everybody talks about the weather

Anything can happen day

Wednesday. Sunny. Temp 74F Humidity 74%. Windows are closed.

I? have ordered in breakfast on the theory that I will eat an omelet if all I have to do is open the damned box and get a fork out of the drawer. I’m flailing around for strategies to get myself interested in eating food — and I don’t at this point care if it’s healthy, particularly — and came to remember that I never had any strategies for that particular quirk in a stupid quirky nature. When I was living with Steve, he cooked 90% of the time, and I’d sit at the table to be sociable, even if I didn’t feel like eating, and would have a bit of this or that while we were talking. Yes, Steve was a genius. However, that solution is no longer operative, and I’m a bit at a loss. And before anyone panics — I’m not sick, my stomach doesn’t hurt. I just — don’t want to eat. The urgency is that I cannot allow this to fall into a habit.

Argh.

Moving on to more amusing topics: The perambulating package is now in! South Portland. USPS promises delivery, but we’ve heard that song before.

We had a bunch of thunder and some lightning, but if there were violent thunderstorms in Maine last night, they were someplace else. While I don’t regret the violence — or the possible tornadoes — I do regret the thunderstorm drama.

Today’s Plan is to read the 100+ pages of the WIP, which will not only hopefully hang together as a tale, but provide sufficient hooks to hang the rest of the story on.

Writer math.

break to eat breakfast Which. Was. Good. Remember this, Self? Food tastes good. Sheesh.

A friend posted a meme yesterday about “When I was growing up, we were thrown out onto the street, helmetless, with our bike after breakfast and told to come home before dark.” Which encouraged some conversation including, “What is this “helmet” you speak of?” And that got me to thinking about How Things Change.

For instance. In my life — which, we do have to factor in the determination that we were writers above all else, which did have an enormous bearing on finances — I think that people who have two homes, or a camp, are well-off. The course of my life being such that we could barely afford one house, and were always skating the edge between solvent and me presenting Steve with a fanned hand of bills and saying, “Pick a bill. Pick any bill. The bill that you pick is the bill we won’t be paying this month.”

So, that. And then I think back to — my parents. Who had land in the mountains of Pennsylvania that they intended to build a camp on. They never did because they’d gotten taken in the matter of boundary lines and water, but that aside — they owned property other than their primary residence. My father was a spotwelder at the General Motors factory in Sparrow’s Point, Maryland. My mother was a stay-at-home mom.

Going back a generation, and the reason I’m so “surprisingly” at ease on the water, my father’s parents had a camp on Middle River in Maryland to which they retired every summer. They also had a mini-farm at what was then the edge of the town of Parkville, Maryland. My grandfather was a tailor for a large tailoring house (I often remember the name, but not this morning) in the city. My grandmother was a stay-at-home mom.

Tailor and spotwelder — these are not positions associated with great amounts of wealth. And yet, they were able to buy “extra” properties.

Well. The past is a different country.

Time to go to work.

What was your childhood summer like?

Three goods inna row

Tuesday. Raining half-heartedly. ‘beans are still calling for “near record high” heat, with indexes “near 100,” with bonus Violent Thunderstorms with damaging winds and hail, and perhaps a surprise appearance of a tornado, for the overnight.

Trash and recycling are at the curb.

Slow getting started today, despite a long sleep fully supervised by Coon Cats. Both ladies piled in immediately I had pulled the covers up, and Firefly tucked up against my stomach, which she never does, purring to shake the bed, while Tali made her very solid presence felt at my back. I woke up a couple times and they were still in place. Firefly, apparently noticing the change in my breathing, started purring again in a blatant effort to make me go back to sleep.

It worked.

Rookie seems to have spent a peaceful nightshift in his basket on the edge of Steve’s desk.

Rookie is not drooling this morning–his fur is dry and his eye is bright–and I have called his physician to report this.

I have a note from my physician, agreeing that the arrangements I have made with lisinopril dosing times and lifestyle adjustments have, indeed, produced a more seemly sustained level of BP readings, and has given his permission to stay the course. Which means I get to stick with 10mg rather than leaping into a double dose. So, that’s good.

