geriatric fonts

Last night D and I went out to one of the nearby resorts to remember being tourists for a bit. It was lovely: the bongos from the luau almost drowned out the piped audio track in the lounge, and the stage lights across the water from another resort luau almost reminded me of Christmas spotlights.

Once the luau's finished, things settled in to a more human visual/auditory experience (as opposed to less humane = Vegas). We relaxed and I thought about ordering something to eat. Upon looking at the Pupu menu, however, I decided I'd have cereal at home. I couldn't read the menu. David, with his visual acuity improved, could read several key words if I held the menu at the end of my arms. He picked out "luau, smoked, flattened, poof" and I saw "sharky, lipstopper, hum, slimed".

As retailers, we are often told that we need to think of our aging population and the effects this has on all aspects of shopping. As a result of this information, we try to plant magnifying reading glasses throughout our store for people to be able to read the paint and glue labels, the product instructions, or even the books there.

Somebody needs to tell the graphic designers that menus are used in dimly lit places by old people. Cute fonts that look like they're carved out of lava by tiny menehune will not increase sales.

In honor of our not eating anything there last night, I revamped my blogs to "large" and "x-large" fonts wherever possible. Why didn't I do that before my experience?

Writing

I'm working on a new story. It's a murder mystery set in Hawaii, with the Ms. Marple being a big Hawaiian-mix fellow who is a portrait painter. So far, so good. I'm into chapter 4 and I wonder what's going to happen next.

Writing has taught me many things.

Book One: This took me about ten years to write, and about that long for friends to read it. GIGO.

Book Two: This took me two weeks to write. I was on fire. I was inspired. The publisher said it was a nice caper. I thought it was Science Fiction Fantasy. Oy.

Book Three: The sequel to book two. Forget it. I didn't finish it.

Books 2&3 taught me that when my characters get into a bind, there are several ways to work through the situation. Somehow, in getting to practice problem solving through my characters, I started to see more options for my own real life. Problems seemed smaller too, through the lens of authorship. Just find the way to plot around it.

So this is Book 4. I'm learning about being the author. With a story, that authority is obvious. With our lives, it seems much more complicated. I suppose the fact that we cannot actually move other people around conveniently does make life different from writing. But the essence remains: We are the authors of our life stories, and we are the ones in charge of how we view the plot as well as how we make choices in relation to what has happened thus far.

my day

Here's a day in the life of an average gal living in Hawaii on her day off from work.

I started a load of laundry, and set water on the lawn. Then I followed an exercise DVD, showered, and went back to bed. After that, I got up and cooked myself french toast and started supper for the kids (they are having friends over while D and I escape to the movies). I started another load of laundry, made out a grocery list, did my daily quota of writing, and set off for errands with the dog.

We filled the hybrid with petrol, stopped at the used bookstore (got a yoga DVD and some cookbooks), and then went to see D at the shop. While my beloved rested, I transferred music to our repaired computer (yeah, mr. tioli!) and checked in a few items from a new shipment that arrived. When D was ready to be back on duty, I went to Costco to see if I could get out of there for under $200. Almost, but not quite.

Then the dog and I decided to head home on the high road, which is usually less congested than the highway. Wrong again. But since it's at a higher elevation, we were sure to be able to sit on battery power with the windows down. Many other vehicles gave up and turned around. I wonder, were they going to go around the island to get where they wanted rather than sit in non-moving traffic? There are only a handful of roads here...

I checked out my nused cookbooks while not-driving, and Jack snoozed beside the laundry detergent, sneezing on occasion. One place we passed had drums pounding like a halau was practicing, but it hit me at a primeval level, sounding so serious and intense.

When we got home, I unloaded the car, checked on supper, turned on the a/c in our bedroom where D's computer is, and fired up the computer to write about my day.

Supper is mulligan stew. I made one for the kids with all the cholesterol left in, and one modified kettle for Ma and Pa that I named "Where Sheep May Safely Graze Hunter's Stew."

Now that I've written about my day, I suppose I'd do well to get on with it. Maybe a nap is in order, again. It is my day off, after all...