Category: Goofing Off

This is a longish post mostly about (my) health, which I concede is a fairly boring topic.  There is, however, something of Actual Interest starting about half-way down.  Your search-phrase is Speaking of wicked.

So, just about caught up with housekeeping, bill-paying, and laundry.  The cats are being a little clingy still, despite having had Mary’s undivided attention.  Next time we go on tour, I guess we’ll just have to bring them along.

Or not.

Frequent auditors of this blog will recall that, right before we went on tour, I had a visit with the vampires.  The panel of tests came back with good results, except that pituitary function was up, which was considered a sign that it was pushing the thyroid to work harder, which meant that (maybe) the dosage of my meds needed to be increased.  The bitter irony here being that, though I had been pulling the falling-asleep-between-sentences thing throughout the writing of Alliance of Equals, I didn’t even mention it during the annual examination immediately prior to the blood test, because it seemed pointless.  Not that my doctor doesn’t listen to me, but she listens to the test results harder, and we’ve been down that road too many times.

Happily, this time the test results took up the slack.

Long story short, we’re three weeks into the slightly higher dose of meds, with a book tour taking up a week of that (maybe not the best timing, there), and I’m noticing a definite decrease in the fall-asleep-snap-awake thing (which is actually A Rather Unpleasant Sensation, not to mention the hash it makes of productivity, and the potential for producing Real Mayhem, should I fall asleep while driving), so, hoping the six-week blood test will be such that I’m allowed to keep the higher dosage.

But!  This little skit demonstrates a flaw in my otherwise perfectly agreeable personality (ahem), which I’m going to have to address.

I’m going to go out on a limb, here, and make the crazy assumption that health professionals are going to be playing a larger role in my life as I meander down my timeline.  Health professionals being human, they come with their own set of assumptions and experiences, particularly with regard to grey-haired women.  That’s fine, but here’s the thing.  I get bored.  Particularly, I get bored when I have stated a fact regarding my health which the tests then fail to support — or don’t support definitively.  After the third time, I figure there’s no point to repeating myself, and I stop, even if I feel that there’s still a problem.

Clearly, I’m going to have to Get Tough about repeating myself and pushing for solutions.

I’m also going to have to get back with doing yoga, which got kicked off-track after PhilCon, and, with one thing and another, never got back into the schedule.

Boy, that’s a lot of virtue in my future.  I’ll have to adopt a wicked new hobby somewhere along the way, so as not to become unbalanced.

Speaking of wicked — While we were on-tour, we received a head’s up from Bookseller Kate Reynolds that A Night in the Lonesome October (written by Roger Zelazny; illustrated by Gahan Wilson) has been reprinted in trade paper by the Chicago Review Press, in their Rediscovered Classics line (which seems to also include Mary Stewart’s Entire Ouvre; as well as Gwen Bistrow, Anya Seton, Rosemary Sutcliff, and, like, a dozen other authors/books I read in my now far-distant youth.  BN will give you a list of the titles in the Rediscovered Classics line; Amazon is not so courteous).

For those who may be new reading here, A Night in the Lonesome October is. . .it’s an advent calendar for Halloween.  Each of the chapters is dated, starting on September 30, and it is meant to be read one chapter a night, through Halloween.  Steve and I read it to each other every year, and our copy is starting to show the results of our dedication, so we’re happy to be able to purchase a back-up copy.

And that?  Is all I’ve got.

No, wait; it’s not.

I also have a picture of Trooper:

Today’s blog title brought to you by Kid Creole and the Coconuts, “Endicott.”  Here’s your link.

Yesterday was the 34th anniversary of our “legal” marriage.  Steve and I have now been married more than half of my lifetime and for more than half of his.

Didn’t see that coming.

So, anyway, yesterday, we did not celebrate, beyond a few extra “Thank yous,” but today we’re pulling out All! The! Stops!  and going into town to catch the Very First Showing of Hero Number Six (hey is that the theme from “The Pink Panther” in the scene with the cop?)!

But the festivities don’t stop there!  After the movie — the 2D matinee — we will Dine Out.  The jury’s still out on Where Exactly we will dine out, but there are several fine eating establishments in town to choose from.

And after that?

Hey, I don’t tell you guys everything.

All of this to say that I’ll be electron-free today.

Y’all have fun.

Today’s title comes to you from The Beatles:  When I’m Sixty-Four

* * *

Progress on Alliance of Equals
20,456/100,000 OR 20.46% Complete

“In the meantime, I wonder, Pilot, if you will answer some questions for me.”

“Do my best,” he said, like his stomach hadn’t kind of cramped up, hearing that. “Understand that I don’t know the answers to all the questions.”

“Oh, yes, I do understand that,” she said. “Before we begin, let me request that you not lie to me. If you do not wish to answer a question, simply refrain from doing so.”

I’m back; did you miss me?

We had a lovely, if idiosyncratic, few days at a beachfront penthouse.  I took Number Ten Ox with me, but I never even opened his bag.  Instead, I/we walked, read, ate, played Scrabble; had dessert, and in general enjoyed ourselves immensely.

We drove down Sunday morning in the rain, listening to American Top Forty for 1984.  Did you know that The Warrior and When Doves Cry were contemporaries?  Me, neither.  We broke our trip down at Lewiston, on Lisbon Street, where all the treasures of Lewiston may be found, to have breakfast crepes at Frans.  We arrived just before church let out and snagged the last table for two before the crowds descended, which was pretty much our luck on the rest of the weekend.  The Golden Rooster had Avgolemono, even though it wasn’t on the menu.  Jumpin’ Jakes didn’t have shrimp scampi but they did have a haddock piccata that was to die for.  It rained like three devils crying all the way from the Cat Farm to Pine Point, and the sun broke through the minute we pulled into our parking space at The Residence.  I apparently sprained my ankle, but not bad enough that I couldn’t walk (going to doctor today; yes, really).

So, anyhow; home now, and writing from the couch, with coon cats strategically deployed around me.  Trooper over my head, on the toppest platform of the cat tree; Sprite on her blue recliner; and Mozart on his hammock in the window.

At some point, I’m going to have to go back to work, though what I really want to do is read another book.  Perhaps I’ll work on our talk for PhilCon for a bit, and then read.

So!  What’ve y’all been doing that’s fun and/or interesting?

Today’s blog title comes to your courtesy of Patty Smyth and Scandal.  Here’s your link.

So, this morning, we were tossed out of the house asked to please vacate our dwelling for a 9 a.m. viewing.  Y’all know what this meant, right?

Right!

Governor’s for breakfast.

And coffee.

How much did we need coffee?  We nearly left the house without unlocking the screen door in front of the door where the Secret Realtor Key Cache is located.  That would have been fun, in its way, but we wouldn’t have been home to see it.

In any case, much in need of caffeine, we motored out to Governors, got the cups on the table, ordered, and were waiting for our meal to arrive when an. . .angry looking man strode into the restaurant from the back door, trailing behind him by a considerable distance was one worried looking early teen boy.  The boy caught up with the man at the front of the restaurant (where the hostess station is located), then came back down the aisle, went out the back door, and shortly returned, shaking his head.

PRO TIP:  If you are in a reasonably full restaurant in a small city in a nation bedeviled by random shootings in public places, DO NOT do the following:

Charge into the middle of the restaurant and shout angrily at the top of your voice “CHRISTIAN!”

Do not then compound your error by WHISTLING, and yelling “CHRISTIAN!” again.

Three of the waitresses lost five years apiece.  It’s to their credit that no one actually dropped anything.

The angry man then shoved his way down the aisle, past two old fellas who had come up onto their back feet to see what the hell was going on here, past the hostess, who was trying to offer help, charged out the back door, reappeared fourteen seconds (subjective time) later, tore back to the auxiliary dining room, screamed “CHRISTIAN!” again (in, perhaps, a spirit of democracy; why, after all, should the front dining room have All The Fun?), stormed down the front stairs, out into the parking lot, where he was joined by the first boy.  They got into a big, black SUV and roared away.

“Maybe,” Steve suggested into the absolute silence in the dining room, “he was being so quiet, they left him in Connecticut.”

People laughed, and settled back to their breakfasts.  When our waitress brought our meal, her hands were still shaking.

For the record, my Greek omelet was very good, but I probably shouldn’t have had that third cup of High Test.

Today’s blog title is brought to you by Jimmy Soul:  If you want to be happy

* * *

Progress on Dragon in Exile:  GOOD/Author satisfied

A star went out in the firmament.

First of all, Varekai was Totally Worth everything it cost!  I hope, very much, that the performers revel in their powers.  For those who haven’t seen the show, it’s (apparently — Cirque performances, in my experience (which until last night consisted entirely of watching them on video) aren’t really long on narrative) the story of (an) Icarus, who tumbles out of the sky, to earth, and then (perhaps) below it, to a strange land populated (possibly) by sentient plants and insect-y things (note that it’s equally possible that this all takes place on another planet, where sentient plants and insect-y things are the order of the day and Icari are quite uncommon.  Your choice.).

In any case, the flyer breaks a leg in the fall, and his wings are stolen while he lies helpless on the ground.  He quickly falls in love with a yellow insect-y girl, who, despite being insect-y, seems very nice.  The girl is also stolen away, Icarus grieves, finds the strength to stand on his own two feet, and his love returns, transformed into a golden-haired girl dressed entirely in white glue and glitter, they marry and (one assumes) live happily ever after.

Interspersed with all this are trapeze acts, tumbling acts, wild dancing, swings, juggling, live music, clowns, and a dance-duel between the semi-comic villain who stole the Icarus’ wings and a blue dancer on crutches that has to be seen to be believed.  I loved every minute of it except the part where the ground-spot for the juggler was shining directly into my (and Steve’s) eyes.

It was a little louder than I had anticipated; and — having never been in the Cross Insurance Event Center before — I didn’t realize that the seats rise from the main floor. . .precipitously, with the result that I walked off of the main hall into the short entrance to Section 108, and found myself, so it seemed, on the edge of a cliff, looking ‘waaaaaaay down, and about to topple.  The vertigo passed in a few minutes, but it was a surprise.

Our show was the Bangor opener, and it did not play to a full house.  I find this astounding.  Tonight’s show…may be a challenge for people arriving from out of town.  Not only is the Cirque on, but, just a couple blocks up the road, Willy Nelson will be playing at the Bangor Waterfront.

Bearing in mind that I’m not a mother, I didn’t really think this was a show that little children would much care for — and one that might seem to a small person. . .somewhat threatening.

But, me?  I loved it to bits, and am so glad we cast restraint to the wind and decided to do this thing.

* * *

We had stayed the night in Bangor, at Hollywood Slots, across the street from the Cross Center (yes, we played the slot machines. Steve won; I lost.  It was ever thus.).  This morning, we got up, breakfasted at Governor’s on Broadway, then headed home via Belfast, since I had business at Coyote Moon.  The day was sunny and warm, but deliciously breezy.  I had a good time driving Kineo, and WKIT obliged by playing a fine mix of classic rock.  I shopped at Coyote Moon; Steve shopped at the Good Table; we walked down to the public landing, and then headed home, where. . .

. . .we found Mozart in a state of rather extreme disarray.

We packed him up and took him to the vet’s, where he was hydrated, and had a blood sample taken, upon which tests were performed.  Apparently, he has pancreatitis.  We have meds, and some new therapeutic food that none of us actually think he’ll eat, and the suggestion that we blend the food he does eat, so that he’ll possibly be getting more nutrients.  He seems happy at the moment, sleeping in his hammock and taking the breeze.

. . .and that, I think, catches us all up.

How was your yesterday?  Did you miss me?