chop wood carry water – Page 19

After-snow

What went before: So, there’s six inches of snow on the front step, and it’s still snowing. It did stop for a couple hours, and I thought the Big Storm was a bust, but it started to snow again just as the mailman came past and I trekked out to the curb to get my package, which was, indeed, delivered.

I spoke to Martin’s Point, which allowed me to know that neither 0 nor 45 was the correct number of dollars owed the clinic. That number is 35, which I didn’t even know was a choice. The check has been written, and we’ll hope the clinic is better informed than I am.

I made a few inroads into the next ASL lesson. Tomorrow, I fear I will have to go back and review the previous lesson. Though I did today, for two minutes, watch a conversation between two ASL speakers, and understood what they were saying — by which I mean, I wasn’t translating what they were saying into spoken words — so that gives me some hope for eventual adequacy.

I note that the Other — as in the remaining — Hospital serving this area (in Augusta) is laying off staff, citing financial problems.

The WIP — remember the WIP? — currently weighs in at +/-16,580 words, and at this point we’re not arguing if they’re good words, as long as we’re all heading in the same direction.

I have exchanged emails with the Techs of BaltiCon, and also with Mark Van Name, the toastmaster, and my issues in re the microphone have been revealed and are being addressed, which is a huge relief.

I have one more letter to write, then it’s time to relax. They say.

The Garmin watch and I continue to have very different ideas of what constitutes stress. Again, I would have told you that I had a fairly peaceful day. The watch is urging me to take some downtime after a Very Stressful Day. OTOH, its understanding of how well and how much I’m sleeping is much closer to my understanding of these things, so that’s good. And at some point, I’ll figure out how to tell it that I’m taking a walk. Or perhaps I’m simply not energetic enough for it. At least it counts the steps.

Slightly off-topic — how many folks who read here know who Paul Novak was?

Tuesday. Trash and recycling are at the curb.

I woke up slightly early, knowing that there was shoveling before me so I could get the trash to the curb. I was just pulling on my sweatshirt when the door camera jingled and I looked outside to see that the plowguy had arrived. Six inches of wet snow swept away like it was nothing. All hail the plowguy.

After that, it was easy enough to give the trash bags a ride in the toboggan to the top of the drive. Wheeling the recycling bin was a little tricky, but it got there.

Breakfast was oatmeal with cranberries and walnuts and a cup of Republic of Tea English Breakfast that came as a sample with my order. It’s … better than other English Breakfast teas I’ve sampled, but I’m still preferring the Irish. I think it’s the malt.

I thought I might forage today, but — maybe not. It’s supposed to get warm(ish) later, but I’m not really eager to go out in the slop and the mud.

Mostly, then, I’ll be ASLing and writing. I stripped the bed yesterday, so I can throw the bedclothes in the washer and get (slightly) ahead of the game, so that may be a plan.

A reader query has been received, which I paraphrase: Do I know that the world is falling apart, as I sit here and natter about nothing?

Answer: Yes. Yes, I do.

The cats at the moment are dispersed throughout the house: Rook among the toys in my office; Firefly on top of the bureau in the bedroom; Trooper on the rug between my office and the kitchen; Tali under the dining room table, taking up, I may say, most of available space. They make a compelling case for snuggling under a blanket, but maybe I’ll get the washer loaded, first.

What’s everybody got going today?

I Am Remiss.

I posed a Question last night and have failed to give the answer.

Paul Novak was the man who was, in his own words, “put on this earth to take care of Mae West.”

Mr. Novak was born Chester Ribowsky in Baltimore, Maryland. In WWII, he was a navy gunner. After the war, he took to the stage as “Mr. Baltimore,” a wrestler. Previous to joining Mae West’s nightclub act in the 1950s as part of the chorus line, he became Chester Krauser. Mr. Novak was 32; Ms West was 62.

They remained together until her death in 1980 at the age of 87. Mr. Novak died in 1999, at 76.

