everybody talks about the weather

Damp Friday Thoughts

Friday. Rainy and chill. Sarah will be here in a few minutes to do her magic.

Rook wandered around this morning, calling for Tali to come chase springs with him. The Tali-come-play call is pretty distinctive, which is how I’m able to discern his intention. He was willing to chase springs without backup, so there is that.

I’m lately reading all kinds of things about how the information about Who We Are that’s given us by our parents/caregivers/peers as children stay with us all our lives. There are so many agreements to these posts and articles that I’m starting to wonder where are the popular children who excluded and taunted us now?

That aside. . . it comes to me that one can accept other roles, once one is free from the father who explained very patiently how very lazy you are, or the mother who tried to “beat sense” into you, and, yes, the other children who thought you were weird — and they probably weren’t wrong, given the rest of it.

I, for instance, lucked into friends who valued “weird thinking” as “creative.” Since several were themselves highly creative individuals, I had to believe that they knew what they were looking at. So, I began to take my own stories, and my attempts at writing them down, not as a waste of time, but something that had some value. Since being “weird” seemed to be attached to my art, I slowly began to try to work with my brain — an exercise that continues to this day. While we still do distrust each other, we’re no longer constantly at odds, though I’m aware that being weird when you’re old is a risky business all its own.

Back to the supposition that the lessons of childhood never leave us — even though I was learning to embrace my art, and had produced a professional persona that got me through the day job, I was staggering under the weight of the old lessons when I met Steve Miller.

I’d never met anybody like Steve Miller before. I may have said this a time or two. Steve had . . . let us say that Steve had a Powerful Vision of himself. He paid for this in other ways, but his Best Self was strong, resilient, affectionate, protective, intelligent, and creative. He projected that image — believed in that self — so strongly, other people were swept up into it, believing and supporting it.

Certainly, I was.

Steve treated me as if I were brilliant, creative, beautiful, and strong. And I believed him. It wasn’t just paint and wallpaper; I did believe him, and I began to behave as if I truly was brilliant, creative, beautiful, and strong. I was Steve Miller’s partner; I could conquer worlds.

. . . which we did, together.

This is not to say that I don’t occasionally yell at myself for being lazy, nor that I don’t occasionally feel, truly, worthless. But neither did I boomerang back to the All the Old Lessons when Steve left.

So.

My wandering thoughts for a rainy Friday morning.

What thoughts occupy you this morning?

So, I’m walking in the rain, thumbing for a ride

Tuesday. Rainy and cold and grey and cold and did I say? Rainy. And cold. I b’lieve I may be in for the day.

Wrote 1,000ish new words this morning, brining the WIP to 64,205.

This afternoon, I have — *sigh* — phone calls to make, but before that I need to make lunch. I bought a surplus on-sale rotisserie chicken at the grocery yesterday, so some of that will be going into today’s stirfry. Then, I’ll be about freezing some of it, maybe making chicken salad, and — who knows? chicken soup. I’ll need to poke around and see what I have in the way of Stuff that Makes Soup Interesting.

I finished reading Serpent’s Reach last night, which — not a book to be finishing right before bed. Next up is a CS Harris Civil War novel — Good Time Coming.

The cats . . . the cats are sleeping a lot, though they are, after all, cats. They’re both pretty much sticking with me. Firefly’s trying to pick up Tali’s lap shifts, which, for anyone but a Truly Dedicated lapcat, is ambitious, and for somebody who was a sitter-with — it’s got to be a challenge. I appreciate the effort she’s making.

Firefly also is seeming to think that she “hears Tali” — I’m saying this because, when Tali was still with us, Firefly would come to sit with me in the evening while I was reading. Tali would be getting her last wee dram of cat food before coming into my lap. During that time, Firefly would wake up from a sound sleep, disturbed by the crunching, so one assumes, and do a series of Discover Moves, including ears pricked forward and the slow-get-up, and the deep concentration before she’d realize that, yeah, a tiny mouthful was probably a good idea, and go join Tali at the food bowls. It’s a distinctive bit of body language, and she’s still doing that — waking like she hears Tali eating.

Rook. . .I can’t tell if Rook is more pragmatic, or if his grief is subsumed in all those naps during the times that he and Tali would be playing.

And me — I have many beloved feline ghosts. I still occasionally think I see Archie out of the corner of my eye, thirty years gone that he is.

