Ursula Le Guin: Gifts

I just finished the YA novel, Gifts, by Ursula Le Guin, and it was one of the most lovely novels I've read in quite some time.  I haven't read tons of Le Guin, but there's something beautiful and fitting and perfect about her clear, succint, almost sparse style.  And Le Guin is particularly insightful and sensitive in the way that she deals with the whole coming-of-age motif.  This particular novel would, I suppose, be classified as fantasy.  It's the story of an adolescent boy living in some sort of alternate universe in which individuals have "gifts," or what we might call supernatural powers.  These gifts are hereditary, and the main character, Orrec, has the gift of "undoing" or destruction.  As he matures, Orrec must learn to use this gift, lest it control him.  But, of course, his coming to terms with his gift is his coming-of-age, his growing into an adult, and this growing is painful and frustrating and fill of loss, but how could it be anything else?  As I sit here typing, it occurs to me that the genre of fantasy seems to be especially suited to the coming-of-age story.  And maybe that's simply because fantasy is almost always about the main character's quest, and the quest is, I suppose, really just a metaphor for growing up and finding our place in this world.  I am, I have to admit, particularly fond of the YA novel, and this is one of the very best I've read in quite some time.

Nifty Netflix Feature

I think that Netflix is just about the greatest thing since ever!  And if you click here, you can become my Netflix friend (or fiend!).  See what I've been watching, make recommendations.  The fun never ends!

Edited (and Less Crazy) Pic of My Fenny-Love

K. was kind enough to edit the pic of Fenway that I posted yesterday.  Here's Fenway looking much more dignified.  Some might say that I'm biased, but I really do think he's just the handsome-est little thing in the world.  Here's a "joke" that A. made up:  What's the difference between Fenway and Sarah Palin?  The lipstick! 

Stop the Insanity! Or What I Really Think About Sarah Palin, Or Why I'm Not a Very Good Feminist

I don't know where to start.  Like many of us, I have had Sarah Palin on the brain for the last ten days ago.  And I've officially decided, much to the consternation of some, I know, that I'm not going to vote in Novemeber.  I've also officially decided to not engage in conversations and certainly not snide comments about the candidates, the parties, or the process.   One reason I've decided not to vote is that, really, with the electoral college working as it does, I sorta feel like my vote doesn't count.  I mean, Vermont is certainly going to the Democrats, regardless of how I do or don't vote.  I don't think that's cynical of me; I think it's realistic.

But here's what I really think about Sarah Palin.  (Ok, I know that I just decided not to engage in conversations about the candidates, but I consider my personal rant far from a conversation).  Regardless of ideology and politics and all that stuff, which I do consider to be really important, I don't think that Palin is qualified.  I don't think that she has the requisite experience that I'd like to see in someone who could potentially be the leader of the free world.  Just for the record, I think the same about Obama.  I do realize that for both of them, part of the attraction is the perception that they are not entrenched in the establishment.  I guess that I understand that as a kind of selling point, but in Palin's case, I'm not buying.

I do feel that, at least for me, one positive that's come about as a direct resuly of Palin's being chosen as McCain's running mate is that many of us are revisiting some pretty big questions about women with careers and especially working mothers.  This topic is one that I find myself coming back to over and over.  I know that I've said before that I always feel like I've somehow been betrayed by feminism, as a movement (yes, I know that I'm talking about white, privileged feminism here).  I feel like feminism (or maybe 2nd wave feminism) has told us that in order to be happy and successful we need to have rewarding careers and fabulous marriages while we are super moms too.  I, for one, don't think that I have it in me to do all three of these at once.  In fact, at 33, I have accepted that I'll probably never have a child.  And I'm totally OK with not having children.  In fact, I don't see how I could work the way that I want to and still have it in me to be a good mother.  I know that many women do it and that many of them do it gracefully.  I am not one of those women, and I'm sure it has more to do with my own emotional weaknesses than anything else.  For a long while, I felt like I was supposed to at least want children, like there was something defective about me if I didn't.  Now I realize that, at least for me, it's a choice:  career OR children.  Or maybe I could, in theory, have both, but I can't imagine doing a very good job of either.  And over the last week, Mika Brzezinski, who I really like as far as newsy personalities go, has been talking about this topic in her own way.  And I appreciate what she has to say about Palin and being a working mother.  And Mika (don't you love how suddenly I'm all palsy with her?) says that for herself working the way she does is a choice and that it does take time and energy away from her children.  I know she doesn't buy into Palin's politics, but Brzezinski says she can identify with the sacrifices that working mothers make.  But the thing is that Brzezinski and Palin and even I have a choice.  Many women, especially single mothers, don't have a choice.  And really, aren't the mothers working 50 and 60 hours a week at blue collar jobs to house and feed their children, aren't they the real heroes?  And aren't they the ones we should be concerned about?  I mean, all these pundits going on and on about Palin and if she gets the big job, who will take care of her children.  Palin has a choice to make--talk about ProChoice--too many mothers, especially single mothers, don't have the luxury of choice.  And we don't talk about this often enough, it seems to me.  (Ok, here's where I get all "meta:"  I realize this paragraph lacks a single focus.  And I'm OK with that--I'm just sorto of thinking out loud on paper, or on screen.  Well, you know what I mean.)

