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Sometimes life throws you lemons — which kind of hurts if they come at a high velocity. But then, lemons are quite useful: lemon juice can be used to clean tarnish off of copper, take the odor out of your kitchen sink, brighten dull blonde hair and, of course, make lemonade.

Last April, life through me a doozy of a lemon. Those of you who have been reading this blog since then know what I’m talking about. For those of you who are new, I was hit by a minivan and fractured my tibia.

Anyway, since that time, my recovery has been slow and annoying. The latest repercussion has had be rethink how I live my life, especially as it relates to food. You see, I was 165 lbs and loosing when that van hit me. But, since I haven’t been able to be as active since the accident the weight loss has turned to weight gain. This past week, I hit 200 lbs. The most I’ve ever weighed in my life.

My bras — which, I might add, I just purchased last month — are so tight they dig into my skin. The swelling in my ankle, which has been a recurring problem since an injury several years ago, has increased so much that the swelling sometimes reaches into my thigh. Yuck. I’m very uncomfortable and unhappy in the body I currently inhabit.

So, since exercise is still a challenge (I’m back to using the cane when I go up and down stairs and my ankle hurts most of the time), I’m going to take a stronger stance with my food intake. I’m going back on the Nutrisystem plan.

OK, this means some of my cookbook ideas will just have to wait. But that’s OK, I’ve got plenty of non-food related projects I can work on while I loose 57 lbs. I thought that I’d share my progress with you in this blog. So for at least a little while, Random Thoughts will be concentrating on weight loss and my trip to Spain and Romania.

Of course, those random thoughts will pop up and, of course, I will share them with you. Otherwise, this just wouldn’t be Random Thoughts, now would it?

So, back to lemonade. The accident may have been an experience I’d rather not have gone through, but the challenges it has made me face have helped me focus my life and really concentrate on those things that are most important to me. Not that I’d recommend everyone go out and get hit by a minivan.

Until next post …

This week three new toys were inducted into the National Toy Hall of Fame (NTHoF). One of them was the cardboard box. This, I have to say, sent me into the dreamy land of childhood memories.

“It’s that empty box full of possibilities,” said Christopher Bensch, chief curator of the Strong Museum in Rochester, N.Y., of which the NTHoF is a part, “that kids can sense and the adults don’t always see.”

I’ll always remember my cardboard box spaceship. It came complete with a monitor, through which I could gaze at other planets. I drew a square (or the close approximation of one) on the part of the box that acted as the control panel. Then I cut a bunch of pieces of paper the same size and shape as that square. On each of these I drew exotic landscapes from other planets — I spent quite a bit of time on this artwork. It was great fun.

I wonder if the inventor of the cardboard box had any idea of the creativity he would inspire? The corrugated cardboard box was invented by Robert Gair in 1890 and quickly dominated the shipping industry. But for most people, I think the extra large cardboard box will always be remembered as their personal spaceship, castle or car.

This past weekend I attended Horrorfind, a horror and Halloween-themed convention. While there, I picked up some free samples of Red Scream — “The only erotic horror magazine that matters” — and it got me to thinking why some of the most pleasurable things in life — food and sex — are often commingled with what scares us the most.

First, what is horror fiction? The definition that works best for me is fiction that unsettles and disturbs us. For some, this comes in the form of fantastic monsters like vampires, werewolves and such. For others, it wears the form of serial killers. And for yet others, it’s someone dressed as a clown.

Secondly, what is erotic fiction? I think most would agree that it is fiction that deals with sex or sexual themes, without moving into explicit pornography. In trying to find a definition for erotic fiction on the ‘Net, I came across something interesting by Michael Perkins (I don’t know who he is). He wrote, “the function of erotic literature is to express the secret part of our lives which periodically rules us” and goes on to conclude that “such writing confirms an important measure of our interior worlds and purges us of our fear of the unknown.”

This leads me to the sometimes odd, but also inevitable, merging of the erotic with the horrifying in fiction. Perkins writes, “We read what frightens us because the work confronts our deepest suspicions about life.” So why does sex scare some of us so much?

I think that erotic horror has developed in part because we are at our most vulnerable when engaged in the intimate embrace. At what other time are we bereft of all forms of protection and focused on not our surroundings but one individual? In addition to that, sex can leave us emotionally vulnerable, as well. For many, this is truly unsettling.

If it wasn’t, why are there so many people with intimacy issues?

Another aspect of pleasure and pain commingled in fiction is the use of food in both horror and erotic horror. Food in necessary for life. But it can also be a sensual, visceral pleasure, thus the term “comfort food.”

Much of horror uses food for the gross-out effect — people eating things that most people wouldn’t put near their nose, let alone in their mouth. There is also the cannibalistic use of food in horror fiction. But, for me, food is the most scary when it is used seductively: the unsuspecting victim lured to his or her doom by the promise of a tasty treat, or the promise of pleasure being used to lure the victim to his or her demise.

