie "Evolution"). Bubby loved those silly sounds ... and mimicked them to no end.

What I found most interesting about the Gemini traits Goodman lists, though, is that other than the two above, Bubby fits very few of them. But when I flip forward a few pages and read about "The Cancer Child," he hits quite a few right on the head: "His emotions are rich, colorful and varied." "They're funny little creatures with droll expressions and eyes that almost talk by themselves." "You may wish you could predict when he's going to get ... that faraway look in his eye as he listens to the curious music every Moon child hears." "He can get mighty weepy when he's ignored or treated harshly."

If you ask me, I think the doctor may have been a little off in the due date he gave Megan because it seems more and more that Bubby was destined to be a Cancer, not a Gemini. Which is great! Maybe he can overcome any of the negative Gemini traits he may have inherited due to an early arrival. (Again, my apologies to any Gemini readers -- it's nothing personal!)

Although, as all mothers and grandmothers know, no matter what he is, no matter what traits he possesses, I will truly love him with all my heart, all my soul, always and forever.

But let me just say right now that if Bubby ever grows up to be a big ol' liar/embellisher, this Cancer Grandma will surely be having some mighty serious words with that Gemini child!

Today's question:

What sign are you and do you fit the description?

This post was linked to Grandparent's Say It Saturday.

The Saturday Post

April is National Poetry Month and I've been remiss in mentioning that, posting anything about it. So even though there's less than a week left in National Poetry Month, I want to give you this: an empowering poem for every woman, but one that I think will especially resonate with the older women, the grandmothers, the ones most likely to be considering where their journey has, is and will continue to take them. Let me know what you think.

The Journey by Mary Oliver

One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice--

though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

"Mend my life!"

each voice cried.

But you didn't stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations,

though their melancholy

was terrible.

It was already late

enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones.

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do--

determined to save

the only life you could save.

Today's question:

What is your favorite poem or line from a poem?

Book talk

Bubby packin' books -- a gift he LOVED from my friend Debbie.I love books. My girls love books. Bubby loves books. I know LOTS of people who love books.

But the book industry is flailing. And that worries me. Mostly because I love books, my girls love books, and Bubby loves books.

(Full disclosure: It also worries me because I've got one of my books submitted to a few agents and the industry can't -- simply CAN'T -- wither down to nothing before I get one or two or ten published!)

The impetus for today's worry is information I received in a newsletter I'm subscribed to from a site called Shelf Awareness that focuses on the book industry. Here's the scary news I got yesterday (quoted directly from Shelf Awareness):

Net book sales in 2009 in the U.S. fell 1.8%, to $23.95 billion, according to estimates by the Association of American Publishers based on sales data from 86 publishers as well as on data from the Bureau of the Census. In the last seven years, the book business has had a compound annual growth rate of 1.1%.

Category	Sales	Percent Change
E-books	$313 million	176.6%
Higher ed	$4.3 billion	12.9%
Adult hardcover	$2.6 billion	6.9%
Children's/YA paperback	$1.5 billion	2.2%
Book clubs/mail-order	$588 million	−2%
Mass market paperback	$1 billion	−4%
Children's/YA hardcover	$1.7 billion	−5%
Adult paperback	$2.2 billion	−5.2%
Religious books	$659 million	−9%
Audiobooks	$192 million	−12.9%
El-hi books	$5.2 million	−13.8%

Sure, there are still millions and billions of books still being sold, but the number is decreasing. And at the rate at which it's decreasing, will Bubby have books readily available when he's an adult? Will he be able to pass them down to his grandchildren? Will the ones I've given him -- and will continue to give him -- become relics of days gone by?

That el-hi number? Those are textbooks, the books kids use in school. To think schoolbooks are decreasing at such a crazy rate is absolutely frightening.

And that number for Children's/YA hardcover? Aack! Picture books are my forte; picture books are Bubby's best friend. What's up with that?

People are still reading, obviously. The adult hardcover and higher ed numbers are encouraging. And readers are obviously snagging up those e-books like there's no tomorrow. Now I'm a fan of technology and all, but I'm a bigger fan of books -- real, live, turn the page by hand, fall asleep with it on your lap and worry about scrunching the pages books.

I'm sure books will never completely disappear. There are too many people who believe as I do that books not only fill out one's time and mind marvelously, they also fill out one's room quite nicely. You can't line the walls of the study with Kindles and Nooks.

Well, you could, but how ugly -- and expensive -- would that be?

You might as well just buy books.

Today's question:

If you were to buy any book today, what would it be?

My answer: I'd buy "The Quiet Book" by Deborah Underwood for Bubby and "Divisadero" by Michael Ondaatje for myself.

10,000 hours

I'm loving watching the Olympics. It seems it's all I've been doing. I've not been reading the things I want to, writing the things I need to. No, all Jim and I do each night is watch the Olympics. We even eat dinner downstairs in front of the TV, something we typically do only on Friday nights.

But, like I said, I'm loving it. And I'm not even a very sports-minded person. The passion, sweat, determination, dedication, perseverance and years of training culminating in those brief moments to prove one's excellence are fascinating. And heartbreaking for those who stumble during what could have been their moment of glory.

(SORRY... THIS VIDEO LOST IN BLOG MAKEOVER)

As I watch the Olympics, I can't stop thinking of Malcolm Gladwell. No, he's not some champion athlete that you're not remembering. He's a writer. And he wrote the surprisingly interesting -- no, fascinating -- book called Outliers: The Story of Success.

In "Outliers," Gladwell posits that practice makes perfect ... in any and all pursuits. Success comes to those who work at it, regardless to a certain degree of their innate talent. Those who have the money and opportunity to work at their passion/pursuits day in and day out, for hours and hours (10,000 hours, to be exact), will indeed succeed. Mozart did it, the Beatles did it, Bill Gates did it, Michael Phelps did it.

Gladwell can explain it better than I can (obviously), so watch his interview with Anderson Cooper (I heart AC!). It's pretty interesting stuff:

My only question: How can I tally up the hours and hours I've put into writing to see how close I am to success? And do the hours I've spent thinking about writing count? And reading about writing? And dreaming about writing? Maybe if I add ALL of those hours together, maybe -- just maybe -- I'll find that I'm within just a few short hours of 10,000, of success, of hitting it big.

Maybe?

Today's question:

In an average day, what do you spend the most hours doing and is it what you think you SHOULD be doing?

My answer: Reading -- blogs, magazines, the newspaper, books. What I really should be doing is writing more ... and more ... and more.