Well.

What’s doing at your house today?

Today’s blog post title brought to you by Mr. Elvis Presley, “Kentucky Rain.” Yes, my mind is a scary, scary place.

Autumnal Sunday

Firefly and Rook say, “Good morning! Let’s have a nap.”

Sunday. Grey so far and chilly. I am happily wearing Steve’s big red lumberjack-checked Carhartt shirt over my jeans, and! alpaca socks. I’ll get tired of this by February, but right now, I’m feeling Very Cozy. This morning’s tea is Russian Caravan, a favorite.

I may have figured out Salem, and I thank Susan Schwartz for her mention of the Hawthorne Hotel.

The Hawthorne has a Museum Package. I need to call them, I think to make sure I’m understanding this, and find check-in times and whatnot, but it looks like I can stay at the Hawthorne, walk down to the Emerson, geek my museum heart out, walk back, have a nice dinner at the Emerson, maybe do a little wandering about pre-or post museum, and hey, presto! Mini-vacay.

Today, you will find me in the comfy chair in my office, pads of paper and pens to hand, for I? will be Plotting.

What will you be doing on this autumnal Sunday morning?

Big Red Shirt:

Sunday morning IRL

Important things first: Proofs of life, with coon cats here

Sunday. Dim and cool enough that I switched station air to “heat.”

I also put another blanket on the bed, ably assisted by the girl cats, who are now resting atop their labors.

Breakfast was a couple slices of last night’s baking and a cup of cottage cheese. I’m thinking lunch will be left-over macaroni dressed with red sauce, served with meatballs, which I’ll be calling “spaghetti,” thank you.

Today–or at least this morning–I will be catching up with all the emails and other business I’ve been ignoring for the last two weeks, and cleaning out my inbox of Stuff, which just keeps accumulating.

I have Notions about my two problems with the current WIP, but they need some time to themselves, hence today’s curriculum of tidying up IRL.

Rook is currently on duty in my office, positioned so that the warm air from the heat pump is flowing down on him.

I think that’s all the news that’s fit to print.

What’s for lunch at your house today?

Rainy Sunday

Sunday, though I’ve somehow gotten a day ahead of myself, and keep sliding into the belief that it’s Monday.

Rainy, chilly, dim, and just not terribly pleasant. It’s a good day to build and occupy a blanket fort, actually. I may see if I can work that in, after lunch.

One thousand eighty new words written this morning, after the cats buckled down and got to work. This brings the WIP to 56,330ish words, total.

I’ve got some banking, accounting, and other thrilling chores to finish here at the desk, but first, I should eat lunch.

Who else is for building a pillow fort?

Lookin’ to the weekend

Friday. We here in Central Maine reside under a Heat Advisory until 8pm. Tomorrow, thunderstorms are forecast and may bring some relief.

Sarah came by this morning and cleaned the house, and there was much rejoicing.

The last couple days, I’ve been sitting with the WIP, sharpening this and that, and doing some research (beta readers will recall the uppercase HERE’S and/or IS THIS RIGHT?), so, only about 900 new words so far, but I intend to go back to it this afternoon, now that All The PT homework, one’s duty the cats, and lunch is accomplished.

I seem to be Unsupervised until Tuesday, which means I not only have a Big Chunk of time to write, but also to read. In Between It All, I’ve barely cracked the bookclub book, and I really need to get to that. I did read it before, but it’s been 10 years or so, and I’m particularly interested in seeing how it holds up. I was riveted the first time I read it.

Speaking of reading, last night I finished reading Diviner’s Bow, which brings me to the end of the Liaden Universe® novels. On the whole? I’m impressed, and while it’s not by any means Perfect, it’s pretty damned good, and I will be proud to say so to anyone.

We did tend to err on the side of thinking people are basically honorable, and we’re attached to the ideas of equality for everyone, as well as this notion that love is neither cheesy, nor a bug, but a Feature that encourages people to rise to, and maintain, their best selves.

Well. What can I say? It’s fiction.

I think that’s all I’ve got. Oh. I need to decide if I’m actually going to go see Hadestown again. I’m inclined, and if I’m going to, I need to buy a ticket, so I’m committed.

And that is all I’ve got.

What’re your plans for the weekend?

From Facebook:

Rookie, August 5 2024

Rookie, August 5 2026

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
#
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: