"Regrets, I've had a few . . ."

Frank Sinatra sang it in "My Way" and all of us live it, it's a simple part of being human but one that can haunt us.

It's often the stupid little things that gnaw at me, along with the bigger blunders. Like the time I ran into a friend from high school and she extended her hand for a handshake and I just stared at it like it was a dead fish. Or the unnecessary additional stress I created for a busy bride when I responded to her wedding invitation with an RSVP for myself + Guest.

The bride was far too polite to say anything, but a week or so before the wedding she casually (bless her heart) asked me if my friend would be attending. Since he had other plans that didn't allow room for a two-hour drive, we resolved the matter, but when I saw the full church I realized the grossness of my error.

I know the rationalization of the 'no regrets' philosophy, if I hadn't chosen the path I did, I wouldn't be where I am or who I am, but sometimes . . . argh!

Some of my classroom experiences periodically replay in my mind. I wish I had handled them differently, even if the outcome might have been the same.

The rowdy lit class where trying to teach was like lassoing lightning, the Composition II class where discussion dwindled to yawning gaps of despair, the tenuous student friendships which ultimately disintegrated with varying degress of animosity, the letter of recommendation that I should have written for an amazing, accomplished student but I felt too removed from the situation to rise to the occasion.

We all make mistakes. Maybe we learn from them, maybe we repeat them. It seems like the very least we can do is own up to them.

"Yo, Barb, got any ones?"

Shortly into my shift at the thrift store it became clear that 1) not only was our mega-sale resulting in a long line of customers waiting to check out at the two registers, 2) our usual reserves of lower denomination bills were taking a hit.

Just when I thought I might have to close my register -- I had a wad of twenties but was out of fives and tens and nearly out of ones and quarters -- my current customer mentioned that she had some singles. She pulled a wad of crumpled singles from her purse, apologizing for their overall rumpled state by explaining that she works as a waitress.

Half an hour after locking the doors, I rang up the last sale and dug through the pockets of my apron for unfinished business, receipts and notes, and, surprise, discovered twenty-two one dollar bills.

In the rush of sales and customers, I had completely forgotten that when I had shown up for work I had handled some small exact change and check sales to speed the flow to the registers. Normally there are a few lulls to enter such sales later at the register, but business had been such a busy blur that the opportunity hadn't presented itself.

In the future I guess I'll know where the buck stops.

Road construction turned the intersection into a maze but I eventually figured out where the library was located, found the meeting room, turned on the lights and became the unofficial greeter for those attending a presentation by author Jennifer Lee Carrell.

Carrell discussed her two books, THE SPECKLED MONSTER, a work of creative nonfiction, and INTERRED WITH THEIR BONES, a literary thriller. She is an engaging speaker, infusing historical research with genuine enthusiam and drawing on her educational, teaching and drama experiences at Harvard.

THE SPECKLED MONSTER developed from Carrell's freelancing work for the SMITHSONIAN magazine and her interest in the life of a British socialite who had been disfigured by smallpox and pursued an early form of inoculation to protect her children from the disease.

In INTERRED WITH THEIR BONES a former Shakespeare scholar attempts to stay one step ahead of a murderer in their search for a lost play. The body count rivals one of Shakespeare's tragedies but the historical tidbits really add to the depth of the novel. The author graciously includes a section at the end clarifying which content is based in fact.

Patricia Gaffney's MAD DASH offers an in depth look at the thoughts and actions of a married couple who decide to separate. While I really enjoyed these characters in all their flaws and the personalities that comprise their world, and there is one hysterical section when they meet with a counselor, there were times when I just wanted to shake them and move on to something more upbeat.

The reviews seem mixed for Ann Patchett's RUN but I loved it. I waffled a bit a first, there was some head-hopping in the opening chapters while she was establishing characters, particularly the younger Doyle brothers, but she does what she does so well I could forgive her almost anything. Her style is so exquisite, so rich in texture, affording us an opportunity to slip into a complex and revealing twenty-four period in an extended Boston family.

And now, the search for something fluffy yet satisfying, like fudge without the sugar rush.

Furnace Repair: Act II

The technician stepped through the doorway and the furnace kicked in, as if in greeting, an act it hadn't performed in days.

The technician chuckled at our open-faced astonishment, "Maybe there was some dust on the sensor." He suggested we shake the metal door/plate/thing-a-bob at the base of the furnace if it failed to come on again.

Which it did, as soon as he left.

Much as I'd like to see my husband find a new hobby, I couldn't quite picture him spending the winter clanging the furnace in exchange for heat.

Replacing the sensor helped the situation, but it didn't quite clear up the problem. The sequence continued to falter -- 1, 2, pause, nothing.

My husband popped the cover off the thermostat. I averted my eyes when he began tinkering with it using a screwdriver; okay, so I was rolling my eyes while offering a prayer for his safety.

He consulted the internet, then tweaked the thermostat a bit more. The furnace came on and shut off in a normal cycle.

My hero.

(Just in case, we haven't put the space heaters away yet.)

I didn't expect to read John Elder Robison's book, LOOK ME IN THE EYE: MY LIFE WITH ASPERGER'S. I thought maybe I'd glance at a few chapters.

I'd read his brother's memoir, Augusten Burroughs' RUNNING WITH SCISSORS (and seen the movie). I was familiar with the family dysfunction (alcoholic academic father, mentally ill creative mother), surely there wouldn't be enough variation to keep me engaged for the duration?

There was, it did.

Robison chronicles how people reacted to his behaviors and how he struggled to find his way in a world where there was no diagnosis or awareness. His adaptations and accomplishments make for fascinating reading as he develops from mal-adapted prankster to technical wizard inventing stage effects for KISS. It's quite a journey.

Jennifer Lee Carrell provides a solid literary mystery in her first novel, INTERRED WITH THEIR BONES. Carrell, a Tucson native who attended Harvard and Oxford, draws on her own research and experiences in her portrayal of the search for a lost Shakespeare play. The novel contains effective pacing, pithy quotations, and many clues with an historical basis.