Hunters and trappers use the former quite often — a chunk of meat lures the wolf into a trap. This is also used in nature: the angler fish has a fleshy antennae-like thing hanging form its forehead that lures fish into its gaping maw. In fiction, food has been used to transform the victim into something monstrous. Drinking the blood of a vampire turns you into a vampire without loosing a drop of your own (The Lost Boys used this.)

Ray Bradbury wrote a chilling short story in which aliens invade earth in the form of mushrooms, which, when eaten, transformed the person into an alien. Murderers who use poison will often prepare elaborate or gourmet meals in which to hide the poison. In some ways, this is metaphorically pushing the tale of Eve and the Apple to a grotesque extreme.

As for the latter, serial killers often ply their prey with flattery and seduction. Even in the natural world, sex can lead to death. The male black widow has to tread carefully onto his paramour’s web, or she will devour him. In fiction, vampires often seduce their victims into being their meals.

So, in conclusion, why are some of the most pleasurable things in life often commingled with what scares us the most? Just a thought, but could it be that what we fear the most is loosing those very pleasures?

Not to be morose or anything – well, maybe I want to be morose, but that’s another blog entry – but I’ve been having some oddly dark thoughts lately.

It all started with the bat – see my August 2004 entry. I started thinking about him (her? how do you tell?) a week or so ago. You see, I’m in the habit of blessing dead animals when I come upon them; an idea my mother gave me. And at times, it seems almost as if animals choose to die along a path I will take just to be blessed – there are so many. There have been quite a few road kills on the freeway lately. A raccoon here. A prairie dog there. Deer everywhere. In fact, I saw a baby deer just the other night. It broke my heart. The poor little thing was just lying there on a freeway on-ramp. It still had its spots.

Anyway, all this dead animal activity got me to thinking about the bat. (Can I now say “I see dead animals”? Bad joke. I know.) Why did he choose my vehicle to hide under? Could I have done more to help him out? Could I have helped him die a more dignified death than inside a box in an electrical closet? Cosmically speaking, did I really screw the pooch with this test of my compassion?

And then, there were the bombings in London. Well, since there were 700+ people hurt in that tragic event, it occurred to me that it was in the realm of possibility that I’ve shared an alcoholic beverage and conversation with someone affected by the bombings. I met a lot of people when I spent nine weeks in England 20+ years ago and I still think of many of them. It could happen. Of course, I’ll never know. But it did make me sad.

Why do I think like that sometimes? Is it because it’s been stormy, rainy and dark the last few days? Thunder rolling by like a Mack truck in the sky. Lightning flashing like celestial paparazzi crowded around the newest starlet.

Is it because I’m deeply frustrated with the lack of progress my knee is making? (Chronic pain has been known to cause depression.) It hurts all the time and I’ve gained between 15 and 20 pounds due to the inactivity it forces upon me.

Or maybe, it is just another side effect of having a random mind. Who knows – I could bee thinking of sugar and spice and everything nice next week!

What do you think?

The summer is officially here. It’s hot and muggy. The fireflies are dancing in the evenings among the vines that cover the trees outside my apartment window. And I’ve broken out the sleeveless shirts in my wardrobe.

For me, every summer is different – and that’s not just because I’ve moved about the country a lot. Beyond the weather – hot as Hades in Phoenix, muggy in Florida and Maryland, pleasantly breezy in Northern California – every summer has its theme.

The summer I turned 17 (my birthday is in August) was an awakening that guys found me attractive. Silly guys – don’t they know a geeky frump when they see one? Oh, well, no accounting for taste.

The following summer, I spent in England as an exchange student. That summer was emotional – just before I left for the airport I discovered my grandmother had died. So, for nine weeks I mourned among strangers while trying to enjoy my overseas experience.

This summer is full of promise. I’m frantically trying to balance two very exciting projects. I’m going to Spain and Romania in September and launching The Genre Traveler when I get back.

This fall’s trip will be the third time I’ve left the U.S. The first, I was only 2-1/2 years old. I didn’t need to worry or plan anything. In fact, I don’t even remember the trip. All my memories begin in Kenya – the country my family went to live in for 2-1/2 years.

The second was my AFS exchange student trip. I was 17 years old and spent 9 weeks traveling about England. I stayed with four “families” – a traditional family with two kids, a single woman, an older couple and a single mother – and two work camps – ATD Fourth World in Frimley and the Derbyshire International Youth Work Camp in Derbyshire. I planned a little, but AFS and my parents took care of most of the worries.

Now that I’m pushing 40, I’m going to Spain for a little more than a week to visit family I’ve never met and participating in a writer’s cultural exchange program for 10 days in Romania. All the planning is up to me. And with 9/11 security making air travel more challenging, planning is very important. I’ve become a big fan of onebag.com.

So this year, instead of worrying about how I look in a swimsuit or searching for the best ice cream sundae, I’m making lists and checking them thrice. I’m traveling light this time so I can get the most out of my short time abroad. Yes, summer is here and full of promise. So, where’d I put that list again?