And I haven't even begun to address how marriage and relationships might fit into the mix.  I believe that, in general, being a single parent is much more demanding and much more difficult than having a partner with whom to raise children.  At 33, I have begun to accept that I may never, never get married and have that kind of partnership in my life.  This, for me, is much more difficult to accept than the prospect of not having children.  But it's a possibility (a probability????) that I think I need to face.  And I have to say that not being married, or more specifically feeling like I have more than my share of spectacularly failed relationships in my past makes me feel like a failure.  I can be OK with never being a mother, but the idea of never having a fulfilling, intimate relationship makes me feel so broken somehow.  And I do feel a lot of societal pressure--it's like there must be something wrong with me if I can't do something so normal as sustain a relationship.  I know that my perceptions and reality aren't the same thing here; this is just how I feel much of the time.

I guess that what I'm trying to say is this:  thinking about Palin has, for me, brought up questions about how I, as a woman and as a feminist and as a product of a particular historical and cultural moment and as a product of a particular set of religious beliefs, define success.  Too often, I find that the definitions of a successful woman offered by the various societal groups with which I identify are definitions of success that just don't work for me.  And I'm not sure where that leaves me.  Right now, it leaves me with a job that I enjoy and that I really believe in.  But sometimes, I feel like that's about all I'm left with, and I don't know what to think or feel about that.

Oh, and one more thing:  I cannot make myself believe that reproductive rights are the central issue for women in the way that some others seem to think they are.  Maybe I'll post more on this later, or maybe I'll continue to avoid the issue.

Pics of my yard

These pics are the flower beds in my front yard, as seen from my window.  I'm not sure that they really at all show what things are looking like, as we near the end of what's been a very wet summer.  But my yard is truly a source of joy.

Here's a new pic of Fenny.  I like this one because it looks like he's smiling.  Also, he looks kinda maniacial, which he kinda is.  If I were better with Photoshop, I could make his eyes look normal, black, not all reflect-y.  But maybe the glowing eyes add to the maniacial feel of the pic.  Doesn't he look like he wants to say something?  I think he wants to say, "I love my mama more than anyone!"

A Reading Update

As you can tell, I'm sure, from recent posts, I've been reading tons and tons o' murder mysteries lately. And something about it is very satisfying. I like feeling like I'm reading with a purpose, and I like feeling like my reading is centered on something--some theme, some goal. Over the last week, I've finished the first Sherlock Holmes novella A Study in Scarlet and P.D. James's A Mind for Murder. Oh, I've also read Edgar Allen Poe's three tales of "ratiocination:" "Murders in the Rue Morgue," "The Mystery of Marie Roget," and "The Purloined Letter." And I'm feeling in this state of synthesis where I'm living and breathing and thinking mystery, you know? When I get really into a writer or a genre or a class or whatever, I find myself going about my life, almost constantly mulling it all over in my mind. And I rather like that feeling--it seems to give me a sense of purpose. So two of the Poe stories I could do without, but "The Purloined Letter" is pretty smart. And in A Study in Scarlet, Watson and Holmes refer to Poe's Dupin. And, I don't know, it feels cool and smart and interesting to be tracing the development of something. And intertextual references always excite me anyway. So all this to say, I guess, that I'm just having a lot of fun with work, and that really seems like how it should be.