Poor man’s fertilizer

What went before: Oh, let’s see. Wrote +/- 800 new words, sketched in another scene, did Yet. Another. Timeline off the end of Salvage Right, and I have to ask, Who thought writing a sequel to Salvage Right was a good idea, because We? Gotta Talk.

Finished the laundry, put the sox away, brushed four out of a possible four coon cats, watched a couple How To Play Nice With Your Microphone tutorials, because I have never in all these years made peace with microphones. I have not done my ASL work, and … yeah, I’m not doing it now.

Coon Cat Happy Hour has happened. I’ll need to refill the bowls with dry food before I go to bed or there will be complaints to the Committeecat.

Tomorrow is Monday, and the weatherbeans are calling for 2-6 inches of snow to fall between 10am and 10pm. In Theory a guy is coming by to look at washing the windows and cleaning the rain gutters, but I’m not holding my breath.

Pretty much, I’m done for the day. Gonna make a sandwich, have a glass of wine and find something to read.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

Monday. Cloudy and on the road to snow.

Breakfast was the two steamed chicken buns from the freezer. They made a pretty good breakfast, and the orange was a good chaser for the spice. Second cup of tea is brewing. I’m defrosting a beanloaf to have someway or nother for lunch.

Informed Delivery informs me that a package that the vendor rescheduled delivery for twice is suddenly! and literally Without Warning! out for delivery today. This may be what brought the snow to us.

The morning started with tears. Seattle in 2025 Programming wrote to me yesterday reminding me that I hadn’t filled out my panelist information, and — I took a deep breath and let them know that I would not be attending. SunnyJim wrote back very graciously, and — I wanted to go, dammit. I even have enough Amtrak credit to fund half the trip, but reality suggests that the trip alone would unglue me for days, and it’s not much of a con if you’re huddling in your room (which is another Test I’m not ready to take; hotel reservations for Worldcons have become the stuff of nightmares). Steve would have made all this look easy, but that was Steve’s promise before we even moved in together — “I’ll make it easy for you.” Which, granting various definitions of “easy”, he did. (Cue Paul Novak).

I note, a year out, that this New Order still has some massive bugs.

So, that.

Today, aside from the possible arrival of the guy who needs to look at the windows and the gutters, is projected to be a quiet day of homework, writing, and watching the snow. I think I have enough milk left to make a mug of hot chocolate to sip while looking out the window.

What are your plans for the day?

*Today’s blog title brought to you by the Folk Wisdom that snow is the poor man’s fertilizer. Why? you ask. Because snow brings nitrogen down to earth and revitalizes the soil.

Here’s a picture of Trooper to light your way today.

There’s a black hat caught in a high tree top

What went before ONE: The taxes have come home. I need to rearrange money so I can write some hefty checks and get them in the mail while we still have mailmen in the state.
After I’ve done the rearranging, I do believe I’ll have a scone and a cup of tea.

Trooper has had his first dose of prednisone.

TWO: I have written the hefty checks. I have moved money around, including setting up the quarterly tax reminders. Nerve-wracking work. After I did all that, I went back to Steve’s office, as per protocol and explained what I had done and why, and asked if that agreed with his understanding of how we had agreed to handle the finances.

I didn’t hear an objection, so I guess we’re good to go, and I will be having the extra glass of wine this evening.

Tomorrow, I need to call the insurance and ask them what the heck they’ve decided about the bill from the walk-in clinic that they were going to get right back to me about, given that I now have a nasty-gram from said clinic informing me that my bill is past due.

Other than that, I’ll be baking a loaf of the Russian Black Bread and transcribing/expanding the scenes I wrote out by hand today. A quiet day — knock wood. I could really enjoy a quiet day about now.

Friday. Chilly. Raining like a hootenanny. Apparently this will be our day, except it may rain harder.

Breakfast was tomato and cheddar cheese sandwich. This used up the last two pieces of rosemary bread, which means — yep. Today, I bake.

I’m going to be baking a new loaf for me — Russian Black Bread. Back in the Before Times, when Steve and I were living in Lowergate Court, and were oh-so-very-broke, I used to bake a black bread that was awfully tasty. I long ago lost the recipe, and the only thing I remember is that it called for a cup of Strong Black Coffee and molasses. Today’s recipe calls for espresso powder and cocoa as well as molasses. So, well see how it goes.

