life after the apocalypse – Page 8

DIY

Well. Where are we? Tuesday? I think so. Sunny, damp, and going to be warm. Trash and recycling at the curb.

Wrote about 1,000 words this morning, bringing the WIP to 37,050ish. Yesterday was a bust. I hardly got the computer up before I was engulfed by a meltdown, and the less said about that, the better.

I have a date with a PT this afternoon, and I have to buy nails, and probably a stop at the grocery wouldn’t be a bad idea. Craft club this evening. I missed the last two weeks, so I really don’t want to miss tonight.

Regarding the nails… I noticed the other day that the back door of the garage was sagging open, which was…disquieting. I thought I knew that the back door was held by a latch-and-loop, secured by a manual lock, but, when I went out to look, there was only the latch — loop and lock both gone. (We pause here to wonder if there ever was a lock and loop, and all I’ve got is that I can’t imagine that there wasn’t.)

There is a bolt into the ceiling on the inside of the door, which is not engaged, and I really don’t quite dare stand on the big plastic bin, even after I clear off all the Stuff on top of it, and try to push the bolt home.

There’s a hook-and-eye on the bottom of the door (behind the plastic bin), and that seems to be the only system actually working, but one hook-and-eye can only do so much.

I produced a half-measure, using the only nail I could find (why are there no nails in this house?), but I should probably come up with a better solution, going forward. In addition to nails.

I see that Hadestown (the filmed edition of the London play) is held over at the Maine Film Center (aka Railroad Square, downtown)–three shows a day through August 13. If you haven’t seen it, I can’t urge you strongly enough to remedy that oversight. I’m of two minds about seeing it again. If I do, I’ll be better prepared on the Kleenex front.

I think that catches us up. In light of that date with the Physical Therapist, I need to do my duty to the cats, and find something to eat for lunch.

What’s happening with you today?

Ice Cream Sunday

Sunday, damp and sullen.

Wrote 1300 words this morning, bringing the WIP entirely to 35,865. More or less. My fingers apparently know more about where this is going than I do. Possibly Steve finally figured it out.

I’ve been listening to various of the Liaden books, and more than once (or twice, or a dozen times) I find myself saying things like, “How did I know that? I don’t know that.” I listen to my colleagues talking about writing and they all sound so controlled, making such deliberate storytelling decisions as they progress. While I? I can remember writing this scene or that, but if anyone is actually making calm, reasoned, and adult decisions about the story, it’s not me.

Yesterday, I made it my business to vacuum and do some minor amount of house pickup. I am today of course achy and ill-tempered. Sarah will be arriving on Friday to do a real cleaning, but, between double-scheduling on my part and the family vacation on hers, not to mention those 10 days when things just stayed where I dropped them (Well. Not the cats. Cats hardly ever stay where you drop them.), and, yeah, there was work to be done. You could sculpt a bobcat from the fur the vacuum took up.

Also, in a Personal Best, yesterday, I dropped my phone on my face, and now I have a shiner.

After that, I did some work toward my writing course, in case anybody actually signs up, which — I fear it’s going to be a very strange course. OTOH, it could hardly be otherwise.

I’m remembering something I read a long time ago, about two writers on a panel — one a professional essayist/news writer, the other another sort of professional who has embraced fiction writing as an avocation. The panel is asked questions like, “Do you rewrite?” and “Is writing hard?” and “What do you do if you don’t feel like writing,” and the fiction writer gives all the Breezy Answers: No, he doesn’t rewrite. Writing isn’t hard, it’s a blessing, a release. If he doesn’t want to write one day, well, then, he doesn’t; there’s no forcing the muse, after all.

The essayist is left in the position of saying exactly the opposite: Yes, writing is hard. Rewriting is a necessary part of the craft. When you have an assignment, that means you have a deadline, so you sit down and write, even if you don’t feel like it.

And the thing is? Neither one of them is wrong. And neither of them is right.

Yeah. Strange course coming up.

