Category: Blog

I bet you say that to all the boys

What went before: Tools down for the day. The WIP currently weighs in at +/-72,300 words. Today is one of those days where I’m starting to panic because I have too much story to fit in the space that’s left. Tomorrow, I’ll be despondent because I’ll have too little story to fit the space that’s left.

Don’t mind me.

I had originally kinda sorta intended to go to Belfast tomorrow to visit the Saturday Farmer/Makers Market, but I’m feeling a tad oppressed by All The Things, so, instead of going out, I’ll stay in and, er, Cope. And, after all, next Friday I get to drive to Bath, so that’ll be a nice outing. Sigh.

I have been accepted as — I dunno. An author? A vendor? An author-vendor? at the Bangor Authors’ Book Fair and Literary Festival in December, which has brought on a wave of What Were You Thinking, and wondering if I ought to bow out now and let somebody else have my space, but! There are All Those Books in the Basement that have got to be gotten rid of somehow. Problem being I’d need to load in (hardcover) books, load out (hardcover) books, woman the table, take payment, make change . . . and I keep forgetting that I’m 73 and have a bad back, and no longer a mere child of 48, with a partner to share the lifting. And it’s not like I’ll sell more than six books, tops, because — science fiction that’s not Star Wars, and has Netflix made a movie?

So! I’ll sleep on that, I guess.

Firefly’s style of gathering the crew together for Happy Hour is very low key. She kind of mooches in around 5, checks to see am I busy, offers a few brush-bys and takes up a position on the supply chest or the observation table. The other two wander in over the next few minutes, check in with me and take their stations. I’m not alone, here, and I can feel their presence, but nobody’s yelling.

So, anyhow, tools down. I’ll get the kids Happy Hour’d, pour myself a glass of wine and come back to the desk for half-an-hour to get the bill-paying queued up.

Everybody have a good evening. Stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

* * *

“Will he offer me his hunger? And will he starve without me?”
Counsel for separating the artist from the art rests.

Saturday. Grey and cool. Went to bed early, slept badly, got up early. All of which seems very unfair, but here we are. I feel that I would sleep better if any of the current clowder would sleep with me, but they’re still processing their own loss, and without Trooper to gather everybody up and head for the bedroom, they sort of settle near each other and dream together.

Breakfast was two eggs, scrambled with onion, cheese, chicken; toast and sour cherry jam. Dinner will be left over noodles.

Having studied on this for six months, I am offering the quasi-expert opinion that the Second Year is Worse. Not that last year was a picnic, but systems that had been in place were still working. This year, I’m seeing the creep of entropy. Systems need care, after all, and there are So. Many. tiny subroutines to tend to. It really did take two of us to run this joint. Moreso because our real lives and our creative lives were so closely braided.

I had used to think that our System for Writing, for instance, in which we talked out ideas, ramifications, tried out bits of dialog, went for long rides, saying nothing, until one of us said, “But, What IF…” — I used to think that was pretty inefficient. Fun, but inefficient.

The present system, where I have to write everything as a Try Out, and then manually sort it through the filter of the Intended Result? Not only sucks, but takes more time. Our chaotic little subsystem was actually a dream of efficiency.

Well. Live and learn.

So, today! Today, we change out cat boxes, and do laundry, and catch up the Chapter-by-Chapter, and — write.

The unsettled night did produce a couple of ideas which might allow me to do the December book fair without loss of life, so I’ll be writing some emails today.

Regarding this ^^ — I have a handtruck. It’s swell, and I know how to use it. Steve and I used to have tables at cons, as SRM Publisher. I have packed books in and packed books out, made change and all the rest of it. This is how I know how much work it is. Summing up: I do not (NOT) need a handtruck. Thank you for your attention to this detail.

Firefly and Rook are playing tag. This is good. Firefly is harder for Rook to catch than Tali, not because Firefly is faster (objectively, Tali is probably fastest), but because Firefly cheats, vanishes into doorways and waits for Rook to speed by, then darts off in the other direction, trailing nah-nah-nahs like red balloons.