In addition to baking a loaf of bread, I need to call the insurance, as previously noted, and I should probably start the laundry, but, honestly? — that may not happen, since I also want to write. Lunch will probably be fish of some kind. Maybe salmon cakes.

So, that’s what’s happening with me.

What’s happening with you?

What happened since: The bread’s in for its first rise.

The Police have graciously provided the title for today’s blog. “King of Pain.”

Updates and speeches, oh my

What went before (late morning edition): Have foraged. Came home, put away the perishables, made myself a cup of cocoa, and retired to the Command Chair to finish reading The Tomb of Dragons. I may need to go back to Witness for the Dead and reread all three in one go, but not right now. Right now, I believe I’ll move on to The Orb of Cairado.

I’m presently waiting for prospective lawn guy to show up to view the Long Back Yard and give me a price and a plan.

After that I’ll have lunch and see what I feel like doing.

I note that Informed Delivery tells me I have a personal letter from the SSA unit here in the city. Which isn’t terrifying at all.

Fans of the The Rookie will be pleased to know that he continues to come when he’s called, which is fine by me and convenient for him as well. I inadvertently shut him in the hall closet. A little later, as I was giving out treats, I noticed that there was no Rook present, which is highly unusual. I called out, as one does, “Rook? Where is that Rookie?” heard a loud AaaRW! from the foyer and went to let him out.

What went before (evening edition): So, I got involved in trying to update korval.com, which is one of those tasks that will never end, but I got some stuff brought into this year, and some other stuff brought into the current decade.

I also made a rough start on my acceptance speech, and added a little bit to a scene, so the WIP can’t complain that it’s been ignored.

Prospective lawn guy came, toured the Long Back Yard, and promises to send me a couple of plans with prices.

Tomorrow, I’m meeting a friend for lunch, and I should probably bake a loaf of bread either before or after. I still need to tinker with the directories on korval.com, but that may be all I’m up for.

The letter from the local SSA office that I was worried about was only the annual reminder that I have filed an Advanced Designation of Representation with them, so that was a relief.

Coon cat happy hour happened early so I could finish updating the webpage I was working on, and now it’s time for me to review my homework again (see what happens?), and then segue into the evening.

. . . onward . . .

Wednesday. Sunny and warm.

Breakfast was rice crackers and cream cheese and one of Those Little Oranges. Lunching at Portland Pie Company with a friend. Need to make a pot of rice so I’ll have it on-hand.

Tali and Rook are Working Something Out. The entails a lot of Tali smacking Rook in the head, lashing tails, and face-making. Occasionally, Rook will throw himself at Tali, using his extra weight to knock her over, but that’s not a Winning Strategy. Tali just wraps herself around him, latches into his sides with her front claws and kicks the heck out of him with her hind feet.

. . . I think she’s done this before.

Anyhow, this will either teach Rook Science, or not to mess with Tali. Or possibly both. I haven’t heard any bad words, so I am assuming that this has to do with the Feline Organizational Chart, and the eventual deployment of contractual tasks regarding the care and keeping of the thumbs, whose well-being is necessary to the comfort of cats.

Trooper is lazing in the sun. Firefly was on the back of the sofa, and available to receive pets and soft words of admiration, which were of course forthcoming.

I figured out that one of the reasons I like the Garmin watch is because it’s not … cute. Frequent readers will recall that I have a Limited Capacity for cute, most of which is used up by the birb and his adventures. The Garmin is friendly; it explains itself, but it’s not … huggy. Our relationship is well within my comfort zone.

Last night I read the teaser for Ministry of Time, which was — all right? I mean, if I had had the whole book, I would have kept on reading, but I don’t know that I’m motivated to go out and buy the rest of the story.

And that’s all I’ve got here in my very small and insular corner of the world.

What’s going on in your corner of the world?