"We Tell Ourselves Stories in Order to Live"

In "The White Album," Joan Didion opens by exploring why it is that we write.  And as I'm preparing for tomorrow's Freshman Comp class, I'm reminded of what Didion has to say:

We tell ourselves stories in order to live.  The princess is caged in the consulate.  The man with the candy will lead the children into the sea.  The naked woman on the ledge outside the window on the sixteenth floor is a victim of accidie, or the naked woman is an exhibitionist, and it would be “interesting” to know which.  We tell ourselves that it makes some difference whether the naked woman is about to commit a mortal sin or is about to register a political protest or is about to be, the Artistophanic view, snatched back to the human condition by the fireman in priest’s clothing just visible in the window behind her, the one smiling at the telephoto lens.  We look for the sermon in the suicide, for the social or moral lesson in the murder of five.  We interpret what we see, select the most workable of the multiple choices.  We live entirely, especially if we are writers, by the imposition of a narrative line upon disparate images, by the “ideas” with which we have learned to freeze the shifting phantasmagoria which is our actual experience.

Didion's is one of my favourite passages about writing, about why we write.  Maybe we don't write to live in a literal sense, and yet we write in the attempt to find meaning in a world that is meaningless.  Last night, I was watching Slings and Arrows a "dramedy" about a troup of Shakespearing actors who, in season 2, present MacBeth.  Some of them see a production of MacBeth at a local elementary school.  And as his wife goes mad, MacBeth thinks something like "I don't understand life.  It just goes on and on."  And as Didion points out, the attempt to find a narrative thread in our existence is the attempt to follow the thread or clue that could lead to some sort of meaning, we are searching for what MacBeth feels he's missing.  And "story" is a way to do so.  I always think this is so powerful and says so much not just about why we write but why we read and why the study of literature is important.  This seemed to be worth sharing.

Dorothy L. Sayers: Clouds of Witness

Last night, I finished the second Lord Peter Wimsey book, Clouds of Witness, and I very much enjoyed it.  Sayers is really quite a good writer, and although Lord Peter can get a little annoying at times, I basically like him as a character.  But here's what's interesting to me, at least at the moment:  Lord Peter is written as a modern, secular kind of guy, but Parker, the police inspector guy that Lord Peter runs around with, is all Christiany and traditional.  Inspector Parker reads commentaries on the New Testament as his bed time reading.  Now none of this is particularly interesting in and of itself, necessarily.  But here's the interesting piece:  Sayers herself was very vocal and "out" about her own Christianity.  She was certainly a scholar and an academic and a writer, and she made it clear that her beliefs and her faith motivated her work and informed her understanding of the world.  So, here's the thing:  in many ways, the middle-class, conservative, seemingly-Christian Parker would seem to be more like Sayers herself than is Lord Peter.  And I don't know what to make of this.  And I understand Peter's social class; after all, who doesn't want to read about a quirky member of the Peerage?  But why make Peter so markedly secular, especially in light of Parker's presence in the books.  I don't know where I'm going with the whole thing, but it seems somehow unexpected.

And So It Begins. . .

I've made it through the first two days of the semester.  And my sanity seems to be entirely intact.  I don't, however, expect this unaccustomed feeling of sanity to last much longer, as my allergies have been increasingly worse over the past week or so.  I'm good for the first eight hours or so after I wake up.  But then, suddenly my eyes are irritated, and all I really want to do is sleep, or maybe intermittently read and sleep.  Or maybe just zone out in front of the TV for a while.  But that's really not what I'd planned to say in this post.  What I really wanted to say is that I'm somehow both relieved and satisfied to be back to work.  It feels healthy and like working and teaching and reading and writing is what I somehow need to be doing.  But just now, I feel so completely exhausted that I think I could collapse.  I don't particularly enjoy the first day of class; I always end up going over my over-long, overly-detailed syllabus, and it's just not all that interesting, especially when I find myself doing it for the third or fourth time in two days.  Nonetheless, I do consider it important and worthwhile, but still boring as anything.  But I'm teaching such fun, fun stuff, and for the first time in a long time, my workload feels manageable.  For these things I am thankful.

Dorothy L. Sayers: Whose Body?

I'm just finishing Sayers's Whose Body? And yes, it really does have the question mark in the title, as you can see above.  Isn't this a really great, retro cover?  I have really enjoyed this book for a number of reasons.  I read one or two of Sayers's Lord Peter Wimsey mysteries some years ago, and I have seen two different actors portray Lord Peter, courtesy of the BBC.  But now, I've started at the beginning with Whose Body? and hope to read as much as I can of the series (in order, of course) over the next couple of weeks.  OK, so this book is set in England in the early 20s, I think--it was published in 1923.  And one thing that we discover about Lord Peter (a younger son, without land or a title) is that he suffers shell-shock.  I'm interested in how the World Wars affect English culture, and especially English cultural identity.  And--I don't know--I'm always interested in England between the wars, particularly.  But one really cool think about this novel is the ways in which the narrator keeps reminding us that it is, in fact, a novel, a work of fiction.  Over and over, Lord Peter makes remarks like, "well, if this were a Sherlock Holmes story, instead of real life. . . "  But of course, it's not real life and is much more akin to a Sherlock Holmes story.  Towards the end, the narrator tells us that Lord Peter, as an detective, albeit an amature one, has been affected by Holmes and other literary detectives.  And of course, Peter is, in a way, the literary offspring of Holmes.  Lord Peter himself is quite bookish and quotes poetry and that kind of thing a lot, which makes it all double fun!  I'm sure that Sayers's The Mind of the Maker would be instructive here, would allow one to make connections between literary creation and the real world, but I don't remember much about it all.  I'm sooooo enjoying Sayers, anyway.  She's a remarkable person; she was a scholar who, among other things, translated Dante's Divine Comedy, into verse, I think. (Lord Peter, by the way, purchases some rare edition of Dante and reads Dante in the novel.) And she's a really good writer--better, I'd say, than Agatha Christie, who writes during the same period and seems to be much more popular, at least now.  Anyway, I realize that this isn't so like super insightful  or super academic or anything.  But I'm just really enjoying this novel and am especially intrigued by the intertextual references and how they suggest we might read / interpret the work.  Oh, plus, the book opens with a man's finding a naked corpse, wearing only glasses, in his bathtub.  And it takes quite a while to decide whose body it is, hence Whose Body?  And really, that all by itself is great!

I just went upstairs to photocopy syllabi, but the photocopier jammed, which isn't unusual, and I'm waiting for the staff to fix it.  This means that I have a bit of free time.  I've realized last night and this morning that I'm super excited for the semester to start in some ways.  I'm teaching a course that I'm calling British Detective Fiction, and it's just feeling super fab and fun and interesting.  And maybe this is why I have the job I do, because where else would I be getting paid to reading and talk about Sherlock Holmes and Inspector Morse and Albert Campion and Inspector Dalgliesh and all the rest?  Really, what could be better than that?  And I'm looking forward to all the little things, like rereading The Hound of the Baskervilles and, even better, watching all the adaptations I can get ahold of.  The one with Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee is the absolute worst / best.  It could qualify for MST3K, and if you are really interested, Netflix has a great trailer for it here, which gives a good sense of the tone and production quality of the whole thing.  And it just seems like there's so much to read and talk about and look forward to.  As I've been reading and thinking about this course, it's come to my attention that all these people I know, especially my colleagues, are sort of in the closet about reading murder mysteries, and it feels great to feel like there's actually this whole community of us indulging in this reading and that, I don't know, we don't have to keep being in the closet about it.  And I keep thinking about  mysteries and detectives and popular culture and official culture and medievalism.  And I keep watching more and more of the Midsommer Murders, which are grand, and plan to start at the beginning and watch all of the BBC's Inspector Morse, who is probably my favorite.  And it's nice--finally!--to feel interested in something again.

Ok, so I haven't posted much lately--here's a quickie update.  I'm feeling less depressed / anxious, which is good.  I've been busy with prepping for the new semester--classes start Monday.  I always kinda enjoy getting all organized and putting together syllabi and planning out my semester, but it's always a little maddening too.  For example, yesterday, I discovered that three novels I'd planned to teach this fall are out of print.  That really hadn't occurred to me as a possibililty (silly me!) and wasn't an eventuality that I'd considered.  And it was just somehow so frustrating.  I mean, it seems especially ridiculous (or something) that in a series of detective novels, all but one would be available, especially when it's the one that everyone seems to think the best.  And yes, they can be purchased used online for really very reasonable prices.  But that sort of isn't the point.  I guess it was an unexpected bump in the road, or whatever.  And I've been working a lot--mental work, not physical labour--and I've been tired but not able to get to sleep.  And the whole insomnia thingy is always maddening in its own way.  And then, I've been really craving a good cheese burger, which is unlike me, mostly because I don't normally eat dead cow.  So I guess I just don't really know what's going on with me other than to say that I've been working a lot and I'm tired but I'm somehow satisfied.