And I think that’s all I’ve got this morning, if I want to get the rest of the to-do done.

What’s everybody doing today?

This morning’s blog post title brought to you by Meatloaf and Ellen Foley, “You took the words right out of mouth“

Books read in 2025

47  Hemlock and Silver, T. Kingfisher (e)
46  Outcrossing, Celia Lake (Mysterious Charm #1) (e)
45  Outfoxing Fate, Zoe Chant/Murphy Lawless (Virtue Shifters)(e)
44  Atonement Sky, Nalini Singh (Psy-Changeling Trinity #9) (e)
43  Stone and Sky, Ben Aaronovitch (Rivers of London #10) (e)
42  Regency Buck, Georgette Heyer (re-re-re-&c-read)
41  I Dare, Sharon Lee and Steve Miller (Liaden Universe #7) (page proofs)
40  To Hive and to Hold, Amy Crook (The Future of Magic #1) (e)
39  These Old Shades, Georgette Heyer, narrated by Sarah Nichols (re-re-re-&c-read, 1st time audio)
38  Faking it (Dempsey Family #2), Jennifer Crusie, narrated by Aasne Vigesaa (re-re-re-&c-read, 1st time audio)
37  Copper Script, K.J. Charles (e)
36  The Masqueraders, Georgette Heyer, narrated by Eleanor Yates (re-re-re-&c-read; 1st time audio)
35  Everyone Here Spoke Sign Language: Hereditary Deafness on Martha’s Vineyard, Nora Ellen Groce (e)
34  Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day, Winifred Watson, narrated by Frances McDormand (re-re-re-&c-read; 1st time audio)
33  The Wings upon Her Back, Samantha Mills (e)
32  Death on the Green (Dublin Driver #2), Catie Murphy (e)
31  The Elusive Earl (Bad Heir Days #3), Grace Burrowes (e)
30  The Mysterious Marquess (Bad Heir Days #2), Grace Burrowes (e)
29  Who Will Remember (Sebastian St. Cyr #20), C.S. Harris (e)
28  The Teller of Small Fortunes, Julie Leong (e)
27  Check and Mate, Ali Hazelwood (e)
26  The Dangerous Duke (Bad Heir Days #1), Grace Burrowes (e)
25  Night’s Master (Flat Earth #1) (re-read), Tanith Lee (e)
24  The Honey Pot Plot (Rocky Start #3), Jennifer Crusie and Bob Mayer (e)
23  Very Nice Funerals (Rocky Start #2), Jennifer Crusie and Bob Mayer (e)
22  The Orb of Cairado, Katherine Addison (e)
21  The Tomb of Dragons, (The Cemeteries of Amalo Trilogy, Book 3), Katherine Addison (e)
20  A Gentleman of Sinister Schemes (Lord Julian #8), Grace Burrowes (e)
19  The Thirteen Clocks (re-re-re-&c read), James Thurber (e)
18  A Gentleman Under the Mistletoe (Lord Julian #7), Grace Burrowes (e)
17  All Conditions Red (Murderbot Diaries #1) (re-re-re-&c read) (audio 1st time)
16  Destiny’s Way (Doomed Earth #2), Jack Campbell (e)
15  The Sign of the Dragon, Mary Soon Lee
14  A Gentleman of Unreliable Honor (Lord Julian #6), Grace Burrowes (e)
13  Market Forces in Gretna Green (#7 Midlife Recorder), Linzi Day (e)
12  Shakespeare: The Man Who Pays the Rent, Judi Dench with Brendan O’Hea (e)
11  Code Yellow in Gretna Green (#6 Midlife Recorder), Linzi Day (e)
10  Seeing Red in Gretna Green (#5 Midlife Recorder), Linzi Day (e)
9    House Party in Gretna Green (#4 Midlife Recorder), Linzi Day (e)*
8    Ties that Bond in Gretna Green (#3 Midlife Recorder), Linzi Day (e)
7    Painting the Blues in Gretna Green (#2 Midlife Recorder), Linzi Day (e)
6    Midlife in Gretna Green (#1 Midlife Recorder), Linzi Day (e)
5    The Goblin Emperor, Katherine Addison (Author), Kyle McCarley (Narrator) re-re-re&c-read (audio)
4    The House in the Cerulean Sea,  TJ Klune (e)
3    A Gentleman in Search of a Wife (Lord Julian #5) Grace Burrowes (e)
2    A Gentleman in Pursuit of the Truth (Lord Julian #4) Grace Burrowes (e)
1    A Gentleman in Challenging Circumstances (Lord Julian #3) Grace Burrowes (e)

