Tag: health stuff

Team Orca and other whimsies

Monday. Sunny and warm. All windows that open have been opened.

Breakfast was eggs scrambled with the last of the potato salad. Yes, I do this a lot. Yes, I like potatoes far too much. Lunch is in the oven — a small salmon steak, because I can’t remember the last time I actually ate fish, which is not particularly good news, as the cancer docs think that fish three times a week is just about right. Admittedly, my personal best was twice a week for several months, and that was with Steve pushing for all he was worth to make it happen.

I am very much liking this new writing schedule. Sat down at 9, and got up at 11:30 1,280 words the richer, and they’re good, says I, as shouldn’t.

Tomorrow, unfortunately, a break in the schedule, as I have an early visit to the vampires scheduled, something that hasn’t happened in way too long, ref hospital exploding, doctors landing all over the map, having to apply to be a new patient at the practice my PCP landed at, And! all like that.

I was watching a Josh Johnson clip, in which he was talking about the fact that the orcas had attacked another yacht, and the resonate phrase was, “Who expected the orcas would step up?” Which got me to wondering if there was a TEAM ORCA! sweatshirt and how I would go about getting one.

Facebook has also been serving me reels from Quincy’s Tavern, which is an … interesting work perhaps in progress. And it gives me the chance to use the word “ledgerdemain” with non-ironic precision, and with admiration.

Now that lunch is done, I’m on to the business part of the daily schedule: I seem to have a phone call and two letters to write, and! a Sooper Sekrit project to work on. So? I’d best get at it.

How’s Monday going for you lot?

Oh, wait!  Pictures.

Rosebush update!  It’s doing splendidly — new flowers and buds promising more:

And, I had intended to take a selfie, to prove that I was feeling much more the thing, but … Rookie had a better idea.  Admittedly, he is much more glamorous.

In which the writer has had more fun…

What went before: OK, so this is no fun. Apparently, I’m having a reaction to the COVID booster — the very first such reaction.

I am therefore taking the rest of the day off to curl up in a ball of misery under 45 blankets and three coon cats until my head stops hurting.

The good news is that the New Order allowed me to write 1,120ish new words, and the things I’m not getting done are business stuff that will just have to wait.

Hope everybody’s having a good Saturday.

Sunday.  The adventure continues.

As it turns out, I am … weller. The headache, which was the worst, is no longer with me. Fever’s gone. I am chilly, but that just might be because it’s chilly today and I haven’t turned on the oil heat, so we’re running with what the heat pumps and the sun through the window can provide.

OTOH, now I have muscle aches, and was briefly sick enough to my stomach that breakfast was a big cup of ginger and lemon tea with honey. I just went rooting around in the pantry, and it’s looking like that will be Progresso Chicken ‘n Rice Soup for lunch.

I have written +/- 1,000 words, and cleaned the cat boxes. A walk is not on today’s schedule. I do intend to write some more this afternoon, but there are two outstanding pieces of business mail that I have to get outta here, so that will be happening while I’m in the front of the house heating up my can of soup, and taking a break.

How I got 13 hours of sleep: I took a four hour nap, ably assisted by Nurse Rookie Cookie, who gamely declared he was up for four more, if needed. It being 6 pm by the time I arose, half-blind with the stupid headache, I served up Happy Hour a bit early, had a bowl of rice and two Tylenol — and went back to bed, whereupon I slept for nine hours. I did wake up once or twice, and noted the presence of Tali and Firefly.

So, apparently the tropes are not a gag, and author trading cards are serious business — this given the absence of an answer to my latest (no harm, no foul; at this point I’D be giving up on myself. Honestly, who is this out-of-touch old writer, anyway?).

The whole trope idea still makes me queasy and murderous, perhaps not quite in that order, but I believe I have engineered a Work Around. (And this is where we once again and reallyREALLY miss Steve, King of the, “Here, let me not do that for you, ‘k? This works for me; you go ahead and do what you do.” Insert charming smile.)

Into the trope column on the present form will go: honor, wit, true love, space opera. Those’re my tropes and I’m sticking with them.

And, honestly, that’s about as far as I can bend without breaking something, probably my last stick of patience, and it’s more or less what it says on the label: “The Liaden Universe: Where honor, wit, and true love are potent weapons against deceit and trickery.”

I will note that this morning’s writing session in Steve’s office was adorned by Firefly and Rook, with a brief visit from Tali, who doesn’t quiet Get It, yet. I am now in my office, attended by Rook and Tali, Firefly at last look was still snugged down in Sprite’s former aerie overlooking Steve’s desk.

And that’s the mixed bag o’news from the Cat Farm.

How’s Sunday treating everybody?

Friday on the road

Friday. It’s an awfully nice day. Sunny and breezy. Warmer up inland where the Confusion Factory is located, than down Bath, where it was Right Cool at that nice little park of theirs. If I could snap my fingers and move this house as it is to Bath, I’d do that.

 

 

 

 

 

Yeah.

So, I saw my PCP, who’s looking well. I have my COVID shot, so that’s taken care of. I will also be traveling up and down Central and Coastal Maine for the next little bit — acupuncture at Rockport (not really acupuncture, but something to do with needles and reading nerve health and messaging); PT at Augusta; Audiology in this, mine own city. … I’m not sure where the bloodwork’s to be done. I’m hoping Thayer, but I need to check the portal.

We are in pursuit of a Better, Longer Term fix for the back, because it’s getting worse, and the poor chiropractor has worn out at least three hammers on me, to no real avail. He no sooner pronounces me Aligned, poor man, then my back goes out again for no reason, and I collapse to the floor, screaming. I mean, something’s not right when you hurt your back doing Tai Chi.

While in Bath, I went down to the park, obviously, and enjoyed a chocolate peppermint latte at Cafe Cream. It was wonderful, and now I’m sorry I didn’t allow myself a scone or a muffin, but! I found that just sitting in a busy cafe, sipping my latte and not doing much else, was … oddly restorative. I think it helped that everyone was having a reasonably good time; there were no angry voices, or people being nasty to the folks behind the counter, said folks being Genuinely Interested in you and your order (“Ooh, the Yorkie Latte? (this being the official blackboard name of my drink.) You’re gonna love that.” And she wasn’t wrong.)

After I drank my treat, I went across to Now Your Cooking and toured the premises. I bought a couple of gadgets — including a hook that will help me open pull-tab cans, which has become an issue — and a what ought to be a very nice red blend bottle of wine, which I plan on opening this evening, to reward myself for having gotten credibly through the morning.

The car’s GPS did this to me the last time I went to Bath, but I didn’t remember it soon enough to keep it from freaking me out. When you get off the expressway, there is Only One Way to merge with the state route. The GPS Strongly Disagrees with this, and starts screaming ROUTE RECALCULATING! ROUTE RECALCULATING! like a mad thing, and it really gets your heart racing. As I did the time before, I pulled off into the handy shopping center, whereupon the GPS recovered itself and agreed that I had been on the right road. Next time, I’m going to have to Steel Myself to ignore it.

On the way home, I stopped at the Harvest Moon Deli and bought way too much food — Tikka Marsala soup, which was good, and I ate it all; a roast beast of burden (they name their sandwiches after classic rock songs at the Harvest Moon) sandwich, which I ate a quarter of one half, the other 3/4s destined for the evening meal, and the remaining half either for tomorrow’s breakfast or lunch.

I still have paperwork sorting and portal-visiting to do relative to the medical part of the day, so that’s what I’ll be doing for the rest of the afternoon, with an eye toward hitting the writing space tomorrow and getting something useful done.

And how was your morning?

Before departure, Whatcha Doin’ Moms:

Ain’tcha got no rhymes for me?

What went before ONE: Well, that wasn’t what I was going to be doing when I got home.

Splinter Universe got blasted out of the water (no, I don’t know Exactly How; we’ve been having some DoS fun over at my blog, and there may have been residual damage. Or it could’ve gotten targeted just for its own self.). Whatever the cause, I spent the last couple hours trying to put it back the way it was, and finally gave up on that in favor of getting the site online again, and there I may report success.

Splinter Universe is back on line, for those who may have missed it. All the Stuff is there, but it is much simpler in appearance.

Also? Yon writin’ woman is Some Corked Off.

Tomorrow: Early mammogram, just in case I needed another reason to be grumpy.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll check in tomorrow.

What went before TWO: So…I’m sorry; I have to share this or it will haunt me all night. AARP has shared A Tip of foods to limit if you have “prediabetes” (do not get me started on “prediabetes.” Arguably we all have “prediabetes,” it’s kind of like having “predeath.” See? You didn’t have to get me started; I’m self-powered.)

Anyway, this list of things to avoid have swap outs — you know the drill, instead of pasta, have some tasty spaghetti squash. Instead of rice, have some cauliflower. And — here’s the one that will haunt me for the length of my days —

Swap out wine for!

Vodka.

Yes, yes, I’ve gone and scared the cats, and on that note, I’m going to pour a glass of wine, which I have abSOfreakingLUTELY earned this afternoon.

Tuesday. Sunny and chill, but getting warmer fast.

Trash and recycling at the curb. Mammogram accomplished. Breakfast was vanilla Skyr. Drinking my second cup of tea with the last two cranberry-walnut-oatmeal cookies. You know what this means, of course?

Right. I need to bake more cookies.

. . .

Yanno? I think I have chocolate chips.

Another bad night of sleep, with the exception of the two! whole! hours! that Firefly tucked her compact little self into my stomach, and turned her purr box on High. I’ve gotta get me some more of that.

Firefly is currently off-duty, but that does not mean I’m unsupervised. Tali and Rook are both on guard at the right-side window, so I can feel certain They won’t get in That Way.

Needlework this evening. Between now and then, I have to perform my duty to the cats, and then I believe I will address the Cookie Situation.

Y’all have enough cookies?

Today’s blog post title brought to you by Paul Simon, via Harper’s Bazaar (you may blame 60sGold on Sirius XM for this)  “59th Street Bridge Song.”

Photo of the Right Flank Guards at work:

I’ll find out, when I get there

Friday early in the morning: Ducking in real quick to answer the morning’s most frequent questions.

The name of the character is Zigfrid, and she has a problem. What a surprise.

The caricatures of Steve and me hanging on the wall in one of the photos I posted yesterday are by Howard Taylor, creator of Schlock Mercenary. They were done at Denvention, the 66th World Science Fiction Convention, in Denver.

In that same photo, Rookie is not scared or angry. His tail is always like that.

And! Not a question, but an observation. I’ve been listening to Black Cats (soft) Jazz on Youtube, and like it very much. The cats don’t seem to like jazz, but I’m hoping it’ll grow on them, acknowledging that jazz is, like a Certain Professor, an Acquired Taste. Steve, for instance, loved him some blues, gypsy jazz, and fusion, most of which does not work for me.

All that said — onward! I’ll check back in, post-flu-shot.

Friday, post-flu-shot: Well. That was . . . an adventure.

An adventure, yes.

So, while I was getting my flu shot, I asked the nice young pharmacist when I could get reboosted on the COVID vaccine, the last booster I had being March. He kind of looked at the ceiling and said, kind of apologetic, “Well, see, the CDC isn’t making recommendations any more.” “Yes,” I said, “but aside that.” Weeeelllll, aside that, they don’t have, that is, they just can’t give, or well, actually — I need a prescription from my doctor stating that it is “medically necessary. “Otherwise,” said the pharmacist, “I’d give you one today. It’s been six months. I’m sorry; it’s really inconvenient.”

Well, no. I mean, yes, it is inconvenient, but they’re going to kill people. Already have killed people. And are So. Very. Proud. of Themselves.

I HATE this timeline.

I did some grocery shopping after getting my shot, and STILL there was no candied ginger on the shelf, so after I finished my business with Uncle Hannaford, I went down to Uncle Dean’s, and had my choice of several bags on the shelf. Which is why we need a natural market in town.

I’m home now, and everything put away. Next up is sitting down with some ice on my back and reading a chapter of my book, then! Lunch, and then?

To work.

Today’s blog post title from Tom Petty, “Learning to Fly.”

Cat pics and embroidery project The Next:

Destination, Bangor Maine

What went before: Sat with the WIP for a bit, added some words. Dissatisfied with the name of a new character, which isn’t the name they gave me — which is to say, they gave no name — but I felt like I had to call them something. So! I may be wrong about that. I’ll look again tomorrow, and if I’m still unhappy and they haven’t forked over, I’ll just do without for now.

Vividly I remember the pitched battle I fought with Rool Tiazan’s lady, me demanding a name; she informing me that hell would freeze over and Satan down with pneumonia before that would happen. I threatened to call her Bubbles. She laughed. And? She won. Tough cookie, Rool Tiazan’s lady. I don’t think this one is of that caliber — because, let’s face it, who is? Certainly not me — so it may be that I’ll be worthy of knowing their name after we’ve worked together for a couple chapters.

Scheduled a flu shot for Friday. They had openings for Thursday, but I draw the line at getting a vaccine on my birthday.

Need to do a couple more things before I go off to ply my needle.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

Wednesday. Foggy and chill. I had to ask the heat pump in my office to provide heat to take the nip off.

Slept for almost 9 hours again. This seems to be an Emerging Theme — short sleep for however long it takes me to get so tired I’m staggering, then 9 hours of sleep, lather-rinse-repeat. I’m not a fan, but at this point I guess I’ll take what I can get.

The cat bowls have been refreshed, and the cats have each graciously taken a small mouthful, to indicate that they have noted and approve of this attention to their comfort.

Breakfast was a peach with a side of cottage cheese, and now I’m having a cookie for dessert, because what’s the point of making cookies if you don’t eat them? Lunch is a puzzler, but we’ll get there.

The big news in the world of writers and AI, which SFWA tried to get my attention for a couple days ago, but it took a friend writing to me to get me to look at my part of the thing again. . .

The Big News, I say, is that the Anthropic class action suit has moved to Another Level. The motion on the table includes up to a $3000 payment for each work scraped and used to “teach” the AI engines, and a guarantee to wipe their databases.

Though I fully expect this to be whittled down by lawyers to “arrogant non-apology and we’ll only use our databases for good as defined by our stockholders,” it does mean that I now have to become a specific member of the class — which means filing the titles of the scraped works that belong to me, via a webform, with the Attorneys on the side of Writers.

For fun, I went through the Atlantic Database of Stolen Properties (this is not its official name; just a little pet name I’ve given it) last night and! There are about 200 titles for Sharon Lee, and Sharon Lee and Steve Miller. Some of them are not us — not many. Some are duplicates — surprisingly few — though perhaps a few more, since so much of our stuff has been reissued in multiple editions.

The lawyers’ webform. Have I mentioned that it is very Slow?

Yeah. I wrote to the firm, asking if perhaps, given the sheer number of titles involved, I might be allowed to submit One Long List with all titles, ISBNs, publication date(s), and whatnot. Otherwise, it’s going to take, conservatively, 50 years to enter, and even with two of us on-board and able, it would have been a lot.

In other news, I have a load of laundry drying. I need to get the clean dishes out of the dishwasher, and do my duty to the cats, but aside that, and ignoring the To-Do List, what I really want to do is write, so I’m thinking I’ll be doing — wow. Every fire engine, battlewagon, and ambulance in town has just gone charging past the house. That’s exciting. . .

And now? It’s quiet. . . .too quiet.

Well.

What are you ignoring on the to-do list today?

Today’s blog title brought to you by Mr. Roger Miller, “King of the Road.”

Cat Census:

There is moonlight and moss in the trees

What went before: Well, the day didn’t go exactly as I had planned. In addition to the chores on the list (The List), I needed to fix the toilet, which I did, go me. Then I sat down to drink my hot chocolate, and Rookie jumped in my lap just as I had put my mug aside and was getting up, and put me to sleep for 45 minutes — Trooper really worked with this kid — and then the Sleep Clinic, where I have a Stoopidly Early appointment tomorrow called to let me know that I have to bring in the whole machine tomorrow, not just the SD card (because their card reader’s broken, she said. I don’t ask questions, any more), and then I remembered that I wanted to buy a more reasonable thing to keep my earrings in, so I went over to Esty and bought myself a birthday present, and … Oh! Atlas Vet, where I attended the Open House on Saturday, called to tell me I had won a prize in the drawing! Ten percent off my first visit, if that happens within a year. So, yay, I won a prize.

I did write 996 words, not the scene I thought I was going to write, and had notes for and everything, and I’d complain, but it’s a good scene, so I may just call this The Book of Good Scenes, said book now weighing in at 70,600ish words.

Tomorrow, as mentioned, Stoopidly Early Appointment, after which I’m going to try to have breakfast at Governor’s, because I haven’t eaten out in … a while now, and we mustn’t lose the Social Graces. Tomorrow evening is needlework and in-between is chores.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll check in tomorrow as can.

Tuesday. Sunny and crisp. Cool enough when I left the house that I wore my new jacket. Didn’t need it by the time I left Governors.

Trash and recycling at the curb.

Met a nurse in the elevator up to the sleep center, who informed me that this was a “Groot Day” which — good to know.

Turns out it’s not just the card readers that are down at MEGen, but the whole computer network, system-wide. So my NP was taking notes and writing down stats on a 3×3 yellow pad of sticky notes. I said that they ought to get her a reasonable notebook if she was busted back to pen and paper. They were pathetically pleased that I have the myAir ap, and could show them my stats on my phone (which! triggered a memory of when Steve and I first arrived in Maine and were looking for an apartment; having to go to the bank and change a twenty for quarters, then find a pay phone outside of the Kmart in Waterville, and work our way through the classifieds in the Sentinel. The past isn’t only a different country; it’s a different planet.)

The happy news is that my numbers were so good that I’m cleared to drive for three years. So that’s actually a relief, though I still have to visit the sleep folks annually, to prove that I’m maintaining.

Went to Governor’s, had an unhealthy breakfast of sausage gravy on biscuits, scrambled eggs, and homefries, because if you’re going to go the low road, you might as well go all the way.

Stopped at the post office on my way home, which I haven’t done in a while, then at Uncle Deans to buy some lavender, because I had none.

Home now, having been greeted by three out of a possible three coon cats, all of whom wanted to know where their gravy was; and now I need to get with my correspondence.

Not sure how much writing I’ll get done today, since it’s a short day. Here’s a SNIPPET from yesterday:

“Come here often?”

“As often as my lady allows.”

She sighed mournfully, shaking her head. “Married, is it? That’s too bad.”

“Now, I find it very agreeable.”

“Yeah? What’s she like, your lady?”

He smiled gently. “She is bold and brilliant; strong and subtle. I reverence and stand in awe of her – even when she is casting for compliments.”
#
How’s Tuesday looking in your piece of the world?

Today’s blog post title courtesy of The Eagles, “Seven Bridges Road.”

Off-kiltering

What went before: So, today has been a mismash of working and laying around. I did get some WIP-reading done, and a lot more of lying in bed by turns listening to The Goblin Emperor (which I know so well I’m not stressed about missing things) and dozing. Back is still tender, but not so much as even this morning, so, yanno — progress progresses.

I’m hoping to be done with the worst of this particular brand of nonsense by tomorrow. fingers crossed

The cats are liking the lying in bed part of the day’s structure. I fear they’re going to be disappointed when the schedule returns to what I like to call normal.

I may try to get one more shift of WIP-reading in this evening. Or I may just watch the last three episodes of WandaVision.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll check in tomorrow.

Saturday. Cool-for-now and sunny. Windows in my office are open.

Woke up early and ill, but hey! At least my back doesn’t hurt. Currently sipping ginger ale. Trooper has had his morning gravy-with-meds.

I did watch the last three episodes of WandaVision last night. Pulling the witch out the hat was . . . facile, and honestly, I’m not inclined to follow Agnes any further down her road.

I’m actually amazed that Marvel tried to undertake a story about life-changing grief, and that they managed as well as they did. Even unto that very difficult — and correct — ending. And Wanda’s love for Vision did not allow her to remember/recreate him wrongly.

One of the things that we as writers do over and over is to use death as a plot device — the motivating force that triggers the Real Story. And while it’s true that the Lost Girl, the Dead Spouse, the Slaughtered Village releases a lot of energy, surely there are other means available?

Going back to Wanda — I’m interested in the smart girl with the bright red lipstick — Darcy? — who seems to be a continuing character. Does anyone know where I might find more of her?

And on that note — woman does not take her meds on ginger ale alone, so I’d better see what I can cobble together and call breakfast.

I expect it will be another Off-Kilter Day here.

What’s the day looking like there?

Rosebush proof of life:

Friday Office Still Closed

Friday: Office still closed today, for values of “closed” that include trying to find a way to read the WIP that doesn’t screw up my back again. I would hate to have to replace the comfy chair in my office, but that’s for later consideration.

I slept last night, and into the morning, ably assisted by rolling shifts of coon cats. Trooper and Tali are apparently the designated Morning Wake-Up team, and I variously had Rook and Firefly monitoring my morpheus ranges on the overnight.

I feel immensely better than I did at this time yesterday, which is kind of impressive, given my back still hurts. Yes, even after the steroid shot, which they gave me in my arm. The last time I had a steroid shot for back pain, they nailed me in my back. Understand, I’m not complaining, just curious.

I did manage to eat this morning, which was another thing I didn’t do well with yesterday. I have a hard time eating when I’m in “that much” pain. I will say, though? Those six packs of peanut butter crackers? Are lifesavers. I did manage one of those to buffer the naproxen dose last night.

And that’s my news.

What’s yours?