I don't know where to begin.  I've been back from CA for nine days now, and with each passing day, I've become increasingly blah feeling.  With the exception of yesterday, it's rained every day since I've been back.  And maybe that's part of my current listlessness.  About four days ago, I had several nights of wicked bad insomnia, and that affects my mood too.  And maybe it's just that I'm ready to go back to work; after all, it's been about three months since I've really worked.  The only other summer I've not taught was the summer I was working, nearly feverishly, to finish my dissertation.  And that counts as work, doesn't it?  I had grand plans, at one point, to get lots and lots of studying and prep and writing done over the summer, but somehow that didn't happen.  Until I left for CA, I did get lots of crafting and yoga and fun reading done, and it seems like that's really, really what I needed to do with my summer.  (And wow, when's the last time I wrote a "what I did with my summer vacation" essay?)  But now, on the other end of things, I feel icky, that whole I-haven't-accomplished-anything feeling, coupled with creeping anxiety, the paralyzing kind.  And apparently Netflix is having technical difficulties, so I don't have anything good to watch.  *sigh*  I'm just feeling kinda lonely and lost and purposeless.  Not good.  But starting next week, I'll just have to get a lot of work done, in anticipation of the new semester, and really, maybe that's good for me.  I'm looking forward to it.

Oi.  So I haven't posted in ages, and there are lots of good reasons for my silence.  But they really aren't that interesting, I suppose.  I was in California for nearly 2 weeks.  It was a good, if somewhat exhausting, trip.  But I think I'm glad to be home.  My semester starts in less than two weeks, and I'm feeling pretty anxious about it.  I don't know why I'm feeling anxious, but it's a really unpleasant (at best) kind of feeling.  And so it goes.  I'm at work today, attempting to pencil out syllabi and plan for the semester; classes require more advance planning than most people suspect.  It feels good to be getting organized and sorted and all that.  It seems that I only have really banal kinds of things to say.  Oh well.

T13: Things For Which I Feel Thankful Every Day

I've probably said this before, but I'm convinced that at least part of the key to contentment is truly appreciating the small, everyday kinds of things in our lives.  And lately, I've been very much aware of the things and happenings and people for which I feel truly thankful each day.  And so I offer this list, hoping that I can make it to thirteen.  Some are obvious, some mundane, but always counting our blessings seems like a healthy practics.

1.  Dishes.  Some of you know that I own more than one set of dishes.  And I enjoy them all.  I love having what I consider just the right bowl or plate for each occasion and each meal.  And I want different bowls for oatmeal and soup and ice cream and salad, and I enjoy them all.  The same with tea cups and mugs and tea pots.

2.  Dogs.  Quite literally, every day I am so thankful that each one of my dogs is a part of my life.  Each is different, and I have a different relationship with each.  But each provides so much love.  And my life is absolutely richer because of Guinnie, Polly, and Fenway.

3.  Books.  I read at least something each day.  And my life, again, is more full and rich and meaningful because of books and books and more books.

4.  My yard.  One thing I love about this time of year in Vermont is that every day there's something new and different to see in my yard.  Taking the dogs out each day is like a treasure hunt.

5.  Soup.  I really love soup.  There are so many variations, and regardless of the time of year, I find it to be such a satisfying meal.  Plus, it's a really good excuse for bread and butter!

6.  Creativity.  I like the sense of living creatively.  I like feeling like the mundane things I do, I can do creatively.  I mean, when I cook or get dressed or whatever, I'm always looking for opportunities to do these things creatively.

7.  Textiles and Fibers:  I've been sewing and crafting lately, and it's just so wonderful.  And although small things, I feel so blessed by fabric and paper and yarn and ribbon and all kinds of materials.  Just a small spool of grosgrain ribbon, purchased for less than a dollar, can afford so much sheer joy.  A skein of yarn can produce absolute bliss.

8.  Scented candles.  Again, candles aren't so important in the grand scheme of things, and yet the enjoyment they bring far outweighs their monetary value.

9.  Clean sheets.  I love the feeling of freshly laundered sheets.  There's nothing quite so perfect as getting into bed when the sheets are just right.

10.  Tea.  My doctor has suggested that maybe I should cut back on my tea consumption.  And in theory, I suppose it's not a bad idea.  But in practice, I just am not ready to cut back.  Tea, again, provides a satisfaction that is difficult to describe.

11.  A perfect turkey sandwich.  Lately, I'm in love with this sandwich that they sell at the deli of my local grocery store.  It's turkey with cranberry sauce and stuffing on a cibatta roll. And it is just delightful.

12.  Yoga practice.  Yoga practice provides a state of relaxation and well being that I've seldom found elsewhere.   Again, it's something that's difficult to describe yet, like tea, something I just don't want to live without.

13.  Friends.  Daily, I feel deeply, deeply thankful for my friends.

So maybe this list is sappy and predictable.  I mean, who doesn't care about friends?  It's just that at this single, precise moment, all these seem really important, and I feel so much deep gratitude for all thirteen.

A Perfect Meal

There's something exciting and wonderful and so satisfying about having an ideal meal, you know?  It's like sometimes the culinary planets are in perfect alignment, and the meal is just right for the situation.  And that makes me so totally happy.  I just had a late supper of a small bowl of lobster bisque and a glass of Riesling.  And it somehow seemed just right (call me Goldilocks) for this steamy summer evening.  And the soup wasn't homemade, just something I picked up from the grocery store take-out section.  And it doesn't seem like a cream soup would be so perfect for my sticky, hot state.  And yet, it all seemed just right.  It's getting close to 9:00.  I plan to get in bed early, finish my wine, and watch Bravo while reading Jasper Fforde until I'm ready to sleep.  It almost feels like all is right with the world.

I Heart CA

Lately, all I can think about is that I wish I were in California.  And I'll be visiting in a week, but that's not what I mean.  I want to be living someplace that feels like home, not like some different culture where I'll never quite find my place, because that's how New England feels to me.  It's been hot the past few days, but not that dry, desert heat that I associate with home.  It's been warm but wet and rainy and it feels like there's nowhere fun to go, nothing fun to do.  I take that back:  there's lots fun to do right at home, but nowhere to go.  I want to be where there are real malls and Targets and Gaps.  Is that just superficial?  Oh, let's not forget Trader Joe's and Mexican food.  Really, is that asking too much?  I''m tired, at least for now, of this sodden but oh-so-green summer.  I want the desert.  And I want to be with friends.  And I want to feel like I'm a part of something larger than myself.

A Crafting Update

I've almost finished this dress--I still need to hem it.  And although it's kinda boring in the picture, it's cute on.  It's Simplicity 2846.   It's made of a fairly light weight cambric.  And my idea is that I can wear it now as a summery dress and later with a turtleneck and tights as a jumper.  But what's really exciting is that I've been researching how to alter patterns for a fuller bust--apparently it's called a FBA or a full bust alteration.  And this dress is my first experiment with it; it turned out really well, and I'm quite pleased with the fit.

Also, I've been working on some hand embroidery.  This is a pink creamer motif on a tea towel.  It's from Aunt Martha's Hot Iron Transfers 3890.  I really love the vintage quality of this piece and plan to do a tea towel with a matching sugar bowl, although that may be a while in coming.



So, with one project and another, I've been a busy stitcher.  And it makes me very happy.  Such fun, and so practical too!

Success (For Real This Time)!

I'm so very pleased to say that my basement is just about in the shape I've always wanted it to be in.  I've spent several hours each of the last three or four days working away.  I'm just so excited--it's been just over two years since I've had "organize basement" on my list of things to do.  There are just a few more changes I think I want to make.  First, I think I want a second table to work at.  Right now, I have a 60x30 inch folding table for crafting, sewing, cutting out fabric, whatever.  But I think that purchasing a second, inexpensive folding table would be wonderful, so that I can have more than one project going at a time and still have space to spread out.  I figure if I position them in an L-shape, I can roll on my office chair from project to project.  Second, I think I want to paint the walls, although I'm not sure what color.  I think it would be super fun to do a wall or part of a wall in chalkboard paint.  I mean, wouldn't that be great to be able to write notes and such on the wall?  I'm also thinking about buying some of that primer filled with iron filings for a part of a wall; it's this great product that makes the surface such that magnets adhere to it.  Again, that seems both fun and practical.  But we'll see--there are other paint projects around the house that I may want to tackle first.  One of my goals in organizing the space was not to purchase anything--shelving, storage bins, whatever--but to only use what I already had on hand.  I'm pleased to say that I met this particular goal.  So things are good--this feels really great.