Once I have dispatched this note to the internets, I will be doing the dishes and performing my duty to the cats.

Unless the fog in my head melts, I foresee a day of chores before heading out to crafting. Which means the house will be straight, and I can concentrate on writing Wed-Thurs-Fri.

That’s also good.

Back pain is at the Ignorable Level–three goods in a row. Not really very interested in eating food, despite the effort I made to have tasty things in-house, so that’s — worrisome, but not particularly novel.

The Perambulating Package is still being “assessed” in Augusta, and nobody’s committing to a delivery date.

And all that said — Onward.

What’s the weather where you are?

And! A picture of Rookie from last evening, post Happy Hour

Monday morning

Monday and sunny and starting to warm up for tomorrow’s run for the Coveted Dangerous Heat Rating.

I have a cup of tea with me here at the desk and in a couple minutes, I’ll be rustling up some oatmeal.

Many thanks to everyone who expressed concern about my back and yesterday’s blackberry removal. Two things about that:

(1) The bush really wasn’t rooted very deeply. I basically poked at it with the shovel (see mile-long thorns), and it fell over. I went back inside, got Steve’s leather gloves, came back out, gave it a very small tug, and it came out that easy. The root was long, but not torn or broken, so it may be that I’ve got it all, which would be very unlike Blackberries I Have Known, so I’ll Keep An Eye Out.

(2) My back is a crapshoot. Or possibly I mean an abuser. This is how it works: Mostly, it hurts. Mostly, because of my Superpower, I can, and do, ignore it. Sometimes a piece of Kryptonite comes along, and pain levels escalate to where I can’t ignore them, whereupon I am Utterly Undone and Complain Incessantly for, eh. Two or three days. The pain then subsides to the Baseline Ignorable Level and I get back down to business. I do try to plan and consider and not overtax my back, but really, nothing placates it, and there’s no observable reason for having one day where everything’s fine, for values thereof, and another day where it hurts my back if I blink. Back pain was Ignorable yesterday afternoon, so — business as usual. Mind, if the blackberry HADN’T fallen over when I poked it with the shovel, I wouldn’t have gone any further, because I’m not completely nuts, evidence aside.

THAT said, on to Important Issues, in fact — Rookie the Cookie. Rookie starting drooling last night, and he’s still doing so this morning. While my two ladies do drool when they’re VERY excited, this is is not at all Rookie’s Thing, and he just seems to be…dripping. I don’t see anything wrong with his mouth, but what do I know. So! Rookie has won a trip to the vet 4:15ish this afternoon, Just To Make Sure.

I have phone calls to make today, and I really do need to pick up some stuff at the grocery (which we, too, called the “food store” in my youth — someone said this yesterday. Also, my grandmother had an “ice box,” and I still default to that, to the bewilderment of Many, and even though I haven’t seen an actual ice box, nor ice man, for … most of my life, actually), so — probably no writing today, which as it happens is just as well, because I had a Thought this morning that I really need to talk over with Steve. Lacking that, I’ve got a lot of thinking to do.

That’s the news from the Cat Farm.

What’s your news?

This just in: Rookie’s physician wishes to have him dropped off by 10, rather than brought in at 4, for Observation.

Guess I’d better find that breakfast I was talking about.

Then I am the King of the Cats!

Nonsense first. Back when, I collected retellings of “The King of the Cats.” This one came across my FB feed last night. I’m not sure the link will work, but on the off-chance: The King of the Cats
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I’ve been needing a lot of extra therapy sessions lately. Happily, my counselor is flexible:

Monday. Sunny and starting to warm up toward our climactic Unsafe Heat Event, scheduled for Thursday.

Plans for the day include calling the peach ripe, cutting it up and having it for breakfast with cottage cheese. Because I can. After, I’ll go on back to Steve’s office and do some writing.

Yesterday afternoon went pear-shaped. I threw the bedclothes in to wash and the washing machine lost its mind — it entered the spin cycle, and then would start over with a rinse, over and over and over (the water district sent me a message last night that my water use was 2.5X over the average, and I might have a leak). I finally managed to get a half-spin, and dragged the soggy sheets out to the wooden laundry dryer I’d gotten out of the basement and set up on the (sunny at that point) deck, and — long story short; everything worked out, but I always feel like it’s somehow my fault when stoopid technical stuff happens, and that if Steve were here, it wouldn’t have happened.

Which! Is patently wrong, and I can very vividly remember several times when Technology Struck and Steve was standing Right There.

Given the above, I did not attempt to double-string my mobile, but settled down with my ice tea and a book, and then there was the non-thunderstorm, and from there it just all spiraled into an unhappy evening.

Hoping for better today.

I’m about 230 pages into Alliance of Equals, which I recall many people complaining about. So far, I’m finding it much better written than Dragon in Exile, which surprises me, and not at all off-putting. Of course, I don’t mind books that jump around, so long as the author makes clear where we are, and so far the author has done so. Well. Maybe it all falls apart at the end. We’ll see.

And all that said? I’d best get breakfast and start the day.

What’s the weather where you are?

And, for those who are still with me — here’s the rest of the story:

Got a cobra snake for a necktie

Tuesday. Raining.

The trash ought to be migrated to the curb, but…maybe not. I’ll see how I feel about getting wet after breakfast and a second cup of tea.

In the meantime, I had intended to do Errands today, but have taken the Executive Decision to Do That Tomorrow, ref “rain” above.

So! Amended schedule: oatmeal and blueberries for breakfast. More tea! A couple hours with the WIP, lunch, chores, craft club.

Nothing the matter with that day, is there?

This morning, FB served up a guy who comes up pretty often in my feed lately, who has taken it on himself to “mansplain” women to men, taking the distaff side, and not doing too bad a job of it. This morning’s episode started with a joke, an “overhead conversation” between two women. The first says to her friend, “I don’t understand why you’re single! You’re smart, and funny, you’ve got a good job — what are men thinking?” And the friend says, “Well. I’m overqualified.”

pause for laughter

Social media keeps telling me that there are a lot of hurtin’ guys out there, and I am once again grateful, because the men in my life were largely supportive of me; taught me things (my father taught me how to change a tire; my grandfather taught me how to feed ducks; Jack Robinson, despite bearing seeping internal injuries from The War, taught me how to play cards; Danny-who-owned-the-bar (also wounded, but hiding it better) taught me the Japanese words that meant his guard dogs knew I filed under ‘to be guarded’ and not ‘to be guarded AGAINST.’), and celebrated my victories. Women didn’t like me, but that’s another essay.

Steve thought having a smart, creative, tough partner was all to his benefit, and if there were things he knew that I didn’t, well. He didn’t know everything either, now did he? Neither one of us was The Boss, and God She knows I was never “trad woman” material. Each of us was, as we told eluki on one occasion, half a good pilot. She used that in one of the Hellflower books, exemplary writer that she was.

. . . not really sure where I’m going with this. Random Tuesday Rainy Thoughts, I guess.

So! Good morning! How’s everybody doing today?

Today’s blog title brought to you by Lonesome George Thorogood: “Who do you love?”

Episodic Monday

Foggy Monday morning at the Cat Farm:
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I have a rosebud!

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Monday. The fog’s burned off and the morning is sunny and cool.

I’m a little drifty this morning, for some reason. OTOH, yesterday did have its Moments.

Breakfast et — the last two slices from the loaf, toasted, with cheese, and the last of the cherries. A theme. Bread, I can do something about — all the ingredients are measured out and sitting on the countertop, warming to room temperature. I’ll commence in mixing and kneading and whatnot after I sit with my notes and glower at the screen. Cherries will wait on the morrow.

I’m nearly finished writing the scenes I had, ahem, “plotted” and now I need to sketch in some scenes going forward, so I can go forward.

Why is writing a novel like crossing a stream on stepping stones?

Started reading Dragon in Exile last night, which — the beginning is a little rockier than I recall. Of course, I recall that the first scene I wrote was of the traveler arriving at the front door amidst a light summer snowfall, and taking a moment to decide if it would be better to use the palm plate or pull the bell rope.

