chop wood carry water – Page 3

Dance with me, I want to be your partner

How does that dance go? One step forward, two steps back?

Today’s writing session saw me delete one of the two scenes I wrote yesterday in favor of a better scene that I will write, um . . . *squints* probably Monday? Because! Today’s writing session also saw me making Meticulous, Step-by-step Notes for the next five scenes. No, I don’t know how many words that will be.

The WIP currently stands at 49,370ish words.

And I really do need to go to the grocery store.

After lunch.

How’s your day progressing?
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Back from the store. Groceries put away. Strawberries over ice cream et. Desk cleared. Duty to the cats dispatched. Got some pots ‘n pans to wash, after which it’ll be Coon Cat Happy Hour, and I’ll be pouring a glass of wine and finding someplace comfy to sit and read.

Everybody have a good evening. I’ll check back in tomorrow.

Today’s blog post title brought to you by Orleans, “Dance With Me,” recorded in a Simpler Time.

Friday’s cat

This morning’s editor was paws-on:

Friday. Sunny, breezy and cool as I type here in Steve’s office, both sliders open to the day, and sleeping cats all around me.

Sarah has been and gone, leaving a clean house behind her.

I’ve written about 1,150 new words, but stalled because I have to Figure Something Out. The WIP right now stands a bare 170 words from 50,000. Well. Maybe I’ll Figure It Out and not only finish the scene, but cross over into Half Done, Optimists Edition.

For right now, and what will be a good assist in the Figuring Out Department, I need to put the house back together and decide whether or not I want to go to the grocery store. Actually, I don’t have to figure that out — I don’t want to go to the grocery store. What I have to decide is do I need to go to the grocery store.

First thing, though — put the house back together.

So. Are you going to the grocery store today?

Where were we?

Earlier today:

To the best of my knowledge, it’s Thursday.

It is definitely sunny and breezy. The weatherbeans are calling for warmer than it has been, but not Stoopid Hot. Windows and sliders are open at the moment, but the pest control guy is due in an hour, so I’d best close up before he gets here.

Only about 820 new words today, finishing out the scene I was working on yesterday. Did some tweaking, which lost me some words, there, but that’s writing for you. The WIP currently weighs in at 48,680ish words, and 207 manuscript pages. Or, short form: progress is still progressing. Jethri’s got a meeting with the Combine commissioners coming up, and there’s some other business elsewhere that needs to be checked in with, so I’ll just be puttering around the house, and letting the backbrain work.

I ordered in a drag-behind cart that goes up and down stairs! It’s supposed to be delivered today, and I’m excited. Also, go! me! for thinking ahead of time about how I really don’t want to do my back the favor of carrying my Stuff to class in a bag over my shoulder.

I have a ticket for Unabashedly at the Opera House on August 30, but I haven’t yet been able to nail down tickets for Coyote v. Acme. I also need to decide if I actually want to buy the Hadestown DVD. In theory, I should be throwing/giving Stuff away, not acquiring more. Well. Maybe I ought to make sure that the DVD player still works before I get out the credit card. There’s a plan.

So! What do you have to decide, today?
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My teaching cart arrived, and has been constructed (go! me!) I am now officially ready to rock ‘n roll.

People are strange

Editor Talizea Kennebec on duty:

Tuesday. Mizzling and cool. Trash and recycling are at the curb. The lawn guy arrived, did his thing, and vanished into the grey day.

Wrote a little over 900 new words, tweaked other words. The WIP Entire now weighs in at 46,275ish words, and it’s really feeling like A Thing, even while I feel like I’m channeling more than usual. I sit down at the keyboard thinking, “I got nothin‘,” and a thousand words later . . . Well. The fingers know, I guess. Or, like I said before, maybe Steve finally worked it out.

Regarding the genders and alikeness of numbers (yes, I’m still on this), someone at another place where I hang out said that when they were asked as part of an autism test how 7 and 9 are alike, their answer was “Seven and Nine are nothing alike” (implied, “as anyone over six can see). “Seven is (one color) and Nine is (another color). Seven is all angles and Nine is curvy, and they’re just not alike at all.” The suggestion being that this was, perhaps, a Bad Question for an autism test.

Frankly, I don’t think there are any Good Questions for an Autism Test, once someone has gotten to An Age, and made the accommodations that allow you to function Good Enough.

Honestly, if someone asked me, right now, in any context, how seven and nine are alike, I’d say that both are odd numbers. If I’d been asked when I was a kid, and before I knew the . . . I hesitate to say the “correct” answer, so let’s go with “the answer that would get me in the least amount of trouble”, I would probably have said that both were larger than five, or something along that line, this by way of trying to figure out what the adult wanted me to say. And to stay out of trouble. Kinda the driving force of my childhood, staying out of trouble. Not that I managed all that often.

I’ve managed to skin by in the Functioning Good Enough Competition by being an artist. People expect artists to be weird. Better, it’s seen as a Feature. Except by those people who haven’t thought it out, of which there are a surprising number, but even then, I have My Art to back me (as in, “You asked me here to give you a Creative Answer. Well, you got your wish, whether it ‘sounds crazy’ or not.”) Everyday Life is still an occasional challenge, but by this time in my life, I’ve had a lot of practice, and a Really Impressive Store of answers that will get me in the least possible trouble.

All that said–gotta do some chores.

How’s everybody feeling today?

Today’s blog post title loosely brought to you by The Doors, “People are Strange“

Monday with drizzle, book talk, and PT

What went before: Last night I stumbled across someone describing his autism test, in which he was asked to describe how 7 and 9 are similar. And his answer was, in part, that both 7 and 9 are female.

To which I replied on my FB wall: Yes. Seven and nine are both “girls” and now you know why I can’t do arithmetic. Also, this may be the first time I have heard anyone else say this.
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Monday morning
On last night’s revelation(s) regarding the gender, weight, and temperature of numbers. (Because of course I’ve been thinking about this.)

Numbers: (I was wrong; in my personal experience 7 was not a girl, but apparently reasonable people may disagree)
Boys: 1, 4, 5, 7 Girls: 2, 3, 6, 8, 9

And I used to tell stories about them by way of doing my arithmetic homework. This worked about as well as you might think for most arithmetical processes, but became unexpectedly useful when I was learning bookkeeping.

Also! For many years, I had a framed illustration (it might have been a greeting card; greeting cards were awesome Back In The Day) of a tuxedoed man at a piano, obviously playing for all he was worth, notes around his head like a halo, and, coming out of the soundboard, was a rainbow.

. . .I guess I ought to get ready to face the day. Hummus on toast with red grapes for breakfast, I think…
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Ooh, here’s an interesting note.

Um, no. Kate Archer is not stupid. She’s a trauma survivor who is trying to come to terms and/or rectify several different societies, the rules of engagement, and strategies for continuing to survive. She has made some bad choices, but who among us has not? Also, given that the Season is 12 weeks long, with the added SuperEarly, and Pre- Seasons, I’d say she’s learning at a good clip, myself.

Yes, she’s got a “bad temper,” but in my experience, people who are afraid, or who feel alone, often cover those feelings with anger. It’s easier, after all, to keep people away than it is to let them get close.

No, Peggy the Fixer is not an “extraneous” character. I quite like Peggy, myself; she’s essential to the story; and besides — Kate needed a bestie. …Correction. Kate needed a smart, tough, practical, hardcore bestie.

And, sorry, but — the Greenies came right out of reality. Old Orchard Beach had scores of people from Ukraine, Poland, and other such places come in every summer to work as maids at the motels, operators at the amusement park, and waitstaff at the restaurants.

Goodness.

Which reminds me that I need to make some notes about a couple things that occurred to me while I was mulling over my recent listen-to of the Carousel books.

goes off to find a pen and a pad of paper
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So, I saw a scary piece of hubris on FB last night or this morning.

The assertion was that we would have made it out of Hades, accompanied by videos of one’s SO ahead of one, on a trail, a city street, in a mall, never once glancing over a shoulder, all to the tune of “Wait For Me.”

Possibly this was meant to be … funny. Possibly it is funny, and it’s just one of those topics which prompt people to tell me that I have no sense of humor.

But, I would say to you–pride or humor–do not tempt the gods.

Really.

Just–don’t.
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In other news, and obviously, I’m back from my various errands. I have written to the administrator of the Adult Ed program, wondering after a link to a working catalog, gummint paperwork that might need to be filled out, and the possibility of an orientation meeting for teachers.

I need to finish making my deck of prompt cards, and stare a little while longer at my notes for my first class. Oh, and do my duty to the cats. Got so involved in Note Making, I forgot to do that before I left.

No writing today–tomorrow, though, for sure. I’ll also need to take stock of my hands tomorrow. If they’re not less achy, I’ll need to give needlework a miss, which will be annoying.

glares at hands

And, how’s Monday treating you?

Sunday

Coon cats first: The Breakfast Club

Sunday. Looking like it’s trying to make up its mind, is it going to rain.

About 1,000 new words on the morning, bringing the WIP to 44,150. Ish. May or may not write tomorrow, depending on how early I get up, I guess. Book club at 1; PT at 2:30. Lunch sometime or ‘nother.

The cats tried to tempt me back to bed after breakfast and I won’t say they weren’t persuasive, but — work to do. They finally came in to keep me company about the time I knocked off, and there they are all still.

Got mundane tasks to get rid of, some research to do, and some lunch to rustle up. Enough to keep me occupied, but not enough to be overwhelming. I’ll take it.

What’s doin’ at your place, today?
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Sigh. All the old war wounds are aching tonight, which is my cue to back slowly away from the keyboard and pour a Wine Venti.

Everybody have a good evening. Stay safe. Remember to hug the people you love.

See you tomorrow.

Nobody told us it was gonna work out this way

Saturday Cat Census here
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So, that was fun. Decided to make hummus. Got a lemon out of the freezer and left it to thaw. Went to the pantry — and there were no garbanzo beans/chickpeas. Well, damn. Went to the grocery, which alert readers will recall I just visited yesterday. Bought four cans of garbanzo beans, which for some reason are cheaper than chickpeas. Came home and made hummus.

So, yanno — yay! Hummus.

By the time I clean up my mess, it’ll be Happy Hour.
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And before I forget, I want to give the author of the following excerpt from Carousel Sun a gold star. And somehow “this terrible thing” is so much more terrible, for not being said out.

Have I mentioned how much I love Vassily?

“It is simple.” He glanced at me. “Understand, I did not think that; I did not believe my uncle, the priest, when he said to me that it is simple. Worse than this, I did not care. I was . . . very bad. I did bad things. I hurt people.

“Then, on a day, I met my Alisa. And I stop being bad. I am . . . transformed, you see? It is her. She makes me good.” He paused.

“I was new, but the past . . . it follows. Bad deeds want blood for balance.”

Another pause; and a tiny sigh.

“My Alisa, she says, there is a program. We will get jobs in America. We will lose the past, she says. I say, yes, we will do this. And so we sign the papers and are told that Samuil will come for us on a day, to bring us here, to America, with all the rest.

“Two days before Samuil is to come, the past . . . finds me. I had, before my Alisa transformed me, I had hurt, you will say, a wrong person. I did it for money. That person had . . . a protector, a lover. He found me. He found Alisa . . .”

He bowed his head abruptly, shoulders stiff. I wanted to tell him to stop, to not go there, that I hadn’t meant . . .

He raised his head.

“So, this terrible thing. My Alisa is dead. I am . . . It is . . .” He catches his breath in what sounds like a sob.

This evening’s blog post title brought to you by Mr. John (Cougar) Mellencamp, “Lonely Ol’ Night.

Slow Saturday

Friday evening: Back from Errands, including buying a new butter dish to replace the one I broke. Yes, I need to just knuckle under and buy a plastic butter dish, but I don’t like plastic butter dishes. I learned from the nice gentleman at the Verizon store that I do not have to suffer my phone to ring EleventyBillion times before it goes to voice mail. I can Dismiss the call and it will go to voicemail immediately. That, I can deal with, and all the nice robots who are so very worried about the state of my name on the transfer list to Medicare can talk to my robot and there will be peace among the airwaves.

I came home and made myself a blueberry smoothie — getting downright addicted to blueberry smoothies — and when I’m done with that, I will Address the Dishes — oh! And call the vet.

Ta.
Da.

How’s everybody doing?

NOTE: The call to the vet was on the order of a check-in. No worries.
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Saturday. Breezy and surprisingly cool.

This morning’s writing was plotting — which is a courtesy title, since I don’t actually plot, but sort of flit from scene to scene like a slightly demented butterfly.

I’m slowly closing on the material for my first class. In addition to my belief that I will have no students (which is not just natural modesty, but I can’t find any Fall/Winter 2026 courses listed anywhere, and it must be coming up on time to register for September courses), I have no idea of the . . . kind of students I’ll have. This, I have finally admitted to myself, makes it impossible to plan beyond the first class. So! First class will be introductions and a discussion of expectations, goals, level of accomplishments, and so forth. This probably means that the whole class, if held, will be a lot more freeform than I had supposed it would, but, hey. Writing’s an art, not a science.

In other news, I’m trying to talk myself out of buying a Tarot deck. It’s not that I don’t have Tarot decks, after all, and while the deck in question looks interesting and friendly, I really don’t need another Tarot deck. No. I don’t.

Someone had requested my recipe for blueberry smoothies. It is, I promise you, very primitive: 1 cup of blueberries, 1 8 ounce cup of plain yogurt or skyr, 1 tsp vanilla, 3/4 cup skim milk, 2 Tsp white sugar. Zap it on the smoothie setting on the Breville blender, pour it into a Tree-and-Dragon tumbler and drink. You may also sub vanilla skyr for plain (I found this out when I mistakenly took out a vanilla skyr instead of a plain), with no violence done to the resulting treat.

Lunch having been et, I need to do my duty the cats, refill my pens, and do a little more poking at the course. After that? Well. Maybe some embroidery. Couple hours off never hurt anybody, is what I’ve heard.

How’s the weekend shaping up at your place?

Friday morning 8am

So, FB is accessible this morning to the desktop through Ungoogled Chrome.

It is, for the record, Friday, sunny and cool, with the ‘beans calling a high on the day that falls well short of 80F.

I have Stuff to do today, and the boys in the basement need a day off. Also, if I’m reading the note on the torn-off corner of the potato chip bag right, more beer. Lucky for them, today’s Stuff includes a grocery run.

Last week, I guess it was, I was talking with the visiting nurse — same guy whose been here four out of the last five years, and at one point he said something along the lines of, “But you didn’t have a plain vanilla husband. Some of these guys . . .” and he let it drift off. And a week later, I’m still struggling with this, like I’m still, occasionally, struggling with something another guy said to me, a decade or so ago, now, I guess. He was telling me about his first marriage and how it ended, and how his second marriage started, and where it might be going. He was thinking about moving south, come retirement, and his wife had agreed, only he had lately come to understand that “south” to her was Portland, and not South Carolina. And he said something along the lines of, “Well, I guess we could call an end,” and I probably frowned at him, because he said, “No, look. It’s not like we have anything as tight as you guys have. It’s just . . . convenient.”

Now, I happen to think that I’ve been lucky in love, and in most of my life, but I also like to think that I — that we — weren’t the exception to some kind of universal order, stipulating, as we must, that love — and luck — is idiosyncratic. So, those two little stories — they bother me.

Well.

Who else is doing errands today?

Puzzling Thursday

So, yeah, Facebook is apparently broken, returning to Firefox the following error code:

Error Code: SSL_ERROR_RX_RECORD_TOO_LONG

I’m advised to tell them this, but, yanno, don’t really have a clue how.

The app isn’t broken, but for communication purposes, I prefer to access FB via desktop.

That aside, and moving on to the Important Stuff: 1,350 new words written today, in two shifts, bringing the wordage of the WIP entire to 44,490. Ish.

In and around the writing, I renewed the stock at the Flying Fish Saloons, performed my duty the cats, and did PT homework, as much as Conditions Allow — I broke a toe yesterday, go me. Taped all the toes together with paper tape, so I’m in pretty good shape, and no more nor less than the clinic might do. Yeah, I’ve broken toes before. Inconvenient things, toes.

I’m almost finished listening to Carousel Seas, and I’m lost in admiration for the writer. The characters, big and bit, are terrific through the whole series — I especially like Vassily. And Anna Lee. And Jess Robard. And — well. Also, the slow reveals and the interconnectedness of the plots are excellent. In my completely impartial opinion.

I may have done myself — we may have done ourselves — a disservice by not making time to reread our own work. It might have helped us not fall into the expressed opinion that we were cheesy writers of cheesy, shallow scifi and fantasy.

Well.

Aside from all that. . . we’re keeping on keeping on, me and the cats.

And hoping you’re the same.