So! The cats are in Steve’s office, indulging in a Sunday afternoon nap. I’m tidying my desk in anticipation of next week, and waiting for the pot of rice to finish cooking before I go downstairs to do my duty to the cats.

What’s going on in your life that’s both magical and mundane?
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Spent some time this afternoon sorting photos, and came to the dismal conclusion that I’m going to have to dedicate an entire box to cat pictures.

Have also happened upon two discussions of weight and BMI in “Elders,” which suggests that said “Elders” benefit from carrying more weight. If true, I will have gone from, Fine, you’re healthy; was that so hard? to Good GHOD woman, eat some ice cream!

This does not, mind, take into account the stated preference of the Cancer Ladies for thinner, as opposed to thicker, survivors.

On the other hand, one doesn’t need to be told to eat ice cream more than once, and I had a banana that needed to be used, so! Banana split it was.

And on that note — everybody have a good evening. I’ll check in tomorrow.

Friday excursions

So I was slightly confushed. This morning’s tour was of Messalonskee Lake aka Snow Pond. No sand cranes sighted this trip, but lots of loons, some terns, and a few eagles.

Always nice to be on the water. Cap’n Gary was very knowledgeable about the lake, the history, and the famous people who live on the shore. Three hours may have been a tad too long, but I couldn’t say I was bored at any point.

Photos here

I have also been to the library, the car wash, and the gas station. I need to do my duty to the cats, and then I b’lieve I shall try making one of these blueberry smoothie things.

How’s everybody doing today?

Thursday on the move

Woke up early — too early — after a not-very-good night’s sleep. Honestly, it was more like I decided to give up pretending to sleep than anything like “waking up.”

Wrote 1,100ish words bringing the WIP to 34,530. I’m getting very close to the point where we leave Sactizzy behind us, and I’m going to have to sit down and Plot, which likely means the word count will come way down, way fast. Still, it’s kind of nice to have written a full third of a novel in eight weeks — no, wait. Six weeks, taking ten days off by reason of backache.

Speaking of backaches, a kind friend ordered me a heated mattress pad, which was delivered today. Now I’ll be able to keep my back reliably warm when it hurts. And I’m pretty sure it’ll come in handy during the winter, too.

I had a haircut scheduled for the afternoon. Why, you ask? This is why:

While I was out, I donated used batteries to the jar at Holy Cannoli and stopped at the grocery store for milk and grapes.

Here’s the after-haircut picture:

And a picture of the WherethehellyouBEEN Committee, which had convened in my absence. Or because of my absence:

It’s supposed to rain this evening, though not tomorrow, so I’m holding out hope that the nature cruise will come off tomorrow morning without a hitch, and that will be an Official Writer’s Day Off. If the captain has better weather information than I do and the cruise is cancelled, then Saturday will be a Writer’s Day Off and I’ll go to the gem show in Belfast.

The glamor!

For now? I’m going to have an early glass of wine and curl up with a book until it’s time to serve up Happy Hour.

Sleepy Wednesday

Earlier this same day: So, that’s 1,300 new words, for a total of +/-33,630 words.

Breaking now to rustle up something to eat — apparently breakfast was a little lighter than it should’ve been — and then to the sell copy for Kin Right, which I at least found my conceit last night. Also, I need to fill out the paperwork for Friday’s nature cruise, and perform Other Needed Household Chores.

The day is damp and dim and not really very pleasant. Tali and Rook assisted my efforts on behalf of the WIP, while Firefly napped on the cellar stairs. I don’t fit on the cellar stairs, but I gotta tell you, a nap is really tempting.

That’s all I’ve got, I fear.

How’s the weather where you are?
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Sell copy sent on. Heat pump filters removed, vacuumed, and re-installed, release form filled in and directions to the boat reviewed. I did have a brief nap in the bed, and Firefly was gracious enough to leave her step to join me. Duty to the cats accomplished.

Coming up on Coon Cat Happy Hour and so, also, my evening meal. I feel — I really do feel very strongly — that I’ll be hitting the bed early tonight.

Ah. A note from the Captain/Maine Guide who will be conducting Friday’s educational cruise. It may be that rain will require a postponement. Rain date is the following Friday afternoon. Definitive information to arrive tomorrow evening.

Well.

I hope everybody has a good evening. I’ll check in tomorrow.

And we’re gonna sing it anyway

I saw “Hadestown” yesterday afternoon. Highly, highly recommended.

So, one of the last things Steve said to me, as events happened to run this time, was, “I still think you could’ve done ‘way better than me.” Which was an odd thing for him to say, “better” being the slippery slope that it is.

Which brings us back to “Hadestown” — yes, I am still nattering on about a show; this one’s going to take a while to settle in, despite I knew how it was going to end.

Someone said they’d seen a production of Hadestown with a different Hermes, which had changed the entire tone of the show, as it would*.

In this production, from the moment Hermes walked on stage, gentle and frail, greeting his people with hugs, smiles, and a kiss, you knew you were in good hands, and, as much as a god can ever do, he was going to tell you the truth. In fact, he does tell the truth, right up front: It’s an old song. It’s a sad song. And we’re gonna sing it anyway.

And, yanno, it’s not the ending that matters, but the miracles that are made along the way.

Someone else asked me how I’d “born up,” which — nobody used to ask me these things. I held it together until about halfway through “Hold My Own” — “I knew you before we met/And I don’t even know you yet.” Which happens to be an exact description of my meeting with Steve. I’m always happy to see such things affirmed, in real life and in art, and I wish people would believe art more often.** Also? I wouldn’t have changed one line spoken or sung in this play.

All that said — time to find breakfast, and then go to work.

How’s everybody doing today?

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*point in case: I challenge you to listen to “Back in the High Life,” by Steve Winwood, and then by Warren Zevon, or vice-versa, but definitely back to back, for a stern lesson in How The Narrator Makes the story.

**Way back, I used to get letters from people scolding me for perpetuating the myth of love at first sight, a myth which was formed, according to my correspondents, to trap women. And now we apparently have quite a lot of people who wish to reduce love to a capitalist theory, and you have to ask yourself — if it wasn’t true, that love can change the world, even for a little time, why would they be so very afraid?

Monday Update

Proof of Life. Writing this morning, movie this afternoon. Movie is Hadestown.

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So that’s 1,085ish new words for a WIP total of 31,220ish.

Someone asked the other day if Trade Lanes had “ever been written.” I’m writing it now.

Now to do my duty the cats, call for a haircut, catch-up the blogs, and see about a pre-movie snack.
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Came around the corner to find that Rookie has made an art installation.

Catching up Sunday

Sunday.

So I figured I was hale enough to do the shopping, which I was. I bought two different kinds of protein shake (so I can perform a taste-test), along with other needed supplies, along with Sanpelligrino Lime, and so-called ginger ale. Didn’t ginger ale used to Actually Have ginger in it, rather than “ginger flavoring”?

Though I was fit enough to get the shopping done, I am now, I suppose predictably, exhausted. Had some pudding after I got everything put away, and listened to a couple chapters of Salvage Right, which — writing a character with PTSD isn’t easy, but I think we did a credible job. Also? I do so love Seignur Veeoni.

In a couple, I’ll start the oven to heat lunch, and then I think I’ll concentrate on bookkeeping and mundane desk work, and correspondence.

The cats think I should take a nap, and they may be right, but, if that’s found to be the case, it will be after lunch, not instead of lunch.

How’s everybody doing?

# # # #

I see I forgot to update yesterday. Herewith, the cold news from Saturday:

A break for PT homework and to throw a load of towels into the washer.

This morning, I have been in the comfy chair in my office, Sitting With The Big Ideas. I have Notes. I have an inclination toward More Notes, so I’ll head back to the comfy chair after I finish this note and collect a cookie as my reward for doing my homework.

I’m working with notes that go back to 2022, at least, trying to identify recurring themes. I wish to honor Steve’s vision for what were his character and story, far more than it was mine. Which isn’t as easy as it sounds.

I had early cat assistance, but just before I broke for homework, Tali and Rook decided that I was well in hand, and took themselves off to Steve’s office to recharge. I know they’re recharging because they’re curled up in the plentiful sunspots.

On the health front, I have this morning decided not to take naproxen, which is really not something you want to be taking all the time, even given anti-nausea meds. So far, I’m maintaining at a whisker over ignorable levels, so that’s Good. Naproxen does have a long half-life, so I’m guessing any increased discomfort will start showing up this evening.

Interestingly, for values thereof, while I can concentrate on the WIP, and am doing good, sharp work there, for anything else, it’s an extremely fuzzy day in the neighborhood. I hate feeling stupid, OTOH, pay copy is being written and/or plotted, so — onward.

Looking at next week — The 1:45 showing of Hadestown on Monday, needlework, and on Friday, which would have been Steve’s 76th birthday, a morning nature cruise on the Messalonskee, if it doesn’t rain. Maybe, if I can keep to current levels, I’ll actually be able to get my hair cut by a professional some day next week, and before I take a pair of kitchen shears to it.

How’s Saturday treating you?

Saturday’s editor:

And if that diamond ring turns brass…

Well, that didn’t go exactly as planned. I of course did my duty the cats, took a smol, ungraceful walk, and ate lunch, but! When I reclined on the sofa, cocooned in the the second electric throw, pad and pen to hand, the fluffy warmth felt soooooo good that — I fell asleep. Awoke sometime later with a coon cat lounging down one hip and leg, a coon cat tucked against my chest, and a coon cat with her head on my head. Apparently we all needed a nap.

Got up and made pudding. Pudding is a good idea, go me. Washed such pots ‘n pans as there were, served up Happy Hour, and will in the sweet bye-n-bye return to the couch and — make a grocery list. I will tomorrow decide how that list will be accomplished, but a list is the first order of business.

Everybody have a good night. Stay safe. I’ll check in as can, tomorrow.

Today’s blog post title comes courtesy of Nathan W. Pyle’s Strange Planet. Link, which may or may not work.

For those who may not know the reference, another link

Prince Siegfried and the Black Swan

Friday.

Watched the 2010 Swan Lake last night (aka “the Swan Lake for our times”), after I decided that the production I was offered–The Velveteen Rabbit– was taking too much of my limited store of patience. My state of mind might have come over to Swan Lake, which was … not riveting, but certainly watchable, and I did watch it. I did not at all like the man who danced Prince Siegfried, and found the Black Swan much more compelling than the milquetoast–ahem–White Swan. Still, it took my mind off my problems for a while, so that was a thing.

Had a bad night, despite the best effort of cats, and only this morning realized that I have an answer to the problem of wanting to put heat on my back during the night. I have two heated throws, one of which now joins the bed furnishings.

Got grumpy on an email list, did PT homework, ate breakfast.

Wrote +/-660 new words, bringing the WIP entire to 30,145ish words. I’m still subscribing to the Write What You Know then fill in the scenes that are left mode of writing, and this morning I did leave a space for a chapter that has to be there, but the guys in the cellar haven’t gotten me the deets yet, and went on to write a scene I didn’t know I needed, until I looked at what my fingers were typing.

The cats were Very Pleased that I decided to join them at work, and they are still in Steve’s office, taking in the air from the sliders. I’m increasingly glad that I had the French windows replaced with the Andersen sliders. Yes, they were heart-stoppingly expensive, but the entire household is made glad by their presence.

I need to do my duty to the cats, then find something to eat. After, I intend to find someplace comfortable to sit-or-lie-down and try to work out some of the WIP’s future bits. I’m really enjoying the daily writing momentum. I’d like to preserve it, if I can, and give the whole Descent into the Slough of Despond a miss this time.

It’s a good plan.

How’s your Friday shaping up?