And! That’s the bell for the third cup of tea, which shall accompany me back to Steve’s office to assist in the Glowering at Screens.

How’s your Monday starting out?
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Did some glaring, did some editing of what I wrote yesterday, added some new words. WIP currently stands at 13,610 words, more or less.

Bread’s in for the first rise, and I? need to find something to eat.
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And Useful Internet Find of the Day: King Arthur — how much does it weigh?

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Does anyone here trade with crows? I seem to have a family in the big pine tree and we might as well get to know each other.

How do I set up a trade station?

What are the drawbacks?
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Yeah, this’ll do

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OK! By request, this is the recipe for the loaf I made today, and by Gumby, Imma make it again, so this is for me as much as it’s for you. Again, I have taken a “Harvest Grain Bread” recipe from King Arthur and adapted it by (1) decreasing by .5 cups the unbleached flour, (2) increasing by .5 cups the wheat flour, and (3) subbing in 1.25 cups of lukewarm milk for .25 cup of dry milk and 1.25 cups of lukewarm water.

If you want the actual recipe, it’s here

BELOW IS WHAT I DID; reflecting the changes discussed above.

2 cups (240 g) (King Arthur) unbleached bread flour
1 cup (113 g) (King Arthur) golden wheat flour (this is what used to be called white whole wheat flour)
1/2 cup (74 g) (King Arthur) Harvest Grain Blend
1.5 teaspoons (9 g) table salt
2.5 tablespoons (28 g) granulated sugar
2 teaspoons instant yeast
1.25 cups (283 g) lukewarm milk (I used skim, cause that’s what I had)
3 tablespoons (43 g) unsalted butter, softened (OR 3 tablespoons (35 g) vegetable oil

Combine all ingredients and knead (via hand, electric mixer or bread machine) until the dough is smooth, elastic, and satiny.

Put dough into a lightly greased bowl, cover bowl with lightly greased plastic wrap, allow the dough to rise for an hour (or let the bread machine complete its cycle). The dough will be puffy, but it will not have doubled. That’s OK.

Transfer dough to a lightly floured surface, shape a loaf, put it in a lightly greased 9×5 loaf pan, cover the pan with lightly greased plastic wrap, and let the bread rise until the top is about an inch from the top of the pan — between 1 and 1.5 hours.

Preheat the oven to 350F

Bake bread for 35 minutes or until an internal thermometer registers 190F. Take the bread out of the oven, and out of the pan to cool on a rack.

Try not to slice it before it’s cool.

Store leftover bread (yes, there is such a thing), well-wrapped, at room temperature for three days. Freeze for longer storage.

NOTE: The foregoing is canon, but honestly, after the loaf’s cool, I put it in a plastic bag and tuck it in the fridge. If I know I’m gonna be slow on bread use, I sometimes cut the loaf in half, put half in the fridge and half in the freezer.

Sunday, with thunderstorms

So, this rolled in this morning:

Great thunderstorm.

Yesterday, Wunderground had told me to look for “violent” thunderstorms today, but this morning Google wimped out with “rain showers.” I pick my teeth at you, Google.

I am reminded to be So. Very. Thankful. that we managed to afford to put new windows in my office, and that I followed through with the new sliders in Steve’s office. The rain is much nicer when it stays where it belongs and/or when I can open an oblique side window and sit in the comfy chair and have the Rain Experience, and taste the ozone on the wind.

The rain’s slowing down, now, which I guess is just as well. I need to go do my duty to the cats and then find something for lunch.

1,255ish new words today, for those keeping track at home, bringing the WIP entire to five-ish words short of 13,000.
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So that was a little less fun. I noticed a puddle on the kitchen floor in front of the oven, figured I’d spilled something and in the process of reaching for a paper towel, saw a big puddle on top of the (happily glass-topped) stove. Seems the rain came in through the vent. That’s special.
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So the big farmhouse up the street from me apparently has an offer on it, asking price in the neighborhood of $525,000. Because I’m incurably nosey, I took the photo tour on Zillow. It’s in pretty good shape, but, as I said, big, also old; and big, old houses are hard to heat. Sits on about 2.5 acres, 5 bedrooms, 3 baths, gorgeous library with built in shelves and a fireplace, swoopy driveway that must cost a fortune to keep plowed. Possibly — I’m not as up on neighborhood history as I might ought to be, but as the house bears A Name — it was the farmhouse that had been in place before the land was sold for a development, and here I am, and all our neighbors.

On t’other side of me, down a few doors, another single-level house, though not so Interestingly Configured as, and on a slightly larger lot than, the Cat Farm, about 10 years older, newly fixed up by the people who only bought it a couple years ago. Asking price just about twice what we paid for this house, 8 years ago. I hear it’s a seller’s market. That’s news, I guess.

I’m wondering if Amazon warehouse soon to be built very nearby is going to bring housing prices up or down. When the mall went at Owings Mills, house prices skyrocketed, because all the folks who came down from New York with Macy’s saw bargains, and bought two — one to live in and one to rent, pricing the locals (which Steve and I were at the time) outta the market.

Well. That was interesting. Time to change the second cat fountain, and then make some rice to have on-hand. I’m bumping bread-baking to tomorrow.

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So, I finished reading/listening to Necessity’s Child last night. I very much like Necessity’s Child, though finding out that the one thing I thought was Absolutely Rock Solid going in — wasn’t. That said — wow is that a tight book.

I don’t remember much about writing it — except the ending which fought me because, as above, I was insisting on the wrong ending. I do remember that Toni wanted me to give her a … proposal thingy, which I did to the best of my (very) poor ability, and then, as she and I were discussing what I had proposed in email, I Thought of Something that I had overlooked, which altered the direction of the story, and thus the proposal, threw that into the discussion and said, “And, see? Already it’s changing.”

Toni threw up her hands at that point, I think. And, yeah, the story does bear some small relationship to that proposal: The Bedel and the steam tunnels. And I think the school.

Speaking of proposals — trying to get lesson plans into shape for my class in the fall, I am once again confronted with the inherent dishonestly of classes that promise to “teach” worldbuilding or voice or characterization or any other fiddly little bit of craft. The bald truth is that you can’t just teach one piece of writing a story; you’ve got to teach it all, just like you have to write it all. Characters live somewhere — that’s worldbuilding — characters are doing something, hopefully for a reason — that’s plot. Yes, breaking the Fourth Wall is a Bad Thing. Only? Every single first person story written since the Dawn of Forever breaks the Fourth Wall at the very first “I” — because who is that character talking to, exactly? Herself?

Well. It’ll be interesting.

Time to say g’night, folks.

I’ll see you tomorrow.

Marchin’ Monday

What went before: So, Sunday afternoon. I’m a bit late getting lunch, which I guess will be hummus and crackers, because — easy, and late.

The WIP now stands at +/-8,230 words, which might make some arithmatically gifted persons to suppose that I had written 2,500 words today. While I grant the appearance, the fact is that I only edited two pieces of Steve’s work to fit them into the frame I’m building. Still, progress is progress, and it’s looking like — ow!

Sigh.

Tali likes to sit under the lip of my stand up desk and nip my elbow occasionally, to keep me on my toes. I think that one was a little harder than she had intended.

Continuing — progress is, indeed, progress, and — fingers crossed — it’s looking like the WIP will be breaking 10,000 words this week, by hook or by crook.

So! Lunch, then correspondence, including filling out my “paperwork” for Wednesday’s doctor’s visit.

No, the fun never does stop. Why do you ask?

Monday. Raining like a raining fool when I got up, now sullen and damp.

Wrote a couple hundred new words, to kick an existing scene into a shape that will align with the next scene upcoming. Outlined the next two scenes so I can hit the keyboard typing on Thursday, which will be my next writing day.

Out to bookclub in 90 minutes or so, then back home to bookkeeping and getting the trash and recycling into the garage so it can acclimate itself before it’s moved to the curb tomorrow morning.

. . .brief pause while I go outside to Speak Sternly to the groundhog, who is as big as a baby black bear, stoopid rodent.

I finished reading (listening to) Ghost Ship yesterday and am into Dragon Ship. I hadn’t recalled that Joyita appeared so quickly, and I’m reminded again about Cresthaller, which I really ought to rectify. In my spare time.

The listening to the books is working out amazingly well. Lately, my vision is too blurry by the end of the day, when I typically read for pleasure, to even focus on an ebook (I had to give up paper books a couple years ago, because I couldn’t focus on the page), and — bonus! I can “read” and do something else, or just sit resting my eyes. I suppose I ought to try listening to a new-to-me book at some point, to see if that exercise is as pleasant, else I’m going to have to find another way to read. Always exciting, life.

So! How’s the beginning of the week looking from your side of the world?

Here’s how Firefly’s Monday is going so far:

The rain in Maine

Friday. Raining and … sticky. House has been picked up in anticipation of Sarah’s arrival in about an hour. The peonies may have to do without me this year. Ah, well.

Today is My Day 666 of playing Finch. Make of that what you — and the rain has just decided to become a downpour. I do like windows that don’t leak — will. Yes.

I started listening to Ghost Ship last night — yeah, publication order is down the tubes, I’m afraid. I hadn’t recalled how fleeting and yet deeply unsettling Theo’s introduction to Clan Korval had been, not to mention her last interview with her father. I was also amused to note Val Con calling his father on his baloney.

Also, the universe seems to be conspiring to deny Theo any simple small joy (Maiko’s paperwork approach to the achievement of first class, as an instance. “She can requisition her jacket, just like ANY first class pilot.” I think Steve hit the mark fairly there regarding corporate soullessness. Steve being a person who very much believed in celebrating any and very nearly every small achievement. In another life, he’d have been an Aeslin mouse.)

Ah. I’m also reminded that Ghost Ship is where we saw the split between those readers who had found us during the days when we were publishing Fledgling, then Saltation, a chapter a week to the web, and those who had been with us since Agent of Change.

The “Theo” people were baffled, and somewhat offended, by this “new guy” — Theo’s brother — in whom they were interested not at all, and who seemed to them to be introduced by the whim — and not a good whim — of the authors. Perspective? Is everything.

What else? Breakfast was homemade bread with cream cheese and the last of the grapes.

Which reminds me that I have in the last two days lost two packages of sliced cheese to mold — one pack unopened, the other opened, but sealed. I can’t afford to be losing food to mold, and I hope this isn’t because the fridge is thinking about getting done. Because a new fridge absolutely isn’t in the budget. Thermometers have been deployed throughout the interior and the cold setting adjusted to 34F, which is the lowest I’m allowed.

Given the rain and all like that, it appears that today is a writing day, so I’ll be hitting the office as soon as I finish up here.

I did drop a note in the medical portal yesterday, because my once-appallingly-low blood pressure has been running officially high for a couple months now. On the one hand, given It All, high blood pressure shouldn’t be surprising. On the other hand — advertancy. I’m promised an appointment by the medical assistant, and given an instruction to go to ER if Symptoms arrive. Argh. Also, fast work, really on behalf of the medtech.

So! How are you doing at the end of the second week in June?

Cat census at this link

They call us irresponsible; write us off the page

Wal*Mart plays an … interesting mix of music. Yesterday, I was able to sing along with at least one song as I shopped.

So, last night, I did finish up my puzzle:

Thursday, dim and damp. Went to bed on time last night after finishing Saltation, but opened the window and just listened to the thunderstorms. More storms called for the day.

As a result of the above, I slept in and am only now getting myself together to eat breakfast, which I do believe will be cottage cheese and grapes. First cup of tea is brewing. After breakfast? Jethri! And maybe after lunch, too, because, as mentioned elsewhere, it’s no sense going to view peonies in the rain. Though that does solve my on-going problem of having to stay out of the sun.

What’s on your to-do list today?

Proof of life:

Today’s blog post title brought to you by Jefferson Starship, “We Built this City” 1985. <fe>Before music got political</fe>.