life after the apocalypse – Page 2

The eyes of Texas are upon you, til Gabriel blows his horn

Wednesday. Cloudy and warm, though not expected to be as warm as yesterday.

Breakfast was cream cheese on rice crackers with the last of the cherries. I’ll stop briefly at the grocery store for more fruit after I see the chiropractor. Lunch will be quiche and salad.

For those who want to see the pieces I made yesterday — waiting is. Glass needs time to cool after it’s been worked in flame, and the way you cool it is to put it into an annealing oven, which has an internal temp of 1100F/593C, and is then sssslllllooooooowwwwly brought down until the glass can safely come out into the shared atmosphere. If you just leave hot glass sitting out, the various bits will cool unevenly and nine times out of ten, your piece will break.

So! I will be picking my puffin and my marble up on Thursday afternoon, after Ashley has been and done, and I will share images at that time.

I finished listening to The Masqueraders last night. It has long been one of my favorite books — I am, with all the world, at the old gentleman’s feet. I want to say that it was a privilege to hear him scold his son and his servant for meddling in! HIS! plans! I fear I laughed so loud, I scared the cats.

Today, I have a couple of phone calls to make and the aforesaid visit to the chiropractor. After lunch, I plan on doing some writing, as one does.

I think that’s all I’ve got — oh. No, it isn’t. No, we could not have just left Vyr out. He was not — why do people say this? — there to “pad out” the book, but, indeed illustrated several important points, tied some threads, and moved the story along.

Here’s a Writing Exercise for those who don’t believe me: Retype the book, but leave Vyr’s line out. Read the amended book and note the waving ends of plot threads that the inclusion of Vyr tied off.

And that really is all I’ve got — oh. the lawn guy’s here.

Have some roses — and! Who has plans today?

Today’s blog post title brought to you by Elvis Presley, “The Yellow Rose of Texas.”

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:

The untranslated stars

We have traversed the Longest Day and emerged from the Shortest Night.

Winter is coming.

What came before: All righty, then. Coming up on Coon Cat Happy Hour and I will be joining them this evening.

Following is Facebook housekeeping; not applicable to those reading on other platforms.

Thanks to everyone who has explained to me that Boosting = I pay money to FB. That will not be happening. As to FB giving me money, I don’t recall ever handing over anything like a Paypal link or a bank account number to Corporate, so that’s unlikely to happen, as well.

What I believe I will do is crosspost to groups for a week, and then call a vote. Someone made the very valid point that there are people who only want the Official News, and someone else made the equally valid point that it’s easy enough to skip the personal crossposts. Since I don’t want the Official News people to skip over the stuff they want because I’ve taught them my posts are Mere Nattering, the try-it-and-evaluate system seems reasonable.

ENDS Facebook housekeeping

Writing has happened. Yet Another Chapter-by-Chapter has been put together; some old words have been polished and rearranged. I’m really looking forward to getting to a place where new! words! can happen, but we ain’t there yet.

And that’s all there is from the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

Saturday. Sunny and heading for +/-80F/27C. The curtains are selectively open in my office, and the heat pump is already at work.

Slept in, because by the time I went to bed last night, I was exhausted. Chapter-by-Chapter is a Very Useful Tool, but it does take a toll on the brain.

Breakfast was oatmeal and tea. Pork chop and baked beans on-deck for lunch.

We here in Central Maine tremble before an Extreme Heat Watch, said Extreme Heat projected for Tuesday, when heat indexes are expected to approach 105F/40C. The weatherbeans are fair dancing in their excitement. They do so love their Wild Weather.

In news unrelated to anything at all, Perry Wink and his bunny sidekick are visiting Vancouver, where it’s presently drizzling and 52F/11C. Perry is planning to attend the Teddy Bear Picnic in St. Andrews Park this afternoon. If you see him, say hi.

I’m currently reading two books. The first is a fascinating research paper recommended by Alex Picard — Everyone Here Spoke Sign Language, by Nora Ellen Groce, a study of hereditary deafness on Martha’s Vineyard. The second book is The Masqueraders by Georgette Heyer, which I’m having read to me by Eleanor Yates.

In viewing news, I watched the first episode of the second season of Ncuti Gatwa’s Dr. Who a couple days ago. P’rhaps I’ll make space to watch the second this weekend. I must say that Mr. Davies spares no one his scorn in the matter of villains. I’m still trying to settle in my own mind if that’s a bug or a feature.

I spent a little bit of time staring at Cap’n Fish’s website yesterday, but the moving parts defeated me, which means I’ll be shelving that for the present, and will therefore have a treat to look forward to in future.

And that? Is all I’ve got. Today is also a writing day, so I’d better get to it.

What’s everybody doing today?

Today’s blog post title courtesy of e e cummings, “Summer Silence.”

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.

Second Sunday

A rare evening post.

What went before: So, chicken nugget stirfry was good. Recipe: What’s left in the frozen bag of stirfry veggies, extra onion, chopped leftover French fries; chopped leftover chicken nuggets; Hoison-and-soy-sauce diluted slightly with water to steam everything in; then, after it’s all melted, stir it around until it looks done.

Knocking off early so I can do frivolous things like — the dishes — and hopefully go to bed a little early against an early rising.

650 new words added to the Work in Progress today, bringing the total to +/-41,440.

I had to Get Stern with Tali, but she has been brushed, so I’m calling it a win. The last I saw, she was trying to get Firefly to help her fill out an Unfair Use of Grooming Tools complaint with the committeecat. Firefly didn’t seem particularly interested in finding a pencil.

As previously advertised, tomorrow is a day off, and very probably electron-lite. We’ll talk on Tuesday.

In the meantime, everybody stay safe.

E equals mc squared

Sunday. Sunny, breezy, warm in the sunshine.

Woke up at 7, just in time for Firefly, Trooper, and Rook to pile into bed with me, so we had a snuggle session until Tali jumped down from on top of the bookshelf by the bed, and everybody departed for the important business of having a snack.

Breakfast was the last half of the unfrozen blueberry muffins, cheese. Lunch will likely be chicken nugget stirfry.

I drank a mug of tea on the deck. This relaxation thing is hard to get a handle on, but — onward.

Today, I need to make up a bag for tomorrow’s boating excursion. I need a hat, sunscreen, rain jacket, sweatshirt? (yeah, probably; weather on the water is tricky), drinking water, snacks. I think that’s it. Pocket stuff will of course be in my pockets. Oh. I should pack a lunch to have before the boat leaves.

Other than that, the to-do includes one’s duty to the cats, a walk, and writing.

It occurs to me that I am just now recovering from my Mad Adventuring in the south and west, which is . . . information. Ten days away; fourteen days to recover.

Balticon, of course, was a huge outpouring of energy, even though I did the bare minimum expected of a GOH. I didn’t go to any parties, or even any panels that I wasn’t on, not out of disrespect or disdain, but because I wanted to credibly dispatch those duties I did have.

Corning, though delightful and stimulating . . . was probably not relaxing. And the incessant rains did nothing to make the drive, which ordinarily would have been at least familiar, restful.

NOTE: This does not mean I had a Terrible Time; I had a good time; there’s a certain energy that’s only gotten by rubbing minds with other people in person. Even Dedicated Old /C/u/r/m/u/d/g/e/o/n/s Introverts know this.

So, that.

How’s everybody doing today?