_____
*Note: The list has been corrected. I did not realize that the Gretna Green novella was part of the main path, rather than a pleasant discursion, and my numbering was off. All fixed now.

I’ll find out, when I get there

Friday early in the morning: Ducking in real quick to answer the morning’s most frequent questions.

The name of the character is Zigfrid, and she has a problem. What a surprise.

The caricatures of Steve and me hanging on the wall in one of the photos I posted yesterday are by Howard Taylor, creator of Schlock Mercenary. They were done at Denvention, the 66th World Science Fiction Convention, in Denver.

In that same photo, Rookie is not scared or angry. His tail is always like that.

And! Not a question, but an observation. I’ve been listening to Black Cats (soft) Jazz on Youtube, and like it very much. The cats don’t seem to like jazz, but I’m hoping it’ll grow on them, acknowledging that jazz is, like a Certain Professor, an Acquired Taste. Steve, for instance, loved him some blues, gypsy jazz, and fusion, most of which does not work for me.

All that said — onward! I’ll check back in, post-flu-shot.

Friday, post-flu-shot: Well. That was . . . an adventure.

An adventure, yes.

So, while I was getting my flu shot, I asked the nice young pharmacist when I could get reboosted on the COVID vaccine, the last booster I had being March. He kind of looked at the ceiling and said, kind of apologetic, “Well, see, the CDC isn’t making recommendations any more.” “Yes,” I said, “but aside that.” Weeeelllll, aside that, they don’t have, that is, they just can’t give, or well, actually — I need a prescription from my doctor stating that it is “medically necessary. “Otherwise,” said the pharmacist, “I’d give you one today. It’s been six months. I’m sorry; it’s really inconvenient.”

Well, no. I mean, yes, it is inconvenient, but they’re going to kill people. Already have killed people. And are So. Very. Proud. of Themselves.

I HATE this timeline.

I did some grocery shopping after getting my shot, and STILL there was no candied ginger on the shelf, so after I finished my business with Uncle Hannaford, I went down to Uncle Dean’s, and had my choice of several bags on the shelf. Which is why we need a natural market in town.

I’m home now, and everything put away. Next up is sitting down with some ice on my back and reading a chapter of my book, then! Lunch, and then?

To work.

Today’s blog post title from Tom Petty, “Learning to Fly.”

Cat pics and embroidery project The Next:

Egg rolls and embroidery

Wow. Thanks to everyone who sent birthday greetings. I can’t possibly answer each of you individually. Your wishes mean a great deal.

I had a pleasant, low-key kind of a day. In the morning, I sat in the comfy chair in my office in the sun and finished my embroidery project. I caught up with the character who refused to tell me her name and learned quite a lot about her, which of course meant that I had to rewrite a couple more scenes, but that’s OK! This is still the working draft; nothing is written in stone. Or even indelible ink.

I had stir-fried noodles and chicken, with egg rolls for lunch. I still have noodles left over, so that’s good.

The cats have been hanging with each other a lot today, largely congregating in Steve’s office. I’m assuming they’re doing some group work, and I let them have at it. Rook came by a couple times to check in, and Firefly and I did have a long chat about how being Boss Cat doesn’t mean she has to go it alone. I don’t know all the stuff that Trooper knew, because how could I? But I do know some stuff and have a lot of experience, so she’s not completely without backup. She seemed to feel better after our talk.

Tomorrow morning, I have a flu shot scheduled. By chance the pharmacy is in the grocery store, so I’ll be doing some shopping while I’m there. Then, I hope to come home and write some more.

Below are a few pics from the day, including the finished embroidery project.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll check in at some point tomorrow.

Closing Time, Wednesday

The lunchtime report: So, I did go back to the webform and threw in a non-inclusive bunch of titles, so the lawyers can have my contact information (thanks Judy Tarr!). First, and last on the day, load of laundry done; duty to the cats accomplished, walk taken.

Lunch will be baked chicken breast — I bought six last time at the grocery, so I’m baking three and have put three in the freezer — peas, and bread.

Have made minor tweaks and twitches at the WIP Itself, and brain has been chewing on other aspects while I do other things. I like it when I have mindless things that have to be accomplished (which would make you think I like dusting, and you would be wrong), so my brain can keep on cooking. When I had day-jobs, I used to love those big stupid collating jobs where you had to use a conference table to lay out all the pages and then just around and around and around, picking up a page at each stack until you got the end and put the collated pages down, and started back around the table. Ghod, I got a lot of writing done that way.

I currently have three coon cats in my office, and Trooper’s absence is palpable, even though, were he here, he’d be asleep in his box.

The windows are open now, the sun having come out and warmed things up nicely.

After lunch — more writing. Whee!

The evening report:  Trooper “came home” a few minutes ago. His box is back with the others. I hope I don’t have to add to that collection for a long, long time. In fact, I’d rather not add to it all.

Today’s work produced about 800 new words. I had to straighten out a couple of kinks in already-written scenes, in particular writing someone out of a scene that takes place before they actually arrive. For the next scene, I need to do some prep, such as researching the particulars of Scout Commander yos’Phelium’s Field Judgment on the matter of independent logics, which will take me to Coon Cat Happy Hour, so we’ll just call the WIP’s wordage as of today at +/-71,390.

Tomorrow is my birthday, as has been the case for the 72 years previous to this one. Since it is a day of mourning and reliving horrific events for a vast number of people, I will, as has become my habit, be limiting my presence online. For those who are curious about what I’ll be doing to celebrate my 73rd birthday; I will be writing. Maybe I’ll get wild and crazy and order in Chinese.

Everybody stay safe.

Destination, Bangor Maine

What went before: Sat with the WIP for a bit, added some words. Dissatisfied with the name of a new character, which isn’t the name they gave me — which is to say, they gave no name — but I felt like I had to call them something. So! I may be wrong about that. I’ll look again tomorrow, and if I’m still unhappy and they haven’t forked over, I’ll just do without for now.

Vividly I remember the pitched battle I fought with Rool Tiazan’s lady, me demanding a name; she informing me that hell would freeze over and Satan down with pneumonia before that would happen. I threatened to call her Bubbles. She laughed. And? She won. Tough cookie, Rool Tiazan’s lady. I don’t think this one is of that caliber — because, let’s face it, who is? Certainly not me — so it may be that I’ll be worthy of knowing their name after we’ve worked together for a couple chapters.

Scheduled a flu shot for Friday. They had openings for Thursday, but I draw the line at getting a vaccine on my birthday.

Need to do a couple more things before I go off to ply my needle.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

Wednesday. Foggy and chill. I had to ask the heat pump in my office to provide heat to take the nip off.

Slept for almost 9 hours again. This seems to be an Emerging Theme — short sleep for however long it takes me to get so tired I’m staggering, then 9 hours of sleep, lather-rinse-repeat. I’m not a fan, but at this point I guess I’ll take what I can get.

The cat bowls have been refreshed, and the cats have each graciously taken a small mouthful, to indicate that they have noted and approve of this attention to their comfort.

Breakfast was a peach with a side of cottage cheese, and now I’m having a cookie for dessert, because what’s the point of making cookies if you don’t eat them? Lunch is a puzzler, but we’ll get there.

The big news in the world of writers and AI, which SFWA tried to get my attention for a couple days ago, but it took a friend writing to me to get me to look at my part of the thing again. . .

The Big News, I say, is that the Anthropic class action suit has moved to Another Level. The motion on the table includes up to a $3000 payment for each work scraped and used to “teach” the AI engines, and a guarantee to wipe their databases.

Though I fully expect this to be whittled down by lawyers to “arrogant non-apology and we’ll only use our databases for good as defined by our stockholders,” it does mean that I now have to become a specific member of the class — which means filing the titles of the scraped works that belong to me, via a webform, with the Attorneys on the side of Writers.

For fun, I went through the Atlantic Database of Stolen Properties (this is not its official name; just a little pet name I’ve given it) last night and! There are about 200 titles for Sharon Lee, and Sharon Lee and Steve Miller. Some of them are not us — not many. Some are duplicates — surprisingly few — though perhaps a few more, since so much of our stuff has been reissued in multiple editions.

The lawyers’ webform. Have I mentioned that it is very Slow?

Yeah. I wrote to the firm, asking if perhaps, given the sheer number of titles involved, I might be allowed to submit One Long List with all titles, ISBNs, publication date(s), and whatnot. Otherwise, it’s going to take, conservatively, 50 years to enter, and even with two of us on-board and able, it would have been a lot.

In other news, I have a load of laundry drying. I need to get the clean dishes out of the dishwasher, and do my duty to the cats, but aside that, and ignoring the To-Do List, what I really want to do is write, so I’m thinking I’ll be doing — wow. Every fire engine, battlewagon, and ambulance in town has just gone charging past the house. That’s exciting. . .

And now? It’s quiet. . . .too quiet.

Well.

What are you ignoring on the to-do list today?

Today’s blog title brought to you by Mr. Roger Miller, “King of the Road.”

Cat Census:

There is moonlight and moss in the trees

What went before: Well, the day didn’t go exactly as I had planned. In addition to the chores on the list (The List), I needed to fix the toilet, which I did, go me. Then I sat down to drink my hot chocolate, and Rookie jumped in my lap just as I had put my mug aside and was getting up, and put me to sleep for 45 minutes — Trooper really worked with this kid — and then the Sleep Clinic, where I have a Stoopidly Early appointment tomorrow called to let me know that I have to bring in the whole machine tomorrow, not just the SD card (because their card reader’s broken, she said. I don’t ask questions, any more), and then I remembered that I wanted to buy a more reasonable thing to keep my earrings in, so I went over to Esty and bought myself a birthday present, and … Oh! Atlas Vet, where I attended the Open House on Saturday, called to tell me I had won a prize in the drawing! Ten percent off my first visit, if that happens within a year. So, yay, I won a prize.

I did write 996 words, not the scene I thought I was going to write, and had notes for and everything, and I’d complain, but it’s a good scene, so I may just call this The Book of Good Scenes, said book now weighing in at 70,600ish words.

Tomorrow, as mentioned, Stoopidly Early Appointment, after which I’m going to try to have breakfast at Governor’s, because I haven’t eaten out in … a while now, and we mustn’t lose the Social Graces. Tomorrow evening is needlework and in-between is chores.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll check in tomorrow as can.

Tuesday. Sunny and crisp. Cool enough when I left the house that I wore my new jacket. Didn’t need it by the time I left Governors.

Trash and recycling at the curb.

Met a nurse in the elevator up to the sleep center, who informed me that this was a “Groot Day” which — good to know.

Turns out it’s not just the card readers that are down at MEGen, but the whole computer network, system-wide. So my NP was taking notes and writing down stats on a 3×3 yellow pad of sticky notes. I said that they ought to get her a reasonable notebook if she was busted back to pen and paper. They were pathetically pleased that I have the myAir ap, and could show them my stats on my phone (which! triggered a memory of when Steve and I first arrived in Maine and were looking for an apartment; having to go to the bank and change a twenty for quarters, then find a pay phone outside of the Kmart in Waterville, and work our way through the classifieds in the Sentinel. The past isn’t only a different country; it’s a different planet.)

The happy news is that my numbers were so good that I’m cleared to drive for three years. So that’s actually a relief, though I still have to visit the sleep folks annually, to prove that I’m maintaining.

Went to Governor’s, had an unhealthy breakfast of sausage gravy on biscuits, scrambled eggs, and homefries, because if you’re going to go the low road, you might as well go all the way.

Stopped at the post office on my way home, which I haven’t done in a while, then at Uncle Deans to buy some lavender, because I had none.

Home now, having been greeted by three out of a possible three coon cats, all of whom wanted to know where their gravy was; and now I need to get with my correspondence.

Not sure how much writing I’ll get done today, since it’s a short day. Here’s a SNIPPET from yesterday:

“Come here often?”

“As often as my lady allows.”

She sighed mournfully, shaking her head. “Married, is it? That’s too bad.”

“Now, I find it very agreeable.”

“Yeah? What’s she like, your lady?”

He smiled gently. “She is bold and brilliant; strong and subtle. I reverence and stand in awe of her – even when she is casting for compliments.”
#
How’s Tuesday looking in your piece of the world?

Today’s blog post title courtesy of The Eagles, “Seven Bridges Road.”

Weavin’ time in a tapestry

Business first: I regret to announce that I will not (NOT) after all be attending AlbaCon as a virtual panelist. My apologies.

What went before: All righty, then.

I have a filthy headache.

I have no idea how many words I wrote today. The WIP now stands at +/-69,570. FWIW.

Coon cats have had their happy hour. I need to do two things of a mundane nature, and then I’m done for the day.

Everybody stay safe.

I’ll see you tomorrow.

Monday. Up well before the alarm clock. The windows are soaked on the outside, and the sky, what I can see of it, is grey.
First cup of tea just brewed and sitting here with me at the keyboard.

September 8.

September used to seem like a non-stop party when I was growing up, and also delivered a salutary lesson in the art of budgeting. My maternal grandmother, my mother, me, and my younger sister all have birthdays in September.

I am the last one standing.

Perhaps someday I’ll talk about growing up as a left-handed, wrong-brained Virgo in a house full of Virgos. But today is not that day.

Yesterday … was not the best day ever. I fed myself and the cats, did needful chores, got some writing done, and achieved several difficult clarities — so, yanno, not a loss, but I’ve had better days.

I do want to talk a little about memory, because that was interesting to me, during yesterday’s alarums and excursions.

Yesterday morning, I had an email that told me that I need to use a wired internet connection in order to participate in a thing. I totally drew a blank. Got up, fed the cats, made myself a cup of tea, wandered into the bedroom to open the window for Firefly, came back to the screen — nope, still no clue. Wrote back, said I didn’t know what that meant, got what I considered to be a non-useful answer, and negotiated a secondary outcome.

Some time later, having been doing and thinking about something completely else, I thought “ethernet cable.” And I got up to look at the back of my desktop, and located the plug.

Ethernet cable. Right.

This still seemed to me to be something for In-House Tech Support, which is no longer In-House, but for fun, I walked the route from my desk to the modem in the Tech Room, visualizing blue cable stretching across my office floor, into the dining room, through the cat dishes, around the cat fountain, around the corner, through the door of the Tech Room, across the printer, and myself climbing on a stool to plug the cable into the modem at the top of the utility shelf.

This really seemed like a recipe for a broken neck, if the cats didn’t think of anything more amusing — and I was probably wrong, anyway. Surely it hadn’t been meant that I cobweb my house and put my life at risk via cable, and In-House Tech Support would have known what to do.

I? Went back to what I had been doing and at the next break opened the office briefly to announce that I would not be attending AlbaCon this year due to Technical Differences. A useful discussion blossomed on my wall, and as that was going on, memories started to float up, honestly, like tiles in a Magic Eight ball — I remembered Steve wiring the old house with ethernet cable — a process that involved stapling things to the basement ceiling, holes being drilled in floors, cable being run over doorways, and a lot of swearing. I remembered him setting up Circular Logic (The Largest Computer Bulletin Board in Central Maine!), I remembered getting the first cable modem from mint.net and what a mixed blessing that had been . . .

And that continued throughout the rest of the day and into the evening. Just little tiles of memory floating to the surface — “Oh,” I’d think; “I’d forgotten that” — though obviously I hadn’t.

In fact, an overflow of tiles is what woke me up beforetime. I’ll write about that, for myself.

Now, I have a lousy memory for Real Life, and I’m a slow thinker; I need time to decide (which the world had never given me, but Steve always did). This process of rising tiles is new and novel. I’m guessing by this time in my life, there’s a warehouse full of the things, somewhere, filed according to their own peculiar rules. And I wonder if there’s a way to access them in an orderly fashion.

So! That’s what I’m thinking about on Monday morning.

What are you thinking about?

Today’s blog post brought to you by Mr. Paul Simon as interpreted by The Bangles, “Hazy Shade of Winter.”

Tali found an open window:

Cats and Steve; Snippet and Photos

SNIPPET: “Another good point,” Miri said. “You won’t get much singing out of Delm Korval. A right stuck-in-the-slush, like we say on my homeworld.”

Jen Sin sneezed.

Miri looked at him, head tilted. “Ain’t sickening, are you, Cousin?”

#

What went before ONE:  Rook had been … puzzled, I felt, but taking his lead from Firefly.

Until I just now came home without Trooper, and there was no big brown cat waiting for me to open the door so he could Report, dammit!

We both just had a (damp on my part) cuddle.

No, kid, this is not the way things were.

What went before TWO: And that’s it for today. My brain just went “splotz.” One thousand one hundred seventeen new words written. Cookies need to be put away, windows need to be closed, and Coon Cat Happy Hour needs to be served up.

Everybody have a good evening. Stay safe; I’ll check in tomorrow.

Saturday, damp and dim. Going to be warmer than the last couple of days, say the ‘beans, and won’t that be a treat.

Slept for dern near 10 hours, straight through, and feel much more the thing this morning. I may even go to the opening of the after-hours vet studio.

Drinking my first cup of tea here at the keyboard. Breakfast will be a salad, on account I have salad stuff to use up.

Junior staff is actively looking for Trooper this morning. Rook registered a Formal Complaint, asserting that his contract specified a grandpa on-site. In fact, his contract lists the cats on-site when he arrived, notes that cats are known for moving on, and staff may change for a variety of reasons, list appended, but not inclusive. I pointed this out to him; he’s now talking it over with Tali.

In Steve’s office, among many other pictures, there are three of Steve, in a kind of a corner grouping. I will post the pictures below. One is of Steve before I knew him, holding a copy of a magazine he edited in college. One is of Steve a few months before I met him, taken by his lady friend at the time. The last is of Steve a few years ago, taken by his long-time partner.

Now, Steve had been married previously, to his high-school sweetheart. I have met her, not to say that I know her; she’s a smart, skilled, and interesting woman; well-traveled, and articulate. You’d like her. I do.

What I don’t like, particularly, is the young man with the magazine. Every time I look at that picture, which, given its location, is daily, I think, “Boy, am I glad you aren’t the Steve I met. It would have never worked.”

This is of course the Steve his sweetheart knew, married, and eventually left. And I confess that I’ve been guilty in the past of wondering how she could have left him. Murdered him, yeah; I’d’ve totally gotten that. But left him? When he was so smart, so creative, so ambitious, affectionate and protective; who had determination, and plans, and presence, and — who leaves that?

This morning as I sighed at the young man with the magazine and told the old guy leaning against the sign that I missed him — it finally and just now occurred to me that the things I saw as features were to his ex-wife bugs. It takes a lot of energy to keep up with all that … chaos, and a certain amount of adamantine in the nervous system to (sometimes) stand against quite so much willfulness, and quite so many plans. I didn’t always make a stand when I perhaps should have done. And — fair is fair — I sometimes got my way, when, perhaps, I shouldn’t have done.

So, my tea is gone, and I still need to put together my salad. Thank you all for listening to that.

What revelation(s) have you had recently?