Talkin’ trash

What went before: It was an intermittently awful afternoon. I blame the rain. Tali and Rook both had a go at lap-sitting, and were a little tentative. Trooper then stepped in to show them How It’s Done, which — may not have made things better.

Writing, by which I mostly mean rewriting, happened. I now know what needs to happen next on all three lines, which is a great relief.

I was also able to find CJ Cherryh’s remarks on the occasion of her receiving the Heinlein Award, and now I have an idea of how long I might be expected to Say Things, which is also a great relief.

Tomorrow, I need to forage, and then there will be more writing.

Tuesday. Cloudy and chilly. Trash day. I’ll cope with moving bags from the garage to the curb after I have finished this letter to the internets.

Trooper woke me up at 5, for reasons yet to be discovered, though he did allow me to curl up around him and go back to sleep for an hour.

Breakfast was toast and cottage cheese, upgraded from None for Me, Thx, and again from, Oh, well, a piece of toast is breakfast. Don’t even start with me about lunch.

I had sorta kinda wistfully thought that I’d drive down to the ocean today, but that ain’t happenin’. I will be foraging, then doing some picking up around the house. Now that I know that 3 minutes of Remarks is acceptable, I can begin drafting mine.

(Apparently nobody else in the world has to draft their Remarks ahead of time — Steve could certainly do that, and when I had him to feed me lines, or be the straight man, I could ad lib — to a degree — and I’d still be shaking like your linden leaf at the end of it. When it’s Just Me, I need to Plan. So, yes, a huge relief to find that I’m not supposed to stand up in front an auditorium full of people for 20 minutes and talk.)

I’m still fine-tuning the Garmin watch, and this morning realized that it had a Secret Life. I have set bed-and-waking-up times from 10:30 to 7:00, and of course this morning I was up well before 7. And when I looked at my watch face it was not the one had chosen, but the face that had come with, which I had vehemently rejected. Apparently that face is its party clothes. In any case, the minute I looked at it — it blushed, the face flickered just exactly like it was pulling a shirt over its head — and became the one I had chosen.

I hope this moment of embarrassment hasn’t set us back, as I’ve been enjoying our association thus far.

I’m still reading The Tomb of Dragons, which I’ll probably finish this evening. I have The Orb of Cairado in my library, and I’m thinking that will be next.

Who else is foraging today?

Shot from a couple days ago. Rookie making sure I’ve eaten all my lunch:

Tali’s natal day, clockwork edition

What went before: Well. My watch is updating. I am not accustomed to the watch being my main point of information, so that will be a change. Also, some things that are I guess supposed to be intuitive — aren’t. Like, yanno, putting on the band. I did finally figure it out, but Jeez Louise as somebody once said.

I did get my reading of the WIP done, despite It All. It’s not Terrible, there are some things that are in the wrong place, but since I’m trying to match at least three separate timelines so that everybody can arrive at their meeting at the right times, that’s probably, oh, normal instead of evidence of a Descent into Dementia.

Yanno? When I was twenty, I never worried about a Descent into Dementia. Just sayin’.

I should probably go find some cheese to put on a piece of bread, brew a cup of chamomile tea, and take it and my book with me to bed, hoping for a better day tomorrow, which is!

Tali’s third birthday.

Sunday. Cloudy. Well. I suppose I can concede to the Weatherbeans in this. Foggy. I am led to believe that it will be foggy all day, which I suppose is possible, at the rate that the snow is sublimating. The Long Back Yard is more grass than snow. I was just watching a crow sorting through dead leaves and old grass and fly off with a beakful into the Really Tall Pine Tree, so I’ll guess I’ll have new neighbors.

Breakfast was biscuit with sausage and a slice of cheddar with black grapes. Second cup of tea to hand. Lunch will be — yeah, whatever. Maybe a scone.

As planned, I just put myself and my book into bed at 9, and read while I drank my tea. Firefly and Rook joined me in the bed. Tali took the overlook position at the top of the bookcase. The new watch says I had a “highly restorative” sleep of 7 hours and 40 minutes, with lots of Deep and REM, which have been in short supply lately, and probably why I’ve been feeling so tired.

I must say that I’m enjoying Mr. Harney’s Egyptian Chamomile tea. I’m alternating with the Republic of Tea Chamomile Lemon that a friend sent me, which I’m also enjoying. I’m trying to simplify my life, but I really do think that I’ll order in replacements of both.

I am not dizzy this morning, and I’m counting that a win. I am feeling rather meh (Note to Weatherbeans: Some sunshine would help over here), so, as advised by my new notepad, I made a list, and I do feel (a little) better. On the list is a blankie run, changing out the cat fountains, buying cpap supplies, homework, and writing.

Writing may only be working with the correx/additions I identified yesterday, but that still counts. And! one of the benefits of reading your WIP over (and over and over and…) is that engaging with the story produces more story (i.e. You know what’s missing here? Or, happier: You know what comes next?) I don’t know how writers who just start and flame through to the end of the first draft without ever stopping to read what they’ve already written do it, honestly.

As mentioned previously, today is Tali’s third birthday. She has been celebrating energetically, chasing spring, ball and her kid brother all over the house, so much in motion that I am not at this time able to offer a picture of the Birthday Cat. She did come by and check in with Trooper. He muttered at her, she cleaned his ears, then bolted off to discipline Rook.

The new watch is … interesting. It has a lot more functionality than the FitBit, and is much bigger — despite which, it’s lighter and more comfortable on my wrist. The FitBit and I had never had a warm relationship, even before Google decided to try to force me to buy a Google watch by driving the FitBit insane. By comparison, the Garmin (bear with me, people; we all have to work with the brain we have) is calm and friendly. I’m not used to having so much information on the watch but even so it’s easy to navigate, and I can of course add and subtract the information I want to see. I think I did the right thing.

I’m about halfway through Tomb of the Dragons, and having a good time with it. I had to stop and explain to Firefly that these were not Liaden dragons, because they lived in another book. It’s a hard concept, but I think she got it. At least, she blinked her eyes and went back to sleep.

And that’s it from the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory.

So! Who has sunshine where they are?

How we make cat food

What went before: 960 new words, plus some throwing around of ideas, and bringing up to date of the Weird Word List.

I washed the towels. Now I need to fold them and put them away. Oh, and take the extra bread out of the freezer, which I never did, though I said I was going to.

Thursday. Grey and gloomy. Warm, but not as warm as yesterday.

Breakfast was PB&J on toast, first cup of tea is almost done. Lunch will be — um.

Errands this morning, homework review, and ASL class this evening. Those are what’s on the schedule. Oh — and I should call the cardiologist’s office. The phone’s need for constant reassurance is going to drive me bugs long before we hit Day 30.

Last night, I just went straight to bed after the evening meal. I took a Yeti cup of chamomile tea with me, and my tablet. I was immediately joined by Firefly and Rook, who stayed with me until I turned out the light about an hour later, so that was pleasant.

It occurs to me that last year, I was able to accomplish miracles on four hours’ sleep because I was driven by the energy that’s released when the world blows up. That energy has long since dissipated. Now, I’m tired all the time, and frequently confused in my purpose. And there’s twice as much to do — or at least, the same amount to do, but with half the staff. The cats are of course a comfort, but their advice in almost every stressful situation is to take a nap. They’re not necessarily wrong, but, then, they don’t have to pay bills, or even buy cat food.

Tali is now on my lap, purring, and bumping the keyboard away with her head. I have just repeated the “This is a keyboard; it’s how we make cat food” lecture for the umpth time. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t believe me.

And off she goes! I’ve put the kettle on to boil for my second cup of tea.

What’s for lunch at your place?

The Conspiracy of Things

What went before: Yeah, that bread isn’t gonna rise, but I’m giving it a chance. I Did Something. Or Failed to Do Something. We’ll see, but I Will Be Surprised.

In my own defense: I was sidetracked because a bag fastener exploded into my face when I was unsealing the plastic bag around the flour bag.

That was bad enough, but it deconstructed as it rebounded. I found the two big plastic pieces, but? I didn’t find the spring. As those of you who have read the syllabus will be aware — I have cats.

So, I went into overdrive, looking for the damned spring, got out the mop, the vacuum cleaner, and finally found it — far, far outside the kitchen (good spring), and then I got back to the dough, which was cold, and ‘way too sticky.

And, I expect I’m going to have a bruise on my cheek where the plastic casing hit, so that’ll be worth a Look with the Do You Feel Safe At Home question at the doctor’s office next week (answer — no. My Things are trying to murder me.)

Bread dough has been dismissed.

Now deciding if I’m going to push my luck and make a plain vanilla, so to speak whole wheat, or break out the Emergency Loaf from the freezer.

In other news, I’ve made an appointment to get a COVID booster on Monday, which is sooner than I had wanted, but an allowed move, since my last booster was in September, and I’m over four months. I’m hearing that COVID boosters may no longer be A Thing, and I am going to Baltimore in May…

SPOILER: I made a quick loaf of “plain vanilla” whole wheat. It turned out great. Photographic proof:

Saturday. Sunny and chilly.

Woke up at 6, went back to sleep until 7:30, laid there for another half hour trying to think of a reason to get up. I did not actually think of a reason to get up, unless, “Oh, for Goddess’ sake, don’t be a crybaby,” is a reason to get up.

Breakfast was toast (the “plain vanilla” whole wheat makes great toast — just a note for those playing along at home), cottage cheese, the last of the grapes. Finishing up the first mug of tea. Lunch will be, it says, here, That Yam you meant to eat last week.

I have a few chores to do, and I may pull out the scrapbooks that I’d been putting together last year about this time, and see if I can recover any idea of what I thought I was doing.

A quiet day, in other words, with nothing much on the schedule. Except putting the kettle on for another cup of tea.

Who has a schedule today?

Saturday morning cat census:

The Belated Report

All righty, then! Chores have been retired, po box run has been accomplished, hairs have been cut, cottage cheese taken on at the grocery.

There was a sympathy card at the post office box, and a bag of hot chocolate mix. I don’t know what lunch will be — probably hot chocolate isn’t lunch by itself. I may call something in, as a better alternative to having Firefly cook.

My plan is to bear down and work this afternoon and tomorrow, since I am temporarily ahead of the chores. Well, not all the chores; I owe those two folks headshots and “a brief bio,” and should probably do that first. I think I have a brief bio and the headshot problem has been solved — thanks to all who stepped forward to share their expertise! — and that’s probably a better use of my time than angsting over what I’ll make to eat.

So. First world problems. Not going to be able to say that much longer.

The stylist is a music enthusiast — big Elvis fan, follows a particular impersonator; has plans to go with a girlfriend to the Grand Ole Opry; not only knows what The Band was, but can reel off the names of the anchors. She already has tickets to see Willie, Dylan, and Sheryl Crow at Bangor this summer. I didn’t know Willie was coming to Bangor this summer.

Today, she said that she’s starting to feel old, and I got a little bit of a shiver right then. Steve had told me he was starting to “feel old” — and he wasn’t wrong: once you start mooching into your 70s, you’re legitimately old. But to feel old — I don’t. I feel tired and sad and lost, but I don’t feel old — which is just another item in an ever-growing list of things that I don’t know how I feel about.

And on that note — off to order in lunch, and find me that “short bio.”

Memories kicked up a picture from eight years ago.

Also, proof of hairs being cut:

Big Time

What Went Before: The snow has stopped, and the town plows are out in force.

1000 new words written today. I really need to get my head back into what’s happening on the station, after spending two consecutive books on Colemeno. I was also very gratified to find a place to step back to, where I could begin from a different angle, and that we had been smart enough to leave a gap I can use for some Fun Stuff that we didn’t get to include in Salvage Right because then it would have been 500,000 words long and Toni would have murdered us.

I’m not going to give a running total for the current WIP, because I still have to revise, disassemble, reassemble, contract, and extend what I had already written.

I have an Itinerary for my May wanderings. Steve always used to do the trip planning, because he was good at it, and I — am not. However, it occurred to me that I could use the trips to New Jersey and to Westminster last — no. In 2023. — as models to get me to Baltimore without killing myself. So! Waterville to Cooperstown. Cooperstown to Baltimore. Baltimore to Corning. Corning to Rutland. Rutland to Waterville. Easy-peasy and all (except for the trip to Corning) well-known routes. Thank you, Steve.

I did make my reservation at Corning. Tomorrow, I’ll try to get Cooperstown and Rutland taken care of, and then I’ll realio trulio be committed to this thing.

And, yes, I do know that New York State is the carousel capital of Planet Earth. It’s tempting to just take, yanno, four months off, have nothing but fun, See All the People and Do All the Things, but I really do have to get some writing done this year, too.

And that’s all I’ve got. In retrospect, a busy day — and that multigrain loaf from the (King Arthur) kit is delicious. I may get another one or two of those, to have in reserve, because I do not normally stock All the Grains, not to mention the seeds and other yummy, crunchy stuff.

All that said — onward!

Friday. Intermittent sunshine. Not so warm today, and snow predicted on the overnight.

I have come to the conclusion that the snow is targeting me. Yesterday, it snowed out my first ASL class; tomorrow, I have an appointment to get my hair cut. Pfui on you, snow. I pick my teeth at you.

What else? Oh, breakfast!

Breakfast was a tomato and cheese sandwich on two slices of the multigrain loaf I made yesterday. Lunch will be the last of the store-bought quiche, which was … OK. But my quiche is better.

Today, I have Chores. The first load of laundry is washing. I need to set the vacuum working, make some phone calls, finish with the reservations for the Big Trip, do the banking, catch up with a couple pieces of correspondence, perform my duty to the cats, and maybe take a walk. Eeek. Feast or famine. Fire or drought. If I don’t fall asleep, Actual, yanno, Work is scheduled for after lunch.

I have been remiss in telling you all about this wonderful new timer I have put into use. As is the case with so many very simple things, I have a really hard time using kitchen timers. Lately, I’ve had Google to yell at to set a timer, but Google sometimes loses the plot, and sometimes I forget to yell. Mostly, I’ve been setting the timer on the Big Microwave, which is old enough to drink, vote, and run for president, and I’ll be blunt — I live in fear of the day that microwave dies, because I Have No Idea how the one that came with the house works.

Anyway (yes, I’m still talking about timers, but I got bored with the above paragraph and decided it would look nicer if I introduced some white space), the Big Microwave has a chicklet keypad, and I’ve become worried that I may wear the keys out and poof! there goes my access to the second most-used item in my kitchen. So, I bought a timer, and I want to tell you, it’s so simple even I can use it, and the bell is loud, so if I — not that this ever happens — forget that I set a timer for my tea and go to the back of the house to do something, I can hear the bell go off (just like the microwave timer), and go rescue said tea before it climbs out of the cup and begins a pilgrimage to the Old Country.

Here’s the timer.

What else? OH! BaltiCon. Yes, you — yeah, even YOU — can come to BaltiCon; it’s not a closed club or anything. Guests of honor this year are Silvia Moreno-Garcia, Sebastien de Castell, Stephanie Law, Marc Abrahams, Joanna Fang, Blake Collins, and (my favorite, though I shouldn’t say so) the Baltimore Gamer Symphony Orchestra. Plus, yanno, the Heinlein Award winner, and a cool three million writers, artists, costumers, and filkers. Really, you should come if you can; it’ll be a great time. That’s BaltiCon 59.

I should mention that BaltiCon is a Very Important Con in my personal life. I met Steve Miller for the first time at BaltiCon 10, in 1976. While we were still living in Maryland, BaltiCon was our “home con.” We were Writer Guests of Honor at BaltiCon 37 in 2003, and attended the big BaltiCon 50 Guest of Honor Get-Together in 2016.

And I really do think that’s all.

How’s Friday treating you?

Today’s blog title isn’t brought to you by Peter Gabriel, but it’s a good song, anyway. “Big Time”

Friday morning cat census: