coon cat logic – Page 21 – Sharon Lee, Writer

Winding down the weekend

What went before: SNIPPET!

“You are such a smart ass,” she said, sadly.

He raised an eyebrow. “I thought that had been well-established.”

“Some days, it just shines brighter,” Miri said.

And back to work we go.

We’re at an awkward hour; the hour wherein Google assures me that there is No Chance of Rain until Thursday, and yet — that does appear to be water falling out of the sky. It is also the hour wherein I have finished a scene, which adds, in addition to action! adventure! and pathos! to the WIP, +/-1,295 words, for a Grand Total of 46,435. More or less.

It’s early in the day yet, but I’ve made the Conservative Decision to not try to plunge into the next scene, but to gently wind down the day, and the weekend, here. I am pleased with progress made these last couple days. I have a kind of Swiss cheese day tomorrow, so likely there won’t be much writing done, but Tuesday is free until it’s time to go to Group Sewing, and the rest of the week is free, except for brief visits to the chiropractor. So, it looks good for more writing getting done in a reasonable manner.

There had been an appeal — somewhere (here are the wages of mirroring my posts everywhere) — to describe what goes on at Coon Cat Happy Hour. These things of course are confidential, but you look like a trustworthy bunch.

Coon Cat Happy Hour begins about an hour before 7 pm with Trooper announcing that his throat has been cut and this dire wound can only be healed through a proper application of gooshy food to a plate, right NEOW!

At 7, I arise, open a can of gooshy food, split it four ways, arranging each portion artistically on its own china plate. I serve the ladies first, as Miss Manners would have me to do; and then the gentlemen. The ladies tend to share their portions; the gentlemen view imbibing as a competition, to see who can finish his plate first, then horn in on the ladies. The ladies have lately been managing to eat their portions, daintily and without fuss, before the Huns descend from the mountains.

After the dishes are shining clean, I pick them up and put them in the dishwasher.

I then pour myself a glass of wine and join the coon cats in their after-Happy-Hour-Club on the couch, where we read or watch an episode of (lately) Dr. Who until it’s time for me to get my evening meal together.

And on that note — everybody stay safe.

I’ll check in tomorrow.

Napping happened this afternoon, and I have proof!

Glass Menagerie

What went before: Rook made sure I had eaten a good, nutritious breakfast before I left on the day’s work:

Tuesday afternoon. Sunny and hot. So. Very. Hot.

I have had Adventures.

Firstly, on my way to Belfast, I had a right of way dispute with a turkey. In true turkey style, he burst from the weeds and charged into the road, I swerved, he swerved, I swore, the turkey went up over the windshield. I heard scrabbling on the roof, looked in the mirror, fearing, as one does, the worst — but there was no dead turkey behind me.

I pulled over and got out.

No dead turkey on the front grill (yes, I know I saw him go over the windshield; I looked anyway). No dead turkey on the back bumper. No dead turkey on the roof. I sighted back down the road. No turkeys of any description to be seen.

The best I can figure is that he rolled onto the roof of the car, got his feet under him, spread his wings — and flew away.

Sheesh, Turkey. Give a girl a heart attack, why not?

Despite the turkey, I was early in the environs of Belfast, so I stopped at the public boat landing. The breeze was blowing, and it was already warm, but I thought to myself, thought I, “Well. This won’t be so bad, if the breeze keeps up.”

SPOILER: The breeze did not keep up. By the time I returned with my party to the boat landing for lunch at Nautilus, the weather was certifiably unpleasant.

In between those two visits to the boat landing, I met my brother- and sister-in-law, my grandnephew, and his friend at Mainely Gallery, and we made glass. The first project was a puffin. I fear mine has Character. Which is *fine*. What wasn’t fine was that, while I was getting ready to grip my very hot glass critter with the tweezers in anticipation of freeing him from the glass rod from which he had been formed — my hand slipped and I burned my finger.

PRO TIP: Do not put your finger into live flame. It hurts.

The upside of this misadventure is that I am now a member of a new club: Glassworkers who have burned themselves while working.

Cold water was deployed, as was aloe and lidocaine. And bandaids. I took the bandaids off when I got home, and I don’t think the surgeons will have to take the finger (that’s what passes for humor).

Despite this mishap, there was enough time remaining in our session to make a second object. My sister- and brother-in-law, working as a team, made another puffin, to keep the first one company. My grandnephew had a Plan, but his glass popped — which was impressive. He declared himself satisfied and stood as assistant to his friend, who made a very pretty glass flower. I made!

A marble.

Don’t laugh; it’s a lot harder than you might think to make a marble, especially when you’re using the soft glass, which starts melting almost before you bring it to the flame.

I very much look forward to picking up my puffin and my marble on Thursday afternoon.

Lunch at Nautilus was as usual good and plentiful, catching up happened, and we parted for our two separate portions of Maine around 2.

I’m now home, Trooper is on my lap, purring, and being an impediment to typing. My burned finger has been inspected by Firefly and by Rook, both of whom were obviously saying, “Well, SOMEbody was stoopid.”

I do believe I’ll be getting a dish of ice cream.

I don’t believe that I’ll be going out to embroidery tonight. Burned finger, you know.

What’s everybody been doing today?

Summer, it turns me upside down

What went before: So, I wrote some new words today, which was Such a Relief, after feeling like I’ve been mired in quicksand for the last two weeks. The WIP entire now stands at +/-42,700.

I wasted some time this afternoon on a panic attack when I realized (as I do from time to time) that I’m going to be old and broke, and sick and alone, and I don’t have anything worthwhile to $ell, and &c &c.

I mean, Steve and I knew we were living a grasshopper existence, which is, take note, a much more amusing pose when you’re young and strong. And, really, I thought that the end part would be too quick to be scary — summer one day, snowstorm the next, quick-frozen grasshopper, so sad.

Well.

Tomorrow, I have an appointment with the chiropractor, mid-morning, and the rest of the day to work.

Tali and Rook are at the moment having a game of tag. I need to water the roses, and — I do believe I’ll have a glass, or two, of wine.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

Monday. Sunny and already hot.

Breakfast was the last of the lettuce, the last of the tomato, the last of the cottage cheese, and a piece of toast. Lunch will be the leftover pork chop and beans.

I detect a theme.

Leaving in a few to see the chiropractor. I’ll hit the post office and the grocery before I come home.

We here in Central Maine are still Awaiting tomorrow’s arrival of Extreme Heat. The excursion to the hot shop in Belfast is being reconsidered, with the hope that we can move it to another, somewhat cooler, day later in the week.

The following is for those who wonder how writers make money, sparked by a mention in comments regarding a “living wage.”

It ought to surprise no one to learn that writers make money by writing. How much money they make and if they receive what they are owed are variables, the discussion of which is outside of the purview of this paper.

The other thing to remember is that there is a long and impecunious apprentice period for most writers (cue joke: Q: Oh! You’re a writer? Have you sold anything? A: Well, so far, I’ve sold my sewing machine, my kayak, and my car.). Most of us have day-jobs, though (I speak for myself) not the demanding sorts of day-jobs that may come with retirement benefits, because those sorts of jobs impinge on one’s writing time. Even those of us who “make it,” for some definition thereof, do so later in life, and if we don’t necessarily have college loans to pay off, we have other debt incurred while we learned our craft.

So!

The greater percentage of writers make LESS — even FAR LESS — than a “living wage” from their writing.

Those who do make a “living wage” are equal parts lucky and too stubborn to die — Lee-and-Miller stand in this category as an example, and perhaps a warning.

Very few achieve Literary Superstar, which is of course the standard to which all writers are held because societies that measure success in terms of money have no soul.

To continue.

Irregardless of the variables mentioned above, when writers stop writing, they stop getting paid. This is a calamity, because, even those of us who managed to achieve that “living wage” do not typically have Large Sums of Money invested against sickness or old age. They may have a few months’ living expenses squirreled away. Maybe.

Now, yes, some of us — Lee-and-Miller are twice fortunate — have significant extra fan support in the style of Patreon, Ko-fi, and so on. Those things, like all donation systems — such as the local food bank, or Meals-on-Wheels — depend on the economic health of the donor pool. When the economy tanks, people very wisely cut their donations, in the interest of feeding themselves and their families.

Speaking, again, for myself: I have three books under contract — again, and that’s three times fortunate — and even should stop writing after I turn in the last, cash should continue to flow, in lessening rivulets, for a couple years. And I can of course continue to write and publish independently. Assuming that I keep my health and my head.

Anyhow! This has gotten long, and I need to get on the road.

How’s everybody doing today?

Some time later: Back from errands, which also included putting gas in the car. I couldn’t figure out why I needed gas, then I remembered that I’d driven back and forth to Bath last Monday.

It’s shaping up to be a nasty ol’ day out there. The City of Waterville has hit the citizen phone tree to remind us that the Cooling Center on Front Street will be open tomorrow from 10 to 6.

I bought a strawberry shortcake cup at the grocery store and ate it before lunch, in true grasshopper fashion. I tried to share my whipped cream with the overlords — Rookie was enthusiastic, Firefly was curious, Tali thought I was Up To Something, and Trooper had just finished his chicken smoothie and was too full for dessert.

I will be updating the blog, performing my duty to the cats, and then seeing about lunch before sitting down with the WIP.

Today’s blog post title brought to you by The Cars, “Magic”

Oh. I was late getting into work today, and Supervisor Firefly noticed.

High on the hillside, the trucks are loading

What went before: Taking a small break.

Rook and Tali assisted me in a nap; I take them so seldom that it was felt I needed spotters. I believe I acquitted myself well, though I declined an immediate review.

I’m still working and will be working a while longer. I want to hit a Certain Point this evening, so that I can hit another Certain Point tomorrow.

Tomorrow is, by the way, predicted to be warmer than today, and Monday warmer than that, peaking with really dangerous (for Maine values of dangerous) heat on Tuesday, then easing back to something approaching normal on Thursday.

Coon cat happy hour in about an hour. In the meantime, as I said, still working here — oh. And I need to water the roses.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

Sunday. Glowering and damp. Heading for warm and damp.

Breakfast was hummus, naan, cherries. I’ll think of something for lunch.

BEGIN FB-specific Well. I seem to have created a stampede yesterday. You all do realize that if we already share FB friendship that you have already passed through my vetting process, yes? And that the people I was talking to specifically are those who send me a new request for friendship, but have their page locked down so tight, I have nothing to vet.

Which in one way, makes my job very easy, but apparently makes me look churlish and aloof to those I reject.

Yes, yes. First world problems.

END FB-specific

Speaking of which, I see we’re at war. I suppose that makes sense: war’s good for the economy, after all; and it’s a convenient way to get rid of all those excess and annoying non-millionaires — draft ’em and let ’em get blown up. And there’s also that pesky question of elections and the wartime powers of presidents.

Man, I hate this timeline.

deep breath

I’m getting ready to go bury my head in a manuscript.

What’s everybody else doing?

Today’s blog post brought to you by Talking Heads, “Life During Wartime”

Tali and Rook working on their technique:

Grandpa Trooper Health Report

What went before ONE: So, Trooper’s home, after having had many sorts of tests. Possibly there’s some very tiny bit of fluid in front of his heart. Maybe? Lungs clear; bloodwork magnificent; not dehydrated; not noticeably anxious at the vet’s; just quietly grumpy. He feasted on chicken baby food while he was there, and was given a long-term steroid shot (since I can’t get him to take prednisone from the plunger — he’s (still) big and strong and doesn’t care who he hurts, while management is down the second pair of hands that used to make this a non-issue).

The soft diagnosis is that he’s just sort of melting away from old cat to no cat. Possibly, we have some dementia, but, again, not acute. The steroid shot is because I observed him to be crying less when he was taking the prednisone, and it’s not impossible that he actually has some joint pain, which is making him fretful and weepy, given his age.

So, that’s the Trooper Health Update. I’ll be taking on some baby food when I’m out tomorrow.

What went before TWO: I got some work done today, but not as much as I wanted. However, I am not working late into the night, but knocking off now, as I am of the opinion that having a more or less regular schedule is, ahem, beneficial.

I will have from tomorrow afternoon through Monday afternoon to work, which is a lovely large wodge of time.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

Err — what?

Hmm. Facebook may have made an improvement that actually, yanno, Improves Something. They’ve inserted a step between Write and Post, which doesn’t seem convenient, but it looks like it will allow me to share, say, my Morning Check-Ins with All the Liaden Groups, which might be beneficial.

I’ll explore that further tomorrow, too.

G’nite.

Friday. Sunny and already as warm as it’s supposed to get on the day, with an Bonus! high wind advisory.

Rookie got locked in the closet this morning. I had no idea he had even been in the room when I opened the door to get my shoes.

Breakfast was cream cheese on rice cakes, with a side of cherries. Kettle’s on for second cup of tea. Lunch may be a salad. Or it may be fish and a side salad. Something like that.

Mid-morning appointment with the chiropractor, and a stop at the grocery before I get home to take on baby food for Grandpa Trooper.

I’ve been trying to figure out a whale/puffin watch expedition, which is of course an ocean voyage. This means you need to leave from the coast, about 50 miles ThatAWay from the Cat Farm. There’s a very well-regarded tour service — Cap’n Fish by name — based in Boothbay — which is your standard “about an hour” by car.

Cap’n Fish has an Extremely Tempting combined puffin/whale cruise which leaves at 1 in the afternoon and is +/- 4 hours on the water, which means we’re docking 5/5:30. It is summer and the light’s with me, so now I need to think about stamina (and my budget; let’s not forget that). Route 27 is a pretty easy drive, but it’ll be, at the earliest, July and God She knows what the Summer People will be getting up to. Assuming we have any Summer People, of course.

Well. Something to noodle on in-between story bits.

In the meantime, I’m looking forward to next Tuesday. I have a date with visiting family to make glass in Belfast in the morning, when it is predicted to be — technical term — Stupid Hot. I’m hoping for a mediation of weather patterns over the weekend, but the ‘beans seem very certain of themselves on this one.

Other than All of That, I am planning a Writing Weekend, and hoping to move the book along in a forwarder direction.

What are your plans for the weekend?

Cat census:

Sun is cold and rain is hard

What went before ONE: Wednesday. Cool, cloudy, damp. Heading for warm and humid.

Off to the chiropractor in a few, then back home for a bit before going to lunch.

Not much else to report, save that the guy who takes care of the neighbor’s lawn is out there doing his thing. I’d’ve said it was too damp for that. OTOH, I’m not driving the lawn mower.

What’re y’all doing today?

What went before TWO: The Langlais exhibit downtown was fun.Bernard Langlais, “Lion’s Head,” 1970. Painted wood and wire

What went before THREE: So, knocking off for the day. I’ve finished proofreading the material intended for the 2025 chapbook.

Need to get up early tomorrow to take Trooper to the vet for his tests.

G’nite.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

Thursday. Cloudy, damp, and warm.

Breakfast was a cup of raspberry skyr and a mug of tea. Second mug of tea to hand.

Trooper is at the vet’s. They’ll call me after they’ve administered and scored the tests.

Stopped at Hannaford on the way home. Prices continue to rise, though cherries were, relatively, cheap. Bought cherries. It was a small list, but I still scored over $100.

I got Trooper into the carrier, put them both in what I like to call “the foyer” and went out to open the car door. When I came back in, the grandkids were surrounding the box. The girls left when I stepped forward, but Rook stayed stretched out in front of the door until I picked the carrier up.

Trooper was very good and quiet on the ride across town, which is not at all like his usual car trip manners.

I’m going to finish my tea, then get the cat litter delivery in from the garage, and try to get some writing done while I wait for the vet to call, and weigh whether the better part of valor is to put the big yellow rose bush into the actual ground in the front garden.

What’s everybody else doing today?

Somebody took my deck plantings in dislike:

Today’s blog post title via Creedance Clearwater Revival, “Have You Ever Seen the Rain?”

The Adventuring of Yesterday

Tuesday. Sunny, light breeze, coolish.

Waiting for the painter, who will be doing what he can in terms of painting trim and replacing rotten boards on the garage. First mug of tea is brewing. Will shortly be toasting an English muffin in preparation for a pb&j.

I. Had. So Much. Fun yesterday, of which I will speak in more detail after breakfast.

Today, I need to call the vet on Trooper’s behalf. I’m hoping this is not the Last Visit, but I’m . . . I don’t know. deep breath

I also have an appointment with the chiropractor, possibly a stop at the homeless shelter (turns out they do need pillows), and this evening is sewing at the library.

What’s everybody doing today?

#And the vet is closed. Or, somebody forgot to take the machine off the phone.

Will call back in an hour.

In the meantime, the painter is here, but the wood is not.

#Let’s see . . . yesterday.

Chapter OneWatercolor class was a one-off presented by the events coordinator of Waterville Creates, who is herself a talented watercolorist. She was there, not to teach, but to encourage play, and also to sell the Schupf Center programs, including the Thursday Art Making (which has another name that escapes me at the moment), which is free to everyone.

Since my life has of course been unremittingly frivolous, I didn’t feel that the call to play was necessary on my part, and I would have welcomed more structure. However, viewing the results produced by the majority of my classmates (this was a VERY well-attended session), instruction would possibly have been superfluous.

So, I played with my colors and the water, and got frustrated, as I always do with art, because I can’t make things round, dammit — what I want to do is reach into the paper and push this bit back, and pull this other bit forward, but the trick of achieving dimensionality with flat materials continues to elude me.

Maybe I should look at Youtube. God She knows I have colored pencils — I’m not particularly wedded to watercolor as a medium, though it is forgiving, in its way; I quite liked the way the spiky purple flowers came out.

Anyway, I managed to ride out the frustration and dropped into — “I Wonder What Happens if I do This” land — and mostly had a goodish time, with what results you may see below.

After class, I came home, provisioned the car, chatted with the next door neighbor, who has been away for some time, and got on the road to Bath.

#Chapter TwoI arrived in Bath around, eh, twelve-thirty-ish? Drove to Front Street, parked in the lot, and ate my chicken nugget sandwich in a pocket park, then went for a walk.

I wish to report that, in Bath, Maine, there is a large library and FIVE bookstores on Front Street, alone. There was also a large Maine Craft store, where I had a lovely chat with the proprietor, and a Reny’s where I got my Reny’s Passport (remember that?) stamped, and joined a very odd conversation.

A man had just concluded a sale when I got the counter and was quizzing the two cashiers about the amenities of Bath, which — I’m guessing the accent was Jersey, and apparently he was looking to relocate, and you could tell he was struggling with idea of Bath as a, um, city. He phrased it more circumspectly than this, but, basically, he wanted to know where the stuff was. (From my perspective, there’s plenty of stuff in Bath downtown, plus extensive suburbs, but, no, it’s not Baltimore (punch line: But what is?)

He said “they’d” been to Waterboro the day before, and there wasn’t much there, and produced a quiz about Phippsburg, which the cashiers admitted was nothing there though the fort and Popham Beach were worth seeing. He asked me where I was from, and I admitted to Waterville, throwing in the three colleges for a tease. He was briefly interested until I also admitted it wasn’t on the water, then turned back to the cashiers with the notion that if he was looking for the stuff, he’d probably be looking to Portland, then? They shared A Look, then one glanced back at him, and allowed, very seriously, as how that was probably so.

I took my package and left, walked up to the top of the street, avoiding the temptations of both ice cream and the cooking store (something to do on another trip!), walked back down the street, got in my car and headed for the Maine Maritime Museum.

#Interlude: Reached the vet, left a message for Trooper’s doctor.

From yesterday’s mail — the new property valuation, from which I learn that this house has nearly doubled in “value” since we moved here in 2018. Which, of course, means that everything else has at least doubled in value, so moving is Not An Option. Not that I was looking to move, but it’s sort of expected that a Person of My Age and Condition will be Downsizing, and — nah.

#Chapter ThreeI had never before been to the Maine Maritime Museum; I expect I will go back. It’s sited on the land that used to be occupied by the Percy and Small Shipyard.

(I am reminded here of the fellow at Reny’s and his inquiry after the stuff; Maine used to be full of stuff; and Phippsburg, where there’s “nothing much” but the beach and the fort, used to be a shipbuilding mecca, as well as an ice harvesting center — Kennebec River Ice was popular in Europe. Bath was an international seaport. This was a repeating theme of the day, including on the tour, where we were reminded of history, along with wildlife, sea, and lighthouse lore.)

There is a museum building, but I opted to spend the time before my boat left touring the grounds and some of the outbuildings, which is well worth the time. I particularly liked the display of lobster floats, which reminded me (I think I had known this at one point), that each fisherman had a distinctive float attached to their traps (yes, exactly like brands on cattle), so if you were filching lobster, you knew who you were stealing from.

Mostly, though, I just enjoyed being outside. It was a glorious day — warm, but not too warm, breezy on the land, but not windy. I chatted with a couple of other tourists, and when the time came, I was first on the boat, and climbed topside.

(Metaphysical notation; feel free to skip. I hate ladders. I can go up ladders, but not down. Prudence therefore dictated that I stay on the lower level and watch the river go by from behind windows.

(But I didn’t wanna. And as I was sitting on the dock, waiting for boarding, I had been weighing Prudence against Adventure, and during that conversation with myself, I heard Steve say, very clearly, and as he had done on numerous previous occasions, “I’ll do down first, and you just follow me; it’ll be fine.” He had never let me down before, and there was no reason to think he would let me down this time — and nor did he — so, top deck. Best Choice Ever.)

I had noticed, when I was sitting on the dock that it was, er, cooler by the water, so I’d put on my Bug Light sweatshirt (which is winter-weight) — and that was a good call.

I sat on the backest bench, portside, and that was also a good call, as I could turn around and see the whole of Merrymeeting Bay behind us as we progressed.

We had a full boat — 50 passengers. On the upper deck, we were all grownups; I can’t speak to the passengers below. (The tour before mine did have at least one very small boy, who had a screaming tantrum when mom told him they were leaving now — speaking to the point made by someone that taking a small child on a river tour would be silly.)

Just as we got underway, a huge fish broke water — I was apparently the only one who saw it, and I had no idea. “Salmon?”, I thought (no fisherman, here), but our guide later told us that sturgeon leap, and if we saw a big silver fish come out of the water, that was a sturgeon.

I can’t begin to do justice to the experience. The wind had come up, so it was … a little … choppy. I was not uncomfortable, and my fellow top-siders seemed comfortable, as well. We saw Doubling Point; the Kennebec Range Lights, Squirrel Point Light, Pond Island, and (from a distance, the only ocean light) Sequin Light. We saw seals, bald eagle, cormorants, heron, house and woods, and passing towns. It was worth far more than I paid for the experience, and yes, I will be doing it again.

Ten stars out of Five. Highly recommended.

Wrapping up: I can’t remember the last time I spent a day almost completely outside. Must do that more often.

Also, one of the reasons I took this particular (2 hour) tour was to try to get a handle on if I could, maybe, tolerate (physically tolerate; bench seating is not kind to bad backs) a whale/puffin watch, which I’ve been wanting to do forever, and no time like the present. My back does hurt a little today, and I’ll talk with the chiropractor when I see him this afternoon.

I talked to a lot of people yesterday; just casual conversations. Usually, I didn’t talk to people — Steve did. See metaphysical note, above.

Yes, I did take millions of pictures, and I’ll post . . . a few, as time allows. Here’s a couple: Doubling Point Light and Seals at Rest:

Here ends my tale of yesterday’s adventures.

Addendum: Information about the Kennebec Estuary, and the six rivers that run together to the sea.

Sekrit Cat Biz and Stampede Strings

What went before ONE: So lunch was food truck chicken nuggets and French fries. I have enough leftover for days, if I wish to play it that way.

Haircut achieved. I decided to let it stay long(ish) this pass. Stopped at the grocery for Trooper wet foods and tomatoes. Stopped at food truck. Came home, ate lunch. I think I have time to finish the book I’m reading before I need to leave for the chiropractor’s office.

It’s a pretty day, for those keeping score.

What went before TWO: Well, that’s a boring bunch of mail. Two letters from people who want me to donate money; one scolding me for daring to have filed a complaint against it (I can file complaints against any entity that it does business with, but not against itself, which is very convenient for itself); and another that was supposed to correct a previous error, which, um, didn’t.

OTOH, it remains a lovely, sunny, and cool day out of doors.

What went before THREE: Rook’s baby picture, May 30, 2024 (from FB Memories). Notation on original posting: So, this is Rook. He will be ready to leave his littermates in mid-June. However, because of Schedules, I will not be able to receive him at the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory until July.

It’s funny, when I picked out his name, I thought to myself how unfair it was that black cats are often named for their color, and I decided that I didn’t want to do that. And while I was mulling names, (Steve) suggested Rook, a powerful and flexible chess piece. I liked it, too, because it comes with Rookie as a nickname, and he certainly will be that.

It wasn’t until I was talking to the breeder today, and she said, “Oh! I know what a rook is — it’s an English crow!” that I realized I’d been foiled.

What went before FOUR: So, the Jigsaw Draft has been put together. I need to Bring Up some stuff, but I’m feeling much happier about what I have, now.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

Saturday. Glary and cool.

Disturbed night, what with Sekrit Cat Business — which is fine, as long as Sekrit means Quiet — unsettling dreams and various whatnot. Slept in slightly, and am slow to get moving. I may have a cup of coffee.

Breakfast was rice crackers with cream cheese and a side of cherries. Lunch is TBD.

I should find out if the local homeless shelter takes pillows. Steve had stockpiled pillows, and after more than a year, I’ve determined that they’re In The Way, and I’m not going to use them.

Today will be mostly devoted to writing. Shan has written two letters, and I see that we must read them over the shoulders of the recipients, so that will be fun. Shan writes great letters.

Speaking of letters — I got an email from SSA yesterday, and thank you to everyone who made it possible for me to experience a Stress Spike whenever anything having to do with SSA hits my mailbox, or it’s coming round time for the monthly deposit. In the case, it turned out to be only the usual annual statement, but it was a thrilling few minutes that I could have done without.

The lady cats were having a bout of fisticuffs (fistipaws?) earlier. Not sure what it was about. They’re now sharing opposite ends of a window, overlooking the path between the house and the garage.

I know there’s a lot of Business of Democracy taking place this weekend. If you’re involved, have a care; I see there’s unsettled weather predicted here and there.

What is the weather where you are?

PS: After telling myself four times since getting up this morning to check Steve’s Tilley hat to see if it has a stampede string, I have finally accomplished this, and — yes. Yes, it does.

puts on pile for Monday’s boat tour

A wine glass saved is a dollar earned

What went before ONE: So, Monday will a Full Writer’s Day Off, with watercoloring in the morning and lighthouse touring in the mid-afternoon.

Adventures R Me

What went before TWO: My sister-in-law successfully defended her dissertation. Thanks for all the good energy on Scholar Net!

What went before THREE: So a nice young man with an arm full of glossy 8×10 books rang the doorbell. He was part of a “group of young people who were looking to make a difference,” he told me. His name was perhaps Jarrett — my ears weren’t fast enough and he was soft-voiced.

He handed me two books — one about “health” and one about “weathering storms.” I flipped open the one about storms, and got a page dripping with meticulously notated bible verses. The young man told me that this particular volume had helped him through depression a couple years ago.

I handed the books back.

Oh, he said, you’re not interested in the books. But maybe you’ll come to our Health Expo in Fairfield in a couple weeks, and he handed me a half-sheet flyer. I took the flyer, because easier than not, smiled, and wished him a good day.

He asked if we could pray together.

I told him no, smiled, and closed the door.

So! The flyer!

A New Start to your health, it says; HEALTH AND WELLNESS EXPO. There are watermark crosses on the paper — medical/Red Cross looking crosses. And over by itself on the right: Promoting physical, mental, emotional, & spiritual wellbeing.

The flyer lists the free activities on offer at the Expo, and states that its being sponsored by Maine Health & Wellness (tagline: Serving your needs. Right where you are.)

Instead of a website, there’s an email address: healthandwellness.maine@gmail.com

. . . and my goodness aren’t we being sneaky, seeking-to-do-good-young-people! It sounds just like it’s some sort of Actual State Agency, even to the DOTmaine in the email address.

Maybe I should have offered to trade books.

What went before FOUR: Knocking off for the day. Yeah, yeah — I’m late. The coon cats had happy hour, and I should get something to eat.

The WIP, still lacking a title, currently weighs in at +/-40,277 words, which is to say, we didn’t lose many words after all.

Ashley’s due in tomorrow, but will be arriving later than usual, so I don’t have to get up early, which, given that I’m only now seeking my supper and a glass of wine, a good thing.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

Um. Thursday. Sunny, warm.

Slept late with intermittent assistance from Trooper, Firefly, and Rook.

Breakfast was strawberry-and-lingonberry skyr; finishing up my tea now. Lunch will be this afternoon.

After I finish my tea, I’ll pick up the house for Ashley’s arrival, then perform my duty to the cats (and the dehumidifier), then start shifting chapters around.

Yes, yes. Too exciting by half.

For excitement — I got a catalog in the mail from Artful Home. In it were some pretty stemless wine glasses, so I went onto the website to find out how big they were. Sigh. I gotta tell y’all some folks out there are serious about their wine. Nobody needs a 10 ounce wine glass. Well, OK. I don’t need a 10 ounce wine glass. So! I already saved money this morning.

The windows are open in my office, and I? should really gather up the cat blankets and give them a nice wash.

What’re you doing today?

Just waitin’ on a friend

What went before: Sewing was fun; more people continue to find the group. The conversation turned at one point to bats, which was lively and enjoyable.

I hear that I should expect the Martin’s Point Nurse Visit tomorrow between 8 and 10 am, so I guess I’d better get my pill bottles in one place; not that I have that many pills, but I do take vitamins. Will also remember to ask about a referral to an audiologist. I don’t know that the traveling nurse can do that, but — maybeso.

The cats have been fed, to Trooper’s vast satisfaction, and I have poured myself a glass of wine. After I gather up my pills, I’ll be having the evening meal, and, yes, another early night, being as I will have to be up early tomorrow, JIC.

Everybody stay safe.

G’night.

Wednesday. Sunny and already warm.

Waiting on the Visiting Nurse.

Breakfast was half a blueberry muffin with a side of cottage cheese. Drinking my first cup of tea.

First Official Act of the Day was filing a complaint against the spoofed profile. FB reminds me that it will only remove things that are against its community standards, and it appears that, actually, pretending to be someone else is not against community standards.

Which actually tells us everything we need to know about FB, and yet here we all still are.

My sister-in-law is defending her doctoral thesis this afternoon, so if you can spare a good vibe or two on Scholar Net, that would be awesome.

Aside the Visiting Nurse — who just called and says he’ll be here right around 8 o’clock — I need to take bottles to the redemption center, and stop at Agway for rose spray.

And, in view of the Imminent Arrival of the Visiting Nurse, signing off for now.

Later that same morning: So, that was a reasonable and informative visit. I remain Disgustingly Healthy. Speaking of double-edged blades.

I think I talked the Visiting Nurse into taking his wife to Corning to make glass. And I may have a lead on a doctor who is accepting “transfer patients.” Apparently that’s the magic phrase, right there — not “new.”

The lawn guy’s here to mow, and his equipment, naturally enough, is in the driveway, so I’ll be taking the bottles out after he’s done his thing. Which, given that it’s only 9 o’clock — mornings go on forever when you get up at 6:30 — will be about the time the redemption center opens.

Rook was Not At All Certain that he had cleared Vets in the House (double entendre alert: the nurse is, as so many medical folks are up here, ex-military), and hid in Steve’s room. The other three cats stayed in my office: Firefly and Trooper at the desk, and Tali behind a curtain.

Second cup of tea in hand.

The larger part of the day will be working on the WIP. I hope to get the correx entered today, so I can do the Grand Rearranging of Scenes tomorrow, and be set up to write new words, assuming I haven’t forgotten how, by the weekend.

I did a Coon Cat Weigh-In the other day. Everybody is staying stable — Firefly almost 12 lbs; Rook almost 13; Tali at 11 — except Trooper, who lost 2 lbs. He’s now on the mid-morning Elder Snack schedule. Good thoughts for Trooper, please.

How’s everybody doing today?

Rookie’s box arrived yesterday afternoon, and was put to use immediately I cleared out that pesky rope of lights:

Today’s blog post courtesy of the Rolling Stones, “Just Waitin’ on a Friend.”