Tag: cat census

Spread it around

Friday. Cloudy and cool for now, but going for the mid-70sF, with sun. Last night the skies opened several times, which the cats did not favor. They all came and sat on top of me and demanded that I make it stop.

Eventually, it did stop, but I did I get credit for deploying my Meteorological Super Powers? I did not.

Breakfast was PB&J on whole wheat English Muffin. Lunch will be something hopefully edible made with the leftover ground turkey.

NOTE TO SELF: Never buy ground turkey again. No, never. It’s just ghastly.

Today is a House Day. First up, Grocery. Second, the above Turkey Challenge. Third, vacuums deployed. Fourth, maybe today I can hang the tube of lights in Steve’s office, seeing as how Winter is Coming. Maybe I’ll throw in a load of laundry, because I can.

I may do some more business catch up, but writing will resume tomorrow.

I want to take a moment to celebrate the “spreader” I purchased at Now You’re Cooking in Bath last Friday. I bought it because it was blue and wooden and pretty and fit nicely in my hand, and not because I thought it would be in any way useful.

Backstory: Once upon a time, I used to be able to butter bread, but somewhere down the years I lost that complex ability. I mean, yes, I can get a splotz of butter on a piece of bread and more or less move it around, but any attempt to coat the bread evenly is doomed to failure, or a holed slice, and frustration, either way. This is *especially* poignant when one is trying to make a restorative grilled cheese sandwich (I mean, yes, I could use mayo, and have, but it’s Not The Same, and last night I really felt I needed The Real Thing).

So, last night, in pursuit of that grilled cheese sandwich, and coming once again face flat against my shortcoming, I said aloud, as I not infrequently do, “Why won’t you just spread?” And then? It came to me in a flash. I had just purchased a “spreader.” I fetched it out of the drawer, took a deep breath, and applied it to the butter on the bread.

It. Was. A. Miracle.

The butter went over the bread in a smooth, even coating; the slices remained intact, and — I cannot praise this implement highly enough, and I will be using it for all of my butter-spreading, henceforth.

Also? The grilled cheese sandwich really did the job. Aside the Cat March Against Downpours, the evening was pleasant and calm.

And that’s what passes for adventure around here. What adventures are you having?

Picture of the magic spreader, table knife for comparison:

Also!  Friday morning cat census:

 

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:

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:

The evening report

Well.

I’ve finished putting together Civilized Behavior, including the front matter and the blurb. I haven’t compiled it yet. Weighing whether to make a call for tyop hunters before compiling. Probably the sensible way to go about it. So! Watch the Skies. In, yanno, an easygoing and relaxed sort of way.

A reprint opportunity came in this afternoon, so I did get that story out.

Checked my story cards, the previous Constellations, and pertinent contracts, then wrote to Madame the Agent, asking her to find if Baen might be interested in a sixth Constellation. There is one story still under Exclusivity, but that ends in November, and even if Baen wants another collection, there’s no way it will be out before November.

Trooper did not eat at Happy Hour.

Our appointment with the vet is at 8:15 tomorrow morning. They wanted us early, so it would be as quiet and peaceful as possible.

Referencing the above, I may or may not be around the internets much tomorrow. Thank you for your understanding.

Everybody stay safe.

Cat census from earlier in the day:

Damp and Dim for the Win

What went before: Had a lovely and informative chat with Alex Picard, the narrator for the Ribbon Dance audiobook (coming to you in August!). She was kind enough to suggest the title of a nonfiction book about the deaf communities on Martha’s Vineyard, backaways — Everyone here spoke sign language: Heredity deafness on Martha’s Vineyard, by Nora Ellen Groce — I’m on page 6 and already fascinated.

I also remembered that when we were going on a long road trip, Steve used to take on those tuna lunch packs — which just about saved our lives on two separate train trips over the years — when the train was so late, the various on-board provisioners not only ran out of food, they ran out of booze — so I went out and grabbed some of the tuna things, because Murphy is real, and his Law is the great leveler.

Losing Steve really did tear my brain in half. My memory has never been my most robust mental function, and it’s just gone to wood shavings on some stuff. I’m glad I decided to pack slow, because the act of getting things together to go to a convention is kicking Old Habits to the surface. I guess I should also say, if I don’t immediately remember you at the con — it’s me, not you, and the Ghods of Conventions in Their infinite wisdom give us name tags for a reason.

Tomorrow, I’m taking a break in the early afternoon to go to the library and listen to Ron Currie read from The Savage Noble Death of Babs Dionne. Before and after, I’ll continue to do those chores that will make coming home easier, putter at my packing, study the maps/routes. And not freak out. That’s very important. I even wrote it on the to-do list.

Right now, the first 194 pages of the current WIP is printing out, so I’ll have that ready to read and get back into the right headspace.

It got Quite Warm today; tomorrow is supposed to be significantly cooler, though still springlike.

The coon cats have had their Happy Hour, and are each sitting in an open window, admiring the evening breeze (not the bathroom window — they’re using the Considerably Safer crank windows, in my office).

And that’s the news from the Cat Farm.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

#

Saturday. Damp and dim. Which really ought to be the name of my next band. Or — I dunno. Maybe Damp and Dim reported on those Sites that Wu and Fabricant deemed not worth their time? Though if Wu and Fabricant wrote an entry on Star Well…

… and now you know why writers stare out of windows.

All righty, then! Breakfast was sausage patty and cheese on a buttermilk biscuit, with grapes. I Regret Nothing. Second cup of tea to hand. Lunch is in question, because of the timing of the reading at the library. I will not starve, and honestly? This opens up the possibility of ice cream.

Quitting time got a little extended last night due to Shenanigans on the part of Steve’s printer. By the time I was done clearing paper jams, I was, frankly, beat. Firefly put in a Very Clear Request for reading in bed, so we read read The Elusive Earl until I fell asleep.

Speaking of updates from the road! I will of course have my laptop with me, and I’ll be able to update to Facebook, but I won’t be able to update my blog at sharonleewriter, which is where I point people to for daily updates.

The Plan at the moment is to post to Patreon and set access to Public. This would be easiest for me, and I’ll test the proposition today, to see if Public is, indeed, accessible to anyone who wanders by, and if said merry wanderers of the internets may leave comments.

UPDATE: Only PAID members may comment on public posts, says Patreon, which may actually be the best path, as the moderator will be engaging in Other Activities.

So! Who has Plans today?

Damp and Dim cat census:

She could kill you with the wink of an eye

What Went Before ONE: So there I was in Five Below, wandering about and wondering, among other things, who would WANT Stitch headphones, when — my phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and it said Sebasticook Hospital.

On the off-chance that someone I knew was actually in the hospital and needed me to do something for them, I answered.

My mammogram, previously scheduled for September 12 at the hospital around the corner from my house? The hospital which is closing in May? Said mammogram has been rescheduled for the same time at — Sebasticook Hospital. In Pittsfield. 30ish miles away.

I hate this timeline.

Also — lunchtime.

What Went Before TWO: A mixed afternoon.

I have determined that the Subaru’s navcomp operates while I am playing a CD in the single-disk CD player.

I have determined that I can play Sirius XM from my phone to the car’s speakers via bluetooth and the navcomp will speak to me.

I have determined that I can bluetooth navigation from phone to the Subaru, but Sirius XM will not play from the car when I do so.

I have determined that I can bluetooth both Sirius XM and navigation from the phone through the Subaru’s speakers and both will work; which is to say, the music will play and when the navigator needs to speak, it simply yells over the music.

I have determined that there are no (zero, zip, zilch, NO) copies of Diviner’s Bow at the Augusta Maine Barnes and Noble. The lady on the customer service desk put in an order for three when I asked her to do so, but she allowed as Corporate might not “let them” have the books, ref previous “timeline, this one, hate it.”

I’m going to get a cup of hot chocolate, then I’ll unbox my bread slicer, which was delivered while I gamboled about Central Maine.

What Went Before THREE: Preliminary bread guide report.

I washed it, put it together and cut the last of the loaf using it. It made one straight thinner slice, and one slice slightly thicker, but I stress here that we were using the end of a loaf that had already been abused by my lack of skill.

I will likely be making a new loaf tomorrow, and will update my report then.

So far — it goes together like a dream. I don’t see any splinters and the crumb catcher is kinda cool.

What Went Before FOUR: So, I determined that I would use Steve’s old phone as a navigation/music device in the car. Which is a sensible use of resources, and preserves the charge on my phone in case of need.

So, I opened his phone, and then freaked out, because I was going to have to delete things, and what if he came home and wanted his phone and I’d gone and repurposed it?

Yeah, I know. But it’s a hard habit to break. For most of my life, he’s always come home again.

Happy ending — I can keep the apps, right? But they don’t have to be littering the front screen. I can just leave Sirius and Google Maps there where I can get at them.

And I do believe that’s quitting time. Tomorrow, we make bread — and new words.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

#

Tuesday. Grey and cool. Rain and snow on the menu, say the Weatherbeans. Trash and recycling are at the curb.

There will be no bread baking today, as my hands are not up to it. (Yes, I have a Kitchen Aid. The Kitchen Aid does not put itself together, measure ingredients, or shape the loaf. Or for that matter, put the loaf in the oven.) This is why we have the spare loaves in the freezer, and today I will make a withdrawal. As the spares are already sliced, the updated review of the bread slicing guide will be delayed until the next baking.

On Bad Hands Days, the hands are reserved for writing, and for one’s duty to the cats, so that’s my schedule for the day.

Breakfast was almond butter and cherry jelly on a whole wheat English Muffin. There’s leftover homemade stirfry for lunch.

I have here before me yesterday’s installment from the New Yorker cartoon calendar, which features a man and a woman on a desert island, and the woman is saying to the man, “I wouldn’t mind being rescued now that I’ve finally grown my bangs out.”

I was wandering around the house taking the cat census. Rook was under the ledge of my standing desk, so I sat down to take his picture, whereupon he stepped across and took over my lap.

What are your companion animals doing today?

Today’s blog title brought to you by Sweet, “Ballroom Blitz.”  NOTE:  If you are now or have ever been a fire marshal, do not watch this video.

Cat census:

Day 5

Tuesday. Cold and dim.

Slept hard and late. So that‘s good.

I did not gather the trash and recycling yesterday, and am not going to do so this morning. Next week sees a return to Schedule.

Breakfast was muffin, orange, tea. Kettle on for second cup of tea.

Today, I’ll make a grocery order and have it delivered. I suppose I ought to do that earlier, rather than later. I also have a pile of stuff that was put aside for page proofs, which, yanno, I really don’t want to do, not least because they fall into that large category of things that are insipid and pointless to accomplish without Steve on-hand to offer insights, angles of approach, and random snipery.

I *would* like to spend some time with my story, so I may throw adulting to the wind and do that. What’s the point of being an adult if you don’t get to decide when NOT to adult?

I’ve started reading the 6th installment in Lord Julian’s adventures — A Gentleman of Unreliable Honor — and I’m beginning to get a little annoyed with him. This is either an artifact of having read so many in a row, or because I actually am feeling better and therefore more irritable (the author does now and then drop a narrative stitch; nothing major, and no business of mine, really, but I hit one during yesterday’s reading and gritted my teeth).

As reported elsewhere, the cats are at their stations.

. . . and so it goes.

How does it go with you?

Tuesday morning cat census: